A New Way

I would like to give you a warning: Mankind is on the brink of collapse. We are about to become vegetables, or it is possible that we’ll just end up like the inhabitants of the pods in E M Forster’s short story The Machine Stops (read it, it was so prophetic that it almost puts H G Wells in the shade). The reason for my recognition of this fact? Well, it was something we discussed at Buddhism last night.

We were talking about how it wasn’t until 400 years after the Buddha’s enlightenment that his teachings were first written down; until then, they had been passed on in the oral tradition only. I queried why this was – whether the Buddha had given an instruction that nothing should be written down, or whether there was no written format at the time (I doubted this because it was only 2,500 years ago). This query caused a small debate on the subject, and one hypothesis put forward was that maybe the Buddha wanted to ensure that his teachings were acceptable to all, not just to the educated people who had the ability to read and write. Another theory was that perhaps, as in the current more esoteric (i.e. Tantric) Buddhist practice in Japan, it was felt that by writing the teachings down they would become available to anyone who happened to pick them up, whereas they should only be available to people who were ready to receive them – that is to say, people who really wanted to learn. This seems too elitist for me.

However, Jinaraja (our monk) had another idea. He wondered whether the oral tradition isn’t a better way of gaining a deeper understanding of the teachings. He cited the example of learning poetry by heart – it makes us examine the structure and message of the poem more thoroughly, he said; as if we might miss its intrinsic meaning by a mere reading of the lines. He suggested that the Buddha’s intentions were probably more helpful in as much as the Buddha knew that by relying solely on people memorising the teachings, those teachings would become more heartfelt and meaningful. Jinaraja could be right, but we’ll never really know.

But then my mind wandered slightly and I began to speculate on the modern-day age of instant information that we all inhabit. These days we don’t need to remember anything that we learn. For example, we could learn one day how to split the atom if we wanted (or needed) to, but we aren't required to retain that information because if we forget it tomorrow, then we simply Google it again and read it up once more. There is no requirement for us to learn anything by heart because the information is always at our fingertips. How many times do you hear people say “I can’t quite remember the details – can you pass me your laptop and I’ll look it up.”?

Chilling stuff. Our minds are being emptied of retained information; we no longer have to consider the arguments and strictures of reason. We no longer have to take any measure of the facts – we are losing the ability to store data in our heads. Quite simply, we are losing the purpose to do so.

But I ask you this: What do we do when the machine stops? Do we become vegetables? If so, I rather fancy becoming an aubergine (a swollen mass of purple flesh), or maybe a bulb of garlic (a cluster of multi-faceted segments). How about you?

Horace is back from his vacation and he says: Wisdom is not wisdom when it is derived from books alone. I rest my case.

STOP PRESS! My appeal of last week worked – one of my readers has found a home for Chi Chi. She is moving to a lovely lakeside home in Manchester where she will be adored and lovingly played. Sarah is delighted, and so am I (although it’s a shame that Chi Chi couldn’t remain in Nottingham, but there we are). Well done everyone!