Excerpted from The Bodhicaryāvatāra (The Way of the Bodhisattva), The Wisdom Chapter
5. Prajñā in the Meditative Concentration (samādhi)
Next comes meditative concentration. How does prajñā, which includes the wisdom of one-sided emptiness and the wisdom of great emptiness,support meditative concentration?
When the mind gives rise to the experiential realization of one-sided emptiness or prajñā, this itself constitutes a form of meditative concentration. What, then, is ordinary concentration? It is merely a state of calm either arising from an external condition, or a mind quietly settled on its own without relying on anything. Such ordinary concentration lacks the profoundly destructive wisdom and the wisdom of complete non-attachment.
There are two kinds of wisdom. One of them is what is called “destructive wisdom.” What does this mean? The one-sided emptiness, which takes emptiness as mere negation of inherent existence, is precisely such destructive wisdom—it dismantles the attachment through which we mistakenly see things as truly existent. True great wisdom of emptiness, however, goes even further and lets go of even this as well. The mind simply abides as it is; that’s it. This is what is referred to as the “ordinary mind” or “natural wisdom.” When one is abiding in the wisdom of single negation, one has not yet recognized what natural wisdom truly is. There remains a subtle form of attachment—an attachment to “non-attachment,” that is, an attachment to “nothingness.”
Clinging to “non-attachment” in this way is what is called one-sided emptiness or similar emptiness.Then, how does abiding in such state differ from ordinary meditative concentration? Why are these two so easily confused?
In ordinary meditative concentration, once the mind is completely relaxed and at peace, it may seem as though nothing is being clung to, and there is also a sense of happiness. However, the human mind is quite strange. When one abides in a purely ordinary form of concentration—mundane concentration shared by both Buddhist and non-Buddhist traditions—it can appear that nothing remains and that external phenomena have disappeared. Yet our mental continuum is still capable of allowing this state of concentration to coexist with all kinds of greed, anger, ignorance, pride, and doubt. This is truly alarming.
In other words, when we are sitting in meditation, if there is neither real realization nor the practice of such single negation—let alone the genuine practice of emptiness—then the mind is simply calm, with nothing else present. How far can this kind of “nothing-at-all” calm actually go? Visual appearances can disappear, sensations can disappear, the body can disappear, and thoughts can cease entirely. For example, one may reach the four formless absorptions of the formless realm—the sphere of infinite space, the sphere of infinite consciousness, the sphere of nothingness, and the sphere of neither perception nor non-perception. At that point, our coarse body, thoughts, and so forth have all disappeared.
However, such states of concentration can coexist with many forms of attachment within our mental continuum, existing there as latent seeds. When the power of that concentration is withdrawn or weakened, these seeds within the continuum immediately arise—they have not been destroyed at all. This is because we have not given rise to the wisdom that recognizes, “even these arising phenomena are themselves empty.” As soon as the seeds manifest,a dualistic sense of inherent existence immediately appears, and we fall back into saṃsāra at once. This is what is meant by non-Buddhist concentration.
However, both the similar prajñā and the true prajñā of Buddhist path are fundamentally different from non-Buddhist meditative concentration. One-sided emptiness, as a form of approximate prajñā, inevitably gives rise to an attachment to “nothingness”—that is, a fixation on the view that “ this is not real,” or, in other words, an attachment to “non-attachment.” How is this trained? When phenomena arise, the mind directly experiences them as “not real” again and again and repeatedly urges itself to “let it go.” This is precisely the practice of mere negation of real existence. Because such a strong fixation on “nothingness” is cultivated during daily meditation, whenever phenomena subsequently arise, the mind immediately takes them to be unreal.
In post-meditation, this experiential mode of the mind continues. Gradually, post-meditation experience becomes similar to the meditative state itself. Whether speaking or acting, the sense of “unreality” continues to operate—everything becomes like this. As a result, attachment is reduced, and dualistic opposition gradually weakens through the practice of such single negation. Moreover, when one abides in such sense of unreality, entering meditative concentration also becomes easier.
Although at this stage one has not yet recognized the true nature and does not understand that appearances themselves are the Dharmatā, one at least recognizes that all appearances are not truly real and then enters meditative concentration while holding this view. Meditative concentration of this kind plays an absolutely decisive role in later relinquishing everything and entering genuine dharma-nature. Therefore, without practicing single negation of true existence, it is extremely difficult to truly realize Dharmatā.
Another key distinction from non-Buddhist meditation lies in authentic prajñā wisdom. Once we transcend the attachment to emptiness and dive into Great Emptiness, everything manifests as Dharmatā. The mind no longer needs to anchor itself to a specific object or some state of pure tranquility. Whether it’s peaceful or chaotic, it’s all IT. This state is, in itself, a form of concentration—one that maintains an uncontrived, and natural awareness.
Since it is 'uncontrived' in nature, it is inherently effortless and non-fabricated; it can simply flow on and on. Within this awareness, every manifestation—every single thing—is nothing but awareness itself. This is how we realize that 'everything is Dharmatā.' This state is, in its very essence, a form of concentration described as: 'Settled without being fixed, and unfixed yet remaining settled.' When the mind abides completely in Dharmatā, it is the supreme concentration, known as ' Śūraṅgama Samādhi' or 'Dharmatā-Samādhi'.
Why do we experience suffering? Because we engage in discrimination—judging this as good and that as bad—and thus give rise to pursuit and fear. This is the mundane mind; this is saṃsāra. If everything were entirely Dharmatā, how could there be any fear? With no fear, there would also be no pursuit—what would there be to pursue? If everything is Dharmatā, what could still be sought? Such a person is naturally happy and also enters meditative concentration with ease. Therefore, prajñā wisdom provides profound support for meditative concentration.
But at present, we have only a small amount of learning and reflection concerning prajñā wisdom—does this still help meditative concentration? At the very beginning, this limited learning and reflection may not provide much immediate support for concentration, but it will be of great benefit for the future. This is because the practice of single negation begins precisely in this way: one sits cross-legged, settles into meditation, contemplating and cultivating the understanding of the “Emptiness” that have been previously studied and reflected upon.
In fact, this is exactly what one keeps doing, again and again. Through contemplation, experiential feelings arise; once such feelings have arisen, one enters concentration within those feelings. This is what is called the practice of one-sided emptiness. Eventually, the experience of emptiness itself is relinquished, the nature of mind is clearly recognized, and one then enters Dharmatā-samādhi.
Therefore, learning and reflection on prajñā are extremely important for us at present. They play an absolutely decisive role in enabling us, in the future, to truly enter the meditative concentration of similar emptiness and Dharmatā-samādhi.
Here, I have explained in some detail the functions and relationships between the five practices—generosity, ethical discipline, patience, diligence, and meditative concentration—and prajñā. Why go into such detail? In fact, for many senior fellow practitioners, this material is already quite familiar and has been studied many times before. However, many newer practitioners may not have encountered it, which is why we return to it again and again.
When we study these teachings, repetition is precisely what is required. Much of what I say is repeated, and while repeating it, I hope that everyone does not treat it as mere knowledge. If it were only a matter of acquiring information, there would be no need to study it repeatedly. There are so many texts on the Middle Way—why would one need to read them one by one? Each master presents different perspectives—why would it be necessary to understand them all? A rough familiarity would be sufficient. However, such a superficial understanding is far removed from what we have just discussed as the genuine realization of the Middle Way. To realize the Middle Way means to clarify the details thoroughly and to give rise to direct experience.
