Some, such as Bhikkhu Punnadhammo, argue that rebirth is the crux of Buddhist ethics, and that discarding the doctrine of rebirth amounts to discarding the very ethical basis of Buddhism itself. But is that really the case? Personally, I don't think so.
For starters, I'd say that rebirth is more like an ethical carrot and stick than anything (good rebirth = carrot, bad rebirth = stick). The real underlying principles behind Buddhist ethics, however, are kamma — the idea that certain actions produce pleasant, painful or neutral feelings/results — and ahimsa or harmlessness.
Essentially, Buddhist ethics revolve around seeing our desires for happiness and freedom from pain in all living creatures. If we don't respect that in them, how can we ever expect the same? This is especially true regarding human beings.
Here I agree with the Buddha that, besides some rare and special cases, there's no one that's as dear to us as ourselves, that all beings essentially want to be happy in their own way (according to their specific capacities), and that it's a fairly decent and logical reason to desire their happiness as well as our own (SN 3.8).
The reason is simple. If our happiness comes at the expense of their happiness, they'll do everything in their power to upset that happiness. Conversely, if they were to infringe upon ours, wouldn't it follow that we'd do everything in our power to upset theirs? It seems like a vicious circle to me, and one of the ways to break this circle is an ethical framework that takes the happiness of others into consideration.
This, in turn, can eventually lead to the development of things like compassion and generosity, among others (such as the wings to awakening), which takes what was once a selfish or self-centred desire for happiness and transforms it into a selfless desire/achievement.
While rebirth easily fits into this framework, and has traditionally been a source of motivation for ethical behaviour in Buddhism, I don't see it as the 'basis' since you can just as easily remove it from the equation and the framework itself still stands. At least that's how I see it, anyway.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
is euthanasia allowed in buddhism?
After reflecting upon this topic for some time, I've come to the conclusion that, ultimately, euthanasia isn't a black or white issue. On the one hand, euthanasia certainly seems to go against the first precept, regardless of the intention behind it; however, the precepts themselves are merely guidelines that are utilized in order to protect oneself, as well as others, from the results of unskillful actions.
There are cases in the Pali Canon where monks have committed suicide — whether due to an incurable illness and unbearable pain, aversion and disgust with the body, etc. — but it's seems that only those who are free from greed, hatred and delusion are entirely blameless in such actions, i.e., there's only fault when one "gives up this body and seizes another" (MN 144). When it comes to our practical day-to-day lives, however, we're not always capable of being as stoic as we may wish to be, and enduring all of the difficult circumstances that life has to throw at us isn't always possible.
But even though I don't see this as a black or white issue, the Buddha himself was pretty adamant about where he stood on these issues, and the willful termination of someone's life, no matter the motivation, isn't something he condoned. If we look at it from the Buddhist perspective, we can see that to kill, to assist in killing or to even speak in favor of killing violates the spirit of the first precept. For example, the Vinitavatthu, which documents various cases related to the major rules in the Vinaya and gives verdicts as to what penalty, if any, they entail, includes two explicit cases, one involving euthanasia and the other involving capital punishment:
However, according to Ajahn Brahmavamso, the Samantapasadika, Buddhaghosa's commentary on the Vinaya, states that there's no offense for a bhikkhu who commits suicide themselves when done for the appropriate reasons, of which two are given:
While these particular rules apply explicitly to monks, the first precept is the same for lay followers, so it's reasonable to assume that all Buddhists should refrain from such actions as much as possible, especially since the weight of such kamma is so heavy. That being said, the precept itself is only a guideline for our protection, not a commandment that's written in stone, and there's no kind of Buddhist excommunication for breaking it. It's always up to the individual to weigh all the options and their potential consequences before performing any action; and in the end, sometimes our decisions depend more on what we feel than on what we're told is the 'right' or 'moral' thing to do. Moreover, I disagree with the commentarial tradition of Theravada in that I believe (as do most Mahayanists) that it's possible a person can assist another in dying out of compassion or other 'skillful' mental states.
Things like incurable illnesses that cause great amounts of pain can even be unbearable for arahants, let alone the average individual, and it's absurd to expect that everyone should live up to some sort of rigid and idealized standard of morality that's placed upon human existence or exhibit superhuman endurance for the sake of piety. Furthermore, it's my opinion that individuals should have the right to do what they want with their own bodies, regardless of other people's moral values.
As such, I support a person's right to end their own life when they're deemed to be sober and of sound mind, and I applaud Oregon, Washington and Montana for their allowance of physician-assisted suicide. In my mind, it's a personal choice that's the individual's alone to make, and denying a person that choice is equivalent to torture. (When it comes to animals and invalids, however, I think it gets a bit more complicated since we effectively have to kill them in order to end their suffering and they have little choice in the matter.)
There are cases in the Pali Canon where monks have committed suicide — whether due to an incurable illness and unbearable pain, aversion and disgust with the body, etc. — but it's seems that only those who are free from greed, hatred and delusion are entirely blameless in such actions, i.e., there's only fault when one "gives up this body and seizes another" (MN 144). When it comes to our practical day-to-day lives, however, we're not always capable of being as stoic as we may wish to be, and enduring all of the difficult circumstances that life has to throw at us isn't always possible.
But even though I don't see this as a black or white issue, the Buddha himself was pretty adamant about where he stood on these issues, and the willful termination of someone's life, no matter the motivation, isn't something he condoned. If we look at it from the Buddhist perspective, we can see that to kill, to assist in killing or to even speak in favor of killing violates the spirit of the first precept. For example, the Vinitavatthu, which documents various cases related to the major rules in the Vinaya and gives verdicts as to what penalty, if any, they entail, includes two explicit cases, one involving euthanasia and the other involving capital punishment:
Recommending means of euthanasia. The Vinita-vatthu includes a case of a criminal who has just been punished by having his hands and feet cut off. A bhikkhu asks the man's relatives, "Do you want him to die? Then make him drink buttermilk." The relatives follow the bhikkhu's recommendation, the man dies, and the bhikkhu incurs a parajika.
Recommending means of capital punishment. Again from the Vinita-vatthu: A bhikkhu advises an executioner to kill his victims mercifully with a single blow, rather than torturing them. The executioner follows his advice, and the bhikkhu incurs a parajika. This judgment indicates that a bhikkhu should not involve himself in matters of this sort, no matter how humane his intentions. According to the Vinita-vatthu, if the executioner says that he will not follow the bhikkhu's advice and then kills his victims as he pleases, the bhikkhu incurs no penalty. The Commentary adds that if the executioner tries to follow the bhikkhu's advice and yet needs more than one blow to do the job, the bhikkhu incurs a thullaccaya. As we have mentioned, though, the best course is to leave matters of this sort to the laity. (BMC 1.4)
However, according to Ajahn Brahmavamso, the Samantapasadika, Buddhaghosa's commentary on the Vinaya, states that there's no offense for a bhikkhu who commits suicide themselves when done for the appropriate reasons, of which two are given:
A bhikkhu is chronically sick with little sign of recovery and he wishes to end his own life so that he will no longer be a burden on the bhikkhus who are nursing him – in this case suicide is appropriate.
A bhikkhu who is enlightened already becomes gravely ill with a painful disease from which he suspects he will not recover. As the disease is burdensome to him and he has nothing further to do, he thinks to end his life – in this case also suicide is appropriate.
While these particular rules apply explicitly to monks, the first precept is the same for lay followers, so it's reasonable to assume that all Buddhists should refrain from such actions as much as possible, especially since the weight of such kamma is so heavy. That being said, the precept itself is only a guideline for our protection, not a commandment that's written in stone, and there's no kind of Buddhist excommunication for breaking it. It's always up to the individual to weigh all the options and their potential consequences before performing any action; and in the end, sometimes our decisions depend more on what we feel than on what we're told is the 'right' or 'moral' thing to do. Moreover, I disagree with the commentarial tradition of Theravada in that I believe (as do most Mahayanists) that it's possible a person can assist another in dying out of compassion or other 'skillful' mental states.
Things like incurable illnesses that cause great amounts of pain can even be unbearable for arahants, let alone the average individual, and it's absurd to expect that everyone should live up to some sort of rigid and idealized standard of morality that's placed upon human existence or exhibit superhuman endurance for the sake of piety. Furthermore, it's my opinion that individuals should have the right to do what they want with their own bodies, regardless of other people's moral values.
As such, I support a person's right to end their own life when they're deemed to be sober and of sound mind, and I applaud Oregon, Washington and Montana for their allowance of physician-assisted suicide. In my mind, it's a personal choice that's the individual's alone to make, and denying a person that choice is equivalent to torture. (When it comes to animals and invalids, however, I think it gets a bit more complicated since we effectively have to kill them in order to end their suffering and they have little choice in the matter.)
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
comfort and support
Considering all of things people close to me have had to endure recently, the question occurred to me, How can we give some sort of spiritual comfort and support to those of us who've had to deal with some very difficult situations? I know that I myself often fight to find the right words to say, but as my friend Brian once told me, "Sometimes words just seem empty in the face of deeply painful and ultimately personal experiences."
All too often, it's hard, if not impossible, to do very much in the way of helping to shoulder the inevitable burdens in life besides giving a few words of support or advice, even though the intention to do whatever is needed is always there. We might wish that we could do something more for everyone in their times of need — something tangible and meaningful – unfortunately, due to a combination of human limitations and physical distance, all we can sometimes offer to those that are suffering are seemingly empty words.
This can make us feel just as powerless as those who're in need of our help. As Buddhists, or at least people who take the Buddha's teachings seriously, we're taught to cultivate compassion for all living beings, to desire to ease their suffering. However, we must also remind ourselves that we can't always succeed in that task. In times like these, we must learn to practice equanimity—the even-mindedness that remains neutral in the face of experiences that we simply can't change.
When it comes to those who're going through some difficult times, this means we must realize that sometimes we're powerless to help them. During the most difficult of times, those who find themselves physically and emotionally isolated must discover the courage and wisdom to face their suffering on their own—not because we don't wish to help them, but because there is simply nothing we can do. All we can offer, much like the Buddha, is guidance. Whether or not we realize it, when we experience pain or unhappiness, we personalize those experiences and attach to them even more so than our feelings of pleasure and happiness. This is due to the very nature of our ego, which clings to suffering in order to relieve it—albeit without the proper insight as to how.
In our misunderstanding of conditionality, we often seek to relieve our suffering temporarily by removing the symptoms, but never the underlying causes. In essence, when we suffer, we become bewildered as to why this is happening and then we look for a way out, except we look in all the wrong places because we are confused about what suffering is, as well as the nature of true happiness. That's why the Buddha formulated the four noble truths in the same way that ancient Indian physicians formulated medical diagnoses — i.e., disease, its cause, prognosis and treatment — so that we are able to comprehend suffering, abandon its cause, realize its cessation and develop the path to that cessation.
As much as we may wish to help those suffering through difficult times, sometimes the best we can do is share with them the tools that they'll need in order to achieve this task of comprehending, abandoning, realizing and developing on their own—with our love and support, of course. Therefore, while our words might appear to be empty to those who're struggling to overcome difficult situations and challenges in their lives, the intentions underlying those words aren't empty at all. In fact, they're full of loving-kindness, compassion, sympathy and hope.
All too often, it's hard, if not impossible, to do very much in the way of helping to shoulder the inevitable burdens in life besides giving a few words of support or advice, even though the intention to do whatever is needed is always there. We might wish that we could do something more for everyone in their times of need — something tangible and meaningful – unfortunately, due to a combination of human limitations and physical distance, all we can sometimes offer to those that are suffering are seemingly empty words.
This can make us feel just as powerless as those who're in need of our help. As Buddhists, or at least people who take the Buddha's teachings seriously, we're taught to cultivate compassion for all living beings, to desire to ease their suffering. However, we must also remind ourselves that we can't always succeed in that task. In times like these, we must learn to practice equanimity—the even-mindedness that remains neutral in the face of experiences that we simply can't change.
When it comes to those who're going through some difficult times, this means we must realize that sometimes we're powerless to help them. During the most difficult of times, those who find themselves physically and emotionally isolated must discover the courage and wisdom to face their suffering on their own—not because we don't wish to help them, but because there is simply nothing we can do. All we can offer, much like the Buddha, is guidance. Whether or not we realize it, when we experience pain or unhappiness, we personalize those experiences and attach to them even more so than our feelings of pleasure and happiness. This is due to the very nature of our ego, which clings to suffering in order to relieve it—albeit without the proper insight as to how.
In our misunderstanding of conditionality, we often seek to relieve our suffering temporarily by removing the symptoms, but never the underlying causes. In essence, when we suffer, we become bewildered as to why this is happening and then we look for a way out, except we look in all the wrong places because we are confused about what suffering is, as well as the nature of true happiness. That's why the Buddha formulated the four noble truths in the same way that ancient Indian physicians formulated medical diagnoses — i.e., disease, its cause, prognosis and treatment — so that we are able to comprehend suffering, abandon its cause, realize its cessation and develop the path to that cessation.
As much as we may wish to help those suffering through difficult times, sometimes the best we can do is share with them the tools that they'll need in order to achieve this task of comprehending, abandoning, realizing and developing on their own—with our love and support, of course. Therefore, while our words might appear to be empty to those who're struggling to overcome difficult situations and challenges in their lives, the intentions underlying those words aren't empty at all. In fact, they're full of loving-kindness, compassion, sympathy and hope.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
does evil 'exist'?
Many people new to Buddhism often ask about evil, especially whether it 'exists' in some objective sense. In most cases, this is usually the result of a Christian upbringing and familiarity with Christian theology, which presents evil as an objectively existent entity or force, personified by the most infamous scapegoat the world has ever known, the Devil.
Buddhism, on the other hand, is, philosophically speaking, more or less empirical and pragmatic in nature. Things like 'good' and 'evil' aren't really given any sort of ontological status in the suttas.
For example, in regard to actions, bad actions are deemed 'bad' or 'unskillful' if they lead to to self-affliction, to the affliction of others or to both. Good actions, on the other hand, are deemed 'good' or 'skillful' if they don't lead to self-affliction, to the affliction of others or to both (MN 61). In other words, these are descriptive labels that are limited to observable qualities and experiences (adjectives), not self-existent entities (nouns).
In the context of actions (kamma), the Pali term kusala, often translated as 'skillful' or 'wholesome,' basically means that which is not conducive to harm and pain, but to benefit and pleasure (AN 2.19). It denotes doing something well, such as in the case of playing a lute (see AN 6.55). The Pali term akusala (composed of the negative prefix a- + kusala), often translated as 'unskillful' or 'unwholesome,' basically means the opposite, or that which is not conducive to benefit and pleasure, but to harm and pain.
The Pali word that's usually translated as 'evil' is papa, which can also be translated as 'bad,' 'demerit' or 'wrong action' depending on the context. It seems to me that papa has a stronger, more negative connotation than akusala, but they're more or less synonymous.
So when looking at the question of evil in Buddhism from this perspective, it can certainly be said to exist in a subjective sense, and I'd say it's an appropriate descriptor for qualities that most people would agree to be extremely shocking and harmful. But as far as I can tell, Buddhism refrains from presenting evil as something which exists independently of us, something 'out there' as it were. And while Buddhism has its own scapegoat in the form of Mara, he's generally used as a metaphor for the psychological clinging to the aggregates that gives rise to suffering, not to an independent being.
Buddhism, on the other hand, is, philosophically speaking, more or less empirical and pragmatic in nature. Things like 'good' and 'evil' aren't really given any sort of ontological status in the suttas.
For example, in regard to actions, bad actions are deemed 'bad' or 'unskillful' if they lead to to self-affliction, to the affliction of others or to both. Good actions, on the other hand, are deemed 'good' or 'skillful' if they don't lead to self-affliction, to the affliction of others or to both (MN 61). In other words, these are descriptive labels that are limited to observable qualities and experiences (adjectives), not self-existent entities (nouns).
In the context of actions (kamma), the Pali term kusala, often translated as 'skillful' or 'wholesome,' basically means that which is not conducive to harm and pain, but to benefit and pleasure (AN 2.19). It denotes doing something well, such as in the case of playing a lute (see AN 6.55). The Pali term akusala (composed of the negative prefix a- + kusala), often translated as 'unskillful' or 'unwholesome,' basically means the opposite, or that which is not conducive to benefit and pleasure, but to harm and pain.
The Pali word that's usually translated as 'evil' is papa, which can also be translated as 'bad,' 'demerit' or 'wrong action' depending on the context. It seems to me that papa has a stronger, more negative connotation than akusala, but they're more or less synonymous.
So when looking at the question of evil in Buddhism from this perspective, it can certainly be said to exist in a subjective sense, and I'd say it's an appropriate descriptor for qualities that most people would agree to be extremely shocking and harmful. But as far as I can tell, Buddhism refrains from presenting evil as something which exists independently of us, something 'out there' as it were. And while Buddhism has its own scapegoat in the form of Mara, he's generally used as a metaphor for the psychological clinging to the aggregates that gives rise to suffering, not to an independent being.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
mara, literal vs. metaphoric
Lately, my approach to ancient Indian literature has been to try and put things into context, to go deeper into the stories and myths in an effort to understand the symbolism behind them. Even so, I'm not saying people in ancient India didn't believe in 'supernatural' concepts, or that I don't for that matter, but I do think that not everything is meant to be taken literally.
In The Celestial Key to the Vedas, for example, B. G. Sidharth notes that the Mahabharata "refers to an old lady who spins a fabric with 360 black threads and 360 white threads while a white horse stands by. The old lady is of course time. The black and white threads are night and day, and the white horse is the Sun. Incidentally, the origin of this symbolism is in the Vedic hymns of the Rig Veda. (1.64)" (53).
Obviously, there are myths and superstitions involved in allegories such as this, but I imagine that this would make complete sense to an ancient Indian, whereas today we might not make the connections right away. The point I'm trying to make is that one can't simply assume every word is meant to be taken literally in Indian literature, or any other for that matter, which so heavily utilizes allegory and symbolism. It's easy to judge ancient cultures by our modern scientific standards, but I think that this is a mistake if and when we don't understand the subtleties of a particular culture because, a cliche as it sounds, a lot can get lost in translation.
Consequently, I think there are many places in the Pali Canon where one can adopt a metaphorical interpretation of things that seem 'superstitious' in nature. Of course, one can certainly have the view that ancient beliefs and myths are nothing but superstition, but it's just as probable that people simply didn't know how to express certain ideas or experiences in any other way.
As for Mara, the Buddhist equivalent to the Devil, it's true that in some cases, he's portrayed as an actual being who apparently considers himself the head of the kamavacara (literally 'sensuous sphere') world, especially by traditionalists who tend to take a more literalist approach. Nevertheless, looking at the texts more critically, it's evident that in most contexts, Mara is used in reference to death, the psychological clinging to the aggregates that gives rise to suffering or to the mental defilements of greed, hatred and delusion.
In regard to the story of the Buddha being assailed by the hosts of Mara under the Bodhi tree, for example, G. P. Malalasekera's entry in the Dictionary of Pali Names states:
As for the earthquake after Mara's defeat, to me this represents the fact that Buddha's enlightenment was a stupendous, earth shaking event, not that the earth actually moved. A lot of people tend to take these poetic allegories literally, but I'm not one of them. This is partially due to the nature of ancient Indian literature itself, which was full of allegory and symbolism.
I'll admit that when I first began studying the Suttas, I tended to take everything literally; but now, I've learned how to 'read between the lines' as they say.
In The Celestial Key to the Vedas, for example, B. G. Sidharth notes that the Mahabharata "refers to an old lady who spins a fabric with 360 black threads and 360 white threads while a white horse stands by. The old lady is of course time. The black and white threads are night and day, and the white horse is the Sun. Incidentally, the origin of this symbolism is in the Vedic hymns of the Rig Veda. (1.64)" (53).
Obviously, there are myths and superstitions involved in allegories such as this, but I imagine that this would make complete sense to an ancient Indian, whereas today we might not make the connections right away. The point I'm trying to make is that one can't simply assume every word is meant to be taken literally in Indian literature, or any other for that matter, which so heavily utilizes allegory and symbolism. It's easy to judge ancient cultures by our modern scientific standards, but I think that this is a mistake if and when we don't understand the subtleties of a particular culture because, a cliche as it sounds, a lot can get lost in translation.
Consequently, I think there are many places in the Pali Canon where one can adopt a metaphorical interpretation of things that seem 'superstitious' in nature. Of course, one can certainly have the view that ancient beliefs and myths are nothing but superstition, but it's just as probable that people simply didn't know how to express certain ideas or experiences in any other way.
As for Mara, the Buddhist equivalent to the Devil, it's true that in some cases, he's portrayed as an actual being who apparently considers himself the head of the kamavacara (literally 'sensuous sphere') world, especially by traditionalists who tend to take a more literalist approach. Nevertheless, looking at the texts more critically, it's evident that in most contexts, Mara is used in reference to death, the psychological clinging to the aggregates that gives rise to suffering or to the mental defilements of greed, hatred and delusion.
In regard to the story of the Buddha being assailed by the hosts of Mara under the Bodhi tree, for example, G. P. Malalasekera's entry in the Dictionary of Pali Names states:
That this account of the Buddha's struggle with Māra is literally true, none but the most ignorant of the Buddhists believe, even at the present day. The Buddhist point of view has been well expressed by Rhys Davids (Article on Buddha in the Ency. Brit.). We are to understand by the attack of Mara's forces, that all the Buddha's
"old temptations came back upon him with renewed force. For years he had looked at all earthly good through the medium of a philosophy which had taught him that it, without exception, carried within itself the seeds of bitterness and was altogether worthless and impermanent; but now, to his wavering faith, the sweet delights of home and love, the charms of wealth and power, began to show themselves in a different light and glow again with attractive colours. He doubted and agonized in his doubt, but as the sun set, the religious side of his nature had won the victory and seems to have come out even purified from the struggle."
There is no need to ask, as does Thomas, with apparently great suspicion (Thomas, op. cit., 230), whether we can assume that the elaborators of the Mara story were recording "a subjective experience under the form of an objective reality," and did they know or think that this was the real psychological experience which the Buddha went through? The living traditions of the Buddhist countries supply the adequate answer, without the aid of the rationalists. The epic nature of the subject gave ample scope for the elaboration so dear to the hearts of the Pali rhapsodists.
As for the earthquake after Mara's defeat, to me this represents the fact that Buddha's enlightenment was a stupendous, earth shaking event, not that the earth actually moved. A lot of people tend to take these poetic allegories literally, but I'm not one of them. This is partially due to the nature of ancient Indian literature itself, which was full of allegory and symbolism.
I'll admit that when I first began studying the Suttas, I tended to take everything literally; but now, I've learned how to 'read between the lines' as they say.
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