A Mansion Without a Door

Sūtra: At that moment Ānanda, in the midst of the great assembly, bowed at the Buddha's feet, rose, and said to the Buddha: "World-Honored One, you have just taught that when the three conditions — killing, stealing, and sexual desire — are severed, the three causes no longer arise, and the madness in the mind of Yajñadatta subsides of itself, and this subsiding is itself bodhi — not something obtained from anyone else. This makes causation perfectly clear and evident — so why does the Tathāgata now suddenly reject causation altogether? It was, in fact, through a causal chain of reasoning that my own mind came to awaken. World-Honored One, was the benefit of this teaching confined only to us, the young ones still in training among the śrāvakas? Even now, in this very assembly, Mahāmaudgalyāyana, Śāriputra, Subhūti, and others, having come from an elder wandering ascetic, heard your teaching on causation, gave rise to the resolve for awakening, and attained the undefiled path. Now you teach that bodhi does not come from causation at all. If this is so, then the 'spontaneity' taught by Maskarin Gośālīputra and the other wanderers of Rājagṛha would turn out to be the ultimate truth after all! I beg only that you, in great compassion, dispel this confusion."

Commentary: The first four lines are the sūtra compiler's own scene-setting. From "World-Honored One" on, Ānanda briefly cites the Buddha's own words back to him. "You have just taught that when the three conditions — killing, stealing, and sexual desire — are severed" cites the earlier teaching on karma-continuity: with the three cravings as its root, birth and death never comes to an end, and this same account covers world-continuity and sentient-being-continuity as well. Tracing all three continuities back to their common root, one arrives at ignorance. Pūrṇa had gone looking for a cause behind this falseness, intending to cultivate its severance, and the Buddha showed him there is no such cause at all — why labor over it? This is exactly the instruction for the sudden, perfect approach: simply do not let the deluded mind go on discriminating, and the three minds that condition the world, karma-fruit, and sentient beings never even arise — this is itself the sudden severing of the three conditions. Once the nature that grasps at what is merely conceived is empty, the dependent nature has nothing left to attach to either; present activity no longer perfumes the seeds, and the seeds no longer sprout — hence the three causes likewise cease to arise.

"The madness in the mind of Yajñadatta subsides of itself": once the conditions are all severed together, the mind's own ignorant madness naturally comes to rest. Earlier, falseness arose out of truth, and ignorance suddenly appeared — but this arising was never truly an arising at all. Now, turning falseness back into truth, ignorance is suddenly at rest — but this resting, too, is not really a resting of anything, since ignorance was empty to begin with. And because ignorance's true nature is itself none other than buddha-nature, this resting is itself bodhi. Once falseness is empty, truth stands revealed — the treasure of one's own household, always already possessed, simply comes into view; it was never obtained from anyone else.

"This makes causation perfectly clear and evident — so why does the Tathāgata now suddenly reject causation?" These lines follow from Ānanda's having repeatedly heard the Buddha invoke causation with Pūrṇa — teaching that it is by causation that the world continues, by causation that sentient beings continue, by causation that karma-fruit continues — and now, hearing the Buddha say instead that once the three conditions are severed the three causes no longer arise, Ānanda clings once again to causation. The next two lines suspect the Buddha of contradicting himself: earlier the Buddha said that confusion has no cause and falseness has nothing to depend on, and also that resting is itself bodhi, needing no toilsome cultivation at all — so why does the Tathāgata sometimes speak of causation and other times suddenly reject it? This is Ānanda's third doubt about causation. The first arose in the section on how seeing surpasses every category, doubting that the nature of seeing does not depend on causation; the second arose just before the section fully proclaiming the seven great elements, doubting that the ten thousand phenomena do not depend on causation; and now, this third doubt concerns the realization of the fruit and the accomplishment of the path — surely, where there is a fruit, there must be a cause; how could this too fall outside of causation? Since the Buddha has for so long been dismantling causation, and yet his own words still carry causation within them, this is exactly what gives rise to Ānanda's doubt.

"It was, in fact, through a causal chain of reasoning that my own mind came to awaken": this recounts the benefit of the earlier teaching on causation. I, Ānanda, truly did awaken my mind through the teaching of causation, and thereby entered the path of seeing and attained the first fruit. World-Honored One, this teaching of causation belongs to the correct principle, capable of turning sentient beings back from error toward the right path — how could its benefit be confined only to us, the young ones still in training? The foremost elders in this very assembly — the great one surnamed Kolita, together with Śāriputra, Subhūti, and the rest — all came by way of an elder wandering ascetic first: Śāriputra and Maudgalyāyana, in particular, had originally served the wandering ascetic Sañjaya as their teacher, becoming his foremost disciples; after Sañjaya's death, it was upon hearing the teaching of causation that they opened their minds, turned from error back to the right path, left the household life under the Buddha, awakened to the teaching of the four noble truths, and, relying on it, severed the afflictions of views and thought, attaining the undefiled path — the very path realized by an arhat. With the three defilements of desire, existence, and ignorance all exhausted, they escaped the three realms and realized the unborn. The teaching of causation, then, is exactly what turns beings from error back to the right path, frees them from birth and death, and lifts them from the ordinary into the ranks of the sagely — how could this not be of the greatest benefit?

"Now you teach that bodhi does not come from causation": this recounts how the present teaching's sudden rejection of causation not only seems to run against the Buddha's own earlier teaching, but risks being confused with the very heterodox teachings the Buddha has always opposed. "Now you teach" refers to what has just been taught: that ignorance has no cause, its substance originally empty; that once the mad mind is at rest, this resting is itself bodhi, needing no toilsome cultivation at all — all of this suddenly setting causation aside. If this is so, then the teaching of Maskarin Gośālīputra and the other wanderers of Rājagṛha — that after eighty thousand aeons the path is accomplished spontaneously, like a ball of thread unwinding to its natural stopping point, requiring no cultivation or realization at all — would turn out to be the ultimate truth! And even if the Tathāgata's present teaching does not fall to the extreme of causation, it would still fall to the extreme of spontaneity — how, then, could it ever amount to the middle way's teaching of complete meaning, free of idle theorizing? My mind is genuinely confused; I beg only that you, in your great compassion, open and reveal the truth, sweeping away the clouds and mist of my confusion, and let the sky of my own nature shine clear." This closes the first part: Ānanda seizes on the Buddha's own words and clings to causation.

Sūtra: The Buddha said to Ānanda: "Consider that very Yajñadatta in the city: if his madness — a matter, you say, of causes and conditions — could be brought to an end, then his sane nature would have to emerge 'spontaneously.' Causation and spontaneity, examined to their very limit, both come down to exactly this same problem. Ānanda, if Yajñadatta's head were spontaneous by nature — of itself simply so, with nothing about it that was not simply so — then by what cause or condition did he become terrified that he had no head, and run about in madness? And if it were his natural head that, because of some cause or condition, went mad, then why did it not equally lose itself, because of some cause or condition, in the first place? His original head was never lost; his mad terror arose out of nothing at all; the head itself never underwent any change whatsoever — what, then, could there possibly be for causation to explain? If his madness were spontaneous by nature, then he would have possessed this mad terror from the very start — but before he ever went mad, where was this madness hiding? And if his madness were not spontaneous, then his head was never truly lost at all — so why, then, did he run about in madness? Once one truly understands one's own head, and recognizes his running about in madness for what it was, causation and spontaneity are both seen to be nothing but idle theorizing. This is exactly why I said: once the three conditions are severed, this is itself the mind of bodhi."

Commentary: "Consider that very [Yajñadatta] in the city" takes up the earlier analogy directly, to examine what Ānanda still clings to under the names "causation" and "spontaneity." Yajñadatta's madness stands for ignorance, taken as the very cause and condition capable of obstructing bodhi; its being brought to an end corresponds to the mad mind coming to rest. His sane nature stands for bodhi; once his madness is brought to an end, his sane nature emerges "spontaneously," corresponding to this resting being itself bodhi. Examined by the logic of what you call causation and spontaneity, this must indeed be the necessary conclusion. But you have not actually understood: when I say that once the three conditions are severed the three causes no longer arise, and that once his madness — his so-called "causation" — is brought to an end, this was never truly a matter of causation to begin with; and when I say that once the mad mind is at rest, this resting is itself bodhi, this too was never truly a matter of spontaneity. What follows sweeps away both positions at once, by way of the head and the madness in turn — neither causation nor spontaneity survives.

This first sweeps away spontaneity, by way of the head. The head stands for the truth of bodhi. The first two lines posit that the head is spontaneous — that Yajñadatta's head, that is, was spontaneous by its very nature from the start. The next two lines, "of itself simply so, with nothing about it that was not simply so," draw out what this would mean: if it were spontaneous from the start, it should have remained spontaneous at every moment, with never a time when it was not simply so. The last two lines turn this into a challenge: by what cause or condition, then, did he suddenly become terrified that he had no head, and run about in madness? Since this terror and this madness arose out of nothing at all, the head cannot, after all, be called "spontaneous." Applied to the doctrine: if sentient beings' own true nature were spontaneous from the start, there could never be a single moment when it was not simply so — so by what cause or condition did ignorance ever arise at all, mistaking truth and chasing after falseness, such that one would now need to turn falseness back into truth? Since ignorance did, in fact, arise and stir falsely, the true nature cannot, after all, be called "spontaneous." Note that this passage refutes spontaneity on its own terms, purely by spontaneity's own logic — it is not refuting spontaneity by counterposing causation against it. Were it doing that, the argument would collapse into confusion; "by what cause or condition" here simply means "for what reason," nothing more.

This next sweeps away causation, likewise by way of the head. Though the words "spontaneous" and "mad" still appear in this passage, they are carried along only incidentally. Fearing that, once spontaneity has just been refuted, one might switch instead to clinging to causation, the Buddha addresses the head alone once more, to show that causation, too, fails. If it were his natural, original head that, by the cause and condition of looking in the mirror, became terrified that it had no head — then the next two lines turn this into a challenge: why did this same natural head not, by that very same cause and condition of looking in the mirror, actually lose itself for real? Applied to the doctrine: if it was by the cause and condition of wishing to add brightness to awareness that the original true nature gave rise to ignorance — then why did that same original true nature not, by the cause and condition of ignorance, actually lose itself for real?

This closes by making plain that none of this was ever a matter of causation, and states the correct meaning directly. Although his original head, by the cause and condition of looking in the mirror, was the occasion for his mad running, the head itself remained, the whole time, never actually lost. Suppose someone, seeing Yajñadatta running about in madness, had asked him: "Why are you running like this?" and he had answered: "I am looking for my head" — and that person had then reached out, touched his head, and said: "What is this?" Only then would Yajñadatta have realized that his head had never been lost at all. His mad terror arose out of nothing at all: at the very moment of his madness, the head was never actually lost; and once his madness came to rest, there was likewise nothing newly gained. The arising and the resting of his madness, then, had nothing whatsoever to do with the head itself — the head was not only never lost, it never underwent the slightest change at all — so what, then, could there possibly be for causation to explain? Applied to the doctrine: the true nature abides eternally, never lost; ignorance arises suddenly and falsely, yet even while ignorance is present the true nature never changes — at the very moment falseness arises, though one is deluded, nothing is actually lost; and once falseness ceases, though one has realized the truth, nothing is actually newly gained. Falseness arising and falseness ceasing have, in fact, nothing whatsoever to do with the true nature — so the true nature, too, cannot be said to belong to causation.

This sweeps away spontaneity, by way of the madness itself. The madness stands for the falseness of ignorance. If one claimed that this madness was spontaneous by nature from the start, it should have been present, as mad terror, at every moment from the beginning. The next two lines press the challenge: if it were present at every moment, then, before the madness had ever broken out, where was this madness hiding? Was there some hidden reservoir of madness lodged somewhere in his body or mind? Since there was no such hidden place at all, the madness cannot, after all, be called "spontaneous." Applied to the doctrine: if ignorance were spontaneous, then, at the very moment before a single thought had yet stirred, within the originally pure and clear mind, where could ignorance possibly have been hiding? Since the true and original nature never contained any falseness at all, how could ignorance ever be called spontaneous?

This sweeps away causation, by way of the madness itself. The first line reverses the claim: if his madness did not arise spontaneously, this turns the explanation over to causation instead. "His head was never truly lost" means: at the very time of his mad terror, the head was, in fact, never lost at all — so it ought to have remained, at every moment, entirely free of mad terror; by what cause or condition, then, did he run about in madness? Since the head was never truly lost, the madness cannot, after all, be attributed to causation either. Applied to the doctrine: if one claims ignorance is not spontaneous but rather a matter of causation, then what, in the end, could possibly serve as its cause? The true nature remains present the whole time, never actually lost — by what cause or condition, then, would one turn one's back on awareness to unite with the dust of the senses? Only if the true nature had actually been lost could one speak of a cause for this at all; since the true nature is never actually lost, this too cannot be a matter of causation. All of the above, by way of the analogy, makes plain that neither the true nature nor ignorance belongs to causation or spontaneity at all. Ānanda has all along been submerged in the provisional teachings, unaware that the wondrous pearl sewn into his own robe was there the whole time, wandering from place to place begging for food instead — his attachment to the view of causation has, understandably, been difficult to let go of.

Pūrṇa clung to the notion that ignorance must have a cause; Ānanda now doubts that the true nature must be identical to spontaneity — both errors come from the same failure to realize that the original head was never lost, and that the mad running arose out of nothing at all, and so both fall into the twin traps of causation and spontaneity. Once one truly understands one's own head — that though mad, it was never lost, the head is thus not spontaneous; that it remained present the whole time, the head is thus not a matter of causation; that the mad running, before it ever arose, was originally nothing at all, madness is thus not spontaneous; that the head was never truly lost, madness is thus not a matter of causation — once this meaning is understood, causation and spontaneity are both seen to be nothing but idle theorizing, with no real substance to either at all. This directly dissolves Ānanda's present doubt, while also guarding against Pūrṇa's own attachment recurring. It is precisely because causation and spontaneity are both nothing but idle theorizing that I earlier said: once the three conditions are severed, this is itself the mind of bodhi. Once the three conditioning minds of discrimination are severed, bodhi is thus not a matter of spontaneity; once falseness departs and truth stands revealed, this being so at once and directly, bodhi is thus not a matter of causation either. This is the Buddha restating, once more, the meaning of his own earlier teaching: that resting is itself bodhi.

Sūtra: "If one speaks of 'the mind of bodhi arising' and 'the mind of arising-and-ceasing perishing,' this is itself still nothing but arising and ceasing. Once both this 'perishing' and this 'arising' are exhausted, one arrives at the path that requires no further effort at all. But if one then takes this to be 'spontaneous,' this only makes plain that a mind of spontaneity has arisen, set against 'the mind of arising-and-ceasing perishing' — and this, too, is nothing but arising and ceasing. What has no arising and ceasing at all is called 'spontaneous' — but consider how, in this world, when various appearances mix and combine to form one single thing, this is called a 'combined' nature; and whatever is not so combined is then called a 'natural' nature. Yet 'being natural' is not truly natural of itself; 'being combined' is not truly a combination; both 'combined' and 'natural' must be set aside together, and this 'setting aside' and this 'combining' must both, in turn, be denied — only this final position may be called the teaching free of idle theorizing."

Commentary: This follows from "once the three conditions are severed, this is itself the mind of bodhi" — which must not be taken to mean that a mind of bodhi newly "arises." The true mind of bodhi is, from the start, always already possessed; it is disclosed by a cause of realization, not produced by a cause of generation. It had simply been covered over by the mad nature; once the mad nature is at rest, this resting is itself bodhi — hence my earlier statement that once the three conditions are severed, this is itself the mind of bodhi. Nor should "once the three conditions are severed" be taken to mean that a mind of arising-and-ceasing is newly "extinguished": the mad nature of ignorance belongs, from the start, to what is empty; the three conditioning, discriminating minds are only branch-tip ignorance — though one speaks of their being "severed," nothing is, in fact, actually extinguished. To speak of a mind of bodhi "arising," and a mind of arising-and-ceasing "perishing," is nothing but the ordinary view of arising and ceasing — it is not the true mind of bodhi at all.

In the first sentence, "perishing" refers to the mind of arising-and-ceasing perishing; "arising" refers to the mind of bodhi arising — but this is itself still nothing but arising and ceasing. Once both are, in turn, exhausted together — "exhausted" here meaning extinguished — one arrives at the path that requires no further effort at all. Yet even this must not be taken as "spontaneous," for to posit spontaneity is, once again, to set up an opposing pair. "If one then takes this to be so" refers back to the previous line: if one takes it that there is, in this sense, something spontaneous, this only makes plain that a mind of spontaneity has arisen, set in opposition against "the mind of arising-and-ceasing perishing" — and this very spontaneity, too, remains a mind of arising and ceasing, not the true path requiring no further effort at all. Why is this so? Because it has not yet been freed of every opposing pair. This principle grows only more difficult to grasp from here, so the passage that follows makes it plain by way of an analogy.

This analogy shows that "spontaneity," too, remains bound to the logic of arising and ceasing. The first two lines restate what came before: "what has no arising and ceasing" restates "both perishing and arising exhausted together"; "is called spontaneous" restates "the path requiring no further effort." What follows shows that this "spontaneity" too is not the real truth — comparable, in this world, to how various ingredients mix and combine, as in a compounded pill or cake. "Forming one single thing, this is called a combined nature" stands for the phenomena of arising and ceasing, cause and condition. Set against this "combined" state, whatever is not so combined is then called a "natural" nature — standing for the unborn, unceasing truth. But this "truth" is only a truth set up in opposition to falseness; it is not the true mind of bodhi itself. As a later verse in the sūtra puts it: "Speaking of falseness discloses every truth — yet falseness and truth alike remain, together, a pair of falsehoods." One thus comes to see that there is no fixed "truth" that can be established at all — the very moment one sets out to establish a "truth," it has already ceased to be the true nature of suchness.

This is the most thoroughgoing sweeping-away of every notion, so that falseness is exhausted and truth alone stands revealed. "Natural" here corresponds to spontaneity; "combined" corresponds to causation. The first two lines are each a single negation: negating "natural" with "not natural," and negating "combined" with "not combined." The third line, "combined and natural must both be set aside," is a double negation — "setting aside" here likewise negates: the word "combined" covers both combined and not-combined, and negating it together negates the second line; the word "natural" covers both natural and not-natural, and negating it together negates the first line. "Set aside together" and, in what follows, "denied together" must both be read as applying doubly, in each direction. The fourth line, "this setting-aside and this combining must both, in turn, be denied," uses "setting-aside" in the sense of the "set aside together" just given, and "combining" in the sense not of the mere combination itself but in the sense of "identity" — that is, of not being separate from it at all. To deny both the combined and the not-combined, both the natural and the not-natural, is the double negation; to affirm — that is, to remain identical with — both the combined and the not-combined, both the natural and the not-natural, is the double affirmation. "Both denied" carries the sense of negation and affirmation occurring together at once: negating even as one affirms, affirming even as one negates — this corresponds to the third line. Negation upon negation, until there is nothing further left to negate, every notion exhausted — and once every notion is exhausted, the true teaching stands revealed. Only this final position may be called the teaching free of idle theorizing.

Sūtra: "Bodhi and nirvāṇa remain, for you, still far distant — not something you could realize through toilsome cultivation across many aeons. Even were you to memorize and retain the twelve divisions of the pure and wondrous teaching spoken by all the Tathāgatas of the ten directions, as numerous as the sands of the Ganges, this would only add to your idle theorizing."

Commentary: Ānanda had earlier claimed he could "attain the dharma-body without needing to pass through countless aeons." Here the Buddha tells him instead: "bodhi and nirvāṇa remain still far distant." Though Ānanda's inverted view has been dispelled, his subtler delusions remain entirely intact — hence unsurpassed bodhi and the nirvāṇa without remainder both remain, for him, far distant, and by no means something he could realize through toilsome, laborious cultivation across many aeons. But does this not seem to contradict what the Buddha said earlier — that once the mad mind is at rest, this resting is itself bodhi, needing no toilsome cultivation at all? One should understand: for one who is able to let go of idle theorizing, no toilsome effort and no countless aeons are needed at all. But since Ānanda has not yet let go of his own idle theorizing, even were he to pass through aeons as numerous as motes of dust, it is settled that he could never succeed — and what follows states this plainly, to make sure he understands.

This explains why the ultimate fruit remains so difficult for him to reach. "Even were you to memorize and retain" points to the fact that Ānanda, foremost in learning among all the disciples, could not only hear the teaching but retain it in memory without ever losing it — and not merely retain what this one Buddha alone had spoken, but retain what all the Tathāgatas of the ten directions had spoken as well: the twelve divisions of the teaching — narrative prose, restated verse, together with predictions of future buddhahood, spontaneous utterances arising without being asked, teachings given through causal analogies, through parables, through accounts of past lives, through accounts of the Buddha's own former lives, through expansive teachings, through accounts of the marvelous, and through structured discourse — nine of these twelve belonging to the lesser vehicle, only three unique to the greater. "The pure and wondrous teaching" points to those three greater-vehicle divisions in particular — the pure, wondrous principle of true reality, the sudden and complete teaching, as numerous as the sands of the Ganges. This shows that, however vast his learning and retention, so long as he refuses to proceed through hearing, reflecting, and cultivating, all of it only feeds his idle theorizing further — which is exactly why the ultimate fruit remains so difficult for him to reach.

Sūtra: "Though you can discourse on causation and spontaneity with perfect clarity, and the world calls you foremost in learning — this accumulated learning, absorbed across so many aeons, still could not spare you from Mātaṅgī's ensnarement. Why did you have to wait for my Śūraṅgama mantra's power before the fire of lust in Mātaṅgī's own mind could suddenly subside, before she could attain the third fruit and, within my own teaching, become a forest of diligent practice, her river of craving run dry, and gain her own liberation?"

Commentary: The first three lines show that all this learning has only fed idle theorizing further, earning Ānanda nothing but a reputation for erudition — for however much learning he absorbed across so many aeons, without genuine practice behind it, mere hearing accomplishes nothing, and this is exactly why it could not spare him from the danger of Mātaṅgī's seductive spell.

These next two lines cite an actual event as proof. "Why did you have to" turns the point around to show that learning alone accomplishes nothing: if learning alone were sufficient, why would it have taken the power of my own Śūraṅgama mantra to make the fire of lust in Mātaṅgī's own mind suddenly subside, and to bring you, Ānanda, back to yourself as if waking from a dream, before you could finally be freed from the danger of lust at all? "The fire of lust": desire belongs to the element of fire, and in anyone given to strong desire, this inner fire naturally burns high — the moment lustful thoughts stir, the fire of lust blazes up. Mātaṅgī, having long been a woman given to desire, burned with this fire more fiercely than most. "Suddenly subsided": because the true mantra is able to break through deviant thought, deviant thought was at once stilled, and so the fire of lust suddenly subsided, at once severing both the affliction of views and the nine grades of the affliction of thought bound to the desire realm, and she attained the third fruit, that of an anāgāmin — meaning "non-returner," one who never again returns to receive birth within the desire realm.

"Within my own teaching, become a forest of diligent practice": within my own Buddha-dharma, she became "a forest of diligent practice" — "forest" here likening the speed and abundance of her progress, since she leapt directly to the third fruit without passing through the first two stages at all, hence this description. "Her river of craving run dry": craving is the root of birth and death — because of craving, desire arises; because of desire, one receives birth; and because of birth, death must inevitably follow; craving and desire drown a person the way a river does, hence the river-image. Once the fire of lust suddenly subsided, craving and desire were severed at once, and she rose above the desire realm entirely — hence "her river of craving run dry, and she gained her own liberation from the danger of lust." Ānanda, of course, was himself a great provisional manifestation, and Mātaṅgī too was merely playing her part in the same drama — the one to show that mere learning accomplishes nothing, the other to display the mantra's own power: Mātaṅgī's fire of lust suddenly subsiding shows the mantra's power to remove obstruction; her attaining the anāgāmin fruit shows the mantra's power to bring about genuine benefit.

Sūtra: "For this reason, Ānanda: though you might spend aeons memorizing and retaining the Tathāgata's own secret and wondrous adornments, this could never equal a single day spent cultivating the undefiled path, and thereby escaping the world's twin sufferings of aversion and craving."

Commentary: This follows from the fact that idle theorizing bears no fruit. Ānanda's erudition was not the work of a single lifetime, hence: though you have spent many aeons developing the power to hear and retain, able to memorize the Tathāgata's own secret and wondrous adornments — the unsurpassed teaching, "secret" because it cannot be conveyed by the mouth alone, "wondrous" because it cannot be fathomed by the ordinary mind alone. These two words point to the inconceivable, pure, wondrous principle, the adornment of the one vehicle — the very "great white ox-cart" of the Lotus Sūtra, canopied and hung with every kind of jeweled ornament. Yet however much you can memorize and retain, the world only calls you foremost in learning; you yourself know full well that this has not made your own power of the path complete.

"This could never equal a single day spent cultivating the undefiled path": this undefiled path must not be understood as the practice of the two lesser vehicles — it points instead to the sudden, perfect method of cultivation, and should be read in connection with the surrounding passages, both before and after. Since mere learning falls so far short of actual practice, hence "could never equal a single day": the mad mind suddenly at rest, no longer following the three conditioning minds that discriminate the world, karma-fruit, and sentient beings — this is exactly turning one's back on the dust of the senses to unite with awareness, going against that beginningless stream of desire that drives birth and death, and thereby escaping the world's twin sufferings of aversion and craving. Aversion and craving are the two causes of suffering; birth and death are their two resulting fruits. Aversion and craving need no further elaborate explanation: seeing something as different from oneself gives rise to aversion, seeing it as the same gives rise to craving. If one is able to stop following after discrimination, then, the senses no longer being engaged at all, how could aversion or craving ever arise from them? Once the cause of suffering is severed, its fruit of suffering falls away of itself — this is exactly what cultivating the undefiled path means, and shows the man of great learning the way back home along the very road he is already on: not by exhausting the flow outward toward the dust of sound, but by turning that flow backward to illuminate one's own nature. As a verse later in the sūtra puts it: "Taking up hearing to hold onto every buddha's teaching — why not instead turn hearing back to hear your own hearing itself?" — this corresponds exactly to what is taught here.

Sūtra: "Consider Mātaṅgī: once a woman given to desire, she has now, through the mantra's spiritual power, dissolved her own craving and desire, and, within this teaching, now bears the name Bhikṣuṇī Prakṛti. Together with Rāhula's mother, Yaśodharā, she has come to the same realization of her own past causes, understanding that, throughout life after life, craving alone has been her suffering. Through a single moment of undefiled, wholesome practice, one attains release from bondage, another receives a prediction of buddhahood — how, then, can you go on deceiving yourself, still clinging to mere seeing and hearing?"

Commentary: Here Mātaṅgī is cited to spur Ānanda on. Having long been a woman given to desire, she was bound by all three obstructions at once: lustful mind is the obstruction of affliction; her lifelong habit of desire is the obstruction of karma; and her present birth in a woman's body is the obstruction of retribution. Relying on the Śūraṅgama Mantra's own awesome power, she dissolved her craving and desire — that is, the fire of lust suddenly subsided and her river of craving ran dry — and so the obstruction of affliction was already removed. "Within this teaching" — within the Buddha-dharma itself — she became "a forest of diligent practice," and so the obstruction of karma was severed as well. Bearing now the name Bhikṣuṇī Prakṛti, counted among the ranks of the sangha jewel, the obstruction of retribution too had already been transformed.

Rāhula is the Buddha's own son — not conceived through desire, but said to have entered the womb merely by the pointing of a finger, remaining there for six years, hence his name, meaning "hindrance" or "veil." Yaśodharā's name means "bearer of renown" — a woman of renown among women, and the Buddha's own wife. When the Buddha was still a prince, he married at seventeen, though husband and wife shared no worldly passion between them and were never physically united. The prince left the household at nineteen and attained buddhahood at thirty; Yaśodharā, together with the Buddha's own aunt, then resolved to leave the household life as well. Bhikṣuṇī Prakṛti and Yaśodharā came to the very same realization of their past causes, understanding that, throughout every life across the ages, nothing but craving had ever been their suffering — understanding that the retribution of a woman's body carries especially heavy craving and desire, and that their own suffering, across so many lives, had always come down to this same craving.

"Through a single moment of undefiled, wholesome practice, one attains release from bondage, another receives a prediction of buddhahood": this is the very point of the Buddha's spurring exhortation. Bhikṣuṇī Prakṛti and Yaśodharā, though both born in a woman's body, a lesser vessel by worldly reckoning, nevertheless attained this simply through a single moment of undefiled, wholesome practice. And what was this practice? Simply this: realizing that craving alone had been their suffering across every past life, and, with a single thought, damming the very flow of that craving so it could no longer run outward — and because it no longer ran outward, it turned back and returned to its own source, and the power of samādhi was thereby accomplished. The next two lines make plain the fruits they realized. "One attains release from bondage": this refers to Bhikṣuṇī Prakṛti, whose river of craving ran dry, severing the nine grades of the affliction of thought throughout the mingled realms of the five destinies, and thereby escaping the bondage of birth and death within the desire realm. It also refers to Yaśodharā, who had already realized the fourth fruit, her work accomplished, freed from birth-and-death by segments, and thereby escaping the bondage of birth and death within the three realms altogether. "Another receives a prediction of buddhahood": this means that, should these two women turn from the lesser vehicle toward the greater, setting aside the śrāvaka path entirely, they would finally attain the Tathāgata's own nirvāṇa without remainder, following the very path of their original resolve onward toward bodhi itself — and would then receive the Buddha's own prediction of their future buddhahood, an attainment whose full measure cannot yet even be reckoned.

"How, then, can you go on deceiving yourself, still clinging to mere seeing and hearing?" — these are words of direct rebuke. Yaśodharā's own woman's body was already reckoned a lesser vessel; Mātaṅgī, a woman given to desire, was of an even lower capacity still — and yet both attained such advancement simply through a single moment of undefiled, wholesome practice. How, then, can you, Ānanda, in the fine and dignified form of a man, born of the illustrious royal house itself, cling only to mere learning, content to remain in so lowly a position — when the benefit of genuine practice now stands plainly before your own eyes, and still you refuse to press forward and practice? How can you go on deceiving and demeaning yourself in this way, still lingering in attachment to mere seeing and hearing and discrimination? This points directly at giving rise to grasping upon seeing appearances, and clinging upon hearing sounds — inevitably following after the senses outward, and thereby drawing one's own continued transmigration upon oneself.

Master Jiaoguang observes: one should understand that this careful distinction Ānanda raises here is of the utmost importance. For having just finished dismantling causation entirely, the Buddha is now about to speak of cultivation and realization once again. If cultivation and realization are said to definitely exist, this would seem to contradict what was just said; yet if causation and conditions are said to definitely not exist at all, this would undercut the very cultivation and realization about to be taught — the sage's own words seem, on the surface, to contradict themselves, and this cannot be left unexamined. What is now made clear is that the true nature never actually changes — just as the head was never actually lost — and yet this hardly means there is no genuine cultivation or realization at all; it was never simply a matter of falling entirely into causation to begin with. And it is likewise made clear that falseness's present appearance as delusion is exactly like the madness's present arising — and yet this hardly means there is, in the end, no cultivation or realization either; it was never simply a matter of falling entirely into spontaneity to begin with. From this one comes to understand: in this sūtra, "no cultivation, no realization" never actually obstructs there being genuine cultivation and realization; and "genuine cultivation and realization" likewise never obstructs there being, at the same time, no cultivation and no realization at all. The passages before and after this point no longer present any real contradiction to debate — and how subtle and wondrous this teaching truly is!

Sūtra: Ānanda and the whole assembly, hearing the Buddha's own instruction, found their doubts entirely dissolved; their minds awakened to true reality itself, and body and mind together grew light and at ease — an attainment never known before. Once again they wept, moved to tears, bowed at the Buddha's feet, knelt with palms joined, and said to the Buddha: "Unsurpassed in great compassion, pure and precious king — you have so skillfully opened our minds, guiding us with every kind of causal circumstance and every skillful means, drawing all who are sunk and lost in darkness out of the ocean of suffering."

Commentary: This passage draws together, in one summary, the two great sections answering Pūrṇa directly and, alongside it, instructing Ānanda — since no closing summary had appeared right after the answer to Pūrṇa alone, this passage now closes both together. It first recounts their awakening, which can only follow from the Buddha's own instruction, hence "Ānanda and the whole assembly, hearing the Buddha's own instruction" — Pūrṇa's own name is not mentioned separately here, since he is included within "the whole assembly," this passage closing out both his and Ānanda's doubts together, not Ānanda's alone. "Found their doubts entirely dissolved": there were five doubts in all — four belonging to Pūrṇa, one to Ānanda — every one of them a deep and subtle confusion. Pūrṇa's doubts: first, doubting how, if originally pure, the three continuities could suddenly arise from it at all — the Buddha showed that the arising and continuing of the ten thousand phenomena begins with a single thought of ignorance, and so every worldly appearance follows. Second, doubting how the five great elements, each with a nature that does not interfere with the others, could nonetheless pervade one another without obstruction — the Buddha showed that every appearance is, in its entirety, identical with the nature itself, one single, unchanging, wondrous substance, and so can follow conditions freely and without hindrance. Third, doubting whether the Buddhas and Tathāgatas might, at some future time, give rise to falseness once again — the Buddha showed that falseness was never truly produced to begin with, exactly like a diseased eye seeing flowers in space: the space-flowers were never truly born, and truth, in the end, never actually changes, exactly like ore, once smelted into gold, never reverting to ore again. Fourth, doubting by what cause sentient beings ever came to have falseness at all, obscuring their own wondrous brightness — the Buddha showed that, since it is called "falseness" in the first place, how could it possibly have a real cause? For if it truly had a cause, how could it still be called "falseness" at all? Ānanda's doubt was that the Buddha's sudden rejection of causation might risk being confused with spontaneity — the Buddha showed that once one knows truth is, from the start, always already possessed, and understands that falseness is, at root, empty, then causation and spontaneity are both seen to be nothing but idle theorizing. Having heard these repeated, wondrous demonstrations, their doubts and confusion were thus entirely dissolved.

Pūrṇa clung to the notion that the cause must exist and doubted the fruit; he also doubted whether falseness itself had a cause. Ānanda clung stubbornly to his former teaching, and doubted that truth might be confused with spontaneity — both men, alike, were indulging in idle theorizing. The Buddha further taught them that idle theorizing bears no fruit: unless one lets go of idle theorizing, then even aeons of labor come, in the end, to no real realization at all; but if one is able to let go of idle theorizing, the mad mind is at once brought to rest, and this resting is itself bodhi. Though these words were addressed to Ānanda alone, their meaning was intended for Pūrṇa as well — one might say a single stroke of ink, and two dragons take shape at once.

Hence they came, together, to awaken their minds to true reality itself. This "true reality" is none other than the non-empty tathāgatagarbha, the empty-and-non-empty tathāgatagarbha, and the supremely pure and bright mind of bodhi. The empty tathāgatagarbha had already been awakened to in the three fascicles before this one, and so is not counted among what is meant here. In fascicle 2, at the close of the ten displays of seeing, the Buddha rebuked the assembly for being narrow, inferior, and lacking real understanding, unable to penetrate to pure true reality — this was the first time "true reality" was spoken of, and everything that follows it — the truth stripped bare of falseness, the nature harmonized across the four categories — is likewise true reality. In fascicle 3, just before the section fully proclaiming the seven great elements, the Buddha promised that future practitioners of the greater vehicle would come to penetrate true reality — this was the second time it was spoken of, and everything discussed from there on, the seven great elements' pervading fullness, and the pervasive, constant mind Ānanda and the assembly awakened to, is likewise true reality. And now, this third time, as recounted here by the sūtra's own compiler, that they have "awakened to true reality" may likewise be understood in the same sense. Everything the Buddha has just taught concerning the latter two aspects of the tathāgatagarbha, directly answering Pūrṇa and, alongside it, instructing Ānanda, has been, in its entirety, nothing but the unfolding of this same true reality. "Body and mind together grew light and at ease — an attainment never known before": at the close of fascicle 3, when Ānanda and the assembly awakened to the empty tathāgatagarbha, it was said that "body and mind became utterly cleared away, free of all obstruction" — awakening to the empty aspect meant that the false body and false mind were utterly cleared away, leaving nothing behind, and so obstruction vanished; while the true body and true mind, utterly cleared, spacious and vast, never had any obstruction to begin with. Now, awakening to the latter two aspects, body and mind grow light and at ease: fully realizing that ignorance and the ten thousand phenomena are, at root, empty, no coarse and heavy view of body or mind remains — hence "light"; and knowing for themselves that the true mind of bodhi is, from the start, already possessed, needing no toilsome labor to attain — hence "at ease." All of this, never before attained in the past, is now attained at last — hence "an attainment never known before."

The first four lines set the scene of their reverence; the middle three praise the Buddha's goodness; the last give thanks for the benefit received. "Once again they wept": this is the fifth time Ānanda has been moved to tears, hence "once again." The first time, after being rescued from the binding spell and brought back, he bowed and wept in grief, resenting that, from beginningless time, he had relied only on learning and never made his own power of the path complete. The second time, after his three delusions had been refuted, he wept once more, confessing that he had relied on the Buddha's own awesome presence rather than diligently cultivating samādhi himself, so that though his body had left the household life, his mind had never truly entered the path. The third time, in the section on seeing having nowhere to return to, he wept and clasped his hands, saying that although he had received the Buddha's own voice and awakened to the wondrous, bright mind, he still dared not recognize it as his own original ground of mind. The fourth time, after the ten displays of seeing, in the section stripping away falseness to reveal pure truth, hearing that "seeing seeing itself is not seeing," his confusion only deepened further, and he wept and bowed, begging the Buddha to bestow the great eye of wisdom upon him. Now, this fifth time, his faith and understanding have grown so deep that he feels the Buddha's own kindness all the harder to ever repay — hence he weeps and bows, both giving thanks for what has already been taught and, looking ahead, making ready to ask for what comes next. Kneeling with palms joined as he addresses the Buddha shows his reverence throughout. "Unsurpassed in great compassion, pure and precious king": the Buddha possesses compassion for all beings as for his own body, and this is called unsurpassed great compassion — seeing every sentient being as one with himself, and seeing them now sunk in the ocean of suffering, he moves this compassion to its very limit, to draw them up out of that ocean. Having traveled from the causal stage to the fruit-stage, returned to the very source of his own mind, ultimately pure, he has realized the dharma-body, stainless and supremely wondrous, like a wish-fulfilling pearl of a king — unchanging, yet following every condition, teaching according to each capacity, and thereby skillfully opening what had been, in us, a mind sealed shut by delusion and falseness, firmly closed by the provisional teachings — now, at last, thrown wide open in sudden understanding. "Guiding us with every kind of causal circumstance": this states how the Buddha was able to open our minds so skillfully — by his ability to use every kind of causal circumstance in just this way. "In just this way" points to everything above: Yajñadatta's delusion about his own head and his mad running, Mātaṅgī's sudden dissolving of craving and desire, Yaśodharā's shared realization of her own past causes — every kind of causal circumstance, penetrating teachings matched exactly to their hearers, skillful means, guiding and encouraging in turn. At times spurring them on toward the highest point directly, as in "the mad nature subsides of itself, and this resting is itself bodhi"; and yet, never abandoning this same compassionate encouragement even so, as in "aeons of memorizing and retaining accomplish nothing, not equal to a single day spent cultivating the undefiled path."

"Drawing all who are sunk and lost in darkness out of the ocean of suffering": this means drawing ordinary beings and those of the lesser vehicle alike out of the twin oceans of suffering, aversion and craving. "Sunk" refers to ordinary beings, sunk in the ocean of suffering that is birth-and-death by segments; "lost in darkness" refers to the two lesser vehicles, mired in the ocean of suffering that is birth-and-death by mutation. Read according to this sūtra's own one-vehicle teaching of complete meaning, this means drawing both ordinary beings and those outside the teaching alike out of both kinds of birth-and-death suffering, to reach the far shore of bodhi and nirvāṇa — and this is likewise what opens the gate to the practice that follows. From Pūrṇa's first question up to this very point, one complete cycle has now closed — called "the cycle without arising, without obstruction."

The Zhèngmài commentary observes: in the earlier cycle, the discussion of the empty tathāgatagarbha pointed directly at one's own mind, showing that it already possesses the substance of wondrous samādhi in full, and brought out, to its fullest extent, this substance's abiding constancy and pervasive fullness. In this present cycle, the discussion of the latter two aspects of the tathāgatagarbha, culminating in the perfect interfusion of all three, unfolds in detail how one's own mind already possesses this same wondrous samādhi's substance and function together, bringing out, to its fullest extent, its unobstructed, perfect interfusion. This is exactly the wondrous, perfect, true mind by which all the Tathāgatas of the ten directions attain bodhi — a suchness, an original samādhi, requiring no cultivation to produce it at all; among the three names Ānanda first requested, this corresponds to wondrous śamatha, and to penetrate it fully is itself the subtle, hidden contemplation. And yet this very mind, this very samādhi, remains entirely beyond the reach of every sentient being — even those of the provisional and lesser teachings — who, unable to fathom it, practice in confusion and disorder, and so never arrive at any genuine fruit at all; hence, among the four genuine elements named in the sūtra's own title, this belongs precisely to "the Tathāgata's hidden cause." What the old commentaries call "the portion on seeing the path" corresponds exactly to this point as well. The main body of the teaching has now, twice over, expounded the path of śamatha, bringing about the great, perfect understanding that awakens one to the hidden cause — and with this, that whole undertaking comes to its close.

Sūtra: "World-Honored One, though I have now received this very teaching, and know that the tathāgatagarbha's own wondrous, aware, and bright mind pervades the ten directions, containing and nurturing the Tathāgata's own lands throughout the ten directions, pure, jeweled, and adorned, the realm of the wondrously awakened king — yet the Tathāgata has again rebuked me: that mere learning accomplishes nothing, and that I have still not attained to actual practice."

Commentary: This opens the second great division of the main body of the teaching. The Buddha now answers the request Ānanda made at the very start — for the wondrous samādhi among the three names he asked about, matching "cultivation of the teaching of complete meaning" in the sūtra's own title; what is taught in the text that follows corresponds, in both name and meaning, exactly to this. In the passage establishing the meaning of these terms, the Buddha himself gave it the name "wondrous samādhi"; throughout the outline it may be called samādhi, or "samādhi-earth," or simply "samādhi" — these being no more than minor variations in transliterating the same Sanskrit term. The first two lines take up and receive this very teaching, referring generally to everything taught concerning the latter two aspects of the tathāgatagarbha. Note the word "though" — meaning that although he has already received this teaching and opened up the complete and perfect understanding, he must still request the complete and perfect practice before he can actually enter and realize it — hence what follows, the analogy of the mansion and the search for its door, is exactly this request to be shown the gate of practice.

"Know that the tathāgatagarbha": the word "know" here means the complete, perfect understanding now fully opened, already awakened to the perfect principle of the three aspects of the tathāgatagarbha. "The wondrous, aware, bright mind pervades the ten directions": this is the mind of the one true dharma-realm, realized within the teaching on the empty-and-non-empty tathāgatagarbha — that it is nothing but this wondrous, aware brightness, perfectly illuminating the whole dharma-realm. Having awakened to this mind's pervading the ten directions, it is thus able to contain and nurture the ten dharma-realms of the four kinds of sages and the six kinds of ordinary beings alike. The text here speaks only in terms of the buddha-realm; though the other nine realms are not explicitly listed, one may infer that they, too, are all nothing but this same wondrous, aware, bright mind, manifesting according to conditions.

"Containing and nurturing the Tathāgata's own lands throughout the ten directions": "containing and nurturing" governs both of the two lines that follow — "containing" means holding within, "nurturing" means bringing forth; "the Tathāgata" here refers to the nirmāṇakāya, the transformation body, and "lands" to the transformation-lands accordingly. "Pure, jeweled, and adorned, the realm of the wondrously awakened king": "the wondrously awakened king" refers to the saṃbhogakāya, the reward body, and "realm" to the land of complete reward accordingly — the Buddha's own body complete with every jeweled mark of adornment, and his land richly gathering every kind of the seven jeweled ornaments, body and land alike entirely pure — hence "pure, jeweled, and adorned, the realm of the wondrously awakened king." Only the reward body and the transformation body are mentioned here, not the dharma-body itself, because the dharma-body is precisely this wondrous, aware, bright mind — the very thing that does the containing and nurturing — and it is from the dharma-body that the reward body and transformation body are manifested in turn.

The passage above recounts the aspect of his mind opening; this passage takes up the Buddha's own exhortation to practice. The Buddha had earlier said: "This accumulated learning, absorbed across so many aeons, still could not spare you from Mātaṅgī's ensnarement" — this rebuked mere learning as accomplishing nothing. He had also said: "Though you might spend aeons memorizing and retaining the Tathāgata's own secret and wondrous adornments, this could never equal a single day spent cultivating the undefiled path, and thereby escaping the world's twin sufferings of aversion and craving" — this rebuked his not yet having attained to actual practice.

Sūtra: "I am now like a traveler, lodging on the road, who suddenly finds himself given a magnificent house by a heavenly king — and though I have obtained this great mansion, I still need to find the door before I can enter it. I only beg that the Tathāgata, not withholding his great compassion, show those of us here in the assembly who remain shrouded in confusion the path of our own original resolve, the path that leads us to set aside the lesser vehicle and finally attain the Tathāgata's own nirvāṇa without remainder. Let those of us still in training know by what means to gather in and subdue this grasping, conditioned mind we have carried since time without beginning, so that we may attain the dhāraṇī and enter the Buddha's own knowledge and seeing." Having said this, he threw his whole body to the ground; and the entire assembly, with one mind, waited upon the Tathāgata's own compassionate instruction.

Commentary: To lodge on land is called "traveling"; to lodge on water is called "putting in to shore." Ānanda remains, at this point, still among those in training, not yet returned to his own true home — exactly like a traveler still lodging along the road. This is precisely why the Buddha had told him earlier that bodhi and nirvāṇa remained, for him, still far distant. "A heavenly king": the Zuǒ Zhuàn refers to the Zhou emperor himself as "the heavenly king" — the Buddha is likewise the king within the Dharma, hence the comparison. "A magnificent house" stands for the mind of the tathāgatagarbha; a magnificent house, its ornament and its substance perfectly matched, stands for the tathāgatagarbha's own substance and function, perfectly interfused. Having just received the Tathāgata's own teaching, opening the mind of the tathāgatagarbha and attaining the complete, perfect understanding, this is exactly like suddenly being given a magnificent house by a heavenly king — a gift truly beyond all expectation!

"Though I have obtained this great mansion, I still need to find the door before I can enter it": though granted this great mansion, he has not yet found its door and so cannot actually enter — exactly like someone gazing in from outside the palace walls: how could he ever make use of what lies within? This stands for the fact that, though he has awakened to the vast and perfectly complete mind of the tathāgatagarbha, he has not yet found the gate of practice, and so cannot actually enter and realize it — how, then, could he ever come to rest secure within it? Hence requesting the method of practice is now the most urgent task at hand. The door of this magnificent house lies exactly at the threshold of the six sense-faculties — Ānanda simply does not yet know this, and so has no way in.

This is his general request for the method of entering the greater vehicle. Without being shown this, there would be no path at all by which nirvāṇa could be cultivated — hence he begs only that the Tathāgata, not withholding his unsurpassed great compassion, point the way for all those here in the assembly who remain shrouded and darkened. To be trapped and obstructed by the provisional teaching is called "shrouded"; to remain confused about true principle is called "darkened" — such people have simply not yet entered the magnificent house at all, remaining, every one of them, outside its door.

"Setting aside the lesser vehicle and finally attaining the Tathāgata's own nirvāṇa without remainder": this asks that everyone in the assembly turn, each one, from the lesser vehicle toward the greater, no longer resting content within the phantom city, but pressing onward toward the true treasure — setting aside their former cultivation and realization of the lesser vehicle, the nirvāṇa still with remainder, and seeking instead, to the very end, the Tathāgata's own ultimate fruit, the nirvāṇa without remainder. "The path of our own original resolve": the very root of one's resolve, the gateway through which one first sets one's hand to practice — this is exactly a request to be shown the mind taken up at the causal stage. If the very first resolve one makes can rely on the true root, among the two roots [distinguished earlier], as the mind of the causal stage, then one proceeds directly toward bodhi, naturally without any detour or entanglement — this is itself the correct path of practice. The passage that follows, where the Buddha has us resolve the knot at its very root in the sense-faculty, is exactly this path of one's own original resolve.

This is a request made specifically on behalf of those still in training, seeking directly the skillful means for the very first step of practice. "Those of us still in training" means those who have not yet attained the fruit beyond further training — by what skillful means can we gather in and subdue this grasping, conditioned mind we have carried since time without beginning? "Gather in" means drawing it in and not letting it loose; "subdue" means bringing it under control and not letting it stir. "Since time without beginning" points to the past, from beginningless time up through this very life. The grasping, conditioned mind is the mind of consciousness itself, grasping at whatever objects among the six sense-fields it takes hold of, moment after moment discriminating, taking and rejecting — this is exactly the false root among the two roots [distinguished earlier], and it obstructs the great samādhi of the Śūraṅgama; this is exactly why the Buddha, addressing Ānanda at the very start, first dismantled this very mind above all else.

"Attain the dhāraṇī": already explained in fascicle 3, in the section on stripping away falseness to escape entanglement, where the Buddha said he was "about to expound it fully" — from which one may understand that everything taught since then, the sequential three aspects and their perfect interfusion alike, has been, in its entirety, nothing but the full expounding of this very dhāraṇī. What Ānanda now seeks is to actually attain it, so that he might enter the Buddha's own knowledge and seeing. The Buddha's own knowledge and seeing is something every sentient being already possesses in full — only, in delusion, it lies buried, and the Buddha's own knowledge and seeing becomes instead the knowledge and seeing of an ordinary being; in awakening, it stands revealed once more, and the ordinary being's own knowledge and seeing turns out to have been nothing but the Buddha's own knowledge and seeing all along — sentient being and Buddha were never, in truth, two different things; only delusion and awakening make them appear to differ. To enter the Buddha's own knowledge and seeing, one need only enter the stream by way of the sense-faculty itself, and entry is at once achieved.

"Having said this, he threw his whole body to the ground": the entire assembly, with one mind, waited upon the Tathāgata's own compassionate instruction, every one of them resolved to strive forward in genuine practice, so as never again to fall into confused and disordered cultivation.

Sūtra: At that time the World-Honored One, moved with compassion for those in the assembly — the pratyekabuddhas and śrāvakas — who had not yet found freedom in the mind of bodhi, and, further, for sentient beings of the degenerate age to come after his own final nirvāṇa, who would seek to give rise to the mind of bodhi, opened the wondrous path of practice belonging to the unsurpassed vehicle. He announced to Ānanda and the whole assembly: "Since you are all resolved to give rise to the mind of bodhi, and, with regard to the Buddhas' own wondrous samādhi, are unwilling to grow weary or discouraged, you must first understand clearly the two decisive meanings governing the very first mind that resolves on awakening. What are these two decisive meanings governing the first mind?"

Commentary: This is the sūtra compiler's own account of the Buddha's intention — addressed directly to those present who have already turned their minds toward the greater vehicle, and, alongside them, to beings of great capacity yet to come. "At that time" refers to the very moment Ānanda had just requested to be shown the gate of practice. The World-Honored One, moved with compassion for those in the present assembly — the pratyekabuddhas and śrāvakas who had already turned from the lesser vehicle toward the greater — saw that they had not yet found freedom in the mind of bodhi. This may be understood in two ways: first, that with regard to the hidden, causal-stage mind by which all the Buddhas and Tathāgatas cultivate and realize unsurpassed bodhi, though this assembly had already awakened to it, they had not yet found the gate of practice and so could not actually enter and realize it — hence their minds had not yet found freedom; second, that with regard to the causal mind of bodhi itself, though Ānanda and Pūrṇa alike had already awakened to it — each, at the close of the three fascicles before this one, coming to know for themselves that the true mind pervades all and is ever-constant, and then, upon receiving the Buddha's own teaching, coming to know that the tathāgatagarbha's own wondrous, aware, bright mind pervades the ten directions, containing and nurturing the Tathāgata's own lands — this complete and perfect understanding remains difficult to hold fast to, and, true practice not yet begun, they still belonged to the class of indeterminate nature, unable to avoid regressing the moment they meet an unfavorable condition, without any freedom of their own, not yet at ease. The Buddha therefore urges them not to grow weary, and shows them the two decisive meanings, so as to turn this indeterminate nature into a truly settled one.

"And, further, for sentient beings of the degenerate age to come, after his own final nirvāṇa, who would seek to give rise to the mind of bodhi": "further" means "together with, and also" — the Buddha's own compassion is inexhaustible, wishing to benefit beings present and future alike; "to come" means the future. When the Buddha enters final nirvāṇa, the five abodes of affliction are extinguished, both kinds of birth-and-death transcended — birth-and-death by mutation already exhausted, birth-and-death by segments likewise left behind — and he returns to the great ocean of utter stillness. After his final nirvāṇa, the true Dharma abides in the world for a thousand years, the semblance Dharma for a thousand years more, and the degenerate Dharma for ten thousand years after that; that sentient beings of this degenerate age, with their shallow roots and inferior wisdom, should still be able to give rise to the mind of bodhi is truly a rare and precious thing. "Opened the wondrous path of practice belonging to the unsurpassed vehicle": the unsurpassed vehicle is the single, highest buddha-vehicle itself — even the shared teaching's "one vehicle" still admits something higher above it, and only the distinct teaching's own "one vehicle" may properly be called unsurpassed; this is the fruit toward which one presses forward, namely the nirvāṇa without remainder Ānanda has just requested. The line that follows names the cause by which one presses toward it, namely the path of one's own original resolve mentioned just before. This "wondrous path of practice" points, in hidden fashion, to the perfect penetration through the ear-faculty: from the wondrous principle of the nature of hearing, giving rise to the wondrous wisdom of hearing turned back upon itself, and, by means of this wondrous wisdom, illuminating this wondrous principle — hearing, reflecting, cultivating, and realizing in turn. "Opened," in the first line, corresponds to "path" in the second: once the path of this original resolve, this wondrous practice, has been opened, then nirvāṇa without remainder and unsurpassed bodhi may at last be hoped for.

This first teaches the two decisive meanings in general outline. The Buddha announces to Ānanda, to the whole assembly now present, and, equally, to sentient beings yet to come, that they are all resolved to seek unsurpassed bodhi, unwilling to rest content within the phantom city forever, determined instead to press onward toward the true treasure. "With regard to the Buddhas' own wondrous samādhi": adding the word "wondrous" to "samādhi" points to the very samādhi Ānanda requested at the very start — the second of the three names he asked about. This is likewise the very cultivation of "the teaching of complete meaning" named in the sūtra's own title, and likewise the very samādhi Avalokiteśvara entered through hearing, reflecting, and cultivating — the method all the Buddhas cultivate in common. "Unwilling to grow weary or discouraged" is admirable indeed! — but one must first understand clearly whether the very first, causal-stage mind that gives rise to this resolve for awakening is the true mind, or the false mind. If one relies on the false mind, the causal stage is not genuine, and the fruit it brings will be crooked and twisted, unable to attain unsurpassed bodhi — like trying to steam sand into rice. If one relies on the true mind instead, taking what is unborn and unceasing as the causal-stage mind, then one can go on to perfectly accomplish cultivation and realization at the fruit-stage. Hence, with regard to these two decisive meanings, one cannot but understand them clearly in advance. The Buddha now explains these two decisive meanings himself, first posing the question in general: what are these two decisive meanings governing the first mind?

Sūtra: "Ānanda, the first decisive meaning is this: if you wish to set aside the śrāvaka path, cultivate the bodhisattva vehicle, and enter the Buddha's knowledge and seeing, you must carefully examine whether the mind you resolve on at the causal stage matches or differs from the awakening you seek at the fruit-stage. Ānanda, if, at the causal stage, you take the arising-and-ceasing mind as the root cause of your cultivation while seeking the unborn, unceasing Buddha-vehicle, this cannot succeed. For this very reason, you should clearly recognize that every conditioned phenomenon in this material world of instruments is subject to change and decay. Ānanda, consider the whole world — of every conditioned thing you observe, which one does not, in the end, decay? And yet you have never once heard of empty space itself decaying and falling apart. Why is this so? Because space is not something conditioned or produced at all — and for this very reason, from beginning to end, it never decays or perishes."

Commentary: What follows now distinguishes the two meanings separately. This first shows the first meaning: that the causal mind must decisively match the fruit-awakening before one can, from a genuinely true cause, arrive at the wondrous fruit. Hence the Buddha addresses Ānanda directly: the first meaning is this — if you wish to set aside the lesser vehicle of the śrāvakas, unwilling to remain sunk in empty stillness, and instead wish to cultivate the bodhisattva's greater vehicle, wisdom and compassion carried forward together, seeking to enter the Buddha's own knowledge and seeing, already explained earlier — the word "wish" here carries a double sense: the wish, that is the resolve, to set aside the lesser vehicle, and the wish, the resolve, to cultivate the greater vehicle and seek entry into the Buddha's own knowledge and seeing, which is itself the resolve to accomplish the buddha-path. You must carefully examine and observe whether the very mind first resolved on at the causal stage matches, or differs from, the awakening ultimately realized and confirmed at the fruit-stage. If the causal mind matches the fruit-awakening, it is like matching emptiness with emptiness; if the causal mind differs from the fruit-awakening, it is like trying to cook sand into rice — one cannot but examine this carefully, to avoid a flawed cause leading to a mistaken fruit.

This makes plain the case where they differ. If, at the causal stage, Ānanda takes the arising-and-ceasing mind as the root cause of his cultivation — this mind being exactly the grasping, conditioned mind of the sixth consciousness, the false root — then, if he takes this mind as the causal-stage mind for his cultivation, it may serve well enough for seeking the lesser fruits of the two vehicles, but it cannot possibly serve for seeking the unsurpassed, single vehicle of all the Buddhas, the unborn, unceasing, true and constant fruit-awakening — hence "this cannot succeed."

Because of this very difference between cause and fruit, you should give rise to wisdom and observe clearly, recognizing that every conditioned thing throughout this material world — that is, every conditioned phenomenon — being conditioned, is subject to arising and ceasing, and so is entirely subject to change, transformation, and decay. Fearing Ānanda might not believe this, the Buddha addresses him by name once more, telling him to observe for himself: of every conditioned thing you see throughout the world, which one does not, in the end, decay? — wanting him to observe, awaken to, and come to believe this for himself. Every conditioned thing here stands as an example for the sixth consciousness's own arising-and-ceasing, impermanent mind, which decisively cannot be used as the causal-stage mind — this is exactly the point of the Buddha's earlier threefold refutation of the false, discriminating mind with Ānanda.

The example above makes plain the case where they differ; this example makes plain the case where they match. "And yet" signals a turn in the argument: you have never once heard of empty space decaying and falling apart — space here stands as an example for the nature of the sense-faculty, the unborn, unceasing, truly real, ever-abiding mind, hence the comparison to never hearing of space decaying. "Why is this so?" introduces the explanation: because space is not something conditioned or produced, its nature, from beginning to end, remains truly constant, never decaying or perishing — and for this very reason it can decisively be taken as the causal-stage mind for one's cultivation. This is exactly the point of the Buddha's earlier tenfold revealing of the true mind with Ānanda. Everything above — deciding that the cause must match the fruit — is the guiding principle of this first decisive meaning; what follows, on clarifying turbidity to enter nirvāṇa, is where this principle leads in practice.

Sūtra: "Within your own body, solidity is earth, moisture is water, warmth is fire, and movement is wind; bound by these four, your own calm, perfect, wondrous, bright awareness becomes divided into seeing, hearing, sensing, and discerning — and, from beginning to end, five layers of turbidity result."

Commentary: This directly identifies the substance of the five turbidities. This sūtra uses the same term as other scriptures but with a different meaning: what is meant here is simply that once the earth of the four elements is thrown into the perfectly calm water of the mind, the water loses its own clarity, so that seeing and the rest of the faculties are no longer perfect and calm — this loss is exactly what "turbidity" refers to as its substance. Master Jiaoguang observes: although the outer five great elements and the inner four elements alike serve as this turbid substance, it is the inner four elements above all that press most urgently upon birth-and-death and most thoroughly obstruct nirvāṇa — hence this passage speaks mostly of the four elements within the body itself. First, the four elements within the body are explained: within your own present body, whatever is solid — flesh, sinew, and bone — is the element earth; whatever is moist — bodily fluids, essence, and blood — is the element water; whatever is warm — heat and temperature — is the element fire; and whatever moves — the breath and its circulation — is the element wind.

"Bound by these four": the four elements, combined together as a temporary aggregate, bind and entangle one another, weaving themselves into a body. Once there is the appearance of a body, the six sense-faculties falsely come to be, dividing what is one single, calm, perfectly pervading, wondrous, aware, bright true mind — unborn, unceasing — so that it combines with arising-and-ceasing and becomes the ālaya-consciousness. This consciousness's own essential, original brightness, reflected at the threshold of the six sense-faculties, becomes seeing — that is, the eye-faculty's own essence of seeing; becomes hearing — the ear-faculty's own essence of hearing; becomes sensing — the nose-faculty's essence of smelling, the tongue-faculty's essence of tasting, and the body-faculty's essence of feeling; and becomes discerning — the mind-faculty's own nature of discernment, distinguished from mental consciousness's own separate work of discrimination and understanding. This is exactly form and mind combining together to become this turbid substance — as a later passage in the sūtra puts it: "originally relying on this one, essential brightness, it divides itself into six combined faculties." "From beginning to end" means from the aggregate of consciousness at the start to the aggregate of form at the end, since arising proceeds from consciousness outward — and these five layers, muddled together and unclear, form the appearance of turbidity; this closes by establishing their number and their name.

"Why is this called turbidity? Ānanda, it is like clear water: pure and clean in its own nature — while dust, ash, and sand belong to a different kind of thing altogether, their own substance obstructing and clouding whatever they touch; the two substances simply are as they are, their natures never following after one another. But suppose someone were to take that dust and throw it into the clear water: the dust loses its own power to obstruct, the water loses its own clarity, and the whole appearance grows murky and disturbed — this is what is called turbidity. Your own five layers of turbidity are exactly the same." This analogy shows the appearance of the five turbidities as a whole. The first sentence poses the question; what follows makes it plain through the analogy. The first two lines about clear water stand for the pure, undefiled mind, clean and clear by its own nature; the dust, ash, and sand stand for the four elements. "A different kind of thing" — their own substance obstructing and clouding whatever they touch — means that the substance of the four elements is itself something that clogs and obstructs, capable of obscuring the true nature. "The two substances" are the substance of clear water and the substance of the dust; "simply are as they are" means this is how they are from the start — one pure and clean, the other obstructing and clouding — their natures never following after one another, standing for how the pure, undefiled mind and the four elements, one true and one false, differ utterly in their own natures. "Someone" stands for a sentient being caught in delusion; taking the dust and throwing it into the water stands for falseness arising and disturbing what is true, so that truth and falseness combine, form and mind interweave — comparable to how the dust loses its power to obstruct and the water loses its clarity, truth and falseness no longer distinguishable, hence "murky and disturbed," a chaotic, confused appearance called turbidity. The water of your own mind, Ānanda, has exactly these same five layers of turbidity.

"Ānanda, you see empty space pervading the ten directions, indistinguishable from seeing itself: space has no substance, seeing has no independent awareness of its own, and the two weave falsely together — this is the first layer, called the turbidity of the aeon." What follows in the next five sections shows each of the five turbidities by name in turn, each name formed by the combination of its own substance and appearance. This first shows the turbidity of the aeon, which depends on the aggregate of form — both the four elements within the body and the five great elements without belong to the aggregate of form, while the nature of the six essences within belongs to mind as such. Whenever turbidity is spoken of, it is because the water of the mind, originally calm, becomes turbid once the various elements are thrown into it, exactly as the analogy above makes clear; this particular turbidity of the aeon depends on the aggregate of form, formed by the weaving-together of the outer five elements' own space-element with the six essences' own essence of seeing. The first line, "you see empty space," raises space to stand in also for earth and the other three elements, and raises seeing to stand in also for hearing and the other four essences; space and seeing alone are singled out because both, alike, pervade the ten directions, making the false weaving-together between them easiest to see. "Indistinguishable from seeing itself": pervading together at once, with no way to mark out where the boundary of seeing ends and the boundary of space begins — these three lines identify the substance of the turbidity of the aeon. "Space has no substance, seeing has no independent awareness of its own": if there were only space and no seeing, space would have no substance that could ever be found — for without seeing, who could ever make space's own substance known? And if there were only seeing and no space, seeing would have nothing to be aware of at all — for without any object, the faculty itself could never be made manifest. "The two weave falsely together": seeing and space interweave, like warp and weft, densely woven, indistinguishable. As it is with seeing and space, so it is with seeing and form; as it is with the eye-faculty, so it is with every other faculty — faculty and object confront one another, clouding the true nature and obscuring its own wondrous brightness, and so the appearance of the turbidity of the aeon takes shape.

"Your own body, formed by combining the four elements, obstructs seeing, hearing, sensing, and knowing, so that water, fire, wind, and earth are made to circulate as if aware — this weaving-together falsely produced is the second layer, called the turbidity of views." Next, the turbidity of views is shown. This turbidity depends on the aggregate of sensation, formed by the weaving-together of seeing, hearing, sensing, and knowing with the four elements within, the six faculties of sensory reception taking in their various objects. "Your body, formed by combining the four elements" — these two lines identify the substance of the turbidity of views, meaning that your own present body has taken the four elements, combined as a temporary aggregate, as its own substance. Once there is the appearance of a body, the six sense-faculties follow, and so a single essential brightness divides itself into the six essences of seeing, hearing, sensing, and knowing. Originally a single essential brightness, once obstructed and partitioned by the four elements of earth, water, fire, and wind, it becomes the six sense-faculties, divided into six combined functions — what originally had no obstruction now becomes obstructed! The eye can only see, and so on up through the mind, which can only know; while water, fire, wind, and earth, originally things without awareness at all, are made to circulate as though aware — "made to circulate" meaning turned about, revolved by the very nature of these six essences, so that what was without awareness becomes, as it were, endowed with awareness. "This weaving-together falsely produced": awareness and its absence weave together, like warp and weft, densely woven, indistinguishable, disturbing the true nature and falsely producing the appearance of the turbidity of views — comprising, in all, the sixty-two views, with the view of a self foremost among them, sensitive to pain at even the prick of a needle's point.

"Further, in your mind, memory, discrimination, and habituated learning give rise to knowledge and views, manifesting the six sense-objects; apart from these objects there is no appearance, and apart from this awareness there is no nature to be found — this falsely woven result is the third layer, called the turbidity of affliction." Third, the turbidity of affliction is shown. This turbidity depends on the aggregate of perception: with the six faculties already established in the previous section, and now confronting the six sense-objects, the six kinds of perception naturally form — that is, the sixth consciousness imagining the objects of the six sense-fields — hence "further, in your mind, memory, discrimination, and habituated learning." This means that, within the sixth consciousness's own false imagining, one recalls past objects once taken hold of, fixing them firmly in memory without forgetting; one discriminates present objects now being taken hold of, clinging to them with attachment; and one rehearses future objects not yet encountered, planning for them in advance — these two lines identify the substance of the turbidity of affliction. "Giving rise to knowledge and views, manifesting the six sense-objects": "nature" here means the very nature of the sixth consciousness that does the imagining, which, relying on the six faculties, gives rise to the six kinds of false imagining — seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, sensing, and knowing. The first five occur together with the corresponding sense-consciousness arising at the same moment; "knowing" alone is the independently operating mental consciousness. "Knowledge and views" names two to stand for all six. "Manifesting" refers to the appearance of the six sense-objects as imagined, the objects of the six sense-fields now present before it. "Apart from these objects there is no appearance, and apart from this awareness there is no nature to be found": if the six consciousnesses were separated from the six sense-objects, then the objects taken as conditions would vanish and the consciousness taking them as conditions would dissolve, with no appearance of consciousness to be found at all; and if the six sense-objects were separated from the six consciousnesses' own false awareness, then what takes hold would never arise and what is taken hold of would likewise be empty, with no nature of an object to be found at all. "This falsely woven result": false awareness and false objects weave together, like warp and weft, densely woven, indistinguishable, and so the endless conditioning of objects and grasping after thoughts, craved and clung to without rest, brings about the appearance of the turbidity of affliction.

"Further, your own arising and ceasing, morning and night, never stops; your own knowledge and views ever wish to remain fixed in the world, while your own karmic momentum ever shifts you onward from one land to the next — this falsely woven result is the fourth layer, called the turbidity of beings." Fourth, the turbidity of beings is shown. This turbidity depends on the aggregate of formations: with the previous three sections already establishing a world, and now a body and mind as well, once world, body, and mind are all in place, arising and ceasing naturally follow. The seventh consciousness is the very root of this arising and ceasing, flowing on moment after moment to form the aggregate of formations — hence "further, within your own manas, from morning to night, false thoughts follow one after another without a moment's rest," arising, abiding, changing, and ceasing in endless succession, and so the world shifts onward and body and mind continue, giving rise to boundless birth and death. "Your own knowledge and views ever wish to remain fixed in the world": since no ordinary being fails to crave life and fear death, clinging to the view and knowledge of a self, one ever wishes to remain fixed in the world forever — having reached a hundred years, still wishing for a hundred and twenty — this speaks in terms of the mind. Yet, powerless against it, the aggregate of formations secretly shifts on, karmic momentum ever pressing forward, with no freedom of one's own, casting off one life to take up the next, shifting from one land to another — this speaks in terms of the body. "This falsely woven result": the false body and false mind, ever shifting yet ever wishing to remain, weave together, like warp and weft, densely woven, indistinguishable, disturbing the true nature and falsely producing the appearance of the turbidity of beings.

"Your seeing and hearing have, originally, no differing nature at all, yet the various sense-objects divide them apart, producing difference where none belongs. In their own nature they remain mutually aware of one another; in their own function they stand opposed to one another; sameness and difference lose all fixed measure — this falsely woven result is the fifth layer, called the turbidity of life-span." Fifth, the turbidity of life-span is shown. This turbidity depends on the aggregate of consciousness, pointing to the eighth consciousness in particular — the seventh consciousness belongs to the aggregate of formations, the sixth to the aggregate of perception. The eighth consciousness, within a sentient being, is the very master that departs last and arrives first; and one's life-span bears a direct, connected relation to this eighth consciousness — so long as it has not yet left the body, one's life is not yet exhausted, and the very moment it departs the body, one's life-span comes to its end; hence the turbidity of life-span depends on the aggregate of consciousness. "Your own seeing and hearing have, originally, no differing nature at all": your own seeing, hearing, sensing, and knowing were originally one single substance, with no differing nature between them at all. "The various sense-objects divide them apart": the various sense-objects — brightness and darkness, motion and stillness, and the rest of the six — are taken hold of, forming the sense-faculties, each opening its own separate gateway, and thereby dividing what was one single substance into six essences, producing difference where none belongs. "In their own nature they remain mutually aware of one another; in their own function they stand opposed to one another": considered in terms of their own nature, these six functions remain, at root, one single substance, all belonging to a single household, their awareness communicating freely with one another — the same, not different; but considered in terms of their own function, this one substance, having become six separate functions, cannot help but stand, in some sense, opposed to one another — different, not the same. "Sameness and difference lose all fixed measure, and this falsely woven result": "measure" means a fixed standard — sameness is not fixedly the same, difference is not fixedly different, hence "sameness and difference lose all fixed measure." This single sameness and this single difference weave together, like warp and weft, densely woven, indistinguishable, disturbing the true nature and falsely producing the appearance of the turbidity of life-span.

Master Jiaoguang observes: taking the whole of the above together, the wondrously aware, bright mind is nothing but a single, calm, perfect wholeness, with not even an inside or an outside to it at all — how, then, could there ever be any turbidity in it whatsoever? It is only because it obscures itself into what appears as empty space, and, within this darkened obscurity, congeals this very darkness into form, that, from without, it becomes muddled by the five great elements of the material world, and so the turbidity of the aeon results; drawing further inward, it becomes muddled by the four elements forming a bodily appearance, and so the turbidity of views results; drawing further inward still, it becomes muddled by the shadowy traces of the six sense-objects as conditions, and so the turbidity of affliction results, from which body and mind, broken and yet continuing, shift onward from land to land; and it becomes further muddled by birth and death themselves, and so the turbidity of beings results — taking these four appearances together, both within and without alike become one single, muddled turbidity, entirely losing the very meaning of "calm." And from this, further still, the various sense-objects knot and congeal, so that the six sense-faculties can no longer freely interpenetrate one another, and so the turbidity of life-span results — taking this one appearance alone, the very meaning of "perfect wholeness" is entirely lost as well. Hence, wishing to restore this original calm, perfect wholeness, one must seek the method for clarifying this turbidity — and this is exactly what the passage that follows goes on to teach.

Sūtra: "Ānanda, you now wish for your own seeing, hearing, sensing, and knowing to accord fully, at last, with the Tathāgata's own constancy, bliss, true self, and purity. You must first choose the very root of birth and death, and, relying instead on what is unborn and unceasing, bring the perfectly calm nature to completion."

Commentary: The section above made plain that, though sentient beings are entirely furnished with the five turbidities, they still possess, at root, this same calm, perfect nature, its four inherent virtues merely hidden and unmanifest; this section now teaches the method for clarifying this turbidity and restoring that clarity. This method requires, first, distinguishing the true causal mind from the false, taking up the true and setting aside the false as the very starting point of practice — only then can the turbidity be clarified and the calm, perfect nature be restored. Hence the Buddha tells Ānanda: the very nature of seeing, hearing, sensing, and knowing you now possess within your own sense-faculties is itself none other than the mind of original enlightenment; and this is, at root, one and the same substance — with no duality, no distinction whatsoever — as the virtues of constancy, bliss, true self, and purity realized by all the Tathāgatas of the ten directions, which is itself none other than final, complete awakening. It is, from the start, calm and pure; it is, from the start, perfectly complete and all-pervading — and it is only because of the five turbidities that these four virtues are lost. Matched one against the other: because of the turbidity of beings, one flows on through birth and death, and so loses true constancy, becoming instead impermanence; because of the turbidity of affliction, bound and entangled by the root afflictions and their followers, one loses true bliss, becoming instead suffering; because of the turbidity of views and the turbidity of life-span, faculty and consciousness combined together, one loses the true self, becoming instead a false self; and because of the turbidity of the aeon, worldly toil and defilement, one loses true purity, becoming instead impurity. This is only speaking in terms of their particular correspondences; considered more generally, every one of the five turbidities causes the loss of all four virtues at once — though this "loss" is never a true loss, exactly as muddy water loses its own clarity, and yet, examined closely, the clear water remains present within the very mud itself. Though the four virtues are, in this sense, never truly lost, the five turbidities remain, even now, unremoved — and so one remains, by one's own reckoning, worlds apart from the Buddha's own realized virtue. You now wish for the four natures bound up within the five turbidities to accord fully with the Tathāgata's own four virtues — this cannot be accomplished without the actual work of clarifying this turbidity! And this resolve to clarify the turbidity cannot itself bear fruit without first choosing the true, causal-stage mind — hence the need to decisively choose between them, taking up the one and setting aside the other.

This is exactly choosing decisively between the two roots, true and false. If this choice is not made clearly, and taking-up and setting-aside are reversed, then the five turbidities can never be clarified, and nirvāṇa can never be realized by any method at all — hence the Buddha specifically instructs Ānanda that he must choose the true, causal-stage mind. "The very root of birth and death" is exactly the grasping, conditioned mind of the sixth consciousness — in the Buddha's earlier distinction between the two roots, this was named the false root. Ordinary beings, those outside the teaching, and those of the provisional and lesser vehicles alike, failing to realize that this mind is not the true cause at all, take it up regardless and cultivate in confused disorder, and so can never attain unsurpassed bodhi — this is exactly why the Buddha so thoroughly refuted this false mind, three times over: because it is a cause of arising and ceasing, it cannot accord with the fruit-virtue of nirvāṇa, and so must be decisively set aside and abandoned first of all. "Relying instead on what is unborn and unceasing, bring the perfectly calm nature to completion": this is exactly the unborn, unceasing, perfectly complete, all-pervading, calmly abiding buddha-nature of original enlightenment already possessed within the sense-faculties — in the Buddha's earlier distinction between the two roots, this was named the true root, the very originally pure substance of bodhi and nirvāṇa itself — hence the Buddha's tenfold, thorough revealing of its truth. Near at hand, it is fully present within every sense-faculty; far-reaching, it encompasses the ten thousand phenomena entirely — yet ordinary beings, those outside the teaching, and those of the provisional and lesser vehicles alike remain entirely unaware of it, using it every single day without ever knowing it is there. This must now be decisively understood, and taken up and put to use. The first two lines here mean setting aside consciousness; the next two mean making use of the sense-faculty's own nature. Setting aside consciousness and making use of the sense-faculty's nature is the very essential point of this entire sūtra: unless the discriminating mind of consciousness is set aside, how could the great samādhi ever be cultivated at all? And unless the sense-faculty's own nature is taken up and put to use, how could nirvāṇa ever be realized? Hence, in answering Ānanda's request for the method of practice, the Buddha's teaching is exactly this: set aside consciousness, and make use of the sense-faculty's nature. The passage further on, "if you set aside what arises and ceases, and hold fast instead to what is ever-true and constant," carries this very same meaning. The word "completion" here means: relying on this unborn, unceasing, perfectly calm nature of the sense-faculty, bringing it to completion as the true, causal-stage mind — and once the cause is true, the fruit can be realized, and so one comes to perfectly accomplish cultivation and realization at the fruit-stage, which is itself the completion of the fruit-stage awakening.

Sūtra: "Using this very calm, unmoving nature, turn back the falseness that gives rise to ceasing and arising, so that it subsides and returns to original awakening; attaining this original, bright awakening's own unborn, unceasing nature, take this as the causal-stage mind. Only then can cultivation and realization at the fruit-stage be perfectly accomplished."

Commentary: The word "completion" in the previous section refers to bringing exactly this causal-stage mind to completion. "This calm, unmoving nature" is the unborn, unceasing, perfectly calm nature itself — the very nature of seeing the Tathāgata revealed tenfold, and likewise the very nature of hearing to be used, later in the sūtra, in contemplating through the ear-faculty. As the bell-striking demonstration later confirms, it abides constantly, originally unborn and unceasing; as the teaching on the great element of seeing shows, it is originally perfect and all-pervading; as the flying-light demonstration reveals, it is calm and originally unmoving. It is by means of exactly this unborn, unceasing, perfectly calm nature of the sense-faculty that one turns back the falseness that gives rise to ceasing and arising. "Turn back" means to reverse; "it" refers to the five turbidities, which, altogether, belong to nothing but the false phenomena of arising and ceasing, none of them extending beyond body, mind, and world. "Turn back" is exactly the actual work to be done: taking up, from within one's own calm, perfect mind, a single ray of its own mental light, no longer casting it outward to illuminate the sense-faculties, the body, and the material world, but instead turning it inward to illuminate its own original source — and the turbidity naturally turns to clarity of itself, falseness naturally turns back into truth. What follows illustrates this with the image of settled water, deep and unmoving, its sand and mud sinking of themselves.

"So that it subsides and returns to original awakening": "subsides" means slipping free of what it clings to and settling inward; "returns" means the turbidity being clarified and clarity restored; "original awakening" is the originally possessed, original, bright nature of awakening itself. This line describes falseness turning back into truth; what follows illustrates this with the image of clear water appearing. "Attaining this original, wondrous, bright original awakening's own unborn, unceasing nature, take this as the causal-stage mind": this mind, being identical with the fruit-stage awakening itself, can naturally, at last, accord fully with the Tathāgata's own realized virtue. At this point one's stage corresponds to the completion of the ten faiths, since one is now able to subdue, at once, the actual manifestation of both obstructions together.

"Only then" follows directly from this subduing that comes first, and the severing that follows after: severing a single portion of ignorance, one ascends to the first abiding of the perfect teaching, and, passing through the fifty-five stages of the true path to bodhi, perfectly accomplishes the fruit-stage, one's genuine practice brought to its full realization, unsurpassed bodhi fully perfected — illustrated, in what follows, by the image of the mud entirely gone, leaving nothing but pure water.

Sūtra: "It is like clarifying muddy water: stored in a still vessel, held still and deep, unmoving, its sand and mud settle of themselves, and clear water appears — this is called the first subduing of the guest-dust afflictions. Once the mud itself is removed, leaving purely clear water, this is called the permanent severing of the very root of ignorance. Once this bright appearance is fully pure, whatever it manifests and transforms into is no longer afflicted at all, and everything accords fully with nirvāṇa's own pure and wondrous virtue."

Commentary: This illustrates falseness turning back into truth. The five turbidities named earlier, muddying the perfectly calm nature, form, throughout, the false appearance of arising and ceasing — comparable to dust thrown into clear water, producing throughout the appearance of murkiness. Now, wishing to turn this falseness back, it is like storing this water in a still vessel: the still vessel corresponds to the sense-faculty; the water no longer rushing about corresponds to the perfectly calm, unborn, unceasing nature. "Held still and deep, unmoving" corresponds to Avalokiteśvara's own method, proceeding through hearing, reflecting, and cultivating, turning hearing back upon one's own nature, penetrating ever more deeply by degrees — corresponding to using this calm nature to turn back the falseness that gives rise to ceasing and arising. "Its sand and mud settle of themselves, and clear water appears" corresponds to subsiding and returning to original awakening, attaining this original, bright awakening as the causal-stage mind. The sand and mud settling of themselves corresponds to subduing, at once, the actual manifestation of both obstructions together, a stage corresponding to the completion of the ten faiths — hence "this is called the first subduing of the guest-dust afflictions." This "guest-dust" here does not stand for the afflictions of views and thought, but points instead to the actual manifestation of the two obstructions, arising and ceasing without rest, transient as a guest, unsettled as dust — and this has now, at this stage, been subdued. The Zhèngmài commentary observes: this "first subduing of the guest-dust afflictions" should correspond to the completion of the ten faiths, where the two coarser afflictions have already been severed, and ignorance itself has, alongside them, been subdued as well. This illustrates subduing, bringing the causal stage to completion.

This illustrates severing, entering the fruit-stage. Though the sand and mud in the previous image have settled, the mud itself has not yet been removed — corresponding to ignorance being subdued but not yet severed; now, with the mud actually removed, this corresponds to ignorance having actually been severed; the clear water that appeared before was not yet purely so — corresponding to the subsiding and returning to original awakening not yet being complete; and this pure water now corresponds to cultivation and realization at the fruit-stage being perfectly accomplished. "This is called the permanent severing of the very root of ignorance": this means that even the very first, subtlest mark of ignorance — the karmic mark of arising itself — is now entirely severed as well, and final, pure awakening is realized.

"Once this bright appearance is fully pure": matched against the doctrine itself, cultivation and realization at the fruit-stage now perfectly accomplished, falseness entirely exhausted and truth perfectly complete, this is exactly pure, perfect, uniquely wondrous awakening, the realization of the ultimate fruit itself. Matched against the analogy, the mud now removed, leaving purely clear water, dust and mud and sand entirely gone, only the single appearance of clear, calm brightness remains, pure and undisturbed — and no matter how it might now be stirred, it never again grows turbid. The Buddha, having realized this ultimate fruit, turns his compassionate ship back around and enters, by his own will, the very ocean of birth and death, manifesting and transforming every kind of body, mind, and world, whether following the ordinary current or working against it — none of it ever becomes affliction, but rather becomes wondrous function throughout. No longer obstructed by the four bindings and the five turbidities, all of it accords fully with nirvāṇa's own pure and wondrous virtue, the five turbidities transformed entirely into the four virtues, each and every one free and unobstructed. This closes the first decisive meaning — deciding that cause must match fruit, and clarifying turbidity to enter nirvāṇa.

Sūtra: "The second meaning is this: if you truly wish to give rise to the mind of bodhi, and, with regard to the bodhisattva vehicle, give rise to great courage, you must decisively set aside every conditioned appearance."

Commentary: The first line restates the name of this meaning. The section above concerned choosing the causal mind; this section, following upon that choice already made, has as its own guiding principle deciding to resolve the knot exactly where it is tied, in the sense-faculty itself — and, as where this principle leads in practice, thereby escaping entanglement and suddenly entering perfect penetration. Resolving the knot at the sense-faculty is the actual starting point for cultivating the great samādhi of the Śūraṅgama. In the three and a half fascicles before this one, the Buddha revealed the true causal-stage mind as the very first skillful means; the causal mind chosen in the previous section is exactly the causal mind the Buddha revealed there, and this section begins cultivation from that same causal mind, as the first skillful means — that is, the skillful means for entering the first abiding of the initial resolve for awakening. The work to be done before reaching that abiding matters most of all to the beginning student, and cannot but be set forth in full detail. Having already taught setting aside consciousness and making use of the sense-faculty, one must still be shown how to select the most perfect faculty among the six. As the text will go on to say: the difference between a perfectly complete faculty and one that is not multiplies day against aeon — compared to cultivating by way of sense-objects, or consciousness, or the elements generally, how could the difference in speed ever even be reckoned by number at all? This is the most skillful, the swiftest of all methods — hence the sūtra's own title speaks of "the teaching of complete meaning" for cultivation and realization.

In this second decisive meaning, the Buddha's own intention is this: "if you truly wish" — "truly wish" being itself part of what makes this a decisive meaning. The mind of bodhi is the mind of the great path, the mind that seeks to accomplish the unsurpassed buddha-path — that is, the mind of the very highest vehicle, seeking neither the śrāvaka's nor the pratyekabuddha's path, relying solely on the highest vehicle to give rise to the mind of bodhi; this belongs to the aspect of vow. "With regard to the bodhisattva vehicle, give rise to great courage": this is carrying that vow forward into actual practice — a bodhisattva is a being of the great path's own mind, one who has already given rise to the mind of bodhi, and who cultivates the bodhi-practice of this single, highest vehicle, giving rise to a mind of great courage, vigorous and never retreating. "Decisively set aside every conditioned appearance": this means setting aside the arising-and-ceasing mind used by the provisional and lesser vehicles as their own root cause of cultivation — wherever there is arising and ceasing, there is a conditioned appearance. This passage contains, within it, three distinct resolves: first, the resolve to give rise to the mind of bodhi; second, the resolve to cultivate the bodhisattva vehicle; third, the resolve to set aside every conditioned appearance — that is, the resolve to set aside consciousness and make use of the sense-faculty. This vow and this practice together are truly admirable! Hence what follows now teaches deciding to resolve the knot at the sense-faculty, as the only way one can, from this cause, ultimately reach the fruit.

Sūtra: "You must carefully examine the very root of affliction. From beginningless time, what has generated karma and nourished rebirth — who has done this, and who has experienced its results? Ānanda, if, in cultivating bodhi, you fail to examine closely the very root of affliction, you can never know where the false sense-faculties and their objects first fell into inversion. And if you do not even know where this is, how could you ever hope to subdue it, and attain the Tathāgata's own true station? Ānanda, consider this: when someone in this world sets out to untie a knot, if he cannot even see where the knot itself is, how could he ever know how to untie it? And yet you have never once heard of empty space itself being torn or broken apart by you. Why is this so? Because space has no shape or form to it at all, and so it can have no knot to be tied, and no knot to be untied, either."

Commentary: This follows from the passage above: to set aside every conditioned appearance, one must first free oneself from affliction; and to free oneself from affliction, one must first sever it at its very root. Hence the Buddha teaches that one must carefully examine, in full detail, the very root of affliction. Affliction is the cause of the bitter fruit of birth and death — in its particular forms it comprises the root afflictions and their followers, twenty-six dharmas in all; in general it is nothing but the six consciousnesses, which, confronting their objects and discriminating among them, give rise to every affliction — this belongs to branch-tip ignorance. The root itself is the very first, karmic mark of ignorance arising, combined within the eighth consciousness and knotted fast within the six sense-faculties: the very nature of seeing, hearing, and the rest within the six faculties is, in every case, ignorance's own power turning the originally possessed light of wisdom into a discriminating faculty of seeing, itself capable of giving rise to every branch-tip affliction in turn — hence it is called "the root." Seen in this light, the root of birth and death is the sixth consciousness — as the Buddha said, in distinguishing the two roots, true and false: "the first is the beginningless root of birth and death, namely what you and every sentient being now take as your own nature, the grasping, conditioned mind." The root of affliction is exactly the six sense-faculties — as all the Buddhas, later on, will tell Ānanda with a single voice: "if you wish to know innate ignorance, it is nothing other than your own six sense-faculties, and nothing else besides." "From beginningless time, what has generated karma and nourished rebirth — who has done this, and who has experienced its results?" means examining closely, of this affliction: from beginningless time onward, what exactly should be called the ignorance that generates karma, and what should be called the ignorance that nourishes rebirth? "Generating karma" is the cause that produces karma, the very power that gives rise to karmic action taking present effect — corresponding, in the twelvefold chain of dependent origination, to ignorance belonging to the past. "Nourishing rebirth" is the condition attending karma, where the three conditions come together and nourish the present life so as to receive rebirth — corresponding, in the twelvefold chain, to craving and grasping, that single thought of craving and attachment at the very moment the intermediate-state being enters the womb. Both of these belong to affliction. "Who has done this, and who has experienced its results?" traces the matter back to its very root, meaning to show that it is the six sense-faculties themselves that act, and the six sense-faculties themselves that experience the result. The word "who," rather than naming the six faculties outright, is meant to have Ānanda examine this closely himself — to examine and awaken to it on his own.

This passage's identification of the root of affliction with the six sense-faculties conceals a meaning not easy to grasp at first. One should understand: the sense-faculty here is, at root, the eighth consciousness, which gives rise, in turn, to the six consciousnesses, giving rise to delusion and creating karma, and, depending on this karma, receiving rebirth. Tracing the branch back to its root, it is the eighth consciousness's own seeing-portion, projected outward, that becomes the six consciousnesses, which are thus the root of birth and death; and the six sense-faculties are, in turn, the root of the six consciousnesses. Examined closely, then, it is in fact the eighth consciousness itself that generates karma and nourishes rebirth, itself acting and itself experiencing the result.

This follows the passage above. Since you are now resolved to give rise to the mind of bodhi and cultivate and realize the path of unsurpassed bodhi, you must sever affliction — and to sever affliction, you must first investigate it at its very root. Hence the Buddha tells him: suppose you fail to examine closely the very root of affliction — then you can never know from where the false sense-faculties and their objects first fell into inversion. "Faculty" here refers to the four elements and six sense-faculties belonging to sentient beings; "object" refers to the five great elements and empty space belonging to what is insentient. Neither faculty nor object is, at root, a real thing at all — hence "false." They exist only because of inversion, and this inversion is itself none other than ignorance, in both its root and its branches. This inversion arises specifically in the sense-faculty — though the Buddha does not say so outright here, only asking "where," precisely so that Ānanda might examine this for himself, investigating it at its very root. If one does not even know where this inversion first arose, how could one ever hope to subdue affliction and attain confirmation in the Tathāgata's own true station? This passage corresponds to what the Buddha told Ānanda back in fascicle 1 — that what one truly loves depends on the mind and the eyes; unless one knows exactly where mind and eyes are to be found, one can never subdue the toil and defilement of the senses. To sever affliction, one must first locate its very root — just as a king seeking to put down bandits must first strike at their very den and remove their ringleader, leaving them with nowhere left to hide, so that they scatter and surrender of themselves; conversely, if one does not even know where they are hiding, how could one ever hope to subdue them and bring about peace at all?

The passage above stated the doctrine directly; this passage makes it plain through an analogy. "Someone in this world who sets out to untie a knot" stands for a sentient being cultivating bodhi in order to sever affliction. Not seeing where the knot originally came to be tied stands for not knowing the very root of affliction, nor where the false sense-faculties and their objects first fell into inversion. "How could he ever know how to untie it?": since he cannot even see where the knot first arose, how could he possibly know how to untie it? — standing for: since one does not even know where this is, how could one ever hope to subdue and sever it, and attain the Tathāgata's own station? This passage lays the groundwork for the knotted-cloth demonstration further on, and is likewise the hidden thread running through the whole teaching of resolving the knot at the sense-faculty. Within the sense-faculties of every sentient being there lie six knots — these six knots being exactly the afflictions of self and dharma and the rest — and selecting the faculty for cultivation and realization is exactly untying these knots. Avalokiteśvara's own perfect penetration through the ear-faculty is exactly this: untying the six knots, transcending the three empties, breaking through the five aggregates, and removing the five turbidities — matching this teaching of the two decisive meanings as precisely as two halves of the same tally fit together.

The first four lines illustrate falseness: where there is a knot, there is an untying, and one must see where the knot is before one can know how to untie it. These next five lines illustrate truth: empty space stands for the true nature — you have never once heard of empty space itself being torn or broken apart by you, meaning this has simply never once happened, and never could. "Why is this so?" asks the reason, and the next two lines explain it: since space has no shape or form of its own at all, it was never, from the start, tied into any knot, and so it can have no untying either — standing for how the true nature, being without any form at all, could ever be said to have a knot to be tied, or a knot to be untied? This is once again addressed to the very highest capacity of student — exactly as was said before: what need is there for toilsome labor and painstaking cultivation and realization, when the mad mind, once at rest, is itself bodhi?

Sūtra: "Your own present eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind — these six — act as accomplices to a thief, robbing your own household of its treasure. It is because of this beginningless entanglement that sentient beings remain bound within their material world, unable to transcend it."

Commentary: This identifies the sense-faculty itself as the knot, showing exactly where the false sense-faculties and their objects fall into inversion. "Your own" picks up directly from the passage above: if you wish to know where the knot is, it is exactly this present body of yours — the six essences of eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind. These six essences act as accomplices, colluding with the thief within your own household — the accomplice colluding with the thief, robbing your own household of its treasure — and it is exactly this that damages the wealth of the Dharma and destroys one's own accumulated merit. Some take the six sense-objects to be the thief, but this cannot be right, since sense-objects belong to what is insentient — it must be the six consciousnesses that are meant by "thief." In fascicle 1, in the passage where the Tathāgata refutes the false consciousness as not being the mind, he asks Ānanda: "Your eyes can see — what, then, did you take as your mind when I displayed my glowing fist?" Ānanda answered: "As the Tathāgata now searches for where the mind is located, I use my mind to trace it back and pursue it — and this very faculty of tracing, I took to be my mind." The Buddha said: "Enough! Ānanda, this is not your mind!" Ānanda asked the Buddha: "If this is not my mind, then what should it be called?" The Buddha told Ānanda: "This is nothing but a false conception of the objects before you, deceiving your own true nature. From beginningless time until this very life, you have mistaken a thief for your own son, losing your own original, constant nature, and so have undergone endless transmigration." The Buddha here plainly identifies the sixth consciousness itself as the thief. Some take the six sense-faculties as the accomplice and the six consciousnesses as an "outside" thief — but this word "outside" is likewise mistaken, since consciousness is, at root, already within; how could it be called "outside" at all? Hence what is meant here is that the six consciousnesses are the thief within one's own household, and the six sense-faculties collude with this thief: by the six sense-faculties confronting the six sense-objects, the six consciousnesses are drawn out, giving rise to delusion and creating karma — and this is exactly the sense in which the sense-faculties act as "accomplice."

A monk once asked a teacher of old: "When the household thief is so hard to guard against, what then?" The teacher answered: "To know him is no injustice done to him." This is exactly right — one must never, ever mistake the thief for one's own son, and thereby bring harm upon oneself. And as Chan Master Baofu likewise said: "The thief is a member of the household itself." Seen in this light, the six consciousnesses cannot rightly be called an "outside" thief at all.

This identifies the six sense-faculties themselves as exactly where the knot is tied. From beginningless time, from that very first single thought stirring falsely, growing from the subtlest beginning into ever-greater manifestation, the six sense-faculties have tied this knot — and so, within the sentient world of living beings, one takes hold of the four elements and six sense-faculties as one's own substance, clinging to this body as a real self, falsely giving rise to bondage and entanglement, taking what is, in truth, a vast, perfectly complete nature of mind and confining it within these four elements, burying it within the five aggregates, unable to break free. And with regard to the outer five great elements and six sense-objects, the material world outside oneself, one clings to this world as a real thing existing outside the mind, falsely giving rise to obstruction, like a bird caged, unable to break free — that is, unable to escape the three realms and put an end to birth and death. Our own true nature, giving rise to falseness out of truth, once this knot in the sense-faculty has formed, loses its freedom entirely with regard to body, mind, and world alike. Those still deluded seek to escape the three realms directly; those who have awakened need only remove this knot in the sense-faculty — for once the knot in the sense-faculty is removed, the appearance of sense-objects vanishes of itself, and not only does the body regain its freedom, but the world itself becomes, likewise, entirely unobstructed!

Sūtra: "Ānanda, what is meant by 'the world' of a sentient being? 'Time' means flowing onward without pause; 'space' means a fixed position. You should now understand: east, west, south, north, southeast, southwest, northeast, northwest, together with above and below, make up space; past, future, and present make up time — there are ten positions in space, and a threefold flow in time."

Commentary: This explains the origin of the numbering behind the six sense-faculties' merit. The first two lines pose the question; the next two answer it. This "world" refers specifically to the sentient being's own bodily faculties, not to the insentient material world outside. "Time" is spoken of in terms of duration — having a past, present, and future, flowing onward without ever coming to rest; "space" is spoken of in terms of location — having front, back, left, right, above, and below, each a fixed, determinate position. This "world," then, refers specifically to one's own bodily faculties: having a past, present, and future, flowing onward moment after moment without pause, this is "time"; having front, back, left, right, above, and below, each a fixed position that can be distinguished, this is "space" — exactly as the material world outside has its own fixed directions of east, west, and the rest, each clearly locatable. The last two lines close by fixing the count: ten directions in space, three periods in time.

Sūtra: "Every sentient being's own falseness weaves itself together in just this way: within the body, this constant exchange and flux, and space and time, mutually interpenetrate one another. And though this quality of space may be posited as having ten directions, in fact the world only clearly names four — east, west, south, and north; above and below have no fixed position of their own, and the intermediate directions have no single, determinate direction either. Only these four, then, can be firmly established, and, interpenetrating with the three periods of time, three multiplied by four, or four multiplied by three, alike unfold into twelve. Flowing onward and multiplying through three such foldings — ten, a hundred, a thousand — taken altogether, from beginning to end, each and every one of the six sense-faculties possesses twelve hundred units of merit."

Commentary: Every sentient being's own body is woven together, falsely, out of the interweaving of the four elements and the six essences. A sentient being's own bodily faculties: the body itself is a temporary aggregate of the four elements, and the four elements belong to insentient matter — it is only because of the presence of the essences of seeing, hearing, and the rest, turning what is without awareness into what has awareness, that it comes to be called a sentient being's world at all. Once there are bodily faculties, there is a world; and within these bodily faculties, this constant exchange and flux proceeds exactly like a merchant trading his goods, in constant flux without pause. The quality of space here is this very flux, unfixed — as when front becomes back, or left becomes right; the quality of time is this same flowing onward without pause — as when present becomes past, or future becomes present. "Space and time mutually interpenetrate one another": time interpenetrating space, and space interpenetrating time, each entering into the other in turn — this is the very foundation for the tally of merit built up, fold upon fold, in what follows.

This first settles the true nature of "space." Though this quality of space may be posited as having directions, and called "the ten directions" — note the word "may be posited": these ten are not fixedly ten at all. Examined for what can actually, firmly be named as a fixed direction, the world names only the four directions, east, west, south, and north. The next two lines, "above and below have no fixed position of their own, and the intermediate directions have no single, determinate direction," explain why only these four are properly named: "above" and "below" are simply the above and below belonging to these same four directions — apart from the four directions, there is no separate "above" or "below" at all, hence "no fixed position of their own." "The intermediate directions have no single, determinate direction" means that the intermediate points, where two of the four directions meet — each corner formed by the combination of two adjoining directions — likewise have no single, fixed direction of their own either.

The next lines take up only the count of the four directions — east, west, south, and north — as what can be firmly, definitely named, and show how this interpenetrates with the three periods of past, present, and future. "Three multiplied by four, or four multiplied by three": taking the three periods as interpenetrating the four directions, three times four makes twelve; taking the four directions as interpenetrating the three periods, four times three likewise makes twelve — hence "alike unfold into twelve," turning it now this way, now that, however one turns it, it always comes to twelve. This is the first folding, and the basis for the two foldings that follow.

"Flowing onward" means flowing from this root outward to its branches, from the first folding onward to the third; "multiplying" means growing from a smaller number into a larger one, from twelve multiplying up to twelve hundred. The phrase "ten, a hundred, a thousand" simply means ten, as people commonly say "one ten," "one hundred," "one thousand." The three foldings are as follows: the first folding, above, takes space as interpenetrating time — each of the three periods possessing all four directions, three times four becoming twelve; the second folding takes time as interpenetrating space — each of the four directions possessing all ten periods in turn, becoming a hundred and twenty; the third folding has each of these ten periods, in turn, possessing all ten directions, becoming twelve hundred. The text speaks only of "ten, a hundred, a thousand" because it gives only the round numbers, omitting the remainder. This takes "three times four" as the first folding; taking "four times three" as the first folding instead follows exactly the same pattern, as one can infer. Master Ouyi offers a separate explanation of the three foldings: the first folding is three times four, or four times three, making twelve; the second folding takes the three periods within the four directions, each period possessing all ten dharma-realms in turn, so that twelve becomes a hundred and twenty; the third folding has each of these dharma-realms, in turn, possessing all ten realms as well, so that a hundred and twenty becomes twelve hundred. This is exactly why the passage below, concerning the mind-faculty, says that it silently takes in every worldly and transcendent phenomenon throughout the ten directions and the three periods of time.

"Taken altogether, from beginning to end": the first folding is the beginning, the third folding is the end; "taken altogether" means gathering together everything from beginning to end — that each and every one of the six sense-faculties possesses, in its own functional merit, twelve hundred units in all. This means that each of the six kinds of sense-faculty a sentient being possesses pervades body and mind alike; and since body and mind themselves are formed by exactly this interpenetration of space and time, already resolved into twelve hundred parts, each of the six kinds of faculty likewise comes, in turn, to possess this same twelve hundred units of functional merit.

The Zhǐzhǎng commentary raises a question: is this merit of the sense-faculties' own nature the same as, or different from, the merit of the six sense-faculties spoken of in the Lotus Sūtra? The answer: this passage speaks in terms of what is inherent in principle — meaning what the nature already possesses of itself; that passage speaks in terms of what is brought about in fact — meaning what is manifested through the merit of reciting the sūtra. Were that merit not achieved through the power of recitation, it too would be nothing but what is inherent in principle alone; and were this merit, once the sense-faculty's own knot is resolved, to be actually realized, it too would come to equal what is brought about in fact. They are, in this sense, the same even in their difference, and different even in their sameness — one cannot simply call them the same, nor simply call them different. This bears further reflection.

Sūtra: "Ānanda, you should now further determine, among these six faculties, which is superior and which is inferior. Seeing with the eye: dark behind, bright in front; fully bright to the front, fully dark to the rear, and only two-thirds visible to either side — so the eye's merit is incomplete: three parts credited, one part lacking; know that the eye has only eight hundred units of merit. Hearing with the ear: it takes in sound from all ten directions without exception, near or far, in motion or at rest, without limit — know that the ear-faculty is fully complete, with twelve hundred units of merit. Smelling with the nose: it perceives the breath going out and coming in, but lacks awareness at the very midpoint between the two — the nose is thus missing one part in three; know that the nose has only eight hundred units of merit. Speaking with the tongue: it can proclaim the whole of worldly and transcendent wisdom — its words may be bounded, but the principles it expresses are inexhaustible — know that the tongue-faculty is fully complete, with twelve hundred units of merit. Feeling with the body: it senses contact, whether agreeable or not, only when touching something, and knows nothing when separated from it — the body is thus missing one part in three; know that the body has only eight hundred units of merit. Knowing with the mind: it silently takes in every phenomenon, worldly and transcendent, throughout the ten directions and the three times, holding sage and ordinary being alike within its full scope — know that the mind-faculty is fully complete, with twelve hundred units of merit."

Commentary: The nature of the sense-faculties is, in itself, equal — every faculty's merit is likewise equal, with, at root, nothing to distinguish between them — but because sentient beings across different regions have faculties of differing strength, and this Sahā world is no exception, three of the six faculties turn out superior and three inferior: possessing the full twelve hundred units of merit makes a faculty superior, eight hundred makes it inferior. And among the three superior faculties, the ear-faculty is superior still above the other two — hence the Buddha's own question: "You should now further determine, among the six sense-faculties, which is superior and which is inferior." What follows, beginning "seeing with the eye," shows each faculty's merit as complete or lacking in turn — complete making it superior, lacking making it inferior. "Seeing with the eye": "seeing" here is exactly the eye-faculty's own merit of its nature of seeing; the body's front, back, left, and right correspond to south, north, east, and west. "Dark behind" means the north, behind, cannot be seen, hence dark; "bright in front" means the south, in front, can be seen, hence bright. It further says "fully bright to the front," meaning due south, together with the two adjoining corners southeast and southwest, can all be fully seen; and "fully dark to the rear," meaning due north, together with northeast and northwest, cannot be seen at all. "Visible to either side" means due east and due west, glancing left and right, surveying both sides, can likewise be fully seen.

"Two-thirds": this speaks of the fraction of merit involved — the front, together with its two adjoining corners, counts as one portion; the two sides count as one portion; the rear, together with its two adjoining corners, counts as one portion. Each of the four cardinal directions carries two hundred units of merit, making eight hundred in all; each of the four corners carries one hundred units, making four hundred in all — combined, twelve hundred units of merit in total. The eye-faculty attains only two of these three portions, since the rear is entirely dark, missing this one portion entirely. Taken altogether, then, the eye-faculty's own merit is incomplete — of the three portions spoken of, one portion, the north together with its two rear corners, is entirely without merit; know, then, that the eye-faculty has only eight hundred units of merit, and is inferior.

This explains the ear-faculty's own merit of its nature of hearing. Hearing with the ear takes in sound pervasively from every one of the ten directions, without any omission at all — as a later passage puts it: "were drums struck at once in all ten directions, all ten would be heard at the very same moment." The nature of hearing is perfect and complete — this is its perfect reality. Sound has two aspects, motion and stillness: where there is sound, this is called motion; where there is no sound, this is called stillness. When hearing a sound in motion, there may seem to be some difference of near and far — "seem" meaning "as if," since sound as an object is itself false, never truly real to begin with, hence "as if" there were such a difference — yet whether the sound merely seems near or far, both are heard without any obstruction at all; this is its pervasive reality. And when hearing stillness, in the utter quiet where no sound is present at all, the nature of hearing extends even further, without any boundary or limit whatsoever — motion and stillness are both heard, present at every single moment; this is its constant reality. Know, then, that the ear-faculty is fully complete, with twelve hundred units of merit — the most superior of all six.

This explains the nose-faculty's own merit of its nature of smelling. Smelling with the nose can take in both the outgoing breath and the incoming breath. Taking in the outgoing breath carries four hundred units of merit, and taking in the incoming breath likewise carries four hundred — but at the very midpoint between the two, where the breath briefly pauses, its function does not manifest at all, and so four hundred units are lacking there. Examined for its actual merit, the nose-faculty is thus missing one of its three portions; know, then, that the nose has only eight hundred units of merit, and is inferior.

This explains the nature of the tongue-faculty. Only speech is taken into account here, not the tasting of flavors — for although the tongue's nature possesses both these functions, were tasting taken into account it would prove inferior, since taste can only be known through direct contact; whereas speech, taken into account instead, proves superior, since it can proclaim worldly teachings, exhausting conventional wisdom, and can proclaim transcendent teachings as well, exhausting ultimate wisdom. "Its words may be bounded, but the principles it expresses are inexhaustible": this may mean bounded by a particular language — as when an Indian dharma-master, arriving in China without knowing the local tongue, could nonetheless expound the Buddhist principles he taught without any limit at all; or it may mean bounded merely in extent — as when a single verse can encompass boundless, subtle meaning. There is a further reading as well: "whether the words are coarse or refined, all alike return to the ultimate truth." As the Lotus Sūtra says: "Every word spoken in governing the world, every worldly trade and livelihood, accords, without exception, with true reality itself" — this is the capacity to exhaust transcendent wisdom; and, as when Confucius, hearing a child's song, was moved to reflect upon his own conduct, this is the capacity to exhaust worldly wisdom as well. Know, then, that the tongue-faculty is fully complete, with twelve hundred units of merit, and is superior.

This explains the body-faculty's own merit of its nature of sensing. When the body-faculty meets the object of touch it senses, it discerns whether this contact is agreeable or disagreeable — disagreeable as when wearing padded clothing in summer, or a single thin layer in winter; agreeable as when eating fine food while hungry, or drinking sweet nectar while thirsty. But it can only sense agreeable or disagreeable contact while actually in contact with something, and knows nothing at all once separated from it — separation counting as one portion of merit, contact counting as two portions, hence "missing one when separated, doubled when in contact." Each portion carries four hundred units of merit; examined for its actual merit, the body-faculty is thus missing one of its three portions; know, then, that the body has only eight hundred units of merit, and is inferior.

This explains the mind-faculty's own merit of its nature of knowing. "Silently takes in" is exactly this merit of its nature of knowing — knowing within, without the mouth speaking a word, is called "silent"; "takes in" means holding everything within its scope. What follows, "the ten directions and the three times," and then "every phenomenon, worldly and transcendent," together name time, place, persons, and dharmas, to display the full extent of what it takes in: in terms of place, it takes in the ten directions, which is its meaning of pervading horizontally; in terms of time, it takes in the three periods, which is its meaning of extending vertically through every age — this is one pairing, of time and place. "Every worldly phenomenon" means the defiled dharmas of the six ordinary realms; "every transcendent phenomenon" means the pure dharmas of the four sagely realms — this is a second pairing, of persons and dharmas. There is not a single dharma it fails to take in — whether persons or dharmas, in every single case it exhausts their entire scope and boundary completely. Know, then, that the mind-faculty illuminates all things perfectly, without the slightest omission, and so is fully complete, with twelve hundred units of merit, and is superior.