                                          
                           THE WAY OF WISDOM
                           ~~~ ~~~ ~~ ~~~~~~
                                          
                      The Five Spiritual Faculties
                      ~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~
                                          
                                          
                                   by
                                          
                              EDWARD CONZE
                                          
                                          
                                          
                                          
                                          
                      Buddhist Publication Society
                                          
                      Kandy Sri Lanka
                                          
  
  
  
  Buddhist Publication Society
  P.O. Box 61
  54, Sangharaja Mawatha
  Kandy, Sri Lanka
  
  
  First published 1964
  Reprinted 1980, 1993
  
  ISBN 955-24-0110-0
  
  The text of this booklet was, with some modifications, first published 
  in The Middle Way, Vol. XXVIII (1953).
  
  DharmaNet edition published 1993
  
  This electronic edition is offered for free distribution via DharmaNet 
  by arrangement with the publisher.
  
  Formatted for DharmaNet by John Bullitt.
  
  
  
                    THE WHEEL PUBLICATION No. 65/66
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
                                PART I:
                                ~~~~~~~
                                          
                      THE FIVE SPIRITUAL FACULTIES
                      ~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~
                                          
  
  
  
  Spiritual progress depends on the emergence of five cardinal 
  virtues--faith, vigour, mindfulness, concentration and wisdom. The 
  conduct of the ordinary worldling is governed by his sense-based 
  instincts and impulses. As we progress, new spiritual forces gradually 
  take over, until in the end the five cardinal virtues dominate and 
  shape everything we do feel and think. These virtues are called, in 
  Sanskrit and Pali, //indriya//, variously translated by faculties, 
  controlling faculties, or spiritual faculties.[1] The same five 
  virtues are called powers (//bala//) if emphasis is on the fact that 
  they are "unshakable by their opposites."
      
  
  
                                          
                                I. Faith
                                ~~ ~~~~~
  
      Faith is called "the seed," and without it the plant of spiritual 
  life cannot start at all. Without faith one can, as a matter of fact, 
  do nothing worthwhile at all. This is true not only of Buddhism, but 
  of all religions, and even the pseudo-religions of modern times, such 
  as Communism. And this faith is much more than the mere acceptance of 
  beliefs. It requires the combination of four factors--intellectual, 
  volitional, emotional and social.
  
      1. //Intellectually//, faith is an assent to doctrines which are 
  not substantiated by immediately available direct factual evidence. To 
  be a matter of faith, a belief must go beyond the available evidence 
  and the believer must be willing and ready to fill up the gaps in the 
  evidence with an attitude of patient and trusting acceptance. Faith, 
  taken in this sense, has two opposites, i.e. a dull unawareness of the 
  things which are worth believing in, and doubt or perplexity. In any 
  kind of religion some assumptions are taken on trust and accepted on 
  the authority of scriptures or teachers.
  
      Generally speaking, faith is, however, regarded as only a 
  preliminary step, as a merely provisional state. In due course direct 
  spiritual awareness will know that which faith took on trust, and 
  longed to know: "Now we see through a glass darkly, but then face to 
  face." Much time must usually elapse before the virtue of wisdom has 
  become strong enough to support a vigorous insight into the true 
  nature of reality. Until then quite a number of doctrinal points must 
  be taken on faith.
      
      What then in Buddhism are the objects of faith? They are 
  essentially four: (1) the belief in karma and rebirth; (2) the 
  acceptance of the basic teachings about the nature of reality, such as 
  conditioned co-production, emptiness, etc.; (3) confidence in the 
  "Three Refuges," the Buddha, the Dharma and the Order; and (4) a 
  belief in the efficacy of the prescribed practices, and in Nirvana as 
  the final way out of our difficulties. I shall say more about them 
  when I have dealt with the other aspects of faith.
      
      2. In this sceptical age we, anyway, dwell far too much on the 
  intellectual side of faith. //shraddha//(Pali: //saddha//) the word we 
  render as "faith," is etymologically akin to Latin //cor//, "the 
  heart," and faith is far more a matter of the heart than of the 
  intellect. It is, as Prof. Radhakrishnan incisively puts it, the 
  "striving after self-realization by concentrating the powers of the 
  mind on a given idea." //Volitionally//, faith implies a resolute and 
  courageous act of will. It combines the steadfast resolution that one 
  //will//do a thing with the self-confidence that one //can//do it. 
  Suppose that people living on the one side of a river are doomed to 
  perish from many enemies, diseases and famine. Safety lies on the 
  other shore. The man of faith is then likened to the person who swims 
  across the river, braving its dangers, saving himself and inspiring 
  others by his example. Those without faith will go on dithering along 
  the hither bank. The opposites to this aspect of faith are timidity, 
  cowardice, fear, wavering, and a shabby, mean and calculating 
  mentality.
  
      3. //Emotionally//, faith is an attitude of serenity and lucidity. 
  Its opposite here is worry, the state of being troubled by many 
  things. It is said that someone who has faith loses the "five 
  terrors," i.e. he ceases to worry about the necessities of life, about 
  loss of reputation, death, unhappy rebirth and the impression he may 
  make on an audience. It is fairly obvious that the burden of life must 
  be greatly lightened by belief in karma, emptiness, or not-self. Even 
  an unpleasant fate can be accepted more easily when it is understood 
  as a dispensation of justice, when vexations are explained as an 
  inevitable retribution, when law seems to rule instead of blind 
  chance, when even apparent loss is bound to turn into true gain. And 
  if there is no self, what and whom do we worry about? If there is only 
  one vast emptiness, what is there to disturb our radiance?
      
      4. //Socially//, and that is more difficult to understand, faith 
  involves trust and confidence in the Buddha and the Sangha. Its 
  opposite here is the state of being submerged in cares about one's 
  sensory social environment, cares which spring from either social 
  pressure or social isolation. The break with the normal social 
  environment is, of course, complete only in the case of the monk who, 
  as the formula goes, "in faith forsakes his home." To a lesser extent 
  it must be carried out by every practitioner of the Dharma, who must 
  "live apart" from his society, in spirit if not in fact. The company 
  of others and the help we expect from them are usually a mainstay of 
  our sense of security. By going for refuge to the Buddha and the 
  Sangha one turns from the visible and tangible to the invisible and 
  elusive. By placing one's reliance on spiritual forces one gains the 
  strength to disregard public opinion and social discouragement. Some 
  measure of defiant contempt for the world and its ways is inseparable 
  from a spiritual life. The spiritual man does not "belong" to his 
  visible environment, in which he is bound to feel rather a stranger. 
  He belongs to the community of the saints, to the family of the 
  Buddha. Buddhism substitutes a spiritual for the natural environment, 
  with the Buddha for the father, the //Prajnaparamita// for the mother, 
  the fellow-seekers for brothers and sisters, relatives and friends. It 
  is with these more invisible forces that one must learn to establish 
  satisfactory social relations. In carrying out this task, faith 
  requires a considerable capacity for renunciation.
      
      This concludes our survey of the four factors which go into the 
  making of faith. Like other spiritual qualities, faith is somewhat 
  paradoxical in that in one sense it is a //gift//which one cannot 
  obtain by merely wanting to, and in another sense it is a 
  //virtue//that can be cultivated. The capacity for faith varies with 
  the constitution of the individual and his social circumstances. It is 
  usual to classify types of personality according to whether they are 
  dominated by greed, hatred or confusion. Those who walk in greed are 
  said to be more susceptible to faith than the other two, because of 
  the kinship which exists between faith and greed. To quote Buddhaghosa 
  (//Visuddhimagga//III,75): "As on the unwholesome plane greed clings 
  and takes no offence, so faith on the wholesome plane. As greed 
  searches for objects of sense-desire, so faith for the qualities of 
  morality, etc. As greed does not let go that which is harmful, so 
  faith does not let go that which is beneficial."
      
      As regards social conditions, there are ages of faith and ages of 
  unbelief. The present age rather fosters unbelief. It puts a premium 
  on intellectual smartness, so that faith is easily held to indicate 
  nothing but a weak head or a lack of intellectual integrity. It 
  multiplies the distractions from the sensory world to such an extent 
  that the calm of the invisible world is harder to reach than ever. It 
  exposes the citizen to so great a variety of conflicting viewpoints 
  that he finds it hard to make a choice. The prestige of science, the 
  concern with a high standard of living, and the disappearance of all 
  institutions of uncontested authority are the chief foes of faith in 
  our present-day society. It is largely a matter of temperament whether 
  we believe that matters will improve in the near future.
  
      As a virtue, faith is strengthened and built up by 
  self-discipline, and not by discussing opinions. Intellectual 
  difficulties are by no means the most powerful among the obstacles to 
  faith. Doubts are inevitable, but how one deals with them depends on 
  one's character. The first of our four "articles of faith" well 
  illustrates this situation. There are many sound reasons for accepting 
  the rebirth doctrine. This is not the place to expound them, and I 
  must be content to refer the reader to the very impressive "East-West 
  Anthology" on //Reincarnation//which J. Head and S.L. Cranston have 
  published in 1961 (New York, The Julian Press Inc.). Yet, although 
  belief in rebirth is perfectly rational and does not conflict with any 
  known fact, the range of the average person's vision is so limited 
  that he has no access to the decisive evidence, which is direct and 
  immediate experience.
      
      The rebirth doctrine assumes at least two things: (1) that behind 
  the natural causality which links together events in the world of 
  sense there are other, invisible chains of a moral causality, which 
  assures that all good acts are rewarded, all bad actions punished; and 
  (2) that this chain of moral sequences is not interrupted by death, 
  but continues from rebirth to rebirth. To the average person these two 
  assumptions cannot be proved absolutely, conclusively and beyond the 
  possibility of a doubt. However plausible they may seem on rational 
  grounds, Buddhism teaches that they become a matter of direct 
  experience only after the "superknowledges" (//abhijna//, //abhinna//) 
  have been developed. The fourth "superknowledge" is the recollection 
  of one's own previous rebirths, and the fifth the knowledge of the 
  rebirths of other people, by which one "sees that whatever happens to 
  them happens in accordance with their deeds." There are many 
  well-authenticated cases of persons spontaneously remembering certain 
  details of one or the other of their own previous lives, and these 
  people obviously have an additional reason for belief in rebirth which 
  is lacking in those who cannot recall ever having lived before. Full 
  certitude on the issue is, however, given to those only who can, on 
  the basis of the fourth //jhana//and by taking definite prescribed and 
  disciplined steps on emerging from that //jhana//, "recall their 
  manifold former lives," according to the well-known formula: "There I 
  was, that was my name, that was my family, that was my caste, such was 
  my food, this was the happiness, this the suffering which I 
  experienced, this was the duration of my life-span. Deceased there I 
  was born elsewhere and there had this name, etc." When a monk has 
  practised properly and successfully, "these things become as clear to 
  him as if lit up by a lamp" (//Visuddhimagga//, xiii, 23). 
      
      Until that time comes, we cannot claim that we //fully know//the 
  doctrine of karma and rebirth to be true. We take it partly on faith. 
  And this faith of ours is maintained less by our dialectical skill as 
  by the virtues of patience and courage. For we must be willing to wait 
  patiently until we are spiritually ripe for the emergence of the 
  super-knowledges, however far off that might seem to be. And secondly, 
  we must be willing to take risks. Life nowhere offers a one hundred 
  per cent security, and for our convictions least of all. Employed in 
  gaining wealth a merchant must risk his property. Employed in taking 
  life, a soldier must risk his own life. Employed in saving his soul, 
  the spiritual man must risk his own soul. The stake automatically 
  increases with the prospect of gain. Of course, we may be mistaken. I 
  sometimes wonder what I would think if, on dying, I would not, as I 
  now fondly imagine, wake up on the Bardo plane, but find myself 
  confronted with Acheron and the three-headed Cerberus, or, worse 
  still, were ill-treated with fire and brimstone in a Christian hell. 
  The experience would, I admit, be rather disconcerting. All that I can 
  say in the face of such uncertainty is that I am willing to take the 
  consequences, and that I hope that my fund of boldness, audacity and 
  good humour will not run out.
  
      One has the choice to magnify intellectual doubts, or to minimize 
  them. It seems not unreasonable that one should blame the difficulties 
  of the teaching on one's own distance from the truth, one's own 
  intellectual and moral imperfections. How can one expect to remember 
  one's past lives, if at present one cannot even recall hour by hour 
  what one did during one single day a mere month ago? If one hesitates 
  to accept, as not immediately obvious, the doctrine that this world is 
  the result of ignorance and of the craving of non-existent individuals 
  for non-existent objects--is this not perhaps due to the very 
  denseness of one's own ignorance, for which one can collect plenty of 
  proofs all day long? Doubts are effectively overcome when one purifies 
  one's own life, so as to become more worthy of knowledge. It is a 
  condition of all learning that one accepts a great deal on trust, that 
  one gives the teacher the benefit of the doubt. Otherwise one can 
  learn nothing at all, and remains shut out from all truth. To have 
  faith means to take a deep breath, to tear oneself away from the daily 
  cares and concerns, and to turn resolutely to a wider and more abiding 
  reality. At first we are, by ourselves, too stupid and inexperienced 
  to see the tracks which lead to salvation. So we must put our trust in 
  the Sages of the past, and listen intently to their words, dimmed by 
  distance and the noise of the present day, but still just audible.
      
      One last word about tolerance, without which faith remains raw and 
  unsure of itself. It is a perpetual trial to our faith that we should 
  constantly meet with people who believe differently. We are easily 
  tempted to wish this irritant removed, to coerce others, if only by 
  argument, and to annihilate them, if only by dubbing them fools. 
  Intolerance for people of other faiths, though often mistaken for 
  ardour, betrays nothing so much as doubts within oneself. We can, of 
  course, always console ourselves by assuming that the others, in their 
  own way, believe what we do, and that in the end it all comes to the 
  same thing. But that does not always sound very convincing, and what 
  we must, I am afraid, learn to do is to bear with their presence.
  
  
  
  
                               II. Vigour
                               ~~ ~~~~~~
  
      Next to faith, vigour (Skr.: //virya//; Pali: //viriya//). Little 
  need be said about the need for being energetic if one wants to 
  achieve something. Without vigour, without strenuous effort, without 
  perseverance, one obviously cannot make much progress. Everybody knows 
  what "vigour" is, although a generation which made the fortune of the 
  discoverers of "night-starvation" might wish that it had more of it.
  
      The fact that faith and vigour are virtues does not, however, 
  imply that they are good all through, and that, regardless of the 
  consequences, they should be strengthened at all times. Excess is to 
  be deprecated, even in virtues. All the five virtues must be regarded 
  as one whole. Their balance and harmony is almost as important as the 
  virtues themselves.[2] They support each other to some extent, but 
  they also stand in each other's way. The one must sometimes be used to 
  correct the excess of the other. In this way, concentration must come 
  to the rescue of the latent faults of vigour. When vigour and energy 
  have it all their own way, tranquillity is in danger. We all know 
  people with a large dash of adrenalin in their blood, who are always 
  busy, perhaps even "madly efficient," but not particularly restful. 
  Vigour by itself leads to excitement, and has to be controlled by a 
  development of concentrated calm.
      
      Similarly, faith alone, without wisdom, can easily become mere 
  credulity. Wisdom alone can teach what is worth believing. This can be 
  illustrated by Don Quixote, who in literature is perhaps the purest 
  embodiment of faith, and whose actions demonstrate that too much 
  faith, by itself, is not necessarily a good thing. Cervantes' novel 
  gives a fine and detailed description of all the chief attributes of 
  faith. Don Quixote vigorously, fearlessly, without complaining, and 
  even serenely endures all tribulations because he wants to help 
  others, all of them equally, according to their needs. When he dashes 
  into the middle of the boiling lake, he reaches the very height of 
  self-abandonment of which faith as such is capable. "And just when he 
  does not know what will happen to him, he finds himself among flowery 
  fields beautiful beyond those of Elysium." His faith has conquered the 
  senses, it transmutes the data of common-sense experience, and the 
  barber's basin becomes Mambrino's helmet.[3] And yet, when we consider 
  the intellectual basis of his faith, we find that it consists in 
  nothing more than a belief in the truth and veracity of the Romances 
  which describe the fictitious and not particularly edifying doings of 
  the knight-errants of the past. This is the reason why his adventures 
  form a sorry sight, why he is a caricature even of a knight of the 
  Middle Ages, why, shorn of all common-sense, faith in this case 
  becomes slightly pathological.
      
      Mr. Blyth claims that "the Don Quixote of the First Part is Zen 
  incarnate,"[4] that "the man who surpasses Hakuin, Rinzai, Eno, Daruma 
  and Shakyamuni himself is Don Quixote de la Mancha, Knight Errant."[5] 
  Zen, it seems, like all good things, can be abused. It is not very 
  probable that, when the cloak of "Zen" is thrown over them, all 
  donkeys do become tigers, all absurdities profundities. Irrationalism 
  is not without its attractions, but can be overdone. To suggest that 
  one scripture, one conviction, one faith is as good as another, smacks 
  rather more of the spiritual nihilism of our present age, than of the 
  wisdom of Seng-t'san. I admit that I have always liked Don Quixote for 
  saying that the "perfection" of madness does not consist in going "mad 
  for some actual reason or other" but "in running mad without the least 
  constraint or necessity." But still I cannot help feeling that there 
  is some difference, intangible perhaps, but nevertheless real, between 
  the perfection of madness and the perfection of wisdom. Don Quixote's 
  faith was a rather puerile one, because he had no judgment, and his 
  vision was defective. Blyth himself admits in the end that Don Quixote 
  "lacks the Confucian virtue of Prudence, the balance of the powers of 
  the mind" (p.210). I am not so sure about prudence, but the "balance 
  of the powers of the mind" is certainly not only a Confucian, but also 
  a Buddhist virtue, and a very essential one. Buddhaghosa, whom I am 
  expounding here, leaves us in no doubt on this matter.[6] What 
  distinguishes a bhikkhu from a knight-errant is that he is essentially 
  sober and calm, that his view of the world is sweetly rational, that 
  he avoids violence in the pursuit of his aims, and that his estimate 
  of his own role in the world does not greatly exceed his actual size 
  in relation to the universe.
  
  
                            III. Mindfulness
                            ~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~
  
      A Buddhist owes his soberness to the cultivation of the third 
  virtue of //mindfulness//(Skr.: //smriti//, Pali: //sati//). Whereas 
  faith and vigour, when driven to excess, must be restrained by their 
  counterparts, i.e. wisdom and tranquil concentration, the virtue of 
  mindfulness does not share this disability. "Mindfulness should be 
  strong everywhere. For it protects the mind from excitedness, into 
  which it might fall since faith, vigour and wisdom may excite us;[7] 
  and from indolence, into which it might fall since concentration 
  favours indolence. Therefore, mindfulness is desirable everywhere, 
  like a seasoning of salt in all sauces, like the prime minister in all 
  state functions. Hence it is said: 'The Lord has declared mindfulness 
  to be useful everywhere, for the mind finds refuge in mindfulness and 
  mindfulness is its protector. Without mindfulness there can be no 
  exertion or restraint of the mind.' "[8]
  
      Although traces of it are not altogether absent in other religious 
  and philosophical disciplines, in Buddhism alone mindfulness occupies 
  a central position. If one were asked what distinguishes Buddhism from 
  all other systems of thought, one would have to answer that it is the 
  //dharma//-theory and the stress laid on mindfulness. Mindfulness is 
  not only the seventh of the steps of the holy eightfold path, the 
  third of the five virtues, and the first of the seven limbs of 
  enlightenment. On occasions it is almost equated with Buddhism itself. 
  So we read at the beginning of the Satipatthana Sutta[9] that "the 
  four applications of mindfulness are the one and only way (//ekayano 
  maggo//) that leads beings to purity, to the transcending of sorrow 
  and lamentation, to the appeasement of pain and sadness, to entrance 
  upon the right method and to the realization of Nirvana."[10]
      
      What then is "mindfulness"? The Abhidharma, guided by the 
  etymology of the Sanskrit term (//smriti//from //smri//, "to 
  remember"), defines it as an act of remembering which prevents ideas 
  from "floating away," and which fights forgetfulness, carelessness and 
  distraction. This definition by itself, though correct, does not 
  really make the function of this virtue very clear to us today. The 
  theoretical assumptions which underlie the various practices summed up 
  in the word "mindfulness" are too much taken for granted. What one 
  assumes is that the mind consists of two disparate parts--a depth 
  which is calm and quiet, and a surface which is disturbed. The surface 
  layer is in perpetual agitation and turmoil. The centre, at the bottom 
  of the mind, beyond both the conscious and the unconscious mind as 
  modern psychologists understand it, is quite still. The depth is, 
  however, usually overlaid to such an extent that people remain 
  incredulous when told of a submerged spot of stillness in their inmost 
  hearts. In most cases the surface is so turbulent that the calm of the 
  depth can be realized only in rare intervals.
      
      Mindfulness and concentration are the two virtues which are 
  concerned with the development of inward calm. The principal enemies 
  of spiritual quietude are: (1) the senses; (2) the movements of the 
  body; (3) the passions, wants and desires; and (4) discursive 
  thinking. They have the power to be enemies when: (1) they are not 
  subjected to any discipline; and (2) when the ego identifies itself 
  with what takes place on the surface of the mind, participating 
  heartily in it, and the illusion arises that these activities are "my" 
  doings, "my" concerns and the sphere in which "I" live and have my 
  being. When thus busy with worldly things, we have neither strength 
  nor freedom. In order to conquer these enemies of spiritual quietude 
  we must: (1) withdraw the senses from their objects, as the tortoise 
  draws in its limbs; (2) keep watch on our muscular movements; (3) 
  cease wanting anything, and dissociate all wants from the ego; and (4) 
  cut off discursive thinking.
  
      By an effort of the imagination one must try to see oneself at 
  rest, floating freely, with no force exerted on one's spiritual self. 
  The practice of mindfulness then is a series of efforts which aim at 
  maintaining this isolation. Mindfulness is the name given to the 
  measures which we take to protect the patch of inner calm, which may 
  at first not seem very large. One, as it were, draws a line round this 
  domain and at its boundaries keeps watch on trespassers. The 
  expectation is that conscious attention will disintegrate the power of 
  the enemies, diminish their number, and dissociate them from the ego. 
  However diverse in nature the numerous exercises which come under the 
  heading of mindfulness may seem to be, they all have in common this 
  one purpose, that of guarding the incipient and growing calm in one's 
  heart.
      
      1. First, as regards the //sensory stimuli//, there is the 
  "restraint of the senses," also called the "guarding of the doors of 
  the senses." For two reasons sense stimulation may disturb inner calm: 
  (1) because it gives an occasion for undesirable states, like greed, 
  hate, etc., to invade and flood the mind; (2) because attention to the 
  sensory world, however necessary and apparently innocuous, distracts 
  from the object of wisdom, which is the emptiness of //dharmas//. One 
  cannot grasp what is meant by "restraint of the sense dominants," if 
  one regards it as quite a natural thing that the mind should dwell on 
  sense-linked objects. This is, indeed, most unnatural. In its natural 
  purity thought abides in the calm contemplation of emptiness. The mind 
  which sees, hears, etc., is a fallen mind.
      
      The capacity of sense-experience to compel the mind to act in a 
  certain way is greatly diminished if each sensory stimulus is examined 
  at the point where it passes the threshold of consciousness. 
  Attention, normally passive, involuntary and compulsive, is subjected 
  to voluntary control. In the process of imposing some control on the 
  senses one will be surprised to find how keen they are to function, 
  how eager to find suitable objects with which to feed one's impulses 
  and instincts, one's hopes and fears, one's interests and appetites, 
  satisfactions and grievances. It is not so bad that one should see 
  things, hear sounds, etc., but it is a threat to spiritual health when 
  one gets interested and entranced, when one takes up what is seen and 
  heard and seizes on it as a sign of what matters.
      
      The practice of mindfulness is not confined to taking note of what 
  enters the mind by way of the sense-organs. One also tries to 
  determine what is allowed to enter, and to generally reduce the number 
  of sensory impacts by restraining the use of the physical organ, for 
  instance, when one walks with eyes directed only a few feet or yards 
  ahead. In addition, by an effort of the will one refuses to co-operate 
  with one's habitual impulses in building up a mere casual observation 
  into a thing of moment to which one returns again and again. Finally 
  the intruder is weakened and worn down by appropriate reflections. He 
  is kept out of the heart and devalued--as trivial, as already passed, 
  as nothing in particular, and by thinking that "this does not concern 
  me at all, this means nothing to me, it is only a waste when salvation 
  and Nirvana are considered."
  
      2. Secondly, as regards the //muscular movements of the body//--an 
  unquiet body is a concomitant of a disturbed mind, both its cause and 
  symptom. It is important to mindfulness that one should consciously 
  notice the position and movement of the body when walking, eating, 
  speaking, etc., and suppress and correct those movements which are 
  uncontrolled, hasty and uncoordinated. This practice can, it is true, 
  not be carried out at all times. In London traffic, for instance, the 
  unhurried and unflurried demeanour of the mindful has little survival 
  value. Where, however, it can be applied, we come to cherish this 
  exercise which pulls us together, sometimes to an amazing extent in an 
  amazingly short time. Insignificant as it may seem, compared with the 
  splendours of Buddhist art and metaphysics, this training is their 
  indispensable foundation stone. It is by his dignified and 
  self-possessed deportment that the bhikkhu is recognized. And, of 
  course, we should not forget that the mindful attention to muscular 
  movements includes the breathing practices, which are a most fruitful 
  source of insight.
      
      3. Where we have to face the disturbance of the passions and of 
  //stray thoughts//in general, the defence of our inward calm becomes 
  more difficult. Mindfulness itself turns into incipient concentration.
      
      At this point one may ask whether the practice of the five 
  cardinal virtues, from faith to wisdom, is at all likely to be 
  furthered by writing articles about them. It is, of course, not an 
  entirely useless undertaking to guard the traditional teaching from 
  current misunderstandings, quite apart from the pleasure of putting 
  fleas into peoples' ears, and fomenting discussions about the 
  importance of faith, or the value of erudition. But what about the 
  virtues themselves? Thomas a Kempis once said that he would rather 
  feel compunction than know the definition of it. What matters to a 
  Buddhist is that he should be strong in faith, vigour, mindfulness, 
  concentration and wisdom, and what use to him is the knowledge of how 
  they are defined? Detailed advice on how these virtues should be 
  practised, it is true, can never be given in articles written for the 
  general reader. Such advice must always be addressed to one person at 
  a time, must take their individual constitution into account, and can, 
  therefore, be given only by word of mouth.
      
      On the other hand, if mindfulness is a virtue, then the ability to 
  recollect one's own virtues is also a feature of the Buddhist life. 
  And how can one attend to the presence or absence of mental states in 
  oneself if one is unable to recognize them for what they are? The 
  Satipatthana Sutta recommends systematic meditation on the wholesome 
  and unwholesome mental states which arise in the mind. To quote the 
  Sutta, one knows, for instance: (1) when there is vigour that there is 
  vigour; (2) when there is no vigour that there is no vigour; (3) how 
  the vigour which did not exist came to be produced; and (4) how and 
  under what conditions it will grow to greater perfection. Psychology 
  is so vital to Buddhist instruction because one cannot know anything 
  definite about the furniture of one's mind unless one is acquainted 
  with the categories into which mental conditions can be analysed. A 
  mindful man is well informed about his own mental condition. His 
  capacity for introspection is highly developed. And his interest in 
  his own mind will not really make him self-centered as long as he 
  remembers that he has to deal with the rise and fall of impersonal 
  processes. In addition, in the case of the higher mental states, 
  rational clarity is imperative if constant self-deception and wasteful 
  groping in the dark are to be avoided. In a new country a map is 
  helpful so that one may know where one is. The manuals of mystical 
  theology written by the practising contemplatives of the Catholic 
  Church are also rich in descriptions of the sublimer virtues.
      
      But this is not all. Where the Buddhist virtues are described for 
  a lay audience one must not omit to mention the all-important fact 
  that the upper ranges of these virtues demand a reformation of the 
  conduct of life which is greater than almost any layman is willing to 
  undertake. The higher mindfulness, and nearly the whole range of 
  concentration and wisdom, presuppose a degree of withdrawal from the 
  world which is incompatible with the life of an ordinary citizen. 
  Those who are unwilling to achieve a radical seclusion from the world 
  can practise these virtues only in a very rudimentary form. It is 
  quite idle to pretend that they do not involve a complete break with 
  the established habits of life and thought. Unless we make the 
  sacrifices involved in withdrawing from the world, we are bound to 
  remain strangers to the fullness of mindfulness, concentration and 
  wisdom.
      
      But if the monastic life is a necessary condition for these 
  virtues, why talk about them at all? Partly because it is salutary, 
  though painful, that we should see their absence in us, and partly 
  because they constitute the subjective counterpart of the scriptures 
  which we read. The Suttas describe the world as it appears on a 
  spiritual level on which concentration and wisdom have come to 
  maturity. The understanding of the scriptures is furthered by an 
  understanding of the subjective attitude which corresponds to them. 
  And so, although we are forced to go beyond the range of our immediate 
  experience, and although the description tends to become more 
  intangible as it rises to loftier heights, we will now, leaving aside 
  the higher ranges of mindfulness, try to explain the traditional 
  definitions of concentration and wisdom, as they are handed down to 
  us.
      
      
  
                           IV. Concentration
                           ~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~
  
      Concentration (//samadhi//) continues the work of mindfulness. It 
  deepens our capacity to regain the peaceful calm of our inner nature. 
  But here we are at once faced with the difficulty that in Buddhist 
  psychology "concentration" occurs twice: (1) as a factor essential to 
  all thought; and (2) as a special, and rather rare, virtue.
      
      1. In its simplest form, concentration is the narrowing of the 
  field of attention in a manner and for a time determined by the will. 
  The mind is made one-pointed, does not waver, does not scatter itself, 
  and it becomes steady like the flame of a lamp in the absence of wind. 
  Without a certain degree of one-pointedness no mental activity at all 
  can take place. Each mental act lasts, strictly speaking, for one 
  moment only, and is at once followed by another. The function of 
  concentration is to provide some stability in this perpetual flux, by 
  enabling the mind to stand in, or on, the same object, without 
  distraction, for more than one moment. In addition it is a synthetic 
  quality (//sam-a-dhi//= syn-thesis), that binds together a number of 
  mental states which arise at the same time, "as water binds the lather 
  of soap."
      
      Buddhaghosa stresses the fact that intellectual concentration is 
  also found in unwholesome thoughts. The mind must be undistracted so 
  that the murderer's knife does not miss, the theft does not miscarry. 
  A mind of single intent is capable of doing what it does more 
  effectively, be it good or bad. The higher degrees of this kind of 
  concentration owe much to the presence of the "hunting instinct," and 
  can best be observed in a stoat following a rabbit. Intellectual 
  concentration is a quality which is ethically and spiritually neutral. 
  Many scientific workers have an unusually high capacity for 
  concentrated thought. Anyone acquainted with the "scientific 
  humanists" who inhabit our big cities will, however, agree that their 
  intellectual achievements are not conducive to either peace of mind or 
  spiritual progress. When Sir Isaac Newton boiled his watch instead of 
  the egg his landlady had given him, he thereby showed the intensity 
  with which he focussed his mind on his intellectual task. But the 
  result of his intellectual labours has been to cast a dark shadow over 
  the spiritual radiance of the universe, and ever since, the celestial 
  harmonies have become nearly inaudible. As H.W. Longfellow, in his 
  poem on "The Arsenal at Springfield," has put it:
  
            Is it, O man, with such discordant noises,
            With such accursed instruments as these,
            Thou drownest Nature's sweet and kindly voices,
            And jarrest the celestial harmonies?
  
      2. How then does concentration as a spiritual virtue differ from 
  concentration as a condition of the intellect? Spiritual or transic 
  concentration results less from intellectual effort than from a 
  rebirth of the whole personality, including the body, the emotions, 
  and the will. It cannot possibly be achieved without some discipline 
  over the body, since we must be able to endure the prescribed posture, 
  practise the prescribed breathing exercises, and so on. It is further 
  built on a change of outlook which we can well describe as "ethical." 
  Tradition is quite unambiguous on this point. Before spiritual 
  concentration can be even approached, we must have stilled or 
  suppressed five vices, which are known as the "five hindrances": sense 
  desire, ill will, sloth and torpor, excitedness and sense of guilt, 
  and doubt. Where these hindrances are present, where concentrated 
  thought is fused with greed, the desire to excel, to get a good job, 
  etc., there concentration as a spiritual virtue is not found.
      
      In this sense physical ease and self-purification are the first 
  two distinctive features of spiritual concentration. The third is the 
  shift in attention from the sensory world to another subtler realm. 
  The methods by which this shift is effected are traditionally known as 
  the four trances (//jhana//) and the four formless attainments. They 
  are essentially a training in increasing introversion, achieved by 
  progressively diminishing the impact of the outer stimuli. As a result 
  of their successful withdrawal and renunciation the spiritually 
  concentrated release the inward calm which dwells in their hearts. 
  This concentration cannot be won, however, unless no attention is 
  given to sensory data, and everything sensory is viewed as equally 
  unimportant.  Subjectively it is marked by a soft, tranquil and 
  pacified passivity, objectively by the abstraction into an unearthly 
  world of experience which lifts one above the world, and bestows a 
  certainty greater than anything the senses may teach. The experience 
  is so satisfying that it burns up the world, and only its cold ashes 
  are found when one returns to it.
  
  
  
                               V. Wisdom
                               ~~ ~~~~~~
  
      And so we come to wisdom (Skr.: //prajna//; Pali //panna//), the 
  highest virtue of all.
  
      "Wisdom is based on concentration, because of the saying: 'One who 
  is concentrated knows, sees what really is'."[11] Is concentration 
  then an indispensable pre-condition of wisdom? The answer lies in 
  distinguishing three stages of wisdom, according to whether it 
  operates on the level of: (1) //learning//about what tradition has to 
  say concerning the psychological and ontological categories which form 
  the subject-matter of wisdom; (2) //discursive reflection//on the 
  basic facts of life; and (3) //meditational development//.[12] The 
  third alone requires the aid of transic concentration,[13] whereas 
  without it there can be proficiency in the first two. And the wisdom 
  which consists of learning and reflection should not be despised.
      
      The main stream of Buddhist tradition has always greatly esteemed 
  //learning//. Our attitude to the apple of knowledge differs from that 
  of many Christians. On the whole, we regard it as rather more 
  nourishing than baneful. The wisdom, which is the fifth and crowning 
  virtue, is not the wisdom that can be found in the untutored child of 
  nature, the corny sage of the backwoods, or the self-made philosopher 
  of the suburbs. It can operate only after a great deal of traditional 
  information has been absorbed, a great deal of sound learning 
  acquired. The required skill in metaphysical and psychological 
  analysis would be impossible without a good knowledge of the material 
  on which this skill ought to be exercised. From this point of view 
  learning is perhaps less to be regretted than its absence.
  
      The second stage, after learning, is //reflection//, which is an 
  operation of the intellect. Even the relative beginner can greatly 
  increase his wisdom by discursive meditations on the basic facts of 
  life. Finally, it is on the level of //mental development// 
  (//bhavana//) that this meditational technique reaches its maturity, 
  and then it does, indeed, require the aid of mindfulness and 
  concentration.
      
      "Wisdom" is, of course, only a very approximate equivalent of 
  //prajna//. To the average person nowadays "wisdom" seems to denote a 
  compound made up of such qualities as sagacity, prudence, a 
  well-developed sense of values, serenity, and sovereignty over the 
  world won by the understanding of the mode of its operation. The 
  Buddhist conception of "wisdom" is not unlike this, but more precise. 
  It is best clarified by first giving its connotations, and then its 
  actual definition.
      
      As for the connotations, we read in the //Dhammasangani//:[14] "On 
  that occasion the dominant[15] of wisdom is wisdom, understanding,[16] 
  search, research, search for //dharma//;[17] discernment, 
  discrimination, differentiation, erudition, expert skill, subtlety, 
  clarity,[18] reflection, investigation,[19] amplitude,[20] 
  sagacity,[21] a guide (to true welfare and to the marks as they truly 
  are), insight, comprehension, a goad (which urges the mind to move 
  back on the right track); wisdom, wisdom as virtue, wisdom as strength 
  (because ignorance cannot dislodge it), the sword of wisdom (which 
  cuts through the defilements), the lofty (and overtowering) height of 
  wisdom, the light,[22] lustre and splendour of wisdom, the 
  treasure[23] of wisdom, absence of delusion, search for //dharmas//, 
  right view." From mere cleverness wisdom is distinguished by its 
  spiritual purpose, and we are told expressly[24] that it is designed 
  "to cut off the defilements."
      
      Now to the actual definition: "Wisdom penetrates[25] into 
  //dharmas// as they are in themselves. It disperses the darkness of 
  delusion, which covers up the own-being of dharmas."[26]
      
      What then does wisdom meditate about? Wisdom may be held to 
  concern itself with three possible topics: (1) true reality; (2) the 
  meaning of life; (3) the conduct of life. Buddhist tradition assumes 
  that the second and third depend on the first. In its essence wisdom 
  is the strength of mind which permits contact with the true reality, 
  which is also called the realm of //dharmas//. Delusion, folly, 
  confusion, ignorance and self-deception are the opposites of wisdom. 
  It is because ignorance, and not sin, is the root evil that wisdom is 
  regarded as the highest virtue. A holiness which is devoid of wisdom 
  is not considered impossible, but it cannot be gained by the path of 
  knowledge, to which alone these descriptions apply. The paths of 
  faith, of love, of works, etc., have each their own several laws.
      
      As the unfaltering penetration into the true nature of objects, 
  wisdom is the capacity to meditate in certain ways about the dharmic 
  constituents of the universe. The rules of that meditation have been 
  laid down in the scriptures, particularly in the Abhidharma, and a 
  superb description can be found in the latter part of Buddhaghosa's 
  //Path of Purification//. Mindfulness and concentration were, as we 
  saw, based on the assumption of a duality in the mind--between its 
  calm depth and its excited surface. Wisdom similarly assumes a duality 
  between the surface and depth of all things. Objects are not what they 
  appear to be. Their true reality, in which they stand out as 
  //dharmas//, is opposed to their appearance to commonsense, and much 
  strength of wisdom is required to go beyond the deceptive appearance 
  and to penetrate to the reality of //dharmas// themselves.
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