To Feed Is to Suffer

by Thanissaro Bhikkhu

To understand an abstract teaching, it’s often useful to focus on the analogies used to explain it. Abstractions come from concrete experiences and insights, and the analogies with which they’re explained often provide a hint as to what those initial experiences and insights were. This in turn gives you an indication of how the teachings can be best understood and where best applied.

This point is especially important in understanding dependent co-arising, the Buddha’s explanation of the sequence of causes by which suffering arises, because it’s among his most abstract and complex teachings. Over the centuries, the Buddhist tradition has come up with analogies and images for explaining it, images that have accompanied the teachings as they move West. But these images, because they’re later, misrepresent the original message.

Medieval Indian Buddhists interpreted dependent co-arising as a circular wheel, an image that doesn’t do justice to the complexity of the original teaching. In particular, it misses the feedback loops contained in the sequence that come from the fact that factors like feeling and perception appear at several points in the lineup. Also, the image is mechanical and deterministic. It seems to imply that once you’re on the wheel, you can’t use the spokes of the wheel itself to get off. In other words, it obscures the fact that factors like feelings and perceptions actually play a role in putting suffering to an end.

Another distortion is in the tendency, first articulated in medieval China, to depict the inter-relations of the factors of dependent co-arising through another image of a circle: light reflecting from mirrors arranged in a circle around a lamp. Each mirror contains not only a reflection of the lamp, but also the reflections of the other mirrors in the circle. Although this image conveys an idea of the complex interplay of conditions in dependent co-arising, it’s essentially static, as the pattern of light never changes. In fact, in the original formulation of this image, it wasn’t meant to change. The causal interplay was intentionally portrayed as innocuous and even beautiful—something to be celebrated and admired, and never to end.

But rather than going by these analogies from the later tradition, it seems more sensible to look at the early texts to see what images the Buddha used himself. There we find that he depicted the interplay of conditions in dependent co-arising in another manner entirely. When introducing the topic of causality to young novices, he illustrated it with the act of eating—a process that’s inherently stressful not only for those fed upon, but also for those who, through the disease of hunger (Dhp 203), keep needing to feed.

“What is one?—All beings subsist on nutriment.” — Khp 4

In making this statement, the Buddha was drawing on a long tradition of speculation on the topic of food that dated back to early Vedic times in India and that continued to excite new theories in the Upaniṣads that were composed around his own time. This speculation was prompted by the fact that the Vedic ritual—in which animals were slaughtered and offered into the fire—was meant as an offering of food to the gods and to one’s dead ancestors, as well as a stock-piling of food for one’s own future use in the life after death.

As the Upaniṣadic seers contemplated the deeper meaning of this ritual, they focused on the importance of food for all life. This became the underlying image for all of their thinking. In this, they differed radically from modern Western philosophy, whose underlying image is the act of seeing and identifying an object. Of the physical senses, the visual sense requires the most active participation of the brain to interpret its sensory data. The eyes simply provide patches of colors, while the brain has to point the eyes in different directions, focus them at different depths, and then interpret the color patches, together with the movements of the eye muscles, to perceive objects in three-dimensional space. The primary questions that arise in this context are: How much can we trust our internal representations of reality “out there”? And how can we best test them? These are the questions that have provoked most philosophical thought in the Western tradition for many centuries.

The central activity that provoked the thought of the Upaniṣadic seers, though, was the act of ingesting food. The essential questions in this context are: Given that we have to eat in order to survive, how do we distinguish what’s good to eat from what’s bad to eat? And how do we insure a continuing source of good food? This line of thinking provided the paradigm for a more general contemplation of how to find a basis for true happiness, and how that basis for happiness can be maintained.

Although the different Upaniṣadic seers explored this topic in different ways, a summary of some of their conclusions shows the general drift of their speculation.

In the original emanation of the cosmos, Being gave rise to fire, which gave rise to water, which gave rise to food. Only then were individual beings able to come into existence (ChU VI.2.4). Food was thus the eldest among beings (TU II.2.1): in some cases identified as a god (BAU III.9.8; ChU I.11.9), in others identified with Brahman, the great cosmic principle itself (TU III.2.1). Some thinkers stated the food was one’s true self (MaiU VI.11-13).

Upaniṣadic thought is marked by a strong tendency to internalize the Vedic ritual, claiming that knowledge of the inner meaning of the ritual or of the true nature of Brahman and the self can provide rewards that far surpass those of the physical performance of the ritual. This same tendency appears in Upaniṣadic thought about food. The reward of understanding the esoteric meaning of the Sāma Veda, for example, is ample food in this life and the next (ChU I.13.4). Knowledge of the true nature of the self supplies you with food in all possible worlds (ChU V.18.1). You attain immortality through the ability to keep producing food in this way again and again (BAU I.5.2).

The basic assumption of this speculation is that your continued survival as a being is an unquestioned good. The ability to produce and consume an unlimited supply of food is an even greater good. So this mode of speculation conceives of a cosmos created with the express purpose of providing food. The act of eating is given value as an expression of the way things were meant to be.

The most succinct expression of these ideas is stated in Taittiriya Upaniṣad II.2.1, a passage that bears comparing with the above passage from Khp 4: “From food, indeed, are produced those creatures that dwell on earth. Furthermore, solely through food do they live, and then also into it they pass at the end.” Because food is sometimes equated with Brahman and sometimes with the self, the pattern of this image parallels the larger pattern of much Upaniṣadic thought: that the self comes from Brahman, eventually returns to Brahman, and is sustained by Brahman in the interim. In fact, this larger pattern may derive from the more concrete experience of food and feeding as depicted in this passage.

Although the Buddha drew on the image of feeding to illustrate his teachings, he made a number of changes on the theme. The most important was that he called into question how desirable it was to feed for eternity. He agreed that the attainment of an ultimate happiness was the ultimate goal of all human thought and endeavor, but because he had found a happiness that was totally unconditioned, attained only through abandoning his identity as a “being” of any sort—either as self or Brahman—he was able to look past the supposed goodness of the act of eating to see the suffering and stress it inevitably involved. One of the marks of unbinding (nibbāna) as a superior goal was that it freed you from the need to feed, at the same time freeing other beings from being subject to your hunger. Because your attachment to food derives from your attachment to your identity as a being—you need to eat in order to continue being a being—the Buddha would often find ways of calling that identity into question and encouraging his followers to do their best to abandon it.

In SN 23:2 he defined what you are as a being, saying that when you’re caught up in any desire, passion, delight, or craving for any of the five aggregates of form, feeling, perception, thought-fabrications, or consciousness, you’re said to be a being.

This is actually equivalent to saying that you’re defined by what you eat. The word for craving, taṇhā, can also mean thirst. Passion and delight for the five aggregates is the definition of clinging, upādāna, which can also mean sustenance: the food that provides sustenance and the act of taking sustenance from food.

The connection between clinging and the act of eating is further underlined in MN 9. In its list of the factors leading to suffering, it includes “nutriment” in the place normally occupied by clinging. And it defines nutriment in terms showing that it refers not only to physical food, but also to food for consciousness: contact at the senses, intellectual intentions, and consciousness itself.

This is why the Buddha, unlike the authors of the Upaniṣads, saw the act of feeding and continued identity as a being in a negative light. Craving, he discovered on the night of his awakening, is the cause of suffering. Suffering itself is clinging to the aggregates. In other words, you suffer because of thirst and you suffer in the act of trying to assuage that thirst. To find the happiness of unbinding, you have to train the mind so that it no longer feels any thirst and no longer needs to feed. You do this by developing disenchantment—nibbidā—for the factors that lead to craving and clinging.

Here again, the feeding analogy lies behind the words: Nibbidā is a term indicating disgust, revulsion, or distaste for a particular kind of food. So the abandoning attachment to the sources of craving is similar to that of overcoming an addiction to food of a particular sort.

Now, you can’t overcome your addiction to eating simply by stopping to eat. The Buddha learned this lesson painfully from his six years of austerities. If he had continued down that path any further, he would have died of starvation without having gained any superior state.

He realized that the problem of feeding had to be attacked more strategically. The insight that got him past his impasse was that the way to the deathless required the practice of strong concentration (MN 36). This, he came to realize, was the food that the mind needed to stay on the path. In his image, the practice of the path is like the job of defending a fortress on the frontier. You need the gatekeeper of right mindfulness to keep the enemy out, and the soldiers of right effort to fight anyone who attacks. Both the gatekeeper and the soldiers need the food of the four jhānas—states of intensely pleasurable or equanimous strong concentration—to keep up their strength. For example:

“Just as a royal frontier fortress has large stores of tonics—ghee, fresh butter, oil, honey, molasses, & salt—for the delight, convenience, & comfort of those within, and to ward off those without; in the same way the disciple of the noble ones, with the abandoning of pleasure & pain, as with the earlier disappearance of joys & distresses, enters & remains in the fourth jhāna—purity of equanimity & mindfulness, neither-pleasure-nor-pain—for his own delight, convenience, & comfort, and to alight on unbinding.” — AN 7:63

At the same time, concentration needs to be fed, both physically and mentally. You feed it physically be adopting the right attitude toward food:

Ven. Ānanda is speaking to a nun: “‘This body, sister, comes into being through food. And yet it is by relying on food that food is to be abandoned.’ Thus it was said. And in reference to what was it said? There is the case, sister, where a monk, considering it thoughtfully, takes food—not playfully, nor for intoxication, nor for putting on bulk, nor for beautification—but simply for the survival & continuance of this body, for ending its afflictions, for the support of the holy life, (thinking,) ‘Thus will I destroy old feelings [of hunger] and not create new feelings [from overeating]. I will maintain myself, be blameless, & live in comfort.’ Then, at a later time, he abandons food, having relied on food. ‘This body, sister, comes into being through food. And yet it is by relying on food that food is to be abandoned.’ Thus it was said, and in reference to this was it said.” — AN 4:159

You feed concentration mentally by feeding the seven factors for awakening that promote concentration, and starving the five hindrances that stand in its way. For example, you feed the factor of awakening called “analysis of qualities” by paying appropriate attention to skillful and unskillful qualities in the mind, seeing for yourself that the skillful qualities really do promote happiness, while the unskillful qualities really do lead to suffering and stress. When you practice in this way, you’re at the same time starving the hindrance of doubt (SN 46:51).

Right concentration provides you with the strength you need to overcome many of the mind’s worst addictions in terms of greed, aversion, and delusion. However, there comes a point when you realize that it, too, involves stress, in the constant need to maintain it as your nourishment. The mind begins to incline toward something even more peaceful.

This is where the Buddha recommends seeing that all states of concentration are composed of subtle forms of the aggregates, and that even these subtle aggregates have their drawbacks.

“Suppose that an archer or archer’s apprentice were to practice on a straw man or mound of clay, so that after a while he would become able to shoot long distances, to fire accurate shots in rapid succession, and to pierce great masses. In the same way, there is the case where a monk… enters & remains in the first jhāna: rapture & pleasure born of seclusion, accompanied by directed thought & evaluation. He regards whatever phenomena there that are connected with form, feeling, perception, fabrications, & consciousness, as inconstant, stressful, a disease, a cancer, an arrow, painful, an affliction, alien, a disintegration, an emptiness, not-self. He turns his mind away from those phenomena, and having done so, inclines his mind to the property of deathlessness: ‘This is peace, this is exquisite—the resolution of all fabrications; the relinquishment of all acquisitions; the ending of craving; dispassion; cessation; unbinding.’” — AN 9:36

Even though the Buddha uses a martial simile to explain this contemplation, many of the similes he recommends for actually inducing a state of disenchantment with concentration use feeding analogies. Two of the most vivid make the point that the things you try to feed on are actually chewing you up.

“And how is the nutriment of contact to be regarded? Suppose a flayed cow were to stand leaning against a wall. The creatures living in the wall would chew on it. If it were to stand leaning against a tree, the creatures living in the tree would chew on it. If it were to stand exposed to water, the creatures living in the water would chew on it. If it were to stand exposed to the air, the creatures living in the air would chew on it. For wherever the flayed cow were to stand exposed, the creatures living there would chew on it. In the same way, I tell you, is the nutriment of contact to be regarded. When the nutriment of contact is comprehended, the three feelings [pleasure, pain, neither pleasure nor pain] are comprehended. When the three feelings are comprehended, I tell you, there is nothing further for a disciple of the noble ones to do.” — SN 12:63

“Thus an instructed disciple of the noble ones reflects in this way: ‘I am now being chewed up by form. But in the past I was also chewed up by form in the same way I am now being chewed up by present form. And if I delight in future form, then in the future I will be chewed up by form in the same way I am now being chewed up by present form.’ Having reflected in this way, he becomes indifferent to past form, does not delight in future form, and is practicing for the sake of disenchantment, dispassion, and cessation with regard to present form. [And similarly with the remaining aggregates.]” — SN 22:79

When these perceptions make you dispassionate toward all aggregates—blatant and subtle, past, present, and future—the mind is freed from clinging. And when it no longer clings, it’s no longer measured or defined by anything (SN 22:36). You’re no longer confined to the identity of a “being,” and are freed from any felt need to feed.

This doesn’t mean you go out of existence, simply that you’re now no longer defined—something infinitely more mind-blowing. There’s no way of pinpointing what you are, but there is the highest happiness. This may be why “the amazing” and “the astounding” are two of the Buddha’s alternative names for unbinding.

Perhaps to counteract the common fear that unbinding is a type of starvation, Khp 6 depicts it as a form of feeding in which your food is totally free—freely available, free from debt, and free from suffering.

Those who, devoted, firm-minded,

apply themselves to Gotama’s message,

on attaining the goal, plunge into the deathless,

freely eating the liberation they’ve gained. — Khp 6

More generally, though, verses in the Pali Canon depict unbinding as a dimension in which there’s simply no more need to feed in any way. You’re freed from limitations and from hunger because nothing is lacking at all.

With the stilling of consciousness, the monk
	free from hunger
	is totally unbound.…

While those who comprehend contact,
delighting in stilling through discernment,
	they, by breaking through contact,
	free from hunger,
	are totally unbound. — Sn 3:12

Not hoarding,
having understood food,
their pasture—emptiness
& freedom without sign:
	Their trail,
like that of birds through space,
	can’t be traced.

Effluents ended,
independent of nutriment,
their pasture—emptiness
& freedom without sign:
	Their trail,
like that of birds through space,
	can’t be traced. — Dhp 92–93