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How Buddhism Began
This book, the second edition of How Buddhism Began, takes a fresh look at the earliest Buddhist texts and offers various suggestions how the teachings in them had developed. Two themes predominate. Firstly, it argues that we cannot understand the Buddha unless we understand that he was debating with other religious teachers, notably Brahmins. The other main theme concerns metaphor, allegory and literalism. By taking the words of the texts literally - despite the Buddha's warning not to - successive generations of his disciples created distinctions and developed doctrines far beyond his original intention.
200 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1996
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January 26, 2019
180517: academic book on development and writing of early Buddhist pali texts, suttas, begins with two chapters on debate, skillful means, allegory, literalism. argument is that these show identifiable person who gave these dhamma but only as appropriate to given audience, thus seeming contradictory or at least inconsistent ideas, but never reified the focus, never confused ontology with action, whose ethic is determinedly action and 'how' not ontology of 'what'...
this is chapter two, where he insists on the doctrine of kamma as core of Buddhist thought, not simply the usual social presence, how it is clear Buddhism is not a variant of Hinduism, that he is often depicted arguing against Brahma and Brahmins. some of this familiar. some i had not read before, such as the 'fire sermon', where he claims all the world is on fire (senses, mind) because of the three poisons (greed, hatred, delusion) and how this fire must be deprived of fuel such that the fires 'go out' (nirvana), can all reasonably be seen as denial of 'household fires' ritually tended to by Brahmins! obvious yes but i had not thought of this way. there is also note of how 'nirvana' and 'enlightenment' became conceptually separate, though by this time he is working on competing traditions/translation...
in chapter three he examines Buddha's use of metaphor, allegory, satire. one of the ways we can identify an individual behind the oral teachings that became the Pali canon, is Buddha's creation of incisive metaphors, personally authored allegories even as they might be later corrupted- and his sense of satire, much puns that of course do not translate, for against implications his teaching was only combined work of descendant followers: is it possible for a committee to write a joke...?
in chapter four he becomes most academic, thus losing me, for by now it is mostly technical arguments of accurate translations. there are Chinese versions, Theravada versions, which can be contrasted and compared to try and recover exactly what is said. how metaphors come to be taken literally, how followers can be categorized, how meditation is valued, how some enlighten by knowledge, how some go by readings, how some go by faith... these are ongoing arguments the author seems to find often doctrinal inconsistency the result of translation conflicts...
in chapter five he investigates the Buddhist tale of enlightenment of a mass murderer, whose motivations can be traced to gruesome demands of Hindu goddess Kali, and how exaggeration is necessary to emphasize how enlightenment contrasts with ritual, particularly of this sort. again, it is much translation i cannot judge...
so, interesting, academic, probably more useful to serious buddhologists than laypersons...
this is chapter two, where he insists on the doctrine of kamma as core of Buddhist thought, not simply the usual social presence, how it is clear Buddhism is not a variant of Hinduism, that he is often depicted arguing against Brahma and Brahmins. some of this familiar. some i had not read before, such as the 'fire sermon', where he claims all the world is on fire (senses, mind) because of the three poisons (greed, hatred, delusion) and how this fire must be deprived of fuel such that the fires 'go out' (nirvana), can all reasonably be seen as denial of 'household fires' ritually tended to by Brahmins! obvious yes but i had not thought of this way. there is also note of how 'nirvana' and 'enlightenment' became conceptually separate, though by this time he is working on competing traditions/translation...
in chapter three he examines Buddha's use of metaphor, allegory, satire. one of the ways we can identify an individual behind the oral teachings that became the Pali canon, is Buddha's creation of incisive metaphors, personally authored allegories even as they might be later corrupted- and his sense of satire, much puns that of course do not translate, for against implications his teaching was only combined work of descendant followers: is it possible for a committee to write a joke...?
in chapter four he becomes most academic, thus losing me, for by now it is mostly technical arguments of accurate translations. there are Chinese versions, Theravada versions, which can be contrasted and compared to try and recover exactly what is said. how metaphors come to be taken literally, how followers can be categorized, how meditation is valued, how some enlighten by knowledge, how some go by readings, how some go by faith... these are ongoing arguments the author seems to find often doctrinal inconsistency the result of translation conflicts...
in chapter five he investigates the Buddhist tale of enlightenment of a mass murderer, whose motivations can be traced to gruesome demands of Hindu goddess Kali, and how exaggeration is necessary to emphasize how enlightenment contrasts with ritual, particularly of this sort. again, it is much translation i cannot judge...
so, interesting, academic, probably more useful to serious buddhologists than laypersons...
May 1, 2012
Richard Gombrich's "How Buddhism Began" is a collection of two excellent and two mediocre lectures -- I'll split the difference and call this a four-star review.
The first lecture deals with the use of figurative language in the Pali suttas and is resplendent with piquant examples of jokes, puns, allegories, and analogies, which Gombrich clearly motivates and persuasively unpacks, often for the first time since the Suttas were set down. He analysis cogently illustrates several ways ideas are conveyed through the ages, the original references forgotten, and hermeneutic gymnastics employed to fix new meaning on now-obscure passages, sometimes to decisive effect on key matters of doctrine.
In his second essay Gombrich rhetorically unpacks and motivates the Buddha's theory of kamma in the context of his contemporaneous Brahminical interlocutors. Gombrich persuasively argues that the early Buddhist concepts of kamma are primarily framed as rejoinders to the Brahmanic concept of the efficacy of sacrifice. Buddha replied to their cosmic speculations regarding the nature of the cosmos and its many gods with a noble silence and chose not to entertain metaphysical speculation, a posture that would eventually lead to the Madhyamaka rebuttal to the Abhidharmic essentialists who became absorbed in just that kind of speculation in the centuries following Buddha's death. Instead his interests were ethical and existential, and according to Gombrich Buddha made the revolutionary argument that the important element of kamma/karma is its moral character, replacing a metaphysical and ritual framework with a pragmatic depth psychology with existential implications.
All-too-few authors are willing or able to interpret Buddha's thought in the context of its time, but this essay clearly demonstrates that many doctrines cannot be understood without understanding their history.
This essay is so strong I'm tempted to give the book five stars, but the next two are, for me, real yawners -- arcane and scholarly close examinations of scriptural questions that lack broad interest for this reader. The third essay treats early concepts of insight and examines in painful detail various categories of liberation that were accepted by early scholastics, and the last dissects an early story about the redemption of the bandit Angulimala.
This book is damned expensive, so check your local library. It's hard to believe many people are going to want to pay >$120 for this collection.
The first lecture deals with the use of figurative language in the Pali suttas and is resplendent with piquant examples of jokes, puns, allegories, and analogies, which Gombrich clearly motivates and persuasively unpacks, often for the first time since the Suttas were set down. He analysis cogently illustrates several ways ideas are conveyed through the ages, the original references forgotten, and hermeneutic gymnastics employed to fix new meaning on now-obscure passages, sometimes to decisive effect on key matters of doctrine.
In his second essay Gombrich rhetorically unpacks and motivates the Buddha's theory of kamma in the context of his contemporaneous Brahminical interlocutors. Gombrich persuasively argues that the early Buddhist concepts of kamma are primarily framed as rejoinders to the Brahmanic concept of the efficacy of sacrifice. Buddha replied to their cosmic speculations regarding the nature of the cosmos and its many gods with a noble silence and chose not to entertain metaphysical speculation, a posture that would eventually lead to the Madhyamaka rebuttal to the Abhidharmic essentialists who became absorbed in just that kind of speculation in the centuries following Buddha's death. Instead his interests were ethical and existential, and according to Gombrich Buddha made the revolutionary argument that the important element of kamma/karma is its moral character, replacing a metaphysical and ritual framework with a pragmatic depth psychology with existential implications.
All-too-few authors are willing or able to interpret Buddha's thought in the context of its time, but this essay clearly demonstrates that many doctrines cannot be understood without understanding their history.
This essay is so strong I'm tempted to give the book five stars, but the next two are, for me, real yawners -- arcane and scholarly close examinations of scriptural questions that lack broad interest for this reader. The third essay treats early concepts of insight and examines in painful detail various categories of liberation that were accepted by early scholastics, and the last dissects an early story about the redemption of the bandit Angulimala.
This book is damned expensive, so check your local library. It's hard to believe many people are going to want to pay >$120 for this collection.
January 1, 2012
The book consists of five related essays based upon lectures Gombrich delivered in 1994 at theSchoolofOrientaland African Studies. Certain characteristic interests, however, give them a semblance of unity. In each case Gombrich attempts to look at how specific doctrines developed based on the texts, and how those doctrines often misconstrued the texts via over-literalism, lack of a sense of context, or by readings based on corrupted words or phrases. His approach is primarily investigatory and exploratory as opposed to strictly didactic. He starts with these words: “In these lectures I am more concerned with formulating problems and raising questions than with providing answers” (1). In this, Gombrich is certainly successful. That is, he excels in illuminating issues begging further clarification. However, I have to confess that despite my enjoyment of his work I am not convinced by some of his arguments. More on this to follow…
The first essay, “Debate, skill in means, allegory and literalism,” discusses the role of debate in the evolution of the Buddha’s teaching. Gombrich writes: “…the Buddha, like anyone else, was communicating in a social context, reacting to his social environment and hoping in turn to influence those around him” (13). He therefore emphasizes the importance of understanding the Buddha’s environment to understand his message, while at the same time noting the difficulty of properly reconstructing that environment.
Consider, for example, the anatta teaching. Hindus, emphasizing the Buddha’s role as a “reformer,” have downplayed it, attempting to claim the Great Man as one of their own. (Anatta, of course, flies in the face of Upanishadic teachings.) Westerners, however, have misconstrued the “soul” the Buddha was apparently denying, seeing it from a Judaeo-Christian-Platonic perspective. “But none of this has anything to do with the Buddha’s position,” Gombrich tells us (15). “[The Buddha] was opposing the Upanishadic theory of the soul…” He then goes on to elaborate how anatta only makes sense from that context.
This was my first point of significant disagreement with Gombrich. Did the Buddha argue against the notion of an atman such as you find in the Upanishads? Certainly. Consider, for example, Brahmajala 1:30, 2:18, 2:38, all of which condemn Upanishadic teachings of one form or another about the Self. (The Upanishads, it should be noted, are not monolithic, but contain multiple stances on this issue.) But the Buddha’s anatta teaching is not primarily concerned with a metaphysical Self that, for most of us at least, is little better than an abstraction. It is concerned, rather, with our experience of a locus of control, of inherent identity, of continuous being-ness, of “I am-ness,” as Ken Wilber likes to say. (One of my gripes with the Great Integral Master…) If it purely concerned the Upanishadic doctrine, the Dhamma would have no relevance to anyone today, unless they were followers of Upanishadic teachings. (A few hundred million Hindus, I would guess.) But then Gombrich redeems himself to an extent when he says “[The Buddha] was refusing to accept that a person had an unchanging essence. Moreover, since he was interested in how rather than what, he was not so much saying that people are made of such and such components [i.e. the five aggregates], as that people function in such and such ways, and to explain their functioning there is not need to posit a soul. The approach is pragmatic, not purely theoretical” (16). I would go one step further and say it’s one hundred percent practical and not theoretical at all. (As I’ve noted elsewhere, a three month Vipassana retreat should convince you of the reality of the anatta teaching, even if you don’t reach stream entry. The moment-to-moment examination of experience and the inability to find a controller, a doer, even though suffering the sense one is lurking there somewhere, severely challenges any notion of identity. Heady stuff…)
My objection here though is minor compared to the delights offered by this essay. Gombrich goes on to discuss the Buddha’s skill-in-means, the assertion that the later tradition attempted to “level out” inconsistencies in his modes of expression, and concludes with a marvelous discussion of the simile of the raft (which confirmed a suspicion I’d had for a long time).
The second essay, “How, not what: kamma as a reaction to Brahminism,” illuminates the differences between the Buddha’s ethical orientation and the more ontological orientation of Brahminism. Here, too, he sees the Buddha in argument with the Upanishads, specifically the Brihadaranyaka U. (31). The Upanishads asserted essence (especially as regards consciousness), the Buddha denied it (viz. dependent arising). Gombrich says “that just as Being lies at the heart of the Upanishadic world view, Action [karma] lies at the heart of the Buddha’s” (48). He runs with this idea, citing Lamotte, who called karma “the keystone of the entire Buddhist edifice” (49). I think, however, that Gombrich goes too far. In the Tevijja Sutta (D.13) the Buddha discusses how to attain the Brahma worlds via meditation on the four immeasurables (brahma-viharas). Gombrich correctly notes that the Buddha says by such practice one can become like Brahma in his moral qualities, and gain ceto-vimutti, “release of the mind.” He equates this with the liberation of nirvana. “I am claiming that a close reading of the Tevijja Sutta shows that the Buddha taught that kindness—what Christians tend to call love—was a way to salvation” (62).
Now, I don’t need to cite texts to make my point here. If you’ve got enough meditation practice under your belt, you will know that a heart practice like loving kindness (metta-bhavana; Mahayana practices to develop bodhicitta and Tibetan lojong are elaborations on this) is fundamentally different from an insight practice like vipassana or anapanasati. While the former is intellectual and emotive and can develop concentration (i.e. it works with the contents of consciousness), the goal of the latter is to see directly the nature of experience itself. While not at cross purposes, they are, you might say, at 90 degree angles to one another. The development of concentration, which is absorption in a particular state of consciousness, as well as (in the brahma-viharas) the development of positive emotions and feelings, does not enable one to see the nature of one’s experience, which is what insight is all about. Here we have Gombrich the scholar missing the truly applied—that which lies beyond the texts, in their lived experience—nature of the Buddha’s teaching.
Chapter three, “Metaphor, allegory, satire,” examine the Buddha’s manner of communication; specifically, how he used turns of speech, the flipping of terms, satire, etc to make his points. This is probably the least weighty—and controversial—of the essays. For me it was of interest in that it served to give a more human and concrete feel for the Buddha and his time. Subjects discussed here include time, naga cults, allegory and satire, Mara, the Enlightenment, cosmology, and apperception. (A lot!)
Chapter four—“Retracing an ancient debate: how insight worsted concentration in the Pali canon”—is controversial in the way the second essay was: it questions long-held assumptions about the nature and meaning of Buddhist practice and soteriology. Briefly put: Gombrich believes the suttas point up tension between those who took an intellectual approach to the Dhamma (the insight or “wisdom” school) and those who advocated meditation (which he identified as concentration practice). As Gombrich puts it, it was a battle between those who think “Enlightenment can be attained without meditation, by a process of intellectual analysis (technically known as paññā) alone” (96) and those who do not.
While it is clear there are tensions in the suttas between scholasticism and practice, I am not aware of the Buddha or any of his enlightened disciples propounding the notion one could get enlightened simply by thinking about it. In other words, the identification of paññā solely with intellectual analysis is gravely mistaken. What in fact appears to be the case is that those who favored paññā were monks (or laity) who were “dry insight” practitioners, much like the Mahasi satipatthana practice out of Burma. Thus we have those who follow the more conventional concentration-and-insight path (attaining jhanas first and then the insight stages) versus those who go straight to insight. But insight practice is not an intellectual exercise; anyone who has any familiarity with the Mahasi system can tell you that.
If you think the above is a trivial discussion, I want to assure you that in Sri Lanka, where opposition in the Sangha to the Mahasi practice was for a long time wide and vocal, a lot of ink has been spilled—and, probably, a few harsh words or blows exchanged—concerning which is the “right” or “correct” method of practice. Regrettably, I have to say I don’t think Gombrich adds much to this discussion.
“Who was Angulimala?” is the last essay of the book, and possibly my favorite. Who has not wondered about the true origins of this sutta, with its fantastic story of the homicidal bandit collecting fingers from his victims? Who was this man, really, and what his motivation? The sutta (and even its commentaries) does not come across as particularly reasonable in its internal logic, so these questions ought to naturally arise. In this essay Gombrich offers some ingenious speculation on these questions that is quite possibly correct—though of course, we’ll never know.
All in all, while I found some of Gombrich’s arguments implausible, his book is a pleasure to read and a worthy contribution to the literature of Buddhist textual analysis. His is a refreshing, learned and intelligent voice, and he admirably succeeds in unlocking closed doors, leaving it to us to open them and peer in and wonder what might be hidden behind them.
The first essay, “Debate, skill in means, allegory and literalism,” discusses the role of debate in the evolution of the Buddha’s teaching. Gombrich writes: “…the Buddha, like anyone else, was communicating in a social context, reacting to his social environment and hoping in turn to influence those around him” (13). He therefore emphasizes the importance of understanding the Buddha’s environment to understand his message, while at the same time noting the difficulty of properly reconstructing that environment.
Consider, for example, the anatta teaching. Hindus, emphasizing the Buddha’s role as a “reformer,” have downplayed it, attempting to claim the Great Man as one of their own. (Anatta, of course, flies in the face of Upanishadic teachings.) Westerners, however, have misconstrued the “soul” the Buddha was apparently denying, seeing it from a Judaeo-Christian-Platonic perspective. “But none of this has anything to do with the Buddha’s position,” Gombrich tells us (15). “[The Buddha] was opposing the Upanishadic theory of the soul…” He then goes on to elaborate how anatta only makes sense from that context.
This was my first point of significant disagreement with Gombrich. Did the Buddha argue against the notion of an atman such as you find in the Upanishads? Certainly. Consider, for example, Brahmajala 1:30, 2:18, 2:38, all of which condemn Upanishadic teachings of one form or another about the Self. (The Upanishads, it should be noted, are not monolithic, but contain multiple stances on this issue.) But the Buddha’s anatta teaching is not primarily concerned with a metaphysical Self that, for most of us at least, is little better than an abstraction. It is concerned, rather, with our experience of a locus of control, of inherent identity, of continuous being-ness, of “I am-ness,” as Ken Wilber likes to say. (One of my gripes with the Great Integral Master…) If it purely concerned the Upanishadic doctrine, the Dhamma would have no relevance to anyone today, unless they were followers of Upanishadic teachings. (A few hundred million Hindus, I would guess.) But then Gombrich redeems himself to an extent when he says “[The Buddha] was refusing to accept that a person had an unchanging essence. Moreover, since he was interested in how rather than what, he was not so much saying that people are made of such and such components [i.e. the five aggregates], as that people function in such and such ways, and to explain their functioning there is not need to posit a soul. The approach is pragmatic, not purely theoretical” (16). I would go one step further and say it’s one hundred percent practical and not theoretical at all. (As I’ve noted elsewhere, a three month Vipassana retreat should convince you of the reality of the anatta teaching, even if you don’t reach stream entry. The moment-to-moment examination of experience and the inability to find a controller, a doer, even though suffering the sense one is lurking there somewhere, severely challenges any notion of identity. Heady stuff…)
My objection here though is minor compared to the delights offered by this essay. Gombrich goes on to discuss the Buddha’s skill-in-means, the assertion that the later tradition attempted to “level out” inconsistencies in his modes of expression, and concludes with a marvelous discussion of the simile of the raft (which confirmed a suspicion I’d had for a long time).
The second essay, “How, not what: kamma as a reaction to Brahminism,” illuminates the differences between the Buddha’s ethical orientation and the more ontological orientation of Brahminism. Here, too, he sees the Buddha in argument with the Upanishads, specifically the Brihadaranyaka U. (31). The Upanishads asserted essence (especially as regards consciousness), the Buddha denied it (viz. dependent arising). Gombrich says “that just as Being lies at the heart of the Upanishadic world view, Action [karma] lies at the heart of the Buddha’s” (48). He runs with this idea, citing Lamotte, who called karma “the keystone of the entire Buddhist edifice” (49). I think, however, that Gombrich goes too far. In the Tevijja Sutta (D.13) the Buddha discusses how to attain the Brahma worlds via meditation on the four immeasurables (brahma-viharas). Gombrich correctly notes that the Buddha says by such practice one can become like Brahma in his moral qualities, and gain ceto-vimutti, “release of the mind.” He equates this with the liberation of nirvana. “I am claiming that a close reading of the Tevijja Sutta shows that the Buddha taught that kindness—what Christians tend to call love—was a way to salvation” (62).
Now, I don’t need to cite texts to make my point here. If you’ve got enough meditation practice under your belt, you will know that a heart practice like loving kindness (metta-bhavana; Mahayana practices to develop bodhicitta and Tibetan lojong are elaborations on this) is fundamentally different from an insight practice like vipassana or anapanasati. While the former is intellectual and emotive and can develop concentration (i.e. it works with the contents of consciousness), the goal of the latter is to see directly the nature of experience itself. While not at cross purposes, they are, you might say, at 90 degree angles to one another. The development of concentration, which is absorption in a particular state of consciousness, as well as (in the brahma-viharas) the development of positive emotions and feelings, does not enable one to see the nature of one’s experience, which is what insight is all about. Here we have Gombrich the scholar missing the truly applied—that which lies beyond the texts, in their lived experience—nature of the Buddha’s teaching.
Chapter three, “Metaphor, allegory, satire,” examine the Buddha’s manner of communication; specifically, how he used turns of speech, the flipping of terms, satire, etc to make his points. This is probably the least weighty—and controversial—of the essays. For me it was of interest in that it served to give a more human and concrete feel for the Buddha and his time. Subjects discussed here include time, naga cults, allegory and satire, Mara, the Enlightenment, cosmology, and apperception. (A lot!)
Chapter four—“Retracing an ancient debate: how insight worsted concentration in the Pali canon”—is controversial in the way the second essay was: it questions long-held assumptions about the nature and meaning of Buddhist practice and soteriology. Briefly put: Gombrich believes the suttas point up tension between those who took an intellectual approach to the Dhamma (the insight or “wisdom” school) and those who advocated meditation (which he identified as concentration practice). As Gombrich puts it, it was a battle between those who think “Enlightenment can be attained without meditation, by a process of intellectual analysis (technically known as paññā) alone” (96) and those who do not.
While it is clear there are tensions in the suttas between scholasticism and practice, I am not aware of the Buddha or any of his enlightened disciples propounding the notion one could get enlightened simply by thinking about it. In other words, the identification of paññā solely with intellectual analysis is gravely mistaken. What in fact appears to be the case is that those who favored paññā were monks (or laity) who were “dry insight” practitioners, much like the Mahasi satipatthana practice out of Burma. Thus we have those who follow the more conventional concentration-and-insight path (attaining jhanas first and then the insight stages) versus those who go straight to insight. But insight practice is not an intellectual exercise; anyone who has any familiarity with the Mahasi system can tell you that.
If you think the above is a trivial discussion, I want to assure you that in Sri Lanka, where opposition in the Sangha to the Mahasi practice was for a long time wide and vocal, a lot of ink has been spilled—and, probably, a few harsh words or blows exchanged—concerning which is the “right” or “correct” method of practice. Regrettably, I have to say I don’t think Gombrich adds much to this discussion.
“Who was Angulimala?” is the last essay of the book, and possibly my favorite. Who has not wondered about the true origins of this sutta, with its fantastic story of the homicidal bandit collecting fingers from his victims? Who was this man, really, and what his motivation? The sutta (and even its commentaries) does not come across as particularly reasonable in its internal logic, so these questions ought to naturally arise. In this essay Gombrich offers some ingenious speculation on these questions that is quite possibly correct—though of course, we’ll never know.
All in all, while I found some of Gombrich’s arguments implausible, his book is a pleasure to read and a worthy contribution to the literature of Buddhist textual analysis. His is a refreshing, learned and intelligent voice, and he admirably succeeds in unlocking closed doors, leaving it to us to open them and peer in and wonder what might be hidden behind them.
November 4, 2013
This book consists of 5 public lectures delivered by Prof Gombrich at SOAS in 1994, and as a whole they attempt to chart a more rigorous and historically accurate approach to Early Buddhism by taking into consideration how the extant religious contexts of the Buddha's time and the Buddha's way of engaging with them, as well as such processes as oral and textual transmission and cultural diffusion have shaped the texts which have come down to us in the Pali Sutta Pitaka, as well as other canons that represent the earliest strata of Buddhism.
In the first chapter, Gombrich compares the Buddha's approach to reality and its definition with the nominalist approach identified by Karl Popper as the philosophy of knowledge underpinning such disciplines as modern science, and contrasts this with the essentialist approach of the Brahmanic-Upanishadic traditions with which, Gombrich stresses, the Buddha was actively engaging. He also takes a shot at the comparative study of religion, whose quest for "correct definitions" of religion or of Buddhism is basically essentialist. Gombrich is arguing here for a nominalist approach to the study of Early Buddhism, one that mirrors the nominalist approach of the Buddha himself as reflected in the early Buddhist texts. A nominalist approach understands that definitions are labels or 'working definitions", it does not seek for the "correct definition" or essence of things. To convey a soteriology based on a nominalist understanding of reality to people who were used to an essentialist understanding of reality, the Buddha - Gombrich notes - employed skill in means, taking on the language and concepts of his verbal interlocutors, and then changed them to convey his own unique vision and message. Gombrich points out that the principles identified by the Buddha-dhamma - the recognition of impermanence and change, the conditioned nature of things - must also apply to the Buddha-dhamma itself, and so must apply to the study of the Buddha-dhamma. Buddhism thus provides, he says, the best tools for its own exegesis, one that makes for good historiography.
In the second chapter, Gombrich tries to contextualize Buddhism against the background of Brahmanical-Upanishadic philosophy in greater detail, with mixed success. He wants to understand Buddhism through the Upanishads, but he also doesn't want to accept that Buddhism is entirely similar to the Upanishadic background tradition. So he ends up first arguing against those Buddhist scholars who ignore the Upanishads, and then those scholars who reduce all of Buddhism to the Upanishads. I found this chapter the most problematic in the book - there were areas of logic that were faulty, unspecified references at key areas, awkward and confusing lines of argumentation, key assumptions that were unwarranted, and points raised that were left hanging and unexplored. For example, on page 32-33, Gombrich first argued that because the Buddha taught that life is impermanent, unsatisfactory and not-self, this means that the Buddha accepted the Upanishadic theory of the Atman as the logically deduced opposite to dukkha - unchanging bliss. He then qualifies this statement saying that the Buddha accepted "the Upanishadic dichotomy bewteen the changing, unsatisfactory world of phenomena and its logically deduced opposite. However, after accepting the dichotomy he denies that the latter half of it existed - as a thing." Gombrich repeatedly stresses that the Buddha was against any attempt to construct an ontology, but by saying that the Buddha accepted the concept of the Atman, Gombrich sneaks back in ontological concepts that he ascribes to the Buddha with confidence, and this leads to an impression of contradiction and confusion. I think Gombrich might be echoing here an argument that Peter Harvey makes in "The Selfless Mind", that the Self of early Buddhism, if it exists, is a hypothetical ideal that is itself dropped or burnt away in the attainment of Nibaana, which does away with every basis for an "I". But if so, he is not doing it as well as he could and his choice of words are potentially confusing.
Gombrich usually brings a refreshingly common-sensical approach to the interpretation of the sutta pitaka, but strangely, at some places where a common-sensical reading would suffice, Gombrich's common sense deserts him, and he either ends up making an unwarranted reading of the sutta, or admits that he is at a loss how to interpret it. For eg, Gombrich seizes on to one passage in the Maha-nidana sutta (DN sutta xv) of Buddha telling Ananda that the doctrine of paticca-samupadda is "far from clear" to say that the doctrine is unclear and not well propounded. Again, I find this reading unwarranted. Taken in context, wasn't the Buddha simply telling Ananda not to dismiss the profoundness of paticca-samupada, and that most beings cannot SEE the links (in the gnostic sense), and are therefore embroiled in samsara? In the second chapter, Gombrich devotes a lot of time to the theory of kamma, arguing for its centrality in Buddhist soteriology, and how Buddha redefined the Upanishdic notion of kamma as action to kamma as intention, a redefinition that turned Brahmin ideology on its head and ethicized the universe. Gombrich seems to be laying down an argument here that leads to the prioritization of loving-kindness in Buddhist soteriology. To prioritize loving-kindness as THE central practice of Buddhist soteriology though, would be a reductionistic, weak and selective reading of the Buddha's teaching.
Just as I am wondering where Nibbana figures in his analysis, Gombrich begins (at last) to consider it in the 3rd chapter. He argues that Nibhāna is part of an extended metaphorical structure which embraces Enlightenment and its opposite. What has to be blown out is the set of 3 fires passion, hatred delusion. This set of 3 fires he identifies as an allegory to the 3 fires maintained by the Brahmin. An extended discussion of fire symbolism follows.
In the 4th chapter, Gombrich looks at the routes to enlightenment and deduces that historically, insight replaced calmness in soteriological importance, but that originally, there were three routes - faith, insight and calmness - which were equal in effectiveness and status. One major problem I have with his analysis in this chapter is that he utterly fails to consider that the Buddha taught that there are 4 levels of enlightenment - stream-entry, once-returner, non-returner and arahant. This failure to account for a very basic doctrinal point leads him to some glaring oversights. For example, he analyzes the Susima sutta in which the Buddha tells Susima (after leading him to enlightenment through wisdom alone) that he has committed a serious crime in entering the Sanga under false pretences, but that he can make further progress now that he has confessed. Gombrich remarks "But if he were already Enlightened, what progress could he still make?" How did Prof. Gombrich, a leading authority on Early Buddhism, managed to overlook the 4 stages of enlightenment, I wonder?
The final chapter is on Angulimala, the mass-murderer turned arahant, whom Gombrich identifies as a worshipper of Siva-sakti. His interpretation of the Angulimala Sutta, based on the identification and correction of possible textual corruption, is convincing.
All in all, I find this book at times refreshing and insightful, and at times frustrating and off the mark. The analysis helped to clarify the possible original meaning of certain suttas, but not all the time. Sometimes the possible meanings of certain suttas were obscured instead. In addition, there were key lines of argumentation that were confusing. As such, the 5 lectures-cum-chapters succeed in their quest to clarify the texts of early Buddhism to varying degrees. One can certainly learn from the spirit of the enquiry: the call to contextualize the Buddha's teaching, the call to take into account textual corruption and change - all this is very important. Ultimately though, one shouldn't get so bogged down by such matters as to lose the point of the Buddha's teaching, which is Nibaana, Enlightenment, and the Path to Enlightenment. For practitioners intent on Enlightenment, it is the spirit of practice, not mere scholarship alone, that is neccessary. Ultimately, it is the insight given by practice, not mere scholarship alone, that will help us to grasp the true meaning of the Buddha's words.
In the first chapter, Gombrich compares the Buddha's approach to reality and its definition with the nominalist approach identified by Karl Popper as the philosophy of knowledge underpinning such disciplines as modern science, and contrasts this with the essentialist approach of the Brahmanic-Upanishadic traditions with which, Gombrich stresses, the Buddha was actively engaging. He also takes a shot at the comparative study of religion, whose quest for "correct definitions" of religion or of Buddhism is basically essentialist. Gombrich is arguing here for a nominalist approach to the study of Early Buddhism, one that mirrors the nominalist approach of the Buddha himself as reflected in the early Buddhist texts. A nominalist approach understands that definitions are labels or 'working definitions", it does not seek for the "correct definition" or essence of things. To convey a soteriology based on a nominalist understanding of reality to people who were used to an essentialist understanding of reality, the Buddha - Gombrich notes - employed skill in means, taking on the language and concepts of his verbal interlocutors, and then changed them to convey his own unique vision and message. Gombrich points out that the principles identified by the Buddha-dhamma - the recognition of impermanence and change, the conditioned nature of things - must also apply to the Buddha-dhamma itself, and so must apply to the study of the Buddha-dhamma. Buddhism thus provides, he says, the best tools for its own exegesis, one that makes for good historiography.
In the second chapter, Gombrich tries to contextualize Buddhism against the background of Brahmanical-Upanishadic philosophy in greater detail, with mixed success. He wants to understand Buddhism through the Upanishads, but he also doesn't want to accept that Buddhism is entirely similar to the Upanishadic background tradition. So he ends up first arguing against those Buddhist scholars who ignore the Upanishads, and then those scholars who reduce all of Buddhism to the Upanishads. I found this chapter the most problematic in the book - there were areas of logic that were faulty, unspecified references at key areas, awkward and confusing lines of argumentation, key assumptions that were unwarranted, and points raised that were left hanging and unexplored. For example, on page 32-33, Gombrich first argued that because the Buddha taught that life is impermanent, unsatisfactory and not-self, this means that the Buddha accepted the Upanishadic theory of the Atman as the logically deduced opposite to dukkha - unchanging bliss. He then qualifies this statement saying that the Buddha accepted "the Upanishadic dichotomy bewteen the changing, unsatisfactory world of phenomena and its logically deduced opposite. However, after accepting the dichotomy he denies that the latter half of it existed - as a thing." Gombrich repeatedly stresses that the Buddha was against any attempt to construct an ontology, but by saying that the Buddha accepted the concept of the Atman, Gombrich sneaks back in ontological concepts that he ascribes to the Buddha with confidence, and this leads to an impression of contradiction and confusion. I think Gombrich might be echoing here an argument that Peter Harvey makes in "The Selfless Mind", that the Self of early Buddhism, if it exists, is a hypothetical ideal that is itself dropped or burnt away in the attainment of Nibaana, which does away with every basis for an "I". But if so, he is not doing it as well as he could and his choice of words are potentially confusing.
Gombrich usually brings a refreshingly common-sensical approach to the interpretation of the sutta pitaka, but strangely, at some places where a common-sensical reading would suffice, Gombrich's common sense deserts him, and he either ends up making an unwarranted reading of the sutta, or admits that he is at a loss how to interpret it. For eg, Gombrich seizes on to one passage in the Maha-nidana sutta (DN sutta xv) of Buddha telling Ananda that the doctrine of paticca-samupadda is "far from clear" to say that the doctrine is unclear and not well propounded. Again, I find this reading unwarranted. Taken in context, wasn't the Buddha simply telling Ananda not to dismiss the profoundness of paticca-samupada, and that most beings cannot SEE the links (in the gnostic sense), and are therefore embroiled in samsara? In the second chapter, Gombrich devotes a lot of time to the theory of kamma, arguing for its centrality in Buddhist soteriology, and how Buddha redefined the Upanishdic notion of kamma as action to kamma as intention, a redefinition that turned Brahmin ideology on its head and ethicized the universe. Gombrich seems to be laying down an argument here that leads to the prioritization of loving-kindness in Buddhist soteriology. To prioritize loving-kindness as THE central practice of Buddhist soteriology though, would be a reductionistic, weak and selective reading of the Buddha's teaching.
Just as I am wondering where Nibbana figures in his analysis, Gombrich begins (at last) to consider it in the 3rd chapter. He argues that Nibhāna is part of an extended metaphorical structure which embraces Enlightenment and its opposite. What has to be blown out is the set of 3 fires passion, hatred delusion. This set of 3 fires he identifies as an allegory to the 3 fires maintained by the Brahmin. An extended discussion of fire symbolism follows.
In the 4th chapter, Gombrich looks at the routes to enlightenment and deduces that historically, insight replaced calmness in soteriological importance, but that originally, there were three routes - faith, insight and calmness - which were equal in effectiveness and status. One major problem I have with his analysis in this chapter is that he utterly fails to consider that the Buddha taught that there are 4 levels of enlightenment - stream-entry, once-returner, non-returner and arahant. This failure to account for a very basic doctrinal point leads him to some glaring oversights. For example, he analyzes the Susima sutta in which the Buddha tells Susima (after leading him to enlightenment through wisdom alone) that he has committed a serious crime in entering the Sanga under false pretences, but that he can make further progress now that he has confessed. Gombrich remarks "But if he were already Enlightened, what progress could he still make?" How did Prof. Gombrich, a leading authority on Early Buddhism, managed to overlook the 4 stages of enlightenment, I wonder?
The final chapter is on Angulimala, the mass-murderer turned arahant, whom Gombrich identifies as a worshipper of Siva-sakti. His interpretation of the Angulimala Sutta, based on the identification and correction of possible textual corruption, is convincing.
All in all, I find this book at times refreshing and insightful, and at times frustrating and off the mark. The analysis helped to clarify the possible original meaning of certain suttas, but not all the time. Sometimes the possible meanings of certain suttas were obscured instead. In addition, there were key lines of argumentation that were confusing. As such, the 5 lectures-cum-chapters succeed in their quest to clarify the texts of early Buddhism to varying degrees. One can certainly learn from the spirit of the enquiry: the call to contextualize the Buddha's teaching, the call to take into account textual corruption and change - all this is very important. Ultimately though, one shouldn't get so bogged down by such matters as to lose the point of the Buddha's teaching, which is Nibaana, Enlightenment, and the Path to Enlightenment. For practitioners intent on Enlightenment, it is the spirit of practice, not mere scholarship alone, that is neccessary. Ultimately, it is the insight given by practice, not mere scholarship alone, that will help us to grasp the true meaning of the Buddha's words.
June 12, 2019
Gombrich's project, to describe the cultural and philosophical circumstances that gave birth to Buddhism is very helpful for the Western reader, especially one new to Buddhism.
When encountering the East, it can be hard to distinguish between the various traditions. This is particularly true in India, where many concepts that are new to Westerners are universally applied across competing philosophical schools.
Gombrich does a good job of describing Buddha's unique contribution to the Indian culture in which he grew. He also raises some interesting and important questions about the extent to which our records of Buddha's conversations reflect the experience Buddha had in his enlightenment and the extent to which they reflect his ability to communicate about that experience to a specific cultural and linguistic environment. These are not necessarily questions that can be answered, nor do they necessarily need to be answered. Simply acknowledging the contextual nature of Buddha's conversations helps us to view them less dogmatically.
I can understand why some might be bored with the book. It is a scholarly work, written for scholars. Still, anyone who has spent a good deal of time learning about Buddhism could find some interest here. The questions Gombrich raises are not at all academic. They have practical implications; they are germane and necessary.
This book is an important contribution to Western thinking on Buddhism.
When encountering the East, it can be hard to distinguish between the various traditions. This is particularly true in India, where many concepts that are new to Westerners are universally applied across competing philosophical schools.
Gombrich does a good job of describing Buddha's unique contribution to the Indian culture in which he grew. He also raises some interesting and important questions about the extent to which our records of Buddha's conversations reflect the experience Buddha had in his enlightenment and the extent to which they reflect his ability to communicate about that experience to a specific cultural and linguistic environment. These are not necessarily questions that can be answered, nor do they necessarily need to be answered. Simply acknowledging the contextual nature of Buddha's conversations helps us to view them less dogmatically.
I can understand why some might be bored with the book. It is a scholarly work, written for scholars. Still, anyone who has spent a good deal of time learning about Buddhism could find some interest here. The questions Gombrich raises are not at all academic. They have practical implications; they are germane and necessary.
This book is an important contribution to Western thinking on Buddhism.
June 25, 2021
The author of these five scholarly articles is a well regarded scholar of Buddhism and South Asia generally. Written to be delivered at different times, the articles focus on early aspects of Buddhism, its early development and stories. The essays were not intended as a single, coherent book but cover aspects of a topic of great interest to the author. Each section was interesting and edifying but overall the book felt choppy, and I wished Gombrich had included a final chapter bringing together the various threads of his separate discussions. Definitely worth reading but not as focused as it might have been.
May 15, 2017
a readable monograph by an erudite scholar!
June 17, 2024
Gombrich is a scholar. But not easy for me.
August 2, 2013
This is not an easy read. Gombrich is a scholar - perhaps the foremost authority on Theravada Buddhism - and the book is packed with close readings of scripture and authoritative citations. But it is worth reading because Gombrich unravels many of the false ideas often held about what aspects of modern Buddhism, which is so diverse, can reasonably be attributed to the Buddha. Of particular importance is Gombrich's explanation of the way Buddhism took root in, and drew ideas from, a culture dominated by Shamanism (out of which grew Hinduism). Nowhere is this more important that where he is writing about rebirth, where there is strong evidence of religions competing with each other to attract followers, with Buddhists offering higher heavens solely for that purpose! A fascinating book, but only for the inquisitive: it will neither shake nor strengthen your faith.
April 10, 2023
Excellent unpacking of the Buddha's philosophy with reference to various scriptures. Makes clear many of the philosophical ideas the Buddha presented in his time, whether as discourses to disciples or as dialogues with contemporaries, including Brahmins. The sharp focus of the Buddha on his lived experience, the teachings that arise from that and his detailing of that, give it an empirical edge over other contemporary philosophies. Strongly recommend it to those wanting to delve deep into Buddhist thought.
July 13, 2014
Extremely interesting.
July 10, 2016
Worth it for the last essay: "Who was Angulimala?" which summarized this legend very well.
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