spirits, by propitiatory sacrifice, prevailed throughout Burma, among
all races. It is not to be supposed that the adoption of Buddhism
dispelled these superstitions. Spirit-worship is still the religion,
if it can be called a religion,--of the non-Christian Karens, Chins,
Kachins, and other non-Buddhist races. When Buddhism was adopted
by the Talaings, Burmans, and Shans, bloody sacrifice involving
the taking of animal-life, had to be abandoned. But to this day
propitiatory offerings of rice, fruit, or flowers, are made to the
spirits as before. "Animism supplies the solid constituents," says a
recent writer, "that hold the faith together, Buddhism the superficial
polish. The Burman has added to his Animism just so much of Buddhism
as suits him, and with infantile inconsequence draws solace from each
in turn." Spirit-worship is his every-day religion, Buddhism for
special occasions. Two illustrations will suffice to show how strong
a hold superstition still has upon the people. A harmless lunatic
had wandered through the streets for years. No one seemed to know
the cause, but his reason, what little he ever possessed, had been
dethroned, leaving him to wander about homeless and friendless. For
his living he had to compete with the pariah dogs in the common effort
to exist on what the people chanced to cast into the street after
finishing their meals. One of the priests, thinking to gain notoriety
as well as more substantial favours, declared that this man was a case
of demoniacal possession. This was nothing new, for it is the common
belief that _nats_ are responsible for disordered minds, sickness,
and other calamities. But the priest further suggested that the nat
that had taken up his abode in this man be exorcised by drowning
him out. A company of Burmans assembled, secured the demoniac, and
headed by the priest and tom-toms, proceeded to the river. The poor
demoniac, filthy, naked and with matted hair,--a picture of abject
helplessness,--was led by a rope to,--he knew not what. Several of
the men took the poor creature in a boat to the middle of the river,
and threw him overboard. When he tried to regain the boat they
thrust him off with their bamboo poles. When he became exhausted and
water-logged they would rescue him, only to throw him in again after
a brief breathing spell. This was repeated for several days in the
presence of the would-be wonder-worker, to the deafening sound of the
tom-toms. It is needless to add that he continued to roam the streets,
in the same condition as before. At one time when out on a tour among
jungle-villages a native Christian called my attention to a large
banyan-tree by the roadside. Up on one of the higher branches was a
large gnarl, which, by a long stretch of the imagination slightly
resembled a human face. The tree was standing there before the oldest
inhabitant was born.
The gnarl was a peculiar growth of many years. One day a passer-by
noticed a fancied resemblance to a human face, and spread the story
that the tree was haunted,--that it was the abode of a _nat_. Of
course the superstitious and gullible people believed it. A _zayat_
was quickly built under the tree; many brought offerings of rice,
fruit, and flowers, and all who passed by that tree bowed down to
worship that big knot on the limb. The dread of evil spirits is the
bane of existence. There is constant fear lest some real or fancied
lack of respect paid to the nats will bring some kind of disaster.
_Nagas_ are the most feared of all. There are several different
kinds of _nagas_. Some live under water, others on land. They are
dragon-like reptiles, "fearsome" and terribly dreaded by old and
young. When a man is drowning it is because a naga is drawing him
down. Does a man sink and not reappear, a naga has got him sure.
On-lookers fear to go to the rescue. But there is one great naga,
most dreaded of all, so long that it encircles the earth, which to
the native mind, is as flat as a pancake. This monster is constantly
moving forward, so that the position of its head is ever changing. But
fortunately the astrologers have discovered that its progress in its
orbit is regular, and the location of its head may be known, according
to season of the year, a full year being required for the circuit.
Every Burman knows in what direction is the awful naga's head at a
given season. No love nor money will tempt them to travel through the
jungle in that direction, in unfamiliar territory.
Naga-worship once prevailed in northern India. Whether imported into
Burma, or also existing in Burma before the introduction of Indian
influences in the north, is not known. But up to the eleventh century
naga-worship was the most conspicuous feature in the observances of
both spirit-worshippers and nominal Buddhists. Even now it is not
uncommon to hear a Burman, suffering from some calamity or disease,
lamenting that he has in some way brought disaster to himself by
unwillingly offending the great naga. Once it was my good fortune to
profit by their superstitious notions. Having rented a native house as
temporary quarters, I learned soon after moving in, that it had the
reputation of being haunted. Spirits of certain "dacoits" who came to
a sudden death in a jail that formerly stood near by, were supposed
to frequent the place. From that time on I could sleep in perfect
security against all thought of prowling thieves. No fear that any
native would come near that house after dark. Buddhism a "Beautiful
Religion"? That it has many noble precepts no one will deny. The same
is true of every system of philosophy ever formulated. But at its
best it furnishes no incentive to righteous living, beyond one's own
self-interest. It offers no help or hope whatever, beyond one's own
unaided efforts. If man cannot save himself he must stay where he is,
or be sinking lower, ever lower.
Buddhism, as seen in the life of the people, is _rotten to the core_.
We have seen how its adherents craftily seek to evade the precepts
and commandments of their "law," so far as possible; and then to
balance their evil doings by works of merit. The priests prey upon
the superstitions of their people, and grow fat. If offerings to
the monastery do not come in so freely as desired the wily priest
conveniently has a remarkable dream, in which a nat reveals to him
that terrible calamities will befall the people if they do not
increase their zeal.
This invariably has the desired effect. There is a general hustling
throughout the jurisdiction of the monastery; and soon the greedy
priests are fairly swamped with presents of plantains, rice,
cocoanuts, etc.
At Kyankse there is a very steep hill, with several pagodas at the
top. A missionary relates that he there "met an aged man who, to gain
merit, climbs to the summit every day carrying two pots of water
(about seventy pounds) for the use of the people who may come to
worship there. He had a writing from the Buddhist priest, assuring
him that a Buddha was about to appear, and if he continued in this
meritorious work for seven years he would see the Buddha, and be
rewarded."
The priest, in order to secure a regular supply of water, had
deliberately duped this simple old man. And yet, as a work of merit,
his daily task had a certain value, according to Buddhist teaching.
The utter powerlessness of Buddhism to meet the needs of the human
heart forced itself upon me when first I witnessed one of their
funerals.
A rich Burman jeweller, living near our chapel, died of old age. One
of his sons occupied a high official position. Of course the funeral
must be a grand affair. We reached the place just as the procession
was forming. First, there were four men bearing a bamboo frame on
which was an artificial tree, four feet high, its branches wound with
bright coloured paper. From the ends of the branches silver coins
wrapped in paper, were suspended. This money was to buy offerings for
the pagodas. Fifty-six men in squads of four, carried bamboo frames
on which were piled gifts for the priests, consisting of mats, rugs,
chinaware, lacquered-ware, lamps, etc. There were fourteen of these
frames, being one each for fourteen priests. Four coolies, each
carrying on his shoulder a bamboo pole from which were suspended
jackets and skirts to be given to the poor. A double line of men with
slender strips of bamboo covered with showy paper, held upright like
so many spears. Then came the procession proper, headed by one of the
rich relations carrying a lacquer vessel filled with copper coin. Four
coolies carrying two Burmese drums, suspended from bamboo poles. Two
little boys fantastically dressed, danced before the drums, turning
around in a solemn, but graceful manner, and at each turn striking the
drums with their fists.
Then the mourners and friends, two daughters being dressed in white,
with handkerchiefs tied round their heads as hair-bands. The coffin,
covered with gold leaf, tinsel, and mirror glass, was elevated on a
framework, about ten feet above the four-wheeled cart on which the
framework rested. Above the coffin were several roof-like projections,
one above another forming a pyramid, surmounted by a spire twenty feet
high. Framework and spire were covered with showy paper and tinsel
in artistic designs, and adorned with flags. The cart was drawn and
pushed along by as many men as could get around it, long streamers of
white cloth or ropes extending forward to the friends in front. Next
to the bier was an ox-cart with the Burman band, or tom-toms. One man
was blowing on an instrument resembling a large-mouthed flageolet,
from which issued a tuneless succession of weird sounds,--music to
their ears, no doubt,--but most melancholy to ours. Another was
sitting inside of a low circular frame with small drums arranged in
a semicircle, each producing a different sound. Behind the cart was
a man with the cymbals, which he manipulated with marvellous skill,
though the vibratory sounds and clangour were excruciating in the
extreme to sensitive nerves. On another cart, under a canopy of red
and white cloth was another coffin more elaborately decorated, but
empty, merely for pomp and show, or to fool the evil spirits. If in
the extra coffin the consequences of a man's evil deeds, together with
_desire_, which constitutes the germ of the next existence, could also
be buried, it would be the _ne plus ultra_ of hope to the Buddhist.
Then followed several "gharries" with well-to-do acquaintances of the
family. As the procession moved slowly along the man with the pot
of copper coin now and then threw a handful forward into the crowd
of poor children, and oh what a scramble! The priests had already
gathered at the "zayat" in the cemetery to receive the expected
offerings. Had they been present at the bedside to minister some
hope to the dying man who was about to pass out into the awful dark?
Not at all, for the priest is supposed to be passing through the
process of crushing out all natural feeling. He must not show that
he is influenced in the least by death-bed scenes. Did they minister
consolation to the sorrowing ones? Not at all, for the priest is
not supposed to feel the least sympathy with sorrow and distress.
To "Rejoice with them that rejoice, and weep with them that weep"
is not in all his thoughts. He came not to minister, but to be
ministered unto,--a complete reversal of the Christian principle. So
at the funeral he offers no consolation, but expects to be himself
consoled, very substantially. At the cemetery he sits in the zayat
on his elevated platform, chewing and spitting _kun_--the picture
of indolence and indifference. After the burial the afflicted
ones, sorrowing without hope, with hearts bleeding as even heathen
hearts can bleed, come and prostrate themselves before the priests,
worshipping them in their very despair. But the priests seem neither
to see nor to hear. Their minds from which "love of the world" has
been well-nigh extinguished (!) are intent upon the rich presents with
which their monastery is being filled.
Doubtless there are priests, especially the aged, who are sincerely
striving to keep the "law" in spirit as well as in letter. But the
very spirit of the law is selfishness.
The Buddhist sacred books were a gradual but abnormal growth. They
contain comparatively little of the actual teachings of Gautama,
but a vast deal that Gautama would not have sanctioned. Marvellous
stories have grown up around the memory of Gautama, whom the people
of his time regarded as a "religious hero, rather than a god." The
most absurdly extravagant statements as to time, dimensions, space,
and numbers, are found in these stories. Imagination has run riot in
fabricating accounts of impossible miracles performed by Gautama.
Modern geography, if seriously taken into account by Buddhists, would
stampede the whole Buddhist system. And yet these millions, given over
to "believe a lie," accept it all without a question.
The Buddhist scriptures are divided into three main divisions.
The first is addressed to the priests, and contains rules governing
their life, duties and habits. The second is addressed to the laity;
the third to the _dewas_ and Brahmas in the worlds of _nats_.
It is claimed that the first council to settle the sacred canon
was held in the year 543 B. C., in India; that the law
was rehearsed from memory, but not committed to writing; that the
second council was held in 443 B. C., when the law was again
rehearsed, but not committed to writing; that the third and last
council, held in 241 B. C., and continuing nine months,
settled many questions in dispute; and furnished the stimulus of a
great Buddhist missionary enterprise. Authorities differ as to the
dates of these councils. Dr. Judson held that the Buddhist scriptures
in their present form were not completed until four hundred and
fifty-eight years after Gautama's death.
Were it possible for any human being to keep the law outlined in the
sacred books of Buddhism, and thereby attain to its goal, _Neikban_,
it might be said: "The gift of Gautama is eternal death." How
different from the central truth in the Christian religion--
"The gift of God is eternal life." To make this known to the nations
that sit in darkness, rests as a privilege and responsibility upon the
Christian church.
VI
BURMA'S OUTCASTS
Admirers of Buddhism assert its superiority over Hinduism in that
Buddhism has no caste system. In all ages and in all lands there has
been, in real life, a sharp social distinction between the rich and
the poor. This is inevitable, so long as unsanctified human nature
holds sway. Burma furnishes no exception to the rule. But while
Buddhist Burma has no caste system, involving contamination to one
caste by contact with another; or social degradation by departing from
caste-rules,--Burma has her outcasts.
There are five classes of outcasts, namely:--former pagoda-slaves
and their descendants; the grave-diggers; the lepers; the beggars;
and the deformed or maimed. Apostates from the Ancestral religion
might be added as a sixth class. Slavery existed in Burma before the
introduction of Buddhism. When the pagoda spires of the new religion
began to multiply throughout the land somebody must be found to take
care of the pagoda-grounds. Existing slaves were not available for
that purpose, for they had been apportioned to the service of the
king, and others in high life. Prisoners taken in war; life-convicts;
and others who had incurred the displeasure of the king were drawn
upon to meet the fresh and ever-increasing demand. Princely captives
and their followers are said to have been condemned to lifelong
drudgery as pagoda slaves, with all of their descendants forever,
while the world should last. As Pagan was the first great centre
of Buddhism in Upper Burma, there it was that this form of slavery
originated.
Buddhism of the southern type was taken to Pagan in the eleventh
century. The pagodas of Thatone were duplicated. One after another
was built, until an area eight miles long by two miles wide along the
river was literally covered with pagodas, far surpassing any city in
the world in the extent of its religious structures.
Pagan ceased to be a capital in the fourteenth century, and its
wonderful pagodas and temples were left to go to ruin. But the
king's decree was perpetuated in all other important centres, until
the British Indian Government annexed the country, and put an end
to compulsory slavery. Besides the descendants of the original
pagoda-slaves, others were added by successive kings, whether
as punishment for crime, or by arbitrary selection of obnoxious
villages or families. Once a slave always a slave. Posterity was
doomed before it was born. Not only was there no possible release
from this inexorable law, but the common people came to regard the
pagoda-slaves as a class under a curse. Terrible sins of a former
existence must have brought this great calamity upon them. Their touch
was contaminating. Shunned and spurned at every point they became a
community of outcasts, living by themselves, and existing on such
offerings to the idols as could be rescued from the dogs and crows.
Under British rule this form of slavery has nominally ceased to exist.
But no law of a civilized government could restore the pagoda-slave or
his descendants to equal social standing with their neighbours. They
are outcasts still, and outcasts they will remain, until Buddhism is
no more.
Climb the long covered stairway leading to the Shwe Dagon pagoda,
or other of the more sacred shrines, you will find your path lined
with sellers of offerings, paper "prayers," candles, and other things
used at pagoda-worship. These sellers, with rare exceptions, are
descendants of former pagoda-slaves, free in the eye of the law, but
in slavery still to the unchangeable customs of Burman Buddhists.
Other Burmans will not employ them, even to perform the tasks of the
common Indian coolie.
Do they go to some distant place where they are not known, and there
attain wealth and social position, the first intimation that they are
of the old pagoda-slave stock mercilessly consigns them again to their
former condition as shunned outcasts.
Companions in social degradation are the "Thu-bah-yah-zahs" or
grave-diggers. Every Burman burial ground has its little community of
thu-bah-yah-zahs, living apart from their fellow-men. Each community
has its head-man, who makes the bargain when a grave is to be dug.
There is usually a fixed price for this work. But when a grave is
to be dug for one who has met a violent death the price is gauged
by the age of the individual. Violent deaths are windfalls to the
grave-diggers.
The grave is filled in the presence of the friends, who consider it a
mark of respect to tarry until the work is done. But it is well-known
that the grave-diggers do not hesitate to exhume a body the following
night if the clothing in which it was buried, or other objects placed
in the coffin makes it worth the trouble. The coin in the mouth of the
corpse, for the ferry-fare over the mystic river, is abstracted with
callous indifference to the future state of the deceased.
As in the case of pagoda-slaves, the grave-diggers were devoted
to this degrading service by a decree of the king. Some say that
descendants of pagoda-slaves have swelled their numbers. Beggars and
lepers are permitted to live in their villages. Misery loves company.
Birds of a feather flock together. A rich thu-bah-yah-zah in Mandalay
had an attractive daughter. Anxious to emancipate her from the doom of
her class he offered three thousand rupees ($1,000) to any respectable
man who would marry her, and take her away where she would not be
known. Ten times the amount of his generous offer would have been no
temptation. There is also a distinct beggar-class, of practically the
same origin as the pagoda-slave and grave-diggers,--condemned by the
king to a life of beggary. Forbidden to engage in any self-supporting
work, they could be drawn upon at any time to fill a lack in either of
the other classes. This was sometimes for suspected disloyalty. Few
had need to become lifelong beggars because of abject poverty, for a
respectable Burman, though poor, is able to exist in this fruitful
land without leaving his own village. Neither the aged nor the
orphaned are driven out to beg or starve. These unfortunates did not
become beggars because they were outcasts, but became outcasts because
they were made beggars, not of choice, but by royal decree.
True to his creed, the Burman then heaped upon the victim all the
blame for his calamity. He is only reaping in this life what he sowed
in some former existence. Therefore, he and his descendants forever
are to be despised, and compelled to remain beggars, whatever their
actual condition. Some of this beggar class are known to have become
wealthy, but wealth secures to them no social standing. Outcasts they
are, and outcasts they must remain.
It has become a deeply-rooted suspicion among these people themselves
that unless they go out and beg at least once a year, some disaster
will befall them. The children of none of these outcast classes are
permitted to enter the monastic or other schools.
The admission of one child of outcast parentage, however bright and
respectable he may be, would stampede any school. This superstitious
contempt of outcasts is so deep-rooted and universal that managers of
non-Buddhist schools do not find it wise to ignore it.
Strange to say, the deformed and the maimed are held in abhorrence,
and blamed for their misfortune. The disciples asked--"Who sinned,
this man or his parents, that he should be born blind?" One day
while my train was waiting at a station, a poor woman, armless from
her birth, came by the open window of my compartment, and stopped
for alms. When she had passed out of hearing, I said to a heathen
Burman standing by, "How pitiful!" Without any show of compassion he
unknowingly repeated the old-time question--"Because of whose sin
was she born in that condition?" That she was under a curse he had no
doubt. No pity is wasted on a person who is born blind, deformed, or
heir to loathsome disease. He is only getting what he deserves, in
this life, and nothing can he hope for but ages in one of the lowest
hells hereafter.
With such a belief, is it any wonder that Buddhists never found
asylums or hospitals, or attempt any organized system of relief for
the unfortunate. It is of no use to fight against Fate,--let Fate
claim her own. It is said that census enumerators in some sections did
not consider old men and women worth counting, because they were past
work; priests and nuns, because they had renounced the world; lunatics
and cripples, because they were below the level of human beings.
So great is the dread of becoming a cripple that a Burman would sooner
die than have a limb amputated. Better to die respectably than be a
living disgrace to himself and his family. This feeling extends even
to post-mortem examinations, as dooming one to some lower condition in
the next existence.
Leprosy, in whatever age or country, seems the most pitiable of all
calamities. "And the leper in whom the plague is, his clothing shall
be rent, and the hair of his head shall go loose, and he shall cover
his upper lip, and shall cry, Unclean, unclean. All the days wherein
the plague is in him he shall be unclean: he is unclean: he shall
dwell alone; without the camp shall his dwelling be" (Lev. 13: 45, 46).
Such was the brand put upon the leper and his awful affliction, under
the Mosaic law. The brand never has been removed, nor the awfulness
of the disease abated. In Europe this scourge, introduced by warlike
campaigns, and reintroduced by subsequent crusades, through isolation,
segregation of sexes, and improved sanitary methods, has been nearly
exterminated. In America its spread is prevented by the same means.