The Morality of Buddhism and its chief aim—Arhatship or Nirvāṇa

LECTURE VI. 
The Morality of Buddhism and its chief aim—Arhatship or Nirvāṇa.

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The first questions suggested by the subject of this lecture will probably be:—

How could a life of morality be inculcated by one who made all life proceed from ignorance, and even virtuous conduct in one sense a mistake, as leading to continuity of life, and therefore of suffering? How could the Buddha’s first commandment be, ‘Destroy not,’ when his ideal of perfection was destruction? How could he say, ‘be active,’ when his theory of Karma (pp. 110, 114) made action conduce to misery?

The inconsistency is evident, but it is no less true that, notwithstanding the doctrine that all existence entails misery, and that all action, good or bad, leads to future births, Gautama taught that the life of a man in higher bodily forms, or in one of the heavens, was better than a life in lower forms, or in one of the hells, and that neither a higher form of life nor the great aim of Nirvāṇa could be attained without righteous action, meditation, and true knowledge.

Buddhism, indeed, as we have seen, could not hold forth as an incentive to good behaviour any belief in a Creator rewarding and punishing his creatures according to their works, or pardoning their sins. It 124 could not inculcate piety; for in true Buddhism piety was impossible; yet like Manu (II. 6) it made morality (ṡīla) the basis of Law (Dharma); it stimulated good conduct by its doctrine of repeated births, and by pictures of its numerous heavens, and it deterred men from unrighteous acts by its terrible places of torment.

Let it then be made clear from the first that Buddhism, in inculcating morality, used no word expressive of morality, as founded on the love and fear of God, or of sin as an offence against God.

In Buddhism the words kleṡa (kileso), ‘pain,’ and akuṡala, ‘demerit,’ take the place of ‘sin,’ and its perfect saint is said to be ‘free from pain’ (nishkleṡa) and from demerit, not from sin in our sense. By an unrighteous act it meant an act producing suffering and demerit of some kind (p. 113), and it bade every man act righteously in order to escape suffering and to accumulate merit (kuṡala), and thus work out his own perfection—that is to say, his own self-extinction.

Doubtless Buddhism deserves credit for laying stress on right belief, right words, right work, instead of on ceremonial rites; and on the worship of Hindū gods; but it had its own idea of right. It urged householders to abandon the world, or else to be diligent in serving its monks for the working out of their own salvation; and while making morality, meditation, and enlightenment its indispensable factors in securing perfection, it made perfection consist in freedom from the delusion that ‘I am;’ and in deliverance from an individual existence inseparably bound up with misery.

Mark, too, another contradiction. It inculcated entire 125 self-dependence in working out this kind of perfection, and yet it set before its disciples three guides; namely, the Buddha’s own example, the Law (Dharma), and the example of the whole body of monks and perfected saints (Saṅgha).

We now turn to its fuller moral system, keeping this distinct from its philosophy and metaphysics, and freely admitting that there are in Buddhist morality many things, true, honourable, just, pure, lovely, and of good report.

It is fair to point out at the outset that Buddhist morality was not a purely external matter. It divided men into the outwardly correct and internally sincere. The mere outwardly correct Buddhists might include monks as well as laymen, though a higher standard of profession was expected of monks. The internally sincere were the really earnest seekers after perfection (monks and laymen), and were divided into four classes, representing four conditions of the inner life, lower, higher, still higher, and highest, culminating in perfect Saintship, Arhatship, and Nirvāṇa (p. 132).

At the same time there was not much hope of saintship except through celibacy and monkhood; for in true Buddhism the notion of holy family-life was almost a contradiction in terms.

Of course the Buddhist moral code soon passed beyond the eightfold path propounded by Gautama in his first sermon (see p. 44), and Dr. Oldenberg has shown that in the absence of a systematically arranged code, we may still trace out amid a confusion of precepts the three leading duties of external moral conduct 126 (ṡīla), of internal mental concentration (samādhi), and of acquiring true wisdom (paññā = prajñā). Compare Dr. Wenzel’s ‘Friendly Epistle,’ 53.

The five fundamental rules of moral conduct (ṡīla), or rather, prohibitions, were promulgated very early:—

1. Kill not any living thing. 2. Steal not. 3. Commit not adultery. 4. Lie not. 5. Drink not strong drink. These five, having reference chiefly to one’s neighbour, were called the fivefold law for all classes, including laymen. They were taken from Brāhmanism, but in the vows of the Sannyāsī the fifth was not included. It was Buddhism probably that first interdicted strong drink. It prohibited too what the Brāhmans allowed—killing for sacrificial purposes.

Five others of a more trivial character for monks (often given in a different order, p. 78) were added:—

6. Eat no food, except at stated times. 7. Use no wreaths, ornaments, or perfumes. 8. Use no high or broad bed, but only a mat on the ground. 9. Abstain from dancing, singing, music, and worldly spectacles. 10. Own no gold, or silver of any kind, and accept none (Mahā-vagga I. 56). [This Buddhist Decalogue may be contrasted with the Mosaic Decalogue.]

All ten were binding on monks only, and for the third was then substituted ‘be absolutely chaste.’

Sometimes not only the first five but the first eight were held to be binding on laymen.

Another was added in later times:—Never think or say that your own religion is the best. Never denounce the religion of others (see p. 90).

Then, although only the first half of the eightfold 127 path (p. 44) was said to be necessary for lay-brethren, the whole was for monks, who also had to observe the special practices already described (p. 76).

All gambling and games of chance were prohibited (Tevijja-Sutta II). Compare Manu IX. 221-228.

Sometimes five renunciations are named:—of wife, of children, of money, of life, of craving for existence in future births.

Then sometimes three (sometimes four) corrupting influences (āsava = āsrava) are enumerated—of lust (kāma), of life, of ignorance, (of delusion.)

Most important to be got rid of are the ten fetters (saṃyojana, p. 45) binding a man to existence:—

1. Belief in the existence of a personal self or Ego (sakkāya-diṭṭhi); 2. Doubt (vićikitsā); 3. Ceremonial practices (sīlabbata = ṡīla-vrata); 4. Lust or sensuality (kāma); 5. Anger (paṭigha); 6. Craving for life in a material form (rūpa-rāga) either on earth or in heaven; 7. Longing for immaterial life (arūpa-rāga) in the higher heavens; 8. Pride (māna); 9. Self-exaltation (auddhatya); 10. Ignorance. Of these, 1, 3, and 4, with diṭṭhi, ‘wrong belief,’ are the four constituents of Upādāna, ‘clinging to existence’ (p. 109).

The seven jewels of the law (p. 49) are—1. the five contemplations or reflections; 2. the four right exertions (p. 50); 3. the four paths to supernatural power (p. 50); 4. the five moral forces (p. 50); 5. the right use of the five organs of sense; 6. the seven limbs of knowledge (p. 50); 7. the eightfold path (p. 44).

The five above-named reflections are—1. on the thirty-two impurities of the body; 2. on the duty of 128 displaying love (Maitrī) towards all beings; 3. on compassion for all who suffer; 4. on rejoicing with all who rejoice; 5. on absolute indifference (upekshā) to joy or sorrow. These contemplations (bhāvanā) in Buddhism take the place of prayer. The last is the highest. The first is also a Sati-paṭṭhāna (p. 49). They must not be confused with the meditations (Dhyānas, p. 209).

Then come six (or ten) transcendent virtues called Pāramitās, ‘leading to the further shore,’ for Arhats. These, too, every Bodhi-sattva had to practise before he could attain Buddhahood. They were:—1. Generosity or giving (Dāna) to all who ask, even the sacrificing of limbs or life for others; this is most important; 2. Virtue or moral conduct (Ṡīla); 3. Patience or tolerance (Kshānti); 4. Fortitude or energy (Vīrya); 5. Suppression of desire (Nekkhamma = naishkāmya), or, according to some, profound contemplation; 6. Transcendental wisdom (Pañña = Prajñā). To which are added—7. Truth (Satya); 8. Steadfast resolution (Adhishṭhāna); 9. Good-will or kindness (Maitra); 10. Absolute indifference or imperturbability or apathy (Upekshā), resulting in a kind of ecstatic quietude.

This kind of memorial tabulation in lists of 4, 5, 7, 8, 10, etc., is of course a product of later Buddhism.

I now give examples from the Dharma-pada:—

‘By oneself is evil done; by oneself is one injured; by oneself is evil left undone; by oneself is one purified; no one purifies another.’ (Compare Manu IV. 240.)

‘Better than dominion over the earth, better than going to Heaven, or having sovereignty over the worlds, is the attainment of the first step in sanctification.’

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‘Not to commit evil, to accumulate merit by good deeds (kusalassa upasampadā), to purify the heart, this is the doctrine of the Enlightened’ (165, 178, 183).

‘As a frontier town is guarded[52] within and without, so guard thyself.’ (Dh. 315.)

‘He who holds back rising anger like a rolling chariot, him I call a real driver; any other merely holds the reins.’ (Dh. 222. Compare Manu II. 88.)

‘Let a man overcome anger by gentleness, let him overcome the evil by good; the parsimonious by liberality, the liar by truth.’ (Dh. 223. Manu VI. 47, 48.)

‘The fully enlightened finds no satisfaction even in heavenly pleasures; but only in suppression of desires.’

‘One by one, little by little, moment by moment, a wise man frees himself from personal impurities as a refiner blows away the dross of silver.’ (Dh. 187, 239.)

‘There is a treasure laid up in the heart, a treasure of charity, purity, temperance, soberness. A treasure, secure, impregnable, that no thief can steal; a treasure that follows after death. (Compare Manu IV. 241.) Universal science, all the perfections, supernatural knowledge, supreme Buddhaship itself this treasure can procure.’ (Childers’ Nidhi-kāṇḍa.)

The following are some of the blessed states described in the Mahāmaṅgala-sutta. They prove that Gautama required married men to discharge their duties faithfully.

‘The succouring of mother and father, the cherishing of child and wife, and the following of a peaceful calling, this is the greatest blessing’ (maṅgalam uttamam).

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‘The giving alms, a religious life, aid rendered to relations, blameless acts, this is the greatest blessing.’

‘Reverence and humility, contentment and gratefulness, the hearing of the Law at the right time, this is the greatest blessing.’

‘Patience and lowly speech, association with religious men, recitation of the Law at the right time, this is the greatest blessing.’

‘Self-mortification and chastity, discernment of the noble truths, perception of Nirvāṇa, this is the greatest blessing.’

In the Aṅguttara (II. iv. 2) it is said that no adequate return can be made by children to parents ‘even by menial service.’ With Gautama, to honour father and mother was better than to worship the gods of heaven.

Many other examples might be given. Not only was a man forbidden to kill, he was never to injure.

Then in the Rājovāda Jātaka we have the story of the one king ‘who overcomes the strong by strength, the soft by softness, the good by goodness, and the wicked by wickedness;’ and of the other king ‘who conquers anger by calmness, the wicked by goodness, the stingy by gifts, the liar (alika-vādinam) by truth.’

Other precepts require a man to exercise charity and respect towards all aged persons, teachers, servants, and animals. He was to set an example of self-sacrifice.

It is recorded of Gautama Buddha that on one occasion he plucked out his own eyes, and that on another he cut off his own head, and that on a third he cut his own body to pieces to redeem a dove from a hawk.

Yet we repeat that with all this apparently sublime 131 morality no true idea of sin, as displeasing to a Holy God, was connected with the infraction of the moral code. Nor did a Buddhist always avoid harming others from any true reverence for life. He was to cherish the life of others, but his chief motive was the fear that by not doing so he would entail the misery of continuous life on himself; and his chief motive for avoiding anger was that it was incompatible with that equanimity, which ought to characterize every wise man who aimed at the extinction of his own personality.

The ease with which charitable acts might be performed is amusingly illustrated by a story told in Huc’s travels in Tibet. A certain zealous fellow-traveller (who considered that it was quite possible to be at the same time a good Buddhist and a good Christian) invited the French missionaries to co-operate with him in performing charitable acts to commemorate the termination of a fatiguing journey, especially by providing worn-out travellers, like themselves, with horses. The missionaries pleaded their own poverty, but to their surprise were told that they were only required to draw horses on paper, which were taken to the edge of a precipice, thrown up into the air, and, certain formularies being recited, were carried away by the wind and changed into real horses by the power of Buddha.

Let us by no means, however, shut our eyes to the praiseworthy feature of the Buddhist system mentioned at page 125—its recognition of the need of inner purity and sanctification—an inner Buddhism of the heart, without which even a monk was no true Buddhist. Of 132 course the Law could be observed superficially without any real heart-belief or heart-purity.

When the inner heart-condition of a Buddhist is described, he is said to be walking on one of four paths (ćattāro Maggā), and is then called Ariyo (= Ārya), ‘worthy of reverence’ (distinguished from Pṛithag-jana, ‘an ordinary professing Buddhist’). To avoid confounding these paths with the eightfold path (p. 44) it would be better to speak of them as four stages of inner sanctification. Dhyāna, ‘meditation,’ of four kinds, is the chief means of entering and passing through these stages (p. 32), which once entered can never be abandoned.

The first stage is that of the man—be he monk or layman—who is just converted, by an inner awakening, to true heart-Buddhism. This man has freed himself from the first three fetters—namely, delusion of self, doubts about the Buddha’s doctrine, and dependence on external rites (p. 127). He is called Sotāpanno, ‘one who has entered the stream’ (Srota-āpanna), inevitably carrying him onwards—though not necessarily in the same body—to the calm ocean of Nirvāṇa, and his state is called Sotāpatti. He can only be re-born as a god or man, but not in the four lower births (p. 121).

Mark that the doctrine of ‘perseverance’ is a remarkable feature in this phase of the Buddhist system.

The second stage is that of the man who has nearly freed himself from the first five fetters, but has a sufficient number left to cause one more birth on the earth. He is called Sakad-āgāmī (Sakṛid-āg°).

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The third stage is that of the man who is quite free from the first five fetters. Such a man can only be 133 re-born in a Brahmā heaven, from which he reaches Nirvāṇa. He is therefore called An-āgāmī, ‘one who will not come back to earth.’

The fourth stage is that of the completely freed man who attains Arhatship (Arahattaṃ) in this life, and will at death experience no re-birth. There is, of course, a difference between one who has only just entered each stage of the journey and one who has reached the terminus. And this Arhatship is open to all (even to women), though only likely to be attained by true monks or true nuns. The name Arhat (Pāli Arahā, in Ceylon Rahat), ‘most deserving’ (root arh), is significant of the highest merit; for the Arhat is perfect, freed from all pain (nishkleṡa), from all the ten fetters, from all attachment to existence (upādāna) whether on earth or in heaven, and from all re-creative Act-force. He has already entered Nirvāṇa, and while still living he is dead to the world. He is the Jīvan-mukta, ‘emancipated living man,’ of the Yoga. By the force of the fourth Dhyāna, he has gained the Abhijñās (Abhiññā), or ‘transcendent faculties of knowledge,’ the inner eye, inner ear, knowledge of all thoughts, and recollection of previous existences, and the extraordinary powers over matter called Iddhi (= Ṛiddhi). In short he is Asekha, ‘one who has nothing to learn.’

Although, theoretically, a layman and even beings existing in other spheres, might enter the stream leading to Arhatship (see p. 90) without becoming monks, yet it is evident that as a rule it was only likely to be entered by persons who renounced the world and led a celibate monastic life.

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But of Arhats there are three grades:—

First, the simple Arhat (described above), who has attained perfection through his own efforts and the doctrine and example of a supreme Buddha, but is not himself such a Buddha, and cannot teach others how to attain Arhatship, though he associates with others.

Secondly, and second in rank, but far above the simple Arhat, the Pratyeka-Buddha or Solitary Saint, who has attained perfection for himself and by himself alone, and not as a member of any monastic Order, nor through the teaching of any supreme Buddha (except in some former birth). This solitary hermit-like Arhat—a kind of concentration of isolated or selfish sanctity—is symbolized by a rhinoceros. He does not appear on earth at the same time with a supreme Buddha, and has not the same epithets (p. 23) applied to him.

Thirdly, the supreme Buddha or Buddha par excellence (once a Bodhi-sattva), who, having by his own self-enlightening insight attained perfect knowledge (sambodhi), and having, by the practice of the transcendent virtues (p. 128) and through extinction of the passions and of all desire for life, become entitled to that complete extinction of bodily existence (pari-nirvāṇa), in which the perfection of all Arhatship must end, has yet delayed this consummation that he may become the Saviour of a suffering world—not in the same manner as the God-sent Saviour of Christianity, but by teaching men how to save themselves. This is the supreme Buddha, the founder of the whole monastic Order, immeasurably superior both to Pratyeka-Buddhas and to all mere Arhats.

He said of himself (Mahā-vagga I. 6, 8),—‘I am the 135 all-subduer (sabbābhibhū); the all-wise; I have no stains; through myself I possess knowledge; I have no rival (paṭipuggalo); I am the chief Arhat—the highest teacher; I alone am the absolutely wise (Sambuddha); I am the Conqueror (Jina); all the fires of desire are quenched (sītibhūto) in me; I have Nirvāṇa (nibbuto).’ See p. 42 of this volume.

This seems a marvellous assumption on the part of one who never claimed to be other than a man; yet he had taken the idea from Brāhmanism, which held that its saints could surpass all gods (Brahmă only excepted).

Such supreme Buddhas, who are perfect knowers, and also perfect teachers of the truth, are only manifested on the earth at long intervals of time.

Gautama is the fourth Buddha of the present age (Bhadra-Kalpa). He was a Kshatriya; his three mythical predecessors—Kraku-ććhanda, Kanaka-muni, and Kāṡyapa—having been sons of Brāhmans. He is to be followed by the fifth Buddha, Maitreya (a name meaning ‘full of love towards all beings’), but not until the doctrine of Gautama has passed out of men’s memory after five thousand years (p. 181). In their previous existences Gautama and his predecessors were, (see pp. 98, 112,) Bodhi-sattvas[53], ‘beings who have knowledge (derived from intellect) for their essence,’ a name borne by all destined to become supreme Buddhas as well as by the first of Gautama’s successors, Maitreya.

This coming Buddha is, as we shall see hereafter, 136 an object of universal reverence among later Buddhists of all sects as a kind of expected Messiah or Saviour. Often, indeed, he is more honoured than Gautama himself, because he is interested in the present order of things, as well as in the future, while Gautama Buddha and all his predecessors have passed away into non-being.

Twenty-four mythical Buddhas (the first being Dīpaṃkara, ‘Light-causer’) are held to have appeared[54] before Gautama in preceding cycles of time. Many particulars about them are given, including their birth-places, the length of their lives and their statures. Gautama himself is said to have met some of them during his transmigrations. Even the trees under which they achieved supreme wisdom are enumerated.

Sometimes the last six of the twenty-four are reckoned with Gautama Buddha as constituting seven principal Buddhas[55], who seem to have been grouped together to correspond with the Brāhmanical seven Manus of the present Kalpa. Usually, however, Gautama is held to be the last of twenty-five Buddhas.

Clearly, then, the principal lines of Buddhist moral teaching all converge to one focus—to the perfected 137 Arhat or rather to a still brighter point of light in the perfect Buddha waiting for his reward—the nectar of the eternal state of complete Nirvāṇa.

And this compels us to attempt some explanation of Nirvāṇa. In the first place forty-six synonyms of it are given in the Abhidhānappadīpikā, e.g. Mokkha or Mutti, ‘deliverance,’ Nirodha, ‘cessation,’ Taṉhakkhaya (tṛishṇā-kshaya), ‘destruction of lust,’ Arūpa, Khema, Kevala, Apavagga, ‘emancipation,’ Nibbuti (= nirvṛiti), ‘quietude,’ Amata (Amṛita), ‘deathless nectar.’

The following is from Rhys Davids’ Jātaka (p. 4): ‘One day the wise Sumedhā fell a-thinking, thus:—“Grievous is re-birth in a new existence, and the dissolution of the body in each successive place where we are re-born. I am subject to birth, to decay, to disease, to death. It is right, being such, that I should strive to attain the great deathless Nirvāṇa, which is tranquil, and free from birth, decay, sickness, grief, and joy.

‘“For as in this world there is pleasure—the opposite of pain—so where there is existence there must be its opposite, the cessation of existence; and as where there is heat there is also cold which neutralizes it, so there must be a Nirvāṇa that extinguishes (the fires of) lust and the other passions; and as in opposition to a bad and evil condition there is a good and blameless one, so where there is evil Birth there must also be Nirvāṇa, called the Birthless, because it puts an end to all re-birth.

‘“Just as a man who has fallen into a heap of filth, if he beholds afar off a great pond covered with lotuses of five colours, ought to seek that pond, saying, ‘By 138 what way shall I arrive there?’ but if he does not seek it, the fault is not that of the pond; even so where there is the lake of the great deathless Nirvāṇa.”’

What, then, is the proper definition of Nirvāṇa (Pāli Nibbāna)? In venturing on an explanation of so controverted a term, I feel rather like a foolhardy person walking barefoot over thorny ground. Nevertheless I may fearlessly assert two things about it.

The first is, that the term Nirvāṇa was not originated by Gautama. It was an expression common to both Brāhmanism and Buddhism, and most of its synonyms such as moksha, apavarga, and nirvṛiti are still common to both. It was current in Gautama’s time, and certainly occurs in the Mahā-bhārata, parts of which are of great antiquity.

In the celebrated episode of that poem called Bhagavad-gītā[56], V. 24, we find the following:—

‘That Yogī who is internally happy, internally satisfied and internally illumined, attains extinction in the Supreme Being, and becomes that Being’ (Yo ’ntaḥsukho ‘ntarārāmas tathāntarjyotir eva yaḥ, | Sa Yogī Brahma-nirvāṇaṃ[57] Brahma-bhūto ’dhigaććhati).

The second point is that it would be about as unreasonable to expect that Nirvāṇa should always be explained in one way as to restrict Brāhmanism and Buddhism—two most elastic, comprehensive, and Protean systems, which have constantly changed their front to suit changing circumstances and varying national 139 peculiarities at different epochs and in different countries—to one hard and fast outline.

It is certainly singular that although the term Nibbāna (Sanskṛit Nirvāṇa)—like some of the crucial theological terms of Christianity—has led to endless discussions, it does not occur often in the Pāli texts. The word Arahattam, ‘Arhatship,’ is more common.

Nirvāṇa, of course, originally means ‘the state of a blown-out flame.’ Hence its first meaning is properly restricted to the complete extinction of the three chief fires[58] of lust, ill-will, and delusion, and a total cessation of all evil passions and desires[59], especially of the desire for individual existence (name and form).

Following on this is the state of release from all pain and from all ignorance, accompanied by a sense of profound rest—a state achieved by all Arhats while still living in the world[60], and notably by the Buddha at the moment when he attained Buddhahood, forty-five years before his final Pari-nirvāṇa. Nirvāṇa then is not necessarily the annihilation of all existence. It is the absence of kleṡa (p. 124), as in the Yoga system, and corresponds very much to the Brāhmanical Apavarga, described in the Nyāya, and defined by a commentator, Vātsyāyana, to be Sarva-duḥkha-ćheda (‘the cutting off of all pain’). In short, it is Arhatship.

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But besides Nirvāṇa we have the expression Pari-nirvāṇa. This is not merely the blowing out of the fires of the passions but also the entire cessation of re-births, with extinction of all the elements or seeds of bodily existence. This took place when the Buddha died or ‘passed away’ after innumerable previous deaths. Practically, however, in Buddhism the death of every ordinary being amounts to this kind of Nirvāṇa; for, if there is no recollection of any former state of existence in the new being created by Karma, what is every death but utter personal extinction?

Now with regard to the Nirvāṇa of Arhatship, no one can have come in contact with the natives of India in their own country, without observing that for a genuine aristocratic Brāhman to allow others to see him give way to any passion, to exhibit any emotion or enthusiasm, is regarded as a proof of weakness.

We can easily understand, therefore, that when the Buddha exhorted his followers to strive after a wholly impassive condition, he addressed a sympathetic audience.

Long before his exhortations were heard in India, his fellow-countrymen held persons in the highest respect who claimed to have entirely suppressed their passions. The only peculiarity in Gautama’s teaching was that he made this object incumbent on all true Buddhists alike, without exception. And this state of absolute imperturbability is well indicated to the eye by the usual attitude of the images which, after Gautama’s death, were carved to represent him—an attitude of passionless composure, and dignified calm.

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In the interesting Pāli work Milinda-praṡna (Milinda-pañho), containing a conversation on the subject of Nirvāṇa between King Milinda (Menander) and the monk Nāgasena (supposed to have lived about 140 B.C.), the latter compares it to the pure water which quenches fire, and to the fathomless Ocean freed from trouble and impurities, which no river, however vast, can fill to overflowing; and to the Air, which cannot be seen or explained, though it enters our bodies and fills us with life; and to Space, which is eternal and infinite, and beyond the power of man to conceive.

I trust I shall not shock my Indian friends if I illustrate this condition by a comparison of my own drawn from the animal creation. In crossing the Indian Ocean, when unruffled by the slightest breeze, I have sometimes observed a jelly-fish floating on the surface of the transparent water, apparently lifeless. The creature is evidently neither asleep nor awake. It certainly is not thinking about anything, and its consciousness is doubtful. All that can be affirmed about it is that it seems to be drinking in the warm fluid in a state of lazy blissful repose.

No Buddhist, at least, could look at such a sight without being reminded of this idea of Nirvāṇa—the idea of, so to speak, floating in perfect repose and peace and cessation from all pain, and all work, and even all thought, on a kind of ocean of half conscious, half unconscious beatitude. It is not consciousness, neither is it unconsciousness. It is symbolized by a full-blown, perfectly formed lotus—a frequent emblem of perfection—reposing on a calm mirror-like lake.

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With regard to Pari-nirvāṇa[61]—the complete termination of migrations and passing away of all the elements of bodily existence—if this is to be distinguished from the Brāhmanical idea of absorption into an impersonal spirit—whereby the Ego of personal identity is destroyed—it is a distinction without much difference.

Strictly, however, in Buddhism the dissolution of the body leaves no surviving personality or individuality, and consequently Pari-nirvāṇa is not properly described either as absorption into a void (ṡūnya) or as annihilation. It is simply the absolute termination of a series of conscious bodily organizations. The Buddha himself evaded dogmatic definitions, and would probably have said:—it is not life, neither is it non-life; it may be compared to infinite space (ṡūnya) which is not to be comprehended or explained.

We should also bear in mind that although Nirvāṇa and Pari-nirvāṇa constitute the ultimate goal to which all the morality of a true Buddhist tends, they have no place either in the aims or thoughts of the ordinary adherents of Buddhism at the present day.

The apex of all the desires, the culminating point of all the ambition of the most religiously-minded Buddhists of modern times, points to a life in one of the heavens, while the great mass of the people aim only at escaping one of the hells, and elevating themselves to a higher condition of bodily existence in their next birth on this earth, and perhaps on that very part of this earth which is the scene of their present toils, joys, and sorrows.

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It only remains for me to caution those who may be impressed with the beauty of some of the precepts of the moral code and its theory of perfection, as ending in Pari-nirvāṇa, against deducing therefrom too optimistic an estimate of the Buddhist system. Buddhist morality is like a showy edifice built on the sand. It is a thoroughly fair-weather structure, incapable of standing against flood, storm, and tempest.

It may be summed up in a few words as a scheme for the establishing of a paradox—for the perfecting of one’s self by accumulating merit with the ultimate view of annihilating all consciousness of self—a system which teaches the greatest respect for the life of others, with the ultimate view of extinguishing one’s own.

It must, in short, be clearly understood that if any comparison be instituted between Buddhism and Christianity in regard to the self-abnegation, or self-sacrifice which each claims to inculcate, the self to be got rid of in Buddhism is not the selfishness condemned by Christianity, but rather the self of individuality—the self of individual life, and personal identity.

To be righteous in a Christian sense a man must be God-like, and to be righteous in a Buddhistic sense a man must be Buddha-like; but the righteousness of the Buddhist is not the perfection of holiness by the extinction of sin committed against God, but the perfection of merit-making, with the view of earning happiness for himself in a higher state hereafter.

For every Buddhist is like a trader who keeps a ledger, with a regular debtor and creditor account, and a daily entry of profit and loss.

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He must not take, make, or hoard money. He is forbidden to store up a money-balance in a worldly bank, but he is urged to be constantly accumulating a merit-balance in the bank of Karma.

In conclusion, let the Buddha enforce his own moral teaching in his own way, by allegory and illustration drawn from real life:—When asked by a Brāhman ‘why he did not plough and sow and earn his own bread?’ he replied to the following effect: ‘I do plough and sow and eat immortal fruit (Amata = Amṛita); my plough is wisdom (paṇṇā); my shaft is modesty; my draught-ox, exertion; my goad, earnest meditation (sati); my mind, the rein. Faith (saddhā) in the doctrine is the seed I sow; cleaving to life is the weed I root up; truth is the destroyer of the weed; Nirvāṇa and deliverance from misery are my harvest.’ (Kasi-bhāradvāja-sutta of the Sutta-nipāta.)

This may be compared with St. Luke viii. 11-15; but have we not here a contrast rather than a comparison?

Perhaps some may think that the contrast is not unfavourable to Buddhism. Nay, possibly some may complain that I have not enlarged sufficiently on the remarkable resemblance between certain moral precepts in the Buddhist code and in the Christian. I admit this resemblance—I admit that both tell us:—not to love the world; not to love money; not to show enmity towards our enemies; not to do unrighteous or impure acts—to overcome evil by good, and to do to others as we would be done by.

Nay, I admit even more:—I allow that some Buddhist precepts go beyond the corresponding 145 Christian injunctions. For Buddhism prohibits all killing—even of animals and noxious insects. It demands total abstinence from stimulating drinks—disallowing even moderation in their use. It excludes all who aim at perfect sanctity from the holy estate of matrimony. It bids a man, if he strives after perfection, abandon the world and lead a life of monkhood. In fine, its morality is essentially a monkhood-morality. It enjoins total abstinence, because it dares not trust human beings to be temperate. How indeed could it trust them when it promises them no help, no divine grace, no restraining power?

The glory of Christianity is that having freely given that grace and that power to man, it trusts him to make use of the gift. It seems to speak to him thus:—Thy Creator wills to trust thee and to be trusted by thee; He has endowed thee with freedom of choice, and therefore respects thy liberty of action. He imposes no rule of total abstinence in regard to natural desires; He simply bids thee keep them within bounds, so that thy moderation may be known unto all men; He places thee in the world amid trials and temptations and says to thee, ‘My grace is sufficient for thee’ and by its aid thou mayest overcome them all.

Yes, the grand difference between the morality of Buddhism and the morality of Christianity is not in the letter of the precepts, but in the principle and motive power brought to bear on their application.

Buddhism says:—Be righteous by yourselves, and through yourselves, and for the getting rid of all life in yourselves. Christianity says:—Be righteous through 146 the power of God’s gift of eternal life in His Son. In a word, Buddhism founds its morality on self. Christianity founds its morality on Christ.

The Buddha said to his followers:—Take nothing from me, trust to no one but to yourselves.

Christ said, and says to us still:—Take all from me; take this free gift. Put on this spotless robe. Eat this Bread of Life. Drink this Living Water.

Think you that any one who receives a priceless gift, is likely willingly to insult the Giver of it? Think you that any one who accepts a snow-white robe is likely willingly to soil it by impure acts? Think you that any one who tastes life-giving Bread is likely to relish husks? or that any one who draws deep draughts at a living Well is likely to prefer the polluted water of a stagnant pool?

Beware, then, of judging by the mere letter; or, should you insist on so judging, bear in mind that everywhere the Buddha’s Law is a dead letter, because the Buddha is dead; just as the Sermon on the Mount would be a dead letter, if Christ were dead.

Finally, let me say to the admirers of Buddhism:—

If you insist on placing its moral code on the same level with that of Christianity, ask yourselves one plain question—Who would be the more likely to lead a godly, righteous, and sober life, a life of moderation and temperance, a life of holiness and happiness—the man who has learnt his morality from the dead, the extinct Buddha, or the man who draws his morality and his holiness from the living, the eternal, the life-giving Christ?