as a proof of the very gradual growth of Buddhistic mythology, that in
the earlier developments of Buddhism the three Bodhi-sattvas
constituting that triad have very restricted functions.
When I visited the Buddhist caves at Ellora, I noticed that in the
ancient sculptures there, Padma-pāṇi and Vajra-pāṇi (but not Mañju-ṡrī)
are represented as attendants of the human Buddha.
Of course it is easy to understand that the duty of guarding the Buddha
ultimately expanded into that of watching over and protecting the whole
Buddhist world, though it is difficult to determine which of the three
mythical Bodhi-sattvas became first celebrated for the effective
discharge of this duty, or to which of the three chronological
precedence ought to be assigned.
Without taking the order already given, we may begin with Padma-pāṇi as
the most popular, and may note that he has a name, Avalokiteṡvara,
composed of the two Sanskṛit words avalokita, ‘looking down[96],’ and
Īṡvara, ‘lord,’ the latter being the Brāhmanical name for the Supreme
God—a name wholly unrecognized by early Buddhism, but assigned by the
Hindūs to the three personal gods, Brahmā, Vishṇu, and Ṡiva, especially
to the latter.
In the duty of watching over and protecting the whole Buddhist world,
Avalokiteṡvara (= Padma-pāṇi), that is, ‘the lord who looks down with
pity on all men,’ certainly takes the lead, and his name was in keeping
with the reputation for answering prayer which he soon achieved.
In the Lāmism of Tibet, he is, as we shall see hereafter, a kind of
divine Pope, existing eternally in the heavens as Vicar of one of the
Buddhas of the present age, but delegating his functions to a succession
of earthly Popes in whom he is perpetually incarnated and re-incarnated,
while at the same time preserving his own personality in his own heaven.
Indeed, the popularity of his worship is one of the chief
characteristics of the Mahā-yāna system, and is not confined to Tibet,
though he is believed to be the special patron of that country. It is he
who during the continuance of the present age of the world presides over
the whole cycle of soul-migration. In a word, the temporal welfare of
all living beings, and of all who have to wander through the worlds of
the gods, men, demons, ghosts, animals, and livers in hell, is
especially assigned to him.
People, therefore, pray to him more frequently than to any other
Bodhi-sattva, and not only for release from the misery of future
re-births, but in all cases of present bodily danger and domestic
affliction. Hence he has numerous other names or epithets, such as ‘God
of mercy,’ ‘Ocean of pity’ (Karuṇārṇava), ‘Deliverer from fear’
(Abhayaṃ-da), ‘Lord of the world’ (Lokeṡ-vara), ‘World-protector’
(Loka-pāla), ‘Protector of the Āryas’ (Ārya-pāla); and the Chinese
traveller Fā-hien says of himself, that he prayed in his heart for the
aid of Avalokiteṡvara when in great peril during a storm at sea.
That his worship was very prevalent among Buddhists of the Mahā-yāna
School all over India, as well as in Tibet, from the fourth to the
seventh century, is attested also by Hiouen Thsang. Both travellers tell
us that they frequently met with his images, which were often placed on
the tops of mountains. Possibly this fact may account for the name he
acquired of the ‘Looking-down lord.’ Or, on the other hand, it is
possible that his name may have led to the selection of high situations
for his temples and images.
And it may be observed here that although Avalokiteṡvara bears a close
resemblance in character to Vishṇu, yet his images often conform to the
Brahmā type, and sometimes to that of Ṡiva[97]. He has generally several
faces—sometimes even eleven or twelve—and usually four or eight arms.
These faces are placed one above the other in the form of a pyramid, in
three tiers, and probably indicate that he looks down on all three
worlds, namely, the worlds of desire, of true form, and of no form (pp.
213, 214), from all points of the horizon.
Note, however, that two of his hands are generally folded, as if adoring
the Buddha, while his two other hands hold such emblems as the lotus and
wheel (especially the lotus). This distinguishes the images of the mere
Bodhi-sattva Avalokiteṡvara from those of the god Vishṇu, who, although
he has four arms, is never represented in an attitude of adoration.
Note, too, that the many-headed images of Avalokiteṡvara probably belong
to the later phase of the Mahā-yāna, when he was regarded as an
emanation or spiritual son of the Dhyāni-Buddha Amitābha, whose head
forms the eleventh above his own ten. There are descriptions of earlier
idols, which make it probable that Avalokiteṡvara was originally
represented in ordinary human shape.
When his worship was introduced into China the name he received was
Kwan-she-yin or Kwan-yin (in Japan Kwan-non)—a name denoting (according
to Professor Legge) ‘one who looks down on the sounds of the world, and
listens to the voices of men.’
We know that each of the chief Hindū gods had his female counterpart or
Ṡakti, who is often more worshipped than the male. Similarly the female
counterpart of the male Avalokiteṡvara is the form of the god chiefly
worshipped in China and Japan[98]. In those countries he is only known
in the feminine character of ‘goddess of mercy,’ and in this form is
represented with two arms, but oftener with four or more, and even with
a thousand eyes.
The connexion of Avalokiteṡvara with Ṡiva, as well as with Vishṇu, is
proved by the fact that in some characteristics Kwan-yin corresponds to
the Durgā form of Ṡiva’s wife, and in others to the form called Pārvatī,
who, as dwelling on mountains, may be supposed to look down with
compassion on the world.
As to Vajra-pāṇi (or Vajra-dhara), ‘the thunderbolt-handed,’ this
Bodhi-sattva corresponds in some respects to Indra. He is the fiercest
and most awe-inspiring of all the Bodhi-sattvas, and was, in time,
converted into a kind of Buddhistic form of Ṡiva, resembling that god in
his character of controller of the demon-host and destroyer of evil
spirits. Hiouen Thsang describes how eight Vajra-pāṇis surrounded the
Buddha as an escort, when he journeyed to visit his father Ṡuddhodana.
Vajra-pāṇi is of course a popular object of veneration in all Northern
Buddhist countries, where a dread of malignant spirits is so prevalent
that the waving to and fro of an implement symbolizing a thunderbolt
(Vajra, or in Tibetan Dorje) is practised as a method of keeping them at
bay and averting their malice.
Nevertheless, Vajra-pāṇi is not so popular as the third Bodhi-sattva,
Mañju-ṡrī, ‘he of glorious beauty,’ also called Mañju-ghosha, ‘having a
beautiful voice,’ and Vāgīṡvara, ‘lord of speech.’ This Bodhi-sattva, as
‘wisdom personified,’ and as ‘lord of harmony,’ may be regarded as a
counterpart of the Brāhmanical Brahmā or Viṡva-Karman, the supposed
creator of the universe. Brahmā, however, in his character of chief god,
needed no Buddhistic substitute, having been incorporated by name into
Buddhism. Mañju-ṡrī, as ‘lord of speech,’ seems also to be a counterpart
of Brahmā’s consort Sarasvatī.
According to some, a learned and eloquent Brāhman teacher, named
Mañju-ṡrī, introduced Buddhism from India into Nepāl about 250 years
after the Nirvāṇa of Buddha, and the mythical Mañju-ṡrī may have been a
development of the historical personage. His worship is mentioned by
both Fā-hien and Hiouen Thsang[99], and seems to have been very popular.
A personification of Prajñā pāramitā, ‘transcendent wisdom,’ is also
named. And indeed it seems natural that so soon as the Buddhists began
to personify qualities and invest them with divine attributes, learning
should have been among the first selected for deification, as it was by
the Hindūs in early times.
Mark, however, that the popular Mañju-ṡrī has no place assigned to him
in the Dhyāni-Buddha theory.
This mystical theory was a later development. It may be explained
thus:—The term Dhyāna (Jhāna) is a general expression for the four
gradations of mystic meditation which have ethereal spaces or worlds
corresponding to them (p. 209), and a Dhyāni-Buddha is a Buddha who is
supposed to exist as a kind of spiritual essence in these higher regions
of abstract thought.
That is to say, every Buddha who appears on earth in a temporary human
body—with the object of teaching men how to gain Nirvāṇa—exists also in
an ideal counterpart, or ethereal representation of himself, in the
formless worlds of meditation (p. 213). These ideal Buddhas are as
numerous as the Buddhas, but as there are only five chief human Buddhas
in the present age—Kraku-ććhanda, Kanaka-muni, Kāṡyapa, Gautama, and the
future Buddha Maitreya—so there are only five corresponding
Dhyāni-Buddhas:—Vairoćana, Akshobhya, Ratna-sambhava, Amitābha, and
Amogha-siddha (sometimes represented in images as possessing a third
eye). But this is not all; each of these produces by a process of
evolution a kind of emanation from himself called a Dhyāni-Bodhi-sattva,
to act as the practical head and guardian of the Buddhist community
between the interval of the death of each human Buddha and the advent of
his successor. Hence there are five Bodhi-sattvas—Samanta-bhadra,
Vajra-pāṇi, Ratna-pāṇi, Padma-pāṇi (= Avalokiteṡvara), and
Viṡva-pāṇi—corresponding to the five Dhyāni-Buddhas and to the five
earthly Buddhas respectively. In Nepāl five corresponding female Ṡaktis
or Tārā-devīs are named (see p. 216).
It is remarkable that the Chinese pilgrims from the fifth to the seventh
centuries, while often mentioning the Bodhi-sattvas, make no allusion to
any of the Dhyāni-Buddhas—whence we may gather that Amitābha, though
adopted into Indian Buddhism, was not actually worshipped in India at
least as a personal god.
In point of fact, it was only the Buddhism of the North which was not
satisfied with the original triad of the Buddha, the Law, and the
Monkhood. It, therefore, invented in addition five triads, each
consisting of a Dhyāni-Buddha, a Dhyāni-Bodhi-sattva, and an earthly
Buddha, though of these triads only one was of importance, namely, that
consisting of Amitābha, Avalokiteṡvara, and the human Buddha, Gautama.
But the Lalita-vistara does not mention this theory.
It should be observed, too, that an important addition to the Mahā-yāna
doctrine was made in certain Northern countries about the tenth century
of our era.
A particular sect of Buddhists in Nepāl, calling themselves Aiṡvarikas,
propounded a theory of a Supreme Being (Īṡvara), to whom they gave the
name of a ‘primordial Buddha’ (Ādi-Buddha), and who was declared to be
the source and originator of all things, and the original Evolver of the
Dhyāni-Buddhas, or Buddhas of contemplation, while they again were
supposed to evolve their corresponding Dhyāni-Bodhi-sattvas.
It is clear, of course, that this addition was a mere adaptation of
Buddhism to Brāhmanism, and that the Ādi-Buddha was invented to serve as
a counterpart of the One Universal Spirit Brahmă—the one eternally
existing spiritual Essence, from which all existing things are mere
emanations.
Sometimes, however, this Ādi-Buddha is said to have produced all things
through union with Prajñā (mentioned before, p. 202), in which case he
is rather to be identified with the personal Creator Brahmā.
Observe, moreover, that even in early times one of the
Dhyāni-Buddhas—the one called Amitābha, ‘diffusing infinite light,’—lost
his purely abstract character, and was worshipped by Northern Buddhists
as a personal God. He is in the present day held by them to be an
eternal Being, the ideal of all that is beautiful and good, who receives
his worshippers into a heaven called Sukhāvati, ‘paradise of pleasures’
(see p. 183).
But it must also be noted that neither Ādi-Buddha nor Amitābha, when
regarded as personal gods, were held to be Creators of the World in the
Christian sense. They were merely Supreme rulers outside and above it;
for Northern Buddhists agree with Southern in thinking that the world
exists of itself, and that its only Creator is the force of its own
acts.
We pass on now to consider how far and with what modifications the
mythology of Brāhmanism and Hindūism was incorporated into Buddhism.
I have already pointed out that although the Buddha changed the
character of much of the existing mythology, he never prohibited his
lay-followers from continuing their old forms of worship, or bowing down
before the deities honoured by their fathers and grandfathers.
Apart indeed from the shrewd policy of not assuming an attitude of
hostility to popular creeds and usages, the tolerant tendency and
universality of the Buddha’s teaching obliged him, in common
consistency, to recognize, and as far as possible appropriate, the
various religious elements existing around him, and to subordinate them
to his own purposes.
In fact, according to the theory of true Buddhism, as has been well
pointed out by other writers, there was only one system of doctrine and
only one Law—that Law (Dharma) which Gautama Buddha came to renovate for
the benefit of the world in the present age.
Hence all the apparently conflicting creeds, dogmas, forms, ceremonies,
and usages of all nations, tribes, and races, were in reality mere
outcomes, or dim recollections, or corruptions, of that one and the same
universal Dharma which countless Buddhas had preached to mankind, in
countless ages before the time of Gautama, and would continue to preach
in ages to come.
Hindūism, therefore, like all other creeds, was contained in the Dharma
of Buddhism, and the great object of Gautama’s advent was not to uproot
the old religion, but to purify it from error and restore it.
It was on this account that he regarded the Hindū gods as occupying a
place in his own system, though not without some modification of the
nature of their supposed position, offices, and functions.
And here it will be necessary to give an account of the later Buddhist
theory of twenty-six successive tiers of heavens, one rising above the
other (p. 120).
In the centre of the world-system stands, as we have seen, the vast mass
of the mythical mountain Meru. On the upper portion of this stupendous
axis of the universe and above the eight chief hells and the worlds of
animals, ghosts, demons, and men, is situated the lowest heaven of the
gods, where abide the four Mahā-rājas, ‘great champions,’ or guardians
of the earth and the heavens against the demons, who are ever engaged in
assailing them from their world below. These four are represented in
full armour, with drawn swords; one quarter of the heavens being
assigned to the guardianship of each; viz. the East to Dhṛita-rāshṭra,
king of the Gandharvas; the South to Virūḍhaka, king of the Kumbhāṇḍas;
the West to Virūpāksha, king of the Nāgas; the North to Kuvera
(Vaiṡravaṇa), king of the Yakshas. The inhabitants of this heaven are
called Ćatur-mahārāja-kāyikas, or simply Mahārājika-devāhḥ. Above this
lowest heaven, and on the highest summit of the world’s axis, Meru, is
enthroned the god Ṡakra (Indra), known in the Veda as god of the
atmosphere. He is lord of a heaven of his own, and no god is more
popular among Buddhists or oftener named in their legends; yet he is
inferior to Mahā-brahmā and to Māra (p. 208). Buddha himself was Indra
in some of his births (p. 111). To this heaven he ascended to preach the
Law to his mother.
Hence we may infer that in the early days of Buddhism, Indra, who was
perhaps the chief god of the Ṛig-veda, was still the favourite god of
the people.
His heaven forms the second tier, reckoning from the lowest upwards (see
p. 120), and is called Trayastriṉṡa (Tāvatiṉsa), that of the
thirty-three divinities—as recognized in the Vedic hymns—consisting of
the three groups of eleven Rudras, eight Vasus, and twelve Ādityas,
together with personifications of Heaven and Earth.
The remaining heavens of the gods, which rise in succession above the
lowest and above Indra’s and therefore in the sky above Mount Meru, are
the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth. These are not illuminated by the
sun and moon, since the gods who live in them give out a sufficient
light from their own persons. The first of them, or third of the
heavens, is inhabited by beings called Yāmas. They were known to the
Brāhmans and probably presided over the periods of the day. They are
called ‘strifeless,’ because they have not to take part in the war
constantly being waged by the gods of the two lower heavens against the
demons (Asuras), who are unable to advance into the regions above Meru.
The fourth heaven is that of the Tushitas or ‘perfectly contented
beings.’ It is a peculiarly sacred region, as it is the home of all the
Bodhi-sattvas destined to become Buddhas. Gautama Buddha once dwelt
there, and Maitreya now presides in it.
The fifth heaven is inhabited by the Nirmāṇa-rati-devāḥ, that is,
‘beings who constantly enjoy pleasures provided by themselves.’
The sixth heaven, and the highest of the Deva-lokas, is the abode of the
Para-nirmita-vaṡa-varti-devāḥ, ‘beings who constantly enjoy pleasures
provided for them by others.’ These beings are also called Māras, and
are ‘lords of sensuous desires.’ When the theory of races of gods was
invented, it led to the figment of millions of Māras ruled over by a
chief Māra, who tempts men to indulge their passions (pp. 28, 33, 41),
and is always on the watch to enter the citadel of the body by the gates
of eye, ear, etc. (see note, p. 129). One of Māra’s names is Kāma,
‘desire.’ He is superior to all the gods of the worlds of sense, even to
Ṡakra or Indra. In every Ćakravāla or Universe of worlds there is a
Māra. He is sometimes called the Buddhist Satan, but this is misleading.
He is rather a superior god, whose power consists in exciting sensual or
carnal desires.
So far, then, the heavens are all worlds of sense,—like the earth and
the lower regions,—and are spheres inhabited by beings who have sexual
feelings and live active lives. But at this point in the ascent upwards
all sensuality ceases, and we are introduced to beings who enjoy a
higher condition of existence in which there is no distinction of sex,
and all sensuous desires and objects have lost their hold over the
frame—a condition supposed to be induced by the exercise of mystical
abstract meditation (Dhyāna, Pāli Jhāna).
The importance of Dhyāna or intense abstract meditation in the Buddhist
system has been pointed out before (p. 32). It is the chief religious
exercise in which a true follower of Buddha can engage, and although it
is divided into four stages, the man who exercises himself perfectly in
any one of the four, becomes so sublimated and refined that he cannot be
re-born in any of the sensuous heavens, or in any region lower than the
Brahmā worlds.
The first stage of Dhyāna consists in fixing (Dhāraṇā) the mind and at
the same time exercising the thinking faculties on some object, in such
a way that a state of ecstatic joy and serenity is attained.
The second consists in concentrating the mind or soul so intensely on
itself that the thinking faculties cease to act and only ecstatic joy
and serenity remain.
In the third, nothing remains but perfect serenity.
The fourth is a trance-like condition of utter indifference and torpor,
in which there is neither any exercise of thought, nor any conscious joy
or serenity, but the whole being is released from the fetters of sense
and soars to a transcendental condition, characterized by latent energy
and a power of working miracles (p. 133).
These four stages of abstract meditation must not be confused with the
four earnest reflections and the five contemplations (pp. 49, 127),
which are not so abstract and require more earthly objects on which to
be exercised.
The fourth and last Dhyāna is also called Samādhi, and properly means
such a perfect concentration of the soul’s faculties, that the soul
becomes merged in itself. It is often used to denote an ecstatic
condition, scarcely to be distinguished from trance or hypnotism or
catalepsy. Those devotees in India who practise it are buried, not
burnt, and their tombs are called Samādhs.
To return now to Buddhist Cosmology, the theory of later Buddhism is
that he who has practised the first Dhyāna will rise at death to one of
the three tiers of heavens connected with that first Dhyāna, i.e. to the
first and lowest of the four groups of worlds of true form (rūpa), in
which all sexual distinctions are obliterated.
This first or lowest group consists of the worlds of the Brahmās, a high
order of gods divided into three classes with three tiers of abodes.
The first class of Brahmā gods, inhabiting the first or lowest of the
tiers of the Brahmā abodes, consists of the Brahma-parisajjā devāḥ, or
beings who constitute the retinue of the god Mahā-brahmā—the chief of
all the Buddhist gods.
The second class of Brahmā gods, inhabiting the second tier, consists of
the Brahma-purohitā devāḥ, ‘beings who are the ministers of
Mahā-brahmā.’
The third class of Brahmā gods, inhabiting the highest of the three
tiers, consists of the Mahā-brahmās, ‘great Brahmās,’ of whom
Mahā-brahmā is the chief.
The inhabitants of these three worlds are sometimes called the
Brahma-kāyikā devāḥ, ‘gods having a Brahmā form.’
It is important, however, to note that Brahmā or Mahā-brahmā, sometimes
called Brahmā Sahām-pati, ‘lord of those who have to suffer[100],’ is
the king of _all_ the higher heavens (p. 214), ruling there, as Mara and
Indra do in the lower worlds and heavens of sense and desire. Out of
deference to Brāhmanism he has been adopted as the chief god of the
Buddhist Pantheon, and yet he is far inferior to the Buddha.
Furthermore, it is to be observed that every Ćakra-vāla or ‘system of
worlds’ (see p. 120) has its own Mahā-brahmā ruling over its own higher
heavens, and that as there are countless Ćakra-vāla, so there are
countless Mahā-brahmās. Nor is any of these chief gods eternal. Each has
to pass into some other form of existence at the end of vast periods of
time, and is then succeeded by another. Gautama Buddha himself was born
four times as Mahā-brahmā (see p. 111).
The second group of worlds of true form has also three tiers of heavens
like the first, and is assigned as an abode to those who have risen to
the second degree of contemplation.
The characteristic of these three heavens is that they are regions of
true light—not of the sun’s light, but of mental enlightenment, and each
of the three is inhabited by beings who have raised themselves to
different heights of knowledge and intelligence.
In the first are the Parīttābhā (Parĭttābhā) devāḥ, ‘beings of
circumscribed or limited enlightenment;’ in the second are the
Apramāṇābhā (Appamāṇābhā) devāḥ, ‘beings of infinite light;’ in the
third are the Ābhāsvarā (Ābhassarā) devāḥ, ‘beings of the clearest
light.’
The third group of worlds of true form has again three tiers of heavens,
which are assigned to those who have raised themselves to the third
stage of contemplation.
The peculiarity of these three seems to be that they are regions of the
greatest purity, and that each of the three is the abode of beings
distinguished by higher and higher degrees of purity. In the first are
the Parītta-ṡubhā (Parītta-subhā) devāḥ, ‘gods or beings of limited
purity;’ in the second are the Apramāṇa-ṡubhā (Appamāna-subhā) devāḥ,
‘beings of unlimited purity;’ in the third are the Ṡubha-kṛitsnā
(Subha-kiṇṇā) devāḥ, ‘beings of absolute purity.’
The fourth group of worlds of true form has seven tiers of heavens,
occupied by those beings who have risen to the fourth or highest grade
of abstract meditation (Dhyāna), which is really a state of meditating
on nothing and of complete indifference to all concrete objects. These
beings are the emancipated Arhats who have delivered themselves from the
cycle (Saṃsāra) of constant re-birth (p. 134).
In the first tier are the Vṛihat-phalā (Vehapphalā) devāḥ, ‘beings
enjoying great reward;’ in the second are the Asañjñi-sattvā
(Asañña-sattā) devāḥ, ‘beings lost in total unconsciousness;’ in the
third are the Avṛihā (Avihā) devāḥ, ‘beings who make no efforts;’ in the
fourth are the Atapā (Atappā) devāḥ, ‘beings who never endure any pain;’
in the fifth are the Sudarṡā (Sudassā) devāḥ, ‘beings who see clearly;’
in the sixth are the Sudarṡino (Sudassī) devāḥ, ‘beings of beautiful
appearance;’ in the seventh are the Akanishṭhā (Akaniṭṭhā) devāḥ,
‘highest of all beings.’ In this last must be included all Arhats and
Pratyeka-Buddhas.
High above the worlds of true form and above the abode of pure
contemplative beings, rise the four heavens of formless entities—beings
who have no material frames, even of the subtlest kind, but are mere
abstractions, such as the Dhyāni-Buddhas (pp. 202, 203).
In the first of these formless heavens (Arūpa-loka) are the
Ākāṡānantyāyatanā devāḥ, ‘beings who are capable of conceiving the idea
of infinite space;’ in the second are the Vijñānānantyāyatanā devāḥ,
‘beings who are capable of conceiving the idea of infinite
intelligence;’ in the third are the Akiñćanyāyatanā devāḥ, ‘beings who
can conceive the idea of absolute nonentity,’ or, in other words, that
nothing whatever exists anywhere; in the fourth and highest of all are
the Naivasañjñānāsañjñāyatanā devāḥ (Nevasaññānāsaññāyå-), ‘beings who
abide in neither consciousness nor unconsciousness.’ This is the most
sublime of all conditions, but these heavens belong to mystical
Buddhism.
Subjoined is a synopsis of all the heavens and their inhabitants
explained above (see Koeppen i. 260).
A.
_Heavens of beings liable to sensuous desires._
(1) Heaven of the four Mahā-rājas.
(2) Heaven of the Trayastriṉṡas.
(3) Heaven of the Yāmas.
(4) Heaven of the Tushitas.
(5) Heaven of the Nirmāṇa-rati-devāḥ.
(6) Heaven of the Para-nirmita-vaṡa-vartins.
B.
_Heavens of beings possessing true forms._
First Dhyāna.
(7) Heaven of the Brahma-parisajjā devāḥ.
(8) Heaven of the Brahma-purohitā devāḥ.
(9) Heaven of the Mahā-brahmā devāḥ.
Second Dhyāna.
(10) Heaven of the Parīttābhā devāḥ.
(11) Heaven of the Apramāṇābhā devāḥ.
(12) Heaven of the Ābhāsvarā devāḥ.
Third Dhyāna.
(13) Heaven of the Parītta-ṡubhā devāḥ.
(14) Heaven of the Apramāṇa-ṡubhā devāḥ.
(15) Heaven of the Ṡubha-kṛitsnā devāḥ.
Fourth Dhyāna.
(16) Heaven of the Vṛihat-phalā devāḥ.
(17) Heaven of the Asañjñi-sattvā devāḥ.
(18) Heaven of the Avṛihā devāḥ.
(19) Heaven of the Atapā devāḥ.
(20) Heaven of the Sudarṡā devāḥ.
(21) Heaven of the Sudarṡino devāḥ.
(22) Heaven of the Akanishṭhā devāḥ.
C.
_Heavens of formless entities._
(23) Heaven of the Ākāṡānantyāyatanā devāḥ.
(24) Heaven of the Vijñānānantyāyatanā devāḥ.
(25) Heaven of the Akiñćanyāyatanā devāḥ.
(26) Heaven of the Naiva-sañjñānāsañjñāyatanā devāḥ.
This elaborate description of higher and higher conditions of future
existence may be contrasted with the reticence of the Bible and its
simple allusion to a new heaven and a new earth, wherein dwelleth
righteousness.
The description, however, belongs to later Buddhism. It enables us to
understand the true position of the Buddhist gods. They merely
constitute one of the six classes of beings, and, as they have to go
through other forms of life, are inferior to Arhats and Buddhas.
Mahā-brahmā is often named, whereas Vishṇu, the popular god of the
Hindūs, is neglected. In point of fact he was, as we have seen,
represented by Padma-pāṇi (Avalokiteṡvara, p. 198), who seems to have
taken his place in later Buddhism.
At all events the more modern form of Vishṇu called Kṛishṇa, who is
generally worshipped by the lower orders of Hindūs as the most popular
god of mediæval Hindūism, has not been adopted by the inhabitants of
Buddhist countries.
When I was at Kandy in Ceylon I found one solitary shrine (Devālī)
dedicated, not to Kṛishṇa, but to Mahā-Vishṇu. It was near the
well-known Tooth-temple and appeared almost deserted. The shrine was at
the end of a bare room, and contained a small silver-gilt image of
Mahā-Vishṇu (as Vishṇu is called when worshipped by Buddhists, just as
the chief of the Brahmā gods is called Mahā-Brahmā) about half a foot
high. In the hands of the image was a thin metal bar with a kind of
locket or amulet suspended from it, while round its neck was a long
rosary and in front of the body a large plate for offerings. The folding
doors of the sanctuary had representations of the sun and moon.
Turning to the god Ṡiva, we may note that he was adopted by later
Buddhism in his character of Yogī, or Mahā-yogī (see ‘Brāhmanism and
Hindūism,’ p. 83). Then, as the Buddhism of the North very soon became
corrupted with Ṡaivism and its accompaniments, Ṡāktism, Tāntrism, and
Magic, so in Northern countries various forms of Ṡiva—such as Mahā-Kāla,
Bhairava, Bhīma—and of his wife (Pārvatī, Durgā, etc.), are honoured,
and their images are found in temples. Sometimes bloody sacrifices are
offered to them.
Among the female deities forms of Tārā are chiefly worshipped, and
regarded as Ṡaktis of the Buddhas.
It is even held by the disciples of the more advanced
Mahā-yāna—especially in Nepāl—that there are five Ṡaktis or female
Energies (corresponding to the five human Buddhas), whose names are
given in corresponding order thus:—Vajra-dhātrī, Loćanā, Māmakī,
Pāṇḍarā, and Tārā or Tārā-devī (the latter being the Tārā _par
excellence_)[101].
But the goddess Tārā was also worshipped by Buddhists in India proper;
for we find that Hiouen Thsang alludes to having seen images of Tārā
Bodhi-sattva[102] in the country of Magadha.
I may mention, too, that in a dilapidated building, which contains the
Vajrāsana or thunderbolt throne of Gautama at Buddha-Gayā (in the same
country of Magadha), I noticed in a shrine near the temple, an image of
Tārā-devī, which, from the crown of fresh flowers encircling its head,
appeared to have been recently worshipped by some Buddhist pilgrims, who
had arrived on the day of my visit in 1876.
The god Indra, usually called Ṡakra (Sakka), is, as we have seen, the
most popular god of the early Buddhist Pantheon (pp. 51, 207). He is a
friendly deity and never exerts evil influences over men, like Māra. On
the contrary, if any good man is in need of his services he descends
from his own heaven to render assistance; and the fact of his aid being
required is made known to him by his throne becoming hot.
The Dharma-pada (107, 392) mentions Agni, god of fire, and again (48),
Antaka, god of death, sometimes identified with Māra or with Yama,
‘ruler in Hell.’ A form of Yama called Yamāntaka is also recognized.
In Ceylon I observed several shrines to Kanda-Kumāra, a form of Skanda
(son of Ṡiva), who is said to have received the gift of healing from
Buddha.
There also I observed shrines of Saman (sometimes spelt Samanta,
sometimes Sumana), the tutelary deity of Adam’s Peak, which is thence
called Samanta-kūṭo and Sumana-kūṭo.
Then there were shrines dedicated to a demoniacal goddess called Paṭṭini
(regarded sometimes as protecting from small-pox), and to certain good
and evil genii, called Năths (Nāthas?) as in Burma.
No doubt the worship of devils and demons existed in Ceylon long before
the introduction of either Brāhmanism or Buddhism. At Colombo in 1877 I
witnessed a so-called devil-dance, performed late at night before the
then Governor, Sir William Gregory.
First, three men dressed in coarse, loose, jet-black dresses, engaged in
a wild dance together. They had shaggy hair, blackened faces daubed with
white paint, and a set of six or eight long projecting false teeth,
which protruded far below the lower lip, sometimes one, sometimes two at
a time. Their legs were completely covered with small bells, which
rattled like chains when they moved. In their hands they held three
flaring torches, branching from one handle. At intervals they increased
the glare and smoke from these torches by sprinkling resin upon them.
Their dance was of the wildest description, in a circle, sometimes
moving in and out, and crossing each other, and all the while beating
the ground violently with their jingling legs, which kept time to the
noisy music of tom-toms, flagiolets, horns, etc., played by attendant
musicians. These three men were supposed to represent the various forms
of typhus fever. At intervals during their dance they assumed frightful
black masks with hideous open mouths.
Then with them were two other dancing demons dressed in red, not so
hideous in appearance, who also danced holding torches. These
represented another form of devil. They danced in the interval of the
two performances of the black devils. There were also three men dressed
in reddish garments, who formed part of the group and moved about
quietly among the others. They were described to me as devil-charmers or
exorcisers.
Every disease—every calamity has its presiding demon, and all such
demons are the servants of Buddha.
In regard to the other supernatural beings and figments of Hindū
mythology adopted, with a few unimportant modifications, by Buddhists,
the first that call for mention are the Pretas (see p. 121).
The Pretas are beings of the nature of ghosts and goblins who have
recently inhabited the earth, and are often of gigantic size and
terrific appearance, with dried-up limbs, hairy countenances, enormous
bellies, ever consumed with hunger and thirst, and yet never able to eat
and drink by reason of their contracted throats. Some are represented as
trying to swallow sparks of fire; others try to eat up dead bodies, or
their own flesh. Possibly this form of re-birth was invented to deter
the laity from withholding food from the monks. The Pretas inhabit a
region above the hells. Some, however, assign them habitations above the
surface of the earth or in desert places on the earth itself.
The Asuras or Daityas are evil demons who, like the Titans of Greek
mythology, are always at war with the gods. They dwell under the
foundations of Mount Meru, as far underneath the surface of the earth as
their great enemy Indra is above it. In short, if he may be supposed to
live at the zenith, they live at the nadir, and their battle-field is on
the slopes of Meru.
Closely connected with them are the Rākshasas, who are also enemies of
the gods and are represented as monsters of frightful form and
man-eating propensities. They haunt cremation-grounds and cemeteries and
way-lay human beings in solitary places to devour them.
Then there is a class of very malignant demons called Piṡāćas (described
in ‘Brāhmanism and Hindūism,’ p. 242), who are the authors of all evils.
On the other hand, the Yakshas and Yakshiṇīs are a class of good genii
ruled over by Kuvera, ‘god of wealth,’ who is often referred to in
Buddhist writings under his patronymic Vaiṡravaṇa (Pāli Vessavaṇo)[103].
These beings are commonly represented in sculptures in human form and
held to be harmless, though some Buddhist legends describe them as
cruel. Stories are told about some of them being converted to Buddhism.
Then come the Nāgas, who are constantly alluded to. They properly belong
to a class of serpent-demons, having human faces with serpent-like lower
extremities, who live in one of the lower regions below the earth called
Pātāla, or under the waters. They are introduced into Buddhist
sculptures as worshippers of the Buddha and friends of all Buddhists,
but usually represented as ordinary men. The Nāga Mućalinda (also
Mućilinda), who sheltered Buddha, was a real serpent (see p. 39).
Nāga-kanyās or female Nāgas (serpents from the waist downwards) are also
not uncommon[104]. In Kashmīr Nāgas are connected with fountains and the
sources of rivers.
Then there are the Mahoragas, ‘great dragons,’ who also belong to the
Nāga class of demons.
We ought also to notice the Kumbhāṇḍas, a class of demons who attend on
Virūḍhaka (p. 206); the Garuḍas, a bird-like race ruled over by the
mythical Garuḍa, king of birds and enemy of the Nāgas and serpents; the
Apsarases, or nymphs produced at the churning of the ocean. These last
are sometimes described in Hindū mythology as the Hūrīs of Indra’s
heaven, who are assigned to heroes killed in battle. In Buddhist
sculptures they are represented as beautiful females, who are properly
the wives of Indra’s celestial musicians called Gandharvas.
Finally, mention should be made of the Kinnaras and Kinnarīs—beings who
ought properly to be represented with human bodies and equine heads, and
are, like the Gandharvas, heavenly musicians. It is even recorded in one
legend that the Buddha himself in a former life was a Kinnarī.
All this proves the close connexion of Buddhism with the Hindūism which,
like Buddhism, grew out of Brāhmanism. In short, the one mythology is so
interpenetrated with the other, that Buddhism in making proselytes
throughout Eastern Asia could not avoid propagating Hindū mythological
doctrines along with its own.
The consequence was that Hindūism, though often regarded as an
unproselyting and wholly national religion, really exercised a vast
influence outside its own boundaries and among alien races.
It is, at any rate, a remarkable fact that no mythological system has
ever spread over so large an area of the earth’s surface as that which,
originating in India, was accepted to a great extent by all Buddhist
communities. And this Indo-Buddhistic system of mythology, with its, to
us, absurd idolatry, rests on an extremely subtle form of pantheism,
which is not to be brushed aside as too contemptible for investigation.
It is usual to denounce all such systems as simple Heathenism; but
‘Heathenism’ means the religion of ‘the nations’—the religion evolved by
the men of all countries out of their own imaginations and by their own
natural faculties, without the aid of any true supernatural revelation.
And assuredly this religion of human nature is still a strong citadel
entrenched behind the formidable forces of pride, passion, prejudice,
and ignorance. Yet the walls of the fortress have numerous weak places,
which the wise missionary, armed with the still more powerful forces at
his command, will endeavour to discover and quietly undermine. By
patient and quiet working he must win the day.
With man, speed and rapidity of action are supposed to be the chief
evidences of progress and the chief factors in success. The Evangelist,
on the other hand, is a worker for God and a fellow-worker with God, and
ought not to be discouraged by the tardy advance of the Truth which he
advocates. He may have his moments of despondency, but he has only to
look around and observe that God works everywhere throughout His own
Universe by slow and almost imperceptible processes. The ripe fruit
falls from the tree in a second, but its maturity is not effected
without a whole year of gradual preparation.
LECTURE X.
_Mystical Buddhism in its connexion with the Yoga philosophy._
The first idea implied by Buddhism is intellectual enlightenment. But
Buddhism has its own theory of enlightenment—its own idea of true
knowledge, which it calls Bodhi, not Veda. By true knowledge it means
knowledge acquired by man through his own intellectual faculties and
through his own inner consciousness, instincts, and intuitions, unaided
by any external or supernatural revelation of any kind.
But it is important to observe that Buddhism, in the carrying out of its
own theory of entire self-dependence in the search after truth, was
compelled to be somewhat inconsistent with itself. It enjoined
self-conquest, self-restraint, self-concentration, and separation from
the world for the attainment of true knowledge and for the
accomplishment of its own _summum bonum_—the bliss of Nirvāṇa—the bliss
of deliverance from the fires of passion and the flames of
concupiscence. Yet it encouraged association and combination for mutual
help. It established a universal brotherhood of celibate monks, open to
persons of all castes and ranks, to rich and poor, learned and unlearned
alike—a community of men which might, in theory, be co-extensive with
the whole world—all bound together by the common aim of self-conquest,
all animated by the wish to aid each other in the battle with carnal
desires, all penetrated by a desire to follow the example of the Buddha,
and be guided by the doctrine or law which he promulgated.
Cœnobitic monasticism in fact, as we have already pointed out, became an
essential part of true Buddhism and a necessary instrument for its
propagation.
In all this the Buddha showed himself to be eminently practical in his
methods and profoundly wise in his generation. Evidently, too, he was
wise in abstaining at first from all mystical teaching. Originally
Buddhism set its face against all solitary asceticism and all secret
efforts to attain sublime heights of knowledge. It had no occult, no
esoteric system of doctrine which it withheld from ordinary men.
Nor did true Buddhism at first concern itself with any form of
philosophical or metaphysical teaching, which it did not consider
helpful for the attainment of the only kind of true knowledge worth
striving for—the knowledge of the origin of suffering and its remedy—the
knowledge that suffering and pain arise from indulging lusts, and that
life is inseparable from suffering, and is an evil to be got rid of by
suppressing self and extinguishing desires.
In the Mahā-parinibbāna-sutta (Rhys Davids, II. 32) is recorded one of
the Buddha’s remarks shortly before his decease:—
‘What, O Ānanda, does the Order desire of me? I have taught the law
(desito dhammo) without making any distinction between esoteric and
exoteric doctrine (anantaram abahiram karitvā). In the matter of the
law, the Tathāgata (i.e. the Buddha) has never had the closed fist of a
teacher (āćariya-muṭṭhi)—of a teacher who withholds some doctrines and
communicates others.’ In short, he was opposed to mysticism.
Nevertheless, admitting, as we must, that early Buddhism had no
mysteries reserved for a privileged circle, we must not shut our eyes to
the fact that the great importance attached to abstract meditation in
the Buddhist system could not fail in the end to encourage the growth of
mystical ideas.
Furthermore, it is undeniable that such ideas were, in some countries,
carried to the most extravagant extremes. Efforts to induce a
trance-like or hypnotic condition, by abstracting the thoughts from all
bodily influences, by recitation of mystical sentences, and by
superstitious devices for the acquisition of supernatural faculties,
were placed above good works and all the duties of the moral code.
We might point, too, to the strange doctrine which arose in Nepāl and
Tibet—the doctrine of the Dhyāni-Buddhas (or ‘Buddhas of
Meditation’)—certain abstract Essences existing in the formless worlds
of thought, who were held to be ethereal and eternal representatives of
the transitory earthly Buddhas. These have been adverted to in a
previous Lecture (see p. 202).
Our present concern is rather with the growth and development of
mystical Buddhism in India itself, through its connexion with the system
of philosophy called Yoga and Yogāćāra.
The close relationship of Buddhism to that system is well known; but the
various practices included under the name Yoga did not owe their origin
to Buddhism. They were prevalent in India before Gautama Buddha’s time;
and one of the most generally accepted facts in his biography is that,
after abandoning his home and worldly associations, he resorted to
certain Brāhman ascetics, who were practising Yoga.
What then was the object which these ascetics had in view?
The word Yoga literally means ‘union’ (as derived from the Sanskṛit root
‘yuj,’ to join; compare the English word ‘yoke’), and the proper aim of
every man who practised Yoga was the mystic union (or rather re-union)
of his own spirit with the one eternal Soul or Spirit of the Universe. A
true Yogī, says the Bhagavad-gītā (VI. 13, 25), should be indifferent to
all earthly things. To him a clod, a stone, and gold should be all
alike.
Doubtless this was the Buddha’s first aim when he addressed himself to
Yoga in the fifth century B.C., and even to this hour, earnest men in
India resort to this system with the same object.
In the Indian Magazine for July, 1887 (as well as in my ‘Brāhmanism and
Hindūism,’ p. 529), is a short biography of a quite recent religious
reformer named Svāmī Dayānanda-Sarasvatī, whose acquaintance I made at
Bombay in 1876 and 1877, and who only died in 1883. The story of his
life reads almost like a repetition of the life of Buddha, though his
teaching aimed at restoring the supposed monotheistic doctrine of the
Veda.
It is recorded that his father, desiring to initiate him into the
mysteries of Ṡaivism, took him to a shrine dedicated to the god Ṡiva;
but the sight of some mice stealing the consecrated offerings, and of
some rats playing on the heads of the idol, led him to disbelieve in
Ṡiva-worship as a means of union with the Supreme Being. Longing,
however, for such union and for emancipation from the burden of repeated
births, he resolved to renounce marriage and abandon the world.
Accordingly, at the age of twenty-two, he clandestinely quitted his
home, the darkness of evening covering his flight. Taking a secret path,
he travelled thirty miles during the night. Next day he was pursued by
his father, who tried to force him to return, but in vain. After
travelling farther and farther from his native province, he took a vow
to devote himself to the investigation of truth. Then he wandered for
many years all over India, trying to gain knowledge from sages and
philosophers, but without any satisfactory result, till finally he
settled at Ahmedābād. There, having mastered the higher Yoga system, he
became the leader of a new sect called the Ārya-Samāj.
And here we may observe that the expression ‘higher Yoga’ implies that a
lower form of that system had been introduced. In point of fact, the
Yoga system grew, and became twofold—that is, it came in the end to have
two objects.
The earlier was the higher Yoga. It aimed only at union with the Spirit
of the Universe. The more developed system aimed at something more. It
sought to acquire miraculous powers by bringing the body under control
of the will, and by completely abstracting the soul from body and mind,
and isolating it in its own essence. This condition is called Kaivalya.
In the fifth century B.C., when Gautama Buddha began his career, the
later and lower form of Yoga seems to have been little known.
Practically, in those days, earnest and devout men craved only for union
with the Supreme Being, and absorption into his Essence. Many methods of
effecting such union and absorption were contrived. And these may be
classed under two chief heads—bodily mortification (tapas) and abstract
meditation (dhyāna).
By either one of these two chief means, the devotee was supposed to be
able to get rid of all bodily fetters—to be able to bring his bodily
organs into such subjection to the spiritual that he became unconscious
of possessing any body at all. It was in this way that his spirit became
fit for blending with the Universal Spirit, of which it was originally a
part.
We learn from the Lalita-vistara that various forms of bodily torture,
self-maceration, and austerity were common in Gautama’s time.
Some devotees, we read, seated themselves in one spot and kept perpetual
silence, with their legs bent under them. Some ate only once a day or
once on alternate days, or at intervals of four, six, or fourteen days.
Some slept in wet clothes or on ashes, gravel, stones, boards, thorny
grass, or spikes, or with the face downwards. Some went naked, making no
distinction between fit or unfit places. Some smeared themselves with
ashes, cinders, dust, or clay. Some inhaled smoke and fire. Some gazed
at the sun, or sat surrounded by five fires, or rested on one foot, or
kept one arm perpetually uplifted, or moved about on their knees instead
of on their feet, or baked themselves on hot stones, or submerged
themselves in water, or suspended themselves in air.
Then, again, a method of fasting called very painful (atikṛiććhra),
described by Manu (XI. 213), was often practised. It consisted in eating
only a single mouthful every day for nine days, and then abstaining from
all food for the three following days.
Another method, called the lunar fast (VI. 20, XI. 216), consisted in
beginning with fifteen mouthfuls at full moon, and reducing the quantity
by one mouthful till new moon, and then increasing it again in the same
way till full moon.
Passages without number might be quoted from ancient literature to prove
that similar practices were resorted to throughout India, with the
object of bringing the body into subjection to the spirit. And these
practices have continued up to the present day.
A Muhammadan traveller, whose narrative is quoted by Mr. Mill (British
India, i. 355), once saw a man standing motionless with his face towards
the sun.
The same traveller, having occasion to revisit the same spot sixteen
years afterwards, found the very same man in the very same attitude. He
had gazed on the sun’s disk till all sense of external vision was
extinguished.
A Yogī was seen not very long ago (Mill’s India, i. 353) seated between
four fires on a quadrangular stage. He stood on one leg gazing at the
sun, while these fires were lighted at the four corners. Then placing
himself upright on his head, with his feet elevated in the air, he
remained for three hours in that position. He then seated himself
cross-legged, and continued bearing the raging heat of the sun above his
head and the fires which surrounded him, till the end of the day,
occasionally adding combustibles with his own hands to increase the
flames.
I, myself, in the course of my travels, encountered Yogis who had kept
their arms uplifted for years, or had wandered about from one place of
pilgrimage to another under a perpetual vow of silence, or had no place
to lie upon but a bed of spikes.
As to fasting, the idea that attenuation of the body by abstinence from
food facilitates union of the human soul with the divine, or at any rate
promotes a keener insight into spiritual things, is doubtless as common
in Europe as in Asia; but the most austere observer of Lent in European
countries would be hopelessly outdone by devotees whose extraordinary
powers of abstinence may be witnessed in every part of India.
If we now turn to the second method of attaining mystic union with the
Divine Essence, namely, by profound abstract thought, we may observe
that it, too, was everywhere prevalent in Buddha’s time.
Indeed, one of the names given by Indian philosophers to the One
Universal Spirit is Ćit, ‘Thought.’ By that name, of course, is meant
pure abstract thought, or the faculty of thought separated from every
concrete object. Hence, in its highest state the eternal infinite
Spirit, by its very nature, thinks of nothing. It is the simple
thought-faculty, wholly unconnected with any object about which it
thinks. In point of fact, the moment it begins to exercise this faculty,
it necessarily abandons for a time its condition of absolute oneness,
abstraction, and isolation, to associate itself with something inferior,
which is not itself.
It follows, therefore, that intense concentration of the mind on the One
Universal Spirit amounts to fixing the thought on a mere abstract
Essence, which reciprocates no thought in return, and is not conscious
of being thought about by its worshipper.
In harmony with this theory, we find that the definition of Yoga, in the
second aphorism of the Yoga-sūtra, is, ‘the suppression (nirodha) of the
functions or modifications (vṛitti) of the thinking principle (ćitta).’
So that, in reality, the union of the human mind with the infinite
Principle of thought amounts to such complete mental absorption, that
thought itself becomes lost in pure thought.
In the Ṡakuntalā (VII. 175) there is a description of an ascetic engaged
in this form of Yoga, whose condition of fixed meditation and immovable
impassiveness had lasted so long that ants had thrown up a mound as high
as his waist, and birds had built their nests in the long clotted
tresses of his tangled hair.
Not many years ago, I, myself, saw at Allahābād near the fort a devotee
who had maintained a sitting, contemplative posture, with his feet
folded under his body, in one place for twenty years. During the Mutiny
cannon thundered over his head, and bullets hissed around him, but
nothing apparently disturbed his attitude of profound meditation. Even
Muhammadans practise the same. The Russian correspondent of the _Times_
states (Sept. 18, 1888) that he saw in a mosque at Samarkand men who
voluntarily remained mute and motionless for forty days. On a curtain
being pulled aside he beheld a motionless figure seated in profound
meditation like a squatting mummy. The guide said that a cannon fired
off in front of his face would have left him equally unmoved.
It is clear, then, that, supposing Gautama to have made up his mind to
devote himself to a religious life, his adoption of a course of profound
meditation was a most usual proceeding.
A large number of the images of Buddha represent him sitting on a raised
seat or throne (called the Bodhi-maṇḍa), with his legs folded under his
body, and his eyes half-closed, in a condition of abstraction
(samādhi)—sometimes called Yoga-nidrā; that is, a trance-like state,
resembling profound sleep. (Compare frontispiece.)
He is said to have seated himself in this way under four trees in
succession (see p. 39 of these Lectures), namely, under the Bodhi-tree
or sacred fig-tree, under the Banyan-tree, under the Mućalinda-tree
(protected by the serpent), and under the Rājāyatana-tree.
And those four successive seats probably symbolized the four recognized
stages of meditation[105] (dhyāna) rising one above the other, till
thought itself was converted into non-thought (see p. 209).
We know, too, that the Buddha went through still higher progressive
stages of meditation at the moment of his death or final decease
(Pari-nirvāṇa), thus described in the Mahā-parinibbāna-sutta (Davids,
VI. 11):
‘Then the Venerable One entered into the first stage of meditation
(pathamajjhānam); and rising out of the first stage, he passed into the
second; and rising out of the second, he passed into the third; and
rising out of the third, he passed into the fourth; and rising out of
the fourth stage, he attained the conception of the infinity of space
(ākāṡānañćāyatanam, see p. 214); and rising out of the conception of the
infinity of space, he attained the conception of the infinity of
intelligence (viññāṇañćāyatanam); and rising out of the idea of the
infinity of intelligence, he attained the conception of absolute
nonentity (ākiñćaññāyatanam); and rising out of the idea of nonentity,
he entered the region where there is neither consciousness nor
unconsciousness; and rising out of that region, he entered the state in
which all sensation and perception of ideas had wholly ceased.’ (See p.
213 of these Lectures.)
Clearly, even four progressive stages of abstraction did not satisfy the
requirements of later Buddhism in regard to the intense sublimation of
the thinking faculty needed for the complete effacement of all sense of
individuality. Higher and higher altitudes had to be reached, insomuch
that the fourth stage of abstract meditation is sometimes divided and
subdivided into what are called eight Vimokhas and eight Samāpattis—all
of them forms and stages of ecstatic meditation[106].
A general name, however, for all the higher trance-like states is
_Samādhi_, and by the practice of Samādhi the six transcendent faculties
(Abhiññā) might ultimately be obtained, viz. the inner ear, or power of
hearing words and sounds, however distant (clair-audience, as it might
be called); the inner eye, or power of seeing all that happens in every
part of the world (clair-voyance); knowledge of the thoughts of others;
recollection of former existences; the knowledge of the mode of
destroying the corrupting influences of passion; and, finally, the
supernatural powers called Iddhi, to be subsequently explained.
But to return to the Buddha’s first course of meditation at the time
when he first attained Buddhahood. This happened during one particular
night, which was followed by the birthday of Buddhism.
And what was the first grand outcome of that first profound mental
abstraction? One legend relates that in the first watch of the night all
his previous existences flashed across his mind; in the second he
understood all present states of being; in the third he traced out the
chain of causes and effects, and at the dawn of day he knew all things.
According to another legend, there was an actual outburst of the divine
light before hidden within him.
We read in the Lalita-vistara (chap. i) that at the supreme moment of
his intellectual illumination brilliant flames of light issued from the
crown of his head, through the interstices of his cropped hair. These
rays are sometimes represented in his images, emerging from his skull in
a form resembling the five fingers of an extended hand (see the
frontispiece).
Mark, however, that Gautama’s meditation never led him to the highest
result of the true Yoga of Indian philosophy—union with the Supreme
Spirit. On the contrary, his self-enlightenment led to entire disbelief
in the separate existence of any eternal, infinite Spirit at all—any
Spirit, in fact, with which a spirit existing in his own body could
blend, or into which it could be absorbed.
If the Buddha was not a materialist, in the sense of believing in the
eternal existence of material atoms, neither could he in any sense be
called a ‘spiritualist,’ or believer in the eternal existence of
abstract spirit.
With him Creation did not proceed from an Omnipotent Spirit or Mind
evolving phenomena out of itself by the exercise of will, nor from an
eternal self-existing, self-evolving germ of any kind. As to the
existence in the Universe of any spiritual substance which was not
matter and was imperceptible by the senses, it could not be proved.
Nor did he believe in the eternal existence of an invisible Self or Ego,
called Soul, distinct from a material body. The only eternity of true
Buddhism was an eternity of ‘becoming,’ not of ‘being’—an eternity of
existences, all succeeding each other, and all lapsing into nothingness.
If there were any personal gods they were all inferior to the perfect
man, and all liable to change and dissolution.
In brief, the Buddha’s enlightenment consisted, first, in the discovery
of the origin and remedy of suffering, and, next, in the knowledge of
the existence of an eternal Force—a force generated by what in Sanskṛit
is called Karman, ‘Act.’ The accumulated force of the acts of one
Universe produced another.
Every man, therefore, was created by the force of his own acts in former
bodies, combined with a force generated by intense attachment to
existence (upādāna). Who or what started the first act, the Buddha never
pretended to be able to explain. He confessed himself in regard to this
point a downright Agnostic. The Buddha himself had been created by his
own acts, and had been created and re-created through countless bodily
forms; but he had no spirit or soul existing separately between the
intervals of each creation. By his protracted meditation he attained to
no higher knowledge than this, and although he himself rose to loftier
heights of knowledge than any other man of his day, he never aspired to
other faculties than were within the reach of any human being capable of
rising to the same sublime abstraction of mind.
He was even careful to lay down a precept that the acquisition of
transcendent human faculties was restricted to the perfected saints
called Arhats; and so important did he consider it to guard such
faculties from being claimed by mere impostors, that one of the four
prohibitions communicated to all monks on first admission to his
monastic Order was that they were not to pretend to such powers (see p.
81).
Nor is there any proof that even Arhats in Gautama’s time were allowed
to claim _superhuman_ faculties and the power of working physical
miracles.
By degrees, no doubt, powers of this kind were ascribed to them as well
as to the Buddha. Even in the Yinaya, one of the oldest portions of the
Tri-piṭaka, we find it stated (Mahā-vagga I. 20, 24) that Gautama Buddha
gained adherents by performing three thousand five hundred supernatural
wonders (Pāli, pāṭi-hāriya; see p. 46). These were thought to be
evidences of his mission as a great teacher and saviour of mankind; but
the part of the narrative recording these, although very ancient, is
probably a legendary addition.
It is interesting, however, to trace in portions of the early
literature, the development of the doctrine that Buddhahood meant first
transcendent knowledge, and then supernatural faculties and the power of
working miracles.
In the Ākaṅkheyya-sutta (said to have been composed in the fourth
century B.C.) occurs a remarkable passage, translated by Prof. Rhys
Davids (S.B.E., p. 214):—
‘If a monk should desire through the destruction of the corrupting
influences (āsavas), by himself, and even in this very world, to know
and realise and attain to Arhatship, to emancipation of heart, and
emancipation of mind, let him devote himself to that quietude of heart
which springs from within, let him not drive back the ecstasy of
contemplation, let him look through things, let him be much alone.
‘If a monk should desire to hear with clear and heavenly ear, surpassing
that of men, sounds both human and celestial, whether far or near; if he
should desire to comprehend by his own heart the hearts of other beings
and of other men; if he should desire to call to mind his various
temporary states in the past, such as one, two, three, four, five, ten,
twenty, a hundred, a thousand, a hundred thousand births, or his births
in many an age and æon of destruction and renovation, let him devote
himself to that quietude which springs from within.’
Then, in the Mahā-parinibbāna-sutta (I. 33, Rhys Davids) occurs the
following;—
‘At that time the blessed One—as instantaneously as a strong man would
stretch forth his arm, or draw it back again when he had stretched it
forth—vanished from this side of the river, and stood on the further
bank with the company of the brethren.’