Asian Philosophy

Vol. 14, No. 1, March 2004, pp. 323

The Root Delusion Enshrined in

Common Sense and Language
Don S. Levi

This paper is a critique of certain arguments given by the Milindapanha and Jay
Garfield for the conventional nature of reality or existence. These arguments are of
interest in their own right. They also are significant if they are presumed to attack an
obstacle we all face in achieving non-attachment, namely, our belief in the inherent or
substantial existence of ourselves and the familiar objects of our world. The arguments
turn on a distinction between these objects, and some other way of conceiving of them,
in terms of which their conventional existence becomes apparent. After the distinction
and the arguments that depend on it are shown to be problematic, the paper concludes
with some reflections on the doctrine of skillful means and its applicability to Buddhist
philosophical argument.
Jay Garfield is an articulate spokesman for how many think of Buddhism, namely,
as teaching that we suffer from a root delusion about what we perceive or
conceive. As Garfield (1995) puts it in his thoughtful and invaluable commentary
on Nagarjunas Fundamental Wisdom of the Middle Way (Muladhyamakakarika):
It cannot be overemphasized that as far as Nagarjuna or any Mahayana Buddhist
philosopher, for that matter is concerned, the view that the things we perceive and
of which we conceive, to the extent that they exist at all, do so inherently originates
as an innate misapprehension and is not the product of sophisticated philosophical
theory. That is, we naively and pretheoretically take things to be substantial. This, as
Nagarjuna will argue, and as the Buddha himself argued, is the root delusion that lies
at the basis of all human suffering. (p. 58)

Garfield does not understand Nagarjuna to be directing his arguments at approaches

to the religious life that are misguided because of their reliance on certain philosophical theories; he is not talking about how, for example, some Buddhist Abhidarmists
theorize that change is to be accounted for by the inherent nature (svabhava) of the
atoms out of which matter or experience is constituted.1 Rather, he is making a claim
about our (everyday and non-philosophical) conception of the objects of perception
Don S. Levi is a Professor at the Department of Philosophy, University of Oregon.
Correspondence to: Don S. Levi, Department of Philosophy University of Oregon, Eugene, OR 974031295,
USA; Email: dslevi@oregon.uoregon.edu.
ISSN 0955-2367 print/ISSN 1469-2961 online/04/010003-21 2004 Taylor & Francis Ltd
DOI: 10.1080/0955236042000190455

Don S. Levi

(and conception): we suppose that these objects exist and that they do so inherently.
And he is maintaining that it is a misapprehension, and that it lies at the basis of
all human suffering.
Although Garfield concedes, in the footnote we have been quoting, that the
intellectual rejection of a certain metaphysics is not sufficient for liberation or
enlightenment, nevertheless, he believes that the bondage from which we are being
freed is metaphysical in nature.
But it is important to see that an intellectual rejection of that sophisticated essentialist
metaphysics would not, from the standpoint of Buddhism, suffice for liberation from
suffering. For the innate misapprehension the root delusion enshrined in common
sense and in much of our language would remain. (p. 88)

Garfield is saying that even if, as philosophers, we reject this essentialist metaphysics, according to which the people and things have substantial or inherent existence,
we still have to do something to neutralize its presence in our everyday or
non-philosophical discourse. So, what can be discovered by intellectual or philosophical analysis is important when it comes to identifying what is being rejected;
however, to really reject it requires doing something to overcome the influence of the
folk ontology embedded in common sense and language.
Even though Garfield is critical of this folk ontology, he is not proposing that we
correct what we say in our everyday world. Like others in the Buddhist tradition, he
thinks that he can avoid the need for such a revisionary approach by invoking the
distinction between ultimate (paramartha) and conventional (samvrtti) truth.2 However, unlike some others he does not want to suggest that there is anything other
than conventional truth, such as the truth of a reality that exists before it is carved
up by concepts or language. According to Garfield, that things lack inherent
existence does not imply that they do not exist: everyday discourse has all the truth
we need in order for that discourse to work for us. However, the ultimate truth that
everything is conventional and nothing has inherent existence is something we need
to know in order to achieve non-attachment. Indeed, Garfield thinks that liberation
from bondage to attachment is the internalization of the idea that things lack
inherent existence.3
Does the argument for there being a root delusion presuppose the critique of folk
ontology or is it independent of it? This is the question that we need to confront
when trying to make sense of how Garfield explains and argues for his interpretation
of the Madhyamika critique of Abhidharma. On the one hand, Garfield seems to be
inviting us to reflect on certain familiar facts or insights in order to see that we have
a folk ontology and that it is delusory. On the other hand, these facts or insights,
when understood in terms of what we would say or think when we actually confront
or express them, do not argue for the existence of anything like a root delusion,
which suggests that we are supposed to understand them differently, namely, as
based on the rejection of our common sense conception of everyday things.
In what follows I am critical of Garfields argument insofar as it appeals to various
familiar facts, on the grounds that it depends on a key ambiguity. I am well aware
that my critique will seem to beg the question of whether the claim that there is an

Asian Philosophy

ambiguity presupposes the very ontology which the truth that there is a root
delusion is supposed to be calling into question. Consequently, I am also going to
be critical of any suggestion that there is an alternative to folk ontology (and, by
implication, that there is any such thing as a folk ontology).

What is It That Does not Exist Inherently?

A key Garfield argument for why things do not have inherent existence seems to turn
on an ambiguity in his reference to what it is that lacks that existence. The argument
embodies an insight, but the implication he derives from it depends on the
ambiguity.
He tells us that when a Madhyamika philosopher (like Nagarjuna) says of a table
that it is empty (of inherent existence) (Garfield, 1995, p. 89), he means that the
table does not exist simply per se, independent of any conditions or relations or
other phenomena (Garfield, 2002, p. 50). This reference to conditions or relations
seems to be a reminder of how the table is unlikely to survive, for example, an
earthquake, explosion, fire, or other extreme danger.
However, there is an ambiguity in his thinking that has to do with the reference
of the pronoun it when he says, it is empty of inherent existence. Of course, a table
cannot survive under any conditions, such as an explosion or hurricane, but it is not
clear what that could imply about the tables existence (per se) before the explosion.
Its continued existence may be threatened by a change of conditions; however, it is
misleading to put this point by saying that it does not exist independently of
conditions (relations or other phenomena). The ambiguity is in the suggestion that
there is some other referent for the it, something other than the table that will not
survive under certain conditions.
My claim that there is an ambiguity is based on how I am thinking of the table,
namely, as something that has a history: it was made, transported to the warehouse
of a store, sold by a store to me, moved to its present site in the dining room of my
house, repaired after it was damaged, and then put in a storage unit. As will be
pointed out by many philosophers who, like Garfield, think of themselves as
operating from within the Buddhist tradition, that conception of the table is exactly
what Buddhism is questioning. I am uneasy with the idea that it is a conception at
all because that seems to concede that there is a distinction between the table and
how it is conceived, as though different conceptions of it are possible. However, I
want to focus now on the ambiguity in Garfields argument.
The argument is based on a reminder of the variability of institutions and
practices, and, so, the argument need not be understood as presupposing a rejection
of our folk ontology.
The tables existence as the object that it is as a table depends not on it, not on
any purely nonrelational characteristics, but depends on us as well. That is, if our
culture had not evolved this manner of furniture, what appears to us to be an
obviously unitary object might instead be correctly described as five objects: four quite
useful sticks absurdly surmounted by a pointless slab of stick-wood waiting to be
carved (1995, pp. 8990; 2002, p. 25).

Don S. Levi

That the existence of tables is a function of culture seems obvious. My new dining
room table would not have been made by a company in North Carolina or sold to
me by a local store, nor would either the company or store have existed, if our
culture had not evolved certain practices involving tables, such as eating, writing and
displaying (things).
However, it does not follow from the fact that a culture knows nothing of (the
practices involving) tables, that my dining room table is only conventionally
referred to as a table. To see why it does not follow, consider how an
archeologist from another culture will talk about that table when he finds it in
the ruins of my house, namely, in terms not of what the object is but of what
it looks like or seems to be. Even if he talks the way Garfield suggests someone
from another culture might talk, the archeologist will say, It looks like four
quite useful sticks that seem to be absurdly topped by a slab of wood that seem
to have no point in being there and which seems to await some carving. It is
a table, but the archeologist does not know that because of the differences
between his culture and ours.
What confuses matters is that when Garfield talks of what a Madhyamika
philosopher means when he says that a table is empty, he does not make clear
whether he is talking about my dining room table or one that was unearthed in an
archeological dig and looks just like it. The conclusion about my dining room table
not being a table does not follow because even though the two objects are hard to
distinguish when placed side by side, the two objects are different: one is a table, the
other is not, however much it may look like one to someone familiar with tables.
They are different because of their histories, because of where and how they came
to be made, and what happened to them after they were made.4 Garfield wants us
to conclude something about the object because of such factors as how it looks or
the parts it has at a given time, factors that can be identified without knowing
anything about the culture of history of the object. This conclusion depends on a key
ambiguity concerning what object he could be referring to if it is not to be conceived
of as the subject of that history.
Garfield thinks that the table exists conventionally, and so he might not want to
oppose the idea of it as the subject of a history, provided that subject is not
understood to have inherent or substantial existence. However, it is the idea of the
table as the subject of a certain history that seems to be the one enshrined in
common sense or much of our language, if any conception is, whereas the conception of the table as having inherent existence is not so enshrined.
The argument given by Garfield that we have been discussing is supposed to show
that an object like a table does not exist as a table on its own. As we have seen, that
argument depends on a crucial ambiguity that comes to light when we remind
ourselves that a table has a history that explains, for example, why what is found in
an archeological dig is a table rather than something else. However, to better
understand what Garfield is arguing we need to know what he is opposing, namely,
that the table has inherent or substantial existence.

Asian Philosophy

The Argument Against a Core-bearer

What is it to have substantial or inherent existence? Garfields answer is that a
familiar object like a table is supposed by us to be or have a substance, an
unchanging core-bearer in which all of the tables properties inhere. So, when we
talk about the table having properties, the table (or its substance) is reified as being
something that is distinct from those properties; and when we talk about a persons
feelings, thoughts, intentions and actions, as well as anatomy, physiognomy, physiology, and the like, their subject, namely, the self or some other substance, is distinct
from what it has or what is said about it. Consequently, when a person or the table
changes, paradoxically, its reified subject or substance doesnt change, because
otherwise there would be no single subject of the changes.
Garfield (1995) makes clear in a footnote, where he insists that the point he is
making about the lack of inherent existence applies not only to an artifact but to
anything else, that his arguments are for conventionalism and against the existence
of such a core-bearer.
The boundaries of the tree, both spatial and temporal (consider the juncture between
root and soil, or leaf and air; between live and dead wood; between seed, shoot and
tree); its identity over time (each year it sheds its leaves and grows new ones; some
limbs break, new limbs grow); its existence as a unitary object, as opposed to a
collection of cells; etc., are all conventional. Removing its properties leaves no
core-bearer behind. (p. 90)

This passage offers several arguments. Those having to do with counting the tree as
a unitary object, we will discuss in the next section. The argument that there is no
core-bearer will be the focus of the present section.
How could Garfield know that we believe in a (reified and unchanging) core-bearing substance, or that a belief in it is implicit in what we say or think when engaged
in the variety of activities that make up our lives? If, as I have been insisting, we
think or talk of an everyday object such as a table as having a history, there does not
seem to be any implication in that thinking or talking of the existence of a
core-bearing substance, especially if that substance is supposed to be unchanging.
Moreover, although he is right to think of the conception of substance as the core
bearer as mistaken, the reasons for its being mistaken also are reasons that seem to
argue against conventionalism. That the substance, for example, of a table is distinct
from its components depends on the unwarranted assumption that its components
can be characterized independently of their being the tables components. That there
must be a subject that is distinct from everything that is said of that subject depends
on the unwarranted assumption that what it is or has can be identified independently of the subject.
This point may be illustrated by a critical examination of the monk Nagasenas
argument in the first chapter of the 1st century BC Pali classic, Milindapanha (1991),
for the claim that the chariot the king used to travel to the hermitage where
Nagasena is staying is empty of inherent existence (and, by a parity of reasoning, for
the claim that Nagasena himself also is empty of it). The argument takes the form
of a rejection of various positions that might be taken concerning the identification

Don S. Levi

of the chariot with its components. Of course, the chariot cannot be identified with
any part of it, such as an axle, wheel, chassis or yoke. It also cannot be identified with
all of the parts in combination (presumably, because the replacement of a part does
not make it a different chariot). Nor is the chariot to be considered as something
distinct from these parts or various combinations of them. It follows, according to
the argument, that the word chariot is a conventional designation, that it is because
it has all these parts that it comes under the term chariot (p. 4). That is to say, a
convention is adopted to refer to something that has all these parts as a unitary
object because it suits our purposes to do so.
As Giles (1993) reminds us, this conventionalist position is to be contrasted with
a reductionist one, according to which the chariot just is a particular assemblage of
its parts. According to the former, a particular assemblage of parts may, for the sake
of convenience, be referred to as a chariot, even though what we refer to that way
does not ultimately or really exist (p. 187). Whereas, according to the latter, the
chariot really does exist, albeit as the particular collection or assemblage that it is.
The argument for conventional existence does not depend on supposing that a
wheel or other part of the chariot has more than merely a conventional existence.
The argument requires only that there be a basis for the claim that it is arbitrary to
treat the chariot as what really exists, and that basis is provided by the idea that the
chariot might just as well be conceived of as assemblages of parts related to one
another by means of dependent origination. Of course, the wheel has parts, so
presumably the argument from the existence of parts to conventional designation
also applies to the wheel. If it did not have parts, then Garfield only needs to show
that there is some other way of conceiving it in order to support his claim that it,
too, only has conventional existence.
Curiously, Nagasena introduces the idea of a convention in connection with his
name, whereas when they are discussing the kings chariot, what is supposed to be
conventional is not the name of the chariot (if it has one), but the common noun
(chariot). There is a social convention associated with a proper name, the convention of parents giving a name to their baby (or of person changing the name given
to her). Nothing like this name-giving practice is involved in connection with
referring to it as a baby, or for referring to the kings mode of transport to the
hermitage as a chariot (or its parts as axles, wheels, etc.).
The real problem with Nagasenas argument is that it neglects or ignores the fact
that the kings chariot should be thought of as the subject of a history. The argument
for conventionalism is based, instead, on assemblage-of-parts conception: there are
different assemblies of parts at different moments; consequently, we are not really
dealing with one but many assemblages, and it is only a convention that we treat
them as assemblages of one and the same chariot. However, that there is an
alternative that the king fails to consider becomes apparent when we see what is
required to think of it in terms of such assemblages.
To see what is, suppose that my chariot is being worked on by a mechanic. When
I visit him and I cannot find it in his shop, I ask him where it is. He points to
his workspace where various chariot parts are arrayed. As he explains it, he has taken
the chariot apart in order to fix it properly. Is everything there? I ask. Almost

Asian Philosophy

everything, and he explains that there are defective parts, which he has discarded,
and that he is waiting for replacements. In this instance, the chariot is not the
collection of these parts, a point that also is conceded by King Milinda. However, his
reason for conceding it is that some pieces are missing and because no particular
collection would be any more the chariot than another collection with a few different
parts; whereas, the real reason why it is not that collection is because it is wrong to
identify the chariot as a assemblage of parts, when it really is the vehicle that has a
history of being manufactured, raced, taken to the repair shop, where it has been
broken down into these parts. The king, like Garfield, seems to want us to be able
to say what a chariot is without talking of what has that history, and so what he
thinks about why the assembly of pieces is not the chariot is mistaken.
Even more problematic is the supposed contrast that is the real focus of the
dialectic between Nagasena and the king, the contrast between the self and what the
assemblage of what Garfield (1995) calls the aggregates (which) are the basic
components into which the individual divides upon analysis. In standard Buddhist
analysis they include the physical body, sensations, perceptions, dispositions, and
consciousness or cognition (p. 245).5 That there are certain joyful or tragic or
traumatic events that I may say will always be a part of me is not in question. What
does seem questionable is that my feelings about these events are a part of me, let
alone that any feelings I happen to have at a certain point in my life are. However,
the real problem with the assemblage conception of the self is with the idea that it
is possible to identify a supposed element of that assemblage without referring to the
person whose unfolding history is the basis for its being the element that it is.
To see what I have in mind consider that I still feel anger when I talk about Joe,
who betrayed me many years ago. That it is anger I feel has to do not (only) with
what is happening in or to me when I talk about it, but with what he did to me and
with how I think about what he did. That it is genuine anger and not something I
am making a show of feeling (or not some other feeling) depends on how I behave
and what I say and think on this occasion and on many other occasions including
those that have yet to transpire. That it is anger I feel can be determined only with
reference to my beliefs, attitudes, experiences, and how they inform my reactions
and behavior, a determination that presupposes that I am the subject of a history,
and not merely an assemblage of body, feelings, dispositions, cognitions and
consciousness.
Let me try to clarify my objection to the assemblage conception by contrasting it
with what Garfield has to say about it. He says, this particular analysis (as consisting
of components) has no particular significance. It reflects an essentially empirical
theory about the best explanatory framework to use in comprehending human
behavior and the most useful way for the Buddhist practitioner to his/her experience
(p. 245). That is to say, he is not denying that a person exists inherently or
substantially only to assert that the person is a series of aggregates, related to one
another by dependent origination, which does exist inherently. On the contrary, the
aggregates themselves are empty, and as much Buddhist psychology emphasizes, they
too are the subject of further decomposition (p. 246).
My objection is that his argument for his version of conventionalism is based on

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Don S. Levi

what I think is a fallacy in supposing that a person can be conceived of, for purposes
of establishing conventionality, as an aggregate. The fallacy in the assemblage
conception of a person is that it relies on the unwarranted assumption that my
emotions, feelings, thoughts, intentions, desires, and the like, can be identified
definitively by considering only what is happening at the particular time the
assemblage is constituted.
So, the argument for conventional designation that is based on there being no
core-bearer fails. Although I have been discussing Nagasenas version of the
argument, I do not mean to suggest that there is anything wrong with what
Nagasena did, provided he is understood to be employing skillful means (upaya).
The king has an attachment to raising problems with the Dharma, which seems to
be interfering with his pursuit of the goals of the religious life, and Nagasenas
dialectic should be understood as trying to help the king overcome that attachment. We will return in the concluding section of this paper to the question of
whether Garfields attack on the idea of a core-bearer can also be considered to be
skillful means. For our present purposes, it is sufficient to conclude that the
core-bearing argument for conventionalism, when understood to address a general
audience, is fallacious.
Although Garfield is right to reject the idea of a core-bearing unchanging subject,
he also seems to be attacking the idea of a (unitary) subject of a life or history.
Whereas it is not plausible to suppose that the former idea is enshrined in common
sense, it is plausible to suppose this of the latter. So, when he is addressing the
question of how a subject (of a life or history) can continue to exist despite all the
changes it undergoes, he is presenting us with a false dilemma: either there is no
individual with a history, or that individual never changes in order to be the (single
and inherently existing) subject of all of her constantly changing life.
The dilemma is a false one because there is another alternative: the subject of a
history is the person or thing that is born or made, grows up, decays and dies. That
person or thing changes, and may be so different at different points in her or its life
for us to be justified in saying that she or it is no longer the same person, or tree
or table. All of that is compatible with its being her or its history, even if it is the
history of someone who has undergone a genuine transformation. To say that she is
the subject of a life is different from saying that she is the reified subject or
core-bearer, and by referring to her as the subject of that history nothing is implied
about the existence of some unchanging substance.
Presumably, this resolution of the dilemma does not satisfy Garfield because he
objects to the ontology implicit in the answer. The existence of this ontology seems
to depend on there being a basis for a question about what makes the table or person
what it is. Even this way of putting the problem is misleading. As we saw earlier,
there is a significant ambiguity when it comes to asking how it could persist over
time. Are we referring to the table or person? If so, then it is not easy to understand
how a question can arise about whose life or history it is. A person may undergo very
dramatic changes, but it is the person who may be said to be different or not the
same person, and so the question of who underwent the changes does not seem to
arise. Of course, strange circumstances may call for unusual comments. But, if we

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11

begin by referring to a person (or thing), then the question of ontology does not
seem to arise.
However, if we are referring to something into which we suppose the table or
person can be analyzed, then the ontological question does arise. How can sequences
of aggregates be counted as a single sequence? Is it really one, or are we just counting
it as one, as Garfield supposes? These questions have a point because they treat as
the basic unit the aggregate or its components, and not the person and thing. If we
ignore the ambiguity of the reference to what is supposed to have an ontology, a
person or table, on the one hand, or something into which it is supposedly
analyzable, on the other, then these questions might seem to also apply to what I
have been referring to as the subject of a history. That there is anything questionable
about how we think or talk about our familiar everyday world seems to depend on
the presumption that there are other ways of conceiving of that world, and the
existence of these other ways, even though they, too, are conventional, makes clear
that our conception only has a conventional basis. In the next sections we are going
to be critical of several supposed alternate ways of conceiving of the world.
Boundaries and Identity Over Time
We turn to Garfields arguments that are based on the conventional nature of the
determination of the spatial and temporal boundaries between what is and what is
not the object, and of the identity of the object over time. Rather than presuppose
the rejection of the common sense conception of an object, these arguments seem
designed to undermine that conception.
Garfield thinks that there is something arbitrary when it comes to the spatial and
temporal boundaries of a tree, including, the juncture between root and soil, or leaf
and air; between live and dead wood; between seed, shoot and tree. No doubt the
determination of when one begins and the other ends can be arbitrary. Exactly when,
for example, does a shoot become a tree? The answer seems to be that if we need to
determine it, then the determination has to be made by something like a convention
rather than by a real or definite dividing line.
However, it is not clear why the determination has to be made, without an
explanation of what, if anything, turns on making it. In certain circumstances, it
seems a matter of indifference whether it is said to be a shoot or a tree, and the same
point seems to apply to the line between root and soil, or live and dead wood. Mind
you, it does seem to matter, when the tree is conceived of as nothing more than the
assemblage of its components at any given time. Then its very status as the object
it is would seem to depend on determining what is and what is not the tree.
Otherwise, it is hard to see why there is any need to clearly delineate what is what
at the junctures to which Garfield refers. So, as an argument against the historical
conception of a tree, it seems to beg the question of whether a tree may be conceived
of as consisting of assemblages of components that are related to one another only
by dependent orgination.
This point is more obvious when the boundary argument is applied to people. Are
the air particles we breathe, the microbes we inhale, or the pieces of food we ingest

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Don S. Levi

part of us or not? Of course, we can explain what happens when any of them enters
our bodies; what we need to explain is what further question is being asked that may
shed light on the idea that there are boundaries or junctures as far as who we are
is concerned. No doubt the question can be explained if we assume that we are
nothing more than assemblages of various components, in which case we are asking
what belongs and what does not belong to the assemblage. Otherwise, when it is
explained how the foreign substance entered our bodies and what happened to it
after it did so, we are saying all that needs to be said about the relation between us
and that substance.
That there is a problem of identity over time also seems to be a function of taking
the assemblage view as a genuine alternative conception of the tree. The plant or tree
sheds leaves and grows new ones. That is to be expected if what we are talking about
is something with a history. However, if the tree is defined as a collection of its parts
(or whatever is true of it), then the addition or subtraction of elements of that
collection does constitute a problem, and the obvious resolution of the problem
involves the arbitrary application of a convention.
My objection to Garfields reliance on the apparent vagueness of certain
boundaries is not intended as an objection to religious teachings that seem to cite the
same phenomena that he does. These teachings are designed to help us become more
compassionate by reminding us of our dependency on our surroundings and other
people for our very existence. As I understand them, these reminders of how vague
the boundary is between ourselves and the world outside us are directed at Dharma
seekers who are already drawn to becoming less attached to self and more compassionate. Otherwise they might not promote non-attachment and might even
make us frustrated or angry. That is to say, we have to understand the reminders a
certain way, something we may do because we are receptive to the Dharma, and not
because there is a basis for that receptivity, namely, these reminders of the vagueness
of certain boundaries.
Other Alternate Conceptions
That Buddhism is calling into question the conception of a person or thing as having
a history is the rejoinder many of my readers will give to my critique of Garfields
argument. As they see it, my critique is question begging because it relies on the very
conception that Garfield is calling into question. To the extent that the facts or
insights he is relying on his argument depend on that conception, then my critique
is not question begging. Is there any alternative to that conception, especially when
so much of our thinking and talking seems to embody it? Garfield is not defending
(on Nagarjunas behalf) any alternative to that conception, because his conventionalism or understanding of emptiness precludes his doing so. However, the very idea
that there is a conception presupposes that we can at least conceive of other possible
conceptions, and Garfields arguments do suggest that he thinks of other conceptions
as possibilities.
Earlier, in the passage where he talked about the arbitrariness of boundaries,
Garfield contrasts the existence of a unitary object with its being merely a collection

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13

of cells. Other alternatives to the common sense conception of a table also are given
by him:
Or we would have no reason to indicate this particular temporary arrangement of this
matter as an object at all, as opposed to the brief intersection of the histories of some
trees. The table, we might say, is a purely arbitrary slice of spacetime chosen by us
as the referent of a single name and not an entity, demanding, on its own, recognition
and a philosophical analysis to reveal its essence. (Garfield, 1995, pp. 8990; 2002,
p. 25)

Presumably, the determination of which molecule does or does not belong to the
collection that is the table is an arbitrary one. This observation seems to be like the
other arguments for conventionalism which we have rejected earlier. However, it is
sufficiently and significantly different for it to be considered in this section. As we
pointed out in the previous section, there does not seem to be anything arbitrary or
conventional about the distinction between leaf and air or root and soil. However,
there does seem to be something for a convention to apply to when considering, for
example, a collection of molecules (rather than a leaf that is treated as analyzable
into such a collection). Not only does the determination of which molecules do or
do not belong to the leaf collection seem arbitrary, but if we treat the collection as
being identifiable on its own independently of its being the chemical analysis of the
table, then the very status of the table as an unitary object or as the object it is, seems
problematic.
Garfield confuses matters by suggesting that the table may be considered to be the
brief intersection of the histories of some trees. Implicit in this idea is that there is
something arbitrary in singling out the (brief?) intersection in this way (just as it is
arbitrary to refer to the histories as being of trees). However, Garfields reference to
an intersection of trees is misleading, if what he really means is that the table is made
of wood. He needs some way of referring to the table that makes treating it as a
unitary object conventional, and by talking in terms of the intersections of trees he
makes it seem that the wood obtained from the harvesting of trees happened, at a
certain point in time, to take this particular form. However, contrary to what
Garfield is suggesting, the table is the piece of furniture made of wood that was
produced, sold, placed in the dining room, repaired, and stored.
A different problem arises with the argument that there is something arbitrary
about the singling out of a certain slice of spacetime and designating it a table. Of
course, there is no common sense conception of spacetime slices as having inherent
or substantial existence, if only because we do not have any experience thinking or
talking about such slices. Moreover, if we are not to think of a slice as being parasitic
on the everyday item that is being sliced in this way, then the question arises as to
how we are supposed to obtain the slice or how we are to think about it. That is to
say, there does not seem to be any way to understand how slices can be made that
does not presuppose the existence of the everyday objects, which the slices are
supposed to supplant. So, contrary to what Garfield is suggesting, the conception of
a slice of spacetime (or of an assemblage of cells or matter) is not an alternative
conception of the everyday world and its contents, but an artifact of the analysis of

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Don S. Levi

the everyday world, a conception that we adopt in order to explain or otherwise

account for that familiar world.
The argument that interests me most seems very much like the argument
considered in the previous section. It is the argument that when the tree is
considered as an assemblage of molecules or a collection of cells then what does or
does not belong to that collection seems arbitrary. This argument is different from
the boundary or identity arguments considered earlier because it depends, as does
the chariot argument considered in the previous section, on the idea that the tree
may be conceived of as a collection.
The problem with this argument is the same as the problem with the chariot
argument. When it is conceived of as a collection of molecules or cells, the table is
thought of as not having a history but existing as the collection it happens to be at
a particular time. It is this way of conceiving of it that we found wanting in
connection with the argument about the chariot from the Milindapanha.
However, the molecule argument differs from the chariot argument because we
can refer to such an assemblage only by referring to the object whose molecules
constitute the assemblage, whereas it is possible to refer to an assemblage of chariot
parts without having to know what chariot, if any, the parts are parts of. We can
explain what is wrong with the chariot argument by pointing out that we do not
treat an assemblage of parts as a chariot; rather, the parts are what they are because
they are parts of a chariot kit or of a disassembled chariot. This point cannot be
made about the assemblage of table molecules, if only because they are not the parts
of a kit or of a disassemblage: we have no way of identifying them except as part of
the physical or chemical analysis of the table. Far from helping Garfield, this point
only serves to underscore the problems with his argument for conventionalism.
The Attack on Causal Power
In this section I want to discuss Garfields (1995) argument against the existence of
causes or causal powers (p. 104), Garfield thinks that it is key part of the case for his
view that there is a root delusion embodied in common sense and much of our
language. Instead of causes, what we are,
typically confronted with in nature is a vast network of interdependent and continuous
processes, and carving out particular phenomena for explanation or use in explanations depends more on our explanatory interests and language than on joints nature
presents to us (p. 113)

Garfield is distinguishing between the joints that really are in the world and the
divisions introduced by the carving to argue that we call certain conditions causes
because of our explanatory interests and language, and not because causes really
exist.
There is something right in what Garfield is saying, but it hardly makes the point
that he needs it to make. What is right is that the very use of cause reflects certain
interests, such as in apportioning blame for the accident or disaster or preventing
future occurrences of it. However, this does not imply that there is something

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arbitrary about singling out one condition from the many that are required for the
effect to be produced, and designating it as the cause. It does not imply it because
what is being singled out, for example, is who is liable for damages or what can be
changed to prevent future outbreaks, and it is not as though what is thereby selected
is chosen arbitrarily from other possible candidates for that role. No doubt if
conditions had been different, and, for example, the other car was traveling at a
different rate of speed, then there would have been no collision when the first car
ran a red light, but whatever happened other than the running the red light, if it is
not relevant when it comes to assigning blame or responsibility, then it would not
have been considered the cause of the collision.
This point is hard to make in connection with the kind of causality that is of
interest both to Indian and Aristotelian philosophers, the causality that accounts for
the persistence of something over time,6 that explains how something can be
considered the subject of what we have been calling a history. Garfield (or
Nagarjuna) seems to be questioning whether there is some material condition or
svabhava that remains unchanged throughout the changes something undergoes. If
so, then he is right to do so. However, it does not seem to be something that we
think, let alone a root delusion or innate misapprehension, that there is such an
unchanging stuff or that its existence is somehow enshrined in our language (and so
there is reason to wonder whether Nagarjuna agrees with Garfield on this point).
Garfield and some others in the Buddhist tradition seem to think that it is a
matter of convention that a table, chariot, tree or person is treated as the subject of
all the changes it undergoes, and they understand the concept of dependent
origination (this, then that) to be used in providing an alternative conception of
identity. However, as we have seen, this understanding presupposes that the convention applies to aggregates or collections that can somehow be identified as they are
at a given time and independently of who or what is the subject of the elements of
the aggregates.
So, let us try to understand how the persistence of an individual is supposed to
be due to a real causal connection (as opposed to one of dependent origination).
That there are causes or explanations for the changes that the subject undergoes is
not in question. What is in question is whether there is a cause for the persistence
of the subject over time, and it is not clear what the effect is supposed to be, when
it is not understood as a change.
Causal questions do arise in connection with the survival of a person thing, and
we may be able to explain, for example, why someone did not die from traumatic
injuries, or a table was not destroyed in an earthquake or vaporized in an intense
fire. We also may be able to explain what controls certain developmental processes,
such as the one that the embryo or adolescent or aging person undergoes. What we
are supposed to be trying to explain is how there is persistence from minute to
minute or day to day, and it is unclear how there is anything to explain when it
comes to that persistence.
My saying this is based on how I am thinking of what is persisting, namely, a
person, table, light switch or whatever else it happens to be. I say that it has this basis
because Garfield and others must be thinking that the mere persistence of an object

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Don S. Levi

from moment to moment or place to place is to be considered a change. They

would be justified in thinking this way if the object is defined as an aggregate at a
certain time and in a certain place, in which case the change may be considered to
be from element to element in the sequences of aggregates that are being considered
as a single individual. However, when we are talking, for example, about me or my
table, then what we are talking about is the kind of thing that, by contrast with a
flashing light or a puff of smoke (or element in a sequence of aggregates), has more
than a momentary existence.
That causes or causal powers do not really exist also seems plausible when we are
not thinking in terms of our familiar everyday objects, as seems evident when we
consider Garfields argument: Dissecting light switches, wires, brains, and so forth,
does not reveal any hidden light (p. 110). Garfield is referring here to the variety of
things that exist at the time the light is turned on, and he is right to point out that
we would not find the light by dissecting switches, wires, bulbs or even brains.7 He
does not explain what the point is in performing the dissections to reveal the light
(thereby demonstrating the existence of causal power), when we knew before the
dissections were performed that the light turns on when the switch is flicked
The reference to dissections makes sense if we are talking about how the light
switch works. To explain it we need to talk about the working parts of the light
the onoff switch and how it permits or stops the flow of electricity; the filament of
tungsten wire that is wrapped around a tight coil, the passage of electricity through
the filament that heats the coil by making electrons jump to higher orbits, so that
when they fall back their extra energy is emitted as a ray of light; and so on. Garfield
is right in thinking that if we refer only to the filament, coil, wiring, switch,
electricity or electrons and their jumping, and the energy released, we would not
refer to the light.
However, these references are introduced to explain the fact that the bulb light
goes on when the switch is flicked, whereas Garfield seems to think that they provide
us with an alternate and equally valid way to describe what happened. Garfields
mistake is that the terms in which an explanation for how the light works is given
do not constitute a replacement for the contents of the everyday world that is being
explained.
How then does the question of causal power even arise for Garfield? The answer
seems to require that we misdescribe what the flicking of the switch does. We may
want to say that it makes the light go on, but this seems to be another way of saying
that it turns the light on. We do not want to say that it supplies the power for the
light, when it is the electricity that does that. However, it is not the electricity that
turns on the light, even though when the power to the house is turned off then the
switch will not turn on the light. So, it seems misconceived to confuse talk of turning
on the light with the exercise of causal power.
However, if we understand Garfield to be basing his rejection of the existence of
causal powers on the rejection of what I have been referring to as the common sense
conception of the everyday world, then his attack on causal powers is easier to
understand. A light switch, as a historical subject, has certain properties. We can do
certain things with it, such as turning on a lamp. However, if we reject that

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conception of a switch or bulb, as Garfield seems to be encouraging us to do, then

some other conception is needed to make the point about causal powers. When we
think of the light going on as a stage in a series of aggregates of conditions, then the
question of cause is a version of the changepersistence problem we considered in
connection with the history of a subject: if the light going is the next stage, and it
is caused by the previous one, then what is there about that antecedent aggregate of
conditions that has the power to produce the next light, i.e., to produce light?8
Garfield is right if he is insisting that the answer is that it is mysterious how it could
have that power, but this is because the conditions no longer are conceived of as
being conditions that are part of the analysis of what happened in the everyday
world, but are treated as alternative conceptions of that world. If I am right, then
Garfields argument against causal powers assumes that the common sense conception is mistaken, when what it is supposed to do is provide a reductio ad absurdum
of that conception.
Contrary to what Garfield argues, incoherent consequences cannot be legitimately
derived from a belief in the reality of causes, or, for that matter, other aspects of our
familiar everyday world, unless that belief is wrongly supposed to commit us to a
belief in subjects of change that are themselves unchangeable. As we pointed out
earlier, Garfield does suppose that we are committed to such a belief, and his basis
for doing so is that he supposes that we must believe it because there is no other way
to make sense of persistence over change of a single subject.
The Objects of Mindfulness
Does the experience of meditation not provide an alternative to the common sense
historical conception of an object? Garfield does not make this suggestion because he
insists that the Buddhist thesis of emptiness applies to any attempt at referring to
reality, even to emptiness itself. However, other Buddhologists, especially those, like
Murti (1955), Kasulis (1981), Loy (1985), and Huntington (1989), who think that
there is a pre- or non-conceptualized reality, might be tempted by it. Moreover, it
is a suggestion that often seems to be made by teachers of meditation: when we are
mindful, for example, of a tree in all its existential particularity and we have no
thoughts about what will become of it or what has been true of it, then the tree exists
solely in the here-and-now. The tree of the common sense conception no longer
exists.
I have no quarrel with this way of describing the experience, provided what is said
about the objects of meditation is designed to help us to achieve non-attachment or
compassion for all living things. However, I do object to the idea that meditation is
supposed to provide us with access to a different reality than is enshrined in our
common sense and much of our language.
How are the objects of meditation different from the objects of our supposed
common sense conception? As a painting teacher reminds her students, a table looks
different in different light and from different perspectives. It hardly follows from her
lesson, that the table itself changes as the light and perspective changes, because the
table is not to be confused with these different appearances of it. Just so, the fact that

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Don S. Levi

the table may look different to a mindful observer in the different here-and-nows,
does not provide us with an alternative world to our everyday one where the table
is to be found. This is because the meditative experiences are experiences of the
table, and not of something with a different ontological status (or of something that
may be characterized as empty).
Kasulis (1981) seems to disagree when he marks a contrasts between the tree as
it is being experienced in the here-and-now and how our concepts or language
might filter that experience (p. 57). Another paper is needed to consider what
language is supposed to be or how it could be a filter, according to Kasulis. What
I want to discuss here is the apparent ambiguity in the references to the tree (or any
other object).
The ambiguity I have in mind arises because of Kasulis reliance on the concept
of experience. His reference to the tree as it is being experienced seems to suggest
that it is the particular tree which is the referent of the it and of which we are being
mindful. If he disagrees, that is because he does not think that it is the tree that is
being experienced as it is. Rather, he is inviting us to distinguish between that tree,
as the object with a certain botanical history, and as the object of our mindful
experiences. What is it that is being experienced as it is? The only answer that
suggests itself is that it is that particular tree. We may see it or otherwise experience
it by being mindful only of what it is when we are seeing or experiencing it in its
existential particularity, but what we are seeing or experiencing is the tree.
Another alternative suggests itself if we refer to what is seen as a perception, and
equate that perception with an experience. If we confine that experience to the
here-and-now, and somehow bracket everything previously experienced or anticipated, then we may want to make a distinction between the tree and what is being
experienced, which may be referred to as a sense impression or sensible quality.
This distinction leads, in turn, to a seeming alternative to the common sense
conception of a tree, namely, as whatever it is that exists only as it is experienced.
By itself, the experience of meditation does not reveal to us the existence of an
alternative world to that of everyday objects when they are the objects of meditation.
Rather, it is the theory that perceptions are of sensible qualities, or that objects are
constituted as aggregates or collections of these qualities, that does so.
However, the existence of this alternate world is problematic, depending as it does
on the questionable reduction, for example, of the seeing of a tree to a visual
experience. The former has the tree as its object I cannot see a tree if there is not
one there to be seen; whereas, the latter seems to have to do with the perceiver. I am
not objecting to saying that sometimes the seeing of something can be quite an
experience, but the seeing of it is one thing how we react to seeing it another.
When someone observes a tree mindfully we may describe her as experiencing that
particular tree as it is; but it does not follow that the object of that experience is
somehow reducible to the experiences of it, however they may be characterized.
So meditation does not provide us with a way of introducing a different
conception of an object than the one we have been supposing is the common sense
conception of it. Garfield explicitly rejects the idea that there is such a thing as
pre-conceptual reality. Rather, he subscribes (on behalf of Nagarjuna) to the thesis

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of the emptiness of emptiness, which means that he thinks that any attempt at
referring to reality, or suggesting that there is such a thing, is as misconceived as is
the view that our familiar everyday world has inherent existence. What I have been
arguing in this section is that there is no basis for thinking that the world of
meditative experience is an alternative to the everyday world
Conclusion: Upaya or Philosophy
Since it is Garfields position that there is no such thing as inherent existence,
perhaps there is no real difference between our positions. Like me, he has no
problem with what we actually say about the familiar objects or people in our
everyday world, and, like him, I reject the idea of a reified subject. I think that the
only reality we have is the reality of that world, and he does not think that there is
any other reality, provided that we do not reify anything in this one.
However, there are significant differences between us. He thinks that if there is no
reified subject, then the subject exists only conventionally, which makes sense only
if there is something in terms of which a convention can be applied. This explains
why it is so important for his argument that we can analyze the object or person who
undergoes change into a series of different aggregates. This series is what he thinks
of as being conventionally referred to as a single subject of change. Earlier I argued
against that analysis, and by doing so I also argued against the false dichotomy of
conventional or inherent subject.
An obvious question to raise about my approach is whether there is not an
ontology implicit in the very idea of a historical subject. I have been talking about
the chariot or a person as having a history, but who or what is it that has that
history?
This question is hard to understand. We have no trouble referring to that subject
when not philosophizing, as a person or chariot or any of a host of other things in
our familiar world. Ontological problems may arise when we ask about the other
items in that world. What about a melody or country or illness or memory? What
kind of existence does each of these things have? That I refer to a person as a subject
hardly commits me to the taking of a position on how everything else that we talk
or think about exists. In fact, without some understanding of what we are asking
when we wonder about existence, it is hard to see why a position needs to be taken
on kinds of existence or even whether there are such things.
This question of what an ontology is and why it is needed is the subject of another
paper. However, what is worth discussing in this one is the fact that Garfield thinks
that the conception of inherent existence, which is enshrined in common sense and
much of our language, is the root of suffering and the rejection of that conception
frees us from the bondage of karmic attachments. The reason why this is significant
is that Garfield is presuming that everyone confronts the same obstacle to liberation
from bondage, namely, the grasping of the aggregates as ones self (p. 277). Its
significance is that it seems to be at odds with a skillful means view of Buddhist
teachings, as an expression of compassion for people struggling to free themselves
from bondage. A compassionate approach is designed to help people with different

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Don S. Levi

problems and in different situations make progress on their path to enlightenment;

whereas, Garfields approach seems to suggest that everyone must have the same
problem.
Despite the fact that the Muladhyamakakarika is so scholastic in its reliance almost
exclusively on philosophical argumentation, I suggest that Nagarjuna is employing
skillful means in his teachings. The reliance on argumentation suggests that it was
written for a scholastic audience of Abhidharmists, and, as such, it should be
understood as therapy for certain philosophical assumptions and theories which
seems to have been responsible for that audience proposing that there be only one
form religious practice should take.9
Although Nagarjunas last lines are free of any scholasticism, and seem to be an
endorsement of the upaya approach, Garfield (1995) reads them very differently.
I prostrate myself to the Gautama
Who through compassion
Taught the true doctrine,
Which leads to the relinquishing of all views. (p. 83)

The skillful means reading is that Nagarjuna is rejecting the idea that there is one
teaching that will be effective therapy for everyone. This rejection applies to what
Nagarjuna himself is teaching, which may be a good corrective for certain Abhidharma views, especially those which suggest that there is only one good teaching, but
it should not be understood to be effective for everyone. That is to say, the true
doctrine is that there is no one teaching.
In his commentary on these verses, Garfield only considers two other readings.
One, which he says is by far the most common, is that Nagarjuna is talking about
relinquishing only false views, and so, he does not intend that his own view be
relinquished. The other, which is the reading he prefers, is that the emptiness of
emptiness entails that there is nothing to have a view about and consequently no
view that can be taken. The true doctrine, which is Nagarjunas, does lead to the
relinquishing of all views, but since that doctrine cannot be considered to be a view,
Nagarjuna has nothing to relinquish.
What is significant about Garfields reading is how much it underscores his
determination to reject the upaya approach in favor of the idea that there is a true
Dharma which addresses everyone regardless of the obstacles they confront in trying
to achieve non-attachment. Rather than have Nagarjuna conclude by saying that his
teachings are only directed at a specific audience of Buddhists who, like him, have
philosophical concerns, Garfield arrives at just the opposite conclusion, namely, that
it is directed at everyone.
Is there a way of understanding inherent existence or attachment that supports the
upaya approach? Despite my repeated references to it, I have said little or nothing
about what inherent existence or non-attachment is. I have said nothing because
what I think should be said depends on who is being addressed and what problems
that person is confronting in overcoming her attachments. I am rejecting the idea
that we first have to see that things do not have inherent existence and then rely on

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that realization to achieve non-attachment. Rather, inherent existence refers to

however we are relating to an object when we are attached to it. Since the reference
to it is to be understood in the context of teaching that employs skillful means, that
reference is a reminder of how the attachment may take different forms with
different people.
This point can be illustrated by considering how Nagasena is employing skillful
means in his dialectic with the king. Consider, for example, how Nagasena responds
when he is asked by the king to be told his name, namely, by saying that there is no
permanent individual that can be found that is designated by the name Nagasena.
Rather than ask what a permanent individual is, and why the only alternative to a
conventional designation is one that refers to such an individual, the king replies by
trying to derive certain absurd consequences from what Nagasena said, thereby
appearing to concede that he understands what Nagasena is claiming. Nagasena uses
cross-examination to get the king to avoid these consequences by adopting the
position that there is no permanent chariot, and this leads Nagasena to point out
that the king should take the position that there is no permanent subject who has
the name he does, regardless of the seemingly absurd consequences of doing so.
However, what really is under attack by Nagasena is the kings attachment to
debating with teachers of the Dharma. That attachment is a reflection of the kings
investment in being someone who is not taken in by the religious life. That is to say,
the permanent individual whose inherent existence Nagasena really is questioning is
the king who identifies himself with his attachments, who acts as though this identity
is what will survive all the changes he will undergo. Nagasenas succeeds in getting
the king to take positions that, seemingly, have the very consequences whose
absurdity had prompted the king to think that no one who had taken such positions
could be his match in debate. As a result, the king may come to realize that he is no
better than those whom he thought he had vanquished in debate. If I am right, then
Nagasenas rhetoric embodies his compassion for the king because he is employing
it to help the king to become a Dharma seeker rather than a debater about the
Dharma.
The same does not seem to be true of Garfields rhetoric. There is nothing to
suggest that he is thinking of the obstacles particular people have to overcome in
order to achieve non-attachment. On the contrary. He is suggesting that everyone
has the same obstacle, namely, the delusion enshrined in common sense and much
of language. Since he is assuming that everyone faces the same obstacle, his rhetoric
should not be treated as upaya.10
This paper is evidence that I also believe in the value of philosophical analysis as
far as Buddhism is concerned. Despite the fact that I am not presently a Dharma
seeker, I would not go so far as to say that, like King Milinda, and unlike Garfield,
I am attached to philosophizing even to the extent of preferring to do it rather than
to engage in practices that may lead to non-attachment. However, I do believe that
philosophy is of especial value in deflating its own pretensions to provide a basis for
Buddhism, even if this belief does not reflect my own spiritual concerns. In this
paper I have been arguing that rather than do philosophy in order to help overcome
the folk metaphysics that interferes with our religious practice, we need to philoso-

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Don S. Levi

phize in order to uncover the misconceptions in attempts like Garfields at showing

that there is such a deluded ontology.

Notes
[1]

For a recent critical survey of the dialectic in Indian philosophy, from the materialist
skeptics to the Advaitans, concerning the explanation of change in causal terms, see Ganguli
(2002).
[2] Jayatilleke (1963) points out that in the Pali Buddhist writings, the two truth distinction was
drawn between teachings with direct and indirect meanings (pp. 361336).
[3] Garfield (1995) says, But in order to really modify our actions and dispositions to act, we
need wisdom in this context an understanding of the real nature of things as empty. This
view, Nagarjuna asserts, must be internalized through meditation, so that it becomes not
merely a philosophical theory that we can reason our way into, but the basic way in which
we take up with the world (p. 340).
[4] In his commentary on Nagarjunas chapter, Examination of the Four Noble Truths,
Garfield (1995) says that the table cannot be distinguished in a principled way from its
antecedent and subsequent histories (p. 316). Although he does refer to its histories, his
point is that the table is not what has the history; rather, the table just is the aggregate of
the antecedent and subsequent histories, and that treating it as the history of a single thing
is a matter of convention.
[5] Garfield goes on to insist, this particular analysis (of the components) has no particular
significance. It reflects an essentially empirical theory about the best explanatory framework
to use in comprehending human behavior and the most useful way for the Buddhist
practitioner to his/her experience (p. 245). He is insistent upon this point because the
aggregates themselves are empty, and as much Buddhist psychology emphasizes, they too
are the subject of further decomposition (p. 246).
[6] Garfield cites as a typical example of self-causation the seed and sprout relation (p. 106).
[7] Garfield speaks of (dissecting) brains in connection with the dominant condition, or
purpose or end for which an action is undertaken (p. 109). Presumably, the brain
dissection may reveal the agents purpose in turning on the light, but not the light itself.
[8] Hume thinks of causation as a relation of association between different impressions, which
suggests that the problems he is raising are to be understood in terms of the unfamiliar
world of (momentary) sense impressions. Even if Garfield does not share Humes empiricist
psychology, his attack on causal powers also seems to require treating the causal relation as
a relation between events that are not identifiable in our everyday terms.
[9] See Schroeder (2001) for a development of this position. Robinson (1972) and Wood
(1994) attribute to Nagarjuna the nihilistic position that it is impossible to say anything
coherent about the Dharma; Murti (1955) and others argue that Nagarjuna is only trying
to show the inadequacy of our concepts or language to describe things the way they really
are. As we have seen, Garfields position is that Nagarjuna is a conventionalist who denies
that even conventionalism or emptiness is conventionally true. Rather than concentrate on
showing that each of these positions is mistaken, Schroeders focus is on arguing that
Nagarjuna is attacking the Abhidharma position for seemingly holding that there is only
one valid form of religious practice, a position which Kasulis (1992) calls an orthopraxis.
[10] Garfield (1995) makes clear, even when he talks about how important certain practices are
to the achievement of enlightenment, that he has in mind practices that will focus on the
elimination of a root ontological delusion. Only through extensive meditation on the
nature of emptiness can these (karmic) habits be eliminated, and only through an
understanding of the ultimate nature of things can the fruit of actions done through
abandonment be attained (p. 237).

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Huntington, C.W. (1989). The Emptiness of Emptiness. Honolulu, The University of Hawaii Press.
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