The Life or Legend of Gaudama, the Buddha of the Burmese (Volume II)

by Paul Ambroise Bigandet

FOOTNOTES

[1] The first particular related at length by the compiler of this work is one of peculiar interest. Buddha summons the Rahans to his presence, through the ever faithful and dutiful Ananda, and addresses to them instructions which form the basis of the duties and obligations of all true disciples. He styles them Bickus—that is to say, mendicants—to remind them of the spirit of poverty and of the contempt of worldly things which must ever be dear to them. The epithet “beloved” is always prefixed to the word Bickus, as conveying an idea of the true and pure affection the master bore to his disciples, or rather his spiritual children. Buddha charges them at first to be always diligent in holding assemblies, where religious subjects should be discussed, controversies settled, and unity of faith secured. This obligation has long been held as a binding one by the primitive Buddhists, as mention is always made in their books of the three great assemblies held during the three first centuries of the Buddhistic era, when the sacred writings were carefully revised, amended, and, as it were, purged of all spurious doctrines. It was during the last council that the canon of scriptures was adopted, which has ever since been maintained by orthodox Buddhists. Nothing can be wiser than the desire he so strongly expresses that no one should ever presume to alter the true and genuine nature of the precepts, by making, according to his whim, light what is heavy, or obligatory what is but a matter of counsel. He expresses the strongest wish to see them always united among themselves, and fervent in the observance of the precepts of the law. He establishes as a fundamental principle the obedience to superiors. There is no society of a religious character among heathens where the various steps of the hierarchy are so well marked and defined as in the Buddhistic institution. The whole body of religious has a general superior in each province, exercising a thorough control over all the houses within the limits of the province; he may be looked upon as a regular diocesan. In each house of the order there is a superior, having power and jurisdiction over all the inmates of the place. Under him we find the professed members of the society, then those who may be called novices, and last of all the postulants and disciples allowed to wear the clerical dress, or yellow garb, without any power or authority, and being looked upon merely as students in the way of probation. In his charge to his disciples, Buddha lays much stress upon the necessity of destroying in themselves the principle of passion, and in particular concupiscence. The general tendency of all his preachings is to teach men the means of freeing themselves from the tyrannical yoke of passions. No one, indeed, can obtain the state of perfect quiescence or Neibban unless he has annihilated in himself all passions, and thereby qualified himself for the practice of all virtues. The character of the great body of religious Buddhists is clearly set forth in the exhortations their great master directs to them to love retreat and solitude. The noise, tumult, and bustle necessarily attending the position of a man living in the world are entirely opposed to the acquirement of self-knowledge, self-possession, and self-control, so much required in a religious. As long, concludes Buddha, as you shall remain faithful to your regulations you will prosper, and secure to yourselves and your order the respect and admiration of all. He winds up his speech by exhorting them to act in a manner ever becoming their sacred calling. The greatest moralist, possessing the most consummate and perfect knowledge of human nature, could not lay down wiser regulations for setting on a firm and lasting foundation a great and mighty institution, destined to spread itself far and wide amidst nations and tribes, and subsist during an unlimited period.

[2] A dzeat is a building erected by the piety of Buddhists for the purpose of affording shelter and a place of rest to devotees, travellers, and strangers. These buildings are to be found at the entrance of towns, in villages, and often in the neighbourhood of pagodas. Those of Burmah are erected in the plainest manner. A verandah in front extends to the full length of the building, a spacious hall running parallel to the verandah occupies the remaining place. There is no partition between the hall and the verandah. It happens sometimes that a space at one of the hall’s corners, screened by mats or dry leaves, offers an asylum to him who does not like to mix with the vulgus. The carelessness of Government in all that relates to the comfort of the people is amply compensated by the zeal of pious laymen, who readily undertake the erection of those works of public utility in the hope of securing to themselves the attainment of merits to be enjoyed perhaps in this, but certainly in some future existences.

In Burmah proper some of the dzeats are, for the country, beautiful buildings. The edge of the roof and the front part are covered with a profusion of sculptures and carvings that vie with those that adorn the finest monasteries. This fact, among many, indicates the truly beneficent and philanthropic influence exercised by some tenets of Buddhism over the followers of that creed. Pride and vainglory may have their share in the erection of those monuments of benevolence, but it is not the less certain that those who build them yield first and principally to the strong influence of religious feeling.

On this occasion Buddha preached to the crowd, when we see a line of distinction well drawn between the assembly of the disciples of Buddha and those we may merely style hearers. The latter are addressed by the name of darakas, meaning laymen that hear the preaching. A daraka is not as yet a perfect convert, and therefore not a member of the assembly of the perfect. The daraka differs from the Upasaka. The latter is not only a mere hearer of the law; he is a firm believer, and fervently practises the precepts: he is among laymen a pious Buddhist; the former is not so forward: he begins to hear and believe the doctrines preached to him. He has already some faith in Buddha; he is under instruction, but he cannot be called a professed disciple. The rewards of faith are both of a natural and supernatural order. Riches, happiness, an honourable reputation, are promised to the faithful observer of the law. He is to be ever free from doubts, since faith makes him adhere firmly to all the instructions of Buddha; and after his death he is to migrate to some of the seats of Nats. The trespassing of the law is to be attended with poverty, shame, and misery, doubts in an unsettled mind, and at last punishment in hell. That place of suffering is minutely described in Buddhistic works. Such a description appears, in the opinion of the writer, of no importance to those who desire to understand not the superficial portion of Buddhism, but its fundamental and constitutive parts. Hell is a place of punishment and torment, as the Nats’ seats are places of reward and happiness. There is no eternity of sufferings; the unfortunate inhabitant of those dark regions is doomed to remain there, until the sum of his offences has been fully atoned for by sufferings. When the evil influence created by sin is exhausted, punishment ceases too, and the wretched sufferer is allowed to migrate to the seat of man in order to acquire merits and prepare himself for happier future existences.

In recording the account of the conversion of a courtesan named Apapalika, her liberality and gifts to Buddha and his disciples, and the preference designedly given to her over princes and nobles, who, humanly speaking, seemed in every respect better entitled to attentions, one is almost reminded of the conversion of the woman that was a sinner mentioned in the Gospel.

[3] The duties performed by Thariputra on this occasion exhibit more fully than language can express the profound veneration he entertained for Buddha. He was with Maukalan the most distinguished member of the assembly; he occupied the first rank among the disciples; in point of intellectual and spiritual attainments and transcendent qualifications, he stood second to none but to Buddha. Notwithstanding his exalted position, he did not hesitate to render to his superior the lowest services. The high opinion he had of Buddha’s supereminent excellencies prompted him to overlook his own merit, and to admire without reserve that matchless pattern of wisdom and knowledge. Hence the inward satisfaction he sweetly enjoyed in serving as an humble disciple him whose unutterable perfections cast in the shade his far-famed and much-praised acquirements. The unaffected humility of the disciple does the greatest credit to the sterling worth of his inward dispositions, and conveys the highest idea of the respect and veneration entertained for the master’s person.

In the houses where Buddhist monks are living it is a fixed rule that the superior and elders of the institution should be attended in the minutest services by the youngest members wearing the canonical dress. The framer of the disciplinary regulations, intending, on the one hand, to confer dignity on the assembly, and, on the other, to oppose a strong barrier to covetousness and to all inordinate worldly affections, wisely laid down a stringent order to all the members of the society never to touch or make use of any article of food, dress, &c., unless it had previously been presented to them by some attendant, layman or clerical. Hence when water is needed for washing the head, hands, and feet, or for rinsing the mouth, when meals are served up, when offerings are made, a young postulant, holding a vessel of water on the board whereupon are placed the dishes, or the articles intended to be offered, respectfully approaches the elder, kneels before him, squatting on his heels, lays before him the object to be presented, bows down with the joined hands raised to the forehead, resumes then the article with his two hands, presents it, with the upper part of the body bent in token of respect. Before accepting it the elder asks, Is it lawful? The answer, It is lawful, having been duly returned, the article is either taken from the hand of the offerer, or he is directed to place it within the reach of the elder. Any infraction of this ceremonial is considered as a sin. In the presence of the people the monks never fail to submit to that somewhat annoying etiquette. Their countenance on such occasions assumes a dignified and grave appearance, that has always much amused the writer whenever he had the opportunity of witnessing this ceremony, which is called Akat. There is no doubt but this custom is a very ancient one. We find it blended to a certain extent with the manners of the nations inhabiting eastern Asia. It is minutely described in the Wini, and carefully observed by the inmates of the Buddhistic monasteries. It agrees remarkably well with the spirit that has originated, promulgated, and sanctioned the disciplinary regulations. He who in this instance would look at the mere skeleton of the rule without any reference to the object aimed at by the legislator would show himself in the light of a very superficial observer. This, unfortunately, is too often the case when we scorn and laugh at customs, the demerit of which consists simply in not being similar to ours, whereas the commonest sense tells us that we ought to judge them in connection with the institutions they have sprung from, and the end aimed at by him who has established them.

The narrative of Thariputra’s departure for his birthplace and of his last moments suggests to the mind several reflections. He is certain of the last day of his existence; he foresees with a prophetic glance that his mother is well prepared for hearing profitably the preaching of the most perfect law. By the incomparable powers of his memory he relates to Buddha that 100,000 revolutions of nature ago he was possessed with the strong desire of seeing him and hearing his instructions, &c. How can these particulars be accounted for, according to Buddhistic notions? The spring all evils or demerits flow from is ignorance. A being is imperfect in proportion to his being sunk deeper in the bosom of ignorance. On the contrary, a being perfects himself in proportion to the efforts he makes for dispelling the thick cloud of ignorance that encompasses his mind. The more a man grows in the knowledge of truth the farther he removes the horizon of darkness. He who has made the greatest and most persevering efforts in fervently prosecuting the work of searching truth by studying the law that teaches the way of reaching it, contemplates and enjoys a portion of truth commensurate to his efforts and success. A Buddha, who has reached the last boundaries of knowledge, has therefore triumphed over ignorance and indefinitely enlarged the sphere of truth. He enjoys, in fact, a cloudless sight of all that exists; his science is unlimited, extending over all the countless series of worlds, which, in the opinion of the Buddhists, are supposed to form a system of nature. Thariputra, though much advanced in perfection, had not as yet reached its acme. His knowledge, however, was wonderfully great and extensive; it enabled him to obtain a clear insight into the darkness of the past and a distinct foresight of the future.

[4] The village of Nalanda, the site of which is at present occupied by that of Baragaon, was the birthplace of the great disciple Thariputra. His illustrious companion in religion, Maukalan, was born in the village of Kaulita, about one and a half miles south-west of that place. Nalanda, says Fa-Hian, the Chinese traveller, lies one youdzana north of Radzagio, that is to say, seven English miles according to Cunningham’s measurement, and is seven youdzanas or forty-nine miles distant from the tree Bodi. It was the great seat of Buddhistic learning, renowned all over India. Now the whole site is covered with ancient tanks and mounds of ruins on an immense scale, offering fine specimens of sculpture. The great monastery and five smaller ones were all within one enclosure. A row of lofty conical mounds, running north and south, 1600 feet by 400, indicates the place and extent of those religious buildings. Outside of the enclosure there were several temples. General Cunningham fixes the era of the construction of those edifices between A.D. 425 and 625. Among the several proofs adduced in support of his opinion there is one that appears conclusive. Fa-Hian, who visited all the places famous in the history of Buddhism, and describes them with a minute attention, simply alludes to Nalanda as the birthplace of Thariputra, without saying a word about monasteries or temples, whilst Hwe-Thsang, who visited the same spot in the beginning of the seventh century, describes the splendid temples and monasteries which he saw, and from his statement we infer that the principal edifices were not inferior to those of Buddha Gaya in size and height. Some of them reached to a height of 170 and 200 feet. The greatest was 300 feet high. The number and extent of the tanks is truly surprising. Two of them, in the north-east, were nearly a mile in length, while another in the south was half a mile.

The inference to be drawn from the above is, that during the fifth and the sixth century of our era, Buddhism was in a flourishing condition in the country of Magatha or South Behar, since the finest and loftiest structures in the shape of monasteries and temples have been raised within that period, both at Nalanda and Buddha Gaya. It appears that, during the three first centuries of the Christian era, its fortune alternated, and met with varied results, agreeably to the favourable or unfavourable dispositions of the rulers of the country towards the followers of the philosopher of Kapilawot. This succession of successes and reverses reveals the important fact that Buddhism had not struck deep root in the heart of the inhabitants of Central India, since its fate depended from the will and opinions of the monarch, and was almost at the mercy of his caprices. Moreover, in the country north of the Ganges, such as Wethalie, Thawattie, Kapilawot, places which had been favoured with Buddha’s incessant preachings, religion was on its decline at the time of Fa-Hian’s visit, that is to say, in the beginning of the fifth century; monasteries were deserted and emptied, dzedies were crumbling down and fast decaying. In some instances, heretics, that is to say, pounhas, occupied the dwellings formerly tenanted by holders of the genuine doctrines. This unexpected sight very much grieved the heart of the good Chinese pilgrim. It must be regretted that we have not the written journals of some other Chinese travellers in the eighth or ninth century to reveal to us the state and condition in which they found the magnificent temples of Nalanda and Buddha Gaya when they visited them.

[5] The conduct of Thariputra on this occasion wears an appearance of rudeness towards his aged mother, which at first hurts the feelings of human nature. But a close examination of all the circumstances connected with this last episode of the great disciple’s life, shows that he was far from being divested of filial piety. He leaves his beloved master, undertakes a long and fatiguing journey for the sole purpose of preaching the law to his mother, and conferring upon her a boon of greater value than that he had received from her. In return for all the favours bestowed upon him by his mother, he initiates her in the knowledge of truth, and enables her to enter into the great ways that lead to the deliverance, that is to say, to the state of Neibban. It cannot be denied that his language on this occasion partook of an austere tone, sounding harsh to the ears of worldly men, but it must be borne in mind that Thariputra was an old ascetic, dead to all affections of nature, looking upon truth alone in an abstractively pure form, without any regard to material objects. He loved the law of truth, which he had learned from Buddha, and afterwards preached to others with an unparalleled zeal and fervour. The spirit of Buddha lived in him: he desired to see all beings availing themselves of the means of salvation which he had it in his power to impart unto them; he loved them all with an equal affection; the state of ignorance they were sunk in deeply affected his compassionate soul, and he had but one desire, that of dispelling the thick mist of ignorance by the pure light of truth.

When the instruction to his mother was over, Thariputra desired to be left alone with his disciples. His last words to them bespeak the humble sentiments of his mind. Though the first member of the assembly of the perfect, he begs pardon of his inferiors for the causes of offence he may have unwillingly given them during the period they had lived together: regardless of all the good he had done unto them, he feels that he could not well part with them ere he had atoned to them for any wrong, however involuntary, he might have done to some of them.

For those uninitiated in Buddhistic metaphysics it is not easy to understand and distinctly to appreciate the situation of Thariputra at his last moments. It is stated that he fell into ecstasy or trance, though his soul remained as yet connected with this world by slender and almost invisible ties. This was the last and mighty struggle of a being to disengage himself from the trammels of existence and become free from all exterior influence. Soaring above all that exists, Thariputra’s soul passed successively through the four stages he had so often visited, whilst engaged in the arduous effort of investigating truth, preparing to enter the fifth and last one, where he was to stay finally and perpetually, without any further change, in a state of quiescence. When the sage, during his meditations, has brought his mind to bear upon some object, he wishes to contemplate attentively and thoroughly to comprehend, he at first gets hold of that object by his thought, he then examines it by means of reflection: the knowledge he thus acquires never fails to create a pleasurable sensation; this pleasure or satisfaction conveys to the soul enjoyment and happiness; he loves the truth he has discovered, and he rests fixedly in it. This is the last stage he ever can or wish to reach. What has human mind, indeed, to do, after having found truth, but to cling to it, and remain ever attached to it? During the last trance, Thariputra, with his almost immensely developed mental faculties, knew comprehensively truth, reflected on it, felt a pleasure in considering it, enjoyed it, or rather fed upon it, and at last adhered so perfectly to it, that he became, as it were, merged into it. He then had reached the state of Neibban, where he was for ever exempt from the influences created and put in motion and activity by matter and passions in every state of existence. Buddhists, in Burmah, at least, owing to their very limited and imperfect education, are unable to give any satisfactory or even intelligible account of the state of Neibban or perfection. What is here but superficially stated, has been found in one of the last Buddhistic compositions on this and other metaphysical subjects. Fuller particulars shall, hereafter, be given as to the state of Neibban, when the death of one greater than Thariputra shall be related.

[6] In Burmah, when a person has just given up the ghost, the inmates of the house send for musicians, who soon make their appearance with their respective instruments. They forthwith set to work, and keep up an incessant noise during the twenty-four hours that elapse before the corpse is removed to the place where it is to be burnt. Relatives, friends, and elders resort to the deceased’s house for the ostensible purpose of condoling with those who have lost their kinsman, but in reality for sharing in the mirth and amusements that go on in such occasions. Strange to say, the thought of death strikes no one’s mind; the fate of the deceased is scarcely pitied, nay, remembered. Were it not for the presence of the corpse, and the perhaps conventional cries and lamentations of some old women at certain intervals, no one could imagine, still less find out, the real motive that has induced such a crowd to assemble on that spot.

If the departed belong to a respectable family in tolerably good circumstances, the funeral ceremony is arranged in the following manner: Presents, intended as offerings for the Buddhist monks, having been made ready, they are invited for the occasion, and their presence is expected in numbers proportionate to the amount of offerings. The procession starts from the deceased’s house, and directs its course towards the place of burning or the cemetery. It is headed by the yellow-dressed monks, carrying their broad, palm-leaf fans on the shoulder, and attended by their disciples. Next follow the bearers of the offerings in two lines. They are partly men and partly women, but walk separately and apart from each other. The coffin appears next, laid on thick poles, and carried by six or eight men. In front of the coffin, and sometimes at the sides, are arranged the musicians, who perform all the way without an instant’s interruption. Behind the coffin are grouped the male relatives, friends, &c., and lastly the procession is closed by crowds of women, attired in their finest dress. The coffin is beautifully decorated, and carried on the shoulders of six or eight stout young men by means of bamboos or poles. An unnatural merriment is allowed, and generally kept up all the way to the cemetery, and fantastic gestures and dances are performed by the bearers and their friends to the imminent danger of upsetting the coffin. The burning place is generally without the precincts of the town, and in the vicinity of some large pagodas. The funeral pile is of a very simple structure; its shape is that of an oblong square of a moderate size. Two large pieces of wood are at first laid parallel, at a distance of eight feet; other logs of wood, disposed at about six or eight inches from each other, are laid across the two first mentioned, so that their extremities are supported on these two pieces. A second set of logs is laid at right angles with the first; a third one placed across the second, and so on, until the pile is three, four, or five feet high. The coffin is deposited upon it. Fire is set below the pile by means of inflammable materials which soon communicate fire to the logs the pile is made of. The whole is soon in a blaze and rapidly consumed by the devouring flames. The bystanders talk, laugh, or busy themselves in stirring the fire. As to the Talapoins, they sometimes take position under a neighbouring shed, repeat a few passages of Buddha’s law, and when they are tired they give orders to their disciples to take up the offerings and then go back to their peaceable abodes. Very often they do not take the trouble of muttering prayers; they depart forthwith, followed by the offerings intended for them.

The fire being extinguished, the ashes, charcoal, &c., are carefully searched, and the particles of bones discovered are piously collected by the nearest relatives, and then buried in a hole dug for that purpose near some pagoda.

Persons in good circumstances keep up for seven days in their houses a sort of solemnisation of the funeral. Every day, in the evening particularly, musicians are kept up playing until a very late hour at night. The house is all the while crowded with people, who come for the purpose of enjoyment. Some play at various games; others drink tea; all chew betel-leaves’ tobacco in profusion. Sometimes stories relating to Gaudama’s former existences are read and listened to by the elders of the party. This mode, intended either to do honour to the deceased’s memory or to afford relief to the grief of relatives, is rather expensive, and might often prove a heavy drain on the limited means of most of the families. But the spirit of mutual assistance on this occasion removes the difficulty. Every visitor, according to his means, makes a present of some money to the master of the house. Though the present of the greatest numbers of visitors is comparatively small, yet, when added together, there is a considerable sum, which is generally more than sufficient to defray all expense that may be incurred. This custom or system of voluntary contributions burdens no one in particular, whilst it enables a family to make a show of liberality which, otherwise, would almost prove ruinous in many instances. The custom of burning the dead prevails amongst the Hindus, the Cingalese, Nepaulese, Burmese, Siamese and Cambodians. Though holding the tenets of Buddhism, the Chinese have never adopted this usage. The Mahomedans, living in Hindustan and the countries of eastern Asia, retain the custom of burying the dead. Buddhists have doubtless received that practice from the Hindus.

[7] The custom of making funeral orations for the purpose of eulogising distinguished individuals after their demise is of the highest antiquity. The sacred records bear witness to its existence amongst the Jews. The present legend offers repeated instances of eulogia made to honour the memory of the dead. On this occasion Buddha would not leave to another the honour of extolling the extraordinary merits and transcendent excellencies of the illustrious Thariputra. But he had a higher object in view when he exhibited to the eyes of the assembled Rahans the relics of the deceased, which were all that remained of so celebrated a disciple, who had lived with them for so many years, and had just parted from them. It was impossible to give them a more forcible illustration of the truth he had so often announced to them, that there is nothing permanently subsisting in this world, but that all things are liable to a perpetual and never-ending change. The stern Buddha gently rebuked the amiable Ananda for the signs of inordinate grief he gave on this occasion; because, said he, the law of mutability acting upon all that surrounds us, we must ever be prepared to be separated from what is dearest to our affections; grief on such occasions is useless, and quite inconsistent with the principles of a wise man.

To honour the memory of Thariputra, and perpetuate the remembrance of his virtues, Buddha directed that a dzedi should be erected on the very spot where he had heard the news of his death. A dzedi is a religious monument very common in Burmah, and to be seen on all rising grounds in the neighbourhood of towns. Within the enclosure of all monasteries, a dzedi is invariably erected; it is the only purely religious building to be found in Burmah. The traveller in that country is always delighted, and experiences the most pleasurable sensations on approaching some town or village, when he sees several dzedis of various heights raising their white cones capped with the gilt crown from the bosom of beautiful groves of tall cocoa-nut trees, graceful areca palms, and massive tamarind, mango, and jack trees, all loaded with a green and luxuriant foliage. When the monument is on a grand scale, niches are made in the middle of each side of the square, facing the four points of the compass. In those niches are placed statues of Buddha, exhibiting him in the usual cross-legged position. The size of those religious monuments varies much in dimensions. They range from the height of a few feet to the colossal proportions of the tall Dagon Pagoda at Rangoon.

The custom of raising monuments over the ashes of religious distinguished by their virtues and extraordinary attainments, is a very ancient one, coeval in all probability with the first ages of Buddhism. They were real tumuli, surmounted with some ornaments in the shape of a cone. Such ornaments are seen towering over nearly all the religious monuments in Burmah. Royalty, in its head paraphernalia, and in its abode, has appropriated them to its own uses. We may at once infer that they are of a Hindu origin. The great monarchs who are called Tsekiawade kings, because they ruled over the whole of the Dzampoudipa island, were, according to Buddha’s opinion, entitled to the honour of a dzedi after their demise.

[8] It is very difficult to understand the extraordinary state in which Buddha placed himself on this occasion. It must have been a remarkable occurrence, since it caused a violent commotion which shook our planet. The only interpretation that can be put on the terms used to describe this particular action of Buddha is this: He renounced existence, that is to say, not only the actual existence that he enjoyed, but also all other forms of existence. He severed connection with this and other worlds; he broke the ties that had hitherto retained him linked to a form of existence. He had come now to the end of all transmigrations. By the power of his will, he placed himself in the state of complete isolation from all that exists, even from self, that is to say, into Neibban, a state which death was soon to realise and render visible to the eyes of his disciples. It is not death that causes a being to reach the state or condition of Neibban, but it is the abstraction from all conceivable forms of existence that constitutes its very essence. The expression made use of by our author to designate the particular condition in which Gaudama brought himself, and which caused a terrific shake of the earth, is this: He parted with the life of change, of mutability, that is to say, he had nothing more to do with existences, which, in the opinion of Buddhists, are produced by the principle of mutability. Buddha called himself Zina, or conqueror, after he had obtained the perfect mastery over his passions. We may give him the same title on the occasion when he has obtained the mastery over existence itself. This last achievement is the greatest of all: the first one was only preparatory to securing the second one. The writer is well aware that such a language is at variance with the notions that the reader is familiar with. To understand its true and correct meaning one must be initiated into the doctrines of Buddhism.

The preaching of the law of the wheel, which is mentioned as one cause that produces the phenomena of earthquake, took place, as above related, in the Migadawon forest, or the Deer’s grove, near Benares, in the very beginning of Buddha’s public life, after he had left the Bodi tree. The preaching of the law of the wheel is nothing else than the manifestation of the four sublime and transcendent truths, which, as mentioned in foregoing pages, constitute the essence of Buddha’s doctrines.

[9] The particulars of the apparition of the evil one, or the tempter, related by Buddha himself to the faithful and amiable Ananda, show the incessant efforts made by Manh to render abortive, to a certain extent, the benevolent mission undertaken by Buddha to procure deliverance to numberless beings, and supply others with adequate means for entering into, and steadily following, the way that leads to it. He had been defeated in his endeavours to prevent Phra from leaving the world and obtaining the Buddhaship. He had been thwarted in his wicked designs to weaken the effects of Buddha’s preachings. Heretics of all sorts had been summoned to his standard, to carry on a most active warfare against his opponents, but he had failed in all his attempts. Buddha had now almost completed the great and beneficial work he had undertaken: his religious institutions, known over a vast extent of territory, and zealously propagated by fervent and devoted disciples, seemed to be now firmly established. The edifice, indeed, was raised, but it required the action of a finishing hand; the key-stone was yet wanting in the vault to render it complete and durable. Manh was aware of all that; hence his last and wily effort for impeding the finishing and perfecting of a work he had vainly opposed in its beginning and during its progress.

The line of distinction between the members of the assembly and the mass of those who merely believed in the doctrines of Buddha, without leaving the world, is plainly drawn by Buddha himself; therefore, there can be no doubt that, from the origin of Buddhism, there existed a marked difference between the body of laymen and that of Rahans. Again, the body of the perfect, or those who formed what may emphatically be termed the assembly, was composed of men and women, living, as a matter of course, separately, in a state of continence, and subjected to the disciplinary regulations which we find embodied in the Wini. In Burmah, vestiges of female devotees, living secluded from the world, are to be met with in many places, but, as already noticed in a foregoing remark, the order of religious females has much fallen off. Its professed members are few in number, and the exterior observance of the regulations is much neglected. The comprehensiveness of Buddhism, its tendency to bring all men to the same level, and allow of no difference between man and man but that which is established by superiority in virtue, its expansive properties, all those striking characteristics have mightily worked in elevating the character of the woman, and raising it to a level with that of man. Who could think of looking upon the woman as a somewhat inferior being, when we see her ranking, according to the degrees of her spiritual attainments, among the perfect and foremost followers of Buddha? Hence in those countries where Buddhism has struck a deep root and exercised a great influence over the manners of nations, the condition of the woman has been much improved and placed on a footing far superior to what she occupies in those countries where that religious system is not the prevalent one, or where it has not formed or considerably influenced the customs and habits of the people.

[10] The Buddhists of these parts, following the track of their ancestors, or rather copying their writings, are fond of arbitrary divisions in all that concerns the different parts of their metaphysics. Buddha, on this occasion, alludes to thirty-seven articles, which may be considered as the foundation whereon rests philosophical and moral wisdom. They are called Bodi-pek-kera; meaning, I believe, points or articles of wisdom. They are subdivided into seven classes. In the first are enumerated the four subjects most deserving of attention, viz., the body, the heart, the sensations, and the law. In the second are described four objects extremely worthy of our efforts, viz., preventing the law of demerits to come into existence; preventing its developments, when it exists; causing the law of merits to come into existence, and furthering its progress when it is already existing. In the third are found likewise four points meriting control, viz., one’s will, one’s heart, one’s efforts, and one’s exertions. In the fourth class we find enumerated five pre-eminently necessary dispositions or inclinations; that is to say, disposition to benevolence, to diligence, to attention, to steady direction towards what is excellent, and to considerate wisdom.

The fifth class comprises the pola, or rewards or good effects resulting from the above inclination, viz., perfect benevolence, diligence, attention, steadiness in what is excellent, and considerate wisdom.

The sixth class comprehends the seven following virtues, which enable man to raise himself very high in the scale of perfection:—Attention, consideration of the law, diligence, equanimity of the soul, constancy in good, fixity, and delight.

The seventh class comprises the ways that lead to good and perfection. They are eight in number:—Perfect doctrine, intention, language, actions, regular mode of life, diligence, attention, and fixity in good.

A volume might be written upon these thirty-seven principles or points of moral philosophy, by way of comment and explanation; but we think it better to leave the reader to make his own reflections, and run at liberty over this broad field of metaphysics.

[11] The Kakouda stream was one of the arms or channels of the little Gundak. It is at present dried up, but up to this day are to be seen several marks indicating the ancient bed of that stream.

The river Hiranyawati is one of the channels of the little Gundak, which was flowing a little west of the city of Koutheinaron. The Gundak being very winding in its course, and the mass of water being sometimes very considerable, there is to be seen a great number of old channels, now dried up, or occasionally filled in the time when inundation is prevailing. For this reason, it becomes difficult in some instances to follow the Chinese pilgrim, Hwen Thsang, through his minute and accurate description of the places he has visited. The mounds of ruins which stud the ground may not be always correctly identified, because they are not at present, relatively to the river, in the same position as that mentioned in his interesting itinerary. However, there are here and there some remnants of the old channels which are sufficient to guide safely the sure and patient Government Archæological Surveyor, who now does so much, with the assistance derived from the books of the two Chinese pilgrims, to find out and identify on the spot most of the places and localities mentioned in the Buddhist writings. It is not a little surprising that we should have to acknowledge the fact that the voyages of two Chinese travellers, undertaken in the fifth and seventh centuries of our era, have done more to elucidate the history and geography of Buddhism in India, than all that has hitherto been found in the Sanscrit and Pali books of India and the neighbouring countries.

The young religious who is called Tsanda was the younger brother of Thariputra. He seems to have shared with Ananda the honour of attending on Buddha’s person.

The forest which was close to the vicinity of Koutheinaron was planted with trees which the Burmans call ingien, the Bengalies, sal. The latter name is evidently the Sanscrit and Pali appellation of the tree, which the Burmese author has retained but once or twice throughout the course of his work, and wrote Sala. It is the Shorea robusta.

The four laws of edeipat, which, in the opinion of Buddha, can confer to him who knows and possesses them the extraordinary privilege of an indefinitely prolonged existence, are, absolute power over the will, absolute power over the mind, absolute power of exertion, absolute power over the means to attain any object. How can a man, in the present state of existence, obtain the possession of such a power? The only way that a Buddhist has to account for it is the following:—A perfect being, having estranged himself from all passions, from matter and its concomitant influences, solely by the power and energy of his will, acquires a freedom from all impediments, an unbounded liberty of motion, and a lightness and swiftness which enable him to do all that he pleases. He is independent of the elements of this world, which can no more offer obstacles and resistance to his wishes. Several instances of something approaching to those wonderful attainments have been mentioned in the course of this work. We have seen how those much advanced in perfection could raise themselves very high, and travel through the air with an almost incredible velocity. This was but the beginning of far superior and transcendent qualifications obtained only by those that had made greater progress in science, in virtue, and in the renouncing of all things; in a word, by those who had mastered the four laws of edeipat.

Mahawon Kootagara means the hall of the upper story in the great forest. Not far from Wethalie there was a monastery of great celebrity, situated in a forest of sala-trees. It had, at least, an upper story, in which was the hall where Gaudama often preached to his disciples and to the people.

[12] The meal Buddha partook of in company with his disciples at Tsonda’s residence is the last repast he ever made. The violent distemper which followed immediately is not, says the author of the legend, to be attributed to the food he took on this occasion. On the contrary, that very food, owing to the virtue infused therein by the agency of Nats and Brahmas, was rather an antidote against the illness that was to come inevitably upon Phra’s person. Previous to the dissolution of his bodily frame, it was decreed that Buddha should suffer. No occurrence could ever cause or avert this tragical circumstance. He had foreseen it, and with perfect resignation submitted to what was absolutely to happen. In the early days of Buddhism, when a deadly antagonism with Brahminism began to fill the peninsula of Hindustan with endless disputes between the supporters of the rival systems, Brahmins, with a cutting sneer, insulted their opponents by reminding them that the founder of their creed, whom they so much revered and exalted, had died from the effects of his having indulged too much in pork. About twenty-two years ago, when the writer was in Burmah, he chanced to meet with a shrewd old Christian, who, by the way, was fonder of disputing about religion than paying regard to the practice thereof. He boasted of having at his command deadly weapons against Buddhists, and unanswerable arguments to bear with an irresistible force on the vital parts of their creed. The chief one, which he always brought forward with a Brahminical scorn and laugh, was that Gaudama had died from his having eaten pork. He always did it with so much mirth and wit that his poor ignorant adversaries were completely overawed and effectually silenced by his bold and positive assertion, and left to him uncontested the field of battle, and allowed him to carry away undisputed the palm of victory. This way of arguing may prove a very amusing one, but it can never be approved of, as error is never to be combated by another error or a false supposition. The Burmese translator was doubtless aware of the weak side offered to the attacks of malignant opponents by the unpleasant distemper that followed the last meal of Buddha. He strenuously labours to defend the character of his hero by proving, in the best way he can, that such a bodily disorder was necessarily to take place, in order to set in relief the patience, composure, and other sterling virtues of the founder of Buddhism. The text of the legend has been read over several times with the greatest attention, for the purpose of ascertaining the reasons put forward to account for such an occurrence, but the result has proved unsatisfactory. A thick veil wraps in complete obscurity this curious episode of Buddha’s life. All that can be said is this: it was preordained that Buddha should be visited with a most painful distemper ere he attained Neibban; and so it happened.

To prove that the eating of pork had nothing to do with the distemper that followed, we have the authority of Gaudama himself, who commended the delicacy and flavour of that dish, and placed it on the same footing with the delicious Nogana he ate on the morning of the day previous to his obtaining the Buddhaship. He desired his ever-faithful attendant, Ananda, to repair to Tsonda’s place, and explain to him the great rewards reserved to him for having made the offering of such an excellent food.

The practical working of the Buddhistic system relatively to almsgiving deserves some notice. A man bestows alms on the Rahans, or spends money towards promoting some religious purpose; he does so with the belief that what he bestows now in the way of alms will secure to him countless advantages in future existences. Those favours, which he anticipates to enjoy hereafter, are all of a temporal nature, relating only to health, pleasures, riches, honours, and a long life either in the seat of man or in the seats of Nats. Such is the opinion generally entertained by all Buddhists in our days. Talapoins make the preaching of the law consist chiefly in enumerating the merits and rewards attending the bestowing of alms on persons devoted to a religious mode of life. In this respect the practical result of their sermons is certainly most beneficial to themselves. The spiritually-minded Buddha seems to have levelled a blow at concupiscence and covetousness by openly stating that alms have not the power to stem the current of demerits, to give rise and energy to the principle of merits, or to lead to wisdom, which enables man to weaken gradually concupiscence, anger, and ignorance, and to open and prepare the path to Neibban. True knowledge, attended by the practice of the virtues peculiar to those who have entered into the current of perfection by following the four Meggas, can alone enable a man to reach Neibban. Many excellent practices enforced by Buddhism have, so to speak, been reduced to a mere lifeless skeleton by ignorance and passions, but they would appear in a very different light were they animated with the spirit that has brought them into existence.

[13] The observance of the five precepts incumbent upon all Buddhists is the foundation whereupon is to be erected the spiritual edifice; it is the first step towards the great ways leading to perfection; it is preparatory for the great exercise of meditation, by which true wisdom may be acquired. The faithful who observe the five precepts and the three additional counsels show that faith is living in their hearts, and give unmistakable marks of their zeal in the practice of religion. They are real Upasakas, or laymen, fervently adhering to and taking refuge in Buddha, the law, and the assembly; but they cannot take rank among the members of the assembly or Thanga. Practice of and progress in meditation can alone usher an Upasaka into the sanctuary of the perfect.

The rewards destined to the faithful after their death are exactly proportionate to their merits and the real worth of their deeds. The seats of Nats, placed immediately above the seat of men, but under the sixteen seats reserved to the perfect, are opened to the pious Upasaka who migrates from the seat of probation and trial. The nature of the pleasures enjoyed in the Nats’ seats are all referable to the senses. All that can be imagined best fitted for the delectation of the five senses is accumulated in those blissful regions, and proffered with an ever-renewed profusion to their fortunate inhabitants. The vivid imagination of Asiatics has, one would say, exhausted its stores in picturing with an amazing variety the riches to be possessed there. It would be of no utility to attempt to give a compendious narrative of what we meet with in Buddhistic compositions respecting those regions. Suffice it for our purpose to say that the distinction of sexes remains in the Nats’ countries. In the two lowest seats connection takes place between the sexes, but no procreation ever results from it; in the third seats the Nats of different sexes are fully gratified by a simple kiss; in the fourth, by the touch of the hand; in the fifth, by merely looking at each other; and in the sixth, by the mere fact of their being in the same place, upon which we may make two observations. The first is that pleasures therein enjoyed lose their coarseness, and become more refined and more perfect in proportion as the seats are more elevated. The greater are the merits of the Upasaka in this life, the higher is the seat he is destined to occupy, and the more refined are the pleasures and enjoyments allotted to him. Hence our Gaudama having, during the existence preceding this last one, practised moral virtues of the highest order, migrated to Toocita, the fourth seat of Nats. The second observation is, that the duration of the enjoyments in the Nats’ seats increases in an arithmetical progression; that is to say, the pleasures of the second seat last twice as long as those of the first or lowest seat. Those of the third seat last twice as long as those of the second, and so on to the last or highest seat.

In the sermons that the Talapoins address to the people for stirring up their zeal chiefly in making alms to them, they are most fluent and abundant in the promises of rewards in the Nats’ seats, as a powerful inducement held out to them for keeping up their zeal in bestowing alms. They admirably succeed in obtaining their object with most of their hearers. It cannot be denied that those poor deluded followers of Buddha are fully convinced of all that is narrated to them by Talapoins respecting the Nats’ seats. Such is the implicit faith of the mass of the Buddhists. One may occasionally meet with a few individuals who laugh at those fables, but these are looked upon in no better light than that of rationalists or freethinkers by the orthodox portion of the community.

[14] The posture assumed by Buddha at this last stage of his life has supplied the subject of an artistic composition to the Southern Buddhist sculptors. A statue representing Phra in that reclining position is to be seen in almost every pagoda. Some of these statues are made on truly gigantic proportions. I have measured one that was forty-five feet long. If we take such rough works as exhibiting the amount of skill possessed by natives in the art of carving, we must confess that that art is with them yet in its infancy. The huge idols I have met with are never made of wood or hewed stones, but are built up with bricks. The artist, having made in this way the principal parts of the statue, covers the whole with a thick coat of mortar, the softness of which enables him without much labour to put the finishing hand to his work. These statues are invariably made after a certain pattern belonging to the antiquity, and to an epoch when the art was yet in its very infancy: they are, in an artistic point of view, the worst, rudest, and coarsest attempts at statuary I have ever seen. Gold is, however, profusely lavished on those shapeless and formless works. The big idol above referred to was covered with gold, that is to say, gilt from head to feet.

Idols of smaller dimensions, those in particular representing Buddha sitting in a cross-legged position, in the attitude of meditation, are likewise wretched specimens of art. A great many are made of a soft stone, almost white, resembling marble in appearance, and capable of receiving a most perfect polish. About three miles west of the old and ruined city of Tsagain is a place where the manufacturing of marble idols is carried on to a great extent. The stone used by the carvers is brought from a place north of Amerapoora, where it is abundant. It is soft, transparent, white, and sometimes, when polished, exhibits a slightly bluish appearance. The instruments used by the artists are simple and few. Were it not for the custom which obliges them to follow always the same patterns, the Burmese workmen would much improve in that branch of the fine arts.

[15] If Buddha ever deserved the surname of sage, it was assuredly on this occasion that he entitled himself to such an honourable distinction. All nature reversed its course on his account: wonders of the most extraordinary character loudly proclaimed his supereminent excellencies: the most exalted beings united their voices in extolling his transcendent merits, and showing their unbounded respect for his person; all that could dazzle the eye, please the ear, and flatter the heart, was displayed on an unparalleled scale to do honour to him who was about to leave this terrestrial abode. Buddha, however, solemnly declares, and unhesitatingly says to Ananda, that such a display is infinitely below his merits and perfections, and can bear no comparison with his fathomless wisdom and boundless knowledge of truth. Such things, in his opinion, are mere externals, quite destitute of substantial worth; they confer no real honour to him. They, adds he, who truly do honour to me are those who practise all that is enjoined by the most excellent law; nothing short of the observance of the law can please me; the practice of the virtues leading to perfection alone give the right to be called my disciple. My religion can rest firmly only on such solid foundation.

These expressions make every reader understand that, in Buddha’s opinion, religion is not a mere theory, teaching fine moral precepts, destined to excite a vain admiration in the mind, or elicit useless applauses; but it is a moral and practical system, making man acquainted with the duties he has to perform in order to shun vice and practise virtue. Nothing can be more explicit and positive than the notions he entertains of religion. They are worthy of the founder of a religious system now believed and admitted, with more or less considerable variety, by nearly one-fourth, or at least one-fifth, of the great human family. It must be admitted that the high religious sense entertained by Buddha, and communicated in all its purity to his immediate disciples, has almost vanished away in all Buddhist countries. With the people religion consists in certain exterior observances, such as giving alms to the Talapoins, building pagodas, and making offerings during the three months especially consecrated to religious duties. The influence of religious teachers, owing to ignorance and want of zeal, may be thought by many to be almost null, and scarcely felt by the masses of nominal Buddhists. Two causes, however, seem to be the generators and supporters of the religious sentiment that influences the people,—education, and the political institutions. The male portion of the community is brought up in the monasteries by the Phongyies. All the books that are put into their hands, and most of those that they subsequently read, are treatises on religious subjects. This system keeps up, in a wonderful manner, the knowledge of religion, which exercises a great control over the actions of individuals, and regulates their conduct. But, besides, the religious element almost predominates in the body of the civil laws; it acts indirectly upon the people, and must be allowed a great share of influence in all that regards their morals. It is, therefore, to political institutions that Buddhism owes much for the continuation of its existence in these regions. Were it deprived of such a powerful support, there is every reason to believe that it could not perhaps long retain its hold over the masses, when regularly and extensively attacked by the followers of another system. But the first cause is by far the weightier and the more influential.

[16] In the first edition of this work the writer had made an error in supposing Oupalawana to have been a male religious. Another palm-leaf manuscript that he has consulted leaves no doubt about her real character. She was, among the female body of religious, the disciple of the left; and Kema, who had been for many years the first wife of King Pimpathara, was the disciple of the right. Oupalawana belonged to a distinguished family of Kapilawot. The female portion of the Thanga or assembly was constituted after the mode of the Rahans. Thariputra and Maukalan were respectively the disciples of the right and of the left. One of the duties of the Rahaness of the left was to fan Buddha on certain occasions, and render to him such services as were compatible with her sex. The order of nuns in Burmah in our days has fallen very low. Instead of the yellow colour, they have adopted the white one for their dress, which, in other respects, resembles that of the Phongyies. Their head is shaved. They are to be seen in the neighbourhood of pagodas, and in the streets, going about to beg the food required for their maintenance. The only large convent of those nuns which I have ever met is one on the right bank of the Irrawaddy, about five miles north of Tsagain. It contains about forty or fifty inmates. Some of them belong to good families, and reside in the house for a few years, after which they return into their home. That house is under the special protection of the king, who supplies the nuns with all the necessaries of life. In the valley of Tavoy a small convent also has been pointed out to the writer. It was situated on a beautiful spot, west of the river. When he went to see it, he was surprised to meet with two or three old women, habited in the canonical dress, who appeared to be wretchedly poor and slovenly in their habits. The house was in every respect in keeping with the exterior appearance of the tenants. The nuns do absolutely no work, except in certain localities where they try to do away with a portion of their time in clearing the weeds which grow so luxuriantly in the enclosure of some famous pagoda. They have no schools to teach girls the rudiments of reading and writing. They are on this head greatly behind the Buddhist monks, who have assumed to themselves the great and important task of teaching boys in the towns and villages.

[17] The founder of Buddhism shows himself on this particular subject a consummate moralist. He who could have spoken as he did on this truly delicate point must have been deeply versed in the knowledge of human nature, and thoroughly acquainted with its frailties and weaknesses. Buddha desired to maintain the members of the assembly in a state of spotless purity. To attain that desirable object he raised the strongest barrier against the wildest passion of the heart. No virtue, in his opinion, can withstand the incessant assaults directed against it by daily and familiar intercourse with persons of another sex. He would have, if possible, the inmate of a cell in a monastery out of the reach of temptation itself; he knows that the best tactics against such an enemy do not consist in boldly meeting the adversary, but rather in carefully avoiding encounter with him, manœuvring in such a way as to keep far from him. Hence idle conversations with female visitors are not only forbidden in a most positive manner, but the very sight of women is to be, if possible, avoided. When duty shall oblige a recluse to come face to face with the enemy, it is his bounden obligation to keep at as great a distance from female visitors as practicable. The subject of the conversation ought to be of a purely religious character; some portions of the law may be expounded, doubts of conscience may be proposed, and a solution given to them, &c. On such occasions the spiritual adviser is never to be left alone, but he must be surrounded by some of his brethren or disciples, at all times very numerous in the monasteries.

It is not without interest to place one’s self in the centre of the Buddhistic system, and examine therefrom the motives that have induced Buddha to enjoin celibacy on all the members of the assembly, and enforce it with the utmost rigour by all the means that the profoundest moralist could devise.

The philosophy of Buddhism has for its primary object to lead man into the way of freeing himself from the influence produced upon the soul by exterior objects, through the medium or channel of the senses. That influence sets in motion the various passions which darken the intellect and trouble the heart, opposing an insuperable barrier to the acquirement and intuition of truth, and to the progress towards the state of quiescence, so ardently coveted and longed for by every true Buddhist. No one is ripe for the state of Neibban as long as he retains affection for things without self. The last and greatest effort of wisdom is the emancipation of self from every possible influence created and produced by objects or things distinct from self. Concupiscence, as the meaning of the word implies, is that disposition of the soul to search after, long for, and cleave to things placed without self. Such a disposition is diametrically opposed to the perfect independence aimed at by a perfect Buddhist, and leads to results the very reverse of those to be arrived at; it retains man in the vortex of never-ending existences, and precludes him from the possibility of ever reaching the state of Neibban. Concupiscence, taken in a more restricted and limited meaning, signifying the propensity to the indulgence of sensual pleasures by the union of sexes, must ever prove the greatest obstacle in the way leading to perfection, inasmuch as it fosters in men the strongest affection to external objects.

Buddha is great, in his own opinion, because he has conquered all passions, not by curbing them under the yoke of reason, but by rooting them out of his very being. When he wished to become an ascetic, he practised at first self-renouncing, not merely by giving up riches, palaces, dignities and honours, but chiefly and principally by denying to himself and for ever the enjoyment of sensual pleasures. A firm and unshaken resolution of parting for ever with his wife and concubines, and living in a perpetual celibacy, was considered as a preliminary and essential step for entering upon the course of life of a sincere searcher after truth and perfection. During the six years he spent in solitude, he laboured with unremitting zeal for securing to the spiritual principle an undisputed control over the material one, by stifling the vehemence and ardour of his passions. His austerities and mortifications during that long period had no other object than that of first weakening and then finally destroying passions, and in particular concupiscence. When he is praised in the writings, he is much extolled for having come out from the net of passions. His victory over concupiscence is repeatedly alluded to as the greatest of all achievements. The master, therefore, having laid such stress on this favourite and important maxim, could not but preach and enjoin it on all his future imitators and disciples. The earliest records of Buddhism bear testimony to the paramount importance attached to the practice of chastity. It has ever been considered as an essential requirement in all those that have desired to follow the footsteps of Buddha and imitate his mode of life. No qualification, ever so great and shining, could be admitted as a substitute for chastity. Science, talent, zeal, and fervour could never entitle an individual to the distinction of member of the assembly of the perfect without having previously given up the gratification of sensual pleasures. Independently of what is found written on this subject in the Wini, or book of discipline, the opinion of the Buddhist public is on this subject positive, universal, and absolute. He who leaves the condition of layman to become a religious must live in a state of perfect continence. An infraction of the regulations on this point is looked upon with horror and indignation by the people at large. The guilty individual is inexorably expelled from the religious house, after having been previously stripped of his religious dress and subjected to a humiliating degradation in the presence of the assembled members of the community. Nothing short of such a severe treatment could satisfy a public so deeply hurt and offended in their religious feelings. How is it that the practice of perfect continence is not merely a desideratum in an individual consecrated to religion, but an absolutely required qualification, which can never be equivalently supplied by any other moral or scientific attainment? How is it that such a notion is universally adhered to by nations noted for the undoubted laxity of their morals? Can a notion so generally believed and so tenaciously retained, in spite of its direct opposition to the wildest and the dearest passion of the heart, be ever called a prejudice? Is it possible to trace its connection with some of the noblest feelings of our nature and the most refined ideas of our mind? To a superficial and biassed observer, many things appear contradictory and irreconcilable, which a serious, acute, and dispassionate inquirer after truth readily comprehends, easily connects and accounts for, and satisfactorily reconciles one with the other.

[18] It is curious to investigate the origin and the real nature of the worship and honour paid by Buddhists to Gaudama, to his relics, to his statues, as well as to monuments erected for enshrining and sheltering those objects of devotion. The attempt at elucidating this point is beset with difficulties. The more we attentively reflect on the inward operations of the soul in all that relates to religion, the more we find ourselves puzzled and hesitating in qualifying and selecting the appellation most befitting them.

All the simple terms of our language intended to express the several sorts of acts of worship and adoration paid to objects partaking of a religious nature, are inadequate to represent to us, by sounds, the nature of the inward workings of the soul when she carries on a pious intercourse with the object of her devotion. The terms that are used merely express to us the exterior acts of worship, as manifested by peculiar attitudes of the body (which vary according to the habits and customs of various nations), or singing, making offerings, and other visible signs. They may be, in fact they are, used with equal fitness all over the world by the worshippers of the true God as well as by the adorers of idols. The difference between the true and false worship does not consist, therefore, in the externals, nor in the ceremonies or exterior signs that make impression on the ear and the eye, but it is to be found in reality in the objects that the adorers have in view. Here lies the essential difference between the true and false worship.

This being premised, we have naturally to ask: What is Gaudama, the great and principal object of worship to all Buddhists? Gaudama, in their opinion, is a mere man, that has attained, by the practice of virtue, and principally by his almost infinite science, the highest point of perfection a being can ever reach. The first qualification entitles him to the unbounded admiration of his followers; it inspires them with expressions the best calculated to eulogise him, and represent him as the first and greatest of all beings. Again, Gaudama is represented to them full of benevolence and compassion for all beings, whom he earnestly wishes to deliver from their miseries, and help to obtain that state in which they come for ever to a perfect rest from all transmigrations, or to what they emphatically call the deliverance. The second qualification is much insisted upon by Buddhists, and from it originate those feelings of love and tender affection for him who has laboured so much for enlightening all beings, and showing to them the way that leads to the deliverance. Buddhists on this subject are very eloquent. The writer has often admired many fine thoughts and truly beautiful expressions he has met in some writings devoted to the praises of Buddha.

It may be asked whether the followers of Gaudama in the worship they pay the author of their religion expect any aid or assistance from him. The answer is an easy one. Gaudama to them is no more. His interference with the affairs of this world or of his religion absolutely ceased with his existence. He sees no one; he hears no prayer; he can afford no help neither here on earth nor in any other state of existence. In fact, to the Buddhists there is no Providence, and, consequently, there can be no real prayer, none of the feelings that constitute its essence. All the worship of Gaudama may be summed up in a few words: he is admired as the greatest, wisest, and most benevolent of all beings; he is praised, eulogised as much as language can express; he is the object of a tender affection for the good that he has done. No idea whatever of a supreme being is to be met in the genuine worship paid to Gaudama by his most enthusiastic adherents. It cannot be denied that, in practice, Buddhists of these parts betray often without perceiving it that they have some vague idea about a supreme being, who has a controlling power in the affairs of this world and the destiny of man. But such an idea does not come from their religious creed; it is the offspring of that innate sentiment adherent in our nature, as is maintained by some philosophers: or it is a remnant of a primitive tradition, which error has never been able entirely to obliterate, as asserted by others.

The worship paid to Buddha does not extend further than it has been above stated, since it is always placed on a footing of equality with the one due to the law and to the assembly. These three precious things are always enumerated together; no distinction is made between them; they are equally entitled to the veneration of all believers.

Let us come now to the veneration offered to the statues and relics of Gaudama, and to the religious monuments called dzedis. In the foregoing pages we have seen Buddha giving to two brothers who had requested him to supply them with some object of worship eight hairs of his head. After his death and the combustion of his body, the remaining bones, or parts of bones, even the very ashes and charcoals, were piously coveted, with an eagerness that indicated the high value people set on these articles. According to several Buddhist authors, Gaudama, previous to his death, intimated to his disciples that his religion was to last five thousand years; that, as he would be no longer among his believers in a visible manner, he wished that they would keep up his statues as his representatives, and pay to them the same honour they would pay to his own person. Relying upon this positive injunction, the Buddhist looks on the statues of Buddha as objects destined to remind him of Buddha: they are the visible mementoes of him who is infinitely dear to his affections; they put him, by their variety of shapes and form, in remembrance of the principal events connected with his existence. The princes that have been most remarkable for their religious zeal and piety, such as Adzatathat and Athoka, were anxious to multiply the statues of Buddha and the religious monuments, to nourish in the soul of all the faithful, as says our Burmese author, a feeling of tender affection, of lovely disposition for the person of Buddha and his holy religion. The relics being articles that have been most intimately connected with Buddha’s person, are designed to act on the religious feelings of the people even more powerfully than the statues. They are treasured up with the greatest care, worshipped with the profoundest respect, looked upon with a most affectionate regard. No earthly treasure can be compared with them. As Buddha’s sacred person is more valuable in their eyes than the whole world, his relics partake of that invaluable estimation. It becomes evident that the statues and relics are so much valued, esteemed, and worshipped because of the intimate connection they have with the person of Buddha, and the great help they afford in keeping alive a religious spirit and a tender affection for him.

In the worship of statues and relics, superstition has had its share too in giving an undue extension and development to the religious sentiment. This development has brought into existence the belief in prodigies and miracles wrought by the virtue of the relics. This popular error has always found a powerful support among the ignorant masses; it has been much propagated by that inordinate and irrational tendency towards all that is new and extraordinary. Man wants but a pretext, even a very futile one, to give credit to the most incredible occurrences, when they have a reference to a deeply cherished, and, as it were, favourite object. But in no way do we find genuine Buddhism countenancing such spiritual eccentricities or extravagances, which have their origin in ignorance and an inordinate fondness for the marvellous.

The articles of worship offered to or placed before the statues of Buddha, and the shrines supposed to contain some of his relics, are few and remarkable for their simplicity. They consist in flowers arranged in fine bouquets, in flags and streamers made of cloth, sometimes of paper, and cut into a great variety of figures, with considerable taste and skill. There are to be seen also small wax candles, little earthen lamps, and sometimes incense and scented wood, which are consumed in large burners, placed on pedestals made of masonry. The worshippers are generally in a squatting position, the back resting on the heels, the body slightly bending forward, the joined hands raised to the forehead. Ordinarily a string of flowers, or little bits of wood adorned each with a small paper flag, are held on these occasions. On the days of worship, particularly during the three months of Lent, the crowd of people of every age, sex, and condition, resorting to the most venerated pagoda of the place, is truly extraordinary. Men and women of a certain age have in their hands a string of beads, upon which they repeat the formula Aneitsa, Duka, Anatta, or some other.

Since the Buddhist knows that his Buddha is no more, and, therefore, can afford him no assistance whatever, that there is no virtue inherent in his relics or images, in fact, that there is no Providence, it is difficult to account for the zeal that he often displays in honouring the great founder of his religion, and all that has a reference to him. To account satisfactorily for such a moral phenomenon, we must bear in mind the belief that he has in the intrinsic worth of the devotional practices he performs. Those works are good per se; they give rise, power, and energy to the law of merits, or to the good influence which will procure to him abundant rewards in future existences, and gradually lead him to the harbour of deliverance, the object of his most ardent wishes. That hope is, as it were, the great feeder of his devotion.

[19] On a former occasion, Buddha had raised his voice to bestow praises on the memory of the great Thariputra, whose relics he was holding on the palm of one of his hands in the presence of the assembled Rahans. Now, a short time before he yields up the ghost, he summons all his strength, and at great length passes the highest encomium on his amiable and ever-devoted attendant, the truly kind-hearted Ananda. These are the only two instances mentioned in this compilation, when Buddha has condescended to eulogise the great virtues and eminent merits of two disciples. In Thariputra, Buddha extolled the transcendent mental attainments, the heroic achievements in the practice of virtue, the fervour and zeal for the propagation of religion, which had ever distinguished the illustrious friend of Maukalan. In Ananda, the searching and keen eye of Buddha discovered excellencies of a less shining and bright hue, but, in point of sterling worth, second to none. Ananda is a matchless pattern of gentleness, amiability, devotedness, and placid religious zeal. He loves all his brethren, and he is, in return, beloved by them all. His superior goodness of heart and placidity of temper secure to him an almost undisputed precedence over the other members of the assembly. Tearing the veil that conceals futurity from our eager regards, Buddha foretells the future conquests to be made by the mild and persuasive eloquence of his ever dearly beloved disciple. The far-spread fame of Ananda shall in days to come attract crowds of visitors, eager to see and hear him. The sight of his graceful and lovely appearance shall rivet to his person the attention and affection of all. Enraptured at the flow of this tender, touching, and heart-moving eloquence, visitors shall eagerly listen to him; they will experience sadness only when his silence shall deprive them of that food which their mind and heart were feasting on.

The eulogium of Ananda by Buddha is unquestionably one of the finest passages of the legend. Divested of its original beauties by having passed through several translations, it retains, however, something that charms and pleases. The reader is involuntarily reminded of similar specimens found here and there in the earliest records of antiquity.

In the instructions that Ananda is to give to laymen, it is somewhat curious to see Buddha distinctly stating that Ananda will exhort the people to make offerings both to Rahans and to pounhas; that is to say, to the members of the assembly, and to the Brahmins. From this passage, it becomes evident that, in the days of our Buddha, the two sects that were subsequently to struggle during many ages for superiority over the Indian Peninsula, subsisted free from inimical feelings towards each other. It might be said that no line of separation kept them apart, indicating or pointing out their respective limits. The wide gap that was during succeeding centuries to intervene between those two great religious sects was not perceptibly felt. The levelling results of Buddhism had not yet awakened the susceptibilities of the proud Brahmins. Buddhists and Brahminists lived on friendly terms, and looked upon each other as brethren. The discrepancies in the respective creeds were regarded with indifference, as involving only philosophical subtleties, well suited to afford occupation to ideologists, and give to disputants the opportunity of displaying their abilities in arguing, reasoning, and defining. It is not easy to determine whether the conduct of Buddha was regulated by a well-calculated policy, intended to calm the suspicious scruples of his opponents, or whether he was actuated by plain and straightforward principles. It is probable that at that time many Brahmins followed a mode of life almost similar to that of the disciples of Buddha; they were, therefore, entitled to the same honours and support.

[20] Buddha had so much at heart the conversion of the heretic Thoubat, that the earnest desire of performing this great and meritorious action was one of the three motives that induced him to select the comparatively insignificant city of Koutheinaron for the last stage of his existence. Particulars regarding that personage would prove interesting, because he is the last convert Buddha made. From what has been alluded to in some Buddhistic writings regarding Thoubat, it is certain that he was of the caste of pounhas or Brahmins. He had studied in some of the numerous schools of philosophy, at that time so common in India. From his way of addressing Buddha, there is no doubt but he was acquainted with the principal theories upheld by the most renowned masters in those days. It is related of Thoubat that, in a former existence, he was tilling a field with one of his brothers, when some Rahans happened to pass by. His brother gave abundant alms to the holy personages, whilst Thoubat showed less liberal dispositions. When, then, Buddha appeared, the law was announced to the generous donor, and in company with eighteen koudes of Brahmas he obtained the state of Thautapan. The rather parsimonious Thoubat obtained the favour of conversion at the eleventh hour. He must have, however, subsequently atoned for this offence, as his dispositions seem to have been of the highest order when he came into Buddha’s presence. In a few hours he had gone over the four ways leading to perfection, and had become a Rahanda.

In the days of Buddha, the philosophical schools of India seem to have had six eminent teachers, whose doctrines exhibited on some points a considerable variance. In a book of religious controversy between a Christian and a Buddhist, composed more than a hundred years ago by a Catholic priest at Ava, the writer had the chance of meeting with a faint outline of the leading tenets maintained by the six teachers, so often alluded to in this compilation. One of them maintained the existence and agency of numberless genii, who, at their will, could favour man with fortune and every possible temporal benefits, as well as visit him with their displeasure, by depriving him of all happiness and heaping misery and all sorts of calamities over his head. Geniolatry was the necessary consequence flowing from such a principle. A second teacher denied at once the dogma of metempsychosis, and maintained that every being had the innate power of reproducing by way of generation, &c., another being of similar nature. A third one had singular notions regarding the nature of man. He said that he had his beginning in the womb of his mother, and that death was the end and destruction of his being: such a destruction he called Neibban. A fourth teacher taught that all beings were without beginning and ending, and that there existed no influence of good and bad deeds. A fifth doctor defined Neibban, a long life like that of Nats and Brahmas. He saw no harm in the killing of animals, and he asserted the existence of a state of reward and punishment. The last teacher boldly asserted the existence of a Supreme Being, creator of all that exists, and alone worthy of receiving adorations.

Thoubat’s mind was rather perplexed by so many contradictory and opposite opinions and doctrines. He had lived, it appears, in a state of doubt and uncertainty, fluctuating, as it were, between conflicting theories which could not carry conviction to his soul. He had heard of Buddha and wished to see him, hoping that perhaps he might fall in with the truth he was so ardently panting after. With these dispositions, he came to the spot where Buddha was lying on his couch, in the hope of easing his mind from the state of doubt and fixing it in truth. Like a man of consummate abilities in the way of arguing and convincing his adversary, Buddha sets aside all that was put forward by his antagonist, and, coming at once to the point, preaches to him the true doctrine. As light dispels darkness, so truth disperses the mist of error. Thoubat, seeing truth, at once embraced it, gladly ridding himself of the burden of errors that had hitherto weighed down his soul. All his doubts vanished away, and he found himself, on a sudden, safely anchored in the calm and never-agitated harbour of perfect truth.

Next to the conversion of Thoubat, follows an interesting instruction delivered to Ananda and the assembled Rahans. Here Buddha displays the superiority of his lofty mind. Clinging to the principles of abstract truth, he has no regard for persons or things. This material world, man included, is, in his opinion, a mere illusion, exhibiting nothing real, but only an uninterrupted succession of changes, which exclude the idea of immutable fixity. He apparently has no wish to infuse consolation into the afflicted souls of his disciples. He supposes that, being all initiated in the knowledge of truth, and having entered in the ways of perfection, they must know that the person of a Buddha is subjected to the law of mutability, and, therefore, to destruction or to death. He says plainly to them that his absence from among them is a circumstance scarcely worth noticing: by his doctrines contained in the Abidama, the Thoots and the Wini, he will ever be present among them. In these sacred writings they will possess something more valuable than his material being: they will have and enjoy the truth that was in him, and that he has communicated to them by his oral instructions. He earnestly invites them to lay stress only on that doctrine which they have received from him.

It is hardly necessary to notice a serious anachronism made by the unskilful compiler of this legend on this occasion. We know that Buddha wrote nothing, and that the compilation of his doctrines with its division in three distinct portions was the work of the three great councils held after Gaudama’s death or Neibban. How could the dying originator of Buddhism speak of compilations of his doctrines, which were not as yet existing?

[21] Buddha’s zeal is not chilled in the least by the cold of approaching death. His boundless knowledge enabled him at a glance to obtain the most intimate acquaintance with the inward dispositions of his disciples’ minds. If, therefore, he asked them three successive times whether they entertained doubts on any doctrinal points, it was not to satisfy himself that their faith was firm and unshaken. He wished to make them conscious of a fact which was felt and clearly understood by every one in particular, but was not as yet fully appreciated by the universality of his disciples. Every individual in particular was well aware of the unwavering dispositions of his mind respecting Buddha’s teachings, but no one ever had the opportunity of ascertaining that all his brethren had the same firmness of belief. On this solemn occasion they witnessed the most comforting sight of a perfect unity of faith in all the members of the assembly. Buddha revealed then one great truth which no one but himself could be acquainted with. A true Rahan, says he, has entered at last in the first way that leads to perfection; he is, therefore, no more exposed to the danger of wavering in his belief; he knows enough of truth to adhere firmly to it, and is enabled to prosecute safely his researches after what is still unknown to him. Every member of the assembly is a true believer, more or less advanced in the knowledge of the law, it is true, but at least he is conscious of his being in the right way. On this subject no doubt subsists in his mind; he adheres to Buddha and his doctrines as to the centre of truth, and never thinks for a moment to question the veracity of his doctor, or to call in doubt any portion of his instructions.

The last words of Buddha to the assembled Bickus are designed to remind them of the great and vital principle he has endeavoured to inculcate in their minds during the forty-five years of his preaching, viz., that change and mutability are acting upon all that exists, and are inherent in all parts of nature. This world, therefore, offering but an endless vicissitude of forms, that appear and disappear, has no real existence. It is an illusion from beginning to end. As long as man remains tied up, so to speak, to nature, he is carried away by the ever-acting principle of change: nowhere can he find any rest or fixity; he quits one existence to pass into another; he leaves one form to assume a different one. What happens to man befalls all other parts of nature. From this notion, Buddha infers that there is nothing existing but name and form. There is no substance in nature, and therefore no reality. So much stress was laid by Buddha on this capital principle that he bequeathed it, as his last Will, to his disciples: he wished that they should ever bear in their minds and remember that he came among them for the purpose of making them thoroughly acquainted with it. From this cardinal point he inferred the chief conclusions that form his religious system, viz., metempsychosis, the contempt of the world, and Neibban. By the law of endless changes, man is hurried from one state into another, or from one form of being into another form. Where is the wise man that could love a world, or an existence therein, when he finds no substance, no reality in it? Is he not induced, or rather compelled, to search after a state in which he can find fixity, reality, and truth, or at least an exemption from the harassing condition of perpetual migration from one state into another?

The reader who has been almost born with and educated in theistic notions, and who sees in the world nothing but what has been created by a supreme and all-wise Being, is at a loss to understand how a grave philosopher, as undoubtedly Buddha was, gifted with great powers for observing, arguing, discussing, and inferring conclusions, could have fallen into errors so glaring and so contrary to his reason. That we might properly appreciate the efforts of such a genius, and have some correct ideas about his process of arguing, we must divest ourselves of the knowledge supplied to us by revelation, and descend to the level occupied by the founder of Buddhism. Unacquainted with a first cause, or with the existence of a Supreme Being, he studies nature as he finds it. What does he see in it? Perpetual changes, endless vicissitudes. The form that he perceives to-day has undergone some change on the following day. Everything about him grows, reaches a certain point, and then falls into decay. He finds nothing that stands always in the same condition. Hence he proclaims the great law of mutability pervading all nature, and concludes that all that we feel, see, or hear, is illusion and deception, &c.; deprived of all reality, fixity, and substance. His philosophical mind is not satisfied with such a discovery. He pants after truth and reality, which are not to be found here. He feels that he must disentangle himself from the condition of illusion and deception. But where is reality and fixity to be found? Beyond all, that exists in Neibban.

[22] The epoch of Gaudama’s death is a point on which the various nations professing Buddhism do not agree. The Cingalese, Burmese, and Siamese annals place that event somewhat before the middle of the sixth century before the Christian era. The difference of dates is but of a few years, and is so inconsiderable as not to be worth notice. The Thibetans, and, as a consequence, the Mongolians with the Chinese, place that event several hundred years previous to the epoch just mentioned. Notwithstanding this discrepancy, it seems difficult not to adopt the chronology of the southern Buddhists. The savans in Europe, who have bestowed a considerable degree of attention on this interesting subject, give a decided preference to the opinion of the former.

We have not to depend solely on the chronological tables of kings, supplied by the Hindus, for settling this point, but fortunately we are put indirectly by Greek writers in possession of a fixed and well-established epoch, from which we can take with a sufficient degree of certainty our departure for arriving at a satisfactory conclusion. After the death of Alexander the Great, Seleucus, one of his lieutenants, obtained for his share all the provinces situated east of the Euphrates, in which the Indian conquered territories were included. Seleucus, at first in person, and next by an ambassador, came in contact with a powerful Indian king, named Chandragupta, who had the seat of his empire at Palibotra or Pataliputra. This intercourse took place about 310 B.C. The Hindu chronological tables mention the name of this prince as well as that of his grandson, called Athoka, who, according to the testimony of the Burmese authors, ascended the throne of Palibotra two hundred and eighteen years after Gaudama’s death. We may suppose that Athoka reigned in or about 270 or 280 B.C. These two periods added together will give but a sum of five hundred years. There will remain a difference of only forty years, for which it is not easy to account with sufficient precision, unless we suppose that the reign of Athoka began earlier than is generally admitted. Cunningham has given very strong reasons for fixing the period of Gaudama’s death sixty-six years later than the usual one, hitherto generally admitted, 543; that is to say, in the year 477 B.C. This new epoch enables us to adhere at once with perfect safety to the computation above related, and does away with the small discrepancy of a few years that has been mentioned. Tradition and ancient inscriptions leave almost no doubt upon this important point.

Our legend is positive in stating that Gaudama died under the reign of Adzatathat, as will hereafter be seen. But the Hindu chronologists place the reign of that monarch about 250 or 260 years before that of Chandragupta, who, as stated, was a contemporary of Seleucus Nicator. We have, therefore, the combined authority of both foreigners and natives for admitting the chronology of the southern Buddhists respecting the epoch of Gaudama’s death, in preference to that of the northern Buddhists, and for fixing that event during the first part of the sixth century before the Christian era, or rather sixty-six years later, in the beginning of the fourth part of the fifth century.

[23] What is Neibban, the end a true Buddhist ever longs for throughout his great struggles in the practice of virtue and his constant efforts for attaining the knowledge of truth, which he finally reaches when he has become perfect? The writer confesses at once his inability to answer satisfactorily this question, because Buddhists do not agree among themselves in explaining the nature of the state of Neibban. From the earliest period of their religion we see the Brahmins keenly taunting their opponents for the discordance of their opinions on a subject of the utmost importance—a subject which had ever been prominent in Buddha’s teachings, and held up as the only one worthy of the most earnest and ardent desires, the fittest reward of the generous and extraordinary exertions of a perfected being, and the final state in which his soul, wearied after such a prolonged spiritual warfare, longed to rest for ever. A certain school of Buddhists has maintained that Neibban implied the destruction of the state of being, and consequently complete annihilation. This opinion is at once practically rejected by the portion of the southern Buddhists, who are not so well acquainted with the more philosophical part of their creed. They assert that a perfected being, after having reached Neibban, or having arrived at the end of his last existence, retains his individuality, but they utterly fail in their attempts at explaining the situation and condition of a being in Neibban. At a later period the opinion about a supreme Buddha, uncreated, eternal, and infinite, began to gain ground, and modified to a considerable extent on many points the views of the earlier Buddhists. Neibban, according to the comparatively modern school, is but an absorption into the supreme and infinite Buddha. This opinion so much approximates to that of the Brahmins that we may say it is almost the same. The means of obtaining perfection are somewhat different in both systems, but the end to be obtained is precisely the same.

Setting aside idle speculations, let us try to form some idea of Neibban by explaining the meaning of the term, and the definition such as we find it in the Burmese writings.

The word Neibban, in Sanscrit Nirvana, according to its etymology, means what is no more agitated, what is in a state of perfect calm. It is composed of the negative prefix nir and va, which means to be set in motion, as the wind. It implies the idea of rest in opposition to that of motion or existence. To be in the state of Neibban is therefore to be carried beyond the range of existence, as understood by Buddhists; there can be no longer migration from one state of being to another. This point is admitted by all sects of Buddhists. To the idea of Neibban is often attached that of extinction, as a lamp which ceases to burn and whose light becomes extinct when the oil is exhausted. The sum of existence being exhausted, a being ceases to be or to move within the range of existence; he becomes extinct relatively, at least to all kind of existences we have a notion of. In conversing with the Buddhists of Burmah, the writer has observed that the ideas of rest and extinction are invariably coupled with the notion of Neibban. In their rough attempt at explaining the inexplicable nature of that state they had recourse to several comparisons intended to convey to the mind that they believed Neibban to be a state of undisturbed calm and a never-ending cessation of existence, at least such as we have an idea of in this world. When questioned on the situation of Buddha in Neibban, they answer that they believe him to be in a boundless space or vacuum beyond the boundaries ever reached by other beings, alone by himself, enjoying, if the expression be correct, a perfect rest, unconcerned about this world, having no further relation with all existing beings. They assert that he is to remain for ever a stranger to all sensations of either pain or pleasure. But it must be borne in mind that this is the popular opinion rather than the philosophical one. Talking one evening with a well-informed Burman on Neibban, the light of a lamp that was burning on the writer’s table happened to die away for want of oil. The Buddhist, with an exulting tone of voice, exclaimed, “Do not ask any more what Neibban is; what has happened to the lamp just now, tells you what Neibban is. The lamp is extinct because there is no more oil in the glass. A man is in Neibban at the very moment that the principle or cause of existence is at an end or entirely exhausted.” How far such an answer can satisfy a superficial mind like that of a half-civilised Burman, it is difficult to say; but it appears certain that he does not carry his researches nor pursue his inquiries beyond these narrow boundaries. Any further attempt to penetrate deeper into the darkness of Neibban is, in his opinion, presumptuous and rash.

Buddhist metaphysicians in India, in their foolish efforts to survey that terra incognita, have originated several opinions that have had their supporters in the various schools of philosophy. The more ancient philosophers or heads of schools, in attempting to give an analysis of a thing they knew nothing about, approximated to the opinion that Neibban is nothing more or less than a complete or entire annihilation. Following the course of arguments, and admitting their premises, one is reluctantly compelled to come to the awful conclusion that the final end of a perfected Buddha is the destruction of his being, or annihilation. This opinion is still further corroborated by the short exposition of Buddhist metaphysics at the end of this volume. The crudest materialism is openly and distinctly professed. There is nothing in man distinct from the six senses. The faculty of perceiving the object they come in contact with is inherent in their nature. The sixth sense, that is to say, the heart, has the power of perceiving ideas, that is to say, things that have no form or shape. But this power is not distinct from the living sense; it disappears when the life of that sense is extinct, or, in other terms, when the heart is destroyed. To the holders of such an opinion the cessation of existence, the going out of the circle of existences, by the destruction of kan, or the influence of merits and demerits, must be and cannot but be complete annihilation.

From a long period the plain sense of the masses of believers, unprejudiced by sophistical bias, revolted against such a doctrine, and at once rejected the horrible conclusion arrived at by former disputants. No one in practice openly admits that Neibban and annihilation are synonymous terms. If their views can be properly understood, we may infer from what they say that a being in Neibban retains his individuality, though isolated from all that is distinct from self. He sees the abstract truth, or truth as it is in itself, divested of the material forms under which we in our present state of existence but imperfectly see it. Passions and affections are not to be found in such a being; his position, in truth, can scarcely be understood and still less expressed by us, who can never come in communication with an object but through our passions and affections. We know that there exists a spiritual substance, but we can have no distinct idea of it. We vouch for its existence by what we observe of its operations, but it is impossible for us to explain its nature. It is not, therefore, surprising that Buddhists should be at a loss to account for the state in which a perfected being is when in Neibban. The idea of a state of apathy or rest must be understood as expressing simply a situation quite opposite to that of motion, in which all beings are as long as they are within the pale of existences. If it be admitted that the perfected being retains in Neibban his individuality, it must be inferred that he becomes, as it were, merged into the abstract truth in which he lives and rests for ever. But we must distinctly state anew that this view is in opposition to the doctrines of the earliest Buddhists, and the philosophical principles and inferences maintained as genuine. This contradiction illustrates the truth of a remark made above, that error can never entirely obliterate from man’s mind the knowledge of certain fundamental truths, which are almost constitutive of his moral being.

Let us come now to a definition of Neibban translated from Pali by the Burmans. Neibban is the end of all existences, the exemption from the action of kan, i.e., the good or bad influence produced by merits or demerits; of Tsit, i.e., the principle of all volitions, desires, and passions; of the seasons, and of taste or sensations. What means this rather curious, not to say almost unintelligible, definition? To understand it the reader must be aware that kan is the principle which causes all beings to move incessantly from one existence into another, from a state of happiness to one of unhappiness, from a position where merits are acquired into another where further merits are to be obtained and greater proficiency in perfection secured, from a state of punishment or demerits into a worse one, &c. Kan may be called the soul of transmigration, the hidden spring of all the changes experienced by an existing being. In Neibban the law of kan is destroyed, and therefore there are no more changes or transmigrations.

By Tsit is understood the principle of all volitions and desires. Buddhist metaphysicians, always fond of divisions and classifications, reckon one hundred and twenty Tsits. Some are the root of all demerits, and their opposites are the principles of merits. Some have for object matter this material world; others have for object the immaterial world, or, as I believe, ideas and things that have no form. The last of tsits, and of course the most perfect, is entire fixity. This is the last stage ever to be reached by a perfected being in the world of existences. One step further, and he has reached the undisturbed shores of Neibban. In that latter state there is no more operation of the mind or of the heart; or at least there is no intellectual working, such as we conceive it in our actual condition.

The word Udoo, or season, is evidently used for designating a revolution of nature. The meaning is obvious, and affords no difficulty. In Neibban there is neither nature nor revolutions of nature. Neibban, if a state it be, lies in vacuum or space far beyond the extensive horizon that encircles the world or worlds, or systems of nature.

The word Ahara, which literally means taste, is intended to designate all sensations acquired through the senses. By means of the senses, indeed, we obtain perceptions and acquire knowledge; but the perfected being having come to the possession of universal science, no further knowledge is needed; the senses are, therefore, useless. The senses, moreover, are the appendage of our nature, as it is during its existences. Neibban putting an end to further existences, it destroys also the constituent parts or portions of our being.

Admitting that the above definition of Neibban is a correct one, and that it has been understood in a purely Buddhistic sense, we may conclude that in that state there is no more influence, and consequently no transmigration, no volition of the mind, no desires of the heart, no materiality, and no sensations. The difficulty as to whether Neibban is annihilation seems all but entirely and completely solved. There is another way of arriving at a similar conclusion. Let us ascertain what are the constituent parts of an intelligent being, and then inquire whether these parts are entirely destroyed and annihilated in Neibban. In an intelligent being, according to all doctors, we find materiality, sensations, perceptions, consciousness, and intellect. These five aggregates constitute a thinking being. These, assert the same doctors, do not exist in Neibban; they are destroyed. One word more and the question would be settled; but that word has not been, at least to my knowledge, ever distinctly uttered. It is probable that these five aggregates or component parts are, in the opinion of many, the conditions of existence such as we now understand it. But it would be too hasty to conclude that a being under different conditions of existence could not retain his individuality though deprived of these five component parts. Buddhists, as already said, have very imperfect notions of a spiritual substance. It is not surprising, therefore, that they cannot express themselves in a manner more distinct, precise, and intelligible when they treat of subjects so abstruse and difficult. In practice they admit the existence of something distinct from matter, and surviving in man after the destruction of the material portion of his being; but their attempts at giving a satisfactory explanation of the nature of that surviving individuality have always proved abortive. In their process of arguing the learned reject such an admission.

The question, as may be inferred from the foregoing lines, if considered in the light of purely theoretical notions, is philosophically left little open to discussion, though it will probably ever remain without a perfect solution. But the logical inferences to be deduced from the principles of genuine Buddhism inevitably lead to the dark, cold, and horrifying abyss of annihilation. If examined from a practical point of view, that is to say, taking into account the opinions of the masses of Buddhists, the difficulty may be considered as resolved too, but in an opposite sense.

[24] The lengthened description of Buddha’s funeral has suggested the idea of laying before the reader a brief account of the ceremonies observed by Buddhists in Burmah, when funeral rites are performed on the mortal remains of Talapoins, who have been eminent in the profession and have spent their whole lives in monasteries. By comparing the following account with the narrative of the legend, we will see that the rubrics of the funeral service, in our days, are nearly the same as those existing at the origin of Buddhism.

When a Buddhist recluse has given up the ghost, the corpse is carefully and diligently washed by laymen, or the younger inmates of the monastery. A large incision is made in the abdomen; its contents are taken out and buried in the earth without any ceremony being observed on the occasion. The empty cavity is filled up with ashes, bran, or some other desiccative substances for preventing putrefaction. The corpse is then tightly wrapt with bands or swathes of a white colour from head to foot, and then covered with the yellow habit of the profession. Sometimes a coat of black varnish is put over and then leaves of gold, so that the whole body is gilt. It is afterwards bound all over with ropes tightened as much as possible, so as to bring it within the narrowest dimensions. When thus prepared, the corpse is placed in an open coffin. The coffin is made of the trunk of a tree, rudely hollowed, and often so imperfectly scooped out as not to afford sufficient room for the corpse. In the middle of the interior part of the coffin, an opening, about two inches in diameter, has been made, to afford issue to the humours that may ooze out through the swathes. The coffin is unceremoniously laid on the floor of the monastery. A bamboo, 7 or 8 feet long, is procured; one of its ends is inserted in the hole made in the coffin, and the other is sunk into the ground below; it is the channel through which the humours flow into the earth. After a lapse of ten or twelve days, the body is supposed to be quite dry; they set about putting a covering over the coffin and effectually shutting it.

Whilst residing at Tavoy, I wished, on a certain day, to go and witness all the particulars observed on such occasions. A most opportune event favoured the prosecution of my wishes. A Talapoin of my acquaintance had died a fortnight before, after thirty years of profession. His body, laid in the coffin, was to be for ever concealed from human sight. I went into the monastery, where I met a large party of the brethren of the deceased, who had assembled for the ceremony. Most of them were known to me. My reception was at once kind and cordial. Great was my surprise at seeing, instead of the grief and mourning which the circumstance seemed to demand, laughing, talking, and amusement, going on at a rate which is to be called scandalous. No one appeared to take the least notice of the deceased, whose corpse was lying at our feet. A momentary stop was put to the indecorous behaviour of the assistants by the appearance of two stout carpenters bringing a board four or five inches thick, designed for the cover. They vainly tried to fit it in its place; the hollow of the coffin was neither broad nor deep enough for holding the corpse, though reduced to the smallest proportions. The operation was not a very easy one to bring the board in contact with the sides of the coffin, despite the resistance that was to be offered by the corpse. The carpenters were determined not to be disappointed. At the two ends and in the middle of the coffin, ropes were passed several times round it with the utmost tension, in such a manner as to have six or seven coils in the same place. Enormous wooden wedges were inserted right and left in three places between the sides and the coils. On these wedges the workmen hammered with their whole strength during about twenty minutes, to the great amusement of all the bystanders. Each blow of the hammer lessened the distance between the cover and the brim of the coffin. Every perceptible success, gained over the latent resisting power, elicited a burst of applause, and a cheer to the persevering workmen. At last all resistance being overcome, the cover rested fixedly in its place. It is needless to add that the corpse inside was but a hideous mass of mangled flesh and broken bones.

According to the custom observed on such occasions, a rude building was erected for the purpose of placing therein the mortal remains of the deceased, until preparations on a grand scale should have been made for doing honour to the illustrious departed individual. That building, as well as those made for a similar purpose, is but a temporary edifice raised for the occasion, and made of bamboos with an attap roof. In the centre of that large bungalow was erected a kind of estrade, about twelve feet high, well decorated. The upper part is often gilt, but always plated with thin metal leaves and tinsels of various colours. From the sides hang rough drawings, representing animals, monsters of various kinds, religious subjects, and others, but rarely of great indecency. Around this estrade are disposed posts, from the top of which are suspended small flags and streamers of different forms and shapes. On the summit is arranged a place for the coffin, but the four sides at that place are about two or three feet higher than the level whereupon rests the coffin, so that it is concealed entirely from the sight of the visitors.

Things remained in that state for four months, that is to say, until all the arrangements had been made for the grand ceremony, the expense of which is commonly defrayed by voluntary contributions. The arrangements being all complete, a day was appointed at the sound of gongs, for burning the corpse of the pious recluse. At noon of that day, the whole population of the town flocked to a vast and extensive plain beyond the old wall and ditch in the north. Men and women, dressed in their finest attire, swarmed in every direction, selecting the most suitable and convenient situations for enjoying a commanding view of the fête. The funeral pile occupied nearly the centre of the plain; it was about fifteen feet high, of a square shape, encased with planks, which gave to it a neat appearance. It was large at the base, and went on diminishing in size in the upper part, terminating in a square platform where the coffin was to be deposited. A small roof, supported on four bamboo posts, elegantly adorned, overshaded the platform. A huge four-wheeled cart, decorated in the most fantastic manner, was descried at a distance; it was drawn by a great number of men, and brought to the foot of the pile. Upon it was the coffin. Immense cheers, shouts of thousands, had announced the progress of the cart with its precious relics, as it passed through the crowd. The coffin was forthwith hoisted on the platform. Mats were then spread round the pile, whereupon sat numbers of Talapoins, reciting aloud long formulas in Pali. The devotions being performed, they rose up and prepared to depart, attended with a retinue of their disciples, who loaded themselves with the offerings made on the occasion. These offerings consisted of plantains, cocoa-nuts, sugar-canes, rice, pillows, mats, mattresses, &c. Masters and disciples returned to their monasteries with their valuable collections.

The place being cleared, the eyes were all riveted on two large rockets, placed horizontally, each between two ropes, to which they were connected by two side rings. One of the ends of the ropes was strongly fixed at posts behind the rockets, and the other was made as tight as possible at the foot of the pile. At a given signal, the rockets, emitting smoke, rushed forward with a loud, hissing, and irregular noise, tremulously gliding along the ropes, and in an instant penetrating into the interior of the pile, and setting fire to a heap of inflammable materials, amassed beforehand for that purpose. In a short while the whole pile was in a blaze, and soon entirely consumed with the coffin and the corpse. The bones or half-burnt bits of bones that remained, were carefully collected, to be subsequently interred in a becoming place.

[25] In the course of this work, allusion is often made to pounhas who appear to have led a mode of life not altogether the same, but varying considerably according to circumstances. All the pounhas were doubtless religious, who practised certain duties not regarded as obligatory by ordinary people, and lived under certain regulations, which separated them more or less from society, and distinguished them from those who followed the ordinary pursuits of life. The difference among them originated in a sort of religious enthusiasm, which impelled many to perform penitential deeds of the most cruel and sometimes revolting nature.

Some of the pounhas are described as living in villages or towns, and wearing a white dress. In many of their practices they appear to have approximated to the Buddhist monks, except that in many instances they married. Others are mentioned as living in a state of complete nakedness, staying in the midst of filth and dirt. It seems that those whom Alexander the Great met in some parts of the Punjaub, belonged to this class. Many of these disgusting fanatics delivered themselves up to cruel tortures, much in the same way as we see some fakhirs and jogies do even in our days, and under our eyes. A third class of pounhas affected to live in lonely places, on high mountains, in small huts made of branches of trees, and sometimes at the foot of trees, exposed to the inclemency of the weather. They were hermits. They clothed themselves in the skins of wild beasts, allowed the hairs of the head to grow to the greatest length, divided them into several parts which they twisted separately like a rope, so that, when looking at them, one would have thought that instead of hairs, several small ropes were hanging down on the back and the shoulders, giving to them the wildest and most fantastic appearance. Some of those hermits, famous for their science, attracted round their persons many pupils eager to acquire science and discipline under them. Such were the three Kathabas, whom Gaudama converted during the first year of his public life. Others travelled through the country, exhibiting themselves in the capacity of preachers and mendicants.

[26] The virtuous and zealous Kathaba was at once convinced of the absolute necessity of soon holding a meeting of the wisest members of the assembly, for the purpose of ascertaining, and authoritatively determining, the genuineness of Buddha’s doctrines. Human passions were already at work, deforming more or less in various ways the instructions of the great preacher. Many, laying more stress on their talents than on the authority of their departed instructor, began to entertain on certain questions views and opinions evidently at variance with those of Buddha. The enemies of truth were numerous even during his lifetime, when as yet overawed by his presence and matchless wisdom. Kathaba sagaciously foresees that their number and boldness would soon increase to a fearful extent and threaten the very existence of religion. He was roused to exertions by such considerations, and on that very moment he resolved to assemble the elders of the assembly, as soon as convenient after Buddha’s funeral. He was, it appears, acknowledged by common consent the first of the disciples. He was entitled to that distinction by the renown of his abilities before his conversion, and by his great proficiency under Buddha’s teachings subsequently to that event. But a circumstance related by Kathaba clearly indicates the intimate familiarity existing between the master and the disciple, and the unbounded confidence the former placed in the latter. During a walk, the two friends, if such an expression be allowed, had entered into a more than usual intimate communion of thoughts and feelings; the soul of the one had passed into the person of the other, or rather both souls were blended together, and united so as to become one in the bosom of a virtuous, high, refined, sublime, and philosophic friendship. They made an exchange of their cloaks. Kathaba, by putting on Buddha’s cloak, inherited as it were his spirit and his authority. Hence his legitimate right to be appointed president or head of the first council, assembled a little while after Gaudama’s Neibban.

Our author maintains that the first council was held three months after Gaudama’s demise. This important step was taken at Radzagio, the capital of the kingdom of King Adzatathat, who doubtless made use of his royal power to secure tranquillity during the deliberations of this assembly, under the presidency of Kathaba. The number of religious that formed the council is reckoned at five hundred. Its object was, as mentioned by Kathaba himself, to silence the voice of many who wished to innovate in religious matters, and follow their own views, instead of the doctrines of Buddha. They wished to shake off the yoke of authority, and arrange all things in their own way.

The second general assembly of the Buddhist religious was held one hundred years later at Wethalie, in the tenth year of the reign of King Kalathoka, under the presidency of Ratha, who was assisted by seven hundred religious. The object of this assembly was to regulate several matters of discipline. It is probable that a spirit of innovation had reappeared and begun to undermine the strictness of the disciplinary institutions, threatening to weaken the ties that kept together the members of the religious body, and deprive it of that halo of sacredness that had hitherto rendered it an object of so profound and general esteem, respect and veneration. The council, moreover, revised the canon of sacred books, and purified it from all the imperfections and spurious writings that had been embodied in it.

Two hundred and eighteen years after Gaudama’s death, King Damathoka or Athoka ascended the throne of Palibotra, which was the capital of a vast and powerful empire. It was in the seventeenth year of that monarch’s reign that the third and last general assembly was held at Palibotra, under the presidency of Maugalipata. The last and final revision of the sacred scriptures was made with the greatest care and labour. The pious Athoka lent to the decisions of the assembly the influence of the secular power. The Pittagat, or the collection of the religious books, such as it now exists, is supposed to be the work of that council. In the two following chapters, the subject of the councils shall receive the attention it deserves.

There is a most important fact to be noticed here, which must be considered as a most remarkable result of the third assembly. It forms the grandest era in the history of Buddhism, and it is carefully noted down by our Burmese author. I mean the extraordinary zeal and fervour which seemed at that time to have simultaneously and powerfully acted for the bringing about of this mighty but peaceful religious commotion, that was to be felt, not only in the Indian Peninsula, but far beyond the valley of Cashmere, the country of Guzerat in the west and north-west, beyond the snowy ranges of the Himalaya in the north, and the territories and kingdoms in an eastern direction. King Athoka was then at the height of his power. His religious zeal induced him to make use of all the vast resources at his command to favour the development of the comparatively new religion. During the holding of the council, the religious tempered, as it were, their zeal, fervour, devotion, and ardour for their religious creed, in the middle of their conferences. They resolved to propagate with unremitting zeal the tenets of the holy religion, and extend it all over the world. The spirit of Gaudama seemed to have been infused into the soul of every individual religious. His ardent fervour glowed in the soul of all, who from that period had but one desire, that of extending the boundaries of their spiritual empire.

This is certainly one of those extraordinary epochs, when the indolent and apathetic mind of the Hindus, after centuries of a profound slumbering, seems on a sudden to awake, and, with an unexpected vigour and youthful energy, bursting forth as a terrific hurricane, brings about the most astounding revolutions, or commotions, that sweep away with irresistible power the old political and religious forms, to establish new ones on the ruins of the former. The religious zeal that seized on the Buddhists of those days, and impelled them with an unheard-of resolution to disseminate their doctrines, coupled with the astonishing success that attended their preachings, forms one of the most prominent periods in the religious history of the world.

[27] It is not easy to determine with precision in what year occurred the conversion of King Adzatathat to Buddhism. Though his father Pimpathara was a zealous Buddhist from the very beginning of the preaching of Gaudama, his son seems to have kept aloof from the religious movement that took place in the royal city of Radzagio, within the precincts of the royal palace, and continued to adhere to the tenets of the ancient creed. His faith, however, in the hitherto national religion, that is to say, Brahminism, does not appear to have been deeply seated in his soul. He was a shrewd, ambitious, and crafty politician; and from what we know of the beginning of his reign, his political principles were of the most elastic nature. Even after his conversion to Buddhism, he does not appear to have scrupled in the least to resort to the most questionable means for satisfying his ambition. The disputes between the upholders of the contending systems had, as is often the case, shaken his former convictions without imparting new ones. Perhaps he remained in that ambiguous position for a political object. He was glad to place himself at the head of the malcontents, who, on account of the king’s religious innovations, must have been numerous. Be that as it may, we see the Crown Prince of Radzagio receiving with open arms Dewadat, the enemy of Buddha, espousing his party, and looking upon him as his spiritual adviser. This occurred about ten or twelve years before Buddha’s death. With the advice of his new friend, he compassed and effected the destruction of his father three or four years afterwards, and became king in the seventh year before Phra’s Neibban. His conversion probably took place after the death of Dewadat, four or five years subsequent to that event; but it appears to have been sincere and earnest. His love for Buddha’s person was so intense that it atoned fully for the harm which, under his name and protection, Dewadat had endeavoured to inflict on his great relative.

Adzatathat reigned thirty-two years, that is to say, twenty-five years after Gaudama’s death. Under his reign, the first council was held with his consent, and a promise to make the decisions of the assembly be received with respect and strictly attended to. This is the first direct interference of the secular power in matters of a purely ecclesiastical nature. Adzatathat was, however, too prudent in his policy to persecute directly the holders of anti-Buddhistic opinions, who as yet formed the great mass of the people. He zealously supported the new creed he had adopted, but he left full liberty to the followers of the pounhas. By the advice of Kathaba, Adzatathat fixed the beginning of the religious era in the year of Buddha’s demise. It is the one which is followed by all the southern Buddhists. It was not the necessity of correcting certain errors in the calendar which induced the king to adopt that measure, since a correction had been made a hundred and forty-eight years ago by King Eetzana with the assistance of a celebrated hermit. A religious motive alone induced the king to obtemper the solicitations of Kathaba on this subject, and lay, as the point of departure for the reckoning of years, the great event of the death of the founder of religion.

The two names of Pimpathara and of his son Adzatathat are indissolubly connected with the origin of Buddhism and its spread through the Magatha country. To the first, Gaudama owed much for the extraordinary success that attended his preachings and the conversion of remarkable personages. In a country like India, the example of the king must have exerted an extraordinary influence over the courtiers and the wealthy and powerful persons. The second rendered no less important services to the cause of religion, by supporting openly the great Kathaba, the patriarch of Buddhism, and countenancing the decisions of the first council, which secured unity among the members of the assembly at the very time that evil-minded individuals endeavoured to sow the seeds of dissension among the religious, and upset the fabric which Buddha’s genius and zeal had just set up. Under the reign of those two sovereigns religion gained a firm footing in Magatha, and secured for itself an ascendancy which it retained with various successes for many centuries.

[28] We are without any direct information concerning the history of Buddhism during the twenty years that elapsed after Gaudama’s death. But we have allusions made in several places which clearly indicate that the new religion had to struggle with many difficulties before it could gain a firm footing in the places lying north of the Ganges. Though they had been the seat of Buddha’s preachings, though the people had been intimately acquainted with all his doings, it appears that the pounhas contrived to thwart to a great extent the results of his labours. At Kootheinaron, on the very spot rendered illustrious by his death, we have seen an individual rejoicing at Buddha’s demise, because he would be now at liberty to act according to his wishes. He was not a solitary instance of open insubordination, since Kathaba felt that it was necessary, in order to check the growing evil, to assemble a council three months after the death of Gaudama. This step does not appear to have produced all the good effects that were anticipated. The patriarch of the Buddhistic Church is represented to us as trembling for the safety of the relics. What could have caused this great anxiety? Doubtless there was a strong party, either within or without the assembly, which was inimical to the worship paid to the remains of Buddha, and aimed at procuring their total destruction. In the relation of Hwen-Thsang the writer has met with a passage in which mention is made of a period of time when the pure doctrine alone was held, and of a subsequent period when the worship of relics would be prevailing. It is not improbable that in this passage allusion is made to the time when the relics were buried secretly, by the care of Kathaba, in the neighbourhood of Radzagio, and remained concealed during two hundred years. The conduct of Kathaba in securing the safety of the relics reveals an important fact, viz., that there existed from the earliest days of Buddhism a great antipathy, in a fraction of the community, against keeping and venerating Buddha’s remains. It created a schism among the disciples which was never healed up, as the sequel will show.

[29] In the previous note on Neibban, the writer, having forgotten to mention the application which the Burmese make of this term to three distinct objects, supplies here the omission, in the hope that what follows may enable the reader to come nearer to the true Buddhistic meaning of Neibban.

There are, say the Buddhist doctors, three kinds of Neibban respecting the person of Gaudama—the Neibban of Kiletha, or passions; the Neibban of Khandas, or supports of the existence of a living being; and the Neibban of Datou, or of the relics.

The first took place at the foot of the gniaong or bodi-tree, when Gaudama became Buddha. Then, to make use of the language of Buddhists at that moment, the fifteen hundred passions—that is to say, all passions—were quieted, extinguished, and for ever put an end to.

The second kind of Neibban happened near the town of Kootheinaron, when the five Khandas, or the constitutive parts of Gaudama’s being, were quieted, that is to say, ceased to act, and were absolutely destroyed.

The third kind will take place at the end of the period of five thousand years, reckoning from the death of Gaudama. This is the period which he has assigned to the duration of his religion. Then all the relics of Buddha that will be still existing will be miraculously congregated on the spot where stood the tree Bodi. After having been the centre of the display of several extraordinary wonders, they will be consumed by a fire that is to come out of them. They will disappear and vanish for ever, as the flame that has consumed them.

The idea suggested to us by the application of the word Neibban to these three objects is that of a cessation of action, cessation of existence, and cessation of being. Indeed, it is impossible not to see in the meaning of this word the horrifying idea of absolute annihilation. The writer frankly avows that he has been, during many years, unwilling to adopt a conclusion which the obvious meaning of the words point out in a clear manner. He hoped that a deeper insight into the system of Buddhism would lead him to a conclusion more consonant with reason. But he has been completely disappointed in his expectations. By what process of arguing has the founder of Buddhism arrived to such a despairing terminus? How has he been led into that horrible abyss? How has he contrived to silence the voice of conscience, and set aside the clearest innate notions of the human mind? Gaudama took his departure from a true principle, viz.: that there are miseries in this world, attending the condition of all beings moving within the circle of existences. But ignorant of the real cause that has imported miseries into this world, he never could discover the way by which man can convert them to a useful and beneficial result. He declared that all the efforts of a wise man ought to converge towards one point, that of freeing himself from all the states of existence. The four meggas or ways to perfection lead to that great result. By science, connected with the practice of virtue, the wise man frees himself from all passions, which are the real causes which make a being move in the circle of existences. When they are not subdued but exterminated, there is no longer a cause that impels man into another existence. The end of a being has come. When we speak of the end of a being, we understand its complete and entire destruction, or, in other terms, its Neibban. Nothing remains of him. The materialistic principles of genuine Buddhism forbid us to think of a soul or spiritual substance surviving the destruction of the terrestrial portion of man’s being. When Gaudama unfolds his precepts and maxims for guiding man in the acquisition of science and the destruction of his passions, he elicits the admiration, nay, the astonishment of the reader, at the sight of the profound knowledge of human nature which he displays. But this feeling soon gives place to another of pity, sadness, and horror, when one sees that he has been led to the brink of Neibban.

[30] Kathaba speaks of the Pitagat or collection of the scriptures as of a compilation that was to be put in writing for better securing its fixity and permanency, and preventing, as far as human wisdom could reach, the introduction of new and heterodox doctrines. I feel inclined to believe that this expression is put into the mouth of the patriarch, and that in all likelihood he never uttered it. It is probable that, during the first ages of Buddhism, the doctrines were not put in writing, but orally transmitted. For supporting this apparently incredible assertion, we have the testimony of the authors of the Cingalese collection, who distinctly state that, during more than two hundred years after the introduction of the religion in Ceylon, tradition was the only vehicle for transmitting the contents of the Pitagat. Moreover, it is by no means certain that the inhabitants of the Irrawaddy valley possessed a copy of the sacred scriptures previous to the voyage of Buddhagosa from Thaton to Ceylon in the beginning of the fifth century of our era. He went to that island for the express purpose of making a copy of the Pitagat, and bringing it over to his countrymen. Be that as it may, the question on this subject is far from being settled. It well deserves the attention of the learned. A satisfactory solution may throw a much wanted light upon the history of early Buddhism. When we consider that Maheinda, the son of the mighty and pious Athoka, was the head of the mission, which, after the termination of the third council, went to preach religion in Ceylon, it is impossible not to suppose that he would have brought over with him a copy of the collection of the sacred scriptures, had that collection been put in writing at the time that he left Pataliputra on his pious errand.

[31] The collection of the Buddhist scriptures is divided into three parts, called the three Pitagats, or the three baskets, respectively named the Wini Pitagat, the Thoots Pitagat, and the Abidama Pitagat. The manuscript that the writer has had for his use, though correct in the main, is certainly defective in the enumeration of the divisions and subdivisions of the three great collections. He will, however, mention them, such as they are enumerated by the Burmese author; the few errors that may be detected can easily be corrected by those who have in their possession the Ceylonese collection, as there is no doubt that the work now under consideration is an abridgment of a more voluminous compilation to be found in Ceylon.

The divisions of the Wini are: Bikoo Patimouk, Bikoonee Patimouk, Bikoo Witin (probably Bikoo Win), Bikooni Win, twelve Kandaka, and sixteen Pariwara.

The thoots are considered as the instructions orally delivered by Gaudama himself, either to his disciples in private, or to the assembled multitudes, during the forty-five years of his public mission. In this collection the disciples have learned the doctrines of the master, and found all the elements necessary to compose all the treaties, which subsequently have formed the collections called Wini Pitagat and Abidama Pitagat. No one could ever believe that the author of Buddhism could have busied himself in writing treatises on metaphysics, or minutely and elaborately publishing the regulations under which the body of his followers, called the Sanga, were to live and spend their time. In his instructions Gaudama gave utterance to certain principles, which, being appropriated by his disciples and their successors, were enlarged, developed, and reduced to the shape of a treatise. In fact, he sowed the seed which, being let into the soil of the mind of enthusiastic disciples, grew up and multiplied into the voluminous above-named collections. Genuine Buddhism must be found in the thoots of the oldest stamp. Anywhere else we meet with the Buddhism such as it has been developed by doctors and commentators.

There are four collections of the thoots, named Nidia Nike, Midzima Nike, Thangoutta Nike, and Engouttara Nike. They are likewise arranged under fifteen heads, called: Koudakapata, Dammapata, Oodana, Ithi, Wouthaka, Thouttanibat, Wi, Mama-wouttoo, Pita-wouttoo, Terakatta, Terikatta, Dzattakani, Piti-sambika, Apadana, Buddha-wattoo.

The Abidamma has seven divisions, viz., Dammathingakani, Wittin, Datoogatta, Pouggala-pignia, Kathawattoo, Yamaik, Patan.

The attentive reader cannot be but surprised to see how the three great divisions of the Buddhistic scriptures are mentioned by the members of the first council as things already existing and arranged with the same method as they have been disposed during succeeding ages. It is certain that such divisions of Gaudama’s doctrines did not then exist at that time. Are we to conclude therefrom that the fact of the holding of the first council is to be rejected as a mere invention, because the mode of relating some particulars concerning that great assembly is liable to be seriously objected to? It seems that such a conclusion would be a too hasty one.

For establishing the fact of the holding of the first council, we have the evidence supplied to us by all the Buddhistic writings, found in the various countries where that religion has been established. Moreover, several monuments of great antiquity allude to that first assembly. We can scarcely raise a doubt upon the existence of the fact. But how are we to account for the manner in which mention is made of compilations which undoubtedly were not existing at that time? The redaction of all the particulars connected with the first assembly must have been made a considerable time after the holding of the said assembly, at an epoch when the Buddhistic scriptures had already been arranged under three distinct heads. The author, familiar with the division or compilation into three parts, called Pitagats, has arranged his narration in such a way as to give it a sort of agreement with a form which he thought must have been as familiar to others as it was to himself. It is probable that most of the points of discussion, such as we find them in the narrative, were actually brought forward before the assembly, but in a shape more simple and general, and less technical and positive. This is what can be said in the present imperfect knowledge of the history of Buddhism, for extenuating the charge of wilful forgery, which might be brought against the author of the redaction. On the other hand, whilst prudent discretion commands us not to be too hasty in passing a sweeping condemnation upon the compilation, we must be very cautious in not admitting at once, and not giving an absolute credit to all that is found in writings which do convey to us many things of great antiquity, but evidently mixed with multifarious details of a comparatively modern origin. This last remark ought to be ever present to the mind of him who peruses some portions of the Pitagats. The huge mass of rubbish which constitutes the largest portion of the scriptures is the production of the various Buddhistic schools which flourished eight and ten centuries after the first council.

[32] The few and meagre particulars which we possess respecting the causes that have occasioned the holding of the second council, disclose a curious state of things as existing in the Buddhist community. The disciplinary regulations appear to have occupied a conspicuous part in the discussions that took place during the period of the first century. Some of those regulations were of trifling importance. We wonder how the religious could lay so much stress upon such a trifle as this, “Is is lawful to put salt or other condiments into articles of food, that would have been offered without such requisites?” The activity displayed by both parties in the controversy indicates the gradual working of opinions which in those parts had been always inimical to genuine Buddhism. In Wethalie and Thawattie, the holders of false tenets had been at all times bold and numerous. In the days of Buddha, heretics were swarming in those places. In the beginning of the fifth century of our era, Fa-hian, when he visited those places, says that he found that religion had almost disappeared, and that heretics were prevailing in every direction. We must conclude from these two circumstances that Buddhism never flourished in those places, or, at least, that it was never the prevailing creed of the mass of the people.

The disputes that took place in those days were not looked upon as of serious moment, since we see several religious of eminence supporting the anti-orthodox party. King Kalathoka himself was in favor of those whose opinions were condemned by the council. We may also infer from this sate of things, that the disciplinary regulations were far from being settled at that time. It required the experience of succeeding generations to determine exactly what was best fitted for promoting the well-being of the religious body, and causing its members to live agreeably to the spirit which Gaudama desired to infuse into the souls of his followers. It cannot therefore be a matter of surprise to see the assembly striving, in the midst of discussions, to elaborate the framing of the rules destined to guide the religious in the details of their daily duties. Under such circumstances there could not but be a great variety of opinions, supported with that heat and ardour so peculiar to individuals who live estranged from the world. Moreover, the conflicting opinions were maintained by the various schools, which, from the early period of the existence of Buddhism, sprung up and divided the members of the religious body. Circumstantial details respecting the various schools we allude to, would prove of the greatest advantage for elucidating the state of the great religious system under consideration, for enabling us to enter into the history of its internal development, and witnessing the various incidents that have marked its progress through ages, down to the period when it gradually lost its footing in the Indian Peninsula.

The eighteen different schools which have obtained celebrity throughout the Buddhist world are mentioned in the Cingalese collection, and in that of all the northern Buddhists, including the Chinese. In the manuscript which the writer possesses nothing is mentioned respecting these schools but their respective names. Had the chief opinions held out by each school been given out, they would have been expounded here at great length and with a scrupulous correctness. Such not being the case, the author has thought that it was useless to the reader to lay before him a dry and uninteresting array of names.

[33] It has been thought of some importance to mention in a particular note all the principal epochs named in the course of this work, and to show how they stand relatively to the Christian era. As a matter of course, the starting-point for the reckoning and computing of years is the epoch of Gaudama’s death, which is fixed by the southern Buddhists in the year 543 B.C. The exactness of this epoch has been contested by A. Cunningham, one of the greatest authorities in such matters. In his opinion, the epoch of Gaudama’s Neibban ought to be placed seventy years later. But as his views on this subject have not as yet been universally received by the learned in Europe, we will remain satisfied with the hitherto generally accepted data.

The first era is that of King Eetzana, the grandfather of Gaudama by his mother’s side. It was made by the help and under the guidance of a famous hermit, named Deweela, who is mentioned as highly versed in the science of astronomy, such as it existed in those days. The king’s object was to correct the glaring errors that had crept into the calendar. It is said that he did away with the era 8640 on a Saturday, on the day of the new moon of Tabaong (March), and fixed the beginning of the new era on the following day, that is to say, on a Sunday, the first day after the new moon of the same month. This happened in the year 691 B.C. This new reckoning of years lasted only a hundred and forty-eight years, the epoch of Gaudama’s Neibban, 543 B.C.

The second era, the most celebrated of all, is the religious one. King Adzatathat and the venerable Kathaba, actuated by the desire of rendering ever memorable the death of the founder of their religion, and paying to him a homage that would be re-echoed by succeeding generations, came to the resolution of doing away with the Eetzana computation, and fixed a new reckoning of years, from the annual revolution which witnessed that event, which, in the opinion of Buddhists, is the greatest of all. In the year 148, the first day of the month of Tagoo (April), which fell on a Sunday, was fixed as the beginning of the new computation, emphatically called the era of religion, 543 B.C. It is adopted by all the southern Buddhists.

In addition to this general era, Buddhist nation has had, for one reason or for another, particular periods, from which they have reckoned time and computed years. It is probable that the reform in the calendar, necessitated by the errors introduced into it owing to incorrect computations, have given rise to several eras, which are generally known by the name of the kings under whose reign they have taken place, and by whose authority they have been introduced and brought into common use.

The Burmans have the era called Dandoratha. It was introduced by Thamugdara, or, as spelt by others, Thamugdaritz, king of Prome, in the year of religion 625 = to 81 A.D. That monarch is represented as well informed and skilled in the knowledge of the astronomical calculations. The months were no longer in unison with the seasons. What did the royal reformer of the calendar do to remedy the evil? No other particular is mentioned in the manuscript which the writer has in his possession, except that the king did away with 622, and began the reformed computation with two, so that its beginning must be made to agree with the year 79 A.D.

That era lasted only 562 years. The reformer on this occasion was Pouppa-dzau, king of Pagan, who is represented to us as well versed in the science of astronomical computations. This monarch imitated in this reform the conduct of the king of Prome. He did away with 560 years, and had his new era to begin with two. This happened in the year of religion 1182 = to 639 A.D. This is the common era used by the Burmese up to this day, and is known as the Pagan or Pouppa-dzau era.

We find also mentioned occasionally the Thaton era. It is made to begin with the year of the arrival of the two Buddhist missionaries, Thauna and Outtara, in the great place of Thaton, in the year of religion 237 = to 306 B.C. Thirimathoka was, at that time, king of that country. That period of years has lasted 1362 years. It ended in the year of religion 1599 = 1156 A.D., when the king of Pagan, Naurata-dzau, invaded the country, possessed himself of Thaton, and carried away captive the last king, Mein-hnit.

It is perhaps as well to mention here an epoch which has been, at all times, famous in the history of Buddhism in Burmah. I allude to the voyage which a religious of Thaton, named Buddhagosa, made to Ceylon in the year of religion 943 = to 400 A.D. The object of this voyage was to procure a copy of the scriptures. He succeeded in his undertaking. He made use of the Burmese or rather Talaing characters, in transcribing the manuscripts, which were written with the characters of Magatha. The Burmans lay much stress upon that voyage, and always carefully note down the year in which it took place. In fact, it is to Buddhagosa that the people living on the shores of the Gulf of Martaban owe the possession of the Buddhist scriptures. From Thaton, the collection made by Buddhagosa was transferred to Pagan, 656 years after it had been imported from Ceylon.

Without the knowledge of those various epochs, it is difficult to understand with anything approaching to clearness and exactness the dates that we find alluded to and mentioned in the Burmese literary compositions. The foregoing particulars appear to be sufficient for all practical purposes.

[34] From this passage we see that, in those days of remote antiquity, there existed in the Indian Peninsula individuals who, led away by a fanaticism still existing in our own days, devoted themselves to rigorous and extravagant penances, often in a state of complete nakedness. In the days of Alexander the Great, the same fanatics were met with in the Punjaub. Such ridiculous and unnatural exhibitions, far from being approved of and countenanced by the founder of Buddhism, were positively prohibited. Though he aimed at subduing passions, and elevating the spiritual principle above the material one, he recommended in the spiritual warfare a line of conduct more consonant with reason, and supplied his disciples with weapons of a far better quality and a superior description.

[35] It is much to be regretted that no details concerning that third assembly of the Buddhists in Pataliputra could be found by the writer in the manuscript he has in his possession. The cause that occasioned the holding of the council was the desire to establish a perfect unity in the practices of discipline among the religious, and to come to an agreement on the subject of the genuineness of the scriptures.

During the period of 236 years that elapsed from the death of Gaudama, Buddhism seems to have remained confined within the limits of Magatha, that is to say, north and south Behar. Its hold over the mind of the people within those limits appears to have been very imperfect and uncertain, particularly in the parts north of the Ganges. It is from the reign of King Athoka that the propagation of Buddhism in every direction dates. The uninterrupted successes which attended his arms enabled him to afford a powerful support to the propagators of the new religion in the remotest parts which they visited. But we have no reason to suspect that he had recourse to violence in order to gain proselytes. No doubt he protected them, and supplied all their wants on a liberal scale. He does not appear to have extended farther the effects of the countenance he lent to the heralds of the new religion. He built monasteries and dzedis throughout the length and breadth of his immense dominions; he erected stone pillars, which he covered with inscriptions commemorative of his piety and zeal, a few of which exist up to this day. Athoka may be looked upon as a monarch who did more for the propagation of Buddhism in foreign parts than any of those who preceded him or came after him.

The establishment of Buddhism in Ceylon is mentioned at great length in the writer’s manuscript, but he has thought it unnecessary to relate all that he has found on this subject, as being foreign to the purpose he has had in view in the publication of this book. In a foregoing note it has been stated how extraordinary is the fact that during more than two hundred years Buddhism was propagated in Ceylon solely by means of oral tradition without writing. The Cingalese authors are so unanimous on this point that it cannot be doubted. But in the Burmese manuscript we have found stated, in unmistakable expressions, that the religious who assembled in the village of Malliya wrote the Pitagat in Sanscrit, and with the Sanscrit characters. The word made use of is Sanskarain, which surely is designed to mean Sanscrit. How can this be reconciled with the undoubted fact that all the southern Buddhists have the scriptures in Pali and not in Sanscrit, whilst the northern nations that have embraced Buddhism possess the scriptures in Sanscrit? Until we can obtain further information on the subject, I have no hesitation in stating that the Burmans, ignorant of the existence of the two distinct languages—the Pali and the Sanscrit—are very apt to mistake the one for the other, and that in their opinion what they call the language of Magatha, Pali, and Sanscrit are but one and the same language, to which different names have been given by ancient authors. As the translator of a manuscript, the writer was bound to render into English what he has found written in Burmese. This is the reason why he has, against his intimate conviction, made use of the word Sanscrit, applied to the first compilation of scriptures made in Ceylon under the reign of King Watakamani.

[36] The island of Ceylon was called, says the Burmese author, in former times, by different names—Audzadipa, Waradipa, Mautadipa, Singgadipa, Sihala, and Tappapani. There is no doubt but the last name was corrupted by the Greeks into Tapobrane.

[37] The Burmans have, from the time of their conversion to Buddhism, or at least from the period they became familiar with the scriptures, had the mania of giving Pali names to countries, large towns, and new places that were settled by the authority of the rulers, in addition to the ordinary and common names. What has been the result of such a measure? The people have continued to designate such places by the vulgar names, whilst in most of the public documents and in the court they have always used the scientific and uncommon names. Hence has arisen a confusion in the minds of the people to such an extent that in many instances they believe that two names given to the same place indicate two distinct towns and localities.

The position of Thaton is well known, and is between the mouths of the Salween and the Tsitang rivers. Its actual distance from the sea is about eight or nine miles. In the days of Buddhagosa, that is to say, in the beginning of the fifth century of our era, it was a sea-port. The Burmese writers invariably call Thaton, not by the name of city, but by that of country. They add the epithet of Souwana-boumi, the land of gold. According to the same writers, Thaton was situated in the state or kingdom of Ramagnia. From what is found mentioned about Ramagnia, it appears that it comprised three distinct parts or districts; that of Kouthein, which is the present Pouthein or Bassein, including the territory situated between the Irrawaddy and the mountains of Arracan; that of Henthawati, between the Irrawaddy and the Tsitang river; and that of Mouttama, or Martaban, between the Tsitang and the Salween. It seems that the kingdom of Ramagnia extended in the north as far as Akaouk-taong, south of Prome. The limits that are assigned must have undergone considerable changes, on account of the continual wars that have raged in those parts, but they are those assigned by several native authors.

The people that dwelt in Ramagnia are called Moun. They are the Talaings or Peguans of modern times. They had attained a considerable degree of civilisation at a time when the Burmans were in a state of barbarism. The proximity of the sea afforded them opportunities of coming in contact with other nations—the Hindus in particular, who appear to have settled at Thaton in great numbers. The Rahan Buddhagosa is said to have belonged to the pounha race, though he was a fervent Buddhist.

The town which was the capital of the territory called Henzawati cannot, we believe, be the town which is called at present Pegu, but another one, much more ancient, the ruins of which are still visible close to the eastern side of Pegu.

The language of the Talaings is totally different from that of the Burmans, but the characters for writing are somewhat the same. It is from them that the latter have received their religion, the scriptures, and the characters used in writing.

Since the final conquest of Pegu by Alaong-phra in the middle of the last century, and the extermination of a great number of its inhabitants, the remaining Peguans have gradually amalgamated with the Burmans. With their nationality they have lost also their language to such an extent that it is now spoken only in a few isolated places. It is not unusual to meet with descendants of Peguans whose aged parents still speak their native language, whilst they know and speak only Burmese.

[38] = to 400 A.D.

[39] = to 1058 A.D.

[40] = to 1161 A.D.

[41] It is obvious from the testimony of Burmese writers that they acknowledge the fact that the Scriptures brought from Ceylon by Buddhagosa, and the institutions flourishing in Thaton, found their way to Pagan in the reign of King Naurata-dzau. They likewise affirm that under the reign of Narapati-sisoo the religious who came from Ceylon, imbued with the spirit of the Mahawihara school, set up practices which were little, if at all, observed in Pagan at that time.

There was no doubt a great revival of Buddhism in Pagan, from the days of King Naurata-dzau to those of Narapati-sisoo. Most of the great monuments which excite the admiration of the travellers who visit Pagan were raised during that period.

[42] It is probable that our Burmese author makes here a mistake similar to the one alluded to in a foregoing note.

[43] When the writer set at work to publish the second edition of this book he had at his disposal a Burmese palm-leaf manuscript, in which he found a vast amount of information respecting the history of Buddha, which was wanting in the work called Malla-linkara-wouttoo, the translation of which has afforded matter for the first edition of the legend of Gaudama. The work is named Tathagatha-oudana, the meaning of which is, Praises of him who has come like all his predecessors. This is one of Buddha’s titles of honour. He is sometimes called Bagawat, the blessed or benevolent; Sugatha, he who has happily come; Dzina, the conqueror. From what is stated at the end of the work, it appears that it was composed in the town of Dibayen, sometimes called Tabayin, lying west of the river Mu, at a distance of about fifteen miles. The place is at present in a ruinous condition. Though the province continues to bear the name of Tabayin, the residence of the governor is in the town of Ye-ou, on the right bank of the Mu.

The compiler of the work was a Phongyie, who, according to his own testimony, finished his task on the thirty-eighth year after he had become a Patzin, ninety-three years ago. He was, therefore, at least fifty-eight years old, as he could not become a Patzin before he had reached his twentieth year. The compilation contains 636 pages of ten lines each, is written on palm leaves, and forms two huge volumes. We may well say that the narration begins at the beginning. The author informs us of the origin, not of Gaudama, since he has obtained the Buddhaship, but of the being who was indeed hereafter to become a Buddha, but who had to move into the circle of countless existences, slowly gravitating towards that perfected state in which he was to be fitted for discharging the duties of a deliverer. He presents us with a sketch of the origin of the country of Kapilawot, and of the kings from whom Gaudama’s father descended. The above particulars were not to be found in the Malla-linkara. In all that relates to the birth, boyhood, &c., of Gaudama, both compilations agree in the main. The variations are few and unimportant. The author of the Tathagatha-oudana is immensely diffuse when he relates all that took place in Buddha’s mind during the forty-nine days that he spent around the tree Bodi. Besides the important theory of the twelve Nidanas, or causes and effects, he supplies us with a complete exposition of the whole Buddhistic system of metaphysics, ontology, geography, and cosmography, the various seats in which all rational beings are placed, from the lowest hell to the last or the highest of the immaterial seats. All these details are purposely omitted by the compiler of the Malla-linkara. Finally, the author supplies us with a few particulars respecting Buddha, during the twenty first seasons or years of his public life. The story of Dewadat is presented at great length. But what is more important, we possess in the compilation of the Tathagatha-oudana a concise account of the three great assemblies or councils held in Radzagio, Wethalie, and Pataliputra, with the names of the sovereigns who have ruled over Magatha from Adzatathat, under whose reign Gaudama died, to Athoka, who promoted religion more than any of his predecessors, and who by his royal influence supported the decisions of the last council. He likewise mentions the names of the religious, who, after the third council, were commissioned to go and preach religion in various countries out of Magatha. From this last expression we learn that Buddhism, until 236 after Gaudama’s death, had not extended its influence beyond the boundaries of Magatha. As a matter of course, our author dwells more particularly on the two missions that were sent, the one to Ceylon and the other to Thaton. He enables us to follow the development of Buddhism in Pegu and Burmah, by informing us that King Naurata-dzau of Pagan, after the conquest of Thaton, took the king prisoner, seized upon the collection of the scriptures, and therewith carried to his capital all the best informed of the Phongyies, in 1056 A.D. Our author brings his narration to the time of the foundation of Ava, in 1365 A.D.

In imitation of all other compilers, our author ends his narrative with the following pious wishes. As a fit reward of the good work that I have happily brought to a close, I desire to become in some future existence a true Buddha, possessing all the science which will enable me to know all beings, their state and condition, and all the relations subsisting between them, and likewise to be gifted with a true compassion for and benevolence towards all beings, which will prompt me to labour for their deliverance. I desire that during the existences which are to precede the last one, I may continually practise the ten great and principal virtues. May my father, mother, relatives, teachers, and friends, have their share in this my good work!

Though far more comprehensive than that of the author of Malla-linkara, the compilation of the Tathagatha-oudana is very inferior to it as regards the drawing up of the subject and the disposition of its parts. Both are made by Burmans. We do not mean to say that the Burmans have made works of an original character. The authors have extracted from various parts of the scriptures all the materials they wanted for composing a work which might be considered as the history of the founder of their religion.

[44] The Burmese translator of the Malla-linkara finishes his work by candidly stating the motives that have induced him to undertake it. He desires to create, promote, and propagate, in the heart of future generations, religious sentiments, and feelings of the tenderest affection for the person of Buddha and his doctrine, that is to say, the law and the assembly of the perfect. Such are the lofty objects he had in view when he began to write. He was encouraged in his difficult task by purely religious considerations, viz., the promotion and triumph of Buddhism. For securing the attainment of what he considered to be a most desirable end, he summoned all his abilities with a most praiseworthy energy and perseverance.

With a somewhat different object in view, the Burmese work has been translated into a European language. The translation has been accompanied with notes intended to explain the text, which would otherwise prove, in many parts, almost unintelligible to the generality of readers. The principles of Buddhism, such as they are held and professed by Buddhists in general, but in particular by those inhabiting Burmah, have received a certain degree of attention, and have been examined as carefully as possible from a Buddhistic point of view. That great religious system has been considered, as it is in itself, without any regard to its intrinsic merits or demerits. The notes are not designed to be an apology or a confutation of Buddhism, but an exposition of its doctrines, such as they are found in the best writings and believed by its votaries. When certain tenets or practices were to be accounted for, recourse has always been had to the general principles of Buddhism and to the notions certainly prevailing at various periods in Buddhist countries. It is needless to add that the notes, having been hurriedly written in the midst of almost uninterrupted and time-absorbing occupations, are destitute of pretension either to deep research or scientific merit. In former years, the writer bestowed a certain amount of time and efforts on the study of Buddhism in Burmah, where it has been for centuries the only religious creed. A portion of the knowledge thus acquired has been embodied in the foregoing notes, with the intention of compressing within a narrow compass the elementary principles and general notions of Buddhism, affording thereby to the readers, who cannot have access to the voluminous writings of the French and German Orientalist savans, on the great religious system of Eastern Asia, comparatively easy means to obtain some information on a religion, which, false as it is, deserves to be known and understood, since in point of antiquity it is second to none except to Brahminism, and as regards diffusion extends its sway over probably one-fifth of the human race.

[45] The distinction alluded to by our author is a most important one. What does he mean when he states that all things in this world obey the principle of mutability, and are liable to perpetual changes and modifications, and that they have a cause? One would be tempted to believe that the Buddhists admit of a first cause. But such is not the case. To understand such a language coming from a Buddhist’s mouth, we must bear in mind the theory of the twelve Nidanas, or causes and effects. Each of the Nidanas is an effect relatively to the preceding one, and a cause to the following one. All existing beings are, relatively to each other, effects and causes. All undergo the irresistible influence of mutability and change. The beings that reside in the seats of Brahma are not beyond the reach of that influence, not even those who dwell in the four immaterial seats.

Are there things which are fixedly and everlastingly the same, upon which no change, no vicissitude can ever act? There is the law, there is the state of Neibban. The law is the expression of truth, which is reality, in contradistinction to the unreality of the visible world. The essence of the law is contained in the four sublime truths, which are emphatically called the Law of the Wheel. They are the declaration of the true state and condition of all beings; they proclaim the necessity of putting an end to such a miserable state of things, and point out the sure means of freeing oneself from the miseries attending existence. These truths are eternal, insomuch that what they proclaim has ever been true in all the worlds that have preceded the present one, since they always resemble each other, and will ever be equally true during the endless series of worlds that will follow. In this sense the law, in the opinion of Buddhists, being the declaration of truth, or of what is, must be eternal, as truth itself is everlasting. The state of Neibban, in contradistinction to that of existence such as we comprehend it, is likewise a thing which never changes, since it is the end of changes. It remains always the same; it is the opposite of existence. What is then called here everlasting, or eternal, is, in the opinion of Buddhists, but the things that are conceived as subsisting abstractively per se, and never affected by the great principle of mutability that pervades all beings. To sum up the whole in a few words, the science which points out the means of coming out of the whirlpool of existences, and the being out of that circle, such are the two things which are always the same, never undergo any change, and are eternal.

[46] In the definition of man which is given by the Buddhist author, we find the words intelligence, capacity for reflecting, comparing and drawing inferences, &c. He who is not familiar with the revolting materialist doctrines of Buddhism would be tempted to believe that they admit of a soul or spiritual principle subsisting in man. But such is not the case. The faculty for performing all the functions which we rightly attribute to the soul resides in the sixth sense, called mano, or the heart, or the knowing principle. But this sense, in their opinion, is as material as the eye, the ear, and the other senses. It is delightful to the Christian reader to find in the midst of a heap of rubbish and fables a few fragments of the primitive revelation. We see man coming from a noble origin, appearing in this world with the most glorious privileges, which he forfeits by eating the rice called Tsale, which produced on his being the same destructive effects which the eating of the forbidden fruit caused on our first parents in the garden of Eden.

[47] Buddhists lay the greatest stress on the belief in the three precious things. It is the foundation on which rests the whole spiritual edifice. But it is somewhat extraordinary to see that the superstition of believing in lucky and unlucky days, in good and bad luck, is openly condemned, and entails upon him who is addicted to it the severest penalty. Though such childish belief is so exceedingly common in Burmah that it influences man in his daily and hourly affairs, yet we must admit that it is opposed to the tenets of strict Buddhism. There can never be any good or bad luck in the opinion of him who has faith in the influence of merits and demerits. There is no other agent in this world but that one; it is it alone that brings in and regulates all the accidents which attend the life of man. Such is indeed the theory of the true Buddhist. But how widely differs the practice from the theory? He who has lived for some time in a Buddhist country, and made himself acquainted with the intimate habits of the people, will soon discover that superstitious ideas, and, as a necessary consequence, superstitious practices, are the spring and prime mover of all actions from morning to night. In this respect, Buddhist monks differ not from the laity; nay, they are often seen as the leaders of the people in the performance of rites at variance with the tenets of their creed.

[48] This is a consequence of the axiom established by our author, viz., that the principle of mutability pervades all the beings which reside in the thirty-one seats allotted to them. It cannot be supposed for a moment, according to Buddhists, that a being, whatever may be the amount of his merits and demerits, can ever be placed without the pale of the influence of his good or bad deeds. It accompanies him in all positions, and causes the vicissitudes that attend his existence. It works upon him in hell, as well as on earth, and in the seats of Nats and Brahmas. Fixity is to be found nowhere except in going out of the circle of existences, that is to say, in Neibban. When we speak of existence in a Buddhistic sense, we mean a state of being in any conceivable form or situation or place. Fixity in the enjoyment of reward or in the undergoing of punishment is a contradiction with the first principle of Buddhism. The awarder of reward or punishment is the above-named influence, which proceeds from the actions performed, and in its turn allots good or evil in exact proportion with the cause that has created it.

Gaudama, having wilfully and unwilfully ignored a first cause from which all the things that exist draw their being and life, has been forced to allow to an imaginary agent the very same attributes which belong exclusively to the supreme being. On the rock of atheism he has made a sad shipwreck. Apart from this capital error it is surprising to see him maintaining with an admirable acuteness the existence of many fundamental truths; such, for instance, as the reward of good actions and the punishment of bad ones. With him the doing of evil is ever attended with consequences fatal to the perpetrator, whilst the performance of good is always accompanied with beneficial results. One would be inclined to believe that Gaudama has appropriated to himself with a great tact all the truths emanating from the belief in a supreme being; and whilst he has, with a barefaced and impious audacity, denied to the eternal author of all things the very existence, he has been placed under the necessity of accounting, in a most unlogical manner, for the existence of this world.

[49] It will perhaps be of some interest to a few of our readers to mention the names of the thirty-one seats in which Buddhists have located all beings. Let us begin with the lowest step of that immense ladder. The four first steps are the four states of punishment. In them are to be found living the unfortunate beings who, pursued by the inflexible law of their demerits, are doomed to atone in different ways for the evil that they have done. The lowest seat is Nga-yai or hell. It is placed in the centre of our planet, and subdivided into eight principal quarters, the last of which is called Awidzi. The second step of the ladder is occupied by the seat of Animals; the third by certain monsters called Preittas; and the fourth by another kind of inferior beings named Athourikes. These four seats are tenanted by beings who undergo punishment for the evil deeds they have performed.

The fifth seat is that of Manusa, or men. The beings that occupy it are in a state in which they can merit or demerit. It may be called a position of probation.

Above the seat of man are the six seats of Nats called Tsadoomaritz, Tawadeintha, Yama, Toocita, Nimanarati, Pare-neimittawasawati. The denizens of those seats enjoy the reward awarded to them for the performance of good and meritorious exterior works.

The three places above those of Nats, called Brahma-parisitsa, Brahmah-parau-hita, Maha-Brahma, are occupied by the contemplatives who have reached the first step of Dzan, or meditation. The three following, Pareitta-ba, Appa-ma-naba, Appa-sara, are tenanted by the beings who have attained the second degree of contemplation. The three next to those just enumerated are: Paweitta-sou-ba, Appa-mana-sou-ba, Souba-kannaka. They are the abodes of the contemplatives who have ascended to the third step of meditation. The two following steps of the ladder, Wa-happala, A-sou-gna-sat, are tenanted by the contemplatives of the fourth degree; and the five that follow, viz., Awiha, Atabpa, Sou-dasa, Sou-dasi, Agga-nita, are occupied by the contemplatives of the fifth degree; that is to say, by the beings who have entered the Thoda, or current of perfection, and who have qualified themselves for obtaining the state of deliverance, or Neibban.

Above those seats we find the four and last abodes of Arupa, without form. They are called: Akasanitza-yatana, Wigniana-witza-yatana, Akeitsignia-yatana, Newa-thagnia-nathagnia-yatana.

[50] The number of tseits or ideas is one hundred and twenty, divided as follows:—

1. The tseits or ideas of the beings as yet under the influence of passion; they are named Kama-watsara-tseits.

2. The tseits or ideas peculiar to beings who have not as yet been able to raise themselves entirely above materiality; they are called Rupa-watzara-tseits.

3. There are four tseits peculiar to those beings, who, setting aside the coarser portions of this world, launch forth into abstract truth, and delight in the contemplation of the highest, purest, and most boundless things the mind may imagine. They are known as the ideas working on what may be called immaterial, impalpable objects.

The ideas of the first series belong to all the beings located in the four states of punishment, in the seat of man, and in the six seats of Nats, that is to say, in the eleven seats where is the reign of passions.

Those of the second series belong to the beings located in the sixteen seats of the Brahmas, including those who have entered into the current of perfection, by following the four Meggas, and enjoying the merits and rewards connected with the condition of the perfect.

The ideas of the third series are the happy lot of those superior beings who soar high in the regions of pure spiritualism, leaving below them all the things that have a reference to this world, such as we see it.

The Tsedathits, or results essentially connected with ideas, are fifty-two in number. The seven enumerated at the end of this article are: contact, sensation, perception, inclination, fixity, command over self, and remembrance: they are inherent in all ideas. Six Tsedathits are connected with the act of perception, viz., thought, reflection, decision, energy, pleasure, and liberty. Fourteen others are connected with the ideas of demerits, viz., impudence, audacity in evil, unsteadiness, concupiscence, pride, boasting, grievous offence, envy, anxiety, want of respect, lowness of feelings, doubt or indecision, covetousness.

The Tsedathits connected with merits are: affection for all that refers to religion, remembrance of all that is good, shame of all that is bad, fear of evil, exemption from concupiscence and from anger, serenity of soul, freedom from evil inclinations and evil thoughts, swiftness of the body and of the mind, good habits of the body and of the soul, uprightness in the feelings and the thoughts, good words, good actions, good behaviour, compassion, joy at the prosperity of others, wisdom, or the acquirement of the knowledge of truth by reflection.

[51] Having in two previous notes explained what regards the ideas, and the results from or the things connected with ideas, we must come to the third great principle, viz., Rupa, or form, or matter, and state further the curious divisions of our Burmese metaphysicians. 1. The form of all that is visible is found in the four elements: earth, water, fire, and air. 2. The form for coming in contact are the five senses, the eyes, the ear, the nose, the tongue, and the body, or rather the skin of the body. 3. The form of the objects of the senses is likewise divided into five parts, essentially connected with the five above-enumerated senses. 4. The forms peculiar to the living beings are the male and female sexes. 5. The forms of life taken abstractedly are the life of the body and the life of language or uttered words. 6. The forms in which appearance exhibits itself are swiftness, softness, and acting. 7. The forms of the signs of being are: the appearance of being, on coming into being, the remaining into being, the fulness of the state of being, and the destruction of being.

The last great principle is Neibban, that is to say, the exemption from the action of the influence originating from merits and demerits, from the volitions of the mind, from the seasons or time, and from nourishment, which are the causes of mutability; it is the end of existence.

As regards the state of man and that of other rational beings, there are several notions which are arranged in a curious manner under several heads, which it is thought necessary to notice as briefly as possible. 1. The five Khandas, or supports of man’s being: materiality, sensation, perception, mutability, and intellect or thought. 2. The inward five Ayatana, or seats of the senses of seeing, of hearing, of smelling, of tasting, and of feeling. 3. The outward five Ayatana, or seats of what is perceived by the senses, viz., appearance or form, sound, odour, taste, tangibility, and idea. 4. The ten Dat, or constitutive parts of the five senses, and of the five results of the perception of the five senses, as above enumerated. 5. The four Thitsa, or truths: the truth of the miseries attending existence; the truth of concupiscence or passions, the cause of all miseries; the truth of the Neibban of passions, or the destruction of passions, the summit of which is Neibban, the truth of the Megga or ways to Neibban. 6. The twenty-two Indray, or dispositions or capacities for acting, viz., the capacity of seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, feeling, of uniting one sex with the other, of thinking, of enjoying peace, of bearing pain, of yielding to anger, of enjoying pleasure, of remaining indifferent, of using exertions, of being attentive, of adhering to true doctrine, of putting on sentiments of benevolence, of searching after wisdom, of using meekness, of entering the four ways of perfection, and of enjoying the happiness resulting from following those ways. 7. The nine Phola, or rewards resulting from walking in the path of perfection are: intensity of benevolence, of diligence, of attention, of fixity of wisdom, of shame of all that is bad, of fear for all that is bad, of diligence in avoiding evil, and the fear of hardness in sin. 8. The Megga, or ways, are: good doctrine, good thinking, good language, and good actions. What follows is but a completive of the above, viz., good conduct, good diligence, good attention, and good fixity. 9. The Dzan, or meditation, have five parts, viz., thought of the object, reflection on the object, satisfaction resulting therefrom, affectionate inclination for the object, fixity in the object.

The writer craves the reader’s indulgence in setting before him such a dry nomenclature; but no one can understand the language of Buddhist metaphysicians, unless he has made himself familiar with the terms they use, and the arbitrary distinctions they have adopted.

[52] In this latter part our author clearly explains his opinion on this world, that is to say, on all that exists. He states at first, in general terms, that what we see and perceive by means of our senses, possesses no reality; it is a mere illusion. Our ignorance of the real state of things deceives us, by making us believe in the reality of objects that have nothing but an ephemeral and illusory existence. He proceeds a little farther, and treats our senses in like manner. They are the instruments that procure unto us a general illusion. But the senses, what are they? They are distinct from us. By a strict analysis we find them to be but a compound of the four elements, liable to dissolution and destruction. A living being has certain attributes which are the supports of his existence; but those attributes are equally a compound of the elements, subjected to the same modifications of reproduction and destruction and deprived of consistence. The attributes of the living beings being disposed of in this manner, the being itself vanishes away. There remain but name and form. But does what we call form possess a real existence? Undoubtedly not. It is a mere phantom, an illusion. Our author comes to the necessary and final consequence that there is no world really existing. In fact, he denies the existence of matter and spirit. With such an abuse of the powers of reasoning, there is no wonder that he looks upon Neibban, or annihilation, as the only end to be arrived at. Man in his opinion being but a compound of the four elements, which have no real existence, cannot be himself but an illusion without a reality. Gracious Heavens! what an excess of mental aberration will man reach when he is left to himself, deprived of the light from above! Never has the writer witnessed such a total eclipse of human intellect.

[53] The word Talapoin, imported into Europe by the writings of early Portuguese authors in the East Indies, derives its origin probably from two Pali words, Tala-pat, meaning the leaf of the palm-tree. These two words, coupled together, are used by the Siamese to designate the large fan made of palm-leaves, set in a slender wooden frame, which Talapoins carry with them on certain occasions when they go abroad.

In the course of this notice we will indiscriminately make use of the words Phongyies, Talapoins, and Rahans to designate the Buddhist religious.

[54] In glancing over the latter part of Buddha’s life, the reader has seen that the less important points of discipline have been the subject of much discussion in the early days of Buddhism. Among those points of dispute and contention were the last five articles above enumerated. The second council was assembled for the purpose of settling warm disputes which distracted the Buddhist Thanga, or Assembly, and caused great disturbances. The venerable Rasa, who lived in Wethalie, a city situated on the Gunduck, north of Hajipoor, undertook a long journey, as far as Kosambi, for the express purpose of warning the religious of that country against the dangerous innovations which were introduced by a considerable body of Rahans belonging to the eastern districts of Wethalie.

The journey was certainly a long one in a western direction. The ruins of the famous city of Kosambi have been discovered at a place called Kosam, thirty miles above Allahabad, on the Jumna. They are most extensive, and at once indicate the importance that place must have had in the days of its prosperity. A broken pillar, the polished shaft of which must have measured 34 feet, is covered with inscriptions; it is one of the most important Buddhist relics. It is probably one of those pillars erected by Athoka in every part of his extensive dominions. It bears no inscription more ancient than the second and third century of the Christian era. A similar one was erected at Prayag, an ancient city mentioned by Hwen Thsang as being situated at the confluence of the Ganges and the Jumna, and finally destroyed by the gradual encroachments of the rivers. The place remained abandoned until the days of the Emperor Akhbar, who built a fort called Illahabas. The new city received the name of Allahabad from the Emperor Shah Jehan. The famous pillar called the Allahabad Pillar bears three inscriptions. The first is that of Asoka, 240 years B.C., recording his edicts for the propagation of Buddhism; the second is that of Samudra Gupta, in the second century of our era, commemorative of his extensive dominions; the third is that of Jehangir, mentioning his accession to the throne. The last re-setting up of this famous pillar took place in 1838.

[55] Among southern Buddhists, preference is given to the yellow colour for the monk’s habit. The juice extracted from the Jack-tree wood, by the process of boiling, supplies the necessary ingredient for dyeing.

[56] The writer does not think it worth repeating the reasons that induced Gaudama to lay down those several regulations. They owe their origin to the fact that some individuals contrived to be ordained though labouring under physical defects, and thereby became a sort of standing disgrace to the society. It was at the request of his father that Buddha forbade receiving to ordination sons who had not the consent of the parents, and fixed twenty years as the age requisite in him who would offer himself for the promotion to the order of Patzin. No slave, no debtor, could be ordained, because a man in such a condition does not belong to himself, and cannot dispose of his person, which to a certain extent is the property of his master and creditor.

[57] It is probable that the allusion to the red colour has a Thibetan origin. The Buddhist monks of that country have adopted the red for their dress, in preference to the yellow, which is the canonical colour of the habit of all the monks among the southern Buddhists.

[58] In this part of the regulations the elect is reminded of the primitive condition of the members of the society. In imitation of their brethren of the Brahminical persuasion, and also for the purpose of living in seclusion, the Rahans, in the beginning, were satisfied with dwelling in huts raised at the foot of some tall tree. As soon, however, as Buddhism gained footing in various countries, we see that kings, nobles, and wealthy persons vied with each other in erecting splendid houses for the use of the monks. Gaudama himself was presented by King Pimpathara at Radzagio with the splendid Weloowon monastery. In Thawattie the rich man Anatapein offered him the famous Dzetawon monastery; and the rich lady Withaka of the same country gave him, as a gift, the no less splendid mansion named Pouppayon.

General A. Cunningham has discovered the ruins of Thawattie, fifty-eight miles north of Fyzabad, on the Rapti, in a place called Sahet Mahet, situated between Akaona and Bulrampur, five miles from the former and twelve from the latter. It was the capital of King Pathenadi, situated in north Kosala. In the Legend of Buddha we have seen how that monarch was dispossessed of his throne by one of his sons, and died while on his way to the capital of Adzatathat, his son-in-law. The ruins of the renowned Dzetawon monastery have been identified by means of the information supplied by the writings of the Chinese pilgrims we have often mentioned. The monastery was distant 1200 paces from the southern gate of the city. The scarcely less famous Pouppayon monastery was erected to the east of the Dzetawon. Mounds of ruins in that very same direction leave no doubt that in their bosom the last remains of that celebrated place are entombed. It is said that Gaudama, being fifty-five years old, began to reside permanently in monasteries built for him, and that he spent, out of the last twenty-five seasons, nineteen in the Dzetawon and six in the Pouppayon. According to Hwen Thsang, the place occupied by the Dzetawon monastery was a square, having 1000 cubits on each face or side. Besides the monastery, there were two temples and two tanks within the enclosure.

[59] In treating of the precept of never touching women, it is added in the Wini that this prohibition extends to one’s own mother; and even should it happen that she fall into a ditch, her son, if a Talapoin, must not pull her out. But in case no other aid is near at hand, he may offer her his habit, or a stick, to help her out; but at the same time he is to imagine that he is only pulling out a log of wood.

[60] The Phongyies profess to have a tender compassion for the life of animals, and would not on any account allow themselves to be suspected of having contributed to the killing of an animal for the sake of feeding on his flesh. The writer has often taken a pleasure in taunting them on this account when he happened to see them eating pieces of boiled meat, by showing to them that their practice was little in accordance with their theory. They always answered that “they had not killed the animal, the flesh of which they were eating; but had merely received a piece of meat that had no life. As to the man who had deprived the animal of its life, he had certainly sinned, and would suffer for his misdeed. But that was an affair for which the perpetrator of the deed was alone answerable, and which concerned him alone.” To this answer, of a rather elastic nature, the writer jocosely replied that “if there was no eater of meat there would be no killer of animals; and that, in his opinion, if sin there was, both had a share in it.” Whereupon the yellow-dressed interlocutors invariably laughed, and feeling that they stood on insecure ground, adroitly changed the subject of conversation. There is no doubt that the Phongyies believe that it is sinful to kill animals, but at the same time they confess that it is difficult, nay, almost impossible, to live in this world without committing such a trespass.

[61] The writer, when he visited Bhamo two years ago, had the opportunity of witnessing a striking illustration of the above assertion. Living in a fine and substantial dzeat, in the vicinity of a large pagoda, he remarked an elderly Burmese woman coming every morning with some flowers, which she respectfully deposited in front of a niche tenanted by a huge marble idol. She was poorly dressed, but her mien and countenance indicated that she had seen better days. Entering into conversation with her, the writer learned from her that she was the widow of a wealthy man who had been the principal writer of the governor. Her husband had spent twelve thousand rupees in building the pagoda in front of us and the dzeat, and had just died when the work was completed, leaving to her and her only daughter nothing but the house they now dwelt in. She was without any means of support. Having been asked whether she did not feel some regret that nothing had been left for her subsistence, and whether she did not think her husband would have behaved better in bestowing one-half of his money for religious purposes and keeping the other half for the maintenance of his family, the old lady gently smiled, and said, without hesitation or showing the least sign of repining, that her husband had acted very well and for the best; that she and her daughter, by their exertions, would always be able to support themselves in their humble and poor condition.

In many places the traveller’s eyes are attracted by the sight of a lofty and roomy kiaong, adorned with fine carvings. When he inquires about the individual whose pious liberality has erected that edifice, he is surprised and astonished to see him living in the poor and wretched house which is pointed out to him.

END OF VOL. II.

Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson & Co.
Edinburgh & London