Nick Shere

Theory and Practice of Buddhist Meditation

Śamatha and Vipaśyanā in the Aţţhakavagga and Pārāyanavagga.

 

848. ‘Having what vision and what virtuous conduct is one called “calmed”? Tell me this, Gotama, when you are asked about the supreme man.’[i]

 

 

 

In the conclusion of his article, “Proto-Mādhyamika in the Pāli cannon,” Luis Gomez writes:

 

One all important difference subsists between the tone of the Aţţha and that of the Madhyamaka…The Aţţha…contains explicit directives, consonant with its moralizing tone, for the eradication of clinging and the abandonment of theoretization, and clearly makes way for a corresponding contemplative and ascetic practice. References to this practice are absent in the Madhyamaka and scarce in the other works of Nāgārjuna.

                Moreover, the theoretical framework of the Mādhyamika is totally absent from the Aţţha…Whether one is willing to bestow the honorific of “proto-Mādhyamika” on the Aţţha depends mainly on whether one is willing to recognize the practical core around which Nāgārjuna’s dialectical edifice has been built. (Gomez, 156. Italics added.)

 

In other words, Gomez looks at the Aţţhakavagga as a sort of Yoga to the Sāņkhya of Mādhyamika theoreticism —a body of “core” of practice around which later theory would develop. Setting aside Gomez’s project of establishing the conditions under which these Sutta-Nipāta texts could be recognized as somehow Proto-Mādhyamika, we will take the up the question of what constitutes the “contemplative” side of this “practical core.”

                What evidence do we find for meditation in the Aţţhakavagga and Pārāyanavagga? The crudest measure of meditation in a text will be the presence of explicit references to meditative practice and, of course, the use of specialized terms associated with meditation. Between the two texts, we find the following instances:

Smŗti[ii] (“sata” (mindful) and “sati” (mindfulness)—19 times

Samādhi—2 times

Dhyāna—3 times (Only Aţţhakavagga?)[iii]

Vipaśyanā—1 time (Only Pārāyanavagga)

Śam-derivatives (“santi” (peace), “santa” and “uposanta” (calmed), etc.)—36 [iv] (Especially Aţţhakavagga)

Refferences to the stopping of consciousness[v] (viññāna-nirodha, viññāna-uparujjha)—2 (Only Pārāyanavagga)

Other probable references to meditative practice—11[vi]

Total-72

 

This form of analysis is admittedly crude, but it does afford us some insight into the texts and their stance on meditation. For example, we note that while technical terms of importance in later Buddhist meditation, such as “dhyāna” (jhāna) and “vipaśyanā” (vipassanā), occur, they do so infrequently and unevenly (i.e., in only one of the texts). Vaguer terms, however, like smŗti, which has a broad and sometimes contested range of meaning in Buddhism, and a number of verbal and nominal forms from the root śam (though not śamatha itself), are numerous. This suggests that Buddhist meditation, or at least the technical language used to describe it, had not been fully systematized. The range of terms also suggests a strong emphasis on samatha-type practice—meditative practice which is aimed at achieving states of calm and detachment.

Samatha and Vipassanā

                According to Shinzen Young’s “How Meditation Works,” all Buddhist meditation can be accounted for by the combination of two complementary practices: śamatha and vipaśyana. Śamatha is sometimes called “stopping” in English or, more in line with its verbal root, “calming.” Vipaśyana is often translated as “insight,” or simply “seeing.” Neither quite encompasses the connotation of the preverb “vi” and “paśyana”; the former, as Young notes, corresponds to “dis”, and suggests an element of something like discerning or discrimination—adding a connotative element of piercing, specificity, or throughness/thoroughness to “seeing.” This is simply one of many terms in Indian philosophy for which there is no really appropriate English translation.

                According to Young, śamatha “is the practice of stilling the mind through letting go…The nature of [such] concentration is detachment…In real concentration, one simply rests the mind on the object at hand and then proceeds to let go of everything else.” This results in a physico-mental state of unusual calm which is at the same time a separation from everyday attachments and “the appalling extent and intensity of the chaos within” the non-meditator’s consciousness. For Young, Śamatha has two purposes: providing a basis for vipaśyana, and “the gradual renunciation of desire and aversion.” Vipaśyana, meanwhile, is “both to ‘see with separation,’ i.e. to discern clearly the components of ones experience, and to ‘see through,’ i.e. gain penetrating understanding into the nature of experience.”

                Writers like Young and [FILL] Sīlānanda, when describing the established tradition of meditation derived from the Theravāda, relate the common, afflicted mind, liberation, samatha, and vipassanā in the following way: samatha is used to still the mind’s afflictions so that vipassanā can eliminate the confusion that is their source, thus achieving liberation. While Young notes that “Some techniques develop primarily claming, others primarily clarity, still others both equally. It is of utmost importance, however, that one component not be enhanced at the expense of the other. To do so is no longer meditation,” and he concludes his account with the quotation: “These two techniques are like the two wheels of a chariot, the two wings of a bird. If their practice is lopsided, you will fall from the path.” Sīlānanda writes, [FILL] At the same time, however, it is strongly emphasized that vipassanā is both the peculiarly Buddhist element (i.e., as Young states, other traditions may practice exclusively samatha meditation, but not Buddhism) and the element which pertains immediately to final liberation. So while the established tradition glorifies a balance of samatha and vipassanā, it also privileges the latter over the former. (While they would probably say that these practices are mutually supporting—i.e., each is instrumental in developing the other—vipassanā is located at the cusp of liberation, and is appears, thus, less merely a means). Furthermore, there is a sense of double movement here—a sense that first there is the negative movement, the withdrawal inward away from the senses in samatha, and then, in a positive counter-movement, the re-extension of awareness in vipassanā.

                We will find that the “practical core” found in the Aţţhakavagga and Pārāyanavagga fits the established tradition’s framework inasmuch as it contains evidence of both samatha and vipassanā, but it may stretch that framework somewhat in that it strongly emphasizes samatha, both as a practice and as fundamentally characteristic of the ultimate goal of meditation. The sense is not that there is first a negative movement which paves the way for a positive movement, but rather that seeing is caught up as an instrument in a continuous overall negative movement of stopping—of “gradual renunciation of desire and aversion”—which begins with the intent to become one who is “calmed” and ends with the achievement of nirvāna as “peace.”

Textual Evidence of Forms of Meditation in the Aţţhakavagga

                In the Aţţhakavagga, the origin of suffering is traced back not to confusion (moha) but to “saññā”, translated by Norman as “perception,” and by Gomez as “apperception.”[vii] An often-useful and etymologically (though not necessarily semantically) precise parallel is “cognition”; “saMjñā” often has the same sense of abstraction and generality.  In the present context, it should probably be read in relation to the constant rejections both of sens-ual pleasure, and of “views” [diţţhi, from dŗś, related to paśyana]. Throughout the Aţţhakavagga, dissociation from both the physical senses and the metaphorical visions of doctrines about the world is advocated. This ideal of detachment from sense and concept is suggestive of what Young categorizes as śamatha practice: “The nature of concentration is detachment.”

                Instead of śamatha being merely a preparation for the elimination of the root delusion, it seems at times that the surrender of all views is perhaps simply extended, so that one conquers delusion not through a movement of heightened awareness but simply through a completion of the process of calming and apophatic detachment.

768. Who(ever) avoids sensual pleasures as if (avoiding) the head of a snake with his foot, he (being) mindful passes beyond this attention to the world.

771. Therefore a mindful person should always avoid sensual pleasures. Having abandoned them he would cross over the flood, like one who had gone to the far shore after baling out his boat.

 

In this passage there is a direct connection between “abandoning” the senses and achieving enlightenment. The metaphor is suggestive; it does not suggest that there is a leak that one must become aware of and plug, but rather simply that one must empty the boat of water. While this passage does not equate this emptying process with the highest aspect of meditation or religious practice, others come close:

822. He should train himself only in detachment [viveka]. This is supreme for noble ones. He should not think of himself as best because of that. He truly is in the vicinity of [nirvāna].

823. The people enmeshed in sensual pleasures envy the sage who wanders emancipated, having no regard for sensual pleasures, the flood-crosser.

 

Again, the detachment from sensual pleasure is emphasized in association with liberation, and beyond this we have the assertion that a bhikkhu should train himself only in detachment. This is not, presumably, to disregard all the other suggestions for ascetic and contemplative training throughout the text—rather, it must be an exaggeration for emphasis, which is a credible possibility (given, especially, that this is from a chapter on chastity) or else it must also be understood to encompass other the text’s other strategies as well. Indeed, both could be the case.                (One might argue that this chapter has no contemplative significance at all—in other words, that this “detachment” is purely a physical one. However, the text frames all release of sensual pleasure as a part of the broader project of liberation, and it also (cf. v 818) frames the detriments of sexual entanglement in terms of the psychology of bondage. Thus this detachment, while objectively a form of simple abstention, is intimately connected to the psychological quest for liberation through meditative practice.)

                Often, śam[viii]-derivatives are used in the very highest sense, either to refer directly to the goal of meditation and religious practice, or to the model practitioner. For example:

848. ‘Having what vision and what virtuous conduct is one called “calmed” ? Tell me this, Gotama, when you are asked about the supreme man.’

857. ‘[one who is] indifferent to sensual pleasures, I call “calmed”. In him there are no ties; he has crossed beyond attachment.

861. For whom there is nothing (called) his own in the world, and who does not grieve because of what does not exist, and does not go (astray) among [dharmas], he truly is called “calmed”.’

 

Here to be “calmed” is to be supreme; it is to have crossed beyond attachment—that is, to have won the other shore. Calmness is also elaborated upon here, but always in more or less the same sense of detachment, especially from sensual pleasure. Norman takes “dharmas” here as phenomena, but in context, and particularly in the sense of “going (astray),” it would make at least as much sense to understand dharma to be doctrine here; in this case, this passage would represent both the rejection of the senses and of “views.”

915. ‘…How does a bhikkhu, when he has seen [disvā], become quenched, not grasping anything in the world?’

916. ‘Being a thinker, he would put a stop to the whole root of what is called “diversification” (i.e. the thought) “I am”, said the Blessed One. ‘Whatever internal cravings there are, he would train himself to dispel them, always being mindful.’

919. Only within himself would he be at peace. A bhikkhu would not seek peace from another. For one who is at peace within himself there is nothing taken up, how much less anything laid down.

921. ‘He whose eyes are open has, as an eyewitness, expounded the [dharma], which dispels dangers. Tell (us) the path, venerable one, the binding principles, and moreover [samādhi].’

925. A bhikkhu would be a [jhāyin—one possessed of dhyāna], not foot-loose. He would abstain from remorse. He would not be negligent, but would dwell in lodgings where there is little noise.

933. And knowing this doctrine, searching, a bhikkhu would train himself (in it), always being mindful. Knowing [jñātvā] quenching [“nibbuti”] as “peace” [“santi”], he would not be negligent in Gotama’s teaching.

 

Here we see the identification of “peace,” with nibbuti, which, according to the Pāli Text Society Dictionary (PTSD), is a term closely associated with nibbāna. (Norman translates them indifferently.) Here we are told that the aim of a bhikkhu’s practice is this calmness, this peace. Moreover, we have in this passage two examples of the technical language of samatha—samādhi, which is sought by the questioner, and dhyāna, which is used to describe the ideal bhikkhu. These both clearly indicate the prominence of śamatha-style meditation in the suite of contemplative practices. There is a slightly cryptic reference to seeing in verse 915; it is unclear what sort of seeing is implied, or what is being seen. If it is meant to suggest insight in the same sense as vipassanā, this would be interesting, in that it would be a direct inversion of established order of samatha and vipassanā, with “seeing” being the beginning of a process leading up to liberation in the form of “peace,” or “calm.” It is clear that this seeing—whether or not it is meant to indicate meditative insight—is at the beginning of a process; the absolutive, whether interpreted temporally or causally, shows sequence, and the event is clearly meant to provide a motive for practice, either initial or further. The absolutive in “jñātvā” in 933 also shows sequence and motive, but it is motive in the sense of final goal, not initial impulse.

                Verse 916, however, brings us clear evidence of vipassanā practice. Possesed of thought—an indication of mental activity, not passification—the bhikkhu strikes at the root of delusion. As Young says, “Vipaśyana destroys moha.” However, interestingly, this is not positioned as the ultimate goal. Rather, it is located in the second verse, near the initiation of practice, and followed by several instructions to detachment and calming: dispel the internal cravings, engage in dhyāna, know nirvāna as peace.

                Elsewhere, the question of this root-stopping task is explained in this way:

870. ‘The pleasant (and) the unpleasant have their origin in contact…

872. ‘Contacts are dependent upon name and form. Possessions have their origin in longing. When longing does not exist, possessiveness does not exist. When form has disappeared, contacts do not make contact.’

873. ‘For one attained to what state does form disappear? How does happiness or misery disappear also? Tell me, how it disappears. My intention is that we should know this.’

874. ‘He has no (ordinary) perception of perceptions, he has no deranged perception of perceptions, he is not without perception, he has no perception of what has disappeared. For one who has attained to such a state form disappears, for that which is named “diversification” [papañca] has its origin in perception.

 

This returns us to the issue of saññā. If we can read this together with 916, we see more precisely how the vipassanā of the Aţţhakavagga is expected to operate: the “root” of delusion is saññā. Here it makes sense to take saññā as “apperception,” as Gomez suggests, because of the apparent identification of it with the ego. (916 identifies the root as “I am”, and 874 identifies the root as “saññā”, so if they can be taken together, saññā is the ego.) This fits with the vipassanā practice of correct awareness of mental and physical phenomenon—that is, awareness that reveals them as empty of substantiality or permanent self.

                The following passage, too, shows evidence of vipassanā practice alongside samatha:

967. He should not steal, he should not tell lies, he should suffuse with loving-kindness (creatures) both moving and still. Whatever turbidness of mind he might know, he should thrust away, (thinking) “It is on Kaņha’s side”.

968. He should not fall under the influence of anger or arrogance. Having dug out their root too he should stand (firm). Then being predominant he should endure the pleasant and the unpleasant.

972. With downcast eyes, and not footloose, intent on meditation [dhyānayukta], he should be very wakeful. Practising indifference, with self concentrated [samāhitta, from sam-ā-dhā, as in samādhi],  he should cut off inclination to doubt (and) misconduct.

974. Moreover there are five kinds of pollution in the world, for the dispelling of which he should train himself, possessing mindfulness. He should overcome passion for forms, sounds, and tastes, smells and contacts.

975. A bhikkhu who possesses mindfulness, and has a well-released mind, should dispel his desires for these things. Examining the [dharma] properly at the right time, one-pointed, [ekodibhuta], he should strike down the darkness (of ignorance)’, said the Blessed One.

 

This passage shows the more traditional orientation of samatha leading up to vipassanā: first dhyāna and samādhi are used to “cut off inclination to doubt (and) misconduct”, then, after he has “overcome passion”, the bhikkhu should, on the basis of his samatha-refined one-pointed concentration, “strike down the darkness.” This “darkness” is, reasonably enough, glossed by commentators as “moha” (Norman, 358); while the Aţţhakavagga does not use what would later be the technical term, “darkness” or “gloom” (tamas) has long carried psycho-philosophical meanings comparable to “moha.”

                These passages show us that, while the overall emphasis of the Aţţhakavagga is on meditation as a process of calming, ultimately resulting in the attainment of peace and the status of a “calmed” “supreme man,” vipassanā is still an integral part of meditative practice, a necessary instrument for achieving detachment from saññā so that the greater process of calming detachment may reach fulfillment.

Textual Evidence of Forms of Meditation in the Pārāyanavagga.

                The Pārāyanavagga, while in respects similar to the Aţţhakavagga, does not have an identical “practical core.” While most of the tendencies present in the Aţţhakavagga are present here as well, there is an added element of meditation upon nothingness/emptiness that is specifically identified as vipassanā, both by that name and, in what would be a perfect gloss, as looking “for” the destruction of craving.

                Still, like the Aţţhakavagga, the Pārāyanavagga employs the idea of peace and the detached calmed one; for example:

1065. ‘Having compassion, brahman, teach the doctrine of detachment, which I may learn, so that unchangeable as space, I may wander in this very place, calmed, not dependent.

1066. ‘I shall expound peace to you, Dhotaka’, said the Blessed One, ‘which is not based on hearsay in the world of phenomena, which knowing, one wandering mindful(ly) would cross over attachment in the world.’

 

And in the same vein, we have the removal of desire and passion identified with nirvāna itself, as peace was in the Aţţhakavagga:

1086. ‘Here, Hemaka, in respect of pleasant forms which have been seen, heard, thought, and perceived, the removing of desire and passion is the unshakeable state of [nirvāna].

1087. Those who know this and are mindful, (and are) completely [extinguished] in the world of phenomena—and are always calmed—have crossed over attachment in the world.

 

Also, the ideal of complete detachment—and of enlightenment described purely in terms of the surrender of views, senses, etc., without reference to insight—is also represented.

1082…Whosever have given up here what is seen, heard, or thought and have given up all virtuous conduct and vows, (and) have given up all various (ways), knowing (and giving up) craving, (and) are without āsavas, them indeed I call “flood-crossing men”.’

 

In the following passage, the Buddha is asked to tell of the state of peace; he replies with injunctions to “dispel greed for sensual pleasures,” and to “Make what (existed) previously wither away.” The goal of being calmed is identified with a state of not-grasping—that is, of detachment from desires and views.

1096… ‘Tell me of the state of peace, omniscient one…

1098. ‘Dispel greed for sensual pleasures, Jatukaņņī,’ said the Blessed One, ‘having seen going-forth as safety. May there be nothing taken up or laid down by you.

1099. Make what (existed) previously wither away. May there be nothing for you afterwards. If you do not grasp anything in between, you will wander calmed.

1100. For one whose greed for name-and-form has completely gone…

 

When asked, on the other hand, about the “release by knowledge”—the Buddha responds with the following:

1105. …Tell me of the release by knowledge, the breaking of ignorance.

1107. Purified by indifference and mindfulness, preceded by the examination of mental states [dharma-tarka; sophistry about dharmas], I tell (you), is the release by knowledge, the breaking of ignorance.’

1109. ‘The world has enjoyment as its fetter. Speculation [vi-tarka] is its investigation [vi-caraņa]. By the abandonment of craving it is called [nirvāna].’

1111. ‘If a person does not enjoy sensation, internally or externally, in this way consciousness is stopped for him wandering mindfully.’

 

The Buddha here distinguishes between the “abandonment of craving,” which appears to be the means by which one achieves nirvāna—again, in the vein of detaching and calming—and the preparatory phases of dharma-tarka and vi-tarka, “sophistry about dharmas” and what Norman translates as “speculation.” Tarka, which is also used in Aţţhakavagga to mean doubt as a thing to be avoided, seems here used to position intellectual insight—though the deepest meditative insight of vipassanā is certainly not meant here—in a subordinate instrumental position to the “renunciation of desire and aversion.” However, it is quite possible that, while the goal here is the termination of the overall negative movement of meditative practice in these texts, it is unclear whether we see in verse 1111 a samatha practice, a vipassanā practice, or something between.

                In this verse, as also in verse, 1036, “‘I shall answer this question which you have asked, Ajita, wherein name-and-form is completely stopped. By the stopping of consciousness, there in this is stopped,’” we find the notion of a “stopped” “consciousness” or viññāna. Outside Buddhism, this term is sometimes translated as “discrimination” or “discernment”; its relation to saññā, detachment from which was idealized in the Aţţhakavagga, is not clear. The two words should be closely related—given their shared origin, but the preverbs, which are sometimes opposite in  meaning and sometimes not at all, are of uncertain significance. It might be noted that in verse 1119, we find it suggested that, through considering the world as empty—in other words, perhaps, as marked by a certain kind of nothingness—one can destroy the view of a self. If this emptiness meditation is correlated to nothingness meditation, it would suggest that viññāna agrees with saññā in Gomez’s sense of apperception. This, in turn, would suggest that viññāna is stopped through vipassanā, as saññā was.

                In itself and in crude terms, the very notion of stopping would seem to connote samatha, but this is not necessarily the case; earlier we saw the vipassanā elimination of saññā called stopping or obstructing (nirodha); it seems reasonable to take the elimination of viññāna in same sense. However, we should also consider that the text attributes, to some degree, the cessation of consciousness to the fact that the bhikkhu is not delighting in sensations—“vedanam nābhinandito.” It is because of this—the text reads “evaM,” “thus,”—that consciousness stops. This could, it seems, be interpreted to suggest that samatha practice is in fact the key here—that in the dissociation from the senses, one stops consciousness. Or, alternatively, if the removal of saññā by vipassanā is taken to mean (or include) the dissociation from sensation, verse 1111 could still represent vipassanā practice, only once removed. Alternatively, we could take “evaM” more loosely, as meaning that the vipassanā practice proceeds free form sensual pleasure but not on the basis of sensual pleasure.

                However, the strongest appearance of vipassanā in the Pārāyanavagga is in relation to meditation on nothingness and emptiness:

1115. ‘Knowing the origin of the state of nothingness, (he thinks) “Enjoyment is a fetter.” Knowing this thus, then he has [vipaśyana] therein. This is the true knowledge of that brahman who has lived the (perfect) life.’

 

This meditative insight into nothingness is elaborated upon in the dialogue with Upasīva:

1069. ‘Alone (and) without a support, Sakyan’, said the venerable Upasīva, ‘I am not able to cross over the great flood. One with all-round vision, tell me an object [or “support”] (of meditation), supported by which I may cross over the flood.’

1070. ‘Having regard for (the state of) nothingness, possessing mindfulness, Upasīva,’ said the Blessed one, ‘supported by (the belief) “it does not exist”, cross over the flood. Abandoning sensual pleasures, abstaining from (wrong) conversations, look [paśya] for the destruction of craving day and night.’

1071. ‘He whose passion for all sensual pleasures has gone’, said the venerable Upasīva, ‘supported by (the state of) nothingness, having left the other (states) behind, being released in the highest release form perception, would he stay there not subject (to saMsāra)?’

 

Here we have the most detailed account of meditation in either text. The questioner specifically requests a meditative object, and is instructed to meditate upon non-existence or not-any-thing-ness. Meditating upon this, one can “cross over the flood.” Vipassanā here—looking for the destruction of craving—is placed alongside the abandonment of both sensual pleasure” and saññā among the characteristics of one who is liberated. Indeed, this particular passage seems to be the only one that really suggests the later sense, in the established tradition, that samatha and vipassanā are meant to be combined like the wings of a bird or the wheels of a chariot—that is, side by side and in coequal measure. (But with vipassanā still somehow atop things.) It shows by its presence that there is no major discontinuity between the Pārāyanavagga’s and the received tradition’s understanding of the relationship between samatha and vipassanā, but it simultaneously shows by its uniqueness in the context of the Aţţhakavagga and the Pārāyanavagga that these texts, while not outside the definition of Buddhist meditation as Young formulates it, still represents a different, and perhaps challenging view. Its standing alongside other formulations with such different emphases also perhaps suggests that the categories we have been analyzing here were less firmly fixed, less exclusive and specific in the time of these texts’ composition.

 

                What are we to make of this emphasis, this way of seeing meditation as a process defined primarily in terms of the negative movement of samatha? Young, in his article, implies that an over-emphasis of samatha is both a potential impediment to enlightenment and fundamentally non-Buddhist. For him, advocacy of the supremacy of withdrawal is associated with fundamentally dualistic worldviews—“If you believe in the dichotomy of spirit versus matter as did the Neoplatonists of Hellenistic Europe and the Sāńkhya theorists of ancient India, then your goal will be conceived of in terms of freeing spirit from the trammels of matter.” For Young, the goal of Buddhist meditation is not merely freedom-from, but also insight into the true nature of things; enlightenment cannot be understood merely as the process of withdrawal or renunciation, but must also be a positive process of liberatory insight. For the Aţţhakavagga and the Pārāyanavagga, this sense of the ultimacy of insight is, if not completely absent, certainly much reduced. Vipassanā, by  name in the Pārāyanavagga and by implication in the Aţţhakavagga, is specified as necessary and vital, but the overall course of meditation is not seen in quite the way the established tradition sees it; there is a muddled or, in places, inverted relationship of samatha and vipassanā. What does this tell us?

Norman, K.R. The Group of Discourses. Oxford: Pali Text Society, 1995

Chanmyay Yeiktha Meditation Centre . “Anapanasati, Samatha or Vipassana Meditation” http://store.7p.com/chanmyay/dhammatalks/asvmeditation.htm

Gatso, Janet, ed. In the mirror of memory : reflections on mindfulness and remembrance in Indian and Tibetan Buddhism. Albany : State University of New York Press, c1992

Sīlānanda, Ven. US. The four foundations of mindfulness. Boston : Wisdom Publications, c2002

Gomez, Luis. “Proto-Mādhyamika in the Pāli Canon.” Philosophy East and West, 26:2 April 1976

Rhys Davids, T. W. and Stede, William, ed. The Pali Text Society's Pali-English dictionary. Chipstead: Pali Text Society: 1921-25

Young, Shinzen. “How Meditation Works.” http://here-and-now.org/VSI/Articles/TheoryMed/theoryHow.htm