The aesthetics of spirituality

I am a Hindu because of the sculptured cones of red kumkum powder and baskets of yellow turmeric nuggets, because of garlands of flowers and pieces of broken coconut, because of the clanging of bells to announce one's arrival to God, because of the whine of the reedy nadaswaram and the beating of drums, because of the patter of bare feet against stone floors down dark corridors pierced by shafts of sunlight, because of the fragrance of incense, because of the flames of arati lamps circling in the darkness, because of bhajans being sweetly sung, because of elephants standing around to bless, because of colourful murals telling colourful stories, because of foreheads carrying, variously signified, the same word—faith.

(Life of Pi, by Yann Martel)

First let me get this out of the way: I'm not a Hindu because the caste system is alive and kicking, because millions have been killed by Hindu-Muslim violence, because estimates of the prevalence of bride burning cases in India (the dowry paid by their families was deemed insufficient by the grooms') range from 600 to 25.000 cases every year. (Not that most religions would fare any better, anyway.) And yet Pi's reason for being a Hindu (he's also a Muslim and a Christian, all at the same time, for similar reasons) strike a chord with me.

If there is a place where spirituality is palpable that is Varanasi, the holy city of Hinduism. Temples of all shapes and sizes round every corner, half-naked saddhus puffing away at their chillums, crumbling buildings that look several centuries older than they actually are, whiffs of incense, an undecipherable maze of allyways, cripples lying about waiting for death to take them with her, funeral processions that will run you over if you're not careful, monkeys causing trouble in the balconies overhead, the sound of bells, stacks of firewood ready for the next cremation, crackling radios playing classic bollywood tunes, cupboard-sized shops displaying religious paraphernalia along with toiletries, the ubiquitous sacred cows, women washing their laundry in the Ganges only metres away from a funeral pyre, an enormous Coca-Cola sign as the backdrop for dozens of pilgrims bathing and praying in their holy river, ...

I, like Pi, cherish the aesthetic experience of religion while not giving a fig about (or positively rejecting) the doctrine. And it's not just Hinduism and Varanasi. The simultaneous call to prayer of several muezzins in their respective minarets in the old quarter of Marrakech, the pitch of their one-note songs rising slowly but constantly, intermingling in a random atonal counterpoint, the erratic direction of the breeze making them softer or louder. The uninterrupted chanting (listen to it live!) of the Guru Granth Sahib (the holy scripture of Sikhism) inundating the Golden Temple in Amritsar. Converging strings of tattered prayers flags spreading mantras across the Himalayas. Om mani padme hum carved on hundreds upon hundreds of stones piled up along the roads of Ladahk. Fierce, voluptuous and brighly-coloured goddesses. Tibetan monks in sleeveless robes singing otherwordly chants. The reverberating silence of an empty cathedral. Tombstones worn out and polished by thousands of feet down the centuries.

Sounds, smells, atmospheres, mythology, architecture, clothes, iconography, rituals, calligraphy. You might think that these things are not spirituality but mere distractions. But then, what's left of spirituality if you strip it of aesthetics? Would people go to meditation retreats if they were held in office blocks? Would they be attracted to Buddhism if Tibetan lamas wore suit and tie? Would they respect sadhus if they ate at McDonald's? Would there be statues of the Buddha all over the place if he was depicted sitting on a chair? Would Krishna be as popular if he traded his flute for a saxophone? I suspect not.

We must be aware of the importance of the sensual vis-a-vis the spiritual, and of what is it that we're looking for. It's not that we are into spirituality (those of us who are) just for the aesthetics that surrounds it. If that was the case we would go to a museum and not bother with the rest. We yearn for transcendence, but not from the physical per se, but from the ordinary, and the sensual can be our best ally in that pursuit. Non-duality might (or might not) be the ultimate goal, but give me some good old Hindu temple with its ancient gods carved in ancient stone, the pure sound of a singing bowl in an otherwise quite meditation hall, the golden glow of dozens of butter lamps, and you can keep non-duality for yourself. What am I getting out of all this? Mystery, warmth, awe, stillness. Here and now. Free. Satisfaction guaranteed. Who cares about enlightenment? As far as I'm concerned it might not even exist! (That's half tongue-in-cheek.)