Christmas in Cambodia - A brief reflection, a philosophical inquiry

Last Christmas, my family and I were in Cambodia. It certainly is an odd place for the holiday that is sacrosanct for many. Cambodia does not have many of the conventional fancies for the festivities. It is not cold, there is no snow, no musk, no mulled wine, no roast turkey, no prayers, no carols, no stolid pine trees and no Christmas trees at that too (though, if I recall correctly, there was a plaza where a large tree - real or not - was strung with bright lights, so I suppose there is some Christmas fervour). But, the attachment that Christendom attaches to the arguably most celebrated birthday of all time is not present in our family. Why? Because we are not a part of the kingdom of Christendom; we lie eastward, still ambivalent. Christmas is just a holiday and an excuse for gifts for us, so why not spend it in Cambodia?

Though it could have been just yesterday, it has been nearly 3 months since our excursion to the fabled lands. That is a phrase that one hears all too much. 'It could have been just yesterday'. It is one of the many sorrows of memory. Anyway, we went to Siem Reap. It may have been the time we reached, a time that acts as a sort of limbo between evening and afternoon, but the city seemed sleepy, tired, not busy at all. Wide roads were nearly empty, save for a few cars and tuk-tuks. The city is quite flat and sparse. There are no high-rises or skyscrapers in Siem Reap. We would later learn that it is because of law, stating that no building can be taller than Angkor Wat. So, immediately, the city struck me as quite modest. The people are modest too, though in their history, Cambodians are certainly prideful because Siem Reap essentially means the defeat of the 'Siem' or 'Siam' who are the Thai. Siem Reap is where the Thai forces who were beleaguering Cambodia were defeated in the medieval years. Their food is somewhat modest too, at least, it is modest on spice in stark contrast to the neighbouring country - Thailand. Some flavours of coconut, fish, stir-fry, rice, noodles. It is a satisfactory cuisine.

Regardless, what is this essay about. Well, as the title suggests, there is some philosophy to be discussed. Specifically, in aesthetics. Quite frankly, if one goes to Cambodia it would be a nearly futile visit if one did not go to the famous Angkor Wat. It is the largest religious structure in the world and is something to behold. There are many temples in the complex, some pyramidal with intertwining passages, some overtaken by gigantic tree roots. At the main site is where most of my philosophical musings began. The sky and everything around me that wasn't tangible in the most obvious and immediate sense was the brightest blue I had seen in a long time. There was no pollution. Just a pristine blue everywhere. Though the late, great David Foster Wallace would disdain (or maybe chuckle, which is a tract in fate I would much rather proceed over, if this larger path in fate ever existed) to see me use Frank Conroy's maxim of the sky in his essay for the cruise that DFW is aboard in his fantastic essay, A supposedly fun thing I'll never do again, I was truly mesmerised by the 'vast lapis lazuli dome of the sky.' But the brilliance of the blue really made me wonder about in what capacity colour even existed. When I think about it and recall that moment, the sky seems so abstract nothing but a film or a veil hanging over us. However, there is a scientific explanation for it, which I presume is linked to the many layers of the atmosphere. Still, the question persists. Can colour be something on its own? Can colour be an individual property? Does colour occupy space in the same way the laptop I am writing this essay on does? Why is colour even there?

One could spend a long time ruminating over this. In the end, I found the solution in what Socrates says in Plato's dialogue, Meno. Socrates says 'for color is an effluvium from shapes which fits the sight and is perceived' (Plato, Meno, 77b line 5). Socrates is essentially saying that colour is a resulting property from the existence of an object. Effectively, every object is bound to have a colour. But according to this definition, colour does not exist in an individual capacity. Its existence is solely tied to the existence of the object, and even then it is something abstract. Is colour something definite, or is liable to change based on perception? Is there one true blue leaving everything else a watered down version or heavily intensified version? If colour is based on perception and there is to be a standard, universal colour, then there must be one standard, universal perception, a dogmatic set of senses that is always correct. But that is impossible. Another question is if colours are infinite. Is there really a finite set of colours in the universe? Or do they all exist in tandem, everywhere all at once in some strange coordination and omnipresence? Like an iridescence in the nature of Spinoza's philosophy of nature, and in that way, Spinoza's god. As you can see, I am playing into the philosopher's stereotype of giving more questions than answers. It is a stereotype of ineluctable melancholy, as the thinker pines away into the grave, sadder still, because the thinker is left without answers after all and is bereft of the consciousness so that one cannot ask more questions as riga mortis sets in.

We carried on through the temple, and right at the beginning of the temple, there was a statue (I am fairly sure it is of the Buddha, but I cannot say for certain). You can see the statue in the picture, courtesy of my brother. Something struck me about it. It was old, hundreds of years old. I thought about how people hundreds of years ago would have been sculpting this lovely statue. At one level, the gentle smile of the statue was hypnotising. It seemed so wise, understanding, and calm. Then the issue of capacities arose. If time as a symbol of us eternally proceeding forward does not exist and that everything simply is in the present and that the present is what is absolute while the past is a sort of derived aspect of the present while future is only an ideal, then what did age of this statue show? Well, time had not weathered it. Based on the ostensible etymology of the word 'weathered', weather had weathered the statue. But then why was I so gravitated towards the statue? I thought it was because of the weight of centuries that hung over it. It was so mysterious. When one adopts that view of time, history, or at least ancient history, loses its charm. Is this view of time even correct? As of now, my only backing is Lydia Davis discussing it initially in the introduction to Stendhal's autobiography. Thinking more and more about it, I realise that thoughts may not be able to explain why this statue was so intriguing. It is ineffable.

This was a short reflection on a trip to Cambodia. Though just a jumble of thoughts and questions, I hope the reader found something of value in it.