He states that the Buddha’s robe was also brought out to be worshipped:—

When there is a drought the people collect in crowds, bring out the

robe, pay worship to it and make offerings, on which there is

immediately a great rain from the sky (Legge, pp. 35, 39, abridged).

The relics of all great saints in Buddhist countries were revered in a

similar manner. At the same time it ought to be noted that the

periodical exhibition of relics, before the eyes of worshippers, was not

a usual occurrence (as it is in Roman Catholic countries). Indeed, as a

general rule, the custom seems to have been to shield the ashes and

remains of revered dead bodies from observation and liability to be

touched. Hence they were commonly sealed up hermetically, as it were, in

the interior of receptacles which effectually concealed them from view

and protected them from disturbance.

And this leads us to advert to the form and character of Buddhist

relic-receptacles.

It is probable that at a very early period, and even before the Buddha’s

time, the Hindūs were accustomed to raise heaps or tumuli over the ashes

of kings, great men, saints and sages, just as even to this day among

the Sikhs of the Panjāb, the ashes of great men are so honoured. Some

think that the hemispherical dome-like form of the tumulus was intended

to represent a bubble—the most transitory of all material objects. In

all likelihood the dome of the Sāñchī Stūpa—which is thought to be as

old as the time of Buddha—was constructed in memory of some great man.

Such heaps were at first generally called Ćaityas, and afterwards Stūpas

(from the Sanskṛit roots ći and styai, meaning ‘to heap together’); but

Ćaitya ultimately denoted a relic-structure in an assembly-hall (see p.

450), while the word Stūpa denoted one in the open air. Then inside the

Ćaitya or Stūpa (Pāli Thūpa, corrupted into Tope) there was a

casket—made of silver, gold, stone, earthenware, etc.—in which were

deposited the ashes, fragments of bone, or the teeth or nails of the

deceased. And this relic-casket was called in Sanskṛit Dhātu-garbha, or

in Pāli Dāgaba (corrupted into Dagoba and afterwards into Pagoda)—that

is, a repository of the elementary particles of which all bodies are

composed.

Then in time the word Dāgaba (Pagoda) denoted the monument as well as

the relic-casket. Moreover Ćaityas and Stūpas were often mere pyramidal

structures, enshrining images or marking important events (see p. 390),

but not containing relics. Among the Hindūs Ćaitya often denotes the

sacred village-tree planted on a mound.

[Illustration: VOTIVE STŪPA, RECENTLY FOUND AT BUDDHA-GAYĀ.]

(Date about ninth or tenth century of our era.)

The process by which the simple Ćaitya or mound developed into more

elaborate structures is remarkable. First came erections of stone or

brick, generally bell-shaped or domed like bee-hives. These again

expanded into elongated pyramidal structures, springing from cylindrical

or octagonal or hexagonal bases, and ornamented with images of Gautama,

and resting on plinth-like foundations, the summits tapering into

finials consisting of three, or seven, or nine, or eleven, or even

fifteen tiers of umbrella-shaped ornaments (see note, p. 393).

Then, again, in time, these elaborate Dāgabas expanded into vast Pagodas

of enormous height, as, for example, the Rangoon Pagoda (see p. 456) and

that at Anurādha-pura in Ceylon.

It is doubtful whether in early Buddhism Ćaityas and Stūpas were ever

empty monuments or cenotaphs. Probably all of them contained ashes,

fragments of bone, teeth, or hair, though in some cases the most careful

examination has failed to discover the vessel in which they were

deposited. If made of fragile materials, it rapidly crumbled into dust.

But Stūpas, even without relics, were themselves objects of reverence.

In the later period of Buddhism the practice of carving, or moulding

mere memorial or votive Stūpas, and dedicating them at sacred spots

became common. The examples of this kind of Stūpa which I saw unearthed

at Buddha-Gayā have been described (p. 397).

The engraving opposite to this page is a copy of one of these votive

Stūpas which I procured for the Indian Institute through Mr. Beglar.

At Mandalay there is a large Pagoda with about 620 smaller ones round it

(in rows of six or seven deep). Each small Pagoda enshrines a

tablet—exposed to view—on which some portion of the Law is engraved.

Many small Pagodas are simply canopies of brick or some solid material

erected over images.

Outside the Buddhist convent near Dārjīling, when I visited it in 1884,

a monk was roughly moulding a number of small votive Stūpas in clay,

with which he was probably mixing the powdered bones of some deceased

Lāma. Here is a copy of one exactly the size of the original:—

[Illustration: ]

If broken open, a terra-cotta seal, inscribed with some sacred formula,

would probably be found inside.

Of course most of the Buddha’s chief disciples, such as Sāriputta,

Maudgalyāyana, Kāṡyapa, Ānanda, Upāli, each had Stūpas erected over

their relics.

_Sacred Foot-prints._

Next in importance to the worship of relics is that of foot-prints

(Sanskṛit Ṡrī-pada or Ṡrī-pāda). Everywhere throughout Buddhist

countries the supposed impressions of the Buddha’s feet are as much

honoured as those of the god Vishṇu are by Vaishṇavas.

When Fā-hien reached Gṛidhra-kūṭa (see pp. 404, 406), he is said to have

used words to the following effect: ‘I, Fā-hien, was born when I could

not meet with Buddha, and now I only see the foot-prints which he has

left’ (Legge, 83).

It is well known that the practice of bowing down and honouring the feet

is a thoroughly Asiatic custom. The idea seems to be derived from a kind

of _a fortiori_ argument. If the feet, as the lowest member of the body,

are honoured, how much more is homage rendered to the whole man. Hence

children honour their parents, not by kissing their faces, but by

prostrating themselves at their feet and touching them reverentially.

Another reason for venerating the feet is well expressed in one of our

hymns:—

O let me see Thy foot-marks,

And in them plant my own;

and in Longfellow’s

Foot-prints on the sands of time;

Foot-prints which perhaps another,

Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,

A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,

Seeing may take life again.

This shows that even Europeans are familiar with the idea. There is a

Roman Catholic church at Vienna which possesses a celebrated image of

Christ on the Cross. On one occasion I visited this church and observed

several worshippers kissing the feet of the image, while others—too

short in stature to reach it with their lips—touched its feet with their

fingers and then kissed their fingers. A similar honour is paid to the

images of St. Peter at Rome, and indeed to that Apostle’s living

representatives. The alleged foot-prints of Christ are not numerous, but

they exist in certain holy places[266].

Every sentiment in the East is exaggerated, and it need not therefore be

matter of wonder if a veneration for foot-prints has led to an excessive

multiplication of these symbols, and to an excess of superstitious

worship paid to them by Hindūs of various sects in every part of India.

No true Vaishṇava will leave his house in the morning without marking

his forehead with the symbol of Vishṇu’s feet. In travelling from one

place to another I often came across what appeared to be an empty

shrine, but on a close inspection I found that it contained two

foot-prints on a little raised altar made of stone. These are called

Pādukā ‘shoes,’ but are really the supposed impressions of the soles of

the feet of the person to whom the shrines are dedicated. In 1876 I

visited the celebrated Vishṇu-pad temple at Gayā. Crowds were

worshipping the foot-mark impressed on the bare stone, but concealed by

offerings, and surrounded by a silver fence under a silver canopy (see

‘Brāhmanism and Hindūism,’ p. 309).

It is true that Buddhists never imitate the practice of the worshippers

of Vishṇu by marking their foreheads with the supposed impressions of

the Buddha’s feet, but they will nevertheless make long and toilsome

pilgrimages to bow down before what they believe to be the impression of

his foot on a rock.

The Jainas, who are the only Hindū representatives of the Buddhistic

system left in India, are quite as ardent foot-print worshippers. In

1884 I ascended Mount Pārasnāth (Pārṡva-nāth) in Bengal at the same time

with crowds of Jaina pilgrims who, like myself, toiled up the hill to

visit the numerous Jaina temples scattered over the uneven surface at

the summit, some five thousand feet above the plain. Our objects were

very different. Theirs was the acquisition of merit, mine was the

acquirement of knowledge. Lepers lined the rough pathway, and much

additional merit was held to accrue to the pilgrims by distributing alms

among them. I found that nearly every shrine at the summit consisted of

a little domed canopy of marble, covering two foot-prints of some one of

the twenty-four Jaina saints (especially Pārṡva-nāth) impressed on a

marble altar. The soles of the supposed foot-prints were either white or

black and marked with small gilded circles.

Groups of worshippers bowed down before the shrines and deposited

offerings of money, rice, almonds, raisins, and spices on the

foot-marks. No sooner did they quit one shrine for the next, than a

troop of frolicking monkeys promptly took their place and scampered off

with the edible portion of the objects offered.

It is impossible to state positively when either Buddhism or Jainism

first introduced foot-print worship, but the practice must have begun

very early.

With regard to this point General Sir A. Cunningham, in his account of

the Bharhut Stūpa—a Stūpa which dates from the second century

B.C.—says:—

Foot-prints of Buddha were most probably an object of reverence from a

very early period—certainly before the building of the Bharhut

Stūpa—as they are represented in two separate sculptures there. In the

first sculpture the foot-prints are placed on a throne or altar,

canopied by an umbrella, hung with garlands. A royal personage is

kneeling before the altar, and reverently touching the foot-prints

with his hands. The second example is in the bas-relief representing

the visit of Ajāta-ṡatru to Buddha. Here, as in all other Bharhut

sculptures, Buddha does not appear in person, his presence being

marked by his two foot-prints. The wheel symbol is duly marked on both

(p. 112, abridged).

The General justly remarks that perhaps the worship of the Buddha’s

foot-prints may have sprung up in imitation of the homage alleged to

have been paid by Mahā-Kāṡyapa and 500 monks to his feet, which, it is

said, were exposed to view when his body was lying on the funeral pile.

The legend states that while the monks were in the act of bowing down in

adoration before the feet, the funeral pile ignited spontaneously.

On one of the gate-pillars of the ancient Sāñchī Stūpa there is a

sculpture of a foot-print marked with the wheel (Ćakra, p. 522) symbol,

which the late Mr. Fergusson ascribed to the early part of the first

century of the Christian era.

There are also sculptured representations of the Buddha’s foot-prints at

Amarāvatī, supposed to date from the second or third century of the

Christian era. These representations are often carved on so-called

altars or else placed before altars.

But of all foot-prints, that on Adam’s Peak (the highest mountain in

Ceylon, more than 7000 feet above the sea), supposed to have been left

by the Buddha when he ascended thence to heaven, is the most celebrated.

According to Fā-hien (Legge, p. 102), when Buddha was in Ceylon he

planted one foot on the north of the royal city and the other on

Sumana-Kūṭa (Adam’s Peak), fifteen yojanas, or about a hundred miles,

distant.

This fancied impression of the Buddha’s foot (believed by Christians to

be that of St. Thomas, by Muhammadans to be that of Adam, and by Hindūs

to be that of the god Ṡiva) is merely a shapeless hollow in the rock,

five feet seven inches long by two feet seven inches broad, which would

give the Buddha a stature of about thirty-five feet. It is said to have

been discovered by a hunter at the beginning of the century before

Christ, and, although very difficult of access, is annually visited by

about 100,000 Buddhist pilgrims. Near it, on the summit of the mountain,

is a small temple dedicated to Saman (p. 217).

In a shrine near the tooth-temple at Kandy, I saw a so-called facsimile

of this foot-print. Those who are physically incapable of toiling up the

mountain to bow down before the sacred impression on the rock, gain

nearly as much merit by worshipping its copy. The shrine was filled with

fragrant flowers recently deposited on the facsimile.

Other foot-prints in various places throughout India, Burma, Siam,

Tibet, Mongolia, and China, are from two to five feet long. A tradition

is mentioned by Fā-hien (Legge, 29) that, when Buddha visited Northern

India, he came to the country of Woo-chang or Udyāna, and there he left

a print of his foot, which appears long or short according to the ideas

of the beholders.

Another legend states that Buddha left the print of his left foot on

Adam’s Peak, and then, in one stride, strode across to Siam, where he

left the impression of his right foot.

The Siamese hold their foot-print in as much reverence as the Sinhalese

hold theirs. It is called Phra Bat, and, according to Mr. Alabaster, its

appearance is like that of the foot-print on Adam’s Peak. Nothing is to

be seen but a hole in the rock, about five feet long by two broad. A

temple is built over it, and every precaution taken to protect it from

over-zealous worshippers. Mr. Alabaster thus describes his visit to this

sacred spot:—

The grating which usually covers the foot-print was removed to enable

us to see the bottom, but the temple was so dark that we could not see

much of it. We moved aside some of the offerings lying on it, but

could see nothing of the pattern except the five marks of the

toe-nails—five grooves in the rock—which some declare to have been

made with chisels. On inquiry we were told that the other marks were

long ago destroyed by an accidental fire. Likeness to a foot there is

none. Yet to this holy foot-print year after year crowds of Siamese

flock with varied offerings, and even the most enlightened amongst

them—the late King for instance—have observed and encouraged the

practice. (‘Wheel of the Law,’ p. 284, abridged.)

The soles of the Buddha’s feet are represented as quite flat, and all

the toes of equal length. Each sole possesses, as we have seen (p. 20),

one hundred and eight auspicious marks (maṅgala-lakkhaṇa), and of these

the principal is generally the wheel (Ćakra), while around it are

grouped representations of animals, inhabitants of various worlds, and

symbols of different kinds. In all probability the idea is that all

things are subject to the Buddha or belong to him; they are therefore

metaphorically placed under his feet. (Compare the metaphor in Psalm

viii. 6-8.)

The one hundred and eight marks vary in various specimens. A good

typical example (brought from Burma) of the impression of one foot may

be seen in the British Museum. The sole is divided into compartments,

each compartment containing a mark. There are five conch-shells, one in

each of the five toes, this symbol being highly esteemed by Buddhists as

well as by Hindūs.

Among the one hundred and eight auspicious marks on the Siamese

foot-print are the following:—A spear, trident (tri-ratna), book,

elephant-goad, Indra’s elephant, dragon (makara), ocean, golden ship,

water with lotuses, conch-shell, four-faced Brahmā, umbrella, king of

Nāgas, king of horses, of tigers, of birds, sun, moon, ten mountains,

peacock, flag of victory, deer, fish, water-jar. The wheel (Ćakra) does

not occur in Mr. Alabaster’s list (‘Wheel of the Law,’ p. 290), but the

two feet of the Amarāvatī Stūpa, described by Mr. Fergusson, have a

wheel in the centre of the soles. Above is the Tri-ratna emblem with a

Svastika symbol on each side. There are other Svastika marks, and others

on the toes (see p. 523).

The Skanda-Purāṇa and Bhāgavata-Purāṇa give similar lists of marks on

the sole of Vishṇu’s foot.

_Sacred Trees._

We now pass on to a brief consideration of sacred trees. Most persons

are aware that the homage offered to trees and plants is not confined to

Buddhism. It existed very early in Brāhmanism and is still common

everywhere throughout India (see my ‘Brāhmanism and Hindūism,’ p. 330).

In point of fact various forms of tree-worship prevail at the present

moment in almost every part of the world where superstition and

ignorance are ruling influences. Nor can we really condemn, as either

unnatural or unreasonable, the feeling of veneration with which trees

are generally regarded, bearing in mind the grateful shade and shelter

which they afford, the beauty of their foliage, their importance as

purifiers of the atmosphere, and the hundreds of useful purposes to

which their wood, leaves, and fruit are applicable. According to Dr. E.

B. Tylor (‘Primitive Culture,’ ii. 223), the North American Indians of

the Far West often hang offerings on the trees to propitiate the spirits

and procure good weather and good hunting. He adds that Mr. Darwin

describes the South Americans as doing much the same.

In Persia and other Eastern Countries trees may often be met with, the

branches of which have been recently hung with offerings of cloth, rags,

and even garments.

In India the notion of trees being inhabited by deities or semi-divine

beings or spirits is to this day very common, and we have already noted

(p. 112) that during the period of Gautama’s Bodhi-sattvaship, in the

course of which he had to undergo countless births in preparation for

his Buddhahood, he was born forty-three times as a tree-god.

In Siam, according to Mr. Alabaster, offerings are commonly made in the

present day to the spirits or deities inhabiting trees. People hang

various votive objects on the branches, or place them on a stand or

altar beneath any particular tree whose deity they wish to propitiate.

Moreover they are very averse to the cutting down of any trees of any

kind, lest the tree-gods should be angry.

‘Some years ago,’ says Mr. Alabaster, ‘when I employed my spare energy

in showing the Siamese how to make roads in the, till then, roadless

suburbs of Bangkok, I had to cut my lines through villages,

temple-groves, orchards, plantations, and patches of jungle. For the

“wicked” duty of cutting down the trees, a gang of the lowest

criminals was placed at my disposal.’ But he adds that the removal of

any specially holy building or tree was interdicted by the Government.

We have already seen that, according to the theory of later Buddhism,

every Buddha is supposed to have his own special tree under which he sat

and meditated, and in the end attained supreme knowledge (see p. 136).

For example, there is the Pippala (also called Aṡvattha, _Ficus

Religiosa_) sacred fig-tree of Gautama Buddha, the Vaṭa or Banyan-tree

(_Ficus Indica_) of Kāṡyapa Buddha, the Uḍumbara (_Ficus Glomerata_) of

Kanaka-muni; the Ṡirīsha (_Acacia Serisa_) of Kraku-Ććhanda; the Ṡāla

(_Shorea Robusta_) of Viṡva-bhū; the Puṇḍarīka (_White_ _Lotus_) of

Ṡikhin[267]; the Pāṭali (_Bignonia Suaveolens_) of Vipaṡyin.

These six Buddhas with Gautama are sometimes held to be the seven

principal Buddhas, and, according to some authorities, the tree of the

future Buddha (Maitreya) will be the Iron-wood tree (Sideroxylon)[268].

Specimens of some of these trees are to be found growing in the area of

the Buddha-Gayā temple, and several are represented in the sculptures of

the Stūpa of Bharhut (of the second century B.C.). On one of the pillars

of that Stūpa elephants are carved in the act of worshipping both the

Pīpal-tree and the Banyan-tree. In fact it must be borne in mind that

Gautama Buddha is said to have meditated under both of these trees, and

is therefore connected with both (see p. 39).

It might have been expected, too, that the Ṡāl-tree would have ranked

next in sacredness to the Pīpal and Banyan; for according to one legend,

Māyā gave birth to Gautama while standing under a Ṡāl-tree, and

according to another legend, Gautama died on a couch placed between two

Ṡāl-trees (pp. 23, 50). This tree, however, appears to be more honoured

in connexion with the Buddha Viṡva-bhū (p. 136, note 1).

There are other trees which were held in veneration by Indian

Buddhists:—for example, the Mango (Āmra) and the Jambu, and the Aṡoka.

The first of these appears frequently in sculptures, and is known by the

shape of its fruit.

Two other trees under which the Buddha is said to have meditated after

his attainment of Buddhahood—namely, the Mućalinda-tree[269] and the

Rājāyatana-tree—are not identified.

But among all trees revered by all Buddhists of all nationalities, the

Aṡvattha or Pippala (Pīpal), under which Gautama achieved Buddhahood and

perfect knowledge, takes the precedence. In some Buddhist countries the

climate prevents its introduction, but if it can by any means be made to

grow, it is everywhere planted close to Buddhist temples, monasteries

and Dāgabas, and in many cases is the product of a seed brought from the

supposed original tree at Buddha-Gayā.

A tradition relates that Gautama during his lifetime directed Ānanda to

break off a branch from that original tree and to plant it in the garden

of the Vihāra, or monastery, at Ṡrāvastī—Gautama’s favourite place of

residence—‘He who worships it,’ said Gautama, ‘will receive the same

reward as if he worshipped me[270].’

This is a mere legend resting on no historical basis; but the tradition

which makes Gautama choose a seat under the sacred Pippala or Aṡvattha

as the spot where the first stirrings of a divine afflatus and the first

whisperings of divine communications—symbolized by the mysterious

quivering and rustling of its leaves—were likely to make themselves

felt, points to a probable fact—a fact quite in harmony with what we

have already noted in regard to his early Brāhmanical education and

ideas. We read in the Kaṭha Upanishad (VI. 1) that the root of the

Aṡvattha-tree was identified with the Supreme Being, Brahman. In a

passage of the Muṇḍaka Upanishad (III. 1. 1) and in a Mantra of the

Ṛig-veda (I. 164. 20) the same idea is alluded to. It is true that

Gautama afterwards repudiated the possibility of any divine inspiration

coming from any external source whatever, yet it is probable that when

he first seated himself under the sacred fig-tree, which is even now

regarded by the Hindūs as a manifestation of the god Brahmā, he expected

supernatural communications of some kind[271].

The history of the original sacred Pippala (Aṡvattha) tree, or as it is

commonly called the Bodhi-tree (Bo-tree) of Gautama Buddha at

Buddha-Gayā, has already been sketched in a previous Lecture (see pp.

392-394).

Hiouen Thsang’s description of the tree, as he saw it in the seventh

century, has also been given (see p. 399). Fā-hien, who saw it at

Buddha-Gayā in the fifth century, calls it the Patra-tree. The following

is an abridgement of what he says about it:—

The Bodhi-sattva advanced to the Patra-tree, placed the Kuṡa grass at

the foot of it, and sat down with his face to the east. Then King Māra

sent three beautiful damsels to tempt him. The Bodhi-sattva put his

toes down to the ground, and the young maidens were changed into old

grandmothers. Buddha, after attaining perfect wisdom, contemplated the

tree for seven days (Legge, p. 88).

Fā-hien also saw the offspring of the original Bodhi-tree growing in

Ceylon (Legge, p. 103).

It is recorded that soon after Mahinda, son of Aṡoka, arrived in Ceylon

(about 250 B.C.) for the purpose of propagating Buddhism, his sister,

who had become a Buddhist Nun, also arrived there, and brought with her

from King Aṡoka a branch of the sacred Bodhi-tree of Buddha-Gayā. This

was planted at Anurādha-pura, and the zealous Buddhists of Ceylon fully

believe that the identical tree exists there still.

An interesting account of the state of this tree or its descendant,

about thirty years ago, is given in Sir Emerson Tennant’s ‘Ceylon’ (vol.

ii. p. 613). I here give an abridged extract:—

The Bo-tree of Anurādha-pura is in all probability the oldest

historical tree in the world. Its conservancy has been an object of

solicitude to successive dynasties, and the story of its vicissitudes

has been preserved in a series of continuous chronicles.

It would almost seem to verify the prophecy pronounced when it was

planted, that it would flourish and be green for ever.

The degree of sanctity with which this extraordinary tree has been

invested by Buddhists, may be compared to the feeling of veneration

with which Christians regard the attested wood of the Cross.

The other Bo-trees which are found in the vicinity of every temple in

Ceylon are said to be all derived from the parent-tree at

Anurādha-pura, but they have been propagated by seeds; the priesthood

adhering in this respect to the precedent recorded in the Mahā-vaṉṡa

(when Mahinda himself, taking up a fruit as it fell, gave it to the

king to plant), and objecting religiously to lop it with any weapon.

In the fifth century Fā-hien found the Bo-tree at Anurādha-pura in

vigorous health, and its guardians displaying towards it the same

vigilant tenderness which they exhibit at the present day.

The author of the Mahā-vaṉṡa, who wrote between the years 459 and 478

of our era, after relating the ceremonial which had been observed

nearly eight hundred years before, at the planting of the venerated

tree by Mahinda, concludes by saying:—‘Thus this monarch of the

forest, endowed with miraculous powers, has stood for ages in Laṅkā,

promoting the spiritual welfare of its inhabitants and the propagation

of true religion.’

When Buddhism became thoroughly mixed up with Hindūism the Kalpa-tree or

divine tree of Indra’s paradise was often introduced. It is supposed to

have its terrestrial counterpart in some sacred spots on earth, and

there to grant all desires, the worshipper having merely to stretch out

his hand and take the gifts suspended from its branches[272]. In one

sculpture it is represented pouring out coins on the ground. This kind

of wishing-tree is believed to present, among other things, any food

that its worshippers may ask for, and to present it ready-cooked, if

cooking is needed.

The miraculous tree which developed out of the Buddha’s tooth-cleaning

twig, when thrown by him on the ground, has been already described (see

p. 419, and compare ‘Brāhmanism and Hindūism,’ p. 337).

_Sacred Symbols._

Some of the sacred objects already described may be regarded as symbols.

Of those which are more strictly symbols the _Tri-ratna_ ‘three-jewel’

emblem comes first. It is three-pointed, and the three points are simply

emblematical of the Buddha, the Law, and the Monastic Order. It is often

used as an ornament. Good examples may be seen in some of the Bharhut

sculptures (see Sir A. Cunningham’s work). The central point is often

the least elevated.

The use of this triple symbol is another proof of the connexion between

Buddhism and Hindūism. Both delight in triads and in symbolizing

triads[273], but the Buddhist ‘three-jewel’ symbol should not be

confused with the Hindū Tri-ṡūla, which is Ṡiva’s trident used as a

weapon in his warfare with the demons. The Tri-ratna is merely the

analogue of the Tri-ṡūla, as it is also of the triple horizontal mark on

the forehead of Ṡaivas, and of the Tri-puṇḍra or triple frontal mark of

the Tengalai sect of Rāmānuja Vaishṇavas. The two outer marks of the

latter stand for Vishṇu’s two feet and the middle for his consort

Lakshmī[274].

Sir A. Cunningham was the first to show that the three fetish-like

figures of Jagannāth (Kṛishṇa) and his sister and brother, at Purī in

Orissa, were derived from three of the combined emblems of the Buddhist

Tri-ratna (compare p. 166 of this volume).

Next to the Tri-ratna comes the _Ćakra_ or wheel. This symbolizes the

Buddhist doctrine that the origin of life and of the universe (p. 119)

are unknowable—the doctrine of a circle of causes and effects without

beginning and without end. The wheel also typifies the rolling of this

doctrine over the whole surface of the world (pp. 410, 423). It is

perhaps one of the most important symbols of Buddhist philosophy. It is

often represented as either supporting the Tri-ratna or supported by it,

or the latter may be inserted in it.

Observe that the Ćakra or wheel is equally a Vaishṇava symbol, but in

the hand of Vishṇu or of Kṛishṇa it is a circular weapon, hurled at a

demon-foe.

Another symbol is the _Lotus-flower_. Its constant use as an emblem,

seems to result from the wheel-like form of the flower—the petals taking

the place of spokes, and thus typifying the doctrine of perpetual cycles

of existence—or from the perfection typified by the regularity of these

petals, or from the idea that its expanded flower, reposing on a calm

mirror-like lake, is a fit emblem of Nirvāṇa.

The Wheel, the Tri-ratna, and the Lotus are so important, as symbols of

Buddhism, that they are combined in the vignette on the title-page of

this volume.

Another symbol is the _Svastika_ mark, consisting of two lines crossing

each other, the termination of each arm of the cross being usually bent

round in the same direction[275]. Much controversy has been devoted to

the origin and meaning of this symbol, which simply symbolizes good

luck, and equally belongs to Hindūism. Long ago I propounded a theory

that it might represent the four arms of Lakshmī. I now think it a mere

curtailed form of the Wheel, consisting of four spokes with a portion of

the periphery of the circle. In my opinion, the four spokes may

represent the four groups of worlds (i. e. the lower worlds and three

groups of heavens, p. 213) circling in an eternal cycle. Sir A.

Cunningham considers this symbol to be a monogram or interlacing of the

letters of the auspicious words _su asti_ (_svasti_) in the Aṡoka

characters.

Another symbol is the _Throne_ or seat of Buddha—a favourite emblem in

many sculptures. In Cunningham’s ‘Stūpa of Bharhut’ the throne of each

Buddha is often represented under his Bodhi-tree (but without any

image), and the thrones of the last four Buddhas are joined together in

a single bas-relief. Sometimes the throne is covered by an umbrella with

garlands, or the Buddha’s bowl may rest on it. Sometimes two foot-prints

are on a foot-stool under the throne.

Another venerated symbol is the _Stūpa_ (see p. 505). It is often an

object of adoration in itself.

I need scarcely revert to the _Umbrella_ symbol (see p. 393). In Eastern

countries it typifies supremacy. If a king is present no one else ought

to carry an umbrella.

The _Ṡaṅkha_ or _Conch-shell_ is a very auspicious symbol, especially if

the convolutions turn to the right in the Nandy-āvarta form, as on the

Buddha’s foot (see p. 513).

The Tibetan symbol of the ‘_Flying horse_’ (Lung-ta)—able to transport a

man round the world in one day—has been mentioned before; also the

_Norbu_ gem (see pp. 381, 528).

_Sacred Animals._

It may be truly said that all animals are more or less venerated—though

not actually worshipped—under the Buddhist system. How can it be

otherwise when every Buddhist believes that the Buddha himself was

incarnated in various animals during the period of his Bodhi-sattvaship

(see p. 111)?

In the same way the Hindūs believe that the god Vishṇu was incarnated in

animals, such as a fish, a tortoise, and a boar.

Buddhism in this as in other respects is like Brāhmanism and Hindūism.

The feeling of reverence for animals rests on the doctrine of

metempsychosis. It is difficult for either a Hindū or a Buddhist to draw

a line of demarcation between gods, men, and animals, when the same

living being may exist as a god, a man, or an animal. It is on this

account that in India animals appear to live on terms of the greatest

friendship and mutual confidence with human beings.

Everywhere in India animals dispute possession of the earth with man.

Birds build their nests and lay their eggs in the fields, untroubled

by fears or misgivings, before the very eyes of every passer-by, and

within the reach of every village school-boy. Animals rove over the

soil as if they were the landlords. Bulls walk about independently in

the streets, and jostle you on the pavements; monkeys domesticate

themselves jauntily on the roof of your house; parrots peer

inquisitively from the eaves of your bedroom into the mysteries of

your toilet; crows make themselves at home on your window-sill, and

carry off impudently any portable article of jewellery that takes

their fancy on your dressing-table; sparrows hop about impertinently

and take the bread off your table-cloth; a solitary mongoose emerges

every morning from a hole in your verandah, and expects a share in

your breakfast; swarms of insects claim a portion of your mid-day

meal, and levy a tax on the choicest delicacies at your dinner table;

bats career triumphantly about your head as you light yourself to your

bedroom; and at certain seasons snakes domicile themselves

unpleasantly in the folds of your cast-off garments. (Quoted from my

‘Brāhmanism and Hindūism.’)

Perhaps the most sacred animal in the estimation of all Buddhists is the

elephant. This will be easily understood by recalling what has been said

in a previous Lecture (see pp. 23, 24). In one of the Bharhut sculptures

the white elephant is seen descending to enter the side of Gautama’s

mother Māyā (‘Stūpa of Bharhut,’ p. 84). The elephant, says Sir A.

Cunningham, is a favourite subject for delineation. It is represented in

almost every possible position, as standing, walking, running, sitting

down, eating, drinking, throwing water over its own back, and lastly,

kneeling down in reverence before the holy Bodhi-tree.

Probably the next sacred animal to the elephant is the deer. The Buddha

was born eleven times as a deer (p. 111), and he delivered his first

sermon in a deer-park (p. 42). The ‘goose’ (Haṉsa, sometimes called ‘a

duck’ or ‘a swan’) is also very sacred. With regard to other animals,

Sir A. Cunningham remarks:—

The animals represented in the Bharhut sculptures are of two classes,

the natural and the fabulous. The latter, however, are limited to

three varieties, an elephant with a fish-tail, a crocodile with a

fish-tail, and a winged horse; while the former comprises no less than

fourteen quadrupeds, six birds, one snake, one fish, one insect, one

crocodile, two tortoises, one lizard, and one frog. The quadrupeds

include the lion, elephant, horse, rhinoceros, wild boar, bull, deer,

wolf, monkey, cat, dog, sheep, hare, and squirrel. The birds comprise

the cock, parrot, peacock, goose, wild duck, and quail. The snakes and

fishes appear to be of only one kind. The solitary insect is a

flesh-fly (p. 41, etc.).

In Burma people feed sacred fish, and save their lives in seasons when

they would perish through the drying up of rivers and ponds (see p.

364).

Dr. Eitel, in his Lectures (p. 136), points out that even pigs are held

sacred, though not worshipped, by Northern Buddhists. We must not forget

that the Buddha in two of his births was a pig (p. 112), that he died of

eating pork, and that in sculptures of the Tāntrik goddess

Vajra-vārāhī—adopted by Northern Buddhists—a row of seven pigs is carved

underneath her three-headed figure, one head being that of a pig.

_Miscellaneous Objects._

Among these may be reckoned _bells_ of various kinds. The prayer-bells

common in Tibet, which are held in the hand and used during the chanting

of prayers, have been already described (p. 323).

In Burma bells abound everywhere. They are of all sizes, and often of

immense weight, but are not used in the same way as in Tibet. Nor are

they ever rung in peals or with a clapper. Their use is not to call

people to religious services. It is no part of the business of monks or

priests to summon the laity to any service. Every man worships on his

own account, and for himself, and by himself, and no so-called priest

reminds him of his religious duties, or is responsible if he neglects

them.

The real use of bells in Burmese temples is to draw the attention of the

deities and spirits (Naths) to the act of worship, and so secure the due

registering of prayer-merit. When a man has finished his repetitions, he

strikes the bell with a piece of wood or other sacred implement lying

near, and the more noise he makes the better. Mr. Scott informs us that

every large pagoda has dozens of bells of all sizes, hanging outside,

and one or two inside the central shrine. They are constantly dedicated

by religious people, and thus multiplied _ad infinitum_.

The form of dedication is inscribed on every bell, and is in the Pāli

language, though instances of the vernacular occur.

The following is a portion of a remarkable inscription in the vernacular

(Shway Yoe, i. 243, abridged):—

This bell was moulded with great care and much expense, and is humbly

offered by Moung San Yah and his wife, who seek refuge in the

boundless mercy of the pitiful Buddha, in the majesty of the eternal

law, and in the examples of the venerable assembly. They humbly strive

to gain merit for themselves. May the good Naths look smilingly on

them. May the Naths who dwell in the air and the earth defend their

two fat bullocks—which plough the fields—from evil creatures. May the

guardian Naths of the house and of the city keep Chit Oo, their son,

and little Mah Mee, their darling daughter, from harm.

The weight of the bell is generally added to the dedication.

There is a fine Burmese bell in the Indian section of the South

Kensington Museum. It has a long Pāli inscription, a portion of the

translation of which I here give:—

‘Without charity you cannot attain to Nirvāṇa’—so it is written in the

Pāli Texts.

I, the giver of this bell, was staying in the sweet-smelling town of

Ma-oo—of which I collect the taxes for the king—and with me was my

wife—my life’s breath—like to the pollen of a lily, from whom I will

not be separated in all the existences which are to come, and out of

which we hope soon to escape. We adore Buddha, that we may embark in

the golden raft of the Noble Path, which will lead us to the final

plunge into Nirvāṇa. We two, brother and sister (that is, husband and

wife), have given this bell as an offering. The exact weight of the

bell is 2500 kyats. We took our own weight in gold and silver and

bright copper and other metal, and mixed them well together, in the

year 1209 (1847 A.D.).

Now I will record all the alms I gave and what I erected within the

sacred enclosure. I gave a sacred flag-staff (see p. 380 of these

Lectures), the price of which, with all expenses in putting up, was

500 rupees. At the foot of it I built four small pagodas. Outside I

built a monastery and a rest-house. Such are all the offerings. May I

be freed from the Four states of Punishment, from the Three Great

Calamities (war, famine, and plague), from the Eight Evil Places, from

the Five Enemies, from unfortunate times and seasons, and from bad

people. May I escape all these when I die.

All the merits I have gained, may they be shared with my parents,

teachers, and all my relations; with kings, queens, nobles, and all

people in the thirty-one places of habitation throughout the universe.

(See p. 121 of these Lectures.)

Under the head of miscellaneous objects, we may note the seven precious

minerals or substances to which allusion has frequently been made. They

are gold, silver, pearl, sapphire or ruby, cat’s eye, diamond, and coral

(Childers); but they vary, and some authorities substitute lapis lazuli

for pearl. In Hindūism there are nine precious substances (nava-ratna).

We may also enumerate here the seven treasures belonging to every

universal monarch. These are:—1. a wheel which, being set in motion by

the monarch, rolls before him to establish the Law in his dominions; 2.

an elephant; 3. a flying horse (see p. 523); 4. a jewel which on the

darkest night illuminates the earth for seven miles round (p. 381); 5. a

good queen or wife; 6. a good minister or servant, who has the power of

discovering hidden treasures; 7. a good general (compare Alabaster’s

‘Wheel of the Law,’ p. 81).

_Supplementary Remarks on the Connexion of Buddhism with Jainism[276]._

Having during the progress of the foregoing Lectures, incidentally

mentioned the subject of Jainism, I ought not to conclude them without

explaining some of the chief points of difference between the system of

the Jainas (conveniently contracted into Jains) and that of the

Buddhists. The Jains in India, according to their own reckoning, number

1,222,000; but this is incorrect, for by the last Census they only

number half a million. A great authority (Sir William Wilson Hunter)

confirms this. (See his ‘Gazetteer’ and ‘Indian Empire.’)

Most scholars in the present day are of opinion that the Jaina Teacher

Vardhamāna Mahā-vīra (Nātaputta) and Gautama Buddha were contemporaries,

and that Jains were an independent sceptical sect, probably a little

antecedent to the Buddhists, and were their rivals. At any rate it seems

certain that the Nigaṇṭhas[277] or Dig-ambara Jains, that is, a sect of

naked ascetics, existed before the Buddha’s time, and that the Tripiṭaka

alludes to them.

Probably Vardhamāna Mahā-vīra (usually called Mahā-vīra) was merely a

reformer of a system previously founded by a teacher named Pārṡva-nātha.

Not much is known of the latter, though he is greatly honoured by the

Jains. His images are ‘serpent-canopied’ like those of Buddha (p. 480).

His pupils are called Pāsāvaććijja (for Pārṡvāpatyīya, ‘belonging to the

descendants of Pārṡva’). They were only bound by four vows, whereas

Mahā-vīra’s teaching imposed five vows.

We have seen that Gautama Buddha, in the fifth century B.C., came to the

conclusion that bodily austerities were useless as a means of obtaining

liberation. His main idea seems to have been that liberation from the

painful cycle of continued re-births, that is, from Saṃsāra, was to be

obtained by means of knowledge (Bodhi), evolved out of the inner

consciousness through meditation (dhyāna) and intuition; whereas, in

contradistinction to this Buddhist idea, the main idea of the Jain

teacher Mahā-vīra seems to have been that liberation was to be obtained

through subjugation of the passions and through mortification of the

body (tapas). The term Jina, ‘conqueror,’ is used in both systems, but

Gautama Buddha was a Jina or conqueror through profound abstract

meditation, whereas Mahā-vīra was a Jina through severe bodily

austerity.

In fact, the Jains, like all other ascetics, were impressed with the

idea that it was necessary to maintain a defensive warfare against the

assault of evil passions, by keeping under the body and subduing it.

They had also a notion that a sense of shame implied sin, so that if

there were no sin in the world there would be no shame. Hence they

argued rather illogically that to get rid of clothes was to get rid of

sin; and every ascetic who aimed at sinlessness was enjoined to walk

about naked, with the air or sky (Dig) as his sole covering

(Dig-ambara).

In the Kalpa-sūtra of the Jains we read that Mahā-vīra himself began his

career by wearing clothes for one year and one month, and after that he

walked about naked. Now Gautama Buddha was an opponent of Jain

asceticism, and it seems to me probable that one of the chief points on

which he laid stress was that of decent clothing. In the Dhamma-pada

(141) occurs the sentiment that ‘Nakedness cannot purify a mortal who

has not overcome desires.’ And again, in the Sekhiyā Dhammā we have

‘properly clad’ ‘must a monk itinerate.’ (See p. 473 of these Lectures.)

It is recorded in the Vinaya (Mahā-vagga I. 6. 7-9) that Upaka, a man of

the Ājīvaka sect of naked ascetics, founded by Gosāla (said to have been

a pupil of Mahā-vīra), met the Buddha just after his enlightenment, and

noticing his bright countenance, asked him who had been his teacher? He

replied, ‘Having gained all knowledge, I am myself the highest teacher.’

Thereupon the naked ascetic shook his head and went another road.

Clearly these naked Nigaṇṭhas, disciples of the Jain Teacher Mahā-vīra,

were no friends of the Buddha. It seems to me even possible that

Gautama’s great rival, Deva-datta (see pp. 405, 406), may have belonged

to a Dig-ambara sect who opposed the Buddha on questions of stricter

asceticism, especially in the matter of clothing; for in ancient

sculptures Deva-datta is generally represented naked or nearly so, and

is usually in close proximity to his cousin Gautama Buddha, who, in

marked contrast to the other, is always clothed. Evidently the question

of dress was a crucial one, and in process of time a party seems to have

arisen, even among the Dig-ambara Jains, opposed to strict asceticism in

this particular.

This party ultimately formed themselves into a separate sect, calling

themselves Ṡvetāmbaras, that is, ‘clothed in white garments.’ It is well

known that in early Buddhism two similar parties arose, the strict and

the lax. But the two Buddhist parties were ultimately reunited. The

second council is supposed to have settled the controversy.

Dr. Jacobi has shown that the separation of the two Jain sects must have

taken place (according to the traditions of both parties) some time

before the first century of our era.

It appears probable that the strict Dig-ambaras preceded the more lax

Ṡvetāmbaras, though each sect claims to be the oldest. The two Jain

sects have remained separate to the present day, though in all essential

points of doctrine and discipline they agree.

When I was last in India, in 1884, I ascended the two hills, Pārasnāth

(for Pārṡva-nāth) and Ābū—both of them most sacred places in the

estimation of the Jains, and covered with their temples. My ascent of

the former has been already described (p. 509). I also visited Delhi,

Jaypur, Ājmere, and some other chief Jain stations. Jaypur is the

stronghold of the Dig-ambara Jains, and two intelligent Dig-ambara

Paṇḍits, named Phaṭe Lāl and Syojī Lāl, visited me there. We conversed

for a long time in Sanskṛit, and I asked them many questions about their

religion, and the points in which they differed from the Ṡvetāmbara

sect.

Three chief differences were stated to be: First, the Ṡvetāmbaras object

to entirely nude images of any of the twenty-four Jinas or Tīrthaṃ-karas

accepted by both sects. Hence all Ṡvetāmbara statues ought to have some

appearance of a line round the middle of the body, representing a strip

of cloth. In one respect the images of the Jinas differ from those of

the Buddhas. They have a jewel-like mark on the breast. This is

especially conspicuous in Pārṡva-nāth. They are also of different

colours, and have symbols (generally animals, such as a deer, tortoise,

pig) connected with them.

Secondly, the Ṡvetāmbaras admit women into their order of ascetics just

as Buddhists have their Bhikkhunīs, or nuns; whereas the Dig-ambaras,

for obvious reasons, do not admit women.

Thirdly, the Ṡvetāmbaras have distinct sacred books of their own, which

they call Aṅgas, ‘limbs of the Law,’ eleven in number, besides others,

making 45 Āgamas, 11 Aṅgas, 12 Upāṅgas, 10 Pāinnas (Prakīrṇaka), 4

Mūlas, 6 Ćhedas, 1 Anuyoga-dvāra, and 1 Nandi. Dr. Bühler places the

composition of the Aṅgas in the third century B.C. Dr. Jacobi places

them at the end of the fourth or beginning of the third century. They

are written in Jain Prākṛit (sometimes called Ardha-Māgadhī, a later

form than Pāli), with Sanskṛit commentaries. The Dig-ambaras substitute,

for the Aṅgas, later works, also written in more modern Prākṛit

(probably in the fifth or sixth century after Christ), and maintain that

the Ṡvetāmbara Canon is spurious. Both sects have valuable Sanskṛit

works in their sacred literature.

I now add a few characteristics of both sects of Jains as distinguishing

them from Buddhists.

I need scarcely notice the fact that the Jains of the present day keep

up Caste. The two Jain Paṇḍits who came to me at Jaypur were Brāhmans,

and wore the Brāhmanical thread. I believe this to be a mere modern

innovation, which does not properly belong to the Jain system.

More important are the following points:—The Jain saints, or prophets,

are called by a peculiar name Tīrthaṃ-kara, ‘ford-makers,’ i. e. making

a ford across the troubled river of constant births or transmigrations

(Saṃsāra) to the Elysium of Nirvāṇa; whereas the name Tīrthaṃ-kara with

the Buddhists means a ‘heretical teacher.’ Then there are twenty-four

Jain Tīrthaṃ-karas, whereas there are twenty-five Buddhas. Of the

twenty-four Jain saints, the twenty-third and twenty-fourth—Pārṡva-nāth

(pp. 509, 529) and Mahā-vīra—are the only historical personages. The

others, beginning with Ṛishabha, are mythical.

Next, the Jains have no Stūpas or Dāgabas (p. 504) for preserving the

relics of their saints.

Still more important is the point that the Jains believe in separate

individual souls (Jīva), whereas the Buddhists deny the existence of

souls. Souls, according to the Jains, may exist in stocks, stones, lumps

of earth, drops of water, particles of fire. In Buddhism there is, as we

have seen, no true metempsychosis, but rather a connected series of

metamorphoses, and this stops at animals; whereas the metempsychosis of

Jainism extends to inorganic matter.

With regard to the moral code two or three points may be noticed. The

Jaina ‘three jewels’ are Right-belief, Right-knowledge, and

Right-conduct, whereas the Buddhist Tri-ratna consists in the well-known

Triad—the Buddha, the Law, and the Monkhood.

Then as to the five chief Moral Prohibitions—the fifth with Jains is:

‘have no worldly attachments;’ whereas with Buddhists it is: ‘drink no

strong drink.’ I believe the Buddhists to have been the first to

introduce total abstinence from strong drinks into India. The Jains,

too, lay even more stress than the Buddhists on the first

prohibition:—Kill no living creature. They strain water before drinking,

sweep the ground with a silken brush before sitting down on it, never

eat in the dark, often wear muslin before their mouths to catch minute

insects, and even object to eating fruits containing seed.

Another interesting difference is that Jainism makes Dharma and Adharma,

good and evil, or rather merit and demerit, two out of its six real

substances—its fundamental and eternal principles (Astikāya)—the other

four being matter (pudgala), soul (jīva), space and time. The Jains

reject the Buddhist theory of the five Skandhas (see p. 109).

Lastly, the prayer-formula of the Jains differs from the well-known

‘three-refuge’ formula of the Buddhists (‘I go for refuge to the Buddha,

the Law, and the order of Monks’) thus: ‘Reverence to the Arhats, to the

Siddhas, to the Aćāryas, to the Upādhyāyas, to all the Sādhus’ (Namo

Arihantāṇaṃ namo Siddhāṇaṃ namo Ayariyāṇaṃ namo Uvajjhāyāṇaṃ namo loe

sabba-sāhūṇaṃ).

Time will not permit me to notice minor differences, such as the Jain

rule that the hair should be painfully torn off, instead of cut off,

etc.

Certainly Jainism, when viewed from the stand-point of Christianity, is

even a colder system than Buddhism, and has even less claim to be called

a religion. Yet no system can show a greater number of temples. Every

Jain who is noted for his piety builds a small temple. He never repairs

the temples of others. At Pālitāna in Kāthiāwār, there is a whole city

of Jain temples. Nor is it at all necessary that every temple built to

hold a Jain saint should possess either priests or worshippers. What is

aimed at is the acquisition of merit by the performance of pious acts.

I must conclude by expressing my opinion that Indian Jainism is

gradually drifting back into the current of Brāhmanism, which everywhere

surrounds it and attracts it. Jainism, like Buddhism, came out from

Brāhmanism, and into Brāhmanism it is destined to return.

LECTURE XVIII.

_Buddhism contrasted with Christianity._

In the previous Lectures I have incidentally contrasted the principal

doctrines of Buddhism with those of Christianity.

It will be my aim in this concluding Lecture to draw attention more

directly and more in detail to the main points of divergence between two

systems, which in their moral teaching have so many points of contact,

that a superficial study of either is apt to lead to very confused ideas

in regard to their comparative excellence and their resemblance to each

other.

And first of all I must remind those who heard my earlier Lectures of

the grand fundamental distinction which they were intended to

establish—namely, that Christianity is a religion, whereas Buddhism, at

least in its earliest and truest form, is no religion at all, but a mere

system of morality and philosophy founded on a pessimistic theory of

life.

Here, however, it may be objected that, before we exclude Buddhism from

all title to be called a religion, we ought to define what we mean by

the term ‘religion.’

Of course, it will be generally acknowledged that mere morality need not

imply religion, though—taking the converse—it is most undeniably true

that religion must of necessity imply morality.

Unquestionably there have been great philosophers in ancient times who

have lived strictly moral lives without acknowledging any religious

creed at all. Many excellent men, too, exist among us in the present

day, who resent being called irreligious, and yet hold no definite

religious doctrines, and decline to accept any system which commits them

to absolute belief in anything except an eternal Energy or Force.

Clearly the definition of the word ‘religion’ is beset with

difficulties, and its etymology is too uncertain to help us in

explaining it[278]. We shall, however, be justified if we affirm that

every system claiming to be a religion in the proper sense of the word

must postulate the eternal existence of one living and true God of

infinite power, wisdom, and love, the Creator, Designer, and Preserver

of all things visible and invisible.

It must also take for granted the immortality of man’s soul or spirit,

and the reality of a future state and of an unseen world. It must also

postulate in man an innate sense of dependence on a personal God—a sense

of reverence and love for Him, springing from a belief in His justice,

holiness, wisdom, power, and love, and intensified by a deep

consciousness of weakness, and a yearning to be delivered from the

presence, tyranny, and penalty of sin.

Then, starting from these assumptions, it must satisfy four requisites.

First, it must reveal the Creator in His nature and attributes to His

creature, man.

Secondly, it must reveal man to himself. It must impart to him a

knowledge of his own nature and history—what he is; why he was created;

whither he is tending; and whether he is at present in a state of

decadence downwards from a higher condition, or of development upwards

from a lower.

Thirdly, it must reveal some method by which the finite creature may

communicate with the infinite Creator—some plan by which he may gain

access to Him and become united with Him, and be saved by Him from the

consequences of his own sinful acts.

Fourthly, such a system must prove its title to be called a religion by

its regenerating effect on man’s nature; by its influence on his

thoughts, desires, passions, and feelings; by its power of subduing all

his evil tendencies; by its ability to transform his character and

assimilate him to the God it reveals.

It is clear, then, that tried by such a criterion as this, early

Buddhism could not claim to be a religion. It failed to satisfy these

conditions. It refused to admit the existence of a personal Creator, or

of man’s dependence on a higher Power. It denied any eternal soul or Ego

in man. It acknowledged no external, supernatural revelation. It had no

priesthood—no real clergy; no real prayer; no real worship. It had no

true idea of sin, or of the need of pardon (p. 124), and it condemned

man to suffer the consequences of his own sinful acts without hope of

help from any Saviour or Redeemer, and indeed from any being but

himself.

The late Bishop of Calcutta once said to me, that being in an outlying

part of his diocese, where Buddhism prevailed, he asked an apparently

pious Buddhist, whom he happened to observe praying in a temple, what he

had just been praying for? He replied, ‘I have been praying for

nothing.’ ‘But,’ urged the Bishop, ‘to whom have you been praying?’ The

man answered, ‘I have been praying to nobody.’ ‘What!’ said the

astonished Bishop, ‘praying for nothing to nobody?’ And no doubt this

anecdote gives an accurate idea of the so-called prayer of a true

Buddhist. This man had not really been praying for anything. He had been

merely making use of some form of words to which an efficacy, like that

of sowing fruitful seed in a field, was supposed to belong. He had not

been praying in any Christian sense.

Here, however, an objector might remind me that according to my own

showing, various developments of Buddhism modified and even contradicted

the original creed, and that what has been here said about prayer, is

only strictly applicable to early Buddhism as originally taught in the

most ancient texts.

I grant this—I grant that expressions of reverence for the Buddha, the

Law, and the Monkhood, developed into expressions of wants and needs,

and that these expressions, gradually led on to the offering of actual

prayers to deified Buddhas and Bodhi-sattvas.

I admit that we ought to judge of Buddhism as a whole. We ought to give

full consideration to its later developments, and the gradual sliding of

its atheism and agnosticism into theism and polytheism. We are bound to

acknowledge that Buddhism, as it extended to other countries, _did_

acquire the character of a theistic religious system, which, though

false, had in it some points of contact with Christianity.

Nevertheless, admitting all this, and taking into account all that can

be said in favour of Buddhism as a religious system, it will be easy to

show how impossible it is to bridge over the yawning chasm which

separates it from the true religion.

It is, indeed, one of the strange phenomena of the present day, that

even educated people who call themselves Christians, are apt to fall

into raptures over the precepts of Buddhism[279], attracted by the

bright gems which its admirers delight in culling out of its moral code,

and in displaying ostentatiously, while keeping out of sight all its

dark spots, all its trivialities and senseless repetitions[280]; not to

speak of all those evidences of deep corruption beneath a whited

surface, all those significant precepts and prohibitions in its books of

discipline, which indeed no Christian could soil his lips by

uttering[281].

It has even been asserted that much of the teaching in the Sermon on the

Mount, and in other parts of the Gospel narratives, is based on

previously current moral teaching, which Buddhism was the first to

introduce to the world, 500 years before Christ[282]. But this is not

all. The admirers of Buddhism maintain that the Buddha was not a mere

teacher of the truths of morality, but of many other sublime truths. He

has been justly called, say they, ‘the Light of Asia,’ though they

condescendingly admit that Christianity as a later development is more

adapted to become the religion of the world.

Let us then inquire, for a moment, what claim Gautama Buddha has to this

title—‘the Light of Asia?’

Now, in the first place those who give him this name forget that his

doctrines only spread over Eastern Asia, and that either Confucius, or

Zoroaster, or Muhammad might equally be called ‘the Light of Asia.’

But was the Buddha, in any true sense, a Light to any part of the world?

It is certainly true that the main idea implied by Buddhism is

intellectual enlightenment. Buddhism, before all things, means

enlightenment of mind, resulting from intense self-concentration and

introspection, from intense abstract meditation, combined with the

exercise of a man’s own reasoning faculties and intuitions.

Of what nature, then, was the so-called Light of Knowledge that radiated

from the Buddha? Was it the knowledge of his own utter weakness, of his

original depravity of heart, or of the origin of sin? No; the Buddha’s

light was in these respects profound darkness. He confessed himself, in

regard to such momentous questions, a downright Agnostic. The primary

origin of evil—the first evil act—was to him an inexplicable mystery.

Was it, then, a knowledge of the goodness, justice, holiness, and

omnipotence of a personal Creator? Was it a knowledge of the Fatherhood

of God? No; the Buddha’s light was in these respects also mere and sheer

darkness. In these respects, too, he acknowledged himself a thorough

Agnostic. He admitted that he knew of no being higher than himself.

What, then, was the light that broke upon the Buddha? What was this

enlightenment which has been so much written about and extolled? All

that he claimed to have discovered was the origin of suffering and the

remedy of suffering. All the light of knowledge to which he attained

came to this:—that suffering arises from indulging desires, especially

the desire for continuity of life; that suffering is inseparable from

life; that all life is suffering; and that suffering is to be got rid of

by the suppression of desires, and by the extinction of personal

existence.

Here, then, is the first great contrast. When the Buddha said to his

converts, ‘Come (ehi), be my disciple,’ he bade them expect to get rid

of suffering, he told them to stamp out suffering by stamping out

desires (see pp. 43, 44). When the Christ said to His disciples, ‘Come,

follow Me,’ He bade them expect suffering. He told them to glory in

their sufferings—nay, to expect the perfection of their characters

through suffering.

It is certainly noteworthy that both Christianity and Buddhism agree in

asserting that all creation groaneth and travaileth in pain, in

suffering, in tribulation. But mark the vast, the vital distinction in

the teaching of each. The one taught men to be patient under affliction,

and to aim at the glorification of the suffering body, the other taught

men to be intolerant of affliction, and to aim at the utter annihilation

of the suffering body.

What says our Bible? We Christians, it says, are members of Christ’s

Body—of His flesh and of His bones—of that Divine Body which was once a

suffering Body, a cross-bearing Body, and is now a glorified Body, an

ever-living, life-giving Body. Hence it teaches us to honour and revere

the human body; nay, almost to deify the human body.

A Buddhist, on the other hand, treats every kind of body with contempt,

and repudiates as a simple impossibility, all idea of being a member of

the Buddha’s body. How could a Buddhist be a member of a body which was

burnt to ashes—which was calcined,—which became extinct at the moment

when the Buddha’s whole personality became extinguished also?

But, say the admirers of Buddhism, at least you will admit that the

Buddha told men to avoid sin, and to aim at purity and holiness of life?

Nothing of the kind. The Buddha had no idea of sin as an offence against

God, no idea of true holiness (see p. 124). What he said was—Get rid of

the demerit of evil actions and accumulate a stock of merit by good

actions.

And let me remark here that this determination to store up merit—like

capital at a bank—is one of those inveterate propensities of human

nature, one of those irrepressible and deep-seated tendencies in

humanity which nothing but the divine force imparted by Christianity can

ever eradicate. It is for ever cropping up in the heart of man, as much

in the West as in the East, as much in the North as in the South; for

ever re-asserting itself like a pestilent weed, or like tares amidst the

wheat, for ever blighting the fruit of those good instincts which

underlie man’s nature everywhere.

Only the other day I met an intelligent Sikh from the Panjāb, and asked

him about his religion. He replied, ‘I am no idolater; I believe in One

God, and I repeat my prayers, called “Jap-jee,” every morning and

evening. These prayers occupy six pages of print, but I can get through

them in little more than ten minutes.’ He seemed to pride himself on

this rapid recitation as a work of increased merit.

I said, ‘What else does your religion require of you?’ He replied, ‘I

have made one pilgrimage to a holy well near Amritsar. Eighty-five steps

lead down to it. I descended and bathed in the sacred pool. Then I

ascended one step and repeated my Jap-jee with great rapidity. Then I

descended again to the pool and bathed again, and ascended to the second

step and repeated my prayers a second time. Then I descended a third

time, and ascended to the third step and repeated my Jap-jee a third

time, and so on for the whole eighty-five steps, eighty-five bathings

and eighty-five repetitions of the same prayers. It took me exactly

fourteen hours, from 5 p.m. one evening to 7 a.m. next morning, and I

fasted all the time.’

I asked, ‘What good did you expect to get by going through this task?’

He replied, ‘I hope I have laid up an abundant store of merit, which

will last me for a long time.’

This, let me tell you, is a genuine Hindū notion. It is of the very

essence of Brāhmanism, of Hindūism, of Zoroastrianism, of Confucianism,

of Muhammadanism. It is even more of the essence of Buddhism. For, of

all systems, Buddhism is the one which lays most stress on the

accumulation of merit by good actions, as the sole counterpoise to the

mighty force generated by the accumulation of demerit through evil

actions in present and previous forms of life. Nor did the Buddha ever

claim to be a deliverer from guilt, a purger from the taint of past

pollution. He never pretended to set any one free from the penalty,

power, and presence of sin—from the bondage of sinful acts and besetting

vices. He never professed to furnish any cure for the leprosy of man’s

corrupt nature—any medicine for a dying sinner[283]. On the contrary, by

his doctrine of Karma he bound a man hand and foot to the inevitable

consequences of his own evil actions with chains of adamant. He said, in

effect, to every one of his disciples, ‘You are in slavery to a tyrant

of your own setting up; your own deeds, words, and thoughts in your

present and former states of being, are your own avengers through a

countless series of existences.

“Your acts your angels are for good or ill,

Your fatal shadows that walk by you still.”

‘If you have been a murderer, a thief, a liar, impure, a drunkard, you

must pay the penalty in your next birth—perhaps as a sufferer in one of

the hells[284], perhaps in the body of a wild beast, perhaps in that of

some unclean animal or loathsome vermin, perhaps as a demon or evil

spirit. Yes, your doom is sealed. Not in the heavens, O man, not in the

midst of the sea, not if thou hidest thyself in the clefts of the

mountains, wilt thou find a place where thou canst escape the force of

thine own evil actions[285]. Thy only hope of salvation is in thyself.

Neither god nor man can save thee, and I am wholly powerless to set thee

free.’

And now, contrast the few brief words of Christ in his first recorded

sermon[286]. ‘The Spirit of the Lord is upon Me, because He hath

anointed Me to preach good tidings to the poor; He hath sent Me to

proclaim liberty to the captives, and recovering of sight to the blind,

and the opening of the prison to them that are bound.’

Yes, in Christ alone there is deliverance from the bondage of former

transgressions, from the prison-house of former sins; a total cancelling

of the past; a complete blotting-out of the handwriting that is against

us; an entire washing away of every guilty stain; the opening of a clear

course for every man to start afresh; the free gift of pardon and of

life to every criminal, to every sinner—even the most heinous and

inveterate.

Still, I seem to hear some admirers of Buddhism say: We admit the force

of these contrasts, but surely you will allow that in the moral law of

Buddha we find precepts identically the same as those of

Christianity—precepts which tell a man not to love the world, not to

love money, not to hate his enemies, not to do unrighteous acts, not to

commit impurities, to overcome evil by good, and to do to others as we

would be done by?

Well, I admit all this. Nay, I admit even more than this; for many

Buddhist precepts command total abstinence in cases where Christianity

demands only temperance and moderation. The great contrast, as I have

already explained, between the moral precepts of Buddhism and

Christianity, is not so much in the letter of the precepts, as in the

power brought to bear in their application.

Buddhism, I repeat, says: Act righteously through your own efforts, and

for the final getting rid of all suffering, of all individuality, of all

life in yourselves. Christianity says: Be righteous through a power

implanted in you from above, through the power of a life-giving

principle, freely given to you, and always abiding in you. The Buddha

said to his followers: ‘Take nothing from me, trust to yourselves

alone.’ Christ said: ‘Take all from Me; trust not to yourselves. I give

unto you eternal life, I give unto you the bread of heaven, I give unto

you living water.’ Not that these priceless gifts involve any passive

condition of inaction. On the contrary, they stir the soul of the

recipient with a living energy. They stimulate him to noble deeds, and

self-sacrificing efforts. They compel him to act as the worthy,

grateful, and appreciative possessor of so inestimable a treasure.

Still, I seem to hear some one say: We acknowledge this; we admit the

truth of what you have stated; nevertheless, for all that, you must

allow that Buddhism conferred a great benefit on India by encouraging

freedom of thought and by setting at liberty its teeming population,

before entangled in the meshes of ceremonial observances and Brahmanical

priestcraft.

Yes, I grant this; nay, I grant even more than this. I admit that

Buddhism conferred many other benefits on the millions inhabiting the

most populous part of Asia. It introduced education and culture; it

encouraged literature and art; it promoted physical, moral, and

intellectual progress up to a certain point; it proclaimed peace, good

will, and brotherhood among men; it deprecated war between nation and

nation; it avowed sympathy with social liberty and freedom; it gave back

much independence to women; it preached purity in thought, word, and

deed (though only for the accumulation of merit); it taught self-denial

without self-torture; it inculcated generosity, charity, tolerance,

love, self-sacrifice, and benevolence, even towards the inferior

animals; it advocated respect for life and compassion towards all

creatures; it forbade avarice and the hoarding of money; and from its

declaration that a man’s future depended on his present acts and

condition, it did good service for a time in preventing stagnation,

stimulating exertion, promoting good works of all kinds, and elevating

the character of humanity.

Then again, when it spread to outlying countries it assumed the

character of a religion; it taught the existence of unseen worlds; it

permitted the offering of prayers to Maitreya and other supposed

personal saviours; it inculcated faith and trust in these celestial

beings, which operated as good motives in the hearts of many, while the

hope of being born in higher conditions of life, and the desire to

acquire merit by reverential acts, led to the development of devotional

services, which had much in common with those performed in Christian

countries. Nay, it must even be admitted that many Buddhists in the

present day are deeply imbued with religious feelings, and in no part of

the world are the outward manifestations of religion—such as temples and

sacred objects of all kinds—so conspicuous as in modern Buddhist

countries.

But if, after making all these concessions, I am told that, on my own

showing, Buddhism was a kind of introduction to Christianity, or that

Christianity is a kind of development of Buddhism, I must ask you to

bear with me a little longer, while I point out certain other contrasts,

which ought to make it clear to every reasonable man, how vast, how

profound, how impassable is the gulf separating the true religion from

the false philosophy, and from the later religious systems developed out

of it.

And first, observe that Buddhism has never claimed to be an exclusive

system. It has never aimed at taking the place of other religions. On

the contrary it tolerates all, and a Buddhist considers that he may be

at the same time a Hindū, a Confucianist, a Tāoist, a Shintoist, and

even, strange to say, a Christian.

A Christian, on the other hand, holds as a cardinal doctrine of his

religion, that there is only one Name under heaven given among men,

whereby any human being can be saved. To be at the same time a believer

in Christ and a believer in Buddha implies an utter contradiction in

terms.

Then it need scarcely be repeated here that Christ is before all things

a majestic example of a great historic personality. Any really

historical, matter-of-fact account of the life of Buddha, like that of

the life of Christ by the four Evangelists, may be looked for in vain

through all the Buddhist scriptures. The Buddha’s biography is mixed up

with such monstrous legends, absurd figments, and extravagant fables,

that to attempt the sifting out of any really historical element worthy

of being compared with the pregnant simplicity—the dignified brevity of

the biography of Christ, would be an idle task.

Still we may note two or three obvious points of comparison and

contrast.

And perhaps the most important is, that Christ constantly insisted on

the fact that He was God-sent, whereas the Buddha always described

himself as self sent. How indeed could the Buddha have said ‘the great I

AM hath sent me unto you[287]’ when he had no belief in the eternal

existence of any Ego at all? Not even in the reality of his own

individuality.

All that he affirmed of himself was that he came into the world to be a

teacher of perfect wisdom, by a force derived from his own acts. By that

force alone he had passed through innumerable bodies of gods, demi-gods,

demons, men, and animals, until he reached one out of numerous heavens,

and thence by his own will descended upon earth and entered the side of

his mother in the form of a white elephant (see pp. 23, 477). Let those

who speak of his ‘virgin-mother’ bear this in mind.

Christ, on the other hand, made known to his disciples, that He was with

His Father from everlasting, ‘Before Abraham was, I am.’ Then in the

fulness of time, He was _sent_ into the world by His Father, and was

born of a pure virgin, through the power of the Holy Spirit, in the

likeness and fashion of men.

Next let us note a vast contrast in the fact that Christ was sent from

heaven to be born on earth in a poor and humble station, to be reared in

a cottage, to be trained to toilsome labour as a working-man; whereas

the Buddha came down to be born on earth in a rich and princely family;

to be brought up amid luxurious surroundings, and finally to go forth as

a mendicant-monk, depending upon others for his daily food and doing

nothing for his own support.

Then, again, Christ as He grew up showed no signs of earthly majesty in

his external form, whereas the Buddha is described as marked with

certain mystic symbols of universal monarchy on his feet and on his

hands, and taller and more stately in frame and figure than ordinary

human beings (see pp. 476, 501).

Then, when each entered on his ministry as a teacher, Christ was

despised and rejected by kings and princes, and followed by poor and

ignorant fishermen, by common people, publicans, and sinners; Buddha was

honoured by kings and princes, and followed by rich men and learned

disciples.

Then Christ had all the treasures of knowledge hidden in Himself, and

made known to His disciples that He was Himself the Way, and the

Truth,—Himself their Wisdom, Righteousness, Sanctification, and

Redemption. Buddha declared that all enlightenment and wisdom were to be

attained by his disciples, not through him, but through themselves and

their own intuitions; and that, too, only after long and painful

discipline in countless successive bodily existences.

Then in regard to the miracles which both the Bible and the Tripiṭaka

describe as attestations of the truth of the teaching of each, contrast

the simple and dignified statement that ‘the blind receive their sight,

the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are

raised up, and the poor have the gospel preached unto them[288],’ with

the following description of the Buddha’s miracles in the Mahā-vagga (I.

20, 24)[289]: ‘At the command of the Blessed One the five hundred pieces

of fire-wood could not be split and were split, the fires could not be

lit up and were lit up, could not be extinguished and were extinguished.

Besides he created five hundred vessels with fire. Thus the number of

these miracles amounts to three thousand five hundred.’

Then, although each made use of missionary agency, the one sent forth

his high-born learned monks as missionaries to the world at the

commencement of his own career, giving them no divine commission; the

other waited till the close of His own ministry, and then said to His

low-born, unlearned disciples, ‘As My Father hath sent Me, even so send

I you’ (St. John xx. 21).

Then, when we come to compare the death of each, the contrast reaches

its climax; for Christ was put to death violently by wicked men, and

died in agony an atoning death, suffering for the sins of the world at

the age of thirty-three, leaving behind in Jerusalem about one hundred

and twenty disciples after a short ministry of three years. Whereas the

Buddha died peacefully among his friends, suffering from an attack of

indigestion at the age of eighty, leaving behind many thousands of

disciples after forty-five years of teaching and preaching.

And what happened after the death of each? Christ, the Holy One, saw no

corruption, but rose again in His present glorified body, and is alive

for evermore—nay, has life in Himself ever flowing in life-giving

streams towards His people. The Buddha is dead and gone for ever; his

body, according to the testimony of his own disciples, was burnt more

than 400 years before the Advent of Christ, and its ashes were

distributed everywhere as relics.

Even according to the Buddha’s own declaration, he now lives only in the

doctrine which he left behind him for the guidance of his followers.

And here again, in regard to the doctrine left behind by each, a vast

distinction is to be noted. For the doctrine delivered by Christ to His

disciples is to spread by degrees everywhere until it prevails

eternally. Whereas the doctrine left by Buddha, though it advanced

rapidly by leaps and bounds, is, according to his own admission, to fade

away by degrees, till at the end of 5000 years it has disappeared

altogether from the earth, and another Buddha must descend to restore

it. (Compare Postscript at end of Preface, p. xiv.)

Then that other Buddha must be followed by countless succeeding Buddhas

in succeeding ages, whereas there is only one Christ, who can have no

successor, for He is alive for ever and for ever present with His

people: ‘Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world.’

Then observe that, although the Buddha’s doctrine was ultimately written

down by his disciples in certain collections of books, in the same

manner as the doctrine of Christ, a fundamental difference of

character—nay, a vast and impassable gulf of difference—separates the

Sacred Books of each, the Bible of the Christian and the Bible of the

Buddhist.

The characteristic of the Christian’s Bible is that it claims to be a

supernatural revelation, yet it attaches no mystical talismanic virtue

to the mere sound of its words. On the other hand, the characteristic of

the Buddhist Bible is that it utterly repudiates all claim to be a

supernatural revelation; yet the very sound of its words is believed to

possess a meritorious efficacy capable of elevating any one who hears it

to heavenly abodes in future existences. In illustration I may advert to

a legend current in Ceylon, that once on a time 500 bats lived in a cave

where two monks daily recited the Buddha’s Law. These bats gained such

merit by simply hearing the sound of the words, that, when they died,

they were all re-born as men, and ultimately as gods.

Then as to the words themselves, contrast the severely simple and

dignified style of the Bible narrative, its brevity, perspicuity,

vigour, and sublimity, its trueness to nature and inimitable pathos,

with the feeble utterances, the tedious diffuseness, and I might almost

say ‘the inane twaddle’ and childish repetitions of the greater portion

of the Tripiṭaka (see note 2, p. 541).

But again, I am sure to hear the admirers of Buddhism say: Is it not the

case that the doctrine of Buddha, like the doctrine of Christ, has

self-sacrifice as its key-note? Well, be it so. I admit that the Buddha

taught a kind of self-sacrifice. I admit that he related of himself

that, on a particular occasion in one of his previous births[290], he

plucked out his own eyes, and, that on another, he cut off his own head

as a sacrifice for the good of others; and that again, on a third

occasion, he cut his own body to pieces to redeem a dove from a

hawk[291]. Yet note the vast distinction between the self-sacrifice

taught by the two systems. Christianity demands the suppression of

selfishness; Buddhism demands the suppression of self, with the one

object of extinguishing all consciousness of self. In the one, the true

self is elevated and intensified. In the other, the true self is

annihilated by the practice of a false form of non-selfishness, which

has for its real object, not the good of others, but the annihilation of

the Ego, the utter extinction of the illusion of personal individuality.

Furthermore, observe the following contrasts in the doctrines which each

bequeathed to his followers:—

According to Christianity:—Fight and overcome the world.

According to Buddhism:—Shun the world, and withdraw from it.

According to Christianity:—Expect a new earth when the present earth is

destroyed; a world renewed and perfected; a purified world in which

righteousness is to dwell for ever.

According to Buddhism:—Expect a never-ending succession of evil worlds

for ever coming into existence, developing, decaying, perishing, and

reviving, and all equally full of everlasting misery, disappointment,

illusion, change, and transmutation.

According to Christianity, bodily existence is subject to only one

transformation.

According to Buddhism, bodily existence is continued in six conditions,

through countless bodies of men, animals, demons, ghosts, and dwellers

in various hells and heavens; and that, too, without any progressive

development, but in a constant jumble of metamorphoses and

transmutations (see p. 122).

Christianity teaches that a life in heaven can never be followed by a

fall to a lower state.

Buddhism teaches that a life in a higher heaven may be succeeded by a

life in a lower heaven, or even by a life on earth or in one of the

hells.

According to Christianity, the body of man may be the abode of the Holy

Spirit of God.

According to Buddhism, the body whether of men or of higher beings can

never be the abode of anything but evil.

According to Christianity:—Present your bodies as living sacrifices,

holy, acceptable to God, and expect a change to glorified bodies

hereafter.

According to Buddhism:—Look to final deliverance from all bodily life,

present and to come, as the greatest of all blessings, highest of all

boons, and loftiest of all aims.

According to Christianity, a man’s body can never be changed into the

body of a beast, or bird, or insect, or loathsome vermin.

According to Buddhism, a man, and even a god, may become an animal of

any kind, and even the most loathsome vermin may again become a man or a

god.

According to Christianity:—Stray not from God’s ways; offend not against

His holy laws.

According to Buddhism:—Stray not from the eight-fold path of the perfect

man, and offend not against yourself and the law of the perfect man.

According to Christianity:—Work the works of God while it is day.

According to Buddhism:—Beware of action, as causing re-birth, and aim at

inaction, indifference, and apathy, as the highest of all states.

Then note other contrasts.

According to the Christian Bible:—Regulate and sanctify the heart,

desires, and affections.

According to the Buddhist:—Suppress and destroy them utterly, if you

wish for true sanctification.

Christianity teaches that in the highest form of life, love is

intensified.

Buddhism teaches that in the highest state of existence, all love is

extinguished.

According to Christianity:—Go and earn your own bread, support yourself

and your family. Marriage, it says, is honourable and undefiled, and

married life is a field on which holiness may grow and be developed.

Nay, more—Christ Himself honoured a wedding with His presence, and took

up little children in His arms and blessed them.

Buddhism, on the other hand, says:—Avoid married life; shun it as if it

were ‘a burning pit of live coals’ (p. 88); or, having entered on it,

abandon wife, children, and home, and go about as celibate monks,

engaging in nothing but in meditation and recitation of the Buddha’s

Law—that is to say—if you aim at the highest degree of sanctification.

And then comes the important contrast that in the one system we have a

teaching gratifying to the pride of man, and flattering to his

intellect; while in the other we have a teaching humbling to his pride,

and distasteful to his intellect. For Christianity tells us that we must

become as little children, and that when we have done all that we can,

we are still unprofitable servants. Whereas Buddhism teaches that every

man is saved by his own works and by his own merits only.

Fitly, indeed, do the rags worn by the monks of true Buddhism symbolize

the miserable patchwork of its own self-righteousness.

Not that Christianity ignores the necessity for good works; on the

contrary, no other system insists on a lofty morality so strongly; but

never as the meritorious instrument of salvation[292]—only as a

thank-offering, only as the outcome and evidence of faith.

Lastly, we must advert again to the most momentous—the most essential of

all the distinctions which separate Christianity from Buddhism.

Christianity regards personal life as the most sacred of all

possessions. Life, it seems to say, is no dream, no illusion. ‘Life is

real, life is earnest.’ Life is the most precious of all God’s gifts.

Nay, it affirms of God Himself that He is the highest Example of intense

Life—of intense personality, the great ‘I AM that I AM,’ and teaches us

that we are to thirst for a continuance of personal life as a gift for

Him; nay, more, that we are to thirst for the living God Himself and for

conformity to His likeness; while Buddhism sets forth as the highest of

all aims the utter extinction of the illusion of personal identity—the

utter annihilation of the Ego—of all existence in any form whatever, and

proclaims as the only true creed the ultimate resolution of everything

into nothing, of every entity into pure nonentity.

What shall I do to inherit eternal life?—says the Christian. What shall

I do to inherit eternal extinction of life?—says the Buddhist.

It seems a mere absurdity to have to ask in concluding these

Lectures:—Whom shall we choose as our Guide, our Hope, our Salvation,

‘the Light of Asia,’ or ‘the Light of the World?’ the Buddha or the

Christ? It seems a mere mockery to put this final question to rational

and thoughtful men in the nineteenth century: Which Book shall we clasp

to our hearts in our last hour—the Book that tells us of the dead, the

extinct, the death-giving Buddha, or the Book that reveals to us the

living, the eternal, the life-giving Christ?