Four years in Upper Burma

by W. R. Winston

Transmigration constantly renews sentient existence in a countless succession of births and lives. Hence the polite form of the announcement of a death is that the deceased has “changed his state of existence,” that is, put off one existence and taken on another. This is not merely a polite form of speech, but more correctly embodies the popular belief than the mere statement that he has “died.” Moreover, in future births man may rise and fall in the scale of existences; and as human life and animal life are considered to be of the same nature, no difficulty is experienced in readily believing that a man may become an animal, or an animal may become a man in future births. Hence the scruple against taking any kind of animal life amongst the Burmans, extending even to vermin. Supposing transmigration to be true, it follows that if one kills any animal, large or small, even the smallest insect, he may be taking the life of his deceased grandfather, who has thus reappeared in the body.

This universal belief of the Buddhists in transmigration was curiously illustrated quite recently in a court of justice in Burma. A mother and her son came one day to the magistrate of their district and expressed a desire to institute a suit. The case for the son, who was the plaintiff, was as follows. Some years before, a certain man, it was stated, had left in charge of the defendant some jewellery and a silk cloth for safe keeping. While engaged in repairing the roof of a house he fell off and died of the injury. The jewellery and cloth remained in the hands of the defendant, and the suit was now instituted to recover the same.

What was the ground for this claim? Not that this boy or his mother were related to the deceased, but that the boy was that identical man in another birth. But how could he prove it? There was no difficulty in proving this, at least to the satisfaction of the Buddhists. The boy displayed upon his body certain marks, which those who knew the deceased said were precisely similar to marks he bore. The mother, by a comparison of, dates, sought to prove the date of the birth of the boy was just when it would be supposing his claim to be true. But the most convincing testimony of all was that the boy distinctly remembered the whole of the circumstances happening in his former existence! The defendant admitted receiving the silk cloth, but denied all knowledge of the jewellery. He admitted that he believed the boy was the very man who left the cloth with him, and was willing to return it if the boy paid a small debt of eight annas borrowed on it by the owner. The boy said he remembered the eight annas, but also insisted on the jewellery. Unfortunately for him his good memory did not avail him; it was a British court of justice, not a Burmese, and the magistrate had to dismiss the case as extending to matters beyond his jurisdiction.

Karma or Kan (Burmese), or Fate, as it is sometimes rather inadequately rendered, is that self-originating, self-operating, inflexible law which necessitates and causes the working out of the cumulative influences of merit and demerit; these separately producing in succeeding births their full and appropriate effects, extending through cycles of ages, the Kan being modified from time to time by the passage through these different births. Thus Kan is not in any sense a Divine Providence. It is a blind impersonal force that attends our destiny through all the course of our many existences, and makes us to reap in other births what we sow in this. It may be compared to a balance. In the one side we are always putting in acts of merit, and in the other side acts of demerit, and the Kan goes on determining which preponderates, and blindly producing its appropriate consequences until each has worked itself out to the pleasant or the bitter end.

Undoubtedly this doctrine is a bold expedient for explaining the apparent anomalies and wrongs in the distribution of happiness and misery in this life; and although it is incapable alike of proof and of disproof, it fully satisfies those who can believe it. A child, for instance, is blind,—this is owing to his eye-vanity, lust of the eye in a former birth,—but he has also unusual powers of hearing; this is because he loved in a former birth to listen to the preaching of the law. Thus the theory can always be made to fit the facts, for it is derived from them. But it satisfies the Oriental mind none the less for that, and it is the belief of millions of Hindus and Buddhists to-day.

Nirvana (Burmese Neibbân) is the state of complete deliverance from further births and deaths. So long as existence lasts evil and suffering must continue, and there is no hope of blessedness until conscious individuality has become wholly eliminated, and the individual has arrived at that state where further births are no longer possible. This means practically annihilation; but it is so much easier to do wrong than to do right, and it takes so long for Kan to work out its result, that Neibbân becomes, by the ordinary way, so distant and so difficult of attainment as to be out of reach to the vast majority of the human race.

If Buddhism ended there, and if nothing had been devised to relieve this strain of seeking after an all but hopeless and well-nigh impossible good, it would have been of all creeds the most pessimistic and miserable. The mind must needs have revolted from an outlook so gloomy, and we may safely affirm that it would in that case never have numbered its votaries by hundreds of millions as it does to-day. For it just amounts to this, that “Sin and its consequences follow man as the wheels of the cart follow the legs of the bullocks,” and there is no Saviour and no salvation that he can seek outside of himself.

But just at this point the doctrine of works of merit steps in and offers its hopes to the Buddhist, and seems to bring the attainment of future good at once within the sphere of the practicable. According to this, man can be continually improving his Kan by so-called works of merit, and he may hope, with comparatively little trouble, to make his merits outweigh his demerits, and thereby improve his lot in future existences.

See that row of waterpots under the shade of that great tree upon a dusty road, set upon a neat stand, with a neatly carved roof constructed over them, with a ladle to drink out of, and each of the pots covered with a tin cover to keep out the dust and insects. It is privately constructed and presented for public use, a work of merit; all done to get what they are often thinking and talking about—koothoh.