A.B. Griswold, in his essay "What is a Buddha Image", presented an interesting and convincing theory on how a philosophy marked by a considerable disrespect for deities became a religion in which images of the founder of the philosophical school, the Buddha, became subjects of animistic worship, in the sense that the images are considered animated and worshiped as powers in their own right.
A.B. Griswold starts with a rather hypothetical reconstructions of what might have happened at the time of the Buddha’s death: "Memory is a frail thing; and unless some means of preserving it could be found, the recollection of the Sage’s person, and hence of his priceless guidance, would gradually fade. As the Buddha lay dying, all this was tragically evident to his disciple Ananda, who had served him with affectionate care for more than half a lifetime, making up in devotion what he lacked in intellectual power.
Could not the disciples, he asked sadly, be allowed to perform some regular act of homage to the memory of the Master in whom they had put their faith? Could they not have some sort of substitute, a reminder of his Person no less than of his Doctrine, to keep them from falling back into the superstitions from which he had rescued them?"
"As a concession to such needs the Buddha replied that the faithful might make pilgrimages to the scenes of the Great Events of his career. When they visited these places they would visualize the Events connected with them, remember his victories over evil and ignorance, and so be inspired to imitate him. If that was not sufficient, they could gather his bodily relics (sariradhatu), such as bones and teeth, after his cremation; they could build stupas, mounds of earth or masonry, to contain them; and the stupas, by reminding people of the Doctrine, would make their hearts glad and happy."
A.D. Griswold explains that according to the orthodox classification, there are four categories of reminder: sariradhatu or dhatucetiya, bodily relics; paribhogacetiya, reminders by association; dhammacetiya, doctrinal reminders; and uddesikacetiya, indicative reminders.
The meaning of the first, sariradhatu or dhatucetiya, is self-evident.
The second, paribhogacetiya, reminders by association, include anything associated with the Buddha himself by physical contact, such as his alms bowl and robes, the footprints he left on river-bank and mountain-top, the benches he sat on, the Bodhi tree at Bodhgaya which sheltered him at the moment of enlightenment, and in a more general way the sites of all the great events. Stupas containing his bodily relics are sometimes placed in this category, some-times in the first category.
The third, dhammacetiya, was originally the whole body of the Doctrine, remembered by word of mouth, but later was extended to include written extracts from the Canon, and stupas built to contain such extracts.
The fourth, uddesikacetiya, indicative reminders, are what might be called "reminders by convention". They are objects, neutral in themselves, which the general opinion might recognize as substitutes for paribhogacetiya, and indeed are usually man-made replicas of them. Trees grown from seeds or cuttings taken from the original Bodhi tree may be put in this category, in the sense that they have come into existence as a result of human intervention; but sometimes, in view of their genetic connection with the original, they are considered to be paribhogacetiya. Replicas of stupas containing bodily relics, when they themselves contain none, are indicative reminders; so are replicas of the footprints; and so are replicas of the scenes of the Great Events, or any essential part of them, in painting or bas-relief or any other suitable medium.
This last category of reminders assumed increasing importance with the spread of Buddhism to distant lands, as they enabled people who lived far away to make pilgrimages, by the power of mental projection, to the holy sites without actually leaving home.
According to A.B. Griswold, educated opinion in India long held the notion of image-making in contempt: images were needed only by the ignorant, who could not grapple with sublime abstractions. In the earliest Indian bas-reliefs depicting scenes from the Buddha’s life, the Buddha himself is invisible. He is represented by an aniconic symbol only, such as a stone altar slab or bench, a tree, a serpent, a pair of footprints, or a stupa.
The symbols are depictions of the chief features at the scenes of the Great Events and other incidents: the Bodhi tree at Bodhgaya, and the stone slab under it; the nearby statue of the Serpent King (Naga) who had protected the Buddha from the storm while he meditated; the disk or wheel commemorating the preaching of the First Sermon, the event which "set the Wheel of the Doctrine in motion"; the footprints the Buddha had stamped in rock or clay as souvenirs for the faithful; and the stupas commemorating his parinibbana.
In the bas-reliefs are seen people worshipping these symbols as if they were worshipping the Buddha in person. Some of the worshippers, it may be suspected, had only recently been converted to the Doctrine, and had previously been in the habit of worshipping very similar objects in an entirely different context. In the older cults the solar disk and the serpent had long been worshipped, and so had stones and trees, either in their own right or as the abode of powerful sprites who conferred all sorts of favors when properly approached, but who took terrible vengeance when displeased.
Buddha images, it seems, were first invented about the beginning of the Christian Era, either in Gandhara or at Mathura. A.B. Griswold says that in a curious way they grew directly out of the old symbols, almost as a seedling grows out of a coconut: and just as it takes some time for the coconut shell to rot away, so vestiges of the symbols long clung to the images: the slab as pedestal, the footprints as feet, the serpent or the tree as shelter, the wheel as halo, and various other combinations. And since in the popular mind these symbols were still animated by the sprites inherent in them, people felt that certain images, though representing the Sage of Rationalism (as A.B. Griswold calls the Buddha), possessed the powers and personalities of sprites.
In due course Buddhism was brought from India to Southeast Asia, and the art of image-making as well. One of the most reliable chronicles that have remained, the Jinakalamali, makes it clear what an important role the images had in spreading the Doctrine. Some of them were reputed to possess great magical power, and the timely miracles they performed were a great help in converting the people.
A.B. Griswold recommends that such stories should not be dismissed as fanciful. The power of the images was real enough, he says, though it exerted itself differently at different levels. The staunchest rationalist would admit that Reminders of the Doctrine can start a mental process that will end by dispelling the fear of demons. In the traditional belief, moreover, every Buddha image inherits some fraction of the teja, "fiery energy", which the Buddha himself possessed in incalculable abundance, and which is conventionally represented by a fiery halo, a flame springing from the top of the head, the gilded surfaces of bronze or stone, and so on.
It is not difficult to guess why some images were thought to possess much more magical power than others. One that was believed to be very old would seem to have demonstrated its unusual potency by its unusual power of survival; and if it was thought to be directly copied from one of the original authentic images it would naturally hold more teja than those whose resemblance to the Buddha’s person, transmitted through copying at many removes, was less perfect.
Old local beliefs played their part in a variety of ways. If statues of the Buddha sheltered by the Serpent King were particularly popular in Cambodia, and in Thailand during the Khmer period, it was surely because converts from the old serpent cults saw them as inheritors of the serpent’s power. Images carved from certain stones, or the wood of certain trees, which had previously been worshipped as the abode of sprites, were still instinctively felt to be animated by those terrifying creatures. And if a particular image happened to be present when a very striking and unusual event occurred, people might easily think it responsible for the "miracle".
Such beliefs now and than produced incongruous results. Siamese chronicles make no attempt to veil the fact that ambitious rulers resorted to unscrupulous tricks and even the threat of open warfare to get hold of the most powerful images, or to cause political rivals to loose the images which were thought to protect them. Each city needed at least one powerful image for its protection, and if the enemy got hold of it he would very likely be able to take the city, too. Thus certain images became deeply involved in political affairs.
As A.B. Griswold pointed out, the chronicles dealing with events from the 13th to the 16th century record that allegedly some images themselves did not always behave very well. Some of the most famous ones were very unpredictable, and often downright cranky, acting in a way the Buddha himself would have condemned in the strongest terms. Like powerful sprites, they gave material rewards when flattered, but in moments of annoyance inflicted disease, set buildings on fire, and caused earthquakes.
The feeling that certain images behave in so un-Buddhist a way lasted right down to modern times. Two of them, the Emerald Buddha and the Phra Bang, were said to have detested each other; and towards the end of the 18th century, when they were brought to Thonburi together, it is believed that they caused all sorts of trouble, including a brief revolution, so they had to be separated. As late as 1867, when they were both in Bangkok (occupying separate buildings, but still not far enough away from each other), their alleged jealousy was said to have caused two disastrous crop-failures within three years.
One still hears of Buddha images that bring bad luck to their owners. The only remedy in that case is to present them to a monastery, where their mischievous tendencies will be kept in check.
A.B. Griswold relates that not many years ago he experienced an amusing example of misplaced piety. In the gallery of a monastery at Ayutthaya there was a long row of apparently identical images, one of which had been singled out for particular favors by an admirer. He had presented it with a silk scarf, and he spent a good deal of time in front of it in a reverential attitude, with palms pressed together as if in prayer. Why had he singled out this particular image, which differed in no way from the dozens of others in the same row?
A.B. Griswold relates that upon inquiry he found that a week earlier it had inspired the man to place a bet on a certain horse, which won the race handily and paid off well; so now he wanted to express his gratitude and at the same time seek further inspiration. A.B. Griswold judged that the supposed personality of the image reminds one more of a Neapolitan saint than of the Buddha; it is hard to believe that the Founder of the Doctrine himself would have given such encouragement to gambling.
Tradition explains such eccentricities by saying that they are not caused by the Buddha image as such, but by the sprite inhabiting it. The old belief that almost any noteworthy object is animated by its particular sprite has already been cited, and Buddha images are no exception. When they are made of certain sorts of wood or stone, those worshipping them may believe that the sprites were already in them before they were carved into Buddha images, and the process of carving did not wholly change their original nature.
States A.B. Griswold nonchalantly: "In any case the trouble-makers are rare. Most images behave with perfect decorum."
A.B. Griswold points out that not only old animistic believes are responsible for the widespread opinion that Buddha images are actually alive. The Brahmanical rite of "opening the eyes" of inert, inanimate objects that have to be brought to life by a particular ceremony also plays its part.
Siamese chronicles contain a large number of records which indicate the extend to which Buddha images have long been believed to be animated. One of the most famous and beautiful images in Thailand is the Jinaraja Victorious King at Phitsanulok, cast when that city was part of the Kingdom of Sukhothai. Not long afterwards Sukhothai, including Phitsanulok, was conquered by the rival Kingdom of Ayutthaya. The annals record a curious event: in 1438, when the Crown Prince of Ayutthaya proceeded to Phitsanulok, to become Viceroy of the conquered provinces, tears of blood were seen to flow from the eyes of the statue.
Until today, images are often presented with cloth robes to wear, and some are presented with gem-studded golden crowns and costly garments. The Emerald Buddha has three changes of costume: a princely attire for the hot season, a monastic robe for the rainy season, and a mantle of gold mesh for the cool season.
The old laws of Ayutthaya provided severe punishments for anyone mutilating a Buddha image. To cut off its head was to commit murder, to scrape the gold leaf from its surface was to skin it alive; and anyone who would commit so evil an act was a criminal of the worst sort.
During the long years of warfare that ravaged northern Siam in the late 18th century, many images were broken and others fell into ruin from neglect. As soon as peace was restored, the ruler of Chiang Mai set about restoring the damage; an inscription tells "he thought of the old images, lying broken in field and forest, neglected and exposed to sun and rain; and he took pity on them in his heart".
A mission with a similar purpose was performed by Prince Wang Na at the command of his brother, King Rama I (1782-1806). He proceeded to Ayutthaya, Sukhothai, Phitsanulok and other cities to rescue the images that had been neglected during the Burmese wars, and brought many hundreds of them, of life-size or larger, to Bangkok by raft. The colossal image called Sri Sarbejna ("the Omniscient One"), which had been the object of the deepest veneration at Ayutthaya, proved to be too badly damaged to repair; so it was reverently entombed in a large stupa built for the purpose at Wat Pho. The others were distributed among various monasteries in Bangkok and Thonburi; more than half of them were deposited at Wat Pho, where they may still be seen.
They were given a curious restoration treatment: they were covered with a thick coating of plaster and gilt lacquer, which completely obscured their beauty but did not prevent their teja from functioning. In recent years the plaster has been removed from many of them, revealing the beauty of the patinated bronze; but they were then almost immediately given a new coating of gilt lacquer, though not thick enough to disguise them as completely as before. Those at Wat Benchamabophit, also known as Marble Temple, can be seen to better advantage: at the suggestion of Prince Damrong, they were left ungilded so as to serve as examples of style to students and archaeologists.
At Phitsanulok there was a companion image of the Jinaraja, named Jinasiha, Victorious Lion. Both images were objects of particular veneration to King Rama I; before ascending the throne he used to go to Phitsanulok as often as he could spare the time from his campaigns against the Burmese and in the civil war, and there he would offer homage to the statues. The monastery where they were located had fallen into ruins, but when peace was restored a new Vihara was built for the Jinaraja, and in 1829 the Jinasiha was brought to Bangkok.
The raft which bore it, towed by hundreds of gilded and gaily decorated barges, stopped at the landing-stage of the Prince Wang Na’s Palace; and after three days of rejoicing it was conveyed by land to the Excellent Abode Monastery (Pavaranivesa), a vast throng of people pulling the many ropes that were required for so heavy a burden.
In his essay "What is a Buddha Image", published by the Fine Arts Department of the Thai government, A.B. Griswold presented some more curious stories connected with the belief that images have a life of their own. In a monastery in Ang Thong Province there is a colossal reclining Buddha image of masonry, which, according to historical records, on one occasion during the reign of King Rama V (1867-1911) manifested the power of speech. One afternoon, in the presence of the abbot and a large group of monks and novices, deep muffled sounds were heard to issue from its bosom. "Are you not well, Sir?" the abbot asked politely. The image replied: "Thank you, I am quite well; and you?" "Sir, I am well." "But trouble is on its way," said the image; "within two months, there will be a bad outbreak of cholera." Upon being asked what counter measures could be taken, the image provided a recipe to be compounded from certain herbs; and when the cholera came, exactly as predicted, the medicine proved to be an effective cure.
A.B. Griswold outlines that the belief that miniatures worn around the neck confer invulnerability can be explained in more than one way. Some people would say that the teja inherent in the image transmits itself to the wearer and makes him immune from harm; others might argue that by reminding the wearer of the Doctrine, and particularly that part of it that counsels constant alertness, it enables him to keep out of harm’s way.
Critics of such an opinion may point out that in the manner of this explanation, any irrationalism could be rationalized. The may be reminded that irrationalism, rationally explained, does not turn irrationalism into rationalism. Furthermore, those wearing images in the belief they are amulets protecting them from harm do not understand them simply as reminders to keep them alert. And by rationalizing amulets as reminders, the question remains unanswered whether or not the images worn as amulets protect the wearer on account of their own power.
In spite of such arguments, A.B. Griswold sees the rationalizing of images as reminders as sufficient to defend the opinion that Buddha images are somehow animated. He states in his essay cited above: "We can now begin to see why such miniatures were made in huge quantities to be buried away inside stupas and colossal images. They were a sort of electric charge, suffusing the stupa or the statue with teja: even if most of them proved to be inert, or nearly so, on the basis of probability at least a few of them would turn out to be particularly effective. Looked at in another way, they were intended to assure the durability, the invulnerability, of the Reminder that contained them: and even if they failed in that, and the Reminder was ever broken open, they would pour forth in an explosion of fiery energy, teja, conferring their benefits as reminders and protectors far and wide upon future generations."
"We can now see, too, why images inspire such fervent devotion. They fill the function for which the various sort of reminder, cetiya, were designed, but they also do rather more. They act as substitutes for the Buddha himself in a sort of mystical worship that reminds us of the bhakti of Hindu religions; and some people have a feeling that although the Buddha himself is inaccessible, he can be worshipped through his substitutes and somehow answer prayers through them too. At a less sublime level they are magical protectors, jealous gods who must be kept in a good humor, since they are equally capable of bestowing enormous favors and of bringing on a general disaster."
Making Merit
According to A.B. Griswold, the most obvious reason why Buddha images have been created in Thailand in such stupendous quantity is simply the intent to make merit (tam boon). And he explains that by doing good deeds, those who believe in transmigration lay up a store of merit for the future, like prudent people making deposits in a savings bank. To enter the monkhood for several days or months; to help in the construction or maintenance of a monastery; to contribute to education; to make gifts to the needy; to give alms to monks; to perform any act of kindness, great or small: all such things, and many others, are recognized as acts of merit. And of course it is an act of merit to create any sort of reminder, uddesikacetiya, from a great monument to a little heap of sand in the form of a stupa, from a colossal image to a tiny votive tablet.
Catholicism also knows images that miraculously talk but Catholicism interprets such occurrences as the Holy Spirit talking through the medium of the image, and not the image talking on its own.
A.B. Griswold in his essay "What is a Buddha Image" named the Buddha "Sage of Rationalism". His essay also indicates that he sees himself on the side of those who attempt a rationalist interpretation of Buddhism. In spite of this, he defends what appears to be image worship even by Buddhist rationalist, and he does so with a seemingly rationalist explanation. The more this appears to be contradictory, the more interested one may be in his chain of arguments.
A.B. Griswold: "But what of the rationalists? Would they not view all such notions, if not with contempt, at least with a mildly amused skepticism? Yet we often see modern-minded Buddhists, including the leaders of the rationalist movement, prostrating themselves before an image and making offerings of flowers and incense."
"The usual answer is that they are expressing their gratitude to the memory of the Teacher who conferred the priceless gift of the Doctrine on mankind. While this answer may seem strange to a Westerner, I am sure it is right. In all countries that take their forms of politeness from India, the manifestations of respect accorded to a teacher looks very much like worship."
"Still, we might think it an exaggerated way to express gratitude to a Master who long ago passed into Total Extinction, or at least far beyond the range of human behavior, and who can consequently derive no possible satisfaction from such homage. But the rationalist knows that the expression of gratitude is really for the benefit of the living, reinforcing the power of the Reminder in his own feelings and in the feelings of others; and even in the West it sometimes occurs that the most skeptical writers, who have no belief in any sort of future life whatever, will dedicate a book to the memory of some deceased friend."
"There is still another reason for such outward acts of piety on the part of Buddhist rationalists. Though they are indeed atheists, in the sense that they allow no significant place for a god or gods, they are not at all bigoted; and unlike the atheists of Communist countries they have no thought of undertaking a crusade against religion. Though for their own part they consider faith to be rather a hindrance than a help to clear thinking, they freely admit that many people need faith as a support for good morals. Tolerance is a cardinal principle of Buddhism; they recognize the good features of all religions, and in particular they respect the traditional forms of Buddhist worship."
"And they believe that good manners are the counterpart, in small things, of good morals in large ones. This is a good thing for Westerners to bear in mind, even those Westerners who have no particular sympathy for Buddhism."
"Among the souvenirs a tourist takes home with him from Bangkok there will very likely be a few Buddha images. [The export of Buddha images has been prohibited only after A.B. Griswold’s essay was first published.] They should not be used as door-stops or decorations for a bar, placed on the floor, made into lamps or coffee-tables, dressed up in humorous costumes, given nicknames, turned over to the children to play with, or treated in any other manner that does not befit objects of religious significance. To put them in unsuitable places is not only bad manners, which would hurt the feelings of any Buddhist who happened to visit the house; it is also a singularly unsatisfactory way to bring out the beauty of a work of art. No one in his right mind, no matter how little he might care about Christianity, would hang a crucifix on his wall upside down. Buddha images were made with the expectation that they would be placed in a position of honor - generally speaking, at such a height that their legs are at the level of the spectator’s eye - and that is the way they can be seen to best advantage."
"Buddha images, however, are not ‘works of art?in the ordinary sense. The purpose in making them was not to delight a connoisseur or to win praise from a critic; nor was it, except in a secondary way, to please the eye at all. As we have seen, they are religious mechanisms of a very peculiar kind. Nevertheless a great many of them are also objects of beauty by any standards; and there is certainly no harm in a non-Buddhist seeing them as such, provided he remembers that that is not the whole story. Unfortunately Western taste often seems to prefer a severed head or hand, rather than the complete image, and instances have been recorded of thieves mutilating images in monasteries to obtain such fragments for sale. I would not go so far as to say that we should refuse to display a detached head or hand that has been dug up, if the body has been lost - though in the eyes of an old-fashioned Buddhist such a display is rather gruesome and indeed likely to bring bad luck - but we should always remember that the whole image is much more valuable, and more worthy of display, than a mere fragment; and we should do everything we can to discourage the mutilation of images."
"Apart from that, we can only sense the inner beauty of a Buddha image by discovering what it means to Buddhists on different levels of understanding."
"Its surfaces and silhouette may please the eye, or even cause a gasp of surprise by their beauty. But they exist only as the capsule that contains the fiery energy; without that, whether we define it as magic or as psychological power, the image would not even have come into existence."
