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Principles and Poetry, Places
and Stories: The Resources of Buddhist Ecology
Donald
K. Swearer
 HE
WORLD’S RELIGIOUS AND SPIRITUAL traditions are a rich source of ethical values
and principles for reflecting on environmental issues. Both religious adherents
and scholars who are concerned about the environmental crisis are mining
religious traditions in search of new ethical resources. Religious scriptures,
doctrines, and practices have been invoked to promote a holistic,
nonanthropocentric, egalitarian, eco-friendly worldview respectful of nature
and compassionate to all forms of life. While these kinds of resources are
crucial, I propose to include in my discussion of Buddhist ecology not only
particular texts, philosophical ideas, and practices that Buddhists marshal in
defense of an environmental ethic, but also hermeneutical and tactical
strategies that Buddhists employ as well. In adopting this approach my concern
is practical: I want to ensure that the religious dimensions of global
environmental issues really do have an impact on decision-making, and that
these essays have real implications for public policy.1
The contextuality of religious
traditions must be kept in mind. Since there is no such thing as religion in
general, the resources religionists bring to an environmental ethic may speak
most powerfully to adherents of a given religious tradition or those inhabiting
a specific social and cultural context. But those of us engaged in the religion
and ecology movement also believe that particular traditions may embody
principles and practices of more general applicability.
PRINCIPLES: A HOLISTIC WORLDVIEW
Despite significant variations among the different
traditions of Buddhism that have evolved over its 2,500-year journey throughout
Asia and now to the West, Buddhists generally see the world as conjoined on
four levels: existentially, morally, cosmologically, and ontologically.
Existentially, Buddhists affirm that all sentient beings share the fundamental
conditions of birth, suffering, old age, and death. The existential realization
of the universality of suffering lies at the core of the Buddha’s teaching.
Insight into the nature of suffering, its cause and cessation, and the path to
the cessation of suffering constitutes the essence of the Buddha’s
enlightenment experience (Mahasacakka Sutta, Majjihma
Nikaya). This quadratic teaching forms the basis of the Four Noble
Truths, the Buddha’s first public teaching. The tradition conveys this
universal truth via the story of the founder’s path to Nirvana and the logic of
the Four Noble Truths, but also by other narrative strategies. In one story,
the Buddha is approached by a young mother after the death of her infant child.
She pleads with the Blessed One to restore the life of her child. The Buddha
responds by directing the grieving mother to bring a mustard seed from a house
in the village where death had never been experienced; if she finds such a
seed, he will restore her child’s life. The mother returns to the Buddha, not
with the mustard seed, but having realized the universality of the suffering
caused by death. The poignant story of a mother’s grief over the death of her
child speaks to the heart; the syllogistic logic of the Four Noble Truths
speaks to the mind.
Buddhism links the existential
condition of the universality of suffering with the moral virtue of compassion.
That the Buddha after his enlightenment decides to share his existential
insight into the cause of suffering and the path to its cessation, rather than
selfishly keeping this insight to himself, is regarded by the tradition as an
act of universal compassion. Buddhist environmentalists assert that the mindful
awareness of the universality of suffering produces compassionate empathy for
all forms of life, particularly for all sentient species. They interpret the Dhammapada’s
ethical injunction not to do evil but to do good as a moral principle
advocating the nonviolent alleviation of suffering, an ideal embodied in the
prayer of universal loving-kindness that concludes many Buddhist rituals: “May
all beings be free from enmity; may all beings be free from injury; may all
beings be free from suffering; may all beings be happy.” Out of a concern for
the whole of creation, Buddhist environmentalists extend loving-kindness,
compassion, and respect beyond people and animals to include plants and the
earth itself: “We humans think we are smart, but an orchid . . . knows how to
produce noble, symmetrical flowers, and a snail knows how to make a beautiful,
well-proportioned shell. We should bow deeply before the orchid and the snail
and join our palms reverently before the monarch butterfly and the magnolia
tree.”2
The concepts of karma and
rebirth (samsara) integrate the existential sense of a shared common
condition of all sentient life forms with the moral nature of the Buddhist
cosmology. Not unlike the biological sciences, rebirth links human and animal
species. Evolution maps commonalties and differences between species on the
basis of physical and genetic traits; rebirth maps them on moral grounds. Every
form of sentient life participates in a karmic continuum traditionally divided
into three world-levels and a hierarchical taxonomy of five or six life forms.
Although this continuum constitutes a moral hierarchy, differences between life
forms and individuals are relative, not absolute. Traditional Buddhism may rank
humans over animals, animals over hungry ghosts, men over women, monks over the
laity, but all forms of karmically conditioned life—human, animal, divine,
demonic—are interrelated within contingent, samsaric time: “In the long course
of rebirth there is not one among living beings with form who has not been
mother, father, brother, sister, son, or daughter, or some other relative.
Being connected with the process of taking birth, one is kin to all wild and
domestic animals, birds, and beings born from the womb” (Lankavatara Sutra).
Nirvana, the Buddhist summum bonum, offers the promise of
transforming karmic conditionedness into an unconditioned state of spiritual
liberation, an emancipation potentially available to all forms of sentient life
on the karmic continuum. That plants and trees or the land itself have a
similar potential for spiritual liberation became an explicit doctrine in
Chinese and Japanese Buddhism, but may even have been part of popular Buddhist
belief from earliest times. In sum, Buddhists believe that all life forms share
both a problem and a promise: “bodhisattvas each of these, I call the
large trees” (Lotus Sutra).
Although the Buddhist doctrines
of karma and rebirth link together all forms of sentient existence in a
moral continuum, Buddhist ethics focus on human agency and its consequences.
The inclusion of plants and animals in Buddhist schemes of salvation is
important philosophically because it attributes inherent value to nonhuman
forms of life. But humans have been the primary agents in creating the present
ecological crisis and will bear the major responsibility for its solution.
The myth of origins in the canon
of Theravada Buddhism describes the deleterious impact of human activity on the
primordial natural landscape (Agganna Sutta). Unlike the Garden
of Eden story in the Hebrew Bible, where human agency centers on the God-human
relationship, the Buddhist story of origin describes the negative impact of
humans on the earth as a result of their selfishness and greed. In the Buddhist
mythological Eden, the earth flourishes naturally. But human greed and desire
lead to division and ownership of the land, and this in turn promotes violent
conflict, destruction, and chaos. It is human agency in the Buddhist myth of
origin that destroys the natural order of things. Although change is inherent
in nature, Buddhists believe that natural processes are directly affected by
human morality. From the Buddhist perspective, our relationship to the natural
environment is intrinsically moral: hence, an environmental policy based
primarily on a utilitarian cost-benefit analysis cannot possibly be sufficient.
Moral issues like greed and violence must be at the heart of the matter.
The Buddha’s enlightenment vision
incorporates the major elements of the Buddhist worldview. Tradition records
that during the night of this defining experience the Blessed One first
recalled his previous lives within the karmic continuum; then he perceived the
fate of all sentient beings within the cosmic hierarchy; finally he fathomed
the nature of suffering and formulated the path to its cessation, articulating
the Four Noble Truths and the law of interdependent co-arising. The Buddha’s
awakening evolved in a specific sequence: from an understanding of the particular
(his personal karmic history), to the general (the karmic history of
humankind), and finally to the principle underlying the cause and
cessation of suffering. Subsequently, this principle was further generalized as
a universal law of causality: “on the arising of
this, that arises; on the cessation of this, that ceases.” Buddhist
environmentalists find in the principle of causal interdependence a vision that
integrates all aspects of the ecosphere—particular individuals and general
species—in terms of the principle of mutual codependence. The three stages of
the Buddha’s enlightenment suggest a model for moral reasoning applicable to
environmental ethics that integrates general principles, collective action
guides, and particular contexts. Effective schemes of distributive justice
require that general principles, such as those embodied in the proposed
international Earth Charter, be realized in enforceable programs, properly
tailored for particular regions and nation-states.
In the Buddhist cosmological
model, individual entities are by their very nature relational. There is no
autonomous self that is set against the “other,” be that other human, animal,
or plant. Buddhist environmentalists reject the domination of one human over
another and the human domination of nature, promoting instead an ethic of
compassion that respects biodiversity. In the view of the Thai monk Buddhadasa
Bhikkhu, “The entire cosmos is a cooperative. The sun, the moon, and the stars
live together as a cooperative. The same is true for humans and animals, trees,
and the earth. When we realize that the world is a mutual, interdependent,
cooperative enterprise . . . then we can build a noble environment. If our
lives are not based on this truth, then we shall perish.”3
Global warming presents a case in point. The scientific community has reached a
consensus that human activity has been a major cause of the dramatic increase
in the production of greenhouse gases. The long-term consequences of the
resultant global warming are ominous. Yet short-term economic gain, from the
production of fuel inefficient SUVs to the U.S. refusal to join with 178 other
nations in support of the Kyoto Protocol, threaten the long-term future of the
planet. Buddhadasa sees the root of the problem in human greed but holds the
optimistic view that it is not too late to build a noble world based on mutual
respect and cooperation.
In later schools of Buddhist
thought the cosmological vision of interdependent causality evolved into a more
substantive sense of ontological unity. Metaphorically, the image of Indra’s
net found in the Hua-yen (Japanese, Kegon) tradition’s Avatamsaka Sutra
has been especially important in Buddhist ecological discussions: “Just as the
nature of earth is one while beings each live separately, and the earth has no
thought of oneness or difference, so is the truth of all the Buddhas.” For Gary
Snyder, the Hua-yen image of the universe—as a vast web of many-sided jewels,
each constituted by the reflections of all the other jewels in the web, and
each jewel being the image of the entire universe—evokes a world of interlinked
ecological communities.4
Buddhist environmentalists argue, furthermore, that ontological notions such as
Buddha-nature or Dharma-nature provide a basis for unifying all existent
entities in a common sacred universe even though the tradition privileges human
life vis-à-vis spiritual realization. For T’ien-t’ai monks in eighth-century
China, the belief in a universal Buddha-nature blurred the distinction between
sentient and nonsentient life forms, and logically led to the view that plants,
trees, and the earth itself could achieve enlightenment. Kukai (774–835), the
founder of the Japanese Shingon school, and Dogen (1200–1253), the founder of
the Soto Zen sect, described universal Buddha-nature in naturalistic terms: “If
plants and trees were devoid of Buddhahood, waves would then be without
humidity” (Kukai); “The sutras [i.e., the dharma] are the entire
universe, mountains and rivers and the great wide earth, plants and trees”
(Dogen). Buddhist environmentalists cite Dogen’s view as support for the
preservation of species biodiversity—a view that ascribes intrinsic value to
all species while at the same time affirming their shared dharmic nature.
For Buddhists the principle of
interdependence authenticated by the Buddha is a universal, natural law
expressed through the narrative of the Buddha’s own Nirvana and his teaching.
As we have seen, Buddhist scriptures and other texts include the hermeneutical
strategies of metaphor, story, and discursive logic to promote and provoke an
understanding of this truth. Throughout Buddhist history poetry has also been
an important literary tool for conveying the truth of the interdependence of
humans and nature. The Therigatha, an early Pali Sutta, extols nature’s
beauty:
Those rocky heights with
hue of dark blue clouds
Where lies embossed many a
shining lake
Of crystal-clear, cool
waters, and whose slopes
The herds of Indra cover
and bedeck
Those are the hills wherein
my soul delights.
East Asian traditions under the
influence of Daoism best represent this tradition, however, as in the poetry of
the early-ninth-century Chinese Buddhist poet and layman, Han-shan:
As for me, I delight in the
everyday Way
Among mist-wrapped vines
and rocky caves
Here in the wilderness I am
completely free
With my friends, the white
clouds, idling forever
There are roads, but they
do not reach the world
Since I am mindless, who
can rouse my thoughts?
On a bed of stone I sit,
alone in the night
While the round moon climbs
up Cold Mountain.
These poems see nature as a source of inspiration for the
human spirit to reach beyond an instrumental attitude toward the environment.
AN ECOLOGY OF HUMAN FLOURISHING
Buddhism arose in north India in the fifth century B.C.E.
at a time when the region was undergoing a process of urbanization and
political centralization accompanied by commercial development and the
formation of artisan and merchant classes. The creation of towns and the
expansion of an agrarian economy led to the clearing of forests and other
tracts of uninhabited land. These changes influenced early Buddhism in several
ways. Indic Buddhism was certainly not biocentric, and the strong naturalistic
sentiments that infused Buddhism in China, Korea, and Japan appear to have been
absent from early monastic Buddhism, although naturalism played a role in
popular piety. Nonetheless, the natural world was central to the Indic Buddhist
conception of human flourishing—perhaps, in part, because of the urbanizing
environment in which it was born. While nature as a value in and of itself may
not have played a major role in the development of early Buddhist thought and
practice, it was always one key component of the tradition’s account of the
preconditions for human flourishing.
Even though the picture of the
Buddha seated under the tree of enlightenment traditionally has not been
interpreted as a paradigm for ecological thinking, today’s Buddhist
environmental activists point out that the decisive events in the Buddha’s life
occurred in natural settings: the Buddha Gotama was born, attained
enlightenment, and died under trees. The textual record, furthermore, testifies
to the importance of forests, not only as an environment preferred for
spiritual practices such as meditation, but also as a place where the laity
sought instruction.
Historically in Asia and today in
the West, Buddhists have situated centers of practice and teaching in forests
and among mountains at some remove from the hustle and bustle of urban life.
The Buddha’s own example provides the original impetus for such locations:
“Seeking the supreme state of sublime peace, I wandered . . . until . . . I saw
a delightful stretch of land and a lovely woodland grove, and a clear flowing
river with a delightful forest so I sat down thinking, ‘Indeed, this is an
appropriate place to strive for the ultimate realization of . . . Nirvana’” (Ariyapariyesana
Sutta, Majjhima Nikaya).
Lavish patronage and the traffic
of pilgrims often complicated and compromised the solitude and simple life of
forest monasteries. But forests, rivers, and mountains remain an important
factor in Buddhist accounts of human flourishing. Recall, for example, the Zen
description of enlightenment wherein natural phenomena such as rivers and
mountains are perceived as loci of the sacred, as in Zen Master Dogen’s Mountains
and Water Sutra. Although religious practitioners
often tested their spiritual mettle in wild nature, most preferred an artfully
organized representation of nature, such as that found in the gardens of many
Japanese Zen monasteries. Buddhadasa Bhikkhu called his forest monastery in
south Thailand the Garden of Empowering Liberation: “The deep sense of calm
that nature provides through separation from the stress that plagues us in the
day-to-day world protects our heart and mind. The lessons nature teaches us
lead to a new birth beyond suffering caused by our acquisitive
self-preoccupation.”5
For Buddhist environmentalists,
centers like Buddhadasa’s Garden of Empowering Liberation exemplify a
sustainable lifestyle grounded in the values of moderation, simplicity, and
nonacquisitiveness. Technology alone cannot solve the eco-crisis; it requires a
transformation of values and of lifestyle. The Summer 1996 issue of Dædalus
takes its title from Jesse H. Ausubel’s lead essay, “The Liberation of the
Environment.” Ausubel concludes his analysis of trajectories, strategies, and
technologies that lessen pollution and conserve landscape with the ringing
affirmation, “We have liberated ourselves from the environment. Now it is time
to liberate the environment itself.” Buddhadasa’s model of the Garden of
Empowering Liberation brings an ethico-spiritual critique to the confident
vision that at long last science and technology will be able to reconcile our
economy and the natural environment. There are more profoundly moral and
spiritual issues at stake; without this realization debates about environmental
protection will be fraught with a limited, instrumentalist myopia.
Buddhadasa intended the Garden of
Empowering Liberation not as a retreat from the world, but as a place where all
forms of life—humans, animals, and plants—live as a cooperative microcosm of a
larger ecosystem. The ecological ethic exemplified by the Garden of Empowering
Liberation highlights the virtues of restraint, simplicity, loving-kindness,
compassion, equanimity, patience, wisdom, nonviolence, and generosity. These
virtues represent moral ideals for all members of the Buddhist community—monk,
layperson, political leader, ordinary citizen, male, female. Political leaders
committed to defending the security of the nation are admonished to adhere to
the ideal of nonviolence. King Asoka, the model Buddhist ruler, is eulogized
for his rejection of animal sacrifice and his protection of animals, as well as
for building hospices and other public works. The Buddhist ethic of
distributive justice extols the merchant who generously provides for the needy.
Even ordinary Thai rice farmers traditionally left a portion of rice
unharvested in their fields for the benefit of the poor and for hungry
herbivores.
For contemporary engaged
Buddhists—most notably the Dalai Lama—a sense of responsibility rooted in
compassion lies at the heart of an ecological ethic: “The world grows smaller
and smaller more and more interdependent . . . today more than ever before life
must be characterized by a sense of universal responsibility, not only . . .
human to human but also human to other forms of life.”6
The Dalai Lama’s ecological ethic gives contemporary expression to a classical
Buddhist moral sentiment phrased most eloquently by the eighth-century Indian
poet-monk, Santideva:
May I be the doctor and the
medicine
And may I be the nurse
For all sick beings in the
world
Until everyone is healed
May I become an
inexhaustible treasure
For those who are poor and
destitute
May I turn into all things
they could need.
For many Buddhist
environmentalists, compassion necessarily results from an understanding of all
life forms as mutually interdependent. Others argue that a mere cognitive
recognition of interdependence is a necessary but not a sufficient condition
for an ecological ethic. These critics emphasize the centrality of practice in
Buddhism and uphold the tradition’s insistence on training in virtue and the
threefold path to moral and spiritual excellence—morality, mindful awareness,
wisdom. Among contemporary engaged Buddhists, the Vietnamese monk Thich Nhat
Hanh is the most insistent on the practice of mindful awareness in the
development of a peaceful and sustainable world where one perceives the
fundamental interconnectedness of life and a feeling of identification with all
life forms:
Look deeply:
I arrive in every second
to be a bud on a spring
branch
to be a tiny bird, with
wings still fragile
learning to sing in my new
nest
to be a caterpillar in the
heart of a flower
to be a jewel hiding itself
in a stone
I am the mayfly
metamorphosing on the surface of the river
and I am the bird which,
when spring comes
arrives in time to eat the
mayfly
I am the child in Uganda,
all skin and bones
my legs as thin as bamboo
sticks
and I am the arms merchant
selling deadly weapons to
Uganda
| |
I am the twelve-year-old girl, refugee on a
small boat |
who throws herself into the
ocean after being raped by a sea pirate
| |
and I am the pirate, my heart not yet capable
of seeing and loving |
Please call me by my true
names
so I can wake up
| |
and so the door of my heart can be left open,
the door of compassion.7 |
Critics of the ethical saliency
of the traditional Buddhist vision of human flourishing argue that such central
philosophical concepts as not-self (anatman) and emptiness (shunyata)
undermine the distinction between self and other, a distinction essential to an
other-regarding ethic. What reason is there to pass laws that protect the civil
rights of minorities or animal species threatened with extinction if Buddhism
rejects the independent reality of individuals as an epistemological fiction?
Furthermore, critics point out that the most basic concepts of
Buddhism—Nirvana, suffering, rebirth, not-self, and even causality—were
intended to further the goal of the individual’s spiritual quest rather than
engagement with the world. They conclude, therefore, that Buddhism serves
primarily a salvific or soteriological purpose, and that contemporary efforts
to use the tradition for ecological aims distorts the historical and
philosophical record.
A related but more sympathetic
criticism from within the Buddhist environmental movement suggests that for
Buddhism to be an effective force for systemic institutional change, the
traditional Buddhist emphasis on individual moral and spiritual transformation
must be adjusted to address forcefully the structures of oppression,
exploitation, and environmental degradation. While preserving the unique
Buddhist emphasis on the practice of mindful awareness and a personal lifestyle
of simplicity, today’s engaged Buddhist activists are also confronting head-on
a host of international issues, ranging from the disposal of nuclear waste to a
just and peaceful resolution of the Chinese occupation of Tibet. The most
internationally visible leaders of this movement are the Dalai Lama and Thich
Nhat Hanh, but they are joined by many others from around the globe, including
Sulak Sivaraksa, A. T. Ariyaratna, Joanna Macy, and Kenneth Kraft.
Buddhist environmentalists
believe that their tradition brings to the debates about the global environment
an ethic of social and environmental responsibility more compatible with the
language of compassion than the rhetoric of rights. Furthermore, they argue,
the attempt to apply Buddhist insights to a broad ecology of human flourishing
represents the tradition at its best, by elaborating a creative, dynamic
response to a contemporary problem.
STORIES AND PLACES: DOI SUTHEP IN NORTHERN THAILAND8
I began this essay by referring to the contextual nature
of religion and the distinctive hermeneutical and tactical strategies religions
can bring to the development of an environmental ethic. The texts, doctrines,
and practices that inform a holistic ecological worldview and vision of human
flourishing are necessarily part of this discussion; however, since religious
traditions are culturally and historically situated, their relevance to
specific environmental challenges demands that particular cases also be brought
into the discussion. In daily life religions combine with other cultural
variables to form a unified story that integrates the work of culture with
nature. Environmental writers from Aldo Leopold (Sand County Almanac)
to Barry Lopez (Arctic Dreams), Terry Tempest Williams (Refuge),
and John Elder (Reading the Mountains of Home)
tell their experiences of particular places to make a general point regarding
the intrinsic value of the natural environment, a land ethic, and the
interrelationship between the human story and nature. In concluding this essay,
I have chosen to relate my experience of a particular place—Doi Suthep, a
sacred mountain in the Chiang Mai valley of northern Thailand—to show that the
work of culture and nature are interdependent; that this interdependence is
important to the integrity of both; and that it has helped to preserve the
natural environment against the pressures of tourism and economic exploitation.
From January through September of
1994, I lived at the foot of Doi Suthep, a mountain that overlooks Chiang Mai,
Thailand’s second largest city, a modern, bustling, increasingly crowded
metropolis. Every day I saw the mountain from my study window, observed it on
the way to my office at Chiang Mai University, and frequently visited the
Buddhist temple at its summit. The face of the mountain constantly changed. In
the hot months of March and April, the parched hillsides were often veiled in a
brown haze consisting of dust and smoke from seasonal burning. After the
monsoon rains, the mountain appeared with sharp, verdant clarity. At night, the
temple lights twinkled brightly, while during the day wispy white clouds often
encircled the peak. Doi Suthep proved to be a virtual kaleidoscope of shapes
and colors, sights and sounds. The many faces the mountain displayed during the
months I was her neighbor became a metaphor for Doi Suthep as a document into
which human meanings and ideologies are read.
Rising 1,050 meters above sea
level, the environs of Doi Suthep were first inhabited by the Lawa, a Mon-Khmer
group that lived in the area prior to the major Tai migrations into northern
Thailand in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. From the time King Mengrai
established Chiang Mai as his capital in 1292, the city has dominated northern
Thailand. Physically, the mountain has served as an orientation point for the
valley’s inhabitants; ecologically, its watershed sustains an ever-growing
population and its forest cover houses an impressive diversity of flora and
fauna that includes over 253 species of orchids, 320 species of birds, 50
species of mammals, and more than 500 species of butterflies. New species of
plants and animals are regularly discovered on Doi Suthep. Near its summit
stands Wat Phrathat Doi Suthep, one of the most revered Buddhist sanctuaries in
mainland Southeast Asia. A summer palace was built for the country’s reigning
monarch on Doi Pui, a neighboring peak, and both the temple-monastery and the
royal palace now lie within the Doi Suthep-Pui National Park, which comprises
162 square kilometers.
Mountains in the Doi Suthep range
loom large in the legends and myths of the area. The valley’s inhabitants are
protected by the guardian spirits of the Lawa, Phu Sae and Ya Sae, who reside
on the mountains and who are placated and honored by an annual buffalo
sacrifice. An ancient burial mound on Doi Pui’s summit is reputed to contain
the remains of the Lawa chieftain, Vilangkha. According to legend, he was an
unsuccessful suitor of Queen Cama, who ruled the Mon city of Haripuñjaya in the
ninth century, four hundred years prior to the Tai subjugation of the area by
Mengrai. The mountain takes its name from the legendary hermit sage Vasudeva,
the son of Phu Sae and Ya Sae, a major figure in northern legends who is linked
to the founding of Haripuñjaya. It was Vasudeva who arranged for Queen Cama to
come to northern Thailand from Lavapura, modern Lopburi. Devotees continue to
make offerings to Vasudeva’s spirit at a cave on the mountain’s western slope
where the ascetic is thought to have lived.
Of surpassing historical and
cultural significance, however, is Wat Phrathat, the Buddhist temple-monastery
near Doi Suthep’s summit. Here myth and legend become history. Tradition has it
that the sanctuary was established in the fourteenth century to house a Buddha
relic brought by the monk Sumana Thera from the Thai kingdom of Sukhothai to
Chiang Mai at the request of its ruler, Ku’ena (1355–1385). According to
legend, upon its arrival the relic miraculously divided itself. King Ku’ena
enshrined half of the relic at the royal Flower Garden Monastery (Wat Suan Dok)
located in Chiang Mai city. The other half was placed on the back of an
elephant to be enshrined wherever the animal was led by the gods, suggesting
that supernatural forces determined its location on the mountain. These stories
illustrate the rich Lawa, Mon, and Tai cultural map that overlays Doi Suthep’s
imposing physical topography.
The contemporary social and
cultural significance of Doi Suthep as a sacred mountain became clear in 1986
during a controversy over the proposed construction of an electric cable car
from the base of the mountain to the temple-monastery at the summit. The cable
car, endorsed by the Tourist Organization of Thailand, would accommodate the
ever-increasing number of tourists who flock to Thailand’s northern mountains.
Long gone are the days when pilgrimage to the summit was on foot. But the
two-lane road to the sanctuary constructed under the inspired leadership of the
charismatic monk Khruba Siwijai had itself become part of the mountain’s
legendary history. It is one thing for a narrow road to meander up the
mountain; for a commercial company to build a cable car is another matter.
Environmentalists, university professors, students, and ordinary citizens
united in protest. A key element of the protest to block the cable car was the
role played by Buddhist monks, especially Bodhiramsi, the assistant
ecclesiastical governor of the province of Chiang Mai and one of the most
highly respected abbots in the city. Niranam Khorabhatham’s letter in the Bangkok
Post of April 30, 1986, illustrates not only the tenor of the
protestors’ rhetoric but also their reverence for the mountain:
| |
SIR: The manager of the proposed cable car
project on Doi Suthep, Chiang Mai, stated that he was “not overlooking the
sanctity of Wat Phrathat” (Postbag, March 14). He underestimates
the northern people: The Soul of Lanna [northern Thailand] is still alive.
Northerners perceive, at least in their subconscious, that Mount Suthep is like
a symbolic stupa. Doi Suthep’s dome-like shape is like an immense replica of
the ancient Sanchi style stupa, a gift to Lanna by the Powers of Creation.
Stupas are reliquaries of saints. More than that, they are a structural
representation of the very essence of Buddhism. Plant and animal life are like
Nature’s frescoes, both beautifying and exemplifying the Law [dharma]
not less than paintings in any man-made shrine. Although sometimes not being
able to explain why rationally, the northern people want to preserve the Stupa
Doi Suthep as it was given to them by Creation, as untouched as possible, as
sacred.9 |
PLACE, STORY, AND PRINCIPLE
The pressures to develop Doi Suthep for its commercial
value to the tourism industry threaten the mountain’s natural environment and
its spiritual integrity. The fact that the mountain is perceived by northern
Thais as a sacred landscape was a major factor in challenging both private and
government intentions to build a cable car to its summit. While the place that
Doi Suthep holds in the cultural imagination of northern Thais is unique to
that particular place, the story of the mountain from its legendary origin to
today suggests a more general truth, namely, that narratives of place can make
a crucial contribution to environmental ethics. Indeed, when it comes to
inspiring concrete action, such stories may be decisive, for they have the
power to touch the deepest sensibilities of our personal and social identity.
Ongoing narratives that connect myth and history, past and present, humans and
nature give an environmental ethic a multivalent inclusiveness it otherwise
lacks. The Doi Suthep episode, furthermore, can also be read from the
perspective of the Buddhist principle of interdependence, the truth at the very
core of the Buddhist worldview. It is this reading with which I bring this
discussion of Buddhist ecological strategies to a close.
The stories of the Lawa chieftain
Vilangkha, the ascetic Vasudeva, and the miraculous Buddha relic that was
enshrined in two places tell of a symbiotic relationship between the mountain
and the city. Whether one draws a relationship of dynamic tension between the
two, as symbolized by Vilankha, who was rejected by Queen Cama; a collaborative
one, as illustrated by Vasudeva, the mountain ascetic who founded the first
city in northern Thailand; or a relationship of substantive interconnection, as
suggested by the Buddha relic enshrined in the city and on the mountain—the
kingdoms of Haripuñjaya and Chiang Mai derive their meaning not in isolation,
but in relationship to the mountain. Mountain and muang, the Thai term
for city, are inextricably bound together. Their fates are mutually
interdependent. Those who fought the cable car project perceive the natural
environment of the mountain as a unique locus of the sacred, essential to the
identity of the muang.
In 1986, northern Thai Buddhists
saw a threat to Doi Suthep as a threat to their own well-being. Donald Brown,
in this issue of Dædalus, correctly suggests that ascribing an intrinsic
rather than an instrumental value to nature is the cornerstone of an
environmental ethic. But it is also true that an environmental ethic depends on
understanding that we as human beings are inextricably linked to nature, and
that human flourishing depends on whether, as Buddhadasa has said, “we can
listen to the voice of trees, grass, sand, and dirt and hear the sound of the dharma.”
If, as Lee Schipper suggests in the Summer 1996 issue of Dædalus,
the achievement of ten thousand years of human history is that we have again
become cave dwellers but with electronic gadgets, then we will have sacrificed
more than nature; we will have sacrificed our humanity.
ENDNOTES
| 1 |
This essay is adapted and enlarged from Donald
K. Swearer, “Buddhism and Ecology: Challenge and Promise,” Earth Ethics
10 (1) (Fall 1998): 19–22. © 1998 by the Center for Respect of Life
and Environment. Back
to Text |
| 2 |
Thich Nhat Hanh, “The Sun My Heart,” in Dharma
Rain: Sources of Buddhist Environmentalism,
ed. Stephanie Kaza and Kenneth Kraft (Boston: Sham-bala Publications, 2000),
85. Back
to Text |
| 3 |
Buddhadasa Bhikkhu, Phutasasanik Kap
Kan Anurak Thamachat (Buddhists and the Care for Nature)
(Bangkok: Komol Thimthong Foundation, 1990), 35; translation by the author. Back
to Text |
| 4 |
David Landis Barnhill, “Great Earth Sangha:
Gary Snyder’s View of Nature as Community,” in Buddhism and Ecology:
The Interconnection of Dharma and Deeds,
ed. Mary Evelyn Tucker and Duncan Ryuken Williams (Cambridge, Mass.: Center
for the Study of World Religions, Harvard Divinity School, 1997), 187–218. Back
to Text |
| 5 |
Buddhadasa Bhikkhu, Siang Takon Jak
Thamachat (Shouts from Nature) (Bangkok: Sublime Life Mission,
1971), 6; translation by the author. Back
to Text
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| 6 |
Nancy Nash, “The Buddhist Perception of Nature
Project,” in Buddhist Perspectives on the Ecocrisis,
ed. Klas Sandell, in The Wheel, vol. 18 (Kandy, Sri Lanka:
Buddhist Publication Society, 1987), 73. Back
to Text
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| 7 |
Thich Nhat Hanh, “Please Call Me By My True
Names,” in Hanh, Being Peace (Berkeley: Parallax Press, 1984),
63–64. Back to Text
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| 8 |
The author wishes to thank Swarthmore College,
the John Simon Guggenheim Foundation, and the National Endowment for the
Humanities for support of his research on sacred mountain traditions in
Southeast Asia. Back to Text
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©
2001 by The American Academy of Arts and Sciences
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