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.