The Buddha as a personal Teacher.
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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 19 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.
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Hence it has happened that the ballads (gāthā) and legends current about Gautama among Northern 20 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.
SACRED LAND OF BUDDHISM, AND SCENE OF THE BUDDHA’S ITINERATION AND PREACHING FOR FORTY-FIVE YEARS.
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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 22 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 23 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 24 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 25 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, 26 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 27 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, 28 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 29 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 30 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 31 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.
Rousing himself, as if from a troubled dream, he took food and nourishment in a natural way, thereby incurring the temporary disapproval of his five companions in self-mortification. Then, when sufficiently refreshed, he moved away to another spot in the same district. There, under the shelter of a sacred fig-tree (Aṡvattha, Ficus religiosa, known as the Pippala or Pīpal), in a village, afterwards called Buddha-Gayā, he gave himself up to higher and higher forms of meditation (Jhāna = Dhyāna). In this he merely conformed 32 to the Hindū Yoga,—a method of attaining mystic union with the Deity, which although not then formulated into a system, was already in vogue among the Brāhmans. There can be little doubt that the Dhāraṇā, Dhyāna (see p. 209), and Samādhi of the Yoga were resorted to, even in Gautama’s time, as a means for the attainment of perfect spiritual illumination, as well as of final absorption in the Deity.
In Manu VI. 72 it is said:—‘Let him purge himself from all taints (doshān) by suppression of breath, from sin by restraints of thought (dhāraṇābhiḥ), from sensual attachments by control, and from unspiritual qualities by meditation (dhyānena).’
In the later work called Bhagavad-gītā (see p. 95 of this volume) it is declared:—‘holding his body, head, and neck quite immovable, seated on a firm seat in a pure spot with Kuṡa grass around, the devotee (Yogī) should look only at the tip of his nose, and should meditate on the Supreme Being’ (VI. 11, 12). Further on he is directed to meditate so profoundly as to think about nothing whatever (VI. 25).
The very Gāyatrī or ancient Vedic prayer (Ṛig-veda III. 62. 10, see p. 78 of this volume)—which is to Hindūs what the Lord’s Prayer is to Christians, and is still repeated by millions of our Indian fellow-subjects at their daily devotions—was originally an act of meditation, performed with the very object Gautama had in view—supreme enlightenment of mind:—‘Let us meditate (Dhīmahi, root dhyai) on the excellent glory of the divine vivifying Sun, may he enlighten our understandings.’ Even the selection of a seat under 33 an Aṡvattha tree was in keeping with Brāhmanical ideas (see ‘Brāhmanism and Hindūism,’ p. 335).
The first result, however, of his engaging in abstract meditation, was that he seemed to himself to be as far as ever from the emancipation which was the one aim of his great renunciation. Why not then return to the world? Why not indulge again in the pleasures of sense? Why not go back to home, wife, and child? Thoughts of this kind passed through his mind, while all his old affections and feelings seemed to revive with tenfold intensity. Then on one particular night, during this mental struggle, Māra, the Destroyer and personification of carnal desire, seized his opportunity. The spirit of evil had bided his time; had waited to assail the sage at the right moment, when protracted self-mortification had done its work—when with exhausted strength he had little power of resistance.
It is certainly remarkable that a great struggle between good and evil, right and wrong, truth and error, knowledge and ignorance, light and darkness, is recognized in all religious systems, however false. (See a notable allusion to this in Ṡaṅkara’s Commentary to Ćhāndogya Upanishad, p. 26, ll. 2-8.)
The legendary description of the Buddha’s temptation, and of the assault made upon him by Māra (the deadly spirit of sensuous desire[13]), and by all his troop of attendants, is so interesting and curious, notwithstanding its extravagance, that I here abridge it:—
Fiends and demons swarmed about him in the form 34 of awful monsters, furies, vampires, hobgoblins, armed to the teeth with every implement of destruction. Their million faces were frightful to behold, their limbs encircled by myriads of serpents, their heads enveloped in a blaze of fire. They surrounded the saint and assailed him in a thousand different ways. Missiles of all kinds were hurled against him; poison and fire were showered over him—but the poison changed into flowers, the fire formed a halo round his head.
The baffled evil one now shifted his ground. He summoned his sixteen enchanting daughters, and sent them to display their charms in the presence of the youthful saint. But the resolute young ascetic was not to be lured by their wiles. He remained calm and impassive, and with a stern face rebuked the maidens for their boldness, forcing them to retire discomfited and disgraced.
Other forms of temptation followed, and the debilitated ascetic’s strength seemed to be giving way. But this was merely the crisis. After rising to higher and higher stages of abstract meditation at the end of a long night he shook off his foe. The victory was won, and the light of true knowledge broke upon his mind. A legend relates that in the first night-watch he gained a knowledge of all his previous existences; in the second—of all present states of being; in the third—of the chain of causes and effects (p. 102); and at the dawn of day he knew all things.
The dawn on which this remarkable struggle terminated was the birthday of Buddhism. Gautama was at that time about thirty-five years of age. It was 35 then, and not till then, that his Bodhi-sattvaship (see p. 135) ended and he gained a right to the title Buddha, ‘the Enlightened.’ No wonder that the tree under which he sat became celebrated as ‘the tree of knowledge and enlightenment.’ It is remarkable, too, that just as the night on which the Buddha attained perfect enlightenment is the most sacred night with Buddhists, so the Bodhi-tree (in familiar language, Bo-tree) is their most sacred symbol—a symbol as dear to Buddhists as the Cross is to Christians.
And what was this true knowledge, evolved out of a mind sublimated by intense meditation?
This is, perhaps, the strangest point of all in this strange story. It was after all a mere partial one-sided truth—the outcome of a single line of thought, dwelt upon with morbid intensity, to the exclusion of every other line of thought which might have modified and balanced it. It was an ultra-pessimistic view of the miseries of life, and a determination to ignore all its counterbalancing joys. It was the doctrine that this present life is only one link in a chain of countless transmigrations—that existence of all kinds involves suffering, and that such suffering can only be got rid of by self-restraint and the extinction of desires, especially of the desire for continuity of personal existence.
For let it be made clear at the outset, that whatever may be said of the Christian-like self-renunciation enjoined by the Buddhist code of morality, the only self it aims at renouncing is the self of personality, and the chief self-love it deprecates is the self-love which consists in craving for continuous individual life.
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To those who have never travelled or resided much in the East, indulgence in such a morbid form of pessimism, under glowing skies and amid bright surroundings, may seem almost an impossibility. But those who know India by personal experience are aware that its climate is not conducive to optimistic views of life, and that even in the present day men of the Buddha type, who seek in various ways to impress their pessimistic theories of existence on their fellow-men, are not uncommon.
In the course of my travels I frequently met ascetics who had given up family and friends, and were leading a life of morose seclusion, and pretended meditation, undergoing long courses of bodily mortification. Nay, I have even seen men who, to prove their utter contempt for the pleasures of worldly existence, and to render themselves fit for the extinction of all personality by absorption into the Universal Soul, have sat in one posture, or held up one arm for years, or allowed themselves no bed but a bed of spikes, no shelter but the foliage of trees[14]. Gautama’s course of protracted cogitation therefore had in it nothing peculiar or original.
Nor need we doubt that certain historical facts underlie the legendary narrative. We cannot admit with the learned Senart and Kern that the life of Gautama was based on a mere solar myth. To us it is more difficult not to believe than to believe that there lived in the fifth century B.C. the youthful son of a petty Rāja or land-owner in Oudh, distinguished from ordinary 37 men by many remarkable qualities of mind and body—notably by a thoughtful and contemplative disposition; that he became impressed with a sense of the vanity of all earthly aims, and of the suffering caused by disease and death; that he often said to himself, ‘Life is but a troubled dream, an incubus, a nightmare,’ or, like the Jewish sage of old, ‘All the days of man are sorrow,’ ‘Man walketh in a vain shadow and disquieteth himself in vain;’ and that like many other of the world’s philosophers, instead of acquiescing in the state of things around him, and striving to make the best of them, or to improve them, he took refuge from the troubles of life in abandoning all its ties, renouncing all its joys, and suppressing all its affections and desires.
And again, it is more difficult not to believe than to believe that in such a man introspection and abstinence, protracted for many years, induced a condition of mind favourable to ecstatic visions, which were easily mistaken for flashes of inner enlightenment.
We know, indeed, that eleven centuries later another great thinker arose among the Semitic races in Western Asia, who went through the same kind of mental struggle, and that Muhammad, like Gautama, having by his long fasts and austerities brought himself into a highly wrought condition of the nervous system, became a fanatical believer in the reality of his own delusions and in his own divine commission as a teacher.
But the parallel between the Buddha and Muhammad cannot be carried on much further. And indeed, in point of fact, no two characters could be more different. For the Buddha never claimed to be the channel of 38 a supernatural revelation; never represented the knowledge that burst on his mind as springing from any but an internal source; never taught that a divine force operating from without compelled him to communicate that knowledge to mankind; never dreamed of propagating that knowledge to others by compulsion, much less by the sword. On the contrary, he always maintained that the only revelation he had received was an illumination from within—due entirety to his own intuitions, assisted by his reasoning powers and by severe purgatorial discipline protracted through countless previous births in every variety of bodily form.
But how did this internal self-enlightenment[15]—the great distinguishing feature of Buddhism—first find expression? It is said that the first words uttered by the Buddha at the momentous crisis when true knowledge burst upon him, were to the following effect:—
‘Through countless births have I wandered, seeking but not discovering (anibbisan) the maker of this my mortal dwelling-house (gaha-kāraka), and still again and again have birth and life and pain returned. But now at length art thou discovered, thou builder of this house (of flesh). No longer shalt thou rear a house for me. Rafters and beams are shattered and with destruction of Desire (Taṉhā) deliverance from repeated life is gained at last’ (Dhamma-pada 153, 154, Sumaṅgala 46).
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Contrast with these first utterances of Gautama Buddha the first words of Jesus Christ:—
‘Wist ye not that I must be about My Father’s business?’ (St. Luke ii. 49.)
The Buddha’s first exclamations, as well as the account of his subsequent sayings and doings, are the more worthy of credit as taken from the Southern Canon.
The Mahā-vagga (I. 1) tells us that after attaining complete intelligence, the Buddha sat cross-legged on the ground under the Bodhi-tree for seven days, absorbed in meditation and enjoying the bliss of enlightenment. At the end of that period, during the first three watches of the night, he fixed his mind on the causes of existence. Then having thought out the law of causation (p. 102), he exclaimed: ‘When the laws of being become manifest to the earnest thinker, his doubts vanish, and, like the Sun, he dispels the hosts of Māra.’
Next he meditated for another seven days under a banyan tree, called the tree of goat-herds (aja-pāla). It was there that a haughty Brāhman accosted him with the question, ‘Who is a true Brāhman?’ and was told, ‘One free from evil and pride; self-restrained, learned, and pure.’
Then he meditated under another tree for a third period of seven days. There the serpent (Nāga) Mućalinda (or Mućilinda) coiled his body round the Buddha, and formed a canopy to protect him from the raging of a storm—this being one of the trials he had to go through. When it was over the Buddha exclaimed, ‘Happy is the seclusion of the satisfied man (tushṭa) who has learned and seen the truth.’
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A fourth period of meditation was passed under the tree Rājāyatana, making four times seven days. May not these symbolize the four stages of meditation (p. 209)? Later legends, however, reckon seven times seven days.
During the whole of the interval between the first acquisition of knowledge and the setting forth to proclaim it, the Buddha fasted, being too elated to seek food, and only once receiving it from two merchants, named Tapussa (Trapusha) and Bhallika. These became his first lay-reverers (p. 89) by repeating the double formula of reverence for the Buddha and for his doctrine (the Saṅgha not being then instituted, Mahā-v° I. 4. 5). A later legend relates that they received in return eight of his hairs which they preserved as relics.
In connexion with the legend of a forty-nine days’ fast, I may mention that an ancient carving of Gautama was pointed out to me at Buddha-Gayā, which represents him as holding a bowl of rice-milk divided into forty-nine portions, one for each day.
With these legends we may contrast the simple Gospel narrative of Christ’s forty days’ fast in the wilderness.
The Buddha’s first resolution to come forth from his seclusion and proclaim his gospel to mankind is of course a great epoch with all Buddhists.
And here it should be observed, that, strictly, according to Gautama’s own teaching he ought to have ceased from all action on arriving at perfect enlightenment. For had he not attained the great object of his ambition—the end of all his struggles—the goal of all his efforts—carried on through hundreds of existences? He had, therefore, no more lives to lead, no more misery to 41 undergo. In short he had achieved the summum bonum of all true Buddhists—the extinction of the fires of passions and desires—and had only to enjoy the well-earned peace (nirvṛiti) of complete Nirvāṇa. Yet the love of his fellow-men impelled him to action (pravṛitti). In fact it was characteristic of a supreme Buddha that he should belie, by his own activity and compassionate feelings, the utter apathy and indifference to which his own doctrines logically led (p. 128).
But he did not carry out his benevolent design without going through another course of temptation (which it is usual to compare with the temptation of Christ). Evil thoughts arose in his mind, and these were suggested, according to later legends, by Māra (p. 33), thus:—‘With great pains, blessed one, hast thou acquired this doctrine (dharma). Why proclaim it? Beings lost in desires and lusts will not understand it. Remain in quietude. Enjoy Nirvāṇa’ (Mahā-v° I. 5. 3).
To counteract these malevolent suggestions, the god Brahmā Sahāmpati (Pāli Sahămpati, p. 210) presented himself and exclaimed:—‘Arise, O spotless one, open the gate of Nirvāṇa. Arise, look down on the world lost in suffering. Arise, wander forth, preach the doctrine.’
First the Buddha thought of his two teachers, Āḷāra and Uddaka (p. 29), but found they were dead. Next he thought of the five ascetics whom he had offended by his abandonment of the method of gaining true knowledge through painful austerities. They were at that time prosecuting their bodily mortifications at Benares in the Deer-park called Isipatana. It was only natural that the Buddha should think of wending 42 his way in the first instance to Benares, even if special considerations had not drawn him there; for that city was the great centre of Eastern thought and life, the Indian Athens, where all peculiar doctrines were most likely to gain a hearing.
On his way thither, Upaka, a member of the Ājīvaka sect of naked ascetics, met him and inquired why his countenance was so bright (pariṡuddha)? He replied, ‘I am the all-subduer, the all-wise, the stainless, the highest teacher, the conqueror (p. 135); I go to Benares to dissipate the world’s darkness’ (Mahā-vagga I. 6. 7).
The five ascetics (Kauṇḍinya = Koṇḍañño, Aṡvajit = Assaji, Vāshpa, Mahānāma, and Bhadrika) were soon converted by his words, and by merely repeating the triple formula were admitted at once to his Order of monks. They constituted, with Gautama, the first six members of the Saṅgha, or fraternity of men seeking release from the misery of existence by cœnobitic monasticism.
And of what nature were Gautama Buddha’s first didactic utterances? His first sermon, delivered in the Deer-park at Benares, is held in as much reverence by Buddhists as the first words of Christ are by Christians. It is called Dhamma-ćakka-ppavattana-sutta, or in Sanskṛit Dharma-ćakra-pravartana-sūtra, ‘the discourse which set in motion the wheel of the law,’ or ‘of the universal dominance of the true belief.’
The following is the substance of it, as given in the Mahā-vagga (I. 6. 17). It is important to note that the Buddha spoke in the vernacular of Magadha (now called Pāli), and not to men generally, but to the first five would-be members of his Order of monks:—
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‘There are two extremes (antā), O monks (Bhikkhus), to be avoided by one who has given up the world—a life devoted to sensual pleasures (kāma), which is degrading, common, vulgar, ignoble, profitless; and a life given to self-mortification (ātma-klamatha)—painful, ignoble, profitless. There is a middle path, avoiding both extremes—the noble eightfold path discovered by the Buddha (Tathāgata)—which leads to insight, to wisdom, to quietude (upaṡama), to knowledge, to perfect enlightenment (sambodhi), to final extinction of desire and suffering (Nirvāṇa).’
So far there is nothing very explicit in the discourse. Doubtless such precepts as ‘virtue is a mean’ and that ‘medio tutissimus ibis’ are useful, though trite, truths; but the difficulty is to prove that the Buddha’s eightfold path is really a middle course of the kind described; for the most fanatical enthusiasts will always regard their own creed, however extravagant, as moderate.
The Buddha, therefore, goes on to propound what he calls the four noble truths (ariya-saććāni = ārya-satyāni), which are the key to his whole doctrine. They may be stated thus:—
1. All existence—that is, existence in any form, whether on earth or in heavenly spheres—necessarily involves pain and suffering (dukkha). 2. All suffering is caused by lust (rāga) or craving or desire (taṉhā = trishṇā, ‘thirst’) of three kinds—for sensual pleasure (kāma), for wealth (vibhava), and for existence (bhava). 3. Cessation of suffering is simultaneous with extinction of lust, craving, and desire (p. 139). 4. Extinction of lust, craving, and desire, and cessation of suffering are 44 accomplished by perseverance in the noble eightfold path (ariyo aṭṭhangiko maggo), viz. right belief or views (sammā diṭṭhi), right resolve (saṅkappo), right speech, right work (kammanto), right livelihood (ājīvo), right exercise or training (vāyāmo = vyāyāma), right mindfulness (sati, p. 50), right mental concentration (samādhi).
And how is all life mere suffering (I.6.19)?—
‘Birth is suffering. Decay is suffering. Illness is suffering. Death is suffering. Association with (samprayogo) objects we hate is suffering. Separation from objects we love is suffering. Not to obtain what we desire is suffering. Clinging (upādāna) to the five elements (p. 109) of existence is suffering. Complete cessation of thirst (taṇhā) and desires is cessation of suffering. This is the noble truth of suffering.’
This sermon (called in Ceylon the first Baṇa = Bhāṇa, ‘recitation,’ p. 70) was addressed to monks, and however unfavourably it must compare with that of Christ (St. Luke iv. 18), addressed not to monks but to suffering sinners—and however obvious may be the idea that pain must result from giving way to lust and the desire for life through countless existences—is of great interest because it embodies the first teaching of one, who, if not worthy to be called ‘the Light of Asia,’ and certainly unworthy of comparison with the ‘Light of the World,’ was at least one of the world’s most successful teachers.
Bear in mind that, as the result of his earliest meditation (pp. 39, 56, 102), the Buddha made ignorance precede lust as the primary cause of life’s misery.
Of course the real significance of the whole sermon depends on the interpretation of the word ‘right’ (sammā = samyak) in describing the eightfold path, and the plain explanation is that ‘right belief’ means believing in the Buddha and his doctrine; ‘right resolve’ 45 means abandoning one’s wife and family as the best method of extinguishing the fires of the passions; right speech is recitation of the Buddha’s doctrine; right work (Karmānta) is that of a monk; right livelihood is living by alms as a monk does; right exercise is suppression of the individual self; right mindfulness (Smṛiti) is keeping in mind the impurities and impermanence of the body; right mental concentration is trance-like quietude.
Mark, too, that in describing the misery of life, association with loved objects is not mentioned as compensating for the pain of connexion with hateful objects.
The Buddha’s early disciples were not poor men; for the sixth to be admitted to the Saṅgha was a high-born youth named Yasa. Then this youth’s father, a rich merchant, became the first lay-disciple by repeating the triple formula (pp. 40, 78), and his mother and wife became the first lay-sisters. Next, four high-born friends of Yasa, and subsequently fifty more became monks. Thus, not long after the first sermon, Gautama had sixty enrolled monks; all from the upper classes.
In sending forth these sixty monks to proclaim his own gospel of deliverance, he addressed them thus:—
‘I am delivered from all fetters (p. 127), human and divine. You too, O monks, are freed from the same fetters. Go forth and wander everywhere, out of compassion for the world and for the welfare of gods and men. Go forth, one by one, in different directions. Preach the doctrine (Dharmam), salutary (kalyāṇa) in its beginning, middle, and end, in its spirit (artha) and in its letter (vyañjana). Proclaim a life of perfect restraint, 46 chastity, and celibacy (brahmaćariyam). I will go also to preach this doctrine’ (Mahā-vagga I. 11. 1).
When his monk-missionaries had departed, Gautama himself followed, though not till Māra (p. 41) had again tempted him. Quitting Benares he journeyed back to Uruvelā, near Gayā. There he first converted thirty rich young men and then one thousand orthodox Brāhmans, led by Kāṡyapa and his two brothers, who maintained a sacred fire (‘Brāhmanism,’ p. 364). The fire-chamber was haunted by a fiery snake-demon; so Buddha asked to occupy the room for a night, fought the serpent and confined him in his own alms-bowl. Next he worked other miracles (said to have been 3500 in number), such as causing water to recede, fire-wood to split, fire-vessels to appear at his word. Then Kāṡyapa and his brothers, convinced of his miraculous powers, were admitted with the other Brāhmans to the Saṅgha. Thus Buddha gathered round him about a thousand monks.
To them on a hill Gayāsīsa (Brahma-yoni), near Gayā, he preached his ‘burning’ fire-sermon (Mahā-v° I. 21): ‘Everything, O monks, is burning (ādittam = ādīptam). The eye is burning; visible things are burning. The sensation produced by contact with visible things is burning—burning with the fire of lust (desire), enmity and delusion (rāgagginā dosagginā mohagginā), with birth, decay (jarayā), death, grief, lamentation, pain, dejection (domanassehi), and despair (upāyāsehi). The ear is burning, sounds are burning; the nose is burning, odours are burning; the tongue is burning, tastes are burning; the body is burning, objects of sense are burning. The mind is burning, 47 thoughts are burning. All are burning with the fire of passions and lusts. Observing this, O monks, a wise and noble disciple becomes weary of (or disgusted with) the eye, weary of visible things, weary of the ear, weary of sounds, weary of odours, weary of tastes, weary of the body, weary of the mind. Becoming weary, he frees himself from passions and lusts. When free, he realizes that his object is accomplished, that he has lived a life of restraint and chastity (brahma-ćariyam), that re-birth is ended.’
It is said that this fire-sermon—which is a key to the meaning of Nirvāṇa—was suggested by the sight of a conflagration. It was Gautama’s custom to impress ideas on his hearers by pointing to visible objects. He compares all life to a flame; and the gist of the discourse is the duty of extinguishing the fire of lusts, and with it the fire of all existence, and the importance of monkhood and celibacy for the attainment of this end.
Contrast in Christ’s Sermon on the Mount the words addressed to the multitude (not to monks), ‘Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.’
The Buddha and his followers next proceeded to Rāja-gṛiha. Among them were two, afterwards called ‘chief disciples’ (Agra-ṡrāvakas), Sāriputta and Moggallāna (or Maudgalyāyana), who died before the Buddha, and sixteen leaders among the so-called eighty ‘great disciples’ (Mahā-ṡrāvakas); the chief of these being Kāṡyapa (or Mahā-kāṡyapa), Upāli, and Ānanda (a cousin), besides Anuruddha (another cousin), and Kātyāyana. Of course among the eighty are reckoned the five original Benares converts. At a later time two chief female disciples 48 (Agra-ṡrāvikās) named Khemā and Uppala-vaṇṇā (Utpala-varṇā) were added (see p. 86). Each leading disciple was afterwards called Sthavira, ‘an elder,’ or Mahā-sthavira, ‘great elder’ (Pāli Thera, Mahāthera; fem. Therī). Mark, too, that Bimbi-sāra, king of Magadha, and Prasenajit (Pasenadi), king of Kosala, were Gautama’s lay-disciples and constant patrons.
It was not long before the Buddha’s followers were more formally incorporated into a monastic Order (Saṅgha), and rules of discipline drawn up (see pp. 61, 72, 73, 83). And doubtless the success of Buddhism was due to the carrying out of this idea of establishing a brotherhood offering a haven of rest to all.
About forty-five years elapsed between Gautama’s attainment of Buddhahood and his death. During that period he continued teaching and itinerating with his disciples; only going ‘into retreat’ during the rains. A list of 45 places of residence is given. He seems to have resided oftenest at Ṡrāvastī (p. 21) in the monastery Jetavana given by Anātha-piṇḍika; but the whole region between Ṡrāvastī and Rāja-gṛiha (p. 29), for nearly 300 miles, was the scene of his itineration. Favourite resorts near Rāja-gṛiha were the ‘Vulture-peak’ and Bambu-grove (Veḷu-vana); but continual itineration was one chief means of propagating Buddhism.
It is said that his death occurred at Kuṡi-nagara[16] (Kusinārā), a town about eighty miles east of Kapila-vastu—the 49 place of his birth—when he was eighty years of age, and probably about the year 420 B.C.[17]
The story is that Gautama died from eating too much pork (or dried boar’s flesh[18]). As this is somewhat derogatory to his dignity it is not likely to have been fabricated. A fabrication, too, would scarcely make him guilty of the inconsistency of saying ‘Kill no living thing,’ and yet setting an example of eating flesh-meat.
These were his words when he felt his end near:—
‘O Ānanda, I am now grown old, and full of years, and my journey is drawing to its close; I have reached eighty years—my sum of days—and just as a worn-out cart can only with much care be made to move along, so my body can only be kept going with difficulty. It is only when I become plunged in meditation that my body is at ease. In future be ye to yourselves your own light, your own refuge; seek no other refuge. Hold fast to the truth as your lamp. Hold fast to the truth as your refuge; look not to any one but yourselves as a refuge’ (Mahā-parinibbāna-sutta II. 32, 33).
Afterwards he gave a summary of every monk’s duties, thus:—‘Which then, O monks, are the truths (=the seven jewels, p. 127) it behoves you to spread abroad, out of pity for the world, for the good of gods and men? They are: 1. the four earnest reflections (Smṛiti, Sati-paṭṭhāna, on the impurities of the body, on the impermanence of the sensations, of the thoughts, of 50 the conditions of existence, p. 127); 2. the four right exertions (Sammappadhāna, viz. to prevent demerit from arising, get rid of it when arisen, produce merit, increase it); 3. the four paths to supernatural power (Iddhi-pāda, viz. will, effort, thought, intense thought); 4. the five forces (Pañća-bala, viz. faith, energy, recollection, self-concentration, reason); 5. the proper use of the five organs of sense; 6. the seven ‘limbs’ of knowledge (Bodhy-aṅga, viz. recollection, investigation, energy, joy, serenity, concentration of mind, equanimity); 7. the noble ‘eightfold path’ (p. 44). See Mahā-parinibbāna III. 65.
Then shortly before his decease, he said, ‘It may be, Ānanda, that in some of you the thought may arise:—The words of our Teacher are ended; we have lost our Master. But it is not thus. The truths and the rules of the Order, which I have taught and preached, let these be your teacher, when I am gone’ (VI. 1).
‘Behold now, O monks, I exhort you:—Everything that cometh into being passeth away; work out your own perfection with diligence’ (III. 66).
Not long after his last utterances the Buddha, who had before through intense meditation attained Nirvāṇa or extinction of the fire of desires, passed through the four stages of meditation (p. 209) till the moment came for his Pari-nirvāṇa, whereby the fire of life also was extinguished. A couch had been placed for him between two Ṡāl trees (p. 23), with the head towards the north. In sculptures he is represented as lying on his right side at the moment of death, and images of him in this position are highly venerated.
The chief men of Kuṡi-nagara burnt his body with 51 the ceremonies usual at the death of a Ćakravartin or Universal Ruler, which the Buddha claimed to be.
Then his ashes were distributed among eight princes, who built Stūpas over them (Buddha-vaṉsa 28).
A legend states that when the Buddha died there was an earthquake. Then the gods Brahmā and Indra appeared and the latter exclaimed: ‘Transient are all the elements of being; birth and decay are their nature; they are born and dissolved; then only is happiness when they have ceased to be’ (Mahā-p° VI. 16).
Contrast with Buddha’s last words the last words of Christ: ‘Father, into Thy hands I commend my Spirit.’
A greater contrast than that presented by the account of the Buddha’s death and the Gospel narrative of the death of Christ can scarcely be imagined.
Of course as a result of discourses during forty-five years, a large number were gathered into Gautama’s monastic Order. His first aim was the founding of this Order, and his chief sermons were to his monks; but he accepted all men and ultimately multitudes attached themselves to him as lay-brethren (p. 87).
In fact Gautama’s doctrine of a universal brotherhood, open to all, constituted the corner-stone of his popularity. He spoke to them in their own provincial dialect, which could not have differed much from the Pāli of the texts—and he enforced his words by dialogues, parables, fables, reiterations, and repetitions. Probably he was the first introducer of real preaching into India, and by his practical method he seemed to bring down knowledge from the clouds to every man’s door.
The following parable is an example: ‘As the 52 peasant sows the seed but cannot say: the grain shall swell to-day, to-morrow germinate, so also it is with the disciple; he must obey the precepts, practise meditation, study the doctrine; he cannot say to-day or to-morrow, I shall be delivered. Again: as when a herd of deer lives in a forest a man comes who opens for them a false path and the deer suffer hurt; and another comes who opens a safe path and the deer thrive; so when men live among pleasures the evil one comes and opens the false eightfold path. Then comes the perfect one and opens the safe eightfold path of right belief, etc.’ (p. 44, Oldenberg, 191, 192).
Six rival heretical teachers are alluded to. His chief opponent was his cousin Devadatta, who set up a school of his own, and is said to have plotted against the Buddha’s life. His efforts failed (Ćulla-vagga VII), and he himself came to an untimely end. Possibly he may have belonged to the rival Jaina sect (Nigaṇṭha) of naked ascetics, of which the great leader was Vardhamāna Mahāvīra Nāta-putta (=Jñāti-putra).
Gautama’s teaching gained the day. It claimed universality, and was aptly symbolized by a wheel rolling among all alike. Yet at first it had no attractions for the poor and the child-like.
By degrees, a fuller system, adapted in an ascending scale to laymen, novices, monks, nuns, and Arhats, was developed—a system which had its abstruse doctrines suited to men of philosophical minds, as well as its plain practical side. This constituted the Buddhist Dharma, which was ultimately collected in certain sacred books to be next described.
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