There are few more loathsome types of character either in the East or
West than the Buddhist priest of China. He is an object of contempt to
the educated among his countrymen, not only as one who has shirked the
cares and responsibilities to which all flesh is heir, but as a
misguided outcast who has voluntarily resigned the glorious title and
privileges of that divinely-gifted being represented by the symbol
_man_. With his own hands he has severed the five sacred ties which
distinguish him from the brute creation, in the hope of some day
attaining what is to most Chinamen a very doubtful immortality. Paying
no taxes and rendering no assistance in the administration of the
Empire, his duty to his sovereign is incomplete. Marrying no wife, his
affinity, the complement of his earthly existence, sinks into a
virgin's grave. Rearing no children, his troubled spirit meets after
death with the same neglect and the same absence of cherished rites
which cast a shadow upon his parents' tomb. Renouncing all fraternal
ties, he deprives himself of the consolation and support of a
brother's love. Detaching himself from the world and its vanities,
friendship spreads its charms for him in vain. Thus he is in no
Chinese sense a man. He has no name, and is frequently shocked by some
western tyro in Chinese who, thinking to pay the everyday compliment
bandied between Chinamen, asks to his intense disgust--"What is your
honourable name?" The unfortunate priest has substituted a "religious
designation" for the patronymic he discarded when parents, brethren,
home, and friends were cast into oblivion at the door of the temple.
But it is not on such mere sentimental grounds that the Chinese nation
has condemned in this wholesale manner the clergy of China. Did the
latter carry out even to a limited extent their vows of celibacy and
Pythagorean principles of diet, they would probably obtain a fair
share of that questionable respect which is meted out to enthusiasts
in most countries on the globe. The Chinese hate them as double-dyed
hypocrites who extort money from the poor and ignorant, work upon the
fears of, and frequently corrupt, their wives or daughters; proclaim
in bold characters at the gates of each temple--"no meat or wine may
enter here"--while all the time they dine off their favourite pork as
often as most Chinamen, and smoke or drink themselves into a state of
beastly intoxication a great deal more so. Opium pipes are to be found
as frequently as not among the effects of these sainted men, who, with
all the abundant leisure at their command, are rarely of sufficient
education to be mentioned in the same breath with an ordinary
graduate. Occasionally there have been exceptions to the rule, but the
phenomenon is seldom met with in modern times. We have read of a lame
old priest so renowned for self-denying liberality that the great
Emperor Ch'ien Lung actually paid him a visit. After some conversation
Ch'ien Lung presented him with a valuable pearl, which the old man
immediately bestowed upon a beggar he espied among the crowd. His
Majesty was somewhat taken aback at this act of rudeness, and asked
him if he always gave away everything in the same manner. On receiving
an affirmative reply, the Emperor added, "Even down to the crutch on
which you lean?" "Ah," said the priest, "it is written that the
superior man does not covet what his friend cannot spare." "But
supposing," said the Emperor, "he was not a superior man." "In that
case," answered the priest, "you could not expect me to be his
friend."
Cleanliness, again, is an especial attribute of Buddhism, and in a few
temples in the south there is an attempt to make some show in this
direction; but as regards the person, priests are dirtier if anything
than the humblest members of their flock. It is laughable indeed to
hear them chant the _Ching_, ignorant as ninety-nine per cent. are of
every word they are saying, for of late the study of Sanskrit has been
utterly and entirely neglected. Their duties, however, in this respect
are as much curtailed as possible, except when wafting with their
prayers some spirit of the dead to the realms of bliss above. In such
cases it is a matter of business, a question of money; and the
unctuous air of solemn faith they then put on contrasts curiously with
the bored and sleepy look apparent on their faces as they gabble
through a midnight mass, in the presence of some such limited and
unimportant audience as a single and perhaps a red-haired barbarian.
It is pleasant to dismiss from our thoughts this lying, shameless,
debauched class; and we do so, wondering how Buddhism has retained its
hold so long over an intellectual people possessed of an elaborate
moral code, which has been for centuries the acknowledged standard of
right and wrong, and which condemns all fear or hope of an unknown and
unseen world.