in those beings as existing with svabhāva, for example, as being completely independent
from myself. I might conceive of their happiness and suffering, in similar terms, that is,
as ultimately real. In this relative form of solicitude, I see myself as an agent and I have a
concept of these feelings and actions as ‗mine.‘ There is usually the hope that I will
succeed, or some other subtle vested interest, and even sometimes, a strong attachment to
the outcome, which brings about pride or shame in what I consider to be ‗my doing.‘ All
of this, of course, belongs to conventional reality. Bodhicitta, on the other hand, is the
bodhisattva’s experience of love and compassion united with a realization of the
emptiness of those ‗beings‘ whose happiness he desires, of the ‗bodhisattva‘ himself and
of the very ‗happiness‘ that he promotes and the ‗suffering‘ he prevents. There are no
expectations and no attachment to the outcome in ultimate love and compassion. The
question then, is how is bodhicitta generated? The salient issue seems to be that
compassion must be combined with the realization of the emptiness of all concepts and
beings.
A classic account of bodhicitta, an explanation of how to cultivate the mind of
enlightenment, is found in Śāntideva‘s Bodhicaryāvatāra (BCA 8: 89–118; Thurman
1996, 152–155). Śāntideva begins, as we have seen, by contemplating the ―equality‖ of
all sentient beings with himself, in that nobody wants to experience suffering. Up to this
point, he is using conventional arguments that could easily be found in deep ecology. He
then goes on to suggest, however, that the way we designate suffering as our own or as
belonging to others is somewhat gratuitous and unwarranted. Pain becomes unbearable,
he claims, only because I identify it as ―mine‖ (BCA 8: 92) and therefore, if I took up
other beings‘ suffering as my own, if I ―identified their pains as mine,‖ they would
become unbearable too. As there is no difference between my own suffering and that of
others, Śāntideva goes on, I must help others just like I would help myself. ―What‘s so
special about me that I strive for my happiness alone?‖ he asks (BCA 8: 95).
He supports this argument through appealing to the emptiness of self. If it were
reasonable to take into account only that suffering that affected us directly, he says, then
there would be no point in worrying about our future well-being (BCA 8: 97–98). In other
words, Śāntideva is denying, here, that there is a continuous self that endures throughout
the course of a lifetime. Again, ―the foot‘s pain is not the hand‘s‖ Śāntideva claims, and
in those beings as existing with svabhāva, for example, as being completely independent
from myself. I might conceive of their happiness and suffering, in similar terms, that is,
as ultimately real. In this relative form of solicitude, I see myself as an agent and I have a
concept of these feelings and actions as ‗mine.‘ There is usually the hope that I will
succeed, or some other subtle vested interest, and even sometimes, a strong attachment to
the outcome, which brings about pride or shame in what I consider to be ‗my doing.‘ All
of this, of course, belongs to conventional reality. Bodhicitta, on the other hand, is the
bodhisattva’s experience of love and compassion united with a realization of the
emptiness of those ‗beings‘ whose happiness he desires, of the ‗bodhisattva‘ himself and
of the very ‗happiness‘ that he promotes and the ‗suffering‘ he prevents. There are no
expectations and no attachment to the outcome in ultimate love and compassion. The
question then, is how is bodhicitta generated? The salient issue seems to be that
compassion must be combined with the realization of the emptiness of all concepts and
beings.
A classic account of bodhicitta, an explanation of how to cultivate the mind of
enlightenment, is found in Śāntideva‘s Bodhicaryāvatāra (BCA 8: 89–118; Thurman
1996, 152–155). Śāntideva begins, as we have seen, by contemplating the ―equality‖ of
all sentient beings with himself, in that nobody wants to experience suffering. Up to this
point, he is using conventional arguments that could easily be found in deep ecology. He
then goes on to suggest, however, that the way we designate suffering as our own or as
belonging to others is somewhat gratuitous and unwarranted. Pain becomes unbearable,
he claims, only because I identify it as ―mine‖ (BCA 8: 92) and therefore, if I took up
other beings‘ suffering as my own, if I ―identified their pains as mine,‖ they would
become unbearable too. As there is no difference between my own suffering and that of
others, Śāntideva goes on, I must help others just like I would help myself. ―What‘s so
special about me that I strive for my happiness alone?‖ he asks (BCA 8: 95).
He supports this argument through appealing to the emptiness of self. If it were
reasonable to take into account only that suffering that affected us directly, he says, then
there would be no point in worrying about our future well-being (BCA 8: 97–98). In other
words, Śāntideva is denying, here, that there is a continuous self that endures throughout
the course of a lifetime. Again, ―the foot‘s pain is not the hand‘s‖ Śāntideva claims, and
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