‘I call to mind, Ānanda, how when I used to enter into an assembly of
many hundred nobles, before I had seated myself there, or talked to
them, or started a conversation with them, I used to become in colour
like unto their colour, and in voice like unto their voice. Then, with
religious discourse, I used to instruct, incite, and quicken them, and
fill them with gladness. But they knew me not when I spoke, and would
say, “Who may this be who thus speaks? a man or a god?” Then, having
instructed, incited, quickened, and gladdened them with religious
discourse, I would vanish away. But they knew me not even when I
vanished away; and would say, “Who may this be who has thus vanished
away? a man, or a god?”’—(Mahā-parinibbāna-sutta III. 22, Rhys Davids.)
Such passages in the early literature afford an interesting
exemplification of the growth of supernatural and mystical ideas, which
led to the ultimate association of the Buddhistic system with Ṡaivism,
demonology, magic, and various so-called spiritual phenomena.
I now proceed to show that the development of these ideas in Buddhism
resulted from its connexion with the later Yoga, which developed similar
ideas.
In the aphorisms of this later Yoga, composed by Patañjali, eight chief
requisites are enumerated (II. 29); namely, 1. abstaining from five evil
acts (yama); 2. performing five positive duties (niyama); 3. settling
the limbs in certain postures (āsana); 4. regulating and suppressing the
breath (prāṇāyāma); 5. withdrawing the senses from their objects
(pratyāhāra); 6. fixing the thinking faculty (dhāraṇā); 7. internal
self-contemplation (dhyāna); 8. trance-like self-concentration
(samādhi).
These eight are indispensable requisites for the gaining of Patañjali’s
_summum bonum_—the complete abstraction or isolation (kaivalya) of the
soul or spirit in its own essence—and for the acquirement of
supernatural faculties.
Taking now these eight requisites of Yoga in order, we may observe, with
regard to the first, that the five evil acts to be avoided correspond to
the five commandments in Buddhism, viz. ‘kill not,’ ‘steal not,’ ‘commit
no impurity,’ ‘lie not.’ The fifth alone—‘abstain from all worldly
enjoyments’—is different, the Buddhist fifth prohibition being ‘drink no
strong drink’ (p. 126).
With regard to the second requisite, the five positive duties
are—self-purification, both external and internal (both called ṡauća);
the practice of contentment (saṃtosha); bodily mortification (tapas);
muttering of prayers, or repetition of mystical syllables (svādhyāya, or
japa), and contemplation of the Supreme Being.
The various processes of bodily mortification already described (see p.
228) were repudiated by Buddhism.
As to the muttering of prayers, the repetition of mystic syllables such
as Om (a symbol for the Triad of gods), or of any favourite deity’s
name, is held among Hindūs to be highly efficacious[107]. In a similar
manner among Tibetan Buddhists the six-syllabled sentence: ‘Om maṇi
padme Hūm’—‘Om! the jewel in the lotus! Hūm!’—is used as a charm against
the sixfold course of transmigration (see pp. 121, 371-373).
Mystical syllables are very common. Sir A. Cunningham gives the
following as current in Ladāk:—Bhyo, Rakmo-bhyo! Rakmo-bhyo-bhyo! Ru-lu,
Ru-lu, Hūm Bhyo Hūm! (Ladāk, 386.)
Other mystical syllables (such as Sam, Yam, Ram, Lam, etc.) are supposed
to contain some occult virtue.
The third requisite—posture—would appear to us a somewhat trivial aid to
the union of the human spirit with the divine; but with Hindūs it is an
important auxiliary, fraught with great benefit to the Yogī.
The alleged reason is that certain sitting postures (āsana) and cramping
of the lower limbs are peculiarly efficacious in producing bodily
quietude and preventing restlessness. Some of the postures have curious
names, for example:—Padmāsana, ‘the lotus posture;’ ‘vīrāsana, ‘the
heroic posture;’ siṉhāsana, ‘the lion posture’ (see note, p. 336);
kūrmāsana, ‘tortoise posture;’ kukku-ṭāsana, ‘cock posture;’
dhanur-āsana, ‘bow posture;’ mayūrāsana, ‘peacock posture.’ In the first
the legs are folded under the body and the right foot is placed on the
left thigh, and the left on the right thigh.
In short, the idea is that compression of the lower limbs, in such a way
as to prevent the possibility of the slightest movement, is most
important as a preparation for complete abstraction of soul.
Then, as another aid, particular mystical twistings (called mudrā) of
the upper limbs—of the arms, hands, and fingers—are enjoined.
Even in Muhammadan countries certain movements of the limbs are
practised by devotees with the view of uniting the human spirit with the
Divine. Those who have seen the whirling and ‘howling’ dervishes at
Cairo can testify that fainting fits result from their violent
exertions, inspirations, expirations, and utterances of the name of God,
and such fits are believed to be ecstatic states of union with the
Deity.
The fourth requisite—regulation and suppression of the breath—is perhaps
the one of all the eight which is most difficult for Europeans to
understand or appreciate; yet with Hindūs it is all-important. It is
sometimes called Haṭha-vidyā. Nor are the ideas connected with it wholly
unknown in Europe.
According to Swedenborg[108], thought commences and corresponds with
respiration:—
‘When a man thinks quickly his breath vibrates with rapid alternations;
when the tempest of anger shakes his mind his breath is tumultuous; when
his soul is deep and tranquil, so is his respiration.’ And he adds: ‘It
is strange that this correspondence between the states of the brain or
mind and the lungs has not been admitted in science.’
The Hindū belief certainly is that deep inspirations of breath assist in
concentrating and abstracting the thoughts and preventing external
impressions. But, more than this, five sorts of air are supposed to
permeate the human body and play an important part in its vitality. They
are called Prāṇa, Vyāna, Apāna, Samāna, Udāna. In the Ćhāndogya
Upanishad (V. 19, etc.) they are described as if they were divine beings
to be adored and to be honoured by offerings of food. The Haṭha-dīpikā
says: ‘As long as the air remains in the body, so long life remains.
Death is the exit of the breath. Hence the air should be retained in the
body.’
In regulating the breath, the air must first be drawn up through one
nostril (the other being closed with the finger), retained in the lungs,
and then expelled through the other nostril. This exercise must be
practised alternately with the right and left nostril. Next, the breath
must be drawn forcibly up through both nostrils, and the air imprisoned
for as long a time as possible in the lungs. Thence it must be forced by
an effort of will towards the internal organs of the body, or made to
mount to the centre of the brain.
The Hindūs, however, do not identify the breath with the soul. They
believe that a crevice or suture called the Brahma-randhram at the top
of the skull serves as an outlet for the escape of the soul at death. A
Hindū Yogī’s skull is sometimes split at death by striking it with a
sacred shell. The idea is to facilitate the exit of the soul. It is said
that in Tibet the hair is torn out of the top of the head, with the same
object.
In the case of a wicked man the soul is supposed to escape through one
of the lower openings of the body.
The imprisonment of the breath in the body by taking in more air than is
necessary for respiration, is the most important of the breath
exercises. It is said that Hindū ascetics, by constant practice, are
able by this means to sustain life under water, or to be buried alive
for long periods of time. Many alleged feats of suspended animation are
of course mere and sheer trickery. It seems, however, open to question,
whether it may not be possible for human beings of particular
constitutions to practise a kind of hibernation like that of animals, or
acquire some power of suspending temporarily the organic functions. A
certain Colonel Townsend is said to have succeeded in doing so.
A well-known instance of suspended animation occurred in the Panjāb in
1837. A Hindū Yogī was there, by his own request, buried alive in a
vault for forty days in the presence of Runjit Singh and Sir Claude
Wade; his eyes, ears, and every orifice of his body having been first
stopped with plugs of wax. Dr. McGregor, the then residency surgeon,
also watched the case. Every precaution was taken to prevent deception.
English officials saw the man buried, as well as exhumed, and a
perpetual guard over the vault was kept night and day by order of Runjit
Singh himself. At the end of forty days the disinterment took place. The
body was dried up like a stick, and the tongue, which had been turned
back into the throat, had become like a piece of horn. Those who exhumed
him followed his previously-given directions for the restoration of
animation, and the Yogī told them he had only been conscious of a kind
of ecstatic bliss in the society of other Yogīs and saints, and was
quite ready to be buried over again.
What amount of fraud there may be in these feats it is difficult to say.
They may possibly be accounted for by the fact that Indian Yogīs have
studied the habits of hibernating animals; but in some cases the secret
introduction of food has been detected.
I may add that it is commonly believed throughout India that a man whose
body is sublimated by intense abstract meditation never dies, in the
sense of undergoing corruption and dissolution. When his supposed death
occurs he is held to be in a state of trance, which may last for
centuries, and his body is, therefore, not burnt, but buried—generally
in a sitting posture—and his tomb is called a Samādh.
With regard to the fifth requisite—the act of withdrawing the senses
from their object, as, for example, the eye from visible forms—this is
well compared to the act of a tortoise withdrawing its limbs under its
shell.
The sixth requisite—fixing the principle of thought—comprises the act of
directing the thinking faculty (ćitta) towards various parts of the
body, for example, towards the heart, or towards the crown of the head,
or concentrating the will-force on the region between the two eyebrows,
or even fixing the eyes intently on the tip of the nose. (Compare
Bhagavad-gītā VI. 13.)
The seventh and eighth requisites—viz. internal self-contemplation and
intense self-concentration—are held (when conjoined with the sixth) to
be most important as leading to the acquisition of certain supernatural
powers, of which the following are most commonly enumerated:—(1) Animan,
‘the faculty of reducing the body to the size of an atom;’ (2) Mahiman,
or Gariman, ‘increasing the size or weight at will;’ (3) Laghiman,
‘making the body light at will;’ (4)Prāpti, ‘reaching or touching any
object or spot, however apparently distant;’ (5) Prākāmya, ‘unlimited
exercise of will;’ (6) Īṡitva, ‘gaining absolute power over one’s self
and others;’ (7) Vaṡitā, ‘bringing the elements into subjection;’ (8)
Kāmāvasāyitā, ‘the power of suppressing all desires.’
A Yogī who has acquired these powers can rise aloft to the skies, fly
through space, pass through the key-hole of a door, pierce the mysteries
of planets and stars, cause storms and earthquakes, understand the
language of animals, ascertain what occurs in any part of the world, or
of the universe, recollect the events of his own previous lives, prolong
his present life, see into the past and future, discern the thoughts of
others, assume any form he likes, disappear, reappear, and even enter
into another man’s body and make it his own.
Such were some of the extravagant ideas which grew with the growth of
the Yoga system, and were incorporated into the later developments of
Buddhism.
We learn from Mr. Sarat Chandra Dās that in the monastery of Galdan in
Tibet there is at this moment a college specially devoted to the
teaching of Esoteric and Mystical Buddhism; while magic and sorcery are
taught in the monasteries founded by Padma-sambhava (see pp. 272, 274,
441).
Of course it was only natural that, with the association of Buddhism
with the later Yoga and Ṡaivism, the Buddha himself should have become a
centre for the growth of supernatural and mystical ideas.
Hence the Buddha is fabled by his followers to have ascended to the
Trayastriṉṡa heaven of Indra, walked on water, stepped from one mountain
to another, and left impressions of his feet on the solid rock. Although
in the Dhamma-pada it is twice declared (254, 255), ‘There is no path
through the air.’
Perhaps the climax was reached when the later doctrine made every Buddha
possess a threefold existence or three bodies, much in the same way as
in Hindūism three bodies are assigned to every being.
The first of the Buddha’s bodies is the Dharma-kāya, ‘body of the Law,’
supposed to be a kind of ethereal essence of a highly sublimated nature
and co-extensive with space. This essence was believed to be eternal,
and after the Buddha’s death, was represented by the Law or Doctrine
(Dharma) he taught. The idea seems to have been invented as an analogue
to Brahman, or the Universal spiritual Essence of Brāhmanism[109].
The second body is the Sambhoga-kāya, ‘body of conscious bliss,’ which
is of a less ethereal and more material nature than the last. Its
Brāhmanical analogue appears to be the intermediate body (belonging to
departed spirits) called Bhoga-deha, which is of an ethereal character,
though composed of sufficiently gross (sthūla) material particles to be
capable of experiencing happiness or misery.
For observe that it is an essential part of the Hindū doctrine of
transmigration or metempsychosis, that a soul _without a body_ is
incapable of feeling either happiness in heaven or pain in hell.
The third body is the Nirmāṇa-kāya, ‘body of visible shapes and
transformations,’ that is to say, those various concrete material forms
in which every Buddha who exists as an invisible and eternal essence, is
manifested on the earth or elsewhere for the propagation of the true
doctrine.
The Brāhmanical analogue of this third body appears to be the earthly
gross body, called Sthūla-ṡarīra.
It is evident that the extravagances of mystical Buddhism have their
counterparts in Brāhmanism.
There is a Brāhmanical legend which relates how the great Brāhman sage
Ṡaṅkarāćārya entranced his gross body, and then, having forced out his
soul along with his subtle body, entered the dead body of a recently
deceased king, which he occupied for several weeks.
The Yoga of the Brāhmans, in fact, held that adepts, skilled in occult
science, might throw their gross bodies into a state of unconsciousness,
and by a determined effort of will project or force out the ethereal
body through the pores of the skin, and make this phantasmal form
visible in distant places[110].
And now it is declared to be a fact that a community of Buddhist
‘Brothers’ called Mahātmas, are living at this moment in the deserts of
Tibet, who, having emancipated their interior selves from physical
bondage by profound abstract meditation, have acquired ‘astral’ bodies
(distinct from their gross bodies), with which they are able to rise in
the air, or move through space, by the mere exercise of will.
Sir Edwin Arnold on the other hand, in his ‘India Revisited’ (p. 273),
states that he asked Ṡrī Weligama of Ceylon whether there existed
anywhere Mahātmas, who elevated in this way above humanity, possessed
larger powers and more profound insight than any other living
philosophers? Weligama answered, ‘No! such do not exist; you would seek
them vainly in this island, or in Tibet, or in Siam, or in China. It is
true, O my friend, that if we had better interpretations of the Lord
Buddha’s teaching, we might reach to heights and depths of power and
goodness now quite impossible, but we have fallen from the old wisdom,
and none of us to-day are so advanced.’
I believe that the Psychical Research Society once sent delegates to
India who inquired into this subject, and exposed the absurdity of some
of the alleged phenomena.
Curiously in agreement with these extravagant notions are the beliefs of
various uncivilized races. Dr. Tylor, in his ‘Primitive Culture’ (i.
440), relates how the North American Indians and others believe that
their souls quit their bodies during sleep, and go about hunting,
dancing, visiting, etc. It is stated by Mr. Finn, late H. M. Consul for
North Persia, that he never could induce his Persian servants to awaken
him in the morning. They gave as their reason that the soul during sleep
wanders away from the body, and that a sleeper will die if awakened
before the soul has time to rejoin the body. The Indian tribes in
Central Brazil have the same belief, so says Dr. Karl von den Steinen
(recently quoted in the _Times_ newspaper).
Furthermore it is clear that the possibility of acquiring supernatural
faculties is not an idea confined to one country.
Old legends relate how Simon Magus made statues walk; how he flew in the
air; how he lept into the fire, made bread of stones, changed his shape,
assumed two faces, made the vessels in a house move of themselves
(Colonel Yule’s Marco Polo, i. 306).
We are told that the phenomena of European spiritualism are to be kept
distinct from those of Asiatic occultism. Modern spiritualism, it is
said, requires the intervention of ‘mediums,’ who neither control nor
understand the manifestations of which they are the passive instruments;
whereas the phenomena of occultism are the ‘achievements of a conscious
living operator,’ produced on himself by an effort of his own will.
According to Mr. Sinnett, the important point ‘which occultism brings
out is, that the soul of man, while something enormously subtler and
more ethereal and more lasting than the body, is itself a material body.
The ether that transmits light is held to be material by any one who
holds it to exist at all; but there is a gulf of difference between it
and the thinnest of gases.’ In another place he advances an opinion that
the spirit is distinct from the soul. It is the soul of the soul.
And again: ‘The body is the prison of the soul for ordinary mortals. We
can see merely what comes before its windows; we can take cognisance
only of what is brought within its bars. But the adept has found the key
of his prison, and can emerge from it at pleasure. It is no longer a
prison for him—merely a dwelling. He can project his soul out of his
body to any place he pleases with the rapidity of thought[111].’
It is perhaps worth noting that many believers in Asiatic occultism hold
that a hitherto unsuspected force exists in nature called Odic force (is
this to be connected with Psychic force?), and that it is by this that
the levitation of entranced persons is effected.
Others, like the Yogīs, maintain that any one may lighten his body by
swallowing large draughts of air, and by an effort of will forcing this
air to diffuse itself through every part of the frame. It is alleged
that this phenomenon has been actually witnessed.
The connexion, however, of similar phenomena with feats of conjuring is
undeniable. In the Asiatic Monthly Journal (March, 1829), an account is
given of a Brāhman who poised himself _apparently_ in the air, about
four feet from the ground, for forty minutes, in the presence of the
Governor of Madras. Another juggler sat on three sticks put together to
form a tripod. These were removed, one by one, and the man remained
sitting in the air[112].
Long ago Friar Ricold related that ‘a man from India was said to fly.
The truth was that he did walk close to the surface of the ground
without touching it, and would seem to sit down without any substance to
support him’ (Colonel Yule’s Marco Polo, i. 307).
On the other hand, it is contended, that ‘since we have attained, in the
last half-century, the theory of evolution, the antiquity of man, the
far greater antiquity of the world itself, the correlation of physical
forces, the conservation of energy, spectrum analysis, photography, the
locomotive engine, electric telegraph, spectroscope, electric light, and
the telephone (to which we may now add the phonograph), who shall dare
to fix a limit to the capacity of man[113]?’ Few will deny altogether
the truth of such a contention, however much they may dissent from
Colonel Olcott’s theosophical views.
There may be, of course, latent faculties in humanity which are at
present quite unsuspected, and yet are capable of development in the
future.
According to Sir James Paget, in his recent address on ‘Scientific
Study,’ many things, now held to be inconceivable and past man’s
imagination, are profoundly and assuredly true, and it will be in the
power of Science to prove them to be so[114].
Most persons will assent to these propositions, and at the same time
agree with me when I express my conviction that mystical Buddhism and
Asiatic occultism are no more likely than modern European spiritualism,
to bear the searching light of true scientific investigation.
Nevertheless the subject of mystical Buddhism ought not to be brushed
aside as unworthy of consideration. It furnishes, in my opinion, a
highly interesting topic of inquiry, especially in its bearing on the
‘neo-Buddhism,’ and ‘Theosophy’ of the present day. At all events it is
clear from what we have advanced in the present Lecture, that the
practices connected with spiritualism, mesmerism, animal magnetism,
telepathy, clairvoyance, thought-reading[115], etc., have their
counterparts in the Yoga system prevalent in India more than 2,000 years
ago, and in the practices of mystical Buddhism prevalent in Tibet and
the adjacent countries for many centuries.
‘The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is
done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the
sun.’
LECTURE XI.
_Hierarchical Buddhism, especially as developed in Tibet and Mongolia._
Early Buddhism was, as we have seen, opposed to all ecclesiastical
organization. It had no hierarchy in the proper sense of that term—no
church, no priests, no true form of prayer, no religious rites, no
ceremonial observances. It was simply a Brotherhood consisting of men
who had renounced all family ties, all worldly desires—even all desire
for life—and were pledged to devote themselves to meditation, recitation
of the Law, self-restraint, and the accumulation of merit, not for the
sake of saving others, but for their own deliverance.
It was on this account that when the Buddha died he abstained from
appointing a successor, and gave no directions to his followers as to
any particular form of government. All that he said was, ‘Hold fast to
the Law; look not to any one but yourselves as a refuge.’ In short, the
Society (Saṅgha) he left behind was a simple brotherhood of monks which
claimed some kind of corporate authority for the enforcement of
discipline, but had no Head except the Law. Nor did Buddhism for a long
time think of contravening the last injunctions of its Founder. Nor has
it ever attempted to establish a universal hierarchy under one Head and
under one central authority, and although the great Kāṡyapa as president
of the first Council (p. 55) is sometimes held to have been the first
successor of Buddha, and Ānanda the second (p. 56), these men never
claimed any supremacy like that of Popes. In point of fact Buddhism
simply organized itself in separate monastic institutions according to
local ideas and necessities. And indeed the exigencies of healthy
growth, and even the simple instinct of self-preservation compelled the
scattered members of the Buddhist Brotherhood to attempt some such
organization very soon after the death of their Founder. In ancient
times communication was carried on with difficulty, and the Buddhist
Brotherhood could only hold together by combining for mutual support in
various centres, and adopting some sort of monastic government.
It was thus that every collection of monks naturally tended to
crystallize into a distinct organized society with certain definite
rules.
Naturally, the earliest constitution of each was moulded according to
the family pattern. The living Head of every monastery was a kind of
spiritual father, while its inmates were his children, and these, again,
resolved themselves into two classes: the first consisting of the more
youthful members of the society; the second, of those whose more mature
experience entitled them to greater respect and reverence. Then, again,
some kind of pre-eminence was assigned to individuals who were
remarkable for greater knowledge, or sanctity of character.
It is easy to understand, therefore, how it happened that the Saṅgha or
collective community of monks was compelled in the end to establish
several gradations of rank and position among its members.
The following were soon recognized:—1. The Ṡrāmaṇera or ‘novice’ (who
began by being a Ćhela or ‘pupil’ under education); 2. The Ṡramaṇa (also
called Bhikshu) or full monk; 3. The Sthavira or ‘elder,’ who was merely
superior to others in virtue of his age; 4. The Mahā-sthavira or ‘great
elder’ (sometimes called Sthaviraḥ Sthavirāṇām); 5. The Upādhyāya and
Āćārya. These last were teachers of different kinds, who received honour
in virtue of their knowledge; the two positions of elder and teacher
being frequently united in the President of particular monasteries.
No doubt gradations of this kind existed in very early times in India,
Ceylon, and Burma. But in India the whole Buddhistic Order of monks
passed away.
In Ceylon and Burma, on the contrary, Buddhism has held its own. It may
even now be found in a purer form in those countries and in Siam than in
any other region of Eastern Asia, although it must be borne in mind
that, when it was introduced there, it was grafted on serpent-worship,
Nāga-worship[116], demon-worship, and Nath-worship[117], with all of
which, as well as with the worship of numerous Hindū gods, it continues
to be adulterated in the present day.
The Sinhalese (Koeppen, i. 207, 386) give a list of the first five
successive enforcers of discipline (viz. Upāli, Dāsaka, Sonaka, Siggava,
and Moggali-putta), and another list of ten successive Sthaviras or
elders, beginning with Sāri-putta. These lists are untrustworthy,
especially as omitting the great Kāṡyapa.
And I may here state that the condition of Buddhism in Ceylon is a
subject which I have had an opportunity of investigating personally. I
visited Ceylon in 1877, and had many interesting conversations with
intelligent monks, heads of monasteries, and a few really learned men,
including a leading monk named Sumaṅgala, who described himself to me as
‘High Priest of Adam’s Peak[118].’
I found, too, that a lofty idea prevails in Ceylon in regard to the
status of the monkhood. Theoretically, a true monk is regarded as a kind
of inferior Buddha, and revered accordingly. There are boy-pupils,
novices, and full monks, as in Burma (see p. 259). The
admission-ceremonies resemble those before described (p. 77). Admission
confers no priestly powers. Those monks who are Anglicized by contact
with our civilization call themselves ‘priests,’ but they are not real
priests, and have no sacerdotal functions except teaching, intoning the
Law, and preaching. They live as celibates and cœnobites in Pān-sālās
(‘houses made of leaves,’ p. 430), or monastic buildings of the simplest
structure.
The number of such monks is said to be about 8,000, and their chief
duties are supposed to be to meditate a great deal, to perform Baṇa,
that is, to recite the Tri-piṭaka with its commentary the Aṭṭha-kathā in
a sing-song voice, to repeat constantly the three-refuge formula (p.
78)[119], to teach and to preach, to fast and to make confession to each
other on at least four days in every month, at the four changes of the
moon called Uposatha (or commonly Poya) days (see p. 84); these days
being generally in modern times made to coincide with the Christian
Sunday.
True Buddhism does not require monks to perform public religious
services in temples. Nor is it the daily practice of monks to set the
people an example of worshipping and presenting offerings there. So far
as I was able to observe, the duty of visiting temples belongs rather to
the laity. The monks receive offerings, rather than present them. As to
their dress, it resembles that represented in the Buddha’s images, and
ought to consist of three pieces of cloth stained yellow or of a dull
yellowish colour. The principal garment is in one piece, but torn and
sewn together again, the object being to reduce its value and assimilate
it to a dress made of rags. The end of the dress is brought over the
left shoulder, and generally so as to leave the right shoulder bare. In
some cases both shoulders are covered, or the right partially so.
A good deal of care seems to be taken in Ceylon to instruct the youthful
members of the Order in Pāli; that is, in the language of their sacred
books (p. 60), and to make them conversant with the sacred texts.
I visited two principal colleges for monks at Kandy, which enjoy a
reputation rather like that of Oxford and Cambridge in our own country.
One is called Mālwatte, and the other Āsgīrīya. In the former I noticed
a large central hall, in which the ceremony of admission to the monkhood
takes place.
At Colombo there has been recently a revival of learning, and a modern
Oriental College (called Vidyodaya), for the cultivation of Sanskṛit,
Pāli, and Sinhalese, has been established under the superintendence of
the learned Sumaṅgala, ‘the High Priest of Adam’s Peak,’ mentioned
before.
Each monastery in Ceylon has a presiding Head, and generally a temple
and library attached, with considerable property in land, but there is
clearly no organized hierarchy in the proper sense of the term, and no
supreme authority like that of an Archbishop; though it is said that the
Heads of the two Kandy Colleges exercise a kind of control over the
after-career of the monks they have trained. I found that a certain
amount of intelligence and learning exists among the monks both at
Colombo and Kandy, but it must be evident to every impartial observer
that the habit of living in houses apart from the laity, of repeating
the Law by rote, and of engaging in a kind of meditation which generally
amounts to thinking about nothing in particular, must tend, in the
majority of instances, to contract the mind, induce laziness, and give a
vacant and listless expression to the countenance. It may be safely
affirmed that the chief religious aim of the Buddhists of Ceylon is to
acquire merit with a view to ‘better’ themselves in future states of
existence, and that their highest aspiration is to attain to the heaven
of Indra (Ṡakra, p. 207). They have no real desire for Nirvāṇa (p. 141),
and still less for Pari-nirvāṇa (p. 142).
Passing on to Burma we may remark that although in Burma, as in Ceylon,
a pure form of Buddhism has prevailed ever since its introduction by
Buddha-ghosha (p. 65), and is still existent, yet we find that the purer
system is mixed up, as in Ceylon, with the worship of Nāgas, demons,
spirit-gods called Naths (commonly spelt Nats, p. 217), and with a kind
of Shamanism derived from the surrounding hill-tribes.
In regard to the gradations of the monkhood a more complete organization
exists in Burma than in Ceylon.
To begin with the boy-pupils:—In Burma nearly all boys become inmates of
monastic houses (called Kyoung) with the one object of learning to read
and write. They are simply school-boys and nothing more. Indeed, until
our advent, the monasteries monopolized the education of the country,
and to a great extent do so still. The real gradations are as follow:—
1. The Sheṅ or Shiṅ, that is Ṡrāmaṇeras or novices. These are properly
youths of at least fifteen years of age (but see p. 307); their hair is
cut off and yellow garments are put on for a time.
It should be noted that every male throughout Burma is required to enter
a monastery and become a novice for a portion of his life, if only for a
single Vassa. This is because the Buddha taught that every true Buddhist
ought to conform to his example and become a monk, although he wisely
abstained from imposing any irrevocable vows. The whole process is often
merely formal, and sometimes only lasts for seven days.
2. The Pyit-seṅ or Pyit-siṅ (sometimes pronounced Patzin) or full monks,
who have the title Pungī or Phungī (sometimes spelt Phungee or Phongie),
‘full of great glory,’ when they have been at least ten years members of
the order. They correspond to the Ṡramaṇas, and are by Europeans called
Talapoins (from their carrying fans of palm leaves). Their dress usually
consists of three pieces of yellow cotton cloth.
3. The Hsayā (always a Phungī) or Head of a separate monastery, who
corresponds to the Abbot of European countries.
4. The Gaiṇ-ok or provincial Head, who has a kind of episcopal
jurisdiction over all the monasteries of a district.
5. The Thāthanā-paing (Thāthanā = Sanskṛit Ṡāsanā) or supreme rulers,
who correspond to Archbishops. They superintend all religious affairs.
According to Mr. Scott, there are now eight of them.
Occasionally instances occur of hermit-monks who lead solitary lives,
and sit motionless in meditation for years.
In Siam the gradations of monkhood are nearly similar to those in Burma,
and we learn from Mr. Alabaster that the monastic vow is not binding for
life, but can be cancelled at any time. This rule leads to every Siamese
man spending at least three months of his life in a monastery.
We have now to pass from Ceylon, Burma, and Siam to Tibet (properly
called Bod or Bot or Bhot, Sanskṛit Bhoṭa). And here we leave the
simpler forms of Buddhism and are brought face to face with that highly
developed system which, though nominally resulting from an expansion of
the Hīna-yāna, ‘Little Method,’ into the Mahā-yāna, ‘Great Method’ (p.
158), was really the product of a still further expansion of the ‘Great
Method’ and its combination with other creeds.
In truth, Tibetan Buddhism is so different from every other Buddhistic
system that it ought to be treated of separately in a separate volume,
as Koeppen has done. In his elaborate and excellent work on this subject
he has remarked that for the development of a hierarchy no circumstance
is more favourable than isolation, and that this advantage was offered
in the highest degree by Tibet. Up to the moment of its conversion to
Buddhism a profound darkness had rested on it. The inhabitants were
ignorant and uncultivated, and their indigenous religion, sometimes
called Bon, consisted chiefly of magic based on a kind of Shamanism.
To describe exactly what Shamanism is would be no easy task. The word is
said to be of Tungusic origin[120], and to be used as a name for the
earliest religion of Mongolia, Siberia, and other Northern countries.
Perhaps we shall not be far wrong in asserting that the two principal
constituents of Shamanism are the worship of nature and the dread of
spirits.
The inhabitants of Tibet and Mongolia and indeed of other Northern
countries believed that spirits, good and bad, influenced the whole
course of nature. They held that such spirits were able either to cause
or to avert diseases and disasters, to control the destinies of men, and
even to decide the fate of the lower animals. Hence it is easy to
understand that the chief function of the Shamans, or wizard-priests,
was to exorcise evil demons, or to propitiate them by sacrifices and
various magical practices. In this way they pretended to prevent storms,
pestilences, and other calamities. They were supposed, too, to
understand omens and to predict the future by watching the flights of
birds, by examining the shoulder-blades of sheep, and by similar
devices. Shamanism, in fact, with its Tibetan offshoot, Bon, had much in
common with the lowest types of Ṡaivism, Ṡāktism, and Tāntrism, with
which the Buddhism of Northern India, Nepāl, and the countries bordering
on Tibet, had already become adulterated.
When, therefore, this mixed form of Buddhism advanced from those
countries into Tibet, its approach was not resisted as an intrusion. On
the contrary, Tibetan Shamanism, although it had possession of the
field, was quite ready to meet the new religion halfway. The result was
an alliance, or rather perhaps an amalgamation; and this led to the
establishment of a complex religious system which I have ventured to
call Lāmism[121].
Lāmism, then, is a form of Buddhism which, although based on the
Hīna-yāna and Mahā-yāna of India, is combined with Shamanism,
Ṡiva-worship, and magic, and has a marked individuality and a peculiar
hierarchical organization of its own. This organization has been
compared to that of the Roman Catholic Church. Doubtless in its great
receptivity Buddhism may have borrowed from Christianity, but Lāmism
possesses certain unique features which distinguish it from every other
system in the world.
Unfortunately few Europeans have, as yet, penetrated into Tibet, and its
sacred literature has been little studied. It follows therefore that the
various gradations of the Tibetan hierarchy are not easily described,
and only a general idea of them can be given.
We ought first to note the boy-pupil called Genyen, sometimes spoken of
as Bandi or Bante (= Bandya[122], a term more properly applicable to
monks). Boy-pupils are inmates of every Tibetan monastery; but under
exceptional circumstances a pupil may live with his parents. He may be
received after seven years of age, and until fifteen, as in Burma (p.
259). He is placed under a full monk, who teaches him and makes him
promise to keep the five chief commandments (p. 126). Though sometimes
called a novice he is merely under education, and not necessarily a
candidate for the monkhood. The real degrees of the Lāmistic hierarchy,
as explained by Koeppen and others, are as follow:—
1. First and lowest in rank comes the novice or junior monk, called
Gethsul (Getzul), who has been admitted after fifteen years of age to
the first stage of monkhood by a Khanpo Lāma or his representative. His
hair is cut off and he wears the monkish garments, and has 112 rules to
observe. He waits on the full monk, and assists in all functions except
blessing and consecrating. He has been compared to the deacon of the
European ecclesiastical system, but the comparison is misleading, as
shown at p. 76.
2. Secondly and higher in rank we have the full monk, called Gelong (or
Geloṅ). He corresponds to the Bhikshu, who has received complete
consecration, and is often called by courtesy a Lāma (see note, p. 262),
though he has no real right to that title. He is not properly a priest,
yet it is certain that in Tibet he often discharges sacerdotal
functions. The ceremony of admission to the full monkhood can only be
performed after the twentieth year, and binds the recipient to 253 rules
of discipline[123].
3. Thirdly we have the _superior Gelong_ or Khanpo (strictly mKhan po),
who has a real right to the further title Lāma, and from his higher
knowledge and sanctity sometimes becomes a kind of head-teacher
(Sanskṛit Upādhyāya or Āćārya). As the chief monk in a monastery he may
be compared to the European Abbot; but in respect of consecration he is
only a Gelong. Nor are any of the higher grades of monks—so far as the
forms of consecration are concerned—higher than Gelongs and Khanpos.
At this point, however, we have to note the special peculiarity of the
Lāmistic system, namely, that some of the higher Khanpo Lāmas are
supposed to be living re-incarnations or re-embodiments of certain
canonized saints and Bodhi-sattvas who differ in rank. These are called
Avatāra Lāmas (see p. 190), and of such there are three degrees, which
we may denote by the letters A. B. C. as follow:—
A. The lowest degree of Avatāra Lāma. He may be called an ordinary
Khubilghan (from a Mongolian word—written by Huc, Hubilghan). He
represents the continuous re-embodiment of an ordinary canonized saint
(p. 188), or founder of some great monastery. He is higher by one degree
than the Khanpo Abbot, as presiding over a more important monastery.
B. A higher grade of Avatāra Lāma called Khutuktu. He exercises a kind
of episcopal jurisdiction over a still more important monastery than
that presided over by the ordinary incarnated Lāma. He represents the
incarnation of a higher Bodhi-sattva or deified saint, but he sometimes
claims to be an incarnated Buddha.
C. The highest Avatāra Lāma commonly called a Supreme or Grand Lāma. He
is not an incarnation of a mere ordinary Bodhi-sattva (p. 188), but a
continuous re-embodiment of either a supreme Buddha or of his
Bodhi-sattva. The two notable examples of this highest degree are the
Dalai and Panchen Lāmas, who claim an authority, like that of a Pope or
Archbishop, over extensive regions outside their own monasteries. They
will be more fully described in the sequel (see p. 284).
It may be stated generally, therefore, that the Lāmistic hierarchy
consists of three lower and three higher grades. We have, besides, to
reckon certain other distinctions of rank, such as those of the
Rab-jampa, ‘doctor of theology or philosophy,’ the Ćhorje (strictly
Ćhos-rje), ‘lord of the faith.’ These are sometimes associated with the
Khanpo or Abbot, though slightly inferior in rank to that dignitary. It
is said that the Ćhorje often acts as a kind of coadjutor Abbot.
Practically they rank below the incarnated or Avatāra Lāmas. Moreover,
in every monastery there are numerous other subordinate officials; for
example, schoolmasters, teachers who explain the Law and guide the
studies of the brotherhood, precentors or choirmasters, secretaries,
collectors of revenue, treasurers, stewards, overseers, physicians,
painters, sculptors, manufacturers of relics, of amulets, of rosaries,
of images, and in some monasteries-especially those of the Red
sect—astrologers, fortune-tellers, magicians (Ćhos-kyong or Ćhos-kyoṅ),
and exorcists. The Lāma is not only the priest; he is the educator,
schoolmaster, physician, astrologer, architect, sculptor, painter; he is
‘the head, the heart, the oracle of the laity.’
There is also a whole class of mendicant Lāmas, who have vowed to live a
vagabond life for a certain number of years. They are better known than
some others, for they often find their way into British territory.
When I was staying at Dārjīling, I encountered two specimens of the
vagabond class who came from some distant part of Tibet. They called
themselves Lāmas, though, of course, they had no real right to that
title. They were clothed in ragged garments made up of thirty-two
patches of different cloths, and wore thick buskins to protect them from
the snows. Then they carried a kind of knapsack or wallet of goat-skin
behind their backs, and in their hands a sort of sacred drum or tabour
called ḍamaru (see p. 384).
According to M. Huc, these vagabond Lāmas travel for the sake of
travelling. They wander through China, Manchuria, Southern Mongolia,
Kuku Nūr, Tibet, Northern India, and even Turkestān.
There is scarcely a river which they have not crossed; a mountain which
they have not ascended; a Grand Lāma before whom they have not
prostrated themselves; a people among whom they have not lived, and of
whom they do not know the manners and language.
It should be noted that when an incarnated Lāma is the spiritual Head of
a monastery there is generally a temporal Head to manage its affairs.
Then we must not forget that Tibetan Buddhism has also its organized
female hierarchy, on the highest steps of which are female Khutuktus and
incarnated Abbesses, as well as lower gradations of nuns and novices,
living together in their own convents.
The rules of discipline for the whole Lāmistic hierarchy fill at least
thirteen out of the 108 volumes of the Tibetan Canon (see p. 272). They
do not differ materially from those of other Buddhist countries. The 253
rules of the Pratimoksha-sūtra (see p. 62) are said to contain commands
and prohibitions relating to five sides of the monastic life—conduct,
dress, food, habitation, and occupation.
It must be borne in mind that early Lāmism, like true Buddhism, had
properly no secular priesthood and encouraged no intercourse with the
outer world, except for the reception of alms and food from the laity.
All grades of the hierarchy were supposed to live together as one
celibate fraternity in monastic seclusion, apart from mundane
associations. Their only duties were to meditate, recite the Law, and
obey certain strict rules of discipline. This strictness of discipline,
however, was not long borne with equal patience by the whole fraternity.
It soon became irksome to a large section, and the same state of things
which arose in early Buddhism and generally arises in all religious
communities, occurred in Lāmism. The fraternity of Lāmas became split up
into two chief parties or sects—the strict and the lax. We shall see in
the end that these two sects were distinguished from each other by the
colour of their garments, and especially of their caps, the former
adopting yellow and calling themselves Gelug pa or Galdan pa, the latter
adopting red (Shamār). Of course the lax or Red-cap sect soon infringed
the rule in regard to celibacy, and allowed the marriage of monks under
certain conditions, though such marriages seem at first to have been
exceptional.
It is said, indeed, that in Nepāl, under modern Gorkha rule, the
celibate occupies a lower position than the married monk, to whom the
services in the temples are committed. It is said, too, that the Lāmas
of Sikkim and other northern countries constantly have children living
with them, though they do not admit them to be their own (p. 152). Yet,
for all that, celibacy is the rule, and nominally, at any rate, the
great majority of Lāmistic monks in Eastern Asia are unmarried
cœnobites, who live together in monasteries.
Certainly in no other country in the world are monasteries so numerous
or on so vast a scale as in Tibet and Mongolia (see p. 426).
And, indeed, in all probability it was the difficulty of enforcing
discipline and order in these immense establishments, without some
method of securing obedience to a presiding Head acceptable to all the
inmates, that led to that strange re-incarnation or ‘Avatāra’ theory
which is one chief distinguishing feature of Lāmism.
The process by which this remarkable theory was developed is so
interesting and so important in relation to the subject of the present
Lecture that it deserves careful investigation, and to clear the ground
we must here make a brief digression and advert to some circumstances in
the early history of Tibet and Mongolia, as given in Koeppen’s laborious
work.
We learn from him that Nya Khri Tsanpo, who lived in the Yarlung valley,
was the first king of Tibet. After several successors came Srong Tsan
Gampo. This king was born in 617, and, according to a legend, exhibited
at his birth certain marks of perfection like those of Amitābha or
Avalokiteṡvara (p. 198). He is worshipped as a great Conqueror and
Reformer.
In the year 632, or about the time when Muhammad died in Arabia, he
began the work of civilizing his subjects. To this end he directed his
minister Thumi (or Thonmi) Sambhoṭa to proceed to India, and make
himself acquainted with Buddhist writings. This great man was the first
to design the Tibetan alphabet on the model of the Indian letters then
in use (called Lañćha), but rejecting certain consonants and certain
vowels as unsuitable for the representation of Tibetan sounds, and
adding six new letters. Hence he was the first to introduce the art of
writing along with Buddhism into Tibet.
It may be noted here that Buddhism, to its great credit, has generally
given some sort of literary education to the barbarous nations to which
it has imparted its own doctrines. It has also made the vernacular of
the people its medium of instruction, though it has not always
translated its sacred literature or ritualistic formularies into that
vernacular.
The first Tibetan author was Thumi Sambhoṭa himself, who is said to have
composed a grammar and other books during his sojourn in India. An
important work translated by him into the vernacular was the Maṇi
Kambum—a Tantra work, alleged to have been revealed by Amitābha and his
son Avalokiteṡvara. This book describes the introduction of Buddhism
into Tibet as well as the origin of the well-known six-syllabled
prayer-formula of Tibet—Om maṇi padme Hūm (see pp. 371-374). It contains
100,000 precepts.
The teaching of Thumi Sambhoṭa seems to have been of an orthodox
character. He may perhaps be regarded as the founder of the strict
school of Tibetan Buddhism (already mentioned), which was afterwards
called Kadampa, and finally developed into the Yellow-robed sect, as
distinguished from the Red. After Thumi Sambhoṭa the propagation of
Buddhism in Tibet was chiefly carried on by the two princesses, wives of
King Srong Tsan Gampo, called Dolkar and Doljang. They were worshipped
under the name Dolma, as forms of the wife of Ṡiva or of the goddess
Tārā; one being called the white mother, and the other, the dark;
representing the mild and fierce forms of Ṡiva’s consort[124].
The first two Lāma monasteries in Tibet (called Lā brang and Ra mo che,
founded about A.D. 650; Edgar, p. 38) were erected at Lhāssa[125] by
them or in their honour, and each monastery contained a renowned
wonder-working image, which each princess had brought with her (see pp.
440, 441, 492).
After King Srong Tsan Gampo, Buddhism declined in Tibet. One of his
successors, named Khri Srong De Tsan, who was born in 728 A.D. and
reigned from 740 to 786, tried to restore it. For this purpose, he sent
for religious teachers in great numbers from India. These seem to have
brought with them a very corrupt form of Buddhism, which aimed chiefly
at counteracting the evil influences of demons by magical spells.
First came Ṡānta Rakshita, with twelve companions from Bengal.
Then the celebrated Padma-sambhava was sent for out of the land of
Udyāna (= Dardistān)—west of the Indus, north of Peshawar—where the
people were addicted to Ṡaivism and witchcraft. It was under him that
the great monastery at Sam ye (strictly Sam yas) was built (see p. 448).
He was celebrated for his skill in magic, sorcery, and alchemy, and
became the real founder of the Red sect, after instructing several young
Tibetans in his own lore. At the same time he was remarkable for his
knowledge of Indian languages, and was active in promoting a taste for
literature in Tibet. It redounds much to his credit that he was the
first to further the translation of the whole Buddhist Canon (almost
entirely from Sanskṛit books) into Tibetan.
But the sacred books had by that time greatly increased, so that the
Tibetan Canon commonly called Kanjur (or more strictly Kangyur and
Ka-gyur, pp. 70, 267) consisted of at least 108 volumes.
Then we have the Tanjur (Tangyur) consisting of 225 folio volumes of
translations, commentaries, and treatises, corresponding to the
Aṭṭha-kathā of Ceylon (p. 65), and embracing works on all subjects
(often mere translations from the Sanskṛit), such as grammar, logic,
rhetoric, poetry, medicine, astrology, alchemy, magic, and the use of
spells.
A sect called Urgyanpa (or Urgyenpa), another called Brugpa (or Dugpa or
Dukpa), another called Sakyapa—all belonging to the Red-clothed (in
Tibetan, Shamār) Lāmas who are numerous in Nepāl, Bhutān, Sikkim, Ladāk,
and in portions of Southern Tibet—follow the rules of Padma-sambhava.
After Khri Srong De Tsan came a number of kings who caused Buddhism to
decline; but in the second half of the eleventh century it began to
recover, and learned men were sent for from Kashmir and India, one of
whom was Atīsha (strictly Atīṡa), who might be called the re-founder of
Lāmism.
He had an eminent Tibetan pupil named Brom Ton (Brom-sTon or Brom
Bakshi[126]). All violent opposition to Buddhism then ceased. Monastery
after monastery was founded in the eleventh and twelfth centuries.
Three of the most important were (1) Raseng (or Ra-deng, strictly Ra
sGreng), north-east of Lhāssa, founded by Brom Ton in 1058; (2) Sakya
(see p. 448), situated in the district of Tsang, south-west of Shigatse,
and founded by Koncho Yalpo, whose son was the first Grand Lāma of this
monastery; (3) Brikhung (also written Brikuṅ or Briguṅ or Brigung), four
days’ journey north of Lhāssa, founded by Koncho Yalpo’s son.
Atīsha belonged to a school which did not favour Ṡaivism and sorcery in
the way that Padma-sambhava had done, and his pupil, Brom Ton of the
Raseng monastery, was the founder of the sect called Kadampa[127], which
enforced great strictness of monastic life—a sect which, as we have
already mentioned, had its earliest origin in the teaching of Thumi
Sambhoṭa, and whose tenets were adopted by the celebrated reformer Tsong
Khapa (p. 277), the real founder of the Yellow sect.
On the other hand, the monks of the Sakya monastery belonged to the more
lax school, and were therefore followers of Padma-sambhava. No doubt
these two chief monasteries of Raseng and Sakya maintained at first
their own separate independence, the presiding Lāma of each claiming
equal authority with the other. Then in process of time, a rivalry
sprang up between them. Moreover the Brikhung monastery strove with the
Sakya, each trying to acquire predominance. Ultimately they appealed to
the Chinese authorities, who decided that the highest position belonged
to the monastery of Sakya and to the Red sect.
And here we have to turn for a short time to Mongolia. That country
received its Buddhism, or rather Lāmism, from Tibet. It is well known
that the great Mongol conqueror, Jenghiz Khān, conquered Tibet about
A.D. 1206[128]. Before that period the Mongolians had come in contact
with various religious cults; for example, with Zoroastrianism,
Buddhism, and Islām.
They had even had some experience of Christianity; for Nestorian
Missions existed in Central Asia in the fifth and sixth centuries of our
era, and penetrated to China in the seventh century. All these religions
strove to convert the Mongolians, who soon became an important nation
through the conquests of Jenghiz Khān. That conqueror, however, had a
very simple religion of his own. He believed in one God in heaven, and
one king on earth; that is, he believed that God had given him the
dominion of the whole world, and he set himself to conquer the world.
Yet he tolerated all religions. ‘As the hand,’ he said, ‘has many
fingers, so there are many ways to show men how they may reach heaven.’
Khubilai (1259-1294), the greatest of all the descendants of Jenghiz and
Sovereign of a vast empire, was the first to elevate his people above a
mere life of rapine and plunder; and it struck him that the best method
of civilizing them would be by adopting and promoting Buddhism, which
the greater number of the races subject to him already professed.
Between the indigenous Shamanism of Northern countries and the doctrines
of Confucius, or of Islām, or of Christianity, there were no points of
contact; whereas Shamanism, as we have seen, had much common ground with
Northern Buddhism, which had become mixed up with Ṡaivism and magic.
It was this that led Khubilai to adopt the Lāmistic or Tibetan form of
Buddhism. He also thought it wise to conciliate the spiritual potentates
of Tibet, who had for many centuries taken all real power out of the
hands of their temporal chiefs.
And among Lāmistic prelates, the Head of the Monastery of Sakya and of
the Red school in Southern Tibet had, as we have seen, acquired a kind
of sovereignty. Many monks of this Red sect married, according to the
practice of the Brāhmans, and remained householders till a son and heir
was born to them. At that time they had a presiding monk, called Sakya
Paṇḍita, and the Emperor Khubilai appointed Mati-dhvaja, the Paṇḍita’s
nephew, to succeed him as Head of the monastery, conferring on him a
certain amount of temporal power and making him a kind of tributary
ruler of Tibet. He was known as the Phaspa (strictly Phags pa),
‘excellent Lāma,’ and in return for the supremacy granted to him, was
required to consecrate or crown the emperors of Mongolia.
Koeppen observes that Khubilai was thus the creator of the first
Lāmistic Pope; just as Pepin and Charlemagne were of the first Christian
Pope.
The Mongolians also owe their written character and literature to
Buddhism. It was Phaspa Lāma who invented the Mongolian alphabet. Taking
the Tibetan alphabet as his model, he invented a square character with a
thousand syllables. He then undertook a new revision of the Buddhist
sacred writings, causing the Tibetan sacred texts (Kanjur) to be
compared with the Chinese. It is said that this lasted from the year
1285 to 1306.
Twenty-nine learned men, versed in the Tibetan, Ugrian, Chinese, and
Sanskṛit languages, were occupied on the task of collation, and a few
years later, the first Mongolian translation of the sacred texts was
begun by the Sakya Lāma Ćhoskyi Odser.
Khubilai, no doubt, was a great promoter of Buddhism, and founded many
monasteries in Mongolia, and a celebrated one at Peking.
After the elevation of the Phaspa Lāma to quasi-temporal as well as
spiritual sovereignty very little is known about the state of Buddhism
in Tibet, except that the successive Heads of the Sakya monastery
maintained their position under Khubilai’s successors, and of course
perpetuated and extended the doctrines of the Red school of Buddhism.
Probably they resided at Lhāssa, and possibly at the Mongolo-Chinese
Court.
In 1368, the last Mongol emperor was expelled by the founder of the Ming
dynasty, after Jenghiz’s family had occupied the throne of China for
about a century.
The emperors of this dynasty did their best to bring Tibet under the
Chinese Government, and to conciliate the Tibetan Lāmas by gifts,
titles, and other favours. But they thought it politic to prevent the
predominance of any one monastery. Hence they made three other Heads of
monasteries equal in rank to the Sakya Lāma, and encouraged antagonism
between them. This facilitated the great Reform which Lāmism underwent
in the time of the Emperor Jong lo—a reform brought about by the
celebrated Tsong Khapa, sometimes called the Luther of Lāmistic
Buddhism.
Tsong Khapa, whose name is as much celebrated in Mongolia and Tibet and
among the Kalmuk Tartars as that of the founder of Buddhism, is said to
have been born in the year 1355 or 1357 of our era, in the land of Amdo,
where the celebrated monastery of Kunbum or Kumbum—situated North of
Tibet on the borders of China—now stands. All sorts of legends, but none
worth repeating, are related about him. We may note, however, a probable
tradition that a learned Lāma, ‘with a long nose and bright eyes,’ who
had settled in the land of Amdo, and may possibly have been a Roman
Catholic priest, became his teacher.
In process of time, Tsong Khapa set out on a journey from Amdo to Tibet,
his object being to acquire a knowledge of the doctrine from original
sources. He is said to have studied the Law of Buddha at Sakya,
Brikhung, and Lhāssa. It was in this way that he became impressed with
the necessity of purifying and reforming the discipline of Tibetan
Buddhism, which the Red sect had corrupted by allowing the marriage of
monks and by laxity in other matters. Innumerable pupils gathered round
him, all of whom adopted, as their distinguishing mark, the orthodox
yellow garments of primitive Buddhism, and especially the yellow cap (p.
268); while the followers of Padma-sambhava and the more corrupt school
wore red garments and a red cap.
Tsong Khapa soon acquired vast influence, and in the year 1409 was able
to build on a hill about thirty miles from Lhāssa, the afterwards
celebrated monastery called Galdan (or Gahdan) of the Yellow school. Of
this Tsong Khapa was the first Abbot. His followers, however, rapidly
became too numerous to be comprehended within so limited an area. Hence
there arose in the immediate neighbourhood of Lhāssa, two other great
monasteries, Brepung (also written Dapung, etc., see p. 442), founded by
Jam-yang Ćhos-rje, and Sera ‘the Golden,’ founded by Byam Ćhen Ćhos-rje.
These three monasteries once held 30,000 monks of the Yellow sect, but
now have only 16,500.
Tsong Khapa wrote many works, which enjoy a quasi-canonical authority
among the adherents of the reformed sect. Many of them exist in
Mongolian translations, but they have not yet been fully examined.
Undeniably, Tsong Khapa’s chief merit was that he caused his followers
to revert to the purer monastic discipline, especially to the rule of
celibacy. He also purified the forms of worship, and greatly restricted
without altogether prohibiting the use of magical rites. Tsong Khapa,
too, is said to have re-established the original practice of retirement
for religious meditation at certain seasons, although as there was no
rainy season in Tibet, another period had to be chosen.
Travellers in Tibet have often described the many points of resemblance
between the Roman Catholic and Lāmistic systems, such as the Popedom,
the celibacy of the priesthood, the worship of saints, confession,
fasting, processions, holy water, bells, rosaries, mitres, croziers,
etc. These resemblances and coincidences will be more fully noted in a
subsequent Lecture (see pp. 338, 339).
It is possible that Tsong Khapa may have imbibed some of his notions
from his instructor at Amdo already named (p. 277), who was either a
Roman Catholic missionary, or was familiar with the constitution of the
Romish hierarchy. On the other hand, it is certain that celibacy,
confession, and fasting existed in Buddhism before the teaching of
Christ, and long before that of Tsong Khapa.
In fact, Tsong Khapa’s reformation had been to a certain extent
anticipated, as we have seen, by the school of Kadampa, founded in the
eleventh century, by Atīsha’s disciple, Brom Ton (p. 273).
Very little more is known about Tsong Khapa. He died in the year 1419,
or, as his disciples believe, ascended to heaven, and that ascension is
still celebrated during the festival of Lamps by all orthodox Buddhists
of the Lāmistic Church (see pp. 345, 346).
When some time after his death, he was canonized, he was regarded by
some as an incarnation of Amitābha, or by others of Mañju-ṡrī, or by
others of Vajra-pāṇi (see p. 195), or even of the Mahā-kāla form of
Ṡiva, and his image is generally found in the temples of the Yellow
sect, and often between the two images of the Dalai Lāma and the Panchen
Lāma, on the right and left respectively.
His followers of the Yellow school called themselves Gelugpa (or
Gelukpa), ‘adherents of virtue’ (or, Gal-danpa from their monastery);
their principal characteristic being that they adhered to the purer
discipline.
The chief point of interest in connexion with Tsong Khapa is the bearing
of his reformation on the development of the Avatāra theory already
mentioned (see pp. 190, 265).
It is said that Tsong Khapa himself, like Gautama Buddha, had two chief
pupils, and that he appointed these two to succeed him with equal
authority as Heads of the orthodox sect. He is also credited with having
been the first to promulgate the doctrine that no election of successors
to his two pupils would at any time be needed, as each of them on dying
would be constantly re-born in a supernatural manner.
There is, however, no historical foundation for such a statement.
Indeed, according to the opinion of some, the two Grand Lāmas were
merely the lineal successors of the two eminent Lāmas, Atīsha and his
pupil Brom Ton (see p. 273).
After all, it seems most likely that the whole Avatāra theory was an
invention of some shrewd Head Lāma, who, perceiving that the strict
enforcement of celibacy would prevent any hereditary succession, like
that possible in monasteries of the Red school, and foreseeing that it
would be necessary to prevent the suicidal divisions to which the
intrigues of an election to the Headship of monasteries—especially of
Grand Lāma monasteries—would be likely to give rise, bethought himself
of a compromise between hereditary succession and election. After more
than one trial, the system was found to work so well that it was
eventually adopted with little modification by all Northern Buddhists,
and even by those of the Red sect.
The date of its invention is as uncertain as the name of the inventor.
All that can be said is, that it cannot be traced back to an earlier
period than the fifteenth century.
And here we must again guard against the confusion of thought likely to
arise from the usual practice of translating Avatāra by ‘incarnation.’
We have seen that the doctrine of transmigration (gati) through various
embodiments, as applicable to all beings, is a fundamental dogma both of
Brāhmanism and of Buddhism, though in Buddhism transmigration properly
means a mere continuous transformation and reconstruction of the
elements (Skandhas) of being (p. 109).
The idea is very dimly, if at all, adumbrated in the Mantra portion of
the Veda.
It is more clearly traceable in one of the Brāhmaṇas, and distinctly
enunciated in the Ćhāndogya Upanishad (V. x. 7) thus:—‘He whose conduct
has been good, quickly attains to some good embodiment as a Brāhman,
Kshatriya, or Vaiṡya. He whose conduct has been bad, assumes an inferior
embodiment, as a dog, a hog, or a Ćaṇḍāla.’ In Manu the theory is fully
developed.
Now it is true that in Buddhism this kind of transmigration may be
described as a continuous series of incarnations, although genuine
Buddhism denies the separate existence of a soul between each
incarnation (see p. 110).
But the doctrine of repeated incarnations of one individual in six forms
of life is quite distinct from the Tibetan Avatāra theory. This theory
not only recognizes the separate existence of an immaterial essence or
soul, but also teaches that the Head Lāma of certain monasteries is the
living, visible embodiment, for the time being, of the continuous
descent (avatāra) on earth of a portion of the essence of the canonized
Founder of a monastery or of a celestial Bodhi-sattva or Buddha, who
will perpetually continue to descend from heaven and re-appear in human
forms for the welfare of the world (see p. 109)[129].
A similar idea, we know, prevails in India, where the doctrine of the
descent (avatāra) of portions of the essence of Vishṇu and other gods is
common. There is, however, a noteworthy distinction in the Hindū
doctrine, because the descents of Vishṇu are not continuous and
uninterrupted (see ‘Brāhmanism and Hindūism,’ pp. 47, 107-116); and
although every great Hindū teacher is supposed to be the embodiment of a
portion of the essence of a deity, each such embodiment is isolated and
single.
And here note that one theory is that the continuous descents of
Bodhi-sattvas and Buddhas into human forms were effected by means of
their third changeable body (Nirmāṇa-kāya, p. 247), which belonged to
Bodhi-sattvas as well as to Buddhas; or, according to another theory,
through rays of light proceeding from the essences of the Bodhi-sattvas,
just as the Bodhi-sattvas themselves were held by some to have been
generated by rays of light proceeding from the Dhyāni-Buddhas.
Or again, the Dhyāni-Buddhas might incarnate themselves not only
intermediately through their Dhyāni-Bodhi-sattvas, but by the
transmission of rays of light directly from their own essences into a
continuous succession of human beings of pre-eminent sanctity.
Hence it is clear that the Avatāra Lāma is no example of the working of
either Hindū metempsychosis or of Buddhist metamorphosis. And indeed,
re-birth, through transmigration and transformation, according to the
ordinary Hindū and Buddhist theories, is regarded as a kind of natural
act, whereas continuous incarnation through the descent of a portion of
a celestial essence into human bodies is a supernatural act.
Of course, as we have stated, there were lower and higher Avatāras,
corresponding to the difference in rank of Saints and Bodhi-sattvas (see
pp. 190, 265).
Examples of the highest Avatāras are the two quasi-Popes, or spiritual
Kings, who are supreme Lāmas of the Yellow sect—the one residing at
Lhāssa, and the other at Tashi Lunpo (Krashi Lunpo), about 100 miles
distant, in a south-westerly direction, not far from the town of
Shigatse (or Shigatze, capital of the province of Tsang), and not very
far from our Indian frontier.
The Grand Lāma at Lhāssa is the Dalai Lāma, that is, ‘the Ocean-Lāma, or
one whose power and learning are as great as the ocean;’ a half
Mongolian half Tibetan title—Dalai (or Tale) meaning in Mongolian
‘Ocean,’ and Lāma meaning in Tibetan ‘a superior Teacher’ (see note, p.
262). He has also the Tibetan title of rGyamthso Rinpoche (Rin-po-će),
‘Ocean-Jewel’ (the Tibetan equivalent for Dalai being rGyamthso).
The other Grand Lāma who resides in the monastery of Tashi Lunpo, is
known in Europe under the names of the Tashi Lāma (sometimes written
Teshu Lāma) or Panchen Lāma (called in Mongolian Bogdo Lāma). He has the
Tibetan title of Panchen Rinpoche (Pañ-ćen Rin-po-će), ‘the great Paṇḍit
Jewel’ (Pan being equivalent to Paṇḍita, and chen meaning great).
Hence Tashi Lunpo is the second metropolis of Lāmism (see p. 443). It is
said to have been built by Gedun grub pa, the chief pupil of the
Reformer Tsong Khapa, in 1445 (see p. 291).
Neither of these Grand Lāmas are Popes in the European sense, for
neither are elected by a conclave of chief Lāmas.
The belief is that when they quit their bodies at death, they re-appear
after nine months, or occasionally after the second or third year, in
children whose bodies they have occupied from conception.
The Dalai Lāmas are held to be continuous re-incarnations of the
Dhyāni-Bodhisattva Avalokiteṡvara (p. 197), while the Panchen Lāmas are
continuous re-incarnations of his father the Dhyāni-Buddha Amitābha (p.
203).
Hence, as the father is superior to the son, and the master to the
pupil, the Panchen Lāma at Tashi Lunpo might reasonably have ranked
above the Dalai Lāma at Lhāssa. But, as Avalokiteṡvara is the special
patron of the Lāmistic Church in Tibet, his incarnation at Lhāssa is
practically a more important personage than the incarnated Dhyāni-Buddha
at Tashi Lunpo. Some hold that the Panchen Lāma is only a re-incarnation
of Tsong Khapa, who was identified with Mañju-ṡrī.
It is said that the Dalai Lāma exercises secular authority over about
four millions of people, including monks; although in the present day
political power has to a great extent been taken from him by the Chinese
Government, which has two permanent Commissioners or Residents (called
Ampas) at Lhāssa, and sometimes sends a special Envoy (Kin-Tche)[130].
The real fact is, that since mere children, who are too young to have
received any education, are elevated to the Grand Lāmaship, and most of
them either die naturally or are made to die before they have gained any
knowledge, the re-incarnated Lāmas are generally unfit to govern, and in
monasteries which have an Avatāra Grand Lāma, an elected chief Lāma acts
as regent or administrator of affairs, while the incarnated Buddha is
supposed to lose himself in sublime heights of meditation and receive
divine homage[131]. This elected Regent also governs during the
intervals of the incarnations, and at Lhāssa he is the real Head and
most powerful Tibetan official. He is called Nomun-khan or Nomin-khan
(or No min han).
The manner in which the Avatāra doctrine is carried into practice has
varied at different times.
It is alleged that formerly the departing Lāma, before he transferred
himself to another body, was in the habit of revealing where and in what
family he would be re-incarnated. Or occasionally it happened that
children of two or three years of age called out suddenly, as if
impelled by some spiritual influence, ‘I am a living Buddha, I am the
chief Lāma of such and such a monastery.’
Or more commonly the sacred books were consulted; or the official
soothsayers gave their opinion.
But the usual rule was that at the death of the Dalai Lāma the
interpretation of the traditions and oracles about his re-birth and the
duty of discovering the family in which he was to appear were committed
to the Panchen Lāma. When the Panchen Lāma himself died, the Dalai Grand
Lāma did the same service for him.
It was only natural that the holy land of Tibet, and especially the holy
city of Lhāssa, should have been most fruitful in re-incarnations, and
should even have supplied foreign countries with them.
When Messrs. Huc and Gabet were travelling in Mongolia they were about
to pass a certain Lāmistic convent without stopping, when a Lāma came
out and invited them to enter, that they might have an opportunity of
paying adoration to the saint enthroned within. ‘Our saint,’ he said,
‘is not a mere man. In our small convent we have the happiness to
possess a living Buddha! Two years ago he deigned to descend from the
holy mountains of Tibet, and he is now seven years old.’ These living
Buddhas, according to M. Huc, are very numerous. Sometimes a clever Lāma
builds a small temple and attracts a few disciples. Then by degrees his
reputation increases. Other Lāmas build their cells near the temple, and
bring it into fashion, and proclaim him to be a living Buddha.
It is said, indeed, that some spiritual Heads of the Hierarchy in Lhāssa
have contrived to instal their illegitimate children in the Headship of
distant Lāmaseries, so that occasionally the supposed living Buddha is
really the son of some Tibetan Grand Lāma.
In the present day the Emperor of China exercises so great an influence
in the nomination of both the Dalai and Panchen Lāmas, that the
co-operation of the Lāmistic priesthood has become little more than a
form. Still the form is gone through, and the following description
(chiefly resting on the authority of Koeppen and Huc) may give some idea
of the whole process.
When the Dalai Lāma dies, or rather when his soul—which consists of a
portion of the essence of Avalokiteṡvara—has cast off one body with the
object of entering another, the names of all the male children born at
the time of his death in Tibet have to be sent in to the great monastery
of Lā brang at Lhāssa, and those parents who have reason to suspect that
their children are re-incarnations, are obliged to notify the fact.
A true decision cannot be arrived at until three children have been
found, or rather (as is practically the case) until three candidates
have been set up for election who are accepted by the Chinese Government
or its representatives.
The first stage in the process of election is to write the names of
these three children on lots, and place them in a golden urn. Then the
Khutuktus assemble together in solemn conclave. For six days they remain
in retirement. During all that period they are supposed to fast and to
be engaged in repeating prayers. On the seventh day, the leading
Khutuktu draws a lot, and the infant or child whose name comes out is
proclaimed Dalai Lāma. The Panchen Lāma and the representatives of China
must be present at the time[132].
In a similar manner, the Panchen Lāmas, Khutuktus, and ordinary Avatāra
Lāmas are elected.
The Mongolian mode of election is thus described by M. Huc. (The
quotation is not literal, and is abridged.)
The election and enthronization of the living Buddhas is extremely
curious. When a Grand Lāma is ‘gone away,’ that is to say, is dead,
the event is by no means made a matter of mourning in the convent.
There are no tears or regrets, for every one knows that the living
Buddha will soon re-appear. The apparent death is only the
commencement of a new existence, a new link added to a boundless and
uninterrupted chain of successive lives—a simple palingenesia. While
the saint is in the chrysalis state, his disciples are in the greatest
anxiety, and the grand point is to discover the place where their
master has returned to life. If a rainbow appears, they consider it as
a sign sent to them from their Grand Lāma, to assist them in their
researches.
Every one then goes to prayers, and especially the convent which has
been widowed of its Buddha is incessant in its fastings and orisons,
and a troop of chosen Lāmas set out to consult the Churchun or diviner
of hidden things. They relate to him the time, place, and
circumstances under which the rainbow has appeared: and he then, after
reciting some prayers, opens his books of divination, and at length
pronounces his oracle; while the Tartars who have come to consult him,
listen on their knees with the most profound devotion.
‘Your Grand Lāma,’ they say, ‘has returned to life in Tibet—at such a
place—in such a family;’ and when the poor Mongols have heard the
oracle, they return full of joy to their convent, to announce the
happy news. Sometimes the living Buddha announces himself, at an age
when other infants cannot articulate a word; but whether his place of
abode be found by means of the rainbow, or by this spontaneous
revelation, it is always at a considerable distance, and in a country
difficult of access. A grand procession is then made, headed by the
king, or the greatest man in the country, to fetch the young living
Buddha. The Mongols often go through incredible fatigue and hardships,
traverse frightful deserts, and sometimes, after being plundered by
robbers, stripped of everything, and compelled to return, set out
again with undiminished courage. When the living Buddha is found,
however, he is not saluted Grand Lāma without a previous examination.
Doubtless, the simple Mongols are in this matter often the dupes of
those who have an interest in making a Grand Lāma of the baby. The
title of the living Buddha having been confirmed, he is conducted in
triumph to the monastery of which he is to become Grand Lāma; and as
he passes along, the Tartars come in great troops and prostrate
themselves before him, and bring him offerings. As soon as he arrives
at the convent, he is placed on the altar, and every Tartar, from the
highest to the lowest in the land, bows down before this child. There
is no Tartar kingdom which does not possess one of these living
Buddhas; but there is always another Grand Lāma, chosen among the
members of the royal family, with whom the real government of the
convent rests. The famous maxim ‘Le roi règne et ne gouverne pas’ has
been of old application among the Tartars. [See note p. 306 of these
Lectures.]
It should be noted that the Lāmistic community like to keep up the
fiction of these re-incarnations; and therefore they pretend to
ascertain the genuineness of every re-birth by clear signs. Hence before
a re-born saint is installed, his identity is established by his passing
a kind of examination before a solemn assembly, thousands of witnesses
being present.
Some of the books, clothes, and sacred or secular utensils which the
dead Lāma was in the habit of using, are brought and mixed with others.
The child is then asked to pick out the true ones, or he has to answer
questions as to the events in his previous state of existence. If the
replies are satisfactory, he is installed as the re-born Lāma amid great
rejoicings.
Koeppen asserts that no positive information as to the relationship
between the Dalai and Panchen Lāmas is forthcoming. Some maintain that
both hierarchical systems developed simultaneously. Some say that the
Panchen Lāma of Tashi Lunpo was the first Grand Avatāra Lama, while
others hold that the elevation of the Panchen Lāmas took place later,
and only resulted from the increase in importance of the Tashi Lunpo
monastery in which they reside (p. 284).