Entry 15 -- The Fool on the Hill

Statue of Gommateshrava, tenth century, carved from a single block of granite, 57 feet high

I remember English class in High School, in the early 1970s; we read the lyrics to the Beatles’ song “The Fool on the Hill”, an ode to the leader of the Transcendental Meditation movement, Maharishi Mahesh Yogi.  The idea of the song was that wisdom is found in one whom the world might disregard, or think foolish.  One might think of Jesus of Nazareth, in the seemingly foolish but oh so wise words of the Sermon on the Mount.  The hill or mount, in many traditions, seems to be the place of the sage, the master, the wise one, the one who sees further and differently than any other.

A couple of weeks ago we went to see a fool on a hill – an ascetic who surrendered his kingdom to meditate on the world and to become one with creation.  Well, not actually the ascetic – who lived, according to legend, hundreds of thousands if not millions of years ago, before civilization even began – but a statue carved in his honour.  And it was certainly on a hill, up 688 dizzying steps carved out of solid granite in the side of a very steep hill.  And  by some tokens he might be regarded as a fool, but as with many fools on many hills, there is a wisdom in his story that continues to be passed on to those who will pay attention.

the feet of the statue, with offerings from pilgrims

I have found it interesting over these past several weeks to learn about Indian art and architecture, particularly in contrast to the things I have learned and know about western art.  Like western art over the course of several centuries, classical Indian art and architecture has a decidedly religious nature.  Just as the Christian church provided both inspiration and patronage to artistic endeavour in Europe’s medieval period, Indian art from a similar time frame is an expression of a deeply religious experience and outlook, and the images depicted are those of the stories, experiences and expressions of a people of faith; as one author notes, they are “sermons in stone of the oneness of all things in the Universal Spirit.”

But these commonalities noted, while European Gothic art, sculpture and architecture tended towards the vertical, Indian art has remained rooted in the things of earth.  Think of western depictions of religion – church spires and high arches that point upwards, long windows of stained glass, and depictions of Christ, the apostles, and the saints (in paint and stone) that are disproportionately elongated, made to appear even taller by the accentuation of height in long, draping garments that reach the ankles.  And in contrast to that vertical dimension, the tendencies in Indian art in the past, have been focussed on a more horizontal dimension of life.  Classical Indian art and architecture is markedly different from that found in Europe, in both form and style.  Temple entrance towers (gopura), while sometimes quite tall, give the illusion less of height than of substance: they tend to be stocky, squared-off blocks of decreasing size with each level, solidly built and giving expression to a faith that is also rooted on earth.  The inspiration they evoke does not come from their height, but their connection to the earth and the figures that adorn them, depicting flowers, trees, people.  The figures carved are full of life, seeming filled with joy and pleasure (including in some Hoysala era temples, figures engaged in the joy of sexual union), and with their feet firmly planted on the ground.  Even the saints and ascetics appear well-fed, cheerful, at peace with the world, unlike the depictions of agony, suffering, anguish and horrific rapture on the faces of European saints.

With this background in mind, venture with me to the village of Shravanabelagola, site of a magnificent statue to the legendary Jain ascetic of millennia ago, the fool on the hill.  Carved out of a solid single piece of granite, the statue of the ascetic Gommateshrava stands almost sixty feet high, and is located at the top of a huge solid granite hill into which over six hundred stone steps have been carved.  The ascent is steep, and with the sun reflecting off the solid black granite, baked to a slightly less than burning temperature on our bare feet; our shoes were left at the entrance, at the foot of the hill, as the whole hill serves as holy space, and there are temples at the top.  With sun and heat, and steep ascent, the climb became almost an act of religious devotion rather than just a journey into India’s artistic history (although for about 400 Rupees, one could hire a sedan chair, a wicker chair attached to two poles which are hoisted on to the shoulders of four able-bodied and, one hopes, sure-footed men who will carry you up, and also down, but only in the early morning and late afternoon).  The climb also became a reminder of the Jain sense of being both otherworldly, but also deeply connected to the ground, religion being rooted in the horizontal sphere of the earth even if that horizontal sphere has some steep ascents.

 

On a hill, where in lore and legend an ascetic might dwell, despite abandoning earthly pleasures, the ascetic is still the creature of earth.  The Jain saint, known as Gommateshwara, is remembered as a holy man in this huge statue in order that his followers might be more mindful of their days on earth.  Carved in the tenth century, Gommateshwara stands directly upright in the posture of meditation, his feet firmly on the ground and his hands at his sides but not touching his body.  He is naked, as is the Jain tradition, showing one who has renounced the world and its objects.  He is relaxed, at ease, peaceful.  Looking up, one can see a faint smile – contentment, perhaps – play across his lips.  His body and muscles, though carved of stone, are relaxed, at peace.  The soul is free from worry and concern, and the body displays this.

It is said that this master ascetic stood so long in meditation that vines grew up around his motionless legs – and so the vines appear in the sculpture.  And while these vines highlight his great spiritual demeanour and holy aspirations, they also hold him firmly to the ground; we realize again that, even in spiritual renunciation, he is a man of earth, and the earth claims him still.  This is not just ethereal spirituality, but a deep conviction and commitment to the creation, this earth, which all religion needs.  As many people have told me, Hinduism is not a religion, it is a way of life; one might summarize Jainism by paraphrasing this sentiment: Jainism is not just a religion, but a connection to life.  It is a valuing of life even through its renunciation.  Perhaps the western religions, particularly Protestant Christianity with its intellectual focus on right doctrine and theology, could learn from staring at the Gommateshwara, and be reminded that we are entwined with creation, and need to remember to be one with creation in life.

The Gommateshwara is a work of art – commissioned by the military commander of the area in the tenth century, it dominates the countryside and can be seen from over twenty kilometres away.  One suspects it also served the purpose of reminding people coming across the plain of the dominance of this regime, as religion and military purposes come together in one sculpture.  Not just a work of art, it is also a work of devotion, a celebration of faith, a declaration of holiness, a witness to a model to emulate; not just an expression of the quest for the divine or the illumination of the word as in western art, it is a declaration of delight in one who has achieved true enlightenment, salvation or siddha. 

The statue has been proposed as a World Heritage Site by the Indian government, and in a display of strength in numbers, in a popular vote of the seven wonders of India, Indian voted this statue in first place, ahead of the Golden Temple and the Taj Mahal.  As we made our way back down the black granite steps, now made even hotter by the noon day sun, we return to earth, to the poverty and the beggars and filth of the village.  Seeing a very young woman with a small child on her hip, stretching out her hand in supplication for money, I remembered reading in the Mysore paper earlier in the week of the rates of infant mortality in rural Karnataka; still one in five children will die before the age of five, from preventable illness like diarrhea because of lack of access to fresh water or  rehydration salts.  I was reminded again that in the gospel story, when the disciples ascend the mountain and see Jesus transfigured before them, they also had to return to the valley below to engage in the work of ministry among the people in need. 

The fools, or sages, on the hills are models, reminders, inspirations, to seek the holy way, but also to be rooted in the created world and to care for the earth and its people.  The presence of God can evoked in the impressive church spires of medieval Europe, or the impressive Jain statuary of the tenth century, but God can also be seen, as Mother Theresa  said, in “such distressing disguise” in the faces of the poor, disenfranchised, children, elderly, sick and disadvantaged.  Whether defined as a religion or a way of life, faith should direct us not only to the vertical dimension, for inspiration, but also to the horizontal level, where life is shared with others.