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20th century, Adolf Hitler, Augustine, Bhagavad Gītā, chastened intellectualism, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Hebrew Bible, hell, Krishna, Mahābhārata, Mañjuśrī, Pol Pot, Rāmānuja, Sigmund Freud, theodicy, Vishnu, Xunzi
I once heard someone – I don’t remember where – criticize humanism (however defined) in the following manner: “The problem with humanism is it leads you to deify man, and the evidence seems to be that man is not worthy of being deified.” The point resonates with me as I think about chastened intellectualism, the idea – which I associate with Freud as well as Augustine and Xunzi – that human beings tend naturally toward wrong behaviour. Individually, despite good intentions, I find it a constant struggle to be a good and happy person; collectively, the history of the 20th century is a dark litany of what happens when – as is too often the case – people’s intentions are less than good. It is difficult to have faith in humanity when humanity has not earned it.
The argument to this point is, I think, in perfect sympathy with Augustine. Human beings for him are invariably and inevitably flawed, in a way that makes them unworthy of our trust. Instead, Augustine wants to argue, we must place our trust in a truly perfect being, God. Augustine’s argument here underlies a great deal of conservative Christianity: even if church institutions and/or biblical scripture appear wrong to us, they are a better guide than our own weak and easily misled intellects.
For the moment, let us leave aside the question of how we know Church or Bible embody God, or even whether God exists. I think there is a far deeper question at issue here: even assuming he exists, how can we trust God?
Most of the answer to the question will hinge upon how we define God. But let us assume that God has one characteristic attributed to him by almost every believer, even by deists: that he is the creator of all that is, directly or indirectly responsible for everything that happens except (perhaps) those events caused by human free will, and perhaps the will of other free beings like angels.
If that is so, the verdict is severe: God’s track record is no better than ours. Too often we think of the “problem of evil” rather than, more correctly and appropriately, of the problem of suffering. And then we neglect to think the problem through, and blame it all on human free will. For when we live so close to the twentieth century, the readiest examples of grave horrors are human-caused; the mere mention of the names Hitler, Stalin, Pol Pot make it easiest to question God. But this version of the question is also the easiest to answer: the universe would not be as good if we were not free, and this freedom is worth the possibility of evil.
But how small this human-caused misery begins to look compared to the misery caused by God. In Hurricane Katrina, the Haiti earthquake, the Asian tsunami we have plenty of recent examples of suffering not caused by humans. Smallpox, malaria, tuberculosis, cancer have killed more than Hitler or Pol Pot ever did. The tortures of ALS make the gas chambers look humane. Crippling diseases, natural disasters, animal attacks: we didn’t do that. God did.
And that’s just a deist God, a God inferred from creation. The evidence against the God of scriptures is worse still. In the book of Exodus, God punishes every Egyptian family with ten “wonders” – diseases, crop failures and more – culminating in the deaths of all their firstborn children. They are punished not for their own actions, but for the actions of their Pharaoh – even though the text explicitly says that God “hardened Pharaoh’s heart,” God deliberately caused the Pharaoh to do the very thing that Pharaoh is punishing him for. Later God sends horrible afflictions, including the death of his children, on his most faithful servant Job, just in order to win a bet with the Accuser (“the Satan” in Hebrew). Worse even than all this is the idea of a literal hell, not necessarily attested in the scriptures but widely believed in the traditions, including by Augustine himself. Whatever Pol Pot did to his victims, it always ended with death. God keeps going, tormenting people for all eternity, with no deterrent purpose whatsoever, leaving sheer vengeful retribution as an end in itself.
It seems to me the evidence against God is, quite literally, damning. Augustine, it seems to me, is right that humanity is fallen and sinful, not worthy of trust. The problem is that God is worse. (And let me stress again that it is not God’s existence I’m addressing here. Like Ivan in Dostoevsky’s Brothers Karamazov, I would not trust a creator God even if he did exist. Maybe especially if he did.)
It is not only Western traditions that face this problem. These reflections came to me when I began reading Rāmānuja‘s commentary on the Bhagavad Gītā. Rāmānuja begins the text with a long homage to Vishnu as the creator of all things, who appears in the Gītā in the form of Lord Krishna. The purpose of life, according to Rāmānuja, is to reach knowledge of and devotion to this Lord. But Krishna always appears as a morally questionable sort of deity, from his childhood stealing butter, through his adulterous sexual affairs – to the advice he gives in the Mahābhārata itself. In the Gītā, Krishna tells Arjuna to kill his cousins and their armies because he should always do his duty (dharma) irrespective of the consequences. Even if one thinks this morally sound advice, the same Krishna later tells Arjuna to kill his rival Karna while Karna is fixing his chariot – an act that clearly violates all applicable rules of dharma – in order to achieve the consequence of winning the war. So too, it is Krishna who tells Yudhiṣṭhira to mislead Drona about Aśvatthāman the elephant, an act for which Yudhiṣṭhira later receives a karmic punishment – again, breaking the duty of truthfulness in order to bring about the best consequences. Krishna tells others to break the rules he himself sets out, and does so with impunity. Krishna’s bad deeds might not quite reach the scale of the Judeo-Christian God, but he is far from a moral paragon. He may be better than Pol Pot, but a human saint could surely outdo him.
So whether we are speaking of Vishnu or Jehovah, I do not think Augustine’s answer to human fallibility is acceptable. Perfect goodness is not to be found in men or in gods. But a chastened intellectualism without God seems to leave us with two unpalatable alternatives: a tyranny like Xunzi’s, or a life of miserable neurosis like Freud’s. I think this may be why Nietzsche and the existentialists view life without God as a terrifying (if perhaps ultimately fulfilling) “abyss”: if you don’t trust in God, you have to trust in man, and that’s not very comforting.
Or do you? I wasn’t thinking of it this way at the time, but I suppose all this might be part of the reason why, when I needed to pray, I turned to the bodhisattva Manjuśrī rather than to a God or Goddess as such. For Mañjuśrī, while perhaps omniscient, is not omnipotent. He lets much of the world suffer not because he chooses to – as God does – but because there’s too much he can’t prevent. A being who is omnibenevolent but not omnipotent – you can’t completely trust in such a being, because he might let you down; he can’t do everything. But if he exists – and maybe even if he doesn’t – he is at least more worthy of trust than either a human being or a creator God.
Amod:
Wide ranging and eloquently put. What interests me though is why Theodicy plays such a little part in the concerns of the faithful of any religion. It just doesn’t seem to be taken seriously as a problem. Cosmic denial or something.
These reflections are thought-provoking, Amod, and, as you know, it’s not the agreement of your readers with your reflections which is important, but whether your reflections provoke them to think.
“But how small this human-caused misery begins to look compared to the misery caused by God. In Hurricane Katrina, the Haiti earthquake, the Asian tsunami we have plenty of recent examples of suffering not caused by humans. Smallpox, malaria, tuberculosis, cancer have killed more than Hitler or Pol Pot ever did. The tortures of ALS make the gas chambers look humane. Crippling diseases, natural disasters, animal attacks: we didn’t do that. God did.”
Some contemporary Christian theologians such as Alvin Plantinga would argue that these natural evils are caused by “Satan and his minions”. In other words, these natural evils are actually moral evils committed by some supernatural agencies whose misuse of their God-given free will is analogous to the misuse of free will by human terrorists. If free will is a great good, then it is also a great good for supernatural beings. God cannot be expected to preserve this good and at the same time keep preventing these supernatural agencies such as “Satan and his minions” from exercizing their free will or power of choice and bringing about earthquakes, plagues, etc.
What this response does in effect is to obliterate the distinction between natural and moral evil. All there is, on this account, is moral evil, whether done by humans or supernatural beings.
Of course, the central problem here is that it assumes the existence of “Satan and his minions”. What is the evidence for this assumption? Apparently, Plantinga falls back on the appeal to the authority of the Bible. But how do we know that the Bible is correct in affirming the existence of Satan? (There is also the issue of whether the Bible actually attributes natural evils to the actions of “Satan and his minions”.) A claim to the effect that X exists always requires evidence and cannot be settled by appeal to scriptural authority.
It could be argued that the “hypothesis” that natural evils are actually truncated moral evils done by “Satan and his minions” provides the best explanation of why there is natural evil given the existence of God.
But isn’t the very existence of “Satan and his minions” just another natural evil? If natural evils such as harmful viruses and bacteria were created by “Satan and his minions”, who created or allowed the existence of natural evils such as “Satan and his minions”? Why should supernatural agencies capable of causing great harm to other beings be created or allowed to exist? Why doesn’t God destroy “Satan and his minions” since he has the power to do so and the omnibenevolence to motivate him to do so?
Thus, if natural evils such as “Satan and his minions” exist, God is actually responsible for their existence and for all they do. Hence, God would still be responsible for natural evils such as earthquakes etc., even if they are all caused by “Satan and his minions”.
Even if it is plausible that “Satan and his minions” exist and are responsible for natural disasters, this does not absolve God of his responsibility since he knows what these Satanic agencies are attempting to do when, let’s say, they “push and shove” (LOL) and try to cause a devastating earthquake in Los Angeles. God also has the power to bring it about that these Satanic agencies fail in their attempts to cause an earthquake in Los Angeles. So, if these Satanic agencies succeed in causing a devastating earthquake in Los Angeles, God is assuredly also responsible for it!
Therefore, Plantinga’s appeal to Satanic agency fails miserably to reconcile the existence of God and natural evils.
In retrospect, and, summing up, I think I have dignified the appeal to Satanic agencies in “explaining” natural disasters way more than it deserves.
It really deserves to be dismissed as nothing more than a philosophical rationalization of religious-belief induced paranoid delusion. If I think that my veritable human colleagues are “out to get me”, I could justly stand accused of paranoia, but what if I think that invisible spirits such as “Satan and his minions” are out to get my soul and destroy me and others by creating natural disasters where I live???? What degree of magnification of paranoid delusion is that???
Granting the intelligibility of “Satanic causation” of earthquakes is granting too much! How on earth does an immaterial, non-physical “spirit” exercize causal influence on geologicla structures? Does it simply say “Let there be an earthquake!”? Does it use some weird and unintelligible “mind over matter technology”???
I think we can simply lop the head off this appeal to Satanic agency with the criticism that it is unintelligible how this immaterial, non-physical agency can influence physical structures and processes.
Perhaps, we need a truly fatal stroke in terms of the objection that the very idea of an “individual spirit” is unintelligible. Both God and Satan are supposed to be “individual spirits “.
But how do we individuate or identify a spirit in the first place? What is the criterion by which we could say that spirit X exists and is distinct from another spirit Y? If a spirit is immaterial and non-physical, how can anyone identify its existence? What is it for an “individual spirit” to exist at all? We can only lapse into incoherence when we try to answer these questions!
And don’t forget that if we bring God into the picture, we bring an “omnipresent spirit” into the picture. Now the problem of distinguishing between God, the “omnipresent spirit”, and any other spirit such as “Satan” might well drive one to madness!
“For the moment, let us leave aside the question of how we know Church or Bible embody God, or even whether God exists. I think there is a far deeper question at issue here: even assuming he exists, how can we trust God?”
Trust God to do what? It must first be clarified what this trust pertains to. Or perhaps, the issue is one of whether we can justifiably believe that God is a trustworthy person?
A theist could point out many features of the universe which would justify a belief in the trustworthiness of God, e.g., regularities of nature or the fact that phenomena are law-governed, the fact that the human mind can comprehend the universe and grow in this comprehension which in its turn testifies to the fact that our cognitive operations are generaly reliable and that massive and consistent error in these operations is unlikely, the potentiality and actuality of compassion, love, empathy in human nature, self-consciousness, an inborn aesthetic sense, innate capacity for learning language without which so many other distinctive human capacities or traits would not exist, and so on.
Amod: “For Mañjuśrī, while perhaps omniscient, is not omnipotent.”
Thill: Omniscience is logically dependent on omnipotence since the absence of some cognitive powers or capacities entails limitations on the range of knowledge an entity could have. Hence, if Manjusri is not omnipotent, there is no way he can be omniscient. So, one would not be very rational in praying to an entity who might not only lack the power to bring about what one wants, but also possibly be unaware that one is praying to him!!!
This doesn’t follow in the slightest. Omniscience might (arguably) imply unlimited cognitive power; but not all power is cognitive. Likewise for capacities; a being with unlimited cognitive capacity can easily be limited in non-cognitive capacities. One can argue that knowing is a kind of action and therefore a kind of power; but only one kind. There are plenty of other powers to be limited, powers that involve affecting the world beyond knowing it.
Omnipotence logically implies omniscience, not the other way round. An omnipotent being must necessarily be omniscient, but not vice versa.
Theodicity assumes the existence of evil and evil exists only in a world of relative truth — where evil exists in opposition to good.
I am a non-theist. However, I think the argument would be that god cannot be understood in the context of the world of this and that. God exists in a world of absolute truth that is uncreated and “good” without reference to evil. Compassion without a radiator of compassion or an object of compassion.
Because it is impossible to connect with this god as a concept (it can only be understood, if at all, through direct perception), there are intercessionary aspects through which god manifests in the relative world. I am interested that Christianity has the concept of the three personed god, which seems analogous to the three kayas of Buddhism — corresponding on the physical level with body, speech and mind.
From this point of view, evil is nothing very solid — it is simply confusion — failure to recognize the reality of god. Once evil is reduced to confusion, its existence is not much of a threat to theistic religion.
Interesting take, Jim – a sort of theistic extension of the view that suffering itself is illusory. But… I’ve been grappling lately with Śāntideva’s views on that subject, and I note that he thinks the remedying of suffering is no less urgent for being illusory, because, like a dream, though illusory it is experienced as real. And it would still seem unnecessarily cruel of a God to create people in such a way that they experience such terrible suffering as real.
Amod: “But… I’ve been grappling lately with Śāntideva’s views on that subject, and I note that he thinks the remedying of suffering is no less urgent for being illusory, because, like a dream, though illusory it is experienced as real. And it would still seem unnecessarily cruel of a God to create people in such a way that they experience such terrible suffering as real.”
I agree. To say that suffering or evil is an “illusion” or delusion does not resolve the problem of its existence. We now have an epistemic evil on our hands: the cognitive illusion of suffering and the suffering produced by that illusion. The belief that one suffers or that others are suffering also causes suffering in its wake! Since that belief is universal, if it is argued that it is a delusion, the problem of why there should be this evil delusion which in turn produces a great deal of suffering now raises its hood with the vehemence of a cobra that has been struck!
However, contrary to Santideva, suffering is not “illusory” since, unlike dreams, it is intersubjective, i.e., it can be shared, discerned, and countenanced among conscious subjects or agents.
Further, the claim that suffering is an illusion looks like an unintelligible claim. The claim implies that one is mistaken in thinking that one has physical and/or emotional pain. But how could one be mistaken in thinking that? It is sheer nonsense to say “I am grieving the loss of a loved one, but I am mistaken in believing that I am in grief over the loss of a loved one.” Could anyone be mistaken in believing that they have a headache?
An illusion is distinct from a delusion. Illusions, the paradigm case being a mirage or any other optical illusion, are always dependent on some features of objects. However, a delusion is purely subjective and has to do with errors of cognition and belief-formation in the subject or agent.
If Santideva claims that suffering is an illusion, and if we assume that this is an intelligible claim, he must still provide an account of the features of the world and the subject which generate this illusion of suffering. In other words, he must explain how this illusion of suffering arises.
On the other hand, if he claims that suffering is a delusion, assuming that this is an intelligible claim, he must still explain how the subject falls into this delusion that he or she is suffering when there is no such thing.
Looking into the claims “Suffering is an illusion.” and “suffering is a delusion.” again, I clearly see that these are nonsensical statements. Suffering is not the sort of thing which can in itself be an illusion or delusion, although, of course, illusions and delusions can and do cause suffering.
Here’s why in a nutshell.
If suffering is an illusion or delusion, then one is deceived by the nature of that experience we call “suffering” or “pain” to think that it is so when it ain’t so. But how can one be mistaken that one is undergoing such basic experiences or states such as pain and pleasure? It would make sense to suppose that one is mistaken here only if there is some way of ascertaining the truth of the matter, but there is no way of ascertaining the truth of the matter here other than by recourse to subjective experience or sensation.
If the only way I can know that I am in pain or that I am experiencing pleasure is by being in those states or having those sensations, and I cannot possibly be mistaken in determining whether I am experiencing pain or pleasure, it is sheer nonsense to suggest that my experience of pain, or pleasure, or suffering is an illusion or delusion.
“Compassion without a radiator of compassion or an object of compassion.”
If only I were to understand this notion, I would find it very interesting.
The latin root meaning of “compassion” means to “suffer with” and implies empathy. Now, empathy without a subject, or “radiator”, and an object of empathy is an unintelligible notion. Hence, “Compassion without a radiator of compassion” and “compassion without an object of compassion” are unintelligible notions.
“From this point of view, evil is nothing very solid — it is simply confusion — failure to recognize the reality of god. Once evil is reduced to confusion, its existence is not much of a threat to theistic religion.”
I fail to see how all evil, natural (disasters, etc) and moral, can simply be reduced to a “failure to recognize the reality of god.” Further, it seems that a recognition of the reality of God is consistent with acknowledging the reality of evil(s). For instance, Jesus recognized the reality of God, but still railed against many of the evils of his day and warned of evils to befall humanity on “Judgment Day”.
Even if “evil is reduced to confusion”, this doesn’t imply that its existence will not pose a threat to theism. The plain reason for this is that you now have the existence of the evil of confusion itself posing a grave threat to theism! Discussions of “epistemic evil(s)” are of significance here.
Amod, you surely know that, especially after Auschwitz, many Christian and Jewish theologians also considered the point “either God is omnipotent –and then he is not benevolent– or if he is benevolent, he is not omnipotent, since he could not avoid that”. Many of them (see, e.g., Etty Hillesum) realised that God is NOT omnipotent. WE have to help him to realise his plan.
That is, I think, one of the better ways out of the dilemma. The problem is that then God no longer seems like God – more like a god with a small g, like Shiva or Rama or Zeus… or the saints and bodhisattvas and angels.
“Many of them (see, e.g., Etty Hillesum) realised that God is NOT omnipotent.”
I am sorry, but this is like saying that someone “realised” that a square need not have four sides or that a triangle need not have three sides. “God”, with a capital G, by definition, is omnipotent. If you delete the attribute of omnipotence, whatever it is that you are talking about, you are not talking about “God”.
And if you delete omnipotence, this has an impact on the attribute of omniscience since knowledge depends on cognitive powers or abilities. If an entity is not omnipotent, it cannot be omniscient either because it would lack certain powers or abilities essential for knowing some things, events, or states of affairs.
The moment you substitute “God” with a “god” who is not omnipotent and omniscient, you open the door to various implications which undermine your view, e.g., lacking omnipotence such a “god” would also lack the power to save us from some or all evils, lacking omniscience such a “god” would also lack certain forms of moral knowledge or moral wisdom, lacking omnipotence and omniscience and some forms of moral knowledge or wisdom such a “god” would also be subject to evil and suffering and would also perform actions which are morally wrong.
All in all, such a “god” does not constitute a sensible alternative to the best of human beings.
I guess it depends on what one is looking for: the omnipotent God (with G) might be just our construction, our projection of our ideal of Royalty on an absolute level. In this sense, an “existentialist” god might be a more honest essay to approach him/Him. I do not think such a god would resemble one of the gods of whatever a Pantheon, since they are all considered as parts of a ”perfect” universe which does not need human beings. “It” rather resembles the tragic gods of the Northern Epos, the ones which will eventually die themselves and which are, hence, part of our own tragic destiny. Or, perhaps, Christ at Getsemani.
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Here is one response to my criticism of the appeal to Satanic agency as an explanation of the occurrence of natural evils.
The existence of Satan and his minions is not another natural evil. They were not created that way. Rather, as the Christian tradition holds, they became morally corrupted as a result of their choices. God cannnot be expected to prevent this corruption and the same time maintain the integrity of the free will of these supernatural agencies. Hence, the free will defense holds for the morally bad choices (e.g., bring about natural disasters) of these Satanic agencies in just the way it holds for the morally bad choices by humans. As long as these Satanic agencies have free will, there is always the possibility of their redemption. Hence, God, out of compassion, chooses not to destroy even these Satanic agencies.
But this last step in the reasoning assumes that for God the value of the mere possibility of the redemption of these Satanic agencies outweighs the disvalue of all the suffering they have caused and will cause to humanity and other sentient beings. That seems like a morally perverse evaluation of the pros and cons of allowing these Satanic agencies to exist and to continue with their sadism. A being which makes moral evaluations like these cannot be morally good. Hence, God is not morally good.
Approaching the problem of natural evils from a “Hindu angle”, one could argue that Hindu theism accepts destruction as an essential function of God. The examples of Shiva and Rudra (an older Vedic deity) make this clear.
A Hindu theist could then say in response to Amod’s claims on natural evils that these are all examples of God’s awesome destructive power at work in the universe. However, humans have also been endowed with the surplus intelligence to understand and protect themselves from these natural evils. If God intends that humans should develop their intelligence and eventually acquire mastery over these destructive elements of nature, the only way he could bring this about is to allow the destructive elements (let us note that every destruction paves the road for a new creation) of nature to work themselves out in accordance with the laws governing their operations.
This argument also assumes that “the price is worth it” (Former Secretary of State Madeline Albright’s infamous and chilling response to a question on the wisdom of the Iraq sanctions imposed by the U.S. in the face of the fact that those sanctions have claimed the lives of thousands of Iraqi children!), that the value of humanity’s eventual mastery over the destructive elements of nature outweighs all the suffering caused by those elements.
Regarding suffering as illusion, you have to appreciate that Shantideva also would view a table as an illusion. A phenomenon, whether it is an emotional experience such as suffering (in the form of anger, desire or other emotion) or the experience of a physical object, is illusory because it has no solidity — it is a result of causes and conditions. What seems to have solidity is the concept of the experience and clinging to that concept (clinging includes rejection of the concept in the form of aversion).
To give a mundane example, I have fondness for a beer on a hot summer day. But the first sip of beer always tastes better than the second. This is because the causes and conditions have changed. I am slightly less thirsty after the first sip and the beer is slightly warmer and my anticipation has decreased. So Shantideva might say that the beer is not solid — it arises from causes and conditions and is illusory.
One could go a step further and say that one of the causes and conditions of the beer is my existence as a human being (which is also a condition that is temporary and a result of causes and conditions). If I were a fly and landed in the glass, my experience of the beer might be horrific — on a par with a human experiencing a tsunami.
Shantideva would say that suffering is the result of attachment to phenomena — whether the phenomenon is a beer or a relationship with another person or the experience of our body as a youthful, healthy body. The experience of “emptiness” (an inadequate word for an experience that cannot be understood intellectually) is the realization of phenomena as illusory. And that experience ends suffering in the same way that waking from a nightmare ends the experience of fear — or, in the traditional analogy, realizing that the snake you have been afraid in the corner of a dark room is really a rope.
To understand Shantideva, you have to understand that emptiness is something that is realized in meditation and not understood through the intellect (although the intellect is essential in stages of the path of meditation). What has to be cultivated intellectually is openmindedness — because both blind acceptance of a belief (such as that suffering is illusory) and rejection of the belief both miss the point and are obstacles to realization.
The notion of compassion without a radiator of compassion, as Thill points out, makes no sense intellectually. But Shantideva, in his Chapter on Wisdom, points to experience that is beyond intellect. As Tulku Urgyen said, “emptiness without compassion is never taught, water will always be wet”. Compassion can’t be rationalized. There are limits to the intellect and, in some sense, the intellect can even appreciate this. Can the intellect understand the taste of a beer on a hot day?
JW: “Regarding suffering as illusion, you have to appreciate that Shantideva also would view a table as an illusion. A phenomenon, whether it is an emotional experience such as suffering (in the form of anger, desire or other emotion) or the experience of a physical object, is illusory because it has no solidity — it is a result of causes and conditions.”
Thill: If Shantideva “would view a table as illusion”, this would only diminish or destroy any appreciation I could muster for his views! To argue from the fact that a phenomenon has causes and conditions to the conclusion that it is illusory is, putting it mildly, a non-sequitur.
JW: “To give a mundane example, I have fondness for a beer on a hot summer day. But the first sip of beer always tastes better than the second. This is because the causes and conditions have changed. I am slightly less thirsty after the first sip and the beer is slightly warmer and my anticipation has decreased. So Shantideva might say that the beer is not solid — it arises from causes and conditions and is illusory.”
Thill: This mundane example only warrants a mundane conclusion and not a metaphysical one! The mundane conclusion to be drawn is simply that as one gets used to something, the novelty or freshness of one’s first experience of it wanes. I fail to see how the example supports conclusions of an obviously tall order on “illusion”.
JW: “Shantideva would say that suffering is the result of attachment to phenomena — whether the phenomenon is a beer or a relationship with another person or the experience of our body as a youthful, healthy body.”
Thill: The claim that suffering is the result of attachment ignores counter-examples in which attachment plays no part. If I am deprived of air, reasonable amount of space for my body, food, and water, I will suffer, but this suffering is not caused by “attachment”. Even a “bodhisattva” will suffer if he is subject to starvation or torture. And these forms of suffering result from the neurophysiological structure of the human body and have nothing to do with “attachment”.
JW: “The experience of “emptiness” (an inadequate word for an experience that cannot be understood intellectually) is the realization of phenomena as illusory. And that experience ends suffering in the same way that waking from a nightmare ends the experience of fear — or, in the traditional analogy, realizing that the snake you have been afraid in the corner of a dark room is really a rope.”
Thill: No amount of self-hynosis or auto-suggestion to the effect that “phenomena are illusory.” will render anyone immune to the suffering involved in starvation or torture.
JW: “The notion of compassion without a radiator of compassion, as Thill points out, makes no sense intellectually. But Shantideva, in his Chapter on Wisdom, points to experience that is beyond intellect. As Tulku Urgyen said, “emptiness without compassion is never taught, water will always be wet”. Compassion can’t be rationalized. There are limits to the intellect and, in some sense, the intellect can even appreciate this. Can the intellect understand the taste of a beer on a hot day?”
Thill: There is sense and there is nonsense. That’s all. There is no such thing as “nonsense from an intellectual point of view” as if what is nonsense turns miraculously into sense in some mode of cognition. This is a standard religious move in the face of criticism of dogmas. The response is that “intellect cannot understand it.” or that “it is beyond the intellect.”. If it is so, then as Wittgenstein put it “whereof one cannot speak thereof one must be silent.” Instead, what we get in religion and theology are more statements of the same confounding ilk.
“Experience beyond the intellect”? I doubt if there is any such thing. Even if there is such a thing, nothing can be said about it. Further, it is self-refuting because you need the intellect to determine that an experience is “beyond the intellect”!
“Emptiness” and “Compassion” are positively antithetical to each other, Buddhist wizardry of words and incantations to the contrary notwithstanding! If “all things are empty”, and assuming that this is meaningful, this entails that compassion is also “empty”. There is then absolutely no good reason or motive to practice or develop compassion.
Sure, the intellect can and does appreciate the taste of beer on a hot day, although it is not the “organ” of that sensory experience. In fact, your earlier reflections on the topic amply demonstrate that you have indeed applied your intellect to the topic and drawn far-reaching and far-fetched conclusions from it!
Thill, you don’t understand the Buddhist concept of emptiness — much less the experience of emptiness.
The concepts of emptiness and interdependence (phenomena arising from causes and conditions) are linked concepts. If a phenomenon has causes and conditions, it is “empty” — in the sense of being subject to change and not having intrinsic existence.
Everything changes. Not only that, phenomena from moment to moment don’t have stability. A pane of glass in a window breaks and we realize that it is impermanent. But I took a tour in Boston and, going by some of the older residences, the tour guide noted that the oldest windows tend to break because over time (200 years or so) gravity causes the glass in the pane to flow downward. The glass at the top of the pane becomes thin and more subject to breaking. So, even something seemingly solid like glass changes moment to moment. And, if something changes, what in it is stable that we can say has an intrinsic nature?
Shakyamuni Buddha used the analogy of a chariot to illustrate the “egolessness” or lack of intrinsic nature of phenomena. If we take a chariot (or a table) and take off a wheel — is it still a chariot? If we break it in half, is it a chariot? It is easy to see that the phenomena of a chariot transitions from “chariot” to “broken chariot” to wood and metal to non-existent chariot without a clear boundary between these concepts. Moreover, the chariot itself is unique. It is analogous to other chariots that we have seen because we compare and identify aspects of the phenomena that in combination cause to to fit the concept of chariot.
Furthermore, the experience of chariot is linked to the one experiencing the chariot. A horse has a different experience of a chariot that a human. A termite, would have another experience of a chariot.
This logic points at the experience of emptiness. But emptiness itself is not solely a concept. It is not voidness or a concept that is in contrast to form in that way that cold is in contrast to heat or darkness is in contrast to light.
You might take a little time with these concepts before rejecting or accepting them. Many over the last two or three thousand years have found these ideas provocative. When you reject them out of hand as “nonsense” it is a little like a high school student rejecting Shakespeare as boring. The statement tells more about the speaker than the subject.
JW, you seem to think that you can undermine philosophical criticisms disagreeable to you by means of ad hominem attacks on me. It is rather surprising, particularly for one who seeks to defend Buddhist dogmas! Or, perhaps, given the track record of apologists for religious dogmas, it is not really surprising!
You draw a false analogy between my criticisms of Buddhist dogmas and a high school student’s rejection of Shakespeare as boring. Hence, nothing follows concerning the status of my criticisms of Buddhist dogmas even if we agree that the high school student’s rejection of Shakespeare tells us more about the student rather than the quality of Shakespeare’s works. When you deal with arguments or objections, whether against Shakespeare or Buddhism, it is intellectually indecent to launch ad hominem attacks instead of meeting those arguments or objections.
The appeal to the venerability of these Buddhist doctrines or their acceptance by others does nothing to establish their plausibility or coherence. One might as well seek to show that superstitions are plausible on those very grounds or seek to establish on the same grounds the intellectual respectability of a debate at one time in the past in France as to whether the Virgin Mary at Church X was superior to the Virgin Mary at Church Y!!!!
You claim that I do not understand “emptiness” without actually showing what it is that I have not understood or what it is I have misunderstood. It appears that you assume that if anyone rejects this doctrine, he or she must not really understand it in all its alleged profundity!
I pointed out the inconsistency involved in affirming the doctrine of “emptiness” and at the same time the prescription to practice compassion (or other virtues). You give no response to this argument. Since virtues or emotuions such as love, compassion, etc., are also subject to “causes and conditions”, the doctrine of “emptiness” shoudl lead us to conclude that these virtues or emotions are also “empty”. And, obviously, they are also subject to change. How then can a Buddhist consistently advocate the pursuit, or practice, or cultivation of these virtues or emotions given that they do not have any “intrinsic existence”? Isn’t it just another case of chasing “illusions”? Isn’t it a delusion to think that one can become compassionate if there is no “svabhava” and permanence to compassion?
Answer this argument and don’t seek recourse to ad hominem attacks!
“The concepts of emptiness and interdependence (phenomena arising from causes and conditions) are linked concepts. If a phenomenon has causes and conditions, it is “empty” — in the sense of being subject to change and not having intrinsic existence.”
These notions of “emptiness”, “interdependence”, “not having intrinsic existence” and so on have turned into Buddhist shibboleths and have been invoked as thought-stoppers without the prior benefit of some essential questions of meaning and logic.
Yes, each thing has “causes and conditions” which bring it into existence. Yes, obviously and trivially, this does mean that each thing is dependent on the “causes and conditions” which bring it into existence. But NO, this does not mean that each thing is dependent on every other thing! My existence is certainly NOT dependent on the existence of Sarah Palin or Rush Limbaugh! It is a classic Buddhist non-sequitur to move from “each thing is dependent on the causes and conditions for its existence” to “Each thing is dependent on everything else” or “All things are interdependent”.
If you define “intrinsic existence” in terms of “having no cause or conditions for existence”, then it follows trivially and by definition that anything which has causes and conditions for its existence has no “intrinsic existence”. But, contrary to Buddhism, it does not follow from this that each thing is “empty” of essence or intrinsic nature! It is a scientific truth that the essence of water is H2O. It is common experience and knowledge that fire has its nature and water has its nature and that the changes they undergo in their states are determined by their underlying natures and the nature of the factors they interact with. So, the Buddhist doctrine of “emptiness” is trivially true, and certainly holds at the level of macroscopic objects, if it is taken to mean that each thing has causes and conditions for its existence. It is plainly false if it is taken to mean that all things are interdependent or that each thing lacks a specific nature or essence.
You beg the question of thr truth of the claim on “emptiness” with your recourse to the idea of “experience of emptiness”. First, you must establish that the doctrine of emptiness is true or plausible!
Your claims on the probable differences in the way different organisms could experience a object or phenomenon does not support the thesis that things lack an intrinsic or esential nature. Despite differences, there are also responses shared by all sentient beings to certain phenomena, e.g., a forest fire. All sentient organisms seek to escape from it! This certainly shows that fire is not “empty” in the sense of lacking an intrinsic or essential nature. On the contrary, it shows that fire has a nature and that all sentient beings recognize this and act appropriately!
Whatever else “emptiness” (How I have come to loath this pretentious and portentous Buddhist jargon!) may mean, it certainly means that things are empty of, or lack, an intrinsic or essential nature or Svabhava.
This is contrary to commonsense and science. Natural kinds or kinds of entities and phenomena in nature behave as they do because of their Svabhava or intrinsic nature, e.g., fire, water, heat, electricity, cats, dogs, humans, and, yes, males and females!
The truth in the doctrine of emptiness is a trivial truth, namely, that things have causes which bring them into existence, and that, therefore, each thing is dependent on those causes. The error in the doctrine of emptiness is a grave and glaring error, namely, that things or phenomena do not have a Svabhava or intrinsic nature.
Correction: Read “loathe” instead of “loath”.
If virtues and vices have no Svabhava or essential nature, how does a Buddhist tell them apart and learn to cultivate the virtues instead of the vices? The fourth “noble truth” presupposes that virtues and vices are distinct and different in their natures.
JW, Pl. note that I did not reject the doctrine of emptiness on the grounds that it is nonsense. What I have argued is that one of its constitutive claims, namely the denial of Svabhava or essential nature,is inconsistent with commonsense and science and that it is incoherent to affirm that doctrine of emptiness and at the same time espouse and promote Buddhist ethical prescriptions.
Emptiness is a difficult subject because it is an experience that is beyond speech or thought.
However, it is possible to have a conceptual understanding of it. You just have to appreciate that talking about it is not the same as the experience. As a General Semanticist would say “the map is not the territory”. Or as Emily Dickinson said, “I found the phrase to every thought I ever had but one; And that defies me, as the hand that tried to chalk the sun; To races nurtured in the Dark; How would your own begin?; Can Blaze be shown in Cochineal, or noon in Mazarin?”
When talking about emptiness, we are talking about “absolute truth”, truth that is not dependent on relationship with something else. So it is not like a statement such as “this soup is hot” — which would depend on a relationship to something colder — or a statement like “he is a good man” — which would depend on a comparison with someone who is evil. That is why the concept is beyond thought — because speech and thought is always based on concepts and concepts are always relative. The trap that we fall into when talking about emptiness is that we have to make it a concept — and the intellect then wants to understand it by contrasting it to something that is not emptiness.
It might be helpful to contemplate the idea that the Buddhist concept of emptiness is indivisible from appearance. So the fact that the world appears and fire burns and water flows downhill is not inconsistent with the idea that these appearances are empty. One way to approach emptiness intellectually is to examine the constituent parts of experience. If you take fire as an example, no two fires are the same. Fires are hotter or colder. They vary depending on the causes and conditions that create them (fuel, oxygen, humidity, air temperature). A magnesium fire is very different from a candle flame. What ties them together in our mundane experience is a concept of fire — a construct of memory and comparison in the present moment that overlays the pure perception of the unique, wordless experience of the “fire” in our fireplace. So, another way to think of emptiness, is to think of it as pure perception or experience empty of concept.
Your second complaint or criticism is based on an understandable confusion between absolute and relative truth in Buddhist doctrine. Buddhist teachings related to the path (virtue, non-virtue, etc.) concern relative truth. In the world of relative truth, there is confusion and enlightenment, virtue and non-virtue, right and wrong. These are expedient teachings. However, teachings on emptiness deal with absolute truth. As the Heart Sutra says, in emptiness there is “no attainment and no non-attainment”. Relative truth and absolute truth are not inconsistent. It is just that when you approach the world from the point of view of confusion, enlightenment exists. When you approach the world from the point of view of “enlightenment”, neither enlightenment nor confusion exists.
That is the best I can do in response to your last post. It is a difficult subject. I am also not the best person to explain it — this is just my understanding.
“No amount of self-hynosis or auto-suggestion to the effect that ‘phenomena are illusory.’ will render anyone immune to the suffering involved in starvation or torture.”
Śāntideva would beg to differ. He describes the contemplative state a bodhisattva can attain, where he can enjoy being tortured (and Ś describes the tortures in very graphic detail) by wishing for the ultimate well-being of those who torture him. Now, is he right that such a state can exist? It’s a tricky question to answer, but one should at least note the case of Thich Quang Duc immolating himself in protest of the Vietnam War, and maintaining his composure throughout the act. This seems pretty close to an immunity to suffering, attained by someone who likely did believe strongly in emptiness.
Amod: “It’s a tricky question to answer, but one should at least note the case of Thich Quang Duc immolating himself in protest of the Vietnam War, and maintaining his composure throughout the act. This seems pretty close to an immunity to suffering, attained by someone who likely did believe strongly in emptiness.”
Thill: I have no doubt, given that Thich Quang Duc had a normal human body, that he suffered horribly as he was being licked and consumed by the ravenous tongues of Agni. He endured the suffering because of his extraordinary strength of mind, in just the way, I’m sure, some of the victims of Sati or inquisitorial “auto da fe” endured it. The fact that they endured the suffering does not entail that they did not suffer in just the way that my endurance of a toothache does not imply that I did not suffer from it.
Alternatively, one could proffer the simple neurophysiological explanation that the endorphins released by Thich Quang Duc’s brain helped his endurance of immolation. It is well-documented that the brain releases endorphins when faced with overwhelming pain.
Thill and Jim, thank you both for the active and lively discussion. I’m delighted to have provided a forum for thoughtful conversations that continue in my absence. I’m not going to be nearly able to respond to all of it, but will offer a few observations.
Jim: You are right to point to the distinction between absolute and relative truth (ultimate and conventional, saṃvṛti and vyavahāra) in explaining Śāntideva’s position. A great deal of the emptiness doctrine has to do with the emptiness of language: what is really true cannot be expressed in words. The things we say about emptiness are just the closest way within language to get at an ultimate truth that we cannot express. I should stress, though, that this does not necessarily mean that access to ultimate truth is reached primarily through meditation. In Śāntideva’s major work, descriptions of what we would call “meditation” are found primarily in the eighth chapter; but ultimate and conventional truth are topics for discussion in the ninth, which makes no reference to meditation and deals almost entirely in logical arguments.
Thill: As Jim noted, much of the reply to your points depends on the distinction between ultimate and conventional truth. Virtues and vices are indeed different from one another, but in a contingent and conventional way which is ultimately transcended, as all such distinctions are transcended, when one comes to fully understand the ultimate truth (which is not easy to do, and requires more than just argument, though argument is part of it). It will take a long time before anyone really gets there; in the meantime, virtue is a necessary part of clearing up one’s mind well enough that one might arrive there.
I think that realization (experience of emptiness) is realized primarily through meditation. This is not to say that intellect is not helpful — or even essential. It is just that, at the end, the question that the intellect poses “Is this emptiness?” is necessarily grounded in duality — and misses the point.
This is why the Zen masters pose koans that have no logical answer. The answer comes with a surrender — a realization that you don’t care if you are enlightened or not — that yields an experience of great joy.
And then, as they say, it’s time to do the laundry — and live the rest of your life.
I think there’s more to it than a dichotomy of intellect and meditation. The example of Zen is a little telling. First off, Zen/Ch’an is generally considered the most anti-intellectual school of Buddhism, far less oriented toward reasoning than any other. Second, even in Ch’an, as I understand it, the predominance of zazen meditation was a relatively late addition. Ch’an began with the idea and practice of becoming liberated through active work on mundane tasks (farming, chopping wood, the kinds of things needed to make a temple economically self-sustaining); sitting meditation came a lot afterward.
Most Buddhists historically never meditated, and this wasn’t just because they were being bad Buddhists. Meditation is a valuable activity, and I think it’s on balance a good thing that Yavanayāna Buddhists have given it a more prominent place in the tradition than it used to have, but until the modern age it never took pride of place over good conduct (śīla) and metaphysical understanding (prajñā) – the latter usually being addressed in terms of philosophical argument.
Thanks, Amod for your interesting comments.
I think I have argued elsewhere on your blog that this distinction between “conventional truth” and “absolute truth” leads us into violations of the law of contradiction and the law of identity, and, hence, also into absurdities or incoherence.
For now, I will pose this question: How do we justify this distinction? In others words, what is the argument for this distnction? The making of a distinction does not a distinction truly make!! How do we know that there is “absolute truth” in the Buddhist sense?
Further, it seems to me that the doctrine of emptiness is inconsistent with any theory of truth, not to mention a theory of two truths!
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