There exists a great arc dotted with Buddhist cave temples that stretches from the State of Maharashtra in India reaching all the way across the Taklamakan Desert-- deep into the heart of China.
And within 5 centuries, dozens of cave temples covered in murals of impossible beauty were to be created across thousands and thousands of miles along the Silk Road-- all the way to Japan.
I told him: We really should start a railway company and put down tracks to connect all the temples so that pilgrims can ride with us on our glorious mural express.
Being a practical sort of guy, he was dubious about the diplomatic and political hurdles, and so I sought to persuade him.
It would be a wonderous beginning, that's for sure. I mean, starting in India, the Murals of Ajanta would set the mood, right?
He said he was listening. So, I continued:
It must be a riny narrow gauge train with blue cars and a carmine red engine and red caboose. "Just like the one we rode to Shimla," I say. And it won't be for everyone either-- for like Mecca, our train will be a place reserved only for true believers-- for believers of love and beauty.
He smiled and answered that, It wouldn't be easy since the mountains kind of get in the way.
That's when I tell him my plan to dynamite our way through the mountains:
What do you think about blasting a huge tunnel that goes for miles and miles under the Himalaya—and then we can use laser lights to recreate all the murals that were lost on the tunnel’s dark walls for our dear passangers? Wouldn’t it be romantic? They can dine on Cantonese cuisine by candlelight as they watch the evening laser light mural show? After all, so much has been lost.
Are you in or not, my darling?
I'm in, he says at last. And asks, Where to from Ajanta?
Well, first it's up to Ladakh.
Ladakh? Isn't that a little off the beaten track?
No, not really. For in that remote region, downtown Leh might as well be downtown Manhattan. And everyone loves Manhattan.
Just a few kilometers outside of the town of Leh is-- of course-- the Monastary of Alchi, which has paintings that have almost stained my mind with their dazzlingly rich colors. As I have written in these pages before, sometimes when I close my eyes before sleeping at night--even now all these years later-- I see those colors. And, it was Alchi that first inspired me to dream this dream journey dream from Ajanta to Dunhuang and then all the way across to Horyuji-- traveling on the glorious mural express.
**
I spent some time last year translating two documents for the Oriental Library about two other cave temple sites along the Silk Road: Bezeklik and Kizil. As I looked at photos from the sites, I become dazed like a pilgrim-- nearly blinded by the beauty of the Flaming Mountains and and the seering noonday sun of the desert, I imagine stepping into a darkened cave temple, and there I find myself in another dimension-- a place of pilgramage.
This from my translation:
The architecture follows an iconographic programme, functioning as the stage for the carrying out of a Buddhist pilgrimage. device for this procedure. Entering the cave, the pilgrim first contemplates the past lives of the Buddha as he or she passes along murals depicting scenes from these past lives. The pilgrim would next circumambulate the corridor moving in a clockwise fashion. Along the back walls, the pilgrim would view scenes Sakyamuni’s nirvana scene and in order to contemplate his or her own existence...
Like falling in love; like mountains of the mind; indeed, like all pilgramages-- this is an imaginary possession achieved via the colloboration between physical form and human imagination; a dream journey that occurs at precisely that disjuncture between the real and the imagined. Pilgramage. I wonder if this is not yet another essential human practice on the decline (an endangered species?) Pilgramage being of particular significance since it is both practiced collectively together with others and serves to connect inner and outer understanding.
Recently, I listened to an old TED Talk lecture with Matthieu Ricard, on his book the Habits of Happiness. In the lecture, Ricard talks about the Buddhist idea of a pebble being tossed about on the waves on the ocean. Most of us exist in such a state that like a pebble being tossed about in the water, our state of mind is so dependent on outside forces that we are happy when things are going well and then crash when bad things happens. The Buddhists tell us to combat this doomed way of being, we need to cultivate our inner serenity, inner freedom, and confidence through what Ricard calls mind training (ie meditation). For it is mind that "translates" all our outer experiences into inner meaning, he says. As a translator myself, this image of mind "translating" experiences into meaning speaks to me very strongly. Ricard urges us to think about how illusory our control inevitably is over outer circumstances. And indeed we meet people all the time who have everything in the world and yet remain unhappy. And vice versa, those suffering great adversity who seem strangely quite happy.
In the end, I think just as Ricard says, it all comes down to working to cultivate practices and habits which will enrich us by forming and strengthening what is an underlying ethical-aesthetic sensibility-- for it is that which will help us to flourish and feel serenity. Ricard talks of meditation while the Dalai Lama speaks above about the "shaping power" of pilgramage. The Dalai Lama's words above recall the project of the Confucian Rites as proper comportment through the cultivation of ethico-aesthetic sensibility, don't you think? I know I am not the only one who wonders what is at stake for the human race when collective and shared practices which have long served to connect inner and outer understanding via the human heart are lost forever (Are we really destined to become McPeople like I fear?).
I like to imagine that the Mural Express will have a special line that travels West to Bamyan, which stands as the ultimate symbol of that which is lost forever and then East all the way to Japan. For what better place than Japan to end up? Beautiful Japan-- land of the Great Antiquinarians, the Japanese have been obsessed with the Silk Road since the 1980s and scholars continue to work to re-create what was lost--in reproductions or in digitalization--in what in itself is an act of pilgrammage.
Sometime around the year 670, a shining prince-- the son of the last Sassanid King-- arrived in the Tang capital. He was there to beg for protection from the Arab invaders who now ocuppied his country. Exhausted and covered in dust from the journey, the young prince-- who was barely out of boyhood--was led into the Great Hall. It had taken him the best part of a decade to arrive. In fact, he never believed he would actually make it; imagining instead being murdered or perhaps dying from cold and exhaustion somewhere en route over the towering mountains and terrifying deserts through which he had passed on his way East.
Somehow, though, he did make it, and arriving at dusk, just before the gates of the great city were secured shut for the night, a regiment of guards from the Chinese Emperor's Palace arrived to escort him through the city.
And what a city it was.
When he was a child, his father had told him much about the great capital to the East-- larger and richer than even Rome or Byzantium. Rome, of course, had been sacked two centuries before, and Byzantium was itself in decline. And then there was his own glorious empire-- it still brought tears to his eyes just thinking of it. The Sassanid Empire had been the greatest empire on earth-- rivaled only by Byzantium to the West and China to the East, but it now lay in ruins. His family all dead, his heritage scattered like the sands of the desert blown here and there in the wind.
When the Arabs had invaded, he and his family-- along with a great entourage of supporters-- had fled eastward. Born in 226 a.d. the ancient Persian Sassanid Empire had once stretched from the Levant and Constantinople in the West to the Indian subcontinent in the East and had encompassed all of present-day Iraq, Armenia and Afghanistan; as well as much of Turkey, Syria, Arabia and Pakistan. These lands-- as well as the Persian colonies in Central Asia-- were all part of the great Persian sphere of influence; whose emperors were held as equals by both the Roman and the Chinese emperors.
For 400 years, they had been called Shahanshah-- or, the "King of Kings." And, theirs was the last great Persian empire prior to the invasion of the Arabs and the beginnings of Islam. Zoorastrians by religion, it was a Kingdom ruled by a federation of aristocratic families whose splendid cultural achievements would be taken up by their Arab conquerers with gusto. In fact, much of what later came to be known as Islamic culture-- from calligraphy and poetry to garden design and architecture-- was borrowed largely from the Sassanian empire.
When the Arab conquerers stormed the Persian capital of Ctesiphon in 637, such were their numbers that his Father's only choice had been to flee. From Ctesiphon, located on the Tigris, just a bit downstream from Baghdad (founded about 150 years later), on horseback they had raced East in the hope of gathering support for their cause. None of the great families, however, had agreed to help them mount an army to oust the Arab invaders, and by the time they had reached Merv, on the Eastern edge of their empire, they were spent.
It was there that the greatest tragedy of all happened. His Father had been murdered-- right in front of his own eyes. And what had been perhaps the greatest blow was that he had been murdered by a commoner. Robbed and murdered for his purse, the great Shahanshah, Yazdgerd III, had been killed by a miller. It was 651, and they had been in flight for some 14 years.
So, that had been that. With their cause now dead, the aristocratic and ruling families who had followed them East decided to stay and put down roots in Merv, as well as in the nearby Persian areas of Sogdiana, Tashkent and Khotan. Our young Prince, however, would always live with a price on his head. He, therefore, required protection. He thought and thought, but there seemed nowhere to turn-- until he remembered his sister. Before he was born, she had already been married off to the great Tang Emperor to the East. And, so he had set out East--to China.
It was the heyday of the Silk Road, so he had just followed the well-worn path of other Persians before him. First into Sogdiana and then crossing the Pamirs, he had had to make it across the unending stretch of sand of the deserts of inner Asia. Skirting the southern edges of the Taklamakan Desert, first he traveled to Kashgar; then on to Yarkand, Khotan, and all the way to Dunhuang. From there, it had just been a matter of descending down off the plateau and heading East, toward the capital.
Persian peoples dominated the entire route. The great middle men of the Silk Road, Persian communities (and most notably the Sogdians) had greeted him in every town he passed through along the way. From Merv to Chang'an, whenever he stopped, he had stayed in Persian inns, eaten Persian foods and had spoken in the refined Persian language of the Court-- and he was, for the most part-- understood.
He would be further stunned to see of his country's influence in China proper as well. It gave him heart. Yes, theirs had been the greatest civilization of the world-- for even the Chinese thought so.
The Chinese capital, though, he had to admit, had surpassed even the Persian capital during its height. As French scholar Michel Beurdeley has noted, “the title of Middle Kingdom was richly deserved by China during the Tang dynasty,” as the high civilization and celebrated cosmopolitanism of the Tang dynasty truly had no precedent anywhere on earth prior to that time-- not even Byzantium saw such a rich display of goods and peoples.
While the Tang capital of Chang'an was the largest, most international city in the world of the time, the Second Capital of Loyang was no less impressive. Both cities were inhabited by traders, entertainers and religious teachers and students from places as far-flung as Syria, Oman, Iran, Khotan, Sogdiana, Turkestan, Tibet, India, Champa, Funan, Korea, and Japan, just to name a few. There were Mosques, Jewish, Manichean and Zoroastrian temples, Nestorian churches, as well as Buddhist monasteries of all sects, some of which were great centers of scholarship. Most surprising (considering the inward turn China would take in the coming centuries) was how stunningly exotic and open the city was.
It was a city where wealthy ladies adorned their cheeks with crimson laq from Vietnam and anointed their bodies with perfumed oils of Cambodia; where aristocrats kept falcons from Korea, parrots from the jungles of Java and lapdogs from Samarkand. Sleeping in Turkish felt tents was the latest fashion as were the dance moves from Sogdiana. And, the music. The capital saw glorious performances by dancers from Central Asia and India showing dances of such beauty that the famed Tang poets of the time composed poem after poem about them. Grape wine had also come into fashion and was served in glass ewers from Persia. There were lychees from Canton and those oh-so famous peaches of Samarkand.
Of all the foreign fashions, the influence of Iran was without a doubt most significant of all. During the Tang, anything Persian-- from music and dancing, to clothes, hairstyles and the game of Polo-- enjoyed huge popularity at Court and among the aristocracy-- indeed, they were considered to be the very height of fashion. This surprising turn in history came about as part of the Tang Dynasty’s political and military incursions further and further West, into Central Asia (to the land of their prized “blood sweating” stallions and jade) as well as into the Middle East (where beautiful glass and the mineral cobalt was secured).
It was the Iranian Sogdian peoples who held the greatest influence. They were the great merchants, traders and entertainers of the legendary silk road. Known in Chinese as hu jen 胡人, their cultural influence among the Chinese aristocrats was remarkable. It is written in the Tang histories that “the food of the aristocrats was hu food, their music hu music, and their women clothed in the most exotic hu robes that money could buy.” Indeed, in the words of one Japanese scholar, the Tang capital of Chang'an was “painted entirely in the colors of hu.”
And so our Persian Prince was pleasantly surprised. Such was the Chinese Emperor's great appreciation of the accomplishments of the Persian civilization that upon their first meeting they declared themselves brothers. Born and raised the song of a King, the Prince knew not to make eye-contact with the Son of Heaven, and instead fell to his knees. The great Emperor rose to his feet and stepping off his dais, he bent down to bid the young Prince to his feet.
"You've come a long way. Have no more fears. For you are my brother and this is your new home."
Prince Pirooz was to spend the rest of his days within China. He is said to have learned Kung Fu and then went on to become a general in the army. Sent West to fight their mutual enemies the Arabs, the Persian Prince used his remaining money and resources to make whatever trouble he could. He had probably given up all hope of re-taking his empire-- still it must have felt good to win a battle or two. The Tang chronicles state that when the Chinese emperor died, Pirooz and his son Narseh were allowed to be stationed along the western border garrisons by the new Chinese emperor. Immediately, they started clashes against the Umayyad Arabs. Soliciting the aid of Turkish tribes, Prince Pirooz spent the rest of his days fighting the Arabs along China's Western corridor.
He died around 700 in the West, still fighting the Arabs wherever he could. His son-- who also begame a respected general in the Chinese army, wrote this in his diary (from Frank Wong's article which is pretty much the only thing around online about Prince Pirooz):
Pirooz requested only a simple burial and the Chinese emperor approved. The entire exiled court was in attendance along with the Chinese emperor. The Chinese emperor held Pirooz's shaking hands. Pirooz looked west and said: "I have done what I could for my homeland (Persia) and I have no regrets." Then, he looked east and said: "I am grateful to China, my new homeland." Then he looked at his immediate family and all the Persians in attendance and said: "Contribute your talents and devote it to the emperor. We are no longer Persians. We are now Chinese." Then, he died peacefully. A beautiful horse was made to gallop around his coffin 33 times before burial, because this was the number of military victories he had during his lifetime. Pirooz was a great Chinese general and great Persian prince devoted and loyal to his people.
And so our Prince died in one of the most remote regions on earth; fighting his enemies till the very end. He was buried facing West.
**
One of Iran's great contemporary playwrights, Bahram Beyzaie, wrote a very popular play about the murder of the last Sassanian King (Pirooz's father) called the Death of Yazdgard. Put on just after the Revolution in Iran, it was not well-received by the authorities. Still it was made into a film and has been staged several times outside Iran (as recently as 2006, in fact). The play, which is compared to in significance to that of A Streetcar Named Desire or Death of a Salesman, basically explores issues of invasion (on many levels) and good kingship. This article about the Darvag performance in Berkeley and San Francisco is really interesting, especially about how they had to purge the play for any references about the ancient Arab invasion, because "we didn't want to cause any misunderstandings-- especially after 9-11."
In Japan, she is known as Yokihi 楊貴妃. And everyone knows the sad story of the emperor, whose desire for her beauty was so great that he allowed his glorious empire to fall.
The emperor neglected the world from that moment, Lavished his time on her in endless enjoyment. She was his springtime mistress, and his midnight tyrant. Though there were three thousand ladies all of great beauty, All his gifts were devoted to one person.
Li Palace rose high in the clouds. The winds carried soft magic notes, Songs and graceful dances, string and pipe music. He could never stop himself from gazing at her.
Their flight into the mountains of Shu was immortalized by Tang poet Bai Juyi (Po Chu'i 白居易) in his poem, Song of Eternal Sorrow. And, this poem, finding its way to Japan is said to be the inspiration for the Tale of Genji.
There is a famous painting in the Met, Emperor Hsuan-tsung's Flight to Shu, painted by a Tang artist, which depicts their sad end.
A line of horses-- a typical Tang processional painting-- slowly moves along the mountain path. The horsemen are carrying imperial banners and weapons (swords and bows and arrowｓ)-- except for one lone rider. Drsssed in crimsone robes, it is the Emperor. He turns back-- perhaps to try and get one last glimpse of his love, strangled to death right there on the side of the road.
But the Earth reels. War drums fill East Pass, Drown out the Feathered Coat and Rainbow Skirt・ Great Swallow Pagoda and Hall of Light, Are bathed in dust - the army fleeing Southwards. Out there Imperial banners, wavering, pausing Until by the river forty miles from West Gate, The army stopped. No one would go forward, Until horses・hooves trampled willow eyebrows. Flower on a hairpin. No one to save it. Gold and jade phoenix. No one retrieved it. Covering his face the Emperor rode on. Turned to look back at that place of tears, Hidden by a yellow dust whirled by a cold wind.
As Shu waters flow green, Shu mountains show blue, His majesty's love remained, deeper than the new. White moon of loneliness, cold moon of exile. Bell-chimes in evening rain were bronze-edged heartbeats. So when the dragon-car turned again northwards The Emperor clung to Ma-Wei dust, never desiring To leave that place of memories and heartbreak. Where is the white jade in heaven and earth turning?
Similar to our Prince Pirooz, in Japan, there is a legend that Yang Guifei did not die on that hard road, but rather made her way East-- to Japan--that land where all treasures seem to find a safe haven. And for that reason, in Japan you can find her grave in Yamaguchi Prefecture (for example) as well as various shrines (for example) dedicated to her here and there around the country. Right down to today, in fact, aristocratic music and dances associated with her story are still performed.
This romance that rocked the Empire-- it was a romance not merely based on physical love as they shared a love of music, dance, poetry and art. He on the Kuchan drum and she performing her beloved Central Asian dances, the two lovers spent their days as if they dwelled within a beautiful poem.
Indeed, flipping through my Gagaku handbook, nearly all the Togaku dances listed seem to have originated within their glorious Pear Garden Academy 梨園.
The dance most associated with Yang Guifei has to be the famous Rainbow Dance 霓裳羽衣舞. Michel Beurdeley, writes:
Her most beautiful dress, a gown "shimmering like sunlight" was made of rare feathers brought as tribute to the Emperor. It was a fairylike robe which she wore to perform the famous Rainbow Dance (still preserved in modern Japan) before the Emperor. A dress of feathers was the dream of every woman of the Tang Court.
The dance is still performed in China today as well. However, much like Tang music, what is performed is a creative reproduction (based in part on murals-- like the one at the top of the page-- of dancers found at Dunhuang). When Beurdeley says, the dance is still "preserved" in Japan, what he means is that the dance which arrived "real-time" in Japan during the Tang dynasty, was slowed down and preserved "as is" within the Imperial Court all the way down to today in an unbroken line.
One of the Three Famed Beauties of Noh Theater, according to Noh actor Minoru Shibata, it is Yang Guifei alone who is able to move between the world of the living and the world of the dead. (Usually, the dead are depicted as ghosts, or are part of a dialog of times past). And, like the scattering cherry blossoms, rather than the splendid flowering of their love, it is the Emepror's unbearable lonliness after she is gone that serves as the central theme of the plays dedicated to her story.
Images of Yang Guifei and Genji also seem to overlap--- so that when the Rainbow Dance is performed in the Noh play, Yang Guifei, the dancer dances to the words of Genji-- when he danced another Central Asian dance, Waves of the Blue Ocean:
"Through the waving, dancing sleeves could you see a heart So stormy that it wished but to be still?"
These words, of course, were those sent to his lover (who is also his father's wife) the morning after the dance. She is pregnant with his child.
A terrible crime, and yet she cannot resist the letter and answers,
"Of waving Chinese sleeves I cannot speak. Each step, each motion, touched me to the heart.
The Noh dancer playing the part of the Concubine, dances to the music of the Emperor's flute, images of Yang Guifei, who was at first the wife of the Emperor's son (until the Emperor stole her away), overlap with those of Genji and his father's wife Fujitsubo...tangled webs....
Guest Editor: Leanne Ogasawara / Design: Kevin Foley (www.kfdesign.jp)
Leanne Ogasawara's blog, www.tangdynastytimes.com/, was the catalyst for this special themed issue of KJ. In posts that read as dispatches from outposts on a journey of exploration deep into the history of relations between East and West, she reflects on aspects of what a truly global culture might encompass, presenting Tang multiculturalism and Silk Road cosmopolitanism (and much, much more) as reference points for our present times...
Metaphorically, silk speaks of brilliant threads weaving complex interfaces, intricate interplay of elaborate craft processes, subtle aesthetics and the erotic charge of luxury and wealth. In the West, it has since Roman times conjured an exotic, mysterious Orient. Ever pragmatic, China traded silk for the 'heavenly horses' of Central Asia, up to forty bolts of silk for each fleet mount, buying its military equal footing with the nomadic foes that harassed its borders.
In the East, the Road itself is the more powerful metaphor. Every path of personal development, in martial or aesthetic arts, is a Way. In the even bigger picture, the Dao — written with the same character as 'road' — signifies the true nature of the universe.
(From introduction by Ken Rodgers)
CONTENTS:
10,000 Miles Away: Chang'an and Nara By the year 710, when Japan's imperial capital was moved to Nara (a city modeled on Chang'an, as was the later capital Kyoto), Tang China was booming. The Tang period — the only time when a woman, the fascinating Empress Wu, ruled China — was the most open era in that nation's history, giving rise to a rich multiethnic and multicultural empire, encompassing Turkestan, nine kingdoms around Samarkand and Tashkent, 16 kingdoms in present-day Kashmir, Afghanistan and Iran, Manchuria, and present-day Korea. The Tang era is widely considered to be the zenith in Chinese civilization, superior even to the great Han dynasty, by which time China was already connected by caravan routes to Rome and Persia, and by sea to Japan.
Of Bonds, 'the Word' and Trade – Jeff Fuchs Geographies are given lifeblood by the peoples that inhabit them and it was the peoples that more often than not, defined the ‘success’ (or not) of both the caravans and more importantly, trade itself. Relationships, bonds and that almost forgotten virtue, honor, were crucial along the almost mythical trade routes. Crucial enough for traders to refer to an oft quoted ‘mountain maxim’ and philosophy, when describing voyages: “Cooperate or perish.”
TheRoad to Oxiana–Leanne Ogasawara A thousand years before the infamous “Great Game,” the name given to the intense rivalry that existed at the turn of the century between Czarist Russia and Victorian England for supremacy in Central Asia, there was another “Great Game.” This older rivalry occurred between the Chinese, the Arabs, the Tibetans, and the Turkish peoples. The region they were fighting for was the same old stretch of land — one that has somehow remained right smack in the middle of everything for a millenium.
The Great Kashgar Bus Convoy – Bill Porter After ten hours on the road, all we could think of was a meal and a bed. As we checked into the bus station hotel, the girl at the desk told us the road ahead was still blocked by landslides. The slides, she said, were all on the Pakistan side, and we were still a hundred kilometers short of the border. The girl added that nothing bigger than a bicycle had made it through for the past forty days and that we would have to walk sixty kilometers to get through all the slides. She laughed at the idea of our convoy making it.
Along the Silk Road Today – Pico Iyer To get to the Desert Rain coffee-house in central Leh, you have to walk off the crowded main street that leads to the mosque and slither through a passageway to a parallel back lane, barely paved, too narrow for more than three people to pass at a time, in the process forever of being completed, so it seems, with the ruins of Leh Palace above it on a hill.
The Kashgar Case –Mark Mordue Some time ago at the Byron Bay Writers Festival I was invited to speak on a travel panel called “Evocative Images from Around the World.” We were asked to describe how we translated exotic images into stories, and what this meant for both the writer and the reader. Did something substantial occur, or was it just armchair travelling?
Observations from the Field: Space and Its Discontents in Kashgar – Isaac Blacksin Toward the outskirts of Kashgar stands a new city, not yet completed, in which great white sentinels proudly display their right-angled concrete bulk, waiting. Closer to the melon orchards than the city center, these are the new homes — some ten stories high, many twenty — to which a sizable chunk of Kashgar's population, upwards of 13,000 families, will be moved in the months and years ahead.
Of the many common cultural practices found along the Silk Road, from Samarkand to Nara, kite-flying must be one of the most beloved. An avid kite-flyer since his boyhood, Chorier combines his childhood passion with his professional skills as a photographer. He uses three kites; the largest spans 12 square meters and can soar up to 1,000 feet, "though low altitudes often prove to be more interesting," he says.
Digital Bezeklik – Leanne Ogasawara European explorers who roamed the deserts of Central Asia at the beginning of the 20th century were astonished to uncover dazzling paintings of figures with Persian, Indian, and Chinese features. In addition to Buddhism, the murals reveal some Christian Manichean and Nestorian characteristics. Japanese explorers were equally surprised to recognize the Persian-style flower motifs long associated with 8th-century Japanese temples in Nara.
On the Trail of Texts – Isaac Blacksin There is a cultural of appreciation here in Japan for looking at words, experiencing words as a physical form. One reason for this is the nature of kanji itself; as an ideography, it carries a meaning and a story in its very form, as opposed to a [phonic] alphabet. Of course, there is some Roman art with letters, but the Japanese audience carries the culture in which looking at words, at letters, becomes a significant experience.
Alexander Csoma de Kõrösi, The Grandfather of Modern Day Tibetan Translation – Matteo Pistono It was on 20 February 1819 that Csoma de Körösi set out afoot to China via Moscow, intending to enter East Turkistan from the north. Count Teleky met Csoma de Körösi on the road that morning and asked him where he was going. Pausing briefly, a truly beatific Csoma de Körösi replied unambiguously, “I am going to Asia in search of our relatives.”
Civilizations Never Clash, Ignorance Does – Hattori Eiji What we are required to do now is to become truly civilized. A civilized person is the one who “knows oneself, and tries to learn from others”; the one who knows and respects the dif- ference of cultures; the one who seeks the transversal values of humanity found in all these cultures. Peace for mankind in the future should be constructed, not on the logic of power, but on the rediscovery of the spirit of mutual respect, on the very “wisdom” of knowing that “mutual respect” does mean “mutual benefit.”
Tibet and Xinjiang: the New Bamboo Curtain – Parag Khanna Tibet and Xinjiang today set the stage for the rebirth of a multi-ethnic empire in ways that resemble nothing so much as America’s frontier expansion nearly two centuries ago. Chinese think about their mission civilatrice today very much the way American settlers did: They are bringing development and modernity. Asiatic, Buddhist Tibetans and Turkic, Muslim Uyghurs are being lifted out of the third world, whether they like it or not. They are getting roads, telephone lines, hospitals, and jobs.
Beauty and Power on China's Silk Road – Sam Crane The apsara of Mogao and the soldiers of Xian remind us of the disparate purposes of the Silk Road. Dunhuang is an oasis crossroads. A place where pilgrims stopped and stayed and were drawn to beauty, the spectacular possibilities of color and line and form. Cultures mixed freely and faith blossomed. The road brought people closer to nirvana. Conversely, Qin's soldiers are emblems of power. They stand, now frozen and mute and impotent, as symbols of the maneuver and noise and force of military assault.
Poetry: The Treasures of Dunhuang (1) 2000 Buddhas – Jerome Rothenburg
Gandhara– Leanne Ogasawara The Japanese are the world's great antiquarians, and they above most people find it impossible to grasp why anyone would want to destroy those priceless statues which towered up against the sandstone cliffs for 1,300 years in what is called one of the world's most beautiful high-altitude valleys.
The Hollow Staff: Western Music and the Silk Road –Paul Rodriguez The Silk Road would have been full of musicians, musicians living in hope and without plans, musicians from a dozen distinct traditions traveling in the same caravans, meeting around the same fires. What did they say to one another when they met, when they saw the telltale marks on lips and fingers, saw the shrouded awkward bulk, too precious to be parted with, heard a song drift in from out of sight and saw someone else sway a little too eagerly, swing arms and fingers a little too rapidly? Silk Road Synchronicity – Preston Houser The ancient pipa itself, a probable precursor to the Japanese biwa, was a four-string instrument, capable of producing twenty distinct notes. Played by virtuoso Ye Xu-ran, the pipa sounds like a banjo in the hands of a sedate Appalachian bodhisattva.
Collaboration in Harmony: An Interview with Miki Minoru – C.B.Liddell and Leanne Ogasawara For me, the Silk Road is a symbol for East-West relations from recent times till today, as well as a symbol for contemporary North-South issues. In addition to my operas, I think my current life's work has come to be taken up with the production of work which harmoniously brings together the cultural developments of the West and the little-known but fascinating cultural riches of Southeast Asia, together with the musical traditions of East Asia, in order to create something completely new in terms of music.
IN TRANSLATION: Reflections on the Hagoromo Legend – Umewaka Yasunori In China too, we find variations of the Hagoromo legend in almost every part of the country. While the oldest instance found in Japanese literature is said to be that in the Omi-no-kuni Fudoki (Stories of the Province of Omi) from the eighth century, a similar story is found in Chinese literature in the fourteenth volume of the Sou-shen chi, which was written some 400 years earlier.
Journeys to the Western Realm – Jean Miyake Downey The cultural influences that permeated early Japan weren't just from China – a diverse culture formed out of multicultural fusion over many millennia itself– but instead came from Silk Road interactions that connected the cultures of East and South Asia, Central Asia, ancient Greece and Rome, the Middle East, and Africa. [Erratum: In the print version of this essay, two quotes, by Basho and Hirayama Ikuo, appear if written by Jean Miyake Downey. We will post a full corrected version online].
Kuchean Dancers and the Sogdian Whirl– Leanne Ogasawara Japan is, of course, one of the world's great civilizations, but, alas, it was a late bloomer. During Tang times, it was still more or less an illiterate, rather unsophisticated society. Therefore, most Japan scholars acknowledge that Japan must have had a lot of help from “"foreign advisors" during this period. For the most part, the Koreans are credited for the direction of the great surge in artistic and intellectual productivity of the Asuka and Nara periods. There are those, too, who say Iranians had a large (if indirect) part to play...
Behind Glass: Japan's Silk Roads Memorabilia – Iaac Blacksin The Silk Roads is not just a time or a place, neither an ideology nor an economic system; as a metaphor and a bridge, it is all of these things and more. Accordingly, when it comes time to display Silk Roads artifacts {and manuscripts}, the weighty history of the subject often overwhelms the dim lighting and behind-the-glass isolation of museum presentation. That said, there are quite a few places in Japan that attempt to contextualize the Silk Roads continuum, to contain its materials remnants, allowing for an eager audience to glean something of its importance.
Japan's Birthplace Commemorates its Silk Roads Heritage – Shinno Haruka
Marco Polo's India-- Namit Arora Returning home from China in 1292 CE, Marco Polo arrives on the Coromandel Coast of India in a typical merchant ship with over sixty cabins and up to 300 crewmen. He enters the kingdom of the Tamil Pandyas near modern day Tanjore, where, according to custom, “the king and his barons and everyone else all sit on the earth.” He asks the king why they “do not seat themselves more honorably.” The king replies, “To sit on the earth is honorable enough, because we were made from the earth and to the earth we must return.”
Rawak Stupa – Don Croner On March 6, 1925, the Roerich Expedition led by mystic painter, occultist, alleged spy, Shambhalist, and all-around intriguer Nicholas Roerich left Darjeeling, India on what would be a three-year journey through Central Asia and Tibet, with stops in Kashmir in India, Xinjiang Province in China, the Russian Altai Mountains in Siberia, Ulaan Baatar and Amarbuyant Khiid in Mongolia, the Tibetan Plateau, and numerous places in between.
Bright Road – Robert Brady The world is a mind, where there are traces, paths, trails, highways, expressways, leading to futures of mystery our ancestors long ago heard whispers of in dreams... And we here, standing where we are in this world to which the old road has led, do we know where we are, any more than those early travelers?
All the Peonies of Chang'an– Leanne Ogasawara Re-reading Yasushi Inoue's novel, Tun-Huang, I delight in the fact that the author wrote the entire story without ever having set foot in Western China. At that time (the late 1950s), no Japanese or European scholars were allowed to travel to the area. And yet, Tun-Huang remains to my mind the most vivid account of the Silk Road oasis city ever published.
Reviews
Shadow of the Silk Road, by Colin Thubron— James Dalglish (plus a short interview with the author, July 2008) Empires of the Silk Road: A History of Central Eurasia from the Bronze Age to the Present, by Christopher I. Beckwith— Stephen Dodson Did Marco Polo Go to China?, by Frances Wood; Marco Polo and the Discovery of the World, by John Larner; Invisible Cities, by Italo Calvino— Ken Rodgers Religions of the Silk Road: Overland Trade and Cultural Exchange from Antiquity to the Fifteenth Century, by Richard C. Foltz— Preston L. Houser The Silk Road: Art and History, by Jonathon Tucker— Winnie Shiraishi Ghost Train to the Eastern Star, by Paul Theroux— Rasoul Sorkhabi
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--from the archives (why the battle of talas is my favorite battle)
The almond groves of Samarqand, Bokhara, where red lilies blow. And Oxus, by whose yellow sand The grave white-turbaned merchants go --Oscar Wilde
1000 years before the infamous "Great Game," which was the name given to the intense rivalry that existed at the turn of the century between Czarist Russia and Victorian England for supremacy in Central Asia, there was another "Great Game." This older rivalry occurred between the Chinese, the Arabs, the Tibetans, and Turkish peoples.
And the region they were fighting for, you ask? Well, it was the same old stretch of land-- a stretch of land that has somehow remained right smack in the middle of everything for 1000 years.
To the East was China, and such was China's greatness under the Tang dynasty that none save the Arabs to the West were said to rival her. Rome had long been overrun, and for all intents and purposes Byzantium was in a state of great decline. The Arabs-- in what was a stunning rise to power-- after toppling the Persian Sassanian dynasty in 637, had next turned their attention to those lands to the East.
Despite the astonishing speed at which the countries of the Middle East came under the power of the Arabs and Islam, the nations of Central Asia, which had long been part of the Persian sphere of influence, proved to be a much tougher nut to crack. As the Arabs made increasing encroachments into areas long considered by the Chinese as being part of their sphere of influence (particularly that of Transoxiana) the Chinese and Arabs saw increased fighting occur along China's Western borders.
The Chinese, however, also had the Tibetan Empire (which had reached its zenith during Tang times) to the southwest and various nomadic peoples (such as the Turkish Uighurs and Mongols) with their shifting alliances and shifting moods to the north to contend with as well. Perhaps what is most surprising, as Susan Whitfield points our in her fascinating book, Life Along the Silk Road, is that these empires and super-powers clashed in places that were not only thousands of miles from their home bases, but were in some of the most remote spots on earth. The battles almost exclusively occurred on frozen mountain terrain or in desolate and burning deserts.
Of course, skirmishes like this continue down to today. I mean, we still see India, China, and Pakistan (among others) wrestling for control of a Himalayan peak 17,000 feet above sea level or some stretch of highway in the desert. You cannot help but think to yourself, if they really want that glacier that badly, why not give it to them? But, regiments of Indian, Chinese and Pakistani soldiers remain stationed high up in the mountains year-round. It is for strategic reasons, they are told, in strategic foreign policy that is as old as the silk road.
It is the terrain that perhaps more than anything defines Central Asia. In addition to being dominated by some of the highest mountain ranges on earth, the area is also home to some of the most deadly deserts and lifeless basin areas as well. Completely landlocked, it is a land of great extremes. Through this rough terrain, two great rivers flow north-- down from the mountains into the Aral Sea. These rivers are the lifeblood of the people.
To the West, forming a natural border between Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan; and then between Tajikistan and Afghanistan is the Amu Darya. The river is known locally as the Jayhoun, which is thought to be derived from Gihon-- one of the four rivers of the Garden of Eden of the Bible. We in the West know the river by its Classical Greek name, the Oxus. The other river, the Syr Darya flows the great length of Central Asia from the Krgyz Republic; briefly into Uzbekistan and then through Kazakhstan. This river is also commonly referred to by its ancient Greek name, the Jaxartes-- being perhaps most famous as the northernmost point of Alexander the Great's conquests in the East.
From ancient Greek times, the land between the rivers was known as Transoxiana-- or Oxiana.
It was not far from the Syr Darya River that the decisive Battle of Talas took place. Occurring in 751, the five day battle is one of the most important battles of the East (and yet few in the West have even heard of it!). The Arabs in their push Eastward (into lands previously held by the Persians) were seriously encroaching on China's strategic Silk Road Garrisons. Something had to be done, so the Emperor sent out his best forces under the leadership of the famed Korean commander Gao Xianshi. Known as Lord of the Mountains, Commander Gao had made a career out of inflicting defeat on China's enemies to the West. Inflicting defeat on Turks, Tibetans and Arabs, the battles were fought almost exclusively in the dazzlingly high Pamir Mountains.
Neither side wanted war-- as war would interrupt what had for centuries been the incredibly lucrative trade of luxury items that passed through Transoxiana. Silk was the most famous item traded, but passing from the West through Oxiana on its way East was the lucrative trade in furs, amber, honey and walrus ivory from Eastern Europe. Plus they each had other enemies to contend with as well. Sending emissaries to visit each other's capitals to negotiate, there is little doubt that neither side wanted war--- and yet they were on an inevitable collision course.
The underlying cause of the Battle actually had nothing whatsoever to do with Chinese-Arab relations, but rather was caused by tensions with Tibet and a local feud between two small Central Asian Kingdoms. The Tibetans at the time not only had a highly sophisticated culture but they also had a strong military-- a military which was on the move. They had caused China no end of troubles with their incursions further and further North (into areas long considered under Chinese suzerainty). To stave off any further ambitions, China established alliances with the Kingdoms to their rear in Kashmir and in the Pamirs. But, things came to a head when the King of the Kingdom of Gilgit announced himself as being pro-Tibetan. The Chinese had had enough and sent in their Commander of the Mountains, Gao Xianshi.
Swooping down on the enemy in a surprise attack, he destroyed the bridges into the Kingdom thereby cutting off help expected from the Tibetans, and before any allies could arrive to fight alongside them, Gao had cut off the heads of the King and his advisers. And that was that. Commander Gao became the Military Governor of the region, including Kucha and Kashmir and from that base, China kept a hand in all that went on in the area. (This battle forms the backdrop of Susan Whitfield's second Tale in her book, Life Along the Silk Road).
It seemed that an uneasy alliance between the Tibetans and Chinese, as well as the Chinese and Arabs had been formed, until a petty feud between two Kings further North in Transoxiana brought things to a head again. This time, it wasn't just the Tibetans either, but the Arabs who were also said to have played a role, when the King of Ferghana was deposed with the alleged help of both the Tibetans and Arabs. The deposed King escaped to Kucha were he requested help from his old ally Commander Gao who was still there as Military Governor. In the process of re-installing the King, Gao led massacres in three towns in Sogdiana, which were increasingly closer to the Arab-controlled regions.
Sensing the time had come to put the Chinese in their place, the Abbassid Governor in Khorasan mobilized his army. Marching from Merv, they crossed the Oxus, heading straight for Kashgar. The two Titans finally crossed paths on the banks of the Talas River, in Kyrgystan. During the encounter, the Arabs achieved a stunning victory which they credit to superior strategy. The Chinese, for their part, blame defection of their allies part way through the battle.
While it was neither excessively long or bloody, the Battle of Talas remains the battle people talk about. Arab sites give it an almost jihad-ish flavor as the battle which caused the "infidels to take flight." And both sides seem to agree that if the Battle had gone the other way, it would have been China , not Islam which would have been the great influence Central Asia. For with this battle, the lines were finally drawn in the sand: Turkestan belonged to the Arabs, and China thereafter withdrew to its garrisons in the Tarim Basin.
Nobody, of course, thinks that this one battle was the sole reason for the Chinese withdraw East of the Pamirs, but it became what was the last nail in the coffin of the Tang dynasty as the event that heralded on the infamous An Lushan Rebellion (755-763)-- see my post here for more on the man who would rock the empire.
It is said to have been the only time in history that the Arabs and Chinese fought, but the Battle of Talas was to have a profound impact on world history. As mentioned above, Chinese expansion West was firmly stopped at the Pamirs, and Central Asia would forever after be influenced by Arab and Islamic (Persian) culture. In addition, at the battle's end, Chinese paper-making artisans were kidnapped and brought back to the new Abbasid capital at Baghdad. At last, the mysteries of paper-making were unlocked. It was thanks to this technical know-how that the Arab empire embarked on what was a huge cultural enterprise to translate and propagate Greek philosophy, mathematics, and medicine.
Without this Arab effort, the great riches of Classical Greek culture would have been lost forever as Medieval Europe had turned its back on its classical past. The work of Aristotle was most famously preserved under the Arabs, but so too was Euclidean geometry and Alexandrian astronomy. Knowledge was not only preserved, but was also refined and re-worked into the great body of knowledge and culture which was propagated during the Arab golden age. For example. classical mathematical theory formed the basis of algebra, which was pioneered during the Golden Age of the Abbasinian dynasty.
Whether intentional or not, French philosophers (and your occasional Japanese academic) again and again urge us not to forget the pivotal role the Abbasids in Baghdad (with great Persian influence)-- as well as the Muslim philosophers and scholars of al-Andalus-- had on the Renaissance that occurred in Europe not long after. From the East, the Arabs received the technical achievements of the Chinese and Indians, and from the West, they took the body of Western Classical culture. They then dedicated themselves to preserving and expanding this body of knowledge. It was philosophers like Averroes and Avicenna who kept the light of philosophy and mathematics, physics and medicine burning brightly in what was a great cauldron of intellectual activity centered around Baghdad.
It seems at times-- whether one is interested in the achievements of the East or of the West-- that all roads truly lead to Oxiana; as Oxiana, perhaps more than anywhere on earth, has been a land that has stood at the crossroads of civilizations.
Re-reading Yasushi Inoue's novel, Tun-Huang, I once again delight in the fact that the author wrote the entire story without ever having set foot in Western China. At that time, of course, no Japanese or European scholars were allowed to travel to the area. And, yet, Tun-Huang remains to my mind the most vivid account of the silk road oasis city ever published.
Inoue has long been one of my favorite Japanese writers-- and this particular novel remains my all-time favorite of his books. As the translator of his other great work of historical fiction-- The Roof Tile of Tempyo-- writes: "Although his works are considered as being historical novels in Japan, artistic historical narrative would be a better description." I think so too, and no where is this more evident than in Tun-Huang.
The story opens faraway from the legendary desert city of the title. Our hero, Chao Hsing-te, has arrived at the Song capital- the city of dreams-- to sit for the Palace Examination.
Yes, he is the son of a scholar. But not all those sitting for the exam were of his background as the imperial examination was open to all males in Chinese society regardless of their social class (with the notable exception of actors, slaves, policemen and the children of prostitutes). This open education system, while it can be traced back all the way to Tang times, really came into functionality during the Song dynasty. This happened right from the start, in fact, with the First Song Emperor Taizu and his systematic subordination of the military. And from that time onward, the scholar-officials saw their numbers and power at Court dramatically increase-- something which continued right down till the end of the imperial system in modern times.
You may say, "Well, I am not much impressed by meritocracies." Well, what was so revolutionary about all this was not just that the system was based on merit (though this was stunningly unique in and of itself as Europe wouldn't see anything similar until well into modern times), but rather that education and individual artistic cultivation came to be given the highest priority-- above political power, money or commerce. To be educated and artistically cultivated were characteristics that money could not buy. And this focus on education was something that came straight from the top!
To impress upon his subjects the importance of education, the narrator in the novel explains that the third Song Emperor Zhenzong personally composed the following poem:
No need to acquire rich lands to increase the family's wealth For in books are a thousand measure of millet. No need to build mansions in which to dwell in peace For in books are abodes of gold You who would realize your aspirations, Use the light from your window and recite the Six Classics.
Tun-Huang opens up the day before our hero, Chao Hsing-te, is about to face this last exam. He had arrived at the capital from his hometown in Hunan province in the spring of 1026 and had done brilliantly. Out of 33,000 candidates, only 500 were chosen to go on to the final top exam in the three level system-- and Chao had been one of them. His future looked very bright and he had every reason to be on top of the world.
During Song times, this final examination was supervised directly by the Emperor. Those few who passed became known as “presented scholars” (or jinshi). This degree was similar to having obtained a doctorate in today's parlance, but in effect was far more prestigious-- Not to mention far more difficult to oobtain. Indeed, in the long history of this examination system, there is many a story of a poor man’s son and his stunning rise to stardom after having obtained this degree, for the holders of the jinshi degree became the luminous elite of their day.
First feted at the Palace, those with the top scores-- the season’s cream of the crop-- were posted at Court, either to assist at the Hanlin Academy or to serve as advisors to the Emperor, with the rest of the candidates being scattered at different posts throughout the empire. Because education was given such an esteemed place in Chinese society, these scholars were held in tremendous awe. Rising to the top level of this rigorous examination system required literally half a lifetime, and the scholars who were able to graduate at the top were assured brillinat futures. In a land where literacy was a rarity to say the least, that these men could not only read and write, but could compose letters and poems of such impossible elegance and beauty as to be valued as works of fine art led them to be seen as viewed as larger than life by the general population-- much like the Hollywood movie stars of America today. Stars who also hold political power, that is.
Chao is aware of all of this and has very high hopes-- as well as high aspirations. On the day of the final exam-- the most important day of his life-- he waits outside the Examination Hall along with several dozen other final candidates. It was a warm, early fall day and as he waits for his name to be called, the unthinkable happens. He falls asleep. Dreaming that he is giving his final oral examination in the presence of the Emperor, he is given the question of arguing on Ho Liang's Frontier Security Proposal for dealing with the barbarians along China's western border.
The Hsi-hsia (or Xixia 西夏) were a Tibetan people who formed a large military threat along China's western edges. As this was the corridor that ran along the silk road into Central Asia, it was very strategically important that China contain control over their frontier garrisons there. The Xixia were becoming more and more of a threat as they raided Chinese-occupied towns and forts in the disputed gray areas, and China was becoming increasingly more concerned. Ho Liang's proposal had taken a hard line, and in his dream, Chao Hsing-te gave an impassioned-- and yet brilliant-- oral argument for why Ho Liang's approach remained the only logical strategy.
Unfortunately, rather then ending in accolades, Chao Hsing-te awoke to find himself laying face-down under the great huai tree in the courtyard of the examination hall. He had fallen aspeep and missed his examination altogether! His future was over before it had even begun. Rejected, he leaves the courtyard, thinking of a famous poem by Meng Chiao:
Elated by the spring breeze My horse quickens its pace In but one short day Do I view all the peonies of Chang'an
Meng Chiao (or Meng Jiao of Pink Floyd fame) had composed the poem in celebration of finally passing the Palace Examination at the age of 50. With that passing result, all in the blink of an eye had changed for Meng. For Chao Hsing-te, everything had changed as well.
The narrator of the story remarks that, "For Hsing-te there would be no peonies." For, indeed, all his high aspirations "had been reduced to the ashes of a dream."
But then something amazing happens. Walking home in a daze, Chao finds himself in the marketplace outside the city walls. The alleys are lined with shops selling hot noodles and dumplings and the smell of oil makes him realize he is hungry. At that moment he catches sight of a woman who is being sold in the marketplace. The man who is selling her announces that he plans to sell her piecemeal-- and to add impact to his words proceeds to cut off two of her fingers. Chao is amazed that the beautiful woman does not cry out in any way. Without thinking, he shouts that he will buy her, and handing over the money walks away, saying, "you are free." We now made to understand that our hero is perhaps not the complete fool we may have thought he was slumbering away in the Emperor's courtyard!
Rushing after him, she hands him a piece of paper and says, "This is all I have, take it." Looking at the writing on the paper, he realized that it is not a language he has ever seen before so he demands to know what it says. She explains that, since she cannot read she doesn't know for sure but she thinks it may state her name and place of birth. With that, she turns and disappears in the teeming crowd of the dark marketplace.
**
This is how it always is, is it not? One's fate. There is no rythmn nor reason. Like with all human passion, everything happens in the blink of an eye; these moments which change our lives.
**
Gone completely out of his mind is the exam-- something which had up till that moment been the very purpose of his life. Now, only one thought occupies him-- that piece of paper. Desiring to know more, he takes it to the Minister of Rites and begs to be told what language it is. The Minister is stumped. The characters are, he says, "worthless imitations of our Chinese characters." And, he then mutters asking Chao how he came to possess the scrap of paper, that he astounded that barbarians actually had their own script. Not much was known of the Xixia people and their language, but Chao resolves to find out everything there is to know, and henceforth immediately sets out for the border of the empire.
Tun-huang is the story of one man's fate. It is also the story of the great Buddhist kingdom of Dunhuang (Tun-huang). Indeed, some have said that the real hero of the book is the city itself.Tun-huang presents one imagined version (Yasushi Inoue's) of how it came to pass that the vast hoard of legendary documents came to be hidden in the library cave at Dunhuang. Hidden for over a thousand years, these documents continue to fascinate-- indeed they caused the creation of a new field of study, called Dunhuangology. In fact, it may never be known under what circumstances the documents were hidden away in the library and this is almost as fascinating perhaps as the documents themselves.
Perhaps more than anything, however, this story -- like all Inoue's novels-- is one that attempts to portray the pathos caused over the realization that oftentimes our lives have no real impact.
Or so it can seem at the time.
Just like the Japanese monk Gogyo, in The Roof Tile of Tempyo, who spends his entire life translating all the great sutras of China into Japanese only to see the countless volumes of his life's work wash overboard during a storm at sea as he journeys back to Japan, Chao too lives to realize that the great task he has set himself-- his life's work-- amounted to "nothing but an eddy in the broad flow of time." Yet, while this was how Chao's fate seemed at the time, indeed, the seeming failures of our individual lives can in time come to have enormous impact on history. And, inconsequential or not, Chao-- like Gogyo--- never waivered as one door closed and another opened. To perservere even in the face of the knowledge that nothing will come of it. "An eddy in the broad flow of time"-- this will always hold greater interest to me than a Hollywood underdog story. I wonder why that is?
**
I am trying to get a hold of the DVD(video?) of the 1988 movie, called The Silk Road, which was based on the novel and which I heard was one of the first Sino-Japanese films ever made.
--from the Peony archives (revised for a certain Prince who dwells in the Palace of Winds-- after he reminded me of the what was perhaps the most famous dream journey of all time)
Samarkand and Bukhara-- the names continue to evoke images of the great riches of the silk road. You will all remember that Oscar Wilde sang of both the treasures that were traded as well as the merchants who controlled the roads in his famous poem Ave Imperatrix:
The almond groves of Samarqand, Bokhara, where red lilies blow. And Oxus, by whose yellow sand The grave white-turbaned merchants go --Oscar Wilde
Part of the vast Persian empire, it was the Central Asian people of Sogdiana who monopolized these ancient trade routes connecting the East with the West. Known in Latin as "Transoxiana," or "land beyond the Oxus River," the place was made famous during Alexander the Great Times, during his great exploits East as it was here that became the northeastern-most point of Hellenistic culture. Yes, all roads lead to Oxiana. Populated by Iranian peoples, the area was incorporated into the Persian Empire first during the Achaemenid Empire and later became a colonial outpost of the Persian Empire during Sassanid times. It was during these later times that the area became known as Sogdiana.
With their "contemplative green eyes flashing" and their "purple beards flying in the wind," the hardy Sogdian traders of Samarkand and Bukhara led caravans on camel-back and horseback over the treacherous mountain passes of the Roof of the World and across the endless stretches of sand of the Taklamakan Desert toward China. And, it was their language, Sogdian, which was the lingua franca of the East during Tang dynasty times.
I can well imagine what the fine citizens of ancient Sogdiana were like having spent time in Kashmir. Another Central Asian Persian people, trade is in their blood. With its teeming markets and colorful bazaars, upon our arrival in the Vale, my pet peeve kept mumbling, "We're in Central Asia. Finally, Central Asia." Sultan too kept repeating this refrain with his, "To make a sale is to make a friend." Talking over unending cups of Kashmiri chai-- cinnamon and cardamom, and a dash of milk-- it was always how business was going, or talk about some purchase--buying a new silk carpet or a Pashima shawl-- that dominated conversation. This is how I imagine the Sogdians.
Starting at the eastern edge of the Persian empire, the Kingdom of Sogdiana reached almost to Kashgar. There, the Silk Road split into two routes: one north and one south of the desert of death. With a name which means "if you go in, you'll never come back out," the Taklamakan Desert is one of the largest sandy deserts on earth. With virtually no available water, it was extremely hazardous to try and cross the desert, and so the Silk Road split into two routes. And, it was along these two routes skirting the northern and southern edges of the Desert that a string of Buddhist Kingdoms dotted the oases.
On the Southern Route, there was the Kingdom of Khotan--famous for its exquisite jade and felt carpets; and Kashgar-- which has always been a city of legend. Of course, the world's most famous Silk Road site, Dunhuang, was also located just west of where the Northern and Southern Routes met back up again. Famous for its library, Dunhuang is also the location of the Mogao Caves of A Thousand Buddhas. Located just West of the Jade Gate, Dunhuang was just West of China proper.
Along the Northern Route were the oasis cities of Gaochang, Turfan, Urumqi, and of course, Kucha. Gaochang was perhaps the most important Buddhist Kingdom. Built at the foot of the Flaming Mountains, the Bezeklik Caves of a Thousand Buddhas, located close to the ancient city, are renown for their dazzling murals. With paintings of Uighur princesses and Western traders, the place during Tang times was a magnet for people from the four corners of the civilized world.
To me, while I can imagine Sogdiana in all its Persian glory-- that at the same time there also existed flourishing Buddhist Kingdoms which were centers of great scholarship in this inhospitable desert-- well, it actually boggles my mind. But, the cities located along the desert were, in fact, places of learning where the greatest minds of the Buddhist world gathered to discuss Buddhist doctrine. These cultural exchanges were conducted in the languages of scholarship of the day--Tibetan, Sanskrit, Chinese and various Prakrit. One of the most famous translators of Buddhism, during the time Kumarjiva, was from Kucha (his mother was a Kuchan princess while his father was Kashmiri). So brilliant some legends have it that he was carried off by the Chinese. Dragged back to the capital he was made to translate the important Buddhist treatises of the time. Others say he went willingly. Whatever the case were it not for Kumarjiva, China and Japan would probably not have quite the same cast of Buddhism it has today-- such was his influence.
The great problem of the time: how to translate abstract philosophical terms from Sanskrit (a language with an extraordinarily rich philosophical lexicon that perhaps more then any language extinct or extant could express abstract concepts with specific vocabulary) into Chinese (a language poor in abstract vocabulary). Words had to be invented.
There were huge linguistic and conceptual gaps that had to be overcome (which probably makes Sam and my wrangling over 徳 seem pretty inconsequantial...) I am talking Herculean problems. And, Kumarjiva, to get the closest Chinese approximation of the Sanskrit possible would engage in long discussions with a hundred students to try and fit a Sanskrit word to the Chinese mind before trying to come up with a new combination of characters (and it is in this spirit that I "wrestle" with Sam... there is no other reason).
On this topic of great translation projects, something very similar went on when China opened up to the west in more modern times. Both the Chinese and the Japanese had to think quick to come up with new vocabulary to express Western concepts of democracy or freedom (an entire lexicon, had to be come up with for terms used in discussing the fine arts before Japan could participate in one of the legendary World Exhibitions, for example).
They call him the world's greatest translator. A proponent of i-yaku 意訳 (meaning-oriented translation) over that of choku-yaku 直訳 (direct or literal translations), Kumarjiva is not only known for the tremendous breadth of his translations but also for the beautiful flowing smoothness of the language-- which is to say it reads beautifully. And, it needs to be stated again that is is all the more of an achievement because of the fact that he was working in what is arguable one of the most complicated areas of Buddhist philosophy.
Born a Theravada Buddhist, Kumarjiva converted to Mahayana Buddhism during his student days in Kashgar and spent much time working on advancing the ideas contained in the great Indian philosopher Nagarjuna's Madhyamaka theory.
"Form is void, void is form" -- Heart Sutra
The philosophy is way too complicated for me to even attempt to think about, and due to its slippery slope vocabulary that attempts to explain a state of existence where "nothing comes into being independently," (got that?), the nature of the Chinese language just could not cope. Kumarjiva devoted the later years of his life with the task of translating this body of work, but many gnawing questions remained.
It was to this task that our hero, Xuanzang, the Tang period Buddhist monk, who made his historic "Journey to the West," devoted his entire life. If you don't know who he is-- you should. In East Asia, he is a household name-- and even in India, most educated people know of the great travels of Xuanzang.
Of course, another shining hero reminds me: his journey was immortalized in that more famous mythic Dream Journey to the West 西遊記 (note the kanji for "play"). A devoted monk, in Japanese he is known as 三藏法師 (Teacher of the Tripitaka). Also interesting, in Japanese, his fictional character in the Journey to the West is usually depicted as a woman (see here, for example).
Anyway, while I have been-- it is true-- imagining myself in the spirit of Xuanzang, in fact, the Tang dynasty monk was to take his project a bit more seriously than I do. Passing through the Jade Gate, the mild-mannered monk traveled through all the Buddhist Kingdoms along the Northern and Southern Route before turning south to India. He almost didn't make it to India, though, so intent was the devout Buddhist King of the Kingdom of Gaochang to keep the pilgrim there that the King tried to hold him there hostage. Rather than from any ill-will, the King quite simply could not bear to let such a stimulating conversationalist and brilliant debater leave his realm.
You can hardly blame him, actually.
Many people consider Xuanzang to be the greatest traveler of all time. Marco Polo perhaps traveled further in terms of distance-- but well, that was about 450 years later (and things were more comfortable then). However, much more important is this: while Polo traveled for personal reasons of wealth and fame, our man from Chang'an traveled to find the Truth-- to understand the nature of reality, not just for himself but for the sake of all sentient beings.
His great journey took him first across the desert Kingdoms and then to Kashmir, which was a great center of Buddhist learning at the time. He continued South where he ended up at Nalanda University. There he studied Buddhist philosophy, logic and Sanskrit. Returning to China, he hauled a library of books back with him and spent the remainder of his days teaching and translating.
Yes, he was like a translator in a caliph's dream
**
Anyway, for the Prince in the Palace of Winds, I leave you this video of the latest in Japanese celebrations of your beloved Journey to the West. The popular Majik Monkey music-- to the 2007 drama series is here, and for what it's worth, I am not that faraway either, dreaming the same dream journey in my palace here.
Fingarette to start tomorrow at Chris' place: A Ku Indeed!
There is a rumor that circulates in India that Jesus-- rather than dying on the cross-- spent his later years journeying through Kashmir; or even that he made it all the way to Japan where he worked as a rice farmer tending a small paddy in a small village in Aomori. Indeed, grave hunters spend their fine careers visiting the various "graves of Jesus" that dot remote areas of the East.
Some of you may recall the story of Persian Prince Pirooz, who had traveled so far to Chang'an in exile at the collapse of the Sassanian dynasty. Well, you may be interested to know there is a similar rumor about him, and that is that he too actually traveled even further East than my story had it-- all the way to Japan. And there, it is suggested that he had a hand in influencing the elegant Iranification of that land. This is all the stuff of urban legend, of course...
Japan is one of the world's great civilizations-- but, alas, it was a late bloomer, and many Japan-scholars will acknowledge that Japan must have got significant help from "foreign advisors" during the 5th-6th century. For the most part, the Koreans are credited for the direction of the great surge in artistic and intellectual productivity of the Asuka and Nara periods. There are those, too, who say Iranians had a large (if indirect) part to play-- and even that our Prince Pirooz came to lend a hand. Marrying a Japanese lady, the legend has it that he left her and their children behind when he returned to China in his later years. And so his legacy lives on in the Land of the Rising Sun as well.
Even if he himself did not come-- which he most probably did not-- Persian musicians and dancers did. And, so did beautiful objects of art. Glassware was one of the miraculous items brought to Japan from the West. Unlike the Chinese, Persian royalty and aristocrats, preferred glass and metalware to ceramics and their glassware was particularly exquisite. There is one particularly stunning piece of cobalt blue cut glass in the Shosoin Collection. A goblet, 22 cobalt color glass rings are fused to the outer walls of the glass, which has a beautiful etched silver stem and base. Carried on the backs of horses and camels across the deserts of Central Asia, Japanese emissaries to the Tang Court brought such glass back to Japan from China where they stole the hearts of the Japanese. Of extremely high quality, these objects were treasured in Japan and most of the finest remaining examples of this early glass are preserved there today.
It is one of the peculiar tendencies of the Japanese to treasure and preserve what is fine, and this almost obsessive antiquarianism is one of the traits that sets the Japanese apart. For while "Roman," or Sassanian Glass objects are found here and there from Damascus to the markets of Tehran, the glass is usually milky or silvery from exposure. Those pieces preserved in Japanese collections, however, have retained their original sparkling transparency in a way that seems almost miraculous.
Perhaps even more phenomenal is what happened with music and dance.
Have you ever heard of the Sogdian Whirl?
A rigorous, twirling dance, the Sogdian Whirl was usually performed on a colorful felt carpet. The dance took the Tang capital by storm. Not only the emperor, but his favorite concubine, the infamous Yang Guifei-- along with her "favorite," the 400 pound Sogdian-Turk An Lushan could perform this exotic dance, snacking on Lychees from Canton and sipping grape wine out of Roman cut glass goblets, all night long. There were Sogdian dances danced to Persian melodies, played on Persian lutes and harps, Indian dances and music and those from the Northern steppes and Korea. Without a doubt, most famous of all the Tang dances was the music and dance of Kucha.
As is well known, at Kashgar the Silk Road, in order to skirt the desert of death, splits into two routes, the northern and southern. Here, where now there is nothing but dusty, long forgotten outposts (oasis sounds too charming) in the desert, there once thrived a great Buddhist civilization. Among the first Buddhist Kingdoms on earth, the cities on both sides of the desert were not only bustling trading centers of goods from both east and west, but they were great centers of Buddhist scholarship. Of all the Kingdoms from Khotan to Dunhuang, Kucha was the largest. And Kucha was famous-- very famous-- for its dances, music and instruments.
Located on the Northern Route, not far from present-day Aksu, it was a place where Theravada Buddhism reigned. The King was particularly devout and it was said the city was full of temples, monks and music. The palace was made of gold, as the kingdom was wealthy from its rich mineral deposits of gold, copper and iron. Another highly cosmopolitan Silk Road garrison city-state, a dozen languages could be heard in the marketplaces, including Chinese, Tibetan, Persian and Kuchean (which was itself an Indo-Euopean language).
Susan Whitfield in her wondrous, Life Along the Silkroad, desribes Kuchean dance as being "not unlike Indian dance, with its emphasis on hip movements, changes of gesture and expressive eyes, but it also adapted dance forms taken from other places, such as the famous Sogdian 'whirling dance,' performed by both men and women."
"Music, song and dance," says Whitfield, "were Silk Road commodities, bought and sold like silver and jade. Itinerent dance troops from India, Burma, Cambodia and Sogdiana performed at both the royal court and the public marketplace in every silk road town." We have Tang period pottery of "Western" dancers and musicians on camelback. These statutes still fascinate and are proudly preserved in museum collectons in many places from Shanghai and Tokyo to Paris.
The dances of the Silk Road were taken up by the Tang Court and there they were performed with native and other foreign elements to be transformed into the music and dance that today is known as ancient Tang music. And, what is perhaps the most fascinating part of the entire story, this music and these dances were then "borrowed"-- in what is often referred to as the "great borrowing of continental culture"-- by the ancient Japanese of the Nara period.
When we speak of ancient Tang music, the influence from Kucha cannot be ignored. The Tang court music itself was based, explains Whitfield, on the tuning of the Kuchean lute and most of the Tang emperors were proficient at playing the Kuchean drum, as well. Like golf among the wealthy today, the Kuchean drum was "de rigueur among emperors and noblemen of China." Emperor Xuanzong had some 30,000 musicians and dancers housed within the walls of the Palace, and many of those performed in the Kuchean style, playing orchestral pieces, as well as performing great dance dramas perhaps similar to those still performed in South India and in Java today.
Don't you wish you could hear it? Of course, the great civilizations of the desert are long since gone. Covered in sand, if it weren't for the murals of Dunhuang and the Tang chronicles, we would hardly even know of their existence. Not only the civilizations, but the languages too are long since dead. Kuchean, Sogdian, Khotanese, they are nothing but echoes in the desert. In China, too, we only have the written record.
Believe it or not though, these Persian and Central Asian melodies and dances still exist in Japan much as they were 1500 years ago. Just like the perfectly preserved roman glass goblets, the Japanese Imperial Household has preserved this music for a millenium. Japanese Imperial Court Music and Dance, called Gagaku (or "elegant music"), is made up of three bodies: Saibara (native Shinto), Komagaku (Korean and Manchurian) and Togaku (Tang Music). Amazingly, you can still see these dances and listen to this music today in Japan; performed either by the Imperial Household Department of Music (which performs both Western classical music as well as all forms of gagaku) or by groups formed by former members of the Imperial Household Department of Music who form their own groups (most famous has to be Hideki Togi, who performs to sold-out concert halls in Japan and Europe. Read about him here).
"Like whale song, a haunting blend of flutes rising up from the deep, accompanied by the strumming of silk strings and the rumble of drums." Says National Geographic.
"The group was officially designated as “maintainers of a significant cultural asset,” a kind of Japanese National Treasure. They were playing gagaku, literally “gracious music,” which the Japanese claim as the oldest surviving orchestral music in the world. It is ancient music, which came to Japan by way of Korea and China well over a thousand years ago and still survives as the official music of the Japanese Imperial Court.
That venerable legacy stretches back to the beginnings of Japan’s imperial family, which is thought to be the longest running monarchy in the world. The music exists today because of the Emperor’s patronage, which supports the carefully chosen, rigorously trained court musicians who perform at official palace functions, garden parties, religious occasions, and public concerts.
Whale songs with a deep drumbeat.... Well, at first listen, it certainly does sound pretty bizarre. The more you listen, however, the more the music intrigues. Especially the range of various instruments. Other-worldly best sums it up, I think.
As National Geographic hints, yes, without the unique antiquarianism of the Japanese and the loyal patronage of 100 or so generations of Japanese emperors, this music certainly would have been long lost. For it remains the oldest, pre-composed music for large orchestras on earth, and inside the Imperial Household, the music is accompanied by 1500 year old dances with costumes and masks reminiscent of their ancient Central Asian originals-- actually, some masks are originals.
A unique musical tradition that is a tradition bearing little resemblance to Arab or Ottoman music, the music of the Persian Sassanian Empire was to make waves that floated all the way to the Eastern shores of the earth-- all the way to Japan, where it would be prized and then preserved by 100 generations of Japanese emperors.
As one friend paints it
Now think about it, a civilization dead these 1500 years has left us a legacy in the form of the most ephemeral of all art, music, in places as distant from each other as Japan and Persia. The past, though passed, is still with us in mysterious ways and the dead musicians of the Taklamakan continue to whisper in the conchlea of our ear.
It boggles the mind. A cup of fossil tea anyone?
I'd love a cup, actually.
Finally, as BBC's Melvyn Bragg pointed out in one of his email newsletters, compared with other great empires of the past, less is known about the Sassanids. This is because the language is dead and there is a paucity of written records. They were-- like Bragg himself perhaps-- devoted to the oral tradition. The ancient Persians were Zoroastrians, who as a religion stressed prayer, chanting and the oral tradition (having less faith in the written word, which they thought could be corrupted). So, little actually remains from their great empire. And, yet the cultural triumphs of the dynasty still informs Iranian identity.
There is one more legend about Prince Pirooz that bears repeating. After his death in China, Prince Pirooz's life story came to be melded into the Zooroastrian myth of "Shah Bahram Varjavand." Like the Moshiach of the Jews, Shah Baham Varjavand is the Coming Messiah of the Zooroastrian religion. People believed that it would be Shah Bahram Varjavand who would rise in the East to come and avenge Iran's occupation by the Arabs and restore the glory of the empire.
Another more modern persona considered to be the "Shah Bahram Varjavand," is-- of course-- Baha'u'llah, founder of the Bahai faith.
Born in Iran, the Bahai faith is perhaps the most spread out religion on earth. And, of the some 5 million adherents, 2.5 are in India. For the life of me, I cannot recall know how I ended up touring the famous Bahai Lotus Temple in New Delhi, but the place has vividly stuck in my mind for years-- almost as if I was there yesterday.
Like Zen, the Bahai faith appeals to Westerners in search of something they can believe in-- and all over Kashmir and in Northern India, I met American and European Bahai faithful. Perhaps, it was having met so many British and Americans talking about "the Bab" and Baha'u'llah that led me to want to see the famed temple for myself. Whatever the reason, it truly was as close to an ideal image of a temple as I can imagine. I couldn't find any good images online, but what really struck me was the lack of ornamentation inside the great temple. There was no altar or statues or candles-- just a simple wooden lectern, pews and beautiful Persian carpets.
More than anything, however, it was the quiet of the place that struck me. I don't know how to describe it, but it was perfectly, beautifully quiet, and I remember thinking what great possibilities quiet like that could have.
I suppose what is so resonent for modern people about the Bah'ai religion is its stress on unity (one God with all religions being different expressions of God's message) and peace. The religion is also strongly rooted in social service and community (discouraging asceticism and monasticism in any form). The Bahai is one of the only religions I know of that has not acrimoniously split into factions either. Because of their commitment to unity (unity with God and unity in humankind) they are vehemently opposed to war.
It was so hot and dusty as trudging up the path toward the temple. The simple beauty and deep quiet of the inside of the temple, though, was cool and refreshing as a glass of water. The founder of the Bahai faith, Baha'u'llah, was believed to be Shah Bahram Varjavand, the Messiah. He is also asserted to be a descendent of Yazdgerd III, the last monarch of the Sassanian Dynasty.
Last night, I dreamt I was in Lhasa. It was the glorious Tang dynasty (618-907), and I was an honored guest of the King of Tibet. A short dream, it was extremely vivid. In the dream, I was dressed in dark colored velvety robes and wore elaborate headgear. My triangular shaped hat was the same velvety color as my robes and was adorned with a large red bead on the top. There were long chains of red coral and turquoise beads hanging down in front of my ears. While it resembled the headgear worn by the ancient empresses and other royal ladies of Tang China, the coral and turquoise chains were in the great tradition of Tibet.
The room was very airy and yet also very warm. Huge windows of old-fashioned glass (which is so different from the glass of today) allowed a tremendous of amount of light into the simple room. The room was in a multi-story building located on a mountainside overlooking the old city of Lhasa. It was the view out the window which dominated. The city seemed to go on and on endlessly-- well, that is until one's eyes reached the mountains. The mountains. On that day, they were mostly covered in clouds.
Below us spread the valley of Lhasa. White-washed houses were piled practically one atop another. Prayer flags waived in the breeze and the city was surprisingly green from the many, many willow trees. It looked very frigid outside. There was no snow, but the moment I stepped away from the warm stove (located in the center of the room) I felt the frozen air of the mountains coming through the glass. The floor was covered in a felt carpet the color of the sky.
I was aware of two things. One was how beautiful my headgear was. Every time I moved, the coral and bead chains tinkled in my ears in the most charming way. My velvety hat also had a pleasing heaviness.
The other was that while it was the 8th century, I had, in fact, traveled back in time. A time traveler, I noticed every detail. I thought, "how comfortable it is here." And, that coming from a girl who does not like to "rough it" when it comes to hotel bathrooms and public restrooms. I also thought, "It must be different out there." Life in the palace, though, was warm comfortable and very refined. "Not bad for the 8th century," I thought to myself.
Although I was calm and feeling extremely agreeable about my surroundings, there was much going on around me. The great Gialbo had rushed in. Everyone bowed to the great King of Tibet.
During the Tang dynasty, the Empire of Tibet had reached its zenith. A thousand years before the famous Great Game between the British and Russians who vied for colonial power in that part of the world, the 8th century was a time when the earlier great Titans (Arabs, Turks, Chinese and Tibetans) clashed and fought for control of the region. With the great Abassid empire to the west (under the greatest Caliph of all, the magnificent Harun al-Rashid), and the Chinese to the East (under the glorious Tang), the Tibetans somehow reigned supreme.
After bowing to the King, tea was poured. The ladies retreated to the area by the window where I was standing and we all listened as the generals briefed the King: They were sending most of the army north to meet the Chinese head on. Jumping to his feet the Great Gialbo said forcibly, "Prepare my horse, for I ride with the army." Marching toward the door, he turned and with great kindness looked at me and said, "You will be safer inside the Palace. Please wait here till my return."
As the King exited, a great gust of cold air blew into the room. We all shivered. I thought to myself, "It would be the perfect time to leave." I didn't think "escape" but I suppose, I was thinking it was time to return to my own time. And yet, the room was so warm and comfortable....
Thinking this, I then woke up.
It is rare that waking from a dream, I actually feel that I want to go back. Usually, I try to shake off the dream and immediately turn to the tasks at hand. This time, however, so pleasant and so warm was this dream-- well, I have to admit, I was a little disappointed waking up. My headgear had been, afterall, incredibly beautiful. Women of modern Heisei times, have so few chances to wear accessories like that.
It could have been any of the Kings of the Empire of Tibet. However, if the King in my dream was the Great Trisong Detsen (who I think it was)-- well, that battle would go well for him. Even more than his skills in the battlefield, however, Trisong is best known as the great promoter of Buddhism in the region. Having invited many famous philosophers of India and monks of China to come and teach in Tibet, his court was a place of great scholarship and intellectual excitement. He arranged the famed Two-Year Debate (the "Council of Lhasa" as it is also erroneously known) between the Chan (Zen) monk, Moheyan (the "Mahayana Monk") and the Indian Buddhist philosopher, Shantarakshita's student Kamalashila.
The Debate was on the topic of methods of enlightenment. The Zen faction argued (as it still does) that enlightenment was possible in an instant. The Indian philosopher, however, disagreed. While the actual moment may happen suddenly, enlightenment must, argued Kamalashila, be preceded by years of study and training that prepared the mind. Moral and mental training is essential in other words. Our King eventually sided with Kamalashila -- thereby introducing Indian-style Buddhism into Tibet. Trisong, incidentally, is also traditionally associated with the construction of the legendary stupa of Bodnath in Kathmandu.
In my dream, perhaps the Great Gialbo had just learned of the Chinese troops amassing on his northern frontier. 200,000 Tibetans rode to meet the Chinese head-on, and there, they literally wiped the Chinese into the dusts of the desert. Victorious, they rode on to the Tang capital of Chang'an. It was the greatest city on earth. Arriving just in time to fill in the great power vacuum that had ocurred as a result of the An Lushan rebellion, the only way the Chinese could get rid of them was to grant them all the lands of the much vied-over Kokonor (where the current Chinese government now tests its nuclear weapons and dumps its toxic waste).
As if gaining victory over the Chinese hadn't been enough, Trison was to spend the remainder of his days with his eyes turned West. He got as far as the Oxus River, and it was probably only the Arabs' hastily agreed-upon alliance with the Chinese that stopped him from going all the way to Baghdad. It was one of the most glorious periods of Tibetan civilization.
**
Jetlagged in Los Angeles. I dreamt of a kind and gracious King, who had manners so exquisite that he thought to turn around and bid me to stay-- where it was safe and warm-- as he Himself headed out to battle. More than that, though, was the beauty of my headgear. Waking up, I could not get it out of my mind. Red coral had been greatly valued throughout the lands along the ancient Silk Road. Probably originating in the Mediterrean, like amber, the beads were carried on the backs of donkeys and camels traveling East from Constantinople where it was traded for silks, brocades and other commodies of the East. Located pretty much as far as one could go from the Sea, I wonder what the ancient Tibetans thought these corals were. Like torquoise (which they also valued above all else), perhaps, they thought it too was mined in the mountains of Persia and Turkey. Never having seen the sea, what else could they have imagined?
S. asks me, why my blog is named Tang Dynasty Times when, "so few of the posts have little to do with the name." The short answer, of course, is that many-- even if not most-- do in fact have much to do with the Tang dynasty.
Years ago, at a time when I was reading book upon book of Song dynasty history- indeed my daytime thinking was almost entirely concerned with, perhaps obsessed with that period of time; at night, especially just before falling asleep, it was bits of history and slices of culture from the Tang times that seemed to float in front of my eyes: Lady Yang and her rainbow dance, Kuchan drums and the Sogdian whirl; heavenly fragrant incense clocks, detailed astronomy and highly accurate ancient calendars... Sometimes I think that all roads lead back to Ajanta. Mostly, though, I think they lead back to Tang times.
As I said, that was years ago...
Nowadays, I find myself drifting back again and again to the Tang dynasty for different reasons. There are two things I tend to like thinking about these days. Neither are anything I think I can solve-- in fact, I probably cannot even say anything intelligent or coherent about these matters. And yet, I find I like to think about them.
The first is concerned with a kind of multicultural internationalism as symbolized by the Silk Road of the Tang dynasty. I already wrote about this idea at length here. Of course, we are talking of a time over a thousand years ago, so no one can actually say what things were really like, and yet we have these very intriguing hints of a time when trade and cultural borrowings happened along a two-way street-- as oppossed to the one-way superhighway that ideas seem to move along nowadays; where even liberal democracy, in the words of my favorite Qing historian, is seen as something to be marketed and franchised.
In one sense, what I am pondering really comes down to not throwing away the baby with the bath water. I suppose you could call it a kind of Old World hesitation. I never thought the day would come, but in the past several years, megastores, Cosco and Starbucks have arrived even in my small corner of Japan.
Yes, it is the end of the world, and small shops and independent stores have most probably seen their fates sealed in their own blood. For people by necessity tend to choose the economically efficient, but is the economically efficient always the the high road? Huge amounts of "stuff," made mostly in China are shipped across the oceans and skies to fill big warehouses- and what is even in those coffee drinks anyway?
Old World style versions of internationalism and cosmopolitanism versus New World "globalization as Americanization"--I think you almost have to live abroad-- or at least read internationally--to understand just how much people around the world talk about this issue, and it can be as much about American materialism ("the neon glow of KFC around nearly every corner") as Chinese communist-style culture-obliterating city-building; Stalinism in Eastern Europe, etc. Pax Roma, Pax Mongolica, Pax Americana...
In my own work, I am even seeing from the usually mild-mannered Japanese: "Why do we have to play by all American rules in business? American-style capitalism is not the only game in town." In particular, it is the stress on short-term quarterly earning dividends etc. that seems to irk the execs; or a scholar who wonders how much has been lost by the wholesale adotion of Western concepts to his field to the point that "anyone trying to work outside these concepts quite simply doesn't get funded or published" In this sense globalism is less about a sophisticated understanding and respect of other cultures as it is about the creation of one world with a shared culture made up of shared values. Many people are probably thinking, "well, that's a good thing, isn't it?"
On a different level, also at the same time connected to this idea of value pluralism (which is different from value relativism), I have found myself increasingly intrigued with our pre-conceived notions of history itself. I have already mentioned Chris Hedge's statements concerning the fallacy of "progress"-- or rather, to repeat S's summary of Hedges that material (technological and economic) progress without moral progress only raises the stakes (see this interview at salon for example). Which brings me to my man in England. Alan Saundars recently interviewed the British philosopher John Gray (who is so politically interesting you can hardly believe isn't French) on the June 28 edition of the Philospher's Zone. While I could not make any sense of his Straw Dogs: Thoughts on Humans and Other Animals, still, with regard to my own project, I have enjoyed pondering his ideas concerning history.
For example:
But you can invert the beliefs, you can get rid of the beliefs but still have the patterns of thinking. You just emptied Christianity, if you like, of its transcendental content, and you're left with the same structure, so along one of these patterns, what is the idea of history as a kind of process of the sort I've described, which is continuous, enriched with potentially a kind of culmination, not necessarily a huge Utopian transformation, it can be more incremental, more slow, but most people I would say in the post-Christian societies of the West, inherit the idea that the world is moving towards, or can be made to move towards with collective human action, collective human endeavour and enterprise, a situation in which the whole world is, so to speak, unified by certain values and the whole world accepts perhaps a single word that may be based on science of something of that kind. And the whole world is in some ways better than it's ever been in the past. And indeed, I think for many people the meaning of their lives really depends on that belief. If you strip out that belief in progress, if you start thinking of the world in the way in which the ancient pre-Christian Europeans did, or the Buddhists and the Hindus or the Taoists of China do, many people think that's a kind of despair, I don't know how many times I've been told 'If I thought that John I wouldn't get up in the morning. And if I agreed with you, John, that history had no pattern of that kind, I wouldn't get up in the morning.' I said, 'Well stay in bed a bit longer, you might find a better reason for getting up.'
And that's a kind of example of the way in which a view of history which comes from Christianity, and which really doesn't have much sort of coherence, because after all, humanity is not an entity that can choose or act. We have international institutions like the United Nations and world trade organs, but humanity never does anything. Humanity is simply six or seven billion human beings each with their own dreams, hopes, projects, illusions, delusions, fantasies, beliefs, values, projects etc. Humanity doesn't do anything at all. And I expect the future of humanity or the human animal, the human species, to be in ethical and political respects, much like the past. There'll be new inventions, new knowledge, if there are any phenomena, new for humans at least, like global warming, it's happening now, it hasn't happened before in this way in human history or pre-history, but basically the future will be like the past, history will go on. Oddly enough, when I tell people like that, they say, 'You mean we're all doomed?' I say, initially I became rather puzzled by it, what I'm saying is that we carry on coping the way we did in the past.' 'Do you mean we're all doomed?'
Doomed to go on indeed!
Indirectly along these lines, I have found that having a second calendar inside my head (here, having the Tang dynasty as a kind of ground zero and there- at my other place-- framing everything in terms of the Chinese calendar) has been very renewing for me. I wanted to borrow a phrase that I just read in one of my favorite magazines, Kyoto Journal. John Einarsen is interviewing Tokyo photographer and artist, Yasu Suzuka. Toward the end of the interview, Suzuka says,
The entire Chinese calendar is inside my head. It is a means of deciding travel days and destinations related to the Chinese philosophy of yin yang. Simply put, although time has been decided to be "nine-to-five," I believe there's nothing wrong in making myself come alive in this other way. This is the world born of ancient Chinese philosophy, in which there is circulation in nature, and in which humans act in harmony with nature. You should not ignore your mind or body when it comes to deciding how and when to decide things.Since you are connected to the cosmos you must pay atention to your balance within it.
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