The ethical paradox—What should I do?—is beyond the province of the natural sciences; for the natural sciences, based as they are upon the principle of public knowledge, are inherently incapable of comprehending the idea of personal choice. What about the sciences of man—history, anthropology, sociology—can they help us? These certainly tell us how man has behaved in the past, and how in fact he now behaves. And when we ask them whether man ought to behave in the way he has and does, they are able to point to the manifest consequences in this world of man's various kinds of behaviour, and if we press them further to indicate which of these consequences are good and which bad, they can often tell us which have been most generally approved by man and which disapproved.

But if we ask them whether the majority of mankind has been right in approving what in fact it has approved and in disapproving what it has disapproved, they are silent. The answer of course is simply that if I, personally, approve what the majority of mankind has approved I shall say that the majority is right, but if I disapprove I shall say that it is wrong. But the scientific method eliminates the individual on principle, and for the humanist sciences man is essentially a collective or social phenomenon. For them, in consequence, I as an individual do not exist at all; at best I am conceded a part-share in the general consensus of opinion. The individual's view as an absolute ethical choice is systematically swallowed up in the view of mankind as a whole; and if the ethical question is raised at all, the sciences of man can only reply that the opinion of the majority represents the ultimate truth (a view that the defeated candidates in any election, who are themselves always in the majority, know to be false).

Furthermore, the only consequences of man's behaviour that these sciences are in a position to consider are the social consequences; what effects an individual's behaviour has upon himself or upon some other individual is not a comprehensible question. This means that a person seeking ethical enlightenment from the sciences of man is likely to conclude that only social values are moral values, and that a man can do as he pleases in private. It is hardly necessary to remark that with the growth of these sciences this view has already become extremely fashionable, and no great wonder: it puffs up the politician into an arbiter and legislator of morals—a function hitherto restricted to Divine Personages or their Representatives—and it allows the private citizen to enjoy his personal pleasures with a clear conscience. Eventually, we meet with political systems that have been raised to the status of religions. It is evident that the question of ethics, of the personal choice, does not come within the competence of the sciences either of nature or of man to answer.

It may happen, of course, that a man who clearly understands this may nevertheless decide that the service of man is the highest good. But if we press him to say why he has decided that concern with human society is the aim and purpose of his life, he will perhaps explain since he himself is a human being his personal happiness is bound up with human societies, and in promoting the welfare of mankind in general he is advancing his own welfare.

We may or may not agree with him, but that is not the point. The point is that, in the last analysis, a man chooses what he does choose in order to obtain happiness, whether it is the immediate satisfaction of an urgent desire or a remote future happiness bought perhaps with present acceptance of suffering. This means that the questions 'What is the purpose of existence?' and 'How is happiness to be obtained?' are synonymous; for they are both the ethical question, 'What should I do?' But there is happiness and happiness, and the intelligent man will prefer the permanent to the temporary.

The question, then, is 'How is permanent happiness, if such a thing exists, to be obtained?' This question in the West, with its Christian tradition, has always been associated with that of the existence of God, conceived as the ultimate source of all values, union with whom (or the admittance to whose presence) constitutes eternal happiness. The traditional Western Ethic is thus 'Obey the Laws of God'. But with the decline of Christianity before the triumphal progress of science God was pronounced dead and the question of the possibility of permanent happiness was thrown open. 'Has existence then any significance at all?...the question,' Nietzsche declared, 'that will require a couple of centuries even to be completely heard in all its profundity.'

***

I enclose a press cutting about Sartre.[2] The view that he is expounding here ('A writer has to take sides...') finds no justification at all in his philosophy. If, therefore, he holds this view, he does so simply because he finds it emotionally satisfactory. This view, of course, is quite familiar to us—it is the Socialist argument we sometimes hear, that since one cannot practise the Dhamma if one is starving, therefore food comes first; and therefore food is more important than the Dhamma; and therefore it is more important to produce food than it is to behave well; and therefore any kind of violence or deceit is justified if it helps to increase food production.

As Sartre puts it, it seems plausible—it is better to feed the poor than to entertain the rich. But when we look at it more closely we see that certain difficulties arise. To begin with, it assumes (as all socialists, Sartre included, do assume) that this life is the only one, that we did not exist before we were born, and shall not exist after we die. On this assumption it is fairly easy to divide mankind into two groups: the rich oppressors, and the poor oppressed, and the choice which to support seems easy. But if this is not the only life, how can we be sure that a man who is now poor and oppressed is not suffering the unpleasant effects of having been a rich oppressor in his past life? And, if we take the principle to its logical conclusion, should we not choose to be on the side of the 'oppressed' inhabitants of the hells, suffering retribution for their evil ways, and to condemn the fortunate ones in the heavens, a privileged class enjoying the reward of virtue, as the 'idle rich'? And then this view ignores the fact that our destiny at death depends on how we behave in this life. If bad behaviour in this life leads to poverty and hunger in the next, can we be sure that bread is more important than books? What use is it providing the hungry with bread if you don't tell them the difference between right and wrong? Is metaphysics so unimportant if it leads men—rich and poor, no matter—to adopt right view and to behave accordingly?

Of course, the very fact that Sartre's philosophy does not have anything to say about the hungry and oppressed is a blemish on his philosophy; and it might be argued that Sartre is therefore better occupied standing up for the hungry and oppressed than in propagating his metaphysical views; but that still does not justify the principle. And, in the last analysis, the Buddha's Teaching is for a privileged class—those who are fortunate enough to have the intelligence to grasp it (the Dhamma is paccattam veditabbo viññūhi (M. 38: i,265)—'to be known by the wise, each for himself'), and they are most certainly not the majority! But Sartre's attitude is symptomatic of a general inadequacy in modern European thought—the growing view that the majority must be right, that truth is to be decided by appeal to the ballot-box. (I read somewhere that, in one of the Western Communist countries, it was decided by a show of hands that angels do not exist.)

***
Perhaps you have seen the latest BPS publication, 'Knowledge and Conduct' (Wheel 50), by three university professors? In odd moments I have been browsing in Kierkegaard's Concluding Unscientific Postscript, which is a sustained polemic against objective speculative philosophy, and the three professors could hardly have chosen a more unfortunate time to arrive here in print. It is perhaps a little ironical that these three professors writing of Buddhism, of whom two at least[1] would, I presume, profess to call themselves Buddhists,[a] should compare so unfavourably with the Christian Kierkegaard. But Kierkegaard at least existed as an individual human being (even though his Christianity makes him a distorted figure), whereas these professors seem to be under the impression that such a thing is not really necessary, and this puts them in a slightly ridiculous light as individuals and tends to stultify whatever there might be of value in their thinking and writing.

Prof. Wijesekera starts off by calling witnesses to testify to the Buddha's competence as an ethicist. This detestable practice (which nevertheless is remarkably common) of bringing forward unsolicited testimonials by distinguished personages to the Buddha's good character reveals not only a complete lack of sense of proportion, but also (as I suspect) something of an inferiority complex—rather as if one found it necessary to prove to the world at large that being a follower of the Buddha is not something to be ashamed of. But if one must do this sort of thing, it is as well not to mix up witnesses for the prosecution with those for the defence. Prof. Wijesekera quotes Albert Schweitzer in praise of the Buddha. But Schweitzer's philosophy is 'Reverence for Life', whereas the Buddha has said that just as even the smallest piece of excrement has a foul smell so even the smallest piece of existence is not to be commended. So if Schweitzer praises the Buddha he is labouring under a misapprehension. Schweitzer has certainly misunderstood the Buddha's Teaching, and possibly his own philosophy as well. (In the Buddha's day people thought twice before presuming to speak his praises, understanding very well that they lacked the qualifications to do so. See the opening to the Cūlahatthipadopama Sutta—Majjhima 27: i,175-8.[2])

Prof. Wijesekera then quotes Rhys Davids, who speaks of 'the historical perspective of ethical evolution' and declares that 'the only true method of ethical inquiry is surely the historical method'. What does Kierkegaard say?
For study of the ethical, every man is assigned to himself. His own self is as material for this study more than sufficient; aye, this is the only place where he can study it with any assurance of certainty. Even another human being with whom he lives can reveal himself to his observation only through the external; and in so far the interpretation is necessarily affected with ambiguities. But the more complicated the externality in which the ethical inwardness is reflected, the more difficult becomes the problem of observation, until it finally loses its way in something quite different, namely, in the aesthetic. The apprehension of the historical process therefore readily becomes a half poetic contemplative astonishment, rather than a sober ethical perspicuity.... The more simplified the ethical, the more perspicuous does it become. It is therefore not the case, as men deceitfully try to delude themselves into believing, that the ethical is more clearly evident in human history, where millions are involved, than in one's own poor little life. On the contrary, precisely the reverse is true, and it is more clearly apparent in one's own life, precisely because one does not here so easily mistake the meaning of the material and quantitative embodiment. The ethical is the inwardness of the spirit, and hence the smaller the circumstances in which it is apprehended, provided it really is apprehended in its infinitude, the more clearly is it perceived; while whoever needs the world-historical accessories in order, as he thinks, the better to see it, proves thereby precisely that he is ethically immature. (CUP, pp. 127-8)
In other words, Kierkegaard understands very well that the ethical is the answer to the question 'What should I do?', and that the more one becomes involved with history the more one loses sight of the ethical. History is accidental to ethics.

Rhys Davids, however, is not content even to look for the ethical in history; he seeks to examine history in order to see there the perspective of ethical evolution. Naturally this assumes that a certain pattern of ethical change is historically visible. But history is the record (limited and somewhat arbitrary) of the deeds man has done and the thoughts he has expressed; and the pattern of ethical change recorded by history must therefore be either the pattern (in space and time) of man's actual behaviour or the pattern (in space and time) of his thoughts about how he should behave. What it cannot be is the pattern (in space and time) of how man should have behaved (unless, of course, this is identical either with how he has behaved or with how he has thought he should behave—which, however, cannot be decided by history). In other words, if history is made the basis for the study of ethics, the emphasis is shifted from the question 'What should I do?' to the question, either 'What does man do?' or 'What does man think he should do?'.

The view that ethics are identical with man's actual behaviour is self-destructive (for if a man cannot help doing what he should do, the word ethics loses its meaning altogether); but it is certainly true (as Prof. Wijesekera himself says) that the majority of scientific and materialistic thinkers hold the view that ethics are relative—i.e. are concerned with the question 'What does man think he should do?', which receives different answers in different times and places.

And what about Prof. W. himself—does he remain faithful to the authority he has quoted and follow the historical method, which must lead him to ethical relativity, or does he call to mind that he is an existing human being and a Buddhist to boot, and arrive at the conclusion that ethics are absolute and the same for all beings at all times and in all places? The answer seems to be that he starts out historically ('...it is essential to discuss as briefly as possible the development of the moral consciousness during the pre-Buddhist Upanishads', etc. etc.) and then changes horses in mid-stream; for when he comes to Buddhist ethics he quietly drops the idea of ethical evolution and arrives unhistorically, as a thinly disguised Buddhist, at the quite correct conclusion that the Buddha's ethics are universally valid.

Perhaps it is too much to say that he actually arrives at this conclusion, but at least he gets as far as advocating it as worthy of serious consideration by an 'unbiased student of Buddhism'. Prof. W. does not seem to be quite clear what ethics are or what he himself is (the two problems are intimately related); and to the extent that he professes to be a Buddhist while at the same time regarding Buddhism objectively he becomes for Kierkegaard a figure of comedy:
If...he says that he bases his eternal happiness on his speculation, he contradicts himself and becomes comical, because philosophy in its objectivity is wholly indifferent to his and my and your eternal happiness. (CUP, p. 53)
Dr. Jayatilleke, in the second essay, represents logic. This is evident from the way he turns the Four Noble Truths into propositions, or statements of fact. That they are not facts but things (of a particular kind) can be seen from the Dhammacakkappavattana Sutta (Vinaya Mahāvagga I: Vin. i,10; Sacca Samy. 11: v,421-24), where dukkha is pariññeyya, 'to be known absolutely', samudaya is pahātabba, 'to be abandoned', nirodha is sacchikātabba, 'to be realized', and magga, the fourth Truth, is bhāvetabba, 'to be developed'. A fact, however, is just a fact, and one cannot do anything to it, since as such it has no significance beyond itself (it does not imply any other fact not contained in itself)—it just is (and even whether it is is doubtful).

But things are significant; that is to say, they are imperatives, they call for action (like the bottle in Alice in Wonderland labelled 'Drink Me!'). Heidegger, and Sartre after him, describe the world as a world of tasks to be performed, and say that a man at every moment of his life is engaged in performing tasks (whether he specifically pays attention to them or not). Seen in this light the Four Noble Truths are the ultimate tasks for a man's performance—Suffering commands 'Know me absolutely!', Arising commands 'Abandon me!', Cessation commands 'Realize me!', and the Path commands 'Develop me!'.

But by transforming things into facts (and the Four Noble Truths, which are descriptions of things, into propositions) I automatically transform myself into logic—that is to say, I destroy my situation as an existing individual engaged in performing tasks in the world, I cease to be in concreto (in Kierkegaard's terminology) and become sub specie aeterni. (By regarding the Four Noble Truths as propositions, not as instructions, I automatically exempt myself from doing anything about them.) The world (if it can still be called a world) becomes a logician's world—quite static and totally uninhabited. (It is significant that Wittgenstein, in his celebrated Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus, which helped to establish modern logical positivism, starts off by declaring: '1. The world is everything that is the case. 1.1 The world is the totality of facts, not of things.' Compare, in this connexion, the note in the Preface to Notes where it is said 'Things, not facts, make up my world'.)

Kierkegaard would be more severe on Dr. Jayatilleke than on Professor Wijesekera:
It is not denied that objective thought has validity; but in connection with all thinking where subjectivity must be accentuated, it is a misunderstanding. If a man occupied himself, all his life through, solely with logic, he would nevertheless not become logic; he must therefore himself exist in different categories. Now if he finds that this is not worth thinking about, the choice must be his responsibility. But it will scarcely be pleasant for him to learn, that existence itself mocks everyone who is engaged in becoming purely objective. (CUP, pp. 85-6)
Lastly we come to Prof. Burtt. He says that he thinks that the Buddha considered that 'philosophy...must start from where we are rather than from somewhere else'. Very good! This is excellently well said, and is precisely the point that the Preface to the Notes was seeking to establish. And not only does he say this, but he also urges it as a matter that philosophers should consider with the utmost seriousness. And what about Prof. Burtt? Surely, after all this, he will set the example by starting himself to philosophize from where he is and not from somewhere else—will he not start by considering his situation as an existing individual human being who eats and sleeps and blows his nose and lectures on Philosophy at Cornell University and draws his salary once a quarter? Oh no, not a bit of it! In order to philosophize he finds it necessary to
achieve a broad perspective on the history of thought, in the West and in the East, and...adequately assess the long-run significance of Buddhism with its various schools when viewed in such a perspective. (p. 42)
More historical perspectives!
This means that instead of starting from where he is, Prof. Burtt is proposing to become sub specie aeterni and start from everywhere at once, or, since this is the same as becoming so totally objective that he vanishes from himself and becomes identified with speculative philosophy in the abstract, from nowhere at all. This itself is comic enough, since, as Kierkegaard points out, he is in the process of forgetting, in a sort of world-historical absent-mindedness, what it means to be a human being. But he becomes doubly comic when, having performed this comical feat of forgetting that he is an existing individual, he solemnly issues a warning to philosophers against doing any such thing. For Prof. Burtt, Kierkegaard prescribes drastic treatment:
In this connection it will perhaps again appear how necessary it is to take special precautions before entering into discussion with a philosophy of this sort: first to separate the philosopher from the philosophy, and then, as in cases of black magic, witchcraft, and possession by the devil, to use a powerful formula of incantation to get the bewitched philosopher transformed into a particular existing human being, and thus restored back to his true state. (CUP, p. 324)
Perhaps there is, in all this, a certain amount of over-emphasis and caricature; I have no doubt that the worthy professors in question (whom I have never met) are really charming and delightful people when one knows them personally. Nonetheless, the objectivizing tendency that they represent so hopelessly emasculates people's understanding of the Buddha's Teaching that it is almost a duty to put them in the pillory when they venture to make a public appearance in print.

Incidentally, this business of 'starting from where we are' is really the theme of FUNDAMENTAL STRUCTURE, which you found puzzling. The point is that abstract or objective or scientific thought abolishes the distinction between 'here' and 'elsewhere', between 'this' and 'other things'—in short, the negative or the principle of contradiction—, and is consequently unable to start from anywhere in particular, and starts from everywhere (or, what is the same thing, from nowhere). But an existing individual is always somewhere in particular, here and not elsewhere; and what is needed is to show the structure of existence without losing sight of this fact—nay, understanding that the entire structure of existence rests upon this fact. Since nobody else, so far as I know, has undertaken this task, I have had to do it myself (in order to clarify my own thinking—to see how I can think existence without ceasing to exist,[b] i.e. to make plain the structure of reflexive thinking). But provided the principle of 'starting from where we are' presents no difficulty and is not forgotten, there is no need at all for anyone to attempt to follow the formal discussion of FUNDAMENTAL STRUCTURE. And in any case, as I have remarked elsewhere, this is only indirectly connected with the Buddha's Teaching proper. (You are the only person who has seen it, and I was a little curious to know what you would make of it. But perhaps it will not be readily comprehensible to anyone who does not have Kierkegaard's difficulty—see note (b)—, or some allied problem, on his mind. It has been of the greatest value to me.)

With regard to any of my past writings that you may come across (I do not think there is very much), I would ask you to treat with great reserve anything dated before 1960, about which time certain of my views underwent a modification. If this is forgotten you may be puzzled by inconsistencies between earlier and later writings. If, on the other hand, you should encounter inconsistencies in what I have written since 1960, I should be very glad if you would point them out to me, as I am not aware that my views have undergone any further modification and such inconsistencies are probably attributable to carelessness of expression or hasty thinking.
Footnotes:
[42.a] The terms 'Buddhism' and 'Buddhist' have for me a slightly displeasing air about them—they are too much like labels that one sticks on the outside of packages regardless of what the packages happen to contain. I do not, for example, think of myself or yourself or anyone else to whom the Buddha's Teaching is a matter of personal concern as a 'Buddhist'; but I am quite content to allow the census authorities to speak of so many million 'Buddhists' in Ceylon, and to let disinterested ('unbiased') scholars take 'Buddhism' as their field of study. Prof. Malalasekera's Encyclopedia of Buddhism does in fact deal with 'Buddhism'; but whether it has very much connexion with the Buddha's Teaching is another question.

[b]To think existence sub specie aeterni and in abstract terms is essentially to abrogate it, and the merit of the proceeding is like the much trumpeted merit of abrogating the principle of contradiction. It is impossible to conceive existence without movement, and movement cannot be conceived sub specie aeterni. To leave movement out is not precisely a distinguished achievement.... It might therefore seem to be the proper thing to say that there is something that cannot be thought, namely existence. But the difficulty persists, in that existence itself combines thinking and existence, in so far as the thinker exists. (CUP, pp. 273-4) [Back to text]

Editorial notes:
[1] call themselves Buddhists: In fact, all three authors have called themselves Buddhists.
[2] Cūlahatthipadopama Sutta: The introductory section includes the following passage:

     'How does Master Vacchāyana conceive the monk Gotama's ability of understanding? He is wise, is he not?'
     'Sir, who am I to know the monk Gotama's ability of understanding? One would surely have to be his equal to know the monk Gotama's ability of understanding.'
     'Master Vacchāyana praises the monk Gotama with high praise indeed.'
     'Sir, who am I to praise the monk Gotama? The monk Gotama is praised by the praised—as best among gods and men.' (translation by the Ven. Ñānamoli)

***
In the list of queries that you sent me about a month ago, there occurs the following passage: '...I try to get my existence by identifying myself with being a waiter. I fear to separate, or fear that I would get lost. The waiter gives me an identity, a position. So it helps me to exist. "No one wants to be an individual human being" through fear that he "would vanish tracelessly."'

I was puzzled by this passage, since I took the second part ('No one wants...') as a continuation of the first part, which is obviously dealing with Sartre's waiter (and which I hope to have explained—perhaps not adequately—in my long reply to you). But I did not recall that Sartre has said anywhere that nobody wants to be an individual human being through fear of vanishing tracelessly.

I now find, however, that it is a quotation from Kierkegaard. What Kierkegaard is saying is that the spirit of the age (the Nineteenth Century) is such that men have become too cowardly to look facts in the face and to accept the burden and responsibility of living as individual human beings. (Like a judge who disowns all responsibility for passing sentence on a prisoner, saying that it is the Judiciary, not he, that is responsible.) People (says Kierkegaard) are now afraid that if they let go of the collective or universal safeguards by which they are assured of an identity (membership of a professional association, of a political party, of the world-historical-process, etc.) they would altogether cease to exist. (Things, apparently, were bad enough in K.'s day, but the Twentieth Century is a thousand times worse. The most glaring example in modern times is the Communist Party; and in Communist countries if you do not have a Party Membership Card you are counted as nothing.)

This passage, then, about the fear of vanishing tracelessly, has no connexion with Sartre's waiter. A man can be a waiter and also an individual human being: what he can not be is a member of the Communist Party (or in K.'s day, a Hegelian philosopher—and it is well known how much Marx borrowed from Hegel) while still remaining an individual human being. In the first case there is no contradiction; in the second case there is a contradiction (a communist—like the judge who regards himself purely as an anonymous member of the Judiciary—is inauthentic [in Heidegger's terms] or in bad faith [in Sartre's terms]). The fact that Sartre himself became a member of the C.P. for a certain time is one of the minor comedies of the last few years.