A Meditation on Being Insulted

[The topic reads:] "Is everything past also exhausted?" The answer: this should be put in the form of four alternatives. "Past" is of two kinds, as explained above; "exhausted" is likewise of two kinds, in the same way as "past." Here, the topic is composed with reference to both kinds of each together, and since "past" and "exhausted" differ in scope, broader and narrower, four alternatives are accordingly formulated. There is a case of what is past but not exhausted — as when the Venerable Udāyin said: "all fetters have passed away" — and so on, as stated at length; "past" here is the second kind of "past" (yogic past), and "not exhausted" means not the first kind of "exhausted," since the Buddha's own body, present at that time, had already cut off and exhausted the afflictions. There is a case of what is exhausted but not past — as when the Buddha said: "this noble disciple has already exhausted hell, already exhausted the animal realm, already exhausted the hungry-ghost realm, already exhausted every dangerous pit of evil destiny." One asks: here, "already exhausted hell" displays that the noble disciple has already exhausted hell; "already exhausted the animal realm" displays that he has already exhausted the animal realm; "already exhausted the hungry-ghost realm" displays that he has already exhausted the hungry-ghost realm; but "already exhausted every dangerous pit of evil destiny" — what further thing does this display as exhausted? The answer: it simply displays the same three just named, but the earlier statement is detailed while the latter is condensed; the earlier is particular while the latter is general; the earlier is gradual while the latter is all at once; the earlier is analytical while the latter is not. Some say: "already exhausted hell, the animal realm, and the hungry-ghost realm" displays that he has already exhausted the very own-nature of the three evil destinies, while "already exhausted every dangerous pit of evil destiny" displays that he has already exhausted the intermediate-state existence leading into them. Some say: "already exhausted hell and the rest" displays that he has already exhausted hell and the rest, while "already exhausted every dangerous pit of evil destiny" displays that he has already exhausted rebirth as a eunuch, a paṇḍaka, one without genitalia, or one with both sets of genitalia among human beings, since these are themselves a dangerous pit of evil destiny within the human realm. Some say: the earlier statement displays that he has already exhausted hell, the animal realm, and the hungry-ghost realm, while the latter displays that he has already exhausted abiding in unrestrained conduct, since such conduct is bound to lead to a dangerous pit of evil destiny. Some say: the earlier statement displays the same three, while the latter displays that he has already exhausted the committing of the five acts of immediate retribution, since these lead, without any interval, straight into hell. Some say: the earlier statement displays the same three, while the latter displays that he has already exhausted the cutting-off of wholesome roots, since one who has cut off wholesome roots is himself like a dangerous pit of evil destiny — for if one dies without having restored one's wholesome roots, one is bound to fall into hell. Some say: the earlier statement displays that he has already exhausted the very effects of hell and the rest, while the latter displays that he has already exhausted their causes, as the discourses state: "you monks, if you see one who practices evil conduct of body, speech, and mind, you should know that you have thereby already seen hell or some other evil destiny." Some say: the earlier statement displays that he has already exhausted hell, the animal realm, and the hungry-ghost realm, while the further statement "already exhausted every dangerous pit" repeats and re-emphasizes that he has already exhausted hell, since hell contains no wholesome fruit at all; "evil destiny" re-emphasizes that he has already exhausted the hungry-ghost realm, since hungry ghosts are always destitute and lack supporting conditions; "pit" re-emphasizes that he has already exhausted the animal realm, since a body and mind falling into it are difficult to escape — indeed, some animals born during the aeon of formation only die at the very aeon of destruction, so long is their span there. Some say: the earlier statement displays that he has already exhausted hell, the animal realm, and the hungry-ghost realm, while the further statement "already exhausted every dangerous pit of evil destiny" re-emphasizes, all together, that he has already exhausted the very fruit of all three evil destinies, since all three evil destinies are themselves an extreme danger — the very pit into which every evil deed leads and falls. One asks: hell still contains, even now, its various cauldrons, furnaces, and hot coals, and its hell-guardians and countless other instruments of torment — how, then, can it be said to be "exhausted"? The answer: it is called "exhausted" in the sense of no longer going there and no longer being born there — that is, a noble disciple no longer goes to that place, and no longer takes rebirth within its aggregates, elements, and sense fields, since he has already attained a non-analytical cessation with respect to it. One asks: there are also ordinary beings who attain a non-analytical cessation with respect to hell and the rest — why, then, does the treatise speak only of the noble disciple? The answer: because every noble disciple has already exhausted it completely, whereas, among the class of ordinary beings, there are some who have not yet exhausted it — and so the treatise does not speak of them. One asks: noble disciples have also exhausted the human and divine destinies as objects of ultimate concern — why, then, does the treatise speak only of exhausting hell and the rest? The answer: because this passage speaks only of what is exhausted entirely without exception, and, with respect to the human and divine destinies, there are noble disciples who have not yet exhausted rebirth there — and so the treatise does not speak of them. This, then, is what is meant by "exhausted." "Not past, exhausted" is the second kind of "exhausted" (not the deliberately achieved kind), and "not past" means not the first kind of "past." There is a case of what is both past and exhausted — namely, whatever formations have already arisen, already come to be — and so on, as stated at length; all such phrases together display past formations. "Past" here is past by time-period, and "exhausted" here is likewise so. There is a case of what is neither past nor exhausted — namely, whatever remains apart from the characteristics just described.

Here, the meaning of the word "characteristic" is to be understood exactly as explained at length above — and so on, up through: what, specifically, is this fourth alternative? It excludes every dharma of the past time-period, the Buddha's own present body, and the future aggregates, elements, and sense fields of hell and the rest belonging to a noble disciple, taking instead every remaining present dharma, every future dharma, and the unconditioned dharmas, thus forming the fourth alternative.

Further, if spoken with reference to the severing of the fetters: here, the word "with reference to" indicates what the discussion actually relies upon. In the preceding four alternatives, "exhausted" was spoken of with reference to being exhausted by time-period and being exhausted through no longer being reborn; in this present set of four alternatives, the name "exhausted" is established with reference to cutting off the afflictions and attaining the exhaustion that is analytical cessation. There is a case of a fetter that is past but not exhausted — namely, a fetter that is past, yet not yet cut off, not yet fully comprehended, not yet extinguished, not yet cast off. "Not yet cut off" means not yet established as cut off through full comprehension; "not yet fully comprehended" means not yet established as comprehended through knowledge; "not yet extinguished" means not yet having attained analytical cessation with respect to it; "not yet cast off" means not yet having relinquished its own binding attainment. Some say:

not yet cut off means not yet cut off by the uninterrupted path; not yet fully comprehended means not yet comprehended by the path of liberation; not yet extinguished means not yet having realized the attainment of freedom from its binding; not yet cast off means not yet having relinquished its own binding attainment. Some say: these four phrases all display the sense of not yet having relinquished it. What, specifically, does this mean? For any ordinary being still fully bound by defilement, the fetters abandoned by seeing and by cultivation across the three realms are all past-but-unexhausted; for one already free of the desire realm's defilement but not yet free of the first dhyāna's, the fetters abandoned by seeing and by cultivation across eight stages are past-but-unexhausted; and so on, up through one already free of the sphere of nothingness's defilement, for whom the fetters abandoned by seeing and by cultivation across a single stage are past-but-unexhausted. For a noble one still fully bound by defilement who has just entered the certainty of rightness: at the moment of the forbearance of the dharma-knowledge of suffering, the fetters abandoned by seeing and by cultivation across the three realms are past-but-unexhausted; once the dharma-knowledge of suffering has arisen but the subsequent-knowledge of suffering has not yet arisen, the fetters abandoned by seeing suffering in the form and formless realms, and so on, up through the fetters abandoned by seeing origination, cessation, and the path, and by cultivation, across the three realms, are past-but-unexhausted; and so on, up through, once the dharma-knowledge of the path has arisen but the subsequent-knowledge of the path has not yet arisen, the fetters abandoned by seeing the path in the form and formless realms, and abandoned by cultivation across the three realms, are past-but-unexhausted. For a stream-enterer, the fetters abandoned by cultivation across the three realms, past, are past-but-unexhausted. For a once-returner, the three grades of the desire realm's fetters abandoned by cultivation, past, together with the form and formless realms' fetters abandoned by cultivation, are past-but-unexhausted. For a non-returner not yet free of the first dhyāna's defilement, the fetters abandoned by cultivation across eight stages, past, are past-but-unexhausted; and so on, up through one already free of the sphere of nothingness's defilement, for whom the fetters abandoned by cultivation across a single stage, past, are past-but-unexhausted. This, then, is what is meant by a fetter that is past but not exhausted. There is a case of a fetter that is exhausted but not past — namely, a fetter that is future, yet already cut off, already fully comprehended, already extinguished, already cast off. "Already cut off" means already established as cut off through full comprehension; "already fully comprehended" means already established as comprehended through knowledge; "already extinguished" means already having attained analytical cessation with respect to it; "already cast off" means already having relinquished its own binding attainment. Some say: "already cut off" means already cut off by the uninterrupted path; "already fully comprehended" means already comprehended by the path of liberation; "already extinguished" means already having realized the attainment of freedom from its binding; "already cast off" means already having relinquished its own binding attainment. Some say: these four phrases all display the sense of having already relinquished it. What, specifically, does this mean? For an arhat, the fetters abandoned by seeing and by cultivation across the three realms, future, are exhausted-but-not-past. For a non-returner already free of the sphere of nothingness's defilement, the fetters abandoned by seeing, future, across the three realms, together with the fetters abandoned by cultivation across eight stages, are exhausted-but-not-past; and so on, up through one not yet free of the first dhyāna's defilement, for whom the fetters abandoned by seeing, future, across the three realms, together with the fetters abandoned by cultivation across a single stage, are exhausted-but-not-past. For a once-returner, the fetters abandoned by seeing, future, across the three realms, together with the desire realm's own six grades of fetters abandoned by cultivation, are exhausted-but-not-past. For a stream-enterer, the fetters abandoned by seeing, future, across the three realms, are exhausted-but-not-past. For one who follows through faith or through the Dharma, once the dharma-knowledge of the path has arisen but the subsequent-knowledge of the path has not yet arisen, the fetters abandoned by seeing suffering, origination, and cessation, future, across the three realms, together with the desire realm's fetters abandoned by seeing the path, are exhausted-but-not-past; and so on, up through, once the dharma-knowledge of suffering has arisen but the subsequent-knowledge of suffering has not yet arisen, the desire realm's fetters abandoned by seeing suffering, future, are exhausted-but-not-past. For an ordinary being already free of the sphere of nothingness's defilement, the fetters abandoned by seeing and by cultivation across eight stages, future, are exhausted-but-not-past; and so on, up through one already free of the desire realm's defilement but not yet free of the first dhyāna's, for whom the fetters abandoned by seeing and by cultivation across a single stage, future, are exhausted-but-not-past. This, then, is what is meant by a fetter that is exhausted but not past. There is a case of a fetter that is both past and exhausted — namely, a fetter that is past, already cut off, already fully comprehended, already extinguished, already cast off; the phrases "already cut off" and the rest are to be understood exactly as explained at length above. What, specifically, does this mean? For an arhat, the fetters abandoned by seeing and by cultivation across the three realms, past, are exhausted-and-past — and so on, as stated at length, up through, for an ordinary being already free of the desire realm's defilement but not yet free of the first dhyāna's, the fetters abandoned by seeing and by cultivation across a single stage, past, are exhausted-and-past. This, then, is what is meant by a fetter that is both past and exhausted. There is a case of a fetter that is neither past nor exhausted — namely, a fetter that is future, yet not yet cut off, not yet fully comprehended, not yet extinguished, not yet cast off,

together with a fetter that is present, not yet cut off — the phrases here to be understood exactly as explained at length above. What, specifically, does this mean? For any ordinary being still fully bound by defilement, the fetters abandoned by seeing and by cultivation, future, across the three realms, are neither past nor exhausted — and so on, as stated at length, up through, for a non-returner already free of the sphere of nothingness's defilement, the fetters abandoned by cultivation across a single stage, future, together with every present fetter, are neither past nor exhausted. This, then, is what is meant by a fetter that is neither past nor exhausted. [A parallel topic reads:] "Is everything past also ceased?" The answer: this should be put in the form of four alternatives. "Past" is of two kinds, as explained above; "ceased" is likewise of two kinds: first, ceased by time-period; second, ceased through disappearance. Here, the topic is composed with reference to both kinds of each together, and since "past" and "ceased" differ in scope, broader and narrower, four alternatives are accordingly formulated. There is a case of what is past but not ceased — as when the Venerable Udāyin said: "all fetters have passed away" — and so on, as stated at length; "past" here is the second kind of "past" (yogic past), and "not ceased" means neither of the two kinds of "ceased," since the Buddha's own body, present at that time, had not disappeared. There is a case of what is ceased but not past — as when, by worldly convention, a small street, a small house, a small vessel, or a small eye is spoken of as a "faded" street, and so on, up through a "faded" eye — that is, people of the eastern regions, seeing such a small street and the like, say it has "faded." And on this very basis, one can indeed ask: is there such a thing as a "faded" eye still able to see form? The answer: yes — namely, a small eye of the present time-period, belonging to a homogeneous class, is what is meant by "faded." "Ceased but not past" is the second kind of "ceased," and "not past" means not the first kind of "past." There is a case of what is both past and ceased — namely, whatever formations have already arisen, already come to be — and so on, as stated at length; all such phrases together display past formations. "Past" here is past by time-period, and "ceased" here is likewise so. There is a case of what is neither past nor ceased — namely, whatever remains apart from the characteristics just described. Here, too, the meaning of the word "characteristic" is as explained above — and so on, up through: what, specifically, is this fourth alternative? It excludes every dharma of the past time-period, the Buddha's own present body, and a "faded" small street and the like, taking instead every remaining present dharma, every future dharma, and the unconditioned dharmas, thus forming the fourth alternative. Further, if spoken with reference to the severing of the fetters:

here, the meaning of "with reference to" is as explained above. In the preceding four alternatives, "ceased" was spoken of with reference to being ceased by time-period and ceased through disappearance; in this present set of four alternatives, the name "ceased" is established with reference to cutting off the afflictions and attaining the cessation that is analytical cessation. There is a case of a fetter that is past but not ceased — namely, a fetter that is past, yet not yet cut off, not yet fully comprehended,

not yet extinguished, not yet cast off — to be stated at length exactly as before, up through: there is a case of a fetter that is neither past nor ceased — namely, a fetter that is future, not yet cut off, not yet fully comprehended, not yet extinguished, not yet cast off, together with a fetter that is present. Every meaning here is exactly as explained above.

Among these five sets of four alternatives thus stated, the first three sets are spoken with reference to worldly designation and noble designation together, with reference to worldly speech and noble speech together, with reference to worldly convention and ultimate truth together, and with reference to the discourses and direct observation together; the latter two sets are spoken with reference only to noble designation, noble speech, ultimate truth, and the discourses. One asks: in these latter two sets of four alternatives, why does the treatise speak only of the fetters, and not of what belongs to the fetters? The answer: this is simply what the treatise's author intended — and so on, as stated at length. Some say: it ought to be mentioned but is not, and this should be understood as a matter this discussion leaves incomplete. Some say: having already spoken of the fetters, it should be understood that what belongs to the fetters has thereby already been spoken of as well — why is this? Because what belongs to the fetters is established with reference to the fetters themselves,

and shares with it one and the same antidote. Some say: the fetters, in their own nature, once cut off, are no longer possessed at all — and it is for this reason that the treatise speaks of them; what belongs to the fetters is not fixed in this way, and so the treatise does not speak of it. Some say: the fetters carry many faults, being firm, hard to cut off, hard to break, and hard to overcome — and it is for this reason that the treatise speaks of them; what belongs to the fetters is not so, and so the treatise does not speak of it. Some say: the fetters stand in direct opposition to the noble path, whereas what belongs to the fetters does not — since wholesome contaminated states are able to enter and exit alongside the noble path, and neutral, indeterminate states are able to serve as a support for the noble path; yet, being mixed together with the fetters themselves, these too are abandoned by the noble path, just as, when a lamp dispels darkness, it also consumes its own wick, or, when a king defeats an enemy army, his own troops too suffer losses. Some say: the fetters are themselves both fetters and what belongs to the fetters, and so the treatise speaks of them; what belongs to the fetters is not itself a fetter, and so the treatise does not speak of it — and just as with fetters and what belongs to fetters, so too should it be understood for bonds and what belongs to bonds, latent tendencies and what belongs to latent tendencies, secondary afflictions and what belongs to secondary afflictions, entanglements and what belongs to entanglements, and taints and what belongs to taints. [A new topic reads:] "If one gives rise to doubt regarding suffering — is this suffering, or is this not suffering?" — and so on, as stated at length. One asks: why does the treatise take up this topic? The answer: in order to elucidate the meaning of the discourses. As the discourses state: the brahmin Kāraṇin came before the Buddha and asked him as follows: "the ascetic Gautama's own doubt is truly rare indeed — difficult to cross, not easily crossed." The World-Honored One told him:

"Just so, just so, brahmin — doubt is truly rare indeed, difficult to cross, not easily crossed. Why is this? There were, in ancient times, ten foremost brahmin composers of the Vedic treatises and of spells — first, Aṣṭaka; second, Vāmaka; third, Vāmadeva; fourth, Viśvāmitra; fifth, Yamataggi; sixth, Aṅgiras; seventh, Bharadvāja;

eighth, Vasiṣṭha; ninth, Kāśyapa; tenth, Bhṛgu. Although the world revered these various brahmins, every one of them died without ever crossing over doubt — and from this it is known that doubt is indeed truly difficult to cross. Although the discourses speak in this way, they do not analyze the matter at length. That discourse is the root text this treatise takes as its basis, and what it left unstated, the treatise now wishes to state — hence this topic is taken up.

If one gives rise to doubt regarding suffering — is this suffering, or is this not suffering? — should this be said to be a single moment of mind, or many moments? The answer: it should be said to be many moments — that is, "is this suffering?" is one moment; "is this not suffering?" is a second moment. And the same holds for giving rise to doubt regarding origination, cessation, and the path. Here, the interrogative particle itself displays the very sense of doubt: if one simply said "this is suffering," this would constitute right view; "this is not suffering" would constitute wrong view; and so on, up through the path, likewise. It is on account of speaking this interrogative particle that the sense of doubt is thereby constituted. In this way, with respect to suffering, and so on, up through the path, each has two such moments, giving eight moments in total. This is spoken with reference to the utmost swiftness — for one who doubts each of the four noble truths in sequence, there are exactly these eight moments, just as, at the time of direct realization, there are the sixteen moments running from the forbearance of the dharma-knowledge of suffering up through the subsequent-knowledge of the path. Some say: these eight are not, strictly speaking, eight single moments at all, since each individual mind arises and ceases with extreme swiftness — if one has the thought "is this suffering?", countless hundreds of thousands of arisings and ceasings have already occurred within that very interval, and the same holds for every other such moment; it is simply that the root treatise's own author, wishing to make things easy for his disciples to understand, speaks of many actual moments as though they were a single moment, since their aspect remains the same throughout. [A further topic reads:] "Is there ever a single moment of mind that is both doubting and not doubting?" — and so on, as stated at length. One asks: why does the treatise take up this topic? The answer: in order to bring certainty to those in doubt. That is, the Ābhidharmikas say that a single collection of mind has many dharmas arising together within it — among them, what is hesitant and wavering is called "doubt"; what is settled and decisive is called "wisdom"; and what is neither hesitant nor decisive is the other mental factors. Lest one suppose that wherever doubt arises, there is thereby a doubting mind, and that a non-doubting mind is thereby a doubting mind as well — in order to bring certainty to this very doubt, and to show that a doubting mind and a non-doubting mind are genuinely distinct from one another, the treatise takes up this topic. Is there ever a single moment of mind that is both doubting and not doubting? The answer: no. One asks: is this statement made with reference to the collection of mind as a whole, or with reference to the object taken? If made with reference to the collection of mind as a whole, then, within a single collection of mind, there is indeed both what is doubt and what is not,

as already explained above — why, then, does the treatise answer "no"? If made with reference to the object taken, then, with respect to a single Buddha's own mind (taken as the object), an ordinary being might indeed have doubt while a noble one has no doubt — one ought not, then, to say "no" at all — so why does the treatise answer "no"? The answer: this "no" is given with reference to the collection of mind as a whole — that is, whatever collection of mind contains doubt is called a "doubting mind," and whatever lacks it is called a "non-doubting mind"; hence a doubting mind and a non-doubting mind are indeed genuinely distinct. Yet what is here meant by a "non-doubting mind," with respect to the four noble truths, is either one that comprehends them as existing, or one that denies them as non-existent — not merely one that simply fails to be associated with doubt. Why is this? Because, with respect to the truth of suffering: if one thinks "is this suffering?", this mind has doubt; if one thinks "this is suffering," this mind has no doubt; if one thinks "is this not suffering?", this mind has doubt; if one thinks "this is not suffering," this mind has no doubt — and the same should be understood for origination, cessation, and the path. It should be understood that there are, in this respect, sixteen moments of mind in total, since each of the four noble truths has four such moments — eight being doubt, four being right view, and four being wrong view. The first four kinds of doubt draw forth the four kinds of right view;

the latter four kinds of doubt draw forth the four kinds of wrong view — that is, "this is suffering" and the like constitute right view, while "this is not suffering" and the like constitute wrong view. One asks: for what kind of person does doubt draw forth right view, and for what kind does doubt draw forth wrong view? The answer: for one who delights in dwelling together with this very teaching, doubt draws forth right view; for one who delights in dwelling together with outside teachers, doubt draws forth wrong view. Further, for one who delights in studying the treatises of this own tradition, doubt draws forth right view; for one who delights in studying outside treatises, doubt draws forth wrong view.

Further, for one who loves drawing near to good persons and hearing the correct Dharma, doubt draws forth right view; for one who loves drawing near to unwholesome persons and hearing incorrect teachings, doubt draws forth wrong view. Further, for one in whom the power of cause, the power of preparatory effort, and the power of vigilance predominate,

doubt draws forth right view; for one in whom the power of cause, the power of preparatory effort, and the power of vigilance do not predominate, doubt draws forth wrong view.

As the discourses state: there are three kinds of "dark bodies," namely doubt and hesitation with respect to the three time-periods. One asks: the own-nature of a "dark body" ought properly to be ignorance itself — why, then, does the treatise speak of doubt? The answer: because of their mutual resemblance — that is, among all the afflictions, none possesses an aspect of non-comprehension so closely resembling ignorance as doubt does, and it is for this reason that the treatise speaks of doubt. Some say: the own-nature of a "dark body" is indeed, in reality, ignorance itself; doubt is merely the dwelling-place, the very house, of ignorance, and so the treatise speaks of doubt — as the Prajñaptiśāstra states, doubt is the dwelling-place, the very house, of not-knowing. Some say: doubt dwells in close proximity to ignorance — that is, wherever doubt is present, ignorance is certainly present as well, just as, in ordinary speech, one says of someone close, "he is like myself" — and so the treatise speaks of doubt. Some say: doubt and ignorance belong to the very same category — that is, both operate with respect to their object without any settled resolution, wavering between two possibilities — and so the treatise speaks of doubt. Some say: that discourse speaks in this way in order to establish an otherwise unestablished dharma — that is, ignorance, being the very own-nature of the "dark body," needs no further statement to establish it as such, whereas doubt, though it too possesses this same sense of a "dark body," is not so clearly manifest — and so the treatise singles it out for treatment. One asks: why does the World-Honored One speak only of doubt taking the world as its object as a "dark body," and not of doubt taking the unconditioned as its object? The answer: it ought to be mentioned but is not, and this should be understood as a matter this discussion leaves incomplete. Some say: that discourse speaks with reference to the greater portion of cases, since doubt taking the world as its object arises far more often, while doubt taking the unconditioned as its object arises far less often — and so the treatise does not mention it. Some say: conditioned dharmas are coarse and plainly manifest, and doubt arising with respect to them is censured by the noble ones and called "dark"; the unconditioned, by contrast, is subtle and exceedingly difficult to fathom, and doubt arising with respect to it

is not censured by the noble ones — and so the treatise does not mention it. It is just as when stumbling in broad daylight is censured by the world, and one is called "blind," yet stumbling in the dark of night is not so censured by the world — the case here is exactly the same. Some say: outsiders give rise to an especially heightened ignorance, doubt, and hesitation with respect to the world, and so the treatise singles this out for treatment, as the discourses state: "did I exist in the past, or did I not exist? What was I, and how did I exist? Will I exist in the future, or will I not exist? What shall I be, and how shall I exist?" — hesitating internally, wondering, "what is this thing?"

"how is this thing, and what will it come to be? In this way, whence does a sentient being come to be born, and whither does he go once he perishes?" Outsiders give rise to just such heightened hesitation with respect to the enumeration of the world, and so the treatise singles this out for treatment. Some say: whether ignorant or wise, whether within this teaching or outside it, whether a worldly debater or even a mere child, everyone alike knows that the world exists, understanding that there is a past, a future, and a present — yet doubt with respect to it is itself an extremely blinding darkness, and so it is called a "dark body." Nirvāṇa, being free of all characteristics, is exceedingly difficult to fathom — even the keenest wisdom cannot fully plumb it — and so doubt with respect to it is not spoken of here at all. Some say: the Buddha, foreseeing that in the future there would be disciples who deny the existence of the past and future altogether, spoke of doubt arising with respect to the world as a "dark body" for this reason.

As the discourses state: there are five kinds of "mental splinters." First, doubt regarding the Buddha; second, doubt regarding the Dharma; third, doubt regarding the precepts; fourth, doubt regarding the teaching; fifth, anger toward the Sangha. As that discourse states: there are five mental splinters — what are these five? They are doubt and hesitation with respect to the Teacher, the Dharma, the precepts, and the teaching, failing to awaken to them, failing to have faith and understanding in them, and — anger and abuse, insult, and vexation directed toward those wise fellow-practitioners of the holy life whom the Buddha himself has praised,

which is what constitutes the fifth mental splinter. One asks: what is the substance of these five mental splinters? The answer: doubt and anger constitute their substance —

the first four being doubt, and the fifth being anger. One asks: anger, being explicitly named as one of the three "splinters" (craving, anger, and delusion, as the discourses and the Prakaraṇapāda both state), may well be granted — but what of doubt? For no passage anywhere states that doubt is itself, by its own nature, a "splinter." Why, then, does the treatise here speak of it as one? The answer: because of their mutual resemblance — that is, among all the afflictions, none, apart from what is by its own nature a "splinter," still performs the function of a "splinter" so closely as doubt does. As the Prajñaptiśāstra states: doubt conceals and obscures the mind, making it hard and unyielding, performing the very function of a splinter, to the point that it prevents the mind from reaching even a wrong resolution, let alone a correct one — just as good farmland, if left unplowed, becomes hard and unyielding, overgrown with many stumps and weeds, so that not even a poor crop, let alone a fine one, can be planted there. Some say: doubt and anger share the very same aspect and the very same object of opposition,

and, being alike in both respects, both are called "mental splinters." Their resemblance in aspect: both operate by way of a grieving aspect. Their resemblance in object of opposition: both stand opposed to a joyful aspect. One asks: why is doubt regarding the Buddha called a mental splinter, but not doubt regarding the Sangha? The answer: what is called a mental splinter is what arises falsely, where it ought never to arise at all — the Buddha is entirely without any fault of evil conduct, and so giving rise to suspicion and doubt regarding him is an instance of arising where it ought not to arise; and the same should be understood for the Dharma, the precepts, and the teaching. The Sangha does possess a small measure of faults of evil conduct, and so giving rise to suspicion and doubt regarding it is an instance of arising where it legitimately may arise, and so is not called a mental splinter. One asks: why is anger toward the Sangha called a mental splinter, but not anger toward the Buddha? The answer: because the Sangha possesses a small measure of faults of evil conduct, anger arising with respect to it, taking this as its object, is necessarily all the more severe in nature, and so is called a mental splinter; the Buddha is entirely without any fault of evil conduct, and so anger arising with respect to him would be comparatively slight, and hence the treatise does not speak of it in this way; and the same should be understood for the Dharma, the precepts, and the teaching. There are yet other masters who say: "mental splinter" is established with reference to what is not, in itself, a grave fault — doubt arising with respect to the Sangha is itself a grave fault, since it arises where it legitimately may, and is thus difficult to cut off, and so is not called a mental splinter. The Buddha, being without any faults at all, yet still able to give rise to anger taken with reference to him, would make that anger necessarily all the more severe and difficult to cut off as well, and so this too is not a mental splinter — and the same holds, in this way, for the Dharma, the precepts, and the teaching.

[The topic reads:] "What is a multiple-name-body?" — and so on, as stated at length. One asks: why does the treatise take up this topic? The answer: this is simply what the treatise's author intended — and so on, as stated at length. Some say: it is in order to elucidate the meaning of the discourses. As the discourses state: "monks, you should know that when the Tathāgata appears in the world, a name-body, a phrase-body, and a letter-body thereupon appear in the world as well." Although the discourses speak in this way, they do not analyze what, specifically, a name-body, a phrase-body, and a letter-body actually are — and it is in order to carry out this very analysis that the treatise is composed. Some say: it is in order to bring certainty to those in doubt. That is, this treatise elucidates all manner of profound and subtle meanings, and one might come to doubt whether its author, however skilled he may be with respect to meaning, is perhaps not equally skilled with respect to language itself — and it is in order to bring certainty to this very doubt, showing that he is skilled in both language and meaning together, that the treatise is composed. Some say: it is in order to refute a rival school and manifest its own correct meaning. That is, some maintain that name, phrase, and letter are not real, existent dharmas at all — as the Dārṣṭāntikas hold; others maintain that name, phrase, and letter have sound itself as their own-nature — as the proponents of the Sound school hold. In order to refute these positions and show that name, phrase, and letter and the like are indeed real, existent dharmas, included among the formations dissociated from mind, the treatise is composed. Some say: it is in order to show that the World-Honored One's own labors across three incalculable aeons bore great fruit. That is, the Buddha, countless aeons in the past, could already have attained final extinction — the reason he instead passed through three incalculable aeons cultivating hundreds of thousands of difficult ascetic practices was solely for the benefit of others; and one who would truly benefit others must be thoroughly skilled in name-body, phrase-body, and letter-body alike, since it is precisely through this skill that he is able to teach others the aggregates, elements, sense fields, and the rest, bringing them to the ultimate benefit of nirvāṇa itself — this is what is called the "great fruit."

Some say: it is in order to establish the dominant condition of the three kinds of awakening — that is, awakening to name, phrase, and letter with the supreme grade of awakening-wisdom is called a Buddha's own awakening; awakening to name, phrase, and letter with the middling grade is called a pratyekabuddha's own awakening; and awakening to name, phrase, and letter with the lesser grade is called a śrāvaka's own awakening. Some say: it is in order to show that the Buddha is one who teaches the Dharma without limit or bound,

since the Buddha, thoroughly mastering name, phrase, and letter, is able to teach the Dharma to sentient beings without ever exhausting it. Some say: it is in order to show how the World-Honored One differs from a pratyekabuddha — that is, although both the Buddha and a pratyekabuddha awaken by themselves, without relying on any teacher, only the Buddha is thoroughly skilled with respect to name and the rest, while a pratyekabuddha is not.

Some say: it is in order to illuminate the nature and characteristics of the two dharmas of defilement and purification, making them known to others — that is, name-body and the rest are what illuminate the very root of defilement and purification; without name and the rest, defilement and purification could not be displayed at all. Some say: it is in order to show that observing name-body and the rest brings great benefit and advantage, while failing to observe them brings great harm and decline. That is, a practitioner who is able to observe name-body, phrase-body, and letter-body is thereby able to subdue his own afflictions and evil conduct, however mountainous they may be, so that, even when subjected to abuse and insult, he is able to bear it patiently; but if he fails to observe name-body, phrase-body, and letter-body, his afflictions and evil conduct will flow on unceasing, like a river — as when Prince Virūḍhaka was insulted with the words, "you slave-girl's son, why do you ascend my Śākya hall?" — and, being unable to observe these very four or five characters properly, he was thereby led to drag countless hundreds of thousands of beings down into the great hells. One asks: when a practitioner is met with another's abuse, how, specifically, does he observe it so that anger does not arise? The answer: consider a word such as "akrośāmi" (I revile you) — this is what is meant by "abusing me." If one removes the initial vowel, it becomes merely "krośāmi," "I call out to you"; if one removes the final syllable, it becomes merely an abusive sound with no content; and if both are removed, it becomes merely a plain call, "I address you." When a practitioner is met with another's abuse, he carefully observes these very syllables: "if there is no such initial element, this is merely calling out to me — why should I give rise to anger over that? If there is no such final element, there is merely an abusive sound, unrelated to me at all — how, then, could anger arise over it? And if both elements are absent, it is merely a plain address — what suffering is there in that, for anger to arise at all?" Further, when a practitioner is met with another's abuse, he carefully observes that these very same syllables, spoken in one direction, constitute abuse, while spoken in another direction, might equally constitute praise: "if I give rise to anger and grief over the one, and to craving and joy over the other, then I shall be forever grieving, forever rejoicing, forever angry, forever craving — who could be more wearied and afflicted than I?" Through this observation, anger does not arise. Further, when a practitioner is met with another's abuse, he carefully observes that whatever praises him uses no separate, distinct syllables at all, but simply rearranges, in reverse order, the very same syllables used to abuse him — and since praise and abuse are thus not fixed or determinate in themselves, he ought not to give rise to grief or joy over either — and through this, no angry mind arises with respect to the abuse. Further, when a practitioner is met with another's abuse, he ought carefully to observe: this verbal action — who, precisely, has accomplished it?

Is it the one who abuses, or is it my own body? He then knows that it is the abuser himself who has accomplished this action, and thinks: "he abuses himself — what has this to do with me at all?" — and so no anger arises. Further, when a practitioner is met with another's abuse, he observes, among all the dharmas present within the abuser's own body, whether the dharmas involved in abusing outnumber those not involved in abusing, and thereby knows that the dharmas involved in abusing him are included within only a single element, a single sense field, and a small portion of a single aggregate, while the dharmas not involved in abusing him are included within seventeen elements, a small portion of one element, eleven sense fields and a small portion of one sense field, and four aggregates and a small portion of one aggregate — and he thinks: "of this person who abuses me, the dharmas involved in abusing me are few, while those not involved are many — why, then, should I forget the many and give rise to resentment over the few?" Further, when a practitioner is met with another's abuse,

he ought to observe that a single syllable, occupying but a single moment, cannot by itself ever constitute abuse at all — nor is there ever a case of many syllables and many moments arising all together at once: when the earlier syllable arises, the later has not yet come to be, and when the later syllable arises, the earlier has already ceased — so that, in reality, there is no such thing as "abuse" at all, and it is only through mistaken discrimination that one takes it to be abuse — and so one ought not to give rise to anger over it. Further, when a practitioner is met with another's abuse, he ought to observe that his own body and the one abusing him are both perishing moment by moment, and, just as he wishes to make this very discrimination,

the abuser and he himself have already ceased to exist altogether — who, then, could possibly give rise to resentment against whom? Through this observation, no anger arises. Further, when a practitioner is met with another's abuse, he ought to observe that all formations are free of self and what belongs to self, that no agent and no experiencer can be found anywhere at all, and that there is only an empty aggregation of formations — why, then, should anger arise at all? Some say: the reason the treatise takes up this topic is in order to show that this treatise's own literary and semantic content is complete — that is, this treatise's own analysis of the particular and common characteristics of the various dharmas is called "semantic completeness," while its analysis here of name-body, phrase-body, and letter-body is called "literary completeness." Some say:

it is in order to show that name-body, phrase-body, and letter-body possess a truly great function — that is, it is by means of name and the rest that the innumerable dimensions of meaning belonging to the aggregates, elements, sense fields, and the rest are displayed and distinguished,

and by which the boundless virtues of the Three Jewels — the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha — can be praised and expounded. It is on account of these various causes and conditions that the treatise is composed.

[The topic continues:] "What is a multiple-name-body?" The answer: many titles, differing expressions, augmented expressions, conceptions, uniform conceptions, and provisional designations — this is what is meant by a multiple-name-body. Here, the treatise's author, being skilled in language, uses many different literary phrases together to display a single name, all of these being distinct names for that same name. One asks: why does the treatise here ask about a multiple-name-body, without first asking about a single name or a name-body? The answer: this is simply what the treatise's author intended — and so on, as stated at length. Some say: it ought to be asked but is not, and this should be understood as a matter this discussion leaves incomplete. Some say: both name and name-body are already included within the multiple-name-body, and so asking about the multiple-name-body is asking about all three together. Some say: this is simply what the discourses themselves state, and so ought not to be questioned — the discourses ask only about the multiple-name-body, and the treatise's author, following this, cannot add to or subtract from it. One asks: if that is so, why does the treatise ask about the multiple-name-body, yet answer with reference to "name" alone? The answer: because "name" is the very root — name fulfills name-body, and name-body, in turn, fulfills multiple-name-body. Some say: this is spoken with reference to an indirect, successive cause, just as with the principle of grandparent and grandchild — that is, name-body depends on name, and multiple-name-body, in turn, depends on name-body. One asks: what is the very substance of "name"? The answer: it is included among the formations dissociated from mind — and the same holds for "phrase" and "letter." One asks: why is a name called a "name"? The answer: "name" means what follows along with a thing, what summons it, and what unites with it in correspondence — that is, according to whatever a thing does, the name goes along with it, corresponding to it;

"summons" means it is established with reference to that particular meaning, so that, whenever that meaning is sought, the name responds and answers it; "unites with it in correspondence" means it accompanies whatever verse or composition it turns up in, bringing it into correspondence with its meaning. Since a name possesses these three aspects, it is called a "name." Mind and mental factors do possess the aspects of following and summoning, but not that of uniting in correspondence, and so are not called "names." The remaining dissociated formations, form, and unconditioned dharmas possess the aspects of following and uniting, but not that of summoning, and so these too are not "names." One asks: what does "name-body" mean? The answer: it means a collection of two names — hence a single name alone is not called a "name-body." One asks: what does "multiple-name-body" mean? The answer: it means a collection of many names — just as one elephant, or even two elephants, is not called a "multiple-elephant-body," but only a large gathering of many elephants together is so called, and the same holds for horses and the like; the same principle holds, in exactly this way, for phrase-body, multiple-phrase-body, letter-body, and multiple-letter-body. Here, there is "name," there is "name-body," and there is "multiple-name-body"; there are names arising from a single syllable, names arising from two syllables, and names arising from many syllables. Among names arising from a single syllable, a single syllable constitutes merely a "name," while two syllables constitute a "name-body" and "multiple-name-body" — though some hold this ought to be reckoned at three syllables, and others at four. Among names arising from two syllables, two syllables constitute merely a "name," while four syllables constitute a "name-body" and "multiple-name-body" — though some hold this ought to be reckoned at six syllables, and others at eight. Among names arising from three syllables, three syllables constitute merely a "name," while six syllables constitute a "name-body" and "multiple-name-body" —

though some hold this ought to be reckoned at nine syllables, and others at twelve. Among names arising from four syllables, four syllables constitute merely a "name," while eight syllables constitute a "name-body" and "multiple-name-body" — though some hold this ought to be reckoned at twelve syllables, and others at sixteen — and by this same principle, every other name of many syllables should be understood accordingly. There are yet other masters who say: among names arising from a single syllable, a single utterance of that syllable constitutes merely a "name"; a second utterance of that very same syllable constitutes a "name-body"; and a third or fourth utterance of it constitutes a "multiple-name" and "multiple-body";

and the same should be understood for names arising from two syllables and the rest.

"What is a multiple-phrase-body?" The answer: it is those phrases capable of fulfilling a meaning not yet fulfilled, joined together in sequence — this is what is meant by a multiple-phrase-body. In order to establish this meaning, the discourses are cited as proof, as the World-Honored One states:

"Commit no evil whatsoever; / cultivate every wholesome deed; / purify one's own mind entirely — / this is the teaching of all the Buddhas." Each of these four phrases is able to fulfill a meaning not yet fulfilled, joined together in sequence — this is what is meant by a multiple-phrase-body. As for each of these four phrases individually fulfilling, within its own phrase, a meaning not yet fulfilled, joined together in sequence: within each of the four phrases separately, the syllables are joined together to display the meaning not yet fulfilled; and, further, the phrases themselves are joined together to display the completed meaning of the verse as a whole, constituting the multiple-phrase-body. Within each individual phrase, there is a topic and an explanation — "every evil" is the topic, and "commit... whatsoever" is the explanation; and so on, up through "all the Buddhas" being the topic, and "teaching" being the explanation. Hence, within this verse, four things are fulfilled: first, the topic; second, the explanation; third, the phrase; fourth, the verse as a whole. If one merely says "every evil," this fulfills the topic —

but not yet the explanation, the phrase, or the verse; when one further says "commit... whatsoever," this fulfills the topic, the explanation, and the phrase together, but not yet the verse; when one further says "every wholesome deed," this fulfills the topic, the explanation, and the phrase with respect to the verse as a whole, but with respect to that particular phrase alone, only the topic is fulfilled, nothing further; and so on, up through, when one further says "all the Buddhas," this fulfills the topic, the explanation, and the phrase with respect to the verse as a whole, but with respect to that particular phrase alone, only the topic is fulfilled, nothing further; when one further says "teaching," everything is entirely fulfilled. This verse's own meter — neither too long nor too short — takes eight syllables to a phrase, and thirty-two syllables to a verse; the verses found throughout the discourses and treatises mostly follow this same convention, and the reckoning of a text's own written length likewise follows this same convention. Further, anything from six syllables up to twenty-six syllables may constitute a phrase; a phrase of six syllables is called the shortest standard phrase, and one of twenty-six syllables the longest standard phrase; anything fewer than six syllables is called a "short phrase," and anything exceeding twenty-six syllables is called a "long phrase."

"What is a multiple-letter-body?" The answer: a mass of syllables — this is what is meant by a multiple-letter-body. In order to establish this meaning, the discourses are cited as proof, as the World-Honored One states:

"Desire is the root of the verse; / a letter is simply a syllable; / a verse depends on a name, / and on the one who composes the verse." Here, "desire" refers to the desire, the delight, the joy, and the fondness for composing a verse; "is the root of the verse" means that this very desire is the cause, the accumulating condition, and the arising condition of the verse. "A letter is simply a syllable" means that what is skillfully and clearly manifest is called a "letter" — it is precisely this same syllable, never transforming into anything else — this simply displays that the letter which manifests the verse's own text has the syllable as its very substance. "A verse depends on a name" means that a verse is a merely provisional existent, established in dependence on a name; it likewise depends on letters and phrases, though the verse speaks here only of depending on a name. Here, the word "depends" is used just as a forest is said to depend on its trees. "And on the one who composes the verse" means one who reflects, observes, and composes such verses is called "the one who composes the verse";

the verse depending on its composer is like a snake depending on its burrow, or water depending on its spring, or milk depending on the breast that yields it — a different kind of "depending" from that of depending on a name.

It should be understood that, here, there is name, name-body, and multiple-name-body; there is phrase, phrase-body, and multiple-phrase-body; there is letter, letter-body, and multiple-letter-body. With respect to a single syllable, there is a name, but no name-body and no multiple-name-body; there is no phrase, no phrase-body, and no multiple-phrase-body; there is a letter, but no letter-body and no multiple-letter-body. With respect to two syllables, there is a name and a name-body, but no multiple-name-body; there is no phrase, no phrase-body, and no multiple-phrase-body; there is a letter and a letter-body, but no multiple-letter-body. With respect to four syllables, there is a name, a name-body, and a multiple-name-body; there is no phrase, no phrase-body, and no multiple-phrase-body; there is a letter, a letter-body, and a multiple-letter-body. With respect to eight syllables, there is a name, a name-body, and a multiple-name-body; there is a phrase, but no phrase-body and no multiple-phrase-body; there is a letter, a letter-body, and a multiple-letter-body. With respect to sixteen syllables, there is a name, a name-body, and a multiple-name-body; there is a phrase and a phrase-body, but no multiple-phrase-body; there is a letter, a letter-body, and a multiple-letter-body. With respect to thirty-two syllables, there is a name, a name-body, and a multiple-name-body; there is a phrase, a phrase-body, and a multiple-phrase-body; there is a letter, a letter-body, and a multiple-letter-body. By this method, it should be understood, according to the same principle, how many or few are spoken of with respect to every other mass of syllables.