Prince Jeta spoke for me. “Tathagata, the ambassador from the Great King of Persia is curious to know how the world was created”
The Buddha turned those strange blind eyes towards me. Then he smiled. “Perhaps,” he said, “you would like to tell me.” The Buddha’s bared teeth were mottled and yellow, disconcertingly suggestive of fangs.
I don't know what I said. I suppose I described for him the simultaneous creation of good and evil. Repeated my grandfather’s doctrines. Observed those narrow eyes which were aimed - there is no other verb - in my direction.
When I had finished, the Buddha made a polite response. “Since no one can ever know for certain whether or not his own view of creation is the correct one, it is absolutely impossible for him to know if someone else’s is the wrong one.” Then he dropped the only important subject that there is.
The next silence was the longest of all.I listened to the sound of the rain upon the thawed roof, the wind in the trees, of the monks chanting in the nearby monastery.
Finally I remembered one of the many questions that I had intended to ask him: “Tell me, Buddha, if the life of this world is an evil, why then is the world?”
The Buddha stared at me. I think that this time he might might actually have seen me, even though the light inside the hut was now as dim as green as pond water when one opens one’s eyes below the surface.
“The world is pain, suffering and evil. That is the first truth,” he said. “Comprehend that first truth, and the other truths will be evident. Follow the eightfold way and --”
“--and nirvana may or may not extinguish the self.” There was a slight gasp from the present. I had interrupted the Buddha. Nevertheless, I persisted in my rudeness. “But my question is: Who or What made a world whose only point, according to you, is that it causes pain to no purpose?”
The Buddha was benign. “My child, let us say that you have been fighting in a battle. You have beens truck by a poisoned arrow. You are in pain. You are feverish. You fear dead-and the next reincarnation. I am nearby. I am a skilled surgeon. You come to me. What will you ask me to do?”
“Take out the arrow.”
“Right away?”
“Right away.”
“You would not want to know whose bow fired the arrow?”
“I would be curious, of course”. I saw the direction that he was taking.
“But would you want to know before I took out the arrow whether or not the archer was a tall or short, a warrior or a slave, handsome or ill-favoured?”
“No, but--”
“Then , that is all the eightfold was can offer you. A freedom from the arrow’s pain and an antidote to the poison, which is the world.”
“But once the arrow has been removed and I am cured, I might still want to know whose arrow struck me.”
“if you have truly followed the way, the question will be immaterial. You will have seen that this life is a dream, a mirage, something produced by the self. And when the self goes, it goes.”
“You are tathagata - the one who has come and gone and come again. When you are here, you are here. But when you go, where do you go?”
“Where the fire goes when it’s out. My child, no words can define nirvana. Make no attempt to catch in a net of familiar phrases that which is and is not. Finally, even to contemplate the idea of nirvana is a proof that one is still on the near-side of the river. Those who have achieved that state do not try to name what is nameless. Meanwhile, let us take out the arrow. Let us heal the flesh. let us take a ride, if we can, on the ferryboat that goes to the far side. Thus we follow the middle way. Is this the right way?” The Buddha’s smile was barely visible in the twilight. Then he said, “As the space of the universe is filled with countless wheels of fiery stars, the wisdom that transcends this life is abysmally profound.”
“And difficult to comprehend, Tathagata,” said Sariputra, “even for those who are awake.”
“Which is why, Sariputra, no one can ever comprehend it through awakening.”
The old men burst out laughing at what was obviously a familiar joke.
I remember nothing more of that meeting with the Buddha. I think that before we left the park, we visited the monastery. I believe that I first met Ananda then. He was a small man whose life work was to learn by heart everything that the Buddha was reported to have said and done.
I do remember asking Prince Jeta if the Buddha had said anything to me that he had not said a thousand times before.
“No. He uses the same images over and over again. The only new thing -to me- was the paradox about awakening.”
“But is was not new to Sariputra.”
“Well, Sariputra sees him more than anyone else, and they tell each other complicated jokes. They laugh a good deal together. I don't know at what. Although I am sufficiently advanced that I can smile at this world, I cannot laugh at it yet.”
“But why is he so indifferent to the idea of creation?”
“Because he thinks it, literally, immaterial. The ultimate human task is to dematerialise the self. In his own case, he has succeeded. Now he has set up the wheel of the doctrine for others to turn as best they can. He himself is come - and he is gone.”
Democritus finds these ideas easier to comprehend than I do. I can accept the notion that all creation is in flux and that what we take to be the real world is a kind of shifting dream, perceived by each of us in a way that differs from that of everyone else, as well as from the thing itself. But the absence of Deity, of Origin and of Terminus, of Good in conflict with Evil,...the absence of Purpose, finally, makes the Buddha’s truths to strange for me to accept.
I don't know what I said. I suppose I described for him the simultaneous creation of good and evil. Repeated my grandfather’s doctrines. Observed those narrow eyes which were aimed - there is no other verb - in my direction.
When I had finished, the Buddha made a polite response. “Since no one can ever know for certain whether or not his own view of creation is the correct one, it is absolutely impossible for him to know if someone else’s is the wrong one.” Then he dropped the only important subject that there is.
The next silence was the longest of all.I listened to the sound of the rain upon the thawed roof, the wind in the trees, of the monks chanting in the nearby monastery.
Finally I remembered one of the many questions that I had intended to ask him: “Tell me, Buddha, if the life of this world is an evil, why then is the world?”
The Buddha stared at me. I think that this time he might might actually have seen me, even though the light inside the hut was now as dim as green as pond water when one opens one’s eyes below the surface.
“The world is pain, suffering and evil. That is the first truth,” he said. “Comprehend that first truth, and the other truths will be evident. Follow the eightfold way and --”
“--and nirvana may or may not extinguish the self.” There was a slight gasp from the present. I had interrupted the Buddha. Nevertheless, I persisted in my rudeness. “But my question is: Who or What made a world whose only point, according to you, is that it causes pain to no purpose?”
The Buddha was benign. “My child, let us say that you have been fighting in a battle. You have beens truck by a poisoned arrow. You are in pain. You are feverish. You fear dead-and the next reincarnation. I am nearby. I am a skilled surgeon. You come to me. What will you ask me to do?”
“Take out the arrow.”
“Right away?”
“Right away.”
“You would not want to know whose bow fired the arrow?”
“I would be curious, of course”. I saw the direction that he was taking.
“But would you want to know before I took out the arrow whether or not the archer was a tall or short, a warrior or a slave, handsome or ill-favoured?”
“No, but--”
“Then , that is all the eightfold was can offer you. A freedom from the arrow’s pain and an antidote to the poison, which is the world.”
“But once the arrow has been removed and I am cured, I might still want to know whose arrow struck me.”
“if you have truly followed the way, the question will be immaterial. You will have seen that this life is a dream, a mirage, something produced by the self. And when the self goes, it goes.”
“You are tathagata - the one who has come and gone and come again. When you are here, you are here. But when you go, where do you go?”
“Where the fire goes when it’s out. My child, no words can define nirvana. Make no attempt to catch in a net of familiar phrases that which is and is not. Finally, even to contemplate the idea of nirvana is a proof that one is still on the near-side of the river. Those who have achieved that state do not try to name what is nameless. Meanwhile, let us take out the arrow. Let us heal the flesh. let us take a ride, if we can, on the ferryboat that goes to the far side. Thus we follow the middle way. Is this the right way?” The Buddha’s smile was barely visible in the twilight. Then he said, “As the space of the universe is filled with countless wheels of fiery stars, the wisdom that transcends this life is abysmally profound.”
“And difficult to comprehend, Tathagata,” said Sariputra, “even for those who are awake.”
“Which is why, Sariputra, no one can ever comprehend it through awakening.”
The old men burst out laughing at what was obviously a familiar joke.
I remember nothing more of that meeting with the Buddha. I think that before we left the park, we visited the monastery. I believe that I first met Ananda then. He was a small man whose life work was to learn by heart everything that the Buddha was reported to have said and done.
I do remember asking Prince Jeta if the Buddha had said anything to me that he had not said a thousand times before.
“No. He uses the same images over and over again. The only new thing -to me- was the paradox about awakening.”
“But is was not new to Sariputra.”
“Well, Sariputra sees him more than anyone else, and they tell each other complicated jokes. They laugh a good deal together. I don't know at what. Although I am sufficiently advanced that I can smile at this world, I cannot laugh at it yet.”
“But why is he so indifferent to the idea of creation?”
“Because he thinks it, literally, immaterial. The ultimate human task is to dematerialise the self. In his own case, he has succeeded. Now he has set up the wheel of the doctrine for others to turn as best they can. He himself is come - and he is gone.”
Democritus finds these ideas easier to comprehend than I do. I can accept the notion that all creation is in flux and that what we take to be the real world is a kind of shifting dream, perceived by each of us in a way that differs from that of everyone else, as well as from the thing itself. But the absence of Deity, of Origin and of Terminus, of Good in conflict with Evil,...the absence of Purpose, finally, makes the Buddha’s truths to strange for me to accept.
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