The chief sources of our at present available information regarding the life of Buddha are—1, The Manual of Buddhism, published in 1860 by the Rev. R. Spence Hardy, compiled from various Sinhalese sources; 2, The translation into English (published by Bishop Bigandet in Rangoon in 1858 under the title Legend of the Burmese Buddha) of the translation into Burmese of a Pâli work called by Bigandet Mallalingara-Wouttoo, of unknown author and date; 3, The original Pâli text of the Jätaka commentary, written in Ceylon in the 5th century a.d., edited in 1875 by Mr Fausböll of Copenhagen (this is our best authority ); 4, Mr Beal’s recently published translation into English (under the title The Romantic Legend of Sakya Buddha) of a translation into Chinese, made in the 6th century a.d., of a Sanskrit work, called Abhinishkramana Sütra ; 5, A Sanskrit work called the Lolita Vistara, undoubtedly very old, but of unknown author or date, the text of which has appeared in the Bibliotheca Indica in Calcutta, and a translation through the Tibetan into French by Μ. Foucaux in Paris (1848). The first three books represent the views of the southern Buddhists, whose sacred books are in Pali, and last the two those of the northern Buddhists, whose sacred books are in Sanskrit. The former are much the more reliable and complete, the latter being inflated to a great length by absurd and miraculous legends, the kernel of fact at the centre of which agrees in the main with the account found in the former. These have their miraculous incidents too, the relation of the Sanskrit sources to the Pâli resembling in many respects that of the apocryphal gospels to the New Testament.

As there has been little or no intercommunication between the two churches since the 3d century b.c., great reliance may reasonably be placed on those statements in which they agree; not indeed as a proof of the actual facts of the Buddha’s biography, but as giving us the belief of the early Buddhists concerning it. It is to be regretted that the books we have to compare are, as yet, of so comparatively modern a date; but, after the respective canons had once been fixed, it is not likely that translators would deviate very materially from the text of the biographies, so sacred to them, with which they had to deal. The southern canon—usually called the Tripitaka or three collections—was finally determined about 250 b.c., at the Council of Pätaliputra on the Ganges, held under the auspices of the Emperor Asoka the Great; and the northern about the commencement of our era at the Council of Jâlandhara, in Kashmir, held under Kafiishka, a powerful Indo-Scythian monarch. To the former belongs the Buddhavansa, or History of the Buddhas, on which, together with its commentary, our three southern' accounts are chiefly based; to the latter belongs the Lalita Vistara, the last of the authorities mentioned above.

At the end of this article will be found a description of those parts of the canon as yet published; for what is known of the contents of the unpublished parts the student is referred, for the northern, to B. H. Hodgson’s Essays, pp. 17 et seq. and 36 et seq.; to Csoma Körösi in the Asiatic Researches, vol. xx.; Bumouf, Intr., 34-68; and Koppen, ii. 279; for the southern to Hardy’s Eastern Monachism (1850), p. 166 et seq., and to Μ. Barthélemy St-Hilaire’s papers in the Journal des Savants for Feb. and March 1866.

Part I.— The Life of Gautama Buddha.

At the end of the 6th century b.c. the Aryan tribes from the Panjäb had long been settled on the banks of the Ganges; the pride of race had put an impassable barrier between them and the conquered aborigines; the pride of birth had built up another between the chiefs or nobles and the mass of the Aryan people; and the superstitious fears of all yielded to the priesthood an unquestioned and profitable supremacy; while the exigencies of occupation and the ties of family had further separated each class into smaller communities, until the whole nation had became gradually bound by an iron system of caste. The old child-like joy in life so manifest in the Vedas had died away; the worship of nature had developed or degenerated into the worship of new and less pure divinities; and the Vedic songs themselves, whose freedom was little compatible with the spirit of the age, had faded into an obscurity which did not lessen their value to the priests. The country was politically split up into little principalities, each governed by some petty despot, whose interests were not often the same as those of the community. A convenient belief in the doctrine of the transmigration of souls satisfied the unfortunate that their woes were the natural result of their own deeds in a former birth, and though unavoidable now, might be escaped in a future State of existence by present liberality to the priests. While hoping for a better fate in their next birth, the oppressed people turned for succour and advice in this to the aid of astrology and witchcraft—a belief in which seems to underlie all religions, and is only just dying out among ourselves. The philosophy of the day no longer hoped for an immortality of the soul, but looked for a release from the misery which it found inseparable from life, in a complete extinction of individual existence. The inspiriting wars against the enemies of the Aryan people, the infidel deniers of the Aryan gods, had given place to a succession of internecine feuds between the chiefs of neighbouring clans; and in literature an age of poets had long since made way for an age of commentators and grammarians, who thought that the old poems must have been the work of gods. But the darkest period was succeeded by the dawn of a reformation; travelling logicians were willing to maintain theses against all the world; whilst here and there ascetics strove to raise themselves above the gods, and hermits earnestly sought for some satisfactory solution of the mysteries of life. These were the teachers whom the people chiefly delighted to honour; and though the ranks of the priesthood were for ever firmly closed against intruders, a man of lower caste, a Kshatriya or Vaisya, whose mind revolted against the orthodox creed, and whose heart was stirred by mingled zeal and ambition, might find through these irregular orders an entrance to the career of a religious teacher and reformer.

The population was most thickly scattered within 150 miles of Benares, which was already celebrated as a seat of piety and learning; and it was at Kapilavastu, a few days’ journey north of Benares, that in the 5th century B.C. a räja Suddhödana ruled over a tribe who were called the Säkyas, and who from their well-watered rice-fields could see the giant Himalayas looming up against the clear blue of the Indian sky. Their supplies of water were drawn from the River Rohini, the modern Kohäna; and though the use of the river was in times of drought the cause of disputes between the Säkyas and the neighbouring Koliyans, the two clans were then at peace; and two daughters of the räja of Koli, which was only 11 miles east of Kapilavastu, were the principal wives of Suddhödana. Both were childless, and great was the rejoicing when, in about the forty-fifth year of her age, the elder sister, Mahämäyä, promised her husband a son. In due time she started with the intention of being confined at her parent’s home, but ⅛the party halting on the way under the shade of some lofty satin trees, in a pleasant garden called Lumbini on the river side, her son, the future Buddha, was there unexpectedly born. The marvellous stories which gathered round the belief in his voluntary incarnation and immaculate conception, the miracles at his birth, the prophecies of the aged saint at his formal presentation to his father, and how nature altered her course to keep a shadow over his cradle, whilst the sage3 from afar came and worshipped him, will be referred to hereafter under the head of later Buddhism.

He was in after years more generally known by his family name of Gautama, but his individual name was Siddhartha. When he was nineteen years old he was married to his cousin Yasodharä, daughter of the Koliyan räja, and gave himself up to a life of Oriental luxury and delight. Soon after this, according to the southern account, his relations formally complained to the rajä that his son lived entirely for pleasure without learning anything, and asked what they should do under such a leader if war arose. Gautama, hearing of this, is said to have appointed a day for a trial of his prowess, and by defeating all his competitors in manly exercises, and surpassing even his teachers in knowledge, to have won back the good opinion of the disaffected Säkyas. This is the solitary record of his youth; we hear nothing more till, in his twenty-ninth year, it is related that, driving to his pleasure-grounds one day, he was struck by the sight of a man utterly broken down by age, on another occasion by the sight of a man suffering from a loathsome disease, and some months after by the horrible sight of a decomposing corpse. Each time his charioteer, whose name was Channa, told him that such was the fate of all living beings. Soon after he saw an ascetic walking in a calm and dignified manner, and asking who that was, was told by his charioteer the character and aims of the ascetics. The different accounts of this vary so much as to cast great doubts on their accuracy. It is, however, clear from what follows, that about this time the mind of the young Räjput must, from some cause or other, have been deeply stirred. Many an earnest heart full of disappointment or enthusiasm has gone through a similar struggle, has learnt to look upon all earthly gains and hopes as worse than vanity, has envied the calm life of the cloister, troubled by none of these things, and has longed for an opportunity of entire selfsurrender to abstinence and meditation.

Subjectively, though not objectively, these visions may be supposed to have appeared to Gautama. ⅛ After seeing the last of them, he is said to have spent the afternoon in his pleasure-grounds by the river side; and having bathed, to have entered his chariot in order to return home. Just then a messenger arrived with the news that his wife Yasodharä had given birth to a son, his only child. “This,” said Gautama quietly, “is a new and strong tie I shall have to break.” But the people of Kapilavastu were greatly delighted at the birth of the young heir, the räja’s only grandson. Gautama’s return became an ovation; musicians preceded and followed his chariot, while shouts of joy and triumph fell on his ear. Among these sounds one especially attracted his attention. It was the voice of a young girl, his cousin, who sang a stanza, saying, “Happy the father, happy the mother, happy the wife of such a son and husband.” In the word “happy” lay a double meaning; it meant also freed from the chains of existence, delivered, saved. Grateful to one who, at such a time, reminded him of his highest hopes, Gautama, to whom such things had no longer any value, took off his collar of pearls and sent it to her. She imagined this was the beginning of a courtship, and began to build day-dreams about becoming his principal wife, but he took no further notice of her and passed on. That evening the dancing-girls came to go through the Nätch dances, then as now so · common on festive occasions in many parts of India; but he paid them no attention, and gradually fell into an uneasy slumber. At midnight he awoke; the dancing-girls were lying in the ante-room; an overpowering loathing filled his soul. He arose instantly with a mind fully made up,—“roused into activity,” says the Sinhalese chronicle, “like a man who is told that his house is on fire.” He called out to know who was on guard; and finding it was his charioteer Channa, he told him to saddle his horse. While Channa was gone Siddhärtha gently opened the door of the room where Yasodharä was sleeping, surrounded by flowers, with one hand on the head of their child. He had hoped to take the babe in his arms, for the last time before he went, but now he stood for a few moments irresolute on the threshold looking at them. At last the fear of awakening Yasodharä prevailed; he tore himself away, promising himself to return to them as soon as his mind had become clear, as soon as he had become a Buddha,— i.e. Enlightened,— and then he could return to them not only as husband and father, but as teacher and saviour. It is said to have been broad moonlight on the full moon of the month of July, when the young chief, with Channa as his sole companion, leaving his father’s home, his wealth and power, his wife and child behind him—went out into the wilderness to become a penniless and despised student, and a homeless wanderer. This is the circumstance which has given its name to the Sanskrit work, the fourth of those mentioned above, of which Mr Beal has given us a version through the Chinese, the Mahäbhinishkramana Sütra, or Sütra of the Great Renunciation.

Next is related an event in which we may again see a subjective experience given under the form of an objective reality. Mära, the great tempter, appears in the sky, and urges Gautama to stop, promising him, in seven days, a universal kingdom over the four great continents if he will but give up his enterprise. When his words fail to have any effect, the tempter consoles himself by the confident hope that he will still overcome his enemy, saying, “Sooner or later some lustful or malicious or angry thought must arise in his mind; in that moment I shall be his master;” and from that hour, adds the Burmese chronicle, “as a shadow always follows the body, so he too from that day always followed the Blessed One, striving to throw every obstacle in his way towards the Buddhahood.’’ 1 Gautama rides a long distance that night, only stopping at the banks of the Anomä beyond the Kυliyan territory. There, on the sandy bank of the river, at a spot where later piety erected a dâgaba (a solid dome-shaped relic shrine), he cuts off with his sword his long flowing locks, and taking off his ornaments, sends them and the horse back in charge of the unwilling Channa to Kapilavastu. The next seven days were spent alone in a grove of mango trees near by, whence the ascetic walks on to Räjagriha, the capital of Magadha, and residence of BimbisΓιra, one of the then most powerful rulers in the valley of the Ganges. He was favourably received by the räja, a friend of his father’s; but though asked to do so, he would not as yet assume the responsibilities of a teacher. He attached himself first to a Brahman sophist named Alära, and afterwards to another named Udraka, from whom he learnt all that Hindu philosophy had then to teach. 2 Still unsatisfied, he next retired to the jungle of Uruvela, on the most northerly spur of the Vindhya range of mountains, and there for six years, attended by five faithful disciples, he gave himself up to the severest penance and self-torture, till his fame as an ascetic spread in all the country round about “like the sound,” says the Burmese chronicle “of a great bell hung in the canopy of the skies.” 3 At last one day, when he was walking in a much enfeebled state, he felt on a sudden an extreme weakness, like that caused by dire starvation, and unable to stand any longer he fell to the ground. Some thought he was dead, but he recovered, and from that time took regular food and gave up his severe penance, so much so that his five disciples soon ceased to respect him, and leaving him went to Benares.

There now ensued a second struggle in Gautama’s mind, described in both southern and northern accounts with all the wealth of poetry and imagination of which the Indian mind is master. The crisis culminated on a day, each event of which is surrounded in the Buddhist accounts with the wildest legends, on which the very thoughts passing through the mind of Buddha appear in gorgeous descriptions as angels of darkness or of light. To us, now taught by the experiences of centuries how weak such exaggerations are compared with the effect of a plain unvarnished tale, these legends may appear childish or absurd, but they have a depth of meaning to those who strive to read between the lines of such rude and inarticulate attempts to describe the indescribable. That which (the previous and subsequent career of the teacher being borne in mind) seems to be possible and even probable, appears to be somewhat as follows.

Disenchanted and dissatisfied, Gautama had given up all that most men value, to seek peace in secluded study and self-denial. Failing to attain his object by learning the wisdom of others, and living the simple life of a student, he had devoted himself to that intense meditation and penance which all philosophers then said would raise men above the gods. Still unsatisfied, longing always for a certainty that seemed ever just beyond his grasp, he had added vigil to vigil, and penance to penance, until at last, when to the wondering view of others he had become more than a saint, his bodily strength and his indomitable resolution and faith had together suddenly and completely broken down. Then, when the sympathy of others would have been most welcome, he found his friends falling away from him, and his disciples leaving him for other teachers. Soon after, if not on the very day when his followers had left him, he wandered out towards the banks of the Nairanjara, receiving his morning meal from the hands of Sujätä, the daughter of a neighbouring villager, and set himself down to eat it under the shade of a large tree (a Ficus religiosa), to be known from that time as the sacred Bo tree or tree of wisdom. There he remained through the long hours of that day debating with himself what next to do. All his old temptations came back upon him with renewed force. For years he had looked at all earthly good through the medium of a philosophy which taught him that it, without exception, contained within itself the seeds of bitterness, and was altogether worthless and impermanent; but now to his wavering faith the sweet delights of home and love, the charms of wealth and power, began to show themselves in a different light, and glow again with attractive colours. He doubted, and agonized in his doubt; but as the sun set, the religious side of his nature had won the victory, and seems to have come out even purified from the struggle. He had become clear...