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.