For humility’s sake every Talapoin is bound to shave every part of his body. In complying with this regulation he must consider that the hairs that are shaved off are useless things, serving merely for the purposes of vanity, and he ought to be as unconcerned about them as a great mountain which has been cleared of the trees on its summit. Influenced by the same spirit, the religious must always walk barefooted, except in case of his labouring under some infirmity, or for some other good reason; he is then allowed to use a certain kind of plain and unornamented slipper, the shape, colour, and dimensions of which are carefully prescribed by the rule. When the Rahans travel from one place to another, they are allowed to carry with them the broad fan, made of palm-leaves, and a common paper umbrella to protect their bare head from the inclemency of the weather, or screen it from the heat of the sun. Their dress, consisting, as above mentioned, of three parts, is as plain as possible. According to the Patimauk, each separate part must be made of rags picked up here and there, and sewed together by themselves. This regulation, though disregarded by many, is to a certain extent observed by the greater number, but in a manner rather contrary to the spirit, if not to the letter, of the rule. On their receiving from benefactors a piece of silk or cotton, they cut it into several small square parts, which they afterwards contrive to have stitched in the best way they can, so as to make their vestments according to the prescription of the statutes. The vestment ought to be of one colour, yellow in those countries in which Mahometanism does not prevail. The yellow colour is a mark of mourning, as the black is amongst most of the nations of Europe.
Seven articles are considered as essential to every member of the holy family, viz., the kowot, thin-bain, dugout (the three pieces constituting his vestment), a girdle, a patta, a small hatchet, a needle, and a small apparatus for straining the water he drinks. The entire number of articles he is permitted to use and possess amounts to sixty. They are all plain, common, almost valueless, offering no incentive to cupidity and leaving him who is only possessed of them in the humble state of strict poverty.
The possession of temporal goods is strictly forbidden to the Rahans, as calculated to hinder them from meditating upon the law and attending to the various duties of the profession. Nothing indeed opposes a stronger barrier to the attainment of the perfect abnegation of self and a thorough contempt for material things, than the possession of worldly property. Hence a true Rahan has no object which he can, properly speaking, call his own. The kiaong wherein he lives has been built by benefactors, and is supplied by them with all that is necessary or useful to him. Food and raiment are procured for him without his having to feel concerned about them. The pious liberality of his supporters assiduously provides for his wants. But it is expected that he shall never concern himself with worldly business or transactions, of whatever nature they may be. He can neither labour, plant, traffic, nor do anything with the intent of deriving profit therefrom. Agreeably to the maxim, “Sufficient to the day is the evil thereof,” the Rahan cannot make any stores for the time to come. He must trust in the never-failing generosity and ever-watchful attention of his supporters for his daily wants. Now, let it be said to the praise of the Buddhists, that he is seldom disappointed in the reliance he places on them.
That he may be more effectually debarred from a too easy and frequent use of the things of first necessity, a Talapoin is bound to go through a tedious ceremony, called Akat, or presentation, before he can lawfully touch anything. When he has occasion for food, drink, or anything else, he turns to his disciples and tells them to do what is lawful. Whereupon one of them, or several, as circumstances may require, rises from his place, and, taking the thing or things he wants with both hands, approaches him respectfully, and presents to him the articles, saying, This is lawful. Then the Rahan takes the things into his own hands, and uses them or lays them by, as may suit his convenience. When a thing is presented, the disciple must be at a distance of some cubits, otherwise the recluse is guilty of a sin; and if what he receives is food, he commits as many sins as he eats mouthfuls. Gold and silver being the two greatest feeders of covetousness, the rule forbids the Phongyies to touch them, and a fortiori to have them. But on this point, however, human covetousness has broken through the strong barriers the framer of the statutes has wisely devised for effectually protecting recluses from its dangerous allurement. Gold and silver are not indeed touched by the pious devotees, but the precious and dazzling metals are conventionally handed to the disciples, who put them into the box of the superior, who, whilst bowing obsequiously to the letter of the rule, disregards its spirit. Sometimes an innocent ruse is resorted to by a greedy religious for silencing the remorse of his conscience; he covers his hands with a handkerchief, and without scruple receives the sum that is offered to him. It would be unfair to pass a general and sweeping sentence of condemnation for covetousness upon all the members of the fraternity. There are some whose hands have not been polluted by the handling of money, and whose hearts have always been, we may say, strangers to the cravings of the auri sacra fames; but it cannot be denied that many among them are insatiable in their lust for riches, and not unfrequently ask for them.
No Rahan can ever ask for anything; he is allowed to receive what is spontaneously offered to him. In this point too the spirit of the rule is frequently done away with. The recluse will not ask an object he covets (I beg his pardon for making use of such a term) in direct words; but by some indirect means or circuitous ways he will give significantly to understand that the possession of such an object is much needed by him, and that the offering of it would be a source of great merits to the donor. In this manner he moves the heart of his visitor, and soon kindles in his breast a desire to present the thing, almost as eager as his own is to receive it.
Celibacy is strictly enjoined on every professed member of the society. On the day of his reception he is solemnly warned by the instructor never to do anything contrary to that most essential virtue. The founder of the order and the framer of its statutes has entered, on this subject, into the most minute details, and prescribed a multitude of regulations tending to fortify the Rahans in the accomplishment of the solemn vow they have made, and to remove from them all occasions of sin, even the most distant. We must give him credit for an uncommon acquaintance with the weakness of human nature, as well as with the violence of the fiercest passion of the heart, since he has laboured so much to strengthen and uphold the former, and bridle the latter by every means his anxious mind could devise. He was deeply read in the secrets of the human heart, and knew well that the surest tactics for carrying on successfully the warfare between the spirit and the flesh consist in rather avoiding carefully the encounter of the enemy, and skilfully manœuvring at a distance from him, than in boldly encountering him in the open field. Hence the repeated injunctions to shun all the occasions of sin.
The Phongyies are forbidden to stay under the same roof, or to travel in the same carriage and boat, with women; they cannot receive anything from their hands. To such a height are precautions carried that the religious are not permitted to touch the clothes of a woman, or caress a female child, however young, or even handle a female animal.[59]
When visited in their dwellings by women, who resort thither for the purpose of making offerings, or listening to the recital of a few passages of the sacred books, they must remain at a great distance from them, and be surrounded by some of their disciples. The Phongyies are to look upon the old ones as mothers and upon the young as sisters. The conversation must be as short as decency allows, and no useless or light expressions be ever uttered. On the festival days, when crowds of people, men and women, go to the kiaongs to hear the tara, or some parts of the law repeated, the Rahans, arrayed in front of the congregation, keep their fans before their faces all the while, lest their eyes should meet with dangerous and tempting objects. Much greater precautions are still required in their intercourse with the Rahanesses, a sort of female recluses, whose institute is greatly on its decline in almost all parts of Burmah. For better securing the observance of continence, a Phongyie never walks out of his monastery, or enters a private dwelling, without being attended by a few disciples. Popular opinion is inflexible and inexorable on the point of celibacy, which is considered essential to every one that has a pretension to be called a Rahan. The people can never be brought to look upon any person as a priest or minister of religion unless he live in that state. Any infringement of this most essential regulation on the part of a Rahan is visited with an immediate punishment. The people of the place assemble at the kiaong of the offender, sometimes driving him out with stones. He is stripped of his clothes; and often public punishment, even that of death, is inflicted upon him by order of government. The poor wretch is looked upon as an outcast, and the woman whom he has seduced shares in his shame, confusion, and disgrace. Such an extraordinary opinion, so deeply rooted in the mind of a people rather noted for the licentiousness of their manners, certainly deserves the attention of every diligent observer of human nature. Whence has originated among corrupted and half-civilised men such a high respect and profound esteem for so exalted a virtue? Why is its rigorous practice deemed essential to those who professedly tend to an uncommon degree of perfection? Owing partly to the weight of public opinion, and partly to some other reasons, the law of celibacy, externally at least, is observed with a great scrupulosity, and a breach of it is a rare occurrence. As the rule, in this respect, binds the Phongyie only as long as he remains in the profession, he who feels his moral strength unable to cope successfully with the sting of passion prefers leaving the fraternity and returning to a secular life, when he can safely put an end, by a lawful alliance, to the internal strife, rather than expose himself to a transgression which is to entail upon him consequences so disgraceful.
The sagacious legislator of the Buddhistic religious order, pre-occupied with the idea of elevating the spiritual principle above the material one, and securing to reason a thorough control over bodily appetites, has prescribed temperance as a fundamental virtue essential to every Rahan. In common with all their fellow-religionists, the Rahans are commanded to abstain from the use of spirituous liquors and of intoxicating substances. Such a prohibition is the wisest step that Gaudama could have adopted to preserve his followers from the shameful vice of drunkenness. All uncivilised people make use of spirits for the sole purpose of creating in them the effects of intoxication. Were it not for such an excellent regulation, the members of the Thanga would soon become, by their excesses, the laughing-stock of the laity. The time allotted for taking their meals extends from daybreak to the moment the sun has reached the middle of its course; but as soon as the luminous globe has passed the meridian, the use of food is strictly interdicted. A stomach, more or less loaded with nutritive substances taken in the evening, weighs down the body, enervates the energies of the soul, clouds the intellect, and renders a man rather unfit to devote himself to the high exercises of study, meditation, and contemplation, which ought to be the principal occupations of a fervent Rahan. He is allowed to make two meals in the forenoon, but it is expected that he will eat no more than is required to support nature. He must always take his meals in company with the members of his community. To stifle the craving of gluttony and eradicate immoderate desires, he ought to repeat frequently within himself the following sentence: “I eat this rice, not to please my appetite, but to satisfy the wants of nature;” just as he says when he puts on the habit, “I dress myself, not for the sake of vanity, but to cover my nakedness.” Rice and vegetables are, according to the statutes, the staple food of the Phongyies; the use of fish and meat is tolerated, and now it has become a daily prevailing custom which has rendered the practice a lawful one. Strictly speaking, a Talapoin must remain satisfied with rice and various sorts of boiled vegetables which he has received in his patta during his morning perambulations through the streets of the place.
As it happened among the Romans that the law repressing convivial sumptuousness and luxury proved an ineffectual barrier against gluttony and other passions, so amidst the Rahans the strict regulations prescribing a poor and unsavoury diet have been obliged to yield before the tendencies to satisfy the ever-increasing demands of appetite. Most of the Phongyies give to dogs, or to the boys who live in the monastery, the vulgar food they have begged in the streets, and feed on aliments of better quality supplied to them regularly by some persons in easy circumstances, who call themselves supporters of the kiaong and of its inmates. The ordinary fare consists of rice and several small dishes for seasoning the rice, in which are some little pieces of flesh, dressed according to the culinary abilities of the cooks of the country, which are not certainly of the highest order. To this are added some of the fruits of the season accompanied by sweetmeats, which female devotees are wont everywhere so carefully to prepare and so fondly to offer to those who are the objects of their pious admiration and respect. The aliments supplied to the humble recluses are of the best description for the country they live in. One would say that they live on the fat of the land. The most delicate rice and the finest fruits invariably find their way to the monasteries. But withal, the Phongyies are not to be charged with the sin of intemperance or gluttony.
The quantity of food they may take is also an object of regulation, as well as the very mode of taking, and even of swallowing it. Each mouthful must be of a moderate size; a second ought not to be carried to the mouth before the first has been completely disposed of by the masticatory process, and found its way down through the œsophagus. The contrary would be considered gluttony, and an evident sign that the eater has something else in view besides appeasing the mere wants of nature. It is rather an amusing sight to gaze at the solemn indifference of a Talapoin taking his meal. One would be tempted to believe that he is reluctantly submitting to the dire necessity of ministering to the wants of a nature too low and material. The rule forbids Talapoins to eat human flesh, or that of the monkey, snake, elephant, tiger, lion, and dog.[60] As a mitigation of the severity of the disciplinary regulation prohibiting the recluses from taking any food from twelve o’clock in the day until the next morning, the use of certain beverages is permitted during that time, such as cocoa-nut water, the juice of the sugar-cane, and other refreshing draughts.
The rule being silent regarding the consumption of the betel-leaf and other ingredients constituting the delicious mouthful for masticatory purposes, the Talapoins avail themselves largely of the liberty left to them on this subject. The quantity of betel and other accompanying substances which they consume is truly enormous. These articles hold a pre-eminent place amongst the objects that are presented to the inmates of monasteries. The dark-red substance adhering to the teeth and occasionally accumulating at the corners of the mouth, the incessant motion of the lower jaw, the stream of reddish spittle issuing frequently from the lips of the Talapoins, are unquestionable proofs of both their ardent fondness and copious consumption of that harmless narcotic. Except during the short moments allotted for taking meals, a Rahan’s mouth is always full of betel, and the masticating or chewing process is incessantly going on.
A great modesty must distinguish a member of the family of the perfect from a layman; that virtue must shine forth in his countenance, demeanour, gait, and conversation. Any sign on his face indicating the inward action of anger or any other passion is found unbecoming in a person whose composedness and serenity of soul ought never to be disturbed by any inordinate affection. He never speaks precipitately or loudly, lest it might be inferred that passion rather than reason influences him. Worldly or amusing topics of conversation are strictly interdicted, either with his brethren or laymen. The rule requires him to walk through the streets with affected simplicity, avoiding hurry as well as slowness, keeping his eye fixed on the ground in front, looking not further than ten or fifteen cubits.
Curiosity tends to expand the soul on surrounding objects; but a Rahan’s principal aim being to attend diligently to himself, to prefer the care of self before all other cares, and to concern himself very little about all that takes place without, he assiduously labours to keep his soul free from vain inquiry, from eager desire of hearing news, and from an idle or unnecessary interference in things or matters strange to him. It seems that he has the wise saying always present to his mind, “Where art thou when thou art not present to thyself? And when thou hast run over all things, what profit will it be to thee if thou hast neglected thyself?” During his perambulations he never salutes or notices the persons he meets on his way; he is indifferent to the attentions and marks of the highest veneration paid to him by the people; he never returns thanks for offerings made to him, nor does he repay with a single regard the kindness proffered to him. Objects most calculated to awaken curiosity by their novelty and interest ought to find him cold, indifferent, and unconcerned. His self-collection accompanies him everywhere, and disposes his soul to an uninterrupted meditation on some points of the law. It is a counsel of the Wini to observe particularly the four cleannesses, viz., great modesty in the streets and public places, the confession of all failings, the avoiding of all occasions of sins, and the keeping oneself free from the seven kinds of sin. Such a wise injunction can only be attended to and observed by keeping a vigilant watch over the senses, which are the very gates leading into the sanctuary of the soul. We could enter into fuller and more particular details regarding the regulations of the Talapoinic order, but they would prove little interesting, and only corroborate what has been previously stated, that every action of a brother, even the most common, such as the manner of sitting, rising up, sleeping, eating, &c., has become the object of the legislative attention of the founder of the order. Nothing seems to have escaped his clear foresight, and he has admirably succeeded in leaving no room for the exercise of individual liberty. The rule is as a great moral being whose absolute commands must be always obeyed. Every individual is bound to lay aside his own self, and unconditionally follow the impulse of his guiding influence.
The whole life of a recluse being confined within a narrow compass, we will have very little to say regarding his daily occupations. As soon as a Talapoin has left at an early hour the sleeping horizontal position, he rinses his mouth, washes his face, and recites a few formulas of prayers, which he lengthens or shortens according to his devotion. He attires himself in his professional costume, gets hold of his mendicant’s pot, and sallies forth, in company with some brethren or disciples, in quest of his food. He perambulates the streets in various directions, and, without any solicitation on his part, receives the rice, curry, vegetables, and fruits which pious donors have been preparing from two to three o’clock in the morning, watching at the door of their houses the arrival of the yellow-clad monks. Having received what is considered sufficient for the day, he returns to the monastery, and sets himself to eat either what he has brought, or something more delicate and better dressed which his supporter, if he has any, has sent to him.
On the principal festivals, or on extraordinary occurrences, abundant alms are brought to his domicile. Sometimes he is called by a pious donor to come and receive them in the pagodas, or in large temporary sheds erected for the purpose reserved for the occasion. They consist chiefly of mattresses, pillows, betel-boxes, mats, tea-cups, and various articles he is allowed to make use of. On these occasions he repays his benefactors by repeating to them the five great precepts, and some of the principal tenets of the Buddhistic creed, and the chief points of the law. He enumerates at great length the numerous merits reserved to alms-givers. On this point it must be confessed that he is truly eloquent, and his language flowing and abundant: his expressions are ready at hand and most glowing, calculated to please the ears of his hearers and warm their souls to make fresh efforts in procuring him more copious alms. Occasionally he will recite long praises in honour of Gaudama, the last Buddha, for having during his previous existence practised eminent virtues, and thereby qualified himself for the high dignity of Phra. The sermon goes on sometimes in Pali or sacred language, which neither he nor his hearers can understand.
The Phongyies are sometimes requested to visit the sick, not so much for the purpose of ministering to the spiritual wants of the sufferer as for affording him some relief by his presence. It is believed that the appearance of a holy personage may have some effect in freeing the diseased from his distemper, and frightening the evil spirits that may be the mischievous agents in harming patients. The visitor repeats over them some points of the law that are intended to act as antidotes against the agency of the wicked one. Phongyies are very particular on the point of etiquette. When one of them has to enter into upper-storied houses, the yellow-habited religious, previous to his venturing into the lower story, will make it sure that there is no one, and particularly no woman, in the upper apartments, as it would be highly unbecoming that any man, and a fortiori a woman, should have their feet above his head. To avoid such an indecorous contingency, in case the sick person lies in a room upstairs, the Phongyie has recourse to an expedient few, I presume, would have thought of. By his direction a ladder is brought, the lower part of which rests on the street, and the upper leans on one of the upper windows; up goes the pious visitor, who by such a contrivance reconciles the observance of etiquette with the compliance to his duty. The writer confesses that he was much amused the first time that he witnessed such a feat performed at Penang by a Siamese Phongyie. The little crowd, attracted by this novelty, exhibited a curious mixture of feelings. Some laughed; many remained silent; but their deportment was evidently indicative of the respect and admiration that seemed to them to inspire the scrupulously tender conscience of the religious.
We must allow that the Talapoins confer a truly invaluable benefit upon the people of these countries by keeping up schools, where the boys resort for the purpose of learning to read, write, and acquire the rudiments of arithmetic. In this respect they are eminently useful, and the institution, though to a certain extent burthensome to the people, in this respect deserves well of the country. The many abuses that at present attend it are almost fully atoned for by the great service its members gratuitously render to their countrymen. There are no other schools than those under their management. The tyrannical governments of Siam and Burmah do not take any steps to propagate instruction among their subjects, whom they look upon as slaves, fit only for bodily labour. The houses of Talapoins are so many little seats of elementary learning; and as they are very numerous throughout the country, every facility is afforded to male children to learn to read and write. The female children are excluded from partaking of this great boon by the strictness of the monastic regulations. It is a great misfortune, much to be lamented, as one half of the population is thus doomed to live in perpetual ignorance. Owing to the gratuitous education given by the Buddhist monks, there are very few men throughout the breadth and length of Burmah who are not able to read and write. It is true that too often the knowledge thus acquired is very superficial and incomplete. But as regards the other half of the population, it may be stated that scarcely a woman among thousands can be found capable of spelling one word.
The Talapoins being much addicted to sloth and indolence, the schools are undoubtedly miserably managed. The boys are often left to themselves without regular control or discipline. When a boy enters the monastery as student, his teacher places into his hands a piece of blackened board, whereupon are written the first letters of the alphabet. The poor lad has to repeat over and over the name of the letters, crying aloud with all the powers of his lungs. He is left for several weeks at the same subject, until his instructor is satisfied that he knows his letters. In the next step the boy is directed to study the symbols of the vowels which are to be joined with consonants so as to form syllables and words. When this is done he is initiated into the art of uniting together and articulating properly the several consonants with the symbolic characters. He slowly shapes his course through the apparently much-complicated system of all the combinations of letters, so as to be able to spell correctly all the words of the language. Owing to the lack of order and method on the part of the teachers, boys spend a long time, sometimes one or two years, in mastering those difficulties, which, if properly explained, would much shorten the time usually devoted to such a study.
The Burmese alphabet, with the various combinations of letters and symbols for making words, is based on a most perfect and scientific methodical and simple process, borrowed from the Sanscrit. The method is plain and easy, as soon as it is understood. Any person that has received some education, and whose mind is somewhat developed, will be able, with the occasional assistance of an intelligent master, to go all over the various combinations in less than two months. The results derived from the method adopted by the Burmans are so great and complete that, after having gone over the general alphabet with attention, the beginner is able to read all the Burmese words he may meet with. We do not mean, of course, to say that he will be able to pronounce every word correctly. This is another thing altogether. But it is no less evident that the system used by Burmese in the combinations of letters leads to results infinitely more satisfactory than those obtained through the system of elementary reading and spelling used in Europe.
Unacquainted with the rules of grammar, the teachers are incapable of imparting any sound knowledge of the vernacular language to their numerous pupils. Hence writing, as far as orthography goes, is extremely imperfect; the spelling of words, having no fixed standard, varies to an indefinite extent. As soon as the scholars have mastered the difficulties of the long and complicated alphabet, some portions of the sacred writings are put into their hands for reading. The result is that the Burmese in general acquire some knowledge, more or less extensive, of their religious creed. Though none among them can be found who understands comprehensively the Buddhistic system, yet most of them are possessed of a certain amount of more or less limited information concerning Buddha and his law. In this respect they are perhaps ahead of many nominal Christians in several countries of Europe, who dwell in large manufacturing towns and remote country districts and belong to the lower classes, and who live without even a slight acquaintance with the essential tenets of the Christian creed.
In addition to the eminently useful task of teaching youth, the Buddhistic recluse devotes occasionally some portion of his time to the useful labour of copying manuscripts on palm-leaves, either for his personal use or to increase the small library of his monastery. The work is considered as a very excellent one, deserving of great merits, and much recommended by the rules of the society. It is a matter of regret that the native laziness of the Phongyies, as well as their total want of order in acquiring knowledge, thwart to a great extent the practical working of the wise provisions made by the framer of the rules. Were it not for such causes, copies of all the best and most interesting works on the religious system of Buddhism would be greatly multiplied, and could be easily procured; whilst now they are exceedingly scarce and hardly to be had at all. The few copies to be had with much difficulty are to be paid for very high. All the books are made of palm-leaves. The leaves are about twenty inches in length, and from three to four in breadth. On each face of the leaf from seven to nine or ten lines are written. A copyist uses a style of iron by way of pen. With the sharp point he scratches the epidermis of the leaf to form the letters. In order to render the letters perfectly visible, he rubs over the page just written with a piece of rag some petroleum, which, penetrating into the parts scratched by the style, causes the letters to become quite distinct and apparent.
The Talapoins spend the best part of the day sitting in a cross-legged position, chewing betel and conversing with the many idlers that are always to be found in great numbers about their dwellings. When tired of the vertical position, they adopt the horizontal one, reclining the head on pillows and gently submitting to the soporific influence of good Morpheus. They have always in their hands a string of beads, on which they are wont to repeat certain devotional formulas. The most common is the following, “Aneitsa, duka, anatta;” meaning that everything in this world is subjected to the law of change and mutability, to that of pain and suffering, and to that of entire and uninterrupted illusion. There is, indeed, an immense field opened to a reflecting mind by these three very significative expressions for carrying on serious and prolonged meditation; but none of the Talapoins, at least of those I have been acquainted with, are capable of understanding comprehensively their meaning. They often repeat the forty great subjects of meditation, and the rule enjoins them to be zealously addicted to contemplation, which is pronounced to be the chief exercise of a true follower of Buddha. But how can there ever be expected from weak and ignorant persons the habitual practice of so high an exercise, requiring an intellectual vigour of the very first order? They must repeat on their beads at least a hundred and twenty times a day the four following considerations on the four things more immediately necessary to men, food, raiment, habitation, and medicine: “I eat this rice, not to please my appetite, but to satisfy the wants of nature. I put on this habit, not for the sake of vanity, but to cover my nakedness. I live in this kiaong, not for vainglory, but to be protected from the inclemency of the weather. I drink this medicine merely to recover my health, that I may with greater diligence attend to the duties of my profession.”
When we speak of the great influence possessed by the religious order of Buddhist monks, we do not intend to speak of political influence. It does not appear that in Burmah they have ever aimed at any share in the management or direction of the affairs of the country. Since the accession of the house of Alomphra to the throne, that is to say, during a period of above a hundred years, the history of Burmah has been tolerably well known. We do not recollect having ever met with one instance when the Phongyies, as a body, have interfered in the affairs of the State. They also seem to remain indifferent to family or domestic affairs. The regulations they are subjected to, and the object which they have in view in entering the religious profession, debar them from concerning themselves in affairs that are foreign to their sacred calling. But in a religious point of view alone, their influence is a mighty one. Upon that very order hinges the whole fabric of Buddhism. From it, as from a source, flows the life that maintains and invigorates religious belief in the masses that profess that creed. We may view the members of the order as religious, and as instructors of the people at large, and principally of youth. In that double capacity they exercise a great control and retain a strong hold over the mind of the people.
There is in man a natural disposition and inclination to admire individuals who, actuated by religious feelings, are induced to leave the world and separate from society in order to devote themselves more freely to the practice of religious duties. The more society is corrupted, the more its members value those persons who have the moral courage to estrange themselves from the centre of vice, that they may preserve themselves from contamination. In fact, religious are esteemed in proportion to the extent of the contempt they have for this world. The Phongyies occupy precisely this position in the eyes of their co-religionists. Their order stands in bold relief over the society they belong to. Their dress, their mode of life, their voluntary denial of all gratification of sensual appetites, centre upon them the admiring eyes of all. They are looked upon as the imitators and followers of Buddha; they hold ostensibly before ordinary believers the pattern of that perfection they have been taught so fondly to revere. The Phongyies are as living mementoes, reminding the people of all that is most sacred and perfect in practical religion. No one will deny that the view of a body of religious existing in a community, keeping an intercourse with its members, must ever have a powerful tendency to foster religious feelings in the mind of a half-civilised people as the Burmese are. It is in this manner that the Phongyies command the respect and veneration of the people, and exercise a considerable amount of religious influence over the masses.
But in the capacity of instructors of the people, the members of the order act as yet more directly and actively upon the people. In Burmah there are no schools but those kept by the religious. The monasteries are as so many little seminaries where male children receive elementary instruction. The knowledge that is imparted to them by their masters is not secular, but purely religious. It is a point upon which the undivided attention of a keen observer must be centred in order to understand the full meaning of the following remarks. We do not mean to say that the instructor has always present to his mind, as a professor, the direct teaching of religious tenets; but the fact is that no information is conveyed to the pupils except that which comes from religious books. No other books are ever used in schools.
As soon as boys are able to read, religious books are put into their hands. During all the time they remain at school they go over books that have a direct reference to religion. Without even being aware of it, they imbibe religious notions, and become acquainted with some parts of the religious creed, particularly with what relates to Gaudama’s preceding and last existence. When they grow up to manhood, if they happen to read, they have, as a general practice, no other books but such as have a reference to religion. When people assemble together, either in the dzeats on the occasion of festival days, or at home on other public occasions, particularly in the days following the death of some relatives, one or several elders read some passage of their scriptures, and thereby supply topics for conversation of a religious turn. This state of things originates almost entirely in the early education received in the monasteries at the hands of their masters, the Phongyies. It powerfully contributes to popularise and foster religious notions, whilst it indirectly heightens and brightens in the eyes of the people the position of the religious.
Moreover, the early intercourse between the youth and their masters tends to bring into closer contact and union both the religious and the laity. It draws nearer the ties that bind together these two fractions of the Buddhist society. The relation thus established between the teachers and the taught is further strengthened by the fact that the greatest number of the male portion of the community become affiliated, during a longer or shorter period, to the society, and subjected to its rules and regulations; they are cast in the mould of religious, and retain during the remainder of their life some of the features that have been at an early period stamped on their young minds. Their memory remains loaded with all that they learned by heart during the days they spent in the monasteries as students or members of the society.
Though the Phongyies or Talapoins are not remarkable for their zeal in delivering instructions or sermons to the people, they discharge occasionally that duty on the eve of and during festival days, and on all occasions when considerable offerings are brought to them in their monasteries. Sometimes, too, they are requested to go to certain places prepared for that purpose, to deliver instructions and receive offerings tendered to them by some pious laymen. The preaching never consists in expounding the text of the religious books, and developing certain points of the law; it is a mere rehearsal and repetition of the precepts of the law or of regular formulas in praise of Gaudama, and an enumeration of the merits to be gained by those who bestow alms on them. These and similar circumstances much contribute to keep up the position of the religious, and aid them in retaining a powerful religious hold over their respective communities. We repeat it as our deliberate opinion, that upon the religious association under consideration principally rests, as on a strong basis, the great fabric of Buddhism. Were such an institution to give way and crumble to the dust, the vital energies of that false creed would soon be weakened and completely paralysed. Buddhism would yield before the first attack that would be skilfully and vigorously directed against it.
In Burmah the Phongyies are highly respected by every member of the community. When they appear in public, walking in the streets, they are the objects of the greatest attention. The people withdraw before them to leave a free passage. Women are seen squatting on both sides of the way, through respect for the venerated personages. When visited in their dwellings, even by persons of the highest rank, the etiquette is that every visitor should prostrate himself three times before the head of the monastery, uttering the following formula:—“To the end of obtaining the remission of all the faults I have committed through my senses, my speech, and my heart, I make a first, second, and third prostration in honour of the three precious things—Phra, his law, and the assembly of the perfect. Meanwhile, I earnestly wish to be preserved from the three calamities, the four states of punishment, and the five enemies.” To which the recluse answers:—“For his merit and reward, may he who makes such prostrations be freed from the four states of punishment, the three calamities, the five sorts of enemies, and from all evil whatsoever. May he obtain the object of all his wishes, walk steadily in the path of perfection, enjoy the advantages resulting therefrom, and finally obtain the state of Neibban.” On the visitor withdrawing from his presence, the three prostrations must be repeated; he then stands up, falls back to a distance of ten feet, as it would be highly unbecoming to turn the back suddenly on the holy man, wheels round on the right, and goes out. This usage is doubtless very ancient, and is at the same time looked upon as a very important one. In the Life of Gaudama we have seen it mentioned on all occasions when visitors went to pay their respects to him. Princes and nobles observed the ceremony with the utmost punctuality.
The best proof of the high veneration the people entertain for the Talapoins is the truly surprising liberality with which they gladly minister to all their wants. They impose upon themselves great sacrifices, incur enormous expenses, place themselves joyfully in narrow circumstances, that they might have the means to build monasteries with the best and most substantial materials, and adorn them with all the luxury the country can afford.[61] Gold is often profusely used for gilding the posts, ceiling, and other parts of the interior, as well as several trunks or chests for storing up manuscripts. Two or three roofs superposed upon each other (a privilege exclusively reserved to royal palaces, pagodas, and kiaongs) indicate to the stranger that the building is a monastery. The recluse’s house is well supplied with the various articles of furniture becoming the pious inmates. The individual who builds at his own expense such a house, assumes the much-envied title of Kiaong-taga, or supporter of a monastery. This title is for ever coupled with his name: it is used as a mark of respect by all persons conversing with him, and it appears in all papers or documents which he may have to sign. The best, finest, and most substantial articles, if allowed by the regulations as fit for the use of the Talapoins, are generously and abundantly afforded by benevolent persons. When the king is religiously inclined, the best and most costly presents he receives are deposited in the monasteries, to adorn the place or hall where the principal idol is.
Government does not interfere or give any assistance in building pagodas or kiaongs; nor does it provide for the support of the pious Rahans; but the liberality of the people amply suffices for all contingencies of the kind. When a man has made some profit by trading, or any other way, he will almost infallibly bestow the best portion of his lucre in building a kiaong, or feeding the inmates of a religious house for a few months, or in giving general alms to all the recluses of the town. Such liberality, which is by no means uncommon, has its root, we believe, in a strong religious sentiment, and also in the insecurity—nay, the danger—of holding property to a large amount.
When a Talapoin is addressed by a layman, the latter assumes the title of disciple; and the former calls him simply Taga, or supporter. The attitude of the layman in the presence of the Phongyie is indicative of the veneration he entertains towards his person. He squats down, and he never addresses the yellow-dressed individual without joining his hands in token of respect, and raising them up with a little motion indicative of intended prostration. As there is in Burmah a court language, so there is a language, or rather a certain number of expressions, reserved to designate things used by Talapoins, as well as most of the actions they perform in common with other men, such as eating, walking, sleeping, shaving, &c. The very turn of the commonest sentence is indicative of respect when speaking to a Rahan. He is called Phra, the most honourable term the language can afford. His person is sacred, and no one would dare to offer him the least insult or violence. The influence of the Talapoin upon the people is considerable, in proportion to the great respect borne to his sacred character. So extraordinary has it been on certain occasions, that Phongyies have been seen rescuing forcibly from the hands of the police culprits on their way to the place of execution. No resistance, then, could be made by the policemen without exposing themselves to the danger of committing a sacrilege, by lifting their hands against them when such an occurrence takes place. The liberated wretches are then forthwith led to the next monastery. Their heads having been shaved, they are attired in the yellow garb, and their persons become at once sacred and inviolable.
The veneration paid to Talapoins during their lifetime accompanies them after their death. Their state is considered as one of peculiar sanctity. It is supposed that their very bodies too partake of the holiness inherent in their sacred profession. Hence their mortal remains are honoured to an extent scarcely to be imagined. As soon as a distinguished member of the brotherhood has given up the ghost, his body is opened, the viscera extracted and buried in some decent place without any particular ceremony, and the corpse embalmed in a very simple manner by putting ashes, bran, and other desiccative substances into the abdominal cavity. It is then swathed with bands of linen, wrapped round it many times, and a thick coat of varnish laid upon the whole. On this fresh varnish gold leaves are sometimes placed, so that the whole body is gilded over from head to feet. When the people are poor and cannot afford to buy gold for the above purpose, a piece of yellow cloth is considered as the most suitable substitute. The body, thus attired, is laid in a very massive coffin, made, not with planks, but of a single piece of timber hollowed in the middle for receiving the earthly frame of the deceased. A splendid cenotaph, raised in the centre of a large building erected for the purpose, is prepared to support a large chest wherein the coffin is deposited. The chest is often gilt inside and out, and decorated with flowers made of different polished substances of various colours. Pictures, such as native artists contrive to make, are disposed round the cenotaph. They represent ordinarily religious subjects. In this stately situation the body remains exposed for several days, nay several months, until preparations are completed for the grand day of the obsequies. During that period festivals are often celebrated about it, bands of music play, and people resort in crowds to the spot for the purpose of making offerings to defray the expense to be incurred for the funeral ceremony. When the appointed day for burning the corpse at last arrives, the whole population of the town will be seen flocking in their finest dresses to witness the display of fireworks which takes place on the occasion of burning the corpse. A funeral pile of a square form is erected on the most elevated spot. Its height is about fifteen feet, and it ends with a small room made for receiving the coffin. The corpse having been hoisted up and laid in the place destined for its reception, fire is set to the pile in a rather uncommon way. An immense rocket, placed at a distance of about forty yards, is directed towards the pile by means of a fixed rope guiding it thereto. Sometimes the rocket is placed on a huge cart, and pushed in the direction of the pile. In its erratic and uncertain course it happens occasionally that it deviates from its course, and plunges into the ranks of the crowd, wounding and killing those it meets. As soon as it comes in contact with the pile, the latter immediately takes fire by means of combustibles heaped for that purpose, and the whole is soon consumed. The few remaining pieces of bones are religiously collected, and buried in the vicinity of some pagoda. Here ends the profound veneration, amounting almost to worship, which Buddhists pay to their recluses during their life and after their demise.
Two chief motives induce the sectaries of Buddha to be so liberal towards the Talapoins, and to pay them so high a respect; viz., the great merits and abundant rewards they expect to derive from the plentiful alms they bestow upon them, and the profound admiration they entertain for their sacred character, austere manners, and purely religious mode of life. The first motive originates from interested views; the second has its root in that regard men naturally have for persons who distinguish themselves from others by a more absolute self-denial, a greater restraint and control of their passions, a renouncement of permitted pleasures and sensual gratifications from religious motives. According to the fundamental dogma of Buddhism, any offering made to, or indeed any action done for the benefit of, a fellow-man is deserving of reward during future existences, such as digging a well, building a resting-place, a bridge, &c.; but far more abundant are the merits resulting from presenting a Talapoin with one or several articles necessary to his daily use, as they increase proportionately to the dignity of the person to whom the things are offered. We may judge from the following instance of the plentiful harvest of merits which a supporter of Phongyies is promised to reap hereafter: He who shall make an offering of a mendicant’s pot or Thabeit shall receive as his reward cups and other utensils set with jewels; he shall be exempted from misfortunes and calamities, disquietude and trouble; he shall get without labour all that is necessary for his food, dress, and lodging; pleasure and happiness shall be his lot; his soul shall be in a state of steadiness and tranquillity, and his passion for the sex shall be considerably weakened. The offering of other objects secures to the donor wealth, dignity, high rank, pleasure, and an admittance into the fortunate countries or seats of the Nats, where all the things are to be met with and enjoyed that are calculated to confer on man the greatest sum of happiness. The people believe unhesitatingly all that is said to them in this respect, and they gladly strip themselves of many valuable things in order to obtain and enjoy, during coming existences, the riches and pleasures promised to them by their Rahans. The insecurity of property under tyrannical rulers may operate to a certain extent in determining people to part with their riches, and consecrate them to religious purposes, rather than see themselves violently deprived of them by the odious rapacity of the vile instruments of the avarice, tyranny, and cruelty of their heartless princes and governors.
It can scarcely be a matter of wonder that Buddhists so much honour and respect a Talapoin, when we consider that, in their opinion, he is a true follower of Buddha, who strives to imitate his great prototype in the practice of the highest virtues, particularly in his incomparable mortification and self-denial, that he might secure the ascendancy of the spiritual principle over the material one, weaken passions which are the real causes of the disorder that reigns in our soul, and finally disengage her from their baneful influences, and from that of matter in general. He is exceedingly reserved and abstemious regarding food, the use of creatures, and the enjoyment of pleasures, in order to secure to reason the noblest faculty of an intelligent being, a perfect control over the senses. He is indeed in the right way leading to Neibban, the summit of perfection. In the opinion of a Buddhist, nobody can be compared to a true and fervent Rahan in sterling worth and merit. His moral dignity and elevation cast into the shade the dazzling splendour that surrounds loyalty. He is a pious recluse, a holy personage, a true member of the holy Thanga, and deserving, therefore, of the highest admiration and respect.
As a consequence of the profound veneration in which Talapoins are publicly held, they are exempted from contributing to public charges, tribute, corvées, and military service. It is an immense favour, particularly among the nations of Eastern Asia, where the rulers look upon their subjects as mere slaves and tools under their command for executing the absolute orders of their capricious fancy. Under the present ruler of Burmah, the fathers and mothers of Phongyies are benefited by the fact of their sons being in a monastery. They are exempted from paying taxes, and are treated with some attention by the officials who wish to ingratiate themselves in the favour of his most Buddhist majesty. They have often the honorary affixes joined to their names.
In concluding this notice, we will briefly sketch the actual situation of the Talapoinic order in those parts where we have had the opportunity of observing it, and will allude to the causes that have operated in seducing it into vices, abuses, and imperfections which are lowering it greatly in the opinion of all foreigners and of a few well-informed natives.
The first and principal cause that has brought the Society into disrepute and opened the door to numberless abuses is the total absence of discernment in the selection of the individuals that seek for an admittance therein. Every applicant is indiscriminately received as a member of the brotherhood. No previous examination takes place for ascertaining the dispositions, capacity, and science of the postulant. No inquiry is ever made regarding the motives that may have induced him to forsake the world and take so important a step. His vocation is exposed to no trial. He has but to present himself and he is sure to be immediately received, provided he consent to conform exteriorly to the usual practices of his brethren. No account is taken of his former conduct. The very fact of his applying to be admitted into the society of the perfect atones amply for all past irregularities. The only respectability inherent in the modern Talapoins is that derived from the sacred yellow dress he wears. It may aptly be said of him that he is monk by the fact of his wearing the canonical dress. The houses of the order are, in many instances, filled with worthless individuals totally unfit for the profession, who have been induced by the basest motives to enter into them, chiefly by laziness, idleness, and the hope of spending quietly their time beyond the reach of want, and without being obliged to work for their livelihood. In confirmation of this, I will mention the following instance. During the second year of my stay in Burmah, I had with me, in the capacity of servant, an old stupid native. On a certain day he gravely told me that he intended to leave my service and become a Phongyie. I laughed at first at what I considered to be very presumptuous and impertinent language. The old man, however, kept his word. Having left my house a few days after our conversation on the subject of his new vocation, I heard no more of him till it happened a few months after that I met him in a monastery, attired in the full dress of a Phongyie, and so proud of his new position that he hardly condescended to put himself on a footing of equality with his former master.
Ignorance prevails to an extent scarcely to be imagined among the generality of the Phongyies. I have met with a great number of laymen who were incomparably better informed, and far superior in knowledge to them. Their mind is of the narrowest compass. Though bound by their profession to study with particular care the various tenets of their creed and all that relates to Buddhism, they are sadly deficient in this respect. They have no ardour for study. While they read some book, they do it without attention or effort to make themselves fully acquainted with the contents. There is no vigour in their intellect, no comprehensiveness in their mind, no order or connection in their ideas. Their reading is of a desultory nature, and the notions stored up in their memory are at once incoherent, imperfect, and too often very limited. They possess no general or correct views of Buddhism. I never met with one who could embrace the whole system in his mind and give a tolerably accurate account of it. The only faculty that they cultivate with great care is memory. It is surprising to hear them repeating by heart the contents of a book they have studied. As the number of books is very limited in countries where the art of printing has not been introduced, the pupils of the monasteries are compelled to commit to memory the greatest portion of the books they study. He who has lived in Burmah must have often heard, to his great surprise, laymen repeating, during sometimes a whole hour, formulas in Pali, or religious stories in Burmese, which they had learned in the school, or when they had put on the monkish habit.
Phongyies are fond of exhibiting their knowledge of the Pali language, by repeating from memory, and without stammering or stumbling, long formulas and sentences; but I have convinced myself that very few among them understood even imperfectly a small part of what they recited. Those who enjoy popularly a reputation for uncommon knowledge affect to speak very little, show a great reserve, despising as ignorant the person that approaches their abodes or holds conversation with them. But silence, which in a learned man is a sign of modesty, is too often with them a cloak to cover their ignorance, and a cunning device for disguising pride under the garb of humility. The latter virtue, though much recommended in the Wini, is not a favourite one with the Talapoins. It is indeed impossible that they could ever understand or practise it, since they are unacquainted with the two great ways that lead to it, viz., a profound knowledge of God and a thorough knowledge of self. Talapoins, who are distinguished among their brethren for their great austerity of manners and more perfect observance of their regulations, are the most unpleasing beings the writer has ever met with.
They are cold, reserved, speaking with affected conciseness: their language is sententious, seasoned with an uncommon dose of pretension. Sentences falling from their lips are half finished, and involved in a mysterious obscurity, calculated to fill with awe and admiration their numerous hearers; a certain haughtiness and contempt of others always shows itself through their affected simplicity and humble deportment. Vanity and selfishness, latent in their hearts, force themselves on the attention of an acute observer. In their manners they are occasionally so affected by a ridiculous reserve that one might be tempted to think that their brain is not quite sound. Talapoins, in general, entertain a very high idea of their own excellence; and the great respect paid to them by the people contributes not a little to foster it, and make them believe that nobody on earth can ever be compared to them. To such a height has their pride reached that they believe it would be derogatory to their dignity to return civility for civility, or thanks for the alms people bestow on them.
The most striking feature in the character of the Talapoins is their incomparable idleness. We may say that, in this respect, they resemble their countrymen, who are very prone to that vice. Two causes of a very different nature seem, in our opinion, to act together on the people of these countries to produce such a result. The first is a physical one; the heat of the climate, coupled with a perpetual uniformity in the temperature, producing a general relaxation in the whole system, which is never combated or counteracted by an opposite action or influence. The second cause is a moral one, the tyranny of the despotic governments ruling over the populations of Eastern Asia. Property is everywhere insecure. He who is suspected of being rich is exposed to numberless vexations on the part of the vile satellites of tyranny, who soon find out some apparent pretext for confiscating a part or the whole of his property, or depriving him of life, should he dare to offer resistance. In such a state of things every one is satisfied with the things of first necessity. Want forms the strongest tie that binds together individuals and races, and at the same time holds out the most powerful incentive to exertion. The people of these parts have but few wants, and therefore they lack inducement to labour for acquiring anything beyond what is strictly necessary. Emulation, ambition, the desire of growing rich, which are the main springs that move man to exertion, disappear and leave him in an abject and servile indolence, which soon becomes his habitual state, and the grave wherein is entombed all his moral energy.
Like their countrymen, Phongyies are exposed to the influence of the above causes, but their mode of life is a third additional reason why they are more indolent than others. They have not to trouble or exert themselves for the articles required for their subsistence and maintenance; these are abundantly supplied to them by their co-religionists. They are bound, it is true, to read, study, and meditate; but their ignorance and laziness incapacitate them for such intellectual exercises. They remain during the best part of the day sitting in a cross-legged position, or reclining, or sleeping, or at least attempting to do so. They occasionally resume the vertical position to get rid of ennui, one of their deadliest enemies, and by repeated stretchings of arms and legs, and successive yawnings, try to free themselves from that domestic foe. The teaching of their scholars occupies a few of them for a short time in the morning and in the evening. They are often relieved from their mortal ennui by visitors as idle as themselves, who resort to their dwellings to kill time in their company.
To keep up respectability before the public, the Rahans assume an air of dignity and reserve. They avoid all that could lead them into dissipation. Exterior continence is generally observed, and though there are occasional trespasses, it would be unfair to lay on them generally the charge of incontinence. Their life so far may be considered as exemplary. Though partly divested of that open-heartedness which is a peculiar characteristic of their countrymen, they are tolerably kind and affable with strangers. They, however, cannot relinquish in their conversation with them a certain air of superiority, inspired by the admiration of self and the high opinion they entertain of their exalted profession and sacred character. They are unwilling to see them sitting unceremoniously close to themselves; and when this cannot be avoided, they seek for an opportunity of removing to another place a little more elevated than that occupied by the visitor, as it would be highly unbecoming that laymen should ever presume to sit on a level with a recluse. Such a step would imply a sort of equality between them both, which is never to be dreamt of. Their smooth and quiet countenance, their meek deportment, are, as it were, slightly fretted with a certain roughness and rudeness peculiar to individuals leading a retired life, and estranging themselves, to a certain extent, from the place of society.
In the foregoing pages we have endeavoured to give a faithful account of the great religious order existing in countries where genuine Buddhism is the prevailing creed. We have been obliged, for the sake of truth, to mention many abuses that have slowly crept into it; but we never entertained the slightest intention of casting a malignant contempt or a sneering ridicule upon its members. Most sincerely we pity those unfortunate victims of error and superstition who are wasting their time and energies in the fruitless pursuit of an imaginary felicity. No language can adequately express the ardour and intensity of our desires, sighs, and prayers to hasten the coming of the day when the thick mist and dark cloud that encompass their souls shall be dissipated, and the Sun of Righteousness shall shed into them his vivifying beams. However deplorable their intellectual blindness may be, we always felt that they have a right to be fairly and impartially dealt with. The religious order they belong to is, after all, the greatest in its extent and diffusion, the most extraordinary and perfect in its fabric and constituent parts, and the wisest in its rules and prescriptions, that has ever existed either in ancient or modern times without the pale of Christianity.