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Abhidhamma, Bhāvaviveka, Candrakīrti, conventional/ultimate, Harvard University, Madhyamaka, Myles Burnyeat, Nāgārjuna, Rory Lindsay, Śāntideva, Sextus Empiricus, Siddhattha Gotama (Buddha), Tibet
Last week I attended an interesting talk by Harvard PhD candidate (and fellow Canuck) Rory Lindsay, through the graduate Workshop in Cross-Cultural Philosophy – a workshop I’m proud to have played a part in founding (and I’m happy to say that its current leaders have made it exponentially more successful than it ever was under my stewardship). Lindsay was exploring the skepticism of the Indian Buddhist thinker Candrakīrti; he compared Candrakīrti to the Hellenistic capital-S Skeptic Sextus Empiricus, who held similar views, and examined the arguments made against Sextus by Myles Burnyeat. I want to discuss Lindsay’s talk by first giving some background to it, then recounting it, and finally offering a few of my reflections that came out of it.
Lindsay’s talk – I hope I will be interpreting it correctly – delved far enough into the technical details of Buddhist theoretical debates that some introductory remarks are in order. Those familiar with these debates should feel free to skip down a couple of paragraphs. Buddhist teaching deliberately and thoughtfully attacks certain aspects of common sense and common linguistic usage, and yet nevertheless needs to make some use of that linguistic usage. This point is most universally applicable to the existence of the self, which most Buddhists deny – and yet, from the historical Buddha onward, nevertheless refer to (“I tell you there is no self.”) So Buddhists nearly always accept some idea of “two truths”: an ultimate (saṃvṛti or paramārtha) truth, according to which there is no self, and a conventional (vyavahārika) truth according to which there is a self. The conventional truth is not truth in the strictest sense; it is a teaching device employed for pragmatic purposes, because nobody would get to the ultimate truth if not through the conventional. (I have not yet discussed this distinction in a blog post, but it has come up a number of times in comment discussions, most notably on this post.)
Where Buddhists have their greatest disagreements is on the nature of the ultimate truth. The earliest Buddhist philosophers, the composers of the Abhidhamma, took it merely as atomism and reductionism: at the conventional level we can speak of a self, but ultimately the self is nothing more than its mental and physical component parts. Those parts, however, are real and can all be spoken of in language without serious difficulty. It was this latter view that was challenged by Nāgārjuna and the Madhyamaka school: here, even the atoms and components are unreal, and the ultimate reality is at some level ineffable, inexpressible. (I had some comparative thoughts on the transition from Abhidhamma to Madhyamaka here.)
The Tibetans divided the Madhyamaka school further than this. How radical, they asked, was Nāgārjuna’s skepticism? They distinguished a moderate skepticism associated with Bhāvaviveka (a thinker who goes by several names) and the Svātantrika school, and a more radical skepticism associated with Candrakīrti and his Prāsaṅgika school. (The “Svātantrika” and “Prāsaṅgika” names were a later, retroactive invention of Tibetan commentators, who also identified Śāntideva as a Prāsaṅgika; they remain the object of some dispute among Western scholars today.) Bhāvaviveka argued that there were at least two kinds of ultimate truth (and therefore, effectively, at least three truths): a transcendent (lokottara) truth free of concepts, and a “pure but worldly” (suddhalaukika) truth that could be expressed in concepts but was nevertheless true. Candrakīrti denied the existence of this “pure but worldly” truth – the real truth, the truth that was not merely a pragmatic means of teaching, could not be expressed in words. (On this he quotes Nāgārjuna: “If I had any position, then I would have a flaw [in my argument]. But I have no position; therefore I have no flaw at all.”)
To return to Lindsay’s talk: his tentative conclusion, as I understand it, was that Burnyeat’s criticisms of Sextus Empiricus apply to Candrakīrti and the Prāsaṅgikas, but perhaps not to Bhāvaviveka and the Svātantrikas. Sextus (according to Burnyeat) had argued that to achieve mental tranquility (ataraxia), one must banish all beliefs from one’s mind – a claim with remarkable parallels to Śāntideva’s in Bodhicaryāvatāra IX.34: “When neither an entity nor a nonentity remain before thought, then thought, with no object, is pacified because it has no other destination.” (Tibetan hagiographies held this verse in very high esteem – they said that as Śāntideva recited it, he floated up into the air and disappeared, so that the rest of the text was read by a disembodied voice.)
In his chapter “Can the sceptic live his scepticism?”, Burnyeat argues that in order for the Skeptic to genuinely attain the peace of mind he seeks, he must actually hold such a belief, and be satisfied with it – which is contrary to the view that all beliefs must be banished. Lindsay was largely persuaded by Burnyeat’s critique, but thought that Bhāvaviveka – unlike Candrakīrti – might be able to get around it because he owns up to the view that some beliefs are necessary and theses should be advanced.
My own thoughts after this talk moved away from Burnyeat; I was trying to think about how a Prāsaṅgika view might itself be lived. It seems to me that a Prāsaṅgika view would claim that, rather than being a view strictly speaking, it would be what is left over once all views are gone. But why would we expect that someone in such a situation would become liberated, get the Buddhist equivalent of ataraxia? Here I think it may be important to consider the common Buddhist claim that the teachings are like a snake which can be wrongly grasped – and the fact that Candrakīrti, Śāntideva, Bhāvaviveka, Nāgārjuna and the historical Buddha were all monks, who had devoted their lives to cultivating good Buddhist practice. In Śāntideva I get the sense that once they are liberated and fully understand ultimate truth, buddhas continue doing good out of habit; without beliefs there is no longer anything that can deter them from doing so. Buddhist texts never suggest, as far as I know, that one can learn this ultimate truth without already being extremely virtuous. But suppose, hypothetically, that one could – it might then turn out to be a bad thing. If somehow I (or most of my readers), living a life that involves making money and having sex and seeking out delicious foods, were to reach the ultimate truth and a state without belief, it would make things worse, because I’d be stuck in that state instead of in bodhisattvahood.
Amod, I appreciate the articulate summary. I have never learned the different schools of thought in detail.
It is my understanding that the Buddhist concept of “habit” is closely linked to karma. Unvirtuous acts tend to reinforce “bad” habits of aggression, desire, etc. Virtuous acts — awareness coupled with pure motivation — tends to reinforce “good” habits. Good habits are habits that promote further awareness.
Buddhas are considered not to have habits, but to act with awareness. Buddhas act with compassion because when perception is not obscured, emptiness and compassion are present. This, at least, is my understanding. It is one of the hardest concepts to understand — that in Buddhist thought there is unconditioned goodness that is not a relative concept. So existence without belief (either eternalism or nihilism) does not result in making things worse.
Fair point to mention, although it may come to definitional questions around “habit.” I can’t think offhand of a Sanskrit or Pali concept that translates directly as “habit” in our sense – the closest might be sīla (conduct) and abhyāsa (practice), both of which have mostly good connotations. I think you’re right that karma has some connection to habit – that’s essential to the naturalized concept of karma as I understand it. So the suggestion that a buddha transcends karma (good and bad) karma would probably imply that a buddha transcends habit in some sense. But there would seem to be another sense of habit still operating – the buddha’s compassionate action comes without thinking, without having to think about it.
Although… now that I think of it, is it really the case that buddhas transcend karma? I think that claim is sometimes made about arhats, but buddhas seem to be still involved with karma in at least one respect: they redirect their good karma to others, which is where most of their supernatural powers come from.
Amod, thanks very much for this. The whole matter of the two (or is it indeed three?) truths has been on my mind a great deal of late in connection with some debates about Timothy Morton’s interpretation of Buddhism a la Object-oriented ontology. (My own last post was about this, albeit not about the two truths per se.) I also found this recent post on Hypertiling quite good on Nagarjuna and the two truths.
The matter interested me for more than one reason. As you know, I am halfway persuaded by Strauss’ “esoteric” interpretation of western philosophy, which (on my reading at least) descends from Averroes, a thinker who was (w/ his school) expressly accused of holding that there were “two truths.” What is interesting about Nagarjuna is that he almost seems to hold that reality itself has an esoteric structure; on this reading, one might be able to contend that the esoteric structure of philosophy is imposed upon it by reality itself (and this has indeed been argued). Of course, once you have “broken on through” to ultimate truth, you can see conventional truth as in some weird way “the same” as the ultimate truth, but my own competence to say anything stops well before this point.
Another pressing question for me is what you touch upon as regards the possibility of “skillful means”: how does one construct a system of “conventional” beliefs (and practices) that can propel the seeker beyond them to realization of the ultimate?
I think Rorty says somewhere, maybe in Contingency, Irony, Solidarity, that “the ironist” (the hero in Rorty’s valorization) cannot articulate any justification at all of her own ironism, but simply goes along, joining in such conventional games as suits her, knowing full well they are without foundation. In this sense, Rortyan pragmatic relativism seems like Sextus’ skepticism or the radical Madhyamaka, minus any claim to an ultimate truth at all. In fact I think Rorty expressly says that such ironism cannot be theorized, “but it can be lived.” (Unfortunately I cannot quote you chapter & verse here.)
The “minus ultimate truth” is the important point in that comparison, I think. In grad school I liked saying that the main difference between Madhyamaka and postmodernism is that Madhyamaka has a point. While I am usually interested in looking for similarities, as you know, there is a huge difference between eliminating belief in order to recognize truth or achieve ultimate peace, and eliminating belief in order to be more ironic than everybody else. I suppose in some ways the similarity between Madhyamaka and Rorty or Derrida is one of the things that have made me less sympathetic to it.
The esotericism comparison is interesting. The traditional Mahāyāna “skillful means” doctrine is an esotericism of a sort – but claimed as a past esotericism rather than present. (In his lifetime the Buddha taught mainstream Buddhism as if it were the truth, because most people weren’t ready for the real truth of Mahāyāna – but now they are, so we can dispense with all that non-Mahāyāna crap.) But what you’re talking about goes further – it’s an esotericism beyond propositions.
This is a common distinction(vyavaharika/paramarthika) that I have also seen been made by the advaitins. They add the category of ‘pratibhasika’ or illusory. However while I can see that this division is expedient the question as to how we get from the conventional to the supernatural must remain opaque under that regime. It may also be contrary to the higher teaching of both traditions which is that your nature is what it is. Again and again Shankara declares that karma cannot bring about realisation, only knowledge. I would say that this is the mother of all double-binds (Bateson).
Maybe breaking through the double-bind is just what leads to realization.
This is a good discussion. Skholiast expresses much of what I understand is taught.
The question how to get “there” from “here” is the $64,000 question, but the question is based on an assumption that is questionable. Relative truth looks for enlightenment as an alternative to samsara, but enlightenment can never be found there.
Still, the question has to be asked. Since enlightenment is uncreated, it is “realized” as a process of disciplined relaxation. As Tulku Urgyen says, “don’t meditate, but don’t be distracted.” In other words, any effort is fabricated and conceptual and misses the point — but since we are trapped by habit, there still needs to be an “effortless effort” applied. Not easy to accomplish. In fact, impossible to accomplish — if that is the goal.
Development of compassion (and devotion) is very helpful as skillful means, but it is most helpful if it is a genuine compassion where others are the priority and hope of enlightenment is given up. In otherwords, if compassion is viewed as skillful means to progress toward enlightenment, it is not very helpful.
Jim, this is just the sort of paradox that holds me fascinated and perhaps even paralyzed — on some level, one needs to give up the very notion of aiming for enlightenment, since any aiming presupposes that something is to be gained beyond what is here. And yet, clearly, is samsara is so great, we wouldn’t have the Dharma at all.
This all reminds me of the Gospel passage where Jesus says that the tax collector who cried out “God be merciful to me, a sinner!” went to his home justified, rather than the pharisee who prayed in thanksgiving for his spiritual stature & accomplishment. After this parable, it becomes a hundred times harder to pray “God be merciful to me, a sinner,” precisely because it becomes just another spiritual accomplishment to so pray.
It fascinates me as well. Viewed from the point of view of enlightenment, the path is confusion.
It is really pretty funny. And to take your example of the praying sinner a step further, the sense of denegrating oneself because one values one’s spiritual achievement and one’s motivations are impure is also an ego oriented thought. From the point of view of ego, achieving enlightenment is 100% hopeless — it just can’t be done.
Might as well just give up — but remain undistracted!
Amod: “On this he quotes Nāgārjuna: “If I had any position, then I would have a flaw [in my argument]. But I have no position; therefore I have no flaw at all.”
Mr. Nagarjuna has overlooked the fact that here he is holding two positions or views or theses: a) I have no position, view, or thesis, and b) (Therefore) I do not hold a flawed position, view, or thesis.
Both are false claims because he does hold a position, view, or thesis, in the very act of denying that he holds a position, view, or thesis. It’s like Derrida declaring with all the pompous pretentiousness he can muster “I never make generalizations.”!
Amod: “I was trying to think about how a Prāsaṅgika view might itself be lived. It seems to me that a Prāsaṅgika view would claim that, rather than being a view strictly speaking, it would be what is left over once all views are gone.”
The Prasangika has begin to proliferate beliefs in his mind here! “All views have gone.”, “Something is left over after all views are gone.”, “I ought to live in accordance with my view.”, “I am living in accordance with my view.”, “I am not living in accordance with my view.”, etc.
All of the Prasangika’s comic-neurotic attempts to “live her view” or pretend that she has no views only sinks her deeper into the swamp of beliefs!
The very notion that one can function without beliefs is inane. The very use of language implies thoughts and beliefs! All knowledge-claims and their denials are also belief-claims.
If “conventional truth” refers to the truths of commonsense, then any teaching device presupposes these truths, e.g., that there is someone who is the teacher, someone who is taught, and something which is the “teaching device”.
Evidence is needed to show that a particular commonsense truth-claim is actually false. But the very act of proffering evidence or even an explanation of the so-called ultimate truth of no-self is self-refuting. A deluded subject or self is clearly providing that evidence or explanation to another credulous subject or self!
The same holds true of any knowledge-claim made about the so-called ultimate truth of no-self. “I know that the ultimate truth is no-self.” is self-refuting.
Do you really think that Nāgārjuna, on hearing that he “has overlooked that he has the position that he has no position,” would think “Oh dear, I hadn’t thought of that”? He may be wrong, I grant you – I suspect that he is – but that’s not a matter of “overlooking.” It’s not as if nobody ever told him that before. To assert that he holds the position that he has no position is just to beg the question.
A lot of what’s going on here has to do with our definitions of “position” (/”view”) and “belief.” You note that the use of language requires “thoughts and beliefs” – well, thoughts are very different from beliefs. I can think “I am a purple cactus” – I just did so, a few seconds before writing this sentence, for the purpose of making this point. It doesn’t mean I believe that I am a purple cactus. This is the problem with a conception of belief as consisting of mental sentences – one can easily form a mental sentence without believing it. To that extent, at least, Nāgārjuna can clearly form theses and make arguments without believing in them. (In high school my friends and I devised a fallacious mathematical proof that 3 = 1, which flummoxed even several of our teachers. We made the argument but we didn’t believe it for a second.)
Furthermore, I think there’s a basic equivocation in your concept of “presupposition” in argument. There is a difference between taking your opponent’s view for granted for the purposes of argument in order to refute a related proposition, and actually assuming the view oneself. If I were to argue with a movement Republican, I might try to argue that it is good for a government to help the poor on the grounds that Jesus said the nations will be judged on what they do to “the least of these,” according to Matthew 25. I don’t actually believe that Jesus’s word is necessary or sufficient to make something good, but my interlocutor does, therefore I “presuppose” it for the purposes of making a case without believing it for a second.
Since I hold that it is pathological and/or dishonest to deny the truths of commonsense,and since Nagarjuna does so, I am not willing give him the benefit of doubt concerning whether he has overlooked the fact that he is holding the point of view that he has no point of view, or advancing the thesis that he has no thesis, etc. If you have evidence that he has considered and responded to this objection, I would be interested in learning about it.
Don’t forget that the history of philosophy is full of nonsense and/or intellectual hypocrisy, e.g., a philosopher moving around to advance the view that there is no motion, another seeking out opponents to argue the view that there are no individuals, etc.
“To assert that he holds the position that he has no position is just to beg the question.”
Nagarjuna’s claim is analogous to someone saying “I am not making any statement.” (using “statement” in the sense of “assertion”)This is just another statement. If someone says “I neither affirm nor deny causation.”, then this is just another position or thesis, that of suspended judgment. It clearly implies a position at odds with those who affirm causation and those who deny it.
“You note that the use of language requires “thoughts and beliefs” – well, thoughts are very different from beliefs.”
I agree that one can form or entertain thoughts or “mental sentences” without actually believing in their content, but there are also thoughts or “mental sentences” which are beliefs, e.g., “Death is inevitable.”
To claim that the truths of commonsense are a “teaching device” when the very notion of a “teaching device” presupposes or assumes the former is surely a case of confusion.
The assertion, in contrast to merely entertaining them or envisaging them in the mind, of thoughts certainly implies belief. So, if one asserts that “I have no beliefs.”, this implies that one holds the belief that one has no beliefs. It is a belief concerning the issue of whether one holds any beliefs.
It is important to clarify what or which beliefs one claims that one does not hold. If I claim that I do not hold any theistic beliefs, then this implies, not that one holds a theistic belief on theistic beliefs, but merely a belief that one does not hold theistic beliefs.
So, if a Prasangika claims that she holds no beliefs at all, then this implies that she holds the belief that she has no beliefs. The claim is “self-refuted” in just the way the claim that “There are no survivors.” is self-refuted when asserted by a survivor of an accident. In fact, it is a “triple-whammy self-refutation”, one on the score that she does hold a belief, the second on the score that she believes that she is the bearer of “no-belief”, and the third on the score that she believes that she exists.
Thill, this is where the Zen master might give you a whack upside the head (if he were compassionate).
There is a distinction between thought and experience. In the traditional analogy, it is the difference between the finger pointing at the moon and the moon. You are looking for a philosophy that admits only logic — where good is opposed to bad, where light is distinct from dark, where big and small exist, where there is a distinction between past, present and future, where enlightenment exists as something separate that is created by destroying confusion.
At its core, Buddhism is not based on a set of beliefs. It is based on meditation and realization. The intellect is helpful, indeed essential on the path to realization — but enlightenment is beyond intellect and logic. And, of course, it is not sufficient to say that “enlightenment is beyond intellect and logic”. If you were to take that position, you would be wrong.
And this is where I would “retort” by leaving your Zen Master without a head! LOL
LOL. We could have a non-conceptual brawl!
Thill
October 29th, 2010 on 8:26 pm
Since I hold that it is pathological and/or dishonest to deny the truths of commonsense, and since Nagarjuna does so, I am not willing give him the benefit of doubt concerning whether he has overlooked the fact that he is holding the point of view that he has no point of view, or advancing the thesis that he has no thesis, etc. If you have evidence that he has considered and responded to this objection, I would be interested in learning about it.
Thill, employing “common sense” has just trashed The 4 Noble truths and everything Nagarjuna said, and it only took him a few paragraphs. Pretty impressive.
Hmmm?
So we have Buddha and Nagarjuna, and their millions of followers, over thousands of years and not one of them was as sharp as Thill, to pick up on this.
Doesn’t paint a pretty picture of the mental capacity of the oriental people, does it? It makes one wonder how they have existed for so long with out employing common sense.
Buddha says question everything, and it seems that Thill is doing just that. Thill has a doubt, which is whether or not Nagarjuna was aware that he was denying the truths of common sense or not.
If he was not aware of what he was doing then he was just rambling. If he was aware that he was questioning the authority of common sense than we have an entirely different situation, and this is what Thill wants explained.
Most of this is available with a little research, but here is my take on it.
Common sense as Thill is using the term is common sense logic.
Thill feels that, if you are trying to make a point, you cannot make a statement that breaks a rule of logic.
If this were allowed than anyone could say anything and there would be no way to judge the truth of what is being said.
So in the attempt to prove to Thill, to make the point that Nagarjuna was neither pathological nor dishonest in his arguments we have to follow the rules of common sense logic.
However, Nagarjuna’s comment that he has no theory is NOT part of his argument; rather it is a comment on the results of his argument.
In Nagarjuna’s time there were two accepted forms of debate, both types of debate must follow the rules of common sense logic, and anyone entering into either type of debate must accept and follow them.
(these rules are not some archaic Asian ideas, but the same rules of logic used by people everywhere)
In the first type we have two parties each defending their own opposing positions. There would be judges to insure that the rules of Logic were followed during the debate, for example not let either side get away with a fallacy.
The point of this type of debate is that one side would refute the other and end up winning the debate, or proving their point, which would be understood as coming to the truth concerning whatever issue was being debated.
The second type of debate is the “destructive” debate. Where only one side defends a proposition and the other side tries to tear down the arguments presented, without offering an alternative position. The defender will lose if he cannot defend his position and the opponent will lose if he cannot refute the argument, or if he proposes a counter argument.
The point of this type of debate is to show where the original proposition was false, but it is not designed to come up with a “truth”, or an alternative proposition.
This, second, is the type of debate that Nagarjuna joins. He accepts that he must follow the rules of logic allowed and must reject any types of fallacious arguments not allowed.
The proposition that Nagarjuna is attempting to “dismantle” is nothing less than the assumption that the “rules of logic” are to be accepted unquestionably. Nagarjuna feels that to accept the rules of common sense logic as the be all and end all to truth is both pathological and dishonest.
The point that Nagarjuna was trying to make in his arguments was that the fundamental principles of common sense logic were counterfeit. That they were the rules of the language game that had no connection to real life circumstances. The rules of common sense logic were just that, rules that we create and we agreed upon so that we could employ language usefully, rules that we apply if we want to talk about nature, and were not “rules” that also applied to nature.
He uses the accepted rules and the accepted list of fallacies but turns these methods upon themselves.
He takes a logical look at logic and finds it lacking, a method still viable today.
Hope this helps, Thill.
Charlie n.
What does it mean to claim that someone does not accept common sense? Surely, among other things, it must mean that they don’t accept truths such as “If you touch fire, it will burn you!”, “If you drink poison, it will kill you!” etc. Now, a person who does not accept these truths of common sense is certainly in a very abnormal condition. This is obvious.
“The proposition that Nagarjuna is attempting to “dismantle” is nothing less than the assumption that the “rules of logic” are to be accepted unquestionably. Nagarjuna feels that to accept the rules of common sense logic as the be all and end all to truth is both pathological and dishonest.”
Again, what are these “rules of logic”? What does it mean to question them? Can you really question them without presupposing some of them?
So, does Nagarjuna believe that he is mortal and immortal at the same time? Does he deny that he either has a brain or doesn’t have one? Does he question the claim that if his name is “Nagarjuna”, then he has a name?
Perhaps, you can help Nagarjuna here and answer on his behalf?
“Nagarjuna feels that to accept the rules of common sense logic as the be all and end all to truth is both pathological and dishonest.”
Well, kindly offer an example of “rules of common sense logic” and an example of truth beyond the “rules of common sense logic”.
Hi Thill,
I can only give you my interpretation of what I think Nagarjuna is trying to say.
But what he said is out there for all of us to read.
If you have read Nagarjuna’s works or interpretations of them, what do you think he was doing?
Charliel n.
Being an ‘awakened’ one has implicit in it the standard analogy for sublation. While you were asleep you dreamt that you were chased by elephants and took it as real enough but when you awoke you were not looking behind the couch to see if any elephant was still lurking. The state of consciousness which is called dreaming was sublated by the state of consciousness called waking.
The conflicts and paradoxoi of the state of avidya/ajnana are resolved in the state of being realised/awake. So next question is – how do you know? A: by being there or by an encounter with one who is there. Let us assume that the latter is the case. There are many claiments to the condition of being a jnani and the annals of seeking are replete with stories of bounder swamis, tricky tulkus and rascal rinpoches. The skepticism that Amod speaks of is useful here. Sraddha is not a lemming like rush over the cliff of doubt into the sea of faith, it is a matter of discriminating openness which is enhanced by meditation. This practice can bring you to a state of the awareness of dissonance in practice, teaching and life. It’s good mental hygeine.
Remain undistracted, good luck Jim: dum,dum, dum dum dum dum
Michael, doubt is an interesting subject. Doubt is intelligence, but it can also be an obstacle when it is used to defend territory and becomes self-deception.
In our modern world, we are so absorbed with relative truth that we begin to believe that there is no absolute. So Yeats famously writes “the best lack all conviction and the worst are filled with passionate intensity.” But not all of our poets would agree with this. Whitman is a poet of confidence and Leaves of Grass is a poem that celebrates absolute truth inseparable from the particular appearance of the world.
I like Yeats, but I love Whitman.
This sounds right.
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