Shortcuts
> Conceptual Evolution > Ghosts in the Texts
A belief in ghosts has been part of humanity's common heritage across space and time. It should come as no surprise, then, to find ghosts prominently featured in Buddhist art, literature, and even in its doctrine. In this essay, I will explore the way ghosts fit into Buddhist cosmology as found in the Pāli Canon.
Lazybones says:
『I ain't readin' this whole dang page! 』
_(:3 」∠)_
Here are the highlights:
1.
As with many things found in Buddhism, the concept of a "ghost" - peta in Pāli, preta in Sanskrit - was shared between the various religious traditions of ancient India. The idea seems to be rooted in the earlier Vedic idea of "The Fathers" - pitara in Sanskrit.
A deep-dive into the Vedic religion and the Indo-Aryans who practiced it would be excessive; let it suffice to say that the Vedas are a collection of texts in a special form of liturgical Sanskrit spanning a wide range of time, with the oldest among them originating anywhere from 1500-1200 BCE. These are found in the division known as the Rig Veda Samhita, which contains hymns to many gods meant to be recited by priests during ritual sacrifices. These hymns are organized in ten volumes called "mandalas," and of particular interest to us is the latest of these, the 10th mandala, where we find hymns meant to be recited during funerary rituals.
The tenth mandala of the Rig Veda Samhita begins with a hymn to a god named Agni - in brief, Agni was the Vedic god of fire, and as such, was understood to be embodied in the sacrifical fire, allowing him to manifest and act as a bridge between those performing the sacrifice and the gods with whom they wished to commune. Through reciting these verses and offering sacrifical gifts, the priests implored Agni to attend the ritual and bring other gods with him. In the 14th hymn, the priests turned to Yama, though this preserves a more ancient understanding of Yama than the one we find in Buddhist texts. In the Vedas, Yama is depicted as the first man to have died, whereupon he navigated the afterlife and charted a path to be followed by those who would die afterwards, leading them to a paradisal resting place. The Indo-Aryans who composed these hymns revered their ancestors, whom they called "The Fathers" (pitara), and whom they believed eternally rejoiced in this paradise with Yama. In their funeral rite, after having invited Agni and numerous other gods, they likewise invited Yama to attend with The Fathers, offering gifts and the raising up songs of praise in exchange for his attendance. Interestingly, they would then invite Yama's own father, the solar god Vivasvan (perhaps more commonly known as Surya in Indian mythology).
At this point, the priests would address the dead for whose benefit the rite was being performed. The dead was urged to "go forth" on that path which had been found by Yama and travelled by The Fathers. Verses instructed them to meet with Yama and those ancestors, where they would join with a new body and take up residence in that paradise which awaited them. Offerings to Yama were burned in the sacrifical fire, which they believed would literally be transported by Agni from this world to the next. The hymns then turned to The Fathers themselves, praising them and asking them for their blessings, and inviting them, along with Yama, to partake in the offerings. Agni would then be hailed once again, and we see an interesting epithet here which reveals a fascinating detail of this rite: The Fathers were referred to as those "whom Agni's flames have tasted," and Agni was praised as the one who "bore the offerings" and "made them fragrant." The hymn which would follow reveals the connection here: in the ritual, the body of the deceased was offered in the pyre along with the sacrifical gifts, to be likewise transported by Agni to the other world. Agni was requested not to burn the body of the dead, but to "mature it" and "make him ready" before sending him to The Fathers. In the afterlife, the dead would be united with a new body, free from any damage their earthly body may have sustained. In this, the dead was believed to have, themselves, become one of The Fathers - a Pitr, in the singular Sanskrit.
I want to highlight salient details which will be relevant below: 1) Those who composed the hymns of the Rg Veda Samhita's 10th mandala believed in an afterlife, another world, occupied by their ancestors, "The Fathers." 2) They believed that, through an elaborate ritual offering, the dead could be transported to that world in order to unite with The Fathers. 3) Through this rite, the dead could be transformed and given a new resplendent body, allowing them to enjoy paradise in the company of gods (especially Yama).
By the time the Buddha was teaching, the older Vedic religion had evolved. The early Pali texts only mention 3 Vedas, but a 4th was crystallizing, alongside metaphysical and philosophical works that would later be added as subdivisions of the Vedas. That 4th Veda reveals that the funerary rite wherein the dead are sent to become Pitrs changed considerably. The Pali texts show that, during the Buddha's time, some of these developments had already become commonplace. These general details were well-established:
1) There was a new preoccupation with the state assumed by the dead prior to their transformation through the ritual offering - something never explored in depth by the Vedic hymns. One in this state was now called a "preta" - peta in Pali - a ghost. This was understood as a state of misery.
2) Brahmins enjoyed a greatly inflated significance in these rituals. Gifts were given by mourners to the human brahmins who officiated the rituals, and the giving of offerings to these brahmins was seen as the effective means of transforming the dead. This idea, especially, would be lampooned in Buddhist texts.
Buddhists had their own understanding of ghosts. A detailed examination is better left to sections concerning specific texts, but this much should be established right away: in Buddhism, there is no permanent afterlife. Birth in any state, whether it be in heaven, in hell, or as a ghost, is impermanent. As such, birth as a peta is understood as a temporary result of previous immorality from past lifetimes, often the human life immediately preceeding their ghostly existence. Eventually, a peta will die and take birth elsewhere.
Let us now look at the way the Pali texts depict petas, beginning with a general overview, followed by a close examination of specific selections.
Throughout the Pali Canon, we see numerous references to "the ghost realm" (pettivisaya) as one of the "five destinations" (pañcagati) where one may take rebirth (ex: DN 33, AN 9.68, and many others). Interestingly, this is closely related to another term we find elsewhere (ex., DN 26 & SN 47.6), "the realm of one's fathers" (pettikavisaya). This usage appears in metaphors discussing the four foundations of mindfulness - one of the principle meditation practices taught by the Buddha - as the "ancestral domain" of the monks, discovered by those who preceeded them, where they are safe from the grasp of Mara, the wicked one who tempts mendicants off of the holy path. The similarity between these two terms perhaps suggests a relation to the Vedic depiction of "The Fathers" in their paradisal afterlife. This possibility is strengthened by other features of ghostly existence we will see in other texts.
Those texts also establish that the "ghost realm" is not a separate location from our own material world, in the way that "hell" is. Ghosts are described as standing around at crossroads, outside their former homes, longing to join the humans they see enjoying food, water, and merriment. Their experiences are "mostly painful," though ghosts are relatively more fortunate than animals and hell-beings, whose experiences are "sharply and severely painful" - exclusively, in the case of hell-beings, while animals are capable of experiencing some small degree of pleasure (MN 12). As we will see in the Petavatthu, however, some ghosts enjoy powerfully pleasurable manifestations of wholesome kamma they performed in past lives, usually alongside the painful fruits of their previous immorality. Furthermore, ghosts may be relieved from the plights of their existence when shown compassion by generous humans - something not possible for those reborn as denizens of hell or as animals. This is achieved through a transformation which echoes that of the Vedic transformation of the dead into a Pitr. For these reasons, "the ghost realm" is considered a higher state of existence than that of an animal.
Despite this, we should not lose sight of the fact that the "ghost realm" is a state of misery, and it is discussed as such. It is squarely identified as worse than being born as a human (MN 97). As Punnadhammo points out, ghostly existence is depicted as a sort of twisted parallel to human life - as previously mentioned, the experiences of ghosts are "mostly painful," which is a direct inversion of the description of human existence as "mostly pleasurable." When the differences between the lots of living beings are illustrated using similes, human existence is described as being like resting beneath a shady tree with soft grass underfoot, while ghostly existence is described like seeking shelter beneath a bare tree that offers little shade, with rugged ground underfoot (MN 12). Birth in the ghost realm is one of the eight "lost opportunities for the holy life" (akkhanā asamayā brahmacariyavāsāya) (AN 8.29), states of existence where beings cannot benefit from living in accordance with the Dhamma. For example, one such "lost opportunity" is being born in a time where a Buddha has not yet arisen, and so the Dhamma lies undiscovered. For ghosts, they are incapable of accumulating merit and performing actions which lead to enlightenment. Sometimes ghosts are depicted as being painfully aware of this fact, urging people to follow the Buddha lest they, too, become a ghost.
Much like the "five destinations" formula, later versions of the "lost opportunities" formula (ex: DN 33) introduce existence as an asura as an additional entry, making nine lost opportunities. This further strengthens the likelihood of "the ghost realm" being established within Buddhist cosmology relatively early. Aside from the above references, there are only a few places in the Canon where we may look for more information.
This sutta is an account of a night when the Buddha was visited by "The Four Great Kings" (Cātumahārāja) - an esteemed group of gods that watch over the four cardinal directions. After paying their respects, the Great King Vessavana, ward of the North, revealed the occasion for the visit: since some supernatural beings were hostile to the Buddha and his disciples, the Great Kings wished to teach them a protective prayer to be recited by those who wished for safety.
The prayer takes the form of poetic verses, beginning with praise for the seven Buddhas who preceded Gautama followed by mythical descriptions of the four quarters, their respective Great Kings, and the beings said to reside in each. The southern quarter (dakkhinā disā) is said to be "where the petas go," those who are "dividers, backbiters, killers, hunters, bandits, and frauds." The Great King who watches over the South is Virūlha, "Lord of the Kumbhandas."
Two details here are interesting: 1) Petas are associated with the Southern direction. 2) There is an implied association with beings called "Kumbhandas." I will revist this second point later - here, let us focus on the first. In Buddhist cosmology, our world-system - more or less equivalent to a solar system - is laid out around a central mountain, Sineru. Four continents surround the great mountain, and to the south lies Jambudīpa. This is the home of the ordinary human realm , and as such, it is where ghosts are born. As mentioned above, ghosts are described as living among us, haunting familiar places, and this is one reason that ghosts are associated with the southern quarter. In the sidenotes for his translation of DN 32, Sujato points out another: in Northern India, where the Buddha primarily taught, it was commonly believed that the territories to the south were uncivilized. Walshe suggests an additional explanation: the suttas (ex: DN 23) allude to a custom involving criminals on death row being bound, shaved bald, and marched through town in a dramatic spectacle before being taken out of the southern gate and beheaded outside.
The Vinaya is the Buddhist monastic code, often taking the form of brief stories explaining events that inspired the implementation of specific rules. Both of the cases we will be looking at come from the Pārājikakanda of the Bhikkhu Vibhanga - cases involving actions that are punished by expulsion from the monastic order. The first is V 3.37 from the Methunadhamma section, concerning sex. In short, a monk had sex with a female ghost (petī). Interestingly, in the case immediately preceeding this one, a monk is said to have gathered the bones of a woman he had loved so that he could stick his penis into "the genital area." This is not treated as an offense punished by disrobing - instead, it is classified as "an offense of wrong conduct" (āpattidukkata), a lesser violation. Two points can be made here: 1) Although the terms "peta" and "petī" can be used to refer to a mundane corpse - we will look at examples of such usages later - it is clear that this is not always the case, and more often they refer, funnily enough, to living beings. 2) Such is the extent of a ghost's nature as a living being that a monk's sexual encounter with one is treated as, essentially, no different than a sexual encounter with a flesh-and-blood human, whereas a monk using lifeless remains for sexual gratification is treated as an entirely separate matter.
The second case comes from V 3.58 of the Adinnādāna section, concerning theft. A monk took the shroud from a recently-deceased corpse, in which a ghost "was still dwelling." It called out to the monk, pleading for him not to take the shroud, but the monk did not notice and walked away. The ghost, using the corpse like some kind of macabre exosuit, rose up and followed after him. The monk made it back to his dwelling and shut the door behind him, whereupon the corpse stopped and fell to the ground. The Buddha declared that this was not an offense warranting expulsion; however, it was classified as "an offense of wrong conduct," just like the case of the monk sticking his penis into the bones of his former loved one. The wrongdoing in this instance was taking the shroud from the body of someone who had only died recently; in fact, an earlier passage in this section states that taking the belongings of a ghost is not any kind of offense whatsoever.
This story demonstrates that ghosts sometimes "hang around" in the corpses they've left behind. The detail about taking the belongings of ghosts being permissible is odd, and the commentary offers no clarity on the issue; in fact, it only makes the issue more puzzling, because it adds the belongings of gods as things that are fair game to take for oneself, even the robes of the great god Sakka, who is otherwise treated with great reverence throughout the texts.
The Petavatthu is a collection of poetic verses concerning encounters between humans and ghosts, accompanying a preceding collection called the Vimānavatthu ("Mansion Stories," to be discussed later). The Petavatthu is certainly the most detailed treatment of ghosts in the Canon. It is contained within the fifth division of the Sutta Pitaka, the "Khuddaka Nikaya" or "Minor Collection," which served as a convenient "catch-all" for texts not fit for one of the four primary Nikayas. There is much that could be said about this division broadly, but here, let this suffice: due to its miscellaneous nature, it contains some of the earliest and latest material of the Pali Canon. Textual comparison with the works of other traditions suggests that the Petavatthu and its companion, the Vimānavatthu, belong to the latter.
Furthermore, details within the collections themselves betray their late composition. One of the ghost stories (Pv 35) is concerned with relic-worship, so it necessarily comes from after the Buddha's death. Dhammapāla’s commentary acknowledges that one story (Pv 22) was added to the Khuddaka Nikaya during the Second Buddhist Council. A king named Pingala, ruler of Surattha - a country not mentioned in the early texts - is the subject of a story (Pv 38) that Dhammapāla places 200 years after the Buddha's death.
All the same, the contents of the Petavatthu are significant for the consideration of early Buddhist cosmology. No earlier text sheds this much light on ghostly existence, and in my opinion, nothing found in these stories directly contradicts doctrine from the early suttas. Let's begin looking at what points can be established from the details in the Petavatthu.
Perhaps the Petavatthu's most salient theme is how ghosts depend on the living for relief from their suffering. They exist among us, desperately longing for our help, but are often unseen and unheard. They haunt the outskirts of familiar cities, linger at crossroads they formerly traveled, and returning to the homes where they once lived, watching their families gathering and feasting. They are racked with hunger, but can't have a bite; they are parched with thirst, but can't have a drink. They are incapable of growing crops, raising animals, or trading. "The dead in the other world" depend on "gifts from here" (Pv 5). One story (Pv 20) depicts a ghost, exhausted by relentless hunger, wandering in the midst of his family in hopes of securing sustenance. Much to his chagrin, he discovered that most of his relatives did not believe in "giving to the other world." Another (Pv 22) tells of a ghost, parched with thirst for 55 years, who approached a monk as he sat by the Ganges River. When she begged him for water, he was puzzled - "There is a flowing river right here before us! Why don't you just help yourself?" She explaiend that whatever water she took from the river for herself would become blood. Other verses (Pv 31, Pv 45) tell of ghosts that found the very world around them warping when they tried to relieve their misery. When they approached a river, they found only sand; when they sought shade beneath a tree, the sun burned them regardless; the wind blew like fire on their skin. They travelled long and far, never finding food they could eat or water they could drink, collapsing from exhaustion and beating themselves out of frustration.
The Petavatthu, then, implores the listener to consider the plight of ghosts - especially one's departed family members - and inspire them to provide relief. The text establishes how we may help ghosts, and we'll discuss this later, but first, I want to discuss things the Petavatthu explicitly identifies as unhelpful.
This brings us to another theme: the futility of mourning. The Petavatthu confronts us with the fact that "weeping, sorrow, and lamentation" offer no succor to those awaiting our aid in the other world (Pv 4 & 5). One story (Pv 12) records verses spoken by family members of a recently-passed man, explaining why they weren't mourning as would be expected. The father explained that, like a snake shedding its skin, people who die leave their lifeless body behind. What follows will be a refrain repeated by each of the other relatives: "That burning corpse" cannot be touched by the crying of loved ones. "I do not cry over my dead son," he explained, because his son was no longer there; "he has gone to another life befitting his kamma." The mother remarked that her son "came to this world without being invited" and "left without being sent off," all as a result of kamma. Since she has no power of the kamma of her son, "what is the use of crying?" His sister raised the point that mourning would only make her exhausted and weigh heavily on the rest of the family, with absolutely no benefit for her departed brother. His wife said that crying over the dead is as fruitless as a child crying out because it wants the moon. Finally, even the man's servant said that mourning over someone's death was like lamenting the shattering of a pot (imagery seen elsewhere in the Canon).
Several stories demonstrate this futility by following a rough formula: 1) Someone mourning the death of a loved one spirals into an unhealthy, obsessive state of grief. 2) Someone snaps them back to sanity by behaving erratically, forcing the grieving person to confront the absurdity of their extreme lamentation. In one such story (Pv 8), a man had lost his father and found himself consumed by grief for a considerable period of time. That man's son went out, found a dead ox, and laid down beside it. The son made a big spectacle of all this, pretending to give grass and water to the dead carcass, crying out "Eat! Drink! Rise up, ox!" Word of this got back to the grieving father, and his grief gave way to embarassment. He got up and rushed out to find his son to give him a scolding for his behavior. The son said, "At least this ox can still be seen! My grandfather has been buried beneath a mound of earth, hidden from sight, yet still you weep and wail for him. Which of us is the fool?" The father was impressed by the lesson imparted by his son.
Another story (Pv 17) involves a Brahmin weeping over his son's grave. That son, now existing as a god, manifested before his former father in the guise of a young man. He began to theatrically cry with his head buried in his hands. This distracted the Brahmin, who wished to console the young man before him: "Why, dear child, do you cry?" The disguised god answered, "I have a shining golden chariot, but it has no wheels! I'm going to kill myself!" The Brahmin hastily offered to supply him with whatever wheels he wanted, even if he desired wheels of gold, silver, or precious jewels. "I don't want those; I want the sun and the moon for wheels." The Brahmin scoffed and scolded the young man for his foolishness. "You and I can both lay eyes on the sun and the moon," the god said, "but when someone is dead and gone, there is nothing left to see. Which of us is the fool?" This shook the Brahmin out of his despair, and he asked to whom he was speaking. The god revealed himself, even explaining that in his previous life he had been the very son whose body was now buried in that nearby grave.
That story is immediately followed by another which makes the same point (Pv 18). This time, our subject is a man who had been grieving the loss of his son; one day, he caught word that his brother had gone mad, ranting and raving in town about wanting some kind of rabbit. He hurried to find him and bring his brother back to his senses. "What sort of rabbit do you want? I'll have it fetched for you - whether it be a living forest hare or a statue of precious metal and rare jewels." His brother declined these, saying, "I do not want any rabbit you could find here on earth; I want you to bring down the rabbit in the moon." After being told that this was impossible, that brother continued, "Why, then, do you cry out for your son who has passed away? It is impossible to bring back a rabbit from the moon, and it is just as impossible to bring the dead back to this world. No one is free from aging and death."
One final story (Pv 25) makes this point using a slightly different format. While a recently-widowed queen named Ubbari was mourning the death of her husband, King Brahmadatta, the court was visited by a wandering wiseman. He attempted to make her aware of death's mundanity by telling her that, throughout the long cycle of time, 86,000 men with the name Brahmadatta have been cremated on the pyre just like her husband; all had sons who shared the name of her present son, Cūlani; in previous lifetimes, she had been the queen-consort of all those Brahmadattas, and the mother to all those Cūlanis; between those lifetimes, she had lived as men and beasts. "For which of these Brahmadattas do you mourn, Queen?" When she said "the Brahmadatta who lived in this lifetime," he asked a follow-up question: "Why do you forsake all those past Brahmadattas and mourn only the one you knew here?" This moved her to such a degree that she renounced her royalty and became a wandering holy woman. When she died, she was reborn as a Brahma god.
So, in teaching us that weeping and wailing do no good for the dead, the Petavatthu also asks us to consider how nonsensical it is for us to be lost in grief when we know that death is an inevitability, more sure a thing than the sun rising in the morning. In fact, this certainty should inspire us to live a holy life. This is something we will see throughout the collection; the Petavatthu is ostensibly concerned with ghosts, but it has much guidance to offer for those of us who are still living.
Above, I mentioned that ghosts cannot secure food and water for themselves, and that they "rely on gifts from here" (Pv 5). However, we are told that ghosts cannot benefit from anything we give to them directly. This is demonstrated in one set of verses (Pv 9) and its commentarial prose through the story of a married couple who died; the husband was reborn as a tree spirit, while the wife was reborn as a ghost near the forest where he now lived in spelndor. One day, she approached that tree spirit to beg for clothes, food, and water. Out of kindness, he obliged, but when she took the cloak it became a hot sheet of metal, while the food became shit, and the water became blood and pus. Distraught, she dropped those offerings and walked away sobbing. Some ghosts are aware of this phenomenon, as we see in another story (Pv 10), when a ghost - only able to cover her naked body with her long hair - was offered a cloak. She told her aspiring benefactor "what is placed by your hands into mine is of no help to me." Another story (Pv 16) records a man trying to offer a cloak to another naked ghost, who had formerly been his wife. He even invited her to return to her former home for more clothing, as well as food and drink. She rejected all of those offers with the same explanation.
Explaining Pv 4
One set of verses found in Pv 4 may be misinterpreted to contradict this hard fact, so let's address this here. In that story, there is a reference to "giving" (dāna) to "former petas" (pubbapete), or simply "the departed ones." This implies that it is possible to make an offering directly to a ghost, but it is important to note that the line in question only declares that one who attempts to make an offering in this way "is not without fruit," or in other words, their charitable intention is meritorious, and will manifest results for them just as any meritorious action would. It is not said that this would, in turn, benefit the ghost. In fact, the final verse states that petas are, instead, helped through the donation of alms (dakkhinā dinnā) to the sangha, bringing us to our next point.
Many stories in this collection demonstrate that we may help ghosts by making offerings to worthy recipients - almost always a monastic individual or group - and "dedicating" that offering to the ghost, usually through the recitation of a stock phrase, which manifests an ethereal mirror of that offering for the peta to make use of.
The general structure for these stories is as follows: 1) Someone encounters, or is approached by, a ghost, and asks them about their suffering. 2) The ghost details their past life, which led to rebirth as a ghost, and explains the ways in which they now experience the painful fruits of past kamma. 3) The human makes an offering to a holy person on the ghost's behalf by dedicating the offering to that spirit during the act of giving. This usually involves some combination of food, water, clothing, or lodgings. 4) An ethereal counterpart of those things manifest before the ghost. 5) Partaking in that counterpart relieves the suffering of the ghost to such a profound degree that the ghost transforms, at which point they no longer have the pitiful form of a shade, but a glorious divine body. This is not a rebirth in the techincal sense. It is more like a metamorphosis.
The Act of Dedication
The Petavatthu makes clear that it is this act of "dedicating" (ādisati) the "offering" (dakkhina) which allows the peta to partake in its counterpart and experience relief from suffering. One story establishes how, exactly, the ritual should be performed (Pv 5, also found at Khuddakapātha 7). "The compassionate give their [ghostly] kinsmen, at the appropriate time, sublime food and drink [by uttering the following words]: 'May this be for our kinsmen! May our kinsmen be happy!' The ghostly kinsmen who linger there rejoice at the bountiful feast, saying 'May these relatives, who have given to us, have long lives! We have been honored, and the charitable will not be deprived of the fruits of their charity!'"
The penultimate line establishes what "the appropriate time" is: when a donation is given to a holy person, especially a monk. "This donation, when firmly planted in the sangha, will serve the peta with immediate and long-lasting effect." "Strengthening the monks" in this way is "the highest honor paid to the ghosts." This act is called "one's duty to their kinsmen" (ñātidhamma), and as such, the performance of this rite is presented as a responsibility of the living that should be performed for their dead family members. The final words of this story tell us that doing this brings us a great amount of "merit" (puñña).
This basic scenario plays out time and time again throughout the Petavatthu and its commentary. Regarding the story of the tree spirit and his former wife, reborn as a ghost (Pv 9), its commentary tells us that a monk wandered into the tree spirit's forest. The spirit invited the monk into his divine abode and supplied the mendicant with ointment for his road-weary feet. The petī happened to come by once again, desparate enough to beg again for the offerings that previously gave her nothing but more misery - the scenario played out exactly the same. The monk questioned that spirit, who explained the situation before asking the monk if he knew of any way to help his former wife. The monk explained that offering anything to the petī would be a waste of time; instead, the spirit would have to provide the offerings to a noble disciple of the Buddha, and then dedicate what was offered to her. The tree spirit offered clothing, food, and water to the monk who had paid him a visit, then uttered the words dedicating the donation to the ghost. In this way, the petī was finally able to receive ethereal counterparts of those gifts, and she rejoiced at the relief of her suffering.
Previously, I mentioned two stories in which naked petīs regretfully rejected offerings because they knew they were incapable of receiving them. In the first case (Pv 10), the ghost told her donor to offer his cloak to a nearby monk and dedicate the gift to her. The donor, as well as his companions, went the extra mile and bathed that monk, anointed him, and then offered him the garments. When the gift was dedicated to her, the ghost was able to receive fine clothes, as well as food and drink. In the second story (Pv 16), the man was told by his former wife, now a ghost, to give the gifts meant for her to virtuous monks instead. He gave a lavish offering of food, water, shelter, robes, parasols, flowers, and incense to disciples of the Buddha, and of course, performed the dedication of the offering on the petī's behalf. For her, this manifested beautiful clothing, food and drink which she enjoyed, and extravagant jewelry.
Importance of a Worthy Recipient
A crucial element of the offering dedication rite is the ethical quality of the one who receives what is offered. I previously mentioned the story of a ghost who returned to his family only to discover that most of them did not believe in making offerings on behalf of the dead (Pv 20). His daughter was the exception, and she had planned to travel to a village named Andhakavinda to make an offering to some Brahmins there for the benefit of her fathers and grandfathers. Her ghostly father made for the village, eager to finally eat; however, when the offering was dedicated, he found nothing fit for him to eat. This was because the brahmins "were unworthy of the donation." When offerings are made to those who lack the necessary ethical worth, ethereal counterparts do not arise for those in the "ghostly realm," even if the dedication is otherwise performed correctly.
This is why, throughout the Petavatthu, we see monks - especially arahants - celebrated as the most worthy recipients of offerings. The very first line of the entire collection tells us that "the arahants are like a field, and those who give are like farmers; that which is offered is like a seed, and from this comes the fruit" (Pv 1). The second line tells us that "the petas make use of this." One outlier is worth discussing: there is a story (Pv 26) in which the recipient of the offering was a barber - considered quite lowly during the Buddha's time - yet the peta was still able to receive the ethereal counterparts of the donation. The verses present this event with no elaboration, drawing no attention to just how exceptional this case is among the other stories, merely emphasizing that "the donation was beneficial for that ghost" and concluding with a plea for us to "have pity and make frequent donations for the ghosts." Dhammapāla's commentary adds the detail that the barber was a devout layman, presumably as an explanation for the efficacy of the rite, a point which he states emphatically later when he states that barber was "worthy of donations," pointing to the fact that the peta benefited from the rite as evidence.
The Relationship Between the Living Giver and the Ghost
The fact that the rite is called "ñātidhamma," literally "the duty to one's family," shouldn't be overlooked. Almost every Petavatthu story which records an instance of the rite being performed tells us explicitly that there was a familial relationship between the donor and the ghost. However, this need not be the case, as demonstrated by three stories, all involving royalty, curiously enough. The first (Pv 20) brings us back to the tale of the ghost whose daughter made an offering to unworthy brahmins. Before setting out for Andhakavinda, he had encountered a king, who initially mistook him for a wandering ascetic, due to his being naked and emaciated. After he revealed he was a ghost, and that he was going to attend an alms-offering, the king offered to provide a second offering upon the spirit's return. As we already know, the initial rite was ineffective. When the ghost returned, he advised the king that the offering should be made to the Buddha and the sangha. It was the dedication of this second offering that finally gave the ghost relief from his emaciation. There is absolutely no indication that the king and this ghost were related. The second example comes from the story involving the barber (Pv 26). Here, the donor was a chief minister named Koliya, who the verses insist was famous at the time. Dhammapāla, in his commentary, identified him as one of King Bimbisāra's men. Again, there is nothing suggesting a previous relationship between Koliya and the spirit.
The third example comes from one of the more elaborate stories in the collection (Pv 36). King Ambasakkhara walked outside the city to see a prisoner he had sentenced death by impalement - still suffering, yet to die. To his surprise, he saw a ghost standing there as well, crying out "Let him live! Life is better than death for him!" This puzzled the king, who objected, "What are you talking about?! He's impaled on a stake, he's been abandoned by his loved ones, he's lost everything, and his body is broken and bloodied! Why should he want to stay alive?" The ghost replied, "Your majesty, I have reflected upon my past lives, and seen that this man was my kinsman in another life. I feel compassion for him - as things stand, if he dies, his kamma will cast him into hell. It is better by orders of magnitude for him to live on this stake than to die and be reborn in hell." The familial relationship here involves the ghost and a third party. Interestingly, the ghost is the one interceding for the benefit of the living relative. The king, who would go on to perform the offering dedication rite for that ghost, is in no way suggested to be related to either men.
Another story, as well as passages from elsewhere in the canon, add some nuance to this discussion. The story (Pv 14) involves Sāriputta, one of the Buddha's most prolific disciples. The monk had encountered a wretched-looking woman, naked with veins bulging out, ribs showing beneath the skin. He commented on this unusual appearance and asked her who she was. She revealed that, in past lives, she had been Sāriputta's mother, but in this life she lived as a ghost in the charnel grounds, tormented by hunger and thirst, only able to consume the bodily fluids of people and animals. Sāriputta performed the offering dedication by gathering some of his monastic brothers, building them some huts, and providing them with food and drink before dedicating the donations to the ghost. This liberated her from her ghostly miseries.
The crucial detail here is that this spirit was not the ghost of the woman who gave birth to him - according to tradition, she would have still been living, as the Pāli commentaries tell us that Sāriputta returned home to visit his mother and teach her the Dhamma just before he died. Instead, this ghost had been his mother in some number of unspecified past lifetimes. This evokes a detail of samsaric existence discussed by the Buddha in the Mata Sutta (SN 15:14-19), in which he declared that the cycle of birth and death is so vast that it extends back in time further than can be fathomed, and that "it is difficult to find any being that has not, at some point in the past, been your mother... your father... your brother... your sister... your son... and your daughter." Perhaps this is why the Buddha elsewhere said that it is impossible that one would have no relatives in the ghost realm (AN 10.177). In fact, he made this declaration to drive home the point that it is always beneficial to perform the offering dedication rite, even if its intended subject has not actually been reborn as a ghost. In that case, the ethereal counterparts of the donations appear for other "departed family members" (petā ñātisālohitā). Since samsaric existence ensures that any given being has, at some point, been related to us, it is little wonder that a ghost could rightly claim to have been Sāriputta's mother in the grand cosmic past.
The Transformation
Once a ghost has enjoyed the ethereal counterpart of what was offered and dedicated, they undergo a radical change - a literal transformation that is immediately visible. Descriptions of petas who have not partaken in this act show how pitiful they are: they are often naked and hideous (Pv 6), with bulging veins and ribs protruding from their emaciated bodies (Pv 13, Pv 14, Pv 19, Pv 31, Pv 45). Two of the ghosts featured in the collection had mouths filled with worms (Pv 3, Pv 35). One ghost was "dark, ugly, with red eyes and black teeth" (Pv 16). Some had "sad faces and broken bodies" (Pv 11). After partaking in the offering dedication rite, however, ghosts appear pristinely clean, healthy, radiant, divinely beautiful, and often dressed in fine clothing and jewelry (Pv 13, Pv 14, Pv 16, Pv 31).
Offerings of food most often affect changes to the peta's body, whereas offerings of water may manifest as cool lotus ponds in their dwelling place (Pv 13, Pv 27). Material offerings manifest for ghosts as objects of luxury: cloth offerings result in expansive collections of clothing that hang in the sky (Pv 13, Pv 27), shelters such as huts result in divine houses, while offerings of sandals may produce carriages in which the ghosts may travel (Pv 27).
This transformation is so dramatic that sometimes the person who performed the offering dedication rite doesn't even recognize the newly-changed ghost. In five stories (Pv 10, Pv 13, Pv 14, Pv 15, Pv 16), the ghosts became so beautiful and radiant that they were addressed as "devī," or "goddess," mistaken for entirely different beings than the ghosts who had only moments before been ghoulish humanoid spirits. Their human interlocutors were surprised at the revelation that these were not goddesses, but the very ghosts for whose benefit they had performed the offering dedication rite.
Other stories record encounters with ghosts who had already been transformed in this way. One such tale (Pv 47) features a group of merchants who found a ghost that possessed a mango-tree park, complete with a lotus pond surrounded by flowers and buzzing bees, also as a result of his former daughter's offering dedication - in that case, she had offered mangoes, water, and rice-gruel to the Buddha. Another story (Pv 38) tells of a ghost who approached a king and his advisers, who had stopped to rest beneath a banyan tree after getting lost, and offered them water and cakes as refreshments - an amusing inversion of the usual turn of events. This ghost had "the appearance of a god," such that the king asked outright, "What are you - are you a devatā (god), a gandhabba, or even Sakka Purindada?" The ghost replied, revealing that he was, in fact, a mere ghost, and what majesty he possessed was the result of his former daughter's previous performance of the offering dedication rite. This is remarkable; a gandhabba is a type of celestial nymph, renowned for their heavenly beauty, and Sakka Purindada is essentially the king of the gods. That a ghost - a being in the second lowest station within Buddhist existence - could be mistaken for one of the most revered gods in the cosmos demonstrates the power of the rite's transformative effects.
Ambiguous Terminology - Blurred Lines
This usage of names for other classes of being is not restricted to cases of mistaken identity, however, which brings us to another feature of the Petavatthu worth discussing: it demonstrates the ambiguity of words used to refer to certain beings within Buddhist cosmology. For example, in the story of the ghost whose daughter made an offering to unworthy Brahmins (Pv 20), after being transformed by the king's offering and dedication, he calls himself "a yakkha of supreme psychic power." This term, yakkha, can be puzzling. Yakkhas proper are a specific kind of being, often depicted as a kind of nature spirit, distinguished from other lifeforms. We can see this disctintion if we revist the Ātānātiya Sutta (DN 32), where we saw petas associated with the Southern quarter, under the vigil of the Great King Virūlha. Proper yakkhas are instead associated with the Northern quarter, ruled by King Vessavana himself. Here, there is a clear divide between "petas" and "yakkhas" - it would be improper to equate any of the former with the latter. However, even in that very same sutta, the lines become blurry again towards the end of the verses, where we find a long list of "great yakkhas, their commanders, and commanders-in-chief" containing names of individual figures that are elsewhere defined explicitly as devas, as well as Mucalinda the nāga king, and even a figure named Cittasena, who is identified in that very passage as a gandhabba.
Punnadhammo notes that the term yakkha "is sometimes used so loosely that it may be taken as simply meaning 'a being'" and "often the word amanussa, 'non-human,' is used as a synonym for yakkha."
The waters get muddied further when we see passages from the Petavatthu use terms associated with gods, such as "deva," "devatā," and "devaputta." "Deva," in the most basic sense, means "god," and is applicable to a wide range of beings in the Buddhist cosmos. The other two terms can be somewhat more granular. Devatā is often used to discuss gods who are relatively low in the cosmological hierarchy, especially those that live in earthly places such as parks and forests. "Devaputta," literally "the son of a god," likely refers to gods that have been reborn into their present existence relatively recently - "young god" would be a fitting translation.
However, the terms are often used non-technically, especially in poetic contexts - for example, in the verses of the Petavatthu! Above, I mentioned the ghost who offered cakes and water to a king (Pv 38); even after the ghost in question had declared he was, in fact, a ghost, the king went on to address him as "yakkha" and "devatā" while thanking him for his kindness. We can revisit the story of King Ambasakkhara and the ghost who advocated for his impaled kinsman (Pv 36) to see that the ghost - explicitly referred to as such throughout the narrative verses - is called "yakkha" by both the king and the monk who received the offering, and again, while thanking the ghost for his guidance, the king calls this ghost his "kinsman, friend, and devatā."
Perhaps the best example of the liberal usage of these terms comes from a particularly lengthy episode (Pv 21) which begins with a group of enterprising Brahmins who had stumbled upon a being whose hand dripped with honey and flavorful juices - a sign of his ability to grant wishes in some capacity. They planned to kidnap him, but a noble man among their ranks, Ankura, protested. This being declared that he was "a yakkha, capable of the highest psychic abilities, not easily subdued by any man or god." Ankura approached him, noting his appearance, and stated, "I believe you must be (Sakka) Purindada." The being declared that he was not a deva, not a gandhabba, and certainly not Sakka Purindada - instead, he told Ankura, "You should know me as a peta." Interestingly, Dhammapāla's commentary explains that, when the being is called a "yakkha," we should understand this as meaning "devaputta." So, here we have a being who calls himself both a peta and a yakkha; is called a yakkha by others; assumed to be the king of the gods; and is noted as a devaputta by the commentator!
As the story continues, the situation only get more confusing. That honey-handed peta went on to reveal that, while in the presence of the Great King of the North, the god Vessavana, he heard that his former neighbor, who had performed charity for his entire life, had been reborn in the company of Sakka Purindada himself. This being, a self-proclaimed peta, is prestigious enough to hang out around the Great King of the yakkhas! The verses go on to record an encounter with another peta, though this is the more archetypal ghost, described as a miserable thing and not honored with any other terms.
Ankura, inspired by the tale of the honey-handed ghost's neighbor, went on to live a life of charity himself, leading to his eventual rebirth in the Heaven of the 33 Devas. Another man, named Indaka, had also been reborn there. The verses tell us that, upon a visit from the Buddha, "the devatās assembled there." It is clear that we are dealing here with "devas" proper - the story, at this point, is taking place in a heavenly realm! All the same, Ankura would refer to Indaka as "that yakkha" when he spoke to the Buddha.
I would like to conclude this tangent with this: it is important to understand that all of these terms can be used in a technical sense as well as in a loose, often poetic sense. Familiarity with the texts sometimes sheds light on whether a particular instance is the former or the latter; in cases where this isn't clear, I encourage coming to terms with the vagaries of the Pāli language. Wave your hand, shrug your shoulders, and don't think too much!
Above, I mentioned that the Petavatthu is not merely a collection of stories concerning ghostly existence; it is clearly meant to move its audience to reflect on their own ethical character and consider what fate they may find in future lifetimes.
The Good
Due to the nature of ghosts and their station in the cosmos, discussions of the good outcomes that follow ethical behavior are primarily left to the Petavatthu's sister text, the Vimānavatthu. The title translates as "Mansion Stories," with "mansion" (vimāna) being a term for a divine estate that can manifest as a result of good kamma from previous lifetimes, usually enjoyed by gods, though some ghosts can have them as well, as seen in several stories (discussed below).
Still, the Petavatthu does dedicate some of its verses to such topics. It is telling that the very first text in the "Ghost Stories" collection is not a ghost story, but a short poem urging us to see Arahants like fields, ourselves as farmers, and charitable offerings as seeds. The fruit of this cultivation benefits ghosts, through the dedication rite, but the donor also benefits from the merit they accumulate through their almsgiving; the final line boldly tells us that "through such kamma, one goes to heaven." The goal of the Petavatthu is, arguably, inspiring us to strive for this by demonstrating the horrors which await the immoral, exemplified by the many ghosts found throughout its verses.
We have already seen the story of the honey-handed peta/yakkha (Pv 21), which explores the nature of charity and heavenly rebirth. Another tale previously discussed, wherein a barber received an offering from the royal minister Koliya (Pv 26), is followed by a plea from the poet to the listener to perform the offering dedication rite "time and time again," out of pity for the petas, proceeded by lamentations of the misery that awaits those who live immoral lives, even if they aren't reborn as ghosts. The text ultimately concludes with extollations of the fruits of generosity, ranging from luxurious human existence to heavenly splendor in Nandana, a grove in the heavenly realm of the 33 Gods. Similarly, the story of the merchants who met a ghost that had a mango-tree park (Pv 47) ends with the revelation that the daughter who performed the rite for her father was, as a result of her ethical behavior, was liberated from servitude and became the mistress of the very household she had previously served. Moral acts benefit us here and hereafter, the former case demonstrated by the Pali sentence "karohi kammam idha vedanīyam", or "performing kamma experienced here-and-now," found in a story about a man who came across a beautiful being and her marvelous mansion (Pv 28). After he voiced his longing to join her, she told him he could only coexist with her if he performed the sort of virtuous kamma that manifests its fruits within the present lifetime while "bending his mind" on obtaining her company.
Perhaps the greatest example of the breadth of possibilities we may meet in the next life is a story of a family that remained together after dying (Pv 11). These verses record a man's encounter with a small traveling caravan. At its head was a man on a white elephant, with another man in a mule-drawn carriage in the middle, and in the rear, a doe-eyed woman carried in a palanquin, whose body shone radiantly. In their midst, walking on foot, were a man and a woman, each with withered bodies, striking one another endlessly with the hammers they carried, drinking the pus and blood from one another's wounds. When questioned, they revealed that they had previously been the parents of those three beautiful travelers. While the children - reborn as lesser gods, apparently - had been generous and charitable. The parents, on the other hand, had been miserly and abused virtuous beggars, and as such, now existed as petas.
So, while the Petavatthu does not shy away from discussions of gods, fortunate humans, and the deeds through which they achieved their happy fates, the couple carrying hammers and consuming one another's wound-fluids are much more representative of the collection's most common contents, bringing us to our next topic...
The Bad
For the sake of brevity, I will simply list some of the ghosts featured in the Petavatthu and the deeds which produced their suffering.
Pv 6: Out of jealousy, a woman poisoned one her sister-wives who was pregnant, killing the unborn child. When confronted, she lied, and swore that if she were not speaking the truth, she would eat her own sons. She was reborn as a naked ghost, stinking, swarmed by flies. Every morning, she gave birth to five sons, with five more born every evening. Every night, her heart was consumed with hunger, compelling her to devour her newborn children, leaving her covered in their gore. Pv 7 is a similar story, with only minor differences in details.
Pv 9: This story was mentioned above, featuring the woman whose husband was reborn as a tree-spirit, while she became a ghost. Annoyed with his alms-giving, she had cursed him, "May you forever feed on shit and piss, blood and pus! May your clothing be like sheets of metal! Let that be your fate in the next life!" She was reborn, doomed to experience those very miseries herself.
Pv 13: A woman neglected to perform charity, and was reborn as a naked ghost, with bulging veins and protruding ribs, condemned to meander about like that for 500 years.
Pv 15: A petī approached one of her former husband’s other wives, and confessed that, in life, she was angry, quick to speak harshly, jealous, greedy, and conniving. She never bothered to practice generosity despite how much wealth she possessed. In her ghostly form, she was covered in dirt; this was a result of having thrown dirt at the other wife out of jealousy. She was compelled to scratch incessantly all over her body; this was a result of having put herbs that agitate the skin into the other wife’s bed. She was naked, as a result of having stolen a nice outfit the other wife had prepared for a party, jealous that she hadn’t been invited. She smelled like feces, as a result of having thrown the other wife’s perfumes, cosmetics, and necklaces into a pile of poop.
Pv 16: This story, already mentioned, records an encounter between a man and his former wife who had been reborn as a ghost with red eyes and black teeth as a result of being cruel to him during their marriage.
Pv 19: A rich merchant was so selfish that he hid himself while eating so no potential beggars would see him with food that could be given away. He so hated the very idea of charity that he prevented others from giving and even destroyed public installments enjoyed by beggars, such as bridges, lotus ponds, and watering holes. He was reborn as a peta tormented by hunger and thirst, aware that rebirth in hell awaited him after his ghostly death.
Pv 20: The ghost whose daughter performed the dedication rite by offering alms to unworthy brahmins won his fate by living as a mean-spirited, prosperous householder who neglected morality for the pursuit of pleasure.
Pv 21: In the story of the honey-handed peta/yakkha, whose neighbhor operated a house of charity for needy travelers, we see a ghost who had previously been a man working in that house of charity. Despite the nature of his work, he resented beggars, and stepped aside to grimace and grumble when they arrived for food. As a result, his ghostly visage was ugly and distorted, with mangled limbs and seeping eyes. The Brahmin Ankura told him in no unclear terms that he deserved his fate.
Pv 22: The petī who approached a monk by the Ganges River to beg for water confessed that, as a human, she had disparaged her son - a devout layman - for giving away robes and food to a monk without asking her for permission. "May those offerings become blood for you in the next life!" This caused her to suffer an unquenchable thirst, wherein the very water of the Ganges became blood when she tried to drink it.
Pv 29: This story records something of a motley crew of ghosts. One had injured his mother, and as a ghost was compelled to cover his head in burning hay. Another had been a dishonest trader, reborn with the urge to beat himself over the head with an iron rod. A man that had stolen meat from a butcher and concealed his crime with a lie became a ghost who couldn't resist consuming his own flesh and blood. A bossy housewife hated beggars and would hide food like the ghost in Pv 19. She would lie to beggars and say, "If I have food I'm witholding from you, may it turn to shit and may I be forced to eat it!" As a ghost, she did just that, with wormy feces, no less.
Pv 31: A greedy woman who always neglected charity, despite her wealth, was reborn as a petī along a riverbank; consumed with thirst, every attempt to drink from the water was futile, because the river would suddenly dry up, leaving only sand; when she tried to sit beneath a tree for shade, sunlight would nevertheless beat down on her; the wind blew against her skin like a burning fire
Pv 35: A wealthy householder prevented his devout wife, daughter, and daughter-in-law from venerating relics of the Buddha at a reliquary stūpa. He was reborn as a stinking peta with a worm-infested mouth, tortured by strange figures that constantly ripped his mouth open with knives and rubbed salt in the wounds. Furthermore, the ghost revealed that there were roughly 86,000 other ghosts near him who had, themselves, disrespected those who revere Buddha relics.
Pv 39: This is an unsual selection, where we see a woman - not specified as a ghost by the verses - who had been cruel to holy men, resulting in her being dragged to hell by two hell-wardens. On the way, they pass by a god in a vimāna, who she learned had previously been her virtuous husband. She lamented her inability to reunite with him as she was taken to face her fate.
Pv 41: Two rich princes neglected to perform merit, and lamented the resultant ghostly rebirth.
Pv 42: A particularly nasty prince once encountered a paccekabuddha - someone who became an arahant in a time where a Buddha had not yet taught the Dhamma. He teased him by asking, "Have you received any food yet, Bhante?" before taking his begging-bowl and shattering it on the ground. He laughed and proudly boasted, "I am royalty! I can do whatever I want!" He was reborn in hell for an unfathomable amount of time, and even after passing away from there, he was reborn as a ghost. Take note of this - it will be relevant in a later section.
Pv 43: A man had been friends with a corrupt monk, and together, they disparaged truly virtuous monks. This man was reborn as a ghost stuck in a pit of shit, standing atop the head that very former monk, who had been reborn beneath him. The first was comeplled to eat the shit surrounding him, while the former monk was compelled to eat the shit the other ghost passed. Pv 44 is similar, only with a woman and a corrupt monk.
Pv 45: A group of selfish people who never performed charity were reborn together as ghosts, incapable of drinking or eating, tormented by the wind and the sun; they fainted, fell down, and hit themselves out of frustration. They lamented that they deserved their fate, and declared their intention to perform meritorious deeds whenever they eventually were reborn as humans again.
Pv 49: A group of women had been dishonest traders, sometimes making their money immorally, and became ghosts as a result.
Pv 50: This is another odd selection, as the canonical verses - vague as they are - seem to suggest that the beings depicted are actually denizens of hell, and not ghosts. In any case, these figures wailed about how they had been suffering in hell for what felt, to them, like eternity. They had neglected to be generous despite their wealth, and expressed their resolve to avoid repeating this mistake during their next sojourn in the human realm.
Pv 51: A man saw a paccekabuddha meditating beneath a tree. He punched him right in the skull, drawing blood. He was reborn as a ghost who was constantly assaulted by "60,000 hammers" flying out of nowhere from every direction, splitting his head open at every moment.
Sometimes, Both
Many stories demonstrate the complexity of kamma's operation; Buddhist morality is not black-and-white, but allows for shades of grey, which is why some ghosts experience a mixture of pleasure and misery.
Pv 2: As a result of his immoral speech, a man was reborn as a ghost with a boar's mouth; however, as a result of his restraint in bodily actions, his ghostly body was golden and radiant.
Pv 3: A monk who engaged in slander was reborn as a ghost with a worm-infested mouth; however, he must have otherwise been an austere monk, because his previous monasticism resulted in a heavenly appearance (with the exception of the worms, of course).
Pv 10: The naked petī who was offered a cloak, previously mentioned, had been a woman who rarely performed meritorious deeds, leading to her rebirth as a naked, shameful ghost, covered only by her long hair. However, she had once faithfully made an offering of food to a traveling monk, resulting in her rebirth in a vimāna.
Pv 23: A man was visited by a monk, who begged him for a thread to use for his monastic robe. He obliged, and as a result, he possessed a large collection of clothing in his next life. He lived in a vimāna, decorated with flowers and paintings, with many men and women attending to him. The commentary adds that, as a human, he had supported a paccekabuddha, but became a ghost due to his excessive attachment to his wife. He longed to bring her to his new mansion, but he knew that she could not rejoin him unless she performed a meritorious act that would manifest its fruits in her present life, enabling her to experience the vimāna as well. He saw another paccekabuddha making robes, and manifested before him as a human, recommending that he visit his former wife to beg for thread. He then visited the woman's home and begged her mother to allow her to stay with him. The canonical verses tell us that she did, in fact, join this being in his vimāna, though she eventually desired to return to her former life - a trope seen throughout stories of vimānapetas. In this case, she longed to return so that she could engage in more ethical behavior in preparation for her own future lifetimes. Her former husband explained to her that, despite the fact that she had only experienced her stay as 7 years, in the human realm, 700 years had passed, so she would be old and everyone she had loved would have already died. In the end, he escorted her back.
Pv 24: A woman who was married to a devout layman was adulterous, and when confronted, she lied, vowing that if she were not telling the truth, she should be eaten by a “crop-eared dog." As a result, every night, she was compelled to walk to the edge of a lotus pond, where a massive dog waited for her - every night, that dog would devour her, leaving her as nothing but bones that would fall into the water, whereupon she would regenerate, doomed to face the same fate again the next night. By day, however, she enjoyed the celestial luxury of her vimāna, which the verses take time to describe: it had a golden stairway, covered in golden sand, situated in the shade of fruit-bearing trees, fragranced with lovely aromas carried by a gentle breeze, filled with the sounds of pretty little birds. The commentary explains that this was a result of having been a devout laywoman herself, who frequently visited a dwelling which her husband had built as an offering. A king had seen this horrific event take place, and she invited him to join her there in her mansion, which he did, though he eventually grew restless and asked to leave.
Pv 26: The ghost encountered by the minister Koliya was naked, as many ghosts are, but his upper body was adorned with garlands. The verses do not explain what former deeds resulted in this.
Pv 32: A cruel deer-hunter killed excessively, always looking for a mark to hunt for sport; his friend, a disciple of the Buddha, implored him to stop taking life lest he be reborn in a miserable state of existence. He ignored his friend’s advice, but his friend did not give up: “If you cannot give up killing altogether, at least try to slow down; why not restrict your hunting to the day, and abstain from violence by night?” He was able to do this much, leading to his rebirth as a peta who, by day, was a youthful spirit, surrounded by deities; however, upon nightfall, he was assailed by pain. Pv 33 is essentially the same story.
Pv 34: A gossip who took pleasure in lying, destroying friendships, and cheating others was reborn as a peta who was compelled to eat the skin off of his own back; the verses do not elaborate on whatever meritorious deed he must have performed in the past, but whatever this was, it resulted in his being adorned with jewelry, a crown, fragrant sandalwood lotion, and a beautiful, shining body. The commentary elaborates that this meritorious deed was observing uposatha for a half-day, although he had earlier lied about having performed the observation - after confessing to a friend that he had lied, that friend urged him to at least observe it for the rest of that day, which he did. The commentary also declares that he was a vimānapeta, reborn in the interior of a mountain, living with 10,000 maidens.
Pv 36: This is the story of the ghost who advocated for his relative who had been impaled on a stake. He once helped his peers cross a muddy path, leading to his possession in the afterlife of a chariot pulled by a glorious white horse. He was calm, free from anger, and faithful; he spoke gently, and this resulted in a radiant body. He celebrated the virtue of the holy, and for this, he presently had a heavenly fragrance about him. However, he was somewhat mischievous; he took and hid clothes from his friends while they were bathing, leading to his rebirth as a naked ghost. He declared that bad kamma performed playfully, for fun, and without malice - while still wrong - was not as severe as performing wicked deeds with harmful intent. That's interesting!
Pv 40: This is an unusual story, because it features a peculiar exception to the rule that ghosts can only be helped by dedicated offerings. In this instance, the ghost approached a monk and explained that, as a result of past merit, he was reborn with a large field of sugar cane. However, no matter how hard he tried, he was never able to eat any of its produce. He was always famished, wandering through the rows of his field, collapsing from exhaustion. Out of desparation, he asked the monk for help. Generally, at this point in the story, the human interlocutor would make an offering of food to a noble person and dedicate it so that the ghost could partake in its ethereal counterpart. Here, however, the monk explained to the ghost what past misdeed caused his present predicament - another inversion of the usual formula - and gave him relief in the form of simple advice. The ghost, the monk explained, had previously lived as an irritable, greedy farmer, who had refused to give any of his sugar cane to a beggar that pled for something to eat. Eventually he relented, but only reluctantly. He refused to even look at the beggar, instead merely holding some sugar cane behind his back for the beggar to take. Because of this, the ghost was unable to eat from his own field. If he wanted to eat, he would have to pluck it from the ground with his hands behind his back - an inconvenience, to be sure, but ultimately the spirit was able to eat in this way, and he was relieved.
Nowhere is it more evident that the Petavatthu's ghost stories are meant to impart a lesson on its listeners than in those stories where ghosts provide blunt advice to those who witness their misery - and by extension, to us, the modern reader.
Pv 2: The boar-mouthed ghost implored the monk Narada to avoid harmful speech, lest he himself be reborn with a boar's mouth. Similarly, in Pv 3, Narada was warned against the dangers of slander by the ghost with the worm-infested mouth, who told him that abstaining from such immorality would lead to rebirth as "a yakkha with all desires gratified."
Pv 11: The two ghosts who had been reborn among the caravan where their former children enjoyed sublime luxuries encouraged their listener to heed the words of the arahants.
Pv 19: The ghost who had previously been a rich merchant who hid from beggars while eating taught about the importance of abstaining from wickedness, encouraging respect for one's parents, honoring one's elders, and revering religious mendicants - this, he said, was the way to heaven.
Pv 23: The vimānapeta who escorted his former wife back to the human realm urged her to tell other people to perform meritorious acts so that they could establish happy futures for themselves. He mused aloud about how many beings he had seen come to ruin through neglecting moral behavior, as well as the many he had seen experiencing happiness as a result of their good deeds. Pv 46 is similar, and ends with the woman celebrating the advice given by her ghostly lover, who had told her to accumulate merit for her own wellbeing, by asking him to be her teacher.
Pv 34: The beautiful, crowned peta who who ate the flesh from his own back told a monk that he should avoid gossiping and lying, lest he too end up as a "backbiting" ghost.
Pv 35: The peta who previously prevented his family from revering relics pointed out that, as well as the many other ghosts who had also disrespected the faithful reverence of relics, there were goddesses in the area flying through the air, decorated with garlands and flowers. He explained that they achieved their status through offering flowers to relics of the Buddha, and declared that anyone possessed of wisdom should be inspired to revere the Buddha after seeing such things.
Pv 36: Returning once more to the ghost who endeavored to get his relative excused from his torture on the stake, we see what may well be the most involved example of a ghost acting as an advisor to his human interlocutor. When the king asked for permission to question the ghost, the peta replied "I will answer on one condition: promise me that, having heard the Dhamma, you will become devout." He went on to teach the king about kamma and the results produced by our volitional actions. He even discouraged the king from approaching monks while they were meditating, advising that he should instead wait for them to finish. After the dedication rite, and the king's declaration that he would begin giving generously to holy men as a result of the ghost's guidance, the king voiced his desire to remain friends with the peta. The peta said that, so long as the king kept the faith and diligently performed charity, they could continue seeing one another; however, should the king falter for even a moment, the ghost would ignore him. Their relationship thus defined, the ghost once more pressured the king to pardon the prisoner who was still impaled. Furthermore, he told the king to once more consult the monk who had received the dedicated alms offering for advice to give the prisoner so that he could avoid his hellish future. Feeling guilty for his own immorality, the king asked for advice on how he, himself, could escape future rebirth in hell. None of this would have transpired without the ghost taking charge in this whole debacle.
Pv 38: The ghost who gave cakes and water to the king and his men advised the king to go for refuge to the Buddha, Dhamma, and Sangha, and to have his family do the same. The king declared that this ghost was now "his teacher."
[[[Petavatthu conclusion]]]
The monk Moggallāna was renowned as the foremost of the Buddha's disciples who were capable of performing certain psychic feats called "iddhis" (AN 1.190). In a non-technical sense, this includes the "divine eye" (dibbacakkhu), a supernatural vision by which individuals may see things that remain invisible to most people. This, of course, placed Moggallāna in a unique position to encounter ghosts, and in fact, the Petavatthu commentary tells us that he was involved in several of its tales (Pv 14, Pv 43, Pv 44, Pv 45, Pv 51). Elsewhere in the Pāli Canon, there is a whole collection of 21 suttas called the "Lakkhana Samyutta" (SN 19.1 - SN 19.21) which records instances of this monk seeing specters. There is also a parallel collection of 26 sūtras, preserved in the Chinese Canon's Maudgalyāyana Samyukta (SĀ 508-534), which is almost entirely identical. [??? end this section with a sentence that doesn't suck]
The stories in these collections all share the same structure: each involves a time when the monks Moggallāna (whose Sanskrit name is used for the title of the Chinese collection) and Lakkhana (whose name is used for the Pāli collection) were descending from the famous Vulture Peak in order to walk to the city of Rājagaha to beg for food. Along the descent, Moggallāna would suddenly smile, prompting Lakkhana to ask why. "Not now," he would reply. "Ask me again when we are with the Buddha." Later, they would visit the Buddha, who was staying nearby in the Bamboo Grove Monastery. After paying their respects to him, Lakkhana would ask once more.
In the presence of the Buddha, Moggallāna would explain that he had seen some sort of ghastly being while he and Lakkhana were making their way down the mountain. He would explain that the reason he smiled was because he was astonished at the idea of such a being existing - that an arahant would smile at the sight of some tormented creature is a curiousity that would inspire much commentary as the tradition developed. The Buddha would then speak up, addressing the assembly of monks, saying that disciples who "possess vision" (cakkhubhūtā) may see such things, and would corroborate Moggallāna's story by saying that he, too, had previously seen whatever being had just been described, concluding with a revelation of the evil deeds performed by that being in a past life.
With this formula having been established, we can once again examine the collection's contents with a simple list. Beings with obvious similarities will be grouped together.
SN 19.1
The being: a skeleton flying through the air, crying out in pain as it was being attacked by vultures, crows, and hawks
Past kamma: he had previously been a cattle-butcher in Rājagaha
In the Chinese parallel to this story (SĀ 508), the being is instead described as possessing a body "like a towered pavillion," which Mun-Keat Choong speculates (convincingly) is a result of a translation error: the Pāli word for "skeleton" (atthikasankhalikā) should be translated as "髏骼," pronounced "lóu gé," in Chinese. The word for "towered pavillion" is "樓閣," which shares the same pronunciation of "lóu gé."
SN 19.2-4
The beings: in 19.2, the being was described as "mamsapesi," or "a slice of meat," and similarly, the being in 19.3 was described as "mamsapinda," or "a lump of meat;" in 19.4, we see "a skinless man" (nicchavi purisa); all were flying through the air, screaming while being attacked by birds of prey
Past kamma: the beings had been, respectively, a cattle-butcher; a poultry-butcher; and a sheep-butcher, all in Rājagaha
SN 19.5-9
The beings: men, flying through the air, with sharp blades where body-hair should have been - respectively: swords, spears, arrows, and needles for the last two; the first four were described as being repeatedly slashed by these weapons which grew out of their bodies, while the last one was described as being impaled over and over, with the needle-hairs stabbing through one body part and emerging from another; all were crying aloud in pain
Past kamma: respectively: a hog-butcher, a deer-hunter, a torturer, a horse-trainer, and a slanderer, all in Rājagaha
SN 19.10
The being: a "kumbhanda purisa." When I mentioned DN 32 above, I pointed out that ghosts were associated with "kumbhandas," by being referenced in relation to the Southern quarter ruled over by the Great King Virūlha, so it is interesting to see the being here called a "kumbhanda." The suttas have next-to-nothing to say about them outside of what has been included on this page, but as this story tells us, they have massive testicles "as big as pots." This being, specifically, needed to throw them over his shoulder before he could walk about, and when he tried to sit down, he couldn't help but sit right on them. As if this weren't miserable enough, he was also being attacked by birds of prey, causing him to yell out.
Past kamma: had been a "gāmakūta" in Rājagaha; this term means "village official," but seems to have a distinctly negative connotation suggesting moral corruption
SN 19.11
The being: a man submerged completely in a pile of shit
Past kamma: committed adultery in Rājagaha
SN 19.12
The being: a man submerged completely in a pile of shit, though this one was compelled to eat it, shoveling it into his mouth with both hands
Past kamma: had been a hostile Brahmin in Rājagaha; curiously, this instance contains an uncharacteristic level of detail: in the age of the Buddha Kassapa, he had invited monks to a meal-offering, but served them feces
SN 19.13
The being: a skinless woman, screaming and flying through the air, pursued by birds of prey
Past kamma: committed adultery in Rājagaha
The Chinese parallel, SĀ 523, records that she was "large" with a pus-seeping, torn, stinking body, pursued by birds of prey as well as wild animals like dogs; previously, she had been a prostitute in Vārānasī, who splashed a monk with dirty water after he rejected her
SN 19.14
The being: a hidous, stinking woman, flying through the air, screaming while being attacked by birds of prey
Past kamma: being a fortune-teller in Rājagaha
SN 19.15
The being: a woman whose body was being burned, sweating and soot-covered, flying through the air while screaming
Past kamma: she had been the chief queen of the king of Kalinga; out of jealousy, she had dumped hot coals on one of the king's consorts
SN 19.16
The being: a headless torso, with a face on its chest, flying through the air, pursued by birds of prey, screaming
Past kamma: he had been an executioner named Hārika in Rājagaha
SN 19.17-21
The beings: they all resembled monastics, consumed by fire, carrying burning begging bowls, flying through the air and screaming in agony
Past kamma: they had all been corrupt disciples in the sangha of Buddha Kassapa; respectively - a monk, a nun, a probationary nun, a novice monk, and a novice nun
SĀ 512 (unique to the Chinese collection):
The being: a skinless woman, flying through the air
Past kamma: she had given herself an abortion
SĀ 514 (unique to the Chinese collection):
The being: a man covered in burning hair
Past kamma: he had been a violent man who took joy in swordfighting
SĀ 519 (unique to the Chinese collection):
The being: a man trapped in a metal snare, burned by a blazing fire, flying through the air
Past kamma: he had been a fisherman; the text also adds that "bird-catchers and rabbit-hunters" share the same blame
The astute reader may have noticed that I have not once used the word "ghost" to refer to any of these beings, and that's for good reason: neither do the texts! I have followed the source material in using the vague term "beings," which in Pāli is "satta" and in Chinese is "眾生" (zhòngshēng). The texts use these terms instead of what we would expect to see for ghosts: "peta" in Pāli or "餓鬼" (Èguǐ) in Chinese. In the Pāli texts, we see other terms when Moggallāna explained the reason for smiling at these sights: he referred to them as "yakkhas," a term which we have already explored, and "attabhāvapatilābha," or "individual rebirth."
It is only in the commentarial materials that we see these beings explicitly identified as "ghosts." As such, it would be fair to question whether or not we should even consider these stories relevant to a discussion of ghosts in Buddhism. However, in this case, I think the later interpretation is entirely reasonable. For starters, there is the kumbhanda link, mentioned above. I also find it significant that almost every single "being" was identified as having previously been a resident of Rājagaha, which would have been close to Vulture Peak, where they were seen by Moggallāna. This is consistent with the way ghosts are elsewhere depicted as haunting places familiar to them. Furthermore, their afflictions are directly analogous to their moral wrongdoings from those past lives, a phenomenon we also see in the Petavatthu.
While revealing the past lives and transgressions of these beings, whom we may now comfortably call "ghosts," the Buddha also revealed that each had first been reborn in hell, only taking their present ghostly form "as a residual result of that (same) kamma." Here, I would like to remind you of the story from Pv 42, where a cruel prince broke the almsbowl of a paccekabuddha, resulting in a hellish rebirth, followed by existence as a peta. The early texts suggest a close kammic relationship between the peta realm and the hell realm, with beings from one often being bound for the other in their next life, as we also saw in the Petavatthu when ghosts would lament that they knew their next life would be in hell. This further supports the interpretation that these beings Moggallāna saw were, in fact, petas.