Ceremonial and Ritualistic Buddhism

Ceremonial and Ritualistic Buddhism.

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Having in the last Lecture described the manner in which hierarchical systems were established in various Buddhist countries, we are naturally led on to consider in the present Lecture the development of what may be called ‘Ceremonial and Ritualistic Buddhism’; for no hierarchy can maintain its hold over the masses anywhere without the aid of outward manifestations, rites, ceremonies, and appeals to the senses.

Early Buddhism was, as we have already shown, vehemently opposed, not only to all sacerdotalism, but to all merely external ritualistic and ceremonial observances. It swept away the whole Vedic ritual—the whole sacrificial system of the Brāhmans; it rejected all penitential austerities and painful bodily mortifications; it denounced every form of superstition, idolatry, and priestcraft; it maintained that to lead a life of purity and high morality was better than all the forms and ceremonies of religion.

But the very vehemence of its opposition tended to bring about a reaction. Indeed, the history of all religious movements proves that the teaching of extreme doctrines of any kind is almost invariably followed by a Nemesis, though the teacher of them may himself not live to see it.

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At the outset a reformer of the ultra type is sure to gain adherents by his enthusiasm and earnestness, as well as by his ardour in condemning abuses, but a time is almost certain to come when his followers will themselves lapse into the identical practices which it was his great object to denounce.

At all events, it is well known that in the present day the Buddha’s followers have invented a mass of complicated forms and ceremonies wholly out of keeping and incompatible with the purer and simpler system which he himself sought to establish.

In point of fact the Buddha in promulgating his creed did not take into account the impossibility of eradicating certain deep-seated cravings inherent in human nature, which every religion aiming at general acceptance must reckon with and satisfy:—for example, the craving for the visible, for the audible, and for the tangible; the craving for some concrete impersonation of infinite goodness and power; the craving for freedom from personal responsibility and for its transference to a priesthood; the craving for deliverance from the pains and penalties of sin; the craving for an infallible guide in all matters of faith and doctrine.

Later Buddhism, on the other hand, set itself to satisfy these longings—these ineradicable yearnings of the human heart. It felt that it could not establish itself on a firm foundation without hierarchical organizations, and it could not maintain these without external forms, ceremonies, and ritual observances. It therefore turned the simple monastic brotherhood into 305 a caste of priests, and it attracted and gratified the senses of unthinking multitudes by a great variety of religious rites, usages, and symbols, many of which are quite unique, while nearly all are accompanied with superstitious practices implying an amount of ignorance and credulity on the part of the people, quite unparalleled.

This corrupt phase of Buddhism is especially dominant in Tibet, Mongolia, and Northern countries. In real truth it might be affirmed of every Buddhist in Tibet that religious superstition colours all his thoughts, words, and deeds. It is interwoven with the tissue of his daily life, and is part and parcel of his worldly occupations. It is equally part and parcel of the national life, and enters into every Government transaction. Furthermore, it is fostered by art and science, and ministered to by painting and sculpture. Nay, it is stamped on Nature itself. It is impressed on rocks, stones, and trees. It finds its way to the summit of snow-clad mountains, to the recesses of inaccessible ravines, and to the extremities of remote deserts.

To crown all, it might be affirmed that in Tibet religious superstition goes on by machinery, quite independently of the human will. It is kept in continual activity, night and day, by the flapping of flags, and by the revolution of innumerable wheels and cylinders, which are acted on by the forces of wind and water.

It may easily, therefore, be imagined that to give an exhaustive account of all the ceremonies and superstitious practices of Tibetan, or, as it may be called, Lāmistic Buddhism, would require the command of 306 unlimited time. They have been treated of by Koeppen in his second volume, and by Schlagintweit in his ‘Buddhism in Tibet,’ and have been illustrated by descriptions in Huc’s travels[136], in Markham’s account of the travels of Bogle, Turner, and Manning, and in the recent narrative of Mr. Sarat Chandra Dās’ Journey. All I can attempt is to give a concise account of some of the chief Lāmistic observances, taking the books just named as my authorities, and adding whatever information I have been able to collect myself from other sources, while travelling in Buddhist countries.

We must, however, guard against the notion that ceremonial observances are confined to Tibet and Northern regions. They are now more or less prevalent in Burma and Ceylon, which have adopted much of the Mahā-yāna system, and to these countries we must give our first attention. Even the ceremonies now observed at the reception of novices and monks in Burma and Ceylon are less simple than the early admission-forms already described (pp. 77, 78, 256).

Of course every novice has to cut off his hair. He does this to prove that he is ready to give up the most beautiful and highly-prized of all his personal ornaments for the sake of a religious life.

But other forms have to be gone through in the present day, and I now give an account of the admission-ceremony of a novice—as performed in Burma—based 307 on the description in the third chapter of Shway Yoe’s interesting volume called ‘the Burman[137].’

It is well understood that, according to the strict letter of the law (p. 77 of the present Lectures), a boy ought not to be admitted to the novitiate until he is fifteen, but in modern times, the admission often takes place at twelve or even eleven years of age, the belief being that until a boy is so admitted he cannot claim to be more than an animal.

The first point to be noted is that his admission involves the dropping of his secular name, and the receiving of another title to mark that it is then possible for him to escape the suffering of life. As he is sure to have been a scholar or pupil in a monastery (Kyoung) before applying to be admitted as a novice, he has learnt beforehand all the forms of worship and much that will be required of him during his monastic life; for instance, that he is to address senior monks in a particular manner and to wait upon them respectfully; that he is to walk through the streets keeping his eyes fixed on the ground, without gazing about, even if he have to pass a pageant or attractive spectacle of any kind; that he is to wear his garments in the prescribed fashion; that he is to eat with moderation and dignity.

On the day appointed for the induction-ceremony, the young neophyte dresses in his gayest clothes, and mounted on a pony, passes at a foot’s pace through the town or village. A band of music goes before him, and all his friends dressed in their best garments, 308 follow in a crowd, the young men dancing and singing, the girls smiling and laughing. Thus he proceeds in procession to the houses of his relations, to bid them farewell. Of course the introductory observance is intended as a kind of dramatic imitation of Gautama Buddha’s celebrated abandonment of his own family and worldly associates, called the Mahābhinishkramaṇa, ‘the great going forth from home’ (see p. 28 of this volume). When the round of visits is finished, the would-be novice turns back with all his companions to his parents’ house. There he finds a large number of persons assembled, and among them the Head of the monastery, with several of his brother monks. These are seated on a raised dais in front of which are the offerings intended for presentation to them, consisting of fruit, cooked food, yellow cloth, etc.

The monks (‘Talapoins’) seated in a row, carefully hold up their large fan-like screens to shut out the female portion of the assemblage from their view. Portions of the Vinaya (p. 62 of this volume) are then recited, after which the would-be novice is made to throw off all his fine clothes and bind a piece of white cloth round his loins. Then his hair is cut off close, and his head is carefully shaved and washed. Next he is taken to a bath, and after immersion in pure water, is brought once more, partially clothed, before the assembled monks. Prostrating himself three times before them, he raises his hands in reverence, and, using the regular Pāli form of words, asks to be admitted to the holy brotherhood. Upon that the Head of the monastery presents him with the yellow 309 monastic garments. These are duly put on, and the mendicant’s bowl is hung round his neck. The ceremony concludes by the formal announcement of his having become a member of the monastery.

The present admission-ceremony in Ceylon appears to be of a simpler character. In fact it differs little from the ancient form. Those boys who are destined for the novitiate usually begin their connexion with the monastery to which they intend to belong by first becoming pupils in the monastery-school. The devotion of the monkhood to the education of mere boys was perhaps one of the best results of the progress and development of Buddhism. In monasteries, all boys may learn to read and write[138]. There also they gain some experience of monastic duties and requirements, so that when the time comes for any pupil to enter the novitiate, his preparedness is taken for granted. He merely makes known his intention to a superior or senior monk. Then having shaved his head, and undergone the ceremony of bathing, the applicant, who has furnished himself with the proper yellow robes, presents them to the superior monk, and requests to be allowed to receive them again that he may become a novice. Next, on his reciting the three-refuge formulary, and the ten prohibitions, he is permitted to take back the monkish garments and to put them on. He is then formally admitted, and his admission announced to the other members of the monastery 310 (Hardy’s Eastern Monachism, p. 23). It may be noted that the monkish garments do not include a head-covering as in Northern countries.

As to the ceremony of admission to the full monkhood, it differs so little from the ancient rite (described at p. 79), that no further description need here be given.

With regard to the religious services performed in the monastic institutions of modern times, they are, of course, a great advance on the simple formularies used in early days, before the establishment and organization of large monasteries.

The earlier and purer Buddhism, as we have seen, had only one religious formula, and that was a simple expression of veneration for the three jewels—the Buddha, his Law, and his Order of Monks (p. 78).

Any form of worship was altogether out of place, if not a mere mockery, when there was no supreme Being to worship; when the Buddha himself, who never claimed to be more than a perfected man, had passed away into non-existence, and when all that he left behind was the great ideal of his own memory, to be venerated and imitated.

When, however, monastic establishments were organized and the doctrine became developed, a great development of worship took place.

To illustrate this I submit a description of daily life in a Burmese monastery, based on the information given by Shway Yoe (p. 307), and often using his words.

It appears that every monastic community in Burma is roused a little before daylight by the sound of a big 311 bell, beaten with a wooden mallet. Each monk has then to rise, rinse out his mouth, wash his hands and face, arrange his dress (the same in which he has slept all night) and recite a few formularies, among which is one to the following effect:—‘How great a favour has the Lord Buddha bestowed upon me in manifesting to me his law, through the observance of which I may escape the purgatorial penalties of hell and secure salvation!’ All the members of the fraternity then station themselves before the image of the Buddha, with the Abbot at their head, and the rest of the brotherhood, full monks, novices and scholars, according to their order. This done, they proceed to intone the morning service. At its conclusion each stands before the Head of the monastery, and pledges himself to observe during the day all the rules and precepts incumbent upon him. They then separate—the pupils and novices to sweep the floor of the monastery, bring drinking water, filter it, etc., the more advanced novices and full monks to tend the sacred trees; the elders to meditate in solitude on the miseries of life, such meditation being beyond all other actions meritorious. Some gather flowers and offer them before the relic-shrine (Dāgaba).

Then comes a repast, preceded by a grace to the effect that the food is eaten to satisfy bodily wants, not to please the appetite; that garments are used to cover nakedness, not for vanity; that health is desired to give strength for the performance of religious worship and meditation. After the meal, all devote themselves to study or to teaching. Then arranging themselves in file, they set out with the Abbot at their 312 head to receive their food (not beg). Silently they move on through the streets, fixing their eyes steadily on the ground six feet before them, meditating on the vanity and mutability of all things, and only halting when a layman emerges from some door to pour his contribution of rice or fruit or vegetables into their alms-bowls. The gift received, not a word or a syllable of thanks is uttered; for is it not the receivers who confer the favour and not the givers? In this way they circle back to the monastery.

On their return from their perambulation a portion of the food is offered to the Buddha, and then all proceed to eat the remainder, consisting perhaps of cooked rice, boiled peas, fish, cocoa-nut cakes, cucumbers, or even curried flesh and fowl, usually wrapped separately in plantain-leaves. Next the bowls are washed, and a few hymns are chanted before the Buddha’s image. During the succeeding hour the boy-scholars are allowed to play about, while the monks pass their time in conversation, and the Abbot receives people who come to pay their respects. All visitors prostrate themselves before him three times, once for the Buddha, once for the Law, and once for the Monkhood. The Abbot in return says: ‘May the supporter’ (so he calls all laymen; compare p. 89), ‘as a reward for merit, be freed from the three calamities (of war, pestilence, and famine)!’ At about half-past eleven the last regular meal of the day is eaten. Monks are forbidden to eat after noon. When the mid-day meal is over, all return to work. Some undertake the teaching of the boy-scholars. Others read the texts of the Tri-piṭaka with 313 their commentaries, or superintend the writers who are copying manuscripts. Some of the older members of the monastery talk with the idlers, who are to be found lounging about the precincts, and some sink into deep meditation, which probably ends in deep sleep.

Yet this profound meditation is believed to be all important, for is it not the path to Arhatship, to Nirvāṇa, and to the acquisition of supernatural faculties (see p. 245)? Other monks tell the beads of their rosaries and repeat the prescribed formularies, such as: ‘All is changeful, all is sorrowful, all is unreal,’ followed by invocations to the three holies (see p. 175). Between three and four o’clock the lessons are finished, and the scholars perform any domestic duties required in the monastery. This is the chief return for the teaching they receive. Then most of the pupils go to their own homes for dinner. As to the youthful novices or junior monks, these are all obliged to fast like the full monks. Many of them go out with some of the senior monks for a solemn walk. Then at sunset the far-reaching notes of the bell summon the walkers back to the monastery. All must be within the walls before the sun goes down. The day’s duties now draw to a close. The boy-pupils are made to repeat all they have learned during the day, and some of the Pāli rituals are chanted ‘with spasmodic energy.’ At half-past eight or nine there are further recitations before the image of the Buddha. All assemble, as in the morning, and together intone the hymns. When the last sound of the chant has died away, one of the novices stands up and proclaims the hour, day of the week, day of the month, 314 and number of the year. Then all bow before the Buddha’s image, and thrice before the Head of the monastery, and retire to rest (see Shway Yoe’s ‘Burman’).

It is noteworthy that severe asceticism and painful austerities—as practised among the Hindūs from the earliest times up to the present day (described at pp. 228-230 of this volume)—form no part of the duties of Buddhist monks; for Buddhism has never sanctioned bodily torture, as Brāhmanism has done.

We now pass on to a description of the observances usual during the period of Vassa (see pp. 82-84).

Mr. Dickson has given us some valuable notes on the method of keeping this season in Ceylon, and I venture to found a short narrative on the information he has communicated[139].

It seems that the villagers of Ceylon esteem it a privilege and a work of great merit to send for one or two monk-priests from a monastery and to minister to their wants, as well as listen to their preaching and recitations during Vassa.

The season begins on the fifteenth day of the eighth month; that is, on the day of full moon in the month Ashāḍha (June, July). Sometimes two or three villages join in inviting a monk-priest to live with them for the whole three months. They prepare a chamber for his sleeping accommodation, a room for his meals, a temporary chapel for the reception of the Buddha’s image, of the relic-casket and of the sacred books, and a place in which he can recite the law and explain it.

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On the first day of Vassa the villagers put on their holiday dresses, and set off with music, dancers, singers, and flags for the monastery, where the priest, whom they desire to invite, resides. Thence they conduct him in procession to their homes. His first act, after his arrival, is to set up the image and arrange the relic-casket and books. An altar is placed in front of the image, and on this the people proceed to make their offerings of flowers and perfumes. Next every villager contributes something for the priest’s food, such as tea, sugar, honeycomb, orange-juice, and the like. The priest, in return, pronounces a benediction, and says:—‘By virtue of this first offering made for the sake of the Buddha, who is like unto the sun of gods and men, and by virtue of this second offering made to the monkhood, which is like a field of merit, may you henceforth be delivered from the evils of birth in the place of torment, in the world of beasts, in the world of ghosts, and in the world of demons, and inherit the bliss of those who ascend and descend through the worlds of gods till you are born again in the world of men (see p. 21)!’

Then the monk-priest proceeds to the preaching-chamber, in the middle of which is a chair with a cushion. He takes his seat, and, holding a screen before his face to prevent his attention being distracted, commences his recitations. The people sit on the floor—the men on one side, the women and children on the other. First he repeats the three-refuge formula (p. 78) and the five prohibitions (p. 126), the people repeating after him. Next he recites some favourite passage from the discourses of Buddha, the one generally 316 selected being the Nidhi-kāṇḍa Sutta (see p. 129). If any listener interposes a remark, or hints that he does not understand, the priest explains the meaning. The people then make obeisance and depart.

The monk-priest next repeats to himself the appointed Pirit for the first day of Vassa—namely, the Maṅgala-sutta, Ratna-sutta, and Karaṇīya-metta-sutta (see p. 318), after which he retires to rest for a few hours. Rising before daybreak, he meditates on the virtues of Buddha, on goodwill towards all living beings, on the impurities of the body, and on death, walking up and down in his own chamber, or in any place suitable for perambulation. Next he goes to the temporary chapel, and prostrating himself before the shrine, says, ‘I worship continually all the relic-shrines, the sacred Bodhi-tree, and the images of Buddha. I reverence the three jewels’ (see p. 175). He then arranges his offering of flowers, and places these with a small portion of his morning meal on the altar. His meal being concluded, he teaches the children of the villagers, or he prepares for the mid-day and evening preaching (baṇa).

These preachings are generally well attended, especially on the four Poya days (p. 257). On the new-moon and full-moon days, the priest must go to the nearest monastery and join in the Pātimokkha (see p. 84); and on the full-moon day, which terminates the three months of Vassa, he must go there again as before, but on that occasion, addressing the assembled monks, he must say:—‘Venerable Sirs, I have duly finished the Vassa; if you have any doubt about it, speak, and tell me in what I have erred.’ If no one speaks he is held to have 317 fulfilled his duties faultlessly. Then returning and taking with him a second priest, the two together perform the Rātri-baṇa or mid-night service, which concludes the ceremonies of Vassa. Two pulpits, made of four upright posts, supporting small platforms, are erected, and the people from the neighbouring villages, dressed in their holiday attire, attend in large numbers. These nocturnal recitations are commonly continued for about five hours.

Some account should next be given of the ceremony called Pirit, which is performed in Ceylon and Burma during Vassa, and also at other times. The name Pirit is corrupted from the Pāli paritta, which again is supposed to be connected with Sanskṛit paritrā or paritrāṇa, ‘protection[140].’ We must premise that this ceremony had its origin in the fear of evil spirits and demons everywhere prevalent in the East (see p. 218); but it must be borne in mind that Buddhism recognizes no order of beings, called demons, created by God, and eternally separate in nature from men.

Demons are beings who are regarded as created by men, rather than by God; for they may have been men in their last state of existence and may become men again (see p. 122). They are, however, represented as cherishing spiteful and malevolent feelings against the superior race to which they once belonged; and all kinds of safeguards and counteracting influences 318 are thought to be needed to protect human beings from their malignity.

This is quite in keeping with the Hindū theory, which holds that when a man addicted to any particular vice dies, his evil nature never dies, but assumes another personality and lives after him as a demon. And this applies equally to women, so that the resulting demons may be of either sex, and the female is held to be more spiteful than the male.

The most effective of all safeguards against the machinations of such malignant beings, is believed to be the recitation or intoning of the Buddha’s Law, and especially of the Sutta (Sūtra) division of it already described (p. 62). And of this division there are choice portions—twenty-nine in number[141]—supposed to possess greater prophylactic potency than other portions. Collectively, they constitute what is called the Pirit, and of these, three are most commonly recited:—the Maṅgala-sutta, the Ratna-sutta, and the Karaṇīya-metta-sutta. Part of the first of these has been already given (at p. 129 of this volume).

Part of the second or ‘Jewel’ Sutta (translated by Childers) runs thus:—

‘All spirits here assembled,—those of earth and those of air,—let all such be joyful; let them listen attentively to my words.

‘Therefore hear me, O ye spirits; be friendly to the race of men; for day and night they bring you their offerings, therefore keep diligent watch over them.

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‘Whatsoever treasure exists here or in other worlds, whatsoever glorious jewels in the heavens, there is none like Buddha.

‘Buddha is this glorious jewel. May this truth bring prosperity! There is nought like this doctrine. The Law is this glorious jewel. May this truth bring prosperity!

‘The disciples of Buddha, worthy to receive gifts, the priesthood is this glorious jewel. May this truth bring prosperity!

‘Their old karma is destroyed, no new karma is produced. Their hearts no longer cleaving to future life, their seed of existence destroyed, their desires quenched, the righteous are extinguished like this lamp. The priesthood is this glorious jewel. May this truth bring prosperity! Ye spirits here assembled—those of earth and those of air—let us bow before Buddha—let us bow before the Law—let us bow before the Monkhood.’

Part of the third or Karaṇīya-metta-sutta runs as follows:—

This is what should be done by him who is wise in seeking his own good. Contented and cheerful, not oppressed with the cares of this world, not burdened with riches, tranquil, discreet, not arrogant, not greedy for gifts, let him not do any mean action for which others who are wise might reprove him. Let all creatures be happy and prosperous; let them be of joyful mind. Let no man in any place deceive another, nor let him be harsh towards any one; let him not, out of anger or resentment, wish ill to his neighbour. As a mother, so long as she lives, watches over her child, her only child, so among all beings let boundless goodwill prevail. Let goodwill without measure, impartial, unmixed with enmity, prevail throughout the world, above, below, around.

The Rev. D. J. Gogerley witnessed the performance of a great Pirit ceremony in Ceylon (Hardy’s Monachism, p. 240). Taking his account and that of Mr. Dickson, I have compiled the following brief description of the Mahā-baṇa Pirit, ‘great Pirit recitation’:—

So soon as the sun has set crowds of people arrive at the Recitation-Hall, bringing oil-lamps made out of cocoanut-shells. The Hall is decorated, and a canopy, shaped like a pagoda, is erected over the pulpits, which 320 are placed on a raised platform. When darkness supervenes a blaze of light illuminates the Hall. A relic of the Buddha is deposited on the platform, and a sacred thread is fastened round the Hall, one extremity of it being brought close to the relic and to the Reciters. On the morning of the next day, the recitations begin. One of the Reciters repeats the three-refuge formula, and the five commandments (see pp. 78, 126). Then incense is burnt round the platform, and the musicians outside the Hall strike up a lively air. Next, the formula of ‘the twelve successive causes of existence’ (see p. 102) is intoned, and a hymn of victory chanted.

The recitation of the Pirit continues uninterruptedly, day and night, for seven days. Twenty-four priests are employed, two of whom are constantly seated on the platform and engaged in reciting. Moreover three times in each day—at sunrise, mid-day, and sunset—they all assemble together and chant in chorus. Of course, when the recitation of the Suttas constituting the Pirit is concluded, it is recommenced, and in this way all the Suttas are recited again and again. On the morning of the seventh day a messenger is sent to a neighbouring temple to invite the attendance of the gods. Then by a stretch of the imagination certain of the gods and spirits are believed to answer the summons, and on their supposed arrival, the protective Suttas are chanted more energetically than ever till the morning of the eighth day, when a benediction concludes the ceremony, and offerings of robes are made to the priest-reciters.

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We now pass on to Tibet and Mongolia.

The ceremonies of admission to the monkhood in those countries do not deviate sufficiently from the practices just described to require special notice.

With regard, however, to the dress of Lāmistic monks after their admission to the Order, the ancient rule, as we have seen, obliged them to wear only three garments of a dirty yellowish colour, made out of rags, or picked up in cemeteries or on dust heaps. But the necessities of a colder climate have compelled the Lāmas to increase their official vestments, and the higher Lāmas sometimes wear bright silken robes enriched with ornament. The law is sufficiently obeyed by putting a patch or two at one corner.

A full equipment is supposed to consist of an under vestment, a sort of tunic worn over it, a mantle, a kind of scarf worn over the left shoulder, a loose robe brought round over the same shoulder, and a cap[142]. The right shoulder is rarely bare, as it generally is in Southern Buddhist countries.

The colour of these six articles of clothing, especially of the cap, is yellow or red, according to the sect to which a monk belongs.

The cap is an important mark of sectarian difference, and is of various forms, and when it has five points, has been compared to a bishop’s mitre, but the five points really denote the five Dhyāni-Buddhas and their Bodhi-sattvas.

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Part of every full monk’s equipment in Tibet is a peculiar instrument, made of bronze or other metal, and called a Dorje (Sanskṛit Vajra, ‘a thunderbolt’), the employment of which for religious objects is peculiar to Northern Buddhism. It is shaped like the imaginary thunderbolt of the gods Indra and Ṡiva—that is, it consists of a short bar, about four inches long, the two extremities of which swell out in globular form, or like small oval cages formed of hoops of metal. The original Dorje is supposed to have fallen direct from Indra’s heaven, and to have been preserved in a monastery near Lhāssa, called Sera pp. 278, 442. According to another legend, the original instrument belonged to Gautama Buddha himself, and on his passing away into non-existence, transported itself through the air from India into Tibet. The consecrated imitations of it are innumerable. Their primary use is for exorcising and driving away evil spirits, especially in the performance of ceremonies and repetition of prayers—the instrument being then held between the fingers and thumb and waved backwards and forwards, or from side to side.

The efficacy of the Dorje in securing good fortune and warding off evil influences of all kinds is supposed to be of wide application. The idea was really borrowed from Ṡaivism or from the Tantra system, introduced through Nepāl by the Red sect. It is easy to understand the enormous power supposed to belong to a priesthood which claimed to be the wielders of a formidable thunderbolt, sent to them directly from heaven.

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No wonder that the original Dorje preserved at the Sera monastery has become an object of actual worship. According to M. Huc, countless pilgrims prostrate themselves before it; and at the New Year’s festival, on the 27th day of the first month, it is carried in procession with great pomp to Lhāssa,—to the two centres of Lāmism—Potala and Lā brang. On its way there, the mystical implement is adored by the whole population, male and female (ii. 221).

Below is an engraving of a Dorje which I brought from Dārjīling.

It should be mentioned that the fierce Bodhi-sattva Vajra-pāṇi (see p. 201 of this volume) is represented holding a similar Dorje in his right hand in his character of subduer of evil spirits. In some representations the evil demons are denoted by serpents.

Another important part of a full monk’s equipment in Tibet is the Prayer-bell (called Drilbu) employed at the performance of daily religious ceremonies, and rung to accompany the repetition and chanting of prayers, or to fill up the intervals of worship. It often has half a Dorje as a handle, or the handle is ornamented with various mystical symbols carved on it. The object of ringing bells during worship is to call the attention of 324 the beings who are worshipped, or to keep off evil spirits by combining noise with the waving of the Dorje in the handle.


The bell here represented was brought by me from Dārjīling.

The bells used in Burma are described at p. 526.

Other religious implements used by novices and lay-brethren, as well as by full monks, are prayer-wheels, prayer-cylinders, rosaries, amulets (see p. 358), drums (see p. 385), and the Phurbu or Phur-pa (pp. 351, 352).

As to the daily religious services and ceremonies performed by Monks in Tibet and Mongolia, these, of course, are far more ritualistic than in southern Buddhist countries. It has already been explained (at pp. 202, 225) that certain abstract essences or mystical 325 forms of the Buddha, called Dhyāni-Buddhas, were imagined to exist, and these had their concrete energizing vice-gerents called Bodhi-sattvas—beings who received adoration as if they were actually gods. In Tibet the Bodhi-sattva Avalokiteṡvara, and the canonized reformer Tsong Khapa, and other supposed saints, became prominent objects of religious worship. Then, in process of time, a complicated ceremonial was developed, which, as we shall see (p. 338), has much in common with the ritual of Roman Catholic Christianity.

The language employed in the religious services of the Lāmistic Hierarchy, whether in Tibet, Mongolia, or in the Lāma monasteries of China and Manchuria, is Tibetan. In fact, Tibetan is to the Lāmistic Church what Latin is to the Romish. It is the sole orthodox language of religion and religious ceremonial.

According to Koeppen, only one Mongolian Lāma-monastery (and that established at Peking) has the right to perform religious services in Mongolian instead of in Tibetan[143].

Dr. Edkins, however, states that there is a temple (called Fa-hai-si) near the hunting-park, in which the Manchu language is employed instead of Tibetan. (Chinese Buddhism, p. 406.)

Without doubt the acquisition of some knowledge of the Tibetan language is incumbent on every Lāma. 326 Nevertheless, few, except in Tibet, really understand it. They simply repeat the usual prayers and formularies mechanically[144].

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It appears that the Lāmistic priests assemble three times a day to go through the prescribed ritual—at sunrise, at mid-day, and at sunset. We read that, before commencing the service, they enter the temple or hall of worship in procession and seat themselves on low seats in long rows. These are placed the whole length of the hall, from the entrance-door to the altar, being divided in the middle by a passage. At the further extremity, close to the altar, are two raised thrones for the Head Lāmas—a five-cushioned one on the right for the Abbot and a three-cushioned one for the Vice-Abbot.

When all have seated themselves, the choir-master or precentor gives a signal with a bell. Then the prayer-formularies are recited or chanted, certain passages out of the Law are intoned and certain litanies sung, sometimes in loud tones, accompanied by noisy music or by clapping of hands, and generally in unison, though occasionally verses are sung alternately with responses.

Then at other times a sentence of the Law is repeated by each monk in turn; or a chant is set up consisting of such words as: Praise be to the Buddha! or praise be to some Bodhi-sattva! followed by a recital of all his names, titles, and epithets; or mystical sentences and syllables are ejaculated. The result is said to be a chaos of voices and a deafening confusion of sounds.

The chief instruments used in the services are a spiral shell, a long trumpet of copper or brass (sometimes more than ten feet long), a large drum, 328 flutes, cymbals, and horns—the last being sometimes made of the thigh-bones of human beings[145].

The ritual is imposing, and still more so when a living Buddha is present. It has been described by M. Huc, and I here give the substance of his account[146].

In front of the chief idol, and on a level with the altar, is a gilded seat for the living Buddha or Grand Lāma of the Monastery. The whole space of the temple, from one end to the other, is occupied by long low seats almost level with the ground, stretching right and left of the Grand Lāma’s throne. These are covered with carpets, a vacant space being left between each row for the Lāmas to pass and repass. When the hour of prayer is come, a Lāma, whose office it is to summon the choir, places himself in front of the grand entrance of the temple and blows with all the force of his lungs into a conch-shell trumpet, the sound of which is audible for a league round. This effectually rouses the Lāmas and calls them together. Each then takes his mantle and official hat of ceremony, and repairs to the interior court. The trumpet sounds again, and when its note is heard for the third time, the great door is suddenly thrown open; the living Buddha enters, and takes his seat in front of the image on the altar. Then the Lāmas, after depositing their red boots in the vestibule, advance towards him barefoot, and adore him by three prostrations. This done, they seat themselves on the long seats according to their dignity, cross-legged and face to face. As soon as the director of the ceremonies has given the signal by tinkling a little bell, everyone murmurs the prescribed prayers, unrolling the formularies on his knees. After this recitation, there is profound silence for a minute. Then the bell is again rung, and a hymn or chant in two choruses begins. The Tibetan prayers, ordinarily arranged in verses, and written in metrical style, are well adapted to harmony; but sometimes at certain pauses indicated by the rubric, the Lāma musicians execute a strain 329 in little accord with the gravity of the psalmody. The result is a stunning noise of bells, cymbals, drums, tambourines, conch-shells, trumpets, and pipes. Each musician sounds his instrument with a sort of fury, and each strives to outdo his neighbour in the noise he can produce. (Huc’s Travels, i. 88, abridged.)

One important element in some Tibetan religious services is the consecration and distribution of holy water and grain by the chief Lāmas.

Perfumes, too, are burnt, and censers containing incense are swung backwards and forwards during the ceremonies.

Then, again, some Lāmistic ceremonials include the drinking of tea poured into little cups, kept in the breast-pockets of the monks’ robes, and replenished two or three times during the service.

Sir Richard Temple (Journal, ii. 208) thus describes a tea-drinking ceremonial at which he was present, at the monastery of Pemyangchi in Sikkim (see p. 298 of these Lectures).

The priests and monks, some thirty-five in all, were drawn up in full robes to receive us. Then the officials of the monastery were introduced—the steward, the rod-bearer, the deputy master, and lastly, the master. A procession was quickly formed, which we followed into the chapel, where they all took their accustomed seats, while we sat on places prepared for us. The interior of the chapel seemed an odd place for this, but we were told that it was the correct ceremonial. A chant was begun, which lasted some ten minutes, as a sort of grace, and then tea was handed round—first to us, next to the priests, and lastly to the monks. A short chant followed, and then the procession preceded us out of the chapel.

In the picture which accompanies Sir Richard’s description, all the monks have head-coverings, some of which are like caps or hats of a high sugar-loaf 330 shape, while others have several points like episcopal mitres (see p. 321).

The monks of Sikkim are generally of the Dugpa sect[147], and wear red caps (see pp. 273, 298).

When Dr. Watt was in Ladāk, he was present at a service performed by a number of monks belonging to both sects, who seemed to fraternize very amicably. All the monks of the red sect took up a position on one side of the chapel, while those of the yellow sect ranged themselves on the opposite side. The two sects entered together, as usual, in procession, and part of the ceremonial—as in that witnessed by Sir Richard Temple—consisted in drinking tea from little cups taken from the folds of their robes, and put back again, to be again taken out and replenished; and this, too, without interrupting the continuous repetition of prayers, chants, and formularies[148].

M. Huc also describes a ‘Tea-general’ ceremony after morning service in a temple. Each monk drinks in silence, carefully placing his scarf before his cup, as if to prevent the sight of the apparent incongruity of drinking tea in such a sacred spot (ii. 57).

Another instance of tea-drinking as an element in Lāmistic ceremonial, occurs in Mr. Sarat Chandra Dās’ highly interesting account of the ceremony of his presentation to the Dalai Lāma at the palace-monastery of Potala, in Lhāssa, on June 10, 1882. I 331 venture to give the substance of it in an abbreviated form and not quite literally[149].

An account of other presentations both to the Dalai Lāma and Tashi Lāma will be given in a future Lecture (see pp. 439, 444, 447).

Early in the morning I was informed of the arrival of Chola Kusho, who was ready to take me to Potala for presentation to the Dalai Lāma. We sallied forth on horseback, with three bundles of incense-sticks in our hands, and a roll of scarves in our breast-pockets, chanting as we went along certain hymns, and particularly the mystic ‘Om maṇi padme Hūm.’ In the street we saw a calf sucking milk, and several women fetching water in our direction. My companions were delighted at these auspicious omens. Arrived at the eastern gateway of Potala, we dismounted, and walked up a long hall, on two sides of which were two rows of prayer-wheels, put there to be twirled, on going in and coming out.

A young monk now came down to conduct us, and we ascended slowly, looking only on the ground before us. The several ladders which conducted us from one story to another were steep, and placed in dark halls. I counted five, which took us as far as the ground-floor of the Red palace. Half-a-dozen ladders still remained to be scaled.

At about eight we reached the top, and there found a number of monks anxiously awaiting an interview with his Holiness. A seat was pointed out to me. A monk sat near me, and smilingly observed that it must have been on account of the sins of my former life that I was born in India, where there is no living Buddha.

From the top of the Red palace we enjoyed a grand panorama of Lhāssa and its suburbs. Shortly afterwards some Lāmas of high rank, dressed in loose yellow mantles, arrived. They entered the hall of reception one after another in solemn array. We remained outside in anxious suspense, fixing our eyes on the entrance door, and expecting to be summoned to his Holiness’ presence.

At last, three Lāmas came towards us and asked us to enter in a 332 line one after another. Walking very gently, we proceeded to the middle of the audience hall—a spacious apartment supported by three rows of four wooden pillars. The walls had paintings of the exploits of Buddha, of Chanrassig[150], Tsong Khapa, and other celebrated saints, besides images of the successive incarnations of the Dalai Lāma.

As soon as we had entered the official scarf-collectors received the presentation-scarves from our hands. We seated ourselves on rugs, spread in about eight rows, my seat being in the third row, at a distance of about ten feet from the Grand Lāma’s throne, and a little to his left. When all were seated, perfect silence reigned in the grand hall. The state officials walked from left to right with serene gravity, as became their exalted rank, in the presence of the Supreme Vice-Regent of Buddha on earth. At their head walked the Kuchar Khanpo, who carried in his hand the bowl of benediction, containing the sacred Thui (that is, consecrated water stained yellow with saffron) for sprinkling over the audience. The bearer of the incense-pot, suspended by three golden chains, the carrier of the royal golden tea-pot, and other domestic officials, now came up, and stood motionless as pictures, without looking on either side, but fixing their eyes and their attention, as it were, on the tips of their respective noses. Two large golden lamp-burners, resembling flower-vases, flickered on two sides of the throne. The great altar—resembling an oriental throne, and supported by lions[151] carved in wood—on which sat his Holiness, a child of eight, was covered with silk scarves of great value. It was about four feet high, six long, and four broad. A yellow mitre-hat[152] covered the Grand Lāma’s head, the pendant portions veiling his ears, and a yellow mantle enveloped his person. He sat cross-legged, with the palms of his hands joined together to bless us. When it came to my turn I received his Holiness’ benediction, and was able to look upon his divine face. Other Lāmas approached him with downcast looks, and resumed their respective seats, not presuming to look up. I longed to linger a few seconds, but other candidates for benediction displaced me by pushing me gently forward. I noticed that the 333 princely child possessed a really bright and fair complexion, with rosy cheeks. His eyes were large and penetrating. The contour of his face was remarkably Āryan, though somewhat marred by the obliquity of his eyes. The thinness of his person was probably owing to the fatigues of the court-ceremonies, religious duties, and ascetic observances, to which he had been subjected since taking the vows of monkhood. Remembering the stories about the freaks of fortune, which had lately brought him to this proud position, and had compelled his predecessors to undergo untimely transmigrations, I pitied his exalted rank: for who knows whether he will not be forced to undergo another transmigration before reaching his twentieth year?

When all were again seated after receiving the Dalai Lāma’s benediction, the Sol-pon Chhenpo poured tea in his Holiness’ golden cup from a golden tea-pot, while four assistant Sol-pons poured tea in the cups of the audience, consisting of the head Lāmas of Meru monastery and ourselves. Before the Grand Lāma lifted his cup to his lips, a grace was solemnly said, beginning with ‘Om āh Hūm’ thrice chanted, and followed by a prayer to the following effect:—‘Never even for a moment losing sight of the three Holies, always offer reverence to the Tri-ratnas; let the blessings of the three be upon us.’ Without even stirring the air by the movements of our limbs, we slowly lifted our cups to our lips, and drank the tea—which was delicious—taking care to make no sound with our lips. Three times was tea served, and three times we emptied our cups, after which we put them back in our breast-pockets. Then the Sol-pon placed a golden dish full of consecrated rice in front of his Holiness, which he only touched. The remainder was distributed among those present. I obtained a handful, which I carefully tied in one corner of my handkerchief. The following grace was then uttered by the assembled monks, with much gravity:—‘The most precious Buddha is the most perfect and matchless teacher; the most unerring guide is the Saṅgha; the most infallible protection is in the sacred Dharma. We offer these offerings to these three objects of refuge. Reverence be to each of them!’

Mr. Sarat Chandra Dās also witnessed at the same time the performance of a remarkable ceremony for the translation of the soul of a chief Lāma or Khanpo to one of the heavenly mansions.

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It appears that a certain well-known Khanpo had died of small-pox. He was one of the most distinguished scholars of Tibet, and held the highest position in the Court of Potala. The day on which the ceremony was performed was the twenty-seventh day of this chief Lāma’s Bardo (p. 371); that is, of the interval of forty-nine days between his death and his translation to another world. (According to Jäschke the interval of the intermediate state only lasts for forty days.)

The Dalai Lāma, seated on his throne, chanted a hymn in a low indistinct voice. Afterwards the assembled monks in grave tones repeated what the Grand Lāma had uttered. Then a venerable personage rose from the middle of the first row of seats, and addressing the Grand Lāma as the incarnate Lord Chenressig (Avalokiteṡvara), recited all the many acts of mercy performed by him, as the patron-saint of Tibet, for the benefit of its people. Next, he made offerings of certain precious things (including an imaginary presentation of the seven mythical treasures[153]) for the benefit of the soul of the late Khanpo, saying:—‘I pray that you may graciously accept these presents for the good of all living beings.’

Finally, he prostrated himself three times before the Grand Lāma’s throne. A solemn pause followed; after which the audience rose, and the Grand Lāma retired. Mr. Sarat Chandra Dās goes on to relate that at the end of the ceremony one of the assistant Lāmas gave him two packets of pills, and another tied a scrap of red 335 silk round his neck. The pills, he was told, were chinlab or blessings, consecrated by the Buddha and other saints; and the consecrated scrap of silk, called sungdū, ‘knot of blessing,’ was the Grand Lāma’s usual return for presents made to him by pilgrims and devotees.

We may note here that in 1866 the Indian explorer Nain Singh saw the then Dalai Lāma. He was a handsome boy about thirteen years old, and was seated on a throne six feet high. He had the Regent on his right hand. He was said to be in his thirteenth transmigration[154].

Dr. Schlagintweit (p. 239) describes a ceremony in which consecrated water (thui) is poured from a teapot-like vessel over a metallic mirror (pp. 458, 463 of these Lectures), which is held so as to reflect the image of Gautama Buddha seated on the altar. This water falls down into a flat vessel containing a bag filled with rice, and is then suitable for ceremonial ablutions.

Another ceremony (called Nyungne? by Schlagintweit), involving long abstinence, lasts for four days.

The first and second days are passed in preparations. Those who are to take part in the ceremony rise at sunrise, bathe and prostrate themselves several times before the image of Avalokiteṡvara. The head Lāma then bids them confess their faults, and meditate on the evils resulting from demerit. He next, with his attendants, recites extracts from certain books of confession. This goes on till ten o’clock, when tea is taken. After this the recitations and prayer-recitals 336 continue till two o’clock, when a meal of vegetables is eaten. Then comes a pause, but the prayers and readings are afterwards carried on till late at night, tea being handed round at intervals. Before retiring to rest, the head Lāma specifies the various duties to be performed by the devotees on the following day, and orders them, as a penance, to sleep in ‘the lion-posture,’ viz. to lie on the right side, to stretch out the feet and to support the head with the right hand[155].

The third day is the most important, and is passed in rigorous abstinence from all food. No one is even allowed to swallow his saliva, which must be ejected into a vessel placed before him. Not a word must be spoken. Each man prays and confesses his sins, but does so in absolute silence. This continues till sunrise on the fourth day.

It was at first the rule that repetitions of the Law, confessions of sin (especially the Pātimokkha), and some of the chief religious ceremonies (including fasting) should take place, more particularly on the days of new and full moon (called Uposatha, p. 84).

Thus we read that ‘on the day of full moon Ānanda purified himself, and went up to the upper story of his house to keep the sacred day’ (Mahāsudassana-sutra, 1-10). This was in conformity with the ancient Brāhmanical rule that every new-moon day (Darṡa) and every full-moon day (Paurṇamāsa) should be set apart for special religious observances[156].

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In later times the intermediate quarter-moon days were also held sacred, and so the number of Uposatha days (see p. 84) was increased to four in every month, or once a week. Very strict Buddhists in Tibet eat nothing on these days between sunrise and sunset except farinaceous food with tea (p. 346).

The laity are invited to join in keeping the Uposatha days, but take no real part in the detail of the services. The same rule applies to all religious ceremonies. Laymen may be present at any rite, but without co-operating in carrying out the ritual. Still, laymen have their own part to perform. They look on—listen, tell their rosaries, and repeat short prayers—such as the ‘three-refuge’ and ‘jewel-lotus’ formula (pp. 78, 370)—and make declarations to avoid the five great sins (p. 126). Or they walk up to the image-altar and place offerings on it, or bow before it and receive the Lāma’s benediction. Theoretically, the laity only exist to honour and support the monkhood, and to be blessed by them in return. At all events a layman’s religion is usually restricted to a very limited range of duty.

One common way of showing piety is by walking round temples, monasteries, Stūpas, and sacred walls (see pp. 380, 505), from east to west, keeping the right shoulder towards them, and even occasionally measuring the ground with the extended body.

This last task is by no means a light or easy one. According to M. Huc (i. 202), a whole day scarcely suffices to perform the circumambulation when the monastic buildings and temples occupy an extensive area. People begin at daybreak, and the feat must 338 be accomplished all at one time, without any break, or even a few moments’ pause for taking nourishment. Moreover, the measuring-process must be perfect; ‘the body must be extended to its whole length, and the forehead must touch the earth while the arms are stretched out in front and the hands joined.’ At each prostration a circle must be drawn on the ground with two rams’ horns held in the hands. ‘It is a sorrowful spectacle, and the unfortunate people often have their faces and clothes covered with dust and mud. The utmost severity of the weather does not present any obstacle to their courageous devotion. They continue their prostrations through rain, snow, and cold. Sometimes they go through the additional penance of carrying an enormous weight of books on their backs. You meet with men, women, and even children sinking under these excessive burdens. When they have finished their circumambulation, they are considered to have acquired the same merit as if they had recited all the prayers contained in the books they have carried.’ In point of fact they are generally far too ignorant to be able to read the books, and the carrying of them on their backs is taken as an adequate equivalent.

The acquisition of merit by circumambulation is not an exclusively Hindū or Buddhist idea. The Holy House at Loretto near Ancona—believed to have been transported there from Bethlehem by angels—is circumambulated by pilgrims on their knees, but keeping the sacred object to the left. Indeed, we may fitly conclude the present Lecture by a comparison between the ritual of Tibetan Buddhism and that of Roman Catholicism—a 339 comparison, too, drawn by the Roman Catholic Missionaries themselves:

‘The cross, the mitre, the dalmatica, the cope, which Grand Lāmas wear on their journeys, or when they are performing some ceremony out of the temple; the service with double choirs, the psalmody, the exorcisms, the censer for incense, suspended from five chains, and opened or closed at pleasure; the benedictions pronounced by the Lāmas by extending the right hand over the heads of the faithful; the chaplet, ecclesiastical celibacy, spiritual retirement, the worship of the saints, the fasts, the processions, the litanies, the holy water, all these are analogies between the Buddhists and ourselves’ (Huc, ii. 50). To these may be added sacred images, sacred pictures, sacred symbols, relics, lamps, and illuminations[157].

This is doubtless a true comparison. But it does not follow that the opinion which the missionaries express—‘that these analogies are of Christian origin’—is equally deserving of our assent. No doubt one chief feature of Buddhism, as of Hindūism[158], is its receptivity, but may it not be the case that human nature and human tendencies will be found to assert themselves independently in every part of the world, wherever surrounding circumstances are favourable to their development?