Actually, the title is erroneous. Jesus, Buddha, and Plato
don’t need help—we do. Whether one follows the way of salvation set for in the
Gospels, the path to enlightenment offered by the Buddha, or the way of wisdom explored
by Socrates, unless one dives in head-first via a monastic or hermetic life,
one must remain in a sinful and imperfect world. This is the world of politics,
of deciding who gets what, when, and how. It’s a world of compromise,
imperfection, and—quite often—dirty hands. It’s a world marked by corruption
and decay, punctuated with periods of growth in wealth, knowledge, and
well-being. The worm is always in the flower. How do these avatars of love and
wisdom expect us to live in this imperfect world?
Jesus, in the traditional view, would have us defer to a
world to come. Some argue that his vision was of this world, and that a social
upheaval would reveal the Kingdom of God is among us. But a New Heaven and a
New Earth have not come to pass. The parousia
has not occurred. Life has gone on. Politics has gone on, and Jesus left no
theory of politics. Only from the scraps, such as “Render unto Caesar what
belongs to Caesar, and render unto God what belongs to God”. Any Christian theory
of politics arises from scraps of scripture that give us some inkling of how Jesus
and his New Testament followers came to think about this world. Only long after the time of
Jesus and Paul did Christianity attempt to come to grips with the continuing
reality of the world and the need to address the demands of social, political,
and economic life. As to politics, the work of St. Augustine and his idea of
the City of God and the City of Man, of dividing divine reality from human reality,
became the most significant statement of how Christianity would address the
demands of this world. Medieval political thinkers developed the theory of the
Two Swords—the need for both religious and secular governance—and St. Thomas
Aquinas folded Aristotelian thought and its political insights into the Christian
worldview. But thoughts of a coherent and compelling union of political
insights with Christianity never worked in a fully logical, coherent manner.
Finally, Niccolò Machiavelli in Renaissance Florence turned the Christian
“Mirror of Princes” literature upside down. Instead of promoting the cultivation of
Christian virtues by rulers, Machiavelli called for a divorce of religious
ethics from political ethics. Notwithstanding a great deal of resistance and
disdain, the divorce occurred. What Machiavelli might have left standing,
Thomas Hobbes finished off.
I learned most of what I wrote above by the time I finished
college, well versed in both Christianity and the Western political tradition.
But what about the Buddhist tradition that has taken hold in the West and that
has influenced me? What is the Buddha’s theory of politics? It turns out, like
Jesus, he didn’t have a theory of politics. (Plato, creator of “Socrates”,
leaves a more ambiguous legacy.)
I had occasion to raise this issue with a man who seemed to
be the perfect person to address it: William (Patrick) Ophuls, former Foreign
Service officer, Yale-trained political scientist, Northwestern University
professor, author of four books on the politics of scarcity and long-term
trends in history—and most significantly—a long-time practitioner of Buddhist
insight meditation. Ophuls directed me to an essay he’d written entitled “The
Politics of Meditation” (contained as an appendix in his book The Buddha Takes No Prisoners). In it,
he considers these issues and compels us to think more deeply about them. 
In his essay, Ophuls argues that the Buddha, despite his
admonitions against “false speech” and violence, implicitly condones political
choices that may—at least to some degree—entail deception or violence. Ophuls
recounts Buddha’s encounter with King Pasenadi of Koasala, a warrior-king who made
decisions of life and death. But the Buddha did not rebuke him or condemn him;
in fact, after the King left, the Buddha remarked to followers “that the
monarch’s views were ‘monuments to the Dhamma.’” Ophuls, Patrick (2012-05-29). Buddha Takes No Prisoners: A Meditator's
Survival Guide (Kindle Locations 1758-1759). North Atlantic Books. Kindle
Edition. Ophuls also points out that Buddha maintained good relations with
rulers, which given the significance of his movement (he gained many followers
and altered the social fabric) is no small feat. (Contrast these successful
dealings with rulers and the Buddha’s long life with the collision course with political
authorities, both Roman and Jewish, that Jesus embarked upon from the beginning
of his ministry and that led to his execution after only about three years of activity.)
Based on Buddha’s remarks and history (and remember that Buddha was the son of
a king trained to serve as a king), Ophuls concludes “there indeed exists an
implicit politics of dharma— a politics that contradicts many contemporary
attitudes and opinions, because the Buddha taught a way of personal liberation,
not a political ideology.” Id. 1752-1754. So what does this “implicit” politics
of dharma look like? And even if not a “political ideology”, it contradicts
“many contemporary attitudes and opinions” (but not all). So how do we practice
it? Ophuls does not provide a direct answer, but he goes on to explore the
contours of the issue:
Thus although he was an
exponent of nonviolence, the Buddha was not a pacifist as we would understand
that term. Nor did he oppose the death penalty.
. . . .
How could this be? How
could the Buddha, who made nonharming the foundation of his morality, seemingly
condone the king’s violence? The answer is simple, if unpalatable to
contemporary sensibilities: men are not angels, so government is a necessary
evil; but government rests on coercion; ergo, those who govern must be willing
and able to use violent means to keep the peace and defend the realm. The
Buddha’s praise of King Pasenadi tacitly acknowledged that those who rule must
employ force when necessary.
Id. 1754-1755; 1759-1763
Ophuls also describes the actions of Hadrian upon his
appointment as Trajan’s successor: Hadrian directed the assassination of three
would-be rivals who would likely have fomented civil war in order to challenge
Hadrian’s claim. Many lives and great losses would have resulted from another
Roman civil war—three lives to allow two decades of peace and prosperity. A
fair trade or an unmitigated evil deed? Along similar lines, Ophuls recounts
the tale of the Bhagavad Gita and
Arjuna’s lament at the death and destruction that he has asked to rain upon his
teachers and kinsman. Krishna rebukes Arjuna and directs him to follow his
karma, his destiny. From this line of thought, Ophuls concludes:
So the Buddha’s
penetrating intelligence took in the whole panorama of human existence, seeing
it in a dispassionate light and from an ecological perspective. Different
personalities at different stages of spiritual development have divers social
roles and responsibilities. Only a minority is called to be ordained as a monk
or nun— and therefore to a vow of absolute nonharming in this lifetime. And a
good thing too, because if the majority tried to devote their lives to full-
time spiritual practice, then who would grow the crops, tend the cows, and
weave the cloth?
Id. 1774-1778
Ophuls enjoins us to follow our karma. If we are called to
serve as monks, we must follow a monk’s ethic; if called to rule, we must
follow a ruler’s ethic. The “good” is thus not defined by the act itself, but
by its intention—the how and why of an action count more than the physics of
the action. Ophuls writes:
To put it another way,
the key to morality is volition; it is intention, not the deed itself, which
creates karma. Hence, the karmic fruit of executions motivated by cruelty or
vengeance will be quite different from those motivated by a sincere desire to
preserve civil society from criminal depredation. This does not mean that there
is no karma attached to being a ruler— as King Pasenadi, who had attained some
wisdom precisely by fulfilling his royal dharma, himself acknowledged. But it
does mean that we cannot apply absolute standards to the relative world. From
the absolute standpoint proclaimed by the Buddha, the relative world is just
what it is: radically imperfect. To try to perfect it is futile and will only
entangle us in suffering.
Id. 1787-1792
Bringing his focus back to the contemporary world, Ophuls
notes that the insights of the meditation cushion often seem inapplicable to
the world of the marketplace and politics. As he so aptly notes, “the Buddhist
perspective on politics is not easily reconciled with the political ideology of
Berkeley.” Id. 1800-1801. He goes on: “[I]f you wish, you may continue to vote
the straight Democratic ticket and to revile wicked Republicans at every
opportunity (or vice versa). You can also oppose war, because violence is
always bad, while approving abortion, because sometimes it is not (or vice
versa). And so forth. But these are worldly positions, not spiritual truths,
and your attachment to them will cause suffering in exact proportion to the
degree of your attachment.” Id. 1801-1804. Here we see Buddhism meeting
political realism, skepticism, and a dash of American pragmatism. We can only work
the edges, the intentions. We come to appreciate that logical consistency is
rarely found in politics. Although he does not write it, he might have also
noted Emerson’s adage that “a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of small
minds”, thereby revealing how we are truly caught between the Scylla and
Charybdis of unworkable logical consistency and self-serving inconsistency.
Because Buddha and Buddhism eschew any political ideology
(certainly a form of mental attachment), we must lighten-up about our political
views. Ophuls writes: “[W]e need to let go of all fixed or partisan political
views. For a mind stuffed with obstinate opinions and driven by obscure
obsessions will not see the world as it truly is: indelibly marked by anatta, anicca, and dukkha. Id. 1804-1806.
We have no models for such probity and insight that can serve us as political
models, Ophuls concludes. The sangha (community
of Buddhist monks) cannot provide a model because of its otherworldly
orientation. Ophuls argues, “the dharma is not, nor can it ever be, political
in the usual sense—that is, concerned with reconciling contending interests,
instead of fostering wisdom and virtue”. Id. 1825-1826.
Ophuls suggests that the Buddha’s ideal of the political
would be like that of Socrates in Plato’s Republic:
“[L]et wisdom and virtue reign over humankind. However, like Socrates, the
Buddha knew very well that philosophers would not be kings nor kings
philosophers, so this ideal state of affairs—hard enough to achieve within the
sangha itself—could not be imposed on entire societies.” Id. 1811-1813. What Ophuls
does not say (and what I find implicitly troubling in his book title, Plato’s Revenge) is that Plato, at least
in the Republic, is profoundly
anti-political. Whether Plato intended the Republic
as only a thought-experiment or as an actual political blueprint, he, along
with Buddha and Jesus, leaves us without a working political theory. We have to
continue to construct our political understanding in light of these profound
insights but without explicit guidance. For more explicit guidance, we must
turn elsewhere.
Ophuls opines on further on the limits of politics from a
Buddhist perspective, writing that:
A further blow to
idealism in politics is the deeply conditioned nature of existence. Because
everything arises dependent on the arising of other things, social and
political reality is the product of a long chain of causes and conditions.
These causes and conditions produce very different realities at different times
and places, and these distinct realities place strict limits on what is
possible. Thus wisdom and virtue cannot be imposed by fiat on a recalcitrant
world. Nor can we specify the one best political system for all people,
everywhere, at all times, because what is appropriate at a given time and place
depends on circumstances.
1826-1830
As an example of his assessment, he notes that
“contemporary belief to the contrary
notwithstanding, liberal democracy is no panacea. Without the right
intellectual, cultural, and social foundation, it will fail. Imposing its
trappings in defiance of conditions creates a sham democracy at best; at worst,
it produces rampant corruption, ethnic conflict, and a host of other evils.”
Id. 1831-1833
Ophuls moves to a conclusion stating:
So it may be that the
best and noblest political act is to forget politics and to devote ourselves
primarily to training our minds in wisdom and our hearts in compassion , even
as we continue to live as householders . The above is not a call to apathy or
passivity. But the Buddha’s way is to be clearly aware of the world as it
actually is— not as we conceive it to be or would like it to be— and then to
respond accordingly. For instance, since dukkha is intrinsic, we are never
going to get rid of worldly suffering, only mitigate it to some degree . As
Jesus said, “The poor ye shall always have with you,” so don’t look to Caesar to
end poverty (or any other social evil) anytime soon. There is no political
remedy for what ails this world, and if we imprudently try to inflict one, the
inevitable result will be more of the inquisitions, gulags, revolutions, reigns
of terror, and wars-to-end-all-wars that disfigure human history.
Id. 1835-1842
Add the unreality of annata
(non-self), the workings of karma, and the realities of entropy and political
decay, and Ophuls seems to be saying “fogetaboutit”. He writes: “Politics is
also a vast and utterly impersonal process indelibly marked by dukkha, anicca, and anatta—a
process that we poorly understand and can only pretend to manage, except at the
margins”. Id. 1850-1852. Ophuls concludes: “Better to devote ourselves to
acquiring wisdom and virtue instead of contending for wealth and power, even
vicariously. This way, and this way alone, is the real political revolution and
the sole remedy for human suffering.” Id. 1853-1855
But while Ophuls denigrates the possibilities for
satisfactory action in politics, his actions betray his words. He has written
four books about politics and social change. Ask Keynes: ideas, whether for
good or ill, deeply affect us, and I doubt Ophuls would have taken the time and
effort to write his books about politics if he hadn’t intended to effect
political thinking and political action. And as he writes above, we can hope to
affect politics “at the margins”. Is marginal control worth it? Yes, it is.
Politics is about the future of the nitty-gritty world that we share outside
our immediate family and friends, and one that effects our well-being and all
of those with whom we share this Earth. So while Ophuls correctly notes that
liberal democracy won’t work for all polities, it works for some (and for some
better than others). Thus, it is worthwhile to struggle against the corruption
of American democracy by the dominance of Big Money. Will we perfect it? No,
but we can correct it and thereby create something better for our future.
The quality of life we live is this world has improved
because of politics (and despite it, too). The quality of life has also
declined because of political decisions. But with all of the ups and downs, we
enjoy a better quality of life than our ancestors. Humanity has progressed. It
could fail miserably, and our current civilization certainly will and must
undergo some profound changes. Those changes could go completely awry, or, as
Ophuls implies in Plato’s Revenge, a changed
world could retain a worthwhile quality of life with the right models of
politics, ethics, and economics. We don’t know how our decisions will play out,
but we will be making decisions that will shape our future, and the most
important of those decisions will be made in the political arena. So while
Platonists focus on the lure of appearances, Buddhist monks on Mara, and Christian monks on the “Kingdom
come”, we have to live our lives in this world.
Generation after generation, we
have attempted to make life better: better by less pain, better by less
violence, and better by more opportunities to explore human potential. Social
and political change is a very messy process with many instances of backsliding.
It’s also a process fraught with ethical dilemmas and traps that can increase
our own delusion, hatred, and clinging. That’s why we must constantly seek
guidance—wisdom.
From this work by Ophuls and my other readings about
Buddhism, I conclude that Buddhism has no political theory. It has no doctrine
of political ethics. Yet it remains relevant to political actors because of its
profound insights into human reality. As a master ethic based on the deepest
insights into the human mind, the insights of Buddhism have the ability to
profoundly effect any decision, whether personal or political. It doesn’t
provide rules; it provides insight. While I’d like clear rules and bright
lines, I find none. But my more mature self (such as it is—or isn’t)
appreciates the importance and reality of the lack of timeless guidelines or fixed
rules. Reality and the Buddha impose freedom and choice upon us, and we must
embrace it.
In a future essay, I’ll explore a Christian outlook on
these issues. By exploring, we learn.
