Note 1 — Chapter V

The Nats or Dewatas play a conspicuous part in the affairs of this world. Their seats are in the six lower heavens, forming, with the abode of man and the four states of punishment, the eleven seats of passions. But they often quit their respective places, and interfere with the chief events that take place among men. Hence we see them ever attentive in ministering to all the wants of the future Buddha. Besides, they are made to watch over trees, forests, villages, towns, cities, fountains, rivers, &c. These are the good and benevolent Nats. This world is also supposed to be peopled with wicked Nats, whose nature is ever prone to the evil. A good deal of the worship of Buddhists consists in superstitious ceremonies and offerings made for propitiating the wicked Nats, and obtaining favours and temporal advantages from the good ones. Such a worship is universal, and fully countenanced by the talapoins, though in opposition to the real doctrines of genuine Buddhism. All kinds of misfortunes are attributed to the malignant interference of the evil Nats. In cases of severe illness that have resisted the skill of native medical art, the physician gravely tells the patient and his relatives that it is useless to have recourse any longer to medicines, but a conjuror must be sent for to drive out the malignant spirit, who is the author of the complaint. Meanwhile directions are given for the erection of a shed, where offerings intended for the inimical Nat are deposited. A female relative of the patient begins dancing to the sound of musical instruments. The dance goes on, at first in rather a quiet manner, but it gradually grows more animated until it reaches the acme of animal frenzy. At that moment the bodily strength of the dancing lady becomes exhausted; she drops on the ground in a state of apparent faintness. She is then approached by the conjuror, who asks her if the invisible foe has relinquished his hold over the diseased. Being answered in the affirmative, he bids the physician give medicines to the patient, assuring him that his remedies will now act beneficially for restoring the health of the sick, since their action will meet no further opposition from the wicked Nat.

Ignorance brings everywhere superstition in its train. When man is unacquainted with the natural cause that has produced a result, or an effect, which attracts powerfully his mind's attention and affects him to a great degree, he is induced by his own weakness to believe in the agency of some unknown being, to account for the effect that he perceives. He devises the most ridiculous means for expressing his gratitude to his invisible benefactor, if the result be a favourable one; and has recourse to the most extravagant measures to counteract the evil influence of his supposed enemy, if the result be fatal to him. Having once entered into the dark way of superstition, man is hurried on in countless false directions by fear, hope, and other passions, in the midst of the daily occurrence of multifarious and unforeseen events and circumstances. Hence the expression or manifestation of his superstition assumes a variety of forms, and undergoes changes to an extent that baffles every attempt at either counting their numberless kinds or following them up through their ever-changing course. In addition to the stores of superstitions bequeathed by the generation that has preceded him, man has those of his own creation; and the latter, if the thought of his mind and the desires of his heart could be analysed, would be found far exceeding the former in number. Having spent many years in a country where Buddhism has prevailed from time immemorial, and observed the effects of superstition over the people in their daily doings, the writer has come to the conclusion that there is scarcely an action done without the influence of some superstitious motive or consideration. But the most prolific source of superstition is the belief in the existence of countless good and evil Nats, with whom the imagination of Buddhists has peopled this world.

It can scarcely be understood how the followers of an atheistical creed can make, consistently with their opinions, an attempt at prayer. Such an act of devotion implies the belief in a being superior to men, who has a controlling power over them, and in whose hands their destinies are placed. With a believer in God, prayer is a sacred, nay, a natural duty. But such cannot be the case with atheists. Despite the withering and despairing influence of atheism, nothing can possibly obliterate from the conscience and heart of man that inward faith in a supreme being. The pious Thoodzata has in view the attainment of two objects: she prays, without knowing to whom, that by the agency of some one she might obtain the objects of her petition; she is anxious to show her gratitude when she sees that her prayer has been heard. Her faith in the quasi omnipotence of the genii makes her address thanks to them. The Nat is not the person to whom her prayer appears directed, but he is rather a witness of her petition. The Burmese, in general, under difficult circumstances, unforeseen difficulties, and sudden calamities, use always the cry, Phra kaiba—God assist me—to obtain from above assistance and protection. Yet that Phra cannot be their Buddha, though he be in their opinion the Phra par excellence, since they openly declare that he in no way interferes in the management of this world's affairs. Whence that involuntary cry for assistance, but from the innate consciousness that above man there is some one ruling over his destinies? An atheistical system may be elaborated in a school of metaphysics, and forced upon ignorant and unreflecting masses, but practice will ever belie theory. Man, in spite of his errors and follies, is naturally a believing being; his own weakness and multiplied wants ever compel him to have recourse to some great being that can help and assist him, and supply, to a certain extent, the deficiency which, in spite of himself, he is compelled to acknowledge existing in him as a stern and humiliating reality.