History is a tricky business, religious history doubly so. There are always the questions of who did what and when, and nothing gets any easier when you start to throw miracles and folks with wings into the mix. Things are foggy enough already.
A friend of mine asked me what the historical standpoint is on Noah’s ark. This was after I told her about the most recent claim to have uncovered its resting place. I wasn’t sure what to say. It only exists historically in a religious- and a very literalistic kind of religious- historical perspective. The existence of the boat, the need for it, only exists as hope. It is faith for those who need it to be so. There is no evidence for it outside of religion. The past is already murky, these kinds of things don’t help for folks trying to get a grip of things, and for those trying to start a new month and a new religion.
But whatever the case may be, that some blokes with wings were hanging out atop Jesus’ tomb on the third night, that Lao Tzu was born with a gray beard, or that the Buddha was born out of his mother’s side, I think that we can be sure of one thing. About 2,600 years ago, a man was happy. He was not glad because of his wealth, or the prosperity of his kingdom, for he ruled a large and fertile valley at the foot of the Himalayan mountains. No, he celebrated for the same reason I think many men will find jubilation. This man, Suddhodana, had a son. He finally had a prince, an heir, a bright and beautiful baby boy. So many years ago now, this man was happy, of this much I think we can be certain.
He quickly set about making the necessary arrangements- the celebrations, the festivals, everything. The king had a son, this was not a time to be humble or meek, the king had a son! A son whom he could instruct and raise to take his place as ruler of the Shakya people. With this end in mind Suddhodana names his son Siddhartha, “he who achieves his aim.” He then gathered together eight Brahman priests to forecast the boy’s future.
Now, no one in their right mind would ahave dared to tell the king what he didn’t want to hear. No one at this point would have denied him the satisfaction of knowing that his son would indeed become a great leader for his people. These were Brahman after all, the highest of class of Hindus, the ones most well-learned in their religious tradition. They knew a thing or two. None of them were about to make a proclamation that would have them transferred permanently to the Himalayas to help the proto-mathematicians measure the highest mountain. So it would come as no surprise, and thus would hardly be believable, if at this part of the story the new father would have heard exactly what he wanted.
Perhaps this is why we are thrown for a bit of a loop. Because you see it is during this important ceremony, when portents are examined to determine the boy’s fate, that a hermit ascetic calling himself Asita barges in, performs some strange ritual involving the infant’s feet on his head, and beats the Brahmans to the punch. Asita announces that the boy would become a great King, more powerful than any who had come before, but only if the young prince saw no suffering, was witness to no illness or pain of any kind. If he were to witness these things, then he would instead become a a great spiritual leader, a holy man. Safe in the knowledge that their recommendation was bolstered by the prediction of a respected though somewhat beguiling ascetic, and confident that later tellers of this tale would let them off the narrative hook for the inclusion of this unbiased perspective, the Brahmans confirmed this path for the prince. The fortune did nothing to dampen the king’s mood, and he immediately set about redesigning his palace- erecting walls around the grounds and making different buildings to that his family could move around and give the illusion of a change of space during the different seasons. He would not want his son to become restless and grow curious about the outside world.
Suddhodana was not about to let his son waste his life like one of the traveling mendicants he had seen around his kingdom. They were called samanas, wondering ascetic monks who searched for enlightenment in the popular religions of the day- Hinduism, Jainism, and the Ajivikas. They would depend on the compassion of others for food and shelter and spend their time meditating and living off as little as possible. The king wasn’t about to let his son become a hippie.
And so the young prince Siddhartha finished his spiritual SATs. His destiny fixed, his path made firm for him before he even took his first steps.
As the story goes, Siddhartha’s mother died soon after his birth, and so his rearing would have been handled chiefly by his father, allowing him full control over which end of that prophecy his son would see. Sure enough, he turned the palace ground into a lush garden of earthly delights and surrounded Siddhartha with only young and healthy people.
Imagine what it would be like to work in such a place. One moment you are teaching the king’s son how to spell, things are looking good, the pay is great, your’e thinking of maybe moving into a bigger house, maybe getting a few more acres or a few more yaks. But then one morning you come into the palace with a sniffle and faster than a fruit fly’s next reincarnation you’re on your ass on the other side of that wall. It reminds me of God kicking humans out of the Garden of Eden, except the only thing that is forbidden is to be old or unhealthy.
Siddhartha Gautama proved to be an exceptional student, which by the way is pretty typical for these stories. Sometimes they’re naturals, like Guru Nanak, the founder of Sikhism. They take to learning like a tidal wave, enveloping everything in moments what would take normal people years to build. In other cases these figures cheat and do it the easy way. I don’t know what the Devil’s premium for knowledge is these days, but you just promise at conception to spread the word of God and the Lord will bless you with unending knowledge without the need for typical frivolities like tutors and being a human. Figures like Baha’u'llah fall into this camp. In any case, you work for God, you get taken care of. Well, at least in the wits department.
Siddhartha belonged to the former camp. He did his studies and his teachers didn’t need to fake their pleasure or praise for the sake of the king. This was a gifted child, and like any gifted child he started to ask questions.
He would wonder what went on beyond the walls of the palace, what else existed besides the pleasantries afforded by wealth and status. Perhaps his father and his teachers tried to hide him from the truth, refusing to explain why they were keeping him imprisoned. Perhaps not. Regardless, he grew curiouser and curiouser, and on some level was convinced that there was more to life then what had been presented to him.
At nineteen he was married to a princess. Her name was Yasodhara and she was his cousin (oh hush, you know how it was). This had the advantage of strengthening the Gautama royal family and giving the prince something to keep him busy.
But as it happens in these stories the inevitable occurs. Foreshadowing wins out, the drama plays on, and our prince makes his way into the outside world. I’ve heard many different versions of this particular part of the story. The most charitable say that Suddhodana eventually relented, unable to withstand the prolonged one-man inquisition mounted by his son on why he couldn’t leave, the king permitted him four trips to the outside world, entrusting the prince’s charioteer and friend Channa to keep them innocent and brief. Other versions give the impression that Siddhartha escaped, and with the aid of his friend and charioteer Channa, was able to manage four excursions past the wall.
So be it youthful rebelliousness and curiosity, be it a tired and overwhelmed king, or that cold and truly random ice bitch, Fate (who knows just how to ruin the beginning of a perfectly good dynasty) Siddhartha Gautama journeyed into the world with his friend Channa.
There are a couple of different ways that I could imagine the princes’ compatriot. One is that he is the youthful friend, the same age as Siddhartha, but more likable because of his familiarity with the world, a foil to Siddhartha’s inbred aloofness and introspection. Someone who would have conspired to see the prince freed, to get out into the world, to loosen up.
Two is that he is the older, more experienced man who enjoys life in the palace because he knows what the real world can be like. An elderly sidekick who provides worldly advice, who becomes a kind of father figure to the prince because the king wanted a son and an heir but not in that order. This Channa would be someone who knows the handiwork of that cruel goddess Fate, and knows better than to alter that course when the young are involved. But I digress yet again, Siddhartha has an accomplice, and suddenly we, dear readers, can all be teachers with Channa, as we introduce the prince to the world for the first time.
Things probably didn’t go so well that first outing. Siddhartha would be asking too many questions, constantly bothering Channa for answers as the charioteer did his best to avoid the Nepalesian red light district. And in the midst of all that chaos they pass a sick man walking on the road. Now it could be that, owing to the prince’s lack of experence in this area, he would offer up some terrible social faux pas and begin demanding to know what was wrong with this poor man. Why were they so weak, why did they look so sullen, so tired and so… leaky. Maybe that happened, but from what I’ve heard, at the very least the following exchange took place.
“Who is this pale and shuffling man? See how he coughs and wheezes Channa, like an old bellows. Look, he is barely able to stand, he can’t hold himself up. Channa? What is wrong with him?”
“My Lord, he is sick,” Channa replied dutifully.
Obviously Siddhartha would have trouble understanding this concept, that one can be host to contagion, that our bodies can become cancerous to ourselves. That we will suffer cold, flus, food poisonings and some diseases worse than these- cancers, viruses, bacterias, seizures, strokes, and all manner of things that can some for any of us, no matter how well our lives are progressing. That we will never escape the frailties of our own flesh, of the makeup of our own bodies- this is what confronted Siddhartha on his first forray into the world.
His second journey went much the same way, with one notable exception. This time on the road they passed an elderly man, hair all thinning and gray. Channa probably knew the question was coming by this point.
“And what is this now? Channa? Is he sick? Look how he slouches, how his head has fallen below his shoulders and his skin hangs off of him like a silken robe. He moves about so slowly and speaks to dully. What manner of person is this, Channa?”
“That is an old man, my prince,” Chana replied, and then added, perhaps in a moment of weakness, a retaliation of brutal honesty for Siddhartha’s incessant questions and unbearbale naivete, “that is the fate of all of us.”
Channa was sure to move the conversation on quickly after that and perhaps cut the trip short. There was only one way for that question to go, only one thing anyone would want to know once they found out that their life and vitality were not everlasting, that they would age with the best of them.
They would want to know, “What happens next?”
There would be time enough to consider that question on their third journey. I imagine that there would be a fair amount of tension, of build up leading to this point. Everyone would be wondering what the prince might see next, about what will become of him, and of the king, and of the kingdom. Channa would be worried about his standing with the king and the condition of his friend. The king would worry that he was about to lose his only heir, that his son was on his way to replacing the silver spoon in his mouth with something made of hemp. Quite a lot was riding on these trips and their outcome. But Siddhartha’s curiosity had yet to be sated. He needed to know.
It wouldn’t matter what they saw on that third trip, it wouldn’t matter where they went, if they passed through towns or farms or over bridges. All that mattered was the body they saw laying on the side of the road. I don’t think there would be much of a question at this point. The prince was smart, he probably could piece it together himself.
He would simply ask, as he stood over the body, keeping careful watch, as if hoping it was some ruse put on by the charioteer, “Channa?” Worldessly his friend took him back to the chariot and headed back to the palace. It was the final blow. On top of all this, on top of sickness and age, he had now witnessed death. Not only do we suffer, not only do we grow old, but we die.
There wouldn’t be much reason to leave the palace again. No matter what pleasures and experiences the outside world had, the palace grounds could provide better, at least for virtue of the fact that there would be no elderly, no one would be suffering from sickness and there certainly would be no dead people, no bodies laying around reminding him of his own mortality. But then again he wouldn’t need anything to remind him of that, I’m sure it was all he could think about. A smart man like Siddhartha, presented with an unsolvable problem- how do you beat death, age, or sickness, and what other problems could there be in the world in the presence of such suffering? What else could matter?
It was this drive that probably forced him back out into the world for his last journey. He needed to find some way out of this, it was an unacceptable state of affairs, and being cooped up behind the palace walls for his whole life gave him this unique perspective that perhaps our basic state of affairs could be overturned. That we could live without suffering, without illness or unhappiness and even without death.
It is on this fourth journey that Siddhartha came across a samanas, a travelling monk with nothing but his robes and a bowl used for collecting alms. Despite having no wealth and no livelihood other than spiritual study, this mendicant was happy, he was content. He was exactly what Siddhartha wanted to be, to be in the midst of suffering, of the world, but still be able to shine.
It took him a while to act, but I think from the moment Siddhartha saw that monk he knew what he was going to do. There was a period of doubt, of uncertainty, but in the end he had no choice. He could not go back to the way he was before, living in the lap of luxury, not when he had seen how impermanent it was, how none of it mattered in the face of sickness or death. He left the palace for good on the eve of the birth of his son, leaving with nothing but a robe and a bowl. Siddhartha’s son presented another tie to his old life, and to the endless suffering it represented. His son’s name was Rahula, so called after the snake that in Hindu mythology passes in front of the sun and moon to cause eclipses. It has another meaning though-
Chain.
***
These past few days I’ve been taking a break from the project. Break’s over.
The poster found wide circulation across numerous blogs and news sources, and the idea of a Draw Muhammad Day was quickly championed on Facebook. Norris tried to take back the poster, requesting that it be taken down and insisting that it was nothing more than a joke, and that an actual event like this would be truly offensive. It was too late, the idea had gone viral, and so here we are.