A FEW WORDS ON BUDDHISM
Buddhist monks are the most influential and most respected class of
the community. In passing it may be mentioned that there is no such
person as a Buddhist priest. No one exercises any sacerdotal function
or celebrates any Sacrament. The religious are not priests, but monks,
a numerous and well-organized body, wielding indefinite but real
authority. In every village at least one monk is found. In Mandalay,
the typical Burmese city, they were numbered by thousands. Professed
monks are bound by vows of chastity and poverty, and are subject to
strict discipline. Wearing the yellow robe, the distinctive mark of
their order, as morning comes round monks and novices from every
monastery walk slowly through the streets, each bearing a bowl for
the receipt of the offerings of the faithful. We must not call this
vessel a “begging-bowl.” One of the many acts from which a monk is
bound to abstain is asking for anything. Voluntary gifts are freely
offered, and are received as a matter of course. The lives of monks
are devoted to meditation, the practice of austerities, the study and
exposition of the law, the instruction of youth. Every Burmese boy
enters a monastery, stays for a longer or shorter period, and receives
there the elements of secular learning. Also, much to his profit, he
is instructed in religious and moral duties. Thus it happens that
in Burma elementary education is widely spread. The proportion of
literate persons is greater than in any country where education is
not compulsory. It is rare to find a man who cannot at least read and
write. Sometimes men profess to have forgotten these arts, but as a
rule this is mere laziness. The influence of monks having remained
undisturbed by foreign contact, five-and-twenty years ago sound
education in the vernacular was more common in Upper Burma than in the
rest of the Province. In my own Court in Mandalay, in comparatively
early days, a Lower Burman clerk was stumbling over the reading of a
document. A bystander, apparently a plain man, offered his services.
Borrowing a pair of spectacles from his neighbour, he read the crabbed
text with fluency and accuracy. The incident does not prove, but it
illustrates, my argument.
[Illustration: MONASTERY WITH CARVING.]
Apart from the instruction of youth and the exposition of the law,
monks are not supposed to take an interest in mundane affairs. Their
aloofness has been exaggerated. In a country village, for example, the
monk was obviously the most learned and disinterested, very likely the
most intelligent, person. Inevitably he was sought as the arbitrator
of disputes. That monks often acted in that capacity, I have found
abundant evidence in old documents produced before me in court. Some
of these went back a hundred years, when the country was quite free
from foreign influence, and cannot be regarded as indicating degeneracy
of the monastic order. Again, it has been said that the authority
of monks depended solely on their personal qualities and religious
character, that it had no secular sanction. As regards Upper Burma
in the King’s time, nothing can be farther from the truth. Buddhist
ecclesiastics relied on the arm of flesh. The King and his officers
promptly and effectually enforced the commands of the hierarchy. Laymen
were severely punished for ecclesiastical offences, and recalcitrant
monks were imprisoned within the precincts of a pagoda, or compelled to
do acts of penance. In early days in Mandalay one Deputy Commissioner
essayed to maintain the ancient rule, and to give effect to monastic
sentences. Unfortunately this good practice could not last. Now the
hierarchy complain that, as Government will not enforce discipline,
authority is waning, with disastrous results. The most that the Courts
have found possible is to give effect to decisions of duly constituted
religious tribunals in disputes of a civil nature between members of
the order. Another instance of the interference of monks in worldly
affairs, their almost invariable complicity in political intrigues,
has been already mentioned. The Kinwun Mingyi himself emerged from a
monastery to take part in the rebellion which placed Mindôn Min on the
throne.
On the whole, in Upper Burma as we found it, the monks constituted a
respectable body, including many learned and devout persons. I do
not pretend that all were immaculate. Doubtless there were idle and
dissolute monks. One hears from Burmans themselves of some who were
monks by day and who at night threw off the yellow robe and ranged
the town. Some of them dabbled in magic and alchemy. A really pious
monk could hardly become a dacoit chief. But the great majority
honestly lived up to their profession. The fact that the vows were not
irrevocable tended to prevent the occurrence of scandals sometimes
incident to monastic life. Complete liberty of renunciation lessened
temptation to break the vows. It was always open to a monk to return
to the world and, as it was phrased, again to become a man. Even if
a shadow of discredit attached to a monk who had come out (twet),
it was faint and transitory. In a land where life is simple and
much concealment impossible, no body of men who lived unworthily
could retain the respect of all classes. Every layman, from the
King downwards, treated monks as superior beings. I have seen the
Kinwun Mingyi lean out of his carriage and pay the graceful Burmese
reverence[180] to a humble passing monk.
In Upper Burma the fine flower of Buddhism flourished. The monastic
system was elaborately organized. At the head was the Thathanabaing;
under him were Gaing-ôks, Gaingdauks, and Taik-ôks,[181] in due
succession and subordination. The Thathanabaing was not, as some
suppose, elected; he was appointed by the King. In former days his
authority prevailed throughout Burma. As by degrees fragments of the
country became British territory, the Thathanabaing’s jurisdiction
naturally shrank, being restricted to the King’s dominions. Even if for
no other reason, it was impossible for British officers to recognize in
Lower Burma the authority of a monk who lived in Ava or Mandalay, and
owed his power and appointment to a foreign monarch. Consequently the
bonds of discipline were relaxed. Monks and laity in Lower Burma were
as sheep without a shepherd. Heresies and schisms rent the Buddhist
Church. The influence of monks waned perceptibly. Buddhism was and is
still a living creed in Lower Burma. But it cannot be pretended that it
is so vital and beneficent a force as even now in the Upper districts.
Similarly, as already indicated, monastic education declined. The
absence of ecclesiastical control has caused some deterioration of
character in Lower Burma.
The policy of the Government of India has always been to observe strict
neutrality in religious matters, to interest itself in no form of
creed. All education directed by Government has been rigidly secular.
It is now felt by many that this policy, however well-intentioned,
was mistaken, that in allowing, or even encouraging education to be
exclusively secular, Government has done much to sap the foundations of
morality and loyalty, to undermine the basis of character. Probably the
right course would have been not to stand aloof from the divers creeds
of the Empire, but to take an active interest in all, and to see that
each had fair play and encouragement. For a Christian Government to do
this would have been difficult; most likely the attempt would not have
been tolerated by public opinion at home. So far as India is concerned,
the tiresome thing about public opinion in England is that, where
interest might be beneficial, it cannot be roused; while in some vital
matter in which only the man on the spot has materials for judging, the
British public, or its spokesmen, insist on interfering. (How pleasant
would it be, for instance, to see on newspaper posters such legends
as--
ANOTHER WRONG TO BURMA.
BURMA’S SAD FINANCIAL STATE.
How unlikely we are to see them!) Perhaps of the two mistakes lack
of interest is the less mischievous. Recently we have made a step in
advance. Religious teaching in State schools has been permitted; all
pupils may receive instruction in the creeds which they profess.
Sir Charles Bernard recognized the value of monastic influence,
and did his best to enlist it on the side of law and order. It was
particularly desirable that monks should be discouraged from taking
part in political agitation. It was also hoped that the monastic
system of education might be maintained and strengthened in sympathy
with our own Education Department. At the time of the annexation the
Thathanabaing was a weak but well-meaning person who had been King
Thebaw’s tutor. The Chief Commissioner interviewed him in person and
essayed to excite his enthusiasm for the new Government. In recognition
of the part taken by monks in secular education, monthly gifts of rice
were sent to the Thathanabaing and his trusted counsellors, the Pă-kán
and Hladwe Sadaws. The Thathanabaing was induced to visit Rangoon with
a view to the extension of his authority over Lower Burma. Government
provided for his journey, which was made in some state with a long
train of monks. He was received with rapture at Prome and in Rangoon;
and a rest-house (zayat) for him and his successors was built on the
slope of the Shwe Dagôn Pagoda. The effort was ineffectual. Neither
that Thathanabaing nor his successors have exercised any power in Lower
Burma, which still remains in a state of reprobation. Another attempt
was made to conciliate Buddhist sympathy. Many monasteries and other
religious buildings had been used by troops and others for Government
purposes, and some damage had been done. All over the country monks
had hospitably received and entertained our officers, and had raised
no objection to the necessary temporary use of sacred buildings. As a
compensation for disturbance and damage, a substantial sum of money
was disbursed to a large number of monks. As monks may not touch gold
or silver, the actual coins were placed in the hands of lay followers.
These well-meant efforts had, I fear, no appreciable effect. The
Thathanabaing had not the authority, even if he had the will, to
control and direct his monks by moral force alone. Monks were civil
to British officers, often glad to have the protection of a military
post; but they did not go out of their way to preach submission to an
heretical Government. It is hardly to be expected that they would do so.
[Illustration: THE THATHA-NA-BAING.]
After this Thathanabaing had condescended to return, as runs the
Burmese euphemism for the death of a monk, it was some years before
Government made up its mind as to the appointment of a successor. No
one could lawfully be Thathanabaing unless appointed by the ruling
power. But it was contrary to established principle for Government
to appoint a Buddhist ecclesiastic. For some years the monastic
world was given up to anarchy. At last it was decided that, though
Government could not appoint, it might recognize; and though it could
not give material aid, it might lend moral support. To ascertain the
monk who would be generally acceptable, an election was held. This
device has now been adopted on two or three occasions, so that people
have begun to believe that it was always customary. The last two
holders of the office have been formally recognized by the Government
of Burma; the present Thathanabaing received a sanad[182] from the
Lieutenant-Governor. He is a monk of learning, and particular suavity
of manner and disposition. While maintaining due reserve and dignity,
he has always been on excellent terms with Government and its officers.
He has loyally exercised his influence on the side of law and order,
and has tried to smooth the path of the Education Department, anxious
to link the monastic with the Government system. Without posing as
liberal or progressive, he has been wise and conciliatory. In later
years my personal relations with the Thathanabaing were extremely
cordial. Once he honoured me by his presence at a garden-party in
Mandalay. This was, I think, an unprecedented occasion. On the lovely
lawn fringing the moat he sat, surrounded by yellow-robed counsellors,
the centre of a picturesque circle, watched with reverence by Burmese,
with respectful interest by European and Indian, guests. Among my most
treasured possessions is a rosary which he sent me, with a charming
farewell letter, when I left the Province.
The order of Buddhist nuns must not be forgotten. They are comparatively
few in number, and, though regarded with respect, do not seem to
exercise special influence. Living sometimes in seclusion, sometimes in
communities, they occupy no prominent place. Their lives are spent in
meditation and devotion, free from secular cares. Often when stricken
by a great sorrow a woman becomes a nun, and adheres to her profession
for the rest of her life. Innocent, harmless ladies, if they are not
active in good works their passive piety is a gracious example. A nun
whom you meet in the road has a pleasing habit of invoking a blessing
as you pass.
Buddhism as professed by the Burmese is of a high and pure type. In
Burma, and in Burma alone throughout India,[183] Buddhism is a vital
force. The suggestion that religion is in danger, or that monks have
been ill-used, is the surest way to rouse popular feeling. The ethics
of Buddhism are as lofty and inspiring as those of any faith in the
world. Obviously Burmans do not invariably shape their lives in strict
accordance with the precepts of the law. But in spite of failings and
shortcomings, the spiritual and moral force of their religion sheds a
penetrating influence on national life and character. Though its every
rule may be daily violated, Buddhism does tend to make Burmans humane,
tolerant, kind-hearted, charitable. All Burmans are well-grounded in
the mysteries of their faith. When they sin, they sin against light
and conscience. In all but the most abandoned, traces of the good
influence of their religion are evident. One very pleasing effect
is extension of benevolence in theory always, in practice often, to
every sentient being. Consider, for instance, the kindly attitude
of Burmans to lower animals. From the plump bullocks which draw the
primitive, creaking[184] carts of the country to the pariah dogs
which swarm in every village, or the pigs which used to scavenge the
streets of Mandalay (whose chase, not by the Burmese, was the only form
of pig-sticking known in Burma), all are objects of compassion and
care. The Burman’s robust bullocks, nourished on their mothers’ milk,
contrast pleasingly with the lean kine of the Indian. You will even
see a pious Burman save a deadly snake from destruction, and set it
loose in a place of security. This, perhaps, is an extreme instance of
logical regard for principle.
Signs of the extent to which religion forms part of everyday life
strike the most casual observer. The country is full of pagodas,
monasteries, theins,[185] images of the Buddha, zayats. Pagodas vary in
size from the stately Shwe Dagôn to the humble fane on the outskirts
of a village. It may be worth while to explain that a pagoda is not
a temple in which worshippers pay their devotions. It is a solid
structure, often built over sacred relics, of varying type, the most
prevalent being that of the great pagoda at Rangoon. Some pagodas are
richly gilded, others merely whitewashed. Each is crowned with a ti,
if possible studded with jewels. The very topmost pinnacle is often
an inverted soda-water bottle, a primitive shield against lightning.
Monks must have monasteries. These also differ in glory, from the great
buildings, richly ornamented with carving covered with gold, founded by
the King or Queen or some high official, which adorn the royal city,
to the mat and thatched hut which shelters the poor village monk. A
Burman who amasses wealth, the farmer who has an abundant harvest
and good prices, the merchant whose venture has been successful, the
rich broker or money-lender, does not hoard his gains. He spends them
on jewels for his wife and daughters, on silks for these ladies and
himself, on building a monastery, or a pagoda, a zayat, incidentally on
a pwè[186] or an ahlu.[187] The builder of a pagoda is a Paya-taga, of
a monastery a Kyaung-taga, honorific titles in familiar use, as common
as the title of Colonel is said to be in the United States. Laymen are
associated in religious observances. A monastery has a lay attendant,
a Kappiya-taga, who makes it his business to see that the building is
maintained and duly swept and garnished. Every eighth day is set apart
by the pious for religious observances, for meditation, for visiting
a pagoda, for attendance at a monastery to hear the Law expounded.
Each year there is a long Lenten period (Wa), when abstinence and
religious practices are enjoined on the faithful, when good Buddhists
refrain from marrying, when monks remain secluded in their monasteries,
undertaking no journeys. A monk reckons his monastic life by the
number of Lents he has observed. All this sounds rather gloomy, and
in theory Buddhism ought to have a depressing effect. It teaches the
transitoriness and mutability of this world and of all human things.
No personal God smiles on his worshippers or listens to their prayers.
This life is an evil in itself, a period to be spent in the acquisition
of merit, in preparation for the ascent to a higher plane. The goal
of every man’s striving is the blessed rest of Nirvana (Neikban), a
state, not of annihilation, but of rest for many ages from passion
and all transitory disturbance. For even the rest of Nirvana is not
eternal. After many æons, it may be, the unceasing round begins again.
The practical effect of this austere creed is quite different. Nowhere
is there a more gay and light-hearted people. To balance the days and
months of abstinence, religious festivals are of frequent occurrence.
Then the roads are crowded with cart-loads of merry holiday-makers.
Pagoda platforms are filled with bright-clad, laughing throngs. Pwès
and all national sports are celebrated. On every side are gaiety and
good-humour, the basis of religion underlying all. It is not for me to
attempt to explain these apparent inconsistencies.
The people in general soon made up their minds that there was no
intention of interfering with their religion. And, in spite of isolated
instances, the monks accepted the new order with resignation, if not
with enthusiasm. The tolerant spirit of Buddhism pervades all classes.
Strangers wander unmolested and without meeting scowling looks in the
precincts of pagodas and holy places; they are welcome to explore the
recesses of monasteries, observing only common politeness and decorum.
You are not expected to take off your shoes on reaching the sacred
limits of a pagoda or monastery. Ordinary courtesy doubtless impels you
to remove your hat in a sacred building. It is not really correct to
walk across the sleeping mat of a Sadaw,[188] as I saw done by a lady
who should have known better. The Sadaw only laughed, recognizing that
no offence was meant.
Pagodas and sacred images are left to the care of the people
themselves, tempered by the benevolent patronage of the Archæological
Survey. In too many cases these buildings and objects are left to the
process of natural decay. It seems to be somewhat more meritorious to
build a new shrine than to keep in repair an existing fabric. Probably
the builder of a new pagoda, for instance, earns all the merit for
himself, while a restorer shares it with the original founder. In the
case of edifices of special sanctity or conspicuous antiquarian or
architectural interest, arrangements have been made, at the instigation
of Government, to vest the property and management in legally appointed
trustees. The care and maintenance of sacred buildings and the due
appropriation of pious offerings are thus assured. Not only for the
Shwe Dagôn Pagoda and the Arakan Pagoda at Rangoon and Mandalay
respectively, but for many shrines of less fame, trustees have been
appointed. This is the best way of securing the preservation of
religious buildings of inestimable interest.
One of the most striking personalities in modern Burmese Buddhism is
the Ledi Sadaw. This remarkable man devoted some years of his life to
travelling through the country preaching and exhorting. His passionate
eloquence drew immense congregations. Wherever he went he was greeted
by enraptured throngs. Men and women vied in adoration of this saintly
personage, women loosing their hair and spreading it as a carpet for
his holy feet. His fervour and fiery zeal effected real revivals,
whether lasting or transitory I dare not say. Besides addressing public
assemblies, he obtained leave to enter jails and preach reformation
to the prisoners, apparently with good results.[189] In spite of the
extraordinary enthusiasm which he inspired and the honours thrust
upon him in his triumphal progress, he preserved unstained and
flawless, simplicity and humility of character. We are not wont to
regard with favour errant monks preaching here and there. Too often
their exhortations have tended to sedition, their liberty has been a
cloak for licence. Never for a moment did the Ledi Sadaw fall under a
shadow of suspicion as to the purity of his motives and conduct, or
the good intention of his pilgrimage. The ethical part of his sermons
consisted of fervent denunciations of intemperance, drinking, gambling,
opium-smoking, the pleasant vices most devastating among Burmans. In
no way inspired by any Government officer, he did not hold aloof from
the authorities, but desired to be on good terms with them. Speaking
to Colonel Maxwell,[190] who more than most of us won the intimate
confidence of Burmans, in all simplicity he said:
“I am not sure that Government will approve my preaching. There will be
much loss of revenue; for when I have finished, all liquor and opium
shops will be closed for want of custom.”
With a clear conscience the Commissioner bade him go on and prosper,
assuring him that Government would be well pleased if so desirable
a result could be attained. The promised millennium has not yet
arrived. While heartily approving the Sadaw, we did not think it
expedient to make our approval conspicuous, lest plausibly, though
falsely, the suggestion might be made that he was an agent of the
Asoya.[191] A travelling set of the Buddhist scriptures was the only
mark of Government’s appreciation. I had the privilege of one interview
with this extraordinary man. What chiefly impressed me was his weary
expression, as though the working of the fiery spirit had worn out the
frail tenement of the body. I am glad to hear that the Sadaw still
lives, and that his preaching days are not over.
One of the last incidents of my residence in Burma may fitly conclude
this discursive chapter. Early in 1910 we were privileged to
receive what are believed to be genuine relics of the Buddha. They
were discovered by the Archæological Survey near Peshawar. Their
authenticity has, I believe, been doubted. I hope I am not, to use the
happy phrase of an Irish friend, more prone than most men to swallow
mares’-nests. But to me the evidence of the genuine character of the
relics seems reasonably convincing. It was my fortunate lot to be
instrumental in securing the despatch of these precious remains to
Burma, where alone, as I have said, the pure spirit of Buddhism still
reigns; and to be present when, with due solemnity, at Government
House in Calcutta, the Viceroy graciously entrusted the casket and its
priceless contents to a deputation sent from Burma to receive them.
The relics were welcomed in Rangoon with demonstrations of pious
enthusiasm, and brought by a long procession to the Shwe Dagôn Pagoda,
where, for some days, they were exhibited for the edification of the
faithful. Thence they were taken to Mandalay and placed in the care of
the elders of the Arakan Pagoda till a separate suitable shrine can be
erected in custody of a duly constituted trust.
[Illustration: A MONASTERY.]