When Buddha originated the plan of a society of religious, and framed the

regulations whereby it was to be governed, he had but to look around him

for patterns of a religious life. The country where he had been born,

the society in which he had been brought up, swarmed with religious

following the different systems of philosophy prevailing in those days.

He saw them, conversed with them, and for some time lived in their

company under the same disciplinary institutions. He was, therefore,

thoroughly conversant with all that in his days constituted a religious

life. But the same bold and enterprising spirit which made him dissent

from his masters and contemporaries on many important questions of morals

and metaphysics, and induced him to improve, as he thought, and perfect

theories in speculative and practical philosophy, impelled him also to

do something similar respecting the disciplinary regulations to which

his religious were to be hereafter subjected. We freely confess that

on this latter point he was eminently successful. The body of Buddhist

religious is infinitely superior in most respects to the other societies

of Indian religious. The regulations of the former breathe a spirit

of modesty, mildness, and unaffectation, which in a striking manner

contrasts with those disgusting exhibitions of self-inflicted penances

so fondly courted by Brahmins, where immodesty seems to dispute the palm

with cruelty. Buddha opened the door of his society to all men without

any distinction or exception, implicitly pulling down the barriers raised

by the prejudices of caste. Did he in the beginning of his public career

lay down the plan of destroying all vestiges of caste, and proclaiming

the principle of equality amongst men? It is, to say the least, very

doubtful. The equalising principle itself was never distinctly mentioned

in his discourses. But he had sown all the elements constitutive of that

principle in his instructions. Every member put on the religious dress

of his own free choice, and set it aside at his pleasure; no hereditary

right, therefore, could be thought of; the dying religious could bequeath

to his brethren but the example of his virtues. His complete separation

from the world had broken all the ties of relationship. The double vow of

strict poverty and of celibacy, cutting the root of cupidity and sensual

enjoyments, precluded him from aiming at the influence and power which is

conferred by wealth and rank. With the Brahminical religious the case is

the very reverse. His sacerdotal caste, exclusive of his personal merits,

confers on him an almost divine sacredness, which is to be propagated

by generation. He may possess riches and have a numerous posterity. He

is, therefore, almost irresistibly impelled to seize on a power which is

forced on him by the treble influence of birth, religion, and wealth.

The subject of the comparison between the two societies of religious

might receive further developments, but what has been briefly stated

appears sufficient to bear out the point it was intended to establish,

viz., the close resemblance subsisting between the two religious orders

in both systems, and the necessary inference that the order of Buddhist

religious is an improvement on the orders of religious subsisting in

India in the days of Gaudama.

There is another characteristic of the religious order of Buddhists

which has favourably operated in its behalf, and powerfully contributed

to maintain it for so many centuries in so compact and solid a body that

it seems to bid defiance to the destructive action of revolutions. We

allude to its regularly constituted hierarchy, which is as perfect as it

can be expected, particularly in Burmah and Siam. The power and influence

of him whom we may call the general of the order in Burmah, and who is

known under the appellation of Tha-thana-paing, when, as was very often

the case, backed by the temporal power, was felt throughout the whole

country, and much contributed to maintain good order and discipline in

the great body of religious. The action of the provincial or superior

of the religious houses of a province is more directly and immediately

felt by all the subordinates. It does not appear that the religious of

the Hindu schools, at least in our days, possess such an advantage that

they may well envy their brethren of the Buddhist sect. The members of

the Brahminical body are not kept together by the power and government

of superiors, but by regulations that are so deeply rooted and firmly

seated in the mind of individuals that they are faithfully observed. The

superiority of caste, connected too with a certain amount of spiritual

pride, has been hitherto sufficient to maintain that body distinct and

separate from all that is without itself. The religious spirit that

pervades that body in our days seems to have abated from its original

fervour and energy. The Brahmin has maintained with the utmost jealousy

the superiority that caste confers upon him, but appears not to have been

so particular in keeping up the genuine spiritual supremacy, which a

strict adherence to the prescriptions of the Vedas must have ever firmly

secured to him.

ARTICLE II.

NATURE OF THE RELIGIOUS ORDER OF PHONGYIES.

He who has not seriously studied the religious system of Buddhism, nor

acquired accurate notions of its doctrinal principles, is scarcely

capable of forming a correct opinion of the religious order of those

austere recluses, whom Europeans, with a mind biassed by educational

influence, denominate priests of Buddha. Were we to apply to the members

of that order the notions generally entertained of a priesthood, we

would form a very erroneous conception of the real character of their

institution. For in every religious system admitting of one or several

beings superior to man, whose providential action influences his

destinies either in this or the next world, persons invested with a

sacerdotal character have always been considered as mediators between men

and the acknowledged deity, offering to the supreme being on all public

occasions the prayers and sacrifices of the people, and soliciting in

return his gracious protection. When in the early ages of the world the

sacerdotal dignity was coupled with the patriarchal or regal ones, when

in the succeeding ages there existed a regular and distinct priesthood,

such as subsisted under the Mosaic dispensation, or among the Greeks,

Romans, Gauls, &c., the priests were looked upon as delegates of the

people in all that related to national worship, carrying on in the

name of the Deity the mysterious intercourse that links heaven to

earth. Priesthood, therefore, necessarily implies the belief in a being

superior to man and controlling his destinies. The moment such a belief

is disregarded, the very idea of priesthood vanishes. Buddhism, such at

least as it is found existing in Ceylon, Burmah, Siam, and other places,

is a purely atheistical religious system, and presents the solitary

instance, at least as far as my information goes, of a religious creed,

admitted by various nations, the doctrines of which are not based upon

the notion of a supreme being controlling more or less the affairs of

this world. In support of an assertion that may appear to many somewhat

hazardous, we will briefly lay down the leading tenets of the Buddhistic

doctrine.

According to that system, matter is eternal. The existence of a

world, its duration, destruction, and reproduction, all the various

combinations and modifications matter is liable to, are the immediate

results of the action of eternal and self-existing laws. Through life

man is subjected to the continual but successive influences of his good

and bad deeds. This double influence always attends him through his

numberless existences, and inevitably awards him happiness or misfortune,

according as the respective sum of good or evil predominates. There

exists an eternal law, which, when obliterated from the memory of men,

can be known again, and, as it were, recovered only and thoroughly

understood by the incomparable genius and matchless wisdom of certain

extraordinary personages, called Buddhas, who appear successively and

at intervals during the various series or successions of worlds. These

Buddhas announce that law to all the then existing rational beings.

The great object of that doctrine is to point out to those beings the

means of freeing themselves from the influence of passions, and becoming

abstracted from all that exists. Being thereby delivered from the action

of good or evil influence, which causes mortals to turn incessantly in

the whirlpool of never-ending existences, men can obtain the state of

Neibban, or rest, that is to say, according to the popular opinion, a

situation wherein the soul, disentangled from all that exists, alone

with herself, indifferent to pain as well as to pleasure, folded, as it

were, upon herself, remains for ever in an incomprehensible state of

complete abstraction and absolute rest. I say that such is the popular

opinion, fortunately unbiassed by scholastic theories. But the opinion of

the Buddhist doctors respecting Neibban is that it means the negation

of all states of being; that is to say, a desolating and horrifying

annihilation. A Buddha is a being who, during myriads of existences,

slowly and gradually gravitates towards this centre of an imaginary

perfection by the practice of the highest virtues. Having attained

thereto, he becomes on a sudden gifted with a boundless genius, wherewith

he at once discovers the wretched state of beings and the means of

delivering them from it. He thoroughly understands the eternal law which

alone can lead mortals in the right way, and enable them to come out of

the circle of existences, wherein they have been unceasingly turning and

moving in a state of perpetual agitation, opposite to that of fixity or

rest. He preaches that law whereby man is taught the practice of those

virtues which destroy gradually in him all evil influences, together with

every affection for all that exists, and brings him at last to the end of

existence, the possession of Neibban. His task fulfilled, Buddha dies,

or rather, to use the language of Buddhists, he enters into the state

Neibban. In that situation, which is truly inexplicable, he knows nothing

of and enters no wise into the affairs of this world. He is as if he was

not or had never been. He is indeed annihilated.

Buddhists venerate three precious things—Buddha, his law, and the

assembly of the just or perfect—in the same sense as we venerate and

admire what is morally good and beautiful, such as virtue considered

abstractedly, and the acts originating from it. The statues of the last

Buddha Gaudama are honoured by his followers, not with the idea that

certain powers or virtues are inherent in them, but solely because they

are the visible representations of Buddha, who, according to Buddhists,

desired that the same honours should be paid to them as would be offered

to his person, were he yet living among them. This faint outline of the

Buddhistic creed is sufficient to bear out the above assertion, that it

is in no wise based on the belief in a supreme being, but that it is

strictly atheistical, and therefore that no real priesthood can ever be

found existing under such a system. It may prove, too, of some assistance

for better understanding what is to be said regarding the subjects of

this notice.

The Talapoins are called by the Burmese Phongyies, which term means great

glory: or Rahans, which means perfect. They are known in Ceylon, Siam,

Thibet, under different names, conveying nearly the same meaning and

expressing either the nature or the object of their profession.

What induces a follower of Buddha to embrace the Talapoinic state?

What is the object of his pursuit in entering on such a peculiar and

extraordinary course of life? The answer to these questions will supply

us with accurate notions of the real nature of this singular order of

devotees. A Buddhist on becoming a member of the holy society proposes

to keep the law of Buddha in a more perfect manner than his other

co-religionists. He intends to observe not only its general ordinances

obligatory on every individual, but also its prescriptions of a higher

excellency, leading to an uncommon sanctity and perfection, which can

be the lot of but a comparatively small number of fervent and resolute

persons. He aims at weakening within himself all the evil propensities

that give origin and strength to the principle of demerits. By the

practice and observance of the highest and sublimest precepts and

counsels of the law, he establishes, confirms, and consolidates in his

own soul the principle of merits, which is to work upon him during the

various existences he has as yet to go through, and gradually lead him

to that perfection which will qualify him for and entitle him to the

state of Neibban, the object of the ardent desires and earnest pursuit of

every true and genuine disciple of Buddha. The life of the last Buddha

Gaudama, his doctrines as well as his examples, he proposes to copy with

a scrupulous fidelity and to follow with unremitting ardour. Such is the

great model that he proposes to himself for imitation. Gaudama withdrew

from the world, renounced its seducing pleasures and dazzling vanities,

curbed his passions under the yoke of restraint, and strove to practise

the highest virtues, particularly self-denial, in order to arrive at a

state of complete indifference to all that is within or without self;

which is, as it were, the threshold of Neibban.

The Talapoin, fixing his regards on that matchless pattern of perfection,

would fain reproduce, as far as it lies in his power, all its features

in his own person. Like Buddha himself, he parts with his family,

relatives, and friends, and seeks for admission into the society of the

perfect; he abandons and leaves his home, to enter into the asylum of

peace and retirement; he forsakes the riches of this world to practise

the strictest poverty; he renounces the pleasures of this world, even the

lawful ones, to live according to the rules of the severest abstinence

and purest chastity; he exchanges his secular dress for that of the new

profession he enters on; he gives up his own will, and fetters his own

liberty, to attend, through every act and all the particulars of life,

to the regulations of the brotherhood. He is a Talapoin for himself and

for his own benefit, to acquire merits which he shares with nobody else.

On the occasion of certain offerings or alms being presented to him by

some benevolent admirers of his holy mode of life, he will repay his

benefactors by repeating to them certain precepts, commands, and points

of the law; but he is not bound by his professional character to expound

the law to the people. Separated from the world by his dress and his

peculiar way of living, he remains a stranger to all that takes place

without the walls of his monastery. He is not charged with the care of

souls, and therefore never presumes to rebuke any one that trespasses the

law, or to censure the conduct of the profligate.

The ceremonies of the Buddhistic worship are simple and few. The Talapoin

is not considered as a minister whose presence is an essential requisite

when they are to be performed. Pagodas are erected, statues of Buddha

are inaugurated, offerings of flowers, tapers, and small ornaments are

made, particularly on the days of the new and full moon, but on all those

solemn occasions the interference of the Phongyie is in no way considered

as necessary, so that the whole worship exists independently of him. He

is not to be seen on the particular occasions of births and marriages. He

is, it is true, occasionally asked to attend funerals; but he then acts,

not as a minister performing a ceremony, but as a private person. He is

present for the sake of receiving alms that are profusely bestowed upon

him by the relatives of the defunct.

The Buddhists have three months of the year, from the full moon of

July to the full moon of October, particularly devoted to a stricter

observance of the practices and ceremonies of the law. Crowds of people

of both sexes resort to the pagodas, and often spend whole nights in

the buildings erected close to those places. The most fervent among

them fast and abstain from profane amusements during that period; they

devote more time to the reading of their sacred books and the repetition

of certain formulas calculated to remind them of certain important

truths, or intended to praise the last Buddha Gaudama and the law he has

published. Alms pour more abundantly into the peaceable dwellings of

the pious recluses. During all the time the Talapoin quietly remains in

his place, without altering his mode of life, or deviating in the least

from his never-changing usages and ordinary habits. By the rules of his

profession he is directed to pay, during that time, a particular regard

to religious observances, to join his brethren from time to time in the

recital of certain formulas, and in the reading of the book embodying

the regulations of the profession. He enjoys, as usual, the good things

which his liberal co-religionists take pleasure in proffering to him. On

two occasions the writer has seen, and on many has heard of Talapoins

withdrawing during the three months of Lent to some lonely place,

living alone in small huts, shunning the company of men, and leading

an eremitical life, to remain at liberty to devote all their time to

meditations on the most excellent points of the law of Buddha, combating

their passions, and enjoying in that retired situation a foretaste of the

never-troubled rest of Neibban.

In many respects the Talapoinic institutions may be likened to those

of some religious orders that appeared successively in almost every

Christian country previous to the era of the Reformation, and that are,

up to this day, to be met with amidst the Churches of the Latin and Greek

rites. Like the monk, the Talapoin bids a farewell to the world, wears a

particular dress, leads a life of community, abstracts himself from all

that gives strength to his passions, by embracing a state of voluntary

poverty and absolute renunciation of all sensual gratifications. He

aims at obtaining, by a stricter observance of the law’s most sublime

precepts, an uncommon degree of sanctity and perfection. All his time

is regulated by the rules of his profession, and devoted to repeating

certain formulas of prayers, reading the sacred scriptures, begging alms

for his support, &c.

These features of exterior resemblance, common to institutions of

creeds so opposite to each other, have induced several writers, little

favourable to Christianity, to pronounce without further inquiry that

Catholicism has borrowed from Buddhism many ceremonies, institutions, and

disciplinary regulations. Some of them have gone so far as to pretend

to find in it the very origin of Christianity. They have, however, been

ably confuted by Abel Remusat, in his _Memoir_ entitled “Chronological

Researches into the Lamaic Hierarchy of Thibet.” Without entertaining in

the least the presumptuous idea of entering into a controversy entirely

foreign to his purpose, the writer will confine himself to making one

or two remarks calculated to show that the first conclusion is, to say

the least of it, a premature one. When in two religious creeds, entirely

opposed to each other in their ultimate object, there are several minor

objects equally set forth by both, it will necessarily happen that, in

many instances, means nearly similar will be prescribed on both sides

for effectually obtaining them, independent of any previously concerted

plan or imitation. The Christian system and the Buddhistic one, though

differing from each other in their respective objects and ends, as much

as truth from error, have, it must be confessed, many striking features

of an astonishing resemblance. There are many moral precepts equally

commanded and enforced in common by both creeds. It will not be deemed

rash to assert that most of the moral truths prescribed by the Gospel are

to be met with in the Buddhistic scriptures. The essential, vital, and

capital discrepancy lies in the difference of the ends to which the two

creeds lead, but not in the variance of the means they prescribe for the

attainment of them. The Gospel tends to reunite man to his Maker, points

out to him the way he must follow for arriving at the possession and

enjoyment of Him who is the great principle and end of all things, and

teaches him, as a paramount duty, to conform his will and inclinations

to His commands. Buddhism tends to abstract man from all that is without

self, and makes self his own and sole centre. It exhorts him to the

practice of many eminent virtues, which are to help him to rise to an

imaginary perfection, the summit of which is the incomprehensible state

of Neibban. It is the mildest expression which the writer can command

when he has to speak of so sad a subject, the final end of a Buddhist. It

would be more correct to say at once that the pretended perfect being is

led, by the principles of his creed, into the dark and fathomless abyss

of annihilation.

If the end aimed at by the followers of Buddha is widely different from

that which the disciples of Christ strive to obtain, the means prescribed

for the attainment of these two ends are, in many respects, very

much similar to each other. Both creeds teach man to combat, control,

and master the passions of his heart, to make reason predominate over

sense, mind over matter, to root up from his heart every affection for

the things of this world, and to practise the virtues required for

the attainment of these great objects. Is there anything surprising

that persons, having, in many respects, views nearly similar, resort

to means or expedients nearly alike for securing the object of their

pursuit, without having ever seen or consulted each other? He who

intends to practise absolute poverty must of course abandon all his

earthly property. He who proposes renouncing the world ought to withdraw

from it. He who will lead a contemplative life must look out for a

retired place, far from the gaze and agitation of the world. To control

passions, and particularly the fiercest of all, the sensual appetite,

it is required that one should keep himself separate from all that is

calculated to kindle its fires and feed its violence. Every profession

has its distinctive marks and peculiar characteristics. Hence peculiarity

of dress, manners, and habits in those who have adopted a mode of life

differing from that of the rest of the community. He who has bound

himself to the daily recitation of certain prayers or devotional formulas

a certain number of times will have recourse to some instrument, or

devise some means for ascertaining the number of times he has complied

with his regulation in this respect. He, too, who is eager to acquire

self-knowledge and to carry on a successful war with himself will apply

to a guide to whom he will lay open his whole soul, and ask spiritual

advice that will enable him to overcome the obstacles he meets on his way

to perfection.

These and many other points are common to all those that intend to

observe not only the precepts but also the mere counsels of their

respective creeds. Causes being the same, in many instances, in both

systems, consequences almost analogous must inevitably result therefrom.

Religious institutions always bear the stamp of the religious ideas that

have given rise to them. They, together with their rules and regulations,

are not the principle, but the immediate consequence or offspring of

religion, such as it is understood by the people professing it. They

exemplify and illustrate religious notions already entertained, but they

never create such as are not yet in existence. When the learned shall

have collected sufficient materials for giving an accurate history of

the origin, progress, spread, and dogmatical revolutions of Buddhism, it

will not be uninteresting to inquire into the causes that have operated

in communicating to two religious systems essentially differing in

their respective tendencies so many points of resemblance. But that

study is yet to be made. We know very little on all those points. The

best informed are compelled to acknowledge that in the present state

of information we are still in the dark, the thickness of which is

occasionally relieved by a few transient and uncertain glimpses which

are insufficient to enlighten the mind, and enable the searcher after

truth to guide safely his steps. In reading the particulars of the life

of the last Buddha Gaudama, it is impossible not to feel reminded of

many circumstances relating to our Saviour’s life, such as it has been

sketched out by the evangelists. The origin of the close affinity between

many doctrinal points and maxims common both to Christianity and Buddhism

having been ascertained, it will not be difficult to find out and

explain how the votaries of both have come to adopt so many practices,

ceremonies, observances, and institutions nearly similar.

Having endeavoured to explain the nature of the institution of the

Talapoins, and the object aimed at by its professed members, we will now

proceed to examine its systematical organisation, or sacred hierarchy.

ARTICLE III.

HIERARCHY OF THE ORDER.

It is somewhat surprising to find in the middle of half-civilised

nations, such as the Burmese, Siamese, Cingalese, and Thibetans, a

religious order, with a distinct and well-marked hierarchy, constitutions

and regulations, providing for the admission of members, determining

their occupations, duties, obligations, and their mode of life, and

forming, as it were, a compact, solid, and perfect body, that has

subsisted, almost without change, during several centuries, and

survived the destruction of kingdoms, the fall of royal dynasties, and

all the confusion and agitation produced by political commotions and

revolutions. It is in Thibet that the order is found existing in the

greatest perfection, under the fostering care of the Grand Lama, or

High Priest, who combines in his own person the regal as well as the

sacerdotal dignity and power. In the city of Lassa, a pontifical court,

an elective sacerdotal chief, and a college of superior Lamas impart to

the order dignity, decency, respectability, and stability, which insure

its continued existence, and more or less extend its influence over its

members living in distant countries. The period of the introduction of

Buddhism from India into Thibet is very uncertain, if not quite unknown.

Buddhist annals mention that after the holding of the third council,

236 years after Gaudama’s death, some missionaries were deputed by the

president of that assembly to go and preach religion in some parts of

the Himalayan range. We may suppose that this had reference to the

southern slopes of the mountains. Be that as it may, it appears certain

that the establishment of a pontifical chief or sovereign, with royal

prerogatives, was set up by one of the grandsons of the great Tartar

warrior Gengis in or about the middle of the thirteenth century. In

other countries, where the order has no connection whatever with the

civil power, we can scarcely expect to see it surrounded with an equal

splendour, or subsisting in the same state of splendour and regularity.

Though this is the case in Burmah, it is impossible not to acknowledge

the fact that the regulations of the Wini are more carefully attended

to in this country than in Thibet. The conduct of the monks here is

incomparably more regular. The public could not bear an open dereliction

of the duties imposed by the vows of poverty and chastity. But, if

credit be given to the narratives of travellers, the Thibetan monks do

not scruple to forsake occasionally those duties, without appearing to

fear the rising of a popular cry of indignation, on account of their

misbehaviour in points considered of such vast importance. Extraordinary,

indeed, would be its vital energies, were the remotest parts of this

great and far-spread body to receive the same impulse and exhibit the

same symptoms of vitality as those nearest to the heart or principle

of life. Having never met with any detailed particulars regarding the

Thibetan monks, we must remain satisfied with laying before the reader an

account of all that relates to the constituent parts of the order, such

as they are found existing in Burmah and developed in the sacred writings.

The whole fraternity is composed, 1st, of young men who have put on

the Talapoinic dress without being considered professed members of the

fraternity, or having hitherto passed through a certain ordeal somewhat

resembling an ordinary; they are called _Shyins_; 2d, of those who,

having lived for a while in the community in a probationary state, are

admitted professed members with the ceremonies usually observed on such

occasions, whereby the title and character of Phongyie are solemnly

conferred; they are denominated _Patzins_; 3d, of the heads of each house

or community, who have the power to control all the inmates of the house;

4th, of a provincial, whose jurisdiction extends over all the communities

spread in the towns and villages of the province or district; 5th,

of a superior general, residing in the capital or its suburbs, called

_Tsaia-dau_, or great master, having the general management and direction

of all the affairs of the order throughout the empire. He is emphatically

called by the name of Tha-thana-paing, which means that he has the power

over religion. Let us say something upon each of these five degrees of

the Buddhistic hierarchy.

It is an almost universal custom among the Burmese and Siamese to cause

boys who have attained the age of puberty, or even before that time, to

enter for a year or two one of the many Talapoinic houses, to put on the

yellow dress, for the double purpose of learning to read and write, and

of acquiring merits for future existences. On the occasion of the death

of certain persons, it happens sometimes that a member of the family will

enter the community for six months or a year. When a young lad is to make

his first entrance into a house of the order, he is led thereto, riding

on a richly caparisoned pony, or sitting in a fine palanquin carried on

the shoulders of four or more men. He is allowed to use one or several

gold umbrellas, which are held opened over his head. During the triumphal

march he is preceded by a long line of men and women, attired in their

richest dresses, carrying a large quantity of presents destined for the

use of the inmates of the _Kiaong_ (such is the general name given to all

the houses of the brotherhood in Burmah) which the young postulant is to

reside in. In this stately order the procession, attended with a band

playing on various musical instruments, moves on slowly and circuitously

through the principal streets of the town towards the monastery that has

been fixed upon. This display of an ostentatious pomp is, on the part of

the parents and relatives, an honour paid to the postulant who generously

consecrates himself to so exalted a calling, and on the part of the

youth a last farewell to worldly vanities. He has no sooner descended

from his splendid conveyance and crossed the threshold of the kiaong

than he is delivered by his parents into the hands of the superior, and

placed under his care. His head is instantly shaved; he is stripped of

his fine secular dress, and habited in the plain and humble yellow garb;

he must lay aside every sort of ornament, and remain contented with the

unassuming simplicity becoming his new position. The kiaong is to become

his home, and its inmates are substituted in the room of his father and

mother, brothers and sisters.

The duty of the young shyin is to minister to the wants of the elders of

the house, to bring and place before them at fixed times the usual supply

of water, the betel-box, and the daily food; to attend them on some

pious errand through the town or the country. A portion of his time is

devoted to acquiring the art of reading and writing, and occasionally the

elements of arithmetic. There are five general precepts obligatory on all

men; but the shyin is bound to the observance of five additional ones,

making ten altogether, by which he is forbidden—1st, to kill animals;

2d, to steal; 3d, to give himself up to carnal pleasures; 4th, to tell

lies; 5th, to drink wine or other intoxicating liquors; 6th, to eat after

mid-day; 7th, to dance, sing, or play on any musical instrument; 8th, to

colour his face; 9th, to stand on elevated places, not proper for him;

10th, to touch or handle gold or silver.[54] The trespassing of the five

first precepts is visited with expulsion from the kiaong; but that of the

five last may be expiated by a proper penance.

The young shyins, as before observed, do not remain in the kiaong beyond

the period of one or two years; they generally leave it and return to

a secular life. There are, however, some of them, who, fond of the

easy and quiet life of Talapoins, or actuated by other motives, prefer

remaining longer in those places of retirement. They betake themselves

to the study of the duties, rules, and obligations of the professed

members of the society; they pay more attention to the reading of

religious books, and endeavour to obtain the required qualifications.

Being sufficiently instructed on all these points, and having attained

the age of twenty years, they are solemnly admitted among the professed

members of the brotherhood under the name of Patzin. The interesting

ceremonies observed on the occasion will hereafter be fully described.

The state of Patzin is, therefore, properly speaking, that of Phongyie,

though that name is sometimes reserved for him who is the head of a

monastery. Every other step or promotion in the hierarchy is purely

honorary, in so far that it does not impose upon him who is so promoted

any new duty or obligation different from what is obligatory on every

professed member; but it confers a power or jurisdiction for commanding,

controlling, and governing all the brethren under his care. In virtue

of such distinctions, a superior, how high soever his rank may be, is

bound to the observance of the same rules, duties, and obligations as the

last Patzin; his sacred character is not enlarged or altered; he is only

entrusted with a certain amount of jurisdiction over some of his brethren.

The Talapoin is bound to his community, so that in every kiaong or

house of the order there are ordinarily to be met several Patzins and

a good number of shyins. Each kiaong has a chief who presides over the

community, under the appellation of Tsaya, or, as is more often the case,

under that of Phongyie. He is, in most instances, the nominee of the

individual who has built the monastery, and who is vested with a kind of

right of patronage to appoint whom he likes to be the head of the house

he has erected. He who is the head of the house has power over all the

inmates, and every one acknowledges him as his immediate superior. He has

the management of all the little affairs of the community, enforces the

regular observance of the rules and duties of the profession, corrects

abuses, rebukes the trespassers, spurs the lazy, excites the lukewarm,

keeps peace and maintains good understanding amongst his subordinates.

He receives, in his official character, the pious visitors who resort

to his monastery, either for the sake of making voluntary offerings in

token of their respect for and admiration of his eminent sanctity, or

for conversing with him on some religious subjects, which, let it be

said quietly, out of deference to human frailty, sometimes make room

for those of a worldly character. If the alms-givers or advice-seekers

belong, as often happens, to the fair and devout sex, they must remain at

a distance of six or twelve cubits, as the place may allow, from their

pious adviser. It is supposed that a nearer proximity might endanger the

virtue of the holy recluse.

In every town a considerable number of kiaongs are found, either in the

suburbs or within the walls, in a quarter reserved for the purpose.

In every village the kiaong is to be met with, as the parson’s house

in our villages of Europe. The poorest place is not without a small

and often very humble house for the Phongyie who resides there, if not

during the whole year, at least during the rainy season. One or several

dzedis, a sort of flagstaff painted, and with some of its parts gilt,

bearing the emblem of the sacred bird henza, or Brahminical duck, at

three-fourths of its height, from which hang down gracefully several

streamers, amid a grove of fruit trees, indicate to the traveller the

habitation—sometimes humble, sometimes stately—with its superposed three

roofs, where the Rahans dwell. The kiaong is also a place where the

traveller is well received, and can stay for a day or two. During the

dry season, when there are few boys remaining with the Phongyies, it is

a place much safer than the dzeats. The inmates are generally very glad

to receive strangers, who by their conversation afford them some moments

of pleasant diversion which relieve the habitual monotony of their life.

These various communities are placed under the jurisdiction of a general

superior, or a provincial named Tsaia-dau, or great master; they form,

under his authority, a province of the order; a division much similar

to that of several religious orders in Europe. He enjoys a large share

of public respect and veneration. His kiaong outshines the others in

splendour and decorations. The first and wealthiest inhabitants of the

place are proud to call themselves his disciples and supporters, and to

supply him liberally with all that he may require. His chief duty is to

settle disputes that not unfrequently arise between rival communities.

The demon of discord often haunts these abodes of peace and retirement.

The authority of the provincial interferes to put down feuds and

contentions, which envy and jealousy, the two great enemies of devotees,

not unfrequently excite. When a Talapoin is accused of incontinence

or other serious infringement of the vital rules of the profession,

he is summoned to the tribunal of the Tsaya-dau, who, assisted and

advised by some elders, examines the case and pronounces the sentence.

Superior intellectual attainments do not appear to be the essential

qualifications for obtaining this high dignity. The writer has met with

two or three of these dignitaries who, in his opinion, were vastly

inferior to many of their subordinates in talents and capacity. They were

old and good-natured men, who had spent almost all their lives within

the precincts of the monastery. Their dress, manners, and habits were

entirely similar to those of their brethren of inferior grade.

In the capital, or its suburbs, of the kingdom of Ava, where is the

key-stone of the Talapoinic fabric, the _superlatively_ great master

resides. His jurisdiction extends over all the fraternity within the

realm of his Burmese majesty. His position near the seat of government,

and his capacity of king’s master or teacher, must have at all times

conferred upon him a very great degree of influence over all his

subordinates. He is honoured with the eminent title of _Tha-thana-paing_,

meaning that he has power and control over all that appertains to

religion. It does not appear that peculiarly shining qualifications

or high attainments are required in him who is honoured with such a

dignity. The mere accidental circumstance of having been the king’s

instructor when he was as yet a youth is a sufficient, nay, the only

necessary recommendation for the promotion to such a high position. Hence

it generally happens that each king, at his accession to the throne,

confers the highest dignity of the order on his favourite Phongyie.

In that case the actual incumbent has to resign the place to his more

influential brother, and becomes an ordinary member of the fraternity,

unless he prefers leaving the society altogether, and re-entering the

lay condition. Great indeed is the respect paid by the king to the head

Phongyie. When on certain days of worship he is invited to go to the

palace and deliver some instructions to his majesty, the proud monarch

quits the somewhat elevated place he occupies, and takes one almost on a

level with that of the courtiers, whilst the venerable personage goes to

sit on the very same carpet just vacated by the king. When he happens to

go out and visit some monasteries or places of worship, he is generally

carried on a gilt litter, in great state, attended by a large number of

his brethren and a considerable retinue of laymen. During the passage,

marks of the greatest respect are given by the people. The monastery

he lives in is on a scale of splendor truly surprising. Its form and

appearance are similar to that of other religious houses, but in variety

and richness of decorations it surpasses them all. It is entirely gilt

both inside and out; not only are the posts covered with gold leaves, but

often they are inlaid with rubies, which I suppose are of the commonest

description and of little value.

To confer an additional sacredness to his person and position, the

_Tha-thana-paing_ lives by himself, with but one or two Phongyies, whom

we may consider as his secretaries or major-domos, who remain in an

apartment near to the entrance, to receive visitors and usher them into

the presence of the great personage. Besides, there are lay guardians who

take good care that not the least noise should ever disturb the silence

of the place.

When the writer first visited that dignitary, he was much amused, on his

approach to the place, to meet with those mute guardians, who by all

sorts of signs and gestures were endeavouring to make him understand that

he must walk slowly and noiselessly, and beware to speak aloud. When

admitted to the presence of the Tsaya-dau, he was not a little surprised

to find a man exceedingly self-conceited, who thought that to him alone

belonged the right of speaking. His language was that of a master to

whom no one was expected to presume to offer the least contradiction. He

appeared quite offended when his visitor was compelled to dissent from

him on certain points brought forward during the conversation. He was

then about fifty years old. He was, for a Burman, of a tall stature,

with regular and handsome features. The face was a little emaciated,

as becomes a monk. His spiritual pride cast a darkish and unpleasant

appearance on his person. He spoke quickly and sententiously; appearing

all the while scarcely to notice his interlocutor. Admiration of self

and vanity pierced through the thin veil which his affected humility

spread over his countenance. The writer left him with an impression very

different from that which a worthy English envoy, in the end of the last

century, entertained of a similar personage, whose mild, benign, and

pious exterior captivated him to such an extent as to elicit from him a

request to be remembered in his prayers.

In our days, the power of the Tha-thana-paing is merely nominal;

the effects of his jurisdiction are scarcely felt beyond his own

neighbourhood. Such, however, was not the case in former times. Spiritual

commissioners were sent yearly by him, to examine into and report on the

state of the communities throughout the provinces. They had to inquire

particularly whether the rules were regularly observed or not, whether

the professed members were really well qualified for their holy calling

or not. They were empowered to repress abuses, and whenever some unworthy

brother, or _black sheep_, was found within the enclosure of a monastery,

he was forthwith degraded, stripped of the yellow garb, and compelled

to resume a secular course of life. Unfortunately for the welfare of

the order, those salutary visits no more take place; the wholesome

check is done away with. Left without a superior control, the order has

fallen into a low degree of abjectness and degradation. The situation

of Talapoins is often looked upon now as one fit for lazy, ignorant,

and idle people, who, being anxious to live well and do nothing, put

on the sacred dress for a certain time, until, tired of the duties and

obligations of their new profession, they retire and betake themselves

anew to a secular life. This practice, as far as my observation goes,

is pretty general, if not almost universal. There are, however, a few

exceptions. Though labouring under many serious disadvantages, the

society continues to subsist with all its exterior characteristics; the

various steps of its hierarchy are as well marked and defined now as they

were before under more favourable circumstances. Its framework remains

entire, but the materials composing it are somewhat imperfect and unsound.

There is in that religious body a latent principle of vitality, that

keeps it up and communicates to it an amount of strength and energy

that have hitherto maintained it in the midst of wars, revolutions,

and political convulsions of all descriptions. Whether supported or

not by the ruling power, it has remained always firm and unchanged. It

is impossible to account satisfactorily for such a phenomenon, unless

we find a clear and evident cause of such an extraordinary vitality; a

cause independent of ordinary occurrences, time, and circumstances; a

cause deeply rooted in the very soul of the populations, that exhibit

before the observer this great and striking religious feature. That

cause appears to be the strong religious sentiment, the firm faith that

pervades the masses of Buddhists. The laity admire and venerate the

religious, and voluntarily and cheerfully contribute to their maintenance

and welfare. From its ranks the religious body is constantly recruited.

There is scarcely a man that has not been a member of the fraternity for

a certain period of time.

Surely such a general and continued impulse could not last long, unless

it were maintained by a powerful religious conviction. The members of the

order preserve, at least exteriorly, the decorum of their profession.

The rules and regulations are tolerably well observed; the grades of

hierarchy are maintained with a scrupulous exactitude. The life of the

religious is one of restraint and perpetual control. He is denied all

sorts of pleasures and diversions. How could such system of self-denial

be ever maintained, were it not for the belief which the Rahans have in

the merits that they amass, by following a course of life which, after

all, is repugnant to nature? It cannot be denied that human motives often

influence both the laity and the religious, but divested of faith and

of the sentiments inspired by even a false belief, their action could

not produce, in a lasting and persevering manner, the extraordinary and

striking fact we witness in Buddhistic countries.

ARTICLE IV.

ORDINATION, OR CEREMONIES OBSERVED AT THE ADMISSION INTO THE SOCIETY.

We will now explain rather minutely, and describe as accurately as

possible, the various ceremonies performed on the occasion of the

promotion of a shyin to the rank of patzin, or professed member. It

must be borne in mind that this ordeal through which he has to pass, or

ordination, as we may aptly perhaps term it, which he has to receive,

does not confer any peculiar character, or give any special spiritual

power to the admitted candidate; but it merely initiates him to a more

perfect course of life, and makes him the member of a society composed of

men aiming at a higher degree of sanctity or perfection. The incumbent

must be provided for the ceremony with a dress such as is used in the

community; he must be found exempt from certain moral and physical

defects that would render him unworthy of being admitted a member of

the order; he must pledge himself to a rigorous observance of certain

regulations which form the constitutions of the society.

The place where the ceremony is to be performed is a hall measuring

at least twelve cubits in length, not including the space occupied by

the Rahans whose presence is required on the occasion. The assembly of

Phongyies, or Rahans, must include ten or twelve members at least if the

ceremony be performed in towns, and four or six if it be in the country.

He who presides over the ceremony is called Upitze, meaning master or

guide; he has an assistant, named Cambawa Tsaia, whose office it is to

read the sacred Cambawa, or book of ordination, to present the candidate

to the Upitze and his assembled brethren, to put to him the requisite

questions as prescribed by the ritual, and to give him instructions on

certain points, the ignorance of which would prove highly prejudicial

to and greatly offensive in a professed member of the order. All the

regulations prescribed and the ceremonies observed on the occasion are

contained in a book written in Pali, the sacred language. This book may

be aptly termed the ritual of the Buddhists. It is held in great respect,

and some copies written on sheets of ivory with gilt edges are truly

beautiful, and bespeak the high value Buddhists set on the work. The

copyists have retained the use of the old square Pali letters, instead

of employing the circular Burmese characters. All the ordinances and

prescriptions in this book are supposed to have been promulgated and

sanctioned by no less an authority than Gaudama himself, the last Buddha

and the acknowledged originator and founder of the Talapoinic order.

Hence the high respect and profound veneration all Buddhists bear to its

contents. The candidate, previously to the beginning of the ceremony,

must be provided, as aforesaid, with his _patta_, or mendicant’s pot,

and a _tsiwaran_, the clerical dress or monkish habit. The _patta_ is an

open-mouthed pot of a truncated spheroidal form, wherein each member of

the brotherhood must receive the alms which every morning he goes to

collect in the streets.

The _tsiwaran_ or yellow[55] garment, the only dress becoming a Rahan,

is composed first of a piece of cloth bound to the loins with a leathern

girdle, and falling down to the feet; second, of a cloak of a rectangular

form, covering the shoulders and breast and reaching somewhat below the

knee; and, third, of another piece of cloth of the same shape, which is

folded many times and thrown over the left shoulder, the two ends hanging

down before and behind. Another article always required for completing

the full dress of the Rahan is the _awana_, a sort of fan made of palm

leaves, set in light oval-shaped wooden frame, with a serpentine handle,

somewhat resembling in appearance the letter S.

The Burmese translator of the Pali text has interpolated his work with

many remarks tending to elucidate the text, and to show the various

motives and reasons that have induced Gaudama to decree and publish as

obligatory the regulations laid down in the sacred Cambawa. It must be

borne in mind, too, that the omission of some essential parts of the

ceremonies annuls _de facto_ the ordination, whilst the non-compliance

with others of minor importance, though not invalidating the act of

admission into the sacred family, entails sin upon all members of the

brotherhood assembled _ex officio_ for the ceremony. The reader must

be prepared to observe many points of close resemblance between the

ceremonies observed at the reception of a monk, or the ordination of a

priest, and those performed in these parts on the solemn occasion of

admitting a candidate to the dignity of Patzin.

The preparations for the solemnity being completed, and the assembled

fathers having occupied their respective seats under the presidence of

the Upitze, the candidate is introduced into their presence attended

by the assistant or reader of the Cambawa, and carrying his patta and

yellow garments. He is enjoined to repeat distinctly thrice the following

sentence to the Upitze, kneeling down, and his body bent forward,

with his joined hands raised to the forehead: “Venerable President, I

acknowledge you to be my Upitze.” These words having been three times

repeated, the assistant, addressing himself to the candidate, says: “Dost

thou acknowledge this to be thy patta, and these thy sacred vestments?”

To which he audibly answers, “Yes.”

Upon this the translator remarks that, on a certain day, a Rahan that had

been ordained without being supplied with either _patta_ or _tsiwaran_

went out quite naked, and received in the palms of his joined hands

the food offered to him. So extraordinary, one would have said so

unedifying, a proceeding having been mentioned to Gaudama, he ordered

that henceforward no Rahan should ever be ordained unless he had been

previously interrogated regarding the patta and the vestments. Any

disobedience to this injunction would entail sin on the assembled fathers.

The assistant having desired the candidate to withdraw from the assembly

to a distance of twelve cubits, and the latter having complied with his

request, he turns towards the assembled fathers and addresses them as

follows: “Venerable Upitze, and you brethren herein congregated, listen

to my words. The candidate who now stands in a humble posture before you

solicits from the Upitze the favour of being honoured with the dignity

of patzin. If it appears to you that everything is properly arranged and

disposed for this purpose, I will duly admonish him. O candidate, be

attentive unto my words, and beware lest on this solemn occasion thou

utterest an untruth or concealest aught from our knowledge. Learn that

there are certain incapacities and defects which render a person unfit

for admittance into our order. Moreover, when before this assembly thou

shalt be interrogated respecting such defects, thou art to answer truly,

and declare what incapacities thou mayest labour under. Now this is not

the time to remain silent and decline thy head; every member of the

assembly has a right to interrogate thee at his pleasure, and it is thy

bounden duty to return an answer to all his interrogations.”

“Candidate, art thou affected with any of the following complaints:

the leprosy, or any such odious maladies? Hast thou the scrofula or

other similar complaints? Dost thou suffer from asthma or coughs?

Art thou afflicted with those complaints that arise from a corrupted

blood? Art thou affected by madness or the other ills caused by giants,

witches, or evil spirits of the forests and mountains?” To each separate

interrogation he answers: “From such complaints and bodily disorders I am

free.” “Art thou a man?” “I am.” “Art thou a true and legitimate son?”

“I am.” “Art thou involved in debts?” “I am not.” “The bounden man and

underling of some great man?” “No, I am not.” “Have thy parents given

consent to thy ordination?” “They have given it.” “Hast thou reached the

age of twenty years?” “I have attained it.”[56] “Are thy vestments and

sacred patta prepared?” “They are.” “Candidate, what is thy name?” “My

name is Wago,” meaning, metaphorically, a vile and unworthy being. “What

is the name of thy master?” “His name is Upitze.”

The assistant, having finished the examination, turns his face towards

the assembled fathers, and thus proceeds: “Venerable Upitze, and ye

assembled brethren, be pleased to listen to my words. I have duly

admonished this candidate, who seeks from you to be admitted into our

order. Does the present moment appear to you a meet and proper time that

he should come forward? If so, I shall order him to come nearer.” Then

turning to the candidate, he bids him come close to the assembly and ask

their consent to his ordination. The order is instantly complied with

by the candidate, who, having left behind him the distance of twelve

cubits that separated him from the fathers, squats on his heels, the body

bending forward and the hands raised to his forehead, and says: “I beg,

O fathers of this assembly, to be admitted to the profession of Rahan.

Have pity on me; take me from the state of layman, which is one of sin

and imperfection, and advance me to that of Rahan, a state of virtue and

perfection.” These words must be repeated three times.

The assistant then resumes his discourse as follows: “O ye fathers here

assembled, hear my words. This candidate, humbly prostrated before you,

begs of the Upitze to be admitted into our holy profession; it seems

that he is free from all defects, corporal infirmities, as well as

mental incapacities, that would otherwise debar him from entering our

holy state; he is likewise provided with the patta and sacred vestments;

moreover, he has asked, in the name of the Upitze, permission of the

assembly to be admitted among the Rahans. Now let the assembly complete

his ordination. To whomsoever this seems good, let him keep silence:

whosoever thinks otherwise, let him declare that this candidate is

unworthy of being admitted.” And these words he repeats three times.

Afterwards he proceeds: “Since, then, none of the fathers object, but all

are silent, it is a sign that the assembly has consented; so, therefore,

be it done. Let therefore this candidate pass out of the state of sin and

imperfection into the perfect state of Rahan, and thus, by the consent

of the Upitze and of all the fathers, let him be ordained.”

And he further says: “The fathers must note down under what shade, on

what day, at what hour, and in what season the ordination has been

performed.”

This being done, the reader of the sacred Cambawa adds: “Let the

candidate attend to the following duties, which it is incumbent on him to

perform, and to the faults hereafter enumerated, which he must carefully

avoid.

“1. It is the duty of each member of our brotherhood to beg for his

food with labour, and with the exertion of the muscles of his feet; and

through the whole course of his life he must gain his subsistence by the

labour of his feet. He is allowed to make use of all the things that are

offered to him in particular, or to the society in general, that are

usually presented in banquets, that are sent by letter, and that are

given at the new and full moon and on festivals. O candidate, all these

things you may use for your food.” To this he replies, “Sir, I understand

what you tell me.”

The assistant resumes his instructions: “2. It is a part of the duty of

a member of our society to wear, through humility, yellow clothes, made

of rags thrown about in the streets or among the tombs. If, however, by

his talents and virtue one procures for himself many benefactors, he

may receive from them for his habit the following articles, cotton and

silk, or cloth of red[57] and yellow wool.” The elect answers, “As I am

instructed, so I will do.”

The instructor goes on: “3. Every member of the society must dwell in

houses built under the shade of lofty trees.[58] But if, owing to your

proficiency and zeal in the discharge of your duties, you secure to

yourself powerful supporters who are willing to build for you a better

habitation, you may dwell in it. The dwellings may be made of bamboo,

wood, and bricks, with roofs adorned with turrets or spires of pyramidal

or triangular form.” The elect answers: “I will duly attend to these

instructions.”

After the usual answer, the instructor proceeds: “4. It is incumbent upon

an elect to use, as medicine, the urine of the cow, whereon lime and the

juices of lemon or other sour fruits have been poured. He may also avail

himself, as medicines, of articles thrown out of bazaars and picked up

in corners of streets. He may accept, for medicinal purposes, nutmegs

and cloves. The following articles may also be used medicinally—butter,

cream, and honey.”

Now the assistant instructs the new religious on the four capital

offences he must carefully avoid, under penalty of forfeiting the dignity

he has just attained to, and solemnly warns him against committing one

of them. Those sins are fornication, theft, murder, and spiritual pride.

The committing of one of these sins by religious after their ordination,

in the days of Gaudama, induced him to declare those excluded _de facto_

from the society who had been guilty of such offences; and he enjoined

that the assistant should immediately after the ceremony solemnly

admonish the newly ordained Patzin carefully to shun such odious offences.

The assistant, without delay, proceeds as follows: “O elect, being now

admitted into our society, it shall be no longer lawful for you to

indulge in carnal pleasures, whether with yourself or animals. He who is

guilty of such sin can no longer be numbered among the perfect. Sooner

shall the severed head be joined again to the neck, and life be restored

to the breathless body, than a Patzin who has committed fornication

recover his lost sanctity. Beware, therefore, lest you pollute yourself

with such a crime.

“Again, it is unlawful and forbidden to an elect to take things that

belong to another, or even to covet them, although their value should not

exceed about six annas (one-fourth of a tical). Whoever sins even to that

small amount is hereby deprived of his sacred character, and can no more

be restored to his pristine state than the branch cut from the tree can

retain its luxuriant foliage and shoot forth buds. Beware of theft during

the whole of your mortal journey.

“Again, an elect can never knowingly deprive any living being of life, or

wish the death of any one, how troublesome soever he may prove. Sooner

shall the cleft rock reunite so as to make a whole, than he who kills

any being be readmitted into our society. Cautiously avoid so heinous a

crime.

“Again, no member of our brotherhood can ever arrogate to himself

extraordinary gifts or supernatural perfections, or, through vainglory,

give himself out as a holy man; such, for instance, as to withdraw

into solitary places, and, on pretence of enjoying ecstasies like the

Ariahs, afterwards presume to teach others the way to uncommon spiritual

attainments. Sooner may the lofty palm-tree that has been cut down become

green again, than an elect guilty of such pride be restored to his holy

station. Take care for yourself that you do not give way to such an

excess.” The elect replies as before: “As I am instructed, so I will

perform.” Here ends the ceremony. The elect joins the body of Rahans, and

withdraws in their company to his own kiaong.

It has already been mentioned that this ceremony or ordination does not

impart any spiritual character inherent in the person of the elect; but

it is a mere formality he has to go through, to enter into the family of

the perfect. The admitted member is not linked indissolubly to his new

state; he is at liberty to leave it when it pleases him, and re-enter

secular life. He may, moreover, if inclined, apply for re-admission into

the order, but he must go through the same ceremonies that were observed

on his first ordination. It is not very common to meet among the Burmese

Rahans men who from their youth have persevered to an old age in their

vocation. Those form the rare exceptions. They are very much respected,

and held in high consideration during their lifetime, and the greatest

honours are lavished upon their mortal remains after their demise. They

are often designated by the honourable denomination of “pure from their

infancy.”

ARTICLE V.

RULES OF THE ORDER.

The obligations inherent in the dignity of Patzin, and the multifarious

duties prescribed to the Buddhist monks, are contained in a book called

Patimauk, which is, properly speaking, the manual of the order, and the

_Vade Mecum_ of every Talapoin, who is obliged to study it with great

care and attention. It is even ordered that on festival days a certain

number of recluses shall meet in a particular place called Thein, to

listen to the reading of that book, or at least a part of it; that every

brother should have always present to his mind the rules and regulations

of his profession, and be prompted to a strict observance of all the

points they enforce. This injunction is a very proper one, since it is a

fact confirmed by the experience of ages that relaxation and dissipation

find their way in all communities at the very moment the rules are

partially lost sight of. So attentive to this duty are some Phongyies

that they can repeat by heart all the contents of the Patimauk. We have

read the book with a good deal of attention. Many wise and well-digested

rules are to be met with here and there, but they are merged in a heap of

minute, not to say ridiculous and childish, details, not worth repeating.

In order, however, to give a correct and distinct outline of the mode of

life, manners, habits, and occupations of the Talapoins, we will extract

from it all that has appeared to be interesting and calculated to attain

the above purpose, leaving aside the incongruous mass of useless rubbish.

Every member of the order, on his entering the profession, must renounce

his own will and bend his neck under the yoke of the rule. So anxious

indeed has been the framer of its statutes to leave no room or field open

to the independent exertions of the mind, that every action of the day,

the manner of performing it, the time it ought to last, the circumstances

that must attend it, have all been minutely regulated. From the moment

a Rahan rises in the morning to the moment he is to go to enjoy his

natural rest in the evening, his only duty is to obey and follow the

ever-subsisting will and commands of the founder of the society. He

advances in perfection proportionately to his fervent compliance with the

injunctions of, and to his conscientiously avoiding all that has been

forbidden by, the sagacious legislator. The trespassing of one article

of the rule constitutes a sin. The various sins a Rahan is liable to

commit are comprised under seven principal heads. 1st, the Paradzekas;

2d, the Thinga-de-ceits; 3d, the Patzei; 4th, the Toolladzi; 5th, the

Duka; 6th, the Dupaci; and 7th, the Pati-de-kani. These seven kinds of

sins are subdivided and multiplied to the number of 227, which constitute

the total amount of sins either of commission or omission that a Phongyie

may commit during the time that he remains a member of the holy society.

The Paradzikas are four in number: fornication, theft, killing, and

vainglory in attributing to one’s self high attainments in perfection.

A recluse, on the day of his admission, is, as before related, warned

never to commit these four sins, under the penalty of being excluded

from the society. They are irremissible in their nature. The meaning of

this is, He who has had the misfortune of yielding to temptation, and

committing one of these four offences, is no longer to be considered as a

member of the Thanga, or of the assembly of the perfect. He is _de facto_

excluded from the society. He may exteriorly continue to be a member of

the Thanga, but inwardly he really no longer belongs to it. All other

offences are subjected to the law of confession, and can be expiated by

virtue of the penances imposed upon the delinquent after he has made a

public avowal of his sins.

The reader will no doubt be startled by the unexpected information that

the practice of confession has been established among the Talapoins, and

is up to this day observed, though very imperfectly, by every fervent

religious. Some zealous Patzins will resort to the practice once, and

sometimes twice a day. Here is what is prescribed on this subject in

the Wini, or book of scriptures, which contains all that relates to the

Phongyies, the Patimauk being but a compendium of it: when a Rahan has

been guilty of a violation of his rule, he ought immediately to go to his

superior, and, kneeling before him, confess his sin to him. Sometimes

he will do this in the Thein, the place where the brothers assemble

occasionally to speak on religious subjects or listen to the reading of

the Patimauk in the presence of the assembly. He must confess all his

sins, such as they are, without attempting to conceal those of a more

revolting nature, or lessening aggravating circumstances. A penance is

then imposed, consisting of certain pious formulas to be repeated a

certain number of times during the night. A promise must be made by the

penitent to refrain in future from such trespasses. This extraordinary

practice is observed now, one would say, _pro forma_. The penitent

approaches his superior, kneels down before him, and having his hands

raised to his forehead, says: “Venerable superior, I do confess here all

the sins that I may be guilty of, and beg pardon for the same.” He enters

upon no detailed enumeration of his trespasses, nor does he specify

anything respecting their nature and the circumstances attending them.

The superior remains satisfied with telling him: “Well, take care lest

you break the regulations of your profession; and henceforward endeavour

to observe them with fidelity.” He dismisses him without inflicting

any penance on him. Thus an institution, so well calculated to put a

restraint and a check upon human passions, so well fitted to prevent

man from occasionally breaking commands given to him, or at least from

slipping into the dangerous habit of doing it, is now, by the want of

fervour and energy in the hands of that body, reduced to be no more than

an useless and ridiculous ceremony, a mere shadow of what is actually

prescribed by the Wini.

The punishments inflicted for the repeated transgressions of one or

several points of the rule are, generally speaking, of a light nature,

and seldom or never corporeal, as flagellations, &c. The superior

sometimes orders a delinquent to walk through the courtyard during the

heat of the day for a certain time, to carry to a distance a certain

number of baskets-ful of sand, or a jug of water. Meekness, being a

virtue most becoming a recluse, forbids the resort to penances of a more

severe nature.

Humility, poverty, self-denial, and chastity are to him who has received

the order of Patzin cardinal and most essential virtues, which he ought

to practise on all occasions. He must, in all his exterior deportment,

give unequivocal marks of his being always influenced by the spirit they

inspire. The framer of the rules and regulations of the order seems to

have had no other object in view than that of leading his brethren by

various ways and means to the practice of these virtues, and inculcating

on their minds the necessity of attending to the observances prescribed

for this purpose. It is from this point we must view the statutes of the

fraternity in order to understand them well and rightly, and appreciate

them according to their worth and merit. We would indeed form a very

erroneous opinion of institutions of past ages if we were to examine

them, to praise or blame them, without a due regard being paid to the

spirit that guided the legislator, and to the object he aimed at when he

laid them down. Our own ideas, customs, manners, and education will often

dispose us to disapprove at first of institutions made in former ages,

amongst nations differing from us in all respects, under the pretext

that they are not such as we would have them to be now, making unawares

our own prejudices the standard whereby to measure the merit or demerit

of all that has been established previously to our own times. The

institutions of the middle ages, a celebrated modern historian has said,

are intelligible to him that has entered into the spirit of those days,

and who thinks, feels, and believes as did the people of those bygone

centuries. This observation holds good to a certain extent, and, _mutatis

mutandis_, in respect to Buddhistic institutions. The whole religious

system must be understood, the object which the founder of the order had

in view ought to be distinctly remarked and always borne in mind, ere we

presume to pronounce upon the fitness or unfitness of the means he has

employed for obtaining it.

For humility’s sake every Talapoin is bound to shave every part of

his body. In complying with this regulation he must consider that the

hairs that are shaved off are useless things, serving merely for the

purposes of vanity, and he ought to be as unconcerned about them as

a great mountain which has been cleared of the trees on its summit.

Influenced by the same spirit, the religious must always walk barefooted,

except in case of his labouring under some infirmity, or for some other

good reason; he is then allowed to use a certain kind of plain and

unornamented slipper, the shape, colour, and dimensions of which are

carefully prescribed by the rule. When the Rahans travel from one place

to another, they are allowed to carry with them the broad fan, made of

palm-leaves, and a common paper umbrella to protect their bare head from

the inclemency of the weather, or screen it from the heat of the sun.

Their dress, consisting, as above mentioned, of three parts, is as plain

as possible. According to the Patimauk, each separate part must be made

of rags picked up here and there, and sewed together by themselves. This

regulation, though disregarded by many, is to a certain extent observed

by the greater number, but in a manner rather contrary to the spirit, if

not to the letter, of the rule. On their receiving from benefactors a

piece of silk or cotton, they cut it into several small square parts,

which they afterwards contrive to have stitched in the best way they

can, so as to make their vestments according to the prescription of

the statutes. The vestment ought to be of one colour, yellow in those

countries in which Mahometanism does not prevail. The yellow colour is a

mark of mourning, as the black is amongst most of the nations of Europe.

Seven articles are considered as essential to every member of the holy

family, viz., the kowot, thin-bain, dugout (the three pieces constituting

his vestment), a girdle, a patta, a small hatchet, a needle, and a

small apparatus for straining the water he drinks. The entire number of

articles he is permitted to use and possess amounts to sixty. They are

all plain, common, almost valueless, offering no incentive to cupidity

and leaving him who is only possessed of them in the humble state of

strict poverty.

The possession of temporal goods is strictly forbidden to the Rahans,

as calculated to hinder them from meditating upon the law and attending

to the various duties of the profession. Nothing indeed opposes a

stronger barrier to the attainment of the perfect abnegation of self

and a thorough contempt for material things, than the possession of

worldly property. Hence a true Rahan has no object which he can, properly

speaking, call his own. The kiaong wherein he lives has been built by

benefactors, and is supplied by them with all that is necessary or useful

to him. Food and raiment are procured for him without his having to feel

concerned about them. The pious liberality of his supporters assiduously

provides for his wants. But it is expected that he shall never concern

himself with worldly business or transactions, of whatever nature they

may be. He can neither labour, plant, traffic, nor do anything with the

intent of deriving profit therefrom. Agreeably to the maxim, “Sufficient

to the day is the evil thereof,” the Rahan cannot make any stores for

the time to come. He must trust in the never-failing generosity and

ever-watchful attention of his supporters for his daily wants. Now, let

it be said to the praise of the Buddhists, that he is seldom disappointed

in the reliance he places on them.

That he may be more effectually debarred from a too easy and frequent

use of the things of first necessity, a Talapoin is bound to go through

a tedious ceremony, called Akat, or presentation, before he can lawfully

touch anything. When he has occasion for food, drink, or anything else,

he turns to his disciples and tells them to do what is lawful. Whereupon

one of them, or several, as circumstances may require, rises from

his place, and, taking the thing or things he wants with both hands,

approaches him respectfully, and presents to him the articles, saying,

This is lawful. Then the Rahan takes the things into his own hands, and

uses them or lays them by, as may suit his convenience. When a thing is

presented, the disciple must be at a distance of some cubits, otherwise

the recluse is guilty of a sin; and if what he receives is food, he

commits as many sins as he eats mouthfuls. Gold and silver being the

two greatest feeders of covetousness, the rule forbids the Phongyies to

touch them, and _a fortiori_ to have them. But on this point, however,

human covetousness has broken through the strong barriers the framer of

the statutes has wisely devised for effectually protecting recluses from

its dangerous allurement. Gold and silver are not indeed touched by the

pious devotees, but the precious and dazzling metals are conventionally

handed to the disciples, who put them into the box of the superior, who,

whilst bowing obsequiously to the letter of the rule, disregards its

spirit. Sometimes an innocent _ruse_ is resorted to by a greedy religious

for silencing the remorse of his conscience; he covers his hands with

a handkerchief, and without scruple receives the sum that is offered

to him. It would be unfair to pass a general and sweeping sentence of

condemnation for covetousness upon all the members of the fraternity.

There are some whose hands have not been polluted by the handling of

money, and whose hearts have always been, we may say, strangers to the

cravings of the _auri sacra fames_; but it cannot be denied that many

among them are insatiable in their lust for riches, and not unfrequently

ask for them.

No Rahan can ever ask for anything; he is allowed to receive what is

spontaneously offered to him. In this point too the spirit of the rule is

frequently done away with. The recluse will not ask an object he covets

(I beg his pardon for making use of such a term) in direct words; but

by some indirect means or circuitous ways he will give significantly to

understand that the possession of such an object is much needed by him,

and that the offering of it would be a source of great merits to the

donor. In this manner he moves the heart of his visitor, and soon kindles

in his breast a desire to present the thing, almost as eager as his own

is to receive it.

Celibacy is strictly enjoined on every professed member of the society.

On the day of his reception he is solemnly warned by the instructor never

to do anything contrary to that most essential virtue. The founder of

the order and the framer of its statutes has entered, on this subject,

into the most minute details, and prescribed a multitude of regulations

tending to fortify the Rahans in the accomplishment of the solemn vow

they have made, and to remove from them all occasions of sin, even the

most distant. We must give him credit for an uncommon acquaintance

with the weakness of human nature, as well as with the violence of

the fiercest passion of the heart, since he has laboured so much to

strengthen and uphold the former, and bridle the latter by every means

his anxious mind could devise. He was deeply read in the secrets of

the human heart, and knew well that the surest tactics for carrying on

successfully the warfare between the spirit and the flesh consist in

rather avoiding carefully the encounter of the enemy, and skilfully

manœuvring at a distance from him, than in boldly encountering him in

the open field. Hence the repeated injunctions to shun all the occasions

of sin.

The Phongyies are forbidden to stay under the same roof, or to travel in

the same carriage and boat, with women; they cannot receive anything from

their hands. To such a height are precautions carried that the religious

are not permitted to touch the clothes of a woman, or caress a female

child, however young, or even handle a female animal.[59]

When visited in their dwellings by women, who resort thither for the

purpose of making offerings, or listening to the recital of a few

passages of the sacred books, they must remain at a great distance from

them, and be surrounded by some of their disciples. The Phongyies are

to look upon the old ones as mothers and upon the young as sisters. The

conversation must be as short as decency allows, and no useless or light

expressions be ever uttered. On the festival days, when crowds of people,

men and women, go to the kiaongs to hear the _tara_, or some parts of

the law repeated, the Rahans, arrayed in front of the congregation, keep

their fans before their faces all the while, lest their eyes should meet

with dangerous and tempting objects. Much greater precautions are still

required in their intercourse with the Rahanesses, a sort of female

recluses, whose institute is greatly on its decline in almost all parts

of Burmah. For better securing the observance of continence, a Phongyie

never walks out of his monastery, or enters a private dwelling, without

being attended by a few disciples. Popular opinion is inflexible and

inexorable on the point of celibacy, which is considered essential to

every one that has a pretension to be called a Rahan. The people can

never be brought to look upon any person as a priest or minister of

religion unless he live in that state. Any infringement of this most

essential regulation on the part of a Rahan is visited with an immediate

punishment. The people of the place assemble at the kiaong of the

offender, sometimes driving him out with stones. He is stripped of his

clothes; and often public punishment, even that of death, is inflicted

upon him by order of government. The poor wretch is looked upon as

an outcast, and the woman whom he has seduced shares in his shame,

confusion, and disgrace. Such an extraordinary opinion, so deeply rooted

in the mind of a people rather noted for the licentiousness of their

manners, certainly deserves the attention of every diligent observer of

human nature. Whence has originated among corrupted and half-civilised

men such a high respect and profound esteem for so exalted a virtue?

Why is its rigorous practice deemed essential to those who professedly

tend to an uncommon degree of perfection? Owing partly to the weight of

public opinion, and partly to some other reasons, the law of celibacy,

externally at least, is observed with a great scrupulosity, and a breach

of it is a rare occurrence. As the rule, in this respect, binds the

Phongyie only as long as he remains in the profession, he who feels his

moral strength unable to cope successfully with the sting of passion

prefers leaving the fraternity and returning to a secular life, when he

can safely put an end, by a lawful alliance, to the internal strife,

rather than expose himself to a transgression which is to entail upon him

consequences so disgraceful.

The sagacious legislator of the Buddhistic religious order, pre-occupied

with the idea of elevating the spiritual principle above the material

one, and securing to reason a thorough control over bodily appetites, has

prescribed temperance as a fundamental virtue essential to every Rahan.

In common with all their fellow-religionists, the Rahans are commanded

to abstain from the use of spirituous liquors and of intoxicating

substances. Such a prohibition is the wisest step that Gaudama could

have adopted to preserve his followers from the shameful vice of

drunkenness. All uncivilised people make use of spirits for the sole

purpose of creating in them the effects of intoxication. Were it not

for such an excellent regulation, the members of the Thanga would soon

become, by their excesses, the laughing-stock of the laity. The time

allotted for taking their meals extends from daybreak to the moment the

sun has reached the middle of its course; but as soon as the luminous

globe has passed the meridian, the use of food is strictly interdicted.

A stomach, more or less loaded with nutritive substances taken in the

evening, weighs down the body, enervates the energies of the soul, clouds

the intellect, and renders a man rather unfit to devote himself to the

high exercises of study, meditation, and contemplation, which ought to

be the principal occupations of a fervent Rahan. He is allowed to make

two meals in the forenoon, but it is expected that he will eat no more

than is required to support nature. He must always take his meals in

company with the members of his community. To stifle the craving of

gluttony and eradicate immoderate desires, he ought to repeat frequently

within himself the following sentence: “I eat this rice, not to please

my appetite, but to satisfy the wants of nature;” just as he says when

he puts on the habit, “I dress myself, not for the sake of vanity,

but to cover my nakedness.” Rice and vegetables are, according to the

statutes, the staple food of the Phongyies; the use of fish and meat is

tolerated, and now it has become a daily prevailing custom which has

rendered the practice a lawful one. Strictly speaking, a Talapoin must

remain satisfied with rice and various sorts of boiled vegetables which

he has received in his patta during his morning perambulations through

the streets of the place.

As it happened among the Romans that the law repressing convivial

sumptuousness and luxury proved an ineffectual barrier against gluttony

and other passions, so amidst the Rahans the strict regulations

prescribing a poor and unsavoury diet have been obliged to yield before

the tendencies to satisfy the ever-increasing demands of appetite. Most

of the Phongyies give to dogs, or to the boys who live in the monastery,

the vulgar food they have begged in the streets, and feed on aliments

of better quality supplied to them regularly by some persons in easy

circumstances, who call themselves supporters of the kiaong and of its

inmates. The ordinary fare consists of rice and several small dishes for

seasoning the rice, in which are some little pieces of flesh, dressed

according to the culinary abilities of the cooks of the country, which

are not certainly of the highest order. To this are added some of the

fruits of the season accompanied by sweetmeats, which female devotees

are wont everywhere so carefully to prepare and so fondly to offer to

those who are the objects of their pious admiration and respect. The

aliments supplied to the humble recluses are of the best description for

the country they live in. One would say that they live on the fat of the

land. The most delicate rice and the finest fruits invariably find their

way to the monasteries. But withal, the Phongyies are not to be charged

with the sin of intemperance or gluttony.

The quantity of food they may take is also an object of regulation, as

well as the very mode of taking, and even of swallowing it. Each mouthful

must be of a moderate size; a second ought not to be carried to the mouth

before the first has been completely disposed of by the masticatory

process, and found its way down through the œsophagus. The contrary would

be considered gluttony, and an evident sign that the eater has something

else in view besides appeasing the mere wants of nature. It is rather an

amusing sight to gaze at the solemn indifference of a Talapoin taking his

meal. One would be tempted to believe that he is reluctantly submitting

to the dire necessity of ministering to the wants of a nature too low

and material. The rule forbids Talapoins to eat human flesh, or that of

the monkey, snake, elephant, tiger, lion, and dog.[60] As a mitigation

of the severity of the disciplinary regulation prohibiting the recluses

from taking any food from twelve o’clock in the day until the next

morning, the use of certain beverages is permitted during that time, such

as cocoa-nut water, the juice of the sugar-cane, and other refreshing

draughts.

The rule being silent regarding the consumption of the betel-leaf and

other ingredients constituting the _delicious_ mouthful for masticatory

purposes, the Talapoins avail themselves largely of the liberty left

to them on this subject. The quantity of betel and other accompanying

substances which they consume is truly enormous. These articles hold

a pre-eminent place amongst the objects that are presented to the

inmates of monasteries. The dark-red substance adhering to the teeth and

occasionally accumulating at the corners of the mouth, the incessant

motion of the lower jaw, the stream of reddish spittle issuing frequently

from the lips of the Talapoins, are unquestionable proofs of both their

ardent fondness and copious consumption of that harmless narcotic.

Except during the short moments allotted for taking meals, a Rahan’s

mouth is always full of betel, and the masticating or chewing process is

incessantly going on.

A great modesty must distinguish a member of the family of the perfect

from a layman; that virtue must shine forth in his countenance,

demeanour, gait, and conversation. Any sign on his face indicating

the inward action of anger or any other passion is found unbecoming

in a person whose composedness and serenity of soul ought never to be

disturbed by any inordinate affection. He never speaks precipitately

or loudly, lest it might be inferred that passion rather than reason

influences him. Worldly or amusing topics of conversation are strictly

interdicted, either with his brethren or laymen. The rule requires him to

walk through the streets with affected simplicity, avoiding hurry as well

as slowness, keeping his eye fixed on the ground in front, looking not

further than ten or fifteen cubits.

Curiosity tends to expand the soul on surrounding objects; but a Rahan’s

principal aim being to attend diligently to himself, to prefer the care

of self before all other cares, and to concern himself very little about

all that takes place without, he assiduously labours to keep his soul

free from vain inquiry, from eager desire of hearing news, and from an

idle or unnecessary interference in things or matters strange to him.

It seems that he has the wise saying always present to his mind, “Where

art thou when thou art not present to thyself? And when thou hast run

over all things, what profit will it be to thee if thou hast neglected

thyself?” During his perambulations he never salutes or notices the

persons he meets on his way; he is indifferent to the attentions and

marks of the highest veneration paid to him by the people; he never

returns thanks for offerings made to him, nor does he repay with a

single regard the kindness proffered to him. Objects most calculated to

awaken curiosity by their novelty and interest ought to find him cold,

indifferent, and unconcerned. His self-collection accompanies him

everywhere, and disposes his soul to an uninterrupted meditation on some

points of the law. It is a counsel of the Wini to observe particularly

the four cleannesses, viz., great modesty in the streets and public

places, the confession of all failings, the avoiding of all occasions

of sins, and the keeping oneself free from the seven kinds of sin. Such

a wise injunction can only be attended to and observed by keeping a

vigilant watch over the senses, which are the very gates leading into the

sanctuary of the soul. We could enter into fuller and more particular

details regarding the regulations of the Talapoinic order, but they would

prove little interesting, and only corroborate what has been previously

stated, that every action of a brother, even the most common, such as

the manner of sitting, rising up, sleeping, eating, &c., has become the

object of the legislative attention of the founder of the order. Nothing

seems to have escaped his clear foresight, and he has admirably succeeded

in leaving no room for the exercise of individual liberty. The rule is as

a great moral being whose absolute commands must be always obeyed. Every

individual is bound to lay aside his own self, and unconditionally follow

the impulse of his guiding influence.

ARTICLE VI.

OCCUPATIONS OF THE BUDDHIST MONKS.

The whole life of a recluse being confined within a narrow compass, we

will have very little to say regarding his daily occupations. As soon as

a Talapoin has left at an early hour the sleeping horizontal position,

he rinses his mouth, washes his face, and recites a few formulas of

prayers, which he lengthens or shortens according to his devotion. He

attires himself in his professional costume, gets hold of his mendicant’s

pot, and sallies forth, in company with some brethren or disciples, in

quest of his food. He perambulates the streets in various directions,

and, without any solicitation on his part, receives the rice, curry,

vegetables, and fruits which pious donors have been preparing from two

to three o’clock in the morning, watching at the door of their houses

the arrival of the yellow-clad monks. Having received what is considered

sufficient for the day, he returns to the monastery, and sets himself to

eat either what he has brought, or something more delicate and better

dressed which his supporter, if he has any, has sent to him.

On the principal festivals, or on extraordinary occurrences, abundant

alms are brought to his domicile. Sometimes he is called by a pious

donor to come and receive them in the pagodas, or in large temporary

sheds erected for the purpose reserved for the occasion. They consist

chiefly of mattresses, pillows, betel-boxes, mats, tea-cups, and various

articles he is allowed to make use of. On these occasions he repays

his benefactors by repeating to them the five great precepts, and some

of the principal tenets of the Buddhistic creed, and the chief points

of the law. He enumerates at great length the numerous merits reserved

to alms-givers. On this point it must be confessed that he is truly

eloquent, and his language flowing and abundant: his expressions are

ready at hand and most glowing, calculated to please the ears of his

hearers and warm their souls to make fresh efforts in procuring him

more copious alms. Occasionally he will recite long praises in honour

of Gaudama, the last Buddha, for having during his previous existence

practised eminent virtues, and thereby qualified himself for the high

dignity of Phra. The sermon goes on sometimes in Pali or sacred language,

which neither he nor his hearers can understand.

The Phongyies are sometimes requested to visit the sick, not so much

for the purpose of ministering to the spiritual wants of the sufferer

as for affording him some relief by his presence. It is believed that

the appearance of a holy personage may have some effect in freeing the

diseased from his distemper, and frightening the evil spirits that may

be the mischievous agents in harming patients. The visitor repeats over

them some points of the law that are intended to act as antidotes against

the agency of the wicked one. Phongyies are very particular on the point

of etiquette. When one of them has to enter into upper-storied houses,

the yellow-habited religious, previous to his venturing into the lower

story, will make it sure that there is no one, and particularly no woman,

in the upper apartments, as it would be highly unbecoming that any man,

and _a fortiori_ a woman, should have their feet above his head. To avoid

such an indecorous contingency, in case the sick person lies in a room

upstairs, the Phongyie has recourse to an expedient few, I presume, would

have thought of. By his direction a ladder is brought, the lower part

of which rests on the street, and the upper leans on one of the upper

windows; up goes the pious visitor, who by such a contrivance reconciles

the observance of etiquette with the compliance to his duty. The writer

confesses that he was much amused the first time that he witnessed such

a feat performed at Penang by a Siamese Phongyie. The little crowd,

attracted by this novelty, exhibited a curious mixture of feelings.

Some laughed; many remained silent; but their deportment was evidently

indicative of the respect and admiration that seemed to them to inspire

the scrupulously tender conscience of the religious.

We must allow that the Talapoins confer a truly invaluable benefit upon

the people of these countries by keeping up schools, where the boys

resort for the purpose of learning to read, write, and acquire the

rudiments of arithmetic. In this respect they are eminently useful, and

the institution, though to a certain extent burthensome to the people,

in this respect deserves well of the country. The many abuses that at

present attend it are almost fully atoned for by the great service its

members gratuitously render to their countrymen. There are no other

schools than those under their management. The tyrannical governments

of Siam and Burmah do not take any steps to propagate instruction among

their subjects, whom they look upon as slaves, fit only for bodily

labour. The houses of Talapoins are so many little seats of elementary

learning; and as they are very numerous throughout the country, every

facility is afforded to male children to learn to read and write. The

female children are excluded from partaking of this great boon by the

strictness of the monastic regulations. It is a great misfortune, much

to be lamented, as one half of the population is thus doomed to live

in perpetual ignorance. Owing to the gratuitous education given by the

Buddhist monks, there are very few men throughout the breadth and length

of Burmah who are not able to read and write. It is true that too often

the knowledge thus acquired is very superficial and incomplete. But as

regards the other half of the population, it may be stated that scarcely

a woman among thousands can be found capable of spelling one word.

The Talapoins being much addicted to sloth and indolence, the schools

are undoubtedly miserably managed. The boys are often left to themselves

without regular control or discipline. When a boy enters the monastery

as student, his teacher places into his hands a piece of blackened

board, whereupon are written the first letters of the alphabet. The

poor lad has to repeat over and over the name of the letters, crying

aloud with all the powers of his lungs. He is left for several weeks at

the same subject, until his instructor is satisfied that he knows his

letters. In the next step the boy is directed to study the symbols of the

vowels which are to be joined with consonants so as to form syllables

and words. When this is done he is initiated into the art of uniting

together and articulating properly the several consonants with the

symbolic characters. He slowly shapes his course through the apparently

much-complicated system of all the combinations of letters, so as to be

able to spell correctly all the words of the language. Owing to the lack

of order and method on the part of the teachers, boys spend a long time,

sometimes one or two years, in mastering those difficulties, which, if

properly explained, would much shorten the time usually devoted to such a

study.

The Burmese alphabet, with the various combinations of letters and

symbols for making words, is based on a most perfect and scientific

methodical and simple process, borrowed from the Sanscrit. The method is

plain and easy, as soon as it is understood. Any person that has received

some education, and whose mind is somewhat developed, will be able, with

the occasional assistance of an intelligent master, to go all over the

various combinations in less than two months. The results derived from

the method adopted by the Burmans are so great and complete that, after

having gone over the general alphabet with attention, the beginner is

able to read all the Burmese words he may meet with. We do not mean, of

course, to say that he will be able to pronounce every word correctly.

This is another thing altogether. But it is no less evident that the

system used by Burmese in the combinations of letters leads to results

infinitely more satisfactory than those obtained through the system of

elementary reading and spelling used in Europe.

Unacquainted with the rules of grammar, the teachers are incapable

of imparting any sound knowledge of the vernacular language to their

numerous pupils. Hence writing, as far as orthography goes, is extremely

imperfect; the spelling of words, having no fixed standard, varies

to an indefinite extent. As soon as the scholars have mastered the

difficulties of the long and complicated alphabet, some portions of

the sacred writings are put into their hands for reading. The result

is that the Burmese in general acquire some knowledge, more or less

extensive, of their religious creed. Though none among them can be found

who understands comprehensively the Buddhistic system, yet most of them

are possessed of a certain amount of more or less limited information

concerning Buddha and his law. In this respect they are perhaps ahead

of many nominal Christians in several countries of Europe, who dwell in

large manufacturing towns and remote country districts and belong to the

lower classes, and who live without even a slight acquaintance with the

essential tenets of the Christian creed.

In addition to the eminently useful task of teaching youth, the

Buddhistic recluse devotes occasionally some portion of his time to the

useful labour of copying manuscripts on palm-leaves, either for his

personal use or to increase the small library of his monastery. The work

is considered as a very excellent one, deserving of great merits, and

much recommended by the rules of the society. It is a matter of regret

that the native laziness of the Phongyies, as well as their total want

of order in acquiring knowledge, thwart to a great extent the practical

working of the wise provisions made by the framer of the rules. Were it

not for such causes, copies of all the best and most interesting works on

the religious system of Buddhism would be greatly multiplied, and could

be easily procured; whilst now they are exceedingly scarce and hardly to

be had at all. The few copies to be had with much difficulty are to be

paid for very high. All the books are made of palm-leaves. The leaves are

about twenty inches in length, and from three to four in breadth. On each

face of the leaf from seven to nine or ten lines are written. A copyist

uses a style of iron by way of pen. With the sharp point he scratches the

epidermis of the leaf to form the letters. In order to render the letters

perfectly visible, he rubs over the page just written with a piece of rag

some petroleum, which, penetrating into the parts scratched by the style,

causes the letters to become quite distinct and apparent.

The Talapoins spend the best part of the day sitting in a cross-legged

position, chewing betel and conversing with the many idlers that are

always to be found in great numbers about their dwellings. When tired

of the vertical position, they adopt the horizontal one, reclining the

head on pillows and gently submitting to the soporific influence of good

Morpheus. They have always in their hands a string of beads, on which

they are wont to repeat certain devotional formulas. The most common is

the following, “Aneitsa, duka, anatta;” meaning that everything in this

world is subjected to the law of change and mutability, to that of pain

and suffering, and to that of entire and uninterrupted illusion. There

is, indeed, an immense field opened to a reflecting mind by these three

very significative expressions for carrying on serious and prolonged

meditation; but none of the Talapoins, at least of those I have been

acquainted with, are capable of understanding comprehensively their

meaning. They often repeat the forty great subjects of meditation, and

the rule enjoins them to be zealously addicted to contemplation, which is

pronounced to be the chief exercise of a true follower of Buddha. But how

can there ever be expected from weak and ignorant persons the habitual

practice of so high an exercise, requiring an intellectual vigour of the

very first order? They must repeat on their beads at least a hundred

and twenty times a day the four following considerations on the four

things more immediately necessary to men, food, raiment, habitation, and

medicine: “I eat this rice, not to please my appetite, but to satisfy the

wants of nature. I put on this habit, not for the sake of vanity, but

to cover my nakedness. I live in this kiaong, not for vainglory, but to

be protected from the inclemency of the weather. I drink this medicine

merely to recover my health, that I may with greater diligence attend to

the duties of my profession.”

ARTICLE VII.

RELIGIOUS INFLUENCE OF THE PHONGYIES—RESPECT AND VENERATION PAID TO THEM

BY THE LAITY.

When we speak of the great influence possessed by the religious order

of Buddhist monks, we do not intend to speak of political influence.

It does not appear that in Burmah they have ever aimed at any share

in the management or direction of the affairs of the country. Since

the accession of the house of Alomphra to the throne, that is to say,

during a period of above a hundred years, the history of Burmah has

been tolerably well known. We do not recollect having ever met with one

instance when the Phongyies, as a body, have interfered in the affairs

of the State. They also seem to remain indifferent to family or domestic

affairs. The regulations they are subjected to, and the object which

they have in view in entering the religious profession, debar them

from concerning themselves in affairs that are foreign to their sacred

calling. But in a religious point of view alone, their influence is a

mighty one. Upon that very order hinges the whole fabric of Buddhism.

From it, as from a source, flows the life that maintains and invigorates

religious belief in the masses that profess that creed. We may view the

members of the order as religious, and as instructors of the people at

large, and principally of youth. In that double capacity they exercise a

great control and retain a strong hold over the mind of the people.

There is in man a natural disposition and inclination to admire

individuals who, actuated by religious feelings, are induced to leave

the world and separate from society in order to devote themselves

more freely to the practice of religious duties. The more society is

corrupted, the more its members value those persons who have the moral

courage to estrange themselves from the centre of vice, that they may

preserve themselves from contamination. In fact, religious are esteemed

in proportion to the extent of the contempt they have for this world.

The Phongyies occupy precisely this position in the eyes of their

co-religionists. Their order stands in bold relief over the society they

belong to. Their dress, their mode of life, their voluntary denial of all

gratification of sensual appetites, centre upon them the admiring eyes of

all. They are looked upon as the imitators and followers of Buddha; they

hold ostensibly before ordinary believers the pattern of that perfection

they have been taught so fondly to revere. The Phongyies are as living

mementoes, reminding the people of all that is most sacred and perfect in

practical religion. No one will deny that the view of a body of religious

existing in a community, keeping an intercourse with its members, must

ever have a powerful tendency to foster religious feelings in the mind of

a half-civilised people as the Burmese are. It is in this manner that the

Phongyies command the respect and veneration of the people, and exercise

a considerable amount of religious influence over the masses.

But in the capacity of instructors of the people, the members of the

order act as yet more directly and actively upon the people. In Burmah

there are no schools but those kept by the religious. The monasteries

are as so many little seminaries where male children receive elementary

instruction. The knowledge that is imparted to them by their masters is

not secular, but purely religious. It is a point upon which the undivided

attention of a keen observer must be centred in order to understand the

full meaning of the following remarks. We do not mean to say that the

instructor has always present to his mind, as a professor, the direct

teaching of religious tenets; but the fact is that no information is

conveyed to the pupils except that which comes from religious books. No

other books are ever used in schools.

As soon as boys are able to read, religious books are put into their

hands. During all the time they remain at school they go over books that

have a direct reference to religion. Without even being aware of it,

they imbibe religious notions, and become acquainted with some parts

of the religious creed, particularly with what relates to Gaudama’s

preceding and last existence. When they grow up to manhood, if they

happen to read, they have, as a general practice, no other books but such

as have a reference to religion. When people assemble together, either

in the dzeats on the occasion of festival days, or at home on other

public occasions, particularly in the days following the death of some

relatives, one or several elders read some passage of their scriptures,

and thereby supply topics for conversation of a religious turn. This

state of things originates almost entirely in the early education

received in the monasteries at the hands of their masters, the Phongyies.

It powerfully contributes to popularise and foster religious notions,

whilst it indirectly heightens and brightens in the eyes of the people

the position of the religious.

Moreover, the early intercourse between the youth and their masters tends

to bring into closer contact and union both the religious and the laity.

It draws nearer the ties that bind together these two fractions of the

Buddhist society. The relation thus established between the teachers

and the taught is further strengthened by the fact that the greatest

number of the male portion of the community become affiliated, during a

longer or shorter period, to the society, and subjected to its rules and

regulations; they are cast in the mould of religious, and retain during

the remainder of their life some of the features that have been at an

early period stamped on their young minds. Their memory remains loaded

with all that they learned by heart during the days they spent in the

monasteries as students or members of the society.

Though the Phongyies or Talapoins are not remarkable for their zeal

in delivering instructions or sermons to the people, they discharge

occasionally that duty on the eve of and during festival days, and on

all occasions when considerable offerings are brought to them in their

monasteries. Sometimes, too, they are requested to go to certain places

prepared for that purpose, to deliver instructions and receive offerings

tendered to them by some pious laymen. The preaching never consists in

expounding the text of the religious books, and developing certain points

of the law; it is a mere rehearsal and repetition of the precepts of

the law or of regular formulas in praise of Gaudama, and an enumeration

of the merits to be gained by those who bestow alms on them. These and

similar circumstances much contribute to keep up the position of the

religious, and aid them in retaining a powerful religious hold over their

respective communities. We repeat it as our deliberate opinion, that upon

the religious association under consideration principally rests, as on a

strong basis, the great fabric of Buddhism. Were such an institution to

give way and crumble to the dust, the vital energies of that false creed

would soon be weakened and completely paralysed. Buddhism would yield

before the first attack that would be skilfully and vigorously directed

against it.

In Burmah the Phongyies are highly respected by every member of the

community. When they appear in public, walking in the streets, they are

the objects of the greatest attention. The people withdraw before them

to leave a free passage. Women are seen squatting on both sides of the

way, through respect for the venerated personages. When visited in their

dwellings, even by persons of the highest rank, the etiquette is that

every visitor should prostrate himself three times before the head of

the monastery, uttering the following formula:—“To the end of obtaining

the remission of all the faults I have committed through my senses, my

speech, and my heart, I make a first, second, and third prostration in

honour of the three precious things—Phra, his law, and the assembly of

the perfect. Meanwhile, I earnestly wish to be preserved from the three

calamities, the four states of punishment, and the five enemies.” To

which the recluse answers:—“For his merit and reward, may he who makes

such prostrations be freed from the four states of punishment, the three

calamities, the five sorts of enemies, and from all evil whatsoever. May

he obtain the object of all his wishes, walk steadily in the path of

perfection, enjoy the advantages resulting therefrom, and finally obtain

the state of Neibban.” On the visitor withdrawing from his presence, the

three prostrations must be repeated; he then stands up, falls back to a

distance of ten feet, as it would be highly unbecoming to turn the back

suddenly on the holy man, wheels round on the right, and goes out. This

usage is doubtless very ancient, and is at the same time looked upon as a

very important one. In the Life of Gaudama we have seen it mentioned on

all occasions when visitors went to pay their respects to him. Princes

and nobles observed the ceremony with the utmost punctuality.

The best proof of the high veneration the people entertain for the

Talapoins is the truly surprising liberality with which they gladly

minister to all their wants. They impose upon themselves great

sacrifices, incur enormous expenses, place themselves joyfully in narrow

circumstances, that they might have the means to build monasteries with

the best and most substantial materials, and adorn them with all the

luxury the country can afford.[61] Gold is often profusely used for

gilding the posts, ceiling, and other parts of the interior, as well as

several trunks or chests for storing up manuscripts. Two or three roofs

superposed upon each other (a privilege exclusively reserved to royal

palaces, pagodas, and kiaongs) indicate to the stranger that the building

is a monastery. The recluse’s house is well supplied with the various

articles of furniture becoming the pious inmates. The individual who

builds at his own expense such a house, assumes the much-envied title

of _Kiaong-taga_, or supporter of a monastery. This title is for ever

coupled with his name: it is used as a mark of respect by all persons

conversing with him, and it appears in all papers or documents which

he may have to sign. The best, finest, and most substantial articles,

if allowed by the regulations as fit for the use of the Talapoins, are

generously and abundantly afforded by benevolent persons. When the king

is religiously inclined, the best and most costly presents he receives

are deposited in the monasteries, to adorn the place or hall where the

principal idol is.

Government does not interfere or give any assistance in building pagodas

or kiaongs; nor does it provide for the support of the pious Rahans;

but the liberality of the people amply suffices for all contingencies

of the kind. When a man has made some profit by trading, or any other

way, he will almost infallibly bestow the best portion of his lucre in

building a kiaong, or feeding the inmates of a religious house for a few

months, or in giving general alms to all the recluses of the town. Such

liberality, which is by no means uncommon, has its root, we believe, in a

strong religious sentiment, and also in the insecurity—nay, the danger—of

holding property to a large amount.