The Virtual Life of Fizzy Oceans

by David A. Ross

  “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit!”

  Then it is finished.

  “Surely, this man was the Son of God!” weeps one of the Roman centurions.

  Yosef of Arimathea approaches to claim Yeshua’s body for burial in a tomb that he has donated, but he is instructed by the Romans to draw back: “Leave him to the bald vultures; it is the way!”

  A second rumbling of the earth is heard and felt, and the Romans flee in fear of what they have done. Yosef takes down the body of the crucified rabbi, as the women anoint it with perfumed oil. Yeshua is carried to the tomb, where he is laid to rest. A large stone is placed in front of the sepulcher. It is nearly five o’clock now, and the Passover has begun.

  I am shaken, devastated. Sir Harold extends his arm to support me because I can barely stand, and we leave the Place of the Skull and begin walking in the direction of the Temple. Though why we are going anywhere near the Temple I can’t say. On the outskirts of the city we pass through farmlands. Coming to a barren tract of land, we see a man hanging from a lone tree in the desert, an array of silver coins scattered on the ground. His blackened tongue protrudes through his cheek; his abdomen has been ripped open and his entrails hang, bloody and gaping, from his body. Already the scavengers have found the corpse.

  “Judas?” I say to Sir Harold.

  He nods and tells me to look away.

  Walking through the city gates, Sir Harold and I are magically transferred (thanks to VL technology) back to modern-day Jerusalem. These days—in PL and in VL, too—the Temple is certainly not what it was in 33 A.D. As history tells us, it was destroyed (for the second time) when the Roman occupation ended, abruptly and violently. Yet the Temple in the heart of Jerusalem remains at the center of the Jewish faith and the Nation of Israel, and it is vital in a different way than it was two thousand years ago. Many in our time decry the policies and actions of Israel as intolerant and inhumane, but that is an argument for a different time and a different venue. What I see here—albeit in VL—is the legacy, or perhaps it is the outcome of the long and colorful history of a culture that has undeniably given the world the foundation on which it still rests to this day. Granted, the Jews have had their ups and downs, and the story of Jesus is just one chapter. Whether one excuses the politically expedient actions of an ancient oligarchy probably depends on your point of view regarding the Christian faith as it has evolved over the centuries. But I know one thing, the drama of the events that I have just experienced firsthand is undeniable and profound. And whether these events actually took place as they are portrayed here in VL, or if something else entirely happened, the story itself has exhibited rather extraordinary staying power. As it should…

  But Sir Harold Smithson has his own ideas about all that, as he tells me over coffee at a virtual café in the shadow of the Temple. “Only one question concerning the life and deeds of the man called Jesus ‘the Christ’ is relevant, and that question concerns authenticity. The means by which we question (or establish) authenticity must be determined by historical documentation, which in this case is somewhat limited. We can rely upon firsthand accounts (authentic or contrived as they may be), or we can base our conclusions on hearsay, which in this case is plentiful. Whatever evidence we have to analyze, we must always differentiate between hardcore physical evidence and mythology.

  “Virtually every critical thinker in modern times has abandoned the idea that Jesus of Nazareth was an incarnate manifestation of God Almighty, Creator of the universe and beyond. This abandonment of (faith) is nothing short of progressive western thought at odds with ancient Middle Eastern superstition; and the larger question that arises from this confrontation is whether religion or humanity itself will determine the path of our progress as a race.

  “If the mass of historical evidence (or even the lack of it) determines that Jesus was not a manifestation of the God of Everything, then he must assume his rightful place in the pantheon of demigods that populate mythology.

  “In the case of Jesus of Nazareth, the sole historical authority is contained within the four Gospels: Mark, Luke, Matthew and John. But the burning historical question remains, Who really wrote these texts? Remember, Mark’s Gospel is not titled, “The Gospel of Mark” whoever this ‘Mark’ might have actually been; rather it is entitled, “The Gospel According to Mark. It is admittedly a short and simple document. It knows nothing of the Virgin Birth, nothing of the Sermon on the Mount, and it does not record what we have come to call ‘The Lord’s Prayer’. Historians can find no evidence that this document even existed until 70 AD at the earliest, and it is not discussed in any written reference before the year 160 AD. If the stories it reports were indeed handed down by word of mouth for even seventy years after the death of Jesus, then I think it is safe to assume that they might well have been corrupted or enhanced in the telling. Imagine if we were to try to write an account of Abraham Lincoln’s life—or even his last night on earth—without a single written account of the true events of his life. It would be impossible to maintain any degree whatsoever of authenticity. Such is the case in the Gospel According to Mark. Yet, there is further historical evidence that the author of this text drew heavily from an even earlier document, one that historians now refer to as the ‘Old Mark’. This document has been lost to the Ages. Where did it go? Why was it not preserved by the early Church? Nobody really seems to have an answer to such questions, but what we do know is that the document that has anchored the synoptic Gospels for nearly two thousand years is, in essence a ‘copy’ and an ‘embellishment’.

  “Which brings me to the matter of the second and third synoptic Gospels: The Gospel According to Luke, and The Gospel According to Matthew. Each of these accounts are a bit more detailed than that of Mark, although it is apparent to most scholars that each of the authors drew heavily on Mark’s story. In essence, both Gospels, Luke and Matthew, are but enlargements of the Gospel According to Mark. Luke’s Gospel is best dated at 110 AD. Mathew’s Gospel is dated no earlier that 130 AD. Neither of these books is even mentioned in written history until 190 AD. Obviously, it can be supposed that the hearsay evidence involved in composing both books could be significant, if not overwhelming. In short, both may be rich in mythology, but neither have relevance as historical documents.

  “The Gospel According to John is significantly different than the three synoptic gospels. In John’s book, ca. 140 to 170 AD, we see a very different Jesus than in the previous three gospels. In fact, John’s Jesus seems to behave very differently than the Jesus portrayed by Mark, Luke and Matthew. John’s book is derived mostly from Greek philosophy merged with early Christian mysticism, and names Jesus not as a man (The Gospel According to Mark); nor as a demigod (The Gospels According to Luke and to Matthew), but as God Himself!”

  “I had no idea you were so anti-Christian,” I tell Sir Harold.

  “I’m not…necessarily,” he says. “For me, the argument—or debate—is a wholly empirical one.”

  “Then tell me more,” I invite the historical scholar.

  “The simple fact is this: Whether or not Jesus Christ ever existed is a point open to serious scholarly question. There is just no ‘physical’ evidence that he did live, so the matter is left to ‘faith’, which is always blind. Nor is there much evidence that the events described in the four Gospels actually took place. These stories might well be contrivances of writers employing the same techniques that authors today employ: the use of metaphor, and hyperbole, and symbolism, and fantasy!”

  “Why was I never told such things in catechism class? Or in school?”

  “The perpetration of this myth is very important to those who benefit most from it in our time,” Sir Harold instructs me.

  “But what about the Passion we just witnessed? Is it not a worthy story?”

  “A worthy story? No doubt it is a worthy story. But nothing more…”

  “I don’t know, Sir Harold. If what you are saying is true, then the story of Jesus, his cruci
fixion, his resurrection and his status as the Savior of humanity is perhaps the greatest hoax ever perpetrated on mankind.”

  “And that, Fizzy Oceans, may be its more lasting legacy…”

  “It’s not that I’m pleading Christianity’s case, Sir Harold. It’s just that what you are saying goes against everything I’ve been told my entire life.”

  “The Jesus of the Gospels is a combination of impossible elements, Fizzy. If there was a man named Yeshua who lived in Palestine nineteen centuries ago, a man who was loved and admired by the common people, a man who preached as a rabbi in the Temple and who angered the political oligarchs of the time, a man who met a violent death for his deeds as a dissident, then why was not one word written about him and his actions in the time of his life? Or even shortly after his death? No, it is far more likely that the Jesus the world has come to know and worship was an invention of some very creative authors, a church that had its own agenda (mostly economic), and the willingness of people to believe a fantastic (and undocumented) tale to ensure their own salvation. It’s easy to sell a martyr, Fizzy. It has happened in every Age, including our own. Once the people of the world have learned that the Christ of the Gospels is but a myth, and that Christianity as we now know it is wholly untrue, then they will (grudgingly) turn their attention from the religious mythology of the past to the vital problems of the present, and begin trying to solve those problems for the betterment of today’s society.”

  “And that, Sir Harold, is called Secular Humanism!”

  Touché, Fizzy Oceans!

  After many requests, I have finally been given an opportunity to meet with the Dalai Lama to conduct an interview with His Holiness. I must say that I am expecting an encounter far more relaxing than my two previous ones in this ongoing and thorough effort to research and document the world’s religions. Because crossing the Sinai Dessert and spending forty years with Moses and the Hebrews (while not aging a day, I might add), and then watching the trial and brutal crucifixion of Jesus, has left me not only emotionally exhausted, but also disenchanted. It is said that the truth shall set one free, but in my case, spying through my proverbial peephole at history, I do not feel any freer; I feel even more alone in a universe that is teaming with other people and rich almost beyond comprehension with their stories and beliefs. Maybe His Holiness can offer me insight—or, if not that, at least a little even-tempered perspective. So off I go!

  Whoosh…

  Arriving as a novice at the Dharamshala, India residence of Jetsun Jamphel Ngawang Lobsang Yeshe Tenzin Gyatso, the fourteenth Dalai Lama, I am greeted by the emulation of His Holiness, his hands and fingers pressed together in front of his face. He is wearing a red robe with a yellow sash. The room in which we are to meet is neither large nor small. The floor is made of dark hardwood, and a large doorway opens onto a garden in full bloom. On one wall is a sizeable and very ornate altar with a statue of the Buddha in meditation resting upon it. Encircling the head of the icon is an intricate and colorful ceramic aura. The architecture is classical, with pillars and trusses and archways. A single floor-to-ceiling enclosed bookcase contains a collection of ancient artifacts—mostly scrolls. The walls and the ceiling are both painted rosy pink, and a luxurious tapestry hangs from the center of the ceiling. Near the altar is the Dalai Lama’s throne, as well as a chair that has obviously been placed there for me.

  “It is an honor to finally meet you, Your Holiness,” I say with a curtsy.

  “I regret that you have had to wait so long for our conversation,” he says. “But my position is very demanding. I am head of Tibet’s government-in-exile, but of course my spiritual duties and obligations extend far beyond one who is a Head of State. My cause is largely spiritual, you understand.”

  “I haven’t minded waiting,” I tell him. “I’ve used the time to great advantage, and my research is quite far along now.”

  His Holiness smiles and says, “Yes, I am aware of your recent travels. How very fascinating for you!”

  “Fascinating, yes. Though I’m afraid I have reached no conclusion.”

  “This is not a worry, Fizzy Oceans. Life is a journey, and learning is a process. Conclusions necessarily bring an end to the process of learning, and it is the process itself that has real value.”

  “Well put, Your Holiness,” I concur.

  He waves off the compliment as he turns to sit upon his throne. “Just part of my job,” he laughs. Then he turns to me and says, “Please take a seat. Make yourself comfortable in my home. May I offer you a cup of tea? It’s really very good.”

  I accept his gesture of hospitality and settle in for what I hope will be a productive interview with this esteemed spiritual leader.

  During our initial exchange I ask the Dalai Lama to tell me a little about his personal history and I learn that he was the fifth of seven surviving children to a farming family in the village of Taktster. He was proclaimed the tulku or rebirth of the thirteenth Dalai Lama at the age of two. In 1950, the army of the People's Republic of China invaded Tibet. One month later, on November 17, he was enthroned formally as Dalai Lama: at the age of fifteen, he became the region’s most important spiritual leader and political ruler.

  In 1951, the Chinese military pressured the Dalai Lama to ratify a seventeen-point agreement that permitted the People's Republic of China to take control of Tibet. He fled through the mountains to India soon after the failed uprising in 1959, which effectively ensured the collapse of the Tibetan Resistance Movement.

  “The Chinese government regarded me as the symbol of an outmoded theocratic system. Along with eighty thousand others that followed me into exile in India, I have striven all these years to preserve traditional Tibetan education and culture,” he relates. His eyes are far away with the memories of now distant events. “You know, we still maintain traditional Tibetan schools here in Dharamshala,” he says proudly.

  Of course the story of the Dalai Lama is certainly more enigmatic than other Heads of State. The very method by which his selection as the fourteenth Dalai Lama was made is fascinating, and indeed it raises certain questions about the psychic proclivities of Tibetans in general. At any rate, nobleness seems to have run in the Döndrub family.

  “I was born into a farming and horse trading family in the small hamlet of Taktster, on the eastern border of the former Tibetan region of Amdo, which was then already incorporated into the Chinese province of Qinghai. I was one of seven children to survive childhood. The eldest was my sister Tsering Dolma, who was eighteen years older than I. My eldest brother, Thupten Jigme Norbu, was recognized at the age of eight as the reincarnation of the high Lama Takster Rinpoche. My sister, Jetsun Pema, who is affiliated with the Tibetan Youth Congress and Tibetan Women’s Association, portrayed our mother in the 1997 Hollywood film Seven Years in Tibet. Imagine that!” he muses. “My sister is a Hollywood starlet!” He laughs heartily at the absurdity of his own joke. I smile too.

  “Can you tell me a little about the tradition of the Dalai Lama?” I ask him.

  His Holiness settles back in his adorned chair as he relates, “Tibetans traditionally believe Dalai Lamas to be the reincarnation of their predecessors, each of whom is believed to be a human emanation of the bodhisattva Avalokitesvara. A search party was sent to locate the new incarnation when I was about two years old. It is said that, among other omens, the head of the embalmed body of the previous Dalai Lama, at first facing southeast, mysteriously turned to face northeast, indicating the direction in which his successor would be found. The Regent, Reting Rinpoche, shortly afterwards had a vision at the sacred lake of Lhamo La-tso indicating that Amdo was the region in which to search—and specifically a one-story house with distinctive guttering and tiling. After an extensive search, the Thondup house, with its features resembling those in Reting’s vision, was finally found.

  “And I was presented with various relics, including toys, some of which had belonged to the thirteenth Dalai Lama, and some of which had not. Apparently, I corre
ctly identified all the items owned by the previous Dalai Lama, exclaiming, ‘That’s mine! That’s mine! And that, too, is mine!’

  “So, at the age of two, I was recognized formally as the reincarnated Dalai Lama and renamed Jetsun Jamphel Ngawang Lobsang Yeshe Tenzin Gyatso, which means Holy Lord, Gentle Glory, Compassionate, Defender of the Faith, Ocean of Wisdom.”

  “Sort of like the Queen of England,” I observe.

  “The position of Dalai Lama is not royalty, you understand,” His Holiness informs. “And Her Majesty certainly has more money than a Dalai Lama might require.”

  “So, what was your childhood like?” I inquire.

  “My monastic education commenced at the age of six. My teachers were Yongdzin Ling Rinpoche and Yongdzin Trijang Rinpoche. At the age of eleven I met the Austrian mountaineer Heinrich Harrer—I spotted him in Lhasa through my telescope! He became one of my tutors. He taught me about the outside world. We remained friends until his death.

  “During 1959, at the age of twenty-three, I took the final examination at Lhasa’s Jokhang Temple during the annual Monlam, or Prayer Festival. I passed with honors and was awarded the Lharampa degree, the highest-level geshe degree, roughly equivalent to a doctorate in Buddhist philosophy.”

  “Then came all the trouble,” I prompted.

  His Holiness inhaled deeply, then exhaled. “Yes, the trouble,” he confirmed.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “Well, it was not a simple matter. You see, the Tibetan Parliament called Chen Xizhang, the acting director of the Mongolian and Tibetan Affairs Commission office in Lhasa, and informed him that the Tibetan Government had decided to expel all Chinese connected with the Guomingdang Government. Fearing that the Chinese might organize protests in the streets of Lhasa, the Kashag imposed a curfew until all the Chinese had left, which they did. At the same time, the Tibetan Government sent a telegram to General Chiang Kai-shek and to President Liu Zongren informing them of the decision. In October 1950, the army of the People's Republic of China entered the country, moving through Tibetan defenses with ease.”