Features
London Exhibition of Universal Adult Franchise
In 1981 occurred an anniversary — fifty years after the 1931 constitutional change through which Ceylon was awarded universal adult suffrage. This was deemed an anniversary which richly deserved appropriate celebration. J R handed the matter over to Premadasa, and he in turn asked me to coordinate it. This meant making arrangements for a national celebration on an appropriate scale and an exhibition of the Sri Lankan heritage, both in London and Washington.
We needed a suitable partner in London to mount the exhibition which would make an impact, and the Commonwealth Institute in Kensington offered the logical choice. James Porter, the director of the Institute at that time gave his total support and the London Exhibition which lasted one month, was a great success. It was opened by Her Majesty, the Queen, who spent over an hour going through the exhibits, and a number of members of the British Cabinet and our own Cabinet paid visit. Premadasa joined the Queen in a very impressive ceremony conducted at the Commonwealth Institute building. Porter became a great friend and, in his letters, would retell how well the Sri Lanka exhibition had gone and been received. The Tara, the eighth-century priceless we borrowed from the London Museum, was the prime exhibit and we added to its public attraction by placing a cobra hi bit inside the glass box, which contained the goddess. It was immensely popular. Sri Lanka got a great deal of positive publicity. The picture -“the Avalokateswara Bodhisatwa” which we used as the ikon for the exhibition became a favoured symbol of Sri Lanka for years to come.
But just before leaving for London came a bombshell. J R said we could only take the replicas of the priceless art exhibits, we had catalogued, to London. Not the real things. The quiet and demure Elina Jayewardene, J R’s wife had been asking questions at the breakfast table and J R had promised an answer next morning. “What if the ship sank?” “What if the plane crashed?” “What if they were stolen?” We went to Ward Place that evening and pleaded with Mrs Jayewardene that the originals of most of the items had to be sent, otherwise the exhibition would be a flop. I said that I would take full responsibility for bringing back safely each and every piece. It was quite an undertaking but the only way to overcome the crisis. She finally relented but it was a close call.
The exhibition which was opened with great ceremony on the 19th of July by the Queen was an outstanding success. The one discordant note was the commotion made by a group of Tamil expatriates outside on Kensington High Street who waved placards denouncing the fake democracy in Sri Lanka. The High Commission tried to counter this by referring to our ability to change governments virtually every five years. This was the proof, if any were needed, of a vibrant democracy at work.
The 1983 Pogrom
In July 1983, there occurred the worst exhibition of communal violence that the country had witnessed. Those of us who lived through this period and saw some of it will never be able to erase from our minds the horrible acts inflicted on innocent people and the fear that engulfed thousands.
I was called upon to play a special role in restoring essential services island-wide. J R summoned me to his office on Wednesday afternoon of that fateful week as the rioting — which in Colombo was entirely one-sided — continued unabated. The burning and looting had started, after the news spread of the death of 13 soldiers caught in an ambush in Tinneveli on Friday night. The mass funeral was scheduled for Sunday afternoon at Kanatte cemetery and the mood turned ugly. As he spoke about appointing me commissioner-general of essential services with wide powers to stop the violence and restore normalcy, rampaging mobs were on the streets, pulling Tamil people out of vehicles and assaulting them and where there was resistance and the locking of doors, setting fire to the vehicles themselves with people inside them. It was chaotic, the mobs appeared to have gone mad and Colombo was burning.
Since the president had appointed me it was my duty to keep him informed of progress and to get directions on other lines of action that I might take. Premadasa, under whom I served as secretary, also assumed he had a hand in my work as commissioner-general and once or twice called in at the Royal College Head Quarters of the CGES to see how things were going. He did not seem to want to change anything but clearly wished to be seen as someone who was responsible too for the early restoration of essential services. He changed nothing of what I was doing and once he knew that the work was going on speedily, hardly intervened at all. So, the two jobs were separate and, in a sense, I now had two masters to serve.
I had now to see J R often and in action at moments of crisis. I could not but be impressed with his ability to remain calm excepting in the most difficult circumstances. One such was the second attack on the Tamil remand prisoners in Welikada jail on the 24th of July 1983. We were all at the Army Headquarters on Lower Lake Road when the news came in about the attack. The first which had occurred a day or two earlier, had resulted in the bludgeoning to death of around 30 remand prisoners including Kuttimani. Kuttimani had said somewhere that he was happy to be living at this time so that he could see the birth of Eelam with his own eyes. It was said that the enraged prisoners who had attacked the group of remand prisoners—among whom was Kuttimani—were so angry that they had claimed after the event that they had taken out the eyes of Kuttimani.
The Truth Commission in its report of September 2002 referred to the incidents at the Welikada Prison on the 25 and 26th of July 1983 as some of the most agonising moments of challenge to the nation’s collective conscience. Fifty-two political prisoners, some them in remand, some only under detention, were done to death by other inmates of the prison at that time. According to eye witness accounts, the Tamil prisoners taken in under the Prevention of Terrorism Act (PTA) were held in wards which were broken into by around 400 other prisoners armed with clubs.
C T Jansz, who was the acting commissioner of prisons informed J R at a meeting at which I was present at the army headquarters on the afternoon of 27 July that a further 15 had been killed. The first attack on 25 July had resulted in the death of 35 and of those killed on 25 July was Kuttimani alias K Yogachandran.
J R was trembling with rage when informed that the army guard on duty at the gate of the prisons had not intervened, in spite of his instructions after the first attack. The government had to hear much adverse comment on this murder of persons who were under state protection.
A further challenge was that the government did not take any worthwhile action against those responsible for the incidents.
The news of the second attack was personally brought to J R by C T Jansz, the commissioner of prisons, who was visibly shaken at the turn of events, and confessed that the prison guards had been no match for the assault on the high security area which housed those who remained after the first attack. Around 10 remand prisoners were done to death again and J R was angry, that in spite of his earlier orders that security should be enhanced the deed was not done.
On an earlier occasion after my first round of the Colombo city on being appointed as commissioner general, I reported back to J R at his Ward Place residence and mentioned that the situation was terrible with homes being attacked and cars being set on fire. I actually asked him whether he would like to go around the city and look at the burning buildings. I began to make a point that since the police and the armed services did not appear to be over- zealous in dealing with the looters, he might consider asking India for some help with commandos or paratroopers to save the persons under threat. I casually dropped in the thought that in 1915 the then government had to bring in some Sikhs and Punjabis to stop the Sinhala and Muslim riots. J R of course knew all about the history but shrugged it off and explained to me coolly saying – when a great wind blew with gale force it was unstoppable and all you could do was bend with the wind but that the wind would not go on forever. But when it ceased, the trees that bent would come back to normal. I was amazed at the metaphor but realized that this was the wisdom of a very pragmatic and an experienced politician.
Before I could even organise myself, and while in office on Black Friday, I was to be a personal witness to the fear that gripped Colomboites as a rumour spread that Tamil militants had been seen on a balcony of a Pettah toy-shop. I have never seen such a quick exodus of people from their offices as on this morning when everyone rushed for the bus, leaving even handbags and slippers behind in a mad scramble. Coincidentally, Narasimha Rao – the foreign minister of India – was in town conferring with J R on the help that India could give to contain the emergency. That Friday as I moved slowly home along Duplication Road, the prime minister’s office also having closed early, at the Vajira Road intersection, a frenzied mob, bare-bodied and with sarongs tucked-up, brandishing swords and clubs, ran upwards towards Galle Road, the Hindu kovil at Bambalapitiya being their target. I shuddered at what fate awaited the pusari and his family and my own impotence at the time.
At 3.00 pm the long-awaited curfew was announced but it did not deter a small group of drunken rowdies from shouting, a few hours later, as they stood at the top of de Fonseka Place, where I lived, as to whether there were Tamils still living down the street. I decided that I had to confront them and, in spite of Damayanthi warning me to come back, I went out to meet them. The more sober among them produced a sheet of paper on which the numbers of some houses were written. I said I was sure they had all left already but they were not convinced. Seeing that I appeared to have some authority, although I had no security of any kind at the time, and had changed into my sarong and banian, they reluctantly turned away, muttering vile imprecations and questioning my patriotic sensibilities. In fact, as it turned out, my friends, especially the retired bank executive Ladd Mahesan, who lived a few doors away and would greet me with a bow of his head as he passed by each morning on his way to play tennis, were already relatively safe from physical attack in the hastily set-up welfare camp at the Wellawatte Hindu College a few miles away.
J R invested me with enormous power as commissioner-general of essential services. I had the power to requisition buildings, aircraft, ships, trucks, trains and even people. He allotted a sum of Rs 50 Million, which was a big sum in those days, to get on with the job; to try and work towards normalcy, as soon as possible. I had to set up an organisation from scratch. As a headquarters, I chose Royal College, since all schools were closed and the students had been given an extended holiday. I converted a part of the college into an office and had a staff of five personally chosen top administrators to assist me as commissioners within two days. I offered them interesting work and highly enhanced salaries. Their first job was to choose ten others – from executives to drivers – to handle their separate portfolios. I had worked with my top team before in difficult situations and they, each and everyone of them, did an outstanding job.
They were Manel Abeysekera, a friend from the foreign service, S Sivanandan, my deputy when I was GA at Galle and Ampara, Yasasiri Gunawardena, My assistant at Galle. I chose Wing Commander Raja Wickremasinghe to organise air evacuation for those who wanted to fly to the east or to the north and soon he had a little domestic air service going with two Dakotas in hand. Wilfred Jayasuriya, the former director of commerce and writer, provided the media and communication support.
We had enormous help from the civil society and recognised NGOs like Sarvodaya, Red Barma, LEADS, SEDEC, the Red Cross, and many others who took over the delivery and distribution of food at the welfare camps and helped with providing medical attention. At the time we had virtually no international agencies who could be asked to help and sadly no disaster relief preparedness, machinery, or financial reserves. It had to be for many months a purely local initiative sustained by volunteer effort and commitment.
In a few days after the initial attacks on people and homes in Colombo and the suburbs, the refugee population swelled to over a 125,000 in the city alone. We had soon sixty welfare camps ranging from the large ones at Kotahena Church, Thurstan College and the Ratmalana Hindu College to little ones catering to 10 to 12 families. Each of them had to be provided with the basic facilities of food, water and sanitation. For security we had to depend on the police and army.
I tried as far as humanly possible to visit all of these centres and to re-assure the victims of assault and the pillage of their possessions, that the state had not forgotten them and would work to restore whatever was possible of their loss and most importantly their dignity. At the airport hangar in Ratmalana which was converted into a huge welfare camp I found a friend Jolly Somasunderam, a senior public servant whose home had been broken into and who had fled with his family in the nick of time. I offered to take him back home but he preferred the relative safety of the camp until things returned to normal. His stoic refusal to despair and run away to another country, and his faith in the healing process which the passing of time would bring was very reassuring. As a Tamil he had been through this before. I found another man in the hangar, close to tears and he begged of me to find his wife and daughter who had been separated from him as they fled their home one night. He had heard that they might be in the St Lawrence Church in Wellawatte. I said, ‘Lets try’ and took him in my car to the Church where indeed they were. Years later I ran into him at a seminar on conflict resolution and tears of joy ran down his face at the recollection of the incident. (To be continued)
(Excerpted from Rendering unto Caesar, autobiography of Bradman Weerakoon)
Features
Trials-at-Bar in Sri Lanka: Use and abuse
It is reported that a Trial-at-Bar is being contemplated in respect of allegations against former President Ranil Wickremesinghe regarding misuse of state resources for a visit to a British university on his return from attending sessions of the United Nations in New York and an official visit to Cuba. If this is correct, it would make legal history in our country, because there has been no previous instance of the procedure of a Trial-at- Bar being invoked against a former Head of State.
In view of the constitutional importance of the issues involved, the attempt is opportune to consider the conceptual and statutory foundations of our law relating to Trials-at-Bar, the boundaries of its application in practice, and the nature of the responsibilities attributed to the principal functionaries with regard to the conduct of these proceedings.
I. The Statutory Framework
A Trial-at-Bar is an extraordinary procedure operating over and above proceedings in regular courts exercising criminal jurisdiction at first instance. Its form is that of three judges of the High Court, sitting usually without a jury, to try an indictable offence. The main provision is contained in Section 12 of the Judicature Act, No. 2 of 1978: “Notwithstanding anything to the contrary in this Act or any other written law, a Trial-at-Bar shall be held by the High Court in accordance with law for offences punishable under the Penal Code and other laws”.
The law of Sri Lanka makes provision for Trials-at-Bar in two different contexts.
(a) Mandatory
The trial of any person for the gravest offences against the State, constituted by Sections 114, 115, and 116 of the Penal Code, must in all circumstances be held before the High Court at Bar by three judges without a jury, despite any other law. This is the effect of Section 450 of the Code of Criminal Procedure, Act No. 15 of 1979.
The gist of offences to which this provision is applicable is conspiracy or preparation to overthrow, by unlawful means, the Government of Sri Lanka. This provision was applied in the case of 24 persons alleged to have attempted a coup d’état against the Government of Prime Minister Sirimavo Bandaranaike, a year after its election in July 1960 (R v. Liyanage).
(b) Discretionary
Outside this category, where recourse to a Trial-at-Bar is compulsory, there are other situations in which, as a matter of discretion, the Chief Justice may order use of this procedure. This course of action may be resorted to “in the interest of justice and based on the nature or circumstances of the offence”.
Trials-at-Bar, which may proceed either on indictment or on an information exhibited by the Attorney-General, are required to be held as speedily as possible, and generally in the manner of a High Court trial without a jury.
The power of appointment of High Court judges conducting a Trial-at-Bar is specifically vested in the Chief Justice. The Court, once appointed, has full authority regarding summoning, custody, and bail, subject to the restriction that bail may usually be granted only with the consent of the Attorney-General.
II. Appropriate Parameters
A useful point of departure, as a means of determining the proper limits of this judicial procedure, is to examine the character of offences which have led in our country throughout the post-Independence era to the constitution of Trials-at-Bar. A classification of the decided cases during this entire span of more than seven decades is attempted here for this purpose.
(1) Murder
Several Trials-at-Bar in Sri Lanka have been concerned with charges of murder, not per se, but invariably combined with circumstances which impart to the offence the added element of exceptional public importance, in terms of grave jeopardy to established institutions, public tranquillity, or seminal values underpinning governance.
The following are examples:
(a) the murder of a High Court judge engaged in the trial of five persons accused of capital offences pertaining to trafficking in drugs (Sarath Ambepitiya);
(b) the murder of a Member of Parliament in the midst of mob violence on a street, in the throes of widespread protests aimed at bringing down the incumbent government (Amarakeerthi Athukorala);
(c) the killing of two youth while in police custody (the Angulana case);
(d) the killing of villagers by Army personnel during a public demonstration (the Rathupaswala case);
(e) the disappearance of a social activist and human rights defender (Prageeth Ekneligoda).
(2) Offences involving State security and possible contravention of International law
* charges pertaining to firearms and ammunition and their use on the high seas (the Avant Garde case).
(3) Alleged gross dereliction of duty by senior government officials, including a former Secretary to the Ministry of Defence and a former Inspector-General of Police, leading to the death of a large number of persons by explosions in public places such as churches and hotels (Easter Sunday Bombing case).
(4) Grave corruption allegations in respect of procurement or other major misdemeanours
* two Trials-at-Bar were appointed to hear cases arising from the Central Bank bond scam in 2016, alleged to involve a former Minister of Finance, a former Governor of the Central Bank, his son-in-law and others (Central Bank bond case);
* charges against a previous Minister of Health, senior officials of the Ministry, and others in connection with the procurement of substandard immunoglobulin vials, leading to deaths and grievous bodily harm (Keheliya Rambukwella);
* charges filed by the Financial Crimes Investigation Division against the Chief of Staff of a former President and a former Chairman of the Sri Lanka Insurance Corporation for alleged large-scale misappropriation of public funds (Gamini Senerath, Priyadasa Kudabalage).
(5) Sedition involving communal overtones and potential disturbance of the public peace (S.J.V. Chelvanayakam and others).
(6) Allegations relating to extra-judicial executions
* the trial of a previous Army Commander for statements made by him regarding unlawful execution of surrendering LTTE cadres (Sarath Fonseka White Flag case).
(7) Criminal defamation in volatile contexts
In 1954, in the earliest of this series of cases, allegedly defamatory remarks were published by the defendant in a newspaper known as Trine. The gist of the allegations was that Sir Oliver Goonetilleke, who had just relinquished the position of Minister of Finance to accept appointment as Governor-General, had engaged in “swindles on an international scale” (R v. Thejawathie Gunawardena).
The heinous character of the offences alleged, and the scope of their potential ramifications in all these settings, are evident at a glance. The distinguishing feature is not merely the gravity of the offence, but imputation of a wider dimension to it, typically in the form of a serious affront to the public wellbeing.
In the Thejawathie Gunawardena case, for instance, where the propriety of recourse to a Trial-at-Bar was vigorously challenged, the Supreme Court held that there was no ground for complaint because of the predominant element of public mischief apparent from the circumstances. This was due to the inflammatory content of the statements published, which could foreseeably “disturb or endanger the government” by igniting public feeling. Gravity of the allegations, from this point of view, and their probable impact on public confidence in the integrity of basic institutions of governance, were the factors relied upon to take the case out of the regular category of defamation litigation and justify use of the Trial-at-Bar procedure.
This characteristic of a high threshold of public importance, accompanied by complexity and volatility of the surrounding circumstances, is the central thread which runs through the diverse situations in which Trials-at-Bar have been constituted in Sri Lanka.
III. The Roles of Pivotal Functionaries
The principal responsibility is that of the Chief Justice and the Attorney-General. The essential nexus between their statutory functions is a salient feature of the law.
(i) The Chief Justice
In Somaratna Rajapaksa v. Attorney-General, it was clearly recognised that the repository of power to constitute a Trial-at-Bar is the Chief Justice, but subject to the requirement that an indictment or information “furnished by the Attorney-General” operates as the material basis for exercise of the Chief Justice’s authority in this regard.
An explicit trajectory is established, linking the initiative by the Attorney-General with the Chief Justice’s decision.
(ii) The Attorney-General
Action by the Attorney-General is located within the overall ambit of prosecutorial discretion vested in him in respect of a wide range of matters, including assessment of the sufficiency and probative value of evidence to warrant institution of criminal proceedings, the decision to indict, and withdrawal of a prosecution by means of the entering of a nolle prosequi. The recommendation in respect of a Trial-at-Bar falls into place within the field of this broad authority.
The crucial attribute of the Attorney-General’s functions in this area is that he acts in a quasi-judicial capacity. A basic anomaly in the role of the Attorney-General in our constitutional system is that he combines, in his office, a variety of functions and responsibilities which entail some degree of conflict with one another. Despite this lack of institutional coherence and consistency, what is beyond doubt in the present condition of the law is that, throughout the whole gamut of prosecutorial decision making, the Attorney-General is required to eschew all political and other extraneous considerations and to arrive at his decisions in a spirit of total objectivity.
This is one of the cornerstones of our system of criminal justice. Although there is a statutory choice or discretion built into the Attorney-General’s responsibility, H.N.G. Fernando C.J. has aptly commented: “Our law has conferred on the Attorney-General powers which have been commonly described as quasi-judicial and traditionally formed an integral part of the system of criminal procedure” (Attorney-General v. Don Sirisena). In similar vein, the Supreme Court, in Victor Ivan v. Sarath N. Silva, Attorney-General, observed: “The Attorney-General’s power is a discretionary power similar to other powers vested in public functionaries, held in trust for the public, and not absolute or unfettered”.
While the purview of prosecutorial discretion residing in the Attorney-General, by virtue of enacted law as well as inveterate tradition, is strikingly extensive, it is not an untrammeled power: it is not beyond the reach of the courts. In a trilogy of progressive decisions by the Court of Appeal, Sobitha Rajakaruna J., (prior to his elevation to the Supreme Court), asserted the principle that the Attorney-General’s decisions, in appropriate circumstances, are amenable to judicial review: Sandresh Ravi Karunanayake v. Attorney -General (CA/Writ/ 441/2021), Duminda Lanka Liyanage v. Attorney-General (CA/Writ/323/2022), Nadun Chinthaka Wickremaratne v. Attorney-General (CA/Writ/523/2024).
In Attorney-General v. Karunanayake, Samayawardhana J ( with the concurrence of Thurairaja and Janak de Silva JJ.) declared: “Politically motivated indictments following regime change pose a serious threat to the rule of law and public confidence in the office of the Attorney-General and the entire justice system. Judicial oversight plays a vital role in ensuring that prosecutorial discretion is exercised independently, fairly, and in compliance with the law”.
The Supreme Court of our country has shown no inhibition in directly addressing the question whether the Attorney-General has properly exercised his discretion in laying the information which served as the basis of a Trial-at-Bar.
In Thejawathie Gunawardena’s case, in proceedings before the Supreme Court, it was strenuously contended on the defendant’s behalf that the Attorney-General had acted ultra vires for a collateral or improper purpose. The submission was that the person allegedly defamed was no longer holding public office, and invocation of the extraordinary procedure associated with a Trial-at-Bar was, therefore, unjustifiable. The Supreme Court, sitting in appeal, having considered the issue in depth, rejected the submission on the ground that his tenure had been very recent, and that the proximity of his connection with the incumbent government gave rise to the likelihood of intensifying public feeling because of the volatility and range of the allegations made against him.
These trends of judicial opinion have the effect that the principle of justiciability of the Attorney-General’s initiative in this regard is firmly embedded in our law.
IV. Conclusion
Trials-at-Bar serve a salutary purpose, but within stringently circumscribed limits. The decided cases in our country, spanning more than 75 years, indicate with exemplary clarity the confines within which this extraordinary procedure has legitimacy. The essential consideration is that there should not be room for the slightest doubt that immaterial factors may have come into play in the exercise of discretion.
This far transcends the entitlement of individuals to due process and impinges upon the health and vitality of procedures central to the administration of justice. My teacher, Professor Sir William Wade, pre-eminent among exponents of administrative law in our time, who had the distinction of holding Chairs of Law successively in the Universities of Oxford and Cambridge, told me that if he were asked to identify succinctly, in one sentence, the substance of the common law tradition, he would have no hesitation in replying that it consisted of robust hostility to unbridled discretion in public functionaries. Even the appearance of neglect of this rudimentary principle places in jeopardy the fulfilment of public aspirations about the quality of criminal justice.
By Professor G. L. Peiris ✍️
D. Phil. (Oxford), Ph. D. (Sri Lanka);
Former Minister of Justice, Constitutional Affairs and National Integration;
Quondam Visiting Fellow of the Universities of Oxford, Cambridge and London;
Former Vice-Chancellor and Emeritus Professor of Law of the University of Colombo
Features
Extended mind thesis:A Buddhist perspective
After listening to Prof. Charitha Herath deliver his lecture at the World Philosophy Day Conference at the University of Peradeniya and then reading his excellent article, “Buddhist insights into the extended mind thesis – some observations” published in The Island (14.01.2026) I was prompted to write this brief note to comment on the Buddhist concepts he says need to be delved into in this connection. The concepts he mentioned are prapañca, viññāṇasota and ālayaviññāṇa.
Let us look at the Extended Mind Thesis in brief. “The extended mind thesis claims that the cognitive processes that make up the human mind can reach beyond the boundaries of an individual to include as proper parts aspects of the individual’s physical and sociocultural environment” … “Such claims go far beyond the important, but less challenging, assertion that human cognition leans heavily on various forms of external scaffolding and support. Instead, they paint the mind itself (or better, the physical machinery that realises some of our cognitive processes and mental states) as, under humanly attainable conditions, extending beyond the bounds of skin and skull.
Extended cognition in its most general form occurs when internal and external resources become fluently tuned and deeply integrated in such a way as to enable a cognitive agent to solve problems and accomplish their projects, goals, and interests. Consider, for instance, how technological resources such as pens, paper, and personal computers are now so deeply integrated into our everyday lives that we couldn’t accomplish many of our cognitive goals and purposes without them (Kiverstein J, Farina M, Clark A, 2013).
It may be seen from the above that the Extended Mind Thesis is mainly concerned with human cognition. It seems that the tools that humans use to help them in the cognitive process are actually components of the extended mind. This is mentioned in Prof. Herath’s article as well. Though Buddhist theory of cognition does not imply such a relationship that involves the implements utilised in the process of acquiring knowledge, it proposes an inextricable relationship between the cogniser and the cognised. For instance, the eye-consciousness does not arise unless the object of cognition is present.
Reality of the world according to Buddhism is based on the relationship between the cogniser and the cognised. This theory is supported by the way in which Buddhism analyses the complex formed by the human personality and the world, which it does in three systems, expounding the bond between the two. First is the five aggregate analysis, second is the 12 bases (ayatana), and the third is the eighteen elements (dhatu). Whether this kind of entanglement is possible without some means of extending the mind is an interesting question.
According to Buddhism, the mind is not a substance but rather a function that depends on it. There are three terms that are used to refer to mind and possibly these may indicate different functions though they are very often used as near-synonyms. The terms are mano, citta and viññāṇa. The term mano is used to refer to the aspect of mind that functions as one of the six sense-faculties. Mano is responsible for feelings and it also coordinates the functions of the other sense-faculties. Citta generally means consciousness or combinations of consciousness and the other mental-factors, vedanā, saññā, sankāra as seen in the Abhidhamma analyses.
The term Viññāṇa means basic awareness of oneself and it is also used in relation to rebirth or rebecoming. It has a special responsibility in being the condition for the arising of nama-rupa, and reciprocally nama-rupa is the condition for consciousness in the paticcasamuppada formula. Further, the term “consciousness-element” is also used together with five other items; earth-element, water-element, fire-element, air-element and space-element which seem to refer to the most basic factors of the world of experience, indicating its ability to connect with the empirical world (Karunadasa, 2015). In these functions, consciousness may assume some relevance in the Extended Mind Thesis.
Further if we examine the role of consciousness in rebirth we find that a process called the patisandhi-viññāṇa has the ability to transmit an element, perhaps some karmic-force, from the previous birth to the subsequent birth. In these functions the enabling mechanism probably is the viññāṇasota, the stream of consciousness that Prof. Herath mentions, and which apparently has the ability to flow even out of the head and establish links with the external world.
It may be relevant at this juncture to look at the contribution made by Vasubandhu, the 4th Century Indian Buddhist philosopher. Vasubandhu’s interpretation of saṃskārapratyayaṃ vijñānam (consciousness conditioned by volitional actions) treats the stream of consciousness as the mechanism of continuity between lives. He emphasises that this stream continues without a permanent entity migrating from one life to the next. The “stream” manifests as the subject (ego) and object (external world), which are both considered projections of this underlying consciousness, rather than independently existing entities. Vasubandhu also had proposed a kshnavada (theory of moments) to explain the stream of consciousness as consisting of arising and disappearing of consciousness maintaining continuity. These propositions may lend support to the Extended Mind Thesis.
Prof. Herath has mentioned the term prapañca (Pali – papañca) which generally means concepts. In the context of the extended mind thesis it needs to be examined in relation to the Buddhist theory of perception, because the former mainly pertains to cognition. As mentioned by Prof Herath, Ven. Nanananda in his book “Concept and Reality” has discussed this subject emphasising the fact that in Buddhist literature the term papañca is used mainly in the context of sense-perception. He says that “Madhupindika Sutta” (Majjima Nikaya) points to the fact that papañca is essentially connected with the process of sense perception. According to the Buddhist theory of perception the final outcome or the final stage of the process is the formation of papañca. Following the formation of concept there is proliferation of the concept depending on the past experience the individual may have in relation to what is perceived.
This process of perception, as given inthe Madhupindika Sutta, leading to conceptual proliferation is at the beginning impersonal and in the later stages it becomes personal with the involvement of the human personality with its self-ego and craving and finally leading to total bondage. And this bondage is between the human mind and the external world. Whether this entails an extended mind needs to be researched as suggested by Prof. Herath.
The third concept that Prof. Herath referred to in his lecture is the Yogacara idea of ālayaviññāṇa. Yogacara in its analysis of consciousness has added two more types of consciousnesses to the six based on the six senses, which is the classification mentioned in Early Buddhism and the two additional ones are kleshaviññāṇa and ālayaviññāṇa. The latter is called the storehouse-consciousness as it carries the seeds of karma. It is also called the approximating consciousness as it approximates at two levels; in this birth by collection of defilements and in the next birth by carrying them across in rebirth. The latter function may be relevant to the Extended Mind Thesis as it has the ability of projection beyond the body of the present birth and transmit to the body of the next birth.
If one is interested in researching into the concept of ālayaviññāṇa one must be aware that the three masters of Yogacara, i.e. Maithreyanata, Asanga and Vasubhandhu did not agree with each other on the nature of ālayaviññāṇa. While Maithreyanata was loyal to the early Yogacara idea that appeared in Sandhinirmocana Suthra, Asanga modified it to suit his thesis of idealism. Vasubandhu, however, adhered to the views of Early Buddhism and according to Kalupahana (1992) what he in his Trimsathika describes is the transformation of the consciousness and not the eight consciousnesses in the order in which they appear in Yogākāra texts. Here one is tempted to suggest that Asang’s idealism which propounds that the external world is a creation of the mind may lend support to the extended mind thesis. Idealism in Yogacara Buddhism may be another subject that needs to be researched in the context of the extended mind thesis.
Turning to recent research there is theoretical and speculative support from quantum theory for the idea of extended consciousness, but it remains a controversial area of research within physics, neuroscience, and philosophy. Several frameworks suggest that consciousness is not confined to the brain but is a fundamental, non-local phenomenon rooted in quantum processes that may connect minds to each other or the universe at large. (Wagh, M. (2024). “Your Consciousness Can Connect with the Whole Universe, Groundbreaking New Research Suggests”. Popular Mechanics. Retrieved from https://www.popularmechanics.com/scienc)
Finally, while it may not be clear whether the Extended Mind Thesis, as proposed by A. Clark and others (2013), has anything to do with consciousness it may be worthwhile to research into this matter from a Buddhist perspective, which will have to strongly bring into contention the factor of consciousness, which perhaps may have the potential to develop into an Extended Consciousness Thesis.
by Prof. N. A. de S. Amaratunga ✍️
PhD, DSc, DLitt
Features
Why siloed thinking is undermining national problem-solving
The world today is marked by paradox. Never before has humanity possessed such extraordinary scientific knowledge, technological capability, and research capacity. Yet never before have we faced such a dense convergence of crises—climate change, biodiversity loss, pandemics, food insecurity, widening inequality, disaster vulnerability, and social fragmentation. These challenges are not isolated events; they are deeply interconnected, mutually reinforcing, and embedded within complex social, ecological, economic, and technological systems. Addressing them effectively demands more than incremental improvements or isolated expertise. It requires a fundamental shift in how we think, research, and act.
At the heart of this shift lies transdisciplinarity: an approach that moves beyond siloed disciplines and engages society itself in the co-creation of knowledge and solutions. As Albert Einstein famously observed, “We cannot solve our problems with the same thinking we used when we created them.” The persistence of today’s global challenges suggests that our prevailing modes of problem-solving—largely mono-disciplinary and compartmentalised—are no longer adequate.
The limits of siloed knowledge
Over the past few decades, global investment in research and development has grown dramatically. Global R&D expenditure exceeded USD 3 trillion in 2022, and the worldwide scientific workforce has expanded to more than 8.8 million researchers, producing millions of academic papers annually across tens of thousands of journals. Indeed, the number of scientists has grown several times faster than the global population itself. This extraordinary expansion reflects humanity’s faith in science as a driver of progress—but it also sharpens an uncomfortable question about returns on this investment. Millions of scientists across the world produce an ever-expanding body of academic literature, filling tens of thousands of specialised journals. This disciplinary research has undoubtedly driven remarkable advances in medicine, engineering, agriculture, and information technology. The positive contributions of science to human civilisation are beyond dispute. Yet its effectiveness in addressing complex, real-world challenges has often fallen short of expectations, with impacts appearing disproportionate to the vast resources committed. Yet the translation of this vast knowledge base into tangible, scalable solutions to real-world problems remains limited.
The reason lies not in a lack of intelligence or effort, but in the way knowledge is organised. Disciplines are, after all, social constructs, each shaped by its own conceptual, theoretical, philosophical, and methodological traditions. While these traditions enable depth and rigour, they also encourage intellectual compartmentalisation when treated as ends in themselves. Modern academia is structured around disciplines—biology, economics, engineering, sociology, medicine—each with its own language, methods, reward systems, and institutional boundaries. These disciplines are powerful tools for deep analysis, but they also act as intellectual blinders. By focusing narrowly on parts of a problem, they often miss the broader system in which that problem is embedded.
Climate change, for example, is not merely an environmental issue. It is simultaneously an economic, social, political, technological, and ethical challenge. Public health crises are shaped as much by social behaviour, governance, and inequality as by pathogens and medical interventions. Poverty is not simply a matter of income, but of education, health, gender relations, environmental degradation, and political inclusion. Approaching such issues from a single disciplinary lens inevitably leads to partial diagnoses and fragmented solutions.
The systems thinker Donella Meadows captured this dilemma succinctly when she noted, “The problems are not in the world; they are in our models of the world.” When our models are fragmented, our solutions will be fragmented as well.
Wicked problems in a hyper-connected world
Many of today’s challenges fall into what scholars describe as “wicked problems”—issues that are complex, non-linear, and resistant to definitive solutions. They have multiple causes, involve many stakeholders with competing values, and evolve over time. Actions taken to address one aspect of the problem often generate unintended consequences elsewhere.
In a hyper-connected world, these dynamics are amplified. A disruption in one part of the global system—whether a pandemic, a financial shock, or a geopolitical conflict—can cascade rapidly across borders, affecting food systems, energy markets, public health, and social stability. Recent crises have starkly demonstrated how local vulnerabilities are intertwined with global forces.
Despite decades of research aimed at tackling such problems, progress remains uneven and, in many cases, distressingly slow. In some instances, well-intentioned scientific interventions have even generated new problems or unintended consequences. The Green Revolution of the 1960s, for example, dramatically increased cereal yields and reduced hunger in many developing countries, but its heavy dependence on agrochemicals has since contributed to soil degradation, water pollution, and public health concerns. Similarly, plastics—once hailed as miracle materials for their affordability and versatility—have become a pervasive environmental menace, illustrating how narrowly framed solutions can create long-term systemic risks. This gap between knowledge production and societal impact raises a critical question: are we organising our research and institutions in ways that are fit for purpose in an interconnected world?
What is transdisciplinarity?
Transdisciplinarity offers a compelling response to this question. Unlike multidisciplinary approaches, which place disciplines side by side, or interdisciplinary approaches, which integrate methods across disciplines, transdisciplinarity goes a step further. It transcends academic boundaries altogether by bringing together researchers, policymakers, practitioners, industry actors, and communities to jointly define problems and co-create solutions.
At its core, transdisciplinarity is problem-driven rather than discipline-driven. It starts with real-world challenges and asks: what knowledge, perspectives, and forms of expertise are needed to address this issue in a meaningful way? Scientific knowledge remains essential, but it is complemented by experiential, local, and indigenous knowledge—forms of understanding that are often overlooked in conventional research but are crucial for context-sensitive and socially robust solutions.
As C. P. Snow warned in his influential reflections on “The Two Cultures,” divisions within knowledge systems can themselves become barriers to progress. Transdisciplinarity seeks to bridge not only disciplines, but also the persistent gap between knowledge and action.
Learning from nature and society
Nature itself provides a powerful metaphor for transdisciplinary thinking. Ecosystems do not operate in compartments. Soil, water, plants, animals, and climate interact continuously in dynamic, adaptive systems. When one element is disturbed, the effects ripple through the whole. Human societies are no different. Economic systems shape social relations; social norms influence environmental outcomes; technological choices affect governance and equity.
Yet our institutions often behave as if these connections do not exist. Universities are organised into departments with separate budgets and promotion criteria. Research funding is allocated along disciplinary lines. Success is measured through narrow metrics such as journal impact factors and citation counts, rather than societal relevance or long-term impact.
This mismatch between the complexity of real-world problems and the fragmentation of our knowledge systems lies at the heart of many policy failures. While societal challenges have grown exponentially in scale and interdependence, organisational structures and problem-solving approaches have not evolved at the same pace. Attempting to address borderless global issues using rigid, compartmentalised, and outdated frameworks is therefore increasingly counterproductive. As former UN Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon aptly stated, “We cannot address today’s problems with yesterday’s institutions and mindsets.”
Transdisciplinarity and sustainable development
The United Nations Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) offer a vivid illustration of why transdisciplinary approaches are essential. The 17 goals—ranging from poverty eradication and health to climate action and biodiversity—are explicitly interconnected. Progress on one goal often depends on progress in others. Climate action affects food security, health, and livelihoods. Education influences gender equality, economic growth, and environmental stewardship.
Achieving the SDGs therefore requires more than sector-by-sector interventions. It demands integrated, cross-sectoral responses that align research, policy, and practice. Transdisciplinarity provides a framework for such integration by fostering collaboration across disciplines and sectors, and by grounding global goals in local realities.
For countries like Sri Lanka, with complex socio-ecological systems and rich cultural diversity, this approach is particularly relevant. In Sri Lanka, more than 6,000 individuals are engaged in research and development, with over 60 per cent based in universities and other higher education institutions. This places a particular responsibility on academic and institutional leaders to create environments that encourage collaboration across disciplines and with society. Policies, assessment schemes, funding mechanisms, and incentive structures within universities can either reinforce silos or actively nurture a transdisciplinary culture. Sustainable development challenges here are shaped by local contexts—coastal vulnerability, agricultural livelihoods, urbanisation patterns, and social inequalities—while also being influenced by global forces. Transdisciplinary engagement can help bridge this global–local divide, ensuring that policies and innovations are both scientifically sound and socially meaningful.
Why transdisciplinarity is hard?
Despite its promise, transdisciplinarity is not easy to practice or institutionalise. Deeply entrenched disciplinary identities often shape how researchers see themselves and their work. Many academics are trained to excel within narrow fields, and career advancement systems tend to reward disciplinary publications over collaborative, problem-oriented research.
Institutional structures can further reinforce these silos. Departments operate with separate budgets and governance arrangements, making cross-boundary collaboration administratively cumbersome. Funding mechanisms often lack categories for transdisciplinary projects, leaving such initiatives struggling to find support. Time pressures also matter: genuine engagement with communities and stakeholders requires sustained interaction, yet academic workloads rarely recognise this effort.
There are also cultural and ethical challenges. Different disciplines speak different “languages” and operate with distinct assumptions about what counts as valid knowledge. Power imbalances can emerge, with certain forms of expertise dominating others, including the voices of non-academic partners. Without careful attention to trust, equity, and mutual respect, collaboration can become superficial rather than transformative.
The way forward: from aspiration to practice
If transdisciplinarity is to move from rhetoric to reality, deliberate institutional change is required. Sri Lanka, in particular, would benefit from articulating a clear national vision that positions transdisciplinary research as a core mechanism for addressing challenges such as climate resilience, public health, disaster risk, and sustainable development. National research agencies and universities can play a catalytic role by creating dedicated funding streams, establishing transdisciplinary centres, and embedding systems thinking and stakeholder engagement within curricula and research agendas. First, awareness must be built. Universities, research institutes, and funding agencies need to invest in dialogue, training, and pilot projects that demonstrate the value of transdisciplinary approaches in addressing pressing societal challenges.
Second, leadership matters. Institutional leaders play a critical role in signalling that transdisciplinary engagement is not peripheral, but central to the mission of knowledge institutions. This can be done by embedding such approaches in strategic plans, allocating seed funding for collaborative initiatives, and recognising societal impact in promotion and evaluation systems.
Third, structures must evolve. Flexible research centres, shared infrastructure, and streamlined administrative processes can lower the barriers to collaboration. Education also has a role to play. Introducing systems thinking and problem-based learning early in undergraduate and postgraduate programmes can help cultivate a new generation of researchers comfortable working across boundaries.
Finally, ethics and inclusivity must be at the forefront. Transdisciplinarity is not merely a technical methodology; it is an ethical commitment to valuing diverse forms of knowledge and engaging communities as partners rather than passive beneficiaries. In doing so, it strengthens the legitimacy, relevance, and sustainability of solutions.
A collective learning challenge
Peter Senge once observed, “The only sustainable competitive advantage is an organization’s ability to learn faster than the competition.” This insight applies not only to organisations, but to societies as a whole. Our collective ability to learn, unlearn, and relearn—across disciplines and with society—will determine how effectively we navigate the challenges of our time.
The shift from siloed disciplines to transdisciplinary engagement is therefore not a luxury or an academic trend. It is a strategic necessity. In a world of complex, interconnected problems, fragmented knowledge will no longer suffice. What is needed is a new culture of collaboration—one that sees connections rather than compartments, embraces uncertainty, and places societal well-being at the centre of scientific endeavour.
Only by breaking down the walls between disciplines, institutions, and communities can we hope to transform knowledge into action, and action into lasting, equitable change.
A final word to Sri Lankan decision-makers
For Sri Lanka, the message is clear and urgent. Policymakers, university leaders, funding agencies, and development institutions must recognise that many of the country’s most pressing challenges—climate vulnerability, public health risks, food and water security, disaster resilience, and social inequality—cannot be solved within institutional silos. Creating space for transdisciplinary engagement is not a marginal reform; it is a strategic investment in national resilience. By aligning policies, incentives, and funding mechanisms to encourage collaboration across disciplines and with society, Sri Lanka can unlock the full value of its scientific and intellectual capital. The choice before us is stark: continue to manage complexity with fragmented tools, or deliberately build institutions capable of learning, integrating, and responding as a system. The future will favour the latter.
by Emeritus Professor Ranjith Senaratne ✍️
Former Vice-Chancellor, University of Ruhuna,
Former General President, Sri Lanka Association for the Advancement of Science
Former Chairman, National Science Foundation
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