The Silence That Won the Debate

One asks: is a name bound to the realm of the speech itself, or bound to the realm of the person speaking? Some say: a name is bound to the realm of the speech itself. They say as follows: for one born in the desire realm, if he speaks desire-realm speech, then his desire-realm body, desire-realm speech, and desire-realm name are involved, and the meaning spoken of may be bound to any of the three realms, or unbound; if he speaks first-dhyāna speech, then his desire-realm body is involved together with first-dhyāna speech and a first-dhyāna name, and the meaning spoken of is as explained above. For one born in the first dhyāna, if he speaks first-dhyāna speech, then his first-dhyāna body, first-dhyāna speech, and first-dhyāna name are involved, and the meaning spoken of is as explained above; if he speaks desire-realm speech, then his first-dhyāna body is involved together with desire-realm speech and a desire-realm name, and the meaning spoken of is as explained above. For one born in the second, third, or fourth dhyāna, if he speaks desire-realm speech, then his second-, third-, or fourth-dhyāna body is involved together with desire-realm speech and a desire-realm name, and the meaning spoken of is as explained above; if he speaks first-dhyāna speech, then his second-, third-, or fourth-dhyāna body is involved together with first-dhyāna speech and a first-dhyāna name, and the meaning spoken of is as explained above. One asks: if that is so, then do the three higher dhyānas possess names of their own at all? Some say: no. Some say: yes, though they cannot be spoken. The verdict: this position ought not to be maintained — it would be better to say that they simply do not exist than to say that they exist but cannot be spoken, since such an unspeakable existence would serve no purpose at all. Some say: a name is bound to the realm of the person speaking. They say as follows: for one born in the desire realm, if he speaks desire-realm speech, then his desire-realm body, desire-realm speech, and desire-realm name are involved, and the meaning spoken of is as explained above; if he speaks first-dhyāna speech, then his desire-realm body is involved together with first-dhyāna speech, yet a desire-realm name, and the meaning spoken of is as explained above. For one born in the first dhyāna, if he speaks first-dhyāna speech, then his first-dhyāna body, first-dhyāna speech, and first-dhyāna name are involved, and the meaning spoken of is as explained above; if he speaks desire-realm speech, then his first-dhyāna body is involved together with desire-realm speech, yet a first-dhyāna name, and the meaning spoken of is as explained above. For one born in the second, third, or fourth dhyāna, if he speaks desire-realm speech, then his second-, third-, or fourth-dhyāna body is involved together with desire-realm speech, yet a second-, third-, or fourth-dhyāna name, and the meaning spoken of is as explained above; if he speaks first-dhyāna speech, then his second-, third-, or fourth-dhyāna body is involved together with first-dhyāna speech, yet a second-, third-, or fourth-dhyāna name, and the meaning spoken of is as explained above. One asks: if that is so, then does the formless realm possess names of its own at all? Some say: no. Some say: yes, though they cannot be spoken. The verdict: this position ought not to be maintained — it would be better to say that they simply do not exist than to say that they exist but cannot be spoken, since such an unspeakable existence would serve no purpose at all. Just as with name, so too with letter and phrase.

One asks: are name and the rest included among the sentient, or the non-sentient? The answer: they are included among the sentient. One asks: are name and the rest appropriated, or non-appropriated? The answer: non-appropriated. One asks: are name and the rest nourished, homogeneous-outflow, or ripening-produced? The answer: they are homogeneous-outflow, neither nourished nor ripening-produced. One asks: if name and the rest are not ripening-produced, how is the discourses' own statement to be reconciled with this — namely, that the Buddha told Ānanda: "I too say that a name arises from karma, and is karma's own fruit"? The answer: a name is likewise a dominant result of karma, and so the discourses speak in this way — that is, one who performs good karma likewise obtains a good name, though this is not, strictly speaking, a ripening result. One asks: are name and the rest wholesome, unwholesome, or indeterminate? The answer: indeterminate, since they are not themselves the doer of any karma, but arise through volition, just as the four great elements do.

One asks: who possesses name and the rest — the one who speaks, or the one who is spoken of? Suppose either — what fault follows? If the one who speaks, then an arhat ought thereby to possess defiled dharmas, one free of the desire realm's defilement ought to possess unwholesome dharmas, an ordinary being ought to possess noble dharmas, and one who has cut off his own wholesome roots ought to possess wholesome dharmas — since arhats and the like do indeed speak of defiled dharmas and the rest. If the one who is spoken of, then external things and the unconditioned dharmas ought equally to possess name and the rest, since these too are things that can be spoken of. The answer: only the one who speaks possesses name and the rest. One asks: if that is so, the latter objection is well resolved — but how, then, is the former objection to be resolved? The answer: although arhats and the like do indeed possess names such as "defiled" and the rest,

they do not thereby possess the defiled dharmas themselves, since names such as "defiled" and the rest are all, in themselves, undefiled and indeterminate dharmas.

One asks: can a single moment of mind give rise to a single utterance, and a single utterance speak a single syllable? The answer: for the Buddha, a single moment of mind can indeed give rise to a single utterance, and a single utterance can indeed speak a single syllable; for a śrāvaka or pratyekabuddha, a single moment of mind can give rise to a single utterance, but that single utterance cannot speak a single syllable, since their pronunciation necessarily requires many moments to complete. It is on this account that only the Buddha's own speech is swift, keen, and mellifluous, foremost in eloquence beyond compare. One asks: does each dharma across the three time-periods possess a name in each of the three time-periods as well? The answer: yes — a past dharma possesses a past name, as when a past Buddha, using such-and-such a name, spoke of a past dharma; a past dharma possesses a future name, as when a future Buddha, using such-and-such a name, spoke of a past dharma; and a past dharma possesses a present name, as when a present Buddha, using such-and-such a name, speaks of a past dharma — and the same, in full, for future and present dharmas. One asks: does every name display meaning? The answer: every name does indeed display meaning. One asks: if one uses names such as "annihilationism," "eternalism," "a second head," "a third hand," "a sixth aggregate," "a thirteenth sense field," or "a nineteenth element," what, specifically, do these names display? The answer: these names display precisely the notion of annihilationism, eternalism, and the like. One asks: given that names display that all dharmas are without self, what is it that a name fails to display? Some say: apart from its own nature and what co-exists with it, it displays everything else. Some say: it displays everything except its own nature alone. Some say: it displays everything except its own four constituent syllables alone. Some say: it displays absolutely everything — that is, within this very word, one syllable is able to display another, and that other is able to display the first in turn, and likewise for each remaining syllable — and so, although it displays everything here, there is no fault of its own nature failing to display its own nature. One asks: which is greater in quantity, name or meaning? The answer: meaning is greater, and name is fewer — why is this? Because meaning is included within seventeen elements and 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, whereas name is included within only one element, one sense field, and a small portion of one aggregate. Some say: name is greater, and meaning is fewer — why is this? Because a single meaning can have many names — as with the ancient Nirgrantha treatise, in which a single meaning once had a thousand names; later abridged, only a hundred names were retained for each meaning; and now only ten names are retained for each meaning — and further, those who teach the Dharma use countless names to express a single meaning. On this position, meaning is greater and name is fewer — why is this? Because a name, too, is itself a meaning,

and even if a name were not itself a meaning, meaning would still be the greater, being included within seventeen elements and a small portion of one element — and so on, as stated at length — how much more so, then, given that a name is itself a meaning as well, since it is displayed by other names in turn — this being so, meaning is included within all eighteen elements, twelve sense fields, and five aggregates, while name is included within only one element, one sense field, and a small portion of one aggregate. One asks: if a name is itself a meaning, what difference is there between name and meaning? The answer: what displays is "name"; what is displayed is "meaning." Further, name is non-material, while meaning pervades both the material and the non-material; name is invisible alone, while meaning pervades both the visible and the invisible; name is without resistance alone, while meaning pervades both what has resistance and what does not; name is contaminated alone, while meaning pervades both the contaminated and the uncontaminated; name is conditioned alone, while meaning pervades both the conditioned and the unconditioned. Further, name is indeterminate alone, while meaning pervades the wholesome, the unwholesome, and the indeterminate; name falls within the three time-periods alone, while meaning pervades both what falls within the three time-periods and what is outside time; name is bound to the desire and form realms alone, while meaning pervades what is bound to the three realms and what is unbound; name is neither trainee nor beyond training alone, while meaning pervades the trainee, the one beyond training, and neither; name is abandoned by cultivation alone, while meaning pervades what is abandoned by seeing, by cultivation, and what is not to be abandoned at all.

Further, name is undefiled alone, while meaning pervades both the defiled and the undefiled — and the same holds, in this way, for faulty and faultless, defiled-but-indeterminate and undefiled-and-indeterminate, retrogression-prone and not, and dark dharmas and bright dharmas. Further, name has no ripening at all, while meaning pervades both what has ripening and what does not; name is not itself a ripening, while meaning pervades both what is a ripening and what is not; name is dissociated, while meaning pervades both the associated and the dissociated — and the same holds, in this way, for possessing or lacking a support, possessing or lacking an object, possessing or lacking an aspect, and possessing or lacking an alerting function. Further, name is included only within the truths of suffering and origination, while meaning pervades all four truths as well as what is not included within any truth. It is through distinctions such as these that name and meaning differ. One asks: can meaning itself be spoken, or can it not? Suppose either — what fault follows? If it can be spoken,

then speaking of fire ought to burn the tongue, speaking of a knife ought to cut the tongue, speaking of something impure ought to defile the tongue, speaking of drink ought to relieve thirst, and speaking of food ought to relieve hunger — and so on. If, on the other hand, it cannot be spoken, then how is it that what one asks for is never confused with something else — as when asking for an elephant, one would then get a horse, or asking for a horse, one would get an elephant, and so on? And how, moreover, is the discourses' own statement to be reconciled with this — namely, "the Dharma I teach is excellent in the beginning, the middle, and the end, its language and meaning both skillfully wrought"? The answer: meaning cannot be spoken. One asks: if that is so, the former objection is well resolved — but how, then, is it that what one asks for is never confused with something else? The answer: at the very beginning of the aeon, people together provisionally established names and conceptions for elephants and the like, and these have been transmitted onward from generation to generation ever since — hence what one asks for is never confused with something else. Some say: speech is able to give rise to a name, and a name is able to display a meaning; although speech itself cannot directly convey meaning, it does so through an indirect, successive relation, just as with the principle of grandparent and grandchild — hence there is no confusion in asking for an elephant and the like. One asks: how, then, is the discourses' own statement to be reconciled with this — namely, "the Dharma I teach is excellent in the beginning, the middle, and the end, its language and meaning both skillfully wrought"? The Venerable Vasumitra explained it thus: speech is able to give rise to letters, and letters are able to display meaning — and so the discourses speak in this way. He further said: this is spoken in order to distinguish the Buddha's teaching from that of outsiders — that is, whatever outsiders teach possesses little meaning, or no meaning at all, whereas what the World-Honored One teaches possesses genuine meaning, and abundant meaning — and so it is said, "the Dharma I teach is skillfully wrought in both language and meaning." He further said: outsiders' own language and meaning are mutually at odds, whereas the World-Honored One's own language and meaning are mutually harmonious — and it is in order to display this very distinction that the discourses speak in this way.

One asks: name-body, phrase-body, and letter-body are included among the formations dissociated from mind — why, then, does the Buddha speak of the four mental aggregates as "name"? The answer: the Buddha, with respect to conditioned dharmas, establishes two divisions in general — namely, form and non-form. Form is the aggregate of form; non-form is precisely the remaining four aggregates, feeling and the rest. Within the class of non-form, there is that which is able to display and illuminate all dharmas, namely name — and so the entire class of non-form is spoken of, in general terms, as "name." Some say: material dharmas, being coarse and plainly manifest, are simply spoken of as "form";

the non-material, being subtle and hidden, must be displayed by way of name, and so is spoken of as "name." Yet, in reality, name and the rest are included only among the formations dissociated from mind. There are six kinds of names: first, names based on merit; second, names based on class of birth; third, names based on a period of time; fourth, names based on personal wish; fifth, names based on occupation; sixth, names based on distinguishing mark. Names based on merit are those established with reference to some merit or virtue — as with one who understands or recites the Sūtra Basket being called a "Sūtra Master";

one who understands or recites the Vinaya Basket being called a "Vinaya Master"; one who understands or recites the Abhidharma being called a "Treatise Master"; one who attains the fruit of stream-entry being called a "stream-enterer"; and so on, up through one who attains the fruit of arhatship being called an "arhat" — and so forth. Names based on class of birth

are those established with reference to the class into which one is born — as with one born in a city being called a "city person," one born in a village being called a "village person," one born into the kṣatriya class being called a "kṣatriya," and so on, up through one born into the śūdra class being called a "śūdra" — and so forth. Names based on a period of time are those established with reference to a stage of life — as with the stage of childhood being called "child," and so on, up through the stage of decline being called "old person" — and so forth. Names based on personal wish are those established according to one's own preference — as when, at the time of a child's birth, its parents, or ascetics, or others give it a name — and so forth. Names based on occupation are those established with reference to one's own work — as with a skilled painter being called a "master painter," or a smith of gold and iron being called a "master smith" — and so forth. Names based on distinguishing mark are those established with reference to some visible mark — as with one who carries a staff being called "the staff-bearer," or one who carries a parasol being called "the parasol-bearer" — and so forth. Further, there are four kinds of names: first, provisional names; second, names based on function; third, names of benefit-to-another; fourth, abbreviated names. Provisional names are exemplified by calling one who is poor and lowly "wealthy and noble," and the like. Names based on function are exemplified by calling a creature that crawls on its belly a "belly-crawler," and the like.

Names of benefit-to-another are exemplified by calling one who was obtained by praying to a deva "Devadatta," or one obtained through a sacrificial rite "Yajñadatta," and the like. Abbreviated names are exemplified by calling one who possesses five virtues "the Five-Virtued," or one who is a subject bound to a king "the king's man," and the like. Further, there are two kinds of names: first, names given at birth; second, names given later. Names given at birth are exemplified by "kṣatriya," "brahmin," and the like; names given later are those given by parents and others after the fact. Some say: names given at birth are those given by one's parents at the very time of one's birth, while names given later are those given afterward by friends and acquaintances. Further, there are two kinds of names: first, names bearing a characteristic mark; second, names bearing no such mark. Names bearing a characteristic mark are exemplified by "impermanent," "suffering," "empty," "without self," and the like; names bearing no mark are exemplified by "self," "person," "sentient being," "one born of mind," and the like. If a Buddha appears in the world, names bearing a mark abound and names bearing no mark are few; if no Buddha appears, names bearing no mark abound and names bearing a mark are few. One asks: is the name "fire" a name bearing a mark, or bearing no mark? The answer: if called by a name meaning "the flame-crested one," this is a name bearing a mark;

if called by its plain, ordinary name, this is a name bearing no mark. Further, there are two kinds of names: first, shared names; second, unshared names. Unshared names are exemplified by "Buddha," "Dharma," "Sangha," "aggregate," "element," "sense field," and the like; shared names are those established in common by the rest of the world. There are yet other masters who say: there is no such thing as an unshared name at all, since a single dharma can be given every possible name, and every dharma can be given a single name — hence every name is, in this sense, shared. Just as with shared and unshared names, so too with names formerly used and names not yet used. Further, there are two kinds of names: first, fixed names; second, unfixed names.

Fixed names are exemplified by "Sumeru," "the great ocean," "continent," "island," and the like; unfixed names are those established according to whatever the rest of the world happens to agree upon. There are yet other masters who say: there is no such thing as a fixed name at all — why is this? Because even "Sumeru" and the like are given various different names in outlying regions, and even the verses and compositions of this present region give it other names as well. On the position stated here, "Sumeru" and the like do possess fixed names, since these names were already fixed at the very time the aeon first came into being. One asks: when the previous aeon was destroyed, everything was lost and destroyed along with it — who, then, transmitted these names once the present aeon came into being? The answer: there are sages who attain the knowledge of past abodes, who remember the events of the previous aeon and thereby transmit these names once more; or else, at the very beginning of the aeon, by the inherent power of their own nature, these very names suddenly appeared, presenting themselves directly to people's minds. One asks: are all names that exist transmitted onward, having already existed before, or are some newly established? The answer: names such as "Sumeru" and the like already existed before; other names are not fixed in this way, and some are indeed newly established. Further, there are two kinds of names: first, names denoting substance; second, names denoting function. Names denoting substance are exemplified by "fruit in a bowl," "a person in a house," and the like; names denoting function are exemplified by "one who reaps," "one who recites," and the like. Some say: names denoting substance are exemplified by "solidity," "moisture," "warmth," "motion," and the like, while names denoting function are exemplified by "holding together," "gathering," "ripening," "growing," and the like. Some say:

names denoting substance are exemplified by "every evil" and the like, while names denoting function are exemplified by "commit... whatsoever" and the like. One asks: does name have a boundary or limit? Some say: name has no boundary or limit, since dharmas themselves are without limit, and a single dharma can have many names. There are yet others who say: name does indeed have a boundary or limit — only the Buddha is able to know it, and no one else, and it is precisely because the Buddha alone is able to know name's own boundary that he is called "the omniscient one." Some say: the Buddha and pratyekabuddhas know name's own boundary, but no one else can. Some say: the Buddha, pratyekabuddhas, and those śrāvakas who have reached the far shore know name's own boundary,

but no one else can. The verdict: the first position stated is the sound one — only the Buddha is able to know name's own boundary, since no one else possesses omniscience. One asks: whether or not a Buddha appears, the world always possesses name-body, phrase-body, and letter-body — why, then, do the discourses say, "when the Tathāgata appears in the world, all manner of multiple name-bodies and the rest thereupon appear in the world"? The answer: this is spoken with reference to unshared names, such as "Buddha," "Dharma," "Sangha," "aggregate," "element," "sense field," and the like —

it is only when a Buddha appears in the world that such names come to exist at all. Some say: it is only when a Buddha appears in the world that there exist names conducive to liberation, conducive to emptiness and non-self,

opposed to the suffering of birth-and-death, opposed to self and what belongs to self, cutting off the various views and giving rise to awakened understanding, turning away from the afflictions and toward genuine renunciation, halting ignorance and giving rise to wisdom, cutting off hesitation and giving rise to resolute decision, wearying of birth-and-death and delighting in nirvāṇa, and refuting outsiders while praising the correct Dharma — names, phrases, and letters of this kind come to appear in the world only at such a time, and not otherwise, and so the discourses speak in this way. As the discourses state: there are three kinds of verbal basis, and no fourth or fifth. What are these three? Speaking, with reference to the past, of dharmas that have already occurred; speaking, with reference to the future, of dharmas that will occur; and speaking, with reference to the present, of dharmas presently occurring. One asks: what is the very own-nature of a "verbal basis"? The answer: the Prakaraṇapāda states that verbal basis is included within the eighteen elements, twelve sense fields, and five aggregates.

One asks: since "speech" itself is simply utterance, and its "basis" is name, ought it not then to be included within only one element, one sense field, and one aggregate — why, then, does the treatise say it is included within eighteen elements, twelve sense fields, and five aggregates? The answer: that treatise ought properly to have said that verbal basis is included within one element, one sense field, and one aggregate; and that it instead says eighteen elements, twelve sense fields, and five aggregates is because this is spoken with reference to an indirect, successive cause — that is, speech operates in dependence on name, and name, in turn, operates in dependence on meaning; and since meaning is itself the indirect object speech ultimately depends upon, and meaning encompasses all eighteen elements, twelve sense fields, and five aggregates, both speaker and listener alike are ultimately concerned with meaning itself.

It is on this account that the treatise, with reference to this indirect, successive cause, speaks of verbal basis in terms of its own-nature. Some say: verbal basis is itself both the name and the meaning spoken of — hence it fully encompasses all eighteen elements and the rest, since verbal basis operates through both name and meaning together. One asks: why does the treatise speak of the three verbal bases only with reference to the three time-periods, and not speak of a verbal basis with reference to the unconditioned? The answer: it ought equally to speak of the unconditioned as a verbal basis, and that it does not do so should be understood as a matter this discussion leaves incomplete. Some say: the unconditioned is subsumed within the category of the present, since it is by means of present dharmas that the unconditioned is attained. Some say: speech mostly operates in dependence on conditioned dharmas, and so the treatise does not speak of the unconditioned as a verbal basis. Some say: it is in order to counteract sentient beings' heightened delusion that the treatise speaks of only three verbal bases, since it is with respect to conditioned dharmas that ignorance most predominates. Some say: because sentient beings mostly hesitate with respect to the three time-periods, the Buddha spoke of three kinds of verbal basis for this reason. Some say: it is in order to counteract outsiders' grasping at the existence of a self that the treatise speaks of three verbal bases — that is, outsiders say: "if there is no self, then upon what does the very word 'I' depend?" — and so the Buddha spoke of three kinds of verbal basis, showing that the word "I" depends only on the three time-periods for its own arising. Some say: it is in order to counteract both the denial of the existence of the past and future time-periods, and the grasping at the present as itself unconditioned, that the treatise speaks of three verbal bases — since a verbal basis must be a dharma that possesses both a real substance and a real function; what does not exist certainly has no substance, and the unconditioned, having no function, is therefore not a verbal basis. Some say: conditioned dharmas are coarse and plentiful, and it is easy to have confidence in their existence and easy to give rise to speech about them, and so they are established as a verbal basis; the unconditioned is subtle and scarce, and confidence in its existence is difficult to sustain, and speech about it difficult to give rise to, and so it is not a verbal basis. The Venerable Vasumitra explained it thus: conditioned and unconditioned dharmas are divided into two classes; wherever, within a given class, all three things — speech, name, and meaning — can be found together, that class is established as a verbal basis; within the unconditioned class, although meaning can indeed be found, the other two cannot, and so it is not a verbal basis. The Great Virtuous One explained: whatever dharma possesses a function, taking up an effect and giving rise to an effect, can be established as a verbal basis; the unconditioned has no function, and so the treatise does not speak of it in this way. The Venerable Pārśva said: conditioned dharmas, together with speech, can arise simultaneously in a meaningful relation, and so are established as a verbal basis; the unconditioned is not so, and so the treatise does not speak of it. One asks: if one speaks, with reference to the past, of both future and present dharmas, or, with reference to the future, of both past and present dharmas, or, with reference to the present, of both past and future dharmas, which verbal basis does this fall under? Some say: it is not included within any of the three verbal bases at all. There are yet others who say: if one speaks, with reference to the past, of both future and present dharmas, this is included within the past — and so on, up through, if one speaks, with reference to the present, of both past and future dharmas, this is included within the present. There are yet other masters who say: if one speaks, with reference to the past, of both future and present dharmas, the future portion is included within the future, and the present portion within the present — and so on, up through, if one speaks, with reference to the present, of both past and future dharmas, the past portion is included within the past, and the future portion within the future, since, as stated above, meaning is verbal basis's own very substance. One asks: if one speaks of two time-periods, or even all three, all at the very same time, which verbal basis does this fall under? Some say: it is not included within any of the three verbal bases at all. There are yet others who say: whatever time-period the displaying name itself falls under, that is said to be the verbal basis it is included within. There are yet other masters who say: whatever time-period the displayed meaning itself falls under, that is said to be the verbal basis it is included within, since, as stated above, meaning is verbal basis's own very substance. One asks: the discourses state simply that there are three kinds of verbal basis, and this alone would already suffice for the meaning — why, then, does the treatise further add "and no fourth or fifth"? The answer: "no fourth" excludes a fourth time-period, lest one suppose there to be one; "no fifth" excludes the unconditioned, lest one suppose the unconditioned to be a verbal basis. Some say: these two further phrases serve to emphasize and reinforce the exclusion, in order to make the stated meaning fully determinate. Since the discourses establish verbal basis with reference to time, they state that there are three, and no four, and no five. Were verbal basis instead established with reference to correct reasoning-attention, one would have to say there is one, and no second, and no third — "no second" excluding the existence of a second kind of correct reasoning-attention, and "no third" excluding whatever dharma is not included within correct reasoning-attention. Were verbal basis established with reference to calm-abiding and insight, one would have to say there are two, and no third or fourth, the meaning being as explained above. Were verbal basis established with reference to the three gates of liberation, one would have to say there are three, and no fourth or fifth, the meaning being as explained above.

Were verbal basis established with reference to the four noble truths, one would have to say there are four, and no fifth or sixth, the meaning being as explained above. Were it established with reference to the five aggregates, one would have to say there are five, and no sixth or seventh, the meaning being as explained above. Were it established with reference to the six recollections, one would have to say there are six, and no seventh or eighth, the meaning being as explained above. Were it established with reference to the seven factors of awakening, one would have to say there are seven, and no eighth or ninth, the meaning being as explained above. Were it established with reference to the eight factors of the noble path, one would have to say there are eight, and no ninth or tenth, the meaning being as explained above. Were it established with reference to the nine sequential absorptions, one would have to say there are nine, and no tenth or eleventh, the meaning being as explained above. Were it established with reference to the Tathāgata's own ten powers, one would have to say there are ten, and no eleventh or twelfth, the meaning being as explained above.

In this way, whatever other dharma verbal basis might be established with reference to, the same principle applies as appropriate. Since this discourse establishes verbal basis with reference to time, it speaks of only three, and no four, and no five. This same discourse further states as follows: one should observe a person by means of four matters, in order to know whether that venerable one is fit to converse with, or not. What are these four? First, what is and is not the case; second, the theory of knowledge; third, discrimination; fourth, the tracking of the path. One who abides well in these four is fit to converse with; one who does the opposite is not fit to converse with. One asks: what difference is there among these four matters? The answer: not abiding well in what is and is not the case means not knowing, as it really is, what is and is not the case; not abiding well in the theory of knowledge means not knowing, as it really is, knowledge and its proper objects; not abiding well in discrimination means

not knowing, as it really is, worldly convention and ultimate truth; not abiding well in the tracking of the path means not knowing, as it really is, the path leading toward suffering and origination and the path leading toward the cessation of suffering. Some say: not abiding well in what is and is not the case means not knowing, as it really is, that it is a genuine case that the eye and form serve as conditions producing eye-consciousness, and so on, up through the mental faculty and dharmas serving as conditions producing mental consciousness, while it is not a genuine case that the ear and the rest serve as conditions producing eye-consciousness, and so on, up through the eye and the rest serving as conditions producing mental consciousness; not abiding well in the theory of knowledge means not knowing, as it really is, the distinctions among the ten kinds of knowledge; not abiding well in discrimination means not knowing, as it really is, the discourses of definitive meaning from those of provisional meaning; not abiding well in the tracking of the path means not knowing, as it really is, the four kinds of practice. Some say: not abiding well in what is and is not the case means not knowing, as it really is, what accords with reason and what does not; not abiding well in the theory of knowledge means not knowing, as it really is, the noble ones' own correct treatises; not abiding well in discrimination means not knowing, as it really is, merely provisional, conventional discourse; not abiding well in the tracking of the path means not knowing, as it really is, the meaning of another's own words and phrases, replying carelessly without distinguishing beginning, middle, and end.

Some say: not abiding well in what is and is not the case means being unable to properly establish one's own thesis as it really ought to be established; not abiding well in the theory of knowledge means

being unable to withstand another's own challenging questions; not abiding well in discrimination means failing to properly discern deceit from truth; not abiding well in the tracking of the path means being unable to accomplish a heightened, superior wisdom. Some say: not abiding well in what is and is not the case means speaking without properly abiding in either one's own tradition's or a rival tradition's own tenets; not abiding well in the theory of knowledge means failing to understand that another's own challenge is grounded first in some valid means of cognition; not abiding well in discrimination means failing to understand another's own sequential, coherent line of argument;

not abiding well in the tracking of the path means being unable to fully accomplish the excellent aim one seeks. Some say: not abiding well in what is and is not the case means

failing to properly discern what is and is not a valid direct perception; not abiding well in the theory of knowledge means clinging firmly to what one has previously heard, unwilling to relinquish it, and unwilling to examine its own merits and faults, earlier and later; not abiding well in discrimination means harboring hesitation with respect to another's own correct statements, like one unable to tell rice from butter; not abiding well in the tracking of the path means failing to understand that a challenge must be grounded first in direct perception, inference, or authoritative testimony. The Venerable Pārśva said: not abiding well in what is and is not the case means failing to properly understand the object of one's own knowledge; not abiding well in the theory of knowledge means failing to properly understand the knowing faculty itself; not abiding well in discrimination means failing to properly understand correct teaching from incorrect; not abiding well in the tracking of the path means failing to properly understand correct conduct from incorrect. The Venerable Saṃghavasu explained:

not abiding well in what is and is not the case means failing to properly understand the meaning of what is and is not the case as stated in the Discourse of Many Elements; not abiding well in the theory of knowledge means failing to properly understand the matters of the forty-four kinds of knowledge and the seventy-seven kinds of knowledge; not abiding well in discrimination means failing to properly understand defilement and purification; not abiding well in the tracking of the path means failing to properly understand the path leading toward the cessation of form, and so on, up through the path leading toward the cessation of consciousness. The reverse of all this is called "abiding well."

This same discourse further states as follows: one should observe a person by means of four matters, in order to know whether that venerable one is fit to converse with, or not. What are these four? First, a question that ought to be answered directly and categorically; second, a question that ought to be answered analytically; third, a question that ought to be answered by counter-questioning; fourth, a question that ought to be answered by setting aside. One who answers according to these four, as appropriate, is fit to converse with; one who does the opposite is not fit to converse with. What is meant by a question that ought to be answered directly and categorically? It is a question that ought to be answered with a single, direct, categorical statement — that is, if someone asks: "is the Tathāgata a fully and perfectly awakened one? Is the Dharma well taught? Does the Sangha practice excellently? Are all conditioned formations impermanent? Are all dharmas without self? Is nirvāṇa quiescent?" — such questions ought all to be answered directly and categorically, exactly as stated. One asks: why ought such questions to be answered directly and categorically? The answer: because such questions bring forth genuine benefit and advantage, bring forth wholesome dharmas, accord with the holy life, are able to give rise to awakened understanding, and are able to bring about nirvāṇa — and it is for this reason that such questions ought to be answered directly and categorically. What is meant by a question that ought to be answered analytically? It is a question that ought to be answered by way of analysis — that is, if someone requests, "please teach me the Dharma," one ought to tell him: "dharmas are of many kinds — there are past, future, and present dharmas; wholesome, unwholesome, and indeterminate dharmas; dharmas bound to the desire realm, the form realm, and the formless realm; dharmas of the trainee, the one beyond training, and neither; dharmas abandoned by seeing, by cultivation, and not to be abandoned at all — which, then, do you wish to hear about?" What is meant by a question that ought to be answered by counter-questioning? It is a question that ought to be answered by way of a counter-question — that is, if someone asks, "please teach me the Dharma," one ought to counter-question him, saying: "the Dharma is manifold — which, precisely, are you asking about?" — the manifold kinds of dharma being "past" and the rest, exactly as explained at length above. One asks: what difference is there between a question answered analytically and one answered by counter-questioning?

The answer: although the intent behind the answer does not differ, the intent behind the question does. That is, one who asks may ask either for the sake of genuine understanding, or for the sake of causing vexation. If asking for the sake of genuine understanding, one ought to tell him: "dharmas are of many kinds — there are past, future, and present dharmas" — and so on, as stated at length, up through "dharmas abandoned by seeing, by cultivation, and not to be abandoned at all — which, then, do you wish to hear about?" If he then says, "please teach me about past dharmas," one ought to tell him: "past dharmas, too, are of many kinds — wholesome, unwholesome, and indeterminate — which do you wish to hear about?" If he then says, "please teach me about wholesome dharmas," one ought to tell him: "wholesome dharmas, too, are of many kinds — there is form, and there are feeling, perception, formations, and consciousness — which do you wish to hear about?" If he then says, "please teach me about form," one ought to tell him: "form, too, is of many kinds — there is abstention from killing living beings, and so on, up through abstention from frivolous speech — which do you wish to hear about?" If he then says, "please teach me about abstention from killing living beings," one ought to tell him: "abstention from killing living beings is of three kinds — that born of non-greed,

that born of non-hatred, and that born of non-delusion — which do you wish to hear about?" If he then says, "please teach me about that born of non-greed," one ought to tell him: "that born of non-greed is, moreover, of two kinds — manifest and unmanifest — which do you wish to hear about?" If the question was asked for the sake of genuine understanding, one ought to answer in this way, by successive analysis. But if the question was asked for the sake of causing vexation, one ought instead to counter-question him, saying: "the Dharma is manifold — which, precisely, are you asking about?" — without going on to state "past" and the rest. If he says, "please teach me about past dharmas," one ought to counter-question him: "past dharmas are manifold — which, precisely, are you asking about?" — without going on to state "wholesome, unwholesome, and indeterminate." If he says, "please teach me about wholesome dharmas," one ought to counter-question him: "wholesome dharmas, too, are manifold — which, precisely, are you asking about?" — without going on to state "form," and so on, up through "consciousness." If he says, "please teach me about form," one ought to counter-question him: "form, too, is manifold — which, precisely, are you asking about?" — without going on to state "abstention from killing living beings," and so on, up through "abstention from frivolous speech." If he says, "please teach me about abstention from killing living beings," one ought to counter-question him: "abstention from killing living beings, too, is manifold — which, precisely, are you asking about?" — without going on to state "that born of non-greed," and so on, up through "that born of non-delusion." If he says, "please teach me about that born of non-greed," one ought to counter-question him: "that born of non-greed, too, is manifold — which, precisely, are you asking about?" —

without going on to state "manifest" and "unmanifest." If the question was asked for the sake of causing vexation, one ought to respond in this way with a general counter-question at each successive stage, until either his questioning is exhausted, or he is made to answer his own question. Just as one may ask for the sake of genuine understanding, or for the sake of causing vexation, so too one may ask for the sake of seeking what is good, or for the sake of testing the depth or shallowness of another's own understanding, or for the sake of seeking meaning, or for the sake of overwhelming another, or out of straightforward honesty, or out of flattery and deceit, or out of gentleness, or out of arrogance — it should be understood accordingly in each case. This, then, is what is meant by the distinction between analytical response and response by counter-question. What is meant by a question that ought to be answered by setting aside? It is a question that ought to be answered by way of setting it aside —

that is, an outsider once came before the Buddha and said to him: "Gautama, is the world eternal?" — and so on, as stated at length, through all four alternatives — "does the world have a boundary?" — and so on, as stated at length, through all four alternatives. The World-Honored One told him: "none of these ought to be answered categorically at all." One asks: why did the World-Honored One not answer this question? The answer: these outsiders grasp at the existence of a real self, which they call "the world," and it was with this presupposition that they came before the Buddha to ask such a question. The Buddha thought: "no real self exists at all — if I answer 'it does not exist,' they will then say, 'I did not ask whether it exists or not.' And if I answer 'it is eternal' or 'it is not eternal,' this too would be unreasonable, since no real self exists in the first place — how, then, could one possibly say it is eternal, or not eternal, or the like?" It is just as if someone were asked about the child of a barren woman:

"is he respectful, filial, and gentle in speech, or not?" One thinks: "a barren woman has no child at all — if I answer 'no,' the questioner will say, 'I did not ask whether he exists or not.' And if I answer 'he is respectful, filial, and gentle in speech,' this too would be unreasonable, since a barren woman has no child in the first place — how, then, could one possibly say he is respectful and the rest?" The case here is exactly the same: what is asked is neither existent, nor true, nor real, and does not accord with reason — and it is for this reason that the Buddha did not answer it.

There was, further, another outsider who came before the Buddha and said to him: "Gautama, is the life-principle identical to the body, or different from it?" The World-Honored One told him: "neither ought to be answered categorically." One asks: why did the World-Honored One not answer this question? The answer: these outsiders grasp at the existence of a real self, which they call "the life-principle," and it was with this presupposition that they came before the Buddha to ask such a question. The Buddha thought: "no real self exists at all — if I answer 'it does not exist,' they will then say, 'I did not ask whether it exists or not.' And if I answer 'it is identical to the body' or 'it is different from the body,' this too would be unreasonable, since no real self exists in the first place — how, then, could one possibly say it is one with, or different from, the body?" It is just as if someone were asked whether a rabbit's horn resembles an ox's horn — one thinks: "a rabbit's horn does not exist in the first place —

if I answer 'it does not exist,' the questioner will say, 'I did not ask whether it exists or not.' And if I answer 'it resembles it' or 'it does not resemble it,' this too would be unreasonable, since a rabbit's horn does not exist in the first place — how, then, could one possibly say it resembles, or does not resemble, an ox's horn?" The case here is exactly the same: what is asked is neither existent, nor true, nor real, and does not accord with reason — and it is for this reason that the Buddha did not answer it. There was, further, another outsider who came before the Buddha and said to him: "Gautama, does the Tathāgata exist after death, or not exist?" — and so on, through all four alternatives. The World-Honored One told him: "none of these ought to be answered categorically."

One asks: why did the World-Honored One not answer this question? The answer: these outsiders grasp at the existence of a real self, which they call "the Tathāgata"; they hold that this self did not exist before, but exists now, and so they ask: "does the Buddha exist after death, or not?" — and so on, as stated at length. The Buddha thought: "such a self, if it did not exist before but exists now, would nonetheless, in the end, have no real substance at all — if I answer that this self does not even exist now, they will say, 'I did not ask whether it exists now.' And if I answer 'it exists after death,' or the like, this too would be unreasonable, since such a real self does not even exist now — how, then, could one possibly say it exists after death, or the like?" What is asked is neither existent, nor true, nor real, and does not accord with reason — and it is for this reason that the Buddha did not answer it. There was, further, another outsider who came before the Buddha and said to him: "Gautama, does one act for oneself and experience the result oneself?" The World-Honored One told him: "this ought not to be answered categorically." One asks: why did the World-Honored One not answer this question? The answer: these outsiders grasp at the existence of a real self that acts for itself and experiences its own result; since the Buddha teaches that there is no self, he could not properly answer in these terms — the reasoning is as explained above. They further asked: "does another act, and another experience the result?" The World-Honored One told him: "this ought not to be answered categorically." One asks: why did the World-Honored One not answer this question? The answer: these outsiders grasp at the existence of a real self called "Īśvara" or the like, capable of acting on one's behalf so that one experiences its result; since the Buddha teaches that there is no self, he could not properly answer in these terms — the reasoning is as explained above. They further asked: "does self and another together act, and self alone experience the result?" The World-Honored One told him: "this ought not to be answered categorically." One asks: why did the World-Honored One not answer this question? The answer: these outsiders grasp at the existence of a real self called "self-and-other"; since the Buddha teaches that there is no self, he could not properly answer in these terms — the reasoning is as explained above. They further asked: "does neither self nor another act, but things simply arise without any cause at all, with no agent and no experiencer?" The World-Honored One told him: "this ought not to be answered categorically." One asks: why did the World-Honored One not answer this question? The answer: the World-Honored One constantly teaches that effects arise from causes, and that one acts for oneself and experiences the result oneself, and so this question, too, could not properly be answered in its own terms. One asks: why ought all these outsiders' questions to be set aside? The answer: because these questions bring forth no genuine benefit or advantage, bring forth no wholesome dharmas, do not accord with the holy life, do not give rise to awakened understanding, and do not bring about nirvāṇa — and it is for this reason that all these questions ought to be set aside. One asks: the first three kinds of question do receive an answer, and so may properly be called "answered" — but the fourth kind receives no answer at all, so how can it too be called "answered"? The answer: although the Buddha states, "this ought not to be answered categorically," he has, in reality, already given an answer that fully accords with reason — this being itself the most fundamental kind of answer — and so it, too, is called "answered," since it brings the questioner to a correct understanding all the same. Indeed, there are even cases where remaining entirely silent achieves victory in reasoned debate — how much more so, then, when one has actually responded to the question, should this not be called an "answer" at all? Long ago, there was an outsider named Śāṇḍilya, brilliant and broadly learned, a great master of debate, who came to the country of Kashmir for the sake of engaging in philosophical disputation. At that time, in this country, there was an arhat named Vasula, accomplished in the three knowledges and the six supernormal powers, complete in the eight liberations, whose learning had thoroughly mastered both the Buddhist teaching and outside doctrines, and who dwelt constantly in the Pārijātaka forest. Śāṇḍilya, wishing to engage him in debate, came to where he dwelt, exchanged greetings, offered various courtesies, and sat down to one side, saying: "Monk, I wish to engage you in debate — venerable one, which of us shall state our thesis first?" Vasula said: "I am the long-standing resident here, and so I ought properly to state my thesis first — but since you have come from so far away and must be somewhat weary, please go ahead and state yours first, as you prefer." Śāṇḍilya then stated his thesis, saying: "every thesis put forward in debate admits of a rebuttal; only when one's own reasoning is exhausted does the debate itself come to an end." At this, Vasula simply remained silent. Śāṇḍilya and his disciples rose up joyfully, proclaiming: "this monk has now fallen into defeat!" Vasula then said to these disciples: "if your teacher is truly Śāṇḍilya, he will soon come to realize for himself who has actually fallen into defeat here." The disciples, hearing this, laughed in mockery, and followed their teacher out of the forest.

Śāṇḍilya, soon afterward, began to reflect: "why did that ascetic speak as he did?" — and he thereupon came to realize the truth himself: "I stated the thesis that every thesis put forward in debate admits of a rebuttal — and the monk's very silence was itself that rebuttal; it is I who have fallen into defeat, and I am now filled with the deepest shame." He said to his disciples: "the thesis I put forward has now, in fact, fallen into defeat — you must hasten back with me to confess and apologize." His disciples said: "how can this be called a defeat?" Śāṇḍilya then explained the whole matter to them in full. His disciples replied: "we have already returned before the assembled crowd as the victors — why should we now go back and confess, only to bring disgrace upon ourselves?" Their teacher replied: "I would rather accept an inferior position before a wise man than claim a false victory before fools" — and, with this, he returned together with his disciples into the forest.

Arriving before the Venerable One, he bowed at his feet and said: "venerable one, you have won — I have fallen into defeat. You are the teacher, and I am the disciple; from this day forward, I beg you to teach and guide me always." Thus, even mere silence can achieve victory in accordance with reason — how much more so, then, should an actual response to a question be denied the name of "answer" at all?

It is for this reason that all four kinds of response alike are called "answered."