Can Buddhist teachings guide us towards ethical work and inner peace?
The ancient concept of 'right livelihood' has relevance to our modern work lives
Buddhists like to talk about suffering.
We talk about its existence, its causes and perhaps most importantly, its cessation. Many of us are drawn to the religion for precisely this reason. The possibility that we can mitigate our suffering is very appealing. Not innate suffering; the kind that comes with bereavement or illness. Rather the mundane suffering. The subtle disquiet we feel in the off moments. That creeping dread best exemplified by our obsession with technology. The callousness of Internet culture and it oceans of vacuous posts. The trillion pouting selfies. The taunt of the beautiful, the unobtainable. An endless wave of imagery, interspersed with the streaming services, great rivers of rolling content. It seems life itself has become one big cliff-hanger. The promise of resolution always in the next episode.
Buddhism offers a cure. Unfortunately, it is not one thing, but a whole raft of solutions, buried in a dense body of texts, concepts and practice - all of which take years to truly comprehend (if ever). The good news is it also comes in list form. Perfect for our attention-poor existence. If the Buddha were a Buzzfeed writer, he would no doubt dispense his wisdom in ‘listicle’ form. As it was, the Buddha cited a list of eight concepts to be aware of. The ‘Noble Eight-Fold Path’. A catch-all guide to easing our malaise. It is by walking the Path, and living the ‘right’ way, that we alleviate our suffering. The Buddha suggests we cultivate:
Right understanding
Right thought
Right speech
Right action
Right livelihood
Right effort
Right mindfulness
Right concentration
To say that we will do things the ‘right’ way means that we should be skilful in our approach. Each of the truths warrants its own library, as does the very notion of ‘skilful’ itself. But one has to start somewhere - and I would like to start by exploring the concept of ‘right livelihood’. This is the notion that we should engage in work which promotes ethical values.
On the face of it, this appears to be the easiest place to start. Having a sense of ‘right mindfulness’ and ‘right concentration’ conjure images of long, immobile hours on the mat, vainly trying to cleanse the wild, roiling mind. ‘Right livelihood’ on the other hand is a breeze. You simply pick a do-gooding job, work hard, and prepare for enlightenment. And ‘right’ occupations are surely easy to identify.
Working for a children’s charity. ‘Right’.
Selling coke to your middle-class friends. ‘Not right’.
However, the world of work is not so binary. I cite my own job as an example. I am employed by a tech company that is part of a large corporation. An organisation chock full of sharks with sharp accents. The kind of men who nakedly chase profit with little regard for the peons who put them there.
To be clear, I have no truck with people making money. We can meditate all we like, but we still need to pay the bills. I get it. In fact there can be something inspiring about (ethically directed) ambition. It isn’t our overlords’ role I object to so much as their methodology. That, and their avarice. A particularly unsavoury trait which tumbled out of every presentation at the company conference I attended last week. A shady affair at a seedy golf resort in the backcountry. After a three-day ear battering, and general soul-squeezing, I can firmly attest there is nothing more vulgar than the sight of a middle-aged, pot-bellied man bestriding a stage, whooping at the mention of another million in the bank (my uncharitable summary of the CEO’s backslapping keynote speech).
The business unit I work at supports healthcare. It is a niche company full of smart people, driven by a singular mission: to improve the lives of patients in England’s archaic public system. As such, the message at the conference - that our sole aim is to make lots of money - did not sit well with me or my colleagues. One went so far as to say that the on-stage bluster made him feel depressed.
As I eyed the luxury cars outside I wondered - why am I working for these people? Why am I paying for their Bentleys? What exactly is the point in funding their luxury holidays, their sun-kissed villas? Granted, we are helping society on one level. But the bosses are graceless oafs, their wealth powered almost entirely by greed, as opposed to a happy of by-product of doing good in the world. Their motives were recently exposed when I pitched a modest improvement in employee benefits. They momentarily regarded my presentation before batting it away with undisguised contempt.
And still the CEO stood at the podium and bellowed his appreciation for the staff. Loud, grateful noises that were just that. Noise.
It is fair to say this situation caused me suffering. The dark morality of it all makes me question the whole deal. Not just my job, but capitalism itself with its exploitative potential. I do not have the ‘right livelihood’. And I am paying the price, feeling the very wrongness of my masters in my bones. I now realise that I must do more. I must reach that place of trust and safety. A place where I can make a meaningful contribution to society. Where I can truly work for others and in turn uphold my own Buddhist ideals.
Right livelihood.
Perhaps not such a straightforward concept after all.