THE LOTUS SUTRA’S REHABILITATION:
Skillful Use of Upaya
Fails to Convince

Jeff Lindstrom
RLG 455S
Prof. Neil McMullin

May 8, 2002

The reputation of the Lotus Sutra ranges from adoration of its presumed spiritual qualities to condemnation of its alleged intolerance. In separate works, two Western scholars analyze Mahayana Buddhism and its writings in the context of upaya or skillful means. In emphasizing the prime importance of upaya they appear to attempt, explicitly or implicitly, a rehabilitation of the Lotus Sutra. Although Michael Pye’s textual analysis and John W. Schroeder’s philosophical critique present a convincing case for the importance of upaya in Mahayana Buddhism, their logic and evidence carry far less weight when applied to the Lotus. Their enthusiastic promotion of upaya provides a welcome contrast to the doctrinally and metaphysically obsessed predispositions of many Buddhologists in the West. Nonetheless, Pye’s and Schroeder’s overall conclusions about upaya’s vital role in Buddhism cannot erase the strong evidence that intolerance and sectarianism pervade the Lotus. However, in the process of making their case, Pye and Schroeder shed much light on the underpinnings of Buddhist doctrine and practice, likely providing a stronger basis for future studies on the Lotus.

Although apparently written originally in Sanskrit somewhere on the Indian subcontinent, the Lotus Sutra’s importance to Buddhism there paled in comparison to its wide-ranging popularity in the Chinese and Japanese traditions.[1] In translations such as Kumarajiva’s preeminent one, the sutra became widely know in China, and from there it was passed on to Japan (Pye 8). From Tientai’s all-encompassing systematics[2] to Nichiren’s condemnation of non-Lotus works as evil,[3] the Lotus has had a major role to play in Buddhist veneration and schismatics. It is said to capture the essence of Mahayana thought,[4] and even to provide magical benefits to those who venerate it.[5] For at least 1700 years the Lotus has played a major role in the development of East Asian Buddhism.[6]

The other side of the argument is the sutra’s apparent intolerance. Some Western scholars place the Lotus as yet one more example in a long series of vociferously sectarian works promoting the upstart Mahayanists.[7] In the process of positing a range of buddhayanas (ways to enlightenment) the Lotus spends a lot of time ridiculing the paths of the “haughty” sravakas and pratyekabuddhas.[8] Although the sutra embraces various Dharmas as forms of some all-encompassing and ultimate vehicle, the ekayana, the Lotus clearly grades these various buddha-vehicles into better and worse,[9] and it’s not so clear that this distinction relates merely to the aptitudes of the audience. While extending the possibility of enlightenment to these sravakas and pratyekabuddhas, the Lotus seems to indicate this opportunity exists in spite of the distinct vehicles these adherents followed, rather than because of them.[10]

Pye provides an exhaustingly thorough textual study of the Lotus Sutra and other pieces of Mahayana literature. He goes to great lengths to demonstrate how the concept of skillful means pervades this literature. He notes that both the Lotus and the Vimalakirti sutras devote their second chapters to upaya (18). In fact, notes Pye, Kumarajiva entitles his second chapter “Skillful Means,”[11] or in Chinese fang-pien, the occurrences of which Pye carefully enumerates. Pye feels that this chapter is key to understanding the sutra as a whole, and he decouples it from its traditional exegetical pairing with chapter fifteen on the grounds that this other chapter was added at a much later date.[12]

Pye explains that chapter two begins with a large crowd of humans, gods and other creatures puzzling over a brief explanation of skillful means that the Buddha has just presented (19). The Buddha’s famous disciple Sariputra begs the Buddha for a further explanation, which the Buddha at first declines to give. Sariputra begs three times before the Buddha finally relents. As the Buddha prepares to speak, a group of “haughty” sravakas and pratyekabuddhas bow and walk out (19). By walking out, Pye says, the sravakas and pratyekabuddhas demonstrate their inability to recognize the provisional nature of all teaching (23). In Pye’s view, this chapter and the sutra as a whole are mainly concerned about this provisional nature, also known as upaya (23-24).

Furthermore, Pye argues, as a “controversial new style for understanding the existing teaching” (21) this sutra is interested in doctrine only when it relates to religious practice. Pye states that from the “overall standpoint of the sutra” there are no new doctrines here, just a new approach to past teachings (20). From the standpoint of a buddha, no longer trapped in discriminative thinking, the dharma takes just one form (25). Only the audience is confused (20). The buddhas have “a perfect, unitive, inner grasp of the real nature of all diverse factors of existence,” Pye says (22). Hence, he says, the variety of teachings that are seen comes “from the side of the recipients while the buddhas have but a single purpose” (25). Pratyekabuddhas and sravakas also see a variety of teachings because they lack the non-discriminative powers of a buddha (23). The second chapter, then, emphasizes the equality of all buddhas (because all buddhas are identified with a single Dharma) and the merely provisional nature of the paths the sravakas and pratyekabuddhas have embarked on. The chapter is even prepared to downplay the importance of nirvana to illustrate the mistaken beliefs of these two groups (24).

Pye next turns his attention to chapter three’s parable of the burning house. Pye’s summary of the tale is admirably concise:

A wealthy old man has a great house with only one door. The house is in a decrepit state, and a fire breaks out, threatening to engulf all the man’s children who are absorbed in play within the house. The old man calls them in vain, then resorts in desperation to skilful means (fang-pien). Knowing the kinds of things which they all like he calls out that there are goat-carts, deer-carts and bullock-carts waiting for them outside the door. Upon this they all come scrambling out of the house and are saved from the flames. The three kinds of carts are nowhere to be seen, but instead the old man gives to each one a still more splendid chariot, beautifully ornate and drawn by a white bullock. (37)

Noting that Sariputra absolves the old man of any falsehood in these actions, Pye finds the reasoning interesting: “The emphasis is put not on the fact that the children received a better vehicle than intended, which might after all be taken to cover their failure to receive the specific kinds which were originally promised. Rather, the discrepancy is justified by the fulfilment of the old man’s intention to bring them out from the flames” (38). Sariputra states that there would have been no question of falsehood even if the old man had provided no cart whatsoever, “because the original thought of the old man was: ‘I will get my children to escape by a skilful means.’”[13]

Pye believes the basic point here is not that the old man gave them a superior chariot, but rather that this chariot “subverts the distinction between the various kinds of vehicle enumerated in the first instance in order to get the children out of the fire” (38). The sutra indicates that the chariots are like the skillful means of the sravakayana, the pratyekabuddhayana, and the buddhayana (Pye 38). Pye adds:

There is a complication at this point because the third vehicle is referred to again as ‘the great vehicle’ (i.e. the mahayana), while the one who follows it is a bodhisattva or a mahasattva, that is an ‘enlightenment-being’ or a ‘great being’. At the same time the vehicle which all receive equally at the end is also called the mahayana. This may seem, at first sight, to be polemics in favour of the third vehicle of the three, namely that of the bodhisattvas or mahasattvas as opposed to those of the sravakas and pratyekabuddhas. However, such an interpretation would fail to take into account that the third vehicle, as a differentiated vehicle, is itself superseded in so far as all three are replaced by a single consistent vehicle. Any polemical interpretation would depend on a continued differentiation between the three. (39)

Pye notes that the Lotus claims arhats pursue nirvana because of their incomplete understanding of the Dharma, hence they “are all extremely conceited.”[14] Pye admits there is a “polemical edge” to both this statement and the scene in which sravakas and pratyekabuddhas leave the Buddha’s assembly (27). However, he states that the next sentence in the Lotus, in which the Buddha states, “There is no such thing as a monk who has really attained arhat-ship if he has not believed this Dharma,” places such polemics in context (27). Pye claims that there is no question of attempting to replace one vehicle with another, for, as the Lotus notes, “In the whole universe there are not even two vehicles, how much less a third” (27). Pye concludes that the “role of the term fang-pien in this second chapter of Kumarajiva’s translation of the Lotus Sutra is in its outlines a consistent one. Almost anything in the whole range of Buddhist teaching and practice can be described as fang-pien or skilful means” (36).

Before proceeding to the rest of Pye’s arguments, let us evaluate his comments so far. He goes to great lengths to argue that as the Dharma in reality is incomprehensible to anyone other than a buddha, skillful means are essential to pass on some version of the Dharma to anyone else. However, as he points out, this statement implies sravakas and pratyekabuddhas need to recognize the limitations of their own understanding (23-24). By extension, sravakas and pratyekabuddhas are mistaken, particularly by overestimating the finality of nirvana (24). Pye even claims that the Lotus fails to give the bodhisattva-vehicle a privileged position. However, the sutra’s chapter two provides at best grudging support for the paths of the sravakas and pratyekabuddhas. In their haughtiness they refuse to listen to the Buddha’s further explanations of the Dharma. If through the use of skillful means the Buddha can speak to the wide assortment of sentient creatures present, except for the haughty sravakas and pratyekabuddhas, this seems to be an insinuation that these two groups suffer from a particularly strong streak of ignorance or stubbornness that encumbers no other members of this audience.

Whatever Pye may think, quoting verses on the unitary nature of the buddha-vehicle does not change the contempt that the authors of the Lotus appear to display toward beings that the Hinayana traditions would have considered enlightened. Clearly the number of occurrences of fang-pien, and the content of the chapter itself, strongly indicate the important contribution of skillful means to the themes of the Lotus Sutra. However, the implication that the Lotus primarily concerns itself with skillful means remains unproven. Even if this proposition is granted, this cannot remove the chapter’s sectarian elements, which even Pye acknowledges when he admits the “polemical edge” of some statements. A balanced discussion needs to move beyond a simple dichotomy of either “The Lotus is tolerant” (because it talks about upaya) or “The Lotus is intolerant” (because it downplays the importance of some Hinayana vehicles). The Lotus does talk about upaya, but that doesn’t prevent the Lotus from downplaying the validity of the sravakayana and the pratyekabuddhayana.

Pye analyzes other pieces of Mahayana literature such as the Vimalakirti Sutra, which applauds the skillful means of a layman when confronting the staid conservatism of the more monastically inclined. Pye provides solid textual arguments for emphasizing the preeminent position of skillful means in this literature. However, my contention remains that the presence of upayic themes in such literature does not in itself clear this literature of schismatic, derisive and unpleasant attitudes toward its rivals and predecessors. This is not to condemn the Lotus and other writings for some grievous transgression. Rather it is to point out the obvious (in my opinion at least): skillful means and sectarianism are not mutually exclusive. In fact, through its one-vehicle concept of ekayana, this literature attempts to co-opt the agendas of the Hinayanists by extending them superficial acceptance while devaluing their paths and the people who would follow them.

After carefully examining the occurrences of fang-pien and related terms in Mahayana literature, Pye turns his attention to pre-Mahayana or “Hinayana” literature. He notes that the terms translated as “skillful means” or “skill in means” hardly ever appear in the Pali canon, and then only “incidentally or in late texts” (118). Hence the history of upaya cannot be traced back to pre-Mahayana times “on the basis of terminological details” (118). Although noting the “relative paucity of usage” of these terms in the Pali canon, Pye feels “[t]his is not evidence in itself however for significant discontinuity between Mahayana Buddhism and early Buddhism” (121).

Pye cites as his first example the story of how Brahma begged the Buddha to explain the Dharma, paralleling the Lotus’s own tale of how Sariputra begged the Buddha to elaborate on skillful means (120-121). Appearing in both the Vinaya-Pitaka and the Majjhima Nikaya, this tale is “quite fundamental to Buddhism” according to Pye (122). The Buddha at first feels that while the Dharma is too deep and subtle for the sensual masses (123). However, Brahma tells the Buddha that people are decaying because they haven’t heard the Dharma. The Buddha relents and uses his Buddha’s eye to perceive “the variety of levels, faculties and dispositions of men,” in Pye’s words (123). Having recognizing the variety of audiences he must deal with in order to preach the Dharma, he finds his five former companions and teaches them some basic Buddhist doctrine (123). As Pye notes, “The original story, which was the common property of all Buddhists, already contained the idea that there is a problem about communicating Dhamma to anybody” (123).

Pye also feels that the “The laxity of the Mahasanghikas and the Mahayanists has found its way into the histories of Buddhism, but the analogous flexibility of Theravada discipline is often overlooked” (126). He believes that “the idea of a differentiated yet consistent teaching was the basic style of pre-Mahayana Buddhism anyway, presumed to stem from the Buddha himself,” even though the Mahayanists were the first to assign a name to skillful means (126). Pye believes Buddhism has always shown a kind of “Buddhist correlational technique” in which Buddhism adapts itself to the needs of the audience and to the cultural surroundings in which it finds itself (126).

For example, in one pre-Mahayana story two young brahmans ask the Buddha to indicate the best way to achieve union with Brahma. In response the Buddha criticizes brahmanic ritual and promotes certain personal qualities know as the Brahma vihara: love, compassion, sympathy with joy, and serenity (127). Pye notes, “The point of interest about this tale is that the Buddha is shown as teaching the best way to attain a state with which Buddhism is otherwise not concerned” (127). He adds:

That Buddhist thought moves in such a fashion is relevant to every context in which central aspects of Buddhism are found to be somehow correlated with other kinds of religious belief or culture. For example, the same general principle seems to apply to the relations between Theravada Buddhism and the popular belief systems of the countries in which it has prevailed. Recent studies by Spiro, Tambiah and Gombrich have made it quite clear that the central or ‘orthodox’ belief system is highly tolerant of many beliefs and practices which in themselves have implications inconsistent with a strict or refined grasp of Buddhist doctrine. It is with such elasticity that Buddhism actually functions as a living, working religion. (128)

The adoption of the concept of Mara, “the personification of evil in Buddhism” (129), is another example of pre-Mahayana skillful means. “Mara is not essential to Buddhist doctrine in at least one important sense, for it is quite possible to state the four noble truths, etc. without any reference to him at all” (Pye 129). He adds, “This demonstrates again that the very character of early Buddhism and of Theravada Buddhism is entirely consistent with skilful means thought” (Pye 129).

Yet despite these “accommodations and flexibility,” Pye states, “Buddhism does not altogether disappear in a general mêlée of miscellaneous religious and other cultural activities” (130). This “conceptual restraint” applies to both Theravada and Mahayana. In the simile of the poisoned arrow the Buddha refuses to answer “four topics, namely whether the world is eternal or not, whether the world is finite or not, whether the life-principle is the same as the body or not, and whether or not the Tathagata exists after death, or both is and is not, or neither is nor is not” (Pye 131). In other words, Buddhism does set limits on its own pragmatism. Upaya cannot extend to speculative areas that offer no soteriological benefit. Pye also cites the parable of the raft, representing skillful means. “It was for crossing over, not for retaining, and therefore it is left at the beach in favour of an unimpeded departure” (136). Similarly, for the Mahayanists “an apparently inadequate vehicle is accepted because latent within it is the possibility of its being transformed or resolved into a fully Buddhist meaning” (Pye 130). However, Pye acknowledges, “In principle the Mahayanists applied this critique even to their own terms, although it might be argued that not all Mahayanists have since maintained this degree of consistency” (130).

Pye has presented a pretty convincing case that upaya by any other name is still upaya, and he argues for its preeminence in Buddhist practice, Mahayana or otherwise. He also carefully delineates the limits of applying skillful means, namely, that the flexibility of Buddhism cannot enter into territory where no soteriological rationale is available. It is to be hoped that Western Buddhologists could more thoroughly grasp this notion that soteriologically motivated practice, not doctrinal niceties, are at the root of so much Buddhist activity. Pye’s contribution to this effort should be applauded.

The fascinating side effect, though, of Pye’s otherwise compelling account of upaya’s long history is that it undermines his apparent attempts to rehabilitate the Lotus. By using the argument of continuity to find parallels between pre-Mahayana Buddhism and the Mahayanists, he is less able to justify the apparent excesses of the Lotus as a novel promoter of upaya. If skillful means form the core of Buddhist thought and practice, in any of its schools, then apparently sectarian elements in the Lotus are more likely to be interpreted as genuinely sectarian.

Finally, in acknowledging the polemical aspects of various parts of the Lotus Sutra Pye weakens his own case. Just because he feels that upaya predominates does not mean that this is in fact the case. The underlying problem is that Pye seems to feel that the more upaya he can uncover in the Lotus, the less sectarianism will be left over. However, the opposite conclusion is at least as justifiable. As Pye himself notes, there are limits to the accommodations that Buddhism is willing to make. The responsibility that comes with exercising upaya is not only to accept various forms and techniques, but also to reject those that are unsatisfactory. If upaya is not merely relativism, then why shouldn’t rejection be seen at work in skillful means? For political reasons it might have been unwise for the Mahayanists to reject outright any of the putative words of the Buddha, or the practices of the pre-Mahayanists, but the absence of a complete rejection doesn’t imply a complete acceptance either. In fact, a strong repudiation of the value of these systems is seen in the Lotus. Neither the words of the Lotus nor Pye’s analysis presents a convincing case that the one buddha-vehicle, ekayana, is not presumed to be equivalent to some superior vehicle superseding its predecessors. Sariputra is relieved to learn that sravakas and pratyekabuddhas will not be denied bodhisattvahood, but the insinuation seems to be more that this opportunity is in spite of their past training rather than because of it. Pye’s attempt to quote ekayanic verse to annul sectarian chapter is far from effective.

Schroeder’s approach significantly overlaps Pye’s. Both scholars emphasize the importance of upaya in understanding Mahayana Buddhism, and both cite the Lotus as an example of writings that emphasize upaya. However, noting that Pye’s approach is mainly a “textual analysis,” Schroeder feels “it offers little in the way of a critical approach to Buddhist philosophy” (4). Instead:

The goal of this book is to show how upaya directs our attention to the efficacy of Buddhist praxis and to the problems associated with justifying a fixed practice for all people. The issue is not whether any particular practice works, but whether it is possible—from a Buddhist perspective—to establish normative guidelines for all practitioners. (Schroeder 150)

As part of this “critical approach to Buddhist philosophy” Schroeder disputes the value of approaching Buddhism from a metaphysical angle. Deriving theoretical justification from Thomas Kasulis, who believes metapraxis “arises out of questions about the purpose and efficacy of the religious praxes” (Kasulis 178) and should be studied more thoroughly by scholars (Kasulis 172), Schroeder states,

The doctrine of upaya was developed by the Mahayana Buddhists to oppose the creation of an orthopraxy and to resist the tendency to confine the practices into an absolute path, or marga. Early Mahayana texts such as the Prajñaparamita, Lotus Sutra, and Vimalakirtinirdesa state that the Buddhist teachings are devised with a particular goal in mind and not abstract formulas to be espoused independently of knowing the exact dispositions of those who suffer. (6)

These texts describe Sakyamuni as a “Great Physician” who knows the various kinds of illness sentient beings suffer and what the best “medicine” is for treating these ailments. In Schroeder’s words, the Buddha “knows when to hold back, when to remain silent, and when to prescribe the appropriate antidote. To preach Buddhism without such sensitivity, we are often told, is ‘bad medicine’” (Schroeder 7).

Schroeder feels that the “most significant feature of upaya is that liberation does not stem from a metaphysical vision of humanity or a ‘mystical’ union with truth” (4-5). Referring to the parable of the burning house, Schroeder states:

Traditionally, the house represents the realm of delusion and ignorance, the “imaginary” gifts are the Buddha’s teaching styles, and the “bare ground” outside the house represents the realm of enlightenment. The moral of the story is that enlightenment does not depend on any particular metaphysical view since the children are liberated [through] an imaginary “device.” (15)

Schroeder also cites the pre-Mahayana example of the brahmans and their question on how to attain union with the Hindu god Brahma. Schroeder writes, “The puzzling aspect of this story is that we not only find the Buddha teaching ideas that seem more Hindu than Buddhist, but that he seems to contradict the doctrine of ‘non-self’ (anatman), which many scholars see as the Buddha’s real philosophical position” (15). He also notes conflicting passages from the Samyutta-Nikaya that seem to have the Buddha telling “his disciples that they should not search for anything transcendental or beyond sense experience” (16), yet there are other passages in which “the Buddha seems to describe ultimate reality as transcendental and beyond the senses” (Schroeder 17).

Schroeder sees no fundamental problem with these apparent contradictions. Rather, the fundamental problem lies in the way in which Westerners distinguish between different schools of Buddhism:

It is tempting to think that what separates the various Buddhist traditions is conflicting metaphysical positions, or that they are divided over different conceptions of truth, language, causality, and consciousness, and that upayic terms like “emptiness,” dharmas, the “two truths,” and anatman are metaphysically charged terms that mirror Western philosophical categories. (151)

However, this temptation creates problems. The solution, Schroeder believes, is for us to recognize that as “a specific form of metapraxis, upaya is not reflecting on the limits of knowledge, the nature of reality, or metaphysical assertions, but on the efficacy and justifiability of Buddhist praxis” (151).

Schroeder believes that the early Abhidharmic schools suffered from a different problem. Although they avoided engaging in metaphysics for its own sake, they advocated a particularly rigid series of meditations and other practices. “Upaya was developed to counter this approach,” Schroeder writes, “and thinkers like Nagarjuna, Lin-chi, and Dogen, and texts such as the Lotus Sutra and Vimalakirtinirdesa use the doctrine of upaya to attack those Buddhists who try to establish fixed metapractical criteria” (Schroeder 150).

Mahayana Buddhism did not signify “a complete break with early Buddhism,” in Schroeder’s opinion, nor were the Mahayanists rejecting “all the meditation practices and religious disciplines that are found through the abhidharma texts” (87). Rather, Schroeder believes, the main issue is “an attempt to restate the basic message of non-attachment” (87). In the Vimalakirti Sutra, the layman bodhisattva attacks Sariputra, representing Hinayana Buddhism, not over metaphysical issues, or because Abhidharmic praxis is specifically wrong, but rather on a metapractical level:

Thus, the issue between the Mahayana and the Abhidharma is not about whether the abhidharma texts are efficacious, or whether this or that type of meditation works, but about the philosophical justification for how one should meditate. In this regard, the Mahayanists argue from the perspective of upaya, saying that there is no fixed methodology or doctrine to argue about, and that any attempt to institute a monolithic form of praxis not only violates the teachings of the Buddha, but destroys the ability to respond compassionately. (87)

This is not to say that “upaya leads to relativism, or that it adopts a pragmatic criterion of ‘truth.’ Rather, it is critical of establishing any fixed criteria—be it relativism, pragmatism, or otherwise—when it comes to addressing the concrete, embodied suffering of others” (Schroeder 155).

So what to make of Schroeder’s analysis? In many ways his arguments overlap with Pye’s, hence all the strengths and limitations of Pye’s conclusions apply to Schroeder’s as well. Both writers amply demonstrate the preeminent position of upaya in Mahayana texts. Both writers point to an excessive interest in metaphysics on the part of Western scholars. Both writers underscore a continuity between “early Buddhism” and Mahayana in its interest in pursuing skillful means, even if Mahayana alone attaches a name to the process. And both writers problematically believe, or act as if they believe, that an abundance of upaya will lead to a diminution of sectarianism.

However, where Schroeder contributes something original (whatever its value) is in his assigning Abhidharmic Buddhism as the cause of Mahayana’s cultivation and promotion of upaya, at least a more advanced version.[15] Schroeder’s argument seems to run like this: the early Buddhists kind of knew about upaya even if they didn’t call it upaya. The Abhidharmists got all worked up about the one true way to meditate. Any nastiness in the Lotus, and elsewhere, is really just an attack on those Abhidharmists who were unnecessarily narrow-minded about religious practice (not doctrine or philosophy). There are two issues to pursue in Schroeder’s arguments, then. First, has he shown that the Abhidharmists were promoting orthopraxis, and secondly, has he shown that the Lotus is any less orthopraxically inclined?

Schroeder positively describes Abhidharma Buddhism as elaborating on the notion of skandhas and providing “step-by-step procedures for experiencing the world as inter-related and conditioned” (39). However, he criticizes what he sees as an exclusive and monopolistic agenda that shows up later as Abhidharma thinkers “developed sophisticated metapractical arguments to justify the type of praxis embodied in the abhidharma texts” and claimed their abhidharma was the highest form of Buddhist practice (39):

The Sarvastivada and Sautrantika schools, for example, elevated the abhidharma to the “literal” teachings of the Buddha, saying that it contained the “real” soteriological guidelines for everyone. Whether one wanted to attain liberation, help others overcome suffering, or live a compassionate life, one needed to meditate by following the particular steps outlined in the abhidharma texts. (Schroeder 39)

Aside from the thorny issue of describing Sautrantika as a form of Abhidharma,[16] Schroeder’s assertion that the Abhidharmists were exceptionally rigid and exclusivist relies on limited evidence. He is convincing when explaining how Abhidharmic philosophy developed to serve the interests of praxis, but his demonstration of its orthopraxic rigidity falls short (60).

Schroeder does quote a seemingly damning passage from Vasubandhu’s Abhidharmakosa as an example of how “liberation entails following a fixed meditative routine” (46) in the Abhidharmic tradition:

Because there is no means of pacifying the passions without close investigation of existents, and because it is the passions that cause the world to wander in this great ocean of transmigration, therefore they say that the teacher—which means the Buddha—spoke this system aimed at the close examination of existents. For a student is not able to closely investigate existents without teaching in true doctrine. (Pruden 57 quoted by Schroeder 46)

However, Schroeder seems more interested in quoting secondary material to illustrate the logical knots the Sarvastivadins and the Sautrantikans tie themselves in when they try to explain causality. It’s rather ironic that Schroeder cites modern scholars such as David J. Kalupahana when he makes claims about Abhidharma, but then repudiates this scholar and others when it comes to their take on Nagarjuna.[17] In any event, in granting the subservience of philosophy to praxis, Schroeder renders much of his arguments against Abhidharma irrelevant. By his own admission, “As a meditation device, it is clear how much the abhidharma literature resembles the Buddha’s counsel to think of his teachings as ‘rafts.’ The analytical technique of this tradition can help one experience life as deeply inter-connected, fully conditioned, and impermanent” (Schroeder 50). As the very nature of upaya in early Buddhism and Mahayana, both he and Pye claim, entails using doctrines that support the best religious practices under the circumstances, it seems to me the validity of the arguments any Buddhist authority makes will be shown through the power and effectiveness of the practices associated with such doctrines. If Mahayana’s competition with Abhidharma was an attempt to reach beyond the confines of the monastic community, then it’s hardly surprising they would choose a different praxis. They’re aiming for a different audience! The Abhidharmists are naturally going to restrict their praxis, and the justifying doctrine, based on their own restrictive following. If the Mahayanists are here engaging in some elevated attack on orthopraxis, so be it, but Mahayanic upaya may equally have been rationalizing an expansion into hitherto untapped demographics in the religious marketplace.

From a logical point of view, even if we grant that the Lotus and other Mahayana texts are attacking the alleged orthopraxic views of the Abhidharmists, does that necessarily mean that the Lotus is not itself orthopraxic? Schroeder provides no litmus test for deciding if a text has fallen prey to orthopraxic self-assertions. However, the Lotus seems to want it both ways: appearing tolerant to potential converts yet insisting it holds a unique key to some authentic Dharma. In chapter one of the Lotus we read that Maitreya says:

If a man, encountering woe,

Sickens of old age, illness, and death

For his sake they preach nirvana,

Bringing to an end the uttermost vestige of woe.

If a man has merit,

Formerly having made offerings to Buddhas,

And if he resolves to seek a superior dharma,

For his sake they preach the rank of a perceiver of conditions (pratyekabuddha).

If there is a son of Buddha who,

Cultivating many kinds of conduct,

Seeks unexceeded wisdom,

For him they preach the Pure Path. (Hurvitz 6)

The passage does indeed seem to indicate there’s a place under the Buddhist sun for various vehicles, even if all but the Mahayana are relegated to the valleys of our local Buddha realm. However, in chapter two the Buddha is worried about preaching on the topic of skillful means: “If I preach this matter,” he tells Sariputra, “all the gods, men, and asuras in all the worlds shall be alarmed, and the arrogant bhiksus shall fall into a great trap” (Hurvitz 28). Although the Buddha “has something to say, whose meaning is hard to know,” the comprehension of this meaning is something “which no voice-hearer or pratyekabuddha can attain” (Hurvitz 26). That would indeed seem to be “a great trap,” and the text at this point is not entirely clear (in translation) if this trap has an escape hatch. There is also the matter of those “bhiksus, bhiksunis, upasakas, and upasikas” who departed once the Buddha started preaching the “alarming” doctrine of expedient devices. According to the sutra’s narrator:

For what reason? This group had deep and grave roots of sin and overweening pride, imagining themselves to have attained and to have borne witness to what in fact they had not. Having such faults as these, therefore they did not stay. The World-Honored One, silent, did not restrain them. (Hurvitz 29)

The Buddha then tells Sariputra, “My assembly has no more branches and leaves, it has only firm fruit. Sariputra, it is just as well that such arrogant ones as these have withdrawn” (Hurvitz 29). From these and other passages it’s difficult to imagine that the authors of the Lotus felt other than that the yanas of the pratyekabuddhas and sravakas were engaged in rather unskillful means. It’s a rather half-hearted tolerance to embrace one’s predecessors then call them useless, or worse than useless.

In chapter three, which contains the parable of the burning house, the Buddha says,

If a man, not believing,

Maligns this scripture,

Then he cuts off all

Worldly Buddha-seeds. (Hurvitz 77)

Not only does all his buddha-seeds get cut off, he ends up in hell and goes through numberless unpleasant rebirths:

If they contrive to become humans,

They shall be obscure and dull of faculties,

Short, mean, bent over, and crippled,

Blind, deaf, and hunched.

If they have anything to say,

Men shall neither believe it or accept it.

The breaths of their mouths ever stinking,

They shall be possessed by ghosts,

Poor and lowly,

Doing men’s bidding,

Much plagued by headache and emaciation,

Having nothing on which to rely. (Hurvitz 79)

Furthermore, if a man is worthy of hearing the superior message of the Lotus and other “scriptures of the Great Vehicle” (Hurvitz 81), “Such a person shall never again / Wish to seek other scriptures, / Nor has he ever before thought / Of the books of the unbelievers” (Hurvitz 82). Again the text seems to imply that those who do not believe in the Lotus are at best delaying their acceptance of the true Dharma, and at worst cutting themselves off from the fruits of the great vehicle forever.

I come neither to praise the Lotus nor to condemn it. However, I do want to emphasize both the sutra’s ambiguity, which is strategically understandable, and the ambiguity of its scholarly rehabilitators, which is less excusable. The Lotus was compiled over a period of time, perhaps with the goal of attracting the loyalties of Buddhists from many backgrounds while claiming the superiority of the sutra’s message. Ambiguity is a logical approach in that context. However, when Western scholars attempt to wrap the knuckles of metaphysics-obsessed Buddhologists and thereby prove some unwaveringly upayic agenda of the Lotus, they had better provide some pretty solid reasoning. Neither Pye nor Schroeder do this. I do feel they’ve clearly demonstrated, or at least plausibly sketched, the argument that Buddhist texts are pervaded by upaya and are more concerned with praxis than doctrine for its own sake. I’m even willing to entertain the notion, as Schroeder argues, that Buddhism became increasingly rigid and exclusive under the Abhidharmists. What I do not accept is the use of unexpressed syllogisms that simply don’t make sense. I do not accept that the more upaya present in the Lotus then the less sectarian it should appear. I do not accept that if the Lotus is attacking Abhidharmic orthopraxy then the Lotus itself can’t be orthopraxic. Although Pye’s and Schroeder’s integration of upaya into Buddhist scholarship is illuminating, many of their claims about the Lotus will remain often unprovable, presumptuous, and implausible without a more rigorous defence of their unspoken assumptions. It seems the muddy waters of the Lotus are hiding still more mysteries beneath the surface.

WORKS CITED

Fischer-Schreiber, Ingrid, et al. The Encyclopedia of Eastern Philosophy and Religion: Buddhism, Hinduism, Taoism, Zen. Boston: Shambhala, 1994.

Hurvitz, Leon. Tr. Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma: Translated from the Chinese of Kumarajiva. New York: Columbia University Press, 1976.

Kasulis, Thomas P. “Philosophy as Metapraxis” in Discourse and Practice, Ed. Frank Reynolds and David Tracy. State University of New York Press: 1992, 169-196.

Pruden, Leo M. Tr. Vasubandhu’s Abhidharmakosabhasyam, from French trans. by Louis de la Vallee Poussin. Freemont, California: Asian Humanities Press, 1988-1990. Quoted by Schroeder.

Pye, Michael. Skilful Means: A Concept in Mahayana Buddhism. London: Gerald Duckworth & Co. Ltd., 1978.

Robinson, Richard H. and Willard L. Johnson. The Buddhist Religion: A Historical Introduction. Belmont, California: Wadsworth Publishing Company: 1997.

Schroeder, John W. Skillful Means: The Heart of Buddhist Compassion. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2001.

© 2002 Jeff Lindstrom <jeff.lindstrom@utoronto.ca>

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[1] “It remains unclear to what extent The Lotus Sutra became the centre of a particular cult” in India, notes Pye (180). However, he rejects the notion that the sutra in India was “the concern of an outcast community which in turn harshly rejected the doctrines of others” (181). He feels scholars such as Watanabe Shoko exaggerate the sutra’s “polemics against ‘Hinayana’ Buddhism” and fail “to complement this by recognising for example that Sariputra, representative of the earlier wisdom, is the first of whom future Buddhahood is predicted in terms of the new teaching” (181). This is typical of Pye’s textual analysis. He attempts to make historical arguments based on the content of the Lotus, whereas a comparison of how the Lotus and its many messages have been used historically would quickly show that the content of the Lotus can be used for many different purposes. Just look at the contrasts between Tientai and Nichiren, for instance. He further suggests that Watanabe is unduly influenced by his alleged disdain for Soka Gakkai, a modern offshoot of Nichiren (181).

[2] Pye writes of Tientai’s founder: “It was not until the time of Chih-I (538-597) that a more specialised doctrinal basis for the later sects associated with The Lotus Sutra was clearly laid. Some see his approach to the relations between the various sutras and the analysis of their contents as a departure from the way in which The Lotus Sutra was understood up till then, while others see it as a justifiable elaboration in terms of Mahayana Buddhism. But that is a question that goes beyond the present discussion” (182). Just as Pye more or less ignores the later uses to which the Lotus was put, I generally ignore the issue too. First of all, there is only so much material one can put in a short essay. Secondly, Pye and Schroeder are both making arguments concerning the motivations of the creators (writers, translators or early propagators) of the Lotus and how that affected the content of this sutra. Therefore, I’ve chosen to critique their views within the perimeters of their own scholarship.

[3] A standard textbook notes: “After pursuing many paths, [Nichiren’s] studies eventually took him to Mount Hiei, where he was drawn by the nationalistic elements in Saicho’s teachings. He came to the conclusion that Saicho had been right in basing his teachings on the Lotus Sutra, but wrong in adding to it teachings from other Sutras and schools. Only the Lotus Sutra, Nichiren felt, contained the unadulterated True Dharma. All other Buddhist sects were wrong—and not only wrong, but actually evil in that they obscured and distorted the truth, advocating the worship of false Buddhas” (Robinson and Johnson 256). However, Pye comes to Nichiren’s defence: “It is ironical that Nichiren, who criticised Amidism and Shingon for setting up misleading alternatives to the central meaning of Buddhism, not only provided a new mantra and a new mandala but also created a focus of devotion which was itself so easily open to misinterpretation. On the other hand, it should be admitted that Nichiren and his various followers have had an undeservedly bad press among western observers. Nichiren himself was a subtle mediaeval theologian, and many of his modern followers have a view of Buddhism at least as broad as that held in other Buddhist sects” (154).

[4] As one sympathetic reference book from Shambhala notes: “[The Lotus Sutra] is one of the most important sutras of Mahayana Buddhism, especially popular in China and Japan. The schools of T’ien-t’ai (Jap., Tendai) and Nichiren are based on its teaching; it is, however, recognized by all other Mahayana schools, since it contains the essential teachings of the Mahayana: the doctrines of the transcendental nature of the Buddha and of the possibility of universal liberation. It is considered in the Mahayana as that sutra that contains the complete teachings of the Buddha, in contrast to the Hinayana sutras, which contain it only partially. It is said to have been expounded by the Buddha at the end of his period of teaching. It was written down in about the year 200” (Fischer-Schreiber 206). Pye reflects this sentiment in his own summary: “Particular devotion is paid to The Lotus Sutra in the Tendai (Ch. T’ien T’ai) and Nichirenite sects of Japanese Buddhism. At the same time The Lotus Sutra is one of the classical statements of Mahayana universalism and is recognised as such by Buddhists of diverse denominations” (8).

[5] So said by the sutra itself. The closing chapter (presumably added at a later date than its opening chapters) says this about someone who need not even understand the Lotus: “If he but copies it, that person at the end of his life shall be born in the Trayastrimsa Heaven. At that time, eighty-four thousand goddesses, making music with a multitude of instruments, shall come to receive him. That man shall straightway don a crown of the seven jewels, and among the women of the harem shall enjoy himself and be gay” (Hurvitz 335). Pye considers chapters one to nine to be the “original nugget of The Lotus Sutra” (179), hence it’s reasonable to believe later chapters will more likely reveal the attitudes of the sutra’s supporters to the sutra itself.

[6] Pye is in general agreement with Fuse Kogaku’s dating of the core chapters’ verses to the first century bce and the first century ce for the core chapters’ prose. Dharmaraksa’s translation dates to 286 ce, and Kumarajiva’s to 406 ce. (Pye 179-180).

[7] As Robinson and Johnson write: “In the earliest extant expanded Sutras—such as The Small Perfection of Wisdom—the discussants are well-known figures of early Buddhism and do not disparage the Hinayanists. Eventually, however, as the Mahayanists were unable to win over the majority of their brethren, a rift widened between the two courses. For example, the Vimalakirti-nirdesa, a somewhat later Sutra, ridicules the arhants, depicting them as worthless losers to Vimalakirti’s talent for one-upmanship. Even the worst sinner still has a chance to become a Buddha, this Sutra avows, whereas the arhant is at a dead end in an inferior nirvana. The still-later Lotus (Saddharmapundarika) Sutra (circa 200 c.e.) is even more blatantly hostile to the Hinayana but adopts a seemingly conciliatory, if condescending, posture, affirming that the arhant is not really condemned to an inferior goal because there is in reality just one nirvana, that of a Buddha, which even arhants will reach in due course” (85).

[8] See Pye (19). In chapter two of Hurvitz’s translation, the Buddha describes the various people who walked out of his sermon as “[h]arbouring arrogance,” having “no faith,” and being “of slight wisdom” (32).

[9] As one of many examples, chapter four of the Lotus has Mahakasyapa, a sravaka, state: “This day we, / Having heard the Buddha’s spoken teaching, / Dance for joy / That we have gained something we had never had before. / For the Buddha says that voice-hearers / Shall be able to become Buddhas, / And a cluster of unexcelled gems, / Unsought by us, has come into our possession of its own accord” (Hurvitz 90). Even those sravakas “who were at the head of the samgha” failed to recognize the limitations of their path when they overheard the Buddha teach bodhisattvas about supreme perfect enlightenment (Hurvitz 84).

[10] As an example, in chapter two the Buddha is made to say, “To the very end [the Buddha] does not resort to the Lesser Vehicle/ to ferry the beings across,” and, “If by resort to the Lesser Vehicle I were to convert / So much as one person, / I should have fallen victim to greed, / And this sort of thing would never do” (Hurvitz 34).

[11] “Expedient Means” in the Hurvitz translation (22).

[12] See Pye (18). However, bizarrely, Pye takes an opposite position when justifying his reliance on Kumarajiva’s translation of the Lotus and not on the Sanskrit: “There is a continuous danger of circular arguments about the priority of this or that part of various texts and the way in which the same texts are carved up to reconstruct a compilation process. … The contents of the texts which Kumarajiva translated had a definite and coherent meaning for him and his associates; and they provide, in the form in which they are available to us, a significant sample of the ideas current among all later East Asian Buddhists” (7).

[13] See Pye (38). In Hurvitz’s translation: “I will now devise an expedient, whereby I shall enable the children to escape this disaster” (59).

[14] See Pye (27). Instead of “extremely conceited,” Hurvitz prefers “overweening pride”: “Sariputra, if a disciple of mine, thinking himself an arhant or a pratyekabuddha, neither has heard nor knows of these matters that the Buddhas, the Thus Come Ones, teach to bodhisattvas alone, he is no disciple of the Buddha, neither arhant nor pratyekabuddha. If such bhiksus or bhiksunis say to themselves, ‘I have already attained arhattva! This is my last body! I have perfected nirvana!’ and if then they resolve no further to seek anuttarasamyaksambodhi, be it known that this lot are all persons of overweening pride” (31).

[15] Like the Lotus itself, Schroeder wants to be inclusive and exclusive at the same time: upaya was seen in earlier forms of Buddhism, but upaya was the product of Abhidharma. However, strictly speaking I suppose Schroeder can justifiably invoke one precedent (early Buddhism) as the basis for upaya while invoking another precedent (later Abhidharma) as the cause of another kind of upaya. However, his argument of continuity conjoined with his argument of discontinuity has an overdetermined feel about it, and makes him look like he believes his conclusion is inevitable no matter what the evidence!

[16] Fischer-Schreiber’s Shambhala dictionary describes the Sautrantika as a “Hinayana school that developed out of the Sarvastivada around 150 c.e. As its name indicates, the followers of this school draw their support only from the Sutra-pitaka and reject the Abhidharma-pitaka of the Sarvastivada as well as its ‘everything is’ theory” (309). Robinson and Johnson add: “Nonetheless, in the process of defending their views against those of the Abhidharma schools, they contributed much to the development of Abhidharma thought, furnishing the Mahayana both with critiques of Sarvastivadin doctrine and with key concepts” (61). Neither of these sources, then, is characterizing Sautrantika as an Abhidharma school, whatever its influence on Abhidharma might have been.

[17] Schroeder first cites Kalupahana to prove his own point: “While the abhidharma literature offers us a glimpse into early Buddhist meditation and praxis, however, the later Abhidharma philosophers developed sophisticated metapractical arguments to justify the type of praxis embodied in the abhidharma texts. That is, they tried to philosophically justify the abhidharma as the ‘highest’ form of Buddhist praxis (Kalupahana 1986; Jayatilleke 1963)” (Schroeder 39). Later, Schroeder groups Kalupahana with other scholars who promote the metaphysical approach to Buddhism, an approach Schroeder disputes: “Most Western accounts say that Nagarjuna is dealing with metaphysical problems. According to Murti (1955) and Lay (1987), for example, Nagarjuna is arguing for a transcendental experience beyond language and conceptualization; for Sideritis (1988), he is arguing against the problem of “realism”; for Kalupahana (1986) Nagarjuna is similar to the Logical Positivists who argue against non-empirical views; and for Garfield (1995) Nagarjuna is arguing for the ‘conventional’ nature of reality” (Schroeder 100-101).