Westerners who profess and call themselves Buddhists are, and will probably remain, few in numbers— however distinguished and worthy. Organised Buddhism in Christian or once-Christian countries is, and will probably remain, negligible. But a good Buddhist cares little for what he calls ‘names and forms’; and Buddhism is a force which a Christian even in the West can no longer ignore.

It is alleged (such rumours arc hard to check) that in several European countries images of the Buddha outsell crucifixes and madonnas by a considerable margin; it is certain that there are British manufacturers and merchants who will supply you with both or either with detached impartiality. It is astonishing to find in how many British homes—and those by no means only of the more ‘educated’ classes—a Buddha is installed. Of course, to their owners they are just ‘art’ or ornament, as inevitable almost as the Van Gogh Sunflower or the crazy pavement. And, lest there be any mistake about it, the Buddha will, as often as not, be found fulfilling some such utilitarian function as supporting an electric lamp or propping up a row of novels. But, if the owner is deceived, the good Buddhist is not—and the good psychologist will understand him. An image of the Buddha inculcates Buddhism (whether we call it that or no) more effectively and profoundly than many books about it. Even if we set aside the subtler symbolism of Buddhist iconography (and to those in the know, every single feature is charged with significance—the posture, the gesture of the hands, the curve of each finger, the very folds of the drapery), the appeal of a Buddha-image to a modem Westerner is understandable, however little he may consciously avert to it.