Where's the Value in the Suffering?

Question: I have a question about what you wrote April 23rd in The Ultimate Activist, "The children in the movie do not remember what they did in a past life that leads to such suffering in this one."

This is something I don't understand about karma. If we can't remember, then how are we supposed to learn from it? This is particularly pertinent to young children who have no concept of karma. I can see how adults can reason, if they can't remember, that suffering can be caused from karma accumulated in a past life, but not young children.

It seems something akin to a parent remembering something the child did when he/she was 3 or 4 and then punishing the child for that offense at age 20, by then the child/20 yr old has completely forgotten the incident and is wondering what the punishment is for. There is no learning, only suffering. I think this is particularly true of children who suffer horrors and do not survive, they do not have the opportunity to mature and learn of the law of karma. They simply suffer and die, no learning involved. No lesson learned in order to avoid the same mistakes that caused the suffering from a previous life.

I understand the impersonal aspect (as in no judge meating out punishment), but I don't understand the "value" of it when it comes to children suffering and dying. I could better get a grip on it perhaps if there were some learning involved, but in cases such as I've described, there is no learning, only suffering and death. It seems cruel, not impersonal in those cases.

Response: Animals are reborn as animals because of ignorance. As animals, they cannot understand karma or the reason they were born as animals. But they are repaying their karmic debts by their very existence. Beings in the hell realms likewise are repaying debts by their existence. And also those in the hungry ghost realm.

So these beings are not learning about karma, they are repaying their karmic debts for what they have done in the past. Just as we repay debts for what we have done in the past. Unlike with man-made laws, there is no statue of limitations with karma. If we do not repay what we have done at the time we do something, we will repay it later, even if it takes a million lifetimes.

In the human realm, to some degree each of us is also repaying our karmic debts. But at least as humans, we also have the opportunity to create good karmas, our good thoughts and actions. Also in the human realm, we have the opportunity to learn of rebirth and karma, and the teachings of the Buddha. But accomplishing this is not easy because we need all the right conditions.

First, we have to be reborn as a human, an occurrence that is incredibly rare. Next, we need to be reborn either during or after the time of a Buddha when his teachings still remain in the world. (Shakyamuni Buddha said his teachings would remain for ten thousand years. The next Buddha, Maitreya, will not appear for several billion years.) Next, we need to be born in a place where we can learn the teachings (How many countries say what the citizens can and cannot believe or learn about.) Next, we need to encounter the teachings. Next, we need to meet a teacher we have confidence in and wish to follow. Next, we need to have the time and personal situation that allows for learning and practice. From all this, we can begin to see that the opportunity to learn about rebirth and karma is amazingly rare.

We hear a lot about “learning lessons,” but learning is something we need the right conditions for, conditions we have to work very hard for and that are extremely difficult to achieve. And the reality is we don’t come back every lifetime as a human and we don’t move smoothly ever forward toward the goal. It’s not all “learning.” More often it’s suffering, repaying our past wrongs. And there is value in this. The less karmic debts I have, the more benefits I have.

The only way to understand all this is to get past viewing things in lifetimes—tiny segments of time—and expand our minds so we can begin to see that we’re dealing with lifetimes that extend throughout time, which has no beginning and no end. Our current lifetime is a continuation of our past lifetime and all the lifetimes before that. All we’ve done is change one form for another. So it is not that karma is unfair, for we do reap what we sow. But since we only glimpse the merest sliver of our past actions, we don't see the whole picture and can't connect the causes and the consequences. Only seeing the consequences, things can seem unfair.

Karma goes hand-in-hand with rebirth. Unless we appreciate the enormity of time and the fact that we have lived uncountable lifetimes, karma may well seem unfair. As unfair as a man being jailed today for a theft he committed yesterday would be to a person who only sees today.

And to forestall the comments I would get from those who say this is all terribly depressing, remember the flip side of this. Just as our bad karmas from the past will catch up with us so will all our good ones. And with good karmas come good conditions. So if we want good things to happen, we need to plant their seeds with our good karmas. Doing so, we will awaken and become Buddhas. And then we’ll finally be able to perfectly understand the intricate, now invisible web of karma.

The Ultimate Activist

Question: I saw the video (Chicken a la CArte) that you posted. As a mom and as a person living in a country where such picture is an everyday reality it is hard for me to try to imagine those little children begging in the streets as paying their karma. I am a dedicated activist towards the right to health and the right to food. I firmly think we should advocate for those whose voices are unheard but, if picturing them as paying their own karma, won´t that be putting the fault on their own (children) and thus stop mobilizing civil society to work for social justice?

Response: Our understanding of karma does not diminish our compassion or our wish to alleviate suffering. If anything it increases it because we understand that those who make the wrong choice often do not understand what is truly happening. They do not understand cause and effect. The children in the movie do not remember what they did in a past life that leads to such suffering in this one. I do not remember what I did in my past lifetimes that will lead to similar and worse consequences.

But I do know that I have no right to judge another. Instead I need to awaken and help everyone I can.

The first vow of a bodhisattva is "Sentient beings are innumerable, I vow to help them all." This vow means that we do not vow to just help people end their suffering in this lifetime. We vow to help all beings attain lasting liberation from suffering regardless of how many lifetimes it takes.

The Buddha spent innumerable lifetimes striving to fulfill this vow. After he attained enlightenment, he could have left his worldly body behind and entered parinirvana. Instead he chose to teach all those who wished to learn how they could also free themselves from suffering.

The Buddha had three robes to protect him against the weather. He slept under the trees and ate one meal a day. He taught whoever asked, regardless of caste, economic position, or gender. One of his students had been a serial killer, another an untouchable. For forty-nine years he crisscrossed India and Nepal, walking everywhere regardless of the cold or heat, with the single goal of alleviating suffering.

Many would call the Buddha the ultimate activist.

Pieter's Misunderstanding

When your parents love you,

it is easy to be filial.

When your parents are upset with you,

being filial means you have a noble heart.

When our parents care for and are happy with us, it is easy for us to naturally return their love and to be good. It is like giggling or laughing. When others laugh, we often end up laughing along with them. And we all know what happens when someone starts giggling. Loving our parents when they love us is as natural, and as easy.

But what if they are upset over something, maybe something we did. We might get upset ourselves or we might cry. Or we might be so hurt that we do what Pieter did …

The winter had been long but spring finally arrived. Pieter could now run to greet his father at the front gate when he returned from work. Every evening, his father would swing Pieter up on his shoulders and grasp Pieter’s ankles as he held tight to his father’s neck. Together they would go to the front porch where Pieter's father would sit in his chair. Pieter would sit on his father’s lap and tell him all about his day.

But one day when his father came home, he looked very unhappy. When Pieter tugged at his hand and asked to be picked up, his father said “Go away, can’t you see I’m thinking!”

Stung by his father’s words and feeling dejected, Pieter decided he would do just that. He’d go away. After his father walked into the house, Pieter turned and ran out the front gate.

He ran as far as he could and then slowed to a walk. Soon he came to the village. He was so tired that he had to sit down on the curb. Then he realized he was also hungry and cold. And worse, he began to think about his father who must be frantic about him. Pieter felt he needed to go home so his father wouldn’t worry.

The next moment, Pieter saw a pair of shoes standing in front of him. They were not just any shoes. They were the ones the village policemen wore. A question floated down to him, “Son, are you okay? Are you waiting for someone?” Pieter looked up and saw a policeman with a kind face and nice smile.

Pieter stood up and shyly admitted that he had run away from home. The policeman scrunched down to Pieter’s level and said, “You know, when I was about your age I did the same thing. My parents had said something that hurt my feelings. It so surprised me that I found myself running away. And it was getting dark, and I was getting scared. Plus, I had no money and nowhere to go. Yup, I remember it clearly.”

Pieter said in amazement, “Wow! Just like me! Dad told me to go away.”

The policeman nodded and said, “I bet that surprised you.”

Pieter mumbled, “Yes.”

“You know, after I ran away, “I felt scared and wanted to go home. Are you, by any chance, thinking you’d like to go home?” the policeman asked with a reassuring smile.

Pieter said “Yes” again, this time with a smile the policeman asked Pieter where he lived and Pieter told him. He replied, “I know where that is. I just moved close to there with my wife and little girl. Would you like me to take you home?”

Pieter nodded enthusiastically.

The policeman swung Pieter up onto his shoulders and while holding firmly to Pieter’s ankles, told him to put his arms around his neck. Pieter did as he was told.

After about ten or so steps, he heard Pieter begin to cry. He quickly put Pieter down and scrunched down again. He asked Pieter why he was crying.

Pieter said his father carried him the same way every day when he came home from work. The policeman smiled and said, “It sounds like you have a really good daddy. After working all day, the first thing he does when he comes home is to carry you proudly on his shoulders. You know, your dad probably had a really tough day today and was just feeling bad. And I’m sure he didn’t really mean it when he told you to go away.”

Pieter agreed, “Yes! He is a really good dad. But today he did look tired and now I made things even worse for him.”

The policeman chuckled and said, “Well, that’s it then. You and your dad just had a misunderstanding.” And with that, he again swung Pieter up on his shoulders and began walking jauntily down the road where he quickly came to the lane Pieter lived on. Pieter pointed out his house and as the two approached the gate, Pieter's father came running to them.

The policeman put Pieter down. He ran to his father who scooped him up, saying “Pieter! Where have you been? I cooked dinner but then I couldn’t find you. I’ve been so worried.”

He then looked questioningly at the policeman who winked and nodded in the direction of the village. He said, “Pieter has been showing me around. My family and I just moved here.”

Pieter’s father quickly understood and said, “Ah, it’s very nice that you’ve been talking to our new policeman. But Pieter, you do know that you can talk to me anytime, right? Even when I’m tired or upset?” Pieter beamed at his father and nodded.

They thanked the policeman, who began whistling as he turned to walk back to the village. Then Pieter’s father put Pieter on his shoulders and held on to his ankles as Pieter clung to his father’s neck. Together they went in to dinner.

Chicken a la Carte

View an expanded version of this movie at cultureunplugged.com

Chicken a la Carte : Director: Ferdinand Dimadura | Genre: Drama | Produced In: 2005

Synopsis: This film is about the hunger and poverty brought about by Globalization. There are 10,000 people dying everyday due to hunger and malnutrition. This short film shows a forgotten portion of the society. The people who live on the refuse of men to survive. What is inspiring is the hope and spirituality that never left this people.

How Atifeh Helped Her Parents

When something pleases our parents and is proper,

we should try our best to provide it for them.

When something displeases them,

we should not do it.

Long ago there lived a girl who was called Atifeh, which meant “Gentle.” Her parents had named her this because as a newborn baby she was so sweet that they marveled at her good nature.

Atifeh lived with her family on a farm in a beautiful valley. As did most people in the valley, the family had some sheep. They also had a large, impressive ram who looked out for the herd and protected them from danger. Atifeh’s father cut the wool from the sheep every year for her mother to spin and make into beautiful clothing and blankets.

As Atifeh grew up, she began to help her parents around the farm. She helped clean the house and water the plants, and brought things when her parents asked for them.

She also loved to feed grass to the baby sheep in the springtime. As she played, she delighted in the butterflies and the birds and the small animals. She would sit very quietly under the big oak tree and wait for them to come to her so she could feed them crumbs from the bread her mother baked. Not having any brothers or sisters, she regarded the animals as her family and cared for them as a big sister would a younger one.

When Atifeh was about five years old, her mother told her it was time to start learning how to cook. Atifeh was very excited because she loved to eat her mother’s delicious food, but had no idea how it was prepared or even what it was!

Her mother told her to ask her father for some carrots and potatoes from the garden. Atifeh happily went to her father to ask him for the vegetables. He smiled fondly down at her and pulled out some carrots and potatoes, put them into a small basket, and handed it to Atifeh. Carefully holding the basket, she walked back to the kitchen and handed the basket up to her mother.

Then her mother asked her to get some of the herbs that grew outside the kitchen door. Atifeh went outside, picked some of the leaves, and brought these to her mother as well.

Her mother beamed at her and said since Atifeh was learning to cook, she would teach her how to make a very special dish: lamb stew. But for this they would need the special ingredient, which was lamb. She told Atifeh to go and ask her father to prepare one of the sheep.

Atifeh went dutifully to her father and told him what her mother had said. Curious, she asked, “Father, what is lamb?” Her father knelt down on the ground so he could look directly into her eyes and softly replied, “A lamb is a baby sheep.”

Atifeh froze. She couldn’t speak at first. She just looked at her father in shock. Then she very slowly shook her head and mouthed a silent “no.” She turned and ran back to the kitchen, with her father following her. His gentle daughter had never said “no” to him before.

Back in the kitchen, Atifeh was trembling and struggling to come up with just the right words. Finally, she looked at her mother and said, “Mother, when you wanted the carrots and the potatoes, I got them for you. When you wanted the herbs I brought those to you as well. But Mother, to kill a lamb is wrong. You and father have always taught me to care for animals and never to harm them. As much as I want to be a good daughter, I cannot because I will not tell father to kill a sheep.”

Then Atifeh stopped talking. She turned her eyes downward and stared at the floor. She was expecting a scolding for surely her parents would be very angry at her refusal to do what she was asked. Instead, her parents were speechless, shocked that their gentle daughter had spoken so strongly. They looked at each other and both realized what else could a girl named “Gentle” do? They thought about what she had said.

Atifeh’s mother sat down on the chair next to the table and took Atifeh in her arms. Smiling, she said, “We have always taught you to live up to your name, to care for all living beings, and to respect everything around us. Atifeh, you are right. Killing is wrong. From now on, the sheep will give us their wool, but not their lives. We will not kill any more sheep.”

That night, Atifeh went to the ram who was watching over the sheep to tell him good night. Since he was their guardian, she reported to him what had happened. She saw deep gratitude in his eyes.

For many years after that, Atifeh would go to say good night to the ram and he would look at her and offer a silent, “Good night, Atifeh. And thank you.”