Thus we have examined in succession the three great divisions of the Buddhist Canon. We may pass over a comparatively late and spurious addition to it, the Tantras—full of the worship of strange gods and goddesses, and of magical formularies—to consider the general features of these sacred works in reference to their theological teaching and to their moral tendency. Theology is perhaps a term that will be held to be misplaced in speaking of a system which acknowledges no God. Yet Buddhism is so full of supernatural creatures, and the Buddha himself occupies a position so nearly divine, that it would be hard to find a more appropriate word. Buddha himself is the central figure of the whole of his system, far more completely than Christ is the central figure of Christianity, or Mahomet of Islam. There is no Deity above him; he stands out alone, unrivaled, unequaled, and unapproachable. The gods of the Hindu pantheon are by no means annihilated in the Buddhist Scriptures. On the contrary, they play a certain part in them, as when some of the greatest among their number assist at the delivery of Mâyâ. But the part assigned to them is always a subordinate one; they are practically set aside, not by the skeptical process of questioning their existence, but by the more subtle one of introducing them as humbly seated at the Buddha's footstool, and devout recipients of his instructions. Hostility to Gautama Buddha there may be, but not from them. It proceeds from heretical Brahmans—rivals in trade—and from those whom they may for a time deceive. The gods are among the most docile of his pupils, and display a praiseworthy eagerness to acquire the knowledge he may condescend to impart. Infinitely above gods and men, because possessing infinitely deeper knowledge and infinitely higher virtue, stands the Tathâgata, the man who walks in the footsteps of his predecessors. His position is the greatest to which any mortal creature can attain. But it has been attained by many before, and will be by many hereafter. Far away into ages separated from ours by millions of millions of years stretches the long list of Buddhas, for every age has received a similar light to lighten up its darkness. All have led lives marked by the same incidents, and have taught the same truths. But by and by the darkness has returned; the doctrines of the former Buddha have been forgotten, and a new one has been needed. Then in due season he has appeared, and has again opened to mankind the path of salvation. Thus Kâsyapa Buddha preceded Gautama Buddha, and Maitreya (now a Bodhisattva) will succeed him. The Buddha is an object of the most devout adoration. Prayers are addressed to him; his relics are enshrined in Stûpas, or buildings erected by the piety of believers to cover them; his footprints are viewed with reverential awe, and his tooth, preserved in Ceylon, receives the constant homage of that pious population. Thus his position is not unlike that of a true Deity, though the theory of Buddhism would require us to suppose that he is non-existent, and therefore wholly unable to aid his worshippers. But this theory is not acted upon, and is probably not held in all its strictness; for Buddha—though to some extent superseded in Northern Buddhism by other divinities—is the object of a decided worship in both its elements of prayer and praise.
But the preëminent station occupied by a Buddha is not reached without a long and painful education. Through ages, the length of which is scarcely to be expressed by numbers, they are qualifying themselves for their glorious task. During this period they are termed Bodhisattvas, that is, beings who have taken a solemn resolution to become Buddhas, and are practicing the necessary virtues. The very fact of taking this resolution is an exercise of exalted benevolence, for their excellence is such that they might, if they pleased, enter at once into Nirvâna. But such is their love for the human race, that they prefer to be born again and again in a world of woe, in order to throw open Nirvâna to others besides themselves. To attain their end, they must make an offering to some actual Buddha, wishing at the same time that by virtue of this act they may become Buddhas themselves; and they must receive an assurance from the object of their gift that this wish will be fulfilled. Thus Gautama, who happened at the time to be a prince, presented a golden vessel full of oil to a Buddha named Purana Dîpankara, with the wish alluded to, and was assured by him that he would in a future age become a supreme Buddha (M. B., p. 92). The tales of the pains endured, the sacrifices made, the virtues practiced by Gautama during this probationary period are numerous and varied. He himself, by virtue of his faculty of knowing the past, related them to his disciples. He had sacrificed wife, children, property, even his own person, for the good of other living creatures; he had endured all kinds of sufferings; he had shown himself capable of the rarest unselfishness, the most perfect purity, the most unswerving rectitude. The tale of his endurances might move compassion, had it not been crowned at last with the highest reward to which a mortal can aspire.
While the Buddha occupies the first rank among human and superhuman beings, and a Bodhisattva the second, the Scriptures introduce us to others holding very conspicuous places among the spiritual nobility. Such, for instance, are the Pratyeka Buddhas. These are persons of very high intelligence and very extraordinary merit. But they are unable to communicate their knowledge to others. They can save themselves; others they cannot save. Herein lies their inferiority to supreme Buddhas,—that while their spiritual attainments are sufficient to ensure their entry into Nirvâna, they are inadequate to enable them to obtain the same privilege for any other person.
In addition to these not very interesting Buddhas, the legends speak of certain grades of intelligence attained by Gautama's hearers. Thus, we are often told that many of the audience—perhaps hundreds of thousands—after hearing a sermon from him, became Arhats; others are said to have become Anâgâmin, Sakridâgâmin, or Srotâpanna. These degrees are based upon the reception of the four truths. According to the manner in which a man received these truths, he entered one of eight paths, each of the four degrees having two classes, a higher and a lower one. Sometimes these paths are called "fruits;" a disciple is said to obtain the fruits of such and such a state. An Arhat is a person of very high station indeed. Excepting a Buddha, none is equal to him, either in knowledge or miraculous powers, both of which he possesses to a preëminent extent. The Arhat after his death enters at once into Nirvâna. The Anâgâmin enters the third path (from the bottom), and is exempt from re-birth except in the world of Devas, or gods. He who obtains or "sees" the fruit of the second path is born once more in the world of gods or in that of men. Finally, the Srotâpanna undergoes re-birth either among gods or men seven times, and is then delivered from the stream of existence.[68]
Below the fortunate travelers along the path stands the mass of ordinary believers. All of these, of course, aim ultimately—or should aim—at that perfection of knowledge and of character which ensures Nirvâna; but in popular Buddhism at the present day this distant goal appears to be well-nigh forgotten, and to have given place to some heaven, or place of enjoyment, above which the general hope does not rise.
Believers in general are divided into two classes, Bhikshus and Bhikshunîs, or monks and nuns; and Upâsakas, lay disciples. The distinction between these classes is well illustrated by the following extract from a sacred book, the consideration of which will lead us from the domain of theology into that of morality:—"What is to be done in the condition of a mendicant?—The rules of chastity must be observed during the whole of life.—That is not possible; are there no other means?—There are others, friend; namely, to be a devotee (Upâsaka).—What is to be done in this condition?—It is necessary during the whole of one's life to abstain from murder, theft, pleasure, lying, and the use of intoxicating liquors." The injunctions thus stated to be binding on the laity are in fact the first five of the ten commandments, pleasure being simply a designation of unchastity, which the layman as well as the monk is here ordered to eschew. The first five commandments are in fact general, referring to universal ethical obligations, not merely to monastic discipline, like the other five. But Buddhist morality is by no means merely negative. It enjoins not only abstinence from such definite sins as these, but the practice of positive virtues in their most exalted forms. In no system is benevolence, or, as it is termed in the English New Testament, charity, more emphatically inculcated. Exhibited, as we have seen it is, in the highest degree by Buddha himself, it should be illustrated to the extent of their capabilities by all his followers. Chastity is the subject of almost equal praise. And the other virtues come in for their share of recognition, the general object of the examples held up to admiration being to exhort the faithful to a life spotless in all its parts, like that of their master. With this aim the legends related generally fall into some such form as this: Characters appear who undergo some suffering, but receive also some great reward, such as meeting with Buddha, and embracing his religion. It is then explained by Buddha that the sufferings were the result of some bad action done in a former life, and the benefit received the result of some good action; while he will probably add that he himself in that bygone age stood in the relation of a benefactor to the recipient of his faith. Or a number of persons are introduced playing various parts, good and evil, and receiving blessings or misfortunes. One of these is conspicuous by the excellence of his conduct. Then, at the end of the story, the disciples are told not to imagine that this model of virtue is any other than Sakyamuni himself, while the other characters are translated, according to their special peculiarities, each into some individual living at the time, and forming either one of Buddha's retinue, or connected with him by ties of kindred, or (if wicked) marked by hostility to his person or doctrine. Thus, the bad parts in these dramas are often allotted to his cousin Devadatta, who figures in these Scriptures as his typical opponent.
The essential doctrine of all these moral fictions—the corner-stone of Buddhist ethics—is that every single act of virtue receives its reward, every single transgression its punishment. The consequences of our good deeds or misdeeds, mystically embodied in our Karma, follow us from life to life, from earth to heaven, from earth to hell, and from heaven or hell to earth again. Karma expresses an idea by no means easily seized. Perhaps it may be defined as the sum total of our moral actions, good and bad, conceived as a kind of entity endowed with the force of destiny. It is our Karma that determines the character of our successive existences. It is our Karma that determines whether our next birth shall be in heaven or hell, in a happy or miserable condition here below. And as Karma is but the result of our own actions, each of which must bear its proper fruit, the balance, either on the credit or debit side of our account, must always be paid; to us or by us, as the case may be.
Let us illustrate this by an instance or two. A certain prince, named Kunâla, remarkable for his personal beauty, had been deprived of his eyes through an intrigue in his father's harem. Sakyamuni, in pointing the moral, informs his disciples that Kunâla had formerly been a huntsman, who finding five hundred gazelles in a cave, had put out their eyes in order to preclude their escape. For this cruelty he had suffered the pains of hell for hundreds of thousands of years, and had then had his eyes put out in human existences. But Kunâla also enjoyed great advantages. He was the son of a king, he possessed an attractive person, and, above all, he had embraced the truths of Buddhism. Why was this? Because he had once caused a Stûpa of a former Buddha, which an unbelieving monarch had suffered to be pulled to pieces, to be rebuilt, and had likewise restored a statue of this same Buddha which had been spoilt (H. B. I., p. 414). The truly Buddhistic spirit of this young prince is evinced by the circumstance that he interceded earnestly with his father for the pardon of his stepmother who had caused him to be so cruelly mutilated.
In another case, a poor old woman, who had led a miserable existence as the slave of an unfeeling master and mistress, was re-born in one of the heavens, known as that of the three-and-thirty gods. Five hundred goddesses descended to the cemetery where she had been heedlessly thrown into the ground, strewed flowers on her bones, and offered them spices. The reason of all this honor was, that on the previous day she had met with Kâtyâyana, an apostle of Buddhism, had drawn water and presented it to him in his bowl, and had consequently received a blessing from him, with an exhortation to enter her mistress's room after she had gone to sleep, and sitting on a heap of hay to fix her mind exclusively upon Buddha. This advice she had attended to, and had consequently received the above-named reward (W. u. T., p. 153).
Good and evil, under this elaborate system, are thus the seeds which, by an invariable law, produce their appropriate fruits in a future state. The doctrine may in fact be best described in the words attributed to its author:—"A previous action does not die; be it good or evil, it does not die; the society of the virtuous is not lost; that which is done, that which is said, for the Aryas,[69] for these grateful persons, never dies. A good action well done, a bad action wickedly done, when they have arrived at their maturity, equally bear an inevitable fruit" (H. B. I., p. 98).