CHAPTERXVII.THE WATS OF SIAM.“On the pagoda-spireThe bells are swinging,With their little golden circlets in a flutterWith tales the wooing winds have dared to utter,Till all are ringingAs if a choirOf golden-nested birds in heaven were singing;And with a lulling soundThe music floats around,And drops like balm into the drowsy ear.”—Mrs. Judson.ASiamesewat, instead of a single lofty pagoda, as often represented in the pictures of Burmah, consists of a number of buildings scattered about a large park-like enclosure. Let us in imagination visit such a Buddhist temple connected with a monastery—say, one of the largest to be found in any part of the world—in Bangkok.Starting on such an expedition, at the entrance of the enclosure, generally near the boat-landing on the river, you would find a large garden or rest-house, called by the Burmesezayatand by the Siamesesala. This sala is made up of two or three open pavilions, according to the size of the wat, erected as lounging-places for the inmates or as resting-places for travelers. It is to the Siamese what the inn is to the American or Englishman, and is often useful to our missionaries in their tours about the country. To build asalais considered a meritorious act by the Buddhists.BANYAN TREEBANYAN TREE (Ficus indica).You pass the sala and enter an area, generally consisting of several acres of ground, laid out with trees and ornamental shrubbery. Here are shady walks, always hard and smooth, sometimes paved with marble; fruit- and flower-gardens; not seldom artificial grottoes; pools with fish and playing fountains; and miniature mountains. There is also one large tree, claimed to be a shoot of the veritable tree under which Shakyamuni sat when he attained to Buddha-ship—the sacred Bôdhi tree.TitleSIAMESE TEMPLE.“You may remark,” says Dr. Eitel, “that the tree before you is by no means aFicus religiosa, but aFicus indica, or it may happen that it is neither of the two, but a palm tree (most probably then theBorassus flabelliformis); but the attendant priest who acts as your guide will tell you nevertheless, with a bland smile, that itisaFicus religiosa, and that only ignorant and wantonly skeptical persons can have any doubt on the subject. Is there not a plate erected at the foot of the tree stating that this tree grew out of a shoot brought directly from the holy land, cut off the very Bôdhi tree at Gâya?“It is a remnant of the ancient tree-worship that almost every religious sect of Asia has a sacred tree of its own. The Brahmans revered theFicus indica, for which Buddhism originally substituted theFicus religiosa. But in course of time the Buddhists either reverted to the former tree or confounded the two. They were probably led to do so by the intuitive apprehension that Buddhism as it grew and spread singularly followed the mode of growth which is a distinctive mark of the sacred tree of the Brahmans, theFicus indica. It is a peculiarity of the latter that it extends itself by letting its branches droop and take root, planting nurseries of its own, and thus so multiplying itself that a single tree forms a curiously arched grove.“This is precisely the way in which Buddhism propagated itself. It germinated in India, but sent out branches south and north, each taking root, and each perpetuating itself by further offshoots, whilst the parent stock was gradually withered, and finally decayed. Buddhism left but few traces behind in India, but it still lives in Ceylon and in the offshoots of the Singhalese Church in Burmah, Siam and Pegu. When Buddhism became almost totally extinct in India, the whole force of its vitality seemed to throw itself northward, and it spread with renewed vigor and widening shade over Cashmere and Nepaul to China and Thibet. Chinese Buddhism threw forth new branches, northward into Corea and Japan and southward over Cochin-China, Cambodia and Laos, whilst Thibetan Buddhism pushed its branches into Mongolia, Mantchuria and the greater part of Central Asia.“Now, in each of these countries Buddhism established separate churches, each having its own locally diversified life, its own saplings, its own fruits, and yet all these many branches from one grove connected with each other and the old withered parent stock in India by a network of intertwining roots. Shivanism and Shananism, which saturated and leavened the churches of the north to a very considerable extent, now influenced the minds of Southern Buddhists. They clung to the old traditions, retained the ancient dogma, preserved their primitive monastic and ecclesiastical forms in languid torpor, but with tolerable fidelity. Yet still, Burmese and Siamese Buddhism under the influence of Brahmanism went so far as to amalgamate with the Buddhist religious notions derived from the primitive tree- and serpent-worship, which was a form of religion not only prior to Buddhism, but indigenous in Burmah and Siam. The consequence is, that practical Buddhist worship there is marked by the prevalence of Brahmanic mythology.”At the cremations, during plagues, epidemics and floods, our missionaries tell us, more attention is given to spirit-worship than to Buddhism proper. During the rice-planting and harvest the favor of the spirits of the air, earth and water is sought. Spirit-offerings may be found in the homes of the people, in the boats, fish-poles, threshing-floors, and even hanging to the sacred Bô tree itself.As you turn into the principal avenue of the grounds of a wat you will be very apt to find figures of enormous stone griffins, representing the demon kings of the four regions who guard the world against the attacks of evil spirits; and crouching lions, stone emblems of Shakyamuni (literally, “Shakya the lion”), who is, according to the Buddhists, by his strength the king of the beasts, as he is by his moral excellence the king of men.TEMPLE AT AYUTHIATEMPLE AT AYUTHIA.On a sunny day you will find gathered in the area of the outer court a motley assemblage of priests, boys and beggars, lazily basking in the sun or engaged in various pursuits—chewing betel-nut, smoking, gambling or playing chess; which latter is much the same game as our own, only the powers of the pieces are more restricted. If it should happen to be a Siamese holy day, a busy multitude of all ages and both sexes, men, women and children, will be passing to and fro, carrying offerings to the temple or going to hear Buddhist preaching.MONASTERY OF WAT SISAKETMONASTERY OF WAT SISAKET.Let us examine the buildings more closely. Passing the first, possibly the second, court, you reach by a flight of steps the wide terrace on which stands the principal temple or idol-house. This court is surrounded by a quadrangular row of cloisters; handsome jars filled with lotus and other plants surround the temple. This is only a large Siamese hall, built of brick thickly coated with white plaster, which at a little distance gives it the appearance of marble. The pyramidal roof, in vertical stages, turns up at the extremities in great horns, and is resplendent with glazed red, green and yellow tiles. The roofs, gable-ends, doors and windows (without glass) are of solid timber, covered in a bewildering way with intricately-cut cornices, intersecting mouldings and fantastic embellishments of grotesque human and animal figures, elaborately carved and heavily gilded—an art in which the Siamese have considerable skill. The large square room within is ornamented with painted paper representing scenes taken from Buddhist mythology or horrible mediæval-like pictures of theirinferno, or series of hells.BRASS IDOL IN A TEMPLEBRASS IDOL IN A TEMPLE AT BANGKOK.Entering this building, you see an altar, generally eight or ten shelves high, tapering to a gilded point. It contains many-sized figures of Buddha in the sitting posture, together with a gaudy display of wax candles, incense-tapers, gold and silver tinsel ornaments, offerings of fruit and flowers. Possibly some priests in yellow robes, with burning candles, are chanting monotonous liturgies; more probably, however, no priests are seen, but only people coming and going with gifts to this dead god Buddha. Step nearer. Do not fear to disturb their devotions. Instead of the decorum usual in Christian churches, the votaries are social, and even noisy—one moment prostrate before the altar, the next singing an idle song. Men smoking, women mixing freely with the crowd, neither veiled nor shy. They are the most assiduous in the religious performances, going about sprinkling the images with perfumes and offering oblations of lighted incense-rods, fresh lotus and other flowers, chaplets or artificial flowers, fruits, and clothes of various descriptions. Children three years old go through with their prostrations before the images with great composure and gravity.Each country professing Buddhism appears to adopt its own idea as to the shape of its images. Those of Siam have an attenuated figure, comporting with our associations of the ascetic. These images have a complacent, sleepy look, the long ears resting on the shoulders, the fingers and toes of equal length. The best images are of bronze or brass, one large brass idol of Bangkok being a perfect giant in size. There are also silver and plate-gold idols, but the more numerous are a composite of plaster, resin and oil mixed with hair, and, after the figure is shaped, covered with varnish, upon which is laid a thick coat of gilding. Into the composition of the great “sleeping idol” of Bangkok were put thousands of bushels of lime, molasses, quick-silver and other materials, at a cost of several thousand dollars. These idols are not only in the temples, but everywhere—on mountain-tops and caves and in the homes of the people.In the famous Wat P’hra Keäu (the private temple of the royal family within the palace enclosure, and connecting by a secret passage with the most private apartments of His Majesty’s harem) is perhaps the finest specimen of an altar. It is at least sixty feet high, tapering to a golden spire. The shelves are loaded with rare and costly specimens of Siamese, Chinese and European art—idols covered with plate gold, solid silver vases of beautiful workmanship, golden candlesticks, marble statuary, ivory ornaments, clocks, garments studded with precious stones; crowning all, the beautiful emerald idol flashing with a molten mass of diamonds, sapphires and other gems. This cross-legged statue of Buddha, one foot high and eight inches wide at the knees, is of great value and antiquity.The kings and nobles of Siam spend large sums on their temples and idols. There are between one and two hundred temples in the city of Bangkok alone. Several cost one hundred thousand dollars, and it is estimated that the Wat P’hra Keäu, with its lofty gilded roof, rich carvings, fine paintings and floor paved with diamond-shaped bricks of polished brass, cost nearly a million dollars.Such expensive temples and monstrous images are built not only to impress and awe the people, but to make a large amount of merit.Tam boon, or “merit-making,” is, after all, the sum and substance of Siamese Buddhism. The words are on the lips of young and old, rich and poor, almost every hour of the day. They are anxious to make all the merit possible, believing that their pilgrimage through the forms of animal life and the duration of their purgatorial existence in the several Buddhist hells is the result ofKarma—i. e.merit and demerit. Speaking of the future, the Siamese always say, “Tam boon, tam kam”—“according to merit or demerit.”The king makes merit when he builds a costly temple or goes on his yearly tour to distribute presents among the priests of the royal wats. The pauper makes merit when with a broom of small twigs he sweeps the dead leaves from the temple-grounds. The old man makes merit when with painful difficulty he urges his palsied limbs to the wat, and there bows in the temple before an image of Buddha till his forehead touches the floor. The housewife who takes the last mouthful of rice from her hungry husband to feed some lazy priest makes merit. The infant makes merit when the mother, holding its tiny hand in hers, guides the fingers in forming the wax taper that is used in worship.GREAT TOWER OF PAGODA WAT CHEUG.THE GREAT TOWER OF THE PAGODA WAT CHEUG.Pagodas, or sacred spires—detached pyramidal piles of solid masonry, frequently reaching a great height—are always found in connection with the Siamese temples. These are supposed to contain some relic of Buddha, and are sacred to his memory. The most remarkable pagoda of Siam is that in the extensive grounds of the Wat Cheug, opposite the royal palace in Bangkok. Bell-shaped and about two hundred feet high, every inch of its irregular surface is encrusted over with colored and glazed ornamentation, consisting largely of grotesque human and animal figures, while from each projection to the very needle-point of the spire hang little bells, a tiny golden wing attached to their tongues to catch the passing breeze, and all day long thousands of tinkling, silvery voices,“As if a choirOf golden-nested birds in heaven were singing,”fill the air with sweet, weird music.BUDDHIST PRIEST.BUDDHIST PRIEST.Each wat has also its chapel, or preaching-hall. On the feasts or sacred days crowds of women flock to hear some favorite priest readBana. One day a missionary stopped to rest among the shady groves of a wat, and, hearing the voice of one reading, he entered. Out of a congregation of fifty he found only two men. This is what he saw: A yellow-robed priest seated on his high pedestal in the centre, in one hand a fan to keep his eyes from wandering to things carnal, in the other a palm-leaf book, from which he read sentences of the Buddhist scriptures, written in the Pali, in a monotonous tone, occasionally adding an explanation in Siamese. Before him burned a wax taper. His congregation, seated in a circle on the floor, reverently listened with downcast eyes, their palms joined and heads bowed till the elbows rested on the ground, though much of the service was in an unknown tongue: “Blessed is he who heareth the law.” So, reverently listening to the words spoken, they believe themselves blest, nor would they consider the merit any greater if they understood the preacher.Occasionally, however, there are priests who preach intelligibly to attentive hearers. Ordinary popular preaching is simply extracts from the traditional life and transmigrations of the last Buddha. The facts of his history are briefly, as set forth in the Buddhist writings, as follows:Gautama, the last and greatest of the seven Buddhas, had appeared on this earth at least five hundred and fifty times (working his way up from the lowest forms of existence, and always exhibiting absolutely self-denying charity) before he was finally born a son of the rajah of Magadha. According to the Ceylon tradition, he would be nearly contemporary with the prophet Daniel, as their sacred writings place his death in 543B. C.From this period the sacred era of Siam is dated. This young prince fled from his royal father, and, forsaking rank and wife and child, became first a hermit. Later he wandered, in a course of open-air preaching, through the length and breadth of India, and, Southern Buddhists claim, even to Ceylon. By the force of his irresistible eloquence he founded a new sect. Fanatics of all ranks, taking on themselves voluntary vows of chastity and poverty, left their families to follow in his footsteps. He begged from door to door, taught the vanity of life, the terrors of transmigration and of the purgatorial hells, and claimed that his noble fourfold path was the only salvation from this dizzy round of birth and death; that Nirvana—or in SiameseNipan—was the haven of final rest. He therefore urged his disciples of all ages and ranks to turn from other pursuits and devote themselves by a course of meditation, crucifixion of desire and meritorious acts exclusively to this one object—the attainment of Nipan. After forty-five years of such teaching it is claimed he passed into Nipan. Henceforth, for centuries, he has been held up as the Pure One (Arahang), and worshiped as the Buddha. Hence the confession of faith of a devout Buddhist is, “I take refuge in Buddha”—meaning that as the sage during all these hundreds of births distinguished himself by a self-sacrificing charity and acts of merit, denying and conquering all the natural appetites and desires, so the disciple bases his system of morals and his hopes of the future on the life and precepts of the founder. “Imitate Buddha; accept his ideas of life; renounce family relations, property, the carnal desires and passions,”—this is the one theme of Buddhist preaching.In Christian lands we speak of “the preaching of the cross;” so the Buddhist, adopting thewheelas symbolic of the weary rounds of transmigration, speaks of “turning the wheel of doctrine” as most expressive of the Buddhist idea of salvation—rest or Nipan.Heretofore, preaching-halls have been bare within, but the present king has lately built a beautiful Gothic chapel after the most approved modern style—stained glass windows, an altar, pews for the congregation, and something that has the appearance of a grand organ, with great pipes running to the ceiling, but, alas! a niche in each pipe filled with a small idol, and a much larger one on the altar. Still, the departure from old customs shows His Majesty’s desire for improvement.Besides the preachings given in wat-chapels, private services are held by the Siamese monks at houses of nobles or some wealthy citizens by special request. The object is to give the host and his family an occasion to make extra merit.Each wat has also its library, containing the sacred books or Buddhist scriptures. These are in the immediate charge of the priests, and are regarded as the most holy portion of the wat. You will certainly be expected to remove your shoes at the door. Siamese libraries are not what we associate with the word. The Wat P’hra Keäu library is matted with silver wire. In the centre is a large pyramidal chest of ebony inlaid with mother-of-pearl, answering for our shelves, where the books are kept. Most libraries have plainer chests or closets much in the same style. Their collection of sacred books forms a library it would take many men to carry. When a Siamese understands that Christianity is intended to supersede Buddhism, his tendency is to despise the smallness of our Bible as compared with his own sacred canon. Besides, he can produce no mean list of excellent moral precepts, and thinks the miracles of Buddha no whit behind those of the Bible.The Siamese received their sacred canon from Ceylon. This is the very earliest compilation that history can point out. It was partly reduced to writing, after being handed down orally for several generations, about 93A. D., and the whole was first compiled and fixed in writing 412 to 432A. D.If on a visit to such a library our guide proves to be thatrara avis, an intelligent Buddhist priest of the reform party (among whom the late king was the prominent leader), he would tell you, as one of the head-priests explained to Mr. Caswell, “Here are two piles of books. The first contains the instructions of Buddha; the second contains the writings of eminent teachers of Buddhism who lived in ancient times. The first pile our party receive as authority in religion; the second we compare with the first; so far as it disagrees we reject it.” In answer to an inquiry if they found much to reject in the second pile, the priest said, “Yes, much,” and mentioned one whole set of more than five hundred volumes rejected.Under the influence of these reformers, so far back as 1844, the king of Siam despatched an embassy to Ceylon to make further religious researches in that primitive nursery of their faith. These liberal views continued to spread, following the introduction of printed and scientific works by our missionaries; the more intelligent nobles and priests discovered errors in the geography, geology, and especially astronomy, which necessitated the discarding of much formerly held sacred. Here was planted the germ of disintegration now busily at work undermining this gigantic system of atheism. The confidence of many is shaken in the ethical teachings of sacred books so full of intellectual and moral despair.But examine this Buddhist collection: see how unlike our books. Here is a bundle of palm-leaf slips from a foot to eighteen inches long and two to three inches broad, filed by strings strung through each end. Notice the richly-gilded edges. Do not these strange characters recall the dots and dashes and curious hieroglyphics of our telegraph-operators? These sacred writings are engraved with an iron style, and black powder is rubbed in to make the impression distinct. After finishing your examination the priest wraps them with reverent care in silk or muslin and returns them to the central ark or closet already described.Sometimes in the wat library studious priests are found sitting on the floor, each with his book resting on a low reading-stool or desk before him, but they will probably feign not to notice us. Some high priests have fine private collections, including, of late years, English and French standard works.Ordinary Siamese books are written on stiff paper prepared with black paste to receive impressions from a stone pencil. These are about a foot broad and several feet long, folded zigzag to form pages about three inches deep. When one side is filled the sheet is turned and the subject continued on the reverse side. Some of these books are fully illustrated with colored plates. The characters are written from right to left, and almost all Siamese composition, except letter-writing, is metrical. Outside of the sacred writings the literature is meagre, consisting mainly of chronicles of their own and neighboring countries, dialogues, low plays and inferior romances—usually war or love adventures borrowed from remote and largely fabulous chronicles of their early history: the favorite topic of all is the mythological exploits of the Hindoo god Rama.But a Siamese wat is not merely a place of worship; most of all it is a monastery. You will find it worth while to glance at the dormitories of the priests. There are often several hundred inmates in a large wat. The ordinary priests and novitiates have usually rows of little cells, almost bare of furniture except the coverlets and pillows and mosquito-nets for sleeping. In others there are neat whitewashed brick buildings scattered around the grounds, putting you in mind of little English cottages. The houses of the abbot and prior are larger. If you call, possibly their apartments may not seem in accord with the primitive simplicity enjoined by the rules of their order on Buddhist priests. Some head-priests now-a-days have foreign furniture, pictures, clocks and otherarticles de luxe, and pride themselves on owning a fairly representative modern library and scientific instruments.Properly, a Buddhist monk possesses in his own right eight articles—viz.three robes, a girdle, an alms-bowl, a razor, a needle and a water-strainer, this last that he may not unwittingly in drinking destroy animal life. All other articles accepted in charity are supposed to be received on behalf of the chapter. The Siamese monk must observe strict celibacy, refrain from all secular avocations and eat no solid food after the sun has passed the meridian. Priests are easily recognized by their yellow robes and shaven heads. In going about they usually feign indifference to all temporal concerns by walking with measured pace, apparently noticing nothing.There is no hereditary priesthood. Any male enters a wat at his pleasure, and leaves it without reproach to return to secular life: if married, however, he must be divorced before entering. Every man is expected to spend more or less time in the priesthood, and according to law no one can serve the government until he has done so. Little boys are put into the wats as pupils at a very early age (for each wat is more or less of a public school), and when they have learned to read and write they are ready to put on the yellow robes; so they grow up to manhood, and often to middle age, amid surroundings only calculated to make them idle and frequently vicious men.There are certain special months for entering and for leaving the priesthood. The shortest period is three months. During this portion of the year the number is much larger, as many leave after a very short stay. The ceremonies of ordination are simple, consisting in the tonsure of the candidate, prayers repeated by the priest, bathing with holy water and assuming the yellow robe—something like the old Roman tunic in shape, with a scarf thrown over the shoulders. Such services are accompanied by the distribution of largess to the priests and the poor—but chiefly to the former—and often by prolonged feasting. To defray the expenses of ordinations is considered an act of merit, and every Siamese spends as much for this purpose as his means will allow. Women make merit by weaving and staining the yellow robes freely distributed on such occasions.It is the duty of priests to ordain others as priests; to consecrate idols and temples; to assist in wedding and funeral rites; to read the Pali hymns and prayers (of which he acquires at least a parrot knowledge); and to instruct the boys entrusted to his supervision. There are also theNains, or novices, too young to take full orders. Every superior priest has special disciples, who look to him for counsel, prostrate themselves on entering his presence, and otherwise evince profound respect, almost adoration.In Bangkok alone there are thousands of priests dependent on charity for daily bread. The Buddhist code makes no distinction between prince and peasant in the priesthood. All must eat only what has been given in alms, and when in health each is expected to carry around the alms-bowl. This is slung from the neck and covered with the robe, except when alms are received. It is estimated that it costs Siam twenty-five million dollars annually to keep up this immense army of priestly mendicants and religious ceremonials.PRIESTS GATHERING FOOD.BUDDHIST PRIESTS GATHERING FOOD.The majority of priests readily acknowledge mercenary motives for assuming the yellow robe. “The wats are more comfortable than our dwellings,” they say. “Disciples paddle our canoes; our food and clothes are given us; we are not required to work. Before we became priests the people looked upon us as vagabonds; now they almost worship us.” Yet in most instances the only change is the shaven head and yellow robe and the alms-bowl. Some Buddhist monks are devout, spending their lives in wats, or in forests and caves as hermits, meditating on the virtues of Buddha and striving to attain Nipan. Over these exceptional studious and moral monks Buddhism doubtless exerts a restraining influence, yet even such lives are dreary, and manifest little zeal constraining to efforts for national reform.The ceremonial details of wat-life are monotonous. Monks rise at daybreak. At about seven the streets of Bangkok are crowded with these yellow-robed gentry paddled around with their rice-bowls from door to door. At eight they return to breakfast in a large hall, which, with the kitchen and its enormous rice-boilers, is worthy of a passing look. The last meal of the day is taken before noon. Priests are supposed to devote themselves to meditation and study, but the majority are illiterate and often vicious—“idleness personified.” About sunset, assembled for united prayer, their loud singsong drawl can be heard some distance off. The beating of a drum closes the wat-day.Each chapter is under the direction of a chief priest, and the larger ones have a sort of second chief priest. Their authority is confined to reproof, and in extreme cases to expulsion. They can only enforce the rules of the order.Wats built by the royal family or nobility are calledWat Hluang, or “royal wats.” The wats of the people areWat Ratsadom. Church and State are one. The king is supreme in religion as in the government, and appoints two hierarchs—one for the north and one for the south. The title of this high priest is Pra Sang Karat, and he resides in one of the chief wats, and has no spiritual or temporal authority except over the wats and monks. He has an assistant second only in rank. No priest is qualified to ordain without a license from the Sang Karat. Then come the Somdet Chows, from whom the head-priests of the royal wats are chosen—the abbots of the great monasteries, I suppose we would call them. The Tananookans, one of whom assists each head-priest, are next in clerical rank. The head-priests of the common people’s wats are called Sompans. Lastly come the mass of ordinary priests, among whom there are Palats and other minor officers, who take a certain rank above the ordinary brotherhood. TheNains, or novitiates, are not included in the above classes, though they too don the yellow robes, shave their heads and fast as their elders. A lad must be at least eight years old and receive the consent of his parents before becoming a priest. He usually begins his connection with the wat as a pupil, living for some years under the care of some priest who is a friend of the family.Worldly concerns connected with wats are in the hands of secular attendants clad in white, who also perform the menial services about the grounds and at funerals. We would call them sextons.Nuns are not numerous in Siam. The profession does not command respect. The people look upon it as a more respectable mode of begging. Those who take such vows are mostly poor old women, who wear white and live in humble huts near, but not within, the wat-grounds.When the king pays his annual visit to the royal wats, on entering the temple he takes off his shoes, then, lifting his hands containing the offerings above his head, he bows low before the image of Buddha. He concludes by making similar obeisance to the superior priests and bestowing the customary gifts. The chief priests and monks sit unmoved during the ceremony.No one can be long in Siam without being astonished at the large part which the wat occupies as a social centre in the every-day life of the people. The Siamese traveler rests in the salas. You meet a Siamese woman and ask where she is going; the probability is she is on her road to some temple to make merit with her offerings or by listening to preaching. Go to the priests’ quarters, and you find there not only a large proportion of the fathers, brothers and older sons, but mere children of seven and eight years old. The bodies of the dead are carried there to be burned. The people also frequently meet together at the different temples to make feasts and give presents to their priests.The wats outside of Bangkok, though the buildings are generally of cheaper construction, occupy delightful sites and have extensive grounds. Dr. McFarland, going to Petchaburee, stopped at the sala of a country wat. “We found the grounds,” he says, “crowded with men and boys in great excitement, evidently awaiting some unusual occurrence. Presently boats began to arrive and unload their treasures of fruit and depart, perhaps for more. Before our company had all finished their breakfast we found it difficult to keep our place at the landing. We were told that this was alakon. This immense gathering of fruits and other offerings is presented with ceremonies of music and dancing to their god, and afterward the priests stow it away and feast upon it for many days to come. Thus spending the day in amusement, at the same time they make merit for the future. Some things in this heathen ceremony reminded the missionary of the county fairs he had attended in the West, crowds of people—men, women and children—in their richest apparel, bringing their choicest fruit and most valuable articles, but not for exhibition; they come to spend the day in frolic and offer their fruits to a heathen deity.”The Siamese wat embodies “a theory which extracted and remodeled the best ideas of ancient Brahmanism—a religion that has not only been able to subsist for more than two thousand years, but which has drawn within the meshes of its own peculiar church organization, and brought more or less under the influence of its peculiar tenets, fully one-third of the human race. Such a system ought to have enough importance in our eyes to deserve something more than passing or passive attention.”This study of a Siamese wat gives us the practical aspects of this much-vaunted creed in the hands of the common people, proving that the influence of these great centres of classic Buddhism hinders the material prosperity and dwarfs the intellectual and moral development of the nation. Allowing full credit for its good precepts, the visitor who closely studies the actual outworkings of the Buddhist wat finds a worship that degrades; alms-giving that floods the land with sturdy, lazy beggars; a monastic system that encourages violation of the sacred family ties; and in not a few instances hotbeds of vice for the most promising youth of the kingdom.But Buddhism is losing ground in Siam. One of the earliest signs of progress was a royal order years ago which reduced the vast number of inmates of the wats. On the eve of war with Cochin-China the king, wishing to draw a large number of soldiers, found multitudes had taken refuge in the priesthood. A set of questions was therefore drawn up, and notice given that all priests who failed to pass a satisfactory examination were to be degraded and sent to war at the king’s pleasure. Thousands were frightened from their cool, costly wats back to their bamboo huts. It is said four hundred deserted a single wat in less than a week.Moreover, in the late zeal for reform some principal festivals have been given up. The wat-visitations are now mostly looked upon as national gala-days for popular display, lively music, theatricals and boat-races. The present building of temples and religious ceremonials are far more largely from motives of pride and political expediency than matters of faith. The present king and many of the younger nobles are too enlightened to be devout Buddhists.Two significant signs may be noted to show the change. “We came,” says a late traveler in Siam, “to the Wat Sah Kate pagoda, situated in a vast enclosure, containing, after the usual arrangement, two or three temples, with huge gilt images of Buddha within, a large building for preaching, the dwellings of the priests and many pavilions for the use of worshipers; but the grounds were in a very dilapidated state. The king had recently turned adrift all the priests, several hundred of them, to earn an honest living by hard work, and so the wat was closed to the public.” The other fact is equally hopeful—a new interest on the part of the rulers of the land in the education of the young. Until recently the Siamese kings have spent comparatively little on public works which are common to other countries of Asia—bridges, roads, schools and hospitals—but lavished their treasures on the wats. But a recent letter mentions the latestin memoriamof a Buddhist princess: “I wish much I could get you a good photograph of the new school-building, the one that is being erected to the memory of the late queen. As it approaches completion it is looking very handsome, and might be a beautiful tribute to the memory of a queen of a much more civilized country.”RUINS OF A TEMPLERUINS OF A TEMPLE AND STATUE OF BUDDHA AT AYUTHIA.
“On the pagoda-spireThe bells are swinging,With their little golden circlets in a flutterWith tales the wooing winds have dared to utter,Till all are ringingAs if a choirOf golden-nested birds in heaven were singing;And with a lulling soundThe music floats around,And drops like balm into the drowsy ear.”—Mrs. Judson.
“On the pagoda-spireThe bells are swinging,With their little golden circlets in a flutterWith tales the wooing winds have dared to utter,Till all are ringingAs if a choirOf golden-nested birds in heaven were singing;And with a lulling soundThe music floats around,And drops like balm into the drowsy ear.”—Mrs. Judson.
“On the pagoda-spire
The bells are swinging,
With their little golden circlets in a flutter
With tales the wooing winds have dared to utter,
Till all are ringing
As if a choir
Of golden-nested birds in heaven were singing;
And with a lulling sound
The music floats around,
And drops like balm into the drowsy ear.”
—Mrs. Judson.
ASiamesewat, instead of a single lofty pagoda, as often represented in the pictures of Burmah, consists of a number of buildings scattered about a large park-like enclosure. Let us in imagination visit such a Buddhist temple connected with a monastery—say, one of the largest to be found in any part of the world—in Bangkok.
Starting on such an expedition, at the entrance of the enclosure, generally near the boat-landing on the river, you would find a large garden or rest-house, called by the Burmesezayatand by the Siamesesala. This sala is made up of two or three open pavilions, according to the size of the wat, erected as lounging-places for the inmates or as resting-places for travelers. It is to the Siamese what the inn is to the American or Englishman, and is often useful to our missionaries in their tours about the country. To build asalais considered a meritorious act by the Buddhists.
BANYAN TREEBANYAN TREE (Ficus indica).
BANYAN TREE (Ficus indica).
You pass the sala and enter an area, generally consisting of several acres of ground, laid out with trees and ornamental shrubbery. Here are shady walks, always hard and smooth, sometimes paved with marble; fruit- and flower-gardens; not seldom artificial grottoes; pools with fish and playing fountains; and miniature mountains. There is also one large tree, claimed to be a shoot of the veritable tree under which Shakyamuni sat when he attained to Buddha-ship—the sacred Bôdhi tree.
TitleSIAMESE TEMPLE.
SIAMESE TEMPLE.
“You may remark,” says Dr. Eitel, “that the tree before you is by no means aFicus religiosa, but aFicus indica, or it may happen that it is neither of the two, but a palm tree (most probably then theBorassus flabelliformis); but the attendant priest who acts as your guide will tell you nevertheless, with a bland smile, that itisaFicus religiosa, and that only ignorant and wantonly skeptical persons can have any doubt on the subject. Is there not a plate erected at the foot of the tree stating that this tree grew out of a shoot brought directly from the holy land, cut off the very Bôdhi tree at Gâya?
“It is a remnant of the ancient tree-worship that almost every religious sect of Asia has a sacred tree of its own. The Brahmans revered theFicus indica, for which Buddhism originally substituted theFicus religiosa. But in course of time the Buddhists either reverted to the former tree or confounded the two. They were probably led to do so by the intuitive apprehension that Buddhism as it grew and spread singularly followed the mode of growth which is a distinctive mark of the sacred tree of the Brahmans, theFicus indica. It is a peculiarity of the latter that it extends itself by letting its branches droop and take root, planting nurseries of its own, and thus so multiplying itself that a single tree forms a curiously arched grove.
“This is precisely the way in which Buddhism propagated itself. It germinated in India, but sent out branches south and north, each taking root, and each perpetuating itself by further offshoots, whilst the parent stock was gradually withered, and finally decayed. Buddhism left but few traces behind in India, but it still lives in Ceylon and in the offshoots of the Singhalese Church in Burmah, Siam and Pegu. When Buddhism became almost totally extinct in India, the whole force of its vitality seemed to throw itself northward, and it spread with renewed vigor and widening shade over Cashmere and Nepaul to China and Thibet. Chinese Buddhism threw forth new branches, northward into Corea and Japan and southward over Cochin-China, Cambodia and Laos, whilst Thibetan Buddhism pushed its branches into Mongolia, Mantchuria and the greater part of Central Asia.
“Now, in each of these countries Buddhism established separate churches, each having its own locally diversified life, its own saplings, its own fruits, and yet all these many branches from one grove connected with each other and the old withered parent stock in India by a network of intertwining roots. Shivanism and Shananism, which saturated and leavened the churches of the north to a very considerable extent, now influenced the minds of Southern Buddhists. They clung to the old traditions, retained the ancient dogma, preserved their primitive monastic and ecclesiastical forms in languid torpor, but with tolerable fidelity. Yet still, Burmese and Siamese Buddhism under the influence of Brahmanism went so far as to amalgamate with the Buddhist religious notions derived from the primitive tree- and serpent-worship, which was a form of religion not only prior to Buddhism, but indigenous in Burmah and Siam. The consequence is, that practical Buddhist worship there is marked by the prevalence of Brahmanic mythology.”
At the cremations, during plagues, epidemics and floods, our missionaries tell us, more attention is given to spirit-worship than to Buddhism proper. During the rice-planting and harvest the favor of the spirits of the air, earth and water is sought. Spirit-offerings may be found in the homes of the people, in the boats, fish-poles, threshing-floors, and even hanging to the sacred Bô tree itself.
As you turn into the principal avenue of the grounds of a wat you will be very apt to find figures of enormous stone griffins, representing the demon kings of the four regions who guard the world against the attacks of evil spirits; and crouching lions, stone emblems of Shakyamuni (literally, “Shakya the lion”), who is, according to the Buddhists, by his strength the king of the beasts, as he is by his moral excellence the king of men.
TEMPLE AT AYUTHIATEMPLE AT AYUTHIA.
TEMPLE AT AYUTHIA.
On a sunny day you will find gathered in the area of the outer court a motley assemblage of priests, boys and beggars, lazily basking in the sun or engaged in various pursuits—chewing betel-nut, smoking, gambling or playing chess; which latter is much the same game as our own, only the powers of the pieces are more restricted. If it should happen to be a Siamese holy day, a busy multitude of all ages and both sexes, men, women and children, will be passing to and fro, carrying offerings to the temple or going to hear Buddhist preaching.
MONASTERY OF WAT SISAKETMONASTERY OF WAT SISAKET.
MONASTERY OF WAT SISAKET.
Let us examine the buildings more closely. Passing the first, possibly the second, court, you reach by a flight of steps the wide terrace on which stands the principal temple or idol-house. This court is surrounded by a quadrangular row of cloisters; handsome jars filled with lotus and other plants surround the temple. This is only a large Siamese hall, built of brick thickly coated with white plaster, which at a little distance gives it the appearance of marble. The pyramidal roof, in vertical stages, turns up at the extremities in great horns, and is resplendent with glazed red, green and yellow tiles. The roofs, gable-ends, doors and windows (without glass) are of solid timber, covered in a bewildering way with intricately-cut cornices, intersecting mouldings and fantastic embellishments of grotesque human and animal figures, elaborately carved and heavily gilded—an art in which the Siamese have considerable skill. The large square room within is ornamented with painted paper representing scenes taken from Buddhist mythology or horrible mediæval-like pictures of theirinferno, or series of hells.
BRASS IDOL IN A TEMPLEBRASS IDOL IN A TEMPLE AT BANGKOK.
BRASS IDOL IN A TEMPLE AT BANGKOK.
Entering this building, you see an altar, generally eight or ten shelves high, tapering to a gilded point. It contains many-sized figures of Buddha in the sitting posture, together with a gaudy display of wax candles, incense-tapers, gold and silver tinsel ornaments, offerings of fruit and flowers. Possibly some priests in yellow robes, with burning candles, are chanting monotonous liturgies; more probably, however, no priests are seen, but only people coming and going with gifts to this dead god Buddha. Step nearer. Do not fear to disturb their devotions. Instead of the decorum usual in Christian churches, the votaries are social, and even noisy—one moment prostrate before the altar, the next singing an idle song. Men smoking, women mixing freely with the crowd, neither veiled nor shy. They are the most assiduous in the religious performances, going about sprinkling the images with perfumes and offering oblations of lighted incense-rods, fresh lotus and other flowers, chaplets or artificial flowers, fruits, and clothes of various descriptions. Children three years old go through with their prostrations before the images with great composure and gravity.
Each country professing Buddhism appears to adopt its own idea as to the shape of its images. Those of Siam have an attenuated figure, comporting with our associations of the ascetic. These images have a complacent, sleepy look, the long ears resting on the shoulders, the fingers and toes of equal length. The best images are of bronze or brass, one large brass idol of Bangkok being a perfect giant in size. There are also silver and plate-gold idols, but the more numerous are a composite of plaster, resin and oil mixed with hair, and, after the figure is shaped, covered with varnish, upon which is laid a thick coat of gilding. Into the composition of the great “sleeping idol” of Bangkok were put thousands of bushels of lime, molasses, quick-silver and other materials, at a cost of several thousand dollars. These idols are not only in the temples, but everywhere—on mountain-tops and caves and in the homes of the people.
In the famous Wat P’hra Keäu (the private temple of the royal family within the palace enclosure, and connecting by a secret passage with the most private apartments of His Majesty’s harem) is perhaps the finest specimen of an altar. It is at least sixty feet high, tapering to a golden spire. The shelves are loaded with rare and costly specimens of Siamese, Chinese and European art—idols covered with plate gold, solid silver vases of beautiful workmanship, golden candlesticks, marble statuary, ivory ornaments, clocks, garments studded with precious stones; crowning all, the beautiful emerald idol flashing with a molten mass of diamonds, sapphires and other gems. This cross-legged statue of Buddha, one foot high and eight inches wide at the knees, is of great value and antiquity.
The kings and nobles of Siam spend large sums on their temples and idols. There are between one and two hundred temples in the city of Bangkok alone. Several cost one hundred thousand dollars, and it is estimated that the Wat P’hra Keäu, with its lofty gilded roof, rich carvings, fine paintings and floor paved with diamond-shaped bricks of polished brass, cost nearly a million dollars.
Such expensive temples and monstrous images are built not only to impress and awe the people, but to make a large amount of merit.Tam boon, or “merit-making,” is, after all, the sum and substance of Siamese Buddhism. The words are on the lips of young and old, rich and poor, almost every hour of the day. They are anxious to make all the merit possible, believing that their pilgrimage through the forms of animal life and the duration of their purgatorial existence in the several Buddhist hells is the result ofKarma—i. e.merit and demerit. Speaking of the future, the Siamese always say, “Tam boon, tam kam”—“according to merit or demerit.”
The king makes merit when he builds a costly temple or goes on his yearly tour to distribute presents among the priests of the royal wats. The pauper makes merit when with a broom of small twigs he sweeps the dead leaves from the temple-grounds. The old man makes merit when with painful difficulty he urges his palsied limbs to the wat, and there bows in the temple before an image of Buddha till his forehead touches the floor. The housewife who takes the last mouthful of rice from her hungry husband to feed some lazy priest makes merit. The infant makes merit when the mother, holding its tiny hand in hers, guides the fingers in forming the wax taper that is used in worship.
GREAT TOWER OF PAGODA WAT CHEUG.THE GREAT TOWER OF THE PAGODA WAT CHEUG.
THE GREAT TOWER OF THE PAGODA WAT CHEUG.
Pagodas, or sacred spires—detached pyramidal piles of solid masonry, frequently reaching a great height—are always found in connection with the Siamese temples. These are supposed to contain some relic of Buddha, and are sacred to his memory. The most remarkable pagoda of Siam is that in the extensive grounds of the Wat Cheug, opposite the royal palace in Bangkok. Bell-shaped and about two hundred feet high, every inch of its irregular surface is encrusted over with colored and glazed ornamentation, consisting largely of grotesque human and animal figures, while from each projection to the very needle-point of the spire hang little bells, a tiny golden wing attached to their tongues to catch the passing breeze, and all day long thousands of tinkling, silvery voices,
“As if a choirOf golden-nested birds in heaven were singing,”
“As if a choirOf golden-nested birds in heaven were singing,”
“As if a choir
Of golden-nested birds in heaven were singing,”
fill the air with sweet, weird music.
BUDDHIST PRIEST.BUDDHIST PRIEST.
BUDDHIST PRIEST.
Each wat has also its chapel, or preaching-hall. On the feasts or sacred days crowds of women flock to hear some favorite priest readBana. One day a missionary stopped to rest among the shady groves of a wat, and, hearing the voice of one reading, he entered. Out of a congregation of fifty he found only two men. This is what he saw: A yellow-robed priest seated on his high pedestal in the centre, in one hand a fan to keep his eyes from wandering to things carnal, in the other a palm-leaf book, from which he read sentences of the Buddhist scriptures, written in the Pali, in a monotonous tone, occasionally adding an explanation in Siamese. Before him burned a wax taper. His congregation, seated in a circle on the floor, reverently listened with downcast eyes, their palms joined and heads bowed till the elbows rested on the ground, though much of the service was in an unknown tongue: “Blessed is he who heareth the law.” So, reverently listening to the words spoken, they believe themselves blest, nor would they consider the merit any greater if they understood the preacher.
Occasionally, however, there are priests who preach intelligibly to attentive hearers. Ordinary popular preaching is simply extracts from the traditional life and transmigrations of the last Buddha. The facts of his history are briefly, as set forth in the Buddhist writings, as follows:
Gautama, the last and greatest of the seven Buddhas, had appeared on this earth at least five hundred and fifty times (working his way up from the lowest forms of existence, and always exhibiting absolutely self-denying charity) before he was finally born a son of the rajah of Magadha. According to the Ceylon tradition, he would be nearly contemporary with the prophet Daniel, as their sacred writings place his death in 543B. C.From this period the sacred era of Siam is dated. This young prince fled from his royal father, and, forsaking rank and wife and child, became first a hermit. Later he wandered, in a course of open-air preaching, through the length and breadth of India, and, Southern Buddhists claim, even to Ceylon. By the force of his irresistible eloquence he founded a new sect. Fanatics of all ranks, taking on themselves voluntary vows of chastity and poverty, left their families to follow in his footsteps. He begged from door to door, taught the vanity of life, the terrors of transmigration and of the purgatorial hells, and claimed that his noble fourfold path was the only salvation from this dizzy round of birth and death; that Nirvana—or in SiameseNipan—was the haven of final rest. He therefore urged his disciples of all ages and ranks to turn from other pursuits and devote themselves by a course of meditation, crucifixion of desire and meritorious acts exclusively to this one object—the attainment of Nipan. After forty-five years of such teaching it is claimed he passed into Nipan. Henceforth, for centuries, he has been held up as the Pure One (Arahang), and worshiped as the Buddha. Hence the confession of faith of a devout Buddhist is, “I take refuge in Buddha”—meaning that as the sage during all these hundreds of births distinguished himself by a self-sacrificing charity and acts of merit, denying and conquering all the natural appetites and desires, so the disciple bases his system of morals and his hopes of the future on the life and precepts of the founder. “Imitate Buddha; accept his ideas of life; renounce family relations, property, the carnal desires and passions,”—this is the one theme of Buddhist preaching.
In Christian lands we speak of “the preaching of the cross;” so the Buddhist, adopting thewheelas symbolic of the weary rounds of transmigration, speaks of “turning the wheel of doctrine” as most expressive of the Buddhist idea of salvation—rest or Nipan.
Heretofore, preaching-halls have been bare within, but the present king has lately built a beautiful Gothic chapel after the most approved modern style—stained glass windows, an altar, pews for the congregation, and something that has the appearance of a grand organ, with great pipes running to the ceiling, but, alas! a niche in each pipe filled with a small idol, and a much larger one on the altar. Still, the departure from old customs shows His Majesty’s desire for improvement.
Besides the preachings given in wat-chapels, private services are held by the Siamese monks at houses of nobles or some wealthy citizens by special request. The object is to give the host and his family an occasion to make extra merit.
Each wat has also its library, containing the sacred books or Buddhist scriptures. These are in the immediate charge of the priests, and are regarded as the most holy portion of the wat. You will certainly be expected to remove your shoes at the door. Siamese libraries are not what we associate with the word. The Wat P’hra Keäu library is matted with silver wire. In the centre is a large pyramidal chest of ebony inlaid with mother-of-pearl, answering for our shelves, where the books are kept. Most libraries have plainer chests or closets much in the same style. Their collection of sacred books forms a library it would take many men to carry. When a Siamese understands that Christianity is intended to supersede Buddhism, his tendency is to despise the smallness of our Bible as compared with his own sacred canon. Besides, he can produce no mean list of excellent moral precepts, and thinks the miracles of Buddha no whit behind those of the Bible.
The Siamese received their sacred canon from Ceylon. This is the very earliest compilation that history can point out. It was partly reduced to writing, after being handed down orally for several generations, about 93A. D., and the whole was first compiled and fixed in writing 412 to 432A. D.
If on a visit to such a library our guide proves to be thatrara avis, an intelligent Buddhist priest of the reform party (among whom the late king was the prominent leader), he would tell you, as one of the head-priests explained to Mr. Caswell, “Here are two piles of books. The first contains the instructions of Buddha; the second contains the writings of eminent teachers of Buddhism who lived in ancient times. The first pile our party receive as authority in religion; the second we compare with the first; so far as it disagrees we reject it.” In answer to an inquiry if they found much to reject in the second pile, the priest said, “Yes, much,” and mentioned one whole set of more than five hundred volumes rejected.
Under the influence of these reformers, so far back as 1844, the king of Siam despatched an embassy to Ceylon to make further religious researches in that primitive nursery of their faith. These liberal views continued to spread, following the introduction of printed and scientific works by our missionaries; the more intelligent nobles and priests discovered errors in the geography, geology, and especially astronomy, which necessitated the discarding of much formerly held sacred. Here was planted the germ of disintegration now busily at work undermining this gigantic system of atheism. The confidence of many is shaken in the ethical teachings of sacred books so full of intellectual and moral despair.
But examine this Buddhist collection: see how unlike our books. Here is a bundle of palm-leaf slips from a foot to eighteen inches long and two to three inches broad, filed by strings strung through each end. Notice the richly-gilded edges. Do not these strange characters recall the dots and dashes and curious hieroglyphics of our telegraph-operators? These sacred writings are engraved with an iron style, and black powder is rubbed in to make the impression distinct. After finishing your examination the priest wraps them with reverent care in silk or muslin and returns them to the central ark or closet already described.
Sometimes in the wat library studious priests are found sitting on the floor, each with his book resting on a low reading-stool or desk before him, but they will probably feign not to notice us. Some high priests have fine private collections, including, of late years, English and French standard works.
Ordinary Siamese books are written on stiff paper prepared with black paste to receive impressions from a stone pencil. These are about a foot broad and several feet long, folded zigzag to form pages about three inches deep. When one side is filled the sheet is turned and the subject continued on the reverse side. Some of these books are fully illustrated with colored plates. The characters are written from right to left, and almost all Siamese composition, except letter-writing, is metrical. Outside of the sacred writings the literature is meagre, consisting mainly of chronicles of their own and neighboring countries, dialogues, low plays and inferior romances—usually war or love adventures borrowed from remote and largely fabulous chronicles of their early history: the favorite topic of all is the mythological exploits of the Hindoo god Rama.
But a Siamese wat is not merely a place of worship; most of all it is a monastery. You will find it worth while to glance at the dormitories of the priests. There are often several hundred inmates in a large wat. The ordinary priests and novitiates have usually rows of little cells, almost bare of furniture except the coverlets and pillows and mosquito-nets for sleeping. In others there are neat whitewashed brick buildings scattered around the grounds, putting you in mind of little English cottages. The houses of the abbot and prior are larger. If you call, possibly their apartments may not seem in accord with the primitive simplicity enjoined by the rules of their order on Buddhist priests. Some head-priests now-a-days have foreign furniture, pictures, clocks and otherarticles de luxe, and pride themselves on owning a fairly representative modern library and scientific instruments.
Properly, a Buddhist monk possesses in his own right eight articles—viz.three robes, a girdle, an alms-bowl, a razor, a needle and a water-strainer, this last that he may not unwittingly in drinking destroy animal life. All other articles accepted in charity are supposed to be received on behalf of the chapter. The Siamese monk must observe strict celibacy, refrain from all secular avocations and eat no solid food after the sun has passed the meridian. Priests are easily recognized by their yellow robes and shaven heads. In going about they usually feign indifference to all temporal concerns by walking with measured pace, apparently noticing nothing.
There is no hereditary priesthood. Any male enters a wat at his pleasure, and leaves it without reproach to return to secular life: if married, however, he must be divorced before entering. Every man is expected to spend more or less time in the priesthood, and according to law no one can serve the government until he has done so. Little boys are put into the wats as pupils at a very early age (for each wat is more or less of a public school), and when they have learned to read and write they are ready to put on the yellow robes; so they grow up to manhood, and often to middle age, amid surroundings only calculated to make them idle and frequently vicious men.
There are certain special months for entering and for leaving the priesthood. The shortest period is three months. During this portion of the year the number is much larger, as many leave after a very short stay. The ceremonies of ordination are simple, consisting in the tonsure of the candidate, prayers repeated by the priest, bathing with holy water and assuming the yellow robe—something like the old Roman tunic in shape, with a scarf thrown over the shoulders. Such services are accompanied by the distribution of largess to the priests and the poor—but chiefly to the former—and often by prolonged feasting. To defray the expenses of ordinations is considered an act of merit, and every Siamese spends as much for this purpose as his means will allow. Women make merit by weaving and staining the yellow robes freely distributed on such occasions.
It is the duty of priests to ordain others as priests; to consecrate idols and temples; to assist in wedding and funeral rites; to read the Pali hymns and prayers (of which he acquires at least a parrot knowledge); and to instruct the boys entrusted to his supervision. There are also theNains, or novices, too young to take full orders. Every superior priest has special disciples, who look to him for counsel, prostrate themselves on entering his presence, and otherwise evince profound respect, almost adoration.
In Bangkok alone there are thousands of priests dependent on charity for daily bread. The Buddhist code makes no distinction between prince and peasant in the priesthood. All must eat only what has been given in alms, and when in health each is expected to carry around the alms-bowl. This is slung from the neck and covered with the robe, except when alms are received. It is estimated that it costs Siam twenty-five million dollars annually to keep up this immense army of priestly mendicants and religious ceremonials.
PRIESTS GATHERING FOOD.BUDDHIST PRIESTS GATHERING FOOD.
BUDDHIST PRIESTS GATHERING FOOD.
The majority of priests readily acknowledge mercenary motives for assuming the yellow robe. “The wats are more comfortable than our dwellings,” they say. “Disciples paddle our canoes; our food and clothes are given us; we are not required to work. Before we became priests the people looked upon us as vagabonds; now they almost worship us.” Yet in most instances the only change is the shaven head and yellow robe and the alms-bowl. Some Buddhist monks are devout, spending their lives in wats, or in forests and caves as hermits, meditating on the virtues of Buddha and striving to attain Nipan. Over these exceptional studious and moral monks Buddhism doubtless exerts a restraining influence, yet even such lives are dreary, and manifest little zeal constraining to efforts for national reform.
The ceremonial details of wat-life are monotonous. Monks rise at daybreak. At about seven the streets of Bangkok are crowded with these yellow-robed gentry paddled around with their rice-bowls from door to door. At eight they return to breakfast in a large hall, which, with the kitchen and its enormous rice-boilers, is worthy of a passing look. The last meal of the day is taken before noon. Priests are supposed to devote themselves to meditation and study, but the majority are illiterate and often vicious—“idleness personified.” About sunset, assembled for united prayer, their loud singsong drawl can be heard some distance off. The beating of a drum closes the wat-day.
Each chapter is under the direction of a chief priest, and the larger ones have a sort of second chief priest. Their authority is confined to reproof, and in extreme cases to expulsion. They can only enforce the rules of the order.
Wats built by the royal family or nobility are calledWat Hluang, or “royal wats.” The wats of the people areWat Ratsadom. Church and State are one. The king is supreme in religion as in the government, and appoints two hierarchs—one for the north and one for the south. The title of this high priest is Pra Sang Karat, and he resides in one of the chief wats, and has no spiritual or temporal authority except over the wats and monks. He has an assistant second only in rank. No priest is qualified to ordain without a license from the Sang Karat. Then come the Somdet Chows, from whom the head-priests of the royal wats are chosen—the abbots of the great monasteries, I suppose we would call them. The Tananookans, one of whom assists each head-priest, are next in clerical rank. The head-priests of the common people’s wats are called Sompans. Lastly come the mass of ordinary priests, among whom there are Palats and other minor officers, who take a certain rank above the ordinary brotherhood. TheNains, or novitiates, are not included in the above classes, though they too don the yellow robes, shave their heads and fast as their elders. A lad must be at least eight years old and receive the consent of his parents before becoming a priest. He usually begins his connection with the wat as a pupil, living for some years under the care of some priest who is a friend of the family.
Worldly concerns connected with wats are in the hands of secular attendants clad in white, who also perform the menial services about the grounds and at funerals. We would call them sextons.
Nuns are not numerous in Siam. The profession does not command respect. The people look upon it as a more respectable mode of begging. Those who take such vows are mostly poor old women, who wear white and live in humble huts near, but not within, the wat-grounds.
When the king pays his annual visit to the royal wats, on entering the temple he takes off his shoes, then, lifting his hands containing the offerings above his head, he bows low before the image of Buddha. He concludes by making similar obeisance to the superior priests and bestowing the customary gifts. The chief priests and monks sit unmoved during the ceremony.
No one can be long in Siam without being astonished at the large part which the wat occupies as a social centre in the every-day life of the people. The Siamese traveler rests in the salas. You meet a Siamese woman and ask where she is going; the probability is she is on her road to some temple to make merit with her offerings or by listening to preaching. Go to the priests’ quarters, and you find there not only a large proportion of the fathers, brothers and older sons, but mere children of seven and eight years old. The bodies of the dead are carried there to be burned. The people also frequently meet together at the different temples to make feasts and give presents to their priests.
The wats outside of Bangkok, though the buildings are generally of cheaper construction, occupy delightful sites and have extensive grounds. Dr. McFarland, going to Petchaburee, stopped at the sala of a country wat. “We found the grounds,” he says, “crowded with men and boys in great excitement, evidently awaiting some unusual occurrence. Presently boats began to arrive and unload their treasures of fruit and depart, perhaps for more. Before our company had all finished their breakfast we found it difficult to keep our place at the landing. We were told that this was alakon. This immense gathering of fruits and other offerings is presented with ceremonies of music and dancing to their god, and afterward the priests stow it away and feast upon it for many days to come. Thus spending the day in amusement, at the same time they make merit for the future. Some things in this heathen ceremony reminded the missionary of the county fairs he had attended in the West, crowds of people—men, women and children—in their richest apparel, bringing their choicest fruit and most valuable articles, but not for exhibition; they come to spend the day in frolic and offer their fruits to a heathen deity.”
The Siamese wat embodies “a theory which extracted and remodeled the best ideas of ancient Brahmanism—a religion that has not only been able to subsist for more than two thousand years, but which has drawn within the meshes of its own peculiar church organization, and brought more or less under the influence of its peculiar tenets, fully one-third of the human race. Such a system ought to have enough importance in our eyes to deserve something more than passing or passive attention.”
This study of a Siamese wat gives us the practical aspects of this much-vaunted creed in the hands of the common people, proving that the influence of these great centres of classic Buddhism hinders the material prosperity and dwarfs the intellectual and moral development of the nation. Allowing full credit for its good precepts, the visitor who closely studies the actual outworkings of the Buddhist wat finds a worship that degrades; alms-giving that floods the land with sturdy, lazy beggars; a monastic system that encourages violation of the sacred family ties; and in not a few instances hotbeds of vice for the most promising youth of the kingdom.
But Buddhism is losing ground in Siam. One of the earliest signs of progress was a royal order years ago which reduced the vast number of inmates of the wats. On the eve of war with Cochin-China the king, wishing to draw a large number of soldiers, found multitudes had taken refuge in the priesthood. A set of questions was therefore drawn up, and notice given that all priests who failed to pass a satisfactory examination were to be degraded and sent to war at the king’s pleasure. Thousands were frightened from their cool, costly wats back to their bamboo huts. It is said four hundred deserted a single wat in less than a week.
Moreover, in the late zeal for reform some principal festivals have been given up. The wat-visitations are now mostly looked upon as national gala-days for popular display, lively music, theatricals and boat-races. The present building of temples and religious ceremonials are far more largely from motives of pride and political expediency than matters of faith. The present king and many of the younger nobles are too enlightened to be devout Buddhists.
Two significant signs may be noted to show the change. “We came,” says a late traveler in Siam, “to the Wat Sah Kate pagoda, situated in a vast enclosure, containing, after the usual arrangement, two or three temples, with huge gilt images of Buddha within, a large building for preaching, the dwellings of the priests and many pavilions for the use of worshipers; but the grounds were in a very dilapidated state. The king had recently turned adrift all the priests, several hundred of them, to earn an honest living by hard work, and so the wat was closed to the public.” The other fact is equally hopeful—a new interest on the part of the rulers of the land in the education of the young. Until recently the Siamese kings have spent comparatively little on public works which are common to other countries of Asia—bridges, roads, schools and hospitals—but lavished their treasures on the wats. But a recent letter mentions the latestin memoriamof a Buddhist princess: “I wish much I could get you a good photograph of the new school-building, the one that is being erected to the memory of the late queen. As it approaches completion it is looking very handsome, and might be a beautiful tribute to the memory of a queen of a much more civilized country.”
RUINS OF A TEMPLERUINS OF A TEMPLE AND STATUE OF BUDDHA AT AYUTHIA.
RUINS OF A TEMPLE AND STATUE OF BUDDHA AT AYUTHIA.