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| A Triratna Buddhist Order ordination ceremony, Nagpur, India, 2008. |
In the mean time I went on the retreat and found it very challenging, but also enjoyed aspects of it, particular the friendliness of the Buddhists. I began to read all of Sangharakshita's books. In his A Survey of Buddhism, written in 1954 while he was still living in India, he wrote that he thought that the Bodhisatva Ideal was the unifying factor of Buddhism. He subsequently changed his mind about this. In The History of My Going for Refuge (1988), Sangharakshita outlines why he thinks that going for refuge to the Three Jewels is the unifying factor of Buddhism:
"As the years went by I increasingly found that the more I related Buddhism to the spiritual life of the individual Buddhist the more I saw it in its deeper interconnections within itself, and the more I saw it in its deeper interconnections within itself the more I saw it not as a collection of miscellaneous parts but as an organic whole. This was nowhere more apparent than in the case of Going for Refuge, which I eventually came to see as the central and definitive Act of the Buddhist life and as the unifying principle, therefore, of Buddhism itself."
All Buddhists go for refuge to the Buddha, Dharma and Saṅgha, if not explicitly then usually implicitly. If going for refuge is the unifying factor then what makes someone a Buddhists is not a belief or set of beliefs, but an action. And in this view, the Bodhisatva Idea is the altruistic dimension of going for refuge. It was this idea that underlay moving away from more traditional styles of ordination or initiation, and the adoption of the Dharmacārin ordination for members of the Triratna Buddhist Order ca. 1980.
This problem of who is a Buddhist and what is Buddhism is one that is something of a hot topic in these days of scepticism about religion. Traditionalists have opinions on this based on classical accounts of ordained and lay members of the Sangha. They tend to focus on beliefs as the basis for creating a dividing line. They see rejecting traditional superstition and supernatural beliefs as placing one outside the Sangha. For example, if one does not believe in karma and rebirth, then one is not a Buddhist. I have seen this kind of opinion from Theravādins, Tibetan Buddhists and from some of my own colleagues.
Other critiques emerge. For some years now blogger, David Chapman has been critiquing what he calls "Consensus Buddhism". Most recently he has pointed out that Buddhist ethics and liberal Secular Humanist values have converged. For his purposes, he characterises this as a simple, though tacit (and perhaps unconscious) adoption of liberal values by Buddhists. This allows him to argue that the ethics of Consensus Buddhism are not Buddhist. The polemic prepares the ground for his own alternative approach to ethics based on the writings of American developmental psychologist, Robert Kegan (Chapman's into here, see also Kegan's Awesome Theory Of Social Maturity). If we are going to coopt a set of values, he argues, then let it be a more rational and well thought out set.
Scholar/practitioner Justin Whitaker also recently blogged on this subject and an interesting discussion ensued in the comments section between myself and philosopher Amod Lele. In discussing this problem of who is a Buddhist I realised something. If you were to introduce me to a person and they said "I am a Buddhist" what would that tell me about them? I realised that I would know nothing at all about them for certain. I would not know what they believed, or what religious exercises they performed.
Our mystery guest might be a Theravādin lay person from rural Sri Lanka. Their beliefs will be a mix of classical Theravāda and local folk traditions. They believe in the existence and power of local spirits and the necessity of cultivating merit for a good rebirth. In term of religious exercises, these are probably related mainly to propitiating local spirits and supporting monks.
Or they might be a Japan Zen priest who inherited control of the temple from their father and whose beliefs are also a somewhat eclectic mix. Like the Sri Lankan, they probably believe in and propitiate local deities drawn from the Shinto side of Japanese culture. The notion that we live in a degenerate age during which bodhi is not possible might be part of their belief system. They believe in karma and rebirth, and possible have a dash of Pureland Buddhism in the mix. Their religious exercises might range from chanting sutras in mangled Sanskrit, or more likely in Chinese or Japanese translation, and long periods of seated zazen. Or they might contemplate a koan and then have to answer the questions of their master. They also perform rituals.
Or they might be a sophisticated WEIRD urbanite, who doubts karma and rebirth, does not believe in spirits or any of that superstitious nonsense. Or a Pureland Buddhist who believes, on the basis of a promise made in a text, that after death Amitābha will appear to them and guide them to another universe in which the religious exercises of Buddhism are really easy and nothing will get in the way of bodhi. Or a Tibetan monk who believes that everything that happens is a result of karma and practices "secret" tantric techniques to transform themselves into a Buddha (or to transform their minds so that they see themselves as the Buddha they already are). They might believe in an ultimate reality. Or in the ultimate un-reality of all things. They might pursue austerity or believe austerity to be pointless. They might believe that we all have to make an effort, or they might believe that no individual effort will make any difference. They might emphasise the "historical Buddha" or de-emphasise the Buddha in favour of a deity of some sort.
If you search on google for images related to "buddhist" the results are dominated by monks in robes. But most Buddhists are not monks. Most of not ordained at all. Monks are probably only about 1% of the Buddhist demographic. Why, then, do monks dominate the popular imagination of Buddhism?
If you search on google for images related to "buddhist" the results are dominated by monks in robes. But most Buddhists are not monks. Most of not ordained at all. Monks are probably only about 1% of the Buddhist demographic. Why, then, do monks dominate the popular imagination of Buddhism?
Very often I find I don't even share a basic vocabulary with another Buddhist. They may discuss the Dharma in the convoluted jargon of a Tibetan scholastic, or be blissfully unaware of any technical terms and subscribe to a just chant and be happy kind of approach. Sometimes it doesn't matter what I say because the other is a fan of non-dualist bullshit and simply negates everything I say and a conversation with them on the basis of our individual commitments to Buddhism turns out to be impossible.
The simple declaration "I am a Buddhist" gives me a probability of guessing what someone believes and how that manifests in their life of no better than chance. A statement that conveys no information is meaningless. In the case of the profession of "Buddhism", it might once have been meaningful, and within particular contexts may still be meaningful, but in general, the information is swamped by the noise of the huge variety of possible meanings of the words. I'm not even sure I remain convinced that Sangharakshita is correct to say that going for refuge is a unifying factor in Buddhism. The problem is that while going for refuge is an action, the reasoning and motivation for doing the action are so varied that the shared label may well be just as meaningless.
There is no gold standard for what makes a Buddhist.
Who is a Buddhist when the statement "I am a Buddhist" appears to have no natural limits or boundaries; when they are dozens of mutually incompatible definitions of what "I am a Buddhist" connotes?
On the other hand, someone may argue that when they meet Buddhists they always find something in common. I would put this down as confirmation bias. As described by Mercier & Sperber's classic article (see my summary) confirmation bias applies when we hold a belief and go looking for reasons to support it. The purpose of this is to make a strong argument for our belief. Reasoning (i.e. thinking without confirmation bias) only works when we are arguing against someone else's proposition, and even then only when we are not too polarised (which leads to implacable opposition) and not too motivated to agree (which leads to groupthink). In this view, confirmation bias is a feature of group centred reasoning where each participant tries to put forward the best argument they can and the others look for and point out weaknesses.
On the other hand, someone may argue that when they meet Buddhists they always find something in common. I would put this down as confirmation bias. As described by Mercier & Sperber's classic article (see my summary) confirmation bias applies when we hold a belief and go looking for reasons to support it. The purpose of this is to make a strong argument for our belief. Reasoning (i.e. thinking without confirmation bias) only works when we are arguing against someone else's proposition, and even then only when we are not too polarised (which leads to implacable opposition) and not too motivated to agree (which leads to groupthink). In this view, confirmation bias is a feature of group centred reasoning where each participant tries to put forward the best argument they can and the others look for and point out weaknesses.
If we go looking for confirmation of our view, we tend to find it. We tend to be uncritical of such confirming evidence, and having found any confirmation we stop looking. Without the argumentative dimension to trigger critical thinking about the ideas of others, humans tend not to use reasoning at all. Other processes, like confirmation bias, dominate cognition and lead us to weak conclusions. The success rate in solo reasoning tasks that lack an argumentative context can be as low as 10% (i.e. considerable worse that random guessing).
So the act of looking for and finding confirmation of our belief is a very poor basis for decision making. It's a very poor way to decide who is a Buddhist and who isn't. One of the problems we have in Buddhism is that scholars of Buddhism often seem to have an emic (or insider's) view of the subject. Confirmation bias afflicts a good deal of scholarship of Buddhism as well, especially with the advent of scholar-monks, so a tradition of critical scholarship of Buddhist ideas has yet to develop. When scholars study Buddhism they seem to go looking for certain features, such as a tendency to convergence and unity in the past (see also Evolution: Trees and Braids and Extending the River Metaphor for Evolution). Or they focus on describing Buddhism as it was, without applying modern critiques.
As I was writing this essay, an email about a new book from Wisdom Publications arrived. One of the blurbs begins:
"The [Dalai Lama] examines the meaning of key texts from the gospels, and finds similarities in Christian and Buddhist teachings, as well as correspondences between the lives of Jesus and Buddha."
If you go looking for similarities, you find them. This is not profound, it is simply a result of a failure to reason, probably caused by lack of effective opposition. One fawning and sycophantic review is included: "The whole book is a joy, an inspiration and truly deeply devout, while at all times light and pleasant, a perfect channel to convey profound realities and insights." Frankly this makes me want to puke. Unless you are very lucky, you find what you are looking for. I count myself moderately lucky to have discovered some problems in Buddhist doctrine, enough to rouse me from the stupid paralysis of the mind that seems so prevalent amongst Buddhists.
In order to address this problem using reason, we need to argue about what we believe with people who disagree with our view while having a shared commitment to discovering the truth. We need to test opposing views and see which stands up the best. But in religious contexts views are held strongly, i.e. associated with strong emotions, and polarisation or groupthink are almost the defaults. In these circumstances, we cannot expect people to reason effectively. They will either be anxious to disagree or to agree and this defeats reasoning.
With this in mind, my answer to the problem is that it seems that anyone who calls themselves a Buddhist, is a Buddhist. But most people find this an unappealing prospect. Certainly Amod Lele didn't seem to like this prospect (we seem to agree on very little). On the other hand, Justin Whitaker seems to be annoyed by those who disagree with him on where to draw the line between Buddhist and non-Buddhist when it involves excluding some people.
I think this is because when each of us says "I am a Buddhist" we have a frame of reference in our minds. In terms of George Lakoff's theory of categorization (see his book Women, Fire, and Dangerous Things) we all have a prototype in mind when we hear the word "Buddhist" and when we come across examples of "Buddhist", we unconsciously compare it to our personal prototype and weigh up how similar it is. If the qualities of the example overlap sufficiently with our prototype then we can accept that the person is a Buddhist. I say, "personal prototype" as a rhetorical device because prototypes will vary from individual to individual, but in fact what constitutes the prototype of a category for any individual is largely determined by culture and experience.
The problem of who controls and arbitrates the categories of "Buddhism" and "Buddhist" is complicated by the imperialist tendencies of the WEIRD world. All to often we first impose our values on the discussion as a starting condition and then insist that the conclusions must conform to those values. It's quite clear that WEIRD values are modernist values that have very little to do with traditional Buddhist values except by accident. We tend to see our own values as universal values against which anything can be weighed. The fact is that this is another logical fallacy that leads to poor reasoning and weak decisions.
We want our heartfelt declaration to mean something to other people. We want "I am a Buddhism" to mean something to others. We want them to see us as special. We want the religious affiliation to say something about us. But we have no way of knowing what it communicates to anyone else. As often as not "Buddha" seems to bring to mind the Chinese folk hero Hotei who is erroneously called the "Laughing Buddha" - fat, jolly, and trivial.
We want our heartfelt declaration to mean something to other people. We want "I am a Buddhism" to mean something to others. We want them to see us as special. We want the religious affiliation to say something about us. But we have no way of knowing what it communicates to anyone else. As often as not "Buddha" seems to bring to mind the Chinese folk hero Hotei who is erroneously called the "Laughing Buddha" - fat, jolly, and trivial.
There are some people who say that I (Jayarava) am not a Buddhist because I do not believe what they believe. They are entitled to that opinion and even to exclude me from their Buddhist activities on that basis. It usually doesn't bother me too much when someone says this because the belief system they profess usually seems pretty stupid to me and I think I've got the better end of the deal if they won't talk to me.
The fact is that we like to sit in judgement. "Stephen Batchelor is a Buddhist" or "Stephen Batchelor is not a Buddhist". My response is to wonder first why I should care about some random stranger's opinion on Stephen Batchelor. I can't see how either statement affects me. But then it matters for some Buddhists because they only have regard for the opinions of other Buddhists. A non-Buddhist cannot be expected to have anything interesting to say, especially on the subject of Buddhism! So delineating the category is important for people who think that way.
If I'm being thoughtful, I might wonder how they came to that decision because religious beliefs and decision making are subjects that interest me in the abstract. The actual decision is entirely irrelevant to my life and work, but there is an interesting process going on of someone defining their world through the decisions that they come to, that does interest me. It interests me because that's what we all do, but it's very difficult to study oneself doing it because so much of one's cognition happens unconsciously.
So these kinds of questions are really only interesting to me for the light they shed on the psychology of belief. I define "Buddhism" and "Buddhist" pragmatically. I suppose to some extent, I say that I am a Buddhist to reassure my colleagues and friends in the Triratna Buddhist Order, the religious community that I am a member of. As much as anything I am expressing my continued desire the belong to this community (See also Why I am (still) a Buddhist from 2012). In saying that I myself am a Buddhist, I no longer expect that to be meaningful to others, except to the extent that they will identify me with their existing prototype. I still largely share a prototype with other members of the Triratna Buddhist Order, but I expect that my prototype is very different to other Buddhists. Quite often as I express my views on traditional Buddhism, the result is so far from another person's prototype of a Buddhist that I seem outside the category to them. They experience cognitive dissonance. Which is fine. Buddhism is so varied that we'll probably always have this problem. About the best I can hope for is that my being a Buddhist might be the beginning of a conversation.
If I'm being thoughtful, I might wonder how they came to that decision because religious beliefs and decision making are subjects that interest me in the abstract. The actual decision is entirely irrelevant to my life and work, but there is an interesting process going on of someone defining their world through the decisions that they come to, that does interest me. It interests me because that's what we all do, but it's very difficult to study oneself doing it because so much of one's cognition happens unconsciously.
So these kinds of questions are really only interesting to me for the light they shed on the psychology of belief. I define "Buddhism" and "Buddhist" pragmatically. I suppose to some extent, I say that I am a Buddhist to reassure my colleagues and friends in the Triratna Buddhist Order, the religious community that I am a member of. As much as anything I am expressing my continued desire the belong to this community (See also Why I am (still) a Buddhist from 2012). In saying that I myself am a Buddhist, I no longer expect that to be meaningful to others, except to the extent that they will identify me with their existing prototype. I still largely share a prototype with other members of the Triratna Buddhist Order, but I expect that my prototype is very different to other Buddhists. Quite often as I express my views on traditional Buddhism, the result is so far from another person's prototype of a Buddhist that I seem outside the category to them. They experience cognitive dissonance. Which is fine. Buddhism is so varied that we'll probably always have this problem. About the best I can hope for is that my being a Buddhist might be the beginning of a conversation.
My understanding of what it means to be a Buddhist has been shaped in recent years by studying Buddhist doctrines and discovering the widespread systematic faults in them. And that study is a work in progress. I can see how doctrines fail to do what they were intended to do, but I cannot yet see the end result of spelling out just how bad Buddhist philosophy generally is. Right now I think we are all in the flames of transformation, and we cannot imagine how we will emerge from the conflagration.
~~oOo~~
9 comments:
Perhaps part of the problem is that there has been a deliberate homogenization of Buddhisms, plural, into "Buddhism." This has been a strategy of Western Buddhist modernism since the 1800s. (I say "Western" because Asian Buddhist modernisms tended to be nationalistic—although there are exceptions, such as Anagarika Dharmapala's ecumenicalism.) The "One Dharma" approach (I've griped about it elsewhere) sought to eliminate all distinctions between Buddhist approaches, as a strategy of power (I think). If there is only One Dharma, then *someone* gets to define it. (Maybe the person who wrote the book! And his friends.)
If someone says "I'm a Buddhist," that tells you nothing (unless you can guess from context, dress, etc.). If someone says "I'm a Triratna Buddhist" (or Pure Land Buddhist, etc.), that starts to be meaningful.
I would advocate restoring such distinctions—partly because they are useful, and partly because they will hasten the final death of "One Dharma"-ism!
Part of the problem is that nationalism is seen as a potent evil. It's associated with right-wing, authoritarian politics and backward attitudes to human rights. Even more so than Dharmapala's day.
The other problem with emphasising tribalism (again)is that we are very few in number, on the whole. Buddhists are less than 1% of the population in most WEIRD countries. Start dividing us up and we become statistically insignificant. Linking up gives Buddhists a sense of being part of something larger than just their local context. This is a good thing.
On the whole expanding the group one identifies or empathises with seems to be a good thing. Not everyone is genuinely able to do this, but those who push the boundaries are breaking down age-old prejudices against minorities.
National distinctions make little sense in Modern Buddhism. But yes, if I say, "I'm a Triratna Buddhist" (a teacher/community-based distinction), then that is meaningful anywhere in the Triratna world. In the rest of the Buddhist world... well let's just say that things seem to have calmed down on that front, but I'm still never quite sure what kind of reception I'll get. On the other hand I'm really, really not representative of the Triratna movement, so what the label says about me might still be quite misleading.
So which distinctions do we adopt/restore? It's clear that existing sectarian names are hardly more meaningful in many cases than "Buddhist" is.
Perhaps the concept you are looking for is Wittgenstein's notion of family resemblance - basically the idea that many words do not actually draw on a single central essence but on a series of overlapping similarities amongst the things that they describe. Just because the word "buddhist" by itself does not provide you with any single certain fact about a person does not mean that the word is meaningless. This condition is actually fairly common among words and is part of how language works.
Hi Solomon,
As I say in the essay, the terms I'm using, like "prototype", are drawn from a theory of categorization produced by George Lakoff in his book Women, Fire, and Dangerous Things. It does indeed draw on Wittgenstein's family resemblances, but takes the idea a great deal further and uses empirical studies to root it in a way that Wittgenstein did not. If you are interested in this subject I recommend WFADT. It's an academic book, so not an easy read, but quite fascinating none the less. As it all of Lakoff's work.
I disagree with you about the meaninglessness of a word that conveys nothing. I disagree that it is part of how language works. Language works for precisely the opposite reason: that in general we agree on what words mean. There is a phenomenon in which a word can become a "floating signifier" which is what "Buddhist" is. It means something different to each user. A floating signifier is meaningless unless we know something about what the user of the word intends us to understand.
If I say to you "haere mai, taku hoa", you can guess that I'm using words. But unless you happen to be familiar with the Korero Māori you won't understand. You need to know the context in which these words are used - the language and culture. If you used a dictionary you might guess that the words mean "come here, my friend". But this is, in fact, an idiom that might not be in the dictionary. In fact, it means "Greetings, my friend". though in the right context, perhaps accompanied by the appropriate gesture, it can also take the unidiomatic meaning. A word that is a floating signifier is like a word from another language we are unfamiliar with. It doesn't convey anything to us.
Or worse a floating signifier can be what the French call a faux amis, a "false friend" because it looks like a concept you are familiar with and you assume that I mean the same thing. This is another manifestation of confirmation bias. All too often I say, "I'm a Buddhist" and the person I'm talking to assumes they know what I mean by that. If they are familiar with Buddhism they might make a number of assumptions about my worldview. Then I start talking about my research and they get confused. They ask, "How can you be a Buddhist if you think that?" The word that seems familiar has led them to false conclusions, because we use it differently.
I've become aware that when someone else says they are a Buddhist I can make no assumptions about them at all. This is based on my past assumptions proving to be wrong virtually all of the time. Though of course you are right and there are some overlaps. But my experience suggests that one cannot know in advance where overlaps might occur or to what extent they do overlap.
I read Chapman's index piece* and it's clickbaity grandstanding. He pretends to be discussing Buddhist ethics but omits mention of the Eightfold Path and the Ten Good Courses of Action, and fails even to acknowledge the ultimate goal of Buddhist ethics: complete liberation. Is there a self-proclaimed Buddhist anywhere who does not at least pay lip service to the ideal of liberation?
"Why, then, do monks dominate the popular imagination of Buddhism?" - For the same reason that priests, monks and nuns dominate the popular conception of Catholicism: they are held to embody the religion, to be its truest, most thorough practitioners. Your lay Sri Lankan will undoubtedly assent to this, as will your San Francisco WEIRD-o.
*https://meaningness.wordpress.com/2015/09/23/buddhist-ethics-is-a-fraud/
One more knock at Chapman:
quoth he:
"The various codes of conduct (lay precepts, vinaya, bodhisattva paramitas, samaya) [do not] contain anything that would come as useful news to Westerners. Traditional Buddhist moral teachings that are correct are all found in other religions, including Christianity."
The canonical suttas constantly insist that the ethical standards they propound are universal, that the wise in all times and places assert the same standards. Why does Chapman insert the value "novelty" into a discussion of Buddhist ethics? He never explains the value or meaning of this assumption.
Hi Swanditch,
I think that in reading my friend David's recent critique of Buddhist ethics is that he is talking mainly about his own category of "Consensus Buddhism". It is this Consensus Buddhism which has tacitly allowed it's ethical teachings to converge with modern liberal ethics. He may wish to reply, but my understanding is that he is saying that CB'ists teach the 8-fold path or the dasakusalakammapatha as though they were liberal humanism.
However, we conceive the "ultimate goal" of ethics, and I'm not entirely convinced by your assertion that it is liberation, the fact is that the end is not in question here. It is the means that David is questioning - we say that we aim at liberation, but we practice secular humanist ethics.
He also quotes Damien Keown as arguing that there is no systematic consideration of ethics. The lists of good behaviours have no justification or rationale beyond the articles of faith of Buddhism. It boils down to this, "If you act like so; and don't act like so; then you will be liberated; because that's how liberated people behave." It's a very, very simplistic view of what ethics is. And there really is no more sophisticated argument in Buddhism. And I think David is saying, this is partly why modern Buddhists have turned to secular ethics.
My opinion is that Buddhists had a kind of Golden Rule rationale for ethics, in common with many pre-modern cultures. I see it in the much misunderstood Kālāma Sutta for example. It boils down to "Do unto others what you would have them do unto you". David's argument is that this is insufficient in a modern setting and in other essays sets out some interesting ideas about more sophisticated approaches to ethics, based on a synthesis of writing by Robert Kegan and his own understanding of Tantric Buddhism.
I also disagree with you on why monks dominate the popular imagination. I think they do so because they established a power structure, an asymmetrical relationship, in which they and the laypeople play their roles. Of course the lay people have to be complicit in this, they must consent to be subject to the monks, but the monks have defined the roles and are the power brokers. The monasteries are also usually the richest entities in the nation - they own huge tracts of land etc. Except for China most Buddhist countries have not had an English style Reformation, and nor have kings claimed back all of that untaxable wealth from the monks. China has done this at least once, towards the middle of the 9th century, late Tang Dynasty (ca 850 CE if memory serves).
It's a variation on "the winners write history".
I for one certainly do not assent to the idea that monks "embody the religion, to be its truest, most thorough practitioners". Indeed, I think this is patently untrue, especially if we discount credulous hagiography and hyperbole (especially that composed by and transmitted by monks themselves!). Some people who embody the religion may well be monks. Many more monks hardly seem to embody anything of the religion, other than wearing robes and shaving their heads. This anyone can do. I've done it. And many non-monks of my acquaintance embody the Dharma in a far more thorough-going way than any monk I've ever met. Being a monk is just a lifestyle decision. Nothing more. Buddhaghosa was of the opinion that a monastic setting was not particularly conducive to meditation and recommended getting away from the monastery if one was serious about meditation! (Visuddhimagga)
re your second comment, David insists that Buddhist ethics be recognisably Buddhist precisely because we call them "Buddhist ethics" rather than just "ethics". He insists that this is especially true of the Consensus Buddhists that he is critiquing. If, as he argues, there is nothing Buddhist about them (because as they are actually taught and put into practice they are simply liberal secular ethics) then we ought to stop saying that we teach special Buddhist ethics. To me, this is quite explicit in David's writing and I'm puzzled that you could read his work and not understand this.
Raising the possibility of universal ethics is interesting. I've never made much of a study of morality, but it seems to me that universal ethics is a myth rather than a reality. Presumably if Buddhism did teach universal ethics then Buddhists would not disagree on ethical matters. But of course, they do. Any number of ethical issues are disputed, e.g. meat eating, abortion, consumption of alcohol and other intoxicants, etc. Like the definition of "Buddhist" I think the definition of "Buddhist ethics" is interpreted in many different ways. I see nothing very universal about Buddhist teachings on behaviour, and I see nothing very universal about how Buddhists actually behave.
With this in mind, my answer to the problem is that it seems that anyone who calls themselves a Buddhist, is a Buddhist. (Jayarava).
Appears to be true as far as the facts go, thinking about some heads of state in East Asian countries usually referred to as Buddhist.
I shall propose an alternative definition. Anyone who respects the Buddha (Siddhartha Gautama) is a Buddhist. However, we cannot identify a Buddhist unless he acknowledges and demonstrates in some manner that he respescts the Buddha.
In Sri Lanka, if you utter the expression, 'Namo tassa bhagavato arahato sammasambuddhassa' three times (a solemn promise) is a Buddhist. The expression is taught by one's elders. The reason to respect the Buddha is, all Sri Lankan traditions conducive to growth can be traced back to the Buddha's teaching without exception.
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