_BUDDHISM IN BURMA._
The greater part of the inhabitants of Burma are Buddhists. The Burman
race are so universally, except in the cases where Christianity has
gained a few. It is in Burma that Buddhism is found with the least
admixture of any other religion, and where it is followed with a more
thoroughgoing devotion perhaps than anywhere else. Even the Burman,
however, has never discarded in spirit, or even in form, the indigenous
_nat_ worship of his far-off ancestors. It may have little of outward
appearance, but it remains side by side with Buddhism to the present
day. In their numerous popular stories the nats play a prominent part,
the wicked ones performing all manner of mischievous pranks, the good
ones appearing at the opportune moment to succour the hero of the story,
usually some “_payaloung_,” or incipient Buddha, for the moment in peril
through the trials that have befallen him.
This hankering after the _nats_ is a significant fact. There is no God
in Buddhism, and yet a man must have a deity or deities of some kind.
The elaborate philosophy of Buddhism may occupy the intellect, and
dominate the religious life, but it cannot satisfy this natural craving
in man for God. Hence the worship and the fear of the _nats_, and the
many superstitious ceremonies to propitiate them. And hence, too, if
we mistake not, the strong tendency to plunge deeply into the occult,
and to claim intimacy with the world of spirits, which characterises
those Europeans and Americans who have discarded Christianity, and have
devised for themselves a system fashioned on the basis of Buddhism, for
their light and guidance.
Buddhism has been well described as “A proud attempt to create a faith
without a God, and to conceive a deliverance in which man delivers
himself.” Gautama, the future Buddha, and the founder of the Buddhist
religion, was born at Kapilavastu, a town about one hundred miles from
Benares, about 500 B.C. His father was the ruler of the Sakya tribe.
Gautama early showed a disposition for a retired, studious, ascetic,
contemplative life. His father wished to see him fit himself for the
career of a prince, and heaped upon him every luxury, but in vain. At
length we find the young prince, after many struggles between family
affection and his view of duty, secretly by night leaving his home of
luxury, his wife and child, exchanging his dress for the garments of a
mendicant, and commencing his long quest after truth. Six years he spent
in fastings and acts of penance. Then perceiving that mere ritual could
bring him to no new conceptions of truth, he changed his method, and
set himself to devise that system of philosophy which to this day is
associated with his name.
The ethics of Buddhism are grand, and for its noble conceptions of man’s
duty it well deserves the title of the finest system of heathenism ever
devised by man. But it fails altogether as a moral power. The account
it gives of man’s nature, and the problem of life generally, though
very elaborate, is erroneous and misleading. It knows nothing of a
Divine Creator and Father, a Divine Saviour, or a Divine Regenerator. It
proclaims no God, offers no Gospel of glad tidings, enjoins no prayer (in
our sense of the word, as petition), sets forth no sacrifice for sin,
holds out no hope of Divine help, no saving grace, no pardon, no renewal.
Man must work out everything by his own endeavours.
For forty-five years Buddha lived to preach his doctrines, winning many
converts, and he died at over eighty years of age greatly revered.
[Illustration: “IMAGES OF BUDDHA ARE EXTENSIVELY USED.”]
That Buddhism is an uninspired system of teaching is most clearly
indicated by its attempts at natural science. We need nothing more
than a glance at these absurdities to dispose at once of Buddha’s
claim to omniscience. His geography followed that of the Hindus, and
was no improvement upon it. Its only virtue is that it is very liberal
with numbers. It has its countless worlds, in the centre of which is
the mountain called Maha Meru, 1,344,000 miles in length, the same in
breadth, the same in depth beneath the sea, and rising to the same height
out of it. Its teaching upon such matters as eclipses, earthquakes and
the like, consists of the wildest of guesses.
It may be well to give the reader a brief outline of the religious
teachings of Buddhism. Buddhism denies the creation of the world. Matter
is eternal, and all the changes attending it are caused and regulated
by certain laws co-eternal with it. Matter and its laws are not under
the control of any being. Hence creation and a creator are out of the
question.
With such a formidable list of negations to begin with, it becomes a
matter of no small interest to inquire out of what materials this vast
system could possibly have been constructed. First, then, we have the
Buddhist ten commandments. Five of these are binding upon all:—
1. Not to take life.
2. Not to steal.
3. Not to commit adultery.
4. Not to lie.
5. Not to take that which intoxicates.
The other five are applicable only to the monastic order:—
6. Not to eat after midday.
7. Not to attend theatrical amusements, or dance, sing, or play on a
musical instrument.
8. Not to use garlands, scents, or cosmetics.
9. Not to stand, sit, or sleep on a platform or elevated place.
10. Not to receive gold or silver.
Besides these precepts there are many minor regulations, some of them
entering very minutely into the life of the laity, and others the monks.
There are rules for the conduct of parents and children, pupils and
teachers, husband and wife, friends and companions, masters and servants,
laymen and the religious order; in fact, considering the light Gautama
possessed, the moral teaching of Buddhism is of a very high order.
But what about the means of attaining to moral excellence? Here Buddhism,
it must be confessed, is found wanting. To conceive of a high state of
moral excellence is manifestly better within the reach of man’s unaided
mind, than to find out a way for the bulk of mankind in their frailty and
sinfulness to reach it.
In order to place before the reader any intelligible view of the Buddhist
way of salvation, it is essential that we consider first its teaching
concerning the nature and circumstances of man.
Buddhism is thoroughly pessimistic in its outlook. It teaches that life
is a misery, existence an evil. This doctrine is taught in the sacred
books with a wealth and ingenuity of illustration worthy of a more gay
and festive theme. The sentient being is “like a worm in the midst of a
nest of ants; like a lizard in the hollow of a bamboo that is burning at
both ends; like a living carcass, bereft of hands and feet, and thrown
upon the sand.” All beings are “entangled in a web of passions; tossed
upon the raging billows of a sea of ever-renewing existences; whirling
in a vortex of endless miseries; tormented incessantly by the stings of
concupiscence; sunk in a dark abyss of ignorance; the wretched victims of
an illusory, unsubstantial and unreal world.”
It is true these views of life do not seem unduly to distress the
followers of Gautama. The Burmans, the best of Buddhists, are as merry
and laughing a people as are to be found anywhere, and the burden of life
rests not more lightly upon any people than upon them. Nevertheless such
is the teaching. “_Anaiksa, Doakka, Anatta_” is the formula in Burmese:
“Transient, Sorrowful, Unreal.” The monk muses on this in his monastery.
The pious Buddhist repeats it to himself as he spends his spare time
smoking and meditating on the bench at his door, or strolling idly about,
telling off the beads of his rosary the while.
Seeing that life is necessarily a misery, and existence an evil,
the problem of life would seem to be how to bring existence to an
end. The Christian would say wait for the release of death, but two
formidable difficulties stand in the way, to prevent death proving any
release—namely, _Transmigration_ and _Karma_ (Burmese _Kan_).
Transmigration constantly renews sentient existence in a countless
succession of births and lives. Hence the polite form of the announcement
of a death is that the deceased has “changed his state of existence,”
that is, put off one existence and taken on another. This is not merely
a polite form of speech, but more correctly embodies the popular belief
than the mere statement that he has “died.” Moreover, in future births
man may rise and fall in the scale of existences; and as human life and
animal life are considered to be of the same nature, no difficulty is
experienced in readily believing that a man may become an animal, or
an animal may become a man in future births. Hence the scruple against
taking any kind of animal life amongst the Burmans, extending even to
vermin. Supposing transmigration to be true, it follows that if one kills
any animal, large or small, even the smallest insect, he may be taking
the life of his deceased grandfather, who has thus reappeared in the body.
This universal belief of the Buddhists in transmigration was curiously
illustrated quite recently in a court of justice in Burma. A mother and
her son came one day to the magistrate of their district and expressed a
desire to institute a suit. The case for the son, who was the plaintiff,
was as follows. Some years before, a certain man, it was stated, had
left in charge of the defendant some jewellery and a silk cloth for safe
keeping. While engaged in repairing the roof of a house he fell off and
died of the injury. The jewellery and cloth remained in the hands of the
defendant, and the suit was now instituted to recover the same.
What was the ground for this claim? Not that this boy or his mother
were related to the deceased, but that the boy was that identical man
in another birth. But how could he prove it? There was no difficulty in
proving this, at least to the satisfaction of the Buddhists. The boy
displayed upon his body certain marks, which those who knew the deceased
said were precisely similar to marks he bore. The mother, by a comparison
of, dates, sought to prove the date of the birth of the boy was just when
it would be supposing his claim to be true. But the most convincing
testimony of all was that the boy distinctly remembered the whole of the
circumstances happening in his former existence! The defendant admitted
receiving the silk cloth, but denied all knowledge of the jewellery. He
admitted that he believed the boy was the very man who left the cloth
with him, and was willing to return it if the boy paid a small debt of
eight annas borrowed on it by the owner. The boy said he remembered the
eight annas, but also insisted on the jewellery. Unfortunately for him
his good memory did not avail him; it was a British court of justice, not
a Burmese, and the magistrate had to dismiss the case as extending to
matters beyond his jurisdiction.
_Karma_ or _Kan_ (Burmese), or _Fate_, as it is sometimes rather
inadequately rendered, is that self-originating, self-operating,
inflexible law which necessitates and causes the working out of the
cumulative influences of merit and demerit; these separately producing in
succeeding births their full and appropriate effects, extending through
cycles of ages, the _Kan_ being modified from time to time by the passage
through these different births. Thus _Kan_ is not in any sense a Divine
Providence. It is a blind impersonal force that attends our destiny
through all the course of our many existences, and makes us to reap in
other births what we sow in this. It may be compared to a balance. In the
one side we are always putting in acts of merit, and in the other side
acts of demerit, and the _Kan_ goes on determining which preponderates,
and blindly producing its appropriate consequences until each has worked
itself out to the pleasant or the bitter end.
Undoubtedly this doctrine is a bold expedient for explaining the apparent
anomalies and wrongs in the distribution of happiness and misery in
this life; and although it is incapable alike of proof and of disproof,
it fully satisfies those who can believe it. A child, for instance, is
blind,—this is owing to his eye-vanity, lust of the eye in a former
birth,—but he has also unusual powers of hearing; this is because he
loved in a former birth to listen to the preaching of the law. Thus the
theory can always be made to fit the facts, for it is derived from them.
But it satisfies the Oriental mind none the less for that, and it is the
belief of millions of Hindus and Buddhists to-day.
_Nirvana_ (Burmese _Neibbân_) is the state of complete deliverance from
further births and deaths. So long as existence lasts evil and suffering
must continue, and there is no hope of blessedness until conscious
individuality has become wholly eliminated, and the individual has
arrived at that state where further births are no longer possible. This
means practically annihilation; but it is so much easier to do wrong than
to do right, and it takes so long for _Kan_ to work out its result, that
_Neibbân_ becomes, by the ordinary way, so distant and so difficult of
attainment as to be out of reach to the vast majority of the human race.
If Buddhism ended there, and if nothing had been devised to relieve this
strain of seeking after an all but hopeless and well-nigh impossible
good, it would have been of all creeds the most pessimistic and
miserable. The mind must needs have revolted from an outlook so gloomy,
and we may safely affirm that it would in that case never have numbered
its votaries by hundreds of millions as it does to-day. For it just
amounts to this, that “Sin and its consequences follow man as the wheels
of the cart follow the legs of the bullocks,” and there is no Saviour and
no salvation that he can seek outside of himself.
But just at this point the doctrine of works of merit steps in and offers
its hopes to the Buddhist, and seems to bring the attainment of future
good at once within the sphere of the practicable. According to this,
man can be continually improving his _Kan_ by so-called works of merit,
and he may hope, with comparatively little trouble, to make his merits
outweigh his demerits, and thereby improve his lot in future existences.
See that row of waterpots under the shade of that great tree upon a dusty
road, set upon a neat stand, with a neatly carved roof constructed over
them, with a ladle to drink out of, and each of the pots covered with a
tin cover to keep out the dust and insects. It is privately constructed
and presented for public use, a work of merit; all done to get what they
are often thinking and talking about—_koothoh_.
What is the meaning of all this lavishing on the monks of food daily,
and various offerings, including almost everything except money, which
they are under vows not to touch? Answer, _koothoh_. So with all alms and
offerings to monks, to the poor, to dogs, or crows; so with good works
of every imaginable description. You may acquire merit by conforming to
the ceremonies, by attending the festivals, by listening to the reading
of the Law, by striking the pagoda bells, by buying and lighting pagoda
tapers, by plastering gold leaf on the pagoda, by contributing to the
repairs of the sacred edifices, by showing lights at the festival of
lighting in October, and by many, many ways. As might be expected, when
the acquiring of merit is so important a matter, there are many avenues
opened to it.
Though of course you have not kept all the laws, yet if you have gone out
of your way a little to do something more than keep one of them it gives
you merit. The care for animal life offers great scope in that direction.
An English soldier whilst fishing caught a tortoise and was taking it
home, when a Burman met him, bought the tortoise for a rupee, and took it
back to its native element. He would expect to gain merit by that. Men
have been known to make a regular trade of snaring little birds in the
jungle, and bringing them to the bazaar to sell to the merit seekers, who
buy them merely to set them free.
Many works of merit involve great expense, such as the digging of a
well, the erection of a bridge, a _zayat_ or rest-house, a monastery, a
pagoda. Judging by the enormous number of these sacred buildings in Upper
Burma, it would appear that this is a favourite way of seeking merit.
The builder of a pagoda is honoured with a special title attached to
his name, and he is understood to be in a fair way for _Nirvana_. This
seeking after merit is practically the most predominant aim in Burmese
religious life.
So fixed is this belief in merit, that when the Burmans see the English
so intent upon opening up the country, making roads and railways,
metalling streets and lighting them, building hospitals and markets,
constructing irrigation works, and carrying out a multitude of other
necessary and useful efforts of public utility, they measure us by their
own bushel, and remark that there will be great merit to the Government
and its officers by means of these things. What other motive could men
have for taking so much pains and trouble for the public good, if not to
accumulate merit?
In elaborating this law relating to merit, Gautama was preparing the
sheet anchor of his system. It is that mainly by which it abides, and
retains its influence over its millions of followers until this day.
[Illustration: “IN THE MORNING THE MONKS INVARIABLY GO FORTH CARRYING THE
ALMS-BOWLS TO COLLECT THEIR DAILY FOOD FROM THE PEOPLE.”]
Every false religion, however, whatever master mind designed it, must
show, somewhere or other, its weak places. It is manifestly a weak place
in Buddhism that alms and works of merit may so easily outweigh whatever
demerit may attach through real crimes and sins, and that, too, without
any repentance or reformation on the part of the offender. This also
makes the attainment of merit largely dependent on the pecuniary means
and influence at the disposal of the individual. A work may be very easy
for a king or a rich man which would be utterly impossible for a poor
man. To the Christian mind this seems very unequal and unfair, but to
the Burman it presents no stumbling-block. Supposing we do see great
inequalities in money, or any other temporal advantages that men possess.
Be it so. It arises from differences in their _Kan_, and that depends on
what took place in previous births. One’s _Kan_ is not a thing to rail
against, but to submit to.
It might be thought that as Christianity is so evidently superior to
Buddhism as a religious system, it should be an easy matter to get them
to discard their religion and accept the religion of Christ. But this is
very far from being the case. The superiority is not apparent to a mind
sophisticated by a lifelong familiarity with only the one religion, and
it is only, as a rule, perceived after a prolonged and impartial study
and comparison of the two has opened the mind. This is the great reason
for educational work. It is a very difficult matter to make the votaries
of an elaborate system like Buddhism see the superiority of Christ over
Buddha; they are more than contented with what they have.
Besides this, we ought to remember that Buddhism has everything on
its side that tends to make a religion powerful and influential. It
has a concrete existence, and very much of outward and visible form
and appearance; it is in possession; it has numbers, a voluminous
literature, a definite and consistent system of philosophy. It has plenty
of popular observances and popular enthusiasm. It is cleverly adapted to
man’s natural desire to work out his own salvation. It is most powerfully
sustained and buttressed in the regard and confidence of the people by
its very numerous monastic institutions, which are recruited from all
classes of the people, from the prince to the peasant, for every male
Burman must be a monk, for a longer or a shorter time, at some period of
his life.