Buddhism has long been associated with vegetarianism. Ask someone outside of Buddhism about a Buddhist diet and she will probably mention not eating meat. Jains, many Hindus, some Muslims, some Christians , and some other spiritual communities also embrace a vegetarian diet, so Buddhism is not unique in this association. And yet not all Buddhists have embraced a vegetarian lifestyle. In fact, whole communities of Buddhist practitioners make no claim at all to being vegetarian.
We are most especially concerned here with the Zen school of Buddhism, a community of practitioners, some of whom are and some of whom are not meat eaters. Go into Zen temples in Japan or in the United States (I can not personally speak to Vietnamese or Korean Zen) and you will soon discover a quite varied landscape concerning this subject. While I have not myself witnessed any temple actually forcing meat or fish on practitioners, I have seen these foods present in more than one temple, being served up as part of the formal meals, right there under the watchful eyes of Buddhas and Bodhisattvas. Sometimes there will be no meat or fish being actually served in the temple itself, but practitioners—including ordained practitioners—willingly eat meat elsewhere anyway. As one Asian American exclaimed to me about a monk who had recently left the local temple under a cloud, “That monk actually allowed the eating of meat and fish right here in the temple! Outside the temple — well, OK. But IN the temple? In front of the Buddha?!”
Not under the watchful eyes of the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas! Well now. Some scholars submit that the Buddha almost certainly ate meat himself, and we are pretty sure that he never forbade outright the eating of meat and fish by his followers; in fact, meat and fish were ingredients often found in the curries and gruels served to the monastics in their begging rounds. We are told, rather, that the Buddha stipulated that meat should not be eaten if one has seen the animal killed or had the apprehension that it was killed specifically for that monastic. There were also apparently some forbidden meats, these being due either to the social status confirmed on to the animal, or due to a pervading sense of the uncleanliness of the animal. No snakes, dogs, leopards, tigers, horses, elephants, etc.
(I simply cannot resist asserting here a rather cynical view of the literal precision of the record when it comes to what the Buddha or anyone else did or said all those many centuries ago. The temptations to change even clear written records of former times loom large, especially when the historian, or scribe, can alter history dramatically and surgically by changing a word or two, or inserting a well-placed paragraph such that it may bring the historical record into better accord with his own beliefs about the past. There is, of course, evidence aplenty of this in many traditions. If the Buddha actually ate meat, or did not eat it, it passes my understanding how anyone would know this for sure. It seems to me possible that this is a historical fact that is possibly too well documented, a fact conveniently designed to be discovered to help support one's own proclivities toward eating flesh foods. The business about it being OK to eat meat as long as you have not seen the animal killed, etc., feels like something that was either made up by someone later [since you KNOW it was killed, and it suffered, after all], or perhaps evidence of the kind of compromise the Buddha may well have made to accommodate those who were still quite attached to flesh foods. This kind of compromise is found in other traditions, notably Islam. I am also somewhat skeptical about these assertions for other reasons: Why is it that we do not have this degree of detail about other personal habits of the Buddha? Why does this one subject kind of stick out more than others? And when one considers all the Buddha’s teachings as a whole, all of this emphasis on compassion, how can it be that in this one area there is this apparent discrepancy?)
If this history is correct, then where does the association between Buddhism and vegetarianism arise, and why did it and does it persist? And perhaps most importantly, what argument can be made for vegetarianism in Buddhist practice?
Buddhism teaches us that all our suffering issues from our desires. A desirous mind state generates harmfulness in all its forms, both toward others, and toward ourselves. As has been witnessed throughout the millennia in both monastic and strong lay practice in several traditions, when one goes without meat or fish, one may well find oneself released from the desire for these foods (although not instantly, of course) and one may even “soften” to the suffering of all creatures through a closer identity with them. Vegetarianism can be an aid to learning to live a life of actions taken outside the realm of doing harm. It is hard to say, in fact, which may come first, and which way the cycle may spiral — non meat eating leading to sympathy for the plight of animals, or growing sympathy arising from deep and dedicated spiritual practice leading to a gathering unwillingness to cause harm by supporting animal slaughter. But it becomes clear, along the road to vegetarianism, that the less meat one desires, the closer one feels toward all life, the more harmless one feels, and the more aware of the suffering of the helpless beasts one is. If, and possibly only if, vegetarianism is supported by involved and sincere spiritual practice, it serves to soften us up. It actually (forgive me) tenderizes us.
Generally Buddhists are regarded as gentle people, forbearing, not so aggressive or destructive, and it may be that it is because enough of them are actually practicing vegetarians that this perception of them is so common. We may postulate that vegetarianism has actually grown as a component of Buddhist practice and worldview through the ages. Assuming for a moment that the first Buddhists may have eaten meat, it is a fact that in many cultures—Indochina and China come first to mind—monastic codes have long clearly stipulated non-flesh eating as a component of monastic life. This continues today in many strands of Buddhism, and it is supported by the clear spirit of the first Grave Precept: “ I vow not to kill, but to cherish all life,” or “I vow not to engage in violence,” or something similar, depending on how strongly one wants the language to read.
The question here is why has this vegetarianism persisted in the face of the more violent and insensitive habit patterns experienced by many practitioners. And this in spite of what might have been the Buddha’s compromise. And more, in spite of the ever present arguments about the “emptiness of all things.” (Another cynical digression: One must indeed always remember this emptiness aspect of the truth — of course, in the end there are no animals to be killed and eaten, and there are no meat eaters, etc. Sometimes this aspect gets trotted out by individual practitioners to merely provide a license to indulge in behavior that is clearly not in the spirit of real Buddhist practice, not of the Precepts. We have seen this happen before: Crazy Wisdom arguments to justify sexual abuses of students by teachers. I wonder in darker moments how the emptiness argument might be used to justify the breaking of other precepts — Enron executives had no money to steal, right?)
I personally feel that vegetarianism can be a living expression of realization, an opportunity to practice BUDDHISM, with all its compassion and great regard for all life. It is the fulfillment of a habit of harmlessness and selflessness when regarding the animal realm. It is action that embodies what we are so capable of as spiritual practitioners — lifting ourselves above our petty desires in order not to cause suffering and abuse. Vegetarianism has remained embedded in much of the Buddhist community not so much because of what the Buddha did or said so long ago, but because it squares with the compassionate life. Even if we do not see the creature killed, and even if it was not killed for us specifically, it was slaughtered for the market, and we create that market with our desire.
Note that while the Buddha might have allowed for meat eating, he never promoted it. How could he? This would run counter to his own teachings. And speaking of his teachings — is it not true that he bade the community of practitioners to find their own way in the world after his departure? Can we imagine the Buddha visiting the world today, seeing the way we have come to treat the earth, the waters, the farm animals, game? Can we imagine him as a promoter of our current abuses? What would be his recommendations and teachings to us concerning flesh eating? Well, we do not need to guess, since he is indeed here — he is us.
When we come to fully realize the wide impact of our actions, does not the harmlessness that embodies vegetarianism recommend itself? If I eat these shrimp I create demand, a need in the marketplace, and more will be killed to take their place. And in this context, were they killed specifically for me? You bet they were. Now knowing this, clearly seeing it without the noise laid down by my own desires, will I, to paraphrase Bankei, reduce my unborn Buddha mind to a demon mind? Why should I do this?
Speaking of desires, I sometimes hear that some Zen practitioners and even teachers depend on the argument that vegetarians are “attached” to vegetarianism. Now this may indeed be true for a given individual at a given time. We can be identified and attached in unhealthy ways to anything, even to the Dharma. But I submit that often this argument is trotted out by meat eaters who are themselves simply attached to eating meat. Rather than working with their own struggles to give up meat and the harm this causes, some practitioners simply project the attachment onto the vegetarian. They, of course, then find themselves in the awkward position of defending killing and censuring active compassion.
I have often told my own students that if indeed vegetarianism is “forced,” then it may well be unhealthy at some level, and it can actually cause more harm than good. (I have never yet resorted to the technique of forcing them to eat a steak to make my point, though I have heard stories of teachers doing just that. Perhaps someday I will.) But at some point in practice, if one discovers that one is getting a little queasy at the smell or taste of meat, perhaps one needs to go ahead and follow this new (old) deeper instinct. Go where there is an opening, where there is harmlessness, community with all life, and you may discover that this aligns with your practice, and meat may find its way off your table.
While the Buddha may not have been as strict and idealistic a vegetarian as we would like to see it in today’s terms, his tendencies and teachings were clearly headed in that direction. Anyone who cannot see this is turning the Dharma on its head. The Buddha taught two things: Suffering and release from Suffering. He did not only mean the ending of suffering by the insight into the emptiness of all things. Had he only meant this he would never have taught. Any real practitioner knows that “emptiness” is only half the journey. What we DO to end suffering here and now depends on completing the return trip. This has always been the teaching, no?
We have recently helped Buddhism evolve in important ways in what is now popularly called Engaged Buddhism. Insight into our true nature is not enough, essential as it is. We also must manifest the truth in everyday life by helping where we can and doing as little harm as possible — engaging. Reining in our habitual desire for flesh foods can both help us curtail our own selfish desires and bring direct relief to suffering populations of innocent creatures. This is simple, cheap, ecological. It is worthwhile spiritual work right on our doorstep, right outside the Zendo. Why would we not do this?
-Sensei Sevan Ross