## 1. Biography: History and Legends



There is very little historically reliable information available about
the life of Santideva. The Tibetan historians Buton and
Taranatha tell us that Santideva was a prince from
Saurastra, a western coastal region that now forms
part of the Indian state of Gujarat. But royal birth was a standard
feature of Indian Buddhist hagiographies, possibly because the
historical Buddha himself was the son of a raja, so there is some
reason to be skeptical of this aspect of his biography. 



Scholars of Indian history before the second millennium are often
frustrated by our lack of reliable and precise chronological
information; and so it is for the dates of Santideva. One
crucial piece of information we do have is that another Indian author,
Santaraksita, quotes a passage from
Santideva in a text that must have been composed by 763 CE.
We may conclude that Santideva must have lived and written
before that date, and so that his life would likely have occurred in
the late seventh to the mid-eighth centuries CE. This was a period
during which Buddhism was still quite popular in North India, but had
entered a phase of decline from which it would not be able to recover.
Nevertheless, highly original and valuable intellectual and spiritual
developments continued to occur within the Buddhist tradition at this
time. 



Two major works are unanimously attributed to Santideva. The
most widely read is his great philosophical poem, the
*Bodhicaryavatara* (often abbreviated as
*BCA*). This text immensely popular in Tibet; His Holiness the
Dalai Lama describes it as his favorite religious work, and numerous
Tibetan religious rituals quote from, or are influenced by, the
*BCA*. Moreover, the work appears to have had a significant
impact on the now-extinct Buddhist tradition of Indonesia. The
*BCA* has been translated into several modern languages,
including Chinese, Danish, Dutch, English, German, Hindi, Newari, and
Spanish, for a total of at least twenty-seven contemporary
translations (as surveyed by Gomez 1999: 4-5). Of the
English translations, Wallace and Wallace (1997) is notable for its
accuracy and precision and Crosby and Skilton (1995, henceforth
C&S) for its beauty and clarity.



Less famous than the *BCA*, but almost as valuable and
intellectually rich, is the *Siksa-samuccaya*
(henceforth *SS*), an anthology of quotations from the
Mahayana sutras with commentary by Santideva.
This text contains a number of passages of ethical and philosophical
interest in Santideva's own voice, as well as numerous
beautiful and moving poems and a wide variety of scriptural materials
drawn from over a hundred sutras. The *SS* contains
instructions for how to behave while begging for food and while doing
work assignments in the monastery; it is thus an important witness to
the daily life of Indian Buddhist monks in the first millennium CE.
Textual scholars have often relied on the *SS* as a
crucial source, as it preserves passages in Sanskrit from dozens of
sutras that have been lost in their original language and are
preserved, if at all, only in translation into such languages as
Tibetan and Chinese. The *SS* was translated into Chinese,
but appears not to have been read very often in that language; its
main influence was in Tibet. There are two complete translations of
the *SS* into English (Bendall & Rouse 1922, and in
SS-G), as well as a very precise and careful translation limited to
the verses by Santideva that appear in the text (Harrison
2013).



Two major versions of the *BCA* exist and were known in Tibet,
one much shorter than the other. It was the longer version, of about a
thousand verses, that was regarded as canonical in Tibet (see
Buton 2013: 259); this longer version is the one most often cited
and translated today. Some highly respected scholars (including
Harrison in his 2007) argue that the shorter version of about seven
hundred verses, sometimes known as the
*Bodhisattva-caryavatara* or *BsCA*, was
written first, followed by the *SS.* Later on, someone,
probably Santideva himself but possibly another author,
added the additional verses to form the *BCA* as we know it
now. This chronology makes sense and is supported by some evidence,
but we may never know for sure whether it is correct.



Santideva's two works have quite different structures.
The *BCA* is organized into chapters and verses, and will be
cited accordingly here: so *BCA* III.24 is the twenty-fourth
verse of the third chapter. The *SS* also contains many
verses, including twenty-seven "root verses" that express
important themes of the book, and numerous others composed by
Santideva or quoted from sources; but these verses are
scattered unevenly through a quite long prose text. The now-standard
way to cite passages from the *SS* uses page numbers from
the nearly complete Sanskrit manuscript discovered by Bendall; so a
passage found at *SS* 36 would be one that was originally
found on page 36 of that manuscript. Vaidya's edition of the
Sanskrit *SS* provides the reader with these standard page
numbers, and so do both complete English translations.



The *BCA* is associated with a famous legend of
Santideva's life, recounted by Buton (2013:
258-259) and often retold in Tibetan religious contexts.
According to this account, the master Santideva was a
student monk at the great monastic university of Nalanda,
whose ruins can still be seen in the modern Indian state of Bihar.
Unfortunately, to all outward appearances, Santideva was not
putting any effort into the central activities expected of
Nalanda's students: the study and recitation of
Buddhist religious and philosophical texts. He came to be known as a
*bhusuku*, a kind of Sanskrit acronym derived from words
meaning "eat", "sleep", and
"defecate"--as that was all anyone had seen him do.




In an attempt to encourage their apparently lazy student to return to
his proper path, some of the monks in authority at Nalanda
decided to teach him a lesson. They assigned him to recite a text at
an upcoming religious festival; and, just to humiliate him even more,
built him an elaborate throne from which to speak.



On the day of the festival, Santideva ascended the throne
and asked the audience whether they would like to hear something old
or something new; or in other words, whether he should recite
something he had memorized, or an original composition of his own.
Perhaps in amusement, the monks asked for something new, and
Santideva began the first-ever recitation of the
*BCA*. No doubt the audience would have been surprised to hear
their lazy fellow-student present one of the greatest works of poetry
ever composed in the Sanskrit language. During the recitation, while
seated in meditation posture, the master began to levitate above the
throne. At the recitation of verse IX.34, he vanished, and the
remainder of the text was recited by a disembodied voice from the sky.
IX.34 reads:



> 
> 
> When neither entity nor nonentity remains before the mind, since there
> is no other mode of operation, grasping no objects, it becomes
> tranquil.
> 
> 
> 



But what would it mean to be in a state in which "neither entity
nor nonentity remains before the mind", and why should this
state, often associated with the term "emptiness"
(Sanskrit *sunyata*), be a highly valued goal of
spiritual practice? These are remarkably difficult questions; the next
section offers the reader some preliminary groundwork that may help in
engaging with them. Before we can even begin to try to understand
emptiness, though, we must examine the key Buddhist teaching of no
self.


## 2. Metaphysics: No Self and Emptiness



The most central and most original intellectual discovery of the early
Buddhist tradition was that we do not need to posit a substantial self
in order to explain the world of our ordinary experience. Instead,
Buddhist philosophers hold that we can arrive at much more defensible
and much more fruitful accounts by exploring ways to understand the
world of our experience as a product of impersonal and subpersonal
causal processes. Santideva's writings are full of
passages, including many quotations from earlier sources, that shed
light on the nature and implications of this insight, as well as the
still more profound teaching of emptiness. Indeed, according to
Santideva and his sources, a direct, intuitive understanding
of the absence of any self has the power to set us free from cyclic
existence. At *SS* 242, he offers this quotation from the
*Mysteries of the Tathagata Sutra*:



> 
> 
> For example, Santamati, if the root of a tree is cut, all
> the branches, leaves, and flowers dry up. In just the same way,
> Santamati, if you pacify the false view of a real self, all
> reactive emotions are pacified.
> 
> 
> 



As articulated in early Buddhist texts and in the philosophical works
belonging to the Abhidharma traditions of the Way of the Disciples
(Sanskrit *Sravaka-yana*), the teaching of no
self depends on a crucial distinction between conventional truth and
ultimate truth. Those entities that exist ultimately have an existence
that is robustly metaphysically objective, whereas things at the
conventional level are said to exist as a result of a process of
conceptual construction. On some interpretations of this distinction
in the Abhidharma context, conventional things do not exist at all;
instead, it is merely convenient in practice to pretend that they do
(see Goodman 2005). According to the Buddhist tradition, in order for
something to exist at the ultimate level, it would have to be findable
under analysis: that is, careful philosophical examination would have
to be able to find a clear and defensible explanation of how it
exists. If conceived of as existing over and above their parts,
composite entities fail this test; when analyzed, they disappear, as
we can give no satisfactory account of how they relate to their parts.
So according to the Abhidharma, the only entities that could exist
ultimately would have to be utterly simple, having no spatial parts
and existing for only one single instant of time. The world that we
experience is the product of the collective causal activity of immense
numbers of these tiny, simple entities. These claims apply even to
what we regard as our own actions, choices and decisions (for further
explanation, see Siderits 2007: ch. 3 and ch. 6).



This picture is quite different from how we ordinarily understand
human life and agency; the *SS* contains several passages
intended to help us come to grips with what a world of impersonal
causation would be like. An especially illuminating analogy can be
found at *SS* 262:



> 
> 
> I have taught the aspects of action,
>   
> 
> But no agent exists in the ten directions.
>   
> 
> It's just like when trees, agitated by the wind,
>   
> 
> Produce fire:
>   
> 
> The wind and the trees do not think,
>   
> 
> "We should generate this fire."
>   
> 
> However, fire arises.
>   
> 
> The performance of action is similar.
> 
> 
> 



A helpful sketch of the overall picture at work in these texts can be
found at *SS* 238:



> 
> 
> Compounded things proceed by means
>   
> 
> Of causes and conditions,
>   
> 
> Mutual causality and dependent arising;
>   
> 
> Foolish people don't realize this.
>   
> 
> For example, by the power of effort,
>   
> 
> *Munja* grass and *balbaja* grass can be woven
> together into a rope;
>   
> 
> A water-wheel turns, but
>   
> 
> The individual parts can't turn by themselves.
>   
> 
> In the same way, all the aspects of being
>   
> 
> Exist in dependence on the combination of the others;
>   
> 
> From the most distant past to the farthest future,
>   
> 
> One of these existing by itself is not apprehended. (SS-G: 230)
> 
> 
> 



The Tibetan *SS* quotes at 226 a passage from the *Rice
Sheaf Sutra* that offers an interesting analogy that responds
to the perennial question of how rebirth could be possible when there
is no self. Many people, when confronted with the teaching of no self,
ask how we could possibly understand the process of rebirth if there
is nothing that travels from this life to the next. But as the
sutra points out, the moon can be reflected in still water, even
though the moon does not travel down to the earth. In the same way, a
causal process of dependent arising can lead to a kind of continuity
from one life to another, even though there is no real, substantial
thing that travels from this body into the next. Another analogy
intended to make a similar point is found at 239: 



> 
> 
> Although a seal produces a seal impression,
>   
> 
> We don't apprehend that the seal transmigrates.
>   
> 
> It isn't there [in the impression,] but nor are they wholly
> different.
>   
> 
> In the same way, composite things are not annihilated and not
> eternal.
> 
> 
> 



Though Santideva devotes considerable effort to expounding
the reductionist views of the Abhidharma tradition, he does not regard
them as the final word in Buddhist philosophy. We can see this
especially in Chapter IX of the *BCA*, which engages with
philosophical disagreements between Buddhists and non-Buddhists and
between different schools of thought within the Buddhist tradition.
This chapter is so formidably technical, and so terse and compressed,
as to be open to a range of different interpretations; at places it is
almost impenetrable. One thing at least is very clear: the views
expressed fall within the Madhyamaka or Middle Way School, a
philosophical tradition founded by Nagarjuna that has been
prestigious and influential in China and utterly dominant in Tibet.
The teachings of the Madhyamaka pose notorious and formidable
difficulties of interpretation; fortunately, much valuable scholarship
has recently become available that is of great help in delineating the
range of plausible interpretations and the considerations that can be
advanced to support them. (See especially Siderits and Katsura
(trans.) 2013; Westerhoff 2009; Garfield 2015: ch. 3; Arnold 2012: ch.
6.)



The core claim of Madhyamaka is generally acknowledged to be that
nothing in the universe has any *svabhava*. This Sanskrit
term has a complex cluster of meanings that make it extraordinarily
difficult to translate. Many scholars have now adopted the translation
"intrinsic nature" for *svabhava*, but it has
also been rendered at various times as "essence",
"substance", "own-being", and "intrinsic
existence", among many other attempts. If something had
*svabhava*, then it would be possible fully to understand
that thing's nature as it is in itself, independently of any
relations it might bear to anything else, and independently of the
conceptual or linguistic activities of sentient beings. Following
Nagarjuna, though, Madhyamika teachers argued that nothing
could possibly have *svabhava* as just described. If
something did have *svabhava*, it would be permanent,
unchanging, and independent; and Buddhists argue that nothing in the
world has these qualities. Instead, everything that arises in our
experience, or could so arise, is impermanent, constantly changing,
dependent on causes and conditions, and understood within a conceptual
framework. We cannot say or think how or what anything is except by
making overt or covert reference to other things; nor can anything be
how or what it is except in relation to other things. Thus, everything
is empty of intrinsic nature. In the Madhyamaka, this claim is taken
to be equivalent to the statement that nothing can exist at the
ultimate level of truth; instead, everything that exists, arises or
happens does so at the conventional level. Conventional existence, on
this view, is actually the only kind of existence that anything has,
and the only kind that anything could have.



Drawing on the Perfection of Wisdom sutras, Madhyamika
authors offered various analogies to try to illustrate what it is like
for things to lack any intrinsic nature. Of these, probably the most
helpful and illuminating is the analogy of a mirage, found, for
instance, at *SS* 256. In drawing out this analogy, the
first thing to notice is that a mirage is something that exists.
Someone who simply denied reports that, on hot days, roads sometimes
appear to be covered with pools of water, thus entirely rejecting the
existence of mirages, would thereby hold a mistaken view. Similarly,
according to the Madhyamaka view, ordinary conventional things,
including shoes and ships and sealing-wax, actually do exist. On the
other hand, a mirage is deceptive: the way in which it exists is not
the same as the way in which it appears to exist. Similarly, the
objects of our everyday experience appear to us to exist by way of
intrinsic nature, while in fact they exist conventionally. Moreover, a
mirage arises from causes and conditions; just so, ordinary
conventional things arise from causes and conditions. Finally, and
more controversially, a mirage is something that exists only from a
certain point of view. In the same way--although not all
interpreters of Madhyamaka would accept this way of putting
it--ordinary things exist only from the perspective of particular
conceptual schemes, and not in a robustly objective way, not
"from their own side".



Many arguments were been advanced by Nagarjuna, as well as
by later Buddhist writers, for the claim that there is no intrinsic
nature; many of these arguments, including most of those found in
Santideva's works, are thoroughly and sympathetically
discussed in modern secondary sources such as Westerhoff 2009. In his
presentation of emptiness in chapter 14 of the *SS*,
though, Santideva devotes considerable space to an argument
that has been quite prominent in the Tibetan tradition but is not
usually foregrounded in Western interpretations of Madhyamaka. A
representative instance of this argument can be found at
*SS* 248:



> 
> 
> Here, Your Majesty, when the internal fire element arises, it
> doesn't come from anywhere. When it ceases, it doesn't go
> anywhere. It doesn't exist, then it exists; and having existed,
> it disappears again, because it has no intrinsic nature. (SS-G:
> 237-238)
> 
> 
> 



This argument may lose some of its credibility in our eyes due to the
prescientific forms in which Santideva presents it. However,
similar arguments can be constructed entirely in terms of a
contemporary scientific worldview. For example, we could argue that,
when gaseous hydrogen and oxygen react to form water, the liquid state
of the resulting water doesn't come from anywhere. And when that
water freezes and becomes ice, its liquid state doesn't go
anywhere. So liquidity has no intrinsic nature.



When presented as a meditative exercise to appropriately prepared
students, this reasoning can produce striking results. Whether it is a
cogent philosophical argument is an other question. The argument
evidently depends on suppressed premises, but it's not entirely
clear what these are supposed to be. More philosophical work on this
form of Madhyamaka reasoning could be very helpful.



Though they share a common denial that anything has intrinsic nature,
Madhyamaka philosophers differ in their views about various other
philosophical issues; indeed, some within this tradition hold that the
goal of practice is to have no views at all. Within the overall
framework of Madhyamaka, Tibetan scholars generally classify
Santideva as belonging to the Middle Way Reductio School
(Skt. *Prasangika-madhyamaka*, Tib. *dbu ma thal
'gyur pa*) of Buddhapalita and Candrakirti. This
form of Madhyamaka is opposed to the Middle Way Autonomous School
(Skt. *Svatantrika-madhyamaka*, Tib. *dbu ma rang rgyud
pa*). Some modern writers have viewed this doxographical
identification with skepticism, noting that Santideva takes
no explicit position on the issues of argumentative and logical
methodology that, they believe, were the core questions at issue
between Candrakirti and Bhavaviveka. Indeed, these Indian
masters would not have used the terms *Prasangika*
and *Svatantrika* to describe themselves, and some
scholars have questioned the extent to which Tibetan doxographical
categories can helpfully illuminate Indian philosophical discussions,
as opposed to oversimplifying or distorting them.



One of the most influential, and controversial, passages in the
*BCA* is verse IX.139 (Vaidya 1988: 272-73; C&S:
129). The great Tibetan philosopher Tsong kha pa cited this passage as
a crucial Indic precedent for the doctrine of "identifying the
object of negation", which plays a central role in his reading
of Madhyamaka (Tsong kha pa, GT: 126). But modern scholars disagree
about whether the verse really does express a form of that doctrine,
or whether the intended meaning was something else entirely.



In several places, Santideva devotes considerable attention
to arguing, contrary to what would seem to be obvious common sense,
that there is no real thing that I can call "my body".
Arguments to this effect can be found both in *BCA* IX and in
the long series of verses that concludes the *SS*. These
are the verses that Bendall and Rouse wrongly identified as quotations
from the *Mysteries of the Tathagata Sutra*, and that
Harrison discovered to have been composed by Santideva
himself (see Harrison 2007).



Santideva poses a dilemma for anyone who claims that the
body is a substantially existing entity. If the body is thought of a
physical object that has a specific visible form, then such a body
does not last for an entire lifetime, since the shape and appearance
of the body change dramatically between early childhood and old age.
On the other hand, if the body is understood to be something more
abstract that remains constant through these visible changes, then we
can't point to it, and it is not able to play the role in our
self-understanding that we normally expect the body to play. Neither
view can provide us with a real entity that both withstands analysis
and is suitable to be the object of our ordinary, attached attitude.
As we will see, this reasoning plays an important role in
Santideva's views about how to live; these will be our
next topic of discussion.


## 3. Ethics and Ethical Theory


### 3.1 General Considerations



As a Mahayana Buddhist, Santideva advises
practitioners to adopt the Awakening Mind (Sanskrit
*bodhicitta*), the altruistic intention to become a Buddha and
then remain in cyclic existence for the benefit of others until all
sentient beings have been saved from suffering. Someone who adopts the
Awakening Mind is thereafter known as a bodhisattva, a being in the
process of waking up. Santideva expresses his own commitment
to the Awakening Mind in a justly famous verse, *BCA* X.55:
"As long as space abides and as long as the world abides, so
long may I abide, destroying the sufferings of the world". The
whole of *BCA* III focuses on the Awakening Mind from two
points of view. First, the chapter expresses thoughts and sentiments
that might be experienced by someone who was taking up the Awakening
Mind for the first time. The second, shorter portion of *BCA*
III is a soaring evocation of the value and importance of this quality
of the mind and heart. This chapter contains some of the finest
Buddhist poetry ever written:



> 
> 
> III. 27. As a blind man might find a jewel in heaps of rubbish, so too
> this Awakening Mind has somehow appeared in me.
> 
> 
> 
> 28. This is the elixir of life, born to end death in the world. This
> is the inexhaustible treasure, alleviating poverty in the world.
> 
> 
> 
> 29. This is the supreme medicine, curing the sickness of the world, a
> tree of shelter for weary creatures staggering along the road of
> existence;
> 
> 
> 
> 30. The causeway to cross over bad rebirths, open to all who travel.
> It is the rising moon of the mind, mitigating the defilements of the
> world.
> 
> 
> 
> 31. It is the brilliant sun, dispelling the mist of ignorance from the
> world. It is the fresh butter risen up from churning the milk of the
> true Dharma.
> 
> 
> 
> 32. For the caravan of humanity traveling the road of existence,
> hungry for the enjoyment of happiness, this is a feast of happiness
> offered as refreshment to all who approach.
> 
> 
> 
> 33ab. Today I summon the world to Buddhahood and, meanwhile, to
> happiness. (translation slightly altered from C&S: 22)
> 
> 
> 



For Santideva, as for other Mahayana Buddhists,
the spiritual path that is shaped and motivated by the Awakening Mind
involves the cultivation of six crucial qualities or virtues known as
the Perfections (or perhaps "Transcendences", Sanskrit
*paramita*). This well-known list has great
importance for Santideva, as it provides the main structural
framework for the organization of the *BCA*; members of the
list also occur in the titles of four of the chapters of the
*SS*. The six perfections are:


1. The Perfection of Generosity
(*dana-paramita*)
2. The Perfection of Moral Discipline
(*sila-paramita*)
3. The Perfection of Patient Endurance
(*ksanti-paramita*)
4. The Perfection of Perseverance
(*virya-paramita*)
5. The Perfection of Meditative Stability
(*dhyana-paramita*)
6. The Perfection of wisdom
(*prajna-paramita*)



Santideva regards generosity as having a crucial role in the
bodhisattva path, and his interpretation of generosity is quite
demanding and rigorous, as indeed is the case for many of our
premodern Buddhist sources. He extols the transcendent generosity of
those bodhisattvas of the past who were willing to sacrifice parts of
their own body, even at grave risk to their own lives, in order to
relieve the suffering of others and advance their own spiritual
development. According to Santideva, though, the true
perfection of generosity is a mental attitude that consists in the
renunciation of the very idea of owning anything. At *SS*
18-19, he quotes the *Vows of Individual Liberation for
Bodhisattvas* as teaching that "a bodhisattva thinks of
everything as belonging to someone else, and doesn't own
anything. Why? Because ownership is fear" (SS-G: 22; and see
*BCA* V.10). 



Santideva's understanding of the Perfection of Patient
Endurance, as discussed in *BCA* VI and in ch. 10 of the
*SS*, is of great philosophical interest. Like many
Buddhists, Santideva rejects the common-sense view that
anger is often an appropriate response to the failings and
transgressions of others. Instead, he holds several radical theses
about anger: that anger is gravely spiritually and psychologically
damaging to the one who succumbs to it; that anger always involves
certain conceptual mistakes; and that it is therefore urgent to
counteract anger through meditative exercises.
Santideva's clear and uncompromising advocacy of the
elimination of anger has been fruitfully compared to the views of
certain Hellenistic philosophers (see, e.g., Gowans 2010). His reasons
for thinking that anger necessarily involves conceptual error will be
briefly explained below. 



In her monograph on the *SS*, Suzanne Mrozik has
emphasized the somatic dimension of that text's normative
perspective. For Buddhists such as Santideva, moral
excellence must be attained through rigorous practices of bodily
discipline. Some of these belong to monastic etiquette and training;
others are forms of mindfulness of body; and others are aspects of
meditation practice. Moreover, sutra texts quoted by
Santideva claim that Buddhist devotional practices and the
preservation of moral discipline will lead to an attractive, healthy
and beautiful body. Mrozik sees much potential in these teachings,
which emphasize aspects of moral practice that modern writers often
overlook. Yet we might be concerned that a literal reading of
Santideva's views about the causes of physical
attractiveness could lead healthy and handsome people to a quite
unwarranted sense of superiority, while licensing contempt for, or
even discrimination against, the ugly or the disabled.



As Barbra Clayton has shown, the description of the
bodhisattva's way of life in the *SS* features an
interesting perspective on the role of *punya*,
"goodness" or "good karma". Early Buddhist
texts appear to take the view that the Saint (Sanskrit *arhat*)
stops creating karmic traces, whether good or bad, as a result of her
experience of liberation. These karmic traces function to project
happy or unhappy future experiences in cyclic existence; and a Saint,
who is free of cyclic existence, must therefore have left goodness
behind, along with the vile actions that lead to misery.
Santideva, on the other hand, sees even quite advanced
bodhisattvas as committed to the ongoing cultivation of goodness, not
for their own sake, but in order to transfer it to other sentient
beings and thereby sustain their progress towards spiritual maturity
(see Clayton 2006: 76-88). 



Another feature of Santideva's presentation of
Buddhist ethics that is not commonly encountered in similar texts is
the emphasis he places in the *SS* on the interdependent
and mutually supportive nature of the various Buddhist virtues. So,
for example, he writes at *SS* 289 that "you should
undertake to increase goodness through effort, intention, and
compassion, which stabilize each other". And at *SS*
121 we find a passage, also in Santideva's own voice,
that could be rendered: "Moral discipline and stable attention
reinforce each other. The two together make it possible to embrace
experience completely" (see SS-G: 119 and 273). 



The fact that Santideva sees the various Buddhist virtues as
mutually supportive may help to explain why he devotes so little
theoretical attention to resolving conflicts between different
Buddhist values. If they all work together and reinforce each other,
such conflicts would be merely theoretical and would have little
practical importance. 


### 3.2 From Metaphysics to Ethics



As Amod Lele has pointed out (Lele 2015,) there are at least four
significant passages in the *BCA* in which Santideva
attempts to draw normative conclusions from descriptive, philosophical
premises: that is, to argue from an account of how things actually are
to conclusions about how we should feel and how we should live. The
arguments identified by Lele are, first, that because our actions and
decisions arise from causes, we should practice patient endurance and
abandon the irrational emotion of anger (*BCA* VI.22-49);
second, that because there is no body over and above its parts, we
should abandon lust and change how we think about protecting the body
(*BCA* VIII.40-83); third, that because there is no
substantial self, we should care as much about others'
well-being as we do about the things we ourselves value (*BCA*
VIII.90-109); and finally, that because everything is empty, we
should let go of all forms of attachment (various passages in
*BCA* IX).



The first of these arguments is embedded in a passage now seen by many
scholars as the most sophisticated and well-developed discussion in
the entirety of premodern Indian literature of what we know today as
the problem of free will. The three verses that are perhaps most
crucial to this passage are:



> 
> 
> VI.25. Whatever transgressions (*aparadha*) and vile
> actions (*papa*) there are, all arise through the power of
> conditioning factors, while there is nothing that arises
> independently.
> 
> 
> 
> VI.31. In this way everything is dependent upon something else. Even
> that thing upon which each is dependent is not independent. Since,
> like a magical display, phenomena do not initiate activity, at what
> does one get angry like this?
> 
> 
> 
> VI.33. Therefore, even if one sees a friend or an enemy behaving
> badly, one can reflect that there are specific conditioning factors
> that determine this, and thereby remain happy. (translation slightly
> modified from C&S: 52-53)
> 
> 
> 



Though some main features of this argument are clear enough, there are
different ways to understand its conclusion. On one interpretation,
Santideva thinks that anger is always cognitively
inappropriate because he holds a version of what we call hard
determinism or hard incompatibilism (a view defended in Goodman 2002
and in ch. 8 of Goodman 2009). On this first reading,
Santideva thinks that an accurate understanding of how our
behavior is caused excludes the possibility of basic desert, in which
it would be morally fitting or appropriate to inflict hard treatment
on someone solely because of their past actions. The rejection of
basic desert, though, is still compatible with the idea that it could
sometimes be appropriate to criticize or punish someone in order to
bring about good consequences. (For a powerful and sophisticated
exposition of this kind of perspective, see Pereboom 2001.)



A second interpretation, advanced by Mark Siderits, attributes to
Santideva a special form of compatibilism known as
"Buddhist paleocompatibilism" (see, e.g., Siderits 2013).
Siderits holds that the hard incompatibilist position is incorrect
because it illegitimately moves back and forth between the
conventional and ultimate levels of truth. Though there is no agency
whatsoever at the ultimate level, a kind of free will could still be
possible in the context of conventional truth; and on this view,
conventional free will could still justify many of our practices of
assigning blame and responsibility.



The crux of the disagreement between the two interpretations concerns
verse VI.32:



> 
> 
> If it is argued that to resist anger is inappropriate, for "who
> is it that resists what?", our view is that it is appropriate:
> since there is dependent origination there can be cessation of
> suffering. (C&S: 53)
> 
> 
> 



On the paleocompatibilist reading, Santideva in this verse
takes back important elements of the view that he appears to present
in verses VI.22-31, shifting his position to retain elements of
autonomous agency as part of the worldview of a practicing
bodhisattva. On the hard incompatibilist reading, this verse responds
to an objection against Santideva's position without
abandoning or even qualifying the main argument. The claim that there
is no autonomy of the type that would generate basic desert, it can be
argued, is perfectly compatible with the claim that it would be better
for me to resist anger whenever it arises (see Goodman 
2016).



Among the numerous subsidiary arguments against the rationality of
anger presented in *BCA* VI, one is especially noteworthy.
Santideva holds that those who harm us are not autonomous,
and so not responsible, because they are under control of irrational
emotional reactions that overpower their ability to respond
appropriately, and instead cause them to engage in actions destructive
both to others and to themselves. So the most appropriate response to
others' transgressions is not to get angry at them, but to
arouse the aspiration to develop in ourselves the ability to set
others free from emotional reactivity and confusion. This argument
would be quite influential among later Buddhists. Thus Tsong kha pa
writes that 



> 
> 
> Although many reasonings are set forth in [the *BCA*], it is
> easy to be certain of this one, and it is a very powerful remedy for
> anger... so meditate repeatedly on this remedy. (GT:
> 161-62) 
> 
> 
> 



The second argument from metaphysics to ethics discussed by Lele draws
on Santideva's arguments that are intended to refute
the real existence of the body. These are not offered merely to
satisfy some form of pure intellectual curiosity; they are intended to
have important motivational effects. Many people are proud of their
bodies, and almost all adults have felt sexual attraction towards the
bodies of some other people. Both the pride and the attraction,
Santideva holds, can operate only when we ignore the
insubstantial nature and disgusting character of our own and
others' bodies (see, e.g., *BCA* VIII.30-70;
*SS* 231). Moreover, ordinary people understandably feel
intensely protective of their own bodies, and this attitude often
leads to morally questionable behavior. According to
Santideva, if we clearly understand what the body is, we can
transform our emotional relationship with it. This transformation
involves coming to see the body as "like a machine, a mechanical
construct of interconnected bones and muscles" (*SS*
231, SS-G: 225). Though it has no intrinsic value at all, the body is
instrumentally useful as a means to support spiritual practice and to
assist other sentient beings; as such, it makes sense to protect the
body as long as it can play a useful role. And when it can no longer
do so, it can still become food for carnivorous animals.



Considerable scholarly attention has recently focused on the third of
Santideva's arguments, from the absence of any self to
the rationality of altruism. This argument was already explored in an
insightful way by Luis Gomez in 1973, and became a major topic
of discussion largely as a result of the criticisms directed at it by
Paul Williams (see Williams 1998, Siderits 2000, and Williams 2000).
The argument continues to attract both critics and defenders (see
especially ch. 4, 6, and 8 of Cowherds 2016). 



Commentators have tended to analyze the passage in question as having
two major parts. The first part presents a simple, clear, inspiring,
and yet at the same time, profoundly radical and unsettling argument
for altruism:



> 
> 
> VIII.94. I should dispel the suffering of others because it is
> suffering like my own suffering. I should help others too because of
> their nature as beings, which is like my own being.
> 
> 
> 
> 95. When happiness is dear to me and others equally, what is so
> special about me that I strive after happiness only for myself?
> 
> 
> 
> 96. When fear and suffering are disliked by me and others equally,
> what is so special about me that I protect myself and not the other?
> (translation slightly altered from C&S: 96)
> 
> 
> 



This is a far more powerful argument than Mill's failed
"proof" of utilitarianism. In highlighting the fundamental
and undeniable similarity between ourselves and everyone else, it
calls us to broaden our concern and care without limit, and to
recognize the moral call of suffering and need, wherever they might be
found. It stands as a lasting challenge to all those who seek to limit
the scope or curtail the demands of morality. This argument was so
central to Santideva's intellectual and religious
project that he made it the very first of the root verses of the
*SS*.



Yet, it seems, there is a possible answer available to the argument of
*BCA* IX.94-96. I bear a special relation to my own
future self, one that I do not bear to others. This is the relation of
personal identity. Just as it is widely acknowledged that I have
especially strong reason to benefit my friends, family members,
students, or others to whom I bear special relations, the objection
goes, why should I not have an especially strong prudential reason to
benefit myself in the future, someone to whom I bear an even closer,
simpler, and more fundamental relation?



The second part of the passage answers this objection with a line of
reasoning now commonly known as the Ownerless Suffering Argument. This
argument draws on the reductionist metaphysics of the Buddhist
philosophical tradition known as the Abhidharma. Santideva
writes:



> 
> 
> IX.97. If I give them no protection because their suffering does not
> afflict me, why do I protect my body against future suffering when it
> does not afflict me?
> 
> 
> 
> 99. If you think it is for the person who has the pain to guard
> against it, a pain in the foot is not of the hand, so why is the one
> protected by the other?
> 
> 
> 
> 101. The continuum of consciousness, like a queue, and the combination
> of constituents, like an army, are not real. The person who
> experiences suffering does not exist. To whom will that suffering
> belong?
> 
> 
> 
> 102. Without exception, no sufferings belong to anyone. They must be
> warded off simply because they are suffering. Why is any limitation
> put on this? (see C&S: 96-97)
> 
> 
> 



In response to the objection that personal identity justifies special
concern, Santideva simply denies that there is a real
relation of personal identity. This denial is based on a long
philosophical tradition within Buddhism, stretching back to its
earliest days, of defenses and expositions of the doctrine of no self,
the most important and distinctive of all Buddhist teachings. But
Santideva employs that doctrine in what may well have been a
novel way. It is quite common for Buddhist texts to assert that if we
can realize experientially that there is no substantial self, this
realization will cause us to be more altruistic. What
Santideva argues here is that an intellectual understanding
of the absence of any self can give us reason to affirm altruism as
supremely rational and egoism as rationally untenable. In this
respect, Santideva anticipates the central argument of Derek
Parfit's celebrated book *Reasons and Persons* (Parfit
1984; see especially ch. 14-15).



The fourth argument from metaphysics to ethics analyzed by Lele relies
on the Madhyamaka view that, for Santideva, is the deepest
expression of the Buddha's message. This argument is in a way
much simpler than the previous ones: It makes no sense to be attached
to something that does not ultimately exist. But nothing at all exists
ultimately. So it makes no sense to be attached to anything. As
Santideva writes at *BCA* IX.150-51,



> 
> 
> When all things are empty in this way, what can be received, what
> taken away?
>   
> 
> Who can be honored or humiliated by whom?
>   
> 
> From what can there be happiness or misery, what can be liked and what
> loathed?
>   
> 
> What craving can there be? (C&S: 131; see Lele 2015: 32)
> 
> 
> 



This profound reasoning could nevertheless be questioned. Once we
understand that, as major Indian and Tibetan Madhyamika authors
are at pains to insist, being empty of intrinsic nature is compatible
both with existence and with the capacity to perform a function (see
Tsong kha pa, GT: ch. 14-15), is the argument still convincing?
Many Western scholars have had their doubts. Nevertheless, the view
that the ability to see the world of experience directly as empty will
lead to the extinction of attachment and suffering in the
practitioner's mind is a core commitment of Mahayana
Buddhism, and its truth or falsity is an empirical matter of the
psychology of meditation that does not depend on the cogency of
Santideva's reasoning on the topic.


### 3.3 Consequentialist Elements and Interpretations



Several scholars have advanced consequentialist interpretations of the
overall moral view expressed in Santideva's works (see
Siderits 2000; Clayton 2006: 112-18; Goodman 2008, 2009). One of
the best pieces of textual evidence in favor of such interpretations
occurs at *SS* 15, where Santideva writes in his
own voice:



> 
> 
> On this topic, for those who have taken the vow, a universal
> characteristic of downfalls will be stated, so that whenever they
> perceive anything that has that characteristic, they should abandon
> it, and so that they will not become confused by merely apparent
> downfalls, or things that merely appear not to be downfalls.
> 
> 
> 
> If a bodhisattva does not make a sincere, unwavering effort in
> thought, word, and deed to stop all the present and future pain and
> suffering of all sentient beings, and to bring about all present and
> future pleasure and happiness, or does not seek the collection of
> conditions for that, or does not strive to prevent what is opposed to
> that, or does not bring about small pain and suffering as a way of
> preventing great pain and suffering, or does not abandon a small
> benefit in order to accomplish a greater benefit, if he neglects to do
> these things even for a moment, he undergoes a downfall. (see SS-G:
> 17)
> 
> 
> 



The intention of this passage is to present a general account of what
constitutes a "downfall" (Sanskrit *apatti*).
The term *apatti* has as its primary meaning a violation
or breach of some morally significant commitment that an agent has
undertaken in the past. In this context, the commitment in question is
the bodhisattva vow, the aspiration to attain Awakening (Sanskrit
*bodhi*) for the benefit of all sentient beings. So
Santideva's goal in this passage is to give a general,
action-guiding characterization of what it would mean to violate the
bodhisattva vow.



In doing so, Santideva offers a formulation with several
striking similarities to a theory that has been hugely influential in
the history of Western ethical thought, a theory now normally called
"classical utilitarianism". As articulated by a number of
British writers in the nineteenth century, most notably Jeremy
Bentham, John Stuart Mill, and Henry Sidgwick, classical
utilitarianism holds that the criterion of right action is based on
the consequences of our actions for the happiness of sentient beings.
Mill once formulated this view as holding



> 
> 
> that actions are right in proportion as they tend to promote
> happiness; wrong as they tend to produce the reverse of happiness. By
> happiness is intended pleasure and the absence of pain; by
> unhappiness, pain and the privation of pleasure. (Mill 2001 [1861]:
> 7)
> 
> 
> 



In rationally evaluating different options on this basis, many
utilitarians claim that we should aggregate all the different
consequences of each action, weighting possibilities by the
probability they will occur, and then maximize, choosing the action
with the highest expected value for all those affected, counting
everyone equally. 



Similarly, for Santideva, we can evaluate our actions as
regards their compatibility with the bodhisattva vow by asking whether
they tend to relieve the suffering and promote the happiness of all
sentient beings. Moreover, where there is a choice between bringing
about a greater good or a lesser one, Santideva holds that
the bodhisattva vow requires us to maximize, sacrificing the lesser
good to achieve the greater one. And Santideva explicitly
commits himself to what many contemporary authors find to be an
objectionable feature of utilitarianism: namely, its demands on the
individual agent. Bodhisattvas are to devote all their time and all
their efforts to alleviating the suffering and promoting the happiness
of the world; to neglect this imperative "even for a
moment" is a moral failure for them.



If the quotation above from *SS* 15 really is an
exposition of utilitarianism, it may be the very earliest clearly
articulated statement of that view, preceding Jeremy Bentham by
approximately a thousand years. Santideva was not the first
consequentialist ethical theorist; that distinction may go to the
Chinese philosopher Mozi. Yet there is not a single passage in
Mozi's writings that comes nearly as close to a statement of a
mature form of utilitarianism as Santideva does in
*SS* 15. This passage constitutes a remarkable, and
long-neglected, intellectual achievement.



One concern that might be raised about the passage at *SS*
15 is that it is not quite as explicit as we would like about how to
make tradeoffs between two distinct others. So if *A* has to
choose whether to harm *B* in order to save *C* from some
greater harm, how should *A* make this choice? Such a situation
would seem to be an instance of "bring[ing] about small pain and
suffering as a way of preventing great pain and suffering"; yet
neither here nor anywhere else in his work does Santideva
explicitly describe a choice that has this exact form. What he does do
is consider tradeoffs between the wellbeing of the agent *A* and
of some other person *B*; and what he says about these tradeoffs
has an unambiguously consequentialist structure. This is especially
clear in the case of the famous verse on the gift of the body,
*BCA* V.87:



> 
> 
> Therefore one should not relinquish one's life for someone whose
> disposition to compassion is not as pure. But for someone whose
> disposition is comparable, one should relinquish it. That way, there
> is no overall loss. (C&S: 41-42; for discussion, see Ohnuma
> 2000, especially pp. 60-61)
> 
> 
> 



Here Santideva, who repeatedly advocates extreme and
frightening forms of self-sacrifice in contexts where such actions
would make things better, teaches that such self-sacrifice is not
required, and indeed, is not advisable, where it would fail to promote
the good. What is more, there is at least one context in which
Santideva argues that the bodhisattva is allowed to harm
other sentient beings in order to support her own spiritual practice.
This occurs in the discussion of meat-eating at *SS*
132-135. After quoting a passage that argues at length against
the consumption of meat, Santideva cites and endorses the
view of another source holding that "if it leads to a great
benefit, there is no problem" (SS-G: 130). This will be true
despite the harm done to the animal whose meat is eaten.



Numerous other passages in the *BCA* and the *SS*
can be, and have been, read as providing additional evidence for
consequentialism as a crucial commitment and, indeed, as a central
message of these texts. Several of these concern the issue of when it
is acceptable to infringe what would normally be binding rules of
Buddhist moral discipline. Several important Mahayana texts
that preceded Santideva, such as the *Sutra on
Skillful Means* (Tatz 1994) and Asanga's *Chapter
on Moral Discipline* (Tatz 1986), had explained that particular
rules and precepts of moral discipline in the Mahayana were
intended to be flexible, so that they could permissibly be broken
under certain special circumstances without generating any unfavorable
karmic consequences. Santideva appears to have reflected
carefully on these teachings, developed their implications and
explored their theoretical basis. His position on the flexibility of
the rules is stated in full generality at *BCA* V.84:
"Even what is proscribed is permitted for a compassionate person
who sees it will be of benefit" (C&S: 41). In various
passages scattered through the *SS*, Santideva
explains how this general perspective works as regards a number of
specific kinds of normally impermissible actions, such as theft
(*SS* 133), sexual misconduct (*SS*
166-67), and giving people alcohol and weapons (*SS*
271). In each case, Santideva's view is that when an
action that is usually harmful occurs under special circumstances that
will lead it to have good consequences, and when the agent has a
sufficiently pure compassionate motivation to benefit others, it is
permissible. Similar reasoning is found at *SS*
144-45, where Santideva examines the circumstances
under which *not* giving something away is the appropriate
choice for a bodhisattva; these are characterized in terms of the
undesirable consequences that would result from the gift. 



At *SS* 145-146, we find further evidence
reinforcing the consequentialist interpretation of
Santideva's ethics:



> 
> 
> As the bodhisattva Sarthavaha said in the *Sutra on
> Chanting the Dharma Together*, "Blessed One, when a
> bodhisattva longs for Awakening first of all for all sentient beings,
> not for himself ... this, Blessed One, is chanting the Dharma
> together."
> 
> 
> 
> It is only by giving things up that his own welfare is accomplished.
> Nevertheless, for fear of losing benefits for sentient beings, he does
> not place his own burden on unworthy sentient beings. But where no
> benefits to sentient beings will be lost, what difference does it make
> if the welfare of the world is promoted by him or by somebody
> else?
> 
> 
> 
> Suppose that he fails to discard what is wholesome of his own in order
> to bring about what is wholesome for other bodhisattvas. Well, if he
> fears the suffering of the lower realms for himself, what others fear
> is also suffering. If he is indifferent, thinking "That
> suffering has nothing to do with me", then as the sutras
> say, he undergoes a downfall. (SS-G: 141)
> 
> 
> 



According to this passage, bodhisattvas should focus their aspirations
on the Awakening of all sentient beings, and should even be prepared
to sacrifice their own virtues ("what is wholesome of his
own") to enable other practitioners to advance along their own
paths to spiritual maturity. The core argument for doing so, that
"what others fear is also suffering", recalls the
reasoning of *BCA* VIII.96. 



Probably the most important aspect of this rich and complex passage is
the rhetorical question it raises: "what difference does it make
if the welfare of the world is promoted by him or by somebody
else?" If we answer "no difference", as
Santideva seems to wish us to, then we may thereby be
committed to a strong form of what philosophers call
"agent-neutrality". In *Reasons and Persons*,
Parfit explains this concept as follows. If a normative theory gives
different agents different moral aims, then it is an agent-relative
theory. So, for example, many moral theories hold that parents have a
special obligation to take care of their own children; such views
would give each parent the aim that his or her own children flourish,
and these aims would differ from one person to the next. A theory is
agent-neutral in virtue of giving all agents the very same set of
moral aims. So a theory that told everyone to adopt the sole aim that
all children should flourish would be an agent-neutral theory.



Now a view that claims that it does not matter whether, say, Martha or
Vivek promotes the welfare of the world, but only how much the welfare
of the world is promoted, is an agent-neutral view, in that it gives
both Martha and Vivek the same, common aim: that all sentient beings
should enjoy the best lives possible. In terms of such a view, Martha
should, for example, abandon an opportunity to produce a small benefit
for others if she can, thereby, create the conditions for Vivek to
bring about a greater benefit for others. This kind of
agent-neutrality is a central element of most consequentialist views,
and plays a crucial role in generating many of their most frequently
discussed implications. So *SS* 145-46, and other
passages in the texts that are suggestive of agent-neutrality, provide
evidence in favor of reading Santideva as an early
consequentialist theorist. And even if we were to conclude that
Santideva's normative perspective is not a form of
consequentialism, if we also conclude that it is fully agent-neutral,
that will be enough to guarantee that it has much in common with many
Western consequentialist theories.


### 3.4 Non-Consequentialist Elements and Interpretations



While recognizing that Santideva's views have many
elements in common with consequentialism, and indeed, leaving open the
possibility that the consequentialist interpretation may be correct,
Gordon Davis has pointed out some potential worries for this form of
interpretation, as well as elements of Santideva's
thought that might be understood as more similar to a Kantian view
(Davis 2013). In particular, Davis points out that
Santideva's aspiration is to help all sentient beings
attain Buddhahood, at which time they would all have attained a kind
of equality. If Santideva assigns intrinsic value to
equality, then he must not be a utilitarian, although he might still
be some kind of consequentialist. Indeed, as Davis suggests, the idea
of a world in which everyone has abandoned wrongdoing and its
psychological causes in favor of the nonviolent community of equals
could be compared to Kant's Kingdom of Ends. 



Damien Keown's highly influential and important book *The
Nature of Buddhist Ethics* (2001) advanced an interpretation of
early Buddhism and of the Theravada tradition based on a
comparison with Aristotelian virtue ethics. Though Santideva
differs dramatically from Aristotle in many ways, there can be no
doubt that he is deeply concerned with the cultivation of character,
and that he is much more interested than at least some Western
utilitarians have been in the question of how we can become better
people. Thus, the possibility of important similarities between
Santideva's thought and theories within the domain of
virtue ethics should not be disregarded.



The most sophisticated critique of the consequentialist interpretation
of Santideva's ethics has been put forward by Stephen
Harris (in his 2015). Harris accepts that Santideva puts
impartial benevolence near the center of his normative perspective,
and that the primacy of this motivation constitutes a resemblance with
Western consequentialist views. He also agrees that
Santideva's views allow consequences to have some role
in providing reasons for action. But this second similarity is quite
weak, as most plausible ethical theories do regard consequences as
having some practical significance. Aside from these claims, Harris
questions whether we are in a position to ascribe any particular ethical
theory, either consequentialist or otherwise, to Santideva.
And he offers several reasons in support of his critique.



First, Santideva's book is not just a work of
philosophy; as all interpreters accept, it is also a meditation
manual. This means that Santideva's verses, even when
they appear to be providing reasons for accepting a certain claim, can
often be interpreted instead as providing us with instructions for a
particular meditative practice that is intended to bring about an
emotional shift in our consciousness. The statements that we entertain
as part of such a practice do not need to be asserted as true, as part
of a sober statement of philosophical tenets. We can wish for
impossible things to happen during the cultivation of altruism (as in
much of *BCA* X); and we can tell ourselves things that are
false, suspending disbelief during a meditation session, in order to
develop certain virtues. Since this is the case, we must be cautious
about holding that Santideva is actually making assertions
in any particular passage; instead, we should keep in mind that he may
only be giving meditation instructions. Of course, as Harris points
out, he might be doing both of these things at once; and if we can
show that this is what he is doing, the passages would be just as good
evidence for his ethical theory as they would be if they were not also
meditation instructions. 



A second reason Harris provides for doubting that we can know what
kind of ethical theory to attribute to Santideva rests on
the central role of the concept of *upaya* in
Mahayana Buddhism in general, and in
Santideva's writings in particular (see Harris 2015:
253). *Upaya*, a Sanskrit word often translated as
"skillful means" or "expedient means", refers
to an approach to teaching allegedly adopted by Buddhas and other
highly advanced spiritual teachers towards those who have not yet
reached the highest stages of their own spiritual paths. The idea is
that the Buddhas don't always tell such people the final truth;
instead, they tell them whatever they need to hear at the time,
including even falsehoods, if doing so will be the most effective way
to support their progress towards spiritual maturity. But since this
is the case, it may be difficult to know whether, in any given
passage, Santideva is expressing what he takes to be the
right view, or whether he is offering falsehoods that may nevertheless
be helpful to some readers, depending on their own level of meditative
practice and philosophical training. (For more on *upaya*,
see, e.g., Pye 1978 [2003], cited by Harris 2015, and Goodman 2011.)



Yet another reason for concern about whether we can know the
underlying theoretical structure of Santideva's
ethical thought results from what we could call (though Harris does
not) the Fortunate Coincidence Thesis. By this phrase, I mean the view
that our moral obligations and our prudential incentives always or
almost always coincide if rightly understood. A particularly clear and
striking form of the Fortunate Coincidence Thesis is expressed at
*BCA* VIII.129:



> 
> 
> All those who suffer in the world do so because of their desire for
> their own happiness. All those happy in the world are so because of
> their desire for the happiness of others. (C&S: 99; and see
> VII.42, and so on)
> 
> 
> 



If this is true, it is wonderful news for those of us who want to be
happy; but it may be a bit inconvenient for those of us who want to
classify Buddhist ethical views. This is because the Fortunate
Coincidence Thesis makes it difficult or impossible to pull apart the
justificatory role of self-interest from that of what we owe to
others. If these two perspectives give us the same answers across a
wide range of cases, how can we tell which of them would take primacy,
if they were to conflict? So as Harris points out, even what seem to
us to be very demanding and lofty exhortations in Buddhist texts to
practice extreme altruism might, in light of the Fortunate Coincidence
Thesis, be justified at the foundational level by a eudaimonistic
virtue ethics, or even by a form of rational egoism.



Obviously, a theory that is egoist at its foundations is in severe
tension with the Ownerless Suffering Argument; and though it may be
less obvious, there is an equally strong tension between that argument
and a view that tells me to prioritize my own virtue over the
cultivation of virtue in others. Harris does not think that this
consideration is decisive, however, since he regards the Ownerless
Suffering Argument as itself a mere *upaya*. It must be an
*upaya*, Harris says, since it relies on the Abhidharma
understanding of the doctrine of no self, whereas
Santideva's actual view belongs to a very different
form of Buddhist philosophy, the Madhyamaka. It would follow that we
cannot use the Ownerless Suffering Argument to ascertain what kind of
ethical theory, if any, Santideva would actually be prepared
to defend as a final account of what reasons we have. 



In summary, though all participants in the discussion now seem to
acknowledge that there are at least some important similarities
between Santideva's views and the theories of Western
consequentialist ethicists, scholarly controversy continues about
exactly how close these similarities are, and about how far the
available textual evidence legitimately allows us to go in attributing
to Santideva any particular views about the foundations of
ethics.


## 4. Conclusion



The *BCA* and the *SS* contain some of the best
poetry and some of the most accessible and powerful teachings on
no-self and emptiness that the Indian Buddhist tradition ever
produced. In several ways, these texts are unique. No other premodern
text contains such interesting general reflections about how Buddhist
teachings on how to live relate to each other and form a coherent
whole. The Ownerless Suffering Argument has no exact parallel
elsewhere in Indian literature. No other Indian text grappled with the
problem of free will as carefully and as seriously as the
*BCA*. And few, if any, Buddhist writers have ever been as
skilled as Santideva at evoking a remarkable range of
emotions in the reader. To advance his spiritual goals, he crafted
passages that are remarkably effective, even today, at arousing
disgust, fear, remorse, determination, altruism, generosity,
lovingkindness, and compassion. For anyone who wishes to understand
the philosophical teachings and spiritual aspirations of the mature
Indian Mahayana Buddhist tradition, and to appreciate why
these teachings were convincing and these aspirations compelling to
many premodern Indians and Tibetans, there is no better source than
the works of Santideva.