Chapter V (5)

In the foregoing pages we have first given a sketch of the life of the founder of Buddhism, and in the accompanying notes endeavoured to explain the more important particulars respecting the extraordinary religious system he has established. Subsequently, in the way to Neibban, we have laid down, in as few words as possible, the great metaphysical principles upon which is raised the great structure of Buddhism, and pointed out the way leading to the pretended perfection, or rather the end of perfection, Neibban. It seems to be necessary to devote a particular notice to the religious Order which forms the most striking feature of that religion, which has extended its sway over so many nations. The association of devotees holds the first rank among the followers of Buddha; it comprises the _élite_ of that immense body. The system of discipline to which the Buddhist religious are subjected, is the highest practical illustration of the doctrines and practices of Buddhism. We may see reflected in that corporation the greatest results that the working of these religious institutions can ever produce. All that Buddha, in his efforts, has been able to devise as most fit to lead man to the perfection, such as he understood it, will be found in the constitutions of that order. It is a living mirror in which we may contemplate the masterpiece of his creation. The Buddhist religious constitute the thanga, or assembly of the perfect, that is to say, of the disciples who have left the world, conformed their life to that of their teacher, and striven to acquire the science that will qualify them for entering into the way leading to perfection. They are the strict followers of Buddha, who, like him, have renounced the world, to devote themselves to the two-fold object of mastering their passions and acquiring the true wisdom which alone can lead to the deliverance.

The best method for obtaining correct information respecting the Buddhist religious is not, it seems, to consider their order from an abstract point of view, but rather in connection with the religion it has sprung from, as affording a perfect exemplification of its highest practices, maxims, and tendencies, as well as of the real nature and true spirit of that creed.

Buddhism is evidently an off-shoot of Brahminism. We find it replete with principles, practices, observances, and dogmas belonging to the great Hindu system. Gaudama, being himself a Hindu, reared in a Hindu society, trained up in the Hindu schools of philosophy, could not but imbibe, to a great extent, the opinions and observances of his contemporaries. He dissented from them, it is true, in many important points, but in the generality of his teachings he seems to have agreed with them. He found existing in his times a body of religious and philosophers, whose mode of life was peculiar and quite distinct from that of the people. When he laid the plan for the religious institution he contemplated to establish, he found around him most of the elements he required for that work. He had but to improve on what he saw existing, and make his new order agree with the religious tenets he innovated.

In the hope of tracing up the ties of relationship that must have existed between the religious of the Brahminical order, and those of the Buddhist one, the writer will begin this notice with establishing a short parallel between the former, such as they are described in the Institutes of Menoo, and the institution of the latter, such as it is explained in the Wini, or Book of discipline. Afterwards the nature of the Buddhist order and the object its members have in view in embracing it will be examined; next to that, the constituent parts of that body and its hierarchy shall receive a due share of attention. We will describe at the same time the ceremonies observed on the solemn occasion of admitting individuals into the religious society, and expound briefly the rules that direct and regulate the whole life of a professed member as long as he remains in the brotherhood. It will not be found amiss to inquire into the cause and nature of the great religious influence undoubtedly possessed by the members of the order, and examine the motives that induce the votaries of Buddhism to show the greatest respect and give unfeigned marks of the deepest veneration to the Talapoins or Phongyies. This will be concluded with a short account of the low and degraded state into which the society has fallen in these parts, particularly in what has reference to knowledge and information.

ARTICLE I.

A SHORT PARALLEL BETWEEN THE BRAHMINICAL AND THE BUDDHISTIC RELIGIOUS ORDERS.

It has been stated, on apparently incontrovertible grounds, in the foregoing pages, that Buddhism has originated to a considerable extent from Brahminism. The following remarks will corroborate the statement, and give an additional weight to the reasons already brought forward. In fact, both systems have the same objects in view, viz., the disentangling of the soul from passions and the influence of the material world, and its perfect liberation from metempsychosis and the action of matter. The final end to be arrived at is, however, widely different. The perfected Brahmin longs for his absorption in the infinite being; the perfect Buddhist thirsts after a state of complete isolation, which is nothing short of total annihilation. But the means for obtaining the ardently coveted perfection are in many respects the same. The moral observances enforced by both creeds differ so little from each other that they appear to be almost identical. In both systems, moreover, we find a body of individuals who aim at a complete and perfect observance of the highest injunctions, striving to reach the very summit of that perfection pointed out by the founders of their respective institutions: these are the Brahminical and Buddhist religious. To glance over the regulations enjoined on the Brahmins, such as we find them in the Institutes of Menoo, and those prescribed by the Wini to the Talapoins, cannot fail to be truly interesting. A summary comparison will enable the reader to perceive at once how closely allied are the two creeds, and how great is the resemblance between them both. He will see on the clearest evidence that to Buddha is not to be ascribed the merit of having originated so many fine moral precepts and admirable disciplinary regulations, but that he found in his own country, in the schools where he studied wisdom, already well-known, pure moral precepts, actually discussed, studied, and by many strictly observed, together with the disciplinary regulations. He was brought up in a society which beheld with astonishment and admiration a body of religious men entirely devoted to the great work of securing the triumph of the spiritual principle over the material one, and endeavouring by dint of the greatest and severest austerities, the most rigorous penances, and the most entire renouncing of all this material world, to break down the material barriers that had hitherto kept the soul captive, and prevented her from taking her flight into regions of blissful freedom and perfect quiescence. There is, however, a remarkable difference between the sacerdotal caste of Brahmins and the members of the Buddhist monkish institution. The position of the former is hereditary; he is rendered illustrious by his lineage and descent. That of the second is personal, and ends with him; it is the result of his own free choice; he derives all the glory that shines round him from his virtuous life and a strict adherence to the institutions of the Wini. The Brahmin owes everything to religion and to birth. The Buddhist religious is indebted for all that he is solely to religion; the monk’s title to distinction is the holy mode of the saintly life that he has embraced. Both are the greatest and most distinguished in their respective societies; but merit and intrinsic worth alone elicit veneration and respect in behalf of the humble religious, whilst the casual birth of the Brahmin from individuals belonging to the highest caste centres upon his person the reluctant homage of men belonging to inferior castes, who, in virtue of the prejudices in which they are reared, consider themselves obliged to do homage to him. The person of both is sacred and looked upon with awe and veneration, but from somewhat opposite and different motives.

Notwithstanding these and many other differences and discrepancies, it is not the less striking to find in the Brahminical body, such as it is constituted by the regulations of the Vedas, the germ of all the principal observances enjoined on the Buddhist that leaves the world, to follow the path leading to perfection.

The life of a Brahmin, not as it is now, but as it originally was, and now ought to be, if the regulations of the Vedas had not been partly set aside, is one of laborious study, austerity, self-denial, and retirement. The first quarter of his life is spent in the capacity of student. His great and sole object is the study of the Vedas, and the mastering of their contents. Worldly studies are not to be thought of. He is entirely under the control of his preceptor, to whom he has to yield obedience, respect, and service in all that relates to his daily wants. He must, moreover, daily beg his food from door to door. The Buddhist novice likewise withdraws from his family, enters the monastery, lives under the discipline of the head of the house, whom he obeys and serves in his daily necessities, and devotes all his undivided attention to the study of religious books. He pays no regard to worldly knowledge. He has likewise to go out every morning to beg the food that he will use during the day.

The second quarter of the Brahmin’s life is thus employed. He marries and lives with his family, but he must consider his chief employment to be the teaching of the Vedas and a zealous discharge of the religious observances and of all that relates to public worship. He must sedulously abstain from too sensual and worldly enjoyments, even from music, dancing, and other amusements calculated to lead to dissipation. The Buddhist monkish institution being not hereditary, and its continuance and development having not to depend upon generation, its members are bound to a strict celibacy, and to an absolute and entire abstinence from all sensual and worldly enjoyments inconsistent with gravity, self-recollection, and self-denial. Their chief occupation is teaching to children the rudiments of reading and writing, that they might read religious books, which are the only ones used in schools. He must pay a strict regard to devotional practices, and take care that the religious observances and ceremonies be regularly attended to in his monastery.

The third quarter of his life is spent by the Brahmin in solitude as an anchorite. He dwells in the forests, where he must procure what is necessary for food and raiment. The latter article is looked after when he thinks it to be a requisite to cover his nakedness. With many of them fanaticism has so far prevailed over reason and the sense of decency that they live in a state of disgusting nakedness. The roots of plants, the fruits and leaves of wild trees, will supply the needful for the support of nature. That time too must be devoted to the infliction of the severest penances and to the practice of the hardest deeds of mortification. To the Buddhist monk solitude and retirement must ever be dear. Ascetic life is much recommended, and praised as most excellent. It was formerly much in use among religious Buddhists. In Burmah several places are pointed out with respect as having been sanctified by the residence of holy anchorites. Now in our days a few zealots, to bear, as it were, witness to this ancient observance, retire into solitude during a portion of the three months of Lent. The spirit of mortification and self-renouncing is eminently Buddhist; but from the very days of Gaudama we remark a positive tendency on the part of his religious to give up and renounce those unnatural and ultra-rigorous penances regularly observed by their brethren of the opposite creed. The principle is cherished by them, but the mode of carrying it into practice is more mild, and more consonant with reason and modesty.

The last portion of the Brahmin’s life is devoted likewise to meditation and contemplation. He is no more subjected to the ordeal of rigorous penances; nature has been subdued; passions silenced and destroyed; the soul has obtained the mastery over the body and the material world. She is free from all the trammels and obstacles that impeded her contemplation of truth. She is ready to quit this world, as the bird leaves the branch of the tree when it pleases him. The Buddhist religious, having likewise crushed his passions and disentangled his soul from affection to matter, delights only in the contemplation of truth. As the mighty whale sports in the bosom of the boundless ocean, so the perfected Buddhist launches forth into abstract and infinite truth, delights in it, completely estranged from this world, which meditation has taught him to consider as a mere illusion, as destitute of reality. He is then ripe for the so ardently coveted state of Neibban.

When Buddha originated the plan of a society of religious, and framed the regulations whereby it was to be governed, he had but to look around him for patterns of a religious life. The country where he had been born, the society in which he had been brought up, swarmed with religious following the different systems of philosophy prevailing in those days. He saw them, conversed with them, and for some time lived in their company under the same disciplinary institutions. He was, therefore, thoroughly conversant with all that in his days constituted a religious life. But the same bold and enterprising spirit which made him dissent from his masters and contemporaries on many important questions of morals and metaphysics, and induced him to improve, as he thought, and perfect theories in speculative and practical philosophy, impelled him also to do something similar respecting the disciplinary regulations to which his religious were to be hereafter subjected. We freely confess that on this latter point he was eminently successful. The body of Buddhist religious is infinitely superior in most respects to the other societies of Indian religious. The regulations of the former breathe a spirit of modesty, mildness, and unaffectation, which in a striking manner contrasts with those disgusting exhibitions of self-inflicted penances so fondly courted by Brahmins, where immodesty seems to dispute the palm with cruelty. Buddha opened the door of his society to all men without any distinction or exception, implicitly pulling down the barriers raised by the prejudices of caste. Did he in the beginning of his public career lay down the plan of destroying all vestiges of caste, and proclaiming the principle of equality amongst men? It is, to say the least, very doubtful. The equalising principle itself was never distinctly mentioned in his discourses. But he had sown all the elements constitutive of that principle in his instructions. Every member put on the religious dress of his own free choice, and set it aside at his pleasure; no hereditary right, therefore, could be thought of; the dying religious could bequeath to his brethren but the example of his virtues. His complete separation from the world had broken all the ties of relationship. The double vow of strict poverty and of celibacy, cutting the root of cupidity and sensual enjoyments, precluded him from aiming at the influence and power which is conferred by wealth and rank. With the Brahminical religious the case is the very reverse. His sacerdotal caste, exclusive of his personal merits, confers on him an almost divine sacredness, which is to be propagated by generation. He may possess riches and have a numerous posterity. He is, therefore, almost irresistibly impelled to seize on a power which is forced on him by the treble influence of birth, religion, and wealth.

The subject of the comparison between the two societies of religious might receive further developments, but what has been briefly stated appears sufficient to bear out the point it was intended to establish, viz., the close resemblance subsisting between the two religious orders in both systems, and the necessary inference that the order of Buddhist religious is an improvement on the orders of religious subsisting in India in the days of Gaudama.

There is another characteristic of the religious order of Buddhists which has favourably operated in its behalf, and powerfully contributed to maintain it for so many centuries in so compact and solid a body that it seems to bid defiance to the destructive action of revolutions. We allude to its regularly constituted hierarchy, which is as perfect as it can be expected, particularly in Burmah and Siam. The power and influence of him whom we may call the general of the order in Burmah, and who is known under the appellation of Tha-thana-paing, when, as was very often the case, backed by the temporal power, was felt throughout the whole country, and much contributed to maintain good order and discipline in the great body of religious. The action of the provincial or superior of the religious houses of a province is more directly and immediately felt by all the subordinates. It does not appear that the religious of the Hindu schools, at least in our days, possess such an advantage that they may well envy their brethren of the Buddhist sect. The members of the Brahminical body are not kept together by the power and government of superiors, but by regulations that are so deeply rooted and firmly seated in the mind of individuals that they are faithfully observed. The superiority of caste, connected too with a certain amount of spiritual pride, has been hitherto sufficient to maintain that body distinct and separate from all that is without itself. The religious spirit that pervades that body in our days seems to have abated from its original fervour and energy. The Brahmin has maintained with the utmost jealousy the superiority that caste confers upon him, but appears not to have been so particular in keeping up the genuine spiritual supremacy, which a strict adherence to the prescriptions of the Vedas must have ever firmly secured to him.

ARTICLE II.

NATURE OF THE RELIGIOUS ORDER OF PHONGYIES.

He who has not seriously studied the religious system of Buddhism, nor acquired accurate notions of its doctrinal principles, is scarcely capable of forming a correct opinion of the religious order of those austere recluses, whom Europeans, with a mind biassed by educational influence, denominate priests of Buddha. Were we to apply to the members of that order the notions generally entertained of a priesthood, we would form a very erroneous conception of the real character of their institution. For in every religious system admitting of one or several beings superior to man, whose providential action influences his destinies either in this or the next world, persons invested with a sacerdotal character have always been considered as mediators between men and the acknowledged deity, offering to the supreme being on all public occasions the prayers and sacrifices of the people, and soliciting in return his gracious protection. When in the early ages of the world the sacerdotal dignity was coupled with the patriarchal or regal ones, when in the succeeding ages there existed a regular and distinct priesthood, such as subsisted under the Mosaic dispensation, or among the Greeks, Romans, Gauls, &c., the priests were looked upon as delegates of the people in all that related to national worship, carrying on in the name of the Deity the mysterious intercourse that links heaven to earth. Priesthood, therefore, necessarily implies the belief in a being superior to man and controlling his destinies. The moment such a belief is disregarded, the very idea of priesthood vanishes. Buddhism, such at least as it is found existing in Ceylon, Burmah, Siam, and other places, is a purely atheistical religious system, and presents the solitary instance, at least as far as my information goes, of a religious creed, admitted by various nations, the doctrines of which are not based upon the notion of a supreme being controlling more or less the affairs of this world. In support of an assertion that may appear to many somewhat hazardous, we will briefly lay down the leading tenets of the Buddhistic doctrine.

According to that system, matter is eternal. The existence of a world, its duration, destruction, and reproduction, all the various combinations and modifications matter is liable to, are the immediate results of the action of eternal and self-existing laws. Through life man is subjected to the continual but successive influences of his good and bad deeds. This double influence always attends him through his numberless existences, and inevitably awards him happiness or misfortune, according as the respective sum of good or evil predominates. There exists an eternal law, which, when obliterated from the memory of men, can be known again, and, as it were, recovered only and thoroughly understood by the incomparable genius and matchless wisdom of certain extraordinary personages, called Buddhas, who appear successively and at intervals during the various series or successions of worlds. These Buddhas announce that law to all the then existing rational beings. The great object of that doctrine is to point out to those beings the means of freeing themselves from the influence of passions, and becoming abstracted from all that exists. Being thereby delivered from the action of good or evil influence, which causes mortals to turn incessantly in the whirlpool of never-ending existences, men can obtain the state of Neibban, or rest, that is to say, according to the popular opinion, a situation wherein the soul, disentangled from all that exists, alone with herself, indifferent to pain as well as to pleasure, folded, as it were, upon herself, remains for ever in an incomprehensible state of complete abstraction and absolute rest. I say that such is the popular opinion, fortunately unbiassed by scholastic theories. But the opinion of the Buddhist doctors respecting Neibban is that it means the negation of all states of being; that is to say, a desolating and horrifying annihilation. A Buddha is a being who, during myriads of existences, slowly and gradually gravitates towards this centre of an imaginary perfection by the practice of the highest virtues. Having attained thereto, he becomes on a sudden gifted with a boundless genius, wherewith he at once discovers the wretched state of beings and the means of delivering them from it. He thoroughly understands the eternal law which alone can lead mortals in the right way, and enable them to come out of the circle of existences, wherein they have been unceasingly turning and moving in a state of perpetual agitation, opposite to that of fixity or rest. He preaches that law whereby man is taught the practice of those virtues which destroy gradually in him all evil influences, together with every affection for all that exists, and brings him at last to the end of existence, the possession of Neibban. His task fulfilled, Buddha dies, or rather, to use the language of Buddhists, he enters into the state Neibban. In that situation, which is truly inexplicable, he knows nothing of and enters no wise into the affairs of this world. He is as if he was not or had never been. He is indeed annihilated.

Buddhists venerate three precious things—Buddha, his law, and the assembly of the just or perfect—in the same sense as we venerate and admire what is morally good and beautiful, such as virtue considered abstractedly, and the acts originating from it. The statues of the last Buddha Gaudama are honoured by his followers, not with the idea that certain powers or virtues are inherent in them, but solely because they are the visible representations of Buddha, who, according to Buddhists, desired that the same honours should be paid to them as would be offered to his person, were he yet living among them. This faint outline of the Buddhistic creed is sufficient to bear out the above assertion, that it is in no wise based on the belief in a supreme being, but that it is strictly atheistical, and therefore that no real priesthood can ever be found existing under such a system. It may prove, too, of some assistance for better understanding what is to be said regarding the subjects of this notice.

The Talapoins are called by the Burmese Phongyies, which term means great glory: or Rahans, which means perfect. They are known in Ceylon, Siam, Thibet, under different names, conveying nearly the same meaning and expressing either the nature or the object of their profession.

What induces a follower of Buddha to embrace the Talapoinic state? What is the object of his pursuit in entering on such a peculiar and extraordinary course of life? The answer to these questions will supply us with accurate notions of the real nature of this singular order of devotees. A Buddhist on becoming a member of the holy society proposes to keep the law of Buddha in a more perfect manner than his other co-religionists. He intends to observe not only its general ordinances obligatory on every individual, but also its prescriptions of a higher excellency, leading to an uncommon sanctity and perfection, which can be the lot of but a comparatively small number of fervent and resolute persons. He aims at weakening within himself all the evil propensities that give origin and strength to the principle of demerits. By the practice and observance of the highest and sublimest precepts and counsels of the law, he establishes, confirms, and consolidates in his own soul the principle of merits, which is to work upon him during the various existences he has as yet to go through, and gradually lead him to that perfection which will qualify him for and entitle him to the state of Neibban, the object of the ardent desires and earnest pursuit of every true and genuine disciple of Buddha. The life of the last Buddha Gaudama, his doctrines as well as his examples, he proposes to copy with a scrupulous fidelity and to follow with unremitting ardour. Such is the great model that he proposes to himself for imitation. Gaudama withdrew from the world, renounced its seducing pleasures and dazzling vanities, curbed his passions under the yoke of restraint, and strove to practise the highest virtues, particularly self-denial, in order to arrive at a state of complete indifference to all that is within or without self; which is, as it were, the threshold of Neibban.

The Talapoin, fixing his regards on that matchless pattern of perfection, would fain reproduce, as far as it lies in his power, all its features in his own person. Like Buddha himself, he parts with his family, relatives, and friends, and seeks for admission into the society of the perfect; he abandons and leaves his home, to enter into the asylum of peace and retirement; he forsakes the riches of this world to practise the strictest poverty; he renounces the pleasures of this world, even the lawful ones, to live according to the rules of the severest abstinence and purest chastity; he exchanges his secular dress for that of the new profession he enters on; he gives up his own will, and fetters his own liberty, to attend, through every act and all the particulars of life, to the regulations of the brotherhood. He is a Talapoin for himself and for his own benefit, to acquire merits which he shares with nobody else. On the occasion of certain offerings or alms being presented to him by some benevolent admirers of his holy mode of life, he will repay his benefactors by repeating to them certain precepts, commands, and points of the law; but he is not bound by his professional character to expound the law to the people. Separated from the world by his dress and his peculiar way of living, he remains a stranger to all that takes place without the walls of his monastery. He is not charged with the care of souls, and therefore never presumes to rebuke any one that trespasses the law, or to censure the conduct of the profligate.

The ceremonies of the Buddhistic worship are simple and few. The Talapoin is not considered as a minister whose presence is an essential requisite when they are to be performed. Pagodas are erected, statues of Buddha are inaugurated, offerings of flowers, tapers, and small ornaments are made, particularly on the days of the new and full moon, but on all those solemn occasions the interference of the Phongyie is in no way considered as necessary, so that the whole worship exists independently of him. He is not to be seen on the particular occasions of births and marriages. He is, it is true, occasionally asked to attend funerals; but he then acts, not as a minister performing a ceremony, but as a private person. He is present for the sake of receiving alms that are profusely bestowed upon him by the relatives of the defunct.

The Buddhists have three months of the year, from the full moon of July to the full moon of October, particularly devoted to a stricter observance of the practices and ceremonies of the law. Crowds of people of both sexes resort to the pagodas, and often spend whole nights in the buildings erected close to those places. The most fervent among them fast and abstain from profane amusements during that period; they devote more time to the reading of their sacred books and the repetition of certain formulas calculated to remind them of certain important truths, or intended to praise the last Buddha Gaudama and the law he has published. Alms pour more abundantly into the peaceable dwellings of the pious recluses. During all the time the Talapoin quietly remains in his place, without altering his mode of life, or deviating in the least from his never-changing usages and ordinary habits. By the rules of his profession he is directed to pay, during that time, a particular regard to religious observances, to join his brethren from time to time in the recital of certain formulas, and in the reading of the book embodying the regulations of the profession. He enjoys, as usual, the good things which his liberal co-religionists take pleasure in proffering to him. On two occasions the writer has seen, and on many has heard of Talapoins withdrawing during the three months of Lent to some lonely place, living alone in small huts, shunning the company of men, and leading an eremitical life, to remain at liberty to devote all their time to meditations on the most excellent points of the law of Buddha, combating their passions, and enjoying in that retired situation a foretaste of the never-troubled rest of Neibban.

In many respects the Talapoinic institutions may be likened to those of some religious orders that appeared successively in almost every Christian country previous to the era of the Reformation, and that are, up to this day, to be met with amidst the Churches of the Latin and Greek rites. Like the monk, the Talapoin bids a farewell to the world, wears a particular dress, leads a life of community, abstracts himself from all that gives strength to his passions, by embracing a state of voluntary poverty and absolute renunciation of all sensual gratifications. He aims at obtaining, by a stricter observance of the law’s most sublime precepts, an uncommon degree of sanctity and perfection. All his time is regulated by the rules of his profession, and devoted to repeating certain formulas of prayers, reading the sacred scriptures, begging alms for his support, &c.

These features of exterior resemblance, common to institutions of creeds so opposite to each other, have induced several writers, little favourable to Christianity, to pronounce without further inquiry that Catholicism has borrowed from Buddhism many ceremonies, institutions, and disciplinary regulations. Some of them have gone so far as to pretend to find in it the very origin of Christianity. They have, however, been ably confuted by Abel Remusat, in his _Memoir_ entitled “Chronological Researches into the Lamaic Hierarchy of Thibet.” Without entertaining in the least the presumptuous idea of entering into a controversy entirely foreign to his purpose, the writer will confine himself to making one or two remarks calculated to show that the first conclusion is, to say the least of it, a premature one. When in two religious creeds, entirely opposed to each other in their ultimate object, there are several minor objects equally set forth by both, it will necessarily happen that, in many instances, means nearly similar will be prescribed on both sides for effectually obtaining them, independent of any previously concerted plan or imitation. The Christian system and the Buddhistic one, though differing from each other in their respective objects and ends, as much as truth from error, have, it must be confessed, many striking features of an astonishing resemblance. There are many moral precepts equally commanded and enforced in common by both creeds. It will not be deemed rash to assert that most of the moral truths prescribed by the Gospel are to be met with in the Buddhistic scriptures. The essential, vital, and capital discrepancy lies in the difference of the ends to which the two creeds lead, but not in the variance of the means they prescribe for the attainment of them. The Gospel tends to reunite man to his Maker, points out to him the way he must follow for arriving at the possession and enjoyment of Him who is the great principle and end of all things, and teaches him, as a paramount duty, to conform his will and inclinations to His commands. Buddhism tends to abstract man from all that is without self, and makes self his own and sole centre. It exhorts him to the practice of many eminent virtues, which are to help him to rise to an imaginary perfection, the summit of which is the incomprehensible state of Neibban. It is the mildest expression which the writer can command when he has to speak of so sad a subject, the final end of a Buddhist. It would be more correct to say at once that the pretended perfect being is led, by the principles of his creed, into the dark and fathomless abyss of annihilation.

If the end aimed at by the followers of Buddha is widely different from that which the disciples of Christ strive to obtain, the means prescribed for the attainment of these two ends are, in many respects, very much similar to each other. Both creeds teach man to combat, control, and master the passions of his heart, to make reason predominate over sense, mind over matter, to root up from his heart every affection for the things of this world, and to practise the virtues required for the attainment of these great objects. Is there anything surprising that persons, having, in many respects, views nearly similar, resort to means or expedients nearly alike for securing the object of their pursuit, without having ever seen or consulted each other? He who intends to practise absolute poverty must of course abandon all his earthly property. He who proposes renouncing the world ought to withdraw from it. He who will lead a contemplative life must look out for a retired place, far from the gaze and agitation of the world. To control passions, and particularly the fiercest of all, the sensual appetite, it is required that one should keep himself separate from all that is calculated to kindle its fires and feed its violence. Every profession has its distinctive marks and peculiar characteristics. Hence peculiarity of dress, manners, and habits in those who have adopted a mode of life differing from that of the rest of the community. He who has bound himself to the daily recitation of certain prayers or devotional formulas a certain number of times will have recourse to some instrument, or devise some means for ascertaining the number of times he has complied with his regulation in this respect. He, too, who is eager to acquire self-knowledge and to carry on a successful war with himself will apply to a guide to whom he will lay open his whole soul, and ask spiritual advice that will enable him to overcome the obstacles he meets on his way to perfection.

These and many other points are common to all those that intend to observe not only the precepts but also the mere counsels of their respective creeds. Causes being the same, in many instances, in both systems, consequences almost analogous must inevitably result therefrom. Religious institutions always bear the stamp of the religious ideas that have given rise to them. They, together with their rules and regulations, are not the principle, but the immediate consequence or offspring of religion, such as it is understood by the people professing it. They exemplify and illustrate religious notions already entertained, but they never create such as are not yet in existence. When the learned shall have collected sufficient materials for giving an accurate history of the origin, progress, spread, and dogmatical revolutions of Buddhism, it will not be uninteresting to inquire into the causes that have operated in communicating to two religious systems essentially differing in their respective tendencies so many points of resemblance. But that study is yet to be made. We know very little on all those points. The best informed are compelled to acknowledge that in the present state of information we are still in the dark, the thickness of which is occasionally relieved by a few transient and uncertain glimpses which are insufficient to enlighten the mind, and enable the searcher after truth to guide safely his steps. In reading the particulars of the life of the last Buddha Gaudama, it is impossible not to feel reminded of many circumstances relating to our Saviour’s life, such as it has been sketched out by the evangelists. The origin of the close affinity between many doctrinal points and maxims common both to Christianity and Buddhism having been ascertained, it will not be difficult to find out and explain how the votaries of both have come to adopt so many practices, ceremonies, observances, and institutions nearly similar.

Having endeavoured to explain the nature of the institution of the Talapoins, and the object aimed at by its professed members, we will now proceed to examine its systematical organisation, or sacred hierarchy.

ARTICLE III.

HIERARCHY OF THE ORDER.

It is somewhat surprising to find in the middle of half-civilised nations, such as the Burmese, Siamese, Cingalese, and Thibetans, a religious order, with a distinct and well-marked hierarchy, constitutions and regulations, providing for the admission of members, determining their occupations, duties, obligations, and their mode of life, and forming, as it were, a compact, solid, and perfect body, that has subsisted, almost without change, during several centuries, and survived the destruction of kingdoms, the fall of royal dynasties, and all the confusion and agitation produced by political commotions and revolutions. It is in Thibet that the order is found existing in the greatest perfection, under the fostering care of the Grand Lama, or High Priest, who combines in his own person the regal as well as the sacerdotal dignity and power. In the city of Lassa, a pontifical court, an elective sacerdotal chief, and a college of superior Lamas impart to the order dignity, decency, respectability, and stability, which insure its continued existence, and more or less extend its influence over its members living in distant countries. The period of the introduction of Buddhism from India into Thibet is very uncertain, if not quite unknown. Buddhist annals mention that after the holding of the third council, 236 years after Gaudama’s death, some missionaries were deputed by the president of that assembly to go and preach religion in some parts of the Himalayan range. We may suppose that this had reference to the southern slopes of the mountains. Be that as it may, it appears certain that the establishment of a pontifical chief or sovereign, with royal prerogatives, was set up by one of the grandsons of the great Tartar warrior Gengis in or about the middle of the thirteenth century. In other countries, where the order has no connection whatever with the civil power, we can scarcely expect to see it surrounded with an equal splendour, or subsisting in the same state of splendour and regularity. Though this is the case in Burmah, it is impossible not to acknowledge the fact that the regulations of the Wini are more carefully attended to in this country than in Thibet. The conduct of the monks here is incomparably more regular. The public could not bear an open dereliction of the duties imposed by the vows of poverty and chastity. But, if credit be given to the narratives of travellers, the Thibetan monks do not scruple to forsake occasionally those duties, without appearing to fear the rising of a popular cry of indignation, on account of their misbehaviour in points considered of such vast importance. Extraordinary, indeed, would be its vital energies, were the remotest parts of this great and far-spread body to receive the same impulse and exhibit the same symptoms of vitality as those nearest to the heart or principle of life. Having never met with any detailed particulars regarding the Thibetan monks, we must remain satisfied with laying before the reader an account of all that relates to the constituent parts of the order, such as they are found existing in Burmah and developed in the sacred writings.

The whole fraternity is composed, 1st, of young men who have put on the Talapoinic dress without being considered professed members of the fraternity, or having hitherto passed through a certain ordeal somewhat resembling an ordinary; they are called _Shyins_; 2d, of those who, having lived for a while in the community in a probationary state, are admitted professed members with the ceremonies usually observed on such occasions, whereby the title and character of Phongyie are solemnly conferred; they are denominated _Patzins_; 3d, of the heads of each house or community, who have the power to control all the inmates of the house; 4th, of a provincial, whose jurisdiction extends over all the communities spread in the towns and villages of the province or district; 5th, of a superior general, residing in the capital or its suburbs, called _Tsaia-dau_, or great master, having the general management and direction of all the affairs of the order throughout the empire. He is emphatically called by the name of Tha-thana-paing, which means that he has the power over religion. Let us say something upon each of these five degrees of the Buddhistic hierarchy.

It is an almost universal custom among the Burmese and Siamese to cause boys who have attained the age of puberty, or even before that time, to enter for a year or two one of the many Talapoinic houses, to put on the yellow dress, for the double purpose of learning to read and write, and of acquiring merits for future existences. On the occasion of the death of certain persons, it happens sometimes that a member of the family will enter the community for six months or a year. When a young lad is to make his first entrance into a house of the order, he is led thereto, riding on a richly caparisoned pony, or sitting in a fine palanquin carried on the shoulders of four or more men. He is allowed to use one or several gold umbrellas, which are held opened over his head. During the triumphal march he is preceded by a long line of men and women, attired in their richest dresses, carrying a large quantity of presents destined for the use of the inmates of the _Kiaong_ (such is the general name given to all the houses of the brotherhood in Burmah) which the young postulant is to reside in. In this stately order the procession, attended with a band playing on various musical instruments, moves on slowly and circuitously through the principal streets of the town towards the monastery that has been fixed upon. This display of an ostentatious pomp is, on the part of the parents and relatives, an honour paid to the postulant who generously consecrates himself to so exalted a calling, and on the part of the youth a last farewell to worldly vanities. He has no sooner descended from his splendid conveyance and crossed the threshold of the kiaong than he is delivered by his parents into the hands of the superior, and placed under his care. His head is instantly shaved; he is stripped of his fine secular dress, and habited in the plain and humble yellow garb; he must lay aside every sort of ornament, and remain contented with the unassuming simplicity becoming his new position. The kiaong is to become his home, and its inmates are substituted in the room of his father and mother, brothers and sisters.

The duty of the young shyin is to minister to the wants of the elders of the house, to bring and place before them at fixed times the usual supply of water, the betel-box, and the daily food; to attend them on some pious errand through the town or the country. A portion of his time is devoted to acquiring the art of reading and writing, and occasionally the elements of arithmetic. There are five general precepts obligatory on all men; but the shyin is bound to the observance of five additional ones, making ten altogether, by which he is forbidden—1st, to kill animals; 2d, to steal; 3d, to give himself up to carnal pleasures; 4th, to tell lies; 5th, to drink wine or other intoxicating liquors; 6th, to eat after mid-day; 7th, to dance, sing, or play on any musical instrument; 8th, to colour his face; 9th, to stand on elevated places, not proper for him; 10th, to touch or handle gold or silver.[54] The trespassing of the five first precepts is visited with expulsion from the kiaong; but that of the five last may be expiated by a proper penance.

The young shyins, as before observed, do not remain in the kiaong beyond the period of one or two years; they generally leave it and return to a secular life. There are, however, some of them, who, fond of the easy and quiet life of Talapoins, or actuated by other motives, prefer remaining longer in those places of retirement. They betake themselves to the study of the duties, rules, and obligations of the professed members of the society; they pay more attention to the reading of religious books, and endeavour to obtain the required qualifications. Being sufficiently instructed on all these points, and having attained the age of twenty years, they are solemnly admitted among the professed members of the brotherhood under the name of Patzin. The interesting ceremonies observed on the occasion will hereafter be fully described. The state of Patzin is, therefore, properly speaking, that of Phongyie, though that name is sometimes reserved for him who is the head of a monastery. Every other step or promotion in the hierarchy is purely honorary, in so far that it does not impose upon him who is so promoted any new duty or obligation different from what is obligatory on every professed member; but it confers a power or jurisdiction for commanding, controlling, and governing all the brethren under his care. In virtue of such distinctions, a superior, how high soever his rank may be, is bound to the observance of the same rules, duties, and obligations as the last Patzin; his sacred character is not enlarged or altered; he is only entrusted with a certain amount of jurisdiction over some of his brethren.

The Talapoin is bound to his community, so that in every kiaong or house of the order there are ordinarily to be met several Patzins and a good number of shyins. Each kiaong has a chief who presides over the community, under the appellation of Tsaya, or, as is more often the case, under that of Phongyie. He is, in most instances, the nominee of the individual who has built the monastery, and who is vested with a kind of right of patronage to appoint whom he likes to be the head of the house he has erected. He who is the head of the house has power over all the inmates, and every one acknowledges him as his immediate superior. He has the management of all the little affairs of the community, enforces the regular observance of the rules and duties of the profession, corrects abuses, rebukes the trespassers, spurs the lazy, excites the lukewarm, keeps peace and maintains good understanding amongst his subordinates. He receives, in his official character, the pious visitors who resort to his monastery, either for the sake of making voluntary offerings in token of their respect for and admiration of his eminent sanctity, or for conversing with him on some religious subjects, which, let it be said quietly, out of deference to human frailty, sometimes make room for those of a worldly character. If the alms-givers or advice-seekers belong, as often happens, to the fair and devout sex, they must remain at a distance of six or twelve cubits, as the place may allow, from their pious adviser. It is supposed that a nearer proximity might endanger the virtue of the holy recluse.

In every town a considerable number of kiaongs are found, either in the suburbs or within the walls, in a quarter reserved for the purpose. In every village the kiaong is to be met with, as the parson’s house in our villages of Europe. The poorest place is not without a small and often very humble house for the Phongyie who resides there, if not during the whole year, at least during the rainy season. One or several dzedis, a sort of flagstaff painted, and with some of its parts gilt, bearing the emblem of the sacred bird henza, or Brahminical duck, at three-fourths of its height, from which hang down gracefully several streamers, amid a grove of fruit trees, indicate to the traveller the habitation—sometimes humble, sometimes stately—with its superposed three roofs, where the Rahans dwell. The kiaong is also a place where the traveller is well received, and can stay for a day or two. During the dry season, when there are few boys remaining with the Phongyies, it is a place much safer than the dzeats. The inmates are generally very glad to receive strangers, who by their conversation afford them some moments of pleasant diversion which relieve the habitual monotony of their life. These various communities are placed under the jurisdiction of a general superior, or a provincial named Tsaia-dau, or great master; they form, under his authority, a province of the order; a division much similar to that of several religious orders in Europe. He enjoys a large share of public respect and veneration. His kiaong outshines the others in splendour and decorations. The first and wealthiest inhabitants of the place are proud to call themselves his disciples and supporters, and to supply him liberally with all that he may require. His chief duty is to settle disputes that not unfrequently arise between rival communities. The demon of discord often haunts these abodes of peace and retirement. The authority of the provincial interferes to put down feuds and contentions, which envy and jealousy, the two great enemies of devotees, not unfrequently excite. When a Talapoin is accused of incontinence or other serious infringement of the vital rules of the profession, he is summoned to the tribunal of the Tsaya-dau, who, assisted and advised by some elders, examines the case and pronounces the sentence. Superior intellectual attainments do not appear to be the essential qualifications for obtaining this high dignity. The writer has met with two or three of these dignitaries who, in his opinion, were vastly inferior to many of their subordinates in talents and capacity. They were old and good-natured men, who had spent almost all their lives within the precincts of the monastery. Their dress, manners, and habits were entirely similar to those of their brethren of inferior grade.