Why Peter Singer and the Buddha are wrong about universal love

In an installment of "The Stone," one of the ongoing guest column series at the New York Times, Stephen Asma explains why we can't show equal, disinterested love to all humans, let alone all sentient beings.

It's all about human finitude, in two ways.

First, our level of emotional outreach is simply finite, even if we can perform a detached utilitarian calculus to help non-kin just as much as kin.

Second, we're not omniscient. Contra the classic utilitarian calculus, we don't know which of our actions truly will provide the greatest good to the greatest number of people. Asma could have referenced the pseudo-Chinese proverbial story, with its recurring chorus line of "could be good, could be bad," as part of this.

Asma focuses on Singer and other modern ethical philosophers. But, his argument applies to Buddhism as well

And, I can go even better than Asma there. Buddhism's philosophy and theology actually seems to promote universal detachment, or universal indifference, not universal love. I can then reverse-argue that to modern utilitarianism, saying that, once utilitarians realize their calculus simply doesn't work, should accept that universal indifference is the best they can do.

LOVE BEAUTY SEX

LOVE BEAUTY SEX



Love is not beauty.
Love is not sex.
Beauty is formed in the eye of a loving beholder.
But itself cannot create love instead of lust.
Love is more than sex, and extends and exists beyond it;
And even better without it at times.



Beauty is not sex.
Beauty is not love.
Many people, at swingers’ parties and clubs
Have engaged in sex when not beautiful, or with those not beautiful
And many beautiful people either cannot or will not
Find or give love.



Sex is not love.
Sex is not beauty.
As John Holmes said, without love
Sex is but mutual masturbation.
And we have plenty of mutual masturbators, as well as solo ones,
In our world.
And sex doesn’t make me, or a partner
Any more beautiful in and of itself.

— Nov. 10, 2008

I want a lover …

I want the love of a true lover.

I want the love that, when I look in her eyes, I feel like I’m swimming 10 miles deep.

I want the love that, when I hear her voice with just the right tone, I feel like I’m going 20 miles deep.

I want the love that, when I touch her skin and run my hands through her hair, I feel like I’m diving to the center of the earth.

I want the love that, when we talk, before during or after all that, we have shared hearts, minds and spirits so much that I feel I’m swimming back up to the far side.

I’m asking.

I want to make myself available.

I am making myself available.

I am available.

Who’s hurt, and who’s diseased?

“I’m messed up, and I might mess you up.”

And where have I heard those lines before?
After more than seven years, I still remember.
I still remember Cathey’s self-defense
Cathey’s self-defense that made her sound diseased.

Sound diseased, though, isn’t the same as “felt diseased,” and
Felt diseased is the way I felt
I felt like I was a disease carrier
Carrier of something that could hurt her.

Hurt her? Maybe I could. Maybe I was too close,
Too close to the heart, too close to the defenses,
Defenses that were stout, but perhaps brittle with age,
Brittle with age, with heartache and more.

Age, heartache, and more?
I pulled punches seven years ago, trying to prevent,
To prevent Cathey from running, though I had no chance,
Once she saw I might be serious, though I tried to hide it, she was gone.

Gone? No? Memories of her are still there, and my actions,
My actions seven years ago, from which I learned,
Learned not to do the same thing again,
Again, as I face the same situation, or what seems same or similar.

Similar in situation, but not in response?
If she doesn’t want to share the hurt with me, then I can’t
Can’t continue to share my degree of yearning
Yearning and burning can’t be camouflaged.

I won’t camouflage one thing:
I’m not diseased and I’m not fragile.
Not fragile as china, to be boxed and padded away,
Boxed and padded away, out of sight, sound and mind.

We can’t talk

We can’t talk right now;
She is working on issues and pains
From a past relationship
And says she doesn’t want to hurt me.

I understand, I think, but I don’t like it;
I sympathize, but still yearn,
Yearn for her to change her mind,
And sooner, rather than later.

I feel like my emotions are on hold,
An interest, a budding hope and more,
Waiting, waiting, waiting;
Can't she see the “urgent” on her caller ID?

I wish I could make her understand
That, even if I am projecting my emotions
Onto an unseen her, never yet met,
This is more than normal interest.

But, she doesn’t want to hurt me.
She makes it sound as if she is a carrier
Of the latest exotic disease,
And afraid of infecting me.

Please, hang up the phone on the past.
Get the call blocking for that unwanted caller.
Put me on speed dial. Give me a call.
I'm not afraid of your emotional pain.

I want you.
I want you to talk.
I want you to
Talk to me.

But don’t wait,
Because I won’t
Wait
That long.

LOVE IS ...

“Love” is overused,
Like a greedy, hungry maw
Demanding more food.

“Love” is overused,
A spreading, yawning sinkhole
Swallowing victims.

Unconditional
It is not. It cannot be,
And never has been.

Love always has cost;
Even self-love has its price
And its conditions.

Love always demands
Choices, decisions, actions,
None of them painless.

Love is insistent,
Pressing, unsafe, insecure,
Even when quiet.

Love is imperfect
And no Platonic ideal,
Yet is idolized.

“Love” is many words
Used indiscriminately,
Cobbled together.

“Love” is many things,
Sweetness and light and darkness,
Indefinable.

— Steve Snyder
July 21, 2004