© 2000 Christopher S. Queen Reprinted from Engaged Buddhism in the West with permission of Wisdom Publications, 199 Elm Street., Somerville, MA, 02144 U.S.A., www.wisdompubs.org At the turn of the third millennium, amid the triumphs of science and technology, the global competition for resources, markets, and loyalties, and the decay of many of the political and environmental systems that sustain human and biological life, people of religious faith are once again bringing ancient teachings and practices into a new era. Most acknowledge the profound transformation the world has undergone since the founding of their traditions, and many are engaged in refashioning their heritage to meet the challenges of the future. For Buddhists and practitioners of the other world faiths, it is no longer possible to measure the quality of human life primarily in terms of an individual’s observance of traditional rites, such as meditation, prayer, or temple ritual; or belief in dogmas such as “the law of karma,” “buddha nature,” “the will of God,” or “the Tao.” Now there are widespread forces at work, many of them humanly created, that separate the world into sectors of relative safety and comfort, and much larger regions of poverty, oppression and war. Even within the borders of “the West,” as the comfort zone is called, the number of citizens who face poverty, marginalization, and the denial of human rights continues to increase.(1) In this introduction, we shall consider the thesis that socially engaged Buddhism—the application of the dharma, or Buddhist teachings, to the resolution of social problems—has emerged in the context of a global conversation on human rights, distributive justice, and social progress. Inasmuch as these concepts have had few parallels in the classical formulations of early Buddhism (later called Hinayana or “narrow vehicle”), reform Buddhism (Mahayana or “great vehicle”), and syncretic Buddhism (Vajrayana or “diamond vehicle”), I shall argue that the general pattern of belief and practice that has come to be called “engaged Buddhism” is unprecedented, and thus tantamount to a new chapter in the history of the tradition. As a style of ethical practice, engaged Buddhism may be seen as a new paradigm of Buddhist liberation. Invoking traditional terminology, Buddhists might call it a “new vehicle”—or Navayana, as the Indian civil rights leader B. R. Ambedkar did on the eve of his conversion to Buddhism in 1956—or a Fourth Yana in the evolution of the Dharma. In the following sections let us consider (1) the shift in religious orientation that is reflected in new Buddhist attitudes toward liberation and society, (2) the range of activities and interpretations offered by engaged Buddhists in this collection, (3) the nature of “engagement” in the context of earlier styles of Buddhist ethics: discipline, virtue, and altruism, and (4) the argument for regarding engaged Buddhism as a new turning of the wheel of Dharma—a new vehicle, or a fourth yana. LIBERATION AND SOCIETY All of the ancient spiritual traditions offer some form of relief from the reality of human suffering. These teachings and techniques typically comprise a theodicy, an explanation of the causes of evil and suffering in the world, and a soteriology, a complex of beliefs and practices to overcome and transcend the hardships of life, such as the action of natural and divine forces and the knowledge and rituals of the human community in relation to these forces. The fortunes and blessings of the individual and the group are sealed by their faithfulness to, or dissent from, the laws of God, the demands of the spirit world, or the impersonal workings of karma. Rewards and punishments result from actions performed in the past, while today’s actions determine tomorrow’s happiness, suffering, rebirth or eternal life.(2) The Buddha’s unique manifesto for human liberation, the four noble truths, addresses the dynamics of psychological suffering, finding its cause in a craving for objects and relationships that are ultimately ephemeral, and prescribing relief through an eight-step program of re-education and self-cultivation. His religious order, the sangha, offers intensive spiritual practice to those who renounce the obligations of family life and economic production, while a set of moral and practical teachings point the lay community toward harmonious and productive roles in society. These liberation teachings remain as viable today as they were in the Bronze and Iron ages. But another set of ideas about the possibility of human fulfillment and happiness have emerged with the achievements of modernity. While they are rooted in ancient conceptions of individual striving, such as discipline, virtue, and altruism; and in ideas of tribal identity, covenant community, and monastic order; they owe their distinctive character to notions of human rights, social justice, political activism and due process that have evolved in the “Western” cultural tradition, with contributions from Judaism, Greek humanism, Christianity, Roman and Anglo-Saxon law, the scientific and social Enlightenment of seventeenth and eighteenth century Europe, and the pragmatism and progressivism of nineteenth and twentieth century America.(3) The essence of the new outlook is a recognition of (1) the inalienable value of the human person, whatever his or her level of achievement or standing in the community, (2) the social and collective nature of experience, shaped in particular by cultural and political institutions that have the power to promote good or evil, fulfillment or suffering, progress or decline, and (3) the necessity of collective action to address the systemic causes of suffering and promote social advancement in the world. Despite the inalienable value of the person, it is no longer possible to see the individual as the sole “unit” of liberation or salvation—a solitary subject of divine or natural forces, or the prime beneficiary of self-cultivation—separate from the complex of roles and relationships that make up his or her life-world. Indeed, the very notion of an “individual” belies the multiplicity of roles, loyalties, and identities that comprise the modern “protean self.”(4) Now it is necessary to consider the effects of personal and social actions on others, particularly in the realms of speech and symbol manipulation in the Information Age, and in the policies, programs, and products of large and small institutions. “The others” affected by these actions must be understood not only as unit selves, but as significant collectivities: families, neighbors, workplace teams; social, ethnic, and economic groups; national and international populations; and, not least, biological species and ecosystems.(5) Collective consciousness is not new, of course. Tribal people have accounted for their destiny as a totemic group in relation to the spirit world and other groups; the Hindu caste system is a sacred hierarchy of groups defined by meticulous rules of occupation, marriage, and privilege; and the ancient Hebrews recorded their history as the biography of a chosen people before God. Yet these ancient conceptions bound members of the totem group, the endogamous caste, and the covenant community together in fealty to God, priesthood, economy, and king in ways that limited dissent.(6) By contrast, the religious communities founded by the Buddha, Jesus, and Muhammad were more fluid and spontaneous, calling their converts away from old economic and tribal obligations to practice the holy life. Here the institutions of mainstream society—government, commerce, and temple—were at least partially abandoned in the fervent quest for an ethical-spiritual counterculture, in which converts were free to come and go in search of a spiritual home. In time, however, the countercultures of the sangha, the church, and the umma (Muslim community), like those of the tribe, the caste, and the people of Yahweh, imposed their own restrictions and boundaries upon members, while simultaneously reintegrating them into the structures of society at large.(7) Today the dynamics of collective consciousness are more complex. While formerly the identity and mission of tribal, social, and religious groups evolved gradually in interaction with changes in the natural and political environment, today the identity and mission of organizations, including religious communities, are changing constantly and rapidly. Since the end of World War II, a state of permanent revolution has superseded the cultural and religious evolutions of the past—driven, among many factors, by the sheer number of organizations in the world, including businesses, governments, civic organizations, and social and religious groups. Also significant in preparing the soil for the rapid growth of religiously-inspired social activism in the late twentieth century have been the heightened, often desperate, competition for resources—water, food, employment, education, and healthcare, to name a few—in many parts of a shrinking planet, and the instantaneous global telecommunications made possible by satellite and computer technology. These conditions in combination fuel rising expectations and deepening disaffection among the have-nots, who can now see and hear the images of a forbidden world—one in which children are fed and schooled, illness is treated, and clear water flows from taps in the kitchen and bath.(8) VARIETIES OF ENGAGED BUDDHISM It is into such a world that socially engaged Buddhism began to make its appearance in the postwar period. The years from 1956 to 1966, for example, saw millions of India’s ex-Untouchables take refuge in Buddhism as a tradition of equality and liberation that could guide their struggle against the Hindu caste system; the founding of the Sarvodaya Shramadana movement of volunteer work-camps in Sri Lanka, which applied traditional Buddhist principles to the alleviation of rural poverty; and the founding of the School of Youth for Social Service and the Tiep Hien Order (Order of Interbeing) by the Vietnamese Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh and nun Chan Khong, who responded to the ravages of the war in their country by organizing volunteers in the rebuilding of bombed villages, starting farmers’ cooperatives, establishing clinics, and lobbying in the West for an end to the war. The study of engaged Buddhism in Asia alone must encompass liberation movements for the survival of the Tibetan people and culture; local movements for the rights of ordained and lay women in many Buddhist lands; the writings of engaged Buddhist thinkers and activists, such as Buddhadasa Bhikkhu and Sulak Sivaraksa of Thailand; the social and peace work of the Soka Gakkai and other Nichiren-inspired movements in Japan, particularly the Rissho Kosei-kai and Nipponzan Myohoji sects; the peace work of Maha Ghosananda, “the Gandhi of Cambodia”; and the opposition leadership of Aung San Ssu Kyi, the Nobel Peace laureate of Myanmar (Burma).(9) As the twenty studies of the present volume reveal, the range of concerns that motivate Western Buddhists to public service and political activism encompass nearly every area of social experience, conflict, and suffering: war and violence, race, human rights, environmental destruction, gender relations, sexual orientation, ethnicity, health care, prisons, schools, and the workplace. Like informed and caring members in every religious culture, engaged Buddhists have seen, heard, and responded to the cries of fellow human beings—and of nonhuman living beings—who face abuse, injury, or violent death. There is great unity among the engaged Buddhists profiled in this book on one point: that the existence of suffering in the world evokes in them a feeling of “universal responsibility,” as the Dalai Lama has called it, and the traditional vow to “save all beings.” More importantly, engaged Buddhists would agree that such a feeling impels them to act “in the world.” In a time when those who speak of “saving the world” can expect snide derision, if not social ostracism, these Buddhists are uninhibited in their expression of universal compassion (maha karuna): Once there is seeing, there must be acting…These passages, taken from the first three chapters below, express in turn the social philosophy of Thich Nhat Hanh, who is credited with introducing the term “engaged Buddhism” in the 1960s; the sense of urgency of the founders of the Buddhist Peace Fellowship, sitting on the front porch of their teacher, Robert Aitken Roshi, in Maui in the late 1970s; and three vows of the Zen Peacemaker Order, founded by Roshi Bernard Glassman and the late Sandra Jishu Holmes in the 1990s. Three characteristics of socially engaged Buddhism may be gleaned from these quotations. The first may be called Awareness. The metaphors of seeing and hearing, and the ancient Buddhist term “mindfulness” (Pali: sati) are familiar ways of expressing the essence of a buddha, an “Awakened One,” whose deep wisdom (panna) comes from seeing the true constituents and interdependence of oneself and the world. The term sati refers to a form of meditation, the simple but penetrating awareness of breathing and other bodily and mental states, and the conditions in and around the meditator, as they are happening. Mindfulness contains the additional meaning of “remembering”—one’s previous condition or lives, and consequently the interrelatedness of all beings. Among the heroic savior figures in Mahayana Buddhism, the bodhisattvas (“enlightenment beings”), the most famous is the Indian Avalokiteshvara (Kuan-yin in China, and Kannon or Kanzeon in Japan), “He/she who sees/hears the cries of the world.” All of these associations provide touchstones of understanding and inspiration for engaged Buddhists today. The second characteristic of engaged Buddhism is a deep Identification of the self and the world—a sense of oneness, nondualism, interdependence, and empathy for all beings. First becoming aware of the sufferings of others by seeing, hearing, and acknowledging their experience, one then has “com-passion,” or “sym-pathy,” a co-feeling or fellow-feeling that, unlike pity, dissolves the boundary between oneself and the other.(10) In the essays collected here, Thich Nhat Hanh identifies with the murderous pirate and the underworld arms dealer in his compassion for the plight of war refugees and victims, while Bernard Glassman observes that the “hungry ghosts” we invite to our table are no different than we, who serve the “supreme meal of compassion.” We learn of the Nichiren Buddhist doctrine of esho funi, “the oneness of self and world,” and the healing (or wholing) of mind, body, self and society that engaged Buddhists have discovered in mindfulness-based stress reduction programs and the Gay Buddhist Fellowship in San Francisco. The third characteristic of engaged Buddhism suggested by our quotations is the imperative of Action. “Once there is seeing, there must be acting,” writes Thich Nhat Hanh. “Something had to be done, and specifically something political needed to be done by Buddhists,” writes Judith Simmer-Brown of the founding of the Buddhist Peace Fellowship. For Glassman, the identification of others’ suffering as “my suffering” leads inexorably to action: If this is me, and it’s bleeding, I take care of it. I don’t join a discussion group or wait for the right equipment or wait until I am enlightened or go off to get trained. I immediately get some rags to stop the bleeding—because it’s me that’s bleeding!(11)One recalls the Buddha’s advice to bystanders in the parable of the poison arrow—“Pull out the arrow and treat the wound; leave the questions for later!”—and the urgent sense of compulsion of the Hebrew prophets when confronted by social injustice: “The lion has roared; who will not fear? Lord Yahweh has spoken; who can but prophesy?” (Amos 3.8). The essays collected here may be used as a mine for prospecting additional features of engaged Buddhism as it is practiced in the West at the end of the twentieth century. Indeed, certain themes and threads reappear throughout the book and suggest an emerging consensus. In addition to awareness, identification, and action, most engaged Buddhists view their practice as nonviolent (observant of the first Buddhist precept, not to harm others), nonhierarchical (believing in the equal dignity of all persons, if not all sentient beings), and nonheroic (believing that effective social change requires collective, “grass-roots” activity, not the charismatic leadership of high-profile individuals).(12) Engaged Buddhists do not agree on all matters, however, and a most significant area of disagreement is their attitudes toward the term and notion of “engagement” itself. Our first essay, provocatively titled “All Buddhism is Engaged,” surveys the teachings and activities of Thich Nhat Hanh and the Order of Interbeing. Early in the chapter we learn that Nhat Hanh’s work was a “departure from the twentieth century traditional world of monastic Vietnamese Buddhism”: A Buddhist collective action emerged which was aimed at directly influencing public policy and establishing new institutional forms. One form of collective action was noncooperation with government, such as strikes, mass resignations, the return of government licenses, and boycotts of classes by students. Another was the use of cultural forms such as fiction and non-fiction writing, and anti-war songs.Thus it is clear that, “despite the presence in Vietnamese history of earlier roots of engaged Buddhist practice,” the founding of the School of Youth for Social Service and the politicization of the Unified Buddhist Church (UBC) represented a new kind of Buddhist practice. But by the 1990s, some followers of Thich Nhat Hanh defined engaged Buddhism as “practicing mindfulness in daily life” and stressed that “socially engaged practice and social activism do not necessarily overlap.” In the end, some critics regard Thich Nhat Hanh’s teachings as “too engaged,” while others believe they are “not engaged enough.” British Buddhists present a wide range of views on the meaning of “engagement.” Venerable Khemadhammo, the founder and spiritual director of the Buddhist prison chaplaincy and aftercare service, Angulimala (discussed in chapters 13 and 15 below)—certainly an “engaged Buddhist” by any standard— is disturbed by the term: When people ask me, as they quite often do, What is an engaged Buddhist? I am embarrassed. The phrase seems to imply that there are, can be, disengaged Buddhists. That is not something I feel it is polite, or politic, to admit. This becomes clearer if we use the Dalai Lama’s alternative expression, “universal responsibility.” Would it sound okay to say, “We are the responsible Buddhists, they are the irresponsible ones?” On the other hand, Ken Jones, author of The Social Face of Buddhism: An Approach to Political and Social Activism (1989) and Beyond Optimism: A Buddhist Political Ecology (1993), and a prominent member of the Network of Engaged Buddhists in Britain, is not at all shy about the term. Jones has proposed the use of the terms soft for Buddhists committed primarily to “mindfulness in daily life” and hard for those committed to “influencing public policy and establishing new institutional forms”: At the soft end are individuals and organizations who see Engaged Buddhism as ranging from being kind to your neighbors to promoting a society based on the principles of the Dharma. The hard-enders do not deny the irrefutable logic of this, but claim that it robs Engaged Buddhism of a sufficiently clear definition…. Hard-enders believe governments and other institutions should be included in the active concerns of Buddhist morality; soft-enders tend to urge only personal responsibility. Soft-enders tend to be less keen on Buddhist social analysis and more on personal experience and mindfulness. If the continuum from personal experience (soft) to social analysis (hard) reflects one way of classifying, if not defining, engaged Buddhists, the continuum from mindfulness-based practice to service-based practice represents another. In his study of Jon Kabat-Zinn’s Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction programs, Andrew Olendzki demonstrates their debt to the psychology of ancient Buddhism, in which health is defined as the absence of dukkha, the state of dissatisfaction that arises from craving for objects and relationships that are ultimately ephemeral. Thus dukkha is a form of self-imposed, cognitive-emotional stress that is subject to clinical treatment. Enter the Buddha, a great healer whose four noble truths are (1) the doctor’s diagnosis of illness (dukkha), (2) its etiology (tanha, craving, and moha, ignorance), (3) a prescription for health (nibbana, the absence of illness), and (4) the treatment plan (the eightfold path). In traditional Buddhism, as in modern science, the mind and the body are correlative and interactive, each causing effects and changes in the other. Yet in the Theravada Buddhist worldview, only the mind—through meditation—can engage and overcome the dynamics of suffering. For suffering, like the whole phenomenal world, is a product of the mind. But what about society—is this not the realm in which engaged Buddhism operates? Olendzki writes, The fact that mindfulness practice involves the inner life rather than external manifestations does not necessarily make it any less a form of engaged Buddhism. When meditation practice is used in healing, with what is it really engaging? Unlike other forms of engaged Buddhism it is not interacting with oppressive social institutions, or with the makers of war or the breakers of peace, or with those who violate human rights or ravage the environment.Only by overcoming the disease of suffering in the world at its root—the unwholesome psychological “secretions” (asravas) of hatred, greed, and delusion—through mindfulness meditation, may engaged Buddhists address the external symptoms of social suffering. “It may be possible to engage the mind without significantly changing the larger world we all share,” Olendzki concludes, “but it is not possible to engage the world except through engagement with the mind.” A further implication of mindfulness-based engaged Buddhism is that the Buddha’s “comprehensive program for understanding and addressing…the deep craving that causes suffering…is almost entirely out of the reach of most contemporary Buddhists.” According to Olendzki, it takes a “professional sage”—a full-time meditator—to recover fully from the disease of dukkha, while “the rest of us may employ an array of practices which can effectively mitigate its symptoms.” This is the traditional position of the Theravada school of ancient Buddhism, which the Mahayana populists called the “elite” or “narrow” path, Hinayana, because of its emphasis on the holy life of the monk as the most effective prescription for the relief of suffering in the world. Service-based engaged Buddhism is my term for the results-oriented practice of teachers like Bernard Glassman and many of the Buddhist environmentalists, prison chaplains, and peace activists profiled in this book. These practitioners may be rightly called “activists” as they work to create jobs, increase the participation of Blacks and Hispanics in the sangha, stop the violence in the maximum security unit, restore the Tibetans to their rightful land, and save the California redwoods. Because all people are “hungry ghosts,” suffering from the diseases of craving and ignorance, Roshi Glassman emphasizes the preparation and service of the “supreme meal,” his metaphor for the life of an engaged Buddhist, with his or her own unique “ingredients”: talents, resources, motives, and opportunities. Unlike the holy meals in the Western religious traditions—the Passover Seder, the Christian Eucharist, and the evening feasts during the Muslim month of Ramadan—in which those who consume the food are nourished, healed, and liberated, the Zen meal is the spiritual practice of the tenzo, the Buddhist chef, a bodhisattva whose own spiritual goal of nourishment, healing, and liberation can only be achieved by serving the meal to others. I asked Roshi Glassman whether he regarded zazen, sitting meditation, as indispensable to the practice of engaged Buddhism. Inasmuch as Zen is the Mahayana school that emphasizes meditation (zen being the Japanese mispronunciation of the Chinese ch’an, the mispronunciation of the Sanskrit dhyana, “meditation”), I was surprised by his answer: I’ll be radical and say no. For me personally zazen has been very important, and I can’t imagine not having a daily sitting practice, but I have met wonderful people who are considered great teachers, who have wonderful sitting practices, who I don’t consider very enlightened. And I have met wonderful people who don’t practice zazen who I think are enlightened. So I would say no. If you mean, like the Sixth Patriarch, that the elimination of subject-object is indispensable, I would agree. But simply sitting is not essential. There are many ways to actualize that state of oneness, of non-duality. I know Sufis and Jews who don’t have a daily sitting practice. I know many Tibetans who don’t sit everyday. Can a meditator on retreat in a cave be an engaged Buddhist? Yes, says the Zen master, again confounding the visitor. The cave meditator may be just as engaged as someone who works with the homeless. “Our aim in meditation and spiritual practice is to find the wholeness of life.” Before we can bring peace to the family, the community, the nation, or the world, we must bring peace to ourselves. The means might be meditation, chanting, or ritual, such as placing fresh flowers before the Buddha image or performing the Gate of Sweet Nectar ceremony with the Zen Peacemaker community—in the zendo or on the streets of lower Manhattan. On the other hand, the means to wholeness might be service or activism, practiced alone (writing a letter or a donation check) or with others (volunteering at a hospice or attending a public rally); accompanied by the other skillful means (meditation, chanting, ritual), or by itself, as the sole form of spiritual practice undertaken by an engaged Buddhist. With Glassman Roshi, the continuum from mindfulness-based to service-based engaged Buddhism becomes a full circle. FOUR STYLES OF BUDDHIST ETHICS These reflections on the varieties of engaged Buddhism raise the larger question of the place of social engagement in the history of Buddhist ethics. Of course, Buddhism in Asia and the West is hardly a single, unbroken story. Indeed, some of the teachings and practices we have already sampled reflect the historical branching and broadening of the tradition as the Dharma was carried from India to China, Southeast Asia, Tibet, Korea, and Japan over two thousand five hundred years. Despite these great spans of time and space, I believe it is possible to identify four distinctive styles of Buddhist ethics: discipline, virtue, altruism, and engagement. I prefer to describe them as “styles of practice” rather than “historical stages,” for they may be seen as overlapping and cumulative. On the other hand, I think it is accurate to say that discipline and virtue are probably characteristic of the earlier centuries of Buddhist history, while altruism and engagement came to prominence later on. It may even be accurate to say that the fourth style, “engagement,” has few precedents before the nineteenth century, as I have argued elsewhere.(13) The ethics of discipline, virtue and altruism will be familiar to those who study Buddhist literature. David Chappell writes, “Mahayana ethics has a threefold emphasis, avoiding evil, cultivating good, and saving all beings.”(14) These objectives, enacted by observing monastic “discipline” (vinaya) and lay “morality” (shila); meditating on the “divine abodes” (brahma viharas) and “perfections” (paramitas); and vowing to serve others (bodhisattva-carya) became leitmotifs in the Mahayana commentarial literature, providing, for example, the basic structure of Asanga’s Chapter on Ethics (India, fifth century c.e.) and Gyonen’s compendium of ethics, Risshu Koyo (Japan, thirteenth century c.e.). The Japanese scholar Ono Hodo has found at least fourteen sets of terms to represent these three categories in Chinese literature.(15) Another indication of the centrality of discipline, virtue, and altruism for Mahayana ethics is their role in Atisha’s commentary, The Lamp of the Path to Enlightenment and Its Explanation (Tibet, eleventh century c.e.). According to Georges Dreyfus, this text became the model for a genre of Tibetan Buddhist literature, later known as lam rim (Gradual Stages of the Path), which represents a basic view of Buddhist practice…widely accepted in Tibet, both among [the] lay population and virtuosi. It is practiced by all the contemporary schools of Tibetan Buddhism…[and] its views resonate with the understanding of other Buddhist traditions, particularly Theravada, which share a similar gradualist approach.(16) Let us examine briefly these three styles of practice, which, taken together, Mahayana philosophers and systematizers came to call shila or morality. The Ethics of Discipline This style of Buddhist practice takes us back to the primitive community of men and women who attempted to follow the Buddha’s path to enlightenment. Like the Biblical Hebrews, the early Buddhists were committed to the disciplined observance of moral regulations. And like the Hebrews and Israelites, the Buddhists formulated their morality in memorable lists—the pancha shila or “five precepts” for laity, and the vinaya or “discipline” of some two hundred and fifty rules for monks and nuns—which were regularly recited at community rituals. The ethics of discipline entails the avoidance of conduct that arises from the mental impurities of hatred, greed, and delusion. “I undertake to abstain from taking life…from taking what is not given…from sexual misconduct…from untruthful speech…from taking intoxicants.” This is the chant of lay and ordained Buddhists of every practice lineage. Along with the ti-sarana or “three refuge” formula (reverence to the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha), the pledge to observe the pancha shila, or pansil, is perhaps the most universal expression of Buddhist identity. Early Buddhists often referred to their practice as buddhasasana or simply sasana, which means “instruction, admonition, message, order.” This instruction was summed up in a well-known verse, found in such early texts as the Dhammapada, the Mahapadanasutta, and an early form of the Patimokkha, the disciplinary code of monastic rules. The verse reads, Refraining from all that is evil,The focus of the Buddhist ethics of discipline is the training of the solitary practitioner, although the effects of such observance are obviously beneficial to society as a whole. In its Mahayana formulation, the first level of shila concerns the avoidance of two types of faults: natural faults that directly harm others, such as killing; and conventional faults that abrogate ritual obligations, such as a monk’s eating after the noon hour. While both failures of discipline engender negative karma for the practitioner, the lam rim tradition defines morality as the resolution to abstain from harming others, and thus takes the commission of natural faults more seriously.(18) The Ethics of Virtue Prefigured in the verse above, in which “refraining from what is detrimental” is linked to an ethics of virtue, “attaining what is wholesome [and] purifying the mind,” moves from a restrictive sensibility to a constructive one, in which the practitioner’s relationship to other persons comes more clearly into view. It is difficult to imagine the practice of metta bhavana or “lovingkindness meditation,” for example, without considering the projection of good wishes first to oneself and then, progressively, to loved ones, acquaintances, strangers, and enemies. Likewise, the vipassana or insight meditator may project feelings of compassion (karuna), joy (mudita), and equanimity (upekkha) toward others, thus cultivating these virtuous states of mind or “divine abodes” (brahma viharas) and, in the process, favorably dispose herself or himself to act in these ways in society—or “off the cushion,” as we say today. A great deal has been written about the return of Aristotle’s “virtue ethics” in recent moral philosophy and Buddhist ethics. In his introduction to a scholarly discussion of Buddhist ethics in 1996, Charles Prebish noted what he called a “creative paradigm shift” among scholars from the study of vinaya, an externally enforced code concerned with self-purification, to shila, an internally enforced ethical framework around which any Buddhist practitioner might structure his or her life. Shila, he concluded, is an enormously rich concept for understanding individual ethical conduct.(19) In The Nature of Buddhist Ethics (1992), Damien Keown argues that all Buddhist ethics are founded on self-cultivated virtue.(20) Dreyfus finds in Atisha’s Lamp of the Path, for example, the Mahayana counterpart of ancient Buddhism’s brahma viharas—namely, the bodhisattva practice of the six perfections (paramitas): generosity, morality, courage, patience, contemplation, and wisdom. Called “the whole range of virtuous practices” undertaken by one who vows to reach buddhahood for the sake of all sentient beings, these practices, like the divine abodes, are forms of personal cultivation that do not entail specific behaviors in specific situations. Rather, they point to a quality of living that is inherently valuable, free from suffering, and conducive to good deeds.(21) Virtuous “moods and motivations” (to use Clifford Geertz’s phrase) are not necessarily virtuous deeds, however.(22) In Love and Sympathy in Theravada Buddhism (1980) and a companion article, “Motivations to Social Action in Theravada Buddhism,” Harvey B. Aronson warned that the Theravada practice of meditation on the four abodes does not entail social action or service to others, but rather “personal, psychological, or soteriological benefits.”(23) This is not to say that the Buddha and his community did not teach the dharma “for the welfare and happiness of the multitude and out of sympathy for the world” (in the famous formula that punctuates the Pali texts), but rather that sympathy (anukampa) and service (karunna) were less often mentioned as goals of the path. Modern authors, such as Walpola Rahula, who argue that the heritage of the Buddhist monk (bhikkhu) was public service based on compassion and love, have misread the tradition.(24) Similarly, Dreyfus stresses the value of ethical cultivation for its own sake, outside of the domain of rules and injunctions and outside the utilitarian calculus of “choosing the right course of action for the sake of the greater happiness of the greater number.” While externalized, duty-based, deontological, or consequentialist ethics have dominated moral reflection since the time of Kant in the West, they miss the qualitative heart of Buddhist virtue, namely, the cultivation of character for its own sake, or to achieve final liberation from future rebirth the world.(25) The Ethics of Altruism Service to others, or altruism, is the third style of Buddhist moral development recommended in the Mahayana treatises. This activity is spelled out by Atisha in ways that the Pali literature reserved for occasional advice to monarchs and the laity: “nursing the sick, leading the blind, helping the down-trodden, feeding those who are hungry, and providing lodging for those who are needy.” “This dispels the misrepresentation of Buddhism as promoting self-involvement,” writes Dreyfus. Unlike discipline and virtue, altruism is resolutely oriented toward others. In the lam rim tradition of Tibetan Buddhism, meditation on compassion is intended “not just to develop a healthy concern for others—but to actually help them.”(26) Altruism does not entail self-denial or ignore self-cultivation, however. It is a fulfillment of the practitioner’s capacity for generosity, morality, courage, patience, mindfulness, and wisdom—the virtues of the bodhisattva path. Now service becomes, not the by-product of self-cultivation, but the means to it, the very manifestation of buddhahood. David Chappell’s exegesis of the Upasaka Precept Sutra, an early Mahayana text available only in Chinese until presently, shows the decisiveness of the shift from virtue to altruism.(27) In the first chapter, lay bodhisattvas are described as the highest practitioners of the dharma, above desire-realm beings, non-Buddhist teachers, stream-enterers, once-returners, arhats, and pratyekabudddhas. The idea is that a layperson (upasaka) who has merely summoned “the thought of enlightenment” (bodhicitta) is in a superior position to help other beings. One example of what Chappell calls the “broadened perspective” of the Upasaka Precept Sutra is a scenario that recalls the Good Samaritan parable in the Christian gospel (Luke 10:30–35): If an upasaka who has taken the precepts comes across a sick person along the road and does not look after and arrange a place for him, but deserts him, he commits a fault. He cannot rise from degradation, nor can he purify his actions.(28)Now compassion comes in two versions: ordinary compassion that arises through a sympathetic response to the suffering others, and is thus ephemeral and limited to those present at any time; and “great compassion,” maha karuna, that arises after enlightenment, is boundless, does not waver, can greatly save and help countless beings, and is practiced with wisdom.(29) Chappell points out that compassion in pre-Mahayana Buddhism occurs in the brahma viharas, as we have seen, and as an attribute of the Buddha, whose primary activity is teaching. But for arhats (enlightened monks) and occasional laypeople, it is recommended only as an antidote to hostile feelings, and is thus a kind of emotional fine-tuning or service-check for an otherwise well-running vehicle. By contrast, the first of the Four Great Bodhisattva Vows introduced by Tiantai-Zhiyi in tenth-century China is the grandiose proclamation, “Beings are infinite in number. I vow to save them all!” The Ethics of Engagement The reader may be wondering at this point how a final style of Buddhist ethics could improve upon the altruism of the Mahayana, as it was taught and practiced in Asia over the past two millennia. Or, if not improve upon, at least differ from the previous styles of morality. Indeed, some will ask, have we not been speaking of engaged Buddhism all along? Are the disciplined observance of vinaya regulations, lay precepts, and advice for daily living found in the Pali literature not productive of a better society—as Russell Sizemore, Donald Swearer, and the contributors to Ethics, Wealth, and Salvation (1990) have shown?(30) And do we not see an intimate structural and developmental relationship between the virtue ethics of meditative goodwill, compassion, and generosity, and the skillful altruism of the bodhisattva path? It would be wrong to argue that the first three styles of Buddhist morality are not productive of a more peaceful and prosperous society, as well as happier individuals. But one may wonder, in light of the widespread conditions of human misery in our world today, whether rule-based morality, mental cultivation, individualized good works, and generalized vows to save all beings will be enough to prevent the spread of political tyranny, economic injustice, and environmental degradation in the era to come. Such a question itself reflects a critical shift in thought and practice that distinguishes Buddhist leaders and communities today from their predecessors in traditional Asian societies. A perfect illustration of this shift may be found in the contrast between the religious and political attitudes of Mahatma Gandhi and B. R. Ambedkar, the Indian Untouchable leader in the 1930s and 1940s. Gandhi advocated compassion and improved social services for India’s Untouchables, while Ambedkar demanded the abolition of the caste system itself. As a devout Hindu, Gandhi believed that each person is limited or empowered by the cumulative effects of his or her own karma, and thus cannot be rescued by outside forces. Gandhi separated his political philosophy in this respect from his morality. India must struggle toward swaraj, independence from the British, which will benefit all Indians. But caste is a deeper issue, he held—indeed a cosmic law—that cannot be abrogated by human struggle or legislative fiat. Gandhi’s Hindu worldview was deeply compatible with the altruism of the Mahayana bodhisattva tradition that we have discussed, while his ascetic “experiments with truth,” such as fasting and celibacy, and his cultivation of satyagraha, “truth force,” are reminiscent of the Buddhist ethics of discipline and virtue. His great compassion encompassed the Harijans (“God’s Children,” his name for Untouchables) along with the Brahmins and Banias (his own Vaishya caste, reserved for merchants and bankers). As a trained jurist, like Ambedkar, he could imagine a society transformed by legislation and the action of the courts. But Gandhi firmly rejected the idea that religious identities, beliefs, practices, and morality itself were negotiable or subject to reform.(31) Ambedkar, a product of the slums of Maharashtra and the classrooms of Columbia University and the London School of Economics, saw karma from the other side. If the collective, institutionalized expression of greed, hatred, and delusion was India’s legacy of colonialism, bureaucratic corruption, and the religiously based caste system, then all of these structures, fashioned by human hearts and minds, could be repaired, remodeled, or removed. The key was the notion of collective action—both in the genesis of human suffering, and in its relief. Ambedkar was not a spiritual teacher in the mold of the Buddha or Gandhi, but a public intellectual in the mold of his American mentor, John Dewey. Dewey and Ambedkar believed that democratic bodies, courts, and schools were the proper tools of informed, engaged citizens. Such citizens speak out on community issues, vote their conscience, file legal suits if necessary, and, as a last resort, agitate for social change in the streets. Here we would seem to have a match with Gandhi, the father of nonviolent protest in the twentieth century. But Gandhi and his followers practiced satyagraha to restore a classical, precolonial India—symbolized by the spinning wheel and homespun clothing—while Ambedkar sought to build a new India on humanistic principles, embodied in the world’s longest democratic Constitution, which he drafted. As the fourth style of Buddhist ethics, engaged Buddhism is radically different from the Mahayana path of altruism because it is directed to the creation of new social institutions and relationships. There are indeed harbingers of socially engaged practice in the annals of Buddhist history, such as the public works projects of the Indian king Ashoka in the third century b.c.e., and the free dispensaries, hospitals, bridge building, and tree planting campaigns of Buddhist temples in the Sui and T’ang periods in China, but these are exceptions to the practices of individual discipline, virtue, and altruism advocated in the tradition.(32) Robert Aitken Roshi, one of the founders of the Buddhist Peace Fellowship, and a great innovator and commentator on the emergence of engaged Buddhism in the West, wrote in his book on Zen Buddhist Ethics, The Mind of Clover, Here and there in Buddhist history we find millenarian individuals devoting themselves to social welfare and social protest, but generally the practice of enlightenment, social or individual, was focused within the monastery and among monks. We do not find Buddhist social movements developing until the late nineteenth century, under the influence of Christianity and western ideas generally.(33) THE “YANAS” IN BUDDHIST HISTORY Another way of understanding the emergence of engaged Buddhism is through the traditional metaphor of “vehicles.” In Hindu mythology, the great gods were pictured riding on birds or animals that represented their peculiar power or domain (Shiva on the Bull Nandi, Vishnu on the bird Garuda, and Brahma on the swan Hamsa). In Buddhism the simile of the boat or raft was associated with the practice of Dharma from early times: “Bhikkhus, I shall show you how the Dhamma is similar to a raft, being for the purpose of crossing over, not for the purpose of grasping.”(34) After “crossing over” to the other shore of nibbana or final awakening, the practitioner should leave the vehicle of beliefs and practices behind. Vehicle imagery was reinforced by the image of the “wheel” (synecdoche for “cart” or “chariot”) of Dhamma, which the Awakened One “turned” in his first sermon at the Deer Park at Sarnath.(35) Finally, we read in a famous passage of the Saddharmapundarika Sutra that a “rich man” (the Buddha) lured his children out of a “burning house” (cyclic existence) by offering them “ox-drawn carriages, goat-drawn carriages, and deer-drawn carriages” (the various practice traditions of Buddhism), only to give them “a single great ox-drawn carriage” (the Ekayana or “Single Vehicle” or Mahayana or “Great Vehicle” of bodhisattva practice) when they emerged safely from the house (entered upon the path to buddhahood).(36) Let us take a closer look at the evolution of the yanas in Buddhist history. One of the textbook “facts” that students of comparative religion learn is that Christianity and Buddhism both underwent dramatic Reformations in which lay spirituality, openness to new ideas, outreach to the uninitiated, and service to the needy were featured. Although occurring only four hundred years after the death of the founder in the case of Buddhism (compared to fifteen hundred years after Christ for the Protestant Reformation in Europe), the emergence of “great vehicle” Mahayana Buddhism around the turn of the Common Era was defined by its apologists as a repudiation of the “narrow” or “elite” Hinayana Buddhism that went before. Although the anti-elitist polemics in Mahayana scriptures such as the Yet our picture of the history and sociology of ancient Buddhist sects remains obscure. Scholars are far from agreed on the attributes and events that separated practitioners of the Mahayana and Hinayana in ancient times. While early commentators such as Arya Asangha (Mahayanasutralamkara, fourth century) asserted that “the Sravakayana and Mahayana are mutually opposed,” the precise boundaries of their opposition are impossible to map with confidence. Yet we find these two yanas laid out in stark opposition in most textbook accounts of Buddhist history, as Richard S. Cohen shows: The Hinayana champions the arhat ideal, the Mahayana, the bodhisattva ideal; the Hinayana is centered on the sangha, the Mahayana, on the Buddha; the Hinayana is rationalist in its metaphysics, the Mahayana, mystical; Hinayana is ethical, Mahayana devotional; the Hinayana has closed its canon, the Mahayana allows for continuing “revelation.”(38) Against such artificial dichotomies, Cohen offers convincing evidence of the blurring of the Hinayana and Mahayana patterns in his study of selected textual and iconographic records from Buddhist caves at Gilgit in Afghanistan and Ajanta in Western India. In the case of the Ajitasenavyakarananirdesa Sutra, for example, found only at Gilgit, we find “an admixture of both the Hinayanic and Mahayanic ideal,” extolling the supremacy of buddhahood and the availability of the bodhisattva path to monks and laity alike (Mahayana characteristics), but at the same time refraining from attacking sravakas (“hearer” monks), arhats (“worthy” senior monks), or the monastic tradition itself, as is the pattern in most Mahayana scriptures. However early such a “missing link” text may have been, Cohen comments, “the manuscript’s colophon tells us that as late as the sixth century [c.e., or the tenth century after the Buddha] two lay Buddhists, Balosimha and his wife Jijadi, chose to have this sutra copied, perhaps at the behest of their spiritual benefactor Sthirabandhu.”(39) Cohen reports another, perhaps more definitive, example of the blurring of Hinayana and Mahayana characteristics from his year at the vast cave complex at Ajanta. Here, Cave 22 contains an image of seven Buddhas and the bodhisattva Maitraya seated under separate Bodhi trees—an image that suggests the Mahayana’s multiplication of buddhas and bodhisattvas. But again the taxonomy of distinct yanas breaks down. The donor is identified as an Aparasaila, i.e., a member of one of the eighteen Hinayana nikayas, or monastic orders, raising the question “Can a self-described member of a nikaya accept the bodhisattva vow and still be categorized as a Hinayanist?” Indeed, are the traditional yana categories dependable at all, if one insists upon their incommensurability? Can they be considered “natural taxonomies” based on social-historical patterns of ideological and institutional affiliation, or are they “artificial taxonomies,” defined according to arbitrary and functional conventions? If we plan to continue using yana-language, Cohen concludes, we must first decide whether we want this classificatory system to conform to, and describe, historical actualities on their own terms, reconstructed through available evidence; or whether it should be treated as a conventional construction, stipulatively defined so as to yield a useful analysis of whatever specific material is at hand. There is no reason to believe that scholars of Buddhism have heretofore sought anything but a natural, historical understanding of the yanas.(40) In the end, Cohen votes for both of these options, admitting that, “of all the categories through which to reconstruct Indian Buddhism’s history, Mahayana and Hinayana are the most productive,” and then stipulating, “our approach to Buddhism’s history in India must rely upon a hermeneutic sensitive to, and respectful of, the many divergent discursive, historical, institutional, psychological, practical, ideological, and social contexts within which we use these analytic categories.”(41) For our purposes, Cohen’s position of problematizing, then endorsing, the continued use of the yana categories may be buttressed by suggesting that, even as artificial taxonomies, i.e. as conventional, schematic summaries of historical patterns of practice and belief, the yanas may help us to trace the evolution of Buddhist spirituality. Here we may recall Max Weber’s notion of the “ideal type”: An ideal type is formed by the one-sided accentuation of one or more points of view and by the synthesis of a great many diffuse, discrete, more or less present and occasionally absent concrete individual phenomena, which are arranged according to those one-sidedly emphasized viewpoints into a unified analytical construct (Gedandenbild). In its conceptual purity, this mental construct cannot be found empirically anywhere in reality.(42) Like Thomas More’s neologism, utopia, which, because it is a perfect “good place,” (Greek eu-topos) is found exactly “no place” (ou-topos), so, as Weber concludes, “Historical research faces the task of determining in each individual case, the extent to which this ideal-construct approximates to or diverges from reality.”(43) Weber illustrates the application of ideal typical constructions with reference to the history of Christianity. In the process he adds a dimension to the discussion that will help us to appreciate the impact of engaged Buddhism today: There is still another even more complicated significance implicit in such ideal-typical presentations. They regularly seek to be, or are unconsciously, ideal-types not only in the logical sense but also in the practical sense, i.e., they are model types which—in our illustration—contain what, from the point of view of the expositor, should be and what to him is “essential” in Christianity because it is enduringly valuable…. [Here] the sphere of empirical science has been left behind and we are confronted with a profession of faith, not an ideal type construct.(44) Like Clifford Geertz’s notion of religious symbols as “models of” reality, at same time that they are “models for” conduct—inasmuch as the activities of the gods or the saints are paradigmatic for human conduct, for example—so Weber’s ideal types may be useful both as high-level observations of the patterns of thought and action in social history, and as normative value configurations for emulation in the future.(45) The Swiss theologian Hans Küng offers further insights into the meaning and function of the Buddhist yanas, following a symposium at the University of Hawaii on “Paradigm Change in Buddhism and Christianity,” which he attended in 1984. Participants adopted the notion of paradigm adumbrated by Thomas S. Kuhn in The Structure of Scientific Revolutions (1962), namely, the “total constellation of convictions, values, and patterns of behavior” that shape the religion, economics, law, politics, science, art, and culture of an era. The value of the paradigm concept is its application both to problems of structural change in the “total constellation” and to problems of periodization over time. Thus, in the case of Christianity, the dominant paradigms fall into the following familiar sequence: Jewish-Christian, Church-Hellenistic, Medieval-Roman Catholic, Reformation-Protestant, Modern-Enlightenment, and Postmodern. Meanwhile, Indian Buddhism may be seen to fall into “the old Buddhist Lesser Vehicle” (Hinayana), the subsequent Great Vehicle (Mahayana), and finally the Tantric Diamond Vehicle (Vajrayana). “As prevailing, wide-ranging, and deeply rooted total constellations of conscious-unconscious convictions, values, and patterns of behavior, these paradigms are… ‘more’ than simply religion, more comprehensive than religion.”(46) According to Küng, identifying the yanas as paradigms, or “total constellations” of cultural habits and values encourages us to enter into dialogue with each one on its own terms, to compare and contrast the paradigms without prejudice, and finally “to measure critically every new form of Buddhism… against its source (Gautama, the Buddha).” (47) Furthermore, Thomas Kuhn’s notion of paradigm, like Weber’s ideal type, is genetic as well as structural: old paradigms in science are weakened, modified, discarded, or absorbed into emerging new paradigms, as discoveries that do not fit the reigning paradigm accumulate. In the classic example, the mathematical gymnastics required to support the stellar epicycles of the geocentric, Ptolemaic universe finally collapsed when a flood of new observations, made possible by better telescopes, tipped astronomers like Kepler and Galileo to the new, heliocentric paradigm. In the history of Buddhism, the new yanas have not cancelled the old ones, as in the case of paradigms in the natural sciences. Rather the old have tended to be modified sufficiently to survive side-by-side with the new. This is precisely the situation that Cohen describes in the Gilgit text and the Ajanta art, which suggest the coexistence and interpenetration of Hinayana and Mahayana elements by the end of the first Buddhist millennium. And, bringing the Vajrayana, or tantric-practice-vehicle, into the discussion, Buddhist historian John Donne adds, It is important to note that for both the Indian systematizers and Tibetan scholars, the Vajrayana is part of the Mahayana. This is even more strongly maintained than the inclusion of the Hinayana within the Mahayana. That is, the Hinayana is distinct from the Mahayana in the following sense: any Mahayanist necessarily has Hinayana vows, but a Hinayanist might choose to reject the Mahayana vows and practices. But anyone who practices tantra necessarily has Mahayana vows (and therefore also Hinayana vows, whether lay or monastic). Today we are in a better position to see the results of this branching-coexisting pattern in the history of religions—as opposed to the linear, winner-take-all pattern in the history of science—as we witness the (not always peaceful) coexistence of Orthodox, Roman Catholic, and Protestant communions of Christianity, and the survival of Theravada Buddhism (the last of the eighteen Hinayana nikayas or orders), alongside Zen, Pure Land, and Nichiren Buddhism (all evolved under the banner of the great vehicle, “Mahayana”), and the various Tibetan monastic lineages—Gelukpa, Kagyupa, Nyingmapa, and Sakyapa—and the esoteric Shingon Buddhism of China and Japan, (which evolved from the Tantric “Vajrayana” societies of India). What is more, all of these manifestations of the cultural history of Buddhism have been transplanted over the past century to the West, where they compete and coexist in relative harmony. ENGAGED BUDDHISM AS THE FOURTH YANA On the eve of the historic conversion on October 14, 1956, in Nagpur, India, when nearly a half-million ex-Untouchable Hindus embraced the Buddhist religion, Dr. Ambedkar, their leader, held a press conference to explain the event. Reporters wanted to know why a former cabinet minister and the architect of India’s constitution would abandon the country’s majority religion for a faith that had virtually disappeared from India eight hundred years before. Ambedkar parried the question. “Ask yourselves and your fathers, what self-respecting person could remain in a system that offers only token handouts and menial jobs to low-born citizens? Are you Brahmins prepared to change places with us Untouchables? Only by leaving Hinduism can we find a better life!” “But why Buddhism, and not some other faith—such as Islam or Christianity—that has attracted low-caste people in the past?” Alluding to the murderous hatred dividing Hindus and Muslims and the antipathy most Indians felt for the vestiges of colonialism, including the Christian missions, Ambedkar answered carefully, “For all my differences with Gandhi, I agree with his nonviolent path. And this requires conversion to a religion that is part and parcel of Indian culture. I have taken care that my conversion will not harm the culture and history of this land.” “Well, then,” the reporters pressed on, hoping to stump the ailing leader at last, “exactly what kind of Buddhism will you be embracing?” “Our Buddhism will follow the tenets of the faith preached by Lord Buddha himself,” Ambedkar replied, “without stirring up the old divisions of Hinayana and Mahayana. Our Buddhism will be a Neo-Buddhism—a Navayana.”(49) The twenty essays that comprise Engaged Buddhism in the West offer a rich fund of ideas and images with which to explore the implications of Ambedkar’s “Navayana,” Thich Nhat Hanh’s “engaged Buddhism,” Glassman’s “supreme meal,” and the many other terms that practitioners and scholars have proposed for the new Buddhism. In the final chapter, Kenneth Kraft suggests another, Terrayana, the “Earth Vehicle,” for a Buddhism focused on the pains and promises of this life, in this world. South Asians might translate this as Lokayana, the “World Vehicle” or “Global Vehicle.” Certainly we can look forward to many more proposals as the direction and character of engaged Buddhism comes into ever clearer focus. In this introduction I have argued that the direction of contemporary Buddhism, like that of other ancient faith traditions, has been deeply influenced both by the magnitude of social suffering in the world today, and by the globalization of cultural values and perspectives we associate with the Western cultural tradition, especially, the notions of human rights, economic justice, political due process, and social progress. I have identified some points of agreement and disagreement in the present discussion about and among engaged Buddhists, and suggested that engaged spirituality may be distinguished from other traditional styles morality: discipline, virtue, and altruism. Now I wish to propose that the ancient Buddhist notion of practice vehicles, or yanas, may be reanimated to identify and characterize the new Buddhism, and that engaged Buddhism be thought of as the fourth yana. There are some clear liabilities in making such a proposal. The first comes from reviving yana-language itself, for, as we have seen, the first of the traditional yanas, Hinayana, was originally coined—and is still perceived by some practitioners of Theravada Buddhism—as a pejorative term. There is no doubt that the “narrow” or “elite” path meant the “small,” “inferior” path to polemicists of the Mahayana. Some contemporaries have attempted to avoid the term altogether, calling it “the H-word,” and coining alternatives, such as “Nikaya” or “Sectarian” Buddhism (referring to its eighteen orders) or “Mainstream,” “Foundational,” or “Background” Buddhism (alluding to its priority to the offshoot Mahayana).(50) On the other hand, “Protestants,” “Quakers,” and “Methodists,” and have survived such name-calling by embracing their tormenters’ language.(51) Another liability in proposing that engaged Buddhism (as opposed to some other permutation of the Dharma) is different and important enough to be called the Fourth Yana is the implication that Buddhists who are not socially and politically active are not fully evolved or “up to date.” Worse, warned the Venerable Khemadhammo, would be the implication that those who are not socially and politically engaged are not concerned, compassionate, responsible, or perhaps, even in touch with reality—the “disengaged Buddhists.” If engaged Buddhism is conceived as the “authentic” Buddhism of the future (until the Fifth Yana comes along), then traditional practitioners must be made to feel retrogressive, irresponsible, or obsolete. There are two effective rejoinders to this concern, it seems to me, which we have already encountered in our discussion. One is the astonishing range of practices and attitudes that socially active Buddhists such as Khemadhammo have exemplified in their understanding of the Dharma. From “soft” to “hard,” and from “mindfulness-based” to “service-based,” there is no admissions test for “engaged” Buddhism: “All Buddhism is engaged” (Thich Nhat Hanh); “Buddhism has always been engaged” (Robert Thurman); “The private meditator is as engaged as the social worker when that practice embraces the wholeness of life, promotes healing, and reconnects him or her to a larger community of living beings” (Bernie Glassman). Another reply to those who worry that a new Buddhist elite is attempting to commandeer the tradition is the history of the yanas themselves. As Richard Cohen as shown, the ancient yanas coexisted and intertwined at a very early stage. Since then none has discredited nor defeated another, but together they have absorbed and appropriated the values of the new host cultures to which they have been transmitted. This universal mutability and hybridity has given us the tasty selection—the “supreme meal” as potluck supper—of Buddhisms that we find in our cosmopolitan, pluralistic world. Anyone who claims or fears that engaged spirituality will edge out more traditional practices or beliefs is not familiar with the history of Buddhism. Our proposal to consider engaged Buddhism as the Fourth Yana is based on more modest considerations. Taken together, the voices and actions of figures like Joanna Macy, Robert Aitken, Claude Thomas, Nichidatsu Fujii, Paula Green, Jon Kabat-Zinn, Franz-Johannes Litsch, Stephanie Kaza, Christopher Titmuss and many other authors and subjects of the chapters that follow display a worldview and a praxis that is arguably fresh and unprecedented in the history of Buddhism. This Buddhism is endowed with many, if not all, of the themes and techniques from the past: interdependence, mindfulness, compassion, skillful means, chanting and walking meditation, community practice, right livelihood, and many, many more. But it is also endowed with a sensitivity to social injustice, institutional evil, and political oppression as sources of human suffering, that has not been central to Buddhist analysis in the past. Winston King, a pioneer in the study of Buddhist ethics, has offered several reasons for traditional Buddhists’ “seeming insensitivity to injustice.” They include (1) the other-worldly “hope of nibbana,” to escape future rebirths in this sad world, (2) an aversion to any notion of justice that creates whiney victims like the one at the beginning of the Dhammapada: “He abused me, he beat me, he defeated me, he robbed me,” and, most importantly, (3) the belief that injustice is a misconception, for “karmic justice, like the mills of the Greek gods, may grind very slowly, but grinds exceedingly fine.” Universal karma, the complete system of justice, is already in place, is absolute, and is completely personalized. Thus it follows, Since society is perceived as only a collection of individual karmic characteristics, to talk about improving or reforming society in a collective way is futile. It is only by means of a one-by-one improvement of individual persons that any society can be changed.(52)On the other hand, King shows, “there is no mystery as to the cultural origins of the much invoked concept of ‘justice’ in the Western world: it came directly out of the Judeo-Christian biblical tradition and teaching.”(53) Tracing the cultural origins and transformations of other beliefs and practices of engaged Buddhists, such as human rights, ecological sustainability, “collective karma,” “Buddhist economics,” and product boycotts, must await future study. Meanwhile, I believe that our discussion, and this book, will have served its purpose if the novelty, the significance, the cultural complexity, and the promise of the new Buddhism has been conveyed. May the conversation we have joined continue into a new age, when the Buddhist vow to save all beings is universally shared.
Copyright 2000 |
