7. The Perfection of Truthfulness

The opening paragraphs of this chapter deal with how the Pāḷi words for forbearance (khantī) and truth (sacca) are adopted with some change in the Myanmar language and how truthfulness is likened in the Myanmar literature to the morning star, which never deviates from its course. We have left them out of our translation.

Just as the morning star always goes straight without deviating from its course, so one should speak straight and truthfully; such speech alone means truthfulness.

Two Kinds of Truth

Truth (sacca) is not a separate ultimate principle like wisdom (paññā) or energy (viriya). It is truthfulness without having a trace of falsehood. It involves such mental concomitants as restraint (virati-cetasika) and volition (cetanā-cetasika). As truthfulness varies under [1625] different circumstances, truth is basically of two kinds: conventional truth (sammuti-sacca) and ultimate truth (paramattha-sacca).

Only these two kinds of truth are taught by the Buddha; there is no such thing as a third truth; there is no truth other than these two in the entire world.

Of these two kinds, the conventional truth is the truth which agrees with what has been named by people. People generally name things according to their shapes. They call a thing of this shape a “human,” a thing of that shape a “bull,” a thing of another shape a “horse.” Again, among humans, one of this shape is called a “man” and one of that shape a “woman.” There are, in this way, as many names as there are things.

If you call a thing named “man” a man, it is a conventional truth; it is conventionally correct for you to say so. If you call what has been named “man” a bull, it is not a conventional truth; it is not conventionally correct for you to say so. If you refer to someone who has been named “woman” as a “man,” it is not a conventional truth; it is not conventionally correct for you to say so. In this way, one should differentiate between the two truths.

That which not only has been named by people but which really exists in its ultimate sense is called ultimate truth. For example, when it is said: “The thing that knows various sense objects is mind (citta),” the knowing principle is an ultimate truth because it truly exists in its ultimate sense. When it is said, “the thing that changes owing to opposite phenomena, such as heat and cold, is matter (rūpa),” the changing principle is an ultimate truth because it truly exists in its ultimate sense. In this way, mental concomitants (cetasika) and Nibbāna should also be known as ultimate truths because they also truly exist in their ultimate sense.

Of the two kinds of truth, the conventional truth is associated with perception (saññā); in other words, the conventional truth depends on perception. Recognition of things according to their respective shapes as one has been saying since one’s childhood, “such a shape is a man,” “such a shape is a woman,” “such a shape is a bull,” “such a shape is a horse,” and so on, is perception. A person seeing through perception will say, “there exists a human body,” “there exists a man,” “there exists a woman,” etc.

The ultimate truth is the object of wisdom. In other words, it manifests itself through wisdom. The greater the wisdom, the more discernable is the ultimate truth. Wisdom makes an analysis of everything and sees its true nature. When it is said: “The thing that knows various sense objects in the mind,” wisdom investigates whether a knowing principle exists or not and decides that it does. If there were no such thing as knowing, there would never be beings; all would have been sheer matter, such as stones, rocks and the like. Material things are far from knowing. But all beings do cognize various sense objects. When wisdom thus ponders, there manifests itself the principle (citta) which knows sense objects.

Therefore, that mind exists, in an ultimate sense, is clear to those who think through wisdom; the more they think, the clearer they comprehend. But to those who see things through perception, it will not be clear; it will remain indiscernible, because, as has been said before, perception is an identification of shapes. When you say there is mind, the perceptionist may ask, “Is the mind round, flat or square? Is it a powder, a liquid, or a gas?” But you cannot answer that it is round, flat, or square, nor can you say that it is a powder, a liquid or a gas. If you cannot say anything, he may argue that there is no such thing as mind; because if there were such a thing, it must be round, flat or square; it must be a powder, a liquid or a gas. To the perceptionist, who is preoccupied with the idea of concrete forms, mind does not exist simply because it does not assume any concrete form.

Just as the perceptionist cannot see the ultimate truth, so the intellectual cannot see [1626] conventional truth. When the intellectual takes a look at what has been named “man” by the perceptionist, he does so with an analytical mind and makes 32 portions of this person, such as hair on the head, hair on the body, fingernails, toenails, etc. “Is the hair on the head called man?” “Is hair on the body called man?” The answers to these questions cannot be in the affirmative. In the same way, when a similar question on each of the remaining portions of the human body is asked, the answer will be no every time. If none of these portions can be called “man,” the intellectual will say: “Well, there really does not exist such a thing called man.”

Conventional truth appears only when it is seen through perception, but when seen through wisdom, it disappears, so also the ultimate truth, which appears when it is seen through wisdom; when seen through perception, it disappears.

In this connection, what is particularly noteworthy is the fact that Nibbāna is an ultimate truth. This ultimate truth is peace through cessation of all kinds of sorrow and suffering. This peace can be discerned only when it is examined by means of sharp insight but not by means of perception.

Nowadays, some people might like to ask: “Are there palatial buildings in Nibbāna?” “How do those who have passed into Nibbāna enjoy themselves there?” They ask such questions because of their perception of Nibbāna, which, as ultimate truth, lies in the sphere of wisdom.

To be sure, there are no palatial buildings in Nibbāna, nor are there any individuals that pass into Nibbāna. Those who have realized the peace of Nibbāna with their attainment of Awakening are no longer subject to rebirth, and their minds and bodies cease to exist when demise takes place in their final existence, like a great flame of fire goes extinct. Such a cessation is called passing into Parinibbāna. No living entity exists in Nibbāna.

“If that were the case, such a thing as Nibbāna would not exist,” the perceptionist would say, “it is, therefore, useless and unnecessary.” In order to encourage him, others would assert: “Nibbāna is a place where beings are immortal, assuming special mental and physical forms and enjoying incomparable luxury in palaces and mansions.” Then only is the perceptionist satisfied because the assertion agrees with what he has preconceived.

If one looks through perception at something and sees the appearance of its concrete form, it is not absolute (paramattha), but merely a conventional designation (paññatti). So also, if one looks through wisdom at something and sees the disappearance of its form that is not absolute either but merely a conventional designation too. Only when one looks through wisdom and sees its true nature, then is it absolute. The more one looks thus, the more one sees such reality. Therefore, Nibbāna, which is just peace, highly unique absoluteness, should not be sought through perception, which tends to grasp form and substance. Instead, it should be examined through wisdom, which tends to remove form and substance and delve into their true nature so that the peace that is Nibbāna manifests itself.

Conventional truth and ultimate truth are both acceptable, each in its own context, as has been shown above. Suppose a person takes an oath saying: “I declare that there really exist a man and a woman. If what I have declared is not correct, let misfortune befall me,” and suppose another person would also take an oath saying: “I declare that there really do not exist a man and a woman. If what I have declared is not correct, let misfortune befall me;” never will misfortune befall either of them. The reason is: Though the two declarations are against each other, both are correct from their respective points of view. The former, correct from the point of view of conventional usage, is conventional truth; the latter, correct from the point of view of ultimate sense, is ultimate truth.

Although Buddhas intend to teach only the nature of absolute reality, they do not exclude the conventional terms from their teaching. Instead, they mention them side by side with those of ultimate truth. For instance, even in the first discourse, though the emphasis is on [1627] the two extremes and the middle path, it is taught that “the two extremes should not be taken up by a monastic,” in which “monastic” is a mere designation.

[The translators had here written “a recluse,” which implies that the underlying word was samaṇa. The latter, however, is not mentioned in the relevant section, only monastics (bhikkhu) are mentioned there. It should further be noticed that none of the Group-of-Five had been ordained at this time, but they were still referred to by the Buddha as bhikkhu.]

When the Buddha teaches ultimate truth, he uses conventional designations wherever necessary. He does so not just to make a contrast. For ordinary persons, the conventional truth is as important as the ultimate truth. Had the Buddha taught things only in ultimate terms, those with the proper mental attitude will understand that “whatever exists in the world is impermanent, unsatisfactory and unsubstantial,” and they will make efforts to cultivate insight (vipassanā) meditation, which will directly lead them to Nibbāna.

On the other hand, those with an improper mental attitude will hold thus: “It is said that there are only aggregates of mind and matter, which are subject to impermanence, suffering and unsubstantiality in this world. There is no self, nor are there other persons. Then there cannot be such things as ‘my wealth, my son, my wife,’ nor can there be such things as ‘his wealth, his son, his wife.’ One can make use of anything as one desires. Because there is no such thing as ‘he,’ there can be no such thing as ‘killing him,’ no such thing as ‘stealing his property,’ no such thing as ‘doing wrong with his wife.’ ” Thus will they commit evil according to their wild desires. So, upon their death, they will be reborn in states of suffering. To prevent this, the discourses are delivered embodying conventional terms. The discourse teachings thus form effective measures for beings to prevent them from falling into the four states of suffering.

Besides, the discourse teachings lead beings to such happy states as the human world, the celestial world and the Brahma world because the virtues, namely: generosity, morality and tranquillity meditation, which are conducive to rebirth in those states, are most numerously taught in the discourses.

For example, to accomplish a meritorious act of generosity, there must be the supporter, his volition, the recipient and the object to offer. Of these factors, volition alone is an ultimate reality, but the rest are just designations, exclusion of which makes generosity impossible. The same is true of morality and tranquillity meditation.

Therefore, it should be stated without any doubt that conventional truth leads to happy abodes as has been noted. Exclusion of conventional truth, to say the least, will deter fulfilment of the perfections which are required for becoming a Buddha.

Although it is true that the Buddha’s teachings of discourses alone would make beings avoid wrongdoings, since the Buddha himself has said that there exist “I,” “he,” “mine,” “his,” “my wife and children” and “his wife and children,” etc. There is a danger of beings becoming strongly attached to the wrong notion that there really exist such things and becoming gradually removed from the paths, fruitions and Nibbāna. In order to help them reach these paths, fruitions and Nibbāna, the Buddha had to teach ultimate truth as embodied in the Abhidhamma.

The discourses’ teaching of the existence of individuals and things belonging to them is made in agreement with designations which are universally used. But by means of the Abhidhamma, the Buddha had to remove their wrong notions, saying that there is no such thing as “I,” “he,” “man,” “woman,” etc.; therefore, because of their conventional terms it should not be grasped that they really exist; all is but impermanent, unsatisfactory and unsubstantial.

In this way, the Buddha explained that there exist “I,” “he,” “man,” “woman,” etc. only as mere designations or as conventional truth and that these things do not exist in their ultimate sense, hence the need for him to teach both kinds of truth.

Ultimate truth is of two kinds: natural truth and noble truth. All the four ultimate realities: mind, mental concomitants, matter and Nibbāna, constitute natural truth because they are real in the absolute sense. [1628]

In the field of mundane affairs, there are both physical happiness (sukha) and mental happiness (somanassa), which constitute natural truth. If one is in contact with a pleasant object, because of that touch, there arises happiness in one’s person. None can deny that, saying: “No, it is not true,” or “No, it is not good to be in contact with a pleasant object.” Nobody can say so because of the fact that one is really happy to be in contact with a desirable body as a sense object (iṭṭha-phoṭṭhabbārammaṇa).

Similarly, if one’s mind is in contact with a pleasant mind object, one enjoys mental happiness. Such a feeling is called a pleasant feeling (somanassa-vedanā). This is irrefutable because the arising of mental happiness is a reality. Thus, it should be held that both happiness (sukha) and pleasure (somanassa) exist in mundane affairs.

The Noble Truths

The Noble Truth of Suffering

In terms of the noble truths, one does not see either happiness (sukha) or pleasure (somanassa) in mundane affairs. If one clings to the view that there exist both happiness and pleasure as natural truth, one cannot be detached from having a worldly outlook; one cannot then attain the state of a noble one (ariya). Therefore, one who aspires to become a noble one (ariya) should make efforts to see that the mental states called happiness and pleasure, in terms of natural truth, are all suffering. These feelings, called happiness and pleasure, are things which cannot remain without change forever; indeed, they are subject to change every second.

Worldlings crave the pleasures of human and divine abodes, wrongly believing that they are a source of happiness and delight. They do so because they do not know such pleasures to be transitory and subject to constant change. They are ignorant of the true nature of these pleasures because they have little intelligence but great craving. Such ignorant people will look upon them as enjoyable and delightful before the process of decay and deterioration sets in. But it is in their nature to change, and when that happens, these people become sad much more than they had been happy.

For example, a poor man will become very happy the moment he hears that he has won a lottery prize. Then he starts daydreaming how to spend and enjoy his wealth to make up for his former poverty. While he is building castles in the air, he loses all his money through some misfortune. It may be imagined how unhappy he will be then. His sorrow at the loss of his wealth will be far greater than his happiness on becoming suddenly rich.

In the field of worldly affairs, everything is associated with both enjoyment and sorrow. The five sense-pleasures are enjoyable to worldlings. But the Buddha says that they are more suffering than enjoyment. Unlike worldlings, however, the Buddha’s disciples do not find them enjoyable, much less the Buddha. Yet, the Buddha does not say that they are totally devoid of pleasantness; he only says that there is little pleasantness but much sorrow in them.

In any situation, the wise and virtuous always consider first whether there is fault or no fault but never whether there is pleasantness or unpleasantness. If there is fault, they take no interest in it, even if there is pleasantness. They decide it is undesirable to them. If there is no fault, they take it to be desirable even if pleasantness is absent.

Supposing someone is told that he could rule a country as a Universal Monarch just for one day, but that the next day he would be executed. Then there would be none who dares or desires to rule. From the point of view of a worldling, a Universal Monarch’s life for one day, which has never been enjoyed before, may be entirely attractive. But as there is the impending death on the following day, which is a great disadvantage, there would be nobody who will enjoy one day’s life of such a Universal Monarch.

In the same way, seeing that everything is perishable, the noble ones cannot hold temporary pleasure, which occurs just before it vanishes, as enjoyment. One can become a noble person only through contemplation that “there is no such thing as happiness in this world; everything is impermanent; as there is no permanence, there is no happiness; there is but sorrow.”

Only by developing insight through the contemplation that everything in the world is of the nature of suffering, it is possible to become a noble one (ariya). The aggregates of phenomena, which [1629] are the objects of such meditation, is called a noble truth. In other words, since the noble ones meditate on this aggregate of mundane phenomena as they really are, it is called a noble truth.

The insight that, in the cycle of existence which are called the three worlds, there is no enjoyment at all but only suffering, according to the right view held by those who are working for the attainment of the noble state and by those who have already attained the same, is a truth; it is therefore called the noble truth of suffering.

In short, the five aggregates of clinging (pañcūpādānakkhandha), also named the phenomena of the three mundane planes of existence, are all suffering, and they are nothing but suffering. The five aggregates of clinging are: the aggregate of matter (rūpa), the aggregate of feelings (vedanā), the aggregate of perceptions (saññā), the aggregate of volitions (saṅkhāra) and the aggregate of consciousness (viññāṇa), which form objects of attachments as “I,” “mine,” “myself.” These five aggregates are called the noble truth of suffering.

The Noble Truth of the Cause of Suffering

The five aggregates that are clung to (pañcūpādānakkhandha), which form the noble truth of suffering, do not arise by themselves. They have reasons for their arising, the most fundamental and important being craving for sense objects.

In the world, every being is subject to suffering because he or she is to toil daily for the essentials of living, and all this is motivated by craving. The more one craves for good living, the greater one’s suffering is. If one would be satisfied with a simple life, living very simply on bare necessities, one’s misery would be alleviated to a corresponding extent. It is clear, therefore, that suffering, wrongly believed to be good living, is caused by craving.

Beings do all kinds of acts for wanting better things, not only for the present life but also for coming existences. When a new birth appears as a result of those acts, the real cause for this new birth is found to be the craving that motivates those acts.

Craving is called the noble truth of the cause of suffering because it is truly that craving which is the origin of suffering (upādānakkhandha) in the new birth. In other words, craving is the true cause of the aggregates, which causes suffering. This noble truth of the cause of suffering (dukkha-samudaya-sacca) is also referred to, in short, as the truth of the cause (samudaya-sacca).

The Noble Truth of the Cessation of Suffering

Craving, called the truth of the cause of suffering, like the gum of the Ironwood tree, clings to various mundane sense objects, but, like flies which cannot approach a burning iron, it cannot form an attachment to Nibbāna.

The reason for this is that the ultimate reality, Nibbāna, the unconditioned element, is unattractive from the point of view of craving. To explain: Craving arises from feeling, as the Buddha has stated: With sensation as condition there is craving (vedanā-paccayā taṇhā) in the doctrine of dependent origination (paṭicca-samuppāda), and accordingly craving owes its existence to feeling. But the unconditioned Nibbāna has nothing to do with feeling as it is not the kind of happiness that is to be felt; it is but peaceful happiness (santi-sukha).

Then the question arises: Totally devoid of sensation, can Nibbāna be likeable and desirable? If somebody asked like this, he does so because he thinks feeling is real happiness, or he does not consider that peaceful happiness is real happiness.

The answer is: There are two kinds of happiness; happiness derived from feeling (vedayita-sukha) and happiness derived from peace (santi-sukha). Here is a simile: Suppose there is a rich man who is fond of food. He expends much to nourish himself with sumptuous delicacies. But a Vijjādhara, one who is sustained by magical power, may find a rich man’s food disgusting, let alone finding it attractive, as he is endowed with the power of living without eating. When asked: “Of these two, who is happier as far as food [1630] is concerned?” a man of craving will say a rich man is happier because he enjoys highly sumptuous food whenever he desires, while the latter enjoys nothing. They will say so because, being overwhelmed by craving, they believe that feeling which stimulates craving is something to be esteemed.

Men of intelligence, on the other hand, will say that the Vijjādhara is happier. A rich man, having a refined palate, must go in quest of elaborate foodstuffs. Having acquired them, he is flooded with the troubles of making the necessary preparations (paṭisaṅkhāraṇa-dukkha) and longing for novelty (āsā-dukkha). To enjoy happiness derived from feeling (vedayita-sukha) is to be burdened with these twin sufferings (dukkha); there is no escape from them. The Vijjādhara has no such suffering; he lives happily having nothing to do with food. There is no trace of worries in his happiness, which is absolute. Thus, they will say he is happier.

Men of craving say that a rich man is happier because they do not see any of his troubles; what they do see is his enjoyment of food. They have no good impression of the peaceful life of the Vijjādhara who does not need to eat at all. Instead, they envy a rich man’s way of living and want to become rich themselves. In the same way, craving has no high opinion of, and no desire or yearning for the happiness derived from peace (santi-sukha), the unconditioned Nibbāna, which is devoid of feeling and which indeed is peace.

In this connection, the Discourse on the Happiness of the Peace of Nibbāna (Nibbāna-sukha-sutta, AN 9.34) says: “Once, Ven. Sāriputta, while staying in the midst of monastics, said: ‘Friends, Nibbāna is indeed happiness; Nibbāna is indeed happiness.’ ” Then Ven. Udāyi asked: “How can Nibbāna be happiness, friend Sāriputta, if there is no feeling?” Ven. Sāriputta replied: “Friend Udāyi, Nibbāna being devoid of feeling is in itself happiness.”

Worldly people who lack intelligence view the five aggregates, the truth of suffering, as happiness. Intelligent worldly people and the noble ones view the cessation of the five aggregates, like the extinction of a great fire, as happiness.

A simile to illustrate the superiority of happiness derived from cessation and extinction for those worldly people of poor intelligence is as follows: A patient, who is suffering from chronic, acute flatulence takes medicine from a good physician. Consequently, he gets completely cured of his disease. It may be imagined how happy he would be. At that moment, he has no pleasant sensation whatsoever; what he experiences is simply the extinction of the flatulence trouble. He will certainly be delighted, knowing: “Now my trouble is gone!” as his suffering has ceased to trouble him. The flatulence is nothing when compared with the suffering of Saṁsāra. If one takes delight in the extinction of that insignificant trouble, why will he not find happiness in the extinction of the great suffering of Saṁsāra. He certainly will be overjoyed.

Nibbāna

What is Nibbāna, the cessation of suffering? When the unconditioned element (asaṅkhata-dhātu), the unique ultimate reality, which has the characteristics of peace, is realised with the fourfold knowledge of the path, all the defilements, numbering 1,500 are completely eradicated and never will they rise again. In any existence, when the path to becoming an Arahat (Arahatta-magga) is attained, the suffering, in the form of the five aggregates, ceases once and for all immediately after death, just as a heap of fire has been extinguished. There is no more rebirth in any realms of existence. That unconditioned element, the unique ultimate reality, which has the characteristics of peace is called Nibbāna.

The worldlings do not know well the nature of Nibbāna as the noble ones do. If they, without knowing it, say or write to let others understand it as the noble ones do, they could go wrong. Let alone speaking of Nibbāna, when they speak even of a mundane object which they know of only from books, as though they have seen it with their own eyes, they are likely to make mistakes. The common worldlings not being able to see every aspect of it like the noble ones do, should speak of Nibbāna only in the aforesaid manner. [1630]

When Nibbāna is considered as to what it is like, those who have not understood what it really is, are likely to regard Nibbāna as a kind of indestructible country or city. When Nibbāna is mentioned as a secure city in a discourse at a water-pouring ceremony, it is just a figurative usage. Nibbāna is not a city, nor is it a country. Yet there are some who believe and say that Nibbāna is a city where those who have passed into it live happily with mind and body free of old age, sickness and death. The truth is that the passing of Buddhas, Paccekabuddhas and Arahats into Nibbāna means the complete cessation of the five aggregates of an Arahat at his death in his last existence; they will no longer appear in any realm of existence. Nibbāna is the ultimate reality which is the object of the paths and fruitions. Parinibbāna is complete cessation of the material and mental aggregates which will never come into being again. Their passing into Nibbāna is not going into the city of Nibbāna. There is no such thing as the city of Nibbāna.

When people perform meritorious deeds, their teachers will admonish them to pray for Nibbāna. Though they do so accordingly, they generally do not know well what Nibbāna means. So they are not very enthusiastic about it. The teachers, therefore, should ask them to pray for the extinction of all suffering and sorrow because the devotees will understand thoroughly and pray enthusiastically and seriously.

Two Kinds of Nibbāna

Suppose there is a very costly garment. When its owner is still alive, you say: “It is an excellent garment with a user.” When he dies, you say: “It is an excellent garment with no user.” The same garment is spoken of in accordance with the time when the user is alive and when the user is no longer alive. Similarly, the unconditioned element, the ultimate reality of Nibbāna, which has the characteristic of peace and which is the object the venerable ones contemplate by means of the paths and fruitions, is called Nibbāna with the five aggregates remaining (sa-upādisesa-nibbāna) before his death; after his death, however, since there are no longer the five aggregates that contemplate Nibbāna, it is called Nibbāna with the five aggregates no longer remaining (anupādisesa-nibbāna).

The peace of Nibbāna is aspired for only when it is pondered on, after overcoming craving by wisdom. The peace of Nibbāna, which is something which should really be aspired for, will not be understood if craving is foremost in one’s thinking and not overcome by wisdom.

Three Kinds of Nibbāna

Nibbāna is also of three kinds according to its attributes which are clearly manifest in it: 1) Nibbāna which is void (suññata-nibbāna); 2) Nibbāna which is devoid of cause (animitta-nibbāna); and 3) Nibbāna which is devoid of craving (appaṇihita-nibbāna).

1. The first attribute is that Nibbāna which is devoid of all impediments (palibodha); hence it is called Nibbāna which is void (suññata-nibbāna).

2. The second attribute is that it is devoid of consciousness (citta), mental concomitants (cetasika) and matter (rūpa), which, as conditioned things, are the cause of defilements.

Conditioned things, whether mental or material, cannot only arise individually and without combining with one another. Material things arise only when at least eight of them form a combination. That is why they are called units of eight (aṭṭha-kalāpa). Mental things also arise only when at least eight elements make a combination. By this is meant the fivefold consciousness (pañca-viññāṇa). When such combinations of mental and material components brought together to form an aggregate are wrongly taken to be “myself,” “my body,” “a thing of substance,” they give rise to mental defilements, such as craving, hatred, etc. Conditioned things are thus known as a ground or cause (nimitta). In particular, mundane consciousness, mental concomitants and matter are called a ground or cause. In Nibbāna, however, there are no such things of substance as “myself,” “my body,” which cause the emergence of defilements; hence, the name Nibbāna which is devoid of cause (animitta-nibbāna). [1632]

3. The third attribute is that Nibbāna is devoid of craving (taṇhā). As has been said before, Nibbāna has nothing to crave for. Nibbāna is not to be craved for. Therefore, it is also called Nibbāna which is devoid of craving (appaṇihita-nibbāna). In this way, there are three kinds of Nibbāna according to its attributes.

This truth of the cessation of suffering is, in short, called the truth of cessation (nirodha-sacca). This truth of cessation is the unconditioned (asaṅkhata) element. It is not conditioned by any factor. Therefore, this truth of cessation, the unconditioned element, the ultimate reality of Nibbāna, is called an uncaused phenomenon (appaccaya-dhamma) or unconditioned phenomenon (asaṅkhata-dhamma) in the the Enumeration of Phenonema (Dhamma-saṅgaṇī).

The Noble Truth of the Path

Though Nibbāna is causeless, not conditioned by any cause and always exists, it is not possible to realise its peace without a cause. It can be realised only through a cause. That cause is nothing but the noble practice. Therefore, the noble practice that leads to Nibbāna, the cessation of suffering, is termed the course of practice that leads to the cessation of suffering (dukkha-nirodha-gāminī-paṭipadā).

The Middle Path

Living in the enjoyment of sensual pleasures in the world, fulfilling the demands of craving, is not the path for the attainment of Nibbāna, which is the cessation of suffering. It is just an ignoble practice called devotion to the pleasure and happiness in sense pleasures (kāma-sukhallikānuyoga). Efforts to make oneself suffer by exposure of one’s body to fire or to the sun, by keeping one’s hand raised continuously, with a view to preventing mental defilements from appearing, do not form the way to Nibbāna, the cessation of suffering. It is another ignoble practice called devotion to self-mortification (atta-kilamathānuyoga). Avoiding self-indulgence in sensual pleasures on the one hand and self-mortification on the other, following only the middle path which is neither too comfortable nor too arduous, like the string of a harp which is neither too taut nor too loose, is the practice that surely leads to Nibbāna. This practice which is neither easy nor difficult is called the middle practice (majjhima-paṭipadā).

This middle course is called the path (magga), the way leading to Nibbāna. Wrong view, etc. which are unwholesome, are called the path to a bad destination (duggati-magga) or simply the wrong path (micchā-magga) as they lead to the four suffering states (apāya). Right view, etc., which is mundane and wholesome, is called the path to a good destination (sugati-magga) or the right path (sammā-magga) as they lead to Nibbāna. The commentary on the Analysis of the Truths (Sacca-vibhaṅga, Vibh 4) explains that these factors, such as right view, etc. which constitute path consciousness are called path (magga) because they are sought by those who aspire for Nibbāna; because these factors lead to Nibbāna and because they find their way to Nibbāna after eradicating mental defilements.

This path is not of one factor only; it is of eight factors, as will be shown below; hence it is called the path of eight constituents (aṭṭhaṅgika-magga), which are:

1. Right view (sammā-diṭṭhi), which is knowledge of the truth of suffering, knowledge of the truth of the cause of suffering, knowledge of the truth of the cessation of suffering and knowledge of the truth of the path leading to the cessation of suffering. Thus it is the fourfold knowledge.

2. Right thought (sammā-saṅkappa); there are three kinds of right thought: thought of liberating oneself from sensuous defilements (kilesa-kāma) and sensuous objects (vatthu-kāma), as has been explained in the section on the perfection of renunciation (nekkhama-pāramī); thought of not destroying others, and thought of not harming others.

3. Right speech (sammā-vācā), which is refraining from the four evil kinds of speech.

4. Right action (sammā-kammanta), refraining from the three evil actions.

5. Right livelihood (sammā-ājīva), which is livelihood that is free of the seven evils.

6. Right exertion (sammā-vāyāma), exertion so as not to give rise to unwholesomeness that has not yet occurred; exertion so as to eradicate unwholesomeness that has occurred; exertion so as to give rise to wholesomeness that has not yet occurred and [1633] exertion so as to develop wholesomeness that has occurred.

7. Right mindfulness (sammā-sati), mindfulness so as to be aware of one’s body, feelings, consciousness and mental hindrances, etc.

8. Right concentration (sammā-samādhi), the first, second, third and fourth absorptions (jhāna).

These eight constituents do not arise simultaneously in the mundane fields; they arise in combination with one another as far as possible. When they come to the supermundane field, however, all eight arise simultaneously. Only these eight constituents which arise simultaneously at the moment of attaining the supermundane path are collectively called the noble truth of the path. Thus, by the noble truth of the path leading to the cessation of suffering is meant the group of eight factors beginning with right view that arise as a whole and simultaneously. The path which is included together with the fruition and Nibbāna in the collection of supermundane phenomena stands for all these eight constituents which form the noble truth of the path.

Truth of Learning and Truth of Practice

The truths we have so far discussed are those learnt from the scriptures (pariyatti-sacca). But what really counts as a perfection of truth is the truth of practice (paṭipatti-sacca) fulfilled by the noble ones such as Bodhisattas and others. The truth of practice means truthful speech or telling the truth (vacī-sacca). Fulfilment of such a practice in one’s self is fulfilment of the perfection of truth. It is the truth that Bodhisattas and other noble persons fulfil in particular, and this truth is of three kinds:

1. The truth told so that one will be believed by others (sadda-hāpana-sacca).

2. The truth told so that one’s wish may be fulfilled (icchā-pūraṇa-sacca).

3. The truth told so that telling lies may be avoided (musā-viramaṇa-sacca).

1. The Truth Told so That One Will Be Believed by Others

Of these three truths, the way Bodhisattas fulfil the truth told so that one will be believed by others is mentioned in the Birth Story about the Lotus Stalks (Bhisa-jātaka, Ja 488). The full story of the Birth Story about the Lotus Stalks may be read in the Birth Stories (Jātaka) book. The story in brief is as follows.

The Birth Story about the Lotus Stalks

Once upon a time, a Brahmin youth, Mahā Kañcana by name, who was born in the city of Bārāṇasī, went forth in renunciation into a forest, together with ten companions, including his young brothers, one young sister, a male servant, a female servant and a friend. They made their lodgings at a suitable distance near a lotus pond and lived on gathered fruits.

In the beginning, they all went out together to look for fruits; talking to one another, they behaved like townsfolk or villagers, not like forest-dwellers. To stop this unpleasant situation, the eldest brother Mahā Kañcana said: “I alone will go out for fruits. You all stay behind to practise Dhamma in peace.” Then the other brothers said: “You are the chief of us all. It is not proper for you to gather fruits. The sister and the female servant should not do so either for they are women. But the eight of us will do so by turns.” This was agreeable to everyone and the remaining eight male persons gathered fruits on rotation to feed them all.

As time went by, they became so content that they did not care for fruits but took lotus sprouts from the nearby pond and shared amongst themselves in this manner. The one on duty brought lotus sprouts into the leaf hut and divided them into eleven portions. The oldest of them took his portion first and, after striking the stone drum, went back to his place to eat it peacefully and carried on with his practice. When the next senior member heard the sound of the stone drum, he took his share and struck the drum in turn. In this manner, they took their food one after another, went back to their place to eat and continued to practise. Thus, they did not see one another unless there was a special reason.

As their practice was so severe, causing Sakka’s seat to tremble, the Lord of the Devas [1634] sought out the reason and came to know it. He became doubtful that these people were really detached from sensual pleasures. In order to investigate the matter, he kept the eldest brother’s share of food hidden by his supernormal power for three days continuously.

When the oldest brother came to take his share on the first day, he did not see it and thought that it must have been left out through forgetfulness; he then said nothing and went back to his place to continue his meditation.

On the second day also he found his share missing; thinking that his share was purposely left out as a punishment because of someone thinking that he was guilty of something, he remained quiet as on the first day.

On the third day, when he did not find his share, he thought that he should apologize if he was guilty, and in the evening, he summoned the others by striking the stone drum. He said: “Why did you not give me my share of food? Please speak out if I am guilty. I will give an apology to you.” Then the first younger brother stood up and, after paying his respects to the eldest brother, said: “Sir, could I get your permission to speak only for myself?” On getting the permission, he took an oath, saying: “Sir, if I had stolen your share of food, may I come into possession of horses, cattle, silver, gold and a beautiful wife here at this place and stay with my family enjoying a mundane life.” This form of oath suggests that as much as objects of desire give us pleasure when we are in possession of them, we feel grieved and distressed when we are bereft of them. The oath was taken to despise the objects of desire.

The eldest brother said: “You have taken a very severe oath. I believe you did not take my food. Go and sit in your place.” The rest of the group, covering their ears, also said: “Brother, please do not say so. Your word is very serious and terrible.” They covered their ears because as meditators, they found sense pleasures disgusting; sensuality was so dreadful that they could not bear even to hear something associated with it.

Then the second younger brother said: “Sir, if I have stolen your lotus sprouts, may I become one who wears flowers, puts on sandalwood paste from Kāsi, has many children and who is very much involved in and attached to sensuality.” In this way, the remaining eight persons took similar oaths individually.

In this Birth Story (Jātaka), the ascetic Mahā Kañcana, leader of the group, was the Bodhisatta, and the rest were destined to became foremost disciples of the Buddha in their own right. Therefore, having attained spiritual maturity, they really abhorred sensuality. Each of them was bold enough to take such a dreadful oath to convince the others.

Since that oath was based on what was true, it was the same as the truth (vacī-sacca) fulfilled by Bodhisattas. In their individual oaths, the main point was: “We did not steal your share of lotus sprouts.” Since it was a true statement, it amounts to truth.

Such words as: “May I also have this or that,” which in effect means: “May I encounter this or that,” are included as proposed punishment for oneself in the oath, just to make the others believe him or her. Accordingly, this truth is called the truth told so that one will be believed by others (sadda-hāpana-sacca). The oath that has been taken from the times of ancient Mahā Sammata kings down to the present governments are all truths told so that one will be believed by others (sadda-hāpana-sacca).

Taking of a Corporal Oath

Before the subject-matter of an oath was put into writing as a sacred text, the taking of an oath was done verbally and was called “swearing an oath.” From the time when written sacred oaths came into existence, purely verbal taking of an oath has been replaced by holding the sacred text or placing it on one’s head; thus, taking of a corporal oath by holding a sacred text has come into use. This gives rise, in Myanmar parlance, to “holding the sacred text” for taking a corporal oath and “administering the corporal oath” for making someone else hold the sacred text. Only the form of taking an oath for oneself, whether it is taken verbally or by holding the sacred text, in order to convince others, saying: “What I have said is the truth; if not, may such and such a misfortune befall me,” etc. should be named the truth told so that one will be believed by others (sadda-hāpana-sacca). [1635]

An utterance not based on truth but made just to consign others to destruction is not an oath but merely a curse. An example may be seen in the following story, which is based on a section of the Dhamma Verses (Dhammapada) commentary (on Dhp 3).

The Story of Devila and Nārada

In the past, while King Brahmadatta was reigning in the city of Bārāṇasī, a recluse, Devila by name, [The name is also written Devala.] was living in the Himālayas. On his visit to Bārāṇasī, in order to obtain vinegar and salt, with the owner’s permission he stayed in a potter’s hut near the city. Soon, another recluse called Nārada came for a similar purpose and stayed at the same place. At night, when the time for sleeping came, the newcomer noted Devila’s sleeping place as well as the door at the entrance to the hut and went to bed. But, after lying down at his place, Devila moved to the entrance and slept crosswise in the middle of the doorway.

When Nārada went out in the dead of the night, he happened to tread on Devila’s matted hair. Devila then said: “Who has stepped on my hair?” Nārada replied gently: “Sir, I have, because I did not know that you were sleeping here. Please accept my apology,” and he left the hut while Devila was grumbling.

Then, just in case Nārada should do it again when he came back, Devila completely reversed his lying position and went to sleep. When Nārada returned, he thought: “When I went out, I wrongly stepped on his hair because I did not know where his head lay; I shall now go in by the other way.” Thus, he happened to tread on his neck. Devila asked: “Who trod on my neck?” – “It is I, sir,” said Nārada. “You wicked recluse!” said Devila, “The first time, you stepped on my hair. This time you stepped on my neck. Curse you, I will.” – “Sir, I am not guilty,” said Nārada, “The first time I was wrong because I did not know the way you were sleeping. Now I came by another way so as not to wrong you again. Please pardon me,” said Nārada in apology.

“Wicked recluse, I will curse you,” threatened Devila. Then despite Nārada’s plea, Devila uttered a curse: “Tomorrow morning, as soon as the sun rises, may your head split into seven pieces!” – “In spite of my apologies you cursed me,” said Nārada, “May the guilty one’s head be split into seven pieces.” Thus Nārada put Devila under a similar curse in retaliation.

Unlike Devila’s curse, Nārada’s was free of anger and volition to harm him. He cursed him just to make him fear and admit his wrong. He was so powerful that he could see over 80 aeons of time, i.e., the past 40 and the future 40 aeons.

When he looked into Devila’s future, he foresaw that the latter would be destroyed. So out of compassion for Devila, he tried with his power to prevent the sun from rising.

When the sun did not rise at the time it was due to, people thronged to the palace and shouted in unison: “King, the sun does not rise while you are ruling over us. Please improve your conduct so that the sun reappears. The king pondered on his conduct and did not see anything wrong. He thought that there must be some other reason, such as a quarrel among ascetics in his country. On enquiry, he came to know about the quarrel between the two recluses. The king then went overnight to the recluses. Under instructions from Nārada, he placed a solid mass of earth on Devila’s head and made him plunge into a pond by force. When Nārada withdraw his power, no sooner had the sun risen than the solid mass of earth was split into seven pieces. Devila then moved to another place in the water and came out of it safe and sound.

Devila’s curse in this story: “Tomorrow morning, as soon as the sun rises, may your head be split into seven pieces!” is for Nārada, uttered with anger. Thus it was not an oath but a mere curse.

Like the curse in this story, there are curses recorded in the Myanmar inscriptions of old. For instance, the Nadaungtat relic shrine (stūpa) inscription, dated 1175. CE, on the northern side of the Cūḷamuni Shrine of Bagan, reads near the end: “For he who destroys my work of merit, may seven generations of his descendants be destroyed. May he suffer in Avīci hell, and may he not be liberated but become rooted there even when Buddhas of successive aeons come and try to save him.” Such a curse is something that is not done by Bodhisattas. In [1636] fact, it is a verbal evil called “harsh speech” (pharusa-vācā). In other words, it is the kind of abusive words uttered by mean persons.

Birth Stories illustrating Aspects of Truth

Truth told so that one will be believed by others (sadda-hāpana-sacca) may be understood not only from the Birth Story about the Lotus Stalks but also from the Birth Story about Mahā Sutasoma (Mahā-sutasoma-jātaka, Ja 537). A summary of this latter story runs as follows.

The Birth Story about Mahā Sutasoma

Once, the cannibal Porisāda, who formerly was the King of Bārāṇasī, but who was now living in a forest, made a vow to bathe the trunk of a banyan tree with the blood of 101 kings if his foot, which had been pierced by an acacia thorn, was healed in seven days. The foot healed, and he succeeded in capturing 100 princes. At the command of the deity of the tree to make the number of captured kings complete, he was to catch King Sutasoma of Kuru. He managed to do so while Sutasoma was returning from the Migājina Park and carried him away on his shoulder.

Then Sutasoma said: “I have to go home for a while, because, on my way to the Migājina Park, I met a Brahmin called Nanda, who offered to teach me four verses worth four hundred pieces. I have promised him I would learn them on my way back from the Park and asked him to wait for me. Let me go and learn the verses and keep my promise. After that, I will come back to you.” – “You sound like you are saying: ‘Having been freed from the hands of death, I will come back to death!’ ” replied the man-eater. “I do not believe you.”

Then Sutasoma said: “Friend Porisāda, in the world, death after living a virtuous life is better than a long life full of wickedness, as it is blamed by others. Words uttered not truthfully cannot protect one from rebirth in a state of suffering after one’s death. Friend Porisāda, you may rather believe if somebody were to say: “The strong winds blew away rocky mountains into the sky,” or “The sun and the moon have fallen to earth,” or “All rivers flow upstream,” but never believe it if somebody says: “Sutasoma tells lies.” Friend Porisāda, if somebody says: “The sky has been split up,” or “The ocean has dried up,” or “Mount Meru has been wiped out without a trace,” you may believe it. But never believe if somebody says: “Sutasoma tells lies.”

But still Porisāda was not fully convinced. As Porisāda remained adamant, Mahā Sutasoma thought: “This Porisāda still does not believe me. I will make him believe me by taking an oath.” So he said: “Friend Porisāda, please put me down from your shoulder. I will convince you by taking an oath.” Porisāda then put him down from his shoulder. “Friend Porisāda, I will hold the sword and the spear and take the oath. I will take leave of you for a short time and will fulfil my promise given to Brahmin Nanda to learn the verse from him in the city. Then I will come back to you to keep my promise. If I do not say the truth, may I not gain rebirth in a royal family, well protected by weapons such as this sword and this spear.”

Then Porisāda thought: “This King Sutasoma has taken an oath which ordinary kings dare not do. No matter whether he comes back or not, I too am a king. If he does not come back, I will get the blood out of my arm to sacrifice it for the deity of the banyan tree.” Thus thinking, Porisāda set Bodhisatta Sutasoma free.

This truth of King Mahā Sutasoma uttered to convince Porisāda is also the truth told so that one will be believed by others (sadda-hāpana-sacca). This is the kind of perfection of truthfulness which Bodhisattas have to fulfil.

2. The Truth told so that One’s Wish may be Fulfilled

This second truth spoken to have one’s desire fulfilled (icchā-pūraṇa-sacca) may be learnt from the Birth Story about the Wise Suvaṇṇasāma (Suvaṇṇasāma-jātaka, Ja 540) as well as from other stories.

The Birth Story about the Wise Suvaṇṇasāma

In the Birth Story about the Wise Suvaṇṇasāma, the Bodhisatta Suvaṇṇa, looking after his blind parents, went to fetch water from a river. King Pīḷiyakkha, who was out hunting, saw him and shot him with an arrow, mistaking him for a supernatural being. Being overcome by the poisonous effect of the arrow, the Bodhisatta became unconscious. King Pīḷiyakkha brought the Bodhisatta’s father and mother to the place where the Bodhisatta was lying in a dead faint. On their arrival there, his father Dukūla sat down and lifted his head, while his mother Pārikā sat down, held his feet, placing them on her thigh, and cried. They [1637] touched their son’s body and feeling the chest, which still had body heat, the mother said to herself: “My son has not died yet. He is just unconscious because of the poison. I will remove that poison by my words of solemn truth.” Accordingly, she made an asseveration comprising seven points:

1. Formerly, my son Sāma has practised righteousness (Dhamma-cāri). If this be true, may the poison that afflicts my son be withdrawn.

2. Formerly, my son Sāma has engaged in noble practice. If this be true, may the poison that afflicts my son be withdrawn.

3. Formerly, my son Sāma has spoken only truth. If this be true, may the poison that afflicts my son be withdrawn.

4. My son Sāma has looked after his parents. If this be true, may the poison that afflicts my son be withdrawn.

5. My son Sāma has shown respect to the elders in the family. If this be true, may the poison that afflicts my son be withdrawn.

6. I love my son Sāma more than my life. If this be true, may the poison that afflicts my son be withdrawn.

7. May Sāma’s poison disappear by virtue of the meritorious deeds done by his father and by me.

Then Suvaṇṇasāma, who was lying on one side, turned over to the other side. The father, thinking: “My son is still alive, I will also say words of solemn truth,” made an asseveration comprising the same seven points as the mother’s. Then the Bodhisatta changed his lying position again.

At that moment, a goddess, Bahusundarī by name, who had been Suvaṇṇa’s mother in the past seven existences and who was now staying at Gandhamādana hill, came from the hill to the spot where Suvaṇṇasāma was lying and made her own asseveration: “I have long been dwelling at Gandhamādana hill in the Himālayas. Throughout my life, there is none whom I love more than Suvaṇṇasāma. If this is true, may Sāma’s poison vanish. In my abode at Gandhamādana hill, all the trees are scented ones. If this be true, may Sāma’s poison vanish.” While the father, the mother and the goddess were thus lamenting, the handsome and youthful Bodhisatta Suvaṇṇasāma quickly sat up.

In this story, the words of truth are uttered by his mother, Pārikā, his father, Dukūla and the goddess Bahusandarī in order to have their wish of eradicating the poison inside Suvaṇṇasāma and helping him recover, were fulfilled and are, therefore, called the truth told so that one’s wish may be fulfilled (icchā-pūraṇa-vacī-sacca).

The Birth Story about the Wise Mariner Suppāraka

The truth told so that one’s wish may be fulfilled (icchā-pūraṇa-vacī-sacca) occurs also in the Birth Story about the Wise Mariner Suppāraka (Suppāraka-jātaka, Ja 463).

The story in brief is this: In days gone by, the Bodhisatta, Suppāraka by name, who was highly learned, was living in the sea-port town of Kurukaccha, or as is sometimes written, Bhārukaccha. He had long worked as the captain of a ship and had become blind through his eyes being in contact with the sea-water, and so he had retired. However, at the request of certain merchants, he took control of a ship sailing out into the sea. After seven days, because of an unseasonal gale, the ship could not hold its course and wandered astray on the sea for four months. It then went beyond such seas as Khuramālisamudra, Aggimālisamudra, Dadhimālisamudra, Kusamālisamudra and Nalamālisamudra, and was about to reach the most terrible sea of Balavāmukhasamudra. At that moment, captain Suppāraka said that whoever came to this sea was not able to retreat but would drown. This made all the merchants cry in fright.

Thinking: “I will save all these people by an asseveration,” the Bodhisatta made a solemn declaration: “Since I came of age, I have never ill-treated even a single person; I have not stolen another’s property, even a blade of grass or a piece of split bamboo; I have not eyed even with an iota of lust another person’s wife; I have not lied; I have not taken any [1638] intoxicating drink, even with the tip of a grass blade. On account of this truthful declaration of mine, may the ship get home safe and sound.” Then the ship that had wandered aimlessly for four months turned back to Kurukaccha as though it were a mighty being and arrived at Kurukaccha port within one day by virtue of the Bodhisatta’s asseveration.

This truth of Suppāraka the wise is also the truth told so that one’s wish may be fulfilled (icchā-pūraṇa-vacī-sacca) as it was made to have his wish of saving the lives of all fulfilled.

The Birth Story about King Sivi

This story is told in the Birth Story about King Sivi (Sivi-jātaka, Ja 499): In the city of Ariṭṭhapura, in the Sivi country, the Bodhisatta, King Sivi, gave away 600,000 pieces daily in generosity. Even then, he was not content and thought that he would like to give away parts of his body. In order to fulfil the king’s desire, Sakka came down in the guise of a blind Brahmin and said to the king: “King, both your eyes can see but mine cannot. If you would give me one of yours, you can see with the remaining one, and I will also see with the eye given by you. So kindly give me one of your eyes.” The king was delighted, for someone had come to him the very moment he was thinking of giving. He summoned his surgeon Sīvika and ordered: “Take out one of my eyes.” The surgeon, ministers and queens all tried to dissuade him, but he stood by his order, and Sīvika could do nothing but take out one of the king’s eyes. Looking at the extracted eye with the one remaining, the king happily expressed his aspiration for Perfect Self-Awakening (Sammā-sambodhi) and handed the gift of his eye over to the Brahmin.

When the Brahmin, who in reality was Sakka, put the eye into his eye-socket it fitted like it was original. King Sivi, seeing this, was so delighted that he asked Sīvika: “Take also my other eye out.” Despite protests from his ministers, the king had his remaining eye taken out and given to the Brahmin. The latter put the king’s eye into the socket of his other eye which became as good as the original. He then gave his blessings and disappeared as though he had returned to his home.

As King Sivi became totally blind and was not fit to rule, he moved to a dwelling place near a pond in the royal gardens, where he reflected on his act of generosity. Sakka then came to him and walked to and fro nearby so that the king would hear his footsteps. When the king heard him, he asked who it was. Sakka replied: “I am Sakka. Ask for any boon you want.” – “I have plenty of wealth, such as gems, gold and silver. I want only death, for both my eyes are gone now,” said the king. “King, you say you want death. Do you really desire to die? Or do you say so only because you are blind?” When the king answered he desired so because he was blind, Sakka said: “King, I am not able to make you see again. You can see only with the power of your truthfulness. Make a solemn declaration of truth.” The king then uttered:

“I adore those many people who came to me for gifts, and I also adore those who actually asked for what they needed. By virtue of this truth, may my eyesight be restored to me.”

No sooner had he said so than the first eye appeared in him. Then again, he made another declaration of truth:

“When the blind Brahmin came to me for my eye, I gave him both of mine. In so doing, my heart was full of joy. By virtue of this truth, may the other eye be restored to me.”

Accordingly, he regained his second eye. These two eyes were not the ones which were with him at his birth, neither were they divine eyes. In fact, they were the eyes which appeared by the power of his verbal perfection of truthfulness. This truth of King Sivi was also the truth told so that one’s wish may be fulfilled as it was spoken to have the wish for the restoration of his eyesight fulfilled.

The Birth Story about the Fish

In the Birth Story about the Fish (Maccha-jātaka, Ja 34), the Bodhisatta, when reborn as a fish, made an asseveration because the water in the pond had dried up as a result of a draught, and the fish in it were eaten by crows. He declared solemnly: “Although I was born as a fish whose species survives by living upon one another, I have never eaten even a fish of the size of a rice-grain. By virtue of this truth, may there be a great [1639] thunderous downpour.” No sooner had he declared this than there occurred a heavy rain.

The Birth Story about the Young Quail

Again, in the Birth Story about the Young Quail (Vaṭṭaka-jātaka, Ja 35) the Bodhisatta was born into a quail family. When he was still unable to fly or walk, there broke out a great forest fire and both of his parents fled. Thinking: “In this world there are such things as the virtues of pure morality, truthfulness and compassion. I have no other recourse to make but an oath of truth,” he uttered:

“I have wings, but I cannot fly. I have legs, but I cannot walk. My parents have fled. O forest fire, please pass me by.”

The forest fire then went back a distance of sixteen acres and became extinct after leaving the young quail unharmed.

In this connection, there is something that calls for clarification. In the aforesaid Suvaṇṇasāma story and others, asseverations were based on meritoriousness, and it is, therefore, appropriate that the respective wishes were fulfilled. But the young quail’s asseveration was not so based. What he said was simply: “I have wings, yet I cannot fly; I have legs, yet I cannot walk. My parents have fled.” His asseveration is in fact based on what is not meritorious. Why then had his wish been fulfilled?

The basis of an asseveration is truthfulness whether it is meritorious or not. Even if a speech is connected with meritoriousness but not spoken truthfully, it is not a truth; it has no power nor does it bear fruits. Truthfulness, which is a truthful speech alone, has power and bears fruits.

Being truthful, the Bodhisatta’s speech amounted to a truth and achieved what was desired. Though it was not a speech of meritoriousness, it was not demeritorious either. Even if a speech is connected with demeritoriousness, but spoken truthfully, it amounts to a truth and achieves what is desired.

The Birth Story about the Ascetic Kaṇha Dīpāyana

This is known from the Birth Story about the Ascetic Kaṇha Dīpāyana (Kaṇha-dīpāyana-jātaka, Ja 444). Once, the Bodhisatta Dīpāyana, together with a friend, after giving away their wealth, became ascetics in the Himālayas. He later came to be known as Kaṇha Dīpāyana. One day, Kaṇha Dīpāyana was visited by the householder Maṇḍavya, the supporter of his dwelling place, his wife and son Yaññadatta. While the parents were engaged in a conversation with their teacher, Yaññadatta was playing with a top at the end of a walk. The top rolled into the hole of a mound, which was the abode of a snake. When the boy put his hand into the mound to retrieve his toy, he was bitten by the snake and fell down suddenly, being overcome by the snake’s poison.

Learning what had happened to their son they brought him and placed him at the feet of Kaṇha Dīpāyana. When the parents requested him to cure their son of snake bite, he said: “I do not know any remedy for snake bite. But I will try to cure him by a declaration of an oath.” Placing his hand on the boy’s head, he uttered: “Being tired of human society, I became an ascetic. But I could live the happy life of an ascetic only for seven days. Since my eighth day as an ascetic, I have not been happy up till now for 50 years. I have reluctantly struggled along only with self-restraint. By the power of this truthful saying, may the poison vanish so that the boy survives.” Then the poison drained away from the boy’s chest and seeped into the earth.

Yaññadatta opened his eyes; seeing his parents, he called out just once: “Mother, Father,” and went to sleep again writhing. The ascetic said to the father: “I have done my part. You, too, should do yours.” Then the father said: “I have never been pleased whenever ascetics and Brahmins visited me. But I have not let this be known to anybody else. Instead, I have hidden my feeling. When I give alms, I do it reluctantly. By this truthful saying may the poison vanish so that my little son, Yaññadatta, survives.” The poison remaining above the waist drained away into the earth.

The boy sat up, but he still could not rise. When the father asked the mother to follow suit, she said: “I have something to declare as an oath. But I dare not do it in your presence.” When the father insisted, she obliged, saying: “I hate the snake that has bitten my son. I hate the boy’s father as much as I hate the snake. By this truthful saying may the [1640] poison vanish so that my son survives.” Then all the poison drained away into the earth and Yaññadatta stood up and played again with his top.

The basis of the respective asseverations of the ascetic teacher and his two devotees was an unwholesome matter which each had long kept to themselves. Now, he or she had revealed it boldly saying what was true. As this was truthfulness their wish was completely fulfilled by its power.

In this connection, it may be asked: “If the truth, whether it is based on a wholesome or unwholesome matter, was fruitful, as has been mentioned, can it be similarly efficacious nowadays?”

The answer is: Of the three kinds of truthfulness, avoidance of telling lies or speaking truthfully in every matter (musā-viramaṇa-sacca) is something that is always spoken by the virtuous. The ancient persons of virtue who had made asseverations, as mentioned in the texts, had lips which were the domain of truthfulness where the avoidance of telling lies dwelt forever. Such a domain was so pure and noble that truthfulness which was born in it was wish-fulfilling. In ancient times, when truthfulness prospered and shone forth, an evil thing such as falsehood would quickly result in an undesirable punishment; so also truthfulness would result in a desirable reward.

More Birth Stories

Falsehood would quickly bring about punishment in those days, as is known from the Birth Story about the King of Cetiya (Cetiya-jātaka, Ja 422). According to this story, King Cetiya knowingly lied, saying one of the two candidates for the post of royal chaplain was senior and the other junior, although the reverse was true; in consequence, he was swallowed up by the earth.

But nowadays, adhering to the maxim: “No lie, no rhetoric,” people mostly tell lies. Thus, the evil domain of falsehood has been created and truthfulness born in this domain cannot produce beneficial results in a visible manner. Similarly, consequences of falsehood are not conspicuous either.

Other stories which contain fruitful asseverations are as follows:

The Birth Story about Cane Juice (Naḷa-pāna-jātaka, Ja 20) tells of the reeds which became hollow throughout because of the truthfulness shown by the Bodhisatta, the monkey king.

The Birth Story about Queen Sambulā (Sambula-jātaka, Ja 519) tells of the complete cure of Prince Sotthisena’s leprosy because of the truthful words spoken by crown Princess Sambulā.

The Birth Story about the Wise Mūgapakkha (Mūga-pakkha-jātaka, Ja 538) tells of the birth of the Bodhisatta, Prince Temiya, to the Chief Queen Candā Devī when she made an oath of truth after her observance of morality (sīla).

The Birth Story about King Mahā Janaka (Mahā-janaka-jātaka, Ja 539) tells of the escape of the Crown Prince Polajanaka from his bondage of iron chains and from prison because of his words of truth.

The Birth Story about the Wood Gatherer (Kaṭṭha-hāri-jātaka , Ja 7) tells of an asseveration made by a mother, a chopper of fuel wood. In order to convince the king that he was the father of her child, she threw the child into the sky taking an oath of truth, by which the boy remained sitting cross-legged in the sky.

The Long Birth Story about the Peacock (Mahā-mora-jātaka, Ja 491) tells of the escape of birds from their respective cages because of an oath of truth declared by a Paccekabuddha, who, formerly as a hunter, had caught the Bodhisatta, the peacock king, in a square. On hearing the Dhamma talk of the Bodhisatta, he gained Awakening and became a Paccekabuddha. As advised by the Bodhisatta, he made an asseveration thus: “I am now liberated from the bondage of defilements. May all the birds that I have kept in cages at home go free the way I do.” How powerful the asseveration is in these stories should be understood.

Truthfulness during the Buddha’s Time

Once during the Buddha’s time, there was a threefold misfortune of disease, demons and famine in the city of Vesālī. The Buddha went there accompanied by monastics and taught [1641] Ven. Ānanda how to recite the verses of oath. Ven. Ānanda spent the whole night walking within the three walls of the city, chanting the verses by virtue of which all three misfortunes vanished. This story is mentioned in detail in the commentary of the Discourse about the Treasures (Ratana-sutta, Khp 6, Snp 2:1). The verses of oath, comprising a number of verses, forms a protection (paritta) discourse called the Discourse about the Treasures. It begins with an attribute of a Buddha: “In the worlds of Devas, humans, Nāgas and Garuḷas, there exist various treasuress, but none is comparable to the treasures of the Buddha. By virtue of this truth, may all beings be free of the threefold misfortune and be happy.” In the Discourse about the Treasures, there are twelve verses of asseveration which reveal the various attributes of the Three Treasures, i.e., the Buddha, Dhamma and Saṅgha, and together with the three verses ascribed to Sakka, there are fifteen verses of asseveration. This discourse was recorded in the Buddhist Councils.

The Discourse concerning Aṅgulimāla (Aṅgulimāla-sutta, MN 86) contains another story that also took place in the lifetime of the Buddha. While the Buddha was sojourning at the Jetavana monastery in Sāvatthī, Ven. Aṅgulimāla told the Buddha about a woman in confinement who had difficulty in delivering a baby. Under instructions from the Buddha, Ven. Aṅgulimāla went to the woman to help her by means of an oath of truth. “Since the day I became a noble one,” declared Ven. Aṅgulimāla, “I have never intentionally taken the life of a sentient being. By virtue of this truth may the mother and the son be well.” The mother then gave birth to her son without any more trouble and both were well. In this way, in the lifetime of the Buddha, too, solemn declarations of truth were efficacious and fruitful.

Truthfulness in Śrī Laṅkā

When Buddhism had spread to Śrī Laṅkā after the Parinibbāna of the Buddha, Ven. Mahā Mitta’s mother was suffering from breast cancer. The mother sent her daughter, a nun, to Ven. Mahā Mitta for some medicine. “I know nothing of normal drugs,” said Ven. Mahā Mitta, “I will tell you a certain form of medicine: ‘Since the moment of my ordination, I have never looked at a woman with a lustful eye. Because of this truthful declaration, may my mother become well again.’ When you get back to my mother, run your fingers over her body while repeating what I have just said.” The sister went back to the ailing mother and carried out his instructions. No sooner had she done so than the mother’s cancerous affliction dissolved like foam. So says the chapter giving the Exposition of Morality (Sīla-niddesa) in the Path of Purification (Visuddhi-magga, Vism 1).

A similar story is told in the Abundance of Meaning (Aṭṭha-sālinī, PTS 103) commentary. While explaining the word sampatta-virati, “abstinence by custom,” it says that a woman was suffering from a certain disease. Being told by the physician that hare’s meat was needed for a cure, the older brother sent the younger one, Jaggana, to a farm to look for a hare. On seeing Jaggana, a hare ran away in fright and was caught in a tangle of creepers. It then screamed. Jaggana rushed there and seized the hare. But he thought: “It is not justified to kill this little creature just to save my mother’s life,” and set the hare free and went home. “Have you got one?” asked the older brother. When Jaggana told his brother what he had done, the latter scolded him vehemently. Then Jaggana approached his mother and while standing by her, he uttered: “Since my birth, I have never known any instance of the intentional killing of a creature by me. By virtue of this truth, may my mother become well and happy.” At that very moment, the mother became well and happy again.

In this way, it should be noted that the truth told so that one’s wish may be fulfilled (icchā-pūraṇa-sacca) was individually performed also after the Parinibbāna of the Buddha. [1642]

3. The Truth Told so That Telling Lies May Be Avoided

Stories related to the truth told so that telling lies may be avoided (musā-viramaṇa-sacca) are known from the Birth Story about the Wise Vidhura (Vidhura-jātaka, Ja 546) and other Birth Stories. The following is a summary of the long narration of the Vidhura story.

The Birth Story about the Wise Vidhura

When King Korabya and Puṇṇaka the Yakkha were playing a game of dice, they agreed to bet as follows: Should the king lose, Puṇṇaka would take anything from the king, except the king’s person, the Chief Queen, and the white parasol. Should Puṇṇaka lose, on the other hand, the king would take from him the Manomaya Gem and the thoroughbred horse. The king lost the contest and Puṇṇaka asked: “I have won, O king, give me the stakes as agreed.”

As it was a fact that the king had lost, he could not refuse, but allowed Puṇṇaka to take anything he wanted. Puṇṇaka said he would take Vidhura the minister. Then the king pleaded: “The minister is my person. He is also my refuge. Therefore, he should not be compared with other treasures of mine, such as gold, silver, etc. He should be compared only with my life. Thus, I cannot surrender him.”

Then Puṇṇaka said: “We shall not get anywhere if we are arguing whether he belongs to you or not. Let us go to him and abide by his decision.” The king agreed, and they went to the minister, whom Puṇṇaka asked: “Minister, as the minister of the Kurus, you are praised even by Devas for standing by righteousness. Is it true? Are you King Korabya’s servant? Are you a relative of the king’s and of equal rank? Or are you a relative of the king’s but of higher rank? Is your name Vidhura meaningful (anvattha) or without meaning (rūḷhi)?”

The last question means to say like this: In this world, there are two kinds of names. The first is a name the meaning of which does not agree with what it represents (rūḷhi); instead, it is a name given at random. The other is a name the meaning of which agrees with what it represents (anvattha). For example, if some ugly person is named Pretty Boy, it is just a name given at random because the name does not suit the boy. If some handsome person is named Pretty Boy, it is a name the meaning of which agrees with what it represents because it goes well with the appearance.

When Puṇṇaka asked whether Vidhura’s name was a name without meaning or a name the meaning of which agrees with what it represents, he wanted to verify whether the minister was righteous or not, for the name Vidhura means unequalled, and signifies a virtuous person who eradicates evils. Should the minister not abide by righteousness, his name would then be a name given at random (rūḷhi). Should he abide by righteousness, his name would then be a name in harmony with his true nature (anvattha).

Then the minister thought to himself: “I can say that I am a relative of the king, I am of higher rank or I am not at all related to the king. But in this world there is no refuge like truthfulness. I should speak out what is true.” So he said: “Friend, there are four kinds of servitude in the world:

1. The servitude of one born of a female slave.

2. The servitude of one bought by money.

3. The servitude of one who serves voluntarily.

4. The servitude of a prisoner of war.

Of these four servitudes, I am a servant who comes to serve the king voluntarily.” So the minister answered truthfully. Such an answer given truthfully, without deceit, was a speech of truth but not a truth told so that one will be believed by others (sadda-hāpana-sacca) because the speech was made not to convince others; nor was it a truth told so that one’s wish may be fulfilled (icchā-pūraṇa-sacca) because it was made not to get one’s wish fulfilled. It was made just to avoid telling lies and therefore was avoidance of telling lies (musā-viramaṇa-sacca) only.

The Birth Story about the Wise Suvaṇṇasāma

Similarly, in the Birth Story about the Wise Suvaṇṇasāma (Suvaṇṇasāma-jātaka, Ja 540), when King Pīḷiyakkha asked Suvaṇṇasāma: “What is your clan? Whose son are you? Tell me the clan to which you and your father belong.” He would have believed it if Suvaṇṇasāma were to say: “I am a Deva,” “a Nāga,” “a Kinnara,” “of a royal family” or if he were to give any other answer. But he thought he should say nothing but the truth; so he said truthfully: “I am a fisherman’s son.” Suvaṇṇasāma’s [1643] speech was like Vidhura’s, it was not to make others believe nor was it to get his wish fulfilled. In fact, it was a speech made to avoid falsehood (musā-viramaṇa-sacca).

The Birth Story about Prince Bhūridatta

In the Birth Story about Prince Bhūridatta (Bhūridatta-jātaka, Ja 543) also, when the Brahmin Nesāda approached the Bodhisatta, a Nāga who was observing the precepts, and asked him: “Who are you? Are you a powerful god? Or are you a mighty Nāga?” – “This man will believe me,” thought the Nāga King, and thinking: “I could say I am a divine being, but I ought to tell him the truth,” he told him that he was a powerful Nāga. This speech of the Nāga King, like Vidhura’s, was made not to make others believe, nor was it to have one’s wish fulfilled. But it was made to avoid falsehood and to reveal the truth (musā-viramaṇa-sacca).

What constitutes the sixth of the ten perfections is this avoidance of falsehood (musā-viramaṇa-sacca). Bodhisattas of old always made it a point to cultivate this kind of speech which is an avoidance of falsehood, so they fulfilled the perfection of truthfulness by speaking truthfully, existence after existence. If they kept silent to avoid having to tell lies and to observe truthfulness, it was not pure truth (vacī-sacca) because there was no speech at all. It was only avoidance of falsehood (virati-sacca).

Only when circumstances demand to convince others did Bodhisattas use truth of the first kind, the truth told so that one will be believed by others (sadda-hāpana-sacca); otherwise they did not. Similarly, only when they were required to get their wish fulfilled, did they make use of the truth of the second kind, the truth told so that one’s wish may be fulfilled (icchā-pūraṇa-sacca). As regards the third kind, the truth told so that telling lies may be avoided (musā-viramaṇa-sacca), they always resorted to it on all occasions. Following their examples, those who are virtuous should speak truth that avoids falsehood (musā-viramaṇa-sacca) and make efforts to cultivate it.

Two More Kinds of Truth

The aforesaid truths may be classified under two headings only, namely:

1. Truth that accomplishes something the moment one speaks (vacī-bheda-siddhi-sacca).

2. Truth that entails a follow-up after one has spoken (pacchānurakkhaṇa-sacca).

As has been mentioned before, the truth told so that one will be believed by others of the Birth Story about the Lotus Stalks; the truth told so that one’s wish may be fulfilled of the Wise Suvaṇṇasāma (Ja 540), the Wise Mariner Suppāraka (Ja 463), King Sivi (Ja 499), the Fish (Ja 34), the Young Quail (Ja 35), Kaṇhadīpāyana (Ja 444), Naḷapāna (Ja 20), Sambulā (Ja 519), Temiya (Ja 538), Janaka (Ja 539), Kaṭṭhavāhana (Ja 7) and the Peacock (Ja 491) and the truth told so that telling lies may be avoided by Vidhura (Ja 545), Suvaṇṇasāma (Ja 540) and Bhūridatta (Ja 543), produced results as soon as they were individually spoken out. There was nothing more to be performed to achieve results. Therefore, such truths are to be known as truth that accomplishes something the moment one speaks (vacī-bheda-siddhi-sacca).

But the truthfulness shown by King Sutasoma to Porisāda in the above-mentioned the Birth Story about Mahā Sutasoma (Ja 537) was different. It was a truth told so that one will be believed by others (sadda-hāpana-sacca), spoken to convince Porisāda that he would definitely return to him. This promise would be fulfilled when the king returned to the cannibal, and only then would his truthfulness be established. For this, he had to make special arrangements to effect his return to the Bodhisatta. This truthfulness of King Sutasoma was therefore of the truth that entails a follow-up after one has spoken (pacchānurakkhaṇa-sacca).

In the same way, the truthfulness practised by King Jayaddisa in the Birth Story about Prince Jayaddisa (Jayaddisa-jātaka, Ja 513) and that practised by Prince Rāma in the Birth Story about Rāma’s Father, King Dasaratha (Dasaratha-jātaka, Ja 461) are both truths that entail a follow-up after one has spoken (pacchānurakkhaṇa-sacca).

The Birth Story about Prince Jayaddisa

With reference to King Jayaddisa’s truthfulness, here is the story in brief (Jayaddisa-jātaka, Ja 513). While King Jayaddisa of the city of Uttara Pañcāla, in the kingdom of Kapila, was going on a hunting spree, on the way, he met the Brahmin Nanda, who had come back from Takkasilā and who wished to deliver a discourse. The king promised to hear the discourse from him on his return and went to the forest.

On arrival in the forest, the king and his ministers divided the hunting ground among themselves, each one had his own allocated area to catch deer. But one escaped through the king’s location, and the king had to pursue it with all his might. After a long pursuit, he [1644] managed to catch the deer; he cut it into two halves and carried them, hanging from a pole on his shoulder. Having taken a rest for a short while under a banyan tree, he stood up to continue his journey. At that moment, the Yakkha-like human Porisāda, who was dwelling at the banyan tree, prevented him from going, he said: “You have now become my prey. You must not go.”

The Yakkha-like human was not a real Yakkha. He was, in fact, the king’s older brother, who, while an infant was caught by a Yakkhinī. But she had no heart to eat the baby and brought him up as her own son. So he had a Yakkha’s mental and physical behaviour. When his foster mother, the Yakkhinī, died, he was left alone and lived like a Yakkha.

Then King Jayaddisa said: “I have an appointment with a Brahmin who has come back from Takkasilā. I have promised him to hear his discourse. Let me go and hear it, after which I will come back and be true to my word.” The Yakkha-like human set him free, readily accepting the king’s assurance.

The Yakkha-like human and the king were brothers in reality. Because of their blood relationship, which was not realized by either of them, the former had some compassion for the latter and let him go.

The king went to hear the Brahmin’s discourse and was about to return to the Yakkha-like human. At that moment, his son, Prince Alīnasattu, the Bodhisatta, pleaded with the king that he should go on behalf of his father. As the son insisted, the father allowed him to go. The king’s word: “I will come back,” had to be kept and made true after it had been spoken; so it was a truth that entails a follow-up after one has spoken (pacchānurakkhaṇa-sacca).

The Birth Story about Rāma’s Father, King Dasaratha

The Birth Story about Rāma’s Father, King Dasaratha (Dasaratha-jātaka, Ja 461), in brief: After giving birth to an older son, Rāma, the younger son, Lakkhaṇa and the daughter, Sitā Devī, King Dasaratha’s Chief Queen passed away. The king took a new queen, of whom Prince Bhārata was born. The new queen repeatedly pressed the king to hand over the throne to her own son Bhārata. The king summoned his two senior sons and said: “I am worried about you, you might be in danger because of the new queen and her son Bhārata. The astrologers have told me that I would live twelve more years. So you should stay in a forest for twelve years after which you should come back and take over the kingship.”

Then Prince Rāma promised his father that he would obey him, and the two brothers left the city. They were joined by their sister, as she refused to be separated from them. In spite of the astrologers’ prediction, the king died early, after only nine years, because of his worries about his children. Then the ministers, who did not want to have Bhārata as their king, went after the royal children. They told them of the king’s death and requested them to return to the city and rule over the people. But Prince Rāma said: “I have promised my father to return only after twelve years as my father had ordered. If I return now, I will not be keeping my promise to my father. I do not want to break my word. Therefore, take my brother, Prince Lakkhaṇa and my sister, Sitā Devī, and make them Crown Prince and Crown Princess, and you ministers should rule the country yourselves.” Here, Prince Rāma had to wait for the end of the time limit so that what he had agreed upon with his father would be substantiated. This too was truth that entails a follow-up after one has spoken (pacchānurakkhaṇa-sacca).

Truth concerning Time

In order to make an easy distinction between truth that accomplishes something the moment one speaks (vacī-bheda-siddhi-sacca) and truth that entails a follow-up after one has spoken (pacchānurakkhaṇa-sacca), there are four kinds of truth according to a brief classification:

1. Truth concerning the past only.

2. Truth concerning the past and the present.

3. Truth concerning the future only.

4. Truth concerning no particular time.

Of these four, the one concerning the future is truth that entails a follow-up after one has spoken, and the remaining three are truth that accomplishes something the moment one speaks.

Of the truths in the Birth Story about the Wise Suvaṇṇasāma (Suvaṇṇasāma-jātaka, Ja 540), the collection of truths uttered by the Bodhisatta’s parents concerned the past, for they said: “Sāma had formerly practised Dhamma; he used to cultivate only noble practices; he used to speak only the truth; he had looked after his parents; he had shown respect to the elders.”

The truth uttered by his parents that: “We love Suvaṇṇasāma more than our lives and the truth uttered by Queen Bahusundarī that: “There is no one whom I love more than [1645] Sāma,” were truths which concern no particular time.

The collection of truths told so that one’s wish may be fulfilled (icchā-pūraṇa-sacca) in the Wise Mariner Suppāraka (Ja 463) and King Sivi (Ja 499) Birth Stories concerned the past. Similarly, that contained in Kaṇhadīpāyana (Ja 444) and Naḷapāna (Ja 20) Birth Stories also concerned the past.

In the Young Quail (Ja 35) Birth Story, the utterance, “I have wings, but I cannot fly; I have legs, but I cannot walk,” concerned both the past and the present.

The truth saying: “There is none whom I love more than you,” in the Sambulā (Ja 519) and that of the Chief Queen, Candā Devī, in the Birth Story about the Wise Temiya (Temiya-jātaka, Ja 538) concerned no particular time.

In this way, the relationship between the truths and their respective times referred to may be considered and noted.

The Supreme Perfection of Truthfulness

With reference to the perfection of truthfulness, the Abundance of Meaning (Aṭṭha-sālinī, DsA) commentary and the commentary on the Chronicles of the Buddhas (Buddha-vaṁsa) explain that King Mahā Sutasoma’s perfection of truthfulness was the supreme perfection because, in order to keep his word true, the king went back to Porisāda as promised at the risk of his own life. In this case, the vow was made in the presence of Porisāda, but as it was a mere utterance, its purpose had not yet been fulfilled; to fulfil it, the vow still remained to be kept. As he had promised: “I will come back,” he returned even after he had been back in the city of Indapattha. At first, when he promised: “I will come back,” his sacrifice of life did not appear imminent. It became so only when he returned to Porisāda from Indapattha. Therefore, in the commentaries, he is mentioned as “the king who protected his truthfulness, sacrificing his life (jīvitaṁ cajitvā saccaṁ anurakkhantassa),” but not as “the king who made an oath at the risk of his life (jīvitaṁ cajitvā saccaṁ bhaṇantassa).”

Reflections on the Two Kinds of Truth

In this connection, the truthfulness of King Mahā Sutasoma and that of minister Vidhura are worthy of a comparative study. The minister’s truthfulness was his truthful saying: “I am a servant,” as is told in vs. 102 of the Birth Story about the Wise Vidhura (Vidhura-jātaka, Ja 546). As soon as he said so, his truthfulness was accomplished. But, when he said that he had nothing to worry about, he could not die just being a servant. Therefore, one might say that Vidhura’s truthfulness was inferior to Sutasoma’s.

However, it may be considered that Vidhura was prepared to sacrifice his life, thinking to himself: “That young man may like to do away with me after taking me away. If he does so, I will accept death.” For, as he was wise, he must have pondered like this: “This young man asked for me, but did not want to honour me. If he had a desire to honour me, he would have openly told me his purpose and invited me for the same, but he did not invite me. He won possession of me by gambling and would not set me free.” Besides, though he was a young man, he was a Yakkha by birth. Seeing his behaviour, the minister must have noticed that he was a tough, wild person. Another thing that should be taken into consideration is this: When Vidhura had, by way of farewell, exhorted the king and his family members and said: “I have done my job,” the young Yakkha, Puṇṇaka, replied (vs 196): “Do not be afraid. Firmly hold on to the tail of my horse. This will be the last time for you to see the world while you are living.” Vidhura boldly retorted: “I have done no evil that would lead to states of suffering. Why should I be afraid?” From this word of the minister, it is clear he had decided to sacrifice his life.

All this points to the fact that Vidhura’s truthfulness contained some risk to life and was thus not inferior to Sutasoma’s; it should be concluded that it was, if not superior, it was at least of the same class as that of Sutasoma.

The unique feature of this perfection of truthfulness in contrast to the previous ones is that it possesses the power to have one’s desire fulfilled because of the truth uttered. In the Birth Story about Mahā Sutasoma (Mahā-sutasoma-jātaka, Ja 537, vs 62) it is also said:

“Of all the tastes which prevail on this earth, the [1646] taste of truth is the sweetest.”

Therefore, one should exert great efforts in order to enjoy the delicious taste of truth.