The Formless Layers
kaanates
Of the meditation steps described in the Shorter Discourse on Emptiness, most concern the preparation for and experience of the four formless layers, or “spheres” as they are also termed. I prefer calling them “layers” because each, like the layers of an onion, is a stratum of experience that is exposed or revealed when another stratum such as space or consciousness is removed. The remaining stratum or layer that is thus exposed is not permanent, but is itself removed in the next step, until all four removable layers are gone. The Pali term, ayatana, can also be translated as home or abode: these are in fact fairly stable “places” to be when meditating. The four formless layers are:
Each layer describes the current experiential setting or perspective that results when each of these the four statements above are true. They are phrased in the negative to emphasize the fact that some aspect of experience that is normally “there” in daily life is now absent. Thus, it’s not that we create or cultivate these meditative states: we simply allow what was obscuring a given layer to be temporarily removed.
What we remove, or perhaps better allow to temporarily subside, are what amount to layers of interpretation that we mentally superimpose onto what we perceive. Once allowed to subside, their absence is so remarkable to us that it lends its name to each layer. It is this contrast that we notice: what is happening in each layer therefore appears much different to us than what we were experiencing a few moments ago.
For example, our experience of finite, three-dimensional space is something we might take for granted in daily life. Whether it is the room in which we are, the distance to the book on the table or the dimensions of our body, we come to believe in and experience “space” as a finite quality of not just ourselves and our immediate surroundings, but (we presume) of the universe in general. And yet, in the first formless layer, we see firsthand that “space” is the result of internal mental processes - in other words, it is an interpretation. By temporarily relaxing or letting go of that interpretation, which naturally happens in the course of meditation, our sense of “space” can completely disappear.
Once we open our eyes, the interpretation of “space” comes back quite quickly - it’s not like we forget where things are and how to get across the street. However, when the interpretation of “space” is absent within the corresponding formless layer, this temporary state is aptly called “the layer of no finite space” because we don’t experience space at all. It may seem as though space is now infinite, by which this stage is often translated as the layer of "infinite space”. And yet, this is only in contrast to the familiar structure of finite “space" that we otherwise experience. If we look closely, we find that space is entirely absent; there is nothing called space that could be finite or infinite.
Canonical references to the formless layers and how they might be used in the process of awakening are numerous, including the passages describing the path to enlightenment for the Buddha’s most senior disciples Sariputta and Moggallana. The Buddha recommended formless layer practice during his initial set of teachings to his first five students, and it was his final meditation teaching before his death. The formless layers may be combined with other traditional approaches; for example, the Buddha prescribed the 16-step practice focused on the breath as the basis for formless layer practice, and meditations focused on love, compassion, joy and equanimity may be used as either precursors or adjuncts. However, while the Buddha mentioned this type of meditative practice numerous times, it is only in the Shorter Discourse that we find a detailed set of instructions.
As to why they are called “formless” layers, perhaps the best way to approach it is that the four aspects of experience that temporarily disappear or are suspended underlay our perception of form and the sense that everything we experience (including and especially ourselves) has boundaries and separation. These four precursors of form which we can temporarily suspend are:
These four layers or aspects of experience aren’t themselves form, but they are necessary for the eventual experience of form. The original word in Pali (arupa) can also mean “pre-form” or “not quite form”; however, “formless” is the standard translation.
Working our way up from the bottom, the first mental interpretation we put in place is that we have something, a sort of faculty or receiver, called perception which can perceive or recognize other “somethings”, should those things exist. This is not a conscious interpretation: instead, at some point early in our lives it became a foregone conclusion that there is such a sensor or faculty “in here somewhere” where and by which perception occurs. (Note: those familiar with the unfettering process will recognize “perception” as the 7th fetter, the breaking of which results in us no longer experiencing this or any of the other four precursors of form.)
If we assume we have a faculty or receiving apparatus called “perception”, it is natural to then assume there are “somethings” which we can thus perceive: after all, that's what perception does(!). An aspect of this apparent process of perception is that everything that we perceive appears to be independently-existing phenomena that are just waiting for us to perceive them. And because we expect to perceive these sorts of “real somethings”, all that we see (and hear, touch and even think) appears to have a certain “something-ness” (or “thing-ness”) to it that makes it what it is. For example, if we look at a coffee cup, it implicitly has a certain “cup-ness” that makes it a cup, even if we also remind ourselves that not long ago it was a lump of clay in the earth, or that it will be a bunch of clay shards if we drop it on the floor. Most significantly, we presume that we are also a “something” with a certain “me-ness” which makes us what and who we are.
With “something-ness” now in place, the next thing we need to determine is what type of “something” we are perceiving, which is where what we refer to as consciousness comes in. In Buddhism, this is often divided up into six types of consciousness: seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, touching and thinking. These six correspond to the types of information we take in by which (we believe) we know what particular thing we are perceiving. It therefore becomes natural to assume that there really is something called “consciousness”, a finite and real ability or process that we have, in large part because the information it gives us (colors, sounds, smells and so forth) is such convincing proof that we aren’t just looking at something: we are looking at a particular something. It can be noted that this discriminating sort of consciousness is different from what can feel like a more fundamental sort of consciousness or awareness that gives us the sense that we are alive and conscious at all, which is the focus of the 8th fetter.
Finally, in order to keep all of these newly-perceived things separate and distinct, we need somewhere to mentally put them all, therefore we fabricate the notion of “real” and finite space in which each and every particular “something” exists. This gives the illusion of depth and breadth to experience, and allows for the (mentally contrived) sense of separation and boundaries. With these four illusions in place, we can go on to experience “forms” that are separate and distinct from the form we appear to take, that of an individual with a mind and body that perceives those forms. This leads to what appears to be a subject/object relationship with all we perceive: it is by “breaking” the 6th fetter that we see this relationship does not actually exist, and also that what we experience does not have the three-dimensional depth we once projected onto it.
- No Finite Space
- No Finite Consciousness
- No Something-ness
- Neither Perception nor Non-Perception
Each layer describes the current experiential setting or perspective that results when each of these the four statements above are true. They are phrased in the negative to emphasize the fact that some aspect of experience that is normally “there” in daily life is now absent. Thus, it’s not that we create or cultivate these meditative states: we simply allow what was obscuring a given layer to be temporarily removed.
What we remove, or perhaps better allow to temporarily subside, are what amount to layers of interpretation that we mentally superimpose onto what we perceive. Once allowed to subside, their absence is so remarkable to us that it lends its name to each layer. It is this contrast that we notice: what is happening in each layer therefore appears much different to us than what we were experiencing a few moments ago.
For example, our experience of finite, three-dimensional space is something we might take for granted in daily life. Whether it is the room in which we are, the distance to the book on the table or the dimensions of our body, we come to believe in and experience “space” as a finite quality of not just ourselves and our immediate surroundings, but (we presume) of the universe in general. And yet, in the first formless layer, we see firsthand that “space” is the result of internal mental processes - in other words, it is an interpretation. By temporarily relaxing or letting go of that interpretation, which naturally happens in the course of meditation, our sense of “space” can completely disappear.
Once we open our eyes, the interpretation of “space” comes back quite quickly - it’s not like we forget where things are and how to get across the street. However, when the interpretation of “space” is absent within the corresponding formless layer, this temporary state is aptly called “the layer of no finite space” because we don’t experience space at all. It may seem as though space is now infinite, by which this stage is often translated as the layer of "infinite space”. And yet, this is only in contrast to the familiar structure of finite “space" that we otherwise experience. If we look closely, we find that space is entirely absent; there is nothing called space that could be finite or infinite.
Canonical references to the formless layers and how they might be used in the process of awakening are numerous, including the passages describing the path to enlightenment for the Buddha’s most senior disciples Sariputta and Moggallana. The Buddha recommended formless layer practice during his initial set of teachings to his first five students, and it was his final meditation teaching before his death. The formless layers may be combined with other traditional approaches; for example, the Buddha prescribed the 16-step practice focused on the breath as the basis for formless layer practice, and meditations focused on love, compassion, joy and equanimity may be used as either precursors or adjuncts. However, while the Buddha mentioned this type of meditative practice numerous times, it is only in the Shorter Discourse that we find a detailed set of instructions.
As to why they are called “formless” layers, perhaps the best way to approach it is that the four aspects of experience that temporarily disappear or are suspended underlay our perception of form and the sense that everything we experience (including and especially ourselves) has boundaries and separation. These four precursors of form which we can temporarily suspend are:
- Space
- Consciousness
- Something-ness
- Perception
These four layers or aspects of experience aren’t themselves form, but they are necessary for the eventual experience of form. The original word in Pali (arupa) can also mean “pre-form” or “not quite form”; however, “formless” is the standard translation.
Working our way up from the bottom, the first mental interpretation we put in place is that we have something, a sort of faculty or receiver, called perception which can perceive or recognize other “somethings”, should those things exist. This is not a conscious interpretation: instead, at some point early in our lives it became a foregone conclusion that there is such a sensor or faculty “in here somewhere” where and by which perception occurs. (Note: those familiar with the unfettering process will recognize “perception” as the 7th fetter, the breaking of which results in us no longer experiencing this or any of the other four precursors of form.)
If we assume we have a faculty or receiving apparatus called “perception”, it is natural to then assume there are “somethings” which we can thus perceive: after all, that's what perception does(!). An aspect of this apparent process of perception is that everything that we perceive appears to be independently-existing phenomena that are just waiting for us to perceive them. And because we expect to perceive these sorts of “real somethings”, all that we see (and hear, touch and even think) appears to have a certain “something-ness” (or “thing-ness”) to it that makes it what it is. For example, if we look at a coffee cup, it implicitly has a certain “cup-ness” that makes it a cup, even if we also remind ourselves that not long ago it was a lump of clay in the earth, or that it will be a bunch of clay shards if we drop it on the floor. Most significantly, we presume that we are also a “something” with a certain “me-ness” which makes us what and who we are.
With “something-ness” now in place, the next thing we need to determine is what type of “something” we are perceiving, which is where what we refer to as consciousness comes in. In Buddhism, this is often divided up into six types of consciousness: seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, touching and thinking. These six correspond to the types of information we take in by which (we believe) we know what particular thing we are perceiving. It therefore becomes natural to assume that there really is something called “consciousness”, a finite and real ability or process that we have, in large part because the information it gives us (colors, sounds, smells and so forth) is such convincing proof that we aren’t just looking at something: we are looking at a particular something. It can be noted that this discriminating sort of consciousness is different from what can feel like a more fundamental sort of consciousness or awareness that gives us the sense that we are alive and conscious at all, which is the focus of the 8th fetter.
Finally, in order to keep all of these newly-perceived things separate and distinct, we need somewhere to mentally put them all, therefore we fabricate the notion of “real” and finite space in which each and every particular “something” exists. This gives the illusion of depth and breadth to experience, and allows for the (mentally contrived) sense of separation and boundaries. With these four illusions in place, we can go on to experience “forms” that are separate and distinct from the form we appear to take, that of an individual with a mind and body that perceives those forms. This leads to what appears to be a subject/object relationship with all we perceive: it is by “breaking” the 6th fetter that we see this relationship does not actually exist, and also that what we experience does not have the three-dimensional depth we once projected onto it.