A few years ago I was shopping in the local grocery store. As I was walking down the aisle, I passed another guy, whom I noticed was looking at me. He called me by name, and I recognized him–he’d been my best friend’s roommate in college some thirty years before. It turned out that we both lived in the same small town now. We talked for awhile, catching up. At one point, I mentioned in passing that I was a member of the local Catholic parish. He looked at me somewhat askance, and then said, “I always thought you were Buddhist!” I don’t remember how I responded to that at the time. Thinking about it later, though, I decided, upon looking back, that I probably did come off as a Buddhist in those halcyon days of yore. Since then, I sometimes describe myself at that point as a “quasi-Buddhist” or a “functional Buddhist”. Maybe “Buddhist fellow-traveler” would be better. Best of all, perhaps, as with the title of this post, “pseudo-Buddhist”.
I’ve discussed here how reading the Dhammapada caused me to become interested in Buddhism. I read voraciously about Buddhism in the sources available to me at that time–principally books on Zen, though there were some others, as well. In particular, I read and re-read D. T. Suzuki’s An Introduction to Zen Buddhism, a book I need to write about in detail in the future. In conversations I’d often quote the Buddha or refer to Buddhist concepts. I can easily see why my friend thought I was, indeed, Buddhist. On the other hand, there was no real depth to it. Except for brief attempts on maybe one or two occasions, I never really tried meditation (much later, after I became Catholic, I’ve done Buddhist and other forms of meditation relatively extensively). I certainly never took refuge, the official way of converting to Buddhism. I was vaguely aware of a Buddhist study group in the city were I was living at that time; but for reasons of which I’m unsure even now, I never made contact (I did do mediation at their meditation center many years later, once more, after I came into the Church). You might say that such Buddhism as I exhibited was all saffron and no substance.
We’ve looked at universalism in the Abrahamic and Dharmic religions, and in a summary way in the other major (and minor) religions of the world. In this post I’d like to see what, if any, broad patterns we can find, and what their relevance is in general and in particular, specifically in regard to universalism as a concept.
In the case of traditional and folk religions, the very concept of an afterlife often seems murky–the dead inhabit a shady, insubstantial realm such as the Greek Hades or the Hebrew She’ol. Alternately, they may inhabit the realm of the deified or semi-deified ancestors. These two possibilities are not exclusive, it should be noted. Some such religions, such as that of the ancient Celts and some strands of the ancient Greek religion, had some sort of belief in reincarnation (or “metempsychosis”, as the Greeks referred to it). By and large, there is no consistent idea of reward and punishment–Heaven and Hell–in most of these faiths. To the extent that there is, it is either ambiguous or applicable only to a few (such as the Greek Elysian Fields and Tartarus) or it seems to have been imported from other religions (any notions of heavens and hells in Chinese and Japanese religion, for example, come from Buddhism).
In general, I think it fair to say that there is no clear evidence for reward and punishment in the afterlife in any of the religions that precede the Axial Age, with the probable exception of the religion of Ancient Egypt and the possible exception of Zoroastrianism (so many Zoroastrian writings have been lost and there are so many issues with dating the ones we have, that there is some ambiguity as to how old certain doctrines actually are). I think it is also safe to say that there is also no clear evidence of reward and punishment in the afterlife in the traditional and folk religions that have survived to modern times, except insofar as they’ve been influenced by so-called great or world religions.
Last time, we looked at universalism in the Abrahamic faiths. In this post, I want to look at universalism in the Dharmic religions. The Dharmic faiths are the great religions which originated in the Indian subcontinent, stemming ultimately from the ancient beliefs of the Indo-Aryan peoples. The oldest of these is the religion we refer to as Hinduism, traditionally known to its adherents as Sanātana Dharma, “the eternal religion”. From Hinduism gradually developed the Śramaṇa movement, which developed eventually into Buddhism and Jainism. The most recent of the Dharmic faiths, Sikhism, came into being in the 15th Century, evolving from the branch of Hinduism known as the Sant Mat movement.
All of the Dharmic religions share certain basic concepts. Chief among them are
- The idea of an eternal universe that goes through infinite cycles of creation, evolution, decline, and dissolution
- Many levels of existence beyond the earthly
- A belief in reincarnation or rebirth, in which beings take on numerous lives in numerous realms
- A belief in karma, the principle by which one’s actions are requited, for good or for ill, in the present life and/or future lives
- Finally, a belief that beings can ultimately end the cycle of birth, death, and rebirth (samsara) through proper spiritual practice
Having laid our the similarities, let’s look at the religions individually.
Having looked at the Abrahamic faiths, let us turn our attention to the Dharmic religions.
The Dharmic Religions–Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism, and Sikhism, as well as a few other minor ones, originated in India, as the Abrahamic faiths originated in the Middle East. Dharma, the central concept in these faiths, is a Sanskrit term notoriously difficult to translate. Most English speakers can’t even pronounce it right. The Sanskrit letter अ, typically tranliterated “a” is pronounced like the “u” in the English word “but”. The letter आ, transliterated “ā”, is pronounced like the “a” in “father” (or better, like the “a” in the Spanish “padre”). The diacritical marks of scholarly Sanskrit transcriptions are not often used in popular works; but in any case, “dharma” is the correct spelling and transcription. Each “a” represents अ, the short form of the vowel. Thus, “dharma” is correctly pronounced with the first syllable rhyming with “fur”, thus: DUHR-muh (there is also a puff of air after the “d”, which is why it is spelled “dh”; but few English speakers can get that correctly, and I can’t always do it right myself). English speakers almost universally rhyme the first syllable with “car”: DAHR-muh. This, quite simply, is wrong. Actually, the best known Sanskrit word borrowed into English, “karma”, should rhyme with “dharma”–the first syllable should sound like “cur”, not like “car”, thus: KUHR-muh. However, I learned the standard English pronunciation (KAHR-muh) before I learned Sanskrit phonology; and the word has become thoroughly naturalized in English with the “wrong” pronunciation. Therefore, I follow the masses in saying KAHR-muh. I do insist on holding the line on DUHR-muh, however, notwithstanding popular pronunciation or sitcoms!
If we can’t even pronounce the word, small wonder we have trouble translating it! Depending on context, “dharma” could mean any of the following: natural characteristic, moral law, path, doctrine, religion, property, sign, obligation, or duty, among others. Etymologically, it comes from a Sanskrit (and ultimately Indo-European) root meaning “firm” or “solid”. At its root, “dharma” means “natural law” or the natural principle that is characteristic of a particular thing. A rock’s dharma is to be hard; water’s is to flow; an animal’s is to follow the lifestyle of its species. Only for humans is it more complicated. A person’s dharma is the whole set of morals, ethics, obligations, and responsibilities for humans in general and for that individual in particular, according to his age, class, occupation, and state in life. For example, truthfulness, honesty, cleanliness, etc. are the dharma–appropriate behavior and way of living–for all people. A child’s dharma is to obey his or her parents, and a parent’s dharma is to provide for his or her children and raise them well. The dharma of a married person is to be a good spouse, and of a sannyasi (renunciate) to be celibate. The dharmas of a teacher, an engineer, a laborer, and a priest would all be different, according to the occupation of each.
I grew up in a small town in the Bible Belt. There were only a few more residents in my hometown–800–than students in the high school I went to–about 700 (my high school was in the county seat, with a population of 5000, which is still equivalent only to about two big-city high schools). Until I was in my teens, I thought the only two religions that existed were “Baptist” and “Methodist”; and I was none too sure as to what the differences between them were, aside from their names. As with most small-town, Bible Belt kids of the 70’s, I put in my time in Sunday school and vacation Bible school, though I avoided actual church services on Sunday like the plague (I went–was dragged, actually–to church maybe two three times before I was eighteen, and went about two or three times more, all of which were funerals, between eighteen and twenty-six).
I did have an old children’s literature book that my mother had had in college, which had a few of the Jātaka Tales, as well as a Hindu myth or two, in it. Thus I did have some exposure to other religions and cultures in my youth, though in a spotty and inchoate way. I was very much into Greek and Norse mythology, of which I read reams, but those were not living traditions (well, not then, anyway, as far as I knew), so for the purposes of discussion here, I leave them out.
When I was eighteen, I moved off to a college of 25,000 in a city of (at that time) 100,000 that was 130 miles from my home, in a part of my home state that was very much different from my hometown, both geographically and culturally. By this time, in the process of researching a term paper on Islam in my senior year of high school (the Iranian Hostage Crisis was still in the news then), I had read Huston Smith’s classic The Religions of Man (since renamed to the more gender-inclusive The World’s Religions). I had resolved to learn as much as I could about all the major religions. Between the ages of seventeen and twenty, I read the King James Bible and the New English Bible, as I have discussed elsewhere. Meanwhile, as has been mandatory for overly intellectual middle-class white kids since the 60’s, I read books of Asian wisdom in my freshman year at college (between the ages of eighteen and nineteen). Specifically, I read (in what order, I don’t recall) the Koran, the Dhammapada, the Dao De Jing, and the Bhagavad Gītā (henceforth I dispense with the macrons, since the book has become sufficiently well-known for its title to have become partly Anglicized). Read the rest of this entry