Buddhist Hellology/Tartarology

Some of us might think: What the hell is “Tartarology” and what the hell is “Buddhist Tartarology”? Well, it is supposed to be a doctrine concerning hell and punishment in the afterlife. “Buddhist Tartarology” may be defined as the Buddhist conception and perception of hell (naraka: dmyal ba). Those of us who are new to Buddhist ideas might be surprised to learn that there is a concept of hell also in Buddhism. Regardless of whether we like or dislike the idea of hell (naraka: dmyal ba) in Buddhism, it is a fact. All we can try to do is to understand it and explain it as accurately as we can. Some random points regarding Buddhist Tartarology may be made simply as a venue for exploration. First, the conception of hell in Buddhism seems to be connected with the Buddhist concept of cosmology, which is turn is taught within the context of the “Four Noble Truths” or “Four Truths [that are Accessible to the] Noble Ones [only],” namely, in the context of Truth or Reality of Suffering (duḥkhasatya: sdug bsngal gyi bden pa), specifically in the context of the external “receptacle world” (bhājanaloka: snod kyi ’jig rten), so to speak, the world as a “biosphere” (in the broadest sense possible). Thus it is somehow related with the Buddhist soteriology. By the way, the word “biosphere” seems to be quite suitable here because “receptacle world” is conceived of the terranean (sa steng), subterranean (sa ’og), and superterranean (sa bla) world that support and sustain the so-called “world consisting of sentient beings” (sattvaloka: bcud kyi / sems can gyi ’jig rten), that is, so to speak, “world of habitants.” Hell is, from a Buddhist perspective, a part of the “world of habitats” and a special “biosphere.”  Second, hell-realm or sphere of hell is seen as one of the five or six possible destinations in Buddhism. It is the lowest realm among the three “bad destinies” (durgati: ngan ’gro), the other two being the realms of hungry ghosts (preta: yi dwags) and animals (tiryak: dud ’gro). (a) Unlike, for example, in Christianity, one is not sent to hell as a punishment by God. No one can send one to the hell. One can only go to hell by oneself, or, rather, one lands up in the hell-realm on accounts of the multiple causes and conditions that a person would have brought upon oneself. One cannot thus blame anyone else for one’s hellish existence. (b) For most persons, going to hell is not an option or choice. If causes and conditions for one’s hellish existence are absent, incomplete, or not ripe, one cannot go to hell even if one wishes. If causes and conditions for one’s hellish existence have been exhausted, one cannot stay in the hell-ream a minute longer, even if one wishes to stay. Hellish existence may appear long but it is never permanent. Highly realized beings such as buddhas and certain bodhisattvas may willingly go to hell to help hellish beings. They have a choice; not those who are under the sway of their karmic and kleśaic forces. Third, one’s hellish existence is one’s karmic consequence (or self-regulating karmic retribution) and as such one must have accumulated the right karmic deeds by means of the right kind of intellectual-emotional defilements (kleśa: nyon mongs pa). Although several intellectual-emotional defilements may be involved in guaranteeing one’s hellish existence, the dominant cause that can guarantee one’s hellish existence is said to be hatred and maliciousness. From a Buddhist perspective, one may hate and be malicious at one’s own risk. No one else is responsible for one’s  hatred and maliciousness and the ensuing karmic consequences. So those of us who wish to be born in the hell can be extremely hateful and malicious. Fourth, Buddhism presupposes various layers or domains of hell corresponding (or proportional) to the intensity and durability of pain and misery. There are said to be eighteen domains of hell (dmyal khams bco brgyad), namely, eight cold hells (grang dmyal brgyad), eight hot hells (tsha dmyal brgyad), auxiliary or peripheral (nye ’khor ba) hells, and micro (nyi tshe ba) hells. The last one is said to be a form of existence in which microorganisms identity with the objects or supports  in which they dwell. Fifth, historically, it will be worthwhile to explore how and why Buddhist Tartarology has undergone changes in the intellectual history of Buddhism. Depending on the various doctrinal layers of Buddhism, and depending on the time and place in which Buddhism spread and developed, the conception of hell, too, must have undergone augmentation, modification, and reinterpretation. Two examples may be mentioned here. (a) Śāntideva seems to suggest that hell is nothing but a projection of one’s mind infused with unwholesome deeds. Given the very subjective nature of pain and pleasure, suffering and happiness, one can understand what Śāntideva is trying to suggest. To someone whose mind is pāpa-ridden, everything might appear as hell. But on other hand, some Buddhists might argue that the fact that our miserable destiny is created by our unwholesome resources (pāpa: sdig pa) does not mean that the hellish existence is all in our mind or imagination unless we also posit that other forms of existence, such as animal existence, too, are nothing but mind. The way a Buddhist system conceives hell would thus be influenced by the ontological commitment of that system (e.g. a system’s commitment to realism or idealism). (b) Buddhist Mantric system seems to have introduced a new and deeper level of hell called the vajranaraka (rdo rje’i dmyal ba), that is, so to speak, a biosphere where those who have transgressed cardinal Vajrayānic precepts will be born. Sixth, it may be possible that the conception or rather the depiction of hells in Buddhist sources, systems, and societies had primarily a pedagogical or didactical function. It may have been primarily designed for educating common people about the karmic mechanism. Although Buddhist conception of hell does not presuppose theistic intervention and retribution, Buddhist societies may enact theatrically as if there were a “day of judgment” (metaphorically) where all the “black” and “white” points of a person are counted and accordingly sent to hell headlong.

The term “hellology” can be found in the internet but does not seem to be attested in standard reference works. But never mind, I will use it here anyway in the sense of “the theory or study of hells.” Those of us new to Buddhism are often surprised/disappointed to know that Buddhism, too, has a concept of hell. Those of us who have been dealing with Buddhism for quite sometime either trivialize or banalize it away as a scare-mongering strategy or tactic of the Buddhists, or, rationalize it away somehow. Whether or not we like the idea of hell in Buddhism but we do have the idea of hell in Buddhism and hence we have to have a kind of “Buddhist hellology.” To begin with, Buddhist hellology would be a part of Buddhist cosmology (in the narrower sense of the “study or theory of the (external) world”). According to Buddhist sources, there are five or six kinds of worldly destiny/destination (or forms of existence) that a sentient being would land up. These fall into two sections: higher sphere of existence and lower sphere of existence. Importantly, neither are all higher spheres heavens or celestial realms nor are all lowers realms hell realms. Human realm belongs to the higher sphere but is still a human (though not always a humane) realm and not a celestial realm. Animal realms and realms of hungry ghosts belong to lower spheres but are not hell realms. Hell realms are the lowest in the domain of worldly existence. But there is not just one kind and level of hells. There are eighteen hellish realms. It will be imprecise to call hells in the Buddhist context as “Inferno” or “the infernal regions” because not hells are hot burning hells. There are cold hells too. Also the word “netherworld” would not suit our context because not all realms in the “netherworld” are hells. Importantly, there is neither the concept of “eternal damnation” nor of “eternal punishment.” No form of existence according to Buddhism is ever eternal (not even the deepest hell) and nobody can eternally punish anybody. But for pedagogical or didactic purpose, one might observe metaphors of punishment enacted during a theatrical performance. Pleasures or pains, which would be the consequences of one’s positive or negative attitudes and actions, are conceived of as being self-regulatory according to the karmic mechanism. Neutral attitude and actions, though possible, are karmically inconsequential. The depth of the hells and the intensity and duration of pain and suffering are obviously conceived of as being directly proportional to the gravity of the negativity of one’s karmic deed committed and accumulated. The most important cause for one’s birth in the hell realm is the deed committed and accumulated out of hatred, maliciousness, or malevolence. No bodhisattva would like to teach a sentient how to be born (karmically) in the hell, but if one insists he might tell us that the surest way to guarantee a place in the hell is to commit as much hatred- and maliciousness-motivated deeds as possible! There is also an interesting idea in Tantric Buddhism that there are only two destinations for a Mantric practitioner (like a snake in bamboo tube): one either attains Vajradharahood or takes birth in the hell. This hell is often called *vajranāraka (rdo rje dmyal ba). Although the Sanskrit source is not known to me, the Tibetan word can be found in some works in the bKa’ ’gyur and bsTan ’gyur. It is also used, for example, by gNubs-chen in his verses of epilogue of his bSam ta mig sgron (p. 503). The analogy of a snake in a bamboo pipe, I remember, has been used by A-ro Ye-shes-’byung-gnas in his Theg chen rnal ’byor la ’jug pa (Katja Thiesen’s Magister Thesis). It can also be found in what is known as the Jo bo’i gsung ’bum. See also the Bai ro’i rgyud ’bum (vol. 1, p. 288.5). The question is whether *vajranāraka is just another name for the lowest of the eighteen hells, or is it a separate hell, that is, one at the bottom of all hells. I think Tibetan scholars discuss this. What happens when our world dissolves? The hell habitats themselves will be dissolved but those hell inhabitants, who have not yet exhausted their karmic consequences, will be automatically be transferred to hells in other world systems. I thought Schmithausen has suggested, I do not remember where, that this problem of relocating hell inhabitants, who have not yet exhausted their karmic consequences, may have contributed to the development of Buddhist cosmology. Need to check! One last question: Do all Buddhist sources or systems really believe that such hells exist literally (and not just metaphorically)? What Śāntideva says might appeal to some modern rationality-inclined individuals, namely, that the damsels in the hell realms, who lure one to suffering, are actually nothing but projections of one’s unwholesome mind. But then is it also not said that our human realm, too, is just a projection of our mind? PS. (a) Si-tu-paṇ-chen in his bKa’ ’gyur dkar chag (p. 27) alludes to rdo rje khab rtse’i dmyal ba (according to the Kālacakra tradition), being the eighth hell. (b) See also Wangchuk 2009 (i.e. “A Relativity Theory of the Purity and Validity of Perception in Indo-Tibetan Buddhism”), where I also point out that, somewhat like what we find in John Milton’s poem, according to some Buddhist sources, too, one can make a heaven out of hell and hell out of heaven.

A Note on Bya-bral Sangs-rgyas-rdo-rje’s (1913–2015) Vegetarianism

I have neither studied the life and works of Bya-bral Sangs-rgyas-rdo-rje (1913–2015), a leading Tibetan Buddhist master of the rNying-ma (“Ancient”) Order, nor am I an expert on the subject of vegetarianism. Nonetheless, I wish to make a note on Bya-bral Rin-po-che’s endorsement of vegetarianism. One of his legacies is certainly his active propagation of vegetarianism and his engagement in the freeing animals. Modern scholars have begun  to take interest in the phenomenon of vegetarianism in societies of the past and present impregnated with Tibetan Buddhism. I recently came to know sNying-byams-rgyal (I hope my orthography is correct) in Cracow, a young bright scholar from A-mdo, who is studying the phenomenon of vegetarianism in present Tibetan society (especially in East Tibet). I was told that a scholar in Japan (i.e. a student of Professor Chizuko Yoshimitsu from Tsukuba University and whose name I have not registered) has also been studying the effects of vegetarianism in the traditionally meat-eating nomadic society, and especially impacts of practicing vegetarianism on pregnant nomadic women. There seem to be also other unanticipated problems that practice of vegetarianism brings along for the Tibetan society. Let us, however, wait for the findings of sNying-byams-rgyal. A few points that he shared with us during the recent conference in Cracow struck me. According to him, vegetarianism in Tibet has also become an instrument of polemical or sectarian divide. The popular cliché is that the rNying-ma masters propagate vegetarianism whereas the dGe-lugs masters propagate meat-eating. Like  any other cliché, there are some elements of truth in it but, as a cliché usually is, it is also dangerously over-simplifying and caricatural. We cannot, however, deny that Tibetan masters in Tibet who propagate vegetarianism are rNying-ma masters (e.g. mKhan-po Tshul-khrims-blo-gros from gSer-rta). But many master from other schools, too, propagate vegetarianism. I personally happen to know, for example, Jo-nang master ’Jam-dbyangs-blo-gros Rin-po-che from ’Dzam-thang), who also practices vegetarianism. Outside Tibet,  Bya-bral Rin-po-che has been the main proponent of vegetarianism among the rNying-ma masters. Although a bundle of different motives and arguments are possible, his main argument seems to be an ethical one, that is, meat-eating is not in tune with the fundamental Buddhist ethical-spiritual precept of non-injury and of refraining from taking life. The ethical argument is perhaps the primary argument for all proponents of  vegetarianism within and without Tibet. In addition, vegetarianism within and without Tibet seems to have been compelled by societal circumstances. That is, it sounds simply inappropriate for a Tibetan Buddhist master who has a great number of Chinese disciples hailing from a Chinese Buddhist society with a strong  tendency for vegetarianism. Similarly, in Dharamsala, for example, one would not usually get beef dumplings. Not selling or consuming beef in such a societal context is a mark of certain consideration for the social environment. It seems simply inappropriate to eat beef in a largely Hindu society, where cows are regarded sacred. If one were to live in a Jewish or Islamic society, it would be similarly appropriate to relinquish pork. Such a Buddhist compliance to society is expressed by the Buddhist dictum: “The code of discipline should conform the place” (’dul ba yul dang bstun). Śāntideva, too, has advised (Bodhicaryāvatāra 5.93cd): “All those that would cause disproval of the world should be abandoned after having seen and asked” (’jig rten ma dad gyur pa kun || mthong dang dris te spang bar bya ||). So Buddhist monasteries in South Asia now seem to serve only vegetarian food. This does not, however, mean that all Buddhist monks living in monasteries are vegetarian. When one hears of Tibetan Buddhist masters such as Bya-bral Rin-po-che propagating vegetarianism, one might suspect these masters to be somewhat like the so-called “peace activists” who, with full of hate, resort to violence. In other words, one may suspect them to be vegetarian dictators or despots, who threaten or employ psychological terror: “If you eat meat, you are not my disciple.” Or worse still: “If you eat meat, you are not a Buddhist.” Such rigidity or radicality would seem to be contrarious to what one would believe is the very attitude and approach of the historical Buddha. I heard my German professor often say that the historical Buddha is often attributed of stating: “One should refrain killing even an ant.” But, according to him, he never prescribed to what extent one should refrain from killing. A total refrainment from killing a sentient being is practically impossible, that is, if one continues to exist. But just imagine the Buddha telling me: “If you kill a microorganism (e.g. bacteria), you are not my follower (or a Buddhist).” This would mean that to be a Buddhist, I should cease to exist! Ānanda, having obtained clairvoyance one day, is said to have stopped drinking water, because he could see that his drinking water was full of microorganisms. But the Buddha just told him: “Drink!” So to what extent should one refrain from harming other sentient beings? The Bodhisattvabhūmi would have told us: yathāśakti yathābalam. Indeed, the answer really seems to be “as much as one can” or “to the best of one’s capacity.” But how much is “as much as one can”? That has to be decided by oneself. One alone is a witness to whether one has done one’s best. Returning to Bya-bral Rin-po-che, I was curious to know how apodictic or radical is his propagation of vegetarianism. So I tried to listen to some videos containing his statements on vegetarianism. It became clear to me that he recommends (but does not demand or dictate) a vegetarian diet primarily on ethical grounds. More importantly, however, he clearly states that one should refrain from meat-eating “if one can.” If one cannot at all give up meat-eating (i.e. for whatever reason), he suggests to refrain from meat-eating at least on the four auspicious days (dus bzang) in the Buddhist calendar, such as on the Buddha’s birthday. In short, he is not at all apodictic or radical about his propagation of vegetarianism. One should refrain from meat-eating as much as one can. If the Buddha were to live today, he would have said the same thing. In this and many other regards, I would say that Buddhavajra (Sangs-rgyas-rdo-rje) is very much like the Buddha (Sangs-rgyas).

Buddhist Agathology and Buddhist Ponerology

The Buddhist doctrine of the good and the bad; wholesome and unwholesome; pure and impure; their nature, causes, and effects. Why is something or someone good or bad? What make it good or bad? What about neutrality or mixture of the good or bad? Is there anything that could be intrinsically good or bad? Consider the figure Devadatta! Is he personification of the evil? Stories in the Jātaka is full of good and bad people, good and bad deeds, good and bad heart? What would be a good or bad thought and deed? What about the allegory of Maṭam Rudra?

Agathokakology in Buddhism

What the hell is “agathokakology”? This word is not found in the Merriam-Webster online. But “agathokakological” is listed as one of the twelve “oversized words.” It is said to mean “composed of both good and evil.” And I cite here what is said about the word: “Agathokakological is likely the creation of Robert Southey, a reviewer and poet who was born in Bristol in the late 18th century. This thorny mouthful is made by combining the Greek roots agath- (good), kako- (a variant of cac-, meaning bad), and -logical (the adjectival suffix based on logos, meaning word). Southey was exceedingly fond of peppering his writing with new coinages (The Oxford English Dictionary lists him as the earliest known author for almost 400 words), very few of which have caught on. The reason for this is that most of them tend to be rather unwieldy, and we haven’t much need to adopt such specimens as futilitarian (a person devoted to futility), batrachophagous (frog-eating), and epistolization (letter writing) in our everyday discourse.” I would like to understand “agathokakology” as the theory of two opposite poles of good and evil that are considered contradictory and are yet natural in a person, place, or time. Recently, I happened to tell my students that the Tibetan Buddhist term rten ’brel (short form of rten cing ’brel bar ’byung ba) seems to be used in the Tibetan cultural context at least in three ways. The first usage is in the sense of “dependent arising.” This is the primary usage. The second usage is in the sense of “auspicious or inauspicious coincidence” (e.g. coming across a person carrying a pot full or empty of water). One can say it was a good rten ’brel or a bad rten ’brel. The third usage is in the sense of the co-existence of good and bad (or two opposed poles) in any time or place. It is a rten ’brel that Devadatta co-existed with Buddha, and that Tīrthikas and Bauddhas in India, Bon and Buddhist in Tibet, profound Dharma and staunch Māra, and the like, co-existed. Perhaps also the idea that a human being is born with lhan cig skyes pa’i lha and lhan cig skyes pa’i ’dre may be relevant here. I also wonder about the history of the idea of lhan cig skyes pa’i lha and lhan cig skyes pa’i ’dre.

Three Types of Historian

Some of my friends and students must be tired of hearing this: “We do philology because we have to. We do philosophy because we want to.” Those of us who love to do Buddhist philosophy of the past have no choice but to do Buddhist philology as well. Because, in my view, there can be no (textual) Wortphilologie without (contentual-contextual) Sachphilologie, and no Sachphilologie without Wortphilologie, philology must necessarily be an academic discipline that deals with both and one that seeks to gain a diachronic and synchronic views of the texts and ideas. As such philology is inextricably linked his history. A philologist is necessarily also a historian of ideas. But what kind of a historian are we talking about? This reminds me of the typology of historian proposed once by Edward Conze. According to him, there are three types of historian: scientific, humanistic, and transcendental. I quote (Conze 1967 = 2000: 28): “The first studies a butterfly after killing it and fixing it with a pin into a glass case, where it lies quite still and can leisurely be inspected from all angles. The second lets it fly in the sun, and looks wonderingly at its pretty ways. The third assures us that a man will know a butterfly only if he becomes one.” Using the idea of intellectual deconstruction (i.e. rigs pas gzhig pa) and physical destruction  (i.e. gnyen pos gzhig pa), I would like to propose that what a historian of ideas usually seeks to do is to pursue analytical dissection but not a physical one, and hence one actually does not have to kill the butterfly. Or, after having analytically dissected the object of study with one’s prajñā, one can, out of one’s karuṇā, assemble all the parts and put them back to its original form.

Buddhist Philosophy on actus reus and mens rea?

Here is a random thought that just popped up in my mind. It is said that the expressions actus reus and mens rea were developed in English Law and were derived from the principle stated by Edward Coke, namely, actus non facit reum nisi mens sit rea (“an act does not make a person guilty unless (their) mind is also guilty”). Hence the general test of guilt is said to be one that requires proof of fault, culpability or blameworthiness both in thought and action. I know that we have been repeatedly warned of the pitfalls and perils of comparing Eastern and Western ideas. Nonetheless, I cannot help thinking of the Buddhist idea that the wholesomeness, unwholesomeness, or neutrality of an action is always determined by the wholesomeness, unwholesomeness, or neutrality of intention or motivation. It also seems worth bearing in mind that an action or deed (which, by the way, must be by definition volitional) can only then be considered karmically efficacious or potent if it has been committed with the right gzhi, bsam pa, sbyor ba, and mthar thug. Thus one speaks of byas la bsags pa’i las (“committed-and-accumulated karmic deed”) and byas la ma bsags pa’i las (“committed-but-not-accumulated karmic deed”). There is thus the possibility (also in Buddhism) for making a difference between, for example, “murder” and “manslaughter.” Suppose I have accumulated tons of negative karmic deeds but what would happen to my karmic loads if I were to suddenly attain Arhatship and pass way into the restless nirvāṇa? (Note that negative karmic deeds need not necessary bar one to attain Arhatship.) That would be a bad luck for my karma! In German, one would say: “Karma hat eben Pech gehabt!”

Buddhist Vegetarianology

Recently in a conference in Düsseldorf, a colleague protested every time someone employed a term already used in some Western intellectual culture and context, to such an extent that one began to feel that Buddhist ideas should be transported in its target language without employing the target language at all. Or, one can only try to express Buddhist ideas in English, for example, by leaving all the technical terms in its source language (e.g. Sanskrit, Chinese, and Tibetan) un-translated. Or, as I often do for the sheer fun of it, create new terms. “Buddhist vegetarianology” is one such neologism. But in our digital age, one is bound to realize that whatever term one wishes to coin has already been coined by someone else although not in the same context that one prefers to employ. The term “vegetarianology” can already be found on the web though not in any standard literary or reference work. “Buddhist vegetarianology” is to be understood here as the “study of the idea of vegetarianism found in Buddhist literature and culture.” It would naturally also include the study of Buddhist attitude towards meat-eating. One the one hand, it is perhaps inappropriate for a non-vegetarian to talk about the topic of vegetarianism in Buddhism. On the other hand, I could still try to play the role of a śrāvaka who transmits the teachings of a bodhisattva. The analogy of a bodhisattva giving śrāvaka teachings would not work here. My interest here is in knowing the history of the idea of vegetarianism in Buddhism. Lambert Schmithausen has pursued in-depth studies on the topic from a historical-philological perspective and also, in my view, shown the possibility for contemporary Buddhists to make creative and innovative reorientation without having to deny the historical development of vegetarianism and non-vegetarianism in Buddhism. He is currently pursuing a major study on the topic. Anyone interested in the topic would greatly benefit from his hitherto pertinent and forthcoming publications. What follows is a small attempt to understand a fragment of the paper that he recently gave in Düsseldorf.

§1. The crux of the problem is that basically meat-eating is permissible for both ordained and lay Buddhists, whereas killing of animals, insofar as it is an unwholesome action, should be refrained by both ordained and lay Buddhists. The difficulty, in other words, is how to reconcile the permission of meat-eating and prohibition of (or abstention from) injuring sentient beings (ahiṁsā). Of the three kinds of Buddhists, it must have been the most difficult for Buddhists who were fishermen, hunters, butchers, and kings (like Aśoka) to eat meat and yet abstain from killing animals. For Buddhists who were merchants, artisans, and the like, it was possible to eat meat without having to kill an animal (i.e. by buying meat in the market). For ordained persons, it was much easier to eat meat (if offered as alms) without having to kill an animal. Initially (perhaps) both ordained Buddhists and Jain ascetics were supposed to live on the leftovers of meals of lay families. 

§2. Unlike Jain ascetics, Buddhist monks and nuns, however, were also permitted to accept food prepared specially for them and even accept invitations. This must have created a new difficulty. A Buddhist monk or nun could get indirectly involved in the killing if the animal was killed just him or her. Jains must have made this accusation against the Buddhist order. Thus in order to avoid a direct or close causal association with the act of killing and in order to avoid such an accusation by the Jains, ordained monks and nuns were permitted to accept meat (and fish) only if pure from three points of view (trikoṭipariśuddha: rnam gsum dag pa). 

§3. Meat-eating, in whatever form, had yet another difficulty. It did not conform the norms of asceticism inasmuch as meat and fish (like ghee, butter, milk, sesamum oil, honey, and molasses) were considered exquisite food and hence as luxury. Unlike non-Buddhist radical ascetics, who abstained from meat and fish as elements of severe austerities, Buddhists renunciants were permitted to accept any food and consume it in moderation, be it exquisite or frugal. Unless ill, they were not permitted to ask for exquisite food. For early Buddhism, the emphasis was not so much on external asceticism but rather on inner asceticism (as a kind of inner detachment). There are indications in early Buddhism that there has been certain shift in setting the degree of the stringency of asceticism. On the one hand, there has been a tendency of certain laxation in asceticism (e.g. invitations were acceptable and alms-tour reduced to optional). On the other hand, there was an opposite tendency of rigidization of asceticism (e.g. calling for a strict and obligatory adherence to severe practices). In the various versions of the Vinaya (except that of the Mahāsāṃghikas), there is a report of an attempt of categorical prohibition of meat and fish (and, in some sources, even ghee, milk and salt), which is, however, associated with Devadatta and explicitly rejected. According to one version of the Mūlasarvāstivādavinaya, Devadatta calls for a ban on meat-eating not on the grounds of ascetism but on the grounds of ethicism (i.e. meat-eating presupposes the killing of animals). 

§4. Eating special kinds of meat (e.g. of human, dog, horse, elephant, snake, etc.) was problematic for reasons of tabooism or social in-acceptability, which could jeopardize the social prestige of the Buddhist order. 

§5. Eating special kinds of meat (e.g. of predators) and eating of meat and fish by certain monks such as those who practice in the cemeteries have been seen as problematic for security reasons and hence should be abstained for the sake of self-protection. 

§6. In short, in early Buddhism, there was no total prohibition of meat-eating for the ordained as well as lay persons. There were only certain restrictions, especially for ordained persons, mainly to anonymize and dissociate them from responsibility for the killing, to avoid loss of social prestige, and for self-protection. But there was a tendency to rigidify ascetism by calling for the prohibition of meat-eating and also on the ground of ethicism. 

§7. But there was also tendency of an idealization of a world or epoch without meat-eating, and thus, so to speak, towards vegetarianism. 

§8. Only one (and not even a strong) strand of Indian Mahāyāna Buddhism calls for abstention from meat-eating. 

§9. Mahāyānic scriptures such as the Ratnameghasūtra, Hastikakṣyasūtra, Mahāmeghasūtra, Mahāparinirvāṇamahāsūtra, Aṅgulimālīyasūtra, Laṅkāvatārasūtra, and the like are said to propose vegetarianism to varying degrees and with shared or specific arguments. On the one hand, one can find inauguration of new ideas in accordance with the fundamentals of Mahāyāna spirituality and on the other hand practical adaptations to social developments. This was considered necessary for the social reputation of the bodhisatvas and the Buddhist Order. Some of the arguments for total abstention from meat-eating found in these sources may be called “self-protection argument,” “altruism-argument” (DW), “all-beings-are-my-relatives argument” (LS), in which case meat-eating would amount to endo-cannibalism, tathāgatagarbha (or “one-and-same-element argument” (DW), in which case meat-eating would amount to autophagy, “physical-social-impurity argument” (DW), “complicity-argument” (DW) or “consumer-argument” (LS), and so on. 

§10. Schmithausen has not dealt with the abstention of meat-eating in the Kriyā system of Mantrayāna. One possible implicit argument would be the “physical-impurity argument.” Meat-eating would render one impure and unfit as a recipient of the mundane and supra-mundane siddhis. 

§12. Vegetarianism has been propagated strongly by several past and present prominent Tibetan Buddhist masters, occasionally even to the detriment of the health of some nomadic people (e.g. pregnant women) in Tibet and in Tibetan cultural sphere. A systematic study of their arguments for the abstention of meat-eating would be worth a study. 

§13. Lastly a point from a certain Tibetan Buddhist (Tantric) perspective may be made. “Meat is eaten by one who has compassion. Alcohol is drunk by one who has Tantric commitment” (sha snying rje can gyis bza’ || chang dam tshig can gyis ’thung ||). So it is said. This might sound like an excuse for one’s greed. I have heard some Tibetan masters say that one may eat meat only if one can eat it as if one were forced to eat the meat of one’s only child. That is, with so much compassion and remorse, and with no greed or pleasure whatsoever. The bottom-line, for some Tibetan masters, would be, if you eat meat, eat it with compassion. If you abstain from it, do so out of compassion. An Atiyogin would, however, neither demand meat nor reject it.