Education and Castes.
Education is not widely diffused in Tibet. In the neighborhood of
Shigatze children are taught comparatively well the three subjects
of writing, arithmetic and reading, but in other places no provision
exists for teaching children, except at monasteries, so that the boys
and girls of ordinary people are generally left uneducated, especially
the latter.
As might naturally be expected, educational establishments are few and
far between. The only institutions worthy of the name are found on the
premises of the Palace at Lhasa, and of the Tashi Lhunpo monasteries in
Shigatze; all the rest are only ‘family schools’.
From the important position which priests command in Tibet, the system
of training them is pretty well developed, and it is only at religious
schools that one can obtain even a comparatively advanced education.
Sons of ordinary people can enjoy the benefit of that education only
by joining the order, for otherwise they are refused admission to
Government schools.
The doors of those schools are, of course, shut against boys of
humble origin. In Tibet there exists one class which is the lowest in
the scale of social gradation. This lowest grade is subdivided into
fishermen, ferry-men, smiths, and butchers. Smiths are relegated to
this grade in Tibet just as in India, and for the same reason--that
they pursue an objectionable occupation in making edged tools used for
slaughtering living things, the most sinful occupation of all. People
of this lowest grade are even prohibited from becoming priests, and if
ever they enter the privileged order it is by some surreptitious means
and by concealing their real rank. In this way some men of the lowest
origin have become priests at places remote from their native villages.
Compared with these despised classes, the ordinary people may be said
to enjoy a great advantage.
The classes who are entitled to enter the Government institutions are
only four:
1. _Ger-pa_, Peers; 2. _Ngak-pa_, the manṭra clan, 3. _Bon-bo_, the Old
Sect clan; 4. _Shal-ngo_, families of former chieftains.
The Peers consist of the descendants of former ministers and generals,
and contain the supreme class called _Yabshi_ which is composed of
families of the thirteen Grand Lamas, past and present, and also of
the descendants of the first King of Tibet, called Tichen Lha-kyari.
They all hold the rank of Duke. The descendants in the direct line of
that King still exist to this day, and their head is entitled to occupy
the same rank as the Grand Lama, only he does not possess any power in
public affairs. The highest posts in the Tibetan Hierarchy are within
the easy reach of the Yabshi men, who can become Prime Ministers or
other great dignitaries of state provided they are judged to possess
qualifications for undertaking those high functions. Even when they do
not occupy such elevated positions, they at least hold posts that are
of next in importance. All the remarks about the Yabshi apply to the
families of the Dalai Lamas, installed at Lhasa, for though the other
Patriarchs at Tashi Lhunpo also possess Yabshi of their own, they do
not enjoy the same privileges as the others. The descendants of the
Dalai Lama’s relatives, and those of the former King, may therefore be
considered as forming in practice the royal families of Tibet. These
should, for convenience, be set apart as a distinct class, though there
are other families that do not differ much from them in origin and
privilege. Of these, one called _De-pon Cheka_ (families of generals)
represents the descendants of the generals and captains who rendered
distinguished services when Tibet engaged in war. The merits of those
warriors, long since dead, obtain for their descendants great respect
from the public and they enjoy great privileges.
The next grade of the Peerage, but considerably below these, consists
of the descendants of families of great historic renown, or of
ministers of distinguished service. Though occupying the lowest grade
in the herald-book of the Peerage, even the portfolio of the Premier is
accessible to these Peers, provided that they are men of ability.
In general, honor and ability seldom go together in Tibet, for official
posts are freely sold and purchased, though buyers are limited. High
officials of real ability are even regarded as a nuisance by their
colleagues, and are liable to be dismissed through their intrigues.
Such being the case, by far the greater majority of high official posts
are held by men who have obtained them in exchange for money.
The class that ranks next to Peers is that of the Ngak-pas or miracle
workers, who are the descendants of Lamas who worked miracles, not
the least of them being their marriage in violation of the rules
of Lama priesthood. Those Lamas transmitted their ‘hidden arts’
exclusively to this social grade, which thus possesses hereditary
secrets. The Ngak-pas play an important part in the social organism
of Tibet. For instance they are entitled, as already mentioned, to
levy the ‘hail-tax’ in summer, and therefore to assume the function
of administrators. They are also held in great awe by provincials and
townsmen, as being magicians of power. The simple-minded folk believe
that if once they incur the displeasure of a Ngak-pa they may be cursed
by him, and therefore may bring upon themselves some calamity. As I
mentioned before, the Ngak-pa people occupy the advantageous position
of being able to procure money in the shape of proceeds of the
‘hail-tax,’ and of presents coming from all classes of people. Strange
as it may appear, the Ngak-pa men, while commanding such advantages,
are notoriously poor; they even stand as synonyms for poverty. Their
sole consolation is that they are conscious of the great power they
hold over all classes of people; and even Peers are often seen to
dismount from horseback and give a courteous salute when they happen to
meet a beggarly Ngak-pa in the street.
The third caste is the Bon-bo the name of an old religion which
prevailed in Tibet long before the introduction of Buḍḍhism. The
priests of this practically extinct religion were allowed to marry,
and have left behind them the class of people who represent this old
social institution in Tibet. The Bon-bo people have to play a certain
distinct rôle in public affairs. This is more of a ceremonial than
of a religious nature. It consists in worshipping local deities, and
undertaking ceremonies intended to secure their favor. When people
marry, they ask a Bon-bo man to pray for them to their local deity.
Sometimes he undertakes other kinds of prayer or even performs symbolic
rites with a benevolent or malevolent aim, according to circumstances.
Families of this particular class are found almost everywhere
throughout the country, though in limited numbers. In some remote
villages, as Tsar-ka in the Himālayas, all the villagers are said to
belong to this class, but in most cases only one or two families are
found in one village or in one district. In such cases the Bon-bo are
objects of great respect, and they sometimes act as local magistrates
or administrators. Even when they pursue any other kind of business,
they still command great respect from their neighbors as descendants of
ancient families.
Though the Bon-bo are descendants of an old religious order, their
present representatives are no longer priests, for they do not preach
their tenets to others, nor try to persuade them to become converts.
They are simply content to hand down their ancestral teachings and
traditions to their children and so maintain their distinct position in
society. Not unfrequently the young Bon-bo enter the priesthood, and
these take precedence over all the other Bon-bo. Strictly speaking the
respect which the people belonging to this particular class enjoy over
others at present is due to their honorable lineage.
The fourth class is “Shal-ngo” and is composed of the descendants of
ancient families who acquired power in the locality on account of their
wealth in either money or land. The Tibetans are in general a highly
conservative race, and therefore they succeed in most cases in keeping
intact their hereditary property. Their polyandrous custom too must
be conducive to that result, preventing as it does the splitting up
of family property among brothers. By far the great majority of the
Shal-ngo people possess therefore more or less property; and even a
poor Shal-ngo commands the same respect from the public as his richer
confrère.
Common people are divided into two grades, one called _tong-ba_ and the
other _tong-du_. The former is superior, and includes all those common
people who possess some means and have not fallen into an ignoble state
of slavery. Tong-du means etymologically “petty people,” and their rank
being one grade lower than that of others, the people of this class are
engaged in menial service. Still they are not strictly speaking slaves;
they should more properly be considered as poor tenant-farmers, for
formerly these people used to stand in the relation of tenant-farmers
to land-owners, though such relation no longer exists.
Some tong-ba are reduced to more straitened circumstances than the
tong-du, but, generally considered, the tong-ba are distinguished from
the others by the possession of property, greater or less as the case
may be, while poverty is a special feature of the tong-du.
However low the tong-ba may fall in the worldly sense of the word,
and, on the other hand, however thriving the tong-du may become, a
strict line of demarcation still continues to separate the two classes.
Society continues to treat them as before, and as if nothing had
happened in their relative fortunes. No ordinary people deign to eat
with one belonging to the tong-du class, nor do they ever intermarry
with them.
This strict rule of social etiquette is in force even among the four
divisions of the lowest class, that is to say, ferry-men, fishermen,
smiths and butchers. Of the four, the first two rank higher than the
other two. Thus, though smiths and butchers are not permitted to eat in
the same room with common people, the other two classes are allowed to
do so, only they may not sit at table with a privileged plebeian, but
must eat or drink from their own vessels.
It is hardly necessary to add that a strong barrier is set up between
these four kinds of social outcasts and the ordinary common people, to
prevent their intermarriage; a man or woman belonging to the latter
class, who is so indiscreet as to obey the bidding of his or her heart
and to marry one of the despised race, is socially tabooed from his or
her own kith and kin. This punishment is permanent, and even when the
bond of this _mésalliance_ has been dissolved by divorce, or any other
cause, the fallen man or woman can never hope to regain the caste which
he or she has forfeited. The mark of social infamy will follow him or
her to the grave.
It is curious, however, that the issues of these _mésalliances_ form a
social class of their own. They are called _tak ta ril_, which means a
‘mixed race produced by black and white twisted together’. They occupy
a position even lower than that of the four despised classes mentioned
above, and are in fact the lowest caste in Tibet.
There is one interesting feature in regard to this rigid canon of
social caste, and that is the presence of gentlemen-smiths, who, being
men of a mechanical turn of mind, have become smiths from preference.
These gentlemen-smiths do not forfeit their birth and rank on this
account.
Both by law and custom the higher classes enjoy special privileges,
and these go a long way. The children of aristocrats, for instance,
are entitled to exact from their humbler playmates great respect and
courtesy. When the latter so forget themselves in their disputes and
quarrels with their noble associates as to use rough language, they
are at once punished, even when they are in the right. It is evident
therefore from what has been stated that a plebeian, no matter how
wealthy, is obliged to behave respectfully under all circumstances to a
man belonging to the Ngak-pa or Bon-bo, even though the latter may be
as poor as a church mouse. As each social class forms practically one
distinct community with its own particular etiquette, customs and so
forth, ranks are more plainly visible on the surface in Tibet than in
most other countries. The Tibetan proverb corresponding to the western
saying that “blood will out” gains a special significance when applied
to the state of affairs prevailing in that semi-civilised country.
The aristocrats of Tibet are distinguished by noble mien and refined
manners. Conscious of their elevated position, they possess on the
whole a high sense of honor. The other privileged castes occupying
a lower plane, such as the men of the Ngak-pa and Bon-bo races and
the descendants of ancient grandees, still bear the marks of their
respectable birth and can easily be distinguished even by strangers
from the common people.
The common people are plebeian in their general bearing and appearance,
but one thing to their credit is that they are known for strict
honesty, and even extreme poverty seldom tempts them into committing
arts of larceny. On the other hand, the lower classes or social
outcasts are notorious for their criminal propensities to robbery and
murder. In practice they are characterised by crime and wretchedness;
they are criminals and beggars. Beggars in fact form a community
of their own, the profession being hereditary. These classes are
deservedly held in contempt by the public, and their faces even seem to
justify such treatment, for they are remarkable for ferocity, depravity
and vileness.
As I have mentioned before, lads belonging to the higher ranks are
entitled to enter Government schools, but the subjects taught there
are at best imperfect. The lessons consist only of learning by memory,
penmanship and counting. The first subject is the most important, next
comes penmanship, the latter receiving even a larger allotment of
hours than the other. Counting is a primitive affair, being taught by
means of pebbles, pieces of wood, or shells. The subject matters of
learning by memory are Buḍḍhist Texts, the elements of grammar, and
lastly rhetoric. This last is a subject of great ambition for Tibetan
scholars, who are just like Chinese in their fondness for grandiloquent
expressions. Documents to be presented to the Dalai Lama and other high
personages bristle with high-flown phraseology and with characters
rarely used in ordinary writing, and not found even in Buḍḍhist Texts.
The fact is that Tibetan scholars at present hold strange ideas about
writing, being of opinion that they should aim at composing in a style
unintelligible to ordinary persons. The more characters they can use
which cannot easily be understood by others, the better proof, they
think, have they given of the profundity of their scholarship. The
most scholarly compositions are practically hierographic so far as
their incomprehensibility is concerned.
[Illustration: FLOGGING AS A MEANS OF EDUCATION]
The birch-rod is considered to be the most useful implement in
teaching; not exactly a birch-rod, however, but a flat piece of bamboo.
The cramming of difficult passages of rhetoric being the principal mode
of learning imposed on pupils, their masters are invariably of opinion
that they must make free use of the rod in order to quicken their
pupils’ progress. The relation between masters and pupils does not
differ much from that between gaolers and convicts. The latter, poor
fellows, hold their masters in such dread that they find it exceedingly
trying, at the sight of them and their formidable pedagogic weapons, to
compose their minds and to go on unfalteringly with their lessons. They
cower with fear, and are filled with the perturbing thought that the
rod is sure to descend upon them for the slightest stumble they make
in the path of learning. The ordinary way of using the rod is to give
thirty blows with it on the left palm of the pupil. Prudence counsels
the pupil to stretch out his hand with alacrity at the bidding of his
hard master, for in case he hesitates to do so the penalty is generally
doubled, and sixty blows instead of thirty are given. It is a cruel
sight to see a little pupil holding out his open hand and submitting to
the punishment with tearful eyes. Surely this is not education but mere
cruelty.
I once made an earnest remonstrance on this subject with the Minister
of Finance who, in common with the rest, used to teach his boys with
a liberal application of the rod. To do justice to the Minister, his
method of teaching was much more considerate than that of most of his
countrymen, and he very seldom resorted to rough handling, such as
binding pupils with cords over-night or compelling them to go without
dinner or supper. When however I remonstrated with him on the ground
that the infliction of corporal punishment was entirely opposed to all
sound principles of education, he at first defended the Tibetan system
with great earnestness. We had a somewhat animated though courteous
dispute on the subject; but at length, being a man of great candor of
mind, he seemed to perceive the merit of my position. At any rate he
ceased to use the rod as he did before, and generally confined himself
to giving a reprimand when any of his boys went astray with his
learning. The Minister afterward informed me that his boys seemed to
make better progress when they were spared the rod.
Abuse is also considered as an efficient means of educating boys.
“Beast,” “beggar,” “devil,” “ass,” “eater of parents’ flesh,” are
epithets applied to backward boys by their teachers, and this custom of
using foul language is naturally handed on from teachers to pupils, who
when they grow up are sure to pass on those slanderous appellations to
the next generation.
While the education of the sons of laymen is conducted with such
severity, that of boy disciples by Lama priests is extremely lenient,
and is quite in contrast to that of the others. The disciples are not
even reprimanded, much less chastised, when they neglect their work.
The priests generally leave them to do as they like, much as uxorious
husbands do towards their wilful wives, so that it is no wonder that
the disciples of Lamas very seldom make any good progress in learning.
They are spoiled by the excessive indulgence of their masters. Some of
these masters own the evil of their way of education, and are careful
not to spoil the youthful pupils placed under their care, and it is
precisely from among these latter disciples that priests of learning
and ability may be expected.
The memorising part of the Tibetan system of education, as mentioned
above, is a heavy burden on the pupils. To give some idea of what an
important part this work occupies in their system, I may note that
a young acolyte, who has grown to fifteen or sixteen years old, has
to commit to memory, from the oral instruction of his teachers, from
three hundred to five hundred pages of Buḍḍhist texts in the course of
a year. He has then to undergo an examination on what he has learned.
Even for a lad of weak memory, the number of pages is not less than one
hundred in a year. For those who have grown older, that is for those
whose age ranges between eighteen and thirty, the task imposed is still
more formidable, being five to eight hundred and even one thousand
pages. I was amazed at this mental feat of the Tibetan priests, for I
could barely learn fifty sheets in six months, that being the minimum
limit allotted for aspirants of poor memory.