sensible to the mysteries of sorrow and of death. But we find in this ancient tradition an expression— inadequate it may be, and even childish-of what in the main we must ourselves believe to be the true explanation of the cause which induced Gautama to abandon his family and his home. He was probably not the first-he was certainly not the last—who, in the midst of prosperity and comfort, has felt a yearning and a want which nothing could satisfy, and which have robbed of their charm all earthly gains and hopes. This vague dissatisfaction deepens with every fresh proof of the apparent vanity of life, and does not lose but gains in power when, as is reported in the case of Gautama, it arises more from sympathy with the sorrows of others than from any personal sorrow of one's own. At last, the details of daily life become insupportable; and the calm life of the hermit troubled with none of these things seems a haven of peace, where a life of self-denial and earnest meditation may lead to some solution of the strange enigmas of life. Such feelings must have become more and more ascendant in Gautama's mind, when about ten years after his marriage, his wife bore him their only child, a son named Rāhula; and the idea that this new tie might become too strong for him to break, seems to have been the immediate cause of his flight. According to the oldest authorities of the Southern Buddhists, the birth of his son was announced to him in a garden on the river-side, whither he had gone after seeing the fourth vision,-that of the hermit. The event was not then expected, but he only said quietly, 'This is a new and strong tie I shall have to break,' and returned home thoughtful and sad. But the villagers were delighted at the birth of the child, their raja's only grandson. Gautama's return became an ovation, and he entered Kapilavastu amidst a crowd of rejoicing clansmen. Among the sounds of triumph which greeted his ear, one especially is said to have attracted his attention-A young girl, his cousin, sang a stanza, "Happy the father, happy the mother, happy the wife of such a son and husband."1 In the word 'happy' lay a double meaning; it meant also 'freed,' delivered from the chains of sin and of transmigration, saved.2 Grateful to one who at such a time reminded him of his highest thoughts, he took off his necklace of pearls, and sent it to her, saying, 'Let this be her fee as a teacher.' She began to build castles in the air thinking 'Young Siddhartha is falling in love with me, and has sent me a present,' but he took no further notice of her, and passed on. That night at midnight he sent his charioteer Channa for his horse, and whilst he was gone he went to the threshold of his wife's chamber, and there by the light of the flickering lamp, he watched her sleeping, surrounded by flowers, with one hand on the head of their child. He had wished for the last time to take the babe in his arms before he left, but he now saw that he could not do so without awaking the mother. As this might frustrate all his intentions, the fear of waking Yasodhara at last prevailed; he reluctantly tore himself away, and, accompanied only by Channa, left his father's home, his wealth and power, his young wife and only 1 For authorities, see Rh. D.'s 'Hibbert Lectures, 1881,' pp. 149, 150. 2 Nibbuta, said to be used in Pali as the participle of the verb from which the word Nibbāna is derived. child, behind him; and rode away into the night to become a penniless and despised student, and a homeless wanderer. This is the circumstance which has given its name to the Sanskrit original of the Chinese work, of which Mr. Beal has given us the translation mentioned above-the 'Mahābhinishkramana Sūtra,' or 'Sutra of the Great Renunciation.' How much of this graceful story is historically true it is as yet impossible to say; but it certainly belongs to the very earliest form of Buddhist belief. We next find another endeavour to relate, under the form of a real material vision, what is supposed to have passed in Gautama's mind. Māra, the spirit of Evil, 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 the desired effect, the tempter consoles himself with the hope that he will still overcome his enemy, saying, 'Sooner or later some hurtful or malicious or angry thought must arise in his mind; in that moment I shall be his master.' 'And from that hour,' adds the Jātaka chronicler, 'he followed him, on the watch for any failing, cleaving to him like a shadow, which follows the object from which it falls.'1 Gautama rode a long distance that night, not stopping till he reached the bank of the river Anomā, beyond the Koliyan territory. There, taking off his ornaments, he gave them and the horse in charge to his charioteer, to take them back to Kapilavastu. Channa asked, indeed, to be allowed to stay with his master, that becoming an ascetic, he might continue to serve him ; but Gautama would not 1 Rh. D.'s Buddhist Birth Stories,' p. 84. hear of it, saying, 'How will my father and my relations know what has become of me unless you go back and tell them?' Gautama then cut off his long hair, and exchanging clothes with a poor passer-by, sent home the dejected and sorrowing Channa, while he himself hurried on towards Rajagriha, to begin his new life as a homeless mendicant ascetic. Rajagriha, the capital of Magadha, was the seat of Bimbisāra, one of the then most powerful princes in the eastern valley of the Ganges; and was situated in a pleasant valley, closely surrounded by five hills, the most northerly offshoot of the Vindhya mountains. In the caves on these hill-sides, free from the dangers of more disturbed districts, and near enough to the town whence they procured their simple supplies, yet at the same time surrounded by the solitude of nature, several hermits had found it convenient to settle. Gautama attached himself, first, to one of these Brahman teachers, named Alāra, and, being dissatisfied with his system, afterwards to another named Udraka, learning under them all that Hindu philosophy had then to teach about this world or the next. It may be noticed, in passing, that the question of the relations between Buddhism and the different systems of Hindu philosophy is as difficult as it is interesting. Six such systems are accounted orthodox among the Hindus; but the history of their rise and development has yet to be written. Only the fully 1 For a detailed description of the ruins at Rājagriha (modern Rajgir), see General Cunningham's 'Ancient Geography of India, Buddhist Period,' pp. 462-468. The ruins of the walls of the new citadel, built by Bimbisāra are still traceable. developed systems are now extant in their different sutras or aphorisms: but though it is doubtful whether any of these were pre-Buddhistic or not, it is certain that, long before Gautama's time, the Brahmans had paid great attention to the deepest questions of ontology and ethics, and were divided into different schools, in one or other of which most of Gautama's metaphysical tenets had previously been taught. Such originality as can be claimed for him arises more from the importance which he attached to moral training above ritual, or metaphysics, or penance; and to the systematized form in which he presented ideas derived from those of various previous thinkers. Like all other leaders of thought, he was the creature of his time, and it must not be supposed that his philosophy was entirely of his own creation. One of the northern authorities gives long accounts of the discussions he held with Bhagavā, Alāra, and Udraka,1 which are interesting as being probably founded on ancient tradition. Professor Monier Williams in his 'Indian Wisdom' has given an excellent popular sketch of the six systems just referred to, and the most important authorities on the subject will be found mentioned there. One of the most frequently inculcated tenets of the Brahmans was a belief in the efficacy of penance as a means of gaining superhuman power and insight; and when Gautama, after studying the systems of Alara and Udraka, was still unsatisfied, he resolved to go apart, and see what progress he could himself make 1 Beal, 'Romantic Legend,' pp. 152-177. |