Without Papiyan,
the Buddha could not have achieved enlightenment.
In the last two episodes,
we discussed Sakra and Papiyan, the Demon King.
Sakra represents the pinnacle of good karma.
Papiyan is the gatekeeper who prevents you from seeing that ceiling.
After those two episodes were released,
someone followed up with a question.
It was an excellent question.
He asked,
"Why does Papiyan live at the very top of the Six Heavens of the Desire Realm?"
"Shouldn't he live at the very bottom?"
"Shouldn't the most evil things be in hell?"
"Why is he instead in the highest heaven?"
Behind this question lies a massive misunderstanding.
Let's break it down.
Hello,
everyone.
I am Wang Lijie.
Think about it:
Is there only one form of desire?
You're hungry and want to eat;
that is desire.
You want a promotion and a raise;
that is desire.
You can't stop scrolling through short videos;
that is desire.
These desires are all obvious;
you can recognize them at a glance.
But there's another kind of desire,
one you can hardly recognize.
You meditate until you reach a state of great peace,
and a thought arises in your heart:
"I want to stay here forever."
That is desire.
You help many people,
and they call you a living Buddha.
You feel a warmth inside,
as you enjoy the feeling of being needed.
That is desire.
You practice for ten years,
and finally feel that you're different from before.
You say to yourself,
"I have let go."
The sense of satisfaction from "having let go" itself
is desire.
The Six Heavens of the Desire Realm are ordered from bottom to top,
not by the intensity of desire,
but by its degree of subtlety.
In the lowest level, the Heaven of the Four Great Kings,
desire is at its coarsest,
similar to the human world.
There is physical contact
and tangible pleasure.
The higher you go,
the more refined desire becomes.
In the third level, the Yama Heaven,
a hug is enough.
In the fourth level, the Tushita Heaven,
holding hands brings satisfaction.
In the fifth level, the Nirmanarati Heaven,
it's a shared smile.
By the sixth level, the Paranirmita-vasavartin Heaven,
a single glance is enough.
One doesn't even need to create their own joy;
they just enjoy what others have created.
Consider this direction of evolution.
Desire isn't getting stronger;
it's becoming more invisible.
Papiyan lives at the top level,
not because he is the most evil.
On the contrary,
within the logic of the Desire Realm,
he is the most successful.
He successfully evolved desire into its ultimate form.
What is the ultimate form?
It is a desire that doesn't look like a desire;
it's the desire that makes you feel you've already transcended desire.
Let me give you an example you might have experienced.
If someone tells you
That your greed for money is a desire,
you would nod in agreement.
If someone told you
that your lust is a desire,
you would admit it.
But if someone told you
that your calm sense of having seen through it all,
or your sense of superiority in being more awake than others,
is itself a desire—
what would be your first reaction?
You would feel uncomfortable.
You would tell yourself,
"No,"
"this is different."
It is exactly this "difference"
that placed Papiyas on the highest throne of the Desire Realm.
He isn't the strongest desire;
he is the desire best at hiding.
He doesn't live where you can recognize him;
he lives where you think you have already transcended.
This is the true design logic of the Six Heavens of the Desire Realm.
It isn't a building ranging from good to bad;
it's a series of filters ranging from coarse to fine.
With each higher level,
a visible desire is filtered out,
revealing one that is invisible.
By the time you reach the sixth level,
what remains
is completely invisible to the naked eye.
You need wisdom to illuminate it.
Think of it like the difficulty design of a game.
Enemies in the first level are red;
you see them from afar
and can strike them immediately.
Enemies in the second level can turn invisible;
you have to search carefully.
Enemies in the third level disguise themselves as your teammates.
In the final level,
the enemy disguises itself as your own internal monologue.
You won't even suspect your own thoughts.
That is the ultimate difficulty.
Papiyas doesn't live in hell,
because the suffering in hell is visible at a glance;
you know it's not where you want to be.
Papiyas lives on the highest level of heaven,
because everything there is so perfect,
so good that you have absolutely no reason to leave.
The best cage isn't one that makes you suffer;
it's the one that makes you comfortable.
Alright,
now that we've broken down this issue,
I want to address something even more piercing.
In your life,
is there anyone playing the role of Papiyas for you?
I'm not talking about fake masters who obviously scan you for money;
that's too crude
to be called Papiyas.
Papiyas operates at a much higher level.
I'm talking about those you truly admire—
venerable monks whose teachings move you to tears,
sages whose every word strikes you as profoundly true,
teachers who make you feel you've finally found your direction.
You follow a master to practice;
he teaches you many things,
you make great progress,
and you feel deeply grateful.
All of this is real;
I don't deny it.
But one day,
a thought quietly arises in your mind:
"It's fine as long as I follow my master."
"The master will show the way;"
"I don't need to search for it myself anymore."
This thought
is Papiyas.
Note,
I'm not saying your master is Papiyas.
Your master may be a truly realized practitioner.
The problem isn't with the master;
it's with that thought in your heart that says, "it's enough just to follow."
Papiyan never needs to appear in person.
Remember?
He resides in the Sixth Heaven,
enjoying the pleasures created by others.
He only needs to borrow the image of the person you trust most,
and install a "that's enough" button in your mind.
Think about it.
How did the Buddha himself attain Enlightenment?
First, he followed Alara Kalama,
learning the Dimension of Nothingness.
This was one of the top meditative achievements in India at the time.
The Buddha soon reached the same state as his teacher.
Alara Kalama appreciated him greatly,
saying, "You are now the same as I am.
Stay here,
and let us lead the students together."
The Buddha left.
Then he followed Uddaka Ramaputta,
learning the Dimension of Neither Perception nor Non-Perception.
This was a level higher than the Dimension of Nothingness,
the highest state worldly meditation could reach.
The Buddha soon reached that too.
Uddaka Ramaputta was even more direct,
offering him the leadership of the entire community.
The Buddha left again.
Both teachers were true masters.
What they taught was real,
and the Buddha did learn real things from them.
But the Buddha did not stop.
He didn't think that just following a master was enough.
He saw clearly in his mind that
this was not the end.
If the Buddha had stopped before either teacher,
there would be no enlightenment under the Bodhi tree.
Those two teachers weren't fakes,
and their teachings weren't wrong.
But the thought that following them was "enough" —
if that thought had taken root in the Buddha's mind,
that thought itself would be Papiyan.
Have you ever, in front of someone you trust,
unconsciously switched off your own judgment?
Have you given up the urge to keep questioning just because they were right?
Have you, after staying in a community, a circle,
or a school of thought for a long time,
begun to feel that "our way is the only right way"
and there's no need to look elsewhere?
Every force that makes you stop exploring,
no matter what it wears —
monk's robes,
a business suit,
or a scientist's white coat —
is, at that moment, performing the function of Papiyan.
Let me be more precise.
Papiyan's function is not to deceive you.
It is to make you stop at a certain "correct" position.
That position might indeed be very good;
the Dimension of Nothingness is great,
and Neither Perception nor Non-Perception is even better.
But "good" is not the same as "there."
The moment you stop there,
that location turns from a signpost into a cage.
Some might say,
"Are you teaching people to disrespect their masters,
or to trust no one?"
No.
When the Buddha left his two teachers,
he did not negate them.
He simply did not treat them as the finish line.
You can be grateful to someone,
you can learn from someone,
while maintaining a clear awareness that,
"This is not the end.
I must keep going."
Gratitude and dependence are two different things.
Learning and stopping are two different things.
Zen Buddhism later put this even more bluntly.
Linji Yixuan had a saying:
"If you meet a Buddha, kill the Buddha.
If you meet a Patriarch, kill the Patriarch."
This phrase has terrified many people.
How could one kill the Buddha?
But think carefully:
What is it that Linji said to kill?
It's not the Buddha himself.
It's the thought in your mind that turns the Buddha into an idol or an object of dependence,
a reason why you no longer need to walk the path yourself.
If the Buddha in your heart becomes a wall,
blocking your own line of sight,
then that wall is Papiyan.
If the sutras you recite become a placebo,
stopping you from questioning what lies behind the words,
then that placebo is Papiyan.
If your practice circle becomes a comfortable cocoon,
where everyone reinforces and validates each other,
and no one questions anymore,
then that cocoon is Papiyan's palace in Paranirmita-vasavartin.
How do you distinguish between learning and depending?
There's a simple test.
Try to mentally object to
a specific view of someone you respect most.
If you find you can't do it,
not because they're right or you lack a counter-argument,
but because you feel an internal fear,
a certain sense of "not daring to,"
then you must be alert.
That inhibition
is Papiyan's rope.
True learning empowers you to walk on your own;
dependence makes you increasingly afraid to lose your crutch.
Alright.
Having said all this,
you might feel a bit uncomfortable.
So, I'll provide one final twist.
Is Papiyan inherently evil?
Return to that night beneath the Bodhi tree.
Without Papiyan's challenge,
how could the Buddha's enlightenment be verified?
Papiyan sent his three daughters,
representing craving, discontent, and lust.
The Buddha recognized each one.
Papiyan sent eight armies,
representing fear, sloth, doubt, and hypocrisy.
The Buddha saw through them all.
Without these tests,
enlightenment would just be a quiet inner feeling.
It hasn't been stress-tested.
Feeling calm in a quiet room
is not true meditative stability.
Maintaining that peace in a chaotic market—
that is true stability.
Papiyan is that marketplace.
He creates noise, distractions, and temptations,
to see if your peace is real or just a product of your environment.
Papiyan's appearance
is precisely the quality control phase of enlightenment.
You think you've let go?
Fine.
Let me test you.
You think you're no longer afraid?
Fine.
Let me create a fear for you to see.
You think you've seen through it all?
Fine.
I'll give you a seemingly perfect reason to stop,
and see if you actually stop.
Each time you unmask Papiyan,
your enlightenment deepens by one level.
Each time you fail to see through him,
you realize you still have a blind spot.
Papiyan won't let you pass just because you are sincere.
He won't waive the inspection because you've practiced for twenty years.
He specifically targets your weakest point.
If your weakness is fear,
he brings fear.
If your weakness is a craving for tranquility,
he hints that "this is enough."
If your weakness is dependence on authority,
he'll have you meet someone seemingly worthy of total trust.
Papiyan is the toughest quality inspector on the path of practice.
Just as you need resistance to build muscle when working out.
In spiritual practice, you need Mara to grow wisdom.
Practice without resistance
is like lifting weightless dumbbells.
Lifting them ten thousand times won't build strength.
There's a noteworthy detail in the Pali Canon.
After the Buddha attained enlightenment,
Mara did not disappear.
He appeared repeatedly throughout the Buddha's 45 years of teaching.
He appeared before the Buddha's disciples,
before the bhikkunis,
and even directly approached the Buddha to speak.
But every single time,
the Buddha and his disciples responded in the same way.
Not by attacking,
nor by driving him away,
but with a single phrase:
"Mara,
I see you."
Recognized,
not eliminated.
What does this mean?
It means enlightenment isn't a state without Mara；
enlightenment is the ability to recognize Mara at any moment.
Desire still exists.
Fear still exists.
That voice saying "enough" still exists.
But you have gained a mirror in your heart.
This mirror is mindfulness.
When Mara comes,
you shine the light on him.
Once recognized,
he loses his control over you.
He's still there,
but he's powerless against you.
A world without Mara
would not need a Buddha.
It is precisely because of Mara
that enlightenment has meaning.
It's because someone blocks your path
that walking through is called liberation.
This logic is the same as your immune system.
Why is your immune system strong?
Not because you've never encountered viruses.
Quite the opposite—
it's because you've been exposed to countless germs since childhood.
Your body identifies, fights, and remembers them time and again.
A child raised in a sterile room
has the weakest immune system.
Enlightenment is the same.
A practitioner never tested by Mara
has an enlightenment that can't withstand a breeze.
Truly solid enlightenment
must be forged through repeated testing by Mara.
Think about your own experience.
What made you grow the most?
Smooth sailing or adversity?
What truly made you see yourself?
Praise from others, or those unexpected blows?
What made you realize you still had blind spots?
The peace of meditation,
or those moments in life that suddenly knocked you back to square one?
Those moments
are Mara at work.
He has no malice.
He is just doing his quality inspection.
And his inspection
is the only standard for whether you can pass.
So at this point in the trilogy,
the picture is complete.
Sakra tells you
that good karma has a ceiling.
That is the first lesson.
Most people are stuck on this lesson for life.
They think being a "good person" is the end goal.
Mara tells you
there’s a force preventing you from seeing that ceiling.
That is the second lesson.
Even fewer people reach this stage,
because recognizing Mara requires admitting an uncomfortable fact:
the sense of security you've always believed in...
might actually be a cage.
And today, this third lesson,
is the hardest in the trilogy to swallow.
The force that prevents you from seeing
is exactly what helps you develop the ability to see.
Your opponent is your teacher.
Your obstacle is your textbook.
That voice in your heart saying "enough"
isn't there to destroy you;
it's there to test you.
There must have been moments in your life
where you thought you had figured it all out,
only for something to happen,
and all that clarity shattered instantly.
That moment of shattering was painful,
but looking back later,
you will realize
that it was that very shattering
that allowed you to see what was hidden beneath the shell
of what you thought you had understood.
Clarity that has never been shattered
isn't true clarity;
it's self-hypnosis.
Without a ceiling,
you wouldn't know where to go.
Without a gatekeeper,
you wouldn't know where the door is.
Without Mara,
the Buddha could not have attained enlightenment.
Finally, I want to leave you with a question.
The next time the voice saying "enough" rises in your heart,
don't be quick to listen to it,
and don't be quick to fight it.
Try the Buddha's method.
Quietly,
say to it:
"I recognize you."
Then observe what changes within your heart.
That change itself
is proof that practice is happening.
I am Wang Lijie.
See you next time.