Adventures in the Read/Write Web

[This is an article about my explorations of the Internet, particularly some of the tools and applications I've used and developed to foster collaboration and enable broad participation in the 'read/write' Web.  It has involved various experiments with software and hence is quite technical in nature.  Sorry if it's difficult to understand, but I'm happy to try to explain and clarify.
Updated 2 October 2021 with a section on static and offline search]

I became acquainted with the Internet at the third time (and university) of asking.   My first hint came in 1988, as a maths undergraduate at Southampton University.  A friend studying computer science showed me pages and pages of dot matrix printout that he had received by electronic mail from his friend at Warwick University.  I was unmoved.   The second hint came in 1991, as a maths postgrad at Glasgow University, when another student shared with me the joys of e-mail with friends from abroad, pointing to her computer terminal.  Again, I passed.

Two years later, in 1993, as a PhD student in computer science at Kingston University, the Internet was intrinsic to my research and it was then that I dived in; I soon became immersed in e-mail, Usenet  Gopher, and another service that seemed to be taking the world by storm, the World Wide Web (or, simply, ‘the Web’). 

At that time, I shared a research lab with students from various other disciplines, including Maria Winnett, who specialised in Computer-Supported Cooperative Work (CSCW).  Although I did not know it at the time, these kinds of initiatives were just further iterations of ongoing efforts over the decades, as exemplified by Douglas Engelbart’s ‘Mother of All Demos’ given in 1968 (in brief / in full),  and later reflected on, inspired in turn by Vannevar Bush’s essay of the '40s “As We May Think”.  Furthermore, these approaches would, perhaps unconsciously, influence some of my own work.

Tim Berners-Lee had conceived and implemented the Web only a few years before.  A core part of his vision was that the Web should be read/write; the first browser was thus a browser-editor, called WorldWideWeb.  Whilst most of the ingredients were in place — the http protocol, HTML, Web browser and httpd server — some aspects were not complete.  For instance, his editor could only ‘write’ to local files; the HTTP PUT request method was yet to be devised (more about this later …)

I first explored the Web using NCSA Mosaic, which I also used to take some baby steps in authoring my first HTML markup using its Personal Annotations feature.  I then started contributing to departmental pages and I was on my way, but my usage was conventional and most of my attention was on my own research.

OSS Wisdom and Easy Web Editing

Whilst I had been using Unix (Solaris) for my research, I wasn’t really cognisant of free and open source software until I started preparing for my first full time job in 1998 at the University of Derby.  I took over the technical development of MultiFaithNet, an online gateway to religious resources.  The site was needing a new home; I was asked to set up and maintain a new server, of which I had zero experience.  Faced with a dwindling budget, I bought a book on RedHat 5.1, a distribution of the Linux operating system, and installed it on my home computer off the accompanying cover CD.  I acquainted myself with the main components, including the Apache httpd web server, CGI/Perl and regular expressions.  PHP and MySQL came a bit later.  

The site contained a mixture of informational content and community-oriented facilities.  The project team maintained editorial control with some pages retaining the same structure, but being revised on a fairly frequent basis.  Team members really wanted something as easy to use as a word processor without having to know HTML or worry about the technicalities of uploading to a server.   Netscape anticipated such demand with Netscape Composer, which added editing facilities to its Navigator browser.   It provided a WYSIWYG interface, making it amenable to all my colleagues, who were not concerned with the underlying HTML that it generated.

There remained the problem of how to enable an easy means to upload edited files to the server.  I found a solution thanks to the introduction of the PUT request method, in the HTTP/1.1 specification of the international Web standards.  Such a facility had been missing when Sir Tim was first editing web pages using WorldWideWeb (they could only be updated locally under the file URI scheme).  The provision of PUT was a pivotal step in opening up the read/write web and, on the client side, support was quickly added to Netscape Composer.  

Accordingly, I followed the guidance and implemented support for PUT request method on the server.  However, as the Apache Week article intimates, it came with risks and soon become deprecated, so I secured it with various measures, as per the article, with IP address restrictions for good measure.  

 

Annotations in CritLink

MultiFaithNet was a platform for dialogue and engagement.  To support this paradigm in the technology infrastructure, I explored web annotations and came across CritLink (and the wider toolset, CritSuite), a project of the Foresight Institute developed by Ka-Ping Yee.   It used a proxy server approach to add comments non-invasively with a rich feature set, including bi-directional links, that are not supported in the Web.

I quickly felt it had a lot of potential to support collaborative working, and downloaded and installed it on MFN with the aim of encouraging internal use to begin with.  I also contacted Ka-Ping Yee to give some encouragement, suggesting that he present his work in the field of CSCW.  Perhaps already having this in mind, he duly delivered a paper.  As I started speculating about what lessons might be learnt about free and open source software, I mentioned CritSuite in Open Sources: A Higher Consciousness in Software Development, a paper I gave at an unusual conference, To Catch the Bird of Heaven, which hosted various perspectives on wisdom.

However, these initiatives subsequently came to a halt as funding for the MultiFaithNet project dried up and I needed to find other employment.   The uptake of CritSuite failed to gain critical mass, partly because of lack of resources (reflected in the Crit.org server often struggling with poor performance) and partly because some rivals took some of the limelight.  However, of probably greater bearing was that larger organisations took exception to having anyone provide ‘frank’ comments, which they regarded like graffiti.  There was no moderation (apart from the facility to comment on comments).  Nevertheless, among those willing to give CritLink a try, it gained considerable respect.

NetWedit: A WYSIWYG Web editing widget

Today, it’s fairly easy for anyone to create and maintain their own websites.  Probably the majority of web content is written and updated through web forms, much of it in content management systems such as WordPress, which accounts a large proportion of all web sites.  It was designed as a blogging platform, as such a major step to read/write web according to Sir Tim, when interviewed by Mark Lawson for the BBC in 2005.

Blogging consists not only of jotting down one’s thoughts, as in a manuscript, but presenting it as a Web document.  A key enabler, usually powered by JavaScript, is the WYSIWYG editing box.  It is now taken for granted, but twenty years ago, Web editing wasn’t so amenable.  Whilst there were sporadic attempts to realize in situ editing via the browser’s own client, as I had explored with HTTP PUT, the normal procedure for updating websites was more convoluted.  Typically, an author would write copy and send it to someone with technical skills to prepare a web version on their PC using an authoring tool such as Dreamweaver or else hand code the HTML and CSS.  Then the files were transferred in a separate process via ftp and finally reviewed by the original author.

However, by the turn of the century, database-driven content management systems (CMS) were already emerging, where it was no longer a matter of editing individual pages, but instances of data that were supplied to templates.  Some CMS had large numbers of users who each needed to maintained a few paragraphs and update them whenever they liked.  I was faced with such a situation after I had moved down to Oxford to join the Humanities Computing Unit: as part of an online teaching resources database system, theologians needed a simple way to edit some content through the web-based.  

With necessity being the mother of invention, I released my first open source contribution in 2001 under LGPL – I’m not a great fan of 'infective' licenses. :-/  It was a rich text editing widget called NetWedit,  designed for Netscape Navigator (version 4, upwards) and also supported by Mozilla0.9+, and IE4+ (Windows only).  It gained some exposure in HEI after its inclusion in Paul Browning’s TTW WYSIWYG Editor Widgets list.  Apart from the Java solutions, all the other entries on the list would only work on one operating system or in one browser; NetWedit was possibly the world’s first non-Java-based cross-browser solution, albeit not fully cross-platform.  

Implementation

I was not a JavaScript guru, so I chose the path of least resistance, targeting the textarea HTML input area, which is generally used as a form element for more substantial amounts of text.  For users to make dynamic updates without server-side scripting, I figured that I needed editing to take place in a pop-up window, whilst storing the HTML source in the textarea box of the parent window.  I realised that dealing with user interactions, especially changes to content, would be a complex process, so I settled on a workflow process whereby the user would type text (without markup) in the boxes and then press a button to launch a pop-up, in which to then carry out the markup (formatting, links, etc.).  So, it’s more accurate to say that NetWedit is a markup tool.

Once I had figured this approach, the implementation was quite neat.  The code consisted of a single JavaScript library file.  When loaded on a given page, any number of form textarea elements could be enabled for WYSIWYG markup.  Here’s an extract from a sample page with two editable areas.

To the left you can see a bit of text followed by a couple of textarea boxes in a Web form.  These boxes are actually the HTML source views.  Normally with rich text editors, we see either the source view or the rich text view, not both, but a feature of NetWedit is that you can see both side by side.  It’s thus a handy instructional tool.

I’ve pressed the [Markup 1] button to launch a markup window.  In fact, launching the window itself already showed the use of the <p> tag.

Any markup applied in the popup was instantly reflected in the source windows, thereby offering interesting possibilities to learn the markup. Thus, highlighting the word, ‘sample’, and pressing the [U] button is instantly reflected as follows:

As mentioned above, this ‘editor’ didn’t actually allow edits to the text itself - these had to be done in the source textarea.

Visual Shenanigans

Subject to the Document Object Model at that time, there was only one method to capture user-selected text, document.getSelection(), which returned a string.  Later revisions, returned an object and allowed one to determine exactly where in the DOM the selection was made.   However, here there was no immediate method to locate its whereabouts - if you selected ‘the’, which ‘the’ was it?  There was nothing more granular.

I got round the limitation by using a kind of visual deception through (an abuse of) CSS, inspired by WordPerfect’s ‘reveal codes’.  Using the <span> tag, I inserted a unique sequence of characters after the first character of each word, hidden by a CSS setting of zero display width.  When selecting the intended word, getselection() would include the invisible characters, so that when it came to identifying a particular instance of a word, the system was actually searching for a unique word. 

All is revealed by viewing the frame source for the text being marked up:

Behold the generated code in its marked-up glory!  Note especially the fragment, <b>t<span class=hidden>|7|</span>o</b>,

But none of this formatting was applied to the source, so only the intended markup, <b>to</b>, was retained:

The widget was successfully deployed in the Theology Faculty Teaching Resources site, where Faculty could maintain their own profiles – research interests and publications.  It was considered simple to use and was all that was needed at that time. 

I also received quite a bit of response to the release of the software, especially in the first year or two, when it was tried in custom web-based content management systems (WordPress wasn’t released until 2003).  I even wondered about deploying it in CritSuite to make it easier to make granular text selections.   However, as browser support became more comprehensive, more sophisticated solutions such as FCKEditor came along (also in 2003), and I knew I would have to take a back seat, though I did try to up my game with RTWedit.   

Alas, my editing widgets don’t work in any modern browsers, because the method I used was superseded, though I guess it’s just a matter of working out what the new methods are (and hopefully, there’s no new security constraint).   However, it's still possible to see NetWedit, as released in 2001, working on Windows 10: download Netscape 9 from an archive and then launch Navigator and load the page from the Wayback machine (under plain http).

The Aesthetics of XML editing via XSLT

The problem with HTML is that it became increasingly about presentation, despite being in fact a special instance of SGML, designed for documents in general and their semantics (think about how to encode Shakespeare!)  This fact was emphasized by colleague in the HCU, especially by its Director, Lou Burnard, and his expert assistant, Sebastian Rahtz. These were authorities on semantic markup and had a great influence on web developments at OUCS.  

I discovered this when working on Interactive Audio Comprehension Materials (IACM), a web-based system to train students in various modern languages by listening to passages and answering questions to check their understanding.  The data – passage content and multimedia timings – was stored entirely in XML.  With Sebastian's help, another team member, Paul Groves, had already developed a delivery system using Perl’s XML:Sablotron, but now the Faculty wanted to add a web-based editing system.  

So I devised a system that took user’s web form input and turned it into custom XSLT to transform the XML to XML.  As I later reflected, it had the nice aesthetic property of being amenable to recording not only changes to data, but how those changes were made.  I showed this solution to Sebastian, who was intrigued and, characteristically, almost immediately wondered whether it could handle more complex scenarios.  But a need didn’t arise.

 

Ingredients for Innovation and Collaboration

OUCS was a very collaborative environment; it helped that almost everyone had a certain level of technical competence and many were experts in their field, so exchanges were fruitful.  Everything was available in-house – from R&D to hosting and administration, which facilitated greater exploration and faster turnarounds.

The department was prepared to experiment and take risks, which yielded a lot of innovation.  In particular, Sebastian architected the OUCS web site based on TEI XML.  It meant all staff having to learn TEI, which required some effort, but at least that could author content using an editor of their choice, ranging from vi to XMetaL.  However, once the documents were written, the system  effortlessly delivering HTML, PDF and many other documents using Apache Axkit.

OUCS is now history, along with many of the processes, systems and services that were developed.  Nowadays, the content and presentation of departmental websites are more managed and controlled.  The presentation is more visual, yet the result seems to me to be increased homogeneity, not only in look and feel, but in the kind of content.  It reads well because it’s edited for a general audience, yet it feels intellectually less exciting, lacking some freshness and spontaneity.

Nevertheless, aware of cycles in development, I remain optimistic as upward spirals are always possible.  Looking at annotations, among the various initiatives, it looks like Hypothes.is is gaining traction and keeping the spirit of collaboration of the early pioneers.  There are still some good prospects for a truly read/write Web.

Offline Search for Content Management Systems

Core to ‘read’ing the web is search, another facet we can delve into.

Again in 2001, I became involved in the development of a multimedia Chinese language learning system, featuring a range of interactive exercises.  It was implemented as a website driven by CGI/Perl.  I was asked to ‘put it on a CD’, with the option to support further updates to its contents.  I eventually delivered a production system, with admin facilities, that output a static site according to a specified folder hierarchy.  There was, however, one wish that I never got round to fulfilling – a search function.  The most promising cross-platform solutions available at the time were mainly based on Java, but I couldn’t manage to incorporate them.

Almost twenty years later, 2020, I am using WordPress and have almost the same requirement – I wish to generate a static version of a WP site that I can search offline.  Surely, there’s a nice plugin available?  

I duly wandered over to WordPress plugins directory.  After a while, it became evident that the search facilities that were available required some server infrastructure, whether that was the use of a third party service like Algolia or some experimental ‘serverless’ solution,  All of these, whether ‘scriptless’ or otherwise, still require server infrastructure, even if the site itself is fully static.   They are no use for a searching a static site on a memory stick when you have no Internet.

Looking for something that I might (legally) adapt for my purposes, I found WP Static Search, a plugin that looked far more promising, being built on an established JavaScript package, Lunr.js.  Again, the author is a developer who is working with this kind of technology in commercial applications and it turned out that it had some bugs; and the author hasn’t yet responded to suggested fixes.  Even so, I could make these changes myself by forking the repository on Github.  

After applying the fixes, I then tackled the requirement to make this work offline (without reference to any server).   The key to this was to take account of the JavaScript security model’s restriction on loading files – basically, any file like a search index cannot be loaded in the usual way.  So, the index had to be incorporated in the library itself, in one of the JavaScript files.  Thus, I modified the index-builder to write the index inside lunr-index.js itself.    I’ve published the modified code on GitHub: https://github.com/paultraf/wp-static-search .   You can go ahead and download the master zip, but then rename it wp-static-search.zip before installing in WordPress.

  

It’s rudimentary, but it works.  I use it for the Sigala Research  site, in conjunction with wget, which creates the static version for me.  

A Rare Opportunity: On ‘Buddhism and Pali’

There's a new book that I'd like to introduce:

Cover for 'Buddhism and Pali' (from mudpiebooks.com)

A little over 10 years ago I had the good fortune to study under Professor Richard Gombrich at the OCBS Pali Summer School of 2008.  I subsequently used the knowledge gained to read and translate from the Pali some passages in the Theravada Buddhist canon as part of my Master’s thesis.   So, I was pleased to see the publication of Prof. Gombrich’s latest book, Buddhism and Pali.

In this post I offer some thoughts about the material - they're more ad hoc responses to some ideas put forth than a book review because I’m not qualified to assess the finer points of linguistics.

Introduction

The title of this post is quoted from page 8 of Gombrich’s ‘Buddhism and Pali’, where the author indicates why, despite being somewhat sceptical about its appeal to members of the public, he decided to go ahead and write this small volume: he sees its potential to raise awareness about the far-reaching significance of Pali.  I think he went ahead because he is a believer!  That is, he truly believes in the importance of the Buddha as a historical figure, in the value of his teachings, particularly for the depth of the philosophy, and in the necessity of knowing Pali as the means to properly access that knowledge and interpret it accurately.

I remember maybe 20 years ago hearing about the Jesus Seminar and its efforts to determine the historicity of Jesus and what could be reliably attributed to him.  It seems that in recent years this kind of approach has been attempted in respect of the Buddha Gotama, leading to similar results, where some academics deny that the canonical texts can be attributed to the Buddha himself and hence cast all kinds of doubt on the material.  As someone who is interested in Buddhist texts primarily as a practitioner, I’ve always felt that these kinds of scholarly views are rooted in a kind of hindrance, specifically sceptical doubt (Pali: vicikicchā - for the definition, I'm linking through to an online edition of the Pali Text Society's Pali-English dictionary).

So I naturally welcomed this new book, which constructs an argument, mainly linguistic, but backed up by cultural, historical and other observations, that shows how Pali could in fact be the language the Buddha actually used in his teachings across a vast swathe of what we now refer to as India.  As a scholar specialising in Indo-Aryan languages over his long career, Gombrich is sensitive to various issues that need to be addressed, especially concerning matters such as the integrity of texts and their preservation.

The book itself comprises four chapters and I’ll briefly introduce them and pick up on points I found interesting.

1. Pali in History

In the first chapter, Gombrich sets the scene, indicating the current use of Pali in the canon of the Theravada School of Buddhism, how it was essentially a language of recitation used by monks and nuns to maintain the teachings.  He then traces its linguistic history back to a few centuries BCE, showing in particular how it relates to Sanskrit.  The book is concise and succinct, making it easy to digest and follow the lines of thought.  Thus, we have a nice overview of the history of the Buddha, the geography of India and the modes of usage of Pali, especially among monastics.  Then the ancestry of Pali is outlined in three steps, altogether covering a single page.  So it’s a kind of primer, with some footnotes provided for further exploration.

Being condensed, many points are made only briefly. One of the first to catch my eye was that the word phāsa (p.11), which means ‘language’, was originally attached to ‘Pāli’ .  The same word has been brought into Thai (phāsa is rendered as ภาษา, hence ภาษาไทย). In fact, Thai has incorporated many such ‘loan words’ from Pali and Sanskrit, but also from many other languages (its influences are complex)!

The transmission of the Buddha’s teachings was initially an oral tradition, only later written down, typically on palm leaves.  We may take writing for granted now, but (I didn't see this mentioned by Gombrich) one doesn’t have to go back very far to find practitioners who did not make use of written texts.  For example, the founder of Wat Phra Dhammakaya on the outskirts of Bangkok was an illiterate nun, Khun Yay Upasika Chandra Khonnokyoong.

It's remarkable that the texts have been handed down over the centuries with hardly any corruption.  Gombrich uses his philological expertise to cleverly argue how Pali has been preserved and evolved for a variety of pragmatic and conventional reasons, usually under the influence of Sanskrit, but used in a distinct way; its distinction arising because it is an artifice - a vehicle for transmission that needs careful memorisation, but also reflects adaptation to local environments.  He makes the argument easier to follow by comparison with the use of the English language, which he furnishes with examples.

In passing, he also makes the point that the teachings tell us that all this is subject to impermanence and will eventually perish.  From a professional perspective, as another aside, I wonder about the digital context, where we can easily replicate data in the Cloud and ensure integrity using checksums.   Well, checksums are themselves subject to bit rot (corruption) and according to Buddhist cosmology our world and many realms above eventually get destroyed, so that would include all the data centres in the Cloud and in clouds!

I find conservative Gombrich’s statement that “as far as we know” Theravada Buddhism was confined in its first millennium to India and Sri Lanka (p. 22): I am persuaded by the thesis proposed by Lewis Lancaster in the Maritime Buddhism Project that traders carried religious practices across South and South-East Asia much earlier (e.g., across the Bay of Bengal, the Andaman Sea, through the Malacca Strait, and up to the South China Sea).  Collaborative research is ongoing to form an electronic atlas.  Whilst the picture is patchy, there is significant archaeological evidence - for example, in Thailand, as reported by Suchandra and Lipi Ghosh,  excavations have unearthed objects with Buddhist inscriptions (in Pali or Hybrid Pali and Sanskrit) dated to the Dvāravatī period that have strong associations with the sea: such as amulets, carried by seafaring merchants to ensure a safe voyage and even images of Buddha Dipankara calming the waves.  I also asked my uncle, Sean Trafford, who spent his working life at sea, much of it in and around SE Asia, and he found the thesis credible.

Perhaps the first intimation I received of such early connections for Thailand was a visit to Phra Pathom Chedi in 1988, which I subsequently wrote about as one of my first articles on the Web.   A traditional overview of how Buddhism came to Thailand was compiled by Ven. Dr. Saddhatissa  There is, of course, a large gap between the time of Emperor Ashoka and the mid first millennium C.E., but it’s narrowing - see e.g. Stephen A. Murphy and Miriam T. Stark’s introduction to period transitions. (Coincidentally, one of my cousins has just started her first year as an undergraduate in the Faculty of Archaeology at Silapakorn University, so I may get to hear about further developments!)

2. The Linguistic Character of Pali

The second chapter - on ‘The Linguistic Character of Pali’ - is the most technical.  It contains material that is second nature to the author, so it’s both easy for him to spell out and difficult for him to gauge how accessible it might be for the reader.  For anyone who has made an initial attempt to learn the language it’s a useful refresher of the main concepts, but others may well observe the guidance, thoughtfully inserted, to just read some of the more general remarks.

These include the use of verse, which I tend not to give much attention to, even though I frequently come across them in sutta study; although the texts are largely prose, verses do feature.  My appreciation and understanding of verse is limited, but some while ago I became keen to learn the meaning of a daily chant called 'A Buddha Prayer Song', so eventually I produced a translation, aided by Thai friends.  It was an example of prosody, so I was pleased to learn more about the metrical structure of such verse. 

3. Pali Prose Style

In the third chapter - on ‘Pali Prose Style’ - Gombrich discusses how its style was especially shaped by the oral tradition.  He also explores the question of how the oral transmission has been so efficient, with some corroboration from neuroscience and illustrations from other disciplines such as music.  There are practical strategies indicated for memorisation such as the division of labour and Gombrich indicates how the Buddhist Councils have helped ensure their preservation.

He goes on to use a linguistic argument based on an incremental style of prose, where words are successively augmented - in length and meaning.  When considered from the view of the practice, we find that the experience is often of gradual development, gradual evolution and progression, so to record this it is fitting to choose words that reflect this in structure and meaning.  This insight helps in the validation of texts, i.e. there is scope for validation through practice. This is particularly the case when undertaking a practice with a sequence of steps, as exemplified by the Ratha-vinita Sutta  (Relay Chariots, translation by Thanissaro Bhikkhu).

Gombrich takes as an example (pp. 57-61) the homage (vandanā) in the iti pi so formula, which is a standard recitation in Pali chanting.  I think it’s an ambitious choice because it’s very condensed with meaning at mundane and supramundane levels, but I think through meticulous analysis he arrives at a sensible interpretation, showing the value of a proper understanding of Pali - it makes rational sense.

However, the scholarly method follows a particular intellectual discipline, so the result is often carefully couched and sometimes speculative; perhaps its deeper meaning cannot be convincingly made by linguistics alone.  In particular, whilst Gombrich also makes the important point that the text carries with it an injunction, of ‘ought’, scholarship doesn’t necessarily bring about this ‘ought’ response, i.e. "Right, let’s undertake the practice!"  To me it seldom is that compelling.  Even from the perspective of practice, it still is a matter of interpretation dependent on view (diṭṭhi) and according to the path (magga) taken.  However, to some extent the words can help to validate practice, so it works both ways.  

Indeed, the linguistic reading can lead on to practice and I’ll try to illustrate this by focusing on the ‘ought’, drawing on the Dhammakaya tradition to which I belong.  I’ll start by making the assertion that the presentation style of a practitioner can be more persuasive about the ‘ought’.  I think especially of the late Chao Khun Phramongkolthepmuni, the re-discoverer of this practice.  When he was delivering sermons as Abbot of Wat Paknam Bhasicharoen in Thailand he spoke with a directness and assuredness that arose from meditation experience.  His audience was roused in large numbers over the years and it came about as the audience engaged a different mode of listening and interpreting, through the citta, a Pali word that I would render along the lines of “heart-mind”, to distinguish it from the brain alone. 

The Chao Khun explained every word in the iti pi so, and gave the formula a sense of direction reflecting investigation within what the Buddha referred to as “this fathom-long body” (Rohitassa Sutta).  I summarise the respective interpretations in a table as follows:

Term	Gombrich	Dhammakaya tradition	Comment (Dhammakaya)
svākkhato	well-taught	well-taught
Bhagavatā	Blessed One	Blessed One	Because the Buddha is breaker of the wheel of Samsara
Dhammo	Teaching	Dhamma	Teaching (mundane) and Truth as supramundane reality
sanditthiko	practical	to be seen	Directly observable
akāliko	immediate	timeless and ever-present	Whether there are Buddhas in the world or not, the Path to Enlightenment lies open, all the same
ehipassiko	Come and see	Come and see
opanāyiko	useful	leading inwards	the operative mode is given by phrases such as kāye kāyānupassī, ‘contemplating body in body’ in accordance with the Middle Way.
paccattam	individually, by oneself	individually, by oneself
veditabbo	o be understood	to be realized	directly, not just intellectually
viññuhi	by the intelligent	by the wise

This practice-based approach was even reflected in the design of published materials.  For example, several of the terms, including opanāyiko, were employed on the front cover of a magazine of the Bhikkhus of Wat Paknam, surrounding the image of the Buddha in meditation.

Another area where the orientation of practice can prompt or fashion a different response concerns repetition (pp. 62-68). Certainly some formulaic repetition acts as little more than packaging, but the repetition in the ‘contents’ does need care.  As mentioned, repetition aids and reinforces memory, but it also establishes a rhythm, which can be cyclical in nature, like a spiral staircase, where the completion of each full 360 degree rotation brings a different aspect viewed from a series of successively higher windows (perhaps these are the “small changes” that Ven. Dr Walpola Rahula alluded to?).  Lists are usually intentionally ordered.  Hence the khandhas (pp. 64-5) are to be contemplated, each in turn (it’s not an intellectual exercise, it’s a sermon on practice, not about the practice).

But some cases of repetition do appear to be far less necessary: repetition that arises through reporting - the convention of repeating verbatim each time a new person is to hear what has been said.  Such preservation can make for excessive, even quite absurd, repetition as illustrated (p. 66) and I confess that in study groups we often skip reading out such repeated reports.

Gombrich makes the key point that repetition occurs at every level, which suggests that the Buddha used repetition in his speeches, thereby strengthening the case that the Pali does indeed record the Buddha’s own words.

4. Pali in Buddhist Ideology

Having laid the foundations, the final chapter presents the main thesis: that the Buddha gave his teachings in Pali as part of his ideology; the use of Pali emerged in opposition to Sanskrit as integral to the Buddha’s teachings being in contradistinction to the Vedas.  I hadn’t thought that the Buddha might so deliberately using language (or avoid the use of a particularly structured language) to take an ideological stance, but I can imagine it fits like this. 

Then Gombrich builds his case, showing how the Buddha gave his teachings to anyone who was prepared to receive them, instructing his disciples to make language accessible and adaptable to locality.  A particularly difficult area is establishing what language was used between the time of the Buddha and when it was first formally written down in Sri Lanka.  So Gombrich proceeds to develop a linguistic argument, inviting the reader to imagine the conditions in which the Buddha roamed far and wide and how Pali appears to have accommodated a wide range of dialects to match whilst being based on a predominant dialect, a ‘lingua franca’, becoming the ‘argot’ of the Buddha and his followers (rather than quoting Google, I suggest the entry in an online etymology dictionary).

Such language was used in a pragmatic fashion to convey meaning, so it can be argued that implies purging language of foreign terms.  I’m cautious about that; some terms need to be introduced with all nuances of the original meaning properly established or else much can be lost.  I think, for example, of the term “mindfulness”, which is typically used for sati, but in the process the sense of clear comprehension with an ethical basis has often been removed (think about the sequence of the Eightfold Noble Path).

Conclusion

In the epilogue, Gombrich leaves us with an open problem: how best to teach a basic course in Pali that will enable students to tackle the translation of texts with the aid of a dictionary and other tools.   From past experience, Gombrich has found that the course needs to be intensive over a short period, usually 2-3 weeks, but that has presented various challenges in terms of organisation and commitment irrespective of whether that is offered in person at a physical location or online. 

Efforts are currently being made to provide a more sustainable option through online courses with recorded sessions, which should improve retention, though it will mean reduced personal interaction.  Having been involved in developing and support e-learning platforms, and even a little research, I expect A.I. to offer considerable potential, especially assistance in understanding particular concepts being taught in drill practice.  Financial support would make things easier, remove some barriers, but overall I think that it still largely depends on the student's determination as to whether there will be a successful outcome.

---

Overall, this little volume has been stimulating and enjoyable and I'm pleased to recommend it.  It has reminded me how fortunate I was to learn the rudiments of Pali from an expert so that I could be in a position to explore the Buddha's teachings with more assurance; today, I mainly use that knowledge outside the academic context, in a local Buddhist group (where we follow chanting and meditation with sutta study, using a plethora of books and some electronic tools).

Postscript [12 January 2019]

After posting the article, I recalled having written about how the Buddha transmitted Dhamma based on knowing the receptivity of his audience and their kamma.  To explain how this worked, I tried to use analogies with concepts in physics (mainly holography, first introducing the basic idea and then elaborating with a further analogy of a radio set.

A Review of Four Reigns (Part Seven): Conclusion

[Updates

9 Nov 2019: added a translation of the theme tune to Channel 3 TV's production
21 April 2018: added a couple of additional paragraphs suggesting multilingual subtitles for TV productions uploaded to YouTube and a few minor edits.]

Welcome to the final instalment of a series of posts in which I am reviewing Four Reigns, a translation of Si Phaendin, a Thai classic of historical fiction by M.R. Kukrit Pramoj. Congratulations if you've managed to read through the other posts! Here I will offer some reflections on the work as a whole set within the context of its original publication and how it might be received today. The analysis is based on the publication by Silkworm Books.

Cultural Transmission

In his preface, M.R. Kukrit relates how, when he was preparing the series of columns for Siam Rath, the story arose out of a natural urge to “set down in writing the modes of mores of a disappearing age”. It came naturally, he says, without pre-meditation, with characters gradually emerging as the plot seemed to develop. And that is how the narrative felt to me — there’s a pleasant rambling flow, consistent with a series of regular newspapers columns tumbling off the top of his head, resulting in a wonderful story.

However, also naturally, the work reflects the deeply held views of the author. This is historical fiction, not merely a story, and marshals a considerable amount of factual details. History, despite its emphasis on objectivity, requires interpretation and this is subjective, not neutral, with intentions dependent upon one’s background, views, personality and so on. As such, beyond the intricate descriptions, Four Reigns comes over as gently didactic, with implicit guidance on how to behave as a model citizen centred on the main character, Phloi. The author deploys clever use of language and imagery; humour is used to cultivate reverence for royalty, even to elevate it beyond mortal grasp: any commoner who would rashly compare themselves with them is destined to have “lice on their heads”.

Yet the appreciation is not uniform; it’s not an unqualified paean. After Phloi gets married and lives outside the Inner Court, the author lets slip that her life in the palace was restrictive:

“For she had felt lost on countless occasions ... like a released cage bird who does not know what to do with its newfound freedom. She had longed for some boundaries, some restrictions, ...”
(p.213)

Nowadays the ability to make choices is generally regarded as fundamental to the rights of the individual, though for the spiritual life there’s a different view: monastics voluntarily commit themselves to numerous rules of training that largely remove such freedom of choice. In this way, the training and lifestyle in the Inner Court has a sense of a spiritual discipline, though without the material austerity.

There are also variations between the monarchs, as seen principally through Phloi’s eyes, through vague allusions to the need for modernisation or puzzlement as to particular royal interests. But a constant is Nai Luang (an affectionate reference to the monarch) as the blessed glue holding together Muang Thai (in this context there’s no mention of “Phrathet Thai”, the political term used for the nation as declared after the country had become a constitutional monarchy.)

As the narrative unfolds the characters are generally well developed. Naturally the spotlight is mainly on Phloi, the central figure throughout, whose qualities are summed up by her son, Ot: “honesty, loyalty, fair-mindedness, compassion towards our fellow beings, all this and more.” However, whilst Phloi is admirable as a paragon of virtue, it is Ot I find the most intriguing: gentle in his manners, he appears as the most benign and easily contented — very low maintenance! He has the least status of all of Phloi’s children, but as far as the narrative is concerned, he has an important role in defining Phloi from the close mother-favourite son relationship. He thus acts as a lens or filter, whilst also having complimentary characteristics; Phloi and Ot affirm each other and hence support each other in promulgating certain values to the reader. His views are more serious than those of Choi, Phloi’s very close lifelong friend and hearty antidote to modernity, and in respect of the overall message they are more significant.

Ot himself is sagacious and resourceful; immediately after his father’s death he is the one who gains authority and able to direct affairs. His savoir-faire reminds me of the Admirable Crichton, a butler taking command of a household he serves when they are stranded on an island. At the same time he can be incorrigible in his humorous digs, sometimes unable to hold back from witty and very astute observations. Just taking his conversation on its own merits, without the commentary, I’d find his remarks cutting, tending towards the sardonic, but the text generally relates that it’s all harmless. One wonders: is that the author speaking? Similarly, Ot smiles a lot, but they’re not all the same smiles, a few are “odd” — there are many kinds of smile in ‘the land of smiles’! Similarly, when I ask myself with whom would the author most identify, I notice that the closest by year of birth is Ot, who displays the keen art of observation, just like the author. (It might be fun to have a readers’ poll!)

The details of gossip (chat about relationships) are extensive and could be shorter, but that’s authentic and it’s done in a light and airy way. M.R. Kukrit’s delightful sense of humour prevents gloomy passages from being sustained: even when encounters are cold and malicious, he adds a little comment such as “Thus ended the dialogue — if that was the right term for such a lopsided exchange.” It’s a measured response, I think, to the immense upheaval, seeking to prompt reflection on noble traditions that are eroding or have been lost and to appreciate how they have contributed to a more harmonious society.

Modern literary criticism would subject the author’s intentions to closer scrutiny; is it a mere coincidence that the son who is most like his father is On, a royalist, whilst the argumentative one, An, is the one who pushes through with the modernisation programme? It’s also noticeable that in relation to political dispositions, the characters portrayed in particularly glowing terms are the most loyal to the royal traditions; they are calm, wise and benevolent, whereas some of the most radical proponents of change are shown as rather hot-headed. Was this really the case? Well, Ot’s slightly frightening description of the countenance of radical French intellectuals are strikingly vivid; we know the author could draw on many contemporary accounts, though, of course, this depended on who were the informants!

Some might wonder about those who have no royal connections — how did they fare? Was the absolute monarchy at their expense? The descriptions include various fads that were sparked by the monarch, such as King Chulalongkorn’s comment on the patina of a particular ivory box; then the fashion was for ivory boxes as collector’s items and this being interwoven with poetry. A commonly accepted historical viewpoint considers that the monarchy was a huge drain on financial resources, leaving many in poverty, made stark in the 1920s and 1930s. Yet, this was nothing new. In the 17th Century Simon de la Loubère, special envoy of King Louis XIV, concluded that the locals, though having few possessions, appeared to generally exhibit a greater sense of well-being than those in the West.

Poverty did affect some of Phloi’s relatives who lost their wealth; the author narrates how this affected her half-sister:

Khun Choie talked of being poor as something ordinary, as nothing shameful or repellant. Certainly nothing terrible like, say, an incurable disease. She talked with characteristic frankness and naturalness ... Khun Choei resented nothing.
(p.266)

Whether rich or poor, it’s still the same family and Phloi’s faith was affirmed.

The descriptions of the landscape and natural environment are, I expect, spot on; some passages contain descriptions similar to those I’ve heard concerning my Thai relatives, especially when they first moved to Thonburi. In the narrative, we read that to get to Choi’s family home required walking down a lane then along planks to cross mud. Similarly, when the family first moved to a plot off the Taksin Road, they had to pull up their trousers and sarongs and walk around the edge of fields to reach it.

The accounts of education also tally with what I’ve heard: the wealthy have traditionally sought to have their children educated at a Christian missionary school. My mother related that when she was a child it was generally considered that these schools provided the best education, especially in English language, but they were expensive, so although her parents wanted to send her to one, they couldn’t afford it. At the same time the fear about conversion “to the farang church” was and is strong — for Thailand is predominantly Buddhist and most want to keep it that way.

Patriarchy

And what of the patriarchy? It’s obviously there and is often picked up in more recent reviews, but I shall say only a few words as I feel I’m not best qualified to comment.

Ahead of Phloi’s wedding, her royal sponsor, Sadet, advises:

“Your husband’s happiness, your children’s happiness, the good name of the family — all this should come before your personal comfort.”
(p.187)

However, the author is aware of changing attitudes, even in his day, as he conveys Phloi’s views shortly after getting married to Prem:

Phloi ... came to be aware of the way she felt about him. She would not call it love; it struck her as not being at all similar to that love which she had once experienced. I feel myself as belonging to him. This is something absolute and unarguable. I belong to him completely and absolutely. I take him as my owner, as centre and mainstay of my life, forever, unless and until he himself should wish to cease being so. Some women may prefer to stay free of such a tie, but Phloi happened to be that feminine type who finds assurance in it, and happiness in that assurance.
(p.199)

Phloi’s role is well-defined and intentionally so as one who derives happiness from service to others. And as one seeking always to give more than she receives, Phloi’s status actually rises in tandem with that of Prem, her husband, until she becomes a Khunying (“Lady”), though she remains the same person and carries out her life as usual. At the same time, whilst Phloi’s responsibilities are confined to the family, the narrative makes clear that in general this doesn’t preclude the highest responsibilities from women. There are extended passages describing Queen Saowabha acting as Somdet Regent whilst her husband, King Chulalongkorn, is in Europe.

My mother came to the West in the ‘60s when the rights of individuals were being asserted more strongly. She herself had a fiercely independent nature (reflected in a large, varied and entertaining group of friends), rather different in character from Phloi. Yet, when interviewed for a local paper in 1981 she retained views distinctly rooted in Thai tradition:

“... Buddha taught us to do things in moderation, and there is a strong accent put on family life — I feel it is important for me to do what is best for my family, whether it be cooking, cleaning or whatever. All the time I have to think of others and try to get rid of any selfishness. “
(Thursday’s Lotus: The Life and Work of Fuengsin Trafford, p. 164).

Whatever one’s views, the narrative describes how Phloi’s attitudes fostered mutual respect, as her husband, Prem, remarked:

“You owe me nothing. It’s the other way round. You could have found a husband a thousand times better than this one. If there should be any debt at all, then it is I who owe it. I’ll make it up to you, Mae Phloi. I’ll try in every way to make myself worthy to you.”
(p.205)

He remains ever faithful and attentive to her needs, particularly in difficult times, as in Phloi’s final life-threatening pregnancy. In a recent academic paper presented by Kanchana Witchayapakorn and Todsapon Suranakkharin at Naresuan University, ‘Dignity in Humility: The Representation of Central Female Characters in Thai Literary Works’, the authors emphasize Phloi’s character in fulfilling a role of complementarity and argue that she is extolling a cultural feminist perspective that is both dignified and vital in giving strength to the family and society as a whole.

Translation or Adaptation?

The text of Four Reigns is coherent, generally polished and even eloquent. It readily stands alone; although aware of Si Phaendin, I didn’t feel the need to consult the original. In the English version, M.R. Kukrit still paints vivid pictures of the outside world through the domestic situation with a flowing narrative and a great sense of timing, rather like a stage play. The translation particularly succeeds in conveying this flow, allowing passages to convincingly convey the tone even if the English is not perfect, for example: “the two men, their voices heavy and low, their faces clouded with anxiety and hurt and shame.” I understand that the name of the translator, ‘Tulachandra’, is actually a composite for a husband and wife team, Tulaya and Chaemchand Bunnag, with the latter being the primary translator. Chaemchand Bunnag was a professional translator of English literary works into Thai and the quality shows: her handling of idioms and turns of phrase is impressive, making the text sound convincing. And I’m sure that belonging to the extensive Bunnag family is also helpful in knowing the author's intentions.

However, I was curious about the original Thai and chanced across the text of Si Phaendin online, though I’m not sure about the copyright. Then I came across ‘Analysis of the Thai-English translation [of] ‘Four Reigns’ by Abhiradee Rungsirichairat, M.A. thesis, Thammasat University, 2005. This scholarly work reveals that the translation is indeed very liberal, reordering sentences, paraphrasing, omitting details and even one or two characters; the thesis also claims that Four Reigns contains many mistakes, yet even so it still conveys the essence.

To investigate briefly, I looked at the Thai source from which the above quote about Phloi’s sense of belonging to Prem (p.199) was derived, which happens to be just beyond the selection used in Rungsirichairat's analysis. The corresponding Thai is as follows:

ความรู้สึกอย่างหนึ่ง ที่ไม่เคยมี ก็เกิดขึ้นมาในใจ พลอยไม่ยอมรับว่าความรู้สึกนั้นเป็นความรัก เพราะไม่เหมือนกับ ความรักที่เคยมีมาครั้งหนึ่ง ในกาลก่อน แต่ความรู้สึกที่เกิดใหม่นั้น เป็นของแน่นอนไม่มีวันเปลี่ยนแปลง หรือหวั่นไหวไปได้คือ รู้สึกว่าคุณเปรมนั้นเป็น เจ้าของๆตน เป็นหลักที่ตนจะต้องยึดมั่นไว่ในชีวิตนี้ ไม่มีวันที่จะผละออกได้ นอกจากคุณเปรมจะไม่ต้องการตนอีกต่อไป คนเราที่เกิดมาทุกคนย่อมมีจิตใจแตกต่างกัน มีใจที่รักความอิสระ โดยไม่มีข้อผูกพันกับใครบ้าง หรือมิฉะนั้นก็มีใจที่ ต้องการจะอยู่กับคนอื่น หรือเป็นของคนอื่น จะอยู่ด้วยตนเองแต่เพียงคนเดียวนั้นไม่ได้ พลอยเป็นผู้หญิงทั้งกายและใจโดย สมบูรณ์จึงมีใจอย่างประเภทหลัง เมื่อรู้สึกว่าตนมีเจ้าของก็เกิดความมั่นใจ และได้รับความสุขจากความมั่นใจนั้น ความรู้สึกว่าตนเป็นของคุณเปรม นั้นผิดกับความรู้สึกที่พลอยเคยมีต่อแม่หรือเสด็จ เพราะความใกล้ชิดสนิทสนมต่อคน ต่างเพศถึงเพียงนี้ พลอยมิได้เคยมีมาแต่ก่อน
(p.232)

Here is my attempt at a literal translation (with the help of Thai2English and Longdo):

She had a feeling in her heart like she never had before. Phloi did not accept that this feeling was love because it wasn’t the same as the love she had [felt] once before. But this new feeling, she was sure, was of belonging; it could not be changed and was unshakeable. She felt that Khun Prem was in that respect her owner. He was the guiding principle to whom she must hold fast in this life. There was to be no day when she would flee apart from the day when Khun Prem would no longer need her anymore. Since birth our minds naturally all bud [and flower] differently: there’s the mind that loves independence by not having any commitment with someone; or else there’s the mind that must live with or belong to someone else — they cannot live only with that one person. Phloi was a complete woman in body and mind. Consequently, her mind was of the following type: when she felt herself to have an owner then confidence arose and she obtained happiness from that confidence. Those feelings about her belonging to Khun Prem were unlike the feelings which Phloi had towards her mother or Sadet, for Phloi had not come to as intimate closeness as this towards someone of the opposite sex before.

Even allowing for mistakes in my translation, which are quite likely, it's evident that there’s a significant amount of paraphrasing as "happiness in that assurance", with the imagery of the bud and the several clauses omitted. Whilst this may help to maintain the flow of the text, I wonder whether this was in part done to be more palatable to a Western audience. In any case, some of the nuance has definitely been lost, similar to the way a high resolution image is stored with some compression — generally it looks fine, but on closer inspection some of the details cannot be discerned.

As regards issues raised in the thesis about meaning, I think a few of these are invalid as they are actually addressed in the text. For example, in the Silkworm Books publication the issue about lice is indeed brought up twice — i.e., there is first the story, as already alluded to above, “and commoners who tried to imitate them were only inviting the lice of ill luck upon their heads...”, and then Phloi seeks an explanation about the story: “Phloi did not laugh because her mind was on something else. She wanted to question father on those lice of ill luck ...” (p.28 [of the thesis]) Further, some of the use of English language is unnecessarily questioned, such as the idiom, “Are you well?” (p.44), which is perfectly natural. But this is quibbling for the research usefully illustrates how a body of work can be deemed an overall success whilst deviating significantly from a literal translation. At the same time, it should also prompt further close scrutiny of key passages in Four Reigns by reference to the original.

I’d also add that Rungsirichairat appears to have used a different printing or edition as whilst I can find the quotes, the page numbers referenced are generally higher than in my copy. (Actually, the copy that arrived on my doorstep had some defects. The printing process seems to have had a few hiccoughs as there are 5 or 6 leaves either missing or incorrect duplicates and throughout the text there are many soft hyphens that have not been removed, as though the original print run was for a different page setup and then someone forgot to clear them before sending to the printers a second time.)

There are just a few other minor issues that I noticed. For example, Ot address his mother as "my darling”, a term of endearment that I find odd — I’d expect it to be used for couples, between husband and wife, or possibly between a mother and her child, not by a son speaking to his mother, but it might be a term that is used in rarefied circles and/or was in vogue at the time. There are also a few spelling and typographic mistakes, such as “Bali" instead of ‘Pali’ and “Brama chaloka” instead of “Brahma ca loka”, but the explanation is helpful in this latter case. Also, whilst the spellings are in British English, some of the idioms appear to be North American, such as, “I’ll write him”.

Television Production Subtitles?

Taken as a whole, there is evidently scope for other translations and one was already being prepared by Marcel Barang, but apparently his proposal was rejected and so we have to wait a long time, it seems, for the copyright to expire before any other version is permitted (see footnote below).

Or do we? Whilst watching episodes of Channel 3 TV's 1991 production on YouTube (starting with the first episode), I realized that an alternative avenue might be possible online via subtitling. There are actually at least two TV productions, but so far only Channel 3 has made every episode from its series freely available. All episodes have been uploaded to YouTube (conveniently via a playlist at: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL0VVVtBqsoupHcHintTWUEtUF6PNUYxRY). If the production follows the original text closely, then it should be straightforward (for Thais or those fluent in Thai) to improve accessibility by adding Thai subtitles. The text from the original could be applied directly in the creation of YouTube subtitles, as explained on their help page for subtitles and closed captions. Any literal translations into other languages, such as that by Marcel Barang, would be equally amenable to transcription in this way.

There’s great potential in reaching new audiences via such online services and working with Channel 3 (or whichever TV company made the film) should at least avoid potential issues in copyright associated with third party captioning. (See e.g. Blake E. Reid's paper on ‘Third Party Captioning and Copyright’ for the Global Initiative for Inclusive Information and Communication Technologies (G3ict). It would be considerable work, so would need a team — perhaps a candidate for crowdsourcing?

As a gesture in this direction, with the kind assistance of Darunee Potikanok, I've had a go at translating the theme tune, having found the lyrics to a performance by the Zansab Philharmonic Orchestra. (Thai / phonetics / translation)

"คนมี ชีวิตและกายา
kon mee chee-wít láe gaa yaa
"People have life and a body,

 ถือ กำเนิดเกิดมา
tĕu gam-nèrt gèrt maa
having been born [human],

 เป็นหญิง หรือว่าเป็นชาย
bpen yĭng rĕu wâa bpen chaai
whether as a woman or a man.

 ผู้มี พระคุณอันแสนยิ่งใหญ่
pôo mee prá kun an săen yîng yài
The great benefactor,

 กว่า สิ่งใด ก็คือแผ่นดิน
gwàa sìng dai gôr keu pàen din
more than any other, is the realm.


 เป็นแดน ที่ให้ชีวา
bpen daen têe hâi chee-waa
It is the land for living beings,

 พึ่งพา อาศัยและอยู่กิน
pêung paa aa-săi láe yòo gin
dependent on each other and living together.

 คุณใด จะเปรียบแผ่นดิน
kun dai jà bprìap pàen din
Whoever is like the realm

 เอื้อชีวิน จากวันที่เกิด จนตาย
êua chee-win jàak wan têe gèrt jon dtaai
is kind to life from birth to death


 ยามใด ความทุกข์กรายมาเยือน
yaam dai · kwaam túk graai maa yeuan
In times of suffering that come by,

 ทุกข์ใดเล่าจะเหมือน
túk dai lâo jà mĕuan
they say that in such distress it is like

 ความทุกข์เยือน เรือนกาย
kwaam túk yeuan · reuan gaai
our suffering visits the body;

 หากเรือน ของเรามีทุกข์ กรายใกล้
hàak reuan · kŏng rao mee túk · graai glâi
when the body is in distress, our suffering is nearby.

 สุขอย่างไร อย่างไรตัวเรา
sùk · yàang rai · yàang rai dtua rao
[Yet] we can be happy, however we are.


 ยามดี เราดีตาม
yaam dee rao dee dtaam
When times are good, we are well

 ในยาม มีทุกข์ควรแบ่งเบา
nai yaam mee túk kuan bàeng bao
and in times of distress, this should ease.

 บุญคุณ ยิ่งใหญ่นานเนาว์
bun kun yîng yài naan nao
Your benevolence is great and long-lasting;

 หน้าที่เรา ตอบแทนพระคุณแผ่นดิน
nâa têe rao dtòp taen prá kun pàen din"
our duty is to repay the realm."

(and repeat the last two lines twice.)

Conclusion

This is a literary classic that I really enjoyed. It has explained quite a lot about attitudes prevailing among my Thai relatives, especially of the older generation. It's also valuable as a historical and educational resource: nowadays references can be easily checked with enhanced appreciation through various multimedia archive material available even in English.

M.R. Kukrit’s treatment of Phloi’s character is very sympathetic; as it emerges in her private reflections and interactions with a broad range of people, it is very fine; she is beautiful inwardly and outwardly, drawing the deepest respect from all family members. The characters around her further enrich these qualities, especially Ot with his wisdom. Altogether this goes beyond any particular theme and is perhaps the main reason why the book is easy to read. It also contributes to the continued reverence with which the novel is held. Seeing the world today, we may reflect that Phloi’s qualities, rooted in metta (loving kindness) and karuna (compassion) are much needed to promote reconciliation and harmony.

Footnote

For other translations, copyright needs to be observed for both the original newspaper articles and the book, Copyright Act B.E. 2537 (1994), superseded Copyright Act B.E. 2521 (1978)
 , which in turn replaced the The Act for the Protection of Literary and Artistic Works, B.E. 2474 (1931)
, as reported in a useful presentation; the general 
principle is explained (at USLegal, the first site I consulted via a Google search).

A Review of Four Reigns (Part Five): Rama VIII

In the fifth of a series of posts reviewing Four Reigns, a translation of Si Phaendin, a Thai classic of historical fiction by M.R. Kukrit Pramoj, we come to the last of the four reigns: King Ananda Mahidol (1935-1946). As previously, I’m especially interest in how the author portrays historical developments, particularly the impact of changes in society on people’s behaviour; he has a gift of conveying changes at large in the local context of a family household, albeit an aristocratic one.

Ananda Mahidol becomes king of Thailand at the tender age of 10, too young to properly assert authority, which meant power rested more firmly with the nascent constitutional government. In contrast with the king’s youth, as the story enters the second half of the 1930s, Phloi, the main character, is really showing her age as she dwells on the fact that she is khon si paendin (a person of four reigns), reminiscing on the early years of her life.

Modern Manners and Mores

There’s a pause in the coverage of serious historical developments as household chats are resumed and some further diversion as Praphai, Phloi's daughter, becomes quite a “gallivanting” socialite, enjoying many new freedoms that privileged youngsters have. This modish behaviour is exemplified by the introduction of the new ‘party’ (pronounced “pat-ee”) trend and its farang-style dancing. This activity is initially concealed from Phloi by several of her children, until she is obliged to host one for her daughter, with the enthusiastic participation of the household. It’s a welcome light-hearted interlude, with detailed descriptions that could easily be set to stage or a lavish film production. (And this is the kind of lifestyle that seemed to have appealed to my mother some 15 odd years later: having experienced a strict childhood with tight control on her movements, when she arrived at university she exercised her new-found freedom to socialise across departments and universities!).

Phloi’s obvious reservations at such ‘progress’ and then her mollification are again nicely described as she is able to indulge further in nostalgia with one of the guests, Than Chai Noi, whose mother was a contemporary of hers in the Upper Palace. Given all that had been going on, it’s no wonder they quickly got on very well and the author reminds us once again of the refined behaviour exhibited by those suitably trained in the Grand Palace. Indeed this impeccably-mannered gentleman represents the royal ideal and the extended passages make clear he is liked by all. Phloi’s hopes are raised that her daughter might seek to wed this gentleman, so altogether the reader is meant to sympathise with him.

The narrative sets up a dramatic contrast with a rival, Khun Sewi, a colleague of An. He’s almost the opposite in character, being materialistic and opportunistic, steadily becoming a source of further worry and division in the family. And unbelievably — we are meant to feel — it is this older man who finds his way into Praphai’s heart. To engender a sense of revulsion we’re informed that Ot, who is usually so calm and accommodating, can’t bear the sight of him, proceeding to share with his mother fierce criticism of Khun Sewi's less than honourable character. Ot even becomes furious on hearing the news of the engagement, asserting that Khun Sewi is only interested in money. And just in case the reader would like to give him the benefit of the doubt, Ot’s suspicions are later borne out when Khun Sewi starts to exercise undue interest in running the affairs of the estate using Praphai as proxy, who herself eventually confesses that he is obsessed about it.

As ever the bitterness and unsavouriness is washed down with a sweetener: Ot provides the humour as he becomes ‘man about town’ to chaperone his sister away from Khun Sewi’s attentions. However, we start to see a little more of the less amiable side of Ot and as it seems so out of character, it makes Khun Sewi's behaviour appear even more questionable. And what does Khun Sewi stand for? These and related views emerge in the following pages and the signal to the reader is clear: beware! Khun Sewi symbolises the kind of ‘progressive’ state that tramples on intangible qualities of dignity and respect; it’s obvious where the reader’s sympathies are meant to lie. It’s almost creating a kind of pantomime where you can imagine the cheers for Than Chai and the boos and hisses for Khun Sewi (and by implication the whole ‘democracy’ project is subject to deep scepticism.)

With the air being rather cloudy, even the normally decorous Phloi in a careless moment uses Chek, the not-so-complimentary slang for Chinese (cf Kaerk for Indians). She realises the below par nature as soon as she has said it. However, despite her strenuous efforts to dissuade her daughter, Praphai accepts Khun Sewi’s offer of marriage. Whilst the outcome is surprising, the dynamics generally ring true, though I was surprised that Praphai was able to make the decision about where to go and stay and that the assumption was that it would be with her husband — although my mother moved away from home to settle in the UK, her case was an exception as all three sisters who got married stayed at the family compound and had houses built on the land there; I think that’s far more common. In fact a few years later her mother (it is strongly suspected) made an attempt via a cousin on a UK business trip to persuade my parents to settle in Thailand.

What is incontestable is the importance of family background — it’s more important than in the West. And, at least, we see Khun Sewi obliging his fiancée in every way ahead of the matrimony. Phrapai organises everything with remarkable efficiency for what becomes a society wedding with “grand personages of the new regime”, as Choi puts it, followed by some mild condescension from the royalist seniors about their manners. Some customs are done the farang way much to the bemusement of the elders, yet despite their reservations, the celebrations in the garden are described in glowing terms, and they are able to have a chuckle about it all. It seems as though such cultural innovations, though puzzling and sometimes breaking with some customs, are not really the issue, and this fits the picture of Thais being adaptable. However, the question arises as to how far one takes this (and more generally who is steering such change). There are further cultural shifts after the wedding: Praphai has no engagement with the kitchen and she and her husband practice birth control, which are genuine disappointments for Phloi.

Tangential to this is promising news from On: political prisoners like him are likely to be moved for rehabilitation and a “re-training programme” followed by release. It’s greeted with tears of joy by Phloi, though there might be an eerily familiar ring about such ‘re-education'. In the event, he gets relocated to an island in the South owing to the Songsuradet rebellion (I think that’s what’s alluded to), when Luang Phibulsonggram ruthlessly consolidated his power. Further, the return of Nai Luang from Switzerland provides another opportunity to see the world in a more positive light (or rose-tinted spectacles) with clouds bringing shade to the well-wishers. However, these seem increasingly to be exceptions as Phloi finds living even more a struggle and experiences a deep sense of loneliness.

The narrative proceeds relentlessly like this, heaping uncomfortable disruption on Phloi’s world, so that for the remainder of the book one senses there’s going to be more trouble, not a happy resolution; it feels to me like going off the edge of a cliff in slow motion. The tone is partly calibrated by Ot, who appears bothered and listless until, viewed as a worthless layabout by Khun Sewi, he is roused to find his first job, in the Ministry of Public Information. The author takes the opportunity for further parody: initially there’s nothing to do, at which his uncle, Phoem, jests that many have risen to great heights on a daily routine of tea and reading newspapers. Then he becomes interested in how the whole Civil Service operates and immersed in his work, but it only lasts a few months as he can’t bring himself to adopt fawning and cliquish behaviour, so he resigns. As though wanting to have nothing to do with this setup, he subsequently finds a job down South, where he can help his brother, On.

International relations

The advent of the Second World War provides another window on Thais and international relations; An’s incorrect predictions (German victory, short war and limited impact on Thailand) are way off the mark; there’s disinterest in developments in Europe, but as the issue emerges of reclaiming border territories seceded to the French, then Thailand gets drawn in. The narrative paints a bleak picture with gathering clouds, conveying the sense of foreboding and helplessness.

The dialogues in the family allows expression of a range of views, with interesting insights into how various nations are perceived. Phoem’s general state of uncertainty sets the tone for a rollercoaster of fortunes. One of the most important goals running through the efforts of Muang Thai is the striving to retain independence through neutrality — kwam pben klang, which literally means ‘being in the centre’ (a fitting instruction for meditation practice!) In a complex situation that was rapidly evolving, the government had to look simultaneously East and West. Even well-connected families would receive only partial reports, as with the news of the Japanese negotiating the restoration of some provinces from French control.

Accordingly the narrative shares only snippets so the reader is left with a blurry background. So when the Japanese initially invade Thailand, there is confusion and it seems like the country is caught unawares; it rapidly capitulates and enters into an agreement that allows the Japanese occupation. The drama is heightened with the opener, “And on the night it happened.”, accompanied by the kinds of memories that are never to be erased (Where were you on that fateful day? What were you doing?) Khun Sewi is the only one who speaks at all positively about this development, making the point that resistance could be very costly to life. But this observation, which seems realistic given the evident military superiority that the Japanese held over the Thais, doesn’t move anyone.

Confusion reigns and perceptions vacillate. We read how Phloi picks up on the atmosphere in the nation at large, depicted as one of gloom and despondency: “the whole country (with Khun Sewi as the exception) had seemed to her to be in deep mourning”. Yet within a few sentences that sense has disappeared and the Japanese have quickly become accepted as a new presence in society (Thais are adept at just carrying on with their day to day business). But it was only Khun Sewi who originally welcomed the Japanese as partners and he is pointedly reported as profiting, so despite the Maha Mit (Great Friend) credentials, other warning remarks in the narrative serve to increase the troubling suspense.

Japan as a nation gets some rough treatment, but is it reasonable? At the time the story was originally being serialised in Siam Rath, it was only about 8 years after the end of hostilities, so the memory of the occupation was still fresh. It might have been a sensitive matter to discuss relations with Japan, not least because of the chagrin felt from Thailand being so easily occupied. There are also the author’s own political ties from that period. It’s probably little coincidence that when Thailand declared war on the Allies, M.R. Seni Pramoj, M.R. Kukrit’s elder brother and the Thai ambassador to Washington, refused to deliver it. Then in the immediate aftermath of the war it was rehabilitated with the help of Allies, through the Seri Thai (Free Thai) resistance movement that M.R. Seni had founded. Furthermore, whilst Si Paendin was being written, Thailand was led by the authoritarian Field Marshall Plaek Phibunsongkhram, who had during the war formed the alliance with Japan.

Thais seem to view the Japanese as a nation in a mixture of admiration, awe and trepidation. This goes back a long way because of trade links: for example, in the 17th century, there were close ties between the rulers of Muang Thai and Japan, with Samurai warriors sometimes helping the Thai king.


One of the motivations given by historians as to the political agitation that led to the 1932 revolution was the perceived need to emulate the Japanese development, particularly their industrialisation, which was very rapid. But on a more visceral level, some of the antipathy may have to do with a substantial proportion of Thais having Chinese ancestry and Sino-Japanese relations had been strained for decades. Fast forward a couple of decades to the early ‘70s and there’s still wariness; on returning to Wong Wien Yai after 8 years in the UK, she records with a note of dismay in her diary: “There are Japanese billboards everywhere!” Yet, for the next two decades Thailand continued to woo Japanese businesses, so that in the ‘80s they were building golf courses and ambitious young Thai execs were practising their golf swing.

Returning to the narrative, we see An’s previous optimism about international affairs evaporate and then the penny drops about Khun Sewi; suddenly we see An despise the man he previously trusted, much to Phloi’s disappointment as she continues to strive for family harmony. The Western allies response is in the form of a major bombing campaign targeting Bangkok, where the Japanese have set up bases and supply lines. Government efforts at international alignment are manifest in cultural changes, wathanatham, as prescribed by Phibunsonggram’s government. Cosmetic elements in terms of fashion are ridiculed: the mode of dress, including shoes and hats, using cutlery for meals, the banning of the consumption of betel nuts, etc.

Occasions of light relief aside, the general situation provides little gladness; Phloi and her family have to suffer yet more disappointment and loss, particularly the death of Ot to malaria. There’s also severe flooding, which Thais generally responded to in a positive way, at least that’s how it appears in a film archive, which shows the Thais taking it gamely in their stride (or, rather, their oars) with opportunities for leisure, exploring the city by rowing boat; and it shows the government continuing to operate as we see the arrival of several ministers, I assume — were they the ones responsible for the national campaign for kuaitieo (rice noodles)?! But, as the narrative notes, it had a serious impact on poorer growers. It’s as though Muang Thai will never recover after the entry into war.

Another short interlude sees An behaving like the prodigal son when he confesses deeply held regrets to Phloi regarding his involvement in bringing about the new form of government. Ot arrives soon after and is the same, but more grown up; for a brief period there is harmony — Phoem and Ot resume their banter by pondering the new-fangled language being promoted nationwide. But the peace is shattered by a series of air raids; as they progress, the atmosphere becomes increasingly frightened until a daylight raid sees all of Phloi’s family takes refuge in a bunker just before the main house is destroyed. Phloi is left feeling desolate, yet this quirk of fate means she returns to live in Khlong Bang Luang, her ancestral home. Many families in Bangkok have stories from the war: my grandparents' home in Wong Wien Yai on the Thonburi side escaped attack, but my Aunt, Umpai, was wounded by shrapnel as she cross the Memorial Bridge one day and the friend she was with lost her life. My mother also remembered the bombs dropping.

Finale

The closing chapters continue the rollercoaster of events and emotions. The reality of war grows with its “increasing difficulties and privations”, then a change of government [1944 with Khuang Aphaiwong as Prime Minister] restores some of the old Thai traditions. There is some rare good news: all political prisoners are released and On looks set to returns home at last only to be delayed because Ot’s health becomes critical. The reality of impermanence is never far away; one night, in a poignant scene, Ot suddenly appears to his mother in a vision, looking well, just a few days before On returns to bring news of his brother’s passing, but she already knew.

One ancient word that we don’t see, at least not in the translation, is dukkha, a Pali word meaning unsatisfactoriness or suffering. On relates about his dukkha as a prisoner, but just at the point where the narrative could lose hope, he brings great cheer to his mother by announcing his intention to ordain as a monk and a simple ordination takes place, bringing the family together in happier moments, with shared respect for the significance of the occasion. The narrative presents a nice summary of the process.

The ordination over Phloi’s health fades and the narrative signals that it won’t be long now: she shows little concern as to whether or not medicine will work. The end of the war doesn’t really help as it just means Japanese soldiers being replaced by farangs. However, she does respond very positively to news of the planned return of the king from Switzerland and manages to join the throng paying respects, keeping her in good spirits for months… until the great tragedy: the shooting of the king, which is too much for Phloi and she passes away the afternoon of the same day. Thus a calamitous ending for such a virtuous human being, a dramatic device that seems to protest that a very heavy price has been paid for all the so-called progress and development.



So ends the book, but not my review - some further analysis to follow, starting with religion ...