The Virtual Life of Fizzy Oceans (29 page)

The number obviously represents a non sequitur in her mind. “Where is everybody?” she says. Her question is not necessarily directed at me but at some nebulous entity.

Crystal looks at me sympathetically but perceptively. Kiz, still the neophyte, is stunned, dumbfounded. I can feel her mind stretching to understand the absence of visitors. Suddenly realizing that I have been ignored, spurned, and summarily dismissed, and that all my sincere and dedicated work may just have been in vain, I am impressed—no, overcome—by a reality even greater than my personal failure, which is the death of beauty itself!

Can such a thing possibly be true? Can a concept or emotion so innate, and so vital to our humanity, actually die? Perhaps the answer to such a question lies in the silence around us as we view these passionate paintings by a master forever in search of recognition, forever in pursuit of expression beyond everyday lexis. The language of the soul, if I am permitted such a cliché. Of course the vocabulary of silence has a meaning too, one that is enveloping and undeniable. And perhaps final.

Sitting together at
The Café Terrace at the Place du Forum
—Sly’s 3D re-creation of one of Vincent’s most famous paintings—three faithful friends sit together underneath the stars in Arles, France, within the unlikely environment of a masterpiece on canvas, drinking absinthe and waiting for the Renaissance. We think we may be waiting a very long time.
 

I keep thinking that in the annals of human history a single common thread must surely weave together the fabric of the world’s religions. How could it not be so? Yet such a thread is not easily identified—or so it would seem. To find the core of religious belief, we must first cut through the dog pile of dogma and begin by asking the fundamental questions: Who are we? What is our purpose? How long have we been here and how long will we remain? Where are we going? Why do we exist?

Then, of course, the concepts of space and time must be addressed. In effect, we beg to know the nature of our universe, and whether it is finite or infinite? Mankind has been staring at the heavens (for lack of a better focal point, I suppose) and imploring our creator (invisible and presumed though He certainly remains) to give us a sign, or assign us a path, or set down rules, or simply to show Himself. Still, after centuries of seeking we still fumble like blind men in an unfamiliar room, even as we profess our avid beliefs to the point of violence and strong-armed coercion. If only we were committed to the question rather than to its answer, then we might hope to catch a glimpse of the final truth, if indeed such a truth even exists, which is something that I have come to doubt. I think, when all is said and done, relativity rules the day, and Secular Humanism is the one faith—if it is a faith—that actually makes sense.

Most traditional religions take their symbols not from our natural world, but instead evoke them from supernatural deeds—either performed by mortals or by mythical beings. Such symbols serve to strengthen belief and faith, provide cohesion of community, and give comfort in times of trouble and strife. These symbols themselves often become iconic, or objects of worship, supplanting or obscuring altogether the original idea or deity. Such a corruption seems to occur naturally over time, and the original visionary or mystical aspect of the religion becomes mired in ritual. Yet, even as this occurs, a religion gains its greatest following. Apparently, people want easy answers, and they want to be told what to do—especially when it comes to their salvation. A simple set of rules to follow, please; a platitude or two to recite—nothing too complicated; a hierarchy of devotions to perform so the devotee feels a bit less alone in his own mortality. No matter what religion we choose to examine, it is more or less the same story. The faith is born through the vision of an inspired person and gains a following through the dissemination of that person’s teachings. Once it has spread sufficiently, politics often enters the mix, which usually precludes a corruption of the original idea. Ritual supplants exaltation, and that which was once profoundly spiritual then assumes an undeniably earthly character. Still, one must wonder—at least I do—whether or not there is a common thread running through all religions that continues to vibrate to the frequency of epiphany, illumination and enlightenment. I honestly want to believe such things are possible. I truly want to believe. Yet, time and again I find my more celestial aspirations grounded by a single concept—one that, to me, seems to define the very nature of our human condition—duality! Whether it is expressed as yin and yang, black and white, light and dark, on and off or good and evil, duality seems to intrude itself upon every aspect of our earthly lives and our universal reality. We cannot escape it. Or at least it would seem so…

So, is duality, or dualism, the chain that shackles us to our earthly existence? Or is it, as Zen Masters assert, the source of an essential tension necessary for the cohesion of a greater whole? And if that’s it, then how do we move beyond the yin and the yang to perceive our world from such a causative point of view? Do we immerse ourselves in rituals? Should we attempt to master yoga? Camp out in the dessert for forty days and forty nights? Deny our body food and drink? Spin like a dervish until enlightenment pours over us like morning sunshine? I admit that all this philosophy might be a bit thick for the religious exploration I intend to make here in VL, still it seems to make sense to define the essential questions before trying to find definitive answers,
n’est ce pas
? What I do know for certain is that no matter what our religious persuasion, we’re all dying to find out what lies beyond this world. And that all shall make that journey, and enter that realm, alone.

My first destination on my exploration of religion in VL is the Sabarmati Ashram where I have arranged a meeting with the emulation of Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi. Known during his life in his native country of India as ‘Mahatma’ or ‘Great Soul’, Gandhi was the pioneer of
satvagraha
—resistance to tyranny through mass civil disobedience, a philosophy firmly founded upon
ahimsa
or total nonviolence—which led India to independence and inspired movements for civil rights and freedom around the world.

Arriving at Gandhi’s private quarters, I see the ‘mahatma’ seated upon two large pillows, both resting on a bamboo mat that covers a portion of the spotlessly clean, stone floor. In front of him is a small writing table. Under a vaulted ceiling, white washed walls reflect the light from two open windows, and a small fan circulates the humid air coming in from the garden outside. The large room is devoid of furnishings except for a few scrolls offering information to those not initiated in the Hindu faith. As I approach him, he senses my presence and rises to greet me. He is a small man with large hands and feet. His skin is swarthy, his head bald, and his eyes framed by wire-rimmed glasses. Gandhi, the ‘mahatma’, is dressed all in white, as is his custom. He extends his hand for me to shake, and I lower my eyes in respect and deference as I take his hand in mine.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, sir,” I tell him.

“It is my pleasure to be of service,” he assures me.

“And a great service you have been to mankind.”

“One does what one must do,” he says.

“Or in your case, what one must
not
do,” I clarify. Of course I am referring to Gandhi’s adherence to the principle of non-violence, which ultimately won not only respect for him, but won freedom for an entire nation.

“
Ahimsa
, which is the foundation of my philosophy, is a decree that bars the killing or injuring of all living beings. It is closely connected with the notion that all kinds of violence entail negative consequences. And I am speaking here of karma… And yet, the extent to which the principle of non-violence can and should be applied to different life forms is controversial between various authorities, or movements and currents within the three religions, Hinduism, Buddhism and Jainism, and has been a matter of debate for thousands of years. Though the origins of the concept of
ahimsa
are unknown, the earliest references to it are found in the texts of historic Vedic religion, dating to the eighth century BCE. Here, ahimsa initially relates to ‘non-injury’ without a moral connotation, but later to non-violence to animals and then, to all beings. In the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, prominent figures of Indian spirituality emphasized the importance of
ahimsa
. I applied
ahimsa
to politics, by my non-violent
satyagrahas
.”

“In today’s world, religion and politics make very strange bedfellows,” I remark to Gandhi, referring to the neo-cons and born-again Christians in America that seem to want to police morality and dictate behavior, and God knows what else. “Of course the authors of the American Constitution foresaw imminent danger in the merging of church and State, and they adamantly discouraged it, even making it illegal in certain circumstances. Yet your experience, Your Excellency, seems to suggest that religion and government are actually inseparable entities in a society.”

“Most of the laws that govern a civil society come from the tenets of religious belief. And what is religion if not a manifestation of conscience? This being so, how can religion and government remain separate of one another? If a society were to remain wholly secular, then it would, by definition, have only a relative moral code? We now see this manifestation in Western societies, and I must say, it looks strange indeed to my eyes. And yet… If religion presumes to offer itself as the moral standard of behavior, then it must be true religion. And, by true, I do not mean infallible. Only that it remains committed to the pursuit of truth. Not as we see religion today, all wound up with hyperbole and primed for profit. That is pseudo-religion, and it literally ensures immorality and dissatisfaction and, ultimately, civil unrest.”

“Well, you certainly know something about that,” I observe.

“Indeed. My life was filled with causes and conflicts. I might have preferred it to be otherwise, but one’s destiny is sometimes dictated by exterior events rather than one’s private preferences.”

“It does seem,” I observe, “that certain times are filled with pivotal moments, and that inspirational leaders appear on the scene to direct the course of history, and society, for better or for worse.”

“Ah, yes…” Gandhi removes his glasses and wipes the lenses clean with the sleeve of his garment. “So often,” he relates, “we become embroiled in issues or causes even before we understand their eventual impact. It simply seems the right thing to do at the moment, and we dive into deep water even before we know how to swim. If we are lucky, our buoyancy keeps us afloat as we struggle. But activism is always tenuous; circumstances can change without warning. Civil disobedience is an edgy game. Dissent is full of critical moments. What will happen, nobody knows. Yet, all the while, decency is our goal, and conscience is our guide. Events move us like pieces on a chessboard. We are destiny’s pawns. The years pass by.”

“Your life was a long one—”

“Marked by an untimely, and unnatural, death. I can still feel Godse’s bullet penetrating my flesh.” A flash of pain (or is it one of surprise?) moves over Gandhi’s expression as he re-experiences the moment of his death.

“Nevertheless, your accomplishments remain a testament not only to your commitment, but to the principles of non-violence and non-compliance.”

Momentarily lost to a desperate memory, or to a wholly unexpected sensation, he recovers his composure and suggests, “Such strategies are unassailable because they confront non-ethical acts with an ethical reaction. It is a non sequitur that the tyrannical objective cannot understand, let alone resist.”

“So you see ethics and religion as one and the same…”

“Ethics is the civil by-product of religion.”

“And by engaging in ethical acts, one glorifies God?”

Gandhi considers my proposition for a moment before answering: “It glorifies the God in whose image man is cast.”

Apparently, the ‘mahatma’ is saying that God is glorified through the ethical actions of mankind. And that such ethical actions triumph again and again throughout history, because ‘good’ is actually a real and legitimate cause, and that it somehow enjoys superior standing over ‘bad’. Do I believe this? What about the holocaust? What about Tian’anmen Square? Sometimes tyrants do have their way. And civil disobedience doesn’t always work out so neat and tidy, that’s for sure! “You’d better explain,” I tell the ‘mahatma’.

“When the Second World War broke out in 1939, I favored offering the British non-violent moral support. Many congressional representatives were deeply offended by Britain’s unilateral inclusion of India in the war without the consent of the people, and all members of congress simultaneously resigned in protest. Which caused me to rethink my position: How could India participate in a war that was ostensibly being fought to preserve democracy and freedom when India itself was denied such freedom? The resolution I drafted calling for the British to ‘Quit India’ drew its efficacy from this essential contradiction.

“Of course some felt that not supporting Britain in its struggle against the Nazis was unethical. Others felt that even more direct action should be taken against the British: How could they oppose Fascism in Europe while practicing it in India?
Quit India
became the most forceful movement in the struggle, with mass arrests and violence on an unprecedented scale. Thousands of freedom fighters were killed or injured by police gunfire, and hundreds of thousands were arrested. I made it clear, along with my supporters, that we would not support the war effort unless India were granted immediate independence. I called on all Indians to maintain discipline and
Karo Ya Maro
(‘Do or Die’) in the cause of freedom.