Excerpted from The Bodhicaryāvatāra (The Way of the Bodhisattva), Chapter on Wisdom
The Role of Prajñā in the Five Pāramitās
Put differently, the first five pāramitās culminate in prajñā. Conversely, if we gain some conceptual understanding of prajñā, or even a preliminary experience of one-sided emptiness , does this influence the practice of the first five pāramitās? The answer is: yes, it certainly does.
1.Prajñā in the Practice of Generosity (dāna)
When all phenomena are understood to be dreamlike and illusory, doesn’t the practice of generosity become much easier ? When one first begins to give, reluctance often arises in the mind: “Ah! I can’t part with it. This is such a nice thing, and giving it away does not seem worthwhile—especially when it’s money!” But when money is genuinely regarded as dreamlike and illusory and even one’s own body is seen in the same way, then the act of giving no longer feels so difficult.
A bodhisattva on the first bhūmi, whose realization of prajñā is relatively complete, can even give away their own body. Why is this so? Because such a bodhisattva no longer clings to the body as truly real—the unreality of the body is known experientially and intuitively, rather than merely in a conceptual or intellectual way. Therefore, at that stage, giving—of any kind—comes with great ease.
To intuitively experience the body as unreal may sound implausible—for example, as if one would feel no pain even when the body is pierced with a knife. However, for the first bhūmi, this is already an accomplished reality. What about ordinary beings like ourselves? We may conceptually understand that the body is unreal, but if someone were to presse a burning cigarette against our skin, the resulting pain would immediately convince us that the body is indeed very real. This is because of attachment: the mind is unable to intuitively experience the body as unreal.
The intuitive experience of the body as unreal can reach a very deep level. However, reaching this stage requires diligent effort and meditative concentration in one’s practice. If one truly gains some realization of emptiness—even at the level of “one-sided emptiness ”—prajñā will greatly support the practice of generosity.
2.Prajñā in the Practice of Ethical Discipline (Śīla)
The same principle applies to ethical discipline as well. What is ethical discipline? In essence, when the mind gives rise to impulses such as greed, anger, ignorance, arrogance, and doubt, the act of restraining them is what we call ethical discipline. However, this is often difficult to accomplish, and sometimes we even fail to observe certain precepts at all. Why is this so? Because we are unable to restrain these impulses. If, through practice, we come to understand that the emotions arising in the mind, our unhealthy habits, and the external conditions we depend on are all empty in nature, then our attachment to them naturally diminishes, and ethical discipline becomes much easier to uphold.
The highest form of ethical discipline is one in which there is, ultimately, no discipline to be observed. Why is that so? The one who upholds ethical discipline is not truly real; the discipline itself is not truly real; and the actions involved, along with their objects, are likewise not truly real. Therefore, there is no discipline to be observed—this is precisely the highest ethical discipline. In other words, when we genuinely gain some realization of emptiness, looking back, observing ethical discipline naturally becomes more relaxed, effortless, and much easier.
3.Prajñā in the Practice of Patience (kṣānti)
Next comes patience. When external objects and thoughts arise, the mind often finds them difficult to restrain. If one has cultivated emptiness well, then when thoughts arise, they are seen as dharmatā; when external objects appear, they too are seen as dharmatā. This makes the practice of patience much easier. Of course, this is easy to say; in actual practice, it depends on what kind of thoughts are arising. For wholesome thoughts, it is much easier to recognize them as dharmatā. But what if someone insults you? What about anger? Are these still what we call dharmatā?
When one’s realization of prajñā becomes relatively deep, even when thoughts arise, it is as the siddha Milarepa said: “The more thoughts arise, the greater the joy.” With such experiential realization, sustaining the practice of patience becomes easy. When various emotions arise, if their nature can be truly observed and directly experienced through prajñā, they will quickly dissolve. After this dissolution is felt, a sense of ease and clarity naturally arises. Once such experiences occur in practice, they will provide powerful support for deepening one’s realization of prajñā.
When most of us are tormented by emotions, the experience is extremely painful—for example, after a breakup, career setbacks, or conflicts with close friends. At such times, the mind becomes tightly knotted, and it is difficult to fall asleep at night. If one has some experience in the practice of emptiness, then when emotions arise, one can examine whether they are truly real. They are certainly not real. Why is that? Today’s emotions did not exist yesterday, and they cannot last forever. Yet in the present moment they feel impossible to shake off—why is this so? It is because the mind is too attached. What need to be done at this moment is to directly experience the emptiness of the emotion itself. If one has already tasted emptiness through practice, one can deliberately bring that experiential familiarity into the present emotional state—almost like “copying and pasting” the experience of emptiness onto the emotion. This process is, in fact, a kind of inner struggle.
Even “one-sided emptiness” involves a degree of struggle; it is not genuine prajñā, but rather a semblance of prajñā. Nevertheless, by applying this method, emotional intensity gradually diminishes. As the emotions subside, the mind returns to a state of ease and quiet joy, free from mental affliction. Compared with ordinary experiences of ease, this sense of ease is deeper and more profound.
Why is this so? Because it is like having just laid down a heavy burden. For example, when you normally are not carrying a load, you may feel no weights. But if you deliberately pick up a heavy burden and then put it down, at that moment you feel an immediate sense of relief. The principle in both cases is the same. Therefore, when the cultivation of prajñā reaches a certain level, it greatly supports the practice of patience. Whether it is thoughts, emotions, or external objects that arise, their impact on the mind gradually lessens, and may even disappear. Of course, if the influence were to disappear completely, that would be extraordinary; more commonly, it simply diminishes. And this very decrease already indicates a genuine realization of emptiness. Thus, prajñā plays a profound role in supporting the practice of patience.
Of course, true patience is to abide in prajñā itself. At that point, there is no need to struggle against afflictive emotions; one simply does not depart from prajñā. For the nature of them is itself prajñā, and they can only ultimately dissolve into prajñā.
4.Prajñā in the Practice of Diligence (vīrya)
What about diligence? How does it relate to prajñā? And how does prajñā, in turn, support diligence?
True diligence is the joy that arises from practice—what we call “Dharma joy,” something many fellow practitioners are already familiar with. The mind naturally inclines toward what is joyful, and when Dharma joy arises, it naturally wishes to remain there.
When we practice prajñā, the mind begins to loosen from many attachments, and a sense of joy naturally arises. We then come to realize that this joy does not depend on anything. By contrast, the happiness we experienced in the past always depended on this or that condition.
I wonder whether fellow practitioners who study emptiness have ever noticed this: that the happiness we experienced in the past almost always depended on something. For example, in a romantic relationship, there must be another person as the object of our affection—whether of the same or a different gender. You cannot fall in love with yourself, that would just be narcissism. When we eat, there must be food to eat. Even vanity requires an audience: someone to flatter us, or someone to look at us with envy—“admiring my Hermès bag,” for instance. Without others looking at you, the Hermès bag loses its meaning. As Xiang Yu once said, “To achieve success but never return home is like wearing fine clothes in the dark.” Prosperity that is never seen brings little satisfaction and fail to gratify vanity, just like walking at night in splendid garments that no one can see, making such achievements essentially meaningless. Therefore, no matter what form it takes, this kind of happiness always depends on external objects.
However, the Dharma joy that arises from cultivating emptiness is different: it does not depend on anything. On the contrary, it is precisely after letting go of these things that joy arises in the mind. You come to realize that this kind of happiness requires nothing at all, and no longer compels us to search for it in such complicated and painful ways. Moreover, this joy continues to deepen and never fades away.
Happiness that depends on external objects is fragile and very easy to deteriorate. As external conditions change, many things are difficult—or even impossible—to obtain. Take Hermès, for example: it is not easy to acquire. One needs a great deal of money to buy it, and in order to earn that money, we may have to do many things we would rather not do. Therefore, seeking happiness through external objects is not only difficult, but inevitably leads to harmful consequences.
However, you will find that the practice of emptiness is not like this. It requires nothing at all: one simply sits, and as the mind experiences everything as unreal, a sense of joy naturally arises. This kind of joy is what we may call genuine happiness—it does not change in dependence on external conditions. Of course, “one-sided emptiness ” still involves a subtle dependence, though this dependence is deeply hidden. It rests on a fundamental point: the mind still clings to “one-sided emptiness” For this reason, it is not yet true liberation. Nevertheless, apart from this subtle attachment, it no longer relies on anything else. Once this kind of Dharma joy arises, one naturally wishes to remain fully engaged within the practice of “one-sided emptiness.”
If you consider yourself someone who practices “one-sided emptiness” proficiently, simply ask yourself whether you genuinely enjoy this practice. If you do, it means that you have begun to truly taste the practice. If not—if you are still forcing yourself with thoughts like “I must empty it, and must strive to empty it, empty, empty, empty,” feeling strained and exhausted, thinking, “Ah, I’m so tired, I need a break”—then this indicates that your practice has not yet matured. Genuine “one-sided emptiness ” is not like this. Rather, one simply sits there with a sense of ease and quiet joy: “appearance—emptiness; emptiness—appearance,” continuing effortlessly in this way. In such a state, one can sit for a long time without fatigue. This is what we call diligence.
What we have been discussing so far concerns only “one-sided emptiness ”—a semblance of prajñā, not genuine prajñā. If one were to directly realize dharmatā, the result would be far more profound. In such realization, even attachment to “one-sided emptiness” falls away. In that state, everything—inner and outer alike—is dharmatā. One simply abides in dharmatā itself, and the joy is even greater. Therefore, the experiential realization of prajñā—even if only a semblance—plays a powerful role in supporting diligence among the six pāramitās.
