The Samdhinirmocana Sutra says:
The world you see has three layers.
In the last episode, we obtained the code for "Alaya-vijnana."
That was only half the map.
Today,
the other half arrives.
Alaya-vijnana explains the underlying hardware of consciousness.
This episode answers:
What is the logic of the software running on this hardware?
More importantly,
how do we patch this software?
Hello,
everyone,
I am Wang Lijie.
Let's start with a minimalist review.
This series began with the Agama Sutras,
where we heard the Four Noble Truths and Dependent Origination from the Buddha himself.
Then we entered the Prajna system,
spending three episodes unpacking the logic of the Diamond, Heart, and Mahaprajnaparamita Sutras.
We spent two more episodes tackling Nagarjuna's Mūlamadhyamakakārikā,
the Eightfold Negation, and the Catuskoti.
With the Dhammapada,
we took a breather.
Last episode, we entered the Samdhinirmocana Sutra
and grasped the Alaya-vijnana.
Now you have a complete set of tools.
Prajna gave you eyes with extreme penetration,
allowing you to see that nothing has a fixed, unchanging essence.
Madhyamaka pushed that penetration to the limit,
even emptying the concept of emptiness itself.
However,
many viewers asked a very practical question in the comments.
To summarize:
"Okay,
I know everything is empty.
Now what?
When I wake up tomorrow morning,
I still have to work,
pay the mortgage,
and deal with that annoying colleague.
Can 'emptiness'
help me handle these things?"
That is an excellent question,
because it is the core mission of the Samdhinirmocana Sutra:
to answer the "now what" left by Prajna.
In the scripture, a Bodhisattva named Paramarthasamudgata
asked the Buddha a question on behalf of everyone.
In plain language:
"World-Honored One,
You said before that all dharmas lack self-nature—
that everything is empty.
But when I observe the world,
there clearly are mountains, water, people, and events.
What exactly is it that I am seeing?
If everything is empty,
then what is going on
with everything I see right now?"
The Buddha's answer
was the Three Natures.
Note that
the Three Natures are not three different things;
they are three layers of the same reality.
It's like looking at a glass of water.
A physicist sees the Brownian motion of hydrogen and oxygen molecules.
A thirsty person sees something to drink.
A poet sees flowing time.
The water doesn't change,
but the framework you use
determines what you see.
The first layer:
Dependent Nature (Paratantra-svabhava).
"Dependent" means exactly what it says:
arising based on other conditions.
Why does a flower appear before you?
Because of seeds, soil, sunlight, water, and the right temperature;
pollinating insects, and you, the observer, standing right here.
Take away any one of these conditions,
and the flower cannot exist.
This is dependency.
All phenomena are products of interwoven causes and conditions.
Pay attention;
this isn't just repeating what Prajñā says.
Prajñā speaks of "no self-nature."
The focus is on negation—
that a flower has no independent, unchanging "flower-ness."
Dependence on others says it is indeed functioning.
The focus is on affirmation—
that the flow of causes and conditions is actually happening,
it just lacks a fixed subject.
To use an analogy:
Prajñā is a surgeon.
Its job is to remove the tumor.
But after the surgery,
how to stitch the wound
and how the body recovers
is a different set of knowledge.
Dependence on others is that plan for stitching and recovery.
It tells you
that emptiness is not a wasteland of nothingness.
In the world of emptiness, a precise network of causes still operates.
The second layer:
The Nature of Pervasive Imagined Attachment.
This layer is the most interesting.
Pervasive imagining means differentiating and calculating everywhere.
Attachment refers to the objects we cling to.
What does this mean?
It means your brain, on top of the flow of causes,
automatically superimposes a whole layer of story.
For example:
You're walking down the road;
it's getting dark.
There's a rope on the ground.
Within a fraction of a second, your brain tells you
it's a snake.
You're startled;
your heart races,
and you want to take a detour.
But when you look closer,
it's a rope.
The snake never existed in the first place.
What is the rope?
It's the dependence on others—
the real causes and conditions.
What is the snake?
It's pervasive imagined attachment—
an illusion projected by your consciousness onto causal data.
Notice this:
The Buddha didn't say the rope was fake.
The rope is real.
He said the snake was fake.
Translating this to daily life:
The event is real;
the story you weave around it is fake.
A colleague yawns during a meeting.
This is a product of causes.
Maybe they didn't sleep well,
or they're just sleepy after a big lunch.
But in a fraction of a second, your brain scripts a drama:
"Do they think my proposal is boring?"
"Are they already preparing to oppose me?"
This drama is pervasive imagined attachment.
All your anxiety and unease that afternoon
are built upon a drama you scripted yourself.
A viewer in the comments said something very precise:
Replace "I'm anxious" with "I've observed variables beyond control."
This replacement itself does one thing:
It tears off the label of pervasive attachment
and returns to the factual level of causal dependence.
You aren't lying to yourself;
you're just clearing that automatically superimposed filter.
The third layer:
The Nature of Perfect Fulfillment.
"Perfect" means complete;
"Fulfillment" means achievement;
"Reality" is truth.
When you see through the drama as your own fabrication,
without denying the causal flow of dependence,
you touch onto perfect fulfillment—
seeing everything exactly as it is.
There is an extremely subtle point here.
Perfected Reality (Parinishpanna) is not about seeing something new;
it is not a fourth or fifth layer beyond Dependent Reality (Paratantra).
It is Dependent Reality itself,
just with the filter of Imagined Reality (Parikalpita) removed.
It’s like wearing tinted glasses to look at the world.
After decades of wearing them,
you assume the world is naturally that color.
One day, you take off the glasses.
The world hasn't changed,
but the colors you see have.
The world you see after taking off the glasses
is Perfected Reality.
Prajña gives you eyes to see through illusions;
the Three Natures provide a map of reality.
Prajña's role is to tell you
that you are wearing glasses.
Madhyamaka's role is to prove
that these glasses are 100% redundant.
The Three Natures' role is to tell you
what the glasses look like,
what the world originally looked like,
and how vision feels after they are removed.
One handles the diagnosis;
the other provides the treatment plan.
However,
if you listen closely,
you will notice a contradiction.
The Prajña system clearly says all phenomena lack self-nature;
that everything is empty.
Now the Three Natures says Dependent Reality is at work
and there is a Perfected Reality to be realized.
Isn't this a self-contradiction?
In the Sandhinirmocana Sutra, a Bodhisattva named Paramarthasamudgata
asked this very question on behalf of everyone.
The Buddha's response was brilliant.
He said,
"When I said all phenomena lack self-nature,
I wasn't making a blanket statement that nothing exists.
I was referring to three different levels of 'non-self-nature'."
Imagined Reality is the 'non-self-nature of characteristics.'
The snake never existed;
its appearance itself is false,
so it is said to have no self-nature.
Dependent Reality is the 'non-self-nature of production.'
The rope indeed exists,
but it didn't jump out of thin air;
it arises depending on causes and conditions.
It lacks the ability to produce itself,
so it is also called 'lacking self-nature.'
Perfected Reality is the 'ultimate non-self-nature.'
This doesn't mean it lacks essence,
but that it transcends the kind of 'self-nature' you can grasp with concepts.
It is not an object you can hold and say, 'This is the truth.'
See,
the 'emptiness' of Prajña and the 'existence' of the Three Natures
are actually not in conflict.
Prajña clears obstacles through negation;
the Three Natures describes reality through affirmation.
It's like the same mountain:
Prajña climbs to the peak from the north slope,
while the Three Natures climbs from the south.
The view from the top is the same.
At this point,
the theoretical part of the Sandhinirmocana Sutra ends.
But the most remarkable thing about this sutra
isn't how precise its theory is.
The best part is that,
after finishing the theory,
it immediately provides an operations manual.
This manual is in the 'Chapter on Yoga' of the sutra.
The questioner is Maitreya Bodhisattva.
His question, translated into plain language, is:
"World-Honored One,
I understand the theory,
but can you tell me specifically how to practice?"
The Buddha's answer consists of two words:
"Shamatha and Vipashyana."
Shamatha (Calming),
called 'Zhi' in Chinese,
and Vipashyana (Insight)...
Vipashyana in Sanskrit.
You have likely heard these two terms countless times,
but the teaching in the Sandhinirmocana Sutra has an extremely important, unique aspect.
It bridges Samatha and Vipashyana directly to the Three Natures.
What is the purpose of Samatha?
Samatha is to temporarily quiet your Parikalpita-svabhāva (imaginary nature).
Your mind is like a lake.
The wind blows continuously,
and ripples keep forming on the water's surface.
Each wave is a thought,
a story,
a judgment.
The training of Samatha is to stop the wind,
calming the surface of the water.
Note that,
Samatha is not draining the water.
The water is still there;
the flow of causes and conditions remains.
You simply stop throwing stones into the water.
What is the purpose of Vipashyana?
Vipashyana is clearly seeing what is beneath the water
once the surface is calm.
Seeing what?
Seeing the true face of Paratantra-svabhāva (dependent nature).
How causes and conditions combine,
how thoughts arise,
how emotions are triggered.
Without the interference of Parikalpita,
your observation of the stream of causality becomes exceptionally clear.
Are Samatha and Vipashyana two separate steps?
No.
In the Sandhinirmocana Sutra, the Buddha emphasizes
that Samatha and Vipashyana must ultimately be practiced in union.
Like the two wings of a bird,
it cannot fly if one is missing.
If you practice Samatha without Vipashyana,
you will become very quiet and comfortable,
but you will lack wisdom.
You are merely enjoying a form of spiritual anesthesia.
If you practice Vipashyana without Samatha,
you may be clever and see things clearly,
but your mind will be unstable.
Like walking while holding a bowl of water,
it spills after just two steps.
Speaking of which,
I want you to try an experiment.
Right now,
the instant you hear me speaking.
Can you take three seconds
without analyzing, judging, or making up stories?
Just listen.
Listen to the sound of my voice itself.
Don't think about what the sentence means,
don't think about whether you agree,
don't think about what I'll say next.
Just listen.
For three seconds.
Good.
If you actually did it just now,
even if you experienced just a second of pure listening,
what happened in that second
is a miniature version of Samatha and Vipashyana.
Not analyzing or judging is the miniature version of Samatha;
you paused the story-making machine.
Clearly hearing the sound is the miniature version of Vipashyana;
your perception became more direct and vivid.
Did you notice
that in those one or two seconds,
the sound seemed clearer than usual?
That is the feeling of Paratantra becoming clear
after Parikalpita takes a step back.
This isn't mysticism.
Dr. Judson Brewer's team at Yale
published a study in 2011
in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences (PNAS).
They found that in long-term meditators,
the activity of the Default Mode Network (DMN) is significantly reduced.
What is the Default Mode Network?
It is the system in the brain responsible for storytelling.
It ruminates on the past and imagines the future.
Self-evaluation and worrying about how others see you.
When this network quiets down,
the brain becomes more efficient at processing direct sensory input.
In other words,
what science observes and what the Buddha described 2,500 years ago
as the results of 'Samatha and Vipassana'
point to the exact same thing.
When you stop spinning stories,
your perception of reality becomes more authentic.
But the Buddha added a specific warning in the Saṃdhinirmocana Sūtra.
Maitreya Bodhisattva asked,
"During Samatha and Vipassana,
will certain special experiences occur?"
The Buddha replied,
"Yes.
You might see light,
you might feel weightless,
or experience unprecedented peace and joy."
Then the Buddha said something very important:
"These experiences are all Paratantra-svabhāva (dependent origination)."
If you interpret them as 'I am enlightened' or 'I have special powers,'
you've fallen back into Parikalpita-svabhāva (imaginary construction).
Do you see it?
The Three Natures is not just a theoretical framework;
it's a real-time anti-fraud system.
It constantly reminds you:
No matter what you experience during practice,
ask yourself one thing:
"Am I seeing the dependent facts of reality,
or am I layering a constructed story on top of them?"
This system is just as useful in daily life.
Imagine you get promoted.
You're happy.
The happiness itself is Paratantra-svabhāva.
The conditions were met,
dopamine was secreted;
that part is real.
But if you think, "I've finally proved myself!"
or "What will my critics say now?"
that is Parikalpita-svabhāva.
You've superimposed a whole narrative about self-worth
onto a biological event.
Or you get laid off.
You're in pain.
The pain itself is Paratantra-svabhāva.
Survival threats triggered stress responses in the cortisol and amygdala;
that is also real.
But "My life is over," or "I'm such a failure"—
these are Parikalpita-svabhāva again.
It's not that you shouldn't have emotions.
Emotions are Paratantra-svabhāva;
they are real biological phenomena.
The Three Natures doesn't ask you to eliminate emotions,
but to look a step deeper the moment they arise.
The emotion is real;
the story I weave around it might not be.
You can try it right now.
Recall something that recently made you angry or anxious.
Don't dwell on it too long—
just three to five seconds.
Okay.
Now ask yourself:
Is the event itself
the same as the story I told about it?
Are they one and the same?
If you can separate these two layers in your memory,
even if you just vaguely sense a gap between them,
then you are already practicing Samatha and Vipassana.
No cushion required.
No remote mountains needed.
No need to sit cross-legged.
In the office,
on the subway,
in the middle of an argument—
as long as you can look one step further at that moment,
the practice has already happened.
This is the most remarkable thing about the Sūtra's teachings.
It doesn't place practice outside of life;
it turns life itself into the training ground.
Every time an emotion arises,
is an opportunity to practice.
Everyone who makes you uncomfortable
is a mirror helping you see your imagined attachments.
The 'Chapter on Yoga Analysis' in the Samdhinirmocana Sutra has another notable teaching.
The Buddha told Maitreya Bodhisattva
that there is a key principle in practicing Shamatha and Vipashyana:
your object of observation is not a specific thing,
but the common characteristics of all phenomena—
impermanence, suffering, emptiness, and non-self.
You aren't just staring at a breath, a Buddha statue, or a mantra;
you are looking at any object
to see its dependent nature and your tendency toward imagined attachment.
The object is the means;
seeing through it is the goal.
This is the biggest difference between this Sutra and many other teachings.
It doesn't just teach you a meditation technique;
it integrates Shamatha-Vipashyana and the Three Natures into a closed loop.
The Three Natures tell you the structure of reality;
Shamatha-Vipashyana tells you how to verify this structure yourself.
Theory and practice become one here.
I’ve had a deep personal realization about this.
Three years ago, I began interacting intensely with AI.
I noticed an interesting phenomenon.
When I give AI a vague question,
its answer is also vague.
When I ask with extreme precision,
the quality of its answer leaps to a whole new level.
Later, I realized
this follows the same logic as meditation.
A vague question is like a wavy lake;
whatever stone you throw in,
you only see distorted reflections.
A precise question is like a calm lake;
you can clearly see what lies beneath the surface.
Shamatha (calm abiding)
makes your questioning precise.
Vipashyana (insight)
is seeing the answer based on that precision.
Whether you are facing AI or your own mind,
the principle is the same.
That being said,
I want to summarize for you
the path we've traveled since the start of this series.
The Agamas gave you the basic understanding of dependent origination.
The Prajna system gave you eyes to see through illusions.
The Mulamadhyamakakarika pushed that penetration to the limit.
Then, the Samdhinirmocana Sutra did something crucial.
On the ground cleared by Prajna,
it rebuilt a sophisticated system of description.
This system tells you
that emptiness is not the end.
Emptiness is the starting point.
Upon the foundation of emptiness,
the flow of dependent causes and conditions continues to run.
Stories of imagined attachments are automatically overlaid.
And the perfected knowledge of things-as-they-are is waiting for you.
And meditation—Shamatha and Vipashyana—
is the bridge from knowing to seeing.
But this bridge is still only a framework.
The Samdhinirmocana Sutra gave us a direction,
but where is the specific, detailed map?
How do the Eight Consciousnesses actually function?
What are the rules of the 'seeds' (bija)?
What stages does one go through from ordinary person to awakening?
These require an even more powerful work to unfold.
That work
consists of only thirty verses,
but each one is compressed to the extreme.
It is called the 'Thirty Verses on Consciousness-Only.'
It is the constitution of Yogacara philosophy.
Thinking about the framework of the Three Natures
in your own daily life,
which step do you think is the hardest?
Is it knowing that imagined attachments exist,
or being able to see them the moment they arise?
The distance between these two
is perhaps the gap between study and actual practice.
I am Wang Lijie.
I'll see you in the next episode.