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Sefton Davies
I read with interest and compassion the article "Devotees and Their
Parents" by Dhyana-kunda-devi dasi in the June 1996 issue of this
journal. As parent to a Hare Krishna devotee, I was interested to
obtain an insight into "the other side" of a problem I had faced.
I empathised with both the devotee and her parents in their struggle
to reconcile widely differing values and beliefs, but felt that
the unusual circumstances and the extreme nature of the example
provided might well detract from its usefulness to others involved
in this dilemma. As I read it I wanted to say, "but it isn't always
like that". So this article presents a different picture, as viewed
by a parent, not a devotee. Let me emphasise that it is only one
view, that it is no more typical than Dhyana's, and that it is a
very personal view which is not necessarily shared by all members
of the family.1 However, I hope it may be helpful to parents who, like myself,
have confronted the problem of their child's adoption of beliefs
alien to their own.
In our attic there is a large box of photographs, some carefully
mounted in albums, others in the jumble which many photographs share
when the immediate thrill of viewing wears off. Most of them are
photographs tracing the history of our family from my own childhood
(or before) through to happy scenes of parenthood-on beaches, at
birthday parties, at family gatherings.. Reviewing them stimulates
a vivid reliving of the emotions experienced at the time, and provides
a chronicle of the joys and pains which constitute this, the most
loving of all relationships. But they also provoke a greater understanding
of my own development as a sentient being-of my developing spiritual
beliefs, my changing (hopefully diminishing!) psychological hang-ups,
my prejudices and commitments. And it is this interaction between
my internal thoughts and emotions, and the outside world of family
events which has helped shape my relationships with those closest
to me-in particular my daughter, Caron, or Keshava-devi dasi as
she now is.
The early photographs show an apparently (how can any of us be
certain?) care-free young girl in the perpetually sunlit tropical
environment of Malaya where I worked; in the garden, on glorious
beaches, at birthday parties with other European, Chinese or Indian
children, etc., etc.; then to England, and the extended family album
of grandparents, uncles and aunts, cousins; primary school, where
her quick intelligence made her favourite with teachers and less
favourite with some classmates, but still the photographs show the
protected world of a loving and reasonably well-integrated family;
and so to secondary school, college and university, where they show
a mature young person striving to find her own identity outside
the moulding influences of the home, trying to reconcile the conflicting
values of parents and peers, questioning the ambitions imposed on
her by loving, but sometimes too certain, parents.
This kaleidoscope of human development is, however, only the facade
which conceals the 'unknown-to-others' reality of growing up; a
reality only barely guessed at by parents-some more accurately than
others. In Dhyana-kunda devi dasi's case the result was conflict-
"the war was long and painful";2 in Caron's it
was a gentler withdrawal from the path laid down by us-of University,
profession, marriage-and a journey along her own path into a world
completely alien to us, of a drop-out culture. Gentler, but not
so very different from Dhyana-kunda's in its result. The flight
to Ireland with strongly feminist friends, a pilgrimage of rejection
of the middle-class certainties of possessions, ambition and neatness,
leading to a plunge into religion-at first into a New Age-type twentieth-century
invented replica of some ancient, but long-forgotten, matriarchal
society, from which she had, literally, to escape, and then, after
a further period of soul-searching in our 'Godless' home, back to
Ireland and Hare Krishna.
So far, seemingly not very different from Dhyana's story. But,
we did not "kick" Caron "out of the house", nor did she have to
"sue (us) in the courts". The feelings I experienced (I emphasise
that I speak only for myself, and not necessarily for any other
members of the family) were probably those of many parents whose
children choose to make a major break with the cultural norms of
the home and the local community. They were:
- I was disappointed that she had left University, because she
had a very high potential in her subject field, and I believe
that we should all strive to achieve our potential in life. This
potential I measured in terms of her use of the intellectual gifts
with which she is endowed, which I believed to be circumscribed
by the limitations imposed by her new beliefs (e.g., in the literature
she read, the music she played).
- I feared for her because she had no job.
- I was fearful of the brainwashing I associated with all but
the 'respectable' religions; a concern justified in the somewhat
sinister circumstances of her first religious conversion and her
having to escape from it.
- I lost sleep over her alienation from her friends and ourselves,
because she appeared judgmental and disapproving of our lifestyle,
values and philosophical beliefs.
- I was irritated by what I regarded as the pseudo-scientific
sibboleths relating to food, clothing, etc., and in particular
the adoption of Indian dress, diet, medicine, etc., which I believed
to be unnecessary adjuncts to religious belief and artificial
in that they did not grow out of the cultural context in which
Caron lived. My daughter was born European, not Indian, and I
resented what I perceived as the brainwashing which converted
her into something alien.
- I could not understand how my daughter, whom I had encouraged
to be logical and intellectually sceptical of unsubstantiated
dogma, could swallow the myths she was taught. What I could not
accept was that I had brought her up to think for herself, but
when she did, I was angry that she did not think as I did!
This was not a very encouraging scenario for continuing good relations
with my daughter and her new associates! However, my feelings moved
gradually from a somewhat self-centred concern for my own feelings,
to a greater concern for Caron's welfare and happiness. It was necessary
for me to realise that I do not own my children and that I must
not control them. In this process I was helped enormously by my
own process of self-discovery which enabled me to redefine relationships
and my own philosophy. I learned that I can be responsible only
for my own actions, and not anyone else's, and that I must not blame
anyone else for their consequences; that I need the help and support
of others in making wise decisions, and that others equally need
my help and support, but not my interference, in making theirs;
and that true love is an unselfish, often inconvenient, willingness
to help others realise their potential for full and creative living,
while evil is anything which diminishes others' potential for fulfilment.
I also, at that time, rejected formal religion, because, while I
live in awe of the wonder of creation and reject materialism as
the basis for humane relationships and social harmony, I have no
experience of any of the religious Gods (Christian, Hindu, Muslim,
etc.). I subscribe to Buddha's advice to 'know only that which is
in your own experience'. In answer to the inevitable question from
my daughter and son-in-law, 'But what do you think is the purpose
of life?', I can say with certainty only that I don't know. In my
wickeder moments I say, 'Ask a mayfly', because a mayfly is born
with no stomach and lives for only 24 hours, during which it reproduces
itself and then dies.
So, here I am, an agnostic parent with a deeply religious daughter
and son-in-law, both of whom live a life-style vastly different
from my own! Yet my relationship with them is richer now than it
has ever been. What have been the ingredients of this relatively
peaceful conversion? How do I seek to reconcile two such widely
variant philosophical viewpoints? What have been, and still remain
my problems in adapting to a family relationship so different from
my expectations? Are there any indicators for other parents with
Hare Krishna offspring? Let me try to unravel this most complicated
of puzzles. I think there are basic principles which can be applied
to all human relationships:
Acceptance of Human Individuality and Respect for Others' Autonomy
I subscribe to Fritz Perl's "Gestalt Prayer", which reads:
I do my thing, and you do your thing.
I am not in this world to live up to your expectations,
and you are not in this world to live up to mine.
You are you and I am I
and if by chance we meet, it's beautiful.
if not, it can't be helped.
I am prepared, therefore, for Caron to 'do her thing', so long
as it does not prevent others (I suppose particularly me) from doing
theirs. It is in this that I take issue with Dhyana, who believes
that "preaching to parents is a challenge". I fully appreciate that
it is incumbent on devotees to spread Krishna consciousness, and
I respect Caron's dedication to preaching, but I am not in the business
of prescribing her behaviour, as I was when she was young and inexperienced
and needed mature guidance (albeit sometimes inappropriate), and
I do not wish her to prescribe mine. If we can agree on issues,
it's beautiful, but if we disagree, it can't be helped, and it need
not vitiate our love for each other and our respect for each others'
autonomy. It was only when I was able to let go of my need to control
my child's behaviour that I was able to relate to her in a way which
has led to deeper trust and understanding; I believe it is equally
important that children should let go of their need to preach to
parents.
Keep in Touch
One of the most painful aspects of Dhyana's story to me was
the breakdown of relationships between mother and daughter-"no visits,
no letters"-which, fortunately, has been healed. I have endeavoured
to avoid such a break because, without contact, understanding and
love are not possible. It is, therefore, important for me to show
that, even when I disagree with someone's views, or even behaviour,
I still love them as a person; indeed, I believe this to be a fundamental
principle of a moral life. It is, however, possible to implement
the principle only if one accepts the other's right to autonomy
and is prepared to make the effort to understand their point of
view-and this applies equally to parent and child.
A Willingness to Listen
I know now that I used not to listen to my children-partly because
I believed that, as an older person, I knew better, partly because
I was too keen to speak myself. I now try hard (though not always
successfully) to listen openly and to assess what is being said,
without the urgent need to respond. I believe this to be an essential
skill for parents whose children have chosen beliefs, values and
behaviour different from their own. Curiously, if you listen, you
might just learn something! I have learned a great deal about ISKCON
and the tenets of the Hare Krishna faith, and I have learned to
respect much of what Caron believes: I was already largely vegetarian
(although I occasionally cheat), so that was no problem; I respect
their non-materialistic philosophy (but find it difficult to apply
to my own creature comforts); I admire the striving for humility;
I like their quietness; I understand their rejection of stimulants;
and I wish more people would emulate their morality. More than that,
I have become interested in her life within the movement, and enjoy
talking to her and Shaunaka about developments within the temple
and ISKCON generally. I am thus enabled to share my daughter's joys
and concerns once more, but hopefully without the need to influence
her and control her life. Although I have been particularly fortunate
in having a son-in-law that I can relate well to and a daughter
who shares many of my non-spiritual beliefs, I am convinced that
most parents would find it easier to accept their children's 'conversion'
if they listened, took an interest and tried to understand.
A Willingness to Modify one's Behaviour without Being Submissive
I respect Caron's new beliefs and am sometimes willing to modify
my behaviour to meet her spiritual needs, but I am not prepared
to abandon my own beliefs. Therefore, when I visit Caron, or stay
at a temple I respect their way of life: I am willing to remove
my shoes on entering, to abstain from drinking coffee or alcohol,
to eat the food they cook, etc. However, when she visits me, I expect
equal respect for my way of living. I will obviously consider their
particular needs and show them every hospitality, but I am not prepared
to give up my evening glass of wine, or my meals made with onions
or mushrooms, or to watch my favourite television programmes. I
will happily make some soup with onions and some without, so that
we can both enjoy my cordon bleu offerings, and I will video
my TV programmes so that I can watch when it does not interfere
with our social interaction; but she is 'not in this world to live
up to my expectations', nor am 'I in this world to live up to' hers.
I have an equal right with her to live as I wish in my own home;
I do not, therefore, "hide all forbidden substances", as does Dhyana's
mother, nor would I respect Caron if she pressured me to do so,
just as she would be angry if I asked her not to use incense when
I visit her. When she visits me, I am happy for her to chant her
rounds at some unearthly hour, but I expect her to do it somewhere
where the sound will not wake me up. So, I urge tolerance and a
willingness by parents and offspring alike to turn a blind eye at
behaviour which is different, so long as it is not offensive
Focus on Similarities, Rather than Differences
When Caron first joined ISKCON, and my concerns were most powerful,
I made an effort to find out as much as possible, without becoming
a devotee, about her new beliefs, and honestly to assess them in
relation to my own. I found that there were surprisingly few differences
(if one can set aside the enormous difference between faith and
agnosticism) sufficiently important to cause me any angst. Most
of the differences referred to diet, dress, etc., and my only serious
persisting concern is her lack of financial security, since she
has chosen to devote her time almost entirely to the movement, but
not to live in an ashrama. However, that is her choice, and she
must accept the consequences-though I would, of course, help her
in a serious emergency (of which there have been none-perhaps she
is right, and Krishna provides!). I think it important for parents
of devotees to look at their children's behaviour, and answer in
total honesty the question, 'Do I really disapprove of that?'
A Sense of Humour Helps
A willingness to laugh at one's own foibles and weaknesses and
to accept loving teasing helps lower the tension which can exist
when different behaviours meet. When I ring Caron on December 25
and greet her with 'Hare Christmas', it is the sort of pathetic
schoolboy humour I am capable of, but it does demonstrate that I
am not hung-up about her religion. And since she is willing to respond
with some similar quip, I feel that we have taken the tensions which
once existed out of our changed relationship. My only really serious
concern is for Caron's well-being, so the rest can be viewed with
a smile on my face.
And so, I celebrate the new relationship I have with my daughter,
and the learning which has occurred along the way, because I know
that I am a more complete person as a result. It has not been an
easy process, but effective learning rarely is; and I know that
there is still work to be done to maintain and further develop this
relationship. However, I have recorded my story in this way in the
hope that it may help other parents and their devotee children to
find their own way to the fulfilment and contentment which we all
seek.
- But caron has read this article and believes
it to be a true record of events.
- All quotations in double quotes ("...") refer
to Dhyana's article in ISKCON Communications Journal, Vol. 4,
No. 1, June 1996.
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