I. Understanding something about time in Buddhism and modern physics deepens our sense of how "Time is the substance I am made of." Such understanding also helps us appreciate how we are the devouring tiger and the consuming fire. Beyond its inevitability and destruction, time has other crucial features.
We can reflect on past events and learn from them, but we cannot influence them. The past has a fixity that contrasts sharply with the more malleable future, where we make choices and influence events. Therefore, we experience a directionality to time, expressed by a metaphorical arrow pointing from the past, through the present, and into the indefinite future.
In contrast, the fundamental equations of physics are all time symmetric, meaning that they have no directionality in time. All the fundamental interactions can proceed in the reverse direction without violating any laws of physics. For a simple example, bounce a ball off the floor and take a movie of it. If you run the movie backwards, nothing looks strange because the time-reversed motion violates no laws of physics. Or, take a movie of our solar system from a distant star and play it backwards. All the rotations and revolutions of the sun and planets will be reversed, but no laws of physics are violated and nothing looks strange. The same is true for quantum mechanical examples. Let an excited atom decay and emit a photon. Run the process backwards and you have an atom absorbing light and ending in an excited state.
Yet, many complex processes do display clear temporal directionality. The ruptured balloon, dangling from the tearful child’s hand never spontaneously reassembles itself back into its inflated condition. Such irreversible processes like the rotting of food and the decay of teeth are in sharp contrast to the time reversible laws of physics. Our little sick friend’s inevitable ride down the river of time, along with our own, is full of irreversible transformations, leading to death, the one we most fear. Therefore, despite the symmetry of the fundamental interactions, nature clearly has many asymmetric and irreversible processes. As we will see below, the physicist’s explanation for this asymmetry, within symmetric underlying laws, can help us understand some of the deepest lessons from Middle Way Buddhism.
The two decades that this little boy can look forward to seem criminally short from here, yet time may seem to crawl unendurably in his final days. However, in this digital age most believe that, despite such subjective experiences, time is absolute. Two decades is a well-defined interval that all observers can agree on, despite their subjective biases. Again, appreciating how physics destroys this apparent absoluteness can also deepen our understanding of Middle Way Buddhism.
I hope to show that understanding a little about time in modern physics helps us more deeply appreciate some of the most profound ideas in Buddhism. Furthermore, I will also suggest that some appreciation of Middle Way Buddhist ideas could aid in the development of physics. Thus a nontrivial synergy between these two very different disciplines is possible, one that results in deeper understanding and more compassionate action. While time may be a devouring tiger, appreciating these ideas might help us attain equanimity and encourage us to act more compassionately toward each other and the planet.
II. Carrots and Emptiness in the Middle Way
I’ll review the principle of emptiness within the Middle Way Consequence School (Prasangika
Madhyamika, which I abbreviate by Middle Way) through a little story. Nearly thirty years ago a very holy man gave me some fresh carrot juice to drink. What a tasty elixir! I returned home determined to grow some fresh carrots of my own on our little farm. (Actually, I was determined to get my wife to grow them.) However, the soil in my part of the world is heavy and stony, and the carrots that first year were stubby and misshapen. I thought, "If only I had a garden tiller, I could whip that heavy soil into the most beautiful carrot bed." I could not afford one of those fancy tillers that a delicate ten-year-old girl can operate with one hand. My rototiller is a test of my manhood, a bucking bronco requiring strength and stamina. Of course, time destroys both people and equipment, and my tiller soon suffered from a long list of woes. It requires the patience of an advanced Bodhisattva to start, it only works at the deepest setting, it no longer has a reverse, and it cannot run in place and so bolts ahead . . . when you can manage to start it. However, I only use it a few hours a year, so I suffer with it and consider it a perverse sort of challenge.
One beautiful spring day a few years ago the rototiller was taking me for my annual ride while it bathed me in the blue smoke of burning oil. I was musing on carrots and rototillers and suddenly had a tiny enlightenment. The second of Buddha’s Four Noble Truths tells us that suffering is caused by desire. My desire for that delicious carrot juice had chained me to this rototiller for a quarter of a century! A desire for fresh, sweet carrot juice initially seemed innocent and "spiritually correct," in that good health is an aid to practicing dharma, but look where it led. Desire does generate suffering. However, those blue clouds bellowing from the burned out muffler along with that shattering noise and vibration urged me to deeper reflection. Upon what is that carrot-desire based?
The Middle Way clearly answers that desires and aversions are based upon the false belief in independent existence, the idea that beyond my personal associations, relationship, and names for carrots, there is a real, substantial, inherently existent entity. This substantially existent object, that entity that "exists from its own side," is the basis upon which we project all our desires and aversions, all our craving for and fleeing from objects.
This innate and unreflective belief in inherent existence divides into two pieces. First, that phenomena exist independent of mind or knowing. That "underneath" or "behind" the psychological associations, names, and linguistic conventions we apply to objects like carrot or rototiller, something objective and substantial exists fully and independently from its own side. Such independent objects appear to provide the objective basis for our shared world. Second, we falsely believe these objects to be self-contained and independent of each other. Each object being fundamentally nonrelational, it exists on its own right without essential dependence upon other objects or phenomena. In other words, the essential nature of these objects is their nonrelational unity and completeness in themselves.
Since it is so critical to identify inherent existence carefully, let me say it in other words. Consider the carrot stripped of its sense qualities, history, location, and relation to its surroundings. All but an advanced practitioner of the Middle Way believes that this denuded carrot has some unique essence, some concrete existence that provides the foundation for all its other qualities. This core of its being, this independent or inherent existence, is what the Middle Way denies. The carrot surely has conventional existence; it attracts rodents and makes great juice. It functions as a food. However, it totally lacks independent or inherent existence, what we falsely believe is the core of its being. In other words, the object or subject we falsely believe independently exists is not actually "finable upon analysis." When we search diligently for that entity we believe inherently exists, we cannot actually find it. It’s independent being does not become clearer and more definite upon searching. Instead, phenomena exist in the middle way because they lack inherent existence, but do have conventional existence.
While reifying carrots, I simultaneously reify the one who desires carrots and consider him as inherently existent too. Out of the seamless flux of experience, I falsely impute or attribute inherent existence to both the subject and its object of desire and thereby spin the wheel of samsara. In this way, perception is a double act that simultaneously generates a false belief in inherently existent subjects and objects, gentleman farmers and their carrots. Then our time is occupied with cherishing our personal ego, putting its desires before all else, pushing others aside to satisfy those desires, and running after objects we falsely believe inherently exist. We think those objects will make us happy, but in fact they can never satisfy us. Perhaps time "is a fire that consumes me, but I am the fire." Was not this the point of the Buddha’s fire sermon?
According to the Middle Way, we can put out the fire by deeply appreciating the doctrine of emptiness, the lack of inherent existence in all subjects and objects, in all phenomena. This requires not only an intellectual formulation as given here, but a profound transformation of our whole being at many levels—a process that usually takes many life times.
Just so that you will have the whole story, I recently bought a new tractor to replace my 1934 hand-cranking model (also the source of many deep lessons). With the new tractor, I bought a huge rototiller that attaches to it and makes garden preparation a breeze. However, I have given the old rototiller, now called the dharma-tiller, to my son hoping that he will grow good vegetables and a deeper understanding of emptiness.
The description of emptiness given so far is negative, a thoroughgoing denial of what we wrongly believe is the core of existence. Next, let me turn to a more positive description of phenomena, including carrots. If phenomena don’t independently exist than how do they exist? The Middle Way tells us that they dependently exist in three fundamental ways. First, phenomena exist dependent upon causes and conditions. For example, carrots depend upon soil, sunlight, moisture, freedom from rodents, and so forth. Second, phenomena depend upon the whole and its parts. Carrots depend upon its greens, stem, root hairs, and so on and the totality of all these parts. Third, and most profoundly, phenomena depend upon mental imputation, attribution, or designation. From the rich panoply of experience, I collect the sense qualities, personal associations, and psychological reactions to carrots together, and name them or designate them as "carrot." The mind’s proper functioning is to construct its world, the only world we can know. The error enters because along with naming comes the false attribution of inherent existence, that foundation for desire and aversion.
For the Middle Way, dependent arising is a complementary way of describing emptiness. We can understand them as two different views of the same truth. Therefore, contrary to our untutored beliefs, the ultimate nature of phenomena is its dependency and relatedness, not isolated existence and independence.
One of the difficulties in understanding emptiness is that we can easily assent to the importance of relatedness, while falling prey to the unconscious assumption that relations are superimposed upon independently existent terms in the relation. In fact, it is the relationships, the interdependencies that are the reality, since objects or subjects are nothing but their connections to other objects and subjects.
We might ask what would phenomena be like if they did in fact inherently or independently exist. The Middle Way explains that inherently existent objects would be immutable, since in their essence they are independent of other phenomena and so uninfluenced by any interactions. Conversely, independently existent objects would also be unable to influence other phenomena, since they are complete and self-contained. In short, independently existent objects would be immutable and impotent. Of course, experience denies this since our world is of continuously interacting phenomena, from the growth of carrots nourished by sun, rain, and soil, to their destruction by rodents. From the subjective side, that we do not independently exist implies that it is possible to transform ourselves into Buddhas, exemplars of infinite wisdom and compassion.
Critics of the Middle Way often say that if objects did not inherently exist, they could not function to produce help and harm. Carrots lacking independent existence could not give sweet juice or make soup. The Middle Way turns this around 180 degrees, and answers that it is precisely because objects and subjects lack independent existence that they are capable of functioning. So the very attribute that we falsely believe is at the core of phenomena would, if present, actually prevent them from functioning.
Now how does all this relate to the Middle Way notion of time? As I mentioned above, if phenomena inherently existed then they would of necessity be immutable and impotent, unable to act on us or we on them. Since, in truth, phenomena are fundamentally a shifting set of dependency relations, impermanence and change are built into them at the most fundamental level. That the carrot exists in dependence upon causes and conditions, its whole and parts, and on our attribution or naming is what makes it edible, allows me to experience it and be nourished by it. More important for impermanence, these defining relations and co-dependencies and their continuously shifting connections with each other guarantee that all objects and subjects are impermanent, ceaselessly evolving, maturing, and decaying. In short, emptiness and impermanence are two sides of the coin of existence and therefore transformation and change are built into the core of all entities, both subjective and objective. In this way, the doctrine of impermanence is a direct expression of emptiness/dependent arising. Because I lack inherent existence and am most fundamentally a kinetic set of shifting experiences, with no eternal soul, as we normally understand it, then "Time is the substance I am made of." Borges’ compact sentence seems like a Middle Way aphorism. Being substantially of time guarantees my continuous transformation and death. Indeed, time "is a fire that consumes me, but I am the fire." These philosophic truths of emptiness and impermanence are central to Buddhist practice, and I return to them later. Now let us turn to physics and its view of time.
III. Time in Modern Physics
As mentioned in the introduction, we all have a natural belief in the absoluteness of time, meaning that, for example, one minute is the same for all observers. Let me again proceed by way of example.
My carrots take 70 days to harvest time. Our belief in the absoluteness of time or its independent existence appears in the view that this time is something intrinsic to the carrot. As long as the growing conditions are normal, it does not matter how this time is measured or who measures it. It has an independent or absolute nature. However, let an astronaut take the same seeds and grow them in a space ship traveling at 90 percent the speed of light relative to the Earth. Then relativity theory tells us that the days to harvest (as measured by an Earth-based observer) would be 161 days. Figure 1 shows the days to harvest, as observed on Earth, plotted against the velocity of the space ship, relative to Earth, divided by the speed of light, c. So for example when v/c = .9 then we move straight upward from that point on the horizontal axis and intersect the curve at 161 days. Only in a reference frame at rest with respect to the observer (the rest frame) is the days to harvest 70 days.
------------------- Figure 1--------------------
Relativity emphatically states that no value of the days to harvest time is any more real or intrinsic than any other. For example, if the astronaut looked back at my garden she would correctly measure my time to harvest as 161 days. Since time intervals depend directly upon the relationship between the object and the observer, they are essentially relational. We cannot consider time independent of a particular reference frame. In Middle Way language, it lacks independent existence. If the seed manufacturers were devotees of relativity they would state on the package, "The time to harvest is 70 day only in the rest frame. For other reference frames consult the graph on the back." That graph would be Figure 1. We can attempt to evade this relational nature of time by saying that humans never travel at any significant fraction of the speed of light, and so this is just an academic consideration. This move denies the conceptual import of relativity’s view of time and the thousands of experiments done all over the planet every day that rely on it.
If we clarify the idea of the present moment, the essentially relational nature of time intervals, whether decades or microseconds, is complemented by a thoroughgoing relativity of the present. Take the reasonable definition that all the simultaneous events that take place for an observer at one time defines the present moment. Let’s say I plant my carrots at exactly 9:00 AM on a given day and at that moment a friend in New Deli boards a plane, while my son enters a classroom in a distant city. Relativity teaches that those simultaneous events defining the moment of carrot planting are only simultaneous in my garden’s reference frame. If our farmer-astronaut, moving at 90 percent the speed of light, passes directly over my garden at 9:00 AM he observers a different set of simultaneous events and thus his present moment differs from mine. While a second astronaut, traveling at a different speed over my garden at 9:00 AM, finds yet a third set of simultaneous events and thus a different present from mine or the first astronaut.
Therefore, relativity makes both time intervals and individual moments relative to a given reference frame, leaving our old absolute view of time far behind. There are similar things to say about other primary qualities of objects, but these points about time are enough for the present. A more interesting and profound quality of time comes from understanding how it has an arrow.
We store our carrots in the cellar where there is a cool, even temperature. However, even there, they rot after four to six months. We have never seen rotten food return to its fresh state. Rotting, whether of vegetables, teeth, or our entire bodies, is an irreversible process. Given that the quantum mechanical laws, which govern the chemical changes of rotting, are time symmetric, this is mysterious. The great Austrian physicist, Ludwig Boltzmann, made the first significant progress in understanding this mystery. He realized that irreversibility comes from reversible underlying laws only when you have large numbers of particles in the system.
Boltzmann started by considering a simple box containing many gas particles governed by Newton’s laws. In analyzing this system, he assumed that it was totally isolated from the rest of the universe. There were no influences of the universe on the box and its contents or vice versa. Now this should give anybody influenced by the Middle Way philosophy some real discomfort, since he is assuming that the system independently exists. More about that later.
Boltzmann then imagined a partition in the middle of the box with all the particles in just one half of the box. The other half is totally empty. To proceed further we need to understand the concept of entropy, or measure of disorder. The more disorder, the less knowledge we have about the details of the system, the higher the entropy. When the partition is removed, the overwhelmingly most probable configurations of the new equilibrium condition involve the gas spreading evenly throughout the box. In principle, it is possible for the gas to bunch up in only one quarter of the box. However, it is overwhelmingly more probable that it will attain a new equilibrium configuration diffused throughout the box. Such equilibrium states have maximum entropy. Through this reasoning, Boltzmann proved the famous Second Law of Thermodynamics, which says that any isolated system’s entropy must either stay the same or increase. Therefore, when the egg hits the floor it is overwhelmingly likely to go to a state of greater entropy. What is more, the increase in entropy defines the direction of the arrow of time. Time advances in the same direction in which entropy increases—what we call the future. This does not deny that there are local decreases in entropy, like the growth of a child, but the global entropy relentlessly increases with time.
For several years, I taught our junior-senior level course on statistical physics. We used the standard textbook and followed Boltzmann’s derivation of the Second Law of Thermodynamics, with the appropriate level of mathematical sophistication. In the last few years, I found that there were arguments as far back as 1877 that showed Boltzmann was deeply wrong. I review some of these problems elsewhere in nontechnical language.. Here, I take a different approach and follow an elegant and simple argument by P.C.W. Davies. As we will shortly see, entropy increases, but not the way Boltzmann thought. Why several revisions of this famous text persist in the error is a mystery.
------------- Figure 2 ---------------
The basic difficulty, which can be seen in several independent ways, is that completely isolated systems, like the box of gas, can generate no directionality to time because of the time-symmetric laws governing the system. Figure 2 displays the entropy, S, of an isolated box of gas plotted versus time, t. We see that the random gas motions give occasional deviations below the maximum. Although it is unlikely, the random motions spontaneously generate states of greater order or lower entropy, which are then brought back to maximum disorder by the same randomization. This is like the shuffling of playing cards that, on rare occasions, puts them into states of greater order, with continued shuffling returning them to disorder.
---------------- Figure 3 ----------------
Now imagine the following experiment illustrated in Figure 3. We just patiently monitor the system until its entropy spontaneously drops to the value S1 or below at a time t1. If we choose S1 low enough, this could take a long time. The virtue of choosing a small value of S1 is that once it occurs, we know we are very likely to be near the bottom of a dip in the entropy curve, rather then part way down a larger dip. This is simply because the even larger dips are so much less likely. At t1, when the low entropy, S1, occurs, since we are very likely at the minimum of a dip, an increase in entropy with time happens in either direction. At time t1 + e , where e is some small time interval, the entropy increases. We consider this the future. However, the entropy also increases in the past at t1 - e . Therefore, the symmetry of the underlying laws of physics gives no directionality to entropy increase or time.
Even before I began getting instruction from my rototiller 25 years ago, the problem of the arrow of time had largely been resolved, although there are still technical subtleties. Much to the delight of the Middle Way, the main problem lies in assuming we have a totally isolated system independent of interaction with its environment.
We now understand that we must account for how Boltzmann’s box got into the low entropy state of all particles in just one half. This did not result from just waiting a long time for random motions to throw the gas all to one side, but from Boltzmann evacuating one half and placing gas in the other. Preparing the box in a low entropy state must generate more entropy elsewhere in the universe. For example, Boltzmann consumed calories from lunch and radiated energy from himself and his equipment that eventually went into deep space. In other words, the box had its entropy put into a low condition by processes outside itself, but at the expense of a much greater entropy increase elsewhere in the universe.
Let me give an example closer to the garden. I walk in the garden to check on whether the mice have eaten the carrots. My footprint in the soft soil gives it more order and structure, thus lowering its entropy. However, this lower entropy comes from a much greater generation of entropy from my metabolic processes, which eventually degrade to heat radiated to the universe.
As we have long known, the energy emitted into deep space from our activities can only radiate into space because the universe is expanding. If the universe were not expanding then it is so large that any line of sight from the Earth, when extended far enough, would land on a star surface. Then the effective temperature of deep space would be that of the surface of stars, which is typically 6000 °K, rather than the 3 °K it actually has. Since entropy can only increase when energy moves from high to low temperature regions, the simple process of radiating our body's energy into space would be blocked in a static universe. Thus, there would be neither a Boltzmann nor the ability to reduce entropy locally in the box by generating more entropy elsewhere in the universe.
All systems organizing themselves or decreasing their entropy, whether the growing of a carrot, a snowflake, or a child, are decreasing entropy in one location that must be accompanied by a greater entropy generation in another. Not only is the energy from Boltzmann’s food and his equipment eventually traced back to our sun, but the sun’s low entropy is critical. Energy generation processes, whether the digestion of our food or the workings of a nuclear power plant, are totally dependent upon our solar system being in a low entropy condition. What causes the sun and other stars to be in a low entropy condition? This occurs because the expansion of the universe was faster than the nuclear generation rates in the first three minutes of the big bang. Then, when nearly all the helium (about 25% of the total mass of the universe) was formed, the universe expanded so quickly that after three minutes it was too cool for nuclear reactions to occur. If the expansion and associated cooling were much slower, then all the matter in the universe would form into a very stable isotope of iron, an inert and high entropy condition. Then the stars would not shine, there would be no great entropy gradients in the universe, no time asymmetry, and, of course, no life.
Local time-asymmetry, such as the decay of any biological system, from carrots to our own bodies, must be accounted for by connecting it to the expansion of the universe and its earliest evolution. This extraordinary beautiful result has many technical twists and turns, but the central idea is clear: increasing entropy and time-asymmetry owe their existence to the largest and earliest processes in the universe and its continued expansion. This is a long way from the notion of an isolated and noninteracting system, so abhorrent to the Middle Way. In this way, when you put cold milk into your coffee and the mixture comes to the same temperature and a higher entropy than when the fluids were separated, you are profiting from the universe’s expanding and cooling before iron-56 could form. Similarly, that we must all face the irreversible process of death, with its massive entropy increase, is traceable to the earliest and largest processes in the universe. In other words, the impermanence and decay found all around us is due to the earliest and most distance process in the universe and its continued expansion.
On a more positive note, irreversible processes are also essential to life. If metabolic processes did not irreversibly transform my lunch, not only would I get indigestion, I would not live. That which sustains me also destroys me. Indeed, time "is a fire that consumes me, but I am the fire."
IV. Comparisons and Connections
As I have said in my recent ruminations about the relationship between physics and Buddhism, it is a mistake to connect any Buddhist principle too closely with any particular phenomena from physics. Physical theories are prime examples of impermanence. What happens if I make an argument that some physical effect verifies some great principle of Buddhism and then the physics is replaced by a new theory? Does that damage Buddhism? Are the foundations of Buddhism to tremble at every scientific revolution?
A more fruitful dialogue between Buddhism and science can occur when comparisons and connections are done at a more philosophic level. For example, here I have tried to focus on emptiness, the philosophic heart of Buddhism, and make connections with questions of comparable philosophic significance in physics. If the connections mutually illuminate both the physics and the Buddhism, without trying to reduce one to the other, then our understanding of both disciplines deepens. In the present example, the erroneous assumption of a thermodynamic system being completely isolated from any form of external interaction was a critical error. This error could have been avoided if the philosophic principle of emptiness were more widely understood and appreciated in the scientific community. Physics is always done in a philosophic context. In the case of classical statistical physics and thermodynamics, it was done within Cartesian dualism. Although Descartes’ vision helped both physics and western philosophy, it has also hindered us in more ways than we can count. I suggest that the principle of emptiness, if more fully appreciated within science, could actually further the scientific enterprise.
What does Buddhism gain from such connections and comparisons as attempted here? I see at least two benefits. First, understanding such things as the relativity of time (the 70 days to harvest example) and the relativity of the present moment helps us appreciate the closely parallel arguments made in the Middle Way about time’s lack of inherent existence. There is a well-known and difficult section in Nagarjuna’s Mulamadhyamakakarika that analyzes time and leads to the modern interpretation, "Time is thus merely a dependent set of relations, not an entity in its own right, and certainly not the inherently existent vessel of existence it might appear to be." Such critical, but difficult, points are illuminated by understanding Einstein’s relativity of time. In short, science can help us understand ancient, but pivotal, philosophic aspects of Buddhism.
Second, Buddhism is a portable religion that has wandered far from the home of the original Prince. In each movement, whether to China, Japan, or Cambodia, it takes on the hues of the local culture without losing its original spiritual impulse. Science is clearly a cultural dominant in the West. Therefore, if Buddhism is to come to the West, in the best and fullest sense of the term, then interaction with science is both inevitable and necessary for a real transplant to take place. The present effort at understanding some common ground and even synergy between Buddhism and science can be part of the effort to translate Buddhism into terms that are easier for a Westerner to assimilate.
V. Summary and Conclusions
Reflecting on the relativity of time and how the irreversible nature of my little friend’s disease connects to the first few minutes of the universe and its continued expansion gives me little comfort. Yes, intellectually these ideas strongly support the principle of emptiness, that both the mother and the little boy along with the one who writes these words lack independent existence. Yes, we are all a system of interdependent relations and thereby subject to the law of impermanence. Nevertheless, the heartache remains. That little boy will be consumed by the "fire of time" before he reaches the age of my two sons.
According to the Middle Way, my inveterate projection of that false quality of independent existence is the foundation for my attachment and consequent suffering. It all comes back to my inability to put these ideas fully into practice. This is often the plight of those who can articulate ideas but not fully live them. Or being kinder to myself, perhaps I have assimilated just enough of the principle of emptiness to give me a deep appreciation of the mother’s sorrow, but not enough to dispassionately see it all as an embodiment of the First Noble Truth, that all experience is suffused with suffering. What then do we do?
The Middle Way advises us to take refuge in the Three Jewels: the Buddha or fully enlightened One, the Buddha’s teaching, and the community of those seeking enlightenment. The Buddha shows that we can do it. We suffering humans, nurtured and destroyed by time, can become full embodiments of wisdom and compassion and break free from the suffering of samsara, the endless torment of repeated death and rebirth. The Buddha’s teaching, which includes emptiness and much more, is the work at hand among those who support our efforts at realizing these great truths—including the mother and her sick child.
If I could reflect deeply enough on the relativity of the twenty years as the maximum allotted to this child and that the very irreversibility of his condition, and my own, is due to deep cosmological connections, then perhaps my sense of connectedness to others and the cosmos could increase. Could I realize more deeply that my ego and yours are dependent, not inherently existent, but fundamentally co-dependent systems of relationships? Could I profoundly appreciate that there is no speaker without a listener, no griever without a dependently related object of grief? If I could, then the centrality of my own ego and my self-cherishing would surely diminish. Such a realization of my ego’s emptiness and our mutual co-dependency must result in compassion, not just for this little boy and his mother, but for all sentient beings. Assimilating these great truths and shifting my ego off center stage is surely not easy, but the promised increase in understanding and compassion keeps me trying.
If I could deeply appreciate that any irreversible process, whether the rotting of carrots or my body, is due to the earliest and largest scale structure of the cosmos, then how much easier it would be to appreciate that my neighbor’s loss or gain is not separate from mine. Then the suffering in one cell of the body of humanity is truly the suffering of all. Perhaps, we could even realize that compassion is actually in our own enlightened self-interest and that the survival of our very planet requires a profound understanding of our co-dependence.
In contrast, we could ask what happens when our philosophic view embraces the false notion of independent existence. The late David Bohm, known for both the depths of his physics and philosophy, said it very directly when he wrote:
It is proposed that the widespread and pervasive distinctions between people (race, nation, family, profession, etc., etc.), which are now preventing mankind from working together for the common good, and indeed, even for survival, have one of the key factors of their origin in a kind of thought that treats things as inherently divided, disconnected, and "broken up" into yet smaller constituent parts. Each part is considered to be essentially independent and self-existent.[8]
According to Bohm, many of the evils of our modern world are traceable to a view where "Each part is considered to be essentially independent and self-existent." In other words, one in which things inherently exist. I tried to show above that, although we commonly assume for simplicity that a system, such as Boltzmann’s box, is independent from its surroundings, such a view misleads us. This is bad enough in physics, but when a race, nation, or person views themselves as fundamentally independent, then the stage is set for calamity—the stuff of our daily headlines.
As we stand on the threshold of ever more powerful theories in science, it is more urgent then ever that we find a coherent world view that can guide our science as well as our moral actions. Consider how the advent of quantum mechanics and relativity brought about the wonders of the information age, along with our horrendous weapons of mass destruction. Then imagine what wonders and horrors might be released by a grand unified theory or "theory of everything" that today occupies some of the best minds in physics. What benefits and horrors can we expect from the revolution already underway to understand the complete genetic code?
I’ll conclude with one small example. Despite it not being "spiritually correct," I enjoy watching professional football on TV. I usually hope for a close game with plenty of action. Occasionally, I find myself rooting for one team. I urge them on to victory, and even try to exert mental influence through my TV set. I catch myself and wonder what I am doing. "Hey, these guys are getting millions of dollars to beat each other up, what do I care who wins?" After a little reflection, I realize that "my teams" are those I have some connection with, even it if is only because they are from the State of New York or I go through the Pittsburgh airport on most of my flights. These flimsiest of connections give me affection and concern for those gladiators.
What would happen if I could more deeply appreciate the profound interdependence implied by the Middle Way? What would happen if I could more deeply appreciate, as more than interesting physics, how the irreversible processes that sustain and destroy my life occur because of my connection to the first few minutes of the big bang and the continuing expansion of the universe? Then how much do my loyalties expand? If I could appreciate that the relativity of time is logically extended to all my subjectivity, then how could I rationally support my selfishness and self-cherishing?
It is overwhelming to think about extending my loyalties beyond a small circle of family and friends to the cosmos. Now that we know of more planets outside our solar system than within, does the Bodhisattva vow of working for the liberation of all sentient beings, embrace even those beyond our solar systems? Surely, experiencing the sadness of more parents and their mortally sick children would crush me. How then can I possibly cultivate compassion on a cosmological scale?
Perhaps the ecological activists can offer guidance. In the face of daunting global ecological problems, they advise us to "think globally and act locally." Following their counsel, I try to keep the cosmological picture in mind and simultaneously act in the present with the person in front of me. Then it seems small ripples of compassionate action gradually flood beyond my little circle of family and close friends. The ideal is to extend our concern out in ever widening radii, until it encompasses more and more of the great suffering body of humanity. If in fact, I lack inherent existence then my present limitations are not fixed, in place for eternity, and I can work toward this ideal. Let us begin to widen the circle of concern beyond the narrow confines of "our team" and "our friends." How else can we live with that devouring tiger of time, that inexorably includes our final irreversible process?
About Buddhism
The greatest achievement is selflessness.
The greatest worth is self-mastery.
The greatest quality is seeking to serve others.
The greatest precept is continual awareness.
The greatest medicine is the emptiness of everything.
The greatest action is not conforming with the worlds ways.
The greatest magic is transmuting the passions.
The greatest generosity is non-attachment.
The greatest goodness is a peaceful mind.
The greatest patience is humility.
The greatest effort is not concerned with results.
The greatest meditation is a mind that lets go.
The greatest wisdom is seeing through appearances.
Karma and Rebirth
The wheel of life, or "samsara", is an ancient symbol that has the same meaning in Buddhism and Hinduism. It is symbolises the cycle of birth, life, and death. When one revolution of the wheel is completed, life begins again with rebirth.
What is karma?
Karma is a Sanskrit word that literally means "action". The word is used to refer to volitional acts as well as the fruits or consequences that arise from these acts. The idea of karma had existed in ancient Indian philosophy before the time of Siddhartha Gautama, and it became an important element of Buddhist philosophy.
The Hindu and Buddhist concepts of karma are quite similar, although Hinduism makes a further distinction between different types of karma, such as present karma, latent karma, and future karma. In the understanding of both thought systems, the law of karma describes the connection between actions and the resulting forces, as follows: wholesome actions lead to wholesome states while unwholesome actions lead to unwholesome states, individually as well as collectively.
The ethical dimension.
To make this more intelligible, one has to account for (un)wholesome actions and (un)wholesome states and their respective meaning in Buddhism. The former is outlined in the Noble Eightfold Path. Action springs from volition, which springs from intention, which springs from thought, and so forth. The quality of actions can be described in ethical terms, simply as either good or bad, or both good and bad, or indifferent.
There are various grades of ethical qualities; and most people have an intuitive understanding that enables them to discern between good and bad, although the discerning ability depends on the person's state of mental development. A wise person at a high level of mental development can clearly discern mental activities and actions in an ethical dimension, while a deluded person has difficulties or is even unable to do so.
Good and bad vs. skilful and unskilful.
Wherever the three defilements - delusion, greed, and aversion - are present, they blur the view and increase the level of confusion in the individual or group. Consequently, if the defilements are present, there is a low level of skill in distinguishing between good and bad actions. Thus it makes sense to say that we have skilful (good) and unskilful (bad) thoughts, we speak skilful (good) and unskilful (bad) words, and we act either in a skilful (good) or in an unskilful (bad) way.
The Buddhist Precepts and the Ten Perfections give concrete meaning to good and bad and explain skilful and unskilful volitional acts in detail. Since everything in Buddhism is interrelated, the Eightfold Path must be seen in connection with the Four Noble Truths, the concept of karma, and the tenet of rebirth.
Moral quality of volitional acts determines karma.
The law of karma states that there is a connection between the moral quality, the level of skill in volitional actions, and the resulting states. What we are is determined largely by what we thought, said and did in the past, while what we are thinking, saying, and doing now will form our future. The karma of past, present, and future events are connected by the law of cause and effect.
For instance, if one generates bad karma by hurting or killing sentient beings, one will have to endure the negative consequences of these deeds in this or another lifetime. Similarly, if one generates good karma by observing the precepts, positive consequences will follow inevitably.
Buddhists understand karma as a natural law. There is no higher instance, no judgement, no divine intervention, and no gods that steer man's destiny, but only the law of karma itself, which works on a universal scale. Deeds yield consequences either in the next second, in the next hour, day, month, year, decade, or even in the next lifetime, or in another distant lifetime. To illustrate this, consider the following example describing a sequence of volitional acts, which yield instant karmic results:
Example: The arising of volition and karma.
An unpleasant sensation occurs. A thought arises that the source of the unpleasantness was a person. This thought is a delusion; any decisions based upon it will therefore be unskilful. A thought arises that some past sensations of unpleasantness issued from this same person. This thought is a further delusion. This is followed by a wilful decision to speak words that will produce an unpleasant sensation in that which is perceived as a person. This decision is an act of hostility.
Of all the events described so far, only the last is called karma. Words are carefully chosen in the hopes that when heard they will cause pain. The words are pronounced aloud. This is the execution of the decision to be hostile. It may also be classed as a kind of karma, although technically it is after-karma.
There is a visual sensation of a furrowed brow and turned down mouth. The thought arises that the other person's face is frowning. The thought arises that the other person's feelings were hurt. There is a fleeting joyful feeling of success in knowing that one has scored a damaging verbal blow.
Eventually, perhaps much later, there is an unpleasant sensation of regret, perhaps taking the form of a sensation of fear that the perceived enemy may retaliate, or perhaps taking the form of remorse on having acted impetuously, like an immature child, and hoping that no one will remember this childish action. This regret or fear is the unpleasant ripening of the karma, the unskilful decision to inflict pain through words.
Rebirth.
Buddhists hold that the retributive process of karma can span more than one lifetime. Rebirth has always been an important tenet in Buddhism; and it is often referred to as walking the wheel of life (samsara). It is the process of being born over and over again in different times and different situations, possibly for many thousand times.
As long as there is delusion, greed, and aversion, and as long as passions are not extinguished, we generate karma. Because we eventually accumulate unmaterialised karma, there is a next lifetime in which the accumulated karma will take form. Only when all accumulated karma is realised and the generation of new karma is calmed, one can enter the stream that leads to Nirvana. This process continues until Nirvana is reached, which signifies the cessation of rebirth and, hence, the end of suffering.
It is notable that this also entails the avoidance of "good karma". Once the stream that leads to Nirvana is entered, creating wholesome karma is not an object anymore. Although wholesome karma leads to entering the stream, it does not necessarily lead to Nirvana, only the extinguishment of all karma leads to Nirvana.
The Non-Self.
The concept of rebirth is unfamiliar to most Western people. Its philosophical and traditional foundation is found in India, where the theory of transmigration of souls had presumably existed long before it was written down in the Upanishads around 300 BC.
The Buddhist concept is subtly different from the classical Indian understanding, because it denies the existence of a self or a soul. In Buddhism, the idea of self is merely an illusion. Man wrongly identifies perception, consciousness, mind and body with what he calls self. In reality, there is no abiding entity that could be identified with a self, because the states of perception, consciousness, and mind and body constantly change.
The body is mortal and when it dies, all mental activities cease. That is why there is no soul. The idea of soul is simply an extension of the self; in fact it is an immortal version of the self that supposedly survives physical death. Buddhism denies the existence of such an entity. Instead, what we call self is just a stream of consciousness that draws identity from concepts and memories, all of which are impermanent.
The idea of an abiding self is deceptive, because it is derived from unenlightened reasoning. The word self simply provides a reference frame for the mind-body phenomena of sentient beings. We usually identify it with our body and the stream of consciousness that is sustained by sense perceptions and thoughts. In reality, what we call self is neither abiding nor detached from the rest of the world and other beings. Buddhists call this the "neither self nor non-self".
What is reborn if not the "self"?
If the idea of non-self sounds odd, then it must sound even more curious that non-self can be reborn. There is a seeming contradiction between the canon of rebirth and that of the non-self, which even many Buddhists find difficult to understand. The contradiction is, however, only on the surface and can be solved if one pictures the self as the result of karmic formation. This can be put into less abstract words:
If we imagine the world as an ocean, we are like the ripples on the ocean. Formations like ripples and waves occur, because of wind, tides, and other kinetic forces. In the Buddhist analogy, the universe is in motion due to karmic forces. A ripple, a wave, or a billow may seem as an individual entity for a moment, creating the illusion that it has a self, but it is gone in the next moment. The truth is that all individuals are one. A ripple is a temporary phenomenon; it is just water in motion. We know that kinetic energy causes wave forms on a body of water and it would be ridiculous to say that a single ripple or wave has a self.
Similarly, in case of beings, the process of coming into life and being conditioned in a particular way is caused by karmic forces. The up and down of the ocean's waves corresponds with the rotation of the wheel of life. The sea that surges, falls, and resurges, is the life that is born, dies, and is reborn again. It is therefore obvious that we should not focus on the temporary phenomenon of the wave, but on the force that causes, forms, and drives it. Nothing else is said, although in more practical terms, in the Eightfold Path.
Emptiness
Emptiness is a key concept in Buddhist philosophy, or more precisely, in the ontology of Mahayana Buddhism. The phrase "form is emptiness; emptiness is form" is perhaps the most celebrated paradox associated with Buddhist philosophy. It is the supreme mantra. The expression originates from the Prajna Paramita Hridaya Sutra, commonly known as the Heart Sutra, which contains the philosophical essence of about six hundred scrolls making up the Maha Prajna Paramita. The Heart Sutra is the shortest text in this collection. It belongs to the oldest Mahayana texts and presumably originated in India around the time of Jesus Christ.
The Heart Sutra.
Translation by Edward Conze
Homage to the Perfection of Wisdom, the Lovely, the Holy!
Avalokita, The Holy Lord and Bodhisattva, was moving in the deep course of the Wisdom which has gone beyond. He looked down from on high, He beheld but five heaps, and he saw that in their own-being they were empty.
Here, Sariputra, form is emptiness and the very emptiness is form; emptiness does not differ from form, form does not differ from emptiness; whatever is form, that is emptiness, whatever is emptiness, that is form, the same is true of feelings, perceptions, impulses and consciousness.
Here, Sariputra, all dharmas are marked with emptiness; they are not produced or stopped, not defiled or immaculate, not deficient or complete.
Therefore, Sariputra, in emptiness there is no form, nor feeling, nor perception, nor impulse, nor consciousness; No eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, mind; No forms, sounds, smells, tastes, touchables or objects of mind; No sight-organ element, and so forth, until we come to: No mind-consciousness element; There is no ignorance, no extinction of ignorance, and so forth, until we come to: there is no decay and death, no extinction of decay and death. There is no suffering, no origination, no stopping, no path. There is no cognition, no attainment and non-attainment.
Therefore, Sariputra, it is because of his non-attainment that a Bodhisattva, through having relied on the Perfection of Wisdom, dwells without thought-coverings. In the absence of thought-coverings he has not been made to tremble, he has overcome what can upset, and in the end he attains to Nirvana.
All those who appear as Buddhas in the three periods of time fully awake to the utmost, right and perfect Enlightenment because they have relied on the Perfection of Wisdom.Therefore one should know the prajnaparamita as the great spell, the spell of great knowledge, the utmost spell, the unequalled spell, allayer of all suffering, in truth - for what could go wrong? By the prajnaparamita has this spell been delivered. It runs like this:
Gone, gone, gone beyond, gone altogether beyond, O what an awakening, all-hail!
Translations and commentary.
Avalokita = Avalokiteshvara, the bodhisattva of compassion
Sariputra = disciple of the Buddha
sunyata = emptiness, void
prajna = wisdom
paramita = that which has reached the other shore
prajnaparamita = wisdom acquired experientially, by means of intuitive insight, and perfected through cultivation to the level of transcendental knowledge
hridaya = heart
nirvana = ultimate attainment
bodhi = awakened mind
sattva = being
According to Buddhist scholars, the dialogue between Avalokiteshvara and Sariputra is inspired by the Buddha. This is to say it occurs spontaneously without the speaker's intention. The content of the conversation is determined entirely by the power of the Buddha's concentration. The bodhisattva Avalokiteshvara represents the idea of perfect universal wisdom, while Sariputra is regarded as one of the Buddha's closest and brightest disciples. The dialogue takes place at the Vulture Peak near the ancient city of Rajgaya where the Buddha and his community of monks stayed. Sariputra requests Avalokiteshvara to instruct him on the practice of the perfection of wisdom, which means prajnaparamita in Sanskrit.
The perfection of wisdom refers to the wisdom that directly and intuitively understands the ultimate nature of phenomena. Sariputra answers with the profound words, "Emptiness is form; form is emptiness," and proceeds to state the emptiness of the five aggregates (skandhas), the emptiness of the teachings (dharmas), and the emptiness of all phenomena. The sutra ends with the celebrated mantra "gate gate paragate parasamgate bodhi svaha" which can be translated with "Homage to the awakened mind which has gone over to the other shore." The one who has gone over means: the enlightened one, who has done away with views, ideas, and perceptions and who looks upon reality without any obstructions of mind.
What is emptiness?
The Buddhist notion of emptiness is often misunderstood as nihilism. Unfortunately, 19th century Western philosophy has contributed much to this misconstruction. Meanwhile Western scholars have acquired enough knowledge about Buddhism to realise that this view is far from accurate. The only thing that nihilism and the teaching of emptiness can be said to have in common is a sceptical outset. While nihilism concludes that reality is unknowable, that nothing exists, that nothing meaningful can be communicated about the world, the Buddhist notion of emptiness arrives at just the opposite, namely that ultimate reality is knowable, that there is a clear-cut ontological basis for phenomena, and that we can communicate and derive useful knowledge from it about the world. Emptiness (sunyata) must not be confused with nothingness. Emptiness is not non-existence and it is not non-reality.
What is emptiness then? To understand the philosophical meaning of this term, let's look at a simple solid object, such as a cup. How is a cup empty? We usually say that a cup is empty if it does not contain any liquid or solid. This is the ordinary meaning of emptiness. But, is the cup really empty? A cup empty of liquids or solids is still full of air. To be precise, we must therefore state what the cup is empty of. Can a cup be empty of all substance? A cup in a vacuum does not contain any air, but it still contains space, light, radiation, as well as its own substance. Hence, from a physical point of view, the cup is always full of something. Yet, from the Buddhist point of view, the cup is always empty. The Buddhist understanding of emptiness is different from the physical meaning. The cup being empty means that it is devoid of inherent existence.
What is meant with non-inherent existence? Is this to say that the cup does not ultimately exist? - Not quite. - The cup exists, but like everything in this world, its existence depends on other phenomena. There is nothing in a cup that is inherent to that specific cup or to cups in general. Properties such as being hollow, spherical, cylindrical, or leak-proof are not intrinsic to cups. Other objects which are not cups have similar properties, as for example vases and glasses. The cup's properties and components are neither cups themselves nor do they imply cupness on their own. The material is not the cup. The shape is not the cup. The function is not the cup. Only all these aspects together make up the cup. Hence, we can say that for an object to be a cup we require a collection of specific conditions to exist. It depends on the combination of function, use, shape, base material, and the cup's other aspects. Only if all these conditions exist simultaneously does the mind impute cupness to the object. If one condition ceases to exist, for instance, if the cup's shape is altered by breaking it, the cup forfeits some or all of its cupness, because the object's function, its shape, as well as the imputation of cupness through perception is disrupted. The cup's existence thus depends on external circumstances. Its physical essence remains elusive.
Those readers who are familiar with the theory of ideas of the Greek philosopher Plato will notice that this is pretty much the antithesis to Plato's idealism. Plato holds that there is an ideal essence of everything, e.g. cups, tables, houses, humans, and so on. Perhaps we can give Plato some credit by assuming that the essence of cups ultimately exists in the realm of mind. After all, it is the mind that perceives properties of an object and imputes cupness onto one object and tableness onto another. It is the mind that thinks "cup" and "table". Does it follow that the mind is responsible for the existence of these objects? - Apparently, the mind does not perceive cups and tables if there is no visual and tactile sensation. And, there cannot be visual and tactile sensation if there is no physical object. The perception thus depends on the presence of sensations, which in turn relies on the presence of the physical object. This is to say that the cup's essence is not in the mind. It is neither to be found in the physical object. Obviously, its essence is neither physical nor mental. It cannot be found in the world, not in the mind, and certainly not in any heavenly realm, as Plato imagined. We must conclude that the objects of perception have therefore no inherent existence.
If this is the case for a simple object, such as a cup, then it must also apply to compound things, such as cars, houses, machines, etc. A car, for example, needs a motor, wheels, axles, gears, and many other things to work. Perhaps we should consider the difference between man-made objects, such as cups, and natural phenomena, such as earth, plants, animals, and human beings. One may argue that lack of inherent existence of objects does not imply the same for natural phenomena and beings. In case of a human being, there is a body, a mind, a character, a history of actions, habits, behaviour, and other things we can draw upon to describe a person. We can even divide these characteristics further into more fundamental properties. For example, we can analyse the mind and see that there are sensations, cognition, feelings, ideas. Or, we can analyse the brain and find that there are neurons, axons, synapses, and neurotransmitters. However, none of these constituents describe the essence of the person, the mind, or the brain. Again, the essence remains elusive.
Emptiness of the five skandhas.
The Heart Sutra expresses the same idea by stating the emptiness of the five skandhas, i.e. the emptiness of the body, sensations, perceptions, mental formations, and consciousness. The five skandhas are commonly translated into English as the five aggregates. According to the Buddha, these aggregates are what constitutes a person. As adumbrated above, it is possible to deconstruct the five skandhas in the same manner as objects. However, this method of deconstruction assumes a third person perspective. It analyses phenomena perceived as external to the observer. When we talk about the essence of a person, the situation is slightly different, because we talk indirectly about ourselves. It may therefore be more intuitive to look at things from a first person perspective. The first person perspective allows us to make statements about the internal state of the observer thereby producing self-reference. What is observed is the observer. Perhaps this will lead to new insights into the essence of mind and body.
First, let's look at experience. What exactly is experience? - Obviously, we experience objects and phenomena through the senses. This is one form of experience. We also experience feelings, moods, thoughts, and emotions. The former can be called sensory experiences and the latter mental experiences. Upon contemplating the distinction we may find that there is no clear boundary between sensory and mental experience. As soon as we perceive a physical object, for example an apple, the corresponding mental experiences are immediately triggered. First, we think "apple". This is identification. Following this thought, a number of things we associate with apples may come to mind, for example "sweet, edible, green, red, healthy, delicious, juicy," and so on. These associations may be followed by the build-up of a desire to touch or to taste the apple. Once the desire is strong enough, our thoughts may be occupied with consuming the apple and we start weighing the merits and demerits of consuming the apple now or later. All these mental experiences are caused by, yet independent of the original object. If the apple is withdrawn, the memory of it may be able to sustain the chain of thoughts for a short time, yet it will eventually cease.
We can infer that mental experience requires sensory experience, or respectively memory of sensory experience. Sensory experience in turn requires the body. If we carried through a thought experiment and examined whether each of the skandhas is able to exist without the other four, we would find that this is not possible. The latter four aggregates all depend on the body. Without the brain and the nervous system there is no consciousness, no sensation, no perception, and no mental formations. On the other hand, we cannot imagine the body to function without the mind. The body and the mind depend on each other, the five skandhas depend on each other. We must conclude that none of the skandhas is fundamental. Body, sensations, perceptions, mental formations, and consciousness are interrelated. Experiences emerge from the interaction of all five skandhas. Just as objects, experiences are conditioned by the interplay of multiple phenomena. Experience has no inherent existence either.
Our brain is advanced enough to reflect on its experiences. By means of self-reference we can direct mental activity onto itself. For example, we can think about thought. From this arises a division between subject, percept, and object. The percept is the mental impression, the subject is the owner of it, the thinker, and the object is that which causes the mental impression. This threefold division seems so natural to us that it is reflected in the grammar of most human languages. We perceive the separation of subject, percept, and object as real, because mind attributes an owner to experience and thought. This owner is the "self", the subject, the centre of consciousness, the supposed psychological entity. Surprisingly, this entity remains completely undetectable. Body, feeling, perception, and mental formations are not the self. Consciousness is not the self either, otherwise it would follow that the self temporarily ceases to exist during unconscious states, for example during deep sleep.
We might ask how "self" can be independent of a surrounding world. Is it possible for the self to exist in a mental vacuum, a world devoid of sense impressions, thought, and mental images? Would the self not literally run out of fuel if it lacked thoughts and contents to identify itself with or to set itself apart from? It seems there is no basis an independent entity. It seems more that the self is an emergent phenomenon arising from the application of complex interpretative schemes to perception. In particular, it arises from the conceptual division between subject, object, and percept. Through introspection it is possible to realise that the "self" is not fundamental. It is created by the mind through identification and discernment. The "self" is itself a mental formation - a product of mind. It is therefore empty of inherent existence.
The emptiness of matter.
The ancient Greeks believed that matter is composed of indivisible small elements with certain characteristics, such as the characteristics of earth, water, air, and fire. They called these elements atoms and they held that atoms were solid and fundamental, like microscopic billiard balls. Ernest Rutherford invalidated the billiard ball theory by conducting an experiment, which suggested that atoms have an internal structure. He established that atoms have a nucleus containing most of its mass and that electrons orbit the nucleus. Moreover, he established that the nucleus of an atom is only about one ten-thousandth of the diameter of the atom itself, which means that 99.99% of the atom's volume consists of empty space. This is the first manifestation of emptiness at the subtle level of matter. Not long after Rutherford's discovery, physicists found out that the nucleus of an atom likewise has an internal structure and that the protons and neutrons making up the nucleus are composed of even smaller particles, which they named quarks after a poem of James Joyce. Interestingly, quarks are hypothesised as geometrical points in space, which implies that atoms are essentially empty. This is the second manifestation of emptiness at the subtle level of matter.
The terms "quarks" and "points in space" still suggest something solid, since they can be imagined as irreducible mass particles. Yet, quantum field theory does away even with this finer concept of solidity by explaining particles in the terms of field properties. Quantum electrodynamics (QED) has produced an amazingly successful theory of matter by combining quantum theory, classical field theory, and relativity. No discrepancies between the predictions of QED and experimental observation have ever been found. According to QED, subatomic particles are indistinguishable from fields, whereas fields are basically properties of space. In this view, a particle is a temporary local densification of a field, which is conditioned by the properties of the surrounding space. Ergo, matter is not different from space. This is the third manifestation of emptiness at the subtle level of matter.
An important class of phenomena in the subatomic world is defined by the various interactions between particles. In fact, there is no clear distinction between the notions of phenomena, particles, and interactions, although interactions can be described clearly in mathematical terms. For example, there are interactions between free electrons by means of photons that result in an observed repelling force. There are also interactions between the quarks of a nucleon by means of mesons, interactions between the neighbouring neutrons or protons, interactions between nucleus and electrons, and interactions between the atoms of molecules. The phenomena themselves -the nucleon, the nucleus, the atom, the molecule- are sufficiently described by these interactions, meaning by the respective equations, which implies that interactions and phenomena are interchangeable terms. Interestingly, the interrelations of quantum physics do not describe actual existence. Instead they predict the potential for existence. A manifest particle, such as an electron, cannot be described in terms of classical mechanics. It exists as a multitude of superposed "scenarios", of which one or another manifests only when it is observed, i.e. upon measurement. Therefore, matter does not inherently exist. It exists only as interrelations of "empty" phenomena whose properties are determined by observation. This is the fourth manifestation of emptiness at the subtle level of matter.
Emptiness in mathematics.
In mathematics the notion of emptiness finds expression in the number zero, as well as in contemporary set theory. The concept of zero was discovered in India prior to the sixth century A.D. The "Arabic" number system we use today is neither Arabic nor Greek in origin. In fact, the digits 0123456789 go back to India where they were first created. The ancient Indian number system distinguished itself from other positional systems by virtue of allowing the use of zero as a legitimate number. Interestingly, the number zero did not exist in Greek mathematics, because the Greeks were essentially geometricians and had no use for the mathematical concept of a non-entity, neither did it exist in Egyptian mathematics. The Arabs, who encountered the Indian number system during their early conquests in India, found it superior to their own traditional system which used letters, and thus adapted it to develop Islamic mathematics. The Arabic word for zero is "sifr", meaning "empty." In the 12th century, the Italian mathematician Leonardo Pisano Fibonacci studied Arabian algebra and introduced the Hindu-Arabic numerals to Europe. The word "sifr" thus became "zephirum" in Latin and "zero" in English.
In the ancient Indian context, the number zero did not originally refer to nothingness or nullity. The Sanskrit word for zero is shunya, which means "puffed up, hollow, empty." The zero stands for emptiness suggestive of potentiality. The discovery of the mathematical zero concurred with the emptiness of prajna-intuition in India around 200 BC. Both signify polar opposition between being and nonbeing. Zero is that which contains all possible polarised pairs such as (+1, -1), (+2, -2), etc. It is the collection of all mutually cancelling pairs of forward and backward movements. Put it another way, zero is fundamental to all existence. Because of it, everything is possible. Zero is the additive identity, the focal point of all numbers; without it, numbers cannot be created. India alone, among the great civilisations of antiquity, was able to fathom the depth of emptiness and willing to accept its consequences in mathematics.
Following the introduction of the Hindu-Arabic numerals into Western culture, zero became a number that was used in calculations like any other number. Consequently, it lost some part of its original meaning, namely the part that suggests potentiality. Today, most mathematicians do not associate the notion of emptiness with zero, but with the empty set, which is a construct of set theory. A set is a collection of objects or numbers. For example, the set { 1, 2, 3, 5, 8 } is a set of numbers containing five elements; it is therefore said to have the "cardinality" of 5. The empty set { } is a collection that contains nothing and has the cardinality 0. The mathematician John von Neumann (1923) invented a method, known as von Neumann hierarchy, which can be employed to generate the natural numbers from the empty set as follows:
| Step 0: | { } | (empty set) |
| Step 1: | { { } } | (set containing the empty set) |
| Step 2: | { { }, { { } } } | (set containing previous two sets) |
| Step 3: | { { }, { { } } , { { }, { { } } } } | (set containing previous three sets) |
| Step 4: | { { }, { { } } , { { }, { { } } }, { { }, { { } } , { { }, { { } } } } } | (etc.) |
This sequence is obtained by iterating a functor that creates a new set from the union of the preceding two sets, thus generating sets with the cardinalities 0, 1, 2, 3, 4, ad infinitum. In less mathematical terms, the principle can be described as follows: Beginning with emptiness (step 0), we observe emptiness. Through the act of observing we create an entity containing emptiness (step 1). Now we perceive emptiness, as well as an entity. From the combination of the former two we create another entity by observation, which is different from the first entity (step 2). This process is repeated again and again. Interestingly, if we define suitable operations on the obtained sets based on union and intersection, the cardinalities of the resulting sets behave just like natural numbers being added and subtracted. The sequence is therefore isomorphic to the natural numbers - a stunningly beautiful example of something from nothing.
Emptiness of emptiness.
In The Art of Living (2001) the 14th Dalai Lama says, "As your insight into the ultimate nature of reality is deepened and enhanced, you will develop a perception of reality from which you will perceive phenomena and events as sort of illusory, illusion-like, and this mode of perceiving reality will permeate all your interactions with reality. [...] Even emptiness itself, which is seen as the ultimate nature of reality, is not absolute, nor does it exist independently. We cannot conceive of emptiness as independent of a basis of phenomena, because when we examine the nature of reality, we find that it is empty of inherent existence. Then if we are to take that emptiness itself is an object and look for its essence, again we will find that it is empty of inherent existence. Therefore the Buddha taught the emptiness of emptiness."
Meditation Instructions in the Thai Theravada Tradition
Meditation is a centrepiece of Buddhist practice. It is a method to develop the mind. The emphasis is on concentration, focus, clarity, calmness, and insight. There are different techniques; most of them are easy to learn and very useful in daily life. The following is an introduction to samatha-vipassana meditation in the Thai Theravada tradition (adapted with minor amendments from the Bung Wai Forest Monastery, Thailand).
Introduction to Insight Meditation
The purpose of Insight Meditation is not to create a system of beliefs, but rather to give guidance on how to see clearly into the nature of the mind. In this way one gains first-hand understanding of the way things are, without reliance on opinions or theories - a direct experience, which has its own vitality. It also gives rise to the sense of deep calm that comes from knowing something for oneself beyond any doubt.
The term Insight Meditation (samatha-vipassana) refers to practices for the mind that develop calm (samatha) through sustained attention and insight (vipassana) through reflection. A fundamental technique for sustaining attention is focusing awareness on the body; traditionally, this is practised while sitting or walking. This guide begins with some advice on this technique.
Reflection occurs quite naturally afterwards, when one is 'comfortable' within the context of the meditation exercise. There will be a sense of ease and interest, and one begins to look around and become acquainted with the mind that is meditating. This 'looking around' is called contemplation, a personal and direct seeing that can only be suggested by any technique.
Sustaining Attention
Focusing the mind on the body can be readily accomplished while sitting. You need to find a time and a place which affords you calm and freedom from disturbance. A quite room with not much in it to distract the mind is ideal. Timing is also important. It is not especially productive to meditate when you have something else to do or when you're pressed for time. It's better to set aside a period - say in the early morning or in the evening after work-when you can really give your full attention to the practice.
Begin with fifteen minutes or so. Practice sincerely with the limitations of time and available energy, and avoid becoming mechanical about the routine. Meditation practice, supported by genuine willingness to investigate and make peace with oneself, will develop naturally in terms of duration and skill.
Awareness of the Body
The development of calm is aided by stability, and by a steady but peaceful effort. If you can't feel settled, there is no peacefulness; if there is no effort, you tend to daydream. One of the most effective postures for the cultivation of the proper balance of stillness and energy is the sitting posture.
Use a posture that will keep your back straight without strain. A simple upright chair may be helpful, or you may be able to use the lotus posture. These postures may look awkward at first, but in time they can provide a unique balance of gentle firmness that gladdens the mind without tiring the body.
If the chin is tilted very slightly down this will help but do not allow the head to loll forward as this encourages drowsiness. Place the hands on your lap, palm upwards, one gently resting on the other with the thumb-tips touching. Take your time and get the right balance.
Now, collect your attention, and begin to move it slowly down your body. Notice the sensations in each part of your body. Relax any tensions, particularly in the face, neck and hands. Allow the eyelids to close or half close.
Investigate how you are feeling. Are you expectant or tense? Then relax your attention a little. With this, the mind will probably calm down and you may find some thoughts drifting in - reflections, daydreams, memories, or doubts about whether you are doing it right! Instead of following or contending with these thought patterns, bring more attention to the body, which is a useful anchor for a wandering mind.
Cultivate a spirit of inquiry in your meditation attitude. Take your time. Move your attention, for example, systematically from the crown of the head down over the whole body. Notice the different sensations - such as warmth, pulsing, numbness, and sensitivity - in the joints of each finger, the moisture of the palms, and the pulse in the wrist. Even areas that may have no particular sensation, such as the forearms or the earlobes can be "swept over" in an attentive way. Notice how even the lack of sensation is something the mind can be aware of. This constant and sustained investigation is called mindfulness (sati) and is one of the primary tools of Insight Meditation.
Mindfulness of breathing - anapanasati
Instead of "body sweeping", or after a preliminary period of this practice, mindfulness can be developed through attention on the breath.
First, follow the sensation of your ordinary breath as it flows in through the nostrils and fills the chest and abdomen. Then try maintaining your attention at one point, either at the diaphragm or - a more refined location - at the nostrils. Breath has a tranquilising quality, steady and relaxing if you don't force it; this is helped by an upright posture. Your mind may wander, but keep patiently returning to the breath.
It is not necessary to develop concentration to the point of excluding everything else except the breath. Rather than to create a trance, the purpose here is to allow you to notice the workings of the mind, and to bring a measure of peaceful clarity into it. The entire process - gathering your attention, noticing the breath, noticing that the mind has wandered, and re-establishing your attention - develops mindfulness, patience and insightful understanding. So don't be put off by apparent "failure" - simply begin again. Continuing in this way allows the mind eventually to calm down.
If you get very restless or agitated, just relax. Practice being at peace with yourself, listening to - without necessarily believing in - the voices of the mind.
If you feel drowsy, then put more care and attention into your body and posture. Refining your attention or pursuing tranquillity at such times will only make matters worse!
Walking and Standing
Many meditation exercises, such as the above "mindfulness of breathing", are practised while sitting. However, walking is commonly alternated with sitting as a form of meditation. Apart from giving you different things to notice, it is a skilful way to energise the practice if the calming effect of sitting is making you dull.
If you have access to some open land, measure off about 25-30 paces' length of level ground (r a clearly defined pathway between two trees), as your meditation path. Stand at one end of the path, and compose your mind on the sensations of the body. First, let the attention rest on the feeling of the body standing upright, with the arms hanging naturally and the hands lightly clasped in front or behind. Allow the eyes to gaze at a point about three meters in front of you at ground level, thus avoiding visual distraction. Now, walk gently, at a deliberate but 'normal' pace, to the end of the path. Stop. Focus on the body standing for the period of a couple of breaths. Turn, and walk back again. While walking, be aware of the general flow of physical sensations, or more closely direct your attention to the feet. The exercise for the mind is to keep bringing its attention back to the sensation of the feet touching the ground, the spaces between each step, and the feelings of stopping and starting.
Of course, the mind will wander. So it is important to cultivate patience, and the resolve to begin again. Adjust the pace to suit your state of mind - vigorous when drowsy or trapped in obsessive thought, firm but gentle when restless and impatient. At the end of the path, stop; breathe in and out; 'let go' of any restlessness, worry, calm, bliss, memories or opinions about yourself. The 'inner chatter' may stop momentarily, or fade out. Begin again. In this way you continually refresh the mind, and allow it to settle at its own rate.
In more confined spaces, alter the length of the path to suit what is available. Alternatively, you can circumambulate a room, pausing after each circumambulation for a few moments of standing. This period of standing can be extended to several minutes, using 'body sweeping'.
Walking brings energy and fluidity into the practice, so keep your pace steady and just let changing conditions pass through the mind. Rather than expecting the mind to be as still as it might be while sitting, contemplate the flow of phenomena. It is remarkable how many times we can become engrossed in a train of thought - arriving at the end of the path and 'coming to' with a start! - but it is natural for our untrained minds to become absorbed in thoughts and moods. So instead of giving in to impatience, learn how to let go, and begin again. A sense of ease and calm may then arise, allowing the mind to become open and clear in a natural, unforced way.
Lying Down
Reclining at the end of a day, spend a few minutes meditating while lying on one side. Keep the body quite straight and bend one arm up so that the hand acts as a support for the head. Sweep through the body, resting its stresses; or collect your attention on the breath, consciously putting aside memories of the day just past and expectations of tomorrow. In a few minutes, with your mind clear, you'll be able to rest well.
Cultivating The Heart
Cultivating goodwill (metta) gives another dimension to the practice of Insight. Meditation naturally teaches patience and tolerance or at least it shows the importance of these qualities. So you may well wish to develop a more friendly and caring attitude towards yourself and other people. In meditation, you can cultivate goodwill very realistically.
Focus attention on the breath, which you will now be using as the means of spreading kindness and goodwill. Begin with yourself, with your body. Visualise the breath as a light, or see your awareness as being a warm ray and gradually sweep it over your body. Lightly focus your attention on the centre of the chest, around the heart region. As you breath in, direct patient kindness towards yourself, perhaps with the thought, "May I be well", or "Peace". As you breathe out, let the mood of that thought, or the awareness of light, spread outwards from the heart, through the body, through the mind and beyond yourself. "May others be well".
If you are experiencing negative states of mind, breathe in the qualities of tolerance and forgiveness. Visualizing the breath as having a healing colour may be helpful. On the out-breath, let go of any stress, worry or negativity, and extend the sense of release through the body, the mind, and beyond, as before.
This practice can form all or part of a period of meditation - you have to judge for yourself what is appropriate. The calming effect of meditating with a kind attitude is good for beginning a sitting but there will no doubt be times to use this approach for long periods, to go deeply into the heart.
Always begin with what you are aware of, even if it seems trivial or confused. Let your mind rest calmly on that-whether it's boredom, an aching knee, or the frustration of not feeling particularly kindly. Allow these to be; practice being at peace with them. Recognise and gently put aside any tendencies towards laziness, doubt or guilt.
Peacefulness can develop into a very nourishing kindness towards yourself, if you first of all accept the presence of what you dislike. Keep the attention steady, and open the heart to whatever you experience. This does not imply the approval of negative states, but allows them a space wherein they can come and go.
Generating goodwill toward the world beyond yourself follows much the same pattern. A simple way to spread kindness is to work in stages. Start with yourself, joining the sense of loving acceptance to the movement of the breath. "May I be well." Then, reflect on people you love and respect, and wish them well, one by one. Move on to friendly acquaintances, then to those towards whom you feel indifferent. "May they be well." Finally, bring to mind those people you fear or dislike, and continue to send out wishes of goodwill.
This meditation can expand, in a movement of compassion, to include all people in the world, in their many circumstances. And remember, you don't have to feel that you love everyone in order to wish them well!
Kindness and compassion originate from the same source of good will, and they broaden the mind beyond the purely personal perspective. If you're not always trying to make things go the way you want them to: if you're more accepting and receptive to yourself and others as they are, compassion arises by itself. Compassion is the natural sensitivity of the heart.
