Chapter V (2)

[2] The Burmese, like all trans-Gangetic nations, divide the
year into twelve lunar months of twenty-nine and thirty days
alternately. Every third year they add one month, or as they
say, double the month of Watso (July). The year begins on, or
about, the 12th of April. The days of worship are the days of
the four quarters of the moon; but the days of the new and full
moon seem to have preference over those of the two other
quarters, which latter are scarcely noticed or distinguished
from common days. It was on the day of the full moon of April
that Thoodzata made her grand offering.

[3] The Burmese translator, not having given in his remarks the
explanation or interpretation of Phralaong's five dreams, it
seems rather presumptuous to attempt doing a thing, the neglect
of which, on the part of the author, may be attributed either to
voluntary omission or to incapacity and inability. Let us try to
make up, in part, for the deficiency. The first dream
prognosticated the future greatness of Phralaong, whose sway, by
the diffusion of his doctrines throughout the world, was to be
universal, extending from one sea to the other sea. The grass
growing out of his navel and reaching to the sky was indicative
of the spreading of his law, not only amongst the beings
inhabiting the seat of men, but also amidst those dwelling in
the abodes of Nats and Brahmas. The ants covering his legs offer
an enigma, the explanation of which is reserved to some future
Oedipus. As to the birds of various colours, gathering round
him, from the four points of the compass, and on a sudden
becoming all white, by their contact with him, they represent
the innumerable beings that will come to hear the preaching of
the future Buddha with divers dispositions, and different
progress in the way of merits, and will all be perfected by
their following the true way to merit, that he will point out to
them. The fifth dream in which Phralaong thought he was walking
on a mountain of filth, without being in the least contaminated
by it, foreshowed the incomparable perfection and purity of
Buddha, who, though remaining in the world of passions, was no
more to be affected by their influence.

[4] We have now reached the most interesting episode of
Phralaong's life. He is to become a perfected Buddha under the
shade of the gniaong or banyan tree (_ficus indica_, _ficus
religiosa_). There are two circumstances attending that great
event, deserving peculiar notice. The first is the preference
given to the east over the three other points of the compass,
and the second, the mighty combat that takes place between
Phralaong and the wicked Nat Manh, or Mar. I notice the first
circumstance because it agrees with the tradition prevailing
amongst most nations previous to or about the coming of our
Lord, that from the east there was to come an extraordinary
personage, who would confer on the human race the greatest
benefits, and cause the return of happy times, like the golden
age so much celebrated by poets. The Roman historian Suetonius
bears testimony to the existence of that tradition as being
universally known in his own days. It is not impossible that the
same notion, not unknown in the far east, might have induced
Phralaong to look towards the east at the supreme moment when
perfect intelligence was to become his happy lot. It may be said
in opposition to this supposition, that the splendour and
magnificence of the sun, emerging from the bosom of night, and
dispelling darkness by pouring a flood of light on the face of
the earth, restoring nature to life and action, was a sufficient
inducement to Phralaong for giving preference to the east. But
to an ascetic like him, who is convinced that this world is a
mere illusion, such a consideration would weigh very little on
his mind, and would not be a sufficient motive to induce him to
give so marked a preference to the east.

The second circumstance remarkable for the time it occurred, is
the great combat between Phralaong and Manh. The first is the
personification of goodness and benevolence towards all beings;
the second is the personification of consummate wickedness. The
contest is to take place between the good principle on the one
hand, and the evil one on the other. Phralaong, on his becoming
Buddha, will preach a law designed to dispel mental darkness, to
check vicious passions, to show the right way to perfection, to
unloose the ties that keep beings in the wretched state of
existence, and enable them to reach safely the peaceful shores
of Neibban. Manh, the devil himself, the father of darkness, of
lies and deceit, delights in seeing all beings plunged into the
abyss of vices, carried out of the right way by the impetuous
and irresistible torrent of their passions, and doomed to turn
for ever in the whirlpool of endless existences. He looks upon
himself as the king of this world, and proudly exults in
contemplating all beings bending their neck under his tyrannical
yoke, and acknowledging his undisputed power. Now the moment
approaches when a mighty antagonist will contend with him for
the empire of the world. His mission will be to labour
incessantly for the delivery of all beings from the grasp of
their mortal enemy, and set them free from the tyranny of
passions. Manh is enraged at the audacious pretensions of
Phralaong. Hence the gigantic efforts he makes to maintain his
rights, and retain possession of his empire. At the time
Phralaong left the world to become a Rahan, Manh endeavoured to
dissuade him from attempting such a design. But on this
occasion, the tempter summons all his forces to avert, by an
irresistible attack, the deadly blow soon to be levelled at him.
It is needless to add that the reader, in perusing the detailed
account of the attack of Manh against Phralaong, ought to bear
in mind that it exhibits throughout but an allegory of the
opposition of evil to good. The victory of Phralaong over Manh
exemplifies the final triumph of truth over error.

When the contest was nearly over, Phralaong objected to the
claims of Manh to the possession of his throne, on the ground
that he never had practised the ten great virtues, nor performed
works of kindness, charity, and benevolence, which alone can
entitle a being to obtain the Buddhaship. It is to be borne in
mind that these qualifications form the real characteristics of
a Buddha, together with the possession of the supreme
intelligence. In this system, they admit that there exist
certain beings called Pitzega-Buddhas, who possess all the
knowledge and science of a genuine Buddha, but as they are
divested of those benevolent feelings which induce the former to
labour earnestly for the benefit and salvation of all beings,
they cannot be assimilated to the real Buddhas. The cross-legged
position which our Buddha has always taken in preference to any
other, whilst he spent forty-nine days at the foot of and in
various places round the Bodi tree, is, as every one knows,
peculiar to and a favourite with all Asiatics. But with him, it
is the fittest position for meditation and contemplation. Hence
most of the statues or images of Gaudama exhibit or represent
him in the cross-legged position which he occupied when he
attained the Buddhaship. As this event is by far the most
important of his life, it is but natural that this great
occurrence should ever be forced upon the attention and memory
of his followers, by objects representing him on that most
important stage of his last existence. It is not unusual to meet
with statues of Gaudama, sometimes of colossal dimensions,
representing him in a reclining position. This is the peculiar
situation he occupied when he died. Hence those two most common
images of Gaudama are designed to remind his followers of the
two greatest circumstances of his life, viz., his becoming
Buddha, and his entering the state of Neibban.

Here again one is forcibly compelled to reflect on the singular
_role_ attributed to those Pitzega-Buddhas. They possess all the
science of a Buddha, but are deficient in that kindness,
benevolence, and zeal which prompt the real Buddhas to labour so
strenuously for the deliverance of all beings. They appear only
in those ages of darkness and ignorance which are not to be
brightened and enlightened by the presence of a Buddha. They are
like smaller luminaries, shedding a pale light among men to
prevent their sinking into an unfathomable abyss of ignorance;
they maintain on earth some sparks of the knowledge of
fundamental truths, which otherwise would be completely
obliterated from the memory of men. Not unlike the prophets of
old, they prepare men in an indirect manner for the coming of
the future deliverer. Their mission being at an end, when a
Buddha is to come among men, they disappear, and none of them is
to be seen either in the days of Buddha or during all the time
his religion is to last.

[5] The witness whom Phralaong summoned in support of his claim
to the undisturbed possession of the throne was the earth
itself. It maybe from the example that was set on this occasion
that Buddhists have borrowed the habit of calling the earth as a
witness of the good works they have done or are doing. I will
briefly relate what is done and said on such occasions. During
my former residence in Burmah I observed on a certain occasion,
when taking my evening walk, about ten or twelve persons of both
sexes assembled on a rather retired spot in the vicinity of a
pagoda. As they appeared all quite attentive, I came near to
them to see what was the cause that had brought them thither,
and what occurrence seemed to rivet their attention. As I was
known to some of them, they were not frightened by my sudden
apparition. On my asking them the motive of their assembling
here at a late hour, they said that, having buried yesterday a
child two years old, they came to make some offerings of boiled
rice, plantains, and other fruits, to propitiate the Nat of the
place. Having asked them to repeat the formula they had uttered
on the occasion, they kindly complied with my request. Here is
the substance of that formula. "Believing in the three precious
things, Buddha, the Law, and the Assembly of the perfect, I make
this offering, that I may be delivered from all present and
future miseries. May all beings existing in the four states of
punishment reach the fortunate seats of Nats. I wish all my
relatives and all men inhabiting this and other worlds to have a
share in this meritorious work. O earth and you Nats, guardians
of this place, be witness to the offering I am making." On
uttering these last words, the offerer of the present, or a
talapoin, sent for this purpose, pours down some water on the
ground.

[6] As the Nats and all other beings are to be benefited by the
preachings of Buddha, it is but natural that they all join in
singing his praises and exalting his glorious achievements. The
Nagas and Galongs are fabulous animals, which are often
mentioned in the course of this Legend. It has been observed in
a former note that, according to the Buddhistic notions, animals
are beings in a state of punishment, differing from man, not in
nature, but in merits. Some of them, having nearly exhausted the
sum of their demerits, begin to feel the influence of former
merits. They are supposed to have, to a certain extent, the use
of reason. No wonder if they rejoice at seeing the triumph of
him who is to help them in advancing towards a condition better
than their present one.

[7] The banyan tree, at the foot of which Phralaong obtains
perfect intelligence, is occasionally called throughout this
narrative the Bodi tree. The word Bodi means wisdom, science, or
knowledge. The Burmese, in their sacred writings, always mention
the tree by that name, because, under its shade, perfect science
was communicated to Phralaong. It is supposed to occupy the very
centre of the island of Dzampudiba. During all the while Phra or
Buddha (let us call him now by that name) remained under that
tree his mind was engaged in the most profound meditation, which
the gigantic efforts of his enemy could scarcely interrupt. It
is not to be inferred from the narrative in the text that
supreme intelligence was communicated suddenly or by miraculous
process to our Buddha. He was already prepared, by former mental
labours, for that grand result; he had previously capacitated
himself, by studies and reflection, for the reception of that
more than human science; he required but a last and mighty
effort of his intelligence to arrive finally at the acme of
knowledge, and thereby to become a perfect Buddha. That last
effort was made on this occasion, and crowned with the most
complete success. He gained the science of the past, present,
and future.

It would be somewhat curious to investigate the motives that
have determined Buddhists to give to that sacred tree the name
of Bodi. At first sight one will infer that such a name was
given to the tree because, under its refreshing and cooling
shade the Bodi, or Supreme intelligence, was communicated to
Phralaong. The occurrence, however extraordinary it be, is
scarcely sufficient to account for such an appellation. Bearing
in mind the numerous and striking instances of certain revealed
facts and truths, offered to the attention of the reader of this
Legend, in a deformed but yet recognisable shape, it would not
be quite out of the limits of probability to suppose that this
is also a remnant of the tradition of the tree of knowledge that
occupied the centre of the garden of Eden.

[8] The theory of the twelve causes and effects is, in itself,
very abstruse, and almost above the comprehension of those
uninitiated in the metaphysics of Buddhists. I will attempt to
analyse it in as simple and clear a way as possible. This theory
is very ancient, probably coeval with the first ages of
Buddhism. It forms this basis of its ontology and metaphysics in
the same manner as the four great and transcendent truths are
the foundation whereupon rests the system of morals. It is
probable that Gaudama, in his preachings, which were very
simple, and within the reach of ordinary minds, never formulated
his doctrine on this essential point in such a dry and concise
manner. But the seed was sown, and the germ deposited here and
there in his instructions. His immediate disciples, in
endeavouring to give a distant shape to their master's
doctrines, gradually framed the formula or theory just stated.
It, in fact, presents the very characteristics of a system
elaborated in a philosophical school.

In taking our departure from the first cause, which is _Awidza_,
or ignorance, or the wanting in science, or no knowledge, we
have to follow the different stages and conditions of a being
until it reaches decrepitude, old age, and death. When we speak
of ignorance, or no science, we must not suppose the material
existence of a being that ignores. But we must take ignorance in
an abstract sense, deprived of forms, and subsisting in a manner
very different from what we are wont to consider ordinary
beings. A European has a great difficulty in finding his way
through a process of reasoning so extraordinary, and so
different from that positivism which he is used to. But with the
Buddhist the case is widely different. He can pass from the
abstract to the concrete, from the ideal to the real, with the
greatest ease. But let us follow the scale of the causes and
effects, upon which there are twelve steps.

From ignorance comes _Sangkara_, that is to say, conception or
imagination, which mistakes for reality what is unreal, which
looks on this world as something substantial, whilst it is,
indeed, nothing but shadow and emptiness, assuming forms which
pass away as quick as the representations of theatrical
exhibitions. Sangkara, in its turn, begets _Wignian_, or
knowledge, attended with a notion of sentiment, implying that of
soul and life, in an abstract sense. From Wignian proceeds
_Namrup_, the name and form, because knowledge can have for its
object but name and form, &c., or, to speak in the language of
Buddhists, things that are external and internal. But let it be
borne in mind that what is herein meant is but the individuality
of an ideal being.

The name and form give birth to the _Chayatana_, six senses, or
seats of the sensible qualities. To our division of the five
ordinary senses Buddhists add the sixth sense of Mano, or the
heart, the internal sense. Through the senses we are put in
communication or contact with all objects; hence the six senses
give rise to the sixth cause _Pasa_, which means, properly
speaking, contact. From this cause flows the seventh one, called
_Wedana_, or sensation, or, more generally still, sensibility.
In fact, there can be no contact from which there will not
result some sensation, either pleasant or unpleasant, _Wedana_
gives infallibly rise to _Tahna_, or passion, or desire, or
inclination. From this point the series of causes and effects is
comparatively easy, because it presents conditions essentially
connected with a material object. By Tahna we ought not to
understand only the mere inclination that the sexes have one for
the other, but the general propensity created in a being by any
contact whatever, or perhaps, as usual with Buddhists, the
desire taken in an abstract sense.

The immediate result from Tahna is _Upadan_, the attachment, or
the conception. It is that state in which the desire adheres to
something, assumes a shape. It is, in fact, the being conceived.
From the state of conception the being passes into that of
_Bawa_, or existence, or that condition which is created and
made by the influence of former good or bad deeds preceding
birth, which is but the apparition of the being into this world.
_Dzati_, or birth, is the eleventh cause. It is the ushering of
a being into the world. There are six ways by which a being
comes into this world, viz., those of Nat, Man, Assura, Preitta,
animal, and the inhabitant of hell. Birth is accomplished in
four different manners, by humidity, an egg, a matrice, and
metamorphosis.

The twelfth and last step in the ladder of the causes and
effects is decrepitude and death. In fact, every being that is
born must grow old, decay, and finally die.

Such is the process followed by Buddhists in attempting to
account for all that exists. What effect could such a reasoning
have over the mind of the generality of hearers it is difficult
to say. But we may rest assured that, though these principles
existed, as an embryo, in the discourses of the author of
Buddhism, they were never laid before the generality of hearers
in that crude scholastic form. Such abstruse ideas, when
analysed and commented upon by Buddhist doctors, gave rise to
the most opposite conclusions. The materialist school based its
revolting doctrines upon that theory; we may add that the
opinions of that school are generally held in Burmah, and by the
great mass of Buddhists. Some other doctors reasoned in the
following manner: Ignorance supposes two things, a being
ignoring and a thing ignored, that is to say, man and the world.
They admitted the eternity of a soul which had to pass through
the series above enumerated. With them metempsychosis was a
process exactly similar to that imagined by the Brahmins. As to
the world, it was, to them, an unreality. Knowledge enabled them
to come to the position of understanding and believing that
there is no such thing as what we by mistake call world. The
latter opinion, which seems to admit of a principle existing
distinct from matter, is opposed to the former and general one,
which supposes that spirit is but a modification of matter. We
deliberately make use of the doubt, implying expression, at the
head of the preceding sentence, respecting the real opinions of
the latter school, because, in their way of arguing, it is
impossible not to come to the painful conclusion that they
ignore, or do not admit, a distinction between spirit and
matter.

[9] In a work different from that which has been translated is
found a more developed exposition of the four great and sublime
truths. We think that the reader will like to see in what manner
Buddhists themselves understand this important subject, which
is, with them, the foundation of their doctrine on morals.

There are four great truths: pain, the production of pain, the
destruction of pain, and the way leading to that destruction.
What is pain, which is the first of the great truths? It is
birth, old age, sickness, death, the coming in contact with what
we dislike, the separation from what we feel an attachment for,
the illusion which begets false knowledge. All that is pain.
What is the production of pain, the second sublime truth? It is
the desire which incessantly longs for an illusory satisfaction,
which can never be obtained. That desire is a perpetually
renewed craving, coveting objects here and there, and never
satiated. Such is the cause productive of pain; such is the
prolific source of all miseries. What is the destruction of
pain, which is the third great truth? It is the doing away with
that desire which always shows itself, searches after this or
that object, is always attended with feelings of pleasure, or
some other sensations. It is the perfect and entire stifling of
that craving which always covets, and is never satiated. The
estranging oneself from that desire and that craving, the
complete destruction of both, constitutes the third great truth.
What is the way leading to the destruction of that desire, which
is the fourth great truth? The way which one has to follow, in
order to obtain that most desirable result, is that which the
wise man invariably follows, when he is with an intention, will,
diligence, action, life, language, thought, and meditation,
always pure and correct.

The four truths are exceedingly praised by Buddhists. They
constitute what is emphatically called the law of the wheel,
incessantly revolving upon itself, and always presenting
successively those four points to the attentive consideration
and affectionate piety of the faithful. They are the offensive
weapons wherewith passions are attacked and destroyed: they are
the sword that cuts asunder the link that retains a being in the
circle of existences. The revelation, or manifestation of those
truths, is the great work that a Buddha has to perform. When it
is made, all beings in their respective seats rejoice in an
extraordinary manner. Inanimate nature even partakes in the
universal joy. The earth shakes with a great violence, and the
greatest prodigies proclaim aloud the fortunate manifestation of
a law which opens to all beings the way leading to deliverance.
The preaching of that doctrine took place for the first time in
the forest of Migadawon, not far from Baranathee, in the
presence and for the benefit of the five Rahans, who had
attended on Buddha, during the six years of mortification which
he spent to prepare and qualify himself for the Buddhaship.

[10] Buddhists allow to their Buddha the power of working
wonders and miracles. How is this power conferred upon him? This
is a difficulty they cannot explain satisfactorily. The science
of Buddha makes him acquainted with all the laws regulating
nature, that is to say, the _ensemble_ of the animate and
inanimate beings constituting a world; but one is at a loss to
find the origin of that power which enables him, as often as he
likes, to suspend the course of those laws. Be that as it may,
certain it is that Buddha resorted always, during the course of
his preachings, to miracles, in order to convince those who
seemed to listen with rather an incredulous ear to his
doctrines. Miracles were used successfully, as powerful and
irresistible weapons, against certain heretics, the Brahmins, in
particular, who taught doctrines opposed to his own. They often
accompanied his preachings, for increasing faith in the heart of
his hearers.

[11] The great tempter had been foiled in all his attempts to
conquer Buddha. In the sadness of his heart he was compelled to
acknowledge the superiority of his opponent and confess his
defeat. His three daughters came to console him, promising that
they would, by their united efforts, overcome the firmness of
the great Rahan, by awakening in his heart the fire of
concupiscence. The names of those three daughters of Manh denote
concupiscence. These new enemies of Buddha, therefore, are mere
personifications of the passion of lust. Pride, personified in
Manh, had proved powerless against the virtue of Buddha; he is
now assailed from a different quarter; the attack is to be
directed against the weakest side of human nature. But it is as
successless as the former one: it affords to Buddha another
occasion for a fresh triumph.

[12] In Burmah the originator of the great Buddhistic system is
called Gaudama, and this appellation, according to many, appears
to be his family name. When he is called Rahan Gaudama, it means
the ascetic belonging to the family of Gaudama. In Nepaul, the
same personage is known under the name of Thakiamuni, that is to
say, the ascetic of the Thakia family. Those who refused to
believe in Buddha and his doctrines, those who held tenets
disagreeing with his own, and professed what, in the opinion of
their adversaries, was termed a heretical creed, invariably
called Buddha by his family name, placing him on the same level
with so many of his contemporaries who led the same mode of
life. The Siamese give the appellation of Sammana Khodom to
their Buddha, that is to say, Thramana Gaudama, or Gautama. The
Sanscrit word Thramana means an ascetic who has conquered his
passions and lives on alms. Gaudama belonged to the Kchatria
caste. Kings and all royal families in those days came out of
the same caste. Hence his father Thoodaudana was king of the
country of Kapilawot, anciently a small state, north of
Goruckpore.

The young Pounha, not unlike the young man mentioned in the
gospel, had, by the preachings of Gaudama, become acquainted
with all the laws and practices relating to the general duties
and obligations incumbent on men in general. He might have
perhaps added that he had observed all those precepts from his
youth, or, at least, that he was sure now, with the additional
light he had received from his eminent teacher, to observe
faithfully all the injunctions mentioned in the course of the
lecture: but he was not satisfied with an ordinary proficiency
in virtue and observances; he aimed at superior attainments; he
wished to obtain the greatest perfection, that is to say, that
of Brahmas. In what does such a perfection consist? The book of
metaphysics informs us that the five states of Dzan, or
contemplations, are enjoyed by the beings located in the sixteen
seats of Brahmas, in the following order. The first state, or
that of consideration, is shared by all the beings inhabiting
the three first seats of Brahmas. Their occupation is to
consider the various subjects the mind has to dwell on. The
second Dzan, or reflection, is reserved for the beings occupying
the next three seats. Those beings have no more to look out for
subjects of meditation. Their sole occupation is to dive into
truth and fathom its depth and various bearings. The third state
of Dzan procures the pleasure which is derived from the
contemplation of truth, and belongs to the beings of the three
seats, superior to those just alluded to; in the fourth Dzan is
enjoyed a placid happiness, which is the result of the
possession of truth; it is reserved for the beings of the three
next seats. The fifth Dzan, or perfect stability, is the happy
lot of the beings living in the five last seats. Those fortunate
inmates are so entirely rooted in truth, and so perfectly exempt
from all that causes mutability, that they arrive at a state of
complete fixity, the whole of their soul being riveted on truth.

Apology is certainly due to the reader, who is but slightly
initiated in such abstruse subjects, for laying before him
particulars with which he is so unfamiliar; but this trouble
must be borne up by him who desires to obtain access into the
gloomy sanctuary of Buddhism.

[13] The episode of these two merchants is well known to the
inhabitants of the Irrawaddy valley. In three different
manuscripts which the writer has had in his hands, he has found
it related with almost the same particulars. Oukkalaba, the
place the two young men started from, was situated probably on
the spot now occupied by the village of Twaintay, or not far
from it. How far that place was from the sea in those remote
times it is not possible to ascertain with precision. Certain it
is, that it was a port from which vessels sailed across the Bay
of Bengal. The port of Eedzeitha has not as yet been identified
with any known locality. It was situated in all probability
between the mouth of the Krichna and that of the Hoogly. One of
the manuscripts mentions that when Gaudama handed over to the
two merchants eight hairs of his head, he bade them, on their
arrival in their country, deposit the hairs on a small hill
called Seingouttara, where the relics of the three former
Buddhas of our period had been enshrined. They were twenty-seven
days in reaching Maudin or Cape Negrais, rather a long voyage.
Having come to their own place, they related to the governor all
the particulars of their interesting journey. The latter,
without loss of time, assembled the people and set out in search
of the Seingouttara mount. All the eminences were cleared of
their brushwood, but the mount could not be discovered. Not
knowing what to do, they consulted the Nats on that affair. At
last, through their assistance, the mount was found out. But
when they inquired about the place of the relics of the three
former Buddhas, the Nats of Yesapan, Inandra, and Gauveinda
confessed that they knew nothing on the subject, but referred
the inquirers to other Nats older than they, viz.: those of
Deckina, Yauhani, Maubee, Ameisa, and Tsoolay, who at once
pointed out the spot which they were so eagerly searching after.
This spot is no other than the one over which stands and towers
the lofty and massive Shoay Dagon. They erected a Dzedy, in
which they enshrined the relics they had brought with them, the
eight hairs of Buddha. This story is doubtless the foundation on
which rests the popular belief that those very hairs are to this
day in the interior of that monument, and the true source from
which has originated the profound veneration which, in our own
days, Buddhists, from all parts of Burmah, Siam, and the Shan
states, pay by their pilgrimages and offerings to the Dagon
Pagoda.

[14] Upasaka is a Pali word which is designed to mean those
persons who, having heard the instructions of Buddha, and
professed a faith or belief in him and his doctrines, did not
enter the profession of Rahans. Hence they are quite distinct
from the Bikus or mendicants, who formed the first class of the
hearers of Buddha, and renounced the world in imitation of their
great master. The Upasakas were therefore people adhering to the
doctrines of Buddha, but as yet remaining engaged in the
ordinary pursuits of life. The two brothers became disciples of
Buddha, but not of the first class, since they did not embrace
the more perfect mode of life of the ascetics.

This is the first instance in this legend of an allusion being
made to relics, that is to say, to objects supposed to be
surrounded with a certain amount of sacredness, and esteemed on
that account to be worthy of receiving from devotees respect and
veneration. The two young converts, not as yet confirmed in the
new faith they had embraced, thought they wanted some exterior
object to which they might hereafter direct their homage and
offer their respects. They were as yet far from being acquainted
with the sublime science of their eminent teacher, who,
disregarding matter and all its modifications, could not but
feel quite indifferent respecting the pretended value of relics
of even the most sacred character. How is it that the stern
moralist, the contemner of this illusory world, could think of
giving a few hairs of his head to two new young converts, that
they might use them as objects of worship? Buddha doubtless knew
exactly and appreciated admirably the wants and necessities of
human nature as it is, and will very likely ever be to the end
of ages. Men are led, actuated, impressioned, and influenced by
the senses; in fact, it is through their senses that the
knowledge of things is conveyed to their minds. He gave to his
imperfectly instructed disciples a thing that would serve to
vivify and reanimate in their memory the remembrance of Buddha,
and of the instructions they had heard from him. Those
grossly-minded hearers asked for an object they might carry
about with them and worship. Buddha, out of deference for their
weak intellect, gave them a few hairs of his head, the sight of
which was designed to maintain in their souls a tender affection
for the person of him these things had belonged to. This subject
will receive hereafter the further treatment it deserves when we
come to examine the nature of the worship paid by Buddhists to
the images of Gaudama, and to the relics and Dzedis.