[21] Buddha’s zeal is not chilled in the least by the cold of approaching death. His boundless knowledge enabled him at a glance to obtain the most intimate acquaintance with the inward dispositions of his disciples’ minds. If, therefore, he asked them three successive times whether they entertained doubts on any doctrinal points, it was not to satisfy himself that their faith was firm and unshaken. He wished to make them conscious of a fact which was felt and clearly understood by every one in particular, but was not as yet fully appreciated by the universality of his disciples. Every individual in particular was well aware of the unwavering dispositions of his mind respecting Buddha’s teachings, but no one ever had the opportunity of ascertaining that all his brethren had the same firmness of belief. On this solemn occasion they witnessed the most comforting sight of a perfect unity of faith in all the members of the assembly. Buddha revealed then one great truth which no one but himself could be acquainted with. A true Rahan, says he, has entered at last in the first way that leads to perfection; he is, therefore, no more exposed to the danger of wavering in his belief; he knows enough of truth to adhere firmly to it, and is enabled to prosecute safely his researches after what is still unknown to him. Every member of the assembly is a true believer, more or less advanced in the knowledge of the law, it is true, but at least he is conscious of his being in the right way. On this subject no doubt subsists in his mind; he adheres to Buddha and his doctrines as to the centre of truth, and never thinks for a moment to question the veracity of his doctor, or to call in doubt any portion of his instructions.
The last words of Buddha to the assembled Bickus are designed to remind them of the great and vital principle he has endeavoured to inculcate in their minds during the forty-five years of his preaching, viz., that change and mutability are acting upon all that exists, and are inherent in all parts of nature. This world, therefore, offering but an endless vicissitude of forms, that appear and disappear, has no real existence. It is an illusion from beginning to end. As long as man remains tied up, so to speak, to nature, he is carried away by the ever-acting principle of change: nowhere can he find any rest or fixity; he quits one existence to pass into another; he leaves one form to assume a different one. What happens to man befalls all other parts of nature. From this notion, Buddha infers that there is nothing existing but name and form. There is no substance in nature, and therefore no reality. So much stress was laid by Buddha on this capital principle that he bequeathed it, as his last Will, to his disciples: he wished that they should ever bear in their minds and remember that he came among them for the purpose of making them thoroughly acquainted with it. From this cardinal point he inferred the chief conclusions that form his religious system, viz., metempsychosis, the contempt of the world, and Neibban. By the law of endless changes, man is hurried from one state into another, or from one form of being into another form. Where is the wise man that could love a world, or an existence therein, when he finds no substance, no reality in it? Is he not induced, or rather compelled, to search after a state in which he can find fixity, reality, and truth, or at least an exemption from the harassing condition of perpetual migration from one state into another?
The reader who has been almost born with and educated in theistic notions, and who sees in the world nothing but what has been created by a supreme and all-wise Being, is at a loss to understand how a grave philosopher, as undoubtedly Buddha was, gifted with great powers for observing, arguing, discussing, and inferring conclusions, could have fallen into errors so glaring and so contrary to his reason. That we might properly appreciate the efforts of such a genius, and have some correct ideas about his process of arguing, we must divest ourselves of the knowledge supplied to us by revelation, and descend to the level occupied by the founder of Buddhism. Unacquainted with a first cause, or with the existence of a Supreme Being, he studies nature as he finds it. What does he see in it? Perpetual changes, endless vicissitudes. The form that he perceives to-day has undergone some change on the following day. Everything about him grows, reaches a certain point, and then falls into decay. He finds nothing that stands always in the same condition. Hence he proclaims the great law of mutability pervading all nature, and concludes that all that we feel, see, or hear, is illusion and deception, &c.; deprived of all reality, fixity, and substance. His philosophical mind is not satisfied with such a discovery. He pants after truth and reality, which are not to be found here. He feels that he must disentangle himself from the condition of illusion and deception. But where is reality and fixity to be found? Beyond all, that exists in Neibban.
[22] The epoch of Gaudama’s death is a point on which the various nations professing Buddhism do not agree. The Cingalese, Burmese, and Siamese annals place that event somewhat before the middle of the sixth century before the Christian era. The difference of dates is but of a few years, and is so inconsiderable as not to be worth notice. The Thibetans, and, as a consequence, the Mongolians with the Chinese, place that event several hundred years previous to the epoch just mentioned. Notwithstanding this discrepancy, it seems difficult not to adopt the chronology of the southern Buddhists. The savans in Europe, who have bestowed a considerable degree of attention on this interesting subject, give a decided preference to the opinion of the former.
We have not to depend solely on the chronological tables of kings, supplied by the Hindus, for settling this point, but fortunately we are put indirectly by Greek writers in possession of a fixed and well-established epoch, from which we can take with a sufficient degree of certainty our departure for arriving at a satisfactory conclusion. After the death of Alexander the Great, Seleucus, one of his lieutenants, obtained for his share all the provinces situated east of the Euphrates, in which the Indian conquered territories were included. Seleucus, at first in person, and next by an ambassador, came in contact with a powerful Indian king, named Chandragupta, who had the seat of his empire at Palibotra or Pataliputra. This intercourse took place about 310 B.C. The Hindu chronological tables mention the name of this prince as well as that of his grandson, called Athoka, who, according to the testimony of the Burmese authors, ascended the throne of Palibotra two hundred and eighteen years after Gaudama’s death. We may suppose that Athoka reigned in or about 270 or 280 B.C. These two periods added together will give but a sum of five hundred years. There will remain a difference of only forty years, for which it is not easy to account with sufficient precision, unless we suppose that the reign of Athoka began earlier than is generally admitted. Cunningham has given very strong reasons for fixing the period of Gaudama’s death sixty-six years later than the usual one, hitherto generally admitted, 543; that is to say, in the year 477 B.C. This new epoch enables us to adhere at once with perfect safety to the computation above related, and does away with the small discrepancy of a few years that has been mentioned. Tradition and ancient inscriptions leave almost no doubt upon this important point.
Our legend is positive in stating that Gaudama died under the reign of Adzatathat, as will hereafter be seen. But the Hindu chronologists place the reign of that monarch about 250 or 260 years before that of Chandragupta, who, as stated, was a contemporary of Seleucus Nicator. We have, therefore, the combined authority of both foreigners and natives for admitting the chronology of the southern Buddhists respecting the epoch of Gaudama’s death, in preference to that of the northern Buddhists, and for fixing that event during the first part of the sixth century before the Christian era, or rather sixty-six years later, in the beginning of the fourth part of the fifth century.
[23] What is Neibban, the end a true Buddhist ever longs for throughout his great struggles in the practice of virtue and his constant efforts for attaining the knowledge of truth, which he finally reaches when he has become perfect? The writer confesses at once his inability to answer satisfactorily this question, because Buddhists do not agree among themselves in explaining the nature of the state of Neibban. From the earliest period of their religion we see the Brahmins keenly taunting their opponents for the discordance of their opinions on a subject of the utmost importance—a subject which had ever been prominent in Buddha’s teachings, and held up as the only one worthy of the most earnest and ardent desires, the fittest reward of the generous and extraordinary exertions of a perfected being, and the final state in which his soul, wearied after such a prolonged spiritual warfare, longed to rest for ever. A certain school of Buddhists has maintained that Neibban implied the destruction of the state of being, and consequently complete annihilation. This opinion is at once practically rejected by the portion of the southern Buddhists, who are not so well acquainted with the more philosophical part of their creed. They assert that a perfected being, after having reached Neibban, or having arrived at the end of his last existence, retains his individuality, but they utterly fail in their attempts at explaining the situation and condition of a being in Neibban. At a later period the opinion about a supreme Buddha, uncreated, eternal, and infinite, began to gain ground, and modified to a considerable extent on many points the views of the earlier Buddhists. Neibban, according to the comparatively modern school, is but an absorption into the supreme and infinite Buddha. This opinion so much approximates to that of the Brahmins that we may say it is almost the same. The means of obtaining perfection are somewhat different in both systems, but the end to be obtained is precisely the same.
Setting aside idle speculations, let us try to form some idea of Neibban by explaining the meaning of the term, and the definition such as we find it in the Burmese writings.
The word Neibban, in Sanscrit Nirvana, according to its etymology, means what is no more agitated, what is in a state of perfect calm. It is composed of the negative prefix nir and va, which means to be set in motion, as the wind. It implies the idea of rest in opposition to that of motion or existence. To be in the state of Neibban is therefore to be carried beyond the range of existence, as understood by Buddhists; there can be no longer migration from one state of being to another. This point is admitted by all sects of Buddhists. To the idea of Neibban is often attached that of extinction, as a lamp which ceases to burn and whose light becomes extinct when the oil is exhausted. The sum of existence being exhausted, a being ceases to be or to move within the range of existence; he becomes extinct relatively, at least to all kind of existences we have a notion of. In conversing with the Buddhists of Burmah, the writer has observed that the ideas of rest and extinction are invariably coupled with the notion of Neibban. In their rough attempt at explaining the inexplicable nature of that state they had recourse to several comparisons intended to convey to the mind that they believed Neibban to be a state of undisturbed calm and a never-ending cessation of existence, at least such as we have an idea of in this world. When questioned on the situation of Buddha in Neibban, they answer that they believe him to be in a boundless space or vacuum beyond the boundaries ever reached by other beings, alone by himself, enjoying, if the expression be correct, a perfect rest, unconcerned about this world, having no further relation with all existing beings. They assert that he is to remain for ever a stranger to all sensations of either pain or pleasure. But it must be borne in mind that this is the popular opinion rather than the philosophical one. Talking one evening with a well-informed Burman on Neibban, the light of a lamp that was burning on the writer’s table happened to die away for want of oil. The Buddhist, with an exulting tone of voice, exclaimed, “Do not ask any more what Neibban is; what has happened to the lamp just now, tells you what Neibban is. The lamp is extinct because there is no more oil in the glass. A man is in Neibban at the very moment that the principle or cause of existence is at an end or entirely exhausted.” How far such an answer can satisfy a superficial mind like that of a half-civilised Burman, it is difficult to say; but it appears certain that he does not carry his researches nor pursue his inquiries beyond these narrow boundaries. Any further attempt to penetrate deeper into the darkness of Neibban is, in his opinion, presumptuous and rash.
Buddhist metaphysicians in India, in their foolish efforts to survey that terra incognita, have originated several opinions that have had their supporters in the various schools of philosophy. The more ancient philosophers or heads of schools, in attempting to give an analysis of a thing they knew nothing about, approximated to the opinion that Neibban is nothing more or less than a complete or entire annihilation. Following the course of arguments, and admitting their premises, one is reluctantly compelled to come to the awful conclusion that the final end of a perfected Buddha is the destruction of his being, or annihilation. This opinion is still further corroborated by the short exposition of Buddhist metaphysics at the end of this volume. The crudest materialism is openly and distinctly professed. There is nothing in man distinct from the six senses. The faculty of perceiving the object they come in contact with is inherent in their nature. The sixth sense, that is to say, the heart, has the power of perceiving ideas, that is to say, things that have no form or shape. But this power is not distinct from the living sense; it disappears when the life of that sense is extinct, or, in other terms, when the heart is destroyed. To the holders of such an opinion the cessation of existence, the going out of the circle of existences, by the destruction of kan, or the influence of merits and demerits, must be and cannot but be complete annihilation.