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).
(Personal blog of Dorji Wangchuk (Kuliśeśvara) for philosophical reflection, speculation, and deliberation)
Thursday, January 7, 2016
Thursday, December 24, 2015
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?
Saturday, November 21, 2015
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.
Monday, October 19, 2015
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!”
Saturday, September 5, 2015
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.
Thursday, September 3, 2015
My Short Experiment with Vegetarianism
Until high school, I never ate chicken and mutton (i.e.
goat’s meat). This has partly to do with my direct witness of how some Indian
teachers slaughtered goats or cocks or hens. Once they even demanded that I
helped in the act. I refused and locked myself in in an empty classroom. Our
family did eat dried beef, pork, and fish but often only on
special occasions such as the New Year. We also used to eat meat of a
cow, for example, that died a natural death. We never reared animals for meat.
As children we were forbidden to mention the word “meat” in front of our
domestic animals, especially cows. “Meat of killed animal” (bsad sha)
used to be a taboo and meat of a just-killed animal even a greater taboo. Once
my mother almost killed me for daring to eat sausage made from such a kind of
meat.
In the high school, I ate meat (probably buffalo meat) on Tuesdays
and Fridays because the school provided it. As a monk in a Tibetan Buddhist
monastic seminary, I tried to be a vegetarian for a few months. In those days,
monasteries and monks were very poor and resources very scarce. An ex-monk of
Paṇ-chen-bla-ma cooked for the monks in the seminary. He used to smoke biḍī (a kind of cheap Indian cigarette). As
a dGe-lugs ex-monk he had no sense of guilt in consuming the intoxicant. “The
Buddha did not prohibit smoking,” he would say. “It was Slob-dpon Rin-po-che
who did.” He did not feel obliged to heed to the instructions of
Slob-dpon Rin-po-che because, according to him, he had “women” (skye dman).
He despised all bla mas
who had “women.” He would show his little finger to vent his detestation for
them. Dil-mgo-mkhyen-brtse Rin-po-che was no exception. He despised him too. He
used to say that “a Bhutanese bla
ma with woman scratched
everything away from Pad-nor Rin-po-che and that monks were left with nothing
to eat.” He was referring to the offerings Pad-nor Rin-po-che made after
Dil-mgo-mkhyen-brtse Rin-po-che bestowed initiations and transmission of
Mi-pham’s works. In order to tease him, I would tell him “Paṇ-chen Rin-po-che,
too, had woman.” He would stand there fuming with biḍī and anger. He had tremendous respect
for Pad-nor Rin-po-che not the least because he was a a fully-ordained Buddhist
monk (bhikṣu: dge slong). So he volunteered to cook for
Pad-nor Rin-po-che’s monks in the seminary. Of course, provisions were provided
by Pad-nor Rin-po-che. Most monks dedicated to acquiring Dharmic knowledge were
full of gratitude for receiving knowledge, accommodation, and food for free.
Mi-la-ras-pa could have only dreamt of such a facility! Note that Mar-pa told
him very sternly that he can expect from him either Dharma (chos)
or food-and-clothes (lto gos) but not both! The cook turned out not
to be the kindest person or the most competent cook on earth. The tea he would
prepare would smell and look smoky. Its temperature would be either cold or
lukewarm. The tea and the rice porridge he made would contain biḍī butts. Rice would often be half-cooked
or burnt. The roasted maize-flour would be full of sands. Two monks were
assigned to assist the cook for two weeks. If those two monks made better food
or tea, he would become jealous. To spoil their work, he would, for example,
even pour a bucket of cold water into a caldron of ready-to-eat rice porridge.
To minimize the damage, the two monks had to somehow keep the cook happy. Only
two things could make him happy. (a) Let him cook as he wished. (b) Buy him a
bottle of ara (i.e. alcohol) and a packet of biḍī. Hardly anyone would
complain. Even teachers would
mix some sandy tsam pa with some lukewarm biḍī-smelling tea, turn into a
brew and sip at it. If one slightly shook the dented steel-bowl with the
concoction, one could hear the sound of sand-sediments rubbing against the
steel. Only once I heard a senior teacher reprimand the cook saying the
Rin-po-che is providing the provisions for the saṃgha and that these should by no means be
wasted. Another teacher, however, would reprimand any monk who complained. “The
door is open in both ways,” he would say. “Nobody invited you to come. If you
are displeased, you may leave the seminary any time.” He was right. Some monks
would leave; others would stay behind biting their lips and biting sandy tsam pas. I stayed. Occasionally there
would be meat. If one is lucky one might be able to fish out a piece of meat or
bone in the porridge or cabbage or potato dish. There would be no
vegetarian alternative. Once I told the cook that I don’t eat meat. He told me
that I should then only take the soup or put aside the meat pieces (in
any). Under such circumstances, the only way one could be a vegetarian was
to buy one’s own vegetarian food. I had no money and so vegetarianism was a
luxury for me. So I relinquished my short-lived vegetarian diet. Since then I
eat meat but I try not to eat meat so often. I know I have no other excuse for
my meat-eating except my greed and my inability to relinquish “exquisite” food.
I am often guilt-ridden for eating meat and have much respect for those
who relinquish meat for whatever motives. One thing seems clear: If I had to
kill an animal myself to obtain its meat for myself, perhaps I would never eat
meat.
Apropos, I am tempted to share this story. It is said that once a German lady witnessed the Dalai Lama eating a piece of steak onboard a plane. She went up to him and said: “I thought Buddhists do not eat meat.” The Dalai Lama retorted: “Those are the good Buddhists.”
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