What This Concept Is About

In One Question: What Is "Bodhisattva-Padārtha"?

The term 句義 (padārtha, "the meaning of a word") is simple when taken apart: 句 (pada) is the unit of language; 義 (artha) is the meaning to which language points. Put together, 菩薩句義 (bodhisattva-padārtha) asks: what, in the end, does the name "bodhisattva"—and the Dharma a bodhisattva teaches—actually mean?

Posed today, this question is like asking: what, exactly, does the word "bodhisattva" point to? Is it a title? A status? A spiritual attainment? Or a personality template we look up to and imitate?

The answer from the 般若 (prajñā, wisdom) tradition is so stark it startles: "無句義 is the bodhisattva-padārtha" —the bodhisattva's meaning is precisely that it has no fixed meaning.

This is not wordplay, nor is it mystification. It is a thoroughgoing interrogation: when you say the word "bodhisattva," the thing that arises in your mind—does it have a place where it lands?

The Buddha's Answer: Bodhi Has No Abode; the Bodhisattva-Padārtha Is Devoid of All

In the 《摩訶般若波羅蜜經》 (Mahāprajñāpāramitā-sūtra), 須菩提 (Subhūti) asks the Buddha: "What is the bodhisattva-padārtha?"

The Buddha replies directly: 「無句義是菩薩句義。阿耨多羅三藐三菩提無有義處亦無我，是故菩薩句義無所有。」—"No fixed meaning is the bodhisattva-padārtha. 阿耨多羅三藐三菩提 (anuttarā-samyak-saṃbodhi, unsurpassed perfect enlightenment) has no locus of meaning and no self; therefore the bodhisattva-padārtha is devoid of all."

The meaning: unsurpassed perfect enlightenment itself has no place where a doctrine can be established, and no "self" as its possessor. Since the destination is thus, so too the "bodhisattva" who walks toward it—this name, this status, this concept—has nowhere to be placed.

This is like asking a mountain climber, "What does your identity as a climber mean?" and he answers: the summit itself is nowhere, and I do not exist, so the word "climber" is merely a mark drawn in empty space.

The Logic of Layer-by-Layer Negation: Not Laziness, but Thoroughness

The sūtra does not stop at this single judgment. It unfolds an extremely meticulous "sweeping away of phenomena one by one":

The phantom person as simile — a 幻人 (māyāpuruṣa, a person conjured by a magician) has no real 五蘊 (pañcaskandha, the five aggregates: form, feeling, perception, volition, consciousness), no real 六根六塵 (the six sense faculties and six sense objects), no real contact or feeling, and none of the cultivation merits from 四念處 (smṛtyupasthāna, the four foundations of mindfulness) up to 十八不共法 (aṣṭādaśāveṇika-dharma, the eighteen distinctive qualities of a Buddha). Each and every dharma points to the same conclusion: "When the bodhisattva-mahāsattva practices prajñāpāramitā, the bodhisattva-padārtha is devoid of all, in the same way."

The Buddha-fruit as simile — even the Buddha's form, feeling, perception, volition, consciousness; the Buddha's six sense faculties and six sense objects; the Buddha's 內空 (ādhyātmika-śūnyatā, internal emptiness) up to the eighteen distinctive qualities—all are "without meaning" and "without abode." This is even more thorough than negating ordinary beings: the dharmas of ordinary beings are unattainable, and the dharmas of the Buddha are equally unattainable. A bodhisattva is not "a practitioner who has not yet become a Buddha." The name "bodhisattva" itself, under the gaze of prajñā, is a designation without substance.

The nature of all dharmas as simile — in 有為法 (saṃskṛta-dharma, conditioned phenomena) one cannot find the meaning of 無為法 (asaṃskṛta-dharma, unconditioned phenomena), and in unconditioned phenomena one cannot find the meaning of conditioned phenomena. Neither arising nor ceasing, neither made nor emerged, neither defiled nor pure: the very mode of being of all dharmas is "without abode." The meaning of purity is unattainable, and the self, the knower, and the seer within purity are likewise unattainable.

The final summation lands on this statement:

「是阿耨多羅三藐三菩提、菩薩、菩薩句義，是一切法皆不合不散、無色無形無對，一相所謂無相。」 *"This anuttarā-samyak-saṃbodhi, the bodhisattva, and the bodhisattva-padārtha: among all dharmas they are neither united nor dispersed, without color, without form, without opposition—of one mark, namely the markless."*

Bodhi, bodhisattva, and bodhisattva-padārtha: these three are neither three things nor one thing. They are "neither united nor dispersed"—you cannot fuse them into one, nor split them into three. They are "without color, without form, without opposition"—not in color, not in shape, not in any relative concept. They are "of one mark, namely the markless"—their only mark is having no mark.

The Supplement of the 《大智度論》: Making "Devoid of All" More Precise

Nāgārjuna's (龍樹菩薩) 《大智度論》 (Mahāprajñāpāramitā-śāstra), while receiving the Prajñāpāramitā-sūtra, adds an important supplement—it preserves the grammatical analysis of India and pushes the inquiry to the level of the very structure of language:

「菩」「提」二字和合名為「菩提」，秦言無上智慧；「薩埵」或名眾生、或是大心；「波陀」秦言句。

*The characters "菩" and "提" combine to form "bodhi," which in Qin (Chinese) means "unsurpassed wisdom"; "sattva" means either "sentient being" or "great mind"; "pada" means "phrase" in Qin.*

This analysis reminds us: "bodhisattva" is not a naturally existing entity. It is built up layer by layer from syllables, morphemes, and concepts. Language itself is a kind of "combination" (和合)—characters combine into words, and words combine into phrases. Since the name "bodhisattva" is assembled from parts, it can be disassembled; and since it can be disassembled, it has no unshakable 自性 (svabhāva, self-nature).

The treatise also contains an extraordinary statement: 「諸法空不異菩薩，菩薩不異空，菩薩空、三世空，無二無別。」—"The emptiness of all dharmas is not different from the bodhisattva; the bodhisattva is not different from emptiness. The bodhisattva is empty, the three times are empty—without duality, without distinction."

The bodhisattva is not "empty" in the sense of being characterized by emptiness—the bodhisattva *is* emptiness. Emptiness is not an adjective of the bodhisattva; there is no distance between emptiness and the bodhisattva. Bodhisattvas of the past, of the present, of the future—all three times are empty; emptiness is without duality, without distinction. Put into today's idiom, this is like saying: your "true self" is not an inner essence waiting to be discovered; there is no gap between it and emptiness. You do not need to become a "better self"—you need to see the constructedness of the very concept of "self."

A Contrast from the Hetuvidyā Tradition: Another "Padārtha"—A Corner of a Few Meanings

Just as the prajñā tradition pushes padārtha to "nothing," the 因明 (hetuvidyā, Buddhist logic) tradition offers us another perspective.

The closing verse of the 《因明入正理論》 (Nyāyapraveśa) says:

「已宣少句義，為始立方隅；其間理非理，妙辯於余處。」 *"I have already proclaimed a few padārthas, to set up the cornerstone of the edifice; the reasons and fallacies therein are finely argued elsewhere."*

Here "padārtha" refers to the hetuvidyā technical terms that the bodhisattva 商羯羅主 (Śaṅkarasvāmin) sets forth in this treatise—現量 (pratyakṣa, direct perception), 比量 (anumāna, inference), 似現量 (pratyakṣābhāsa, pseudo-direct-perception), 似比量 (anumānābhāsa, pseudo-inference), and so on. He declares with great humility: I have only set forth "a few padārthas," like laying down only one corner when building a house. The finer analysis of the reasons and fallacies therein is left for a more extensive work (namely, the 《因明正理門論》).

The same Sanskrit word padārtha, two utterly different usages: the prajñā tradition uses it to mean "the ultimate meaning to which the name 'bodhisattva' points," while the hetuvidyā tradition uses it to mean "the conceptual content expressed by words." One takes "nothing" as its ultimate, the other takes "a few" as its modesty. This is not a contradiction but two different tasks: hetuvidyā is responsible for establishing clear rules within the world of names and forms; prajñā is responsible for seeing that the ground-color of the world of names and forms is emptiness.

To use a simile: hetuvidyā is like an architect who carefully draws the position of every beam and pillar on paper, telling you how to build the building so it stands firm. Prajñā reminds you that no matter how well the building is constructed, it is ultimately built on empty space. The two are not opposed—precisely because the building is built on empty space, you need to draw the blueprints all the more accurately, so that you do not build a crooked building.

Positional Relations with Related Concepts

To understand "bodhisattva-padārtha," one cannot look at it in isolation. It is embedded in a complete conceptual network:

With anuttarā-samyak-saṃbodhi: the "devoid of all" of the bodhisattva-padārtha is grounded precisely in bodhi's being "without a locus of meaning and without a self." Because the destination itself has no coordinates, the one traveling toward it likewise has no fixed identity. This does not mean the bodhisattva does not exist; it means the bodhisattva's mode of existence is not "an entity existing somewhere" but "a flowing process that is manifesting."

With prajñāpāramitā: the 《大智度論》 glosses 般若波羅蜜 (prajñāpāramitā, "the perfection of wisdom") as "dwelling apart" (遠離)—dwelling apart from the aggregates, elements, and sense-bases; dwelling apart from the six pāramitās up to the eighteen distinctive qualities and omniscience. The bodhisattva-padārtha's being devoid of all is precisely the result of prajñā's contemplation. The deeper you look, the more you discover the "non-abiding" of all dharmas; the more you discover the non-abiding of all dharmas, the less possible it becomes to take a name as something real.

With the three kinds of bodhi: the 《大智度論》 distinguishes 阿羅漢菩提 (the bodhi of arhats), 辟支佛菩提 (the bodhi of pratyekabuddhas), and 佛菩提 (the bodhi of Buddhas). The bodhi spoken of in "bodhisattva-padārtha" is Buddha-bodhi. There is a subtlety here: the Buddha has already attained bodhi, the great mind is fulfilled, and he is no longer called a bodhisattva (bodhi-sattva). That is to say, the name "bodhisattva" itself contains an internal tension—it is a name pointing toward a goal, and once the goal is reached, the name no longer applies. This is like the word "traveler": while you are on the road you are a traveler; when you arrive at your destination, you are no longer a traveler. The entire meaning of the identity "bodhisattva" lies in its self-dissolution.

With the five aggregates, six sense faculties and objects, four foundations of mindfulness, and eighteen distinctive qualities: these practices are, one by one, negated of their "meaning" and "abode" in the prajñā perspective. This does not mean these practices are useless; rather, their "use" lies precisely in leading to their own transcendence—like a boat, whose function is to ferry you across the river, not to be your permanent home.

Walking Through It in Everyday Life

Scene One: The Title on Your Résumé

Imagine a concrete scene: you are writing your résumé. You are a product manager, and in the "self-assessment" section you write: "Five years of product experience; skilled at starting from user needs, driving cross-team collaboration, and achieving business growth targets."

Now, examine this passage through the lens of "bodhisattva-padārtha."

What is the padārtha of the word "product manager"? Does it point to a fixed entity? No. Change companies and its scope of responsibilities changes; change industries and its weight changes; even the same title means entirely different things in different teams. The name "product manager" has no fixed, unchanging "meaning" on which to stand.

But this does not mean the word "product manager" is useless. Quite the contrary—precisely because it is a designation "without padārtha," you can flexibly redefine it in different organizations. If your "product manager" had a rigid definition—"a product manager is someone who draws wireframes"—you would instead be locked in by that 名相 (nāma-lakṣaṇa, name-and-form).

When the 《大智度論》 says "the emptiness of all dharmas is not different from the bodhisattva; the bodhisattva is not different from emptiness," applied here it means: you are not equal to your title, but your title is not fabricated out of thin air either. It is a bridge, not a house. You walk across the bridge, but you need not live on it.

Scene Two: The "You Should" in Close Relationships

Let us walk through a scene closer to the heart: close relationships.

You quarrel with your partner. Your partner says: "As a husband/wife, you should do this and that."

Notice the structure of this sentence: it is invoking a "padārtha"—the word "husband" is taken to have a fixed "meaning" (what one should do), and you are required to conform to that "meaning."

The prajñā inquiry is: does the padārtha "husband" have a determinate abode? Where does it exist? In social convention? In your partner's expectations? In your parents' teaching? On your ID card? These "abodes" themselves are constantly shifting—today's society's expectations of a "husband" are not those of fifty years ago; your partner's expectations differ from your own. This "meaning" has no stable locus anywhere.

This does not mean you should therefore reject all role expectations. Quite the opposite—precisely because the padārtha "husband" is devoid of all and without abode, you can co-create with your partner the concrete meaning of "husband" and "wife" in this relationship. You are not kidnapped by a prior, fixed template; what you face is every conversation, every choice, every present moment.

But at the same time, one must see the other side: if you completely reject every social meaning this name carries, you fall into another rigidity—"I am no role at all" can itself become an escape. The 《摩訶般若波羅蜜經》 says "neither united nor dispersed": you cannot fuse the name "husband" into your flesh and blood as your essence, but neither need you disperse it as if it had nothing to do with you. It is used within the relationship, but its meaning lies not in itself, but in the present moment in which it is used.

Scene Three: The "You" in Algorithmic Recommendation

This is the scene most familiar to contemporary people, and the one in which they are most easily trapped by "padārtha."

You open a short-video app. The algorithm builds a "user profile" for you based on your clicks, dwell time, and likes. This profile has a series of tags: interests—fitness; age—25 to 34; consumption preference—mid-to-high end; emotional state—anxious.

These tags constitute a "you"—a "you" defined and predicted by the algorithm. This "you" has its padārtha: it points to a set of quantifiable behavioral patterns. But does this "you" really have a fixed abode? Today you click on a comedy video; tomorrow you may turn to philosophy lectures. By day you are a rational, restrained person; late at night you may be a fragile, weeping one. What the algorithm captures is always the shadow of your past; what it predicts is always an "approximately so" you—and this "approximately" is precisely the boundary it can never cross.

The prajñā insight here displays astonishing contemporaneity: all names-and-forms (tags, profiles, categories) are "without abode." They are not lies, but neither are they truths; they are 方便 (upāya, skillful means), a "few padārthas," a "corner-stone." You have five tags, but you are at the same time the remainder that is none of those five tags.

When the 《大智度論》 says "the bodhisattva is empty, the three times are empty, without duality, without distinction": the you of yesterday, the you of today, the you of tomorrow—none of them is you. But precisely because of this, you are not a specimen pinned down by the tags of any single moment.

Scene Four: The "Life Story" You Tell Yourself

The deepest walkthrough is here.

Each of us has a story about ourselves: "I was an introverted person since childhood, then such-and-such happened and I became extroverted"; "I come from a broken family, so I lack a sense of security"; "I have always been pursuing such-and-such a goal, but I always fail."

These stories are the padārtha of "self"—filling the name "I" with various plots, causes and conditions, and personality tags. We live inside stories, even inside the inertia of stories.

The Buddha's words to Subhūti—"anuttarā-samyak-saṃbodhi has no locus of meaning and no self"—can be rendered in contemporary terms: your life story has no final landing point, and no subject who tells the story.

The "introverted me" you tell about did exist in middle school—but it is no longer in the you of the present. The "person lacking security" you tell about does appear in certain situations—but it does not appear at all in others.

That "I" is like the five aggregates of the phantom person: it appears to be there, but when you touch it, it is not; it sounds true when told, but when examined, it is empty.

But this does not mean your story has no meaning. What is seen in a dream is "without abode," yet the seeing in the dream, the fear in the dream, the joy in the dream—these are real experiences. The "devoid of all" of the bodhisattva-padārtha does not negate experience; it negates that experience has a "place" that can be grasped.

Why Contemporary People Need It

Because We Live in a Flood of Names-and-Forms

The situation of contemporary people is a "surplus of names-and-forms" unprecedented in history. In an agricultural society, the concepts a person encountered in a lifetime might not exceed a few thousand; today, the tags, identities, definitions, and categories you encounter in a single day of scrolling through your phone may exceed what an ancient person encountered in a lifetime.

"Refined," "minimalist," "a sense of ease," "high energy," "I-person," "E-person," "emotional value," "involution," "lying flat"—each word offers you a framework for understanding yourself, and each framework claims: "you are exactly like this."

This deluge of names-and-forms brings an unprecedented predicament: it is not that we lack tools for self-knowledge; it is that there are too many tools, so many that we do not know which tool's "I" is the real one.

The prajñā answer is: they are all true, and none of them is true. Each tag captures a part of your reality, but no tag can hold all of you. You do not need to find the "ultimate tag"—because the very phrase "ultimate tag" violates the insight of "no padārtha."

Because We Have Been Kidnapped by "Definitions"

One of the deepest spiritual pains of contemporary people is the pain of "being defined."

You are defined by your profession: "You are a programmer"—the subtext: you only write code; you do not understand art. You are defined by your education: "You graduated from a prestigious school"—the subtext: you can never fail, because you have already won. You are defined by your relationship status: "You are single"—the subtext: you have not yet been chosen; your life is not yet complete.

"無句義 is the bodhisattva-padārtha"—the contemporary translation of this scriptural line is: you do not have to be locked in by any definition.

This is not the chicken-soup platitude "you can become anyone." It is something deeper: you were never the person being defined. A definition is a kind of padārtha, and padārtha under the gaze of prajñā is like a bird flying through empty space, like what is seen in a dream, like a phantasm, like a mirage, like an echo, like a shadow. They are valid upāya, but not the final reality.

Because We Mistake "Goals" for "Dwelling Places"

"Bodhi has no abode"—this statement is especially important for contemporary people.

We live in a goal-oriented society: get into a good university, find a good job, buy a house, get married, have children, get promoted, retire. Every goal is like a lamp guiding us forward.

But when we arrive at a goal, what do we find? We find: there is no "place" here where one can stay for long. After getting into university, there is new competition; after buying a house, there is a new mortgage; after promotion, there is new pressure. Goals are completed one after another, yet there is no place where we can truly rest.

The Buddha said "anuttarā-samyak-saṃbodhi has no locus of meaning and no self"—if even the highest goal has no real "place" where it can be lodged, how much less the small goals of the world?

This does not tell us not to pursue goals; it tells us not to dwell inside goals. The use of a goal is to guide direction, not to provide a dwelling. You walk on the bridge, but you need not build a house on the bridge. Bodhi has no abode, so you can approach it in any way, in every present moment.

Because We Are Too Eager to "Become a Bodhisattva"

This is the most subtle layer.

Many people, after beginning to study Buddhism, are eager to "become a better practitioner": I must be more compassionate, I must be more diligent, I must let go more. This drive to "become" is precisely what "bodhisattva-padārtha" dismantles.

The bodhisattva is not a "to-be-become" goal. The Buddha said "the bodhisattva-padārtha is devoid of all"—if you think there is a fixed template of "bodhisattva" and then strive to squeeze yourself into that template, you have completely misunderstood.

The reason the bodhisattva's "padārtha" is "no padārtha" is precisely because the function of the name "bodhisattva" is self-dissolving: it points to a path, not a terminus; it is a verb rather than a noun; it is a state of "approaching," not an identity of "having arrived."

You do not need to become a bodhisattva. You only need, in every present moment, with the wisdom of prajñā, to see the devoid-of-all, the abode-less, the padārtha-less of all dharmas—and that very seeing is the bodhisattva.

Common Misreadings and Clarifications

Misreading One: "No Padārtha" Is Nihilism; the Bodhisattva Does Not Exist

This is the most dangerous misreading. When the prajñā tradition says "no padārtha," it does not mean the bodhisattva does not exist; it means the bodhisattva does not exist in the mode of "a concept with a fixed meaning."

The 《大智度論》 states it clearly: "the emptiness of all dharmas is not different from the bodhisattva; the bodhisattva is not different from emptiness." Emptiness is not non-existence; emptiness is another way of saying "without fixed self-nature." The bodhisattva exists, but the bodhisattva's mode of existence is the mode of emptiness—like a phantasm, like a transformation, like a dream, like a shadow. The phantom person is not non-existent; the phantom person is "present but without substance."

To use a simile: does a rainbow exist? You see it; it is there; you can point to it and say "that is a rainbow." But can you walk under the rainbow, touch it, and put it in your bag? No. The bodhisattva's existence is like a rainbow—truly appearing, yet without substance.

Misreading Two: "No Padārtha" Equals "No Need to Speak, No Need for Concepts"

When the prajñā tradition says "no padārtha," it does not abolish language; it sees through the limits of language.

The 《因明入正理論》's "a few padārthas" provides us with an important contrast: even a bodhisattva must use words to "set up the cornerstone," using language as a ladder. Language is upāya, not reality; but precisely because it is upāya, it is fit for use.

It is like using a ladder to climb onto a roof: you do not carry the ladder on your shoulder as you walk around—but neither do you burn the ladder before climbing up. The prajñā "no padārtha" is putting down the ladder after you have climbed onto the roof; the hetuvidyā "a few padārthas" is carefully building each rung before you have climbed onto the roof.

Misreading Three: "No Self" Means "No Self at All"

"Anuttarā-samyak-saṃbodhi has no locus of meaning and no self"—the "no self" (無我, anātman) in this statement does not mean you do not exist; it means there is no "fixed, unchanging, independent" self.

In Buddhism, "self" (我, ātman) refers to a permanent, unchanging entity. When the Buddha says "no self," he means: at no moment can you find an unchanging master. Your body changes, your emotions change, your thoughts change, your values change. The "self" you think you are is more like a river—the water you stepped into yesterday and the water you step into today are not the same water, but they both belong to the same river.

"No self" does not negate your existence; it negates that you have a fixed position where you can be "lodged." This is precisely the meaning of "without abode."

Misreading Four: "No Padārtha" Is the End of Practice; Understanding It Means Graduation

Quite the opposite. In the 《摩訶般若波羅蜜經》, immediately after stating "no padārtha is the bodhisattva-padārtha," the Buddha goes on to list a long series of things the bodhisattva should study—wholesome and unwholesome dharmas, worldly and supramundane dharmas, defiled and undefiled dharmas, conditioned and unconditioned dharmas, shared and unshared dharmas... The bodhisattva is to "study and know" within the "unobstructed mark of all dharmas" (一切法無礙相).

"No padārtha" does not mean learning nothing; it means learning all dharmas while clinging to none. It is a dynamic equilibrium: you know the names-and-forms of all dharmas, but you do not dwell in them; you use language to communicate, analyze, and teach, but you do not take language as your final refuge.

This is like an excellent translator: she is proficient in two languages and can convey the meaning of every word precisely, but she knows that there is always a gap between word and meaning—which is precisely why she can translate better. The insight of "no padārtha" makes you use language more freely, not more fearfully.

Misreading Five: Equating "Bodhisattva-Padārtha" with "the Dharma Taught by the Bodhisattva"

The source material specifically notes a point of easy confusion: the "padārtha" in the 《因明入正理論》 refers to the hetuvidyā technical terms proclaimed by the bodhisattva (Śaṅkarasvāmin)—direct perception, inference, pseudo-direct-perception, pseudo-inference, and so on. This is the "few padārthas," the "corner-stone" as an entry-level ladder. The "bodhisattva-padārtha" of the prajñā tradition, by contrast, refers to the ultimate meaning of the name "bodhisattva" itself.

The same Sanskrit word padārtha performs entirely different work in the two contexts. Hetuvidyā uses it to mean "the content expressed by words"; prajñā uses it to mean "the illusoriness of words themselves." If you read prajñā scriptures with the hetuvidyā definition, they will seem nonsensical; if you measure hetuvidyā works by prajñā standards, they will seem too "possessed of attainment." Only by seeing this distinction can you appreciate the value of both traditions at once: hetuvidyā earnestly establishes rules within the world of names-and-forms; prajñā clearly sees that the ground-color of the world of names-and-forms is emptiness.

Misreading Six: "No Padārtha" Can Be Used as an Excuse—"Since Everything Is Empty, Nothing Matters"

This is the most insidious misreading.

Some people hear "the bodhisattva-padārtha is devoid of all" and "all dharmas are neither united nor dispersed, without color, without form, without opposition," and conclude: "Since everything is empty, nothing I do matters."

But note a line in the sūtra: the Buddha instructs the bodhisattva to "study and know" within the "unobstructed mark of all dharmas." Unobstructed is not carelessness. Unobstructed means clearly seeing the causal relationships among all dharmas without being bound by them.

"Emptiness" is not "nothing matters"; it is "things matter, but without clinging." Precisely because the bodhisattva sees that all dharmas are empty, he practices the 六波羅蜜 (ṣaḍ-pāramitā, the six perfections) all the more diligently—because giving is not for accumulating merit-gifts, but is compassion naturally flowing from seeing the emptiness of "no giver, no recipient, no gift." Emptiness is precisely the motive force of action, not an excuse for indolence.

Just as a person who truly understands "life is a dream" does not therefore lie down in passivity—on the contrary, he thinks: since the dream is so short, I might as well make it a splendid dream. And a person who truly understands "the bodhisattva-padārtha is devoid of all" does not therefore abandon practice—on the contrary, he thinks: since the bodhisattva is not an identity that can be grasped, let me perfect this manifestation of emptiness with the prajñā-wisdom of each present moment.