I recently had the good fortune to attend the two-day conference on Contemporary Perspectives on Buddhist Ethics co-hosted by The Center for Buddhist Studies and the Department of Religion at Columbia University that was sponsored by the Templeton Foundation. My understanding is that this was the first-ever conference devoted exclusively to Buddhist ethics.
The conference pulled together an exceptional group of speakers and panelists including Damien Keown, Bob Thurman, Karl Potter, Andrew Olendzki, Mark Siderits, Christopher Queen, Sallie King, Karma Lekshe Tsomo, Charles Goodman, Owen Flanagan, Walter Sinnot-Armstrong, Barry Schwartz, George Dreyfus, and some eighteen other presenters representing such diverse disciplines as Buddhist and Indo-Tibetan studies, analytic philosophy, ethics, psychology, neuropsychology, and literary theory. The panelists addressed a wide variety of questions, but this post focuses on only one: Why didn’t Buddhism develop an ethical theory of its own? This topic was most fully developed by Damien Keown, [1] and I owe him a debt of gratitude for bringing these ideas to my attention.
Damien Keown
Keown’s keynote address pointed out that while Buddhism is rich in ethical teachings (sila, the precepts, the paramis, the Vinaya, the wholesome and unwholesome mental factors in the Abhidhamma, the Jataka Tales, the Brahmaviharas) it has absolutely no tradition of ethical theorizing. That is, no extended exploration of why certain ethical concepts make it onto standard Buddhist lists (e.g., not killing, lying, or stealing) while others (e.g., not keeping promises) do not, or discussion about what to do when ethical precepts conflict (e.g., are there ever any circumstances under which it is permissible to tell a lie or take a life?)
The Western philosophical tradition is rich in ethical theorizing from Plato and Aristotle through Spinoza, Kant, and Hume, all the way to Mill, Sidgwick, Rawls, and Parfit. These philosophers discuss questions like what is the nature of the good, what underlying principles make certain actions moral or ethical, and what constitutes a just social order that promotes human flourishing. Philosophers often organize ethical systems into various types, e.g., Virtue Theory, Deontology, Consequentialism, Particularism, etc., and there is interest in developing a unified theory that combines the best features of each. Academics in Buddhist Studies find aspects of both Virtue Theory and Consequentialism in Buddhism, but really, these are acts of creative interpretation, as there is little evidence that Buddhist thinkers would have had much use for these categories.
Why did none of this interest Buddhist thinkers? One could argue that they just wanted to lay out minimalist broad principles — be compassionate, work towards the liberation of all beings, use skillful means — and let practitioners work out the details on their own through some combination of mindfulness, discernment, and innate wisdom. But this was uncharacteristic of Buddhist thinkers in other philosophical domains. They paid a great deal of attention to other philosophical matters — epistemology, phenomenology, logic, metaphysics, cosmology, and so forth. Why leave only ethics to fend for itself?
The possible answers to this question are manifold. Here are a number of suggestions:
- Not only Buddhism, but other religions/philosophies originating on the Indian subcontinent, including the ones that preceded Buddhism, also neglected ethical theory. Buddhists didn’t take up the subject because no one before them had, and none of their competitors did. It just wasn’t a part of the conversation at the time. My objection to this argument is that in any tradition someone has to be the first one to address the subject. Why was there, over the course of 2,500 years, no Buddhist Socrates?
- Buddhists saw ethics as subservient to soteriology. Once one had become a Buddha, one’s infinite compassion and wisdom would directly see what was skillful in any immediate situation, so there was no need for elaborate rules or theories. Once one had become an Arhat, freed from greed, hatred, and delusion, one would also be constitutionally incapable of unethical action. The idea that ethics were inherently knotty and might always require a certain degree of conscious deliberation, even when one has reached the end of the path, seems foreign to Buddhist thought. Perhaps this lacuna is one reason why contemporary Buddhist teachers who have reached a certain impressive level of awakening still fall prey to ethical lapses?
- Buddhist teachings focused on turning inward, withdrawing from the world, living as a wandering mendicant. Social, economic, and political systems were something one dropped out of, not something one improved. There was no impetus to develop a theory of what constituted a social order that promoted either justice or human flourishing.
- Buddhist teachings focused on the community of monks rather than the laity. The Vinaya had many complex rules governing the life of the monk and the sangha. Less attention was given to rules governing the life of the laity living the lives of householders, parents, and business people. Of course, this explanation neglects why Buddhists failed to develop a critical literature exploring the Vinaya itself, e.g., the theory underlying the monastic rules and an exploration of whether the listed rules are either exhaustive or equally appropriate. As a result, Buddhist rules concerning the sangha are never really thought through. Are rules about alms rounds and the handling money, for example, appropriate under all economic systems? Why does generosity to the sangha create more merit than giving to the poor?
- The Buddhist doctrine of two truths, while paying lip service to the idea that form was emptiness and emptiness form, privileged “emptiness” as the ultimate. At the ultimate level, relative concepts like “good” and “bad” become meaningless. There is ultimately no wrong-doer or victim — everything is perfect just as it is. Overemphasis on the absolute may foster disinterest in theorizing about the relative level, which is the level where ethics apply.
Buddhists never developed a variety of disciplines that could have added greater depth to the tradition. Not only is there no Buddhist ethical, political, or social theory, but Buddhist history has also been, by and large, ignored. Buddhism has not been very good at examining itself.
As Buddhism moves West, philosophers and historians, schooled in Western philosophical and historical methods, are using their skills to help Buddhism examine itself. As a result, we now have a Professor of Buddhist Ethics, a Journal of Buddhist Ethics, revisionist Buddhist history, and Engaged Buddhism. This is all to the good.
Psychologist Jeffrey Rubin once warned of the twin dangers of Orientocentrism and Eurocentrism in approaching Buddhist teachings. One school of thought bows to the sacred wisdom of the East, the other assumes the West knows best. Rubin recommends “a more egalitarian relationship in which there is mutual respect, the absence of denigration or deification, submission or superiority, and a genuine interest in what [we] could teach each other.”[2] The Dharma offers Westerners something precious and unique — but the West also has precious gifts to offer the Dharma.
- [1] Damien Keown is Professor Emeritis of Buddhist Ethics at Goldsmiths University of London -- the only Professor of Buddhist Ethics anywhere in the world. He’s the founding co-editor of the Journal of Buddhist Ethics, a member of the editorial board of the Journal of Contemporary Buddhism, a member of the Pali Text Society, and the author of many books including The Nature of Buddhist Ethics (1992), Buddhism & Bioethics (1995), Contemporary Buddhist Ethics (2000), and Action Dharma: New Studies in Engaged Buddhism (with Christopher Queen and Charles Prebish, 2003). Nice work if you can get it. ↩
- [2] Rubin, J. (2003). Close encounters of a new kind. In Segall, S. (2003). Encountering Buddhism: Western Psychology and Buddhist Teachings. SUNY Press: Albany, NY. ↩
“There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.” Hamlet , Wm. Shakespeare; Act II, scene ii. If that’s the case, and Buddhist teachings reach beyond the rational mind, perhaps there is no great need for a theory of ethics, only a need to be “Gone, gone, gone beyond, gone utterly beyond, Enlightenment hail!” (gate gate paragate parasamgate bodhi svaha). Excellent discussion, Seth.
But, Amaury, for those of us who are not yet gone beyond, a little help for the morally perplexed would be appreciated. Traditional Tibetan Buddhism, for example, considers homosexuality immoral. The Tibetan community is struggling with the encounter with Western Buddhists who see this as a cultural bias that has no essential justification from within Buddhism itself. It would help to have some theory which would enable Buddhists to distinguish between things that are genuinely due to deep Buddhist concerns, and those things that are only considered unethical due to ignorance and outdated tradition. Is there a Buddhist take on abortion, living wills, and insider trading? Theory has its place.
I often wonder how far ethical theories get us? Do they change behavior? Professors of ethics have been shown, for example, to have not better ethical behavior than those of us who are ignorant of ethical theories. Christians, with all their bragging of having the only true moral foundations, are found to polluted with as many moral foibles as us damned.
Ethical theories are fun (well, for some of us), but I wonder if that is where the money is. Thanx for the article — interesting and fun!
@Sabio
Agreed, there is no evidence that being knowledgable about ethical theory makes one more ethical. Philosophers are no more successful at living their lives than non-philosophers.
On the other hand, there are deep questions here that are valuable to explore. For example, is there any necessary linkage between the wisdom component of Buddhism and its ethical component? Does seeing into the nature of non-self and emptiness, for example, help generate the wish to be compassionate? Mahayana Buddhism asserts it does. Contemporary British philosopher Derek Parfit thinks seeing selflessness helps one to recognize there is less reason to be selfish. Contemporary American Philosopher Owen Flanagan, on the other hand, remains unconvinced. This is just one example.
Concerning ethical theory: I sometimes find it helpful to distinguish between legislative ethics and personal ethics. Legislative ethics seems to have obvious implications and is unavoidable.
I suppose we should be grateful that earlier generations of Buddhists have spared us from the levels of ethical theorising you suggest they might have indulged in. Maybe their endless theorising about the true nature of reality so divorced them from what the rest of us like to call the real world that normal human life became unimportant to them. The problem with ethical dilemmas is that they remind us that life as it is actually lived is a messy affair far removed from the ideals of spiritual enlightenment. We should be reassured that even the most elevated practitioners still have feet of clay. As my Scottish mother used to say ‘Dinna look at the meen or ye’ll fa’ in the midden’ (don’t look at the moon or you’ll fall in the muck pile).
Are our highest spiritual ideals (seeking a greater degree of wisdom, virtue, eudaemonia, and awakening) really divorced from the messy affairs of everyday life? Or do we find awakening through attending with as much awareness as we can to the details of how we struggle through the complexities of daily existence? If one defines spirituality as something higher and finer than everydayness, one is setting up a dichotomy that is bound to fail. If one insists, on the other hand, on nonduality, that nirvana is samsara, that form is emptiness, then there is no division between mucking the stables and finding enlightenment. For Zen, at least, enlightenment is nothing special.
Seth, your Zen sounds very sane and grounded and I don’t think I would want to question anything you have written in response to my post. Certainly, I couldn’t agree more with you when you say ‘If one defines spirituality as something higher and finer than everydayness, one is setting up a dichotomy that is bound to fail.’ I also accept that this kind of common sense approach is taken by many contemporary Buddhists, at least in the west. I’m less convinced, however, that it has much to do with traditional Buddhism. Buddhism teaches impossible ideals – it demands the 6 Perfections (of which one is morality), not the 6 Improvements – and it isn’t much interested in making realistic adjustments to everyday life. It insists on abandoning everydayness altogether. In fact, it seeks something akin to what the poet Larkin called ‘the anaesthetic from which none come round.’ Of course, this kind of aspiration doesn’t sit well with many in the contemporary west so we have fashioned Buddhism in our image. But should we still be calling it Buddhism?
Actually, I think traditional Buddhism makes itself a victim of its own hype from the outset, by defining dukkha in such a way as to make any escape from it impossible while still a living creature. Even the historical Buddha didn’t escape the dukkha defined in the Pali scriptures. By all accounts he didn’t achieve Sariputta’s dubious distinction of overcoming feeling which is, of course, a prerequisite to overcoming suffering. He still suffered pain, got old and sick and died, as we all do. He continued to have preferences, as all real life beings must (at least all those for who anything matters any more), and therefore presumably fell short of Zen’s ‘perfect way.’
One can find in many traditional Buddhist stories the expectation that being ‘awake’ and being insensate (inhuman?) are in fact necessarily linked. One of my favourites is that of Marpa, who wept over his child’s untimely death and thereby upset the neighbours who didn’t think this was in keeping with an enlightened being who ought, in their estimation, not to experience grief or other unsavoury human emotions. I’ve myself come across Buddhist teachers who insist that Buddhas are not actually human at all. Weird as this may sound it makes a kind of sense given the qualities traditionally attributed to enlightened beings. The goal of traditional Buddhist practice is about as far removed from everydayness as you could get.
Unfortunately, only by successfully brainwashing people into believing that death offers no escape from the gaping hells can traditional Buddhism infect them with a sickness for which its cure becomes a desirable solution. I don’t deny that many Buddhist teachings and practices may be helpful to those who choose not to buy this horrific narrative, but outside of it what exactly makes them Buddhist? This leads us back to your previous offering on change, but the question arises how far can something change before it makes sense to call it something else?
@Mike — I call my practice Buddhism (Existential) to clarify that it is not Buddhism (Theravada) or Buddhism (Gelpuga) or some other variant of Buddhism. Why call it Buddhism at all if it doesn’t posit rebirth or karma or Big “E” enlightenment? Because its main themes of impermanence, interdependence, non-self, mindfulness, compassion, non-grasping, etc. are core features of Buddhism whose value, I think, can be validated through lived experience. Calling it something else just seems silly to me.
I would agree with you that becoming insensate or unfeeling or yielding to perfectionistic demands sounds neither appealing nor healthy. If this was the message you received from your Tibetan teachers, you were right to run the other way.
I look at the paramis differently than you do, however. I look at these as being the Buddhist equivalent of Aristotelian virtues to be cultivated, rather than as perfections that are expected or demanded. As a list, they don’t look all that bad as far as virtues go, and I believe that finding ways to actualize them more in one’s lifetime probably leads to a greater degree of eudaemonia (Buddhist variety).
I also always found the Marpa story charming, and interpret if differently than you do. In the story, Marpa’s neighbors chide him for crying over his lost son because he had told them so often in the past that death was just an illusion. When push comes to shove, however, Marpa is as human as the rest of us, and his comment that while death is an illusion, it is a most persistent illusion — well, there is some humor and irony in it. It reminds me of the story Larry Rosenberg tells about asking two different Buddhist masters, one a Therevada meditation master, the other a Zen master (Korean? Japanese?), about how they would deal with the death of a spouse. The Thai master said he would meet it with equanimity because he accepted impermanence and was non-attached. The Zen master said he would cry and wail his heart out for all it was worth. Rosenberg then asked his listeners which was the more Buddhist response. I always personally liked the Zen master in the story. His message was feel everything, go through everything, live everything fully moment by moment — and accept that over times the feelings change and pass of their own accord. But be with it all with awareness and without trying to make it something special — neither adding to or taking away from the experience, but letting it be “just this.” That is the essence of Zen for me, and good advice for living.
I understand your antipathy to Buddhism given your experiences, and wish you luck in finding your own self-defined path to well-being.
@ Mike,
I think you make very fine points. There are many kinds of Buddhism, I think Seth would be the first to admit this. Heck, is Mormonism really Christianity? (smile)
But I am sure you are not asking merely a debate over definitions. You also sem to be asking an “ought” question — What ought Buddhism be or become. Shouldn’t they drop all that old superstitious stuff or false idealism?” The question of what name they becomes secondary, right?
@ Seth,
More than “deep thinkers”, it would be instructive if empirical scientists could measure the difference if behavior between those who call themselves Buddhist and those that don’t. Personally, just as those sorts of studies of Christians show, we would not see a difference. Religions often see themselves as above the horde in ethical principles, insight and behavior, but the facts on the grounds are usually different. I think that is because religions do something very different than they claim. Sort of like Politicians, I guess.
We all like to live with wonderful images of ourselves — no getting around that.
Christians complain that such studies include people who, though they call themselves Christians, don’t really know or follow Jesus. A Buddhist complain could be that just because they belong to a Sangha, doesn’t mean they have “see[n] into the nature of non-self and emptiness”.
Funny, some Buddhisms make a single event as primary: “satori”, “one time true belief in the power of the Lotus Sutra”, “one time true faith in Amida”, “awakening”. Whereas others describe continual slow daily effort with no cataclysmic transformation.
Anyway, I agree with you that the study of Buddhism and ethics would be fascinating, but I think an empirical study would be the most instructive — we have way too many “deep thinker” speculation and fantasies (getting back to Mike’s points).
Sabio, absolutely. I think there is something deeply flawed – even sick – about traditional Buddhism, so I am no enemy of reform. Of course, it’s not up to me to prescribe the ‘right’ kind of Buddhism to others. We each need to find our own way. For me this involved parting with Buddhism altogether. It just didn’t seem honest any more to think of myself as a Buddhist. So I’m not really interested in trying to argue what Buddhism ‘ought’ to be. I’ll leave that to those who still want to claim protection of title as Buddhists. Folk like Seth remind me that being a Buddhist and being a sane, grounded, decent human being are not incompatible. But when I recall my years among the Tibetan Buddhists who first taught me what Dharma was all about I cannot help shuddering and just feel grateful I made it out of there without the help of psychiatric nurses.
@Sabio. Absolutely, three cheers for empiricism! But empirical exploration always needs the guidance (or provocation) of theory, otherwise we end up measuring the wrong things and asking the wrong questions. A good theory sets researchers out into the field to test it. So three cheers also for the deep thinkers! I think you would greatly enjoy Own Flanagan’s new book, “The Bodhisattva’s Brain.” I’ll probably review it in a future post. He takes the empirical research on meditation and well-being and shows how it has been insufficiently guided by good philosophy.
I won’t bury this comment in hierarchies.
@ Seth
Flanagan’s book sounds interesting. I recalled his name from his contribution to “Destructive Emotions: A scientific Dialogue with the Dalai Lama” narrated by Daniel Goleman. Interestingly, in Amazon review is angry at Goleman and quotes him saying:
” Buddhism has about as little to do with meditation as Jesus’s message of love has to do with prayer… almost nothing. Thinking that meditation is the essence of Buddhism would be akin to a group of converts to Catholicism thinking that real Catholics say Mass everyday because priests do. ”
The reviewer is convince meditation is central to Buddhism. But David Chapman as illustrated how untrue this is. Meditation has become a central notion for much of Western Buddhists — well, at least for those who aren’t Bed-stand Buddhists.
But that point and you fine story about the two interactions to a death of a loved one illustrates that the different Buddhisms give contradictory ways of dealing with emotions and looking at life. There is no one Buddhism. Surface agreements over the Triple Gem, interdependence, non-self and such are all secondary with how these concepts are strung together in real living. That is why you like Zen, it seems. You like the type of weaving done by Zennists. Like you, I am sympathetic to the Zen teacher’s reply.
Again, David Chapman’s last post tell about this renunciation approach and how it is mixed with monist ideas in Western Buddhism — it is as if the Western Buddhists are schizophrenic: they hold both the Zen guy’s reaction and the Theravada dude’s as if they are both admirable and should be the same. They aren’t, they are radically different even though they both call themselves Buddhist.
@ Mike
May I ask what Tibetan Buddhism exposures you had: which teachers or what groups. Just being nosey — thanx. Do you have a blog?
Sabio, my exposure to Tibetan Buddhism has been pretty bog-standard Gelukpa teaching. I’ve had quite a few different teachers over the years, mostly in the UK but also in India. Some of them are well known, like Lama Zopa, others less prominent. I wish I could say that I was taught by some notorious eccentric who distorted traditional Buddhist teachings but I’m afraid that isn’t so. Some of my more westernised teachers taught what Alex Berzin charmingly calls Dharma-lite (practising for benefits in this life) but mostly I got the authentic, undiluted stuff. I’ve also explored outside of this tradition, spending time with Zen and Theravada teachers.
No, I don’t have a blog. I did once think about starting one but I’m probably too lazy to keep it going and I can’t imagine anyone reading it. When I decided to leave the Buddhist fold some of my teachers, and not a few of my one-time Dharma friends, told me that I would most certainly be going straight to hell when I died (apparently there’s a special vajra hell for apostates like myself and it’s the worst hell of all!) so if I find they’ve got internet facilities down there I’ll maybe start a blog warning the good folk of planet earth to get practising like their hair’s on fire. I might even post a few pictures of myself showing what hair looks like when it really is on fire.
@ Mike – well, if not a blog, maybe a book or magazine article? You have an interesting story to tell, and you write well! I’d hate to have to wait until you are in Vajra Hell to tell it!
@ Mike
You look like you have tons you could write about. Blog names came to mind for you: “The Dharma Drain”, “The Buddhist Bilge”, “Dumping Dharma”, “Unenlightment”, “Buddha Hell Here I Come” or many more. I hope you reconsider posting sometime. You have a very fun writing style and obvious felt and lived a lot. Thanks for the story.
Thank you both for your warm words. I will think about it
Good grief. It’s el Dupree! (a different short.fat.guy, created by Alf the Poet )
@leebert
Actually, in this book, Flanagan does not make these points (perhaps he does elsewhere?). In this book he simply states that since most Buddhists do not meditate, conflating “Buddhist practice” with “meditation” can be problematic if one is testing whether “Buddhist practice” leads to “happiness.” If one is counting noses around the world to decide what Buddhism is, Flanagan is certainly correct: most Buddhists do not meditate. If, on the other hand, one defines Buddhism as following the eightfold noble path, meditation in most definitely an important part of Buddhist practice. Different definitions lead to different conclusions.
Strictly speaking, this paragraph is untrue. There is nowhere in the suttas where the Buddha says rebirth is optional, and hundreds of of places where he affirms rebirth as a central Buddhist tenet. Similarly, while the Buddha taught an ethical path for those who were only interested in a better rebirth and not the cessation of rebirth, he always was clear that this was a lesser goal. He was simply aware that not everyone was prepared to go the distance.
We may chose to disagree with the Buddha on these points. I am personally happy with a Buddhism-for-one-life-only that improves human flourishing but doesn’t lead to perfection — but let’s not pretend what it is the Buddha said.
And I do seem to recall, as I’ve had it cited to me in passing, that there is a sutta where Gotama allows for dharmic practice w/out *belief* in reincarnation (in the strictest sense).
Rebirth remains a central tenet, as it is central to the analysis of coarising phenomena, emptiness, flux, essence and so on, but rebirth and reincarnation are semantic two different things (at least as I understand it).
@leebert — this is an obscure joke that I can’t make heads or tails of. Please elaborate!
From alt.buddha.short.fat.guy … you could’ve been one of us. The “We don’t need no stinking…” meme was something we passed around for a time. .
It’s very interesting to see these concurrent threads in disparate groups of Western Buddhists, it’s like meeting long-lost members of a diaspora — apostates from the back pews claiming something that belongs to everyone.
el Dupree was an invention of an “Alf the Poet” from the early 1990′s on alt.buddha.short.fat.guy … A short fat guy from the Mexican outback, a lovable Sonoran Hotei of questionable habits, whose methods brought enlightenment to his victims.
Thanks for the enlightenment!
Yeh, the rebirth =’s reincarnation discussion is a long and winding one. I think it was pretty clear Gotama promoted a non-dualist view of reincarnation, but that’s a tricky allowance in of itself. Considering the cultural milieu he was addressing he had to make some kind of allowance for Brahma/atman even though he was pretty much dispensing with it otherwise.
Let me put it another way: Gotama (as I understand it) did not explicitly proscribe disbelief in reincarnation (under the rubric of rebirth), nor did he mandate the belief. Likewise he discouraged explicitly saying that a self did not exist, and its converse: Anatta is a doctrine that no permanent reifiable self exist, not that we aren’t ourselves separate nodes of experience.
He didn’t want to reify any position into a hard-set doctrine beyond the essential function of analogy and metaphor.
I would argue that the usefulness of ethical theory is to prompt greater objectivity in our reflection on moral questions, and to that extent it’s of great practical usefulness. Without it Western Buddhists often seem to get stranded between a traditionalist absolutism they reject and mere relativistic preference. The problem with ethical theory in the Western tradition has been a fruitless quest for a single all-encompassing ethical theory, with the theory itself wrongly seen as the source of moral objectivity, but I would see the Kantian, utilitarian and virtue theories as offering alternative kinds of challenge, with the quality of the judgement between them in a given case offering the source of objectivity rather than the theory. Buddhism offers us many tools for refining that quality of judgement.
For more details see my website http://www.moralobjectivity.net, and the books advertised there.
Thanks for your comment, and for introducing me to your website which I look forward to exploring in more depth.