As a kid, I had this little wood carving of a man crouched over in a cross-legged position, appearing to cry into his hands. I was told it was called the weeping Buddha. I don’t know what happened to that carving, but I came across another as I was browsing a store some two years ago now, and bought it for the nostalgia-factor. I liked the idea of it: I was told by the store clerk, who explained it to me, that this was apparently a buddha who stopped meditating and looked at the world, moving him to tears. “I thought he’s a lot like Christ in that way,” he told me, referring to Jesus’ agony in the garden of Gethsemane.

I didn’t stop there, however, and sought out to learn a bit more about this motif and where it came from. I wouldn’t hear about it in Buddhist circles, after all, nor have I ever seen it in any other form apart from the wood carving that I brought home with me that day. So, I thought it somewhat peculiar. Where did this icon of human suffering come from? As it turns out, it is believed to be a relatively recent creation from Southeast Asian or Balinese carvers, not something that is historically Buddhist, which gained popularity in the west during the 20th century. That is to say, it’s not some ancient wisdom or anything like that. It’s actually pretty new, and when I put it like that, I suppose it probably loses some of its magic for you, no? I understand why, but I firmly disagree: it is simply indicative of a living tradition.

Today, we’re inundated with products that claim to offer some “life-changing ancient wisdom”, as thought that gave their overpriced course or book some kind of mystical authority. This seems to be the typical sort of attitude. Moreover, people tend to get antsy about their traditions changing or being added to, perhaps forgetting that there was a time when their traditions were new and avante garde themselves. (They must have looked rather silly at the time!) Not only that, but these “traditions” were probably radically different in their origins. Christianity, for example, was very different in the first century than it is today. There were certainly no mega-churches, no Christmas trees. There wasn’t even a “Holy Mass” as such, and you may have even found some Christians going to their local synagogues on the Sabbath. (This is, of course, among many other changes.) There have been all these new things over the centuries and millennia to give us the religions of the world that we know today. This is true of arts and culture, too. Imagine a world where humanity never got beyond a cappella because instruments aren’t “real music” and shake the musical tradition to its core. Or, consider how radical film must have been, or changing styles of art, or clothing! (You would dread to trade your cozy PJs for some rough animal hide, wouldn’t you?)

Confronted with these innovations, a traditionalist might wonder: how can one reconcile ancient roots with new practices and symbols? Likewise, one might approach the issue from the opposite perspective and ask, “Of what use are any of these ancient things, anyway? Why not stick with what’s new?” Two extremes: worship of a incomplete past, and uncompromising scorn for it.

The key, I think, lies in the distinction between living and dead traditions. The former finds a place in today’s world, it is open to change, it grows in new ways; the latter, on the other hand, does not. It is effectively an artefact in some museum, reflecting perhaps a fragment of truth from some dusty era. It is in being open to newness, to innovation, to the ebb-and-flow of world history that this is avoided and traditions can continue to live on. They may not be exactly the same as before, but then nothing is, and this is why change is important. Otherwise, it couldn’t hope to speak to the concerns of a generation, nor hope to speak its “language”. It will pass away with the last of those human beings to whom it had any vitality or relevance.

Therefore, what is important to remember, for those who find themselves a part of one tradition or another, that novelty does not delegitimise some practice, symbol, or what have you. If time is all it takes to grant acceptance to new things, then nothing would ever change! And this is why, in a tiny corner of my room, I can display the weeping Buddha with pride, next to the many statutes of symbols of untold age; which is to say that its newness hasn’t taken away any of its “magic” and instead is continuous with the “magic” that was already there. It is a wonder to think that treasures are not simply found buried along with the distant past. They can be found in the workings of the world today, and no doubt in the workings of the world tomorrow.

Just consider these treasures: what symbols in your life—from your past or present—resonate with you, as the weeping Buddha resonated with me?