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The claim that Buddhism is scientific is familiar. There is so much in popular Buddhist writings such as those found in Vesak journals and the like to this effect that it has become far too common to be taken seriously. Nevertheless, some serious minds, from time to time, have found the issue, the nature and the extent of the relationship between Science and Buddhism, worthy of attention.
The latest in the line is J.K.P. Ariyaratne, Emeritus Professor of Chemistry at the University of Kelaniya, a well known and revered teacher in the higher education system of the country.
The basic insight which constitutes the core of the present volume was first articulated by him in 1992 in a paper written for the Silver Jubilee Commemoration Volume of the Faculty of Science at the University of Kelaniya. The English version of the paper titled "Chemical bonding and Buddhist philosophy: Some Striking Parallels" was first presented in the same year at the l2th International Conference on Chemical Education held in Bangkok, Thailand. The publication under review presents the more recent developments in Ariyaratne's thinking along similar lines since that time.
As the title indicates, the major content of the book is a discussion of the Dhamma-chakkapavattana-sutta and the Anattalakkhana-sutta (of the Samyuttanikaya), two discourses considered respectively to be the first and the second sermons of the Buddha. The book begins with an introduction in which the author acknowledges that his effort is "the elucidation of the parallels and affinity between Buddhism and Science" (p.3). In the next chapter, called 'prologue', the author includes the original paper referred to earlier which marks the beginning of his meditations on the subject. The third chapter is on 'the reasons for the existence of parallels'. It discusses 'the scientific method' and 'the Buddhist procedure' and compares and contrasts the two. The fourth and fifth chapters are discussions of the first and second sermons by the Buddha and these discussions constitute the bulk of the work.
In discussing the first sermon from a scientific point of view, Ariyaratne draws parallels between the procedure followed in the presentation and the exposition of the discourse and the standard practice followed when presenting a paper at a modern academic conference. The summary of that section of the discussion is that the structure and the mode of presentation of the first sermon of the Buddha is very much similar to the mode of presentation of a scientific paper by a leading scientist. Discussing the content of the first discourse, the author finds the Buddha's emphasis on avoiding the two extremes of self-indulgence (kamasukhallika anuyoga) and self-torture (attakilamatha anuyoga) as indicating a very interesting parallelism with science. The author says: The way in which science treats observations in attempting to understand the truths or laws of Nature and Buddha's instructions to seekers of truth for perceiving the real nature of life and the world are unbelievably closely parallel. Indeed the sutra recommends exactly the same approach as normally followed by scientists, namely avoiding the high and the low extremes in taking experimentally determined parameters into consideration (p.77).
Discussing next the idea of the middle path advocated in the discourse, Ariyaratne finds that it can be understood as agreeing with science perfectly. He takes oxygen as an example and says that both the total absence and the hundred per cent presence of oxygen could cause death whereas 'the intermediate optimum concentration of oxygen' is both beneficial and indispensable for our existence. Ariyaratne discusses several similar instances from science and highlights how the middle stand is applicable in situations in our life. He sees, however, a very important distinction in the two procedures: Buddhism in adopting the via media is concerned more about 'the qualitative intermediate course of action' whereas science is only concerned about the middle position in quantitative terms.
In the subsequent analysis of the four noble truths the author finds that the Buddha's analysis of suffering is tantamount to science's emphasis on changes. He says: 'the instances identified in Buddhism as dukkha and the instances recognized in science as changes are entirely comparable, in that both dukkha and changes require a definite cause or a definite combination of causes for their manifestation' (p.93).
Ariyaratne's work identifies a number of points where Buddhism and Science agree with each other. These parallels may be seen as belonging to two broad areas. Parallels related to structure and the manner of presentation are one. Parallels related to the philosophical or conceptual content of the two systems constitute the real meat of the issue. The most important conceptual affinity between Buddhism and Science is that three kinds of craving mentioned in the first discourse of the Buddha and three forces active in natural phenomena are of the same sort, the only difference being that while Buddhism refers to mental forces, Science refers to physical forces.
What the author seems to claim is that, apart from the difference in the domains of function, the two forces are identical. If established, the claim has far-reaching implications for science, philosophy and religion. But we need to see whether or not the author has substantiated his claim.
The author has established beyond any reasonable doubt that matter of the entire universe is governed by the three forces of attraction, stabilization and repulsion. What, however, has not been so established is the claim regarding the three aspects of craving (tanhaa). In his original paper written in 1991 (included in this book as the prologue) Ariyaratne reveals that he got this idea initially 'without any intentional contemplation, during a lecture on ionic bonding given to the first year students of the University of Kelaniya' (p.21).
The present work is meant to give a more sustained defence of this initial piece of wisdom. Ariyaratne does provide several detailed analyses of physical aspects of the universe and shows how they operate under the forces mentioned above. But when it comes to the Buddhist claim he does not do anything other than state that the three tanhaas mentioned in Buddhism, work exactly like the three forces mentioned in science. This cannot be taken as proof of the view he has set himself to defend. The establishment of the scientific position does in no way amount to a proof of the Buddhist position. It remains to be proved with reference to the nature, function and characteristics of these three forms of craving.
As Ariyaratne has clearly demonstrated the Buddha, with the mere aid of His superior knowledge, had known certain truths about reality, which science comes to know with the help of sophisticated instruments. Any effort to understand how it was possible for the Buddha to do so twenty five centuries ago will illuminate not only our knowledge in Buddhism but also our knowledge of the intellectual development of humanity.
Therefore, there is no doubt of the validity and usefulness of the project. But as Ariyaratne's work itself shows, strong and almost 'religiously' taken experiences, unchecked and critically unevaluated once the initial euphoria is gone, are not the best guide in epistemological enterprises of this sort.
By R. Chandrasoma
There is more than a modicum of truth in the assertion that the woe-begone state of science education in Sri Lanka is - at least in part - due to the inadequacies and shortfalls in the medium of instruction that the bulk of its young citizens is compelled to use.
The Sinhala language, while of great antiquity and in its own right a communicative instrument of admirable flexibility and elegance, suffers greatly when called upon to act as the surrogate of a domineering (and alien) tongue that is current in the world of science. The English language is not only globally assertive as the medium of communication among the elite in science and technology - all creative discourse and innovation in the great centres of learning in the West are tied indissolubly to the metaphor and practice of this near-universal language of the modern world.
Given this awesome dominance, one can understand the clamour of the previous regime, for a programme of 'creeping replacement' wherein all encouragement was given to schools ('A' Level Science) to opt out of the decades-old practice of lugubrious instruction in the native tongue and to 'go for gold' in switching to English in one blow.
This is easier said than done. As pointed out by realists and practical educators, it is not possible to transform a class of unsophisticated learners, long accustomed to verities being delivered in the native tongue, into something approaching a simulacrum of a Sixth-Form classroom of the affluent West.
So how can we inject some English into the science curriculum (at A/Level) that steers a middle course between the Scylla of moribund science-education in the native tongue and the Charybdis of cultural extermination that a wholesale switch to English entails?
The choice is not so dire as it may at first, appear. It is possible to recoup much of the treasured goodness of instruction in the English medium while not sacrificing one whit the predominance of the native tongue as the principal vehicle of cultural transmission.
It is necessary, first, to distinguish diverse kinds of language competence and to resolutely seek that which the young scholar in science would find most apposite to his needs. A worker in the 'hospitality trade' - hotel staff, tour-guides, taxi-drivers etc - need a working knowledge of 'spoken English'. Such folk need not waste their time scrutinizing texts or flipping the pages of bilingual dictionaries. They learn by ear - by listening to and participating in direct conversation with fluent speakers of the language.
In a wholly different category are the scholars called upon to master the nuances of the written language. They are faced with the arduous task of acquiring a well-rounded knowledge of the alien tongue including its grammar and syntax as well as vocabulary- recall that entails long years of study and practice. Excellence in this category is very definitely vouchsafed to a gifted minority of linguistically inclined scholars.
There is a third species of linguistic skill that falls somewhere midway between the categories mentioned so far - this is the skill of reading scholarly texts in a field that one hopes to be a specialist in. Let me give an example that illustrates the point that I wish to get across. Suppose a person trained as a biologist and whose language of instruction is English wishes to acquire a mastery of French so that he can read scholarly works in his chosen field written in this novel language. Must he start with formal training in the rules of the language?
No - he needs only a good French-English Dictionary and a basic knowledge of 'connectives'. These are words that join, qualify, convey mood, tense etc. These 'structures' are easily picked up on reading a text that covers familiar ground.
Let us get to the main point. The knowledge of English that our A-Level science scholars (and, a fortiori, scholars at university level) require is the special skill of reading and understanding technical works in English. It is a fair supposition that these scholars have passed the 'O-Level' in English and have basic reading ability as well as a rudimentary understanding of the syntax of the language. It is a waste of time and effort to refine this knowledge by exposure to 'language classes' that the student of science finds tedious and unrelated to his principal quest - the learning of science. He must be given a text - in Physics, Biology etc - written in English that he is called upon to read, translate and digest.
The English lesson is thereby transformed into a lesson in science in the novel medium. As he (or she) proceeds, the task becomes exciting and the knowledge of science that he acquires in the Sinhala (or Tamil) medium is directly related to what he reads in the set English text. For example, he has grasped - in native idiom - the relation between mass and acceleration and is very familiar with Newton's Second Law. He reads its formulation in English as an extension of this basic understanding and not as some bothersome exercise in a language he dislikes.
It is important to note that the bulk of the instruction is in the native language. He relates what he has learned in his own tongue to the unfamiliar material that he is called upon to translate. He discovers the joy of learning (through translation) the fundamentals of his speciality in the language that he apprehensively approached earlier.
Can this be done expeditiously (and at low cost) in our beleaguered schools? At its least ambitious, the scheme envisaged here involves no more than the transformation of the 'English lesson' into a focused study of an English text in science - with candidates being called upon to translate into the native tongue that which they diligently read in English.
Undoubtedly, there are nagging practical questions that must be answered before the 'green-light' for such a scheme can be given by the panjandrums in charge of educational policy. The disbursement involved in the issue of texts (in English) as well as supplementary material to aid teachers will not be inconsiderable.
But this is the least of the worries. Will our swabhasa-trained science teachers feel at ease in the new set-up where the long-neglected global language reasserts itself in the science class-room? Can that vast army of ill-trained English teachers currently doing business in our schools do a useful job as translators and interpreters of science?
The difficulties are not insuperable because the reordering can move ahead in stages, with the initial switch involving no more that a very limited programme of English translation based on simple texts in science. It is a scheme that can evolve into something of high sophistication given time and the goodwill of pupils, teachers and school managers.
(The writer is a retired teacher of science)
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