Imagine this: You have the option to take a pill that will extend your life by six months. Alternatively, you can give this pill to a stranger, adding five years to their life. What would you choose?
This intriguing question was posed to various groups, including Tibetan Buddhist monks, non-religious Americans, American Christians, ordinary Buddhists in Bhutan, and Hindus in India. You might assume that Buddhist monks, known for their teachings on compassion, would be more generous. Surprisingly, this wasn’t the case. Monastic Buddhists were less willing than any other group to give the pill to a stranger.
This result was quite shocking. One might think that Tibetan monks, who often teach that the self isn’t fixed, would be less afraid of death. However, the study found that these monks were more attached to their own lives and more fearful of dying, making them reluctant to give up their extra six months for a stranger’s five years. These were novice monks, which might partly explain the outcome, but it still raises questions about their ethics compared to lay Buddhists.
This leads me to wonder about monastic life. Does it attract people who are inherently more self-centered, or does the lifestyle itself foster selfishness due to the status involved? In another Buddhist context, western monk Sravasti Dhammika noted that monks in the Theravadin tradition often become “complacent and proud” due to excessive reverence. For instance, monks in Burma and Sri Lanka have been involved in violent actions against other groups, showing that things can indeed get ugly.
I find this study both fascinating and disturbing. It suggests that becoming a monk doesn’t automatically make someone a better person—it could actually make them less ethical. Personally, I can’t imagine living for six more months knowing I had deprived someone else of five additional years. I’d rather give up my pill.
There are also times when my practice has made me more selfish and uncaring. The concept of having a “higher” calling can sometimes lead to neglecting important relationships, and “non-attachment” can become an excuse for unkindness. From this study, I’ve learned the importance of continuously ensuring that I’m acting kindly.
I shared my thoughts with one of the study’s leaders, Dr. Garfield. I wondered if the results could be attributed to the monks’ recent, unsettling changes in their social connections, as novices might have recently left home to join the monastery. Dr. Garfield responded that the group included both novices and fully ordained monks with varying years of experience and found no link between the length of their ordination and their responses. He suggested that long-term meditators might show different results.
This insight makes me think that perhaps the idea of perfecting oneself can lead to overvaluing an imagined, perfected self, ironically making one more self-oriented.
In some cases, six months of one person’s life—like a surgeon’s—could arguably be more impactful than five years of another person’s life in a less influential role. However, the exercise asked us to imagine the other person is similar to ourselves, so this disparity shouldn’t apply.
It turns out that humans, regardless of their spiritual practice, have their own mix of good and flawed qualities. People often pursue monastic life to escape their problems, only to find that their issues are rooted in their own minds. This aligns with my experience running a retreat center.
While I initially thought monks should naturally be more selfless, the study reveals that sometimes they might struggle more with ethical decisions. This doesn’t diminish the value of their spiritual journey but highlights that personal growth and ethics are complex and continuous processes.
In conclusion, this study serves as a reminder for everyone, especially those on spiritual paths, to actively practice kindness and remain self-aware. The complexities of human nature mean that no group is inherently more ethical or compassionate than another.