It is quite possible that to some of the readers of these pages the very
name of Shintoism was unknown; whereas all will have heard and read at
least something of Buddhism, one of the four most prevalent religions of
the world, and claiming at the present day considerably more than four
hundred millions of adherents.(6) At the same time, our inquiry into
Buddhism cannot be comprised within such narrow limits as sufficed for our
examination of the indigenous religion of Japan; the subject being one of
the vastest dimensions. Perhaps, then, it may be better if, at the outset,
I allude to some of the literature, published within the last few years,
which has been most instrumental in attracting attention, both in England
and America, to the subject. Nor, in this connexion, can all reference be
omitted to the writings of the late Madame Blavatsky, Mr. Sinnett, and
their school; though I refer to them only in order to caution my readers
against forming from them any estimate of Buddhism. The only literature,
as far as I know, that has appeared in England from what claims to be an
enthusiastic Buddhist stand-point, these writings are, I believe,
calculated to convey a curiously erroneous idea of the great system with
which we are now concerned, to any who would turn for information to them
exclusively. This, indeed, becomes obvious when it is understood that the
Buddhism, of which these books profess to treat, is not the Buddhism of
history and the sacred books, not the Buddhism which forms the popular
religion of hundreds of millions of Asiatics at the present day, but an
“esoteric” Buddhism, a knowledge of which, it is admitted, is confined to
a comparative few, even in the country where it is said to be most
prevalent.(7) In short, the “esoteric Buddhism” of Mr. Sinnett and his
friends would seem to be scarcely, if at all, distinguishable from the
movement which has recently acquired a brief notoriety in England under
the name of Theosophy; and with this, Buddhism proper—i.e. the historical,
popular Buddhism with which we have to do—can hardly be said to have
anything in common.
With the book, however, which probably more than any other work of the day
has been the means of drawing the attention of English-speaking people to
Buddhism, we cannot deal in so summary a fashion. For in Sir Edwin
Arnold’s poem, _The Light of Asia_, we have a work which is simply a
rendering of the life of Buddha, in general accordance with the received
traditions, and one, moreover, which has met with a cordial welcome at the
hands of Buddhists. Nor can it be questioned that the book is a production
of great power, or that it appeals altogether to a very different class of
readers from that likely to be influenced by the _Occult World_, or _Isis
Unveiled_.
It is indeed, the great beauty of its poetry, and the book’s consequent
popularity, that only make the more necessary a reference which must to
some extent take the form of a protest. To put it briefly, the case is
this:—Men and women have risen from a perusal of the _Light of Asia_ with
a sense of damage done to their Christian faith, and with a
feeling—confused, perhaps, but not the less real—that in Gautama Buddha
they have been confronted with a formidable rival to Jesus Christ. How far
the poem is responsible for this result we will not attempt to determine;
and that such was no part of the author’s intention we may readily
believe. But that the minds of not a few have been perplexed and disturbed
by the reading of this book is a certain fact; making it neither
surprising nor regrettable that its publication should have been followed
by works on the subject, written from an emphatically Christian point of
view. To the fullest and ablest of these,—the Rev. S. H. Kellogg’s _The
Light of Asia and the Light of the World: a Comparison of the Legend, the
Doctrine and the Ethics of the Buddha, with the Story, the Doctrine and
the Ethics of Christ_ (Macmillan, 1885),—I would refer those desirous of
investigating fully the points at issue; contenting myself now with a few
brief observations.
It is, then, important to bear in mind that Sir E. Arnold’s poem is
written in the person, and from the stand-point of an imaginary Buddhist.
This is indicated plainly on the title-page, in the preface, and in the
course of the poem itself; and when the book comes to be read by the light
of this explanation, a limitation is cast about much of its more startling
language. To take, for instance, such expressions as “Our Lord,”
“Saviour,” “come to save the world,” constantly assigned to Buddha in the
course of the poem. However accustomed Christians may be to associate such
terms with One only, and however pained they may feel at their being
referred, under any circumstances and with any restrictions, to another,
still it is obvious that their use becomes less open to objection, when
placed in the mouth of a disciple, singing the praise of his Master,—and
that Master, one who, it can hardly be disputed, wrought no mean work of
deliverance on the earth. Far less admitting of satisfactory explanation
are passages in the book in which we find transferred to Buddha and
Buddhism ideas and language distinctively Christian; the solemn saying of
Simeon to the Holy Mother, “A sword shall pierce through thine own soul
also,” and the still more solemn, “It is finished” of the Cross, being
made to supply particularly distressing instances of such treatment.(8)
Or once again: but what I would say now has already been urged by Dr.
Eitel, in words which I cannot do better than quote. “I believe,” he says,
“it would be unjust to pick out any of those queer and childish sayings
with which the Buddhist Scriptures and especially popular Buddhist books
abound, and to lead people to imagine that Buddhism is little better than
a string of nonsense. It is even doubtful whether the earliest Buddhist
texts contained such statements at all; for, unlike our Bible, the
Buddhist canon has undergone wholesale textual alterations.... As to the
popular literature of Buddhism, and its absurdities, we might as well
collect those little pamphlets on dreams, on sorcery, on lucky and unlucky
days, on the lives and miracles of saints, which circulate among Roman
Catholic peasants,—but would that give us a true picture of Roman
Catholicism? Thus it is with Buddhism.”(9) In other words, Dr. Eitel would
urge that in order to deal fairly with such a subject, we must try to
distinguish the essence of the thing itself from the abuses and follies
that may, from time to time, have gathered round it; and this, it is to be
feared, has not always been done by English writers, in treating of
Buddhism.
For the sake of clearness, we may next proceed to trace a brief outline of
the life of Buddha, according to the belief of Buddhists generally, and
stripped of such legends and superstitions as find no credence with the
more educated and intellectual. It is true that a doubt has sometimes been
expressed as to the existence of Gautama Buddha at all; while even so
eminent an authority as Mr. Spence Hardy declares his conviction that,
owing to the lack of really authentic information, “it is impossible to
rely implicitly on any single statement made in relation to him.”(10) But
even supposing the Buddha of the commonly-received traditions to be,
whether in part or in entirety, a mere creation of Indian thought, the
case undergoes no vital alteration; seeing that it is with the religion of
Buddhism that we are mainly concerned, and only in quite a subordinate
degree with the person of its supposed founder. The point is one that
deserves careful attention, suggesting as it does at once the essential
difference between Buddhism and Christianity, and the immeasurable
distance which divides the two. For of Christianity it is no exaggeration
to say that upon the truth of the received accounts of its Founder’s Life
and Person its whole position absolutely depends; whereas, could it be
proved that Gautama never even lived, the system associated with his name
would suffer no material loss,—and this, because in Buddha we are invited
to contemplate only a teacher and a guide, one who would have men seek
purification and deliverance by the same means as he himself needed to
employ, and one who never claimed to be more than human. Most persons,
however, will prefer to accept as, in the main, historically correct the
commonly accepted outline of the life of Buddha which may thus be given—
The reputed founder of Buddhism was one Siddhartha, known in later life as
Gautama, and later still, by the title of Buddha, or the “Enlightened
One.” Siddhartha was a prince of the Sakya tribe, whose territories were
situated some hundred miles north-east of the city of Benares. Hence he is
often spoken of under the name of _Sakya-muni_, or the “Sakya sage.” As
regards his date, widely different opinions are held; sometimes it is
placed as early as the tenth, and sometimes as late as the third century
B.C. The most competent authorities, however, agree in following the
Buddhists of Ceylon, and take 543 B.C. as the date of his death.(11) His
father’s name was Suddhodana; his mother was called Maia. Of the earlier
years of Siddhartha’s life we have little information that is at all to be
relied on; but his early manhood appears to have been spent amid the
luxury and self-indulgence customary with Oriental princes. Gautama,
however, was a man of great benevolence, and we are told that, while still
quite young, he pondered deeply on the mystery of the pain and suffering
which held the human race in bondage. Presently, becoming dissatisfied
with his own life of ease and pleasure, he made the “Great Renunciation;”
turning his back, at the age of thirty, on wife and parents, home and
wealth. After spending some years in travel, he retired to the forest,
where he attached himself to a little band of ascetics, and practised
severe forms of discipline and self-mortification; hoping thus to discover
the secret of release from suffering. But meeting with no success, and
still fast bound by the trammels of ignorance, he betook himself to
contemplation; until one day, as he was seated beneath the
Bo-tree,—henceforth to be accounted sacred(12)—the struggles of his soul
prevailed, and he passed out of darkness into light. He was now Buddha, He
who Knew, the Enlightened. The four truths to the knowledge of which
Gautama thus attained, and which form the very foundation of the Buddhist
doctrine, are these—(i) That man is born to suffering, both mental and
physical: he experiences it himself, he inflicts it upon others; (ii) that
this suffering is occasioned by desire; (iii) that the condition of
suffering in which man finds himself admits of amelioration and relief;
(iv) the way of release, and the attainment to Nirvana.
Here we must pause to make the inquiry, What is meant by _Nirvana_,—the
goal of the Buddhist’s hope and aim? Literally, the word means
“extinction”; and hence it has often come to be regarded as a mere synonym
for annihilation. The variety of opinions held by European scholars as to
its meaning is, there is little doubt, due to the fact that Buddhists
themselves are by no means agreed as to its precise significance. Is
Nirvana a state of consciousness or unconsciousness? Is the personality
perpetuated, or is the _ego_ absorbed,—i.e. into Buddha? Such questions
are differently answered by the different schools. Concerning the nature
of Nirvana, Buddha himself, in his agnosticism, would seem to have been
almost wholly silent. He appears to have simply taught that by the
suppression and “extinction” of the natural passions and desires—anger,
avarice, sorrow, and the like(13)—it was possible even here to enter upon
a state of tranquillity, rest, and peace, which should attain hereafter to
more perfect fulfilment. Of the various meanings attached to Nirvana by
the different Buddhist sects, one extreme makes it scarcely
distinguishable from complete annihilation, while the opposite extreme
introduces us to the doctrine of the Paradise of the West, the Pure Land
presided over by Amitabha Buddha, the abode of perfect happiness and
delight. This remarkable development of Buddhism will claim our attention
later.(14)
[Illustration.]
Daibatsu At Kamakura.
To return. After his enlightenment, it is said that Gautama was seized by
the temptation to enter at once into Nirvana, without proclaiming his
doctrine to the world. But putting the temptation from him, he began his
ministry by announcing the tidings of release to the companions of his
ascetic life, who, after scoffing for awhile, were at length convinced. In
the course of this, his first sermon, Buddha proceeded to enunciate the
eight steps on the path which leads to Nirvana—(i) Right faith, (ii) right
resolution, (iii) right speech, (iv) right action, (v) right living, (vi)
right effort, (vii) right thought, (viii) right self-concentration. As
time went on, Gautama began to gather round him a number of disciples, who
became his constant companions. Part of each year he spent in rest and
retirement; teaching and training his disciples, and receiving such as,
attracted by his growing reputation, sought him out. The remaining months
he occupied in travelling from place to place, proclaiming the good news
of deliverance in the towns and villages through which he passed. Soon we
find him establishing a Society or Brotherhood; the members of which
severed their connexion with all worldly things, handed over their
property to the Order, adopted the tonsure and a distinctive dress, and,
following the Master’s doctrine with strictness themselves, devoted their
lives to its propagation. Any member, however, was at liberty to leave the
Brotherhood, should he wish to do so. It is noticeable that Buddha’s
earliest followers were chiefly drawn—not, as in the case of a Greater
than he, from the ranks of the poor and simple—but from the upper classes.
Indeed, Gautama seems to have regarded the weak and ignorant as incapable
of receiving his teaching. Children are hardly mentioned in the early
Buddhist writings; and with regard to women, it was only with great
reluctance that Sakya-muni eventually consented to the formation of a
Sisterhood, the members of which were, as far as possible, to observe the
same rules as the men—together with several additional ones, chiefly
concerned with their subjection to the Brethren. In the same way, it is
still the teaching of Buddhism that it should be a woman’s highest
aspiration to be reborn as a man, in a future state of existence. When,
however, the two Orders—for men and for women—had been formed, there still
remained a large number of either sex, who, without leaving their places
in the world, were desirous of being reckoned among Buddha’s followers.
These were admitted as lay-adherents, one of their chief obligations being
to contribute to the maintenance of the Brethren.
Having exercised his public ministry for forty years—without, as would
appear, encountering any great opposition—and having committed his work to
the Brotherhood, to carry on after his decease, Buddha died, aged about
eighty, and was buried with great pomp. It is recorded that, as the time
of his departure drew nigh, he replied to his disciples’ expressions of
apprehension and sorrow, by saying that when he should no longer be with
them in person, he would still be present with them in his sayings, in his
doctrine. Another point on which he laid great stress before his death was
that the Brotherhood should regularly assemble in convocation. Hence it
came about that from very early times, the declaration, “I seek refuge in
Buddha, Dharma (the Law), Samgha (the Brotherhood),” was adopted as the
formula which any one, desirous of becoming a Buddhist, was required to
profess. And it is the Trinity thus formed, which, represented to-day by
the three great images above the altar of many a Buddhist temple, has its
multitude of ignorant worshippers, who doubt not that three several
divinities are the objects of their adoration and their prayer.
Such, then, as would appear, was the origin of Buddhism. Strictly
speaking, and apart from its later developments, Buddhism is a religion
which knows no God, which attaches no value to prayer, which has no place
for a priesthood. Nowhere, perhaps, is its agnosticism more conspicuous
than in the five main prohibitions, which are addressed alike to clergy
and laity. The _first_ of these forbids the taking of life,—human life
chiefly, but other life as well; the _second_ is against theft, whether by
force or fraud; the _third_ is against falsehood; the _fourth_ forbids
impurity, in act, word, or thought; the _fifth_ requires abstinence from
all intoxicants. The whole idea of _GOD_, it will be noticed, is entirely
absent from the Buddhist Commandments. Infinitely removed above that other
agnosticism, which cries, “Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die,”
Buddhism starts with the idea of the entire abnegation of self. But a
self-denial that is undertaken, not for God, and in God for man, but
merely to secure one’s own peace and well-being—what is this but
selfishness after all? Enjoining a rule of life that is essentially
negative—the natural product of that blank despair of the world and of
human nature which led to the Great Renunciation—Buddhism, as a religious
system, has yielded but scanty fruits of positive holiness, of active
benevolence. And yet,—wholly inadequate as such a system as this, even at
its purest and best, must be to meet the needs of humanity,—false and even
debased as are sometimes its teachings,—the one great message that
Buddhism proclaims is a message of undeniable, if most imperfect, truth:
the truth that would have man cultivate self-reliance, and attain to
self-deliverance by means of self-control. “Work out your own salvation”
is the injunction of Christianity. “By one’s self,” taught Sakya-muni,
“the evil is one; by one’s self must come remedy and release.” So far the
two systems are at one; the difference between them lies in the fact that
the one places in our hands those supernatural weapons which alone make
real victory possible, and that these the other knows not how to supply.
Hitherto, we have made no reference to the relation of Buddhism to
Brahmanism. And yet we can no more hope to understand the work of
Sakya-muni, without observing its connexion with Brahmanism, than we could
afford to omit all mention of the Jewish Law and of Jewish Pharisaism, in
speaking of the liberation wrought by our Lord Jesus Christ. The work and
doctrine of Gautama Buddha,—with their mean between an ascetic severity,
on the one hand, and a licentious self-indulgence on the other—their
disregard of caste distinctions—their rejection of burdensome and
profitless traditions—may be said to bear to the heavy yoke of Brahmanism
a relation not dissimilar to that which freedom has to bondage. Laying
hold of that which was ready to his hand, if so be he might mould and
purify it, Buddha was a liberator and reformer in respect to what had gone
before. Let us take, for example, the doctrine of metempsychosis, or, as
it is commonly called, the “transmigration of souls.” No doubt, there is a
great deal connected with this doctrine in the Buddhist books that cannot
but appear to us puerile and shocking; but still, we do not well, we do
not justly, if, as do so many, we fasten such strange fancies on Buddha,
or on Buddhism, as though it were from these that they sprang. So far from
Sakya-muni being the originator of the theory of transmigration, a belief
in it had, for centuries previously, been almost universal throughout the
East; and his doctrine of Nirvana supplied an antidote to the belief in a
practically interminable series of metempsychoses current at the time.
With the theory of transmigration accepted on all sides, Buddha seems to
have made use of it to the extent that he did, as affording a convenient
solution of the difficulty presented by the unequal distribution of
happiness in this life, and the absence of any satisfactory exercise of
justice in the way of reward or punishment.
That the doctrine of metempsychosis should have been applied by Buddhists
to their great Master himself, is only what we should expect to find.
Gautama is accredited by Buddhists with some five hundred previous
existences, in the course of which he passed through numerous stages of
vegetable, animal and human life, until at length he attained to the
highest degree of manhood. Throughout the changing circumstances of his
being, he is said to have exhibited a transcendent and ever-increasing
unselfishness and charity, which culminated in his freely giving himself
to be re-born as Buddha for the world’s deliverance. And it is this
belief, probably, which has been the most potent factor in exalting the
Philosopher and the Guide to a height, which is scarcely, if at all,
distinguishable from the Throne of God.
I may conclude this chapter by quoting a passage from the late Dean
Stanley’s _History of the Jewish Church_, where he is referring to Gautama
Buddha: “It is difficult for those who believe the permanent elements of
the Jewish and Christian religion to be universal and Divine not to hail
these corresponding forms of truth and goodness elsewhere, or to recognize
that the mere appearance of such saint-like and god-like characters in
other parts of the earth, if not directly preparing the way for a greater
manifestation, illustrates that manifestation by showing how mighty has
been the witness borne to it even under circumstances of such
discouragement, and even with effects inadequate to their grandeur.”(15)