Subrahma”s Problem

　　by

　　Bhikkhu Bodhi

　　© 1998

　　Today, in both East and West, a general breakdown of law and order has planted in us an implacable sense of uneasiness that creeps up on us on the streets, in our workplace, and even in our homes. The rising number of drug addicts, the increase in petty crime, the decline of respect for others — all these have jointly infected our most ordinary human encounters with an intensified atmosphere of suspicion. Many people only feel at ease behind double-locked doors, with windows secured by metal bars and gates guarded by high-alert sensors. Yet, it is often only when we have armored ourselves with the most impregnable defense systems that we discover a still more intrusive source of insecurity. This sense of fear and dread, which can eat away at our most precious moments of enjoyment, does not stem from outside threats but swells up inexplicably from within. Though it may wrap itself around our everyday affairs and send us into flurries of concern, its true cause is not so much external dangers as an unlocalized anxiety floating dizzily along the edges of the mind.

　　A little known sutta tucked away in the Devaputta-samyutta gives us an insight into the nature of this hidden anguish far more poignant and realistic than our most astute existentialist philosophers. In his short sutta, only eight lines of print in the Pali, a young god named Subrahma appears before the Awakened One and explains the problem weighing on his heart:

　　Always anxious is this mind,

　　The mind is always agitated,

　　About problems present and future;

　　Please tell me the release from fear.

　　It is perhaps ironic that it takes a deva to express so succinctly, with such elegant simplicity, the dilemma at the crux of the human condition. Subrahma”s confession also makes it clear that neither the deva world nor any other set of outer conditions offers a final refuge from anguish. Luxurious mansions, lucrative jobs, unchallenged authority, high-alert security systems: none of these can guarantee inner stillness and peace. For the source of all problems is the mind itself, which follows us wherever we may go.

　　To understand Subrahma”s distress we need only sit down quietly, draw our attention inward, and watch our thoughts as they tumble by. If we do not fix on any one thought but simply observe each thought as it passes by, we will almost surely find waves of anxiety, care, and worry running through and beneath this ceaseless procession. Our fears and concerns need not assume vast proportions, booming forth bold metaphysical decrees. But beneath the melody of constantly changing thoughts, punctuating them like the thumping of the bass in a jazz quintet, is the persistent throb of worry and care, the second rhythm of the heart.

　　Subrahma underscores the predicament he faced — the predicament faced by all "unenlightened worldlings" — by repeating the words "always" (niccam) in the first two lines. This repetition is significant. It does not mean that every thought we think is plagued by worry and dread, nor does it rule out the joy of successful achievement, the pleasure of requited love, or courage in the face of life”s daunting challenges. But it does underscore the stubborn persistence of anxious dread, which trails behind us like a gruffy mongrel — growling when we cast a backward glance, ready to snap at our heels when we”re off guard.

　　Fear and anxiety haunt the corridors of the mind because the mind is a function of time, a rolling glimmer of awareness that flows inexorably from a past that can never be undone into a future that teases us with a perpetual, undecipherable "not yet." It is just because the mind attempts to clamp down on the passage of time, wrapping its tentacles around a thousand projects and concerns, that …

《Subrahmas Problem》全文未完，請進入下頁繼續閱讀…