Choosing my religion: Why going to work might not be ethical

If I'm ever asked about my religion, I usually say I'm an atheist. If pushed, I might qualify that by saying I'm a Buddhist atheist, or maybe even an atheist Buddhist. Not that I believe in reincarnation, or like the idea of prostrating myself in front of shrines, or want to change my name to some unpronounceable Sanskrit word and wear floaty gowns. But then I don't think the Buddha would have approved of such ostentatious behaviour either.


What draws me to Buddhism are the core ethics, beautifully summed up in Chris Pauling's slim, 68-page book Introducing Buddhism. The chapter on Ethics (just 20 pages!) is as perfect a manifesto for living as I've come across anywhere. Which is why I gave a copy to both my 'big kids' for their 18th birthdays - knowing that even if they didn't read it now, they might pick it up in years to come and find some guidance.


The genius of Buddhism is that it appeals to both sides of ourselves: the selfish and the selfless (or the ego and the superego, if you like). There are some very high principles indeed (do not steal, do not lie, do not be unfaithful, etc), but these are offered not simply as some altruistic moral code that we have to follow to be 'good' and not to 'sin', but as ways to be true to ourselves and therefore, ultimately, to help ourselves. In fact, there's no such thing as 'good' and 'bad' in Buddhism, only 'skilful' and 'unskilful' - in other words, actions that will help us in our path to Enlightenment and actions that won't. 


<blockquote>And that's it. None of that sinning, guilt-ridden heavy shit that so many religions burden their followers with. It's your life: you chose how to behave and do whatever you can within the limits of your capabilities. No-one will judge you for it. Which is why a lot of Buddhist doctrine is repackaged and sold as self-help manuals in the West.</blockquote>


What has all this got to do with raising kids? Well, as I mentioned, there are a number of key precepts which form the basis of Buddhist ethics. (Traditionally, these are given as negatives, although the positive implications are at least as important.) Most of these precepts, I can read and believe I'm abiding by them as best I can. So when it says, 'To refrain from untruthfulness', I believe that I generally don't lie and that I try to be as truthful to myself and my beliefs as I can be. When it says, 'To refrain from taking anything which is not freely given', I believe that I generally don't steal and am generous and helpful to others when I can be. 


But the precept that always stops me in my tracks is, 'To refrain from causing harm to other living beings'. This is the basis of all 'green' thinking: to cause as little damage to the planet and the creatures which live on it as possible. That's the reason I'm vegetarian, why I recycle as much as possible, why I buy organic whenever I can, why I feel tortured by owning a car, etc, etc. In my day-to-day life, I work hard to 'refrain from causing harm to other living beings'. Ok, I make compromises (I own a car, I fly), but they are carefully considered compromises which I feel are necessary in my current situation. 


The sting in the tail of this precept is that it applies to how we earn our living too. So there's the obvious things: don't work for the armaments industry, or the armed forces - and certainly don't become a butcher. But there's more. As Pauling puts it: "At a more subtle level it might also raise doubts about forms of work that cause less obvious suffering, or cause harm on a more spiritual level - for example by promoting useless craving, as might be the case with work in the advertising industry, or industries that produce unnecessary luxury goods."


When I first read this, I went into a blind panic. My work as a writer/photographer specialising in sailing doesn't do any obvious harm, but then again neither does it do much obvious good. You could argue it encourages people to get away from the rat race and get closer to nature, but there is also an undeniable consumerist aspect to sailing which is anything but sustainable. And churning out more yet books and magazines about anything can only have a negative impact on the environment. 


I'd like to say I've found a solution to this conundrum, and I have tried several times to redirect my life towards a more ethical way of making a living (I got a job on a local community paper, took an MA in Global Political Economy, and currently work on the local Green Party newspaper). But, at the end of the day, I have a family to support and a mortgage to pay, and so I keep returning to the work I know best: writing about and photographing boats.


But there is another way I've reconciled myself to this part of the precept. While my work may not be the most ethical, by giving myself fully to my children's upbringing and helping them to lead an 'ethical' life, I feel I have to a some extent compensated for my failures elsewhere. And, when time and finances allow, I hope to put my work on a more ethical course. Writing this column is a step in that direction.


Recommended reading
Introducing Buddhism, by Chris Pauling, pub Windhorse 
Buddhism Without Beliefs: A Contemporary Guide to Awakening, by Stephen Batchelor, pub Bloomsbury
Confession of a Buddhist Atheist, by Stephen Batchelor, pub Spiegel & Grau

Ethical Food Shopping: A Pact with the Devil

Having been married and had a family, then been single, then been married and had a family again, I can say conclusively it’s easier to be green when you’re single. In fact, I’m pretty sure there must be a rule somewhere which states that your ability to be green is inversely proportional to the number of people in your household.

Take shopping. During my time as a bachelor, I hardly knew what the inside of a supermarket looked like. Most of my shopping was done at either a Middle Eastern style grocery store at the bottom of my road or at a wholefood shop in the centre of town. I probably paid over the odds for what I got, but as I was mostly just feeding myself it didn’t much matter.

Things changed once I started having children again. Within the space of a few months, I went from feeding myself and my (big) kids on occasional weekends to catering for a family of four every day of the week. My weekly shop quadrupled while my income, if anything, declined as the demands of fatherhood set in. Suddenly, buying locally-produced honey at £4.20 a pot seemed an extravagance, when you could get the same quantity for half the price at a nearby supermarket. And what about tofu? Did it make sense to buy our nice ethical brand of tofu from the Middle Eastern store when exactly the same product was available from Morrisons for at least £1 less?

The purist in me argued we should buy local regardless and avoid supermarkets at all costs. But I also had to remind myself that, being self-employed, I needed to put money aside to pay my tax bill at the end of the year, plus the baby needed to be kept in nappies, and sooner or later I would have to buy myself some new shoes. Not only that but, if we were to keep our sanity, we would need a holiday sometime. It was all very well being green, but if it meant spiralling into debt then I had to admit we had probably got the balance wrong.

Then we moved from a small seaside flat to a spacious three-bed house on top of the hill. We were now a 20-minute walk away from the nearest shops with no car, one toddler and my wife heavily pregnant with our second baby (and I use the word ‘heavily’ advisedly, as he turned out to be a whopping ten-pounder!). Unless I wanted to spend all my free time lugging foodstuffs up the hill, we would have to take drastic action: we would have to go to a supermarket.

The compromise was to shop at the Co-Op, which seemed the least bad of the big supermarket chains. Despite their recent acquisition of the Somerfield chain, the Co-Op still features in most lists of most environmentally-friendly supermarkets, mainly because of its record on animal welfare and its range of Fairtrade and organic products. It ranks third on the unadjusted list of supermarkets on the Ethical Consumer website – interestingly after Budgens and Londis – and was included in the Ecologist’s list of six ‘greener’ supermarkets in the UK. Just as importantly, they offered free home delivery – though sadly not online.

For a little while, we were able to carry on buying our fruit and veg from the Middle Eastern grocery, where the produce was not only fresh but also cheap. But then that closed down – presumably because everyone was buying their tofu at Morrisons for £1 less – and was replaced by a Sainsbury’s Local. We were bereft.

An organic veg box was the obvious solution, but which one? After being disappointed by a local box which was as boring as it was stingy, we got tempted by a free offer from Abel & Cole. It didn’t take long for us to be won around by their efficient online service and free gifts. The day I saw a celeriac in the box and said out loud, ‘What the hell do I with a celeriac?’, and then immediately found a leaflet which said,  ‘What the hell do I with a celeriac?’ (or words to that effect), I was converted. You can’t argue with that level of customer service.

And so for the past two years, we have had a weekly delivery from the Co-Op – less convenient than Ocado, as you can’t shop online and more expensive than Asda, but they make the best frozen pizzas – plus a weekly veg box from Abel & Cole. We also have a monthly delivery of staples such as soya milk and spaghetti courtesy our local wholefood wholesalers, which includes a 15% donation to the local Green Party – more of which another time.

Of course we could have sacrificed our holiday, or I could have bought some cheap trainers rather than those fancy vegetarian ‘leather’ shoes. Unless you are well off or willing to sacrifice your quality of life, going green is always going to be a trade off between competing principles. And at some point you are likely to have to make a pact with the devil.

I now know what the inside of a supermarket looks like: I know that Asda makes a surprisingly good range of frozen vegetarian food and that Sainsbury’s is the only supermarket which regularly stocks Belgian waffles. But I still don’t known what the inside of Tesco’s looks like.

On the plus side, I’m pleased to report that we still buy the expensive local honey. Some things are too good to give up.

Ethical score, UK supermarkets (out of 20, unadjusted)

Budgens 7

Londis 7

Co-Op 6.5

Farmfoods 6.5

Booths 6

Costcutter 5.5

Iceland 5.5

Marks & Spencer 5.5

McColl 5.5

Premier 5.5

Spar 5.5

Aldi 5

Lidl 5

Waitrose 4.5

Morrisons 3

Sainbury’s 2

Tesco 1

Asda 0

Netto 0

Source: Ethical Consumer

www.ethicalconsumer.org/buyersguides/food/supermarkets.aspx

Greener Grocers: Six Ethical Supermarkets

Unicorn Grocery

Co-Op

Unicorn Food Co

Grassroots Organics

Planet Organic

People’s Supermarket

Source: www.theecologist.org

The car conundrum

Beep beep! No, that’s not my green conscience reminding me to stick to my principles; that’s a real life, gas-guzzling, carbon-emitting, money-burning car parked in my driveway. After 12 years of coping perfectly well without owning any motorised form of transport (apart from a couple of boats), I’ve finally succumbed and bought a car – not just any car, mind, but a largish family estate. And the worrying thing is, I actually feel quite excited about it.

How did it come to this? I used to own cars, in the dim and distant past when I had a young family and was doing a lot of DIY. Then I divorced, and my ex-wife kept the car. My subsequent car-less status wasn’t exactly an active decision to get rid of the dreaded beast; more a passive decision not to buy a replacement. And it may have had as much to do with my persistent state of poverty as any over-riding green principle, I can’t exactly remember.

That said, there’s no doubt in my mind that cars are a major part of The Problem. Living in the south-east corner of England – which is so over-vehicled that it feels as if we are already in gridlock – it’s hard not to think the world would be a far more pleasant place if they didn’t exist. By not owning a car, I could assume some degree of detachment from the UK’s rampant consumer culture – not exactly the moral high ground, but certainly a small hillock of superiority.

My position was admittedly made easier by sharing a house with someone who ran a car-share scheme and, later, by joining the hugely successful City Car Club in Brighton. If I needed to, I could always hire a car for £5-6 per hour. It was easy, efficient – and kept me locked into the car culture. Who knows what might have happened had I not had that option. I might have got my bike properly kitted out, or bought a horse – or, more likely, bought another car that much sooner. The combustion engine is a hard habit to break.

Then I had more children – two more babies and a step-daughter, to be precise. At first, my partner and I carried on with the car club option, heroically putting up with the inevitable drawbacks: booking in advance, locating the nearest available vehicle, fitting car seats, getting back before we incurred a fine, unfitting car seats, returning vehicle, etc, etc. When our second child was born, however, sleep deprivation kicked in and this interminable to-ing and fro-ing lost its appeal. Travelling on buses and trains with two fractious toddlers was an exhausting ordeal. Even walking to the beach became a chore, especially as it was all uphill on the way back. We went out less and less, and instead contented ourselves with visiting the nearby park most days of the week.

And so the idea of buying a car was born. We soon found many worthy, even altruistic, reasons why owning one would be a good thing. We would nip down to the seafront of a summer’s evening and have a barbecue on the beach. We would take the children on country walks more often and get them more attuned to nature. We would take them to the big swimming pool nearby, so much nicer than our tiny local one, and teach them to swim. And we would visit my parents in France more often, without having to pay the usual exorbitant air fares and car rental fees.

We always intended to buy the smallest, most economical car possible. But with two children under three and a teenager to squeeze in, the criteria soon changed to the smallest, most economical estate car possible. Then we saw a proper family estate with three proper seats in the back, seemingly in mint condition and the same price as the rest. Faster than you could say ‘greenhouse gases’, we bought it.

And so the big red beast sits in our drive. It turns out it’s not the worse gas-guzzler in the world, giving 36-40 miles per gallon, and it will comfortably fit a family of five plus camping gear. I still haven’t worked out which is ‘greener’, flying to France or going by car, but I know which is cheaper and which will allow my elderly parents to see their grandchildren more often.  And, who knows, maybe we will forsake that holiday to Corfu and drive to the Westcountry instead. That should save a few trees.