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Hinduism and Buddhism, Vol I. (of 3) by Charles Eliot

C >> Charles Eliot >> Hinduism and Buddhism, Vol I. (of 3)




"What does the order expect of me, Ananda? I have preached the truth
without any distinction of esoteric or exoteric, for in respect of the
truth, there is no clenched hand in the teaching of the Tathagata. If
there is anyone who thinks 'it is I who will lead the brotherhood' or
'the order is dependent on me,' it is he who should give instructions.
But the Tathagata does not think that he should lead the order or that
the order is dependent on him. Why then should he leave instructions? I
am an old man now, and full of years, my pilgrimage is finished, I have
reached my sum of days, I am turning eighty years; and just as a
worn-out cart can only be made to move along with much additional care,
so can the body of the Tathagata be kept going only with much additional
care. It is only when the Tathagata, ceasing to attend to any outward
thing becomes plunged in meditation, it is only then that the body of
the Tathagata is at ease. Therefore, Ananda, be a lamp and a refuge to
yourselves. Seek no other refuge. Let the Truth be your lamp and refuge;
seek no refuge elsewhere.

"And they, Ananda, who now or when I am dead shall be a lamp and a
refuge to themselves, seeking no other refuge but taking the Truth as
their lamp and refuge, these shall be my foremost disciples--these who
are anxious to learn."

This discourse is succeeded by a less convincing episode, in which the
Buddha tells Ananda that he can prolong his life to the end of a
world-period if he desires it. But though the hint was thrice repeated,
the heedless disciple did not ask the Master to remain in the world.
When he had gone, Mara, the Evil one, appeared and urged on the Buddha
that it was time for him to pass away. He replied that he would die in
three months but not before he had completely established the true
religion. Thus he deliberately rejected his allotted span of life and an
earthquake occurred. He explained the cause of it to Ananda, who saw his
mistake too late. "Enough, Ananda, the time for making such a request is
past[375]."

The narrative becomes more human when it relates how one afternoon he
looked at the town and said, "This will be the last time that the
Tathagata will behold Vesali. Come, Ananda, let us go to Bhandagama."
After three halts he arrived at Pava and stopped in the mango grove of
Cunda, a smith, who invited him to dinner and served sweet rice, cakes,
and a dish which has been variously interpreted as dried boar's flesh or
a kind of truffle. The Buddha asked to be served with this dish and bade
him give the sweet rice and cakes to the brethren. After eating some of
it he ordered the rest to be buried, saying that no one in heaven or
earth except a Buddha could digest it, a strange remark to chronicle
since it was this meal which killed him[376]. But before he died he sent
word to Cunda that he had no need to feel remorse and that the two most
meritorious offerings in the world are the first meal given to a Buddha
after he has obtained enlightenment and the last one given him before
his death. On leaving Cunda's house he was attacked by dysentery and
violent pains but bore them patiently and started for Kusinara with his
disciples. In going thither he crossed the river Kakuttha[377], and some
verses inserted into the text, which sound like a very old ballad,
relate how he bathed in it and then, weary and worn out, lay down on his
cloak. A curious incident occurs here. A young Mallian, named Pukkuisa,
after some conversation with the Buddha, presents him with a robe of
cloth of gold, but when it is put on it seems to lose its splendour, so
exceedingly clear and bright is his skin. Gotama explains that there are
two occasions when the skin of a Buddha glows like this--the night of his
enlightenment and the night before his death. The transfiguration of
Christ suggests itself as a parallel and is also associated with an
allusion to his coming death. Most people have seen a face so light up
under the influence of emotion that this popular metaphor seemed to
express physical truth and it is perhaps not excessive to suppose that
in men of exceptional gifts this illumination may have been so bright as
to leave traces in tradition.

Then they went on[378] to a grove at Kusinara, and he lay down on a
couch spread between two Sala trees. These trees were in full bloom,
though it was not the season for their flowering; heavenly strains and
odours filled the air and spirits unseen crowded round the bed. But
Ananda, we are told, went into the Vihara, which was apparently also in
the grove, and stood leaning against the lintel weeping at the thought
that he was to lose so kind a master. The Buddha sent for him and said,
"Do not weep. Have I not told you before that it is the very nature of
things most near and dear to us that we must part from them, leave them,
sever ourselves from them? All that is born, brought into being and put
together carries within itself the necessity of dissolution. How then is
it possible that such a being should not be dissolved? No such condition
is possible. For a long time, Ananda, you have been very near me by
words of love, kind and good, that never varies and is beyond all
measure. You have done well, Ananda. Be earnest in effort and you too
shall soon be free from the great evils--from sensuality, from
individuality, from delusion and from ignorance."

The Indians have a strong feeling that persons of distinction should die
in a suitable place[379], and now comes a passage in which Ananda begs
the Buddha not to die "in this little wattle and daub town in the midst
of the jungle" but rather in some great city. The Buddha told him that
Kusinara had once been the capital of King Mahasudassana and a scene of
great splendour in former ages. This narrative is repeated in an
amplified form in the Sutta and Jataka[380] called Mahasudassana, in
which the Buddha is said to have been that king in a previous birth.

Kusinara was at that time one of the capitals of the Mallas, who were an
aristocratic republic like the Sakyas and Vajjians. At the Buddha's
command Ananda went to the Council hall and summoned the people. "Give
no occasion to reproach yourself hereafter saying, The Tathagata died in
our own village and we neglected to visit him in his last hours." So the
Mallas came and Ananda presented them by families to the dying Buddha as
he lay between the flowering trees, saying "Lord, a Malla of such and
such a name with his children, his wives, his retinue and his friends
humbly bows down at the feet of the Blessed One."

A monk called Subhadda, who was not a believer, also came and Ananda
tried to turn him away but the Buddha overhearing said "Do not keep out
Subhadda. Whatever he may ask of me he will ask from a desire for
knowledge and not to annoy me and he will quickly understand my
replies." He was the last disciple whom the Buddha converted, and he
straightway became an Arhat.

Now comes the last watch of the night. "It may be, Ananda," said the
Buddha, "that some of you may think, the word of the Master is ended. We
have no more a teacher. But you should not think thus. The truths and
the rules which I have declared and laid down for you all, let them be
the teacher for you after I am gone.

"When I am gone address not one another as hitherto, saying 'Friend.' An
elder brother may address a younger brother by his name or family-name
or as friend, but a younger brother should say to an elder, Sir, or
Lord.

"When I am gone let the order, if it should so wish, abolish all the
lesser and minor precepts."

Thus in his last address the dying Buddha disclaims, as he had
disclaimed before in talking to Ananda, all idea of dictating to the
order: his memory is not to become a paralyzing tradition. What he had
to teach, he has taught freely, holding back nothing in "a clenched
fist." The truths are indeed essential and immutable. But they must
become a living part of the believer, until he is no longer a follower
but a light unto himself. The rest does not matter: the order can change
all the minor rules if expedient. But in everyday life discipline and
forms must be observed: hitherto all have been equal compared with the
teacher, but now the young must show more respect for the older. And in
the same spirit of solicitude for the order he continues:

"When I am gone, the highest penalty should be imposed on Channa." "What
is that, Lord?" "Let him say what he likes, but the brethren should not
speak to him or exhort him or admonish him[381]."

The end approaches. "It may be, that there is some doubt or misgiving in
the mind of some as to the Buddha, or the truth, or the path, or the
way. Enquire freely. Do not have to reproach yourselves afterwards with
the thought, 'Our teacher was face to face with us and we could not
bring ourselves to enquire when we were face to face with him.'" All
were silent. A second and third time he put the same question and there
was silence still. "It may be, that you put no questions out of awe for
the teacher. Let one friend communicate to another." There was still
silence, till Ananda said "How wonderful, Lord, and how marvellous. In
this whole assembly there is no one who has any doubt or misgiving as to
the Buddha, the truth, the path and the way." "Out of the fulness of
faith hast thou spoken Ananda, but the Tathagata knows for certain that
it is so. Even the most backward of all these five hundred brethren has
become converted and is no longer liable to be born in a state of
suffering and is assured of final salvation."

"Behold, I exhort you saying, The elements of being are transitory[382].
Strive earnestly. These were the last words of the Tathagata." Then he
passed through a series of trances (no less than twenty stages are
enumerated) and expired.

An earthquake and thunder, as one might have predicted, occurred at the
moment of his death but comparatively little stress is laid on these
prodigies. Anuruddha seems to have taken the lead among the brethren and
bade Ananda announce the death to the Mallas. They heard it with cries
of grief: "Too soon has the Blessed One passed away. Too soon has the
light gone out of the world."

No less than six days were passed in preparation for the obsequies[383].
On the seventh they decided to carry the body to the south of the city
and there burn it. But when they endeavoured to lift it, they found it
immoveable. Anuruddha explained that spirits who were watching the
ceremony wished it to be carried not outside the city but through it.
When this was done the corpse moved easily and the heaven rained
flowers. The meaning of this legend is that the Mallas considered a
corpse would have defiled the city and therefore proposed to carry it
outside. By letting it pass through the city they showed that it was not
the ordinary relics of impure humanity.

Again, when they tried to light the funeral pile it would not catch
fire. Anuruddha explained that this delay also was due to the
intervention of spirits who wished that Mahakassapa, the same whom the
Buddha had converted at Uruvela and then on his way to pay his last
respects, should arrive before the cremation. When he came attended by
five hundred monks the pile caught fire of itself and the body was
consumed completely, leaving only the bones. Streams of rain
extinguished the flames and the Mallas took the bones to their council
hall. There they set round them a hedge of spears and a fence of bows
and honoured them with dance and song and offerings of garlands and
perfumes.

Whatever may be thought of this story, the veneration of the Buddha's
relics, which is attested by the Piprava vase, is a proof that we have
to do with a man rather than a legend. The relics may all be false, but
the fact that they were venerated some 250 years after his death shows
that the people of India thought of him not as an ancient semi-divine
figure like Rama or Krishna but as something human and concrete.

Seven persons or communities sent requests for a portion of the relics,
saying that they would erect a stupa over them and hold a feast. They
were King Ajatasattu of Magadha, the Licchavis of Vesali, the Sakyas of
Kapilavatthu, the Bulis of Allakappa, the Kotiyas of Ramagama, the
Mallas of Pava[384] and the Brahman of Vethadipa. All except the last
were Kshatriyas and based their claim on the ground that they like the
Buddha belonged to the warrior caste. The Mallas at first refused, but a
Brahman called Dona bade them not quarrel over the remains of him who
taught forbearance. So he divided the relics into eight parts, one for
Kusinara and one for each of the other seven claimants. At this juncture
the Moriyas of Pipphalivana sent in a claim for a share but had to be
content with the embers of the pyre since all the bones had been
distributed. Then eight stupas were built for the relics in the towns
mentioned and one over the embers and one by Dona the Brahman over the
iron vessel in which the body had been burnt.


5

Thus ended the career of a man who was undoubtedly one of the greatest
intellectual and moral forces that the world has yet seen, but it is
hard to arrive at any certain opinion as to the details of his character
and abilities, for in the later accounts he is deified and in the
Pitakas though veneration has not gone so far as this, he is
ecclesiasticized and the human side is neglected. The narrative moves
like some stately ceremonial in which emotion and incident would be out
of place until it reaches the strange deathbed, spread between the
flowering trees, and Ananda introduces with the formality of a court
chamberlain the Malla householders who have come to pay their last
respects and bow down at the feet of the dying teacher. The scenes
described are like stained glass windows; the Lord preaching in the
centre, sinners repenting and saints listening, all in harmonious
colours and studied postures. But the central figure remains somewhat
aloof; when once he had begun his ministry he laboured uninterruptedly
and with continual success, but the foundation of the kingdom of
Righteousness seems less like the triumphant issue of a struggle than
the passage through the world of some compassionate angel. This is in
great part due to the fact that the Pitakas are works of edification.
True, they set before us the teacher as well as his teaching but they
speak of his doings and historical surroundings only in order to provide
a proper frame for the law which he preached. A less devout and more
observant historian would have arranged the picture differently and even
in the narratives that have come down to us there are touches of human
interest which seem authentic.

When the Buddha was dying Ananda wept because he was about to lose so
kind a master and the Buddha's own language to him is even more
affectionate. He cared not only for the organization of the order but
for its individual members. He is frequently represented as feeling that
some disciple needed a particular form of instruction and giving it. Nor
did he fail to provide for the comfort of the sick and weary. For
instance a ballad[385] relates how Panthaka driven from his home took
refuge at the door of the monastery garden. "Then came the Lord and
stroked my head and taking me by the arm led me into the garden of the
monastery and out of kindness he gave me a towel for my feet." A
striking anecdote[386] relates how he once found a monk who suffered
from a disagreeable disease lying on the ground in a filthy state. So
with Ananda's assistance he washed him and lifting him up with his own
hands laid him on his bed. Then he summoned the brethren and told them
that if a sick brother had no special attendant the whole order should
wait on him. "You, monks, have no mothers or fathers to care for you. If
you do not wait one on the other, who is there who will wait on you?
Whosoever would wait on me, he should wait on the sick." This last
recalls Christ's words, "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of
these brethren, ye have done it unto me." And, if his approval of monks
being deaf to the claims of family affection seems unfeeling, it should
also be mentioned that in the book called _Songs of the Nuns_[387] women
relate how they were crazy at the loss of their children but found
complete comfort and peace in his teaching. Sometimes we are told that
when persons whom he wished to convert proved refractory he "suffused
them with the feeling of his love" until they yielded to his
influence[388]. We can hardly doubt that this somewhat cumbrous phrase
preserves a tradition of his personal charm and power.

The beauty of his appearance and the pleasant quality of his voice are
often mentioned but in somewhat conventional terms which inspire no
confidence that they are based on personal reminiscence, nor have the
most ancient images which we possess any claim to represent his
features, for the earliest of them are based on Greek models and it was
not the custom to represent him by a figure until some centuries after
his death. I can imagine that the truest idea of his person is to be
obtained not from the abundant effigies which show him as a somewhat
sanctimonious ascetic, but from statues of him as a young man, such as
that found at Sarnath, which may possibly preserve not indeed the
physiognomy of Gotama but the general physique of a young Nepalese
prince, with powerful limbs and features and a determined mouth. For
there is truth at the bottom of the saying that Gotama was born to be
either a Buddha or a universal monarch: he would have made a good
general, if he had not become a monk.

We are perhaps on firmer ground when we find speakers in the
Pitakas[389] commenting on his calm and bright expression and his
unruffled courtesy in discussion. Of his eloquence it is hard to judge.
The Suttas may preserve his teaching and some of his words but they are
probably rearrangements made for recitation. Still it is impossible to
prove that he did not himself adopt this style, particularly when age
and iteration had made the use of certain formulae familiar to him. But
though these repetitions and subdivisions of arrangement are often
wearisome, there are not wanting traces of another manner, which suggest
a terse and racy preacher going straight to the point and driving home
his meaning with homely instances.

Humour often peeps through the Buddha's preaching. It pervades the
Jataka stories, and more than once he is said to have smiled when
remembering some previous birth. Some suttas, such as the tales of the
Great King of Glory, and of King Maha Vijita's sacrifice[390], are
simply Jatakas in another form--interesting stories full of edification
for those who can understand but not to be taken as a narrative of
facts. At other times he simply states the ultimate facts of a case and
leaves them in their droll incongruity. Thus when King Ajatasattu was
moved and illuminated by his teaching, he observed to his disciples that
His Majesty had all the makings of a saint in him, if only he had not
killed that excellent man his own father. Somewhat similar is his
judgment[391] on two naked ascetics, who imitated in all things the ways
of a dog and a cow respectively, in the hope of thus obtaining
salvation. When pressed to say what their next birth would be, he opined
that if their penance was successful they would be reborn as dogs and
cows, if unsuccessful, in hell. Irony and modesty are combined in his
rejection of extravagant praise. "Such faith have I, Lord[392]" said
Sariputta, "that methinks there never has been nor will be nor is now
any other greater or wiser than the Blessed One." "Of course, Sariputta"
is the reply, "you have known all the Buddhas of the past." "No, Lord."
"Well then, you know those of the future." "No, Lord." "Then at least
you know me and have penetrated my mind thoroughly." "Not even that,
Lord." "Then why, Sariputta, are your words so grand and bold."

There is much that is human in these passages yet we should be making a
fancy portrait did we allow ourselves to emphasize them too much and
neglect the general tone of the Pitakas. These scriptures are the
product of a school; but that school grew up under the Buddha's personal
influence and more than that is rooted in the very influences and
tendencies which produced the Buddha himself. The passionless,
intellectual aloofness; the elemental simplicity with which the facts of
life are stated and explained without any concession to sentiment, the
rigour of the prescription for salvation, that all sensual desire and
attachment must be cut off, are too marked and consistent for us to
suppose them due merely to monkish inability to understand the more
human side of his character. The Buddha began his career as an Indian
Muni, one supposed to be free from all emotions and intent only on
seeking deliverance from every tie connecting him with the world. This
was expected of him and had he done no more it would have secured him
universal respect. The fact that he did a great deal more, that he
devoted his life to active preaching, that he offered to all happiness
and escape from sorrow, that he personally aided with advice and
encouragement all who came to him, caused both his contemporaries and
future generations to regard him as a saviour. His character and the
substance of his teaching were admirably suited to the needs of the
religious world of India in his day. Judged by the needs of other
temperaments, which are entitled to neither more nor less consideration,
they seem too severe, too philosophic and the later varieties of
Buddhism have endeavoured to make them congenial to less strenuous
natures.

Before leaving the personality of the Buddha, we must say a word about
the more legendary portions of his biography, for though of little
importance for history they have furnished the chief subjects of
Buddhist art and influenced the minds of his followers as much as or
more than the authentic incidents of his career[393]. The later legend
has not distorted the old narrative. It is possible that all its
incidents may be founded on stories known to the compilers of the
Pitakas, though this is not at present demonstrable, but they are
embellished by an unstinted use of the supernatural and of the hyperbole
usual in Indian poetry. The youthful Buddha moves through showers of
flowers and an atmosphere crowded with attendant deities. He cannot even
go to school without an escort of ten thousand children and a hundred
thousand maidens and astonishes the good man who proposes to teach him
the alphabet by suggesting sixty-four systems of writing.

The principal scenes in this legend are as follows. The Bodhisattva,
that is the Buddha to-be, resides in the Tusita Heaven and selects his
birth-place and parentage. He then enters the womb of his mother Maya in
the shape of a white elephant, which event she sees in a dream. Brahmans
are summoned and interpret the vision to mean that her son will be a
Universal Monarch or a Buddha. When near her confinement Maya goes to
visit her parents but on the way brings forth her son in the Lumbini
grove. As she stands upright holding the bough of a tree, he issues from
her side without pain to her and is received by deities, but on touching
the ground, takes seven steps and says, "I am the foremost in the
world." On the same day are born several persons who play a part in his
life--his wife, his horse, Ananda, Bimbisara and others. Asita does
homage to him, as does also his father, and it is predicted that he will
become a Buddha and renounce the world. His father in his desire to
prevent this secludes him in the enjoyment of all luxury. At the
ploughing festival he falls into a trance under a tree and the shadow
stands still to protect him and does not change. Again his father does
him homage. He is of herculean strength and surpasses all as an archer.
He marries his cousin Yasodhara, when sixteen years old. Then come the
four visions, which are among the scenes most frequently depicted in
modern sacred art. As he is driving in the palace grounds the gods show
him an old man, a sick man, a corpse and a monk of happy countenance.
His charioteer explains what they are and he determines to abandon the
world. It was at this time that his son was born and on hearing the news
he said that a new fetter now bound him to worldly life but still
decided to execute his resolve. That night he could take no pleasure in
the music of the singing women who were wont to play to him and they
fell asleep. As he looked at their sleeping forms he felt disgust and
ordered Channa, his charioteer, to saddle Kanthaka, a gigantic white
horse, eighteen cubits long from head to tail. Meanwhile he went to his
wife's room and took a last but silent look as she lay sleeping with her
child.

Then he started on horseback attended by Channa and a host of heavenly
beings who opened the city gates. Here he was assailed by Mara the
Tempter who offered him universal empire but in vain. After jumping the
river Anoma on his steed, he cut off his long hair with his sword and
flinging it up into the air wished it might stay there if he was really
to become a Buddha. It remained suspended; admiring gods placed it in a
heavenly shrine and presented Gotama with the robes of a monk.

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