The Dream of the Three Oceans

Does every mind that has become past thereby undergo decay? And so on, at length. One asks: why is this treatise composed? The answer: it is composed in order to refute other schools and to reveal the correct meaning — that is, there are those who hold that the past and the future possess no real substance at all, and that only the present is unconditioned — being confused and deluded with respect to the three time-periods, they give rise to such a position as this; this treatise, in order to refute that position, wishes to reveal that the past, the future, and the present are all genuinely existing conditioned dharmas. Further, there are certain outsiders who hold that, as a conditioned dharma operates across time, its own substance becomes concealed; there are certain outsiders who hold that, as a conditioned dharma operates across time, its own substance is transformed; and there are certain outsiders who hold that, as a conditioned dharma operates across time, its own substance simply departs — this treatise, in order to refute these positions, reveals that a conditioned dharma ceases before, and arises after, and it is for this reason that this treatise is composed. The decay of dharmas is, in brief, of two kinds: first, temporal decay; second, logical decay. Temporal decay refers to the fact that a dharma of the present, once it decays, is called "past" — this is temporal decay. Logical decay refers to a defiled dharma — every defiled dharma stands in opposition to correct principle, and it is for this reason that its decay is called "logical decay." A past defiled mind possesses both kinds of decay; an undefiled mind possesses only temporal decay; a future or present defiled mind possesses only logical decay; an undefiled mind is never spoken of as undergoing decay at all. This constitutes the brief exposition of this passage in the Vibhāṣā. Does every mind that has become past thereby undergo decay? The answer: every mind that has become past does indeed undergo decay — that is, a defiled mind, possessing both kinds of decay, is thereby called a mind that has undergone decay; an undefiled mind, possessing only temporal decay, is likewise called a mind that has undergone decay. Is there a mind that undergoes decay yet is not itself past? Yes — namely, a future or present mind associated with craving or hatred; such a mind, possessing only logical decay, is called a mind that has undergone decay. In order to establish this same meaning, the treatise further cites a sūtra passage: as the Blessed One has stated, "Monks, suppose you were seized by a hateful enemy or a bandit and sawn apart, limb by limb — you ought not, with respect to this, allow your mind to undergo decay, and you ought also to guard your speech, lest any evil word escape you; for, should your mind undergo decay, and should an evil word escape you, this would constitute a grave obstruction to what you yourselves seek."

This passage attests that a mind of hatred is called "undergoing decay." "Hateful enemy" refers to one who bears enmity; "bandit" refers to one who plunders. One asks: why does this passage speak only of being sawn apart, limb by limb? The answer: it is in order to reveal that this is capable of serving as the cause of manifold suffering — that is, when a blade or a spear wounds the body, there are cases where the pain comes upon entry but not upon withdrawal, and cases where the pain comes upon withdrawal but not upon entry; but when one is sawn, both the entry and the withdrawal of the blade bring pain. Even amid such extreme suffering as this, one ought not to give way to hatred — how much less, then, amid some lighter suffering, ought one give way to resentment! What one seeks for oneself is a wholesome destiny and nirvāṇa. Further, the Blessed One has stated: "Monks, toward the objects of the five wondrous desires, you ought not to give rise to a mind that undergoes decay" — this passage attests that a mind of craving, too, is called "undergoing decay." "The objects of the five wondrous desires" refers to the five wondrous sense-objects; "a mind that undergoes decay" here refers to a mind of lustful desire. One asks: if it is said that, when the present passes into the past, the present dharma is thereby called "temporally decayed," then, when the future passes into the present, why is the present dharma not likewise called "temporally decayed"? The answer: it is only once a dharma has already decayed, never to decay again, that it is called "temporally decayed"; a present dharma, once it decays, is due to decay yet again, and it is for this reason that it is not spoken of as "temporally decayed." Further, it is only when a dharma possesses both a temporal transition and the decay of its actual function that it is called "temporally decayed" —

the present, though it does possess a temporal transition, possesses no decay of its actual function, since a present dharma still possesses actual function, and it is for this reason that it is not called "temporally decayed." Further, it is what the world in common consents to call an already-vanished, already-ceased dharma that is called "temporally decayed," a term never applied to the present, and it is for this reason that the present is not temporal decay. One asks: every affliction whatsoever stands in opposition to correct principle — ought not every one, then, to be called "logical decay"? Why does this passage speak only of the minds associated with craving and hatred as "undergoing decay"? The answer: this is simply because the author of the treatise intended it so, and so on, at length. There are those who say: this passage, too, ought properly to speak of the minds associated with the other afflictions as "undergoing decay" as well, and that it does not so state should be understood as a matter of surplus meaning left implicit. There are others who say: one ought not to press this objection against the author of the treatise's own intent, since the author of the treatise composed this treatise in dependence on the sūtra —

and the sūtra speaks only of what is associated with craving and hatred as "undergoing decay," not of any other affliction, and it is for this reason that this passage does not speak of them. One asks: setting aside the author of the treatise, why does the Blessed One himself speak only of the mind associated with craving and hatred as "undergoing decay," and not of the others? The answer: the Buddha, observing those he was to transform, saw that, upon hearing the mind associated with craving and hatred called "undergoing decay," they would thereby attain awakening and accomplish what needed to be done, and it is for this reason that he spoke of these two, and not of the other afflictions. Further, the Buddha, observing the support and the object of these two kinds of decay, spoke of them in particular. As for the support of craving's decay: when craving manifests before one, the body thereby becomes soft, buoyant, and pleased. As for the object of craving's decay: when a beloved object manifests before one, the mind and mental factors, in their infatuation with it, become, with respect to their own support, as empty and insensate as an inanimate thing, and, with respect to a coarse and defiled object, come to perceive it as pure and wondrous. As for the support of hatred's decay: when hatred manifests before one, the body thereby becomes coarse, rigid, heavy, and haggard. As for the object of hatred's decay: when a detested object manifests before one, the mind and mental factors, in their aversion toward it, are unwilling even to face it, much less to look upon it, and, with respect to what is beautiful and wondrous, come to perceive it as vile and repugnant. Further, the Buddha, observing how these two kinds of decay alter one's own bodily color and form, spoke of them in particular. As for craving altering one's color: when craving manifests before one, it causes the body one depends upon to turn a sallow, yellowish color. As for altering one's form: when a predominant craving manifests again and again, a male form may fade away and a female form emerge in its place. As for hatred altering one's color: when hatred manifests before one, it causes the body one depends upon to turn to some other, altered color. As for altering one's form: when a predominant hatred manifests again and again, a human form may fade away and a serpent's form emerge in its place — it is related that there was once a certain heterodox follower of the Nirgrantha sect who, though he had gone forth from household life in dependence on the Buddha, had not relinquished his own former views; when the Buddha's own disciples spoke of the manifold faults within his teaching, a heavy hatred arose in him, and, through this hatred, he was transformed into a venomous serpent. Further, the Buddha, observing how these two kinds of decay alter one's own stage of life and one's own class of being, spoke of them in particular. As for craving altering one's stage of life: through the power of craving, one speaks of the distinctions among men and women, young, middle-aged, and old. As for altering one's class of being: as the Blessed One has stated, there exists a class of desire-realm gods called "those forgetful in play," who, indulging in the pleasures of play to the point of extreme fatigue, thereby lose their own mindfulness, and, through this loss of mindfulness, thereupon perish. As for hatred altering one's stage of life: through the power of hatred, one likewise speaks of the distinctions among men and women, young, middle-aged, and old. As for altering one's class of being: as the Blessed One has stated, there exists a class of desire-realm gods called "those enraged in mind," who, in their fury, glare at one another eye to eye, and, through this mutual glaring, their fury only grows the greater, until, after a long while, they thereupon perish. Further, the Buddha, observing that these two kinds of decay harm both one's own and another's body, and one's own and another's possessions, more than any other affliction, spoke of them in particular. Further, the Buddha, observing that these two are capable of giving rise to every manner of fault, both agreeable and disagreeable, more than any other affliction, spoke of them in particular. Further, the Buddha, observing that these two are the very root of contention and strife, more than any other affliction, spoke of them in particular. Further, every manner of grave and weighty fault in the world arises, for the most part, from love and hatred, and it is for this reason that this passage speaks of them in particular. Further, the latent tendencies of these two pervade all six consciousnesses, arising through their own power alone, and it is for this reason that this passage speaks of them in particular. Further, the latent tendencies of these two are the very root of every affliction of joy and sorrow, and are further able to give rise to and increase every manner of fault and suffering with respect to the body and mind one depends upon, and it is for this reason that this passage speaks of them in particular. Does every mind attached in defilement thereby undergo decay? And so on, at length. One asks: why is this treatise further composed? The answer: the foregoing has stated that one ought not to give rise to craving toward the objects of the five wondrous desires, and ought not to give rise to hatred toward being sawn apart limb by limb — lest one suppose that it is only the craving and hatred abandoned by cultivation, belonging to the desire realm alone, that are called "undergoing decay," this treatise now wishes to reveal that the craving belonging to all three realms, and the craving and hatred belonging to all five sections, are alike called "undergoing decay," and it is for this reason that this treatise is composed. Does every mind attached in defilement thereby undergo decay? The answer: every mind attached in defilement does indeed undergo decay — that is, a past such mind, through both kinds of decay, is thereby called a mind that has undergone decay; a future or present such mind, through logical decay alone, is thereby called a mind that has undergone decay. Is there a mind that undergoes decay yet is not itself attached in defilement? Yes — namely, a past mind not associated with craving:

if it is defiled, then, through both kinds of decay, it is called a mind that has undergone decay; if it is undefiled, then, through temporal decay alone, it is called a mind that has undergone decay — and likewise a future or present mind associated with hatred, which, through logical decay alone, is called a mind that has undergone decay. In order to establish this same meaning, the treatise further cites a sūtra passage, as the Blessed One has stated: "Monks, suppose you were seized by a hateful enemy," and so on, at length, up through "this would constitute a grave obstruction to what you yourselves seek." This passage, speaking briefly, speaks only of "attachment," yet ought likewise to speak of "a mind of aversion." Does every mind of aversion thereby undergo decay? The answer: every mind of aversion does indeed undergo decay — that is, a past such mind, through both kinds of decay, is thereby called a mind that has undergone decay; a future or present such mind, through logical decay alone, is thereby called a mind that has undergone decay. Is there a mind that undergoes decay yet is not itself a mind of aversion?

Yes — namely, a past mind not associated with hatred: if it is defiled, then, through both kinds of decay, it is called a mind that has undergone decay; if it is undefiled, then, through temporal decay alone, it is called a mind that has undergone decay — and likewise a future or present mind associated with craving, which, through logical decay alone, is called a mind that has undergone decay. In order to establish this same meaning, one ought likewise to cite the sūtra: as the Blessed One has stated, "Monks, toward the objects of the five wondrous desires, you ought not to give rise to a mind that undergoes decay." Although every defiled mind whatsoever is indeed called "undergoing decay," for the reasons already stated above, this passage speaks only of these two kinds in particular. What is restlessness? And so on, at length. One asks: why is this treatise composed? The answer: it is composed in order to bring those in doubt to a settled resolution — that is, the Blessed One has stated that restlessness and worry are together established as a single hindrance, and there are those who thereby give rise to the doubt that, apart from restlessness, there could be no worry, and, apart from worry, there could be no restlessness; this treatise now wishes to bring this doubt to a settled resolution, revealing that there exists worry apart from restlessness, and restlessness apart from worry, and it is for this reason that this treatise is composed. What is restlessness? The answer: whatever mind that is not tranquil, that does not come to rest, that is light and hasty, restless and agitated — the mind's own character of agitation — this is called restlessness. This treatise's own author, being skilled in the various wordings of the meaning, expresses this through a variety of wordings, though its substance is not thereby distinct. What is worry? The answer: whatever mind that is scorched, remorseful, and altered by regret — the mind's own character of retrospective regret — this is called worry; the meaning of these names is as explained above. Is every mind that possesses restlessness thereby associated with worry? The answer: this ought to be set out in four alternatives, since these two possess a mutual relation of broader and narrower scope. There is a mind that possesses restlessness yet is not associated with worry —

namely, a mind possessing the character of agitation without possessing worry — that is, every defiled mind belonging to the five sections of the form and formless realms, and, within the desire realm, the mind belonging to the four sections abandoned by seeing, together with the defiled five sense-consciousnesses abandoned by cultivation, and the defiled mental consciousness not associated with worry. There is a mind that possesses worry yet is not associated with restlessness — namely, an undefiled mind possessing the character of retrospective regret; monks and the like who guard the rules of training frequently possess such a mind — as when, having ought to gather up a bed or a bench and the like, one fails to gather it up, or, having ought to close a door, fails to close it, and the like; this may occur with reference to either merit or demerit. Within this, worry, taken as a whole, comprises four alternatives: first, worry that is wholesome, arising with respect to an unwholesome matter; second, worry that is unwholesome, arising with respect to a wholesome matter; third, worry that is wholesome, arising with respect to a wholesome matter; fourth, worry that is unwholesome, arising with respect to an unwholesome matter. As for the first alternative: this is as when someone, having committed some evil deed, gives rise, in his heart, to retrospective regret, thinking, "what I have done was not well done — for what reason did I commit this unwholesome deed?" — as when monks and the like who guard the rules of training, having transgressed in some matter, give rise to remorseful regret. As for the second alternative: this is as when someone, having performed some wholesome deed, gives rise, in his heart, to retrospective regret, thinking, "what I have done was not well done — for what reason did I perform this useless deed?" — as when a certain eminent householder, having given food to a pratyekabuddha, gave rise, in his heart, to retrospective regret, thinking, "I would rather have given this food to my own servants and slaves — why, then, did I give it to that shaven-headed ascetic?" As for the third alternative: this is as when someone, having performed but a small wholesome deed, gives rise, in his heart, to retrospective regret, thinking, "what I have done was not well done — why did I not do more of this wholesome deed?" — as when the Venerable Aniruddha said, "had I known he possessed such majestic virtue, I ought to have given him more — why did I give him so little?" As for the fourth alternative: this is as when someone, having committed but a small evil deed, gives rise, in his heart, to retrospective regret, thinking, "what I have done was not well done — why did I not do more of this deed?" — as when a butcher and the like, having committed but a small evil deed, regrets not having done more. Among these four alternatives, the first and the third are called worry not associated with restlessness. There is a mind that possesses restlessness and is also associated with worry — namely, a defiled mind possessing the character of retrospective regret; it is precisely the second and fourth alternatives among the four just given that are spoken of here. One asks: why does this passage not speak of "a mind possessing the character of agitation that possesses the character of retrospective regret," but instead speaks only of "a defiled mind possessing the character of retrospective regret"? The answer: it is simply that a defiled mind necessarily possesses the character of agitation, and this need not be separately stated — were it stated as "a mind possessing the character of agitation," one might then doubt whether, among defiled minds, there could exist some lacking this character of agitation, and it is for this reason that this passage speaks only of "a defiled mind." It is precisely for this same reason that the earlier second alternative speaks of "an undefiled mind possessing the character of retrospective regret," without stating "lacking the character of agitation," since this, too, need not be separately stated — were it stated as "a mind lacking the character of agitation possessing the character of retrospective regret," one might then doubt whether an undefiled mind might sometimes possess the character of agitation, and it is for this reason that the earlier passage speaks only of "an undefiled mind." There is a mind that possesses neither restlessness nor is associated with worry — namely, whatever remains apart from the foregoing. Here, the naming in this passage is expressed through the language of "characteristic." Whatever dharma has already been named and already been spoken of is included in the first three alternatives; whatever has not yet been named and not yet been spoken of forms the fourth alternative, and it is for this reason that the passage speaks of "whatever remains apart from the foregoing." What does this mean? Within the aggregate of consciousness, these four alternatives are formed as follows: the first alternative takes a mind without worry but with restlessness; the second alternative takes a mind without restlessness but with worry; the third alternative takes a mind with both restlessness and worry; and, excepting these, every remaining mind, possessing neither restlessness nor worry, forms the fourth alternative. What is torpor? And so on, at length. One asks: why is this treatise composed? The answer: it is composed in order to bring those in doubt to a settled resolution — that is, as the Blessed One has stated, torpor and drowsiness are together established as a single hindrance, and there are those who thereby give rise to the doubt that, apart from torpor, there could be no drowsiness, and, apart from drowsiness, there could be no torpor; this treatise now wishes to bring this doubt to a settled resolution, revealing that there exists drowsiness apart from torpor, and torpor apart from drowsiness, and it is for this reason that this treatise is composed. What is torpor? The answer: whatever heaviness of the body there is, whatever heaviness of the mind there is, whatever lack of pliancy in the body there is, whatever lack of pliancy in the mind there is, whatever dullness of the body there is, whatever dullness of the mind there is, whatever oppression of the body there is, whatever oppression of the mind there is, and the mind's own character of heavy dullness — this is called torpor. This treatise's own author, being skilled in the various wordings of the meaning, expresses this through a variety of wordings, though its substance is not thereby distinct. "Heaviness of the body" reveals torpor associated with the five sense-consciousnesses; "heaviness of the mind" reveals torpor associated with mental consciousness — and every remaining clause should be understood in just the same way. "The mind's own character of heavy dullness" reveals that all of these alike belong to the nature of a mental factor. What is drowsiness? The answer: whatever mind that operates in a state of dull and faint torpor, the mind's own character of dimness and abbreviation — this is called the mind of drowsiness. "Mind" reveals that this stands in association solely with mental consciousness; "operates in a state of dull and faint torpor" reveals that this differs both from the waking state and from a mindless concentration; "the mind's own character of dimness and abbreviation" reveals that its own inherent nature is that of a mental factor.

"Abbreviation" here specifically excludes association with the five sense-consciousnesses; "dimness" excludes the various concentrations and the discriminating mental faculty. Is every mind that possesses torpor thereby associated with drowsiness? The answer: this ought to be set out in four alternatives, since these two possess a mutual relation of broader and narrower scope. There is a mind that possesses torpor yet is not associated with drowsiness — namely, a mind possessing the character of torpor without possessing drowsiness — that is, every defiled mind of the form and formless realms, and every defiled mind of the desire realm during waking. There is a mind that possesses drowsiness yet is not associated with torpor — namely, an undefiled mind possessing the character of drowsiness — that is, mental consciousness of the desire realm, wholesome or non-obstructive indeterminate, associated with drowsiness. There is a mind that possesses torpor and is also associated with drowsiness — namely, a defiled mind possessing the character of drowsiness —

that is, mental consciousness of the desire realm, defiled, associated with drowsiness; the question and answer here should be understood exactly as stated above in the discussion of restlessness and worry. There is a mind that possesses neither torpor nor is associated with drowsiness — namely, whatever remains apart from the foregoing. Here, the naming in this passage is expressed through the language of "characteristic." Whatever dharma has already been named and already been spoken of is included in the first three alternatives; whatever has not yet been named and not yet been spoken of forms the fourth alternative, and it is for this reason that the passage speaks of "whatever remains apart from the foregoing." What does this mean? Within the aggregate of consciousness, these four alternatives are formed as follows: the first takes a mind with torpor but without drowsiness; the second alternative takes a mind with drowsiness but without torpor; the third alternative takes a mind with both torpor and drowsiness; and, excepting these, every remaining mind, possessing neither torpor nor drowsiness, forms the fourth alternative.

Ought drowsiness to be called wholesome? And so on, at length. One asks: why is this treatise composed? The answer: the foregoing has already stated that the mind of drowsiness takes dimness and abbreviation as its own nature,

without yet stating whether it is wholesome, unwholesome, or indeterminate; this treatise now wishes to state this, and it is for this reason that this treatise is composed. Ought drowsiness to be called wholesome, unwholesome, or indeterminate? The answer: drowsiness ought to be said to be, in some cases, wholesome, in others, unwholesome, and in others, indeterminate — that is, at the time of sleep, the mind and its mental factors are of three kinds. What is wholesome drowsiness? It is a wholesome mind that, during sleep, operates in a state of dull and faint torpor, the mind's own character of dimness and abbreviation — that is, because one has, during one's waking hours, habitually practiced wholesome matters, this habitual practice likewise continues its operation within the dream of sleep, exactly as, when in one's original state of existence one has habitually practiced wholesome matters, this same habitual practice continues its operation within the state of dying, or within the intermediate state — so too is it here. One asks: is the wholesome dharma that arises within this dream of sleep gained through preparatory effort, or innately obtained at birth? The answer: it is solely innately obtained at birth, since it operates in a state of dimness. There are other masters who say: it may also be gained through preparatory effort, since it is capable of discriminating even the meaning of what is read and heard. What is unwholesome drowsiness? It is an unwholesome mind that, during sleep, operates in a state of dull and faint torpor, the mind's own character of dimness and abbreviation — that is, because one has, during one's waking hours, habitually practiced unwholesome matters, this habitual practice likewise continues its operation within the dream of sleep, exactly as, when in one's original state of existence one has habitually practiced unwholesome matters, this same habitual practice continues its operation within the state of dying, or within the intermediate state — so too is it here. One asks: is the unwholesome dharma that arises within this dream of sleep abandoned by seeing, or abandoned by cultivation? The answer: it extends to both. What is indeterminate drowsiness? It is an indeterminate mind that, during sleep, operates in a state of dull and faint torpor, the mind's own character of dimness and abbreviation — that is, because one has, during one's waking hours, habitually practiced indeterminate matters, this habitual practice likewise continues its operation within the dream of sleep, exactly as, when in one's original state of existence one has habitually practiced indeterminate matters, this same habitual practice continues its operation within the state of dying, or within the intermediate state — so too is it here. One asks: is the indeterminate arising within this dream of sleep obstructive, or non-obstructive? The answer: both kinds exist. The obstructive indeterminate refers to drowsiness associated with the desire realm's own views of the perishable aggregation of self, and the extreme views associated with them; the non-obstructive indeterminate refers to that belonging to the categories of deportment, craftsmanship, and mere ripening, but not to the fruit of any supernormal faculty.

"Deportment" refers to a case in which, within a dream, one supposes oneself to be walking, and the like. "Craftsmanship" refers to a case in which, within a dream, one supposes oneself to be painting, and the like. "Mere ripening" refers to a case in which every other kind of indeterminate operation, apart from those already mentioned, arises within a dream. There are other masters who say: it is only the mere-ripening kind that is non-obstructive indeterminate within sleep, since the mind, being dull and dim, does not give rise to bodily or verbal action, and therefore possesses neither the nature of deportment nor of craftsmanship.

Ought merit to be said to grow within a dream? And so on, at length. One asks: why is this treatise composed? The answer: the foregoing has already stated that drowsiness extends to the wholesome, the unwholesome, and the indeterminate, without yet stating whether merit and the like grow within a dream; this treatise now wishes to state this, and it is for this reason that this treatise is composed. Ought it to be said that, within a dream, merit grows,

or that demerit grows, or that neither merit nor demerit grows? The answer: it ought to be said that, within a dream, merit may grow, or demerit may grow, or neither merit nor demerit may grow. In certain contexts, "attainment" is spoken of as "growth"; in certain contexts, "arising" is spoken of as "growth." In what context is "attainment" spoken of as "growth"? As the Concentration Nyāsa states: why is it that, when an ordinary being retrogresses, both the fetters abandoned by seeing and those abandoned by cultivation grow, while, when a disciple of the Blessed One retrogresses, only the fetters abandoned by cultivation grow? — that passage speaks of "attainment" as "growth." In what context is "arising" spoken of as "growth"? As the Prajñaptiśāstra states: when an ordinary being's latent tendency of desire-realm craving arises, five dharmas necessarily arise together with it: first, the latent tendency of desire-realm craving; second, the growth and arising of the latent tendency of desire-realm craving; third, the latent tendency of ignorance; fourth, the growth and arising of the latent tendency of ignorance; fifth, restlessness — that passage speaks of "arising" as "growth." Here, this passage speaks of the intentional karma that draws forth a desired or undesired fruit, and the like, as "growth," since it is this that is able to draw forth its corresponding fruit. As for merit growing: this refers to a case in which, within a dream, one gives alms, performs meritorious deeds, upholds a fast, or continues in the operation of some other meritorious matter. How does this come about? It is because, in accordance with the power of one's own waking resolute conviction, the dream continues to resemble the operation of that same wholesome matter — exactly as, during one's waking hours, drawing on the power of a resolute conviction habituated by the frequent taking of an object that draws a desired fruit, the dream thereafter continues to resemble what was done then. That is, if, during one's waking hours, one delights in the practice of giving — whether food and drink, or clothing, bedding, medicine, dwelling, and the like — bestowing these upon others, then, through the power of the resolute conviction habituated by this practice, the dream continues to resemble what was done then. If, during one's waking hours, one delights in performing meritorious deeds — diligently attending to matters concerning the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Saṅgha, or roads and bridges, gardens and groves, flowers and fruit, ponds, or rest-houses for the meritorious — or delights in visiting the sick and attending upon those of virtue, or in managing a great quinquennial assembly and other such meritorious matters, then, through the power of the resolute conviction habituated by this practice, the dream continues to resemble what was done then. If, during one's waking hours, one upholds the eight-precept fast and the various restraining precepts — the formal restraints of monks and the other seven assemblies — then, through the power of the resolute conviction habituated by this practice, the dream continues to resemble what was done then. If, during one's waking hours, one delights in reciting, hearing, questioning, expounding, transmitting, reflecting upon, and discerning the wording and meaning of the three collections of scripture, then, through the power of the resolute conviction habituated by this practice, the dream continues to resemble what was done then. If, during one's waking hours, one cultivates the contemplation of impurity, or mindfulness of breathing, the four establishments of mindfulness, and other such contemplative practices, then, through the power of the resolute conviction habituated by this practice, the dream continues to resemble what was cultivated then. It is through the power of resolute conviction such as this that meritorious karma, too, is able to grow within a dream. As for demerit growing: this refers to a case in which, within a dream, one takes life, takes what is not given, engages in sexual misconduct, speaks falsely, or drinks liquor, or continues in the operation of some other kind of demerit. How does this come about? It is because, in accordance with the power of one's own waking evil resolute conviction, the dream continues to resemble the operation of that same evil matter.

Exactly as, during one's waking hours, one draws an undesired fruit — that is, if, during one's waking hours, one delights in harming the life of others, as with a butcher of sheep, or takes what is not given, as with a robber, or engages in sexual misconduct, as with an adulterer, or deliberately speaks falsely, as with one who bears false witness, or drinks liquor, as with one addicted to wine, or engages in beating, cursing, slander, buffoonery, singing, the eating of flesh and the drinking of blood, indulgence in the five desires, the increase of contempt toward the Three Jewels, arrogance, wrong view, envy, and the like — then, through the power of the resolute conviction habituated by such practices, the dream continues to resemble what was done then,

and it is for this reason that, within a dream, various kinds of demerit, too, are able to grow. As for neither merit nor demerit growing: this refers to a case in which, within a dream, something that is neither merit nor demerit continues in operation. How does this come about? It is because, in accordance with the power of one's own waking resolute conviction, neither wholesome nor unwholesome, the dream continues to resemble that same matter — exactly as, during one's waking hours, one draws a fruit that is neither desired nor undesired, and this, too, is called "growth" — that is, if, during one's waking hours, one engages in matters of deportment or of craftsmanship, or in farming, planting, carrying burdens, and the like, then, through the power of the resolute conviction habituated by such practices, the dream continues to resemble what was done then, and it is for this reason that, within a dream, what is neither merit nor demerit, too, is able to grow. One asks: if merit does indeed grow within a dream, then why has the Buddha stated that a foolish person's sleep yields no ripened fruit? The answer: just as a person, during his waking hours, is able to perform every manner of farming and planting and the like, yet is unable to do so while asleep, so too, during his waking hours, is he able to cultivate every manner of superior wholesome karma — reciting, hearing, expounding, and transmitting the Dharma, discerning its wording and meaning, cultivating the contemplation of impurity, mindfulness of breathing, and the individual and combined establishments of mindfulness, the aids to penetration, entering correct and determined progress, and attaining the fruit of a stream-enterer, up through the fruit of arhatship, or further cultivating superior karma leading to rebirth among humans or gods — none of which he is able to accomplish while asleep, and it is for this reason that it is said that sleep yields no ripened fruit. It is on this basis that the Venerable Vasumitra has stated: the fruit of meritorious karma performed during sleep is slight, and it is for this reason that it is said to yield "no fruit" — not that it yields absolutely none whatsoever. One asks: if demerit does indeed grow within a dream, then why has the Buddha stated that one ought rather to sleep than to give rise to evil thoughts? The answer: it is because, during one's waking hours, one repeatedly gives rise to every manner of predominant evil thought, whereas, while asleep, one does not, and it is for this reason that the Buddha spoke as he did — it is not meant that every kind of demerit whatsoever fails to grow within a dream. One asks: is wholesome or unwholesome karma performed within a dream capable of drawing forth the class of homogeneous being? The answer: it is not, since it is only clear and manifest karma that is capable of drawing forth the class of homogeneous being, and dream-karma, being dim and faint, is not of this kind. There are those who say: it is indeed capable —

that is, it is capable of drawing forth the dim and inferior class of homogeneous being belonging to such creatures as grubs and earthworms, though not any superior class of being. The verdict: that position ought not to be maintained; the earlier position is to be preferred. During sleep, one is able only to accomplish karma that is fully complete in itself, not karma that draws forth a new rebirth, since it operates entirely under the sway of another power, its own nature being dim and inferior; one nonetheless attains, through it, the ripened fruit of the five aggregates of the desire realm. What dharma is called "dream"? And so on, at length. One asks: why is this treatise composed? The answer: although the foregoing has already spoken of the function of dreams, it has not yet spoken of a dream's own inherent nature; this treatise now wishes to speak of this. Further, it is composed in order to refute other schools and to reveal the correct meaning — that is, there are those who hold that a dream possesses no real existence at all, as the Dārṣṭāntikas maintain, who say as follows: within a dream, one sees oneself eating and drinking one's fill, every faculty sated and content, yet, upon waking, one is hungry and thirsty, one's bodily strength utterly depleted; within a dream, one sees oneself surrounded by one's own kinsfolk, the five kinds of music playing, delighting and reveling in pleasure, yet, upon waking, none of this exists at all, and one dwells alone, sorrowful and wasted; within a dream, one sees oneself surrounded by four divisions of an army, rushing about east and west, yet, upon waking, all is calm and undisturbed — and from this, they say, it should be known that a dream possesses no real existence. This treatise, in order to refute that position, wishes to reveal that a dream does indeed truly exist — for, were a dream not real, this would directly contradict the sūtras. As the sūtra states: while I was still a bodhisattva, in the course of a single night, I had five great dreams. And the sūtra further states: King Prasenajit, in the course of a single night, had ten great dreams. The Vinaya states: King Kṛkin, in the course of a single night, had fourteen dreams. And the sūtra further states that the mother of Nandika came to the Buddha and said: my husband, having broken the precepts, has since died, and, in a dream by night, his former self appeared and said to me, "you are my wife — let us take up our former affair together"; yet, O Blessed One, at that time, I harbored not the slightest thought of complying, not even for a single moment, with his mind. The Buddha told her: excellent, excellent — you are one who has attained the fruit of a non-returner; how, then, could you possibly be defiled by such a matter of desire? And the sūtra further states: you ought to cut off the dharma that is like a dream — what is this dharma? It refers to the five aggregates subject to grasping. And a further verse states:

"Like the person one has met within a dream, once awake, one sees him no more; once one who was beloved has died, one likewise sees him no more" — were a dream not real, this would directly contradict what is stated in these passages, and it is on account of these causes and conditions that this treatise is composed. What dharma is called "dream"? The answer: whatever mind and mental factors, during sleep, operate with respect to an object, such that, once awake, one recollects them in due course, and is able to relate to another, "I have dreamt of such and such a matter" — this is called a dream. One asks: if what is seen in a dream is not recollected once awake, or, even if recollected, one is unable to relate it to another, is this, too, a dream, or not? The answer: this, too, is indeed a dream, merely not a complete one; what is complete is precisely what this passage describes. One asks: what does a dream take as its own nature? The answer: it takes precisely the mind and mental factors present during the dream as its own nature. There are those who say: it takes mind alone as its own nature, since it is through the power of mind that the mental factors operate, taking the dream's own object. There are other masters who say: it takes mindfulness alone as its own nature, since it is through the power of mindfulness that, once awake, one recollects it in due course and is able to relate it to another. There are others who say:

it takes the five aggregates subject to grasping as its own nature, since, during a dream, every aggregate mutually supports the others in bringing about the matter of the dream. There are yet others who say: it takes all dharmas as its own nature, since all of these alike serve as objects for the dreaming mind. The verdict: although each of these various positions carries a certain sense, the first position stated is, in principle, to be preferred, since this passage states that whatever mind and mental factors, during sleep, operate with respect to an object — this reveals that, when, during sleep, the mind and mental factors operate clearly and distinctly with respect to their object, this is called a dream, and this passage does not speak of anything else. One asks: a dream belongs to the mental ground, not to the five sense-consciousness bodies — how, then, can one see visible form and the like within a dream? There are those who say: it is various spirits who first show a person signs of what is auspicious or inauspicious to come — though these belong to the mental ground, they nonetheless take visible form and the like as their object. The Venerable Ghoṣa states as follows: within a dream, one is, by the very nature of things, able to see signs of what is auspicious or inauspicious to come; those who have penetrated the matter of dreams have composed treatises on dream-interpretation. Various sages have made statements of this kind. The Great Virtuous One says: although, within a dream, there exists no eye-consciousness or other of the five sense-consciousnesses capable of seeing visible form and the like, it is nonetheless through the mental ground, its waking power grown feeble in sleep, that one dreams of seeing visible form and the like — exactly as with the dream-matter seen by the mother of Nandika. The Venerable Vasumitra states as follows: it is through five causes and conditions that one sees the matters one dreams of, as the verse states:

"Through doubt and anxiety, through habitual practice, through discrimination, through what one has previously undergone, and through the influence of one not human — such are the five conditions of dreams, to be known." The Āyurveda scriptures state as follows: it is through seven causes and conditions that one dreams of seeing visible form and the like, as the verse states:

"Through what was formerly seen, heard, or experienced, through hope and longing, and through discrimination, through what is yet to come, and through various illnesses — such are the seven conditions of dreams, to be known." One ought to state the five conditions through which the matters of a dream are seen: first, through the influence of another — that is, when gods, sages, spirits, demons, incantations, medicinal herbs, or the thoughts of a close friend, or the noble and worthy, exert their influence, one thereby dreams; second, through what one has previously undergone — that is, matters formerly seen, heard, felt, or known, or various affairs formerly practiced and habituated, are now dreamt of; third, through what is yet to come — that is, when some auspicious or inauspicious matter is about to occur, its sign, by the very nature of things, is first seen within a dream; fourth, through discrimination — that is, when one reflects, longs for, or feels doubt and anxiety, one thereupon dreams of it; fifth, through various illnesses — that is, when any of the great elements falls out of harmony, one accordingly dreams of matters corresponding to whatever has become excessive. One asks: in which realm, destiny, or place does this dreaming occur? The answer: dreaming exists within the desire realm, not within the form or formless realms, since these latter possess no sleep. Within the desire realm, there are those who say: dreaming exists among the four destinies, excepting only the hells, since beings there, oppressed by suffering, possess no sleep. Yet it ought to be said that even the hells may well admit the possibility of dreaming — as the Prajñaptiśāstra states, within the hell of repeated revival, although beings are scorched by heat, their flesh and bones charred and rotted, there are times when a cool wind blows upon them, or when, through the hell-wardens' own proclamation of "revive," they are thereby restored to life, their flesh and bones regenerated, their suffering feeling briefly stilled, giving rise to a slight pleasure — and it is thereby known that sleep, too, may well be possible there, and, on this account, dreaming as well. One asks: what kind of person is capable of dreaming? The answer: both ordinary beings and noble ones alike are able to dream; among noble ones, from the fruit of stream-entry up through the fruit of arhatship, and pratyekabuddhas as well, all alike are able to dream — excepting only the Blessed One. Why is this so? A dream resembles a distortion, and the Buddha has already permanently exhausted every habitual trace of every distortion whatsoever, and it is for this reason that he does not dream — exactly as, during his waking hours, his mind and mental factors operate free of any distortion, so too during sleep. One asks: does the Buddha, too, then, sleep?

The answer: he does. How is this known to be so? Because the sūtra states it. As the sūtra states: certain disciples of the Nirgrantha came to where the Buddha was, and asked him, saying: Gautama the Honored One, do you have sleep, or not? The Blessed One told them: you should know, O fire-worshippers, that, when I am extremely fatigued, in order to relieve the discomfort of digestion, I do briefly sleep. They further said to the Buddha: there is a certain kind of ascetic or brahmin in the world who says as follows: whoever has sleep is thereby foolish and deluded — Gautama the Honored One, is this perhaps not so with you? The Blessed One told them: if one, with respect to the contaminants, defilement, future existence, and the suffering fruit of birth, aging, sickness, and death, has not yet cut them off, has not yet fully understood them, and yet sleeps, such a one may indeed be called foolish and deluded; but the Buddha, with respect to the contaminants, defilement, future existence, and the suffering fruit of birth, aging, sickness, and death, has already cut them off, has already fully understood them — and it is for this reason that, though he does sleep, he is not called foolish and deluded. Sleep, however, is, in brief, of two kinds: first, defiled; second, undefiled. The defiled kind, the Buddha, pratyekabuddhas, and arhats have already cut off and fully understood; the undefiled kind serves the purpose of regulating the body, and continues to manifest even before every buddha, how much more so before others. And it is thereby known that the buddhas, too, do indeed sleep. Sleep is therefore found across all five destinies, and within the intermediate state as well; even those still within the womb or the egg, once their faculties and bodily parts are already complete, likewise possess sleep. One asks: are the matters one sees within a dream things one has previously undergone, or not? Suppose either is granted — what fault would follow? If they are things previously undergone, then how could one dream of a horned man, since one has surely never at any time seen a man with horns? And how, further, is what the sūtra states to be reconciled? As it is stated: while the Bodhisattva was still in the world, in the course of a single night, he had five great dreams. First, he dreamt that he lay upon the great earth, his head pillowed upon Mount Sumeru, the king of mountains, his right hand stirring the great western ocean, his left hand stirring the great eastern ocean, and his two feet stirring the great southern ocean. Second, he dreamt that there existed an auspicious grass called "firm and unyielding," which emerged from his own navel, growing gradually taller and larger, until it pervaded and covered the whole of the sky. Third, he dreamt that there existed various insects and birds, their bodies white and their heads black, which clung to the Bodhisattva's own feet, climbing all the way up to his knees, before falling back down again. Fourth, he dreamt that there existed four birds of four different colors, which came from the four directions to where the Bodhisattva was, and all became of a single color. Fifth, he dreamt that he walked back and forth upon a mountain of filth and refuse, yet was not defiled by it. In what place could the Bodhisattva ever have previously undergone such matters as these, that he should dream of them? And if the matters of a dream are not things previously undergone, then how could the Bodhisattva be said to be free of distortion? There are those who say: the matters seen within a dream are all things previously undergone. One asks: if so, then how could one dream of a horned man, since one has surely never at any time seen a man with horns? The answer: during his waking hours, he saw a man in one place, and saw a horn in another place; within the confused and disordered state of the dream, these are seen as belonging to a single place, and it is for this reason that there is no fault in this. Further, within the great ocean, there exists a certain beast resembling a man, with a horn upon its head, which he has, at some time, previously seen — and he now dreams of it once again, since, within the great ocean, there pervasively exist forms belonging to every class of sentient being, and it is for this reason that it is called "the great ocean." One asks: how, then, are the Bodhisattva's five dreams to be reconciled — could the Bodhisattva possibly have previously undergone such matters as these? The answer: to have "previously undergone" something is of two kinds:

first, to have previously seen it; second, to have previously heard of it. Although the Bodhisattva had never previously seen such matters as these, he had previously heard of them, and it is for this reason that he now dreamt of them. One asks: when did the Bodhisattva ever hear of such matters as these? The answer: he had, in a past life, cultivated the pure conduct within the teaching of a former buddha, and that buddha, too, had once dreamt of these same matters, and had expounded them for his own disciples — and it is on account of having once heard this that he now dreamt of them. There are those who say: the people of the very beginning of this eon likewise had dreams of these same matters, and this was passed down through their own report, from which the Bodhisattva came to hear of it — and it is on this account that he now, in turn, dreamt of it once more. There are yet others who say: the matters seen within a dream need not necessarily be things previously undergone. One asks: if so, then how could the Bodhisattva be said to be free of distortion? The answer: this was itself the very portent foretelling his unsurpassed, perfect enlightenment, and is therefore not to be subsumed under the category of distortion. One asks: who composed the various books of dream-interpretation? The answer: they were composed by sages, who, through the power of the knowledge that recollects former abodes, called to mind past matters and, on this basis, composed these books. One asks: that knowledge is incapable of observing the realm of the future — observing the realm of the future is rather the province of the knowledge of aspiration, which they do not possess — how, then, could they have been able to compose books foretelling future matters through dreams? The answer: it is through inferential knowledge that they came to know future dream-matters — that is, seeing that, in the past, such and such a dream was followed by such and such a fruit, and that the present is likewise so, they thereby inferred that, in the future, such and such a dream would likewise be followed by such and such a fruit — and it is on this basis that they were able to compose these various books of dream-interpretation. There are those who say: these sages, too, had attained the wondrous knowledge of aspiration, and were thus able to compose these books for the sake of sentient beings, so that they might avoid danger and calamity. One asks: which is the greater in scope — the objects reached by dreams, or the objects reached by the knowledge that recollects former abodes?

The answer: the objects reached by dreams are the greater, exceeding even the objects reached by the knowledge that recollects former abodes belonging to the fourth dhyāna. Why is this so? The knowledge that recollects former abodes belonging to the fourth dhyāna is able to recollect only as far back as three incalculable eons, whereas a dream is able to know matters spanning countless upon countless great eons. One asks: is there a case in which, without entering into meditative absorption, and without giving rise to any supernormal wisdom whatsoever, one is nonetheless able to know matters spanning countless upon countless great eons? The answer: there is — namely, a dream. One asks: as the Blessed One has stated, "you ought to cut off the dharma that is like a dream" — what is this dharma? It refers to the five aggregates subject to grasping. One asks: why are the aggregates subject to grasping spoken of as being "like a dream"? The answer: because they possess the nature of a single instant; because they do not abide for long; because they deceive sentient beings; because they are dharmas subject to ruin and decay; because they possess the nature of falsehood; and because they are difficult ever to satisfy — it is for these reasons that they are spoken of as being "like a dream."