of the Indus, between Cabul and Cashmere, west of the latter country.
Gandara is, it appears, the country called Candahar by the Mussulmans,
lying between the Swat and the Indus. The Burmese author mentions always
Kashmera along with Gandara. This would indicate that the two places
are in the vicinity of each other, and that they formed primitively one
and the same state. Yaunaka is perhaps the peninsula of Guzerat. But
the writer entertains serious doubts on this subject. It might be the
countries situated west of the Hindu Kush, that is to say, the ancient
Bactriana. The Burmese author states that Yaunaka was inhabited by a
people called Pantsays. What people were they? Is it an allusion to the
Greeks that had settled in Bactriana? It is not without interest to
hear our Chinese traveller stating that religion was flourishing in the
above-mentioned countries, whilst in the Punjaub he met with religious
with whom he declined holding intercourse, and of whom he speaks in
rather unfavourable terms. Hence we may conclude that heretical opinions
were then prevailing in that country, and that doctrines at variance with
those of Buddha had already taken a deep root, and in their growth almost
choked genuine Buddhism, if it had ever been the prevailing creed in the
land of the five rivers.
22. On his way down the Ganges, our pilgrim does not appear to have left
his boat for any considerable time; he contents himself with mentioning
a fact that to some may appear somewhat doubtful, viz., the flourishing
condition of the Buddhist religion as far as the neighbourhood of
the present metropolis of India. He speaks of the kingdom of Champa.
Campapuri, or Karnapura, was the capital of that state. It was situated
on the site of the present Bhagulpore, or not far from it. Thence Fa-Hian
came to the state of Tamaralipti. The town which bore that name is the
modern Tumlook, on the right bank of the Hoogly, not far from Calcutta.
It was at that port that he embarked on board of a ship bound to Ceylon.
Tamaralipti must have been a famous sea-port several centuries before
Fa-Hian’s days. We are informed that Maheinda and his companions, who
were appointed to proceed to Ceylon to preach Buddhism to the people of
that island, embarked at the same place.
THE SEVEN WAYS TO NEIBBAN.
This is an abridgment of all the principles that constitute the system of
Buddhism. In the LEGEND OF BUDDHA the reader has become acquainted with
the life of the founder of Buddhism, the establishment of his religion,
and the promulgation of his chief doctrine. In the following pages he
will find compressed within narrow limits the several observances to be
attended to in order to reach the goal of quiescence. As it is chiefly
and principally by the help of meditation and contemplation that such a
point can ever be attained, the reader must be prepared to wade up to his
very chin in the somewhat muddy waters of metaphysics if he has a wish to
penetrate into the very sanctuary of Buddhism.
To encourage the reader, and console him in the midst of his fatiguing
journey through such dreary tracts, the writer would remind him that he
has first borne up the fatigues of such a journey, and that, impelled
by friendly feelings, he has endeavoured to smooth the rugged path in
behalf of those that would follow him on the same errand. How far he
has succeeded in his well-meant efforts he will not presume to state.
But he will say this much, that if his success be commensurate with
his exertions he may entertain a well-founded hope that he will not be
altogether disappointed in his anticipation, and feel somewhat confident
that he has afforded to the uninitiated some help to go over the
difficult ground of metaphysics.
Following, in this instance, the line of conduct he has adopted through
the foregoing pages of this book, the writer will allow the Buddhist
author to speak for himself and explain his own views on the different
subjects under consideration. His sole aim will ever be to convey as
faithfully and as succinctly as possible the meaning of the original
he has under his eyes. The task, however simple it may appear, is far
from being an easy one, as the Burmese are utterly incapable of fully
understanding the metaphysical portion of their religious system.
Their ignorance is calculated to render even more obscure what is _per
se_ almost beyond the range of comprehension, because they must have
frequently put an erroneous interpretation on many Pali words, the
meaning of which is far from being accurately determined.
Our Buddhist doctor begins his work with enumerating the advantages to be
derived from a serious and constant application to the earnest study of
these seven ways. “Such an exercise,” says he, “has the virtue to free us
from all evils; it expands the intelligence in the highest degree, and
leads straight to Neibban. Man, through it, is delivered from all errors,
is happy, and becomes during his life an honour to the holy religion of
Buddha.”
The various subjects he intends to treat of in this work are arranged
under seven heads, which are laid down in his own original way as
follows:—The observance of the precepts and the practice of meditation
are the two-fold foundation of the spiritual edifice. The consideration
of the nature and form of matter shall be the right foot of the sage;
the investigation about the causes and principles of living beings
shall be as his left foot; the application of the mind to find out the
four high-roads to perfection, and the obtaining the freedom from all
passions, shall be as his right and left hands; and the possession of
the perfect science or knowledge shall be as his head. The happy man who
shall have reached so far will be certain to obtain the deliverance.
This summary is thus divided by our guide into seven distinct parts,
which will be condensed into six articles.
It is as well to add that this work, an abridged translation of which is
now set before the reader, was composed at first in the Siamese language
at Bangkok, and has been subsequently translated into Burmese. We find,
therefore, that all the principles expounded throughout are received as
genuine on the banks of the Irrawaddy as well as on those of the Meinam,
and may be looked upon as a faithful exposition of the highest tenets
of Buddhism, such as they are held in both countries. This observation
confirms a notion which has been denied by many, viz., that the chief
doctrines of Buddhism are pretty nearly the same in all the places where
it has become the dominant creed. The discrepancies to be met here and
there relate principally to practices and observances which present to
the eyes of the observer an infinite variety of hues and forms. When
Buddhism was established in several countries, it did not destroy many
observances and practices that were found deeply engrafted on the customs
and manners of the people; it tolerated them, and made with them a tacit
compromise. As, for instance, the worship of Nats existed among the
tribes of the Irrawaddy valley long before the introduction of Buddhism.
Most of the superstitious rites now prevailing in Burmah originate from
that belief. With the Chinese the worship of ancestors continues to
subsist side by side with Buddhism, though the latter creed has nothing
to do with it. In Nepaul and at Ceylon, Hindu superstitions obtrude
themselves on the view of the observer to such an extent that it is not
easy to state which of the two creeds obtains the preference.
ARTICLE I.
OF THE PRECEPTS.
Our author, in a truly philosophical spirit, at first puts to himself the
three following questions: What is the origin of the law? What is man,
the subject of the law? What is the individual who is the promulgator of
the law? The three questions he answers in the following manner: 1st.
All that exists is divided into two distinct parts, the things which are
liable to change and obey the principle of mutability, such as matter,
its modifications, and all beings which have a cause;[45] and those which
are eternal and immutable, that is to say, the precepts of the law and
Neibban. These have neither author nor cause; they are self-existing,
eternal, and placed far beyond the reach of the influence that causes
mutability. 2d. As to the publisher of the law, Buddha, he is a mere
man, who during myriads of centuries has accumulated merits on merits,
until he has obtained the Neibban of Kiletha, or the deliverance from
all passions. From that moment till his death this eminent personage is
constituted the master of religion and the doctor of the law. Owing to
his perfect science he finds out and discovers all the precepts that
constitute the body of the law. Impelled by his matchless benevolence
towards all beings, he promulgates them for the salvation of all. He is
not the inventor of those precepts; he merely discovers them by the power
of the supreme intelligence, in the same manner as we perceive clearly
during the night, by the help of a light, objects hitherto wrapped in
utter darkness. 3d. Man, who is to be subjected to the observance of the
law, is distinguished by the following characteristics. He possesses more
knowledge than the animals and other beings, except the Nats and Brahmas;
his intelligence and thoughts reach farther than those of other beings;
he is capable of reflecting, comparing, drawing inferences, and observing
freely the rules of life;[46] despite the allurement of his passions, he
can free himself from the three great passions, concupiscence, anger, and
ignorance; finally, he is a descendant from those Brahmas who, in the
beginning of this world, came from their seat, lived on earth, and, by
their eating the rice _Tsale_, lost all their glorious privileges, and
became beings similar to those who are known to us under the denomination
of men.
The great end to be aimed at in the observance of the precepts of the law
and the exercise of meditation is the obtaining of a state of complete
indifference to all things. The state of indifference alluded to does not
consist in a stupid carelessness about the things of this world. It is
the result of a knowledge acquired with much labour and pain. The wise
man who has possessed himself of such science is no longer liable to the
influence of that vulgar illusion which makes people believe in the real
existence of things that have no reality about them, but subsist only
on an ephemeral basis, which incessantly changes and finally vanishes
away. He sees things as they truly are. He is full of contempt for things
which are at best a mere illusion. This contempt generates a complete
indifference for all that exists, even for his own being. He longs for
the moment when it shall be given to him to cast away his own body, that
he may no longer move within the circle of endless and miserable forms of
existence. In this sense must be understood the state of perfect quietism
or indifference, which is the last stage the wise man may reach by the
help of the science he possesses. The religious of the Brahminical creed
have professed the same indifference for all the accidents of life.
Hence our Buddha, when he became a perfected being, looked on the wicked
Dewadat with the same feelings as he did on the great Maia, his mother.
Numberless Rathees or anchorites have ever been eulogised for having
allowed themselves to be devoured by ferocious beasts or bit by venomous
snakes, rather than offer the least resistance that could exhibit a sign
of non-indifference. Entire was their unconcern towards their very body,
which they knew well is, as everything else, a compound of the four
elements, a mere illusion, totally distinct from self.
Five commandments constitute the very basis whereupon stand all morals,
and are obligatory on all men without exception. They include five
prohibitions. (It is not a little surprising that the five precepts
obligatory on all men are merely five prohibitions designed not to teach
men what they have to do, but warning them not to do such things as are
interdicted to them. This supposes that man is prone to do certain acts
which are sinful. The Buddhist law of the five precepts forbids him to
yield to such propensities, but it does not teach him particular duties
to perform. It does not elevate man above his original level, but it aims
at preventing him from falling lower.) The five prohibitions are: Not to
destroy the life of any being; not to steal; not to commit adultery; not
to tell lies; not to drink any intoxicating liquors or beverages.
Our author seems to be a perfect master in casuistry, as he shows the
greatest nicety and exactness in explaining all the requisite conditions
that constitute a trespassing of those precepts. We will give here but
a few samples of his uncommon proficiency in this science. As regards
the first prohibition, he says, five things are necessary to constitute
an offence against the first commandment, viz., a being that has life,
the intention and will of killing that being, an act which is capable of
inflicting death, and the loss of life of that being consequent on the
inflicting of that action. Should but one of these conditions be wanting,
the sin could not be said to have taken place, and therefore no complete
trespassing of the first prohibition.
Again, as regards the second precept, five circumstances or conditions
are necessary to constitute a trespassing, viz., an object belonging
to another person, who neither by words nor signs showed any intention
to part with it; the knowing that the owner intends to keep possession
of it; having the actual intention to take away secretly or forcibly
that object; an effort to become possessed of the thing by deceiving,
injuring, or by mal-practices causing the owner or keeper of the thing to
fall asleep; and, finally, removing the thing from its place, however
short may be the distance, should it be but that of the length of a hair
of the head.
For the infraction of the third precept the following conditions are
required: the intention and will of sinning with any person of another
sex, which comes within the denomination of Akamani-jathan, that is to
say, persons whom it is forbidden to touch; acting up to that intention
and the consummating of such an act. Women that fall under the above
denomination are divided into twenty classes. The eight first classes
include those that are under the guardianship of their parents or
relatives; the ninth class comprises those affianced before they be of
age; the tenth, those reserved for the king. Within the ten other classes
come all those who, owing to their having been slaves, or from any
other cause, have become concubines to their masters, or married their
seducers, &c.
The fourth prohibition extends not only to lies, but likewise to slander,
coarse and abusive expressions, and vain and useless words. The four
following conditions constitute a lie, viz., saying a thing that is
untrue; the intention of saying such a thing; making manifest such
an intention by saying the thing; and some one’s hearing and clearly
understanding the thing that is uttered. That the sin of medisance may
be said to exist, it is required that the author of it should speak with
the intention of causing parties to hate each other or quarrel with
each other, and that the words spoken to that end should be heard and
understood by the parties alluded to.
The fifth precept forbids the drinking of Sura and Meria, that is to say,
of distilled liquors and of intoxicating juices extracted from fruits
and flowers. The mere act of putting the liquor in the mouth does not
constitute a sin; the swallowing of it is implied.
Besides these five general precepts, obligatory on all the faithful
without exception, there are three other precepts, or rather counsels,
that are strongly recommended to the Upasakas, or pious laymen. They
are designed as barriers against the great propensity inherent in nature
which causes men to exceed in all that is used, through the senses of
taste, hearing, seeing, smelling, and feeling. They are so many means
that help to obtain a sober moderation in the daily use of the things of
the world.
The first counsel regulates all that regards eating. It forbids using any
comestible from noon to daybreak of the following morning. The second
interdicts the assisting at plays, comedies, and the use of flowers
and essences with the intention of fondly handling and smelling them.
The third prescribes the form and size of beds, which ought never to
be more than one cubit high, plain and without ornaments. The use of
mattresses and pillows, filled with cotton or other soft substances, is
positively prohibited. The very intention of lying upon these enervating
superfluities, and _a fortiori_ reclining on them, constitutes the
breaking of such a command.
These three latter precepts are to be observed chiefly in the following
days, on the 5th, 8th, 14th, and 15th of the waxing moon, and on the 5th,
8th, and 14th of the waning moon, as well as on the new moon. The pious
Upasakas sometimes observe them during the three consecutive months of
the season of Lent.
In the opinion of our author those men and women are deserving of the
respectable title of Upasakas who have the greatest respect for and
entertain a pious affection towards the three precious things, Buddha,
the law, and the assembly of the perfect. They must ever view them as
the haven of salvation and the securest asylums. They must be ready
to sacrifice everything, their very life, for the sake of these three
perfect things. During their lifetime, under all circumstances, they must
aim at following scrupulously the instructions of Buddha, such as they
are embodied in the law and preached by the Rahans.
Five offences disqualify a man for the honourable title of Upasaka, viz.,
the want of belief and confidence in the three precious things, the
non-observance of the eight precepts, the believing in lucky and unlucky
days,[47] or in good and bad fortune, the belief in omens and signs, and
keeping company with the impious, who have no faith in Buddha.
We now come to the rules which are prescribed to all the Buddhist
religious. They are 227 in number, and are found in a book called
Patimauk. This book is the _vade mecum_ of all religious. They study
it and often learn it by heart. On certain days of each month the
religious assemble in the Thein. The Patimauk is then read, explained,
and commented upon by one of the elders of the fraternity. It is an
abridgment of the Wini, the great book of discipline. It teaches the
various rules respecting the four articles offered by the faithful to the
religious; that is to say, vestments, food, mats, and the ingredients for
mastication. These rules likewise regulate all that relates to the mode
of making prayers, devotions, walking, sitting, reclining, travelling,
&c. Everything is described with a minute particularity.
Here, if any interest could be awakened, would be the place to enter
into the system of casuistry carried by Buddhist religious to a point of
nicety and refinement truly astonishing. Suffice it to state that they
have gone over the boundless field of speculative conjectures respecting
all the possible ways of fulfilling or trespassing the precepts and
regulations that concern the body of religious.
Every law and precept must have a sanction. This essential requisite
is not wanting in the Buddhist system. Let us examine in what consists
the reward attending a regular and correct observance of the precepts,
and what is the punishment inflicted on the transgressors of these
ordinances. As usual, we will follow our author and allow him to make
known his own opinions on this important subject. It is often inquired
of us, says he, why some individuals live here during many years, whilst
others appear but for a short time on the scene of this world. The
reason of the difference in the respective condition of these persons
is obvious and evident. The first, during their former existence, have
faithfully observed the first command and refrained from killing beings,
hence their long life; the second, on the contrary, have been guilty of
some trespassings of this precept, and therefore the influence of their
former crimes causes the shortness of their life. In a similar manner
we account for all the differences that exist in the conditions of all
beings. The observance or trespassing of one or several precepts creates
the positions of happiness and unhappiness, of riches and poverty, of
beauty and ugliness, that chequer the lives and positions of mortals in
this world.
In addition to the rewards bestowed immediately in this world, there
are the six seats of Nats, where all sorts of recompenses are allotted,
during immense periods, to those who have correctly attended to the
ordinances of the law. There are likewise places of punishment in the
several hells, reserved to the transgressors of the precepts. The
conditions of animal, Athoorikes and Preittas, are other states of
punishment.
A lengthened account of all that relates to the blissful regions of
Nats and the gloomy abodes of hell is found in one of the great Dzats,
or accounts of the former existences of Gaudama, given by himself to his
disciples, when he was a prince under the name of Nemi. The writer has
read and partly translated this work, which delightfully reminded him of
the fine episodes on similar subjects he had read in the sixth book of
the Æneid. The wildest, most fertile, and inventive imagination seems to
have exhausted its descriptive powers, on the one hand, in multiplying
the pleasures enjoyed in the seats of Nats, and beautifying and adorning
those delightful regions; and, on the other, in representing with a dark
and bloody pencil the frightful picture of the numberless and horrid
torments of the regions of desolation, despair, and agony.
All that is so abundantly related of the fortunate abodes of Nats in
their sacred writings supplies the Buddhist religious with agreeable and
inexhaustible topics of sermons which they deliver to their hearers,
to excite them more effectually to bestow on them abundant alms. The
credulous hearers are always told that the most conspicuous places in
those regions are allotted to those who have distinguished themselves by
their great liberalities. We think it idle and superfluous, uninteresting
and fatiguing to repeat those fabulous accounts of the seats of Nats and
abodes of hell, as given at great length by Buddhist authors. The only
particulars deserving to be attended to are these: the reward is always
proportionate to the sum of merits, and punishment to that of demerit.
There is no eternity of reward or of punishment.[48]
This first article shall be concluded by an important remark bearing
upon the system under consideration. The seats of happiness, as already
mentioned, are divided into two great classes; the one including the
superior, and the other the inferior seats. The latter are the six
seats of Nats, and are tenanted by beings as yet under the influence of
concupiscence and other passions. Those who observe the five general
precepts have placed, and, as it were, established themselves on the
basis whereupon stands perfection, but not yet in perfection itself; they
have just crossed the threshold thereof. They are as yet imperfect; but
they have prepared themselves for entering the way that leads towards
perfection; that is to say, meditation, or the science of Dzan. The very
reward enjoyed in those seats is, therefore, as yet an imperfection.
The superior seats can only be reached by those who apply themselves to
mental exercises. These exercises are the real foundation of the lofty
structure of perfection and the high-road to it.
ARTICLE II.
OF MEDITATION AND ITS VARIOUS DEGREES.
This and the following articles contain subjects of so abstruse and
refined a nature, that it would require one to possess the science of a
Buddha to come to a right understanding of them. The difficulties arising
from this study are due to the confused and very unsatisfactory ideas
of the Buddhist philosophers respecting the soul and its spirituality,
and perhaps to the inability of the writer to understand the vague and
undefined terms employed to convey their ideas on these matters. The
field of Buddhist metaphysics is, to a European, in a great measure a
new one; the meaning of the terms is half-understood by the Burmese
translators; definitions of terms do not convey explanations such as we
anticipate, and ideas seem to run in a new channel; they assume, if we
may say so, strange forms: divisions and subdivisions of the various
topics have no resemblance to what a European is used to in the study of
philosophy. The student feels himself ushered into a new region; he is
doomed to find his way by groping. Finally, the false position assumed
by the Indian philosophers, and the false conclusions they arrive at,
contribute to render more complicated the task of elucidating this
portion of the Buddhist system. That the difficulties may be somewhat
lessened, and the pathway rendered less rugged and a little smooth, the
writer proposes to avoid as much as it is in his power overcharging with
Pali terms the explanations he is about to afford, under the guidance of
the Buddhist author.
In the preceding article we have treated of meritorious actions that
are purely exterior, and briefly alluded to the nature of the rewards
bestowed on earth and in the six seats of Nats upon those who have
performed these good actions. Now we leave behind all the exterior good
deeds, and turn the attention of our mind to something more excellent,
to those acts that are purely interior, and are performed solely by
the soul and the right exercise of its faculties; that is to say, by
meditation and contemplation.
The root of all human miseries is ignorance. It is the generating
principle of concupiscence and other passions. It is the dark but lofty
barrier that encircles all beings and retains them within the vortex
of endless existences; it is the cause of all existences, and of all
those illusions to which beings are miserably subjected; it causes those
continual changes which take place in the production of all beings. This
great cause once found and proclaimed by Buddha, it was necessary to
procure a remedy to counteract the action of ignorance, and successfully
oppose its progress. Another antagonistic and opposite principle had to
be found, adequate to resist the baneful agency of ignorance and stem
its sad and misfortune-creating influence. That principle is science or
knowledge. Ignorance is but a negative agent: it is only the absence of
science. Let knowledge be, and ignorance shall vanish away in the same
manner as darkness is noiselessly but irresistibly dissipated by the
presence of light.
All beings in this universe, says our author, are doomed to be born and
die. We quit this place to go and live in another; we die here to be born
elsewhere. We can never be freed from pain, old age, and death. Whether
we like it or not, we must suffer and always suffer. But why is it so?
Because we do not possess the perfect science. Were we blessed with it,
we would infallibly look towards Neibban, and then, escaping from the
pursuit of pain and miseries, we would infallibly obtain the deliverance
from those evils which now incessantly press upon us. It rests with us
only to perfect our intelligence, so that we might gradually attain to
the perfect science, the source of all good. But by what means is so
desirable an end to be obtained? By the exercise of meditation, answers,
with a decided tone, our philosopher. This word implies, besides, our
intellectual operations of a superior order, such as contemplation,
visions, ecstasy, union, &c., which are the more or less complete results
of that intellectual exercise.
The act of meditating can take place but in the heart, where resides
the _mano_, or the faculty of knowing. Its object can never be but the
_nam-damma_, literally the name of the thing; or, in other terms, the
things of a purely intellectual nature. But it can by no means happen
in the seats of the other senses or organs, such as the eyes, the ears,
&c., which are only channels to communicate impressions to the faculty of
_mano_.
The constitutive parts of meditation are five in number. _Witteka_,
the action of raising the mind to an object; _Witzara_, the attentive
consideration of that object; _Piti_, the bringing of the soul and body
to a state of satisfaction; _Suka_, the pleasure enjoyed in the thing
considered; _Ekatta_, the perseverance or stability of the mind in
that object. There is also _Upekka_, which implies a greater and more
intense degree of fixity of the mind, extending not only to one object in
particular, but to all things.
It may be called the absolute quietism of the soul, and the net result of
a complete course of general meditation on the universality of things. It
is the last and highest point that can ever be reached.
To explain more fully the nature and definitions of the two first parts,
our philosopher has recourse to the following comparison. Let us suppose
a man that has to cleanse a rusty copper vessel. With one hand he grasps
the vessel, and with the other he rubs it up and down, right and left.
This is exactly what is done by the means of Witteka and Witzara. The
first gets hold of the object of meditation, and the second causes the
mind to pass and repass over it, until it has perfectly seen it in all
its particulars.
The third stage in the exercise of meditation is that of Piti, which
consists in a sort of transitory delectation, experienced by him who has
reached that third step of mental labour. It produces on the whole frame
the following effects:—It seems to him that is engaged in that exercise
that the hairs of his head stand on an end, so strong is the sensation
he then feels; at other times it produces in the soul sensations similar
to that of the lightning that rends the atmosphere. Sometimes it is in a
commotion resembling that of mighty waves breaking on the shore; at other
times the subject is, as it were, carried through the air, or only raised
above the ground, and occasionally it causes a chill running throughout
all the limbs. When these results have been, through persevering efforts,
repeatedly experienced with an ever-increasing degree of intensity, the
following effects are attained:—The body and the soul are completely
restrained, subdued, and composed; they are almost beyond the influence
of concupiscence. Both acquire a remarkable lightness, so that the
exercise of meditation offers no further trouble or labour; the natural
repugnance or opposition to self-recollection is done away with, then
the exercise of meditation becomes pleasing from the pleasurable state
of the soul and body, and finally both parts are in a true and genuine
condition, so that what there was previously in them either vicious or
opposed to truth disappears at once and vanishes away. Such are the
various effects experienced by the soul that has reached the degree of
Piti, or mental satisfaction.
When the soul and body have thus been perfectly subdued, and freed from
all that could wrongly affect them, the soul then reaches the state of
_Suka_, that is to say, of perfect and permanent pleasure and inward
delight. The effects or results thereof are called _Samati_, or peace or
quiescence of the soul. As a matter of course, that state of inward peace
has several degrees both as regards the time it lasts and the intensity
of the affection. It lasts sometimes for a moment, or for a period of
uncertain duration, as it happens when we reflect on some subject, or
we listen to a sermon. At other times its duration is longer; when, for
instance, we are about to enter into contemplation or ecstasy, and it
lasts as long as we are in one of these states.
From _Piti_ originates the _Samati-tseit_, the idea or consciousness of
inward quiescence. It is the secondary cause of the real joy and delight,
and is followed by an unshaken resolution to adhere to all the precepts
of the law. It produces in the soul a certain freshness, expansion, and
ravishment in the practice of virtue. Such a state is illustrated by the
following comparison. A traveller has to go over a very difficult road;
he is exposed to an intense heat, and tormented with a burning thirst.
Let us imagine the intensity of his delight when he finds himself on the
brink of a rivulet of clear and cool water; such is precisely the state
of the soul under the influence of _Piti_. The state of _Suka_ follows it
very soon. It is exemplified by the condition of the traveller who has
been perfectly refreshed and relieved from thirst and fatigue, and enjoys
the delightful and pleasurable effects resulting therefrom.
The last state or the crowning point to be arrived at by the means of
meditation is that of _Upekka_, or perfect fixity, whence originates
an entire indifference to love or hatred, pleasure or pain. Passions
can no more affect the soul in that happy condition. But in this, as
well in the preceding states, there are several degrees, according to
the various objects it refers to. In the _Upekka_, relating to the five
senses, man is no more affected by beautiful or unseemly objects, by
harsh or melodious sounds, &c. As to what refers to creatures, man has
neither love nor dislike for them. Man obtains the state of _Upekka_,
relating to science or knowledge, by examining and considering all things
through the medium of the three great principles, _aneitsa_, _duka_,
_anatta_, that is to say, change, pain, and illusion. There is also
the _uirya upekka_; as when a man, after great struggles and efforts
to obtain a certain object, sees that he cannot reach it, he becomes
indifferent to it, and without trouble or the least disquiet gives up
the undertaking. There are many other effects of the Upekka mentioned
by our author, the enumeration of which would prove tedious. What has
been just stated is sufficient to afford a correct idea of the nature of
the highest state of meditation that the human mind can ever reach. The
last and most transcendent result of the condition of Upekka is this:
when an individual, by successful exertions, has ascended to the top of
the spiritual ladder, there is a certain virtue that attracts everything
to him. He becomes a centre to which all appear to converge. He is like
the central point of our planet, that ever remains distinct from the
bodies it incessantly draws to itself. Seated in the centre of the most
complete quietism, the sage contemplates, without the least effort, the
unclouded truth that indefinitely unfolds itself before him. Hence, as
our author observes, the sage that has reached the state of Upekka has
no more to pass successively through the four preceding stages to be
enabled to meditate; that is to say, he no more requires the help of
thought, reflection, satisfaction, and pleasure. He is in the middle of
the cloudless atmosphere of truth which he enjoys, and therein remains as
unmoved as truth itself.
As stated in the previous article, the observance of the precepts, or the
performance of exterior good actions, draws abundant rewards upon those
who faithfully comply with them. These rewards are bestowed either in the
seat of man or in the six abodes of Nats, which we will agree to call the
six inferior heavens, where concupiscence as yet holds its empire.
The inward good deeds produced by the operation of the intellectual
faculties of the soul being of an incomparably greater value than the
external ones, the recompense of the former is of a higher order than
that of the latter. Hence there are twenty superior heavens reserved to
the sages that have made progress in meditation.[49] The accounts of
the Buddhists respecting the extent of these seats, their respective
distance in a perpendicular direction, the myriads of centuries to stay
in each of them, &c., are puerilities not worth attending to, and in
no way belonging to the genuine and original Buddhism. They are the
inventions in subsequent ages of individuals who wished to emulate their
neighbours and rivals, the Hindus, at a time when the latter substituted
the gross and revolting idolatry of the Puranas for the purer doctrines
of the Vedas. But what is directly to our purpose is the distinction
of these twenty seats into two classes. The first comprises sixteen
seats, under the designation of _Rupa_, or matter; the second includes
four seats, called _Arupa_, or immaterial abodes or conditions. Here
are located on a grand and immense scale, according to their respective
proficiency in science and meditation, the beings that have striven to
advance in knowledge by the exertion of the mental faculties. The general
appellation given to each class bears a great meaning, and therefore
deserves explanation. In the sixteen seats of _Rupa_ are placed the
contemplatives who have as yet a body, and have not been hitherto able to
disengage themselves from some affection to matter. The subjects of their
meditations are still the beings inhabiting this material world, together
with some of the _Kathain_, or coarser portion of their being. But in
the four seats called _Arupa_, which terminate the series of Buddhist
heavens, the contemplatives are destitute of shape and body; they are
almost brought to the condition of pure spirits. In their sublime and
lofty flight in the regions of spiritualism, they seem to have bid a
last farewell to this world, and to be no longer concerned with material
things.
Let us glance rapidly over these various seats, and pay a visit to the
beings that have been rewarded with a place in them, owing to their
great proficiency in the mental exercise of meditation. We will begin
with the lowest seat, and from it successively ascend to the loftiest.
We must bear in remembrance that there are, as above stated, five
degrees of meditation or five parts, viz., perception, reflection,
satisfaction, happiness, and fixity. He who has been much exercised in
the first degree shall inhabit one of the three first seats of Rupa.
Those who, leaving aside the first degree, shall delight in the second
and third, shall inhabit, according to their respective progress, one
of the three following seats. Those who take delight only in the fourth
degree, having no further aid of the three first parts, perception,
consideration, and satisfaction, shall be located in the seventh,
eighth, and ninth seats. When the fifth degree of Dzan, or meditation,
has been attained, that is to say, when a privileged contemplative
is able to meditate and contemplate, without having recourse to the
representation and consideration of the object, without allowing himself
to be influenced by pleasures or joy, then he has attained to the state
of fixity and indifference; he occupies the tenth and eleventh seats.
The five remaining seats bear the collective name of _Thoodawata_, or
abodes of the pure or perfect, that is to say, the dwelling-place of
those who have entered into the current of perfection. They are inhabited
by the Kaliana Putadzans, and the four sorts of contemplatives called
Thautapan, Thakadagan, Anagan, and Rahandas. The latter have entered into
the _Thoda_, or current of perfection. The Thautapans and Thakadagans are
pure and exempt from all influence of demerits; the Anagans are delivered
from the five concupiscences. The Rahandas are enjoying a perfect
indifference for all. They are strangers to such language as this: I am
great, I am greater, I am greatest. Such terms of comparison are but mere
illusions; they are deceitful sounds that confuse, distract, and bewilder
the ignorant.
Above the _Thoodawata_ seats are the four called _Arupa_, or immaterial.
The denizens of these places first recognise that the miseries attending
man in this world have their origin in the body. They then conceive
the utmost disgust and horror for it; they long for the dissolution of
this agent to all wickedness. So great is their horror for bodies and
matter, that they no longer select them for subjects of meditation;
they endeavour to cross beyond the limits of materiality, and launch
forth into the boundless space, where this material world does not seem
to reach. The inhabitants of the first seat have assumed for their
subject of meditation the _Akasa_, the air, the fluid of the atmosphere,
or the space. Those of the second meditate on the _Winiana_, or the
spirit, or life of beings, taken in an abstract sense; those of the
third contemplate the _Akintzi_, or immensity; those of the fourth,
_Newathagnia_, lose themselves in the infinity.
By what mental process has the sage to pass in order to reach the
first degree of sublime contemplation? He will have to begin with the
consideration of the form of some material object, say one of the four
elements. Let him afterwards set aside those _Kathain_, or material
portions of the element brought under consideration, and occupy his mind
with the ether, or fluid, or space; the former, that is to say, the
kathain, shall disappear to give place to something divested of all those
coarser forms, and the mind shall be fixed only on the _akatha_. The sage
then shall repeat ten hundred thousand times these words,—The space or
air is infinite, until there will appear at last the first _tseit_, or
idea of _arupa_. In a similar manner, the _tseit akan_, or the idea of
conformity with purpose, disappears; then begins the science of _upekka_,
or indifference, with its four degrees; the idea that then succeeds is
precisely that of _akasa ananda_, or infinite ether, or space. This
unintelligible mental process is explained by a comparison. If they
shut with a white cloth the opening of a window, the persons inside the
room, turning their eyes in the direction of the opening, see nothing
but the white cloth. Should the cloth be suddenly removed, they perceive
nothing but that portion of the space corresponding with the extent of
the window. The piece of cloth represents the material forms, that are
the subjects of meditation, or contemplation, of those living in the
seats of _Rupa_; the free opening of the window exemplifies the subjects
of contemplation reserved to the first class of _arupa_. Having reached
so far, the contemplative soon feels the utmost disgust for all material
forms, and is entirely delivered from the three _Thagnia_, or false
persuasions, supplied by matter, by the action of the senses, and by the
result of merits and demerits. He is displeased with all the coarser
forms of beings. The action of the contemplative has its sphere in the
_mano_, or seat of knowledge. The ideas originating from the action of
the senses have no share in that purely intellectual labour. In that
state, the sage has fallen into a condition of so perfect abstraction,
that all the accidents on the part of the elements can produce no effect
over him. The action of the senses is completely suspended during all
the time that the contemplation lasts. In fact this is nothing else but
_thamabat_, or ecstasy.
The same course of meditation must be followed by the sages inhabiting
the other three seats; only the object to be contemplated will be
different.
Having explained the important subject of meditation, endeavoured to
show the different parts or degrees of that intellectual exercise, and
given a faint outline of the recompenses bestowed on those that have
distinguished themselves by proficiency in that exercise, we have now
to follow our author, and, with him, make ourselves acquainted with the
principal subjects that attract the attention of the contemplative.
ARTICLE III.
OF THE NATURE OF BEINGS.
The Buddhist philosopher, in his earnest prosecution after the antidote
of ignorance, that is, science, rightly states that all beings, and
man, in particular, must ever be the first and most interesting subject
the sage has to study. The knowledge of man in particular constitutes
a most important portion of the science he must acquire, ere he can
become a perfect being, and be deemed worthy to be admitted to the state
of Neibban. In the very limited sketch of this part of the work under
consideration, the attention of the reader will be directed on man as
the most interesting of all beings. With our Buddhist author, therefore,
he will take human beings as the subject of his investigations.
Provided with the philosophical dissecting knife, he will anatomise
all the component parts of that extraordinary being, whose nature has
ever presented an insoluble problem to ancient sages. What is to be
said on this subject will be sufficient to convey a correct idea of the
mode of reasoning and arguing followed by Buddhist philosophers, when
they analyse other beings and select them for the subjects of their
meditations.
At the very beginning, our author proclaims this great maxim: All beings
living in the three worlds, heaven, earth, and hell, have in themselves
but two things or attributes, _Rupa_ and _Nam_, form and name. Accustomed
as we are to a language that expresses clear and distinct notions, we
would like to hear him say, in nature there are but two things, matter
and spirit. But such is not the language of Buddhists, and I apprehend
that were we giving up their somewhat extraordinary, and, to us, unusual
way of expressing their ideas, we could not come to a correct knowledge
of the notions they entertain respecting the nature of man. Let us allow
our author to speak for himself, and, as much as possible, express
himself in his own way. By _rupa_, we understand form and matter; that
is to say, all that is liable _per se_ to be destroyed by the agency of
secondary causes. _Nam_, or _nama_, is the thing, the nature of which
is known to the mind by the instrumentality of _mano_, or the knowing
principle. In the five aggregates constituting man, viz., materiality or
form, the organs of sensation, of perception, of consciousness, and those
of intellect, there is nothing else to be found but form and name. We
are at once brought to this materialist conclusion, that in man we can
discover no other element but that of form and that of name.
To convey a sort of explanation of this subject, our author gives here
a few notions respecting the six senses. I say six senses, because with
him, besides the five ordinary senses, he mentions the _mano_, or the
knowing principle that resides in the heart, as one of the senses. The
organs or faculties of seeing, hearing, feeling, tasting, smelling, and
knowing, he calls the inward senses. These same organs, as they come in
contact with exterior objects, are called exterior senses. The faculty
inherent in each of the senses whereby is operated the action between
the organ and its object is designated by the appellation of the life
of the senses, as, for instance, the eye seeing, the ear hearing, &c.
In this treble mode of considering the senses, what do we meet with but
form and name, ideas and matter? Supposing the organ of seeing to exist,
and an object to be seen, there will necessarily result, as an essential
consequence, the perception or idea of such a thing. Even as regards the
_mano_, where there exists the heart on one side, and truth on the other,
there will follow immediately the idea or perception of truth.
This materialist doctrine, if the meaning of our author be accurately
understood, is further confirmed by the method he proposes for carrying
on the investigation respecting the nature of things. He who desires
to penetrate deeply into such a sublime science must have recourse to
the help of meditation. Having selected an object, he considers it by
the means of _witekka_. He passes successively through the ideas and
impressions he derives from the contemplation of such an object. He
then says to himself: the ideas obtained by means of _witekka_, or the
first degree of dzan, or meditation, are nothing but _nam-damma_, since
their nature is to offer themselves to the _arom_, as the thought to its
object. But where is the seat of that _arom_? It resides in the substance
of the heart, which, in reality, affords asylum both to it and to the
_nam-damma_. It is nowhere else to be found. But what is the heart?
Whence does it come? By what is it formed? To these three questions we
answer, that the heart is composed of the four elements. It is but one
and the same thing with them. This startling doctrine is explicit, and
excludes at once the idea of a spiritual substance.
Our author has now reached the elements of the parts constituting all
that exists with a form. He boldly asserts that all that has an existence
is but an aggregate of earth, water, fire, and air; all the forms are but
modifications and combinations of the four elements. The bare enumeration
of this general principle is not sufficient to satisfy our philosopher.
He wishes to know and explain the reason of everything. Here begins an
analysis entirely unknown to our chemists and philosophers of the west.
The body is divided into thirty-two parts, which are often enumerated
in formulas of prayer by pious Buddhists. Each of these thirty-two
parts is subdivided into forty-four. The hair, how slender soever it
appears, is submitted to that minute analysis. The result of this subtle
division is to show what is the proportion of each element that enters
into the formation of these atomical parts. We have not the patience
to write down these uninteresting details, nor do we believe that the
reader will be displeased if we spare him the trouble of going over such
worthless nomenclature. There is another division of matter, or body,
into forty-two parts, called _akan_. This is based upon the distinction
of the four elements that enter unequally into the formation of the body;
twenty parts belong to the earth, twelve to water, six to fire, and six
to wind. Then again the body is divided into sixty parts; the division
is based upon the distinction of the ten constitutive parts belonging to
each of the senses, as it will be hereafter explained. The object which
Buddhist philosophers have in view in entering into so many divisions and
subdivisions of the forms of the body is to prove, in their opinion to
demonstration, that, by the nicest analysis of every part of the body,
we find in the end nothing but the primary elements that are called the
supports of all that exist.
We have now to follow our author through a path more difficult than the
preceding one, and hear him explain the theory of ideas and their various
modifications. These, says he, are known, not by their forms, since they
have none, but only by their name. Through the practice of reflection
and meditation we become acquainted with them. We call them _arupa
damma_, things without a form or shape. They are designated under the
name of _tseit_ and _tsedathit_,[50] that is to say, ideas and the result
of ideas. Where are these ideas to be met? Where have they their seat?
In the six senses and nowhere else, is the answer. Having already become
acquainted with the organs of the senses, it will be easy to find out the
ideas that are as the tenants of the senses.
All the _tseits_ inhabiting the organs of sense are called _loki
tseit_, that is to say, ideas of the world, because they are to be met
with in all the beings as yet subjected to concupiscence. They are
distinct from _lokoudra tseits_, which belong properly to the beings
free from passions, and who have entered into the four _megga_, or ways
to perfection. The _tseits_ of this world are eighty-one in number,
classified as follows: the perception of each of the five organs, and the
perception of the respective faculties of those organs. This gives ten
tseits. There are three for the sense of the heart, the perception of the
substance of the heart, of its faculty of knowing, and of the object of
its knowledge.
Each of the six senses has ten constitutive forms or parts, viz.: earth,
water, fire, air, colour, odour, taste, fluid, life, and the body
attached primitively thereto. Now there is an action from each of these
forms upon the subject. Thence ten _tseits_ to each of the six senses.
There are no words so ill defined and so ill understood by our
philosopher as the two words Tseit and Tsedathit. The first in a moral
sense means idea, thought, perception, etc.; in a physical sense it means
that secondary cause created by _kan_, producing the living being, the
senses wherein reside the moral _tseit_. Tsedathit, being the result of
ideas, must, of course, have likewise two meanings. In the first place it
will designate the impressions made upon us by ideas; in the second, it
will mean the secondary cause or life in the body, or the modifications
of the principles of corporeal life.
This being premised, we may a little understand our author when he says:
There are seven _tsedathits_ existing at the same time as the eighty-one
above-mentioned _tseits_, viz.: _pasa tsedathit_, so called because it
is the real effect of the tsedathit to attain its object, and, as it
were, to touch it. We may call it the agreement between the idea and
its object. _Wedana tsedathit_, the feeling of the impression of an
idea; _thagnia tsedathit_, the comprehension of the object; _dzetana
tsedathit_, the inclination for the object; _eketa tsedathit_, the
fixity on the object; _dziwi-teindre tsedathit_, the observance of what
relates to form and name; and _mana sikaramana tsedathit_, consciousness.
It is evident, therefore, that the tsedathit is neither the idea nor the
object of the idea, but the result from the idea that has come in contact
with an object. These seven results are, if we may say so, the third part
of the idea. They do not give occasion to modifications of ideas. But
those which really give rise to the greatest variety of results are the
_akuso tsedathit_, or the results of evil thoughts and ideas, and their
opposite, or _kuso tsedathit_, or the consequence of good and virtuous
thoughts. To mention here all the _kuso_ and _akuso tsedathit_ would be
but a dry exposition of the nomenclature of the vices and virtues, such
as is met with in the catalogues of Buddhist moralists. They are all
enumerated in the preceding note.
ARTICLE IV.
OF THE CAUSE OF THE FORM[51] AND OF THE NAME, OR OF MATTER AND SPIRIT.
The duty of our intelligence is to investigate the cause of all the
modifications of forms and names. This being effected, we are delivered
from all doubts and disquietude. When we perceive such a form, such an
idea, &c., we are able forthwith to account for its causes. In this study
we must copy the conduct of the physician, who, when attending a patient,
sits by his bedside, closely examines the nature of the distemper and the
causes that have given rise to it, in order to find out counteracting
agents or remedies to check its progress at first, and gradually to
uproot it from the constitution. In the moral order, the philosopher
too has to examine the nature of all moral distempers, ascertain the
principles or causes they spring from, and thereby become qualified to
cure those disorders.
The beings that inhabit the three worlds, says our author, must have a
cause. To say that they exist of themselves and without a cause is an
absurdity. The very dissimilarity we observe among them indicates that
their mode of existence results from certain causes. We, however, cannot
agree with our antagonists, the Brahmins, who maintain that Maha Brahma
is the cause of all that exists. This being is not out of the circle of
Rupa and Nam; he is himself a compound of Nam and Rupa, that is to say,
effect but not cause. In vain our opponents will add that all that is
distinct of Maha Brahma is subjected to a cause, but that the Rupa and
Nam, constituting his essence, are without a cause. This is removing
the difficulty a little further, without advancing a step towards its
solution; our answer must ever be the same.
Before expounding the opinions of our philosopher on this important
subject, it is necessary to state the views entertained by that class of
philosophers whose doctrines appear to have taken root in these parts.
It is easy to perceive that they are modifications of the opinion of the
Hindus on the same subject, and akin to that respecting the Adi Buddha,
or supreme Buddha.
Some doctors maintain that there is a first cause or being that has
made matter and spirit. Others, admitting the eternal co-existence of
matter and of the supreme being, say that he is the remote cause of the
organisation of matter, as we at present see it. But all agree in this,
that no one can ever come to the knowledge of that first cause, and it is
impossible ever to have an idea of it. Hence it is the height of folly
and rash presumption to attempt to come to the knowledge of what is
placed beyond the range of human investigation. It behoves us to apply
all the powers of the mind to discover the immediate cause that certainly
produces existence.
The sage, to be worthy of his sublime calling, must remain satisfied
with striving to find out that immediate cause which brings into action
the form and name, and causes the appearance of all those modifications
which we call beings or forms of existence. He ought to strive to account
for the organisation of matter and all its modifications, by discovering
the hidden spring that effectually sets all in motion, in action, in
combination of existences.
Now, our author puts this important question: What thing is to be
considered as the mover of the forms and ideas? We know, says he, that
the human body has its beginning in the womb of the mother; we are
acquainted with its position in that fœtid and narrow prison; its being
surrounded with nerves, veins, &c., having above it the new elements,
and under it the old ones. The manner in which the body originates in
the womb much resembles the process by which worms and insects are
formed in rotten substances, and in putrid and stagnant water. But
this is not accounting for the real cause of living bodies. The real
causes, according to some doctors, are five in number, viz., ignorance,
concupiscence, desire, _kan_ (the influence of merits and demerits),
and _ahan_ (the aliments). They concur together in the formation of the
living body in the following manner. Ignorance, concupiscence, and desire
give asylum to the body, as the mother supplies the infant with a refuge
in her womb. Kan, like the father, is the cause productive of the body.
Ahan affords nourishment to the body.
The ideas are but the result of the formation of the organs of senses.
Let us suppose, for instance, the organ of seeing. The _Tsekkou Wignian_,
that is to say, the life of the eyes, or the ideas connected with the use
of that sense, presupposes two things, the organ and a form or an object
on which the organ acts. These existing, there necessarily result the
idea of vision, the perception, &c., in a word, all the ideas arising
from the action of the eyes upon various objects. The same mode of
arguing is employed relatively to the other five senses.
Other philosophers argue in the following way. The primary causes of all
ideas and thoughts are disposed under two heads, that of ideas which
have a fixed place, and that of those that have no fixed place. Under
the first head are comprised the six _Ayatana_, or seats of senses, and
the six _Arom_, or the objects of senses. Thence flow all the ideas and
consequences that relate to merit and demerit. Under the second head
are placed the causes or agents that produce ideas and thoughts, the
exercise of the intellect holding the first rank. He who applies his
mind to the meditation of what is good, such as the commands and other
parts of the most excellent law, and labours to find out that all that
is in this world is subjected to change, pain, and illusion, opens at
once the door to the coming in of the _tseit_, or ideas connected with
merit. On the other hand, the application of the mind to things bad and
erroneous, contrary to the prescriptions of the holy law, generates the
idea of demerit. Such are the causes of the ideas and thoughts. As to
the cause of form, they assert that _kan_, _tseit_, fire, and _ahan_
are the sole agents in the formation of the living body. Kan, as the
workman, makes the body and sets in it all that relates to its good and
bad qualities. The _tseit_, seventy-five in number, are also principles
of the existence of the body, of which forty-four are called Kamawatzara
tseit; they relate to the demerit and merit of those who are still under
the influence of concupiscence; fifteen _rupa_ watzara tseit, relating
to beings in the seats of rupa; eight _arupa_ watzara tseit, relating to
those in the seats of arupa; eight _lokoudara_ tseit, relating to the
beings that have entered on the four ways of perfection. The _Tedzo-dat_,
or the element of fire, contributes its share by the head and rays of
light, and _ahan_ by supplying the required aliments.
Some other philosophers account for the causes of form and ideas
following this course of argument. The form and ideas that constitute
all beings are liable to miseries, old age, and death, because there is
generation and death. Generation exists because there are worlds, worlds
exist because there is desire, desire exists because there are organs,
organs exist because there are form and name, form and name exist because
there are concepts, concepts exist because there is merit and demerit,
merit and demerit exist because there is ignorance. The latter is,
indeed, the real cause of all forms and ideas. There is no doubt but this
latter opinion is the favourite one with our author. It is based upon the
theory of the twelve Nidanas, or causes and effects, and appears to be
the orthodox opinion, and bears the stamp of great antiquity.
Having thus accounted in the best way he could for the existence of all
that relates to the beings in the three worlds, our author fondly dwells
on the benefits that accrue from the knowledge of causes. It dissipates
all the doubts that had previously darkened the mind; it quiets all the
anxieties of the heart, and affords perfect peace. For want of it, the
impious fall from one error into another; the disciples of Buddha are
chiefly perfected by its help.
We read in the Buddhist scriptures that a Brahmin went to consult Buddha
on some points that much perplexed his mind. He said to him, “I am beset
with doubts respecting the past, the present, and the future. Respecting
the past, I ask myself, Have I passed through former generations or
not? What was my condition during those existences? My answer is, I am
ignorant on all those points. What was my position previous to those
generations? I know it not. As to the present, is it true that I exist?
or is my existence but an illusion? Shall I have to be born again or not?
What are those living beings that surround me at present? Are they but so
many illusions which deceive me by their appearance of reality? On these
points I am sunk in complete ignorance. The future is likewise full of
doubts and most perplexing uncertainties. Shall I have other generations
or not? What shall be my condition during these coming existences? A
thick veil hides from my eyes all that concerns my future destiny. What
are the means to clear up all those doubts that encompass me on all
sides?”
Buddha said to him, “Reflect first on this main point, that what we are
wont to call self, or _moi_, is nothing but name and form—that is to say,
a compound of the four elements, which undergoes perpetual changes under
the action or influence of _Kan_. Having acquired the conviction of the
truth of this principle, it remains with you to investigate carefully
the causes which produce both name and form. This simple examination
will lead you at once to the perfect solution of all your doubts. Behold
the difference that exists between the holders of false doctrines and
the true believers. The former, whom we may almost call animals, never
take the trouble to examine the nature of beings or the causes of their
existence. They are stubbornly attached to their false theories, and
persist in saying that what the ignorant, delivered up to illusion, are
used to call an animal, a king, a subject, a foot, and a hand, &c., is
really an animal, a king, a subject, a foot, and a hand, &c.; whilst
all living beings and their component parts are nothing else but name
and form—that is to say, a compound made up of the four elements. Those
impious are delivered up to error; hence it happens that they follow all
different ways. We reckon among them more than sixty different sects, all
at variance among themselves, but all uniting in a common obstinacy to
reject the true doctrine of Buddha. They are doomed to move incessantly
within the circle of endless and wretched existences.
“How different is the condition of the true believers, our followers!
They know that the living beings inhabiting the world have a beginning.
But they are sensible of the folly of attempting to reach this beginning
or first cause. This is above the capacity of the loftiest intelligence.
It is evident, for instance, that the seeds of plants and trees, which
are continually in a state of reproduction, have a beginning; but what
that beginning is, no one presumes to determine. So it is with man and
all living beings. They know well, too, that what is vulgarly called man,
woman, eyes, mouth, are all illusory distinctions, vanishing away in the
presence of the sage, who sees nothing in all that but name and form,
the production of Kan and Wibek, that is to say, of the first and second
causes. These two things are not the man and the woman, &c., but they are
the efficient causes of both. What we say respecting man and woman may be
applied to animals and to all other beings. They are all the productions
or results of Kan and Wibek, quite as distinct from these two agents as
effect is distinct from its cause. To explain this doctrine, Buddhists
have recourse to the comparison of a burning-glass. When there is such
an instrument in one hand, and the rays of the sun pass through it to
the other, fire is then produced; but fire is quite distinct from the
two causes that have concurred jointly in producing it. Our disciples,
too, are aware that the five _khandas_, or aggregates constituting a
living being, succeed each other at each generation, but in such a way
that the second generation partakes or retains nothing of the _khandas_
of the first. But the causes producing them—such as Kan and Wibek—never
change; they ever remain the same. Let us suppose lamps lighted up. If
they burn always, it is owing to the action of individuals that supply
them with oil, and light them as soon as they are extinguished. Such is
the condition of the _khandas_. Those which belong to one existence have
no more in common with those of the following one than the fire of the
lamp just lighted anew has with that of the fire of the lamp that has
just died away. As to the way beings are reproduced, we say that when
a man is dying, the last _tseit_ having appeared and soon disappeared,
it is succeeded forthwith by the _patti_ tseit or the tseit of the new
existence; the interval between both is so short that it can scarcely
be appreciated. This first _tseit_ has nothing in common with the last
one. It is, let it be well remembered, the production of _kan_, or of the
influence of merits and demerits, as well as the _khandas_ above alluded
to.”
This article is by far the most important of all. The latter part, in
particular, elucidates in a distinct manner the genuine opinions of
Buddhism on points of the greatest concern. We may sum up the whole as
follows:—
1. There is a first cause that has acted in bringing into being all that
exists; but that first cause is unknown, nor can we ever come to the
knowledge of it.
2. The immediate causes of all the modifications of beings, or states of
being, are ignorance and _kan_.
3. All beings are but compounds of the four elements. The intellectual
operations are carried on by the instrumentality of the heart, in the
same manner as vision is obtained by the means of the eye and of an
object to act upon.
4. Each succeeding existence is brought on and modified by the action of
Kan, or the influence of merits and demerits.
5. The component parts of a new being are in no way connected with
those of the previous being. This is the key to the difficulty many
persons find in accounting, in a Buddhistic sense, for the process of
metempsychosis. A new term ought to be coined to express that doctrine.
6. The question respecting Neibban may be theoretically resolved without
difficulty, by application of the principles contained in this and the
preceding article. There is no doubt that the solution forced upon the
mind from what has been above stated is that the end of the perfected
being is annihilation. Horrifying as this conclusion is, it is not, after
all, worse than that which is the terminus of the theories of some modern
schools. What an abyss is the poor human mind liable to fall into when it
ceases to be guided by Revelation!
ARTICLE V.
OF THE TRUE MEGGAS OR WAYS TO PERFECTION.
The subject under consideration is a very important one. It comprehends
and comprises a summary of many particulars already alluded to in the
foregoing two articles. The reader will find the path he has to follow
less rugged, and the ground he will have to go over not so arid.
Our author seems to lay great stress on this special point. The sage,
says he, who is desirous to arrive at the supreme perfection, must apply
all the powers of his mind to discern the true ways from the false ones.
Many are deceived in the midst of their researches after wisdom. The real
criterion between the true and false ways is this: when, in considering
an object, and making a philosophical analysis of it, the sage finds
it somehow connected with concupiscence and other passions so far that
he cannot, as it were, dissolve it by the application of the three
principles of aneitsa, duka, and anatta—that is to say, change, pain,
and illusion, then he must conclude that he is out of the right ways;
the high road to perfection is barred before him. But on the contrary,
whenever, by the appliance of the three great principles, he sees that
all the objects brought under his consideration are nothing more or less
than the mere compound of the four elements, divested of these illusory
appearances which deceive so many, then he may be certain that he is
in the right position, and is sure of making progress in the way to
perfection.
To facilitate the study of the _Meggas_, Buddhists have classified all
real and imaginary beings under a certain number of heads. The sage, to
complete his laborious task, has to examine separately each of these
subjects and submit them to the following lengthened, difficult, and
complicated process. He takes up one subject, attentively considers its
exterior and interior compound parts, its connection and relation with
other things, its tendency to adhere to or part with surrounding objects.
Pursuing his inquiries into the past, he endeavours to make himself
acquainted with the state and condition of that object during several
periods that have elapsed; when his mind is satisfied on this point he
follows up in future the same object, and calculates from the experience
of the past what change it may hereafter become subjected to. This study
enables him to perceive distinctly that it is subjected to the three
great laws of mutability, pain, and illusion. This conviction once deeply
seated in his soul, the sage holds that object in supreme contempt; far
from having any affection for or attachment to it, he feels an intense
disgust at it, and longs for the possession of Neibban, which is the
exemption from the influence of mutability, pain, and illusion.
What we have now stated is tolerably clear and intelligible; but what
follows is less evident. It partakes of that obscurity and complication
so peculiar to Buddhist metaphysics. This state of things is created and
maintained chiefly by a mania for divisions and subdivisions that would
have puzzled even the schoolmen of the middle ages. We have to listen to
what our author says respecting the method to be observed in carrying on
the great examination of all subjects of investigation. If that labour be
patiently and perseveringly prosecuted until all the objects of inquiry
be exhausted, ample and magnificent shall be the reward for such labours.
The sage will be in possession of the perfect science; Neibban will
appear to him; he will long for it, and unremittingly shape his course in
its direction: in a word, he shall have reached the acme of perfection.
Seated on that lofty position, enjoying a perfect calm in the bosom of
absolute quietism, the sage is beyond the reach of passions; there is no
illusion for him; he has cut the last thread of future generations by the
destruction of the influence of merits and demerits; he has obtained
the deliverance from all miseries; he has reached the peaceful shores of
Neibban. But such a prize is not easily obtained; it is to be purchased
only at the expense of an immense amount of lasting and strenuous mental
exertion.
The sage, agreeably to the old and always true saying, Know thyself,
very properly begins his mightily difficult task with the examination
of the five aggregates constituting a living being, the organs of the
six senses, and all that relates to them. Then he applies himself to the
studies of the five Dzan, or the parts of meditation and contemplation,
and to all that is connected with the seats of Rupa and Arupa. All the
objects of examination ranged on that scale are 600 in number. We shall
rapidly glance over this table, indicating but the heads of the principal
divisions.
We ought not to forget that the five aggregate, or _khandas_,
constituting a living being, are form, sensation, perception,
consciousness, and intellect. Supposing that we take the first of those
attributes as subject of examination. We must represent it to the mind,
carefully examine it in all its bearings and properties, respecting the
past, the present, and the future. We must proceed on and bring it in
contact with the three great principles of aneitsa, duka, and anatta,
and inquire whether form be changeable or not, passive or impassive,
transient or permanent. We thereby acquire the knowledge of the following
great truth; viz., form is essentially liable to change, pain, and
illusion. The examination of each of the four other attributes is
proceeded on in a like manner, and a similar result ensues.
The six organs of the senses come next under consideration. These are
the eyes, the ears, the nose, the tongue, the body, or rather the skin
that envelops it, and the heart in a physical sense, and _mano_ in a
moral one. Each of the six senses partakes of the eleven conditions
or attributes we are about to describe; and each of these eleven
attributes being brought successively into relation with each of the six
senses, must be considered, as above stated, under the treble relation
to mutability, pain, and illusion. This will supply the inquirer with
a good amount of information. But to shorten this long enumeration, we
will mention now successively those eleven attributes the senses may
be affected by, and make the application of all to one of the senses,
the eye. The same process may be easily repeated for each of the other
senses. Nothing is to be changed but the name of the sense that has
become the subject of examination.
1. _Ayatana_, the door, the opening of each of the senses. Applied to the
eye, it is the opening through which exterior sensations are communicated
to the heart by the organ of seeing.
2. _Arom_, the object of each of the senses. With regard to the eye, it
is the appearance or form perceived by the eye; with respect to the ear,
it is the sound.
3. _Winian_, the action of perceiving and knowing. Applied to the eyes,
it is the eye seeing and perceiving, or the sight.
4. _Phasa_, literally the feeling or coming in contact with objects,
applied to each of the senses. With the eye, it is the passive and
active impression it derives from the objects it considers, and which it
conveys to the heart. With the ear it is the impression it receives, and
similarly communicates to the heart.
5. _Wedana_, the sensation of pain or pleasure obtained through the
senses. With the eye it is the sensation created by the sight of objects
perceived by the eye, and communicated to the heart.
6. _Thangia_, the idea or persuasion resulting from the six senses, or,
according to some doctors, the identity of the appearance with reality.
With the eye, it is the conviction we have that such an object, perceived
by the eyes, is round or square, &c., according to the impressions
received by that organ.
7. _Dzetana_, the inclination or rather adhesion to good or bad,
consequently to the impressions received from each of the six senses.
8. _Tahna_, concupiscence originating from the impressions of
agreeableness communicated by the six senses.
9. _Witeka_, the idea or representation of objects to the mind through
the agency of the senses.
10. _Witzara_, the consideration of the objects offered to the mind by
the instrumentality of the senses.
11. _Dat_, the matter or elements of the six senses, or, to speak the
language of our author, that on which the organs rest, that which
supports them.
After the examination of the senses and of the eleven subjects just
related, we find the almost boundless field of inquiry to expand in
proportion as we appear to make rapid progress. Then come successively
for examination: 1. The ten _Kasaings_, or the ten parts or elements
to be found in each part of a living being, viz., earth, water, fire,
colour, odour, flavour, and grease, to which we add the _Dziwa_ or life,
and that of the organ to which belongs the part under consideration. 2.
The thirty-two _Akan_, or thirty-two parts of the living body, of which
the first are the hairs, the beard, the nails, the teeth, &c. 3. The
twelve _Ayatana_, or seats of the six senses. Each sense is double, as
far as it is considered in a double capacity, that of receiving and that
of transmitting the impressions. 4. The eighteen _Dat_, or matter of
the six senses. The organs afford six _Dat_; the objects that act upon
the organs supply six other _Dat_; and the last six are afforded by the
objects submitted to the action of the senses. 5. The twenty-two _indre_,
or faculties or capabilities of the organs. Each organ has three.
The eye, for instance, is capable of receiving an impression and of
transmitting it; the eye really receives and transmits impressions. The
_mano_, or heart, being a double organ, has six faculties; three if it
be considered physically, and three if morally or intellectually. 6. The
nine _Bon_, or seats occupied by the Brahmas. 7. The five _Rupa Dzan_,
or degrees of contemplation proper to the Brahmas who have a form. 8. The
four _Megga_, or ways that lead near to Neibban. They are followed by the
Brahmas occupying the four superior seats of _Rupa_. 9. The _Arupa Dzan_,
or contemplation proper to those who inhabit the four immaterial seats.
10. The nineteen _Damma_. This word means what we know as certain by the
use of our mental faculties. When the _mano_, by a right use of its three
faculties, has freed itself from the principle of illusion and error,
then there will be the sixteen virtues or good qualities, known by the
name of _Phola_ and _Megga_. 11. Finally, the twelve _Patan_, or elements
that are in the _mano_, which constitute the memory, and enable man to
remember, and silently repeat the impressions transmitted by the senses.
Such is the immense extent of observations the sage has to range for
obtaining the perfect science. This task is truly an Herculean one; very
few can perform it.
Before coming to the last article, the writer will make a remark tending
to show that there is more of the analytic spirit in all what is told
us by Buddhist philosophers respecting those abstruse subjects than one
may be tempted to give them credit for. We have seen that the number
of precepts and counsels is almost countless, yet it is agreed by all
doctors that the five general precepts are the basis of all, and that he
who observes them in all their bearings is as much advanced in the path
of righteousness as can be expected. Again, Buddhists can never exhaust
the stores of all that they have to say about the mental operations and
meditation. Yet all is summed up in the comparatively short doctrine
of _tseit_ and _tsedathit_. The living beings are by them infinitely
modified, yet after all we find everything condensed in two words, Nama
and Rupa. The theory respecting the generation of beings and their mutual
dependence upon each other is a boundless field. We find, however,
that, after all, _kan_, or the influence of merits and demerits, is
the sole cause of and agent in the existence and modification of all
beings. Mental operations are numbered by hundreds, but the six senses
are, after all, the foundation on which that enumeration is raised. The
general principles and primary ideas of all these metaphysical theories
doubtless belong to genuine and early Buddhism. But such plain and
elementary principles having been got hold of by heads of philosophical
schools, and worked upon in their intellectual laboratory, there have
come out therefrom at various periods those theories which have given to
the doctrines of Buddhism so many different hues, and at the same time
contributed so much to puzzle and torment the European student.
ARTICLE VI.
OF THE PROGRESS IN PERFECT SCIENCE.
In the preceding article we have reviewed the whole scale of beings, and
analysed summarily some of them, merely to show the way to the general
analysis of all others. The ultimate result of such an investigation is
to acquire the conviction that all beings are subjected to mutability,
pain, and illusion. This conviction, once seated in the soul, generates
a generous contempt for such miserable objects. In this article we must
see by what means this philosophical sentiment may be firmly rooted
in the soul, and man may finally entertain a thorough disgust for all
creatures, even for his own body. This loathsomeness for all that exists
is immediately followed up by an ardent desire of becoming free and
disentangled from all the ties and trammels that encompass other beings.
When a man has become familiar with such a conviction to the extent
that his thoughts, desires, and actions are entirely regulated by its
immediate influence, he is free from the errors that deceive almost all
other beings; he sees things as they are in their nature, and appreciates
them by their real value. He estranges himself from them. He is in mind
in the state of Neibban, until death will complete outwardly what was
already existing inwardly in his mind.
We are all aware, says our author, that the principle of instability
pervades all that exists in hell, on earth, and in the superior seats.
But this important science is with many too superficially and but
imperfectly understood. Our great object is to root it deeply in our
mind, so that we might ever be preserved from those false impressions
which too often tempt us to believe that mutability and changes are
not affecting all beings. What are the obstacles that oppose in us the
progress to true science? There are three. The first is _Santi_, or
duration of existence. We allow ourselves to be lulled into the opinion
that our life shall be much longer prolonged; that we have as yet
many days, months, and years to spend in this world. This groundless
supposition prevents us from attending to the principle of mutability.
To counteract this dangerous impression, let us examine how all things
are born only soon to die, and therefore let us have always death present
to our mind. Let us consider the short duration and vanity of our being,
then we will soon be convinced that the form of the body is like the
waves of the sea, that swell for a moment and soon disappear; that
sensation is produced like froth from the dashing of the waves; that the
_Thangia_, or persuasion we acquire, has no more stability or reality
than lightning; that the _Sangkara_, or concept, or production, is like
the plantain-tree without strength, and that the view of objects through
our senses deserves no more credit than the words of a quack. Let us
reason in a similar manner on the ephemeral existence of all the beings
that are in this world; we will easily come to a similar conclusion, that
they are the victims of mutability, incessantly tossed about as a piece
of wood by the billows of the sea.
A second obstacle to our perceiving the great principle that pain
is heavily weighing on all creatures is the _iriabot_, or the four
situations or positions which the body assumes, viz., sitting, standing,
lying, and walking. If a man enjoys good health, he owes it chiefly to
the change of situation. Were he doomed to occupy always the same place,
or remain in the same situation, he would feel quite miserable. He
momentarily relieves himself from his temporary afflictions by a change
of situation. This relief makes him forgetful of the great principle
of _duka_. But in truth our body is like a patient that requires the
constant attendance of the physician. We must feed it, refresh it, wash
it, clothe it, &c., to save it from hunger, thirst, dirt, and cold. What
is all that but a sad and constant proof that we are slaves to pain?
There is nothing but pain and affliction in this wretched world. The same
fate awaits all other beings; they are all in a state of endurance and
suffering, proclaiming aloud the irresistible action of duka.
A third obstacle to our being convinced that all is illusion in this
world is that false persuasion which makes us to say, This is a foot, a
hand, a woman, &c.; whilst these things have no reality, no consistence,
but are mere shades, ready at any moment to vanish and disappear.
These and like expressions being always used, impart at last a sort of
conviction that they are true; but, after all, what are all these things
but a compound of the four elements, or more simply nama and rupa?
In addition to this examination, the sage considers also our ideas
and the operations of our mental faculties. Here he sees these ideas
appearing for a moment and then disappearing; he concludes that ideas
are likewise subjected to the great law of mutability. He finds as much
misery in his own mind as he has met with in the exterior objects; all
around his mind is only illusion. When he has reached this point, he is
delivered at once of the three _Nimeit_ that make one believe that there
is something real in birth, existence, and action. The destruction of all
beings, of all things, is ever present to his mind. In such a state, the
sage is free from all erroneous doctrines; he is disgusted with life;
the exercise of meditation is easy to him, and almost uninterrupted. He
is free from all passions.
Our author has another chapter devoted to the consideration of the
miseries attending all living beings. To make us better informed
on this subject, he desires the sage to meditate upon the miseries
attending birth, existence, old age, and death; he wishes him to examine
attentively the condition of all creatures, that he might never be
seduced by the dazzling appearance that encompasses them. He insists
at great length upon the dangers surrounding the wise man, as yet
compelled to remain in contact with this material world. To make us
better understand this subject, he makes use of the following similitude.
A man worn out with fatigue enters a cave wherein he longs to enjoy a
refreshing rest. He is just lying down in the hope of abandoning himself
to the sweet delight of undisturbed repose, when, on a sudden, he
perceives close by him an infuriated tiger. At that moment all idea of
rest, of sleep, of happiness, vanishes away; he is taken up solely with
the imminent danger of his position. Such is the position of the sage
who, living among creatures, may be tempted to allow himself to look
on them with an idea of enjoyment. But when he has come to that state,
to be disgusted with all the modifications matter is subjected to, he
is likened to the pure swan who never sets his feet in low and dirty
places, but delights to rest on the bosom of a beautiful lake, of limpid
and clear water. Our sage, who has in abhorrence all the filth of this
miserable world, is delighted only in the consideration of truth. He is
displeased with the world and all things that are therein. His mind is
busily engaged in finding out the most effectual means to break with this
world, and rend asunder the ties that retain him linked to it. He is like
a fish caught in the net, or a frog seized by a snake, or a man shut up
in a dungeon. All three strive, to their utmost, to escape the danger
that threatens them and regain their liberty. Such is the condition of
the perfect who has attentively considered the many snares that are
around them. He, too, has but one object in view, that of freeing himself
from them and obtaining the deliverance.
The best and surest means to save himself from the dangers attending
existence is a profound and unremitting meditation on the three great
principles: aneitsa, duka, and anatta. We will select among many
reflections supplied by our author, a few on each of these principles,
to convey to the reader some ideas respecting the subjects that engross
much of the attention of the Buddhist sage. Most of these reflections are
strikingly true, and could as well find place in the mind of a Christian
as in that of a Buddhist.
Speaking of _aneitsa_, our author says: Let us reflect on this, that
there is nothing permanent or stable in this world. We hold all things as
a sort of borrowed property, or on tenure; we are by no means proprietors
of what we possess. We acquire goods but to lose them very soon. All in
nature is subjected to pain, old age, and death; everything comes to an
end, either by virtue of its own condition, or by the agency of some
external cause. Shall we ever be able to find in this world anything
stable? No; we leave one place, but only to go and occupy another, which,
in its turn, is soon vacated. No one is able to enumerate the countless
changes that incessantly take place. What exists to-day disappears
to-morrow. In fact, all nature is pervaded from beginning to end by the
principle of mutability, which incessantly works upon it.
On the miseries of this world our philosopher speaks as follows: Pain
is the essential appendage of this world. Survey, if you can, the whole
of this universe, and everywhere you will find a heavy load of pain and
afflictions, so harassing and oppressing that we can scarcely bear them
with a tolerable amount of patience. Look at birth, examine existence
during its duration, consider senses, the organs of our life. In every
direction our eyes will meet with an accumulation of pain, sufferings,
and miseries; on every side we are beset with dangers, difficulties, and
calamities; nowhere lasting joy or permanent rest is to be found. In vain
we may go in quest of health and happiness; both are chimerical objects
nowhere to be met with. Everywhere we meet with afflictions.
In speaking of the _anatta_, or illusion in which we are miserably rocked
as long as we stay in this world, our philosopher is equally eloquent.
If we consider with some attention this world, we will never be able
to discover in it anything else but name and form; and, as a necessary
consequence, all that exists is but illusion. Here is the manner we must
carry on our reasoning. The things that I see and know are not myself,
nor from myself, nor to myself. What seems to be myself is in reality
neither myself nor belongs to myself. What appears to me to be another is
neither myself nor from myself. The organs of senses, such as the eyes,
the ears, &c., are neither myself nor to myself. They are but illusions,
or as nothing relatively to me. The form is not a form; the attributes of
a living being are not attributes; beings are not beings. All that is an
aggregate of the four elements, and these again are but form and name,
and these two are but an illusion, destitute of reality. In a being,
then, there are two attributes, form and sensation, that appear to have
some more consistency than other things. Yet they have no reality; their
nature and condition is to be destitute of all reality and stability.[52]
Penetrated with the truth of these and like considerations, the sage
declares at once that all things are neither himself nor belong to
himself. Nothing, therefore, appears worthy his notice. He at once
divorces himself from the world and all the things that are therein. He
would fain have nothing to do with it; he holds it in supreme contempt
and utter disgust.
He who has reached this lofty point of sublime science is at once secure
from the snares of seduction and the path of error. He will escape
from the whirlpool of human miseries, and infallibly reach the state
of Neibban. The most perfect among the perfect are so much taken upon
with and deeply affected by the view of Neibban, that they tend in that
direction without effort. Others, somewhat less advanced in the sublime
science, discover, it is true, the state of Neibban at a distance, but
its sight is as yet dimmed and somewhat obscured. They want as yet to
train up their mind to and perfect it in the exercise of that meditation
of which we have given an abbreviated analysis.
NOTICE ON THE PHONGYIES, OR BUDDHIST MONKS, SOMETIMES CALLED
TALAPOINS.[53]
In the foregoing pages we have first given a sketch of the life of the
founder of Buddhism, and in the accompanying notes endeavoured to explain
the more important particulars respecting the extraordinary religious
system he has established. Subsequently, in the way to Neibban, we have
laid down, in as few words as possible, the great metaphysical principles
upon which is raised the great structure of Buddhism, and pointed out the
way leading to the pretended perfection, or rather the end of perfection,
Neibban. It seems to be necessary to devote a particular notice to the
religious Order which forms the most striking feature of that religion,
which has extended its sway over so many nations. The association of
devotees holds the first rank among the followers of Buddha; it comprises
the _élite_ of that immense body. The system of discipline to which the
Buddhist religious are subjected, is the highest practical illustration
of the doctrines and practices of Buddhism. We may see reflected in that
corporation the greatest results that the working of these religious
institutions can ever produce. All that Buddha, in his efforts, has
been able to devise as most fit to lead man to the perfection, such as
he understood it, will be found in the constitutions of that order. It
is a living mirror in which we may contemplate the masterpiece of his
creation. The Buddhist religious constitute the thanga, or assembly of
the perfect, that is to say, of the disciples who have left the world,
conformed their life to that of their teacher, and striven to acquire
the science that will qualify them for entering into the way leading
to perfection. They are the strict followers of Buddha, who, like him,
have renounced the world, to devote themselves to the two-fold object of
mastering their passions and acquiring the true wisdom which alone can
lead to the deliverance.
The best method for obtaining correct information respecting the Buddhist
religious is not, it seems, to consider their order from an abstract
point of view, but rather in connection with the religion it has sprung
from, as affording a perfect exemplification of its highest practices,
maxims, and tendencies, as well as of the real nature and true spirit of
that creed.
Buddhism is evidently an off-shoot of Brahminism. We find it replete with
principles, practices, observances, and dogmas belonging to the great
Hindu system. Gaudama, being himself a Hindu, reared in a Hindu society,
trained up in the Hindu schools of philosophy, could not but imbibe, to
a great extent, the opinions and observances of his contemporaries. He
dissented from them, it is true, in many important points, but in the
generality of his teachings he seems to have agreed with them. He found
existing in his times a body of religious and philosophers, whose mode of
life was peculiar and quite distinct from that of the people. When he
laid the plan for the religious institution he contemplated to establish,
he found around him most of the elements he required for that work. He
had but to improve on what he saw existing, and make his new order agree
with the religious tenets he innovated.
In the hope of tracing up the ties of relationship that must have existed
between the religious of the Brahminical order, and those of the Buddhist
one, the writer will begin this notice with establishing a short parallel
between the former, such as they are described in the Institutes of
Menoo, and the institution of the latter, such as it is explained in the
Wini, or Book of discipline. Afterwards the nature of the Buddhist order
and the object its members have in view in embracing it will be examined;
next to that, the constituent parts of that body and its hierarchy shall
receive a due share of attention. We will describe at the same time the
ceremonies observed on the solemn occasion of admitting individuals into
the religious society, and expound briefly the rules that direct and
regulate the whole life of a professed member as long as he remains in
the brotherhood. It will not be found amiss to inquire into the cause
and nature of the great religious influence undoubtedly possessed by the
members of the order, and examine the motives that induce the votaries
of Buddhism to show the greatest respect and give unfeigned marks of the
deepest veneration to the Talapoins or Phongyies. This will be concluded
with a short account of the low and degraded state into which the
society has fallen in these parts, particularly in what has reference to
knowledge and information.
ARTICLE I.
A SHORT PARALLEL BETWEEN THE BRAHMINICAL AND THE BUDDHISTIC RELIGIOUS
ORDERS.
It has been stated, on apparently incontrovertible grounds, in the
foregoing pages, that Buddhism has originated to a considerable extent
from Brahminism. The following remarks will corroborate the statement,
and give an additional weight to the reasons already brought forward. In
fact, both systems have the same objects in view, viz., the disentangling
of the soul from passions and the influence of the material world, and
its perfect liberation from metempsychosis and the action of matter. The
final end to be arrived at is, however, widely different. The perfected
Brahmin longs for his absorption in the infinite being; the perfect
Buddhist thirsts after a state of complete isolation, which is nothing
short of total annihilation. But the means for obtaining the ardently
coveted perfection are in many respects the same. The moral observances
enforced by both creeds differ so little from each other that they
appear to be almost identical. In both systems, moreover, we find a
body of individuals who aim at a complete and perfect observance of the
highest injunctions, striving to reach the very summit of that perfection
pointed out by the founders of their respective institutions: these are
the Brahminical and Buddhist religious. To glance over the regulations
enjoined on the Brahmins, such as we find them in the Institutes of
Menoo, and those prescribed by the Wini to the Talapoins, cannot fail
to be truly interesting. A summary comparison will enable the reader to
perceive at once how closely allied are the two creeds, and how great is
the resemblance between them both. He will see on the clearest evidence
that to Buddha is not to be ascribed the merit of having originated so
many fine moral precepts and admirable disciplinary regulations, but
that he found in his own country, in the schools where he studied wisdom,
already well-known, pure moral precepts, actually discussed, studied, and
by many strictly observed, together with the disciplinary regulations. He
was brought up in a society which beheld with astonishment and admiration
a body of religious men entirely devoted to the great work of securing
the triumph of the spiritual principle over the material one, and
endeavouring by dint of the greatest and severest austerities, the most
rigorous penances, and the most entire renouncing of all this material
world, to break down the material barriers that had hitherto kept the
soul captive, and prevented her from taking her flight into regions of
blissful freedom and perfect quiescence. There is, however, a remarkable
difference between the sacerdotal caste of Brahmins and the members
of the Buddhist monkish institution. The position of the former is
hereditary; he is rendered illustrious by his lineage and descent. That
of the second is personal, and ends with him; it is the result of his
own free choice; he derives all the glory that shines round him from his
virtuous life and a strict adherence to the institutions of the Wini. The
Brahmin owes everything to religion and to birth. The Buddhist religious
is indebted for all that he is solely to religion; the monk’s title to
distinction is the holy mode of the saintly life that he has embraced.
Both are the greatest and most distinguished in their respective
societies; but merit and intrinsic worth alone elicit veneration and
respect in behalf of the humble religious, whilst the casual birth of the
Brahmin from individuals belonging to the highest caste centres upon his
person the reluctant homage of men belonging to inferior castes, who, in
virtue of the prejudices in which they are reared, consider themselves
obliged to do homage to him. The person of both is sacred and looked upon
with awe and veneration, but from somewhat opposite and different motives.
Notwithstanding these and many other differences and discrepancies,
it is not the less striking to find in the Brahminical body, such as
it is constituted by the regulations of the Vedas, the germ of all the
principal observances enjoined on the Buddhist that leaves the world, to
follow the path leading to perfection.
The life of a Brahmin, not as it is now, but as it originally was, and
now ought to be, if the regulations of the Vedas had not been partly set
aside, is one of laborious study, austerity, self-denial, and retirement.
The first quarter of his life is spent in the capacity of student. His
great and sole object is the study of the Vedas, and the mastering of
their contents. Worldly studies are not to be thought of. He is entirely
under the control of his preceptor, to whom he has to yield obedience,
respect, and service in all that relates to his daily wants. He must,
moreover, daily beg his food from door to door. The Buddhist novice
likewise withdraws from his family, enters the monastery, lives under
the discipline of the head of the house, whom he obeys and serves in
his daily necessities, and devotes all his undivided attention to the
study of religious books. He pays no regard to worldly knowledge. He has
likewise to go out every morning to beg the food that he will use during
the day.
The second quarter of the Brahmin’s life is thus employed. He marries
and lives with his family, but he must consider his chief employment to
be the teaching of the Vedas and a zealous discharge of the religious
observances and of all that relates to public worship. He must sedulously
abstain from too sensual and worldly enjoyments, even from music,
dancing, and other amusements calculated to lead to dissipation. The
Buddhist monkish institution being not hereditary, and its continuance
and development having not to depend upon generation, its members are
bound to a strict celibacy, and to an absolute and entire abstinence
from all sensual and worldly enjoyments inconsistent with gravity,
self-recollection, and self-denial. Their chief occupation is teaching
to children the rudiments of reading and writing, that they might read
religious books, which are the only ones used in schools. He must pay a
strict regard to devotional practices, and take care that the religious
observances and ceremonies be regularly attended to in his monastery.
The third quarter of his life is spent by the Brahmin in solitude as
an anchorite. He dwells in the forests, where he must procure what is
necessary for food and raiment. The latter article is looked after
when he thinks it to be a requisite to cover his nakedness. With many
of them fanaticism has so far prevailed over reason and the sense of
decency that they live in a state of disgusting nakedness. The roots of
plants, the fruits and leaves of wild trees, will supply the needful for
the support of nature. That time too must be devoted to the infliction
of the severest penances and to the practice of the hardest deeds of
mortification. To the Buddhist monk solitude and retirement must ever be
dear. Ascetic life is much recommended, and praised as most excellent.
It was formerly much in use among religious Buddhists. In Burmah several
places are pointed out with respect as having been sanctified by the
residence of holy anchorites. Now in our days a few zealots, to bear, as
it were, witness to this ancient observance, retire into solitude during
a portion of the three months of Lent. The spirit of mortification and
self-renouncing is eminently Buddhist; but from the very days of Gaudama
we remark a positive tendency on the part of his religious to give up and
renounce those unnatural and ultra-rigorous penances regularly observed
by their brethren of the opposite creed. The principle is cherished by
them, but the mode of carrying it into practice is more mild, and more
consonant with reason and modesty.
The last portion of the Brahmin’s life is devoted likewise to meditation
and contemplation. He is no more subjected to the ordeal of rigorous
penances; nature has been subdued; passions silenced and destroyed;
the soul has obtained the mastery over the body and the material
world. She is free from all the trammels and obstacles that impeded
her contemplation of truth. She is ready to quit this world, as the
bird leaves the branch of the tree when it pleases him. The Buddhist
religious, having likewise crushed his passions and disentangled his soul
from affection to matter, delights only in the contemplation of truth.
As the mighty whale sports in the bosom of the boundless ocean, so the
perfected Buddhist launches forth into abstract and infinite truth,
delights in it, completely estranged from this world, which meditation
has taught him to consider as a mere illusion, as destitute of reality.
He is then ripe for the so ardently coveted state of Neibban.