BUDDHISM IN CEYLON

II. BUDDHISM IN CEYLON

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1. On a Hillside near Kandy.

Over against this sketch of Buddhism as it appears in Burma let us consider a scene in a neighbouring land, the island of Ceylon, where for twenty-five hundred years, the religion of the yellow robe has held almost undisputed sway. Here it has a supreme opportunity, and has often used it nobly, building a great civilisation for a thousand years.

It is early spring. The rains are over, and in the brilliant moonlight, the Singhalese peasants have gathered from their little malarial villages to listen to bana, the preaching of the Buddhist Law.

(a) The Dullness and Superstition of Village Life in Southern Ceylon.—Life is dull in these villages, and any incident and any teaching will be welcome. It is a strange world in which these people live, "a world of bare and brutal facts; of superstition, of grotesque imagination; a world of hunger and fear and devils, where a man is helpless before the unseen, unintelligible forces surrounding him." As in Burma, so in Ceylon, demonism is inextricably interwoven with the Buddhism of the people. In Ceylon, however, it is a darker and more sinister demonism, blending with a far more sombre and pessimistic Buddhism. Devils and anti-devils, exorcists and monks, incantations and prayers to Buddha mingle in the dim confused minds of these poor Kandyan villagers. It is not very long since human sacrifices were made to the "demons" of disease.

(b) The Themes of the Hillside Preacher.—This darker pessimism speaks through the monotonous sing-song of the yellow-robed monk on the hillside, as he speaks to the villagers, urging upon them that life is transient and full of sorrow, that none the less their chief duty is to avoid taking the life of the meanest animal, not even killing the malarial mosquito or the plague-bringing rat against which government edicts have gone out. Here religion is in conflict with science and with family love: which is to die, my child or the rat? There can in the end of the day be but one answer.

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(c) The Stolidity of his Audience.—The men listen dully, chewing their betel-nut. They have not much use for the monks, who own one-third of the arable land of the country and are a heavy drain upon its resources. Except fitfully, they are not schoolmasters like those of Burma, but tend to be drones in the hive. When they do teach the children they only emphasise the doctrines of rebirth and of not-killing; yet some are kind and teach reading and writing to the little ones. And occasionally one leads a life of such real piety as to justify this division of labour—"the people to work, the monk to meditate." But saints are rare in all lands.

2. The Hold of Buddhism upon the Singhalese.

Even in this village audience, crude as the preaching and dull as the response to it may be, there is a certain sense of religious peace, of an otherworldly calm. The Dharma has not lost its power. What are the deep roots which the great tree of Buddhism has put out in the island of Ceylon? Of these the more intelligent Buddhist laity will speak. Let us question this young lawyer, dressed in Western style, who stands looking on with some contempt.

(a) Appeal of its Traditions.—Such men are impressed by what they see of a very ancient and very real civilisation, which Buddhism undoubtedly built. In the jungles everywhere are the remains of the days when Buddhism taught the people to irrigate their fields, to build strong cities, to write remarkable books, and to develop a genuine culture. The ruined cities of Anuradhapura and Pollanaruwa, in spite of the incursions of the jungle and of the neglect of centuries, are still magnificent and eloquent monuments of what was a really great civilisation when Europe was still barbarian. Here the patriot sees the melancholy remnants of a great Buddhist nation, great not only in the beauty of its art, but great in the tanks and irrigation systems now almost hidden by rank undergrowth, but remaining to prove that the whole of this vast deserted area was once under cultivation. Great, too, was the spirit of some of these rulers. Imagine the emotions which surge in the young patriot's heart as he thinks of all the devastation caused by the great European war and then stands before the calm statue of the noble Dutu Gemunu who to save his people from war, sought out the invader and slew him in single combat, and then in the greatness of his heart put up a splendid monument in his honour! It is on account of such things as these that the young modern Singhalese is convinced that Buddhism has still a place in the world.

Wave after wave of European aggression has swept over Ceylon, arousing a resentment which leads the Singhalese even to exaggerate the glories of ancient Buddhism. It is not strange that they do so. Moreover, although it is fashionable in Ceylon to despise the mendicants of the yellow robe, the fact that there are still about eight thousand monks shows that in these days of disillusionment there are many world-weary men, to whom the traditional attraction of the monastic life is over-poweringly strong and who find under it protection and peace. I have seen strong and true boys being drawn under its spell, and have known some noble characters among the monks.

(b) Its work of Reformation.—The intelligent Buddhist layman emphasises not merely the sense of peace and quiet satisfaction which Buddhism affords; he also claims that it has done away with caste and has purified religion. He will often compare the dignity, the stately beauty, and the harmlessness of the Buddhist temple and its surroundings with the incredibly gross indecencies of a Saivite shrine in Southern India. Men must worship something: in Buddhism they worship a good and great man deified. In Saivite Hinduism they mingle the base passions of a perverted sexuality with their worship.

(c) Its Leadership of Public Opinion.—This apologist argues, too, that Buddhism still retains the power of moulding public opinion. He instances the strenuous appeals which the Buddhists have made to the Ceylon government to suppress instead of encourage the liquor traffic: and points to some of their good schools, where young Ceylon is being taught the great moral lessons of their Faith. And though Theosophists from the West have been most responsible for starting these, the Buddhists keep them up and are adding new buildings and improving their quality.

(d) Yet Ceylon needs Christianity.—It is clear that much as Buddhism has done for this lovely land, it does need Jesus Christ as indeed all lands, not least our own, need Him in increasing measure as they face the complexities of the modern world.

He is needed in jungle village and in teeming city, to cast out fear and sin, and to enable His people to live nearer to their ideals. They, too, have gifts for Him! And we and they are partners in a glorious enterprise: to establish His Kingdom of Love and Truth in all the world. Their devotion to their Buddha, no less than their need and helplessness to-day, is an inspiring motive to the Christian missionary to win them to Christ.

3. Two Sharply Marked Attitudes among Buddhists.

Let us return to the hillside preacher. A change has come over his audience. All are now alert and eager. Seated around his platform, they are holding a cord which seems to bind them in some mystic circle. It is "Pirit": a kind of magic incantation. The preacher is reciting the ancient runes by which evil is averted and demon armies kept at bay. He is telling how the bandit, Angulimāla, who had killed nine hundred and ninety-nine victims and wore their fingers as a chaplet, tried to kill the Buddha so as to make the full tale of a thousand, but was converted on the spot. "May the merit of this be yours," he says, and they all cry, "Sadhu, Amen."

"All humbug," grunts the layman. "Come, let us go to the Young Men's Buddhist Association, where a Singhalese advocate, newly returned from England, is going to read a paper on 'Buddhism, a Gospel for Europe.'" Leaving the palms and fragrant trees of the jungle silhouetted against the brilliant sky, and passing the white buildings of the Buddhist High School and of the precious and venerated Temple of the Tooth, he talks of this possibility. It seems that a movement is on foot to send a mission to Europe. We agree that, if Christians were real followers of Jesus of Nazareth, such missions would be futile: and that the spirit of Gotama is akin to that of Jesus. "We see your Christ," he says; "in His beauty, because we have first seen the beauty of our Buddha." Here is a preparation for the gospel indeed. And may not all idealists—Christians, Buddhists, and others—cooperate much more freely than they do in great causes? In a League of Nations, for example, and in social programmes? In Ceylon, as in Burma, Buddhism is in some degree adapting itself to the new world-environment. Its old cry of pain, "All is fleeting, transient, sorrowful," is giving place to attempts at social service and positive living. Yet as compared with Burma or with Christian lands, the predominating note among Buddhists in Ceylon is one of world-weariness and despair.