Memorizing the Dhammapada (I)
A translation of the Buddha's aphorisms into the language of memory
Among all the ancient human arts being eclipsed by modern technology (which now apparently include drawing, writing, and love), one might think that the art of memory is in the most wretched position of all. In an age dominated by mass literacy and audio recording, in which everyone has the largest encyclopedia in human history at his fingertips, who needs to memorize anything anymore?
Consequently this art has been forced into low employment: into party trickery, cardsharpery, and memory competitions involving the recital of long strings of random numbers. Without having participated in any such competitions, I’ve dabbled a bit in the memorization of numbers, and it has its uses. But the real point of mnemotechnics in the modern day is to memorize the sort of works that ought to be mulled upon, digested and redigested, and prevented from passing away in the huge muddy river of written material that flows through the mind of everyone who reads.
Maxims, aphorisms and verses, especially those of a religious-philosophical nature, are an obvious choice for this. Life wisdom, moral commandments and spiritual exercises cannot be skimmed like newspaper articles, or consigned to some digital or paper notebook and then forgotten. Either they are continually available to the mind, or they cannot be acted upon in the moment. He who ticks them off his to-read list and thinks himself wiser is dangerously deluded – like someone who practices a move from karate or judo only once and then thinks he can use it in a fight.
This is where mnemotechnics comes in, and rises to its proper dignity. By this term I do not mean tedious and shallow rote-memorization, but what we might call the translation of words into the language of memory. This latter is none other than the universal language of visual imagery, association, metaphor, analogy, and narrative logic – spontaneously generated in dreams, and strongly associated with the art of poetry.1 Once ‘encoded’ thus, words and meanings naturally stick in the mind, and can be retained in long-term memory with occasional refreshment.
One good book on which to practice this art is the Dhammapada (‘Path of Dharma’), traditionally regarded as the actual teachings of the Buddha. It is short and condensed, already full of imagery and metaphor, and eminently worth remembering. In case it needs saying, I’m no Buddhist, nor am I trying to convert anyone to Buddhism; but not only is the art of memory applicable to the teachings of other traditions (in my case, the Christian one), but so too are many of the aphorisms.
In what follows, we shall provide detailed instructions for memorizing the first chapter of the book. Needless to say, those who speed-read these instructions like a bog-standard Slopstack essay are likely to get very little out of them. The reader must pay attention to the text, follow the narrative and visualize the suggested images, or at least use them to fertilize his own imagination.
(Note that the original text is written in Pali, of which I know next to nothing, other than that dhamma is the same as Sanskrit dharma and that nibbana equates to nirvana. I have thus relied upon two extant translations: that of Juan Mascaró, which is more felicitous in most places, and that of Acharya Buddharakkhita, which is presumably more accurate. My own changes in wording and syntax are aimed at achieving greater rhythmic, and thus mnemonic, effect.)
1. Contrary Ways
I. Our thoughts of yesterday formed what we are today, and our thoughts of today build our life of tomorrow; our life is the figment of our mind.
In the Jack System, the number 1 is visually represented as a tree, and this first chapter of the Dhammapada happens to contain a wealth of arboreal imagery. So it is appropriate to begin memorizing this chapter by imagining yourself standing in a forest, rooted to the ground (symbolizing the contingency and determinacy of individual life), and partially encased in the rind of a tree. The rind already surrounding your lower body has been built up by your thoughts of yesterday; that presently growing around your upper body is being created by your present thoughts. These thoughts might be imagined as birds fluttering and twittering around you as they piece together the bark of your life-tree.
If a man speaks or acts with an impure mind, suffering follows him as the wheel of the cart follows the foot of the ox.
From your present position you look in front of you, and see a wretched man trudging through the forest in a leftward direction (traditionally, the direction of evil and error), dragging a heavy cart full of filth behind him and suffering with every step.
II. Our thoughts of yesterday formed what we are today, and our thoughts of today build our life of tomorrow; our life is the figment of our mind.
If a man speaks and acts with a pure mind, happiness follows him like his ever-present shadow.
Looking in front of you again, you see a colourfully-dressed man moving in a rightward direction, skipping joyously through the forest (the more exaggerated the image, the more memorable), free of all burdens and followed only by his shadow.
III. “He scorned me, he struck me, he took from me, he trounced me.” Those who harbour such thoughts are not free from hate.
IV. “He scorned me, he struck me, he took from me, he trounced me.” Those who harbour not such thoughts are free from hate.
Still standing among the trees, you look to the closest tree on your left side. It bears across its trunk four lacerations and is withering and dying as a result. You then look to the tree on your right side, and see that it bears the same four lacerations, but is healthy and in no danger of death.
V. For hate is not conquered by hate, but by love. This is a law eternal.
You notice that the tree on the left has reacted to its lacerations by emitting a seething black poison from its wounds, which has only made its condition worse. By contrast, the tree on the right has emitted cleansing white sap that has soothed its lacerations. These symbolize, respectively, those who try to conquer hate by hate and those who conquer it by love (or as Buddharakkhita puts it, ‘non-hatred’).
VI. Many do not know that we are here in this world to live in harmony, and that one day we all must die. But those who understand this settle their quarrels.
Mascaró interprets the first sentence one way, and Buddharakkhita another – but as the little girl in the meme says, why not both? Still standing among the trees, you look up to the sky overhead and see branches exhibiting canopy shyness (symbolizing social harmony), then look down to the ground and see fallen brown leaves (symbolizing death). Finally, you extricate various twigs and brambles from the rind covering your lower body that have become entangled with the trees adjacent to you.
VII. He who lives but for pleasures, whose soul is not in harmony, who is immoderate in eating, and who is idle and unvirtuous – such a man is moved by Mara, the god of temptation, even as a weak tree is shaken by the wind.
This passage contains several points, so the corresponding image must contain several details. Envisage a tree standing some distance to your left that has flowers but no fruits (lives only for pleasures), is divided in its trunk (soul not in harmony), is swamped at its roots with mud and water (careless with eating), and is hanging limply downward (is idle and has no virtue). The demon Mara can be envisaged blowing a wind upon the tree that shakes it from side to side.
VIII. But he who lives not for pleasures, whose soul is in harmony, who is moderate in fasting and eating, and who is full of faith and virtue – this man resists Mara and his temptations, even as a great rock is not shaken by the wind.
Envisage a tree on the right that has fruits as well as flowers, has a single stout trunk, is fed at its roots by a pure stream (fasting) and clean grassy ground (moderate eating), and is standing strongly upright against the wind blown by Mara.
(Note that Buddharakkhita’s translation attributes to the virtuous man not only moderation, but also meditation on bodily impurities. This can be represented by the visualization of dead and rotting leaves feeding the roots of the strong tree.)
IX. A man who puts on the pure yellow robe with a soul impure, without harmony and truth, is not worthy of the holy robe.
X. But he who is purged of sin and whose soul is virtuous, held in self-harmony and full of truthfulness, is worthy of the holy robe.
At this point we can introduce into the forest two Buddhist monks, one standing on the left and one on the right. if your habitual associations are anything like mine, it will be easiest to envisage them as shaven-headed Far Eastern men. One should be hunchbacked and the other upright, one Janus-faced and the other single-faced, one darker-skinned and the other lighter-skinned (this last point is the sort of thing that triggers moderns, but so do many other aspects of natural symbolism).
XI. Those who mistake the unreal for the Real, and think the Real is unreal, they shall ever be lost in wrong thought and shall never attain to the Truth.
XII. But those who know the Real to be Real, and the unreal to be unreal, shall be safe on the path of right thought and they shall attain to the Truth.
The two monks just envisaged are now walking through the forest, one on the left and the other on the right, through dappled light and shadows (what the Japanese call komorebi, ‘tree-leaking light’). The left-hand one is attracted to every shadow (the unreal), hangs his head downwards heedless of the sun, and goes in wrong directions. The right-hand one walks in the light (the Real), checks his direction by looking at the sun (i.e. the Truth), and goes on the right path.
XIII. Just as rain breaks through an ill-thatched house, so passion penetrates an ill-guarded mind.
XIV. But as rain breaks not through a well-thatched house, so passions do not penetrate a well-guarded mind.
The two monks are now walking on a broad open road, and rain begins to fall. The sinister (i.e. leftward) monk puts on a ragged cloak and hood, wemmed with holes, which protects him not a whit against the rain. The dextrous (i.e. rightward) monk puts on a well-made cloak and hood that keeps his head and upper body dry.
XV. The evildoer suffers, here and hereafter, suffering in both the worlds. Much does he grieve when he sees the wrong that he has done by his deeds.
XVI. The good-doer rejoices, here and hereafter, rejoicing in both the worlds. Much is he gladdened when he sees the good that he has done by his deeds.
XVII. The evildoer mourns, here and hereafter, mourning in both the worlds. ‘I have done evil,’ thus he laments, and more in the realms of woe.
XVIII. The good-doer delights, here and hereafter, delighting in both the worlds. ‘I have done good,’ thus he exults, and more in the realms of bliss.
A repetitive four passages, which might be merged together into two, depending on whether you are more inclined to memorize the gist or the letter.
Let us introduce here a useful metaphor, that of ‘sowing seeds’ for ‘doing deeds’. As he walks along the road, the sinister monk sows behind him many black seeds, which spring up immediately (that is, surrealistically) into thorned, twisted weeds. Each time he looks behind him he suffers and sorrows at the sight of them, and every time he looks ahead he sees a vision of the very same plants waiting for him in the next world. Meanwhile the dextrous monk sows white seeds that spring up into beautiful and fruitful plants, causing him to rejoice and be happy, and he looks forward to a vision of the very same plants waiting for him in the next world.
XIX. He who speaks many holy words, but acts not upon them, partakes not of the life of holiness; he is like a cowherd who counts the cows of others.
Here, working with the imagery in the text, we can represent ‘holy words’ by ‘cattle’ (appropriately enough, since the feoh-rune also represents cattle and carries the meaning of ‘wealth’). The sinister monk sees many cattle being driven across his path, and stops to count them all, taking an imbecilic pride in having done so. But the cattle belong to a cowherd, who glances disparagingly at the monk as he passes by, for he stands covered in dust kicked up by the feet of the cows (i.e. he is not holy).
XX. But a man who speaks but a few holy words and yet puts them into practice – free from lust and hate and delusion, with right vision and a free mind, clinging to nothing both now and hereafter – this man indeed partakes of the life of holiness.
On the other side of the passing cattle, the dextrous monk continues on his path, now riding on the back of a single ox (i.e. a few holy words carried into practice). He crosses over a stream of mud (lust), a line of thorns (hate), and a low-lying belt of mist (delusion), untouched by all of them because he is seated high upon the animal’s back. He looks towards the sun (right vision), and freely glances from side to side (mental freedom), but none of the beautiful things (cravings or attachments) he sees behind or ahead of him (now and hereafter) can induce him to dismount and abandon his path. The cowherd looks after him, sees that he is a holy man, and puts his hands together in a gesture of prayerful respect.
Here endeth the first chapter of the Dhammapada. Those who have been memorizing according to the instructions should take a break from the text at this point, and run through the twenty aphorisms in memory before rereading to check whether any have ‘dropped out’. Repeat this as often as necessary in order to get it.
What we have said thus far ought to provide sufficient inspiration to anyone who would work through and memorize the subsequent chapters of this book. (Pay special attention to the usefulness of numbers, surreal imagery, directions, opposites, and a certain ‘dreamlike’ logic.) But if you need more chapters and suggestions, or just want to see more posts on this topic, feel free to let me know in the comments.
That said, poetry is defined not by metaphor and imagery but by rhythmical form (whether this be imparted to it by meter, ornamentation, parallelism or any other such device), which has both mnemonic and musical properties. This is why ‘rap music’ is a form of poetry, as are the lyrics of pop songs, and ‘free verse’ is not poetry but a variant of prose. The fact that good prose (including free verse) can be more memorable, more imaginative and even more musical than bad poetry is irrelevant to this distinction; Francis Gummere said it well when he likened prose to running and poetry to flying, and compared good prose and bad poetry respectively to a swift-limbed greyhound and a cack-winged chicken.