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The Bamiyan Buddhas
A Sermon Given
by The Reverend Roger Fritts
on February 17, 2002
at Cedar Lane Unitarian Universalist Church
Bethesda, Maryland
Since I am speaking on a topic related to art and creativity, I must
confess to a multitude of personal weaknesses. A minister should
never lie when his spouse or children are in the congregation.
- I cannot sing a song, or decorate a cake, or draw a picture, or
even replace the battery in my watch.
- In school I received a "C" in band, a "C" in Theater, and a
"D" in art.
- In college I once wrote an 8 page essay on Winslow Homer
using as my only research a three paragraph article in the
World Book Encyclopedia.
Nevertheless, I believe each of us has creative potential. Each of us
has the ability to bring something into existence. All of us have the
potential to be artists. I believe that one of the ways we feel the unity
that underlies existence is through creativity. One of the ways that we
encounter God is through the beauty of artistic activity.
A long time ago in Central Asia a group of Buddhist monks
understood this. In my own study of Buddhism I do not recall any
teachings by the Buddha about the arts. I am not aware of any stories
or pithy sayings attributed to the Buddha about music, poetry, painting or sculpture. Yet in spite of this, the followers of the Buddha
created a rich and beautiful artistic tradition- in poems, gardening,
architecture, painting, and sculpture.
One of the places where this happened was in Central Asia. About
two hundred years after the death of the Buddha, his teachings first
reached a broad, flat valley in Afghanistan. The valley is lined by
sandstone cliffs, snowy mountain peaks, and located about ninety
miles west of Kabul. I have never been to this valley or to
Afghanistan. However, I know from written accounts that the valley
was a major thoroughfare for trade and travel between China, India,
the Middle East, and Europe in ancient and medieval times. The valley
thrived because one of Afghanistan's few rivers flows through it. The
river provides fresh water to grow crops along what was the Silk
Route. For centuries, Afghanistan lay at the heart of the Silk Route.
Along its roads passed silk from China, delicate glassware from
Alexandria, bronze statues from Rome, and beautifully decorated
ivories from India. Camel caravans crossed the region as they traded
between the Roman Empire, China, and India. As they journeyed
through the Hindu Kush mountains, one stopping-off point was the
kingdom of Kush-an.
More than fifteen hundred years ago a great Buddhist monastic center
grew up in the valley. It was a center of learning and pilgrimage. In
sandstone cliffs monks hollowed out living quarters and temples for
themselves. By the 7th century five thousand monks were living and
praying in the cave monastery.
In a sheer cliff wall of the valley, they carved three colossal Buddhas
in huge niches. They were the world's largest rock-carved figures.
Only two survived into the 20th century. The larger of the two statues
stood above the town 175 feet high and was considered the most
remarkable representation of the Buddha anywhere in the world. The
other surviving Buddha, a quarter of a mile from the first, was 120
feet high. Together these monumental Buddhist sculptures were a
wonder of the ancient world.
Scholars still debate when it was that the monks carved these
sculptures. Some say they created them in the fourth century. Others
say it was the fifth century. In 1989 an art historian argued for a
seventh century construction date. No one knows for sure, but no one
debates that their creation was an overwhelmingly ambitious
undertaking. Near what was then the capital city of the Kingdom, the
monks cut the two colossal Buddha sculptures directly from the rock.
Using only hand labor and simple tools, they probably created the
statues over several decades. The surrounding cliffs were
honeycombed with dozens of caves. The yellow-robed monks covered
many caves along with the niches around the Buddhas with murals.
Influenced by the many travelers, the style of the painting was a
mixture of Greek, Persian, and Asian art. On one cave wall, for
example, were images of monks in maroon robes strolling in fields of
flowers. In another place milk-white horses drew the Sun God's
golden chariot through the dark blue sky.
After the monks carved the Buddhas, they painted them. Some traces
of paint remained for archaeologists to examine in the 20th century.
We know that the Larger Buddha was red, the smaller was blue. For
many years researchers attributed the lack of facial features on the
sculpture's heads to vandalism. Now historians believe the monks
made the heads without features and build wooden masks around the
heads. The facial shapes were modeled on the masks with mud mixed
with straw, coated with lime plaster, and covered with a thin sheet of
gold. One historian says that the nostrils were hollow and served as
megaphones. The monks would gather to hear sermons amplified
through the nose of the 175-foot statue. They constructed the lower
parts of their arms from the mud and straw mix and supported the
arms on wooden frames. The mud and straw were also used to create
hands and gold leaf also covered them.
Visible from across the valley, these giant Buddhas carefully painted
and decorated with gold must have been a powerful sight to those in
caravans. On clear days in the late afternoon the sun light would shine
directly on the Gold leaf and the reflection would be visible from thirty
miles away. They must have been quite impressive for people traveling
through the harsh surrounding landscape who finally reached the
beautiful valley with the peaceful Buddhas.
Buddha taught that nothing lasts forever, and that we should develop
detachment from material things. This was true of the community of
monks and all that they had created. The monks left the valley when
Islam came to the Hindu Kush in the ninth century. According to
historians, a warrior rampaged through the area and destroyed
Buddhist temples. Soldiers took the gold and chiseled out the faces
of the Buddha on many frescoes.
Over the centuries however, people did occasionally visit the valley
and stare in amazement at what remained of the giant Buddhas. Most
recently in the late 1960s and 1970s hippies passed through the valley
heading for India and Kathmandu seeking enlightenment. A few
stopped to see the Buddhas. I found an account by one young woman.
She wrote:
As a young back packer I saw the Standing Buddhas,
when Afghanistan was still a kingdom. There were few
outsiders there, given the difficulty of access. From the
capital city of Kabul, the only public transport at the
time was in an old creaky bus with no aisle, just
wooden planks across the middle. It was safer to ride
on top of the bags on the roof, or so it seemed, until
the bus left the paved road and started to careen
around the curves of the riverbank.
It was one of the most beautiful routes I had traveled
in my wanderings through an otherwise harsh and
barren land. The river nurtured a narrow belt of
greenery on both sides, and the trees in turn cooled the
hot desert air.
We approached the statues past the knee-high ruins of
the "City of Silence," a town that was never rebuilt
after the invading Huns destroyed every home and
family. "It's also known as the City of Noise,"
explained a fellow traveler, because of the screams of
the victims on the night it was razed.
There was little tourist industry there at that time, but
some of the local residents would make some money
by boarding the occasional backpackers, and walking
them to the feet of the statues. No one was willing to
show a visitor the way up to the caves carved into the
sides of the cliff, but I could see a curious face or two
peer out from inside. Our host didn't seem to know
much about the statues, except that they had always
been there, and provided him a living. I can't help but
wonder, if he's still there today.
A year ago, the Taliban announced that they would destroy all statues
and idols because they "idolize infidel gods." They declared the
statues as "insulting to Islam." By March twelve press reports
confirmed the destruction of two ancient statues. The Taliban barred
journalists from the region, but international aid workers said that the
massive statues were completely gone. The Taliban's regional,
cultural minister showed personal courage and refused to destroy the
historic statues. To carry out the destruction Taliban officials from
Kabul had to call in Arab, Sudanese, Bangladeshi, and Chechen
demolition experts. It took two weeks to place the dynamite, and
three or four days of explosions before the destruction was complete.
When the work was done, the Taliban sacrificed fifty cows at the site.
Dignitaries were flown in by helicopter for a celebration.
For a few days the statues lay in ruins at the foot of the cliff where
they had stood for more than a thousand years. By April, in an attempt
to profit from the destruction, several truckloads of rubble from the statues turned up in Pakistan. The truck drivers offered parts of the
Buddhas for sale to antiquities dealers.
Much has changed in a year. Now The United Nations cultural
Organization, UNESCO plans to convene a conference of experts in
Afghanistan in April or May to discuss the possible reconstruction of
the Buddhas. The decision to rebuild the statues rests with the Afghan
Government, but press reports say there is widespread support for the
idea. The project could cost between thirty and fifty million dollars.
The reconstruction plan will begin with the sale of 20-inch replicas of
the Buddhas to start the fund raising. The final reconstruction will use
the most accurate measurements of the Buddhas available, taken by
an Austrian mountaineer in 1970. Japan, China, and other countries
with large Buddhist populations have offered their help.
The demolition of the Buddhas shows that for some people art is
dangerous, subversive, and uncomfortable. Even fifteen hundred years
old statues can disturb some people so much that the sculptures drives
them to destruction.
Art can be upsetting. It is easier to avoid the risks of creativity, to play
it safe, to change nothing, to avoid the possibility of being disturbed.
I understand the impulse to ban everything. I am tempted to only read
books by writers I have read before . . . and only listen to music that
I am accustomed to . . . and only go to movies with known actors and
know directors . . . and only visit museums to see paintings by artists
I already know . . .I am tempted to play it safe.
- But then I remember the first time I read a poem by Mary
Oliver there was a rush of excitement.
- I remember seeing the movie "Jesus of Montreal" for the first
time. I felt thankfulness that I had made a new discovery.
- I remember walking into the Frank Lloyd Wright's Unity
Church in Oak Park, Illinois for the first time and feeling
energized by about the design of the sanctuary.
Art is a fabulous realm. It reveals new dimensions, it encourages self-discovery, it establishes connections, it urges us, it pushes us, it
implores us to reach for higher levels of existence.
So in my own clumsy way I will continue to encourage creativity.
It is unlikely that I will ever carve a 175 foot tall Buddha in solid rock.
But I can imagine the joy, the energy, the excitement that the Buddhist
monks must of felt, when after years of carving they were able to step
back one day and say to themselves, " Look at that! We created that!"
It must have been a great day.
In the same way each of us are called on to use our eyes, ears, nose,
lips, and fingers to create a new and better reality. When we draw a
picture, or sing a song, or prepare a meal, or design a garden, or build
a church, we give our soul to meaning. We contribute to something
beyond ourselves, we make our lives count for something positive.
Like the Monks of fifteen hundred years ago we make a contribution
that may well last after we are gone.
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