by Nigel Spivey
Siddhartha grew up in courtly luxury. By his late twenties he seemed to have the best a man could hope for in life, including a beautiful wife and son. But that was when he renounced the comforts of wealth and family, and took to the road as a ragged wanderer.The prince made this pivotal renunciation because he was oppressed by the knowledge of the sufferings of those many mortals born less fortunate than himself: thereafter he was Sakyamuni, the jewel or wise one of his people. He practised penitential austerities, once starving himself to emaciation – a spectacular skeletal reduction sometimes envisaged by Gandharan sculptors – and meditating alone in the tradition of the yogi (holy man). During one prolonged meditative session beneath a bo-tree, Sakyamuni was tested by the demonic forces of Mara, lord of death and earthly desires. By dint of hard concentration, Sakyamuni resisted the assault; he came through to reach the blissful calm of transcendence that was nirvana.
Enlightenment incarnate: of all Buddhist images, this would become the most widely evoked, showing Sakyamuni - now Buddha, the enlightened one – serenely cross-legged, and often smiling. It was intrinsically, perhaps, the most difficult of events for an artist to catch; and an alternative form of the faith, known as Mahayana Buddhism, would compound the difficulty by insisting that the Buddha’s enlightenment was not fixed at any point in time, but an eternally attained state. Some artists were content simply to show the bo-tree, the heart-shaped foliage of which had served as panoply in the battle of wills between Mara and Sakyamuni. But several hand gestures were also available to indicate tranquillity attained. One of these shows the Buddha extending his hand downwards, as if to touch base: he is calling upon the Earth to witness his achievement (Fig. 99).
There is a sense in which every image of the Buddha is a response to that call to bear witness, and give visible and tangible honour to the intensely spiritual state of nirvana. As a Buddhist stanza has it:
‘This form of yours, calm yet lovely, brilliant without dazzling Soft but mighty – whom would it not entrance? Whether one has seen it a hundred times, or beholds it anew, Your form gives the same pleasure to the eye.’
Inscriptions attached to Buddhist temples and statues in Java testify to a considerable range of motives for their existence. Monuments were raised in order to protect property, or to mark boundaries, to serve as memorials to the dead, or to bring good fortune to monarchs embarking upon war. In many places where Buddhist worship was instituted, images of the Buddha were given daily baths and decked out for occasional parades.The votive offerings to a Buddha statue typically sought some benefit for self and family, perhaps expressly nirvana. Mahayana Buddhists might more generally set up a statue with the hope that it would bring happiness to all sentient beings.
In his lifetime (or more accurately, his last lifetime, since some variants of Buddhist doctrine stress, through the process of reincarnation, a multiplicity of lives for their founder) the Buddha had gathered followers. If not evoking the historic first sermon preached at the Deer Park in Varanasi (Benares), this attraction of disciples may be shown by scenes of the Buddha upon a lotus throne, clearly the centre of attention for all those around him (Fig. 100).
Enlightenment, or Buddhahood, is an ambition of all Buddhist adherents. In order to assist and encourage ordinary devotees, however, Buddhism also allows for a staff of intermediaries, known as Bodhisattvas.These are enlightened beings who have chosento delay or forsake their place in nirvana because compassion obliges them to stay and help others towards that goal. In group scenes representing the Buddha’s death, the Bodhisattvas can be recognized among the bystanders as those who display no grief, since they understand that this passing away is the ultimate triumph.
98 (left) A stone plaque showing the birth of the Buddha, from Gandhara, Pakistan, 2nd century.
99 (below left) The Buddha in earth-touching pose,Tibet, 11th century.
100 (below right) A stone relief of the Buddha preaching, from Mohammed Neri, Pakistan, c.175–200.
101 (above left) The Bodhisattva Padmapani, or Lotus Bearer – a detail of the wall painting in Cave 1, Ajanta, 5th century.
102 (above right) A statue of the Bodhisattva Maitreya from Gandhara, Pakistan, c. 2nd century.
The cultic importance of the Bodhisattvas is demonstrated in the layout and decoration of a number of cave sanctuaries in central India, the most famous of which is the monastic complex created at Ajanta, in cliffs above the Waghora River, northwest of Bombay. Monastic it may have been, but princely patrons endowed this site in a far from frugal style. Devotional cells and shrines were covered with paintings. Many of these paintings illustrate stories about the Buddha, including episodes from his earlier lives. Some also present richly coloured and finely detailed portraits of particular Bodhisattvas, surrounded by admirers and couched in the gorgeous environs of palaces and pavilions.While the Buddha himself was usually shown as dressed in the sparse, unstitched cloths of a monk, the Bodhisattvas exude worldly glamour in their attire and sinuous attitudes.They were celestial but, as it were, worldly-wise; and their trappings of wealth intimated their boundless resource of sympathy for humans in distress. So at Ajanta we see how the Bodhisattva Padmapani, the Lotus Bearer, tilts his gaze as if in a trance of piteous regard (Fig. 101). It is more than just a gaze: the lotus bloom he holds is symbolic of his power to let purity flourish above the mire of human agonies – through attained enlightenment.
All Bodhisattvas exist to facilitate that aim. Of particular importance, though, is the Bodhisattva Maitreya, deemed to be the Buddha of the Future. Maitreya is yet to be born to an earthly life. His status-in-waiting, however, did not deter artists from imagining Maitreya’s appearance. A schist or black marble statue from the Gandhara region reveals Maitreya as a half-clad figure, holding a small water-pot – yet he is undeniably regal in bearing, and with a circular nimbus about his head, which is the halo of divinity (Fig. 102).
JAINISM AND HINDUISM
At around the same time as Siddhartha walked away from the cushioned life of court, taking nothing with him but a begging bowl, another Indian prince also espoused destitution. Subsequently hailed as Mahavira (Great Hero), he taught the effort of will required of all who would break their circular routines of birth, life, death and rebirth. The faith that he founded is called Jainism. Mahavira himself is reckoned as one jina (conqueror) or tirthankara (ford-crosser) among 24 of such pioneers, who show how the breakthrough is to be achieved – by meditation, self-denial and deep solicitude for all forms of sentient life. In Jainism no deity grants the entrance into nirvana or enlightenment.The images that every Jain believer must look to are those of the 24 leaders of the way. Each one of these was conceived as looking very much like the others, and usually represented air clad (naked), narrow-waisted and upright, with long, matted locks – a characteristic sign of carelessness about personal well-being, or the ascetic lifestyle – either piled up or straggling over their shoulders. Sometimes a parasol is shown, alluding to the former royal status of the jinas; otherwise it was paramount to make clear the pose of body abandonment – feet apart, with arms alongside but not touching the torso.
The extremes of Jain commitment to non-violence, directly voiced in the Jain adage that ‘harmlessness is the only religion’, entail that no Jain must so much as swat a fly, let alone consume any meat; nor wield a mattock, lest it strike a worm. It may be no accident that Mahatma Gandhi, who brought about independence for modern India by a strategy of conspicuous non-violence, came from Gujarat, one of the regions where Jainism took root.
Neither Buddhism nor Jainism has survived well in India. Hinduism is the faith that presently dominates there, with upwards of 500 million followers. In fact, all three religions have their roots in the period of Indian antiquity known as Vedic, after the four Sanskrit books of knowledge called Vedas.The period occupies a millennium, from 1500 to 500 BC, with the earliest of the sacred texts, the Rig Veda, perhaps datable to around 1300 BC.Those who could read and use what was collected in these Vedas
– hymns, invocations, ritual protocols – were known as Brahmans.They formed a literate priesthood that would eventually categorize itself as the highest of four social castes, exclusively controlling votive activity and communication with deities. Siddhartha and Mahavira were, effectively, renegades of the caste that they were both born to (warriors and rulers); Jainism held particular appeal for some members of the third caste (merchants), though not the others (cultivators). Buddhism, by its leader’s exemplary dereliction, naturally recruited from the fourth and lowliest class, the ‘unclean’ menials.
Given the background of fastidious Brahman authority, it can come as a surprise to learn that Hinduism has no founding figure, nor any fixed body of dogma, though it developed out of the Vedic wisdom.There are many lively narratives about the Hindu deities, such as the epic Mahabharata, probably assembled between the second century BC and the first century AD.There is also a corpus of more philosophical speculations, the Upanishads, the earliest of which may belong to around the sixth century BC. One of these, the Vastusutra Upanishad, discusses the rules and principles of image-making. Hinduism offers much flexibility of belief, and as a faith it can seem like the very antithesis of monotheism (one Hindu sage calculated a commodious pantheon of 330 million deities). All the same, on the basis of such texts as the Vastusutra, and from studies of current practice, some general features of Hindu votive behaviour can be outlined.
Hinduism allows that a work of art confers inadequate form to what is essentially elusive of form. Higher powers remain beyond any image fashioned of them, or in their honour, although they may be invoked to take up temporary residence in such an image. Nor are works of art the only media whereby divinities may be revered. Stones, fossils, trees, reptiles … the possibilities for setting up some focus of adoration are manifold. Once recognized as such, the object of cult may be bathed and anointed with water, milk and clarified butter; offered prayers, hymns and emotional recitations; also gifts of rice, flowers, saffron and perfumed oils. In short, the object is shown appeasement, for Hinduism acknowledges malevolent agents of terror within its spiritual universe, and many of its deities are likely to get angry if neglected.
The Vastusutra lays down some rules regarding the making of divine images: postures to be adopted, attributes conferred, and so on. A mystical geometric theory of composition also developed, in which a range of diagrammatic devices called yantras provided guidance for meditation. But perhaps our best strategy for assessing how Hindu art and devotion interact is to look at the image of one of the faith’s primary deities, Shiva.
In fact, Shiva’s worship does not invariably require an image. A sign can suffice, and often does so in the shape of a linga – a rounded pillar, usually designated as phallic, which in worship may be festooned with garlands and sprinkled with vermilion powder. The sensuous atmosphere of such worship is obliquely conveyed in lyrics of the fifth-century Sanskrit poet and dramatist Kalidasa.This is part of his overture to a rain cloud, coaxing it to move towards Shiva’s temple at Mahakala in Ujjain:
‘Girdles ringing to rhythmic steps
hands weary from waving yak-tail whisks
whose handles are inlaid with jewels,
the dancing girls there,
feeling your first raindrops
like balm on the nailmarks of love
will throw you glances
as long as a line of swarming bees.’
Meghaduta, stanza 35
103 A bronze sculpture of Shiva as Lord of the Dance from the 10th–11th century.
In Shiva, intense spiritual and sexual energy mingled: the former was bound up with his reputation as a yogi, the latter expressed through admirable lovemaking to his paramour, the goddess Parvati. Parvati’s beauty was such that Kalidasa struggled to convey it. ‘How can I describe the warmth and smoothness of her thighs, which are supple but not as rough as the elephant’s trunk, nor as cold and uninviting as the banana stem?’
Hindu theology proposed no single incarnation for any of its deities. Poets and artists alike could, therefore, glory in Shiva’s variance of form. Little was fixed by rule, save that, like other Hindu gods, Shiva should have a particular animal ‘vehicle’ to accompany or carry his representation (in Shiva’s case, a bull).There is no utter insistence upon anthropomorphism in Hindu devotional art, which explains why Shiva, along with any of his divine company, may wave a multiplicity of arms and manifest himself with more than one head, as he does in a commanding monument within his rock-cut temple on Elephanta Island, near Bombay. Shiva could also appear in half-female form, for in his nature many opposites were predicted to coexist. So while his name means ‘auspicious’, his godliness encompassed flux and violence too. Perhaps the image that best embodies his delightful and dangerous conception is the form of Shiva Nataraja, Shiva as Lord of the Dance (Fig. 103).Within a ring of flames, the gyrating god lifts his left foot, and indicates the lifted foot with one of his hands.That is where the devotee may take shelter. Shiva’s other foot tramples upon a stunted, writhing sprite, emblematic of all who would deny the existence of opposites inside the universe. In one of his hands the god rattles a small double-drum.The rhythm, sprightliness and levity of this motif are undeniable, whatever its scale.
Shiva’s impulsive force is borne out by his characterization in Hindu literature. One story tells how Parvati, alarmed at the ease with which her husband gained access to her while she attended to her toilette, created for herself a mannikin that she animated to act as her personal bodyguard. No sooner did the guard come into being, flawlessly strong and fine-looking, than Parvati regarded him as dearly as she would a son. She called him Ganesh, and he was sworn to let nobody near his mistress without her permission. Parvati gave Ganesh a stick to enforce this law, and he duly took up his vigil. Presently, Shiva arrived. Ganesh did not know Shiva, and obediently barred the way. There was a contest of wills; Shiva organized an attack on Ganesh, and sliced off the head of the youth.When she learnt what had happened, Parvati was distraught and furious. Shiva hastened to make amends. He promised to restore the decapitated Ganesh with the first available head that could be found.This turned out to be the head of an elephant. Returned to Parvati, with this head, Ganesh swelled into a roly-poly figure, exuding benevolence, with a rat as his vehicle, and a bowl of sweets as one of his attributes. Notwithstanding his youth, he was deemed to be patron of knowledge (he served as scribe to record the Mahabharata epic); because of his original role with Parvati, he was Lord of Obstacles, and as such may often be found placed by entrances and doorways; but he was also Lord of Beginnings or Undertakings, to be invoked at weddings, or at new year. His image is invariably cheering (Fig. 104).
Within Hinduism, the cult of Shiva may be recognized as a particular sect.The same is true of another major Hindu deity,Vishnu, the Pervader. Like other Hindu deities,Vishnu enjoys versatility of aspect, but in his conception were also formalized ten separate incarnations. In the course of a sacred text known as the Bhagavadgita (‘Song of the Lord’: itself a small part of the Mahabharata), this process is declared as follows (4:6-7): ‘Although I am unborn, everlasting, and I am the Lord of all, I come to my realm of nature and through my wondrous power I am born.When righteousness is weak and faints and unrighteousness exults in pride, then my Spirit arises on earth.’
So, for example,Vishnu’s third incarnation was in the form of a boar,Vahara, whose tusks support the world: a miniature painting encompasses the sort of colossal evil-ridding feat for which Vishnu was obliged to descend or arise on Earth. A subsequent incarnation was Rama, ‘the one who charms or shines’, particularly representing Vishnu’s solar energy. And after Rama came Krishna, whose words in the Bhagavadgita are cited above.
Krishna’s very name may be intoned as a chant of devotion (‘Hari Krishna’). And further into the dialogues of the Bhagavadgita we come across an article of Hindu belief that resounds as encouragement to all votive performance, however humble, within the faith. As Krishna declares (9:25-6): ‘Those w
ho worship me come unto me … whoever offers to me with devotion only a leaf, or a flower, or a fruit, or even a little water, this I accept because with a pure heart it was offered with love.’
104 A Cambodian statue of Ganesh from the 7th–8th century.
105 A Roman statue of Artemis from Ephesus from the 2nd century BC, after older models. She is flanked by a pair of deer – she was worshipped as ‘Mistress of Animals’.
CHRISTIANITY’S DILEMMA OVER IMAGES
At Ephesus, on the coast of Asia Minor, the worship of the goddess Artemis was established probably during the Bronze Age. A temple to her was erected there that became a celebrated tourist attraction, if not an acknowledged destination of pilgrimage (eventually logged as one of the so-called Seven Wonders of the Ancient World).This temple seems to have contained an olden cult image, shaped of wood and adorned with globules of amber sourced from afar (the Baltic regions, most likely). In reproductions of the image, these amber lumps can seem like so many clustered teats, or, as some have hazarded, a necklace of bulls’ testicles. In either case, it made an extraordinary sight to behold (Fig. 105).
About halfway through the first century, at least 600 years after the magnificent temple had been built, the worship of Artemis at Ephesus was radically challenged. A stranger called Paul arrived, preaching a message incompatible with the local cult. Against Paul – whose disapproval of the ‘forest of idols’ at Athens has already been mentioned – arose one Demetrios, spokesman on behalf of all those whose trade lay in making silver images of the goddess Artemis. Demetrios rallied his fellow craftsmen, warning them that considerable numbers of people had heeded Paul’s diatribe against idolatry – the argument that ‘gods made with hands are not gods’. Demetrios pointed to the likely loss of business if this reasoning gained ground; he warned that the temple of the great goddess Artemis would be scorned, and she would be deprived of her majestic repute ‘that brought all Asia and the world to worship her’.The crowd erupted, crying ‘Great is Artemis of the Ephesians!’, and immediately sought to lynch the evangelist Paul and his companions (see the Acts of the Apostles, 19:23-41).
