Tags
Absolutely Fabulous, authenticity, Dick Cheney, drugs, fundamentalism, identity, Kyle (blogger), Marcus (blogger), Śāntideva, Scott Mitchell, Ugraparipṛcchā Sūtra
Justin Whitaker’s blog pointed me to some interesting recent discussions of what it means to be a Buddhist, among Buddhist bloggers mostly of the Yavanayāna persuasion. Blogger Marcus (no last name provided) threw down a strongly worded gauntlet last week: “The fact is, if you are serious about Buddhism, you don’t drink. The Buddha’s words couldn’t be clearer.”
I have at least two objections to Marcus’s claim about alcohol. First, we fail at our chosen life goals all the time; we may be serious about following Buddhism, believe that therefore we shouldn’t drink, and still drink anyway. That may make us bad at Buddhism, but it doesn’t make us unserious. Second, matters are often not so cut and dried. It would be hard to say that Śāntideva was not serious about Buddhism – he became a lifelong monk and tried hard to live according to the words of the Buddha as he understood them. But he actually advocates (following the Mahāyāna Ugraparipṛcchā Sūtra, which at least claims to be the word of the Buddha) that one give alcohol to alcohol drinkers, as a way of winning their trust. (I discuss this point briefly the fourth chapter of my dissertation, and am writing an article on it in more detail.)
On the specific matter of alcohol, I tend to disagree with Marcus. But the discussion among Buddhist bloggers centred around bigger issues, where I think Marcus was quite right. Kyle of The Reformed Buddhist (who also appears to go without a last name) made a number of objections to Marcus, some of which I think are valid, some not so. But at the core of his reaction seems to be his first sentence: “Sigh the whole you’re no Buddhist thing again.” [emphases his] He seems in this post to take offence to the idea that someone could declare someone else to not be a Buddhist, or not be a serious Buddhist. In this he would seem to be agreeing with a slightly earlier post by Scott Mitchell of The Buddha Is My DJ. Mitchell opposes the claim made by some Buddhists (presumably including Marcus?) that their Buddhism is better or (or more “authentic”) than others’: “feel free to define yourself and your Buddhist practice. But stop doing it as a means to differentiate yourself from some “other” kind of Buddhist.”
Here I’ve got issues. Kyle’s and Mitchell’s positions are far from unusual. They are quite close, in fact, to the general scholarly consensus in Buddhist studies on how we define Buddhism: anyone who calls herself a Buddhist, is a Buddhist. Who are we to tell others that they are not Buddhists?
I’m surprised that that rhetorical question gets asked so much, because it has such an obvious answer: we are people who have tried to think about what Buddhism actually is, that’s what we are. You could similarly ask “Who are we to tell others that they are not peanut butter sandwiches?” The fact that someone calls himself a peanut butter sandwich does not actually make him one.
To say that all people who call themselves Buddhists are in fact Buddhist is effectively to say that there is no such thing as Buddhism, that being a Buddhist means nothing at all. It authorizes people like the character Edina from Absolutely Fabulous, who claims to be a Buddhist because she wants to have her ashes scattered on the Ganges when she dies, and lives a shallow hedonistic life in wish she never thinks or acts at all about ending suffering. (“Buddhologist” scholars often don’t care about this implication, because they’re studying the tradition entirely from outside anyway – the truths in Buddhism don’t matter to them.)
Or, to use an example that I think might be more persuasive in the present context: Suppose Dick Cheney were to declare himself a Buddhist today, but carry on acting exactly as he did in every other respect, advocating mass murder and the despoiling of the natural environment for the sake of his oil buddies’ profits. Would you still say Cheney’s is a Buddhism as legitimate and serious as that of S?riputta or Thich Nhat Hanh? If so, I don’t see why you call yourself a Buddhist in the first place: being a Buddhist is no different whatsoever from not being a Buddhist. (NB to conservative readers: I have no interest in getting into a discussion of whether this is an accurate characterization of Cheney; the point is to use an example that resonates with the liberal Buddhists whose points I’m addressing.)
Scott Mitchell, meanwhile, says: “The problem is when you make the claim that your Buddhism is more ‘authentic’ than someone else’s Buddhism (because, ahem, that’s the very definition of fundamentalism)…” Well, yes, except that it isn’t. Show me any scholarly article, or any dictionary entry, that defines “fundamentalism” in terms of identifying your tradition as more authentic than another’s. (I’ve voiced my own concerns with the concept of authenticity before, but “fundamentalism” is far from among them.) The central feature of Protestant and Muslim fundamentalism is unbending scriptural literalism, which is quite a different thing. Other bloggers have joked that “fundamentalism is any tradition more theologically conservative than mine,” and that seems to be the root of Mitchell’s definition: a discomfort that anyone could tell him or others he is doing something wrong.
But as far as I can tell, being told you’re doing something wrong is the whole point of identifying with a tradition in the first place. I don’t call myself a Buddhist (yet, at least) because there’s too much in the tradition I strongly disagree with. But if I did, I would do it because it’s important to have guidance, to have others calling you out when you do something that’s not conducive to you being a better person. If being a Buddhist means there’s no problem with doing anything you want, why bother being one in the first place?
Now that the school year has begun, starting next week, I’m going to move from a thrice-weekly to a twice-weekly blogging schedule: posting Sunday and Wednesday rather than Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday. I want to make sure I have regular content that’s worth coming back for, and with the semester on I don’t have time to do that three times a week.
Hi,
Interesting points. And, no surprise here, I find myself nodding along in agreement to most. Thank you.
But please allow me to go back a moment to those sentences of mine which you quote and which started this recent blogoshpere discussion off:
“The fact is, if you are serious about Buddhism, you don’t drink. The Buddha’s words couldn’t be clearer.”
I certainly stand by the second sentence. But perhaps now, in hindsight, I should have re-phrased the first to say “The fact is, if you are serious about Buddhism, you ASPIRE NOT TO drink”.
My original point was not to try to say a sip of alcohol makes you a non-Buddhist, which is clearly nonsense, rather, it was written in response to those who think that excessive drinking can somehow be an integral part of a Buddhist lifestyle.
In contrast to this I continue to stand by the words of the Buddha and look towards Master Thich Naht Hahn: “To persuade one person to refrain from drinking is to make the world safer for us all.”
May all, drinkers and non-drinkers alike, be safe and well,
Marcus
Thanks, Marcus. I think your revision is a very good one. My main difference, as I note in response to Barry’s comment below, is that I disagree with many of what I consider to be the Buddha’s teachings, though I certainly respect them. But I join you in wishing for the safety and well-being of the world.
I hope you’ll stick around on the blog from time to time!
On Tuesday I posted a short piece on the “Desire for Sleep” and used alcohol consumption to illustrate how this desire plays out for many people.
http://www.oxherding.com/my_weblog/2009/09/the-five-desires-sleep.html
You might find the post interesting, but you might find the comments even more interesting.
Two commentators suggested that the Buddha’s teaching represented his “opinions,” were his “advice,” were “provisional” and were contingent on time and place.
Because of this relative nature of Buddha’s teaching, it was asserted, one could not say (as Buddha did) that one should abstain from alcohol consumption.
Personally, I have little interest in what makes a person a “Buddhist.” But I do have some considerable interest in waking up from the dreams of self, permanence and satisfactoriness.
In light of that aspiration, assertions that Buddha’s fundamental teachings are contingent seem to me the stuff of nightmare.
Thanks for your post.
Hi Barry – thanks very much! I really like your blog and I’ve added it to my feed. I hope you’ll stick around.
I agree with the general thrust of your comments, here and there. Two differences: one, the Buddha in the Pali suttas does talk about at least certain teachings being in some sense provisional. Mahāyāna Buddhists really run with this idea, of course, using it to justify all sorts of ideas that differ significantly from the early teachings. But even if you’re trying to follow the historical Buddha of the early scriptures, as I recall even there, he does claim to adapt some teachings to his audience. I think it’s possible to overstate this idea, and it’s very tempting to do so; then any teaching you don’t like can be interpreted as a skillful means, so that you learn nothing at all. And I doubt that the prohibition on alcohol was intended that way, given how often it’s repeated. Still, I think it’s important to keep the point in mind.
My second difference is probably the more fundamental one: I don’t claim to be following the Buddha’s teaching myself, not as a whole anyway. I do drink regularly (and unapologetically). More importantly to my mind, I’m getting married and have had sex before marriage, and while I know the Buddha allows for these in the Sig?lov?da Sutta and elsewhere, I think they’re still understood as a second-best option. Marcus’s rephrased version is quite right, that if you’re serious about Buddhism you aspire not to drink; but I think similarly that if you’re serious about Buddhism you aspire not to have sex or get married. And in those respects I am not serious about Buddhism – not that I don’t care about Buddhism, but that I think there were things the Buddha was wrong about. I’m quite willing to allow the possibility that the Buddha was wiser than me and that I’m just misleading myself about the real truth, but that’s not how it seems to me based on my consideration of the evidence so far.
Here ya go doc.
http://buddhareform.blogspot.com/2009/09/i-am-peanut-butter-sandwich.html
Amod, I think the fact that your NOT a Buddhist disqualifies you from writing this post – let alone saying who and who isn’t a peanut butter sandwich. How do you know who is and who isn’t? How very fundamentalist of you.
Just kidding of course.
Loved this line: ‘”…(because, ahem, that’s the very definition of fundamentalism)…” Well, yes, except that it isn’t.’
I guess I can strike the term ‘fundamentalist’ from my CV :)
And hey, wrong post for the comment but – CONGRATULATIONS!
Thanks, Justin! These are good times, and I’m glad you liked the post. (Thanks for the links, too.) You sure don’t seem like a fundamentalist to me!
When I was teaching Bible, I encountered a lot of people who thought nothing of making strong normative statements about what, e.g., Judaism “really” “is” and who therefore does or does not qualify as a Jew. Often the most vehement arguments came from people who were not Jews themselves but who were confident in categorizing people as such (or as not-such). Thus I had lots of conversations like this:
“Anyone who eats pork is obviously not a real Jew.”
“Plenty of Jews eat pork. There are entire Jewish sects that assert that kashrut rules are no longer binding in the modern world.”
“But it says in the Bible!”
“You don’t think a Jewish community can interpret the Bible for itself? You don’t think they have the authority to decide how Biblical teaching will affect their lives?”
“But how can they interpret it to mean the opposite of what it says?”
“They have lots of justifications for how they live their lives; some come from the Bible and some don’t. And the ones that come from the Bible are often interpreted in ways you might not expect, thanks to a very long tradition of Talmudic law.”
“Well, they’re… they’re just wrong, then.”
“I’ll be sure to let them know you said that.”
There are a lot of historical issues at play here, including a triumphalist/supersessionist antisemitism that manages to infect even the students who are not personally Christian. But I find it happens with dominant traditions too: I wish I had a nickel for every atheist who’s declared loudly in my classes that a) the Vatican’s rules about, e.g., birth control, are stupid and barbaric, AND b) that Catholics who choose to use birth control are not “actually” Catholics.
As a result of these conversations, I’ve developed a lot of sympathy for the position that a member of a religion is permitted to set the terms of her own relationship to it. For centuries, people on the ground have lived very different lives than the ones you’d extrapolate from the rules codified in the Vatican or the Talmud. This is not a bad thing. In fact, I think we’re being intellectually dishonest if we ignore the “little traditions” and focus exclusively on what’s codified in canon law or whatever.
I’m not disagreeing with your broader point, which is that religion is, among other things, a set of ideals, and that it doesn’t make any sense to ignore ideals in favour of paste-on labels. But I don’t have a lot of patience for people who define traditions by a checklist (even if the checklist comes from the Vatican), rather than by engaging with actual communities in the world. I especially dislike it when it’s done in bad faith, as a way to “catch out” the members of a hated religion for being Either Barbarians Or Hypocrites. (I’m not accusing YOU of doing this, Amod — I’m just saying it’s a danger.) It’s for this same reason, in fact, that I really loathe the tendency to put behatted Hasidim on the covers of religion 101 textbooks. I think a lot of us (including me, sometimes) instinctively assume that a Hasid is “more Jewish” than a Reform chick in a T-shirt. That assumption really bothers me.
tl;dr: Personally I trust a Jewish community to understand its relationship to kosher law much more than I trust a sophomore atheist brandishing the Cliffs Notes on Leviticus. And if that community decides that such-and-such a rule doesn’t apply to their dietary practice for whatever reason, then I don’t think it’s my place to tell them they’re not Jewish “enough.”
Certainly I trust an established Jewish community to understand its relationship to kosher law – and more broadly the nature of its community and identity – more than a sophomore atheist. On the other hand, I would trust a Protestant-raised atheist with a PhD in Jewish studies from U of T to understand the same thing more than I would trust someone raised Jewish who’s never read the Torah and been to two seders in his life. For me that trust is a matter of expertise and learning, not of insider identity. The two often go together, but not always.
I don’t think it’s necessarily always intellectually dishonest to ignore the “little traditions.” It depends on the purpose of our study. If what we’re trying to do in introducing students to Confucianism (say) is help them understand Chinese people when they visit China, then yes, we do them a great disservice if we just have them read Mencius and the Analects and leave it at that. But if the point is to learn something of meaning and value to our own lives, I’d say the odds are we’ll get more from learning about Mencius than learning about some random guy on the street in modern China. This isn’t to say that everyday people in whatever tradition have nothing to teach us – I think they do – but it’s probably best learned through direct contact with them, and yes, I do think there’s probably less to be learned overall than there is from the great tradition. I believe that, in most cases at least, the great tradition is great for a reason. This is not a popular view in religious studies these days (I noted in the post that the scholarly consensus is against it) but nothing I’ve heard or read has given me reason to be dissuaded from it.
To bring it back to the context of the original post: I don’t think I can agree that “a member of a religion [qua member of that religion, presumably] is permitted to set the terms of her own relationship to it.” Normative ideals are, as you noted, central to what we call religions, and that kind of view seems to rule out appeal to a certain kind of ideal (one Christian sneers at a homeless person asking for change, and another turns to him and says “that wasn’t a very Christian thing to do.”) I think those sorts of appeals (of which Marcus’s original post was one) are valid and have their place. This certainly isn’t to endorse scriptural literalism – I opposed Marcus’s actual interpretation of the text myself, after all – but more generally I think it can be quite valid to talk about who is and isn’t a good member of a tradition, and use scripture as one measure of it.