काव्ये विश्वासटिप्पन्यः

[[Mohan K.V 2013-09-17, 21:30:48 Source]]

सदास्वादः

इहास्ति नास्तीति य एष संशयः परस्य वाक्यैः न ममात्र निश्चयः

(ihāsti nāstīti ya eṣa saṃśayaḥ parasya vākyaiḥ na mamātra niścayaḥ)

Meaning

“My doubts about what exists and what doesn’t can’t be resolved by others’ words”. Who is this, looking to forge his own understanding and sounding very like an enlightened scientist? Read on!

Context

Today’s phrase is from the Buddha-carita. The author Aśvaghoṣa, one of the earliest of Sanskrit poets, lived about 2000 years ago, and is widely held to be the greatest of classical Sanskrit poets prior to Kālidāsa (not to be confused with epic poets of the Mahābhārata and Rāmāyaṇa, who are of course in another league altogether). He was born in modern-day Ayodhya, and spent most of his life in the Buddhist kingdoms of north India.

The Buddha-carita was a very popular work, and was translated widely into all languages of the Buddhist world, including Tibetan and Chinese. The Sanskrit original was familiar all over India, and even in the kingdoms of modern day South East Asia. Alas, such was its later fate that the entire second half of the work – the latter 14 of 28 cantos – was lost. We now know their contents only through the foreign translations.

While Aśvaghoṣa has been held in high regard in antiquity, and while some of his ideas appear to have been inspirations to even the all-time greats like Kālidāsa, it is clear that the Buddha-carita is a success more because of its hero than because of its author’s skill. The story itself is quite well known – the King of the Śākyas, Śuddhodana, begets a son by his wife Māyā, and names him Siddhārtha. The paṇḍits at the court tell him that the child will either grow up to be a great king, or a great saint. Śuddhodana, preferring that his son succeed him, shields him from all unpleasant things, even till the age of his marriage and the birth of his son.

This is the set-up to a dilemma that will define Siddhārtha’s life: should one play the game of Life earnestly, taking the good with the bad, or walk away from it? The entirety of Siddhārtha’s background – his parents, his ministers, his family, his subjects – goads him to play, because he can ‘win’. But his own instincts don’t quite gel with this.

This starts out in the form of what we recognize as a quarter-life crisis. A quarter-life crisis is the first time one questions one’s goals. Till then, there is not much thought to where one is going – things happen, and one reacts. In a mostly controlled environment, provided for by parents and others, simple worldviews suffice. But when one begins to understand the functioning of the real world, everything goes for a toss. In Siddhārtha’s case, his quarter-life crisis ended up in him making the choice that defined his life – he decides that the only winning move is to not play.

In a famous scene, he goes out for a pleasure trip, and his father tries his best to ensure that he sees nothing unsightly. But by chance, Siddhārtha sees an old hunchbacked man, and asks his charioteer what is wrong with him. The charioteer, a simple man, tells him that the man is old, but that that’s nothing noteworthy – everyone gets old eventually. Siddhārtha is shocked:

इत्येवमुक्ते चलितः स किंचिद् राजात्मजः सूतम् इदं बभाषे ।

किम् एष दोषो भविता ममापीत्यस्मै ततः सारथिरभ्युवाच ॥ 3.32 ॥

ityevam ukte calitaḥ sa kiṃcid rājātmajaḥ sūtam idaṃ babhāṣe |

kim eṣa doṣo bhavitā mamāpīty asmai tataḥ sārathir abhyuvāca || 3.32 ||

“The Prince was startled by this, and after some thought, asked him:

‘Will this happen to me too?’ – to which the the charioteer replied, [Yes]”

This is the turning point. The vague questions in Siddhārtha’s mind start taking shape, and he goes on more such pleasure trips, each time discovering more and more of the world’s suffering. At the end of a few trips, he sees only suffering everywhere. He sees men plowing the earth, and feels their exhaustion, their oxen’s toil, even the pain of the worms in the soil being crushed:

अवतीर्य ततस्तुरंगपृष्ठात् शनकैर्गां व्यचरत् शुचा परीतः ।

जगतो जनन-व्ययं विचिन्वन् कृपणं खल्विदम् इत्युवाच चार्त्तः ॥ 5.7 ॥

avatīrya tatas turaṃga-pṛṣṭhāt śanakairgāṃ vyacarat śucā parītaḥ |

jagato janana-vyayaṃ vicinvan kṛpaṇaṃ khalvidam ityuvāca cārttaḥ || 5.7 ||

“Getting down from his chariot, he slowly walked around, full of sorrow. Thinking of the birth and death of all beings, he said grievingly to himself, ‘This is miserable’”.

If this seems like plain old-fashioned pessimism, hold on. No matter what the latest fad in society is, viewpoints appeal to us ultimately because they possess a glint of truth. It was this communion with the truth that is the dominant message here. In a very different context, Richard Dawkins speaks of quite the same truth:

The total amount of suffering per year in the natural world is beyond all decent contemplation. During the minute that it takes me to compose this sentence, thousands of animals are being eaten alive, many others are running for their lives, whimpering with fear, others are slowly being devoured from within by rasping parasites, thousands of all kinds are dying of starvation, thirst, and disease. It must be so. If there ever is a time of plenty, this very fact will automatically lead to an increase in the population until the natural state of starvation and misery is restored. In a universe of electrons and selfish genes, blind physical forces and genetic replication, some people are going to get hurt, other people are going to get lucky, and you won’t find any rhyme or reason in it, nor any justice. The universe that we observe has precisely the properties we should expect if there is, at bottom, no design, no purpose, no evil, no good, nothing but pitiless indifference.

It is the sight of this suffering, this pitiless indifference, that moved Siddhārtha to profound grief. He’s had enough, and wants to leave the game. He asks his charioteer to drop him off in the forest, where he will go seek to find the truth with the sages there.

But once he gets there, he sees that a number of sages are there only as a kind of give-and-take. They desperately want something – heaven, puṇya, some or the other power – and are performing austerities with as much investment in the game as was common in the world Siddhārtha walked away from. He listens to them patiently, and says this:

न खल्वयं गर्हित एव यत्नो यो हीनमुत्सृज्य विशेषगामी ।

प्राज्ञैः समानेन परिश्रमेण कार्यं तु तद्यत्र पुनर्न कार्यम् ॥ 7.25 ॥

na khalvayaṃ garhita eva yatno yo hīnam utsṛjya viśeṣagāmī |

prājñaiḥ samānena pariśrameṇa kāryaṃ tu tad yatra punar na kāryam || 7.25 ||

“Surely I do not censure the effort itself, which after all aims to go from a low state to a better one; but a wise man should plan to go someplace from which he doesn’t need move away again.”

This is the tell-tale sign of a QLC – questioning goals. Meanwhile, Siddhārtha’s family is aghast, and a delegation sets out to convince him to return. His parents, his wife, his ministers, everyone makes their way to the forest and they finally find him. After a number of appeals which Siddhārtha gently rejects, the ministers bring up past philosophers. No one agrees on anything – past lives, karma, reincarnations, heaven, liberation – and so, doesn’t it make the most sense to enjoy what you can in the time you have? Siddhārtha has a ready answer, one that will warm the heart of any true scientist:

इहास्ति नास्तीति य एष संशयः परस्य वाक्यैर्न ममात्र निश्चयः ।

अवेत्य तत्त्वं तपसा शमेन वा स्वयं ग्रहीष्यामि यदत्र निश्चितम् ॥ 9.63 ॥

ihāsti nāstīti ya eṣa saṃśayaḥ parasya vākyair na mamātra niścayaḥ |

avetya tattvaṃ tapasā śamena vā svayaṃ grahīṣyāmi yad atra niścitam || 9.63 ||

“My doubts about what exists and what doesn’t can’t be resolved by others’ words.

By my penance or meditation, I will find out for myself and grasp the Truth.”

We can already hear the Buddha speaking in Siddhartha – this self-reliance is the content of one of the Buddha’s greatest teachings, the Kālāma sutta:

[Pāli Original: तिपिटक मूल - सुत्तपिटक - अङ्गुत्तरनिकाय - तिकनिपातपाळि - (7) 2. महावग्गो - 33] ‘‘एथ तुम्हे, कालामा, मा अनुस्सवेन, मा परम्पराय, मा इतिकिराय, मा पिटकसम्पदानेन, मा तक्‍कहेतु, मा नयहेतु, मा आकारपरिवितक्‍केन, मा दिट्ठिनिज्झानक्खन्तिया, मा भब्बरूपताय, मा समणो नो गरूति। यदा तुम्हे, कालामा, अत्तनाव जानेय्याथ – ‘इमे धम्मा कुसला, इमे धम्मा अनवज्‍जा, इमे धम्मा विञ्‍ञुप्पसत्था, इमे धम्मा समत्ता समादिन्‍ना हिताय सुखाय संवत्तन्ती’ति, अथ तुम्हे, कालामा, उपसम्पज्‍ज विहरेय्याथ।”

“Don’t go by reports, by traditions, by legends, by scripture, by logical conjecture, by inference, by analogies, by agreement through pondering views, by probability, or by the thought, ‘This is our guru.’ When you know for yourselves that, ‘These qualities are skillful; these qualities are blameless; these qualities are praised by the wise; these qualities, when adopted and carried out, lead to welfare and to happiness’ — then you should enter and remain in them.”

Let us end on a lighter vein. ‘Poetic’ versions of the laws of thermodynamics can be stated thus:

You cannot win
You cannot break even
You cannot get out of the game

In thermodynamics, they refer respectively to the fact one can’t get out more energy than one puts in, that some energy will necessarily be lost, and that energy transfer can never be stopped. It’s surprising how well these transport to a meditation about life itself. It gets even better – one H. Freeman claimed that every major philosophy that attempts to make life seem meaningful is based on the negation of one part of these laws.

To wit:

Capitalism is based on the assumption that you can win.
Socialism is based on the assumption that you can break even.
Mysticism is based on the assumption that you can quit the game.

The Buddha is reputed to have had a great sense of humor, and Buddhist jokes are a staple even today. We’re pretty sure he’d have smiled at #3 :-)

Thought for today

The great Bhartṛhari in his Vairāgya-śataka spoke of the straitjacketed, fragile victories of the same Game that Buddha chose to abandon:

भोगे रोगभयं कुले च्युतिभयं वित्ते नृपालाद् भयं

माने दैन्यभयं बले रिपुभयं रूपे जराया भयम् ।

शास्त्रे वादिभयं गुणे खलभयं काये कृतान्ताद् भयं

सर्वं वस्तु भयान्वितं भुवि नृणां वैराग्यम् एवाभयम् ॥

bhoge rogabhayaṃ kule cyutibhayaṃ vitte nṛpālād bhayaṃ

māne dainyabhayaṃ bale ripubhayaṃ rūpe jarāyā bhayam |

śāstre vādibhayaṃ guṇe khalabhayaṃ kāye kṛtāntād bhayaṃ

sarvaṃ vastu bhayānvitaṃ bhuvi nṛṇāṃ vairāgyam evābhayam ||

“In pleasure, one fears disease. In nobility, a fall from grace. In wealth, the King himself must be feared.

In pride, one fears humiliation. In strength, enemies. In beauty, old age.

In scriptural knowledge, one fears crooked debates. In righteousness, one fears evil men. The very act of living in this body is pervaded by a fear of Death.

Thus, everything is associated with fear – except Vairāgya.” (The use of the word abhaya makes it even stronger – that Vairāgya is the only refuge)

A smaller poet would have said ‘vitte tu corāt bhayam’ (In wealth, one fears thieves) – but Bhartṛhari knows that thieves can be protected against, but never kings!

This liberating potency of Vairāgya, especially the freedom from having to make impressions, reminds us of a Buddhist joke:

One zen student said, “My teacher is the best. He can go days without eating.” The second said, “My teacher has so much self control, he can go days without sleep.” The third said, “My teacher is so wise that he eats when he’s hungry and sleeps when he’s tired.” :-)

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