Buddhism and Veganism

by Will Tuttle

  Dharma Voices for Animals encourages Buddhists, and those open to the message of the Buddha, to talk about and reflect on how animals go from living beings to the food on our plates. This reflection and understanding has led countless Buddhists to turn away from eating animals to far more healthy, sustainable, and respectful plant-based ways of living.

  One Man’s Commitment to a Revolution of the Spirit

  ARIEL NESSEL

  Over three decades ago, at age twelve, I was walking on the Venice Beach Boardwalk while on vacation with my family. A man had set up a booth of sorts along the boardwalk showing in graphic detail how “food animals” are caged and confined, separated from their families, physically abused and eventually slaughtered. I carefully read most of the literature at his table. About thirty minutes later, I went on with my carefree vacation and my merry life, seemingly unaffected.

  Fast forward to eleven years later. I’m now 23 and living in California, walking down that same stretch of beach. Looking about a hundred feet ahead, in the same location, I see the same guy in the same booth! I didn’t need to approach the booth because in that moment, everything I saw a decade earlier suddenly hit me.

  I realized that, by the choices I was currently making, I was perpetuating the horrors I had read about with such great interest as a pre-teen. There was a choice I could make in that moment. I could continue with my current ways, eyes now wide open to the consequences – or – I could stop contributing to these horrors and the suffering endured by animals. It didn’t really feel like a choice, though, but more like the universe had finally made me receptive to acknowledging the laws of cause and effect.

  At first the insight was mainly about my food choices. I immediately stopped eating land animals and, over the next five years, gradually eliminated the secretions of land animals and the bodies of sea animals from my diet. I found as I began to further pull on the threads of this unjust and wicked system, it became hard to ignore how interconnected food is with culture, and culture is with ignorance, and ignorance is with dukkha (suffering).

  That day was the beginning of a new awareness. By some great fortune, I was able to recognize the connection between cause and effect and I started to appreciate how every choice I made had an impact. It was the realization that my choices always matter, and in whatever I do, there will be always ripples.

  The experience of that fateful day led me on a long journey that continues today. The journey is an inquiry into my interconnection with all of life, and a longing to use the precious time I have in this human body to embody qualities I now know as wisdom and compassion.

  This new path I was on, which some might call a path of ahimsa, was pulling me to question my unexamined assumptions about what constitutes success in life. If three times each day I was unwittingly contributing to some of the worst abuses imaginable, what else was I involved with that was also antithetical to my deeply-held values? Where else was I sleepwalking through life? If something so blatantly obvious had been imperceptible to me, what would it take for me to adjust my awareness so that the familiar could be seen with new eyes? What would it take to have vision less conditioned and blinded by culture, upbringing, and selfishness?

  As I tried to answer these questions, the insights from that day on the boardwalk became more embodied and integral to my being. It became clear to me that getting what I wanted was not going to actually get me what I really wanted – happiness. I could see myself two decades hence, at the pinnacle of worldly success and achieving the American dream, yet still wondering “is this all there really is?”

  Not knowing what options and alternatives existed, I began my own spiritual quest. Up to that point I was highly atheistic and skeptical of organized religion, which I saw as its own form of delusion. I had always been a bit rebellious (which worked well in my transition to becoming vegan). This, combined with a chip on my shoulder, disinclined me from traditions that demanded a form of faith that trusted the insights and experiences of others. Also, if any spiritual practice was worth its salt, it would have a strong moral framework that honored the lives of more than one-one millionth of the species on this planet.

  After reading books about various prophets, gurus, spiritual practices and religions, however, I felt no closer to an answer. Most of the people I read about were dead and their teachings were not accessible to me except through books. However, one day in 1998 I somehow came across a Zen Buddhist temple in Hamtramck, Michigan (I had recently moved back to Michigan earlier that year). I read a bit about a guy named Buddha and went to check the Buddhists out.

  Early on a cold winter Sunday, my girlfriend and I went to visit their weekly public gathering. When we got there, we followed everyone else and proceeded to sit on a round pillow on the floor. Then suddenly a bell was rung, and everyone went completely quiet. It all seemed strange. I looked around the room for what seemed like an eternity, seeing all these people just doing nothing. Always used to doing something, I felt a heightened sense of discomfort. The bizarreness was amplified by several folks there with shaved heads dressed in grey robes. Then, abruptly, the guy at the front rang the bell again. Now everyone began chanting unfamiliar words, mostly in an unfamiliar language, in a weird cadence, in a most unmelodious way. Finally, they stopped. The fellow at the front then proceeded to give what I now know to be a dharma talk.

  None of this had much of an impact on me. However, after it was all done, I took one long last look around the room as we departed. I saw a certain lightness in these people. Their faces somehow seemed softer, their smiles brighter, their demeanor more at ease. I distinctly remember saying to my girlfriend, “I don’t know what those people were doing in there. However, if doing it gets them that sort of result, then I am willing to try it.” Twenty years later, I am still trying it!

  For many people, a deepening Buddhist practice leads to a gradual expansion of their moral circle. Eventually that leads to the inclusion of the animals they mostly know as breakfast, lunch and dinner, until one day they are unable to eat beings they now recognize to be sentient and worthy of kindness. For me, it worked in the opposite order. The suffering of others, and my longing to reduce their suffering, led me on my spiritual journey. However, either one without the other would be insufficient.

  Over the years I have attempted to integrate the wing of compassion with the wing of wisdom to create a revolution within my own heart. At first it seemed more like the two were completely separate endeavors. I would meditate daily and go on silent retreats multiple times each year. Simultaneously, I dutifully advocated for farm animals, passing out leaflets about the horrors of animal agriculture and participating in various protests (even donning costumes when helpful). I also began a personal practice of “earn to give,” seeking to use my skills in the business world to provide financial resources to the farm animal advocacy movement. In time, I saw the transformative power of compassionate action, not just for those being harmed and society at large, but for me, the activist. Wanting to support, empower and encourage a movement away from apathy and towards engagement, I co-founded The Pollination Project.

  Over time, however, I felt like I was bifurcating my essential nature into two distinct people, Ari the activist and Ari the spiritual practitioner. This approach was oddly amplified by the sanghas I had been exposed to. The dharma teachers openly condoned eating animals and were also disinclined towards seeing activism as a potentially skillful manifestation of compassion.

  I wanted to live out my full ‘Ari-ness” and could not find a place where this was embraced. Activist circles were highly focused on impact. Buddhist circles were focused on intention.

  Through my longing for greater wholeness, I am now on a path to reconcile the two, seeing how tightly intertwined the dharma is with social justice, and how integrated my liberation is with the freedom of all sentient beings. To that end, I have begun to host meditation retreats and workshops for activists and encourage fellow Buddhists to, as Thich Nhat Hanh has said, make c
ompassion a verb. I’ve also helped co-create a retreat center called Banyan Grove, in my role as a volunteer with Service Space, as a place to support this integrated ethic.

  It is remarkable how much impact one person can have on the world. I knew that the man at Venice Beach, who I now know as Jingles, might never know that his choice to show up on that boardwalk and educate people about animal suffering would change the course of my life. And yet, his commitment to ending animal suffering led him to set up a booth and dedicate his life to it for twenty-five years, without acknowledgement, praise or recognition.

  Jingles is a constant reminder to me that we never really know who we have influenced. We influence people by everything we do, from what we wear, to the bike we ride, to the job we have, to the car we drive, to the food we eat, to the products we buy, to the time we spend in silence, to the time we spend in activity, and by all of our thoughts, words, and deeds. It all has an impact.

  Buddhism has taught me that unless I pay close attention to my six senses, I will ride the endless, discontented roller coaster of seeking pleasure and avoiding pain. Most likely, in the process, I will limit my ability to create the change I seek in the world. Without awareness and internal transformation, I will be planting lemon seeds and hoping they sprout oranges.

  My friend Pancho Ramos-Stierle sums it well: “It is time for the spiritual people to get active and the activist people to get spiritual so that we can have a total revolution of the human spirit.”

  Are Vipassana and Veganism Compatible?

  WILLIAM DIGIORGIO

  Eight years ago, I began my Buddhist Vipassana practice by attending my first ten-day meditation course. How unlikely it was for me, someone who had been diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder, to sit still—let alone try to focus my mind in meditation— for hours at a time! Yet, the feeling of liberation and tranquility at the conclusion of those ten days shifted the path of my life.

  I didn’t maintain my Vipassana practice with perfect consistency from day one, just as I didn’t maintain veganism (a practice I had adopted a few years earlier) with perfect consistency. However, over time, by attending a number of courses and with regular practice at home, I experienced many benefits including greater patience, reduced anger, and a more balanced mind. I believe it has also made me a kinder person, helping me to recognize everyone as my brother and sister, just as I recognize animals as my equals.

  Besides the difficulty of making time for a ten-day meditation course, one of the biggest concerns for first-time students is what kind of food they will be served. As most are omnivores, they may worry about whether they will be satisfied with the vegetarian menu. In contrast, my concern as a vegan was whether I would find food that was animal-free, so I was relieved to find most everything served was vegan. While there are dairy products—such as milk, cheese, yogurt, and butter—they are usually on the side, and optional.

  During my raw vegan phase, I was concerned about whether there would be enough raw fruits and vegetables to subsist (the answer is: probably not, but it depends on the meditation center, of which there are dozens around the world). However, as I attended more meditation courses, the food seemed to matter less.

  For Whom the Bell Tolls: Old Students vs. New Students

  Every day at eleven a.m., a bell is rung for lunch. During the first one or two courses, I often became distracted and impatient toward the end of the morning meditation session, and would be anxiously awaiting the bell. At times I could have sworn I heard it chiming, but it was just my imagination. To be sure not to miss the bell, I got in the habit of frequently checking the time and drifting out of the meditation hall toward the dining hall. Often I was at the head of the line, or not far back. I always ate too much and became drowsy in the afternoon, despite the teachers’ warnings against over-eating. I discovered that meditation requires more energy than one might think.

  At five p.m., the bell is rung again to announce dinner time. While the new students are served fruit and tea, “old students” (those who are have completed at least one course) can only drink tea. It was annoying at first to watch the new students savoring the fruit, but eventually I got used to it. I realized that it is part of the practice to overcome adversity, and to free ourselves from attachments in order to become equanimous and pure.

  Becoming vegan had meant giving up strong attachments to foods I had been eating for over four decades. In my Italian-American upbringing, every holiday revolved around eating animal products. Then, as an adult with a stressful lifestyle, I had become even more attached to animal flesh, cheeses and alcohol. I lived for them, and many of my friendships and work relationships were forged around them. Giving up these substances sometimes meant giving up relationships, too. It would not be an exaggeration to say that even my mother wanted to disown me for not eating her meatballs and her eggplant parmigiana.

  Fast forward several years, to the meditation center. I consider it a mark of progress that I am calmer and no longer among the first ones lined up to eat lunch. I am still working on not overeating, but it’s not easy because the food is tasty and filled with the loving kindness of the volunteer cooks. After growing accustomed to not eating anything from noon until six a.m. the following morning (fasting for eighteen hours a day), I have also experimented with keeping up this schedule at home for some period of time after returning from the course.

  Dhamma Service (Volunteering)

  As an old student, in addition to maintaining a daily meditation practice, we are encouraged to volunteer to serve at courses to develop our parami (Buddha-like qualities).

  As Dhamma servers, not only are we helping those who come to sit the course to stay focused on their meditation, but also we have an opportunity to assimilate our meditation practice into our work while interacting with others (servers are allowed to speak when necessary to perform their jobs, whereas students must observe “noble silence” throughout the course).

  Servers perform administrative responsibilities or kitchen jobs. I have served courses a number of times and, as an avid home cook, working in the Vipassana center’s kitchen (equipped with a huge commercial stove) for the first time gave me quite a thrill. In fact, cooking for Vipassana courses inspired me to change careers and pursue becoming a vegan chef as a profession.

  Unfortunately, as time has gone on, I have begun to feel a growing unease while serving courses because the breakfast, lunch and evening snacks we put together are accompanied by dairy products (and let’s leave aside the question of honey, which is also present).

  Vegan’s Dilemma

  While it didn’t used to bother me as a student, now as a server I am required to offer dairy products to others. This feels as though I am condoning these options and therefore complicit in the abuse that cows have had to endure. And so I began to discuss my feelings with others in the organization.

  First, I asked a long-term kitchen volunteer why the meals were not completely vegan. She said it was to make students feel comfortable, and that it was not our place to force a particular diet upon anybody. I inquired of the teacher assistants about it during the time set aside for consultation. They reiterated the same explanation, and also tried to steer the conversation back to the meditation technique. To them, the type of food served was just another distraction that I needed to overcome. But was it really?

  According to the Vipassana Code of Discipline that all those attending a course agree to follow, the foundation of the practice is sila — moral conduct. Sila provides a basis for the development of samadhi, concentration of mind, and purification of the mind is achieved through pañña, the wisdom of insight.

  Everyone also agrees to follow the five Buddhist precepts for the duration of a course, and ideally carry them into daily life. We are to abstain from killing any being, to abstain from stealing, to abstain from sexual activity, to abstain from telling lies, and to abstain from intoxicants.

  Founding teacher S.N. Goenka (who passed away in 2013, but still teaches the cou
rse via pre-recorded videos) mentions the subject of killing animals in one of his evening discourses and the topic is further explored in The Art of Living, a well-known book by William Hart who has been teaching Vipassana since 1982.

  In a chapter entitled “The Training of Moral Conduct,” the Buddha paraphrases the Noble Eightfold Path to eradicate suffering as follows: “Abstain from all unwholesome deeds, perform wholesome ones, purify your mind—this is the teaching of all enlightened persons.”

  On the topic of “Right Livelihood,” the book states the two criteria of Right Livelihood.

  First it should not be necessary to break the five precepts in one’s work, since doing so obviously causes harm to others. But further, one should not do anything that encourages other people to break the precepts, since this will also cause harm. Neither directly nor indirectly should our means of livelihood involve injury to other beings. Thus any livelihood that involves killing, whether of human beings or of animals, is clearly not right livelihood. But even if the killing is done by others and one simply deals in the parts of slaughtered animals, their skins, flesh, bones, and so on, still this is not right livelihood, because one is depending on the wrong actions of others.

  Further, the author posed the following questions to Goenka.

  Q: Is it breaking sila to eat meat?

  A: No, not unless you have killed the animal yourself. If meat happens to be provided for you and you enjoy its taste as you would that of any other food, you have not broken any precept. But of course, by eating meat, you indirectly encourage someone else to break the precepts by killing. And also at subtler level, you harm yourself by eating meat. Every moment an animal generates craving and aversion; it is incapable of observing itself, of purifying its mind. Every fiber of its body becomes permeated with craving and aversion. This is the input you receive when eating non-vegetarian food. A meditator is trying to eradicate craving and aversion, and therefore would find it helpful to avoid such food.