THUS have I heard.
At this time the Queen Prajapati, she who had nourished the Blessed One
with noble milk when his mother Maya was received into Paradise, sent to
our Lord, with a message from herself and from the Princess Yashodara
and other ladies of the royal family, and it was this.
“Full of hindrances is the household life, very free the life of the
homeless for such as would walk in the way. Let the Blessed One, the
Happy One, permit that women also retire to the peace of the homeless
life under the discipline taught by the Exalted Lord.”
But he was silent, and a second time they made their petition, for they
thought:
“Much need have women of the Peace, and is the way closed to them only?”
And the Queen Prajapati came herself and besought him with tears, and he
replied:
“Enough, Lady. Do not make this request,” and weeping and saluting him
with reverence she left him.
So wandering from place to place and teaching by the way, the Blessed
One came to Vaisali and stayed awhile in the Pagoda Hall, and when she
knew where she could find him the Queen Prajapati with shorn hair and
yellow robes, followed by a number of the Sakya women journeyed along
the dusty ways to Vaisali and stood in the porch of the Pagoda Hall
weeping and very sorrowful.
Now it so chanced that the disciple Ananda, cousin of the Exalted One
and much loved by him (and he was chosen to wait always about his
person), saw those weeping women stand in the porch, dusty and foreworn
with the long journey and their tender feet swollen and cut with
unwonted travel, and he pitied them and inquired into the cause of their
grief.
And having heard all he approached the Blessed One with reverence where
he sat full of peace looking out into the green shade of the nyagrodha
trees, and after salutation Ananda the beloved sat down beside him
waiting until the Lord turned his eyes serenely upon him. And then said
Ananda:
“Reverend Sir, here in the entrance stands Prajapati the Queen with
swollen feet, sorrowful and weeping, and her word is that the Blessed
One will not permit women to retire to the homeless life. Exalted One, I
beseech you for these. Let their petition be heard.”
But the Blessed One replied:
“Enough, Ananda. Do not ask this.”
And again and yet again the beloved Ananda besought and still the Lord
refused. And then the thought occurred to Ananda that he might ask in
another manner with more success, for he pitied the women for this great
denial of their hope. And he said:
“Lord, if women retire to the homeless life is it possible for them to
attain to the goal of returning only once more to rebirth? Is it
possible that escaping from sorrow they should attain to saintship?”
And the Blessed One in whom is all truth, answered:
“This is possible.”
And the face of Ananda gladdened even like his name which signifies Joy,
and he said:
“Then I beseech the Perfected One to consider how great a benefactress
to the Order has been the Queen. She is sister to the mother of the
Blessed One and at her breast was he nourished. I beseech and yet again
beseech that they be admitted, for if it be possible that they thus make
an end of sorrow shall not this be permitted?”
Then said the Blessed One:
“Hard is it to refuse and I cannot. If therefore these women will accept
eight weighty regulations in addition to those accepted by the
Order—eight weighty regulations making them subject to the Order, it
shall be reckoned to them for ordination.”
And when he had received the eight weighty regulations hard to be borne,
for they set the oldest and most venerable of nuns below the youngest
and least of the Order, Ananda went out to the Queen and told her all as
she stood patiently with the wearied women. And when they heard the
regulations sorrow passed from them as when the moon escaping from a
cloud floats in pure radiance in pure air, and the Queen answered for
Yashodara and for all those tender ones:
“Reverend Ananda, as a woman young, beautiful, and loving to beautify
herself, having obtained a wreath of blue lotus-flowers, or of perfumed
jasmin, takes it and wreathes her head with joy, so do we. O venerable
Ananda, we take up those eight weighty regulations, not to be
transgressed while life lasts.”
And that was their ordination, as the Exalted One had said, and Ananda
returned to the Lord and told him of their joy. And he meditated and
said:
“If, Ananda, women had not retired to the homeless life, under my
discipline then would religion have endured long in this country, even a
thousand years. But now, not very long will the discipline and religion
endure. And just as a man prudently builds a dike in order that water
confined may not transgress its bounds, have I laid down the eight
weighty regulations. Yet shall it not endure, since women have accepted
the rules.”
And true it is that in India the faith has not endured, but over the
rest of Asia has it spread, strong and mighty.
But the women were glad at heart, for the homeless life drew them with
the very passion of peace and many became great saints, some dwelling in
forests and in caves, and great to them was the joy of peace in the
solitudes far from crowds, and they were filled with the life of trees
and great forests and the strength of the up-running sap and the
speechless communion and growth of trees and plants. And in many joy
broke forth in words and they made the Psalms of the Sisters, even as
their brothers the monks also sang for joy and could no more be silent
than birds at dawn, and the world they had known called to ears that
heard no longer. And thus it called:
“Young art thou, sister, and faultless—what seekest _thou_ in the holy
life?
Cast off that yellow-hued raiment and come!”
And each replied in her own manner.
“I what was well to do have done, and what
Is to my heart delectable. Therein
Is my delight, and thus through happiness
Has happiness been sought after and won.”
Young and old they rejoiced, and the solitudes were kind to them,
admitting them to fellowship. And one aged sister spoke this:
“Though I be suffering and weak and all
My spring of youth be gone, yet have I come
Leaning upon my staff and climbed aloft
On mountain peak. My cloak have I thrown off
My little bowl o’er-turned; so sit I here
Upon the rock. And o’er my spirit sweeps
The breath of Liberty. I win, I win
The Triple Lore! The Buddha’s will be done.”
For now, they who had been the prisoners of man and of opinion learnt
the beauty of the solitudes, and knew the silence that is in the starry
sky, the sleep that is among the lonely hills, and it became theirs, and
they attained to the coolness, purity and luminance of the Peace,
bathing in it as in moonlit water. For they had passed through the Three
Grades of Training, the Higher habit of Conduct, the Higher
Consciousness, and the Higher Wisdom, and thus, knowing the world, not
as it appears to be but as it is, knowing “This is Ill; this is the
cause of Ill; this is the way leading to the cessation of Ill,” they
were glad, and right ecstasy was theirs and joys that cannot be told,
and they were free.
And another said this:
“Nirvana have I realized and gazed
Into the mirror of the holy Norm.
I, even I, am healed of all my hurt.
Down is my burden laid, my task is done,
My heart is wholly set at liberty.”
And again:
“One day bathing my feet, I sit and watch
The water as it trickles down the slope.
Thereby I set my heart in steadfastness,
As one shall train a horse of noble breed.
Then, going to my cell, I take my lamp,
And seated on my couch I watch the flame.
Taking the pin I pull the wick right down
Into the oil. Extinguished is the fire.
Lo, the Nirvana of the little lamp.
Emancipation dawns. My heart is free.”
For as the flame is quenched so are all lusts, desires and cravings
extinguished in the clear waters of Nirvana. There is no fire so burning
as the greed of passion, no luckless cast of the dice so cruel as hate,
no ill so miserable as that of the ego that would claim all. Nor is
there any bliss to be compared with the Nirvana.
And the monks, also musing, made psalms that cannot die, for upon them
also was the bliss.
“When in the lowering sky thunders the storm-cloud’s drum,
And all the pathways of the birds are thick with rain,
The brother sits within the hollow of the hills
Alone, rapt in thought’s ecstasy. No higher bliss
Is given to men than this.
Or where by rivers flowers crowd the bank,
And fragrant rushes scent the tranquil air
With heart serene the brother sits to see,
Alone, rapt in an ecstasy. No higher bliss
Is given to men than this.”
And another:
“Whene’er I see the crane, her clear pale wings
Outstretched in fear to flee the black storm cloud,
A shelter seeking, to safe shelter borne,
Then does the river Ajakarani
Give joy to me.
Who shall not love to see on either bank
Clustered rose-apple trees in bright array
Beyond the great cave of the hermitage?
Or hear the soft croak of the frogs, their foes,
The legions of the air, withdrawn, proclaim
Now from the mountain streams is’t time to-day
To flit. Safe is the Ajakarani.
She brings us luck! Here it is good to be.”[5]
-----
[5] These Psalms are all translated by C. F. Rhys Davids.
-----
Thus very great joy had come to be by the Blessed One’s sufferings, and
for each pang he had paid came a golden harvest of the peace of others.
To Him who had thus Attained came men and women from far and near with
doubts and questions, and seated with dignity (for his noble Aryan birth
was upon him as well as the Peace) he received them all, answering and
resolving their doubts, nor was it difficult for him to do this for his
eyes were as the sun in his strength to divide light from darkness.
Yet let it be well understood that of certain things he would not speak,
counting them beyond human knowledge and knowing well that in no human
speech are there words to bear the burden of the Ineffable. Therefore
when men asked him of the Beginning, how division from the Eternal into
the false ego-self came into the world and from what well of bitterness
evil thought and evil doing flowed to become tears and blood in their
flowing, he would not answer, for none but a Buddha can comprehend the
deepest, and he only in ways beyond transmission to others. And he would
say:
“The arrow sticks in the wound, will you wait before the healer draws it
out to enquire of what wood is it made and whether the bowstring is of
hair or vegetable fibre? Life is ebbing while you theorize credulously
about present and future, self or identity. Of the origins I do not
teach.”
And when again they besought him to say whether life or nothingness lay
beyond death, only his own nearest disciples could read the fathomless
depths of his calm, looking rather to this than to his speech. For he
said, being alone with them to whom it was given to know:
“In this world of forms and illusions created by our senses, according
to our illusion a man either is or is not, either lives or dies, but in
the true and formless world this is not so for all is otherwise than
according to our knowledge and it is easier to answer in negatives than
in affirmatives. And if you ask Does a man live beyond death, I answer
No, not in any sense comprehensible to the mind of man which itself dies
at death. And if you ask does a man altogether die at death, I answer
No, for what dies is what belongs to this world of form and illusion,
that is the false I, but beyond this is another world incomprehensible
as yet to such as are not instructed and beyond all human categories, so
that if I would I cannot tell you of it, but I would not, for the things
are disturbing and do not aid the traveller on the only path which can
bring him to their threshold. Therefore of that and of the origins I do
not teach.”
But this ego which the unenlightened believes to be himself, very
certainly falls apart and dissolves at death, nor is there any place of
continuance for it, and it is wholly extinct.
And it so happened that one day a wandering monk, by name Vacchagotta,
came to the Exalted One, and saluting him with friendly greetings he sat
down beside him, and he asked:
“How does the matter stand, venerated Gotama? In a man is there the
Ego?”
And the Exalted One was silent, and Vacchagotta asked again and yet
again and still there was silence, and after awhile he rose and went
away.
But the beloved Ananda came to Him who has thus Attained, and said:
“Why, sir, did you not answer the wandering monk Vacchagotta?” And,
smiling, he looked in the face of the beloved Ananda.
“If, Ananda, when he asked me, I had answered ‘The ego is,’ then that
reply would have confirmed the teaching of those who believe in the
permanence of that false ego which is a bundle of tendencies and
consciousness and proudly calls itself I and the Soul; and if I had said
the ego is not, this would have confirmed the teaching of those who say
there is annihilation and nothing beyond death. For neither of these
schools, nor yet Vacchagotta, know the distinction between the ego of
which he asked me and the true Ego, for this last is eternal and beyond
comprehension, and the false ego passes and is gone like a dream in the
awakening of dawn. Therefore since Vacchagotta has not attained to the
threshold of that knowledge, being prisoned in the world of appearances,
what could I do but keep silence?”
And the beloved Ananda laid his hand upon his mouth and retired, for
with all his heart of love he had not yet attained to the full insight
of the unreality of appearances, but where he could not understand he
loved. And love is also the Way, as witness the monk Purna who was about
to carry the light into a land of violent and perilous people. So the
Perfected One sent for him, and asked:
“And if, monk, these people abuse and injure you, what will be your
thought?”
“That these people are good in that they only abuse me and do not beat
me.”
“But if they beat you?”
“Then I shall think they are good in that they only beat me and do not
stab me with swords.”
“But if with swords?”
“Then I shall think: They are good. They leave me my life.”
“But if they take your life?”
“Then,—They are good to me in that they have lifted a burden from me.”
And looking upon his face the World-Honoured said:
“Well have you spoken, Purna. Go and deliver, you who have delivered
yourself. Comfort, for you are comforted. Guide to the Peace, for you
have entered it.”
So Purna went in joy.
And there was a monk named Yamaka who, considering the teaching,
believed that on the dissolution of the body the man who has lost all
depravity is annihilated and exists no more. And his fellow monks having
in vain urged him to abandon so wicked a heresy called upon Sariputta
the Great to teach him better, and by his silence he consented.
So when the evening was come, Sariputta the Great rose from deep
meditation and drawing near to Yamaka he greeted him with courtesy as
one monk should another and sitting down respectfully beside him he
questioned him thus:
“Is the report true, brother Yamaka, that the wicked heresy of
annihilation has sprung up in your mind?”
“Even so, brother, do I understand the teaching of the Blessed One.”
And Sariputta the Great mused a moment and resumed:
“What think you, brother Yamaka;—is his bodily form the saint?”
“No indeed, brother.”
“Are sensation, perception, predispositions, the saint?”
“Certainly not, brother.”
“Then can you consider the saint as apart and distinct from form,
sensation, perception and predispositions?”
“Brother, I cannot.”
“And if separately they are not, are they when united the saint?”
“Brother, no.”
“Then what think you, brother Yamaka? If you cannot prove the very
existence of the saint in this world of forms and appearances, is it
reasonable for you to say that at death the saint is annihilated and
does not exist.”
And holding down his head for shame Yamaka answered:
“Brother Sariputta, it was through ignorance I held that wicked heresy,
but now I have acquired the True Doctrine.”
For Sariputta the Great taught as did his Master that the true being is
detached from each of these delusive selves of consciousness, sensation,
perception, and predispositions, and the saint who has attained has
detached himself even in this life from belief that these are
himself—his ego. How then should it be that the essential perishes when
these dissolve with the dying brain in death? Yet has this wicked heresy
been spread, though clear as day must it be made to those who tread the
way that it is a lie and no truth.
For thus have I heard. After the death of the Perfected One, the King of
Kosala, journeying from Savatthi, met with the learned nun Khema,
renowned for wisdom, and the King, respectfully saluting her, asked her
of the Teaching.
“Venerable Lady, the Perfect One is dead. Does he exist after death?”
“Great King, the Exalted One has not declared that he exists after
death.”
“Then, venerable Lady, does the Perfect One not exist.”
“The Perfect One has not declared that he does not exist after death.”
“But, venerable Lady,—does and does not? How is this possible?”
And, smiling a little, the learned nun replied:
“Great King, have you an accountant or a mint-master who could count the
sands of Ganges and lay the figure before you?”
“Venerable Lady, no.”
“Or who could measure the drops in the ocean?”
“Again no, venerable Lady.”
“And why? Because the ocean is deep, immeasurable, unfathomable. So also
is it if the existence of the Perfect One be measured by any human
category, for all statements of bodily form are abolished in the Perfect
One; their root is severed; they are done with and can germinate no
more. The Perfect One is released from the possibility that his being
can be gauged in any human terms. He is now deep, immeasurable and
unfathomable as the ocean, and neither the terms of existence or of
non-existence as understood by the world fit him any more.”
Then there was a long silence and the King having heard the nun Khema’s
words with approbation, rose and bowed reverently before her and went
his way.
Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, nor can the tongue tell of such
matters for they are beyond and above us. And it is for this reason that
the Blessed One replied thus to the venerable Malukya, when he
reproached the Perfect One as follows:
“Is the world eternal or the slave of time? Does the World-Honoured live
on beyond death? It pleases me not at all that all these important
matters should remain unanswered. May it please the Master to answer
them if he can. And if he does not know let him say so plainly.”
But the Master replied with his smile:
“Did I say to you, Malukya,—‘Come and be my disciple, and I will teach
you whether the world is everlasting or finite, whether the vital
faculty is separate from the body or one with it, whether the Exalted
One lives or does not live after death?’ Did I promise all this?”
“No, sir, you did not.”
“And, Malukya, if a man is struck by a poisoned arrow, suppose he
says—‘I will never allow my wound to be treated until I know who shot
the arrow—was it a man of high or low caste. And I must know whether he
is tall or short, and how his bow and arrows are made!’—Would this be a
sensible proceeding? Surely no. He would die of his wounds.
“Why have I not made these things clear? Because the knowledge of them
does not conduce to holiness nor right detachment, nor to peace and
enlightenment.—What is needed for these I teach, the truth of suffering
and its origin, the truth of the Way to its cessation. Therefore let
what I have not revealed rest, and follow that which I have revealed.”
And Malukya was content, knowing at last that in this life these
questions are deep, mysterious and unanswerable, and the sole way to
their understanding is to live the life, untroubled by controversy and
dogma on such things as cannot be uttered in terms of human knowledge.
For there is a Knowledge veiled in excess of light which dazzles the
eyes to blindness. Let words be few. Let good deeds be many. He
understands it for whom it passes thought. Who thinks of it can never
know it. And if it could be told in words it would not be the Truth.
And there is yet another example of this. For once in early days the
Blessed One sat high among his own upon the Peak of Vultures, and there
came before his quiet feet a Shining One and laid there a golden flower,
praying that he would speak and in sweet speech instruct them of the
innermost of the Peace. The Blessed One received the golden flower
within his hand and sat in utter calm but spoke no word and all the
Assembly mused what this might mean, and, musing, could not know. But at
long last, Kassapa the Great smiled, also in silence, and the Blessed
One said softly:
“I hold within my heart the Treasure of the Law, the wondrous knowledge
that is the Peace. This have I given to Kassapa wordless, and wordless
he has seen and known.”
So passes the vision from heart to heart. But words cannot tell it to
the brain.