BUDDHISM AND EDUCATION IN BURMA:
VARYING CONDITIONS FOR A SOCIAL ETHOS IN THE PATH TO
“NIBBANA”
Eugenia Kaw
A DISSERTATION
PRESENTED TO THE FACULTY
OF PRINCETON UNIVERSITY
IN CANDIDACY FOR THE DEGREE
OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPY
RECOMMENDED FOR ACCEPTANCE
BY THE DEPARTMENT OF
ANTHROPOLOGY
NOVEMBER 2005
UMI Number: 3169805
Copyright 2005 by
Kaw, Eugenia
All rights reserved.
UMI Microform 3169805
Copyright 2005 by ProQuest Information and Learning Company.
All rights reserved. This microform edition is protected against
unauthorized copying under Title 17, United States Code.
ProQuest Information and Learning Company
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© Copyright by Eugenia Kaw, 2005. All rights reserved.
Abstract
This is a comparative study of pedagogy in the various educational
settings in which Buddhism is taught to lay persons in modern Burma:
formal and non-formal, governmental and non-governmental, and lay and
monastic-led. Findings suggest that the simultaneous development of faith
and critical thinking skills is integral to motivating Buddhist ethics in the
world. In present day Burma, it is the meditation monk teachers who can
best provide that sort of education. They provide the educational conditions
in which lay persons can aim for nibbana, the ultimate salvation, release
from the cycle of rebirths, even as one lives and moves in the world.
Central to the meditation monks’ pedagogy is the instilling of a “conscience”
of the Buddha, the ability of a people to remember and be moved by ethics
as embodied in the Buddha (Obeyesekere 1991). The Buddha did not
create the world, has passed on into nibbana, and no longer exists.
Therefore, he cannot be propitiated by prayers. As such, Buddhist ethics
entail much self-responsibility and critical thinking. The Buddha modeled
this path to wisdom through his practice of vipassana or insight meditation.
His path to wisdom was motivated by moral awareness. In his life as the
Buddha and in his many past lives, the Buddha fulfilled moral perfections
including self-sacrifice. Hence, a conscience of the Buddha entails faith in
his perfections and a willingness to develop one’s own ability to judge right
iii
from wrong. The monks’ pupils not only become acquainted with stories of
the Buddha’s astounding deeds, but also gain the practical means to verify
for themselves the value of the Buddha’s ethics in the world. Through
awareness of the material body, feelings, consciousness, and other mental
objects, they learn to gauge for themselves the wholesome or unwholesome
quality of conducts and motives, their own and that of others. By helping to
transform the “conscience collective (Durkheim 1933)” of the Buddha in the
larger society into an ethical “conscience” of the individual, the meditation
monk teachers help to prevent notions of the Buddha’s greatness from
becoming a mere nationalist symbol or propaganda tool of the state.
iv
To Blake, Artemisia, Ellie, and Olivia
v
Table of Contents
Acknowledgments………………………………………………………vii
Preface……………………………………………………………………ix
Introduction.………………………………………………………………1
Chapter 1
Conscience of the Buddha in Burmese Popular Culture:
Importance of the Vernacular.........................……………………………48
Chapter 2
‘Nibbana in This World’:
A History of the Lay Elite...............................……………………………89
Chapter 3
Buddhism as an Authoritarian Instrument........……………………………108
Chapter 4
Contemporary Lay Elites and
Buddhist Education...............................………………………………...150
Chapter 5
Meditation Monk Teachers and Buddhist
Education...............................…………………………………………..175
Conclusion
Insight Meditation as Sublimation and Political Praxis:
The Example of Aung San Suu Kyi………………………………………...242
References Cited……………..………………………………………...260
Appendix………..……………..………………………………………...266
vi
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank my parents, sisters, brothers, nephew, and nieces for
being there for me. Their company has helped me to feel at ease in all my
endeavors.
I owe much gratitude to all my teachers, both in the United States and
Burma. I have been fortunate to have invaluable teachers throughout my
lifetime, beginning with my parents. It would be difficult for me to name them all
here. So, please let me take this opportunity to thank those who have directly
influenced my dissertation. First, I would like to thank my main advisor from
Princeton University, Gananath Obeyesekere. He is a kind and wise mentor who
has been an excellent source of inspiration throughout my studies, research, and
writing. Because I wanted to learn about the anthropology of Buddhism, I chose
to become a graduate student at the department of anthropology at Princeton.
Today, I feel certain that I had made the right decision. I also want to thank
Isabelle Clark-Deces for providing me with insight on the formulation and writing
of my dissertation. Further, I thank Marguerite Conrad for helping to edit the
final draft. I thank Gyan Prakash and Carol Greenhouse for being my readers.
Finally, I would like to thank all the professors from whom I have learned at
Princeton for giving me the tools to think before, during, and after my journey to
Burma.
I am also grateful to my teachers in Burma. They include the friends,
strangers, professors, and relatives who patiently answered my barrage of
questions, led me to places where I had never been, and let me become a part of
vii
their lives. I am especially grateful to Sayadawgyi U Pandita and his monk
disciples for teaching me how to practice insight meditation.
Finally, I would like to thank Carol Zanca for her helpfulness at all times,
Claire Brandin for her encouragements, and Carol Fong for her understanding
and giving me the time off that was necessary to finish this dissertation. Last but
not least, I would like to thank my first graders in Room 13 for making me feel
fortunate to be their teacher.
Everyone I know has helped me along. Any shortcomings in this
dissertation are a result of my own doing.
viii
Preface
I have included words and phrases from both the Pali and Burmese
languages in my text. I have used Pali instead of Sanskrit spellings for Buddhist
terminologies, e.g., “nibbana” instead of “nirvana” and “kamma” instead of
“karma.” I have not included any diacritics.
There are some Burmese words in my text that are derived from the Pali
language. When these are the titles of texts or prime Buddhist concepts, I have
spelled them using Pali phonetics. For example, the Burmese word “kutho”
means the same as the Pali word kusala (wholesome deeds). I have substituted
“kusala” for “kutho.” When they are names of persons or places, however, I have
left their spellings unchanged as Burmese derivatives of Pali words. For
example, U Thukha’s name is derived from the Pali word sukha (happy). But I
have left his name as “Thukha” because that is the name by which he is
popularly known in Burma.
ix
Introduction
This is a study of Buddhist education in modern day Burma. It is a
comparative study of pedagogy in the various educational settings in which
Buddhism is taught to lay persons in Burma today: formal and non-formal,
governmental and non-governmental, and lay and monastic-led. Findings
suggest that the simultaneous development of faith and critical thinking skills are
integral to motivating Buddhist ethics in the world. In present day Burma, it is the
meditation monk teachers who can best provide that sort of education. They
provide the educational conditions in which lay persons can effectively aim for
nibbana, the ultimate salvation, release from the cycle of rebirths, even as one
lives and moves in the world.
Central to the meditation monks’ pedagogy is the instilling of a conscience
of the Buddha. Obeyesekere has used the term “conscience of the Buddha” to
refer to the ability of a people to remember and be moved by ethics as embodied
in the Buddha (Obeyesekere 1991). The Buddha did not create the world, has
passed on into nibbana, and no longer exists. Therefore, unlike central figures in
monotheistic religions, he cannot give commands, interfere in the affairs of the
world, bestow favors, grant forgiveness, or be propitiated by prayers in either
theory or in practice. As such, Buddhist ethics entail much self-responsibility and
critical thinking, particularly the ability to gauge for oneself right from wrong. The
Buddha modeled this path to wisdom through his practice of vipassana or insight
meditation and the attainment of enlightenment. His path to wisdom was
1
motivated by moral awareness. The Buddha as “The Enlightened One” quelled
demons, criminals, and other wrong-doers. In his past lives as different people,
animals, gods, and other living creatures, he fulfilled paramitas (moral
perfections) such as patience, compassion, and self-sacrifice. Hence, a
conscience of the Buddha is two-fold: it entails faith in his moral perfections and
a willingness to develop one’s own ability to judge right from wrong as he did
through insight meditation. The meditation monk teachers are best able to instill
a conscience of the Buddha in pupils as they not only tell narratives of the
Buddha’s life and past lives but also encourage, through self-example, practice of
his ethics and path to critical insight.
Durkheim used the term conscience collective to refer to a “set of beliefs
and sentiments,” shared by members of a society, which forms a defined system
and has a life of its own (Durkheim 1933:79). The French word conscience is
ambiguous. It entails the connotations of both English words “consciousness”
and “conscience” (Lukes 1985:4). So, the beliefs and sentiments in a
“conscience collective” are simultaneously cognitive and moral or religious
(Lukes:4). The legend of the Buddha and Jataka tales (stories of his
astoundingly moral past lives) that are told time and again in homes, at monks’
sermons, and through temple frescoes and sculptures in Burma are a
“conscience collective” of this type. They create a common consciousness, a
presence of the Buddha in people’s minds throughout Burma. For the faithful,
they also help to produce a shared conscience, a shared sense of right and
wrong.
2
The conscience of the Buddha that the meditation monk teachers promote
at their meditation retreats and Buddhist civility programs is different from the
“collective conscience” that is produced in the larger society. Pupils under their
tutelage not only become acquainted with a sense of right and wrong as
exemplified by the Buddha’s legend and stories of his past lives, but also gain the
practical means to verify for themselves the value of the Buddha’s ethics in the
world. That is, they do not simply take for granted the truthfulness of the
Buddhist morality tales. Through awareness of their material body, feelings,
consciousness, and other mental objects, they learn to gauge for themselves the
wholesome or unwholesome quality of conducts and motives, both their own and
others’.
By helping to refine the “conscience collective” of the Buddha in the larger
society into an ethical “conscience” of the individual, the meditation monk
teachers help to prevent notions of the Buddha’s greatness from becoming only a
nationalist symbol or propaganda tool of the authoritarian state. The military
junta in Burma likes to promote a collective consciousness of the Buddha by
supporting mass venerations of the Buddha’s relics and images. They try to
promote a consciousness of the Buddha as a kind of auspicious political figure
legitimating the regime. Based primarily in faith, this psychologically soothing
imagery has also served as a veneer of “false consciousness (Marx and Engels
1957)” covering the harsh political realities of living under authoritarian rule.
Based on such consciousness, a “collective conscience” of the Buddha can
remain primarily a static phenomenon. In polar contrast, a conscience of the
3
Buddha, a remembrance and practice of his deeds and path to insight as
promoted at monastic meditation centers have led to both personal
transformations and political praxes.
A Brief History of Monastic Education for Lay Persons
It was the beginning of a cold, dry winter in Rangoon, the capital of
Burma. I had been in the country for nearly four months. I was interested in
studying the role of Buddhism, an other-worldly religion, in the this-worldly life of
the Burmese people. I had been studying the relationship between Buddhism
and modern education in Burma. Specifically, I was investigating the pedagogy
of monks who taught both Buddhism and a public school education to lay pupils
at government-administered monastic schools in and around Rangoon. My focus
had been on them because in pre-colonial days, monastic schools had been the
foundation of education in Burma, at least for the entire male Buddhist
population, regardless of class, occupation, or status. In the pre-colonial
monastic schools, monk teachers taught to their novice and lay pupils the
Burmese language, arithmetic, and verses and stories from the Tripitaka (“Three
Baskets” comprising the Buddhist canon) in the original Pali language with their
Burmese vernacular translations. The education was both loki (worldly) and
lokuttara (other-worldly) in nature (Kaung 1963:29-33). The students learned the
essential world view and ethics of their religion, devotional chants, and daily
observances, along with reading, writing, spelling, and mathematical skills
necessary for engaging in daily life within the larger society. Furthermore, some
4
Buddhist homilies written by contemporary Burmese Buddhist masters that
contained more specific worldly admonitions, such as discerning the
characteristics of a wise mate, a benevolent employer, a fair ruler, or performing
the duties of children, teachers, and parents were also taught to pupils (Kaung:
29). In the more advanced stages, novices who decided to become monks went
on to attain higher learning in the Pali texts, while lay students, notably in the
case of princes and other royal members, tried to master the 18 worldly subjects
called Aharathat, which included bow and arrow sports, thine (a Burmese martial
arts), and sciences such as suryasiddhanta (astronomy), laghugraha (astrology),
and dravyaguna (medicine) (Kaung:31). All of the education at the monastic
schools in pre-colonial Burma was by choice. No one was required to be in
attendance. One Burmese education professor from Rangoon’s Teachers’
College, U Thein Lwin, told me, “It was a student-based, individualized form of
education.” Students progressed through different texts and subjects based on
their own speed and abilities. The education was also free of charge. Monks
were supported by donations they normally received from the lay community.
I was finding that the nature of the education in the current governmentadministered monastic schools for lay pupils was dramatically different from that
in the pre-colonial monastic schools for lay pupils as the relationship between
Sangha (order of monks) and Burmese society was now also quite different.
One way in which the British colonial government “disestablished Buddhism
(Sarkisyanz 1965:110-127)” in the mid 19th century was by diminishing the role of
monks as the main educators of Burmese society. In their modernist campaign,
5
they centralized and formalized the education system in Burma under one
Education Department, standardized grades, supported Christian missionary
schools that competed well with the monastic schools by teaching English and
the modern sciences such as geography, required a knowledge of the English
language for jobs, and required monastic schools to register if they chose to be a
part of the education system. Many monk teachers refused to register. To do so
would have limited their autonomy and caused transgressions of many of their
vinaya (rules of conduct for monks), including having to work under lay teachers
and administrators and also become a wage earner. For instrumental reasons,
i.e., to ensure jobs for their children, parents began to send their children only to
government-recognized schools and especially ones that taught the English
language and the modern sciences. While monks’ role as spiritual counsel and a
field of merit remained, their role as “educators” diminished, except in isolated
rural areas where government schools were lacking. This trend continues today.
So, to this day, the term “phongyi kyuang tha” (“student who received his or her
basic education at monastic schools”) is often used in a derogatory manner to
refer to someone who does not seem very well educated in Burma.
The Post-Colonial Revival of Monastic Schools for Lay
Persons
The post-colonial governments inherited the colonial government’s
“modern” system of education with a centralized system and standardized
grades. However, they also had to deal with the inadequacies of that system,
namely the difficulty of getting children to school in a very poor nation that is also
6
mostly agrarian. According to Professor Thein Lwin, “The formal school system
is not suitable to people’s lives. Many children have to help their parents with
work. For instance, in the north (where beans are the main commodity crop),
when beans sprout, all the formal schools have to close down because no one
shows up.” According to him and his colleagues at the Teachers’ College, only
64% of all five-year-old children in Burma ever make it to kindergarten and of the
64% who do, only a quarter of them ever finish primary school. Finally, only one
percent of the 64% gets to college. So, the military junta’s revival of monastic
schools for lay students (so that monks can help teach primary school curricula
and Buddhism to lay pupils) was the revamping of tradition to accomplish several
modernist ends, i.e., to provide a cost effective “education for all,” to attract
foreign capital via a tourist industry by appearing to be the protector of the
country’s exotic ancient traditions, including Buddhism, and most of all, a means
of social control for the masses. Firstly, monastic schools seemed like a cost
effective method for spreading mass education. Monks did not need to be paid
because according to the vinaya they cannot accept payment. Moreover, their
school buildings already existed, so no new ones needed to be built. Secondly,
having monks teach served to legitimate the state as the protector and
propagator of tradition and the Buddhist religion. In this year, 1996, many
government-administered monastic schools for lay children had opened and
were much publicized in the state-run newspapers, including the English
language version. Coincidentally, it was also the state’s officially designated
“Visit Myanmar Year.” “Come and see our traditions…” was the motto used by
7
the government in newspapers, posters, and billboards to attract tourists. Finally,
the monastic schools for lay students were also places that could help the
government with social control. The Department for the Perpetuation and
Propagation of the Sasana (Buddhist religion), otherwise known as DPPS, was
the branch of the Ministry of Religion that dealt specifically with spreading
Buddhism both within the nation and abroad. The deputy minister of the DPPS
who had provided me my visa and given me formal permission to study the
monastic schools for which his department is responsible, said that these schools
were a way in which his government was molding saritta (character) and yin kyey
aung lok (civilizing) the young people of the nation. “Monks are already civilized
so they can discipline the students,” he said. He referred to the mass prodemocracy demonstrations in 1988 with regret:
Eugenia, you should have been here in 1988. It was a dark year in our
history. There were young people beheading those whom they thought to
be their enemy right on the streets and they were dragging bodies. We
cannot let that happen again…Through our monastic schools, we are
helping to put back on the correct path those who, because of blindness,
are not on the correct path.
And, in fact, monastic schools that were used were in the urban or suburban
areas where the government can keep a close supervision. The government
brought to the monasteries rural poor children as boarders. Some of them were
orphans and many of them were from hill tribe minorities who were neither
Burman nor Buddhist but whose ethnic groups were in rebellion or under threat
of rebellion against the government.
Because the goals of monastic education for lay students had changed in
the above ways, the content and nature of the education had also changed from
8
pre-colonial monastic education. There was much force involved, both in the
implementation and teaching. Firstly, the lay children were required to be there
and stay there. The monks, too, were coerced to be the main teachers and
supervisors of the students. In many cases, the monks and the schools were
picked and designated by the government, regardless of the monks’ wishes. The
only form of “Buddhist” education I found in many of these monastic schools
were basic daily ritual observances, such as prostrating in front of Buddha
images, giving offerings to the Buddha images, and rote memorization of a few
Buddhist chants, the meaning of which, many of the students could neither
articulate nor understand. The unintended consequence of such Buddhist
education is that Buddhism is denigrated, not only in its deep meaning, but also
in the role of the Sangha, the order of monks. As the government does not take
responsibility for the cost of the schooling, and only donates a few items at will,
the monks were mostly left on their own to raise money for the cost of feeding,
clothing, and buying books and pencils for the students. Yet, to raise money or
even announce, without being asked, a need goes against the quite ascetic rules
of the vinaya codes they must live by. When they do announce, too, whatever
respect they have among their lay communities can easily diminish. Hence,
many of the monks I met at the government-administered monastic schools were
quite pre-occupied trying to figure out how to continue supporting their lay
students. They had little time to perfect, much less do either of the two traditional
duties of monks: pathibatti (meditate) or pariyatti (study and teach Buddhist
texts). In fact, they had little time and resources to be the “educators” of young
9
people in any way. One of these monk teachers exclaimed to me, “They [the
government] started this program. They should be the ones to take on the
responsibility of making sure it can work out.”
I had begun my above research on government-administered monastic
schools in August 1996. In the middle of December, my field work came to a
sudden halt. In many ways, December was to become the most dramatic
turning point of my field work. The events that occurred then helped to shape the
larger scope and premises of my dissertation research. My concept of Buddhist
education in modern Burma widened to include more non-formal settings such as
non-governmentally affiliated meditation centers and lay Buddhist organizations.
A Consciousness of the Buddha in Informal Buddhist Education
As did many kings of Burma’s pre-colonial past, the military junta attempts
to legitimate its rule and also sometimes tries to atone for its moral
transgressions through state-sponsored Buddhist ceremonies. Sometimes these
ceremonies have heightened a consciousness of the Buddha among ordinary
citizens as the symbols used are so powerful. This shared presence of the
Buddha on people’s minds can help to bolster the state’s power, because the
latter often portrays the Buddha as an auspicious protector of the state.
In December, one of the Buddha’s tooth relics was on a tour of Rangoon.
It arrived in Burma several months earlier from China as a sign of good will and
friendship from the Chinese government. It had been touring Upper Burma.
10
Some kind of pwa operation (or copying) of it had been done in Upper Burma by
the military junta, according to the state-run media. Hence, in Upper Burma, its
replica was thapana-thwin or ceremonially inserted into the stupa of the Buddha’s
Tooth Relic Pagoda that had just been built in Mandalay by the military junta
(with donations from the public) for this very purpose of housing a Buddha’s tooth
relic in Burma. Another replica of it had yet to be made in Rangoon and inserted
into the Buddha’s Tooth Relic Pagoda that had just been completed here. So,
now, it was brought to Rangoon for a tour. The tooth relic, measuring about a
palm’s width and set on a golden, miniature, lotus throne was encased in a seethrough container shaped like a stupa. Its container was a glass shaped like an
inverted alms bowl with golden serpent coils and a mini-umbrella at the top. At
the bottom of the glass container were jagged golden tiers representing the
ptsayas (levels) and hapanataw (base). This image of the Buddha’s tooth relic
had been repeatedly shown on the state’s television since its ceremonial arrival
at the Rangoon Mingaladon Airport to its parade routes in Upper Burma,
including Mandalay, to its return now in Rangoon. Upon the tooth relic’s arrival
back in Rangoon, it was paraded en route to its last resting place in Burma (prior
to its replication and then return to China): Maha Pasana Guha (The Great Cave)
on the grounds of the Kaba Aye (World Peace) Pagoda (a vast, elegant,
columned stadium where the Sixth Buddist Synod had been held in the 1950s
under the parliamentary democracy of Prime Minister U Nu). At the parade
which I attended, the Buddha’s tooth relic, in its transparent stupa shaped
container, was hoisted on a white elephant that was dressed in royal regalia. A
11
white umbrella was held above the tooth relic by someone walking behind it who
was dressed as a royal soldier. Along with white elephants and civil servants
dressed as soldiers and ministers from the time of the Burmese kings were the
other two symbols of military might from pre-colonial Burma: horses and
carriages. All four traditional military symbols flanked the Buddha’s tooth relic on
its way to the Great Cave at the World Peace Pagoda. While walking, the
“soldiers” and “ministers” threw fresh, fragrant jasmine flowers into the exuberant,
cheering crowds along the parade line on Kaba Aye Road (World Peace Road).
When the tooth relic finally reached the Great Cave, it was displayed there
for public worship. Its whole container was hoisted onto a life-size golden throne
that was bedazzled with gems. Four white umbrellas were placed on each side
of the throne. Behind the throne, was a green and white signboard reading, “Out
of Friendship and Good Will Between the Two Nations, the Buddha’s Tooth Relic
from China Has Arrived.” Between the signboard and the tooth relic, two
Mahayana Buddhist monks from China sat. They were part of the Chinese
delegation that came to accompany and guard the tooth relic. People from
across Rangoon, from all different educational and occupational backgrounds,
took breaks from work and other obligations to wait in a long line outside the
Great Cave. They came to see and venerate the Buddha’s tooth relic. Taking off
their sandals at the opening, as one normally does at pagodas and monasteries,
they entered the Great Cave. In a line that stretched to the front of the cave
where the tooth relic laid in state, they waited until it was their turn to see it close
up. Loudspeakers played Dhamma teis or Dhamma songs, Buddhist protective
12
chants from the Tripitaka that were turned into songs. From the green and white
uniforms some wore, I could tell that there were teachers bringing their students.
I also saw soldiers dressed in uniforms who were lining up behind and in front of
saffron robbed monks. While viewing the tooth relic close-up, the devotees
clasped their hands together to pay respect to it while standing. I saw a mother
also helping to clasp the palms of her toddler son who was viewing the relic from
the top of her shoulders. After viewing and paying respects as such, the
devotees stepped off to the side where they were greeted cheerfully by ladies
from the Ministry of Religion who generously placed bunches of Eugenia leaves
and chrysanthemums into their palms. The devotees sat back down on the vast
floor in front of the tooth relic. With the flowers and Eugenia leaves in their
hands, they again prostrated. Many continued to say prayers and chants. A few
counted beads or meditated. Upon leaving, many devotees placed monetary
donations into glass donation boxes and silver bowls manned by civil servants
from the Ministry of Religion. For about a week, the Buddha’s tooth relic was
displayed at the Great Cave for public worship as such. Regardless of class,
status, or political perspective, the entire city seemed to arrive. At any hour, one
could see at least three hundred devotees in the cave and the lines did not
abate. Of about twenty devotees I formally interviewed, about half were also
returning for more than one time. “The more you come to be in its presence, the
more kusala (merit) you get,” one woman told me. Moreover, no one that I knew
among my own relatives and friends, from maids, to clerks, to housewives, to
teachers, to doctors and engineers, including those who voiced their dislike of the
13
military government, missed this opportunity to go and worship the Buddha’s
tooth relic at least once.
Civil servants at the Department of the Perpetuation and Propagation of
the Sasana were responsible for putting together the parade of the tooth relic
across the city’s streets. Now, the clerks and low level officials of this
department were also responsible for guarding it at the Great Cave. Among
these clerks and low level officials were my older cousin and her friends. Almost
on a daily basis since my arrival in Burma, I had been visiting my cousin and her
four friends at the department head quarters, a vast, oval building right near the
Great Cave, which, during U Nu’s time, had been the Institute for Advanced
Buddhist Studies. Now, it was mostly an empty office building filled with a few
palm leaf manuscripts and a library with English language books dating back to
the 1960s and earlier. And the only researcher there now was me. My cousin
and her friends were all in their twenties like myself and in college or just
graduated from college. They mostly tended to paper work and chores handed
to them from their superiors. For me, they were not only pleasant company but
also provided useful insights into popular, contemporary youth perspectives on
Buddhism in Rangoon. In addition, through them and their supervisors, I was
collecting data on and gaining access to government sponsored monastic
schools for lay children throughout Rangoon. In their company, I also gained
access to many state-run Buddhist ceremonies involving high-level government
officials, such as General Khin Nyunt’s Umbrella Ceremony commemorating the
completion of the Buddha’s Tooth Relic Pagoda in Rangoon.
14
Now that my cousin and her friends were taking turns guarding the
Buddha’s tooth relic at the Great Cave, I accompanied them there, too, across
several days, so that I could observe and interview devotees. Of the twenty
people I interviewed, all stated that they came because it is like a “once in a life
time” chance to encounter the Buddha’s tooth relic. Upon being asked how it
compared to worshipping at Rangoon’s famous Shwedagon Pagoda (which is
said to contain the Buddha’s hair relic in its main stupa), they said that they were
more familiar with the latter because they could visit it anytime. According to
them, worshipping both the Shwedagon Pagoda and the Buddha’s tooth relic
were meritorious acts, but that the Buddha’s tooth relic, being only of temporary
access to them, evoked extraordinary feelings of devotion in them. Placing her
palm on her heart area, the seat of the mind according to Burmese Buddhist
belief, a retired civil servant in her fifties said about viewing the tooth relic, “In my
mind there is a very deep feeling of consolation and comfort.” A younger woman,
a sales lady, told me that she felt “tremors of happiness” in her mind, because
“it’s only like once in a life time that I have the opportunity to come and venerate
it.” Some said that they were praying they would be able to “attain the wisdom
that would lead them to nibbana.” Some prayed that they would be able to
sasana pyu (help propagate the Buddhist religion). Many also prayed to be
successful in worldly matters, such as the ability to sell one’s plot of land or to
cure their illness, such as cancer. The retired civil servant in her 50s said that
she made an aditthan (promise) in front of the Buddha’s tooth relic on a previous
visit several days ago that if she were able to sell her plot of land, she would
15
come back to the Great Cave and make more contributions in the donation
boxes. According to her, she was able to sell her plot of land the day after.
Hence, she had now come again to venerate the relic and to donate more
money. “How powerful the Buddha’s dagou (magical aura) is!” she exclaimed.
Like her, almost all my interviewees referred to the extraordinary dagou of the
Buddha and said that being in the presence of the tooth relic was almost like
being in the presence of the Buddha. When asked what they saw in their mind
when venerating it, most said that they saw the Buddha. The Buddha’s tooth
relic was, in this regard, a socially unifying object in Rangoon and in Burma at
large, in the Durkheimian sense of the word “sacred (Durkheim 1965).” In
concretizing the memory of their religion’s “unrivaled” founder who passed away
(entered parinibbana) 2,500 years ago, it represented, however temporarily, the
collective consciousness of the people.
Faith in the Buddha and Critical Thinking
Yet as unifying as it was, the presence of the Buddha’s tooth relic also
became the backdrop for much ensuing political conflict. Just a couple of days
after my visits to the Great Cave on the grounds of the World Peace Pagoda
where the tooth relic was displayed, a bomb exploded in the cave. While it did
no damage to the relic, a top government official who was paying respect to it
died on the spot. Since then, all civil servants at the Department of the
Perpetuation and Propagation of the Sasana, including my cousin and her friends
16
were frisked for weapons upon entering and leaving their workplace, both at the
Great Cave and at the department head quarters. Moreover, the state run
newspapers (the only two newspapers in the nation) linked various foreigners,
including Americans, to the event. They used, in fact, a webbed diagram to show
the relationships. One of the Americans whose photograph was printed was an
acquaintance of mine whom I had once met in Thailand. I, being American, was
no longer allowed at the DPPS building. In fact, I was interviewed by a state
intelligence official, had to submit my video footages of the tooth relic ceremonies
for review, and had to sign a letter to clear myself of any involvement in the
assassination incident. While I was completely innocent, the interview left me
stigmatized within my circle of Burmese friends, particularly at the DPPS. Few
wanted to associate with me now for fear of being found guilty by association.
Needless to say, I was rattled by the cloud of suspicion and suspense that
hung in Rangoon. Like many of the city’s people, I was also concerned about the
violence that might be unleashed by the government upon its larger citizenry.
Parallel to the bombing in the Great Cave, the military government was also
disconcerted by recent anti-government student protests on the streets. In fact,
reminiscent of the violent clashes in 1988 between the military government and
university students at the Rangoon Institute of Technology that spurred nationwide pro-democracy protests, there was a conflict recently between soldiers and
students at a busy intersection on the Rangoon University campus. From what I
heard from word of mouth, soldiers used water hoses to break up a crowd of antigovernment student protestors. A couple of the students were smothered and
17
killed by the gushing water. The government, worried about further riots and
backlashes against them, now ordered a curfew and was patrolling the streets.
So, in this misty December, in the aftermath of the unifying pilgrimages to
the Buddha’s tooth relic at the Great Cave, the military government, SLORC
(State Law and Order Restoration Council) deployed their tanks out onto the
streets. The political climate was such that many people in the city, including my
uncle and his wife whom I lived with and all my relatives and friends who worked
downtown at his music shop, were anxious, gossipy, and curious about what had
occurred and what would happen next between the government and opposition
elements. For myself, as a foreigner, I could no longer travel about the city, even
as freely as I used to, especially not for research purposes.
One cold night in late December, I found myself sitting across from my
uncle at the dining room table telling him, “I really want to become a nun and
meditate for some time.” Immediately, my uncle’s eyes turned wide. He stared
at me in disbelief. While my uncle, a man in his 70s, was a devout Buddhist like
so many men his age in Burma, daily bowed to the Buddha, gave regular
offerings to monks, and chanted parittas (protective chants), like most Burmese
Buddhists, he had never entered a meditation retreat. His mother, my late
grandmother, had meditated regularly at meditation centers in the last decade of
her life prior to her death in 1969. But no one in his immediate family now had
ever entered a meditation retreat and much less as a monk or a nun. “Are you
certain?” he asked. “I am quite certain,” I told him. “Meditating is not going to be
an easy task,” he warned. “I know,” I said. Worried that I would have to shave
18
my head as a nun, he said, “Well, you know, you can meditate without being a
nun, too.” “I know, but I really want to do something very pure right now,” I told
him. I also knew that he was worried that I would not finish my Ph.D. program if I
decided that I liked meditating and being a nun. “I will do it only for a month.
Besides, I will learn a lot more about Buddhism while doing it,” I reassured him.
Yet, while I was certain of my strong desire suddenly to become a
temporary nun and enter a meditation retreat, I had also many questions about
why I wanted to do these things and so unexpectedly. I knew that partly my
decision had to do with the constant urging I’d gotten from many monks and lay
persons who had meditated, as had many previous Western scholars studying
Buddhism in Burma (for example, King 1965:225), to “come and practice the
Buddha’s teachings if you really want to understand it.” The monk and lay
meditators were echoing what the Buddha had said regarding one of the distinct
qualities of his teachings as stated in the parittas called “Virtues of the Dhamma”:
“Ehi passi ko” or “It invites one to practice it.” By “practice,” I knew as King did
studying Buddhism in Burma in the 1960s that what was meant was the practice
of meditation (King:225). One lay meditator who had been urging me to
“practice” was a woman in her forties who was a former head nurse at Rangoon
General Hospital. She had already told me the logistics of how I could enter a
meditation retreat where she now lived and practiced. It was a famous
meditation center in Rangoon called Panditarama, a branch of the internationally
renowned Mahasi Meditation Center, which was headed by a meditation monk
teacher and abbot named Sayadaw U Pandita. “Whenever you feel ready, just
19
come,” she had told me. Although I knew I wanted to meditate partly in order to
understand Buddhism better, I had many questions about my motives. Was it
also to escape my personal hardship of not being able to do any other type of
field work at the moment? Was it to flee from the political unrest in Burma?
Also, if I were meditating to understand Buddhism better, was it so that I could
become a better Buddhist? Was it to reach nibbana? Or, was it so that I could
more skillfully write my thesis, earn my Ph.D., and land a job? These questions
about my personal motives led me to consider the following questions about
Buddhism and “education” in the more general sense in Burma.
Insight Meditation as a Form of Education
What were the goals of Burmese Buddhist lay meditators I would
encounter? With what insights did they enter meditation and with what insights
did they re-enter the mundane world? According to Buddhist doctrine as
expressed in the Satipattana Sutta (Discourse on the Four Foundations of
Mindfulness) of the Pali canon and explained in a subsequent commentary,
Visuddhi Maggha (The Path to Liberation), by the 5th century A.D. Sri Lankan
monk, Buddhaghosa, vipassana or insight meditation is the ultimate vehicle for
reaching nibbana, the salvation goal in Buddhism. According to doctrine, the
practice of vipassana meditation would permit one to gain penetrative, intuitive
insight into the truths of dukkha (suffering), anicca (impermanence), and anatta
(the non-existence of the self). In fully coming to know these truths, one would
20
be able to detach oneself from lokkadhamma, the ways of the mundane world,
with a sense of equanimity and eventually attain nibbana, liberation from
samsara (the cycle of rebirths). Traditionally, vipassana meditation was the
practice of religious virtuosos, the monks who would retreat to the forest to
practice for long periods of months and years. It was transmitted from monk to
monk through informal, one-on-one tutorials. While percentage-wise, very few
lay persons in Burma actually meditated still, the number had grown significantly
since a century ago. That is because meditation had become very accessible to
the ordinary lay person. It had become something of a mass education industry.
With the growth of urban meditation centers and instructional books on
meditation written by learned monks and directed at a lay audience, vipassana
meditation had become a type of education not only for the forest acetic, but also
for lay persons who were absorbed in the world and who, for the most part, did
not plan to leave it. Now, lay persons could choose to practice vipassana
meditation in a retreat center anytime and also choose to return back to their
householder’s life anytime. And certainly, they did not have to stay on meditating
at these urban retreats for months and/or years as monks would often choose to
do so in forests. There were now in Rangoon both monk and lay teachers
teaching meditation to lay persons, sometimes by the masses, e.g., fifty to three
hundred persons at a time at various centers. In some cases, meditation was a
part of Buddhism courses for lay persons, particularly young people, ages 8 to
25, who came to meditation centers or to lay Buddhist organizations in the
summer vacations to learn Buddhism. Were people expecting to attain nibbana
21
in ten days? In a month? In two months? In three months? Those were the
average lengths of meditation retreats that lay persons had chosen to do. Did
they expect to attain nibbana while sitting, walking, eating, and sleeping among
fifty to three hundred people? And if the direct goal in meditating for many lay
persons in Burma was not nibbana, then what was it? How did the learning and
practice of insight meditation at the urban meditation centers in Burma socialize
the lay person for re-engagement with the world? How different was the nature
of Buddhist education taught by lay meditation teachers as opposed to
meditation monk teachers? How were both their methods, in turn, different from
the Buddhist education at government sponsored monastic schools for young,
lay persons? How did each of these three settings nurture lay Buddhist ethos to
adapt it to modernity?
Buddhism and Modernity in South and Southeast Asia
Weber spent much of his career trying to understand the causes for the
increasing rationalizing and consequent disenchantment of life in the modern
West. By rational, he meant two things: a theoretical mastery of the world by
increasingly precise and abstract concepts or attainment of practical ends by
increasingly systematic, precise, and calculated means (Weber 1958:293). By
disenchantment, he meant the condition in which rationalization had become so
pervasive that “one need no longer have recourse to magical means...,”
“progress” becomes equated with “practical and technical” ends only, and there
22
is a loss of existential “meaning” (Weber:139,140). In his comparative studies of
the impact of religious ethos on economic action, he attempted to understand the
conditions that gave rise to rationality and disenchantment in the West. He wrote
that the Protestant religious ethic with its emphasis on a self-responsible,
individualistic, practical mastery of the world as the sign of grace or being chosen
by God for salvation gave rise to a capitalist ethic in the West (Weber 1930). In
this capitalist ethic, actions such as thrift, re-investments, and other increasingly
precise, instrumental, and calculated means for practical gains became norm.
According to him, the “this-worldly ascetism” of the Protestant ethic and later, the
capitalist ethic which it gave rise to, are the hallmarks of the roots of extreme
rationality and disenchantment in the West.
In contrast to Protestantism in which lay persons actively mastered the
world to confirm their grace or salvation, Weber saw the Buddhist religion as one
in which quite “other-worldly” oriented religious virtuosos, namely monks, were
the sole practitioners of the religion:
Buddhism was propagated by strictly contemplative, mendicant monks,
who rejected the world and, having no homes, migrated. Only these were
full members of the religious community; all others remained religious
laymen of inferior value: objects, not subjects, of religiosity. [Weber:269]
Considering what he understood as the activities of monks, he had stated that
the Buddhist ethos could do little to motivate this-worldly actions as the Buddhist
path to salvation is one of “rejection” of the world and a “flight” from it:
The Buddhist monk was also active, but his activities were withdrawn from
any consistent rationalization in this world; this quest for salvation was
ultimately oriented to the flight from the ‘wheel’ of rebirths. [Weber:292]
23
Since Weber, many anthropologists studying Buddhism in the societies of South
and Southeast Asia have shown that Buddhist monks have long been engaged
with the world and that the tension between monks’ this-worldly and other-worldly
activities is not a problem solved but one that is constantly negotiated by different
sectors of Buddhist society throughout history. For example, Tambiah has
shown in his studies of Buddhism in Thailand that the relationship between the
Sangha and lay persons is a more complex one than the clearly
compartmentalized model which Weber assumed (Tambiah 1976, 1988). As
monks renounce the world to meditate in forests areas, ordinary lay persons
become attracted to their charisma as religious virtuosos. In addition, the state,
like kings of the past, also wants to support and sponsor these religious virtuosos
to legitimate their own political power. Hence, some of these meditating forest
monks return to the urban centers where they reciprocate their supporters with
blessings, often concretized as amulets. In so doing, their charisma itself can
become threatened as now they are back in urban centers and engaged in or
proximate to this-worldly activities. This has become increasingly so in modern
Thailand with increasing commercialization and fetishization of forest monks’
amulets. So, instead of the distinct “other-worldly” monk virtuoso and “thisworldly” lay divide that Weber saw in Buddhist societies, Tambiah demonstrates
a much more tenuous triad between lay persons, urban monks, and forest monks
(Tambiah 1988).
Similarly, Mendhelson who studied the relationship between Sangha and
state in Burma demonstrated that sectarianism has been a trend of Sangha there
24
throughout Burma’s history, precisely because of the this-worldly and otherworldly tension inherent in their life conduct (Mendhelson 1975). Although
doctrine has never been a point of contention, the degree to which different
groups of monks follow the vinaya, the quite ascetic rules of conduct for monks,
has been much debated. Periodically, different kings and governments have
officially called for a “purification” of the Sangha, leading to their support of socalled more “orthodox” sects. This has been the political center’s means of
legitimizing itself. Also, the reverse has been true. When the state sponsored
sects appear not to follow the vinaya well, more orthodox sects have formed, with
a more world renouncing, ascetic life as their political praxis, even as they live
and move in society. In fact, the meditation monk teachers in my study who live
and teach meditation in the city belong to a more ascetic sect called “Shwegyin”
which formed in opposition to a more lax, less ascetic, lifestyle of another sect
called “Dwaya.” The Dwaya sect was favored by the most influential of Burma’s
last kings, King Mindon, and has also been bestowed with high positions in the
Sangha hierarchy by the present military junta. These Shwegyin monks have
gained their charisma among more ordinary lay persons from their more ascetic
life style, including some experience of having meditated in the forests.
However, they are also very much engaged with the world in that their relatively
stricter adherence to the vinaya is itself a political praxis in opposition to the
state. Sometimes, as part of their political praxis, these monks also act as
spiritual counsels to members of the nation’s political opposition. In fact,
Sayadaw U Pandita, the abbot of the Mahasi meditation center, Panditarama, is
25
a close spiritual advisor to Aung San Su Kyi, the Nobel Peace Prize winner who
is the opposition leader of Burma. Also, such monks are in contact with lay
persons on a daily basis as they teach meditation, perform ceremonies, give
Dhamma talks, and accept offerings. Finally, they are counseling and teaching
meditation to lay persons who, for the most part, do not plan to leave a
householder’s life and hence, come to the meditation monk teachers to find
“Buddhist” solutions to engage with the modern world. And it is such ambivalent
relationships between other-worldly and this-worldly activities and concerns of
Buddhist monks that permit Buddhist doctrine to be articulated with modernity.
Scholars have shown that in Sri Lanka, the primary Buddhist response to
modernity has been one of almost exact mimicry of the rationalization in the
modern West, sometimes to such an extent as to plague Buddhist societies with
all the existential dilemmas inherent in the rational thinking and life conduct of the
modern West. Anthropologists have written that in contemporary Sri Lanka,
many monks engage rather actively in the world for very calculated, practical
ends. In particular, they point to the recent transformations in the role of monks
in Sri Lanka in the post-colonial era and how the increasingly political role monks
have assumed, including political polemics they now engage in, have
transformed Buddhism itself in Sri Lanka (Seneviratne 1999, Tambiah 1992).
Obeyesekere and Gombrich have more specifically pointed out that the Buddhist
response to modernity there has been one of increasing rationalization, almost in
the ethos of Protestantism that Weber had described. They stated that while
Buddhism has always been rational in the sense that the “Buddha appealed to
26
reason and stressed a human ethical code, just as he preached that ritual was
useless for salvation,…no need had been felt (earlier) to justify the rationality of
Buddhism, let along to posit a contrast between religion and philosophy: the
Dhamma [the Buddha’s teachings] was both (Gombrich and Obeyesekere
1988:221).” With the strong influence of Western Orientalists, such as those in
the Theosophical Society, the overwhelming response of the Buddhist Sinhalese
to the sciences presented by the Western, Protestant missionaries of the colonial
era, has been to propagate and rationalize Buddhism as a philosophy more
scientific than Protestantism ever could be. This trend has led to
“disenchantment” in Sinhalese Buddhism so that catechisms and academic
treatises have replaced stories and verses in everyday Buddhist practice. The
result is that a “conscience” of the Buddha has become quite extinct in Sri Lanka
(Obeyesekere 1991). By a conscience of the Buddha, Obeyesekere meant the
ability for living people to remember and be moved by Buddhist ethics as
exemplified by the Buddha, a figure who, unlike the “God” or “deities” of the other
major world religions, poses several problems in the task of trying to remember
him. The Buddha did not create the world, is no longer alive, and does not exist.
Due to such problems in the task of remembering him, the socialization of the
conscience of the Buddha had been dependent on an emphasis of the past, the
time when the Buddha was alive in the world, both in his final life as the Buddha
and in his many past lives when he was perfecting his exemplary deeds that
would ensure his final life as the Buddha. What the Buddhist modernist
movement in Sri Lanka attempted was to uproot the stories, verses, rites,
27
ceremonies, faith and devotion that were an important aspect of this cultivation of
a conscience of the Buddha.
The crisis in the ability to develop a conscience of the Buddha also
resulted in an ethical crisis in contemporary Sri Lanka. Firstly, Buddhism came to
be learned and practiced largely for instrumental rational reasons, that is for quite
calculated, this-worldly causes such as to increase one’s wealth, to cure
illnesses, or for gaining certificates and degrees (Gombrich and
Obeyesekere:235-237). Also, it came to be understood in a very particularistic
rather than a universalistic manner. That is Buddhism as a national and ethnic
identity became predominant over its universal, ethical bases. Traditionally,
iconography and the Jataka stories had presented the Buddha as a non-erotic,
completely non-threatening, totally benevolent figure (with both feminine and
masculine qualities), who is never punishing. In stories of his lives and of those
who were his disciples, good and evil were never presumed to be a permanent
quality of characters; in fact, in keeping with the law of kamma (that wholesome
deeds beget wholesome results and unwholesome deeds beget unwholesome
results) and also the transient nature of all things, good and evil were always
subject to transformation (Obeyesekere and Obeyesekere 1990). Yet, when
such stories and iconography became exempt from transmissions of Buddhism in
modern Sri Lanka, notions of who are good and who are evil became more
crystallized. So, now, as Obeyesekere writes of the present ethnic conflicts
between the minority Tamil Hindus and the majority Sinhala Buddhists in Sri
Lanka, “Thus, ordinary people might not participate in violence against the alien
28
ethnic group; they can, and often do, condone that violence (Obeyesekere 191:
237).” In many ways, too, the idealization and lay support of monks as religious
virtuosos became much less significant. That is, there is an increasing lay
control of Buddhism in Sri Lanka. Along with this, insight meditation there, the
ultimate vehicle for attaining nibbana, the salvation goal in Buddhism, is no
longer the monopoly of the contemplative mendicant monks, i.e., forest ascetics,
as Weber assumed. Insight meditation centers, largely an import from Burma
since World War II, have cropped up in many urban areas of Sri Lanka. In fact,
according to Obeyesekere and Gombrich, insight meditation has been practiced
by lay persons mainly as a “means to success in everyday life,” e.g., for curing
illnesses, for managing stress, for coping with relationships, and sometimes for
pure recognition and status, such as the attainment of certificates (Gombrich and
Obeyesekere :237-240). Obeyesekere and Gombrich saw the existential
dilemma posed by meditation, an ascetic practice, becoming a practice for those
who are very much engaged in the day to day life as a householder. For
instance, there are those lay meditators who maintain a mate yet vow to be
celibate in their daily life. “Thus, a lay man is to be both a layman and monk at
the same time—to live in the world, yet to strive to leave it (Gombrich and
Obeyesekere:232).”
29
Burma, Buddhism, and Modernity
In Burma, I find that the Buddhist response to modernity has not taken on
the overwhelming tendency toward an instrumental rationality that it has in Sri
Lanka. My examinations of ritual life, art, architecture, and literary life in Burma,
even within the various Buddhist-modernist educational settings I have outlined
above, show that a “collective conscience” of the Buddha, images of his
complete benevolence and stories of his astounding deeds, including miracles he
had performed, are still actively kept alive in Burma. One example of this shared
conscience is clear to me from my observations of the Buddha’s tooth relic
ceremonies. All sectors of Burmese society, including those learned in modern
subjects, such as physicians, academicians, and engineers, including
sympathizers and non-sympathizers of the government, came to this national
ceremony sponsored by the government because they shared at some level a
strong conscience of the Buddha. They were conscious of him, i.e., he was
present in their minds. They also had a conscience about the morality he
embodied. The image of the completely benevolent Buddha suddenly evoked by
the presence of one of his relics united the people and moved them emotionally.
For a moment at least, the military junta who could take credit for bringing over
the Buddha’s tooth relic got to legitimate its rule, as has many kings in Burma’s
past, as the protectors of the Buddhist religion who were blessed by the
Buddha’s magical aura. The traditional symbols of military might, the horses,
carriages, white elephants, and soldiers on foot, were evoked along with a
30
consciousness of the Buddha as concretized in the tooth relic to represent a
continuity between past and present in the ways rulers protected and propagated
Buddhism in Burma. In one way, the overwhelming turn out and exuberance of
the lay devotees could be interpreted in Marxian terms as a sign of their “false
consciousness,” their inability to see their government’s manipulation of symbols
to earn its legitimacy, however momentarily. There was an outpouring of
donations from across the nation for building the pagodas to house the replicas
of the Buddha’s tooth relic. The government did not need to contribute any
money, yet could promote themselves as the masters of ceremony, in the
parading of the Buddha’s tooth relic, in its display, and the completion of the
pagodas to house its replicas.
However, the consequent assassination of a high government official right
in front of the tooth relic, the government’s quick accusations, the consequent
pro-democracy demonstrations by students on the streets, and the government’s
hasty attempts to quell any oppositions, including the use of water hoses and
military tanks, also indicated that a strong devotional faith was not antithetical to,
but in fact, conducive to independent or critical thinking among the masses in this
largely Buddhist nation. In fact, even in learning an ascetic discipline like
meditation, which was originally suited for the rational day to day life of the monk,
and the goal of which, nibbana, requires a lucid and precise knowledge of all
mental and physical phenomena, the meditator in Burma can still be motivated
by a devotional faith in the Buddha at every step of his or her meditation. That is,
in the Burmese social context, it is possible for a Buddhist teacher to create the
31
conditions whereby the path to insight is propelled by faith rather than divested of
it. The way this has been done is by creating for the pupil various embodied
experiences of the Buddha’s example. As Weber wrote, Buddhism is an
“exemplary” as opposed to an “emissary prophetic” religion, its founder led by
exemplary living and not by demands to the world in the name of a god
(Weber:285 ). It is also one in which its founder has passed away (entered
parinibbana) and cannot intervene in the affairs of the world (Obeyeskere
1991:230). The concretization of his charismatic example becomes a powerful
psychological motivation to live and move as he, “The Awakened One,” did, not
only with precise knowledge of mental and physical phenomena but also a
perfection of such benevolent characteristics as karuna (compassion) and dana
(generosity). In my studies, I found that the meditation monk teachers were best
able to bring his charismatic example alive. They did this in the course of each
meditation day, through stories of the Buddha’s lives and deeds, through
devotional rituals dedicated to the Buddha, and most of all, through self-example.
By “self-example,” I do not mean to imply that these meditation monk teachers
were “perfect” like the Buddha or even that I have any way of knowing for certain
their inner spiritual states or motivations. In fact, they articulated many inner
conflicts as well as demonstrated in their demeanor some flaws of ordinary
human beings. Yet, my focus is on their general presentation of themselves
whenever they were in the eyes of their pupils and devotees, including myself,
from moment to moment. Like the Buddha who spread his teachings among
monks, nuns, and lay persons for 45 years after becoming fully enlightened, self-
32
effacement and mindfulness were their main modes of deportment. That is, they
helped to create the conditions at the meditation center by which ways of being
most directly conducive to nibbana were modeled and embodied. So, even when
one’s quest for nibbana remains incomplete at their meditation centers, and most
often it probably is, and one must retire again into a householder’s life, the
Buddha’s goal of nibbana can remain one’s goal in everything one does without
any existential angst or lack of meaning. By contrast, at the Buddhist education
centers led by lay teachers, i.e., the lay Buddhist organizations where Buddhist
texts and the lay meditation centers where meditation was taught, faith in the
Buddha, on the one hand, and the rational quest for salvation that is insight
meditation, on the other, were radically separated. Through much animated and
passionate narrations, commentaries, and exegeses by lecturers and college
professors, many of them with a literary background of Buddhist texts, including
many stories and verses, lay students at the lay Buddhist organizations often
learned to take an almost evangelical joy in their faith. At the lay meditation
centers, however, the focus was more on efficiency in learning the Buddha’s path
to salvation. There is little or no devotional rituals and even the presence of
Buddha images are scarce, compared to their ubiquitousness at the monks’
meditation centers. Where as bhavana (meditation) is emphasized in positive
terms as a “cultivation of positive mental states” by meditation monk teachers,
the lay teachers here emphasize it in negative terms, as the “cutting away” of
illusions. The two lay meditation centers that I visited and learned about were
branches of the same famous lay meditation tradition in Burma founded by an
33
accountant, U Ba Khin, and now led by his pupil and former businessman U
Goenka. There, only lay teachers taught. Unlike the meditation monk teachers,
the lay teachers provide a timeline and schedule for when one should observe
various phenomena in one’s mind and body. They, in fact, coach you through
different parts of the body. There is much less room for trial and error. Their
goal is to help you gain significant insight in ten days. The retreat is closed after
ten days. Finally, at the government-administered monastic schools for lay
students, neither faith nor the rational elements of Buddhism are inculcated very
effectively. That is, because the secular modernist interests of the state looms
large there. If anything, the disciplines and coercions the lay students undergo
there, including, in many cases, isolation from their ethnic and home
communities and being labeled “untamed” or “uncivilized” because of their creed
or ethnicity, teaches the students only self-hate, fear of authority, and a
knowledge Buddhism as only a particularistic identity. Therefore, I show in my
thesis that although the conscience of the Buddha is quite pervasive in
contemporary Burmese society it may or may not prevent disenchantment in
modern life. In response to modernity with its emphasis on the secularization of
learning and life, there are many different kinds of non-formal settings now where
Buddhism is taught as a course or a program. In these settings, depending on
how Buddhism is transmitted from teacher to pupil, either the faith elements or
the rational aspects get emphasized, neither gets emphasized, or both get
emphasized as integral parts of a whole. In the case of the latter, the conditions
34
for adapting Buddhism to modernity without divesting it of existential meaning are
ripest.
My findings lead me to disagree with Spiro’s thesis that Buddhism has
historically transformed in Burma to such an extent that the ideals and practice of
Buddhism had become compartmentalized into three quite distinct, unrelated
tiers. With increasing worldliness from the first to the last, the different kinds of
Buddhism he observed were “Nibbanic Buddhism (concerned with achieving
detachment from the world and ultimately reaching Nibbana), “Kammatic
Buddhism (concerned with increasing ones meritorious deeds so that one’s
health and wealth increases),” and “Apotropaic Buddhism (reliance on the
magical aura of Buddhas, the magic of weikzas [wizards], and the spiritual
powers of deities, and spirits for one’s worldly success)” (Spiro 1982). Hence, for
Spiro, it was no surprise that the lay persons he encountered in his study used
meditation instrumentally for worldly ends, such as for merit and to cure illnesses
(Spiro:273). Using psychoanalytic theory as his lens, he saw that the
soteriological goal in Buddhism, nibbana, was of such a “flight” from the world in
the Weberian sense and so counter to natural human desires, that there were
unintended consequences of the otherworldly soteriology in Burmese society.
Most Burmese Buddhists could not emotionally handle the soteriological goal of
nibbana and had decisively parted from it. While I agree with his observation that
the goal of nibbana is quite counter to basic human tendencies, such as an
attachment to the things of the world, the part he did not fully examine was that
so did the Buddha! In the Dhammapada, a part of the suttas (the Buddha’s
35
discourses), that is a collection of pithy sayings from the Buddha, that is available
to Buddhists everywhere, including Burma, the Buddha is quoted as saying that
while the path he expounded is “good,” it is not an easy one: “Easy to do are
things that are bad and harmful to oneself. But exceedingly difficult to do are
things that are good and beneficial (Dhammapada Verse 163).”1 Seeing how
difficult the path was and viewing it as a gradual self-taming process, he also did
not expect all his followers to try to spend a lifetime trying to achieve its ultimate
goal. He emphasized that a little effort was better than none: “Better it is to live
one day wise and meditative than to live a hundred years foolish and
uncontrolled (Dhammapada Verse 111).”2 That is, while Spiro viewed Buddhist
practice in terms of one lifetime and gauged people’s soteriological goals by
whether or not they were striving to attain nibbana at any one moment within this
life, the Buddhist time frame for achieving salvation may be much longer,
involving at least a few more lifetimes in the round of rebirths. In fact, I found in
my study that many lay meditators in Burma often returned to their worldly life
because they were not trying to attain nibbana in this life. They knew that
doctrinally, there were three stages of enlightenment prior to arahantship or full
enlightenment whereby one entered nibbana. Their main goal in this life was to
reach the first stage, sottapana (or stream winner), whereby after seven more
lives in the realm of rebirths, they will attain the conditions to finally reach
nibbana. That is, many lay meditators postponed nibbana without departing from
it as an ultimate goal.
36
While Spiro did not fully recognize this motivation, he was observant in
recognizing some of the existential dilemmas people faced because of it. In
Burma, as in Sri Lanka, there are meditators living in the world who are
incomplete and often imperfect in the attainment of nibbana. They try at some
level to strive to leave the world while living in it. For some, this apparent
contradiction is difficult to resolve and becomes the cause for personal problems,
such as becoming a social outcast. In some cases, it has even led to mental
disturbances, or at the least, a dependence on gurus and the magical abilities of
spiritual leaders, namely weikzas (wizards), who may have nothing or very little
to do with the way of life that should lead to nibbana. In fact, such problems are
part of the reason why in Burma, as in Sri Lanka, meditation teachers stress that
meditation should be done under and in regular consultation with a skilled
teacher. However, the extent to which such existential dilemmas plague lay
persons in Burma is also dependent on how Buddhism and meditation is learned,
whether the conscience of the Buddha is invoked, how it is invoked, and how it
may or may not be integrated with critical thinking skills in one’s quest for
salvation. Spiro failed to examine in Burma the many different ways in which
Buddhism has become a discourse and a practice that is consciously transmitted
to suit modernity in the post-colonial era.
For my analysis of insight meditation at meditation centers and my study
of all other rituals, I will do a Durkheimian analysis of how certain symbols unite
and move the Burmese Buddhist lay persons who had gathered. Finally, I will
show how sensory details in the different Buddhist lessons shape the pupils’
37
Buddhist ethos. That is because ritual is based not only on symbols but also the
senses (Dejarlais 1992). This is especially true for Buddhist practices such as
meditation which relies on sensory details.
Organization of Chapters
In Chapter 1, “Conscience of the Buddha in Burmese Popular Culture:
Importance of the Vernacular,” I show that while informal socialization in Burma
may not be too different from other Buddhist nations like Sri Lanka in that the
Burmese Buddhist is surrounded physically in the nation by many images of the
Buddha, the conscious transmission and consumption of both a consciousness
and conscience of the Buddha is much more prominent Burma. Popular and
intellectual cultures in Burma do not reject but seem to rejoice in the miracles,
stories, and faith and devotional aspects surrounding memories of him. In
literature that is widely consumed in schools and popular life, almost everything
is traced back to him, not only the history of pagodas and other sacred places,
but also the history of the nation, and the biography of saints. Also, literature
emphasizes the astounding, awe-inspiring, exemplary aspects of his life and that
of his disciples. In this chapter, I will focus on both the hagiographies of a
famous 20th century lay meditation master and a famous 20th century meditation
monk teacher. Their pedagogical traditions are contrasted in a later chapter for
how the lay meditation tradition repudiates a conscience of the Buddha more
than the monks’ meditation tradition. In this first chapter, however, I focus on
38
showing how prominent the “conscience collective” of the Buddha is in Burmese
society as a whole. I show how even accounts of a modern lay master’s life by
his disciples is filled with a consciousness of the Buddha. Namely, the lay
teacher is seen as being blessed and legitimized by a Buddha-like saintly figure
in Burma, a monk named Weibu Sayadaw. I will also show how the short stories
and movies of the famous 85-year-old writer/director U Thuka, have helped in the
past century to keep alive a conscience of the Buddha among Burma’s middle
class. I show how he popularizes “intermediate texts (Obeyesekere and
Obeyesekere 1990)” or texts that try to present the Buddha’s discourses in
layman’s terms. Finally, his own portrayals through the use of visceral language
of how ordinary monks have tried to achieve perfections of such traits as
unbounded compassion and the strength of equanimity even in the face of the
worst kinds of worldly adversities, have greatly contributed to a conscience of the
Buddha in Burma. That is, U Thukha has helped to elevate the image of monks
as an intermediary link between the Buddha that was and what ordinary persons
could strive to become.
In Chapter 2, “`Nibbana in This World’: History of the Lay Buddhist Elite
in Modern Burma,” I trace some of the historical conditions that help to
perpetuate and propagate the “conscience collective” of the Buddha in Burma,
even in the works of modern educated elites like U Thukha. I show how the
leaders that successfully resisted the British colonial government, ruled in the
successive post-colonial governments, and had much influence over the popular
and intellectual culture of Burma were not the Anglicized elites but ones who
39
went to Burmese Buddhist national schools. They promoted a different idea of
Burmese modernity from those in the Anglicized sectors. Instead of rationalizing
Buddhist doctrine into a science, they relished in the stories, the miracles, the
faith and devotional aspects, the rites, and the ceremonies, that were a part of
traditional Burmese Buddhist practice. Referring back to Ashokan ideals, they
believed that the way to maintain the salvation goal nibbana as one lived and
moved in the world was by helping to make the world a better place materially
and socially so that people could meditate to achieve nibbana. The influence of
these leaders and intellectuals with Ashokan ideals have been so great in Burma
that the conscience of the Buddha has been kept alive there, even among the
educated middle class, via all kinds of narrative means. Some of the reasons
why traditional intellectuals could connect well with the masses during the
independence movement and after were the relatively short time period in which
Burma was colonized, the widespread access to education provided by
traditional monastic schools for lay persons, and the resistance of these schools
to change during the colonial era.
In Chapter 3, “Buddhism as an Authoritarian Instrument,” I will show how
a consciousness of the Buddha (a presence of him in people’s mind) is
encouraged yet a conscience of him (awareness of the ethics he embodied and
promoted) is suppressed in the modernist discourse of the current totalitarian
military junta in Burma in regard to Buddhist education. Specifically, through an
analysis of interviews with government officials and a look at how government
policy is publicized through state-run newspapers, I examine how the military
40
junta equates “progress” with economic development and how they try to
commoditize Burmese “traditional” culture as a part of their development plan. In
trying both to prepare Burma as a vanguard of tradition and to promote the
political stability that is needed for economic development, they attempt to
“civilize” the citizenry in Burma through a revival of monastic schools for lay
students. Their definition of Buddhist civility is obedience to authority. The
Buddha is represented as one of many authority figures. It is an authoritarian
agenda they promote in their pedagogy at regular schools as well. At their
monastic schools, many of the students they house are poor or orphaned ethnic
minority children from rebelling ethnic groups who are not even Buddhist.
Through ethnographic descriptions of the setting and pedagogy at these
monastic schools, I demonstrate that many symbols, rituals, and teacher-pupil
interactions that could promote a “conscience” of the Buddha and his complete
benevolence is almost entirely missing there as are the development of critical
thinking and questioning skills that one normally associates with a modern
education. Through the largely punitive nature of education in these monastic
schools, what is promoted in effect is the secular modernist ideology of the state
that categorizes the children in these schools as the bottom rung of Burmese
society. Buddhism as promoted in these monastic schools is one that is entirely
particularistic, one that attempts to uphold a Buddhist Burmese ethnic identity as
the apex of human civilization. In describing these monastic schools, I also
demonstrate how the force involved on the part of the government in making
monk teachers be the main supervisors and teachers at these schools denigrates
41
monks’ role in the neighborhood and community and unsettles their ability to live
a world renouncing life. The existential dilemmas of these monks along with that
of the Ministry of Religion officials who force them to do their job parallels the
highly self-conflicted nature of Burmese Buddhists Spiro described in his studies:
they both have a very difficult time rejecting or even pretending to reject the world
(officials from the Ministry of Religion must show a pious exterior) as they must
every bit be a part of it. With historical examples of varying modes of monastic
pedagogy, I show how authoritarianism is neither an essential nor a necessary
form of pedagogy at monastic schools.
In addition to studying the nature of Buddhist education and ethos at
these government-administered monastic schools, I followed, interviewed, and
observed a famous lay speaker hired by the government to speak to public
school students in Rangoon and in the Mon State, two of the places in Burma
where a Burmese Buddhist ethnic and national identity are strong. With the
legitimacy of his being Mon, the originators of the Burmese heritage of
Theravada Buddhism, and of having been educated in a physics doctoral
program in the United States, Dr. Min Tin Mon was the Buddhist-modernist face
of the national government. His mission was to embolden a Burmese Buddhist
national and ethnic identity where the investment was most promising.
In Chapter 4, “Contemporary Lay Elites and Buddhist Education,” I
examine the indirect influence of Cartesian dualism in the teaching of Buddhism
by elite lay teachers. I describe the pedagogy of meditation by a tradition of lay
teachers at the International Meditation Center in Rangoon and its branch in the
42
Rangoon suburb called Dala where many of the government officials and civil
servants come to learn Buddhist meditation. These are also the choice of
meditation centers for non-governmental lay elites, particularly those, such as
university professors, who are highly educated in modern disciplines. I show
how the focus on efficiency in gaining insight and the lack of devotional rituals at
these centers work to promote a path to knowledge that is very rational,
disenchanted, and quite devoid of a conscience of the Buddha. For this study, I
use a collection of talks and instructions by U Goenka, the lay teacher who is
currently the head of these meditation centers. I also use data from my own oneday meditation experience at the Dala center under one of his lay disciples.
Finally, I use interviews of other lay meditators at these centers.
I also describe and analyze the teaching of Buddhist texts by university
professors at lay Buddhist organizations in Rangoon. I show that in these
settings, the literary tools bring alive the stories of the Buddha’s past lives in a
very entertaining and almost evangelical fashion. The focus here is primarily on
faith-building. Hence it is almost as if, in Cartesian fashion, the lay intellectual
elite in Burma has separated faith from critical knowledge in the learning of
Buddhism: faith is inculcated in the lectures at the lay Buddhist organizations
while critical knowledge is instilled at the lay meditation centers.
Finally, I trace the lay meditation tradition of the civil servants, government
officials, and lay intellectual elite to an internationally famous accountant general
in the 1950s and ultimately to the teacher of his lay teacher, an internationally
famous monk of 19th century Burma, Ledi Sayadaw. By answering the questions
43
that Western Orientalists such as Rhys Davids then had about Buddhism, the
Ledi Sayadaw, who also meditated a lot in the forests, had begun a trend by
which meditation and Buddhist doctrine were translated into the quite rational
and disenchanted mode of Western Orientalists.
In Chapter 5, “Meditation Monk Teachers and Buddhist Education,” I
show how a conscience of the Buddha is very much pervasive at Panditarama,
the meditation center where I ended up meditating for a month, even as the
practice of meditation is taught as a path to critical insight. By helping to
transform the “conscience collective” of the Buddha in the larger society into an
ethical “conscience” of the individual, the meditation monk teachers help to
prevent notions of the Buddha’s greatness from becoming only a nationalist
symbol or legitimization tool of the authoritarian state. Here, art, daily
observances, teacher-pupil relations, and the pedagogical style of monks that
embodies the Buddha’s moral example, all work to promote the path to
enlightenment, the path to critical insight, as one that is propelled by faith rather
than one that is devoid of it. As evidence, I also outline my own experiences of
being taught meditation, analyze interviews of Burmese lay meditators, and
finally present the methods and rituals involved in the Buddhist “civility” course
for young people there. Through awareness of their material body, feelings,
consciousness, and other mental objects, the monks’ pupils learn to gauge for
themselves the wholesome or unwholesome quality of conducts and motives,
both their own and others’. By showing how a social ethics is integral to the
44
practice of insight meditation at Panditarama, I critique Weber’s perspective that
the path to salvation in Theravada Buddhism is self-ish.
In the Conclusion, “Insight Meditation as Sublimation and Political Praxis:
The Example of Aung San Suu Kyi,” I demonstrate how the modes of being
promoted and perpetuated by the meditation monk teachers of the Shwegyin
sect, namely Mahasi tradition have become modes of psychological sublimation
and political praxis for many lay persons, including the opposition leader, Aung
San Suu Kyi. I critique Spiro’s perspective that there exists in Burma a pervasive
existential dilemma between what people know as a quite highly ascetic path to
nibbana and their primordial desires. I conclude that where such dilemmas exist,
they can be resolved by existing Buddhist practices in Burma. The only solution
he had seen was one imposed by him, that is, psychoanalysis.
I trace the above line of Buddhist education at Panditarama to two monks
of the Shwegyin sect, the Mahagandayone Sayadaw and the Mahasi Sayadaw.
They wanted to empower monks and citizenry alike with insight. In their
pedagogy, they attempted to collapse the dichotomy betwen pariyatti (the literary
study of Buddhist texts) with pathibatti (the practice of the Buddha’s teachings,
including meditation) so that they can promote a form of literary learning for
monks that combined critical thinking with a faithful observance of the codes of
conduct for monks as well as meditation. For instance, the Mahagandayone
Sayadaw de-emphasized rote learning of Buddhist texts for a more dialogic
approach. They also tried to promote a visceral knowledge of the Buddha’s
teachings among lay persons. The Mahagandayone Sayadaw wrote many
45
intermediate texts of the Pali canon for young novices, lay adults, and lay
children. As his successor monk abbot said, “The Mahagandayone Sayadaw
wrote Buddhist texts with the goal that people can understand and practice, even
without the need of a teacher.” Many of these texts include stories from the
Buddha’s life and past lives. Also, the Mahasi Sayadaw was the first monk to
write a compendium for ordinary lay persons of how to practice insight
meditation. In his center as in Panditarama, which is headed by one of his direct
monk disciples, the Buddha’s statues and paintings of the Buddha’s lives are
ever present, even in and near the meditation halls. Also, every insight
meditation day is accompanied by some devotional rituals to the Buddha and
Sangha, the sending of loving-kindness to all living beings, and Dhamma talks or
sermons by monks that include many examples from the Buddha’s lives and past
lives. Moreover, the strict adherence to the vinaya that both monks promoted
among their monk disciples assured a monk-teacher/lay-pupil relationship that is
imbued with much respect on the part of lay pupils. In other words, the
Mahagandayone Sayadaw, the Mahasi Sayadaw, along with their disciple,
Sayadaw U Pandita (the abbot at Panditarama), have helped to prevent in
modern Burma, the Cartesian dualism, the Western Orientalist efforts to
dismantle Buddhist faith from the path to critical insight.
I also show how Aung San Suu Kyi, the opposition leader in Burma, and
the winner of the 1990 Nobel Peace Prize, learned to meditate under Sayadaw U
Pandita. Moreover, he has become one of her most trusted spiritual advisors. In
turn, she has come to his center to speak in front of the young lay students at the
46
summer Buddhist “civility” course led by the abbot not only to let students know
of the spiritual benefits of meditation, but also of how its “moral” and “non-violent”
approach helps in the arena of politics. In particular, she evoked for them the
Ashokan ideal of political leadership, one that Prime Minister U Nu before her
had promoted, in which one strove to give for social welfare and morally lead in
this world with the goal of nibbana in mind.
ENDNOTES
1
Venerable Buddharakkhita, Dhammapada: A Practical Guide to Right Living, Sukhihotu
Dhamma Publications, Selangor, Malaysia, p. 75.
2
Venerable Buddharakkhita, Dhammapada: A Practical Guide to Right Living, Sukhihotu
Dhamma Publications, Selangor, Malaysia, p. 109.
47
Chapter 1
Conscience of the Buddha in Burmese Popular
Culture: Importance of the Vernacular
In order to explain what is meant in my thesis by a “conscience” of the
Buddha and to demonstrate more clearly its role in Burmese Buddhist society, I
will first contrast it with a prominent form of Buddhist modernity in another
colonized Buddhist nation, Sri Lanka.
I borrow the term “conscience” of the Buddha from Obeyesekere. In his
writings about the history of modern transformations in Buddhism from a religion
to a “science” or “philosophy” in Sri Lanka, Obeyesekere pointed out that a
“conscience” of the Buddha was something that became nearly eliminated in Sri
Lanka (Obeyesekere 1991). By a conscience of the Buddha, he meant the ability
for living people to remember and be moved by Buddhist ethics as exemplified by
the Buddha, a figure who, unlike the “God” or “deities” of the other major world
religions, poses several problems in the task of trying to remember him. The
Buddha did not create the world, is no longer alive, and does not exist. Due to
such problems in the task of remembering him, the socialization of the
conscience of the Buddha had been dependent on an emphasis of the past, the
time when the Buddha was alive in the world, both in his final life as the Buddha
and in his many past lives when he was perfecting his exemplary deeds that
48
would ensure his final life as the Buddha. What the Buddhist modernist
movement in Sri Lanka attempted to do was to uproot the faith and devotion that
was an important aspect of this cultivation of a conscience of the Buddha and
relegate these conscience-building elements to the realm of superstition.
Colonel Henry Steele Olcott, the son of a Protestant minister, a Buddhist
convert, and a leader in the Theosophical Society of late 19th century Sri Lanka,
led an educational campaign against Christian missions by defending what he
saw as Buddhism’s higher scientific legitimacy. He wrote catechisms to spread
his message about Buddhism’s empiricism. In a question and answer format, in
which he basically answered all the questions, he repudiated the relevance of
such popular religious elements in Buddhist practice as ceremonialism,
devotional rites, chants, and prayers by categorically calling these “superstition”:
Q: What was the Buddha’s estimate of ceremonialism?
A: From the beginning, he condemned the observance of ceremonies and
other external practices, which only tend to increase our spiritual blindness
and our clinging to mere lifeless forms….
Q: What striking contrasts are there between Buddhism and what may be
properly called ‘religions’?
A: Among others, these: It teaches the highest goodness without a
creating God; a continuity of line without adhering to the superstitions and
selfish doctrine of an eternal, metaphysical soul-substance that goes out
of the body; a happiness without an objective heaven; a method of
salvation without a vicarious Savior; redemption by oneself as the
Redeemer, and without rites, prayers, penances, priest or intercessory
saints and a summum bonum, that is Nirvana, attainable in this life and in
this world by leading a pure, unselfish life of wisdom and of compassion to
all beings. [Obeyesekere 1991:224-225]
In Olcott’s own life time, his Buddhist Catechism had astounding influence. It
was translated into 22 languages, went into 40 editions, and the Sinhala
translation was used in Buddhist schools in Sri Lanka. His work was continued
49
and popularized by the Sinhalese Buddhist reformer, Angarika Dharmapala
(1864-1933), a layman, a graduate of Christian missionary schools, and follower
of Olcott, who saw in the “scientific” or “philosophic” version of Buddhism a
national pride to behold in the face of colonialism. The modern Buddhist
curriculum in Sri Lanka, such as at schools, has been quite pervasively
influenced by the Catechism and the tradition of Buddhist modernism from which
it sprung.
This tradition of Buddhist modernism, in effect, devalued faith, devotion,
story telling, miracles, and parables which not only remained a part of folk
practices in Sri Lanka but also exist to some extent in the original doctrinal
corpus. Obeyesekere outlined four such elements found in the Tripitaka
(Obeyesekere 1991:230-234). Firstly, like other Indian rishis, the Buddha was
known to possess many supernormal powers, such as to converse with devas
(gods) or tame demons on earth, although he castigated the use of these powers
for worldly gains. Secondly, while it is true that Buddhist prayers are not
generally supplicatory or propitiatory as the Buddha is said to have passed away
(entered parinibbana), worshipping of the Buddha for praise of him or
commemoration of him followed almost immediately after his death. It has been
of a more fervent nature akin to devotion of a religion’s founder than to any
philosopher. Thirdly, while the Buddha is not the center of the Buddhist faith, he
is its hero par excellence. It is through the Jatakas, stories of his enactment of
the perfections, that the ethical principles of Buddhism are embodied and
transmitted. Finally, gods and demons are ever present in these Jatakas as in
50
many other parts of the original doctrinal corpus, because the theory of kamma,
that wholesome intentions beget wholesome results (including wholesome
rebirth) and unwholesome intentions beget unwholesome results (including
unwholesome rebirth), ensures that gods and demons are a part of the ethically
bound cosmic order, the cycle of rebirths called samsara. When Olcott,
Dharmapala, and whole generations of bourgeois or formally educated middle
class relegated these “folk” but also doctrinal elements as superstitious
irrelevance, what resulted in Sri Lanka was a crisis in the ability to develop a
conscience of the Buddha.
This crisis in the ability to develop a conscience of the Buddha also
resulted in an ethical crisis in contemporary Sri Lanka. Firstly, Buddhism came
to be learned and practiced largely for instrumental rational reasons, that is, for
quite calculated, this-worldly causes such as to increase one’s wealth, to cure
illnesses, or for gaining certificates and degrees (Gombrich and
Obeyesekere:235-237). Also, it came to be understood in a very particularistic
rather than a universalistic manner. Buddhism as a national and ethnic identity
became predominant over its universal, ethical bases. Traditionally, in
iconography as well as in the Jataka stories, the Buddha had been presented as
a non-erotic, completely non-threatening, totally benevolent figure (with both
feminine and masculine qualities), who is never punishing. In stories of his lives
and of those who were his disciples, good and evil were never presumed to be
an intrinsic, permanent quality of characters; in fact, in keeping with the law of
51
kamma and also the transient nature of all things, good and evil were always
subject to transformation.
From the repertoire of stories of the Buddha’s past lives, many stories had
traditionally been recounted in Sri Lanka that dealt with the themes of nonviolence, forgiveness, and the futility of retaliating when confronted with violence.
One popular story is the story of the demoness Kali. In it, a young man, upon
inheriting the responsibilities of a household upon the death of his father, was
betrothed by his mother to a woman of his choice. However, the woman turned
out to be barren. The man’s mother, concerned about perpetuating the lineage
asked the man to take on another wife. Seeing that the man would probably
eventually obey his mom, his wife decided to try to find a second wife for him.
However, she did so with much deception. She promised the young woman’s
family that the woman’s child, their grandchild, would become the rightful heir to
her husband’s fortunes. However, each time the young woman, the co-wife, was
pregnant, the barren woman fed her dangerous medicines to abort the fetuses.
When she was found out by the co-wife upon the pregnancy of the third child, the
barren woman tried to kill both the fetus and the co-wife by feeding the latter
dangerous medicines during labor. Upon dying, the co-wife fervently announced
her motivation for vengeance against the barren woman. The co-wife made a
rebirth-wish to be reborn as a demoness who would be powerful enough to
devour the barren woman and the children she would bear one day. The co-wife
became reborn as a cat in the household. The barren wife, upon her own death,
became reborn as a hen in the same household. The cat devoured the eggs of
52
the hen three times. Seeing that the cat may eventually eat her, too, the hen
made a rebirth-wish to be able to eat the cat and her young ones in her next
birth. The hen died and became reborn as a tigress. The cat died and became
reborn as a young doe. Three times the tigress ate up the young to whom the
doe gave birth. When the tigress was about to eat the doe, the latter wished to
be reborn as a demoness who would eat the former and her children. So, finally,
in the lifetime of the Buddha, the doe was reborn as a demoness. The tigress
was born as a daughter of a nobleman in the city of Savatti. Deceitfully, in
disguise as a friend, the demoness was able to gain access to the inner
chambers of the noble woman upon the birth of the noble woman’s first two
children. The demoness ate them. Prior to giving birth to the third child, the
noble woman went to her parents’ house for protection from the demoness.
While giving a bath to her child in the pond near the Jetavanarama monastery
where the Buddha was preaching, the noble woman spotted the demoness
approaching. Recognizing her, the noble woman ran into the temple and laid her
child down at the Buddha’s feet. The Buddha, also seeing the demoness at the
entrance, told the noble woman that there was no need to fear. He told the
demoness that her vengeance could have lasted eons if she had not met him
and that he was glad she met him. He said,
Listen demoness, when your body is filthy with spit, phlegm, and snot, you
cannot clean it with the same spit, phlegm, and snot--in fact it will only get
more filthy. So when you abuse those who abuse and revile you, or kill or
beat up those murderers who beat you up, or indulge in criminal acts
against those who do criminal acts against you, it is like adding fuel to fire;
enmity on both sides never ceases…[Obeyesekere and Obeyesekere:
325]
53
Gradually, the Buddha encouraged the demoness to attain at least the first stage
of enlightenment. Symbolically, he gave her sotapanna (stream-enterer) rice as
her nourishment in her journey toward nibbana. Instead of human flesh, it is the
path to nibbana that she would now partake. As for the noble woman, he also
encouraged her to let go of her fear of the demoness. He said, “Give your child
to the demoness to hold.” “Lord, I’m afraid to give the child to her,” she replied.
He told her of his ability to tame the most hardened criminals: “Do not fear.
Angulimala, the great Thera, once said, ‘I will cut a thousand fingers to perform
my sacrificial rites,’ and killed many people and caused much trouble. I tamed
him. Now he does not harm so much as an ant…”1 While he spoke as such, the
noble woman handed her child over to the demoness to carry. The demoness
embraced and caressed the child and handed him back to the mother. She burst
out weeping. As such, this popular story had underlined how a cycle of hatred
and violence could only be stopped and dismantled by an extraordinary gesture
of trust. That trust was also shown in the story as an ethic embodied in the
Buddha himself. Through self-example, he trusted the demoness, he let her
enter the temple, he allowed the child that is placed at his feet to be placed in her
hands, he fed the demoness the nourishment that is the path to enlightenment,
and he tamed her gradually.
When stories and iconography such as this became exempt from
transmissions of Buddhism in modern Sri Lanka, notions of who are good and
who are evil became more crystallized. That is, good and evil came to be known
as more intrinsic, rather than mutable qualities of people. So, now, as
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Obeyesekere writes of the present ethnic conflicts between the minority Tamil
Hindus and the majority Sinhala Buddhists in Sri Lanka, “Thus, ordinary people
might not participate in violence against the alien ethnic group; they can, and
often do, condone that violence (Obeyesekere 1991: 237).”
In many sectors of Burmese society, too, as in some of the educational
settings I will describe in later chapters, a conscience of the Buddha is either
lacking or minimal. Burmese Buddhist ethnic chauvinism, too, is not completely
absent in Burma. Yet, in Burma, the intellectual tradition found in post colonial Sri
Lanka, one that upholds Buddhism as a kind of science or a philosophy has
never taken firm roots, not even among the educated middle class. Influenced
by Western Orientalists like Rhys Davids, a Burma Research Society was
founded in Rangoon in the late 19th century and lasted through the 1950s. The
Society’s journal, written in English, was a forum in which Buddhism became an
object of study. In the journal, topics of interest to Orientalists, such as “Is
Buddhism a Science?” or “What is the Empirical Basis for Nibbana?” did become
discussed. An Anglicized elite, those who graduated from missionary schools
and received degrees from abroad, dominated the research society. However,
their journal became an esoteric, purely academic endeavor, used by foreign
intellectuals, but never really reaching the Burmese general public. As I will
show in my next chapter, the leaders that successfully resisted the British
colonial government, ruled in the successive post-colonial governments, and had
much influence over the popular and intellectual culture of Burma were not the
Anglicized elites but ones who went to Burmese Buddhist national schools. They
55
promoted a different idea of Burmese modernity from those in the Anglicized
sectors. Instead of rationalizing Buddhist doctrine into a science, they relished in
the stories, the miracles, the faith and devotional aspects, the rites, and the
ceremonies, that were a part of traditional Burmese Buddhist practice. Referring
back to ideals of kingship held by Buddhist King Ashoka of 3rd century B.C.,
India, they believed that the way to maintain the salvation goal nibbana as one
lived and moved in the world was by helping to make the world a better place
materially and socially so that people could meditate to achieve Nibbana. The
influence of these leaders and intellectuals with Ashokan ideals have been so
great in Burma that the conscience of the Buddha has been kept alive there,
even among the educated middle class, via all kinds of narrative means: a
plethora of Buddhist magazines filled with stories and legends, hagiographies of
Buddhist saints, plays, novels and movies embodying Buddhist ethics, sacred
histories of pagodas linking them to the Buddha’s life, and many “intermediate
texts (Obeyesekere and Obeyesekere:318),” i.e., texts written in the vernacular
and in narrative form that expound Buddhist ethics as found in the doctrine, such
as collections in the Burmese language of Jatakas or tales of the Buddha’s past
lives. All of these literatures are always widely available in Rangoon, sold at
street corners or in the bookstores of downtown and at the little bookshops along
the steps leading to the stupa of the famous Shwedagon Pagoda.
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Concretization of the Buddha’s Charisma in Art
To some extent, all the Buddhist nations have a consciousness of the
Buddha. The ever present pagodas and stupas, many of which are said to
contain relics of the Buddha, commemorate the Buddha upon his parinibbana
(passing away). They can be seen from afar as white or glistening spires atop
green hills or as giant golden mounds pointing into skies right in the center of
urban sprawls. The numerous Buddha statues at the pagodas embody his
universal compassion and calm repose. Still, while informal socialization in
Burma may not be too different from a Buddhist nation like Sri Lanka in that the
Burmese Buddhist is surrounded physically in the nation by many images of the
Buddha, the conscious transmission and consumption of a conscience of the
Buddha continue to be prominent here in the modern era. Tambiah has shown
that in Thailand, too, there is a strong belief, even among the modern educated
elite today, of the magical aura of the Buddha, his relics, and images of him to
such an extent that small images of the Buddha are bought and sold and worn on
the body as amulets, as are those of meditating forest monks, ones believed to
have Buddha-like saintly qualities. However, in Burma, where capitalism in the
sense of a free market economy has not had a long and rooted history as in
Thailand (a relatively free market only resurfaced in Burma in the 1990s after 30
years of socialism), such commodification and subsequent fetishization of
Buddha or Buddhist saints’ images have not become central or even relevant to
society’s “collective conscience” of the Buddha. Photographs of the Buddha and
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Buddhist saints’ images are bought and sold and given as gifts for purposes of
worship in Burma. Many people place these photographs at or near the
Buddha’s shrine in their homes and some also place them on the upper part of
their front windshields in their cars where they can be seen by the driver and
passengers. However, they are never worn on the body. I have also never seen
them being stored in people’s wallets or purses. They are not amulets in this
sense, but objects of remembrance, worship, and reverence. The “conscience
collective” of the Buddha in Burma, then, is quite replete in that it entails not only
a consciousness of his magical qualities but also a complete idealization and
reverence of his ethics and strivings toward nibbana.
That is, in Burma, both popular and intellectual cultures do not reject but
rejoice in the miracles, faith, and devotional aspects surrounding memories of
him while simultaneously attaching high esteem to the very rational practice of
insight meditation, including the sila (ethics) and samadhi (concentration) that are
its foundations. So, even statues of the Buddha here tend to emphasize the
miraculous nature of his accomplishments while at the same time they
underscore his work of meditation. Frescoes, terracotta plaques, statues, and
carvings at many of the pagodas in Burma, dating as far back as the first
Burmese Buddhist kingdom, Pagan, in 12th century A.D., and as recent as the
present show him in his past lives enacting exemplary deeds. Moreover,
practically every Buddhist home in Burma, regardless of class, status, or
occupational background, also has a shrine of the Buddha, complete with a
statue of him in meditative repose. In Burma, the particular posture of the
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statues of the Buddha in meditative repose accomplishes several ends
simultaneously: they express several allusions to the awe-inspiring, almost
magical, nature of his ethical deeds such as generous giving, they establish the
relevance of his teachings for the world (he is usually pointing to the earth), and
also, they underscore the importance of his message to meditate. The most
characteristic form of the Buddha’s statue in Burma is the Buddha seated in a
posture known as ‘earth-witness’ attitude (Lowry 1974:Plate 8). An
overwhelming majority of images of a seated Buddha in Burma is in this posture.
It represents him in the night before enlightenment when he was seated
meditating under the Bodhi tree and Mara, an evil spirit who wanted to prevent
him from his path, had asked him to name someone who could give evidence
that he had once given alms. So, the Buddha is shown as having moved slightly
from his normal meditative repose whereby his right and left hands had been
folded in the same way on his lap. Here, he had moved his right hand slightly to
touch the earth to say that the earth could bear witness. The earth could bear
witness that during his previous life as King Vessantara, he had given so much
alms as to cause the earth to quake. In seeing this posture of pronouncement, a
slight movement of his right hand with the left still folded in a meditating position,
the viewer can also perceive that just moments prior to this touching of the earth,
the Buddha had been meditating. In Burma, such statues of the Buddha often
share the same room as that of shrines for the family nat (spirit guardian), who is
thought to have magical powers but are considered to be much less on the
spiritual scale than the Buddha and even some ordinary human beings, for
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spirits, even when they are from the heavens, possess no material body through
which they can meditate and enter nibbana. Thus, the Buddha’s shrine is the
center and is placed at a higher level than those of the nats. Daily, flowers, food,
and water are offered to him in memory and in praise of him.
Reclining Buddhas in Burma: Reminders of Impermanence and the
Urgency of Practice
Another kind of popular image of the Buddha in Burma, so gigantic that
one can see them atop hills in at least several major towns across the country
and within pagodas such as the Khyauk Thet Kyi (Great Six Steps) pagoda right
in the middle of Rangoon, are giant statues of the Buddha in a reclining pose to
commemorate his Mahaparinibbana (Great Passing Away). These reclining
statues, whose tradition can be traced all the way to the temples of Pagan,
embody another of the three most popular postures of the Buddha in Burmese
art (Lowry:Plate 8). They are quite unique to Burma in their pervasiveness and
gigantism. As they represent the moments right before the Buddha’s death and
entry into nibbana, these statues, in particular, are a reminder of the transient
nature of life, including the Buddha’s life, and the urgency of meditating while one
can to escape the cycle of rebirths and the suffering inherent in it. In the
moments prior to his passing away, the Buddha had admonished his followers to
diligently practice insight meditation which is the prime means of reaching
nibbana and entails mindfulness of all mental and physical phenomena. So, the
statues represent these last words of the Buddha to his disciples:
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Behold, O Bikkhus, now I speak to you. Transient are all conditioned
things. Strive on with diligence…Ripe is my age. Short is my life.
Leaving you I shall depart. I have made myself my refuge. O Bikkhus, be
diligent, mindful and virtuous. With well-directed thoughts, guard your
minds. He who lives heedfully in this Dispensation will escape life’s
wandering and put an end to suffering. [Narada 1988:136-137]
Vernacular Narratives
In Burma, the above kinds of images of the Buddha have a high potential
to invoke the ethics and the work of meditation that is propounded by the
Buddha, because there also continues to be there a high emphasis on a tradition
of narratives, both oral and written in the vernacular, about the Buddha’s last life
and also his many past lives. An interesting development in recent decades is
the existence of narratives of the Buddha’s exemplary deeds expressed quite
literally within some of the reclining statues in Burma. That is, one can enter the
body of the Buddha as represented by these statues to experience some of the
events of his last life, one in which he was the Buddha, a hero par excellence.
There are sculpted, life-size depictions of scenes of his immaculate conception
and birth as Prince Siddhartha (his mother, Maya, dreamt of a white elephant, a
symbol of luck, upon conceiving him), his encounter with an old person, a sick
person, a corpse, and a monk in the city outside the confines of his sheltered
royal existence, his subsequent renunciation to the forest, his attainment of
enlightenment through his meditation under a bodhi tree, and his taming in an
extraordinary manner of nats (gods/spirits), ogres, animals, and people,
including hardened criminals such as Angulimala, whom he encountered in the
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years before his death and entry into nibbana. Written captions in the vernacular
accompany each scene. I have been to at least two such reclining Buddhas, one
in middle Burma in the town of Moneywa (near where the internationally famous
19th century monk, Ledi Sayadaw, used to reside) and the other in the Mon State
in southwest Burma near the forest hermitage called Pha-Auk. One of the most
striking portrayals of scenes from the Buddha’s lifetime within the reclining
Buddha at Moneywa is the story of Angulimala’s encounter with the Buddha.
According to the story under the subheading of “The World” in the Dhammapada
of the Pali canon and popularized through oral story-telling and many
intermediate texts (albeit with slightly varying details) in Burma, Angulimala or
“Garland of Fingers” was a young man who was originally named Ahimsa (‘NonViolence’) by his parents. When Ahimsa became a student, he foolishly followed
the commands of his deceitful teacher who wanted revenge against Ahimsa for
he thought wrongly that Ahimsa was having an affair with his wife. The teacher
promised that he would teach a priceless knowledge to Ahimsa after Ahimsa kills
a thousand men or women. So, Ahimsa set out to the forest, the outskirts of the
town, and hurt and killed nearly a thousand people. In order to keep count and
later show proof of his killings to his teacher, Ahimsa cut off a finger from each
victim and put these in a garland around his neck. People who knew of him
became terrified. They began to call him “Angulimala” or a “Garland of Fingers.”
Upon reaching 999 thumbs, the exhausted Angulimala became determined to kill
the next person that came to sight. As he ran after his own mother in order to kill
her and complete his quota of one thousand, the Buddha arrived to dissuade
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him. The Buddha was so successful that Angulimala became not only a monk
disciple but also practiced meditation and attained arahantship or full
enlightenment within a short time. Due to an initial lack of trust toward
Angulimala from the lay public, the Buddha provided Angulimala with the
following chant so that he could give it to expectant mothers and protect them
and their babies at childbirth: “`Oh, sister! Ever since I was reborn in this Noble
Birth [entry into monkhood], I do not remember intentionally taking the life of a
being. By this utterance of truth, may there be comfort to you and to the child in
your womb.’”2 To this day, this chant, found in the parittas, is memorized and
used by expectant mothers of a wide variety of classes, statuses, and
educational backgrounds in Burma.
The life-like scene depicted about the story of Angulimala and explained
with small captions in the body of the reclining Buddha at Moneywa is dramatic
and memorable. Angulimala’s red, blood-drenched sword, blood dripping from
the fingers draped around his neck and naked chest, the staunchness of his
square shoulders, the readiness of his legs to run, the filth of his unshaven face,
and the tiresome expression in his eyes stand in marked contrast to the figure of
the Buddha standing in front of him. The Buddha stands still with a clean,
shaven face. His sloping shoulders are fully clothed in a long reddish-brown robe
(the kind most Burmese monks wear today). He had lucidity in his eyes and a
calmness and compassion in the gentle raising of his long, almost feminine,
palm. He gestures toward Angulimala to simply stop. This embodiment of the
Buddha’s exemplary ability to tame without punishing embodied within his very
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“body” (the gigantic reclining Buddha) that was about to enter nibbana serves as
a powerful means of concretizing the ethical bases (the compassion, the nonviolence, the non-retaliatory stance) that can propel one forward in the path to
nibbana. Consequently, it serves to socialize a conscience of him. There were
adults talking, walking, and viewing this exhibit, some alongside their children.
Right next to the exhibit, there were also young people making and selling
garlands of jasmines to offer to Buddha images in the hall. There were also
other young people selling photographic memorabilia of the reclining Buddha and
its exhibits inside.
Spiritualization of History in Burma, Even By the Modern Educated Class
Finally, in Burma, Buddha images and stupas and the narratives behind
them also continue to link the origins of the country and its people to the Buddha.
The Burmese borrowed this practice of linking their land and people to the
spiritual lineage of the Buddha from the traditional historiographies of Sri Lanka,
a place from which they had received some of the earliest Theravada Buddhist
missions in the 5th century A.D. (Sarkisyanz:3-4). However, in Burma, this
practice continues without much skepticism even among the modern educated
elite and often their belief in the country’s spiritual ties with the Buddha becomes
a basis of political debate about who in Burma are authentic heirs of the Buddha.
There are many places where the Buddha is said to have visited, marked, and
blessed during his lifetime. One such place, the site of the Shwe Set Taw
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Pagoda (Sacred Golden Foot Pagoda) in middle Burma, has a giant footprint on
top of a hill. For countless generations, it is said to be the footprint of the
Buddha. The footprint is adorned with much gold and gems. Its sacred nature is
emphasized by the rule that one can look at it but not touch it. It is protected with
a fence. Also, Mandalay in Upper Burma, the city established by King Mindon in
1861 and served as the capital of the last two Burmese kingdoms, his and his
son Thibaw’s, has a giant standing Buddha that points to the city from the top of
Mandalay Hill. A sculpture of a kneeling monk disciple with palms clasped in a
show of respect is at the Buddha’s feet. The monk disciple is depicted as
following with his eyes the direction toward which the Buddha is pointing. This
edifice commemorating the Buddha was erected before Mindon began to build
Mandalay and is said to represent the Buddha’s prophecy that Mandalay was to
be a center for the propagation of the Buddhist religion.
One much revered Buddha image that has become at the center of recent
political debates about which sectors of Burmese Buddhist society are actually
conducting themselves ethically in a manner befitting of heirs to the Buddha’s
spiritual inheritance is the Maha Myat Muni Buddha figure. Originally cast in
metal, the Maha Myat Muni Buddha image is 12 feet and 7 inches tall but due to
layers of gold leaf pasted by devotees throughout the centuries, its body has
become irregular in outline and cloaked in one to two inches of gold leaves. It is
considered very sacred as according to legend the Gautama Buddha had posed
for this particular statue himself while teaching and meditating at Dhannavati
(now site of northern Arakan state that is in western Burma adjacent to
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Bangladesh). According to legend, Sakka, the king of the nats or gods sculpted
it, the Buddha approved of it, and the Buddha breathed onto the image saying
that even though he would pass on into nibbana in his eightieth year, this image
would live on for 5,000 years, the duration of the religion. The image took its
place in the Burmese kingdom after King Bodawpaya conquered Arakan in 1784.
In 1996-97 during my research in Burma, the state-run newspapers had reported
that thieves had dug a hole through the stomach of the Buddha image and had
stolen precious gems that had originally been enshrined in it. Access to the
image became limited as it had to be repaired. Yet, there was much gossip in
the general public, even among the modern educated elite, including college
students I knew, that they believed the corrupt military junta had stolen the gems
themselves. They said that they believed the military junta’s theft from such a
holy image would surely cause the sasana or the Buddhist religion to decline in
the nation. The open wound in the statue’s abdomen was like a live wound for
them.
Another Buddhist structure whose past is still continually linked to the
Buddha even by the modern educated elite is the 328 feet tall Shwedagon
“Golden Dagon” Pagoda that is located in the center of Rangoon. It can be seen
from almost anywhere in Rangoon. As Sarkisyanz observed, even the most
educated of Burma’s modern elite do not easily repudiate the legend that
surrounds the history of the pagoda (Sarkisyanz:130). In my own field research,
I found this same phenomenon. In 1972, the Ministry of Information published an
informational book about it, Shwedagon, in both English and Burmese
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languages. A committee of historians and architects gathered to produce both
books. While the English version was clearly meant more for foreign visitors to
the pagoda and the Burmese version for the Burmese people, in both versions
the writers adhered quite closely to the mythical legend that is well-known in
Burma. They deemed this to be an acceptable history of the pagoda and are
reluctant to call it a myth or legend even though the Burmese version admits that
much of the story has been transmitted orally and the English version states that
“the beginnings of the Shwe Dagon Pagoda reach beyond the period of recorded
history (Ministry of Information 1972: 5).” In the “Development of the Pagoda”
chapter in the English version, there is some pondering in the beginning that the
story of the founding of the pagoda may have some mythical or legendary
elements:
Any religious edifice of some antiquity arouses interest about its
beginnings when was it built, who built it, and in what circumstances.
When the edifice happens to be a wonderworking, wish-fulfilling shrine
attractive of such religious sentiment and devotion as is represented by
the Shwe Dagon Pagoda, then legend and tradition form an integral part
of the story of its founding. [Ministry of Information:5]
However, in the paragraph immediately following this preface, the writers state
that it is futile and unwise to question the authenticity: “Some might say that
these beginnings [of the pagoda] reach too far beyond to be authentic. But who
can effectively or beneficiently question the beliefs of devotion and faith?” The
subsequent paragraphs dive right into describing details from the traditional
story. The legendary narrative spans nine full pages, one-third of the entire
chapter on its history (the rest is more about its recorded history, such as about
different kings and leaders restoring and adding structures to the Pagoda). The
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following are excerpts from the writers’ account of the traditional story regarding
the origin of the Pagoda:
On the seventh morning after the Buddha had stayed at the foot of the
linlun tree engaged in meditation after Enlightenment, the two brothers
Taphussa and Bhallika…came by with five hundred carts. A nat (spirit)
who in a previous existence had been the mother of the two brothers
caused the carts to stop. Then though the oxen yoked to the five hundred
carts pulled with great might they were unable to move them in the least.
The two brothers thought that it must be the action of the spirits of the
road, and so stirred themselves to make an offering to the spirits. Then
the nat revealed itself and told them that the Bodhisat had now attained
His Buddhahood and that He was residing at the foot of the linlun tree. If
the two brothers desired to attain benefit for themselves they should
approach the Buddha with the offerings and make obeisance and pay
homage to Him. The two brothers were much rejoiced at these news and
approached the Buddha with rice-cakes and honey-food.
The Buddha considered how to accept the cakes which the two
brothers had brought…The four guardians of the earth came down to
earth and offered four bowls made of sapphires, but these bowls the
Buddha would not accept. Four other bowls of common stone, the colour
of brown peas were offered, and these the Buddha accepted...Then the
Buddha accepted the brothers’ cakes in that bowl. When the Buddha
finished the meal the two borthers worshipped the Buddha and the
Buddha preached the Law. When the Buddha finished preaching the Law,
the two brothers recited the formula for taking refuge. `I take refuge in the
Buddha, I take refuge in the Law.’ Then they worshipped the Buddha and
said: `When we return to our own land, may the Lord give us something
that we may worship as the Lord’s self while we live in our land.’
Then the Buddha stroked His head with His right hand and got
eight Hairs and gave them to the merchants. When the brothers put the
Hairs on their hands, the Hairs sent brilliant rays throughout the forests
and the mountains; the earth trembled with a loud noise; the waves rose
in the seas and oceans; Meru mountain bent its head in reverence; and
the spirits acclaimed: `Well done, well done.’…The Buddha perceiving that
the three preceding Buddhas had caused their possessions to be
enshrined in a pagoda on Singuttara Hill in the country of these two
brothers, bade them do likewise with His Hairs…
Sakka, King of the nats [gods], created a ruby pinnacle and also a
casket of emeralds. The Hairs were placed within the casket which was
again placed within the structure…Sakka accompanied them for seven
days, and when they reached the seas-shore they set sail in a golden ship
created by Sakka…
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On the way home the brothers lost two Hairs each to the human
King Ajettha and the Naga Snake King…
…[Upon reaching their land at Ukkalapa kingdom] the merchant
brothers…fixed their minds at a distance and made their prayer: `O most
glorious Lord Buddha. If it is true that we are the donors of the Hairs and
that the Omniscient Buddha has vouchsafed us to enshrine the eight Hairs
on the Singuttara Hill, let the missing four Hairs return so that we have the
full eight Hairs.’ As soon as the asseveration was made the missing four
Hairs returned and there were eight Hairs…
The king [of Ukkalapa] opened the casket and looked and when he
saw the eight Hairs he was full of faith…
...[With the help of Sakka, King of the nats or gods, the Hairs were
enshrined in a cave that was then covered by a golden slab. On the
golden slab, a golden pagoda was erected, and then superimposing that
golden pagoda, a succession of pagodas were built using silver, tin,
copper, lead, marble and iron bricks respectively, the proceeding one
enclosing the one before.] [Ministry of Information:5-14]
This story can be found depicted by wood carvings between the pillars of one of
the entrance gates to the Shwedagon Pagoda. As the story is at the Pagoda for
any visitor to see, and the pagoda is a central place of pilgrimage in Burma for
daily observances if one chose, for full moon days which are called uposatha
(sabbath) days, for Kason, the thrice-blessed water festival day in May in which
the Buddha is known to be born, gained enlightenment, and passed away to
enter into nibbana, Tazaungdine (in October), the festival of lights, and Tabaung
(in March), the very festival to commemorate the enshrinement of the Buddha’s
hair relics at the Pagoda, the above story of origin also does not need much
convincing. It is one with which almost all Burmese Buddhists are already
familiar. At the end of their account of the above traditional story of origin, the
writers do affirm its legendary nature: “This is the founding legend of the Shwe
Dagon Pagoda told with variations of detail by different writers (Ministry of
Information:14).” However, in the very next paragraph, they also assume the
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truthfulness of the central tenets of the legend, that the Buddha’s hair relics are in
fact enshrined in the Pagoda and that the Buddha’s will brought them there:
It is a comfort to know that the sacred Hairs abide in the Pagoda and will
continue to do so as long as the world endures. The comfort is
strengthened by the assurance of the saint and writer Buddhaghosa
[famous 5th Century Sinhalese monk and writer of the commentary on
insight meditation, Vissudhi Magga] who said: ‘Then, in whatever place
the Relics do not get worship and honour, they go, by the power of the
Buddha’s will, to a place where they get worship and honour.’ [Ministry of
Information:14]
In this way, the writers were affirming that the Burmese are spiritually worthy
people fated to honor the Buddha’s relics.
In the Burmese version of the Shwedagon book, the same story as above
of the origins of the Shwedagon Pagoda is offered. In the Burmese version, the
writers were even less apologetic about the possibilities of mythical elements in
the story. The “History” (‘Thamaing’) chapter in the Burmese version began
directly with the words:
The Shwedagon Pagoda was established during the time of the Buddha.
The hill upon which the stupa/cedi is built is called Singuttara. Those who
established it were King Ukkalapa of and the citizens of Ukkalapa. Those
who enshrined [the hair relics] within the stupa/cedi were Thapussa and
Ballika, merchant brothers who brought over Gautama Buddha’s eight
strands of hair from the Majima region (the area that is now
India/Nepal)...[Ministry of Information 1975:20]
The reluctance of the modern educated Burmese writers to admit the mythical
nature of at least some of the elements in the story in both the Burmese and the
English versions of Shwedagon is indicative of the pervasive penchant for faith
and devotional elements in Burma. It is clear that both the English and Burmese
versions of the Shwedagon book were on the whole meant to be more
educational and informative than touristic. The academicians had gathered to
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produce both and both were very detail oriented. For instance, there are foldouts
of extremely detailed architectural diagrams of the pagoda from a variety of
angles in both versions, there are close up photographs of various buildings,
places, and art work at the pagoda, and there are descriptions of the
engineering, architecture, and management of the pagoda, including many
statistics. Yet, despite all these details, there is also a lack of footnoting and/or
specific references to textual sources. It is not surprising that even in Burmese
school textbooks the Shwedagon Pagoda’s beginnings is dated to coincide with
when the Buddha was alive, i.e., 2,500 years ago, without any reference to
sources. The second grade Burmese Reader has on page 13 a black and white
photographic print of the actual Shwedagon stupa/cedi and the surrounding
buildings underneath. The brief exposition underneath does not include a
narrative about the origins of the hair relics but does begin with the sentence,
“The Shwedagon Pagoda was built 2,500 years ago…”3 In the exposition, the
pagoda is also idealized as a central symbol of the nation and a source of
Burmese people’s spirituality: “…All those who get to see and pay homage to
the Shwedagon Pagoda experience a peace of mind.”4
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Spiritualization of Biography
Burmese Buddhists’ tendency to trace, without much doubt of mythology,
Buddha images, pagodas, and the history of their land, cities, and nation to the
Buddha in the modern era is a continuation of their tradition of historiography to
trace practically everything that is central to their culture and people to the
Buddha, and this practice has served to heighten their “conscience collective” of
the Buddha. As Houtman explained, even though Western academicians since
the colonial days have considered the Burmese to have closer relations to China
in that they are thought racially to be of a more Mongoloid origin and their
vernacular is seen as being of the same family with the Tibetan language, the
Burmese tends to feel a closer historical and linguistic link (namely regarding Pali
terms in their language) to India because they are more concerned with the
spiritual continuity from the time of the Buddha (Houtman 1997:330). In fact, at
least one of the Burmese vernacular “historical chronicles,” Buddhavamsa, a
biography of the Buddha, focuses on the events of his last life as the Buddha. It
contains at the end an account of how his relics arrived in Rangoon’s
Shwedagon Pagoda.
Inspiring biographies are key elements in Burmese chroniclers’ attempts
to trace the spiritual continuity of the nation to the Buddha. Yet, it is not the
individual qualities of the subject, of course, but how he fits in the Buddha’s
lineage and the general Buddhist world view that is highlighted. The aim of
traditional historiography still practiced in Burma today is didactic. As Sarkisyanz
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said, it is “to provide illustrations of the basic idea of Buddhism, the
Impermanence of all existence, the cyclical regularity and causality of endless
change… (Sarkisyanz :2).” Even in Rajavamsa or “History of Kings,” the
Burmese kings are traced back to the noble, Sakya lineage of the Buddha. Their
usual savagery, such as fratricide or looting and violent killings of whole
kingdoms are balanced by accounts of their acts of atonements, such as giving
generously to pagodas, and their rise and fall are viewed as manifestations of the
impermanence and cyclical regularity that characterizes worldly life (Sarkisyanz:
2-3). For example, the rajavamsa known specifically as the Glass Palace
Chronicle of the Kings of Burma is a primary source of Burmese history in public
schools. It was written in 1829 during the administration of King Bagyidaw and it
begins like this:
Here endeth the second part. And we shall presently relate the full history
of the kings of Burma, originally descended from the noble Sun dynasty of
the Sakiyans. We shall begin with the founding of Tagaung, their first city,
and add, moreover, the record of the sacred relics, the establishment of
the religion, and the lineage of divers founders and rulers of cities…(Tin
and Luce 1960:1).”
In part through such “historical” accounts usually written by monks who were
sponsored by the court, the Burmese kings had been legitimated as links
between the Burmese people and the Buddha.
Yet, even more than kings, in the Buddha’s absence, it is the Buddha-like
saintly monks who have been recognized as living symbols of the ways of being
that were embodied by the Buddha. Burmese vamsa or vernacular “historical
chronicles” like the Buddhavamsa also includes biographies and reverential
qualities of the monk disciples the Buddha taught in his lifetime as the Buddha,
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including famous monk disciples such as Sariputtara and Mogallena. In the
chronicle called the Buddha-sasana-vamsa, a history of the Buddhist
dispensation from India up to contemporary Burma is included in addition to a
biography of the Buddha. The various other sasana-vamsa, such as that of
“Sitgaing” or “Mandalay,” or the more recent Pathibati Sasanavamsa (History of
the [Vipassana] Practice) further give account of the history of Buddhism in
Burma by recounting the virtuous, saintly lives of various monks of Burma and
monastic lineages traced to and through them.
Recently, biographies about individual vipassana “insight” meditation
masters have become popular, yet these, too, are part of the historical tradition of
tracing Burmese Buddhist spirituality to the Buddha (Houtman 1997). The
accounts portray these meditation masters as possessing the kammic fate to
become the astounding persons that they are and also depict the exemplary
manner in which they have strove to follow the ethical conduct and path to insight
that was propounded by the Buddha. For example, such a biography of the
Mahasi Sayadaw, the internationally famous monk teacher already mentioned,
was compiled in 1982 by one of his direct disciples, Sayadaw U Silananda. It
was part of the Mahasi Patipatti Sasana Vamsa, a compilation of biographies of
meditation monk teachers in the Mahasi tradition, beginning with the Mahasi
Sayadaw and including his most direct monk disciples. It was also translated into
English. The Mahasi Sayadaw was a pioneer in many ways. His biographer
said that he was unique even among the saintly monks of Burma in the sense he
not only practiced meditation himself but also was the first to make it accessible
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to the public and the international community on an unprecedented scale. In the
introduction to the biography, the Wetlat Masoyein Sayadaw U Theiktha wrote
the following about the Mahasi Sayadaw’s uniqueness:
The Great Buddhist history of ‘Mahasi Patipatti Sasana’ which occupies a
place in the field of Buddha Sasana (Buddha’s dispensation) has been
successfully implemented after over-coming various difficulties. In the
realm of Buddha Sasana such a kind of history is absolutely necessary to
be written and published. This kind of history cannot possibly come out if
no such outstanding figure like the Venerable Mahasi Sayadaw has
emerged on the scene…[Venerable U Silananda 1982:M]
However, in the biography as a whole, the Mahasi Sayadaw is not so much
praised for how he is unique and talented even outside the Buddhist dispensation
but for how he best conforms to the model of the Gautama Buddha. Like the
Gautama Buddha and as opposed to lesser Buddhas like Paccaka Buddhas, he
not only practiced meditation to achieve salvation but taught it to others as well.
Even Sayadaw U Theiktha wrote later in his introduction,
Although [previous] Sayadawgyis had seriously practiced vipassana
meditation in the manner of Paccaka Buddha sufficient for their own
individual salvation without preaching the knowledge which they had
achieved, they had not been able to contribute to the work of
disseminating the dhamma world-wide for the benefit of the Buddhists in
general, just as Mahasi Sayadaw had done. [Venerable U Silananda:N]
Also, in the body of the book, the compiler, Sayadaw U Silananda wrote about
the Mahasi Sayadaw in a eulogizing manner using the tropes of praise that are
implemented for any saintly monk who is continuing the Buddha’s lineage. For
instance, in describing the Sayadaw’s childhood, U Silananda wrote that the
Sayadaw’s original boyhood name coincided with the name of the wealthy donor
who would later donate the land in Rangoon on which the Mahasi Meditation
Center was later built. He called it a “nimitta (Venerable U Silananda:8),” a
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precursor of what the future would be due to one’s kammic fruits. He implied that
since a young age or birth, the Mahasi Sayadaw was kammically fated to
become the astounding monk he was currently. Elsewhere, the writer also
includes how the perfect nature of the Mahasi Sayadaw’s physical features was
recognized by the Sayadaw’s key lay sponsors: “In examining the Sayadaw’s
physical complexion and body, Sir U Thwin found no anomalies or defects
whatsoever…Sir U Thwin was also gratified at the sight of the prominent earsbroad and big. Regarding the eyes, they were found to be penetrating, sharp
and alert (Venerable U Silananda:86, 87).” This interest in the lakkhana or
physical features of persons as signs of spiritual perfections and kammic fates is
a key element in the biography of the Buddha himself. In the Buddha-win or
biography of him, he was recognized from infancy by learned Brahmins as
possessing the physical characteristics of someone fated to become a Buddha.
Finally, the Mahasi Sayadaw’s voice, personality, and demeanor are described
as having those saintly qualities once embodied by the Buddha:
Sayadaw possessed a tranquil mind with absolute calmness and serenity,
which reflected the inner profound wisdom and samadhi
(concentration)…When hearing the voice, the sound of preaching was
mellow, modest and simple, yet audible, without any pretension, and
exaggeration and without being flowery. On hearing the preaching of the
Sayadaw, Sir U Thwin was highly pleased and therefore, mentally gave
recognition to the Sayadaw as ‘This eminent teacher is the Saviour I have
been searching for.’ [Venerable U Silananda:87]
The compiler/writer of the Mahasi Sayadaw’s biography, Sayadaw U Silananda,
is a modern educated monk fluent in reading, writing, and speaking English. He
was educated in missionary schools prior to entering the monkhood at the age of
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18 and became in his 50s a much respected teacher of insight meditation to
Westerners in the United States and abroad. Therefore, one might expect a
biography from him in a more Western sense with “facts” based on citations and
references to interviews or to other texts. However, there are no footnotes or
other citations in the biography. One also has no way of knowing for certain, for
example, that he actually heard from Sir U Thwin himself about Sir U Thwin’s first
encounter with the Mahasi Sayadaw. He does not state. Yet, the conscience of
the Buddha he evokes through the biography of the monk is clear.
Such conscience of the Buddha remains so great in modern Burma that
even biographies of lay meditation masters are often imbued with this
conscience. So, a university rector (U Ko Lay of Mandalay University) who was
writing the biography of his famous lay insight meditation teacher, U Ba Khin,
also had to include in his text an account of how a Buddha-like monk validated
and legitimated the lay master’s knowledge and paramitas (perfections)
(Houtman:315-316). U Ba Khin (1899-1971) was a high level civil servant.
Beginning in 1948, he was the accountant general of Burma in the newly
independent Burma. Prior to that, he had been a clerk at the Office of the
Accountant-General under the British colonial government. He too can be
considered in many ways unprecedented in the propagation of insight meditation
as he not only helped to spread insight meditation among lay people by holding
mass retreats as did the Mahasi Sayadaw, but also because of the following
reasons: (1) he was a modern educated lay person (he was schooled in
prestigious missionary schools in Rangoon, “Methodist” and “Saint Paul’s”), and
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(2) he attempted to derive a scientifically proven means of gaining insight in the
shortest time possible. According to his biographer, in 1951, he had set up the
“Accountant-General Vipassana Research Association” through which the loka
datu suthethana ni (scientific method) was used to try to verify whether doing
samadhi or concentration meditation as a precursor to the work of insight
meditation could facilitate the process of gaining insight as described in the Pali
canon (Ko Lay 1996:67). He and his association found that indeed this was the
case. The biographer wrote that through their research, they were able to come
up with a scientifically proven way to gain significant insight during a period of
several days (Ko Lay:67). And in fact, ten days is the length of meditation
retreats that came to be given by U Ba Khin and his pupils. Yet, despite such
descriptions of his pioneering style and method in the teaching of insight
meditation, U Ba Khin’s spiritual attainments were described in the traditional
trope of “moral perfection” and “kammic fate” attached to Buddhist monks who
are saints. Further, his spiritual attainments were legitimated by a detailed
account of how he was quite fated to meet the Weibu Sayadaw, a nationally
famous monk considered to be an arahant, and then praised and encouraged by
the Sayadaw. According to the account, U Ba Khin was, back in 1941, diligently
doing his duties as a civil servant accountant in charge of the train system. One
day, he had to ride a train to Weibu town and for several days had to do work
related tasks at a train station there. The biographer wrote in the following
manner about U Ba Khin’s fatedness to meet the Weibu Sayadaw:
The hill with the Shwethalyaung (a giant, golden reclining Buddha) that
was in front of the train station seemed to be beckoning the Great
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Teacher. Immediately, he went up the hill with the train station assistant in
order to pay homage to the Buddha. After paying obeisance to the
Buddha, he looked around and was happy to see the fresh, green
landscape around him. Directly north from the Shwethalyaung hill, he
spotted a small, pointy hill with a tranquil little monastery below. [Ko
Lay:63]
According to the account, U Ba Khin found out from his assistant that a
much revered monk named the Weibu Sayadaw who was thought to be an
arahant by the locals lived in that little monastery. So, U Ba Khin immediately
wanted to go pay homage to the Sayadaw. The assistant adviced him that it
would be better to go see the Sayadaw in the evening as they would have to first
climb down from the hill and also because the Sayadaw probably did not accept
visitors in the middle of the day. Thus, U Ba Khin and the assistant went back to
the train station and ate lunch. Then, U Ba Khin meditated and “sent loving
kindness to the (Weibu) Sayadaw, telling (the Sayadaw) mentally that he was
coming to pay homage (Ko Lay:63).” At 3 p.m., they went to the monastery only
to be told by two nuns there that they could not go to see the Sayadaw yet at this
time and that they would have permission to see him at dawn during the early
morning meal. The biographer underscored U Ba Khin’s incredible patience as
well as faith and devotion: “[He] accepted the fact that he may not be able to see
the Sayadaw. He asked only that he be shown the exact building where the
Sayadaw resided. He said that he would like to pay homage to the Sayadaw
from the outside (Ko Lay:63).” As he was prostrating and said mentally, “’A lay
devotee from Rangoon is paying homage to you, Sayadaw,’” the door suddenly
opened and the Sayadaw’s face emerged. The Sayadaw asked, “’Why are you
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paying homage, lay devotee?’” The biographer continued to give the following
account:
Great Teacher: Because I wish to achieve the path and fruition of
Enlightenment (maggaphala nyanissa).
Sayadaw: If you want to achieve Nibbana, how do you get there?
Great Teacher: Venerable Sir, one must go with Vipassana
knowledge. Right now, too, I am practicing insight, Venerable Sir.
Sayadaw: Great. Well done! Well done! How did you get this
teaching (taya/dhamma)?
[U Ba Khin explained that he had learned it in a seven day practice
with his teacher, U Thet Kyi, and that he was continuing to practice.]
[Sayadaw:] If that’s the case, you have Parami (the moral
perfections). I was thinking that you had to work very hard meditating in
the forest…You will have to impart the teachings you have acquired to
other people. It is unpredictable when you will see this young man (the
train station assistant) again. Show him how to practice while you are with
him. Show him the method. As a lay person, wear white cloth. Teach the
Dhamma. [Ko Lay:64]
With the above account of U Ba Khin’s encounter with and approval by the
Weibu Sayadaw, U Ba Khin’s biographer not only established U Ba Khin’s saintly
qualities, such as patience, humility, and faith, but also linked him to the chain of
more saintly figures, namely through the Weibu Sayadaw. In so doing, he
established the biography of a modern lay master as a hagiography in Burma
that evokes a conscience of the Buddha.
Reynolds had made the distinction between a sacred biography and a
hagiography by stating that the former is primarily intended to showcase a figure
that represents a new religious ideal or image while the latter tries to depict
lesser religious figures and show how their attainments fit an ideal mould that has
already been set or recognized by their religious community (Reynolds 1976).
As Houtman suggests, the athopati (“biographies”) of monks in Burma as well as
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that of lay master U Ba Khin are less like sacred biographies and more like
hagiographies in that only aspects of their lives that conform to the ideals already
embodied by the Buddha are depicted in detail (Houtman:320). He wrote,
[Ko lay’s] biography has clearly spiritualized [as opposed to humanize] his
subject. Ba Khin’s emotions and inner contradictions are not considered,
and the master is portrayed in conventional terms of exaltation…[also] the
author has suppressed relationships and episodes in the subject’s life
insofar as these could possibly shed doubt on his sanctity. This leads to a
life story skewed away from the formative family relationships and toward
the spiritual lineage. [Houtman: 320,321].
Humanization of Monks’ Biography
It has been shown that in other Buddhist nations of South/Southeast Asia,
too, such as Thailand, hagiographies exist, particularly of saintly monks
(Tambiah 1988). However, the ability for these to evoke a conscience of the
Buddha has a greater impact in Burma because in Burmese popular culture, the
spiritualization of monks’ biographies is also balanced by a humanization of
them. That is, on the one hand, hagiographies of the awe-inspiring, astounding
ethical deeds and meditation practice of saintly monks sets ideals embodied by
the Buddha. Yet on the other, there are, in Burma, also very popular movies and
novels about monks that show their inner conflicts, strained relationships with
their family, and the great amount of personal effort they must exert to be
virtuous and keep their precepts even as they may be quite successful at it.
Through the work of one famous movie director/novelist in particular, U Thukha
(87 years old at the time of my research), both the Buddha-like qualities of monks
and the tremendous work they do have been depicted throughout the 20th
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century. Through his films and short stories, U Thukha had managed to help
maintain among lay elites a high reverence for monks as well as a high aspiration
to be like them. That is, he has been able to help keep alive a conscience of the
Buddha as something embodied by current, living, breathing human beings.
In a Buddhist society such as Burma where mendicancy is a part of the
rules of conduct for those who are to embody one’s religious ideals (i.e., the
monks), and cultural traditions have allowed not only permanent but also
temporary entry into monkhood (as part of a rite of passage for males), the
potential for a denigration of the monkhood is great. Lay supporters often
question whether particular monks deserve their donations. Not all monks also
fully know nor care to abide by the vinaya. However, U Thukha’s famous
autobiographical short story, “One Meal that a Mother Gets to Eat,” explores how
a young man learned the value of virtue only through the experience of becoming
a monk and trying hard to keep to the precepts. In this story, the young man
remembers that as a spoiled, only child of a doting single mother, he had
frivolously spent his time as a temporary novice being naughty even though his
mother had spent a fortune on his novitiation ceremony:
First, I would enter the ordination hall. I would put the monastery’s dog,
along with other little novices, into the hall. Then, after closing the door,
we would play ‘circus’ show with whips in our hands. As our robes fell out
of place and we began to tire of waving our whips in the air, we would
begin rolling marbles on the smooth concrete floor of the hall…At sunset, I
got to rest drinking soft drinks that my mother came to offer to all the
monks at the monastery. At night time, I got to fill the ocean of my
stomach and the ‘Ganges’ intestine with the cake that my mother had
secretly brought for me. [This breaks the precepts of a novice as novices
must follow eight moral precepts which include not eating any solid foods
after 12 noon until the dawn of the next day.] In actuality, some of the little
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novices who were obediently following the rules of the monastery became
corrupted in a big way after befriending me.
How could my mother have benefited [gained merit] in any way
from my ordination as a novice?...Relying on me, my mother invested as
big as bodhi tree, but she probably did not receive (from me) benefits as
big as a bodhi seed. I did not practice a whit of the manners, mental
attitudes, and rules of conduct of a novice. All was wasteful and in
vain.[Thukha 1994:209-211]
When he became older and was attempting to make a living as a writer in
Rangoon, the young man was asked by his childhood friends to ordain as a
temporary monk with them back in their village. When asked, he recalled the
above events of his novicehood well and decided that he would set right the
wrongs he committed as a novice and a young boy, i.e., letting his mother waste
her fortunes on him. His mother could not now sponsor his ordination as a monk
as she had become very poor. Other donors had to sponsor him. However, to
repay gratitude toward his mother, he decided to follow well the codes of conduct
of monks. His monk-teacher also admonished him and the other temporary
monks by invoking a conscience of the Buddha:
During the Buddha’s time, there was no tradition of becoming a monk for a
limited amount of day. One had to intend to become one for the whole
life. Well, you can’t depart from vinaya ethical codes just because you say
you are a monk only temporarily…You see, if you’ve come to do
something for the benefit, then it’s only good if there is benefit….Be fully
aware not to let the Sakya family [lineage of the Buddha] become mean,
base people. [Thukha:215]
The young man became determined to follow several of the dutins or strict,
austere regimens that would curb greed, such as just having three sets of robes
and partaking only the food that one receives on one’s alms rounds. However, in
following such regimen, the young man also learned a special lesson: that one
cannot easily set right one’s wrongs; even the highest virtues followed by monks
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is sometimes not enough to right a wrong, so it is always better to try to do the
right thing from the beginning. As he went on his alms rounds with the other
monks and passed by his mother’s house, he could see the pain in her face as
she could not offer any alms do to her utter poverty. She could afford to offer
alms to him alone, but not to the entire line of monks that were with him, and
hence, she did not offer at all, much to her pain:
I remembered the proud, happy face of my mother when she had been
striking a long drum with her hands while providing me the novice
ordination ceremony. I also remembered the image of my mother now
with a withered gaze now that I was a monk…This fact pierced right into
my heart somewhere in a very painful way like a huge stump. The
unshakable image of my mother gazing haunted me when I was practicing
meditation and the austere regimens. [Thukha 216,217]
That night, he had the desire to offer alms he received to his mother: “`If right
now I can feed to my mother this alms food that I have received in a pure, just
way, it will be the best, most noble thing I can do…,’ I thought.” Shaking and
trembling, he consulted with his monk-teacher to make sure that doing so would
be in keeping with the vinaya codes. The monk teacher assured him that it was.
So, the next day, he went to his mother’s house. She was very happy just to see
him. She even accepted the vow of eight precepts that he gave her. But when
he offered the alms saying, “The food in this alms bowl is for monk the most
noble, just, and clean donation received. For that reason, monk has come here
with the wish to offer it to dear (lady) supporter,” she began to weep:
Although I was speaking with my gaze turned downward, my mother was
looking directly at me. As she did so, her tears flowed…
‘Venerable Sir, did you think that it would be satisfying to feed your
mother your alms food that you’ve received in accordance with the path of
virtuous ones? For disciple (me), I not only am not glad, but am about to
have my heart break. Venerable Sir may or may not realize this. I am
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already unable to assuage myself of the fact that I cannot offer food to
monk and the other monks on alms rounds. And here, Venerable Sir has
come to offer me food that he has received on alms rounds in the town
and village. Monk, please remember that it is the same as mentally
torturing me…’ [Thukha:222]
The mother did, with reluctance and much pain, accept the alms. However, the
young monk felt his own heart break and could get relief only through meditation
practice:
As I heard the sound of my mother crying with sobs, I had to closely follow
my vedana (feeling of pain) with sati (awareness).
‘Well this time let it be, but in the future, please don’t ever come to
feed me a meal that I will have to eat with tears falling monk. Well, now
monk can go. Monk can go.’
I had to embrace the hollow alms bowl and shaking, had to depart
in front of my mother. [Thukha:222]
Thus, the young man learned that even at his highest embodiment of virtue, i.e.,
as a monk meditating and following well the vinaya, the wrongs that one had
done in the past may catch up with one; the reverberations continue. Hence, it is
always best to try to be right and virtuous from the beginning. The audience, too,
learns that monks, even with their high spiritual strivings are only human. They
have inner emotional conflicts and they may also have familial ties that are not
completely severed in the emotional sense. Seeing monks as human beings
who are trying to live a super-human life, one can also realize that one must
admire their diligence.
In a popular film of his, “One Meal that a Monk Doesn’t Get to Eat,” U
Thukha also portrays more specifically how difficult a task it is for monks to try to
keep their virtues as they must interact with and reciprocate (by providing the
Buddha’s teachings to) lay society without whom their livelihood is in jeopardy.
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In it, a monk comes to a house on his daily alms rounds. The lay devotees there,
a man and his wife invite him in so that they can get alms for him from their
kitchen. They have a pet goose in the same room as him. They love the pet
goose very much. Near the pet goose is also a very valuable and large piece of
ruby that is in their possession. While they are in the kitchen putting in alms for
the monk, their pet goose inadvertently swallows the ruby. The monk witnesses
this. When they return, they realize the ruby is gone and ask the monk if he
knew where it was. The monk, keeping the moral precepts of abstaining from
lying and abstaining from killing another living being, remains silent and stoic. He
knows that if he speaks, it will be to state the truth and the truth will cause the
couple to kill the goose. They would want to recover the ruby from the goose.
Yet, because he is silent, their feelings of reverence toward him quickly turn to
suspicion, anger, and hate. They start to beat him. All his alms fall to the floor.
But their beating becomes so savage that they inadvertently hit their own pet
goose. The goose dies. Only then, the monk let them know that the ruby is
inside their goose, that the goose swallowed it. The couple is very apologetic
and clasps their hands again in reverence of him. In the film, the dramatic
swings in the demeanor and emotions of the couple, from reverence and calm to
savagery and defiance, is contrasted well with that of the stable, calm, nonretaliatory, non-violent monk even in the midst of being savagely beaten.
Through such films and stories about monks in the midst of society,
U Thukha is able to remind lay Buddhists in Burma of the exemplary deeds of the
Buddha himself in the face of all kinds of obstacles.
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As a lay novelist and film maker, U Thukha also has the poetic and literary
license to write dialogues and provide examples that best addresses the
experiences, thoughts, and questions of the general public in regards to
Buddhism. So, in his short story, “One Meal that a Monk Gets to Eat,” which he
also turned into a film, a village monk described by the author as “humble,
tamed, and worthy of respect” finds himself in the same zayat (resting place with
a roof) with a layman during a pouring rain (Thukha:164). The layman begins a
conversation with the monk and at one point tells the monk that lay persons must
work very hard to put food on their table, yet for monks, food is usually ready for
them as they go on their alms rounds and arrive at people’s houses. The monk
educates the lay person by telling him about the strict vinaya rules with which
monks must partake of every morsel of food provided by lay devotees. He
explains that monks must be mindful of the following vows before eating: “I do
not eat to develop external beauty, I do not eat to become big and strong, I do
not eat for fun, but only to keep myself well (Thukha:198).” He expounds some
of the rules that ask monks to be mindful of every sensation in every moment of
their eating so that greed does not arise:
Before the food gets the opening of the mouth, one cannot open one’s
mouth. No amount of fingers, five or even one, can be inserted inside the
mouth as one puts food into one’s mouth. One cannot speak with food in
one’s mouth…One cannot make slurping and sucking noises as one eats
and drinks. One cannot lick one’s fingers as one eats…[Thukha:198,199]
To further illustrate these rules, he uses the analogy of a father, mother, and
child who becomes stranded in the desert with no food and water (Thukha:200201). The child soon dies. For nutrition alone, the father and mother decides
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that they must eat the flesh of their own dead child. However, they of course do
not eat with joy or with the desire to become big and strong or beautiful. In this
way, U Thukha’s films and stories helped to convey aspects of doctrinal
principals, including the vinaya rules of monks, that lay persons would be too shy
or inhibited to pose as questions to monks. By humanizing monks, his films and
stories have been very effective in helping to build a consciousness of the ethics
embodied by the Buddha.
Endnotes
1
These quotes are found in Ranjini Obeyesekere and Gananath Obeyeskere, “The Tale
of the Demoness Kali: A Discourse on Evil” in History of Relgions, 29 (4), University of
Chicago, 1990, Pp. 318-334
2
English translation found in Venerable U Silananda, Paritta Pali and Protective Verses,
A Collection of Eleven Protective Suttas, The International Theravada Buddhist
Missionary University, Ministry of Religious Affairs, Government of the Union of
Myanmar, 2000, Pp. 63-66.
3
Myanmar Phetsaa Dutiya Ten (Second Grade Burmese Reader), Burmese
Government Department of Education, 1997,p.13.
4
Myanmar Phetsaa Dutiya Ten (Second Grade Burmese Reader), Burmese
Government Department of Education, 1997,p.14.
88
Chapter 2
‘Nibbana In This World’: A History of the Lay Elite
A prime reason why the faith, devotion, stories, and references to
miracles that nurture a “collective conscience” of the Buddha can continue to
thrive in Burma today is because it is not the Anglicized elite but more traditional
intellectuals, including the current opposition leader, Aung San Suu Kyi’s father,
who ended up being at the forefront of the independence movement and later
ruled Burma. There are several causes for how the lay Buddhist elite came to
power and had a huge influence over popular and intellectual culture in modern
Burma. That is the focus of this chapter.
Compared to neighboring colonized nations, namely Sri Lanka and India,
which also gained independence in 1948, Burma was colonized for a relatively
shorter time. Sri Lanka was a British colony since 1815. Prior to that, the coastal
region came under Portuguese control after 1505 and Dutch control after 1658.
Similarly, parts of India came under Portuguese and Dutch control since the 16th
century and began to be colonized by the British in 1774 (although with much
fuller control after 1858). While Portuguese, French, and Italian adventurers and
Christian missionaries began coming to Burma beginning in the 16th century,
Burma did not come under any foreign administrative control until 1826 at the
end of the first Anglo-Burmese War (1824-1826). And in 1826, only Arakan and
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Tenasserim came under British rule. After the second Anglo-Burmese War of
1852, Pegu also became Britain’s possession. It was not until the end of the
third Anglo-Burmese War of 1885 when the entire country, with Mandalay and
the Konbaung Dynasty at its center, came under British control as their
annexation to British India.
When the British finally wrested control of Burma’s center, the ideological
crisis that ensued came rather suddenly. There was little time and cultural
impetus for an elite class to arise who would give a quite completely modern
interpretation of traditional classics, rites, and rituals. So, traditional ideals of
polity and society, instead of becoming revised, propelled the independence
movement and influenced the post-colonial state.
For the subjects and rulers in the Konbaung Dynasty, the last in a line of
Burmese Buddhists dynasties, the throne in Mandalay was symbolically the
center of the earth and Mandalay was Mount Meru, a cosmic mountain that is the
paradise of the past and future Buddha (Sarkisyanz:103). The very term
“Mandalay” is derived from the word “Mandala,” which means “hub of the
universe.” The idea of postponing entry into nibbana until all living beings have
been liberated from the suffering in samsara, the cycle of rebirth, is an idea quite
fully developed by Northern (Mahayana) Buddhism. Influenced at least to some
degree by these Hindic and Mahayana ideas of kingship and society, each
successive king in Burma’s Theravada Buddhist’s kingdoms, beginning with
Anawratha (1044-1077 A.D.) in Pagan, aspired to identify themselves as
Bodhisattva (embryo Buddha) who would bring forth the perfect society
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(Sarkisyanz:33-67). The ideal king for many of them in this sense was a
Buddhist king, King Ashoka of 3rd century A.D. India who led the Mauryan
Empire. Ashoka converted to Buddhism after much remorse about his violent
conquest of the neighboring people, the Kalingas. He did many works of charity
for those in his empire, and stated in his famous inscriptions that he implemented
his welfare measures because he wanted the people to be able to live in
accordance with the Dhamma. As he also promoted religious tolerance in his
diverse empire, he did not refer directly to the Dhamma as the Buddha’s
teachings. By Dhamma, he did mean an understanding of the causality law of
moral norms, that wholesome deeds beget wholesome results and unwholesome
deeds beget unwholesome results (Sarkisyanz:26-27). Ashoka had written in his
Pillar Edict VII,
On the roads I have had banyan trees planted, which will give shade to
beasts and men, I have had mango-groves planted and I have had wells
dug and rest houses built at every eight kos. And I have had many
watering places made everywhere for the use of beasts and men. But this
benefit is important, and indeed the world has enjoyed attention in many
ways from former kings as well as from me. But I have done these things
in order that my people might conform to the Dhamma.[Thapar 1997:265]
Without forced conversions, holy wars, or the establishment of a state church,
Ashoka tried to build a society that was so well-cared for that people might direct
their attention to developing themselves morally. Like many Sri Lankan Buddhist
kings, the Burmese Buddhist kings compared themselves to Ashoka, although
much of their emulation was based in exemplary monastery and pagoda building.
Anawratha who conquered the Mons in lower Burma and then converted from
Mahayana to their Theravada Buddhism discouraged many Mahayana beliefs
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and practices. To encourage Theravada Buddhism, he brought over Theravada
Buddhist monk teachers, including the famous Shin Arahan, and theTripitaka
from the Mons to propagate Theravada Buddhism in his kingdom. In the building
of pagodas and monasteries, too, in his kingdom of Pagan, caverns and other
places of solitude were implemented to encourage meditation which is a central
focus of Theravada Buddhist aspirations. However, instead of trying to realize
nibbana immediately for himself in this life, Anawratha also believed himself to be
a Bodhisattva who would bring about a perfect society before liberating himself.
In Burmese historiography, his conversion is compared to Ashoka’s. Other kings
such as Sinphyushin (1774-1780) and Bodawphaya (1781-1819) also compared
themselves similarly to Ashoka even though they were quite ruthless in their
military conquests and also committed many fratricides. The way they atoned
themselves usually was by the building of pagodas and monasteries. Focusing
more on outwardly atonements and less on inner development, the lay ethos of
Theravada Buddhist kings did not always correspond to the ethics propounded
by the Buddha. The monastic scholars who wrote much of the traditional
historiography did at times appeal to the monarchs to be different when there
was obvious failure. For example, the Sangharaja (thathanabaing or head of the
monk order) during Bowdawpaya’s time, Nanabhivamsa, confronted
Bowdawpaya with Jataka narratives and other discourses from the Buddha on
the ethics and duties of king (Sarkisyanz:7). Ashoka may have been closer to
the Buddha’s ethics than most Burmese kings. Nevertheless, despite various
kings’ failures to live up the ideal, this Bodhisattva and “Ashokan” lay ethos
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regarding the importance of building social conditions so that others may attain
nibbana and one may also attain nibbana at a future time has had a real impact
on Burmese society, both in the colonial period and in independent Burma later.
Even in the midst of British colonization and perhaps in response to it,
King Mindon (1853-1878), the father of the last king, Thibaw, referred to Ashoka
as his ancestor, assembled the Fifth Buddhist Synod in his kingdom at Mandalay
and inscribed on stone tablets all of the Tripitaka in a monument that is known
today in Burma as the “Greatest Book in the World.” In 1853, even the highest
minister in Mindon’s court, the Magwe Min-gyi still clung to the view that the
world was quite flat with Mount Meru, symbolically represented by Mandalay, at
its center (Sarkisyanz:99). It was difficult for the high officials and the kings of
the Konbaung Dynasty to perceive of Burma as one state in a system of many.
Prior to their loss of Mandalay, the Burmese had made the British take off their
shoes upon entering the Mandalay palace and pay obeisance to the king and the
throne. Yet, after the capture of Mandalay, despite attempts by the Burmese
people to seize the throne, the throne was literally carried away by the British to a
museum in Calcutta. Mindon’s son, King Thibaw, and his royal family were also
led away into exile.
In her Freedom from Fear and Other Writings, Aung San Suu Kyi wrote
that at least one traditional intellectual who was later to become famous as
Thakhin Ko Daw Hmaing witnessed as a young novice in Mandalay the somber
removal of Thibaw and the royal family from their palace (Suu Kyi 1991:114).
The image had a great impact on him. A former monk and schooled in the
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traditional monastic schools, he became as a lay person a popular and prolific
newspaper writer, playwright, poet, and historian whose writings spoke of
contemporary social and political concerns of the colonized Burmese people. He
did not offer any philosophies but rather adapted the didactic role that scholars
took in pre-colonial times, whereby they praised but often also advised and
appealed to monarchs (Suu Kyi:117). With an approbating tone, he wrote, for
instance, about the exploits of a dacoit who was successful at resisting arrest by
the colonial police despite the latter’s desperate efforts. Later known in Burma
as the “Tagore” of Burma, he was very unlike Rabindranath Tagore in that
Hmaing knew little or no English and was unfamiliar with English literature, yet he
instigated much nationalistic politics with his writings. Thus, even some of the
Anglicized Burmese nationalist leaders at the Young Man’s Buddhist Association
(YMBA, established in 1906), which was modeled after the Young Man’s
Christian Association, looked up to him in their attempts to better understand
traditional culture and the traditional classics. In the relatively brief time that they
got to organize, the YMBA was unsuccessful in connecting and communicating
with the masses. Yet, Hmaing nevertheless supported them, too. In his
writings, he praised YMBA leader, May Oung’s wearing of the traditional
Burmese costume to attend an official British function. He also applauded when
a YMBA delegation went over to London to represent Burma’s views (Suu
Kyi:117).
The nationalist leaders that the Burmese masses chose to follow were in
the end traditional intellectuals like former monk Thakin Ko Daw Hmaing, not the
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Anglicized, modern educated elite. Sarkisyanz summed up the difference
between the Anglicized minority and the traditionalist majority of Burma during
the colonial period and independence movement:
For the [Modern] Educated Class, the people’s Buddhism was largely but
a religious means for their political ends of self-government, that is for a
greater participation in government. For the traditionalist majority of the
Burmese people, however, the independence struggle seems to have
been mainly a political means for a religious goal of achieving a Buddhist
state. [Sarkisyanz:135]
Saya San, for instance, was successful in instigating peasant revolts (1939-32),
because he helped to extend traditional views of the advent of a Future Buddha
who would restore a perfect society. He helped them to interpret the current
ideological, economic, and political crises brought on by colonization as a sign of
the decline of the world, a decline that was about to usher in a cyclical return to
an ideal past. Political monks like U Ottama also came to have a tremendous
following throughout Burma by emphasizing self-sacrifice as a Buddhist ethic of
the boundless dissolution of the self so that one can be of service to others. U
Ottama narrated the Pancavudha Jataka in his speeches. In this story of one of
the Buddha’s previous lives, the Buddha was a monkey king who laid out his
body as a bridge so that other monkeys could walk across it and save
themselves from those who were maliciously chasing them. Monks like U
Ottama were successful in the non-cooperation movements whereby they
influenced monks to boycott the foreign government’s police, tax collectors, and
courts. Thakhin Ko Daw Hmaing also supported these fellow traditional
intellectuals by writing that according to canonical rules of conduct for monks,
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monks were not to accept anything from people who were committing evil acts
(Sarkisyanz:133).
With Thakhin Ko Daw Hmaing’s influence, further generations of
traditionalist political leaders were produced in Burma who would eventually lead
Burma to independence and rule in the post-colonial era. One of them became
General Aung San, the father of current opposition leader, Aung San Suu Kyi,
who eventually won independence for Burma. General Aung San, along with the
other post-colonial leaders of Burma, including [(1949-1961) Prime-Minister] U
Nu, and [the first leader of current military junta] General Ne Win were all
schooled in the National Schools that Hmaing helped to establish as an
alternative to missionary and colonial government-administered schools.
Hmaing popularized Burma’s past by writing, for example, more simplified
versions of the Glass Palace Chronicle on the history of kings. His popularization
of Burma’s past contributed to the Movement for National Schools. This
movement was began in 1920 by Burmese students striking against the
University of Rangoon Act that was seen by the students as a way in which the
British were trying to restrict higher education to a privileged few. Hmaing was a
professor of Burmese history and literature in one of the strikers’ main national
colleges, a Shwegyitaik monastery in Rangoon. Although the National School
movement collapsed in 1922, some of the National Schools were accepted by
British rule, continued, and became a breeding ground for anti-colonial
sentiment, nationalist pride, modern education divested of British colonial
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interests, and most importantly, an appreciation of traditional classics and
historical traditions in the vernacular.
The consciousness of Burma’s past that was raised in these National
Schools also entailed the traditional penchant for faith and devotional aspects in
constructing knowledge. Hence, it was in these Nationalist Schools that pride
was again taken that the Shwedagon Pagoda was built exactly at the time of the
Buddha. As Sarkisyanz explained, “even such exaggerated claims encouraged
intellectual opposition to British domination (Sarkisyanz:130).”
Part of the reason for the rise in political power and influence of the
intellectuals at the Nationalist Schools was that their fluent and flowery use of the
Burmese vernacular and their faith in the traditional classics were an effective
means of connecting well with the masses. During the independence
movements of the early 20th century, the majority of the adult Burmese masses
(at least of the male population) were still products of traditional monastic
schools, the breeding ground for a fluent knowledge of the vernacular and the
traditional classics. These traditional centers of education in Burma continued to
thrive for lay pupils until the very end of the 19th century, despite much efforts
early on by missionaries since the 1600s to win students over and the colonial
government’s policies since the 1860s to dismantle these schools.
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Resistance in the Colonial Era of Traditional Monastic Schools
for Lay Persons
The monastic schools were difficult to dissolve for several reasons, and
not just because they were the main educational institutions, regardless of class,
status, and occupation since 12th century Pagan. Firstly, since the beginning,
there was little impetus on the part of the British colonial government to want to
dismantle them. Buddhist cultural practices in Burma were much less shocking
to the British than infant marriage, sati (widow self-immolation), infanticide,
sacrificial practices, and similar “offensive” customs they found in India. So, they
did not feel a desperate need to “civilize” the natives in much the same way as
they did in India, namely through education. The worst that was usually said of
the Burmese by the Europeans in Burma then was about the wastefulness both
materially and spiritually of what appeared to Europeans to be idol worshipping,
the apparent “selfishness” of their religion which seemed to motivate giving alms
rather than more obvious charity work (Bagshawe 1973:24), and the “weak and
ignorant” mind that seemed to be represented in the endless memorization and
recitations at monastic schools (see Bigandet 1912:302). Further, because
monastic education had long provided universal access to education, at least to
all males, and free of charge, the literacy rate in the vernacular was relatively
high in Burma. So, even Bigandet, the French Catholic missionary priest who
was highly critical of Buddhist monks and the nature of the education they
provided wrote: “Owing to the gratuitous education given by Buddhist monks,
there are very few men throughout the breadth and length of Burmah who are not
98
able to read and write (Bigandet:299).” Additionally, compared to India, Burma
was linguistically more homogenous, the Burmese language being spoken by
three-fourths of the population. The way the British viewed the cultural, linguistic,
and educational situations in Burma and India differently can be seen in the
differences between the views expressed in the Education Minute of Macaulay
in India (1835) and the letter by Sir Arthur Phayre (1864), Chief Commissioner of
British Burma, to the Home Department of the Secretary of the Government of
India . Macaulay’s Minute upheld the perspectives of those in the Committee of
Public Instruction of India who wanted to implement an educational system
dependent on English for higher learning. The view was that a native “class of
interpreters” was needed to help rule the Indian masses for the Indians needed
to be “civilized” in all ways, “tastes, opinions, morals, and intellect”:
We have to educate a people who cannot at present be educated by
means of their mother-tongue. We must teach them some foreign
language…(O)f all foreign tongues, the English tongue is that which would
be most useful to our native subjects…
The languages of Western Europe civilized Russia. I cannot doubt
that they will do for the Hindoo what they have done for the Tartar…
I feel…that it is impossible for us, with our means, to attempt to
educate the body of the people. We must at present do our best to form a
class who may be interpreters between us and the millions whom we
govern—a class of persons Indian in blood and colour but English in
tastes, in opinions, in morals and in intellect…1
Macaulay’s minute also reflected not only the relative lack of a vernacular literacy
in 19th century India, but also the important position that the English language
had already begun to acquire as the tongue of an indigenous ruling class.
Phayre’s letter regarding Burma, on the other hand, did not focus as much
on the need to “civilize” the native. Its focus was more on how the vernacular
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that was currently wide-spread in Burma and the traditional monastic schools
already in place should be utilized in educating the native. He did not seem to
understand, or rather, decided to ignore the fact that the traditional monastic
schools taught much more than the three “R’s,” reading, writing, and arithmetic.
Its curriculum also included, even for lay pupils, traditional classics of the
Tripitaka and its many intermediate texts, both prose and verses, as well as
astronomy, medicine, and sports. However, he did see that the monastic
schools could be useful institutions in his government’s endeavor to educate the
natives:
Of the inhabitants of British Burma three-fourths, or one million and a half
belong to people whose mother tongue is Burmese. It is evident that in
providing for the educational wants of the people we must first look to the
requirements of the race. I shall now proceed to state what I consider
should be done of them.
The existing Natives Schools of Burma are the Buddhist
Monasteries. The Monks are supported by the daily alms of the people.
The fabrics are generally built by private individuals as works of religious
merit. The Monasteries have no endowments. The Monks who inhabit
them perform the priestly offices required by the laity and educate
children. For their services they are supported by voluntary gifts and daily
alms. There is scarcely a village in the whole country without one of these
institutions. For the great mass of the pupils it may be said, that the
education imparted does not go beyond instruction in reading and writing
the vernacular language—that is Burmese, and the rudiments of
Arithmetic. For those who intend to enter the Priesthood, of course, a
higher degree of instruction is necessary which need not here be
described. As a general rule, it may be stated that all instruction among
the Burmese people is carried on in the Monasteries. There are a few
private schools here and there, but they are exceptional. There is no
other regular plan or system of schools which could be taken in hand and
improved. I would not recommend that Government should set up
Schools in the Villages as additional, or in opposition to the Monasteries,
such a scheme would inevitably fail. [Kaung:88]
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In recommending the use of traditional monastic schools for educating masses,
Phraye, had the colonialist’s interest at heart and their utilitarian goal of
spreading limited resources as widely as possible by using manpower (the
monks) that were already there. His scheme was also a means of befriending
monks so that the colonial government could gradually steer monastic schools
away from the Pali classics towards more modern, practical curricula (Bagshawe:
36). Nevertheless, his stated views also reflected the lack of any elite position for
the English language among the Burmese, the continual wide-spread use of the
Burmese vernacular, and the still thriving influence of monastic schools in their
transmission of the knowledge of the traditional classics and culture.
Phraye’s above plan to slowly and gradually bring monastic schools to
dissolution was forestalled in its implementation because Phraye retired three
months after recommending the plan. Hough, who had started the work after
Phraye, died while on a sick leave. And as the interim director, Street, had little
faith in the proposal (Bagshawe:37). So, its implementation was not truly tried
until Hordern came on the job in 1867, fourteen years after Pegu was annexed.
Yet, by that time, the monastic organization was too much in disarray for the
colonial government to negotiate an educational plan with the monks. In many
ways, this difficulty was the colonial government’s own doing. By that time, they
had already caused the position of the Sangharaja or thathanabaing (traditional
head of the monk order) to decline, so there was a lack of a centralized method
of communicating with the monks (Bagshawe:41). In a pilot scheme, in order to
win monks’ favor, Hordern and his staff offered a fairly large supply of printed
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texts of Pali literature from the Tripitaka to monk-teachers at 31 monastic schools
in Rangoon and neighboring Pegu (Bagshawe:43). The monks were free to use
these texts for themselves and also to pass out to their students as learning
tools. Afterward, the monks were handed the more secular texts to teach, such
as geography. To assist the monks in the teaching of these modern subjects,
four lay Burmese “circuit teachers” in all, two in each town, were hired with a
sizable salary by the department to circulate from one monastic school to another
assisting monks in the teaching of these books. Yet, the monks offered a
passive resistance. On the one hand, Hordern found that there was no jealousy
or opposition on the part of the monks in regard to the new system of education
proposed. He wrote that the monks “gladly receive our books and express a
wish for them (Bagshawe:44).” At the same time, he found that the department’s
efforts were a “waste of time and labor” for the monks apparently did not enforce
their pupils’ learning of these new subjects (Bagshawe:44). While the
department’s lay teachers might spend hours going from one monastery to
another to help teach a text, they often found that the pupil they requested to see
had not yet shown up for the day (Bagshawe:43). Hordern quoted one prominent
monk teacher telling him, “`Our instruction is religious, but if your pupils like to
study secular subjects there is no objection (Bagshawe:44).’” Apparently, while
the monks had a very tolerant attitude toward the newly proposed subjects, they
considered these to be unnecessary, extra, and permissible only if they could
spare the time. A British official in India, Sir Richard Temple, acutely observed
how a tradition like monastic education in Burma that placed high importance on
102
inwardly reflection might perceive as trivial subject matters meant for the
“intensifying (of) the powers of observation, conducive to an accurate
apprehension of external matters (and) training the mind to search for what is
beautiful and attractive.”2 And as might be expected, by 1870, Hordern’s
department was finding that when the new curriculum was taught at all, it was
circuit teachers who were originally sent to train the monks, rather than the
monks themselves, that were doing most or all of the instructions (Bagshawe:59).
Hence, Phraye’s plan to gradually sway monk-teachers toward more modern
disciplines and hence incorporate them into the larger school system of the
colonial government failed, partly because the plan was implemented too late
and partly because the monk-teachers were passively resisting.
In this way, the traditional monastic education for lay persons thrived long
into the colonial era in the 19th century. Their marked decline was noticeable
only at the very turn of the century. Moreover, their decline was caused not so
much by the colonial government’s ability to impose a new world view or
ideology, but quite purely by bureaucratic measures. Citing a need to enforce
“efficiency” in learning, the British colonial government published the criteria for
the first four standards (grades 1-4) for all schools in the colony. Monastic
schools, like the other types of existing schools began to be registered,
inspected, and were required to meet government standards in curriculum and in
performance. They were brought into a formal system for the first time. By 1867,
several hundred monastic schools began to be registered for the purposes of
inspection and control (Social Welfare Department 1959:9). At the same time,
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the government began to focus on strengthening existing indigenous lay “house”
schools that had traditionally co-existed with monastic schools but had been far
fewer in numbers and in the number of students. They now saw that the lay
schools could help modernize education in Burma in ways that monastic schools
could not as these were neither headed by monks nor obligated to renounce
financial incentives [vinaya codes do not permit monks to accept payments or
wages]. In 1873-74, officials inspected 833 monastic schools and 95 lay “house”
schools (out of a total of 4,250 indigenous schools) with 23,112 pupils. Only
3,585 of the pupils passed the standards the government set forth
(Bagshawe:86). Yet, as each year passed, recognized lay schools increased
faster than monastic schools, and also, always produced a higher proportion of
students passing government standards examinations (Bagshawe:87). Students
were given financial and material rewards for passing examinations well. With
such incentives and along with the knowledge that only government recognized
credentials could help one get jobs now, many lay Burmese Buddhists began to
flock to lay schools both indigenous (later called “vernacular” for teaching in the
Burmese language) and missionary schools (also called Anglo-Vernacular
because much English but also some Burmese were taught). While the number
of governmentally approved monastic schools fluctuated in the colonial era, there
was a steady increase each year in the number of lay schools being registered
by the government. In fact, by the end of the colonial era, there were many more
lay schools being recognized by the government than there were monastic
schools. The trend had been the reverse in the first years of the government’s
104
registry of schools as there were more monastic schools than lay schools. In
1874-75, the first year when the registry system was in operation, there were 939
recognized monastic schools as compared with 155 recognized lay schools. But
by 1906, more lay schools began to be recognized than monastic schools. In
1906, the figures were 2,899 lay schools as compared to 2,369 monastic
schools. Then each year after that, the number of recognized lay schools grew
in proportion so that by 1927, there were 4,770 lay schools as compared to only
1,120 monastic schools in the government’s list of registered schools (Kaung:7879). By bureaucratically forcing a change in the way monastic schools operated,
from decentralized yet singular in purpose to centralized and controlled yet
fragmented in goals, the colonial government was finally successful at causing
monastic schools to decline in status and enrollment by the very end of the 19th
century. As relatively higher paying jobs such as working in the colonial
government’s civil service bureaucracy as clerks and technical assistants also
required knowledge of modern disciplines and English as well, the monastic
schools lost much enrollment by then.
Nevertheless, as the downfall of the traditional monastic schools came
late in the colonial era, and also, the colonization of Burma was quite late to
begin with, the Burmese vernacular continued to be the main language of the
overwhelming majority of the country. So, the majority of the Burmese adults
and young adults in the early part of the 20th century were still quite traditional in
their world view and outlook. That is, they were unable to connect with the very
few elites who were Anglicized, educated in missionary schools, and held
105
technical, bureaucratic jobs. The nationalist leaders they decided to follow were
not from that Anglicized class, but the traditional intellectuals who went to
monastic schools and the Burmese Buddhist National Schools. For this reason,
Ashokan ideals of society and polity along with the faith, devotion, miracles, and
stories that can nurture a conscience of the Buddha could be carried on into the
post-colonial era in Burma by the ruling and intellectual elites. These traditional
elites rose in influence beginning in the struggle for independence.
However, although there were such intellectual conditions carried over into
the modern era in Burmese society for the personal implementation of the
Buddha’s ethics, the implementations, of course, could not always be realized.
As evidenced by many of the kings in Burma’s pre-colonial past, even with a
“collective conscience” of the Buddha in society, individuals may commit
unwholesome acts such as kill others and in trying to atone for their wrongs (i.e.,
to balance their demerits with merits) their understanding of social-welfare may
fall short of the Buddha’s ideals. Especially in modern Burma, what becomes
important to examine when trying to determine the conditions most conducive for
an intuitive development of Buddhist ethics is not just the informal socialization
but the many forms of education, formal and non-formal as well, in which lay
Buddhists learn Buddhism. That is because since the decline of traditional
monastic education for the laity, there has arisen many other forms of Buddhist
education, including insight meditation retreats and courses on Buddhist yin kye
hmu (civility). And these may be taught by monks, lay intellectual elites, or the
state. The ability of these different educational settings in modern Burma to
106
nurture or discourage in individuals a conscience of the Buddha, the
implementation of the ethics as embodied by the Buddha, is the subject of the
next three chapters.
ENDNOTES
1
Selections from Educational Records, Part 1, 1781-1839
2
Minute by Sir Richard Temple, Bombay, India, September 6, 1878
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Chapter 3
Buddhism as an Authoritarian Instrument
Beginning in the early decades of the 20th century, traditional monastic
schools for lay persons, once the centers of learning of not only the Pali canon
but also the Burmese language, traditional literary classics, arithmetic, and other
worldly subjects, fell further into the background as places of education. Yet
monks did continue to be trained in monastic schools all the way to the highest
levels, earning Burma the fame in the 20th century of having a great number of
internationally renowned monks learned in pariyatti (Tripitaka literature) as well
as in pathibatti (meditation practice). For example, the Ledi Sayadaw, beginning
in the late 19th century, became an internationally recognized prolific writer as
well as a meditator who often retreated to the forest. Orientalists like Rhys
Davids regularly consulted him on topics related to the Abhidhamma, the third of
the “Three Baskets” (Tripitaka), the most abstract part that deals directly with the
metaphysics of mental and physical phenomena. The Mingun Sayadaw was
famed for knowing by heart the entire Pali canon and he led the Sixth Buddhist
Synod held in Burma in 1954. That is, he led the sixth congregation of
international Buddhist monk scholars since the Buddha’s passing away to review
and cross-check the doctrinal alignment of each other’s knowledge. While
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learning the Pali canon by heart was a necessary task in a doctrinal tradition that
was transmitted orally only until it was all written down on palm leaves during the
Fourth Synod, the feat of complete memorization is rare in the modern era.
Burma is the only country to have monks who can do this today and in Burma
there are no more than five currently. Since the middle part of the 20th century,
Burmese monk teachers of insight meditation have also become quite popular
both in the country and on a regional and international scale. Their missions are
in almost every continent and foreigners flock to their meditation
centers/monasteries in Burma.
With all this international attention as well as a conscience of the Buddha
embodied in monk characters in movies, novels, and awe-inspiring monks’ lives
as portrayed in hagiographies, there is still a high respect for monks and an
aspiration to be like them in Burma. This does not translate to many people
entering the monkhood permanently themselves, but the admiration is there.
Nash observed in the late 1950s that religious donations were a top priority in
people’s financial expenditures. In a pattern that did not seem to suit the goals of
economic “modernization,” the wealthier they became, they donated more (Nash
1965:160). Today, too, religious offerings include the lavish manner in which
people continue to shin pyu (ordain their children as temporary novices), build
pagodas, and also offer monasteries and alms to monks. While the best of one’s
meals are still offered every morning to monks on their alms rounds even in
Rangoon, there are also huge alms giving ceremonies to monks on special
occasions, including life cycle ceremonies (e.g., novitiation, birthdays, weddings,
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the opening of a new business, the entering of a new house, and death). In
urban areas, these lavish alms giving ceremonies are increasingly taking place at
meditation centers, as the traditional belief is that the higher the spiritual
attainment of the person receiving one’s donations, the higher one’s merits.
Still, while monks in Burma may be respected by the lay supporters in the
20th century for their of knowledge of the Tripitaka and/or of insight meditation,
and many (particularly monks of the Shwegyin sect) for also following closely the
vinaya (doctrinal codes of conduct for monks), the esteem they held in precolonial times as the primary educators of society has waned. The very
appellation traditionally attached to monks’ names in Burma, “Sayadaw,” means
Great/Royal Teacher. In the 20th century, the term is still used but no longer
holds the same grandiose connotations. The introduction by the British colonial
administration of a centralized, formal education system, based on an efficiency
criterion and utilitarian model ensured the slow demise of the traditional monastic
school and the role of the monk as educator.
Hence, in post-colonial Burma that inherited the formal system of
education from the colonial days, traditional monastic schools are no longer the
main centers of Buddhist education. For this reason, monks, Buddhist lay
intellectuals, and successive governments have tried to problem-solve how best
to transmit Buddhism to future generations. While young persons still learn
Buddhism from “mi yo pha la” or family traditions, and through monks’ sermons
given at religious ceremonies, these informal means have been recognized as
insufficient. The Buddhist education programs that have been quite consciously
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planned and implemented in the post-colonial era have been as different as are
the intentions and backgrounds of the educators and administrators involved.
In this chapter, I will focus on one, the revival of monastic schools for lay pupils
by today’s military junta.
Authoritarian and Democratic Pedagogical Styles in Pre-Colonial
Monastic Schools
Any references to “monastic schools for lay pupils” in Burma are likely to
conjure up for most Western scholars familiar at all with Burma studies the
images portrayed of such schools by the colonial apparatus, particularly
European Christian missionaries of the 19th century. But a monolithic view of
monastic education based on their observations alone would be faulty. To
understand more fully the current military junta’s program of revival of monastic
schools for lay persons, what it sets out to do, what it can do, and what it cannot,
one must first comprehend the weakness and strengths of monastic schools in
the past.
It was during the 19th century that Burma became gradually under the
control of a colonial government, namely Britain, and hence, it was also a time
when the missionaries were vying not only for converts, but also for the position
of their missions in the government recognized school system. So, while the
truth value of some of their interpretations of education at these schools may be
taken to heart, the lack of historicity and incompleteness of their observations
must also be comprehended. Almost all the missionaries pointed to the practice
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of rote memorization and recitations and portrayed these as signs of the dull
mindedness of the education and the laziness and ignorance of the monk
teachers. The French Catholic Bishop, Bigandet wrote,
The Talapoins (monks) being much addicted to sloth and indolence, the
schools are undoubtedly miserably managed. The boys are often left to
themselves without regular control or discipline. When a boy enters the
monastery as a student, his teacher places into his hands a piece of
blackened board, whereupon are written, the first letters of the alphabet.
The poor lad has to repeat over and over the name of the letters, crying
aloud with all the powers of his lungs. He is left for several weeks, at the
same subject, until his instructor is satisfied that he knows his letters, so
as to be able to spell correctly all the words of the language…Owing to the
lack of order and method on the part of the teachers, boys spend a long
time, sometimes one or two years, in mastering those difficulties, which, if
properly explained, would much shorten the time usually devoted to such
a study….[Bigandet:299-300].
Sangermano, an Italian priest, wrote,
The study of the Talapoins (monks) is however rather an exercise of the
memory than of the understanding. They do not esteem the faculties of
reasoning and discoursing, but only that of committing easily to memory;
and he is esteemed the most learned man whose memory is most
tenacious.[Sangermano 1893:181]
Also, Marks, a British chaplain, wrote,
His (the child’s) school equipment is of the simplest, consisting only of a
paper spelling-book, from which he learns to shout out his lessons at the
top of his voice. Everything is of the most primitive kind, but admirably
adapted to his needs in his infancy and early boyhood.
As he grows up, however, he wants something better, and the
European who will take him in hand and continue his instruction at once
commands his friendship (Marks 1917: 60-61).
The missionaries’ accounts have a narrow interpretation of monastic pedagogy
as their focus is purely on the outward signs of rote memorization, and usually
that of spelling only, not of literature.
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While rote memorization cannot in and of itself develop reasoning skills, it
can, when coupled with dialogue and narratives clarify high order concepts.
Schwartz, in comparing the pedagogy of Burmese Buddhist monks with that of
Catholic priests in the Philippines, wrote that while the Buddhist monks clarified
high order concepts through synonyms and illustrative examples, the Catholic
priests did so through definitions and deductive logic (Schwartz 1975:81-83). He
focused on the instructions of 19th century Burmese Buddhist monk, Ledi
Sayadaw, an expert in Abhidhamma. He noted that Buddhist literary subjects
such as Abhidhamma, a subject learned in stages by lay and monk pupils when
they reached a slightly more advanced stage in monastic schools, involved
committing to memory and reciting many formulas. Yet, he noted, the Ledi
Sayadaw also provided the following narrative to explain one of the high order
concepts, “dukkha”:
For it is as the sick man who maintains life by austere dieting, but who,
were he to partake of rich dishes, would die or suffer mortal pain. He is
offered very savory flesh curries [but] though very fain to partake of them,
is aware of the pains of disease and rejects them…Now he, if he were to
partake of them, would be keenly sensible of their flavor while doing so,
but afterwards he would die or suffer mortal pain. So that, whereas on the
occasion of partaking…he has…pleasant sensation…, those sensations
under the aspect of fear and peril, are nothing but dukkha. Thus from the
standpoint of pleasant experience, pleasurable feeling is really pleasure
only in the threefold classification of feeling. But under the aspect of
insight into the Four Truths, by reason of fear and danger, such pleasure
is for all beings nothing but ill. Hence it is that we can say: ‘The truth
concerning ill, save in the sense of bodily or mental suffering, is not
concerning that which is ill. [Schwartz:81]
In his narrative, the Ledi Sayadaw used synonyms for “dukkha” (suffering) i.e., ill,
fear and peril, and also demonstrated “dukkha” through example, i.e., a sick man.
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Thus, if the sick man were to eat foods that would harm him, he may like the
taste but will feel fear and peril. The synonym and example are used by the Ledi
Sayadaw to make the very nuanced point that “pleasure” is sometimes actually
“pain” disguised as pleasure. Further, in addition to such narratives, there is
much possibility of dialogue between pupil and monk about what has been
learned. As Schwartz wrote, the relationship between Burmese Buddhist monks
and their pupils was also different from the relationship between Catholic priests
and their students in that there was more interaction: “In Burma, contacts were
frequent and highly personal. Reciprocal duties bound each to the other
(Schwartz:90).” And in fact, a homily, the Sigalovada that pupils learned in
traditional monastic schools included the following injunctions on reciprocal
duties between teachers and students:
In five ways should pupils minister to their teachers…: by rising [in
salutation], by waiting upon them, by eagerness to learn, by personal
service, and by attention when receiving their teaching.
And in five ways do teachers thus minister to…love their pupil; they train
him in that wherein he has been well trained; they make him hold fast that
which is well held; they thoroughly instruct him in the lore of every act;
they speak well of him among his friends and companions. They provide
for his safety…[Schwartz:90]
Thus, while rote memorization in and of itself does not produce reasoning skills,
it can, along with narratives and dialogue help one to comprehend high order
concepts. Missionaries’ and also colonial administrators’ accounts of monastic
education usually honed in on the rote memorization and not much else. It is
entirely possible that there were monastic schools that just promoted rote
memorization and nothing else. It is also possible that many times the dialogues
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between teacher and pupil did not foster much high order thinking. The
missionaries were making their observations at a time when many monastic
schools had begun to decline owing to colonial policies that steered students
away from the monastic schools. Further, the organization of the Sangha was in
disarray as the traditional head of the Sangha had been dissolved by the British.
So, the missionaries also needed to take into account the historical conditions.
Yet, what has been transmitted from their accounts is an ahistorical, monolithic
perspective on monastic education.
However, 19th century missionaries’ accounts have had a high influence
on how some Western scholars perceive monastic education and Buddhism. For
instance, Spiro quoted their accounts at face value in his book on Buddhism and
society in contemporary Burma (see Spiro:361,363). He wrote that the high
veneration of the Sangha, the monk order, in Burma is often unwarranted and the
bases for many neuroses. He described monks as having a “narcissism” and
“egocentrism” and stated that laymen often “suffer from their [monks’]
egocentrism (Spiro:414).” He was making the point that a majority of monks
were no different from lay persons in that being human they could not adhere to
the actual path to nibbana; they were not even intellectually vigorous in their
learning of the Pali canon. In reference to the prime reliance on rote
memorization of texts in the few monastic schools in the village where he was
doing research, he said: “Bigandet’s nineteenth century observations [about their
lack of ‘intellectual vigor’], when stripped of their missionary bias, could have
been made today (Spiro:363).” While he admitted that there were “notable
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exceptions…not only in cities but in village monasteries, too (Spiro:365),” he
generalized that monks contributed to laymen’s ambivalent, difficult to resolve
feelings between unattainable ideals of their religion and almost everyone’s
primordial impulses (Spiro:414). Spiro did not bother to understand monastic
pedagogy historically or to examine the different kinds of monastic pedagogy in
contemporary Burma that may shed light on how critical thinking skills may be
developed even while faith is instilled. Perhaps with further explorations in this
direction, his thesis that “Kammatic” and “Apotropaic” Buddhist practices in
Burma are irreconcilable with “Nibbanic Buddhism” would have been revised.
There is much evidence that while traditional monastic education in Burma
may have prevented the growth of science in the Western sense, in terms of a
curiosity about the external world or the manipulation of nature (Sarkisyanz:98),
its highly literary approach was not devoid of critical thinking. In a single
historical period, there have been varying pedagogical styles in the monastic
schools. While all monastic education aimed to instill Buddhist faith, some of
these methods promoted critical thinking while others did not. For example, the
styles of teaching conveyed in the writings of two very famous monk-teachers
from Burma’s literary past, Ashin Thilavamsa and Ashin Maharathathara from
Inwa (Ava) period of Burma, are almost polar opposites. They were born only
twenty six years apart. The former was born in 1442, and the latter in 1468.
They are famous today for their sonema saas (homilies), both prose and verses.
Their homilies had been used in monastic schools. Some of their writings have
been taught as part of Burmese literature in high school throughout post-colonial
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Burma. Their didactic pithy verses have been published in popular anthologies
of homilies. While Ashin Thilavamsa tended to focus on instilling in pupils the
outward motions of Buddhist civility, primarily through speech and bodily conduct,
Ashin Maharathathara focused on the more inward qualities, namely mental
factors. The tone of Ashin Thilavamsa’s homilies was more authoritarian,
outlining the do’s and don’ts, while Ashin Maharathathara aimed at instilling
critical thought. In Ashin Thilavamsa’s “Tilokahu Sone Ma Saa,” a collection of
his pithy verses, the following are about how pupils should conduct themselves in
learning:
When it’s time to study, don’t have a sad face, with wandering thoughts.
Don’t study just temporarily with your text here but your face somewhere
else. Don’t be talking and laughing.
With continuous sound, make much noise [i.e., recite], when studying.
Study well and have perfect pronunciation.
When you write on palm-leaf books, too, make sure you write each word
beautifully [Ashin Thilavamsa 1960: 4, 6]
Ashin Thilavamsa focused primarily on rote memory, recitation, and beautiful
penmanship in learning. He did not emphasize the importance of asking
questions, being inquisitive, or constructing one’s own understandings. On the
other hand, Ashin Maharathathara in his poem, “Thu Si Pu Ba Sone Ma Saa,”
wrote about the importance of talking, discussing, applying, researching,
reasoning, and sharing one’s knowledge:
…Like a daring rooster,
Scratching and bounding, be energetic and love what you study.
Not discussing and participating, not expounding,
Will only result in a waste of pages for palm leaf writing.
Although one studies, how will someone worthy of honor
Arise?
Someone who studies,
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Must not avoid, any text he sees in sight,
Like a cat eating a prawn crunches every bit of it
Like the teeth of a saw, Like stone inscriptions
So that knowledge is ready when you need it, learn it by heart and
practice it.
You must have an in-depth understanding
At the tip of your tongue.
Like spinning a yarn,
As soon as a thread appears, have no fright.
In speaking in the middle of a stage
With mindfulness at all times, like a stone pillar
Like a lion king, with no timidity
Let the varying kinds of speech
Quickly roll off your tongue gracefully making your speech suit
Your audience with evidence to back up your claims…[Ashin
Maharathathara 1960:22-23]
Ashin Maharathathara did not reject rote memorization. He stated in the above
poem that “learning by heart” helped one to bolster one’s knowledge without
having to look back into texts. Now it’s “at the tip of your tongue,” he says.
However, he also emphasized that the knowledge in texts must not only be
memorized but also applied or “practiced” if one is to have an “in-depth”
understanding. He emphasized “daringness” and curiosity in learning, i.e., one
must be energetic like a “daring rooster scratching and bounding.” He also
wrote when something of interest arises, one must not be frightened to examine
it, i.e., “Like spinning a yarn, as soon as a thread appears,” one should
incorporate it.
In this sense, Ashin Maharathathara appears as if he would have
discussed the content of learning with his students, probed their curiosity, and
encouraged them to ask questions and think critically. They would have been
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comfortable to ask him questions and carry on a dialogue with him. His writings
suggest that he had a relationship with students that was based on trust rather
than scolding. In disciplining students, he appeared to have emphasized
reasoning as well as being mindful of what one is about to do or say. For
instance, in “Lat Thit Toun Taa Sone Ma Saa,” he told students to speak nicely to
each other, but he did not give a literal command, “speak nicely.” He gave them
an analogy that they could think about, relate to, and form their own conclusions:
“So that each other’s words are not bitter in each other’s ears, be mindful. Let
the words you speak be sweet like honey (Ashin Maharaththara:16).” Moreover,
he told them to be “mindful,” “be with sati [awareness]” as one speaks, so that
one could judge for oneself whether one’s words are sweet or bitter. He did not
specify what words are sweet or bitter. He encouraged self-responsibility in
constructing one’s knowledge. As his pupil, one might consider whether honey is
sweet, and if so, will most everybody like honey? If the answer is “yes,” then one
would consider that probably no one would want something bitter. As one
speaks, then, one might try to gauge for oneself if what one says would actually
sound “sweet” like honey in someone else’s ear.
Even in his admonishment about the importance of respecting authority
figures to whom one owes gratitude--one’s parents, elders, and teachers--he
does not boast about their perfection. Instead, he tells pupils that these figures
may not be perfect. For this reason, he says one must be mindful as one repays
them with gratitude.
One’s mother, father, elders, and others to whom one owes gratitude are
like the immeasurably high Mount Meru [the Buddhist cosmic center of the
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universe]. Consider them in your mind as if they are like the Buddha. Pay
respect and provide them with whatever they need, clothes, food, and
water. The things they may have said, both sweet and bitter, know how to
forgive them. [Ashin Maharathathara:15]
With this, he tells pupils that one should be aware, be mindful of one’s desire to
react to those imperfect things parents, teachers, and elders may have said while
at the same time one reciprocates the gratitude owed to them. That is, while he
writes that one should respect parents, teachers, and elders, he appeals to
reason. He is clear that it is not because they are perfect, but because of the
gratitude one owes to them.
Ashin Thilavamsa, on the other hand, gives no qualifications or reason
when he tells students that that they should honor authority figures, namely their
teacher and parents. He wrote, “Without blaming, respect the immeasurably
great Triple Gems, mother, teacher, and monks…(Ashin Thilavamsa: 2).” He
also focuses on the outwardly signs of respect: “You mustn’t walk upright, without
bowing, when passing in front [of authority figures] (Ashin Thilavamsa:4).”
Judging from the tone and content of his homilies, it is unlikely that Ashin
Thilavamsa would have had a highly personal relationship with his students.
There appeared to be no possibilities for a continuous dialogue between them.
His preference in the method of discipline seems to be punishment and hitting.
He writes, “When you go to get water from the well, don’t be playing. If you play
and take too long there you will get ‘sand dan, water dan’ [punishments involving
having to unnecessarily carry water or sand] and your back will surely be struck
(Ashin Thilavamsa:4).”
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The Buddha and Obedience to Authority
In the verse, Mangala Sutta (“Discourse on Blessings”), from the
Khudikanikaya of the Pali canon, which is usually the first Pali texts (with
vernacular translations) taught in traditional monastic schools after learning of the
Thinbongyi, Burmese spelling, the Buddha promoted faith and honor but he also
stressed the importance of critical insight. He did mention that it is a blessing to
take care of one’s mother and father, “Matapitu upatthanam,” and to honor those
who are worthy of honor, “Puja ca pujaneyyanam.” He also said that being
humble, contented, and knowing gratitude are blessings: “Garavo ca nivato ca,
santutthi katanuta.” However, the very first two blessings that set the tone for the
entire thirty-eight blessings contained in the verse are “Not to associate with
fools, To associate with the wise.”: “Asevana ca balanam, Panditannan ca
sevana.” Critical judgment is required of one at the very outset. The Buddha
does not specify who are “wise” and who are “foolish.” It is possible to deduce
that those people who are “wise” are those who follow most or all of the thirtyeight blessings, which include the following (they are not mutually exclusive but
can correspond to people’s life stages): being well-learned, speaking wholesome
words, taking care of one’s parents, working blamelessly and with clarity, giving
generously, supporting one’s relatives, avoiding unwholesome acts through
mind, body, and speech, abstaining from intoxicating drinks and drugs, meeting
with those monks who have calmed their mental defilements, discussing the
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Dhamma on suitable occasions, abstaining from self-indulgence, abstaining from
sexual relations, seeing the Four Noble Truths, and realizing nibbana [i.e.,
practicing insight meditation to achieve wisdom and eventually nibbana] (see
Appendix). It can also be deduced that if one’s parents, teachers, and monks did
not follow most or all of these blessings, they are probably foolish themselves.
Yet, if one disrespects them and/or not know the gratitude one owes them for the
many things they have done, then one is also likely to be foolish, because
respect and knowing gratitude are blessings.1 Hence, doctrinally, the Buddha’s
teachings sets one responsible for much critical thinking needed to do the right
thing. In many ways, Ashin Maharathathara’s pedagogy was geared toward
encouraging one to develop such insight, while Ashin Thilavamsa was more
focused on trying to tell one what to do.
As history indicates too, critical or independent thinking is not at all foreign
to traditional monastic schools such that monks, trained and bred in monastic
schools, have been at the forefront of political criticism and even activism in
Burma. For example, Ashin Nanabhivamsa, the sangharaja (traditional head of
the Sangha) confronted King Bodawpaya (1718-1819) who likened himself to
Ashoka but was ruthlessly committing fratricides (Sarkisyanz:7). During the
independence struggle from Britain, Sayadaw U Ottama led a non-violent, noncooperation struggle against the colonial state apparatus, which included a
boycott of the colonial police and tax collectors. Another, Sayadaw U Wisara,
whose statue can be seen atop a pillar in a busy intersection near the
Shwedagon Pagoda, was also arrested during the independent struggle for
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leading similar protests. He died during a hunger strike he waged in prison
against the colonial administration’s orders for him to disrobe. Thakhin Ko Daw
Hmaing, a lay person who was formerly a monk trained in the monastic schools,
was a renowned writer and leading political commentator against the British. He
inspired much political activism during the struggle for independence. In the
1988 pro-democracy struggles against the current military regime, monks played
an active role (Matthews 1993:413, 420-421). Their activism included a ritual
boycott of the military and their families through thabeik hmauk (overturning of
the alms bowl) or not accepting any offerings from them.
The Military Junta’s Pedagogical Preferences in their Monastic
Schools for Lay Pupils
The current government’s rule is authoritarian. Through a military coup in
1962, they usurped power from U Nu, the prime minister of a parliamentary
democracy. Beginning with General Ne Win’s one man’s rule, the military junta
forcibly isolated the nation from the international world. The slogan they
promoted was “Burmese Way to Socialism.” They quelled the mass, nation-wide
pro-democracy protests in 1988 by massacring thousands of protestors (Lintner:
1990). In 1990, they held a mock national election after putting the main
opposition leader, Aung San Suu Kyi, under house arrest. The generals at the
top changed, but they are still part of the same military junta following Ne Win’s
example.
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The program by which they’ve revived monastic schools for the purposes
of teaching laity is also authoritarian in design. By 1987, the socialist economy of
Burma was in such chaos that Ne Win began opening up the country to a market
economy. By the 1990s, his protégés, now leading the country, embarked on a
“modernization” campaign and sought foreign capital, mainly in the form of
tourism. Their objective in the revival of monastic education for lay persons is
three-fold: (1) to present Burma as a vanguard of tradition, namely Buddhist
culture, so as to attract foreign capital, especially via tourism; (2) to develop
political stability by instilling social obedience in the young; and (3) to teach a
basic primary education in a cost-effective manner to poor children so that they
can be kept in school and out of the streets. Their first objective could be seen in
their advertisements in their English language paper, “The New Light of
Myanmar.” To coincide with their “Come Visit Myanmar (Burma)” campaign for
1996, they included many photo advertisements in a session entitled, “Come,
Visit Myanmar” that displayed pictures of “tradition.” There was a different
picture each day and they included monasteries and monks, coy young women
dressed in traditional costumes, traditional arts and musical instruments, and
staged scenes of traditional pastimes, like storytelling. For instance, a
photograph that showed a very elegant, traditional monastery from Mandalay
depicted two monks carrying alms bowls and walking toward its entrance. The
caption read, “Two monks return to the great monastery after an alms round.”2
Another was a photograph of an older woman crouching on a woven mat with her
elbows resting comfortably on a cushion in front with a book in her hands.3 She
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was reading out loud. Four young children, two boys and two girls are shown
sitting respectfully in front of her and gazing at her with interest and listening
intently. There is a lacquer basket in the center of the mat between the children
and the lady as if they had been sharing the traditional snack, laphat (tea salad)
together. They are all sitting under a linlun or bodhi tree, the kind of tree under
which the Buddha was enlightened. The caption reads: “Story time is a Myanmar
traditional. Grandma gathers the young around her for folk tales.” In addition to
these pictures, the rest of their newspapers, both the English and the Burmese,
are usually filled with anti-opposition commentaries accusing leaders like Aung
San Suu Kyi as “traitors” of the nation and its traditions and as kyun (slaves) of
foreign colonialists’ agenda, along with pictures of the top generals in their
uniforms (but without their guns) offering alms and other materials to monks,
officiating at Buddhist ceremonies and pagoda building, and opening monastic
schools for lay pupils.
Their second and third objective, that of using monastic education as a
means of instilling obedience and providing primary education to the poor, was
communicated to me by the Deputy Minister of the Department of the
Propagation and Perpetuation of the Sasana (Buddhist Religion), a branch of the
Ministry of Religion, that was responsible for opening these monastic schools.
He said that the revival of monastic education for lay pupils was a way in which
his government was molding saritta (character) and yin kyey aung lok (civilizing)
the young people of the nation. By “civility,” he meant obedience. “The monks
are already civilized so they can discipline the students,” he said. He added that
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monks “do not discriminate [rich or poor children]; they have full metta (loving
kindness.” Referring to a Burmese proverb, “Alainma sa mma shi” (“Civility is
found in literature/texts”), he said that providing a primary education to poor
children who might otherwise not go to school will set them on the “right path.”
He explained that the government made some mistakes during the socialist era:
“In the socialist era, we were able to make people be strong mentally, but we did
not encourage in them a Buddhist civility.” He saw Buddhist “civility” as
something quite different from mental strength. He referred to the mass prodemocracy demonstrations in 1988 with regret. He spoke of some young
people’s misconducts yet did not mention his own government’s massacring of
thousands of protestors:
Eugenia, you should have been here in 1988. It was a dark year in our
history. There were young people beheading those whom they thought to
be their enemy right on the streets and they were dragging bodies. We
cannot let that happen again…Through our monastic schools, we are
helping to put back on the correct path those who, because of blindness,
are not on the correct path.
A publication in 1993 by the Ministry of Religion regarding plans for the
implementation of this monastic education program shows that the government
viewed monastic schools’ primary role to be promoting obedience in young
people:
In the history of education in Burma, from the time of Burma’s kings to
today, monastic education has always been part of the nation’s education.
The only difference has been in its rise and decline…It has helped the
young people of Burma learn to respect their elders. It teaches them the
garavo and nivato Dhamma [respectfulness and humbleness]….[Ministry
of Religion 1993:4]
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And, in fact, in Rangoon, at least, monastic schools are in urban and suburban
areas where the government can oversee children’s obedience to authority. The
government brings to the monasteries mostly rural poor children as boarders.
Some of them are orphans. Some of them are from hill tribe minorities who are
neither Burman nor Buddhist but whose ethnic groups are in rebellion or under
threat of rebellion against the government.
Because the key intention of the government is to make these young
people obedient to authority, there is much force involved, both in the
implementation and teaching. First, the lay children are required to be there and
stay there. One monk told me that his students “cannot go outside the
compounds except to go on alms rounds with others (lay students accompany
novices) and only to go to the clinic with teachers.” The monks, too, were
coerced to be the main teachers and supervisors of the students. In many
cases, the monks and the schools were picked and designated by the
government with the help of their affiliate monks who head the Sasana Maha
Nayaka (Supreme Sangha Council), the organ that was formed in 1980 by the
military regime for a more centralized control of the Sangha. In the Ministry of
Religion’s 1993 “Plan” for monastic education for lay persons, their appeals to
the monk head of the Supreme Sangha Council are recorded. Their appeals
reveal the lack of volunteerism, and hence, the difficulty, and eventually the force
with which they have had to gather not only monk teachers, but also children and
parents who would finally agree to send their children to these schools. They
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urged the head monk to help find not only monk teachers, but also enough
children and willing parents:
The monastic education program will not be successful without the
following three needs fulfilled: (1) Monks with schools who would accept
children into their school for educating them, (2) Parents who would be
willing to send their children to the monastic schools, and (3) Children who
want to learn at the monastic schools. [Ministry of Religion:76-77]
Thus, their monastic education program did not take place at a grassroots level,
but rather top down in almost every respect.
Because the implementation was authoritarian, so was the pedagogy.
The only forms of “Buddhist” education I found in many of these monastic
schools were basic daily ritual observances, such as prostrating in front of
Buddha images, giving offerings to the Buddha images, and rote memorization of
a few Buddhist chants, the meaning of which many of the students can neither
articulate nor understand. At one school, upon my visit, the monk-teacher forced
the students to recite some chants to me so that I might know that they were
learning. One of the long poems, the Burmese translation of the Mangala Sutta
(see Appendix), was recited by the five Padaung students who, despite their
shyness and accents, could recite it perfectly. Yet, they could not tell me the
meaning of any part of the poem, not even the first line: “Stay away from fools.”
Nevertheless, the monk-teacher, who was watching from behind continued to call
their names, one after another, with the command, “Recite!” Even for the verse
on “Sending Loving-kindness,” the monk yelled with a harsh tone, “Go ahead.
Send loving-kindness!” There was usually very little personal bond between the
monk-teachers and their students for any kind of beneficial dialogue or for the
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students to ask questions about the content of their learning. There was the
linguistic barrier in many cases as some of the students came from non-Burmese
speaking ethnic minority groups. In addition, the students were usually forced to
be in the program and so were the monks.
Additionally, as the government does not take responsibility for the cost of
the schooling, the monk teachers were usually too pressed for time trying to
figure out how to help raise enough money for students’ supplies and
necessities. This monastic education program was handled not by the Ministry of
Education but by the Ministry of Religion, and hence, it was a religious affair that
was supposed to inspire voluntary donations from the community. The
government saw itself as under no obligation to pay for the materials. The
monks were mostly left on their own to raise money for the cost of feeding,
clothing, and buying books and pencils for the students. In some cases, the
monk-teachers did not have to take on the additional responsibility of teaching
primary education to the children as the children would leave during the day to
study at a nearby government primary school. Yet, some had also to figure out
how to teach primary subjects to the children as well as help raise enough money
for lay teachers to come to their schools. Yet, to raise money or even announce
the need without being asked goes against the ascetic rules of the vinaya they
must live by. When they do announce, whatever respect they have among their
lay communities can easily diminish. Also, teaching primary school subjects did
not always align well with the codes of conduct for monks. Hence, many of the
monks I met at the government-administered monastic schools were quite
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flustered and pre-occupied. Under such stress, the kind of “civility” they taught
was what the government would have preferred: fear and obedience to authority.
One told me about his pedagogical approach: “In the Buddha’s tradition, I ask
them to memorize and recite. I lecture. If they don’t know it by heart, I strike
them with a stick. I pull and twist their earlobes. I knock on their heads with my
knuckles. There are some naughty ones in the group. Stubborn.” His lack of
rapport with the students is obvious as he expressed much ethnocentrism:
They are also lazy. When they get bored, I have had to let them sing
songs, and they sing `ee yo ai ya’ songs [making fun of their languages],
not the quality songs like the Mangala Poem-turned song of U Thukha (the
writer/director) or Ma Ma Aye (famous Dhamma singer), not French, not
Chinese, not Burmese, not Indian, more ‘ee yo ai ya.’
Many of the monks had little time to perfect, much less do either of the two
traditional duties of monks: pathibatti (meditate) or pariyatti (study and teach
Buddhist texts). The monk above had never been able to pass beyond the very
first level of exams in literature for monks. In fact, they had little time and
resources to be the “educators” of young people in any way. One of these monk
teachers exclaimed to me, “They [the government] started this program. They
should be the ones to take on the responsibility of making sure it can work out.”
In his school where he is to teach kindergarten to fourth grade, there are 122
students, 27 of whom are novices, 11 are young nuns, and the rest are lay
students. None of the students are from Rangoon. All ate and slept at his
compound. He explained that each month it cost at least 2,500 kyats to support
each student and additionally there are often unexpected health costs when
children got sick. He said that he is expected now by the government to help
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teach beyond the 4th grade standard. He did not know how he would manage
that. His students’ parents are very poor and usually drive three-wheeled bike
taxis for a living. Much of his funds are from donations of people who happen to
visit and drop by. He said that he has had to reluctantly advertise in the
newspapers to announce his needs. Seeing such advertisements, people have
brought bags of rice and other supplies. The unintended consequence of such
Buddhist education is that Buddhism is denigrated, not only in respect of its deep
meaning, but also in respect of the role of the order of monks or Sangha. What
the children received in these places was an authoritarian type of pedagogy
exemplified by Ashin Thilavamsa of Burma’s past and without the benefits of a
teacher like Ashin Thilavamsa who was well-learned in the Pali literature. They
also lacked support from the surrounding community and state. Even as they
prostrate to the Buddha several times a day, they cannot develop a conscience
of the Buddha. They cannot develop a concept of his complete benevolence.
Authoritarian Agenda in the Government’s Schools in General
The government’s focus on instilling unquestioning obedience and a fear
of authority in their newly revived monastic schools for the laity is part of their
long-standing educational agenda at regular schools. Because lay teachers
don’t usually have the time or the knowledge, a separate Buddhism course is not
usually enforced in regular school. However, some Jataka tales are put into
primary school Burmese Readers. They are carefully chosen, edited, and subtly
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reinterpreted by the government to suit their agenda. They usually focus on the
need for young people to respect authority figures such as one’s elders, parents,
and teachers. In the fourth grade Burmese Reader, there is a Jataka tale,
“Suvannasamma,” that is quite popular in Burma, about a young man, the
Bodhisattva, who takes good care of his blind parents, two ascetic hermits, in the
forest. His father was an outcast hunter. After being shot with poison arrows by a
king, Suvanasamma regains life because of the power of truth spoken by his
parents that he was a good, truthful, loyal son who cared for them very well. In
its original version in the Pali canon (Cowell1990:38-52), the story has the
potential to make one realize the deceitfulness and pride of political leaders. In
the original version the young man was fetching water in the forest when a king
hunting for deer spotted him and did not think that he was human. The king
thought that he might be a god or a Naga (mythical serpent) and wanted to come
closer to ask him. So, the king wounded him in order to disable him. Wounded,
the young man asked to know the identity of his assailant, explaining that his
flesh was worthless as food. The king, hearing no hate, vengeance, or blame in
the young man’s voice, goes up to the young man to inquire who he was. The
young man is very honest:
‘If I told him that I belonged to the gods or the Kinnaras, or that I was a
Khattiya or of similar race, he would believe me; but one must only speak
the truth,’ so he said:
They called me Sama while I lived,--an outcast hunter’s son am I…’
[Cowell:44]
In contrast to the Bodhisattva, the king is dishonest and full of pride. Firstly, he
introduces himself by calling attention to his marksmanship:
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‘I of the Kasis am the lord, King Piliyakkha named; and here,
Leaving my throne for greed of flesh, I roam to hunt the forest deer.
Skilled in the archer’s craft am I, stout is my heart nor given to change;
No Naga can escape my shaft if once he comes within my range.’
[Cowell:44]
Next, he lies and tells Suvannasamma that he was aiming at deer but that
Suvannasamma disturbed his aim. He says that the deer saw Suvannasamma
and fled in fright. He was implying that the shooting of Suvannasamma was an
accident provoked by the victim, Suvannasamma. The king says, “A deer had
come within my range, I thought that it my prize would be, but seeing thee it fled
in fright,--I had no angry thought for thee (Cowell:45).” Yet, in the government’s
version in the textbook, however, the entire portion about the deceit and pride of
king was omitted. Only the part when he felt much regret about his shooting
Suvannasamma was included. Moreover, in the government’s version, a respect
and compassion for all life is downplayed as a virtue or as an important theme of
the story. In the government’s version, it is only the asseveration
Suvannasamma makes regarding his loyalty toward his parents and his parents’
reliance on him that motivates the king to regret his deeds and want to make
things right again. The government textbook quotes the wounded, dying
Suvannasamma as saying to the king:
‘King, because you shot me with the same poison arrows meant for deer, I
am drowning in a pool of blood. Just look. Why did you shoot me? One
may shoot a deer for its hide. One may shoot an elephant for its tusks.
But for what reason do you shoot me? My parents only have enough food
for about six days. If they don’t get water then they will surely die.’4
The text continues, “Then, the king became very regretful and promised to
provide for the two ascetic parents [of Suvannasamma].”5 In the version from the
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Pali canon, however, Suvannasamma’s love of all life, including animals, and
their love of him is emphasized. In the original version, he does not say to the
king that it may be all right to shoot a deer or an elephant or any other animals.
That part is not there. The original version does say that what moved the king to
regret what he had done and to do good again was Suvannasamma’s truthful
statement that Suvannasamma loved all the animals in the forest and that their
love for Suvannasamma, too, was complete:
‘Since my first years of thought began, as far as memory reaches back,
No quiet deer or beast of prey has fled in fear to cross my track.
Since I first donned my dress of bark and left behind my childish days
No quiet deer or beast of prey has fled to see me cross their ways.
Nay, the grim goblins are my friends, who roam with me this forest’s
shade,-Why should this deer then, as you say, at seeing me have fled afraid?’
[Cowell:45]
According to the original version, upon hearing the above, the king decided that
he should now speak the truth:
When the king heard him, he thought to himself, ‘I have wounded this
innocent being and told a lie, --I will now confess the truth.’ So, he said:
‘Sama, no deer behind thee there, why should I tell a needless lie?
I was o’ercome by wrath and greed and shot that arrow,--it was
I.’[Cowell:45]
Thus, the government textbook version of Suvannasamma Jataka Tale
emphasized only Suvannasamma’s respect and loyalty to authority figures,
namely his parents, downplayed the potential for deceit and pride in political
leaders, and de-emphasized the theme that respect for all life is a virtue.
The oral and written exercises that follow Buddhist stories like
Suvannasamma in the government textbooks also do not allow for questions,
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criticisms, or inferential thinking. The teacher I observed teaching the above
story to her fourth graders in a government primary school followed the text
book’s guidelines for teachings. Hence, the questions she posed were not meant
to promote thinking as much as to remember parts of the story word by word.
For example, she asked the following questions right out of the book, “Who lived
near Mighasammadha River in a little hut [for ascetics]?,“ “How did the two
ascetics become blind?,” “Who shot Suvannasamma with an arrow?,” “What truth
statement did Palika [Suvannasamma’s mother] make?”5 She did not appear to
have had the habit of helping students to consider texts in the context of their
own lives. The most she did in this regard was to ask questions requiring only
“yes” or “no” answers from the students. Moreover, they were more rhetorical
questions to which she already knew how they would answer. So she asked.
“With truthful statements you can pray for what you want, couldn’t you?” “Yes,”
the class replied in unison. Can you also thissa so (make asseverations)?”
“Yes,” the class replied in unison. “Of course you can,” she said. “Don’t you also
want to say what is true?” “Yes,” they replied again in unison. The students’ only
participation throughout the lesson was in taking turns reading parts of the text
out loud to the whole class. And even for this, they did not volunteer. She called
on them. The students did take much pride in these read alouds. When it was
their turn, they would stand on their chair with the book in their hands and read
from it with the loudest voice they could possibly project. In fact, one boy’s
reading sounded like a loud, lulling chant even though he was reading prose. It
was as if the main marker of success in mastering the story was in remembering
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it word by word and in reciting it. While the universal ethic of “telling the truth”
was affirmed by the teacher’s statements, it was the authoritarian nature of her
pedagogy that helped to reinforce the other main message conveyed in the
government’s version of the Jataka tale: that one should honor authority figures
no matter what.
Only after I asked if the students can give examples of their own
asseverations, she encouraged them to do so. Yet, even most of these truth
statements reflected the habits of obedience and literal learning that students
were used. It also showed that they didn’t really know the full meaning of a
“thissa sa kaa,” a truth statement or asseveration. The first two students begun
by referring to sentences from the story only: “Because of a thissa sa kaa
Suvannasamma regained his life,” and “Because of a truth statement, the poison
in the arrow abated.” So, their teacher intervened and asked the students to
speak and about outside experiences. Then, one girl said, “U Hla prayed that he
would win the lottery.” The teacher reminded them, “Use the word ‘truth
statement.’” The girl revised her sentence, “U Hla made a truth statement that he
would win the lottery.” The girl did not understand that according to the story one
must have done some good deeds and then a truth statement can be made
about these deeds for a particular event to happen. So, if U Hla wished to win
the lottery, his truth statement must be about some deed he had previously done.
Yet, many other students spoke just like the girl. Many made the following
statement, “I make the truth statement that I may pass my examinations.” Only
later, when being asked about what deeds they had done in the past for which
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they can make a truth statement so that the power of that truth can make their
wishes come true, the students began to mention such deeds. And much in line
with the values emphasized in the story they had just read in the text books, all
the deeds each child mentioned were about helping their parents, to help them
cook at home, wash the rice, fetch the water, help with their steel work, or help
sell their bottles of Pepsi. It was apparent that with the focus on examinations, a
word by word learning of texts, and an emphasis on obedience to authority in the
government school, perhaps faith in the magical aura of truth statements and the
magical quality of the Bodhisattva who came back from life was instilled. But the
development of critical and inferential thinking skills necessary to fully grasp the
array of ethics conveyed in a Jataka story like Suvannasamma was almost nil.
A 1992 UNESCO report on education confirmed that education under the
military regime has been too authoritarian and exam-focused. Especially in
regard to primary curriculum, it said, “the primary curriculum is essentially
subject-oriented, overemphasizing preparation for secondary education rather
than the mastery of basic skills (such as literacy, numeracy, hygiene, thinking
and reasoning skills) as its main objective (UNESCO 1992:11-12).” Also, even
when vocational skills are taught in schools they come much too late, are not
well-funded, and do not help students to acquire “problem-solving skills” or
“learning how to learn” skills (UNESCO: 15).
UNESCO cites the above reasons
as part of the reason for the high drop out rate. According to their figures, “1 out
of 3 students who enter primary school completes the full primary cycle…,”
“…drop out rates average about 14 percent in the primary cycle…Yearly, dropout
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rates for secondary school are even higher, averaging 17 per cent over the
combined middle and high school cycles (UNESCO: 1).”
Another way that the government attempts to instill an unquestioning
respect for authority is by promoting xenophobia through its Buddhist “civility”
programs. One such means has been by appointing lay motivational speakers
with the authority of having lived in the West and educated there to speak to
public school students about the superiority of Burmese Buddhist culture. For
this reason, Dr. Min Tin Mon, a famous, modern educated professor was
appointed to speak to public school students in Rangoon and in the Mon State,
two of the places in Burma where a Burmese Buddhist ethnic and national
identity are strong. With the legitimacy of his being Mon, the originators of the
Burmese heritage of Theravada Buddhism, and of having been educated in a
physics doctoral program in the United States, Dr. Min Tin Mon was the
Buddhist-modernist face of the national government. His mission was to
embolden a Burmese Buddhist national and ethnic identity where the investment
was most promising. He explained his talent and his goals. He said that he had
an “advantage [over more traditional teachers like monks] in teaching Buddhism,
because I have more bahuthta (experiences learned) to share. I can talk more in
depth and in breadth about Buddhism in such as way that students will learn to
take pride in their national identity and guard it.” He was giving his speeches in
two middle schools in the Mon State when I followed, observed, and interviewed
him. In a white, taik pon ingyi and peso (traditional and formal costume for
Burmese men), he addressed a crowd of about five hundred students and
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teachers in a large hall at each school. Like in a university lecture, he stood in
front of a podium the whole time and spoke into a microphone. The green and
white sign behind him boasted his name with the “Dr.” title. Throughout his hourlong speeches, he stood in one place with a stern face as he spoke. His hands
were folded in the back most of the time but when he wanted to emphasize his
points, he would make huge gestures with hands in the air as if to let his hands
speak even louder than his words. With his amplified voiced, he appeared to be
very grandiose figure. In fact, without any pictures or images of the Buddha
anywhere in the room, he was the only and main authority on Buddhism to honor
in the room. In his speeches, he appeared at first to be presenting some very
high ordered learning of Buddhism. He began by asking students a difficult to
answer question, “What is most important for one’s development and growth?”
Many of them yelled out, “Character.” He explained that it was the mind:
“Consciousness--consciousness is the most important. It leads everything else.”
Giving this as reason, he said, “That’s why it’s important to have a wholesome
consciousness.” But then, he immediately began connecting a “wholesome
consciousness” to Mon ethnic identity and Burmese national identity. “That’s our
Mon people’s character—we have a wholesome consciousness.” He used his
own life story to give the example: “since I was a 5th grader, I had to work. My
father instructed me to.” Then, he went onto say that a wholesome
consciousness should lead one to follow the rules of the nation and thus create
peace in the Burmese nation: “Schools have rules. So does the larger nation.
There are laws in the larger nation that would bring peace to all the people in the
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nation.” As he said this, he signified the larger nation by extending his arm
outward. Using his index finger, he made the gesture of a huge circle
surrounding him. And then, he pointed his finger at himself, and said, “So, the
individual, too, needs to have inner discipline.” Then, he went on to tell several
stories about his experiences as a student in the United States and how much
his negative experiences with white Americans helped him to learn to take pride
in his own Buddhist culture that possessed discipline and a wholesome
consciousness. One such account was as follows:
I am short. They are tall--about 6 feet tall. They don’t know where Burma
is. I said to them that it is in the largest continent in the world. They
asked if there were elephants walking on cars in the city. They only have
two kids in big homes because they say it’s expensive to raise kids. I told
them that our kids are our Gems. One might say they are beautiful—had
white skin, blue eyes, yellow hair. Although I said they were like ghosts. I
said that ‘God’ created them only half-baked. We-Burmese—well, ‘God’
made us well-toasted. [At this point, there was a guffaw of laughs from
the students that filled the room.] When it came to studies, they could not
belittle me. I got a university fellowship and I went on to get my Ph.D.
He concluded the above account by saying that his love for the Burmese nation
was too great to be lured by American money: “American companies offered me
much money to work for them. I said, ‘But I love my country too much.’ I wanted
to help Burma progress.” Then, he lightened the atmosphere with more humor:
“But of course, I missed my sweetheart, too.” Students laughed some more at
this point. Then, he told them to open the books distributed to them so that they
can recite with him the Buddhist text on “loving-kindness.” The entire hour was
spent like this, alternating between his lectures and their reading of the Buddhist
texts together. There was one moment of meditation at the end. It was not
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insight meditation, however. He asked them to do a samadhi or concentration
meditation in which they considered a virtue of the Buddha. Yet, even this was
top-down. He did not meditate himself. He monitored the students from his
podium. About five students burst out laughing trying to meditate. Quickly, Min
Tin Mon yelled at them. Through belittling of foreigners and self-examples that
called attention more to his great accomplishments than to the Buddha’s ethics,
Min Tin Mon attempted to define Buddhism as primarily a national and ethnic
identity. Even meditation for him was a representation of cultural pride. In
creating xenophobia, he presents himself and other Burmese elders as the safer
havens of refuge in the world. With negative portrayals of ignorant foreigners, he
made it appear as if the harsh, paternalistic attitude of Min Tin Mon and the
government officials was almost a necessity.
As regards to recollections of events from the Buddha’s life, Min Tin Mon,
like the government, told stories in a way that would emphasize the importance
of unquestioning obedience and awe of authority. One example is his use of the
story of Angulimala, the hardened criminal who had killed many and then also
tried to kill his own mother at the end. In his version, Min Tin Mon omitted events
in the story that could help one to develop critical thinking skills. That is, he did
not include the parts that encourage one to learn that one must not follow blindly
authority figures, that one must be able to judge for oneself who is wise and who
is not. He left out completely the beginning part of the story that mentioned that
Angulimala was being a student of a teacher, who, in deceit and anger, ordered
Angulimala to go and kill a thousand people. In his story, it was as if Angulimala
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decided to kill on his own. Other parts he omitted were the Buddha explaining
about the importance of universal love to Angulimala after stopping Angulimala.
He also left out the part when after meeting with the Buddha Angulimala decided
to follow the Buddha’s example and exert himself in insight meditation. The only
parts he mentioned were the brutal killing and the part that emphasized the
magical aura of the Buddha, that is, the part when Angulimala chased after the
Buddha who tried to intervene in his attempt to kill his mother. This is the way
Min Tin Mon ended his story: “Angulimala ran after the Buddha saying, ‘O stop!
Stop!’ Every time he thought he got close the Buddha, the Buddha was ahead of
him again. But the Buddha explained to Angulimala, ‘I have stopped, only you
have not stopped.’” Without going into detail about how the Buddha then told
Angulimala that he, the Buddha, had stopped in the sense that he had given up
killing all beings and established himself in universal love, Min Tin Mon
emphasized only that Angulimala was in awe of the Buddha’s magical powers
and so stopped. And in fact, although the students from the audience whom I
later interviewed were delighted with this story and most said that they
considered it to be the most memorable aspect of his talk, the lessons they said
they had learned from this story were only that “the Buddha has dagou (magical
powers)” and that “one should honor one’s parents.” In line with the
government’s authoritarian mode of teaching Buddhism, Min Tin Mon instilled
faith in the magical aura of the Buddha and a pride in Buddhism as an ethnic and
nationally identity. Yet, he did not develop nor embody through his own selfexample a sense of the ethics once embodied by the Buddha.
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Aims of Monastic Schools for Lay Persons Under U Nu
Intentions and aims of educators are important to consider when trying to
understand how much of a conscience of the Buddha can or might be developed
by a particular Buddhist program. Beginning in the late 50s, U Nu (primeminister from 1949-1961) also tried to revive monastic education for lay pupils.
Yet, he’d spoken in his speeches about an explicitly Ashokan ideal of leadership
(Sarkisyanz:212-214). His intentions and administration of the monastic
education program were quite different from that of today’s military junta. From,
early on, he saw the role of government as providing for the “welfare,” not
facilitating the “control,” of society. He opened a welfare state program in 1954,
calling it Pyi-daw-tha, “Pleasant Royal Country.” In 1959, this social welfare
department published aims and plans of U Nu’s administration for the revival of
monastic education for lay persons. In it, the social welfare committee which was
writing the report cited a major problem at that time in the nation: illiteracy.
According to their figures, out of 17 million people in the nation, 80 percent were
illiterate (Social Welfare Department 1959:15). Unlike in the current Religious
Ministry’s report on the state of education in Burma, the social welfare
department under U Nu seemed to have a sense of history. Unlike the former
whose main concern is to use monastic education as a means to teach social
obedience, the latter was focused on alleviating poverty and illiteracy. U Nu’s
social welfare department also explained the history of monastic education,
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stating how the rise of modern disciplines and new requirements for jobs since
the British colonial era caused a mass exodus of people from monastic schools
to regular schools (Social Welfare Department:12). Finally, they recognized that
some people have become so poor that they could not even afford to go to any
school, not even monastic schools: “Some are so poor that they must have their
children helping them [to make a living]. So, they cannot even send them to
monastic schools (Social Welfare Department:12).” They outlined their program
as a two-fold plan: “1. To help with the character-building of children, and 2. Not
to bar any children of school age the opportunity from being able to learn, the
government will cover all their expenses…(Social Welfare Department:14).” That
is, they realized that historically monastic schools have also helped to build
children’s character. However, unlike the current government who defines
character or civility as obedience to authority, they wrote the following as the
characters they wanted to help develop through their monastic education
program: lack of criminal behavior, good samaritanship, and the desire to benefit
others (Social Welfare Department:1). That is, their idea of civility entailed a
consideration for the welfare of others and not simply a fear of authority.
Furthermore, and most importantly, unlike the current situation, their program
was based on choice on the part of monks, children, and parents, a recognition
of the vinaya the monks must follow, and complete financial support (as stated
above) from the government. They wrote to monks: “If a monastic school,
especially in a village with no government schools, has twenty or more students
already, then if the monk-teacher wishes to participate [in our program] then you
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may register with the Social Welfare Council (Social Welfare Department:19).”
They also wrote to monks that the primary school subjects that participant monks
will teach could be according to the monk’s schedule in line with his vinaya: “In
your schools, you are free to teach to your students these subjects at your own
time so that the vinaya you keep is not interrupted (Social Welfare
Department:19).” Stating lessons from history, they wrote that they recognized
that during the British era when the British were trying to use monastic schools
for primary education, the British were insensitive to the codes of conduct of
monks (Social Welfare Department:10).
I cannot ascertain if and how successful the monastic education program
for lay persons was under U Nu for his administration had only a year or two to
implement it. In 1960, U Nu won a re-election by a landslide. In 1961, U Nu’s
power was swept away by U Ne Win’s military coup. However, I did find one
quite successful, independently-ran monastic school that taught primary
education (kindergarten to fourth grade) to lay pupils at the outskirts of the town
Pegu. It had been established since near the very end of U Nu’s time and had
more or less survived through the past three decades. The current abbot monkteacher there told me that the members of the current government have never
come to visit the school. “They are not interested in us at all,” he said. Unlike
the government’s schools, there were no forced conversions here. All the
students were from Buddhist families, including the only ethnic minority students,
four Shan and six Karen students. About thirty students were boarders as they
were very poor orphans. The rest, about eighty in all were from the neighboring
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community. They came during the day and left to return home after school
ended at 4:00 p.m. Because there were no students here forced to come from
far away, the community felt a connection with the students and tended to offer
much more financial support than at the government’s monastic schools. All the
lay teachers who helped the monk to teach different subjects were also
graduates of this school. They had gone onto attend middle school, high school,
and some beyond. One told me that he came back, because “the monk-teacher
needed help. I also think that everything here is more orderly than at schools
with just lay teachers.” Like the other lay teachers and like most of the current
students, he was originally from the neighboring lay community and his family for
generations have venerated the monks from this particular monastery. Another
former student came back to help establish a garden in the back of the
monastery where roses are planted now. Young students helped to pick the
flowers. Lay adults helped with the selling end of it. Every month, through
contracts with merchants from the city, the monastery was able to sell roses and
make about 6,000 kyats each month to help with the monastery’s expenses.
Because of the help from the lay community as such, the abbot was freer to
study, meditate, and teach primarily Buddhism to the students.
Visuals helped to establish symbolically for the students the union
between the lay community and the monks. The history of the monk-teachers
and the lay community helping each other is painted in murals on the classroom
wall. These murals embody the ethics of generosity, loving-kindness, and the
reciprocal relationship between monk teachers and lay persons that were
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promoted by the Buddha. The story on the walls begins with the building of the
monastery. Lay men and women are shown talking to monks and carrying bricks
and mortar. Another picture showed lay persons making offerings of such
necessities as oil and salt to the monks. Another showed how the monks and lay
persons planted the rose garden together. As these murals of people helping
each other and monks teaching people were displayed for students to see above
several Buddha statues also displayed in their classrooms (not just in the
monastery’s main building), students could get a sense of the utter benevolence
of the Buddha and the efforts of his followers to follow some of his social ethics.
Further, as lay teachers and the students had a trusting, communal bond,
even the orderliness of the students was less a product of teachers’ command
than of their nurturing. As a habit, every morning, students paid homage to the
Buddha upon entering school grounds, they placed their slippers parallel to each
other’s in an orderly manner on their classroom’s porch, and they placed their
book bags on the desks. As a school rule, they also came well groomed,
wearing oil in their hair and thanakha (traditional Burmese make-up that comes
naturally as a yellowish powder from a special tree bark) on their cheeks. As
they left their classrooms for home in the afternoons, students left with arms
folded around their chest in a sign of respect. Even on my surprise visits, I
noticed these behaviors and took particular note of the neatness in the way the
children arranged their slippers on the porch. Yet I never heard a teacher, lay or
monk, yell at their students to inculcate these or any other types of behavior.
Even when several students were shy to answer some of my interview questions,
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the teachers did not order the students to obey me nor did they tell the child what
to say. For instance, I heard one teacher give only a gentle word of
encouragement to a child, “Just tell her what’s on your mind, son.” Unlike in the
government monastic and primary schools, the familiar terms, ‘son,’ or
`daughter,’ was used by the teachers here to refer to their young pupils.
Most importantly, the abbot, their main monk teacher’s calm and softspoken demeanor exemplified the Buddha’s non-authoritarian ethics. He
explained that he wanted to instill in them “civility” but also he wanted them to be
able to enjoy learning it. One of the ways, he said, was by inviting guest
speakers from the community to come and speak about different professions and
the possibilities to which they can also aspire. He taught them ethics in a way
that did not appeal to faith alone but also to thinking and feeling. For instance,
he explained:
One time in the rain I saw a bunch of boys from our school near a pond.
They were beating a frog with a stick and in fact I learned that they had
already beaten it to death. Next day in school, I asked them to make frog
noises and to jump around. I hit them a bit with a stick. I asked, ‘does it
hurt?’ They said, ‘yes.’ I said, ‘Well, that’s how the frog felt, too.
The students’ respect for him and the other monks was apparent. Almost all the
boy students told me they wanted to become monks when they grew up. Almost
all the girl students told me they wanted to become nuns when they grew up.
This was in contrast to the students in the city’s schools, both governmentadministered monastic schools and regular government schools. In those
schools no child mentioned that they wanted to become monks or nuns.
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ENDNOTES
1
According to Buddhist texts [explained in Buddha Yin Kye Hmu Achey Pyu Thin Ten,
Ange Ten Thin Gan Saa (Beginning Level Course on Foundations of Buddhist Civility),
Panditarama Shwetaungone Meditation Center, Rangoon, Burma, 1994, p. 79], there
are “two kind of people who are rare”:
1. pubbakara--someone who does you a favor before you have done anything for
them
2. katanuta katavedi--someone who knows the gratitude someone has bestowed
upon them, and actually repays or reciprocates that gratitude
2”
The New Light of Myanmar,” Rangoon, Burma, August 3, 1996, p. 2.
3
”The New Light of Myanmar,” Rangoon, Burma,August 6, 1996, p. 2.
4
Myanmar Phetsaa Sathutta Ten (Fourth Grade Burmese Reader), Burmese
Government Department of Education, 1997, p, 110.
5
Myanmar Phetsaa Sathutta Ten (Fourth Grade Burmese Reader), Burmese
Government Department of Education, 1997, p. 110.
6
Myanmar Phetsaa Sathutta Ten (Fourth Grade Burmese Reader), Burmese
Government Department of Education, 1997, p. 110.
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Chapter 4
Contemporary Lay Elites and Buddhist Education
A belief in supernormal powers, magic, and the existence of supernatural
beings is an integral part of the life of lay Buddhists in Burma. According to the
“Virtues of the Buddha,” a protective chant from the Pali canon which many
Burmese Buddhists recite daily or in times of danger, “Issi pisso Bhagava,
Arahan, Sammasambuddha, Vijjacarana sampanna, Sugato, Lokavidu, Anuttaro
purisa dammasrathi, Satthadeva manussanam, Buddho, Bhagava,” one of the
Buddha’s qualities when he lived as the Buddha was “Lokavidu,” “knowing
everything there is to know about the world,” and another one is “Bhagava,”
“fully endowed with glory, influence, powers, and the wholesome results of past
meritorious deeds.” In the commentary, Visuddhi Magga, which is about insight
meditation, the successive levels of different jhanas (levels of mental absorption)
achieved in meditation practice are outlined. Some of these levels prior to
enlightenment represent supernormal powers. In the Burmese language, these
different powers are called “zan” (derived from the Pali “jhana”). While doctrinally
it is conveyed that the Buddha discouraged the use of supernormal powers for
worldly gains, stories from the canon that recount events from the Buddha’s life
do portray him using his special set of supernormal powers to win over converts
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and teach the Dhamma. So in order to get elders in his Sakya lineage to believe
in his Buddhahood and to listen to his message, he used his psychic powers and
performed the “Twin Miracle” in mid-air whereby he exuded fire and water at the
same time. He also used his power of omniscience to locate and help those in
need, such as Angulimala, a much popular figure in Burmese Buddhist folklore.
Finally, gods, demons, and other supernatural beings are ever present in the
Jatakas as in many other parts of the original doctrinal corpus because the
theory of kamma ensures that supernatural beings are a part of the ethically
bound cosmic order, the cycle of rebirths called samsara. Thus, even in a fourth
grade school textbook in Burma, the power of Suvannasamma’s parents’
asseverations of his goodness, loyalty to his parents, and truthfulness are said to
have motivated the nats, supernatural beings, to help bring him back to life upon
being shot to death with a poisoned arrow. So, according to the textbook, when
the shooter, King Pithiyakkha, asked Suvannasamma how he came back to life,
the latter answered, “King, the nats help to heal those who are good to their
mother, good to their father, and takes care of them. In the next life, too, such
persons will reach the realm of the nats [i.e., the heavens].”1 And in Burma,
unlike in Sri Lanka, such text is taught and learned literally without any attempt at
literary analysis or deconstruction.
Tending to believe in magic, supernormal powers, and the existence of
supernatural beings, lay Burmese Buddhists differ only in how much they rely on
these for their worldly goals. Many people have a family nat shrine and a shrine
to the Buddha in their home, sometimes in the same room, although the Buddha
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is placed in a higher, more venerated position for he alone had shown one the
path to salvation. In Burma, there is a main pantheon of thirty-seven nats
believed to have been regular people who became supernatural beings after
tragic or violent deaths. For instance, Mahagiri Nat, “Lord of the Great
Mountain,” was a black smith from Tagaung who was burned to death by a king.
In many homes, people propitiate him with a green coconunt and a fan-like palm
leaf next to it. The milk of the coconut is to help soothe his burns. In return, he
gives protection and peace to everyone who lives in the home. Another popular
spirit is a girl named Ma Hnai Galay. She was a princess who died of sadness.
She carries a flute, likes eggs a lot, and is considered helpful to children. An
outside nat, an adult male guardian spirit named U Shin Gyi is popular with my
mother’s side of the family whose roots are in the delta. U Shin Gyi is said to
protect the sea.
Some lay persons do not have a nat shrine and only the Buddha image.
Still, others regularly attend Nat Pwes or propitiation ceremonies to different
supernatural beings in their communities in order to wish for some worldly goals.
Usually, many vices are indulged at these ceremonies, such as drinking,
smoking, and dancing intimately with strangers. Especially the nat medium is
indulged with money, feasts, alcohol, and cigarettes. In a trance, he or she, in
turn, spreads some kyat bills and coins into the audience who is full of delirious
delight. Of the ones I had attended, one in my uncles’ neighborhood and one in
a military housing area where a friend and her army officer husband lived, there
were also many children. That friend, the wife of an army officer, was one of my
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cousins’ friends at the Department of the Perpetuation and Propagation of the
Sasana. Although college educated, she and many of the other friends of my
cousin at the DPPS had nat shrines in their houses and also attended Nat Pwes.
They also relied a lot on the supernormal powers of certain monks and wizards.
One of them rented a bus with like-minded pilgrims to go pay homage in the
forests north of Rangoon to the Shwebawkyunn Sayadaw, a monk who was said
to have much “zan” or supernormal powers. Later, I also found her reading
about Sai Ba Ba, a Hindu from India, of whom she was in much awe.
One monk that almost every lay person in Rangoon popularly worshipped
as an arahant (a fully enlightened person) with many supernormal powers, was
an elderly ethnic Karen monk in eastern Burma near the Thai border, called the
Samana Sayadaw. His photographs were omnipresent in Rangoon, such as at
home shrines near the Buddha statue, on the front windshield of taxis and other
automobiles, and they were sold even on the steps of the Shwedagon Pagoda.
Known for his social welfare work such as taking care of orphans, people went
frequently to pay homage to him all the way to his monastery in the Karen state.
Upon their return, they often shared stories about the powers he possessed,
such as being in two places at once, having an effect on animals around him,
and such.
Thus, because they are so prevalent in Burma, stories of supernatural
beings, magic, and supernormal powers, including those of monks and the
Buddha, enter into lay discourses on Buddhism at the non-governmental lay
Buddhist organizations near the Shwedagon Pagoda. While Buddhism courses
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by lay teachers for lay pupils often exist as Saturday courses in the Dhamma
Yones (Dhamma halls) built within different neighborhood communities, the
courses at the lay Buddhist organizations near Shwedagon Pagoda are more
popular in that they are taught by elite lay intellectuals, namely university
professors who are versed in the Pali canon.
In these courses, the lay intellectuals neither edit nor deconstruct as mere
literary tools the magic, gods, demons, and miracles that are found in the
Buddha’s discourses and stories of his lives. They, in fact, relish in these, take
pride in these, and present these as fact. In fact, the professors I observed and
interviewed were able to present these astounding details from the Buddhist texts
and took pride that they were providing their students with much “bahuthuta”
or “learned experiences of the Buddha’s teachings.” For instance, one professor
of Burmese literature and a famous writer himself began teaching the Mangala
Sutta (Discourse on Blessings) to students at the lay organization, Mangala
Byuha (“Growth of Blessings”), by providing what he called a “history” of it.
Firstly, he affirmed the truth value of the Pali canon by emphasizing the strength
of memory possessed by Ananda, the Buddha’s cousin, who was a recorder of
all of the Buddha’s discourses and the events that motivated each:
Because Ananda’s memory was so astonishingly brilliant, he could
transmit the Buddha’s teachings word by word so that the Buddha’s
teachings could eventually be recorded at the Buddhist synods. So, the
Buddha’s teachings can be transmitted intact up to today.
Then, he re-enacted dramatically as a one man’s show, the beginning part of the
Mangala Sutta in which a god came down from the heavens during a midnight
hour to pay homage to the Buddha. In an awe-inspiring tone of voice, the god
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asked the Buddha the true meaning of “Mangala” or “Blessings” as the other
gods and people could not agree at the time. Putting his palm to his ears, the
professor said that some thought a “Blessing” was being able to hear pleasant
sounds. Pretending to glue his eyes to something that looked beautiful, he said,
“some thought a ‘Blessing’ was being able to see beautiful things.” Licking his
mouth with his lips and making slurping sounds, he said that some thought a
“Blessing” was being able to taste delicious flavors. Pretending to smell, he said,
“some thought a ‘Blessing’ was being able to smell fragrant smells.” Touching
the podium as if it were something pleasant, he said, “some thought a ‘Blessing’
was being able to touch luxurious things.” The professor emphasized how the
god illuminated much light in the Jetavana monastery where the Buddha was
residing. He told his lay pupils that the god coming to appeal to the Buddha was
an important part of the Mangala Sutta. He told me that because he knew the
text well, he was able to provide students with this necessary “history” of how
and why such an important discourse on how to achieve prosperity and wellbeing was expounded by the Buddha.
A female instructor, the daughter of a famous lay Buddhist who founded
the lay organization Metta Byuha (“Growth of Loving-Kindness”) and the
nationally known Mya Yadana (“Emerald Gem”) magazine that they publish, also
said at her organization, “Dhamma Byuha,” (“Growth of the Dhamma”), that she
was able to provide her students with such a “history” of the Mangala Sutta. She
also said that knowing the Pali texts, she is able to teach students about
“Blessings” in a way that was different from what most Burmese have accepted
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as “Blessings” from “mi yo pha la” (traditions passed down from just mother and
father). She explained,
Most Burmese know ‘Mangala’ as being primarily 12 in number and what
they consider ‘Mangala’ are ceremonies such as piercing ears for girls,
celebration of moving into a new home, and such. Here, they learn the
history of thirty-eight ‘Mangala’ that are true Blessings that the Buddha
taught. From hearing stories, such as about the Buddha’s encounter with
Angulimala, for example, they also learn to think for themselves which
sorts of associations are wise or foolish, so that they really are blessed. 2
Knowing the Pali texts well and presenting these quite literally, yet in an
entertaining and visceral manner, the lay professors at the Buddhist
organizations are able to achieve two goals: (1) reinforce the faith and devotional
aspects of Burmese Buddhism in an entertaining manner, and (2) better clarify
the salvationist goals of the Buddha, including the notion that one can achieve
salvation only with one’s own effort and critical insight and not upon reliance on
magic and supernatural powers. In teaching the Mangala poem, for example, the
professor explained the deep meaning of each of the thirty-eight “Blessings,”
beginning with the first two, “Not to associate with fools, To associate with the
wise,” which refers to applying one’s critical judgment in making friends, up to the
last three which refers to the mind of an arahant or someone fully enlightened
through the practice of meditation, “Not letting the mind tremble, Not being
sorrowful, Not craving.”
Yet, what they present is purely book knowledge without any practice of
rituals or meditation. Their presentations are one-sided in that they are the only
participants and center of attention. Although many do tell stories from the
Buddha’s lives to illustrate their points, they often do so in a very dramatic,
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evangelical style, as opposed to the self-effacing style of most monks and the
Buddha. Thus, they in effect separate faith and devotion from the path to critical
insight, in an almost Cartesian manner. The kind of “faith” they instill is not easily
conducive to the practice of meditation which requires calm, tranquility, and selfeffacement. Given the loudness of their faith, they tend to separate faith from
the path to insight. Most of their choice of insight meditation practice, when they
meditated at all, is one that is quite divested of faith and devotion, that is, the
meditation at the International Meditation Center where all the teachers are lay
and the method was founded by a missionary school educated accountant
general of Burma, U Ba Khin.
Obstacles to Insight at the Lay Buddhist Organizations:
Uncomfortable Synthesis of Faith and Critical Thinking
The faith in the Buddha and his teachings that is instilled at these lay
organizations is different from the loyalty to authority figures that are promoted at
government-administered monastic and primary schools. They do help pupils to
comprehend critically the significance of the ethics exemplified by the Buddha.
Students said that they were learning from the professors Buddhism that was
beyond “mi yo pha la” (tradition handed down from just mother and father). “I no
longer pay attention to worshipping nats. My parents always had a nat shrine at
home. But I no longer pay attention to it,” one young woman told me. All
concurred that they now had more faith in the law of kamma, that one gets the
rewards and consequences of one’s own deeds. One young man said,
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Our teachers here don’t tell us what to do. Rather, they let us know what
are wholesome and unwholesome deeds and the consequences of these.
So, they don’t say, ‘Don’t drink.’ They tell us that if you drink, your mind
can become befuddled in this life, and in the next life, too, you may
become insane. So, I know that it is futile to drink and then pay homage
to the Buddha. The Buddha is not a savior. He cannot save one.
In their conversation with me, the students used analogies they had learned from
the professors. One student said, “The Buddha is like someone pointing toward
a pond. You can bathe in it, you can drink it, or you can avoid it all together. But
it is up to you to choose. The Buddha won't punish and he does not discriminate.
You get the consequences of what you do.”
The students also said that Buddhist civility meant not only outwardly
wholesome behavior but also wholesome speech and a wholesome state of
mind. Another boy, who plays much sports, particularly thine or Burmese martial
arts, said that the other day when he got hit hard by a ball on the street, he
thought “it must be due to my kamma. The other week my martial arts team won,
the other team lost, and I had been very happy about our win and their loss. I
shouldn’t have been. It is so important to have kind thoughts. In school, too, you
do your best and get high scores, but you must not harbor bad thoughts against
anyone.”
The students also spoke about how “nuanced” the Buddha’s teachings
were and how the professors have helped them to see this nuance. Another
young man, a twenty-one year old medical school student said, “Before I came
here, I thought ‘foolish persons’ one must stay away from were just people who
held guns. Now, I realize that it is a more difficult task to distinguish a foolish
person from wise person because there are many foolish persons disguised as
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wise.” In addition to such beyond ‘mi you pha la’ or beyond-traditional thinking, it
is also apparent that a completely traditional faith in the Buddha, including his
supernormal power of omniscience is also reinforced at these lay institutions.
The same medical student said that he once asked a professor who was
teaching him Abhidhamma why “if the Buddha was all-knowing how come he
didn’t foresee the benefit of inventing television so he can spread his teachings
better and we can see his teachings always? The professor answered, ‘Because
the Buddha knew that we wouldn’t use television full-time for the learning of the
Dhamma [the Buddha’s teachings].”
Yet, despite such faith-building in the Buddha and his teachings, it is in the
end, the charisma of these professors and the attention they unconsciously call
to themselves with their dramatic gestures and grandiose voices, not the selfeffacing Buddha that becomes the center of the students’ attraction and
aspirations. Far from self-effacing, the speaker’s sensual appetites and/or “ego”
identity are often indulged. For instance, in a presentation of the Ajatasattu
Jataka tale by one of the professors to illustrate the first two Mangala “Blessings”
that one should associate with the wise and not with fools, there are numerous
sexual innuendos and a nationalist fervor. In the story, a prince, Ajatasattu,
associated with Devadetta, a cousin of the Buddha who was very jealous of the
Buddha and schemed to kill him. With Devadetta’s influence, Ajatasattu also
schemed to kill his father, the king, whose throne he wanted. Listening to
Devadetta, the prince forcefully imprisoned his father, tied him with cuffs, cut the
soles of his feet, rubbed salt into them, and left his father to die while he seized
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the throne. The professor chose to highlight, enact, and build up much interest
about the part when the queen, the wife of the king and mother of the prince,
secretly hid food on different parts of her body to help nourish the king without
her son’s notice. Pointing to his hair, he said, “She hid food in her hair, but she
was found out, so, she hid food on her body.” Pretending to be the queen
rubbing food all over her body in a sensual, massaging manner, he said, “She
rubbed honey all over her body.” Pointing to his slippers, he added, “She even
hid food in her slippers.” Some students giggled in delight. Some even
guffawed. He continued, “The king was so hungry, he sucked, licked, and ate
food from the nooks and crannies of her feet and slipper. If I were him, I’d like to
suck it, too.” He licked his fingers and sucked. Students, both young men and
young women, continued to laugh out loud. He did later emphasize on a more
serious note that the king did pass away eventually and the prince became
remorseful only too late when he had his own son and realized how much he
loved his son. Now, the professor sucked his thumb to show that the prince
learned from his mother, the queen, that his father’s metta or loving-kindness for
his son was so great that when the prince was little and had a sore filled with
puss, the king sucked it for him, even ingesting some of the puss. He concluded
by stating moral causes and their consequences,
You see, Devadetta never practiced vipassana during the Buddha’s
lifetime. He was practicing other kinds of meditations. So he never
became an arahant [a fully enlightened person]. So, he helped Ajatasattu
to kill the king in the same way he had tried to kill the Buddha. Ajatasattu,
at the end of his life, did change, begin to support monks and practice
vipassana. But he committed such demerit in killing his father that he
went straight to hell anyway.
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He then summarized the “Blessings” he was teaching in both Pali and in
Burmese, “Asevana ca balanam, not to associate with fools, panditananca
sevana, to associate with the wise--these are the most important two ‘Blessings’
among the thirty-eight. If you have these two ‘Blessings,’ the other ‘Blessings’
may follow.” Finally, he gave an example from Burmese history to further this
explanation of the “Blessings” and to build students’ faith in insight meditation
practice, in monks, and in Theravada Buddhism. But in doing so, he used much
ethnocentrism and nationalist sentiment about Burma being the destined place
for a continuation of the Buddha’s spiritual lineage:
During king Anawratha’s time [king of first Burmese Buddhist kingdom,
Pagan], there were lots of meditators, but they were mostly Mahayanists.
So, they meditated but with plants growing between their legs. They only
chanted. They were not wise. And then someone like Ashin Arahan
[monk from the Theravada Buddhist Mon kingdom that Anawratha
conquered] arose. He had no hair, had yellow robes on, and he carried an
alms bowl. He was an oddity then much like monks are now in places like
England. In England, they arrest our monks you know, if they appear as if
they are begging with alms bowls. But Anawratha took him [Shin Arahan]
in and invited him to his palace. Anawratha said to himself, ‘If he [Shin
Arahan] sits down on the throne, he is from the Sammasambuddho
[Buddha’s] lineage. If he does not, then he is not.’ Then, he saw that Shin
Arahan did sit on the throne. So, if Anawratha hadn’t befriended Shin
Arahan and paid respect to those like Shin Arahan who are worthy of
respect, we would not have the growth and propagation of the sasana
[Buddhist religion] that we have in Burma today.
So, what the above professor provided in teaching the first two “Blessings” of the
Mangala Sutta was an entertaining format to learn some of the ethics conveyed
in the “Blessings,” yet with no modeling of the self-effacing, non-discriminating,
universally loving demeanor and comportment of the Buddha who is the ultimate
wise figure in the religion. There are some critical thinking encouraged in his
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talk, and there are also faith elements embraced. Yet, faith and critical thinking
are not comfortably synthesized as the same part of whole. Neither his
nationalist fervor nor his sensual indulgence in his description of the queen in the
Jataka tale appears to be characteristics of the wise. At most, such behaviors
may confuse the students in discerning who is wise and who is not. After all, he
is their teacher.
Even in teaching a poem that directly refers to the importance of critical
thinking in gaining one’s salvation, that is, “Thu si pu ba” by Ashin
Maharathathara, the professors do not comfortably synthesize faith with critical
thinking for their audience. Much like a school teacher in the government’s
classrooms, the instructor at Dhammabyuha provides the long definition of each
term and line as she presents the poem and she is the only one talking
throughout the whole hour. She asks questions but she answers them herself:
“Thu—Thuneya—listen as the teacher presents, Si—Sindera—think—how do
you think? With your own critical judgment, Pu-Puseya,--ask questions—when
should you ask questions—when you do not know something and want to
inquire…” Because she is doing all the talking, asking, and answering, the ideal
of thinking critically while learning is quite impossible, at least in the pupils’
session with her. Finally, she explains the end of the poem by saying that such
critical thinking as conveyed in the poem is important not only for this life but also
for one’s future lives. “It is important for one’s journey in samsara [the round of
rebirths],” she said. It is as if the pupils are to have complete faith in her and her
rendering of the text including her assertion that critical thinking is important for
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not just this life but also subsequent lives, but at the same time they are asked to
think critically. No means are given to students to test her claims.
Hence, the professors’ inserting of themselves and their authority into
almost every part of their teaching focuses attention on themselves, even more
than on monks and the Buddha. Because the professors are able to teach more
from the Pali texts and in a way that students can enjoy with almost sensual
delight, one student at Dhamma Byuhaa, even though he was already thirty-eight
and probably about the same age as his teacher said, “I love my teacher more
than I love my parents.” Even the student’s question about the need to invent
televisions for the purposes of learning the Dhamma indicates that it is the
entertainment rather than the audience participation value, the practical
applicability, which is rendered important by their lay pupils.
Learning from the professors on at least a theoretical level that the
Buddha’s teachings are nuanced, the students conveyed that it is a very difficult
task for them to put the Buddha’s teachings into practice. In fact, the young man
who said that “it is always important to have kind thoughts” and not to “harbor
bad thoughts about others” stereotyped girls and told me that since fourth grade,
he did not like associating with girls. He said that he thought “girls gossip a lot
and their potential to keep sila [moral conduct] was low” compared to that of
boys. For this reason, he told me that female students would have more difficult
time acting according to what they learned in these classes. Yet, when I asked
how boys like him would fare, he did admit, “Well, that depends on the
environment. After class, you spend sometimes four to six hours of your day with
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other people. It depends on whether they’re helpful. If they are kind and gentle,
one becomes kind and gentle. If they are not, then one has a difficult time being
kind and gentle.” So, according to the young man, the students did not learn
inward mechanisms for controlling their ethical conduct once outside of class.
He depended instead on his environment. Another said “bhavana” or meditation
was difficult to do without “kindness, gentleness, and self-taming” on one’s part.
However, he said that he had only meditated for five or ten minutes when he was
younger and was now postponing doing it because he “wanted to learn all he
could of the Buddhist texts first” from the professors. Also, the young man who
practices martial arts said that he knew the Buddha wouldn’t have approved of
certain sports like thine (Burmese martial arts) very much because, “If others hurt
you, that is not so much a problem. If you hurt others though the Buddha
wouldn’t have approved of that.” But he explained that he could not help but love
thine a lot although thine was quite violent. He explained that thine involved
“fighting not with hands but with sticks and swords; there are not one but ten
persons coming at you with these sticks and swords also, so the object [although
just pretend] is how to kill the other.” Another young man explained that although
he admired monks, he would never be able to be one permanently because of
the transgressions he would surely make in his moral conduct. He said that the
Buddha had perfected qualities such as patience and compassion and monks’
role was to try to emulate that:
I can’t tell you, for instance, that if someone were about to kill me, that I
wouldn’t hurt them back. Say, they were coming at me with a knife. Most
likely, I would try to defend myself, even if I have to kill them. The Buddha
would not hurt them. He was perfectly patient and compassionate…So,
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as a monk, I would surely commit so many transgressions that I would get
to hell in my next life.
Given that the professors were skilled at teaching the theory but not the daily
application of the Buddha’s ethics, their lay students often sensed a significant
gap between what they felt they should do and what they were capable of doing.
One of the main reasons why Buddhism courses at lay meditation centers
do not provide students with sufficient conditions to act ethically is due to the
nature of their organization and scheduling. First of all, while there are life-size
Buddha images, and sometimes also images of venerated monks, in front of
these Dhamma classrooms, there are few rituals to reinforce a deep respect of
the Buddha and the Sangha who are the main ethical ideals in the religion.
There is a lack of ritual because there is no consistent cohort there. Students
come voluntarily to these free Buddhism courses, usually for no longer than an
hour each day and most cannot even stay long enough for an entire summer
session to end. The courses are held during their summer holidays (February to
April) when they have relatively freer time. Yet, as most of the students are in
their mid-teens to mid-twenties, they have many other obligations, such as work
or attending what they call “tuitions,” that is, tutorial sessions to help supplement
what they are learning in school so that they can do well in standard
examinations. As one student explained, classes also dwindle in size by midApril when the Burmese New Year, Thagyan, begins:
When we started, there were two hundred students here. Yet as Thagyan
approaches, many of the students become temporary monks or nuns, or
enter meditation retreats [usually at the lay-led meditation centers]. Some
begin many 'tuitions.' As for myself, I have to begin work now. I know that
if I can stay longer, the course will probably be more effective.
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Without a consistent cohort meeting over an extended period of time, there are
not many common rituals, and often, not even paying homage to the Buddha.
The classes are treated by the professors on an inconsistent come and go
basis, almost as in a movie theatre. There are usually free refreshments such as
cool drinks, pound cakes, and sometimes traditional noodle soups served by
personnel at the lay organizations and these offerings serve to underscore the
importance and respectability behind the students’ decisions to learn Buddhism.
Yet, not every student can usually stay for these refreshments. The
performance or participation in the Buddhism lectures is usually one sided with
the professor doing all the talking and re-enacting. The students, many of whom
the teachers do not even know by name, simply watch, take notes in their
personal notebooks, and enjoy. At least one professor of Educational
Psychology, who also teaches Buddhavamsa or the Buddha’s biography at
Mangala Byuuha, recognized the impact of the time constraint on the teaching
and learning of Buddhism: “I come to teach the Buddha’s biography in twelve
sessions only and for one hour each. So, I cannot plan any grand design.” He
explained that he knew that in the end what was important was to teach
meditation in a significant manner so that the Buddha’s ethics could actually be
applied, something they could not do at the lay organizations: “One must first
recognize one’s mental factors, judge if they are wholesome or unwholesome,
and then, if they are unwholesome, stop their occurrence.” He explained that
while book learning of the Buddha’s teachings and even psychotherapy might
help one to recognize mental factors and to judge whether they are wholesome
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or not, only insight meditation can help one to stop unwholesome mental factors
as they arise.
Instrumental Rationality in the Practice of Meditation at Lay-Led
Meditation Centers
Only one of about ten students that I randomly interviewed had ever
entered a meditation retreat and only for ten days at the lay-led International
Meditation Center (IMC) founded by U Ba Khin. Many of the teachers had not
meditated either. Of those instructors who told me they had meditated had done
so only at the International Meditation Center. There, the philosophy,
organization, and scheduling are such that while critical insight is gained through
vipassana meditation, that insight is not very much supported or motivated by
ethics as embodied by the Buddha. That is because the faith, devotion, stories,
and miracles, such as those usually relished at the Buddhism lessons of the lay
organizations, are usually left behind when meditators enter the International
Meditation Center. Any sort of conscience of the Buddha that may have been
evoked by previous pedagogy or popular culture is usually de-emphasized at the
IMC. That is because meditation practice at the IMC is based on what its
founders and followers called “scientific” principles. Its founder, U Ba Khin was a
lay man educated in a prestigious Christian missionary school in Rangoon, St.
Paul’s. He was born in 1899. He became a top civil servant, an accountant
general of Burma, in the1940s. In his office, he had set up a Vipassana
Research Institute for the purpose of “scientifically” determining a short cut for
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gaining some vipassana insight. He wanted to know if practicing tranquility or
concentration meditation separately and prior to vipassana meditation would help
one to gain some vipassana insight more quickly. In his studies, he concluded
that a total of ten days for a meditation retreat was all that it would take for a yogi
or meditator to gain significant insight. In keeping with such scientific principles,
devotional rituals and story-telling of the Buddha’s lives were considered
irrelevant to the practice of gaining insight. After U Ba Khin passed away in
1971, one of his direct disciples, a Burma-born Indian businessman U Goenka,
has continued to spread his methods in Burma and internationally. In a
compilation of talks by Goenka, Goenka is quoted as saying that the Buddha was
even more scientific than the scientist: “…one must not be a scientist only of the
world outside. Like the Buddha, one should also be a scientist of the world
within, in order to experience truth directly (Hart 1982:87-33).”
U Goenka’s followers trace their spiritual lineage to a famous monk from
the 19th century, the Ledi Sayadaw, who had been an internationally renowned
consultant for Western Orientalists like Rhys Davids on the Abhidhamma. U Ba
Khin’s meditation teacher was a lay Burmese man named U Thet Kyi (18731954). U Thet Kyi was, in turn, a follower, lay supporter, and pupil of the Ledi
Sayadaw (1846-1922). In fact, a young Chinese Burmese businessman, the
manager of “Champion Rice,” a famous rice company in Rangoon, and a follower
of U Goenka, provided me with biographies of both U Ba Khin and U Ba Khin’s
teacher, U Thet Kyi. He traced for me the lineage of his teacher, U Goenka, to
the Ledi Sayadaw. One day, at the former meditation center of U Thet Kyi at
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Dala, which is now a branch of the Insight Meditation Center, a student of
Goenka from India came briefly to teach meditation to a small group of lay
persons, including the rice businessman, myself, and some lady officials of the
Ministry of Religion. This meditation teacher asked the Ministry of Religion
officials to help him find in Rangoon English versions of Dhamma books written
by the Ledi Sayadaw. He wanted to purchase these and take them back with
him to India. They asked if he was interested in other Dhamma books from
Rangoon. He said simply, “No.”
As evidenced by the recordings in his Dipanis, or questions and answers,
the Ledi Sayadaw had had to confront and answer questions from more
scientifically oriented Westerners such as “Why do you think the world is flat and
not round? (Ledi Sayadaw 1954:222). It is from such a tradition of answering to
science and defending one’s religion against science that U Ba Khin, and later, U
Goenka, derived their meditation methods. With an appeal to science, he, too,
had a large international following beginning in the 1940s. Now, U Goenka has
spread U Ba Khin’s insight meditation methods to India, the founding place of
Buddhism, and to many other parts of the world as well, including the West.
There are few Buddha images and devotional rituals at the Insight
Meditation Center. This is in keeping with the founders’ wish to humanize the
Buddha as much as possible so that he can be portrayed as a scientist. Goenka
is quoted in Hart’s book as saying the following about the Buddha:
Like all great teachers he became the subject of legends, but no matter
what marvelous stories were told of his past existences or his miraculous
powers, still all accounts agree that he never claimed to be divine or to be
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divinely inspired. Whatever special qualities he had were pre-eminently
human qualities that he had brought to perfection. [Hart:14]
At IMC’s branch in Dala,where I went for a one day retreat under the direction of
U Goenka’s lay disciple from India, we saw two huge Buddha images in the
compound, both located in a central room at the end of a roofed corridor into
which we had first entered from the outside. Apart from these and the two much
smaller Buddha images in the meditation room, there were no reminders of the
Buddha, especially his past lives, anywhere in the compound. There were no
paintings, murals and such. Also, neither the teacher nor the twelve students [all
of the students were Burmese from Rangoon, except for myself who was a
foreigner] bowed to the Buddha images. Instead, students admired the plaques
near the Buddha images that said U Thet Kyi, the lay meditation teacher of U Ba
Khin, had donated these Buddha images. Several photographs and paintings of
U Thet Kyi were hung on the wall nearby.
Upon entering the meditation room, no homages were paid to the two
golden miniature Buddha images in front. The teacher began to ask us to sit on
the mats cross-legged with eyes closed and palms folded on the lap. He asked
us to concentrate on the sensation of the breaths going in and out of our nostrils.
He sat on a mat facing all of us at the front of the room right next to the miniature
Buddha images. He also meditated as such. We did this for about an hour.
When we all left the room, no one bowed to the Buddha images.
We re-entered the room with the large Buddha images. We ate some
snacks there while sitting on a mat. Then, we meditated again in the meditation
room, for about another hour. The procedures were the same and with no
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devotional rituals. At the end, we gathered in the dining hall and ate a meal
together. Then, we left the center.
In the longer retreats at the International Meditation Centers in Rangoon,
there are also little or no devotional rituals and Buddha images. Each retreat
lasts ten days. There, instead of self-effacing, the lay teachers are quite a part of
one’s day in that they plot much of one’s schedule of what to note and which day
to note. For the first three days, one practices pure anapanna meditation,
focusing on the sensations of the in and out of breath at one’s nostrils in order to
first gain calm and tranquility. Beginning on the fourth day, lay teachers coach
one through noting different parts of the body in a certain order. Goenka
explained the need for this order. He is quoted as saying,
Because you are working to explore the entire reality of mind and matter.
To do this you must develop the ability to feel what is happening in every
part of the body; no part should remain blank. And you must also develop
the ability to observe the entire range of sensations. This is how the
Buddha described the practice: ‘Everywhere within the limits of the body
one experiences sensation, wherever there is life within the body.’ If you
allow the attention to move at random from one part to another, one
sensation to another, naturally it will always be attracted to the areas in
which there are stronger sensations. You will neglect certain parts of the
body, and you will not learn how to observe subtler sensations. Your
observation will remain partial, incomplete, superficial. Therefore, it is
essential always to move the attention in order. [Hart:98]
Instead of letting the meditator figure out, through trial and error, what to note in
case certain sensations appear too subtle, the lay teachers tell you. Hart quotes
Goenka saying,
The hindrances of craving, aversion, sluggishness, agitation, and doubt
which impeded one’s progress during the practice of awareness of
breathing may now reappear and gain such strength that it is altogether
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impossible to maintain the awareness of sensation. Faced with this
situation, one has no alternative but to revert to the practice of awareness
of respiration in order once again to calm and sharpen the mind. [Hart:93]
Not having the freedom for trial and error, the task of self-examination that is
promoted from the outset is in fact one that does not allow for exploration and
discovery within meditation.
Focusing quite purely on sensations, the lay teachers’ meditation methods
especially do not provide one with the freedom to note and recognize one’s
feelings or consciousness other than to call these physical sensations as well.
Goenka is quoted as saying,
Observe any sensation that occurs. You cannot find which sensation is
related to the emotion, so never try to do that; it is indulging in a futile
effort. At a time when there is emotion in the mind, whatever sensation
you experience physically has a relation to the emotion. Just observe the
sensations and understand, ‘These sensations are impermanent, this
emotion is impermanent, let me see how long it lasts.’ [Hart:128]
Not permitting meditators a means to recognize mental factors for what they are
separate from physical phenomena, e.g., “angry,” “hateful,” and so forth, the
ethical aspects of insight meditation practice is down-played. While Goenka
does explain that ethical training is at the foundation of insight meditation practice
(Hart:57-69), he does not use either the Buddha’s example or the emotion filled
stories of the Buddha’s past lives to motivate these ethics. Throughout Goenka’s
talks, there are few stories told about the Buddha in his last life and none from
his past lives. Most of Goenka’s examples are modern day analogies, such as
doctors and patients (Hart:68-69) or generic analogies, such as swimming
(Hart:10-11). In fact, the whole process of meditation, the path to critical insight,
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is framed not in the positive terms of the cultivation of wholesome mental states,
including those conducive to ethical conduct, but in negative terms of the sterile
sifting and dissecting away of illusions:
…You are here to perform an operation on your mind. An operation must
be done in a hospital, in an operation theater protected from
contamination. Here within the boundaries of the course, you can perform
the operation without being disturbed by any outside influence. When the
course is over the operation has ended and you are ready once again to
face the world.[Hart:20]
While critical insight may be gained at the end, it is not one that was motivated
by a conscience of the ethics embodied by the Buddha.
Of the Burmese persons who had meditated at IMC and liked it, the
reasons they cited had nothing to do with their ability to cultivate ethics. Most
said that they liked the “clarity” and “briefness” of it. For instance, one college
professor said that he heard it would take a month or two to gain significant
insight at monastic meditation centers but that here he found he gained much
insight in ten days. For the meditators at the lay-led meditation centers, gaining
insight was like gaining a certificate for a worldly achievement, the faster the
better.
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ENDNOTES
1
Myanmar Phetsaa Sathutta Ten (Fourth Grade Burmese Reader), Burmese
Government Department of Education, 1997, p. 111.
2
Actually, she pronounced the Pali word “Mangala” as “Mingala” because the latter is the
Burmese pronunciation. “Mingala” is used in many contexts in Burma as she explained.
It is also used as a formal greeting.
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Chapter 5
Meditation Monk Teachers and Buddhist
Education
Like the lay Buddhist institutes near the Shwedagon Pagoda that teach a
Buddhist education, the Mahasi Meditation Center in Rangoon and its branches
are not a property of the government. They are non-governmentally run by
committees of lay devotees in consultation with the abbot monks. As such,
unlike at government-administered monastic schools and the government
primary schools, the authoritarian agenda of the state does not drive the
transmission of Buddhism at these meditation centers.
As in the non-governmental lay organizations, authoritarian pedagogical
styles did exist at Panditarama, the branch of the Mahasi Meditation Center
where I practiced and studied meditation and observed a “Buddhist Civility”
course. But the authoritarian pedagogical styles here are more a product of
teachers’ conditioned habits. A number of monks who assisted the main monkteachers in the “Buddhist Civility” program classrooms carried sticks. Some
tapped pupils on the laps with the stick for falling asleep in class, a few raised
their voices to discipline students, and almost always, students recited by heart
stanzas from their texts while the main monk-teacher led and explained. Further,
I observed that as in all of the other Buddhist education settings, there were no
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formal question and answer sessions, although here, students did get to present
their knowledge in a creative manner through speeches at the closing ceremony.
What is unique about Buddhist education at the monastic meditation
center in contrast with all the different kinds of Buddhist education programs in
Burma, however, was that the liminal nature of the entire one month course, the
daily observances, the content and genres of texts taught, the synthesis of
pariyatti (literary learning of Buddhist texts) and pathibatti (meditation practice),
the continuous social bonds formed between peers and between teachers and
students, and the variety of personalities among the twenty or so monks that
ranged from calm and compassionate to calm and impersonal, offset the
negative impacts of some authoritarian measures. Van Gennup theorized that
there are three phases in rituals, (1) a rite of separation from the larger society,
(2) a rite of transition or a liminal state in which normal social rules are
suspended, and (3) a re-birth or post-liminal phase in which participants are
transitioned to a new status just prior to re-entry into the larger society (Van
Gennup 1960). Turner wrote, additionally, that in the liminal stage, there is
usually a sense of “communitas,” an egalitarian bond between all participants
(Turner 1969). The Buddhist civility course at Panditarama contained all three
phases of ritual because a continuous cohort assembled here as boarders and
saw each other and the monk-teachers on a daily basis for the entire month.
Despite much honor that the young pupils were expected to bestow upon their
monk-teachers, there was also a close, joking relationship between many of the
monks and the students.
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There were many ascetic rules that the students were expected to follow
for they were in a sort of personal training. They were temporary novices and
young nuns (8-18 years of age) fresh from lay society who were in a Buddhist
civility course at a meditation center. They were vowing to keep eight precepts,
including not eating after 12 noon and not harboring romantic thoughts or
feelings. Being mindful of keeping the precepts was part of their pathibatti or
meditation practice. Theoretically, keeping the precepts would help their insight
meditation practice. While they had only two insight meditation sessions daily in
a formal sitting position, they were encouraged to be mindful at all times.
However, the monk-teachers also knew that they were children. So, for
example, sometimes when love letters secretly passed between the novices and
the nuns, monk-teachers simply smiled and joked about it. As Obeyesekere has
written about moral precepts in Buddhism, they lack the specificity and
categorical imperative found in commandments: “In Christianity the violation of
commandments, insofar as they are God’s own imperatives, leads to alienation
from God, and, in principle at least, to a denial of salvation. This is not the case
with the Buddhist precepts…(Obeyesekere 2002:140-141).” He wrote that
because they lack specificity and categorical imperative, it was “impossible to
fulfill any of the [Buddhist] precepts to the letter…the moral codes of the local
community could be incorporated within the precepts and given Buddhist
meaning (Obeyesekere 2002:141).” So, while teachers at Panditarama smiled at
students’ imperfections, students also spent hours during breaks talking to each
other about their teachers’ idiosyncrasies. Many monks used humor with
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students during lessons and allowed students to talk back to them facetiously.
There was a sense of common bond between pupils and teachers.
On the whole, the students’ training, while taken very seriously by their
teachers, was also considered by them to be a gradual self-taming process.
Their assumption was that Buddhist civility must come from within over a period
of time and not forced upon their students. The philosophy of education stated to
me by the seventy-five year old abbot of the center, Sayadaw U Pandita, was
one of nurturing children to be independent mentally. He liked gardening very
much and used the analogy of nurturing plants:
A fruit has to be fully grown and ripe to be strong, to be resistant to
diseases. Children, too, need nutrients to grow. But very often, people
provide only for a child’s outer growth, giving them vitamins and minerals,
but fail to provide for his/her inner growth--inner growth such as in the
ability to resist another’s aggravation so that it does not become poison for
oneself.
When compared to the other Buddhist education settings I have described thus
far, it was neither force nor mere faith but rather gradual nurturing of insight that
guided the Buddhist civility instilled in students at Panditarama. Noble silence,
concentration, and mindfulness practice dominated many parts of the day.
These were also balanced by much story-telling, opportunities for dialogue, and
free time thought to be appropriate for children. Throughout the day, students
had long breaks after every meal, at bath time, and in the afternoon before and
after story time. Students talked and played quite freely with each other,
conversed informally with their teachers, received soft drinks in the afternoon,
and watched Hollywood movies on video once a week. Often students were
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laughing because they were having fun, and most cried when they had to leave
the program.
Throughout the course, the nurturing tone of the program as a whole,
including the transformation of the authoritarian style of some monks into more
compassionate and friendly gestures as they got to know the students better,
helped to instill in the students a conscience of the benevolent Buddha. The
daily devotional rituals, chants, and stories dedicated to extolling his astounding
virtues and ethical deeds also built a consciousness of him. Yet, more
importantly and most uniquely, this faith in his ethics invigorated their daily work
of insight meditation or mindfulness practice. Textual learning, namely in the
form of stories and verses, devotional rituals, and meditation practice took place
daily. Faith and the path to critical thinking were not separated but integrated as
part of a whole. Usually the monks were able to model the Buddha’s selfeffacing ethics in their tone of voice, behavior, and deportment. And at times
when they didn’t, students could overlook their mistakes, for this one month
liminal state that they were in together, living side by side, about five-hundred
strong, was as much a humanization as an idealization of the salvation path of
the Buddha. The nibbana ideal appeared brilliant enough that students wanted
to reach it in a future time, but they also knew not to force the process for it was
hard work, even for monks.
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Opening Ceremonies: Rites of Separation, Detachment, and SelfResponsibility
Much seriousness and impersonal tone of teachers at the opening day
ceremonies conveyed to the students that they were embarking on an endeavor
that would require much effort, concentration, and development of insight on their
part. First, all shaved their hair to resemble their monk teachers and the nun
assistants. The shedding of the hair for monks and nuns, novices and young
nuns, alike, is a way of effacing a sense of self. It is a way of getting rid of those
egocentric markers that may interfere with the practice of concentration and
insight. While their heads are being shaved, they may chant the following in Pali
and Burmese as a type of meditation on the impermanence of the body: “There
are in this body; hair of the head, hairs of the body, nails, teeth, and skin which
are unclean, abominable, filthy, lifeless, and unsubstantial.”
About a hundred girls came to the nuns’ quarters at the meditation center
to have their heads shaved by the nuns, and about a hundred boys went to the
monks’ quarter to have their heads shaved by the monks. Here, at the
meditation center, many extravagant aspects of traditional novitiation ceremonies
in Burma are bypassed. The traditional custom is that boys and young men
ordain as novices for a few days through a lavish ceremony whereby the
Buddha’s renunciation of the world as Prince Siddhartha is re-enacted with rides
on horsebacks, princely attires, royal umbrellas, and expensive feasts back at the
boys/young men’s homes. And by custom, most of the boys ordain simply for the
sake of transferring kammic merits to the parents. The boys usually have not
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many goals or responsibilities other than the donning of the robe. At the
meditation center, however, the boys, along with the girls entered right into the
ascetic culture and the responsibilities of novices and yogis (i.e., meditators).
Most of the five-hundred students, because there were so many, had been
encouraged to already shave their heads at home. At the nuns’ quarter where I
observed the shaving, each of the nuns (some residents of the meditation center,
both Burmese and Nepalese disciples of the monk abbot, and some recruited
from nunneries) were very cooperative with each other, careful, precise, and
meticulous in shampooing, holding, shaving, and washing the heads of each girl.
Without much commands passed between the nuns, each seemed to know when
to help each other, such as in holding a cloth near the ground to catch the
shaven “sacred” hair, when to shampoo, and when to wash a child’s hair. They
were jovial with each other, yet they hardly spoke to the girls whose heads they
were shaving. They maintained an impersonal distance.
After the young girls put on their nun costumes, peach/pinkish blouse and
robe, saffron sarong, and a saffron shawl, a group of about twenty who had
been brought here by their school teachers went up to the marbled rooftop of the
main Dhamma Hall with their school teachers and nuns to pose for photographs
with their new mentors, the nuns. The nuns, more used to the nun costume than
they, were graceful and elegant in comparison. The nuns silently helped to
straighten each girl’s shawl and sarong. It was a time when the school teachers
symbolically passed the job of teaching and modeling to the nuns. The girls and
their nun mentors, now quite indistinguishable in uniform and shaved heads,
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were asked to pose by the teachers so that the golden spire of the Shwedagon
Pagoda in the near distance could be seen behind them as a sacred background.
Back in the Dhamma Hall, all the young nuns sat in the back, while they,
along with the boys in the front, received eight precepts from the monk-teachers.
Normally, lay Buddhists in Burma know that they should try to keep a basic
minimum of five precepts, and in the presence of monks at various life-cycle
ceremonies and alms giving as well, monks ritualistically provide them with the
five precepts in both Pali and in Burmese. That is, they receive in their
devotional ritual toward the monks, a reminder of the five basic moral conducts
that they should try to maintain each day:
I abstain from killing any living beings.
I abstain from taking what is not given.
I abstain from sexual misconduct.
I abstain from saying what is not true.
I abstain from taking drinks and drugs that are intoxicating and cause
forgetfulness.
As yogis (meditators), and/or novices and temporary nuns, however, the
students at Panditarama’s “Buddist Civility” course now took three additional
precepts:
I abstain from eating after noon.
I abstain from dancing, singing, playing musical instruments, watching or
listening to things which are not in accordance with the Buddha’s
teachings, decorating myself with flowers, and wearing fragrant lotions,
powders, or perfumes.
I abstain from sleeping or staying on high, luxurious places.
Further, the third precept, “I abstain from sexual misconduct” is replaced by the
following: “I abstain from sexual conduct.” So, the boys and the girls took eight
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precepts all together, including the precept to abstain from sexual relations both
mentally and physically.
Then, still in sitting, hand-clasped positions, they paid homage to the
Buddha image at front of the Dhamma Hall. As a monk teacher, Sayadaw U
Nyana led, they chanted in Pali, “Namo Tassa Bhagavato, Arahato,
Sammasambuddhassa” three times and also in Burmese translation, “I pay
homage to that Venerable Buddha, Deserving of special reverence, Who knows
by himself all there is to know in a correct manner.” Then, the students
prostrated as they paid obeisance to the golden, life-size Buddha image in front
on a small stage and the several monk teachers near it. But of course, some
were still talking to each other and looking around as there were many lay adults
still in the room, including their parents, school teachers, and cameramen. In a
stern tone, Sayadaw U Nyana spoke through the microphone at the podium in
front to remind students that they were not at an ordinary place doing ordinary
activities, but that they were at a meditation center to practice mindfulness:
“When you pay homage to the Buddha you mustn’t be looking here and there.
This is a meditation center.” The students paid more attention to the front.
The job of mentorship for the young boys was now ceremoniously passed
on from their school teachers and parents to the monk-teachers. The boys with
heads shaven were all dressed in school uniform still (white shirts and green
longyis—tube-like garments for the lower body). They crouched on the floor of
the Dhamma Hall with their hands clasped to their forehead, hands holding a roll
of saffron robe, as they asked for formal permission to be mentored by the
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monks: “Venerable sirs, would you be kind enough to accept this robe and out of
your compassion, initiate me, in order that I may realize nibbana, the perfect
emancipation from the entire cycle of sufferings?” The monks replied, “With
speech and conduct that is worthy of veneration, may you be fulfilled in moral
conduct, concentration, and wisdom.”
After, the boys, along with the young nuns, paid homage again to the
Buddha, Dhamma (the Buddha’s teachings), and Sangha (the order of monks),
monk-mentors and male relatives pulled aside each boy, row by row, in order to
help them change into their saffron robes. The boys changed right there and the
tubing of their long green longyis obviated the need for a dressing room.
Once all the novices were in their robes, they joined the young nuns
again. They sat on the floor and faced the front stage. They remained at the
front of the room while the young nuns sat in the back. The side conversations
between the children and between the adults suddenly subsided and all came to
a hush as everyone in the room waited with hands clasped in a veneration
position for the monk abbot, who is the head of the “Buddhist Civility” program.
The seventy-five year old monk abbot, Sayadawgyi U Pandita, bald, heavy set,
and wearing small rectangular dark rimmed glasses on his roundish face walked
from his monk quarter to the Dhamma hall in a slow but steady gait. Each step
he took seemed to match exactly the length and pace of the previous one, as if
all his movements were perfectly controlled by him. Holding a saffron colored fan
to his chest, he wore a calm, expressionless face as he walked through the
outside walkway and entered the Dhamma Hall. The lay persons at the doorway
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and the walkway knelt before him and clasped their hands as he walked pass
them. He sat cross-legged on the gilded throne that was set out for him at the
front of the Dhamma Hall, not far from the Buddha image, on the slightly raised
stage. Expressionless, he sat with his eyes gazing more downward than at any
particular person. The large saffron colored cloth fan he held in front of him
covered most of his body and was also camouflaged by his saffron colored
robes.
In this calm and self-effacing manner, Sayadawgyi gave to the novices
and young nuns the first welcoming speech and Dhamma talk of the whole
course. It was a speech that very matter-of-factly outlined for the students his
expectations for them throughout the course, namely, the practice of civility. It
defined for the students what the Sayadawgyi’s interpretation of Buddhist “civility”
meant. It seemed to require much effort, concentration, and mental selfresponsibility. At the government affiliated Buddhist civility lesson, “civility”
meant simply honoring authority. At the lay Buddhist organizations, “civility”
referred to a more nuanced, wider range of ethical behaviors, not a blind respect
for authority. It also referred to moral intentions. However, at the lay
organizations, civility remained a book knowledge as its practice was not
encouraged. Here, the monk abbot who seemed to be modeling his definition of
civility appeared to be saying that the novices and young nuns should also try to
practice civility from moment to moment throughout the program. “Making the
effort to be mindful in all that you do—that’s civility,” he told them. “Control
yourself in body, speech, and mind so that you are not an aggravation toward
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others. That’s real civility. That’s what the Buddha promoted.” He gave some
specific examples of these self-effacing civilities, beginning with day to day
activities to higher ethics:
Making much noise with your slippers as you run across an area, shouting
as you try to get someone’s attention, slamming the door behind you-these sorts of things can mentally disturb another person. So, you mustn’t
just consider what you want to do or what you want to say. If someone
else is disturbed by what you say and do, then you are not
tame…Especially taking someone else’s things unjustifiably, lying,
slandering, yelling, speaking frivolously--these sorts of deeds disturb
others, they are rough and disgusting and not free from blame and moral
consequence.
Continuing to speak in terms of causes and effects, he said that it was important
to cultivate a clean, pure mind:
In thought, too, you mustn’t scheme to harm others, such as scheming to
steal what belongs to others. When one’s mind is not clean and pure it is
wild, rough, disgusting. If you try to live free from blame, then your mind is
clean, pure, civil, tamed. When others look at you, too, they will see only
someone that is lovable.
He distinguished his view of civility from that found in the government’s and some
lay organizations’ discourses, by saying that genuine civility had nothing to do
with national or ethnic identity. Instead, he elevated the definition of “civility” into
a universal ethic: “What is meant by civility here is not the culture of a people. It
is civility as promoted by the Buddha.” Finally, he was clear that the civility that
would be taught at Panditarama was not going to be forced top-down. He said
the desire and responsibility of being civil must come from each child in the
program:
In order to be in this program, you must love and value the benefits that
derive from being civil. If you do not have a love of these benefits or if you
have no need to love them, then you needn’t join the program. You can
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stay at home comfortably. If you decide to be here and in the program,
however, you will need to start improving yourselves.
In this matter of fact, impersonal, and self-effacing tone, with an outline of the
natural causes and effects of moral norms, the monk abbot opened the program.
Rude Awakenings
In the beginning of the program, there were some harsh realities. Some of
the newcomers were restless because their parents or school teachers had
brought them to the program although they had no intentions of being there. Or,
if they had, they began to miss television and the other comforts of home. One
young boy, a nine year old, now a novice in the program, had joined the program
with his younger sister, who was now a young nun. They came into the program
with about four of their cousins. While his sister and cousins were getting quite
adjusted to the program in the first week, the boy threw a crying tantrum several
days into the program near the nuns’ quarters where his aunty was visiting.
Sobbing loudly and trying to hold himself steady by leaning against the wall with
one hand, he shouted out loud how much he did not like being at the program.
He said that he was “not having fun.” The lady who later asked me to come
meditate at Panditarama, the former head nurse of the Rangoon General
Hospital, was there because she lived among the nuns as a volunteer at the
meditation center. She took care of some of the medical needs of the children in
the “Buddhist Civility” program. Now, she was trying to reason with the boy,
“Novice, so many children are enjoying the program. Are you not a bit ashamed
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that you are the only one wanting to go home so badly?” The boy continued to
cry loudly as his little sister calmly looked on while she sipped a cool drink. He
shook and repeated, “Well, I am not having fun here!” The aunty remarked that
her sister “spoiled” the boy, that he did nothing but “watch television” at home.
She refused to take him back to his home. So, the boy had no choice but to stop
crying and stay.
A few of the monks, too, at the beginning were a bit authoritarian. I saw
this in particular in the “beginning level” courses. Most of the students in these
courses were newer and younger. Some were very bored and sleepy in the first
week, especially because some of their monk-teachers began by asking them to
recite, repeat, and memorize verses. For example, the young monk-teacher who
taught Mangala Sutta (Discourse on Blessings) had a clean, clear, gentle voice,
but in the first days he kept on asking his students to repeat the same stanzas,
Ashin Ananda’s introduction to the verse, over an over in Pali and in Burmese,
Evam me sutam…Thus I have heard. At one time the Blessed One was
dwelling a the monastery of Anathapindika in Jeta’s Grove near the city of
Savatthi. Then a certain deity in the late hours of the night with
surpassing splendor, having illuminated the entire Jeta’s Grove, came to
the Blessed One. Drawing near, the deity respectfully paid homage to the
Blessed One and stood at a suitable place; standing there, the deity
addressed the Blessed One in verse.
In addition to asking students to recite endlessly, he asked his own questions
and answered them. Referring to the first two blessings, “Not to associate with
fools, To associate with the wise,” he asked, “So, what are you to do?,” and
answered, “be friends with the wise.” While many of the young nuns tried hard to
follow and take notes in their journals, some of the young monks were either
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dazed as they recited, falling asleep, or were mindlessly tossing their pencils into
the air and catching them. So, the monk-teacher’s assistant monk was walking
around the room with a stick and tapping on sleepy and dazed novices’ laps and
shoulders to make them more alert.
The students also had to be more mindful now of their deportment in
walking and mannerisms in eating. When classes were over, they were
expected to walk out one row after another in single file silently and with their
eyes cast downward only a few feet ahead of themselves. They were asked to
be “mindful” of their movements. In this manner, they walked back to their dorms
for breaks and baths or into the dining halls for eating.
Also, there was much concentration, patience, mindfulness, and selfresponsibility practiced at meals everyday, once at dawn for breakfast, and the
other about an hour before noon for lunch. Before entering the dining halls, the
young nuns lined up silently in four different single-file lines, the shortest girls
near the front and the tallest at the end. They held in their hands their own fork,
spoon, and cup that they had brought from their dorm. In the dining hall, they
took their places silently at long communal tables, spread out their square,
saffron colored cloth mats on the floor, and sat cross-legged on these. They
bowed to the Buddha statue at the front of the dining hall. Then, when all were
ready, they, along with the monks, nun teachers, and the novices in the Dining
Hall sent “metta” or loving-kindness by clasping their palms, closing, their eyes,
and chanting the following “Way to Send Loving-Kindness” verse that had been
written by the Mahasi Sayadaw, the late teacher of the monk abbot:
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All of us who have gathered here today, may we be well and peaceful.
All the people living in the world today, may we be well and peaceful.
All my noble teachers whose virtues are endless, may they be well and peaceful.
My parents whose virtues are endless, may they be well and peaceful.
All living beings in our meditation center, may they be well and peaceful.
All living beings in our city, may they be well and peaceful.
All living beings in our state, may they be well and peaceful.
All the Sangha everywhere, may they be well and peaceful.
All the donors and supporters, who supply food, medicine, clothes, and shelter
(for all of us practicing Dhamma), may they be well and peaceful.
All the bad kings (and leaders) everywhere, may they be well and happy.
All the violent persons and deceivers everywhere, may they be well and
peaceful.
All the living beings in our world, may they be well and peaceful.
All the living beings in the universe, may they be well and peaceful.
All the living beings in the lowly abodes, may they be well and peaceful.
All the people and celestial beings, may they be well and peaceful.
All the living beings in the thirty-one abodes, may they be well and peaceful.
After the chant, the young nuns, along with the monks, nun teachers, and
novices in the dining hall ate silently, one morsel at a time. The only sounds that
could be heard in the room were the clanking of their metal forks and spoons on
the metal surface of their plates and bowls. The young nuns also never asked
for more than what was already served to them in their plates and bowls. After
eating, they wiped clean their area at the table, some remembered to bow to the
Buddha once more, gathered their cups and utensils, and left the dining hall as
silently as they came in. They headed for their dorms where they would wash
their own cups and utensils and store them.
The novices, too, practiced similar concentration, mindfulness, patience,
and self-responsibility in eating. The only difference was that every morning,
prior to any classes and even prior the break of dawn, they would line up
barefoot and with their alms bowls in hand, shortest to tallest at the gate of
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Panditarama, along with many of their monk teachers. Silently and with their
eyes cast downward just several feet in front of them, they walked barefoot and
in single-file around the community surrounding the meditation center for their
alms. Like the nuns, they too had to be responsible for washing and cleaning
after themselves. They did not use forks and spoons for they were expected to
use their own hands to eat from their alms bowls back in the dining hall.
However, they carried their alms bowls with them back to their dorms to wash,
Both nuns and novices also learned several detailed ascetic codes of
conduct that pertained to both monks and novices, called the “75 Sekhiya
Dhamma,” or “75 Rules for Training of Conduct.”1 The novices, not so much the
young nuns, were expected to follow them. Yet, both learned them as Pali
chants with Burmese explanations. Included from the “75 Rules for Training of
Conduct” were the following from the Parimandala Vagga, rules related to dress:
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
Dressing with the inner robe hanging evenly around one
Dressing with the upper robe hanging evenly around one
Being properly clad when going into the villages [or community]
Being properly clad when sitting down in the villages [or community
Being well-controlled when going into the villages [or community]
Being well-controlled when sitting down in the villages [or
community]
Going into the villages [or community] with eyes cast down
Sitting down in the villages [or community] with eyes cast down
Not lifting up one’s robes when going into the villages
[or community]
Not lifting up one’s robes when sitting in the villages [or community]
From the Ujjhaghika Vagga, manners related to speech, they learned the
following:
11.
12.
Not laughing loudly when going into the villages [or community]
Not laughing loudly when sitting in the villages [or community]
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13.
14.
15.
16.
17.
18.
19.
20.
Making little noise when going into the villages [or community]
Making little noise when sitting in the villages [or community]
Not swaying the body when going into the villages [or community]
Not swaying the body when sitting in the villages [or community]
Not swaying the arms when going into the villages [or community]
Not swaying the arms when sitting in the villages [or community]
Not swaying the head when going into the villages [or community]
Not swaying the arms when sitting in the villages [or community]
From the Khambahkata Vagga or rules related to gait and body postures,
they learned the following:
21.
22.
23.
24.
25.
26.
27.
28.
29.
30.
Going into the villages [or community] without one’s arms akimbo
Sitting in the villages [or community] without one’s arms akimbo
Not covering the head when going into the villages [or community]
Not covering the head when sitting in the villages [or community]
Not walking on heels and toes when going into the villages
[or community]
Not raising the knees with the upper robe clasped or wound around
them when sitting in the villages [or community]
Attentively accepting almsfood
Being mindful of the bowl when accepting almsfood
Accepting only a proportionate amount of curry [proportionate to the
rice] when accepting almsfood
Accepting almsfood only up to the inner ring of the bowl
Finally, from the Sakkacca Vagga and the Kabala Vagga, respectively,
they learned the manners related to the partaking of meals:
31.
32.
33.
34.
35.
36.
37.
38.
39.
40.
41.
42.
43.
44.
Attentively eating almsfood
Being mindful of the bowl from which one eats almsfood
Eating almsfood in an orderly manner
Eating almsfood with a proportionate amount of curry [and rice]
Eating almsfood without pressing down on the top of the food
Not covering up the soup, curry, and condiments because one
desires more
If not ill, not asking for food for oneself
Not looking at another’s bowl desiringly or enviously
In eating, not making food morsels too large
Making each morsel of food round for eating
Not opening the mouth until the morsel of food is brought close
Not putting one’s fingers into the mouth when eating
Not talking with the mouth full
Not tossing the morsels of food into the mouth when eating
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45.
46.
47.
48.
49.
50.
Not breaking up morsels of food for eating
Not stuffing the cheeks when eating
Not shaking the hands about when eating
Not scattering grains of rice when eating
Not putting out one’s tongue when eating
Not smacking the lips when eating
Hence the rules for training of conduct that especially the novices had to try to
follow and the young nuns must to some extent imitate as fellow meditators, now
governed much of the mannerisms and deportments (i.e., walking, talking,
eating) that they had otherwise taken for granted. Now, they had to be mindful
with each step, each word, and each morsel. Unlike at the lay-led International
Meditation Center where one practiced insight only when one was sitting in the
Dhamma Hall in one’s dorm, here, awareness of one’s body, speech, and mind
in at least some activities while living and moving among others was also an
opportunity for insight. Here, being mindful included being able to consider one’s
effect on others. That is, meditation at Panditarama was simultaneously ethics
and insight oriented.
Liminal Stage: Rite of Transition, Pedagogical Support of Ethical
Development in Practice of Insight
Yet, even with these initial shocks of monastic culture and impersonal
explanations of the cause and effect laws of moral norms at the meditation
center, there were, from the start also many compassionate gestures from the
teachers along with admiring devotions from lay supporters. Since the first day,
monk teachers and their nun assistants would wait outside the Dhamma Hall
after each class ended, not only to encourage students to walk mindfully and in a
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single file, but also to help individual novices and young nuns straighten robes
that had crumpled or loosened while sitting, and to be pulled aside by pupils who
needed to talk with them privately. I never witnessed any yelling from the
teachers, especially at these quiet, tranquil times outside of class. There were
only whispers of encouragement and gentle nudging.
Also, in getting to learn with Panditarama’s monk teachers who were
highly respected throughout Rangoon for observing the vinaya and for their
meditation practice, the novices and young nuns were greatly admired and
supported by the surrounding lay community who were relatively wealthy.
Everyday, different donors brought many varieties of food for each meal.
Although the novices and nuns could not by rule ask for food, the food that was
served to them was often abundant and included soup, rice, curry dishes,
condiments, vegetables, fruits, and desserts such as ice-cream or gelatin. The
donors sometimes included their own parents. But many times, donors were
people they did not know. Almost every morning before dawn, some of the nuns
watched from the marble top of the Dhamma Hall to venerate the young monks
and their monk-teachers as they set off silently on barefoot on their alms rounds.
A few times I joined them and could see from atop how at least one member of
almost every household in these nearby streets of the “Golden Valley”
community came out with jugs of food and rice in hand to give to the monks and
novices. Some families even came in their automobiles from afar just to catch up
with the monks and novices and serve them. Usually, young lay boys who
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volunteered at the meditation center had to accompany the monks and novices
to help carry the almsfood.
In the larger society, nuns hold a secondary status to monks. For the
same efforts, they are not as highly regarded as monks. Their status is
comparably better at Panditarama because the center is known for both textual
learning of Buddhism and meditation practice. Here, even the young nuns have
lay persons clasping their hands in veneration of them as they entered the dining
hall each day.
Room for Trial and Error
The monk and nun teachers also gave students much freedom for
dialogue and interaction back at the dormitories at free time. In between pillow
fights on beds, playing tag (sometimes right outside the dorm and sometimes
jumping from bed to bed), they joked with their teachers (monks at the boys’
dorm and nuns at the girls’ dorm). For instance, one time I heard some monkteachers and young novices laughing as the former asked the latter why they still
carried combs around when they “no longer had any hair.” The novices had no
answer but they laughed anyway.
The students also liked to chant together and discuss the many verses
they were learning when they were at their dorms. As some young nuns
explained, “I think in studying together like this, we understand more what we are
learning. We also gain each other’s company.” As students came here not only
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from different parts of Rangoon, but also from different parts of the country,
students also gained insight into other people’s life experiences.
Finally, students shared and joked with each other about different monkteachers’ personalities and styles. For example, many of the pupils began to call
a popular monk who daily told Jataka and Dhammapada tales at three o’clock in
the afternoon the “yo yo ye ye” or “melodrama” monk. They explained that he
was their favorite for he always evoked emotion through his storytelling. One
day, several of the young nuns were pretending to be him speaking through a
microphone as almost all the monks did at the center. Yet, they passed the
microphone across a pretend audience for responses, although it was something
the monk had never done. “Sayadaw U Inda is like a talk show host,” they said.
“We really enjoy his talks.” They said that they liked how he told the stories of
the Buddha’s lives in such a way that they felt they were participants. Although
he had never formally asked them for responses in class, I often saw him
informally explaining many points as students went up to him to ask questions
after class.
Dialogue with monk teachers as well as the nun assistances about the
content of students’ learning was encouraged at free time. In the center’s
“Buddhist Civility” textbook, too, such a dialogue is modeled in a conversation
between the Buddha and a young man named Suba:
The young man named Suba approached the Lord Buddha and asked the
Lord Buddha questions that he wanted answered:
‘Lord Buddha, in the world, people are alike in that they are all
people. Yet, why are their fortunes so different?’
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1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
Some have a short life. Some have a long life. Why is that?
Some have many illnesses. Some are healthy. Why is that?
Some are ugly. Some are beautiful. Why is that?
Some have few followers and friends. Some have a lot of
followers and friends. Why is that?
Some are very poor. Some are very wealthy. Why is that?
Some come from bad families. Some come from wonderful,
noble families. Why is that?
Some have little education. Some are well-learned. Why is
that?”
In this way, the young man Suba, asked about fourteen different
points about which he was confused.
[The Lord Buddha Answered,]
Young man Suba, the only thing living beings truly own is Kamma (one’s
deeds). They have to inherit the results of their Kamma. Kamma is the
only root cause. Kamma is one’s only relative. Kamma is the only thing
upon which one can rely. The law of Kamma is what determines how
living beings are differentiated in their fortunes. Being miserable is the
result of one’s own Kamma. Being happy and high in status, too, are the
results of one’s Kamma. That is why…
1.
If you kill other living beings, your life tends to be short. If
you abstain from killing, your life tends to be long.
2.
If you ill-treat others, then you may develop many diseases.
If you do not ill-treat others, then you tend to be healthy.
3.
If you have much hate or anger, then you tend to be ugly. If
you are neither hateful nor angry but patient, then you tend
to be beautiful.
4.
If you are jealous of others, then you tend to have few
friends. If you want only what is best for others and you are
genuinely glad to see others succeed and be happy, then
you will tend to have many friends.
5.
If you are possessive and miserly and do not want to give,
then you tend to become poor. If you give generously, then
you tend to prosper and become wealthy.
6.
If you are conceited, then you tend to come to exist in a bad
family. If you humbly pay respect to those deserving of
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respect, however, you tend to come to exist in a good, noble
family.
7.
If you do not inquire and investigate, then you tend to be
dull in knowledge. If you inquire and investigate, however,
you develop greatly in knowledge.
These 7 items, 14 in expanded format, are the wholesome and
unwholesome results (kusala and akusala) of the deeds (kamma) living
beings have themselves committed. In this way, the Lord Buddha
responded…2
Through this modeling in the text of how a pupil posed questions to his teacher,
the Buddha, monks encouraged and partook of question and answers informally
at free time. In the same way that the Buddha tried to develop critical insight in
Suba by outlining for him the natural law of cause and effect of moral practice, so
did they.
Back at their dormitories at free time, students also laughed about their
own weaknesses. Once, I heard young nuns laughing about how “sleepy” they
were when they got up daily at three o’clock in the morning at the meditation
center to pay homage to the Buddha in the meditation hall. As quiet as the
Dining Hall, the Dhamma Hall, and the outdoor spaces between them were, the
students’ dormitories drowned with the noise of the children playing, talking, and
reciting.
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A Balance of Pedagogical Styles
Most importantly, the variety of monks’ pedagogical styles they were
exposed to here over time, from calm but matter-of-fact impersonal style to calm
but compassionate styles, allowed them to perceive of Buddhist civility as a path
to insight and independent thinking that is bolstered at every step by a
conscience of the Buddha, both the ethics he practiced and the enlightenment he
strove toward. Monks like the abbot monk, Sayadawgyi U Pandita, with their
impersonal tone and withheld gazes, set the highest spiritual expectations of the
young monks and nuns. He placed all responsibility on their own efforts and
abilities to develop the wisdom to judge right from wrong. In his Dhamma talks,
he never told them what to do, but outlined for them the logical, natural laws of
causes and effects of different moral norms, then asked pupils to choose wisely
among them. He also stressed that insight meditation was ultimately the only
way toward enlightenment.
A few of the verses that students learned in their text book at the
meditation center outlined in written form some of these natural laws of cause
and effect as conveyed by Sayadawgyi. One called “Verse on the Separation of
Deeds and their Results” was written by his late teacher, the Mahasi Sayadaw,
and reads as follows:
Kill another, life shortens, if you don’t kill, life lengthens.
Those who ill treat, hurt a lot, compassion’s healthy.
Flame of hate grows, so ugly, tolerance is pretty.
If you’re jealous, friends scatter, if you’re pleasant, friends gather.
If you’re not giving, you’ll go poor, but if you give, you’ll be rich.
If you’re not respectful, then you’ll be born into a family of ill-repute.
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If you’re respectful, then you’ll be born into a reputable family.
If you don’t inquire, then your wisdom’s blind. Investigate, then your
wisdom’s grand.
If you do bad deeds, receive bad, if good, reap goodness.
Both good and bad, Kammic plan, you will have to bear.3
The Mahasi Sayadawgyi’s poem in Paditarama’s textbook reinforces
Sayadawgyi’s remarks by directly reminding students of their own responsibility
in their moral fate and hence the need to cultivate wisdom or the ability to judge
for oneself between wholesome and unwholesome deeds.
But then, at Panditarama, there were also monks like Sayadaw U Sasana,
who were quite different from Sayadawgyi in that they were highly personable.
Sayadaw U Sasana almost always spoke to the students, even large crowds, by
making eye contact. His voice was also very rich and sweet in tone and full of
humor. He would reiterate the Sayadawgyi’s message on the importance of
combining ethics with critical insight, yet he would do so by using many aesthetic
and flowery analogies to which the students could immediately relate. One day,
the students had been taught in their texts a poem on the “Virtues of Sila (Moral
Conduct)” that had also been written by the late Mahasi Sayadaw. In the poem,
sila or moral conduct is likened to a fragrant flower that is appropriate to wear at
all times:
The smell of Sila, spreads so fragrantly.
Every time one wears Sila, one stands beautifully.
Every time one keeps Sila, the hells are at bay,
Noble Sila, reliable without doubt or dismay.4
Not long after, Sayadaw U Sasana gave the students a Dhamma talk that
reinforced the above concept of the attractive and indispensability of sila by
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painting yet another visceral analogy for it. In his melodious voice, he said, “Sila
is the most beautiful thing in the world.” Looking at the young nuns in the back of
the room, he said, “Back there, I see ‘silashins’ (‘nuns’ in the Burmese language
but literally also means ‘those who practice moral conduct’).” He continued by
turning to the novices in the front and said affectionately, “Novices are ‘silashins,’
too, do you know that?” The novices and the young nuns laughed out loud
because the monk seemed to be saying that the boys were nuns. “Really.
Novices are ‘silashins,’ too, because they practice moral conduct,” he explained.
At this remark, the students became very attentive with interest. Then, he told
them how indispensable moral conduct was in the gaining of insight. He used
the analogies of moral conduct as the legs and insight as the eyes of a person.
“Without moral conduct, you may know a lot but you cannot get anywhere
[implying getting to nibbana one day].” And in reverse, he also said that insight
was just as important as moral conduct: “If you have moral conduct but no
insight, too, you will be able to move around, but without any direction because
you cannot see where you are going.” Hence, while the impersonal style of
monks, like the monk abbot himself, set very high standards of spiritual
attainment for the students, namely a path to insight guided by ethics and ethics
guided by insight, the more personable style of monks like Sayadaw U Sasana
helped students to aspire to those standards by providing them with motivational
supports based on humor, affection, aesthetics, and visceral analogies.
The monk popularly known by the pupils in the program as the “yo yo ye
ye” or “melodrama” monk, Sayadaw U Inda helped students to aspire to
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Sayadawygi’s standards by appealing to their sentiments. During the three
o’clock hour in the afternoon everyday, he told stories of the Buddha’s lives from
the Jatakas and the Dhammapada to all 500 students. This was the hour when
they disassembled from their smaller classes--Beginning, Intermediate, and
Advanced levels--and reconvened as a large group to just listen to stories. Yet,
while there were many students sitting together and so late in the afternoon,
Sayadaw U Inda almost always had all their attention. He stood very calm and
still behind the podium and microphone in the self-effacing manner of all the
monks at the meditation center. He also spoke very softly in a barely audible
voice. It was the seriousness and dramatic pauses he used to tell the stories that
evoked much sentiment even as he was addressing rational topics such as the
need to develop sound judgment. His version of the Dhammapada tale,
Angulimala, for instance, was quite unlike the government’s version spoken by
Dr. Min Tin Mon at public schools in that it included more details of emotions and
judgments, their causes and their effects. Min Tin Mon focused mainly on the
magical abilities of the Buddha who, with his creation of an illusion, i.e.,
pretending to run when he was really stopping, stopped the awe-struck,
hardened criminal Angulimala from killing people (and attempting to kill his own
mother) and cutting off their fingers. Sayadaw U Inda showed how changes in
one’s insight can cause moral transformations: goodness can easily turn bad
and the bad can easily turn good again, all because of changes in one’s insight.
He started with the part about how Angulimala, “Garland of Fingers,” originally
named Ahimsa, “Non-violence,” by his parents, began to err when he followed
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too closely the teacher he loved so much. This teacher had become enraged
with him and wanted to avenge him in a deceitful manner by persuading him to
kill. The teacher came to hate Angulimala as a result of classmates’ slandering
of Angulimala. The classmates slandered Angulimala also because of their own
inability to contain an emotion: they were so jealous of his close relationship with
the teacher. In Sayadaw U Inda’s telling of the part about how the crazed and
murderous Angulimala finally turned his attention to chasing the Buddha, the
monk emphasized the Buddha’s magical aura, but only in relation to the
Buddha’s enlightenment in the practice of insight meditation. With his calm, still
posture and the barely audible voice, one could almost imagine that the monk
was the Buddha as he spoke these lines of the Buddha to Angulimala who had
yelled at the Buddha to stop: “I have stopped, only you have not stopped.”
Angulimala asked the Buddha, “Why do you say that you have stopped and I
have not stopped?” The monk quoted the Buddha as replying, “I say that I have
stopped, because I have given up killing all beings, I have given up ill-treating all
beings, and because I have established myself in universal love, patience, and
knowledge through reflection [insight meditation]. But you have not given up
killing or ill-treating others and you are not yet established in universal love and
patience. Hence, you are the one who has not stopped.” Unlike Min Tin Mon,
Sayadaw U Inda also included the part afterward when Angulimala decided to
ordain as a monk, practiced insight meditation under the Buddha’s guidance, and
finally attained arahantship. The monk also said that after Angulimala gained
enlightenment, Angulimala gave back to society who still feared him by making a
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truthful pronouncement about his change of heart so that pregnant women could
have an easy labor. Through this story-telling, Sayadaw U Inda was able to
demonstrate a chain of emotions, intentions, and their effects. The incredible
amount of detail and strategic pauses he used to tell the story was apparent in
the length of time it took to tell it. He took nearly the full hour while Min Tin Mon
finished his version in less than fifteen minutes. In so doing, the monk teacher
was able to underscore the fact that when based on insight, good intentions can
overwhelm unwholesome deeds. Based on good intentions, too, insight can be
developed. One could deduce from this story-telling that the development of
insight was not contrary to but a part and parcel of social ethics.
As the good intentions of the monk teachers themselves became clearer
to the young students as more than a week passed into the program, the
students became more comfortable and interested, and the teachers, too,
became more compassionate and democratic in general. So, the young monk
who was teaching the Mangala Poem to the Beginning Level students still
focused on recitation, yet, by this time, the students knew the poem better by
heart, were more attentive, and were enjoying trying to perfect their tone in
singing the poem so that it matched his more melodious and gentle cadence.
The Burmese refrain which is an elaboration of the Pali’s simpler, “This is the
highest blessing,” reads “Only then we have Buddhism’s blessings for the world
hey!” As the students sang the Burmese version, their tone was rough and loud
on the word, “hey!” So, several times the monk imitated in good humor the
aggressive way they had sang the refrain. Listening to themselves reflected in
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his voice, the students laughed. He laughed too. “So, not like that, like this,” he
said, and modeled a much more subtle and gentle singing of the verse with a
sweet, subdued ending on the word “hey.” Through voice lessons, he seemed to
be trying to embody for the students the compassion and benevolence of the
Buddha.
In the Intermediate Level class on the Mangala Sutta, the young monk
teacher, Sayadaw U Nyannika, provided a supplementary riddle outlining the
primary two Mangala Blessings, “Not associating with fools, Associating with the
wise.” This riddle required more critical thinking on the part of students. Yet,
even here, he also appealed to humor. The riddle he taught them to recite was
the following:
Others don’t know
That one is not good to know one doesn’t know either
Such a person might be a fool
Avoid him from faraway
Others don’t know
That one is not good to know one knows
Such a person might be sincere
Please help him
Others know
That one is good to know one does not know
Such a person is asleep
Please wake him
Others know
That one is good to know one knows also
Such a person is wise
Please associate with this sort of person.
Through this poem, which was an elaboration of one written by the famous monk,
Ashin Maharathathara in the 15th century, the monk-teacher established for the
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students an understanding that the task of distinguishing who is wise or foolish
requires critical insight. Being “wise” or “foolish” is not always clear-cut but often
nuanced. Yet, he also chose to teach them this poem when there was a novice
literally sleeping and snoring in front of him. Instead of yelling at the sleeping
novice, he looked on purpose at him while he taught the riddle out loud to the
other novices and the young nuns. So, the other novices near the sleeping
novice giggled, nudged the novice awake, and said jokingly, “Hey, he might be
good to know, let’s wake him.” The monk smiled. He also made a further joke
implicating himself:
These days, when young people decide to marry, they no longer consider
whether their potential spouse is a good fit. Some young women, for
example, put as much thought into securing a husband as in choosing a
thamein (traditional tube-like lower garment of women, much like a
sarong). I guess they figure their father is an old man and do not care
who they bring home. [Smiling] Now, not that I would know these matters
as a monk. [Lay] teachers have written about it and have told me.
At this remark, the students laughed and poked fun at him facetiously, “Oh,
sure…..” He simply smiled and let them.
Through such easy going democratic gestures and the use of visceral and
also aesthetic analogies, the less senior monk teachers were able to do both of
the following: (1) venerate the ethics and insight practice embodied by the
Buddha, and (2) also humanize his path for the children as something attainable.
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Promoting Universal Love toward All Sentient Beings
Even the Sayadawgyi, the monk abbot, during the course of the program
began to show a more outwardly compassionate side to himself. Near the end of
the program, he held a fun gift giving ceremony for everyone at the meditation
center, including the student novices and young nuns, regular monks and nuns,
and the volunteer lay staff. Almost all the gifts were items donated by the lay to
the Sangha, including an enormous number of key chains, book markers, bags,
fans, umbrellas, and intermediate Buddhist texts [Buddhist books in the
vernacular]. Included in these gifts were also two quite large photographs of the
Sayadawgyi smiling contentedly at a small swallow that had landed at the tip of
his left index finger. The moment had been caught on camera by a lay devotee
who had donated the photographs to the Sayadawgyi. Now, he wanted to give
these to the children. He was all smiles at the ceremony as everyone in his
compound lined up in the open space between the Dining Hall, the Dhamma
Hall, and the monks’ quarters in anticipation to pull a number randomly out of a
jar. The item labeled with the same number that one pulled out from the jar
became one’s gift. There were a lot of “Oohs, Aahs,” and laughs even among
the monks. “Hey, don’t pull more than one number,” one of the monk teachers
was joking to one of their own. It was a ceremony that evoked much
“communitas.” Several children went up to admire the photograph of the
Sayadawgyi smiling at the bird. In the end, at least one of the large photographs
had been randomly picked by an adult. But later Sayadawgyi made sure to
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distribute yet smaller versions of the same photograph to many of the children.
Through the ceremony and the photograph of him with the bird, the Sayadawgyi
was promoting metta, non-discriminatory universal love.
By asking students to practice loving-kindness meditation prior to every
formal insight meditation session, the loving-kindness sentiment was reinforced
in the students as a moral inclination that supports insight meditation practice.
Another technique was to help students see their direct connection to sentient life
in general. The monk teachers asked students to feel as an animal might. As
Sayadaw U Pandita told me,
Once, I saw that one of the novices (from the summer Buddhist civility
class) was trying to aim slingshots at a bird that was flying around in the
Dhamma Hall during break time. I quietly stopped him and asked,
‘Novice, why are you trying to shoot at the bird? If you were him and you
were shot, how would you feel?’ ‘Painful,’ he answered. ‘Do you like pain?
Do you like being in pain?’ I asked him. ‘No,’ he answered. ‘Well, then,
why not stop aiming at the poor bird,’ I told him. And so he did. You have
to teach them like that, acquaint them a little by little with the fact that all
living beings have feelings.
His monk disciples, too, achieved this goal with the students by telling them
many Jataka stories in which the Buddha himself, like all people, used to be
animals in the round of rebirths. They also told Jataka tales like Vessantara and
Suvannasamma in which people and animals reciprocated or were positively
affected by each other’s loving kindness:
During King Vessantara’s rule, the Bodhisattva (the Buddha in his past
life), was an ascetic (a hermit). Because of the strength of King
Vessantara’s metta or loving-kindness, all the animals that existed within a
forty mile radius were all kind and affectionate toward each other…
During the Bodhisattva’s life as Suvannasamma (a young man who
lived with his blind, ascetic parents in the forest and took care of them
well), the Bodhisattva practiced metta bhavana or loving-kindness
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meditation repeatedly. For this reason, all the deer assisted the
Bodhisattva. Even normally fierce animals, such as lions and tigers loved
the Bodhisattva and were kind to him. Because of the strength of the
Bodhisattva’s metta, all the deer, lions, and tigers, in the vicinity of the
dwelling in which the Bodhisattva and his parents lived, also were
affectionate, tender, and kind to each other.5
In helping students to comprehend the purity and non-discriminatory nature of
loving-kindness, the monk teachers emphasized that even living beings that one
could not see in the round of rebirths, such as spirits and ghosts, had feelings
and could be helped by one’s loving-kindness. One day, through sending lovingkindness, they helped a young girl from the Buddhist civility class recover from
what she and other children felt was a possession of her body from the restless
spirit of her favorite uncle, an alcoholic who had recently died at the young age of
thirty due to liver failure. The 13-year-old girl had been ill at ease for some time
at the summer program. She could not concentrate well during meditation. Right
when she sat down to practice insight meditation one afternoon, the girl’s eyes
rolled and she fainted briefly. Nun teachers went to her aid and escorted her to
the children’s’ sleeping quarters. When she awoke, she was speaking in a more
masculine voice and the voice said that it was her uncle who had died. The
monks were summoned by lay adult volunteers. When they came, they were
surrounded by the watchful eyes of many students who were on-lookers. The
monks chanted protective chants but also spoke directly to the persona of the girl
who claimed to be her uncle. With loving-kindness, one monk initiated a
conversation with the possessed persona, “We know you miss her. But, please
leave her be. She is studying hard here and learning to take care of herself.”
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The voice spoke about a controversial political issue that was familiar to all, the
government’s razing of cemeteries to build business buildings for foreign
investors: “The government is tearing down the main cemetery in the city. Under
a tree there is where I lived. But now, I have no where to go. So, I came here to
see my beloved niece. I am lonely and want to take her with me.” As if she were
the uncle, genuine tears rolled down the girl’s eyes. The monks promised that
they would send loving-kindness and share merit with the ghost if he would leave
his niece alone. As they sent loving-kindness and shared merits as such, the girl
seemed to recover. She seemed to wake as from a deep sleep. Many of the
children who were observing became convinced of the power of loving-kindness.
In a triumphant tone, they gossiped with each other about the ordeal that had just
passed and the monks’ role in helping the spirit.
In helping students understand their connection to all sentient life and
thereby helping them to cultivate a purer form of loving-kindness, i.e., wishing all
creatures well without attachment so that they can take care of themselves
happily, the monks at Panditarama also help to teach self-reliance to students, a
necessary foundation of insight meditation practice. That is, the monks’
modeling of loving-kindness also seemed to affect the girl. She became more
confident during and after her practices of meditation. I saw her sitting more
consistently from then on. Upon her mother’s visit, she also asked her mother to
arrange a merit sharing ceremony at home for her dead uncle who happened
also to be her mother’s younger brother. Through the monks’ modeling of lovingkindness, the girl seemed, finally, to be learning to deal with his sudden death.
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Severing her attachment to him, she seemed now to be taking charge and relying
on herself more. Firstly, through her spirit possession, she was able to address a
personal emotional crisis and a political issue of national importance that affected
her. While not directly retaliating against the government’s handling of her
beloved relative’s gravesite, her newly found confidence in herself through the
Buddhist civility and meditation practice might possibly help her one day to take a
moral stance even at the national level. That is, while the girl will re-enter normal
society after her practice of intensive insight meditation and keeping of the eight
precepts at Panditarama, she is now better equipped with both an ethical
sensibility and critical judgment skills because the path to insight at the
meditation center was accompanied at every step by a conscience of the
benevolence embodied in the Buddha. This benevolence was mainly
exemplified by the main teachers at the center, the monk teachers who are
considered to be sons of the Buddha.
Some Texts as Devotions to the Buddha
The format of Panditarama Buddhist civility texts also motivates a
conscience of the Buddha. They do not merely list as lay versions of the texts
often do, but glorify the Buddha’s qualities as an astounding, virtuous example of
a human being, who, through his own efforts at moral perfection, concentration,
and insight meditation, gained full enlightenment and liberation from the round of
rebirths. Lay texts, both governmental and non-governmentally affiliated, tend to
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list the Buddha’s virtues as definitions in Burmese of the Pali texts. At
Panditarama, the Buddha’s virtues are elaborated as a devotional chant with
alternating Pali and Burmese. Every evening, just prior to insight meditation and
just after loving-kindness meditation, the following “Pathibatti Pujanakara” (“The
Practice of Paying Homage”) is chanted by all of the five hundred students in the
Dhamma Hall:
Buddho so bhagava bodhaya dhammam deseti.
So bhagava-The Lord Buddha, our genuine source of reliance,
buddho-having realized the Four Noble Truths in detail, bodhaya-wanting
all of us living beings to realize as he did, dhammam-the Four Noble
Truths, deseti-set forth His compassion and wisdom and expounded.
(Tan bhagavantan-To that Lord Buddha, ahan-I, a pupil of the Lord
Buddha, vandami-respectfully put my hands together, and with high
regard, pay homage to Him.)
Danto so bhagava damathaya dhammam deseti.
So bhagava-The Lord Buddha, our genuine source of reliance,
danto-already tamed and emancipated from all mental defilements in
action, speech, and thought, dhamathaya-wanting all of us living beings
to also be tamed and emancipated from all mental defilements, deseti-set
forth His compassion and wisdom and expounded, dhammam-the correct
teachings that tame. (Tan bhagavantan-To that Lord Buddha, ahan-I, a
pupil of the Lord Buddha, vandami-respectfully put my hands together,
and with high regard, pay homage to Him.)
Santo so bhagava samathaya dhammam deseti.
So bhagava-The Lord Buddha, our genuine source of reliance,
santo-freed of lust and other such restlessness and so, stilled, calmed,
and pacified, samathaya-wanting all of us living beings to also be still,
calm, and peaceful, deseti-set forth His compassion and wisdom and
expounded, dhammam-the correct teachings that instill peace. (Tan
bhagavantan-To that Lord Buddha, ahan-I, a pupil of the Lord Buddha,
vandami-respectfully put my hands together, and with high regard, pay
homage to Him.)
Tinno so bhagava taranaya dhammam deseti.
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So bhagava-The Lord Buddha, our genuine source of reliance,
tinno-who have successfully swam across the sea that is samsara, the
round of rebirths, and already reached the safe bank (Nibbana),
taranaya-wanting all of us living beings to also reach that bank to safety,
deseti-set forth His compassion and wisdom and expounded, dhammamthe correct teachings that help one to successfully reach that bank. (Tan
bhagavantan-To that Lord Buddha, ahan-I, a pupil of the Lord Buddha,
vandami-respectfully put my hands together, and with high regard, pay
homage to Him.)
Parinibbuto so bhagava parinibbanaya dhammam seseti.
So bhagava-The Lord Buddha, our genuine source of reliance,
parinibbuto-freed of all mental defilements and already calmed in
everyway, parinibbanaya-wanting all of us living beings to also be freed
of all mental defilements and calmed in everyway, deseti-set forth His
compassion and wisdom and expounded, dhammam-the correct
teachings that calm all mental defilements. (Tan bhagavantan-To that
Lord Buddha, ahan-I, a pupil of the Lord Buddha, vandami-respectfully
put my hands together, and with high regard, pay homage to Him.)6
In using translations of the virtues of the Buddha in such detail and in the form of
a chant, the monks at Panditarama try to expand the repertoire of popular usage
in Burma of the Pali version of the Buddha’s virtues. Usually, ordinary lay
persons and the pupils at the government-administered monastic schools use the
Pali version only and as a protective chant whose meaning they do not know.
The virtues are now used in the Panditarama texts as powerful reminders to
oneself that one’s own moral intentions and efforts may lead to extraordinarily
beneficial results, as they did for the Buddha. In extolling these qualities of the
Buddha and not just listing them for their theoretical value, the monks also veer
from lay teachers at non-governmental organizations as they try to inspire
practice directly through the text. With the homage on their lips, the students
bow down to the golden bronze image of the Buddha deep in meditation which is
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at the front of the Dhamma Hall. With this reminder of the Buddha’s efforts at
meditation and all the positive benefits he reaped, they begin one of their two
formal twenty minute insight meditation sessions (i.e., in the sitting posture) of
the day.
Humanization of the Buddha’s Path
A conscience of the Buddha is able to guide the practice of insight at the
Buddhist civility course in Paditarama because the monks help to embody the
Buddha’s benevolence, and the texts and devotional rituals remind one of the
Buddha’s extraordinary virtues. Also, lay guests invited by the monk abbot come
to remind students of the admirable yet fallible quality of the path the monks try to
follow. That is, some of the lay guest speakers come to tell the students that the
virtues of monks are not some result of a magical overnight success, but a
training and an ethic that is hard work. And being that virtue is work that has
much room for trial, error, and change, it is a path accessible to all human beings
who are willing to try, including children. For instance, U Thukha, the famous
director and writer whose films and short stories have many Buddhist themes
and admirable monk characters, had been invited to come give a talk to the
students during the afternoon “guest speaker” session in the Dhamma Hall. He
first humbled himself and publicly recognized the boys and girls for their hard
work as novices and nuns already practicing mindfulness. The eighty-five year
old man addressed himself as “ta bei daw” (pupil) in the same way that other lay
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persons would address any monks or nuns. He told them that he was not here
to preach to them as they probably knew more than he about the Buddha’s path.
He said that he simply wanted to be in their presence because he sensed that
they had trained themselves to be very “yin kyey” (“civil”) in accordance with the
Buddha’s teachings. Likening himself to animals and the boys and girls to the
wise, he said,
Remember Myauk Pho Lein, the monkey who was very famous about ten
years ago for dancing so well in Jataka plays? Well, even Shwe Man Tin
Maung (famous Jataka play actor of the century) could not compete with
him. The monkey learned to dance so well. And then there is my little
parrot at home. Whenever the vendor selling steamed peas and nan
bread passes outside chanting ‘peas and bread, nice and warm,’ he would
also repeat, ‘peas and bread, nice and warm.’ So, I figured, if animals can
be taught to imitate people so easily, then why wouldn’t I become more
civilized being with you?
After praising the boys and the girls for their work as such, U Thukha introduced
them to the real life actor who played the mindful, non-violent monk in his wellknown movie, “One Meal that a Monk Does Not Get to Eat.” He tried to
humanize the role of monks in this manner, emphasizing both how difficult it is for
anyone to seriously take on the monk role and how at the same time anyone can,
if they are mindful and try to seriously live as a monk. “And here is the real life
actor who played that monk,” he told the boys and girls. The young actor, in his
late twenties, early thirties was now dressed in ordinary lay clothes, had hair, and
looked handsome. The actor also addressed himself as “ta bei daw” (pupil) and
said to the novices and young nuns that prior to acting in the film, he was not a
trained actor and that he also didn’t know as well as he thought he did the work
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of moral conduct in which monks tried to immerse themselves each day. He
said,
I had told U Thukha, ‘Uncle, I can’t act.’ But he got me to act in the film by
saying, ‘It’s all right. You have good looks.’ So, I thought, well that part is
true, so I gave in. [The students laughed.] But it was very difficult to act
as a monk. In the part when the husband and wife found out that their
ruby was missing and became suspicious that the monk had taken it, they
hit him. So, I was sitting with my alms bowl getting hit. I was quite scared.
Several times, I didn’t know what to do. So, the alms bowl was swept
away onto the floor several times. We had to have several takes. Only
later, I found that I had to be simply aware of my fear and be mindful of the
alms bowl in my hands. Then, the alms bowl did not fly away. I am
grateful that without knowing very much before I have been able to help
teach the Dhamma to viewers. I have learned to respect and venerate the
moral training of monks very much.
By recounting his experiences as such as an actor trying to act as a monk who
was working hard to be mindful while living and moving among ordinary people,
U Thukha’s actor reminded the students of the admirable, yet very human, trial
and error nature of the Buddha’s path. He said he had to have “several takes.”
The students’ attention was glued to the actor as he told this tale. He gave them
the impression that being mindful was a path accessible to them also even as
they lived and moved in the world.
The monk who was introducing U Thukha, U Nyana, assured the students
that lay persons too can practice and spread the Dhamma well in society. He
said to U Thukha, “We are thankful to you that even in your old age, you are
spreading the Dhamma. Most importantly, you know how to value practices that
bring forth peace. I am certain that you have been sowing the seeds of Dhamma
for our country.”
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Closing Ceremony—Taking Home a Conscience of the Buddha
The students’ speeches to their teachers and peers at the closing
ceremony, their interviews with me, and the questionnaires they filled out for me
indicated that many would carry home with them both the ethics and critical
insight they learned to develop with the Buddha as the ideal at the meditation
center. One young nun gave the following speech that demonstrated how much
she appreciated learning a sense of self-responsibility and critical judgment skills
in everything, including moral affairs:
[With hands clasped and using the respectful title of ‘phaya’ or ‘Buddha’ to
address her teachers and her peers at the end of almost every sentence]
At 3 o’clock in the morning, we woke up everyday to pay homage to
the Buddha, to meditate, then to eat our breakfast. At home at this time,
we nuns and novices would still have been dreaming, not thinking at all
about waking up. [The other young nuns and novices giggled upon
hearing this] Here, we received the opportunity to do much kusala [good
merits]. We learned to take care of ourselves. Often, we are used to
being taken care of at home. Our mothers and fathers would love to say
that one day we would become a great teacher or engineer. They would
never want to brag one day that they have raised a fool, a delinquent or
criminal. So, even parents’ love for one is not unconditional. For this
reason, we must learn to take care of ourselves. I have learned to
appreciate insight meditation…If all the novices and young nuns here
would continue with their inner development [through insight meditation
practice], then we can help our country to be a wonderful place.
A novice told everyone through his speech how much he wanted lay persons to
also try to live by the ethics and mindfulness practice exemplified by monks and
fully embodied by the Buddha. He said that the very reason he came to learn
Buddhism at the center was to become as “tame” as his lay teacher who also
learned at the center’s Buddhist civility program many years back:
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I had asked my teacher, `How do you walk without making any sounds?
How do you sit and stand so mindfully? How did you learn?’ She had told
me that long ago when she was young she went to Panditarama’s
Buddhist civility class. She encouraged me to sign up as a novice. So, I
did. When I arrived to register, a monk kindly asked me, `Pupil, what is
your name? How old are you?’
He said that he had not been disappointed by what he had been able to learn.
In an interview with me, a female student emphasized how the monks at
Panditarama helped to embody a conscience of the Buddha by saying that she
had learned to venerated monks since she had come to learn here: “Near where
I live, I tend to come across just regular monks. Since I have been here, I have
gained more respect for monks because the monks here dress tidily and they
follow the vinaya well. Also, unlike some teachers at school, they do not
sometimes try to waste time. They work hard in teaching us at all times.”
In the questionnaires that students filled out for me, too, an overwhelming
majority indicated that they appreciated both a development of a conscience of
the Buddha and the practice of insight. The top two activities they enjoyed most
while at the center’s Buddhist civility program were the practice of insight
meditation and learning about the Buddha’s astounding deeds in his many lives
during the story hour. Of the 90 students that I got to randomly survey across
age and levels, 47 indicated that the activity they enjoyed the most in the
program was insight meditation. Thirty-one said that the activity they enjoyed the
most was learning about the Buddha’s lives during the “Buddha’s History” hour
[instead of calling it “story” hour, they called it “history” hour, indicating that they
fully had faith in the truth value of these tales.] Twenty liked learning the texts
the best, 8 enjoyed the devotional rituals best, paying homage to the Buddha, 8
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enjoyed miscellaneous activities such as watching T.V. or learning poems the
best, 7 said that they liked everything, 5 liked going on the alms round the best, 4
enjoyed the chores of cleaning, and 5 enjoyed listening to the monk abbot’s
Dhamma talks the best. Of the 90 total, only 5 students put down meditation as
something they liked the least and none put down learning about the Buddha’s
lives as something they liked the least. As to the reasons why they liked insight
meditation, most said that they liked it because it helped one to gain a “clarity” of
mind, the skill of “critical judgment,” and the “ability to control” mental states and
moral intentions. Those who said that they enjoyed learning about the Buddha’s
lives the best said that it is because they gained much “bahuthuta” (experiences
worth learning).
Thus, it seems that at the “Buddhist Civility” course at Panditarama, the
monk teachers had the highest of expectations of students in terms of moral and
mental development, but also provided the students with the pedagogical support
and means to walk the path of the Buddha at every step. The support included
self-example, modeling, dialogue, and rituals that evoked egalitarianism and a
sense of community.
Insight Meditation at Panditarama: “A Chariot to Nibbana with a
Conscience as its Back Rest”
It is with the conscience of the Buddha developed at the Buddhist civility
course at Panditarama that many of the students from the program continue to
meditate at Panditarama on other school holidays. Unlike at the International
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Meditation Center that is headed by lay teachers where there is a ten day limit, at
Panditarama, the meditation retreats are year-round and on-going (except during
February when there is the Buddhist Civility program). One can enter any time
and exit any time, although a minimum of a month to two months is encouraged.
Here, ethics is intertwined with the practice. Self-responsibility is encouraged in
noting objects of meditation. That is, unlike at the lay-led meditation centers, the
monk-teachers do not coach one through noting a certain order of body parts and
do not tell one to observe sensation alone. They say that in vipassana, which
means “penetrating an object [of meditation] thoroughly,” one notes with the right
aim and effort whatever is most prominent at any given moment. These objects
may include physical sensations, but also feelings, consciousness, and other
mental phenomena.
Unlike the lay teachers who do not usually refer to texts from the Pali
canon for instructions on meditation, the meditation monk teachers refer
constantly to the Maha Satipatthana Sutta or “The Great Discourse on the
Foundations of Mindfulness.” Citing this discourse, the monks point out that
there are four foundations of mindfulness in the practice of vipassana meditation,
namely, mindfulness of the material body and its earth, water, fire, and air
elements; mindfulness of vedana (feelings of pain, pleasure, or indifference);
mindfulness of consciousness, bare awareness of objects, which is always
“colored” by and arise with mental factors such as greed, hatred/anger, delusion,
faith, and wisdom; and mindfulness of other mental objects which include the
Five Hindrances in meditation, i.e, sense-desire, ill will, sloth and torpor,
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restlessness and remorse, and doubt, the Five Aggregates of Clinging, and the
twelve sense-bases. In Four Foundations of Mindfulness, an exposition that is
based on the Great Discourse and subsequent commentaries, including one
written by his own teacher, the Mahasi Sayadaw, Sayadawgyi U Pandita’s
colleague, Sayadaw U Silananda, wrote that vipassana is very distinct from
samatha or concentration meditation. In vipassana, one is not to concentrate on
one object at the expense of all else. He wrote:
When it is said that you contemplate on the origination and the arising or
on the dissolution and the falling, you are not attached to or clinging to
anything. This means vipassana is not samatha. In this sutta [The Great
Discourse on the Foundations of Mindfulness], every object of meditation
is directed toward vipassana, although in the early stages, it can be
samatha meditation. When you practice vipassana meditation, you keep
your awareness on the breath and also everything that comes to you
through the six sense doors at the present moment. When you see
something, you become aware of it. When you hear something, you do
the same. When you think of something or there are distractions or stray
thoughts, you become aware of them too. This is the difference between
samatha and vipassana meditation. In the former you keep your
awareness only on the meditation object and ignore everything else. In
the latter, you keep your awareness on everything that is present,
everything that comes to you at the present moment. [Venerable U
Silananda 1990:38]
So, the “vipassana” meditation that is taught by the meditation monks involves
mindfulness of all that arises inside of oneself, not only physical, but also mental
phenomena. Because one is responsible for cultivating awareness of the objects
that arise, self-realization, trial and error, and the ethics of patience and nongreed that go with these are encouraged by the monks. Also, under their
instruction, self-reflection on one’s own conduct, motives, and mental states
becomes possible. Because one is able to become aware of mental factors such
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as lobha (greed), dosa (hate/anger), and moha (delusion) while they arise, one
can also curb them. In contrast to the lay teachers whose stated primary goal is
to help meditators achieve insight, monks make explicit the ethical aim of insight
meditation. The Mahasi Sayadaw himself wrote in his book, Practical Insight
Meditation, “The aim of this practice and its greatest benefit is release from
greed, hatred, and delusion, which are the roots of all evil and suffering
(Venerable Mahasi Sayadaw 1979:10).”
Because their view of the goal of insight meditation is not only insight but
also a maturity of moral development, the monk teachers try to foster selfresponsibility in meditators. They efface themselves as much as possible while
instructing meditators. The monk-teacher listens to one’s reports of noting and
observations daily. Yet, they do not insert themselves in one’s meditation other
than to motivate and guide one to note more accurately. As in the teaching of
the Buddhist civility course, they use their own self-effacement to encourage
pupils to eliminate self-indulgence or egocentrism. When Sayadawgyi U Pandita
teaches insight meditation, for example, he reminds students to cultivate a
conscience of the Buddha and self-effacements like those practiced by the
Buddha. He asks them to focus on the “Four Protections” for a few minutes
before every sitting meditation. They include the following: (1) reflect on the
virtues or qualities of the Buddha, (2) send loving-kindness to all living beings, (3)
reflect on the impermanent, filthy, and rotten nature of all of one’s thirty-two body
parts [including, hair, nail etc.] in order to protect against sensual desires, and
(4) reflect on the impermanent nature of one’s life, the inevitability and
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unpredictability of death in order to remind one of the urgency of the practice.
This advice to focus on the “Four Protections” prior to insight meditation is also
found in the Mahasi Sayadaw’s writings on meditation instruction:
First, devote yourself to the Buddha by sincerely appreciating his nine
chief qualities in this way:
Truly the Buddha is holy, fully enlightened, perfect in knowledge
and conduct, a welfarer, world-knower, the incomparable leader of men to
be tamed, teacher of gods and mankind, the awakened and exalted one.
Second, reflect upon all sentient beings as the receivers of your
loving-kindness and identify yourself with all sentient beings without
distinction, thus:
May I be free from enmity, disease and grief…
As I am, so also may my parents, preceptors, teachers, intimates,
indifferent and inimical beings be free from enmity, disease and grief. May
they be released from suffering.
Third, reflect upon the repulsive nature of the body to assist you in
diminishing the unwholesome attachment that so many people have for
the body. Dwell upon some of its impurities, such as stomach, intestines,
phlegm, pus, blood. Ponder these impurities so that the absurd fondness
of the body may be eliminated.
The fourth protection for your psychological benefit is to reflect on
the phenomenon of ever-approaching death. Buddhist teachings stress
that life is uncertain, but death is certain, life is precarious, but death is
sure. Life has death as its goal. There is birth, disease, suffering, old
age, and eventual death. These are all aspects of the process of
existence. [Venerable Mahasi Sayadaw:10,11]
By encouraging meditators to focus on the “Four Protections” prior to insight
meditation, the monk teachers make clear that the path to insight is one guided
by an ethical conscience.
Unlike in the lay meditation centers where the path to insight is likened to
a surgical “operation” whereby illusions are slowly dissected away, insight
meditation is presented by Sayadawgyi as a “cultivation” of positive mental
states. Whereas the lay meditation teachers prefer analogies from science,
examples from contemporary life, and only use stories of the Buddha’s life when
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they are devoid of gods and demons and miracle, Sayadawgyi uses many
analogies and stories from the Buddha’s many lives, especially those that include
gods, demons, and miracles. Even in his collection of talks to a white American
audience, one finds these examples. He likened insight meditation to a “chariot”
traveling toward nibbana and told the story of the Buddha motivating a deva or
god to practice insight meditation. Using the story, he also emphasized that this
chariot, this vehicle to nibbana requires the moral “conscience” of the driver:
Finding the Buddha in Jeta Grove, the deva approached him and asked
for help. The Buddha, impressed by this commitment to practice, gave the
following instructions:
O deva, straight is the path you have trodden. It will lead you to
that safe haven, free from fear, which is your goal. You shall ride in a
chariot that is perfectly silent. Its two wheels are mental and physical
effort. Conscience is its back rest. Mindfulness is the armor that
surrounds this chariot, and right view is the charioteer. Anyone, woman or
man, possessing such a chariot and driving it well, shall have no doubt of
reaching nibbana (Venerable U Pandita 1993: 215).
Through such as analogies and stories, Sayadawgyi establishes that an ethical
conscience is integral to the development of insight; that the Buddha realized the
ultimate path to liberation as even the gods must ask him; that the path is nondiscriminatory and universal and anyone can “drive” on it if they were well
equipped with the proper vehicle and drove “well.”
Unlike the students at the lay Buddhist organizations who sometimes
meditated under lay teachers at the International Meditation Center and said that
their ability to act ethically often depended on the quality of their social
environment outside of class, Sayadawgyi’s students often spoke of how they
were able to control their unwholesome mental states as these occurred
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wherever in their daily lives. One of his students from the Buddhist Civility
program who later came back to continue meditating under him during other
school holidays was a twenty-one year old young woman. She told me that since
the development of her meditation practice at Panditarama, she no longer put
people down for being different. For example, she said that she works with many
Christians and Muslims at her work and they are often curious about what she
does at the meditation center, but she does not try to dissuade them from their
beliefs such as a belief in a creator or sacrifices. She also said that she had
become an independent thinker, relying on her own judgments developed from
insight meditation, even in times of panic. For example, she said that she
recently got into a terrible car accident and cut herself quite badly on the face
above the eyes:
In the beginning [at the scene of the accident], I was a bit worried not only
about my physical well being but also about my looks. But as soon as I
noticed this worry, I noted it. The worry subsided and I was able to wait
patiently as help arrived. At that moment of noting, I realized that this was
what I could rely on--my remembrance of the Buddha and my own ability
to be mindful. Even my parents cannot be relied upon in such times of
need. The Buddha and the Dhamma—that’s all one can rely upon. And
the Buddha is not a blesser or creator so you have to ultimately rely upon
your ability to follow what he taught. But his path is universal. It does not
discriminate. Anyone can practice it. That is why there is no need for me
to defend Buddhism to my Christian or Muslim friends.
Sarkisyanz criticized many Western scholars on Buddhism, such as Weber, who
saw in the Buddhist path to salvation selfishness. He summed up the integral
nature of a social ethics and the development of insight in Theravada Buddhism
in the following excerpt:
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Theravada Buddhism has not accepted doctrines of vicarious salvation or
salvation by Grace. Its quest is concerned with the self-salvation of what
is otherwise called the individual. Therefore his Buddhist quest has been
again and again described as selfish, ignoring its basic presupposition:
the non-reality of the self. This Buddhist self-salvation can only be
accomplished through realization that the self is illusion; the allegedly
egoistic Nirvana can only be sought through insight into the illusory nature
of the ego! This insight is to result from a consciousness of one’s identity
with all beings, animals and men, friends and enemies, the virtuous and
the vicious. To this consciousness of universal identity the quest for
deliverance contains the wish for the happiness of all beings, the
awakening of Universal Love [Mettabhavana]…Because universal
compassion is considered a stage in self-salvation, Max Weber saw fit to
conclude that an emotion of human love could not spring from Buddhism.
But he overlooked that if Nirvana is a state beyond universal compassion,
it is only because by reaching it the consciousness of individuality has
been overcome (Sarkisyanz:38-39).
As I have shown, the meditation monk teachers at Panditarama have tried to
teach insight meditation so that an ethical and moral awareness guides every
step and every day of one’s practice, even as one lives and moves in the world.
Attempting their best to follow the Buddha’s example, the monks at Panditarama
tries to help the young students become motivated to practice insight meditation,
benefit from it, and become morally self-responsible in the process.
While during adult meditation retreats the meditators practice more
fulltime, the same practices as in the “Buddhist Civility” course apply: much selfresponsibility in meditation, devotional rituals, mindfulness practice in daily
activities, including eating, and a development of a conscience of the Buddha
through story-telling of his astounding deeds and virtues, guide daily meditation
practice. The following section is an account of my own one-month long
meditation practice at Panditarama just prior to the beginning of the “Buddhist
Civility” course.
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Meditating Ethnographer
At the start, I had a very difficult time meditating at Panditarama for I was
not initially socialized in its “Buddhist Civility “ course. Having grown up in the
United States since a young age, I was also not socialized with a consciousness
or conscience of the Buddha to the same extent as people in Burma. Also, as an
academician, I found it difficult to surrender the tools of critical thinking to which I
was accustomed. It was only through my cultivation of faith in the Buddha, the
monks, and the path to insight they represented that I ended up persevering in
the meditation retreat and began to see inside myself new knowledge. By the
end of the one month, I was beginning to see in my body the three principles
upon which Buddhism is founded, ie.,1) dukkha, that suffering exists everywhere
and 2) anicca, that all things are subject to change, and 3) anatta, that there is
no self. During sitting meditation, I became aware of pain at many places in my
body, from throbbing aches on the back of my shoulders to gnawing pressure on
my lower back, to incredibly sharp, prickly pains in my legs. I saw that I had no
control over the pain. I could not wish it to occur. I could not wish it to disappear.
I saw that the pain came and went by itself. At any given area, pain was not one
opaque fixture but always made up of fine points that sometimes decreased or
increased. If I focused on one area of pain long enough with the right aim and
effort and noted it, I found that pain was elemental rather than personal. Pain
was not so much “me.” “I” was not in pain. Rather, pain was a dynamic of heat,
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cold, wind, fluidity, hardness, and softness. Whenever I realized these elements
as I noted pain, I found my patience grew. I could bear the pain. I was able to
refocus on the primary object of my meditation, the rising and falling movements
of my abdomen which are a natural outcome of my breathing. Hence, by the
end of my month-long participation in the meditation retreat, I was beginning to
learn the nature of suffering and how to live with it. If nothing else, I was able to
bear physical pain better, with more patience.
There were about fifty others meditating at the same time with me at the
center. Like me, some were robed as nuns or monks. Others wore the
traditional uniform of yogis or meditators, a white top, a brown tube-like garment,
much like a sarong, and a brown shawl. With uniforms, all of us were effacing
our identities to a certain extent.
We were also engaging in activities that departed from our daily routines.
We awoke at three o’clock in the morning, did loving-kindness meditation in the
Dhamma Hall, did some sitting meditation, had breakfast, then alternated
between sitting and walking meditation for the rest of the day until nine o’clock at
night, with the exception of one more mealtime before noon, a break for bath,
and a brief reporting session with the monk instructor.
As for myself, I felt far from my daily life as “researcher” to which I was
becoming accustomed. For many months I had been more of an outsider
observing the ways Buddhist culture was transmitted in Burma, but I was now
becoming a full-fledged participant. Previously, I would awake around eight in
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the morning at my aunt’s and uncle’s house, flag down a taxi at the street corner,
and go off to interview officials, educators, and other informants at the Ministry of
Religion, schools, monasteries, or the Teachers’ College. Some days, I went to
observe religious ceremonies, both private and state-ran, or attended Dhamma
talks (Buddhist sermons) for adults and Buddhist civility classes for young
people. In all cases, I took notes. On returning to my aunt’s and uncle’s home in
the evenings, I reflected on my data. I planned my future research activities.
Yet, now, participating in a month-long meditation retreat, I found I had no choice
but to surrender all the methods of reflection on which I had been trained.
First, silence rather than talk was considered noble during the retreat. As
such, interviews were not an option for me. In order to maximize concentration
and the ability to be mindful of one’s mind and body, meditators for the most part
kept a strict silence twenty-four hours a day. Even meals were eaten in silence.
Yet, no one really walked around enforcing these rules, so while most meditators
followed them, some did not. The only “interviews” were those conducted for a
few minutes daily by the meditation monk teacher with each of the meditators.
These interviews strictly pertained to the meditators’ practice of meditation, their
progress, and difficulties. In turn, the monk teacher provided guidance regarding
the practice. Hence, unlike the student and researcher that I was used to being, I
found I could not be inquisitive through talk.
Second, we were discouraged from any form of reading and writing during
the retreat, as these activities, too, may disrupt one’s mindfulness. My habit of
recording with words my experiences was now interrupted.
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‘Practice, practice, practice,’ was the message. Yet, as I observed the
many Burmese meditators around me, I felt for the first time in my life wild and
recalcitrant. I was skeptical of the practice. They had faith. I wanted to ask
questions. They had none. While my eyes wandered in hopes of making eye
contacts, they steadfastly looked downward just a few feet ahead of themselves
as instructed by the monk teacher. While I moved at a usual pace, they did
everything in very slow motion as instructed for they were trying hard to maintain
mindfulness of the slightest movements of their bodies. As I was watching one
particular young woman put on her slippers after emerging from the Dhamma
Hall, I found she had divided this process into multiple steps so that she could
note each movement: seeing the slippers, walking toward the slippers, reaching
for the slippers, picking up the slippers, placing them on the floor, lifting the right
foot, placing the right foot in the slippers, lifting the left foot, placing the left foot in
the slippers …All together, she took nearly five minutes. And indeed, the monkteacher had told us, “In meditation, it is ideal to imitate the movements of those
who are ill and infirm.” As hard as I tried to do the same, this sort of meekness
was completely foreign to the pace to which my body was used. Moreover, I felt
a great desire to talk and to write about my observations of other meditators.
In my daily “interviews” with the monk-teacher, I became more and more
aware of an arrogance I did not know I had. Prior to my entering the meditation
retreat, I had been treated much like a celebrity in Burmese society. Relatives,
government officials, educators, and other associates publically praised my
credentials. Yet, the monk teacher treated me as he would any other meditator.
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He saw past my history, education, and background and expected from me no
more, no less than what he expected from all meditators, that is, mindfulness of
my mind and body’s moment to moment states. Yet, I found I was not able to be
mindful even as I turned the door knob to enter his quarters for the interview. “I
can tell just how mindful a yogi is from the way they turn the door knob and enter
the room. Your noting mind is not in your movements,” he often reprimanded
me. Under his tutelage, I noticed for the first time my arrogance as I was
confronted with something in which I was not only incompetent, but also saw no
simple ways to improve myself. I felt a sense of humiliation and anger initially. I
was finding that all my years of education were useless in developing me as a
meditator. I found that, in fact, many of the Burmese meditators, some without
even as much as a high school education were more skilled than me in being
mindful. I saw them do everything slowly and with moment to moment
awareness. As I waited for my turn each day, I also got to hear many of the
Burmese meditators’ interviews with the monk teacher. Many of their reports
resembled in tone that of the following Burmese meditator who had just entered
her practice:
Sayadaw, I noted, `rising.’ There was stiffness, pressure. I noted `falling.’
There was looseness. I was able to note rising and falling successively as
such for several times. Then, there was great pain (she pointed toward
her right knee)—very, very sharp pain. I almost couldn’t stand it. It was
such a great pain (the sudden scowl on her face seemed to relive that
pain). Yet, I noted that pain. I kept noting, ‘pain, pain, pain…’ At first, the
pain became sharper. Yet, later, it decreased…
Like many other Burmese meditators, this meditator’s report was visceral,
sequential, and spontaneous. The monk-teacher was satisfied with her progress
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and said simply, “Good, continue practicing like that.” Through meditation, she
was able to see clearly the different constituents that made up her physicall body,
for instance, wind and earth elements, i.e., stiffness, pressure, in the rising and
falling movement of her abdomen.
With such first-hand knowledge that they were but a collection of mental
(e.g., the noting mind) and physical phenomena manifest as elements one would
find in anything else in nature, many Burmese meditators seemed to feel
liberated. I saw tears of joy on many of their faces as they expressed gratitude
toward the monk-teacher. One young woman said to the monk-teacher just
before returning home, “Such knowledge would never have been possible while
being at home. I am so grateful to you.” I, on the other hand, kept seeing a “self”
image, that is, a whole “me” walking, breathing, turning door knobs, eating,
sitting, standing, and going through the motions. Not being mindful of the
sensations in my body well enough, my reports were unclear and often
summarized instead of sequential. So, several times the monk teacher asked,
“After you noted ‘pain, pain,’ what did you see?” Each time, I was unable to give
an answer, because my body did not remember. In my actual meditation, my
mind had drifted to other objects, mainly thoughts, and I had not bothered to note
this wandering. So, very often, I found myself conjecturing what I might have
experienced while noting “pain, pain.” Yet, he could see through my deception.
He replied, “Don’t tell me what you think you saw. Tell me what you actually
saw. When your meditation becomes clearer, so will your reports.” While almost
all the Burmese meditators could report by heart because they remembered
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viscerally what they observed in meditation, I always had to rely on my written
notes. “You write way too much. It is not necessary if you are more mindful.
You have to remember that you are not doing that kind of learning here (referring
to my university education),” the monk teacher told me. Instead of feeling
liberated, I felt wild, untamed, and “self” imposing. It was this inability to see past
my “self” that compounded my realization that I was arrogant.
The monk-teacher further pointed out my arrogance by stating that all I
needed to do to be more mindful was to “make an effort.” He was letting me
know that being mindful or not mindful was more a choice than an innate skill. I
also began to realize that I was choosing to observe everyone else but myself.
Through his unrelenting treatment of me as any other meditator whose sole job
was to be mindful, I did eventually begin to make more effort to concentrate when
noting the rising and falling of my abdomen and whatever else arose or
predominated in my mind and body as I sat, walked, bathed, and ate.
Finally, through repeated efforts, I started to feel in the middle of my
second week that I was making progress. So did the monk teacher. My report
was the following:
I noted rising. There was stiffness and coolness. I noted falling. There
was looseness. I was able to note rising and falling for several minutes.
Then, I heard something. So, I noted, ‘hearing, hearing.’ I returned to
noting rising and falling. After several more minutes of noting rising and
falling, I felt a sharp pain on my upper left shoulder. I noted it. It
decreased a bit. But then I started to feel pain on my back, too. I noted
that pain. It was difficult to bear. My mind wandered. I noted,
‘wandering.’ Then, I was able to return to the throbbing pain on my back
to note it. I noted a long time. I wanted it to go away. I saw that the pain
intensified. ‘Very painful, very painful,’ I noted. After a while, with the
pain, I started to feel lonely. I noted, ‘feel lonely, lonely.’ I felt like the pain
was inevitable and there was very little I could do about it.
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The monk-teacher responded, “Very good. With this one sitting, you have
developed a great deal.”
In my third week, as I noted pain, I noticed that sometimes it was dull and
sometimes sharp, it sometimes increased or decreased, and sometimes it rolled
like air, gave off heat, then cooled so that at times I actually felt relief. Being able
to note pain, I was able to bear it more patiently. I was able to return to noting
my primary object, the rising and falling of my abdomen more easily. By my last
week, I was able to sit longer, about an hour straight, doing sitting meditation. I
even begun to feel piti (joy) in being mindful. Several times, I saw lights and
noted “seeing, seeing.” Once, I got chills, and so I noted, “cold, cold.”
By the end of my month-long insight meditation retreat, I felt I had gained
much new knowledge from adopting an approach to learning that previously was
quite foreign to me. Instead of looking outside of myself for answers, I had
looked inside of me. Instead of beginning with a hypothesis, I was able to
generalize truths from specifics that I saw in my body. Instead of relying on
writing and talking to reflect on one’s findings, I relied on silence and
concentration. Instead of relying on my book knowledge, I saw myself as a
practitioner like any other practitioner who would learn from doing. Instead of
expecting a lineal progression of activities, I learned to place didactic value in
repetition, trial, and error. Lastly, but most importantly, instead of questioning,
criticizing, or rebelling against the teacher’s premises at every turn, I also learned
to cultivate some faith in his instructions.
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Furthermore, I was finding that the knowledge gained from this newly
found approached to learning was beneficial in a very moral sense. The monk
teacher, in his impersonal, self-effacing tone, had encouraged me to be not selfindulgent in the practice. Moreover, sending loving-kindness to living beings four
times daily (morning, evening, and at the meals), paying homage to the Buddha
with a remembrance of his virtues twice daily, and hearing Dhamma talks every
evening about the Buddha’s self-less deeds, helped motivate me to curb my selfindulgences. So, it helped me to make some wise choices in life, choices,
however simple, that would not harm myself and others. For instance, having
realized better the nature of pain, I was now more reluctant than ever to rely on
drugs and medication to relieve symptoms such as headaches or muscle aches.
I note and am mindful of the pain instead. I now have a bit more forbearance for
pain in general, both physical and emotional. I am more capable of being
patient and am less likely to react out of greed and anger. Such results were
quite impossible to have achieved without the meekness and humility that was
required of me in insight meditation.
The most liberating and assuring aspect of the knowledge gained through
my insight meditation retreat is that ultimately the moral component was not top
down. The goodness of patience and forbearance were never extolled by the
monk throughout the meditation retreat although in our devotion rituals and
Dhamma talks, we were reminded of the Buddha’s benevolence. The monkteacher simply kept guiding me to meditate with the right effort and aim. While in
other contexts I had read and heard widely about the three fundamental
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principles of Buddhism, i.e., that suffering exists everywhere, all things change,
and there is no self, my theoretical knowledge was never able to transform me in
the way my practice of meditation now had. Because now I was beginning to
realize these truths of Buddhism within my mind and body, I knew intuitively the
value of forbearance and patience. In having begun to successfully tame myself
with patience, I felt contented, liberated, and empowered.
Role of the Meditation Monk Teachers Is Significant for One’s
Enlightenment
My ability to know the fundamentals of Buddhism in such a practical sense
was largely due to the meditation monk teacher’s example. He was not a
teacher in the sense of someone delivering a lecture or expounding a principle.
He was more like a technical expert who led by example. My monk teacher,
Kyaukten Sayadaw (a senior assistant to the head monk, Sayadaw U Pandita,)
had had many years of insight meditation experience. At the retreat, while
guiding meditators like myself, he constantly practiced mindfulness. He made
little or no eye contact with any of the meditators. He was not interested in us
personally. He did not reflect much on our histories but only on our practice at
hand. When we reported, he sat on his seat with his eyes cast downward or
closed and he seemed to be noting that he was hearing. When he gave advice,
too, his comments were brief, concise, and focused on getting us to be mindful.
Moreover, with his shaved head and saffron colored robes, he, too, had effaced
many of his personal, identity markers. Following strictly his vinaya or disciplines
for monks, he tended not to intervene too much in our practice of meditation in
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the Dhamma Hall or elsewhere in the meditation center. Once in a while he
walked by in the Dhamma Hall to help guide our walking meditation. Yet, mostly,
he kept to himself and his own practice. The Dhamma interview was the only
forum in which he usually permitted himself to give instructions. Hence, his
presence throughout my meditation retreat was barely perceptible. This helped
me to be self-responsible in my efforts to be mindful. I felt free to experiment
genuinely with my body as my laboratory.
Most importantly, his impersonal, focused, and self-effacing style helped
me to see and shed many forms of arrogance in myself that I had never before
known I had. He was not at all impressed with my credentials. Sensing my
arrogance, he consciously and strategically chose not to easily praise me, even
in my meditation practice. Once, a well-meaning lay assistant to the monks, who
once was a former head nurse at Rangoon General Hospital, told the monkteacher in front of me, “Sayadaw, you know, this young woman is very capable.
She is intelligent. I have asked her about her practice. From one day to the next,
she seems to be progressing quickly.” The monk teacher quietly reprimanded
her, “Dagamagyi (lay supporter), one should not say such things.” Through
being tamed himself, the monk teacher helped me to tame myself.
In the several years following my return to the United States, I continued
to meditate in month-long retreats in San Jose, California with meditation monks
from the same Mahasi tradition, including Kyaukten Sayadaw’s teacher, the
monk abbot, Sayadawgyi U Pandita. Throughout each retreat, I have been able
to curb my wandering mind and my sense of “self” importance. In becoming
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tamed as such, I have been able to focus on objects of my meditation. I have
developed a shame and a fear of losing a sense of freedom that comes with
being mindful. For instance, now, I do not wish to hear others’ chatter while I am
meditating. I also do not want to talk. I keep my eyes downward and am less
curious about what others are doing or not doing.
Meditating under the guidance of Sayadaw U Pandita and the other monk
teachers’ tutelage in San Jose, I gained much confidence in my ability to affect
positive change in my immediate world. Firstly, my faith in the power of moral
intentions grew because I could see more clearly causes and effects between
mental and physical phenomena. In meditation, I saw that when I harbored
negative thoughts and negligently did not note these, negative consequences
occurred in my body. When I harbored positive thoughts, positive consequences
occurred in my body. For instance, when I worried and was not mindful enough
to note it, sometimes pain surged and was overwhelming. When I was greedy
and wanted the pain to go away, the pain intensified. Only when I noted my
greed as “Want to make pain go away,” “Want to make pain go away,” then my
greed or urgency subsided. As my greed disappeared, I could note the pain
more objectively. I saw that it was made up of smaller constituents, elements of
nature. As I observed these elements and noted their sensations with patience, I
felt peace. There was softness and lightness in the rising and falling of my
abdomen. In my most recent meditation retreat, just this past summer, I also
realized that one mental state can cause subsequent mental states to occur. I
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am better able to see clearly mental phenomena now. As my thoughts wandered
toward my job status this summer (for I had been laid off) and I failed to note
“wandering,” I saw that I started to worry about my job. When I failed to note
“worry,” “worry,” I found that worry transformed into jealousy, jealousy toward my
co-workers who luckily did not get picked randomly like myself to be laid-off
during the budget cuts. Finally, I noted “jealousy,” “jealousy,” and the jealousy
subsided. A desire to be glad for my co-workers arose/ I noted this desire. I felt
at peace. I noted that feeling. By the end of my retreat, with mainly positive
thoughts now, I found I actually got my job back. Hence, my faith in the power of
my moral intentions to affect change developed greatly. In other words, I came
to accept first-hand the law of cause and effect in Buddhism, namely the law of
kamma, that negative moral intentions cause negative consequences and
positive moral intentions cause positive consequences.
Through meditation, I also began to realize the illusion of “self” and
images. In my mind’s eye as I meditated, I saw an image of my physical body
distort and fracture, much like in a Picasso painting. For instance, an image of
my head was below my neck and one of my arms was missing. I noted “seeing,”
“seeing.” I felt there was nothing essential about my “self.” I noted that feeling.
In later meditations, as I noted the gentle, spinning air that was the rising and
falling movement of my abdomen, I saw an image of my self spinning in it and
breaking down in pieces. I noted “seeing,” “seeing.” I felt I had no self, that it
was an illusion. I noted that feeling. I felt free. I noted, “Feel free,” “Feel free.”
My mind wandered to other people I had seen recently, such as a fellow
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meditator or the monk teacher. Their images, too, one by one, spun in my mind’s
eye and broke down into fragments. I felt there was no one figure I could truly
rely upon. They too were without essence. I noted that feeling. I felt free. I
noted, “Feel free,” “Feel free.” As such, by the end of my last meditation retreat, I
felt genuinely that the only thing in the world I could rely upon with predictable
consequences were, not my self image, not friends, not teachers, not bosses, not
parents, but my moral intentions. I felt very empowered with this knowledge.
ENDNOTES
1
(Almost all are included in) Buddha Yin Kye Hmu Achey Pyu Thin Ten, Akyii Ten Thin
Gan Saa (Advanced Level Course on Buddhist Civility), Panditarama
Shwetaungone Meditation Center, Rangoon, Burma, 1994, Pp. 24-30.
(Also, English translations are found in) Sao Htun Hmat Win, The Initiation of
Novicehood and the Ordination Of Monkhood in the Burmese Buddhist Culture,
Department of Religious Affairs, Rangoon, Burma, 1986, Pp. 142-150.
2
Buddha Yin Kye Hmu Achey Pyu Thin Ten, Alet Ten Thin Gan Saa (Intermediate Level
Course on Foundations of Buddhist Civility), Panditarama
Shwetaungone Meditation Center, Rangoon, Burma, 1994, Pp. 75-77.
3
Buddha Yin Kye Hmu Achey Pyu Thin Ten, Ange Ten Thin Gan Saa, Beginning Level
Course on Foundations of Buddhist Civility)Panditarama
Shwetaungone Meditation Center, Rangoon, Burma, 1994, p. 45.
4
Buddha Yin Kye Hmu Achey Pyu Thin Ten, Ange Ten Thin Gan Saa (Beginning Level
Course on Foundations of Buddhist Civility), Panditarama
Shwetaungone Meditation Center, Rangoon, Burma, 1994, p. 16.
5
Buddha Yin Kye Hmu Achey Pyu Thin Ten, Alet Ten Thin Gan Saa (Intermediate Level
Course on Foundations of Buddhist Civility), Panditarama
Shwetaungone Meditation Center, Rangoon, Burma, 1994, Pp. 92.
240
6
Buddha Yin Kye hUm Achey Pyu Thin Ten, Phaya Shikho (Course on Foundations of
Buddhist Civility, Paying Homage to the Buddha), Panditarama Shwetaungone
Meditation Center, Rangoon, Burma, 1994, Pp. 3-6.
241
Conclusion
Insight Meditation as Sublimation and Political Praxis:
The Example of Aung San Suu Kyi
An aspect of Spiro’s study on Buddhism and society in Burma that I have
found useful is his effort to understand some commonalities in the human
condition by studying how difficult it is for a people to overcome certain basic
human fallibilities even as the ultimate goal of their religion asks them to do so.
Like Obeyesekere, I believe that anthropology will become too methodologically
flawed and have little to offer in terms of human understanding if our primary goal
is to present the “native’s point of view (Obeyesekere 1990).” Not only do the
limited linguistic abilities of most of us prevent us from fully knowing the native’s
point of view, but our understanding of the “native’s point of view” is also
inevitably colored by our own cultural and theoretical lenses which, being
unaware, we often do not make explicit (Obeyesekere 1990:219). Since the
1960s, there has been a positive thrust in anthropology to go beyond purely thick
ethnographic description to a more comparative approach in which elements that
on the surface appear “exotic” in our studies can become springboards to
unsettle the theoretical and cultural assumptions we hold in the West (Marcus
and Fisher 1986). However, as Obeyesekere cautioned, any initiation of the task
of thick description without an explicit nomological framework, a “metatheory,”
runs the danger of making oneself believe that our theoretical, cultural, and
personal biases do not already spill into our fieldwork from the start. Without
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such an explicit nomological framework, too, anthropologists will have little to
learn from each other’s works. He stated,
[The anthropologist] cannot produce a viable dialogue with his
colleagues…one seems to lack a common language to carry on a debate
and one is left with the puzzlement that purely ad hoc interpretation seems
to have taken over…You need concepts that could effect a bridge across
cultures; megaconcepts can do this, but metatheories can fulfill this task
more effectively…they can combine thick description with nomological
adequacy and deductive order, and simultaneously facilitate
communication with colleagues. [Obeyesekere 1990:257-258]
What I appreciate about Spiro’s study is his explicitness from the start in stating
his theoretical perspective on religion and society:
In my view, which informed this entire research project, religious ideas are
not so much used to think about, or classify, with, as to live by. That is,
they are used to provide hopes, to satisfy wishes, to resolve conflict, to
cope with tragedy, to rationalize failure, to find meaning in suffering. In
short, religious ideas deal with the very guts of life, not with its bland
surface. This instrumental conception of ideas (a conception which is
derived from Dewey, Freud, and Weber) is abundantly supported, I
believe, by the vicissitudes of the Buddhist ideas examined in the following
chapters. [Spiro:6]
Like Spiro, I, too, am inclined to believe that much of religious experience occur
at an unconscious, existential level, in the way persons try to negotiate the
sufferings and joys of their own daily lives with their knowledge of religious ideas.
However, as a Buddhist of Burmese origin who is also an academician in the
West, I also believe that a conscious, systematic rendering of Buddhist ideas and
symbols and how these resonate with the rest of society (and even humanity), is
not the monopoly of the Western theorist. Through my research work, I have
realized that a thick description into how different sectors of Burmese Buddhist
society try to consciously transmit Buddhism is also needed. This helps the
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ethnographer to revise epistemological biases of his or her own theoretical
perspective.
For instance, in Spiro’s analysis, he concluded that most Burmese had in
fact departed with their religion’s salvation goal of nibbana for more worldly
“Buddhist” goals as their human nature, like any one else’s in the world, could not
cope with the stringent, otherworldly path to nibbana. Greatly influenced by
Freudian psychoanalysis, he wrote that their primal human drives, including a
libido shaped mostly in child rearing (Spiro: 72, 133-135), is often thwarted by the
highest ideals of their religion, and hence, continually the Burmese Buddhist
individual initiates a more indulging “Buddhist” goal to try to maintain a more or
less healthy self. However, a look into the educational settings for teaching
Buddhism in contemporary Burma, including the meditation centers that were
already beginning to thrive in the 1960s when Spiro did his field work, indicate
that at least some Buddhist educators see Buddhism also as a theory and a
practice of confronting and slowly taming, rather than thwarting or barring, the
most basic human desires, including an attachment to pleasures. That is, while
almost all Buddhist educators uniformly call their Buddhist lessons paths to “yinkye-hmu” or civility, their means for going about this task of “civilizing” the
populace are different and with varying outcomes. While punitive approaches
are abundant in some, the more nurturing approaches are abundant in others.
The meditation monk teachers in my study, for the most part, saw real or
“de ghe” Buddhist “civility” as one in which the person is gradually and
consciously “de-civilized,” i.e., freed from attachment to all things that civilization
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normally takes for granted, including family, nation, and the self. This decivilization comes from within and while a conscience of the Buddha motivates
this process of gradual realization of the non-existence of conceptual categories,
including the self, the person has to see it to believe it through the practice of
insight meditation. When motivated by a conscience of the Buddha’s
benevolence, this process of gradual realization of no-self also motivates moral
action in the world for one has become less self-ish through the process. And it
is this self-less mode of being in the world that the meditation monk teachers at
Panditarama call genuine “civility.”
As Spiro’s anthropological monograph, Buddhism and Society: A Great
Tradition and Its Burmese Vicissitudes, has been the last anthropological
monograph and a primary authority on Buddhism and Burma in the last thirty
years, I find I must address its psychoanalytic methodology. In stating that most
Burmese could not aspire to the ideal of nibbana in Buddhism, often settled for
more self-indulgent paths, and sometimes suffered neuroses a result of this
incredible gulf between ideal and reality, Spiro assumed that the conflict between
the free will of the “id” and the highly critical nature of the “superego” is a given in
the Burmese Buddhist setting. I conclude that it is not. The extent to which it
may be a reality at all there does depend on how Buddhism is differentially
inculcated. As Obeyesekere has written, the idea that an “ego” must reign at the
end of a “cure” in psychoanalysis is little different from the Western obsession,
derived from the enlightenment, of the primacy of a reflective consciousness:
Freud destroyed the primacy of consciousness, only to reassert in his later
years, the primacy of the ego. On the one hand he asserted that the ego
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is a helpless creature serving three masters, but he also took for granted
in almost Cartesian fashion its indubitablity. [Obeyesekere 1990:353]
If anything, my study indicates that a study of Theravada Buddhist societies and
how they attempt to transmit Buddhism in modernity can help to revise
psychoanalytic theory in the West. Both can deal with a form of “de-civilization”
process of the individual. In Civilization and its Discontents, Freud had written
how “civilization” with its rules and restrictions are the prime cause of suffering as
it sets ideals toward which people’s primal realities cannot acclimate (Freud
1930). However, for him the solution was psychoanalysis whereby the “id” or
one’s primal urges can first be exhumed and then indulged to the extent that a
more rational “ego” or concept of self can reign and the suffering person can
reach a mid-way resolution between primal urges and an idealized self, the
“superego.” For the meditation monk teachers in my study, it is not
psychoanalysis but a gradual nurturing into the practice of insight meditation that
is the solution to one’s problems of “civilization.” Through insight meditation that
is motivated by a conscience of the Buddha, one’s primal urges, such as greed,
anger, hate, and pride can be recognized, judged, and then transformed into
more positive mental states. That is because these urges are not seen as
extensions of the “self” (which is realized as non-existent) but as conditioned
phenomena in and of themselves. Perhaps psychoanalytic theory can articulate
with the practice of insight meditation. However, the subject of my thesis has
been that insight meditation, the Theravada Buddhist “de-civilization” process,
can help to revise the bases of Western psychoanalytic theory.
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Firstly, as Obeyesekere maintained, and I have shown with my analyses
of stories, ritual, and art in the various Buddhist educational settings and in larger
Burma, the conscience of the Buddha does not entail the same connotations of
guilt and need for self-punishment that the image of the God and Father entail in
Judeo-Christian cultures. Also, as I observed in the meditation centers with
monk teachers, this conscience of the Buddha is very much alive in much
learning and practice of meditation in Burma. I show, in fact, that the kind of
existential crisis that Spiro perceived, the great emotional conflict between the
needs of individuals attached to worldly pleasures and the otherworldly striving of
their salvation goals, is less an issue among Burmese Buddhists than what Spiro
observed and what I initially assumed. So, while it is important to explicitly
recognize our nomothetic framework upon entering field work and doing our
ethnography, it is also equally important to pay attention to how the people we
study also, debate, theorize, and formulate similar concerns about the human
condition. In turn, we can let our theories be revised and become more rigorous
by their work. Klima’s, Funeral Casino, a study of how Buddhist meditations on
death helped to sensitize rather than desensitize Thai people’s knowledge of the
pain and suffering of others is one example of how an ethnographer’s theoretical
pre-conceptions became transformed (Klima 2002). That is, the ethnographer,
coming from a Western humanist perspective, believed from the outset that
images of death were mere sensationalist tools of the state and commercial
interests. However, through a thick description of Buddhist meditations on death,
he was also able to show how such meditation, in recalling rather than forgetting
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the ugliness of death, became one essence of the political resistance against the
state that wants to forget ordinary citizens who died for its causes. Klima’s thesis
was a study on how various Thai people theorized and systematically practiced
to address the same concerns he had, that is death. Through his study of the
discursive practices of Thai people, he was able to revise some of the bases of
his own theoretical slant. I believe that my thesis on a variety of forms of
Buddhist education in Burma, including insight meditation practice, have also
been a step in that direction.
Famous Shwegyin Monks in Burma: Ethical Conscience and
Insight Development for the Masses as Political Praxis
As I have shown in the previous chapter, insight meditation as taught by
the meditation monk teachers of Panditarama Mediation center is a form of
personal sublimation, a process of transforming negative or unwholesome mental
states into more positive and wholesome ones. It is also a form of political
praxis. Sayadawgyi U Pandita comes from a line of monks of the Shwegyin sect
whose quite strict following of the vinaya and an emphasis on combining pariyatti
(literary learning of Buddhist texts) with pathibatti (meditation practice) have
become a political praxis in and of itself. In his biography and also in an
interview with me, the Sayadawgyi said that he is most influenced by the late
Mahasi Sayadaw and the Mahagandayone Sayadaw (Ashin Zanakabivamsa).
These monks have been famous in Burma for making mindfulness practice or
insight meditation relevant in the modern era for the common lay person living
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and moving in the world. The Mahasi Sayadaw, Sayadaw U Pandita’s direct
teacher, was the first monk to write a compendium for ordinary lay persons of
how to practice insight meditation. The Mahaghandayone Sayadaw of
Amarapura near Mandalay de-emphasized rote learning of Buddhist texts for a
more dialogic approach. He also tried to promote a visceral knowledge of the
Buddha’s teachings among lay persons. His stated philosophy in the
transmission of Buddhism was that learning the Tripitaka, the Pali canon, was
insufficient in the practice of the Buddha’s teachings, for the Tripitaka was not
necessarily the same thing as Buddhist civility, which entailed ethical endeavors.
He said, “Many monks in Burma today are advanced in their knowledge of the
Tipitaka. Yet, many are not civil. They have little interest in ethical development
or helping communities. Many monks from my old village went over to Mandalay
for an education (in the Tripitaka), but they came back copying urban slangs and
they do not want to teach character education to the children (Ashin
Zanakabivamsa 1979:65-66).” Moreover, he placed much of the responsibility of
Buddhist civility on governments’ own ethics: “Leaders in the government must
know right from wrong and then they must fix the wrongs. If not, for certain, the
so-called Tripitaka scholars will be quite blind.” He did his part by writing many
intermediate texts of the Pali cannon for young novices, lay adults, and lay
children, such as the Practice of Abhidhamma, which tried to explain the
metaphysics of mental factors through many stories from the Buddha’s lives as
well as analogies from contemporary life. As his successor monk abbot said,
“The Mahagandayone Sayadaw wrote Buddhist texts with the goal that people
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can understand and practice, even without the need of a teacher.” The Practice
of Abhidamma was a text used by Sayadaw U Pandita to teach the advanced
students in his Buddhist civility course. Other prose, stories, poems, and verses
of both the Mahasi Sayadaw and the Mahaghandayone Sayadaw imbue the
Buddhist civility textbooks compiled by Sayadaw U Pandita and his monk
disciples to use to teach to the students at their “Buddhist Civility” program.
Moreover, he tried to continue the strict adherence to the vinaya code that both
monks promoted among their monk disciples. This was a practice that assured a
monk-teacher/lay-pupil relationship that is imbued with much respect on the part
of lay pupils. In other words, the Mahagandayone Sayadaw and the Mahasi
Sayadaw, and now, their disciple, Sayadaw U Pandita, through their own political
praxis, have helped to prevent in modern Burma, the Cartesian dualism, the
Western Orientalist efforts to dismantle Buddhist faith from the path to critical
insight.
Meditation Monk Teachers’ Influence on Today’s Opposition
Movement in Burma: Personal and Political Transformations
U Nu’s government in the 50s enlisted the help of the Mahagandayone
Sayadaw in coming up with Buddhist civility curricula for beginning, intermediate,
and advanced lay students. Today, the opposition leader in Burma, Aung San
Suu Kyi, has associated with Sayadaw U Pandita for her own spiritual
development and to form a vision of an ethical society that she would like to see
realized in Burma. This vision she has of an ethical society is very similar to the
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Ashokan ideals pronounced by many kings of Burma’s past and U Nu as well.
She articulated these Ashokan ideals in modern form in the following speech to
the students at the Buddhist Civility Course in Panditarama in the year following
my own research at the meditation center:
I come to you, novices and young nuns, because I feel that being older, I
have some experiences to share. But you have much more virtues than
me. You are very lucky. I didn’t get such a chance [to participate in a
Buddhist civility course] when I was young. There were no such courses.
When I was young, I just learned from my mother’s and father’s family
traditions. For example, my grandmother did tell us Jataka tales nightly.
These tales contain the Mangala Blessings. However, I didn’t’ know
exactly all the Mangala Blessings, what they are explicitly, until now when
I am much older. And only in my forties did I begin to know how to
meditate. Six years ago when I was under house arrest, I had a chance to
meet Sayadawgyi. He influenced me to meditate.
Buddhism has a lot to do with social welfare. Some people think
that if one does not kill, the benefits will only be reaped in a future life.
That is not true. Anyone knows, for instance that when one wants to harm
another, even one’s face, for instance looks angry right away. For
someone like me who lives in the world and is responsible for the welfare
of many others--for anyone really who lives and moves in the world---it is
especially important to meditate. Before embarking on a line of action,
instead of thinking only of the outcome, one must first be able to ask
oneself, ‘Is it the right thing to do?’
Buddhism is not about parading ceremonies. It is about what you
are inside.
When I first meditated, it seemed so difficult. But then, I
remembered a text that I had once read by Ashin Zanakabivamsa [the
Mahaghandayone Sayadaw]. He had said that when meditating, even
when it first seems so trying, one must keep on going in order to develop.
So, I continued and found that I liked meditating.
I admire King Ashoka who is to this day respected all over the
world. For example, H.G. Wells wrote that he was the best king
ever…When he converted to Buddhism, he changed from ruling by the
sword to ruling with the Dhamma only. Conquering oneself as such is
more difficult than conquering others. I know from my experience.
Political leaders can kill, hurt, and ‘conquer’ others. However, if they have
no control over themselves, if they have not conquered themselves, then
they can be of no service to anyone. In actuality, if one lives blamelessly
and stands by the truth, no one can hurt one. They may hurt or destroy
your body but they cannot interfere with your mind. It is easy for leaders
to feel comfortable in their positions and begin to abuse their power. But
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Ashoka checked himself. From experience, I know that as someone who
is alone a lot that one can thing all kinds of things. So, it is important to
meditate.
According to her talk above, Aung San Suu Kyi felt that insight meditation and
Buddhist civility courses such as Sayadaw U Pandita’s were indispensable in
building an ethical polity and society in present day Burma. Indirectly criticizing
the current government, the military junta, who tend not to meditate but try to
atone their unwholesome deeds through outwardly shows of piety, such as
building of temples and parading the Buddha’s tooth relics, she said that
Buddhism is about “inner development” and not the “parading of ceremonies.”
Referring to Ashokan ideals of non-violent leadership, she said that self-conquest
in meditation can translate to self-less working for the welfare and benefit of
one’s society. In speaking to the young students at the Buddhist Civility course
at Panditarama, she was sowing the seeds of a Buddhist social welfare state she
had envisioned for Burma.
Aung San Suu Kyi stepped into the political scene in Burma rather
unexpectedly in the late 1980s. She had returned to Burma from England where
she had been living for most of her adult life with a husband and children. She
was returning in the 1980s to Burma to take care of her ailing mother, the widow
of the martyred leader of Burma’s independence struggle against Britain, General
Aung San. Aung San had been assassinated by a jealous faction early in the
post-independence era and did not get to rule Burma. Yet, through the
generations, heroic legends of Aung San had lived on in Burma in lore and in
textbooks. He is also on Burma’s kyat bills, his statues are ubiquitous at
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monastic colleges, schools, parks, and universities alike, and his photos are
hung in government offices to this day. He is considered to be the “father” of the
post-colonial Burmese nation. Aung San Suu Kyi was only four years old when
he died. She left for India and then England for her studies since here late teens.
So, when she returned to Burma, she had no intentions of becoming a political
leader. It was only to take care of her ailing mother. But during the prodemocracy struggles that reached their zenith in 1988 and the military’s violent
efforts to stifle them, Aung San Suu Kyi came to the fore as an opposition voice.
She was quickly considered an opposition leader by the masses as the popularity
of her father’s legacy continued to reign.
Since her entry into the national politics of Burma, however, Aung San
Suu Kyi has had to undergo many hardships, including house arrest for long
periods of time, the loss and torture of many of her colleagues and followers,
separation from her sons and husband in England [her husband later died of
cancer and she could not freely go to England for his funeral], and constant
propaganda by the government to slander her character. Through all this time,
she has held steadfast to her non-violent Ashokan ideals and found in insight
meditation a way to transform negative thoughts and feelings into what she
interprets as morally positive actions for Burmese society.
Aung San Suu Kyi’s political and personal transformations in Burma,
could, in many ways be interpreted as a manifestation of the Theravada Buddhist
sublimation of primal needs. She returned to Burma where the father she hardly
knows is absent but idealized. She had returned to take care of her mother. She
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is disturbed by the new, self-appointed “fathers” of the country, the generals of
the current military junta, who pay honor to her father in name but don’t seem to
rule in his spirit. She is without a comfortable father figure. She finds in the
meditation monk teachers, those who, through self-example, embody the ethics
and insightfulness of the Buddha, a kind of “second” father, one that helps her to
transform spiritually for the welfare of others.
In Burmese culture and Buddhist cultures in general, there is a motif of
children’s’ uncomfortable relationship with their fathers. Hence, parricides are
pervasive in historical chronicles about kings and in stories of the Buddha’s past
lives too (Obeyesekere 1990: 143-163). Yet, there is also in Buddhist cultures
and in Burma in particular, an overwhelming motif of the opposite, children’s
quite comfortable relationship with the mother and descriptions of the
overwhelming metta or loving-kindness of the mother for her child. So, in the
telling and re-telling of the Jataka tale, Suvannasamma, in Burmese society, in
the government textbooks, at Panditarama meditation center, in television plays,
and on temple frescoes, it is the overwhelming love with which Suvannasamma’s
mother speaks of him that brings him back to life. Her loving and truthful words
make him alive again after he has been killed by a poisoned arrow. The father’s
asseveration of his love for Suvannasamma is hardly ever made explicit. It is the
mother’s asseveration that is important. In U Thuka’s popular, autobiographical
short stories and films about his relationship with his mother, the father figure is
always absent [he never knew his father in real life]. While there is much guilt
and remorse toward his treatment of his mother in these tales, he is usually
254
ultimately comforted by her undying love for him. So, in his film, “The Heart that
Talks,” a young man kills his mother because he has been told that his mother’s
heart will save the life of his sweetheart wife. As he carries his mother’s beating
heart in his hands for his wife, he accidentally stumbles and drops the heart. The
heart talks to him, “Son, are you okay? Are you hurt?” He realizes that he has
done a grave mistake in killing his mother but only because he understood that
his mother’s love for him is unconditional and endless. With U Thukha’s
influence, there is now a Mothers’ Day celebrated in Burma. Yet, I do not know
of a Fathers’ Day there. While I was in Burma, a best selling pop music album
was one in which all the songs were dedicated by the singer to his mother. They
were all about a mother’s love and the album’s name was “Mother.” Yet, there
were no comparable albums for fathers. Finally, in the legend of the origin of the
Shwedagon Pagoda of Rangoon, it is a goddess who used to be in a past life the
mother of the two traveling merchants from Burma who stopped their carts out of
maternal love and encouraged them to pay homage to the Buddha. As
Obeyesekere wrote of Buddhist literary cultures, much of the uncomfortable
relationship between child and father becomes remorse that is transformed into
an ethically motivating and beneficial relationship with the Buddha (Obeyeskere
1990:148-156).” The Buddha is like a “surrogate parent (Obeyeskere
1990:155).” Because he has in him both the stereotypically maternal qualities of
compassion and unconditional love and the stereotypically paternal qualities of
impersonal detachment from one and encouragement of self-responsibility, the
relationship with the Buddha is fulfilling in all ways. It can motivate positive
255
personal transformations. Obeyesekere explained that in pre-Buddhist legends
of parricide in the Indian region, there is no remorse mentioned (Obeyeskere
1990:148). Only in the Buddhist stories, parricide takes on an ethical import,
there is remorse, and the remorse is transformed into a positive, ethical action.
So, in the Ajatasattu Jataka tale in which Prince Ajatasattu killed his father, King
Bimbasara, for the throne, Ajatasattu began to have much remorse upon
realizing at the birth of his own son that his father probably also loved him. It is
upon his meeting with the Buddha that Ajatasattu began to transform his remorse
into an ethical path of insight meditation. Ajatasattu gained a conscience of the
Buddha as he lived in the time of the Buddha and met him. Aung San Suu Kyi
had a conscience of the Buddha because she associated with monks who helped
to instill this conscience in her through stories of his life and through their own
self-example.
The top members of the current military government, however, have had
little opportunities to build a conscience of the Buddha within themselves.
Becoming comfortable with power, they have become uncomfortable with the
“father” figure of General Aung San whom their predecessor, U Nu, had once
honored as a Buddhist martyr (Sarkisyanz:218-219). So, the only “father” figure
that they had truly adopted had been their leader and the direct mentor of many
of them, the dictator and leader of the 1961 military coup, General U Ne Win.
Being a military dictator, his style of management had been one that is quite
punishing rather than nurturing. In this milieu, Aung San Suu Kyi whom the
military junta abhors is seen by them as an illegitimate child. In the office of the
256
deputy minister of the Department of the Propagation and Perpetuation of the
Sasana (the Buddhist Religion), for example, both the photographs of Aung San
and U Ne Win hung on the wall. However, the deputy minister told me the
following about Aung San Suu Kyi:
We would love to kick her out of our country. It is only in honor of her
father that we keep her here as we do. You see, it is like trying to hit a
dog with a stone. We are afraid that we might miss the dog and hit the
Buddha instead [he was pointing at Aung San’s photo when he said, ‘the
Buddha’].
Given that it is the punishing father, Ne Win, with whom they have a more
comfortable relationship, their pedagogical style is also one that is very punitive,
forceful, and xenophobic. One day, the deputy minister ordered me not to have
anything to do with Aung San Suu Kyi:
One thing I must say, though, is don’t go see her. She is giving her usual,
frivolous speeches from her fence. There is only trouble for people who
go to listen to her. You are not like her, you see. You are civilized. She
has no civility. Bred in foreign lands, she has adopted all their culture.
She is slave to their wants. But we Burmese don’t need to imitate
Westerners. Lately, they’ve been trying to market their beers here. I
wrote a newspaper column the other day saying that we Burmese have
our own brand of beer, the toddy palm beer that we make. We don’t need
Budweiser or Heineken.
Because of their need for control that has never been sublimated, their
philosophy and practice of education is authoritarian in general. That is why
neither a conscience of the Buddha nor critical thinking skills have flourished in
their educational settings, even when Buddhism is a key subject taught.
At the Panditarama meditation center, however, where monk-teachers
teach both Buddhist civility courses and insight meditation practice, the unique
blending of pariyatti (literary learning of Buddhist texts) with pathibatti
257
(mindfulness practice and insight meditation) has been able to produce critical
subjectivities with a conscience of the Buddha as its base. These monks help to
refine the “conscience collective” of the Buddha in the larger society, i.e, a
shared consciousness of the Buddha’s magical aura and a conscience of his
exemplary deeds, into a practical, ethical “conscience” of the individual. Already,
young students at Panditarama were saying that the insights they have gained
there can help toward building the welfare of their nation. In this way, a political
praxis, and not only a sublimation of negative mental states, has been achieved
at the monks’ meditation center. Recently, Matthews stated that political
opposition to the current military junta who consider themselves to be ‘Buddhist’
will certainly continue to be in the form of Buddhism (Mathews 1990:423). My
research confirms this.
The following, Sayadaw U Pandita’s confrontation with some lady officials
of the Ministry of Religion is just one superficial example of such resistance:
One afternoon, two high level woman officials from the Ministry of Religion
who had been escorting me to the government assisted monastic schools
for impoverished children, decided to pay a visit to the Sayadaw’s
meditation center. They came to take part in the Kathina ceremony
(offering of robes to monks at the end of the rainy season). As I was with
them, they decided to bring me along. It was the first time that I met the
Sayadaw. The two women entered his quarters with me to introduce me
to him as a `Ph.D. student from America who had come to the Ministry of
Religion to write a dissertation about the government assisted monastic
schools programs.’ Immediately, Sayadaw U Pandita criticized their
parading of me and the ill-intention of their monastic schools programs.
`One can have all the Ph.D.’s in the world and still not know genuine
education,’ he stated. Referring to me, he said, `If you want to see
education that is truly beneficial, come here and observe the Buddhist
civility course in the summer.’ Then, referring to the two lady officials, he
asked, `Dagamagyi’s [lay devotees], why do you come here so often to
participate in this or that ceremony, yet never bother to meditate?’ `We
are so busy, Sayadaw. We only do what our higher ups tell us,’ one of
258
them replied humbly, although she was a high official at the Ministry of
Religion. He replied, `How shameful it is that you work at the Ministry of
Religion, specifically at the Department of the Progagation of the Sasana
(the Buddhist Religion), and yet none of you officials meditate. Don’t you
ask your superiors about the irony of that?’ The Sayadaw was insinuating
what most Burmese citizens already knew yet only bother to say in
private, i.e., that although the government officials show outwardly
manifestations of being Buddhist, they seemed rather hypocritical morally
as they ruled the country with a steadfast and tyrannical grip. The two
officials made some apologies for their lack of meditation practice and
then departed.
259
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265
Appendix
Mangala Poem in Pali Verses with English Translations*
*Also see (Venerable U Silananda 2000)
and
Mangala Poem in Burmese Verses Translated Into English
The 38 Blessings
1. Asevana ca balanam
Not to associate with fools,
2. Panditanan ca sevana
To associate with the wise,
3. Puja ca pujaneyyanam,
To honor those who are worthy of
honor,
Etam mangala
muttamam.
This is the highest blessing.
Burmese Poem
If they are fools, you stay away, don’t rely on them okay?
To the wise, you go take refuge, stay near them and learn from them.
Pay respect to the Triple Gems, parents and teachers, too, okay?
These are three ways to relate that give peace now and always.
Only then, we have Buddhism’s blessings for the world, hey!
266
4. Patirupadesavaso ca,
To live in a suitable place,
5. Pubbe ca katapunnata,
To have done meritorious deeds in the
past,
6. Attasammapanidhi ca,
Etam mangala
And to keep one’s mind and body in a
proper way,
muttamam.
This is the highest blessing.
Burmese Poem
To make merits, learn, and make a living, in a good place always stay.
Be sure to do good deeds now for wholesome results in future days.
Take care of your mind and body, do not let them deviate
These are three ways to live that give prosperity now and always
Only then, we have Buddhism’s blessings for the world, hey!
267
To be well-learned, to be skilled
in a craft,
7, 8. Bahusaccan ca sippan
ca,
To know well the codes of moral
conduct,
9. Vinayo ca susikkhito,
To speak wholesomely,
10. Subhasita ca ya vaca,
This is the highest blessing.
Etam Mangala
muttamam.
Burmese Poem
Know all there is that’s important to know.
Be someone who’s well-learned.
For making a living and building a household,
learn a craft and know it well.
Know the codes of conduct of a human being,
And learn to speak sweetly, politely, and truthfully.
Only then, we have Buddhism’s blessings for the world, hey!
268
Taking care of one’s mother,
taking care of one’s father,
11, 12. Matapitu upatthanam,
13. Puttadarassa
Supporting one’s spouse and
child,
sangaho,
Working blamelessly and with
clarity,
14. Anakula ca kammanta
Etam mangala
This is the highest blessing.
muttamam.
Burmese Poem
For the endless ways parents have cared for you,
repay them the best you can, too.
When you have your own family,
Support your spouse and child dutifully, too.
Don’t neglect work, work blamelessly and with clarity.
These are three ways of taking care that give comfort now and always.
Only then, we have Buddhism’s blessings for the world, hey!
269
Giving generously, being
wholesome in
action, speech, and thought,
15, 16. Danan ca
dhammacariya ca,
17. Natakanan ca sangaho,
Supporting one’s relatives,
18. Anavajjani kammani,
Making a living that is
blameless,
Etam mangala
This is the highest blessing.
muttamam.
Burmese Poem
May you give with a generous heart.
Be wholesome in what you say, do, and think
Don’t neglect your relatives,
But support them as part of your duty to kin.
Pure deeds for the good of others, may you carry them out now and
always.
Only then, we have Buddhism’s blessings for the world, hey!
270
Avoiding unwholesome acts through
the mind, body, and speech.
19. Ariti virati papa
20. Maccapana ca sanyamo
Abstaining from intoxicating drinks
and drugs,
21. Appamado ca dhammesu
Etam mangala muttamam.
Not being forgetful or negligent to do
good deeds,
This is the highest blessing.
Burmese Poem
Being mindful, avoid unwholesome deeds
even before they begin.
When you’re tempted to do bad things,
don’t violate,
restrain yourself especially.
Don’t imbibe drugs and alcohol.
These will certainly cause you to err.
May you not forget Dhamma and be mindful of all you do, say, and hear.
Only then, we have Buddhism’s blessings for the world, hey!
271
Paying respect to those who are
worthy of honor, being humble,
22, 23. Garavo ca nivato ca,
24, 25. Santuthi ca katannuta,
Being contented, knowing
gratitude,
26. Kalena
Listening to the Dhamma on
suitable occasions,
Dhammassavanam,
Etam mangala muttamam.
This is the highest blessing.
Burmese Poem
Pay respect to those older and higher in status than one.
Don’t be arrogant, conceited, or boastful.
Always stay grounded with humility.
Don’t indulge in wants and cravings.
Be contented with what you’ve got.
Regularly listen to Dhamma talks as Dhamma benefits you now and
always.
Only then, you have Buddhism’s blessings for the world, hey!
272
Being patient, being easily
disciplined,
27, 28. Khanti ca sovacassata,
29. Samananan ca
Meeting with those monks who have
calmed their mental defilements,
dassanam,
Discussing the Dhamma on suitable
occasions,
30. Kalena
Dhammasakaccha,
This is the highest blessing.
Etam mangala muttamam.
Burmese Poem
To be free from enmity
as you live and move everyday,
control your mind, cultivate patience.
When being admonished about causes and effects,
be someone who’s easily disciplined.
Meet with monks who are noble,
Discuss the Dhamma, the correct, true nature of things,
Only then, we have Buddhism’s blessings for the world, hey!
273
31, 32. Tapo ca brahmacariyan
ca,
Practice that consumes
unwholesome states,
abstaining from sexual relations,
33. Ariyasaccana
Realizing the Four Noble Truths,
dassanam,
Reaching Nibbana,
34. Nibbana-sacchikiriya
ca,
This is the highest blessing.
Etam mangala muttamam.
Burmese Poem
Don’t indulge in worldly pleasures
Keeping in mind the Sublime Mental States
(loving kindness, compassion, joy for others and equanimity),
abstain from sexual relations,
Exert effort to realize the Four Noble Truths.
You can be freed from suffering, be enlightened, and approach Nibbana.
Only then, we have Buddhism’s blessings for the world, hey!
274
When encountering the ways of
the mundane world,
35. Phutthassa
lokadhammehi,
Not letting the mind tremble,
36. Cittam yassa na
kampati,
Not being sorrowful, not craving,
37, 38. Asokam virajam
khemam,
This is the highest blessing.
Etam mangala muttamam.
Burmese Poem
A natural part of life
are happiness and misery.
Everyone always encounter these.
The good and the bad, they come in pairs, and are always taking turns
you see.
When you’re confronted with the good and the bad,
don’t tremble, don’t quiver, keep your mind still.
Control your sorrow and craving, too.
Then, you will attain peace.
Only then, we have Buddhism’s blessing for the world, hey!
275
Burmese Poem continued
Those who practice and wear the thirty-eight
Gain in prosperity, well-ness, and grace
Are free from danger and loved by many
They will be peaceful in mind and body
And will succeed in all they think, do, and say
That’s why, wear them, don them, the flowers of Mangala, hey!
276