Let our children see the truth

By Geewananda Gunawardana

Just out of curiosity, few years ago, I followed a course on Buddhism designed by a westerner for those who are new to the tradition. In this class, there were a handful of us who were born into the tradition as well. At the end of the course, talking to all parties, I realised that the message the newcomers took home was different from the one we, the veterans, received. After further exploration, studying the oft quoted Kalama Sutta, and extensive soul searching, I realised what happened: It was the upbringing of those of us who were born into the tradition that made the difference. Contrary to what I had assumed, our background stood in the way of understanding Dhamma, instead of giving us a leg-up.

There is a major conflict or disparity between what we have been exposed to since our childhood and the truth described in Dhamma. This makes it difficult for us to relate to Dhamma without unlearning a large amount of material acquired over a lifetime: beliefs, views, rituals, and practices that are extraneous to Dhamma, or other stuff, as I will call them. In other words, we face difficulties in overcoming doubts (vicikiccha) about realities, about cause and result, about the three characteristics of life, about the Four Noble Truths, and about the Dependent Origination. We may have studied them by heart and committed to memory, but by combining Dhamma and other stuff, we fail to see the meaning of either. Like everyone else around us, the elders we respect, educators, society leaders, and the Sangha who are quite content with the status quo, we fail to recognise this as a problem. This has become our comfort zone, and we see no need to rock the proverbial boat.

To compound things further, there are other views that justify this confusion: Thanks to venerable Buddhagosha’s musings, we have concluded that Dhamma became incomprehensible one thousand years after parinibana. The truth is that he was not commenting about Dhamma, which is timeless (akaliko), he was referring to the way we confuse ourselves by adding this other stuff over that period. Other views imply that Dhamma cannot be that simple, and there must be some important aspects that were lost during transmission and translations, or that we are not intelligent enough to decipher the deep message. They are all smoke screens covering the fact that we are unable to separate the extraneous material from Dhamma. If we could do that, most of us would realise that we knew the Dhamma already. That is the advantage that newcomers to Dhamma have over us who were born Buddhists; newcomers come without the proverbial extraneous baggage, and they have no conflict.

Shedding this extraneous baggage is no easy task, for unlearning is much harder a process than learning. However, that does not mean that we should let our children inherit the same misfortunes we did. It will require the concerted effort of several generations to jump this hurdle, but it can be done, and it must be done. First, we, the adults, must sort out what is Dhamma and what is extraneous to it. Second, we must avoid exposing children to this other stuff. Third, we must figure out how and when to teach Dhamma to children, for the current process does not seem to be working. However, preventing the children from exposure to extraneous material is something that we can do within the family structure without the intervention of the government or other institutions. It is our choice. Once they are free from such extraneous material, and as they grow, it will become natural for the children to relate to Dhamma. Dhamma is far ahead of modern science, therefore, it is much easier for the current generations who are into STEM education, to relate to Dhamma. This is not hyperbole; there are many of us who were fortunate enough to have teachers and adults who had the courage and wisdom to deviate from the tradition and help us separate the proverbial chaff from grain. And there are others who have figured it out themselves.

There is no universally-proven method to overcome this hurdle, but we can take the oft-quoted Kalama Sutta as a guiding principle: cultivate critical thinking skills. Since there is no one method for creating critical thinkers, I can only mention a few questions for us adults to ponder. I must confess, in fact, quite a few questions. The first question come up is about the Buddhist texts: are they all Buddha’s words? Answering that is a scholarly endeavour, but it is well established that a poem occupying a pivotal position in Buddhist literature is a later addition. Poetry is an important part of any culture, but we must ask “Is it proper to teach a 6th century Sanskrit poem as historical facts or Dhamma, and going to the extent of including it in the official curriculum and give it further legitimacy?” We cannot find fault with poets as they have the artistic freedom to let their imagination take flight. Buddha never claimed to be anything but human and there are no external powers involved in his life or in his discovery of the truths. Unfortunately, this poem introduces a litany of things that contradict this fact and causes unnecessary confusion, not only in young malleable minds, but in mature minds as well.

Another question we must ask is the true purpose of Jathaka stories. Many of the themes of these stories have pre-Buddhist origins in the great Indian story telling tradition. These stories were adapted as an uncomplicated way to introduce Buddhist ethics and moral values to ordinary people (puthajjana). While they are an effective tool in this respect, taking them as truths can cause serious conflicts with Dhamma at later stages.

Then, what about our treasured temple paintings and sculptures, which depict Buddha’s life and Jathaka stories? They demonstrate the incredible talents of our painters and sculptors that have taken artistic liberties to new heights. Should we treat their work as national treasures or illustrated guides to Dhamma? A westerner who toured a not-so-old temple in Colombo recently, asked me if Buddhism was an occult, referring to the vivid murals they saw. During a recent visit to a newer shrine room in Kandy, I got the feeling that scenes depicting hell should have a “Viewer Discretion Required” warning up front. If these artistic creations can convey such varied but unintended messages to adults, what about their effects on young children? How do we explain the artistic and cultural values to children without distorting Dhamma?

Speaking of hell, are we right in using the concept of papakarma as a disciplinary tool? Do we give our children the impression that papakarma and punyakarma are a punishment and reward system sending one to hell or heaven, respectively? And give them the impression that there is some superpower keeping track of our actions and metering out justice. How are they going to reconcile such beliefs with Middle Way (majjima patipada) and its rejection of eternalism (sassatavada) and annihilationism (ucchedavada), when they encounter them? Should we accept the pre-Buddhist definitions of karma and rebirth along with other rituals?

Prior to the introduction of the germ theory in the 16th century, people believed that communicable diseases were caused by unhappy higher powers. They prayed and made offerings to various deities and minor gods asking for protection or cure from such diseases. If we do the same in the 21st century, are we asking our children to forgo five hundred years of scientific advances and go back to the dark ages? Can we justify the practicality of many other beliefs and rituals such as astrology, bali and thovil ceremonies, and fortune telling etc., ignoring current scientific knowledge, let alone Dhamma? When our children begin to suspect such things and challenge their validity, as inquisitive minds often do in this AI age, should we tell them that if they were good for our ancestors, they should be good for them too, or think about the advice to Kalamas?

The truth is that if we can ‘see things as they really are,’ we can eliminate the dilemma we face in figuring our way through these matters. Let us take the evolution of Vesak lanterns as an example. Our ancestors lit oil lamps in the shrines and around places of worship to help them find their way after dark. To protect the lamps from the elements, they produced simple ‘shades’ made up of tender coconut leaves. Our folks are a creative lot, so they turned making lamp shades out of coconut leaves into an art form. Thus, the Gok Kala was born (Chandrasena 2004). Once paper became available, we changed the medium as well as the purpose of the light: earlier we used the light to find our way after dark, now we use the light, obviously electric, to illuminate our artwork. Earlier, there was some merit – helping devotees find their way. On the other hand, is there any merit in lighting lanterns that are not handmade as they used to be, and often in tens or hundreds along roads that are already well lit? It is a tradition, or a cultural event that has lost its practical utility but has turned into an art form. Is there any point in lighting oil lamps around a well illuminated stupa, for example? Should we be truthful and tell our children that there is no salvific value in them? Should we teach some artistic skills to the kids, instead? How many children today know how to cut the zig-zag tussles for a Vesak lantern, let alone creating gok kola art?

The list of practices, beliefs, and rituals that have lost their meaning or relevance in the 21st century continues. ‘How much of it has spilled over the spiritual realm and effects the other aspects of our lives?’ is a truly relevant question we must address. Do we give them the sense that their destiny in this world is fixed at birth and controlled by higher powers? Is our tendency to resign to our fate and ignore the responsibility one has in the betterment of his or her lot in this world here and now, the cause of many problems we face today? The higher powers need not be deities and devils, but they can be real people delegated with the responsibilities of conducting societal functions. People with authority but have forgotten the fact that they are our servants, and not the masters. Do we equate them and their actions to our misguided concept of karma – an inevitable force beyond our control? Do we overlook the fact that we have a choice and that it is an unalienable right of ours? Are we ready to face this critical year ahead, armed with facts and truths, and not be misled by falsehoods and trickery as we have done for decades, for the sake of our children and their future?