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.
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.
It is somewhat surprising to find in the middle of half-civilised nations, such as the Burmese, Siamese, Cingalese, and Thibetans, a religious order, with a distinct and well-marked hierarchy, constitutions and regulations, providing for the admission of members, determining their occupations, duties, obligations, and their mode of life, and forming, as it were, a compact, solid, and perfect body, that has subsisted, almost without change, during several centuries, and survived the destruction of kingdoms, the fall of royal dynasties, and all the confusion and agitation produced by political commotions and revolutions. It is in Thibet that the order is found existing in the greatest perfection, under the fostering care of the Grand Lama, or High Priest, who combines in his own person the regal as well as the sacerdotal dignity and power. In the city of Lassa, a pontifical court, an elective sacerdotal chief, and a college of superior Lamas impart to the order dignity, decency, respectability, and stability, which insure its continued existence, and more or less extend its influence over its members living in distant countries. The period of the introduction of Buddhism from India into Thibet is very uncertain, if not quite unknown. Buddhist annals mention that after the holding of the third council, 236 years after Gaudama’s death, some missionaries were deputed by the president of that assembly to go and preach religion in some parts of the Himalayan range. We may suppose that this had reference to the southern slopes of the mountains. Be that as it may, it appears certain that the establishment of a pontifical chief or sovereign, with royal prerogatives, was set up by one of the grandsons of the great Tartar warrior Gengis in or about the middle of the thirteenth century. In other countries, where the order has no connection whatever with the civil power, we can scarcely expect to see it surrounded with an equal splendour, or subsisting in the same state of splendour and regularity. Though this is the case in Burmah, it is impossible not to acknowledge the fact that the regulations of the Wini are more carefully attended to in this country than in Thibet. The conduct of the monks here is incomparably more regular. The public could not bear an open dereliction of the duties imposed by the vows of poverty and chastity. But, if credit be given to the narratives of travellers, the Thibetan monks do not scruple to forsake occasionally those duties, without appearing to fear the rising of a popular cry of indignation, on account of their misbehaviour in points considered of such vast importance. Extraordinary, indeed, would be its vital energies, were the remotest parts of this great and far-spread body to receive the same impulse and exhibit the same symptoms of vitality as those nearest to the heart or principle of life. Having never met with any detailed particulars regarding the Thibetan monks, we must remain satisfied with laying before the reader an account of all that relates to the constituent parts of the order, such as they are found existing in Burmah and developed in the sacred writings.
The whole fraternity is composed, 1st, of young men who have put on the Talapoinic dress without being considered professed members of the fraternity, or having hitherto passed through a certain ordeal somewhat resembling an ordinary; they are called Shyins; 2d, of those who, having lived for a while in the community in a probationary state, are admitted professed members with the ceremonies usually observed on such occasions, whereby the title and character of Phongyie are solemnly conferred; they are denominated Patzins; 3d, of the heads of each house or community, who have the power to control all the inmates of the house; 4th, of a provincial, whose jurisdiction extends over all the communities spread in the towns and villages of the province or district; 5th, of a superior general, residing in the capital or its suburbs, called Tsaia-dau, or great master, having the general management and direction of all the affairs of the order throughout the empire. He is emphatically called by the name of Tha-thana-paing, which means that he has the power over religion. Let us say something upon each of these five degrees of the Buddhistic hierarchy.
It is an almost universal custom among the Burmese and Siamese to cause boys who have attained the age of puberty, or even before that time, to enter for a year or two one of the many Talapoinic houses, to put on the yellow dress, for the double purpose of learning to read and write, and of acquiring merits for future existences. On the occasion of the death of certain persons, it happens sometimes that a member of the family will enter the community for six months or a year. When a young lad is to make his first entrance into a house of the order, he is led thereto, riding on a richly caparisoned pony, or sitting in a fine palanquin carried on the shoulders of four or more men. He is allowed to use one or several gold umbrellas, which are held opened over his head. During the triumphal march he is preceded by a long line of men and women, attired in their richest dresses, carrying a large quantity of presents destined for the use of the inmates of the Kiaong (such is the general name given to all the houses of the brotherhood in Burmah) which the young postulant is to reside in. In this stately order the procession, attended with a band playing on various musical instruments, moves on slowly and circuitously through the principal streets of the town towards the monastery that has been fixed upon. This display of an ostentatious pomp is, on the part of the parents and relatives, an honour paid to the postulant who generously consecrates himself to so exalted a calling, and on the part of the youth a last farewell to worldly vanities. He has no sooner descended from his splendid conveyance and crossed the threshold of the kiaong than he is delivered by his parents into the hands of the superior, and placed under his care. His head is instantly shaved; he is stripped of his fine secular dress, and habited in the plain and humble yellow garb; he must lay aside every sort of ornament, and remain contented with the unassuming simplicity becoming his new position. The kiaong is to become his home, and its inmates are substituted in the room of his father and mother, brothers and sisters.
The duty of the young shyin is to minister to the wants of the elders of the house, to bring and place before them at fixed times the usual supply of water, the betel-box, and the daily food; to attend them on some pious errand through the town or the country. A portion of his time is devoted to acquiring the art of reading and writing, and occasionally the elements of arithmetic. There are five general precepts obligatory on all men; but the shyin is bound to the observance of five additional ones, making ten altogether, by which he is forbidden—1st, to kill animals; 2d, to steal; 3d, to give himself up to carnal pleasures; 4th, to tell lies; 5th, to drink wine or other intoxicating liquors; 6th, to eat after mid-day; 7th, to dance, sing, or play on any musical instrument; 8th, to colour his face; 9th, to stand on elevated places, not proper for him; 10th, to touch or handle gold or silver.[54] The trespassing of the five first precepts is visited with expulsion from the kiaong; but that of the five last may be expiated by a proper penance.
The young shyins, as before observed, do not remain in the kiaong beyond the period of one or two years; they generally leave it and return to a secular life. There are, however, some of them, who, fond of the easy and quiet life of Talapoins, or actuated by other motives, prefer remaining longer in those places of retirement. They betake themselves to the study of the duties, rules, and obligations of the professed members of the society; they pay more attention to the reading of religious books, and endeavour to obtain the required qualifications. Being sufficiently instructed on all these points, and having attained the age of twenty years, they are solemnly admitted among the professed members of the brotherhood under the name of Patzin. The interesting ceremonies observed on the occasion will hereafter be fully described. The state of Patzin is, therefore, properly speaking, that of Phongyie, though that name is sometimes reserved for him who is the head of a monastery. Every other step or promotion in the hierarchy is purely honorary, in so far that it does not impose upon him who is so promoted any new duty or obligation different from what is obligatory on every professed member; but it confers a power or jurisdiction for commanding, controlling, and governing all the brethren under his care. In virtue of such distinctions, a superior, how high soever his rank may be, is bound to the observance of the same rules, duties, and obligations as the last Patzin; his sacred character is not enlarged or altered; he is only entrusted with a certain amount of jurisdiction over some of his brethren.
The Talapoin is bound to his community, so that in every kiaong or house of the order there are ordinarily to be met several Patzins and a good number of shyins. Each kiaong has a chief who presides over the community, under the appellation of Tsaya, or, as is more often the case, under that of Phongyie. He is, in most instances, the nominee of the individual who has built the monastery, and who is vested with a kind of right of patronage to appoint whom he likes to be the head of the house he has erected. He who is the head of the house has power over all the inmates, and every one acknowledges him as his immediate superior. He has the management of all the little affairs of the community, enforces the regular observance of the rules and duties of the profession, corrects abuses, rebukes the trespassers, spurs the lazy, excites the lukewarm, keeps peace and maintains good understanding amongst his subordinates. He receives, in his official character, the pious visitors who resort to his monastery, either for the sake of making voluntary offerings in token of their respect for and admiration of his eminent sanctity, or for conversing with him on some religious subjects, which, let it be said quietly, out of deference to human frailty, sometimes make room for those of a worldly character. If the alms-givers or advice-seekers belong, as often happens, to the fair and devout sex, they must remain at a distance of six or twelve cubits, as the place may allow, from their pious adviser. It is supposed that a nearer proximity might endanger the virtue of the holy recluse.
In every town a considerable number of kiaongs are found, either in the suburbs or within the walls, in a quarter reserved for the purpose. In every village the kiaong is to be met with, as the parson’s house in our villages of Europe. The poorest place is not without a small and often very humble house for the Phongyie who resides there, if not during the whole year, at least during the rainy season. One or several dzedis, a sort of flagstaff painted, and with some of its parts gilt, bearing the emblem of the sacred bird henza, or Brahminical duck, at three-fourths of its height, from which hang down gracefully several streamers, amid a grove of fruit trees, indicate to the traveller the habitation—sometimes humble, sometimes stately—with its superposed three roofs, where the Rahans dwell. The kiaong is also a place where the traveller is well received, and can stay for a day or two. During the dry season, when there are few boys remaining with the Phongyies, it is a place much safer than the dzeats. The inmates are generally very glad to receive strangers, who by their conversation afford them some moments of pleasant diversion which relieve the habitual monotony of their life. These various communities are placed under the jurisdiction of a general superior, or a provincial named Tsaia-dau, or great master; they form, under his authority, a province of the order; a division much similar to that of several religious orders in Europe. He enjoys a large share of public respect and veneration. His kiaong outshines the others in splendour and decorations. The first and wealthiest inhabitants of the place are proud to call themselves his disciples and supporters, and to supply him liberally with all that he may require. His chief duty is to settle disputes that not unfrequently arise between rival communities. The demon of discord often haunts these abodes of peace and retirement. The authority of the provincial interferes to put down feuds and contentions, which envy and jealousy, the two great enemies of devotees, not unfrequently excite. When a Talapoin is accused of incontinence or other serious infringement of the vital rules of the profession, he is summoned to the tribunal of the Tsaya-dau, who, assisted and advised by some elders, examines the case and pronounces the sentence. Superior intellectual attainments do not appear to be the essential qualifications for obtaining this high dignity. The writer has met with two or three of these dignitaries who, in his opinion, were vastly inferior to many of their subordinates in talents and capacity. They were old and good-natured men, who had spent almost all their lives within the precincts of the monastery. Their dress, manners, and habits were entirely similar to those of their brethren of inferior grade.
In the capital, or its suburbs, of the kingdom of Ava, where is the key-stone of the Talapoinic fabric, the superlatively great master resides. His jurisdiction extends over all the fraternity within the realm of his Burmese majesty. His position near the seat of government, and his capacity of king’s master or teacher, must have at all times conferred upon him a very great degree of influence over all his subordinates. He is honoured with the eminent title of Tha-thana-paing, meaning that he has power and control over all that appertains to religion. It does not appear that peculiarly shining qualifications or high attainments are required in him who is honoured with such a dignity. The mere accidental circumstance of having been the king’s instructor when he was as yet a youth is a sufficient, nay, the only necessary recommendation for the promotion to such a high position. Hence it generally happens that each king, at his accession to the throne, confers the highest dignity of the order on his favourite Phongyie. In that case the actual incumbent has to resign the place to his more influential brother, and becomes an ordinary member of the fraternity, unless he prefers leaving the society altogether, and re-entering the lay condition. Great indeed is the respect paid by the king to the head Phongyie. When on certain days of worship he is invited to go to the palace and deliver some instructions to his majesty, the proud monarch quits the somewhat elevated place he occupies, and takes one almost on a level with that of the courtiers, whilst the venerable personage goes to sit on the very same carpet just vacated by the king. When he happens to go out and visit some monasteries or places of worship, he is generally carried on a gilt litter, in great state, attended by a large number of his brethren and a considerable retinue of laymen. During the passage, marks of the greatest respect are given by the people. The monastery he lives in is on a scale of splendor truly surprising. Its form and appearance are similar to that of other religious houses, but in variety and richness of decorations it surpasses them all. It is entirely gilt both inside and out; not only are the posts covered with gold leaves, but often they are inlaid with rubies, which I suppose are of the commonest description and of little value.
To confer an additional sacredness to his person and position, the Tha-thana-paing lives by himself, with but one or two Phongyies, whom we may consider as his secretaries or major-domos, who remain in an apartment near to the entrance, to receive visitors and usher them into the presence of the great personage. Besides, there are lay guardians who take good care that not the least noise should ever disturb the silence of the place.
When the writer first visited that dignitary, he was much amused, on his approach to the place, to meet with those mute guardians, who by all sorts of signs and gestures were endeavouring to make him understand that he must walk slowly and noiselessly, and beware to speak aloud. When admitted to the presence of the Tsaya-dau, he was not a little surprised to find a man exceedingly self-conceited, who thought that to him alone belonged the right of speaking. His language was that of a master to whom no one was expected to presume to offer the least contradiction. He appeared quite offended when his visitor was compelled to dissent from him on certain points brought forward during the conversation. He was then about fifty years old. He was, for a Burman, of a tall stature, with regular and handsome features. The face was a little emaciated, as becomes a monk. His spiritual pride cast a darkish and unpleasant appearance on his person. He spoke quickly and sententiously; appearing all the while scarcely to notice his interlocutor. Admiration of self and vanity pierced through the thin veil which his affected humility spread over his countenance. The writer left him with an impression very different from that which a worthy English envoy, in the end of the last century, entertained of a similar personage, whose mild, benign, and pious exterior captivated him to such an extent as to elicit from him a request to be remembered in his prayers.
In our days, the power of the Tha-thana-paing is merely nominal; the effects of his jurisdiction are scarcely felt beyond his own neighbourhood. Such, however, was not the case in former times. Spiritual commissioners were sent yearly by him, to examine into and report on the state of the communities throughout the provinces. They had to inquire particularly whether the rules were regularly observed or not, whether the professed members were really well qualified for their holy calling or not. They were empowered to repress abuses, and whenever some unworthy brother, or black sheep, was found within the enclosure of a monastery, he was forthwith degraded, stripped of the yellow garb, and compelled to resume a secular course of life. Unfortunately for the welfare of the order, those salutary visits no more take place; the wholesome check is done away with. Left without a superior control, the order has fallen into a low degree of abjectness and degradation. The situation of Talapoins is often looked upon now as one fit for lazy, ignorant, and idle people, who, being anxious to live well and do nothing, put on the sacred dress for a certain time, until, tired of the duties and obligations of their new profession, they retire and betake themselves anew to a secular life. This practice, as far as my observation goes, is pretty general, if not almost universal. There are, however, a few exceptions. Though labouring under many serious disadvantages, the society continues to subsist with all its exterior characteristics; the various steps of its hierarchy are as well marked and defined now as they were before under more favourable circumstances. Its framework remains entire, but the materials composing it are somewhat imperfect and unsound.
There is in that religious body a latent principle of vitality, that keeps it up and communicates to it an amount of strength and energy that have hitherto maintained it in the midst of wars, revolutions, and political convulsions of all descriptions. Whether supported or not by the ruling power, it has remained always firm and unchanged. It is impossible to account satisfactorily for such a phenomenon, unless we find a clear and evident cause of such an extraordinary vitality; a cause independent of ordinary occurrences, time, and circumstances; a cause deeply rooted in the very soul of the populations, that exhibit before the observer this great and striking religious feature. That cause appears to be the strong religious sentiment, the firm faith that pervades the masses of Buddhists. The laity admire and venerate the religious, and voluntarily and cheerfully contribute to their maintenance and welfare. From its ranks the religious body is constantly recruited. There is scarcely a man that has not been a member of the fraternity for a certain period of time.
Surely such a general and continued impulse could not last long, unless it were maintained by a powerful religious conviction. The members of the order preserve, at least exteriorly, the decorum of their profession. The rules and regulations are tolerably well observed; the grades of hierarchy are maintained with a scrupulous exactitude. The life of the religious is one of restraint and perpetual control. He is denied all sorts of pleasures and diversions. How could such system of self-denial be ever maintained, were it not for the belief which the Rahans have in the merits that they amass, by following a course of life which, after all, is repugnant to nature? It cannot be denied that human motives often influence both the laity and the religious, but divested of faith and of the sentiments inspired by even a false belief, their action could not produce, in a lasting and persevering manner, the extraordinary and striking fact we witness in Buddhistic countries.
We will now explain rather minutely, and describe as accurately as possible, the various ceremonies performed on the occasion of the promotion of a shyin to the rank of patzin, or professed member. It must be borne in mind that this ordeal through which he has to pass, or ordination, as we may aptly perhaps term it, which he has to receive, does not confer any peculiar character, or give any special spiritual power to the admitted candidate; but it merely initiates him to a more perfect course of life, and makes him the member of a society composed of men aiming at a higher degree of sanctity or perfection. The incumbent must be provided for the ceremony with a dress such as is used in the community; he must be found exempt from certain moral and physical defects that would render him unworthy of being admitted a member of the order; he must pledge himself to a rigorous observance of certain regulations which form the constitutions of the society.
The place where the ceremony is to be performed is a hall measuring at least twelve cubits in length, not including the space occupied by the Rahans whose presence is required on the occasion. The assembly of Phongyies, or Rahans, must include ten or twelve members at least if the ceremony be performed in towns, and four or six if it be in the country. He who presides over the ceremony is called Upitze, meaning master or guide; he has an assistant, named Cambawa Tsaia, whose office it is to read the sacred Cambawa, or book of ordination, to present the candidate to the Upitze and his assembled brethren, to put to him the requisite questions as prescribed by the ritual, and to give him instructions on certain points, the ignorance of which would prove highly prejudicial to and greatly offensive in a professed member of the order. All the regulations prescribed and the ceremonies observed on the occasion are contained in a book written in Pali, the sacred language. This book may be aptly termed the ritual of the Buddhists. It is held in great respect, and some copies written on sheets of ivory with gilt edges are truly beautiful, and bespeak the high value Buddhists set on the work. The copyists have retained the use of the old square Pali letters, instead of employing the circular Burmese characters. All the ordinances and prescriptions in this book are supposed to have been promulgated and sanctioned by no less an authority than Gaudama himself, the last Buddha and the acknowledged originator and founder of the Talapoinic order. Hence the high respect and profound veneration all Buddhists bear to its contents. The candidate, previously to the beginning of the ceremony, must be provided, as aforesaid, with his patta, or mendicant’s pot, and a tsiwaran, the clerical dress or monkish habit. The patta is an open-mouthed pot of a truncated spheroidal form, wherein each member of the brotherhood must receive the alms which every morning he goes to collect in the streets.
The tsiwaran or yellow[55] garment, the only dress becoming a Rahan, is composed first of a piece of cloth bound to the loins with a leathern girdle, and falling down to the feet; second, of a cloak of a rectangular form, covering the shoulders and breast and reaching somewhat below the knee; and, third, of another piece of cloth of the same shape, which is folded many times and thrown over the left shoulder, the two ends hanging down before and behind. Another article always required for completing the full dress of the Rahan is the awana, a sort of fan made of palm leaves, set in light oval-shaped wooden frame, with a serpentine handle, somewhat resembling in appearance the letter S.
The Burmese translator of the Pali text has interpolated his work with many remarks tending to elucidate the text, and to show the various motives and reasons that have induced Gaudama to decree and publish as obligatory the regulations laid down in the sacred Cambawa. It must be borne in mind, too, that the omission of some essential parts of the ceremonies annuls de facto the ordination, whilst the non-compliance with others of minor importance, though not invalidating the act of admission into the sacred family, entails sin upon all members of the brotherhood assembled ex officio for the ceremony. The reader must be prepared to observe many points of close resemblance between the ceremonies observed at the reception of a monk, or the ordination of a priest, and those performed in these parts on the solemn occasion of admitting a candidate to the dignity of Patzin.
The preparations for the solemnity being completed, and the assembled fathers having occupied their respective seats under the presidence of the Upitze, the candidate is introduced into their presence attended by the assistant or reader of the Cambawa, and carrying his patta and yellow garments. He is enjoined to repeat distinctly thrice the following sentence to the Upitze, kneeling down, and his body bent forward, with his joined hands raised to the forehead: “Venerable President, I acknowledge you to be my Upitze.” These words having been three times repeated, the assistant, addressing himself to the candidate, says: “Dost thou acknowledge this to be thy patta, and these thy sacred vestments?” To which he audibly answers, “Yes.”
Upon this the translator remarks that, on a certain day, a Rahan that had been ordained without being supplied with either patta or tsiwaran went out quite naked, and received in the palms of his joined hands the food offered to him. So extraordinary, one would have said so unedifying, a proceeding having been mentioned to Gaudama, he ordered that henceforward no Rahan should ever be ordained unless he had been previously interrogated regarding the patta and the vestments. Any disobedience to this injunction would entail sin on the assembled fathers.
The assistant having desired the candidate to withdraw from the assembly to a distance of twelve cubits, and the latter having complied with his request, he turns towards the assembled fathers and addresses them as follows: “Venerable Upitze, and you brethren herein congregated, listen to my words. The candidate who now stands in a humble posture before you solicits from the Upitze the favour of being honoured with the dignity of patzin. If it appears to you that everything is properly arranged and disposed for this purpose, I will duly admonish him. O candidate, be attentive unto my words, and beware lest on this solemn occasion thou utterest an untruth or concealest aught from our knowledge. Learn that there are certain incapacities and defects which render a person unfit for admittance into our order. Moreover, when before this assembly thou shalt be interrogated respecting such defects, thou art to answer truly, and declare what incapacities thou mayest labour under. Now this is not the time to remain silent and decline thy head; every member of the assembly has a right to interrogate thee at his pleasure, and it is thy bounden duty to return an answer to all his interrogations.”
“Candidate, art thou affected with any of the following complaints: the leprosy, or any such odious maladies? Hast thou the scrofula or other similar complaints? Dost thou suffer from asthma or coughs? Art thou afflicted with those complaints that arise from a corrupted blood? Art thou affected by madness or the other ills caused by giants, witches, or evil spirits of the forests and mountains?” To each separate interrogation he answers: “From such complaints and bodily disorders I am free.” “Art thou a man?” “I am.” “Art thou a true and legitimate son?” “I am.” “Art thou involved in debts?” “I am not.” “The bounden man and underling of some great man?” “No, I am not.” “Have thy parents given consent to thy ordination?” “They have given it.” “Hast thou reached the age of twenty years?” “I have attained it.”[56] “Are thy vestments and sacred patta prepared?” “They are.” “Candidate, what is thy name?” “My name is Wago,” meaning, metaphorically, a vile and unworthy being. “What is the name of thy master?” “His name is Upitze.”
The assistant, having finished the examination, turns his face towards the assembled fathers, and thus proceeds: “Venerable Upitze, and ye assembled brethren, be pleased to listen to my words. I have duly admonished this candidate, who seeks from you to be admitted into our order. Does the present moment appear to you a meet and proper time that he should come forward? If so, I shall order him to come nearer.” Then turning to the candidate, he bids him come close to the assembly and ask their consent to his ordination. The order is instantly complied with by the candidate, who, having left behind him the distance of twelve cubits that separated him from the fathers, squats on his heels, the body bending forward and the hands raised to his forehead, and says: “I beg, O fathers of this assembly, to be admitted to the profession of Rahan. Have pity on me; take me from the state of layman, which is one of sin and imperfection, and advance me to that of Rahan, a state of virtue and perfection.” These words must be repeated three times.
The assistant then resumes his discourse as follows: “O ye fathers here assembled, hear my words. This candidate, humbly prostrated before you, begs of the Upitze to be admitted into our holy profession; it seems that he is free from all defects, corporal infirmities, as well as mental incapacities, that would otherwise debar him from entering our holy state; he is likewise provided with the patta and sacred vestments; moreover, he has asked, in the name of the Upitze, permission of the assembly to be admitted among the Rahans. Now let the assembly complete his ordination. To whomsoever this seems good, let him keep silence: whosoever thinks otherwise, let him declare that this candidate is unworthy of being admitted.” And these words he repeats three times. Afterwards he proceeds: “Since, then, none of the fathers object, but all are silent, it is a sign that the assembly has consented; so, therefore, be it done. Let therefore this candidate pass out of the state of sin and imperfection into the perfect state of Rahan, and thus, by the consent of the Upitze and of all the fathers, let him be ordained.”
And he further says: “The fathers must note down under what shade, on what day, at what hour, and in what season the ordination has been performed.”
This being done, the reader of the sacred Cambawa adds: “Let the candidate attend to the following duties, which it is incumbent on him to perform, and to the faults hereafter enumerated, which he must carefully avoid.
“1. It is the duty of each member of our brotherhood to beg for his food with labour, and with the exertion of the muscles of his feet; and through the whole course of his life he must gain his subsistence by the labour of his feet. He is allowed to make use of all the things that are offered to him in particular, or to the society in general, that are usually presented in banquets, that are sent by letter, and that are given at the new and full moon and on festivals. O candidate, all these things you may use for your food.” To this he replies, “Sir, I understand what you tell me.”
The assistant resumes his instructions: “2. It is a part of the duty of a member of our society to wear, through humility, yellow clothes, made of rags thrown about in the streets or among the tombs. If, however, by his talents and virtue one procures for himself many benefactors, he may receive from them for his habit the following articles, cotton and silk, or cloth of red[57] and yellow wool.” The elect answers, “As I am instructed, so I will do.”
The instructor goes on: “3. Every member of the society must dwell in houses built under the shade of lofty trees.[58] But if, owing to your proficiency and zeal in the discharge of your duties, you secure to yourself powerful supporters who are willing to build for you a better habitation, you may dwell in it. The dwellings may be made of bamboo, wood, and bricks, with roofs adorned with turrets or spires of pyramidal or triangular form.” The elect answers: “I will duly attend to these instructions.”
After the usual answer, the instructor proceeds: “4. It is incumbent upon an elect to use, as medicine, the urine of the cow, whereon lime and the juices of lemon or other sour fruits have been poured. He may also avail himself, as medicines, of articles thrown out of bazaars and picked up in corners of streets. He may accept, for medicinal purposes, nutmegs and cloves. The following articles may also be used medicinally—butter, cream, and honey.”
Now the assistant instructs the new religious on the four capital offences he must carefully avoid, under penalty of forfeiting the dignity he has just attained to, and solemnly warns him against committing one of them. Those sins are fornication, theft, murder, and spiritual pride. The committing of one of these sins by religious after their ordination, in the days of Gaudama, induced him to declare those excluded de facto from the society who had been guilty of such offences; and he enjoined that the assistant should immediately after the ceremony solemnly admonish the newly ordained Patzin carefully to shun such odious offences.
The assistant, without delay, proceeds as follows: “O elect, being now admitted into our society, it shall be no longer lawful for you to indulge in carnal pleasures, whether with yourself or animals. He who is guilty of such sin can no longer be numbered among the perfect. Sooner shall the severed head be joined again to the neck, and life be restored to the breathless body, than a Patzin who has committed fornication recover his lost sanctity. Beware, therefore, lest you pollute yourself with such a crime.
“Again, it is unlawful and forbidden to an elect to take things that belong to another, or even to covet them, although their value should not exceed about six annas (one-fourth of a tical). Whoever sins even to that small amount is hereby deprived of his sacred character, and can no more be restored to his pristine state than the branch cut from the tree can retain its luxuriant foliage and shoot forth buds. Beware of theft during the whole of your mortal journey.
“Again, an elect can never knowingly deprive any living being of life, or wish the death of any one, how troublesome soever he may prove. Sooner shall the cleft rock reunite so as to make a whole, than he who kills any being be readmitted into our society. Cautiously avoid so heinous a crime.
“Again, no member of our brotherhood can ever arrogate to himself extraordinary gifts or supernatural perfections, or, through vainglory, give himself out as a holy man; such, for instance, as to withdraw into solitary places, and, on pretence of enjoying ecstasies like the Ariahs, afterwards presume to teach others the way to uncommon spiritual attainments. Sooner may the lofty palm-tree that has been cut down become green again, than an elect guilty of such pride be restored to his holy station. Take care for yourself that you do not give way to such an excess.” The elect replies as before: “As I am instructed, so I will perform.” Here ends the ceremony. The elect joins the body of Rahans, and withdraws in their company to his own kiaong.
It has already been mentioned that this ceremony or ordination does not impart any spiritual character inherent in the person of the elect; but it is a mere formality he has to go through, to enter into the family of the perfect. The admitted member is not linked indissolubly to his new state; he is at liberty to leave it when it pleases him, and re-enter secular life. He may, moreover, if inclined, apply for re-admission into the order, but he must go through the same ceremonies that were observed on his first ordination. It is not very common to meet among the Burmese Rahans men who from their youth have persevered to an old age in their vocation. Those form the rare exceptions. They are very much respected, and held in high consideration during their lifetime, and the greatest honours are lavished upon their mortal remains after their demise. They are often designated by the honourable denomination of “pure from their infancy.”
The obligations inherent in the dignity of Patzin, and the multifarious duties prescribed to the Buddhist monks, are contained in a book called Patimauk, which is, properly speaking, the manual of the order, and the Vade Mecum of every Talapoin, who is obliged to study it with great care and attention. It is even ordered that on festival days a certain number of recluses shall meet in a particular place called Thein, to listen to the reading of that book, or at least a part of it; that every brother should have always present to his mind the rules and regulations of his profession, and be prompted to a strict observance of all the points they enforce. This injunction is a very proper one, since it is a fact confirmed by the experience of ages that relaxation and dissipation find their way in all communities at the very moment the rules are partially lost sight of. So attentive to this duty are some Phongyies that they can repeat by heart all the contents of the Patimauk. We have read the book with a good deal of attention. Many wise and well-digested rules are to be met with here and there, but they are merged in a heap of minute, not to say ridiculous and childish, details, not worth repeating. In order, however, to give a correct and distinct outline of the mode of life, manners, habits, and occupations of the Talapoins, we will extract from it all that has appeared to be interesting and calculated to attain the above purpose, leaving aside the incongruous mass of useless rubbish.
Every member of the order, on his entering the profession, must renounce his own will and bend his neck under the yoke of the rule. So anxious indeed has been the framer of its statutes to leave no room or field open to the independent exertions of the mind, that every action of the day, the manner of performing it, the time it ought to last, the circumstances that must attend it, have all been minutely regulated. From the moment a Rahan rises in the morning to the moment he is to go to enjoy his natural rest in the evening, his only duty is to obey and follow the ever-subsisting will and commands of the founder of the society. He advances in perfection proportionately to his fervent compliance with the injunctions of, and to his conscientiously avoiding all that has been forbidden by, the sagacious legislator. The trespassing of one article of the rule constitutes a sin. The various sins a Rahan is liable to commit are comprised under seven principal heads. 1st, the Paradzekas; 2d, the Thinga-de-ceits; 3d, the Patzei; 4th, the Toolladzi; 5th, the Duka; 6th, the Dupaci; and 7th, the Pati-de-kani. These seven kinds of sins are subdivided and multiplied to the number of 227, which constitute the total amount of sins either of commission or omission that a Phongyie may commit during the time that he remains a member of the holy society. The Paradzikas are four in number: fornication, theft, killing, and vainglory in attributing to one’s self high attainments in perfection. A recluse, on the day of his admission, is, as before related, warned never to commit these four sins, under the penalty of being excluded from the society. They are irremissible in their nature. The meaning of this is, He who has had the misfortune of yielding to temptation, and committing one of these four offences, is no longer to be considered as a member of the Thanga, or of the assembly of the perfect. He is de facto excluded from the society. He may exteriorly continue to be a member of the Thanga, but inwardly he really no longer belongs to it. All other offences are subjected to the law of confession, and can be expiated by virtue of the penances imposed upon the delinquent after he has made a public avowal of his sins.
The reader will no doubt be startled by the unexpected information that the practice of confession has been established among the Talapoins, and is up to this day observed, though very imperfectly, by every fervent religious. Some zealous Patzins will resort to the practice once, and sometimes twice a day. Here is what is prescribed on this subject in the Wini, or book of scriptures, which contains all that relates to the Phongyies, the Patimauk being but a compendium of it: when a Rahan has been guilty of a violation of his rule, he ought immediately to go to his superior, and, kneeling before him, confess his sin to him. Sometimes he will do this in the Thein, the place where the brothers assemble occasionally to speak on religious subjects or listen to the reading of the Patimauk in the presence of the assembly. He must confess all his sins, such as they are, without attempting to conceal those of a more revolting nature, or lessening aggravating circumstances. A penance is then imposed, consisting of certain pious formulas to be repeated a certain number of times during the night. A promise must be made by the penitent to refrain in future from such trespasses. This extraordinary practice is observed now, one would say, pro forma. The penitent approaches his superior, kneels down before him, and having his hands raised to his forehead, says: “Venerable superior, I do confess here all the sins that I may be guilty of, and beg pardon for the same.” He enters upon no detailed enumeration of his trespasses, nor does he specify anything respecting their nature and the circumstances attending them. The superior remains satisfied with telling him: “Well, take care lest you break the regulations of your profession; and henceforward endeavour to observe them with fidelity.” He dismisses him without inflicting any penance on him. Thus an institution, so well calculated to put a restraint and a check upon human passions, so well fitted to prevent man from occasionally breaking commands given to him, or at least from slipping into the dangerous habit of doing it, is now, by the want of fervour and energy in the hands of that body, reduced to be no more than an useless and ridiculous ceremony, a mere shadow of what is actually prescribed by the Wini.
The punishments inflicted for the repeated transgressions of one or several points of the rule are, generally speaking, of a light nature, and seldom or never corporeal, as flagellations, &c. The superior sometimes orders a delinquent to walk through the courtyard during the heat of the day for a certain time, to carry to a distance a certain number of baskets-ful of sand, or a jug of water. Meekness, being a virtue most becoming a recluse, forbids the resort to penances of a more severe nature.
Humility, poverty, self-denial, and chastity are to him who has received the order of Patzin cardinal and most essential virtues, which he ought to practise on all occasions. He must, in all his exterior deportment, give unequivocal marks of his being always influenced by the spirit they inspire. The framer of the rules and regulations of the order seems to have had no other object in view than that of leading his brethren by various ways and means to the practice of these virtues, and inculcating on their minds the necessity of attending to the observances prescribed for this purpose. It is from this point we must view the statutes of the fraternity in order to understand them well and rightly, and appreciate them according to their worth and merit. We would indeed form a very erroneous opinion of institutions of past ages if we were to examine them, to praise or blame them, without a due regard being paid to the spirit that guided the legislator, and to the object he aimed at when he laid them down. Our own ideas, customs, manners, and education will often dispose us to disapprove at first of institutions made in former ages, amongst nations differing from us in all respects, under the pretext that they are not such as we would have them to be now, making unawares our own prejudices the standard whereby to measure the merit or demerit of all that has been established previously to our own times. The institutions of the middle ages, a celebrated modern historian has said, are intelligible to him that has entered into the spirit of those days, and who thinks, feels, and believes as did the people of those bygone centuries. This observation holds good to a certain extent, and, mutatis mutandis, in respect to Buddhistic institutions. The whole religious system must be understood, the object which the founder of the order had in view ought to be distinctly remarked and always borne in mind, ere we presume to pronounce upon the fitness or unfitness of the means he has employed for obtaining it.