inary miracles, but these are just the
instances in which we can most clearly trace the addition of
embellishments.

2

The elaboration of marvellous episodes is regarded in India as a
legitimate form of literary art, no more blameable than dramatization,
and in sacred writings it flourishes unchecked. In Hinduism, as in
Buddhism, there is not wanting a feeling that the soul is weary of the
crowd of deities who demand sacrifices and promise happiness, and on the
serener heights of philosophy gods have little place. Still most forms
of Hinduism cannot like Buddhism be detached from the gods, and no
extravagance is too improbable to be included in the legends about them.
The extravagance is the more startling because their exploits form part
of quasi-historical narratives. Rama and Krishna seem to be idealized
and deified portraits of ancient heroes, who came to be regarded as
incarnations of the Almighty. This is understood by Indians to mean not
that the Almighty submitted consistently to human limitations, but that
he, though incarnate, exercised whenever it pleased him and often most
capriciously his full divine force. With this idea before them and no
historical scruples to restrain them, Indian writers tell how Krishna
held up a mountain on his finger, Indian readers accept the statement,
and crowds of pilgrims visit the scene of the exploit.

The later Buddhist writings are perhaps not less extravagant than the
Puranas, but the Pitakas are relatively sober, though not quite
consistent in their account of the Buddha's attitude to the miraculous.
Thus he encourages Sagata[716] to give a display of miracles, such as
walking in the air, in order to prepare the mind of a congregation to
whom he is going to preach, but in other narratives[717] which seem
ancient and authentic, he expresses his disapproval of such performances
(just as Christ refused to give signs), and says that they do not
"conduce to the conversion of the unconverted or to the increase of the
converted." Those who know India will easily call up a picture of how
the Bhikkhus strove to impress the crowd by exhibitions not unlike a
modern juggler's tricks and how the master stopped them. His motives are
clear: these performances had nothing to do with the essence of his
teaching. If it be true that he ever countenanced them, he soon saw his
error. He did not want people to say that he was a conjurer who knew the
Gandhara charm or any other trick. And