What This Concept Is About
The four characters of 無諍三昧 (araṇā-samādhi) each do two things when unpacked: they first describe an extremely quiet inner state, and then explain that state's distinctive relationship to the external world. 三昧 (sāmaidhi) is the archaic Chinese rendering of samādhi, referring to a concentrated state of mind that is utterly still and unmoved. The 諍 in 無諍 means disputation, contention, the tug-of-war of right and wrong caught up in words. 無 does not mean "non-existent" — it means "not entering into a relationship with it" — the mind neither clings to disputation nor is drawn into it.
Taken together, these four characters do not describe "a world without quarrels," nor "suppressing oneself so as not to quarrel," but rather: an inner stillness so completely accomplished that any disputation naturally dissolves before it, the mind abiding in accordance with truth, deeply delighting in stillness.
In the classical sources, this concept is illuminated from three different angles by three different scriptures—not three different kinds of "no-contentiousness," but one single mind appearing at three different depths along the path of liberation:
**First dimension: Ultimate concentration and seclusion — the Śrāvaka's 無諍三昧 (from the *Mahāratnakūṭa Sūtra*)**
Subhūti, renowned among the Buddha's ten great disciples as "foremost in understanding emptiness," is recorded as "foremost in the 無諍三昧 among voice-hearers." When describing the state of this samādhi, he uses an extremely exaggerated metaphor: even if someone with great supernormal powers were to fashion a massive drum out of ten billion four-continent world-systems, use Mount Sumeru as the drumstick, and beat it continuously while he was absorbed in samādhi — beating for an entire kalpa — the drum's sound would still "not enter my ears," could not disturb his mind, nor cause him to rise from samādhi.
The point of this passage is not that "Subhūti had special powers," but that it pushes the notion of "inner stillness sufficient to block out all external disturbance" to the physical limits imaginable. Ten billion four-continent world-systems as a drum, Mount Sumeru as a drumstick, beaten for a kalpa — this is the concretization of "the noise of the entire universe," and still it cannot stir a single ripple in this samādhi. This is the deepest, purest display of 無諍三昧 as meditative attainment.
But the *Mahāratnakūṭa Sūtra* immediately points out that although Subhūti, with this power of concentration, "searched throughout the forty thousand samādhis," he was completely unable to see the forms of the bodhisattvas — "the two vehicles ultimately cannot see them." This shows: although the śrāvaka's 無諍三昧 is astonishing in its attainment, its "stillness" is built upon "seclusion" — the world is pushed outside the samādhi; the world is still there, it merely does not enter the ears or disturb the mind. This is a deep concentration, but not ultimate liberation.
**Second dimension: Inner liberation and the function of fruition — the Tathāgata's 無諍三昧 (from the *Mahāvaipulya Mahāsaṃnipāta Sūtra*)**
In the *Mahāvaipulya Mahāsaṃnipāta Sūtra* (《大方等大集經》), 無諍三昧 is listed as the Tathāgata's "sixteenth karma" — a particular quality of meritorious function on the Tathāgata's fruition ground. The logical chain of this passage is very clear:
Why does the Tathāgata not "engage in contentious disputes" with the gods, humans, māras, Brahmās, śramaṇas, or brāhmaṇas of the world? Because "he has departed from love and hatred" (離愛恚故).
These six characters are the true foundation of the entire concept. 愛 (love) is craving, clinging, the desire to grasp; 恚 (hatred) is aversion, antagonism, the desire to push away. Disputation arises because we love certain things not enough or hate them not enough — we defend the views we love and attack the positions we hate. Once these two roots — love and hatred — are departed from, disputation finds no footing in the mind.
Externally, this state manifests as: facing offerings and reverence, the mind neither becomes arrogant nor joyful; facing slander and contempt, the mind does not become sorrowful or distressed. Note the "not joyful" and "not sorrowful" — this is not suppression. Suppression is a raging storm within while forcing a calm exterior; 無諍 means there is simply no wave to begin with, because the objects of love and hatred have been seen through at the level of reality.
The scripture further states that in this samādhi, the Tathāgata attains the state of liberation of "no self and no belonging-to-self" (無我無有我所) — there is no "I" as a subject enduring praise or insult, and no category of "mine" distinguishing what belongs to me and what belongs to others. Disputation requires two or more "selves" to occur; when both "self" and "mine" are released, disputation naturally collapses.
And the Tathāgata, using this samādhi to teach beings, does so "to destroy beings' disputes of right and wrong" (壞眾生是非諍訟) — not merely being free from contention oneself, but using this power of stillness to dismantle the right-and-wrong quarrels among sentient beings. This is the side of 無諍三昧 that moves from self-benefit to benefiting others.
**Third dimension: The bodhisattva's 無諍三昧 embodied in the conduct of daily life (also from the *Mahāvaipulya Mahāsaṃnipāta Sūtra*)**
The bodhisattva's 無諍三昧 is not merely meditative concentration on the cushion, but is carried out in a concrete way of practicing and living. The scripture portrays its external appearance in five short phrases:
- Cultivating the 無諍三昧, deeply delighting in stillness — the inner concentration is genuine, not performed; - Sustaining life through right livelihood — supporting oneself through an honorable profession and a pure way of living, without flattery, without speculation, without ill-gotten gains; - Purity of deportment — every movement in walking, standing, sitting, and lying down is attended by right mindfulness and clear awareness, neither slack nor rigid; - Delighting in taming beings — taking joy in using gentle, wise speech to tame, comfort, and transform the afflictions of sentient beings; - Abstaining from worldly speech — keeping away from meaningless secular gossip, chatter, and frivolous talk; seeing those who are absorbed in such things, one "admonishes and instructs" them.
Taken together, these five points present a very three-dimensional image of the bodhisattva: inwardly still, but not indifferent; gentle in speech, but not a yes-man; maintaining a clear distance from worldly topics, but not fleeing from people; delighting in taming sentient beings, but not for the sake of being liked — rather from a genuine wish that the other person's afflictions decrease.
**Fourth dimension: The Vimalakīrti-style subversion of 無諍 (from the *Vimalakīrti Nirdeśa Sūtra*)**
In the *Vimalakīrti Nirdeśa Sūtra* (《維摩詰所說經》), the layman Vimalakīrti subjects Subhūti to a "blow to the head" interrogation, pushing 無諍三昧 beyond the previous three dimensions into a deeper, characteristically Mahāyāna non-dual territory.
According to traditional views, an arhat who has realized the 無諍三昧 is the purest field of merit in the world — making offerings to him accumulates great merit. But Vimalakīrti says: "You have obtained the 無諍三昧, and all sentient beings also obtain this concentration." — You and all beings equally possess this concentration. Then immediately: "Those who give to you do not call it a field of merit; those who make offerings to you fall into the three evil destinies."
This sounds like intimidation, but Vimalakīrti's meaning runs far deeper: he is shattering Subhūti's dualistic attachment to "I am a sage, you are an ordinary being." If any residue of the superiority feeling — "I am a pure field of merit, you are a defiled sentient being" — remains in Subhūti's mind, then he has not truly entered the 無諍三昧. Because that very superiority complex is itself a form of "contentiousness" — the contention between me and you, between purity and defilement, between field of merit and evil destiny.
Vimalakīrti goes further: "With the māras you share one hand and become companions in toil," "You and the māras and the defilements are utterly without difference" (汝與眾魔及諸塵勞，等無有異). — You and the māras, you and the afflictions, are equal, without any difference. This is not saying you should become a māra; it is saying that at the level of ultimate reality, there is no single thing that is "intrinsically pure" and another that is "intrinsically defiled." The self-nature of all dharmas is emptiness, and within that emptiness, māra and Buddha, affliction and bodhi, are equal.
Finally he concludes with the most extreme words: "If you harbor a mind of enmity toward all sentient beings, you slander the Buddhas, revile the Dharma, do not enter the assembly of the saṅgha, and will never attain parinirvāṇa." (于一切眾生而有怨心，謗諸佛，毀於法，不入眾數，終不得滅度。)
On the surface this is stated "in reverse," but in fact it is dismantling every dualistic opposition that could become a ground for "contentiousness": Buddha vs. slandering the Buddha, Dharma vs. reviling the Dharma, saṅgha vs. not entering the assembly, nirvāṇa vs. never attaining parinirvāṇa. As long as any attachment to "must be thus, must not be thus" remains, the mind still has an object to contend over.
Vimalakīrti finally sums it all up: "All dharmas are like illusions and magical creations; the wise, not clinging to words, therefore have nothing to fear." (一切諸法如幻化相，智者不著文字故無所懼。) — The reason you are still bound by "contentiousness" is that you take concepts, images, and statuses to be real things; when you see through all dharmas as illusion-like and apparition-like, there is nothing worth fighting for and nothing worth fleeing from — only then is the 無諍三昧 truly accomplished.
Three dimensions, one core
Putting these four dimensions together, we can see where 無諍三昧 stands in the entire path of liberation:
| Level | Inner State | Relationship to the World | Limitation | |---|---|---|---| | Śrāvaka (e.g., Subhūti) | Ultimate concentration; external conditions do not enter | Achieves non-disturbance through "seclusion" | Cannot see the bodhisattva realm | | Tathāgata's fruition | Departure from love and hatred; no self, no mine | Does not contend with things, yet can destroy others' disputes | — | | Bodhisattva's practice | Deeply delighting in stillness | Right livelihood, pure deportment, abstaining from worldly speech, taming beings | — | | Vimalakīrti's non-duality | All dharmas like illusions; enmity and kindness equal | No boundary of pure/impure; not attached to either extreme | Easily misread as nihilism by others |
From "seclusion" to "liberation" to "non-duality" — this path is in fact a microcosm of the entire Mahāyāna path from śrāvaka to buddhahood: the endpoint of 無諍三昧 is not a quiet room, but seeing through the true nature of everything inside and outside of all rooms.
A Walk-Through in Daily Life
Let us bring this concept into an ordinary person's day today.
Scene One: The Information Flood on the Commute
At nine in the morning on the subway, everyone is looking down at their phones. Push notifications, group messages, short videos, unread emails — this is the contemporary person's "drum sound." And this "drum" is not one or two — it is dozens beating simultaneously, from health myths to office gossip to international conflicts, everything.
The "Subhūti-style" 無諍三昧 corresponds here to: is there a way, in this environment, to have a space within the mind whose rhythm is not dictated by the push notifications? This does not mean turning off the phone and going to the mountains — mountain seclusion is the śrāvaka style, it is avoidance; rather, even within this flood, the mind can have a foothold that "cannot be swept away."
The *Mahāvaipulya Mahāsaṃnipāta Sūtra* says "deeply delighting in stillness" (深樂寂靜) — these four characters do not mean finding a quiet environment, but that the mind has a deep affection for "stillness" itself, and that affection will make you automatically know when to turn off notifications and when to put down the phone amid the noise. Stillness is not given by the environment; when the mind already delights in it, external conditions cannot usurp the leading role.
Scene Two: Praised by the Boss
At Monday's meeting, your carefully prepared proposal is publicly praised by the boss: "This line of thinking is excellent; the whole department should learn from it." You notice your body's reaction — a flush of warmth in the chest, the corners of the mouth involuntarily rising, a urge to post on social media on the way home.
This is what the *Mahāvaipulya Mahāsaṃnipāta Sūtra* describes: "In this samādhi, no self and no belonging-to-self." (於此三昧，無我無有我所。) Facing reverence, "the mind neither becomes arrogant nor joyful."
But note — this is not telling you to cultivate yourself into a wooden block of unmoved mind. 無諍三昧 is not the suppression of joy. The true "not becoming joyful" is: you see the warmth in your chest, you see the impulse to post on social media, but you are not pushed around by that impulse. You see the praise blow past like a gust of wind, and you do not use "I" to catch it. "I" does not inflate within the praise, and "I" does not obtain proof of existence from the praise. The proposal is good, and that is what it is; you do not need to become "a person worthy of praise" because of it.
This is the micro-version of "no self, no mine."
Scene Three: Stabbed in the Back by a Colleague
That same afternoon, you hear that a colleague quietly took credit for your work in front of the boss. You notice your body's reaction — stomach tightening, shoulders rising, your mind starting to script various counterattacks.
The *Mahāvaipulya Mahāsaṃnipāta Sūtra* says: facing "revilement and contempt," one "also does not become sorrowful or distressed" (亦不生愁惱).
But here there is a very easy place to go wrong: many people understand "not becoming sorrowful" as "I must endure it" or "I must forgive him." Behind both endurance and forgiveness there is still an "I" — an "I" that has been wronged and is struggling to suppress its emotions. The bigger that "I" is, the harder the endurance, and the more violent the next eruption may be.
The corresponding practice of 無諍三昧 here is not "endurance" but "departure from love and hatred" (離愛恚) — not not loving, but no longer clinging to the expectation that "I must be treated justly"; not not hating, but clearly seeing that the act of "hating this person" is actually letting his behavior decide your inner state. When you take back from him the power to decide your inner world, sorrow and distress lose their source.
Scene Four: Quarreling in the Comments Section
Scrolling through your phone at night, you see two factions fiercely arguing in the comments section of a trending topic. You suddenly feel like posting a comment to join the fray — or you have already been @-mentioned in some debate, and you find a fire rising in your chest.
This is the most direct contemporary test of "abstaining from worldly speech" (離說世語).
"Worldly speech" is not "all language," but speech whose purpose is to provoke emotion, create opposition, or satisfy self-expression — gossip, conspiracy theories, stance-declaring comments, contrarian venting for the sake of opposition. The *Mahāvaipulya Mahāsaṃnipāta Sūtra* says the bodhisattva "admonishes and instructs those who delight in worldly speech" — not with contempt, but seeing that the person is actually entangled by their own words, and gently pointing it out.
The "delighting in taming beings" (樂調眾生) corresponds here to: can you, at the moment you want to speak, ask yourself — "The sentence I want to say right now: is it to 'tame' him (help him reduce afflictions), or just to 'tame' myself (let me vent)?" If the latter, it is worldly speech; if the former, language becomes an extension of samādhi rather than its destruction.
Scene Five: The Vimalakīrti-style Test — When Your Goodwill Is Trampled
You did something sincerely for another person's benefit, but the other person not only fails to appreciate it but publicly humiliates and mocks you. At that moment you find a voice inside: "I was so good to him — how could he treat me like this?"
This is exactly the point where Vimalakīrti interrogates Subhūti: In your "being good to him," is there still an "I" mixed in — an "I" expecting to be recognized, to be thanked?
If there is, then that "I" and his reaction form a pair of "contentiousness" — my giving vs. his betraying.
The Vimalakīrti-style 無諍 is not a cold "I don't care whether you're grateful," but a more thorough seeing: the very act of "being good to him," viewed from the nature of dharmas, is itself an illusion-like, conditioned appearance. I acted this way because of various causes and conditions; he reacted this way also because of various causes and conditions. No action "ought" to receive a particular response. When this "ought" is seen through, you will still do things for him, but no longer with that hook of expecting a return — only then does 無諍 truly stand.
Summary of the Walk-Through
From the five scenes above, we can see that 無諍三昧 in contemporary life is not "a state you suddenly possess one day after cultivation," but a practice of continuously releasing the hooks of love and hatred:
- Commuting practices "not letting external noise dictate your rhythm" (concentration) - Being praised practices "not letting external recognition inflate the self" (departure from love) - Being slandered practices "not letting external judgment determine your inner state" (departure from hatred) - The comments section practices "turning language from an emotional outlet into genuine help" (abstaining from worldly speech, delighting in taming beings) - Being betrayed practices "seeing through the invisible contract of 'I gave, therefore you must respond'" (no self, no mine)
Every dimension in the classical sources has a concrete, operable correspondence in contemporary life.
Why Contemporary People Need It
Our age may be the era of the most intense "contentiousness" in human history.
Not because people today love to argue more than before, but because the vehicle and speed of "contentiousness" have been completely transformed. Arguments in ancient times happened in markets, taverns, and studies — slow, small in scope, and over when over; arguments today happen in comments sections, group chats, and push notifications, each one circling the globe within 24 hours, and algorithms, based on every click, continually feed you increasingly extreme positions to "contend" over.
Several sources of "contentious pressure" unique to the contemporary era did not exist in classical times:
The war for attention caused by information overload. Every push notification, every red dot, every short video, is competing with our inner peace for attention. The classical metaphor of "ten billion four-continent worlds as a drum, Mount Sumeru as a drumstick" is a metaphor, but in the contemporary era, it has become literally true — our "drum sound" does not beat once per kalpa, but dozens of times per second. Without some inner stillness as a foundation, a person will be dragged along by this rhythm, and in the end it is not the person using the tools, but the tools using the person.
The tearing of relationships caused by polarization of views. Algorithms sort people by opinion, amplifying the voices of the same echo chamber and demonizing the voices of the opposition. Living in this environment long-term, people gradually lose the basic recognition that "the other person is also a complete human being," and come to see those who disagree with them as "enemies" or "idiots." This is what Vimalakīrti called "harboring a mind of enmity toward all sentient beings" — once resentfulness becomes universalized, society is left with only opposition and no dialogue. What 無諍三昧 offers in this age is the ability to maintain inner integrity in the face of differing opinions — to disagree with the other without needing to demonize him.
The kidnapping of love and hatred caused by self-branding. In the age of social media, everyone is, in some sense, managing their own "image." When this image is praised, the self inflates; when attacked, the self defends — and these two reactions imperceptibly turn a person into something that can only exist through constant external validation. The *Mahāvaipulya Mahāsaṃnipāta Sūtra* says the Tathāgata "in this samādhi has no self and no belonging-to-self" — this liberation is especially urgent today, because we are more easily trained than any previous era to become people who can only feel they exist when continually liked and followed. The contemporary meaning of 無諍三昧 is to liberate people from being "existence defined by the outside world."
An acute sensitivity to "uncertainty." Contemporary life is full of uncertainty — jobs may be cut, relationships may suddenly end, health may change overnight. Every uncertainty stirs love and hatred: what is loved is security, certainty, a controllable future; what is hated is loss of control, injustice, betrayal. What 無諍三昧 offers is not "making everything certain," but "in the midst of all uncertainty, a foothold in the mind that cannot be overturned" — and that foothold is the correct understanding of reality.
Most fundamentally, a re-understanding of the word "liberation." Many people today mistake "liberation" for "happiness" or "relaxation," but the classical 無諍三昧 tells us: liberation is departure from love and hatred — releasing the hand from the hook. This release is not indifference, not numbness, not lying flat; it is being able, in love, to love without clinging, and in hatred, to see the hatred without being pushed around by it. This is a freedom of "being in the world but not belonging to the world" — not escaping the world, but a changed relationship with the world.
Common Misreadings and Clarifications
Misreading One: "無諍 = being a yes-man = giving up your position for the sake of harmony"
This may be the most common misreading. Many people, hearing "無諍," assume it means "be tactful, don't offend people, agree with whatever others say" — what the Confucian tradition calls a "village honest man" (鄉愿), and in contemporary terms a "pushover." But this is precisely the opposite of 無諍三昧.
The village honest man's inner world is full of intense contention — inwardly he curses that person, resents this occasion, suppresses his dissatisfaction behind a forced smile. His "無諍" is a disguise; his inner world is full, tense, hedgehog-like.
True 無諍 means the thing that would need suppressing never arises in the mind at all. Subhūti did not fail to hear the drum because he was "afraid of noise" — the drum of ten billion worlds cannot be warded off by "fear." It was because his inner stillness had reached a depth where external conditions naturally failed to enter. The yes-man suppresses; 無諍 is empty — these are two completely opposite things.
Moreover, the bodhisattva's "abstaining from worldly speech" itself shows that 無諍 does not mean giving up expression — it means not engaging in meaningless speech, but what needs to be said, the words that tame beings, will certainly be said. Vimalakīrti himself is a man who constantly "contends" — he contends with Śāriputra, with Mahākāśyapa, with Mañjuśrī — but his contending is not for victory; it is to make the other person see their own clinging. This is "contending without contention" — formally a debate, inwardly without opposition.
Misreading Two: "無諍 = coldness = not caring whether others live or die"
Some people understand 無諍 as "caring about nothing" — indifferent to others' suffering, silent about others' mistakes, unmoved to help when others suffer. This is the other extreme.
But the scriptures state clearly: the Tathāgata uses this samādhi "to destroy beings' disputes of right and wrong," and the bodhisattva "delights in taming beings" — the inner stillness of 無諍 is not to make oneself cold, but to release energy from inner friction and direct it toward genuinely meaningful altruism.
To use an analogy: a person constantly scheming against colleagues at work has no energy left to care for his family when he gets home — his "love" has been consumed by the "contention" at work. But a person of inner stillness, whose energy is not eaten up by inner friction, has more genuine care to give to others. Coldness is not the result of 無諍; it is the result of "not having cultivated 無諍, while being brainwashed by a misreading of it."
Misreading Three: "無諍三昧 is a superpower of not hearing noise"
Subhūti's passage about "ten billion four-continent worlds as a drum" can easily lead people to understand 無諍三昧 as a supernatural "hearing shut-off technique" — hence some think: "I too want to cultivate until I can't hear noise!"
But this is mistaking the means for the end.
That metaphor describes the ultimate display of a deep concentration; it is not saying "無諍三昧 = not hearing sound." In fact, after Subhūti rises from samādhi, he still hears what needs to be heard. The key to 無諍 is not that the senses are shut down, but that the mind is not hooked. You can hear the noise, but the noise no longer determines your inner state — this is what the metaphor is really saying.
The *Mahāratnakūṭa Sūtra* itself, right after telling this metaphor, immediately says "the bodhisattva realm cannot be seen by the two vehicles" — it does not treat Subhūti's "seclusion" as ultimate, but as a level of "not yet deep enough." True 無諍 does not mean closing the ears; it means opening the ears and still keeping the mind intact.
Misreading Four: "Vimalakīrti's 'no difference from the māras' = Buddha and māra are the same, so we can do whatever we want"
This may be the most dangerous misreading of the *Vimalakīrti Nirdeśa Sūtra*.
Vimalakīrti's statement "you and the māras and the defilements are utterly without difference" is spoken at the level of the equality of dharma-nature — the self-nature of all dharmas is emptiness, and within emptiness there is no distinction between "this is intrinsically pure, that is intrinsically defiled." But this does not mean there is no distinction at the level of conduct. The Buddha is still compassionate; the māra still creates harm. The Buddha walks the path of liberation; the māra walks the path of saṃsāra. The difference is real at the phenomenal level.
Vimalakīrti's purpose in saying these things is to dismantle the inner superiority complex of the practitioner — "I am pure, he is defiled" — for this very superiority complex is a seed of "contentiousness." But dismantling the superiority complex does not mean dismantling compassion, nor encouraging evil.
The *Diamond Sūtra* contains a similar spirit — "If one sees me by form, or seeks me by sound, that person walks a deviant path and cannot see the Tathāgata" (若以色見我，以音聲求我，是人行邪道，不能見如來). This is not saying the Tathāgata has no form and no sound; it is saying that if you cling to these marks, you cannot see the Tathāgata. Likewise, Vimalakīrti's "equal to the māras" does not mean conduct is undifferentiated; it means do not cling to the mark of "I am purer than the māra" — because that very clinging is itself an obstacle to the 無諍三昧.
Misreading Five: "無諍三昧 is a realm exclusive to Buddhists, irrelevant to ordinary people"
This too can make people feel "it's too lofty; I can't cultivate it."
But the *Vimalakīrti Nirdeśa Sūtra*'s own premise is precisely the opposite — "You have obtained the 無諍三昧, and all sentient beings also obtain this concentration." All beings, equally in terms of dharma-nature, possess this potential for stillness — it is merely covered over by afflictions.
And looking back at the five scenes in "A Walk-Through in Daily Life" — commuting, being praised at work, being stabbed in the back, quarreling in the comments section, being betrayed — each one is a scene ordinary people encounter on an ordinary day, and each one is already a training ground for 無諍三昧. There is no need to become a monastic, no need to meditate to some level before you can begin practicing; as long as in some moment you see your own love or hatred, see the "I" being hooked by some hook, and in that moment choose not to bite — this is one microscopic manifestation of 無諍三昧.
The only difference is: the more you practice, the longer and more stable that "moment" becomes; cultivated to the extreme, it is the state described in the scriptures of "the drum sound not entering the ears." But the starting point never needs to wait.
Final Words
The *Mahāvaipulya Mahāsaṃnipāta Sūtra* summarizes the root of 無諍三昧 in four characters: 離愛恚故 — "because of departing from love and hatred."
Love and hatred are the two most solid chains between us and the world. Love makes us kidnapped by the people and things we like; hatred makes us kidnapped by the people and things we dislike. Once kidnapped, contention is inevitable — we defend what we love and attack what we hate.
無諍三昧 tells us: unfastening these two chains does not mean becoming a person who loves nothing and hates nothing; it means becoming a person who, in love, can love without clinging, and in hatred, can see the hatred without being pushed around by it. This is not coldness — behind coldness there is still clinging. This is not numbness — numbness is the consequence of severed feeling. This is abiding in accordance with truth (如理而住) — seeing everything clearly, and then standing there steadily, not blown away by any wind.
The *Heart Sūtra* says: "He clearly perceives the five aggregates are all empty, and thereby overcomes all suffering and distress" (照見五蘊皆空，度一切苦厄). The "overcoming" after this clear perception does not mean going somewhere; it means the mind is no longer kidnapped by the world constituted by the five aggregates. 無諍三昧 is another name for this "not being kidnapped."