Answers for Milinda

[Faeelin]

Rhodes, 115 BC

Panaetius looked around at his pupils, and sighed. He was busier now, it seemed, than he had ever been. His words had convinced many, and over the years he had found himself as the head of the Stoa without even intending it. It angered the philosophers n Athens, he knew, but so what? Wisdom could be found anywhere.

But it was better for a man to try and fail than to not try at all, and so Panaetius continued to teach. Some of his pupils gave him hope that men would continue to live virtuous lives, and strive to live as sages. “Is it true,” asked one of the students, “that you do not believe in astrology?”

Panaetius hesitated. He had long different with other philosophers when it came to astrology, and this student was one of the most intelligent pupils he had ever had. “I do not not believe in it,” he said delicately. “I merely have some doubts about it.” He gestured skyward. “The stars are far away from the earth. How could they possibly have any effect upon us?” he asked. “I find it hard to believe that any force could be exerted over such a distance.”

“So?” asked the student. “Who says the stars have to influence our future? Surely it is possible that the stars merely serve as a way for the gods to convey a message to the world?”

Panaetius looked at his student, impressed. It was an interesting way of looking at things, admittedly. And a rational god would put messages where everyone could see them, instead of delivering them via prophecies and such nonsense. He could see several flaws in the student’s logic, but he was still young, and it was best to let him off easily. “Perhaps, it is so, Posidonius.” He held up a hand. “But what evidence do you have that that is the case?”

Posidonius’ face darkened, and Panaetius smiled. It was best not to let his pupil think he knew everything.

The next day Panaetius returned to lecture in a grove outside of the library, and he was surprised to see the smug look on the face of Posidonius. “Have you thought about what we discussed?” he asked.

Posidonius smiled. “Of course I have,” he said.

Panaetius raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Indeed?” he asked. “What is it?”

Before replying, Posidonius sat down beneath the olive grove. “Do you agree,” he asked, “with the teachings of Chrysippus on causality?”

“What do you mean?” asked Panaetius.

“You accept that everything happens with a cause, do you not?” asked Posidonius. Without waiting for Panaetius to respond, Posidonius pressed on. “That is to say, there is an ultimate cause from which all other causes sprung?”[1] Finally Posidonius reached his point. “If that is so, and everything has an antecedent cause, then would you not agree that our free will does not truly exist, and that nothing we do matter?”

Panaetius grunted. This was an old argument, and it had been used by skeptics for decades. “Nonsense,” he replied. “By your own argument, you are wrong. If you acknowledge that proximate causes exist, then you agree that there are causes that are begun by an outside force or factor. And if you acknowledge principal causes, you acknowledge that there are causes due to the inherent nature of a person. If I choose to eat an olive, the principal cause is because olives are pleasing to me. The proximate cause may begin an action, the effect is ultimately due to the innate nature of an object.” Panaetius sighed. “You know this. Why do you repeat things that everyone knows?”

“So, by studying causes,” said Posidonius, “we can determine what their effects are.”

“True,” said Panaetius. “But you have not yet determined that the stars actually cause anything that influences man. What makes you think that they can?”

“I am convinced that the stars can act as an auxiliary cause, influencing the way a man acts when faced with a situation.” Posidonius scowled, as if he was aware of the flaw in his logic.

Panaetius sighed, and shook his head. “Posidonius, don’t you see? That doesn’t provide a rational for the ways the stars influence the world.”

Posidonius was a stubborn man, and smiled. “Perhaps,” he said, “I shall find one.”

[1] I hope this isn’t too confusing.

 

[Faeelin]

I decided to rework the last post with Posidonius; astrology was such a self-evident part of the Hellenistic world that people would have tons of examples where it worked.

Rhodes, 115 BC

Panaetius looked around at his pupils, and sighed. He was busier now, it seemed, than he had ever been. His words had convinced many, and over the years he had found himself as the head of the Stoa without even intending it. It angered the philosophers n Athens, he knew, but so what? Wisdom could be found anywhere.

But it was better for a man to try and fail than to not try at all, and so Panaetius continued to teach. Some of his pupils gave him hope that men would continue to live virtuous lives, and strive to live as sages. “Is it true,” asked one of the students, “that you do not believe in astrology?”

Panaetius hesitated. He had long different with other philosophers when it came to astrology, and this student was one of the most intelligent pupils he had ever had. “I do not not believe in it,” he said delicately. “I merely have some doubts about it.” He gestured skyward. “The stars are far away from the earth. How could they possibly have any effect upon us?” he asked. “I find it hard to believe that any force could be exerted over such a distance.”

“So?” asked the student. “Who says the stars have to influence our future? Surely it is possible that the stars merely serve as a way for the gods to convey a message to the world?”

Panaetius looked at his student, impressed. It was an interesting way of looking at things, admittedly. And a rational god would put messages where everyone could see them, instead of delivering them via prophecies and such nonsense. He could see several flaws in the student’s logic, but he was still young, and it was best to let him off easily. “Perhaps, it is so, Posidonius.” He held up a hand. “But what evidence do you have that that is the case?”

Posidonius’ face darkened, and Panaetius smiled. It was best not to let his pupil think he knew everything.

The next day Panaetius returned to lecture in a grove outside of the library, and he was surprised to see the smug look on the face of Posidonius. “Have you thought about what we discussed?” he asked.

Posidonius smiled. “Of course I have,” he said.

Panaetius raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Indeed?” he asked. “What is it?”

Before replying, Posidonius sat down beneath the olive grove. “Do you agree,” he asked, “with the teachings of Chrysippus on causality?”

“What do you mean?” asked Panaetius.

“You accept that everything happens with a cause, do you not?” asked Posidonius. Without waiting for Panaetius to respond, Posidonius pressed on. “That is to say, there is an ultimate cause from which all other causes sprung?”[1] Finally Posidonius reached his point. “If that is so, and everything has an antecedent cause, then would you not agree that our free will does not truly exist, and that nothing we do matter?”

Panaetius grunted. This was an old argument, and it had been used by skeptics for decades. “Nonsense,” he replied. “By your own argument, you are wrong. If you acknowledge that proximate causes exist, then you agree that there are causes that are begun by an outside force or factor. And if you acknowledge principal causes, you acknowledge that there are causes due to the inherent nature of a person. If I choose to eat an olive, the principal cause is because olives are pleasing to me. The proximate cause may begin an action, the effect is ultimately due to the innate nature of an object.” Panaetius sighed. “You know this. Why do you repeat things that everyone knows?”

“So, by studying causes,” said Posidonius, “we can determine what their effects are.”

“True,” said Panaetius. “But you have not yet determined that the stars actually cause anything that influences man. What makes you think that they can?”

“I am convinced that the stars can act as an auxiliary cause, influencing the way a man acts when faced with a situation.” Posidonius smiled. “After all, are there not countless examples of when the stars have foretold what was going to happen?” he asked.

Panaetius sighed, and shook his head. “There have been countless examples where the stars did not foretell what would happen.”

“So what?” asked Posidonius. “If a carpenter cannot make a stool, will you therefore say that stools do not exist?”

Panaetius shrugged. “Nevertheless,” he said, “how do the stars influence the fate of man?” he asked.

“Give me time,” replied Posidonius, “and I shall find out.”


Euboia, 109 bc

Posidonius wiped the sweat from his forehead, and wondered, as he marched with an army towards Chalkis, why he had decided to join the war. Panaetius had advised him against it. The old man had told him how no matter who won the war, things would never change. Antiochus, he had warned him before he left, would not be a be a better master than Rome, and perhaps a worse one.

The landscape looked as if, in happier days, it would have been a green and pleasant land. But the armies of Rhodes and Rome had devastated the land. Olive trees had been cut down out of spite by retreating soldiers, and he could see the ruins of villages as they passed through them, their inhabitants sold into slavery. It was a scene that could be seen anywhere throughout the world, from Hispania to bactria.

The worst part was that it had not been Romans who had destroyed the village. The Greeks had done it to themselves. The village had supported the losing side in a civil war on the island, and they had paid the price for it. He had seen some slaves being herded onto ships in Chalkis. They might have been from this village. On the other hand, they might have been from another one, or from somewhere else in the world.

Why did he fight, then? He was not fighting for Rome, or Rhodes. His home city, Apamaea, was part of the Seleucid Empire, but he didn’t fight for Antiochus. He had joined the war to support Aristion and his struggle for freedom for the Greeks, and now he was fighting because the men he cared most about were fighting as well.

He turned to the older man marching next to him, Konon of Rhodes, and wondered why he fought. The Rhodian fought for his polis, now that Rhodes was in the war. He had joined Aristion from the beginning, before Rhodes had entered, even when the government of Rhodes had tried to discourage Rhodians from getting involved. He had fought anyway. He would bear a scar for the rest of his life as a result, but what did that matter?

The Enlightened One had taught that justice was the chief virtue; and if justice was good for one person, it was good for everyone. To fight for justice was, reflected Posidonius, a good thing. To risk one’s life for justice, as they were doing, was perhaps the best thing.

That was why he fought, Posidonius decided. Because to help free Achaea, Ephesus, and all the other poleis under the Roman yoke was the virtuous thing to do. What else would the boutha [2] have done?

“A cold comfort, perhaps, to the people who had been enslaved here,” he muttered.

It was then that Konon turned to him, and shook his head. “Don’t you know?” he asked. “The villagers weren’t enslaved. They committed suicide, and burned their own village down.”

Posidonius stopped in his tracks, almost causing the man behind him to knock into him. “Why?” he asked.

“It is better, they said, to die free than live as a slave.” Konon spat into the dust. “If more men could act like that, the world would be a better place.”

Posidonius looked at the village. It had not just been a sacrifice by the men of that village, of course. Women and children had taken their lives as well. He stepped to the side of the road, and placed the figurine of Apollo in front of the village. And then he murmured a prayer to the god, that he might carry the poor mortals into bliss, and spare them the suffering of this world.


[1] I hope this isn’t too confusing.

[2] I’m retconning this, since this now seems to be the best way to say the Buddha.

 

[Faeelin]

Rhodes, 100 BC

Posidonius looked upon his creation, and smiled. He looked at Aristion, who was leaning on a cane and looking at the device skeptically. “Will it work?” he asked.

“It will work,” replied Posidonius. He stared up at the device reverentially, and turned the crank. Slowly, the gears began to turn, and Posidonius cried with delight. “It works!”

Posidonius had constructed an orrery of the solar system, in order to get an idea of how the heavens moved. With delight, he watched as the sun and the planets sedately danced around the Earth, moving steadily in a neverending dance. “Now I know,” he whispered, “how Zeus must feel.”

Aristion shrugged. “It’s a cute toy, I suppose,” he said, “but why should I care about this?”

Posidonius laughed. “Why should you care about this?” he asked, still turning the crank. “Why should you care about logic or ethics?” he demanded.

“All the world,” said Posidonius firmly, “is connected, from a rock in Gaul to a Serican priest, by Zeus.” He smiled. “And all the parts of philosophy, ethics, logic, and physics [3], are connected, like in a body.”

Aristion blinked. “How so?” he asked, looking at the orrery skeptically.

“Well,” said Posidonius. “Physics encompasses the rules that govern the world and make it function, right? So those are the muscles and blood. Logic ensures that everything works as it should, does it not? So logic would be the bones and and tendons.”

“And ethics?” asked Aristion. “What does that have to do with this body you speak of?”

Posidonius stopped turning the crank, and turned his gaze towards Aristion. “Ethics, of course,” replied Posidonius, “are the soul of philosophy.”

Aristion grunted. “Perhaps,” he said. He stood silent, and looked at the orrery. “We shall see if others believe as you do.”

[3] by physics, of course, Posidonius means natural philosophy.

 

[Faeelin]

Rhodes, 98 BC

It was a pleasant night, with the coolness that the sea brought to Rhodes. Many people were out enjoying the night, but Posidonius had other problems on his mind. Accompanied only by a torchbearer, who was silent beside him, he walked towards the only place where he thought he could find peace on this night.

The problem, quite simply, was that Posidonius had been too successful. His works had been read by men across the world, and that had brought him his share of critics. Chief among them had been Boethus of Nysa, a Pythagorean [4]. The two of them had written a series of letters back and forth, which had been widely copied. But Boethus had been dispatched to Rhodes as an ambassador by his polis, and so he had challenged Posidonius to a debate while he was here. As he walked into the nymphae, he reflected on his problem. He waved the torchbearer away, and walked in alone.

Posidonius sighed with pleasure as he walked into the nymphaia. The gurgling of underground brooks relaxed him, as he walked past statues of great gods and men in Rhodian history. He could almost feel them staring at him, from the eyes of the statues. He wondered, ildly, what wisdom Athena could have given him, or Herakles.

It was when he saw Herakles that Posidonius had a flash of insight. In the dim light, by an underground pool, Posidonius received the insight that would make him famous.



The debate with Boethus began the next evening, as the sun was setting. Posidonius marveled at the way the light reflected off of the Colossus in the harbor, and wondered ildlywhat it would look like, centuries from now. He shook his head, and looked at his opponent for the debate.

“Let us begin,” said Posidonius, “with your chief objection to my tenets. Namely, you believe that it is foolish to concentrate on the material world, do you not?” he asked. “You think the enlightened man, who seeks ataraxia, should focus on development of his mind, and ignore any actions in the physical world?”

“Of course,” replied Boethus. “You believe in the transmigration of the soul, as any intelligent man would.” Posidonius shrugged. Many people did, but that didn’t mean much. “If each person lives an infinite number of times, why would moral actions in a specific life time matter?” Boethus began to quote Pythagoras himself. “And as that the good things of fortune may be acquired, so they may be lost. “

Posidonius smiled, and replied with another verse of Pythagoras. “Many sorts of reasoning, good and bad, are to be found amongst men. Yours, I think, is among the latter.” He gestured his arms, and raised his voice. “What foolishness you speak,” he proclaimed. “The ultimate goal of man is, of course, to live in reason. But it is rational for man to seek to be compassionate for one another, for do you think that the gods seek to have men suffer? Of course not!” he exclaimed.

“We have been bound together and united by Nature for civic association,” declared Posidonius. “Thus, man has been intended by Nature to live with his fellow man. Even the barbarians live together.”

Boethus stared at Posidonius while he continued talking. “All acts that help others are virtuous, for they cause an ultimate benefit to the world, and hence to a man. It is the natural impulse of man to help other men, because it helps him fulfill his goal of living with his fellow man.”

“What?” asked Boethus. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

Posidonius smiled. “To put it more simply, for those who cannot comprehend such weighty matters,” he said slyly, “If you seek to make spiritual progress, it cannot be done only in the mind. Virtuous acts are required to become a virtuous person, not mere reflections upon what it is to be a virtuous person.”

Posidonius looked up at the stars in the sky, and smiled. “You would take as your example a sage who sits upon the mountain, reflecting on the world without improving it. I would take as my example Prometheus, who was prepared to risk the wrath of Zeus to help mankind.” He gestured to the torch on the wall. “He endured his suffering with dignity and patience, and he did it for all of mankind, that we might not live as beasts.”

“Look at the earliest sages in human history,” continued Posidonius. “Even the distant Han believe that they were the ones who brought humanity out of barbarism, teaching him the arts of civilization.” [5]

“Nonsense,” said Boethus. “If they were truly sages, they would have been concerned with weightier matters.”

“On the contrary,” replied Posidonius. “They were concerned with virtue and helping humanity. What weightier matter could there be?”

[4] The Neopythagoreans will be covered in detail in another piece, hopefully. But I believe that the Neopythagorean revival of the 1st century BC would occur even earlier and with more force, with the metaphysical thought adopted from India.

[5] Posidonius believed this in OTL too, actually.

 

[Faeelin]

Alexandria, 92 BC

Posidonius peered into the inky blackness, as the ship approached Alexandria. The only lights onboard the ship came from a few lamps, and as far as he could tell, the ship was the only thing in the world. He wondered, idly, if this was what the Styx looked like.

“What do you think of this, Jason?” he asked. Posidonius looked over at his nephew, who was accompanying him to Alexandria.

Jason looked into the darkness, and shivered. “I think I’d prefer to be back in Rhodes,” he muttered.

Posidonius’s face darkened. Jason’s father had been concerned that the boy was wasting his life, and had asked Posidonius to take him on his travels. Posidonius had agreed. He needed an assistant, after all.

Jason, however, seemed ungrateful for the opportunities he had. He would sail the Mediterranean, and visit Alexandria, Rome, Hispania, and beyond. Yet Jason acted as if he would have rather stayed at home. “Why am I standing out here looking at the sea at night?” he asked.

Posidonius sighed. “This was the world,” he said, “before the sages came. A world of darkness and ignorance, with men clinging like savages to what little he had.”

Jason rolled his eyes, but in the darkness his uncle didn’t see him. “And then?” he asked. “Did the sages build the sun?”


Posidonius looked at his nephew, and smiled. Jason was intelligent, but he needed to learn to be less arrogant. “Do you think I’ve had you out here all night for no reason?” he asked. “You’re supposed to be studying astronomy.”

Jason sighed. “I have,” he replied. He began listing the stars that were above them, but Posidonius was not impressed.

“You can memorize the stars,” scolded Posidonius, “but you missed something crucial.” He pointed in the direction of a new light in the night sky, low towards the horizon.

Jason blinked. “What is that?” he asked. Then it dawned on him.

“That’s right,” replied Posidonius. “It’s the light house of Alexandria. It lights the night, and serves as a guide to the ships at sea.”

“Let the teachings of the Enlightened Ones, Socrates, Cleanthes, the Boutha and guide you, as the light house guides the ships at sea.”

Any thoughts?

 

[Faeelin]

One of the mechanisms by which the teachings of the Enlightened One spread through the Hellenistic World was through the plays of Eumeros of Demetria, a disciple from the west coast of India. These plays were composed over the course of a life time, and would be performed from Cartago Nova to Chang’an. Covering the entire life of the Blessed One, they would be played on the holiest days of the year, reminding his followers of what he accomplished.

The first play, “The Savior”, was a general outline of the Enlightened One. It began with…

“There was a descendent of Zeus, an invincible king, pure in heart and of spotless virtue, joyously reverenced by all men as the new moon is welcomed by the world, the king was indeed like Zeus, and his wife like Aphrodite. Strong and calm of purpose as the Earth, pure in mind as the water lily, her name was Berenike, and she was without comparison.”

She gave birth to her child through a painless birth, “surrounded by a thousand attendants”, and even the Muses sing heavenly songs, to encourage him in his pious purpose. Not everyone celebrates, however. When Hades visits the top of Mount Olympos, he asks:

"Why are the gods so wildly elated? Why are they holding up banners
and waving them around?

Even after the war with the Titants was no excitement like this. What marvel has made the gods so joyful?

They shout, they sing, play music,clap their hands, dance.
So I ask you, King of the gods, what makes them rejoice?

When Zeus told him that the Boutha has been born “for the welfare and salvation of the human world”, Hades rushed down to see the boy, terrified.

“As all find refuge in his salvation,” mused Hades, “my land will be desolate and unoccupied. I myself am unequal to him, for all men will believe in him. But he is not yet aware of who he is, and his body is unprotected.” Hades tries to send demons to attack him, but they are repulsed by Apollo, who lulls them to sleep with his lyre. Zeus warns Hades to leave the Buddha alone, but Hades refuses, and vows to stop the Buddha from reaching Enlightenment.

Hades warns the Buddha’s father that unless the boy is kept within the palace, he will renounce his throne and live a life devoted to the gods, something that the king will have no part of. As the Buddha grows older, Hades tries every trick in the book to lure him away from Enlightenment.

When Hades sends the most beautiful nymphs, the Buddha has them sing the praises of the gods. But ultimately it seems as if Hades will win, when the Buddha falls in love with a daughter of Heracles, Macaria. He gives birth to a son, and Hades thinks that he has been victorious.

But then Apollo intervenes. When The Buddha is traveling through the city, but Zeus changed into the form “of an old man, struggling for life, his heart weak and oppressed. “ When the Buddha asks his charioteer why the man is like that, Zeus speaks through him, to say that “'His appearance changed, his vital powers decayed, filled with sorrow, with little pleasure.His spirits gone, his members nerveless, these are the indications of what is called "old age." This man was once a sucking child brought up and nourished at his mother's breast, and was a youth full of sportive life, handsome, and in enjoyment of the five pleasures. But as the years passed on, his frame decaying, he is brought now to the waste of age.”


The same thing happens with a sick man, and then the Buddha sees a dead man, and it is then, as he “watched this painful scene of suffering; and reflected on the ways of birth and death” that he decides he must leave his palace, and seek an end to suffering.

In “the Savior”, the Buddha’s father initially agrees to him traveling abroad, but Hades takes the form of one of his ministers, and warns him. “Surely,” he says, “the time is not yet come for him to live a holy life. He is young and strong, and his heart beats full. If he dwelled amidst the wilderness, his heart would not be pure. And as to his claims of living a religious life, what of his duty to honor his father? Does he think the gods will smile on him for doing so?”

The buddha’s father realizes that it is a god impersonating his minister, but Hades them tells him something that convinces him. If the Buddha renounces his efforts to live a holy life, Hades promises that he will conquer the world.

The Buddha then tells his father that he will agree to remain home, if his father can do three things. If he can end disease, old age, and an end to suffering, the Buddha says he will stay home.

His father, naturally, says that no man could give him such things, and the Buddha compares his father keeping him home to leaving him in a burning house, but his father refuses.

It is then, as his father is around him, that the Buddha declares that “my heart is fixed by all change. I will go forth, and you can not stop me.”

In a rage, Hades, who has donned his helmet of invisibility so the gods do not see him, whispers in his father ear, and tells him to imprison the Buddha. It is then that a lightning bolt knocks down the doors to the palace, and Pegasus flies down, to act as a mount for the Buddha.

Before leaving, the Buddha declares, “But now I wish to go abroad, to give deliverance from pain; now then, for your own sake it is, and for the sake of all your kind.”

And then he departs, to seek salvation for all mankind.

Thoughts?

 

[G.Bone]

It's very poetic. I, myself, am a guy for war, but I think you are doing a very good job with this TL. I would like to see more death, backstabbing, and characters so that I could see how things come about.

 

[Hendryk]

The idea of spreading Buddhism through drama is a good one, and the Hellenistic twist on the story of the Buddha's youth is quite interesting. Someone more well-versed than I am in classical Indian culture might be able to comment on the adaptation of the gods; after all, the Greek pantheon comes from the same Indo-European stock as the Hindu one.

 

[Faeelin]

The idea of spreading Buddhism through drama is a good one, and the Hellenistic twist on the story of the Buddha's youth is quite interesting. Someone more well-versed than I am in classical Indian culture might be able to comment on the adaptation of the gods; after all, the Greek pantheon comes from the same Indo-European stock as the Hindu one.

Hmm. Well, there's Zeus as Indra, obviously.

I decided that Hades, as the ruler of the dead, would fill in for Mara, although I don't think the comparison is 100% accurate.

Apollo was associated with Buddha in Bactrian sculptures from OTL, so I figured he deserves a position.

Hmm. I wonder if the Bodhisattvas will pick up halos on their way through Persia.

 

[Faeelin]

On going forth,
he avoided evil deeds in body.
Abandoning verbal misconduct,
he purified his livelihood.


After the Buddha departs from his home, he journeys to join ascetics in the forest, where he fasts for months, and is ultimately tempted by Hades yet again. When the Buddha fasts in the forest, Hades comes to him and tempts him. He offers him sweet wine and ambrosia, and offers the Buddha wealth and power.

“You are bold, beautiful,
in the first stage of youth, [1]
endowed with the stature & coloring
of a noble-warrior.

You would look glorious
in the vanguard of an army,
arrayed with hoplite armor.
I offer you wealth : enjoy it. “

Hades mocks the Buddha, and tells him that his efforts are in vain. Hades tells him that the only way to earn merit is by sacrificing to the gods, and the Buddha seems crestfallen.

It is then that Apollo appears, taking the guise of a singer. The Buddha’s heart is lifted by his melodious words, which inspire him.

“"Fair goes the dancing when the lyre is tuned,
Tune lyre neither low nor high,
And dance away the hearts of men.
The string overstretched breaks, the music dies,
The string overslack is dumb and the music dies,
Tune us the lyre neither low nor high."

The Buddha decides that asceticism has clearly failed to help him, and ponders what else he might do to achieve Enlightenment. Indulgence leads to dissipation and idleness, and asceticism only causes suffering. The Buddha embarks upon the Middle Path. He sits under an olive tree, and meditates, reflecting upon suffering.

Hades is horrified, and prepares a host from the shades of Hades. They storm forth against the Buddha, armed with diamond maces and spears. But their attacks against the Buddha are to now avail. When they shoot arrows at him, or throw spears, they are frozen in the air and descend to the ground as lotus blossoms.

In despair, Hades shoots poisoned arrows at the Buddha, but they too descend to the ground as flowers. Zeus, who watches the battle from on high, cries out, “ Fire may freeze, water may burn, iron may grow soft, but you will still not hurt the Enlightened One!”

In despair, Hades demands to know who the Buddha is, to do what he is doing. It is then that his wife, Demeter, speaks up. She recites the great deeds and compassionate acts he has done in past lives, and in his current one, and warns her husband that not even he can stop him. In a rage, Hades leaves, and the Buddha continues to meditate.

And then, as the sun rises, to banish the darkness of the world, the Buddha cries out, “Eureka!”



"And what is the middle way realized by the Enlightened Ones that — producing vision, producing knowledge — leads to calm, to direct knowledge, to self-awakening, to Unbinding? Precisely this Noble Eightfold Path: right view, right resolve, right speech, right action, right livelihood, right effort, right mindfulness, right concentration. This is the middle way realized by the Enlightened Ones that — producing vision, producing knowledge — leads to calm, to direct knowledge, to self-awakening, to Unbinding."


The Buddha then debates if he should teach the Middle Path to the world, for:

Enough now with teaching
what
only with difficulty
I reached.
This Dhamma is not easily realized
by those overcome
with aversion & passion.

What is abstruse, subtle,
deep,
hard to see,
going against the flow —
those delighting in passion,
cloaked in the mass of darkness,
won't see[2].


It is then that Apollo appears, and persuades the Buddha to teach the world the Middle Path, out of compassion for all souls. The Buddha agrees, but he is aware that all are in need of Salvation, including the gods.

This is perhaps the most controversial part of the play, for it witnesses the Buddha traveling up Mount Olympus, to preach to the gods. He warns them that the “diamond mace of impermanence can overturn even Olympus,” and that no life, even a god’s, is free from suffering. He lectures them on injustice, and persuades Zeus to free Prometheus, “for he is one who acted out of compassion.” And then the Buddha departs, for he has one more god to visit.

The Buddha flies down to Hades on the back of Pegasus, and reaches the Acheron, the river between the world and Hades. He refuses to pay the toll to Charon, and walks across the Acheron into Tartarus, but he does convince Charon to ferry across paupers and the friendless, who lacked the money they needed to pay Charon [3].

The Buddha reaches Hades’ palace, where he finds the god of the dead seated on his ebony throne. In horror, Hades demands to know who the Buddha is.

The Buddha responds by listing his titles. “I am a Caravan Leader, a Tamer of Beasts, a Dispeller of Darkness, the Foremost Sage, the Giver of Life, The Guide on the Path, and the Ultimate warrior.”

Hades smirks, and says “from your claims, my friends, you must be an infinite conqueror.”

The Buddha is not perturbed.

“Conquerors are those like me
who have reached the end of desire.
I've conquered evil qualities,
and so, Hades, I'm a conqueror.”

Instead of using his newfound powers to annihilate Hades, as he easily could, the Buddha persuades Hades, and, ultimately, converts him. Through the course of the dialogue, Hades gradually acknowledges that his fears were in vain, and that he was acting out of base and selfish desires [4].
Hades ultimately promises to repent, and to aid people in achieving Enlightenment. He builds a place for the just and righteous, so that they can rest in between their reincarnations, and where they can focus on achieving Enlightenment. This place is known, of course, as Elysium.

Elysium is to be a land “of Ultimate Bliss. In Elysium there are pools made of the seven jewels, filled with the eight waters of merit and virtue. The bottom of each pool is pure, spread over with golden sand. On the four sides are stairs of gold, silver, lapis lazuli and crystal; above are raised pavilions adorned with gold, silver, lapis lazuli, crystal, mother-of-pearl, red pearls, and carnelian. In the pools are lotuses as large as carriage wheels: green-colored by green light; yellow-colored by yellow light; red-colored by red light; white-colored by white light; subtly, wonderfully fragrant and pure.”[5]

Elysium “is bathed in light, and when the soft wind blows through the jeweled trees, they give off the music of the gods.” It is home “to the heroic and the virtuous, to the innocent and the wise.”

The play ends with the Buddha leaving Elysium, so that he can save the souls of those who were still alive. As he leaves, Hades looks on what he has done, and sighs.

“The Wheel of Tyche [6],” he declares, “turned since the beginning of time, and suffering has followed in its wake. But what will follow now that the Awakened One is among us?”







[1] Some one suggested that I tempt the Buddha with young boys, given that it’s for the Greeks, but I decided it’s best to stick with the old ways.

[2]The ayacana Sutta

[3] Among the Hellenistic schools of Buddhism, it will become a common practice to donate to monasteries and temples, as a way of paying Charon to take the souls of the poor.

[4] I thought about what would happen to Hades, and considered that he might become a figure like Mara or Satan, perpetually tempting the faithful. But I decided that in Hellenistic mythology, the gods are rarely evil; even Hades can show compassion, and does.

It is far more likely that the gods find their behavior corrected by the Enlightened Ones, than that they would become caricatures of good and evil.

[5] This is basically cribbed from the Amitabha Sutra.

[6] This is the Celtic stand in for Dharma, and in OTL was the Greek word for fate.

 

[Faeelin]

We return to Alexandria, Jason, and the followers of the Jewish prophet Judah Ben Hur...

Jason strolled the streets of Alexandria, his eyes drinking in the sights. Was there anywhere else in the world as grand as Alexander’s city? The streets were filled with men from all the world, and wares from every land under the sun. It was also filled with women from all lands under the son, but Jason wasn’t the sort of man to interested in that.

Still, Alexandria was a city of marvels. As he walked through its streets, he saw book sellers, piles of fragrant spices from Seres and other eastern lands. Jason walked past Gallic slaves, sweating under the Egyptian sun, and Ethiopian courtesans. He smiled, grateful that he had left the Mouseion where his uncle was lecturing.

Jason walked to a main avenue, where the streets were empty, save for priests carrying a golden statue of their god. The priests chanted the sacred words of their god , and walked solemnly, their crisp white robes of Indian wool [1] reflecting the sun’s light.

I am the Lady of the Thunderbolt,
I calm and swell the sea,
I am in the rays of the sun.

That which I will finds fulfillment,
and all things yield before me.

I free those in bonds,
I am the mistress of seafaring,
And raised up islands from the depths to the light.

I am the Lady of the Rains,
I am the consort of the Boutha,
I vanquish Destiny.

Jason smiled as he saw the procession, and stopped to listen to the worshippers, who sang their ancient hymns in Egyptian. His mother had worshipped Isis, but she had always prayed to her in Greek.

Jason continued to wander down the avenue, until he saw a crowd of people standing before a bearded man on a platform. The man was wearing plain linen tunic, and was lecturing the crowd. Bemused, Jason stopped to listen. After a few lines of the man’s speech, Jason turned to a man next to him, confused. “Why,” he asked, “does God bless cheesemakers?”

The man, clearly a Jew, smiled smugly. “Isn’t it obvious?” he said. “It’s a metaphor. Cheesemakers separate milk into the curds and the way. The cheese makers, in this context, are those who separate the pious, or the curds, from the whey, the impious.”

Jason blinked. “Oh.” He looked at the speaker, trying to comprehend the significance of this. He blinked. “Who is that speaker?”

The Jew looked at him and smirked. “He is a disciple of the prophet Judah Ben Hur, and has come to Alexandria to impart the wisdom of God. He is known as Jeshua.”

Jason was intrigued. He knew of the Jews, of course, although he didn’t know many personally. They tended to keep a bit to themselves when it came to their God, although he’d seen a few at taverns and the like. A bit amused, he made his way to the front of the crowd, to listen to what this Jeshua had to say.

Jason listened to the one called Jeshua, as he heckled the crowd. The bearded prophet’s eyes seemed ablaze with the word of God, and he spoke in Greek with a clear voice. “Now I maintain,” he declared, “that our legislator [2] is the most ancient of all legislators in the world. Compared with him, your Lycurguses and Solons [3], and all who are held in esteem by you appear to have been born but yesterday. The very word law does not even appear in the poems of Homer!”

Jason nodded as he heard the man’s words. The man made a good point. Jeshua continued speaking, explaining how the Jews had set up a polis of God. “Some people have entrusted their power to kings, others to oligarchies, yet others to masses. Our lawgiver, however, was attracted by none of these governments, but established a theocracy, placing all sovereignty and authority in the hands of God. To Hiim he persuaded all to look, as the author of the blessings that are common to all mankind.”

“The Lawgiver, you see, understood that no action, no thought, could be hid from Him. The Legislator saw Him as One, uncreated and immutable, in beauty surpassing all mortal thought, in wisdom surpassing all mortal conception.”

“Impressive,” Jason muttered. He wondered, though, what this Jew was up to. Didn’t they think their God was for them alone?

The crowd was silent, listening to the words of Jeshua. “The wisest of the Greeks learned to adopt these conceptions of God from principles which Moses supplied to them, and they have born witness to the excellence of these doctrines. Pythagoras, Anaxagoras, Plato, and the Stoics who succeeded him held the Lawgivers views concerning the nature of God. They addressed their philosophy to a few, however, and did not divulge their true belifs to the masses. Our Lawgiver, however, making practice square with precept, not only convinced his contemporaries, but so firmly implanted his beliefs concerning God in their descendants to all future generations.”

Jeshua raised his hands in the air, and Jason suddenly felt a chill run down his spine, despite the weather. There was something important going on here, he realized. “Moses did not make religion a department of virtue, but made the various virtues, temperance, justice, fortitude, and all the others departments of religion.” Jeshua took a breath, and continued speaking. “Our earliest imitators were the philosophers, who were Moses’ disciples, holding similar views about God, and advocating the simple life and communion between men. But even the people have long shown a keen desire to adopt our faith, and there is not one single city or nation to which our customs have not spread. All the world seeks to imitate our unanimity, our charities, our devoted labor in the crafts, and our endurance under persecution on behalf of God.”

Jason could feel the energy and excitement in the crowd, as this Jeshua reached the conclusion of his speech. “Our law holds no seductive bait of sensual pleasure, but has spread on its own merits. This is no surprise, for as God has permeated the universe, so his Law has spread throughout mankind. This was the revelation of Judah Ben Hur, who taught the Law to all men.”

“Judah saw that our father Abraham taught the people, and revealed to them the faith and unity of God. But the word of God is the word of all men. Did not God send Jonah to Nineveh, to make them repent? Did not Amos predict that all nations would bear the name of God?” The crowd was so wrapped up in Jeshua’s speech that they acted as if they knew who those people were, and there were so many at this point that they were blocking traffic. [4]

Jeshua seemed oblivious to any of this, and continued speaking. “The pious men among the Gentiles have a share in the World to come, if they ennoble their souls with worthy qualities. There is no doubt that every man who bases himself on the wisdom of God belongs with God.”

Jason made his way through the crowd, walking away. Jeshua, he knew, was still speaking, but Jason had heard enough. It was interesting that the Jews were trying to bring others to their faith, but he wasn’t about to join it. Especially with the things they did.

As he walked back to the Museion, though, Jason did cast a glance at the crowd that was still listening to Jeshua. How many would hear his words, and how many would find them pleasing?


[1] Indian wool is, of course, cotton.

[2] Moses

[3] Lycurgus was the lawgiver of Sparta, and Solon was a famous Athenian who wrote laws for Athens.

[4] Much of this is drawn from the writings of Maimonides, a 12th century Jewish rabbi, and the writings of Flavius Josephus, a 1st century Jewish rabbi that was patronized by Vespasian.

 

[Admiral Matt]

"Especially with the things they did."

Hm. That would be circumcision, yes?

 

[Faeelin]

"Especially with the things they did."

Hm. That would be circumcision, yes?

Yes. The Greeks aren't keen on what they view as mutilation.

 

[Faeelin]

Gades, [5] Hispania, 91 BC

Posidonius looked at the posts in the sparkling blue waters, and jotted a note down on a piece of papyrus. “I knew it,” he said. “The tides are related to the moon.” He scribbled something else down on the papyrus, and muttered, “The tides are highest at the new moon when the moon and sun are in conjunction, and at the full moon when the sun and moon are at opposition.” He looked at his newphew, who was standing knee deep in water next to him, and asked, “Do you understand why that’s significant?” he asked.

Jason, who had been busy contemplating going for a swim, rolled his eyes. “Why do you always have to teach me by asking questions?”

Posidonius smirked. “What’s wrong with a question?”

Jason sighed. His uncle wasn’t a bad man, really. He was a genius, really. Everyone knew that. But it made him frustrating, because he assumed that everyone’s mind operated the way his did. “Nothing,” he said at last. He knew the answer to the question anyway. “It demonstrates how everything in the world is influenced by everything else.” Jason paused, and said something he had thought about for a while. “But how do the bodies influence the world?” he asked.

Posidonius began to walk out of the water and up the beach, and Jason fell in step behind him. “There’s a property,” Posidonius began, “known as aporrhoia.”

“Flowing away?” asked Jason. His eyebrows furrowed as he thought about the term. “There’s something that flows from the stars to the Earth, and effects matter here?” He shrugged. It was possible, he supposed, that there was such a force. “But the moon and sun are larger than the stars. Wouldn’t they exert a greater force?”

Posidonius looked at his nephew respectfully. “Yes, they would. But because of their regular movements,” he said, “their effect would be cancelled out.”

Jason blinked. There was something about his uncle’s claim that didn’t make sense to him. After all, didn’t the planets move regularly as well? Jason was about to point that out, but his uncle noticed a man on a horse riding down the beach. “Hail, Claudius!” he cried out in Latin.

The old Roman rode up on his horse, and carefully got off, as one of his slaves grabbed the horse’s reins. “So, were you right?” he asked in Greek.

“Of course,” replied Posidonius. “How could it be otherwise, in a world where everything is thus related?” He paused, and frowned as he looked out at the sea. “Still,” he mused, “I wonder how the aporrhoia works.” He shrugged. “Ah, well,” he said. “One of these days, perhaps.” It was then that Posidonius noticed the look on his friend’s face, and asked him, “How was your time at your city’s assembly?”

“The Senate [6]?” replied Claudius. He spat into sand. “Oh, it’s more about taxes. The Senate in Rome needs to pay its bills, and the publiani are taking the gold from our earth.” Claudius paused to take a breath, and said, “I mean, how foolish is this? We’re the ones who fought to secure Hispania. We’re the ones who drove out the Cimbri and Teutones from Hispania, when Italia was threatened. And new, because they lost in the east, we have to suffer for it?”

“It does seem unjust,” said Posidonius reasonably.

“Of course it is!” exclaimed Claudius. He gestured at the land around him. “This is land that me and my ancestors fought and bled for. We’ve been here since Scipio defeated Hannibal, and we’ve all served Rome’s legions. But because we don’t live in Rome, we can’t decide the fate of our own land.”

Claudius paused, as if he realized what he’d said. “But forgive me, friend. I get ahead of myself.’ He looked at the setting sun, and nodded. “It’s getting late. Why don’t you return with me, and we will dine together tonight.”

Jason followed behind them, listening to his uncle and Claudius discuss the affairs of Roman politics, and they gradually shifted to discussing how Spain had changed in the past few decades. “It’s amazing, isn’t it?” asked Posidonius as they rode along a Roman road past an olive field. “A hundred years ago, this road wasn’t even here. Most of Spain had been a primitive wasteland, and now it’s remarkably civilized, with bustling cities and commerce.”

”That’s Rome’s doing, isn’t it?” asked Claudius. “We were the ones that subdued the land and tamed its savage peoples.” He smirked. “My grandmother was an Iberian, actually.”

“Of course,” said Posidonius. “But it’s not just happening here.” He pointed at Claudius’s cloak. “That’s made of Gallic wool, isn’t it?”

Claudius shrugged. “So?” he asked.

“A hundred years ago,” said Posidonius, “Gaul was known only for slaves, and traded them for wine. Now it still sells slaves, yes, but also ham, metals, and wool. It no longer buys wine, but grows its own, and its people are moving from being barbarians to living in cities. Or look to the east. The cities of Bactria have opened up trade with Seres, a land that no one even knew about.”

“We are living,” declared Posidonius, as he looked at the setting sun, “in interesting times.” [7].


[1] Indian wool is, of course, cotton.

[2] Moses

[3] Lycurgus was the lawgiver of Sparta, and Solon was a famous Athenian who wrote laws for Athens.

[4] Much of this is drawn from the writings of Maimonides, a 12th century Jewish rabbi, and the writings of Flavius Josephus, a 1st century Jewish rabbi that was patronized by Vespasian.

[5] Cadiz

[6] Literally, the ordo decurionum, but why confuse the reader? It’s the local government for Romans in Gades.

[7] In OTL, Posidonius was a big supporter of the Romans, who he saw as heralding the cosmopolis, the stoic city of the world. He somewhat optimistically took the conditions in Spain as an example of Rome’s greatness, bringing civilization to where it hadn’t existed.

 

[G.Bone]

It takes a wee bit of time to digest what you've written but it's really good - a bit of the political to spice up the ideas.

 

[Shadow Knight]

Wow, just wow. Another excellent post Faeelin.

 

[Faeelin]

Thanks guys. The next posts will cover Gaul and what's been going on there, and then we will return to China, to see what's been going on, as the rationalist school applies He La logic to Chinese applied sciences...

 

[Faeelin]

Lugdunum, 91 BC

After departing from Spain, Posidonius had one last place he wished to visit. The king of the Keltoi had written to him, and asked him to visit his capital in Gaul. Posidonius had been skeptical at first, but he was interested in seeing what Gaul was like first hand. And if his nephew wasn’t eager to go visit a land full of what he viewed as headhunting barbarians who greased their hear with rancid butter, well, it wasn’t his decision.

So it was that Posidonius and his nephew Jason traveled to Lugdunum, in the fall. Their journey to the city had been rather surprising, actually. The Keltoi, apparently, had been constructing a network of roads, based on the Roman model, to move armies around faster. Jason wondered what the Romans thought of that, but they probably had other things on their mind, given what was happening in Italy.

Jason noticed the houses they rode past, as they approached the walls of Lugdunum. “It still seems weird to me,” he said, “how most of their houses are of wood.”

Posidonius shrugged. “What else would they use?” he asked. “Gaul is covered in forests, and the art of working in stone is still new to them. If all of Greece was like Arcadia, perhaps the Parthenon would have been made of timber.” He shrugged. “Look at their roads,” he said, looking down at the stone slabs. “They build many of them out of logs instead of stone.”

“Perhaps,” said Jason. He looked at the people who were riding or walking past them towards the city. He and his uncle were wearing plain linen tunics, suited for traveling, that stretched down past their waist. The Celts wore some of the most garish things he ha ever seen. The cloaks were covered in plaid designs, and the richest men, who rode on horses and had retainers, wore shirts that were striped and embroidered with gold thread. They wore ornaments of solid gold, and many of the men had their hair cropped and spiked. Some of them, he noticed, boasted ridiculous mustaches on their faces, and none of them wore beards.

He rode with his uncle in silence through the city, trying to comprehend their foreign babble. He looked at women gesticulating wildly and screaming at merchants, while a priest sacrificed a chicken in front of a building. Some of the scenes, in a way, were rather like his home in Rhodes.

And then, as they reached the king’s palace, he saw the niches carved in the walls where the skulls of his enemies were placed, with their eye sockets staring at him. In other ways, he was reminded that they were an alien people.

They walked up to the palace, which looked more like the urban house of an aristocrat than a barbarian king’s stronghold, and a servant of the king walked up to them. “Welcome,” he said in Greek, “to the hall of Dunmorix, king of the Keltoi!” He looked them over, noticed their slaves, and decided the Greeks should be introduced to the king immediately. “Please, come and join my lord in his hall, where even now he feasts [1].” The courtier led them into the palace, through halls full of mosaics and statues. As they walked, the courtier turned to them, and asked, “Might I know the names I am to announce when you see the king?” he asked.

“Tell the king,” replied Posidonius with a smirk, “that Posidonius of Rhodes has come to seek the hospitality of his court.” The courtier, a slave, shrugged, and led them into the hall where the king was feasting.

The king and his court were eating in an expansive room, constructed to look like a traditional Gallic hall. The king and his immediate followers sat in the center, sitting upon the skins of wolves as they ate off of a low table, and he was surrounded in a circle by more of his followers. They were introduced, and the king, wearing what had to be pounds of gold, smiled. “Greetings,” he said to Posidonius and his son. “Be welcome in my hall, and feast with me.”

“Thank you, King Dunmorix,” replied Posidonius, as he sat down at the table. A servant poured him and his nephew cups of wine, and Posidonius watched the Gauls eat as he took a sip. They were surprisingly clean, for barbarians. They alternated between pieces of meat and bread, and then washed it down with wine. Posidonius followed suit, and tried a piece of smoked ham. He considered the flavor as he chewed, and shrugged. It wasn’t tuna from Gades, but it wasn’t bad either.

As the feast continued, Dunmorix looked at Posidonius, and smiled. “So, Posidonius,” he said in careful Greek, “what brings you to the lands of the Keltoi?”

“I am a scholar,” replied Posidonius, as he put butter on a piece of bread. “I was interested in studying your lands and peoples, as I have studied the other lands of the Mediterranean.” He doubted the barbarian had ever heard of him, but it couldn’t hurt to put his name out there.

“Hmm,” replied Dunmorix. “Perhaps you could help me with a question, then,” he said. “I am led to believe that the Stoa holds that we live in the best of all possible universes.” Posidonius nearly spat out his wine. This wasn’t the sort of thing one expected from a barbarian king. Dunmorix continued his question, seemingly oblivious to Posidonius’s question. “Yet you also claim that the world has been reborn from fire numerous times.” The king drank some wine, and said, “Therefore, would it not be fair to see that all of this has happened before, and all of this will happen again?” [2]

Jason smiled and watched as his uncle squirmed. Despite his claims that the Gauls were on their way to becoming a civilized people, he still hadn’t expected a question like that. “Well,” said Posidonius after he finished swallowing his wine, “Providence has ordered the world so that all men could aspire to achieve the best outcome, which is an end to suffering.” Posidonius recovered his poise as he talked, and his confidence returned. “But that is the ultimate goal for men. In the meantime, how men achieve that goal will of course vary, as it varies for different men today.”

Dunmorix stroked his mustache. “So what you are saying, then,” asked Dunmorix, “is that things in past worlds might have been different, but in the end they would all have become the same place?”

“Exactly,” replied Posidonius.

Dunmorix shrugged. “That’s a bit depressing, if true. It would be amazing if the gods were so boring that they could only do the same thing over and over again, for all time.” He shrugged. “Still, Posidonius of Rhodes, I have heard of you, and know you are a drui.” Posidonius blinked at the foreign term, but he recognized its significance. “You are welcome in my lands, Posidonius, as my guest.”

He thought for a moment. “In fact, I would like to have one of my retainers escort you, and guide you in your journeys.” The king turned towards the revelers, and called out a name. A few seconds later, a young man walked out of the crowd towards the king. “This,” declared the king, “is Calgacus. He studied in Massalia, and speaks Greek far better than I. He will be your guide.”

Jason’s eyebrows rose as he saw the Celt who walked towards them. He was about his age, with blonde hair that flowed naturally and light blue eyes. Despite himself, Jason thought about what people said about the Celts, while his uncle continued to talk. “Thank you, great king.” Then Posidonius paused, as he fully took the statement in. “How is it that one of your vassals studied in Massalia?” he asked. [3]

Dunmorix laughed. “What else would I do for my son, but give him the best education that I can?” he asked. “But let us talk later,” he said, as some one began to strum a lyre. “The bards are about to play.”





[1] The Greek historian Diodorus wrote that the Gauls do not inquire until after a meal what their guests desire; and while this probably didn’t work this way in reality, I suspect the theory would hold true for a Greek.

And as you can tell by his claim to be king of the Keltoi, Dunmorix has big plans.

[2] Cicero, intriguingly, refers to the Druids as students of philosophy, and claims that one in particular, Divitiacus, was a student of the physical universe. Now it has been argued that Divitiacus was exceptional, which may be true. But was he any more exceptional than Cicero?

Bear in mind also that this is a Hellenizing Gaul; so I think this makes sense.

[3] Massalia had a fairly important reputation for scholars in the Early Roman world; it was the place you sent your kids if you couldn’t afford Athens, as an aristocrat.

 

[G.Bone]

It's good that you're going into the *other bits of AoM world. Mayhaps you could go into how Keltia (sp?) exists with Rome sort of distracted. It is kind of neat on how you introduce a character to the TL as a 'tour guide' of sorts. Just exactly how much of Gaul is TTL's Gaul?

 

[Faeelin]

. Just exactly how much of Gaul is TTL's Gaul?

Umm. It's hard to describe; the Kings have influence as far east as Bavaria and even, to an extent, in England. Their main area of influence, though, is France west of the Rhine and south of Belgium.