Read Ebook: Among the Burmans: A Record of Fifteen Years of Work and its Fruitage by Cochrane Henry Park

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THE CHINS

The dialect of the southern Chins has been reduced to writing, and is found to be strikingly similar to the Burmese, perhaps half of the words being more or less allied to the Burmese. As the southern Chins have great difficulty in understanding the speech of the wild tribes in the northern hills, it is quite probable that their own dialect has been corrupted by contact with the Burmans since their migration to Burma. The Chin dialect of the south is also said to contain many words of Shan origin. This must have come about in the same way, either by contact with Shans on the Upper Chindwin at a very early period, or when the Shans occupied Arracan about eighteen years, towards the end of the tenth century. This later contact seems much too short to have left a permanent mark on the southern Chin dialect. The total number of Animists--demon-worshippers--in Burma, Chin, Kachin, Karen, and other, is about four hundred thousand. But as we have seen, the Buddhist Burmans, Shans and Talaings, are at core, demon-worshippers, all races having in common practically the same superstitions.

BUDDHISM AS IT IS

Much has been written on Buddhism, besides the translation of the Buddhist's sacred books. Little, however, can be learned from books of Buddhism as one finds it expressed in the life of the people.

Fittingly they describe it as "a flame which has been blown out."

There is no such thing as real prayer in the whole Buddhist system. What, then, are they doing? Here comes in the system of "merit" on which Buddhism is built. An instinctive sense of guilt and impending penalty is universal. Having no Saviour--man must save himself.

From what? Not from sin, as violation of the laws of a Holy Being, but from their train of evil consequences to himself.

The chief tenets of Buddhism are: Misery is the inevitable consequence of existence. Misery has its source in desire. Misery can be escaped only by the extinction of desire. Desire can be extinguished only by becoming wholly unconscious of the world and of self. He who attains to such unconsciousness attains to Neikban. Evil actions constitute demerit. Good actions constitute merit.

But no Buddhist expects to attain to Neikban at the end of this existence. He realizes that it is utterly hopeless for him to think of fulfilling the conditions. But he cherishes the groundless hope that in some future existence under more favourable conditions he may be able to accumulate sufficient merit, though he cannot now. This belief presupposes the doctrine of transmigration, or metempsychosis.

The Buddhist believes that he has passed through countless existences in the past,--whether as man, animal, or insect, or all many times over, he knows not; finally, birth into this world as man. He dies only to be reborn into this or another world,--whether as man, animal, or insect he knows not; then death again, and so through countless ages. Even Gautama himself is said to have passed through five hundred and fifty different phases of existence, including long ages in hell, before he finally entered this world as man, and became a Buddha.

Although Buddhism has no God, and no heaven, it has a very vivid conception of hell, yes,--eight of them, surrounded by over forty thousand lesser hells,--their terrors limited only by the limitations of the imagination. But no man can escape--the doctrine of Karma settles that. A man's own words and deeds pursue him relentlessly, and there is no city of refuge to which he may flee. "Not in the heavens, not in the midst of the sea, not if thou hidest thyself in the clefts of the mountains, will thou find a place where thou mayest escape the force of thy own evil actions." So say their scriptures, and so every Buddhist believes. Hell is the inevitable penalty of many deeds or accidents, such as the killing of the smallest insect under foot. Between the Buddhist and his hopeless hope of Neikban yawns this awful gulf of existences and sufferings.

"Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap," gives the gist of Buddhism. He is now reaping from past existences; he will reap in the next from his deeds in this. In the past each succeeding existence depended upon the last previous existence. In like manner, what the next existence shall be depends wholly upon the deeds of this life.

So the countless series of transmigrations may be, theoretically, in the ascending or descending scale. But when the awful penalties assigned to innumerable and unavoidable violations of the Buddhist law are taken into consideration all hope of future existences in the ascending scale vanishes. The poor fisherman, beginning at the very bottom of the lowest of the four chief hells must spend countless ages in each, before he can hope to be reborn as man.

The man who unwittingly puts his foot on the smallest insect and crushes out its life must atone for the deed by spending a long period in torment. Taking the life of any living thing, even to the killing of poisonous snakes, is held to be the worst of all sins. The priests, to avoid the possibility of destroying insect life, use a brass strainer finely perforated, to cleanse their drinking water, in blissful ignorance of the microbe theory. A native preacher once asked me to get him a microscope so that he might prove to the priests that notwithstanding their precautions they were drinking to themselves perdition.

His motive may have been in part, to convince them as to the futility of their hope, and in part to get even with them for their harsh criticisms of "animal-killing Christians."

It has often been asserted that Buddhism has a moral code rivaling, if not superior to that of Christianity. We had not been at our mission station a week before we heard the remark, "Buddhism is a beautiful religion,--why do the missionaries try to disturb them in their belief?" That there are noble precepts and commandments all must admit. But he who expects to see their "beauty" reflected in the lives of the people will be doomed to disappointment. Take the commandment already noticed--"Thou shalt not take the life of any living thing."

A missionary found a man digging for huge beetles. When one was found it was impaled on a sharp stick along with the others, all to go into the curry for the morning meal. Then the following conversation took place: "Are you not afraid of punishment in hell for killing these creatures?" "I shall go there if I do not kill them." "Then you do this because there is no hope for you, whether you take animal life or not?" "It is all the same." Sins beyond his power to counterbalance by merit had already been committed, until hope had given way to despair.

One may shoot pigeons in the vicinity of a Buddhist monastery, and then divide with the priest, who anticipates a savoury meal without any compunctions of conscience on account of "aiding and abetting."

Young Burmans are eager to follow the man with the gun, showing him the likeliest place to find game, and when the animal is wounded, will rush in and dispatch it with their dahs.

The fisheries of Burma furnish a livelihood to hundreds of Burmans. Large sums are paid to government annually for the privilege of controlling certain specified sections of rivers or streams. The fisherman makes the taking of animal-life his business and daily occupation.

Theoretically he is ranked among the very lowest classes. In real life we find him enjoying the same social position that others of equal wealth enjoy. But I do not hesitate to say that this general belief that fearful penalties must be endured in future existences for taking animal-life in this, has a deeper hold on the Buddhist than any other commandment.

Take the commandment: "Thou shalt speak no false word,"--strikingly like the Christian's commandment, "Thou shalt not bear false witness," "Lie not one to another." One would naturally expect to find among the devotees of a system containing such a commandment some value placed upon one's word of honour. But if truthfulness has ever been discovered among non-Christian Burmans, the discovery has never been reported. But we have not far to search to find the secret of this general lack of any regard for truthfulness.

When it is remembered that deceit and fraud are national vices, bred in the bone for centuries, it is not to be marvelled at that native Christians, only a step from heathenism, are sometimes found deficient in their sense of honour. Here is an illustration in point. A young Burman wanted to become a Christian. He became a regular attendant at chapel services, and finally asked for baptism. This greatly enraged his heathen wife, who proceeded to make his life most miserable. She tore around, screamed, pulled her own hair, and made things interesting generally. She got possession of his box containing his best clothing and other valuables, and would neither give it back to him nor live any longer with him unless he would promise to break with the Christians, and cease attending their worship. The young man appealed to his uncle. The uncle's advice was: "You go and tell your wife that you will have nothing more to do with the Christians. You cannot recover your property in any other way. When you have regained possession of your box, come back to us, and then we will baptize you." So far as he then knew, the end justified the means. Take the commandment: "Thou shalt commit no immoral act,"--an ideal precept in itself, but standing for little more than a joke when inscribed on the banner of any non-Christian people. The Burman is perhaps superior, morally, to some other races of this country, yet his moral sense is very low. Among middle-aged people marriage seems to be an actual institution, and family life well guarded. Separations are comparatively few. Conditions of life in the tropics are such that the young are subject to temptations sad to contemplate. Heathen parents freely discuss subjects in the presence of their children that never would be mentioned before them in a Christian home. Missionaries' children often startle their parents by repeating what never should have come to their ears. It seems a wonder that moral character exists at all among the young. That many do set a high value upon virtue no unprejudiced observer of native life can doubt. Jealousy plays a large part in early separations, and with sufficient cause. Both may find other partners of their joys on the day following.

Among all races there are certain laws and social customs that in large measure restrain evil practices. Even among the heathen a certain value is placed upon one's social standing in the community,--which has greater weight than the commandment against immorality, in his "law." An educated Burman once said to me--"Burmans do not take much account of sin, but they do not like to lose their respectability."

We visited that most famous worship-place of the Buddhists, the Shwe Dagon pagoda, and for the first time saw heathenism as it is. We had read "The Light of Asia"; and heard theosophists talk glibly of "Mahatmas" whose wisdom is more ancient and profound than anything in the religious literature of the West.

But here we saw the yellow-robed, "Light of Asia" and the graven image, both representing their annihilated Buddha, seemingly equal in intelligence, and sharing together the superstitious worship of the common people. Up the long ascent to the pagoda is a covered way, its brick or flagged steps hollowed out by the tramp, tramp of thousands on thousands of barefooted worshippers, extending over many, many years.

Guarding the approach are two horrible griffins, the first suggestion of the superstitious mind of these benighted people. On either side of the stairway are sellers of artificial flowers, paper streamers, candles, and other things used as offerings, each worshipper stopping to invest in whatever he thinks will gain for him the greatest amount of merit at the least possible cost. This great pagoda itself 1,350 feet in circumference, tapering in graceful curves to a height of 328 feet, is entirely covered with gold leaf. It is said that the pagoda has been regilded several times, at fabulous cost. But this does not seem so wonderful when one recalls that the Parliament of Religions witnessed the regilding of the entire Buddhist system.

The largest, cast in 1842, is fourteen feet high, seven and a half in diameter, with sides fifteen inches in thickness, weighs 94,682 pounds. It is said that when this bell was cast, quantities of gold, silver and copper were thrown in as offerings. After the second Burmese war, the English undertook to carry this bell away as a curio, but by some accident it fell into the river. The Burmans afterwards recovered it and put it again in its place,--a marvellous feat, considering their rude appliances.

Intensely interesting is all this when seen for the first time; but inexpressibly saddening when one stops to reflect what it all stands for. One is forcibly reminded of its terrible significance by groups of worshippers kneeling before these shrines, mumbling hurriedly through their so-called prayers, prostrating themselves repeatedly to the ground. After going through his prayers and prostrations the worshipper goes to the bell and strikes it with the end of a heavy piece of wood, kept there for the purpose. The attention of gods and men must be called to the fact that he has performed a certain amount of merit-earning worship. "Thou shalt have no other gods before me. Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image nor any likeness of anything that is in heaven above or that is in the earth beneath; thou shalt not bow down to them nor serve them." What new meaning that commandment had for us, as we saw it violated before our eyes! Idolatry seemed even darker than it had been painted.

Pagodas may be seen all over Burma, single or in groups; of all sizes from the less pretentious structure in the jungle-village, to the great Shwe Dagon in Rangoon, with its umbrella-top 328 feet in the air. These pagodas, modelled after the dagobas of Ceylon, are all of the same general shape, resembling the bottom half of a child's top, inverted. They occupy the most conspicuous places, on nearly every hilltop, on points jutting out into the rivers, and near the chief highways. The more important were built over some supposed relic of Gautama, such as a tooth or a hair. These pagodas are considered much more sacred than those that were built for merit only.

The Shwe Dagon pagoda, most famous of all Buddhist shrines, is said to have been built over relics of four Buddhas, including eight hairs of Gautama. The Shwe Hmaw Daw pagoda at Pegu, erected by the Talaings, claims a tooth of Gautama. The Shwe San Daw pagoda at Toungoo has a different history. A Burman prince, Tabin Shwe' Htee, when born had one long red hair standing out from the top of his head. This was a sure indication of an embryonic Buddha. In his honour the great pagoda was erected, and called the "Golden Hair Pagoda." The Maha Myat Moonee pagoda at Mandalay, commonly known as the "Arracan Pagoda" is second only to the Shwe Dagon, in the esteem of Upper Burmans. In A. D., 146, the King of Arracan cast a great brass image of Gautama, which became famous for its supposed miraculous powers. In A. D., 1784, the king of Burma, having conquered other parts of the country, and secured about everything he wanted, turned longing eyes towards Arracan and the far-famed image. This great image, twelve feet high, though cast in a sitting posture,--was brought over the mountains and deposited at the Arracan pagoda in a large building specially prepared for it, north of Amarapura. Not a smile disturbs the settled calm on its face as the visitor reads the inscription setting forth that the image was drawn here by the "charm of the king's piety." But from other sources we learn that his piety found expression in a war of conquest, of which this image was one of the coveted fruits. Its importation over the mountains was a wonderful feat. Little wonder that Burmans think it was accomplished by supernatural help.

A few miles north of Mandalay is the great Mingon pagoda, begun in 1790, and never finished. It is four hundred feet square at the base, and was to have been carried up to a height of five hundred feet, but work was suspended when it had reached about one third of its intended height, the country already having become seriously impoverished.

In 1839 an earthquake split it from top to bottom. No one mourned the seeming disaster, for no king could gain the "royal merit" by completing the work of another. As it is, this Mingon pagoda is said to be the largest pile of brick and mortar in the world.

The largest bell in Burma, weighing between eighty and ninety tons, and second in size to the great bell at Moscow, cast to match the immense pagoda, is still to be seen near the ruins. This bell is eighteen feet high, seventeen in diameter, and a foot and a half in thickness. It now rests on the ground, having long ago proved too heavy for its supports.

Pagodas are not temples. There is no open interior for a worship place. The worshipping is done in the open space around the pagoda, or in the idol-houses, the real temples.

The first pagoda was probably built at the close of the fourth century or even later; though Buddhists refer it to a much earlier date. The sacred books of Buddhism were brought to Burma about 397 A. D., according to the best authorities.

"It was by a strange irony of fate," says Sir Monier Williams, "that the man who denied any God or any being higher than himself, and told his followers to look to themselves for salvation, should have been not only deified and worshipped, but represented by more images than any other being ever idolized in any part of the world."

Dharmapala, who represented Buddhism at the Parliament of Religions, said: "A system in which our whole being, past, and present, and to come, depends on ourselves, theoretically, leaves little room for the interference or even existence of a personal God." It really leaves no room at all, and its founder plainly said so. Buddhism is a worship of ancestors, of which Gautama holds a monopoly.

Naga-worship once prevailed in northern India. Whether imported into Burma, or also existing in Burma before the introduction of Indian influences in the north, is not known. But up to the eleventh century naga-worship was the most conspicuous feature in the observances of both spirit-worshippers and nominal Buddhists. Even now it is not uncommon to hear a Burman, suffering from some calamity or disease, lamenting that he has in some way brought disaster to himself by unwillingly offending the great naga. Once it was my good fortune to profit by their superstitious notions. Having rented a native house as temporary quarters, I learned soon after moving in, that it had the reputation of being haunted. Spirits of certain "dacoits" who came to a sudden death in a jail that formerly stood near by, were supposed to frequent the place. From that time on I could sleep in perfect security against all thought of prowling thieves. No fear that any native would come near that house after dark. Buddhism a "Beautiful Religion"? That it has many noble precepts no one will deny. The same is true of every system of philosophy ever formulated. But at its best it furnishes no incentive to righteous living, beyond one's own self-interest. It offers no help or hope whatever, beyond one's own unaided efforts. If man cannot save himself he must stay where he is, or be sinking lower, ever lower.

This invariably has the desired effect. There is a general hustling throughout the jurisdiction of the monastery; and soon the greedy priests are fairly swamped with presents of plantains, rice, cocoanuts, etc.

At Kyankse there is a very steep hill, with several pagodas at the top. A missionary relates that he there "met an aged man who, to gain merit, climbs to the summit every day carrying two pots of water for the use of the people who may come to worship there. He had a writing from the Buddhist priest, assuring him that a Buddha was about to appear, and if he continued in this meritorious work for seven years he would see the Buddha, and be rewarded."

The priest, in order to secure a regular supply of water, had deliberately duped this simple old man. And yet, as a work of merit, his daily task had a certain value, according to Buddhist teaching.

The utter powerlessness of Buddhism to meet the needs of the human heart forced itself upon me when first I witnessed one of their funerals.

A rich Burman jeweller, living near our chapel, died of old age. One of his sons occupied a high official position. Of course the funeral must be a grand affair. We reached the place just as the procession was forming. First, there were four men bearing a bamboo frame on which was an artificial tree, four feet high, its branches wound with bright coloured paper. From the ends of the branches silver coins wrapped in paper, were suspended. This money was to buy offerings for the pagodas. Fifty-six men in squads of four, carried bamboo frames on which were piled gifts for the priests, consisting of mats, rugs, chinaware, lacquered-ware, lamps, etc. There were fourteen of these frames, being one each for fourteen priests. Four coolies, each carrying on his shoulder a bamboo pole from which were suspended jackets and skirts to be given to the poor. A double line of men with slender strips of bamboo covered with showy paper, held upright like so many spears. Then came the procession proper, headed by one of the rich relations carrying a lacquer vessel filled with copper coin. Four coolies carrying two Burmese drums, suspended from bamboo poles. Two little boys fantastically dressed, danced before the drums, turning around in a solemn, but graceful manner, and at each turn striking the drums with their fists.

Doubtless there are priests, especially the aged, who are sincerely striving to keep the "law" in spirit as well as in letter. But the very spirit of the law is selfishness.

The Buddhist sacred books were a gradual but abnormal growth. They contain comparatively little of the actual teachings of Gautama, but a vast deal that Gautama would not have sanctioned. Marvellous stories have grown up around the memory of Gautama, whom the people of his time regarded as a "religious hero, rather than a god." The most absurdly extravagant statements as to time, dimensions, space, and numbers, are found in these stories. Imagination has run riot in fabricating accounts of impossible miracles performed by Gautama.

Modern geography, if seriously taken into account by Buddhists, would stampede the whole Buddhist system. And yet these millions, given over to "believe a lie," accept it all without a question.

The Buddhist scriptures are divided into three main divisions.

It is claimed that the first council to settle the sacred canon was held in the year 543 B. C., in India; that the law was rehearsed from memory, but not committed to writing; that the second council was held in 443 B. C., when the law was again rehearsed, but not committed to writing; that the third and last council, held in 241 B. C., and continuing nine months, settled many questions in dispute; and furnished the stimulus of a great Buddhist missionary enterprise. Authorities differ as to the dates of these councils. Dr. Judson held that the Buddhist scriptures in their present form were not completed until four hundred and fifty-eight years after Gautama's death.

"The gift of God is eternal life." To make this known to the nations that sit in darkness, rests as a privilege and responsibility upon the Christian church.

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