ethics

Democracy and spiritual practice

The statue of liberty atop the freedom monument in Riga, Latvia. It shows a bronze female figure holding three stars above her head, against an intense blue sky. Photograph by Kiryl, on Unsplash. https://unsplash.com/photos/a-statue-of-a-person-holding-a-torch-with-freedom-monument-in-the-background-6iFTZTED40o

Because of the alarming political situation in the US, which has parallels with events in other countries, I’ve been writing about how we, as spiritual practitioners, might skillfully face the troubling emotions politics can give rise to.

The two emotions that stand out for me are fear (where is this all going? how bad will things get?) and despair (mourning the loss of democratic norms).

To help me to deal with these potent emotions, I’ve adopted three slogans: Feet on the ground. Heart wide open. Eyes upward (or keep looking up). These provide a framework for my practice.

  1. Feet on the ground means finding ways to keep ourselves emotionally balanced, so we  can avoid panic and despair. We might want to be mindful in our news consumption. We might choose not to follow those who build followings on social media by generating, outrage, and follow instead people who are informed, compassionate, and balanced. Keeping up a daily meditation practice helps us be calmer. Keeping up our friendships (especially with those who are wise and balanced) helps us with emotional regulation. We might also understand that what’s happening today is part of a long historical pattern of swings between more democratic and autocratic styles of government.
  2. Heart wide open reminds me that it’s important not to shut down and disengage, no matter how overwhelming the news might be. We need to create an inner space of compassion — staying in touch with our own suffering — and live from that space. We need to stay in touch with the reality of others’ suffering, and do what we can to help.
  3. Eyes upward reminds me that we mustn’t ever let what’s happening now seem acceptable. We must remember, at a time of viciousness and chaos, what’s good and normal, and how things should be. But a return to normal, difficult as it is to imagine the path that takes us there, wouldn’t be enough. “Eyes upward” means aspiring to create a better, fairer society than we had before. Above all, it means developing a deeper appreciation of democracy and wanting a better, more inclusive, less corrupt democracy.

Democracy Is Under Threat

In fact, one of the things we are losing, or might be losing — and this is a source both of grief and fear — is democracy itself. The grief comes because of the freedoms and security we have lost. The fear comes for many reasons, but chief amongst them is that when leaders are no longer subject to democratic accountability, very bad things start to happen, from political persecution up to torture, murder, and genocide.

Democracy goes through periods of expansion and contraction. There were very few democracies before World War I, but an explosion of them afterwards. Democracies in that period also became more truly democratic, extending the franchise to working class men and to women.

Before WWII there was rise of authoritarianism and a decline in democracy. But after that war, the former colonies shed their European overlords, former dictatorships became democracies, and democracy expanded again. With the collapse of the Soviet Union, many former communist dictatorships adopted democratic forms of government. The number of people living in democracies peaked around 2006, after which democracy there was a rise once again of authoritarianism. Sometimes this authoritarianism took the guise of “illiberal democracy” where elections take place, but the ruling party has rigged things so that they’re almost certain to stay in power. Orbán’s Hungary is a prime example of this.

Right now we’re seeing a stark decline in democracy in the United States. Danger signs include:

  • the president taking control of governmental spending (a function reserved for congress)
  • threats to media outlets and law firms that the president regards as enemies
  • threats against judges (and actual arrests)
  • the executive branch defying court orders
  • the government attempting to take over the running of universities, etc.

These are all classic moves in establishing a Hungary-type authoritarian pseudo-democracy.

Recognizing the long-term ups and downs of democracy reminds us that it’s not “game over” when a country becomes authoritarian or even an outright dictatorship. Authoritarian regimes tend to implode, and people’s hunger for freedom and self-determination can never be entirely suppressed.

Reasons to Have Faith In Democracy

I have faith in democracy as the best form of government for complex modern states. It is our best hope for a dignified human existence. And it is the best political system for facilitating spiritual practice.

I say this knowing that there is no such thing as a perfect democracy. Human beings are themselves not perfect, and we are emerging from a history soaked in blood. We cannot slough off the past, and have to learn from it, sometimes painfully, in order to move on.

I offer four grounds to support my claim that liberal democracy is the best form of government.

1. Liberal Democracies Are More Peaceful

It is exceedingly rare for democracies to go to war with each other. The establishment of democracy in virtually all of Europe and South America has drastically reduced the incidence of war in those areas of the world. The more democracies there are, the more peaceful the world is likely to become.

Autocracies are inevitably violent. Their leaders are themselves belligerent and intolerant. They see wars as a good way of distracting a population from the poor standard of living that results from their inept leadership. Their populations are often unable to protest against wars. This is the case in Russia, for example. People may be so misled by propaganda that they don’t understand what’s going on. Many people in Russia think their soldiers are fighting Nazis in Ukraine. The more freedom there is, and the more the media is able to report what’s going on, the more opposition there is to war.

When autocratic leaders don’t direct violence against other countries, they often do so against less-favored citizens of their own countries. Liberal democracies tend to be peaceful places to live. Citizens do not generally have to fear that they will be dragged off for holding dissenting views. As Orwell wrote, “No system except democracy can be trusted to save us from unspeakable horrors.”

2. Liberal Democracy Allows for Material Flourishing

Liberal democracies tend to provide a far higher standard of living than autocratic regimes. The 10 countries with the highest standard of living are all liberal democracies, and yet liberal democracies count for only a third of the world’s governments.  

Liberal democracies tend to be stable, predictable, and durable. No democracy is perfect, but in the main they have strong political institutions and legal systems, and democracies usually choose  people with demonstrated competence to staff its agencies. Authoritarian regimes, offer government posts as rewards to those who demonstrate loyalty to the leader. Corruption flourishes, and as a result, the country and its economy become inefficient. The more dysfunctional and corrupt a democracy is, the more likely it is that it’s in the process of becoming authoritarian.

The more flawed a democracy is, the worse the standard of living tends to me. Neither the UK and US is anywhere near the top of the standard of living chart (the US is 15th, while the UK is 22nd), and both countries have been downgraded by the Economist Intelligence Unit from “full” to “flawed” democracies.

3. Liberal Democracy Allows for Emotional and Spiritual Flourishing

There is a reason why so many great spiritual and philosophical teachers—including the Buddha, Confucius, Socrates, and Plato—arose in the so-called Axial Age. The invention of iron meant that society was no longer living at a subsistence level. People could use iron axes to clear forests for agriculture use, and plow fields with iron-tipped plows. The agricultural surplus they generated, they could transport long distances in carts with iron-rimmed wheels. This created cities, where minds could more easily meet and talk.

With a higher standard of living, and with more free time, people could now ask questions like,  “What is my life’s purpose? What does it mean to live a good life?” To focus here on material flourishing is not to be materialistic. It’s to recognize that freedom from material want allows for spiritual flourishing.

Many of the qualities necessary in the political culture of a democracy — a democracy’s “personality,” so to speak — are skillful traits of trust, ethics, and empathy. These qualities give rise to well-being in those that bear them and open them up to spiritual growth.

By contrast, authoritarian regimes produce unhappy people. Authoritarian governments engender feelings of powerlessness and cynicism. People may believe a regime’s propaganda for a while, but eventually they realize that they are surrounded by lies. Everyone is corrupt, and nothing is done well, but changing things is almost impossible.

Authoritarian regimes have to distract their populations from their problems. One way to do this is to generate hatred. Leaders will often target a despised group that they blame for society’s problems. In this way, authoritarianism encourages unskillful emotions of hatred and intolerance. For the same reason it encourages simplistic black and white thinking, rather than more nuanced thinking that encourages truth-seeking.

4. Liberal Democracies are Tolerant of Spiritual Exploration

One of the “personality traits” of democracies being their tolerance of diversity, democracies tend to allow for spiritual experimentation. Mature democracies officially recognize, minority religions such as Buddhism, and often give them access to special benefits, such as tax-exemptions. Although in some ways the US is a religiously intolerant nation, people who are Buddhists or members of other minority languages have been elected to high office.

The American experiment took as axiomatic the idea that people should be free to follow their own conscience in seeking a life that’s meaningful. For that reason, the founders of the US avoided having a state religion. In contrast, autocratic nations often have a favored state religion, and minority religions may be disadvantaged, discriminated against, or even persecuted.

Because of these positive conditions, Buddhist sanghas tend to flourish in democratic nations.

So for these four reasons — democracies being more peaceful, prosperous, emotionally skillful, and supportive of spiritual exploration — I describe democracy as the most desirable form of political organization.

We Are the Majority

As democratic norms are eroded, we need to avoid panic (feet on the ground), yet we need to care deeply (heart wide open) and channel our love anger into opposing harmful changes. And as we do these things we need to keep reminding ourselves and others of democratic ideals, and of the material, emotional, and spiritual benefits of democracy (eyes upward). We need to keep democracy in people’s minds and on people’s tongues, and resist their tendency to see what’s happening as inevitable and unstoppable.

It’s the desire for freedom that’s unstoppable. Yes, sometimes people take democracy for granted. Sometimes they’ll vote for authoritarian leaders because they’re struggling economically or afraid of demographic change. And for some people the cruelty is the point.

But as I’ve written before, “[it’s] important to remember that there are many people in the US (and elsewhere, of course) who believe in kindness, generosity, tolerance, compassion, democracy, standing up to autocrats, and protecting the world that sustains us. That’s much more than half of the population. We are the majority.

We are the majority. And we will prevail.

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Stay in touch with the good

A black woman wearing a leopard print headscarf, under which mini braids are visible, has her hand on her chin and her head tilted back as she looks upward.

As human beings, we are psychologically porous. We’re open to influences from outside ourselves, including others’ words and actions. That’s largely a good thing, because it means we can learn from other human beings.

But it also means that what’s going on around us can affect, in not-so-good ways, our sense of what’s normal and what’s right.

Peer-pressure is one term we use to describe that kind of influence. It’s a term that might suggest a conscious attempt by an individual of group to persuade someone to do something, like a group of teens pressuring one of their members to try smoking.

But this pressure can also be indirect; we witness people talking and acting in certain ways, and even if they don’t try to sway us, their actions can become a cultural norm that we want to conform to. We want to fit in. This pressure comes not from our peers, but from ourselves.

Moral compasses can shift

There are, however, more subtle ways that we conform to what’s around us. Our sense of right and wrong can shift without our even knowing about it. This happens not because we want to conform, but because our moral compass responds to the magnetic field of what’s happening around us.

This isn’t about wanting to fit in. It’s simply that we are attuned to our environment, and as moral values, actions, and speech change in our society, we change too. And this can happen in good ways. Generally there’s been a shift toward greater tolerance, for example. In 2005 gay marriage was almost unthinkable in the US. In 2015 it was legal everywhere, and more and more people accepted it. The more people there are accepting something, the more likely others will start accepting it too.

Also see:

On the negative side, if we see cruelty and dehumanization around us, we may start to buy into it. We get used to it. Tune it out. We may believe the story that the person snatched off the street and deported to a hellish prison camp is a dangerous gang member, even though no evidence, or only laughable evidence, is given to support this.  The government says that’s the case, but there’s no due process and no opportunity for the abducted person to defend themselves against legal charges, because there are no legal charges. Many of us may want to believe the government. We assume they must have their reasons. Or maybe we don’t care much because we don’t think this will happen to us and we lack empathy for those who are effected.

Shift happens

I remember seeing moral change happen to a young man, not long after Margaret Thatcher had been elected. We were both 18 and had worked together for a few months over the summer. We happened to bump into each other on a train platform, and when the train arrived he pushed his way past other travelers in his haste to get on board.

After I caught up with him he told me that you have to grab what you want in life. Having been been brought up to make sure that older people and women with children were seated first, I was shocked by his selfishness. He hadn’t been like that before, but the Thatcherite ethos that greed is good had taken root in his mind. He saw boarding a train as a way to show he was a “winner” in life’s competition, rather than as an opportunity to be civil to others.

Binding our minds to the good

One way we can resist becoming less skillful is to explicitly root our lives in moral values. As a Buddhist, I have lists of ethical precepts to guide my actions. The simplest of these is the five precepts. These are practices where we consciously aim to abstain from unskillful actions. There are, however, although ethically skillful actions we can commit ourselves to. For the sake of convenience, I’ll combine these:

  1. I undertake to abstain from harming living beings, and vow to live with compassion.
  2. I undertake to abstain from taking what’s not given, and vow to live with generosity.
  3. I undertake to abstain from sexual misconduct, and vow to live with respect for others.
  4. I undertake to abstain from untruth, and vow to live with honesty and integrity.
  5. I undertake to abstain from intoxication, and vow to live mindfully.

Ethics as a free choice

These are not rules. There is no authority making us obey them, and no punishments, beyond the natural consequences of our actions, for failing to observe them. Each precept contains something we choose to undertake for the benefit of ourselves and others. Together they comprise a set of “training principles” (sikkha-pada) through which we aim to change ourselves through the decisions we make in life.

To keep themselves oriented to these precepts, many people chant them daily, often as a prelude to their sitting meditation practice.

I talk about this as “binding our minds to the good,” but this does not imply a lack of freedom. A ship that’s adrift, being pushed around by the winds and tides, is not free. A ship that has sails and an anchor is free.

Ethics as a mirror

But simply saying words doesn’t change us. We need to keep coming back to examining our thoughts, words, and actions against the yardstick of the ethical principles that the precepts remind us of. For example, no matter how badly some politicians behave, it’s unethical for us to wish harm upon them. No matter how much we think an item of fake news might help our cause politically, if it’s untrue we shouldn’t spread it. Fighting these temptations is difficult, but it’s a good difficult. It’s the kind of difficulty that makes us better people.

The Buddha pointed out to his son that just as a mirror reflects our appearance, moral reflection shows us who we are. The precepts give us a way of seeing ourselves.

By holding ourselves to a framework of ethical standards, we’re more able to prevent the moral forces around us from pulling our inner compass out of alignment . Sangharakshita described this in terms of becoming a true individual rather than a group member. The group member feels they’re right because they’re doing the same as others are doing. The true individual’s moral compass is better insulated, and they can rely more on the precepts.

Keep looking up

In responding to our current political situation, one of the phrases I’ve been bearing in mind is “Keep looking up.” This means, stay in touch with your ideals. Keep aspiring for and working toward a better world. It also means, don’t accept the erosion of what’s good and right.

At the moment, what’s good and right is under grave threat in the US.

  • Free speech is being punished and curtailed.
  • The right to legal defense is under attack.
  • Judges are being threatened for upholding the laws and the constitution.
  • Due process is being dispensed with, so that the government claims it has the right to determine, without needing a trial, who is and isn’t guilty of crimes.
  • The government is saying it can snatch people off the streets and deport them to inhumane prisons overseas, and that these decisions are irreversible, even if they are illegal.
  • The government is saying that it can break the law with impunity and ignore the courts.

Our crumbling democracy

With remarkable rapidity, an entire democratic system is crumbling, because without due process, and especially without habeas corpus (the right to challenge your imprisonment) there is no basis for a democratic society. Any of us might vanish at any time. When means we’re fearful, and silence ourselves. Which means that our speech is not free, because it can land us in prison. Or in my case it could get me deported. This article, if brought to the attention of the immigration services, could get my green card revoked. This has happened to others.

And this is just the start. The track record of autocratic leaders is well-known. They always persecute political opponents, who they harass, jail or even kill. That is the path we are on, and we are moving down it much more quickly than most people had feared.

We have no idea how far things will go before they are reversed. This will happen, because human beings aspire to freedom. But we don’t yet know how this reversal will be brought about. Will we even have free and fair elections in future? Neither do we know how long it will take.

Aim higher

In the meantime, we have to keep looking up. Don’t just long for and work for a return to free speech, due process, the rule of law, and the separation of powers. Long for and work for a world that’s better than what we had, because our democracies are always flawed, and democracy in the US was more flawed than most.

The law has never been equally applied to all, regardless of social status, sex, or race. It’s always been harder for some people to vote than others. Not everyone’s vote is equal. Those in power have often served the interests of the rich and powerful more than their own citizens. Our task is not just to return to the democratic norms we used to take for granted, but to create a better, fairer democracy for ourselves and our descendants.

To that end, support courage when you see it. When a university refuses to comply with governments attempts to curtail its academic freedoms, celebrate and support them. Support courageous politicians. When a librarian refuses to remove books that contain LGBTQ themes or  ethnic minority characters, praise them. Support courageous publications and give them your attention and your money. When someone gives a TED talk and names a coup as a coup, share this as an example of courage that we should emulate. When someone shows up at a demonstration and waves a banner showing resistance to the erosion of democratic norms, appreciate them and thank them.

These are all things we can look up to and emulate.

Keep looking up. Things will get better, but only if we remind ourselves and everyone else that they can.

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Mythbusting the name “Siddhartha”

A Thai-style Buddha statue, seated, surrounded by poity stupas, silhouetted in front of a peach-colored sunset.

This is one of a series of articles where I’ve been mythbusting things people “know” about the Buddha. These myths include the supposed facts that he was a prince, that he was born a Hindu, and that he left home after seeing “four sights.”

Such factoids are present in almost every book book about the Buddha and Buddhism. Yet if we look with a little historical awareness at our earliest sources — the scriptures — we see that none of these things is true.

In this article I want to mythbust something else that everyone thinks they know, which is the Buddha’s personal name having been “Siddhartha” (Siddhattha in Pāli). The evidence we have indicates that it wasn’t.

The short story is that the name Siddhartha isn’t found in the early scriptures, and is a name given to the Buddha after his death. If you’re interested in the long story, continue reading…

Siddhartha was an epithet, not a name

Siddhartha (Siddhattha in Pali) means “one who has accomplished (siddha) his aims (attha).”

In none of the scriptural discourses — the suttas — is the Buddha referred to as Siddhartha. This name is only found in a few very late texts, such as the Apadāna, the Buddhavaṁsa, and the Milindapañha, which post-date the Buddha’s death.

Rather than being a personal name, Siddhattha is an epithet, which is “an adjective or phrase expressing a quality or attribute regarded as characteristic of the person or thing mentioned.”

People applied many epithets to the Buddha, including Sugata (the one well come), Tathāgatha (the one thus gone), and of course Buddha itself (the one who is awakened). The Buddha most often referred to himself as Tathāgatha.

He’s sometimes, but rarely, referred to in the scriptures as Sakyamunī, “the sage of the Sakyans.” This is another epithet, and probably a late one. (The later Mahāyāna often refers to Gotama as Śākyamuni Buddha in order to distinguish him from other, mythic, Buddhas.)

First name, last name? It’s not so simple

We tend to read our contemporary assumptions about names back into ancient times. So we assume that people have to have a first name (or personal name) and a last name (or family name). Perhaps they have one or more middle names as well. We assume that the family name is shared by everyone in their father’s direct lineage. So my dad’s last name is Stephen, my dad’s dad had that name, I inherited it, and you’d expect my children to inherit it in turn. You’d expect someone to have only one family name. You wouldn’t expect the Stephen family to also be called something else, like “MacTavish,” for example.

But not everyone in the world shares these naming conventions. There are places where people only have one name. In Ethiopia, the tradition is that your last name is your father’s first name. My daughter’s first passport — an Ethiopian one — had her last name as Bodhipaksa, which is my first name.

In Iceland, your last name is your father’s first name with the added suffix -son or -dottir, depending on your gender. In Iceland I’d be Bodhipaksa Iansson, and my sister would have been Fiona Iansdottir. Although my sister and I were members of the same family, we would have different last names.

The  “first name followed by a family name” model is not universal in modern times, and we certainly can’t apply it to ancient India. We have to let-go of some assumptions before we consider the Buddha’s names.

The Buddha’s last names

That the Buddha was called Gotama (Gautama in Sanskrit) is not problematic. The scriptures bear witness to the fact that he was called Gotama, because people often call him that. They refer to him as “the ascetic Gotama” (samaṇa gotama) for example.

Gotama wasn’t exactly a family name in the way we understand it, though. It was a tribal, or gotra name.

Now, the Buddhist scholar Alexander Wynne tries to make a case for Gotama being the Buddha’s personal name rather than a gotra (tribal) name. Gotama was a Vedic family name, and the Buddha’s tribe were not followers of the Vedas, and so, he reckons, the Buddha’s family could not have been called Gotama.

But then in the scriptures you have things like this, where the Buddha is teaching the Sakyans of Kapilavatthu, his home town:

The Buddha spent much of the night educating, encouraging, firing up, and inspiring the Sakyans with a Dhamma talk. Then he dismissed them, saying, “The night is getting late, Gotamas. Please go at your convenience.”

The Buddha refers to his fellow Sakyans as “Gotamas,” which means that Gotama is not being used as a personal name. It’s a gotra (clan) name. The Buddha’s father, Suddhodana, is also referred to as Gotama. And his aunt and foster mother is known as Gotami, the feminine form of the name.

And at one point the Buddha says outright, “Gotama is my clan.”

What’s in a (clan) name?

A clan name is not necessarily what we would think of as a family name. You’ll notice that the Buddha, in the quote above, calls the Sakyans “Gotamas.” Sakya was a country. Under mainstream European naming conventions it’s not possible for even a small nation’s citizens to all have the same family name. It may be that different families in Sakya had different family-identifying names, but I’m not aware of any evidence for that in the scriptures, and I doubt that was the case. They were all Gotamas.

As for Wynne’s argument that Gotama is a Vedic name — the name of a sage — I’ve addressed that elsewhere. Sakka became a subject state of the kingdom of Kosala. It’s likely that as part of having their rulers legitimized, the Sakyans went through some kind of ceremony where they were aligned with the legendary Rishi Gautama. This Gautama would have been akin to a “patron saint.” The Sakyans didn’t otherwise follow Vedic traditions, but non-Vedic peoples taking on clan names based on Vedic figures was not uncommon.

Children of the Sun

The Sakyans weren’t just Gotamas. They had multiple, overlapping names.

Before his enlightenment the Buddha met King Bimbisāra of Maghada, who was curious about his origins. The Buddha-to-be explained,

Their clan [gotta] is named for the Sun [Ādicca],
they are Sakyans by birth.
I have gone forth from that family

So the Gotamas, or Sakyans, also went by the name Ādicca. This was another epithet.

Sometimes the Buddha referred to himself as “Ādiccabandhu.”  It means “kinsman of the sun” or  “of the Solar race.” Given the quote above, it’s likely that all Sakyans were called Ādiccabandhu.

So his family seems to have been both Ādicca(bandhu) and Gotama. Perhaps Ādicca, or Ādiccabandhu, was their original name and Gotama the one they were given as part of their legitimization by the Kosalans. Maybe Sakya was their original name, with Gotama being assigned by a king and Ādicca being an epithet. We just don’t know.

Rays of Light

It gets worse! The Gotama clan was also known as “Aṅgīrasa.” This name literally means “Rays of Light From the Limbs” but it refers to the spiritual descendants of the mythical Rishi (sage) Aṅgīras.

Some people have suggested Aṅgīrasa as the first name of the Buddha. It certainly sounds like it when you read a sutta like this:

I’m the son of the Buddha, the incomparable Aṅgīrasa, the unaffected,
the bearer of the unbearable.
You, Sakya, are my father’s father;
Gotama, you are my grandfather in the Dhamma.

A note in the Access to Insight translation of this discourse refers to an ancient commentarial suggestion that Aṅgīrasa was one of the Buddha’s personal names. But Aṅgīrasa is the name for a branch of the Gotama clan lineage. So it’s another “last name.”

We’re not used to the idea of having multiple last names. It’s not unknown, though. I said earlier that you wouldn’t expect a Stephen to also be a MacTavish, but in the Scottish clan system the Stephens are MacTavishes. While my relatives wouldn’t sign “MacTavish” on the dotted line, if you asked one of them what clan they belonged to the correct answer would be “MacTavish.” Maybe that’s similar to how the Sakyan clan system worked. I don’t think anyone knows.

Anyway, we have lots of overlapping clan names (or “last names”) for the Buddha, but no clear first name.

No names please, we’re enlightened

The Buddha in fact discouraged even the use of his gotra name, Gotama, at least if you were one of his followers and addressing him personally.

When, shortly after his awakening, he sought out his five former companions, they came to him and addressed him as “friend (āvuso) Gotama.” His response was:

Don’t address the Tathāgata  by name and as “friend.” The Tathāgata, friends, is a worthy one, rightly self-awakened.

“Tathāgata” was how the Buddha generally referred to himself. It’s another epithet, although seemingly a self-chosen one.

Presumably this restriction on the use of “Gotama” only applied to the Buddha’s followers, since respectful Brahmins tended to call him “worthy Gotama” (bho Gotama) or “master Gotama” (bhavaṁ Gotama). He didn’t seem to have a problem with that.

Sakyan exceptionalism

When it comes to names, the Sakyans, as in so many other areas, had different customs from the Brahmanical cultures to their south.

The Brahmins that came to talk to the Buddha seem to have referred to themselves by their clan names. But the Sakyans referred to themselves and each other primarily by what seem to be personal names.  Suddhodana, Ananda, Nanda, Suppabuddha, Anuruddha, and Devadatta: these are all relatives of the Buddha, and these appear to be their personal names.

So it’s significant that we don’t know the Buddha’s own personal name. It may be that referring to the enlightened one by a personal name might have been a taboo.

It might be similar to how images of the Buddha were not made during his lifetime, or for a long time thereafter.

After a few hundred years of cultural change, people (the Greeks, first of all) started creating Buddha images. Similarly, after a period of time people started to give the Buddha a first name: but they didn’t know what it originally was, so they tended use epithets to fill in the blank.

What’s in a name, anyway?

Our bureaucratic culture, where births and deaths are officially registered, insists that people must have one official name. In practice, though, “Alexander MacTavish” might use his full name, or be referred to as “Alex,” “Lex,” “Al,” “Big Al,” “Sandy,” “Xander,” etc. Of course, if you asked him what his first name “really” was, he’d answer that it was “Alexander” — his legally registered name. But they didn’t have such things in ancient India. In the system where there’s no such thing as an official first names, does the question “What’s the Buddha’s real first name?” actually mean anything?

Consider the Buddha’s wife. Most people who’ve studied Buddhism will confidently say she was called Yasodharā, but in doing that they’re making a choice to disregard the other names that she might have used or been known by. Rāhulamātā (Rāhula’s mother) is the most common name by which she’s known in the scriptures. Bhaddakaccānā is also found a couple of times in the scriptures. Gopi is most consistently used in other early sources. The editor of the Dictionary of Pali Proper Names posited that her name might have been “Bimbā.” Yasodharā only appears after her death.

During her life Yasodharā, to call her that for now, might have been known to different people at different times by some, all, or none of those names. The Buddha too might have had multiple names. He might have had one personal name as a child, and then another name as an adult. He might have had different personal names in different contexts — with his wife, parents, friends, and so on. He might have had a secret, ritual name. We just don’t know. His personal name, or names, has been lost.

A sacred silence

We need to learn to be comfortable with not knowing what the Buddha was called. Our minds tend to want to fill in the gaps, but in this case we don’t even have a sound basis for guessing. Our minds want to fit the Buddha’s names into our modern, bureaucratically influenced naming conventions, but we would be wise to resist that impulse.

If it helps, perhaps we could consider that if it wasn’t important for early Buddhists to record the Buddha’s name, it shouldn’t be important to us either. In the mental space where his personal name would go, we could perhaps let a sacred silence take root.

When people first started carving or painting scenes from the Buddha’s life, they left a space where the Buddha would be. For example, you’d see the tree where he was meditating, but not him. You’d see his footprint, but not his foot.

Scholars call this “the aniconic Buddha.” The absence of the Buddha was a sacred space of awe and reverence. The place where the Buddha’s name should be could be like that, too.

An ethical issue

Ethically, we should not state something to be the case unless we are certain it was. We certainly shouldn’t say that the Buddha’s first name was Siddhattha or Siddhartha. We can honestly tell people he he was called Gotama. People did call him that. We can say that Gotama was something like a last name.

We can still call the Buddha “Siddhārtha” or “Siddhattha,” of course, but we should also explain that this is something akin to a title, and not a first name as we understand that term today.

By acknowledging this, we communicate to people: It’s okay not to know things. We don’t have to make things up. We don’t need to create the illusion of knowing. When there is reason to be uncertain, we should refrain from false certainties.

When something is unknown, it’s honest to say that it’s unknown. And the Buddha’s personal name is unknown.

Bodhipaksa

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The puzzle of “skillful” and “unskillful” as ethical terms

Man practicing piano in a darkened room, with the piano illuminated by a desk lamp.

One of the things that struck me as odd when I first encountered the Buddha’s teachings was the terms he used when he discussed living ethically or morally: “skillful” (kusala) and “unskillful” (akusala).

Maybe these terms are new to you. Or maybe they’re so familiar that you’ve stopped thinking about them. Either way, they are an unusual way to talk about morality.

The most common terms for describing ethical actions are good and bad, right and wrong, and good and evil. These are the terms most of us grew up hearing.

It’s not that the Buddha never used that kind language. Particularly when he was composing poetry, or when he was speaking to uneducated people, he’d use the word puñña, which means merit or “good,” and pāpa, which means bad or evil.

See also

But when he was talking technically, to serious Dharma practitioners — monks, nuns, and those householders who were dedicated disciples — he used these words “skillful” and “unskillful.”

No one can know for sure why Buddha chose those terms, but what might he have had in mind?

What is Skill?

So let’s think about what skill is. What does it mean to do something in a skilled way?

My understanding is that if you have skill you’re able to achieve something challenging that you set out to do. That’s the definition of being skilled.

So a skilled carpenter has the idea they’re going to make, say, a beautiful coffee table. And lo and behold, a beautiful coffee table appears. They have the skill to be able to create it. A skilled potter, wants to make a particular kind of pot. And because they’ve done a lot of practice, because they know what they’re doing, they’re able to make that kind of pot. They have the skill to accomplish what they set out to do. A person who lacks skill cannot do that. So that’s what it means to be skilled, or unskilled.

Skillful and Unskillful As Ethical Terms

Now, the Buddha used these terms, skilled and unskilled, in an ethical sense.

What does it mean to have skill in an ethical sense? Well, ethics is a part of practice. The Buddha talked about “the threefold training” which comprised ethics, meditation, and wisdom. These are three things we train in. Training itself is about developing skill, so there’s a consistent theme here.

What is the point of practice? What are we training for? The aim of practicing is to liberate ourselves from suffering. It’s to become happier, more content, more fulfilled, and to have more of a sense of meaning in our lives. It’s to have a better life, and, out of compassion, to help other people to have that experience as well. These are the things we’re developing skill in.

Ethics Is Not About Being Good

It might sound deeply contradictory to say that ethics is not about being good, but I think that’s a fair claim to make about ethics in Buddhism. The Buddha didn’t tell us to abandon greed, hatred, and delusion because they are evil, but because they cause suffering. He said that if they didn’t cause suffering, then he wouldn’t tell us to abandon them:

If giving up the unskillful led to harm and suffering, I would not say: ‘Give up the unskillful.’ But giving up the unskillful leads to welfare and happiness, so I say: ‘Give up the unskillful.’ (AN 2.19)

Skillful and Unskillful Qualities and Actions

Just as a carpenter shows skill when they intend to create a beautiful piece of furniture and are successful, so we’re ethically skillful when we have the aim of living in ways that free us from suffering and that help others be free from suffering, and are successful in accomplishing that aim.

We’re unskillful when we aim to be free from suffering but end up creating pain and confusion.

The thoughts, words, and actions that free us from suffering are skillful. Those that do the opposite are unskillful.

When the Buddha talked about ethics he pointed out that there were two trends in the mind. (See MN 19) The mind can act based on selfish craving, hatred, or a lack of understanding. And those things will lead to suffering. He called these “unskillful.”

The other trend is that the mind acts with mindfulness and exhibits qualities such as patience, courage, kindness, empathy, compassion, appreciation, and so on. These are things that free us from suffering and bring peace and happiness. He called these ethical qualities “skillful.”

So we’re acting skillfully when we’re exercising skillful qualities — that is, qualities that help us move closer to the goal of freeing ourselves from suffering. We’re acting unskillfully when we’re in the grip of unskillful states of mind that create suffering.

So this is what I think the Buddha perhaps had in mind when he was using these terms — skillful and unskillful — which seem, at first glance quite unusual.

Why This Matters

It’s an interesting shift of perspective to think about ethics in terms of skill. It’s quite different from how we might have been raised to see things. We may have been raised to see things in terms of good and bad.
We get caught up in the idea of people themselves being good and bad. But it’s only actions that can be skillful or unskillful. You can’t talk about an unskillful person because no person is entirely skillful or unskillful.

Lots of people think of themselves as being good or bad. They want to present themselves to themselves as being good, which I’ve described elsewhere as a disastrous move. And of course lots of people become convinced that they are bad, or unworthy, and usually they’re sadly mistaken. You may be one of those people, or you probably know some of them. And your impression of them is probably that they are lovely people with many fine qualities. They’re probably kind and thoughtful, and you probably benefit from being with them.

We’re all a mixture of skillful and unskillful qualities. No one is all one or all the other. And spiritual training — or at least a lot of spiritual training — is about, on the one hand, exercising and strengthening the skillful, and on the other hand recognizing and letting go of the unskillful.

Life Is Practice

And this is for me the most important implication of the Buddha’s language of ethics as a skill. Skills are to be practiced and refined. Life — our ordinary everyday actions, and even our thoughts — is where we train. Our mistakes — the times we make ourselves or others suffer — is how we learn.

We can include in our lives constant reflections: did my actions lead to suffering? How could I do this differently in the future? Is what I’m doing or saying now leading to suffering? How can I change what I’m doing? Is this thing I intend to do or say or think likely, based on my past experience, to create unnecessary suffering? How might I act differently? (See MN 61)

Our lives are lessons to be learned. As long as we keep learning from our ethical mistakes, those mistakes are useful ones, because they bring us closer to our goal of living with peace, joy, and meaning.

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Can empathy be unhelpful?

Hand holding the stub of a burning candle in the upturned palm. Before long, the person's hand will burn.

One of the members of Wildmind’s community reminded me recently of an article, “The Surprising Downsides of Empathy,” that appeared on the BBC website two-and-a-half years ago.

The article says:

In recent years, researchers have found that misplaced empathy can be bad for you and others, leading to exhaustion and apathy, and preventing you from helping the very people you need to. Worse, people’s empathetic tendencies can even be harnessed to manipulate them into aggression and cruelty.

Empathy generally has a pretty good press. Most, people, although not all, would suggest that we need more empathy in the world. The hold-outs are often those who take a “tough love” approach and think that we are mollycoddling people (especially young people). I suspect, however, that many of those people are often just unkind individuals. I also think they misunderstand the nature of empathy, but since I want to write today about misunderstandings of empathy I’ll leave that there for now.

The BBC article quotes researcher Paul Bloom, who famously wrote a book called “Against Empathy” several years back. I previously commented in this blog on an article drawn from that book. One thing Bloom wrote in that article was:

It is worth expanding on the difference between empathy and compassion, because some of empathy’s biggest fans are confused on this point and think that the only force that can motivate kindness is empathetic arousal. But this is mistaken. Imagine that the child of a close friend has drowned. A highly empathetic response would be to feel what your friend feels, to experience, as much as you can, the terrible sorrow and pain. In contrast, compassion involves concern and love for your friend, and the desire and motivation to help, but it need not involve mirroring your friend’s anguish.

Bloom is perfectly correct to point out the difference between empathy and compassion. The two are not the same. Empathy is a state of feeling something in response to another person’s feelings (you’re talking to someone whose child has drowned) or in response to their situation (you hear about someone whose child has drowned). Despite what the article I’m quoting states, empathy doesn’t necessarily require an act of imagination. If someone tells you their child has drowned, you will (as long as you’re not a psychopath) feel touched by their situation. You don’t, hearing that awful news, have to imagine in detail what it’s like to be in that situation.

Compassion is  the desire to help alleviate suffering. We can see the active nature of compassion in the root of the Pāli and Sansrit word karuna. This comes from the verb karoti, which means “to do.”

Empathy isn’t enough. We need compassion. But does that mean empathy is bad, or useless?

The BBC article seems to suggest that it is.

Bloom uses the example of an adult comforting a child who is terrified of a small, barking dog. The adult doesn’t need to feel the child’s fear to help. “There can be compassion for the child, a desire to make his or her distress go away, without any shared experience or empathic distress,” he writes.

So according to this, we don’t need empathy. We can just have compassion.

To Have Compassion, We Need to Have Empathy

But is that the case? Let just imagine an adult who completely lacks empathy. To them, the crying child is probably just an annoyance, and they shout at the child, terrifying it even more. This adult doesn’t understand what it’s like to be afraid. They don’t know what it’s like to be helpless and to need help. Nor do they understand that the child needs adult reassurance. They don’t recognize that a child can’t turn off its fear by force of will. To know these things requires empathy. To know those things is empathy.

This highlights that empathy actually is at work in Bloom’s example. The compassionate adult knows what the child is going through and what it needs, which is empathy. They know what it’s like to be helpless and to be in desperate need for support and reassurance. It’s because they’re empathetic that they offer compassion.

See also:

The idea that empathy requires us to re-experience the child’s terror is a red herring.

Often in talking about situations where a “good thing” (like empathy) leads to a bad outcome (like being paralyzed because of taking on someone else’s pain) you’ll hear that the problem is that the person is “too empathetic.” I believe this is a mistaken diagnosis.

No virtue on its own is complete. Take generosity, as an example. It’s a good thing to be generous. It helps us be happier; studies have shown that giving something to another person can be more satisfying than receiving the same thing ourselves. But what if you’re so generous that you give away the resources that your family need for basic survival? Does that mean you’re “too generous”?

There’s No Such Thing as Too Much of a Virtue

I don’t actually believe in the concept of having too much of a virtue. What I do believe is that you can lack other qualities (also virtues) that are necessary to stop a good quality such as generosity from being toxic. For example, prudence and wisdom are qualities that balance generosity, telling you what the consequences of continued giving are (“Wait, I have to pay the rent next week”) and so suggesting limits.

“Empathic distress” is another of the ideas that can grow out of the idea that you can have too much of a virtue. Clearly, if you take on board so much of a person’s suffering that you paralyze yourself and are unable to help them, that’s unhelpful. You’ve taken a situation where one person is in trouble and needs help, and turned it into a situation where two people are in trouble and need help.

In vividly imagining distress to the point where you paralyze yourself, you’re no longer practicing a virtue. You’re doing what the Buddha called indulging in “grief, sorrow, and lamentation,” which is a cause of suffering. An ancient Buddhist commentary in fact says that “sorrow is failed compassion.”

Missing Virtues

So what virtues are missing, so that empathy is turning into  something toxic?

As with generosity, we need to balance empathy with wisdom. As an example example, Bloom shows that people will want a girl who has been brought to their attention to skip the queue for life-saving surgery. They empathize with the girl and want to act compassionately. But they ignore the others ahead of her in the queue, who might be in even more urgent need of surgery. It’s easy to ignore them, because they’re anonymous.

Wisdom considers that the other people in the queue are deserving of care as well.

We also need to balance empathy with ethical awareness of what’s right and wrong. In another study, people were willing to inflict pain on someone who was competing in a mathematics competition with a financially strapped student. The researchers had encouraged them to empathize with the student, but not the student’s competitor. Ethics (the Buddhist variety, anyway) tells us that even if we feel motivated to punish another person by inflicting pain on them, we shouldn’t, because violence is wrong. Ethics also embodies wisdom, because it tells us that another person’s suffering is as real to them as ours is to us; why then would be inflict unwanted pain on an other when we would dislike having that pain inflicted upon us.

Most of all, though, empathy needs to be balanced by self-compassion. When we see that another is in distress, we can be moved by that. That “feeling moved” can contain an element of discomfort. Self-compassion teaches us how we support ourselves emotionally as we experience suffering. It also helps us recognize when we’re bringing too much suffering upon ourselves — suffering that’s more than we can cope with and that isn’t necessary in order for us to be helpful.

All of the “downsides” of empathy that the article describes are of this nature. They’re not actually the downsides of empathy at all. They’re the downsides of lacking virtues such as wisdom, ethics, and self-compassion or self-care.

Certainly, empathic distress isn’t helpful. It’s even harmful. But it’s not the sum total of what empathy is. To give money to help starving people on the other side of the world you most certainly don’t need to imagine what it’s like to starve. But you do have to care. And a person lacking in empathy doesn’t care, which the person who has real, balanced empathy does: they experience compassion and are moved to help.

It is wonderful that Bloom and others are showing the harmful side of unbalanced empathy, which leads to “empathic distress.” It’s just a shame that they’re not clearly pointing out what the problem is: the under-development of balancing virtues.

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Liking yourself is not the antidote to hating yourself

You might think that the antidote to self-hatred is liking yourself. But is that desirable, or even possible? We all contain impulses such as jealously, hatred, and greed. What would it mean to like them? Are we supposed to approve of them? To give them free rein and act upon them?

The idea of liking “ourselves” seems badly put. When I look at myself I don’t see any one thing. I see a broad range of phenomena, some that promote my wellbeing and others that sometimes compromise it. There’s no one “self” there to like.

I have plenty to work with. I have skillful impulses, of course. But I also have destructive or harmful habits such as irritability, a desire to be “right,” depressive doubts about my own worth, and so on. These cause suffering for me and also for others in my life.

But hating these things is pointless. Hating these aspects of myself would just be introducing more unskillfulness and conflict into my being.  To hate ourselves is to be at war with ourselves. And in such a war, who can be the winner? Hatred, as the Buddha observed, can never conquer hatred.

That doesn’t mean that I approve of these impulses or want to express them. If I was to give those habits free rein, I’d just end up with even more suffering in my life.

I certainly don’t like these potentially destructive habits. To like something means we have pleasant feelings associated with it, and I don’t experience pleasant feelings with regard to my irritability, self-doubts, and so on.

I can accept them, though. And I can be kind toward them.

Practicing acceptance simply means that I accept that these things are a part of me. They are part of the broad range of emotional responses that I have inherited as a mammal and as a human being. I didn’t choose to have them. It makes no sense for me to judge myself harshly for having these habits. I don’t need to hate myself simply for being human.

An audience member at a discussion between two Buddhist teachers described how she came to see that it was possible for her to have compassion for herself:

I’ve been thinking a lot about loving myself, but I felt like I would have to like everything about myself to love myself. But then I had a realization … that I could just have some compassion toward myself. I don’t necessarily have to like every part of myself.

It’s possible for us to relate with kindness and compassion to every part of ourselves, including those destructive tendencies I’ve described. I can recognize that they are born from suffering. Our unskillful habits are simply ways of trying to deal with painful feelings that have arisen. Irritability tries to keep at bay some source of distress. Jealousy wants us to have for ourselves a benefit that someone else has access to. Doubt tries to analyze what’s not going right in our lives. Every single unskillful impulse any of us has represents an attempt to find peace and happiness. The problem with them is not that they are “bad,” but that they don’t work.

One of the most radical things the Buddha said was that if letting go of unskillful habits caused pain rather than brought us peace, he wouldn’t have taught us to do it. He didn’t seem to see them as inherently bad. He’d have encouraged us to keep on going with our greed, hatred, and delusion if they actually made us happy. But they don’t.

Our task is to find better strategies. This is what developing “skillfulness” involves—finding ways of being that actually bring about peace and harmony. To lack skill means aiming to create happiness but instead bringing about suffering and conflict.

When we react to our unskillful tendencies by hating them we’re treating them as if they were enemies. They aren’t. They’re just confused friends. They’re trying to benefit us, but most of the time failing. Once we start to empathize with what these confused friends are trying to do for us, we can find more skillful ways to accomplish the same aims. Mindfulness and self-compassion are the most powerful tools we have for doing that.

Our irritability and hatred maybe trying (and failing) to keep some source of distress out of our experience. We’re trying to push the distress out of our lives. Mindful self-compassion helps us see that it’s not the unpleasant feeling that’s our real problem, but our resistance to it. It allows us to be present with painful feelings until they pass, naturally, and can open up the way for us to have fondness and appreciation for whatever it was we were irritated by.

Jealousy may want us to grasp for ourselves some benefit that another has access to (this is of course painful), but self-compassion can help soothe the pain of grasping and also help us feel a sense of abundance; there is so much kindness we can show to ourselves! And this can allow us to feel glad for the other person.

Self-doubt may be a clumsy way of trying to discover if there’s something wrong in the way we are. Mindful self-compassion can help reassure the uncertain part of us, seeing that there’s nothing going on that we can’t work with, reminding us to trust in our practice, and helping us to see our inherent goodness.

In all cases empathizing with our unskillful tendencies helps us to be happier.

Practicing self-compassion is like learning to be a kind and wise parent to ourselves. If our children act badly in some way, they do not need either our hatred. That wouldn’t be helpful for them. Neither, however, should we blindly approve of everything they do. That wouldn’t help them either. When our children act badly they need our kindness, our empathy, and wise guidance.

And this, too, is how we need to learn to relate to ourselves if we want to flourish and be happy in the long-term.

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Three reasons to be for yourself (book extract)

Available on Amazon.com, Amazon.co.uk.

Compassion for yourself is fundamental, since if you don’t care how you feel and want to do something about it, it’s hard to make an effort to become happier and more resilient.

My new book Resilient focuses on growing 12 essential inner-strengths for lasting well-being in a changing world, and Compassion is one of them.

In the excerpt below, you’ll learn the importance of growing compassion for yourself.

When we treat others with respect and caring, the best in them usually comes out.

Much the same would happen if we could treat ourselves the same way.

Yet most of us are a better friend to others than we are to ourselves. We care about their pain, see positive qualities in them, and treat them fairly and kindly. But what kind of friend are you to yourself? Many people are tough on themselves, critical, second-guessing and self-doubting, tearing down rather than building up.

Imagine treating yourself like you would a friend. You’d be encouraging, warm, and sympathetic, and you’d help yourself heal and grow. Think about what a typical day would be like if you were on your own side. What would it feel like to appreciate your good intentions and good heart, and be less self-critical?

Why It’s Good to Be Good to Yourself
It helps to understand the reasons why it’s both fair and important to be on your own side. Otherwise, beliefs like these can take over: “It’s selfish to think about what you want.” “You don’t deserve love.” “Deep down you’re bad.” “You’ll fail if you dream bigger dreams.”

First, there’s the general principle that we should treat people with decency and compassion. Well, “people” includes the person who wears your nametag. The Golden Rule is a two-way street: we should do unto ourselves as we do unto others.

Second, the more influence we have over someone, the more responsibility we have to treat them well. For example, surgeons have great power over their patients, so they have a great duty to be careful when they operate on them. Who’s the one person you can affect the most? It’s yourself, both you in this moment and your future self: the person you will be in the next minute, week, or year. If you think of yourself as someone to whom you have a duty of care and kindness, what might change in how you talk to yourself, and in how you go about your day?

Third, being good to yourself is good for others. When people increase their own well-being, they usually become more patient, cooperative, and caring in their relationships.

Think about how it would benefit others if you felt less stressed, worried, or irritated, and more peaceful, contented, and loving.

You can take practical steps to help yourself really believe that it’s good to treat yourself with respect and compassion. You could write down simple statements – such as “I am on my own side” or “I’m taking a stand for myself” or “I matter, too” – and read them aloud to yourself or put them somewhere you’ll see each day. You could imagine telling someone why you are going to take better care of your own needs. Or imagine a friend, a mentor, or even your fairy godmother telling you to be on your own side – and let them talk you into it!

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Embrace your full potential by living skillfully

Photo by Quino Al on Unsplash

The Buddha’s cousin, Ananda, once asked him what the benefit of living skillfully was. The Buddha answered that skillful living leads to freedom from remorse, which in turn leads to joy. Joy then allows the mind to settle into concentration, and concentration leads to the arising of insight. That’s the path we’re following in Buddhist practice. And it all starts with learning to live skillfully.

The word “skillful” (that’s kusala in Pali, for those who are interested) is a fascinating vocabulary choice on the Buddha’s part. He didn’t generally talk about “good” and “bad” actions, although that terminology was, of course, available to him. Instead, he talked about us acting skillfully or unskillfully. Since this may seem like odd language for talking about morality or ethics, as if we’re being asked to perform some kind of trick, let’s take a closer look at what he might have meant by it.

You can think about “skill” as meaning, “actions that can accomplish an aim.” A skilled writer is one who aims to persuade or create pleasure, or whatever her aim might be, and can actually do so. Merely having the intent isn’t enough, or we’d all be good writers! Writing well is a craft, and has to be learned by the intelligent application of trial and error and well as by studying the works of other writers who are themselves recognized as having skill. An unskilled writer may have the same aim as a more skilled one but isn’t able to put those aims into action.

What’s the relevance of this to spirituality? We all have the aim, deep down, of finding peace of mind, happiness, and wellbeing. But do we have the skill to create them? Here too, just as with our example of a skilled writer, accomplishing this aim is a matter of intelligently approaching life in a trial-and-error way, while also learning from the life, example, and sometimes personal guidance of those who seem to be skilled at living well.

What stops us from finding peace of mind? We do! We contain skillful tendencies (compassion, kindness, mindfulness, etc) and unskillful tendencies (such as self-centeredness, aversion to discomfort. Both sets of impulses aim to keep us secure and happy, but all too often our unskillful tendencies create suffering for ourselves. We react, and these reactions cause suffering.

Our unskillful instincts advertise themselves as helpful when most of the time they’re not. So our trial and error process consists of observing that unskillful, reactive impulses do not bring happiness and that only a creative life based on living with mindfulness and kindness can achieve that aim.

This is something that we have to work at learning because our unskillful impulses have evolved to protect us. For example, being unpleasant to someone who annoys us is an instinct that evolved hundreds of millions of years ago. If you’re a lizard, and you make a threatening display to another lizard who comes too close to you, you can chase the intruder away, protecting yourself and your food supply. But when the person we’re annoyed with is a colleague or close family member, we can’t simply remove them from our lives! Our aversion binds us in a conflicted and painful relationship. And so, in many ways, our “protective” instincts end up harming us.

Our more skillful attributes are rooted in our evolutionary biology as well. As mammals, we’ve evolved to value love and connection; a newborn baby’s first need is to be held, monkeys create social binds by grooming each other. We’ve evolved to have empathy. Even mice show distress when they see one of their fellows suffering. Scientists have observed rats trying to free each other from traps. Empathy is built into the structure of mammalian brains.

Another part of our mammalian conditioning, however, is the need to establish our position in a social “pecking order.” This can result in us competing, even with friends and family. This kind of conditioning goes against our need for connection, warmth, and intimacy.

But we also have a more distinctively human part of our brains — the most recently evolved part of our brains, the neocortex. This is the seat of reason, reflection, and self-awareness. The neocortex allows us to look at our reactive instincts and our more creative and skillful instincts. It helps us to see the disadvantages of the former compared to the latter. It also allows us to change our behavior, so that we choose to let go of unskillful impulses, and instead to think, speak, and act skillfully. In choosing to live skillfully, we’re choosing to live a more authentically human, happier, and meaningful life.

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To be a better person, stop trying to be a good person

Recently I’ve been realizing more and more that it’s unhelpful to want to see yourself as a good person.

That might seem odd, since you might think that of course we’d want to see ourselves as good people, so let me explain the problem I see.

If you think of yourself as a good person, what happens when someone points out that you’ve done something that’s kinda crappy — such as being dishonest about something or having been inconsiderate? It’s important for you to see yourself as a good person, and so you defend yourself. Maybe you even attack or undermine the other person. You want to preserve your view of yourself, because thinking of yourself as “good” is important to you.

This is something I’ve observed in myself. My partner would point out that I’d said something that was, in some minor way, untrue, and I’d deny it. I’d twist what I’d said to try to make it seem true, or say I’d meant something else. In not wanting to let go of my belief in myself as a good person, I slipped further away from being a good person.

A friend was having problems with her boss overruling her expertise on important matters and refusing to give the reasoning behind her decision, other than saying “It’s what I’ve decided.” This was, as you might imagine, undermining. And when she challenged her boss on this all she got was evasion or blame. The boss wanted to convince her that she hadn’t done anything wrong. In fact I think she wanted to convince herself that she hadn’t done anything wrong. Again, in trying to maintain her status as a good person, she behaved like a person who wasn’t good.

Lots of people think of themselves as good, even as they do awful things. They minimize the harm they cause: It wasn’t such a big deal. They deny they’ve even caused harm, even when they’ve committed extreme acts, such as theft, or even sexual abuse or violence against loved ones. The other person deserved it, wanted it. I can’t help thinking that the belief that they are a good person actual enables them to do these things: “I’m a good person, so the things I do can’t be that bad.”

The alternative is not to think you’re a bad person. That’s just as unhelpful.

The alternative is not to think of yourself as any kind of person at all! This is in fact something that the Buddha taught. He said that there was no view of ourselves we can have that isn’t a source of suffering. And by “view” he meant a fixed belief. When a fixed belief about ourselves is challenged, we feel defensive. The reason we were clinging in the first place was to provide a sense of stability and security: I know what I am. I’m a good person.

Not thinking of yourself as good or bad doesn’t leave us in a moral vacuum, unable to decide how to act. In fact it liberates us.

We can see ourselves in two ways:

First, we’re a mixture of good and bad tendencies and qualities (although Buddhism tends to talk in terms of “skillful” and “unskillful” tendencies and qualities). There is no one quality, good or bad, that defines who we are. We’re a mixture, and the composition of that mixture changes, moment by moment. We’re mysterious. We’re indefinable.

Second, we can, if we so choose, have sense of moral direction. If we have a clear idea of the kind of person we want to be, and the kinds of personal qualities we want to embody, and if we commit to that, then that becomes our focus. We see ourselves as works in progress, working to let go of tendencies that harm ourselves and others, and to strengthen and develop qualities that bring benefits instead. The important thing isn’t arriving at the goal; it’s that we have a goal and are working toward it.

Instead of trying to be a good person, aim to do good. Don’t focus your attention on what you are, but on what you do.

This may not seem like much of a shift, but it is. We’re not thinking of ourselves in fixed terms. Rather than seeing ourselves as being static we’re seeing ourselves as dynamic, ever-changing, and responsible for our own ethical destinies.

I’ve found it liberating to be challenged to look at myself more closely and to realize that I’d been slipping into wanting to see myself as good. That’s not helpful. In truth I’m not good. I’m not bad. I’m evolving. And that’s a liberating thing to remember.

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“We forget our faults easily when they are known only to ourselves.” Francois de la Rochefoucauld

Photo by Derek Thomson on Unsplash

Just as we can’t see what we look like unless we encounter a mirror, often we don’t know what we’re like in terms of our behavior and attitude unless those things are reflected by other people.

There’s a considerable amount of evidence that other people have a clearer picture of what we’re like as individuals than we do ourselves. While we’re fairly good at assessing ourselves in terms of internal factors, knowing better than others what we feel and thinks, when it comes to factors like intelligence, attractiveness, creativity, and competence, others have a far clearer perception of us than we do ourselves.

But sometimes even internal factors are hard to assess. In my role as a teacher I’ve often heard from people (usually men) who say things like “After meditating for a few weeks I don’t think I’ve changed, although people who know me say I’m much easier to be with.” To me this suggests our tendency to externalize our mental states, so that rather than see ourselves as impatient we see others as being too slow; instead of seeing ourselves as untrusting we see others as untrustworthy; instead of seeing ourselves as unkind we see others as needing a good kick up the behind, and so on. And so when we change, for example by becoming a bit more relaxed, we don’t necessarily notice that fact, and we interpret this change, perhaps in terms of other people being more cooperative, and so on.

What I’ve just described is perhaps more common when we’re first starting to get to know and to work on ourselves, but even after decades of practice I’m still learning that there are things about myself I haven’t allowed myself to acknowledge. It’s only through being mirrored by others that I come to recognize some of my faults.

And those faults are the ones I find hardest to see, because I’ve spent longer learning how not to acknowledge them, and trying to hide them from others. For example, I have habits of dishonesty that I haven’t been very aware of. I can tend to rationalize and whitewash my actions, so that I do things for one (not very noble) reason and then, when called on this, claim that my motivations were much more noble than they actually were. Or I’ll say something, have it pointed out that I was incorrect, and then claim I meant something different from what I actually said. Sometimes I’ll speculate about something, and then try to convince others that I’m more certain in my knowledge than I actually am. Sometimes I’ll feel or think one thing (usually critical) but present another thing to others.

I wouldn’t be aware of those habits if it wasn’t for one friend who has a finely-tuned bullshit detector, and in fact experiences acute distress when people around her are being inauthentic. As a result, she’s particularly demanding when it comes to dishonesty. In the past I’d probably have found her scary and made sure I avoided her. Actually, I do find her a little intimidating, but I really value how she’s pressuring me to be more honest and authentic. I’m finding that I like myself better when I live that way. So on the whole I really value our connection. It’s liberating to be called on my bullshit.

Looking back, I see a pattern in my life. I have to be with someone who’s kinder than I am in order to learn to see my own unkindness. I have to be with someone clearer than I am in order to see my own unclarity. I have to be with someone more honest than me in order to become more authentic and to see the ways in which I’m dishonest.

This is work that I could never have done on my own. We all need others as mirrors so that we can learn to see ourselves more accurately. It’s a scary process to have mirrored those aspects of ourselves that we least admire, but it’s necessary and rewarding work.

Just one other thing: often I hear perfectly lovely people express the belief that they’re actually horrible and unlovable individuals. Sometimes I have my good qualities reflected back to me and am surprised. De la Rochefoucauld was a cynic, and so less inclined to see that just as we forget our faults when they’re known only to ourselves, we also forget our virtues when they are known only to others. A true mirror reflects, impartially, both the good and the bad that is within us.

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