The Buddhist Critique of Ritualism
by David R. Loy
Ritualism is "the belief that it is necessary for rites to be carried out," because the ritual accomplishes something in and of itself, apart from our attitude as we perform it. In contrast, rituals . . . can be extraordinarily valuable if and when we undertake them in the proper spirit, because they can help to nurture and embody the mental transformation that is the most important goal.
Buddhism originated, in part, as a reaction against ritualism.
The prevalent religion in northern India during the time of the Buddha was Brahmanism. In addition to the chanting of Vedic hymns, it emphasized the worship of gods such as Indra and Agni and natural phenomena such as fire and the Ganges River. The main religious practice was the performance of rites, especially sacrifices, by priests who were members of the Brahman caste. If a nobleman or a wealthy merchant wanted his wife to give birth to a son, for example, he could hire a Brahman to perform the appropriate sacrifice. If the ritual were conducted correctly, the wife would bear a son; if that didn't happen, there must have been some error in the ceremony, or perhaps the results were postponed to a future pregnancy - or a future lifetime.
This emphasis on ritualism ("the belief that it is necessary for rites or repeated sets of actions to be carried out," according to Wiktionary) was challenged by Shakyamuni, the historical Buddha, who offered a very different perspective that shifted the focus from ritual activity to the importance of one's mental attitude. The beginning of the Dhammapada highlights this:
Experiences are preceded by mind, led by mind, and produced by mind. If one speaks or acts with an impure mind, suffering follows even as the cartwheel follows the hoof of the ox. Experiences are preceded by mind, led by mind, and produced by mind. If one speaks or acts with a pure mind, happiness follows like a shadow that never departs.
This change from ritualism to mental attitude is crucial to the Middle Way that the Buddha taught. In the Pali Canon - the earliest Buddhist collection of texts - the Jatila Sutta (Udana VI.2) recounts an event that happened while the Buddha was staying near Gaya. On a cold winter night, when snow was falling, he observed ascetics jumping up and down in the water, in the belief that they were thereby purifying themselves. The Buddha commented: "Not by water is one cleansed, though many people are bathing here: whoever has truth and rectitude, he is the clean one."
This approach is also the key to understanding the Buddha's critique of mechanistic karma. The Sanskrit word karma (kamma in Pali) literally means "action," but in popular usage it refers to the consequences of some previous action: if you intentionally hurt someone, it is "your karma" to be injured sometime in the future. That puts the cart before the horse because it misses the point of the Buddha's revolutionary new perspective, which emphasized transforming one's motivations and the intentions of one's actions right now.
According to this understanding of karma, if I am motivated by greed, ill will, and delusion - the three fires or three poisons - the consequences will be bad, involving some kind of suffering. If, however, I am motivated by generosity, loving-kindness, and wisdom, then the consequences are very likely to be positive. That makes sense psychologically, because my intentions strongly affect not only how I relate to other people but also how I experience the world generally, and how other people experience and respond to me.
A better-known Pali Canon text, the Sigalovada Sutta, also emphasizes the shift from a ritualistic approach to a more psychological and social understanding of the religious life. It is often considered the most important sutta for laypeople; Bhikkhu Bodhi, for example, considers it the "most comprehensive Nikaya text" that pertains "to the happiness directly visible in this present life."
One day the Buddha was taking his morning walk when he met a youth named Sigala, who was prostrating himself and worshipping in the four compass directions (east, south, west, and north), plus the earth (down) and the sky (up). When the Buddha asked him why he did so, Sigala replied that his late father had told him to do so, and he wanted to uphold his father's wishes.
In reply, the Buddha taught him how a noble one (ariya) should "worship" them. He described the four compass directions as parents (in the east), teachers (south), wife (west), and friends and colleagues (north), and the two vertical directions as religious ascetics and Brahmans (up) and one's servants (down). The Buddha explained how to respect and support each of them and how the six will return that kindness and support.
Notice that the Buddha did not dismiss the importance of venerating the six directions - which might have caused difficulties for Sigala, who wanted to respect his father's request. Instead, the Buddha redefined the meaning of the six directions by interpreting them as symbols or metaphors.
Half the people in the world think that the metaphors of their religious traditions, for example, are facts. And the other half contends that they are not facts at all. As a result we have people who consider themselves believers because they accept metaphors as facts, and we have others who classify themselves as atheists because they think religious metaphors are lies. (Joseph Campbell, Thou Art That: Transforming Religious Metaphor [New World Library, 2001])
In the case of Sigala, understanding the six directions in a more metaphorical way changes the focus from ritualistic formalities to practices that directly affect how we actually interact with family members, friends, and others. Again, the emphasis is on transforming the mind, especially our intentions.
Finally, the Pali Buddhist perspective on ritualism is perhaps best exemplified by its classifying "clinging to rites and rituals" as the third of the ten fetters (samjoyana) that shackle us to samsara, this world of suffering, craving, and delusion. It is necessary to cut through all the fetters to attain nirvana, complete awakening. Someone who attains stream-entry, the first stage of enlightenment, already destroys the first three, including ritualism (the other two are the false view of a real self, and doubts about the Buddhist path).
Given this early Buddhist critique of ritualism, it seems ironic that the Japanese Buddhist establishment came to emphasize ritual most of all: in particular, the chants and other rites associated with funerals and memorial services. Traditionally, the main role of Buddhism in Japan has been to "purify" death, but as far as I know Shakyamuni, the historical Buddha, was not at all concerned about that.
Ritual and Ritualism
Does all of this mean that contemporary Buddhists should reject all rituals? Not at all: there remains an important difference between ritual and ritualism.
Ritualism is "the belief that it is necessary for rites to be carried out," because the ritual accomplishes something in and of itself, apart from our attitude as we perform it. In contrast, rituals (sequences of activities involving gestures, words, and objects, performed in a sequestered place, and performed according to set sequence) can be extraordinarily valuable if and when we undertake them in the proper spirit, because they can help to nurture and embody the mental transformation that is the most important goal, according to Buddhism.
Let me offer an example from my Zen practice. To do zazen together as a group in a meditation hall is a ritualized activity that works to encourage and cultivate certain mental processes. One enters the hall with a small bow (gassho) and walks mindfully to one's seat without stepping on the cracks between the tatami mats. One bows to the seat, turns around and bows to the hall, sits down, and begins zazen with a prescribed series of physical actions that help one settle onto the cushion. The period begins with clappers and three bells; it ends with one bell, or two bells if there is to be a period of walking meditation followed by another period of meditation. The walking meditation - kinhin - is also ritualized. All of this is done in silence, which minimizes distractions.
I cherish that ritual. Nevertheless, the distinction between rituals and ritualism is not always clear. The basic problem is that ritual, by its nature, tends to be a conservative force that preserves and maintains traditions, which is often a good thing but not always. According to one definition, rituals are characterized by formalism, invariance, rule-governance, and sacral symbolism. Sometimes, however, adaptability is more important, especially in new situations that call for flexibility.
Buddhism's emphasis on impermanence and insubstantiality applies even to itself, and this has been significant as Buddhism has spread to new societies and interacted with different religious cultures. The rituals found in Korean and Japanese Buddhism, for example, are quite different from those practiced in Thailand or Burma. Is it necessary that the traditional rituals used in premodern Asian Buddhist societies be preserved and continued in the modern world? If the most important consideration in Buddhism is whether something promotes genuine awakening - if all rituals, like all the teachings, are only rafts to help us get across to "the other side" of the river - then we need to distinguish or create rituals that are most relevant to us today, because they help to cultivate the personal and social transformations that are most needed.
One consideration that is especially relevant in Japan is the great generation gap - greater than anywhere else I have lived - between young people and their elders. My sense is that young people may acquiesce in social ceremonies, such as funeral services and memorials, but these are often a source of estrangement and disaffiliation. Such rituals have less and less meaning for many people, especially youth.
That concern is actually part of a larger issue. In the Buddha's time, life was lived in groups; individualism as we know it today did not exist, because neither the economy nor social relationships enabled it. Today we experience the opposite, with the encouragement of consumerism and the support of new communication technologies. The prevalence of hikikomori (acute social withdrawal) is only an extreme example of a culture of alienation that is much more widespread. The challenge today, therefore, is different: can rituals help to bring us together, to cultivate the growth of community bonds that are unraveling?
One possible answer might be found in the recent development of new healing rituals.
For example, in her important book Coming Back to Life: Practices to Reconnect Our Lives, Our World, and in her Work That Reconnects workshops, Joanna Macy offers practices that can "help us take part in the epochal shift from the industrial growth society to a life-sustaining civilization." Many of the exercises and meditations she outlines have a ritual component. For example, the Council of All Beings, for reconnecting with the other species that share this planet with us, begins with participants sitting in a circle around a lit candle while listening attentively to parts of Chief Seattle's famous 1854 speech:
The earth does not belong to man; man belongs to the earth. This we know. All things are connected like the blood which unites one family. Whatever befalls the earth befalls the sons of the earth. Man does not weave the web of life; he is merely a strand of it. Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself.
After the reading is complete, participants are invited to speak to Chief Seattle, imagining his spirit to be in the middle of the circle. When everyone has had an opportunity to speak, and after silent reflection on their words, this first part of the exercise concludes by the participants saying together: "May our words to Chief Seattle, like his to us, remain with us for the healing of our world."
There is much more to the Council of All Beings - too much to summarize here - but perhaps this excerpt is enough. The crucial point is that, in this time of great social and ecological challenges, our hearts, our societies, and the earth itself need to heal. That points to the direction that Buddhism and other religious traditions could develop if they are to contribute to that healing process. And rituals, understood and performed in the right spirit - with the right intention - can be an important part of that healing.
David R. Loy is a professor, writer, and Zen teacher in the Sanbo Zen tradition of Japanese Zen Buddhism. He is a prolific author whose essays and books have been translated into many languages. He teaches nationally and internationally on various topics, focusing primarily on the encounter between Buddhism and modernity and what each can learn from the other. See www.davidloy.org.
Source
www.chinabuddhismencyclopedia.com/en/index.php?title=The_Buddhist_Critique_of_Ritualism&action=edit&redlink=1
