The Reminder that Nothing is Internal
Image by Artsybee
The first of the three reminders is that nothing happening is internal or “in here”, by which there might be a sense of ownership or control (Pali anicca, Sanskrit anitya). As mentioned earlier, it is typically translated as “impermanence”, and is often explained by the fact that everything rises and falls based on causes and conditions. A given Buddhist tradition may even teach that, once one awakens, this is the perspective one wakes up to, by which “impermanence” will be the primary descriptor they apply to everything.
While the rise and fall of phenomena based on causes and conditions is certainly true at the conventional level, and can be a helpful introduction to the Buddha’s path to awakening, it is a conceptual interpretation that, if not abandoned at some point, can actually be a profound hindrance to awakening. As with the coffee cup we examined in the introduction above, “impermanence” is not something you can actually experience, but is something you have to think about. Further, it requires the notion of “time” and “space” in which the rise and fall of things takes place, both of which are mental fabrications as well.
The Original Meaning
Translating this reminder as “impermanence” is quite ingrained in the Buddhist tradition. As it turns out, referring to standard Pali and Sanskrit dictionaries provides what I suggest is a much more helpful translation for this reminder, in that the primary connotation is “not found inside of”. This was not only a predominant definition of the term in the Buddha’s time, but also the one that agrees with what one comes to know as one awakens.
As described in an article by Minoru Hara (Hara, 1959), the term nitya is composed of the prefix ni- which means "in, into, or at the house of". Therefore, when it is the first part of compound words, the entire term will mean something like "in", "inside of" or sometimes "into" something. The suffix -tya means “to be found or located”. Thus, the basic meaning of the word nitya/nicca is "found inside of", and placing an a- before provides the negative “not found inside of”. As Hara notes, Max Muller (Muller, 1891) observed that the term nitya was exclusively used in Vedic literature to mean what is inside, and by extension what is (presumed to be) one’s own. Since it was the opposite of nishtya (nish+tya) meaning what is outside, strange or hostile, nitya can also be seen as pointing to that which is familiar and safe. Usage of this term to mean what is inside, one’s own, familiar and safe was the primary way the term was used in the Vedic Sanskrit period, which lasted until roughly 500 BCE, which included the period of time in which (as many estimate, anyway) the Buddha lived.
Hara explains that at some point, likely after the Vedic period and into the classical Sanskrit period, the word nitya came to mean not just what was inside of someone, but what was (presumed to be) regularly or even always inside someone. Hara notes that it is natural that, for things which are possessed, they are generally supposed not to be possessed only for a specified length of time; by this, nitya eventually developed a connotation of “always”, and by extension permanent. The term could then be applied to anything one might point to. Once this latter connotation of “permanent” became more common, it was also natural for its opposite (“impermanent”) to be used as well. Hara points out that this sort of semantic shift has been seen in the case of other terms as well.
John Brough (Brough, 1952) observed that the later meanings of nitya developed from the sense of “being located in”, and that it was an easy step to say that something is constantly associated with someone and thus their own. For example, if an expression like aranya-nitya began by meaning ‘dwelling in the forest’, it could have readily acquired the additional connotation of ‘constantly dwelling in the forest’ if that is true of the person(s) involved. He offered that the later senses of nitya as ‘regular, constant, permanent’ are easily derived from this type of development.
Hence we have various derivative meanings of nitya/nicca. Starting from the fundamental meaning of internal or inside, we have secondary meanings such as one’s own, innate, native, and familiar; then, we eventually come to connotations such as always, permanent, and eternal. By this, we can see that contemplating anitya/anicca as impermanence, or perhaps better “no such thing as permanence” (without affirming its mutually-defined opposite of impermanence), while certainly of some value, is only scratching the surface in terms of what anicca can remind us of.
The Glass Ceiling of Impermanence
From a practical perspective, there are important differences between an experiential approach which reveals that there is no internal aspect to experience as compared to a conceptual approach that focuses on the affirmative quality of “impermanence”. For example, if we assume that we need to release our grasping and craving for impermanent things, this merely reinforces the illusion that there is someone with an internal experience who perceives external phenomena and who could possibly do that grasping and craving. However, what we eventually see is that suffering does not arise from grasping after phenomena “out there”, but from grasping after our desired experience “in here” regarding those phenomena.
Also, when the belief in or perception of “time” and “space” eventually falls away, the notion of “impermanence” becomes impossible to perceive, or even generate. Indeed, one has to look forward to the time when the word “impermanence” will no longer have any meaning, other than as a conventional way to describe what happens in daily life. However, we will never get to that point if the contemplation of impermanence is a significant focus of our spiritual practice, by which the notion of impermanence (and the belief in “time” and “space” required as a foundation for impermanence) will become even more ingrained.
Even if anicca is applied solely to ourselves rather than all phenomena, if it is assumed to mean “impermanence”, then the focus shifts to affirming how we are in fact impermanent, and therefore exist as an impermanent “self”. If we do manage to become convinced of our impermanence, it may be more difficult (if not impossible) to see that there really isn’t a “self” of any sort whatsoever, since such a “self” is much more elusive. The traditional interpretation that anicca means “impermanence” therefore places a conceptual limitation, a glass ceiling of sorts, on our ability to awaken, in that we maintain a firm grasp on not just a concept, but a concept that must eventually fall away.
Applying Anicca to Ourselves
The reminder of anicca points to the erroneous reasons we believe we exist (“I Am”) in the first place. For example, if experience seems like it is owned, there must be an owner. If it seems like there is an innate or native quality, that must have a name or identity. If it seems like there is an interior aspect to experience, there must be a boundary that defines someone. That these inferences or assumptions are not true is what anicca can remind us of, and invite us to look at how we rely upon the sense of internality, ownership and so forth in order to prop up the idea that we exist.
As with the other two reminders, anicca is entirely experiential: eventually, no words or concepts are required to know that there is no internal aspect to experience, something that is owned and under our control, or anything that is permanent and thus reliable and predictable. This is fully experienced when all sense of “me” disappears - the accompanying disappearance of all sense of “in here”, and thus of ownership and constancy, is unmistakable.
Among other things, the sense of there being an “in here” gives us a false sense of ownership and control. It can also make a convincing case that there is agency, and thus an agent, as a natural or innate part of life. When that sense of ownership, control and agency disappears, along with all sense of “me”, it can at first be a rather scary experience, since a sense of control and identity are generally what we rely upon in order to feel safe. However, the fact that there is no “in here”, and therefore no boundaries or separation in experience, is really a profound relief. We can then look back and see how the lifelong struggle to claim and then rely upon a portion of experience was a losing battle, and that life is much easier without that struggle.
In working with anicca, it could be that more than one possible connotation provides a fertile working ground. For example, we may start out focusing on the lack of permanence (again, rather than affirming the mutually-defined opposite of “impermanence”), and then realize that what we really want is a sense of ownership and control over what is happening. For me, it was a matter of wanting there to be reliability and predictability in my experience of life, whether or not what was happening around was permanent or not. Whatever the case, eventually we realize that all of these sought-after qualities simply aren’t available.
References:
While the rise and fall of phenomena based on causes and conditions is certainly true at the conventional level, and can be a helpful introduction to the Buddha’s path to awakening, it is a conceptual interpretation that, if not abandoned at some point, can actually be a profound hindrance to awakening. As with the coffee cup we examined in the introduction above, “impermanence” is not something you can actually experience, but is something you have to think about. Further, it requires the notion of “time” and “space” in which the rise and fall of things takes place, both of which are mental fabrications as well.
The Original Meaning
Translating this reminder as “impermanence” is quite ingrained in the Buddhist tradition. As it turns out, referring to standard Pali and Sanskrit dictionaries provides what I suggest is a much more helpful translation for this reminder, in that the primary connotation is “not found inside of”. This was not only a predominant definition of the term in the Buddha’s time, but also the one that agrees with what one comes to know as one awakens.
As described in an article by Minoru Hara (Hara, 1959), the term nitya is composed of the prefix ni- which means "in, into, or at the house of". Therefore, when it is the first part of compound words, the entire term will mean something like "in", "inside of" or sometimes "into" something. The suffix -tya means “to be found or located”. Thus, the basic meaning of the word nitya/nicca is "found inside of", and placing an a- before provides the negative “not found inside of”. As Hara notes, Max Muller (Muller, 1891) observed that the term nitya was exclusively used in Vedic literature to mean what is inside, and by extension what is (presumed to be) one’s own. Since it was the opposite of nishtya (nish+tya) meaning what is outside, strange or hostile, nitya can also be seen as pointing to that which is familiar and safe. Usage of this term to mean what is inside, one’s own, familiar and safe was the primary way the term was used in the Vedic Sanskrit period, which lasted until roughly 500 BCE, which included the period of time in which (as many estimate, anyway) the Buddha lived.
Hara explains that at some point, likely after the Vedic period and into the classical Sanskrit period, the word nitya came to mean not just what was inside of someone, but what was (presumed to be) regularly or even always inside someone. Hara notes that it is natural that, for things which are possessed, they are generally supposed not to be possessed only for a specified length of time; by this, nitya eventually developed a connotation of “always”, and by extension permanent. The term could then be applied to anything one might point to. Once this latter connotation of “permanent” became more common, it was also natural for its opposite (“impermanent”) to be used as well. Hara points out that this sort of semantic shift has been seen in the case of other terms as well.
John Brough (Brough, 1952) observed that the later meanings of nitya developed from the sense of “being located in”, and that it was an easy step to say that something is constantly associated with someone and thus their own. For example, if an expression like aranya-nitya began by meaning ‘dwelling in the forest’, it could have readily acquired the additional connotation of ‘constantly dwelling in the forest’ if that is true of the person(s) involved. He offered that the later senses of nitya as ‘regular, constant, permanent’ are easily derived from this type of development.
Hence we have various derivative meanings of nitya/nicca. Starting from the fundamental meaning of internal or inside, we have secondary meanings such as one’s own, innate, native, and familiar; then, we eventually come to connotations such as always, permanent, and eternal. By this, we can see that contemplating anitya/anicca as impermanence, or perhaps better “no such thing as permanence” (without affirming its mutually-defined opposite of impermanence), while certainly of some value, is only scratching the surface in terms of what anicca can remind us of.
The Glass Ceiling of Impermanence
From a practical perspective, there are important differences between an experiential approach which reveals that there is no internal aspect to experience as compared to a conceptual approach that focuses on the affirmative quality of “impermanence”. For example, if we assume that we need to release our grasping and craving for impermanent things, this merely reinforces the illusion that there is someone with an internal experience who perceives external phenomena and who could possibly do that grasping and craving. However, what we eventually see is that suffering does not arise from grasping after phenomena “out there”, but from grasping after our desired experience “in here” regarding those phenomena.
Also, when the belief in or perception of “time” and “space” eventually falls away, the notion of “impermanence” becomes impossible to perceive, or even generate. Indeed, one has to look forward to the time when the word “impermanence” will no longer have any meaning, other than as a conventional way to describe what happens in daily life. However, we will never get to that point if the contemplation of impermanence is a significant focus of our spiritual practice, by which the notion of impermanence (and the belief in “time” and “space” required as a foundation for impermanence) will become even more ingrained.
Even if anicca is applied solely to ourselves rather than all phenomena, if it is assumed to mean “impermanence”, then the focus shifts to affirming how we are in fact impermanent, and therefore exist as an impermanent “self”. If we do manage to become convinced of our impermanence, it may be more difficult (if not impossible) to see that there really isn’t a “self” of any sort whatsoever, since such a “self” is much more elusive. The traditional interpretation that anicca means “impermanence” therefore places a conceptual limitation, a glass ceiling of sorts, on our ability to awaken, in that we maintain a firm grasp on not just a concept, but a concept that must eventually fall away.
Applying Anicca to Ourselves
The reminder of anicca points to the erroneous reasons we believe we exist (“I Am”) in the first place. For example, if experience seems like it is owned, there must be an owner. If it seems like there is an innate or native quality, that must have a name or identity. If it seems like there is an interior aspect to experience, there must be a boundary that defines someone. That these inferences or assumptions are not true is what anicca can remind us of, and invite us to look at how we rely upon the sense of internality, ownership and so forth in order to prop up the idea that we exist.
As with the other two reminders, anicca is entirely experiential: eventually, no words or concepts are required to know that there is no internal aspect to experience, something that is owned and under our control, or anything that is permanent and thus reliable and predictable. This is fully experienced when all sense of “me” disappears - the accompanying disappearance of all sense of “in here”, and thus of ownership and constancy, is unmistakable.
Among other things, the sense of there being an “in here” gives us a false sense of ownership and control. It can also make a convincing case that there is agency, and thus an agent, as a natural or innate part of life. When that sense of ownership, control and agency disappears, along with all sense of “me”, it can at first be a rather scary experience, since a sense of control and identity are generally what we rely upon in order to feel safe. However, the fact that there is no “in here”, and therefore no boundaries or separation in experience, is really a profound relief. We can then look back and see how the lifelong struggle to claim and then rely upon a portion of experience was a losing battle, and that life is much easier without that struggle.
In working with anicca, it could be that more than one possible connotation provides a fertile working ground. For example, we may start out focusing on the lack of permanence (again, rather than affirming the mutually-defined opposite of “impermanence”), and then realize that what we really want is a sense of ownership and control over what is happening. For me, it was a matter of wanting there to be reliability and predictability in my experience of life, whether or not what was happening around was permanent or not. Whatever the case, eventually we realize that all of these sought-after qualities simply aren’t available.
References:
- Brough, J. (1952). Audumbarayana’s Theory of Language. Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies, 14, pp. 73-7.
- Hara, M. (1959). A note on the Sanskrit word ni-tya. Journal of the American Oriental Society, 79, pp. 90-95.
- Muller, F. (1891). Vedic Hymns / Translated by F. Max Muller. Oxford: Clarendon Press, pp. 209-16.