"Why God? (why art?)
Why God?
Beyond the nature of what constitutes a deity, the essence of the question was rooted in the rationale behind the existence of God.
Years ago, I delved into writings centred on my purported companionship with death and its associate, God. I posited that without the impermanence or mortality inherent in the world, the concept of God would remain undiscovered. Envision a realm where entities do not perish, mortality is absent, and immortality prevails!
Such a world would be stagnant, devoid of change, arrested in time, and absent the fundamental concepts of birth, life, death, and motion. I theorized that death or perishability sculpted our dynamic world, and the fear of loss or death birthed God—a concept capable of deferring the inevitability of change. I concluded that the one possessing the power to postpone mortality must transcend mortality, and the force halting change cannot itself undergo change. Essentially, I believed that an immortal God is a construct moulded by death, mortality, or change.
A static and immutable God reigning over an ever-mortal world.
In Advaita philosophy, this static God is called Nirguna Brahman—an inert god. According to its proponents, this concept embodies the ultimate realization for the faithful. I marvelled at this revelation, considering myself enlightened.
However, as the sands of time trickled through the hourglass of my life, subsequent enlightenment dawned upon me. If the God capable of deferring change or mortality is the nirguna Brahman (inert God), then death, mortality, and change must also be static—immutable, unchanging entities. I grappled with confusion. While an immortal, changeless God remains a conceptual construct, the notion of death, mortality, or change transcends mere abstraction—it is an action.
The subsequent illumination dawned upon me: to preserve the sanctity of the static God, these erudite philosophers crafted the idea of an immutable soul within us all—a soul that neither dies nor changes.
Clever intellectuals and an enlightened version of myself, I thought. Simultaneously, existing as a static soul within a perishable body became my newfound enlightenment.
Static God, static mortality (in the unchanging guise of death or change), and a mortal body—but regrettably, I equated the inert God with immortal death or change. As mentioned earlier, death is an enduring reality. Shankara, the proponent of Advaita, astutely posited that if God embodies immortality, it cannot coexist within mortality or a mortal body. In simpler terms, he argued that a vessel cannot remain static in a flowing river—something constantly changes its position. Thus, he asserted that our mortal and ever-changing world must be an illusion, Maya, incapable of actual existence. Only the static, inert God can endure.
My enlightenment encountered a setback, a fate shared by many enlightened individuals of that era. They challenged, 'How can an illusion, incapable of containing immortality or inertia, house an immortal or inert God if the body, its changes, or mortality are mere illusions?'
Advaitha crumbled, making way for Dwaitha. The new philosophy advocated a clear separation between the immortal God and its mortal container—the body. Advaithis, being epistemologists, engaged in logical arguments, utilizing tools and techniques to construct their case.
Responding to dualists, they borrowed from Zarathustra's argument that the shadow does not exist in the fire; it is a product of objects in the path of fire. Static and immortal fire renders the object and its shadow ephemeral. The material world, like fire, is deemed an illusion or Maya. Similarly, the atman exists in all forms, incapable of birth or death, making it inert or nirguna Brahman. Those questioning this inference were likened to those confusing a rope for a snake due to ignorance. The proper knowledge, they asserted, would dispel the confusion.
Advaithis cautioned others, especially Buddhists, against mistaking a rope for a snake out of ignorance. The atman within is the Brahman everywhere, pure and universal. Nothing adheres to or alters its immortal and versatile nature like fire. Ignorance, they argued, creates the illusion of the body as a container for the atman (fire). Only the atman (fire) is true; the rest are mere Maya, products of ignorance.
However, some questioned Adi Shankara's conceptual framework. If everything other than Brahman is an illusion, they asked, who does the 'ignorant' need knowledge about Brahman? Isn't ignorance itself an illusion? Shankara's attempt to bridge the gap between material and metaphysical worlds with the Maya concept faced heightened contradictions.
Shankara's evasion of questions led to the establishment of intellectually militant Shankar mutts and physically militant akharas to protect his Maya hypothesis in his illusional universe.
I realized my error, thinking I had uncovered a flaw in the non-dualist Advaita's denial of the material form (body) in the art of form (God). Painting on a canvas, I realized, is not art; art resides in the act of painting. Similarly, the body (canvas) is neither the painting (atman) nor the art (Brahman). Once the painting is finished, the canvas (body) becomes an illusion (Maya). Only painting and art exist, according to non-dualistic logic, and realizing this logic represents jeevanmukhti or ultimate liberation.
Rather than feeling enlightened, confusion set in. How could art theory or history replace the canvas, and can understanding the logic of art theory or history lead to liberation in art? My artist friend, Ravindra Gutta, argued, 'Knowing theory, history, and principles of electricity would not explain electric shock or its feel. Art is that electric shock.'
I discerned an inherent bias by examining Adi Shankara's prescribed method of Jeevan Mukti to attain non-dualism (Advaita). His rejection of physical reality in favour of conceptual approximation revealed a deep-rooted adherence to the Chaturvarna caste concept of Hindu society. Shankara's application of the same logic to erase the farmer from the food, the craftsman from the pot, or the one doing physical work from societal visibility reflected his rejection of physical reality for conceptual approximation.
I exclaimed, 'My God! Why, God!' As Shankara turned God into a theory or language-dependent cognitive estimation, his non-dualistic Advaita reduced God to a logical/conceptual approximation, excluding the rest of the universe. He missed the electric shock my friend was talking about.
If Bajagovindam was indeed authored by him, the poem advocating faith in God rather than critical interrogation of God through logical perspectives suggests a shift in his perspective. Later, he grasped the challenges inherent in his Advaita hypothesis.
In the initial stanza of the poem, the appeal to pray to the Lord without reliance on rules or grammar during the separation of the body (death) reflects a departure from his earlier intellectual pursuits. This sentiment, however, is not unique to him; Nagarjuna, a luminary in Madhyamic Buddhist philosophy, concluded his profound exploration with a declaration of having nothing more to say.
During the aftermath of the First and Second World Wars, where Europe witnessed unprecedented devastation and traditional facets of human life faltered, DADA artists asserted that no meaning was essential, initiating an anti-art movement. Marcel Duchamp, a prominent conceptual artist, further rejected the notion of problems and solutions, dismissing the relevance of God and critical intelligence.
My engagement with Advaithic Brahman concludes, at least partially. I experienced enlightenment, akin to going back to sleep, described as sushupthi by Adi Shankara. Turia, the stage of super consciousness where Atman and Brahman unite, is not a concern given the identified pitfalls in the basic concepts of Advaita.
Concerns about God no longer trouble me. Belief, whether in God or not, is subjective, defined as an acceptance without proof. Analogous to the way water doesn't make the river but rather the flow does, the unseen rhythm of life's flow prompts contemplation—isn't art (God) present when art is there?
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