The Great Final Nirvāṇa (I)

Buddhacarita, Chapter Twenty-Six: The Great Final Nirvāṇa

At that time there was a brahmin named Subhadra, complete in every virtue, keeping the pure precepts to protect all sentient beings.

In his youth he had held to a mistaken view, and had gone forth as an ascetic of a heterodox school; wishing now to see the World-Honored One, he said to Ānanda: "I have heard that the Tathāgata's teaching is of a meaning so profound it cannot be fathomed — the very unsurpassed awakened one of this world, foremost among all who master and guide others.

Now that he is about to enter final nirvāṇa, an encounter such as this can hardly be met with again; hard indeed to see, and hard, once seen, to truly grasp, like the moon reflected in a mirror.

I wish now to pay reverent visit to this unsurpassed and excellent guide, seeking freedom from every suffering, and to cross to the far shore beyond birth and death.

The sun of the Buddha is about to set its own light — I beg you to let me see him, if only for a moment."

Ānanda, his own feelings still raw with grief, and suspecting besides that this might be some attempt at mere philosophical debate, or perhaps even someone secretly pleased at the World-Honored One's coming death, felt it was not fitting to let him see the Buddha.

The Buddha, knowing that this man's own hope was sincere, and that he was a fit vessel for the true Dharma, said to Ānanda: "Let this follower of another path come forward — I remain here for the sake of delivering the living; do not create any obstacle for him."

Subhadra, hearing this, felt his heart fill with great joy; his own delight in the Dharma deepening all the more, he approached the Buddha with the deepest reverence.

Speaking gently and respectfully at the proper moment, he greeted him and, with a warm countenance and joined palms, made his request: "I wish now to ask you something.

There are many in this world who claim knowledge of the Dharma, men such as myself in great number — yet I have heard only that what the Buddha himself has attained is a path to liberation different from all the rest.

I beg you, explain it to me in brief, and satisfy this parched and thirsting heart of mine — I ask this not for the sake of mere debate, nor with any wish to win or lose an argument."

The Buddha then explained to this brahmin, in brief, the eightfold noble path; and hearing it, he received it with an open and receptive heart, like one lost who has suddenly found the true way.

He came to realize at once that what he had studied before was not the ultimate path at all, and attained, in that very moment, something he had never once heard before, casting aside entirely his own former, mistaken path.

Turning his back as well on the obstruction of his own former ignorance and darkness, he reflected on what he had once studied: that anger and delusion together nourish only unwholesome karma,

while craving, hatred, and delusion, taken together, can also give rise to wholesome karmic action — for even wide learning, wisdom, and diligent effort themselves arise, in part, from craving.

[He had once reasoned:] should hatred and delusion be cut off, one is thereby freed from karmic action; and once karmic action is entirely removed, this is what is called "liberation from karma."

[Yet he now saw that] such a "liberation from karma" does not actually accord with the true meaning of things — for the world holds that everything, without exception, possesses some fixed, inherent nature of its own.

And if craving, hatred, and delusion themselves possess such a fixed, inherent nature, then they ought to exist forever and unchanging — how, then, could one ever truly be liberated from them at all?

Even should hatred and delusion be brought to an end, craving would only arise again — just as water, cold by its own inherent nature, becomes hot only through the condition of fire, and once that heat subsides, returns again to its own coldness, precisely because its inherent nature remains constant throughout.

One ought to understand, then, that if craving possesses such a fixed nature, no amount of learning or wisdom could ever increase or diminish it in the slightest — how, then, could this be called liberation at all?

I once held that birth and death themselves arise, at root, from within this very inherent nature — but examining that view now, I see that it allows for no one ever to attain true liberation at all.

For if this "inherent nature" is itself permanent and abiding, how could there ever be any final release from it?

It is like a lamp already lit — how could one possibly cause it to give off no light at all?

[Now I understand:] the true and ultimate meaning of the Buddha's own path is this — that the world arises dependent upon craving as its condition; and once craving is extinguished, quiescent stillness follows, for once the cause is extinguished, its effect, too, disappears.

I once held that the self is something distinct from the body, and could see no agent behind action apart from such a self — but now, hearing the Buddha's own true teaching, I understand that the world holds no such self at all.

Every dharma arises from causes and conditions, possessing no sovereign, independent existence of its own — it is precisely because they arise from causes and conditions that they are suffering, and it is precisely for this same reason that they cease when those causes and conditions cease as well.

Observing that the world arises from causes and conditions dispels the view of annihilation; and understanding that, once these conditions are removed, the world itself ceases, dispels the view of eternalism as well — casting aside entirely my own former views, I now see deeply into the Buddha's own true Dharma."

Having planted good causes in former lives, he was able to awaken the very instant he heard this teaching, attaining at once the excellent quiescent extinction, the inexhaustible place of true coolness and peace.

His heart opened and his faith grew ever wider; and, gazing up at the Tathāgata lying there before him, he found he could not bear to watch the Tathāgata himself depart the world in final nirvāṇa — and so, before the Buddha's own passing was complete, he resolved that he himself would pass away first.

Joining his palms in reverence to that sacred countenance, he seated himself upright to one side, and, relinquishing his own life, entered nirvāṇa — like rain extinguishing a small flame.

The Buddha said to the assembled monks: "This was my very last disciple — he has now entered nirvāṇa; you ought to make offerings in his honor."

Once the first watch of that night had passed, the moon shining bright and every star radiant, the quiet forest utterly silent, the Buddha, moved by great compassion, gave his final instruction to his disciples: "After I have entered final nirvāṇa, you must hold the prātimokṣa, the code of monastic discipline, in the deepest reverence — it is itself your own great teacher, a bright lamp in the deepest night, a great treasure for the poor. Whatever it teaches and instructs, you ought to follow it exactly, no differently than if you were serving me in person.

You must purify your conduct of body and speech, departing entirely from every worldly trade and livelihood — fields and houses, the keeping of livestock, the accumulation of wealth and the five grains — all of this you ought to keep far away from, as one avoids a great pit of fire.

Tilling the soil and cutting down plants and trees, practicing medicine to treat illness, studying the calendar to read the stars, predicting fortune and misfortune by observing the movement of the heavens, telling fortunes for the sake of gain — none of this is fitting conduct at all.

Discipline your own body, eating only at the proper times; do not accept employment to perform magical arts for others; do not mix and prepare medicinal potions; and keep far away from every kind of flattery and deceit.

As for the material necessities that accord with the Dharma, you ought to know their proper measure in receiving them — accepting only what you need, without hoarding or accumulating anything beyond it. This, in brief, is the essence of moral discipline.

It is the very root of every precept for the whole community, and the very foundation of liberation itself — for it is in dependence on this Dharma that every true and correct absorption is able to arise.

Every form of true and genuine wisdom reaches its own ultimate completion by depending on this very foundation — and so you must hold fast to it, and never let it be broken or destroyed.

It is precisely because pure moral discipline remains unbroken that every wholesome dharma can exist at all; without it, no such wholesome dharma could exist, for it is discipline alone that establishes the very ground on which they stand.

One who dwells already in pure moral discipline skillfully masters his own senses and faculties, just as a good herdsman keeps watch over his cattle and never lets them run wild.

Should one fail to master these faculties, they become like unbridled horses, running loose after the six sense-objects — bringing calamity in this present life, and destined to fall into the evil destinies hereafter.

It is like an untamed horse that throws its own rider into a pit — and so the wise and clear-sighted ought never to give free rein to their own senses and faculties.

The senses and faculties are themselves exceedingly fierce and dangerous, a grave enemy to any person — for sentient beings, cherishing their own faculties so dearly, are only harmed by them in return.

Even a venomous serpent, a raging tiger, or a fierce fire — these are counted among the very worst dangers in this world, and yet the wise do not fear them nearly so much.

What they truly fear is only a heedless and restless mind, which alone leads a person down into the evil destinies — precisely because it delights in small and fleeting comforts, never once perceiving the deep peril hidden within them.

Like a wild elephant that has slipped free of its own goad, or a monkey suddenly loose in the forest — a restless and heedless mind behaves in exactly this same way, and the wise must hold it firmly in check.

To let the mind run entirely free will never, in the end, lead to quiescent stillness — and so you must master your own minds, and bring them swiftly to a place of true peace and stillness."