1

Personal Details

Principal Investigator A. Raghuramaraju Professor, Department of

Philosophy, University of
Hyderabad
Paper Coordinator Shyam Ranganathan Assistant Professor, Department
of Philosophy and Department of
Social Sciences, South Asian
Studies, York University, Toronto
Content Writer Shyam Ranganathan Assistant Professor, Department
of Philosophy and Department of
Social Sciences, South Asian
Studies, York University, Toronto
Content Reviewer Pragati Sahni Assistant Professor, Department
of Philosophy,
University of Delhi
Language Editor Chitralekha Manohar Freelancer, Chennai

Description of Module
Subject Name Philosophy
Paper Name Ethics-1
Module Name/Title Early Buddhism I: Metaethics
Module Id 4.30
Pre-requisites None.
Objectives Become familiar with basics of Early Buddhist Metaethics
Keywords Nirvāṇa, philosophy of language, ethics, karma, teleology
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Early Buddhism I: Metaethics

1. Introduction

As noted in the introductory chapters of this course, normative ethics concerns a practical resolution of
questions of the right or the good. Applied ethics concerns a case base resolution of questions about the
right or the good. Metaethics in turn concerns the conceptual resolution of the right or the good. These
three areas of moral philosophy are closely related, as they converge on the right and the good

This is one of our many lessons on Buddhist ethics. This lesson along with the next lesson focus on Early
Buddhism: this is the Buddhist philosophy based on records and documents compiled soon after the life
of the Buddha—in Pali. Later Buddhist philosophy in India was typically conducted in Sanskrit. What
distinguishes these traditions is not the language they were written in, but their content. Indeed, in many
cases, the later tradition took the earlier tradition as the object of its inquiry and criticism, and Sanskrit
terms came to replace Pali words in Indian accounts of Early Buddhist philosophy. Later Buddhism often
entertained the idea of secret doctrines not clearly articulated by the Buddha. It was also influenced by
developments in Indian philosophy written in Sanskrit, and engaged with Indian philosophers across
traditions. One difference between the earlier and later traditions is that the later takes on a more
expansive and inclusive view of liberation. An exemplar of this switch is the birth of the Mahāyāna
tradition. Accordingly, liberation has a social dimension. Liberation for the individual is the same as
liberation for all. In the earlier tradition, this is not emphasized. There were many schools of Buddhism
in this period, with the Theravāda school (the school of the elder monks) based on the Pali Canon coming
to prominence.

In this module, we will investigate the Early Buddhist approach to metaethical questions. Metaethics is
that part of moral philosophy that is interested in the conceptual resolution of the relationship between the
right and the good. Metaethics is, hence, one step removed from practical questions of how to live—but
not disconnected from them.

Our investigation will begin with the early Buddhist account of language as meaningful for
intersubjective reasons. This gives rise to a critical awareness of the correspondence between linguistic
meaning and reality. The correspondence is outside of our control, but also cooked up in large measure by
our own intersubjective purposes. Hence, a proper appreciation of reality involves an appreciation of its
causal interdependency of what we refer to.

This, in turn, gives rise to an appreciation of intentional action – karma – as a special case of the general
metaphysical principle: dependent origination. While our subjective desires may fail to correspond to
reality, our choices constitute reality as our contribution to causality. Some of these contributions can be
good, and others are bad. The implication for our own self is that our character itself is constituted by our
choices. The result is that we have little reason to believe in a permanent self, characterised by
unchanging personal characteristics. As we start to make responsible choices, our future becomes vaguely
connected to us and it is not obvious whether we are the same person or a different one. As reality is
outside of the subjectivity of linguistic meaning, positive change that takes us away from error can be
characterised as a void (nirvāṇa) outside of the ordinary practice of linguistic categorisation.
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2. Language

A famous early Buddhist account of language can be found in the Questions of King Milinda. Milinda
was apparently of Greek origin, who set up shop in South Asia. The dialogue describes the meeting of
Milinda and the monk Nāgasena.

On meeting, Milinda asks Nāgasena what his name was? Nāgasena answers that he is called “Nāgasena”,
but that in reality, there is no self-answering to that name: it is just a convenient designation. This is the
beginning of the articulation of the early Buddhist philosophy of language. Accordingly, the meaning of a
term is considered its purpose or use – something that we find defended later in the Western tradition. But
Nāgasena’s version is more subjective than many versions: accordingly, the meaning of an expression has
to do with the purpose the thing in question serves. To elaborate this philosophy of language, he brings up
the famous example of the chariot.

Nāgasena asks Milinda if any of the parts that comprise a chariot is the chariot itself. Nāgasena asks this
question repeatedly of differing parts of a chariot. A chariot is neither the mere total of its parts (we can,
after all, take apart a chariot and the resulting pile of parts is not at all the chariot) nor is the chariot
merely all of the parts put together. The chariot is the thing that functions, together, as a chariot, but this,
in turn, is what fulfils our personal criterion of what a chariot is. In ordinary life, we would put up with
calling a bicycle or a car a “bicycle” or “car” so long as it serves the purpose of a bicycle or a car. This is
consistent with the objects losing parts over time, and degrading. But so long as it functions as a bicycle
or a car, we call it that. Here is the text:

“Your majesty, although I question you very closely, I fail to discover any
chariot. Verily now, your majesty, the word chariot is a mere empty sound.
What chariot is there here? Your majesty, you speak a falsehood, a lie: there is
no chariot. Your majesty, you are the chief king in all the continent of India; of
whom are you afraid that you speak a lie? Listen to me, my lords, ye five
hundred Yonakas, and ye eighty thousand priests! Milinda the king here says
thus: ‘I came in a chariot’; and being requested, ‘Your majesty, if you came in a
chariot, declare to me the chariot’, he fails to produce any chariot. Is it possible,
pray, for me to assent to what he says?”

When he had thus spoken, the five hundred Yonakas [soldier] applauded the
venerable Nāgasena and spoke to Milinda the king as follows:

“Now, your majesty, answer, if you can”.

Then Milinda the king spoke to the venerable Nāgasena as follows:

“Bhante Nāgasena, I speak no lie: the word 'chariot' is but a way of counting,
term, appellation, convenient designation, and name for pole, axle, wheels,
chariot-body, and banner-staff”. (Milindapañha 27)

Nāgasena gets Milinda to recognise that the word “chariot” is just a “convenient designation” for a certain
organisation of parts into what we call a chariot. Likewise, the name “Nāgasena” does not denote any
eternal self: it is only a convenient designation for various atoms of existence and psychological states
that we call “Nāgasena”.
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In philosophy, the view that categories or items are really linguistic categories is called nominalism.
Buddhist philosophy of language is nominalistic. The contrasting position is realism: accordingly, the
categories of thought are realities unto themselves, which constitute the objects we think about. If thought
were realistic, then the static categories would constitute reality and it would not change. Yet, we find a
dynamism in reality, and this dynamism is, in part, due to thought being a mere convenient designation.
The meaning of what we say refers primarily to our desires and subjectivity; not to reality.

3. Reality

What does Nāgasena’s account of linguistic meaning teach us about reality? It teaches us that the things
that we talk about are not at all the meaning of what we say. But yet, the things that are talked about are
identified by the meaning of what we say, so long as there is a fortuitous correspondence. We can tolerate
some level of drift between the thing that we talk about and our meanings, but only so long as this suits
our purposes.

But what happens when the thing that we talk about and our meanings start to diverge? Disappointment
and sadness: what Buddhists called duḥkha. The duḥkha that arises here is entirely a function of the
expectation that the thing that we are speaking about, via our subjective criteria, will continue to
correspond to our meanings; for so long as our language is meaningful, so too are our expectations. But
here, we see that our expectations lead us to ruin for we set up a system of representation that is falsified
over the long run by changes in reality. Ethically, this is a concern and constitutes what the Buddhists
called the first Two Nobel Truths: life is duḥkha, and desire is the cause.

Metaphysically, what this correspondence of reality and our meanings should entail is that reality as such
is causally connected and is primarily a process. Yet, our meanings are static. It is because reality is not
itself static that it starts to drift from our representations.

This appreciation of reality as something outside of our representations, and hence, not static, is identified
by the idea of dependent origination. Dependent origination is, on one account, the psychological
generality of how we appreciate reality, and on a more robust scale, the essence of reality itself. All things
can be subsumed under dependent origination, for all things – even our meanings as encoded in our
language – arise from an interplay of objectivity and our subjective awareness.

What, then, does all of this say about us?

4. Karma

A chief implication of the dependent origination and the appreciation that reality is causally constituted is
that we are, in part, functions of causal influences, but also contributors of causes. Our choices are causes
that result in outcomes. This constitutes our actions, or karma. Karma is an intrinsically ethical idea,
which cannot be reduced to the mere flow of causes because some outcomes can be good and others bad.
This set of possibilities is axiological, and pertains to value. Specifically, the possibilities are teleological
and ground the analysis of action in terms of their consequences.

The consequences, in turn, are things that we are responsible for. When the consequences are good, we
can take credit for them. This is good karma. When the consequences are bad, we are to be blamed. This
is bad karma.
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The early Buddhist texts, and especially, the Questions of King Milinda, provide some useful examples.
One example is that of the arsonist. An arsonist who sets a fire that eventually burns down a field gives
rise to a causal process. The initial flame that the arsonist lights is not the same as the flame that burns
down the field. Yet, we can say that the arsonist is responsible for burning down the field. Bad karma.
The other example is that of the mango tree. A man plants a mango seed. Over time, it gives rise to a
mango tree. A thief comes by and steals the mangoes from the tree. The thief is apprehended and taken
before the king. The thief tries to argue that while the man might have owned the mango he planted, he
didn’t own the ones that grew on the tree because they are not the same mangoes. He’s convicted of theft
because no one buys that argument. While the mangoes from the tree and initial seed are not the same
mangoes, nevertheless, there is an important, causal connection that allows the man who planted the seed
to claim the results as his.

But it might seem that the very same considerations undermine our reality. If all of reality is dependently
originating, and if static representations are really just a function of our desires and not the way reality is,
then it would seem that we are not permanent. Whatever I am today, I may not be tomorrow. This is, in
some sense, true in the Early Buddhist account. However, for the same reason, we have grave moral
responsibility for our choices. If my choices today have an impact on the way things turn out for me in the
future, then I have to choose wisely. One might argue that if I am not the same person in the future, then it
seems that whatever I choose now will be of no interest to me. But this is short-sighted: not being exactly
the same in the future is actually reason to take your choices seriously. You are in a position to improve
things for your future self and thereby change your character for better; you would be well advised not to
choose what will harm your chances for thriving in the future. Hence, because things can change for the
better or for the worse, you should choose wisely for the better.

5. Two Heresies and the Truth about the Self

So, will I be the same person in the future? Will I be completely different person? In Questions of King
Milinda, Nāgasena makes the claim that there is a rebirth in the future, but no transmigration. The idea is
that there will certainly be a continuity as things go on, but the personal identity of the reborn thing will
not be a continuity. Does this license the inference that in the future, whoever inherits my present choices
will not be me? Here, Buddhists are sanguine. You are neither exactly the same person in the future, nor
completely different. Of a liberated person, who transcends the bounds of subjective orientations that lead
to duḥkha, we can say of the future individual that they are neither the same nor completely different. We
can say that they neither cease to exist, nor continue to exist. To claim that people continue to exist in the
future, especially when they have overcome confusion, is to outrun the truth, while to claim that they
cease to exist is to fall short of the truth . Either extremes of permanence and nihilism constitute two
falsehoods, or heresies, according to Buddhist teaching.

This is consistent with the vagueness of reality. If reality is vague, there are no sharp boundaries, and our
concepts, hence, apply to varying degrees over time.

The reason that these are two heresies is that they do not take into account how the good and bad are
neither permanent, nor non-existent. Rather, the good and the bad happen in time, and thus, if we are to
find our highest good, it can only be through something that we do in time.
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6. Consequentialism and Virtue Theory: Which to Choose?

One of the basic questions in moral philosophy is to account for the relationship of the right and the good.
There are at least four options:

1. Consequentialism: the good (end) justifies the right (means).

2. Virtue Theory: a good – virtue or strength – produces right action.

These two theories are often associated with each other in the literature. They are together teleological
ethical theories. What they have in common is the primacy of the good over the right. The difference is
whether the relationship is causal or epistemic. The inverse could be called procedural:

3. Deontology: the right is prior to the good as a matter of justifying choices.

4. Bhakti Theory: the right is productive of the good.

While the procedural accounts of ethics are common in Brahmanical schools of Indian thought, we find in
large measure teleological accounts in Śramaṇa accounts. The Śramaṇa were philosophers who left
society and decided to philosophise critically about the status quo. Buddhism is a branch of the Śramaṇa
tradition. Of the two famous Śramaṇa positions from Indian philosophy – Jainism and Buddhism –
Jainism is decidedly a Virtue Theoretic account, which criticises the role of action in ethics. Action must
be constrained by virtue on its account. Buddhism, in contrast, appears to be consequentialist – with a
twist. The heavy reliance on the idea of karma to lead ethical reasoning is a consequentialist move, as
karma is goal-oriented action. To focus on karma is to understand the goodness or badness of an action as
the chief ethical considerations, and this is consequentialism. But the Buddhists believe that our persona –
our character – is also constituted by our choices. As we choose, so we become. Our future character is, in
this respect, one of the many consequences of our present choice that we must be mindful of.

Charles Goodman may be the most famous defender of the idea that Buddhist ethics is a version of
Consequentialism (Goodman Fall 2014 Edition, 2009). As he notes, his view that early Buddhist ethics is
consequentialist is controversial. Some have disagreed. The other alternatives is to understand Buddhist
ethics in terms of an Aristotelian Virtue Theory (Keown 1992). In this account, it is good character that
causes right action. The problem with this account is that it cannot account for Buddhist uses of “dharma”
(Sanskrit) or “dhamma” (Pali) that identify the justification for dharma with states of affairs beyond an
individual’s psychology. Yet, such uses of ‘dharmma’ are everywhere in Buddhist thought.
Consequentialism can explain the early Buddhist uses of “dhamma” – these are all the outcomes that
provide justifying considerations for other outcomes, also known as dhammas. Mindfulness, the Buddhist
practice of meditation, consists of appreciating the justifying role of dhammas, to the exclusion of their
motivational role. The result is that we allow ourselves as choosers and actors to be undefined by these
outcomes. We may hence choose responsibly. However, if we had to identify with these outcomes as
constitutive of our motivational structure, we act irresponsibly. That is, if all the outcomes (all the
dhammas) constituted our psychological propensities, we undermine our opportunity for rational choice.
Treating outcomes as justifications allows the appropriate mindfulness of reality. This is moral
responsibility.
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How do we do this? Does this not lead us to further confounding issues? Answering these questions takes
us to technical matters of Buddhist mindfulness meditation practices. We shall deal with such issues in
the next module. Yet, for now, we can note the following outlines of Buddhist metaethics. In its account,
our choices matter as they constitute a future that we inherit. Indeed, this future constitutes our
possibilities for further choice. Hence, choosing wisely now is a way to ensure that future choices are
easier.

This is consistent with the idea that early Buddhist ethics is a kind of pragmatism (Kalupahana 1995), but
teleological nonetheless. Accordingly, the distinction between facts and values is replaced by questions of
practice and choice. Practice is justified by all the outcomes, and allows individuals to be undefined by
their experiences. This leads to liberation, which Buddhists call the void: nirvāṇa.

7. Conclusion

One of the leading ideas of Buddhism is nirvāṇa – the void. But this is easily confused with nihilism –
which Buddhists deny. Nihilism is the idea that nothing exists or nothing matters. The reality is rather that
many things exist, and many things matter. Things matter because they exist, and they exist in part
because of past choices. The goal of the wise individual is to choose wisely so that the future is a better
place compared to the past. What does the future look like when it is better?

One of the problems in answering this question is that it assumes that we can use our language to talk
about the future. But the future that is better is not one that we can talk as our meanings are fastened by
our desires which creates the problem. This is what leads to disappointment: duḥkha. Insofar as we
employ language to talk about things, we represent things as static. But this stasis is a function of our
representation. It is not real. So, when we think about the future as something that is an improvement, we
are contemplating something that should be beyond our language. It should not be definable. This is the
void. As we choose and constitute our future character via our own actions, we move into a realm of
reality outside of the purview of our linguistic scheme. Our future character, insofar as it is an
improvement on what we can talk about, is also the void. Of this, we can say neither that the individual in
it ceases to exist, nor that they continue. We cannot say that it is wholly different from the way things are
now, or wholly different. What we can conclude, however, is that we have a responsibility to choose
wisely so that the reality that ensues is not filled with duḥkha. But this requires that we give up the
underlying factor that creates mental representation: our subjective purposes.