Hinduism and Buddhism, An Historical Sketch, Vol. 3

CHAPTER LIII

Lamaism is divided into various sects, which concern the clergy rather than the laity. The differences in doctrine are not very important. Each sect has special tutelary deities, scriptures and practices of its own but they all tend to borrow from one another whatever inspires respect or attracts worshippers. The baser sort try to maintain their dignity by imitating the institutions of the superior sects, but the superior cannot afford to neglect popular superstitions. So the general level is much the same. Nevertheless, these sectarian differences are not without practical importance for each sect has monasteries and a hierarchy of its own and is outwardly distinguished by peculiarities of costume, especially by the hat. Further, though the subject has received little investigation, it is probable that different sects possess different editions of the Kanjur or at any rate respect different books[1057]. Since the seventeenth century the Gelugpa has been recognized as the established church and the divinity of the Grand Lama is not disputed, but in earlier times there were many monastic quarrels and forced conversions. In the eighteenth century the Red clergy intrigued with the Gurkhas in the hope of supplanting their Yellow brethren and even now they are so powerful in eastern Tibet that this hope may not be unreasonable, should political troubles shake the hierarchy of Lhasa. In spite of the tendency to borrow both what is good and what is bad, some sects are on a higher grade intellectually and morally than others. Thus the older sects do not insist on celibacy or abstinence from alcohol, and Tantrism and magic form the major part of religion, whereas the Gelugpa or established church maintains strict discipline, and tantric and magical rites, though by no means prohibited, are at least practised in moderation.

Setting aside the earliest period, the history of Buddhism in Tibet is briefly that it was established by Padma-Sambhava about 750, reformed by Atîśa about 1040 and again reformed by Tsong-kha-pa about 1400. The sects correspond to these epochs. The oldest claims to preserve the teaching of Padma-Sambhava, those of middle date are offshoots of the movement started by Atîśa, and the newest represents Atîśa's principal sect corrected by the second reformation. The oldest sect is known as Nying-ma-pa or rNyiṇ-ma-pa, signifying the old ones, and also as the Red Church from the colour of the hats worn by the clergy. Among its subdivisions one called the sect of Udyâna[1058], in reference to Padma-Sambhava's birthplace, appears to be the most ancient and still exists in the Himalayas and eastern Tibet. The Nying-ma Lamas are said to have kept the necromancy of the old Tibetan religion more fully than any of the reformed sects. They pay special worship to Padma-Sambhava and accept the revelations ascribed to him. Celibacy and abstinence are rarely observed in their monasteries but these are by no means of low repute. Among the more celebrated are Dorje-dag and Mindolling: the great monastery of Pemiongchi[1059] in Sikhim is a branch establishment of the latter.

Of the sects originating in Atîśa's reformation the principal was the Kadampa[1060], but it has lost much of its importance because it was remodelled by Tsong-kha-pa and hence hardly exists to-day as an independent body. The Sakya sect is connected with the great monastery of the same name situated about fifty miles to the north of Mount Everest and founded in 1071 by Sakya, a royal prince. It acquired great political importance, for from 1270 to 1340 its abbots were the rulers of Tibet. The historian Târanâtha belonged to one of its sub-sects, and about 1600 settled in Mongolia where he founded the monastery of Urga and established the line of reincarnate Lamas which still rules there. But shortly after his death this monastery was forcibly taken over by the Yellow Church and is still the centre of its influence in Mongolia. In theology the Sakya offers nothing specially distinctive but it mixes the Tantras of the old and new sects and according to Waddell[1061] is practically indistinguishable from the Nying-ma-pa. The same is probably true of the Kar-gyu-pa[1062] said to have been founded by Marpa and his follower Milaräpa, who set an example of solitary and wandering lives. It is sometimes described as a Nying-ma sect[1063] but appears to date from after Atîśa's reforms, although it has a strong tendency to revert to older practices. It has several important sub-sects, such as the Karmapa found in Sikhim and Darjiling, as well as in Tibet, the Dugpa which is predominant in Bhotan and perhaps in Ladak[1064], and the Dikung-pa, which owns a large monastery one hundred miles north-east of Lhasa. Milaräpa (or Mila), the cotton-clad saint who wandered over the Snow-land in the light garments of an Indian ascetic, is perhaps the post picturesque figure in Lamaism and in some ways reminds us of St. Francis of Assisi[1065]. He was a worker of miracles and, what is rarer in Tibet, a poet. His compositions known as the Hundred Thousand Songs are still popular and show the same delicately sensitive love of nature as the Psalms of the Theragâthâ.

The main distinction is between the Gelugpa or Yellow Church and all the other sects. This is merely another way of saying that Atîśa reformed the corrupt superstitions which he found but that his reformed church in its turn became corrupt and required correction. This was given by Tsong-kha-pa who belonged originally to the Kadampa. He collected the scattered members of this sect, remodelled its discipline, and laid the foundations of the system which made the Grand Lamas rulers of Tibet. In externals the Gelugpa is characterized by the use of the yellow cap and the veneration paid to Tsong-kha-pa's image. Its Lamas are all celibate and hereditary succession is not recognized. Among the many great establishments which belong to it are the four royal monasteries or Ling in Lhasa; Gandan, Depung and Serra near Lhasa; and Tashilhunpo.

It has often been noticed that the services performed by the Gelugpa[1066] and by the Roman Catholic Church are strangely similar in appearance. Is this an instance of borrowing or of convergence? On the one hand it is stated that there were Roman missions in Amdo in Tsong-kha-pa's youth, and the resemblances are such as would be natural if he had seen great celebrations of the mass and taken hints. In essentials the similarity is small but in externals such as the vestments and head-dresses of the officiants, the arrangement of the choir, and the general mise-en-scène, it is striking. On the other hand many points of resemblance in ceremonial, though not all, are also found in the older Japanese sects, where there can hardly be any question of imitating Christianity, and it would seem that a ritual common to Tibet and Japan can be explained only as borrowed from India. Further, although Tsong-kha-pa may have come in contact with missionaries, is it likely that he had an opportunity of seeing Roman rites performed with any pomp? It is in the great choral services of the two religions that the resemblance is visible, not in their simpler ritual. For these reasons, I think that the debt of Lamaism to the Catholic Church must be regarded as not proven, while admitting the resemblance to be so striking that we should be justified in concluding that Tsong-kha-pa copied Roman ceremonial, could it be shown that he was acquainted with it.

The life and ritual of the Lamas have often been described, and I need not do more than refer the reader to the detailed account given by Waddell in his Buddhism of Tibet [1067], but it is noticeable that the monastic system is organized on a larger scale and inspired by more energy than in any other country. The monasteries of Tibet, if inferior to those of Japan in the middle ages, are the greatest Buddhist establishments now existing. For instance Depung has 7000 monks, Serra 5500 and Tashilhunpo 3800: at Urga in Mongolia there are said to be 14,000. One is not surprised to hear that these institutions are veritable towns with their own police and doubtless the spirit of discipline learned in managing such large bodies of monks has helped the Lamaist Church in the government of the country. Also these monasteries are universities. Candidates for ordination study a course of theology and are not received as novices or full monks unless they pass successive examinations. In every monastery there is a central temple in which the monks assemble several times a day to chant lengthy choral offices. Of these there are at least five, the first before dawn and the last at 7 p.m. Though the value of Lamas' learning and ritual may be questioned, it is clear that many of them lead strenuous lives in the service of a religion which, if fantastic, still expresses with peculiar intensity the beliefs and emotions of the Tibetans and Mongols and has forced men of violence to believe that a power higher than their own is wielded by intellect and asceticism.

There seems to be no difference between Tibetan and Mongolian Lamaism in deities, doctrines or observances[1068]. Mongolian Lamas imitate the usages of Tibet, study there when they can and recite their services in Tibetan, although they have translations of the scriptures in their own language. Well read priests in Peking have told me that it is better to study the canon in Tibetan than in Mongol, because complete copies in Mongol, if extant, are practically unobtainable.

The political and military decadence of the Mongols has been ascribed by some authors to Lamaism and to the substitution of priestly for warlike ideals. But such a substitution is not likely to have taken place except in minds prepared for it by other causes and it does not appear that the Moslims of Central Asia are more virile and vigorous than the Buddhists. The collapse of the Mongols can be easily illustrated if not explained by the fate of Turks and Tartars in the Balkan Peninsula and Russia. Wherever the Turks are the ruling race they endeavour to assert their superiority over all Christians, often by violent methods. But when the positions are reversed and the Christians become rulers as in Bulgaria, the Turks make no resistance but either retire or acquiesce meekly in the new regime.

CHAPTER LIV

Though the doctrine of the Buddha reached Japan from China through Korea[1069], Chinese and Japanese Buddhism differ in several respects. Lamaism never gained a footing in Japan, probably because it was the religion of the hated Mongols. There was hardly any direct intercourse with India. Whereas the state religion of China was frequently hostile to Buddhism, in Japan such relations were generally friendly and from the seventh century until the Meiji era an arrangement known as Ryō-bu Shintō or two-fold Shintō was in force, by which Shintō shrines were with few exceptions handed over to the custody of Buddhist priests, native deities and historical personages being declared to be manifestations of various Buddhas and Bodhisattvas. Again, Buddhism in Japan has had a more intimate connection with social, political and even military matters in various periods than in China. This is one reason for its chief characteristic, namely, the large number and distinct character of its sects. They are not merely schools like the religious divisions of India and China, but real sects with divergent doctrines and sometimes antagonistic to one another.

It became the fashion in Japan to talk of the twelve sects, but the names given are not always the same.

One of the commonest lists is as follows[1070]:

This list is historically correct, but Nos. 1-4 are almost or quite extinct, and the number twelve is therefore sometimes made up as follows:

Here Nos. 7, 8, 9 are subdivisions of the Zen and 5 and 12 are two small sects.

Taking the first list, we may easily distinguish two classes. The first eight, called by the Japanese Hasshū, are all old and all imported from China. They represent the Buddhism of the Nara and Hei-an periods. The other four all arose after 1170 and were all remodelled, if not created, in Japan. Chronologically the sects may be arranged as follows, the dates marking the foundation or introduction of each:

(i)   Seventh century: Sanron, 625; Jo-jitsu, 625; Hossō, 657; Kusha, 660.
(ii)  Eighth century: Kegon, 735; Ritsu, 745.
(iii) Ninth century: Tendai, 805; Shingon, 806.
(iv) Twelfth and thirteenth centuries: Yūzū Nembutsu,
1123; Jōdo, 1174; Zen, 1202; Shin, 1224; Nichiren,
1253; Ji, 1275.

All Japanese sects of importance are Mahayanist. The Hinayana is represented only by the Kusha, Jo-jitsu and Risshu. The two former are both extinct: the third still numbers a few adherents, but is not anti-Mahayanist. It merely insists on the importance of discipline.

Though the Hossō and Kegon sects are not extinct, their survival is due to their monastic possessions rather than to the vitality of their doctrines, but the great sects of the ninth century, the Tendai and Shingon, are still flourishing. For some seven hundred years, especially in the Fujiwara period, they had great influence not only in art and literature, but in political and even in military matters, for they maintained large bodies of troops consisting of soldier monks or mercenaries and were a considerable menace to the secular authority. So serious was the danger felt to be that in the sixteenth century Nobunaga and Hideyoshi destroyed the great monasteries of Hieizan and Negoro and the pretensions of the Buddhist Church to temporal power were brought to an end.

But apart from this political activity, new sects which appeared in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries suited the popular needs of the time and were a sign of true religious life. Two of these sects, the Jōdo and Shinshū[1071], are Amidist—that is to say they teach that the only or at least the best way of winning salvation is to appeal to the mercy of Amida, who will give his worshippers a place in his paradise after death. The Jōdo is relatively old fashioned, and does not differ much in practice from the worship of Amida as seen in China, but the Shinshū has no exact parallel elsewhere. Though it has not introduced many innovations in theology, its abandonment of monastic discipline, its progressive and popular spirit and its conspicuous success make it a distinct and remarkable type. Its priests marry and eat meat: it has no endowments and relies on voluntary subscription, yet its temples are among the largest and most conspicuous in Japan. But the hierarchical spirit is not absent and since Shinshū priests can marry, there arose the institution of hereditary abbots who were even more like barons than the celibate prelates of the older sects.

The Nichiren sect is a purely Japanese growth, without any prototype in China, and is a protest against Amidism and an attempt to restore Shaka—the historical Buddha—to his proper position from which he has been ousted. Nichiren, the founder, is one of the most picturesque figures of Japanese history. His teaching, which was based on the Lotus Sûtra, was remarkable for its combative spirit and he himself played a considerable part in the politics of his age. His followers form one of the most influential and conspicuous sects at the present day, although not so numerous as the Amidists.

Zen is the Japanese equivalent of Ch'an or Dhyâna and is the name given to the sect founded in China by Bodhidharma. It is said to have been introduced into Japan in the seventh century, but died out. Later, under the Hōjō Regents, and especially during the Ashikaga period, it flourished exceedingly. Zen ecclesiastics managed politics like the French cardinals of the seventeenth century and profoundly influenced art and literature, since they produced a long line of painters and writers. But the most interesting feature in the history of this sect in Japan is that, though it preserves the teaching of Bodhidharma without much change, yet it underwent a curious social metamorphosis, for it became the chosen creed of the military class and contributed not a little to the Bushido or code of chivalry. It is strange that this mystical doctrine should have spread among warriors, but its insistence on simplicity of life, discipline of mind and body, and concentration of thought harmonized with their ideals.

Apart from differences of doctrine such as divide the Shinshu, Nichiren and Zen, Japanese sects show a remarkable tendency to multiply subdivisions, due chiefly to disputes as to the proper succession of abbots. Thus the Jōdo sect has four subsects, and the first and second of these are again subdivided into six and four respectively. And so with many others. Even the little Ji sect, which is credited with only 509 temples in all Japan, includes thirteen subdivisions.

But when people of the same race profess different creeds, these creeds do influence one another and tend to approximate. This is specially remarkable in India, where Islam, in theory the uncompromising opponent of image worship and polytheism, is sometimes in practice undistinguishable from the lower superstitions of Hinduism. In the middle ages Buddhism and Hinduism converged until they coincided so completely that Buddhism disappeared. In China it often needs an expert to distinguish the manifestations of Taoism and Buddhism: in Japan Buddhism and the old national religion were combined in the mixed worship known as Ryōbu Shintō. In the British Isles an impartial observer would probably notice that Anglicans and English Roman Catholics (not Irish perhaps) have more in common than they think.

There are clearly two sets of causes which may divide a race between religions: internal movements, such as the rise of Buddhism, and external impulses, such as missions or conquest. Conquest pure and simple is best illustrated by the history of Islam, also by the conversion of Mexico and South America to Roman Catholicism. But even when conversion is pacific, it will generally be found that, if it is successful on a large scale, it means the introduction of more than a creed. The religious leader in his own country can trust to his eloquence and power over his hearers. The real support of the missionary, however little he may like the idea, is usually that he represents a superior type of civilization. At one time in their career Buddhism and Christianity were the greatest agencies for spreading civilization in Asia and Europe respectively. They brought with them art and literature: they had the encouragement of the most enlightened princes: those who did not accept them in many cases remained obviously on a lower level. Much the same thing happens in Africa to-day. The natives who accept Mohammedanism or Christianity are moved, not by the arguments of the Koran or Bible, but by the idea that it is a fine thing to be like an Arab or a European. A pagan in Uganda is literally a pagan; an uninstructed rustic from a distant village.

Now if we consider the relations of India with the west, we find on neither side the conditions which usually render propaganda successful. Before the Mohammedan invasions and the Portuguese conquest of Goa, no faith can have presented itself to the Hindus with anything like the prestige which marked the advent of Buddhism in China and Japan. Alexander opened a road to India for Hellenic culture and with it came some religious ideas, but the Greeks had no missionary spirit and if there were any early Christian missions they must have been on a small scale. The same is true of the west: if Asoka's missions reached their destination, they failed to inspire any record of their doings. Still there was traffic by land and sea. The Hindus, if self-complacent, were not averse to new ideas, and before the establishment of Christianity there was not much bigotry in the west, for organized religion was unknown in Europe: practices might be forbidden as immoral or anti-social but such expressions as contrary to the Bible or Koran had no equivalent. Old worships were felt to be unsatisfying: new ones were freely adopted: mysteries were relished. There was no invasion, nothing that suggested foreign conquest or alarmed national jealousy, but the way was open to ideas, though they ran some risk of suffering transformation on their long journey.

As I have repeatedly pointed out, Hinduism and Buddhism are essentially religions of central and eastern, not of western Asia, but they came in contact with the west in several regions and an enquiry into the influence which they exercised or felt can be subdivided. There is the question whether they owe anything to Christianity in their later developments and also the question whether Christianity has borrowed anything from them[1072]. Other questions to be considered are the relations of Indian religions to Zoroastrianism in ancient and to Islam in more recent times, which, if of less general interest than problems involving Christianity, are easier to investigate and of considerable importance.

Let us begin with the influence of Christianity on Indian religion. For earlier periods the record of contact between Hindus and Christians is fragmentary, but the evidence of the last two centuries may give a significant indication as to the effect of early Christian influence. In these two centuries Christianity has been presented to the Hindus in the most favourable circumstances: it has come as the religion of the governing power and associated with European civilization: it has not, like Mohammedanism, been propagated by force or accompanied by any intolerance which could awaken repugnance, but its doctrines have been preached and expounded by private missionaries, if not always with skill and sympathy, at least with zeal and a desire to persuade. The result is that according to the census of 1911 there are now 3,876,000 Christians including Europeans, that is to say, a sect a little stronger than the Sikhs as against more than sixty-six million Mohammedans. Of these 3,876,000 many are drawn from the lowest castes or from tribes that are hardly considered as Hindus. Some religious associations, generally known as Somaj, have been founded under the influence of European philosophy as much as of Christianity: imitation of European civilization (which is quite a different thing from Christianity) is visible in the objects and methods of religious and philanthropic institutions: some curious mixed sects of small numerical strength have been formed by the fusion of Christian with Hindu or Mohammedan elements or of all three together. Yet the religious thought and customs of India in general seem hardly conscious of contact with Christianity: there is no sign that they have felt any fancy for the theology of the Athanasian Creed or the ceremonies of the Roman Catholic Church which might have interested speculative and ritualistic minds. Similarly, though intellectual intercourse between India and China was long and fairly intimate and though the influence of Indian thought on China was very great, yet the influence of China on Indian thought is negligible. This being so, it would be rash to believe without good evidence that, in the past, doctrines which have penetrated Indian literature during centuries and have found acceptance with untold millions owe their origin to obscure foreign colonists or missions.

Writers who wish to prove that Indian religions are indebted to Christianity often approach their task with a certain misconception. They assume that if at some remote epoch a few stray Christians reached India, they could overcome without difficulty the barriers of language and social usage and further that their doctrine would be accepted as something new and striking which would straightway influence popular superstition and philosophic thought. But Lyall gives a juster perspective in his poem about the Meditations of a Hindu Prince who, grown sceptical in the quest of truth, listens to the "word of the English," and finds it: