Volume 1 / Part 4 — CHAP. XI.

BUDDHISM AND DEMON-WORSHIP.[1]

It is difficult to attempt any condensed, and at the same time perspicuous, sketch of the national religion of Ceylon—a difficulty which arises not merely from the voluminous obscurity of its sacred history and records; but still more from confusion in the variety of forms under which Buddhism exhibits itself in various localities, and the divergences of opinion which prevail as to its tenets and belief. The antiquity of its worship is so extreme, that doubts still hang over its origin and its chronological relations to the religion of Brahma. Whether it took its rise in Hindustan, or in countries farther to the West, and whether Buddhism was the original doctrine of which Brahmanism became a corruption, or Brahmanism the original and Buddhism an effort to restore it to its pristine purity[2],—all these are questions which have yet to be adjusted by the results of Oriental research.[3] It is, however, established by a concurrence of historical proofs, that many centuries before the era of Christianity the doctrines of Buddha were enthusiastically cultivated in Baha, the Magadha, or country of the Magas, whose modern name is identified with the Wiharas or monasteries of Buddhism. Thence its teachers diffused themselves extensively throughout India and the countries to the eastward;—upwards of two thousand years ago it became the national religion of Ceylon and the Indian Archipelago; and its tenets have been adopted throughout the vast regions which extend from Siberia to Siam, and from the Bay of Bengal to the western shores of the Pacific.[4]

Looking to its influence at the present day over at least three hundred and fifty millions of human beings—exceeding one-third of the human race—it is no exaggeration to say that the religion of Buddha is the most widely diffused that now exists, or that has ever existed since the creation of mankind.[1]

From the earliest period of Indian tradition, the struggle between the religion of Buddha and that of Brahma was carried on with a fanaticism and perseverance which resulted in the ascendancy of the Brahmans, perhaps about the commencement of the Christian era, and the eventual expulsion some centuries later of the worship of their rivals from Hindustan; but at what precise time the latter catastrophe was consummated has not been recorded in the annals of either sect.[1]

That Buddhism thus dispersed over eastern and central Asia became an active agent in the promotion of whatever civilisation afterwards enlightened the races by whom its doctrines were embraced, seems to rest upon evidence which admits of no reasonable doubt. The introduction of Buddhism into China is ascertained to have been contemporary with, the early development of the arts amongst this remarkable people, at a period coeval, if not anterior, to the era of Christianity.[1] Buddhism exerted a salutary influence over the tribes of Thibet; through them it became instrumental in humanising the Moguls; and it more or less led to the cessation of the devastating incursions by which the hordes of the East were precipitated over the Western Empire in the early ages of Christianity.

The Singhalese, and the nations of further Asia, are indebted to Buddhism for an alphabet and a literature[1]; and whatever of authentic history we possess in relation to these countries we owe to the influence of their generic religion. Nor are its effects limited to these objects: much of what is vigorous in the character of its northern converts may be traced to the operation of its principles, in the development of their peculiar idiosyncrasy, which, unlike that of the unwarlike Singhalese, rejected sloth and effeminacy to aim at conquest and power. Looking to the self-reliance which Buddhism inculcates, the exaltation of intellect which it proclaims, and the perfection of virtue and wisdom to which it points as within the reach of every created being, it may readily be imagined, that it must have wielded a spell of unusual potency, and one well calculated to awaken boldness and energy in those already animated by schemes of ambition. In Ceylon, on the contrary, owing more or less to insulation and seclusion, Buddhism has survived for upwards of 2000 years as unchanged in all its leading characteristics as the genius of the people has remained torpid and inanimate under its influence. In this respect the Singhalese are the living mummies of past ages; and realise in their immovable characteristics the Eastern fable of the city whose inhabitants were perpetuated in marble. If change has in any degree supervened, it has been from the corruption of the practice, not from any abandonment of the principles, of Buddhism; and in arts, literature, and civilisation, the records of their own history, and the ruins of their monuments, attest their deterioration in common with that of every other nation which has not at some time been brought under the ennobling influences of Christianity.

In alluding to the doctrines of Buddhism, as it exists at the present day, my observations are to be understood as applying to the aspect under which it presents itself in Ceylon, irrespective of the numerous forms in which it has been cultivated elsewhere. Even before the decease of the last Buddha, schisms had arisen amongst his followers in India. Eighteen heresies are deplored in the Mahawanso within two centuries from his death; and four distinct sects, each rejoicing in the name of Buddhists, are still to be traced amongst the remnants of his worshippers in Hindustan.[1] In its migrations to other countries since its dispersion by the Brahmans, Buddhism has assumed and exhibited itself in a variety of shapes. At the present day its doctrines, as cherished among the Jainas of Guzerat and Rajpootana[2], differ widely from its mysteries, as administered by the Lama of Thibet; and both are equally distinct from the metaphysical abstractions propounded by the monks of Nepal. Its observances in Japan have undergone a still more striking alteration from their vicinity to the Syntoos; and in China they have been similarly modified in their contact with the rationalism of Lao-tsen and the social demonology of the Confucians.[3] But in each and all the distinction is in degree rather than essence; and the general concurrence is unbroken in all the grand essentials of the system.

Whilst Brahmanism, without denying the existence, practically ignores the influence and power of a creating and controlling intelligence, Buddhism, exulting in the idea of the infinite perfectibility of man, and the achievement of the highest attainable happiness by the unfaltering practice of every conceivable virtue, exalts the individuals thus pre-eminently wise into absolute supremacy over all existing beings, and attempts the daring experiment of an atheistic morality.[1] Even Buddha himself is not worshipped as a deity, or as a still existent and active agent of benevolence and power. He is merely reverenced as a glorified remembrance, the effulgence of whose purity serves as a guide and incentive to the future struggles and aspirations of mankind. The sole superiority which his doctrines admit is that of goodness and wisdom; and Buddha having attained to this perfection by the immaculate purity of his actions, the absolute subjugation of passion, and the unerring accuracy of his unlimited knowledge, became entitled to the homage of all, and was required to render it to none.

Externally coinciding with Hinduism, so far as the avatar of Buddha may be regarded as a pendant for the incarnation of Brahma, the worship of the former is essentially distinguished from the religion of the latter in one important particular. It does not regard Buddha as an actual emanation or manifestation of the divinity, but as a guide and example to teach an enthusiastic self-reliance by means of which mankind, of themselves and by their own unassisted exertions, are to attain to perfect virtue here and to supreme happiness hereafter. Both systems inculcate the mysterious doctrine of the metempsychosis; but whilst the result of successive embodiments is to bring the soul of the Hindu nearer and nearer to the final beatitude of absorption into the essence of Brahma, the end and aim of the Buddhistical transmigration is to lead the purified spirit to Nirwana[1], a condition between which and utter annihilation there exists but the dim distinction of a name. Nirwana is the exhaustion but not the destruction of existence, the close but not the extinction of being.

In deliberate consistency with this principle of human elevation, the doctrines of Buddha recognise the full eligibility of every individual born into the world for the attainment of the highest degrees of intellectual perfection and ultimate bliss; and herein consists its most striking departure from the Brahmanical system in denying the superiority of the "twice born" over the rest of mankind; in repudiating a sacerdotal supremacy of race, and in claiming for the pure and the wise that supremacy and exaltation which the self-glorified Brahmans would monopolise for themselves.

Hence the supremacy of "caste" is utterly disclaimed in the sacred books which contain the tenets of Buddha; and although in process of time his followers have departed from that portion of his precepts, still distinction of birth is nowhere authoritatively recognised as a qualification for the priesthood. Buddha being in fact a deification of human intellect, the philanthropy of the system extends its participation and advantages to the whole family of mankind, the humblest member of which is sustained by the assurance that by virtue and endurance he may attain an equality though not an identification with the supreme intelligence. Wisdom thus exalted as the sole object of pursuit and veneration, the Buddhists, with characteristic liberality, admit that the teaching of virtue is not necessarily confined to their own professors; especially when the ceremonial of others does not involve the taking of life. Hence in a great degree arises the indifference of the Singhalese as to the comparative claims of Christianity and Buddhism, and hence the facility with which, both under the Portuguese, the Dutch, and the British Government, they have combined the secret worship of the one with the ostensible profession of the other. They in fact admit Christ to have been a teacher, second only to Buddha, but inferior, inasmuch as the latter, who was perfect in wisdom, has attained to the bliss of Nirwana.[1]

As regards the structure of the universe, the theories of the Buddhists, though in a great degree borrowed from the Brahmans, occupy a much less prominent position in their mythology, and are less intimately identified with their system of religion. Their attention has been directed less to physical than to metaphysical disquisitions, and their views of cosmogony have as little of truth as of imagination in their details. The basis of the system is a declaration of the eternity of matter, and its submission at remote intervals to decay and re-formation; but this and the organisation of animal life are but the results of spontaneity and procession, not the products of will and design on the part of an all powerful Creator.

Buddhism adopts something approaching to the mundane theory of the Brahmans, in the multiplicity and superposition of worlds and the division of the earth into concentric continents, each separated by oceans of various fabulous liquids. Its notions of geography are at once fanciful and crude; and again borrowing from the Shastras its chronology, extends over boundless portions of time, but invests with the authority of history only those occurrences which have taken place since the birth of Gotama Buddha.

The Buddhists believe in the existence of lokas, or heavens, each differing in glory, and serving as the temporary residences of demigods and divinities, as well as of men whose etherialisation is but inchoate, and who have yet to visit the earth in farther births and acquire in future transmigrations their complete attainment of Nirwana. They believe likewise in the existence of hells which are the abodes of demons or tormentors, and in which the wicked undergo a purgatorial imprisonment preparatory to an extended probation upon earth. Here their torments are in proportion to their crimes, and although not eternal, their duration extends almost to the infinitude of eternity; those who have been guilty of the deadly sins of parricide, sacrilege, and defiance of the faith being doomed to the endurance of excruciating deaths, followed by instant revival and a repetition of their tortures without mitigation and apparently without end.[1]

It is one of the extraordinary anomalies of the system, that combined with these principles of self-reliance and perfectibility, Buddhism has incorporated to a certain extent the doctrine of fate or "necessity," under which it demonstrates that adverse events are the general results of akusala or moral demerit in some previous stage of existence. This belief, which lies at the very foundation of their religion, the Buddhists have so adapted to the rest of the structure as to avoid the inconsistency of making this directing power inherent in any Supreme Being, by assigning it as one of the attributes of matter and a law of its perpetual mutations.

Like all the leading doctrines of Buddhism, however, its theories on this subject are propounded with the usual admixture of modification and casuistry; only a portion of men's conduct is presumed to be exclusively controllable by fate—neither moral delinquency nor virtuous actions are declared to be altogether the products of an inevitable necessity; and whilst both the sufferings and the enjoyments of mortals are represented as the general consequences of merit in a previous stage of existence, even this fundamental principle is not without its exception, inasmuch as the vicissitudes are admitted to be partially the results of man's actions in this life, or of the influence of others from which his own deserts are insufficient to protect him. The main article, however, which admits neither of modification nor evasion, is that neither in heaven nor on earth can man escape from the consequences of his acts; that morals are in their essence productive causes, without the aid or intervention of any higher authority; and hence forgiveness or atonement are ideas utterly unknown in the despotic dogmas of Buddha.

Allusion has already been made to the subtleties entertained by the priesthood, in connexion with the doctrine of the metempsychosis, as developed in their sacred books; but the exposition would be tedious to show the distinctions between their theories, and the opinions of transmigration entertained by the mass of the Singhalese Buddhists. The rewards of virtue and the punishment of vice are supposed to be equally attainable in this world; and according to the amount of either, which characterizes the conduct of an individual in one stage of being, will be the elevation or degradation into which he will be hereafter born.

Thus punishment and reward become equally fixed and inevitable: but retribution may be deferred by the intermediate exhibition of virtue, and an offering or prostration to Buddha, or an aspiration in favour of faith in his name, will suffice to ward off punishment for a time, and even produce happiness in an intermediate birth; hence the most flagitious offender, by an act of reverence in dying, may postpone indefinitely the evil consequence of his crimes, and hence the indifference and apparent apathy which is a remarkable characteristic of the Singhalese who suffer death for their offences[1].

To mankind in general Buddha came only as an adviser and a friend; but, as regards his own priesthood, he assumes all the authority of a lawgiver and chief. Spurning the desires and vanities of the world, he has taught them to aspire to no other reward for their labours than the veneration of the human race, as teachers of knowledge and examples of benevolence. Taking the abstract idea of perfect intelligence and immaculate virtue for a divinity, Buddhism accords honour to all in proportion to their approaches towards absolute wisdom, and as the realisation of this perfection is regarded as almost hopeless in a life devoted to secular cares, the priests of Buddha, on assuming their robe and tonsure, forswear all earthly occupations; subsist on alms, not in money, but in food; devote themselves to meditation and self-denial; and, being thus proclaimed and recognised as the most successful aspirants to Nirwana, they claim the homage of ordinary mortals, acknowledge no superior upon earth, and withhold even the tribute of a salutation from all except the members of their own religious order.

To mankind in general the injunctions of Buddha prescribe a code of morality second only to that of Christianity, and superior to every heathen system that the world has seen.[1] It forbids the taking of life from even the humblest created animal, and prohibits intemperance and incontinence, dishonesty and falsehood—vices which are referable to those formidable assailants, rága or concupiscence, doso or malignity, and moha, ignorance or folly.[2] These, again, involve all their minor modifications—hypocrisy and anger, unkindness and pride, ungenerous suspicion, covetousness, evil wishes to others, the betrayal of secrets, and the propagation of slander. Whilst all such offences are forbidden, every excellence is simultaneously enjoined—the forgiveness of injuries, the practice of charity, a reverence for virtue, and the cherishing of the learned; submission to discipline, veneration for parents, the care for one's family, a sinless vocation, contentment and gratitude, subjection to reproof, moderation in prosperity, submission under affliction, and cheerfulness at all times. "Those," said Buddha, "who practise all these virtues, and are not overcome by evil, will enjoy the perfection of happiness, and attain to supreme renown."[3]

Buddhism, it may be perceived from this sketch, is, properly speaking, less a form of religion than a school of philosophy; and its worship, according to the institutes of its founders, consists of an appeal to the reason, rather than an attempt on the imagination through the instrumentality of rites and parade. "Salvation is made dependent, not upon the practice of idle ceremonies, the repeating of prayers or of hymns, or invocations to pretended gods, but upon moral qualifications, which constitute individual and social happiness here, and ensure it hereafter."[1] In later times, and in the failure of Buddhism by unassisted arguments to ensure the observance of its precepts and the practice of its morals, the experiment has been made to arouse the attention and excite the enthusiasm of its followers by the adoption of ceremonies and processions; but these are declared to be only the innovations of priestcraft, and the Singhalese, whilst they unite in their celebration, are impatient to explain that such practices are less religious than secular, and that the Perrehera in particular, the chief of their annual festivals, was introduced, not in honour of Buddha, but as a tribute to the Kandyan kings as the patrons and defenders of the faith.[2]

In its formula, whatever alterations Buddhism may have undergone in Ceylon are altogether external, and clearly referable to its anomalous association with the worship of its ancient rivals the Brahmans. These changes, however, are the result of proximity and association rather than of incorporation or adoption; and even now the process of expurgation is in progress with a view to the restoration of the pristine purity of the faith by a formal separation from the observances of Hinduism. The schismatic kings and the Malabar sovereigns introduced the worship of Vishnu and Shiva into the same temples with that of Buddha.[1] The innovation has been perpetuated; and to the present day the statues of these conflicting divinities are to be found within the same buildings: the Dewales of Hinduism are erected within the same inclosure as the Wiharas of the Buddhists; and the Kappoorales of the one religion officiate at their altars, almost beneath the same roof with the priests and neophytes of the other. But beyond this parade of their emblems, the worship of the Hindu deities throughout the Singhalese districts is entirely devoid of the obscenities and cruelty by which it is characterised on the continent of India; and it would almost appear as if these had been discontinued by the Brahmans in compliment to the superior purity of the worship with which their own had become thus fortuitously associated. The exclusive prejudices of caste were at the same remote period partially engrafted on the simpler and more generous discipline of Buddha; and it is only recently that any vigorous exertions have been attempted for their disseverance.

On comparing this system with other prevailing religions which divide with it the worship of the East, Buddhism at once vindicates its own superiority, not only by the purity of its code of morals, but by its freedom from the fanatical intolerance of the Mahometans and its abhorrent rejection of the revolting rites of the Brahmanical faith. But mild and benevolent as are its aspects and design, its theories have failed to realise in practice the reign of virtue which they proclaim. Beautiful as is the body of its doctrines, it wants the vivifying energy and soul which are essential to ensure its ascendancy and power. Its cold philosophy and thin abstractions, however calculated to exercise the faculties of anchorets and ascetics, have proved insufficient of themselves to arrest man in his career of passion and pursuit; and the bold experiment of influencing the heart and regulating the conduct of mankind by the external decencies and the mutual dependencies of morality, unsustained by higher hopes and by a faith that penetrates eternity, has proved in this instance an unredeemed and hopeless failure. The inculcation of the social virtues as the consummation of happiness here and hereafter, suggests an object sufficiently attractive for the bulk of mankind; but Buddhism presents along with it no adequate knowledge of the means which are indispensable for its attainment. In confiding all to the mere strength of the human intellect and the enthusiastic self-reliance and determination of the human heart, it makes no provision for defence against those powerful temptations before which ordinary resolution must give way; and affords no consoling support under those overwhelming afflictions by which the spirit is prostrated and subdued, when unaided by the influence of a purer faith and unsustained by its confidence in a diviner power. From the contemplation of the Buddhist all the awful and unending realities of a future life are withdrawn—his hopes and his fears are at once mean and circumscribed; the rewards held in prospect by his creed are insufficient to incite him to virtue; and its punishments too remote to deter him from vice. Thus, insufficient for time, and rejecting eternity, the utmost triumph of his religion is to live without fear and to die without hope.

Both socially and in its effects upon individuals, the result of the system in Ceylon has been apathy almost approaching to infidelity. Even as regards the tenets of their creed, the mass of the population exhibit the profoundest ignorance and manifest the most irreverent indifference. In their daily intercourse and acts, morality and virtue, so far from being apparent as the rule, are barely discernible as the exception. Neither hopes nor apprehensions have proved a sufficient restraint on the habitual violation of all those precepts of charity and honesty, of purity and truth, which form the very essence of their doctrine; and in proportion as its tenets have been slighted by the people, its priesthood are disregarded, and its temples neglected.

No national system of religion, no prevailing superstition that has ever fallen under my observation presents so dull a level, and is so pre-eminently deficient in popular influences, as Buddhism amongst the Singhalese. It has its multitude of followers, but it is a misnomer to describe them as its votaries, for the term implies a warmth and fervour unknown to a native of Ceylon. He believes, or he thinks he believes, because he is of the same faith with his ancestors; but he looks on the religious doctrines of the various sects which surround him with a stolid indifference which is the surest indication of the little importance which he attaches to his own. The fervid earnestness of Christianity, even in its most degenerate forms, the fanatical enthusiasm of Islam, the proud exclusiveness of Brahma, and even the zealous warmth of other Northern faiths, are all emotions utterly foreign and unknown to the followers of Buddhism in Ceylon.

Yet, strange to tell, under all the icy coldness of this barren system, there burn below the unextinguished fires of another and a darker superstition, whose flames overtop the icy summits of the Buddhist philosophy, and excite a deeper and more reverential awe in the imagination of the Singhalese. As the Hindus in process of time superadded to their exalted conceptions of Brahma, and the benevolent attributes of Vishnu, those dismal dreams and apprehensions which embody themselves in the horrid worship of Shiva, and in invocations to propitiate the destroyer; so the followers of Buddha, unsatisfied with the vain pretensions of unattainable perfection, struck down by their internal consciousness of sin and insufficiency, and seeing around them, instead of the reign of universal happiness and the apotheosis of intellect and wisdom, nothing but the ravages of crime and the sufferings produced by ignorance, have turned with instinctive terror to propitiate the powers of evil, by whom alone such miseries are supposed to be inflicted, and to worship the demons and tormentors to whom their superstition is contented to attribute a circumscribed portion of power over the earth.

DEMON WORSHIP prevailed amongst the Singhalese before the introduction of Buddhism by Mahindo. Some principle akin to it seems to be an aboriginal impulse of uncivilised man in his first and rudest conceptions of religion, engendered, perhaps, by the spectacle of cruelty and pain, the visitations of suffering and death, and the contemplation of the awful phenomena of nature—storms, torrents, volcanoes, earthquakes, and destruction. The conciliation of the powers which inflict such calamities, seems to precede, when it does not supplant, the adoration of the benevolent influence to which belong the creation, the preservation, and the bestowal of happiness on mankind; and in the mind of the native of Ceylon this ancient superstition has maintained its ascendancy, notwithstanding the introduction and ostensible prevalence of Buddhism; for the latter, whilst it admits the existence of evil spirits, has emphatically prohibited their invocation, on the ground that any malignant influence they may exert over man is merely the consequence of his vices, whilst the cultivators of virtue may successfully bid them defiance. The demons here denounced are distinct from a class of demigods, who, under the name of Yakshyos, are supposed to inhabit the waters, and dwell on the sides of Mount Meru, and are distinguished not only for gentleness and benevolence but even by a veneration for Buddha, who, in one of his earlier transmigrations, was himself born under the form of a Yakshyo, and, attended by similar companions, traversed the world teaching righteousness. One section of these demigods, however, the Rakshyos, are fierce and malignant, and in these respects resemble the Yakkas or demons so much dreaded by the Singhalese, and who, like the Ghouls of the Mahometans, are believed to infest the vicinity of graveyards, or, like the dryads and hamadryads of the ancients, to frequent favourite forests and groves, and to inhabit particular trees, whence they sally out to seize on the passer by.[1] The Buddhist priests connive at demon worship because their efforts are ineffectual to suppress it, and the most orthodox Singhalese, whilst they confess its impropriety, are still driven to resort to it in all their fears and afflictions.

Independent of the malignant spirits or Yakkas, who are the authors of indefinite evil, the Singhalese have a demon or Sanne for each form of disease, who is supposed to be its direct agent and inflictor, and who is accordingly invoked for its removal; and others, who delight in the miseries of mankind, are to be propitiated before the arrival of any event over which their pernicious influence might otherwise prevail. Hence, on every domestic occurrence, as well as in every domestic calamity, the services of the Kattadias or devil-priests are to be sought, and their ceremonies performed, generally with observances so barbarous as to be the most revolting evidence still extant of the uncivilised habits of the Singhalese. Especially in cases of sickness and danger, the assistance of the devil-dancer is implicitly relied on: an altar, decorated with garlands, is erected within sight of the patient, and on this an animal, frequently a cock, is to be sacrificed for his recovery. The dying man is instructed to touch and dedicate to the evil spirit the wild flowers, the rice, and the flesh, which have been prepared as the pidaneys or offerings to be made at sunset, at midnight, and the morning; and in the intervals the dancers perform their incantations, habited in masks and disguises to represent the demon which they personate, as the immediate author of the patient's suffering. In the frenzy of these orgies, the Kattadia having feigned the access of inspiration from the spirit he invokes, is consulted by the friends of the afflicted, and declares the nature of his disease, and the probability of its favourable or fatal termination. At sunrise, the ceremony closes by an exorcism chanted to disperse the demons who have been attracted by the rite; the devil-dancers withdraw with the offerings, and sing, as they retire, the concluding song of the ceremony, "that the sacrifice may be acceptable and the life of the sufferer extended."

In addition to this Yakka worship, which is essentially indigenous in Ceylon, the natives practise the invocation of a distinct class of demons, their conceptions of which are evidently borrowed from the debased ceremonies of Hinduism, though in their adoption they have rejected the grosser incidents of its ritual, and replaced them with others less cruel, but by no means less revolting. The Capuas, who perform ceremonies in honour of these strange gods, are of a higher rank than the Kattadias, who conduct the incantations to the Yakkas, and they are more or less connected with the Dewales and temples of Hinduism. The spirits in whose honour these ceremonies are performed, are all foreign to Ceylon. Some, such as Kattregam and Pattine, are borrowed from the mythology of the Brahmans; some are the genii of fire and other elements of the universe, and others are deified heroes; but the majority are dreaded as the inflictors of pestilence and famine, and propitiated by rites to avert the visitations of their malignity.

The ascendancy of these superstitions, and the anomaly of their association with the religion of Buddha, which has taken for its deity the perfection of wisdom and benevolence, present one of the most signal difficulties with which Christianity has had, at all times, to contend in the effort to extend its influences throughout Ceylon. The Portuguese priesthood discovered that, however the Singhalese might be induced to profess the worship of Christ, they adhered with timid tenacity to their ancient demonology. The Dutch clergy, in their reiterated lamentations over the failure of their efforts for conversion, have repeatedly recorded the fact, that however readily the native population might be brought to abjure their belief in the doctrines of Buddha, no arguments or expedients had proved effectual to overcome their terror of the demons, or check their propensity to resort on every emergency to the ceremonies of the Capuas, the dismal rites of the devil-dancers.[1] The Wesleyans, the Baptists, and other missionaries, who in later times have made the hamlets and secluded districts of Ceylon the scene of their unwearied labours, have found, with equal disappointment, that to the present hour the villagers and the peasantry are as powerfully attracted as ever by this strong superstition, bearing on their person the charms calculated to protect them from the evil eye of the demon, consulting the astrologers and the Capuas on every domestic emergency, solemnizing their marriages under their auspices, and requiring their presence at the birth of their children, who, together with their mother, are not unfrequently dedicated to the evil spirits, whom they dread.[2]

As regards Buddhism itself, whilst there is that in the tenets and genius of Brahmanism which proclaims an active resistance to any other form of religion, Christianity in the southern expanse of Ceylon has to encounter an obstacle still more embarrassing in the habitual apathy and listless indifference of the Buddhists. Brahmanism in its constitution and spirit is essentially exclusive and fanatical, jealous of all conflicting faiths, and strongly disposed to persecution. Buddhism, on the other hand, in the strength of its self-righteousness, extends a latitudinarian liberality to every other belief, and exhibits a Laodicean indifference towards its own. Whilst Brahmanism is a science confided only to an initiated priesthood; and the Vedas and the Shastras in which its precepts are embodied are kept with jealousy from the profane eye of the people, Buddhism, rejoicing in its universality, aspires to be the religion of the multitude, throws open its sacred pages without restriction, and encourages their perusal as a meritorious act of devotion. The despotic ministers of Brahma affect to be versed only in arcana and mystery, and to issue their dicta from oracular authority; but the priesthood of Buddha assume no higher functions than those of teachers of ethics, and claim no loftier title than that of "the clergy of reason."[1]

In the character of the Singhalese people there is to be traced much of the genius of their religion. The same passiveness and love of ease which restrain from active exertion in the labours of life, find a counterpart in the adjustment by which virtue is limited to abstinence, and worship to contemplation; with only so much of actual ceremonial as may render visible to the eye what would be otherwise inaccessible to the mind. The same love of repose which renders sleep and insensibility the richest blessings of this life, anticipates torpor, akin to extinction, as the supremest felicity of the next. In common with all other nations they deem some form of religious worship indispensable, but, contrary to the usage of most, they are singularly indifferent as to what that particular form is to be; leaving it passively to be determined by the conjunction of circumstances, the accident of locality, and the influence of friends or worldly prospects of gain. Still, in the hands of the Christian missionary, they are by no means the plastic substance which such a description would suggest—capable of being moulded into any form, or retaining permanently any casual impression—but rather a yielding fluid which adapts its shape to that of the vessel into which it may happen to be poured, without any change in its quality or any modification of its character.

From this unexcitable temperament of the people, combined with the exalted morals which form the articles of their belief, result phenomena which for upwards of three hundred years have more or less baffled the exertions of all who have laboured for the overthrow of their national superstition and the elevation of Christianity in its stead. The precepts of the latter, when offered to the natives apart from the divinity of their origin, present something in appearance so nearly akin to their own tenets that they were slow to discern the superiority. If Christianity requires purity and truth, temperance, honesty and benevolence, these are already discovered to be enjoined with at least equal impressiveness in the precepts of Buddha. The Scripture commandment forbidding murder is supposed to be analogous to the Buddhist prohibition to kill[1]; and where the law and the Gospel alike enforce the love of one's neighbour as the love of one's self, Buddhism insists upon charity as the basis of worship, and calls on its own followers "to appease anger by gentleness, and overcome evil by good."[2]

Thus the outward concurrence of Christianity in those points on which it agrees with their own religion, has proved more embarrassing to the natives than their perplexity as to others in which it essentially differs; till at last, too timid to doubt and too feeble to inquire, they cling with helpless tenacity to their own superstition, and yet subscribe to the new faith simply by adding it on to the old.

Combined with this state of irresolution a serious obstacle to the acceptance of reformed Christianity by the Singhalese Buddhists has arisen from the differences and disagreements between the various churches by whose ministers it has been successively offered to them. In the persecution of the Roman Catholics by the Dutch, the subsequent supercession of the Church of Holland by that of England, the rivalries more or less apparent between the Episcopalians and Presbyterians, and the peculiarities which separate the Baptists from the Wesleyan Methodists—all of whom have their missions and representatives in Ceylon—the Singhalese can discover little more than that they are offered something still doubtful and unsettled, in exchange for which they are pressed to surrender their own ancient superstition. Conscious of their inability to decide on what has baffled the wisest of their European teachers to reconcile, they hesitate to exchange for an apparent uncertainty that which has been unhesitatingly believed by generations of their ancestors, and which comes recommended to them by all the authority of antiquity; and even when truth has been so far successful as to shake their confidence in their national faith, the choice of sects which has been offered to them leads to utter bewilderment as to the peculiar form of Christianity with which they may most confidingly replace it.[1]