The Principle of Hypnosis (Part Two)

In the second hypnosis case, the hypnotist hypnotizes a person, telling him to sleep, and the person immediately enters a sleep state and falls asleep. After entering the sleep state, the hypnotist suggests to him, "You are now very, very hungry," and his manas believes it, and so he feels very hungry. Why does the manas believe it? Because He lacks the capacity for fine discernment; there is no mind consciousness to discriminate for Him what the six sense objects actually are, or whether the hypnotist's words are truthful and reasonable. Therefore, whatever the hypnotist says, the manas believes, and the hypnotist thus substitutes for his mind consciousness.

After the hypnotist suggests hunger, he asks him whether he is hungry, and he says he is. The hypnotist then says, "I'll give you an apple to eat; take two bites and you won't be hungry anymore." As a result, the hypnotist hands him an onion, not an apple, but tells him it is an apple. His manas cannot distinguish whether it is an onion or an apple, so he believes that this thing is an apple; eating the onion, he tastes apple flavor. This is delusive discrimination and delusive feeling.

Such is the delusive discrimination and delusive feeling of the aggregate of perception (saṃjñā) and the aggregate of feeling (vedanā)—there is really no reason to be spoken of. The perceptions and feelings of all sentient beings regarding the mundane world are likewise ethereal and groundless, and their birth-and-death saṃsāra is utterly without real meaning. Regarding the delusiveness of the aggregate of perception, let us refer to the passage on the aggregate of perception taught by the Buddha in the Śūraṅgama Sūtra. What does the Buddha say in the Śūraṅgama Sūtra? The Buddha says that a person sitting at home thinks of climbing to a high place, imagining himself standing on the edge of a cliff; the moment he imagines standing on the cliff, it is as if he were actually standing there, and at this time he even fears falling off, his nerves drawn tight, and the soles of his feet feel an intense soreness and astringency—that very feeling of fearing a fall.

Or when someone thinks of sour plums, without eating any or seeing any, sour water flows from his mouth. He has not eaten any sour plum, so why does sour water come out? It is the result of delusives toward those delusively thought-up states, endlessly, thus living and playing in this meaningless way. The result is that life after life we toy with ourselves; suffering always exceeds joy, and even joy is not true joy. What exactly is each sentient being doing in the world of the three realms? Like a clowning buffoon or an actor, yet not knowing that he is in the play, not knowing that he is acting, and still acting with utter seriousness—is that not foolish? Regarding these matters and these principles, we should earnestly engage in contemplative practice and reflection within meditative concentration (samādhi), carefully experiencing them with the mind, and we will feel that we are indeed far too foolish and too stupid. When will we ever awaken?

If we do not awaken, we will forever fool ourselves, celebrating April Fools' Day every day, fooling ourselves into unspeakable suffering, yet still craving, still clinging without cease, still seeking something. In the great drama of birth and death we have played every kind of role, tasting all the flavors, experiencing every kind of feeling—which of these things is real? None is real; from beginning to end there is not a single real thing. The aggregate of feeling and the aggregate of perception are both unreal—delusive thoughts, wild imaginings, false thinking, all pathological thinking; where is there anything real? To think up delusive states and then have to endure the suffering of birth and death within those states—it is far too unworthwhile.