Secular Buddhism: Imagining the Dharma in an Uncertain World

by Stephen Batchelor

nontheistic account of the same process: craving leads to rebirth and the stopping of craving results in liberation from rebirth. Although Buddhists use the term taṇhā (craving) rather than kāma (desire), kāma is nonetheless one of the three kinds of taṇhā described in The First Discourse. Kāmataṇhā refers to the cravings of sensual desire, while bhavataṇhā has to do with the narcissistic longing to persist, and vibhavataṇhā, the self-disgusted longing for oblivioṇ Yet if we consider what is probably an earlier version of the link theory of conditioned arising, found in the Sutta-Nipāta (verses 862–74), we are presented not with twelve but six links. Rather than seeking to explain how aging and death arise, this version more modestly sets out to describe how “quarrels, disputes, lamentations and grief, together with avarice, pride, arrogance and slander” arise. It offers nothing more than an empirical analysis of human conflict.

We are now in a position to see how the Four describe a trajectory: suffering (dukkha) is what leads to the arising (samudaya) of craving, upon the ceasing (nirodha) of which the possibility of a path (magga) emerges.

The narrative structure of the text of The First Discourse provides further support for this reading of the Four as the outline of a trajectory of practice rather the conceptual foundations for a system of belief. The text breaks down into four principal stages: 1. The declaration of a middle way that avoids dead ends. 2. The definitions of the Four. 3. The presentation of the Four as tasks to be recognized, performed, and accomplished. 4. The declaration that peerless awakening is achieved by the recognition, performance, and accomplishment of these tasks.

We need look no further than the text of The First Discourse itself to discover how the Four constitute the core practices of the dharma: embracing dukkha, letting go of the craving that arises in reaction to it, experiencing the fading away and ceasing of that craving, which allows the eightfold path to be created and cultivated.

Rather than describing his experience beneath the tree at Uruvelā as a transcendent insight into ultimate truth or the deathless, the Buddha says in The First Discourse:

As long as my knowledge and vision were not entirely clear about these twelve aspects of the Four, I did not claim to have had a peerless awakening in this world.

Awakening is not a singular insight into the absolute, comparable to the transcendent experiences reported by mystics of theistic traditions, but a complex sequence of interrelated achievements gained through reconfiguring one’s ...

For Buddhism 2.0 it is quite irrelevant whether the propositions “existence is suffering,” “craving is the origin of suffering,” “nirvana is the end of suffering,” or “the noble eightfold path leads to the end of suffering” are true or not. The aim of one’s practice is not to confirm or refute such time-honored dogmas but to respond in a radically different way to what presents itself at any given moment. Whenever suffering occurs in your life—whether that of coming down with flu or not getting the job you wanted—you seek to know it fully rather than resent or deny it. Instead of distracting yourself with fantasies or worries, you focus your attention calmly upon the felt sense of what is happening. As you perform this task you become acutely conscious of your reactive “arisings” and the potency of their force. They too are to be included within that same wide, still embrace. You do not free yourself from narcissistic or self-disgusted longings by suppressing them but by accepting them as the uprising of habitual inclinations, which may be psychologically, culturally, religiously, or instinctively conditioned. Fully knowing suffering is not an end in itself but a precondition for being able to let go of the craving that habitually arises in reaction to suffering. In Buddhism 2.0 the problem with craving is not that it causes suffering (although obviously sometimes it does) but that it prevents one from entering the eightfold path. In this sense, craving is a hindrance (nīv...

One embraces dukkha, that is, whatever situation life presents, lets go of the grasping that arises in reaction to it, and stops reacting so that one can act unconditioned by reactivity.

“Suppose, bhikkhus,” said the Buddha, “a man wandering through a forest would see an ancient path travelled upon by people in the past. He would follow it and would come to an ancient city that had been inhabited by people in the past, with parks, groves, ponds and ramparts, a delightful place. Then the man would inform the king or a royal minister: ‘Sir, know that while wandering through the forest I saw an ancient path. I followed it and saw an ancient city. Renovate that city, Sir!’ Then the king or royal minister would renovate the city, and some time later that city would become successful and prosperous, well populated, attained to growth and expansioṇ”14 In explaining this story, the Buddha says that the “ancient path” refers to the “eightfold path” and the “ancient city” refers to the Four and conditioned arising. He compares himself to the man who went wandering in the forest and discovered these things, then returned to the world and, with the help of kings and ministers, established the dharma and sangha, which now flourish throughout the land.15

the eightfold path is to be seen not as a linear sequence of stages that results in a final goal but as a positive feedback loop that is itself the goal.

Sāriputta explicitly defines the “stream” as the eightfold path, and a “stream enterer” as one who has made such a path his or her owṇ18

Such imagery implies that once one embarks on fully knowing dukkha, thereby triggering the positive feedback loop that is the path, one’s life no longer feels as if it were somehow “stuck” or “blocked” or “arrested.” It begins to flow. You realize that the frustration of being hindered in realizing your deepest aspirations is due to the instinctive cravings that arise unbidden, fixating you on the exclusive task of satisfying a desire or repelling a threat that has seized your attentioṇ At times, of course, it pays to heed such instinctive reactions—after all, they are there because they have provided and still provide “survival advantages.” But these instincts are so ingrained that they now override and subvert other concerns, which one has committed oneself to realize.

Yet rather than presenting them as the objects of a ritual in which one affirms one’s identity as a follower of the Buddhist religion, here they are understood as the parameters of a conscious reorientation of one’s core ethical values. One who embraces dukkha, lets go of craving, experiences the ceasing of craving, and thereby enters the stream of the eightfold path is one who gains increasing lucidity and trust in a way of life that is founded on a set of values that are not driven by the imperatives of craving.

“Buddha” refers to the awakening to which one aspires; “dharma” to the body of instructions and practices that guide one’s realization of awakening; and “sangha” to those men and women who share such goals and through their friendship support your own realization of them.

At the same time, three “fetters” are said to fall away on entering the stream of this path: narcissism (sakkāya diṭṭhi), rule-bound morality and observa...

A careful examination of one’s human condition leaves one with very little to be narcissistic about. The closer one peers into the transient, tragic, and impersonal conditions of one’s existence, the more the reflection of on...

Empathetic awareness of another’s suffering calls for a response that is driven not by the conceit of knowing what is the right thing to do in general, but by the courage to risk what may be the most wise and loving thing to do in that particular case.

And since the process of ELSA is grounded in firsthand experience rather than belief, once this path has become “your own,” it becomes difficult if not impossible to entertain doubts about its authenticity.

As a religious institution governed by a professional elite, Buddhism has tended over time to elevate stream entry to such a rarified spiritual height that it becomes all but inaccessible to any but the most dedicated practitioners of the dharma. Yet the suttas insist that numerous stream enterers at the Buddha’s time were “men and women lay followers, clothed in white, enjoying sensual pleasures,” who had “gone beyond doubt” and “become independent of others in the teaching.”22 Perhaps the most striking example of this is that ...

The suttas contain a number of passages that suggest this more pragmatic and nuanced approach. “I do not say that the breakthrough to the Four is accompanied by suffering,” declares the Buddha in the final chapter of the Saṃyutta Nikāya. “It is accompanied only by happiness and joy.”24 To fully embrace suffering does not increase suffering but paradoxically enhances your sense of astonishment at being alive. By saying “yes” to birth, sickness, aging, and death, you open your heart and mind to the sheer mystery of being here at all: that in this moment you breathe, you hear the wind rustling the leaves in the trees, you look up at the night sky and are lost in wonder.

the Buddha corrects his friend the Licchavi nobleman Mahāli, who holds the mistaken belief that life is nothing but suffering:

Buddha reflecting on his own motives for embarking on his quest. “When I was still a bodhisatta,” he recalls, “it occurred to me: ‘What is the delight (assādo) of life? What is the tragedy (ādhinavo) of life? What is the emancipation (nissaranaṃ) of life?’ Then, bhikkhus, it occurred to me: ‘the happiness and joy that arise conditioned by life, that is the delight of life; that life is impermanent, dukkha and changing, that is the tragedy of life; the removal and abandonment of grasping (chandarāga) for life, that is the emancipation of life.’”26 Only when he had understood all three of these things, he concludes, did he consider himself to have attained a peerless awakening in this world.

By elevating “stream entry,” for example, into a rarified spiritual attainment, one places it out of reach of the ordinary practitioner, thereby confirming both the higher authority of the religious institution and its representatives and the powerlessness of the unenlightened laity.

Likewise, the Buddha concludes, “I have shown you how the dharma is similar to a raft, being for the purpose of crossing over, not for the purpose of grasping.”28 This story shows how the dharma is an expedient, a means to achieve an urgent task at hand, not an end in itself that is to be preserved at all cost.

Although there are instances in his discourses (the Kālāma Sutta, for example) where he says that the practice of dharma is meaningful, whether you believe in a hereafter or not, the overwhelming mass of evidence does not suggest that he held an agnostic position himself.

Even though the Buddha accepted the idea of rebirth, one could argue that he simply reflected the generally held beliefs of his time. By the time of the Buddha, India had already developed a cosmology which included the ideas of karma, rebirth, and liberatioṇ (A curious twist here is that Westerners often find the idea of rebirth attractive, whereas in Buddhist terms, liberation or nirvana means freedom from the endless round of birth and death.) These ideas were taken for granted, just as we take for granted many scientific views, which, if pressed, we would find hard to prove.

Whether he really believed in it or not, the Buddha found the prevailing worldview of his time sufficient as a basis for his ethical system. It also provided an adequate set of metaphors for his doctrine of transcendence. His main concern, however, was not whether there is or is not life after death, but whether it is possible to live in such a way that one could transcend the dilemma of suffering.

In contrast to most Tibetan lamas, for whom the belief in the doctrine of rebirth is essential to the continuing authority of their institutions in exile, other Asian Buddhists in the West have felt freer to adapt their teachings to suit the needs of a secular and skeptical audience whose interest in the dharma is as a way of finding meaning here and now rather than after death.

I do not believe, as is sometimes claimed, that the teaching of the Buddha stands or falls on the doctrine of rebirth and that one cannot really be a Buddhist if one does not accept it.

Śāntideva pushes the idea even further:

It is a misconception to think That I shall experience (suffering in a future life), For it is another who will die And another who will be borṇ8

I like this, we are all made of the same stuff and our particles go back ot into the cosmos bt as for us being reborn there is nothig concrete o be re born at all

The sheer momentum of the actions I conventionally consider as “mine” will generate forms of life as different from myself now as you are different from me now. Thus, for Śāntideva, it is not only of lesser ethical value but actually meaningless to act out of concern for one’s own welfare after death. The ethics of karma are thus turned on their head: the only meaningful motive for action can be compassion for others.

The doctrine of rebirth is meaningful in Buddhism only insofar as it provides a basis for the continuity of ethical consequences. Although rebirth and karma are often linked together, it is karma that is of primary importance; rebirth is secondary.

Whatever I say about what happens to me after death is inevitably said from the standpoint of that which will cease at death.

In this sense, to cling to the idea of rebirth, rather than treating it as a useful symbol or hypothesis, can be spiritually suffocating. If we are to take Buddhism as an ongoing existential encounter with our life here and now, then we will only gain by releasing our grip on such notions.

Change is neither good nor bad: it is simply what happens.

The emergence of those outside the monastic fold who are pursuing an intelligent and serious practice of the dharma is creating the communal matrix for a new conception of sangha.

One’s knowledge and experience of Buddhism may not always equal the depth of insight made possible through a monastic life of a single-pointed contemplation, but this lack needs to be seen in the light of an enhanced ability to apply the Buddhist teachings under a wider and more complex range of conditions. We find ourselves in a situation with an increased freedom to practice yet without being constrained in our social interactions by monastic vows. Here, it seems, we discover the seeds of a new conception of sangha.

We also need to learn from history’s mistakes and work to create a sangha that is no longer ridden with the sectarianism, dogmatism, authoritarianism, and sexism endemic to many Asian traditions.

All schools of Buddhism agree that one should not believe something simply for the sake of believing it but only if it can somehow be demonstrated as true, if it can be realized in some practical way.

famous passage from the Cūḷa Mālunkya Sutta in the Majjhima Nikāya of the Pali Canoṇ The Buddha says: Suppose Mālunkyāputta, a man were wounded by an arrow thickly smeared with poison, and his friends and companions brought a surgeon to treat him. The man would say, “I will not let the surgeon pull out the arrow until I know the name and clan of the man who wounded me; whether the bow that wounded me was a long bow or a cross bow; whether the arrow that wounded me was hoof-tipped or curved or barbed.” All this would still not be known to that man, and meanwhile he would die. So too, Mālunkyāputta, if anyone should say, “I will not lead the noble life under the Buddha until the Buddha declares to me whether the world is eternal or not eternal; finite or infinite; whether the soul is the same as or different from the body; whether or not an awakened one continues or ceases to exist after death,” that would still remain undeclared by the Buddha, and meanwhile that person would die.4 This passage shows quite clearly both the pragmatic nature of the Buddha’s teaching and its agnostic bent. It is important to distinguish between those questions that are addressed by the core teachings of the Buddha and those which are not really of central concerṇ

It is generally assumed that being a religious person entails believing certain things about the nature of oneself and reality in general that are beyond the reach of reason and empirical verificatioṇ What happened before birth, what will happen after death, the nature of the soul and its relation to the body: these are first and foremost religious questions. And the Buddha was not interested in them.

But if we look at Buddhism historically, we’ll see that it has continuously tended to lose this agnostic dimension through becoming institutionalized as a religion, with all of the usual dogmatic belief systems that religions tend to have.

The very term “Buddhism,” a word for which there is no exact equivalent in an Asian language, is largely an invention of Western scholars. It suggests a creed to be lined up alongside other creeds, another set of beliefs about the nature of reality that we cannot know by other means than through faith. This assumption, though, tends to distort or obscure the encounter of the dharma with secular agnostic culture.

Firstly, an agnostic Buddhist would not regard the dharma or the teachings of the Buddha as a source which would provide answers to questions of where we are going, where we are coming from, what is the nature of the universe, and so oṇ In this sense, an agnostic Buddhist would not be a believer with claims to revealed information about supernatural or paranormal phenomena and in this sense would not be religious. I’ve recently started saying to myself “I’m not a religious person” and finding that to be strangely liberating. You don’t have to self-identify as a religious person in order to practice the dharma.

The Buddha’s teachings are confrontative; they’re about truth-telling, not about painting some pretty picture of life elsewhere. They’re saying: “Look, existence is painful.” This is what is distinctive about the Buddhist attitude: it starts not from the promise of salvation but from valuing that sense of existential anguish we tend either to ignore, deny, or avoid through distractions.

Buddhism is often misrepresented as something nihilistic or life-denying. This view fails to recognize that the project of the four noble truths is about resolving the dilemma of anguish, not about indulging human suffering. Again it’s a praxis; it’s something we can do. It starts with understanding the reality of anguish and uncertainty, and then applying a set of practices that work toward a resolutioṇ

emptiness and “no mind.” They do not mean that there is literally no mind; they’re saying that if you try to understand the nature of anything in the deepest sense, you will not be able to arrive at any fixed view that defines it as this or that. The Dalai Lama uses a quaint expression in colloquial Tibetan—dzugu dzug-sa mindoo—which means “There’s nothing you can put your finger oṇ” Again, this does not imply that the thing in question does not exist at all. It simply exposes the fallacy of the deeply felt, almost instinctive assumption that our self, the mind, or anything else must be secured on a permanent, transcendental basis.

Emptiness indicates how everything that comes about does so through an unrepeatable matrix of contingencies, conditions, and causes as well as through conceptual, linguistic, and cultural frameworks.