"‘Monks, have you seen a picture called a movie (caraṇa)?’ ‘Yes, Lord.’ 'Monks, even that picture called a movie is something thought out by the mind. But this mind, monks, is more picturesque than that picture called a movie. Therefore, monks, you should reflect moment to moment on your own mind with the thought: For a long time has this mind been defiled by lust, hate, and delusion. By the defilement of the mind, monks, are beings defiled. By the purification of the mind, are beings purified.
Monks, I do not see any other class of beings as picturesque as beings in the animal realm. But those beings in the animal realm, monks, are also thought out by the mind. And the mind, monks, is far more picturesque than those beings in the animal realm. Therefore, monks, should a monk reflect moment to moment on one’s own mind with the thought: For a long time has this mind been defiled by lust, hate, and delusion. By the defilement of the mind, monks, are beings defiled. By the purification of the mind, are beings purified."
Here the Buddha gives two illustrations to show how marvellous this mind is. First he asks the monks whether they have seen a picture called caraṇa. Though the word may be rendered by movie, it is not a motion picture of the sort we have today. According to the commentary, it is some kind of variegated painting done on a mobile canvas-chamber, illustrative of the results of good and evil karma.[177] Whatever it may be, it seems to have been something marvellous. But far more marvellous, according to the Buddha, is this mind. The reason given is that even such a picture is something thought out by the mind.
Then, by way of an advice to the monks, says the Buddha: ‘Therefore, monks, you should reflect on your mind moment to moment with the thought: For a long time this mind has been defiled by lust, hate, and delusion.’ The moral drawn is that beings are defiled by the defilement of their minds and that they are purified by the purification of their minds. This is the illustration by the simile of the picture.
And then the Buddha goes on to make another significant declaration: ‘Monks, I do not see any other class of beings as picturesque as beings in the animal realm.’ But since those beings also are thought out by the mind, he declares that the mind is far more picturesque than them. Based on this conclusion, he repeats the same advice as before.
At first sight the sutta, when it refers to a picture, seems to be speaking about the man who drew it. But there is something deeper than that. When the Buddha says that the picture called caraṇa is also something thought out by the mind, he is not simply stating the fact that the artist drew it after thinking it out with his mind. The reference is rather to the mind of the one who sees it. He, who sees it, regards it as something marvellous. He creates a picture out of it. He imagines something picturesque in it.
In fact, the allusion is not to the artist’s mind, but to the spectator’s mind. It is on account of the three defilements lust, hate, and delusion, nurtured in his mind for a long time, that he is able to appreciate and enjoy that picture. Such is the nature of those influxes.
That is why the Buddha declared that this mind is far more picturesque than the picture in question. So if one turns back to look at one’s own mind, in accordance with the Buddha’s advice, it will be a wonderful experience, like watching a movie. Why? Because reflection reveals the most marvellous sight in the world.
But usually one does not like to reflect, because one has to turn back to do so. One is generally inclined to look at the thing in front. However, the Buddha advises us to turn back and look at one’s own mind every moment. Why? Because the mind is more marvellous than that picture called caraṇa, or movie.
It is the same declaration that he makes with reference to the beings in the animal realm. When one comes to think about it, there is even less room for doubt here, than in the case of the picture. First of all, the Buddha declares that there is no class of beings more picturesque than those in the animal realm. But he follows it up with the statement that even those beings are thought out by the mind, to draw the conclusion that as such the mind is more picturesque than those beings of the animal realm.
Let us try to sort out the point of this declaration. Generally, we may agree that beings in the animal realm are the most picturesque. We sometimes say that the butterfly is beautiful. But we might hesitate to call a blue fly beautiful. The tiger is fierce, but the cat is not. Here one’s personal attitude accounts much for the concepts of beauty, ugliness, fierceness, and innocence of animals. It is because of the defiling influence of influxes, such as ignorance, that the world around us appears so picturesque.
Based on this particular sutta, with its reference to the caraṇa picture as a prototype, we may take a peep at the modern day’s movie film, by way of an analogy. It might facilitate the understanding of the teachings on paṭicca samuppāda and Nibbāna in a way that is closer to our everyday life. The principles governing the film and the drama are part and parcel of the life outside cinema and the theatre. But since it is generally difficult to grasp them in the context of the life outside, we shall now try to elucidate them with reference to the cinema and the theatre.
Usually a film or a drama is shown at night. The reason for it is the presence of darkness. This darkness helps to bring out the darkness of ignorance that dwells in the minds of beings. So the film as well as the drama is presented to the public within a framework of darkness. If a film is shown at day time, as a matinee show, it necessitates closed windows and dark curtains. In this way, films and dramas are shown within a curtained enclosure.
There is another strange thing about these films and dramas. One goes to the cinema or the theatre saying: “I am going to see a film show, I am going to see a drama”. And one returns saying: “I have seen a film show, I have seen a drama”. But while the film show or the drama is going on, one forgets that one is seeing a show or a drama.
Such a strange spell of delusion takes over. This is due to the intoxicating influence of influxes. If one wishes to enjoy a film show or a drama, one should be prepared to get intoxicated by it. Otherwise it will cease to be a film show or a drama for him.
What do the film producers and dramatists do? They prepare the background for eliciting the influxes of ignorance, latent in the minds of the audience. That is why such shows and performances are held at night, or else dark curtains are employed. They have an intricate job to do. Within the framework of darkness, they have to create a delusion in the minds of their audience, so as to enact some story in a realistic manner.
To be successful, a film or a drama has to be given a touch of realism. Though fictitious, it should be apparently real for the audience. There is an element of deception involved, a hoodwink. For this touch of realism, quite a lot of make-up on the part of actors and actresses is necessary. As a matter of fact, in the ancient Indian society, one of the primary senses of the word saṅkhāra was the make-up done by actors and actresses.
Now in the present context, saṅkhāra can include not only this make-up in personal appearance, but also the acting itself, the delineation of character, stage-craft etc… In this way, the film producers and dramatists create a suitable environment, making use of the darkness and the make-up contrivances. These are the saṅkhāras, or the ‘preparations’.
However, to be more precise, it is the audience that make preparations, in the last analysis. Here too, as before, we are compelled to make a statement that might appear strange: So far not a single cinema has held a film show and not a single theatre has staged a drama.
And yet, those who had gone to the cinema and the theatre had seen film shows and dramas. Now, how can that be? Usually, we think that it is the film producer who produced the film and that it is the dramatist who made the drama.
But if we are to understand the deeper implications of what the Buddha declared, with reference to the picture caraṇa, a film show or drama is produced, in the last analysis, by the spectator himself. When he goes to the cinema and the theatre, he takes with him the spices needed to concoct a film or a drama, and that is: the influxes, or āsavas. Whatever technical defects and shortcomings there are in them, he makes good with his influxes.
As we know, in a drama there is a certain interval between two scenes. But the average audience is able to appreciate even such a drama, because they are influenced by the influxes of sense desire, existence, and ignorance.
With the progress in science and technology, scenes are made to fall on the screen with extreme rapidity. All the same, the element of delusion is still there. The purpose is to create the necessary environment for arousing delusion in the minds of the audience. Whatever preparations others may make, if the audience does not respond with their own preparations along the same lines, the drama will not be a success. But in general, the worldlings have a tendency to prepare and concoct, so they would make up for any short comings in the film or the drama with their own preparations and enjoy them.
Now, for instance, let us think of an occasion when a film show is going on within the framework of darkness. In the case of a matinee show, doors and windows will have to be closed. Supposing the doors are suddenly flung open, while a vivid technicolour scene is flashing on the screen, what happens then? The spectators will find themselves suddenly thrown out of the cinema world they had created for themselves. Why? Because the scene in technicolour has now lost its colour. It has faded away. The result is dejection, disenchantment. The film show loses its significance.
That film show owed its existence to the dark framework of ignorance and the force of preparations. But now that the framework has broken down, such a vast change has come over, resulting in a disenchantment. Now the word rāga has a nuance suggestive of colour, so virāga, dispassion, can also literally mean a fading away or a decolouration. Here we have a possible instance of nibbidā virāga, disenchantment, dispassion, at least in a limited sense.
A door suddenly flung open can push aside the delusion, at least temporarily. Let us consider the implications of this little event. The film show, in this case, ceases to be a film show because of a flash of light coming from outside. Now, what would have happened if this flash of light had come from within - from within one’s mind? Then also something similar would have happened. If the light of wisdom dawns on one’s mind while watching a film show or a drama, one would even wonder whether it is actually a film or a drama, while others are enjoying it.
Speaking about the film show, we mentioned above that the spectator has entered into a world of his own creation. If we are to analyse this situation according to the law of dependent origination, we may add that in fact he has a consciousness and a name-and-form in line with the events of the story, based on the preparations in the midst of the darkness of ignorance. With all his experiences in seeing the film show, he is building up his five aggregates.
Therefore, when the light of wisdom comes and dispels the darkness of ignorance, a similar event can occur. One will come out of that plane of existence. One will step out of the world of sense desires, at least temporarily.
Now, with regard to the arahants, too, the same trend of events holds good. When their ignorance ceases, leaving no residue, avijjāya tveva asesavirāganirodhā, exhausting the influxes as well, preparations also cease. Why? Because the preparations owe their existence to ignorance. They have the ability to prepare so long as there is ignorance.
Saṅkhāra generally means preparations. It is the make-up and the make-believe which accounted for the delusion. The darkness of ignorance provided the setting for it. If somehow or other, the light of wisdom enters the scene, those preparations, saṅkhāra, became no-preparations, visaṅkhāra, and the prepared, saṅkhata, becomes a non-prepared, asaṅkhata.
So what was true with regard to the film show, is also true, in a deeper sense, with regard to the events leading up to the attainment of arahant-hood. With the dawn of that light of wisdom, the preparations, or saṅkhāra, lose their significance and become visaṅkhāra.
Though for the world outside they appear as preparations, for the arahant they are not preparations, because they do not prepare a bhava, or existence, for him. They are made ineffective. Similarly, the prepared or the made-up, when it is understood as something prepared or made-up, becomes an un-prepared or an un-made. There is a subtle principle of un-doing involved in this.
Sometimes, this might be regarded as a modernistic interpretation. But there is Canonical evidence in support of such an interpretation. For instance, in the Dvayatānupassanāsutta of the Sutta Nipāta, we come across the following verse:
Nivutānaṃ tamo hoti,
andhakāro apassataṃ,
satañca vivaṭaṃ hoti,
ā loko passatāmiva,
santike na vijānanti,
magā dhammassa akovidā .[178]
"Murk it is to those enveloped,
As darkness unto the undiscerning,
But to the good wide ope’ it is,
As light is unto those discerning,
So near, and yet they know not,
Fools, unskilled in the Norm."
It is all murky to those enveloped by the hindrance of ignorance, like the darkness for those who are unable to see. But for the noble ones, it is visible like an open space, even as the light to those with vision. Though it is near at hand, fools, inexpert in the Dhamma, do not understand.