Chapter 6
What Historical Vipassanā Teachers Say
This chapter is part of Vipassanā in Jhāna: A Personal Narrative and Practical Guide, by Gary Buck.
New readers: Go to Overview | Table of Contents | PDF Download
Navigation: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Glossary | References
Chapter 6:
What Historical Vipassanā Teachers Say
Reading Time: about 45 mins. 9,000 words.
The Need for Cross Validation
In earlier chapters, everything I described, and all the discussion that followed from that, was based on my own personal experience while meditating. I described how jhāna arose as a natural consequence of my practice of ānāpāna, and how I was able to switch over to practicing vipassanā while still in that jhāna. I also emphasized, repeatedly, that I was practicing both ānāpāna and vipassanā in exactly the same manner that I had been taught by my teachers, Goenkaji and Mother Sayama, in the same manner they had learned from U Ba Khin. I further explained my realization that not only could vipassanā be practiced while in jhāna, but since the concentrated mind is a powerful mind, vipassanā practiced while in jhāna leads to far more powerful meditation, and far more powerful awareness of anicca. To me, this is a simple fact. I observed this in myself, and I assume that anyone who attains jhāna can verify this for themselves.
But I have also gone much further than simply stating facts. I have expressed my opinions. I have recommended that other vipassanā meditators should attempt to incorporate jhāna into their own practice, and I have offered some suggestions about how that could be done, based on my own experience. Since these are just my opinions, I understand that others may have doubts. That is only natural. Why should anyone believe an unknown chap, who suddenly declares that he has discovered the correct way to do vipassanā?
What is needed is something called “cross validation.” This is an important concept in social science research. To explain the basic idea: if we get certain results from a research study, it is always possible that those results arose, not because they are valid and true results, but because of some characteristic of the research method—some design defect or confounding variable—that gave us mistaken results. One way to check that is to attempt to address the same research question using a different research methodology. Then, if we get the same results from both studies, even though they are using different research methods, this suggests that the results are unlikely to be due to some methodological flaw, and consequently, these results are more believable, more robust, and most importantly, they are far more likely to generalize to other similar situations.
So for example, if one particular meditator reaches particular conclusions based on his own practice—such as I did regarding the benefits of practicing vipassanā in jhāna—it is quite possible that the conclusions he reached are due to some particular characteristic he has, or due to some particular misunderstanding he made—in my case, maybe I am not typical, or maybe I am mistaken. We can easily cross-validate his conclusions by comparing them to the experiences of other meditators, especially to the teachings of well-respected meditation teachers. If respected teachers, or respected scholars, have reached similar conclusions, then that cross-validates the conclusions of that particular meditator. And that will give us far more confidence in his conclusions.
Or in simple terms, do my conclusions agree with what the Buddha himself taught? Do my conclusions agree with what other well-known meditation teachers and scholars have to say? Or am I totally alone in my views? If my views coincide with those of the most respected teachers and scholars, then readers can feel more cofidence in my conclusions.
In this chapter, I explore what historically important vipassanā teachers say about the relationship between vipassanā and jhāna; starting by examining what the Buddha himself said, and then moving on to discuss the ideas of those other vipassanā teachers whose work led up to the current global, vipassanā movement.
In the following chapter, I will explore what some well-known modern scholars have to say.
The Buddha
The obvious place to start is with what the Buddha himself says in the Sutta Piṭaka. I am not a Pāli scholar, but there are plenty of translations available that can provide a good idea of what the Buddha actually taught. Scholars may disagree on whether the Sutta Piṭaka preserves the actual words of the Buddha, but there seems to be wide agreement that the Sutta Piṭaka of the Pāli Canon represents the earliest extant sources, and hence, the closest we can get to the Buddha’s original teachings.
In the Mahāsaccaka Sutta (MN 36), the Buddha describes his search for the path to enlightenment. He describes how, after years of ascetic practice, he considered whether jhāna might be the path to enlightenment, followed by his declaration: “That is the path to enlightenment.” He then describes how, on the night of his enlightenment, he passed through the four jhānas and eventually reached the final goal. Thus, the Buddha tells us that it was through jhāna that he attained enlightenment.
He then included Right Concentration (sammā-samādhi) as one of the eight steps of the Noble Eightfold Path, and in the Discourse on the Analysis of Truths (MN 141), the Buddha explained that this means jhāna:
And what is Right Concentration?
“Herein a monk, aloof from sense desires, aloof from unwholesome thoughts, attains to and abides in the first jhāna, which is detachment-born and accompanied by applied thought, sustained thought, joy, and bliss.
By detachment from applied and sustained thought he attains to, and abides in the second jhāna which is inner tranquillity, which is unification (of the mind), devoid of applied and sustained thought, and which has joy and bliss.
By detachment from joy he dwells in equanimity, mindful, and with clear comprehension and enjoys bliss in body, and attains to and abides in the third jhāna which the noble ones (ariyas) call: ‘Dwelling in equanimity, mindfulness, and bliss.’
By giving up of bliss and suffering, by the disappearance already of joy and sorrow, he attains to, and abides in the fourth jhāna, which is neither suffering nor bliss, and which is the purity of equanimity-mindfulness.
This is called Right Concentration.
The same explanation is also given in the Vibhaṅga Sutta (SN 45.8), where the Buddha again explains that sammā-samādhi means jhāna. So, there can be no doubt that jhāna is clearly part of the Noble Eightfold Path.
There are many suttas in which jhāna is described as the basis, or as a platform, from which to eradicate defilements and reach the final goal. For example, in the Samaññaphala Sutta, a discourse on the fruits of the contemplative life (DN 2), the Buddha describes the complete path to liberation in great detail, explaining how jhāna is an integral part of that path. A similar explanation occurs in the Maha-Assapura Sutta (MN 39), where jhāna is not only explained as part of the path but is also described as “an indispensable prerequisite for enlightenment.”
Again, in the Mahāmālukya Sutta (MN 64), the Buddha states that liberation is only possible after a monk has abandoned the five lower fetters (saṃyojana) that tie a person to the sense world and prevent them from attaining nibbāna. These are: personality belief (sakkāya-diṭṭhi), doubt about the teaching (vicikicchā), attachment to rites and rituals (sīlabbata-parāmāsa), sensual desire (kāmacchando), and ill will (vyāpādo). The Buddha explains that these are only abandoned in jhāna. He then states explicitly:
If a monk has not attained the first jhāna, it is impossible that he will make an end of suffering. But if he has attained the first jhāna, it is possible that he will make an end of suffering.
This is a clear statement that we must all attain at least the first jhāna before liberation.
The Jhāna Sutta (AN 9.36) is where the Buddha describes the practice of vipassanā. According to the Buddha, the meditator first attains jhāna and then uses that as a basis for vipassanā, leading eventually to liberation. He explains:
A monk enters and dwells in the first jhāna… second… third… fourth jhāna. Whatever exists of matter (rūpa), of feelings (vedanā), of perception (saññā), of reactions (saṅkhāra), and of consciousness (viññāṇa), he sees these states as impermanent (anicca), as suffering (dukkha), and as insubstantial (anattā). He turns his mind away from those states and directs it towards the deathless element and feels and sees this as peace. This is sublime. This is… nibbāna.
This is a clear, concise explanation of how he taught vipassanā. The Buddha is saying that the mind should first be concentrated to the first jhāna, and then that is used as a basis for vipassanā, which then leads directly to liberation. He then repeats the same instruction for the other jhānas: one first enters that jhāna, then, while in the jhāna, observes mind and body phenomena, noting their characteristics of anicca (impermanence), dukkha (suffering), and anattā (insubstantiality); liberation follows. This is a fairly standard explanation of vipassanā that appears in many other suttas in the Pāli Canon.
The Anupada Sutta (MN 111) describes how Sāriputta, the Buddha’s chief disciple, attained arahatship in this manner: by entering each jhāna and systematically analyzing the nature of mind and matter while in that jhāna, namely the arising and passing away of all mental and material phenomena. Thus, the texts indicate that both the Buddha himself, and Sāriputta, attained liberation by practicing while in jhāna.
In the Mahāmālukya Sutta (MN 64), the Buddha again describes the five fetters (saṃyojana) that bind a person to this world. He then explains that the path leading to the abandonment of these five fetters is the attainment of the first jhāna... second... third... fourth jhāna, where the meditator observes:
Whatever exists of matter (rūpa), of feelings (vedanā), of perception (saññā), of reactions (saṅkhāra), and of consciousness (viññāṇa), he sees those states as impermanent, as suffering, as a disease, as a tumor, as a barb, as a calamity, as an affliction, as alien, as disintegrating, as void, as not-self. He turns his mind away from those states and directs it towards the deathless element thus: ‘This is the peaceful, this is the sublime, that is, the stilling of all saṅkhāra, the relinquishing of all attachments, the destruction of craving, dispassion, cessation, nibbāna.’
Again, he is stating that it is the practice of vipassanā while in jhāna that leads to enlightenment.
In the Samādhi Sutta (AN 4.41), the Buddha explains how the practice of jhāna essentially becomes vipassanā through four important developments:
It leads to a pleasant abiding in the here and now.
It leads to the understanding of how things really are, namely anicca (impermanence), dukkha (unsatisfactoriness), and anattā (not-self).
It leads to mindfulness and clear comprehension (sati-sampajañña).
When developed and pursued, it leads to the ending of all unwholesome states.
If we look at these descriptions of the benefits of jhāna, the second, third and fourth descriptions are all things we hope to attain through our practice of vipassanā. These are the ultimate goals of our practice, and the Buddha is saying that jhāna will get us there.
And we get the added benefit of having a pleasant experience while doing it. We shouldn’t be surprised at the mention of this. The Buddha frequently talked about the huge benefits of leading a holy life, one of which was how pleasant and agreeable it is. The first benefit he lists above is that the practice of jhāna is a pleasant experience. And here I think that he is not only talking about pleasant physical feelings; I believe he is mainly talking about pleasant mental feeling. Speaking from my own experience, the lower jhānas have very pleasant physical feeling, whereas the fourth jhāna has fairly neutral physical feeling; conversely, the pleasant mental feeling (sukha) is present in the lower jhānas, but becomes stronger in the second and third jhānas. Then, in the fourth jhāna, there is a very refined feeling of tranquility and calm. So while all the jhānas give one a strong sense of well-being, the higher jhānas are a truly wonderful experience. All of them are, indeed, a very peasant abiding.
It is interesting to note that the Buddha is emphasizing the pleasant nature of jhāna, and stressing that this is a benefit. I understand from this that the Buddha is telling us that our meditation should be a pleasant activity; we should enjoy it. The reason is obvious. It is much easier for a meditator to discipline themselves into intensive practice, if that practice is an agreeable, pleasant experience. Those who get jhāna will enjoy their practice, and therefore will be inclined to practice more, and will be more successful.
It is clear from all the above that the Buddha taught us that jhāna is necessary for liberation, and all the quotations show the meditator attaining jhāna before starting vipassanā. However, the explanations are stylized and standardized, and in reality, perhaps not everyone started with jhāna and then moved on to vipassanā. Perhaps this is a literary convention, covering a variety of actual real-world practices. Beginners, for example, may have started vipassanā first, perhaps because they didn’t have the time, or for some other reason, and then added jhāna at a later date, as they progressed. We do not know. But there is an indication of this in the Yuganandha Sutta (AN 4.170), where Ānanda, the Buddha’s personal attendant, describes three ways to become an arahant; either by:
developing jhāna before vipassanā
developing vipassanā before jhāna
developing both simultaneously.
But note that every single one of them had attained jhāna before liberation. This suggests that the order may not be so important. Perhaps you don’t need to get jhāna first. Perhaps a person can spend time practicing vipassanā to great benefit before beginning jhāna. But at some point, on the Buddha’s path, we all have to attain jhāna. The Buddha makes that very clear. Attaining jhāna is thus an important milestone on the path. Otherwise, without jhāna, we will never reach the final goal
Buddhaghosa (370-450)
Most people in the modern age, with a cell phone in their pocket, connected to the internet, have almost instant access to all the world’s knowledge—a truly amazing thing! It was not so in the centuries after the Buddha died. The problem for most monks over the following centuries was that they did not have ready access to the teachings of the Buddha. Literacy was not as common, books were written by hand, and they were precious commodities stored in libraries, so finding out what the Buddha actually taught was no easy matter. Further, for those fortunate few with access to the written Canon, the various texts were scattered across thousands of suttas, all written in an archaic, dead language. Many were also in a cryptic style, suitable for easy recitation, but often needing explanation. And that was just the suttas; the 227 Pāṭimokkha rules by which monks were expected to live were also contained in the three volumes of the Vinaya Piṭaka. There was a clear need for some sort of accessible summary.
Buddhaghosa was an Indian, fifth-century monk who came to the Mahāvihāra Monastery in Anuradhapura, Sri Lanka, and wrote commentaries on the Pāli Canon based on ancient Sinhalese commentaries, or so we are told. He was reported to be from a brahmin family, and an expert in the Vedas before becoming a Buddhist monk. He wrote many works, but his most influential is the Visuddhimagga, a one-volume manual that attempts to summarize and condense the teaching of the Buddha in the Theravāda tradition. It is intended as a guide to the Buddha’s path, aimed mainly at monks, detailing practices and doctrines essential for living the holy life.
Buddhaghosa wrote extensively on meditation. As previously discussed, his ideas are very different from those we read in the Sutta Piṭaka. He says that there are two different tracks of meditation: samatha-bhāvanā and vipassanā-bhāvanā.
Samatha-bhāvanā is concentration, or calming meditation, aiming for one-pointed concentration, namely jhāna, in which the mind becomes completely absorbed in the object of meditation—so much so that the objective awareness necessary for vipassanā is not possible while in jhāna. He mentions a number of different ways of attaining these states, including mindfulness of breathing (ānāpāna) and loving-kindness (mettā). However, he is most noted for the idea of using kasina objects as a basis for attaining jhāna. These are simple visual objects, such as colored disks, which are then memorized, and the mental image of the disk is then used as the object of meditation. There is no mention of such kasina in the Pāli Canon.
Vipassanā-bhāvanā is insight meditation. After establishing morality and concentration, the meditator is advised to notice mind-body events and processes, and how they arise due to conditions. The meditator is encouraged to develop a direct understanding of the nature of existence, namely impermanence (anicca), unsatisfactoriness (dukkha), and non-self (anattā), thus leading to liberation.
This distinction between two types of meditation is very different from what the Buddha taught, as has been noted by many writers. In the Sutta Piṭaka, jhāna is not taught as a separate practice but always occurs along with mindfulness (sati) in the practice of vipassanā. Buddhaghosa also appears to be the one who first introduced the notion of dry insight (sukkhavipassanā), the idea that a meditator can attain enlightenment through the practice of vipassanā without having first attained jhāna. This is contrary to what we read in the suttas, in which the Buddha stated that jhāna is a necessary pre-condition for enlightenment.
Although Buddhaghosa does not allow for the possibility of practicing vipassanā while in jhāna, he does suggest that after emerging from jhāna, one should review the jhāna retrospectively: he suggests that this should include reviewing the jhāna factors, the defilements abandoned, and those defilements remaining, and further that one should contemplate these as anicca (impermanence), dukkha (unsatisfactoriness), and anattā (not-self). Personally, I have considerable trouble with this concept. To me, the basic idea of vipassanā is to observe the nature of things as they are (yathābhūta) and that can only be done in the present moment. What Buddhaghosa is describing is reflection, not observation. Thinking about what happened previously, a short time before the present moment, is not vipassanā—or at least not vipassanā as I have come to understand it.
Buddhaghosa also introduced a number of Pāli terms not found in the suttas to describe the developing stages of concentration. It is helpful to discuss these, since they are used extensively in the later literature and are useful concepts when discussing meditation. Khanika samādhi is usually translated as “momentary concentration,” where the mind can stay concentrated for a short while—just a few seconds—sufficient to begin meditation. Upacāra samādhi is usually translated as “access concentration,” where the mind is one-pointed and can stay longer on the object of attention, preparatory to accessing jhāna. Appanā samādhi is used to describe what we might call full jhāna, i.e. with the same meaning as the word “jhāna” is used in the Pāli Canon.
Later writers, especially those promoting the practice of vipassanā without the prior need to attain jhāna, also used the term jhāna to describe levels of concentration that they considered sufficient to practice vipassanā, but which were not jhāna as described in the Canon (i.e., were not appanā samādhi). Thus, the term “vipassanā jhāna” is sometimes used to refer to khanika samādhi (momentary concentration), since one can begin practicing vipassanā with this type of concentration. However, usage does not seem to be consistent, and I have also heard the term “vipassanā jhāna” used to describe the practice of vipassanā while in jhāna.
This has led to the use of another term, sutta jhāna, which refers to appanā samādhi, i.e. full jhāna as the word is used in the suttas. Finally, there is the term lokuttara jhāna, the supra-mundane jhāna that arises, very briefly, at the moment of realizing nibbāna and frees the mind from all defilements. This term is sometimes used as a synonym for attaining enlightenment.
As a general caution, when discussing jhāna, it is important to be aware of the particular type of concentration being referred to. If not, misunderstandings can easily arise.
However, despite its obvious differences from the Pāli Canon, the Visuddhimagga has become one of the most important texts in the Theravāda Buddhist tradition. It became the main source of reference for large numbers of monks and laypeople alike over the last fifteen hundred years. Its influence has been enormous. I believe this has caused considerable confusion among later generations regarding how the Buddha intended us to meditate.
Regarding the teaching of meditation, the obvious conclusion is that Buddhaghosa is not teaching what the Buddha taught and should not be used as a source to understand the Buddha’s original teaching.
Medawi Sayadaw (1728-1816)
The Burmese monk Medawi Sayadaw is perhaps the earliest known figure of the modern global vipassanā movement; certainly the oldest I could find. He focused on making insight meditation accessible to both monks and laypeople. He wrote a number of meditation manuals in his life (Pranke, 2010). At the time in Burma, there were two common beliefs that he strongly opposed. First, there was the belief that a meditator needed to attain jhāna before beginning vipassanā meditation. We have seen that this is the standard way vipassanā is described in the Pāli Canon—first attain jhāna, then observe mind and matter, knowing its true nature—and it appears that at the time Medawi was writing, many believed that vipassanā could only be practiced after attaining jhāna. Given the time and effort required to attain jhāna, this may well have become a serious impediment to the practice of vipassanā. Medawi argued that it is possible to practice vipassanā without jhāna; he suggested that when the mind attends to the rising and passing away of mental and physical phenomena, this attention develops into sufficient concentration to develop insight. This is an important statement historically, since it probably marks the starting point of the modern, global, lay vipassanā movement (Medawi, 1756).
The second belief he challenged was the common belief that it was no longer possible for a person to attain liberation through meditation and that devout Buddhists should instead focus on keeping good sīla and giving donations (dāna), hoping for rebirth at the time of the next Buddha. Medawi disagreed. He believed that enlightenment was still possible through the practice of vipassanā, and that people should not waste time, but begin immediately, even if they did not have jhāna.
Medawi Sayadaw taught that ordinary bodily and mental processes should be the object of meditation, and that direct perception in the here and now is what leads to insight, not later reflection (Medawi, 1756). His technique of meditation seems to have consisted of sitting and observing everything that arises in the body or in the mind. He appears to have started with noticing sensations in the body—pressure, warmth, movement, and so on—observing each one as arising, persisting briefly, and then dissolving. His instructions were not to analyze, but simply to observe. He then recommends the observation of mental processes: intention, attention, feeling (pleasant, unpleasant, or neutral), perception, and wandering thoughts. Each of these phenomena is to be understood as anicca (impermanent), dukkha (misery), and anattā (not-self). This seems to me to be a classical description of vipassanā, and is very similar to the Buddha’s description found in the Pāli Canon: namely, observing the five aggregates—material body, consciousness, cognition, feeling and reactions—while knowing the characteristics of these as impermanence, suffering, and non-self.
His teaching was aimed at ordinary laypeople as well as monks, and he presented his ideas in practical, experiential language rather than as philosophy. For example, regarding the abstract concept of anattā (not-self), he is reported to have told meditators, “Look for the one who feels, and you find only feeling. Look for the one who thinks, and you find only thought.”
But although he emphasized that jhāna is not necessary for vipassanā, he nevertheless fully approved of jhāna as a valid and powerful support for insight. He suggested that jhāna provides an important way to purify the mind. He also seems to have accepted the idea that vipassanā can be practiced while in jhāna. He saw jhāna as an integral part of the path, and as something to be encouraged for those who had the ability and the opportunity. His ideas seem to me to be fully in line with the teaching of the Buddha in the Pāli Canon. The only difference is that he emphasized that one could start vipassanā even if one has not attained jhāna, which is quite possibly what new monks did, even at the time of the Buddha.
Medawi Sayadaw’s core idea seems to have been: “If you have jhāna, good—use it for vipassanā. If you don’t have jhāna, practice vipassanā anyway.” To me, this sounds like very sound advice.
Ledi Sayadaw (1846-1923)
Ledi Sayadaw wrote at the beginning of the twentieth century in Burma, during the time of British colonial rule, as part of a movement to preserve the traditional teachings of the Buddha, which many Burmese felt were under pressure from the colonial powers. He wrote in Burmese, not Pāli, and his words were addressed to the laity as well as to monks. Given his aim of promoting vipassanā to lay practitioners, he emphasized that vipassanā does not require high levels of concentration, but can be practiced with momentary concentration (khaṇika samādhi).
His teaching is very similar to that of Medawi, centering around observation of the five aggregates—namely, the material body (rupa), consciousness (viññāṇa), cognition (saññā), feeling (vedanā) and reactions (saṅkhāra)—while knowing the three universal characteristics of these, impermanence, suffering, and non-self. The influence of Medawi seems obvious, and Ledi Sayadaw himself acknowledged that. His teachings have had a significant impact on later vipassanā teachers, especially Mahāsi Sayadaw and U Ba Khin, the “founders” of the two main branches of the current, global, vipassanā movement.
Ledi Sayadaw’s method of vipassanā emphasized direct observation of vedanā (body sensations) as the basis for vipassanā practice. He taught the observation of sensation as it arises and passes away—whether heat, pressure, tension, vibration, tingling, pain, and so on—and the recognition of each sensation as anicca (impermanent). This focus on scanning through the body, observing vedanā while knowing its impermanent nature, anicca, became the basis for U Ba Khin’s technique, which was also taught by his students Goenkaji and Mother Sayama. There is a direct lineage, since U Ba Khin learned vipassanā from a student of Ledi Sayadaw, a lay practitioner called Saya Thetji.
He also recommended observing the four elements within those sensations: (i) the earth element (solidity, pressure, hardness), experienced by feeling the hardness of the seat; (ii) the water element (cohesion, fluidity), observed as flowing or pulsing sensations; (iii) the air element (movement, vibration), likewise observed as flowing or pulsing sensations; and (iv) the fire element (temperature, heat and cold), observed as warmth or coolness in the body. There are traditional meditation techniques that use these four elements as a way to analyze material form. This aspect of Ledi Sayadaw’s teaching was not emphasized by U Ba Khin, or his students, although Goenkaji does talk about them in his discourses. I have to say that this sort of analysis does not seem to make much sense to western-educated students, and perhaps this is why it is not emphasized.
Ledi Sayadaw also taught some techniques that are not part of the later U Ba Khin tradition, but which were adapted by Mahāsi Sayadaw, the founder of the other worldwide lay vipassanā tradition. The first of these is noting, or mentally labeling phenomena as they arise—for example, mentally noting “hearing” when hearing a sound, “touching” when touching something, or “thinking” when thoughts arise. He felt that noting helps maintain attention and prevents the mind from wandering.
Another instruction Ledi gave, later fully adopted by Mahāsi Sayadaw, was noting the rising and falling of the abdomen: noting “rising” when air comes in and “falling” when air goes out. Then, if another object becomes stronger and impinges on consciousness, one should note that object, and afterward return to the rising and falling of the abdomen once it has passed.
Ledi Sayadaw expressed a very nuanced view of jhāna and its relationship to vipassanā. He summarizes his teaching in a number of explanatory works. In his Manual of Mindfulness of Breathing (Ānāpāna Dīpanī), he strongly advocated ānāpāna as a means to develop concentration and strongly encouraged the practice of jhāna as an integral part of the Buddha’s path. Of course, he must have known full well that most laypeople would not be able to attain jhāna.
In his Manual of Conditional Relations (Paṭṭhānuddesa Dīpanī), he advises practitioners to “develop concentration to the degree possible, and then cultivate insight.” He is clearly recommending that lay meditators should not wait until they have attained jhāna before they begin vipassanā. And in his Manual of Insight (Vipassanā Dīpanī), he again emphasizes that insight can be developed without jhāna, and that enlightenment, therefore, is also possible without it.
In these texts, he describes two ways in which it is possible to practice vipassanā and jhāna together. First, he says that vipassanā can be developed after emerging from jhāna and reflecting on the experience, which is the method described in the commentarial tradition by Buddhaghosa. As noted above, to me this is reflection on the past, and is not the same as vipassanā, which involves observing the present moment yathābhūta, or in English, “as it is.”
Second, Ledi Sayadaw says that a highly skilled meditator can practice vipassanā while still in the state of full jhāna (appanā samādhi), by directing the concentrated mind toward investigating the three characteristics of mind and body phenomena (nāmarupa): anicca (impermanence), dukkha (misery), and anattā (not-self). He uses the phrase appanā-vipassanā to refer to this technique of practicing vipassanā while still in full jhāna. So again, there is agreement that vipassanā can be practiced while in jhāna.
Mahāsi Sayadaw (1904-1982)
Mahāsi Sayadaw is one of the most influential Theravāda meditation teachers, and his technique is one of the two that form the core of the global, lay vipassanā tradition. His technique is explicitly based on the Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta (MN 10 or DN 22).
His practice focuses on noting the rising and falling of the abdomen as the breath comes in and goes out. At the same time, the meditator notes and labels any sensations, thoughts, or feelings that occur, thus developing mindfulness of all phenomena as they arise and pass away. This leads to strong momentary concentration (khaṇika samādhi), insight into impermanence (anicca), and ultimately, to liberation.
He taught that jhāna is valuable and a legitimate part of the Eightfold Noble Path, but that deep absorption (appanā samādhi) is not required to practice vipassanā. Instead, he taught that momentary concentration (khaṇika samādhi), which arises from continuous mindfulness, is sufficient to support deep insight into impermanence, suffering, and non-self. He writes: “If the meditator develops concentration moment by moment, he can attain insight knowledge without having previously achieved absorption.” (Mahāsi Sayadaw. 1965). He suggested that, while not mandatory, jhāna can be a powerful aid, in that it stabilizes the mind and makes vipassanā practice smoother and clearer, and progress in vipassanā much easier. However, he warns that attachment to jhānic bliss or tranquility can become an obstacle if one fails to investigate impermanence: “Those who cling to the calm and happiness of absorption are delayed in attaining insight.” (Mahāsi Sayadaw, 1965).
On the issue of whether vipassanā can be practiced while in jhāna, he says that it can, but he appears to introduce some caveats. He writes: “A person who, having attained access or absorption concentration, contemplates the five aggregates is called a samatha-yānika, one who makes tranquility his vehicle.” However, he may be suggesting that this contemplation occurs after emerging from jhāna: “Having emerged from absorption, he contemplates the jhānic factors—applied thought, sustained thought, rapture, happiness, and one-pointedness—as impermanent, suffering, and not-self.” It is therefore not entirely clear to me whether he supported the idea of practicing vipassanā while in full jhāna or not. (Mahāsi Sayadaw, 1965).
U Ba Khin (1899–1971)
The technique taught by U Ba Khin is the one I practice, as described in detail in Part One of this book. The basic practice is relatively simple. Ānāpāna is used as a tool to concentrate the mind. New students are first taught awareness of the in-and-out breath. After a short while, they are asked to switch their attention to a small area of sensation on the upper lip. The main practice is the observation of body sensations (vedanānupassanā) with an equanimous mind, maintaining the awareness that these phenomena are anicca (impermanent). This is very similar to the practice taught by Medawi Sayadaw, except that the student is asked to focus particularly on sensation, rather than on whatever mind-and-body (nāma-rupa) phenomena arise.
In reality, as the mind becomes more concentrated and the meditator more adept, awareness of sensations is naturally accompanied by awareness of a variety of other mental and physical phenomena as they arise and pass away—initially seen as anicca (impermanent), and later as dukkha (misery) and anattā (not-self). U Ba Khin (1981) explains:
For in vipassana meditation one contemplates not only the changing nature of matter, but also the changing nature of mentality, of the thought-elements of attention directed towards the process of change going on within matter. At times the attention will be focused on the impermanence of the material side of existence, i.e. upon anicca in regard to rupa, and at other times on the impermanence of the thought-elements or mental side, i.e., upon anicca in regard to nāma.
So although the method taught by U Ba Khin’s—and later by his students Goenkaji and Mother Sayama—begins with vedanānupassanā, the observation of body sensations while knowing them as anicca, it soon evolves naturally into the observation of the whole mental and physical structure (nāmarūpa): thus whatever there exists of matter (rūpa), of feelings (vedanā), of perception (saññā), of reactions (saṅkhāra), and of consciousness (viññāṇa), the meditator sees these states as impermanent, as suffering, and as insubstantial. This aligns closely with what the Buddha taught in the Pāli Canon, and with later teachers Medawi Sayadaw and Ledi Sayadaw, who both describe vipassanā in the same manner.
The Buddha consistently begins his descriptions of vipassanā by recommending that the meditator first concentrate the mind, and then proceed to observe the nature of mind and matter. In the same way, U Ba Khin taught his students to first develop concentration by practicing ānāpāna, and then progress to vipassanā. In this respect, U Ba Khin’s teaching is fully in line with the Buddha’s teaching.
However, there is one significant difference: namely the Buddha always starts his description of vipassanā by stating that the meditator first attains jhāna—either the first, second, third or fourth jhāna—and then proceeds to practice vipassanā, observing mind and matter while knowing their nature.
In his writings, U Ba Khin (1981) does not mention jhāna specifically, but does emphasize that concentration should be developed until it is one-pointed, which in Theravada circles is often used as a synonym for jhāna He also says that it is only when samādhi is good that one develop paññā (wisdom). He suggests that “awareness of anicca should go on from moment to moment so continuously as not to allow for the interpolation of any discursive or distracting thoughts;” something that does not happen until the mind attains jhāna. Further he says, “samādhi must be good to have a good experience of anicca; if samādhi is excellent, awareness of anicca will also be excellent.” (U Ba Khin, 1981)
Most people seem to assume that U Ba Khin is referring to khaṇika samādhi, momentary concentration, when he makes these remarks. And perhaps he is, since he taught lay people, most of whom would not have had the time or opportunity to attain jhāna. But these statements can just as easily be understood to mean that jhāna (appanā samādhi) is ideal for the practice of vipassanā, but that people can also get the benefits with less than the ideal level of concentration.
U Ba Khin offers strong support for this in his earlier lectures in Rangoon; a series of three lectures called What Buddhism Is. Talking to a non-Buddhist audience, he clearly and explicitly recommends the practice of jhāna as beneficial to vipassanā.
Exercise of the mind is just as necessary as exercise of the physical body. Why not, then, give exercise to the mind and make it pure and strong so that you may enjoy the “Jhānic Peace Within.” When Inner Peace begins to permeate the mind, you will surely progress in the knowledge of Truth. (U Ba Khin, 1951).
It seems to me that he is saying quite clearly and explicitly that the mind develops wisdom when it enters jhāna. He must have known what a useful tool it was, and how it helped vipassana. And although he did not emphasize the practice of jhāna in his public ten-day courses, or not as far as I am aware, it was well known (or should I say, widely believed) that some of his students had attained very advanced states of purity; nibbāna, as well as all the jhānas. I was told by students of his, that he did teach jhāna, but only to his advanced students. And in support of this, I remember seeing part of an old black-and-white film documentary, showing U Ba Khin and his meditation center. The footage showed one of his students meditating, in a very advanced and rarified mental state (I forget which). So, since he clearly did teach both jhāna and other more advanced mental states to some of his students, he must have been fully aware if the tremendous benefits of a concentrated mind, and how that inner jhānic peace leads to the realization of the Buddha’s truth. In other words, it seems to me that he must surely have regarded jhāna as part of our practice, as part of our vipassanā tradition, even though he did not teach that to most lay people..
Further support for the notion that jhāna is part of the U Ba Khin tradition is provided by U Chit Tin, a dedicated, long-term student of U Ba Khin, and the husband of Mother Sayama. Sayama did not speak English, and so she conducted meditation courses in partnership with U Chit Tin. He translated her advice, as well as giving the discourses. While taking about developing concentration during ānāpāna, he encouraged students to overcome what are called the five hindrances (nīvaraṇa), namely: sense desire, ill-will, sloth and torpor, restlessness, and doubt; as does Goenkaji in his discourses, and indeed as do most meditation teachers. These are mental qualities that cloud our understanding, and prevent us gaining good concentration, whether access concentration (upacāra samādhi) or jhāna (appanā samādhi). U Chit Tin continues:
With the five hindrances eliminated, it is possible to develop the absorbtion states—the jhānas. This is especially the case for bhikkhus [monks], whose lives are very pure. Because of their great purity, they’re able to attain these high states of concentration. For us, as laymen, it is sufficient to aquire just a good level of concentration (U Chit Tin, 1997).
To me, this is strong evidence that jhāna is part of the U Ba Khin tradition, and that vipassanā should ideally be practiced in jhāna, just as the Buddha recommended, but that this has been dropped, or at least de-emphasized, in order to make vipassanā more accessible to lay people.
The technique taught by S. N. Goenka in his public ten-day courses is the same as that taught by U Ba Khin. I can say this because, having originally learned vipassanā under Goenkaji, and also having visited U Ba Khin’s meditation center many times in the years just after his death—where I met many of his students—and having studied for many years under another of U Ba Khin’s appointed teachers, Mother Sayama, I believe that the actual practice taught by U Ba Khin and Goenkaji are essentially the same. As practitioners, there was no difference that I could see. The only difference lay in how the technique was introduced.
In summary, all of these teachers in the U Ba Khin tradition taught that after taking eight precepts, ānāpāna (awareness of the natural breath, and/or awareness of the small sensation on the upper lip) is used to build concentration, followed by vipassanā (observing body sensations), knowing that these are anicca (impermanent), while maintaining equanimity (upekkhā). At the end of the course, mettā bhāvanā (meditation to generate loving kindness) was practiced in all cases.
The main difference was that U Ba Khin, as well as Mother Sayama, taught small groups of students, and the instruction was very personal and individualized. Goenkaji taught large groups of 200 or more and therefore presented the teaching in a standardized, systematic manner, enabling him to teach many students simultaneously. Later, Goenkaji introduced audio and video recordings of his instructions and discourses, allowing assistant teachers to lead courses without his presence.
Another difference in presentation was that U Ba Khin mainly taught practicing Buddhists in a Buddhist country and therefore allowed more traditional Buddhist ideas into his teaching. Similarly, Sayama also taught as a Buddhist in a Buddhist context. Goenkaji, by contrast, taught largely non-Buddhists and presented the technique in a more secular, non-sectarian manner, deliberately de-emphasizing anything that could be seen as esoteric or as “Buddhist belief.” To me, however, these were differences in presentation, not in the practice itself. I believe that both Sayama and Goenkaji taught exactly as their teacher had taught them.
Regarding the practice of jhāna and its relation to vipassanā, I can find no specific reference to Goenkaji stating whether or not vipassanā can be practiced while in jhāna. Nor can I find any instructions regarding what to do if jhāna arises unexpectedly.
But I have heard a number of his students claim that Goenkaji said that if jhāna arises, meditators should continue as before, and simply observe with equanimity. However, despite numerous attempts, I have been unable to find an explicit reference for such statements. But even if he made such statements, they do not necessarily mean anything about his attitude to jhāna, since the basic practice of vipassanā is to observe whatever arises, or whatever experience one encounters, with equanimity and detachment. So what should you do when unexpected states arise? One continues to observe with equanimity. This is a standard response that should be applied to anything that arises, whether unexpected or not. It is just basic practice, and does not necessarily give us any idea of what Goenkaji thought about the practice of jhāna.
But I think we can make some assumptions about his position on this issue. Firstly, given his frequent expressions of deep devotion to his teacher, U Ba Khin, and his expressed intention to continue the mission of U Ba Khin to spread vipassanā to the world, it is impossible for me to imagine Goenkaji promoting, or saying, anything contrary to what U Ba Khin said. I believe he was teaching what he had learned, and was consciously passing on the tradition just as he had received it.
Second, in his long-course discourses Goenkaji often refers to jhāna in terms of “deep absorption samadhi” using terminology which suggests that he saw jhāna in similar terms to Buddhaghosa, namely as something quite separate from, and not compatible with, vipassanā. This would not be surprising, since Buddhaghosa’s ideas are very prevalent in Theravada circles, and were generally held in high esteem. And given that during his years with his teacher, as a layman, he worked with other lay people, taking ten-day courses, and helping and teaching members of the Indian community. Wonderful service! But he would have had little, or no opportunity to work with jhāna. And although he was obviously a very serious and devoted student, when I spoke to his peers, old students of U Ba Khin, I heard nothing suggesting that he was one of those students who were receiving special instructions.
It seems likely to me that he either did not encounter jhāna, or if he did, it was not a significant part of his world. So perhaps he simply accepted what most people believed, namely what Buddhaghosa taught in the Visuddhimagga. And when the topic of jhāna came up, he just repeated what most people believed. It didn’t really matter, since in his world of lay practitioners taking ten-day courses, jhāna was not a relevant issue. I am sure he assumed, as did U Chit Tin, that as laymen, it is sufficient to aquire a good level of concentration. It was only later, after he started offering longer retreats, that jhāna became a relevant topic.
My assumptions about Goenkaji’s attitude to jhāna are just that—assumptions. This is just a story I tell myself. But it does explain to me why Goenkaji seems to have excluded jhāna from his teaching when the previous teachers in his tradition all seemed to have understood that jhāna is very beneficial for vipassanā.
Other Meditation Teachers
Apart from the Burmese vipassanā tradition described above, there are a number of other meditation traditions within the Theravāda community, especially in the Buddhist Saṅgha.
Pa Auk Sayadaw is a Burmese monk, who teachers meditation to both monks and lay people. The teaching is explicitly based on both the Visuddhimagga and the Abhidhamma. Meditators first learn samatha, using any of the meditaiton subjects in the Visuddhimagga, in order to develop jhāna, as a foundation for vipassanā; although he does emphasize ānāpāna-sati to attain jhāna. When teaching ānāpāna, he asks the meditator to focus on the nimitta, a mental image, a “light” or a “disk” that appears in the mind’s eye. The meditaror focuses on that mental image to attain jhāna.
The meditator then exits the jhāna to begin the practice of vipassanā, which appears to consist of meditation on the four elements. Instructions are to first review the jhāna factors, and then investigate bodily and mental processes, knowing their characteristics as impermanent, suffering, and non-self (Pa-Auk Sayadaw, 2019). Note that he does not say that vipassanā can be practiced while still in jhāna. Rather he clearly teaches that the meditator must emerge from jhāna first. He is explicitly critical of the dry-insight movement, on the grounds that without jhāna the mind is not sufficiently stable to practice vipassanā and understand reality.
In the Thai Forest tradition, there are many well-known meditation teachers, many of whom have written extensively. Ajahn Chah is well known in the Western world, since he trained a number of Western monks who returned to the West to teach meditation and establish monasteries. He taught that jhāna is useful, but not essential, to the practice of vipassanā. His disciple Ajahn Sumedho (1989) also teaches that jhāna is important, but emphasizes that it is a tool, not an end in itself. He stresses mindfulness of the present moment in order to see things as they really are. He suggests that vipassanā can be practiced either in or out of full jhāna.
Another of Ajahn Chah’s students, Ajahn Brahm (2006) taught that jhāna is important. In his interview with Richard Shankman (Shankman, 2008), when asked about fears that meditators could become attached to the pleasure of jhāna, he replies;
The Buddha says very clearly that you should not be afraid of the jhānas, that you should develop them, make much of them, and cultivate them. He also said that jhānas are the only meditation that he praises and recommends. And these are very, very strong statements, which are not only in the Theravada suttas, but also in the Chinese Agamas, so they are accepted as the legitimate sayings of the Buddha.
However, he also says that it is difficult to develop insight in deep jhāna, and that insight is better developed after emerging from jhāna (Ajahn Brahm, 2006). In fact, in the interview references above, he goes so far as to suggest that “It is quite clear that in jhāna you cannot feel anything to do with the body.” This seems to be quite an extraordinary statement, since in the first and second jhāna, there is the jhāna factor pīti, which is an intense, pleasant physical sensation. I don’t know what to make of this statement. Perhaps it is some sort of misunderstanding, or a typo, perhaps.
Shankman (2008) records a series of interviews with a number of well-known modern vipassanā teachers; both monks and laypeople. What is very clear from these interviews is that these teachers do not agree with each other at all. There is such a wide variety of views that it almost seems that they are talking about different things. Some think jhāna is important and necessary, and some think you don’t need it at all. If I attempt to summarize these differences, they seem to reflect two basic approaches to vipassanā; firstly those who tend to emphasize the importance of concentration in the practice of vipassanā, and secondly, those who tend to emphasize the importance or mindfulness in the practice of vipassanā. Of course, everyone believes that both concentration and mindfulness are important, but there is a noticeable difference in emphasis. And this tends to resolve into those who promote the practice of jhāna, and those who do not. I do not intend to discuss the details here, but readers are recommended to read these interviews for themselves.
When Jhāna is the Default
Before leaving this topic of what historical and modern vipassanā teachers say about using jhāna in our vipassanā practice, I wish to discuss one topic that I do not understand, and which troubles me, somewhat. There are many teachers quoted above who recommend a sort of two-stage process; they recommend using jhāna as a means to develop concentration and then exiting that jhāna in order to begin practicing vipassanā outside the jhāna. I find that very perplexing.
The reason is simple, and has to do with the nature of jhāna. One of the first things I realized about jhāna, and this applies to all the four jhānas, is that once you have attained the level of concentration necessary to enter that state, you continue to maintain that concentration; at least for a certain period of time. So when you restart meditation after a short break, you will naturally re-enter the state of jhāna you left a while before. So, for example, when I first attained jhāna, and I had sat for an hour in the first jhāna, at the end of that sitting, I took a meal break. During the break, I wondered whether I would be able to get back into that state. When I went back to meditate, I found it was relatively easy to re-enter that first jhāna; in fact it just happened automatically. I “had attained the jhāna” in the sense that I was able to re-enter it at will by simply restarting my meditation.
I noticed this characteristic for all the jhānas. One I “attained” a particular jhāna, then that jhāna is where my mind went when I started to meditate again. That became my default state of meditation. It just took a little while to settle the mind down, and then I re-entered into it. In fact, there was no need to make any effort to enter that jhāna, it was quite automatic. I had “attained” it. Or to put it another way, once I had a certain level of concentration, I maintained that level of concentration from one sitting to the next.
This is not special to the jhānas. All my life, on meditation courses, I slowly built up my concentration, and each sitting I built on the level of concentration which I had attained previously. If I stopped meditating, after some time, the concentration would slowly be lost. but if I continued meditating then I kept the progress I had made on the previous days. This is something that I have come to regard as a fundamental feature of the human mind, and I assume this applies to all meditators. I am sure that for normal meditators, every meditator on every retreat, new and old, ten days or thirty days, their concentration builds up at they continue to meditate. Thus on day four, for example, they start the day with approximately the same level of concentration they had at the end of day three.
This is why I naturally progressed up through the jhānas, until eventually I arrived at the fourth jhāna. Not only was this automatic, but I had considerable difficulty knowing how to prevent it from happening. If I had attained the fourth jhāna when doing ānāpāna, then when I switched to vipassanā, I naturally gravitated to the fourth jhāna.
So what happens if a meditator uses some method to develop concentration until they get well-established in jhāna, and then they exit that meditation method, and begin to practice vipassanā meditation? Surely, after a short while, after their mind gets settled, they will automatically revert to their default level of concentration, and go into the jhāna they had established. This is a natural process. It may be possible for some meditators to prevent that, and stay out of the jhāna, but I found that very difficult, well-nigh impossible. And why would they attempt to get out of it? The mind is very concentrated and doing a good job of vipassanā, why stop it?
So to get back to those teachers who recommend samatha to develop jhāna and then exit that to begin vipassanā, they will still have that level of concentration, namely the jhāna, when they begin their vipassanā practice. They are not switching their level of default concentration,... .they are only switching the object of attention and the purpose of their meditation. So they are likely to be doing vipassanā while in jhāna. Although this is simply supposition on my part, and although I have never discussed this with people who use this technique, it seems clear to me that they are almost certainly doing vipassana while in jhāna, I just don’t see how else it could be.
End of Chapter 6.
Next chapter:
Chapter 7: What Modern Scholars Say
Previous chapter:
Chapter 5: What This Means for Other Meditators
Table of Contents
Thank you for reading Gary Buck’s Substack. Everything here is free. I do not accept donations. You are free to copy or distribute the content, as long as you give credit, and for noncommercial purposes only.
Public comments are turned off. But feel free to message me privately, in confidence, if you wish. And if you find any typos, or mistakes, kindly let me know.
Feel free to share this post with anyone you think might be interested.
If you Follow me, you will be informed of any new posts. If you Subscribe, you will get a complete list of links, to all content, plus any new posts, sent to your email address.