The topic 1 of developing a Buddhist view of Jesus is challenging to me on many levels, for many reasons. Not the least of them involves my own unhappy childhood and young adulthood being trained as a member of a version of Christianity that expressed an extremely exclusivist position regarding religious pluralism. Nevertheless, I have long practiced Buddhist-Christian dialogue as a Buddhist, in part as an antidote to that unhappy past, as a deliberate attempt to heal the wounds inflicted on me by an exclusivist and doctrinaire version of Christianity. So why does this task of developing a Buddhist view of Jesus remain difficult?
In part this task is difficult because it is unfamiliar. In my world religions classes, I routinely present Jewish views of Jesus, but there is little reason to discuss Jesus in the perspectives of other major religions and I have almost never broached the topic. In my feminist theology classes, I again discuss feminist reactions to Jesus, but there is little reason to present a feminist Buddhist perspective on Jesus. Little Buddhist literature about Buddhist reactions to Jesus and few Buddhist assessments of Christianity exist, though the reverse is not true, 2 which perhaps indicates that fellow Buddhists have also felt little need to develop a reaction to or a position about Jesus. But it is also difficult because in Buddhist-Christian dialogue, we often discuss more abstract and less troublesome topics than the traditional Christian evaluation of Jesus, with its undeniably exclusivistic and universal truth claims. Thus, in many ways, I have been able to keep a distance between my own experiences of Christianity and my own experiences of Buddhism. Encountering Christians in Buddhist-Christian dialogue and teaching Christian feminist theology are really much simpler than trying to untangle my own Buddhist reactions to central Christian claims, including especially claims about the ultimate and universal significance of Jesus.
Nevertheless, it is clear that my task in this essay is to react to Jesus as a Buddhist, something I have not done formally in any other context. Therefore, I have proceeded with the assumption that my task is to find the relevant Buddhist categories for interpreting Jesus in Buddhist terms, to delineate them briefly to non-Buddhists, and then to apply them to Jesus or to Christian claims about Jesus. This assignment is not as innocent or as easy as it seems at first reading. The first difficulty is determining who or what one is reacting to in the exercise of developing a Buddhist view of Jesus. Depending on who or what one understands Jesus to be, or depending on which Christian claims about Jesus one comments upon, a Buddhist could have radically different views about Jesus. So clearly, the first task in developing a Buddhist view of Jesus is to determine which Jesus will be discussed. Then, secondly, it is difficult but important to maintain the primary focus as a Buddhist focus, using Buddhist rather than Christian categories to control the discourse. I say this because [End Page 62] much of the literature seems to compare Buddhism to Christianity, placing Christianity and Christian categories in central focus and matching concepts from the Christian point of view. I want to match concepts with Buddhist categories as my central reference point, fitting the Christian Jesus into a Buddhist framework.
How should I, as a Buddhist, determine what is meant by the Christian category Jesus? As is evidenced by the radically different images of Jesus in popular Christianity, by much recent scholarship on the Gospels, and by a diverse body of Christological writings, Christians themselves would be hard pressed to give a definitive or a short answer to the question "Just who or what am I supposed to be discussing from a Buddhist point of view?" Am I to talk of the historical Jesus, of the Jesus of the Gospels, of the Jesus of the early church, or of Jesus as understood through central theological doctrines, such as Trinity and Incarnation, which are actually much later in their genesis? My assignment, which is to discuss "the Jesus of Christianity," 3 does not really solve that problem, since there are so many Jesuses of Christianity. But I think we can safely assume that "the Jesus of Christianity" includes all the above except, perhaps, the historical Jesus, who is a recent construction and not so central to many Christians' religious lives. In any case, I shall direct most of my comments to Jesus as he has been interpreted by major stands within Christianity and will not try to solve the problem of whether he ever intended to leave such a message or what his own intended message may have been.
With that decision, we invite some ghosts to enter. Christianity is not only something I learned about academically or at a distance, as would be the case for most Buddhists. Rather, as already said, my early indoctrination involved an extremely exclusivist interpretation of Jesus. Experientially, for me, the central Christian claim about Jesus is the exclusivist interpretation of belief in Jesus' redemptive death and resurrection as the only way to 'salvation.' Though I know intellectually that inclusivist and pluralist Christian views of Jesus are well developed, nevertheless, to me they do not seem to carry the normative and traditional weight that the exclusivist position carries. And exclusivist truth claims in religion, I would argue, are among the most dangerous, destructive, and immoral ideas that humans have ever created.
Therefore, for me, the first hurdle that must be negotiated in developing a Buddhist view of Jesus is the hurdle of exclusive truth claims, which involves developing a philosophy of religious pluralism, based on Buddhist categories, that is radically nonexclusivist. This task is so central for me because of the way in which I left the only kind of Christianity I knew experientially. Though I was, and still am, quite sincere in my spiritual inclinations and quite capable of understanding abstract theological concepts, I was also "too thoughtful" and "asked too many questions," as it was put to me. During my senior year of college, I was excommunicated for heresy and confidently told that I would go to hell for my religious views. The major bone of contention was my view of religious pluralism, namely that people of all religions "could be saved," as I naively put it in those days before I had studied much comparative religion. I had been indoctrinated that all non-Christian religions and most other versions of Christianity were 'false.' Ridicule of these other beliefs, pity for people misguided and deluded into adherence to such folly, and devotion to the [End Page 63] cause of converting them to 'the one true faith' were daily fare. Obviously, the exclusive claims made on behalf of Jesus by Christians appalled me even as a teenager, and my repugnance for exclusive truth claims on the part of religions--any religion--has not diminished since. Thus, part of my journey is working out both a theory and a praxis of religious pluralism that is neither relativistic nor universalistic, that encourages both commitment to one tradition and appreciation of other traditions.
I am aware that currently most liberal Christian theologians are as appalled by this tradition of exclusivism as I am. I am also aware that the World Council of Churches and the Roman Catholic Church, in Vatican II, have come to a position on religious pluralism that is often called the 'inclusivist position,' which is claimed to diverge sharply from the exclusivist position. The inclusivist position "affirm[s] the value and dignity of all religious paths." Nevertheless, this position, like the exclusivist position, "attributes to Christ and Christianity . . . an ultimacy and normativity meant to embrace and fulfill all other religions." Additionally, according to Paul Knitter, inclusivist Christians also "interpret the uniqueness of Jesus in terms of finality and unsurpassability." 4 As a Buddhist, I find these claims offensive, and I think most non-Christians probably share my reaction. Nor would I feel comfortable, as a Buddhist, in making the same claim about Buddhism vis-à-vis Christianity.
I am also aware of an even newer and smaller voice in Christian theology called the 'pluralist' position. I have much more sympathy with this position, which claims a "possible parity of all religions and . . . eschew[s] any final or absolute truth." What I am not in sympathy with is their claim, at least as expressed by Paul Knitter, that "Jesus' uniqueness [is] the universality and indispensability of His message and mission." 5 My objections are fairly subtle; this claim seems to state both that Jesus is unique among religious figures and that he had a message and a mission that the world cannot do without, for I see no other way to read the words universal and indispensable in Paul Knitter's statement. As a Buddhist, I'm not at all sure that I see Jesus as unique, as universal, or as indispensable, which makes me question this version of Christian pluralism. I realize that as a Buddhist I probably often feel and sound the same way about the message and mission of Buddhism that Paul Knitter sounds about the message and mission of Jesus. But I try to regard that tone in my rhetoric as a failing rather than a virtue. Such assessments of Buddhism are so demeaning to non-Buddhists.
These two recent Christian attempts to disown the dominant doctrines throughout most of Christian history cannot, for me, undo the emotional damage done by exclusivist indoctrination, atone for the historical record of inhumane acts and attitudes motivated by exclusivist attitudes, or counter my impression that most of my Christian students and neighbors are not inclusivists or pluralists. True, the person in the street usually is rather unfamiliar with the depth dimension of his or her religion and is probably a rather poor spokesperson for it. Buddhist popular religion is not especially edifying either. However, I object to the Jesus of popular religion as interpreted by major strands of Christianity not because this interpretation is unedifying or crude, but because this very widespread and prevalent interpretation is dangerous, destructive, and degraded. The impact of the Jesus of Christianity on people [End Page 64] in other world religions has often been quite negative. The gap between the esoteric Jesus of nonexclusivists and the exoteric universal and indispensable savior whom all must confess and often are compelled to confess is enormous. I will speak, admittedly prompted by ghosts of confirmation classes past, to this more familiar Jesus found in the rhetoric of many, many Christians.
Some have criticized me throughout the years for not regarding the conservative sect in which I was raised, with its strongly exclusivist position, as an aberrant and degraded form of Christianity. Such critics argue that I could have found another version of Christianity that would have been less given to such exaggerations. I am also told that my assessments of Christianity are not accurate because they are too colored by my experiences with an extreme position. Unfortunately, whether correctly or incorrectly, I cannot see this sect as so completely aberrant a form of Christianity, but only as an extremely vociferous exponent of a common position. Most other Christians are not so sure about who will populate heaven and hell as were the members of this sect, but exclusivism and absolutism are entailed by the central claims made about Jesus, as interpreted by large segments of Christianity throughout most of Christian history. And, in spite of the presence of inclusivist and pluralist Christian thought, many of the Christians I encounter are still taught the exclusivist position by their churches and are completely unaware of other Christian positions on religious pluralism. Every semester, I encounter students who have been indoctrinated to such positions very recently. For example, my Catholic students all know that Catholics are not supposed to use birth control, but few of them know that Vatican II recommends a somewhat inclusivist view of religious pluralism. Since religious exclusivism is much more dangerous and has caused a great deal more pain than has the practice of birth control, one would think that educating Catholics about their church's contemporary position on religious pluralism would be a higher priority.
This train of reasoning, whether correct or incorrect, keeps me, as an act of prophetic faithfulness, from adhering to a religion for which absolute and exclusive truth claims are or have been central and which, therefore, has a poor historical record of dealing with religious pluralism and coexistence. That is why I could not become a liberal Christian. That is also why I continue to focus on alternatives to religious exclusivism as the heart of my Buddhist view of Jesus.
Since religions make verbal statements that are frequently taken as accurate assessments of ultimate reality by their adherents, it might be wondered how any religion could avoid absolutism and exclusivism. It might further be wondered if I could, without violating my own pluralistic principles, adhere to Buddhism, since Buddhism, like Christianity, is one of the few religions that even tries to promote itself to outsiders. I want to try to deal with these very reasonable questions by talking about the Buddhist attitude toward verbal and conceptual formulations of truth, which I find highly attractive precisely because it seems to me to allow a position that is neither relativistic nor exclusivistic. [End Page 65]
Regarding the purpose of doctrinal statements, in my view Buddhism and Christianity differ sharply. I have not found a more succinct or accurate summary of the Buddhist position than that of Paul Griffiths: "[T]here is a methodological principle . . . that has to do with the nature of religious doctrines. Briefly and rather crudely, this principle suggests that religious doctrines have utility rather than truth; that their importance lies in the effects they have upon those who believe in them." 6 Space does not permit me to demonstrate that this is indeed the Buddhist position, but let us assume that Griffiths is correct.
In Buddhist terms, this means that verbal doctrines are ultimately in the realm of upaya, skillful means or method, not the realm of prajna, intuitive clear seeing or 'truth.' 7 This is an extremely fruitful insight, for Buddhism, like Christianity, would affirm that prajna is unitive and the same for all people in all cases. But truth is not a matter of doctrines and doctrines are neither true nor false; they are more or less useful in the circumstances at hand. Truth, or prajna (literally, "superior knowledge"), has always been understood more as ability than as a body of information, more as 'knowing' than as 'knowledge' in Buddhism. It can be hinted at and pointed to, but even the finest doctrine is merely a pointer. Nothing makes this point more forcefully than the famous "raft parable" attributed to the Buddha. "Oh Bhikkhus, even this view, which is so pure and so clear, if you cling to it, if you fondle it, if you treasure it, then you do not understand that the teaching is similar to a raft, which is for crossing over, and not for getting hold of." 8 Truth is extra-verbal and verbal formulations of truth are approximations, not final statements.
On the other hand, upaya, usually translated as "skillful means" or "method," has always been understood to be multiple, even infinitely various, because what is crucial is finding the method or tool appropriate to the circumstances at hand. The more skilled the interpreter or teacher of Buddhism, the greater his or her repertoire of appropriate skillful means. No one would be so foolish as to expect to find a tool that works for every task and, therefore, one should not attempt to find a one-size-fits-all doctrine. One would be foolish to universalize or absolutize a doctrine or to claim that only adherents of this doctrine are adequate spiritually.
The point that doctrine is in the realm of upaya rather than the realm of prajna is important and subtle because westerners are extremely likely to miss it as a result of their cultural training and preconceptions. First of all, neither the distinction between method and truth nor the claims that they are of coequal importance is part of the Western frame of discourse. Second, if the distinction were even recognized, westerners would be likely to regard prajna as 'real'--really true--while upaya would be regarded as secondary and approximate. In the many years that I have spent trying to assimilate genuinely Buddhist modes of apprehension, nothing has been more foreign than the coequal status of prajna with upaya or the relegation of verbal truths to the realm of upaya. Thus I find these conceptual possibilities to be a genuine relief and a way out of absolutist modes of discourse that I had found unbearable.
Though again space does not permit a demonstration, I think the mainline traditional Christian view is quite the opposite. Doctrines may contain utility, but their [End Page 66] most important function is their truth value as is evidenced by the longstanding concern with what people will confess verbally. There is a close link between words and truth in many Christian assessments and more trust that words can convey truth than is typical of most other religions. Therefore, verbal doctrines are primarily evaluated as true or false, not as salutary or destructive. This method fuels the hope for, and often the claim of, final truth in verbal form. As a result, Christians, more than most other religious traditions, try to distill true doctrine into a succinct creed and often regard adherence to that creed as more important than understanding of it. Confession of those verbal doctrines matters ultimately. Hence, these doctrines are easily absolutized by claiming exclusive truth for them, and nonadherents are easily regarded as inferior.
To regard doctrines as more important and worthwhile for their verbal utility than for their verbal truth and to judge them more by their effects on adherents than by their verbal contents seems to me to overcome absolutism with all its attendant problems while not falling into relativism. First of all, with this attitude, one does not have to absolutize one's own concepts of truth nor to long for a world in which all agree on the same expressions of truth. Rather, religious symbol systems could coexist and complement each other like colors of a rainbow. 9 A religious myth or symbol would be regarded as a poem rather than as a historical or scientific statement. I would argue that most exclusive truth claims in religion are based on regarding religion as more akin to what westerners now call 'history' or 'science' than what westerners now call 'art' or 'poetry.' Superficially, many people think that the question in historical or scientific disciplines is the question of truth or falsity, while the question for art, poetry, or mythology is a question of taste or aesthetics. Generally, people are much more flexible and nonexclusive about aesthetic judgments than about historical or scientific claims. No one would want to abolish all poetry in the world except for one's favorite poem, nor even expect everyone to agree that this is the most wonderful poem ever written. Why should it be different with religious doctrines, which are ultimately mythopoeic, not discursive, in their mode of discourse? Ironically, such an attitude would also make religious statements more rather than less like scientific or historical statements, because those who understand these disciplines realize that scientific and historical statements are hypotheses, subject to a continual process of change, adjustment, and refinement, not some final and absolute statement. No sensible person is ever more than provisionally committed to a hypothesis, which does not lessen its force to explain or motivate in the absence of a better hypothesis. With the world's religions, we have a number of reasonably cogent hypotheses about some rather unanswerable questions. The myth and symbol system surrounding Jesus could well be one such hypothesis, but that has not been a mainstream understanding of the Jesus of Christianity.
One who judges a doctrine on the basis of what it does rather than on its literal or verbal truth value also has another excellent basis for appreciating a foreign symbol system that is conceptually incompatible with one's own. It can be appreciated not only as a wonderful poem and an interesting hypothesis, but as a source of [End Page 67] humane behavior in the world. Such is the basis for the Dalai Lama's encomiums of Christianity in his frequent pleas for tolerance, mutual respect, and coexistence among the world's religions: "Through the various religious systems, followers are assuming a salutary attitude toward their fellow human beings--our brothers and sisters--and implementing this good motivation in the service of human society. This has been demonstrated by a great many believers in Christianity throughout history. Many have sacrificed their lives for the benefit of humankind." 10 This statement is made despite major doctrinal differences between Buddhism and Christianity--of which the Dalai Lama is well aware--and his own personal devotion to the Buddhist symbols and doctrines.
At the same time, assessing doctrines on their utility means that the charge of relativism, often brought against pluralists, is countered. While, in general, relativism seems superior to absolutism because it is more humane and less ethnocentric, logic compels one to admit that there must be limits to relativism. Finding that boundary is never easy. But clearly, any doctrine that encourages intolerance and mutual hostility would be negatively evaluated, using the criterion of utility. Most doctrines do not, in and of themselves, engender mutual disrespect and hostility, unless they are absolutized. And almost any doctrine, whatever its contents, could then be utilized inhumanely if it is absolutized. Thus at least one limit to relativism would be the absolutizing of any doctrine or any doctrine that cannot be de-absolutized by the very nature of its claims. Such doctrines, because of their exclusivism and absolutism, cannot claim parity or equal validity with other doctrines that do not seek such a monopoly on religious expression. (Is monotheism the prime example of such a claim?) Pluralism and doctrines that are absolutized cannot coexist. Given the frequent and widespread negative results of absolutism, it seems clear that, using the method of judging doctrines on their utility, this impasse can be resolved morally only by renouncing doctrinal absolutism. Probably conventional Christian claims about Jesus fall under judgment of being a conceptual absolute. I also feel quite certain that the Jesus myth does not have to be subjected to such absolutisms.
Sometimes when I argue in this fashion, people accuse me of merely substituting one absolute--pluralism--for another. But they misunderstand, for I am suggesting a methodological absolute, not a doctrinal absolute. There is every difference in the world between a methodological absolute and a doctrinal absolute. This methodological absolute--that doctrines should be evaluated on the basis of their effect on behavior, not their verbal truth value--definitively undercuts any attempt to establish a doctrinal or ideological absolute. Precisely this is what is required in the world, at least at present. Furthermore, we also notice that the methodological absolute of evaluating doctrines on the basis of their utility allows us to posit ethical absolutes, such as nonharming, even though conceptual or doctrinal absolutes are impossible.
If we reflect further, we also notice that despite glaring oppositions at the level of symbol and doctrine, the world's major religions have all produced a remarkably similar core basic ethic. We also must notice that, unfortunately, they have produced remarkably similar ethical distortions as well, of which patriarchal sexism is one of [End Page 68] the more widespread and serious. This should indicate that no major doctrinal system is so far off the mark that it cannot produce a relevant ethic, nor so perfect that it guards its adherents against ethical failure. It should also indicate that the specific symbol, myth, and doctrines of choice are not all that central and that the more urgent realm for ultimate concern is our interactions with our world, not our modes of symbolizing or theorizing that world.
Thus it is clear that I am neither advocating mere relativism nor merely substituting one absolute for another. I am advocating conceptual relativism along with minimal moral and methodological absolutes. Because absolutes can be so dangerous, they should always be kept to the barest possible minimum, but sheer relativism is equally dangerous. To refrain from conceptual and doctrinal absolutes while giving one's loyalty and energy to ethical and methodological absolutes is the appropriate negotiation of that difficult passage.
Finally, I want as a Buddhist to react to the evaluation of some Christian pluralists who, while they do not absolutize the Jesus of Christianity, nevertheless posit an 'indispensability and uniqueness' for his message and mission. Such rhetoric pressures non-Christians at least to think Jesus was an extraordinary, extremely incredible human being, even if they don't agree with Christological doctrines. Many, even members of groups that have not been treated well historically by Christians, such as Jews or feminists, politely make the case that Jesus was really okay--it's what Christians have done to him that's the problem. Such rhetoric is, I believe, a concession to Christian pressure to venerate Jesus even if one does not worship him.
I have questioned whether such Christians take the time to do a basic exercise in empathy in which they would imagine how such claims come across to non-Christians. Returning for a moment to the criterion of utility as a norm for judging concepts, such claims seem to me to be seriously lacking in upaya, or skillful methods, because of their negative effects on listeners such as myself. To me they certainly are not attractive, and I feel an unwelcome pressure to revere Jesus as someone whom I find unique and indispensable, which is not the case. For me, emotionally, when Christians insist that Jesus must be seen as indispensable and universal in his message and mission, it becomes almost impossible to appreciate him in any way at any level. Such rhetoric pushes me to the opposite reaction: "Why should I?" I would prefer to be allowed to have no opinion, to be neutral and agnostic regarding the uniqueness and indispensability of Jesus' mission and message.
The Christian pluralist's claims for the indispensability and uniqueness of his message and mission put me in the unwelcome position of having to explain why I cannot share that judgment even though I do not wish to disparage Jesus any more than I wish to venerate or praise him. I am serious when I say that I can see no basis for venerating Jesus as a human being in a league by himself unsurpassed or unequaled by other human beings in his heroism, compassion, wisdom, or godliness, or in the cogency and relevance of his message. I can't get that extreme of uniqueness out of my reading of the New Testament.
I suspect that many conservative Christians might, in a roundabout way, agree [End Page 69] with me. Humanist and rationalist Christians often emphasize the human Jesus as a uniquely impressive human being. The more traditional Christian reason to see Jesus as unique is to state that he is "the only begotten son of God." This separates him from all other human beings, whose task is to worship, rather than to venerate him. And his task is to do what no human can do--to atone for sin and redeem humanity. This way of understanding Jesus emphasizes the mission over the message and sees Jesus as external savior who confers or bestows liberation on another. In Buddhist terms, this is the essence of theism, the most puzzling and unrealistic doctrine of Christianity to a Buddhist. At this point, as a Buddhist, I simply pull back to listen.
But setting aside claims at any level, whether absolute or relative, as to the uniqueness and indispensability of Jesus' message and mission, how could a Buddhist fit Jesus into a Buddhist framework? In listening to comparisons of the Buddha and the Christ, I have often been struck by the impression that, because of the political hegemony of Western thought modes, most of the discourse regards the Jesus of Christianity as the normative figure and tries to understand the Buddha in his terms, by comparison with him. I want to reverse that process and try to explore what a genuinely Buddhist Jesus might be like.
This process begins by noting a less serious--though perhaps more interesting--difference between Buddhism and Christianity than Christian claims about the uniqueness and indispensability of the message and mission of Jesus. The Christian tendency is to locate truth in the messenger, whereas Buddhism tends to focus on the message. This I think correlates well the Christian tendency to personify the ultimate while Buddhists tend toward nonpersonal metaphors about ultimate reality. I cannot think of any reason to argue that one style is more conducive to humane behavior than the other, so using the principle of assessing doctrines on the basis of their utility, I see no reason to draw these two styles into competition with each other. Because I regard absolutism and exclusivism as the problem, I would not critique the Christian tendency to center on the messenger, but its tendency to absolutize the Messenger.
Though Buddhism does not focus on the messenger, nevertheless it has developed a considerable repertoire of anthropomorphic and personalized symbols that can be of considerable significance on the spiritual path of the Buddhist. Using the method of mutual transformation through dialogue, I want to suggest that Christians seeking ways to go beyond absolutizing the Messenger might well study Buddhist ways of mythologizing and conceptualizing their personal and anthropomorphic figures, which are important and spiritually helpful, but are not absolutized. Therefore, I will indulge in a constructive fantasy, imagining how I would see Jesus interpreted if Buddhist ways of interpreting the messenger were to be utilized by Christians.
This exercise should be grounded in several generalizations about anthropomorphic [End Page 70] figures in Buddhism. First, in every case, there are numerous examples of each type. No one is ultimately unique, though each has ordinary uniqueness--that is to say, individuality. Second, they are always human examples and ideals, not lords of an unattainable state. They are exalted and may be far beyond my current abilities, but not beyond my human capabilities. Thus, we approach them with veneration but not with worship. This distinction between worship and veneration is critical for explaining the difference in attitude and ritual mood between nontheism and theism--and often between Asian and monotheistic forms of religion. Veneration honors and respects someone who has attained a great deal and inspires the venerator to strive toward that attainment, but there is no metaphysical duality between venerator and venerated. Worship declares allegiance and praises or thanks the other, acknowledging an ultimate duality between worshiper and worshiped.
When discussing important anthropomorphic symbols in Buddhism and comparing them to the Jesus of Christianity, the first figure that comes to mind is, of course, the Buddha figure. Hence, Christians who wish to draw parallels between Jesus and other important religious figures often suggest this comparison. After all, both the Buddha and Jesus are seen as founders. Buddhists, however, are more likely to compare the Jesus of Christianity with the bodhisattva figure. I share that judgment because classically, rather different claims are made about the Buddha than about Jesus, their biographies are only superficially similar, and their missions are quite different. That both are seen by historians as founders of a new religion is too superficial to create a profound similarity. I doubt that either saw himself as founder of a new religion, nor do their followers regard their religions as nonexistent before the Buddha or Jesus lived.
The major difference between a Buddha and the Christ, which causes these two figures to be quite dissimilar, concerns what their followers believe each can do for the faithful. Buddhists go for refuge to the Buddha as example, but the Buddha's own enlightenment solves only his problems, not theirs. Vicarious enlightenment is not possible according to Buddhist analysis (except for Pure Land Buddhism). Christians have faith in Jesus as the redeemer, whose sacrificial death does what they cannot do, providing the means for reconciliation with a transcendent deity by vicariously atoning for all sin. Vicarious atonement and redemption are the only possibility in classical Christianity.
From this vast difference in declaring whether or not the primary task of the founder is to vicariously save or free the faithful follow other important differences. There is only one Jesus of Christianity, whereas all forms of Buddhism, including those that claim there is only one Buddha in each world age, affirm the existence of multiple Buddhas, the Buddhas of the three times. These Buddhas are more identical than unique; they are difficult to distinguish iconographically and the salient points of their mythic biographies are identical. The point being made is that, wondrous as are the accomplishments of a Buddha, they are not unreduplicatable. The extent to which a Buddhist is encouraged to strive for Buddhahood differs considerably among the various strands of Buddhism, but that others besides Siddartha [End Page 71] Gautama become Buddhas is affirmed by all forms of Buddhism, and none claims that Siddartha's Buddhahood saves anyone else.
All forms of Buddhism also mention in passing a little-known figure, the pratyekabuddha, often translated as a "solitary Buddha." The meaning of his or her solitariness is that this person understands fully and becomes enlightened without a teacher, simply by deducing the spiritual and physical laws of existence through contemplation. This person not only is not a student of another, but also, unlike a Buddha, does not teach. For this reason, the pratyekabuddha is not dwelt upon or honored in most forms of Buddhism. But the importance for a comparison with the Jesus of Christianity is the Buddhist affirmation, again, that salvation need not be mediated by another and that the enlightenment of a Buddha is not unique.
Given Buddhism and Christianity as they are currently constituted, Jesus is not very similar to either a Buddha or a pratyekabuddha. Furthermore, the dissimilarities mirror the major doctrinal differences between the two religions. When we discuss the Buddhist bodhisattva figure, however, we find that real similarities exist between the two religions in their current forms. The bodhisattva is known to all forms of Buddhism but is much more central to Mahayana than to Theravadin forms of Buddhism. Not by definition, but by derived implication, a bodhisattva is a future Buddha, someone who has taken the vow to achieve complete perfect unsurpassable enlightenment for the benefit of all sentient beings, rather than to rest with the individually salvific enlightenment of an arahant. In Mahayana Buddhism, this is the ideal of all serious adherents of the religion and most take the bodhisattva vow. Those with a casual knowledge of Buddhism often are more familiar with the great mythic bodhisattvas of the Mahayana pantheon, but to emphasize them to the exclusion of the ordinary mundane bodhisattva is incorrect. For one who takes the bodhisattva vow, the emphasis is generally not on the ultimate goal of final enlightenment, but on the intermediate lives of the bodhisattva, who trains ceaselessly in wisdom and method (prajna and upaya of the first section of this paper), and who is willing to go to any lengths or make any sacrifice that would help others progress spiritually.
Some obvious parallels can be made with the Jesus of Christianity. In Buddhist terms, Jesus seems much more like a bodhisattva than like a Buddha to me. This is because of his willingness to suffer on behalf of others and the extent to which, according to the text itself as well as all forms of Christianity, he put the well-being of others before his own comfort--an important, emotionally moving ideal for Mahayanists. Also, insofar as the imitation of Christ is an important moral ideal in Christianity, the individual Christian's attempt to be Christlike is similar to the Mahayanist's assumption of the bodhisattva's task. This comparison also downplays some of the contrasts that make the comparison of Jesus and Buddha less apt. In both cases, the emphasis is on the passion of the compassionate helper, not on the eventual achievement or results of that passion, which, as we have seen, are quite different.
In Buddhism, it is even clearer that there are many bodhisattvas than it is that the Buddha is not unique. Thus it is easy for a Buddhist to see Jesus as 'a bodhisattva,' [End Page 72] as there is no dogma or assumption that all bodhisattvas belong to the Buddhist religion. Since a Buddhist would not say "the bodhisattva," implying that there is only one unique bodhisattva, a Buddhist could easily see Jesus as a bodhisattva without acknowledging Christian claims about his uniqueness or universality. In sum, this is a way that Buddhists can appreciate Jesus in Buddhist terms with a minimum of conflict between Buddhist assertions and Christian assertions. Probably, however, even the Christian pluralist wouldn't be satisfied, since a Buddhist could, if she or he wanted, venerate Jesus as a bodhisattva, but no Buddhist would claim that one must venerate this bodhisattva, or insist on "the universality and indispensability of his message and mission." But at least Buddhist and Christian pluralists could agree that there is no problem with the continued existence of the two religions with two different conceptualizations of the ultimate.
The final Buddhist anthropomorphic figures that I will discuss are not well understood by many, but in my opinion they provide the most authentic way of incorporating Jesus into a Buddhist conceptual system. Therefore, these figures could be most productively contemplated by Christians interested in using Buddhist materials to expand their understandings of the Jesus of Christianity. The yidams of Vajrayana Buddhism, colorful beings who are depicted with great variety in Tibetan art, are anthropomorphic personifications of enlightened activity. These beings are of both genders, often with multiple heads and arms, portrayed in vivid primary colors, sometimes alone and sometimes in sexual embrace, sometimes wrathful and sometimes peaceful. Though outsiders are most familiar with them as art objects, their true significance is their esoteric use in meditation, as so-called meditation deities. They are visualized by the meditator, who also recites a liturgy explaining all the symbolism contained in the colors, attributes, and poses of these deities, performs hand gestures that express these meanings, and intones a mantra specific to the deity. There are many yidams in Vajrayana Buddhism and they are not ranked in a hierarchy. In a vague way, a certain yidam might be especially appropriate for a specific individual, stage of life, or situation, but this is a matter of utility, of method, of using the right tool for the job, not of right or wrong, correct or incorrect, conceptually.
These deities, however, are quite different from the deities of monotheistic religions, at least as their deities are usually understood by monotheists. As anthropomorphic representation of enlightenment, they are not metaphysically separate creators and saviors. As such, they are not ultimately separate from the meditator, who identifies with the deity by visualizing him or herself as the deity, using this method to wake up more quickly one's own enlightened qualities. In this kind of meditation, it is possible to relate fully with a deity emotionally without falling into the conceptual trap (from the Buddhist point of view) of metaphysical dualism.
To see Jesus as a yidam would probably seem incongruent to many Christians. Yet to me this is the most attractive and reasonable possibility of all. This may in some part be due to the fact that I myself, despite my personal history and my conceptual disagreement with much Christian conceptual apparatus, can appreciate Christian liturgy very deeply if I take it as Christian sadhana, thinking of it in much [End Page 73] the same way that I think of Buddhist sadhana liturgies invoking the meditation deities with whom I have worked in my own practices. I must confess to occasional fantasy of what a sadhana invoking Jesus in yab-yum form would entail and how beneficial it could be!
There are also substantive reasons for suggesting this possibility. Using the criterion of utility, of assessing a religious phenomenon in terms of its effect on those who adhere to it, Jesus as the yidam of a Christian sadhana would encourage profound emotional, psychological, and spiritual transformation in those who performed this sadhana. This transformation, after all, is the important factor. My studies as a historian of religions lead me to suspect that all successful religious activity in fact does what is explicitly and consciously sought in the practice of sadhana--self-transformation, temporary and permanent, through using all human faculties (body, speech, and mind) in meditative or contemplative ritual. To do so through visualization of and identification with a yidam as anthropomorphic representation of enlightenment, as well as of one's own potential, is simply to be very explicit and self-aware about one's goals.
Interpreting Jesus as a yidam intersects in interesting ways with central Christian interpretations of Jesus as "the incarnate son of God." If we interpret Jesus as an incarnate son of God, with an emphasis on the incarnate person rather than on his task of atonement and redemption, the conversation can go in a direction quite different from usual Christian claims. Is it necessary to see Jesus as uniquely incarnate? The usual answer is yes. It is a truism that, while Christians are urged to be Christlike, no one of them aspires to become Christ. To me, as a Buddhist, this idea seems almost self-defeating. To put it most bluntly, to me it would be supremely frustrating to be told on the one hand that I should be Christlike, but on the other that I am condemned and predestined to failure in that central task. To see Jesus as model of incarnation rather than as sole possible example of incarnation would be so much more inspiring and attractive. 11 And that would be the effect of regarding Jesus as a yidam whose sadhana one practiced both in formal meditation and in life. Such an interpretation of Jesus would also mesh well with the most basic effect of incarnational theology, which is the sense of sacramental or sacred presence in the world that flows out of a theology of deity incarnate in the phenomenal world. A sense of sacred presence within the phenomenal world overcomes the remoteness of a transcendent deity and also overcomes the metaphysical dualism between deity and humanity.
Christians, however--even pluralist Christians--might well find my suggestion ludicrous and state cogent reasons why. I have anticipated at least some of their objections and could reply. First, they might say, the identification with Jesus is unacceptable and blasphemous. But I would suggest that if one is serious about the imitation of Christ, such meditations are rather effective means to that end. Second, many would say that yidams are clearly mythic projections, whereas Jesus is a historical character. My reply would be that the Jesus of Christianity, theologized as the second person of a trinity, is also highly mythic and that the Jesus of empirical history is untraceable. Religion is not made of empirical history; it is made of mythical [End Page 74] history, of highly selective symbolic interpretations of historical events, even for those religions that are 'historical.' Jesus is effective and transformative for Christian piety of all levels of sophistication insofar as he functions as what Jungians would call an archetype, not because of his historical existence. I do not think such a statement psychologizes religion but rather explains how religious doctrines, which are mythic projections, work to transform their adherents.
However, I also have different reservations about the suggestions I have just made. They explain how I as a Buddhist would understand Jesus if I for some reason were compelled to fit Jesus into my religious universe. There is no real reason why I should do that, since I reject the Christian pluralists' claim for "the universality and indispensability of his message and mission." Nor do I presume that Christians should be attracted to my solution of what is essentially their problem--the meaning of the Jesus of Christianity to Christians who coinhabit a global village with non-Christians. I prefer, in the long run, to let the two myth and symbol systems stand as they are--unique, radically different, and magnificent. That solution, however, requires everyone to renounce exclusive and absolute claims for and about their conceptualizations of the ultimate. That includes Christians and their claims for the uniqueness, unsurpassability, finality, indispensability, and universality of Jesus! Except for that claim, he seems fine as he is and doesn't really need to be reconceptualized in Buddhist terms. I have never understood why Christians feel they would lose so much if they gave up those claims about Jesus. To me it seems they lose nothing important and would gain cohumanity with the rest of us.
University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire
1. This essay was first prepared for a conference on Views of Jesus from the Perspectives of the World's Religions, held at Vivekananda Monastery and Retreat Center, Ganges, Michigan, September 1990. It has been substantially revised for publication.
2. Paul Griffiths, Christianity through Non-Christian Eyes (Maryknoll, New York: Orbis, 1990).
3. From the brochure announcing the conference for which this paper was initially written.
4. Paul Knitter, "Key questions for a Theology of Religions," Horizons 17, no. 1 (1990), pp. 92-97.
5. Ibid., p. 97.
6. Griffiths, p. 236.
7. In Mahayana Buddhism, upaya and prajna are the two most important disciplines of and skills sought by a bodhisattva. Though both are equally important and necessary, and the goal of religious practice could be said to the "union of upaya and prajna," this union of the right and left hands brought in anjali, the mudra of folded hands, or the union of male and female in the sexual embrace of the yab-yum icon. In other words, this union is the union of nonduality, not the union of monism. This extremely subtle point cannot be overemphasized.
8. Ruhula Walpola, What the Buddha Taught, (New York: Grove Press, 1974) p. 11.
9. This is one of the most familiar metaphors for the multiplicity of upaya.
10. Griffiths, p. 164.
11. Interestingly, many Christian feminists are also suggesting that Jesus be seen as model of incarnation, rather than as sole representative of incarnation.
Buddhist-Christian Studies 19.1 (1999) 62-75
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