of disciple; and the former calls him simply Taga, or supporter. The
attitude of the layman in the presence of the Phongyie is indicative of
the veneration he entertains towards his person. He squats down, and he
never addresses the yellow-dressed individual without joining his hands
in token of respect, and raising them up with a little motion indicative
of intended prostration. As there is in Burmah a court language, so there
is a language, or rather a certain number of expressions, reserved to
designate things used by Talapoins, as well as most of the actions they
perform in common with other men, such as eating, walking, sleeping,
shaving, &c. The very turn of the commonest sentence is indicative of
respect when speaking to a Rahan. He is called Phra, the most honourable
term the language can afford. His person is sacred, and no one would
dare to offer him the least insult or violence. The influence of the
Talapoin upon the people is considerable, in proportion to the great
respect borne to his sacred character. So extraordinary has it been on
certain occasions, that Phongyies have been seen rescuing forcibly from
the hands of the police culprits on their way to the place of execution.
No resistance, then, could be made by the policemen without exposing
themselves to the danger of committing a sacrilege, by lifting their
hands against them when such an occurrence takes place. The liberated
wretches are then forthwith led to the next monastery. Their heads having
been shaved, they are attired in the yellow garb, and their persons
become at once sacred and inviolable.
The veneration paid to Talapoins during their lifetime accompanies them
after their death. Their state is considered as one of peculiar sanctity.
It is supposed that their very bodies too partake of the holiness
inherent in their sacred profession. Hence their mortal remains are
honoured to an extent scarcely to be imagined. As soon as a distinguished
member of the brotherhood has given up the ghost, his body is opened, the
viscera extracted and buried in some decent place without any particular
ceremony, and the corpse embalmed in a very simple manner by putting
ashes, bran, and other desiccative substances into the abdominal cavity.
It is then swathed with bands of linen, wrapped round it many times,
and a thick coat of varnish laid upon the whole. On this fresh varnish
gold leaves are sometimes placed, so that the whole body is gilded
over from head to feet. When the people are poor and cannot afford to
buy gold for the above purpose, a piece of yellow cloth is considered
as the most suitable substitute. The body, thus attired, is laid in a
very massive coffin, made, not with planks, but of a single piece of
timber hollowed in the middle for receiving the earthly frame of the
deceased. A splendid cenotaph, raised in the centre of a large building
erected for the purpose, is prepared to support a large chest wherein
the coffin is deposited. The chest is often gilt inside and out, and
decorated with flowers made of different polished substances of various
colours. Pictures, such as native artists contrive to make, are disposed
round the cenotaph. They represent ordinarily religious subjects. In
this stately situation the body remains exposed for several days, nay
several months, until preparations are completed for the grand day of
the obsequies. During that period festivals are often celebrated about
it, bands of music play, and people resort in crowds to the spot for the
purpose of making offerings to defray the expense to be incurred for the
funeral ceremony. When the appointed day for burning the corpse at last
arrives, the whole population of the town will be seen flocking in their
finest dresses to witness the display of fireworks which takes place on
the occasion of burning the corpse. A funeral pile of a square form is
erected on the most elevated spot. Its height is about fifteen feet,
and it ends with a small room made for receiving the coffin. The corpse
having been hoisted up and laid in the place destined for its reception,
fire is set to the pile in a rather uncommon way. An immense rocket,
placed at a distance of about forty yards, is directed towards the pile
by means of a fixed rope guiding it thereto. Sometimes the rocket is
placed on a huge cart, and pushed in the direction of the pile. In its
erratic and uncertain course it happens occasionally that it deviates
from its course, and plunges into the ranks of the crowd, wounding and
killing those it meets. As soon as it comes in contact with the pile,
the latter immediately takes fire by means of combustibles heaped for
that purpose, and the whole is soon consumed. The few remaining pieces
of bones are religiously collected, and buried in the vicinity of some
pagoda. Here ends the profound veneration, amounting almost to worship,
which Buddhists pay to their recluses during their life and after their
demise.
Two chief motives induce the sectaries of Buddha to be so liberal towards
the Talapoins, and to pay them so high a respect; viz., the great merits
and abundant rewards they expect to derive from the plentiful alms they
bestow upon them, and the profound admiration they entertain for their
sacred character, austere manners, and purely religious mode of life. The
first motive originates from interested views; the second has its root
in that regard men naturally have for persons who distinguish themselves
from others by a more absolute self-denial, a greater restraint and
control of their passions, a renouncement of permitted pleasures
and sensual gratifications from religious motives. According to the
fundamental dogma of Buddhism, any offering made to, or indeed any action
done for the benefit of, a fellow-man is deserving of reward during
future existences, such as digging a well, building a resting-place,
a bridge, &c.; but far more abundant are the merits resulting from
presenting a Talapoin with one or several articles necessary to his daily
use, as they increase proportionately to the dignity of the person to
whom the things are offered. We may judge from the following instance
of the plentiful harvest of merits which a supporter of Phongyies
is promised to reap hereafter: He who shall make an offering of a
mendicant’s pot or Thabeit shall receive as his reward cups and other
utensils set with jewels; he shall be exempted from misfortunes and
calamities, disquietude and trouble; he shall get without labour all that
is necessary for his food, dress, and lodging; pleasure and happiness
shall be his lot; his soul shall be in a state of steadiness and
tranquillity, and his passion for the sex shall be considerably weakened.
The offering of other objects secures to the donor wealth, dignity, high
rank, pleasure, and an admittance into the fortunate countries or seats
of the Nats, where all the things are to be met with and enjoyed that are
calculated to confer on man the greatest sum of happiness. The people
believe unhesitatingly all that is said to them in this respect, and
they gladly strip themselves of many valuable things in order to obtain
and enjoy, during coming existences, the riches and pleasures promised
to them by their Rahans. The insecurity of property under tyrannical
rulers may operate to a certain extent in determining people to part with
their riches, and consecrate them to religious purposes, rather than
see themselves violently deprived of them by the odious rapacity of the
vile instruments of the avarice, tyranny, and cruelty of their heartless
princes and governors.
It can scarcely be a matter of wonder that Buddhists so much honour and
respect a Talapoin, when we consider that, in their opinion, he is a
true follower of Buddha, who strives to imitate his great prototype in
the practice of the highest virtues, particularly in his incomparable
mortification and self-denial, that he might secure the ascendancy of
the spiritual principle over the material one, weaken passions which are
the real causes of the disorder that reigns in our soul, and finally
disengage her from their baneful influences, and from that of matter in
general. He is exceedingly reserved and abstemious regarding food, the
use of creatures, and the enjoyment of pleasures, in order to secure to
reason the noblest faculty of an intelligent being, a perfect control
over the senses. He is indeed in the right way leading to Neibban,
the summit of perfection. In the opinion of a Buddhist, nobody can be
compared to a true and fervent Rahan in sterling worth and merit. His
moral dignity and elevation cast into the shade the dazzling splendour
that surrounds loyalty. He is a pious recluse, a holy personage, a true
member of the holy Thanga, and deserving, therefore, of the highest
admiration and respect.
As a consequence of the profound veneration in which Talapoins are
publicly held, they are exempted from contributing to public charges,
tribute, _corvées_, and military service. It is an immense favour,
particularly among the nations of Eastern Asia, where the rulers look
upon their subjects as mere slaves and tools under their command for
executing the absolute orders of their capricious fancy. Under the
present ruler of Burmah, the fathers and mothers of Phongyies are
benefited by the fact of their sons being in a monastery. They are
exempted from paying taxes, and are treated with some attention by the
officials who wish to ingratiate themselves in the favour of his most
Buddhist majesty. They have often the honorary affixes joined to their
names.
In concluding this notice, we will briefly sketch the actual situation
of the Talapoinic order in those parts where we have had the opportunity
of observing it, and will allude to the causes that have operated in
seducing it into vices, abuses, and imperfections which are lowering
it greatly in the opinion of all foreigners and of a few well-informed
natives.
The first and principal cause that has brought the Society into
disrepute and opened the door to numberless abuses is the total absence
of discernment in the selection of the individuals that seek for an
admittance therein. Every applicant is indiscriminately received as
a member of the brotherhood. No previous examination takes place for
ascertaining the dispositions, capacity, and science of the postulant.
No inquiry is ever made regarding the motives that may have induced
him to forsake the world and take so important a step. His vocation is
exposed to no trial. He has but to present himself and he is sure to
be immediately received, provided he consent to conform exteriorly to
the usual practices of his brethren. No account is taken of his former
conduct. The very fact of his applying to be admitted into the society
of the perfect atones amply for all past irregularities. The only
respectability inherent in the modern Talapoins is that derived from the
sacred yellow dress he wears. It may aptly be said of him that he is
monk by the fact of his wearing the canonical dress. The houses of the
order are, in many instances, filled with worthless individuals totally
unfit for the profession, who have been induced by the basest motives to
enter into them, chiefly by laziness, idleness, and the hope of spending
quietly their time beyond the reach of want, and without being obliged to
work for their livelihood. In confirmation of this, I will mention the
following instance. During the second year of my stay in Burmah, I had
with me, in the capacity of servant, an old stupid native. On a certain
day he gravely told me that he intended to leave my service and become a
Phongyie. I laughed at first at what I considered to be very presumptuous
and impertinent language. The old man, however, kept his word. Having
left my house a few days after our conversation on the subject of his new
vocation, I heard no more of him till it happened a few months after that
I met him in a monastery, attired in the full dress of a Phongyie, and
so proud of his new position that he hardly condescended to put himself
on a footing of equality with his former master.
Ignorance prevails to an extent scarcely to be imagined among the
generality of the Phongyies. I have met with a great number of laymen who
were incomparably better informed, and far superior in knowledge to them.
Their mind is of the narrowest compass. Though bound by their profession
to study with particular care the various tenets of their creed and all
that relates to Buddhism, they are sadly deficient in this respect.
They have no ardour for study. While they read some book, they do it
without attention or effort to make themselves fully acquainted with the
contents. There is no vigour in their intellect, no comprehensiveness
in their mind, no order or connection in their ideas. Their reading is
of a desultory nature, and the notions stored up in their memory are at
once incoherent, imperfect, and too often very limited. They possess no
general or correct views of Buddhism. I never met with one who could
embrace the whole system in his mind and give a tolerably accurate
account of it. The only faculty that they cultivate with great care is
memory. It is surprising to hear them repeating by heart the contents
of a book they have studied. As the number of books is very limited in
countries where the art of printing has not been introduced, the pupils
of the monasteries are compelled to commit to memory the greatest portion
of the books they study. He who has lived in Burmah must have often
heard, to his great surprise, laymen repeating, during sometimes a whole
hour, formulas in Pali, or religious stories in Burmese, which they had
learned in the school, or when they had put on the monkish habit.
Phongyies are fond of exhibiting their knowledge of the Pali language, by
repeating from memory, and without stammering or stumbling, long formulas
and sentences; but I have convinced myself that very few among them
understood even imperfectly a small part of what they recited. Those
who enjoy popularly a reputation for uncommon knowledge affect to speak
very little, show a great reserve, despising as ignorant the person that
approaches their abodes or holds conversation with them. But silence,
which in a learned man is a sign of modesty, is too often with them a
cloak to cover their ignorance, and a cunning device for disguising pride
under the garb of humility. The latter virtue, though much recommended
in the Wini, is not a favourite one with the Talapoins. It is indeed
impossible that they could ever understand or practise it, since they are
unacquainted with the two great ways that lead to it, viz., a profound
knowledge of God and a thorough knowledge of self. Talapoins, who are
distinguished among their brethren for their great austerity of manners
and more perfect observance of their regulations, are the most unpleasing
beings the writer has ever met with.
They are cold, reserved, speaking with affected conciseness: their
language is sententious, seasoned with an uncommon dose of pretension.
Sentences falling from their lips are half finished, and involved in a
mysterious obscurity, calculated to fill with awe and admiration their
numerous hearers; a certain haughtiness and contempt of others always
shows itself through their affected simplicity and humble deportment.
Vanity and selfishness, latent in their hearts, force themselves on the
attention of an acute observer. In their manners they are occasionally so
affected by a ridiculous reserve that one might be tempted to think that
their brain is not quite sound. Talapoins, in general, entertain a very
high idea of their own excellence; and the great respect paid to them by
the people contributes not a little to foster it, and make them believe
that nobody on earth can ever be compared to them. To such a height has
their pride reached that they believe it would be derogatory to their
dignity to return civility for civility, or thanks for the alms people
bestow on them.
The most striking feature in the character of the Talapoins is their
incomparable idleness. We may say that, in this respect, they resemble
their countrymen, who are very prone to that vice. Two causes of a very
different nature seem, in our opinion, to act together on the people of
these countries to produce such a result. The first is a physical one;
the heat of the climate, coupled with a perpetual uniformity in the
temperature, producing a general relaxation in the whole system, which
is never combated or counteracted by an opposite action or influence.
The second cause is a moral one, the tyranny of the despotic governments
ruling over the populations of Eastern Asia. Property is everywhere
insecure. He who is suspected of being rich is exposed to numberless
vexations on the part of the vile satellites of tyranny, who soon find
out some apparent pretext for confiscating a part or the whole of his
property, or depriving him of life, should he dare to offer resistance.
In such a state of things every one is satisfied with the things of first
necessity. Want forms the strongest tie that binds together individuals
and races, and at the same time holds out the most powerful incentive to
exertion. The people of these parts have but few wants, and therefore
they lack inducement to labour for acquiring anything beyond what is
strictly necessary. Emulation, ambition, the desire of growing rich,
which are the main springs that move man to exertion, disappear and leave
him in an abject and servile indolence, which soon becomes his habitual
state, and the grave wherein is entombed all his moral energy.
Like their countrymen, Phongyies are exposed to the influence of the
above causes, but their mode of life is a third additional reason
why they are more indolent than others. They have not to trouble or
exert themselves for the articles required for their subsistence
and maintenance; these are abundantly supplied to them by their
co-religionists. They are bound, it is true, to read, study, and
meditate; but their ignorance and laziness incapacitate them for
such intellectual exercises. They remain during the best part of the
day sitting in a cross-legged position, or reclining, or sleeping, or
at least attempting to do so. They occasionally resume the vertical
position to get rid of _ennui_, one of their deadliest enemies, and by
repeated stretchings of arms and legs, and successive yawnings, try to
free themselves from that domestic foe. The teaching of their scholars
occupies a few of them for a short time in the morning and in the
evening. They are often relieved from their mortal _ennui_ by visitors as
idle as themselves, who resort to their dwellings to kill time in their
company.
To keep up respectability before the public, the Rahans assume an
air of dignity and reserve. They avoid all that could lead them into
dissipation. Exterior continence is generally observed, and though there
are occasional trespasses, it would be unfair to lay on them generally
the charge of incontinence. Their life so far may be considered as
exemplary. Though partly divested of that open-heartedness which is a
peculiar characteristic of their countrymen, they are tolerably kind
and affable with strangers. They, however, cannot relinquish in their
conversation with them a certain air of superiority, inspired by the
admiration of self and the high opinion they entertain of their exalted
profession and sacred character. They are unwilling to see them sitting
unceremoniously close to themselves; and when this cannot be avoided,
they seek for an opportunity of removing to another place a little
more elevated than that occupied by the visitor, as it would be highly
unbecoming that laymen should ever presume to sit on a level with a
recluse. Such a step would imply a sort of equality between them both,
which is never to be dreamt of. Their smooth and quiet countenance,
their meek deportment, are, as it were, slightly fretted with a certain
roughness and rudeness peculiar to individuals leading a retired life,
and estranging themselves, to a certain extent, from the place of society.
In the foregoing pages we have endeavoured to give a faithful account of
the great religious order existing in countries where genuine Buddhism
is the prevailing creed. We have been obliged, for the sake of truth,
to mention many abuses that have slowly crept into it; but we never
entertained the slightest intention of casting a malignant contempt
or a sneering ridicule upon its members. Most sincerely we pity those
unfortunate victims of error and superstition who are wasting their
time and energies in the fruitless pursuit of an imaginary felicity. No
language can adequately express the ardour and intensity of our desires,
sighs, and prayers to hasten the coming of the day when the thick mist
and dark cloud that encompass their souls shall be dissipated, and the
Sun of Righteousness shall shed into them his vivifying beams. However
deplorable their intellectual blindness may be, we always felt that they
have a right to be fairly and impartially dealt with. The religious order
they belong to is, after all, the greatest in its extent and diffusion,
the most extraordinary and perfect in its fabric and constituent parts,
and the wisest in its rules and prescriptions, that has ever existed
either in ancient or modern times without the pale of Christianity.
ADDENDA.
Many persons have often put to the writer the following question:—Is it
credible that the founder of Buddhism established from the beginning
a body of religious, with so perfect an hierarchy and so complete an
organisation as to elicit the wonder and astonishment of all those who
contemplate it with a serious attention? No doubt, Buddhists attribute to
Gaudama all the regulations contained in the Patimauk, or the book of the
_enfranchisement_; they maintain that the contents of Cambawa, or book
for the ordination of Patzins, have been arranged by the same hand. But
the absurdity of such an assertion cannot fail to strike the eyes of even
a superficial observer. These two books, with their elaborate divisions
and subdivisions, must have been gradually prepared and arranged at an
epoch when Buddhism had taken deep root and spread its branches far and
wide, and had become the dominant religion in the countries where it is
flourishing. To confer splendour on the admittance of individuals into
the body of monks, the rules of the Cambawa were enacted. To render the
life of religious an object of greater veneration in the eyes of the
community, the regulations of the Patimauk were devised, and were very
likely brought, by a slow process, to the state of completeness we see
them at present.
Though Gaudama had nothing to do with the redaction of the books under
examination, he is, nevertheless, the author of the principal and most
important regulations. It is in the Thoots or instructions he has
delivered on different occasions that we must search for discovering the
germ and origin of the principal points contained in the Patimauk and
the Cambawa. At the conclusion of many of his instructions we find some
hearers believing in him, and applying for admittance into the society
of his disciples. When he approved of their dispositions, the applicants
had but to renounce the ordinary pursuits of life, exchange their dress
for the one regularly prescribed, and engage to live in a state of strict
chastity: they then became at once members of the Thanga, without having
to go through a prescribed ordeal. Faith in Buddha on the one hand, and
on the other willingness to live in poverty and chastity, were the only
requisites for obtaining admittance into the spiritual family of Buddha.
The applicants were obliged to live in poverty, and depend for their
food on the alms they could procure by begging. Hence they were called
Bickus, or mendicants. They had to wear a dress made with rags picked up
in cemeteries and stitched together. They placed themselves under the
guidance of Gaudama, and denied to themselves all sensual gratifications.
Such were the first and principal obligations imposed on the new converts
who embraced a religious life. The Bickunies, or women who had embraced
the holy profession, were gradually subjected to the same regulations.
The minor details of the rule were introduced as consequences flowing
from the general principles. This has been the work of time, and perhaps
of one of the councils.
It does not appear from the instructions of Gaudama that the steps of the
hierarchy were defined and fixed by him, as they have subsequently been.
We remark in the assembly, the Bickus, or mendicants, constituting the
great mass of the religious, then the _Thera_, or, as the Burmans write
it, _Mathera_, the ancients, or members of the assembly distinguished
by their age and proficiency in learning and virtue, and the Aryias,
or those who had made the greatest progress in meditation and
contemplation, and had entered into the current of perfection.
It has been asked also whether those who had reached one of the four
Meggas—that is to say, who had become a Thautapan, a Sakadagam, &c.—were
always members of the Thanga, and could not live in the world. From
the tenor of certain passages in the life of Gaudama we see that many
pious laymen became Thautapan, Sakadagam, and even Anagam; that is to
say, followed the three first Meggas, though they continued to live in
the world. The father of Buddha, King Thoodaudana, the father of Ratha
and many others, reached one of the above-mentioned states, though they
continued to follow the ordinary pursuits of life. This fact deserves
attention, because it shows that the institutions of Gaudama rested
on a broad basis, and that a life in the world was not an obstacle to
following the ways of perfection.
ON THE WORD “NAT.”
In a note on the Nats, the writer, having expressed the opinion that
the word “Nat,” used by Burmans, was derived from the Sanscrit term
Nath, which means lord, Major Phayre gave it as his decided opinion
that the expression was a purely Burmese one, not at all derived from
the Sanscrit. Leaving aside the etymological question, of which it may
be said that _adhuc sub judice lis est_, we are happy to communicate to
the reader the following reflections that have come from the pen of that
distinguished scholar, who is so intimately acquainted with all that
relates to Buddhism.
“The modern Burmans acknowledge the existence of certain beings which,
for want of a better term, we will call ‘almost spiritual beings.’ They
apply to them the name Nat. Now, according to Burmese notions, there are
two distinct bodies or systems of these creatures. The one is a regularly
constituted company, if I may say so, of which Thagya Meng is the chief.
Most undoubtedly that body of ‘Nat’ was unknown to the Burmans until they
became Buddhists. Those are the real Dewah or Dewata.
“But the other set of Nats are the creatures of the indigenous
system, existing among all the wild tribes bordering on Burmah. The
acknowledgment of these beings constitutes _their only worship_. On
these grounds I consider that the Burmese acknowledged and worshipped
such beings before they were converted to Buddhism.
“Now, if they acknowledged such beings, they, no doubt, had a name for
them, similar in general import to the ‘fairy, elf,’ and so on among
the inhabitants of Britain for beings of a quasi-spiritual nature. I
may observe there is a complete analogy in the state of Burmese belief
in the existence of such beings and that which prevailed formerly in
Europe, and some remnants of which may be found even now existing among
the uneducated. I mean that before the Anglo-Saxon tribes were converted
to Christianity the belief in fairies and elfs was universal. With
Christianity came a belief in a different order of spiritual beings, and
with that a new name derived from the Latin, angel. This is somewhat
analogous to the state of things among the Burmese before and after their
conversion to Buddhism.
“But to return to the Burmese. They, when they received Buddhism, appear
to have generally retained their vernacular name for the beings called in
Pali _Dewa_. Why this should be done is certainly not apparent. Why have
the English and all Teutonic nations retained the ancient name _Evil_,
and spirits, though they adopted with Christianity a new term for good
spirits generally? I allude to the term _Devil_, which, there is no
doubt, is philologically connected with that Pali word Dew-a or _Dev_-a.
“Regarding the meaning of the word _Nat_ in Pali, I have no Pali
dictionary, but I have the ordinary Oordoo Dictionary, which includes all
ordinary Sanscrit words. I find there the Sanscrit word ‘Nath,’ and the
meaning rendered ‘master, husband, lord.’ There is nothing to show that
it refers to any supernatural being, but is only a term of respect. As
such it might in Pali be made applicable to Nats. In Burmese, the people
who _believe_ in Nats seldom use that word, but some honorific phrase.
Some fishermen I knew quarrelled about their shares in a pool of water.
In the case they constantly referred to the share of the ‘Ashing-gyee,’
who was no other than the presiding Nat of the said pool.”
FOOTNOTES
[1] The first particular related at length by the compiler of this work
is one of peculiar interest. Buddha summons the Rahans to his presence,
through the ever faithful and dutiful Ananda, and addresses to them
instructions which form the basis of the duties and obligations of all
true disciples. He styles them Bickus—that is to say, mendicants—to
remind them of the spirit of poverty and of the contempt of worldly
things which must ever be dear to them. The epithet “beloved” is always
prefixed to the word Bickus, as conveying an idea of the true and pure
affection the master bore to his disciples, or rather his spiritual
children. Buddha charges them at first to be always diligent in holding
assemblies, where religious subjects should be discussed, controversies
settled, and unity of faith secured. This obligation has long been held
as a binding one by the primitive Buddhists, as mention is always made
in their books of the three great assemblies held during the three first
centuries of the Buddhistic era, when the sacred writings were carefully
revised, amended, and, as it were, purged of all spurious doctrines. It
was during the last council that the canon of scriptures was adopted,
which has ever since been maintained by orthodox Buddhists. Nothing can
be wiser than the desire he so strongly expresses that no one should ever
presume to alter the true and genuine nature of the precepts, by making,
according to his whim, light what is heavy, or obligatory what is but a
matter of counsel. He expresses the strongest wish to see them always
united among themselves, and fervent in the observance of the precepts
of the law. He establishes as a fundamental principle the obedience to
superiors. There is no society of a religious character among heathens
where the various steps of the hierarchy are so well marked and defined
as in the Buddhistic institution. The whole body of religious has a
general superior in each province, exercising a thorough control over
all the houses within the limits of the province; he may be looked upon
as a regular diocesan. In each house of the order there is a superior,
having power and jurisdiction over all the inmates of the place. Under
him we find the professed members of the society, then those who may be
called novices, and last of all the postulants and disciples allowed to
wear the clerical dress, or yellow garb, without any power or authority,
and being looked upon merely as students in the way of probation. In
his charge to his disciples, Buddha lays much stress upon the necessity
of destroying in themselves the principle of passion, and in particular
concupiscence. The general tendency of all his preachings is to teach men
the means of freeing themselves from the tyrannical yoke of passions.
No one, indeed, can obtain the state of perfect quiescence or Neibban
unless he has annihilated in himself all passions, and thereby qualified
himself for the practice of all virtues. The character of the great body
of religious Buddhists is clearly set forth in the exhortations their
great master directs to them to love retreat and solitude. The noise,
tumult, and bustle necessarily attending the position of a man living
in the world are entirely opposed to the acquirement of self-knowledge,
self-possession, and self-control, so much required in a religious. As
long, concludes Buddha, as you shall remain faithful to your regulations
you will prosper, and secure to yourselves and your order the respect
and admiration of all. He winds up his speech by exhorting them to act
in a manner ever becoming their sacred calling. The greatest moralist,
possessing the most consummate and perfect knowledge of human nature,
could not lay down wiser regulations for setting on a firm and lasting
foundation a great and mighty institution, destined to spread itself
far and wide amidst nations and tribes, and subsist during an unlimited
period.
[2] A dzeat is a building erected by the piety of Buddhists for the
purpose of affording shelter and a place of rest to devotees, travellers,
and strangers. These buildings are to be found at the entrance of towns,
in villages, and often in the neighbourhood of pagodas. Those of Burmah
are erected in the plainest manner. A verandah in front extends to the
full length of the building, a spacious hall running parallel to the
verandah occupies the remaining place. There is no partition between
the hall and the verandah. It happens sometimes that a space at one of
the hall’s corners, screened by mats or dry leaves, offers an asylum
to him who does not like to mix with the _vulgus_. The carelessness of
Government in all that relates to the comfort of the people is amply
compensated by the zeal of pious laymen, who readily undertake the
erection of those works of public utility in the hope of securing to
themselves the attainment of merits to be enjoyed perhaps in this, but
certainly in some future existences.
In Burmah proper some of the dzeats are, for the country, beautiful
buildings. The edge of the roof and the front part are covered with a
profusion of sculptures and carvings that vie with those that adorn the
finest monasteries. This fact, among many, indicates the truly beneficent
and philanthropic influence exercised by some tenets of Buddhism over
the followers of that creed. Pride and vainglory may have their share in
the erection of those monuments of benevolence, but it is not the less
certain that those who build them yield first and principally to the
strong influence of religious feeling.
On this occasion Buddha preached to the crowd, when we see a line of
distinction well drawn between the assembly of the disciples of Buddha
and those we may merely style hearers. The latter are addressed by the
name of darakas, meaning laymen that hear the preaching. A daraka is not
as yet a perfect convert, and therefore not a member of the assembly of
the perfect. The daraka differs from the Upasaka. The latter is not only
a mere hearer of the law; he is a firm believer, and fervently practises
the precepts: he is among laymen a pious Buddhist; the former is not so
forward: he begins to hear and believe the doctrines preached to him.
He has already some faith in Buddha; he is under instruction, but he
cannot be called a professed disciple. The rewards of faith are both
of a natural and supernatural order. Riches, happiness, an honourable
reputation, are promised to the faithful observer of the law. He is to
be ever free from doubts, since faith makes him adhere firmly to all
the instructions of Buddha; and after his death he is to migrate to
some of the seats of Nats. The trespassing of the law is to be attended
with poverty, shame, and misery, doubts in an unsettled mind, and at
last punishment in hell. That place of suffering is minutely described
in Buddhistic works. Such a description appears, in the opinion of the
writer, of no importance to those who desire to understand not the
superficial portion of Buddhism, but its fundamental and constitutive
parts. Hell is a place of punishment and torment, as the Nats’ seats are
places of reward and happiness. There is no eternity of sufferings; the
unfortunate inhabitant of those dark regions is doomed to remain there,
until the sum of his offences has been fully atoned for by sufferings.
When the evil influence created by sin is exhausted, punishment ceases
too, and the wretched sufferer is allowed to migrate to the seat of
man in order to acquire merits and prepare himself for happier future
existences.
In recording the account of the conversion of a courtesan named
Apapalika, her liberality and gifts to Buddha and his disciples, and
the preference designedly given to her over princes and nobles, who,
humanly speaking, seemed in every respect better entitled to attentions,
one is almost reminded of the conversion of the woman that was a sinner
mentioned in the Gospel.
[3] The duties performed by Thariputra on this occasion exhibit more
fully than language can express the profound veneration he entertained
for Buddha. He was with Maukalan the most distinguished member of the
assembly; he occupied the first rank among the disciples; in point of
intellectual and spiritual attainments and transcendent qualifications,
he stood second to none but to Buddha. Notwithstanding his exalted
position, he did not hesitate to render to his superior the lowest
services. The high opinion he had of Buddha’s supereminent excellencies
prompted him to overlook his own merit, and to admire without reserve
that matchless pattern of wisdom and knowledge. Hence the inward
satisfaction he sweetly enjoyed in serving as an humble disciple him
whose unutterable perfections cast in the shade his far-famed and
much-praised acquirements. The unaffected humility of the disciple does
the greatest credit to the sterling worth of his inward dispositions, and
conveys the highest idea of the respect and veneration entertained for
the master’s person.
In the houses where Buddhist monks are living it is a fixed rule that
the superior and elders of the institution should be attended in the
minutest services by the youngest members wearing the canonical dress.
The framer of the disciplinary regulations, intending, on the one hand,
to confer dignity on the assembly, and, on the other, to oppose a strong
barrier to covetousness and to all inordinate worldly affections,
wisely laid down a stringent order to all the members of the society
never to touch or make use of any article of food, dress, &c., unless
it had previously been presented to them by some attendant, layman or
clerical. Hence when water is needed for washing the head, hands, and
feet, or for rinsing the mouth, when meals are served up, when offerings
are made, a young postulant, holding a vessel of water on the board
whereupon are placed the dishes, or the articles intended to be offered,
respectfully approaches the elder, kneels before him, squatting on his
heels, lays before him the object to be presented, bows down with the
joined hands raised to the forehead, resumes then the article with his
two hands, presents it, with the upper part of the body bent in token of
respect. Before accepting it the elder asks, Is it lawful? The answer,
It is lawful, having been duly returned, the article is either taken
from the hand of the offerer, or he is directed to place it within the
reach of the elder. Any infraction of this ceremonial is considered as
a sin. In the presence of the people the monks never fail to submit to
that somewhat annoying etiquette. Their countenance on such occasions
assumes a dignified and grave appearance, that has always much amused
the writer whenever he had the opportunity of witnessing this ceremony,
which is called Akat. There is no doubt but this custom is a very ancient
one. We find it blended to a certain extent with the manners of the
nations inhabiting eastern Asia. It is minutely described in the Wini,
and carefully observed by the inmates of the Buddhistic monasteries. It
agrees remarkably well with the spirit that has originated, promulgated,
and sanctioned the disciplinary regulations. He who in this instance
would look at the mere skeleton of the rule without any reference to the
object aimed at by the legislator would show himself in the light of a
very superficial observer. This, unfortunately, is too often the case
when we scorn and laugh at customs, the demerit of which consists simply
in not being similar to ours, whereas the commonest sense tells us that
we ought to judge them in connection with the institutions they have
sprung from, and the end aimed at by him who has established them.
The narrative of Thariputra’s departure for his birthplace and of his
last moments suggests to the mind several reflections. He is certain of
the last day of his existence; he foresees with a prophetic glance that
his mother is well prepared for hearing profitably the preaching of the
most perfect law. By the incomparable powers of his memory he relates to
Buddha that 100,000 revolutions of nature ago he was possessed with the
strong desire of seeing him and hearing his instructions, &c. How can
these particulars be accounted for, according to Buddhistic notions? The
spring all evils or demerits flow from is ignorance. A being is imperfect
in proportion to his being sunk deeper in the bosom of ignorance. On the
contrary, a being perfects himself in proportion to the efforts he makes
for dispelling the thick cloud of ignorance that encompasses his mind.
The more a man grows in the knowledge of truth the farther he removes the
horizon of darkness. He who has made the greatest and most persevering
efforts in fervently prosecuting the work of searching truth by studying
the law that teaches the way of reaching it, contemplates and enjoys a
portion of truth commensurate to his efforts and success. A Buddha, who
has reached the last boundaries of knowledge, has therefore triumphed
over ignorance and indefinitely enlarged the sphere of truth. He enjoys,
in fact, a cloudless sight of all that exists; his science is unlimited,
extending over all the countless series of worlds, which, in the opinion
of the Buddhists, are supposed to form a system of nature. Thariputra,
though much advanced in perfection, had not as yet reached its acme. His
knowledge, however, was wonderfully great and extensive; it enabled him
to obtain a clear insight into the darkness of the past and a distinct
foresight of the future.
[4] The village of Nalanda, the site of which is at present occupied by
that of Baragaon, was the birthplace of the great disciple Thariputra.
His illustrious companion in religion, Maukalan, was born in the village
of Kaulita, about one and a half miles south-west of that place.
Nalanda, says Fa-Hian, the Chinese traveller, lies one youdzana north of
Radzagio, that is to say, seven English miles according to Cunningham’s
measurement, and is seven youdzanas or forty-nine miles distant from the
tree Bodi. It was the great seat of Buddhistic learning, renowned all
over India. Now the whole site is covered with ancient tanks and mounds
of ruins on an immense scale, offering fine specimens of sculpture. The
great monastery and five smaller ones were all within one enclosure. A
row of lofty conical mounds, running north and south, 1600 feet by 400,
indicates the place and extent of those religious buildings. Outside of
the enclosure there were several temples. General Cunningham fixes the
era of the construction of those edifices between A.D. 425 and 625. Among
the several proofs adduced in support of his opinion there is one that
appears conclusive. Fa-Hian, who visited all the places famous in the
history of Buddhism, and describes them with a minute attention, simply
alludes to Nalanda as the birthplace of Thariputra, without saying a word
about monasteries or temples, whilst Hwe-Thsang, who visited the same
spot in the beginning of the seventh century, describes the splendid
temples and monasteries which he saw, and from his statement we infer
that the principal edifices were not inferior to those of Buddha Gaya in
size and height. Some of them reached to a height of 170 and 200 feet.
The greatest was 300 feet high. The number and extent of the tanks is
truly surprising. Two of them, in the north-east, were nearly a mile in
length, while another in the south was half a mile.
The inference to be drawn from the above is, that during the fifth and
the sixth century of our era, Buddhism was in a flourishing condition
in the country of Magatha or South Behar, since the finest and loftiest
structures in the shape of monasteries and temples have been raised
within that period, both at Nalanda and Buddha Gaya. It appears that,
during the three first centuries of the Christian era, its fortune
alternated, and met with varied results, agreeably to the favourable
or unfavourable dispositions of the rulers of the country towards the
followers of the philosopher of Kapilawot. This succession of successes
and reverses reveals the important fact that Buddhism had not struck deep
root in the heart of the inhabitants of Central India, since its fate
depended from the will and opinions of the monarch, and was almost at
the mercy of his caprices. Moreover, in the country north of the Ganges,
such as Wethalie, Thawattie, Kapilawot, places which had been favoured
with Buddha’s incessant preachings, religion was on its decline at the
time of Fa-Hian’s visit, that is to say, in the beginning of the fifth
century; monasteries were deserted and emptied, dzedies were crumbling
down and fast decaying. In some instances, heretics, that is to say,
pounhas, occupied the dwellings formerly tenanted by holders of the
_genuine_ doctrines. This unexpected sight very much grieved the heart
of the good Chinese pilgrim. It must be regretted that we have not the
written journals of some other Chinese travellers in the eighth or ninth
century to reveal to us the state and condition in which they found the
magnificent temples of Nalanda and Buddha Gaya when they visited them.
[5] The conduct of Thariputra on this occasion wears an appearance of
rudeness towards his aged mother, which at first hurts the feelings of
human nature. But a close examination of all the circumstances connected
with this last episode of the great disciple’s life, shows that he was
far from being divested of filial piety. He leaves his beloved master,
undertakes a long and fatiguing journey for the sole purpose of preaching
the law to his mother, and conferring upon her a boon of greater value
than that he had received from her. In return for all the favours
bestowed upon him by his mother, he initiates her in the knowledge of
truth, and enables her to enter into the great ways that lead to the
deliverance, that is to say, to the state of Neibban. It cannot be denied
that his language on this occasion partook of an austere tone, sounding
harsh to the ears of worldly men, but it must be borne in mind that
Thariputra was an old ascetic, dead to all affections of nature, looking
upon truth alone in an abstractively pure form, without any regard to
material objects. He loved the law of truth, which he had learned from
Buddha, and afterwards preached to others with an unparalleled zeal and
fervour. The spirit of Buddha lived in him: he desired to see all beings
availing themselves of the means of salvation which he had it in his
power to impart unto them; he loved them all with an equal affection; the
state of ignorance they were sunk in deeply affected his compassionate
soul, and he had but one desire, that of dispelling the thick mist of
ignorance by the pure light of truth.
When the instruction to his mother was over, Thariputra desired to be
left alone with his disciples. His last words to them bespeak the humble
sentiments of his mind. Though the first member of the assembly of the
perfect, he begs pardon of his inferiors for the causes of offence he may
have unwillingly given them during the period they had lived together:
regardless of all the good he had done unto them, he feels that he could
not well part with them ere he had atoned to them for any wrong, however
involuntary, he might have done to some of them.
For those uninitiated in Buddhistic metaphysics it is not easy to
understand and distinctly to appreciate the situation of Thariputra at
his last moments. It is stated that he fell into ecstasy or trance,
though his soul remained as yet connected with this world by slender and
almost invisible ties. This was the last and mighty struggle of a being
to disengage himself from the trammels of existence and become free from
all exterior influence. Soaring above all that exists, Thariputra’s soul
passed successively through the four stages he had so often visited,
whilst engaged in the arduous effort of investigating truth, preparing
to enter the fifth and last one, where he was to stay finally and
perpetually, without any further change, in a state of quiescence. When
the sage, during his meditations, has brought his mind to bear upon
some object, he wishes to contemplate attentively and thoroughly to
comprehend, he at first gets hold of that object by his thought, he then
examines it by means of reflection: the knowledge he thus acquires never
fails to create a pleasurable sensation; this pleasure or satisfaction
conveys to the soul enjoyment and happiness; he loves the truth he has
discovered, and he rests fixedly in it. This is the last stage he ever
can or wish to reach. What has human mind, indeed, to do, after having
found truth, but to cling to it, and remain ever attached to it? During
the last trance, Thariputra, with his almost immensely developed mental
faculties, knew comprehensively truth, reflected on it, felt a pleasure
in considering it, enjoyed it, or rather fed upon it, and at last adhered
so perfectly to it, that he became, as it were, merged into it. He then
had reached the state of Neibban, where he was for ever exempt from
the influences created and put in motion and activity by matter and
passions in every state of existence. Buddhists, in Burmah, at least,
owing to their very limited and imperfect education, are unable to give
any satisfactory or even intelligible account of the state of Neibban
or perfection. What is here but superficially stated, has been found in
one of the last Buddhistic compositions on this and other metaphysical
subjects. Fuller particulars shall, hereafter, be given as to the state
of Neibban, when the death of one greater than Thariputra shall be
related.
[6] In Burmah, when a person has just given up the ghost, the inmates
of the house send for musicians, who soon make their appearance with
their respective instruments. They forthwith set to work, and keep up
an incessant noise during the twenty-four hours that elapse before the
corpse is removed to the place where it is to be burnt. Relatives,
friends, and elders resort to the deceased’s house for the ostensible
purpose of condoling with those who have lost their kinsman, but in
reality for sharing in the mirth and amusements that go on in such
occasions. Strange to say, the thought of death strikes no one’s mind;
the fate of the deceased is scarcely pitied, nay, remembered. Were it
not for the presence of the corpse, and the perhaps conventional cries
and lamentations of some old women at certain intervals, no one could
imagine, still less find out, the real motive that has induced such a
crowd to assemble on that spot.
If the departed belong to a respectable family in tolerably good
circumstances, the funeral ceremony is arranged in the following manner:
Presents, intended as offerings for the Buddhist monks, having been made
ready, they are invited for the occasion, and their presence is expected
in numbers proportionate to the amount of offerings. The procession
starts from the deceased’s house, and directs its course towards the
place of burning or the cemetery. It is headed by the yellow-dressed
monks, carrying their broad, palm-leaf fans on the shoulder, and attended
by their disciples. Next follow the bearers of the offerings in two
lines. They are partly men and partly women, but walk separately and
apart from each other. The coffin appears next, laid on thick poles, and
carried by six or eight men. In front of the coffin, and sometimes at the
sides, are arranged the musicians, who perform all the way without an
instant’s interruption. Behind the coffin are grouped the male relatives,
friends, &c., and lastly the procession is closed by crowds of women,
attired in their finest dress. The coffin is beautifully decorated,
and carried on the shoulders of six or eight stout young men by means
of bamboos or poles. An unnatural merriment is allowed, and generally
kept up all the way to the cemetery, and fantastic gestures and dances
are performed by the bearers and their friends to the imminent danger
of upsetting the coffin. The burning place is generally without the
precincts of the town, and in the vicinity of some large pagodas. The
funeral pile is of a very simple structure; its shape is that of an
oblong square of a moderate size. Two large pieces of wood are at first
laid parallel, at a distance of eight feet; other logs of wood, disposed
at about six or eight inches from each other, are laid across the two
first mentioned, so that their extremities are supported on these two
pieces. A second set of logs is laid at right angles with the first; a
third one placed across the second, and so on, until the pile is three,
four, or five feet high. The coffin is deposited upon it. Fire is set
below the pile by means of inflammable materials which soon communicate
fire to the logs the pile is made of. The whole is soon in a blaze and
rapidly consumed by the devouring flames. The bystanders talk, laugh, or
busy themselves in stirring the fire. As to the Talapoins, they sometimes
take position under a neighbouring shed, repeat a few passages of
Buddha’s law, and when they are tired they give orders to their disciples
to take up the offerings and then go back to their peaceable abodes. Very
often they do not take the trouble of muttering prayers; they depart
forthwith, followed by the offerings intended for them.
The fire being extinguished, the ashes, charcoal, &c., are carefully
searched, and the particles of bones discovered are piously collected by
the nearest relatives, and then buried in a hole dug for that purpose
near some pagoda.
Persons in good circumstances keep up for seven days in their houses
a sort of solemnisation of the funeral. Every day, in the evening
particularly, musicians are kept up playing until a very late hour at
night. The house is all the while crowded with people, who come for the
purpose of enjoyment. Some play at various games; others drink tea; all
chew betel-leaves’ tobacco in profusion. Sometimes stories relating to
Gaudama’s former existences are read and listened to by the elders of the
party. This mode, intended either to do honour to the deceased’s memory
or to afford relief to the grief of relatives, is rather expensive, and
might often prove a heavy drain on the limited means of most of the
families. But the spirit of mutual assistance on this occasion removes
the difficulty. Every visitor, according to his means, makes a present of
some money to the master of the house. Though the present of the greatest
numbers of visitors is comparatively small, yet, when added together,
there is a considerable sum, which is generally more than sufficient
to defray all expense that may be incurred. This custom or system of
voluntary contributions burdens no one in particular, whilst it enables
a family to make a show of liberality which, otherwise, would almost
prove ruinous in many instances. The custom of burning the dead prevails
amongst the Hindus, the Cingalese, Nepaulese, Burmese, Siamese and
Cambodians. Though holding the tenets of Buddhism, the Chinese have never
adopted this usage. The Mahomedans, living in Hindustan and the countries
of eastern Asia, retain the custom of burying the dead. Buddhists have
doubtless received that practice from the Hindus.
[7] The custom of making funeral orations for the purpose of eulogising
distinguished individuals after their demise is of the highest antiquity.
The sacred records bear witness to its existence amongst the Jews. The
present legend offers repeated instances of _eulogia_ made to honour the
memory of the dead. On this occasion Buddha would not leave to another
the honour of extolling the extraordinary merits and transcendent
excellencies of the illustrious Thariputra. But he had a higher object in
view when he exhibited to the eyes of the assembled Rahans the relics of
the deceased, which were all that remained of so celebrated a disciple,
who had lived with them for so many years, and had just parted from them.
It was impossible to give them a more forcible illustration of the truth
he had so often announced to them, that there is nothing permanently
subsisting in this world, but that all things are liable to a perpetual
and never-ending change. The stern Buddha gently rebuked the amiable
Ananda for the signs of inordinate grief he gave on this occasion;
because, said he, the law of mutability acting upon all that surrounds
us, we must ever be prepared to be separated from what is dearest to our
affections; grief on such occasions is useless, and quite inconsistent
with the principles of a wise man.
To honour the memory of Thariputra, and perpetuate the remembrance of
his virtues, Buddha directed that a dzedi should be erected on the very
spot where he had heard the news of his death. A dzedi is a religious
monument very common in Burmah, and to be seen on all rising grounds in
the neighbourhood of towns. Within the enclosure of all monasteries, a
dzedi is invariably erected; it is the only purely religious building to
be found in Burmah. The traveller in that country is always delighted,
and experiences the most pleasurable sensations on approaching some town
or village, when he sees several dzedis of various heights raising their
white cones capped with the gilt crown from the bosom of beautiful groves
of tall cocoa-nut trees, graceful areca palms, and massive tamarind,
mango, and jack trees, all loaded with a green and luxuriant foliage.
When the monument is on a grand scale, niches are made in the middle
of each side of the square, facing the four points of the compass. In
those niches are placed statues of Buddha, exhibiting him in the usual
cross-legged position. The size of those religious monuments varies much
in dimensions. They range from the height of a few feet to the colossal
proportions of the tall Dagon Pagoda at Rangoon.
The custom of raising monuments over the ashes of religious distinguished
by their virtues and extraordinary attainments, is a very ancient one,
coeval in all probability with the first ages of Buddhism. They were
real tumuli, surmounted with some ornaments in the shape of a cone. Such
ornaments are seen towering over nearly all the religious monuments
in Burmah. Royalty, in its head paraphernalia, and in its abode, has
appropriated them to its own uses. We may at once infer that they are
of a Hindu origin. The great monarchs who are called Tsekiawade kings,
because they ruled over the whole of the Dzampoudipa island, were,
according to Buddha’s opinion, entitled to the honour of a dzedi after
their demise.
[8] It is very difficult to understand the extraordinary state in which
Buddha placed himself on this occasion. It must have been a remarkable
occurrence, since it caused a violent commotion which shook our planet.
The only interpretation that can be put on the terms used to describe
this particular action of Buddha is this: He renounced existence, that
is to say, not only the actual existence that he enjoyed, but also all
other forms of existence. He severed connection with this and other
worlds; he broke the ties that had hitherto retained him linked to a form
of existence. He had come now to the end of all transmigrations. By the
power of his will, he placed himself in the state of complete isolation
from all that exists, even from self, that is to say, into Neibban, a
state which death was soon to realise and render visible to the eyes of
his disciples. It is not death that causes a being to reach the state
or condition of Neibban, but it is the abstraction from all conceivable
forms of existence that constitutes its very essence. The expression
made use of by our author to designate the particular condition in which
Gaudama brought himself, and which caused a terrific shake of the earth,
is this: He parted with the life of change, of mutability, that is to
say, he had nothing more to do with existences, which, in the opinion of
Buddhists, are produced by the principle of mutability. Buddha called
himself Zina, or conqueror, after he had obtained the perfect mastery
over his passions. We may give him the same title on the occasion when he
has obtained the mastery over existence itself. This last achievement is
the greatest of all: the first one was only preparatory to securing the
second one. The writer is well aware that such a language is at variance
with the notions that the reader is familiar with. To understand its true
and correct meaning one must be initiated into the doctrines of Buddhism.
The preaching of the law of the wheel, which is mentioned as one cause
that produces the phenomena of earthquake, took place, as above related,
in the Migadawon forest, or the Deer’s grove, near Benares, in the very
beginning of Buddha’s public life, after he had left the Bodi tree. The
preaching of the law of the wheel is nothing else than the manifestation
of the four sublime and transcendent truths, which, as mentioned in
foregoing pages, constitute the essence of Buddha’s doctrines.
[9] The particulars of the apparition of the evil one, or the tempter,
related by Buddha himself to the faithful and amiable Ananda, show the
incessant efforts made by Manh to render abortive, to a certain extent,
the benevolent mission undertaken by Buddha to procure deliverance to
numberless beings, and supply others with adequate means for entering
into, and steadily following, the way that leads to it. He had been
defeated in his endeavours to prevent Phra from leaving the world and
obtaining the Buddhaship. He had been thwarted in his wicked designs to
weaken the effects of Buddha’s preachings. Heretics of all sorts had been
summoned to his standard, to carry on a most active warfare against his
opponents, but he had failed in all his attempts. Buddha had now almost
completed the great and beneficial work he had undertaken: his religious
institutions, known over a vast extent of territory, and zealously
propagated by fervent and devoted disciples, seemed to be now firmly
established. The edifice, indeed, was raised, but it required the action
of a finishing hand; the key-stone was yet wanting in the vault to render
it complete and durable. Manh was aware of all that; hence his last and
wily effort for impeding the finishing and perfecting of a work he had
vainly opposed in its beginning and during its progress.
The line of distinction between the members of the assembly and the mass
of those who merely believed in the doctrines of Buddha, without leaving
the world, is plainly drawn by Buddha himself; therefore, there can
be no doubt that, from the origin of Buddhism, there existed a marked
difference between the body of laymen and that of Rahans. Again, the body
of the perfect, or those who formed what may emphatically be termed the
assembly, was composed of men and women, living, as a matter of course,
separately, in a state of continence, and subjected to the disciplinary
regulations which we find embodied in the Wini. In Burmah, vestiges of
female devotees, living secluded from the world, are to be met with in
many places, but, as already noticed in a foregoing remark, the order
of religious females has much fallen off. Its professed members are
few in number, and the exterior observance of the regulations is much
neglected. The comprehensiveness of Buddhism, its tendency to bring all
men to the same level, and allow of no difference between man and man
but that which is established by superiority in virtue, its expansive
properties, all those striking characteristics have mightily worked in
elevating the character of the woman, and raising it to a level with that
of man. Who could think of looking upon the woman as a somewhat inferior
being, when we see her ranking, according to the degrees of her spiritual
attainments, among the perfect and foremost followers of Buddha? Hence
in those countries where Buddhism has struck a deep root and exercised a
great influence over the manners of nations, the condition of the woman
has been much improved and placed on a footing far superior to what
she occupies in those countries where that religious system is not the
prevalent one, or where it has not formed or considerably influenced the
customs and habits of the people.
[10] The Buddhists of these parts, following the track of their
ancestors, or rather copying their writings, are fond of arbitrary
divisions in all that concerns the different parts of their metaphysics.
Buddha, on this occasion, alludes to thirty-seven articles, which may
be considered as the foundation whereon rests philosophical and moral
wisdom. They are called _Bodi-pek-kera_; meaning, I believe, points or
articles of wisdom. They are subdivided into seven classes. In the first
are enumerated the four subjects most deserving of attention, viz., the
body, the heart, the sensations, and the law. In the second are described
four objects extremely worthy of our efforts, viz., preventing the law
of demerits to come into existence; preventing its developments, when it
exists; causing the law of merits to come into existence, and furthering
its progress when it is already existing. In the third are found likewise
four points meriting control, viz., one’s will, one’s heart, one’s
efforts, and one’s exertions. In the fourth class we find enumerated
five pre-eminently necessary dispositions or inclinations; that is to
say, disposition to benevolence, to diligence, to attention, to steady
direction towards what is excellent, and to considerate wisdom.
The fifth class comprises the _pola_, or rewards or good effects
resulting from the above inclination, viz., perfect benevolence,
diligence, attention, steadiness in what is excellent, and considerate
wisdom.
The sixth class comprehends the seven following virtues, which enable
man to raise himself very high in the scale of perfection:—Attention,
consideration of the law, diligence, equanimity of the soul, constancy in
good, fixity, and delight.
The seventh class comprises the ways that lead to good and perfection.
They are eight in number:—Perfect doctrine, intention, language, actions,
regular mode of life, diligence, attention, and fixity in good.
A volume might be written upon these thirty-seven principles or points
of moral philosophy, by way of comment and explanation; but we think
it better to leave the reader to make his own reflections, and run at
liberty over this broad field of metaphysics.
[11] The Kakouda stream was one of the arms or channels of the little
Gundak. It is at present dried up, but up to this day are to be seen
several marks indicating the ancient bed of that stream.
The river Hiranyawati is one of the channels of the little Gundak,
which was flowing a little west of the city of Koutheinaron. The Gundak
being very winding in its course, and the mass of water being sometimes
very considerable, there is to be seen a great number of old channels,
now dried up, or occasionally filled in the time when inundation is
prevailing. For this reason, it becomes difficult in some instances to
follow the Chinese pilgrim, Hwen Thsang, through his minute and accurate
description of the places he has visited. The mounds of ruins which
stud the ground may not be always correctly identified, because they
are not at present, relatively to the river, in the same position as
that mentioned in his interesting itinerary. However, there are here and
there some remnants of the old channels which are sufficient to guide
safely the sure and patient Government Archæological Surveyor, who now
does so much, with the assistance derived from the books of the two
Chinese pilgrims, to find out and identify on the spot most of the places
and localities mentioned in the Buddhist writings. It is not a little
surprising that we should have to acknowledge the fact that the voyages
of two Chinese travellers, undertaken in the fifth and seventh centuries
of our era, have done more to elucidate the history and geography of
Buddhism in India, than all that has hitherto been found in the Sanscrit
and Pali books of India and the neighbouring countries.
The young religious who is called Tsanda was the younger brother of
Thariputra. He seems to have shared with Ananda the honour of attending
on Buddha’s person.
The forest which was close to the vicinity of Koutheinaron was planted
with trees which the Burmans call ingien, the Bengalies, sal. The latter
name is evidently the Sanscrit and Pali appellation of the tree, which
the Burmese author has retained but once or twice throughout the course
of his work, and wrote Sala. It is the _Shorea robusta_.
The four laws of edeipat, which, in the opinion of Buddha, can confer
to him who knows and possesses them the extraordinary privilege of an
indefinitely prolonged existence, are, absolute power over the will,
absolute power over the mind, absolute power of exertion, absolute power
over the means to attain any object. How can a man, in the present state
of existence, obtain the possession of such a power? The only way that a
Buddhist has to account for it is the following:—A perfect being, having
estranged himself from all passions, from matter and its concomitant
influences, solely by the power and energy of his will, acquires a
freedom from all impediments, an unbounded liberty of motion, and a
lightness and swiftness which enable him to do all that he pleases. He
is independent of the elements of this world, which can no more offer
obstacles and resistance to his wishes. Several instances of something
approaching to those wonderful attainments have been mentioned in the
course of this work. We have seen how those much advanced in perfection
could raise themselves very high, and travel through the air with an
almost incredible velocity. This was but the beginning of far superior
and transcendent qualifications obtained only by those that had made
greater progress in science, in virtue, and in the renouncing of all
things; in a word, by those who had mastered the four laws of edeipat.
Mahawon Kootagara means the hall of the upper story in the great forest.
Not far from Wethalie there was a monastery of great celebrity, situated
in a forest of sala-trees. It had, at least, an upper story, in which was
the hall where Gaudama often preached to his disciples and to the people.
[12] The meal Buddha partook of in company with his disciples at Tsonda’s
residence is the last repast he ever made. The violent distemper which
followed immediately is not, says the author of the legend, to be
attributed to the food he took on this occasion. On the contrary, that
very food, owing to the virtue infused therein by the agency of Nats
and Brahmas, was rather an antidote against the illness that was to
come inevitably upon Phra’s person. Previous to the dissolution of his
bodily frame, it was decreed that Buddha should suffer. No occurrence
could ever cause or avert this tragical circumstance. He had foreseen
it, and with perfect resignation submitted to what was absolutely to
happen. In the early days of Buddhism, when a deadly antagonism with
Brahminism began to fill the peninsula of Hindustan with endless disputes
between the supporters of the rival systems, Brahmins, with a cutting
sneer, insulted their opponents by reminding them that the founder of
their creed, whom they so much revered and exalted, had died from the
effects of his having indulged too much in pork. About twenty-two years
ago, when the writer was in Burmah, he chanced to meet with a shrewd
old Christian, who, by the way, was fonder of disputing about religion
than paying regard to the practice thereof. He boasted of having at his
command deadly weapons against Buddhists, and unanswerable arguments to
bear with an irresistible force on the vital parts of their creed. The
chief one, which he always brought forward with a Brahminical scorn and
laugh, was that Gaudama had died from his having eaten pork. He always
did it with so much mirth and wit that his poor ignorant adversaries were
completely overawed and effectually silenced by his bold and positive
assertion, and left to him uncontested the field of battle, and allowed
him to carry away undisputed the palm of victory. This way of arguing may
prove a very amusing one, but it can never be approved of, as error is
never to be combated by another error or a false supposition. The Burmese
translator was doubtless aware of the weak side offered to the attacks
of malignant opponents by the unpleasant distemper that followed the
last meal of Buddha. He strenuously labours to defend the character of
his hero by proving, in the best way he can, that such a bodily disorder
was necessarily to take place, in order to set in relief the patience,
composure, and other sterling virtues of the founder of Buddhism. The
text of the legend has been read over several times with the greatest
attention, for the purpose of ascertaining the reasons put forward to
account for such an occurrence, but the result has proved unsatisfactory.
A thick veil wraps in complete obscurity this curious episode of Buddha’s
life. All that can be said is this: it was preordained that Buddha should
be visited with a most painful distemper ere he attained Neibban; and so
it happened.
To prove that the eating of pork had nothing to do with the distemper
that followed, we have the authority of Gaudama himself, who commended
the delicacy and flavour of that dish, and placed it on the same footing
with the delicious Nogana he ate on the morning of the day previous to
his obtaining the Buddhaship. He desired his ever-faithful attendant,
Ananda, to repair to Tsonda’s place, and explain to him the great rewards
reserved to him for having made the offering of such an excellent food.
The practical working of the Buddhistic system relatively to almsgiving
deserves some notice. A man bestows alms on the Rahans, or spends money
towards promoting some religious purpose; he does so with the belief
that what he bestows now in the way of alms will secure to him countless
advantages in future existences. Those favours, which he anticipates to
enjoy hereafter, are all of a temporal nature, relating only to health,
pleasures, riches, honours, and a long life either in the seat of man or
in the seats of Nats. Such is the opinion generally entertained by all
Buddhists in our days. Talapoins make the preaching of the law consist
chiefly in enumerating the merits and rewards attending the bestowing
of alms on persons devoted to a religious mode of life. In this respect
the practical result of their sermons is certainly most beneficial to
themselves. The spiritually-minded Buddha seems to have levelled a blow
at concupiscence and covetousness by openly stating that alms have not
the power to stem the current of demerits, to give rise and energy to the
principle of merits, or to lead to wisdom, which enables man to weaken
gradually concupiscence, anger, and ignorance, and to open and prepare
the path to Neibban. True knowledge, attended by the practice of the
virtues peculiar to those who have entered into the current of perfection
by following the four Meggas, can alone enable a man to reach Neibban.
Many excellent practices enforced by Buddhism have, so to speak, been
reduced to a mere lifeless skeleton by ignorance and passions, but they
would appear in a very different light were they animated with the spirit
that has brought them into existence.
[13] The observance of the five precepts incumbent upon all Buddhists
is the foundation whereupon is to be erected the spiritual edifice; it
is the first step towards the great ways leading to perfection; it is
preparatory for the great exercise of meditation, by which true wisdom
may be acquired. The faithful who observe the five precepts and the three
additional counsels show that faith is living in their hearts, and give
unmistakable marks of their zeal in the practice of religion. They are
real Upasakas, or laymen, fervently adhering to and taking refuge in
Buddha, the law, and the assembly; but they cannot take rank among the
members of the assembly or Thanga. Practice of and progress in meditation
can alone usher an Upasaka into the sanctuary of the perfect.
The rewards destined to the faithful after their death are exactly
proportionate to their merits and the real worth of their deeds. The
seats of Nats, placed immediately above the seat of men, but under the
sixteen seats reserved to the perfect, are opened to the pious Upasaka
who migrates from the seat of probation and trial. The nature of the
pleasures enjoyed in the Nats’ seats are all referable to the senses.
All that can be imagined best fitted for the delectation of the five
senses is accumulated in those blissful regions, and proffered with
an ever-renewed profusion to their fortunate inhabitants. The vivid
imagination of Asiatics has, one would say, exhausted its stores in
picturing with an amazing variety the riches to be possessed there. It
would be of no utility to attempt to give a compendious narrative of
what we meet with in Buddhistic compositions respecting those regions.
Suffice it for our purpose to say that the distinction of sexes remains
in the Nats’ countries. In the two lowest seats connection takes place
between the sexes, but no procreation ever results from it; in the third
seats the Nats of different sexes are fully gratified by a simple kiss;
in the fourth, by the touch of the hand; in the fifth, by merely looking
at each other; and in the sixth, by the mere fact of their being in
the same place, upon which we may make two observations. The first is
that pleasures therein enjoyed lose their coarseness, and become more
refined and more perfect in proportion as the seats are more elevated.
The greater are the merits of the Upasaka in this life, the higher is the
seat he is destined to occupy, and the more refined are the pleasures
and enjoyments allotted to him. Hence our Gaudama having, during the
existence preceding this last one, practised moral virtues of the
highest order, migrated to Toocita, the fourth seat of Nats. The second
observation is, that the duration of the enjoyments in the Nats’ seats
increases in an arithmetical progression; that is to say, the pleasures
of the second seat last twice as long as those of the first or lowest
seat. Those of the third seat last twice as long as those of the second,
and so on to the last or highest seat.
In the sermons that the Talapoins address to the people for stirring
up their zeal chiefly in making alms to them, they are most fluent and
abundant in the promises of rewards in the Nats’ seats, as a powerful
inducement held out to them for keeping up their zeal in bestowing
alms. They admirably succeed in obtaining their object with most of
their hearers. It cannot be denied that those poor deluded followers of
Buddha are fully convinced of all that is narrated to them by Talapoins
respecting the Nats’ seats. Such is the implicit faith of the mass of the
Buddhists. One may occasionally meet with a few individuals who laugh at
those fables, but these are looked upon in no better light than that of
rationalists or freethinkers by the orthodox portion of the community.
[14] The posture assumed by Buddha at this last stage of his life has
supplied the subject of an artistic composition to the Southern Buddhist
sculptors. A statue representing Phra in that reclining position is to
be seen in almost every pagoda. Some of these statues are made on truly
gigantic proportions. I have measured one that was forty-five feet long.
If we take such rough works as exhibiting the amount of skill possessed
by natives in the art of carving, we must confess that that art is with
them yet in its infancy. The huge idols I have met with are never made of
wood or hewed stones, but are built up with bricks. The artist, having
made in this way the principal parts of the statue, covers the whole
with a thick coat of mortar, the softness of which enables him without
much labour to put the finishing hand to his work. These statues are
invariably made after a certain pattern belonging to the antiquity,
and to an epoch when the art was yet in its very infancy: they are, in
an artistic point of view, the worst, rudest, and coarsest attempts at
statuary I have ever seen. Gold is, however, profusely lavished on those
shapeless and formless works. The big idol above referred to was covered
with gold, that is to say, gilt from head to feet.
Idols of smaller dimensions, those in particular representing Buddha
sitting in a cross-legged position, in the attitude of meditation, are
likewise wretched specimens of art. A great many are made of a soft
stone, almost white, resembling marble in appearance, and capable of
receiving a most perfect polish. About three miles west of the old and
ruined city of Tsagain is a place where the manufacturing of marble idols
is carried on to a great extent. The stone used by the carvers is brought
from a place north of Amerapoora, where it is abundant. It is soft,
transparent, white, and sometimes, when polished, exhibits a slightly
bluish appearance. The instruments used by the artists are simple and
few. Were it not for the custom which obliges them to follow always the
same patterns, the Burmese workmen would much improve in that branch of
the fine arts.
[15] If Buddha ever deserved the surname of sage, it was assuredly on
this occasion that he entitled himself to such an honourable distinction.
All nature reversed its course on his account: wonders of the most
extraordinary character loudly proclaimed his supereminent excellencies:
the most exalted beings united their voices in extolling his transcendent
merits, and showing their unbounded respect for his person; all that
could dazzle the eye, please the ear, and flatter the heart, was
displayed on an unparalleled scale to do honour to him who was about
to leave this terrestrial abode. Buddha, however, solemnly declares,
and unhesitatingly says to Ananda, that such a display is infinitely
below his merits and perfections, and can bear no comparison with his
fathomless wisdom and boundless knowledge of truth. Such things, in his
opinion, are mere externals, quite destitute of substantial worth; they
confer no real honour to him. They, adds he, who truly do honour to me
are those who practise all that is enjoined by the most excellent law;
nothing short of the observance of the law can please me; the practice of
the virtues leading to perfection alone give the right to be called my
disciple. My religion can rest firmly only on such solid foundation.
These expressions make every reader understand that, in Buddha’s opinion,
religion is not a mere theory, teaching fine moral precepts, destined
to excite a vain admiration in the mind, or elicit useless applauses;
but it is a moral and practical system, making man acquainted with the
duties he has to perform in order to shun vice and practise virtue.
Nothing can be more explicit and positive than the notions he entertains
of religion. They are worthy of the founder of a religious system now
believed and admitted, with more or less considerable variety, by nearly
one-fourth, or at least one-fifth, of the great human family. It must
be admitted that the high religious sense entertained by Buddha, and
communicated in all its purity to his immediate disciples, has almost
vanished away in all Buddhist countries. With the people religion
consists in certain exterior observances, such as giving alms to the
Talapoins, building pagodas, and making offerings during the three
months especially consecrated to religious duties. The influence of
religious teachers, owing to ignorance and want of zeal, may be thought
by many to be almost null, and scarcely felt by the masses of nominal
Buddhists. Two causes, however, seem to be the generators and supporters
of the religious sentiment that influences the people,—education, and
the political institutions. The male portion of the community is brought
up in the monasteries by the Phongyies. All the books that are put
into their hands, and most of those that they subsequently read, are
treatises on religious subjects. This system keeps up, in a wonderful
manner, the knowledge of religion, which exercises a great control over
the actions of individuals, and regulates their conduct. But, besides,
the religious element almost predominates in the body of the civil
laws; it acts indirectly upon the people, and must be allowed a great
share of influence in all that regards their morals. It is, therefore,
to political institutions that Buddhism owes much for the continuation
of its existence in these regions. Were it deprived of such a powerful
support, there is every reason to believe that it could not perhaps long
retain its hold over the masses, when regularly and extensively attacked
by the followers of another system. But the first cause is by far the
weightier and the more influential.
[16] In the first edition of this work the writer had made an error in
supposing Oupalawana to have been a male religious. Another palm-leaf
manuscript that he has consulted leaves no doubt about her real
character. She was, among the female body of religious, the disciple
of the left; and Kema, who had been for many years the first wife of
King Pimpathara, was the disciple of the right. Oupalawana belonged to
a distinguished family of Kapilawot. The female portion of the Thanga
or assembly was constituted after the mode of the Rahans. Thariputra
and Maukalan were respectively the disciples of the right and of the
left. One of the duties of the Rahaness of the left was to fan Buddha on
certain occasions, and render to him such services as were compatible
with her sex. The order of nuns in Burmah in our days has fallen very
low. Instead of the yellow colour, they have adopted the white one for
their dress, which, in other respects, resembles that of the Phongyies.
Their head is shaved. They are to be seen in the neighbourhood of
pagodas, and in the streets, going about to beg the food required for
their maintenance. The only large convent of those nuns which I have ever
met is one on the right bank of the Irrawaddy, about five miles north of
Tsagain. It contains about forty or fifty inmates. Some of them belong to
good families, and reside in the house for a few years, after which they
return into their home. That house is under the special protection of
the king, who supplies the nuns with all the necessaries of life. In the
valley of Tavoy a small convent also has been pointed out to the writer.
It was situated on a beautiful spot, west of the river. When he went to
see it, he was surprised to meet with two or three old women, habited in
the canonical dress, who appeared to be wretchedly poor and slovenly in
their habits. The house was in every respect in keeping with the exterior
appearance of the tenants. The nuns do absolutely no work, except in
certain localities where they try to do away with a portion of their
time in clearing the weeds which grow so luxuriantly in the enclosure of
some famous pagoda. They have no schools to teach girls the rudiments of
reading and writing. They are on this head greatly behind the Buddhist
monks, who have assumed to themselves the great and important task of
teaching boys in the towns and villages.
[17] The founder of Buddhism shows himself on this particular subject a
consummate moralist. He who could have spoken as he did on this truly
delicate point must have been deeply versed in the knowledge of human
nature, and thoroughly acquainted with its frailties and weaknesses.
Buddha desired to maintain the members of the assembly in a state of
spotless purity. To attain that desirable object he raised the strongest
barrier against the wildest passion of the heart. No virtue, in his
opinion, can withstand the incessant assaults directed against it by
daily and familiar intercourse with persons of another sex. He would
have, if possible, the inmate of a cell in a monastery out of the reach
of temptation itself; he knows that the best tactics against such an
enemy do not consist in boldly meeting the adversary, but rather in
carefully avoiding encounter with him, manœuvring in such a way as to
keep far from him. Hence idle conversations with female visitors are not
only forbidden in a most positive manner, but the very sight of women is
to be, if possible, avoided. When duty shall oblige a recluse to come
face to face with the enemy, it is his bounden obligation to keep at as
great a distance from female visitors as practicable. The subject of the
conversation ought to be of a purely religious character; some portions
of the law may be expounded, doubts of conscience may be proposed, and a
solution given to them, &c. On such occasions the spiritual adviser is
never to be left alone, but he must be surrounded by some of his brethren
or disciples, at all times very numerous in the monasteries.
It is not without interest to place one’s self in the centre of the
Buddhistic system, and examine therefrom the motives that have induced
Buddha to enjoin celibacy on all the members of the assembly, and enforce
it with the utmost rigour by all the means that the profoundest moralist
could devise.
The philosophy of Buddhism has for its primary object to lead man into
the way of freeing himself from the influence produced upon the soul
by exterior objects, through the medium or channel of the senses. That
influence sets in motion the various passions which darken the intellect
and trouble the heart, opposing an insuperable barrier to the acquirement
and intuition of truth, and to the progress towards the state of
quiescence, so ardently coveted and longed for by every true Buddhist.
No one is ripe for the state of Neibban as long as he retains affection
for things without self. The last and greatest effort of wisdom is the
emancipation of self from every possible influence created and produced
by objects or things distinct from self. Concupiscence, as the meaning
of the word implies, is that disposition of the soul to search after,
long for, and cleave to things placed without self. Such a disposition
is diametrically opposed to the perfect independence aimed at by a
perfect Buddhist, and leads to results the very reverse of those to be
arrived at; it retains man in the vortex of never-ending existences,
and precludes him from the possibility of ever reaching the state of
Neibban. Concupiscence, taken in a more restricted and limited meaning,
signifying the propensity to the indulgence of sensual pleasures by the
union of sexes, must ever prove the greatest obstacle in the way leading
to perfection, inasmuch as it fosters in men the strongest affection to
external objects.
Buddha is great, in his own opinion, because he has conquered all
passions, not by curbing them under the yoke of reason, but by rooting
them out of his very being. When he wished to become an ascetic, he
practised at first self-renouncing, not merely by giving up riches,
palaces, dignities and honours, but chiefly and principally by denying
to himself and for ever the enjoyment of sensual pleasures. A firm and
unshaken resolution of parting for ever with his wife and concubines,
and living in a perpetual celibacy, was considered as a preliminary and
essential step for entering upon the course of life of a sincere searcher
after truth and perfection. During the six years he spent in solitude, he
laboured with unremitting zeal for securing to the spiritual principle an
undisputed control over the material one, by stifling the vehemence and
ardour of his passions. His austerities and mortifications during that
long period had no other object than that of first weakening and then
finally destroying passions, and in particular concupiscence. When he is
praised in the writings, he is much extolled for having come out from the
net of passions. His victory over concupiscence is repeatedly alluded to
as the greatest of all achievements. The master, therefore, having laid
such stress on this favourite and important maxim, could not but preach
and enjoin it on all his future imitators and disciples. The earliest
records of Buddhism bear testimony to the paramount importance attached
to the practice of chastity. It has ever been considered as an essential
requirement in all those that have desired to follow the footsteps of
Buddha and imitate his mode of life. No qualification, ever so great and
shining, could be admitted as a substitute for chastity. Science, talent,
zeal, and fervour could never entitle an individual to the distinction
of member of the assembly of the perfect without having previously given
up the gratification of sensual pleasures. Independently of what is
found written on this subject in the Wini, or book of discipline, the
opinion of the Buddhist public is on this subject positive, universal,
and absolute. He who leaves the condition of layman to become a religious
must live in a state of perfect continence. An infraction of the
regulations on this point is looked upon with horror and indignation
by the people at large. The guilty individual is inexorably expelled
from the religious house, after having been previously stripped of
his religious dress and subjected to a humiliating degradation in the
presence of the assembled members of the community. Nothing short of such
a severe treatment could satisfy a public so deeply hurt and offended
in their religious feelings. How is it that the practice of perfect
continence is not merely a desideratum in an individual consecrated to
religion, but an absolutely required qualification, which can never be
equivalently supplied by any other moral or scientific attainment? How is
it that such a notion is universally adhered to by nations noted for the
undoubted laxity of their morals? Can a notion so generally believed and
so tenaciously retained, in spite of its direct opposition to the wildest
and the dearest passion of the heart, be ever called a prejudice? Is it
possible to trace its connection with some of the noblest feelings of
our nature and the most refined ideas of our mind? To a superficial and
biassed observer, many things appear contradictory and irreconcilable,
which a serious, acute, and dispassionate inquirer after truth readily
comprehends, easily connects and accounts for, and satisfactorily
reconciles one with the other.
[18] It is curious to investigate the origin and the real nature of the
worship and honour paid by Buddhists to Gaudama, to his relics, to his
statues, as well as to monuments erected for enshrining and sheltering
those objects of devotion. The attempt at elucidating this point is
beset with difficulties. The more we attentively reflect on the inward
operations of the soul in all that relates to religion, the more we
find ourselves puzzled and hesitating in qualifying and selecting the
appellation most befitting them.
All the simple terms of our language intended to express the several
sorts of acts of worship and adoration paid to objects partaking of a
religious nature, are inadequate to represent to us, by sounds, the
nature of the inward workings of the soul when she carries on a pious
intercourse with the object of her devotion. The terms that are used
merely express to us the exterior acts of worship, as manifested by
peculiar attitudes of the body (which vary according to the habits and
customs of various nations), or singing, making offerings, and other
visible signs. They may be, in fact they are, used with equal fitness
all over the world by the worshippers of the true God as well as by the
adorers of idols. The difference between the true and false worship
does not consist, therefore, in the externals, nor in the ceremonies or
exterior signs that make impression on the ear and the eye, but it is to
be found in reality in the objects that the adorers have in view. Here
lies the essential difference between the true and false worship.
This being premised, we have naturally to ask: What is Gaudama, the great
and principal object of worship to all Buddhists? Gaudama, in their
opinion, is a mere man, that has attained, by the practice of virtue,
and principally by his almost infinite science, the highest point of
perfection a being can ever reach. The first qualification entitles him
to the unbounded admiration of his followers; it inspires them with
expressions the best calculated to eulogise him, and represent him as
the first and greatest of all beings. Again, Gaudama is represented to
them full of benevolence and compassion for all beings, whom he earnestly
wishes to deliver from their miseries, and help to obtain that state in
which they come for ever to a perfect rest from all transmigrations, or
to what they emphatically call the deliverance. The second qualification
is much insisted upon by Buddhists, and from it originate those feelings
of love and tender affection for him who has laboured so much for
enlightening all beings, and showing to them the way that leads to the
deliverance. Buddhists on this subject are very eloquent. The writer has
often admired many fine thoughts and truly beautiful expressions he has
met in some writings devoted to the praises of Buddha.
It may be asked whether the followers of Gaudama in the worship they pay
the author of their religion expect any aid or assistance from him. The
answer is an easy one. Gaudama to them is no more. His interference with
the affairs of this world or of his religion absolutely ceased with his
existence. He sees no one; he hears no prayer; he can afford no help
neither here on earth nor in any other state of existence. In fact, to
the Buddhists there is no Providence, and, consequently, there can be
no real prayer, none of the feelings that constitute its essence. All
the worship of Gaudama may be summed up in a few words: he is admired as
the greatest, wisest, and most benevolent of all beings; he is praised,
eulogised as much as language can express; he is the object of a tender
affection for the good that he has done. No idea whatever of a supreme
being is to be met in the genuine worship paid to Gaudama by his most
enthusiastic adherents. It cannot be denied that, in practice, Buddhists
of these parts betray often without perceiving it that they have some
vague idea about a supreme being, who has a controlling power in the
affairs of this world and the destiny of man. But such an idea does not
come from their religious creed; it is the offspring of that innate
sentiment adherent in our nature, as is maintained by some philosophers:
or it is a remnant of a primitive tradition, which error has never been
able entirely to obliterate, as asserted by others.
The worship paid to Buddha does not extend further than it has been above
stated, since it is always placed on a footing of equality with the one
due to the law and to the assembly. These three _precious things_ are
always enumerated together; no distinction is made between them; they are
equally entitled to the veneration of all believers.
Let us come now to the veneration offered to the statues and relics of
Gaudama, and to the religious monuments called dzedis. In the foregoing
pages we have seen Buddha giving to two brothers who had requested him
to supply them with some object of worship eight hairs of his head.
After his death and the combustion of his body, the remaining bones, or
parts of bones, even the very ashes and charcoals, were piously coveted,
with an eagerness that indicated the high value people set on these
articles. According to several Buddhist authors, Gaudama, previous to
his death, intimated to his disciples that his religion was to last
five thousand years; that, as he would be no longer among his believers
in a visible manner, he wished that they would keep up his statues as
his representatives, and pay to them the same honour they would pay to
his own person. Relying upon this positive injunction, the Buddhist
looks on the statues of Buddha as objects destined to remind him of
Buddha: they are the visible mementoes of him who is infinitely dear
to his affections; they put him, by their variety of shapes and form,
in remembrance of the principal events connected with his existence.
The princes that have been most remarkable for their religious zeal
and piety, such as Adzatathat and Athoka, were anxious to multiply the
statues of Buddha and the religious monuments, to nourish in the soul
of all the faithful, as says our Burmese author, a feeling of tender
affection, of lovely disposition for the person of Buddha and his holy
religion. The relics being articles that have been most intimately
connected with Buddha’s person, are designed to act on the religious
feelings of the people even more powerfully than the statues. They are
treasured up with the greatest care, worshipped with the profoundest
respect, looked upon with a most affectionate regard. No earthly treasure
can be compared with them. As Buddha’s sacred person is more valuable in
their eyes than the whole world, his relics partake of that invaluable
estimation. It becomes evident that the statues and relics are so much
valued, esteemed, and worshipped because of the intimate connection they
have with the person of Buddha, and the great help they afford in keeping
alive a religious spirit and a tender affection for him.
In the worship of statues and relics, superstition has had its share
too in giving an undue extension and development to the religious
_sentiment_. This development has brought into existence the belief in
prodigies and miracles wrought by the virtue of the relics. This popular
error has always found a powerful support among the ignorant masses;
it has been much propagated by that inordinate and irrational tendency
towards all that is new and extraordinary. Man wants but a pretext, even
a very futile one, to give credit to the most incredible occurrences,
when they have a reference to a deeply cherished, and, as it were,
favourite object. But in no way do we find genuine Buddhism countenancing
such spiritual eccentricities or extravagances, which have their origin
in ignorance and an inordinate fondness for the marvellous.
The articles of worship offered to or placed before the statues of
Buddha, and the shrines supposed to contain some of his relics, are few
and remarkable for their simplicity. They consist in flowers arranged
in fine bouquets, in flags and streamers made of cloth, sometimes of
paper, and cut into a great variety of figures, with considerable taste
and skill. There are to be seen also small wax candles, little earthen
lamps, and sometimes incense and scented wood, which are consumed in
large burners, placed on pedestals made of masonry. The worshippers are
generally in a squatting position, the back resting on the heels, the
body slightly bending forward, the joined hands raised to the forehead.
Ordinarily a string of flowers, or little bits of wood adorned each with
a small paper flag, are held on these occasions. On the days of worship,
particularly during the three months of Lent, the crowd of people of
every age, sex, and condition, resorting to the most venerated pagoda of
the place, is truly extraordinary. Men and women of a certain age have
in their hands a string of beads, upon which they repeat the formula
Aneitsa, Duka, Anatta, or some other.
Since the Buddhist knows that his Buddha is no more, and, therefore,
can afford him no assistance whatever, that there is no virtue inherent
in his relics or images, in fact, that there is no Providence, it is
difficult to account for the zeal that he often displays in honouring the
great founder of his religion, and all that has a reference to him. To
account satisfactorily for such a moral phenomenon, we must bear in mind
the belief that he has in the intrinsic worth of the devotional practices
he performs. Those works are good _per se_; they give rise, power, and
energy to the law of merits, or to the good influence which will procure
to him abundant rewards in future existences, and gradually lead him to
the harbour of deliverance, the object of his most ardent wishes. That
hope is, as it were, the great feeder of his devotion.
[19] On a former occasion, Buddha had raised his voice to bestow praises
on the memory of the great Thariputra, whose relics he was holding on the
palm of one of his hands in the presence of the assembled Rahans. Now, a
short time before he yields up the ghost, he summons all his strength,
and at great length passes the highest encomium on his amiable and
ever-devoted attendant, the truly kind-hearted Ananda. These are the only
two instances mentioned in this compilation, when Buddha has condescended
to eulogise the great virtues and eminent merits of two disciples. In
Thariputra, Buddha extolled the transcendent mental attainments, the
heroic achievements in the practice of virtue, the fervour and zeal for
the propagation of religion, which had ever distinguished the illustrious
friend of Maukalan. In Ananda, the searching and keen eye of Buddha
discovered excellencies of a less shining and bright hue, but, in point
of sterling worth, second to none. Ananda is a matchless pattern of
gentleness, amiability, devotedness, and placid religious zeal. He loves
all his brethren, and he is, in return, beloved by them all. His superior
goodness of heart and placidity of temper secure to him an almost
undisputed precedence over the other members of the assembly. Tearing
the veil that conceals futurity from our eager regards, Buddha foretells
the future conquests to be made by the mild and persuasive eloquence of
his ever dearly beloved disciple. The far-spread fame of Ananda shall in
days to come attract crowds of visitors, eager to see and hear him. The
sight of his graceful and lovely appearance shall rivet to his person the
attention and affection of all. Enraptured at the flow of this tender,
touching, and heart-moving eloquence, visitors shall eagerly listen to
him; they will experience sadness only when his silence shall deprive
them of that food which their mind and heart were feasting on.
The eulogium of Ananda by Buddha is unquestionably one of the finest
passages of the legend. Divested of its original beauties by having
passed through several translations, it retains, however, something that
charms and pleases. The reader is involuntarily reminded of similar
specimens found here and there in the earliest records of antiquity.
In the instructions that Ananda is to give to laymen, it is somewhat
curious to see Buddha distinctly stating that Ananda will exhort the
people to make offerings both to Rahans and to pounhas; that is to say,
to the members of the assembly, and to the Brahmins. From this passage,
it becomes evident that, in the days of our Buddha, the two sects that
were subsequently to struggle during many ages for superiority over the
Indian Peninsula, subsisted free from inimical feelings towards each
other. It might be said that no line of separation kept them apart,
indicating or pointing out their respective limits. The wide gap that
was during succeeding centuries to intervene between those two great
religious sects was not perceptibly felt. The levelling results of
Buddhism had not yet awakened the susceptibilities of the proud Brahmins.
Buddhists and Brahminists lived on friendly terms, and looked upon each
other as brethren. The discrepancies in the respective creeds were
regarded with indifference, as involving only philosophical subtleties,
well suited to afford occupation to ideologists, and give to disputants
the opportunity of displaying their abilities in arguing, reasoning, and
defining. It is not easy to determine whether the conduct of Buddha was
regulated by a well-calculated policy, intended to calm the suspicious
scruples of his opponents, or whether he was actuated by plain and
straightforward principles. It is probable that at that time many
Brahmins followed a mode of life almost similar to that of the disciples
of Buddha; they were, therefore, entitled to the same honours and support.
[20] Buddha had so much at heart the conversion of the heretic Thoubat,
that the earnest desire of performing this great and meritorious action
was one of the three motives that induced him to select the comparatively
insignificant city of Koutheinaron for the last stage of his existence.
Particulars regarding that personage would prove interesting, because he
is the last convert Buddha made. From what has been alluded to in some
Buddhistic writings regarding Thoubat, it is certain that he was of the
caste of pounhas or Brahmins. He had studied in some of the numerous
schools of philosophy, at that time so common in India. From his way
of addressing Buddha, there is no doubt but he was acquainted with the
principal theories upheld by the most renowned masters in those days.
It is related of Thoubat that, in a former existence, he was tilling a
field with one of his brothers, when some Rahans happened to pass by.
His brother gave abundant alms to the holy personages, whilst Thoubat
showed less liberal dispositions. When, then, Buddha appeared, the law
was announced to the generous donor, and in company with eighteen koudes
of Brahmas he obtained the state of Thautapan. The rather parsimonious
Thoubat obtained the favour of conversion at the eleventh hour. He must
have, however, subsequently atoned for this offence, as his dispositions
seem to have been of the highest order when he came into Buddha’s
presence. In a few hours he had gone over the four ways leading to
perfection, and had become a Rahanda.
In the days of Buddha, the philosophical schools of India seem to have
had six eminent teachers, whose doctrines exhibited on some points a
considerable variance. In a book of religious controversy between a
Christian and a Buddhist, composed more than a hundred years ago by a
Catholic priest at Ava, the writer had the chance of meeting with a faint
outline of the leading tenets maintained by the six teachers, so often
alluded to in this compilation. One of them maintained the existence and
agency of numberless genii, who, at their will, could favour man with
fortune and every possible temporal benefits, as well as visit him with
their displeasure, by depriving him of all happiness and heaping misery
and all sorts of calamities over his head. Geniolatry was the necessary
consequence flowing from such a principle. A second teacher denied at
once the dogma of metempsychosis, and maintained that every being had
the innate power of reproducing by way of generation, &c., another being
of similar nature. A third one had singular notions regarding the nature
of man. He said that he had his beginning in the womb of his mother, and
that death was the end and destruction of his being: such a destruction
he called Neibban. A fourth teacher taught that all beings were without
beginning and ending, and that there existed no influence of good and bad
deeds. A fifth doctor defined Neibban, a long life like that of Nats and
Brahmas. He saw no harm in the killing of animals, and he asserted the
existence of a state of reward and punishment. The last teacher boldly
asserted the existence of a Supreme Being, creator of all that exists,
and alone worthy of receiving adorations.
Thoubat’s mind was rather perplexed by so many contradictory and opposite
opinions and doctrines. He had lived, it appears, in a state of doubt
and uncertainty, fluctuating, as it were, between conflicting theories
which could not carry conviction to his soul. He had heard of Buddha and
wished to see him, hoping that perhaps he might fall in with the truth he
was so ardently panting after. With these dispositions, he came to the
spot where Buddha was lying on his couch, in the hope of easing his mind
from the state of doubt and fixing it in truth. Like a man of consummate
abilities in the way of arguing and convincing his adversary, Buddha
sets aside all that was put forward by his antagonist, and, coming at
once to the point, preaches to him the true doctrine. As light dispels
darkness, so truth disperses the mist of error. Thoubat, seeing truth,
at once embraced it, gladly ridding himself of the burden of errors
that had hitherto weighed down his soul. All his doubts vanished away,
and he found himself, on a sudden, safely anchored in the calm and
never-agitated harbour of perfect truth.