Part One:
Inner Wealth
The Last Sermon

"On February 19, 1956, Khun Nai Thawngmuan Siasakun invited Phra Ajaan Lee Dhammadharo to deliver a sermon for Khun Thao Satyanurak in Nekkhamma House, Wat Boromnivas. This sermon — which Khun Thao Satya listened to quietly, with her hands folded in respect as she lay on her sickbed — was the last sermon she ever heard. When it was over, I approached her and said, 'If you die, I'd like to jot down this sermon and have it printed to distribute at your funeral.' She smiled with her eyes, nodded slightly to show her approval, and asked, 'Can you remember it all?' 'Not all of it, ' I answered, 'but at least some of it.' So she reviewed a few of the points for me. She seemed delighted and moved by the taste of the Dhamma all the while she spoke. Thus I have written out this summary of what I can remember of the sermon:"

namo tassa bhagavato arahato samma-sambuddhassa.
ayudo balado dhiro'ti.

Now I will discuss a point from the Buddha's teachings for you to listen to briefly as a means of fostering strength of body and strength of mind. All of us live in dependence on strength of body and strength of mind. Without these two things, life couldn't last.

Strength of body, no matter how much we may foster it with the four necessities and with worldly wealth, can't help but waste away and vanish by its very nature. It can't escape from aging, illness, and death. And for strength of body to exist, it needs help from strength of mind. But strength of mind doesn't need to depend on the four necessities or worldly wealth; and it doesn't need to depend on strength of body at all. It can get along solely on 'Noble Wealth.' So strength of mind is more important than strength of body.

People who don't have enough strength of their own have to start out by hoping to depend on others until they reach the point where they can stand on their own. In depending on others, we have to be careful in choosing a good mainstay, in line with the Pali phrase, asevana ca balanam, panditanañca sevana: We have to choose good people to associate with. If we associate with wise people and sages, they'll teach us to be good. If we associate with fools, we'll suffer for it.

So searching for a mainstay of this sort doesn't rank as being really good, because it's like shooting a bird: We might hit it on the wing or on the tail. If we really want to be right on target, we have to depend on another sort of mainstay: atta hi attano natho, we have to depend on ourselves. This sort of mainstay the Lord Buddha praised as being the highest because it will teach us to have a sense of our own good and bad actions — 'kammassako'mhi' — and we won't need to go pinning our hopes on other people any more.

To create this sort of mainstay, we have to develop five qualities — conviction, persistence, mindfulness, concentration, and discernment — which are called bala, or strengths, that will help give us the strength of mind to stride toward the good. All five of these qualities can be gathered under the headings of virtue, concentration, and discernment. Conviction comes under virtue; persistence, mindfulness and concentration come under concentration; and discernment is discernment.

To have conviction is tantamount to having wealth. Virtue is like a white cloth that enwraps the body and makes it beautiful, just as the petals of a lotus enwrap the scent of its pollen. Virtue is the act of abandoning that cuts away evil and corruption from our deeds so that our deeds will be honest and upright. This is virtue, but it's not the ultimate good. When our body has virtue, our mind needs rectitude to go with it.

Persistence means diligence, determination, perseverance, being audacious and unrelenting in what we do, so as to be strong in progressing toward what is good.

Mindfulness means care and restraint to make sure that our thoughts, words, and deeds don't go off the mark; being conscious of good and evil so that our behavior doesn't fall into ways that are bad and unwise.

Concentration means keeping the mind firmly centered in a single object — the direct path (ekayana-magga) — not letting it tip, lean, or waver under the influence of its preoccupations, whether good or bad, past or future; keeping the mind honest and upright.

All three of these qualities form the rectitude of the mind that abstains from thoughts of sensuality, ill-will, and harm. This is termed the intention of renunciation (nekkhamma-sankappo): The mind isn't pleased or displeased with sensual moods or sensual objects, whether good or bad. This is a mind gone forth from the home life. Whether or not we ordain, whether we live at home or in a monastery, we're classed as having gone forth.

The next quality, which the Buddha classed as the highest good, is discernment. Once we have virtue and concentration, discernment will arise from the mind in the first, second, third, and fourth levels of jhana. This is the light of discernment that enables us to see the Dhamma both within us and without. We can see ourself from both sides. We can see that the aspect that takes birth, takes birth; and that there is also an aspect that doesn't take birth. The aspect that ages, ages; and there is also an aspect that doesn't age. The aspect that's ill, is ill; and there is also an aspect that isn't ill. The aspect that dies, dies; and the aspect that doesn't die, doesn't die. This is change-of-lineage knowledge (gotarabhu-ñana), which sees both sides, like having two eyes. Whichever side we look at, we can see, but we aren't stuck on either side. We simply know things in line with their nature as fashionings, that they have to take birth, age, grow ill, and die. These four facts have made arahants of the many people who have contemplated them and seen their true nature clearly to the point of working free from unawareness.

The nature of the body is that it flows in one direction — toward decay — but the mind won't flow along with it. The mind is sure to progress in line with its strength. Whoever has a lot of strength will go far. Whoever gets stuck on birth will have to take birth. Whoever gets stuck on aging will have to age. Whoever gets stuck on illness will have to be ill. Whoever gets stuck on dying will have to die. But whoever isn't stuck on birth, aging, illness, and death is bound for a state that doesn't take birth, doesn't age, doesn't grow ill, and doesn't die.

When we can do this, we're said to have found a hunk of Noble Wealth in birth, aging, illness, and death. We needn't fear poverty. Even though the body may age, our mind doesn't age. If the body is going to grow ill and die, let it grow ill and die, but our mind doesn't grow ill, our mind doesn't die. The mind of an arahant is such that, even if someone were to break his head open, his mind wouldn't be pained.

* * *

When the mind is involved with the world, it's bound to meet with collisions; and once it collides, it will be shaken and roll back and forth, just as round stones in a large pile roll back and forth. So no matter how good or bad other people may be, we don't store it up in our mind to give rise to feelings of like or dislike. Dismiss it completely as being their business and none of ours.

* * *

The five Hindrances are five diseases that fasten on and eat into the mind, leaving it thin and famished. Whoever has concentration reaching deep into the heart will be able to kill off all five of these diseases. Such a person is sure to be full in body and mind — free from hunger, poverty and want — and won't have to go asking for goodness from anyone.

The results we'll receive are: (1) We'll make ourselves rich in Noble Wealth. (2) If the Buddha were still alive, he'd be sure to be pleased, just as a parent whose child is wealthy and self-sufficient can stop being anxious and thus sleep in peace.

To summarize: Worldly wealth is what fosters strength of body; Noble Wealth is what fosters strength of mind. So I ask that we all put this teaching into practice, training ourselves and polishing our thoughts, words and deeds so that they're worthy and pure, reaching the stage of Noble Wealth, which is the path to the highest happiness: nibbana.

A Mind of Pure Gold
July, 1958

The mind, the Buddha said, is like gold. An impure mind is like gold adulterated with various minerals that will make it hard and unmalleable. Before it can be put to use in any way, it first has to be melted down and its impurities — the various adulterations — removed completely. Only then will it be genuine gold, soft and malleable. Our mind, which is adulterated with various preoccupations, first has to be put into shape, and its impurities — its various defilements — completely removed. Only then will it be a pure mind, becoming a thing of supreme power and usefulness, like genuine gold malleable enough to be melted and poured into anything at all. A pure mind can pour around the world without getting snagged and can roll all around itself, like a bead of water on a lotus leaf, which will roll around without seeping into the leaf. This is what is meant by a mind that is Dhamma.

Or you might compare a pure mind to genuine beeswax, which doesn't need fire in order to melt. No matter how large or small a lump it may be, all it needs is a little sunlight or just the warmth of your hand, and it will be soft and malleable enough for you to form it into any shape at all. A pure mind can be put to every sort of use in line with your aspirations in just the same way. This is why the Buddha taught that every sort of achievement depends completely on the power of the mind.

Things that are genuine or pure, even though they may be small, can give rise to enormous results, just as a piece of genuine paper money — a tiny little slip of paper with the state seal — can be put to use in all sorts of ways. But if it's newsprint, even a bushel of it wouldn't be able to buy a thing. In the same way, a pure mind — even if we can make it pure for only a little while — can give results way in excess of its size. People who are really intent on purifying the mind may even lift themselves over and beyond the world.

So we're taught that people whose minds aren't pure — regardless of whether they've given donations or observed precepts by the tens or hundreds of thousands — may not escape going to hell. At best, they may make it back only as human beings. A mind adulterated with bad preoccupations will have to go to a bad bourn. A mind adulterated with good preoccupations is bound for a good bourn, as a heavenly being. A pure mind, though, will go above and beyond all this.

For this reason, you should focus on watching only your mind. Don't let your attention go leaking out your ears, eyes, nose, tongue, or body. If the mind is murky, make it clear. Keep trying to chase away its various preoccupations until they're completely gone, leaving only the genuine gold: a pure mind. Set your heart on doing it right now.

* * *

Just as we have to give rise to goodness in our actions, we have to give rise to goodness in our minds by letting go of physical and mental phenomena, which are a heavy load. This is why the Buddha taught, bhara have pañcak-khandha: 'The five khandhas are truly a burden.' The body is heavier than rock. How is it heavy? It's big. Weighty. Enormous. Its mouth can eat cattle by the herd, rice by the ton, and yet never be full for a second. You have to keep finding things to stuff in it all the time, which is a burden to the heart. We've been shoring up this body ever since we were little and red so that it will stay with us, and yet it won't stay. What does stay is nothing more than scraps. What's good leaves us completely. Don't go thinking that it'll stay. The part that's left loads us down, creating stress and pain. So we're taught to let go. Caga: Relinquish what's outside, i.e., the body; and let go of what's in the mind, i.e., its various preoccupations that follow along with the world. If we can let go of these things, we'll be light in body and mind. And when we're light in this way, we can be at our ease.

Then we can consider further that all these things fall under the truths of the world. That is, they're inconstant, stressful, and not-self. They make us misconstrue everything, just as when we let ourselves get duped into spending our money. There are people, for instance, who make sugar water with various colors for us to drink at 10, 20, or 30 cents a glass. Actually, it's no different from the ordinary water we drink, but we have it all misconstrued and think that it's something special — so we'll come back to spend more money to drink it again. This is inconstancy. It's like waves that keep rising and falling, causing us to waver, keeping us from being still and at peace. When we see this, we should incline our hearts toward being trained in the Dhamma.

* * *

A person who lets the mind be defiled is like someone who lets his children play in the mud: They're bound to cause hardships for their parents, and not only that, they're bound to cause hardships for themselves, because they have no livelihood, no basis for setting themselves up in life. So we should train our hearts to be adults in order to outgrow our defilements and corruptions.

We shouldn't let ourselves get tied up in worldly affairs, because they're good only from age 20 to 40. From that point on, our mouth gets smaller and smaller, our eyes get so small we can scarcely open them. Whatever we say doesn't get past our lips. Our hands get so small that we have to give them a one-meter extension called a 'cane.' Our back gets crooked — and with the body sure to run down like this, what are we going to want out of it? It's enough to make you heartsick. So we should develop what's good and becoming within ourselves. Develop goodness into a Noble Treasure. In other words, relinquishment (caga) and virtue (sila) are two things we should foster in our hearts so that we can begin to grow up, unfold, and go beyond being children...

Once we've reached the middle of life, things start getting shorter and shorter, so we're taught not to be complacent. Whatever will give rise to knowledge, we should stir ourselves to pursue, like a child who studies math without playing truant or thinking only of fun and games. Such a child is sure to have a high level of knowledge in the future.

People in this world — even though they may be 80 years old — if they stay sunk in worldly matters, are still children. Relinquishment and virtue: Once we give rise to these things, we're headed for adulthood. Otherwise, we're still children. So we shouldn't let the heart settle on things that aren't good for it. Sometimes there are both good and bad things. The good things are hard to latch onto; the bad are easy. If we give our children free rein to go playing, they'll for the most part bring us nothing but trouble. Sometimes they hang around doing nothing at all and yet come back with other people's belongings in their pockets. In other words, sometimes other people do something, and yet we let it get stuck in our hearts. This is being infantile. Our minds are a mess of defilements, which is why we're said to be children.

So we should consider things carefully. Whatever will benefit us, we should take an interest in. If a poor person wanders shiftlessly about, nobody pays any mind; but if a rich person behaves that way, people really despise it. In other words, we shouldn't let our hearts go lurking about in shoddy or unwise preoccupations. We have to practice tranquillity meditation to make the mind still. That's when we'll begin to enter adulthood.

When the mind is still, it gradually gives rise to discernment, just as a kerosene lantern we keep looking after — adding kerosene, making sure that nothing disturbs the flame — is bound to grow bright. The wick is the breath, the theme of our meditation. The effort we make is like the kerosene. We keep looking after the mind, making sure that the various preoccupations coming in by way of the eyes, ears, nose, and so forth, don't collide with the heart. The mind will become bright and dazzling, like the wick of a kerosene lantern that we keep fed with fuel and whose burnt parts we keep scraping away.

If liberating insight arises, we'll see the absolute truth — that all our preoccupations are inconstant, stressful, and not-self — appearing in our heart. When we can see things clearly in this way, we'll be able to let go of our various preoccupations. The mind will give rise to a brilliant radiance — termed dhammo pajjoto, the light of the Dhamma — and we'll attain to the transcendency of the mind. When we reach this point, that's when we're said to have grown up. We can go wherever we like, for no one will be able to pull the wool over our eyes.

Fashionings
February 6, 1956

(Delivered at a funeral service for Somdet Phra Mahaviravamsa (Tissa Uan), Wat Boromnivas.)

anicca vata sankhara uppada-vaya-dhammino
uppajjitva nirujjhanti...

The Dhamma, in one sense, is a means of nourishing the heart to make it pure. In another sense, the Dhamma is ourself. Every part of our body is a piece of the world, and the world is an affair of the Dhamma. But it's not the essence of the Dhamma. The essence of the Dhamma lies with the heart.

* * *

The development of all that is good and worthwhile comes from our own thoughts, words, and deeds. The good that comes from our words and deeds, such as the development of charity and virtue, is goodness on the crude and intermediate levels. The refined level, goodness developed by means of the heart, is meditation. For this reason, the issues of the heart are the most important things we must learn to understand.

There are two issues to the heart: the aspect of the heart that takes birth and dies, and the aspect of the heart that doesn't take birth and doesn't die. If the heart falls for fashionings (sankhara), it's bound to take birth and die repeatedly. But the heart that truly sees and clearly knows all fashionings can then let go of them, and thus won't take birth and won't die. If we want to go beyond suffering and stress — not to take birth and not to die — then we first have to learn the true nature of fashionings so that we can understand them.

Fashionings, as they appear in actuality, are of two sorts: fashionings on the level of the world and fashionings on the level of the Dhamma. Both sorts have their reality, but they're things that arise and then decay. This is why the Buddha said, 'anicca vata sankhara...' — which means, 'All fashionings are inconstant...' — because both sorts of these fashionings begin by arising, then change, and finally disband. Whoever can focus in to know clearly and truly see this condition, curb the mind, and become wise to all fashionings, is sure to gain release from all suffering and stress.

Fashionings on the level of the world are things that people create and conjure into being, such as wealth, status, pleasure, and praise. As for fashionings on the level of the Dhamma, whether or not we dress them up, we all have them in equal measure — in other words, properties (dhatu), khandhas, and sense media.

Fashionings on the level of the world and of the Dhamma are like the changing colors on a movie screen. They flicker and flash: Green. Red. Yellow. White. Changing back and forth. When we watch, our eyes have to change along with them to follow them — and this is what gives rise to misunderstandings. When the mind fastens on tight to these fashionings, it gives rise to feelings of satisfaction and dissatisfaction. When they change for good or bad, our mind changes along with them — and so it falls into the characteristics of inconstancy, stress, and not-self.

From another point of view, fashionings can be divided into two sorts: those with a mind in possession, such as people or animals; and those without a mind in possession, such as trees. But though this may be the standard interpretation of fashionings without a mind in possession, I don't agree with it. Take the stairway to this hall: If you say that it doesn't have a mind in possession of it, try smashing it and see whether or not there'll be an uproar. The same holds true with fields — try planting rice in someone else's field — or with banana and other fruit trees planted in an orchard: Try hacking them with a knife to see whether or not their owner will have you thrown in jail. Everything in the world to which attachment extends has to have a mind in possession. Only the planet Mars, to which the sphere of attachment doesn't yet extend, doesn't have a mind in possession. Every sort of fashioning has a mind in possession — except for arahants, who don't have a mind in possession because they aren't attached to any fashionings at all.

Attachment to fashionings is the source of stress, because fashionings are inconstant, as we've already explained. So only if we can let go and not be attached to fashionings will we meet with happiness and ease — ease in the sense of the Dhamma, ease that is cool, quiet, solid, and unchanging. Ease in the worldly sense isn't any different from sitting in a chair: Only if the chair doesn't wobble will we have any ease. The wobbling of the mind is of two sorts: wobbling naturally and wobbling under the influence of intention and its fruit. How many times does the mind wobble in a day? Sometimes it wobbles from intentions in the present, sometimes from intentions in the past, but how it's wobbling, we don't know. This is avijja, the unawareness that causes fashionings — thoughts — to arise.

The other side to all this is non-fashioning (visankhara). What is non-fashioning? No wobbling, no changing, no disbanding: That's non-fashioning. Fashionings change, but our mind doesn't change. Fashionings are stress, but our mind isn't stressed. Fashionings are not-self, but our mind isn't not-self. Fashionings without a mind in possession: That's non-fashioning.

Most of us, by and large, are aware only of the knowledge offered by the Six Teachers — the senses of sight, hearing, smell, taste, feeling, and ideation — which are sources of change, uncertainty, stress, unawareness, and fashionings. So we should close off these senses, because fashionings can't see other fashionings. Only if we get on the other side will we be able to see.

The Tree is in its Seed
August 27, 1956

The purpose of sitting and meditating is to cut away the various thoughts that preoccupy our minds. The more preoccupations we can cut away, the lighter we'll feel. All of the various burdens that weigh down our hearts — all the stresses and strains we feel — will lessen and disappear.

Goodness doesn't come from concepts. Concepts of past and future are what obstruct and destroy our goodness. The Buddha said,

atitam nanvagameyya nappatikankhe anagatam
paccuppannañca yo dhammam tatha tatha vipassati:

If we don't go conceiving the past or the future, leaving only the present, we'll come to see the truth of the Dhamma.

Concepts, even if they deal with the Dhamma, are fashionings because they fall in the area of mental concoction. There are three types of mental fashionings: (1) If we think in ways that are good, they're called meritorious concoctions (puññabhisankhara). (2) If we think in ways that are evil, they're called demeritorious concoctions (apuññabhisankhara). (3) If we think in ways that are neither good nor evil, they're called impassive concoctions (aneñjabhisankhara) or avyakata — neutral and indeterminate. Actually, aneñjabhisankhara has a higher meaning, because it refers to the four levels of absorption in formlessness (arupa jhana). Avyakata refers to such things as thinking about eating a meal or taking a bath, things that are completely unrelated to good and evil. All of these fashionings come from unawareness and ignorance. If we're really intelligent and aware, we shouldn't go conceiving them.

To cut off concepts means to let our mental fashionings disband, to let our trains of thought disband. We sit in meditation, making the body and mind quiet. When the body is still, the mind stays with the stillness. When the heart is at peace, the mind stays with the peace. Concentration develops. The mind comes up to the forefront. Mental fashionings disappear, but the mind is still there. Goodness is still there. In nibbana, nothing disappears anywhere or gets annihilated, except for unawareness.

When mental fashionings and unawareness disband, awareness arises. For example, knowledge of past lives: We see the mind's ancestry — its past lifetimes. Knowledge of death and rebirth: We know the good and bad actions of our fellow beings, how they die and are reborn. A mind trained to maturity in concentration develops quality, like a mature mango seed that's capable of containing all its ancestry, its parents and children, in itself. If anyone plants it, it'll break out into roots, stems, branches, leaves, flowers, and more fruits just like before. A mind not yet trained to maturity is like the seed of an unripe mango that's fallen from the tree. If you plant it, it won't grow. It'll just rot there in the dirt. Since it's not yet ripe, it isn't capable of containing its ancestry and descendants.

People aware of their own birth and death in this way are said not to be lacking. Not lacking in what? Not lacking in birth. They're acquainted with the births they've experienced through many lives and states of being in the past — so many that they're weary of it all, to the point where they don't want to take birth again. As for people who don't know, who don't have this awareness, they feel that they're lacking. They want to take birth again and so they keep on creating birth over and over again. As for those who do have awareness, they've had enough. They're smart enough. They won't give rise to any more births or states of being. Whatever is good, they keep within themselves, like putting a ripe mango seed in a showcase to look at, or peeling off its hard outer shell and then putting it in a storeroom. No one will be able to plant it again, and we can take it out for a look whenever we want.

To train the mind to a higher level is the apex of all that is good and worthwhile. To raise the level of our heart is like coming up and sitting here in the meditation hall. Once we've gotten up off the level of the ground, we've escaped from the rain, the heat of the sun, and from all sorts of dangers. Dogs, for instance, can't jump up to claw us or bite us.

Or we can make a comparison with a tall mountain top. Nothing filthy or dirty can stay on a mountain top. Whether it's rain, dew, or fog, when it comes into contact with the summit it all has to flow down to the lowlands and into the sea. It can't stay and form puddles on the summit. At the same time, fresh breezes come blowing from all four directions, keeping the mountain top dry and free from dampness.

Or we can make a comparison with a tall treetop. Ordinarily, nobody — human or animal — can urinate or defecate or splash anything dirty on a tall treetop. And since the treetop is tall, its flowers and fruits are born tall. Anyone who wants to pick the topmost leaves or destroy the fruits and flowers will have a hard time of it because the height of the tree makes it hard to climb.

In the same way, once we've fed our heart full with what's good and worthwhile, then no matter if people praise or condemn us, we won't want anything of what they have to say. If they say we're not good, it flows right back to them. As for what's really good within us, it stays as it always was. A person whose heart is fed full with what's good and worthwhile is like a person whose stomach is full of food and so is bound to be satisfied and not want to eat anything more: free from hunger and craving. No matter what fantastic food other people may bring him, he won't want any of it. Or if anyone brings him poison, he won't take it. In other words, we aren't interested in the goodness or evil that comes from other people. We want only the goodness that we build up within ourselves.

Ignorant people think that good and evil are things we have to get from other people, and not that they come from within us — and so they close their eyes and keep on groping. They have no sense of the good that lies within them, like the person who goes groping for a mango tree without realizing that the mango tree lies in its seed. Once we realize this, though, all we have to do is take the seed and plant it, and soon it'll sprout roots and become a tree, with leaves and branches, flowers and fruits that will keep on multiplying into hundreds of trees. In no time at all, we'll be millionaires, because mangoes, even when they've grown only to the size of a thumb, already begin to fetch a price. People buy and sell mangoes from the time they're still unripe, until they're half-ripe, fully ripe, and even over-ripe. Sometimes mangoes that are half-rotten can still get a price, although not as much as mangoes that are still good.

People whose minds haven't yet really reached a high level, when they meet with criticism, will usually keep it and brood over it. By and large, we like to think that we're intelligent and yet we let our minds feed on bad moods and preoccupations. Bad moods are like scraps and bones that other people have spit out. If we're really poor and starving, to the point where we have to beg others for food, we should feed on the good moods they have to offer us, which are like food that hasn't been spit out by anyone. But even then we're still counted as poor, as stupid and ignorant, because even though we have genuine goodness within us, we still go running off to gather good and evil from other people. This has to be wrong.

The right way is that no matter what anyone else may say, we let it pass. We should view what they say as their property and as none of ours. As for the goodness we're developing, it's bound to stay with us. Like eating a wormy mango: An intelligent person will eat only the good flesh and leave the spoiled part to the worms. In other words, don't go moving in with the worms. To be intelligent in this way is to qualify as a human being — which means a high-minded being — just as when we come up the stairs to the meditation hall we escape the cats and dogs that would otherwise bother us. Here, they can't jump up and pounce on us. But if we sit on the ground, we're exposed to the sun and rain and all sorts of disturbances. We're mixed up with sages and fools.

When wise people practice the Dhamma, they have to be selective and choose only what's good. They won't let their minds feed on anything spoiled, because spoiled things, when we feed on them, can be toxic and harmful. As for good things, when we eat them, they don't cause any harm. They can only benefit us.

Goodness, evil, purity — all come from within us. The Buddha thus taught that each of us has his or her own kamma. What he said on this point is absolutely true. There's no way you can argue with it. 'Kamma' means the good and bad actions that come from intentions. Intentions are thoughts that come from the mind, so the mind lies at the essence of intention and kamma, because the mind is what thinks and gives the orders. When an intention is shoddy or dishonest, the resulting action is bad kamma and will result in suffering. When an intention is good, proper, and honest, the action will be good kamma and will result in pleasure. So whether we're to suffer or to experience pleasure, to be good or shoddy, pure or impure, depends on our own actions and intentions, not on anything anyone else may do for us. Once we realize this, there's no more confusion.

The Lessons of Unawareness
August 21, 1956

"The sermon this afternoon was on the theme, 'vijja-carana-sampanno sugato lokavidu.' I didn't listen to the beginning. All I can remember is this:"

...The real nature of the Dhamma isn't all that difficult for people who have awareness; but it is hard for people who don't. It's hard because it goes against our wishes. If it followed our wishes, it'd be easy. The genuine Dhamma is something that goes against our wishes because good things ordinarily are bound to be that way. It's the nature of things that are beneficial and useful to us that they're hard and require effort. Even worldly things are this way. Things actually beneficial are usually hard to obtain. But as for things of no real use to us, there's no need to go to any great trouble to search for them. There are heaps of them right in our own back yard.

I'm referring here to unawareness — ignorance of what's real. But this ignorance of what's real is the wellspring that can give rise to awareness, or knowledge of what's real. This knowledge of what's real exists everywhere, like water vapor that rises into the atmosphere. Whoever has the ingenuity to find it and bring it inwards will feel cool, content and refreshed. This is called vijja-carana-sampanno, which is the opposite of unawareness. So I'd like to explain one more point in the theme, vijja-carana-sampanno, which means, 'Those who really search for the Dhamma are sure to be always giving rise to knowledge within themselves.'

Here we first have to explain the word 'dhamma.' Dhamma is something that exists in each and every one of us. It can be divided into three sorts: skillful, unskillful and neutral.

1. Skillfulness (kusala-dhamma) means the goodness that exists naturally, whether or not there's a Buddha to point it out. This dhamma is what gives comfort and benefit to living beings in proportion to how much they practice it. Don't go thinking that goodness comes from having been formulated by the Buddha, or that it comes from his teachings. Goodness has been in the world ever since long before the time of the Buddha, but no one was really acquainted with it because no sage had been able to identify it. But when the Buddha came and ferreted out awareness itself, he was able to see the dhamma that has existed in the world from time immemorial. This sort of dhamma didn't arise from anything he said or taught. It's the goodness that exists naturally in the world. If this sort of goodness didn't exist as a normal part of the world, the human race would have died out long ago. The fact that we have any peace and well-being at all comes from our having imbued our hearts with this goodness as we have been able to discover it. Otherwise we wouldn't be able to withstand all the fires of worldliness.

2. Unskillfulness (akusala-dhamma): The same holds true with evil. It doesn't come from anything the Buddha said or taught. It exists on its own in the world, by its nature. But people who haven't thought about it or observed it misunderstand things. They think that evil comes from what the Buddha taught, and so they don't pay it any attention because they think good and evil were made up by the Buddha. In this way, good and evil get all mixed up together, without anyone knowing their truth.

But the Buddha was endowed with supreme intelligence, and so was able to tell what was unhusked rice, what was husked rice, what was bran, and what was chaff. He then sorted them into separate lots so that people could choose whichever they prefer, with the realization that each of us is responsible for his or her own kamma: Whoever does good will have to meet with good; whoever does evil will have to meet with evil.

All dhammas — the good and evil that exist naturally — ultimately come down to the mind right here in this very body. It's not the case that we have to go searching for them anywhere outside. If we were to ask where it all came from, the Buddha would probably be able to answer us, but it'd be like hitting the earth with your fist. If we were to ask where the mind comes from, we'd have to answer that it comes from us. And where do we come from? From our parents. That's as far as we'd get.

If we were to answer on a different level — one that's more difficult to see, and that only people of awareness can manage — we'd say that the mind comes from unawareness. And what does unawareness come from? From mental fashionings. And what do mental fashionings come from? From unawareness. It's like the old question, where does the chicken come from? The egg. And the egg? From the chicken. If we keep asking and answering, we simply go around in circles without ever coming to the end of it. This is how things are on the level of the world.

The issues of the mind all boil down to two minds: one that likes to do good, and one that likes to do evil. One mind, but there's two of it. Sometimes an inclination to do good takes hold of us, and so we want to do good. This is called being possessed by skillfulness. Sometimes an inclination to do evil takes hold of us, and so we want to do evil. This is called being possessed by unskillfulness. In this way, our mind is kept always unsettled and unsure.

So the Buddha taught us to develop our awareness in order to know what's good and worthwhile, and what's evil and worthless. If unawareness obscures our mind, we can't see anything clearly, just as when haze obscures our eyesight. If our knowledge gets really far up away from the world, we'll have even less chance of seeing anything, just as a person who goes up high in an airplane and then looks down below won't be able to see houses or other objects as clearly as when he's standing on the ground. The higher he goes, the more everything becomes a haze. He won't be able to see any sign of human life at all. This is why the Buddha taught us to fill ourselves with as much awareness as possible, so that our ears and eyes will be bright and clear, unobscured by fog or haze. Awareness, of the sort taught by the Buddha, can arise in three ways:

1. Sutamaya-pañña: This is the awareness in which we study and listen to what other people say so that we can understand what evil things will lead us in the direction of suffering and stress, and what good things will lead us in the direction of well-being and ease. Once we know, we can then ask ourselves, 'Do we want to go in the direction of suffering?' If we answer, 'No, we don't, because it's a hardship. We'd rather go in the direction of well-being,' we have to set our hearts on giving rise to goodness. That goodness is then sure to lead us in the direction of well-being. For example, some people are born way out in the sticks, and yet they train and educate themselves to the point where they end up important and influential. The same holds true with us. If we train and educate ourselves, we're all bound to end up as good people. This is education on the elementary level — our ABC's — called sutamaya-pañña.

2. Cintamaya-pañña: Once we've learned that certain things are good, we should try each of them until we see good results arising within us. Don't go jumping to any fixed conclusions that this or that has to be good or right. For example, some things may be correct in terms of the Dhamma you've learned, but when you try them out, they may be wrong in terms of other people's feelings. So when we're taught something that seems right, we should remember it. When we're taught something that seems wrong, we should remember it. We then take these things and evaluate them on our own until we give rise to an understanding. Only then can we be called intelligent.

In other words, we don't simply believe what's in books, what other people say or what our teachers tell us. Before we do anything, we should consider it carefully until it's certain and clear to us. Only then should we go ahead and do it. This is called believing in our own sense of reason. This is the second level of awareness, but it's not the highest. It can eliminate only some of the unawareness that exists within us. Both of the levels mentioned so far are awareness on the low level.

3. The truly high level of awareness is called bhavana-maya-pañña. This level of awareness arises in a trained mind. This is what is meant by vijja-carana-sampanno sugato lokavidu. The awareness here includes knowledge of one's past lives; knowledge of death and rebirth — knowing the mental stream of other people, what sort of good and evil they've done, and where they will go after death; and knowledge of the end of mental fermentation: Whoever develops the mind to the point of Right Concentration, giving rise to intuitive insight, will be able to let go of:

(i) Self-identification (sakkaya-ditthi). They'll see that the body isn't really theirs.

(ii) Uncertainty (vicikiccha). Their doubts about the virtues of the Buddha, Dhamma and Sangha will be gone for good. They'll have no more doubts about the paths and their fruitions (magga, phala). The paths, their fruitions and nibbana will have to exist for whoever is true in practicing the Dhamma, no matter what the time or season. This is termed akaliko: The Dhamma gives results no matter what the time or season. Opanayiko: People who give rise to virtue, concentration and discernment within themselves are sure to see that the qualities of the Buddha, Dhamma and Sangha can actually ward off insecurity and dread. Such people will also let go of:

(iii) Attachment to the formalities of virtue (silabbata-paramasa). The virtues of the five precepts will be firmly established in their hearts.

To let go in this way is called knowledge of the end of mental fermentation (asavakkhaya-ñana), or vijja-carana-sampanno — being consummate in knowledge and conduct. In addition to these three primary forms of awareness, we may also develop clairvoyance, clairaudience and psychic powers. But unless we can still our mind in concentration, we won't be able to gain any of these forms of awareness, even if we study all 84,000 divisions of the Canon, because all of these forms of awareness depend on the stillness of concentration. The ability to put away all forms of evil depends on the stillness of concentration. When awareness arises within us, we are sure to see the truth of what's good and what's evil. As long as this awareness doesn't arise, we're still deluded and groping.

For example, we may latch on to the body as being our own, or to the five khandhas — sense data, feelings, labels, mental fashionings and consciousness — as being our own. Some people identify themselves with greed, anger or delusion. For example, when greed arises, they identify with the greed. When anger arises, they identify with the anger. When delusion arises, they identify with the delusion. But these things arise only at certain times. Sometimes when lack of anger arises, these people identify themselves with the lack of anger. And when lack of greed or delusion arises, they identify with the lack of greed or delusion — and so these things get all mixed up because of unawareness, or ignorance of the truth.

But once we've developed awareness, then when greed arises, we won't identify with it. The same holds true with anger and delusion. This is a step we have to master so that we can catch sight of how these three defilements actually come and go.

In other words, when greed comes, we sit and keep watch on the greed until it dies of its own accord. We'll then be able to know exactly what ugly features it has when it comes, and exactly how good it is when it goes. We just sit there and watch it until it disbands, and we'll feel an immediate sense of relief. When anger or delusion comes, we sit and keep watch on the anger or delusion — don't go running off anywhere else — and we'll be able to see exactly how bad anger is when it comes, and how good it is when it goes. What delusion is like when it comes — no matter which side it's going to be deluded about — we make a point of keeping our gaze fixed on it. When we can hold ourselves in check this way, that's awareness.

But if, when greed comes, we get carried along with the greed, or when anger or delusion comes, we get carried along with the anger or delusion, that's unawareness. If we're constantly on the look-out for these three defilements, the day is sure to come when they grow ashamed of themselves. We'll know how they arise, we'll see how they take a stance, we'll perceive how they disband. This is the awareness that comes from unawareness.

When we can contemplate things in this way, we'll be able to gain all eight forms of cognitive skill. If we can hold ourselves in check in the midst of our defilements, without feeling obliged to let them come out in our actions, we'll give rise to awareness within. This is what is meant by vijja-carana-sampanno. Our hearts will be pure, free from greed, anger and delusion. Sugato lokavidu: We'll fare well whether we come or go, and wherever we stay. This sort of awareness is the real thing. It's the awareness that will bring us success in the sphere of the Dhamma.