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date: 27 June 2022

Early Modern European Encounters with Buddhismfree

Early Modern European Encounters with Buddhismfree

  • Thomas CalobrisiThomas CalobrisiDepartment of Historical and Cultural Studies of Religion, Graduate Theological Union; Institute of Buddhist Studies

Summary

Historians Urs App and Martino Dibeltulo Concu have argued that the European “discovery” of Buddhism as a “religion” can be dated to the 16th century rather than the 19th, and that the presentation of the Buddha as a philosopher by the likes of Eugène Burnouf is a secularized holdover from the Jesuit accounts of the 16th century. These claims have a tenuous basis, and Burnouf’s portrayal of the Buddha as a philosopher was a radical break from earlier Jesuit accounts. Unlike the Asian Buddhists who preceded him, Burnouf separated the facts from beliefs and concluded the Buddha was a human philosopher.

The essay explores the 16th-century Jesuit encounter with Buddhists in Japan and the accounts that were generated therefrom, with particular attention to the notion that the Buddha taught both an inner materialist doctrine and an outer moral one; it looks to the dissemination and development of these ideas in the 17th and 18th centuries, with a focus on the “African hypothesis” as it is found in various European savants; it turns to the 19th-century “discovery” of Buddhism by the likes of Ozeray, Abel-Rémusat, Hodgson, and Burnouf. it then draws out the implications of the defense of Masuzawa and Droit’s position given in this article for the field of Buddhist studies, particularly with regard to methodological issues.

Subjects

  • Buddhism

Introduction

Although scholars in the field of Buddhist studies have been hesitant to adopt new methodologies and theoretical perspectives, the introduction of postcolonial theory and methodology into the field has been productive. The corpus of historical and genealogical studies has grown since the publication of Donald S. Lopez Jr.’s Curators of the Buddha: The Study of Buddhism under Colonialism in 1995, a collection of essays on the origins of the field as an outgrowth of and justification for European colonialism.1 Historian Urs App has also contributed greatly to our understanding of the European encounter with Buddhist peoples in Asia.2 App has challenged the claims of others in the field, Tomoko Masuzawa and Roger-Pol Droit specifically, who contend that the 19th-century “discovery” or “invention” of Buddhism as a “world religion” by means of modern philology constituted a definitive break from the earlier study of Buddhism by Jesuit missionaries.3 App argues that as early as the 16th century, the Jesuit missionaries had recognized Buddhism as a religion composed of an “inner” and an “outer” doctrine, the former being an atheistic, materialist philosophy reserved for elite disciples and the latter being moral and theistic teaching tailored for lesser disciples and the laity.

More recently, Martino Dibeltulo Concu advanced App’s thesis against Masuzawa and Droit by looking at the delineation between “philosophy” and “religion” in Eugène Burnouf’s 1844 Introduction to the History of Indian Buddhism, a study considered to be a watershed moment in the European “discovery” of Buddhism by a figure regarded as the “founding father” of Buddhist studies.4 Dibeltulo Concu argues that this delineation in Burnouf’s study is a rearticulation of the inner–outer distinction from Jesuit sources in a scientific, philological language. While App and Dibeltulo Concu have provided valuable insights into the genealogy of the field, this article defends the view put forward by Masuzawa and Droit: that the 19th-century European “discovery” of Buddhism by means of the science of philology constitutes a break from the earlier Jesuit accounts of Buddhism. It is a break precisely as far as the distinction between philosophy and religion found in Burnouf’s Introduction neither matches the inner–outer Jesuit distinction nor does Burnouf draw on any Jesuit sources for this distinction. Rather, Burnouf’s distinction between philosophy and religion is premised on his presumption to delineate between the “facts” of the Buddha’s life and the “beliefs” of Asian Buddhists. This approach is influenced by the work of Bruno Latour, particularly his essay “On the Modern Cult of Factish Gods,” in which he identifies the fact–belief distinction as a key means for modern people (i.e., Europeans) to set themselves apart from nonmodern, non-European “Others.”5

The first section of this article explores the Jesuit missionary encounters with Buddhists in Japan and China in the 16th century and emphasizes the construction of the inner–outer distinction in their earliest accounts. The next section turns to the adoption of this distinction in the 17th and 18th centuries and its confluence with the “African hypothesis” regarding the provenance of the Buddha. The final section turns to the 19th century, with attention to figures such as Michel-Jean-François Ozeray, Brian Houghton Hodgson, Jean-Pierre Abel-Rémusat, and Eugène Burnouf, providing a new interpretation of the “epistemological” break that occurred among these authors. The conclusion returns to contemporary Buddhist studies scholarship and discusses the implications of the defense made for the view of Masuzawa and Droit.

Sixteenth-Century Beginnings

Through the approval of Pope Paul III (1468–1549), the Society of Jesus, or the Jesuits (derived from the Latin Iesuitas), was founded in 1540 by Ignatius of Loyola (1491–1556), Francis Xavier (1506–1552), and four of their fellow priests as a religious order within the Catholic Church engaged in evangelization of Christian doctrine. The aim of the Jesuits was, at least in part, to disseminate Christian teachings across the world, which was in accord with the Counter-Reformation of the Catholic Church and its effort to stem the spread of Protestant Christianity. As early as 1541, Francis Xavier and a team of Jesuits had landed in Goa, and by 1547 the group had claimed it as Portuguese Malacca. While there, Xavier encountered a Japanese man by the name of Anjirō (born c. 1511), who had fled Japan after committing murder. Anjirō converted to Christianity and traveled with Xavier back to Goa, where he studied at the College of St. Paul.

Anjirō regaled the Jesuits with stories of the religion of his homeland, which, based on his description, was remarkably similar to Catholic Christianity: belief in a single creator God, veneration of saints and angels, a divine feminine character who holds her child in her arms, and scheduled and calendrical chanting in a language only known by the literate elite.6 Given Anjirō’s knowledge of Japanese religious practices and beliefs, Xavier employed him as his translator. According to App, what would ensue when the Jesuits arrived in Japan in 1549 would set the stage for the first European awareness of Buddhism and the construction of so-called Oriental philosophy, that is, the atheistic, materialistic doctrine at the core of all the philosophies and religions found from Greece and Egypt to India, China, Tibet, and Japan.7

Initially, the Jesuits were received warmly by the Japanese, as Anjirō had introduced them as being from Tenjiku—the Japanese term for India.8 As a result, the Japanese thought the Jesuits were Indian Buddhists bringing news of the tradition from the motherland. Further, Anjirō had translated Deus as “Dainichi,” which is the Japanese translation for Mahavairocana Buddha—the principal Buddha for Shingon Buddhism. According to Jason Ānanda Josephson, Anjirō’s choice of terms in translating Deus has a history in the Shingon tradition, to which Anjirō formerly belonged. On Josephson’s reading, Anjirō’s translation assumes Deus is simply Dainichi by another name, as the latter is the ultimate reality that manifests itself in numerous names to benefit all beings. Josephson calls this “hierarchical inclusion.”9 When the Jesuits preached to the Japanese, they urged them to pray to Dainichi and, to the missionaries’ confusion, their audience was unphased by this.

It quickly dawned on Xavier and his companions that Anjirō’s translation work had caused some serious misunderstandings, which led them to question the veracity of what Anjirō had told them about Japanese religion. The Jesuits quickly did an about-face, telling their audiences they should not worship Dainichi, whose law was a diabolical invention. Whereas before they were eager to identify themselves as Buddhists and avail themselves of the resources provided by the Buddhists, the Jesuits now strongly asserted they were not Buddhists. Further, whereas they had been open to translating Christian ideas into Buddhist terms, Xavier and the Jesuits now proclaimed that Deus, in both name and essence, could not be translated into such terms.10

The remaining years of the Jesuit mission in Japan, which ended in 1587, were dedicated to acquiring a proper understanding of Japanese religion so it could be refuted from a Christian perspective. The Jesuits were primarily interested in understanding the teachings of Zen, as they understood that the elite mostly followed this tradition. They thought that if they could convert the elite to Christianity, the masses would soon follow. Fortunately, the Jesuits encountered two priests who could help them in this effort: Paulo Chōzen, a former high-ranking priest in the Tendai school, and Vincente Tōin, the son of a convert who was well-read on Zen.11 Despite having the expertise of Chōzen and Tōin at their disposal there appears to have been a serious misunderstanding of Buddhist teachings among the Jesuits.

According to the earliest Jesuit accounts of Buddhism in Japan, such as the 1556 Summary of Errors (Sumario dos erros) by Cosme de Torres (1510–1570) and the 1586 Catechism of the Christian Faith (Catechismus Christianae fidei) by Alessandro Valignano (1539–1606), the Buddha had initially taught a doctrine advocating moral virtue, endorsing postmortem retribution for good and bad actions, positing the existence of divine beings, and promoting ritual practices of making offerings. Yet, on his deathbed, the Buddha recanted this teaching and proclaimed to his closest disciples that there was nothing after death and that only the four elements (Skt. Mahabhuta; Jp. shidai) exist. These elements, it was believed, emerged from a chaotic and formless materia prima—an elaborate translation of the Japanese Zen concept of “the fundamental part” or the “gist of the matter” (honbun). These accounts also describe the Buddha teaching a series of successive doctrines, claiming each prior one to be untrue, and recanting all of them in his final moments and asserting the doctrine of the materia prima.

What we now understand as the doctrine of “skillful” or “expedient” means (Skt. upaya kaushalya; Jp. hōben) in Mahayana Buddhism appeared to the Jesuits as kind of “holy lie” (mentira virtuosa), which split the Buddha’s teachings into an exoteric doctrine of heavens and hells and an esoteric doctrine of atheistic materialism.12 The account of the Buddha’s successive teachings derives from the “doctrinal classification” (kyōsō hanjaku) scheme of arranging the sutras according to when they were taught in the Buddha’s lifetime as well as reflecting their proximity to the ultimate truth. These systems originated in China, where the Tiantai and Huayan schools developed their own unique approaches. The Japanese iterations of these schools held to these classifications, and the new schools that emerged in the Kamakura period (1192–1333), such as the Pure Land and Nichiren schools, developed their own means of classifying the sutras based on skillful means and proximity to the truth.

In their accounts, the Jesuit missionaries sought to portray Buddhist thought through the lens of the Catholic scholastic philosophy their authors had studied in Europe. As App states, in their ignorance of God’s creation of the universe ex nihilo, Japanese Buddhists appeared to the Jesuits

exactly like the heathen Greek and Roman philosophers that were criticized by the Christian commentators of Aristotle . . . [who] blindly assert that everything must have arisen by chance from a materia prima or ‘chaos’ that is seen as eternal.13

From the perspective of the Jesuits encountering Buddhism,

Shaka’s ultimate teaching thus fits the pattern that students of scholastic philosophy had learned to identify as typical of ancient Greek and Roman atheism: the denial of an omnipotent and omniscient creator God in favor of an eternal chaos or materia prima from which all beings, like waves in water, arise only by chance only to eventually dissolve again into chaos in an endless cycle of birth and death.14

What App is pointing to here is that the Jesuits had at their disposal a ready-made category by which they understood the Buddha’s teachings: namely, the “heathen” Greek and Roman philosophers who did not acknowledge the divine creation of the universe. Alongside their understanding of upaya as a “holy lie,” this profile of the Greco-Roman philosopher, it seems, provided the rationale for the Jesuit’s construal of Buddhism as having an “inner” philosophy of nothingness and an “outer” religion of morality, elaborate rituals, heavens, hells, miracles, celestial beings, and so on.

For whatever garbled version of Buddhist thought these texts contain, App attempts to give their authors credit for introducing such thought to Europe. Of the Summary of Errors, App notes, “the fact that this ‘law’ [Buddhadharma, buppō] is said to have a number of sects, a founder, a founding scripture, and clergy in several Asian countries proves that Europeans already in 1556 regarded buppō (Buddhism) as a religion.”15 The overarching argument of App’s Cult of Emptiness is that the European “discovery” of Buddhism as a “world religion” occurred not in the 19th century, as posited by Masuzawa, but in the 16th, when Francis Xavier and his Jesuit companions encountered Zen Buddhism in Japan. While it cannot be denied that the Jesuits were the first Europeans to have a prolonged engagement with Buddhists and their teachings, App’s overarching argument is tenuous on two counts: (a) the notion of a religion as an institution with a founder, sacred scripture, clergy, and a series of sects had yet to be established in European thought; and (b) their means of registering what they encountered in Japan relied on other frameworks.

According to Peter Harrison, our contemporary notion of “religion,” both in the singular and the plural, which App appeals to in his claim regarding the Jesuits in Japan, was first formed in the mid-16th century. Harrison points to the 1555 Peace of Augsburg between Charles V (1500–1558) of the Holy Roman Empire and the Schmalkaldic League, an alliance of Lutheran princes in the Holy Roman Empire, as an early example of a document recognizing plural religions. “The settlement was momentous,” Harrison states, “because it provided the permanent division of the Holy Roman Empire, premised on the idea that religious differences could be given objective formulation and that the inhabitants of particular territories could be identified on the basis of their religion.”16 The Augsburg settlement recognized two “religions” (Religionen): the “old religion” (alten Religion, Catholicism) and the “Augsburg Confession,” the latter of which is articulated in twenty-eight articles.17 Furthermore, the settlement established the legal principle “whose land, his religion,” which designates the religion of the sovereign as that of the territory. The settlement also allowed its two acknowledged “religions” to be understood not only as a set of codified beliefs but as a political and legal construct.18

The early modern period in Europe was marked by “wars of religion.” The conventional view of these events holds that,

the inadequacies of the Augsburg settlement led to the disastrous “wars of religion” that ravaged Europe for decades. In this version of events, religiously fueled violence was only brought to an end by the formation of the modern state, which banished religion to the private sphere, limiting its capacity to promote a sectarian violence based on irrational and mutually incompatible beliefs.19

While not dismissive of the role of “religion” played in these conflicts or the emergence of modern, secular state from them, Harrison notes that these conflicts were about the territorial disputes between the rival Bourbons and Hapsburgs, and Protestants and Catholics found themselves on the same side of a conflict as much as on opposing sides. Nevertheless,

the idea of plural religions as codified sets of beliefs and specific practices that can exist independently of political considerations and are capable of relegation to a ‘private sphere’ was one of the end products of this process of state building.20

The development of “religion” seems to have involved some contradictory moves: First, it was newly internalized as belonging to the “private” conscience of individuals, outside of the realm of the public. Second, it was externalized as articles of belief and territorial designations. Religion both defines the boundaries of a secularized public space (territory) and transcends it as private belief. This contradictory construction of religion would set the groundwork for understanding it as a consciously held set of beliefs that inform publicly observable behaviors and practices. This understanding itself is the precondition for the “scientific” study of religion, which would come into its own in the 19th century. As Europe was being territorialized along lines of religious identity, Europeans were beginning to colonize the Americas, Africa, and Asia and were encountering other religious traditions in the process. “In much the same way that religious difference was now a feature of geography in Europe,” Harrison states, “an analogous religious differentiation was thought to characterize the whole of the globe.”21 The earliest schema or taxonomy for the religions of the world held that there were four categories: Christians; Jews; Muslims; and heathens, idolators, or pagans.

According to Masuzawa, this fourfold schema recurs “in book after book with little variation from at least the seventeenth century up to the first half of the nineteenth century.”22 She provides two frameworks for understanding this schema: (a) that it presents us “three individually distinct religions and one generic type, under which all the rest are subsumed”; and (b) that it recognizes only one religion,

alongside it were two forms of deviance; and as for the rest, they were nations bereft of religion altogether. . . . In sum, either there were countless religions or there was only one, yet, somehow both were true. The elasticity of the taxonomic system variously and flexibly enabled the demarcation of “our” sanctified domain from “their” state of perdition, but it enabled little else.23

Harrison and Masuzawa both point out how this taxonomy did not identify the four “religions” of the world as systems of belief but as nations, territories, or peoples. As Masuzawa puts it, this taxonomy “recognizes ‘Christians,’ ‘Jews,’ ‘Mohammedans,’ and ‘heathens,’ rather than different ‘isms’ that supposedly prescribe different spiritual cosmologies and so-called worldviews particular to each of these different peoples.”24 Furthermore, both of them stress the empirical and haphazard way in which the numerous accounts of the four “religions” were composed. On the one hand, Harrison contends that such accounts of “religions” reverse-engineered the beliefs from observation of the practices, and thus served to bolster the notion that “religions” were to be identified through observable behaviors that are related to beliefs.25 On the other hand, Masuzawa argues that the authors of such works during this period seem “far more interested in collecting and enumerating empirical particularities and material details than in discovering any organizational principle that might help to synthesize these particulars and details.”26 According to Masuzawa, the aim of encyclopedic collections on religion, such as The Ceremonies and Religious Customs of the Various Nations of the World, edited by Bernard Picart (1673–1733) and Jean Frédéric Bernard (1683–1744), was neither to contribute to a “science of religion” nor to “offer practical intelligence considered efficacious for the vocational training of future missionaries.”27

Rather, Masuzawa conjectures that this work and others like it were composed with the leisure class mind:

Readers of these books expected above all else to be amused and diverted by the narratives of exotic lore, travels, and adventures abroad, and to be charmed and transported by the exquisite plates and engravings that often lavishly accompanied such accounts.28

Masuzawa alludes to the fact that these early modern encyclopedic works on the “religions” of the world drew their information on the non-Christian “religions” predominantly from the writings of Christian missionaries. Here we come to a reprise of the Jesuits in the 16th century. Regarding App’s claim that the Summary of Errors identifies buppō as a “religion,” we can see issues with this claim from App in what Harrison has presented. According to Harrison, the notion of plural “religions” as codified sets of beliefs and practices that correspond to various territories was only beginning to form in the mid-16th century, at the very time the Summary of Errors was being written halfway across the globe—and without news of such developments from Europe.29 Further, as we saw with Masuzawa, the fourfold categorization of “religions” prevalent from the 17th century to the early 19th century presents non-Abrahamic traditions; that is, the “pagan/heathen/idolator” as either a generic type of religion or as the lack of religion altogether. This is to say, “religions” here are not defined in terms of institutions that include sacred texts, numerous sects, and founders but in terms of the beliefs and practices found in various territories of the world. The Jesuits perceived Buddhism as the devil’s invention—the outward presentation of true religion without its content. If Buddhism counted as a “religion” at all for these 16th-century Jesuits, it was in a profoundly different sense than it was for Burnouf and the others involved in the European “discovery” of Buddhism nearly three centuries later.

The Jesuits found Japanese Buddhists, however clever they seemed, to be living in a world of benighted ignorance. Buddhism, for whatever outward similarities it presented with the true religion, Christianity, was to their minds clearly a devil’s trick that the Japanese had been fooled by for many centuries. Contrary to what App claims, the earliest accounts of Buddhism from the Jesuits who landed in Japan did not portray it as a “religion” in our familiar sense. The Jesuits would not have been aware of the concept because it was just being developed, and their schemes of categorization would not admit Buddhism as a “religion” but as heathen idolatry to be vigorously refuted.

Developments in the 17th and 18th Centuries

The Jesuit records of Japanese religions mentioned in the previous section, particularly Valignano’s Catechism of the Christian Faith, were made available to the European public in the 17th century and were met with tremendous interest. The Catechism and its explanation of the atheistic, materialistic philosophy at the core of Buddhism was fodder for the speculations of Jesuit figures such as João Rodrigues (1561–1633) and Athanasius Kircher (1602–1680).30 Rodrigues attempted to identify Valignano’s writings on Buddhism an “oriental ur-philosophy,” which he attributed to the biblical Ham and Zoroaster, who he thought were identical. According to Rodrigues, this oriental ur-philosophy had its origins in Chaldea, Persia, and India, and spread out both eastward to China and westward to Egypt and Greece. Kircher similarly offered a theory of “pan-Asian religion,” as App puts it. According to Kircher, Egypt is the cradle of this religion and the Buddha was an Egyptian priest of Ethiopian extraction who fled his homeland and traveled to India, spreading Buddhism across Asia. Despite differences in their theories, App claims that “both Rodrigues and Kircher saw Asian religions and philosophies as branches of a single root-heresy. . . . both posited a fundamental unity of doctrine not only embracing much of Asia but also the Greek and Roman world.”31

In 1615, Nicolas Trigault published a Latin translation of the journals of Matteo Ricci (1552–1610) entitled De Christiana expeditione apud Sinas. Ricci, a Jesuit missionary, had traveled extensively in China from 1582 to 1610 and had studied Buddhist teachings during his time there. Ricci’s journals describe his astonishment at what he deemed the idolatry practiced by Chinese Buddhists. He referred to Buddhism as “unnatural and hideous fiction of idol worship” and viewed Buddhist monastics as “vile and abject.”32 Taoism, according to Ricci, due to its similarities with certain Christian doctrines, was the work of the devil.33 Ricci considered Confucianism as a moral philosophy and deemed it compatible with if not complementary to Christianity.34 Ricci’s journals would provide more material for the speculations of Europeans in the centuries to follow, particularly on the subjects of comparative religion, philosophy, and linguistics.35

Non-Jesuit sources also played a role in presenting Buddhism and Buddhists to Europeans at this time. One prominent example from this category is The History of Japan by Engelbert Kaempfer (1651–1716), a Westphalian-born Dutch doctor. Kaempfer traveled throughout Asia, first with a Swedish envoy to Persia and then with the Dutch East India Company, landing in Japan in 1690 where he remained for two years. Assisted by his servant, Imamura Gen’emon Eisei (1671–1736), Kaempfer was able to compile an extensive history of Japan, which was published posthumously in 1727. His account includes a description Buddhism, which he calls “Budsdo, or Foreign Pagan Worship.”36 Much like Kircher, he was convinced that there was not one but two Buddhas: the first one of these Buddhas was an ancient god not unlike those of Greece or Egypt; and the other was “some new Impostor who set up but about five hundred years before Christ’s nativity.”37 This conclusion from Kaempfer comes from his experiences in India, where he would have noticed the Buddha included as an avatara of Vishnu. For Kaempfer, Hinduism is Egyptian in origin, as the two central tenets of the Egyptian religion—“the Transmigration of Souls and a Veneration for Cows”—were present in the beliefs and practices of the Hindus he encountered.38

Further, Kaempfer concludes that the Buddha was a priest from Memphis who escaped Persian emperor Cambyses II’s campaign of slaughter, fled to India, and taught his Egyptian doctrines. Kaempfer based this on sources he consulted in Ceylon, Siam, and Japan that described Cambyses II (559–522 bce) conquering Egypt and subverting the Egyptians’ religion by killing their holy cow and their priests around the time the Buddha emerged in India.39 Kaempfer was confident in his claim about the African provenance of the Buddha due to the superficial similarities among Indian and Egyptian religious beliefs and the regular depiction of the Buddha with dark, kinky hair. “This saint,” Kaempfer claims, “being represented with curled Hairs, like a Negro, there is room to conclude, that he was no native of India, but was born under the hot Climate of Africa.”40 This conjecture has come to be known as the “African hypothesis” regarding the Buddha’s origins, which would be taken as definitive by European savants for a century.

We should note that Kaempfer was not the only one to suppose there were two Buddhas. Another figure to make this claim was the Augustinian friar Antonio Agostino Giorgi (1711–1797) in his 1762 Latin work Alphabetum Tibetanum, which chronicled the Capuchin mission to Tibet of 1708–1745. Donald S. Lopez Jr., describes Giorgi’s work as “a huge and vexing text, filled with some accurate information and much fanciful theorizing, with words in Greek, Hebrew, Arabic, Devanagari, and Tibetan script appearing on many of the work’s more than nine hundred pages.”41 According to Giorgi, the two Buddhas were named Butta and Xaca. The former was in Giorgi’s estimation a fabrication of “heathen myths,” by which he means that this Buddha was derived from the ancient Egyptian god Osiris. The latter was “invented by Gnostic, Basilidian, Manichean, and sacrilegious legends of the Pseudo-Christians.”42 Giorgi believed that the second Buddha, Xaca, was a confabulation of heretical Christians and the Manicheans introduced to India, China, and Tibet in late antiquity. While this theory strikes the contemporary reader as strange, Giorgi’s work was once considered authoritative. Immanuel Kant (1724–1804), for example, cited it in his own studies of religion and geography.43

Two works introduced accounts of Buddhism from Jesuits and colonial travelogues to new audiences eager to learn about foreign curiosities: Bernard and Picart’s The Ceremonies and Religious Customs of the Various Nations of the World, published in French between 1723 and 1742 and in English between 1733 and 1739, and the Encyclopédie (1751–1772) by Jean le Rond d’Alembert (1717–1783) and Denis Diderot (1713–1774). Ceremonies is still considered a valuable resource for information on religions during the Enlightenment, and Volume 4, which covers religion in Laos, Vietnam, Sri Lanka, Siam, Japan, and China, includes descriptions of Buddhism. Here Bernard and Picart explain, among other things, the Buddha’s teachings, which include atheism, nothingness, the transmigration of souls, and the annihilation of the body and soul as the desideratum of the life of virtuous practice. They also speculate on his African origins, his biography, his meditative pose, and his relationship, historically and spiritually, to Jesus.44

In a similar fashion, the Encyclopédie includes an entry on “Siaka,” which identifies this character with the budso of Japan, with foë of China, visnou or buda of India, and sommonacodum of Siam.45 The entry notes that as the Buddha was dying, he told his many disciples that his teachings were all wrapped in a “veil of metaphors,” and his true teaching was that: “there is . . . nothing real in the world, but nothingness and the void: this is the principle of all things; do not seek anything beyond, and do not place your confidence in anything else.”46 The entry further states that, following the Buddha’s death, his disciples divided his teachings into the “nothingness” view just expressed and an esoteric form, which taught the immortality and transmigration of the soul; the reward of good deeds by rebirth in gokurakf (Jp. gokuraku), which is presided over by Amida (Amitabha Buddha); punishment for misdeeds in dsigokf (Jp. jigoku), presided over by Jemma (Jp. Enma Ō); and a moral code that forbade “killing any living creature, committing adultery, lying, and using strong drink.”47 In both the Encyclopédie and Ceremonies, we can see that the Buddha is understood to have taught an inner, esoteric materialistic doctrine as well as an outer, exoteric moral philosophy; that is, they do little more than parrot the accounts found in the Summary and the Catechism of de Torres and Valignano, respectively.

The latter half of the 18th century marked a turning point in European history, which began with the Seven Years’ War (1756–1763) and the establishment of British colonial rule of India in 1765. Whereas the former event set the stage for the American, French, and Haitian revolutions; the latter event had implications for the European study of Asian language, literature, and religions. Each of these events had a reciprocal relationship with the Enlightenment, both influencing and being influenced by the philosophes and savants of the period. Chinese language and philosophy were of particular interest among the early Enlightenment thinkers. Lopez notes that the German polymath Gottlieb Wilhelm Friedrich von Leibniz (1646–1716) “was among many European thinkers of the 17th century who admired China for their rationality, and so condemned the introduction of idolatry into the realm, blaming it on the Buddha.”48 However, as the 18th century went on, Enlightened minds would turn their curiosity more and more to India; away from Chinese rationality and toward Indian mysticism.

Abraham Hyacinthe Anquetil-Duperron (1731–1805) returned to his native France as the Seven Years’ War was ending. Anquetil-Duperron had spent the previous six years studying with Zoroastrian priests in India, known as “Parsis,” under whose guidance he acquired “a working knowledge of Sanskrit, modern Persian, and its ancient ancestors Avestan and Middle Persian—plus scores of manuscripts in all these tongues.”49 In 1771, Anquetil-Duperron published a partial translation of the Zend-Avesta, becoming, as James Turner notes, “the first European to decipher an ancient language of Asia no longer in use . . . cracking open a window that would vastly widen Europe’s view of the past.”50 However, Anquetil-Duperron’s translation and the very authenticity of the Zend-Avesta were called into question by a young Sir William Jones (1746–1794), who was then still a student at Oxford studying Arabic, Persian, and Hebrew.

In an anonymous letter composed in French and published as a pamphlet, Jones voiced his suspicion that Anquetil-Duperron did not have the skills in modern Persian to properly understand his Parsi teachers and his teachers did not have enough facility in the Zend language to relay its contents clearly to Anquetil-Duperron. Based on his expectations of what an ancient religious text should contain, Jones thought the content of the Zend-Avesta was too fanciful and repetitive to be authentic.51 Others, including Voltaire (1698–1778) and Diderot, joined the chorus against Anquetil-Duperron. Despite the fact that Jones later recanted his attacks against Anquetil-Duperron, the latter’s reputation never recovered from these accusations in his lifetime, but his efforts were eventually validated by Burnouf’s translation of a commentary on the Yasna, a Zoroastrian liturgical text, in the 1830s.

Less than a decade into its governance of India, the British East India Company (EIC) had faced a severe financial crisis due to a series of faulty trading decisions, which led to parliamentary action to regulate it. In order to curb corruption and make the EIC answerable to Parliament, the Regulating Act of 1773 established the position of Governor-General of India and a Supreme Court, with offices located in Calcutta. Warren Hastings (1732–1811), who was Governor of Bengal, was appointed to the position of Governor-General in 1774. During his time in India, Hastings is said to have gained proficiency in Bengali, Hindustani, and Persian, and was known to be in possession of Bernard and Picart’s Ceremonies. As General of Bengal, Hastings had attempted to create a singular judicial system that incorporated Hindu and Muslim legal codes in matters pertaining to religious observance and customs; he also drafted a proposal for a professorship of Persian to be installed at Oxford. Neither initiative was met with enthusiasm. In his new role as Governor-General, he had the means and ability to put his plans into action.

His plan for a singular legal system for India involved the translation of Hindu and Muslim legal codes into English. While the Brahmins were not at all forthcoming when it came to letting foreigners study their sacred texts, it was nothing a little money could not solve. Hastings offered generous inducements to British civil servants, Brahmin pandits, and Muslim maulavis willing to be involved in translation efforts, producing considerable results. Among the first generation of civil servant orientalists involved in Hastings’s translation projects were Nathaniel Brassy Halhed (1751–1830) and Charles Wilkins (1749–1836). Bengali pandits, such as Baneshvara Vidyalankara, Radhakanta Tarkavagisha, and Jagannatha Tarkapañcanana (1694–1807), were employed by the EIC to aid them in their work.52

By 1776, Halhed had, with the help of some eleven Bengali pandits, composed his Code of Gentoo Laws, which included a full translation of the Persian version of the Sanskrit Vivadarnavasetu (Bridge of the sea of litigation), a digest of Hindu law codes, and excerpts from Bhagavad Gita, the Bhagavata Purana, and other Sanskrit texts;. He also produced a Bengali grammar in 1788.53 Wilkins created a type set for Bengali by 1778, established the first vernacular printing press in India, and most importantly produced the first English translations of the Bhagavat Gita and the Hitopadesha in 1785 and 1787, respectively.54

We now return to Jones, who began the months-long voyage to Bengal in 1783, arriving there in early 1784. Having abandoned a career as an Oxford-educated orientalist solely for the reason that it did not pay well—and it is true that he struggled to find work—he studied law and assumed work as a jurist. Jones was appointed to a position on the Supreme Court of Calcutta. The difficulties he encountered working with the Brahmin pandits prompted Jones to study Sanskrit, first with the Vaidya scholar Ramalocana Kanthavarna and then with Radhakanta Tarkavagisha. As a curious person and avid learner, Jones also established the Asiatic Society of Bengal, whose membership included those interested in learning about Asia and its civilizations. His efforts in studying Sanskrit and cultivating knowledge through the Asiatic Society would prove fruitful. Between 1784 and his untimely death in 1794, Jones would translate a number of Hindu Sanskrit texts into English. His most widely known work was Sacontalá, or the Fatal Ring, a 1789 translation of the Abhijñanashakuntala by the dramatist Kalidasa (ca. 4th5th century ce). This work, Jones’s translation of the Manavadharmashastra, and the Bhagavat Gita by Wilkins sparked a “sudden rage for ancient Indian culture” in Europe.55

Besides his translations, Jones is noteworthy for his contribution to the history of modern philology. His studies of the Sanskrit language led him to the conclusion that it shared roots with Persian and European languages, such as Greek, Latin, German, and the Celtic languages, identifying a language family we now refer to as Indo-European.56 This observation, found in his presidential address to the Asiatic Society of Bengal of February 2, 1786, has come to be referred to as the “philologer’s passage.” As Turner notes,

Jones in effect invented a new kind of philology. The concept of language families formed by genealogical descent gave students of language a novel way to classify languages and track their development. This fresh approach retained philology’s central dogma of historical comparison. But it radically changed what to compare and the kind of conclusions to be drawn from the comparison.57

Although Jones helped to reinvent philology in an age of revolutions, he did little for European knowledge of Buddhism.

Like Kaempfer before him, Jones had noticed the curious status of the Buddha in India.

The Brahmans universally speak of the Bauddhas [Buddhists] with all the malignity of an intolerant spirit . . . yet the most orthodox among them consider Buddha himself as an incarnation of Vishnu: this is a contradiction hard to be reconciled.58

In several passages, Jones refers to the Buddha as a reformer of the Brahmin tradition, but he is also unclear as to whether the Buddha is a historical or mythological figure.59 Following Giorgi’s lead, Jones chooses to split the knot and suppose there were two Buddhas: one mythical, one historical. According to Jones, the first Buddha is the mythical avatara of Vishnu. The second, historical Buddha is of African origin. He claims that the people living in the Bengal and Bihar regions of India were originally from the African continent, particularly Ethiopia, and that the Buddha images seen in the region are evidence of this.60

Jones even consults the Amarakosha by Amarasimha (ca. 4th century ce) to justify his supposition that there were two Buddhas. According to Jones, the Amarakośa provides eighteen names of “Buddha-in-general,” such as “Muni, Sastri, Munindra, Vinacaya, Samantabhadra, Dhermaraja, Sugata and the like,” and the names of a “particular-Buddha-Muni-who-descended-in-the-family-of-Sacya,” such as “Sacyamuni, Sacyasinha, Servarthasiddha, Saudhodani, Gautama, Arcabandhu, or kinsman of the sun, and Mayadevisuta, or child of Maya.”61 Finding no resolution in the Amarakosha, Jones turns to his teachers, Radhakanta and Ramalocana, for answers. Radhakanta explained that the first set of names includes general epithets and the second set lists proper names, or patronymics, of one person. Rāmalocana noted that “Buddha might mean a sage or a philosopher, though Budha was the word commonly used for a mere wise man without supernatural powers.”62 Jones concludes that the Sacyasinha Buddha, whom the Brahmins praised, was the avatara of Vishnu, and the other Buddha was a latter-day follower of the first, who assumed “his name and character, attempted to oversee the whole system of the Brahmans, and was the cause of that persecution, from which the Bauddhas are known to have fled into very distant regions.”63 Locating the two Buddhas historically was, for Jones, a lynchpin for providing an accurate chronology of Indian civilization from its earliest moments to his present. Yet to do so, Jones relies on figures such as Giorgi, who were working entirely from secondhand information.

The early works of de Torres, Valignano, Rodrigues, Kircher, Giorgi, and Kaempfer were the main sources of information for Europeans’ knowledge of Buddhism and its various iterations across Asia. The claims of these figures—particularly the notion that the Buddha taught an inner materialist and outer moralist doctrine, the idea that there were “two Buddhas,” and the so-called African hypothesis—remained influential throughout the 18th century, with works by Bernard and Picart, Diderot, D’Alambert, and Jones. The next section investigates the 19th-century “discovery” of Buddhism as an artifact of modern philology, with particular attention to Burnouf’s 1844 Introduction to the History of Indian Buddhism.

The “Discovery” of Buddhism in the 19th Century

The efforts of Jones, Halhed, and Wilkins, as well as Alexander Hamilton (1762–1824; a cousin of the American statesman by the same name), and Henry Thomas Colebrooke (1765–1837) would be influential in the establishment of a new subfield in modern philology: Indology. Typically, histories of Indology draw a line from the British civil servants trained in India, such as Wilkins, Hamilton, and Colebrooke; to their French and German students; and onward through successive generations of scholars through the 19th century. However, since that historical line is focused on Hindu Sanskrit literature, a detailed recounting of it is not necessary here. Suffice it to say that Indologists in Europe benefited from a productive tension—both in terms of professional appointments and intellectual resources—with classical philologists. Though obscure in its time, Michel-Jean-François Ozeray’s (1764–1859) Research on Buddou or Bouddou, Religious Teacher of East Asia has been described as the “First Western Book on Buddhism and Buddha.”64

Ozeray’s approach and the conclusions he reached were ahead of their time, but only by a few decades. Ozeray did not rely on missionary sources, only on travelogues; and unlike his contemporaries, he supposed there was only one Buddha who had one teaching (the exoteric moral one).65 Further, Ozeray was unique in supposing that the Buddha was a human being who was later deified. “It is a fact that cannot be contested,” Ozeray claims:

Buddha is a famous personage who has not been wrested from oblivion by an industrial annalist or an able antiquarian. He has not become known through an inscription or a medallion but rather through his life and his morals. Removed from the altar on which blindness and superstition had placed him, Buddha is a distinguished philosopher (un philosophe distingué), a sage born for the happiness of his fellow creatures and for the good of humanity.66

But why was the Buddha placed upon that vaunted altar? Why was he not remembered simply as a distinguished philosopher? For Ozeray, the answer lies in the character of Asian peoples as uniquely superstitious. In Ozeray’s view, people of all civilizations “appear hungry for marvels,” but it is only Asia that “lacks all spirit of critique and analysis, [and] adopts with extreme ease the most extravagant fables.” Ozeray firmly believed that the divinization of the Buddha simply could not have taken place in Europe.67

Ozeray was just one of several voices challenging the consensus of the previous century. Two key figures who joined in during the 1820s were the French Sinologist Jean-Pierre Abel-Rémusat (1788–1832) and Brian Houghton Hodgson (1801–1894), an EIC Resident based in Kathmandu, Nepal. Abel-Rémusat was deeply critical of the African hypothesis, and he published an essay entitled “On Some Epithets of the Buddha, which Show that Buddha Did Not Belong to the Black Race” not once but twice, first in the Journal des savans in 1819 and again in Mélanges asiatiques in 1826. In his essay, Abel-Rémusat looks to the descriptions of the thirty-two mahapurusha lakshana, or “marks of a great person,” and anuvyañjana, or eighty minor attributes of the Buddha found in the Amarakosha to demonstrate that the Buddha’s traits “belong obviously to the Indian race, and that it is impossible to apply to that of the blacks of Africa.”68 Three traits, according to Abel-Rémusat, clearly betray the Indian provenance of the Buddha: his suvarnavarna, or golden complexion, his urdhvagoroma, or bluish-black hair, and his tunganasah, or “prominent” nose.69

Abel-Rémusat also points to the unanimous agreement among the Buddhist traditions regarding the Indian character of the Buddha as further evidence for his claim:

His [i.e., the Buddha’s] birth once admitted as a historical fact, all traditions, without exception, agree to place it in kingdoms of central India: it is a fact established by too many testimonies, all agree together, independent of each other, so that it is necessary to stop there.70

Unfortunately, Abel-Rémusat’s life was cut short by cholera in 1832. At the time of his passing, he was working on a translation of the Foguoji (Record of Buddhist kingdoms) by the Chinese Buddhist pilgrim Faxian (337– ca. 422 ce). While the text itself was fairly short, Abel-Rémusat compiled effusive notes on the places mentioned in the record to elucidate their importance for the chronology of the Buddha’s life and for the early history of Indian Buddhism. Abel-Rémusat’s translation, entitled Foe kuoe ki; ou, relations de royaumes bouddhique, was published posthumously in 1836 with the help of fellow Sinologists Julius von Klaproth (1783–1835) and Ernest Augustin Xavier Clerc de Landresse (1800–1862). As noted by Lopez, “Until 1844, the Foe kuoe ki was the most detailed study of Buddhism to be produced in Europe, and it remains a lasting testimony to how much of the Indian Buddhist tradition can be accurately understood from Chinese sources.”71 Max Deeg shows, however, that Abel-Rémusat’s studies and translations did little to move the needle away from the African hypothesis or convince others of the utility of Chinese Buddhist travelogues for historical research.72 Deeg points out that it was only at the turn of the 20th century that the travelogues by Faxian and other Chinese Buddhist pilgrims would be embraced as a trove of valuable information on early Indian Buddhism.73

Hodgson also contributed to the conversation challenging the consensus view of the previous century. Hodgson was educated at the EIC College at Haileybury, where he excelled in his studies of Bengali, political economy, and the classics. He graduated in 1817 and arrived in Calcutta the following year. The climate of Bengal did not suit Hodgson, and between that, his active lifestyle as a young civil servant, and his studies at the College of Fort William, he quickly faced a breakdown in his health. Upon examining Hodgson, his medical adviser gave him this choice: “six feet underground, resign the service, or get a hill-appointment”74; Hodgson opted for a hill-appointment. This first sent him to Kumaon (present-day Uttarakhand, India) and then to the EIC residency in Kathmandu, where he arrived in October 1820. Hodgson would attempt another assignment in Bengal in 1822, but he fell ill again and returned to Kathmandu. By early 1824, Hodgson was a Resident in Kathmandu, where he would remain for more than two decades. He returned there with a mandate from a superior, Henry Thoby Prinsep (1792–1878), who helped him secure another position at the residency, to “go back to Nepal and master the subject in all its phases.”75

In the ensuing years. Hodgson would begin to make a name for himself as an orientalist and naturalist. He collected artifacts and texts from Bhotiyan and Tibetan migrants whom he had befriended; he also commissioned local chitrakars, members of the Newar Buddhist artist caste, to draw portraits of the indigenous wildlife and the architecture of various temples. It was through his employment of the chitrakars that he was introduced to the Newar Buddhist pandit and Vajracarya Amritananda (ca. 1774–1835). Amritananda acted as Hodgson’s principal informant and supplier of Buddhist manuscripts until his passing in the 1830s. One of Hodgson’s earliest studies of Buddhism was his 1828 “Sketch of Buddhism, Derived from the Bauddha Scriptures of Nipál,” which provides an enumeration of numerous Buddhist texts extant in Sanskrit as well as a set of questions posed to Amritananda on articles of Buddhist thought. Hodgson asks such questions as “How and when was the world conceived?” “What is matter, and what is spirit?” “Is the pleasure of God derived from action or repose?”76 Amritananda tries to answer these slanted questions to the best of his ability.

Although Hodgson’s “Sketch” is better remembered for its erroneous positing of a system of four Buddhist schools—the Svabhavika, Aishvarika, Karmika, and Yatnika—it also contains criticism of the African hypothesis.77 Question 8 of Hodgson’s “Sketch” asks: “What is the reason for the Buddha being represented with curled locks?” In Hodgson’s rendering, Amritananda notes that the Buddha is said to have had “thirty-two points of beauty (lakshanas),” one of which is his curled locks; and “there is no other reason for Buddha’s being represented with curled locks.”78 Similar to Abel-Rémusat, Hodgson points out that there is unanimous agreement among the testimony of Buddhists regarding the Indian heritage of the Buddha.

The Chinese, the Mongols, the Tibetans, the Indo-Chinese, the Japanese, Ceylonese, and other Indian Islanders, all point to India as the father-land of their creed. . . . The records of Buddhism in Nepaul and in Tibet, in both of which countries the people and their mother-tongues are of the Mongol stock, are still either Sanskrit or avowed translations from it by Indian pandits. Nor is there a single record or monument of this faith in existence which bears intrinsic or extrinsic evidence of an extra Indian origin.79

For Hodgson and Abel-Rémusat, the unanimity of the Buddhist traditions of Asia on this matter provide sufficient evidence of the Buddha’s Indian provenance.

Despite having a learned pandit at his side, Hodgson seems to have gotten several things wrong regarding Buddhism, such as Pali being used prior to Sanskrit for the inscription of Buddhist sutras.80 However, Hodgson did make some enduring contributions. First, he took a quasi-historicist approach to matters of textual authority—meaning, he presumed that the older a text was, the more authentic it was. Second, he distinguished between Buddhism “as it is” and “as it ought to be,” with the most ancient sources providing the normative account.81 Third, “Hodgson was convinced . . . that beneath the sundry local manifestations across the continent of Asia, there was indeed something called Buddhism, a view unusual for a colonial official situated amid the particular manifestations of the local religion.”82 In his 1834 essay “European Speculations on Buddhism,” Hodgson claims that if Asian Buddhists still “possess and consult the primitive scriptures of their faith, either in their original language, or in careful translations, made in the best age of their church,” how can “Buddhism in several countries where it is practically used as the rule of life and of faith, fail to exhibit a common character as to essentials at least?”83 To the supposition of his time that there is no “common character” to the diversity of Buddhist traditions, Hodgson thought it would be as if to claim that “the Hebrew Old, or Greek New Testament was composed in and for Italy, France, or Spain exclusively.”84 For better or for worse, the notion that there is an original or “primitive” Indian Buddhism, encapsulated in the oldest sources and against which we can compare local traditions, has been a powerful one in the field of Buddhist studies.

Finally, Hodgson’s engagement with Amritananda allowed him access to a large corpus of Buddhist texts thought to be lost in their original language, Sanskrit. Hodgson was able to procure copies of these texts and distribute them to archives, Asiatic societies, and university libraries in England, France, and India. Between 1827 and 1845, Hodgson distributed 423 manuscripts. Lopez notes that among them were several foundational texts of the Mahayana and Vajrayana Buddhist traditions.85 The manuscripts Hodgson sent to England and India remained fairly untouched; those that went to the Collège de France in Paris, however, would be put to great use in Burnouf’s Introduction to the History of Indian Buddhism. It is important to note that we find in neither Ozeray nor Abel-Rémusat nor Hodgson a continuation of the Jesuit claim that the Buddha taught two different doctrines. What we find is an emphasis on what can be verified in Buddhist sources and empirical accounts and a crystallization of the notion of the Buddha as a singular person with one teaching.

The finer details of Burnouf’s biography and intellectual background have been covered elsewhere.86 The focus here is on his Introduction and its relationship to the Jesuit claim that the Buddha taught an inner philosophy of atheistic materialism and an outer doctrine of rebirth and karma. It will have to suffice to state that Burnouf, as a philologist coming up in the early 19th century, saw his task as a philosophical one, tracing out the earliest history of the human mind through critical examination of ancient texts. This orientation landed him on the “philology of facts” (Sachphilologie) side of the Methodenstreit with August Wilhelm von Schlegel (1767–1845) and Friedrich August Rosen (1805–1837), against the “philology of words” (Wortphilologie) represented perhaps best by the work of Franz Bopp (1791–1867).87

As noted previously, Burnouf’s Introduction was based on his study of the Sanskrit manuscripts Hodgson had sent to Paris. It should be noted that Burnouf also consulted texts found in the Tibetan Kanjur collected by the Transylvanian scholar Alexander Csoma de Kőrös (1784–1842), the Pali manuscripts collected by George Turnour (1799–1843), Abel-Rémusat’s Chinese translations, and Mongolian texts translated by the Moravian missionary Isaac Jacob Schmidt (1779–1847), among other sources. One clue to his approach is found in the “Preliminary Observations” section of his work, where he points out that many of the texts found in the Tibetan, Mongolian, Burmese, and Chinese canons are translations of Sanskrit and Pali originals; thus, the purpose they serve for his study is to render intelligible the original texts they reproduce.88 Burnouf’s method was to work from primary sources in their original language as much as possible, with the use of translations to cover the places where no original was available. This method, empirical and positivist in its orientation, resembles Hodgson’s quasi-historicist supposition of Buddhism as it is and as it ought to be far more than it resembles the 16th-century Jesuit suppositions regarding Buddhism.

At the close of the “General Description” of his text, Burnouf relays the difficulties he faced in producing it. Burnouf mentions the presence of a small cadre of scholars, resistant to the authority of texts and proudly immovable in their opinions founded on “common sense.”89 Such scholars had not read any texts, but they had already figured out all they needed to know. They claimed Buddhism “a venerable cult born in Central Asia” or “a miserable counterfeit of Nestorianism”; they made the Buddha “a Negro, because he had frizzy hair; a Mongol, because he had slanted eyes; a Scythe, because he was called Śākya.”90 What we see here is Burnouf strongly delineating his own approach from that of this small cadre; he is dismissing their speculations about the Buddha as an African (Kaempfer, Kircher) and his teaching as a cult born in Central Asia (Rodrigues, Kircher) or a counterfeit of Nestorianism (Giorgi). Burnouf is not relying on the premises found in the Jesuit sources like Rodrigues, Kircher, and Giorgi and is attempting to do away with them.

In the rare instances that Burnouf does rely on Jesuit sources, we find that his use of them is critical. The one Jesuit source Burnouf cites with some frequency is Giorgi’s Alphabetum Tibetanum, which he describes as a compilation that “contains curious information that would merit being verified and extracts of hodgepodge in the middle of which he [Giorgi] has embedded it.”91 Throughout the Introduction, one finds Burnouf citing Giorgi only to correct him, especially in the appendix entitled “On the Names of the Gods among the Buddhists.”92 As Lopez observes, “Burnouf’s anticlerical sentiments occasionally overwhelm his usually charitable attitude toward the work of other scholars.”93 Notwithstanding his citation of Giorgi, Burnouf’s sources for his study are composed in English, French, and German rather than Portuguese, Spanish, or Latin.

Lopez notes that we find four novel approaches in Burnouf’s Introduction: Indianization, Sanskritization, Textualization, and Humanization. Lopez claims that humanization placed the Buddha “not in a pantheon of idols or even gods, but in a pantheon of philosophers.”94 We might ask how it is that Burnouf humanizes the Buddha to understand him as a philosopher? If he is not relying on the Jesuit sources for his understanding, what resources might he have at his disposal? This is where we turn our attention to the recent study of Burnouf’s work by Martino Dibeltulo Concu.

In Section 2 of the Introduction, “Discourses of Śākya,” Burnouf looks at the literature of the sutras, attempting to understand their content historically and philosophically. He identifies two basic groups of sutras: the group he calls “simply sutras” (simplement Sûtras), or “ordinary sutras” (Sûtras ordinaire), and another group he refers to as the sutras of “great development,” his translation of the term mahavaipulya.95 It is the ordinary sutras, according to Burnouf, that provide a glimpse into the historical realities of the Buddha’s life and time: “the scene of the first [ordinary sutras] is India, the actors are humans and some inferior divinities; and save for the power to make miracles that Śākya and his foremost disciples possess, what occurs there seems natural and plausible.”96 This is to say, the delineation between the two is premised on the plausibility for Burnouf of what is contained in the ordinary sutras in contrast to the more mythical sutras of great development.

According to Dibeltulo Concu, “The issue of the simple sūtras, then, concerned the definition of Śākyamuni’s human life. This definition issued from what Burnouf doubted and what he believed.”97 His primary example of this is Burnouf’s gloss on the Mandhatavadana of the Divyavadana, which recounts the Buddha’s relinquishment of his psychic powers (riddhi), which led to his immanent parinirvana, and the karmic roots of this in his previous life as the power-hungry prince Mandhatri. While Dibeltulo Concu notes that Burnouf seriously misunderstands the nature of the Buddha’s psychic powers due to a translation error, what is important is that Burnouf claims that the Buddha’s powers are not plausible and are therefore a matter of belief. On this basis, Dibeltulo Concu claims that “the relation between Buddhism [as a religion] and philosophy is empowered by what it excludes”; that is, magic, expressed as the Buddha’s psychic powers.98 At this point, Dibeltulo Concu argues that the very condition for identifying Buddhism as a philosophy arises from the Jesuit sources of the 16th and 17th centuries.

Whereas Dibeltulo Concu supposes the tertium quid in transformation of Buddhism from a religion into a philosophy is magic, this entry proposes that it is “belief”—not just what Burnouf believed but what he presumed Buddhists believe as well. Dibeltulo Concu is correct to point out that the distinction between ordinary sutras and those of great development for Burnouf is founded on what he believed and what he doubted, but it seems that he does not interrogate this distinction in the first place. Bruno Latour has considered the character of “belief” in modern society at some length. According to Latour, “belief” was and is the means by which people who call themselves modern delineate themselves from others.99 Not only is belief something they do, but we moderns know the difference between “fact” and “belief”; others are not capable of this distinction. Against the fetish objects of the other, the moderns cast themselves as antifetishists; against foreign idolatry, the moderns describe themselves as iconoclasts. We precisely saw this with Ozeray, who stated in his Research on Buddou that the Buddha was only deified due to the credulity of Asian people. Much the same logic is at play in Burnouf’s Introduction.

One example from the Introduction illustrates Burnouf’s point of view. In discussing the worship of stupas and whether the Buddha requested a funeral in the manner of a cakravartin, Burnouf is skeptical that stupa worship dated back to the Buddha’s lifetime. To justify his position, he responds to an objection a Buddhist might make against the “impious doubts of the European skeptic.”100 Speaking as this hypothetical Buddhist, Burnouf notes that record of the Buddha giving away his hair and nail clippings provides a rationale for supposing he wished for his relics to be venerated. Replying as the impious critic, Burnouf finds the objection from his Buddhist plausible, though he notes that the accounts mentioned “are ordinarily mingled with fantastic circumstances,” meaning they should be met with more suspicion. Here, he points to Tibetan Buddhist veneration of lamas and tülkus as an example of worship gone horribly wrong: the “stupid respect they have for their lamas has them prostrating before the most disgusting relics that human superstition has invented.”101

To Burnouf, it is inconceivable that the “pure and chaste Śākya” could give way to the “ignoble cult” of the Tibetans. It was only by way of a “succession of pitiable analogies” that lead from Shakya to the Tibetan Buddhists, and this is itself was due to the “fervor of adoration that has never been lacking in India.”102 Either the facts are true, and one cannot hold that the Buddha recommended the veneration of his relics, or they were invented, and one must conclude that “Buddhism, like all human institutions, has been subjected over the course of time to modifications easy to understand, and that the books the tradition has preserved for us have followed this movement and have been modified under its influence.”103 Burnouf can differentiate between the plausible facts of the Buddha’s life and the inventions of the tradition that followed, but in his view, the Buddhists’ “fervor of adoration” keeps them from clearly seeing this delineation—that is, where the European critic is capable, the other is not.

This section has shown how figures such as Ozeray, Abel-Rémusat, and Hodgson in the early 19th century sought to challenge the consensus view of the prior century, particularly the African hypothesis. They adopted an empirical and historicist orientation to the study of Buddhism, eschewing the speculative conclusions that were popular at the time. It also considered Burnouf’s work in light of the claims made by App and Dibeltulo Concu. Burnouf’s statements on his method speak to his decisive break from the assumptions found in the Jesuit sources. His use of Jesuit sources, such as Giorgi, is thoroughly critical; and his identification of the Buddha as a human philosopher is premised not on the Jesuit distinction between an inner and outer doctrine but on his presumption that he could differentiate fact from belief.

Conclusion

This article has explored the Jesuit missionary accounts of Buddhism composed in the 16th century, with a focus on the construction of the inner–outer doctrine and described how these sources were taken up and parroted by others in the 17th and 18th centuries. In the 19th century, Buddhism was “discovered” by European scholars, including Eugène Burnouf, whose work presented a decisive break from the Jesuit sources and their premises. Burnouf’s portrayal of the Buddha as a human philosopher hinged on his own presumption that he could differentiate fact from belief.

This entry has not focused on Burnouf’s Introduction and the break it represents to portray Burnouf in a heroic or triumphant manner. Rather, the intention is to shed light on the cultural assumptions that serve as the foundation for the field of Buddhist studies, namely, the assumption by Burnouf, as a modern person, to be able to delineate between facts and belief and the inability of Asian Buddhists to do the same. In defending the position taken by Masuzawa and Droit, this entry has endeavored to show that the “scientific” study of Buddhism that began in the 19th century, while indeed a break from the approach of prior centuries and a step toward more accurate portrayals of Buddhism in Western scholarship, works on deep-seated Eurocentric premises about who is capable of critical thinking and who is not. Of course, there is not much new here, as Masuzawa’s study on “world religions” sought to demonstrate the Eurocentric patterns of thought baked into the very concept. What this entry can offer in conclusion, by way of Latour’s analysis of “belief” mentioned earlier, is another way to interrogate the distorting efforts of the term itself and how these play out in the field of Buddhist studies.

According to Latour, belief is not a characteristic of nonmodern others but is something we suppose they do; thus, the only belief to be found on the scene is our own—“belief in belief” as he calls it. For us moderns, belief in belief depends on and reinforces “the distinction between knowledge and illusion, or rather . . . on the separation of practical life—which does not maintain this distinction—and theoretical life, which maintains it.”104 Just like the others, we have our own fetishes—what Latour, playing on the shared etymology of “fact” and “fetish,” calls “factishes” (in French it is far more clever wordplay). His example of a factish is Louis Pasteur’s observations of and experiments on microbes—something of human manufacture that nonetheless is capable of transcending its maker and gaining an agency of its own. “Whereas we fabricate them [scientific objects such as Pasteur’s microbes] in our laboratories with our colleagues, our instruments, and our hands,” Latour states, “facts are supposed to become, by some magical effort of reversal, something that no one has ever fabricated.”105 Likewise, we can understand Burnouf’s portrayal of the Buddha as a human philosopher as a factish; that is, something fabricated at the philologer’s desk, which, “by some magical reversal,” is taken never to have been fabricated at all. Yet one might be tempted to wonder what the implications of this are for the field and what does the factish tell us about our methodologies?

It means breaking with our antifetishism in theory and recognizing it in our practices. We see this in the act of writing, when we are carried away by what we have written. “In all our activities,” Latour states, “what we fabricate goes beyond us. On the same basis as novelists, researchers, or sorcerers, so too politicians are challenged to lie on the Procrustean bed, unless they wish to be called liars.”106 Beginning to recognize this tendency in our practices will help to loosen the grip of the four coordinates of the modern repertoire: subjects, objects, theory, and practice. Recognition of how factishes pass through us can align theory with practice. What is more daunting, however, is working through the subject–object break.

This break between subjects and objects establishes two discrete domains of activity: interiority and exteriority. According to Latour, the interior domain is “filled with hollow dreams, having no reference whatsoever to the reality known only to the exact or social sciences”; this is the domain of beliefs, affects, and fantasies, which have no connection to the facts. The exterior domain is that of intransigent things “out there,” the stuff of facts to be discovered by the sciences. Previous attempts to break this down have only sought to render one domain in the terms of the other. For example, the moderns have sought to describe the subject domain as “the temporary capacitance emerging from a neural network; a phenotype of a genotype; the conscious of the unconscious; the ‘cultural idiot’ of a social structure; a consumer of world markets.”107 Neither is it a matter of believing with others, for as far as belief is at play it stands in contradistinction to facts and thereby gets in the way. Rather, following the Chinese adage to look where the finger points and not at the finger itself, Latour suggests that we follow where one’s actions go, to pay attention to what our actions produce and how what is produced is capable of transcending the particulars of its fabrication. Following actions and what passes through an action can serve to de-interiorize both ourselves and the others we study. While the adoption of postcolonial theory has been quite productive for the field of Buddhist studies, there is more to be done when it comes to grappling with the methodological foundations of the field. I believe Latour’s analysis of belief and his notion of the factish, key to his “anthropology of the moderns,” can provide direction for this methodological work.

Further Reading

  • Allen, Charles. The Prisoner of Kathmandu: Brian Hodgson in Nepal, 1820–1843. London: Haus Publishing, 2015.
  • Almond, Philip C. The British Discovery of Buddhism. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1988.
  • Amstutz, Galen. Interpreting Amida: History and Orientalism in the Study of Pure Land Buddhism. Buddhist Studies Series. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1997.
  • Berwitz, Stephen C. Buddhist Poetry and Colonialism: Alagiyavanna and the Portuguese in Sri Lanka. New York: Oxford University Press, 2013.
  • Hallisey, Charles. “Roads Not Taken in the Study of Theravāda Buddhism.” In Curators of the Buddha: The Study of Buddhism under Colonialism. Edited by Donald S. Lopez, Jr., 31–62. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995.
  • Hösle, Vittorio. “The Search for the Orient in German Idealism.” Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft 163, no. 2 (2013): 431–454.
  • Lopez, Donald S., Jr., and Thupten Jinpa. Dispelling the Darkness: A Jesuit’s Quest for the Soul of Tibet. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2017.
  • Rocher, Rosane, and Ludo Rocher. The Making of Western Indology: Henry Thomas Colebrooke and the East India Company. London: Routledge for the Royal Asiatic Society, 2011.
  • Subrahmanyam, Sanjay. Europe’s India: Words, People, Empires, 1500–1800. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2017.
  • Waterhouse, David M. “Brian Hodgson: A Biographical Sketch.” In The Origin of Himalayan Studies: Brian Houghton Hodgson in Nepal and Darjeeling, 1820–1858. Royal Asiatic Society Books Series. Edited by David M. Waterhouse, 1–24. New York, NY: Routledge Curzon, 2004.

Notes

  • 1. Donald S. Lopez Jr., ed., Curators of the Buddha: The Study of Buddhism Under Colonialism (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995).

  • 2. Urs App, The Birth of Orientalism (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2010); and App, The Cult of Emptiness: The Western Discovery of Buddhism and the Invention of Oriental Philosophy (Wil, Switzerland: UniversityMedia, 2012.

  • 3. Tomoko Masuzawa, The Invention of World Religions; Or How European Universalism was Preserved in the Language of Pluralism (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2005); and Roger-Pol Droit, The Cult of Nothingness: The Philosophers of the Buddha, trans. David Streight and Pamela Vohnson (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2003).

  • 4. Martino Dibeltulo Concu, “Buddhism, Philosophy, History: On Eugène Burnouf’s Simple Sūtras,” Journal of Indian Philosophy 45 (2017): 473–511; and Donald S. Lopez Jr., “Burnouf and the Birth of Buddhist Studies,” The Eastern Buddhist 43, nos. 1–2 (2012): 25–34.

  • 5. Bruno Latour, On the Modern Cult of the Factish Gods, trans. Heather McLean and Catherine Porter (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2010).

  • 6. Urs App, The Cult of Emptiness, 12–13.

  • 7. App, Cult of Emptiness, 11–77.

  • 8. App, Cult of Emptiness, 13.

  • 9. Jason Ānanda Josephson, The Invention of Religion in Japan (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2012), 26.

  • 10. Josephson, Invention of Religion in Japan, 25.

  • 11. App, Cult of Emptiness, 34, 53.

  • 12. App, Cult of Emptiness, 36.

  • 13. App, Cult of Emptiness, 45.

  • 14. App, Cult of Emptiness, 45.

  • 15. App, Cult of Emptiness, 35.

  • 16. Peter Harrison, The Territories of Science and Religion (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2015), 97.

  • 17. Eric Lund, ed., Documents in the History of Lutheranism, 1517–1750 (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2002), 170.

  • 18. Harrison, Territories of Science and Religion, 97.

  • 19. Harrison, Territories of Science and Religion, 98.

  • 20. Harrison, Territories of Science and Religion, 98.

  • 21. Harrison, Territories of Science and Religion, 99.

  • 22. Masuzawa, Invention of World Religions, 59.

  • 23. Masuzawa, Invention of World Religions, 60–61.

  • 24. Masuzawa, Invention of World Religions, 61.

  • 25. Masuzawa, Invention of World Religions, 101–102.

  • 26. Masuzawa, Invention of World Religions, 61.

  • 27. Masuzawa, Invention of World Religions, 62.

  • 28. Masuzawa, Invention of World Religions, 62–63.

  • 29. Harrison, Territories of Science and Religion.

  • 30. App, Cult of Emptiness, 91–110, 111–128.

  • 31. App, Cult of Emptiness, 127.

  • 32. Louis J. Gallagher, trans., China in the Sixteenth Century: The Journals of Matteo Ricci, 1583–1610, 2nd ed. (New York: Random House, 1953), 98–99, 101.

  • 33. Gallagher, China in the Sixteenth Century, 103.

  • 34. Gallagher, China in the Sixteenth Century, 93–98.

  • 35. Gerhard Strasser, “The Impact on the European Humanities of Early Reports from Catholic Missionaries from China, Tibet and Japan Between 1600 and 1700,” in Making of the Humanities, Vol. II: From Early Modern to Modern Disciplines, ed. Rens Bod, Jaap Maat and Thijs Westeijn (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2012), 192.

  • 36. Engelbert Kaempfer, The History of Japan: Together with a Description of the Kingdom of Siam, vol. 3 trans. J. G. Scheuchzer (Glasgow: J. Maclehose and Sons, 1906), 2:56.

  • 37. Kaempfer, History of Japan, 1:66.

  • 38. Donald S. Lopez Jr., ed., From Stone to Flesh: A Short History of the Buddha (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 2013), 66–67.

  • 39. Lopez, From Stone to Flesh, 145.

  • 40. Kaempfer, History of Japan, 1:66.

  • 41. Donald S. Lopez Jr., ed., Strange Tales of an Oriental Idol: An Anthology of Early Modern Portrayals of the Buddha (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2016), 142.

  • 42. Lopez, Strange Tales of an Oriental Idol, 142.

  • 43. Urs App, “The Tibet of the Philosophers: Kant, Hegel, and Schopenhauer,” in Images of Tibet in the 19th and 20th Centuries, ed. Monica Esposito (Paris: EFEO, 2008), 18–22.

  • 44. Lopez, Strange Tales of an Oriental Idol, 130–138.

  • 45. Lopez, Strange Tales of an Oriental Idol, 143.

  • 46. Lopez, Strange Tales of an Oriental Idol, 143.

  • 47. Lopez, Strange Tales of an Oriental Idol, 143–144.

  • 48. Lopez, From Stone to Flesh, 39.

  • 49. James Turner, Philology: The Forgotten Origins of the Modern Humanities (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2014), 92–93.

  • 50. Turner, Philology, 93.

  • 51. William Jones, “Lettre à Monsieur A*** de P***, dans laquelle et compris l’examen de sa traduction des livres attribuées à Zoroastre,” (London: Elmisly, 1771).

  • 52. Michael S. Dodson, Orientalism, Empire, and National Culture: India 1770–1880 (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007), 48–49.

  • 53. Dodson, Orientalism, Empire, and National Culture, 23; and Rocher (1983): 48–73.

  • 54. Om Prakash Kejariwal, The Asiatic Society of Bengal and the Discovery of India’s Past (Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1988), 21.

  • 55. Turner, Philology, 99.

  • 56. William Jones, “On the Hindus,” Asiatic Researches 1 (1788): 415–431. While Jones is often given credit for being the first to identify the Indo-European family of languages, Anquetil-Duperron and others had stumbled on the same conclusion around the same time as Jones, if not prior to him, in their own analyses. See Rosane Rocher, “Lord Monboddo, Sanskrit and Comparative Linguistics,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 100, no. 1 (1980): 12–17; and Siep Stuurman, “Cosmopolitan Egalitarianism in the Enlightenment: Anquetil Duperron on India and America,” Journal of the History of Ideas 68, no. 2 (2007): 255–278.

  • 57. Turner, Philology, 99 (emphasis in original).

  • 58. William Jones, “On the Chronology of the Hindus,” Asiatic Researches 2 (1789): 97.

  • 59. William Jones, “On the Gods of Greece, Italy, and India.” Asiatic Researches 1 (1788b): 221–275.

  • 60. Jones, “On the Hindus,” 427–428.

  • 61. Jones, “On the Chronology of the Hindus,” 97.

  • 62. Jones, “On the Chronology of the Hindus,” 97.

  • 63. Jones, “On the Chronology of the Hindus,” 98.

  • 64. Urs App and Michel-Jean-François Ozeray, The First Western Book on Buddhism and Buddha (Wil & Paris: UniversityMedia, 2017).

  • 65. App and Ozeray, First Western Book on Buddhism and Buddha, 2017.

  • 66. App and Ozeray, First Western Book on Buddhism and Buddha, 278–279.

  • 67. App and Ozeray, First Western Book on Buddhism and Buddha, 146–147. As noted later, Burnouf’s approach bears a striking resemblance to that of Ozeray.

  • 68. Jean-Pierre Abel-Rémusat, “Sur quelques épithètes descriptives de Bouddha, qui font voir que Bouddha n’appartenant pas la race nègre,” Mélanges asiatique, 1 (1825): 104.

  • 69. Abel-Rémusat, “Sur quelques épithètes descriptives de Bouddha,” 104–110.

  • 70. Abel-Rémusat, “Sur quelques épithètes descriptives de Bouddha,” 110.

  • 71. Lopez, From Stone to Flesh, 180.

  • 72. Max Deeg, “The Historical Turn: How Chinese Buddhist Travelogues Changed Western Perception of Buddhism,” Hualin International Journal of Buddhist Studies 1, no. 1 (2018): 49–52.

  • 73. Deeg, “Historical Turn,” 62–67.

  • 74. William Wilson Hunter, Life of Brian Houghton Hodgson, British Resident at the Court of Nepal (London: John Murray, 1896), 31.

  • 75. Hunter, Life of Brian Houghton Hodgson, 84.

  • 76. Brian H. Hodgson, “Sketch of Buddhism, Derived from the Bauddha Scriptures of Nipál,” Transactions of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland 2, no. 1 (1828): 232, 235, 237.

  • 77. David N. Gellner, “Hodgson’s Blind Alley? On the So-Called Schools of Nepalese Buddhism,” Journal of the International Association of Buddhist Studies 12, no. 1 (1989): 7–18; and Donald S. Lopez Jr., ed., “The Ambivalent Exegete: Hodgson’s Contribution to the Study of Buddhism,” in The Origin of Himalayan Studies: Brian Houghton Hodgson in Nepal and Darjeeling, 1820–1858, ed. David M. Waterhouse (New York: Routledge Curzon, 2004), 49–76.

  • 78. Brian H. Hodgson, Essays on the Language, Literature, and Religion in Nepál and Tibet (London: Trübner, 1874), 46–47.

  • 79. Hodgson, Essays on the Language, Literature, and Religion in Nepál and Tibet, 67.

  • 80. Lopez, “Ambivalent Exegete,” 62–63.

  • 81. Hodgson, Essays on the Language, Literature, and Religion in Nepál and Tibet, 41.

  • 82. Lopez, “Ambivalent Exegete,” 64.

  • 83. Hodgson, Essays on the Language, Literature, and Religion in Nepál and Tibet, 100.

  • 84. Hodgson, Essays on the Language, Literature, and Religion in Nepál and Tibet, 100.

  • 85. Lopez, “Ambivalent Exegete,” 55.

  • 86. See Thomas Calobrisi, “Beyond Belief: How a French Text on Indian Buddhism Changed American Culture,” (PhD diss., Graduate Theological Union, 2021), ProQuest no. 28411633, 56–71; Lopez, “Burnouf and the Birth of Buddhist Studies”; Lopez, From Stone to Flesh, 195–211; Pascale Rabault-Feuerhahn, Archive of Origins: Sanskrit, Philology, Anthropology in the 19th Century, trans. Dominique Bach and Richard Willet (Baden, Germany: Waxmann Verlag, 2013), 114–118; and Akira Yuyama, “Eugène Burnouf: The Background to his Research into the Lotus Sutra,” Bibliotheca Philologica et Philosophica Buddhica Series, vol. III (Tokyo: International Research Institute for Advanced Buddhology, Soka University, 2000).

  • 87. For more on the Methodenstreit, see Henning Trüper, Orientalism, Philology, and the Illegibility of the Modern World (New York: Bloomsbury Academic, 2020), 39–44; Constanze Güthenke, “Enthusiasm Dwells Only in Specialization: Classical Philology and Disciplinarity in Nineteenth Germany,” in World Philology, ed. Sheldon Pollock, Benjamin A. Elman, and Ku-ming Kevin Chang (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2014), 276–284; and Anthony Grafton, “From Polyhistor to Philolog: Notes on the Transformation of German Classical Scholarship, 1780–1850,” History of Universities 3 (1983): 171–185.

  • 88. Eugène Burnouf, Introduction to the History of Indian Buddhism, trans. Katia Buffetrille and Donald S. Lopez Jr. (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 2010), 62.

  • 89. Burnouf, Introduction to the History of Indian Buddhism, 112.

  • 90. Burnouf, Introduction to the History of Indian Buddhism, 112–113.

  • 91. Burnouf, Introduction to the History of Indian Buddhism, 333n188.

  • 92. Burnouf, Introduction to the History of Indian Buddhism, 547–568.

  • 93. Donald S. Lopez, “Introduction to the Translation,” in Introduction to the History of Indian Buddhism, ed. Burnouf, 20.

  • 94. Lopez, “Burnouf and the Birth of Buddhist Studies,” 33.

  • 95. Burnouf, Introduction to the History of Indian Buddhism, 117.

  • 96. Burnouf, Introduction to the History of Indian Buddhism, 125.

  • 97. Concu, “Buddhism, Philosophy, and History,” 489.

  • 98. Concu, “Buddhism, Philosophy, and History,” 474n2.

  • 99. Latour, On the Modern Cult of the Factish Gods, 2.

  • 100. Burnouf, Introduction to the History of Indian Buddhism, 343.

  • 101. Burnouf, Introduction to the History of Indian Buddhism, 344.

  • 102. Burnouf, Introduction to the History of Indian Buddhism, 344.

  • 103. Burnouf, Introduction to the History of Indian Buddhism, 344.

  • 104. Latour, On the Modern Cult of Factish Gods, 11–12.

  • 105. Latour, On the Modern Cult of Factish Gods, 18.

  • 106. Latour, On the Modern Cult of Factish Gods, 22–23.

  • 107. Latour, On the Modern Cult of Factish Gods, 41.