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A Survey of Buddhist Thought
The Five Groups of Grasping
Ultimate Reality
Š Alfred Scheepers
No unauthorized multiplication allowed
A Survey of Buddhist Thought, pages 40-48
A Fragment from Part I, Chapter 1
(Buddhism in India, The Buddha and his Teaching)
Ignorance and thirst.
Ignorance (1) was the (transcendental) presupposition of
the inclinations (2), which, to a high degree, can be identified with 'thirst' (8).
But sometimes 'thirst' also was identified with ignorance, as was done by the 5th
century Theravada thinker Buddhaghosa. We need not accept here a real conflict
of opinion. The state of bondage, characterized by 'thirst,' is the one that
presents alluring objects to the mind, which are not actually there, but which one
would like either to have, or to become. These objects make the mind - which
becomes inclined to the objects of its desire - move in a certain direction. Now
we should know, that it is, according to the early Buddhists, the proper function
of the mind to be merely reflective. The presentation of an image of something
which is not there, on the contrary, is not a reflective cognition, but a fancy or
imagination. It disturbs the pure reflective activity of the mind, and sets it in
motion, fills it with unrest. Here we see, how the illusory presentation, the
imagination, once conceived, at the same time causes inclination and motion
towards itself. For the early Buddhist mind, illusory presentation is nothing else
but ignorance. This ignorance, presenting fanciful objects, is inseparable from
the volition and motion which it causes. Thirst and ignorance are really two
aspects of one and the same process. Therefore they can be identified under
certain circumstances. There is a mind which, by not reflecting reality, but by
presenting illusions, is in a state of ignorance; it is influenced by ignorance. But
what is not there, the object presented by the illusion, attracts the mind. Thus the
ignorant mind at the same time is a thirsting mind. The same state of mind is
characterized by both, thirst and ignorance. The thirsting state can be called
'ignorant,' and the ignorant one 'thirsting.' The absence of true reflective
cognition in the mind can be termed 'ignorance,' but such ignorance is not a
mere negation. For the ancient Indian, when something is not knowledge it is not
'not-knowledge,' but something other than knowledge. Other than knowledge
- being on the intellective level - is action, change, and what motivates it, thirst,
volition, intention, drift - being on the conative plane. These two spheres, the
intellective sphere of truth, and the practical or conative sphere of change, form
the fundamental contrast in all existence, not only in Buddhism, but in other
Indian thought-systems as well. When something is not the one, it is the
other. It is the same contrast as between rest (which is quieting and comforting
truth) and motion, and as between the permanent (which is abiding truth) and the
impermanent (consisting of mere transient phenomena), which is the never
ending metamorphosis of temporal reality.
The circle of life.
The fundamental characteristic of the chain of dependent
origination is, that it is circular. Ignorance is no absolute beginning, and death is
no absolute end. You cannot take one member from the chain and preserve the
others. Take out one link, and the whole chain is broken, and when you take one
of its members, you can infer from it all the others. Any single element of the
chain functions as the condition for all the next ones. But since the chain is a
circle, it means that it also conditions itself. The inclinations reappear in 'thirst,'
and, again, they are inherent in suffering. Suffering is nothing else but the
separation from the object of your desire, which itself is an illusion impelling the
mind to ever recurrent birth.
The point in all this is, that one life-circle can be interpreted as copied in
structure from every other one, and that all members in the causal chain can be
harmonized in one unifying conception of the development of life.
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The five groups of grasping.
In the preceding, repeatedly mention has been made of the five groups of
grasping: forms, feelings, cognitions, inclinations, and perceptions (knowledge
or consciousness). These groups constitute the elements of all worldly existence,
its five irreducible types of phenomena.
The reader will perhaps have noticed, that most of these elements have been
considered also in the context of the Chain of Dependent Origination. 'Forms'
stand for the sense data, caused by the stimuli of the world outside on the senses.
These arouse 'feelings' such as pleasure and pain. Impressions and feelings are
the starting point of the processes of understanding (intellection) and of action
(conation). The impressions together with the evaluation of feeling are
apprehended in a definite cognition. The light of consciousness makes that this all
is perceived as outer and inner process. The same impressions and feelings also
motivate the system of inclinations (conative system) to keep or change its
direction.
The inclinations (i.e. subconscious tendencies and conscious volition)
constitute the factors which condition the rise of new impressions. They move the
conscious system in a certain direction, and in this movement new impressions
are received, arousing new feelings. And so the process goes on. Accordingly,
we can divide the five elementary phenomena twofold, as receptivity and as
activity. Impressions (rupa), feeling, cognition (samjņa ), and their subsequent
perception (vijņana) form the process of receptive apprehension, feeling and
inclinations, motivating practice, form the active, conative process.
Feelings, positive, negative, and neutral.
Crucial in this whole process is the
generally non-neutral character of feeling; it provides us with pleasure and pain.
It seems, that instinctively we are endowed with the idea of pleasure, and that
every impression is measured by it. We suffer from our present experience
proportionally to the pleasures projected by our imagination. And if we are so
lucky to experience a moment of pleasure and satisfaction, we become mad in
our desire to regain it when it is over. The Buddhists consider this projection to
be the root-cause of all trouble. It disturbs the natural tranquillity of the mind,
and moves it restlessly to all directions. It makes us strive after the satisfaction of
our desires. The proper state of the mind is to be reflective; the cognition, the
mental state or content, should simply reflect reality, and not impose upon it its
own fancies. Such an imposed fancy is nothing but an illusory cognition, one
constituted by the influence of ignorance. Freedom is the abandonment of this
fancy of lust. Once this fancy is completely abandoned, all impressions can be
accepted in a neutral feeling. This does not any longer spur our desires for a
better existence, but enables us quietly to accept the contents of our experience.
We are freed from our unrest, and at the same time we see, that it was this unrest
alone which caused our pain, and that to be freed from it is true pleasure.
Hope and fear are without any base.
We have seen that only a mundane personality can be subject to desire. Such a person was an illusion created by the projection of the unity of an ego on a group of worldly phenomena. We can put
the matter also in a somewhat different way: under the influence of ignorance,
the unconditioned reflecting mind identifies itself with the conditioned mind, the
mind conceived as a part of the world, which sees in all things objects of desire
and fear (or does not see them at all). This conditioned mind considers itself to
be a worldly personality, constituted by forms, feelings, cognitions, inclinations,
and its perceptions, while in reality the mind is distinct from these constituents of
the world. Since these constituents are painful, there is the desire to have - and
to be made up of - better constituents, such as do not give pain but pleasure.
Or, when the constituents happen to be pleasurable, there is the fear that they
may not be permanent. All kinds of dangers may threaten them. But the objects
of hope and fear are both projections, illusions inspired by ignorance, not only
because they are not there, but also because they have no base, since in reality
there is no mundane personality. For when it is the true nature of the mind
merely to reflect reality, then it cannot itself be a part of it. For one can only
reflect without distortion when not being involved. This being the case, what
should the mind want to have, what should it want to become? Its only good,
freedom, is already inherent in its own nature.
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Ultimate reality.
It is often believed, that the Buddha did not accept the existence of a soul, and
that he taught that liberation is a mere extinction. Also the opposite has been
defended, that the Buddha believed in the existence of an eternal soul, and that
the state of Nirvana is the entering of this soul into a paradise. Both, the nihilist
and the eternalist interpretation, rest on a misunderstanding. These
misunderstandings are born from the Buddha's aversion of theoretical questions.
He did not want to discuss topics like 'the existence of a soul,' and 'the nature of
the ultimate,' since these theoretical discussions do not lead to the goal, viz. the
attainment of rest, peace, and freedom. This attitude of the Buddha is clearly
displayed in the story about one of his pupils, Malunkyaputra, who wants to have
answers to questions like: 'Is the world eternal or not?'; 'Are soul and body
distinct, or not?'; 'Does the soul continue to live after death or not?'. On these
the Buddha answers:
"Did I ever speak to you in the following manner: 'Come Malunkyaputra, be
my pupil; I want to teach you whether the world is eternal or not, whether it is
finite or infinite, whether soul and body are akin in nature or not, whether the
released continue to live after their death or not?' 'No, Sir.' Or did you ever
speak to me: 'I want to be your pupil; teach me whether the world is eternal or
not, whether it is finite or infinite, whether the soul is akin in nature to the
body, or whether the released continue to live after death?' 'No, Sir.' It is also
settled, Malunkkyaputra, that neither I told anything like that to you, nor you to
me. What kind of fool you are then, and to whom are you reproaching?'' *
Then the Buddha gives a parable: A man is hit by an arrow, and his
kinsmen search for a doctor. But the patient says: 'I don't let the arrow be pulled
out before I know who shot it, with what type of bow, and how the arrow was
made.' The man would die before the doctor could treat him. In the same way it
is with pupils who want answers to questions like the above. They will die
before they have got an answer. At the same time they will fail to do what is
really important: to enter on the path of liberation.
"Therefore, Malunkyaputra, what I did not preach, let it not be preached, and
what I have preached, let it be preached. But what did I preach? 'This is
suffering,' did I preach; 'This is the origin of suffering,' did I preach; 'That is
the termination of suffering,' did I preach; 'That is the road that leads to the
termination of suffering,' so did I preach.''
The subject.
But could it totally be avoided to speak about a subject of bondage
and liberation? It seems not. One of the origins of suffering was, according to the
Buddha, the believe that the earthly personality, the psycho-physical complex, is
the true 'I.' This misconception had to be disposed of, and here it could not be
avoided to speak of an 'I.' When, as the Buddha teaches, the five groups of
elementary phenomena are not the 'I,' it implicates, that there must be an 'I'
different from it. What ordinary people call the 'true being' (sattva) or 'person'
(pudgala) is nothing but matter, nothing but `name and form,' nothing but this
complex of the five groups of irreducible phenomena. From these five,
knowledge (vijņana), also identified with 'consciousness' (citta) or mind (manas),
is most likely to be confounded with the 'I.' But it is impermanent; it dies and is
reborn every night and day. Of what is perishable, one cannot say: 'this am I' or
'this is mine.' It is here only the false believe in the earthly personality that is
rejected, not a subjectivity whatsoever.
But if a subjectivity be accepted, how must it be conceived? It seems that the
Buddha made a distinction between the earthly mind, conditioned by forms,
feelings, perceptions, and inclinations, and the mind as not conditioned by these
phenomena. The conditioned mind is continually changed by its contents. It is
nothing but the stream of the awarenesses of one's apprehensions based on
impressions, which themselves are conditioned by inclinations. Such a mind is
nothing but a series of changing states. It is nothing apart from its content.
Therefore it is considered as just a constituent of the world. But mind can also be
taken in a different sense, unconditioned by impressions, feelings, and
inclinations. And this unconditioned mind may well be the ego as distinct from
the worldly personality. Such an ego, however, is not itself a person,
transcendental or not, not a permanent substrate of mental states, but the mere
function of subjectivity, without a place or identity. It is mere perceptivity, a
reflecting of reality without someone who perceives or reflects.
We have already touched upon the problem of the identification of the ego
with the worldly personality. Under the influence of ignorance, the pure
reflecting mind becomes a projecting mind, creating its own illusions. What
happens is, that the mind considers itself as a part of the world, which must be
fed with worldly material. It takes the good things and drops the garbage.
Worldly life is temporal. Therefore: who's not busy being born is dying, and the
one that grows not is bound to decay. The mind that considers itself as part of the
world, finds itself continually filled with impressions, feelings, inclinations. It is
apprehending these, interpreting them from the angle of its interests. Since the
mind identifies itself with the perishable human frame, it is bound to serve its
well-being and pleasure. This idea of well-being and pleasure, makes that all
things are evaluated in the light of it. These are not like what they would be for a
disinterested spectator, but they are qualified by the use I can make of them.
When, in my desire to eat bread, I go to the baker's, the stones of the street
become a highway to food, the houses and trees on the way become indications
of the progress towards the satisfaction of my desire. They are not any longer
things for their own sake. They are coloured, even distorted by my aims. They
are all involved in the projection of what is not actually there. Their own intrinsic
nature is hidden by my intentions. The mind bound to desire by ignorance cannot
step out of the net of its own imagined objectives. It is always limited by
purposes, which are nothing else but fancies. Every apprehension is focused on
something to be expected in the (near) future. And in this apprehension of what
is not there, the things of which we presently receive impressions are only
subsidiarily apprehended as subservient to the goal, and therefore they are veiled
in their proper nature. This makes that the mind appears to be impelled to a
certain direction. The unpleasant feeling of hunger conditions the will to go after
bread, and this, again, conditions all my subsequent apprehensions.
But such a conditioning of experience is not necessary. Suppose, that by
whatever reason I forget my person, then, at the same time, it becomes
impossible to mind its interests. The things of the world exist no longer for its
sake. Simultaneously, the projection of the person's pleasure and well-being is
suspended. But this does not annihilate experience whatsoever; there remains an
experiencing subjectivity, but it is not involved. It is, as it were, an anonymous
outsider, a mere spectator, like one looking at a movie. If the man in the movie
takes up his gun to shoot in our direction, we do not jump behind our seats.
There is nothing to lose, nothing to gain. We are just no part of it, and we see it
all in the same perspective. We cannot walk into the movie to see the same
occurrences from different angles, let alone that we might be able to choose our
own path in that imaginary world.
Let's go back to my hunger and to my intention to buy a loaf. I am on my
way to the baker's with bread on my mind, but somehow the thought slips from
my brain; I become forgetful of myself, absorbed as I am in the present. The fire
of my hunger is quenched. I do not chase any more after the world. But then it
offers itself to me. My eyes are opened to see the trees and the stones. I sit down
in the middle of the square, watching a sunray filtered by an autumn leave,
which afterwards is abducted by a sudden breeze. Then a feeling creeps up. It is
not pleasure, it is not elation, still less exaltation; just a burden is dropped, a
pressure taken away. Generally such reflective moods pass as if unnoticed, but
they are glances of liberation, although filtered by an autumn leave, which, since
long, has withered away without anybody's attention. There was a 'timeless'
moment, in the sense that it was not a conditioned phase in the process leading to
the fruition of a projected aim, and also in the sense, that for a moment the
'person' and its preservation had fallen into oblivion. There was just a reflection,
but it could have been anybody's.
Perhaps there will be someone who is not able to deny and disregard this
seed of truth, of which gradually the roots break through the stony cover of his
regimented life to demolish its frame. Once, under a roseapple (jambu) tree on a
forgotten spot in a garden, the young prince Siddhartha had a similar
experience. It finally uprooted the whole structure of his carefree, superficial
upper-class existence, by functioning as a compass in the main decisions of his
life. And so he became the Buddha. For if you once have been in touch with
truth, you never more can be satisfied with the untruthful.
Although the reflective state of mind may be taken as just one of the
phenomena of life, it lacks the characteristics of the normal conditioned
existence. In it the volition does not precondition the apprehension, the feeling
does not precondition the volition, and the impression does not precondition the
feeling, but all these are simultaneously implicit in the momentary cognition.
Here is mind not caught up in its objectives, constricted and bound, but mind as
such, pouring itself out, reflective, tranquil, and free.
Is this mere extinction? Something has become extinct indeed: the projective
activity of the mind. But still there is mind, and even experience. And indeed
there is no soul, no permanent subject, with a temporal or even eternal destiny,
since nothing is implied beyond the experience itself. But still one may say that
there is subjectivity. Is this paradise? Only if you want to call a dirty city square
by that name. But one can also say with the Zen masters, that it is just nothing
special.
Here there is neither a mortal nor an immortal soul, but the plain experience
that can be called 'unconditioned mind.' As such, you cannot ascribe to it a
place, nor a path, nor a destiny. But you can say that it is there, positive, and
liberating.
The absolute.
For the Buddha, the unconditioned mind, which experiences all
without commitment, is the ultimate presupposition and refuge of all living
beings. To this mind, not as a substance, but as a way of cognition and
experience, the Buddha referred, when he said:
"There is, monks, a thing unborn, unbecome, unmade, unformed. If, monks,
this unborn, unbecome, unmade, unformed thing would not be there, then
there would be no escape for what is born, has become, is made, and
formed." **
For an act of mere reflection is not a thing, which develops, decays, and is
destroyed. It is not born out of some other thing. It is just there. And it is always
there if anything is there. For nothing can be given at all except in the reflection
of the mind. The latter can appear conditioned and distorted, but it cannot be
destroyed. For the Buddha, the unconditioned mind is the basis of all our
projections or illusions. There can be no experience, misleading or true, without
it. Completely unconditioned, however, it becomes also inconceivable. We tried
to describe a liberating experience in life. This we could do, because such a
liberation in context can still be contrasted with life as bound, and, somehow, it
still rests on the presupposition of such normal life.
But in the Buddha's time the great question was: 'where go the released
after death?' The Buddha said, that the senses and the minds of the living cannot
follow those beyond the grave, who have gone beyond all lust, and have reached
unchangeable bliss. But for the Buddha and his contemporaries, the idea of
consciousness, the mind, going on experiencing after death, was very obvious.
Mind does not vanish in the hereafter, but how does it exist there? A mind not
identified with a history and a destiny can go nowhere. Without eyes, it has no
perspective, without feet it has no path. It reflects, but without a mirror. Having
no place, it is omnipresent, testifying to the truth of everything. It is twice at the
same time, unqualified subjectivity and unqualified freedom. Metaphorically, it
can perhaps best be described as light, and when the released die, they go into it,
and shine in peace.
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** Udana 8-3 [back to text]
*Majjhima Nikaya 63, also next quote [back to text]