Part 4

It is easy, therefore, to understand how difficult it will be to give any semblance of unity to my present subject. It will be impossible for me to treat as a consistent whole a system having a perpetually varying front and no settled form. I can only give a series of somewhat rough, though, I hope, trustworthy outlines, as far as possible in methodical succession.

And in the carrying out of such a design, the three objects that will at first naturally present themselves for delineation will be three which constitute the well-known triad of early Buddhism—that is to say, the Buddha himself, His Law and His Order of Monks.

Hence my aim will be, in the first place, to give such a historical account of the Buddha and of his earliest teaching as may be gathered from his legendary biography, and from the most trustworthy parts of the Buddhist canonical scriptures. Secondly, I shall give a brief description of the origin and composition of those scriptures as containing the Buddha’s ‘Law’ (Dharma); and thirdly, I shall endeavour to explain the early constitution of the Buddha’s Order of Monks (Saṅgha). After treating of these three preliminary topics, I shall next describe the Law itself; that is, the philosophical doctrines of Buddhism, its code of morality and theory of perfection, terminating in Nirvāṇa. Lastly, I shall attempt to trace out the confused outlines of theistic, mystical, and hierarchical Buddhism, as developed in Northern countries, adding an account of sacred objects and places, and contrasting the chief doctrines of Christianity. In regard to the Buddhism of Tibet, I shall chiefly base my explanations on Koeppen’s great work—a work never translated into English and now out of print—as well as on my own researches during my travels through the parts of India bordering on that country.

And here I ought to state that my explanations and descriptions will, I fear, be wholly deficient in picturesqueness. My simple aim will be to convey clear and correct information in unembellished language; and in doing this, I shall often be compelled to expose myself to the reproach contained in the expressions, _ćarvita-ćarvaṇam_, ‘chewing the chewed,’ and _pishṭa-peshaṇam_, ‘grinding the ground.’ I shall constantly be obliged to tread on ground already well trodden.

To begin, then, with the Buddha himself.

LECTURE II. _The Buddha as a personal Teacher._

It is much to be regretted that among all the sacred books that constitute the Canon of the Southern Buddhists (see p. 61)—the only true Canon of Buddhism—there is no trustworthy biography of its Founder.

For Buddhism is nothing without Buddha, just as Zoroastrianism is nothing without Zoroaster, Confucianism nothing without Confucius, Muhammadanism nothing without Muhammad, and I may add with all reverence, Christianity nothing without Christ.

Indeed, no religion or religious system which has not emanated from some one heroic central personality, or in other words, which has not had a founder whose strongly marked personal character constituted the very life and soul of his teaching and the chief factor in its effectiveness, has ever had any chance of achieving world-wide acceptance, or ever spread far beyond the place of its origin.

Hence the barest outline of primitive Buddhism must be incomplete without some sketch of the life and character of Gautama Buddha himself. Yet it is difficult to find any sure basis of fact on which we may construct a fairly credible biography.

In all likelihood legendary histories of the Founder of Buddhism were current in Nepāl and Tibet in the early centuries of our era; but unhappily his too enthusiastic and imaginative admirers have thought it right to testify their admiration by interweaving with the probable facts of Gautama Buddha’s life, fables so extravagant that some modern critical scholars have despaired of attempting to sift truth from fiction, and have even gone to the extreme of doubting that Gautama Buddha ever lived at all.

To believe nothing that has been recorded about him, is as unreasonable as to accept with unquestioning faith all the miraculous circumstances which are made to encircle him as with a halo of divine glory.

We must bear in mind that when Gautama Buddha lived—about the fifth century B.C.—the art of writing was not common in India[9]. We may point out, too, that in all countries, European as well as Asiatic—notably in Greece (witness, for example, the familiar instance of Socrates)—men have thought more of preserving the sayings of their teachers than of recording the facts of their lives.

And we must not forget that in India—where the imaginative faculties have always been too active, and anything like real history is unknown—any plain matter-of-fact biography of the most heroic personage would have few charms for any one, and little chance of gaining acceptance anywhere.

Hence it has happened that the ballads (gāthā) and legends current about Gautama among Northern Buddhists, bristle with the wildest fancies and the most absurd exaggerations.

Yet it is not impossible to detect a few scattered historical facts beneath stories, however childish, and legends, however extravagant. We shall not at least be far wrong, if, in attempting an outline of the Buddha’s life, we begin by asserting that intense individuality, fervid earnestness, and severe simplicity of character, combined with singular beauty of countenance, calm dignity of bearing, and above all, almost superhuman persuasiveness of speech, were conspicuous in the great Teacher.

The earliest authorities, however, never claim for him anything extraordinary or superhuman in regard to external form. It was only in later times that Buddhist writers pandered to the superstitions of the people, by describing the Buddha as possessed of various miraculous characteristics of mind and body. He is said to have been of immense stature—according to some, eighteen feet high—and to have had on his body thirty-two chief auspicious marks (mahā-vyañjana), regarded as indications of a Supreme Lord and Universal Ruler, eighty secondary marks (anu-vyañjana), besides one hundred and eight symbols on the sole of each foot, and a halo extending for six feet round his person.

All that can be said with any degree of probability about his personal appearance is, that he was endowed with certain qualities, which acted like a spell, or with a kind of irresistible magnetism, on his hearers. These must have formed, so to speak, the foundation-stone on which the superstructure of his vast influence rested.

Unhappily, no authoritative Buddhist scripture gives any trustworthy clue to the exact year of the Buddha’s birth. The traditions which refer back his _death_ to a date corresponding to 543 B.C. are now rejected by modern European scholars. Nor can we as yet accept as infallible the results of the latest researches, which making use of various other data, such as the inscriptions on coins, rocks, and columns, place his death more than a century later. We shall not, however, be far wrong if we assert that he was born about the year 500 B.C. at Kapila-vastu (now Bhūila)—a town situated about half-way between Bastī and Ajūdhyā (Ayodhyā) in the territory of Kosala (the modern Oudh, see pp. 29, 48), about sixty miles from its capital city Ṡrāvasti (a favourite residence of Gautama), and about one hundred miles[10] north-west of Benares, and near the borders of the kingdom of Magadha (now Behār).

His father, named Ṡuddhodana, was a land-owner of the tribe of the Ṡākyas (a name possibly connected with the Sanskṛit root Ṡak, ‘to be powerful’), whose territory in the Gorakh-pur district extended from the lower Nepalese mountains to the river Raptī in Oudh. It has been conjectured that the Ṡākyas may have been originally a non-Āryan tribe, connected perhaps with certain nomad immigrants from Tibet or Northern Asia, who may have immigrated into India at various periods; but even if this could be proved, it would have to be admitted that the Ṡākyas had become Āryanized. It is said that the chief families claimed to be Rājputs, tracing back their origin to Ikshvāku, the first of the Solar race. It appears, too, that though belonging to the Kshatriya caste, they were agriculturists, and mainly engaged in the cultivation of rice. It is also asserted that Ṡākya families were in the habit of taking the name of the family of the Brāhmans who were their spiritual guides and performed religious offices for them, and that the family of Ṡuddhodana took the name Gautama, that is, descendant of the sage Gotama. It does not, however, seem necessary to account for the name in this manner. It was an auspicious name, which in ancient times might have been given to the child of any great land-owner as a proof of orthodoxy, or with the view, perhaps, of pleasing the Brāhmans and securing their prayers and good wishes on its behalf.

The father of the Founder of Buddhism was simply a chief of the Ṡākya tribe—certainly not a king in our sense of the term—but rather a great Zamīndār or landlord, whose territory was not so large in area as Yorkshire. His name Ṡuddhodana, ‘one possessed of pure rice,’ probably indicated the occupation and ordinary food of the peasantry inhabiting the district belonging to him and subject to his authority. Those who have travelled much in India must often have met great land-owners of the Ṡuddhodana type—men to whom the title Mahā-rāja is given much as ‘Lord’ is to our aristocracy. For example, the Mahā-rāja of Darbhanga is probably a more important personage than Gautama’s father ever was, and his territory larger than that of Ṡuddhodana ever was.

The name Gautama (in Pāli spelt Gotama) was the personal name corresponding to that given to all children at the name-giving ceremony. It was not till his supposed attainment of perfect wisdom that Gautama assumed the title of Buddha, or ‘the enlightened one.’ But from that time forward this became his recognized title. Every other name besides Gautama (or Gotama), and every other title except Buddha (or together, Gautama Buddha), are simply epithets; for example, Ṡākya-muni, ‘sage of the tribe of the Ṡākyas;’ Ṡākya-siṉha, ‘lion of the Ṡākyas;’ Ṡramaṇa (Samano), ‘the ascetic;’ Siddhārtha, ‘one who has fulfilled the object (of his coming);’ Sugata, ‘whose coming is auspicious;’ Tathāgata, ‘who comes and goes as his predecessors;’ Bhagavān (Bhagavā), ‘the blessed lord;’ Ṡāstā (Satthā), ‘the Teacher;’ Aṡaraṇa-ṡaraṇa, ‘Refuge of the refugeless;’ Āditya-bandhu, ‘Kinsman of the Sun;’ Jina, ‘conqueror;’ Mahā-vīra, ‘great hero;’ Mahā-purusha, ‘great man;’ Ćakravartī, ‘universal monarch.’ Devout Buddhists call him ‘Lord of the World,’ ‘the Lord,’ ‘World-honoured One,’ ‘King of the Law,’ ‘the Jewel,’ etc.; and prefer to use the titles rather than the personal name Gautama, which is thought too familiar.

The names of previous Buddhas, supposed to have existed in previous ages, are given at p. 136.

Little of the story of the miraculous birth of Buddha is worthy of repetition. Since, however, a white elephant is reckoned among the sacred objects of Buddhism, as something rare and precious, it is worth while mentioning the fable, that when the time came for the Bodhi-sattva to leave the Tushita heaven (p. 120) and be born on earth as Gautama Buddha, he descended into the womb of his mother in the form of a white elephant. He was born under a Ṡāl tree and the god Brahmā received him from his mother’s side. His mother, Māyā, died seven days afterwards, and the infant was committed to her sister (Mahā-prajāpatī), a second wife of Ṡuddhodana.

It is not related of Gautama that, as he grew up, any efforts were made to imbue him with sacred learning; though, as a Kshatriya, he was privileged to receive instruction in certain portions of the Veda.

Nor are we told of him that as a Kshatriya he was trained to the profession of a soldier. It is more probable, that his love of contemplation developed itself very early, and that from a desire to humour this not uncommon Oriental propensity, he was allowed to pass most of his time in the open air.

There is a well-known legend, which relates how Gautama’s relations came in a body to his father and complained that the youth’s deficiency in martial and athletic exercises would incapacitate him, on reaching manhood, from taking part in warlike expeditions. This might be reckoned among the few trustworthy historical incidents, were the story not marred by the legendary addition, that on a day of trial being fixed, the youth, without any previous practice, and of course to the surprise of all present, proved his superiority in archery and in ‘the twelve arts.’

One statement may certainly be accepted without much qualification. It is said that Gautama was made to marry early, according to the universal custom throughout India in the present day. No son of any respectable person in modern times could remain unmarried at the age of sixteen or seventeen, without, so to speak, tarnishing the family escutcheon, and exposing the youth himself to a serious social stigma, likely to cling to him in after-life. In ancient times marriage was equally universal, and there is no reason to suppose that among Kshatriyas it was delayed to a much later period of life.

No doubt, therefore, the future Buddha had at least one wife (whose name was Yaṡodharā, though often called Rāhula-mātā, ‘Rāhula’s mother’), and probably at least one son, named Rāhula. It is said that this son was not born till his father was twenty-nine years of age, or not till the time when a sense of the vanity of all human aims, and a resolution to abandon all worldly ties, and a longing to enter upon a monastic life had begun to take possession of his father’s mind.

The story of the four visions, which led to his final renunciation of the world, is profusely overlaid with fanciful hyperbole, but, however slight the basis of fact on which it may reasonably be held to rest, it is too picturesque and interesting to be passed over without notice. I therefore here abridge the account given in Mr. Beal’s translation of the Chinese version of the Abhi-nishkramaṇa-sūtra, varying (for the sake of brevity) the phraseology, but retaining the expression ‘prince’:—

One day the prince Gautama resolved to visit the gardens in the neighbourhood of his father’s city, desiring to examine the beautiful trees and flowers.

Then there appeared before his eyes in one of the streets the form of a decrepid[**decrepit] old man, his skin shrivelled, his head bald, his teeth gone, his body infirm and bent. A staff supported his tottering limbs, as he stood right across the path of the prince’s advancing chariot.

Seeing this aged person, Siddhārtha inquired of his charioteer:—‘What human form is this, so miserable and so distressing, the like of which I have never seen before?’

The charioteer replied:—‘This is what is called an old man.’

The prince again inquired:—‘And what is the exact meaning of this expression “old”?’

The charioteer answered:—‘Old age implies the loss of bodily power, decay of the vital functions, and failure of mind and memory. This poor man before you is old and approaching his end.’

Then asked the prince:—‘Is this law universal?’

‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘this is the common lot of all living creatures. All that is born must die.’

Soon afterwards another strange sight presented itself—a sick man, worn by disease and suffering, pale and miserable, scarcely able to draw his breath, was seen tottering on the road.

Then the prince inquired of his charioteer:—‘Who is this unhappy being?’

The charioteer replied:—‘This is a sick man, and such sickness is common to all.’

Soon afterwards there passed before them a corpse, borne on a bier.

Then asked the prince:—‘Who is this borne onwards on his bed, covered with strangely-coloured garments, surrounded by people weeping and lamenting?’

‘This,’ replied the charioteer, ‘is called a dead body; he has ended his life; he has no further beauty of form, and no desires of any kind; he is one with the stones and the felled tree; he is like a ruined wall, or fallen leaf; no more shall he see his father or mother, brother or sister, or other relatives; his body is dead, and your body also must come to this.’

Next day on his going out by a different gate there appeared advancing with measured steps a man with a shaven crown, and monk’s robe—his right shoulder bare, a religious staff in his right hand, and a mendicant’s alms-bowl in his left.

‘Who is this,’ the prince inquired, ‘proceeding with slow and dignified steps, looking neither to the right hand nor to the left, absorbed in thought, with shaven head and garments of reddish colour?’

‘This man,’ said the charioteer, ‘devotes himself to charity, and restrains his appetites and his bodily desires. He hurts nobody, but does good to all, and is full of sympathy for all.’

Then the prince asked the man himself to give an account of his own condition.

He answered:—‘I am called a homeless ascetic; I have forsaken the world, relatives, and friends; I seek deliverance for myself and desire the salvation of all creatures, and I do harm to none.’

After hearing these words, the prince went to his father and said, ‘I wish to become a wandering ascetic (parivrājika) and to seek Nirvāna; all worldly things, O king! are changeable and transitory.’

Such is an epitome of the legendary story of the ‘four visionary appearances,’ so called because they are supposed to have been divine visions or appearances, miraculously produced. The remainder of the legendary life of Gautama Buddha is interesting and here and there not without some historical value, and portions of it I now add in an abridged form.

Very shortly after the occurrences just described, Gautama receives intelligence of the birth of his son Rāhula. This is the first momentous crisis of his life, and Gautama remains for a long time lost in profound thought. He sees in his child the strongest of all fetters, binding him to family and home. But his mind is made up. He must fly at once, or be for ever held in bondage. Around him gather the beautiful women of his father’s household, striving by their blandishments to divert him from his purpose; but in vain. He seeks the chamber of his wife, and finds her asleep with her hand on the head of his infant son. He longs for a last embrace; but fearing to arouse her suspicions hurries away. Outside, his favourite horse is waiting to aid his flight. He accomplishes the first stage of what Buddhists call with pride the Mahābhinishkramaṇa, ‘the great going forth from home;’ but not without overcoming other still more formidable trials. For Māra, the evil deity who tempts men to indulge their passions (see p. 120), makes himself visible, and promises the prince all the glories of empire if he will return to the pleasures of worldly life.

Finding all his allurements disregarded, Māra alters his method of attack; he fills the air with mighty thunderings, and creates on the road before the youthful fugitive’s eyes apparitions of torrents, lofty mountains, and blazing conflagrations. But nothing alarms or deters him. ‘I would rather,’ he exclaims, ‘be torn to pieces limb by limb, or be burnt in a fiery furnace, or be ground to pieces by a falling mountain than forego my fixed purpose for one single instant.’

Arrived at a safe distance from his father’s territory, he exchanges garments with a passing beggar, cuts off his own hair with a sword, and assumes the outward aspect and character of a wandering ascetic. The hair does not fall to the ground but is taken up to the Trayastriṉṡas heaven (p. 120), and worshipped by the gods.

His first halting-place is Rāja-gṛiha (now Rāj-gīr), the chief city of Magadha, which, with Kosala (Oudh, pp. 21, 48), afterwards became the holy land of Buddhism. There he attaches himself as a disciple to two Brāhmans named Āḷāra (in Sanskṛit Ārāḍa, with epithet Kālāpa or Kālāma) and Uddaka (Udraka, also written Rudraka, and called Rāma-putta, Mahā-vagga I. 6. 3), who imbue him with their own philosophical tenets and theory of salvation. Sufficient evidence exists to warrant a belief in this part of the story.

No place in India abounds in more interesting Buddhistic remains than Rāja-gṛiha (about 40 miles south-east of Patnā), proving that it was one of the most sacred places of Buddhism, consecrated by some of its most cherished associations. Its Pāli name is Rāja-gaha. It may be conjectured that the connexion between the metaphysics of Buddhism and those of Brāhmanism was due to Gautama’s intercourse with the Brāhmans of this district, and to the ideas he thus imbibed at the earliest stage of his career.

But to resume our story. Gautama fails to find in Brāhmanical philosophy that rest and peace for which his soul was craving when he left his home.

Still there was another way of emancipation and union with the Universal Soul, taught by the Brāhmans. This was the way of Tapas[11], or self-inflicted bodily pain and austerity.

From the earliest times a favourite doctrine of Brāhmanism has been, that self-inflicted bodily suffering is before all things efficacious for the accumulation of religious merit, for the acquirement of supernatural powers, and for the spirit’s release from the bondage of transmigration and its re-absorption into the One Universal Spirit.

Among other forms of self-inflicted pain, religious devotees (Tapasvīs) sometimes went through the process of sitting all day long unmoved during the hottest months on a prepared platform or plot of ground, surrounded by five fires, or by four blazing fires, with the burning sun above their heads as a fifth[12]. Even gods (and notably Ṡiva) are described as mortifying themselves by bodily austerities (_tapas_), so as not to be outdone by men; for according to the theory of Hindūism, the gods themselves might be supplanted and even ousted from their rank and position as divinities by the omnipotence acquirable by human devotees through a protracted endurance of severe bodily suffering.

Hence we are not surprised to find it recorded of Gautama Buddha, that seeking in vain for rest in the teaching of Brāhmanical philosophy, and eager to try the effect of a course of self-mortification, he wandered forth from Rāja-gṛiha to a wood in the district of Gayā, called Uruvilvā (or Uruvelā).

There, in company with five other ascetics, he began his celebrated sexennial fast. Sitting down with his legs folded under him on a raised seat in a place unsheltered from sun, wind, rain, dew, and cold, he gradually reduced his daily allowance of food to a single grain of rice. Then holding his breath, he harassed and macerated his body, but all in vain. No peace of mind came, and no divine enlightenment. He became convinced of his own folly in resorting to bodily austerity as a means of attaining supreme enlightenment, and delivering himself from the evils and sufferings of life.