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Томас Карлейль
Sacred Books of the East

Buddha, hearing Ânanda speaking thus, grieved at his words, and pitying his distress, with soothing accents and with gentle presence spake with purpose to declare the one true law:—

"If men but knew their own nature, they would not dwell in sorrow; everything that lives, whate'er it be, all this is subject to destruction's law; I have already told you plainly, the law of things 'joined' is to 'separate'; the principle of kindness and of love is not abiding, 'tis better then to reject this pitiful and doting heart. All things around us bear the stamp of instant change; born, they perish; no self-sufficiency; those who would wish to keep them long, find in the end no room for doing so. If things around us could be kept for aye, and were not liable to change or separation, then this would be salvation! where then can this be sought? You, and all that lives, can seek in me this great deliverance! That which you may all attain I have already told you, and tell you, to the end. Why then should I preserve this body? The body of the excellent law shall long endure! I am resolved; I look for rest! This is the one thing needful. So do I now instruct all creatures, and as a guide, not seen before, I lead them; prepare yourselves to cast off consciousness, fix yourselves well in your own island. Those who are thus fixed mid-stream, with single aim and earnestness striving in the use of means, preparing quietly a quiet place, not moved by others' way of thinking, know well, such men are safe on the law's island. Fixed in contemplation, lighted by the lamp of wisdom, they have thus finally destroyed ignorance and gloom. Consider well the world's four bounds, and dare to seek for true religion only; forget 'yourself,' and every 'ground of self,' the bones, the nerves, the skin, the flesh, the mucus, the blood that flows through every vein; behold these things as constantly impure, what joy then can there be in such a body? every sensation born from cause, like the bubble floating on the water. The sorrow coming from the consciousness of birth and death and inconstancy, removes all thought of joy—the mind acquainted with the law of production, stability, and destruction, recognizes how again and once again things follow or succeed one another with no endurance. But thinking well about Nirvâna, the thought of endurance is forever dismissed; we see how the samskâras from causes have arisen, and how these aggregates will again dissolve, all of them impermanent. The foolish man conceives the idea of 'self,' the wise man sees there is no ground on which to build the idea of 'self,' thus through the world he rightly looks and well concludes, all, therefore, is but evil; the aggregate amassed by sorrow must perish in the end! if once confirmed in this conviction, that man perceives the truth. This body, too, of Buddha now existing soon will perish: the law is one and constant, and without exception." Buddha having delivered this excellent sermon, appeased the heart of Ânanda.

Then all the Likkhavis, hearing the report, with fear and apprehension assembled in a body; devoid of their usual ornaments, they hastened to the place where Buddha was. Having saluted him according to custom, they stood on one side, wishing to ask him a question, but not being able to find words. Buddha, knowing well their heart, by way of remedy, in the right use of means, spake thus:—

"Now I perfectly understand that you have in your minds unusual thoughts, not referring to worldly matters, but wholly connected with subjects of religion; and now you wish to hear from me, what may be known respecting the report about my resolve to terminate my life, and my purpose to put an end to the repetition of birth. Impermanence is the nature of all that exists, constant change and restlessness its conditions; unfixed, unprofitable, without the marks of long endurance. In ancient days the Rishi kings, Vasishtha Rishi, Mândhâtri, the Kakravartin monarchs, and the rest, these and all others like them, the former conquerors, who lived with strength like Îsvara, these all have long ago perished, not one remains till now; the sun and moon, Sakra himself, and the great multitude of his attendants, will all, without exception, perish; there is not one that can for long endure; all the Buddhas of the past ages, numerous as the sands of the Ganges, by their wisdom enlightening the world, have all gone out as a lamp; all the Buddhas yet to come will also perish in the same way; why then should I alone be different? I too will pass into Nirvana; but as they prepared others for salvation, so now should you press forward in the path; Vaisâli may be glad indeed, if you should find the way of rest! The world, in truth, is void of help, the 'three worlds' not enough for joy—stay then the course of sorrow, by engendering a heart without desire. Give up for good the long and straggling way of life, press onward on the northern track, step by step advance along the upward road, as the sun skirts along the western mountains."

At this time the Likkhavis, with saddened hearts, went back along the way; lifting their hands to heaven and sighing bitterly: "Alas! what sorrow this! His body like the pure gold mountain, the marks upon his person so majestic, ere long and like a towering crag he falls; not to live, then why not, 'not to love'? The powers of birth and death, weakened awhile, the lord Tathâgata, himself the fount of wisdom appeared, and now to give it up and disappear! without a saviour now, what check to sorrow? The world long time endured in darkness, and men were led by a false light along the way—when lo! the sun of wisdom rose; and now, again, it fades and dies—no warning given. Behold the whirling waves of ignorance engulfing all the world! Why is the bridge or raft of wisdom in a moment cut away? The loving and the great physician king came with remedies of wisdom, beyond all price, to heal the hurts and pains of men—why suddenly goes he away? The excellent and heavenly flag of love adorned with wisdom's blazonry, embroidered with the diamond heart, the world not satisfied with gazing on it, the glorious flag of heavenly worship! Why in a moment is it snapped? Why such misfortune for the world, when from the tide of constant revolutions a way of escape was opened—but now shut again! and there is no escape from weary sorrow! Tathâgata, possessed of fond and loving heart, now steels himself and goes away; he holds his heart so patient and so loving, and, like the Wai-ka-ni flower, with thoughts cast down, irresolute and tardy, he goes depressed along the road. Or like a man fresh from a loved one's grave, the funeral past and the last farewell taken, comes back with anxious look."

Parinirvâna

When Buddha went towards the place of his Nirvâna, the city of Vaisâli was as if deserted, as when upon a dark and cloudy night the moon and stars withdraw their shining. The land that heretofore had peace, was now afflicted and distressed; as when a loving father dies, the orphan daughter yields to constant grief. Her personal grace unheeded, her clever skill but lightly thought of, with stammering lips she finds expression for her thoughts; how poor her brilliant wit and wisdom now! Her spiritual powers ill regulated without attractiveness, her loving heart faint and fickle, exalted high but without strength, and all her native grace neglected; such was the case at Vaisâli; all outward show now fallen, like autumn verdure in the fields bereft of water, withered up and dry; or like the smoke of a half-smouldering fire, or like those who having food before them yet forget to eat, so these forgot their common household duties, and nought prepared they for the day's emergencies. Thinking thus on Buddha, lost in deep reflection, silent they sat nor spoke a word. And now the lion Likkhavis manfully enduring their great sorrow, with flowing tears and doleful sighs, signifying thereby their love of kindred, destroyed forever all their books of heresy, to show their firm adherence to the true law. Having put down all heresy, they left it once for all; severed from the world and the world's doctrines, convinced that non-continuance was the great disease. Moreover thus they thought: "The lord of men now enters the great quiet place (Nirvâna), and we are left without support, and with no saviour; the highest lord of 'means' is now about to extinguish all his glory in the final place of death. Now we indeed have lost our steadfast will, as fire deprived of fuel; greatly to be pitied is the world, now that the lord gives up his world-protecting office, even as a man bereft of spiritual power throughout the world is greatly pitied. Oppressed by heat we seek the cooling lake, nipped by the cold we use the fire; but in a moment all is lost, the world is left without resource; the excellent law, indeed, is left, to frame the world anew, as a metal-caster frames anew his work. The world has lost its master-guide, and, men bereaved of him, the way is lost; old age, disease, and death, self-sufficient, now that the road is missed, pervade the world without a way. What is there now throughout the world equal to overcome the springs of these great sorrows? The great cloud's rain alone can make the raging and excessive fire, that burns the world, go out. So only he can make the raging fire of covetous desire go out; and now he, the skilful maker of comparisons, has firmly fixed his mind to leave the world! And why, again, is the sword of wisdom, ever ready to be used for an uninvited friend, only like the draught of wine given to him about to undergo the torture and to die? Deluded by false knowledge the mass of living things are only born to die again; as the sharp knife divides the wood, so constant change divides the world. The gloom of ignorance like the deep water, lust like the rolling billow, sorrow like the floating bubbles, false views like the Makara fish, amidst all these the ship of wisdom only can carry us across the mighty sea. The mass of ills are like the flowers of the sorrow-tree, old age and all its griefs, the tangled boughs; death the tree's tap-root, deeds done in life the buds, the diamond sword of wisdom only strong enough to cut down the mundane tree! Ignorance the burning-glass, covetous desire the scorching rays, the objects of the five desires the dry grass, wisdom alone the water to put out the fire. The perfect law, surpassing every law, having destroyed the gloom of ignorance, we see the straight road leading to quietness and rest, the end of every grief and sorrow. And now the loving one, converting men, impartial in his thoughts to friend or foe, the all-knowing, perfectly instructed, even he is going to leave the world! He with his soft and finely modulated voice, his compact body and broad shoulders, he, the great Rishi, ends his life! Who then can claim exemption? Enlightened, now he quickly passes hence! let us therefore seek with earnestness the truth, even as a man meets with the stream beside the road, then drinks and passes on. Inconstancy, this is the dreaded enemy—the universal destroyer—sparing neither rich nor poor; rightly perceiving this and keeping it in mind, this man, though sleeping, yet is the only ever-wakeful."

Thus the Likkhavi lions, ever mindful of the Buddha's wisdom, disquieted with the pain of birth and death, sighed forth their fond remembrance of the man-lion. Retaining in their minds no love of worldly things, aiming to rise above the power of every lustful quality, subduing in their hearts the thought of light or trivial matters, training their thoughts to seek the quiet, peaceful place; diligently practising the rules of unselfish, charitable conduct; putting away all listlessness, they found their joy in quietness and seclusion, meditating only on religious truth. And now the all-wise, turning his body round with a lion-turn, once more gazed upon Vaisâli, and uttered this farewell verse:—

"Now this, the last time this, I leave Vaisâli—the land where heroes live and flourish! Now am I going to die." Then gradually advancing, stage by stage he came to Bhoga-nagara, and there he rested in the Sâla grove, where he instructed all his followers in the precepts:—

"Now having gone on high I shall enter on Nirvana: ye must rely upon the law—this is your highest, strongest, vantage ground. What is not found in Sûtra, or what disagrees with rules of Vinaya, opposing the one true system of my doctrine, this must not be held by you. What opposes Dharma, what opposes Vinaya, or what is contrary to my words, this is the result of ignorance: ye must not hold such doctrine, but with haste reject it. Receiving that which has been said aright, this is not subversive of true doctrine, this is what I have said, as the Dharma and Vinaya say. Accepting that which I, the law, and the Vinaya declare, this is to be believed. But words which neither I, the law, nor the Vinaya declare, these are not to be believed. Not gathering the true and hidden meaning, but closely holding to the letter, this is the way of foolish teachers, but contrary to my doctrine and a false way of teaching. Not separating the true from false, accepting in the dark without discrimination, is like a shop where gold and its alloys are sold together, justly condemned by all the world. The foolish masters, practising the ways of superficial wisdom, grasp not the meaning of the truth; but to receive the law as it explains itself, this is to accept the highest mode of exposition. Ye ought, therefore, thus to investigate true principles, to consider well the true law and the Vinaya, even as the goldsmith does who melts and strikes and then selects the true. Not to know the Sûtras and the Sâstras, this is to be devoid of wisdom; not saying properly that which is proper, is like doing that which is not fit to see. Let all be done in right and proper order, according as the meaning of the sentence guides, for he who grasps a sword unskilfully, does but inflict a wound upon his hand. Not skilfully to handle words and sentences, the meaning then is hard to know; as in the night-time travelling and seeking for a house, if all be dark within, how difficult to find. Losing the meaning, then the law is disregarded, disregarding the law the mind becomes confused; therefore every wise and prudent master neglects not to discover the true and faithful meaning."

Having spoken these words respecting the precepts of religion, he advanced to the town of Pâvâ, where all the Mallas prepared for him religious offerings of every kind. At this time a certain householder's son whose name was Kunda, invited Buddha to his house, and there he gave him, as an offering, his very last repast. Having partaken of it and declared the law, he onward went to the town of Kusi, crossing the river Tsae-kieuh and the Hiranyavati. Then in that Sâla grove, a place of quiet and seclusion, he took his seat: entering the golden river he bathed his body, in appearance like a golden mountain. Then he spake his bidding thus to Ânanda: "Between those twin Sâla trees, sweeping and watering, make a clean space, and then arrange my sitting-mat. At midnight coming, I shall die."

Ânanda hearing the bidding of his master, his breath was choked with heart-sadness; but going and weeping he obeyed the instruction, and spreading out the mat he came forthwith back to his master and acquainted him. Tathâgata having lain down with his head towards the north and on his right side, slept thus. Resting upon his hand as on a pillow with his feet crossed, even as a lion-king; all grief is passed, his last-born body from this one sleep shall never rise. His followers round him, in a circle gathered, sigh dolefully: "The eye of the world is now put out!" The wind is hushed, the forest streams are silent, no voice is heard of bird or beast. The trees sweat out large flowing drops, flowers and leaves out of season singly fall, whilst men and Devas, not yet free from desire, are filled with overwhelming fear. Thus were they like men wandering through the arid desert, the road full dangerous, who fail to reach the longed-for hamlet; full of fear they go on still, dreading they might not find it, their heart borne down with fear they faint and droop. And now Tathâgata, aroused from sleep, addressed Ânanda thus: "Go! tell the Mallas, the time of my decease is come; they, if they see me not, will ever grieve and suffer deep regret." Ânanda listening to the bidding of his master, weeping went along the road. And then he told those Mallas all—"The lord is near to death." The Mallas hearing it, were filled with great, excessive grief. The men and women hurrying forth, bewailing as they went, came to the spot where Buddha was; with garments torn and hair dishevelled, covered with dust and sweat they came. With piteous cries they reached the grove, as when a Deva's day of merit comes to an end, so did they bow weeping and adoring at the feet of Buddha, grieving to behold his failing strength. Tathâgata, composed and quiet, spake: "Grieve not! the time is one for joy; no call for sorrow or for anguish here; that which for ages I have aimed at, now am I just about to obtain; delivered now from the narrow bounds of sense, I go to the place of never-ending rest and peace. I leave these things, earth, water, fire, and air, to rest secure where neither birth nor death can come. Eternally delivered there from grief, oh! tell me! why should I be sorrowful? Of yore on Sirsha's mount, I longed to rid me of this body, but to fulfil my destiny I have remained till now with men in the world; I have kept this sickly, crumbling body, as dwelling with a poisonous snake; but now I am come to the great resting-place, all springs of sorrow now forever stopped. No more shall I receive a body, all future sorrow now forever done away; it is not meet for you, on my account, for evermore, to encourage any anxious fear."

The Mallas hearing Buddha's words, that he was now about to die, their minds confused, their eyes bedimmed, as if they saw before them nought but blackness, with hands conjoined, spake thus to Buddha: "Buddha is leaving now the pain of birth and death, and entering on the eternal joy of rest; doubtless we ought to rejoice thereat. Even as when a house is burnt a man rejoices if his friends are saved from out the flames; the gods! perhaps they rejoice—then how much more should men! But—when Tathâgata has gone and living things no more may see him, eternally cut off from safety and deliverance—in thought of this we grieve and sorrow. Like as a band of merchants crossing with careful steps a desert, with only a single guide, suddenly he dies! Those merchants now without a protector, how can they but lament! The present age, coming to know their true case, has found the omniscient, and looked to him, but yet has not obtained the final conquest; how will the world deride! Even as it would laugh at one who, walking o'er a mountain full of treasure, yet ignorant thereof, hugs still the pain of poverty."

So spake the Mallas, and with tearful words excuse themselves to Buddha, even as an only child pleads piteously before a loving father. Buddha then, with speech most excellent, exhibited and declared the highest principle of truth, and thus addressed the Mallas:—

"In truth, 'tis as you say; seeking the way, you must exert yourselves and strive with diligence—it is not enough to have seen me! Walk, as I have commanded you; get rid of all the tangled net of sorrow; walk in the way with steadfast aim; 'tis not from seeing me this comes—even as a sick man depending on the healing power of medicine, gets rid of all his ailments easily without beholding the physician. He who does not do what I command sees me in vain, this brings no profit; whilst he who lives far off from where I am, and yet walks righteously, is ever near me! A man may dwell beside me, and yet, being disobedient, be far away from me. Keep your heart carefully—give not place to listlessness! earnestly practise every good work. Man born in this world is pressed by all the sorrows of the long career, ceaselessly troubled—without a moment's rest, as any lamp blown by the wind!" The Mallas all, hearing Buddha's loving instruction, inwardly composed, restrained their tears, and, firmly self-possessed, returned.

Mahâparinirvâna

At this time there was a Brahmakârin whose name was Su-po-to-lo; he was well-known for his virtuous qualities, leading a pure life according to the rules of morality, and protecting all living things. When young he had adopted heretical views, and become a recluse among unbelievers—this one, wishing to see the lord, spake to Ânanda thus:—

"I hear that the system of Tathâgata is of a singular character and very profound, and that he has reached the highest wisdom in the world, the first of all horse-tamers. I hear moreover that he is now about to die, it will be difficult indeed to meet with him again, and difficult to see those who have seen him with difficulty, even as it is to catch in a mirror the reflection of the moon. I now desire respectfully to see him the greatest and most virtuous guide of men, because I seek to escape this mass of sorrow and reach the other shore of birth and death. The sun of Buddha now about to quench its rays, O! let me for a moment gaze upon him." The feelings of Ânanda now were much affected, thinking that this request was made with a view to controversy, or that he felt an inward joy because the lord was on the eve of death. He was not willing therefore to permit the interview with Buddha. Buddha, knowing the man's earnest desire and that he was a vessel fit for true religion, therefore addressed Ânanda thus: "Permit that heretic to advance; I was born to save mankind, make no hindrance therefore, or excuse!"

Subhadra, hearing this, was overjoyed at heart, and his religious feelings were much enlarged, as with increased reverence he advanced to Buddha's presence. Then, as the occasion required, he spoke becoming words and with politeness made his salutation, his features pleasing and with hands conjoined he said:—

"Now I desire to ask somewhat from thee; the world has many teachers of religion, those who know the law as I am myself; but I hear that Buddha has attained a way which is the end of all complete emancipation. O that you would, on my account, briefly explain your method, moisten my empty, thirsty soul! not with a view to controversy or from a desire to gain the mastery, but with sincerity I ask you so to do."

Then Buddha, for the Brahmakârin's sake, in brief recounted the eight "right ways"—on hearing which, his empty soul accepted it, as one deceived accepts direction in the right road. Perceiving now, he knew that what he had before perceived was not the final way of salvation, but now he felt he had attained what he had not before attained, and so he gave up and forsook his books of heresy. Moreover, now he rejected the gloomy hindrances of doubt, reflecting how by his former practices, mixed up with anger, hate, and ignorance, he had long cherished no real joy. For if, he argued, the ways of lust and hate and ignorance are able to produce a virtuous karman, then "hearing much" and "persevering wisdom," these, too, are born from lust, which cannot be. But if a man is able to cut down hate and ignorance, then also he puts off all consequences of works, and these being finally destroyed, this is complete emancipation. Those thus freed from works are likewise freed from subtle questionings, such as what the world says "that all things, everywhere, possess a self-nature." But if this be the case and therefore lust, hate, and ignorance, possess a self-implanted nature, then this nature must inhere in them; what then means the word "deliverance"? For even if we rightly cause the overthrow of hate and ignorance, yet if lust remains, then there is a return of birth; even as water, cold in its nature, may by fire be heated, but when the fire goes out then it becomes cold again, because this is its constant nature; so we may ever know that the nature which lust has is permanent, and neither hearing wisdom nor perseverance can alter it. Neither capable of increase or diminution, how can there be deliverance? I held aforetime that birth and death resulted thus, from their own innate nature; but now I see that such a belief excludes deliverance; for what is born by nature must endure so, what end can such things have? Just as a burning lamp cannot but give its light; the way of Buddha is the only true one, that lust, as the root-cause, brings forth the things that live; destroy this lust then there is Nirvana; the cause destroyed then the fruit is not produced. I formerly maintained that "I" was a distinct entity, not seeing that it has no maker. But now I hear the right doctrine preached by Buddha, there is no "self" in all the world, for all things are produced by cause, and therefore there is no creator. If then sorrow is produced by cause, the cause may likewise be destroyed; for if the world is cause-produced, then is the view correct, that by destruction of the cause, there is an end. The cause destroyed, the world brought to an end, there is no room for such a thought as permanence, and therefore all my former views are "done away," and so he deeply "saw" the true doctrine taught by Buddha.

Because of seeds well sown in former times, he was enabled thus to understand the law on hearing it; thus he reached the good and perfect state of quietness, the peaceful, never-ending place of rest. His heart expanding to receive the truth, he gazed with earnest look on Buddha as he slept, nor could he bear to see Tathâgata depart and die; "ere yet," he said, "Buddha shall reach the term I will myself first leave the world;" and then with hands close joined, retiring from the holy form, he took his seat apart, and sat composed and firm. Then giving up his life, he reached Nirvâna, as when the rain puts out a little fire. Then Buddha spake to all his followers: "This my very last disciple has now attained Nirvâna, cherish him properly."

Then Buddha, the first night watch passed, the moon bright shining and all the stars clear in their lustre, the quiet grove without a sound, moved by his great compassionate heart, declared to his disciples this his bequeathed precepts: "After my Nirvâna, ye ought to reverence and obey the Pratimoksha, as your master, a shining lamp in the dark night, or as a great jewel treasured by a poor man. These injunctions I have ever given, these you ought to obey and follow carefully, and treat in no way different from myself. Keep pure your body, words, and conduct, put from you all concerns of daily life, lands, houses, cattle, storing wealth or hoarding grain. All these should be avoided as we avoid a fiery pit; sowing the land, cutting down shrubs, healing of wounds or the practice of medicine, star-gazing and astrology, forecasting lucky or unfortunate events by signs, prognosticating good or evil, all these are things forbidden. Keeping the body temperate, eat at proper times; receive no mission as a go-between; compound no philteries; abhor dissimulation; follow right doctrine, and be kind to all that lives; receive in moderation what is given; receive but hoard not up; these are, in brief, my spoken precepts. These form the groundwork of my rules, these also are the ground of full emancipation. Enabled thus to live this is rightly to receive all other things. This is true wisdom which embraces all, this is the way to attain the end; this code of rules, therefore, ye should hold and keep, and never let it slip or be destroyed. For when pure rules of conduct are observed then there is true religion; without these, virtue languishes; found yourselves therefore well on these my precepts; grounded thus in rules of purity, the springs of feeling will be well controlled, even as the well-instructed cow-herd guides well his cattle. Ill-governed feelings, like the horse, run wild through all the six domains of sense, bringing upon us in the present world unhappiness, and in the next, birth in an evil way. So, like the horse ill-broken, these land us in the ditch; therefore the wise and prudent man will not allow his senses license. For these senses are, indeed, our greatest foes, causes of misery; for men enamoured thus by sensuous things cause all their miseries to recur. Destructive as a poisonous snake, or like a savage tiger, or like a raging fire, the greatest evil in the world, he who is wise, is freed from fear of these. But what he fears is only this—a light and trivial heart, which drags a man to future misery—just for a little sip of pleasure, not looking at the yawning gulf before us; like the wild elephant freed from the iron curb, or like the ape that has regained the forest trees, such is the light and trivial heart; the wise man should restrain and hold it therefore. Letting the heart go loose without restraint, that man shall not attain Nirvâna; therefore we ought to hold the heart in check, and go apart from men and seek a quiet resting-place. Know when to eat and the right measure; and so with reference to the rules of clothing and of medicine; take care you do not by the food you take, encourage in yourselves a covetous or an angry mind. Eat your food to satisfy your hunger and drink to satisfy your thirst, as we repair an old or broken chariot, or like the butterfly that sips the flower destroying not its fragrance or its texture. The Bhikshu, in begging food, should beware of injuring the faithful mind of another; if a man opens his heart in charity, think not about his capabilities, for 'tis not well to calculate too closely the strength of the ox, lest by loading him beyond his strength you cause him injury. At morning, noon, and night, successively, store up good works. During the first and after-watch at night be not overpowered by sleep, but in the middle watch, with heart composed, take sleep and rest—be thoughtful towards the dawn of day. Sleep not the whole night through, making the body and the life relaxed and feeble; think! when the fire shall burn the body always, what length of sleep will then be possible? For when the hateful brood of sorrow rising through space, with all its attendant horrors, meeting the mind o'erwhelmed by sleep and death, shall seize its prey, who then shall waken it?