Why Buddhists don’t kill cockroaches

Some people think that Buddhists do not kill cockroaches because — for us who believe in countless rebirths —, every being has been our mother many times over, throughout several past lives. That one mother who has cared for us so well so many times has now fallen into a difficult situation—reborn as a disgusting insect. However, while this is true, it is not exactly because all beings have been our relatives that we protect their lives—thinking this way can only help sharpen our compassion if it is dormant. The fact is that any being—even a cockroach—can be a source of infinite joy and even great wisdom, provided we are willing to face reality, let go of deeply ingrained absurd beliefs, and become accustomed to the mind’s natural receptivity.

The most essential meaning of ethics in Buddhism is to avoid harming others. Evidently, “not harming” may, at first, seem subjective, value-laden—even a personal idea of what it means to cause harm. However, Buddhism has a decisive foundation on what suffering means and what it is to “cause suffering.”

Buddhism describes two levels of suffering: one that ranges from simple pain or discomfort to the deepest conventional despair, and another that is simply called “all-pervasive suffering,” the fact that our experience as temporary beings has no “solution,” and we are all headed toward decay and death. More than that, for Buddhism, after we die, we will encounter the same sufferings occurring over and over, life after life. Rebirth does not seem like an advantage. The second type of suffering, therefore, includes this broader, existential notion. A suffering that not only includes death but also birth—at least “conditioned birth”: that is, birth as a being captive to the prerogatives of afflictive emotions, which form the superstructure shaping samsara, this meaningless cycle of rebirths. This all-pervasive suffering also points to the fact that no possible life, in this context, is “free” from suffering.

Buddhist view and practice aim to eliminate both types of suffering, what can be called temporary sufferings and the more fundamental or omnipresent suffering. Our vow as practitioners is not only to completely extinguish both types of suffering for ourselves but for all other beings.

In the temporary, conventional sense, we tend to have many attachments, and we suffer from each of them. The strongest attachment we feel is to our own body and the extensions of our body in the form of family, or even those who simply resemble us more, or who happen to be closer, or even those who are presently within our field of vision and attention. We suffer more when someone cuts our child’s finger than when someone cuts the finger of a stranger in Iraq. We suffer more when we see the finger being cut than when we hear a distant story in time and space about a finger having been cut one day.

Of course, all attachment is the result of ignorance—since we believe our child’s finger is permanent, when the impermanence of the finger, or the entire child, manifests, and that surprises us. This shock of recognizing this as a possibility is an additional suffering beyond the simple fact that our child was mutilated or died. From this, we usually look for someone to blame, and we find it natural that the sufferings of some affect us more than the sufferings of others, and so on.

And here we have the concept of “compassion.” Compassion means recognizing suffering as it presents itself, with a certain equanimity—that is, without judging and placing the sufferer or the suffering in a position closer or farther away. For example, we who are adults may be a little upset if our newly acquired ice cream falls on the sidewalk, but we will hardly burst into tears over it (unless our entire week has been really difficult, and this is the last straw... who knows?)—but a child easily cries out loud over such a trivial mishap.

In a certain sense, the way we deal with a child crying over a “silly” suffering has a lot to do with how we deal with all conventional sufferings of beings. At the same time that we understand that suffering from the child’s perspective, we console them and may even buy them another ice cream (undoubtedly warning them to be more careful this time). It is also possible that we reflect cynically, thinking about cancer or Donald Trump, “this child has no idea what awaits them.” They do not know what life is, they are innocent...

All this is still mundane compassion or empathy, quite tainted by our arbitrary perceptions, and by the fact that, even if we are discerning and careful but are without Dharma, we do not really can see a solution. To transform this into Buddhist compassion, it is necessary to add the element of recognizing suffering in the broader sense—and more than that, to completely eliminate the cynical view that suffering is a necessary reality. These two characteristics—the deeper sense of suffering and the notion that suffering can be completely overcome—must be present. The meaning of taking refuge in the Buddha is believing that it is possible to completely overcome both types of suffering. If a person does not recognize both types (and their difference), and does not recognize that they are not necessary—and that they can be completely overcome—that person effectively does not recognize the Four Noble Truths and cannot be said to be fully able to practice what Buddhism teaches. The entirety of Buddhism is nothing more than a training of the mind in terms of this recognition.

For most of us still perfecting our refuge—trying to be Buddhist practitioners—it is necessary not only to refine the understanding of suffering but also of the causes of suffering, and to recognize that precisely because suffering—even the broader suffering that pervades everything—has causes, these causes can be eliminated. It is pure logic: if something truly existed independently, without causes, then suffering could well be one of those things, and it would have no solution. However, it is quite difficult (from the Buddhist perspective, impossible) to find anything in this world that has no causes. When we come to the conclusion that things without causes are impossible, we can rejoice in the fact that suffering is one of those things with a cause and, therefore, it is not necessary.

This is one of the most crucial and least understood points in integrating Buddhist teachings with modernity. Sometimes, a version of Buddhism is emphasized where suffering is inescapable—after all, Buddhism teaches that we must thoroughly understand suffering, and how it truly permeates everything, even the “best” things in the world. However, it is forgotten to teach that this thing we carefully examine is not natural, is not something that exists without causes on its own; and that, although it seems necessary, this is not actually the case. It is our present reality because we sustain these causes, because we believe in certain absurd things, and operate habitually based on these beliefs—but none of this has to be so. If it were not possible to completely eliminate suffering, it would be absurd to add this thing called “Buddhism” just to make us even more upset with reality! The practice comes from the idea that it is indeed possible to completely overcome suffering; however, it is first important to see where it is, what it is, and how it is far more pervasive in all things than we usually think. Otherwise, we will remain alienated, seeking the causes of certain sufferings as if they were happiness. And in this case, suffering truly has no solution.

If we strive to continue suffering, looking for happiness where there is no happiness, evidently we will continue producing causes of suffering, whether we are aware of it or not. From the perspective of the causes of suffering, within samsara’s logic, samsara has no solution whatsoever.

Not only does suffering in general have a cause, but each form of suffering also has a particular cause. According to Buddhism, the most essential cause of conventional suffering is the fact that we ourselves have caused suffering to other beings. This does not absolve someone of being the apparent cause of our current suffering; it simply means that our position as victims, and the vulnerabilities we experience, are primarily due to our own past actions. More than being a cause, this “negative” agent at this moment is a catalyst for the fragilities we have created through our own past actions. If we did not have these vulnerabilities, they would not be able to affect us, or we would not find ourselves in circumstances where they could. They are a secondary cause, not the primary one—which is quite the opposite of how we usually perceive things.

This is where Buddhism does not take a narrow view that today’s victims are somehow to blame: in the grand scheme of things, spanning trillions of lives, we are all equally victims and culprits. From a Buddhist perspective, the purpose of legally condemning someone and restricting their freedom should not be revenge or plain punishment, but primarily to protect others from similar actions and, if possible, provide an opportunity for repentance and reform.

Desiring or rejoicing in the suffering of someone who has caused suffering, according to Buddhism, only generates more suffering for oneself—and does nothing for the person who caused the harm. However, in our culture, we increasingly foster the idea that the other is a terrible being who “deserves” all the suffering in the world simply because they have caused some temporary suffering to someone—no matter how acute and terrible that suffering may seem. From a Buddhist perspective, that person will inevitably suffer due to having caused suffering, and this should not be a cause for anyone’s rejoicing. The fact that they inflict suffering on others is extremely unfortunate and, therefore, an even greater reason for compassion.

A Buddhist who is vengeful, who wishes harm upon an aggressor, or who rejoices in their suffering, is ignorant of their own tradition, of what is beneficial for themselves, and of what aligns with reality. In fact, even Christianity preaches something similar, yet current culture seems to disregard this entirely.

If a Buddhist has compassion for the victim, they have even greater compassion for the perpetrator of the negative action. One being is suffering now; the other will suffer later. The one already experiencing suffering is, in a certain sense, at an advantage—at least they may be concluding that type of experience. The other does not have this chance.

In a profound sense, there are no “separate” beings—this is fundamental ignorance. The fact that the severed finger of an Iraqi hurts us less than the severed finger of a Brazilian, or an acquaintance, or our own child, or even our own finger, is not due to anything true. It is not a characteristic of things “as they are”; rather, it is due to our ignorance—that is, our cognitive habits that project this apparent separation. When we see someone rejoicing in the suffering of the innocent, we think, “Wow, that person is a monster,” and the vast majority of people would agree—rejoicing in the suffering of an innocent person is abhorrent. However, when we see someone rejoicing in the suffering of a “guilty” person, we might encounter others saying, “Those who don’t believe in human rights are truly vile.”

Now, we may indeed classify also the one who rejoices as “rabble” or “white trash” or something similar, and they too become an object of compassion, along with those who condemn them.

If a person is very kind-hearted, they will feel compassion for those who lack compassion and think, “Wow, these people are uneducated; they never had the opportunity to think differently.” Indeed, one who is closer to the reality that the separation between beings is artificial is a person full of merit—a being closer to “nobility of spirit.” Those who strongly believe in enemies and the separation of beings become the primary object of compassion. This is the being who is furthest from understanding the causes and conditions of suffering and, therefore, from being able to avoid it.

In the end, everyone is an object of compassion—victims, aggressors, judges, and the condemned alike.

This is how bodhisattvas view beings who perceive distinctions between near and far, similar and different—they feel compassion for these unsophisticated, immature beings. Bodhisattvas even have compassion for Buddhists who, still trapped in various degrees of selfishness, require devices such as thinking in terms of countless lives and mothers, as well as extensions of selfishness in the form of “all are part of me” — merely to generate some compassion. In non-duality, compassion and wisdom—the vision of things as they truly are—transcend subject and object, and all attempts to attain happiness, whether sophisticated or utterly misguided, are recognized with compassion through wisdom.

Bodhisattvas recognize that this lack of vision is part of the suffering that permeates all existence. They feel compassion for those who do not recognize the true causes of suffering, and more than that, for those who do not recognize that suffering has causes. These are the objects of compassion for Buddhas and bodhisattvas: beings who have enemies, who separate beings, and who do not understand the causes of suffering, thus engaging in actions that bring suffering to themselves and to others. Or those who rejoice in the suffering of others, whether “victims” or “perpetrators.”

Among the negative actions that cause suffering to others, the most negative of all is taking a life. This is because even the most ignorant of sentient beings has at least some remnant of compassion, which—however small—manifests as attachment to at least their own body.

Even bacteria process what they encounter as food and try to avoid toxins.

Of course, one might object that a suicidal person, for example, does not have this kind of attachment. However, in reality, what a suicidal person has is an attachment to a concept they impute upon themselves, which becomes greater than their attachment to their own body. Thus, they believe, according to the predominant materialist view, that destroying the body will make suffering disappear along with it. In the Buddhist view, this is not so, and this attachment to an imputed concept of “self”—a mere belief—will die along with the body, while suffering will persist in the form of attachment to a self as a habit, which will be reborn in far worse conditions, unfortunately, due to committing such a negative action. And suffering is not only for the person who commits suicide in their future unfortunate rebirths over multiple lives, but also for all those they affected with their act.

So, this is yet another example of a being who, not knowing the causes of the end of suffering, ends up creating even more suffering with their actions.

Some may interpret this as condemnation of suicide, but that is because we have this habit of condemnation. This is meant to evoke compassion, just as you would feel compassion for the children who once played with radioactive material in Goiânia. They were doing something they did not realize would have such a profound impact. No one would think of them as guilty (the legal culpability lay with those who disposed of a radiotherapy device in a landfill)—but we recognize the magnitude of the tragedy in a way they never could have imagined. It is the same with the suicidal person; they certainly do not know that they are causing much more suffering. And this is how, generally, though not always to such an extreme degree, most people seek the end of suffering or happiness through things that cannot provide them.

In general, even beings that do not exhibit attachment to concepts such as “I” and other erroneous beliefs like materialism, such as animals, still have a strong habit of self, which manifests in the protection of their own body and life. In other words, no being desires to suffer. (Another common objection that arises when discussing this is that of the masochist. However, similarly to the example of the suicidal person given above, the masochist is also simply seeking happiness in the wrong place, in the wrong way. As most beings do, Buddhism acknowledges this.)

Every being, like us, seeks to avoid suffering. However, some beings are difficult to look upon positively.

Their very manifestation unsettles and disgusts us.

If we can conceive of their happiness, we hardly desire it. We would rather not even see them.

Unless you are a researcher studying cockroach behavior, it is difficult not to feel disgust toward them. However, if you speak with researchers who work with them, you will see that their close contact has generally changed their perspective. These people may still feel some revulsion, but they undoubtedly also find admiration, and may even begin to like their subjects of study. This is completely natural. If we get closer to beings, they reveal themselves as objects of sympathy and practice—even the worst of them.

In other words, it is possible to get used to even cockroaches. Even non-Buddhists, non-practitioners, people who are not deliberately trying to do so, can become “friends” with these abhorrent creatures.

However, for most of us, merely spotting one of these insects is enough to lose control of our minds. If it able to fly: instant shock! Only Buddha can help us!

Some succumb to irrational fear and disgust, while others become hunters, reaching for the nearest slipper in sight.

For the practitioner, however, encountering the curious experience of allowing the cockroach to penetrate the Buddha-nature within our heart may be the beginning of a profound practice. A field of merit opens up. We can begin to think about taking care of them as if they were our mothers!

First of all, it is important to make clear that Buddhists should be practical people. If the health authorities require that your restaurant must eliminate pests, you do not have much choice but to follow the law—and then pray extensively for the animals. The same applies to dewormers that you and your pets may need to take. (And antibiotics—even though the sentience status of bacteria and other beings without a nervous system is highly questionable.) It is impossible to live in this world without killing some beings from time to time: the idea here is to kill the least possible, always with the awareness that we are not separate, and never out of disgust, anger, or fear. If necessary, to save other lives or enable our practice, we must carefully weigh our impacts and act as needed.

However, from personal experience, I know that if the infestation is not truly massive, it is possible to remove up to about 100 cockroaches from a residence and eliminate the infestation with minimal collateral damage. (Some cockroaches will inevitably end up being killed or injured during capture.) It just requires patience, some traps, and access to a green area far from human dwellings where they can be released. It may be somewhat labor-intensive, but it can be approached as a spiritual practice. And, like researchers, you might even find yourself with less fear or disgust toward cockroaches—personally, this was also my experience.

Perhaps they even have something to teach us.

One time, several years ago, I was invited to speak at a spiritualist center from a European somewhat orientalist tradition, about a hundred years old, which I prefer not to name. They asked the Buddhist center where I practiced to send someone to speak about Buddhism, and in the absence of a qualified person, they ended up sending me.

The meeting had about twenty people, and my plan was to speak generally about ethics, cultivation, and fruition—but we never got past the first precept, which states that killing is an unwholesome act. The person in charge of that branch of the supposedly spiritual organization, respectful and interested in the Buddha’s teaching, felt entirely justified in killing insects. After all, she was a human being and therefore naturally superior to these lower forms. Perhaps, by killing, she was even doing the cockroach a favor, sending it to another rebirth. Nothing could be worse than being a cockroach, right? (The Buddhist answer, in case you don’t know, is that there are indeed many, many rebirths far worse than that of a cockroach! And unless we have profound clarvoiance, we cannot know where a particular being will be reborn.)

This is our non-spiritual, uncivilized, conventional view. We don’t care about the feelings of the cockroach, and we find it laughable to even consider them. The extrapolation of this is the uncontrolled exploitation of the environment, as well as even the promotion of the largest genocides of the 20th century.

Once we open the door to disregarding and eliminating the “inferior,” it is only a few steps away from considering other human beings as inferior. Nazi propaganda, in fact, repeatedly portrayed Jews as a plague to be eradicated. And it was not merely for practical reasons that they used gas for their extermination. A carefully cultivated public perception had transformed the Jew, the idea of the Jew — as in the Men Against Fire episode of Black Mirror—, into a disgusting insect to be exterminated.

The conventional response to this is to say that the life of a human being, of any kind, is not the life of an insect. And it is evident that comparing any human being to an insect is something Kafkaesque, absurd, abominable. Even in the Dharma’s perspective, it is clear that we may even kill a mammal—say, a tiger—to preserve a human life, and in that case, it is a virtuous action—to protect a life. If an insect—or an infestation—is directly threatening the life of another animal or a human being, it is compassionate to kill. However, if we can avoid killing—if we have access to a tranquilizer gun, for example, or the possibility of capturing and releasing it in a neutral space—and if the situation is not too urgent, it is meritorious to preserve any life, no matter how small. “Meritorious” means that this is a true cause of happiness for the one who saves a life, and a particularly favorable cause for making the practice of the Dharma easier in all aspects.

The reason why one life here is worth more than another is the kind of benefit that life can bring. The life of a parasite does not allow much else other than harming the host. So, in that case, it is appropriate to kill out of compassion. Normally, human beings are capable of virtue and even of eventually engaging in systematic training to make virtue more natural—such as the systematic practice of a religion or a positive philosophical system—and beyond that, they may come to recognize the nature of things and rest in that understanding, bringing immense benefit to others through their example. Thus, generally speaking, a human life is worth more than other lives—but that does not mean that just because I dislike a cockroach that is not doing anything to me at that moment, I have the right and moral authority to eliminate it.

In fact, doing so is seeking the end of suffering (displeasure with the cockroach’s appearance) through a cause (killing) that will not produce happiness. In reality, what killing the cockroach does is reinforce our problem with cockroaches. It turns it into an increasingly strong and deep-seated habit, to the point that even advertisers might come, switch the object, and use our disgust to commit genocide. Banality of evil? It starts with finding it normal to kill insects.

The fact is that there are human beings who do not mind killing dozens of oysters for a meal or even dozens of mammals to make a coat, sell it, and buy a video game. The lives of other beings may not equate to a human life, but they are probably worth more than a few coins or some moments of “fun.”

From the perspective that there is no real separation between beings, we truly need to talk about speciesism. This arrogance is not only harmful to the world but also to the mind itself, particularly if one considers themselves to be on a spiritual path.

While pets are defended, and farm animals and animals valuable to industries are also the target of protective activism, the only insect that garners any human goodwill is the bee. Occasionally, insects are considered biological agents, elements of environmental engineering. However, this utilitarian perspective is also not exactly the dharma’s view.

Yet, we interact directly with insects all the time!

We know that they feel pain, we know that they even exhibit behavior and personality (there is research in this area—each cockroach is an individual, not a general cloned being that always acts the same way).

Within the fact that suffering permeates everything (even if it is not natural, has a cause, etc.), lies the reality that almost everything we eat involves death, and this is not limited to the meat of animals. When fields are flooded for rice cultivation—even if pesticides are not used—countless insects are drowned. This does not serve as an excuse for “then it’s okay to eat meat, since there is no way out,” nor does it serve as an excuse for “well, since everything has an implication of suffering behind it, better to forget and have a beer and relax.”

The acute awareness of the impact of everything we consume—from insects, through the exploitation of workers, the not-always-ethical dealings of transporters and sellers, up to our mouths or our usage—is essential. It is part of that crucial point concerning “understanding suffering,” recognizing how vast it is, where it infiltrates, and how it is inescapable within what we can call “its own rules.”

However, even within this limited perspective, it is clear that wherever we can reduce the impact, it is better to do so. The practice at this level is harm reduction.

In particular, we should not arrogantly consider ourselves the apex, the irrevocable beneficiaries of all the immense pile of suffering—which we barely recognize and which is actively hidden from us by a vast industry and a carefully designed ideology. It is necessary to break through this indoctrination and conventional vision, focus keenly on this recognition, and understand the responsibility that is spiritual practice. We practice to liberate all these beings who gave their lives for our sustenance, so that their lives have not been in vain and meaningless. We must transform this acute perception into a sense of urgency for our practice. This is one of the reasons to look keenly at the world’s suffering.

This is the spiritual perspective: the Buddha is that nature—present in all beings—which, when revealed, is the expression of the merits of all beings, as if condensed into a single point. He is, in a sense, the humble servant of all beings. However, not in the sense that he obeys the impulses of all these beings or fulfills their desires, but in the sense that he—our own most essential nature—is the result of the total purification of these activities of killing, eating, reproducing, being born, and dying. If we alienate ourselves from the Buddha’s perspective, this cycle continues indefinitely, with the two types of suffering throbbing explicitly, sometimes appearing acutely and transiently, and at other times burying us completely, leaving us overwhelmed with no chance of knowing what happened.

When we find ourselves buried in our final moments, reflecting on how our lives were random and wasted, what falls upon us are these immense, invaluable resources that we did not appreciate. All these friendly beings we did not look at with the dharma eye, whom we did not direct toward the ultimate meaning, and we did so only because we looked at them as one conventionally looks at cockroaches.

They are the great weight and the reason for despair—all those we harmed, ignored, or acted indifferently toward—and even those we benefited without any deep vision.

All these beings arise to “torture” us with the perspective in which suffering is inescapable, as they lead us precisely to the conventional view we project onto them. They are not the torturers, but rather our repeated actions of indifference, aversion, and greed perpetrated against them.

Right now, we can already glimpse this in our seasonal depressions and daily sadnesses, or when the death of someone close temporarily reminds us of the seriousness of things, or when the world itself seems to be going so wrong that nothing good seems to await us—not just as individuals or a country, but as a species. This endless quagmire, and the fortune-cookie philosophies with which we try to justify and suppress it, this is what we call “samsara.”

Samsara has no solution. The logic of samsara is inherently flawed. Even so, our habit and cowardice make us defend petty and conventional views and justifications.

All this conventional suffering must first gain the sophistication of understanding omnipresent suffering, intrinsic to all things. We do not need to look far; a single cockroach can clearly lead us to this, if we pay attention. If we look with the eye of compassion, recognizing the life and tribulations of a cockroach is the Buddha himself coming to give a teaching. It appears, scurries around thinking it’s clever, seeks sex, eats garbage, resists a few blows, and finally, inevitably, becomes food itself. Kafka is deeper than he seems. Every being ceaselessly and directly points to the three realities: conventional suffering, omnipresent suffering, and the fact that all suffering has causes. From there, eliminating the cause and seeking a path to it becomes the only obvious thing to do. The cockroach may not lead you to Buddhist studies and practices—but if you are already engaged in Buddhist studies and practices, the cockroach can reveal the meaning of these texts. It is also the guru.

Once we are willing to recognize this, and we have the ability to read this or that, the capacity and willingness to follow and listen to a teacher, and we are open to systematic training, we are capable of living according to values that a cockroach—or most people—cannot conceive. There is a difference, and only that difference can help us make sense of the life of every being in the world, every “cockroach” we have ever encountered, or even those that have existed and will come to exist. This knowledge illuminates the entire sphere of experience, leaving not a single corner in darkness.

This is our responsibility. The other option is to avoid looking at suffering in its deepest sense, and the causes of various sufferings. Until we are run over, again and again. Or get slapped with a slipper, time after time, and live in fear of the light. The fact that we will receive slaps for this or that is inexorable, but the fact that we can make sense of our experience, and that of others, depends on us taking the reins and training the mind. The cockroach reveals all the qualities of the path: to know one being is to liberate all.

At this moment, while we waver between thinking Buddhism is just another beautiful thing someone taught, something with exotic ideas about not killing cockroaches, and we cannot fully understand it, we can try to rest the mind on the qualities of the Buddha. The Buddha sees things as they truly are, without separation, and thus his compassion is infinite. “Buddha” means seeing things this way, it does not mean “a person who saw this once in history.” If we have a moment of joy in the brief doubt that this is possible, the Buddhist path also becomes possible.

This is not a path free of cockroaches, but it is free of meanness, partiality, fear, and disgust. It is a path free of arrogance. It is a joyful path. More than joyful. In it, even preserving the life of a small insect proves more pleasurable than satisfying a million selfish desires.

This text by Padma Dorje is from August 2017.

◦ A Plea for the Animals: The Moral, Philosophical, and Evolutionary Imperative to Treat All Beings with Compassion, book by Matthieu Ricard em amazon.com

livescience

Do Animals Know Right from Wrong? New Clues Point to 'Yes'

In a famous YouTube video, Tank the dog sure does look guilty when his owner comes home to find trash scattered everywhere, and the trash can lid incriminatingly stuck on Tank's head. But does the dog really know he misbehaved, or is he just trying to look submissive because his owner is yelling at him?

animal rights, animal ethics

tzal.org

The Chokgyur Lingpa Terma Cycle

Orgyen Tobgyal Rinpoche details the uniqueness and power of the great treasure revealer Chogyur Lingpa.

Chokgyur Lingpa, Chokling, Orgyen Tobgyal Rinpoche, Terma

tzal.org

Sogyal Rinpoche and the Crazy Wisdom Tradition

Four ways of dealing with Rinpoche's scandals.

Sogyal Rinpoche

telegraph

Animals can tell right from wrong

Animals possess a sense of morality that allows them to tell the difference between right and wrong, according to a controversial new book.

animal ethics, animal rights, specism