Hari Ravidran

Guest Writer

It is the 5th century B.C. In the West, ancient Greek philosophy is slowly developing into a dominant force, thereby setting the foundation for Western ideology. Brilliant thinkers and leaders such as Pericles, Sophocles, Anaxagoras, Socrates, and Aristotle (to name but a few) roam the land. While marking a probable zenith in Ancient Greek art, literature, and architecture, this century also has its fair share of bloodshed with the Persian Wars - fought between the vast Achaemenid Persian Empire and the Greek city-states. This era will witness the Battles of Thermopylae (the subject of the recent film “300”) and Plataea, which eventually culminate in a Greek victory.

The 5th century B.C. is also a dynamic period for the lands of the East (primarily India and Cathay). In India, Prince Siddhartha of the Shakya Nation, having renounced all his worldly possessions at the age of 29, attains Enlightenment after meditating under a fig tree for 49 days. Thereafter, he is referred to as the Buddha or “Awakened One”. For the rest of his life, the Buddha travels across the length and breadth of India, spreading his doctrine among an extremely diverse group of peoples. In Cathay, Kong Fuzi (Confucius) similarly undertakes a long set of journeys around the small kingdoms of northeast and central China where he espouses his philosophy emphasizing personal and governmental morality, correctness of social relationships, justice and sincerity. Sometime around this period, Laozi (Lao Tzu) also comes out with the central Taoist work the Daodejing (Tao Te Ching). Meanwhile, ancient China is thrown into a state of turmoil as ‘The Era of the Warring States’ begins, ending only 200 years later.

This is the world of Cyrus Spitama, a Persian ambassador to the city of Athens. Blind, frail, and very old, Spitama is promptly offended and enraged after listening to an account of the “Persian Wars” at the Odeon, delivered by a self-styled historian called Herodotus of Halicarnassus. Furious at this grotesque slander of the ‘truth’, Spitama decides to dictate his own story to his nephew, Democritus. It is 445 B.C., and this is a rather impressionable, 18-year-old Democritus, not yet the wise philosopher of science who would in time describe the first atomic theory.

Spitama, half-Greek and half-Persian, makes for a wise choice as a narrator. He is the grandson and spiritual heir to Zoroaster, the original prophet of monotheism and judgment after death (who was much later immortalized in Nietzsche’s “Thus Spoke Zarathustra”). Spitama was present at Zoroaster’s death and heard the great man’s last words, an affirmation of belief in divine creation. He becomes an inheritor and avatar of that fiery faith, proclaiming and defending it throughout the world. As a result, he holds beliefs which are directly at odds with most of his contemporaries at the Persian Court. A less than able soldier, Spitama is also unenthusiastic about serving as a priest. With an uncertain future looming in front of him, Spitama is then sent to the East as an emissary - first to India, on behalf of King Darius and then to Cathay, on behalf of King Xerxes (Yes, this is the same Xerxes who was last seen portrayed as a bald-headed, 12-foot monster with an unnaturally deep voice in “300.” It suffices to say that anybody remotely interested in historical fact ought to disregard the events depicted in the film altogether). In addition to his official duties, as a zealous Zoroastrian, he also hopes to convert the inhabitants of the East to the way of Ahura Mazdah, the Wise Lord. However, his faith proves impotent when it comes to the “the only important subject there is”-the creation of the universe.

“Who created the Wise Lord? Can the Creator create himself? How is No-thing different from Nothing? Why was Evil created along with Good?” - Questions like these plague our narrator as he travels the world searching for answers.

To his credit, he does not shy away from these questions, preferring instead to tackle them head-on while also entering into debate on these topics with the leading religious figures of the age such as Mahavira, the Buddha, Laozi, and Confucius. The hair-splitting of the Greeks annoys him and he calls it “mere wordplay”. He also finds the nihilism in Buddhism incomprehensible, if not downright sacrilegious and goes on to say, “The absence of deity, of origin and of terminus, of good in conflict with evil...the absence of purpose, finally, makes the Buddha’s truths too strange for me to accept.” Later in the book: “It is astonishing to think that millions of people actually think that at a given moment in history, two human beings (Buddha and Mahavira) had evolved to a higher state than that of all the gods that ever were or ever will be. This is titanism. This is madness.”

In a debate with Laozi, Spitama is forced to deal with the Taoist concept of the Way and wu-wei (literally meaning “do nothing”). When Laozi is asked, “Who created the Way?” he is forced to answer, “I do not know whose child it is.” After a particularly intense session of incessant questioning, Spitama is told to “go to Wei, my boy. Or, wherever Confucius happens to be at the moment.”

Spitama’s meeting with Confucius is the book’s highlight and is alone worth the book’s weight in gold. As Spitama takes Confucius fishing, they discuss the basic tenets of Confucianism, talking about matters such as the four virtues and the ideal of the ‘perfect gentleman’. In all of Spitama’s dealings with the wise men of the East and the West, Confucius alone earns his respect. As Spitama notes, “Confucius is an honest man. He is often sad. He confesses to imperfection, something very rare, I have found, when dealing with the world’s holy men…Certainly, I have not encountered someone else in my travels who could compare with him.”

While it is virtually impossible to avoid shallowness in dealing with such a panoramic view of various religious and philosophical systems, Vidal manages to do quite well. Anyone without any knowledge of Buddhism, Taoism, or Confucianism can learn quite a lot from these pages.

This brings us to the question on the length of the book. It is long - around 500 pages or so in hardback. And not all of it is easy reading. Philosophical questions aside, the book also features a lot of political intrigue as Spitama tries to sketch the complex political landscape against which the events of the book unfold. Betrayal, lust, and loyalty are just some of the dominant themes which feature in this book.

In his defense, Spitama makes for a rather engaging hero. He is a witty observer, armed with more than a couple of scandalous anecdotes on the derring-dos of the powerful and the mighty. However, Spitama never admits to anything like plain old vulgar domesticity. He describes the consummation of his marriage with the words: “I was pleased. She was pleased.” Similar occasional narrative faux pas rob him of a certain essential sense of humanity.

Vidal’s name-dropping can also seem a tad too tedious at times, with famous names competing for space on virtually every page of the book. It occasionally makes the book seem like one of those suffocating beauty pageants, with famous philosophers and thinkers instead of beautiful belles vying to be the ‘pick of the lot’.

However, these minor faults aside, the sheer scope of the book makes this a one for essential reading. If a person such as Cyrus Spitama never existed, then this is the fault of history, and one that Gore Vidal uses marvelously to his own advantage.

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