Part 13

At all events, it is probable that one system never expelled the other, and that the constant attrition and contact which took place between Brāhmanism and Buddhism, led to a considerable splitting up of the original fabric of Buddhism, involving, of course, many divisions and subdivisions of Buddhistic thought, some of which were closely allied to the later developments of Brāhmanical philosophy.

In the Sarva-darṡana-saṅgraha four principal sects of Buddhism are enumerated, which must have taken root early on Indian soil.

These four were the Vaibhāshika, Sautrāntika, Mādhyamika, and Yogāćāra. Of these the first two with their subdivisions[63] were realistic, and were established—though not perhaps thoroughly formulated and systematized—in very early times, long before the council of Kanishka; while the two later schools are described as idealistic, the Mādhyamika being a Buddhistic form of the Vedānta philosophy, and the Yogāćāra agreeing generally with the Yoga system.

Indeed there is good evidence that Buddhism developed in India a greater number of schools and phases of thought than Brāhmanism itself. Some authorities enumerate eighteen divisions (corresponding perhaps to the eighteen original disciples, pp. 47-73) which existed in king Kanishka’s time—that is, in the first century of our era, while others specify thirty-two; and in the fourth century we find the Chinese traveller Fā-hien (p. 160) making allusion to as many as ninety-six (Dr. Legge’s translation, p. 62).

We cannot wonder then that the author of the Sarva-darṡana-saṅgraha expressed himself in rather strong language to the following effect:—

‘Though the venerated Buddha be the only one teacher, his disciples are manifold; just as when the sun has set, the thief and other evil doers, the theological student and others understand that it is time to set about their occupations, according to their several inclinations.’

Yet, after all, it was chiefly in the North, and in consequence of the council held by Kanishka, India’s greatest Buddhist king after Aṡoka[64] (see p. 69), that the original features of Buddhism underwent the greatest change and became overlaid with coating after coating of extraneous matter. It was there, in Northern regions, in the valley of the Indus, that the Protean system called Mahā-yāna arose, and grew, by the operation of the usual laws of accretion, conglomeration, disintegration, and reintegration, into a congeries of heterogeneous doctrines, including the worship of Bodhi-sattvas, deified saints, and personal gods.

Naturally the adherents of this wider method spoke disparagingly of the simpler system prevalent in the South, whose sacred books were the Tri-piṭaka of Ceylon written in the ancient vernacular (Pāli). That system they designated Hīna-yāna, ‘the defective method,’ not denying however that their own enlarged system grew out of and included the simpler one.

There arose, too, a third method, or ‘vehicle’ of salvation, called ‘the middle method’ (Madhyama-yāna). This, however, is not so well known, and, being a compromise between the other two, never gained many adherents, though it is still recognized in Tibet—the Tibetans often speaking of Tri-yāna, or ‘the three vehicles.’

At all events, it is only necessary for practical purposes to recognize the distinction of the Great and Little Vehicle—the Mahā-yāna[65] and the Hīna-yāna. And it may be stated generally that the inhabitants of Nepāl, Tibet, China, Manchuria, Mongolia, and Japan have always shown a preference for the Mahā-yāna, or ‘Great Vehicle,’ while the people of Ceylon, Burma, and Siam have always preferred the ‘Little Vehicle.’

At the same time, it is important to note that while the Buddhists of Northern countries are supposed to be disciples of the Mahā-yāna or Great Way of Salvation, the Buddhism of each Northern country differs greatly from that of the other, and that the countries nearest to India have still further complicated the Mahā-yāna system by adopting mystical doctrines, and introducing magic and other practices supposed to aid in the acquisition of supernatural powers.

It must also be borne in mind that, although the Mahā-yāna or Great Method originated on the Indus, and the Hīna-yāna or Little Method, on the Ganges, the two streams of teaching were not always confined to these two areas, even on Indian soil.

In point of fact they were often intermixed, and the changes thus brought about in Buddhism will become more evident by referring to the narratives of three well-known Buddhist travellers from China.

Buddhism was introduced into China between 58 and 75 of our era[66], but it was not till much later that Chinese pilgrims visited India—the holy land of Buddhism.

The first traveller of whom we have any record was a certain Chinese Buddhist monk named Fā-hien, who set out on a pilgrimage to India about the year 399 of our era, with the definite object of searching for and carrying back to China complete copies of the Vinaya or Rules of discipline for the Order. He wrote a very simple and straightforward account of his travels[67]—which lasted for fourteen years—and of his visits to all the spots in India held most sacred by Buddhists. He was followed by a Chinese traveller of less mark, named Sang Yun, who started about 518 A.D., and seems to have ended his journey at Peshawar, or at least not to have penetrated much further South. Peshawar, we know, was a great Buddhist centre, and there was a fine Stūpa there, containing the alms-bowl of Buddha. Then after another interval a much more celebrated Chinese pilgrim named Hiouen Thsang[68] started for India (A.D. 629-644). The narrative of his travels for about fifteen years is perhaps the best known and most commonly quoted of the three. In Chang Yueh’s preface[69] to these travels Hiouen Thsang is described as ‘a Doctor of the three Piṭakas, and is said to have translated 657 works from the original Sanskṛit. In all the districts through which he journeyed he learnt the dialects and investigated the deep secrets of religion.’

All three travellers give information in regard to the prevalence of Buddhism in India up to the seventh century of our era, and the narratives of two—Fā-hien and Hiouen Thsang—are invaluable for the light they throw on the changes which Buddhism underwent in the interval of their travels. Here and there the pilgrims exaggerate, especially when they venture on numerical statistics or write from hearsay; but on the whole their accounts may be accepted, and we learn that Hiouen Thsang found some monasteries in ruins which were flourishing in Fā-hien’s time, and that the Mahā-yāna had supplanted the earlier form of Buddhism, or rather co-existed with it in many parts of the South as well as of the North, and was to be found even in Ceylon[70].

And this brings us face to face with the greatest change of all—the total dying out of Buddhism in the place of its origin. How is it to be accounted for that no adherents of either the greater or lesser Buddhist systems—of either the Mahā-yāna or Hīna-yāna—are to be found in India at the present moment?

The problem is difficult of solution, and I can only offer a few suggestions for its elucidation.

In the first place, I think it may be confidently asserted that the disappearance of Buddhism from India was a very gradual process, and unattended by any serious or violent religious revolution.

We have already alluded to the tolerant, liberal, and eclectic spirit which has characterized Buddhism ever since the period of its first promulgation at Benares.

Such toleration of the doctrines and ideas of co-existing systems had its advantages, especially in the early stages of the Buddhistic movement. It certainly had a prophylactic effect in warding off violent attacks, and helped to promote the diffusion of Buddhism throughout the numerous countries to which it ultimately spread. In India itself, as we have already seen, Buddhism was never aggressive or combative. Its motto everywhere was persuasion and conciliation. Composure, tranquillity, and absence of acrimony were stamped on all its features. The very foundation on which it was reared—the very establishment of a celibate monastic Order, by means of which true knowledge was to be propagated—had in it something altogether agreeable to the spirit and usages of Brāhmanism.

We have seen, too, that the Buddha took care to show his respect for Brāhmanical traditions, even while promulgating a philosophical theory and preaching doctrines opposed to all sacerdotalism, priestly privileges, supernatural revelation, and Vedic ceremonial.

It does not, of course, follow that the great teacher, to whom the majority of Asiatic races have for centuries looked as their chosen example, had not the courage of his opinions, and was not competent to fill the rôle of a religious reformer.

The real fact was that he was too wise to enter upon any open crusade against inveterate customs and ideas. The peculiar calm of an Indian atmosphere, though occasionally disturbed by political storms sweeping from distant regions, has rarely been stirred by violent religious antagonisms. The various currents of Hindū religious life have flowed peacefully side by side, and reformers have generally done their work quietly. As for Gautama, there can be little doubt that his whole career was stamped with the impress of his early surroundings, and that he imbibed his tolerant ideas from the Brāhmanism in which he had been trained.

It has been usual to blame the Brāhmans for their arrogant exclusiveness, but their arrogance has been rather shown in magnifying their own caste-privileges and carrying them to an extravagant pitch, than in preventing any discussion of their own dogmas, or in resenting any dissent from them.

The very essence of Brāhmanism was tolerance. Every form of opinion was admissible under a system which made every person and every object in existence manifestations of the one Being, Brahmă.

The only delicate ground, on which it was dangerous for any reformer to tread, was caste. The only unpardonable sin was infringement of caste-rules. Nor was any one tempted to adopt the rôle of a violent agitator, when all were free to express any opinion they liked without hindrance, provided they took care to abstain from any act of interference with caste-privileges.

It does not appear, in short, that the preachers of either Buddhism, or Vaishṇavism, or Ṡaivism, or Ṡāktism, or of any form of these sectarian systems, ever incurred the special animosity of the Brāhmans or of each other, or ever indulged in very violent denunciations of each other’s religious doctrines.

In real truth, these systems of doctrine were all evolved out of Brāhmanism. They were, therefore, not only tolerated by Brāhmanism, but accepted as the inevitable outcome of its own pantheistic creed.

No doubt each received at first a strong stamp of individuality from its founder, marking it off from other systems, but with the lapse of years the deeper shades of difference grew fainter. Then it became a question which should become merged in the other. In such a competition between rival systems Buddhism had less chance of holding its own than either Vaishṇavism or Ṡaivism; for its root-ideas—as we have seen—were not rooted in the eternal instincts of human nature.

Buddhism, in fact, could never have maintained itself in India till the twelfth or thirteenth century of our era, had it not gradually, and to a great extent through interaction with Vaishṇavism and Ṡaivism, dropped its unnatural pessimistic theory of life and its unpopular atheistic character, and accommodated itself to those systems.

But Buddhism in parting with its ultra-pessimism and its atheistic and agnostic ideas, lost its chief elements of individuality and its chief independent stand-point.

Vaishṇavism, on the other hand, was quite alive to its own interests, and had an eye to the spread of its own doctrines. It took care to adopt all the popular features of Buddhism. It vied with Buddhism in inculcating universal love, toleration, liberality, benevolence, and abstinence from injury. It preached equality, fraternity, and even in some cases the abolition of caste distinctions. It taught a succession of incarnations or rather descents (Avatāra[71]) of divine beings upon earth (as Buddhism taught a succession of Buddhas), and it even adopted the Buddha himself as one of the incarnations of Vishṇu.

This, indeed, is the best explanation of what has happened at Purī in Orissa, where a temple once dedicated to Gautama Buddha, and supposed to contain a relic of his burnt body, was afterwards dedicated to the Jagannāth form of Kṛishṇa and supposed to enshrine one of his bones, and where low-caste and high-caste both eat together the food cooked in the house of that popular god.

The same may be said of the interaction which took place between Buddhism and Ṡaivism; for Ṡaivism, of course, was quite as bent on the propagation of its own creed as other systems were. It vied with Buddhism in encouraging abstract meditation, and although it had less sympathy than Vaishṇavism had with that system, it approached in some respects so closely to its rival, that when Buddhism disappeared from India, images of Gautama were converted into representations of Ṡiva seated in profound contemplation.

Ultimately, the interaction between the three systems proceeded to such a point that each was influenced and modified by the other; each learnt something, or adopted some practice from the other.

It was thus, too, that Ṡāktism, i. e. the worship of energy or force (Ṡakti), identified with Ṡiva’s consort, was imported into Buddhism; its doctrine of the self-evolution of all things from Prakṛiti having much that harmonized with the Buddhist theory of the origin of the Universe. Thus, too, even Tāntrism in its worst forms became intermixed with Buddhistic practice.

Enough, then, has been said to justify the assertion that Buddhism was not forcibly expelled from India by the Brāhmans. It simply in the end—possibly as late as the thirteenth century of our era—became blended with the systems which surrounded it, though the process of blending was gradual.

It would certainly be easy to prove from the records of the three Chinese travellers, that Buddhism and Brāhmanism existed together in Northern and Central India as quite distinct systems till at least the seventh century of our era, if not always quite amicably, yet without any violent internecine conflict. Bitter controversies between the two rival creeds are without doubt clearly alluded to, and Fā-hien in one passage states that ‘the Brāhmans with their contrary doctrine became full of hatred and envy in their hearts[72].’ Yet, on the other hand, we find that at a Council held by the great Buddhist king Ṡilāditya (Harsha-vardhana), whose meritorious acts are fully described by Hiouen Thsang (ch. v), and who had his capital at Kanouj, in the year 634 of our era[73], controversial points relating to both Buddhism and Brāhmanism were discussed in a tolerant spirit, though it is said that in discussing questions between the Northern and Southern Buddhists, the ‘Little Vehicle’ was condemned.

Again, the Buddhist drama called Nāgānanda, ‘joy of the snake world[74],’ throws great light on the amicable relations existing between the various sectarians and religionists in the days of king Ṡilāditya. It is the only Sanskṛit play in which the Nāndī or opening prayer invokes the power of Buddha, thus:—

‘“On whom dost thou meditate, putting on a pretence of religious abstraction, yet opening thine eyes? See, saviour that thou art, thou dost not pity us sick with the shafts of Love. Falsely art thou compassionate. Who is more cruel than thou?” May Buddha, the conqueror, who was thus jealously addressed by the Apsarasas (daughters) of Māra (p. 34), protect you!’

Professor E. B. Cowell has shown in his valuable Preface that both this play and the sister Hindū play called Ratnāvali were probably put forth or at least patronised by Harsha-vardhana (Ṡilāditya), and that both were probably acted at the same period, the king being as much a Hindū as a Buddhist. Hiouen Thsang praises Harsha-vardhana for his support of Buddhism, but in his description of the two Convocations held by that king, states that both Buddhists and Brāhmans were equally honoured by him, and intimates that half his subjects held one doctrine and half the other. In the second Convocation which took place at Prayāga (now Allahābād) eighteen kings were present and 500,000 monks and laymen. On the first day the statue of Buddha was installed; on the second day that of the Sun, and on the third that of Ṡiva. Alms were distributed to Brāhmans and Buddhists alike, and even to the Nirgranthas or Jaina naked heretics.

Again the well-known play called Mālatī-Mādhava (by Bhava-bhūti, who lived at Kanauj in the beginning of the eighth century) has an opening prayer addressed to Ṡiva, and yet a female Buddhist ascetic and her attendant constitute two of the principal dramatis personæ, proving that an intermixture of the two creeds prevailed everywhere.

It was also during the reign of Ṡilāditya that the immense monastery at Nālanda near Rāja-gṛiha formed a seat of learning, which might suggest a comparison with the learned monkish communities and even with the universities of mediæval Europe[75]. In that monastery might be seen several thousand novices and monks of the eighteen Buddhist schools—all of them supported by royal grants, and thus enabled both to perform their religious duties, and to prosecute the study of philosophy, law, and science in literary ease. It is probable that if disputes and disagreements upon burning questions occurred, they rarely led to serious conflicts, and were not general throughout India, but confined to particular localities; and I think it may be safely affirmed that if Buddhism was ever anywhere persecuted, it never anywhere persecuted in return.

I myself was much struck in a visit I paid to Ellora in the Nizām’s territory by the evidence I there saw of the friendly tolerance which must have prevailed between Brāhmans, Buddhists, and Jains. Brāhmanical, Buddhist, and Jaina caves are there seen side by side, and their inmates no doubt lived on terms of fairly friendly tolerance, much as the members of the Anglican, Roman Catholic, and Wesleyan communions live in Europe at the present day.

Even at Benares, the stronghold of Brāhmanism, I witnessed similar proofs of amicable mutual intercourse, and at Nāsik—the Benares of Western India—the proximity of the Buddhist caves and ruined monasteries which I visited, made it abundantly clear that Brāhmans and Buddhists agreed to differ and to avoid serious quarrels.

It must nevertheless be admitted, that in the extreme South of India, and perhaps eventually at Benares and a few other strongholds of Brāhmanism, the difference between the systems became so accentuated as to lead to grievous conflicts. Whether blood was shed it is impossible to prove; but it is alleged, with some degree of probability, that violent crusades against Buddhism were instituted by Kumārila and Ṡaṅkara—two well-known Southern Brāhmans noted for their bigotry—in the seventh and eighth centuries of our era. It does not appear, however, that they were very successful either in the conversion or extermination of Buddhists.

It may, I think, be confidently affirmed that what ultimately happened in most parts of India was, that Vaishṇavas and Ṡaivas crept up softly to their rival and drew the vitality out of its body by close and friendly embraces, and that instead of the Buddhists being expelled from India, Buddhism gradually and quietly lost itself in Vaishṇavism and Ṡaivism. In fact, by the beginning of the thirteenth century very little Buddhism remained on Indian soil. In a philosophical drama, called ‘the Rise of the Moon of Knowledge’ (Prabodha-ćandrodaya), written probably about the twelfth century, the approaching triumph of Brāhmanism over Buddhism is clearly indicated; for the Buddhist and other heretical sects are represented as belonging to the losing side.

Yet, after all, it is scarcely correct to say that Buddhism ever wholly died away in India. Its name indeed perished there, but its spirit survived, and its sacred places remain to this day. Its ruined temples, monasteries, monuments, and idols are scattered everywhere, while some of these have been perpetuated and adopted by those later phases of Hindūism which its own toleration helped to bring into existence.

At all events it may be safely affirmed that the passing away of the Buddhistic system in India was on the whole like the peaceful passing away of a moribund man surrounded by his relatives, and was at least unattended with any agonizing pangs[76].

LECTURE VIII. _Rise of Theistic and Polytheistic Buddhism._

In the preceding Lecture we have endeavoured to show generally how Buddhism was evolved out of Brāhmanism, how it flourished side by side with Brāhmanism, and how after a chequered career and protracted senility in the land of its birth—lasting for at least fifteen centuries[77]—it ultimately merged its individuality in Vaishṇavism and Ṡaivism, or, in other words, disappeared and became lost in a composite system called Hindūism.

We have now to trace more closely the gradual sliding of a simple agnostic and atheistic creed, into a variety of theistic and polytheistic conceptions.

We have already seen how the expansion of the Hīna-yāna into the Mahā-yāna became an inevitable result of the Buddha’s own teaching—in other words, how a rebound from atheism to theism was as unavoidable as the return swing of a heavy pendulum. We need only repeat here that it could not have been otherwise, when a teacher, who never claimed to be more than a man, attempted to indoctrinate his human followers with principles opposed to the inextinguishable instincts and eternal intuitions of humanity.

In fact the teachers of the Mahā-yāna school were not slow to perceive that, if Buddhism was to gain any hold over the masses, it was essential that it should adapt itself to their human needs. It became imperatively necessary, as a simple preservative measure, to convert a cold philosophical creed, based on an ultra-pessimistic theory of existence, into some sort of belief in the value of human life as worth living. And if life was not to be an invariable current of misery it followed that there must also be some sort of faith in a superintending God controlling that life, and interesting Himself in Man’s welfare.

Unfortunately, having once advanced beyond definite limits, the more progressive teachers found it impossible to draw the line at any given point.

No doubt the theistic movement began by simple saint-worship—that is, by veneration for the extinct Buddha as for a perfect saint. This was accompanied by homage offered to his relics and to various memorials of his person.

Then mere veneration and homage led to actual worship, and the Buddha, who from first to last made his own perfect humanity an essential principle of his teaching, became elevated to a pinnacle far above humanity and converted into a veritable god.

Next, it is easy to see that a further development of the theistic movement became inevitable.

For indeed it was only natural that in process of time some of the more eminent of the Buddha’s followers should become almost equally revered with himself. It was not, however, till some time after their death that they received any homage resembling that accorded to their Master.

It was then that, instead of being thought of as extinct, according to the orthodox Buddhist doctrine, they were continually elevated in the imagination of their admirers to heavenly regions of beatitude.