Transcriber's Notes

Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. The
many variations in the transcriptions from the Chinese have been
standardised on the basis of the most frequent occurrence. Variations
in hyphenation and accents have also been standardised but all other
spelling and punctuation remains unchanged.

In the quotation:
 "If then this man says, 'Try to make friends with an old woman and
 inquire of her; if then this girl does 'not' make friends with an old
 woman, and inquire of her, and this old woman brings Baga, or Shaêta,
 or Ghnâna, or Fraçpâta, or any of the vegetable purgatives, saying,
 'Try to kill this child;' if then the girl does try to kill the child,
 then the girl, the man, and the old woman are equally criminal."
the 'not' destroys the sense of the passage and has been removed.

Italics are indicated thus _italics_ and superscripts thus ^character.

Footnotes are placed at the end of the book.




                              AN ANALYSIS
                                  OF
                           RELIGIOUS BELIEF.

                                  BY
                          VISCOUNT AMBERLEY.

    "_Ye shall know the Truth, and the Truth shall make you Free._"

                From the late London Edition. Complete.

                            D. M. BENNETT:
               LIBERAL AND SCIENTIFIC PUBLISHING HOUSE.
                     141 EIGHTH STREET, NEW YORK.
                                 1877.




                     AMERICAN PUBLISHER'S PREFACE.


The appearance, a few months ago, of THE ANALYSIS OF RELIGIOUS BELIEF
caused not a little excitement in England, and its introduction into
our country had much the same effect here. While many were more or less
shocked by the Viscount's boldness of language in examining the sources
of the religious creeds of the world, and at the freedom with which he
removed the sacred mask from many antique myths and superstitions, the
thoughtful and the enquiring were furnished with a fund of material for
new thought, and largely-increased facilities for investigating and
comparing the creeds and dogmas which have made up the ruling religious
faiths of mankind.

When the Viscount's high birth is remembered; that he was the son of
Lord John Russell, one of the first and oldest Peers of England; that
he was thus closely connected with the aristocracy of that country;
that he had been carefully nurtured within the fold of the Christian
Church; that he had received the instruction of a pious Christian
mother, from the days of his early childhood, that the influence of
his parents and his early companions was to draw him under the control
of the popular system of religion which rules in his country, it is
not a little remarkable that he had the independence and moral bravery
to come out in opposition to all his near friends, and to avow his
unbelief in a code of ethics and opinions unlike those taught him in
his childhood and youth, an unusual interest attaches to the work which
he produced.

When it is borne in mind that his amiable and sympathetic wife toiled
with him and rendered him essential service in collecting and arranging
the matter for his two volumes; that she was taken from him by the hand
of death before his work was completed; that he also sank under the
hand of disease and passed away while his work was still in the hands
of the printer, it is indeed invested with peculiar interest.

When it is remembered that after his death urgent efforts were made—and
from high sources too—to suppress his work; that the powerful Duke
of Bedford, backed by Lord John Russell himself, tried to buy up the
entire edition issued; it is enough to make every sympathetic and
enquiring person anxious to read the results of his labor of years.

If some of the advanced thinkers of the day find that Viscount
Amberly—as evinced in some of the later chapters of this volume—had not
in all respects evolved in the line of Free-thought so far as they have
done they should remember that he had at least made rapid progress for
the time he had devoted to the pursuit of truth. He was still a young
man at the time of his death, and had it been his lot to have scored
a greater number of years, with the advantage of the experience which
they give, it is very possible his views might have undergone other
modifications.

The London edition was issued in two volumes, 8vo and was necessarily
sold at a large price. This American edition contains the entire work
in one volume and is presented to the public at about one-fifth the
price at which the English edition was sold. It is hoped this feature
will be duly appreciated by the American public.

                                                              D. M. B.
 NEW YORK, March 20th, 1877.




                        ADDRESS TO THE READER.


Ere the pages now given to the public had left the press, the hand that
had written them was cold, the heart—of which few could know the loving
depth—had ceased to beat, the far-ranging mind was forever still, the
fervent spirit was at rest.

Let this be remembered by those who read, and add solemnity to the
solemn purpose of the book.

May those who find in it their most cherished beliefs questioned or
contemned, their surest consolations set at naught, remember that he
had not shrunk from pain and anguish to himself, as one by one he
parted with portions of that faith which in boyhood and early youth had
been the mainspring of his life.

Let them remember that, however many the years granted to him on earth
might have been, his search after truth would have ended only with his
existence; that he would have been the first to call for unsparing
examination of his own opinions, arguments, and conclusions; the first
to welcome any new lights thrown by other workers in the same field on
the mysteries of our being and of the universe.

Let them remember that while he assails much which they reckon
unassailable, he does so in what to him is the cause of goodness,
nobleness, love, truth, and of the mental progress of mankind.

Let them remember that the utterance of that which, after earnest and
laborious thought he deemed to be the truth, was to him a sacred duty;
and may they feel, as he would have felt, the justness of these words
of a good man and unswerving Christian lately passed away: "A man's
charity to those who differ from him upon great and difficult questions
will be in the ratio of his own knowledge of them: the more knowledge,
the more charity."
                                                                F. R.




                             _INSCRIBED,_


_With all reverence and all affection, to the memory of the
ever-lamented wife whose hearty interest in this book was, during
many years of preparatory toil, my best support; whose judgment as to
its merits or its faults would have been my most trusted guide; whose
sympathy my truest encouragement; whose joyous welcome of the completed
work I had long looked forward to as my one great reward: whose nature,
combining in rare union scientific dearness with spiritual depth, may
in some slight degree have left its impress on the page, though far too
faintly to convey an adequate conception of one whose religious zeal in
the cause of truth was rivaled only by the ardor of her humanity and
the abundance of her love._

  RAVENSCROFT,
  _November 1875_.




                          TABLE OF CONTENTS.


                                                                   PAGE.
  GENERAL INTRODUCTION                                                19


                               _BOOK I._

                 EXTERNAL MANIFESTATIONS OF RELIGIOUS
                              SENTIMENT.

  INTRODUCTION TO BOOK I.                                             27


                              FIRST PART.

                    MEANS OF COMMUNICATION UPWARDS.

  CHAP.
  I. CONSECRATED ACTIONS                                              31
  II. CONSECRATED PLACES                                              82
  III. CONSECRATED OBJECTS                                            84
  IV. CONSECRATED PERSONS                                             88
  V. CONSECRATED MEDIATORS                                            99


                             SECOND PART.

                   MEANS OF COMMUNICATION DOWNWARDS.

  CLASSIFICATION                                                     104
  I. HOLY EVENTS                                                     106
  II. HOLY PLACES                                                    126
  III. HOLY OBJECTS                                                  132
  IV. HOLY ORDERS                                                    136
  V. HOLY PERSONS OR PROPHETS                                        154
    SECT. 1. Confucius                                               157
      "   2. Laò-tsé                                                 168
      "   3. Gautama Buddha                                          170
        SUBDIVISION 1. The Historical Buddha                         170
             "      2. The Mythical Buddha                           175
      "   4. Zarathustra                                             182
      "   5. Mahomet                                                 186
      "   6. Jesus Christ                                            199
        SUBDIV'N 1. The Historical Jesus                             201
             "   2. The Mythical Jesus                               216
             "   3. The Ideal Jesus                                  277
             "   4. What did the Jews think of him?                  287
             "   5. What did he think of himself?                    316
             "   6. What did his Disciples think of him?             326
             "   7. What are we to think of him?                     329

  VI. HOLY BOOKS, OR BIBLES                                          369
    SECT. 1. The Thirteen King                                       390
        SUBDIVISION 1. The Lun Yu                                    392
             "      2. The Ta Hëo                                    393
             "      3. The Chung Yung                                394
             "      4. The Works of Măng-tsze                        396
             "      5. The Shoo King                                 403
             "      6. The She King                                  407
             "      7. The Ch'un Ts'ëw                               410
      "   2. Taò-tĕ-Kīng                                             413
             APPENDIX.—Translations of the Taò-tĕ-Kīng, Chapter XXV  423
      "   3. The Veda                                                425
        SUBDIVISION 1. The Sanhitâ                                   430
             "      2. The Brâhmanas                                 443

    SECT. 4. The Tripitaka                                           448
        SUBDIVISION 1. The Vinaya-Pitaka                             451
             "      2. The Sûtra-Pitaka                              467
             "      3. The Abhidharma-Pitaka                         473
             "      4. Theology and Ethics of the Tripitaka          476
      "   5. The Zend-Avesta                                         482
        SUBDIVISION 1. The Five Gâthâs                               484
             "      2. The Yaçna of Seven Chapters                   488
             "      3. Yaçna, Chapter XII                            490
             "      4. The Younger Yaçna, and Vispored               491
             "      5. Vendidad                                      496
             "      6. The Khorda-Avesta, with the Homa Yasht        502
      "   6. The Koran                                               510
      "   7. The Old Testament                                       518
        SUBDIVISION 1. The Historical Books                          530
             "      2. Job, Psalms, Proverbs, and Ecclesiastes       563
             "      3. The Song of Solomon                           569
             "      4. The Prophets                                  569
             "      5. The God of Israel                             590
      "   8. The New Testament                                       604
        SUBDIVISION 1. The Acts of the Apostles                      604
             "      2. The Epistles                                  617
             "      3. The Apocalypse                                634
             "      4. The God of Christendom                        636


                    THE RELIGIOUS SENTIMENT ITSELF.

  VII. THE ULTIMATE ELEMENTS                                         643

  VIII. THE OBJECTIVE ELEMENT                                        649

  IX. THE SUBJECTIVE ELEMENT                                         684

  X. THE RELATION OF THE OBJECTIVE AND SUBJECTIVE ELEMENTS           695

  INDEX                                                              729




                     EXPLANATION OF SHORT TITLES.


In order to avoid encumbering the pages with notes containing the names
of books, many of which would require to be frequently repeated, I
have adopted, in referring to the under-mentioned works, the following
abbreviations:—

 A. B....The Aitareya Brâhmanam of the Rig-Veda. Edited, translated,
 and explained by MARTIN HAUG, Ph.D. Vol. i. Sanscrit text. Vol. ii.
 Translation, with notes. Bombay, 1863.

 A. I. C....An Account of the Island of Ceylon, by ROBERT PERCIVAL,
 Esq., of His Majesty's 19th Regiment of Foot. London, 1803.

 A. M....Antiquities of Mexico (LORD KINGSBOROUGH'S), comprising fac
 similes of Ancient Mexican paintings and hieroglyphics. Together with
 the Monuments of New Spain, by MONS. DUPAIX; with their respective
 scales of measurement and accompanying descriptions. The whole
 illustrated by many valuable inedited manuscripts, by AUGUSTINE AGLIO.
 In 9 vols. London, 1831-48.

 A. N. L....Ante-Nicene Christian Library; translations of the
 Writings of the Fathers down to A.D. 325. Edinburgh: T. & T. CLARK,
 1870, &c.

 A. R....Algic Researches, comprising inquiries respecting the mental
 characteristics of the North American Indians. First Series. Indian
 Tales and Legends. In 2 vols. By HENRY ROWE SCHOOLCRAFT. New York,
 1839.

 Asha....Ashantee and the Gold Coast, by JOHN BEECHAM. London, 1841.

 A. S. L....History of Ancient Sanskrit Literature, by MAX MÜLLER.
 London, 1859.

 As. Re....Researches of the Asiatic Society in Bengal. Calcutta,
 1788-1839.

 Av....Avesta, die Heiligen Schriften der Parsen. Aus dem Grundtexte
 übersetzt, mit steter Rücksicht auf die Tradition. Von Dr. FRIED.
 SPIEGEL. Erster Band. Der Vendidad Leipzig, 1852. Zweiter Band.
 Vispered und Yaçna. Leipzig, 1859. Dritter Band. Khorda-Avesta.
 Leipzig, 1863.

 B. A. U....Bibliotheca Indica. Vol. ii. part iii. The Brihad Âranyaka
 Upanishad, with the Commentary of Sánkara A'cha'rya. Translated from
 the Original Sanskrit by Dr. E. ROER. Calcutta, 1856.

 Bergeron....Voyages faits principalement en Asie, dans les XII^e,
 XIII^e, XIV^e, et XV^e siècles, par Benjamin de Tudèle, Jean du
 Plan-Carpin, N. Ascelin, Guil. de Rubruquis, Marc-Paul, Haiton, Jean
 de Mandeville et Ambroise Contarini; accompagnés de l'Histoire des
 Sarrazins et des Tartares, par P. Bergeron. A la Haye, 1735.

 Bernard....Recueil des Voyages au Nord. Amsterdam, chez JEAN FRÉDÉRIC
 BERNARD, 1727.

 Bh. G.....The Bhagavat-Gíta; or a Discourse between Krishna and Arjuna
 on Divine Matters. A Sanskrit Philosophical Poem; translated, with
 copious notes, an Introduction on Sanskrit Philosophy, and other
 matters, by J. COCKBURN THOMSON. Hertford, 1855.

 Bib....APOLLODORI Bibliotheca.

 B. T....Buddhism in Tibet, by EMIL SCHLAGINTWEIT, LL.D. Leipzig and
 London, 1863.

 C. B. A....A Catena of Buddhist Scriptures from the Chinese, by SAM'L
 BEAL. London, 1871.

 C. C....The Chinese Classics, with a translation, critical and
 exegetical notes, prolegomena, and copious indexes, by JAMES LEGGE,
 D.D. In 7 vols. Vol. i. Confucian Analects, the Great Learning, and
 the Doctrine of the Mean. Vol. ii. Works of Mencius. Vol. iii. 2
 parts, The Shoo King. Vol. iv. 2 parts, The She King. Vol. v. the
 Ch'un Ts'ëw. London, 1861, &c. (In course of publication.)

 Ceylon....Ceylon, an Account of the Island, physical, historical,
 and topographical, with notices of its natural history, antiquities,
 and productions, by Sir JAMES EMERSON TENNENT, K.C.S., LL.D., &c.
 London, 1859.

 C. G....A new and accurate Description of the Coast of Guinea,
 divided into the Gold, the Slave, and the Ivory Coasts. Written
 originally in Dutch, by WILLIAM BOSMAN. The 2d edition. London, 1721.

 Chan. Up....Bibliotheca Indica, Nos. 78 and 181. The Chándogya
 Upanishad of the Săma Veda, with extracts from the Commentary of
 Sákara A'cha'rya. Translated from the original Sanskrit by RÁJENDRÁLA
 MITRA. Calcutta. 1862.

 Chinese....The Chinese: a general Description of China and its
 Inhabitants, by JOHN FRANCIS DAVIS, Esq., F.R.S. A new edition.
 London, 1844.

 Chips....Chips from a German Workshop, by MAX MÜLLER, M.A. 4 vols.
 London, 1867-75.

 C. N. E....Historia General de las Cosas de Nueva España, que en doce
 libros y dos volumes escribió el R. P. FR. BERNARDINO DE SAHAGUN, de
 la Observancia de San Francisco, y uno de los primeros predicadores
 del Santo Evangelio en aquellas regiones. Dala a luz con notas y
 supplementos, CARLOS MARIA DE BUSTAMANTE. Mexico, 1829.

 C. O.....China Opened, by the Rev. CHARLES GÜTZLAFF, revised by the
 Rev. ANDREW REID, D.D. In 2 vols. London, 1838.

 C. R....Primera Parte de los "Commentaries Reales, que tratan del
 Origen de los Yncas," Reyes que fueron del Peru, de su idolatria,
 leyes, y govierno en paz y en guerra; de sus vidas y conquistas, y de
 toto lo que fue aquel Imperio y su Republica, antes que los Españoles
 passan a el. Escrito por el Ynca GARCILASSO DE LA VEGA, natural del
 Cozco, y Capitan de su Magestad. Lisbon, 1609.

 Dervishes...The Dervishes; or Oriental Spiritualism, by JOHN P.
 BROWN. London, 1868.

 E. M....Eastern Monachism, by ROBERT SPENCE HARDY. London, 1850.

 E. Y....Eleven Years in Ceylon, by Major FORBES, 78th Highlanders.
 London, 1840.

 F. G....Die fünf Gâthâ's, oder Sammlungen von Liedern und Sprüchen
 ZARATHUSTRA'S, seiner Jünger und Nachfolger. Herausgegeben, übersetzt
 und erklärt von Dr. MARTIN HAUG. Erste Abtheilung. Die erste Sammlung
 (Gâthâ ahunavaiti) enthaltend. Leipzig, 1858. Zweite Abtheilung. Die
 vier übrigen Sammlungen enthaltend. Nebst einer Schlussabhandlung.
 Leipzig, 1860.

 Gaudama....The Life, or Legend of Gaudama, the Buddha of the Burmese,
 with annotations. The ways to Neibban, and notice on the Phongyies, or
 Burmese Monks, by the Rt. Rev. P. BIGANDET. Rangoon, 1866.

 G. d. M....C. G. A. OLDENDORP'S Geschichte der Mission der
 evangelischen Brüder auf den Caraibischen Inseln St. Thomas, St.
 Croix, und St. Jean. Barby, 1777.

 H. B. I....Introduction a l'Histoire du Buddhisme Indien, par E.
 BURNOUF. Tome premier. Paris, 1844.

 H. G....DAVID CRANZ. Histoire von Grönland. Nürnberg und Leipzig,
 1782.

 H. I....Historia natural y moral de las Indias, en que se tratan las
 cosas notables del ciclo, y elementos, metales, plantas, y animales
 dellas; y los ritos, y ceremonias, leyes, y govierno, y guerras de los
 Indios. Compuesta por el Pardre JOSEPH DE ACOSTA, Religioso de la
 Compañia de Jesus. Madrid, 1608.

 H. N. S....Histoire naturelle et politique du Royaume de Siam, par
 NICHOLAS GERVAISE. Paris, 1688.

 H. R. C....An Historical Relation of the Island of Ceylon in the East
 Indies, together with an account of the detaining in captivity the
 Author and divers other Englishmen now living there, and of the
 Author's miraculous escape, by ROBERT KNOX, a captive there nearly
 twenty years. London, 1681.

 Ic. Ch....Iconographie Chrétienne. Histoire de Diau, par M. DIDRON.
 Paris, 1843.

 K.....The Koran, translated from the Arabic, the Suras arranged in
 chronological order; with notes and index, by the Rev. J. M. RODWELL,
 M.A. London and Edinburgh, 1871.

 Kamtschatka....GEORGE WILHELM STELLER'S Beschreibung von dem Lande
 Kamtschatka, dessen Einwohnern, deren Sitten, Namen, Lebensart und
 verchiedenen Gewohnheiten. Frankfurt und Leipzig, 1774.

 K. N....The Kafirs of Natal, by J. SHOOTER. London and Guildford,
 1857.

 L. L. M....Das Leben und die Lehre des Mohammad, nach bisher
 grösstentheils unbenutzten Quellen. Bearbeitet von A. SPRENGER. 3
 vols. Berlin, 1869.

 Lotos....Le Lotus de la Bonne Loi, traduit du Sanskrit, accompagné
 d'un commentaire, et de vingt-et-un mémoires relatifs au Buddhisme,
 par M. E. BURNOUF. Paris, 1852.

 L. T....LAÒ-TSÉ Taò-tĕ-Kīng. Der Weg zur Tugend. Aus dem Chinesischen
 übersetzt und erklärt von REINHOLD VON PLÄNCKNER. Leipzig, 1870.

 Manu....Institutes of Hindu Law, or the Ordinances of MENU, according
 to the Gloss of CULLÚCA. Comprising the Indian system of duties,
 religious and civil. Verbally translated from the original, with
 a preface, by Sir WILLIAM JONES. A new edition, collated with the
 Sanskrit text, by GRAVES CHAMNEY HAUGHTON, M.A., F.R.S., &c. London,
 1825.

 M. B....Manual of Buddhism, by R. SPENCE HARDY. London, 1860.

 M. d'O....Les Moines d'Occident depuis Saint Benoit jusqu'a Saint
 Bernard. Par le Comte de MONTALEMBERT. In 5 vols. Paris et Lyon, 1868.

 Misc. Essays....Miscellaneous Essays, by H. T. COLEBROOKE. 2 vols.
 London, 1837. (The only complete edition, however, is the one
 published in 3 vols., London, 1873.)

 M. N. W....The Myths of the New World; a Treatise on the Symbolism
 and Mythology of the red race of America, by DANIEL G. BRINTON, A.M.,
 M.D. New York, 1868.

 N. A....An Account of the Native Africans in the neighborhood of
 Sierra Leone, by THOMAS WINTERBOTTOM. 2 vols. London, 1803.

 N. F....Histoire et Description générale de la Nouvelle France,
 avec le journal historique d'un voyage fait par ordre du Roi dans
 l'Amérique Septentrionale. Par le P. DE CHARLEVOIX, de la Compagnie de
 Jésus 3 Vols. Paris, 1744.

 N. M. E....A Narrative of Missionary Enterprises in the South Sea
 Islands, with remarks upon the natural history of the Islands, origin,
 languages, traditions, and usages of the inhabitants, by the Rev. JOHN
 WILLIAMS. London. 1837.

 N. S. W....An account of the English Colony in New South Wales,
 from its first settlement in January, 1788, to August, 1801, by
 Lieutenant-Colonel COLLINS, of the Royal Marines. London, 1804.

 N. Y....Nineteen years in Polynesia: Missionary Life, Travels, and
 Researches in the Islands of the Pacific, by the Rev. GEORGE TURNER.
 London, 1861.

 N. Z....New Zealand and its Aborigines, by WILLIAM BROWN. London,
 1845.

 O-kee-pa.... O-kee-pa: A Religious Ceremony; and other customs of the
 Mandans, by GEORGE CATLIN. London, 1867.

 O. P....The Speculations on Metaphysics, Polity, and Morality of
 "the Old Philosopher," LAU-TSZE, translated from the Chinese, with an
 Introduction, by JOHN CHALMERS, A. M. London, 1868.

 O. S. T....Original Sanskrit Texts on the origin and history of
 the people of India, their Religion and Institutions. Collected,
 translated, and illustrated by J. MUIR, D.C.L., LL.D. Volume First.
 Mythical and Legendary Accounts of the Origin of Caste, with an
 inquiry into its existence in the Vedic age. 2d edition. London, 1868.
 Volume Second. Inquiry whether the Hindus are of Trans-Himalayan
 Origin, and akin to the Western branches of the Indo-European Race.
 2d edition. London, 1871. Volume Third. The Vedas: opinions of their
 authors and of later Indian writers on their origin, inspiration, and
 authority. 2d edition. London, 1868. Volume Fourth. Comparison of the
 Vedic with the later representations of the principal Indian deities.
 2d edition. London, 1873. Volume Fifth. Contributions to a Cosmogony,
 Mythology, Religious Ideas, Life and Manners of the Indians in the
 Vedic age. London, 1870.

 P. A....An Examination of the Pali Buddhistical Annals, by the
 Honorable GEORGE TURNOUR, of the Ceylon Civil Service. [From the
 Journal of the Asiatic Society for July 1837.]

 P. A. B....Die Propheten des Alten Bundes, erklärt von HEINRICH
 EWALD. Zweite Ausgabe in drei Bänden. Erster Band. Jesaja mit den
 übrigen älteren Propheten. Göttingen, 1867. Zweiter Band. Jermja und
 Hezequiel mit ihren Zeitgenossen. Göttingen, 1868. Dritter Band. Die
 jüngsten Propheten des Alten Bundes mit den Büchern Barukh und Daniel.
 Göttingen, 1868.

 Parsees....Essays on the Sacred Language, Writings, and Religion of
 the Parsees, by MARTIN HAUG, Ph.D. Bombay, 1862.

 Picard....The Ceremonies and Religious Customs of the various Nations
 of the known World, by Mr. BERNARD PICARD. Faithfully translated into
 English by a gentleman. London, 1733.

 Popol Vuh....Popol Vuh.—Le Livre Sacré et les Mythes de l'Antiquité
 Américaine, avec les livres héroiques et historiques des Quichés.
 Texte Quiché et traduction Française en regard &c., &c. Composé sur
 des documents originaux et inédits, par l'Abbé BRASSEUR DE BOURBOURG.
 Paris, 1861.

 R. B....Die Religion des Buddha und ihre Entstehung, von KARL
 FRIEDRICH KÖPPON. Erster Band. Die Religion des Buddha und ihre
 Entstehung. Berlin, 1857. Zweiter Band. Die Lamaische Hierarchie und
 Kirche. Berlin, 1859.

 Rel. of Jews....The Book of the Religion, Ceremonies, and Prayers
 of the Jews, as practiced in their synagogues and Families on all
 Occasions; on their Sabbath and other Holidays throughout the year.
 Translated immediately from the Hebrew, by GAMALIEL BEN PEDAZUR, Gent.
 London, 1738.

 R. I....Die Religiösen, Politischen, und Socialen Ideen der
 Asiatischen Culturvölker und der Aegypter, in ihrer historischen
 Entwickelung, dargestellt von CARL TWESTEN. Herausgegeben von Prof.
 Dr. M. LAZARUS. 2 vols. Berlin, 1872.

 Roer....Bibliotheca Indica, Nos. 1 to 4. The first two Lectures of
 the Rig-Veda-Sanhitâ. Edited by Dr. E. ROER. Calcutta, 1848.

 R. S. A....The Religious System of the Amazulu, by the Rev. Canon
 CALLAWAY, M.D. Part i. Unkulunkulu; or the Tradition of Creation
 as existing among the Amazulu and other tribes of South Africa, in
 their own words, with a translation into English, and notes. Part
 ii. Amatongo, or Ancestor-Worship. Part iii. Izinyanga Zokubula, or
 Divination. Natal, &c., 1868-70.

 R. T. R. P....Rgya Tehér Rol Pa, ou Développement des Jeux, contenant
 l'histoire du Bouddha Cakya-Mouni, traduit sur la version Tibétaine du
 Bkah Hgyour, et revu sur l'original Sanscrit (Lalitavistara) par PH.
 ED. FOUCAUX. Première Partie. Texte Tibétain. Paris, 1847. Deuxième
 Partie. Traduction Française. Paris, 1848.

 R. V. S....Rig-Veda-Sanhitâ. The Sacred Hymns of the Brahmans,
 translated and explained by F. MAX MÜLLER, M.A., LL.D. Vol. i. Hymns
 to the Maruts or the Storm-Gods. London, 1869.

 S. A....Savage Africa; the Narrative of a Tour in Equatorial,
 South-Western, and North-Western Africa, by W. WINWOOD READE. London,
 1863.

 Sale....The Koran, commonly called the Alcoran of MOHAMMED;
 translated into English immediately from the original Arabic. With
 explanatory notes, taken from the most approved Commentators. To which
 is prefixed a preliminary discourse, by GEORGE SALE, Gent. A new
 edition, with a memoir of the translator, and with various readings
 and illustrative notes from Savary's version of the Koran. London,
 1867.

 S. L....A Voyage to the River Sierra Leone, on the Coast of Africa.
 by JOHN MATTHEWS, Lieutenant in the Royal Navy; during his residence
 in that country in the years 1785, 1786, and 1787. London, 1791.

 S. L. A....Savage Life and Scenes in Australia and New Zealand, by
 GEORGE FRENCH ANGAS. London, 1847.

 Ssabismus....Die Ssabier und der Ssabismus, von Dr D. CHWOLSOHN.
 Band I. Die Entwickelung der Begriffe Ssabier und Ssabismus und die
 Geschichte der harrânischen Ssabier, oder der Syro-hellenistischen
 Heiden im nördlichen Mesopotamien und in Bagdâd, zur Zeit des
 Chalifats. Band II. Orientalische Quellen zur Geschichte der Ssabier
 und des Ssabismus. St. Petersburg, 1856.

 S. V....Die Hymen des Sâma-Veda, herausgegeben, übersetzt und mit
 Glossar versehen, von THEODORE BENFEY. Leipzig, 1848.

 T. R. A. S....Transactions of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great
 Britain and Ireland. London, 1827-35.

 T. T. K....Laò-tsé's Taò Tĕ Kīng. Aus dem Chinesischen ins Deutsche
 übersetzt, eingeleitet und commentirt, von VICTOR VON STRAUSS.
 Leipzig, 1870.

 V. G....Voyage du Chevalier DES MARCHAIS en Guinée, Isles voisines,
 et à Cayenne, fait en 1725.

 Viti....Viti: An Account of a Government Mission to the Vitian or
 Fijian Islands in the years 1860-61, by BERTHOLD SEEMANN, Ph.D.,
 F.L.S., F.R.G.S. Cambridge, 1862.

 Wassiljew....Der Buddhismus, seine Dogmen, Geschichte und Litteratur,
 von W. WASSILJEW. Erster Theil. Allgemeine Uebersicht. Aus dem
 Russischen übersetzt. St. Petersburg 1860.

 W. E....The World Encompassed, by Sir FRANCIS DRAKE, 1577-80.
 Written by FRANCIS FLETCHER; collated with an unpublished MS. Edited
 with Appendices and Introduction by W. S. W. VAUX. 8vo, map. London,
 Hakluyt Society, 1855.

 Wheel....The Wheel of the Law. Buddhism illustrated from Siamese
 sources by the Modern Buddhist, a Life of Buddha, and an account of
 the Phrabat, by HENRY ALABASTER, Esq. London, 1871.

 Wilson....Rig-Veda-Sanhitâ. Translated from the original Sanskrit,
 by H. H. WILSON, M.A., F.R.S. Vol. i. The first Ashtaka, or Book, of
 the Rig-Veda. 2d edition. London, 1866. Vol. ii. The second Ashtaka.
 London, 1854. Vol, iii. The third and fourth Ashtakas. London, 1857.
 Vol. iv. The fifth Ashtaka. Edited by E. B. COWELL, M. A. London, 1866.

 W. u. T....Der Weise und der Thor. Aus dem Tibetischen übersetzt und
 mit dem Originaltexte herausgegeben von I. J. SCHMIDT. St. Petersburg,
 1843.

 W. W....Works by the Late HORACE HAYMAN WILSON, 12 vols. London,
 1862-71.

 Y....Commentaire sur le Yaçna, l'un des Livres Religieux des Parses;
 ouvrage contenant le texte Zend expliqué pour la première fois; les
 variantes des quatre manuscrits de la Bibliothèque Royale; et la
 version Sanscrite inédite de Nériosengh, par EUGÈNE BURNOUF. Tome i.
 Paris, 1833. Tome ii. Paris, 1835.

 Z. A....Zend Avesta, Ouvrage de Zoroastre, traduit en François sur
 l'original Zend, avec des remarques; et accompagné de plusieurs
 traités propres a éclaircir les matières qui en sont l'objet, par M.
 ANQUETIL DU PERRON. 3 vols. Paris, 1771.




                   AN ANALYSIS OF RELIGIOUS BELIEF.




                        _GENERAL INTRODUCTION._


Human nature, among all the phenomena it offers to the curious
inquiries of the student, presents none of more transcendent interest
than the phenomenon of Religion. Pervading the whole history of mankind
from the very earliest ages of which we have any authentic knowledge up
to the present day; exercising on the wild and wandering tribes, which
seem to have divided the earth among them in those primitive times, an
influence scarcely less profound than it has ever exercised on the most
polite and cultivated nations of the modern world; leading now to peace
and now to war; now to the firmest of alliances, now to the bitterest
enmities; uniting some in the bonds of a love so enduring as to outlast
and put to shame the fleeting unions of earthly passion; separating
others, even when every motive of interest and natural affection
conspired to unite them, so completely as to impel them to deliver
each other up to the ghastliest tortures; Religion deserves a foremost
place—if not the foremost place of all—among the emotions which have in
their several ways affected, modified, and controlled the current of
human events.

Forming, as it does, so large an element in the constitution of our
complex nature; and playing so vast a part in guiding our actions,
Religion must well deserve to be made the subject of philosophical
inquiry. If we can by any scientific means discover its origin, lay
bare its true character to the gaze of students, and estimate the
value of its pretensions to be in possession of truths of equal, if
not superior, authority to those of either natural or moral science,
we shall have performed a task which may not be wholly useless or
altogether uninstructive.

Our first business, in such an inquiry as this, should be to
determine the method on which it ought to be conducted. In analyzing
the religious systems of the world, the question of method is
all-important. Indeed, it will be abundantly evident in the course of
the ensuing investigations that the conclusions reached by those who
have cultivated this field of knowledge have often been unsound, simply
because they have failed to pursue the only proper method. Nothing
can be easier, for instance, than to construct elaborate systems of
religious philosophy, the several parts of which hang so well together
that we find it; difficult to urge any solid objection against them,
while yet the whole edifice rests upon so insecure a foundation that
at the least touch of its lowest stones it will fall in ruins to the
ground. This too common mistake arises from the fact that the first
principles of the system are assumed without adequate warrant, and will
not bear examination. Half, if not many more than half, the common
errors of believers in the various current creeds are due to a similar
cause. These persons start from some principle which they conceive to
be indisputable, and proceed to draw inferences from it with the most
complete confidence. An extreme instance of this is mentioned by Dr.
Sprenger, who was asked by a Musselman how he could disbelieve the
religion of Islam, seeing that Mahomet's name was written on the gates
of paradise. In a less palpable form, the same mode of reasoning is
constantly adopted among ourselves. Either we do not take the trouble
to submit the evidence of the facts upon which we erect our arguments
to a sufficiently rigorous scrutiny, or we fail to perceive that the
axioms we take for granted are in reality neither self-evident, as our
system requires, nor capable of any satisfactory demonstration.

Another and perhaps scarcely a less common kind of error arising
from defective method is a failure to distinguish between adequate
and inadequate evidence of religious truth. A sound and exhaustive
method would not fail to disclose, if not what kind of evidence is
sufficient, at least what kind of evidence is insufficient, to prove
our doctrines. It is plain that if we should find arguments of the
same character used by the adherents of different creeds to prove
contradictory propositions, we should be forced to dismiss such
arguments as of comparatively little value. Supposing, for example,
that a Hebrew, desirous of proving the preëminence of the Jews over
the Gentiles, should rely for his justification on the miraculous
deliverance of the ancient Israelites from the Egyptians, and on their
subsequent special protection by the Deity, his argument, however
apparently conclusive, would be considerably weakened if it were found
that the annals of other nations contained similar tales evincing a
similar exclusive care for their welfare on the part of their local
divinities. Or if we should claim for our own school the advantage
of being supported by the authority of a long succession of able,
wise, and virtuous men, fully competent to judge of its truth, yet if
our adversaries can produce an equally imposing list of authorities
against us, we shall have gained but little by our mode of reasoning.
These one-sided ways of proving the exclusive claims of a particular
creed are as if a person should maintain the vast superiority of
his countrymen over foreigners by a reference to the battles they
had won, the territory they had conquered, and the bravery they had
displayed; forgetful to inquire whether there were not other nations
which had gained victories equally transcendent, made conquests equally
extensive, and evinced a heroism equally admirable.

These blunders, it may be objected, do not arise exclusively from a
faulty method. It is true that they have a deeper source, yet, if a
correct method were pursued they would be avoided. Hence the paramount
importance of fixing upon one which shall not be likely to lead us
astray.

Now, the method which in the natural sciences, and in the science of
language, has led to such vast results, may be, and ought to be pursued
here. This method is that of comparison.

When the philologist is desirous of discovering what elements, if
any, a group of languages possesses in common, and what therefore may
be considered as its fundamental stock, or essence, he compares them
with one another. When the naturalist wishes to arrive at an accurate
knowledge of the conformation, habits, or character of any class of
animals, he can only do so by a comparison of different members of that
class. How misleading our conclusions frequently are in matters like
these when they are not based upon a sufficiently wide comparison, will
be familiar to all. And though the analogy between these sciences and
religion is far from precise, yet no good reason can be assigned why
a method, which has been so successful in one case, should be totally
neglected in the latter. Nor is it enough to say that this method is
capable of application to the subject in hand. Religion, owing to
certain characteristics which will now be explained, lends itself with
peculiar facility to an inquiry thus conducted.

A merely superficial and passing glance at the phenomena presented to
us by the history and actual condition of the world brings clearly to
light two facts:

1. The absolute, or all but absolute universality of some kind of
religious perception or religious feeling.

2. The countless variety of forms under which that feeling has made its
appearance.

History and the works of travelers, amply prove that no considerable
nation has ever been without religion, and that if it has ever been
wanting, it has only been among the rudest savages, whose mental and
moral condition was too low to be capable of any but the most obvious
impressions of sense. Equally indubitable is the second proposition. We
are acquainted with no period in which each country did not possess its
own special variety of religious doctrine; we are acquainted with none
in which there were not many and wide divergences within the bosom of
each country among individuals, among sects, and among churches.

In this universality of a certain sentiment, accompanied by this
variety of modes, we have at least a possible distinction between
the Substance and the Form, between the universal emotion known as
Religion, and the local or temporary coloring it may happen to assume.

It will be convenient if we call the substance by the name of FAITH,
and the form by that of BELIEF. The use of these terms in these senses
is no doubt slightly arbitrary, yet the shade of difference in their
ordinary meaning is sufficient to justify it. Faith is a term of large
and general signification, referring rather to the feelings than the
reason; whereas Belief generally implies the intellectual adoption of
some definite proposition, capable of distinct statement in words.

The importance of the comparative method in the process of sifting,
classifying, and ordering the elements of these respective spheres
will now be apparent. For it is only by a comparison of the varieties
of Belief that we can hope to arrive at an acquaintance with Faith.
Setting one system beside another, carefully observing wherein they
differ and wherein they agree, we may at length hope to discover what
elements, if any, are to be set down to the account of Faith, and what
other elements to that of Belief. Even after a full comparison there
will still be considerable danger that we may mistake tenets which are
widely held, but not universal, for primordial conceptions of the human
mind. Without such a comparison, we should most undoubtedly do so, for
we are ever unwilling to recognize how wide are the limits of variation
of which the opinions and sentiments of men are capable.

Should we, however, succeed in eliminating by our analysis all that is
local, and all that is temporary, we shall possess, in what remains to
us after this process, a universal truth of human nature. Observe that
I speak here of a truth of human nature as distinguished from a truth
of external nature. The one does not of necessity imply the other, for
it is conceivable that men might universally entertain certain hopes,
fears, aspirations, or convictions which were wholly groundless; the
supposed objects of which had no existence whatever beyond the mind
that entertained them. In the present case, then, all that the most
exhaustive comparison could do would be to lead us up to the scientific
fact, that there is in human beings an irresistible tendency towards
certain sentiments of a spiritual kind. Whether those sentiments can be
the foundation of any rational conviction it is unable to tell us.

This question, however, is fully as important as the other, and I do
not propose to pass it over in silence. It will be one object of our
investigation to discover how far we are entitled to treat truths of
human nature as identical with objective truths. If we are obliged to
confess that no inference can be drawn from the one to the other,
then it will be plain that Faith, however profoundly implanted in our
hearts, does not convey to us any assurance of a single religious
truth; for the impressions which we call our Faith may be as purely
illusory as the fancies of delirium, or the images of our dreams.
If, on the other hand, an internal sentiment may be accepted, not so
much as a basis for truth, but as itself true; as leading, and not
misleading us; then we must further examine what are the truths which
are in a manner contained in Faith, and of which Faith is the warrant.

The first Book, therefore, will deal mainly with Belief. Its object
will be, by a comparison of some of the various creeds that are, or
have been, accepted by men, to discover the general characteristics of
Belief, and to separate these from the more special and distinctive
elements peculiar to given times, districts, and races. These general
characteristics will, however, belong exclusively to the region of
Belief, and not to that of Faith. In other words, they will have no
title to a place in a Universal Religion.

In the second Book we shall proceed to investigate the nature of Faith.
We shall endeavor to lay bare the foundation of the vast superstructure
of Theology and Ritual erected by the piety of the human race. We
shall seek to discover, if that be possible, the element of unity amid
so much variety, of permanence amid so much change. And should we be
successful in the search, we shall be in a position, if not absolutely
to solve, at least to attempt the solution of the great problem which
ever has interested, and ever must interest mankind: Is there any such
thing as positive truth in the sphere of Religion? And if so, what
is it? Or are the human faculties strictly limited to that species
of knowledge which is acquired through the medium of the senses, and
doomed, in all spiritual things, to be the victims of endless longings
for which there is no satisfaction, and of perpetual questionings to
which there is no response?




                             INTRODUCTION.


Religious Feeling, like all other human emotions, makes itself
objectively known to us by its manifestations. With its subjective
character we are not concerned, our business in the present book being
to treat it merely as an objective phenomenon. Thus regarded, its
manifestations appear extremely various, but on closer examination they
will be found to spring from a common principle. This principle is the
desire felt by the human race in general to establish a relationship
between itself and those superhuman or supernatural powers upon whose
will it supposes the course of nature and the well-being of men to be
dependent. Were it not for this desire, the Religious Idea—if I may
venture by this term to denominate the original sentiment which is
the beginning of positive religion—might remain locked up for ever
in the breast of each individual who felt it. But there is innate in
human beings—arriving like wanderers in the midst of a world they
cannot understand—an overpowering wish to enter into some sort of
communication with the mysterious agencies of whose extraordinary force
they are continually conscious, but which appear to be hidden from
their observation in impenetrable darkness.

Any man who seems able to give information as to the nature of these
agencies; who can declare their wishes with regard to the conduct of
men; who can assert, with apparent authority, their determination to
reward certain kinds of actions, and to punish others, is listened to
with avidity; and if he is believed to speak truly his counsels are
followed. Any tradition which is held to make known the proper manner
of approaching these great powers is devoutly conserved, and becomes
the foundation of the conduct of many generations. Any writing which is
consecrated by popular belief as either emanating directly from these
powers, or as having been composed under their authority and at their
dictation, is regarded with profound reverence; and no one is allowed
to question either its statements of fact or its injunctions. What are
the particular characteristics which enable either men, traditions, or
writings to acquire so extraordinary an authority, it is difficult, if
not impossible, to say. Some approach to a reply may be made in the
course of the inquiry, but much will still remain unaccounted for: one
of those ultimate secrets of our nature which admit of no complete
discovery. Certain it is, however, that this passionate longing
to enter into some kind of relation with the unknown receives its
satisfaction in the earliest stages of human society.

Man, isolated, fearful, struck with wonder at his own existence, craves
to become acquainted with the Divine will, to hear the accents of the
Divine voice, to offer up his petitions to those higher beings who are
able to grant them, and to offer them up in such a manner that they may
be willing as well as able. Impelled by this craving, the Religious
Idea passes out of its condition of vague emotion into that of positive
opinion. It becomes manifest, or, if I may use an appropriate image,
incarnate.

The means by which the wished-for intercourse between man and the
higher powers is effected are obviously twofold: such as convey
information from the worshipers to their deities, and such as convey it
from the deities back to their worshipers. In other words they might
be described as serving for communication upwards, or communication
downwards; from mankind to God, or from God to mankind. In the former
case human beings are the agents; in the latter the patients. In
the former, they consciously and intentionally place themselves, or
endeavor to place themselves, in correspondence with the unseen powers;
in the latter, they simply receive the injunctions, reproofs, or other
intimations with which those powers may think fit to favor them.

The methods by which this correspondence is sought to be effected are
very various. Let us take first those which carry the thoughts of men's
hearts upwards.

1. The earliest, simplest, and most universal method is the performance
of certain solemnities of a regularly recurrent kind, which, as
expressive of their object, I will term _consecrated actions_. Such
actions are prayer, praise, sacrifice, ceremonies and rites, offerings,
and, in short, all the numerous external acts comprehended under the
term Worship.

2. The second is the consecration of distinct places for the purpose
of carrying on such worship, or otherwise approaching the Deity more
closely and solemnly than can be done on common and unsanctified
ground. These I term _consecrated places_.

3. Thirdly, we have a large class of objects dedicated expressly to
religious purposes. Such are votive offerings of all kinds; pictures,
statues, vestments, gifts bestowed on the priesthood for employment in
Divine worship, or whatever else the piety of the devotees of any deity
may induce them to withdraw from their own consumption, and set apart
for his service. These are _consecrated objects_.

4. Devoutly disposed persons seek to enter into a more than commonly
direct relation with their god by dedication of their own persons to
him, such dedication being signified by some special characteristics
in their mode of life. Such are ascetics of all descriptions, whether
they be known as Essenes, Nazarites, Bonzes, monks, or any other term.
I describe them henceforward as _consecrated persons_.

5. Lastly, we have a class of men who are also consecrated, but who
differ from the preceding in that the object of their consecration
is not personal but social. They are devoted to the service of the
deity not in order that they individually may enter into more intimate
relations with him, but that they may carry on the needful intercourse
between the community at large and its gods. To emphasize this
distinction, I call them _consecrated mediators_.

The second great division of our subject is that which treats of the
several modes by which divine ideas are carried downwards. And here we
will follow a classification corresponding as nearly as possible to
that adopted in the preceding section.

1. First, then, the Deity conveys his will or his intention through
events; such as omens, auguries, miracles, dreams, and many other
phenomena. All these may be termed _holy events_.

2. Secondly, there are certain spots which are either favorable to the
reception of supernatural communications, or have on some occasion
been the scene of such a communication, which we will call _holy
places_.

3. Thirdly, certain objects are held to possess mysterious powers, as
that of healing disease. Relics, articles that have been used by holy
men, and such like remains, come within this category. They may be
described as _holy objects_.

4. All communities above the very lowest employ professional persons
for the express object of conveying to them the will of their Deity, or
discovering his intentions as to the future. The most usual name for
such functionaries is that of Priest, and for the sake of embracing all
ecclesiastical or quasi-ecclesiastical classes under one designation I
shall call them _holy orders_.

5. The possession of a professional character distinguishes them from
the next class, who serve as the fifth channel between God and man, but
who differ from the fourth in the circumstance of being self-appointed.
Prophets (for it is of these I am speaking) receive no regular
consecration; nevertheless the part they have played in the religious
history of mankind has been of such transcendent importance that they
deserve to be placed in a class apart under the title of _holy persons_.

6. Sixthly, there remains a mode of communication from God to man to
which there is nothing corresponding on our side; it is that of written
documents. Man has never (so far as I am aware) imagined himself
capable of sending a letter or written composition of any kind to God;
but God is supposed, through the medium of human instruments, to have
embodied his thoughts in writing for the benefit of the human race. The
result is the very important category of _holy books_.




            EXTERNAL MANIFESTATIONS OF RELIGIOUS SENTIMENT.




                              FIRST PART.

                   _MEANS OF COMMUNICATION UPWARDS._




                              CHAPTER I.

                         CONSECRATED ACTIONS.


Adoration, or worship, is a direct result of one of the most universal
of human instincts. After the instincts which impel us to provide for
the necessities of the body, and to satisfy the passion of love, there
is perhaps none more potent or more general. Men are driven to pray by
an irresistible impulse. Differing widely as to the object of worship;
differing not less widely as to its mode; differing in a minor degree
as to the blessings it secures; they are agreed as to the fundamental
ideas which it involves. In the first place it presupposes a power
superior to, or at any rate different from, the power of man; in the
second place it assumes a belief that this superhuman or non-human
power can be approached by his worshipers; can be induced to listen to
their desires, and to grant their petitions.

Of the first of the two elements thus implied in prayer, this is
not the appropriate place to speak at length. In a very early and
primitive stage of man's existence, he begins to feel his dependence
upon powers invisible to his mortal eyes, whose mode of action he
can but imperfectly comprehend. His way of conceiving these beings
will depend upon his mental elevation, upon historical influences,
upon local conditions, and other causes. Among very rude nations,
the commonest and apparently most unimpressive objects will serve as
fetishes, or incarnations of the mysterious force. Pieces of wood,
stones, ornaments worn on the person, or almost anything, may under
some circumstances do duty in this capacity. It is a further stage of
progress when the more conspicuous objects of nature, lofty mountains,
rivers, trees, fountains, and so forth, are deified, to the exclusion
of more insignificant things. Still higher is the adoration of bodies
which do not belong to this earth at all, and whose nature is,
therefore, more mysterious—the sun, the moon, the planets or the stars,
the clouds and tempests, the winds, and similar imposing phenomena.
And this stage passes naturally into one where the gods, at first
merely forces of nature personified, lose their character of forces,
and become exclusively persons. They are then conceived as beings in
human form, but endowed with much more than human faculties. Actual
persons, especially the ancestors of the living generation, are also
the frequent recipients of religious adoration. By other races, or
by the same races at a later period, the numerous gods of polytheism
are merged in one supreme god, to whom the others are subordinated as
agents of his will, or before whose grandeur they disappear altogether;
while this worship of powers conceived as beneficent is very frequently
accompanied, more or less avowedly, by a parallel worship of powers
conceived as malevolent, and whom, by reason of that very malevolence,
it is occasionally deemed the more needful to conciliate.

The second element—the conviction that these deities are accessible to
human requests—is shown both by the fact of worship being offered and
by the mode in which it is conducted. In the first place, it is plain
that prayer would not be offered at all but for the belief that it
exercises some influence on the beings prayed to. But the theory does
not require that they should be equally amenable to it at all times,
from all persons, or in whatever way it is uttered. On the contrary,
accessibility to prayer implies in these who receive it an inclination
to listen with attention to the language in which they are addressed,
and to be more or less moved by it according to its nature.

Reasoning from the authorities of earth whom he knows, to those of
heaven whom he does not know, the primitive man concludes that the best
way of obtaining the satisfaction of his wishes from the latter will
be to address them in a tone of humble supplication, intermingled with
such laudatory epithets as he deems most suitable to the deity invoked,
or most likely to be agreeable to his ear. Hence we have the two
devotional acts of prayer and praise, which in all religions constantly
accompany one another, and constitute the simplest, most natural,
and most ancient expression on the part of human beings of their
consciousness of an overruling power, and of their desire to enter into
relations with that dreaded and venerated agency.

Prayer in its original form is simply a request for some personal
advantage addressed by the worshipers to their god. Whatever loftier
associations it may afterwards acquire, its intention at the outset
is unquestionably this, as may be proved by reference to innumerable
instances, quoted by travelers or scholars, of savage prayer, where
the benefit expected from the deity is demanded in the most barefaced
manner. But even after men have long ceased to be savages, the primary
object of prayer may easily be discerned; sometimes plainly avowed by
the persons praying, sometimes cloaked under complimentary phrases or
devotional utterances. However disguised, the fact remains, that prayer
was originally designed, and to a large extent is designed still, to
obtain certain advantages for ourselves, either as individuals, or as a
community. Private prayer, partaking to some extent of the character of
a meditation, may, and no doubt often does, form an exception to this
rule; but even this very frequently falls under it, and of the prayer
offered by tribes or nations it always holds good.

Two excellent specimens of primitive prayer are given by Brinton in his
"Myths of the New World." According to that writer, the Nootka Indian,
on preparing for war, thus expresses his wishes:—"Great Quahootzee, let
me live, not be sick, find the enemy, not fear him, find him asleep,
and kill a great many of him."

The next instance, quoted by him from Father Breboeuf, is equally
apposite. It is the prayer of a Huron:—"Oki, thou who livest in this
spot, I offer thee tobacco. Help us, save us from shipwreck, defend
us from our enemies, give us a good trade, and bring us back safe and
sound to our villages" (M. N. W., p. 297).

The Kafirs, according to Shooter, address the "spirits" whom they
worship in the following style: "Take care of me, take care of my
children, take care of my wives, take care of all my people. Remove the
sickness, and let my child recover. Give me plenty of children—many
boys and a few girls. Give me abundance of food and cattle. Make right
all my people" (K. N., p. 163).

Of the negroes on the Caribbean Islands, Oldendorp says, "Their
concerns which they lay before God in their prayers, even on their
knees, have reference only to the body, to health, fine weather, a good
harvest, victory over their enemies, and so forth" (G. d. M., p. 325).

The Samoans, on taking their evening "cup of ava," would thus express
their petitions to the gods: "Here is ava for you, O gods! Look kindly
towards this family: let it prosper and increase; and let us all be
kept in health. Let our plantations be productive, let fruit grow, and
may there be abundance of food for us, your creatures. Here is ava for
you, our war-gods! Let there be a strong and numerous people for you in
this land. Here is ava for you, O sailing gods! Do not come on shore
at this place; but be pleased to depart along the ocean to some other
land" (N. Y., p. 200).

Mr. Turner, to whom I am indebted for the above prayer, remarks that
in Tanna, another of the Polynesian islands, the chief of a village
repeats a short prayer at the evening meal, "asking health, long life,
good crops, and success in battle" (Ibid., p. 85).

The authors of the Vedic hymns, though standing on a far higher level
of civilization, do not differ essentially from these rude people in
the character of the objects for which they pray. The several deities
are continually invoked to grant health, wealth, prosperity, posterity,
and other temporal blessings. Thus (to quote one instance among
many) in Mandala 1, Sûkta 64, translated by Max Müller, the Maruts
are requested to grant "strength, glorious, invincible in battle,
brilliant, wealth-conferring, praiseworthy, known to all men;" and
again, "wealth, durable, rich in men, defying all onslaughts; wealth
a hundred and a thousandfold, always increasing" (R. V. S., i. 64, 14,
15,—Vol. i. p. 93). The liturgies of the Zend-Avesta, while sometimes
assuming a loftier strain, frequently move upon the same level. The
same tone is to be observed in the Hebrew Scriptures. Solomon's
prayer, for instance, at the dedication of the temple, may be taken as
an enumeration of the objects commonly prayed for among the ancient
Hebrews. It specifies among the objects to be obtained at the hands of
Jehovah, the prevention of famine, of pestilence, blasting, mildew,
locust or caterpillar, plague or sickness (1 Kings viii. 37). Christian
liturgies contain the same universal elements, though intermingled with
many others, and not in general put forward with the same crudity of
language.

Besides these general objects, there are others of an ephemeral and
special kind which are generally drawn within the sphere of prayer.
Rain is a common object of prayer, and other changes of weather are
equally prayed for if they are held to be important. Callaway, for
example, was informed by a "very old man" in South Africa that "if it
does not rain, the heads of villages and petty chiefs assemble and go
to a black chief; they converse and pray for rain" (R. S. A., vol.
i. p. 59). Another native described the mode of supplication more
particularly. A certain chieftain named Utshaka "came and made his
prayers greater than those who preceded him." When he desired rain,
he sang the following song, which "consists of musical sounds merely,
without any meaning:"—

"_One Part_—I ya wu; a wu; o ye i ye."

"_Second Part or Response_—I ya wo."

And this prayer, so touching in its simplicity, was as successful as
the most elaborate composition of Jewish prophet or Christian bishop;
for the narrator states that Utshaka "Sang a song and prayed to the
Lord of heaven; and asked his forefathers to pray for rain to the Lord
of heaven. _And it rained_" (R. S. A., vol. i. p. 92). The efficacy of
prayer is plainly independent of the creed of him who offers it.

The Mexicans held an important annual festival in the month of May,
of which the main purpose was to entreat for water from the sky, this
being the season at which there was the greatest need of rain (H. I.,
b. v. ch. 28). They used to address an elaborate prayer to a god named
Tlaloc, the king of the terrestrial paradise, to obtain deliverance
from drought. They entreated him not to visit the offenses they had
committed with such severity as to continue the privation under which
they were laboring.[1] The Tannese, when put to much inconvenience by
the dust falling from a certain volcano, "were in the habit of praying
to their gods for a change of wind" (N. Y., p. 75). Certain other South
Sea Islanders used to pray to their gods to avert the supposed calamity
of a lunar eclipse. "As the eclipse passes off, they think it is all
owing to their prayers," a mode of reasoning which presents an exact
parallel to that employed by many Christians.

Sir John Davis gives a very interesting specimen of a prayer for rain
employed by Taou-Kuâng, the Emperor of China, in 1832, on the occasion
of a long drought in that country (Chinese, vol. ii. p. 75). As may
be expected from so civilized a people, this prayer rises far above
the outspoken begging of savage petitions, yet it has in substance
precisely the same end. The emperor describes himself as "scorched
with grief," and pathetically inquires whether he has been remiss in
sacrifice, has been proud or prodigal, irreverent, unjust, or wanting
in discretion in the exercise of patronage. Here we see the intrusion
of the theological idea that calamities are sent as punishments for
sin, which plays no small part in Christian theology; but this only
serves to veil, without effacing, the essential character of the
prayer. The very same notion, that sin is visited by unfavorable
weather, is found in the prayer of Solomon, whose mind upon this
question seems to have been in the same stage of thought as that
attained by the Chinese emperor. "When heaven is shut up, and there
is no rain, because they have sinned against thee" (1 Kings viii.
35), is the language of Solomon: "My sins are so numerous that it is
hopeless to escape their consequences," so runs the penitent confession
of Taou-Kuâng. But whatever may be the cause to which the drought
is attributed, the prayer, whether uttered by Chinaman, Jew, or
Christian, is still simply the petition to the Amazulu, the South Sea
Islander, or the native American—a request that God will so influence
the phenomena of the skies as to suit our convenience. The notion that
this object may sometimes be attained by our prayers is not extinct
even among ourselves.

Other special occasions are sometimes held to call for prayer. Such are
national calamities; as a pestilence among men or cattle, the illness
of some eminent person, and other similar misfortunes. A good harvest
is very generally prayed for; so is victory in time of war. The ancient
Aryans, who composed the Vedic hymns one thousand years or more before
Christ, continually prayed for this last blessing; and we ourselves,
when engaged in warfare, piously continue the same custom.

Very frequently the notion of a bargain between the god and his
worshiper appears in prayer. The worshiper claims to have rendered some
service for which the god ought in equity to reward him; or he holds
out the discontinuance of his former devotion as a motive to induce
the concession of his desires. The constant conjunction of praise with
prayer is explicable on this principle of a reciprocity of benefits. If
the worshiper gains much from the god, yet the god gains something from
him, being addressed in a strain of unbounded eulogy. His power, his
greatness, his goodness, his excellences of all kinds are vaunted in
glowing terms, no doubt sincerely used by the worshiper, but repeated
and accumulated to satiety from an impression that they are pleasing to
their object, and may dispose him to beneficence. Titles thus bestowed
upon their deities are aptly described by the Amazulus as "laud-giving
names" (R. S. A., vol. i. p. 72, and vol. ii. p. 149). In the Vedic
hymns and in the Psalms, the deities spoken of are constantly addressed
by such complimentary epithets. One of the hymns to the Maruts begins
by announcing the poet's intention to praise "their ancient greatness."
And at the conclusion, after he has done so, he says, "May this praise,
O Maruts, ... approach you (asking) for offspring to our body, together
with food. May we find food, and a camp with running water" (R. V. S.,
vol. i. pp. 197, 201). The Psalmists were never weary of exalting the
extraordinary might and majesty of Jehovah, mingling petitions with
panegyric; and a large portion of the worship of Christians consists
in expressions of pious admiration at the extraordinary goodness of
their God, especially for his redemption of the world which he had
himself condemned. All these extravagant eulogies betray a latent
impression that the Deity is, after all, a very arbitrary personage,
and may be moved to more merciful conduct than he would otherwise
pursue by large doses of flattery.

Still more clearly does the idea of a commercial relationship with
the gods make its appearance in a poet who stands on a higher
intellectual and moral level than the writers of the Hebrew Psalms,
namely Aischylos. In the Seven against Thebes, Eteokles implores Zeus,
the Earth, and the tutelar deities of the city to protect Thebes; and
subjoins as a motive for compliance, "And I trust that what I say is
our common interest; for a prosperous city honors the gods" (Aisch.
Sept. c. Th. 76, 77—Dindorf). And there is a similar appeal to the
divine selfishness further on in the same play, where the chorus
inquires of the gods what better plain they can expect to obtain in
exchange for this one, if they shall suffer it to pass into the enemy's
hands (Aisch., Sept. c. Th. 304).

In the Choephoræ, Zeus is distinctly asked in the prayer of Agamemnon's
children whence he can expect to obtain the sacrifice and honors which
have been paid him by Orestes and Electra if he should suffer them to
perish (Aisch., Choeph., 255). While in the Electra of Sophocles the
converse motive of gratitude is appealed to: the god Apollon being
desired to remember not what he may get, but what he already has got,
from the piety of his supplicant (Soph. El., 1376—Schneidewin). And
Jacob, who was a good hand at a bargain, makes his terms with Jehovah
in a thoroughly business-like spirit. "_If_ God will be with me, and
will keep me in this way that I go, and will give me bread to eat and
raiment to put on, so that I come again to my father's house in peace;
_then_ shall the Lord be my God: and this stone, which I have set up
for a pillar, shall be God's house: and of all that thou shalt give me
I will surely give the tenth unto thee." The adoption of Jehovah as
Jacob's God being thus entirely dependent on the performance by that
Deity of his share in the contract (Gen. xxviii. 20-22).

Sometimes it is quaintly suggested that were the worshiper in the
place of the god, _he_ would not neglect the interests of his devotee.
Thus, the author of a hymn in the Rig-Veda-Sanhitâ, addressing the Gods
of Tempest, exclaims: "If you, sons of Prisni, were mortals, and your
worshiper an immortal, then never should your praiser be unwelcome,
like a deer in pasture grass, nor should he go on the path of Yama"
(R. V. S., vol. i. p. 65). Another unsophisticated poet gives the
following hint to the god Indra, the Hindu Jupiter: "Were I, Indra,
like thee, the sole lord of wealth, the singer of my praises should be
rich in cattle" (S. V., i. 2. i. 3. p. 218). And the same god is asked
elsewhere in the Veda: "When wilt thou make us happy? for it is just
this that is desired" (S. V., i. 5. i. 3. p. 233). With equal plainness
is the expectation of a _quid pro quo_ enunciated in one of the most
ancient hymns, contained in the sacred books of the Parsees:—"Every
adoration, O True One, consists in actions whereby one may obtain good
possessions, full of security, and happiness round about" (F. G. vol.
ii. p. 54.—Yama 51. i).

More emphatically still is this conception of a reciprocity of benefits
expressed in another consecrated action, that of Sacrifice. Sacrifice
holds a most important place in all religions. It originates in a
stage of the human mind which, if not quite as primitive as that which
gives rise to prayer, is nevertheless so early as to be practicably
inseparable from it. Wherever we find prayer, we find sacrifice; but
as the latter is generally found organized under definite forms,
and confined to certain specified objects, we may conclude that in
the state in which we recognize it, it implies a certain degree of
regulation and forethought on the part of religious authorities which
we do not meet with in the simplest types of prayer. Prayer is often
the mere natural outpouring of our wants before a power which is
considered capable of fulfilling them: sacrifice, though doubtless
in the first instance an equally artless offering of gifts to beings
who are regarded with veneration and gratitude, is soon converted
into a formal presentation of acknowledged dues, performed under
ecclesiastical supervision. No doubt prayer also tends to assume this
formal character; but we have hitherto considered it in its uncorrupted
aspect; its treatment in its later developments belongs to another
portion of this chapter.

The idea which presides over sacrifice is obvious. The sacrificer
argues that if he can make acceptable presents to the gods, they will
smile upon him and be disposed to promote his ends; whereas if he keeps
the whole of his possessions for worldly purposes, they will regard him
with indignation, and refuse him their assistance when he may happen
to stand in need of it. There is also involved in sacrifice a sense of
gratitude: the gods having given us the fruits of the earth, behooves
us to make some acknowledgment of their bounty.

Such notions, once propounded, were certain to be fertile. Every motive
of piety and of interest would combine to support them. The piety
of the worshipers, coupled with their hopes of advantage, would be
stimulated by the self-interest of the priests, who generally share
in the sacrifices offered. If any piece of good fortune occurred to
one who was devout and liberal in sacrificing, it would be attributed
to the satisfaction felt by the gods at his exemplary conduct. If ill
fortune befell those who had neglected to sacrifice, this would be
an equally manifest indication of their high displeasure. As soon,
therefore, as the step was taken—and it was one of the earliest in
the religious history of man—of instituting sacrifices to idols or to
deities, the worshipers vied with one another in the liberality of
their offerings. Adopted as a mode of propitiating the celestial beings
by spontaneous gifts, it became, among all nations whose religious
belief had arrived at a state of flexity and consolidation, a positive
duty; much as monarchs have frequently exacted large and burdensome
contributions under the guise of voluntary presents.

Illustrations of this conception, that sacrifice is a sort of payment
for services rendered or to be rendered, might be found abundantly in
many quarters. Perhaps it is seldom more quaintly expressed than by
the Amazulus, who, when going to battle, sacrifice to the Amatongo, or
manes of their ancestors, in order that these, in their own language,
"may have no cause of complaint, because they have made amends to them,
and made them bright." On reaching the enemy, they say, "Can it be,
since we have made amends to the Amadhlozi, that they will say we have
wronged them by anything?" And when it comes to fighting, they are
filled with valor, observing that "the Amatongo will turn their backs
on us without cause" (R. S. A., vol. ii. p. 133).

The objects of sacrifice are very various, but it is noticeable that
they are almost invariably things held in esteem among men, and either
possessing a considerable value as commodities, or capable by their
properties of ministering to their pleasure. All sacrifices of meat and
corn or other edibles belong to the former class; those of flowers to
the latter, for these, though of little value in the market yet give
great pleasure, and are much esteemed. An exception is indeed presented
by the wild hordes in Kamtschatka, who, according to Steller, offer
nothing to their gods but what is valueless to themselves (Kamtschatka,
p. 265). If this statement does not originate in a misunderstanding of
the traveler, the fact must be due to the singularly low religiosity of
those people, who seem to have little reverence for the very objects of
their worship.

The most valuable sacrifice that can possibly be made—that of human
beings—has always been common among savage or uncivilized nations.
Thus, in some of the South Sea Islands, human sacrifices were
"fearfully common" (N. M. E., p. 547). They prevailed among some of the
negro tribes known to the missionary Oldendorp (G. d. M., p. 329).

In Mexico, where the natives had arrived at a far higher condition,
human sacrifices still prevailed, though the original brutality of the
rite was modified by the fact of the victims being enemies. Indeed,
Montezuma, when at the height of his power, expressly refused to
conquer a certain province which he might easily have added to his
dominions; assigning as his first reason, that he desired to keep the
Mexican youth in practice; as his second and principal one, that he
might reserve a province for the supply of victims to sacrifice to the
gods (H. I., b. v. ch. 20).

At the great Mexican festival of the Jubilee, however, it was not an
enemy, but a slave, who was offered. This slave had represented the
idol during the period of a year, and had received the greatest honor
during his term of office, at the end of which his head was severed
from his body by the priest, who then held it as high as he could, and
showed it to the Sun and to the idol (H. I., b. v. ch. 28).

Next in value to the human race are cattle, and these too are
frequently immolated in honor of the gods. Thus among the Kafirs, "the
animals offered are exclusively cattle and goats. The largest ox in
a herd is specially reserved for sacrifices on important occasions;
it is called the Ox of the Spirits, and is never sold except in cases
of extreme necessity" (Kafirs, p. 165). Here we find it expressly
stated that it is the best ox, in other words, the most valuable
portion of the sacrificer's property, which is devoted to the gods.
And the principle which leads in Natal to this reservation of the best
will be found predominating over sacrifice throughout the world. The
Soosoos, a people inhabiting the west coast of Africa, are so careful
to propitiate their deity, that they "never undertake any affair of
importance until they have sacrificed to him a bullock" (N. A., vol. i.
p. 230).

Other domestic and edible animals, being of great importance to
mankind, are held worthy of the honor of sacrifice. The same writer
to whom I owe the last quotation tells us of the Western Africans,
that "before they begin to sow their plantations, they sacrifice a
sheep, goat, fowl, or fish to the ay-min, to beg that their crop may
abound; for were this neglected, they are persuaded that nothing would
grow there" (Ibid., vol. i. p. 223). Oldendorp, who was particularly
familiar with the Caribbean Islands, describes the sacrifices of the
negroes as consisting of "oxen, cows, sheep, goats, hens, palm-oil,
brandy, yams, &c." (G. d. M., p. 329).

Besides porcelain collars, tobacco, maize, and skins, the American
Indians used to offer "entire animals, especially dogs, on the borders
of difficult or dangerous roads or rocks, or by the side of rapids."
These offerings were made to the spirits who presided in these places.
The great value attached by the natives of America to the dog is well
known, and it is deserving of remark that the dog was the commonest
victim, and that at the war-festival, which was a sort of sacrifice, it
was always dogs that were offered.

In China, the animals slain are "bullocks, heifers, sheep, and
pigs," which are duly purified for a certain period beforehand (C.
O., vol. ii. p. 192). Among the Jews, pigs, whose flesh was regarded
as impure, were not offered; bullocks, goats, and sheep were the
chief sacrificial animals; and extreme care was taken in their law
that they should be entirely without blemish; that is, that, like
the ox of the Kafirs, they should be the best obtainable (Lev. xxii.
17-25). This is a remarkable illustration of the tendency to offer
only articles of value in human estimation to God; for here that
which would be good enough for men is treated as unfit for Jehovah.
Animals of lesser magnitude are sometimes offered; as, for instance,
the quails which the Mexicans used to sacrifice (H. I., b. v. ch.
18). Birds are not unfrequently chosen as fitting objects to present
to the gods. Among the Ibos, a negro tribe, it is the custom for
women, six weeks after childbirth, to present a pair of hens as an
offering, which, however, are not killed, but liberated after certain
ceremonies. In like manner the Hebrew woman after her delivery was
enjoined to bring a lamb and a pigeon or turtle-dove; or, if she
were unable to bring the lamb, two young pigeons or two turtle-doves
(Lev. xii. 6-8). In addition to animals, a considerable variety of
objects is sacrificed, generally the fruits of the earth or flowers.
There is, however, no limit to the number of things which may be held
suitable for presentation to the gods. Thus, in Samoa (in Polynesia),
the offerings were "principally cooked food" (N. Y. p. 241). In other
Islands "the first fruits are presented to the gods" (Ibid., p. 327),
a practice which corresponds, as the missionary who records it justly
remarks, to that of the ancient Israelites. The Red Indians used to
offer to their spirits "petun, tobacco, or birds." In honor of the
Sun, and even of subordinate spirits, they would throw into the fire
everything they were in the habit of using, and which they acknowledged
as received from them (N. F., vol. iii. pp. 347, 348). Acosta divides
the sacrifices of the Mexicans and Peruvians into three classes: the
first, of inanimate objects; the second, of animals; the third, of
men. In the first class are included cocoa, maize, colored feathers,
seashells, gold and silver, and fine linen (H. I., b. v. ch. 18). Among
the sacrifices offered by the Incas to the sun, the most esteemed,
according to Garcilasso de la Vega, were lambs, then sheep, then barren
ewes. Besides these, they sacrificed tame rabbits, all _edible_ birds
(remark the limitation), and fat of beasts, as well as all the grains
and vegetables up to cocoa, and the finest linen (observe again the
care that it should be fine) (C. R., b. ii. ch. 8). At a certain
Hindu festival described by Wilson, a goddess named Varadá Chaturthi
"is worshipped with offerings of flowers, of incense, or of lights,
with platters of sugar and ginger, or milk or salt, with scarlet or
saffron-tinted strings and golden bracelets" (W. W., vol. ii. pp.
184, 185). Among the Parsees the sacrifices consist of little loaves
of bread, and of Haoma, the sacred plant. The Indian Parsees send
from time to time to Kirman to obtain Haoma-branches from this holy
territory (Z. A., vol. ii. p. 535). The Parsees also offer flowers,
fruits, rice, odoriferous grains, perfumes, milk, roots of certain
trees, and meat. The Jews, like them, offered the productions of the
soil in sacrifice.

Beauty, and even utility, when not accompanied by considerable value in
exchange, do not suffice to constitute fitness for religious sacrifice.
Common plants and shrubs, branches of trees, wild birds or insects,
are some of them among the most beautiful productions of nature; yet
they are not sacrificed. Stones and wood are both useful, but they
are obtained, as a rule, at little cost; and they are not sacrificed.
Flowers, which certainly have no high value, were sometimes offered to
idols in the form of wreaths and garlands: they scarcely constitute an
exception to the rule, for they are prized as ornaments by men, and the
process of plucking and weaving them into appropriate shapes imposes
trouble—the equivalent of cost—on the devotee. It is plainly not owing
to any accidental circumstance that highly valuable objects have been
selected by all the nations of the earth as alone appropriate for
religious sacrifice. Two reasons may be assigned for this selection. In
the first place, the general assimilation of deities to mankind goes
far to account for it. Everywhere, and at all times—as we shall have
occasion frequently to observe in this work—men have reasoned as to the
divine nature from their knowledge of their own. A noteworthy instance
of this is to be seen in Malachi, who does not scruple to tell the Jews
that their God feels the same kind of offense at the poverty of their
offerings as a human governor would do. "And if," says that prophet,
"ye offer the blind for sacrifice, is it not evil? and if ye offer
the lame and sick, is it not evil? _offer it now unto thy governor_;
will he be pleased with thee, or accept thy person? saith the Lord of
hosts." A few verses later he recurs to the sorrow felt by Jehovah at
such insults. "And ye bring that which is robbed, and the lame, and the
sick; thus ye bring an offering: should I accept this of your hand?
saith the Lord. But cursed be the deceiver, which hath in his flock a
male, and voweth and sacrificeth unto the Lord a bad female." It would
be difficult to find the theory of God's resemblance to man expressed
in a cruder form. Even as a governor will show the greatest favor to
those who approach him with the costliest gifts, so the mouthpiece of
the Hebrew deity declares in his name that he must have the pick of his
servant's flocks—the males, not the females, the sound and the perfect,
not the sickly or the maimed. In a precisely similar spirit, it is
enjoined in one of the sacred books of the Buddhists that no spoilt
victuals or drinks may be used in sacrifice (Wassiljew, p. 211).

Men's notion of their god was often derived, like Malachi's, not
only from human nature, but from those who were by no means the best
specimens of human nature,—the rulers. The religious emotion, imbued
with this conception of its deities, shrank through a sense of piety
from the irreverent, and, as it seemed, sacrilegious act of presenting
them with anything but the best. But there was another reason which,
doubtless, had its weight. Not only must the offering be of a kind
acceptable to the god to whom it was given; it must also impose some
cost upon the worshiper. Religious sentiment imperatively required
that there should be an actual sacrifice of something which the owner
valued, and the surrender of which imposed a burden upon him. This
seemed to be involved in the very notion of sacrifice. Its sense and
purpose was, that the devotee, coming to his god, and desiring to
obtain some favor from him, should show the high importance he attached
to it by parting with some portion of his possessions. And plainly
this portion must be such as to indicate by its character the esteem
and reverence felt by the worshiper for the being whom he worshiped.
To indicate this, it must be something which he would unwillingly
resign but for his religious feelings. Hence a special part of the
fruits of the soil would be an appropriate offering. It would involve
a real diminution in the wealth of the worshiper, a real surrender
of something useful and valuable to mankind. To these two reasons may
be added a third, which, no doubt, must have had its weight. In many
cases, a portion of the sacrifices was the property of the priests.
As will be more fully shown hereafter, the priesthood frequently
contrived to transfer to themselves the piety which was felt towards
the gods. Hence the sacrifices, originally given to the divine beings,
were in part appropriated by their ministers; and it was obviously of
importance to them that the thing sacrificed should be such as they
could profit by and enjoy.

It sometimes happens that the sacrifice, or a portion of it, is
consumed either by the worshipers in general, or by their priests. A
case of the former kind is mentioned by Oldendorp. When the young men
among the Tembus (negroes) are going to battle, the old men offer sheep
and hens to their god Zioo for their success; the blood and bowels they
bestow upon Zioo, and the flesh they eat themselves (G. d. M., p. 330).
Sometimes the thing sacrificed is itself regarded as an idol or god,
and is eaten religiously, under a belief that it is a food of peculiar
efficacy. Such is the case with the Christian sacrament; and such was
the case, too, with the remarkable custom observed among the Mexicans
at the feast of Vitziliputzli, where an idol composed of corn and honey
used to be solemnly consecrated, and afterwards distributed to be eaten
by the people, who received it with extreme reverence, awe, and tears,
as the flesh and bones of the god himself (H. I., b. v. ch. 24). It
is an exception, however, when the laity partake in the consumption
of the sacrifices; they are generally reserved for the priests. Among
the Jews, it was the privilege of the priests to eat certain portions
of the animals brought for sacrifice; and in like manner the Parsee
priest, or Zaota, eats the bread and drinks the Haoma (Av., vol. ii. p.
lxxii). And it deserves especial mention, that the Haoma, a plant of
which the juice is thus drunk in certain rites both in the Indian and
the Parsee religions, is in both considered a god as well as a plant;
just as the wine of the Christian sacrament is both the juice of the
grape and the blood of the Redeemer (Av., vol. i. p. 8).

In the above cases, food consecrated to the gods is eaten by men. The
converse practice, that of bestowing a portion of the ordinary food
of men upon the gods, is also common. The habit of the ancients of
making libations is well known. But the same practice has prevailed,
or prevails still, in many distinct parts of the world. A traveler
who visited Tartary in the thirteenth century states that it was the
custom of the Tartar chiefs of one thousand or one hundred men, before
they ate or drank anything, to offer some of it to an idol which they
always kept in the middle of their dwelling place (Bergeron, Voyage de
Carpin, art. iii., p. 30). In Samoa, when a family feast was held in
honor of the household gods, "a cup of their intoxicating ava draught
was poured out as a drink-offering" (N. Y., p. 239). Among the Soosoos,
on the west coast of Africa, a custom prevails "which resembles the
ancient practice of pouring out a libation: they seldom or never drink
spirits, wine, etc., without spilling a little of it upon the ground,
and wetting the gree-gree or fetish hung round the neck: at the same
time they mutter a kind of short prayer" (N. A., p. 123). Again, in
Sierra Leone, "when they want to render their devil propitious to any
undertaking, they generally provide liquor: a very small libation is
made to him, and the rest they drink before his altar" (S. L., p. 66).
While in Thibet, "the execution by a Lama is not required for the
usual libations to the personal genii, nor to those of the house, the
country, etc., in whose honor it is the custom to pour out upon the
ground some drink or food, and to fill one of the offering vessels
ranged before their images before eating or drinking one's self" (B.
T., p. 247).

Great importance is in all religions attached to sacrifice. It is
universally supposed to conciliate, to soften, or to appease the
deity in whose honor it is offered. Sometimes it is even conceived
to have an actual material power of its own, the spirits deriving a
positive benefit from the food presented to them. Spiegel states that
the subordinate genii in the Parsee hierarchy of angels derive from
the sacrifices strength and vigor to fulfil their duties (Av., vol.
ii. p. lxiii). Generally, however, the conception of the influence
of sacrifice is less materialistic. The Amazulus naively express the
general sentiment by saying, that, in prospect of a battle, they
sacrifice to their ancestors in order that they "may have no cause
of complaint." Much more mystical were the views entertained on this
point by the ancient Hindus, among whom the theory of sacrifice
was probably more highly elaborated than in any other nation. Of a
certain sacrificial ceremony it is stated, that the gods, after having
performed it, "gained the celestial world. Likewise a sacrificer,
after having done the same, gains the celestial world" (A. B., vol.
ii. p. 22). And it is added, that the sacrificer who performs this
rite "succeeds in both worlds, and obtains a firm footing in both
worlds" (A. B., vol. ii. p. 25). While to another rite the following
promise is attached: "He who, knowing this, sacrifices according to
this rite, is born (anew) from the womb of Agni and the offerings,
and participates in the nature of the Rik, Yajus, and Sâman, the Veda
(sacred knowledge), the Brahma (sacred element), and immortality, and
is absorbed in the deity" (A. B., vol. ii. p. 51). Often it is the
forgiveness of some offense that is sought to be obtained by pacifying
the indignant deity with a gift. In the Jewish law a large portion of
the sacrifices enjoined have this object. They are termed sin-offerings
or trespass-offerings.

The general idea which leads to sacrifice is in all religions the
same. Respect is intended to be shown to the deity in whose honor the
sacrifice is made by depriving ourselves of some valuable possession,
and bestowing it on him. The pleasure supposed to be felt by God
on receiving such presents is somewhat coarsely but emphatically
expressed in the Hebrew Bible by the statement that when Aaron had
made a sacrifice in the wilderness there came a fire from the Lord and
consumed the meat which had been laid upon the altar (Lev. ix. 24).

Christianity offers only an apparent exception to the rule of the
universal predominance of this idea. We do not, indeed, find among
Christians the periodical and stated offerings, either of animals or
of the products of the soil, which exist elsewhere. Nevertheless, the
idea of sacrifice subsists among them in all its force. Indeed, it is
the fundamental conception of the Christian religion itself, in which
the sacrifice of the founder upon the cross embodies all those notions
which are held to legitimate the custom of sacrificing among heathen
nations. We have first the notion of an angry and exacting deity, who
can only be rendered placable towards mankind by the surrender to him
of some valuable thing; we have, consequently, the sacrifice of the
most valuable thing that can possibly be offered, namely, the life of
a human being; we have, lastly, the belief that this sacrifice was
accepted, and that promises of mercy were in consequence held out to
the human race. By a peculiar exaltation of the idea, the life thus
given up is declared to be that of his own son—a conception by which
the value of the sacrifice, and consequently the advantages it is
capable of procuring, are indefinitely heightened.

Thus the idea of sacrifice is carried to its extreme limits in the
religion of Christendom. Had it not been for the absolute necessity
of some sacrifice being offered to God, there would—according to the
theory of the Christian faith—have been absolutely no reason for the
execution of Christ. He might have taught every doctrine associated
with his name, performed every miracle related in the Gospels, have
drawn to himself every disciple named in them, and yet have died, like
the Buddha, in the calm of a venerated and untroubled old age. He was
obliged to undergo this painful and melancholy death, if we accept the
general belief of Christendom, solely because God required a sacrifice,
and because without that sacrifice he could not forgive the offenses of
mankind.

Simple prayer and sacrifice are, then, the most primitive and most
general methods by which man approaches those whom his nature impels
him to worship. But as these acts are repeated from time to time,
and as their frequent repetition is supposed to be highly agreeable
to their objects, it naturally happens that some particular mode of
performing them comes to be preferred to others. By and by, the mode of
worship usually adopted will become habitual; and a habit once formed
will be strengthened by every repetition of the acts in question. Not
only will certain forms of prayer, certain ways of sacrificing, certain
postures, certain gestures, and a certain order of proceeding become
established as usual and regular, but they will be regarded as the only
appropriate and respectful forms, every attempt to depart from them
being treated as a sacrilegious innovation. The form will be deemed no
less essential than the substance.

Hence Ritual, which we do not find in the most primitive religions,
but which is discovered in all of those that have advanced to
a higher type. Even in the earliest Vedic hymns—those of the
Rig-Veda-Sanhitâ—we perceive clear traces of an established ritual
from the manner in which the sacrifices are spoken of as having been
duly offered. In the Zend-Avesta, elaborate ritualistic directions
are given for certain specified purposes, especially for that of
purification after any defilement. The oldest books of the Jewish
Bible are in like manner full of instructions for the due observance
of ritual. Both the Buddhists, who broke off from Brahminism, and the
Christians, who made a schism from Judaism, established a ritual of
their own; and this ritual was soon regarded as no less sacred than
that which they had abandoned. Everywhere, when religion has passed
out of its first unsettled condition, we find a fixed ritual, and its
fixity is one of its most striking features. Dogmas, in spite of the
efforts of sacerdotal orders, inevitably change. If the words in which
they are expressed remain unaltered, yet the meaning attached to them
continually varies. But ritual does not change, or changes only when
some great convulsion uproots the settled institutions of the country.
From age to age the same forms and the same prayers remain, sometimes
long after their original meaning has been forgotten.

Thus prayer, ceasing to be spontaneous and irregular, becomes formal,
ceremonial, and regular. And as there are many occasions besides
sacrifice on which men desire to pray, so there will be many besides
this on which the craving for order, and the readiness to believe that
God is better pleased with one form of devotion than another, will lead
to the establishment of ritual.

Rites may be performed daily, weekly, or at any other interval.
Sometimes, indeed, they are still more frequent, haunting the every-day
life of the devotee, and intruding upon his commonest actions. Thus
the Parsees are required to repeat certain prayers on rising, before
and after eating, on going to bed, on cutting their nails or their
hair, and on several other natural occasions, besides praying to the
sun three times a day (Z. A., vol. ii. p. 564-567). The Jews are
encompassed with obligations which, if less minute, are of a like
burdensome character. A devout Jew has to repeat a certain prayer on
rising; he has to wear garments of a particular kind, and to wash and
dress in a particular order (Rel. of Jews, p. 1-8). Mussulmans are
commanded to pray five times a day, turning their faces towards Mecca
(Sale, prel. discourse, pp. 76, 77).

Ritual, however, is not always of this purely personal nature, but
is generally performed by a congregation to whose needs it refers,
or by priests on their behalf. And in this case, again, a longer or
shorter interval may elapse between the recurrence of the rites. In
the Mexican temples, for instance, the ministering priests were in
the habit of performing a service before their idols four times a day
(H. I., b. v. ch. p. 14). "The perpetual exercise of the priests,"
says Acosta, speaking of these temples, "is to offer incense to the
idols." The ritual of the Catholic Church, like that of the ancient
Mexicans, is repeated every day. The morning and evening services of
the Church of England were framed with the same intention; and the
Ritualistic clergy, rightly conceiving the teaching of their Church,
have introduced the practice of so employing them. Weekly or bi-monthly
observances prevail among Hindus, Singhalese, Jews, and Christians.
With the Hindus, the seventh lunar day, both during the fortnight of
the moon's waxing and during that of her waning, is a festival, the
first seventh day in the month being peculiarly holy, and observed with
very special rites. More than this, the weekly period is known to them;
for, according to Wilson, "a sort of sanctity is, or was, attached even
to Sunday, and fasting on it was considered obligatory or meritorious"
(W. W., vol. ii. p. 199). In Ceylon the people attend divine service
twice a week, on Wednesdays and Saturdays; besides which, there are
in each month four days devoted to religious acts—the 8th, 15th, 23d,
and 30th (A. I. C., pp. 222, 223; H. R. C., p. 76). The Jewish ritual
differs on the Sabbath-day from that used on week-days; and such is
the solemnity attached to this festival, that a quasi-personality
is attributed to the day itself, which is exalted in the service
for Friday evening as the bride of God, and which the congregation
is invited to go in quest of, and to meet (Rel. of Jews, p. 128). A
similar sanctity is considered by many Christians to pertain to the
Sunday, while all of them observe it as an important festival, and
mark it by peculiar rites. Friday, too, is regarded by the majority of
Christians as a day to be observed with distinctive rites, of which
fasting is the principal.

When the interval observed between the performance of certain rites
exceeds some very short period—as a day or week—it is generally a year.
In this case, the time, whether it be a month, a week, a few days, or
any other period, set apart for their performance assumes the character
of a Festival. Under the general term Festival I include any annually
recurrent season, whether it be one of mourning or rejoicing, of
fasting or feasting, which is consecrated by the observance of special
ceremonies of a religious order. In all religions above the lowest
stage such festivals occur. The time of their occurrence is generally
marked out by the seasons of the year. Mid-winter, or the season of
sowing; spring, or the time when the seed is in the ground or beginning
to spring up; and autumn, when the harvest has been gathered in,—are
the most natural seasons for festivals; and it is at these that they
usually take place. For instance, Oldendorp states that nearly all
the Guinea nations have an annual harvest-festival, at which solemn
thank-offerings are presented to the Gods (G. d. M., p. 332). In China,
this reference to the seasons is obvious. "At every new moon, and
the change of the season, there are festivals." Of these, "the most
imposing" is "the emperor's plowing the sacred field. This takes place
when the sun enters the fifteenth degree of Aquarius." But the precise
day is determined by astrologers. This is the winter festival, or that
of sowing. The "Leih-chun, at the commencement of the spring, continues
for ten days." And in autumn the feast of harvest is celebrated with
great merriment (C. O., vol. ii. p. 195-199). The Parsees have numerous
festivals, which it would be tedious to enumerate in detail (Z. A.,
vol. ii. p. 574-581.). After the Gahanbars, which refer to creation,
the two principal ones are the No rouz and the Meherdjan, and of
these Anquetil du Perron expressly states that the first originally
corresponded to spring, and the second to Autumn (Ibid., vol. ii. p.
603). Of the Hindu festivals described by Wilson, by far the greatest
are the Pongol, at the beginning of the year, and the Holi, in the
middle of March (W. W., vol. ii. p. 151). Compared with these, the
rest are insignificant; and these plainly refer to the processes of
nature. That the great festivals of the Jews had the same reference,
needs no proof; for the passover took place in spring, and the feast
of Pentecost, as well as the feast of tabernacles, after harvest. Our
Christmas and Easter correspond to the Pongol and Holi of the Hindus
in point of time; and even the observances usual at Christmas have, as
Wilson has pointed out, much resemblance to those of the Pongol.

There are in Ceylon five annual festivals, of which one, occurring at
the commencement of the year (in April), is marked by the singular
circumstance that "before New Year's day every individual procures from
an astrologer a writing, fixing the fortunate hours of the approaching
year on which to commence duties or ceremonies." Of the five festivals
the most important was the Paraherra, which lasted from the new moon to
the full moon in July, and consisted mainly in a series of religious
processions, concluding with one in which the casket containing the
Dalada, or tooth of Buddha, was borne upon an elephant. The fifth
festival, called that of "New Rice," was held at the commencement of
the great harvest, and was the occasion of offerings made with a view
to good crops (E. Y., vol. i. p. 314-318).

The consecrated actions by which men seek to recommend themselves
to their gods at these special seasons are very various. It would
be useless to attempt to enumerate them at length. Of the manner in
which New Year's day is observed among the Chinese (C. O., vol. ii.
pp. 194, 195), the commencement of the year among Hindus (W. W., vol.
ii. p. 158 ff.), and Christmas among ourselves, it will be unnecessary
to speak at all, for there is little of a religious character in
these festivals. Indeed, New Year's day in China seems to be a merely
secular festival; while the Christmas season in European countries,
though varnished over with a religious gloss, is in reality palpably
one of popular rejoicing, handed down from our pagan ancestors, and
placed in a legendary relation to the birth of Christ. The religious
rites which may accompany this festival have therefore a secondary
importance. Those observed at other times bear reference either
to the frame of mind induced by the season, or to the particular
legend commemorated; or they may be purely arbitrary and enjoined by
ecclesiastical authority. An example of the first kind is the Jewish
feast of tabernacles, when the harvest had been gathered in, and the
Jews were enjoined to carry boughs of trees and rejoice seven days
(Lev. xxiii. 40). Examples of the second class are common. Legends are
frequently related in order to account for festivals, while sometimes
festivals may be instituted in consequence of a legend. Thus, the
extraordinary story of the manifestation of Siva as an interminable
Linga, is told by the Hindus to account for their worship of that organ
on the twenty-seventh of February (W. W., vol. ii. p. 211). In this
case, the rites have reference to the legend; the setting up a Linga in
their houses, consecrating, and offering to it, are ceremonies which
refer to the event present in the minds of the worshipers; but it is
more natural to suppose that the existence of the rites led to the
invention of the legend, than that the legend induced the establishment
of the rites. "The three essential observances," says Wilson, "are
fasting during the whole Tithi, or lunar day, and holding a vigil and
worshiping the Linga during the night; but the ritual is loaded with a
vast number of directions, not only for the presentation of offerings
of various kinds to the Linga, but for gesticulations to be employed,
and prayers to be addressed to various subordinate divinities connected
with Siva, and to Siva himself in a variety of forms" (Ibid., vol.
ii. p. 212). At another of the Hindu festivals, the effigy of Kama
is burnt, to commemorate the fact of that god having been reduced to
ashes by flames from Siva, and having been subsequently restored to
life at the intercession of Siva's bride (W. W., vol. ii. p. 231). In
like manner the jesting of the Greek woman at the Thesmophoria was
explained by reference to the laughter of Demeter (Bib., i. 5. 1.). The
Jewish passover was eaten with rites which were symbolical of the state
of the nation just before its escape from Egypt, the time to which
their tradition assigned the original passover; and the ritual in use
among Christians at Easter bears reference to the story of Christ's
resurrection, which in this case no doubt preceded the institution of
the festival. The third class of rites—those which are purely arbitrary
or have a merely theological significance—are the most usual of all.
These, as will be obvious at once, may vary indefinitely. Fasting is
one of the most usual of such observances. It is practiced by the
Hindus at many of their festivals, by Mussulmans during the month of
Ramadan, and by Christians in Lent. Bathing is also a common religious
practice of the Hindus at their festivals. The use of holy water by
Catholics on entering their churches is a ceremony of a similar kind,
and no doubt having the same intention, that of purification. The Jews
were to sacrifice at all their festivals, and on one of them to afflict
their souls (Lev. xxiii. 27). Christians, among whom there are very
numerous festivals, vary their ritual according to the character of the
day.

One or two specimens of the rites observed on festival days will
suffice as an illustration. The Peruvians, in their pagan days, used
to have festivals every month: the greatest of these was that of the
Trinity, celebrated in December. "In this feast," says Acosta, "they
sacrificed a great number of sheep and lambs, and they burnt them with
worked and odoriferous wood; and some sheep carried gold and silver,
and they placed on them the three statues of the Sun, and the three
of Thunder; father, brother, and son, whom they said that the Sun and
Thunder had. In this feast they dedicated the Inca children, and placed
the Guacas, or ensigns on them, and the old men whipped them with
slings, and anointed their faces with blood, all in token that they
should be loyal knights of the Inca. No stranger might remain during
this month and feast at Cuzco, and at the end all those from without
entered; and they gave them those pieces of maize with the blood of the
sacrifice, which they eat, in token of confederation with the Inca"
(H. I., b. 5. ch. 27). Equally curious are the rites prescribed by
the Catholic Church for Holy Saturday. They are much too long to be
described in full, but the following extract will convey a notion of
their character: "At a proper hour the altars are covered over, and the
hours are said, the candles being extinguished on the altar until the
beginning of mass. In the meanwhile, fire is struck from a stone at
the church-door, and coals kindled with it. The none being said, the
priest, putting on his amice, alb, girdle, stole, and violet pluvial,
or without his capsula, the attendants standing by him with the cross,
with the blessed water and incense, before the gate of the church, if
convenient, or in the porch of the church, he blesses the new fire,
saying, The Lord be with you; and the attendants reply, And with thy
spirit." Prayers follow. "Then he blesses five grains of incense to be
placed on the wax, saying his prayer." After the prayer, incense is put
in the censer, and sprinkled with water. "Meanwhile, all the lights of
the church are extinguished, that they may be afterwards kindled from
the blessed fire." The candles are lighted with many ceremonies. The
incense having been previously blessed, "the deacon fixes five grains
of the blessed incense on the wax in the form of a cross." This wax is
then lighted. When "the blessing of the wax taper" is finished, the
prophets are read, and the catechumens during the reading are prepared
for baptism.[2] These proceedings, in which the notion of the sanctity
of fire—a notion shared by Roman Catholics with Parsees and others—is
apparent, are particularly interesting, as showing the community
of sentiment and of rites between the Church of Rome and her pagan
predecessors.

In the instances hitherto given, the consecrated actions have been
performed by the whole body of believers for the benefit of all.
They are means by which their religious union among each other is
strengthened, as well as their relation to the deity they worship
solemnly expressed. But there is another class of consecrated actions
which benefit, not the congregation or sect at large, but a particular
individual for whose advantage they are performed. There are certain
moments in the life of the individual at which he seems peculiarly
to need the protection of God. Were these moments suffered to pass
unobserved in a single case, it would appear as if he whose life had
been thus untouched by religion stood outside the pale of the common
faith, unhallowed and unblessed. And a total neglect of all these
periods, even among savages, is, if not altogether unknown, at least so
rare as to demand no special notice in a general analysis of religious
systems. With extraordinary unanimity, those systems have pitched upon
four epochs as demanding consecration by the observance of special
rites. Two of them are thus consecrated wherever a definite religion
exists at all. The other two are generally consecrated, though in
their case exceptions more frequently occur. The four moments, or
periods of life to which I refer, are

  1. Birth.
  2. Puberty.
  3. Matrimony.
  4. Death.

Of these, the first and fourth are never suffered to pass without
religious observances, or at least, observances which, by their
solemnity and indispensable obligation, approach to a religious
character. The second is usually marked by some kind of rite in
the case of males; in that of females it is often suffered to pass
unobserved. The third is always placed under a religious sanction,
except among savages of a very low order.

Let us proceed to illustrate these propositions in the case of
birth. The ceremonies attendant upon this event need not take place
immediately after it; they may be deferred some days, weeks, or
months; they will still fall under the same category, as designed to
mark the child's entry into the world. Their form will naturally vary
according to the state of civilization of the nation observing them;
but notwithstanding this there is a strange similarity among them. In
Samoa, for instance, "if the little stranger was a boy, the umbilicus
was cut on a club, that he might grow up to be brave in war. If of
the other sex, it was done on the board on which they beat out the
bark of which they make their native cloth. Cloth-making is the work
of women; and their wish was, that the little girl should grow up and
prove useful to the family in her proper occupation" (N. Y., p. 175).
I have added Mr. Turner's observation to render the nature of this
ceremony plainer. It appears hardly religious; yet when we consider
the symbolical means by which the end is sought to be attained, and
that among savages so rude as those of Polynesia religion would have
no higher practical aims than to make the boys good warriors, and the
women industrious cloth-makers, we may admit that even this elementary
rite has in it something of a religious consecration. When secular
objects are attained by mystical ceremonials, which have no direct
tendency to produce the desired result, we may generally conclude that
religious belief is at the bottom of them. In the present instance
this conclusion is still further strengthened by the description
given by the same author of a similar ceremony in another island
of the Polynesian group. There, when a boy is born, "a priest cuts
the umbilicus on a particular stone from Lifu, that the youth may
be _stone_-hearted in battle. The priest, too, at the moment of the
operation, must have a vessel of water before him, dyed black as
ink, that the boy when he grows up, may be courageous to go anywhere
to battle on a pitch-dark night, and thus, from his very birth, the
little fellow is consecrated to war" (N. Y., pp. 423, 424). Here the
religious nature of the operation is explicitly proved by the presence
of the priest, the inevitable agent in such communications between
God and man. Another missionary to the same race—the Polynesian
islanders—informs us that among these people mothers dedicated their
offspring to various deities, but principally to Hiro, the god of
thieves, and Oro, the god of war. "Most parents, however, were anxious
that their children should become brave and renowned warriors," and
with this end they dedicated them, by means of ceremonies beginning
before parturition, and ending after it, to the god Oro. The principal
ceremony after birth consisted in the priest catching the spirit of the
god, by a peculiar process, and imparting it to the child. Here again
the presence of the priest, and the formal dedication to a god—even
though he be a god of questionable morality—render the religious
element in the natal ceremonies of these very primitive savages
abundantly plain (N. M. E., p. 543).

Baptism, or washing at birth, is a common process, and is found in
countries the most widely separated on the face of the earth, and the
most unconnected in religious genealogy. Asia, America, and Europe
alike present us with examples of this rite. It seems to be a rude form
of it which prevails in Fantee in Africa, where the father, on the
eighth day after birth, after thanking the gods for the birth of his
child, squirts some ardent spirits upon him from his mouth, and then
pronounces his name, at the same time praying for his future welfare,
and "that he may live to be old, and become a stay and support to his
family," and if his namesake be living, that he may prove worthy of the
name he has received (Asha, p. 226). A rite of baptism at birth, says
Brinton, "was of immemorial antiquity among the Cherokees, Aztecs,
Mayas, and Peruvians," and this rite was "connected with the imposing
of a name, done avowedly for the purpose of freeing from inherent sin,
believed to produce a spiritual regeneration, nay, in more than one
instance, called by an indigenous word signifying 'to be born again'"
(M. N. W., p. 128). Mexico possessed elaborate rites to consecrate
nativity. When the Mexican infant was four days old it was carried
naked by the midwife into the court of the mother's house. Here it
was bathed in a vessel prepared for the purpose, and three boys, who
were engaged in eating a special food, were desired by the midwife
to pronounce its name aloud, this name being prescribed to them by
her. The infant, if a boy, carried with it the symbol of its father's
profession; if a girl, a spinning-wheel and distaff, with a small
basket and a handful of brooms, to indicate its future occupation. The
umbilical cord was then offered with the symbols; and in case of a male
infant, these objects were buried in the place where war was likely to
occur; in case of a female infant, beneath the stone where meal was
ground.[3] The above statements rest on the authority of Mendoza's
collection. A still more complete narrative of these baptismal
ceremonies is given by Bernardino de Sahagun, who records the terms
of the prayers habitually employed by the officiating midwife. Their
extreme interest to the study of comparative religion will justify me
in extracting some of them, the more so as they have never (so far as I
am aware) been published in English.[4]

Suppose that the infant to be baptized was a boy. After the symbolical
military apparatus had been prepared, and all the relatives assembled
in the court of the parents' house, the midwife placed it with the head
to the East, and prayed for a blessing from the god Quetzalcoatl and
the goddess of the water, Chalchivitlycue. She then gave it water to
taste by moistening the fingers, and spoke as follows: "Take, receive;
thou seest here that with which thou hast to live on earth, that thou
mayest grow and flourish: this it is to which we owe the necessaries of
life, that we may live on earth: receive it." Hereupon, having touched
its breast with the fingers dipped in water, she continued: "Omictomx!
O my child! receive the water of the Lord of the world, which is our
life, and by which our body grows and flourishes: it is to wash and
to purify; may this sky-blue and light-blue water enter thy body and
there live. May it destroy and separate from thee all the evil that was
beginning in thee before the beginning of the world, since all of us
men are subject to its power, for our mother is Chalchivitlycue." After
this she washed the child's whole body with water, and proceeded to
request all things that might injure him to depart from him, "that now
he may live again, and be born again: now a second time he is purified
and cleansed, and a second time our mother Chalchivitlycue forms and
begets him." Then lifting the child in both hands towards the sky, she
said: "O Lord, thou seest here thy child whom thou hast sent to this
world of pain, affliction, and penitence: give him, O Lord, thy gifts
and thy inspiration, for thou art the great God, and great is the
goddess also." After this she deposited the infant on the ground, and
then raising it a second time towards the sky, implored the "mother of
heaven" to endow it with her virtue. Next, having again laid it down,
and a third time lifted it up, she offered this prayer: "O Lords, the
gods of heaven! here is this child; be pleased to inspire him with
your grace and your spirit, that he may live on earth." After a final
depositing she raised him a fourth time towards the sky, and in a
prayer, addressed to the sun, solemnly placed him under the protection
of that deity. Taking the weapons she proceeded further to implore
the sun on his behalf for military virtues: "Grant him the gift that
thou art wont to give thy soldiers, that he may go full of joy to thy
house, where valiant soldiers who die in war rest and are happy." While
all this was going on, a large torch of candlewood was kept burning;
and on conclusion of the prayers the midwife gave the infant some
ancestral name. Let it be Yautl (which means _valiant man_): then she
addressed him thus: "Yautl! take thou the shield! take the dart! for
those are thy recreation, and the joys of the sun." The completion of
the religious office was signalized by the youths of the village coming
in a body to the house and seizing the food prepared for them, which
they called "the child's umbilicus." As they went along with this food
they shouted out a sort of military exhortation to the new-born boy,
and called upon the soldiers to come and eat the (so-called) umbilicus.
All being over, the infant was carried back to the house, preceded
by the blazing torch. Much the same was the process of baptizing a
girl, except that the clothes and implements were suited to her sex.
In her case, certain formularies were muttered by the midwife during
the washing, in a low, inaudible tone, to the several parts of her
body: thus she charged the hands not to steal, the secret parts not to
be carnal, and so forth with each member as she washed it. Moreover,
a prayer to the cradle, which seems in a manner to personify the
universal mother earth, was introduced in the baptism of females (C. N.
E. b. 6, chs. 37, 38).

If from heathen America we turn to Asia, we find that in the vast
domain of the Buddhist faith the birth of children is regularly the
occasion of a ceremony at which the priest is present (R. B. vol. i. p.
584,) and that in Mongolia and Thibet this ceremony assumes the special
form of baptism. Candles burn, and incense is offered on the domestic
altar; the priest reads the prescribed prayers, dips the child three
times, and imposes on it a name (R. B. vol. ii. p. 320). A species
of baptism prevails also among the Parsees, and was even enjoined by
the Parsee Leviticus, the Vendidad. This very ancient code required
that the child's hands should be washed first, and then its whole body
(Av. vol. ii. p. xix—Vendidad, xvi. 18-20). The modern practice goes
further. Before putting it to the breast, the Parsee mother sends to a
Mobed (or priest), to obtain some Haoma juice; she steeps some cotton
in it, and presses this into the child's mouth. After this, it must
be washed three times in cow's urine, and once in water, the reason
assigned being that it is impure. If the washing be omitted, it is the
parents, not the child, who bear the sin (Z. A., vol. ii. p. 551).

Slightly different in form, but altogether similar in essence, is the
rite administered by the Christian Church to its new-born members. Like
those which have been just described, it consists in baptism; but it
offers a more remarkable instance than any of them of the tenacity with
which the human mind, under the influence of religious belief, insists
upon the performance of some kind of ceremony immediately after, or,
at the most, at no great interval after birth. Christian baptism was
not originally intended to be administered to unconscious infants,
but to persons in full possession of their faculties, and responsible
for their actions. Moreover, it was performed, as is well known, not
by merely sprinkling the forehead, but by causing the candidate to
descend naked into the water, the priest joining him there, and pouring
the water over his head. The catechumen could not receive baptism
until after he understood something of the nature of the faith he was
embracing, and was prepared to assume its obligations. A rite more
totally unfitted for administration to infants could hardly have been
found. Yet such was the need that was felt for a solemn recognition
by religion of the entrance of the child into the world, that this
rite, in course of time, completely lost its original nature. Infancy
took the place of maturity; sprinkling of immersion. But while the
age and manner of baptism were altered, the ritual remained under the
influence of the primitive idea with which it had been instituted. The
obligations could no longer be undertaken by the persons baptized;
hence they must be undertaken for them. Thus was the Christian Church
landed in the absurdity—unparalleled, I believe, in any other natal
ceremony—of requiring the most solemn promises to be made, not by those
who were thereafter to fulfil them, but by others in their name; these
others having no power to enforce their fulfillment, and neither those
actually assuming the engagement, nor those on whose behalf it was
assumed, being morally responsible in case it should be broken. Yet
this strange incongruity was forced upon the Church by an imperious
want of human nature itself; and the insignificant sects who have
adopted the baptism of adults have failed, in their zeal for historical
consistency, to recognize a sentiment whose roots lie far deeper than
the chronological foundation of Christian rites, and stretch far wider
than the geographical boundaries of the Christian faith.

The intention of all these forms of baptism—that of Ashantee perhaps
excepted—is identical. Water, as the natural means of physical
cleansing, is the universal symbol of spiritual purification. Hence
immersion, or washing, or sprinkling, implies the deliverance of the
infant from the stain of original sin. The Mexican and Christian
rituals are perfectly clear on this head. In both, the avowed intention
is to wash away the sinful nature common to humanity; in both the
infant is declared to be born again by the agency of water.

Another ceremony very frequently practised at the birth of children
is circumcision. The wide-spread existence of this rite is one of
the most remarkable facts in comparative religious history. We know
from Herodotus, that it was practised by the Colchians, Egyptians,
Ethiopians, and Phœnicians (Herod., ii. 104). It has been found in
modern times, not only in many parts of Africa—to which it may have
come from Egypt—but in the South Sea Islands and on the American
continent. Thus, according to Beecham, there are "some people," among
the Gold Coast Africans, who circumcise their children (Asha, p. 225),
though what proportion these circumcisers bear to the rest of the
population, he does not inform us. Another traveler describes the mode
of circumcising infants in the Negro kingdom of Fida or Juda, a country
to which he believes that Islamism has not penetrated (V. G. vol. ii.
p. 159). The operation is very simple, and appears to be done without
any religious ceremony; but the natives, when pressed as to the reason
of the custom, can only reply that their ancestors observed it—an
answer which would properly apply to a rite of religious origin whose
meaning has been forgotten. Acosta, in his account of Mexican baptism,
adds that a ceremony which in some sort imitated the circumcision of
the Jews, was occasionally performed by the Mexicans in their baptism,
principally on the children of kings and noblemen. It consisted in
cutting the ears and private members of male infants (H. I., b. 5, ch.
26 No. 2). That the Jews circumcise their male children on the eighth
day I need not state. The rite is performed with much solemnity, and
is connected, as is common in these ceremonies, with the bestowal of
a name on the child, the name being given by the father after the
operation is over. Although circumcision is a ceremony which usually
applies only to boys, and although it sometimes happens that the birth
of girls is not marked like that of boys by any religious rite, yet the
Jews do not omit to consecrate their female children as well as those
of the stronger sex, though with less solemnity. "The first Saturday
after the end of the month" of the mother's lying-in, she goes to the
synagogue with her friends, where "the father of the girl is called
up to the law on the altar, and there after a chapter hath been read
to him as usual on the Sabbath morning, he orders the reader to say a
Mee-Shabeyrach," or a prayer for a blessing (Rel. of Jews, p. 27 1st
part).

It is unnecessary, after these instances, to describe the various
modes of consecrating the commencement of life which are in use in
other countries. Enough has been said to show how general, if not how
universal, such consecrating usages are; how religion, supported by
the sentiment of mankind, seizes upon the life of the individual from
the first moments of his existence; and demands, as one of the very
earliest actions to be performed on his behalf, a solemn recognition of
the fact that he stands under the influence, and needs the protection,
of an invisible and superhuman power.

After birth, the next marked epoch in life is the arrival at manhood or
at womanhood. The transition from infancy to maturity, from dependence
on others to self-dependence, from an unsexual to a sexual physical and
mental condition, has, like the actual entrance upon life and departure
from it, been appropriated by religion with a view to its consecration
by fitting rites. Since there is no precise time at which the boy can
be said to become a youth, or the girl a maiden, the age at which the
ceremonies attending puberty are performed varies very considerably in
different countries. The range of variation is from eight to sixteen,
though there are exceptional cases both of earlier and later initiation
into the new stage of existence. Generally speaking, however, these
ages are the limits within which the religious solemnities of puberty
are confined.

More clearly, perhaps, than any of those occurring at the other crises
of our lives, these solemnities are pervaded by common characteristics.
Primitive man in Australia, in America, and in Africa, marks the advent
of puberty in a manner which is essentially the same. When we rise
to the higher class of religions, we find ceremonies of a different
kind from which the ruder symbolism of the savage creeds is absent.
But from the uniformity of the types of initiation into manhood among
uncivilized people, it is highly probable that the progenitors of
the Aryan and Semitic races also, at some period of their history,
employed similar methods of rendering this epoch in life impressive
and remarkable. Two distinguishing features characterize the rites of
puberty—cruelty and mystery. There is always some painful ordeal to be
undergone by the young men or boys who have attained the requisite age;
and this ordeal is to be passed through in extreme secrecy as regards
the opposite sex, and with a ceremonial of an unknown character, which
is hidden from all but the initiated performers. Sometimes the puberty
of women is also sanctified by religious ceremonies, and these follow
the same rules, except that the female sex are not required to undergo
such severe suffering as is often inflicted upon men. While, however,
the cruelty is less, the mystery is the same. Men are not admitted
to witness the performances gone through, and these are conducted in
secluded places to which no access is allowed.

The meaning of these two features of the rites of puberty is not
difficult to divine. Young men enter at that age on a period of their
lives in which they are expected to display courage in danger and
firmness under pain. Hence the infliction of some kind of suffering
is an appropriate symbolical preparation for their future careers.
Moreover, the manner in which they endure their agony serves as a test
of their fortitude, and may influence the position to be assigned to
them in the warlike expeditions of the tribe. But the primary motive,
no doubt, is the apparent fitness of the infliction of pain at an age
when the necessary pains of manhood are about to begin.

The explanation of the secrecy observed is equally simple. A mysterious
change takes place in the physical condition at puberty, the generative
functions, which are to play so large a part in the life of the
individual, making their appearance then. It is this natural process to
which the religious process bears reference. Without doubt the rites
performed stand in symbolical relation to the new class of actions
of which their subject is, or will be, capable. It is this allusion
to the sexual instinct—a subject always tending to be shrouded in
mystery—which is the origin of the jealous exclusion of women from the
rites undergone by men, and of men from those undergone by women. The
members of each sex are, so to speak, prepared alone for the pleasures
they are afterwards to enjoy together. Religion, ever ready to seize on
the more solemn moments of our existence, seeks to consecrate the time
at which the two sexes are ready to enter towards one another on a new
and deeply important relationship.

Bearing these characteristics in mind, we may proceed to notice a few
of the ceremonies performed at puberty. Let us begin with the most
barbarous of all, those witnessed by Mr. Catlin among the Mandans, a
tribe of North American Indians now happily extinct. The usual secrecy
was observed about the "O-kee-pa," as this great Mandan ceremony
is termed, and it was only by a favor, never before accorded to a
stranger, that Mr. Catlin was enabled to be present in the "Medicine
Lodge," where the operations were conducted. In the first place a
mysterious personage, supposed to represent a white man, appeared from
the west and opened the lodge. At his approach all women and children
were ordered to retire within their wigwams. Next day the young men
who had arrived at maturity during the last year were summoned to come
forth, the rest of the villagers remaining shut up. After committing
the conduct of the ceremonies to a "medicine man," this personage
returned to the west with the same mystery with which he had come.
The young men were now kept without food, drink, or sleep, for four
days and four nights. In the middle of the fourth day two men began
to operate upon them, the one making incisions with a knife in their
flesh, and the other passing splints through the wounds, from which
the blood trickled over their naked, but painted bodies. The parts
through which the knife was passed were on each arm, above and below
the elbow; on each leg, above and below the knee; on each breast, and
each shoulder. The young men not only did not wince, but smiled at
their civilized observer during this process. "When these incisions
were all made, and the splints passed through, a cord of raw hide was
lowered down through the top of the wigwam, and fastened to the splints
on the breasts or shoulders, by which the young man was to be raised up
and suspended, by men placed on the top of the lodge for the purpose.
These cords having been attached to the splints on the breast or the
shoulders, each one had his shield hung to some one of the splints:
his _medicine bag_ was held in his left hand, and a dried buffalo
skull was attached to the splint of each lower leg and each lower
arm, that its weight might prevent him from struggling." At a signal,
the men were drawn up three or four feet above the ground, and turned
round with gradually increasing velocity, by a man with a pole, until
they fainted. Although they had never groaned before, they uttered a
heart-rending cry, a sort of prayer to the Great Spirit, during the
turning. Having ceased to cry, they were let down apparently dead. Left
entirely to themselves, they in time were able "_partly_ to rise," and
no sooner could they do thus much than they moved to another part of
the lodge, where the little finger of the left hand was cut off with a
hatchet. But their tortures were not over. The rest of them took place
in public, and were perhaps more frightful than any. The victims were
taken out of the lodge, and, being each placed between two athletic
men, were dragged along, the men holding them with thongs and running
with them as fast as they could, until all the buffalo skulls and
weights hanging to the splints were left behind. These weights must
be dragged out through the flesh, the candidates having the option
of running in the race described, or of wandering about the prairies
without food until suppuration took place, and the weights came off by
decay of the flesh. These horrors concluded, the young men were left
alone to recover as best they might. Mr. Catlin could only hear of
one who had died "in the extreme part of this ceremony," and his fate
was considered rather a happy one: "the Great Spirit had so willed it
for some especial purpose, and no doubt for the young man's benefit"
(O-kee-pa, p. 9-32).

Nor were the Mandans alone on the American continent in marking the
entrance upon manhood by distinctive observances. On the contrary, a
writer of the highest authority on Red Indian subjects, states that
no young man among the native tribes was considered fit to begin the
career of life until he had accomplished his great fast. Seven days
were considered the maximum time during which a young man could fast,
and the success of the devotee was inferred from the length of his
abstinence. These fasts, says Mr. Schoolcraft, "are awaited with
interest, prepared for with solemnity, and endured with a self-devotion
bordering on the heroic.... It is at this period that the young men and
young women 'see visions and dream dreams,' and fortune or misfortune
is predicted from the guardian spirit chosen during this, to them,
religious ordeal. The hallucinations of the mind are taken for divine
inspiration. The effect is deeply felt and strongly impressed on the
mind; too deeply, indeed, ever to be obliterated in after life." It
appears that they always in after life trust to, and meditate on, the
guardian spirit whom they have chosen at this critical moment; but that
"the _name_ is never uttered, and every circumstance connected with
its selection, and the devotion paid to it, are most studiously and
professedly concealed, even from their nearest friends" (A. R., vol. i.
pp. 149, 150). Mystery is certainly pushed to its highest point, when
the name of the spirit chosen at puberty, and the very circumstances of
the choice, are preserved as an inviolable secret within the breast of
the devotee.

New South Wales is distinguished by a ceremony which, though far less
severe than that of the Mandans, is nevertheless sufficiently painful.
"Between the ages of eight and sixteen the males and females undergo
the operation which they term Gnanoong; viz., that of having the septum
of the nose bored to receive a bone or reed.... Between the same years,
also, the males receive the qualifications which are given to them by
losing one front tooth." The loss of a tooth is not in itself a very
serious matter, but the intention of the extraction being religious,
the natives contrive to get rid of it in the most barbarous mode. The
final event is led up to by a series of performances of a more or less
emblematic nature. One of them, for instance, is supposed to give
power over the dog; another refers to the hunting of the kangaroo.
There is the usual mystery about some part of the proceedings. When
the boys were being arranged for the removal of the tooth "the author
[Collins] was not permitted to witness this part of the business,
about which they appeared to observe a greater degree of mystery and
preparation than he had noticed in either of the preceding ceremonies."
After this, some of the performers in the rite went through a number
of extraordinary motions, and made strange noises. "A particular
name, _boo-roo-moo-roong_, was given to this scene; but of its import
very little could be learned. To the inquiries made respecting it no
answer could be obtained, but that it was very good; that the boys
would now become brave men; that they would see well and fight well."
When the tooth was to be taken out, the gum was first prepared by a
sharply-pointed bone; and a throwing-stick, cut for the purpose with
"much ceremony," was then applied to the tooth, and knocked against
it by means of a stone in the hand of the operator. The tooth was
thus struck out of the gum, the operation taking ten minutes in the
case of the first boy on whom the author witnessed this process being
performed. After the tooth was gone, "the gum was closed by his
friends, who now equipped him in the style that he was to appear in
for some days. A girdle was tied round his waist, in which was stuck a
wooden sword; a ligature was bound round his head, in which were stuck
slips of the grass-gum tree." The boy "was on no account to speak, and
for that day he was not to eat." The sufferers in this ceremonial did
not long remain quiescent. In the evening they had fresh duties to
discharge. "Suddenly, on a signal being given, they all started up, and
rushed into the town, driving before them men, women, and children,
who were glad to get out of their way. They were now received into the
class of men; were privileged to wield the sword and the club, and to
oppose their persons in combat; and might now seize such females as
they chose for wives." The sexual import of the ceremony is clearly
brought into view by the last words of the writer. He adds that, having
expressed a wish to possess some of the teeth, they were given him by
two men with extreme secrecy, and injunctions not to betray them (N. S.
W., p. 364-374).

Another observer has described the same rite as performed in a somewhat
different manner, "by the tribes of the Macquarrie district" farther
north. When these tribes assemble "to celebrate the mysteries of
Kebarrah," as it is termed, all hostility which may exist at the time
is laid aside for the nonce. "When the cooi or cowack sounds the note
of preparation, the women and children in haste make their way towards
the ravines and gulleys, and there remain concealed." The dentistry
of these tribes is less scientific than that of New South Wales. The
tooth is knocked out "by boring a hole in a tree, and inserting into
it a small hard twig; the tooth is then brought into contact with the
end, and one individual holds the candidate's head in a firm position
against it, whilst another, exerting all his strength, pushes the
boy's head forwards; the concussion causes the tooth, with frequently
a portion of the gum adhering to it, to fall out." But this is not
all the poor boy has to endure, for while "some men stand over him,
brandishing their waddies, menacing him with instant death if he utters
any complaint," others cut his back in stripes, and make incisions
on his shoulders with flints. It is an interesting part of these
ceremonies, that the least groan or indication of pain is summarily
punished by the utterance, on the part of the operators, of three yells
to proclaim the fact, and by the transfer of the boy to the care of the
women, who are summoned to receive him. If he does not shrink, "he is
admitted to the rank of a huntsman and a warrior" (S. L. A., vol. ii.
p. 216-224).

In other parts of Australia, different ceremonies prevail. Thus, in one
of the districts visited by Mr. Angas, when boys arrive at the age of
fourteen or sixteen, they are "selected and caught by stealth," and the
hairs of their body are plucked out, and green gum-bushes are placed
"under the arm-pits and over the _os pubis_." Among the privileges
conferred on those who have undergone this treatment, is that of
wearing "two kangaroo teeth, and a bunch of emu feathers in their
hair." More significant still is the permission to "possess themselves
of wives," which the young men now obtain. The "scrub-natives" vary
the initiation again. Among them the boy, brought by an old man, is
laid upon his back in the midst of five fires which are lighted around
him. An instrument, called a _wittoo wittoo_, is whirled round over the
fires, with the intention of keeping off evil spirits. Lastly, "with a
sharp flint, the old man cuts off the foreskin, and places it on the
third finger of the boy's left hand, who then gets up, and with another
native, selected for the purpose, goes away into the hills to avoid the
sight of women for some time. No women are allowed to be present at
this rite" (S. L. A., vol. i. pp. 98, 99).

Elsewhere on the same continent, there are three stages to be passed
on the road from boyhood to manhood. At the age of twelve or fifteen
the boys are removed to a place apart from the women, whom they are not
permitted to see, and then blindfolded. Among some other ceremonies
their faces are blackened, and they are told to whisper, an injunction
peculiarly characteristic of the mysteriousness which is so constant
a feature of the rites of puberty. For several months this whispering
continues, and it is noteworthy, as a sign of the sexual nature of
these proceedings, that the place where the whispers have been "is
carefully avoided by the women and children." In the second ceremony,
which occurs two or three years later, "the _glans penis_ is slit open
underneath, from the extremity to the scrotum, and circumcision is also
performed." After this second stage, the _Partnapas_, as the youths are
now styled, "are permitted to take a wife." In the third ceremony each
man has a sponsor, by whom he is tatooed with a sharp quartz. These
sponsors, moreover, bestow on each lad a new name, which he retains
during the remainder of his life. Certain other performances are gone
through, such as putting an instrument termed a _witarna_ round the
lads' necks, and then "the ceremony concludes by the men all clustering
round the initiated ones, enjoining them again to whisper for some
months, and bestowing upon them their advice as regards hunting,
fighting, and contempt of pain. All these ceremonies are carefully kept
from the sight of the women and the children; who, when they hear the
sound of the _witarna_, hide their heads and exhibit every outward sign
of terror" (S. L. A., vol. i. p. 113-116).

Leaving Australia, let us pass to Africa, and call Mr. Reade as a
witness to some of the rites of puberty existing among the savages
of that continent. The following extract is doubly interesting, as
furnishing some account of the application to girls of the general
principles involved in these rites, and also as supplying, in the
author's opinion, that they are of a Phallic nature, a confirmation of
the conclusions we had reached from a survey of the evidence as a whole:

"Before they are permitted to wear clothes, marry, and rank in
society as men and women, the young have to be initiated into certain
mysteries. I received some information upon this head from Mongilomba,
after he had made me promise that I would not put it into a book:
a promise which I am compelled to break by the stern duties of my
vocation. He told me that he was taken into a fetich-house, stripped,
severely flogged, and plastered with goat-dung; this ceremony, like
those of Masonry, being conducted to the sound of music. Afterwards
there came from behind a kind of screen or shrine uncouth and terrible
sounds such as he had never heard before. These, he was told, emanated
from a spirit called _Ukuk_. He afterwards brought to me the instrument
with which the fetich-man makes this noise. It is a kind of whistle
made of hollowed mangrove wood, about two inches in length, and covered
at one end with a scrap of bat's wing. For a period of five days after
initiation the novice wears an apron of dry palm leaves, which I have
frequently seen.

"The initiation of the girls is performed by elderly females who call
themselves _Ngembi_. They go into the forest, clear a place, sweep the
ground carefully, come back to the town, and build a sacred hut which
no male may enter. They return to the clearing in the forest, taking
with them the _Igonji_, or novice. It is necessary that she should have
never been to that place before, and that she fast during the whole
of the ceremony, which lasts three days. All this time a fire is kept
burning in the wood. From morning to night, and from night to morning,
a _Ngembi_ sits beside it and feeds it, singing, with a cracked voice,
_The fire will never die out!_ The third night is passed in the sacred
hut; the _Igonji_ is rubbed with black, red, and white paints, and as
the men beat drums outside, she cries, _Okanda, yo! yo! yo!_ which
reminds one of the _Evohe!_ of the ancient Bacchantes. The ceremonies
which are performed in the hut and in the wood are kept secret from
the men, and I can say but little of them. Mongilomba had evidently
been playing the spy, but was very reserved upon the subject. Should it
be known, he said, that he had told me what he had missing, the women
would drag him into a fetich-house, and would flog him, perhaps till he
was dead.

"It is pretty certain, however, that these rites, like those of the
Bona Dea, are essentially of a Phallic nature; for Mongilomba once
confessed, that having peeped through the chinks of the hut, he saw a
ceremony like that which is described in Petronius Arbiter....

"During the novitiate which succeeds initiation, the girls are taught
religious dances—the men are instructed in science of fetich" (S. A.,
p. 245-247).

The Suzees and the Mandingoes, tribes of Western Africa, are
distinguished by a rite which, so far as I know, is peculiar—the
circumcision of women. Both sexes, indeed, are circumcised on reaching
puberty, and in the case of the girls it is done "by cutting off the
exterior part of the clitoris." With a view to this ceremony, "the
girls of each town who are judged marriageable are collected together,
and in the night preceding the day on which the ceremony takes place,
are conducted by the women of the village into the inmost recesses of a
wood." Surrounded by charms to guard every approach to the "consecrated
spot," they are kept here in entire seclusion for a month and a day,
visited only by the old woman who performs the operation. During this
close confinement they are instructed in the religion of their country,
which hitherto they have not been thought fit to learn. A most singular
scene is enacted at its close. They return to their homes by night,
"where they are received by all the women of the village, young and
old, quite naked." In this condition they go about till morning, with
music playing; and should any man be indiscreet enough to imitate
Peeping Tom, he is punished by death or the forfeiture of a slave.
After another month of parading and marching in procession (no longer
nude) the women are given to their destined husbands;—another plain
indication of the nature of these rites. In such veneration is this
ceremony held among the women of the country, that those who have come
from other parts, and are already in years, frequently submit to it
to avoid the reproaches to which uncircumcision exposes them. Indeed,
"the most vilifying term they can possibly use" is applied by the
circumcised female population to those who do not enjoy their religious
privileges (S. L., p. 70-83).

Puberty is recognized in much the same way among the South Sea
Islanders. Thus, in Tanna "circumcision is regularly practised about
the seventh year" (N. Y., p. 87). In Samoa "a modified form of
circumcision prevailed," which boys of their own accord, would get
performed upon themselves about the eighth or tenth year (Ib., p.
177). It may be a faint beginning of the religious ceremonies of
this period of life that, in the same island, when girls are entering
into womanhood, their parents invite all the unmarried women of the
settlement to a feast, at which presents are distributed among them.
At least it is worthy of remark that "none but females are present" on
these occasions (Ib., p. 184).

When we rise higher in the scale of culture, we no longer find the
painful rites by which savage nations mark the appearance of the sexual
instinct. The sacred ceremony of investiture with the thread, which
distinguished the twice-born classes among the Hindus, was performed at
this age. The code of Manu is explicit on the subject. "In the eighth
year from the conception of a Brahman, in the eleventh from that of
Kshatriya, and in the twelfth from that of a Vaisya, let the father
invest the child with the mark of his class." In the case of children
who desire to advance more rapidly than usual in their vocation,
"the investiture may be made in the fifth, sixth, or eighth years
respectively. The ceremony of investiture hallowed by the gayatri must
not be delayed, in the case of a priest, beyond the sixteenth year;
nor in that of a soldier beyond the twenty-second; nor in that of a
merchant beyond the twenty-fourth." Further postponement would render
those who were guilty of it outcasts, impure, and unfit to associate
with Brahmans (Manu, ii. 36-40).

Members of the kindred Parsee religion become responsible human beings
after they have been girt with the kosti, or sacred girdle. The age at
which this took place was formerly fifteen; and after they had once put
them on, the Parsees might not remove their girdles, except in bed,
without incurring serious guilt. This regulation applied equally to
both sexes. Modern usage has advanced the investiture with the kosti to
a much earlier period. It takes place in India at seven, and in Kirman
at nine. In India, the child is held responsible in the eighth or tenth
year for one half of its sins, the parents bearing the burden of the
other half (Av., vol. i. p. 9; vol. ii. pp. 21, 22).

The young Jew "is looked upon as a man" at the age of thirteen, and is
then bound "to observe all the commandments of the law." At this age he
becomes "Bar-mizva," or a son of the law; that is, he enters on his
spiritual majority (Picard, vol. i. ch. x. p. 82). Christian nations
signalize the advent of the corresponding epoch by admitting those who
attain it to the Sacrament of the Lord's supper, and to confirmation.
At puberty they are considered, like the young Parsees, responsible for
the sins which at their birth their sponsors took upon themselves, and
at puberty they are admitted, like the Jews, to the full privileges
of their faith, by being allowed to partake in the mystic benefits
conferred by the celebration of the death of Christ in the Holy
Communion.

After puberty the two sexes enter on a new relation towards one
another; and though the instinct by which this relation is established
is extremely apt to break loose from the control of religion, yet the
latter always attempts more or less energetically to bring it within
its grasp. This it does by confining the irregular indulgences to which
the sexual passion is prone within the legalized forms of matrimony. To
matrimony, and matrimony alone, it gives its sanction; and accordingly
it confers a peculiar sacredness upon this form of cohabitation, by
the performance of ceremonies at its outset. Such ceremonies are not
indeed equally universal with those of birth and puberty. Among savage
and slightly civilized communities we do not find them. But in all the
great religions of the world they are firmly established.

Little of a distinctively religious character is perceptible in Major
Forbes's account of marriage rites in the island of Ceylon. Yet it is
plain that Singhalese marriages do stand under a religious sanction,
for in the first place an astrologer must examine the horoscopes of the
two parties, to discover whether they correspond, and then the same
functionary is called upon to name an auspicious time for the wedding.
On the day of its occurrence a feast is given at the bride's house, and
"on the astrologer notifying that the appointed moment is approaching,
a half-ripe cocoa-nut, previously placed near the board with some
mystical ceremonies, is cloven in two at one blow" (E. Y., vol. i. p.
326-332).

Turning from southern to northern Buddhism, we find Köppen asserting
that in Thibet and the surrounding countries, marriage consists solely
in the private contract, yet adding that none the less the lamaist
clergy find business to do in regard to engagements and weddings.
The priests alone know whether the nativity of the bride stands in
a favorable relation to that of the bridegroom, and if not, by what
ceremonies and sacrifices misfortune may be averted; they alone know
the day that is most suitable and propitious for the wedding; they give
the bond its consecration and its blessing by burning incense and by
prayer (R. B., vol. ii. p. 321).

The Code of Manu is not very clear as to the sort of marriages
sanctioned by religion; some irregular connections apparently receiving
a formal recognition, though regarded with moral disapprobation. The
system of caste, moreover, introduces a confusing element, since the
nuptial rites are permitted, by some authorities, to become less and
less solemn as the grade of the contracting parties becomes lower. This
opinion having been mentioned, however, the legislator adds, that "in
this Code, three of the five last [forms of marriage] are held legal,
and two illegal: the ceremonies of Pisachas and Asuras must never
be performed." Of the two prohibited forms, the first is merely an
embrace when the damsel is asleep, drunk, or of disordered intellect;
the second is when the bride's family, and the bride herself, have
been enriched by large gifts on the part of the bridegroom. Strangely
enough, this regulation does not exclude the marriage called Gandharva,
which is "the reciprocal connection of a youth and a damsel, with
mutual desire," and is "contracted for the purpose of amorous embraces,
and proceeding from sexual inclination." Nor does it forbid forcible
capture. But a little further on, the code encourages the more regular
modes of marrying by promising intelligent, beautiful, and virtuous
sons to those who observe them; and threatening those who do not with
bad and cruel sons. It is then stated that "the ceremony of joining
hands is appointed for those who marry women of their own class, but
with women of a different class" certain ceremonies, enumerated in
the Code, are to be performed (Manu, iii. i. 44). It is probable that
this Code was never actually the law of any part of India; but it is
none the less interesting to see the legislator striving to bring the
lawless passions with which he is dealing under the supervision of
religion.

An elaborate blessing and exhortation, beginning with the words "In
the name of God," is appointed in the Zend-Avesta for the nuptial
ceremonial. While marriages among Jews and Christians are, as is well
known, inaugurated by solemn religious rites, and all unions not thus
consecrated are, at least by the formal judgment of their respective
creeds, pronounced unholy, sinful, and impure.

Death, like marriage, is held among all religions but the lowest to
call for the performance of befitting rites. In these it is usually
noticeable that much regard is paid to the manner in which the
deceased is placed in the grave, this circumstance indicating as a
general rule some form of the belief in his continued existence. Thus,
Lieut.-Colonel Collins, describing the burial of a boy in New South
Wales, observes that "on laying the body in the grave, great care was
taken so to place it that the sun might look at it as it passed, the
natives cutting down for that purpose every shrub that could obstruct
the view. He was placed on his right side, with his head to the N. W."
(N. S. W., p. 387-390).

If there is little trace among the rude population of this colony of a
religious ceremony at the interment, we find the position of religion
distinctly recognized by the natives of some parts of Africa. Oldendorp
tells us of the tribes with which he was acquainted, that the funeral
rites are performed by the priests, who are richly rewarded for the
service. Not only are animals sacrificed at the graves, but in the
case of men of rank their wives and servants are (as is well known)
slaughtered to attend them (G. d. M., p. 313-317). In Sierra Leone,
where "every town or village, which has been long inhabited, has a
common burial-place," there is the usual attention to position in the
grave. "The head of the corpse, if a man, lies either east or west;
if a woman, it is turned either to the north or south. An occasional
prayer is pronounced over the grave, importing a wish that God may
receive the deceased, and that no harm may happen to him." Moreover,
there is a ceremony which appears to be a sort of sacrifice to the
manes. "A fowl is fastened by the leg upon the grave, and a little rice
placed near it; if it refuse to eat the rice, it is not killed; but if
it eat, the head is cut off, and the blood sprinkled upon the grave;
after which it is cooked, and a part placed on the grave, the remainder
being eaten by the attendants." A tribe called the Soosoos "bury their
dead with their faces to the west" (S. L., vol. i. pp. 238, 239).

Sometimes we meet with the opinion that the entire removal of the
deceased from his accustomed place of abode on earth depends upon
due attention to the rites of interment. A primitive form of this
wide-spread belief—which lingers as a survival even in Christendom—is
observable in Polynesia. In Samoa, "in order to secure the admission of
a departed spirit to future joys, the corpse was dressed in the best
attire the relatives could provide, the head was wreathed with flowers,
and other decorations were added. A pig was then baked whole, and
placed upon the body of the deceased, surrounded by a pile of vegetable
food." The corpse is then addressed by a near relation, who desires it
with the property thus bestowed to make its way into "the palace of
Tiki," and not to return to alarm the survivors. If nothing happened
within a few days, the deceased was supposed to have got in; but a
cricket being heard on the premises was taken as an ill omen, and led
to the repetition of the offering.

Elsewhere in the same group of islands "more costly sacrifices"
were presented to the gods of the celestial regions. At least at
the interment of a chief it was customary for his wives to sit down
severally near his body, to be strangled, and then buried along with
him. "The reasons assigned for this are, that the spirit of the chief
may not be lonely in its passage to the invisible world, and that by
such an offering its happiness may be at once secured" (N. M. E., pp.
145, 146).

Funeral ceremonies in Mexico were performed by priests and monks, and
varied in splendor according to the rank of the deceased. Offices were
chanted at the graves, and at the burial of persons of quality slaves
were killed to serve them in the next world. Moreover, so sensible were
the Mexicans to the importance of religion in all states of being, that
even the domestic chaplain was not omitted; a priest being slaughtered
to accompany his lord in that capacity (H. I., b. v. ch. viii).

In Ceylon, a dying relative is taken to a detached apartment, where
he is placed with his head towards the East. After death the body is
turned with the head towards the West, and in the grave this position
is preserved. Bodies of priests, and persons of the highest rank, are
burned, and during the process of cremation the officiating priest
"repeats certain forms of prayer." The same functionary returns to
deliver "some moral admonitions" after seven days, when the friends
revisit the pyre to collect the ashes (E. Y., pp. 334, 335).

Notwithstanding the fact that in countries professing the lamaistic
form of Buddhism dead bodies are unceremoniously exposed to the open
air, and left as a prey to birds or dogs, the mortality of the laity
"forms, with their sicknesses, the richest source of income for
the priests." A great deal, says the author from whom we draw this
information, depends on the separation of soul and body taking place
according to rule; and it is important that the spirit should not
injure those who are left, and should meet with a happy re-birth. The
Lama therefore attends the death-bed, takes care to place the deceased
in the correct position, and observes the hour of departure. An
operation is then performed on the skin of the head, which is supposed
to liberate the soul. What rites are now to be performed, how the body
is to be disposed of, towards what quarter it is to be turned, and
various other details, depend on astrological combinations known only
to the clergy. But their most important and profitable business is the
repetition of masses, for the dead, which are designed to pacify the
avenging deities, and to help the soul towards as favorable a career as
is possible for it. The length of time during which these masses are
said varies with the wealth of the survivors; poor people obtaining
them for a few days only; the richer classes for seven weeks; and
princes being able to assist the spirits of their relations for a whole
year (R. B., vol. ii. p. 323-325).

Among the Parsees the cemeteries consist of desolate, open places, on
which the corpses are deposited and left exposed to the air. These
places are called Dakhmas, and are carefully consecrated by the priests
with an elaborate ceremonial. The position of the dead in the Dakhmas
is fixed by the religious law. Their dying moments and those that
succeed upon death are watched over by the Parsee faith, which has
determined the prayers to be repeated during the last hour of life;
before the body is placed upon the bier; when it is carried out;
on the way to the Dakhma, and at the Dakhma itself. The ceremonies
required on these occasions must be performed by the Maubads, or
priests. But the due disposal of the body by no means concludes the
duties of relations towards the dead. The welfare of the soul also
demands numerous prayers. Being supposed to linger for three days in
the immediate neighborhood of the corpse, it is the object during that
time of especial attention, and the rites then performed may be of use
to it in the judgment which takes place on the fourth day. Prayers are
to be recited, and offerings made on the 30th and 31st day after death,
and even then the ceremonies attending the close of mortal existence
are not concluded, for it is necessary after the lapse of a year again
to celebrate the memory of the departed. Moreover, the 26th chapter
of the Yasna, a hymn of praise and blessing, is to be said every day
during the year before eating (Av. vol. ii. p. xxxii-xlii).

Masses for the dead are no less common in Christian countries (save
where the Protestant faith is professed), than among Buddhists and
Parsees. Their object also is precisely the same; namely, the welfare
of the soul which has quitted its earthly home to enter on a new form
of being. And although no such prayers are repeated in Protestant
communities, yet there can be no doubt that interment in due form, and
with due solemnity, is held by the people, even in England, to benefit
the soul in some undefined way. Nor is any portion of the ritual of the
English Church more impressive than that passage in the Burial Service
where the officiating priest consigns "earth to earth, ashes to ashes,
dust to dust, in sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal
life, through our Lord Jesus Christ."

But it is not only the due performance of these last rites which
popular opinion associates with the prospect of salvation in the world
to come. As in other religions, so in that of our own country, the
position of the body in the tomb is deemed to be of vast importance.
The head must be westward and the feet eastward, the nominal reason
being that the dead person should rise from his temporary abode with
his face to the east, whence Christ will come; the real reason being
in all probability the survival of a much older custom, in which
that venerable divinity, the Sun, stood in the place of the Savior of
mankind.




                              CHAPTER II.

                          CONSECRATED PLACES.


Consecrated actions of various kinds being the primary method of
approaching the beings in whose honor they are performed, there remain
various secondary methods; sometimes tending to heighten the effect of
the primary method, sometimes supplementing it. These secondary means
of giving effect to the religious sentiment may be divided into three
classes:—the consecration of places, of things, and of persons; while
the last of these falls into two subdivisions: the self-dedication of
certain individuals to their deity, and the dedication of a certain
class to the more special performance of religious services on behalf
of the community.

Consecration of places evidently confers on the actions performed
within them a higher sanctity. Prayer offered in a place which has been
devoted to the service of God is more likely to be successful. Praise
from within its walls will be more acceptable. Wedlock contracted under
its influence will be more solemn, and will possess a more binding
character. Children may most fitly enter upon life by a profession of
faith made in their behalf in a consecrated temple. And the bodies of
the dead will rest more peacefully in consecrated earth.

It is scarcely needful to offer evidence of the fact that in various
lands, and by many kinds of belief, the performance of certain
ceremonies is held to consecrate places to the purpose of communication
between man and the higher powers. From the savage in Sierra Leone,
where "a small shed of dry leaves" presents perhaps the rudest form
of temple to be found on earth (S. L., p. 65), to the European who
worships his God in St. Peter's or Westminster Abbey, the same opinion
prevails. Everywhere the consecration of places is conceived to render
them fitter for the celebration of religious rites, and unfit for all
profaner uses.

Of the state of feeling with which such localities are endowed by the
ordinary worshiper, an excellent example is offered in Solomon's speech
at the dedication of the temple. He specially requests Jehovah that
when prayers are made to him in this place, or toward this place, he
will hear such prayers: that is, he expects that the sanctity he will
confer upon the temple, by devoting it to Jehovah, will add something
to the efficacy of petitions in which it is in some way concerned. The
manner in which he dedicates the temple may serve, too, as a type of
this kind of ceremony. "Solomon," we are told, "offered a sacrifice
of peace-offerings, which he offered unto the Lord, two-and-twenty
thousand oxen, and an hundred and twenty thousand sheep." With this
barbaric magnificence he "dedicated the house of the Lord," and he
subsequently hallowed the middle of the court by "burnt-offerings, and
meat-offerings, and the fat of the peace-offerings" (1 Kings viii). How
great was the respect attached to this temple by the Israelites, and
how anxiously they sought to guard it against such profanation as it
received at the hands of Pompey, is well known.

The lavish splendor with which Solomon adorned his temple is a common
feature of consecrated places. Like the ancient Hebrews, the Mexicans
and Peruvians had buildings in honor of their gods, of extreme
magnificence. The temple of Pachacamac, or the Creator, in Peru, was
a very large and ancient building, richly decorated, which was found
to contain an immense wealth of gold and silver vessels (H. I., b. v.,
chs. iii., xii). The boundless munificence with which pious Christians
have sought to beautify their places of worship needs no description.
Along with the more formal consecration given to such sanctuaries of
the Most High by special rites, they have sought to render them more
worthy of his habitation by the liberality displayed in their erection
and embellishment.




                             CHAPTER III.

                         CONSECRATED OBJECTS.


Besides consecration of places to religious uses, material things
may be consecrated to the deity worshiped by those who thus apply
them. These things may be of the most varied description, from common
objects of the most trifling value, to those of the utmost possible
estimation. Among consecrated objects are the furniture of temples or
churches, which is reserved for divine service; the garments worn by
priests in their liturgical functions; the votive tablets in which men
record their gratitude for preservation in danger; pictures, statues,
endowments of land for monasteries or the support of ecclesiastical
offices; and anything else which the owners may part with from pious
motives, and with the view of bestowing it entirely on their god or his
vicegerents on earth.

Such consecrated objects were seen in abundance by Lieutenant Matthews
in Sierra Leone, where the natives devoted them to the idols who
reigned in the small sheds of dry leaves mentioned in the preceding
chapter. The offerings made by the natives to these superhuman beings
consisted of "bits of cloth, pieces of broken cups, plates, mugs, or
glass bottles, brass rings, beads, and such articles." But a still more
precious object was bestowed upon these gods by the people when they
wished to render them particularly complaisant. Then "they generally
provide liquor," of which they make a very small libation to the object
of their petitions and drink the rest. Moreover, they have also little
genii, or household gods, consisting of images of wood from eight to
twelve inches long, to whom they consecrate certain things. These might
be of a very miscellaneous order. There might be seen, for instance,
"a brass pan fastened to the stump of a tree by driving a country axe
through it—a glass bottle set up on the stump of a tree—a broken bottle
placed upon the ground with two or three beads in it, covered with a
bit of cloth, and surrounded with stones—a rag laid upon small sticks
and covered with a broken calabash," and so forth. As in more civilized
countries, the sanctity conferred upon the objects by religion places
them under the special protection of the law. "To remove one of them
even unknowingly," continues the author, "is a great offense, and
subjects the aggressor to a _palaver_, or action in their courts of
law" (S. L., p. 65-67). The Tartar chiefs, as described by the traveler
Carpin, kept idols in their places of abode, to whom they offered not
only the first milk of their ewes and mares, and something of all they
ate, but to whom they even consecrated horses. After this dedication to
the idol no one might mount these horses (Bergeron, Voyage de Carpin,
p. 30). Among the Singhalese a curious mode prevails of consecrating
fruit to some demon, in order to prevent its being stolen. "A band of
leaves" is to be seen fastened around the stem of a fruit-tree, and
it is supposed that no thief will be so sacrilegious as to touch the
fruit that has been thus hallowed. "Occasionally," says Sir Emerson
Tennent, "these dedications are made to the temples of Buddha, and even
to the Roman Catholic altars, as to that of St. Anne of Calpentyn. This
ceremony is called Gokbandeema, 'the tying of the tender leaf,' and
its operation is to prevent the fruit from pillage, till ripe enough
to be plucked and sent as an offering to the divinity to whom it has
thus been consecrated." He adds, that a few only of the finest are
offered, the rest being kept by the owner (Ceylon, vol. i. p. 540, 3d
ed.). Another author, describing the same custom, says, "To prevent
fruit being stolen, the people hang up certain grotesque figures around
the orchards and dedicate it to the devils, after which none of the
native Ceylonese will dare even to touch the fruit on any account.
Even the owner will not venture to use it, till it be first liberated
from the dedication. For this purpose, they carry some of it to the
pagoda, where the priests, after receiving a certain proportion for
themselves, remove the incantations with which it was dedicated" (A. I.
C., p. 198). Here the consecration, contrary to the usual rule, is made
with an interested motive, and is of the nature of a direct bargain
for temporal advantages. Of the common form of consecration among the
same people, another visitor gives evidence; their temples are, he
says, "adorned with such things as the people's ability and poverty
can afford; accounting it the highest point of devotion, bountifully
to dedicate such things unto their gods, which in their estimation are
most precious" (A. R. C., p. 73).

Sometimes consecration is held to confer special powers, not otherwise
possessed, upon the objects on which it is performed. Thus, among
the rude Mongolians, the consecrating rites to which sacred writings
and images of Buddha are subjected are described by a word meaning
to _animate_, which is held by a learned Orientalist to express
their sense of the communication of living power, of which the
religious ceremony is the vehicle (G. O. M., p. 330). Thus, too, among
Christians, the consecration of bread and wine by a priest is regarded
as the means of a still more extraordinary communication of living
power to those lifeless elements. And the writer has been present at
the Vatican when a vast number of rosaries, and other such trinkets,
were held up by a crowd of devotees to receive the Papal blessing,
which was evidently considered, by their owners, to confer upon them
some kind of virtue that was otherwise lacking.

Naturally it follows from the theory of consecration—which is that
of a gift from men to God—that the more valuable the objects given,
the more pleasing will they be. Hence, men generally endeavor to
consecrate valuable objects, though instances to the contrary may be
found. The horses bestowed by the Tartars were, no doubt, among their
most precious possessions. And the large endowments of land devoted in
perpetuity to the Church during the middle ages, were gifts of the most
permanent and most coveted form of property.

Consecration differs from sacrifice, in that the objects of sacrifice
are intended for the immediate gratification of the deity, those of
consecration for his continued use. Hence, things sacrificed are
consumed upon the spot; things consecrated are preserved as long as
their nature permits of it. So strong is the sense of permanence
attaching to consecration, that there are probably even now persons
among us, who would regard it as a sort of crime for the State to
assume the ownership of lands once devoted to religious purposes, or
to divert the proceeds to some other employment. A like sentiment, no
doubt, prevails with regard to the material and the furniture of places
of worship. With regard to sacrifice the case is different. Animals,
fruits, or other articles intended for sacrifice, are given to the god
or his representative for the single occasion, and as a requisite in
the performance of some momentary rite. If a homely comparison may be
permitted on so sacred a subject, it might be not inaptly said, that
things sacrificed are like the meat and drink placed before a guest
who is invited to dinner, while things consecrated rather resemble the
present which he carries away to his own residence, and keeps for the
remainder of his life.




                              CHAPTER IV.

                         CONSECRATED PERSONS.


We have seen the religious instinct leading to the consecration of
actions, to the consecration of places, and to the consecration of
things. We are now to follow it in a yet more striking exhibition of
its power, the consecration by human beings of their own lives and
their own persons (or sometimes of the lives and persons of their
children). Not only is such self-dedication to the service of religion
common; it is well-nigh universal. There is no phenomenon more
constant, none more uniform, than this. Differing in minor details, the
grand features of self-consecration are everywhere the same, whether
we look to the saintly Rishis of ancient India; to the wearers of the
yellow robe in China or Ceylon; to the Essenes among the Jews; to the
devotees of Vitziliputzli in pagan Mexico; or to the monks and nuns
of Christian times in Africa, in Asia, and in Europe. Throughout the
various creeds of these distant lands there runs the same unconquerable
impulse, producing the same remarkable effects. This is not the place
to attempt a psychological explanation of asceticism as a tendency of
human nature. We have now only to notice some of its most conspicuous
manifestations, and thus to assign to it its proper place in a history
of the mode in which man endeavors to approach and to propitiate his
god.

Generally speaking, we may premise that the consecration of individuals
to a life in which religion is the predominating element, means the
abandonment of the ordinary pleasures of the world. This is of the
very essence of self-devotion. Sanctity, and the enjoyment of all
those things in which the body is largely concerned, have always
been regarded as inconsistent and opposite. Hence, in the first line
of things prohibited to consecrated persons, we always discover
the pleasures of sex. To indulge in these is usually considered the
most flagrant outrage against their rules. Next to sexual delights,
or equally with them, the luxuries of choice food, rich clothing,
comfortable beds, well-furnished rooms, and similar ministrations to
physical ease are withheld from the votaries. They are very frequently
voluntary paupers or mendicants; or where this is not the case, they
usually depend on some endowment derived from the liberality of others.
Where their numbers are large, they are placed under rules, and bound
to the strictest obedience to their superiors in the same line of
life. Moreover, mere abstinence from ordinary pleasures is not enough
to prove their devotion; they are called on to undergo extraordinary
pains. These vary with the rule of the order, or their own fervor.
Sometimes they are obliged to live in rooms which, in the coldest
weather, no fire is permitted to cheer; sometimes their sleep is broken
by rising at unseasonable hours to worship their deity; sometimes the
garment they wear is too thick in summer, and too scanty in winter;
and sometimes they tear their own flesh by scourging and flagellation.
Fasting, too, is often imposed at certain times. And the zeal of
individuals always outruns the compulsory hardships of their position.
They will show the intensity of their devotion by fasting more
rigorously than others, sleeping on harder couches, bearing greater
inflictions. Self-consecration continually tends towards greater and
greater self-denial; but the actual degrees of self-denial vary from
the mere observance of some simple rules to the extremest possibility
of self-torture. Confining ourselves, however, to the general marks
which characterize this devotion of persons to religion, we may say
that it involves principally two things: chastity and poverty.

When the Spaniards had established themselves in Mexico and Peru, they
were astonished to find, in the religious customs and practices of the
new world they had invaded, so much that resembled those of the old
world they had left behind. Especially was this the case with regard to
monastic institutions, in respect of which it seemed that the Christian
missionaries had little to teach their heathen brothers. "Certainly it
is a matter of surprise," says the Reverend Father Acosta, "that false
religious opinion should have so much power with those young men and
young women of Mexico, that they should do with such austerity in the
service of Satan that which many of us do not do in the service of the
most high God. Which is a great confusion to those who are very proud
and very well satisfied with some trifling penance which they perform"
(H. I., b. 5, ch. 16, sub fine). In describing more particularly the
manner in which the devil had contrived to be served in Mexico, he
states that around the great temple there were two monasteries, one
of young women and the other of young men, whom they called monks
(religiosos). Those young men who served in the temple of Vitziliputzli
lived in poverty, chastity, and obedience; ministered like Levites to
the priests and dignitaries of the temple, and had manual labor to do.
Besides these were others who performed menial services, and carried
the offerings that were made when their superiors went in quest of
alms. All these had persons who took charge of them, and when they
went abroad they held their heads low and their eyes on the ground,
not daring to raise them to look at the women they might come across.
Should they not receive enough by way of alms, they had the right of
going to the sown fields, and plucking the ears of corn of which they
had need. They practised penance, rising at midnight, and also cutting
themselves so as to draw blood; but this exercise and penance did not
last more than a year (H. I., b. 5, ch. 16).

Both in Mexico and in Peru young girls were consecrated to a religious
life, but this consecration was sometimes only temporary; a certain
proportion of the Peruvian nuns being drafted off into the harem of
the Inca. Acosta, describing this consecration of virgins, is again
impressed with the abilities of the devil. Since, he observes, the
religious life is so pleasing in the eyes of God, the father of lies
has contrived, not only to imitate it, but to cause his ministers to
be distinguished in austerity and regularity. Thus in Peru there were
many convents for girls, who were placed under the tuition of old women
whom they called Mamaconas. Indoctrinated by the Mamaconas in "various
things necessary for human life, and in the rites and ceremonies of
their gods," they were removed, after they had attained fourteen years,
either to the sanctuaries where they preserved a perpetual virginity,
or to be sacrificed in some religious ceremonial, or to become wives
and mistresses of the Inca and his friends. The consecration of these
damsels was not, as usual in such cases, voluntary on their part, but
the same idea of merit inspired the gift on the part of those who made
it. For, while the surrender of female children to the monastery was
compulsory when demanded by an officer named the "Appopanaca," yet
"many offered their girls of their own free will, it appearing to them
that they gained great merit, inasmuch as they were sacrificed for the
Inca." If any of the older nuns, who presided over the children, had
sinned against her honor, she was invariably buried alive or subjected
to some other cruel death.

"In Mexico," continues the pious Jesuit, "the devil also found his own
kind of nuns, although the profession did not last more than one year."
As has been said, there were two houses, one for men and another for
women. Like the monks, the nuns also wore a distinctive costume, and
dressed their hair in a distinctive fashion. Like them, they had manual
labor to perform; like them, they rose at midnight for matins. They had
their abbesses, who occupied them in making robes for the adornment of
the idols. They also had their penance, in which they cut themselves in
the points of the ears. They lived with honor and circumspection, and
any delinquency, even the smallest, was punished with death; for they
said that the sinner had violated the honor of their god (H. I., b. 5,
ch. 15).

Another author, describing the religious orders of Peru, states that
fathers, anxious that their children's lives should be preserved, used
to dedicate them in infancy to some form of monastic establishment,
to which they were actually committed at the age of fifteen. If, for
instance, they were promised to the house of Calmecac, it was that
they might perform penance, and serve the gods, and live in purity
and humility and chastity, and be altogether preserved from carnal
vices. A Christian parent could have desired no more. "And if it were
a woman, she was a servant of the temple called Civatlamacazqui; she
had to be subject to the women who governed that order; she had to
live in chastity, and abstain from every carnal act, and to live with
the virgins who were called _the sisters_," who were shut up in the
convent. A feast was made when the child was dedicated by its parents,
and the head of the order took it in his arms in token that it was his
subject till it was married; the consecration not being perpetual.
Its reception was accompanied by a solemn ceremonial, in which the
following prayer was offered to their god: "O Lord, most merciful,
protector of all, here stand thy handmaidens, who bring thee a new
handmaid, whose father and mother promise and offer her, that she
may serve thee. And well thou knowest that the poor thing is thine:
vouchsafe to receive her, that for a few days she may sweep and adorn
thy house, which is a house of penance and weeping, where the daughters
of the nobles place their hand on thy riches, praying and weeping to
thee with tears and great devotion, and where they demand with prayers
thy words and thy power. Vouchsafe, O Lord, to show her grace, and to
receive her: place her, O Lord, in the company of the virgins who are
called Tlamacazque, who do penance and serve in the temple, and wear
their hair short. O Lord, most merciful, protector of all, vouchsafe
to do with her whatever is thy holy will, showing her the grace which
thou knowest to be suited to her." If then the girl was of age, she was
marked in the ribs and breast, in evidence of her being a nun; and if
she was still a child, a string of beads was put round her neck, which
she wore until she could fulfil the vow of her parents (A. M., vol. v.
p. 484-486).

But in addition to these temporary nuns, Peru had others, whose vows
were perpetual. Vega relates in his Commentaries, that besides the
women who entered into monasteries to profess perpetual virginity,
there were many women of the blood-royal who lived in their own houses,
subject to a vow of virginity, though not in "clausura." They went
out to visit their relations on various occasions. They were held in
the greatest respect for their chastity and purity, which was by no
means feigned, but altogether genuine. Any failure to observe their
vow was punished by burning or drowning. The writer knew one of these
women when advanced in life, and occasionally saw her when she visited
his mother, whose great-aunt she was. He bears witness himself to the
profound veneration with which this old lady was everywhere received,
the place of honor being always assigned to her, as well by his mother
as by her other acquaintances (C. R., b. 4, ch. 7). Thus we find
celibacy, as a mark of piety, in full force in the new world at the
time of its discovery, no less than in the old; and religious chastity
as much respected by the idolatrous Mexicans and Peruvians as by their
Catholic invaders.

Monasticism, in countries where Buddhism reigns supreme, is a vast
and powerful institution. In the early times of Buddhistic fervor, it
would almost seem from the language of the legends, that to embrace
the faith of Sakyamuni and to become an ascetic were one and the same
thing. At least every convert who aspired to be not only a hearer, but
a doer of the word, is described as instantly assuming the tonsure and
the yellow robe. At the same time the distinction between Bhikshus,
mendicants, and Upâsakas, laymen, is no doubt an early one; and we
must assume, that as soon as the religion of the gentle ascetic began
to spread among the people at large, those whose circumstances did not
permit them to be monks or nuns were received on easier terms. "What,"
asked a disciple, "must be done in the condition of a mendicant?"—"The
rules of chastity must be observed during the whole of life." "That
is impossible; is there no other way?"—"There is another, friend; it
is to be a pious man (Upâsaka)." "What is there to be done in this
condition?"—"It is necessary to abstain during the whole of life
from murder, theft, pleasure (the illicit pleasures of sex must be
understood), lying, and the use of intoxicating liquors" (H. B. I., p.
281). To these five commandments, binding on every Buddhist, the rule
imposed upon the mendicants adds five more, to say nothing of many
more special obligations and regulations to which they are subject.
Murder, theft, unchastity, lying, and drinking, are forbidden to them
as to all others; the sixth commandment prohibits eating after mid-day;
the seventh singing, dancing, and playing musical instruments; the
eighth adorning the person with flowers and bands, or using perfume
and ointment; the ninth sleeping on a high and large bed; the tenth
accepting gold and silver. These several prohibitions aim, as is
evident, at precisely the same objects which the founders of Christian
orders have always had in view; that, namely, of weaning their
disciples from the world by keeping from them the enjoyment of its
luxuries, and preventing the acquisition of personal property.

The obligation to observe these rules commenced with the novitiate;
a condition which, in Buddhist as in Catholic communities, precedes
that of complete ordination. The novices are termed Sramanera, a word
meaning little Sramanas, while the monks themselves are either Sramana
or Bhikshu. Both these designations serve to express the nature of
their vocation; Sramana being "an ascetic who subdues his senses," and
Bhikshu "one who lives by alms" (H. B. I., pp. 275, 276). The sisters
are called Bhikshunî, and they are said to owe their origin to Maha
Prajapati, the aunt of the great Sramana Gautama, who obtained from her
nephew, through the intercession of the beloved disciple Ananda, the
permission for her sex to follow their brothers in the way of salvation
by poverty and chastity (Ibid., p. 278).

There can be no question that, according to the original practice
of the mendicant orders, the vow was taken for life; and this is, I
believe, still the custom in most of the lands where Buddhism is in the
ascendant. But in Siam, the monastic vow can at any time be cancelled
by the superior of the monastery; and this rule, which involves a
gross abuse of the original institution, renders temporary asceticism
universal in that country (Wheel, p. 45). Another kind of degeneracy
has occurred in Nepaul, where the ministers of religion, who elsewhere
must be monks, are permitted to be married (Hodgson, T.R.A.S., vol. ii.
p. 245).

The objects proposed to themselves by Buddhists, in embracing an
ascetic life, are precisely the same as those proposed to themselves
by Christians. By denying themselves the pleasures of this world, they
hope to obtain a higher reward than other mortals; whether in the shape
of birth in a happier condition, or in that of complete emancipation
from all birth whatsoever, which is the supreme goal of their religion.
The means they pursue to attain these ends are also similar. The
Prâtimoksha Sûtra, or Sûtra of Emancipation, which forms the universal
_regula_ in all their monasteries, is worthy of a St. Benedict or a
St. Francis. It lays down with the minutest elaboration, not only all
the moral precepts that must be obeyed by the monk or nun, but all
the little observances in regard to dress, eating, walking, social
intercourse, and so forth, to which he must attend. It contains two
hundred and fifty rules, and the breach of any of these is attended
with its appropriate penance, according to the magnitude of the offense.

Asceticism was deeply rooted in the native land of Buddhism long
before the appearance of the reformer who gave it, by the foundation
of communities, an organization and a purpose. Just as in Egypt there
were many solitary saints before the time of Pachomius and Antony, so
in India there were holy men who had subdued their senses before the
gospel of deliverance was preached by Gautama Buddha. Some of these
dispensed altogether with clothing, a custom which was frowned upon
by Buddhism and put down wherever its influence was paramount. Others
lived in lonely places, exposed to every sort of hardship and avoiding
every form of carnal pleasure. The popular mind combined the practice
of austerity with the acquisition of extraordinary powers over nature.
Hence, no doubt, an additional motive for its exercise. The Râmâyana
abounds with descriptions of holy hermits, living on roots in the
forests, and practising the utmost austerity. Visvamitra, for example,
the very type of an ascetic, was a monarch, who determined to obtain
from the gods the title of "Brahman saint," the highest to which he,
not by birth a Brahman, could aspire. This was the manner in which he
went to work:—

    "His arms upraised, without a rest,
    With but one foot, the earth he pressed;
    The air his food, the hermit stood
    Still as a pillar hewn from wood.
    Around him in the summer days
    Five mighty fires combined to blaze.
    In floods of rain no veil was spread,
    Save clouds, to canopy his head.
    In the dark dews both night and day
    Couched in the stream the hermit lay."[5]

Twice did the gods, alarmed at the power he was likely to acquire,
direct their efforts against his chastity. The first time the perfect
nymph deputed on this errand, seen by him while bathing herself naked
in the stream, caused him to forget his vow and dally with her for
ten years. The second time the saint perceived the plot, but allowed
himself to burst forth in words of unholy rage against the damsel
who was trying to seduce him, and thus lost the merit of his former
penance. After this he resolved never to speak a word, and persisted
in his resolution, until the gods, in a body, addressed him in the
long-desired form: "Hail, Brahman Saint" (Griffith, The Ramayan, vol.
i. p. 274).

Visvamitra is of course a mythical character, and his penance
imaginary; but the ascetic life he is described as leading was taken
from models which the writers had before their eyes. All the marvels of
the Thebaid in Christian times were, in fact, anticipated in India by
at least one thousand years.

How deeply the ascetic tendency is implanted in human nature is
strikingly shown in the case of the Essenes, the Nazarites, and the
Therapeutæ, who sprang from a religion whose ostensible precepts are
eminently opposed to all such courses, that of the Jews. Judaism
powerfully encouraged all those inclinations to which monasticism is
fatal: the propagation of the species, the acquisition of property, the
maintenance of family ties, and the enjoyment of the good things which
this world has to offer. Yet from the bosom of this sober faith sprang
bodies of men who neither ate flesh, nor drank wine, nor cohabited
with women. It may be that the Jewish ascetics were not very numerous;
but it is clear, too, that they were not so few as to be deemed by
contemporary observers altogether unimportant. And the fascination
which John the Baptist, pre-eminently an ascetic, exercised over his
countrymen in the first century, is a sign that this mode of living
was conducive among the Jews to that spiritual supremacy which is so
constantly received at the hands of Christians.

That Christianity should encourage a disposition which even Judaism
could not check was no more than might be expected from the language
and conduct of its founder and his earliest disciples. Christ was
never married, and probably lived in complete chastity. Paul goes so
far as to compare marriage unfavorably with celibacy. James upholds
poverty as preferable to riches in the eyes of God. The whole of the
New Testament abounds with passages in which present misery is declared
to be the forerunner of future happiness, and present prosperity of
future suffering. This is the very spirit of monasticism, and it is not
surprising that from such a root such fruits have sprung. From a very
early age devout Christians have felt that in renouncing individual
property, marriage, personal freedom, and the various other joys
which life in the world offers, they were fulfilling the dictates of
their religion and preparing themselves for heaven. To illustrate
this proposition effectually would be to write the history of the
monastic orders. Beginning in the deserts of Egypt, these have extended
throughout Europe, and have exercised a vast and potent influence on
the extension of the Christian faith. Monks have been missionaries,
preachers, martyrs, persecutors, bishops and popes. The greatest names
who have ranged themselves under the banner of the Catholic Church have
belonged to one or other of the several orders. And alongside of the
monks, living by the same rule, helping them in their several tasks,
the nuns have ever been forward in undergoing their share of austerity
and undertaking their share of labor.

Very various have been the immediate motives that have led such large
numbers of Christians to betake themselves to the monastery or the
convent. Some have fled from riches and luxury; others from poverty and
wretchedness. Some have been sick of earthly pleasures; others have
sought to avoid the temptation of ever knowing them. Many have been
drawn by the irresistible spell of asceticism to flee from opposing
parents and unsympathizing friends in order to embrace it; others have
been destined from their infancy, like the Mexican and Peruvian youth,
to wear the cowl or to take the veil. But throughout the history of
every order there has been the same fundamental idea sustaining its
existence; the idea, namely, that in becoming an ascetic, the person
was consecrated to God, and became by that consecration purer, holier,
and better than those who continued to pursue the ordinary avocations
of secular life.

This consecration is not given without due solemnity. It is only after
a novitiate, in which he has full experience of the privations to be
undergone, that the candidate can be received into the order of which
he desires to be a member. Should his resolution be unshaken after his
year's trial as a novice, he may take the irrevocable vow of obedience,
under which those of poverty and chastity are comprehended. He is now a
consecrated person. He has sacrificed himself completely to his divine
Master, and whatever reward he may hope to receive must be given by
that Master in a future state.

It is one of the principal weaknesses of Protestantism that it has
omitted to provide for the ascetic instinct. It has lost thereby the
mighty hold which the Catholic Church must ever possess over those
who feel themselves moved to crucify the flesh and devote themselves
wholly to spiritual things. Strange to say, this remarkable instinct
has nevertheless broken out afresh within the bosom of Protestantism
in recent times. The Shakers are but a somewhat novel species of monks
and nuns. They abstain from marriage though the two sexes live together
in one community. Their chastity is said to be perfect. They give up
all individual property for the common good. They wear a peculiar dress
and are subject to peculiar rules. Lastly, they believe that they stand
under the special guidance and protection of the Holy Spirit.




                              CHAPTER V.

                        CONSECRATED MEDIATORS.


Having seen the manner in which individuals devote themselves to the
special service of their deities, we have now to observe the further
fact that a whole class of men is devoted to this service by the
demands of society. This class is the priesthood. They differ from
the persons last treated of, inasmuch as the consecration of ascetics
has reference exclusively to their own personal salvation, while the
consecration of priests has reference exclusively to the salvation
of others. A monk or a nun becomes by the act of profession a holier
being; less occupied with the world; mentally nearer to God; better
fitted to communicate with him than ordinary unchaste mortals. A
priest becomes by the act of ordination a being endowed with special
powers; better entitled to offer up the public prayers than others;
more likely to be heard when he does so; more eligible as a channel of
communication between men and God than unordained mortals. In other
words, his functions are of a public, those of the monk of a private,
kind.

We must not be confused by the fact that among Buddhists and among
Catholics the two species of consecration are no longer completely
distinct, the monks in both of those great religions being at the
same time priests. The early writings of Buddhism sufficiently evince
the fact that no kind of public ministry was at first connected with
the profession of a mendicant. He had simply to observe the precepts
of his order, and to aim at such perfection as should ensure the
deliverance of his soul. Priestly duties are now indeed performed by
monks in Buddhist countries, but this is an addition to their regular
vocation, not a necessary part of it; while in Catholic countries,
the ecclesiastical character which the monks at present enjoy in no
way belonged to them when the monastic orders were first established.
The monks, as Montalembert observes, were at first an intermediate
body between laity and clergy, in whom the latter were to see an ideal
which it was not possible for all to attain. Technically, however, the
monks formed a part of the laity, and the steps by which they came
to be considered as the "regular clergy" are, according to the same
high authority, difficult to follow (M. d'O., vol. i. p. 288; vol. ii.
p. 57). Self-consecration, and consecration to ecclesiastical duties
were therefore two very different things, and the distinction between
regular and secular clergy shows that, though somewhat obliterated in
appearance, the two ideas are still kept apart.

In all religions that have risen above the rudest stage, those who
desire to become priests are initiated by certain fixed ceremonies.
Thus is the consecration given which fits them to convey to God the
wishes of mortals, and to mortals the will of God. To take an example
from a very primitive form of faith, the "Angekoks," or priests
of the Greenlanders, receive their commission only after long and
exhausting rites, in which a familiar spirit is supposed to appear
to them, and to accompany them to heaven and hell. Should they fail
ten times in obtaining the assistance of such a spirit, they are
compelled to lay down their offices. The spirit, when he comes,
holds a conversation with the Angekok, who is thus installed in his
profession by supernatural means (H. G., p. 253-256). So also, among
the American tribes in New France, we are told that the "Jongleurs"
by profession never obtained this character till after they had been
prepared for it by fasts, which they carried to a great extent, and
during which they beat the drum, cried, shouted, sung and smoked. Their
installation was subsequently accomplished in a sort of Bacchanalia,
with ceremonies of a highly extravagant nature (N. F., vol. iii. p.
363). Among a certain tribe of negroes, the priests are taken from a
class of men termed "living sacrifices" (G. d. M., p. 328), who live
at the expense of others, taking whatever they require, and who wear
their hair, like the Nazarites, unshorn. Here their consecration is
marked by these peculiar characteristics, and appears to be impressed
upon them by some dedication made without their own consent. In another
negro nation, there is a priestess of a certain snake, who is marked
in a peculiar way over the whole body, and held in great esteem. Every
year some young girls are seized by force and taken to this priestess,
who marks them artistically, initiates them in religious songs and
dances, marries them in a manner to the snake, and consecrates them
as priestesses of that divinity. With others again the priesthood is
hereditary, the consecration in this case being imprinted once for all
on certain families, and not imparted, as in the instances given above,
by rites affecting only the individual who undergoes them. A peculiar
modification of the hereditary principle is where the preference
is given to him, among several sons, who dares to pull certain
grains (which have been previously put in) out of the teeth of his
deceased father, and place them in the mouth of the corpse. Here the
consecration is partly inherited, partly personal. Elsewhere a priest
or fetich-maker is made "by all sorts of silly ceremonies at a meal,"
and a string with consecrated objects is hung round his neck in token
of his condition (G. d. M., p. 328).

Both principles, the hereditary and the personal, were known in Mexico.
The priests of Vitziliputzli succeeded by right of birth; the priests
of other idols by election or by an offering made in their infancy.
Priests were consecrated to their holy office by an unction which, as
Father Acosta justly observes, resembled that of the Catholic Church.
They were anointed from head to foot, and the hair was left to hang
down in tresses moist from the application of the ointment. But when
they were going to perform the offices of their sacred calling on
mountains, or in dark caves, they were anointed with an altogether
different substance, compounded by a peculiar process from certain
venomous reptiles. This was supposed to give them courage (H. I., b. 5,
ch. 26).

The consecration of the Levitical priesthood, originally personal,
descended from father to son, and was moreover confined to the members
of this single tribe. It could not be repeated after its first
performance. Hence we have in this case an interesting example, not
only of an hereditary priesthood, but also of the manner in which its
exclusive sanctity was supposed to have been originally established.
Moses, who derived his appointment directly from Jehovah, was employed
to consecrate Aaron and his sons by means of an elaborate and imposing
ritual communicated to him by that deity himself. The means thus taken
(in Jehovah's own words) "to hallow them, to minister unto me in the
priest's office," were effectual for all time; the descendants of Aaron
after that being priests by nature. How great was the value of the
consecration thus given, may be seen by the fact that Moses was ordered
to threaten the penalty of death against any one who should dare to
manufacture oil similar to that used in anointing Aaron and his sons
(Exod. xxviii. 29; xxx. 30-33).

Priestly power among Christian nations is communicated in a solemn
ceremonial, and is conferred only upon the individual recipient. It
does not descend in his family, but it is capable of being imparted
by bishops, who have themselves received a higher grade of priestly
consecration. By some it is actually supposed that a mysterious virtue,
derived directly from Christ through the apostles, is conveyed to the
recipient of holy orders. But whether the apostolical succession be
conveyed or not in the Ordination Service of the Church of England,
it is certain that a high authority is held to be given to the priest
by the laying on of the hands of the Bishop and of the other priests
present at the time.

The rights which he receives are thus expressed:—

"Receive the Holy Ghost for the office and work of a priest in the
Church of God, now committed unto thee by the imposition of our hands.
Whose sins thou dost forgive they are forgiven; and whose sins thou
dost retain, they are retained, and be thou a faithful dispenser of the
Word of God, and of his holy sacraments. In the name of the Father and
of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

After this the Bishop delivers the Bible to each of the candidates,
saying:—

"Take thou authority to preach the Word of God, and to minister the
holy sacraments in the congregation where thou shalt be lawfully
appointed thereunto."

Here it may be observed that there are three powers conveyed by this
ordination: the power of preaching, the power of administering the
sacraments, and the power of forgiving and retaining sins. Since
the salvation of Christians depends upon their admission to the
sacraments, and upon the forgiveness of their sins, it is obvious that
the priest who may debar them from the one, and refuse the other,
receives in his consecration the keys of the kingdom of heaven. In
their communications to the Almighty through the mediation of such
priests, men are in possession of an instrument of the very highest
efficacy.

The terrible reality which the belief in the ecclesiastical privilege
of forgiving sins may sometimes have, is graphically exhibited in M.
de Lamartine's touching poem entitled "Jocelyn." Therein a bishop,
taken prisoner and condemned to death in the French Revolution, sends
for a young deacon who was living in concealment in the Alps with a
maiden who loved him deeply, and whom (since the irrevocable vows of a
priest were not yet taken) he intended to marry. Regardless of all his
pleading the Bishop, under the threat of his dying anathema, forces
the unhappy youth to receive priestly orders at his hands, solely in
order that he may then listen to the episcopal confession and forgive
the episcopal sins. Marriage was now rendered impossible by the vow he
had taken; and thus two lives were consigned to enduring misery that a
bishop might die in peace. Surely the morality which could lead to such
a consummation is self-condemned!




            EXTERNAL MANIFESTATIONS OF RELIGIOUS SENTIMENT.

                             SECOND PART.

                  _MEANS OF COMMUNICATION DOWNWARDS._




                            CLASSIFICATION.


We proceed now from the several methods by which men, in all ages and
in all countries, have sought to convey their wishes, aspirations, and
emotions upwards, to those by which their several deities have in their
opinion conveyed their commands, decisions, and intentions downwards.
The classification will follow as closely as the subject permits that
of the preceding part. Consecration, the quality pertaining to man's
instruments of communication with God, will be replaced by holiness,
the quality pertaining to God's instruments of communication with man.
Thus, corresponding to the consecrated actions of prayer, sacrifice,
and praise, we shall have the holy events of omens, signs, miracles,
and so forth. Corresponding to the consecrated places where men pay
their devotions, we shall find the holy places which some higher
being has blessed with tokens of his presence. Corresponding to the
consecrated objects bestowed by the creature on the Creator, we shall
discover holy objects through which some peculiar grace is conveyed by
the Creator to the creature. To consecrated men will correspond holy
men, who speak to their fellows with an authority higher than their
own; and these holy men will fall into two classes, those whose regular
work it is to represent the deity on earth and those who are sent on
some special occasion for some special purpose. Lastly, a separate
division (having no correlative among means of communication upwards)
must be given to holy books, for a most important place in the history
of religions is occupied by treatises written by the gods for the use
of men. To these then the final chapter of this portion of the work
must be devoted. Pass we now to holy events.




                              CHAPTER I.

                             HOLY EVENTS.


Manifold beyond the possibility of complete computation are the signs
and intimations vouchsafed to the ignorance and weakness of man by the
celestial powers. They speak to him through the ordinary phenomena
of nature; they instruct him through her rare and more striking
exhibitions; they guide his footsteps through prodigies and marvels.
Sometimes addressing him spontaneously, without any attempt on his
part to elicit their intentions, they open their views or announce the
future; sometimes replying to his anxious inquiries, they point out
the truth and relieve his perplexity. Consider first the former class
of divine manifestations, in which the human being is a merely passive
recipient of the communication granted.

Dreams are an excellent example of this class of events. The belief
that they are of supernatural origin is both wide-spread and ancient.
Possibly there is no country in which it has not been held to a greater
or less extent, even though it may not have formed an article in the
established creed. Among the Africans in and about Sierra Leone, for
example, a dream is received as judicial evidence of witchcraft, and
the prisoner accused on this slender testimony "frequently acknowledges
the charge and submits to his sentence without repining" (N. A., vol.
i. p. 260). On the American continent, where dreams (says Charlevoix)
"are regarded as true oracles and notices from heaven" (H. N. F., vol.
iii. p. 348), it is plain that the like faith in their intimations
prevails. Although explained in a variety of ways, now as the rational
soul going abroad, while the sensitive soul remained behind, now as
advice from the familiar spirits, now as a visit from the soul of the
object dream pt of, the dream is always regarded as a sacred thing.
It was thought to be the most usual way taken by the gods of making
their wills known to men. Hence they took care to obey the intimations
given in dreams; a savage who had dreamt that his little finger was
cut off actually submitting to that operation; and another, who had
found himself in his dream a prisoner among enemies, getting himself
tied to a stake and burnt in various parts of the body (H. N. F., vol.
iii. pp. 353, 354). The Jews have in their ritual a singular ceremony
for removing the influence of bad dreams. The person who has dreamt
something which seems to portend evil, is said to choose three friends,
and standing before them as they sit, to repeat seven times: "A good
dream have I seen." To which they reply: "A good dream thou hast seen;
it is good and shall be good; the compassionate God, who is good, make
it good." And the conversation between the dreamer and the interpreters
continues for some time, the general effect being to convey God's
blessing to the former and convert his trouble into gladness. At the
end the interpreters say: "Go eat thy bread with joy, and drink thy
wine with a cheerful heart, for God now accepteth thy works. And
penitence and prayers and righteousness will set aside the evil that
hath been doomed, and peace be unto us and unto all Israel, Amen." To
this the author of the book appends the remark that "the Jews believe
that all dreams come to pass according to the interpretation that is
made of them," for which reason they relate their dreams to none but
friends (Rel. of Jews, p. 71-74). But that they can believe it to be in
the power of their friends to _change_ the meaning of the dream by an
arbitrary interpretation seems scarcely possible. It may, therefore, be
the meaning of this passage that an unfavorable interpretation is in
itself ominous of misfortune, or that they are desirous not to hear the
worst construction that can be put upon a dream.

Belief in the prophetic signification of dreams is not only not
discountenanced by the Christian religion, but is explicitly taught
by it. If in the present age this belief has fallen somewhat out of
repute, this is not because there can be any doubt that the inspired
writers of the Christian Scriptures firmly held it, but is a feature
of the general relaxation of the bonds of dogma which characterizes
the modern mind. To take a few instances: when Abraham had called Sarah
his sister, and thus permitted the king of Gerar to appropriate her,
God himself came to Abimelech by night in a dream, and told him that
she was a married woman (Gen. xx. 3). Highly important information as
to the future of his race was given to Jacob in a dream (Gen. xxviii.
11-15). His son Joseph enjoyed an extraordinary faculty, not only of
dreaming true dreams himself, but also of interpreting the dreams of
others. It was his own prophetic dreams which led to his sale into the
hands of the traders by his brothers, and it was his power of correct
interpretation which both freed him from his prison in Egypt, and led
to his promotion to the high office he afterwards held at the Egyptian
court (Gen. xxxvii., 5-11; Gen. xl., xli). Moreover, Joseph, who must
be considered an authority on the subject, expressly informed Pharaoh,
when that monarch had related his dreams that God had showed him what
he was about to do (Gen. xli. 25-28). A most important dream was
granted to Solomon, to whom "the Lord appeared in a dream by night,"
and told him to ask whatever favor he might wish: on which occasion
the king preferred his celebrated request for wisdom (1 Kings iii.,
5-15). Another ruler, Nebuchadnezzar, was also visited by a prophetic
dream, the nature of which was revealed to the interpreter, Daniel, "in
a night vision," by God himself, who thus admitted that it was he who
had sent it. A further communication was made to Nebuchadnezzar, in the
dream which he himself has recorded in the proclamation which bears
witness at the same time to the fulfillment of its warning (Daniel ii.,
iv). But of all the dreams handed down to us by the Scriptural writers,
by far the most material, as evidence of their Divine character, is
that on which the mystery of the Incarnation mainly rests. Take away
the dream in which Joseph was informed that the Holy Ghost was the
parent of Mary's first-born child (Matt. i. 20), and that mystery
will depend exclusively on a story of an angel's visit, of necessity
related by Mary herself (Luke i. 35); for obvious reasons not the most
trustworthy witness on so delicate a point. But this is not all; for
it was by a dream that the Magi, after their adoration, were warned
to escape the vengeance of Herod (Matt. ii. 12); and by a dream that
the life of the infant Christ was preserved in the massacre of the
innocents (Matt. ii. 13). Christianity, therefore, may be said to owe
its very existence to the celestial intimations conveyed in dreams,
and Christians cannot consistently embrace any theory which would lead
to a denial of their holy and prophetic character. Since, moreover,
we have numerous instances in the Bible of such dreams being granted
to heathens and idolaters it is plain that the Christian deity does
not confine his nocturnal visitations to orthodox believers. If the
chief butler, the chief baker, Pharaoh, and Nebuchadnezzar dreamt
prophetically, so may any of us at any time according to this teaching.
On the other hand, this power may be due to a special outpouring of
the Holy Spirit, as implied in the prediction of Joel that "your sons
and your daughters shall prophecy, your old men shall dream dreams,
your young men shall see visions" (Joel ii. 28). So that we may
completely endorse the conclusion of the Rev. Principal Barry, who
discusses this subject with much solemnity in Smith's "Dictionary of
the Bible," "that the Scripture claims the dream, as it does every
other action of the human mind, as a medium through which God may speak
to man, either directly, that is, as we call it, 'providentially,' or
indirectly, in virtue of a general influence upon all his thoughts;
but whether there is anything to be said in support of the further
inference that 'revelation by dreams' may be expected to pass away, is
not equally clear." Assuredly no passage can be produced which, even by
implication, states that this method of communication was temporary or
transient; and considering that it continued in operation from the days
of Abraham to those of Jesus, it is hard to see how the Bible can be
made to support the notion that it is to cease entirely at any period
of human history. On the contrary, the Scriptural writers, both old and
new, would practically have agreed with Homer: "The dream also is from
Zeus" (Iliad, i. 63). Indeed, the passage in which that deity sends the
personified Dream to bear a message to Agamemnon (Ibid., ii. 8-15),
differs only in its mythological coloring from the representations in
the Bible of dreams in which God comes or appears to the sleeper, or
in which he charges an angel to convey to him his purpose or his will.
And the discrimination commanded to be exercised between prophecies
or dreams deserving attention, and prophecies or dreams contrived
merely to test the fidelity of the Israelites, and therefore not to
be received as true, fully corresponds to the distinction drawn in
the Odyssey between dreams passing through the iron gate, and dreams
passing through the ivory gate. Those that came through the horn gate
brought true intimations; but those that came through the ivory gate
were sent to deceive (Od. xix. 560-568).

Another involuntary action through which God communicates with man is
sneezing. From the lowest savages to the most educated nation on the
face of the earth, this simple physical event is viewed as an omen. A
peculiarity attending this particular kind of manifestation is, that
it is usual for those present when it occurs to notice it by saying
something of favorable augury. In Samoa, one of the Polynesian islands,
it was common to say, "Life to you!" (N. Y., p. 347.) an exclamation
which in sense corresponds almost exactly to the German "Gesundheit!"
(health) to the Italian "Salute!" and to our own "God bless you!" on
the same occasion. South African savages have the same sentiment of
the religious nature of the omen involved in sneezing. Thus, among the
Kafirs we learn that "it used always to be said when a man sneezed,
'May Utikxo [God] ever regard me with favor.'" Canon Callaway, who
has acutely noticed the parallelism among various nations in respect
of the feeling associated with this action, further informs us that
"among the Amazulu, if a child sneeze, it is regarded as a good sign;
and if it be ill, they believe it will recover. On such an occasion
they exclaim, 'Tutuka,' Grow. When a grown up person sneezes, he says,
'Bakiti, ngi hambe kade,' Spirits of our people, grant me a long life.
As he believes that at the time of sneezing the spirit of his house is
in some especial proximity to him, he believes it is a time especially
favorable to prayer, and that whatever he asks for will be given; hence
he may say, 'Bakwiti, inkomo,' Spirits of our people, give me cattle,
or 'Bakwiti, abntwana,' Spirits of our people, give me children.
Diviners among the natives are very apt to sneeze, which they regard
as an indication of the presence of the spirits; the diviner adores
by saying, 'Makosi,' Lords, or Masters" (R. S. A., part i. p. 64). A
similar belief prevails among the Parsees, who consider a sneeze as a
mark of victory obtained over the evil spirits who besiege the interior
of the body by the fire which animates man, and who accordingly render
thanks to Ahuramazda when this event happens (Z. A., vol. ii. p. 598).

Classical antiquity presents us with an example of a famous sneeze.
At a critical moment in the expedition of the Ten Thousand against
Artaxerxes, when they were left in a hostile country surrounded with
perplexities and perils, Xenophon encouraged them by an address in
which he urged that if they would take a certain course, they had with
the favor of the gods, many and good hopes of safety. Just at these
words, "somebody sneezes," and immediately the drooping hearts of the
soldiery were comforted by this assurance of divine protection. With
one impulse they worshipped the god; and Xenophon remarked that since,
when they were in the very act of speaking of safety, this favorable
augury of Zeus the Savior had appeared, it seemed proper to him that
they should vow thank-offerings to this deity, to be presented on
their first arrival in a friendly country, and also that they should
make a vow to sacrifice to the other gods according to their ability
(Xen. Anab. iii. 2. 9). Not only is it customary in Germany to welcome
a sneeze with the above-mentioned exclamation of "Gesundheit!" but
a notion is stated to prevail that should one person be thinking of
something in the future, and another sneeze at the moment he is thus
engaged, the thing thought of will come to pass. So that the commonest
character ascribed to sneezing is that of an auspicious omen.

Other phenomena may serve as omens, and such phenomena may be either
natural or preternatural. In the first case their prophetic or
significant character is entirely due to the interpretation put upon
them by men; in the second, it is inherent in their very nature, which
at once renders them conspicuous as exceptions to the usual course.
Those of the first class have thus a dual function; contemplated on the
other side, they are merely events belonging to the regular sequence
of causes and effects; contemplated on the other, they are especially
contrived as indications of the divine purposes. Hence, to one observer
they may bear the appearance of ordinary phenomena; to another, better
informed, they may convey important intimations of the future. Tacitus
mentions, for example, the favorable augury that was granted to the
Romans on the eve of a battle with the Germans by the flight of eight
eagles who sought the woods (Tac. Ann., ii. 17. 2). The same author
informs us of a melancholy omen which occurred to Paetus when he and
his army were crossing the Euphrates. Without apparent cause, the horse
which bore the consular insignia turned backwards (Ibid., xv. 7. 3).
Each of these signs was of course followed by its appropriate events.
A belief which is thus found in a civilized nation naturally has its
prototype among the uncivilized. The Kafirs believe that the spirits
send them omens. Thus a wild animal entering a kraal is "regarded as
a messenger from the spirit to remind the people that they have done
something wrong." Another omen which is considered very terrible is the
bleating of a sheep while it is being slaughtered. A councilor, to whom
it occurred to hear this sign, was told by a prophet that it "foreboded
his death." Strange to say, his chief soon after sent soldiers to kill
him, and the man only averted his threatened fate by escaping to Natal.
Among other natural events which are omens to the Kafirs are, "a child
born dead; a woman two days in parturition; a man burnt while sitting
by the fire, unless he were asleep or drunk" (K. N. pp. 162, 163). "An
unexpected whirlwind will suggest to" the Chinese "the contest of evil
spirits; and the flying of a crow in a peculiar direction fill them
with consternation. In such a deplorable state," gravely observes the
missionary who records these facts, "is the heathen mind" (C. O., vol.
ii. p. 208). Perhaps he did not consider that there were many in more
enlightened countries who would be alarmed at the omen implied by a
dinner-party of thirteen, and who would regard it as of evil augury to
begin a journey on Friday. In such a deplorable state is the Christian
mind.

Ceylon appears to be remarkable for the faith placed by its inhabitants
in omens, which are even said to regulate their whole conduct and to
intimate their destiny from birth onwards. Children, of whose future
the astrologers predict evil, are sometimes destroyed in order to
avoid their pre-determined misery. On going out in the morning, the
Singhalese anxiously remark the object they encounter first, in order
to deduce from it a favorable or unfavorable augury for the business of
the day. "I, as a European," says the author who tells us these facts,
"was always a glad sight to them;" for "a white man or a woman with
child" were good omens; but beggars and deformed persons so unlucky,
as even to stop these hapless folk from proceeding in the work they
were about during the day on which these boding signs were the first
things to meet their gaze (A. I. C., p. 194). Another phenomenon of a
somewhat less ordinary kind serves as an omen to the Singhalese, though
apparently only in reference to a single fact. There is visible in
Ceylon "a peculiar and beautiful meteor," termed "Buddha rays," which
"is supposed by the natives only to appear over a temple or tomb of
Buddha's relics, and from thence to emanate." The appearance of these
rays is taken by believers as a sign that the Buddhist faith will
last for the destined span of five thousand years from its founder's
death (E. Y., vol. i. p. 337); much as the rainbow is held by Jews
and Christians to be the token of a promise that God will never again
punish the world by a universal deluge.

The next class of omens need not consist of phenomena which are
absolutely beyond the range of physical law, provided they be
sufficiently rare to strike the imagination of observers as marvelous
occurrences. For example, an eclipse of the sun may be an omen to
savage or very uninstructed people; a comet, being more unusual,
will seem ominous to nations standing on a much higher grade of
culture. Advancing still higher, extraordinary and inexplicable
sights in the heavens or on earth will stand for portents to all but
the scientifically minded. An example of the latter class is found
in the temporary withering of the Ruminal tree, which had sheltered
the infancy of Romulus and Remus 840 years before (Tac. Ann., xiii.
58). At the time at which Tacitus begins his history, there were, he
says, prodigies in the sky and on earth, warnings of lightnings and
presages of future things (Tac. Hist., i. 3. 2). Popular imagination,
besides converting natural, but rare, phenomena into omens, invents
others which are altogether supernatural. In the disturbed days of
Otho and Vitellius, it was rumored that a form of larger than human
dimensions had issued from the shrine of Juno; that a statue of Julius
on the Tiberine island had turned round from west to east without any
perceptible agency; that an ox in Etruria had spoken; that animals had
brought forth strange progeny; and that other alarming exceptions to
the laws of nature had been observed (Ibid., i. 86. 1). The supposed
contraction of a man's shadow is thought in South Africa to portend his
death (R. S. A., pt. i. p. 126). The Irish Banshee is a being who does
not belong to any species recognized by science, and who, moreover,
is heard to scream only before a death in the family to which she is
attached. The ticking sound produced by a small insect in the wooden
furniture of a room is termed in Scotland the death-watch, and has
the same ominous significance. To one family, a drummer heard to drum
outside the castle is significant of death; in another, it may be that
a particular ghost, seen by a casual visitor who knows nothing of its
meaning, conveys a similar intimation. The birth of great men is often
supposed to be marked by extraordinary signs. "At my nativity," says
Owen Glendower,

    "The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes,
    Of burning cressets; and at my birth,
    The frame and huge foundation of the earth
    Shak'd like a coward."

And again:—

    "The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds
    Were strangely clamorous to the frighted fields.
    These signs have marked me extraordinary;
    And all the courses of my life do show
    I am not in the roll of common men."[6]

From signs which the bounty of nature supplies without effort on the
part of human beings, we proceed to those which are granted only
in reply to solicitations on the part of some person or persons in
quest of supernatural information. Of these, a leading place must be
assigned to those which are obtained through the medium of diviners.
Divination is in many parts of the world a highly-developed and
lucrative art. The natives of South Africa, being in any perplexity,
resort to the professional diviner to help them out of it. Should
cattle be lost, should a goat be too long in giving birth to its kids,
should a relation be ill, the diviner is asked to inform those who
consult him, both what it is that has happened, and what they are to
do. Sometimes his replies are assisted by sticks held by the people,
who beat them vehemently on the ground when he divines correctly, and
gently when he divines incorrectly; sometimes he himself makes use of
small sticks or bones, which indicate by their movements the thing
desired to be known; sometimes again mysterious voices, supposed to
be those of spirits, are heard to speak. In a case related by one of
Canon Callaway's informants (who was quite sceptical as to that class
of diviners who required the people to strike the ground), a correct
answer was given by a diviner who employed bones as his professional
instruments. He had gone to inquire about a goat of his brother's,
which had been yeaning some days, and had not brought forth. The
diviner discovered from his bones what was the matter; he declared that
the she-goat had been made ill by sorcerers, and told them that when
they reached home it would have given birth to two kids. The prediction
was fulfilled. On reaching home there were two kids, a white and a grey
one; the very colors the diviner had seen in his inspired vision. "I
was at once satisfied," observes the narrator (R. S. A., pt. iii. p.
334-336). Another mode of divining is by the aid of "familiar spirits,"
who address the consulting party without being themselves visible. A
native relates that his adopted father went to inquire of a diviner
by spirits (named Umancele) concerning his wife's illness. When the
relations of the sick woman entered to salute, some heard the spirits
saluting them, saying, "Good-day, So and So." The person thus addressed
started, and exclaimed, "Oh, whence does the voice come? I was saluting
Umancele yonder." The divination in this case was not successful,
and the narrator pathetically regrets that a bullock was given to
the diviner for his false information. In another case a woman, who
likewise divined by means of spirits, was perfectly correct in all she
said. Some members of a family in which a little boy suffered from
convulsions went to consult her; and she discovered, or rather the
spirits discovered for her, what was the matter with him; what was the
relationship of those who had come; and what were their circumstances.
She prescribed a remedy, and predicted a complete recovery. The cause
of the illness was, according to her, the displeasure of ancestral
spirits. A sacrifice was to be offered to them; and the village was to
be removed to another place. These things done, she declared that the
boy would have no more of the convulsions from which he suffered. If he
did, they might take back their money. All turned out as she had said,
to the very letter (R. S. A., pt. iii. p. 361-374).

The priests of the North American tribes have a peculiar method of
divination. Having received a handful of tobacco as a fee, they will
summon a spirit to answer the inquiries of their visitors. This they do
by enclosing themselves in lodges, in which they utter incantations. As
may be supposed, the spirits who obey the summons of the Indian priest
are not much more useful as guides to action than those who figure at
the seance of his civilized competitor, the medium. Their replies,
"though usually clear and correct, are usually of that profoundly
ambiguous purport which leaves the anxious inquirer little wiser than
he was before" (M. N. W., p. 268). Brinton, however, having stated
this, proceeds to speak of cases, apparently well attested, in which
the diviners have foreseen coming events with unaccountable clearness.
For instance, when Captain Jonathan Carver, in 1767, was among the
Killistenoes, and that tribe was suffering from want of food, the chief
priest consulted the divinities, and predicted with perfect accuracy
the hour on the following day when a canoe would arrive. Brinton adds,
on the authority of John Mason Brown, that when Mr. Brown and two
companions were pursuing an "apparently hopeless quest" for a band of
Indians, they were met by some warriors of that very band, who declared
that the appearance of the white man had been exactly described by the
medicine-man who had sent them. And what renders the story remarkable
is, that "the description was repeated to Mr. Brown by the warriors
before they saw his two companions." The priest was unable to explain
what he had done, except by saying that "he saw them coming, and heard
them talk on their journey" (M. N. W., pp. 270, 271).

Among the Ostiacks in former days, the priests, when they intended
to divine, caused themselves to be bound, threw themselves on the
ground, and made all sorts of grimaces and contortions till they felt
themselves inspired with a reply to the question that had been put to
the idol. Those who had come to consult the oracle, sighed and moaned
and struck upon certain vessels so as to make a noise, till they saw a
bluish vapor, which they conceived to be the spirit of prophecy, and
which, while spreading over all the spectators, seized the diviner and
caused him to fall into convulsions (Bernard, vol. viii. p. 412).

In ancient China, "the instruments of divination were the shell of the
tortoise and the stalks of a certain grass or reed" (C. C., vol. iii.
Proleg. p. 196). These are frequently spoken of in the sacred books as
the "tortoise and milfoil," and there are historical examples of their
employment. The following rules for divination are given by a speaker
in the Shoo King:—

"Having chosen and appointed officers for divining by the tortoise
and by the milfoil, they are to be charged _on occasion_ to perform
their duties. _In doing this_, they will find _the appearances_ of
rain, clearing up, cloudiness, want of connection, and crossing; and
_the symbols_, solidity and repentance. In all, _the indications_ are
seven;—five given by the tortoise, and two by the milfoil, by which
the errors of _affairs_ may be traced out. These officers having been
appointed, when the operations with the tortoise and milfoil are
proceeded with, three men are to obtain and interpret the indications
and symbols, and the consenting words of two of them are to be
followed" (C. C., vol. iii. p. 335).

Further instructions are then given in case the Emperor, nobles,
officers, or people, and any or all of these, should disagree with the
tortoise and milfoil; the greater weight being given to the latter
(Ibid., p. 327).

Of modern divination in China, Dr. Legge recounts the following story:—

"I once saw a father and son divining after one of the fashions of
the present day. They tossed the bamboo roots, which came down in the
unlucky positions for a dozen times in succession. At last a lucky
cast was made. They looked into each other's faces, laughed heartily,
and rose up, delighted, from their knees. The divination was now
successful, and they dared not repeat it!" (Ibid., Proleg. p. 197).

Here it seems that heaven was merely called in to give its sanction to
a foregone conclusion.

The Singhalese have a curious method of discovering, by a species of
divination, what god it is who has caused the illness of a patient.
"With any little stick," says Knox, "they make a bow, and on the string
thereof they hang a thing they have to cut betel-nuts, somewhat like
a pair of scissors; then holding the stick or bow by both ends, they
repeat the names of all, both god and devils: and when they come to him
who hath afflicted them, then the iron or the bowstring will swing" (H.
R. C., p. 76).

Divination, as is well known, was regularly practiced by the ancients,
who read the will of the gods in the entrails of animals, and who
employed, as a help in foreseeing the future and guiding their conduct,
the class of professional diviners known as augurs.

Another method, by which it has often been supposed that God entered
into communication with man, is that of the movements of the stars
and planets. Hence the pseudo-science of astrology, which was so much
cultivated in the middle ages before its supersession by astronomy. In
India, observes Karl Twesten, the stars were very early consulted as
oracles. Manu excludes astrologers from the sacrifices; and in later
times astrology became very general. According to Twesten, there is
an astrologer in almost every Hindu community, who is much consulted,
and determines the favorable moment for every important undertaking
(R. I., p. 285). Antiquity, wide extension, and great persistency may
all be pleaded on behalf of the notion that terrestrial events are
foreshadowed by a system of celestial signals. There is a touch of
astrological belief in the evangelical narrative that the birth of
Christ was intimated to the Magi by a star in the east.

Sometimes, when it was desirable not to ascertain future events, but
to decide between guilt and innocence, truth and falsehood, the divine
Being himself was called in as umpire, and was supposed to convey his
judgment by the turn of events in a pre-arranged case. This is the
theory of those communications from God to man which are made by
ordeals. Ordeals were of various kinds, according to the nature of
the issue to be tried. Did one man charge another with some kind of
disgraceful conduct, the accuser was summoned to put his words to the
test of a single combat, in which truth was held to lie on the side of
the victor; was an old woman suspected of witchcraft, she was thrown
into the nearest pond, with thumbs and toes tied together, where her
floating was regarded as certain evidence of her guilt. Innocence of
legal crime, or in the case of women, of adultery, has very frequently
been established by the method of ordeals. Several authors have noticed
the ordeals in use among the natives on the west coast of Africa. One
of them, writing of Sierra Leone, informs us that if an accused person
can find a chief to patronize him, he is permitted to clear himself by
submitting either to have a hot iron applied to his skin, or to dip his
hand in boiling oil to pull out some object put into it, or to have his
tongue stroked with a red-hot copper ring. Since his being burnt is
considered as a proof of guilt, it would not appear that the chances
of escape were great. "Upon the Gold Coast, the ordeal consists in
chewing the bark of a tree, with a prayer that it may cause his death
if he be not innocent." In the neighborhood of Sierra Leone, a very
peculiar ordeal is practiced, that, namely, of drinking water prepared
from the bark of a certain tree, and termed "red water." Before
taking it, the drinker repeats a prayer containing an imprecation
on himself if guilty. Should this decoction cause purging or pains
in the bowels, it is a proof of guilt; should it, on the contrary,
excite vomiting, and produce no effect on the bowels for twenty-four
hours, an acquittal ensues, and the person who has thus successfully
undergone the trial is held in higher esteem than he enjoyed before
(N. A., vol. i. p. 129-133). Sometimes this singular mode of trial
is employed in cases where a corpse is supposed to have accused some
person of causing the death of its former owner (S. L., p. 124-127). On
the Gold Coast, "every person entering into any obligation is obliged
to drink the swearing liquor." Thus, should one nation intend to assist
another, "all the chief ones are obliged to drink this liquor, with an
imprecation that their _fetiche_ may punish them with death if they do
not assist them with utmost vigor to extirpate their enemy." Since,
however, a dispensing power over such oaths has been exercised by the
priests, some negroes observe the precaution, before taking oaths, of
causing the priest to swear first, and then drink the red water, with
an imprecation that the fetich may punish him if he absolves any one
without the consent of all the parties interested in the contract (D.
C. G., pp. 124, 125).

The sanction of Scripture is given to an ordeal of precisely this
nature is the case of women charged with adultery; and it is curious
to find the very same mode of testing the fidelity of wives employed
both by the ancient Hebrews and modern negroes. The law of Moses was,
that if a man suspected his wife of unfaithfulness, and the "spirit
of jealousy" came upon him, he might take her to the priest (with an
offering, of course), and leave him to deal with her in the following
manner: Taking holy water in an earthen vessel, the priest was to mix
in it some of the dust of the floor of the tabernacle, and set the
woman with her head uncovered, and the jealousy offering in her hands,
"before the Lord." He was then to "charge her with an oath," saying,
that if she was pure, she was to be free from the bitter water that
caused the curse, but if not, the Lord was to make her a curse and an
oath among her people, causing her hips (or thighs) to disappear and
her belly to swell. The water was to go into her bowels to produce
these effects. Hereupon the woman was to say, "Amen, amen." According
to the effects of the bitter water upon her constitution, was her guilt
or her innocence adjudged to be (Num. v. 11-31).

Now the procedure of the negroes, in similar cases, is almost an
exact reproduction (it can scarcely be an imitation) of that enjoined
by Jehovah. "Red water" is administered, instead of "bitter water;"
but with this exception, precisely the same method is pursued, and
precisely the same doctrine underlies the use of the ordeal. God is
expected, both by Jews and negroes, to manifest the truth where human
skill is incompetent to discover it. The negroes, according to Bosman,
believe that where the red water is drunk by one who makes a false
declaration, he will either "be swelled by that liquor till he bursts,"
or will "shortly die of a languishing sickness; the first punishment
they imagine more peculiar to women, who take this draught to acquit
them of any accusation of adultery:" a belief which curiously reminds
us of the old Jewish superstition, that the hips will fall away and the
belly swell in the case of the adulterous wife who has taken the bitter
water on a false pretence. Bosman himself has correctly observed on the
remarkable similarity of the two procedures (D. C. G., p. 125).

A slightly different mode of trying suspected adultresses by ordeal
prevails among the Ostiacks (in Northern Asia). Should an Ostiack
entertain doubts of his wife's fidelity, he cuts off a handful of hair
from a bear's skin, and takes it to her. If innocent, she receives
it without hesitation; but if guilty, she does not venture to touch
it, and is accordingly repudiated. The conviction reigns among these
people, that were a woman to lie under these circumstances, the bear to
whom the hair belonged would revive in three days and come to devour
her (Bernard, vol. viii. pp. 44, 45).

More important, however, and more universal than any of the above
means of communication from God to man, is the method of communication
by miracles. There is probably no great religion in the world, the
establishment of which has been altogether dissociated from miracles.
They form the most striking, most indisputable, most intelligible
proof of the divine will. Not indeed that there is any close logical
connection between the performance of a wonder, and the truth of the
wonder-worker's doctrines; but popular imagination jumps readily to
the conclusion that a man, whom rumor or tradition has invested with
supernatural powers over nature, must also be in possession of correct
opinions, or even of superhuman knowledge, on the mysterious questions
with which religion deals. Hence ecclesiastical historians, of all ages
and countries, have sought to show that those from whom they deduced
the systems in which they wished their readers to believe, were either
themselves gifted with thaumaturgic faculties, or were the subjects of
special marvels worked upon them. Such miracles have always served as
their credentials, indicating their high character, and entitling them
to demand the obedience of mankind to the commands they brought.

The establishment of Buddhism, for example, was attended by the
performance of extraordinary miracles. Not only did the Buddha himself
frequently perform supernatural feats; not only did his disciples,
when they attained a certain grade of sanctity, receive the faculty of
flying and doing other wonderful things; but he actually proved the
superiority of his claims over those of others by a pitched battle in
thaumaturgy. Certain Tirthyas, or heretical teachers, had the audacity
to challenge him to contend with them in working miracles, and the
trial of skill ended, of course, in their ignominious defeat (H. B.
I., p. 162-189). Much in the same way did Moses enter into a rivalry
with Pharaoh's magicians, who were overcome by his superior miracles
as the Tirthyas were by those of Gautama Buddha. As Jewish prophets
and Christian saints received by spiritual inheritance the power of
performing miracles, so also did the Fathers of Buddhism. Of one of
the greatest of these, named Nagardjuna, it is related that a Brahman
who had entered into a dispute with him produced a magical pond, in
the middle of which was a lotus with a thousand leaves, but that
Nagardjuna produced a magical elephant which destroyed the magical
pond (Wassiljew, p. 231). This again may remind us of the serpent of
Moses, which swallowed up the serpents of the magicians; or of the
fire brought down from heaven by Elijah in his controversy with the
prophets of Baal. Another eminent Buddhist, Asvagosha, was remarkable
as a preacher. The officials at the court of a certain king reproached
him with holding this holy man in too high esteem. The king thereupon
took seven horses, kept them six days without food, and then led them
to the place where Asvagosha was preaching to be fed. The horses would
not touch the food that was offered, but shed tears at the words of the
preacher (Wassiljew, p. 232).

The history of the Mongols records some equally wonderful performances
on the part of a Lama (or priest) named Bogda. When some messengers
came to meet him, he raised his hand in a threatening way against a
river, the waters of which immediately began to run upwards instead of
downwards; "by which miracle," observes the historian, "an unshakeable
faith was established in all minds." No wonder. The division of the Red
Sea and the Jordan were child's play to this. The same man caused many
others to believe by suddenly producing a spring in a dry place. In
another country which he visited, he subdued all the dragons and other
baneful creatures to his will (G. O. M., p. 227).

If the founder of the Mussulman religion did not claim any direct power
of performing miracles, yet the communication to him of the Suras which
compose the Koran was a standing miracle. He professed to fall into an
ecstatic condition, in which he received the direct instructions of his
God; and his care, when entering the sick-room of a friend, to avoid
treading on the angels' wings which he saw extended in all directions,
indicates a pretension to more than human faculties. The present
votaries of the Mohammedan faith believe in the power of their saints
to work miracles, for we read of the sick being taken to their Sheik to
be cured by the imposition of his feet (Dervishes, p. 347).

That the Christian religion was largely indebted to miracles for its
success during its early years need hardly be remarked. Not only did
Christ himself perform miracles of the most extraordinary kind, but
the power was, if not wholly, yet to some extent, transmitted to his
apostles, and was frequently exercised by the saints and Fathers of the
early Church. Jesus himself, according to tradition, relied largely on
his miracles as proofs of his divine mission; for when John the Baptist
sent disciples to inquire who he was, he replied by telling them to
report to their master that the blind received sight, the lame walked,
the lepers were cleansed, the deaf heard, the dead were raised up,
and the poor had the gospel preached to them. So that the possession
of this unusual gift of healing and re-animating, was regarded by him
(or, more accurately, by his biographers) as a sufficient answer to
the doubt entertained by John whether he were really the Messiah, or
whether another were to come.

How great was the importance attached to the possession of miraculous
powers by the early Christian Church, may be gathered from a passage
in which Irenæus endeavors to cover certain heretics with confusion,
by asserting that they are unable to do the things that are commonly
done by the adherents of the true faith. "For they can neither confer
sight on the blind, nor hearing on the deaf, nor chase away all sorts
of demons—[none, indeed], except those that are sent into others by
themselves, if they can even do so much as this. Nor can they cure
the weak, or the lame, or the paralytic, or those who are distressed
in any other part of the body, as has often been done in regard to
bodily infirmity. Nor can they furnish effective remedies for those
external accidents which may occur. And so far are they from being
able to raise the dead, as the Lord raised them, and the apostles did
by means of prayer, and as has been frequently done in the brotherhood
on account of some necessity—the entire Church in that particular
locality entreating [the boon] with much fasting and prayer, the
spirit of the dead man has returned, and he has been bestowed in
answer to the prayers of the saints—that they do not even believe this
can possibly be done, [and hold] that the resurrection from the dead
is simply an acquaintance with that truth which they proclaim."[7]
Thus, the cure of infirmities and diseases by supernatural means were
every-day achievements of the early Christians; and even the dead
were sometimes restored to life, when sufficient pains were taken to
obtain the favorable attention of the Almighty. "It is not possible,"
observes the same author in another place, "to name the number of the
gifts which the Church [scattered] throughout the whole world has
received from God, in the name of Jesus Christ, who was crucified under
Pontius Pilate, and which she exerts day by day for the benefit of the
Gentiles."[8]

Hence the Mormons, who claim to possess at the present day the powers
which have departed from Christians in general, are perfectly in
accordance with Irenæus in holding that signs like these are invariably
attendant on the kingdom of God. Revelations, visions, the powers of
prophecy, of healing, of speaking with tongues, of casting out devils,
and working other miracles, are (they contend) the prerogatives of
those who belong to this kingdom. History, in relating first the
miracles of the Jewish patriarchs and prophets, then those of the
Christian Fathers, powerfully supports this theory. Scripture in
several unambiguous passages entirely confirms it. And the daily
experience of the Latter-day Saints, if we accept their statements,
bears witness to its truth, by presenting abundant examples of the
actual exercise of such supernatural gifts within their own society.
Thus, one person is cured of blindness; another of dislocation of the
thigh; another has his fractured backbone restored; in the fourth case
it is a rupture that is healed; in the fifth convulsive fits that
are stopped.[9] I have myself been present at a Mormon meeting for
public worship, and have heard the saints who were gathered together
narrate, with perfect solemnity and apparent good faith, the miraculous
cures which they themselves experienced, or which they had personally
witnessed. One after another rose to bear his testimony to some case
of the kind which had fallen within his immediate knowledge. To
these uncultivated and fanatical people, holy events still were what
they have long ceased to be to the ordinary Christian world—living
realities; and we may still study in them the mental condition of
those who could accept as phenomena occurring in their own day the
restoration of sight, hearing, or speech; the expulsion of devils; and
the resurrection of the dead.




                              CHAPTER II.

                             HOLY PLACES.


"Draw not nigh hither," said the occupant of the burning bush to
Moses; "put off thy shoes from off thy feet; for the place whereon
thou standest is holy ground" (Exod. iii. 5). This verse embodies
the universal theory of holy places. They are spots occupied in a
special and peculiar manner by the deity or his representative; and
where he finds it easier to communicate with mankind than it is
elsewhere. Hence, those who hope or desire to receive some celestial
intimation, resort to such holy places. The oracles of the ancient
world, and the temple at Jerusalem, are instances of holy places
where the respective gods worshiped by those who frequented them gave
responses, or manifested their presence. Holy places are not always
consecrated places. Sometimes—as in the case of the Delphian oracle—the
consecration is the work of nature; the divinity intimates in some
unmistakable way his presence in the sanctuary which he has himself
selected; and human beings have nothing to do but humbly to receive
such communications as he may desire to make. Frequently, however, holy
places have only become holy by the act of consecration; the local
god has not occupied them until they have been duly prepared for him
by human labor. On the other hand, consecrated places are always holy
places. Not indeed that there are always conspicuous intimations of the
divine presence; but it is nevertheless vaguely supposed to haunt the
buildings where worship is offered, and rites are performed, more than
it does the outer world.

To begin with a few instances of holy places which have not undergone
consecration. On the coast of Guinea "almost every village hath a small
appropriated grove." Offerings are made in these groves, and they
are regarded as so sacred that no one ventures to injure the trees by
plucking, cutting, or breaking their branches. "Universal malediction"
would be one of the consequences of such misconduct (D. C. G., p.
128). Mr. Turner states that "as of old in Canaan, sacred _groves_ for
heathen worship, with and without temples, were quite common in the
islands of the Pacific" (N. Y., p. 329). These are instances of the
sacredness so frequently attached to woods and forests by primitive
nations.

    "The groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned
    To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave,
    And spread the roof above them; ere he framed
    The lofty vault, to gather and roll back
    The sound of anthems,—in the darkling wood,
    Amidst the cool and silence he knelt down.
    And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks
    And supplication."[10]

Natural characteristics in the same manner determine the quality of
holiness attributed to certain spots by the natives of Africa. Holy
places among them are those where a god dwells either visibly or
invisibly; particular buildings, huts, or hills; or trees which are
remarkable for age, size, and strength. They have also sacred groves
into which no negro, not being a priest ventures to intrude. One of the
tribes asserts that their god has his dwelling-place in the cavern of a
rock that is situated in the bushes (G. d. M., p. 326).

A singular example of a holy place in a more advanced religion is the
neighborhood of the Bo tree, or Bogaha tree, in Ceylon, under whose
shade the people worship at the great festival. This tree derives its
sanctity from the circumstance of its having sheltered Buddha at an
eventful crisis of his life. Near it ninety kings are interred; huts
are erected around it for the use of the devotees who repair to it;
and as "every sort of uncleanness and dust must be removed from the
sacred spot," the approaches are continually swept by persons appointed
for the purpose. Besides the Bo tree, and the pagodas—or public
temples—many of the Singhalese have private holy places in their own
houses. They "build in their yards _private_ chapels, which are little
houses like to closets," and in these they place an image of the Buddha
which they worship (H. R. C., p. 73).

Graves of the dead whom we have loved are apt to become holy places
to us all; and in some religious creeds, such as those of Islam and
Christianity, this veneration is extended to the tombs of persons who
have been distinguished by their sanctity. Mussulmans "pray at the
tomb of those they repute saints;" and expect by offering vows at
such places, to obtain "relief, through their saintly intercession,
from sickness, misfortune. sterility, &c." Miracles take place at
these tombs, and supernatural lights float over them (Dervishes, pp.
79, 80). It is believed, too, that "the merits of the deceased will
insure a favorable reception of the prayers which they offer up in such
consecrated places" (Dervishes, p. 272).

Sometimes, again, the place where some striking event in the history of
religion has occurred, acquires a holiness of its own. Thus the Scala
Santa at Rome enjoys a preëminent holiness possessing the merit of
procuring a considerable remission of punishment for those who perform
the task of ascending it on their knees.

The oracle of Clarius Apollo at Colophon, mentioned by Tacitus, is an
example of a large and important class of holy places which were not
consecrated places. Here it was not a woman, as at Delphi (observes
Tacitus), who gave the responses; but a priest, who descended into a
cavern, and drank water from a secret fountain (Tac. Ann., ii. 54). In
Jewish history we meet with a remarkable instance of a place originally
hallowed by the actual appearance of God, in the case of Bethel, "the
house of God," where Jacob was favored with his remarkable dream. "How
dreadful is this place!" exclaimed the patriarch on waking; "this
is none other but the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven"
(Gen. xxviii. 17). In the spot whose holiness had thus been rendered
manifest, Jacob proceeded to perform consecrating rites; but, contrary
to the usual order, the holiness preceded and induced the consecration.

More generally, consecration forms a sort of invitation to the deity to
inhabit the place which has thus been rendered suited to his abode.
Of the holy places which are also consecrated, a conspicuous place is
due to Solomon's temple; in the dedication of which the theory just
stated is clearly embodied. Solomon, or his historians, perceived the
difficulty of causing a being so transcendently powerful as Jehovah to
dwell within local limits. The monarch, in his consecrating prayer,
explains that he is well aware that even the heaven of heavens cannot
contain him; much less this house that he has built. Nevertheless,
he cannot give up the notion that this house may, in some degree, be
peculiarly favored by having his especial attention directed towards
it. His eyes at least may be open towards it, and if he cannot be
there himself, his name may. Moreover, when prayers are offered in
the temple, he may listen to them more graciously than to other
supplications; and when the asseverations of contending parties are
confirmed by oaths taken before the altar it contains, he may take
unusual pains to execute justice between them. Jehovah fully approves
of his servant's proposals. He emphatically declares in reply that he
has hallowed this house which he has built, to put his name there for
ever; and that his eyes and his heart shall be there perpetually (Kings
viii. 22-ix. 3).

Very primitive peoples hold similar views of the relation of their
deities to their temples. Just as there was "an oracle" in the Jewish
temple, where "the glory of the Lord filled the house of the Lord, as
it had filled the corresponding place in the tabernacle, so in most
of the Fijian temples there is a shrine, where the god is supposed
to descend when holding communication with the priests; and there is
also a long piece of native cloth hung at one end of the building, and
from the very ceiling, which is also connected with the arrival and
departure of the god invoked" (Viti, p. 393). It seems to have been
a general rule in the temples of these islands to have some object
specially connected with the deity, and through which he might manifest
his presence in the place. Thus, in one of them there was a conch
shell, which "the god was supposed to blow when he wished the people
to rise to war" (N. Y., p. 240). Nay, there was even an altar erected
to Jehovah and Jesus Christ in one of the islands, "to which persons
afflicted with all manner of diseases were brought to be healed;
and so great was the reputation which this maræ obtained, that the
power of Jehovah and Jesus Christ became great in the estimation of
the people" (N. M. E., p. 28). Here an altar, erected of course by a
man not yet converted to Christianity, received a blessing no less
conspicuous than that granted in ancient times to Solomon's temple.

The Mexicans and Peruvians entertained a precisely similar belief to
that which we have observed among the Fijians and the Hebrews. Father
Acosta describes the ruins of a very large building in Peru which had
been a place of worship, where immense plunder had been carried off by
the Christians. In this temple there was a sure tradition that "the
devil" had spoken, and given responses in his oracle. The fact of the
devil speaking and answering in these false sanctuaries is, according
to the learned father, a very common thing in America; but the father
of lies has become silent since the sign of the cross has been raised
in those regions of his previous power (H. I., b. v. ch. 12). Not only
were the temples holy in Peru, but the whole of the imperial city of
Cozco, the residence of the Incas, enjoyed an exceptional holiness.
So much was this the case, that if two natives of equal rank met one
another on the road, the one coming from Cozco, and the other going to
it, the one coming from it received respect and reverence from the one
going to it, which was enhanced to a higher degree if he were a native
of Cozco (C. R., b. iii. ch. 20). In approaching the great temple at
Cozco, there were certain limits where all who passed were obliged to
take off their shoes: the very same sign of regard for holy places
which Moses was commanded to observe at the burning bush; which is
practiced by Parsee priests when ministering in their temples, and by
Mussulmans in reference to their mosques (Ibid., b. iii. ch. 23).

Prohibition to all but holy persons to enter holy places is not
uncommon. The holy of holies in the Jewish temple might be entered by
no one but the high priest, and the utmost horror was felt by the Jews
at the violation of their sanctuary by Pompey. A European traveler in
Africa, finding a grove with a mat hung before it, wished to enter;
but was entreated not to do so by the negroes, who informed him that
a great spirit, who might kill him if displeased, dwelt within. He,
however, went in, and found a delightful place; this being one of
those to which only priests were admitted (G. d. M., p. 326). Similarly
among the Parsees, the Atesch-gâh, or holy place where worship is
performed, may be entered only by the priests, except under special
circumstances, when laymen may enter it after due observance of
preparatory rites, and with the face covered. Such a case would occur
if there were no priest to keep up the sacred fire (Z. A., vol. ii. p.
569). In Mexico, where there were two important holy places—the Cu,
or great temple of Vitziliputzli, and the temple of Tezcatlipuca—the
priests alone had the right of entry to this last (H. I., b. 5, ch. 13).

We thus find, among the several nations of the world, a consistent and
all-pervading theory of holy places. These are not always the scenes
of divine revelations, or of striking events produced by the divine
agency; but they are much more likely to be so favored than other
places, and if communications are distinctly sought, it must generally
be by resorting to such local sanctuaries as are commonly reputed to
be fitted for the purpose. Where no revelation is either given or
expected, the holy place is yet the abiding home of the deity whose
worship is celebrated within its enclosure. And although Christians may
consider their God as present everywhere, yet they are conscious on
entering a church, of coming, in a peculiar sense, into his presence;
and they indicate that consciousness by removing their hats, if men,
and keeping the head covered, if women. For such is the outward
indication of respect which the Christian God is supposed to require of
those who set their feet within his holy places.




                             CHAPTER III.

                             HOLY OBJECTS.


While a highly-exalted conception of the First cause of nature would
see him equally in everything, and believe the whole world to be alike
natural and divine, no actual religion, believed by any considerable
number of persons, has ever reached so abstract an idea. To all of them
some things are more sacred than others; in the more primitive forms
of faith these things are either a species of divinities themselves,
or they are the abode of some divinity; in the more advanced types,
they are held to be sanctified by the power of God, or to be the
earthly representatives of his invisible majesty. To the class of holy
objects belong all charms, amulets, fetishes, sacred animals, and other
things of whatever kind, which are believed in any country to possess
a different order of powers from those which scientific investigation
discovers in them.

The theory underlying the use of such objects among the negroes—and
it is practically the same as that of more civilized nations—is well
explained by a German missionary. "Fetishes, or Shambu," according to
him, "are holy things, which are supposed to have received a particular
power from God, both to drive away evil spirits, as also to be useful
in all illnesses and dangers, especially against sorcery." They cover
both themselves and their gods with fetishes. These descend from father
to son, and are preserved with the greatest care. Some are kept in
sanctuaries of their own. There exists among these negroes (the Mavu)
a class of professional fetish-makers, who are mostly old women, and
who wear a peculiar dress. A man, who had fetishes at the bottom of
his staircase, informed the writer that their use was to keep the
devil from getting into his house. Another tribe of negroes prefer to
take things which have been struck by lightning for their fetishes:
the lightning-stroke being, as the missionary justly concludes, an
indication that a divine power has united itself to these objects (G.
d. M., pp. 322, 323).

The natives of Sierra Leone are described as placing unlimited faith in
"griggories," or charms. These are made of goats' skin; texts of the
Koran are written upon them, and they are worn upon various parts of
the person. They have distinct functions, each one being designed to
preserve the wearer from a certain kind of evil or danger (S. L., p.
132).

Numerous objects were holy in Peru. Rivers, fountains, large stones,
hills, the tops of mountains, are mentioned by Acosta as having been
adored by the Peruvians; indeed, he says that they adored whatever
natural object appeared very different from the rest, recognizing
therein some peculiar deity.

A certain tree, for instance, which was cut down by the Spaniards,
had long been an object of adoration to the Indians, on account of
its antiquity and size (H. I., b. 5, ch. 5). In another part of the
American continent, the neighborhood of Acadia, a traveler tells us of
a venerable tree which was likewise holy. Many marvels were recounted
of it, and it was always loaded with offerings. The sea having washed
the soil from about its roots, it maintained itself a long time "almost
in the air," which confirmed the savages in their notion that it was
"the seat of some great spirit;" and even after it had fallen, its
branches, so long as they were visible above the surface of the water,
continued to receive the worship of the people (N. F., vol. iii. p.
349).

Not unfrequently the holy object is an animal, and then it may be
regarded either as itself a god, or as sacred to some god, who
either makes it in some sense his abode, or regards it with favor
and takes it under his care. Among animals, there is none more
frequently worshiped than the serpent; and it has been supposed, with
some plausibility, that the Hebrew legend of the fall was directed
against serpent-worship. However this may be, that worship is clearly
discernible in the story of the brazen serpent which healed the
sickness of the Israelites in the wilderness (Num. xxi. 8). This would
seem to be a dim tradition of a time at which the adoration of the
serpent was still practiced by the people of Jehovah. Many other
countries afford examples of the same worship. To take a single case;
the Chevalier des Marchais, who traveled in the last century, relates
that serpents of a certain kind were worshiped in Guinea. There was
one, however, which was called the father of these gods, and was
reputed to be of prodigious size. It was kept in a place of its own,
where it had "secret apartments," and none but the chief sacrificer was
permitted to enter this holy of holies. The king himself might only see
it once, when, three months after his coronation, he went to present
his offerings (V. G., vol. ii. p. 169).

Even Christianity did not entirely put an end to the worship of the
serpent; for an early Christian writer, in a treatise against all
heresies, makes mention of a sect of Ophites who (he says) "magnify the
serpent to such a degree, that they prefer him even to Christ himself;
for it was he, they say, who gave us the origin of the knowledge of
good and evil. His power and majesty (they say) Moses perceiving, set
up the brazen serpent; and whoever gazed upon him obtained health.
Christ himself (they say further) imitates Moses' serpent's sacred
power in saying: 'And as Moses upreared the serpent in the desert, so
it behoveth the Son of man to be upreared.' Him they introduce to bless
their eucharistic [elements]" (Adv. omn. haereses., II.—A. N. L., vol.
18, p. 262).

Holy objects are very often connected with some eminent man, from
whose relation to them they derive their sanctity. Such are all the
innumerable relics of saints to which so much importance is attached
in Catholic countries. Such is that pre-eminently sacred relic, the
tooth of Buddha, so carefully preserved and guarded in Ceylon. When
Major Forbes witnessed the tooth festival at Kandy, fifty-three years
had passed since the last exhibition of this deeply revered member of
the founder of the faith. It was kept in its temple within six cases;
of which the three larger ones having been first removed, the three
inner ones, containing it, were placed "on the back of an elephant
richly caparisoned." It was shown to the people on a temporary altar,
surrounded with rich hangings; the festival being attended by crowds of
pious worshipers, who thought that the privilege of seeing the tooth,
so rarely exhibited to the public, was a sufficient proof of the
merits they had obtained in former lives (E. Y, vol. i. p. 290-293).

Mussulmans have their holy objects, consisting of verses of the Koran,
suspended or written on their dwellings, which are supposed to insure
their protection. Such verses, or short Suras, are sometimes carried on
the person engraved on stones (Dervishes, p. 313).

Conspicuous among holy objects for the extraordinary virtues ascribed
to them, are the bread and wine of the Lord's supper. These are
believed by Christians either to be or to represent (according to
their several doctrines) the actual flesh and blood of Jesus; and the
mere fact of eating and drinking them, in faith, is held to exercise
a mystic efficacy over the life of the communicant. A more singular
instance of the holiness attributed by an act of the imagination to
material things can scarcely be produced. Another curious case of the
same notion is the belief in holy water; which enjoys so great a power,
that some drops of it dashed upon an infant's forehead contribute to
ensure its eternal happiness; while it has also the gift of conferring
some kind of advantage upon the worshipers who, on entering a church,
sprinkle it upon their persons.

Images of the gods or saints worshiped in a country form a large and
important class of holy objects. Such were the "teraphim" or "gods"
stolen by Rachel from her father, and which she concealed in the
furniture of her camel (Gen. xxxi. 19, 30-35). Similar images are
employed by the Tartars, who place them at the heads and feet of their
beds in certain fixed positions, and who carry them about with them
wherever they go (Bergeron, Voyage de Rubruquis, ch. 3, p. 9).




                              CHAPTER IV.

                             HOLY ORDERS.


Rites, acts of worship and sacrifices, originally performed by each
individual at his own discretion, or by each household in its own way,
fall (as we have seen) with advancing development into the hands of
professional persons consecrated for this especial purpose. Very great
importance attaches to these consecrated persons. The place they occupy
in all societies above the level of barbarism is one of peculiar honor;
and their influence on the course of human history has in all ages
with which that history is acquainted been conspicuous and profound.
Once devoted to their religious duties, they become the authorized
representatives of deity on earth. In treating of their consecration,
we consider them as channels of communication from earth to heaven; we
have now to consider them as channels of communication from heaven to
earth.

Endowed by the general wish of all human society with a special right
to convey their petitions to the divine beings whom they worship, they
do not fail to claim for themselves the correlative right of conveying
to men the commands, the intentions, the reproofs, and the desires of
these divine beings. It is the priests alone who can pretend to know
their minds. It is the priests alone who can correctly interpret their
often enigmatic language. It is the priests alone through whom they
generally deign to converse with mortals.

Such is the ecclesiastical theory throughout the world; and it is as
a general rule accepted by the communities for whose guidance it is
constructed. Exceptions do indeed present themselves, above all in
the case of the remarkable men whose careers we shall deal with in
the ensuing chapter, who have founded new religions independently
of, or even in spite of, very powerful existing priesthoods. And,
speaking generally, the holy class is not always coëxtensive with
the consecrated class. We shall notice further on an important order
among the Jews who were universally received as holy, without being
consecrated. Moreover, there has often existed a species of men who,
without regular consecration, have nevertheless served as a channel
of communication from God or from inferior spirits to man. Such were
magicians, astrologers, "et hoc genus omne," in ancient times; such are
the so-called mediums in the present day. Conversely, consecration,
though by its very nature implying holiness as its correlative, implies
it less and less as we rise in the scale of culture. Thus, in the
more advanced forms of Protestantism, such as the Presbyterian or the
Unitarian, the minister is scarcely more than a mere teacher; he has
little or no more power to convey commands or intimations from God
than any member of his congregation. So that we should have a rough
approximation to the truth were we to say that in the lower grades of
religious culture we have holy orders without consecration; while in
the higher grades we have consecrated orders without holiness.

Between these extremes there lies the great body of regular and
qualified priests, appointed to communicate upwards, and entitled
to communicate downwards. Invasions of their authority by irregular
pretenders are the exceptions, not the rule. It is the usual order of
things, that the decisions of priests on matters pertaining to religion
should be accepted in submissive faith, by the societies to which
they belong. Where, as in the case of Jesus of Nazareth, some bold
individual brushes aside successfully the pretentions of ecclesiastical
castes, the theory is only modified to suit the individual instance.
Ecclesiastical castes, deriving their title from the innovator himself,
spring up again at once; and differ only in so far as the God whose
will they expound is either another God, or a new modification of the
same God.

Numerous privileges are generally accorded to priests. Sometimes they
enjoy exemptions from the operation of the ordinary laws; sometimes
they are permitted a disproportionate share in the government of their
country; sometimes, without possessing recognized legislative powers,
they control the destinies of nations by the expression of their
views. Often, the whole physical force of the government is at their
disposal, for the propagation and support of the system they uphold;
occasionally, when their authority has reached its highest point,
the mere solemn declaration of their commands is enough to ensure
the acquiescence of monarchs and the obedience of their subjects.
Corresponding to these considerable rights, they perform a considerable
variety of functions, which are regarded by the societies who employ
them as not only useful, but indispensable. We find them in all
primitive communities acting as the recognized doctors of the people,
treating their diseases by the method of supernatural inspiration.
Rising a little higher, they predict that class of events which is
so interesting to each individual, namely, the prospects of his or
her life. In other words, they become fortune-tellers, astrologers,
or (by whatever means) readers of the future. Or they control the
weather, calling down from heaven the needful rain. They are inspired
by the deity in whose service they are enrolled, and they announce
his will. In his name they threaten evil-doers with punishment, and
promise rewards to the faithful and obedient. Benefits from on high are
declared to be the lot of those who pay them honor. They proclaim the
fact that their presence is essential to the performance of important
rites, and that their assistance at these must be duly rewarded.
Sometimes they are in possession of knowledge which is only permitted
to be imparted to their own caste. They are at all times the authorized
expositors of theological dogma, and the authorized guardians of public
ritual.

Let us enter on a more detailed account of these several
characteristics of the priestly order.

First, it has to be noted that the differentiation of this order from
the rest of society is in primitive communities very incomplete.
Fathers of families, or any venerable and respected men, act as
priests, and perform the requirements of divine worship according to
their own notions of propriety. Thus in Samoa, Mr. Turner tells us
that "the father of the family was _the high-priest_, and usually
offered a short prayer at the evening meal, that they might all be
kept from fines, sickness, war, and death." He also directed on what
occasions religious festivals should be held, and it was supposed
that the god sometimes spoke through the father or another member of
the family (N. Y., p. 239). So in the early period of the history of
the Israelites, there was no formal and regular priesthood, and no
established ritual. The Levites were not devoted to the functions they
subsequently discharged, until, in the course of the Exodus, they had
proved their qualification by the holy zeal with which they slaughtered
their brethren. It was for the perpetration of this massacre that they
were promised by Moses the blessing of God (Exod. xxxii. 25-29). With
advancing culture, the necessity for separating priests from laymen is
always felt. The ministrations of unskilled hands are not held to be
sufficient. Ritual grows fixed; and for a fixed ritual there must be a
special apprenticeship. Ceremonies multiply; and the original family
prayer having grown into a more elaborate system of worship, takes more
time, and demands the attention of a class who make this, and kindred
matters, their exclusive occupation.

While, however, the ministers of the gods are thus differentiated from
the people at large, they are not differentiated until a later stage
from the ministers of the human body. Medicine and priestcraft are
for a long time united arts. On this connection, Brinton very justly
remarks, that "when sickness is looked upon as the effect of the anger
of a god, or as the malicious infliction of a sorcerer, it is natural
to seek help from those who assume to control the unseen world, and
influence the fiats of the Almighty" (M. N. W., p. 264). Thus in
America the native priests were called by the European colonists,
"medicine men." The New Zealand priests were "expert jugglers," and
when called in to the sick would ascribe some diseases to a piece
of wood lodged in the stomach; this they pretended to extract, and
produced it in evidence of their assertion. An acquaintance of
the author from whom I borrow this fact, saw one of these doctors
tear open the leg of a rheumatic patient, and (apparently) take
out of it a knotted piece of wood (N. Z., p. 80). In the Fiji
islands they occasionally use their medical powers malevolently,
instead of benevolently. In Tanna, there was a class of men termed
"disease-makers," and greatly dreaded by the people, who thought that
these men could exercise the power of life and death, the calamity of
death being the result of burning rubbish belonging to the sufferer.
When a Tannese was ill, he believed that the disease-maker was burning
his rubbish, and would send large presents to induce him to stop;
for if it were all burned he would die (N. Y. p. 89-91). The Samoans
believed disease to be the result of divine wrath, and sought its
remedy at the hands of the high-priest of the village. Whatever he
might demand was given; in some cases, however, he did not ask for
anything, but merely commanded the family of the patient to "confess,
and throw out." Confessing, and throwing out, consisted of a statement
by each member of the family of the crimes he had committed, or of the
evil he had invoked on the patient or his connections, accompanied by
the ceremony of spurting out water from the mouth towards him (N. Y.,
p. 224). Like the Fijians, the natives of Australia employ priests
to cure their illnesses. Their ecclesiastical practitioners "perform
incantations over the sick," and also pretend to suck out the disease,
producing a piece of bone which they assert to be its cause (S. L. A.,
p. 226). The Africans have an exactly similar belief in the influence
of fetish over disease. Reade observes that epileptic attacks are (as
is natural from their mysterious character) ascribed to demoniacal
possession, and that fetish-men are called in to cure them. This they
attempt to accomplish by elaborate dances and festivities, "at the
expense of the next of kin," which sometimes end in driving the patient
into the bush in a state of complete insanity. When cured, he "builds
a little fetish-house, avoids certain kinds of food, and performs
certain duties" (S. A., p. 251). The negroes on the coast of Guinea,
when ill, apply to their priest, who informs them what offerings are
required to ensure their recovery (D. C. G., p. 213). When an Amazulu
is troubled by bad dreams, he applies to a diviner, who recommends
certain ceremonies by which the spirit causing the dreams is supposed
to be banished. Should he be ill, his friends apply to the diviner, who
discovers the source of the illness, and probably demands the sacrifice
of a bullock. A remarkable sensitiveness about the shoulders indicates
the spiritual character of the doctor. If he fail to remove disease,
he is said to have no "Itongo," or spirit, in him (R. S. A., pt. ii.
pp. 159, 160, 172). The Fida negroes sent to consult their divine
snake through a priest when ill, and the priest (unless he announced
that the disease would be fatal) received a reward for indicating the
remedies to be used. Moreover, the priests were the physicians of the
negroes. Two theories prevailed among the people as to the origin of
illnesses. Some tribes held them to be due to evil spirits, who were
accordingly driven away by a prescribed system of armed pursuit. But
the priests in other places regarded them as a consequence of discord
between spirit and soul, and required the patient in the first instance
to confess his sins. This being done, they obtain from their deity an
indication of the offerings to be made, or the vows to be fulfilled,
to restore mental harmony. They then undertook the treatment of the
body by physical means (G. d. M., pp. 335, 336). In Sierra Leone, as
in other parts of Africa, "the practice of medicine, and the art of
making greegrees and fetishes, in other words, amulets ... is generally
the province of the same person." Those who practice medicine are
looked upon as witches, and believed not only to converse with evil
spirits, but to exercise control over them (N. A., vol. i. p. 251).
In New France, in the eighteenth century, the principal occupation of
the native priests was medicine (N. F. vol. iii. p. 364). In Mexico,
the people came from all parts to the priests to be anointed with the
peculiar unguent used in the special consecration mentioned above
(_Supra_, p. 116). This they termed a "divine physic," and considered
as a cure for their diseases (H. I., b. 5, ch. 26).

Such rude notions as these, implying a supernatural as opposed to a
natural theory of the physical conditions of the body, are not wholly
extinct even among ourselves. They exist, like so many of the crude
conceptions of the savage, in the form of respected survivals wholly
inconsistent with our practical habits. True, we do not call in the
clergyman to assist or to direct at the sick-bed. But we do ask him to
put up prayers for the recovery of the sick; and in the case of royal
princes, the clergy throughout the land are set to work to induce
the divine Being to give their illnesses a favorable turn. Now, this
proceeding, however disguised under refined and imposing forms, is
practically on a level with that of the Amazulu, who seeks to pacify
the offended spirit that has attacked him with pain by the sacrifice
of a bullock; or with that of the Fijian who, when his friend is ill,
blows a shell for hours as a call to the disease-maker to stop burning
the sick man's rubbish, and as a sign that presents will speedily reach
his hands. Nay, the very missionary who relates this Fiji custom gives
at least one proof of his fitness to understand the native mind, in a
passage showing that in reference to beliefs like these his own was
almost on a par with it. A war, of which the missionaries disapproved,
had been going on for four months, "and the end of it was, the war
was raised against ourselves. After they had been fighting for months
among themselves, contrary to all our entreaties, God commenced to
punish them with a deadly epidemic in the form of dysentery." Now,
the conviction that diseases are punishments sent by some god, or at
any rate direct results of an intention on the part of some god to
harm the sufferer, is at the root of the priestly, as opposed to the
scientific, treatment. For if God punishes with a deadly epidemic, it
is an obvious inference that the mode of cure and of prevention is
not to take physical remedies, and observe physical precautions, but
to avoid the sin for which the punishment is given. And this is the
common conclusion of the savage and the Christian, though the superior
information of the Christian renders his conduct self-contradictory and
confused, where that of the savage is logical and simple.

Nearly related to the supposed influence of priests over physical
suffering, is their supposed power to foretell the future. Here,
however, a number of unauthorized and schismatic priesthoods often
enter into competition with those sanctioned by the state. Technically,
they would not be termed priests at all; but tested by the true mark
of priesthood, the gift, alleged by themselves and admitted by others,
of forming channels of communication from the celestial powers to man,
they are entitled to that name, and this although they may perhaps
receive no regular consecration to their office. The Roman Senate
during the Empire came into frequent collision with these irregular
priests. It endeavored from time to time to combat the growing belief
in the unorthodox practices of astrologers and magi, by decreeing their
expulsion from Italy, and occasionally by visiting some of them with
severer penalties; but such endeavors to stem the tide of popular
superstition are naturally useless (Tac. Ann., ii. 32; xii. 52). Magic
of some description is universal. In New Zealand the priest "seems
to unite in his person the offices of priest, sorcerer, juggler, and
physician." He predicts the life or death of members of his tribe (N.
Z., p. 80). By the Kafirs the prophet is consulted on all kinds of
domestic occasions, and (while the people beat the ground in assent to
what he says) he is held to see in a vision the event which has led to
the consultation (K. N., p. 167 ff). The inhabitants of Sierra Leone
have other methods of divining. Their diviners make dots and lines in
sand spread upon a goat's skin, which dots and lines they afterwards
decipher; or they place palm-nuts in heaps upon a goat's skin, and by
shifting them about suppose that an answer is obtained (N. A., vol. i.
p. 134). The heathen Mexican had the habit, on the birth of a child,
of consulting a diviner in order to ascertain its future. The diviner,
having learnt from the child's parents the hour at which it was born,
turned over his books to discover the sign under which its nativity
had occurred. Should that sign prove to be favorable, he would say
to the parents: "Your child has been born under a good sign; it will
be a senor, or senator, or rich, or brave," or will have some other
distinction. In the opposite case he would say: "The child has not been
born under a good sign; it has been born under a disastrous sign." In
some circumstances there was hope that the evil might be remedied; but
if the sign were altogether bad, they would predict that it would be
vicious, carnal, and a thief; or that it would be dull and lazy; or
possibly that it would be a great drunkard; or that its life would be
short. A third alternative was when the sign was indifferent, and the
expected fortune was therefore partly good and partly bad. The diviner,
in this case and in that of a bad, but not hopelessly bad, sign,
assisted the parents by pointing out an auspicious day for the baptism
of the infant (A. M., vol. v. pp. 479, 480).

Prediction of coming events was practiced by the priests in North
America, as it was elsewhere. They persuaded the multitude, says
Charlevoix, that they suffered from ecstatic transports. During
these conditions, they said that their spirits gave them a large
acquaintance with remote things, and with the future (N. F., vol.
iii. p. 347). Moreover, they practiced magic, and with such effect
that Charlevoix felt himself compelled to ascribe their performances
to their alliance with the devil. They even pretended to be born in a
supernatural manner, and found believers ready to think that only by
some sort of enchantment and illusion had they formerly imagined that
they had come into the world like other people. When they went into
the state of ecstasy, they resembled the Pythoness on the tripod; they
assumed tones of voice and performed actions which seemed beyond human
capacity. On these occasions they suffered so much that it was hard
to induce them, even by handsome payment, thus to yield themselves to
the spirit. So often did they prophesy truly, that Charlevoix can only
resort again to his hypothesis of a real intercourse between them and
the "father of seduction and of lies," who manifested his connection
with them by telling them the truth. Thus, a lady named Madame de
Marson, by no means an "esprit faible," was anxious about her husband,
who was commanding at a French outpost in Acadia, and who had stayed
away beyond the time fixed for his return. A native woman, having
ascertained the reason of her trouble, told her not to be distressed,
for that her husband would return on a certain day at a certain hour,
wearing a grey hat. Seeing that the lady did not believe in her, she
returned on the day and at the hour named, and asked her if she would
not come to meet her husband. After much pressing, she induced the
lady to accompany her to the bank of the river. Scarcely had they
arrived, when M. de Marson appeared in a canoe, wearing a grey hat upon
his head. The writer was informed of this fact by Madame de Marson's
son-in-law, at that time Governor-General of the French dominions in
America, who had heard it from herself (N. F., vol. iii. p. 359-363).
The priests of the Tartars are also their diviners. They predict
eclipses, and announce lucky and unlucky days for all sorts of business
(Bergeron, Voyage de Rubruquis, ch. 47).

Among the Buddhist priesthood of Thibet, there is a class of Lamas
who are astrologers, distinguished by a peculiar dress, and making it
their business to tell fortunes, exorcise evil spirits, and so forth.
The astrologers "are considered to have intercourse with Sadag," a
spirit who is supposed to be "lord of the ground," in which bodies are
interred, and who, along with other spirits, requires to be pacified
by charms and rites known only to these priests. To prevent them from
injuring the dead, the relations offer a price in cattle or money to
Sadag; and the astrologers, when satisfied with the amount, undertake
the necessary conjuration (B. T., pp. 156, 271).

In the Old Testament, this class of unofficial priests is mentioned
with the reprobation inspired by rivalry. The Hebrew legislator is at
one with the Roman Senate in his desire to expel them from the land.
"There shall not be found among you any one that ... useth divination,
or an observer of times, or an enchanter, or a witch, or a charmer, or
a consultor with familiar spirits, or a wizard, or a necromancer. For
all that do these things are an abomination unto the Lord: and because
of these abominations the Lord thy God doth drive them out from before
thee" (Deut. xviii. 10-12). The very prohibition evinces the existence
of the objects against whom it is aimed; and proves that, along with
the recognized worship of Jehovah, there existed an unrecognized resort
to practices which the sterner adherents of that worship would not
permit.

In addition to their claim to be in possession of special means of
ascertaining the occult causes of phenomena (as in illness), and of
special contrivances for penetrating the future (as in astrology or
fortune-telling), priesthoods pretend to a more direct inspiration from
on high, qualifying them either to announce the will of their god on
exceptional occasions, or to intimate his purpose in matters of more
ordinary occurrence. This inspiration was granted to the native North
American priests at the critical age of puberty, "It was revealed to
its possessor by the character of the visions he perceived at the
ordeal he passed through on arriving at puberty; and by the northern
nations was said to be the manifestation of a more potent personal
spirit than ordinary. It was not a faculty, but an inspiration; not an
inborn strength, but a spiritual gift" (M. N. W., p. 279). So in India;
among the several meanings of the word Brahman, is that of a person
"elected by special divine favor to receive the gift of inspiration"
(O. S. T., vol. i. p. 259). The missionary Turner, who has an eye
for parallels, observes, among other just reflections, that "the way
in which the Samoan priests declared that the gods spoke by them,
strikingly reminds us of the mode by which God of old made known his
will to man by the Hebrew prophets" (N. Y., p. 349). Although the
Levites were said to be the Lord's, and to have been hallowed by him
instead of all the first-born of Israel, yet it does not appear that
they were in general endowed with any high order of inspiration. The
high-priest no doubt received communications from God by the Urim
and Thummim. Priests were also the judges whom the Lord chose, and
whose sentence in court was to be obeyed on penalty of death; but the
inspiration that was fitted to guide the Israelites was supplied not so
much by them as by the prophets, a kind of supplementary priesthood of
which the members, sometimes priests, sometimes consecrated by other
prophets, were as a rule unconsecrated, deriving their appointment
directly from Jehovah. While, therefore, it was attained in a somewhat
unusual way, the general need of an inspired order was supplied no
less perfectly among the Israelites than elsewhere. Christian priests
enjoy two kinds of inspiration. In the first place, they are inspired
specially when assembled in general councils, to declare the truth
in matters of doctrine, or in other words, to issue supplementary
revelations; in the second place, they are inspired generally to remit
or retain offenses, their sentence being—according to the common
doctrine of Catholics and Episcopalian Protestants—always ratified in
the Court above.

Consistently with this exalted conception of their authority, priestly
orders threaten punishment to offenders, and announce the future
destiny of souls. Thus the Mexican priests warned their penitents after
confession not to fall again into sin, holding out the prospect of the
torments of hell if they should neglect the admonition (A. M., vol.
v, p. 370). The priests in some parts of Africa know the fate of each
soul after death, and can say whether it has gone to God or to the evil
spirit (G. d. M., p. 335).

Sometimes the priests are held to be protected against injury by the
especial care of heaven. To take away a Brahman's wife is an offense
involving terrible calamities, while kings who restore her to the
Brahman enjoy "the abundance of the earth" (0. S. T., vol. i. p. 257).
A king who should eat a Brahman's cow is warned in solemn language
of the dreadful consequences of such conduct, both in this world and
the next (Ibid., vol. i. p. 285). The sacred volumes declare that
"whenever a king, fancying himself mighty, seeks to devour a Brahman,
that kingdom is broken up, in which a Brahman is oppressed" (Ibid.,
vol. i. p. 287). "No one who has eaten a Brahman's cow continues to
watch (_i.e._, to rule) over a country." The Indian gods, moreover,
"do not eat the food offered by a king who has no ... Purohita," or
domestic chaplain (A. B., p. 528). The murder of a king who had honored
and enriched the Buddhist priesthood, is said to have entailed the
destruction of the power and strength of the kingdom of Thibet, and
to have extinguished the happiness and welfare of its people (G. O.
M., p. 362). And Jewish history affords abundant instances of the
manner in which the success or glory of the rulers was connected, by
the sacerdotal class, with the respect shown towards themselves as the
ministers of Jehovah, and with the rigor evinced in persecuting or
putting down the ministers of every other creed. That the same bias has
been betrayed by the Christian priesthood and their adherents in the
interpretation of history needs no proof.

The presence of a priest or priests at important rites is held to be
indispensable by all religions. With the negroes visited by Oldendorp,
the priest was in requisition at burials; for he only could help
the soul to get to God, and keep off the evil spirit who would seek
to obtain possession of it (G. d. M., p. 327). "For most of the
ceremonies" (in Thibet) "the performance by a Lama is considered
indispensable to its due effect; and even where this is not so, the
efficacy of the rite is increased by the Lama's assistance" (B. T., p.
247). Much the same thing may be said here. For certain ceremonies,
such as confirmation, the administration of the sacrament, the conduct
of divine service on Sundays, the priest is a necessary official. For
others, such as marriage, the majority of the people prefer to employ
him, and no doubt believe that "the efficacy of the rite is increased"
by the fact that he reads the words of the service. Nor is this
surprising when we consider that, until within very recent times, no
legitimate child could be produced in England without the assistance of
a priest.

Not only is the ecclesiastical caste required to render religious rites
acceptable to the deity, but they are often endowed with the attribute
of ability to modify the course of nature. Tanna, one of the Fiji
group, "there are rain-makers and thunder-makers, and fly and musquito
makers, and a host of other 'sacred men;'" and in another island "there
is a rain-making class of priests" (N. Y., pp. 89, 428). In Christian
countries all priests are rain-makers, the reading of prayers for fine
or wet weather being a portion of their established duties.

Naturally, the members of a class whose functions are of this high
value to the community enjoy great power, are regarded as extremely
sacred, and above all, are well rewarded. First, as to the power
they enjoy. This is accorded to them alike by savage tribes and by
cultivated Europeans. According to Brinton, all North American tribes
"appear to have been controlled" by secret societies of priests.
"Withal," says the same authority, "there was no class of persons who
so widely and deeply influenced the culture, and shaped the destiny
of the Indian tribes, as their priests" (M. N. W., p. 285). Over the
negroes of the Caribbean Islands the priests and priestesses exercised
an almost unlimited dominion, being regarded with the greatest
reverence. No negro would have ventured to transgress the arrangements
made by a priest (G. d. M., p. 327). On the coast of Guinea there
exists, or existed, an institution by which certain women became
priestesses; and such women, even though slaves before, enjoyed, on
receiving this dignity, a high position and even exercised absolute
authority precisely in the quarter where it must have been sweetest to
their minds, namely, over their husbands (D. C. G., p. 363). Writing of
the Talapoins in Siam, Gervaise says, that they are exempted from all
public charges; they salute nobody, while everybody prostrates himself
before them; they are maintained at the public expense, and so forth
(H. N. S., troisième partie, chs. 5, 6). Of the enormous power wielded
by the clerical order in Europe, especially during the Middle Ages,
it is unnecessary to speak. The humiliation of Theodosius by Ambrose
was one of the most conspicuous, as it was one of the most beneficent,
exercises of their extensive rights.

Secondly, the sanctity attached to their persons is usually
considerable, and may often, to ambitious minds, afford a large
compensation for the loss (if such be required) of some kinds of
secular enjoyment. The African priestesses just mentioned are "as much
respected as the priest, or rather more," and call themselves by the
appellation of "God's children." When certain Buddhist ecclesiastics
were executed for rebellion in Ceylon, the utmost astonishment was
expressed by the people at the temerity of the king in so treating
"such holy and reverend persons. And none heretofore," adds the
reporter of the fact, "have been so served; being reputed and called
_sons of Boddon_" (H. R. C., p. 75), or Buddha; a title exactly
corresponding to that of God's children bestowed upon the priestesses.
In Siam the "Talapoins," or priests, are of two kinds: secular, living
in the world; and regular, living in the forest without intercourse
with men. There is no limit to the veneration given by the Siamese
to these last, whom they look upon as demigods (H. N. S., troisième
partie, p. 184). "The Brahman caste," according to the sacred books of
the Hindus, "is sprung from the gods" (O. S. T., vol. i. p. 21); and
the exceptional honor always accorded to them is in harmony with this
theory of their origin. The title "Reverend," man to be revered, given
to the clergy in Europe, implies the existence, at least originally, of
a similar sentiment of respect.

Lastly, the services of priests are generally well rewarded, and they
themselves take every care to encourage liberality towards their order.
Payment is made to them either in the shape of direct remuneration, or
in that of exceptional pecuniary privileges, or in that of exemptions
from burdens. Direct remuneration may be, and often is, given in the
shape of a fixed portion abstracted from the property of the laity
for the benefit of the clergy. Such are the tithes bestowed by law
upon the latter among the Jews, the Parsees, and the Christians. Or,
direct remuneration may consist in fees for services rendered, and in
voluntary gifts. Such fees and gifts are always represented by the
priesthood as highly advantageous to the givers. If the relatives of a
deceased Parsee do not give the priest who officiates at the funeral
four new robes, the dead will appear naked before the throne of God at
the resurrection, and will be put to shame before the whole assembly
(Av., vol. ii. p. xli.; iii. p. xliv). Moreover, those Parsees who
wish to live happily, and have children who will do them honor, must
pay four priests, who during three days and three nights perform the
Yasna for them (Z. A., vol. ii. p. 564). In Thibet there is great merit
in consecrating a domestic animal to a certain god, the animal being
after a certain time "delivered to the Lamas, who may eat it" (B. T.,
p. 158). Giving alms to the monks is a duty most sedulously inculcated
by Buddhism, and the Buddhist writings abound in illustrations of the
advantages derived from the practice. Similar benefits accrue to the
clergy from the custom, prevailing in Ceylon, of making offerings
in the temples for recovery from sickness; for when the Singhalese
have left their gift on the altar, "the priest presents it with all
due ceremony to the god; and after its purpose is thus served, very
prudently converts it to his own use" (A I. C., p. 205). Of the Levites
it is solemnly declared in Deuteronomy that they have "no part nor
inheritance with Israel," and that "the Lord is their inheritance." But
"the Lord" is soon seen to be a very substantial inheritance indeed.
From those that offer an ox or a sheep the priests are to receive "the
shoulder, the two cheeks, and the maw;" while the first-fruits of corn,
wine, and oil, and the first of the sheep's fleeces are to be given to
them (Deut. xviii. 1-5). Moreover, giving to the priest is declared to
be the same thing as giving to the Lord (Num. v. 8). A similar notion,
always fostered by ecclesiastical influence, has led to the vast
endowments bestowed by pious monarchs and wealthy individuals upon the
Christian clergy.

Occasionally, the priests enjoy exemptions from the taxes, or other
burdens levied upon ordinary people. A singular instance of this is
found in the privilege of the Parsee priests, of not paying their
doctors (J. A., vol. ii. p. 555). Large immunities used to be enjoyed
by ecclesiastics among ourselves, especially that of exemption from the
jurisdiction of the ordinary courts of law.

While the life of a priest often entails certain privations, he is
nevertheless frequently sustained by the thought that there is merit in
the sacrifices he makes. Thus, it is held by a Buddhist authority, that
the merit obtained by entering the spiritual order is very great; and
that his merit is immeasurable who either permits a son, a daughter, or
a slave, to enter it, or enters it himself (W. u. T., p. 107).

Priesthoods may either be hereditary or selected. The Brahmins in
India, and the Levites in Judæa, are remarkable types of hereditary,
the Buddhist and the Christian clergy of selected, sacerdotal orders.
Curious modifications of the hereditary principle were found among the
American Indians. Thus, "among the Nez Percés of Oregon," the priestly
office "was transmitted in one family from father to son and daughter,
but, always with the proviso that the children at the proper age
reported dreams of a satisfactory character." The Shawnees "confined it
to one _totem_:" but just as the Hebrew prophets need not be Levites,
"the greatest of their prophets ... was not a member of this clan."
The Cherokees "had one family set apart for the priestly office," and
when they "abused their birthright" and were all massacred, another
family took their places. With another tribe, the Choctaws, the
office of high-priest remained in one family, passing from father
to son; "and the very influential piaches of the Carib tribes very
generally transmitted their rank and position to their children." A
more important case of hereditary priesthood is that of the Incas of
Peru, who monopolized the highest offices both in Church and State.
"In ancient Anahuac" there existed a double system of inheritance and
selection. The priests of Huitzilopochtli, "and perhaps a few other
gods," were hereditary; and the high-priest of that god, towards
whom the whole order was required to observe implicit obedience, was
the "hereditary pontifex maximus." But the rest were dedicated to
ecclesiastical life from early childhood, and were carefully educated
for the profession (M. N. W., p. 281-291).

Christianity entirely abandoned the hereditary principle prevalent
among its spiritual ancestors, the Jews, and selected for its ministers
of religion those who felt, or professed to feel, an internal vocation
for this career. Doubtless this is the most effectual plan for securing
a powerful priesthood. Those who belong to it have their heart far more
thoroughly in their work than can possibly be the case when it falls to
them by right of birth. Just the most priestly-minded of the community
become priests; and a far greater air of zeal and of sanctity attaches
to an order thus maintained, than to one of which many of the members
possess no qualification but that of family, tribe, or caste.

Nothing can be more irrational than the denunciation of priests
and priestcraft which is often indulged in by Liberal writers and
politicians. If it be true that priests have shown considerable
cunning, it is also true that the people have fostered that cunning by
credulity. And if the clergy have put forth very large pretensions to
inspiration, divine authority, and hidden knowledge, it is equally the
fact that the laity have demanded such qualifications at their hands.
An order can scarcely be blamed if it seeks to satisfy the claims which
the popular religion makes upon it. Enlightenment from heaven has in
all ages and countries been positively demanded. Sacrifices have always
had to be made; and when it was found more convenient to delegate
the function of offering them to a class apart, that class naturally
established ritualistic rules of their own, and as naturally asserted
(and no doubt believed) that all sacrifices not offered according to
these rules were displeasing to God. And they could not profess the
inspiration which they were expected to manifest without also requiring
obedience to divine commands. Priests are, in fact, the mere outcome
of religious belief as it commonly exists; and partly minister to that
belief by deliberate trickery, partly share it themselves, and honestly
accept the accredited view of their own lofty commission.

Divine inspiration leads by a very logical process to infallibility.
A Church founded on revelation needs living teachers to preserve
the correct interpretation of that revelation. Without such living
teachers, revealed truth itself becomes (as it always has done among
Protestants) an occasion of discord and of schism. But the interpreters
of revelation in their turn must be able to appeal to some sole and
supreme authority, as the arbiter between varying opinions, and the
guide to be followed through all the intricacies of dogma. Nowhere
can such an arbiter and such a guide be found more naturally than
in the head of the Church himself. If God speaks to mankind through
his Church, it is only a logical conclusion that within that Church
there must be one through whom he speaks with absolute certainty, and
whose prophetic voice must therefore be infallible. There cannot be a
more consistent application of the general theory of priesthood; and
there is no more fatal sign for the prospects of Christianity than the
inability of many of its supporters to accept so useful a doctrine,
and the thoughtless indignation of some among them against the single
Church which has had the wisdom to proclaim it.




                              CHAPTER V.

                             HOLY PERSONS.


Although for the ordinary and regular communications from the divine
Being to man the established priesthoods might suffice, yet occasions
arise when there is need of a plenipotentiary with higher authority
and more extensive powers. What is required of these exceptional
ambassadors is not merely to repeat the doctrines of the old religion,
but to establish a new one. In other words, they are the original
founders of the great religions of the world. Of such founders there is
but a very limited number.

Beginning with China, and proceeding from East to West, we find six:—

  1. CONFUCIUS, or KHUNG-FU-TSZE, the founder of Confucianism.
  2. LAÒ-TSÉ, the founder of Taouism.
  3. SAKYAMUNI, or GAUTAMA BUDDHA, the founder of Buddhism.
  4. ZARATHUSTRA, or ZOROASTER, the founder of Parseeism.
  5. MOHAMMED, or MAHOMET, the founder of Islamism.
  6. JESUS CHRIST, the founder of Christianity.

All these men, whom for convenience sake I propose to call _prophets_,
occupy an entirely exceptional position in the history of the human
race. The characteristics, or marks, by which they may be distinguished
from other great men, are partly external, belonging to the views of
others about them; partly internal, belonging to their own view about
themselves.

1. The first external mark by which they are distinguished is, that
within his own religion each of these is recognized as the highest
known authority. They alone are thought of as having the right to
change what is established. While all other teachers appeal to them
for the sanction of their doctrines, there is no appeal from them
to any one beyond. What they have said is final. They are in perfect
possession of the truth. Others are in possession of it only in so
far as they agree with them. No doubt, the sacred books are equally
infallible with the prophets; but the sacred books of religions founded
by prophets derive their authority in the last resort from them, and
are always held to be only a written statement of their teaching. Thus,
the sacred books of China are partly of direct Confucian authorship;
partly by others who recognize him as their head. The only sacred
book of the Tao-tsé is by their founder himself. The sacred books
of the Buddhists are supposed discourses of the Buddha. The Avesta
is the reputed work of Zarathustra. The Koran is the actual work of
Mahomet. And lastly, the New Testament is all of it written in express
subordination to the authority of Christ, to which it constantly
appeals. These books, then, are infallible, because they contain the
doctrines of their founders.

The same thing is true where there is an infallible Church. The Church
never claims the same absolute authority as it concedes to its prophet.
Its infallibility consists in its power to interpret correctly the
mind of him by whom it was established. He it is who brought the
message from above which no human power could have discovered. It is
the Church's function to explain that message to the world; and, where
needed, to deduce such inferences therefrom as by its supernatural
inspiration it perceives to be just. Beyond this, the power of the
Church does not extend.

A second external mark, closely related to the first, is, that the
prophet of each religion is, within the limits of that religion, the
object of a more or less mythical delineation of his personality. His
historical form is, to some extent, superseded by the form bestowed
upon him by a dogmatic legend. According to that legend there was
something about his nature that was more than human. He was in some
way extraordinary. The myths related vary from a mere exaltation
of the common features of humanity, to the invention of completely
supernatural attributes. But their object is the same: to represent
their prophet as more highly endowed than other mortals. Even where
there is little of absolute myth, the representation we receive is
one-sided; we know nothing of the prophet's faults, except in so far as
we may discover them against the will of the biographers. To them he
appears all-virtuous. These remarks will be abundantly illustrated when
we come to consider the life of Jesus, and to compare it with that of
his compeers.

2. The internal mark corresponds to the first external mark, of which
it is indeed the subjective counterpart. These prophets conceive
themselves deputed to teach a faith, and they virtually recognize in
the performance of this mission no human authority superior to their
own. In words, perhaps, they do acknowledge some established authority;
but in fact they set it aside. No Church or priesthood has the smallest
weight with them, as opposed to that intense internal conviction which
appears to them an inspiration. Hence it was observed of Jesus, that
he taught with authority, and not as the scribes. Without being able
themselves to give any explanation of the fact, they feel themselves
endowed with plenary power to reform. And it is not, like other
reformers, in the name of another that they do this; they reform in
their own right, and with no other title than their own profound
consciousness of being not only permitted, but charged to do it.

Nevertheless, it must not be imagined that the prophets sweep away
everything they find in the existing religion. On the contrary, it
will be found on examination that they always retain some important
element or elements of the older faith. Without this, they would have
no hold on the popular mind of their country, from which they would
be too far removed to make themselves understood. Thus, Allah was
already recognized as God by the Arabians in the time of Mahomet,
whose reform consisted in teaching that he was the only God. Thus, the
Messiah was already expected by the Jews in the time of Jesus, whose
reform consisted in applying the expectation to himself. Prophets
take advantage of a faith already in existence, and making that the
foundation of a new religion, erect upon it the more special truths
they are inspired to proclaim.

No prophet can construct a religion entirely from his own brain.
Were he to do so, he would be unable to show any reason why it
should be accepted. There would be no feeling in the minds of his
hearers to which he could appeal. A religion to be accepted by any
but an insignificant fraction, must find a response not only in the
intellects, but in the emotions of those for whom it is designed.

This, it appears to me, is the weak point of Positivism. Auguste Comte,
having abolished all that in the general mind constitutes religion
at all, attempted to compose a faith for his disciples by the merely
arbitrary exercise of his own ingenuity. He perhaps did not consider
that in all history there is no example of a religion being invented by
an individual thinker. It is like attempting to sell a commodity for
which there is no demand. Even if his philosophical principles should
be accepted by the whole of Europe, there can be no reason why the
special observances he recommends should be adopted, or the special
saints whom he places in the calendar be adored. Those who receive
his philosophy will have no need for his ceremonies. While even if
ceremonies cannot be entirely dispensed with, it is not the mere fact
of a solitary thinker planning it in his own mind that can ever ensure
the adoption of a ritual.

Very different has been the procedure of the prophets of whom we are
now to speak. Intellectually, they were no doubt far inferior to
the founder of the Positive Philosophy. But emotionally, they were
fitted for the part which he unsuccessfully endeavored to play. They
entered into the religious feelings of their countrymen, and gave
those feelings a higher expression than had yet been found for them.
Instinctively fixing on some conspicuous part of the old religion,
they made that the starting-point for the development of the new. They
reformed, but the reformation linked itself to some conviction that was
already deeply rooted in the nature of their converts. They assumed
boundless authority; but it was authority to proclaim a pre-existing
truth, not to spin out of their purely personal ideas of fitness a
system altogether disconnected from the past evolution of religion, and
to impose that system upon the remainder of mankind.


                       SECTION I.—CONFUCIUS.[11]

The life of the prophet of China is not eventful. It has neither the
charm of philosophic placidity and retirement from the world which
belongs to that of Laò-tsé, nor the romantic interest of the more
varied careers of Sakyamuni, Christ, or Mahomet. For Confucius, though
a philosopher, did not object, indeed rather desired, to take some
share in the government of his country, but his wishes received very
little gratification. Rulers refused to acquiesce in his principles
of administration, and he was compelled to rely for their propagation
mainly on the oral instruction imparted to his disciples. His life,
therefore, bears to some extent the aspect of a failure, though for
this appearance he himself is not to blame. Another cause, which
somewhat diminishes the interest we might otherwise take in him, is his
excessive attention to proprieties, ceremonies, and rites. We cannot
but feel that a truly great man, even in China, would have emancipated
himself from the bondage of such trifles. Nevertheless, after all
deductions are made, enough remains to render the career and character
of Confucius deserving of attention, and in many respects of admiration.

Descended from a family which had formerly been powerful and noble,
but was now in comparatively modest circumstances, he was born in
B.C. 551, his father's name being Shuh-leang Heih, and his mother's
Ching-Tsae. The legends related of his nativity I pass over for the
present. His father, who was an old man when he was born, died when
the child was in his third year; and his mother in B.C. 528. At
nineteen, Confucius was married; and at twenty-one he came forward
as a teacher. Disciples attached themselves to him, and during his
long career as a philosopher, we find him constantly attended by some
faithful friends, who receive all he says with unbounded deference,
and propose questions for his decision as to an authority against whom
there can be no appeal. The maxims of Confucius did not refer solely to
ethics or to religion; they bore largely upon the art of government,
and he was desirous if possible of putting them in actual practice
in the administration of public affairs. China, however, was in a
state of great confusion in his days; there were rebellions and wars
in progress: and the character of the rulers from whom he might have
obtained employment was such, that he could not, consistently with the
high standard of honor on which he always acted, accept favors at their
hands. One of them proposed to grant him a town with its revenues; but
Confucius said: "A superior man will only receive reward for services
which he has done. I have given advice to the duke Ting (see below),
but he has not obeyed it, and now he would endow me with this place!
very far is he from understanding me" (C. C., vol. i., Prolegomena, p.
68). In the year 500 the means were at length put within his reach of
carrying his views into practice. He was made "chief magistrate of a
town" in the state of Loo; and this first appointment was followed by
that of "assistant-superintendent of works," and subsequently by that
of "minister of crime." In this office he is said to have put an end to
crime altogether; but Dr. Legge rightly warns us against confiding in
the "indiscriminating eulogies" of his disciples. A more substantial
service attributed to him is that of procuring the dismantlement of two
fortified towns which were the refuge of dangerous and warlike chiefs.
But his reforming government was brought to an end after a few years
by the weakness of his sovereign, duke Ting, who was captivated by a
present of eighty beautiful and accomplished girls, and one hundred and
twenty horses, from a neighboring State. Engrossed by this present, the
duke neglected public affairs, and the philosopher felt bound to resign.

We need not follow him during the long wanderings through various parts
of China which followed upon this disappointment. After traveling from
State to State for many years, he returned in his sixty-ninth year to
Loo, but not to office. In the year 478 his sad and troubled life was
closed by death.

Our information respecting the character of Confucius is ample. From
the book which Dr. Legge has entitled the "Confucian Analects," a
collection of his sayings made (as he believes) by the disciples of
his disciples, we obtain the most minute particulars both as to his
personal habits and as to the nature of his teaching. The impression
derived from these accounts is that of a gentle, virtuous, benevolent,
and eminently honorable man; a man who, like Socrates, was indifferent
to the reward received for his tuition, though not refusing payment
altogether; who would never sacrifice a single principle for the
sake of his individual advantage; yet who was anxious, if possible,
to benefit the kingdom by the establishment of an administration
penetrated with those ethical maxims which he conceived to be
all-important. Yet, irreproachable as his moral character was, there is
about him a deficiency of that bold originality which has characterized
the greatest prophets of other nations. Sakyamuni revolted against
the restrictions of caste which dominated all minds in India. Jesus
boldly claimed for moral conduct a rank far superior to that of every
ceremonial obligation, even those which were held the most sacred by
his countrymen. Mahomet, morally far below the Chinese sage, evinced
a far more independent genius by his attack on the prevalent idolatry
of Mecca. Confucius did nothing of this kind. His was a mind which
looked back longingly to antiquity, and imagined that it discovered
in the ancient rulers and the ancient modes of action, the models of
perfection which all later times should strive to follow. Nor was
this all. He was so profoundly under the influence of Chinese ways of
thinking, as to attach an almost ludicrous importance to a precise
conformity to certain rules of propriety, and to regard the exactitude
with which ceremonies were performed as matter of the highest concern.
In fact, he could not emancipate himself from the traditions of his
country; and his principles would have resulted rather in making his
followers perfect Chinamen than perfect men.

A far more serious charge is indeed brought against him by Dr.
Legge—that of insincerity (C. C., vol. i.—Prolegomena— p. 101). I
hesitate to impugn the opinion of so competent a scholar; yet the
evidence he has produced does not seem to me sufficient to sustain the
indictment. Granting that he gave an unwelcome visitor the excuse of
sickness, which was untrue, still, as we are ignorant of the reasons
which led him to decline seeing the person in question, we cannot
estimate the force of the motives that induced him to put forward a
plea in conformity with the polite customs of his country. It does not
appear, moreover, that he practiced an intentional deceit. And though
on one occasion he may have violated an oath extorted by rebels who
had him in their power, therein acting wrongly (as I think), it is
always an open question how far promises made under such circumstances
are binding on the conscience. Whatever failings, however, it may be
necessary to admit, there can be no question of the preëminent purity
alike of his life and doctrine. His is a character which, be its
imperfections what they may, we cannot help loving; and there have been
few, indeed, who would not have been benefited by the attempt to reach
even that standard of virtue which he held up to the admiration of his
disciples.

A few quotations from the works in which his words and actions are
preserved, will illustrate these remarks. In the tenth Book of the
Analects (C. C., vol. i. p. 91-100), his manners, his garments,
his mode of behavior under various circumstances, are elaborately
described. There are not many personages in history of whom we have so
minute a knowledge. We learn that "in his village" he "looked simple
and sincere, and as if he were not able to speak." His reverence
for his superiors seems to have been profound. "When the prince was
present, his manner displayed respectful uneasiness; it was grave,
but self-possessed." When going to an audience of the prince, "he
ascended the dais, holding up his robe with both his hands, and his
body bent; holding in his breath also, as if he dared not breathe.
When he came out _from the audience_ (the italics, here and elsewhere,
are in Legge), as soon as he had descended one step, he began to relax
his countenance, and had a satisfied look. When he had got to the
bottom of the steps, he advanced rapidly to his place, _with his arms_
like wings, and on occupying it, his manner _still_ showed respectful
uneasiness." He was rather particular about his food, rejecting meat
unless "cut properly," and with "its proper sauce."

Whatever he might be eating, however, "he would offer a little of it
in sacrifice." "When any of his friends died, if the deceased had
no relations who could be depended on for the necessary offices, he
would say, 'I will bury him.'" "In bed, he did not lie like a corpse."
And it is satisfactory to learn of one who was such a respecter of
formalities, that "at home he did not put on any formal deportment."
Notwithstanding this, he does not appear to have been on very intimate
terms with his son, to whom he is reported to have said that unless
he learned "the odes" he would not be fit to converse with; and that
unless he learned "the rules of propriety" his character could not be
established. The disciple, who was informed by the son himself that
he had never heard from his father any other special doctrine, was
probably right in concluding that "the superior man maintains a distant
reserve towards his son" (Lun Yu, xvi. 13).

But with his beloved disciples Confucius was on terms of affectionate
intimacy which does not seem to have been marred by "the rules of
propriety." For the death of one of them at least he mourned so
bitterly as to draw down upon himself the expostulation of those who
remained (Ibid., xi. 9). The picture of the Master, accompanied at all
times by his faithful friends, who hang upon his lips, and eagerly
gather up his every utterance, is on the whole a pleasant one. "Do you
think, my disciples," he asks, "that I have any concealments? I conceal
nothing from you. There is nothing that I do which is not shown to you,
my disciples;—that is my way" (Ibid., vii. 23). And with all the homage
he is constantly receiving, Confucius is never arrogant. He never
speaks like a man who wishes to enforce his views in an authoritative
style on others; never threatens punishment either here or hereafter to
those who dissent from him.

"There were four things," his disciples tell us, "from which the
Master was entirely free. He had no foregone conclusions, no arbitrary
predeterminations, no obstinacy, and no egoism" (Lun Yu, ix. 4). And
his conduct is entirely in harmony with this statement. It is as a
learner, rather than a teacher, that he regards himself. "The Master
said, 'When I walk along with two others, they may serve me as my
teachers. I will select their good qualities, and follow them; their
bad qualities, and avoid them'" (Ibid., vii. 21). Or again: "The sage
and the man of perfect virtue, how dare I _rank myself with them_? It
may simply be said of me, that I strive to become such without satiety,
and teach others without weariness" (Ibid., vii. 33). "In letters I am
perhaps equal to other men, but _the character_ of the superior man,
carrying out in his conduct what he professes, is what I have not yet
attained to" (Ibid., vii. 32).

Notwithstanding this modesty, there are traces—few indeed, but not
obscure—of that conviction of a peculiar mission which all great
prophets have entertained, and without which even Confucius would
scarcely have been ranked among them. The most distinct of these is
the following passage:—"The Master was put in fear in K'wang. He
said, 'After the death of king Wan, was not the cause of truth lodged
here _in me_? If Heaven had wished to let this cause of truth perish,
then I, a future mortal, should not have got such a relation to that
cause. While Heaven does not let the cause of truth perish, what can
the people of K'wang do to me?'" (Lun Yu, ix. 5). These remarkable
words would be conclusive, if they stood alone. But they do not stand
alone. In another place we find him thus lamenting the pain of being
generally misunderstood, which is apt to be so keenly felt by exalted
and sensitive natures. "The Master said, 'Alas! there is no one that
knows me.' Tse-kung said, 'What do you mean by thus saying—that no
one knows you?' The Master replied, 'I do not murmur against Heaven.
I do not grumble against men. My studies lie low, and my penetration
rises high. But there is Heaven;—that knows me!'" (Ibid., xiv. 37). Men
might reject his labors and despise his teaching, but he would complain
neither against Heaven nor against them. If he was not known by men,
he was known by Heaven, and that was enough. On another occasion, "the
Master said, 'Heaven produced the virtue that is in me, Hwan T'uy—what
can he do to me?'"[12]

These passages are the more remarkable, because Confucius was not in
the ordinary sense a believer in God. That is, he never, throughout his
instructions, says a single word implying acknowledgment of a personal
Deity; a Creator of the world; a Being whom we are bound to worship
as the author of our lives and the ruler of our destinies. He has
even been suspected of omitting from his edition of the Shoo-king and
the She-king everything that could support the comparatively theistic
doctrine of his contemporary, Laò-tsé (By V. von Strauss, T. T. K.,
p. xxxviii). That his high respect for antiquity would have permitted
such a procedure is, to say the least, very improbable; and Dr. Legge
is no doubt right in acquitting him of any willful suppression of,
or addition to, the ancient articles of Chinese faith (C. C., vol.
i. Prolegomena, p. 99). For our present purpose it is enough to note
that he avoided all discussion on the higher problems of religion;
and contented himself with speaking, and that but rarely, of a vague,
and hardly personal Being which he called Heaven. Thus, in a book
attributed (perhaps erroneously) to his grandson, he is reported as
saying, "Sincerity is the very way of Heaven" (Chung Yung, xx. 18).
Of king Woo and the duke of Chow, two ancient worthies, he says: "By
the ceremonies of the sacrifices to Heaven and Earth they served God"
(where he seems to distinguish between Heaven and God, whom I believe
he never mentions but here); "and by the ceremonies of the ancestral
temple they sacrificed to their ancestors. He who understands the
ceremonies of the sacrifices to Heaven and Earth, and the meaning of
the several sacrifices to ancestors, would find the government of a
kingdom as easy as to look into his palm" (Ibid., xix. 6). Elsewhere,
he remarks that "he who is greatly virtuous will be sure to receive
the appointment of heaven" (Ibid., xvii. 5). Again: "Heaven, in the
production of things, is surely bountiful to them, according to their
qualities" (Ibid., xvii. 3). Nothing very definite can be gathered
from these passages, as to his opinions concerning the nature of the
power of which he spoke thus obscurely. Yet it would be rash to find
fault with him on that account. His language may have been, and in all
probability was, the correct expression of his feelings. His mind was
not of the dogmatic type; and if he does not teach his disciples any
very intelligible principles concerning spiritual matters, it is simply
because he is honestly conscious of having none to teach.

There are, indeed, indications which might be taken to imply the
existence of an esoteric doctrine. "To those," he says, "whose
talents are above mediocrity, the highest subjects may be announced.
To those who are below mediocrity, the highest subjects may not be
announced" (Lun Yu, vi. 19). We are further told that Tsze-kung said,
"the Master's _personal_ displays _of his principles_, and _ordinary_
descriptions of them may be heard. His discourses about _man's_ nature,
and the way of Heaven, cannot be heard" (Ibid., v. 12). This last
passage appears to mean that they were not open to the indiscriminate
multitude, nor perhaps to all of the disciples. But we may reasonably
suppose that the intimate friends who recorded his sayings were
considered by him to be above mediocrity, and were the depositaries of
all he had to tell them on religious matters.

Yet this, little as it was, may not always have been rightly
understood. Once, for example, he says to a disciple, "Sin, my doctrine
is that of an all-pervading unity." This is interpreted by the disciple
(in the Master's absence) to mean only that his doctrine is "to be
true to the principles of our nature, and the benevolent exercise of
them to others" (Ibid., iv. 15). I can hardly believe that Confucius
would have taught so simple a lesson under so obscure a figure; and it
is possible that the reserve that he habitually practiced with regard
to his religious faith may have prevented a fuller explanation. "The
subjects on which the Master did not talk were—extraordinary things,
feats of strength, disorder, and spiritual beings" (Lun Yu, vii. 20).
And although, in the Doctrine of the Mean (a work which is perhaps
less authentic than the Analects) we find him discoursing freely on
spiritual beings, which, he says, "abundantly display the powers that
belong to them" (Chung Yung, 16), there are portions of the Analects
which confirm the impression that he did not readily venture into
these extra-mundane regions. Heaven itself, he once pointed out to an
over-curious disciple, preserves an unbroken silence (Lun Yu, xvii.
19). Interrogated "about serving the spirits of the dead," he gave this
striking answer: "While you are not able to serve men, how can you
serve their spirits?" And when "Ke Loo added, 'I venture to ask about
death?' he was answered, 'While you do not know life, how can you know
about death?'" (Ibid., xi. 11). Another instance of a similar reticence
is presented by his conduct during an illness. "The Master being very
sick, Tsze-Loo asked leave to pray for him. He said, 'May such a thing
be done?' Tsze-Loo replied, 'It may. In the prayers it is said, Prayer
has been made to the spirits of the upper and lower worlds.' The Master
said, 'My praying has been for a long time'" (Ibid., vii. 34). I am
unable to see "the satisfaction of Confucius with himself," which Dr.
Legge discovers in this reply. To me it appears simply to indicate the
devout attitude of his mind, which is evinced by many other passages in
his conversation. In short, though we may complain of the indefinite
character of the faith he taught, and wish that he had expressed
himself more fully, there can scarcely be a doubt that Confucius had a
deeply religious mind; and that he looked with awe and reverence upon
that power which he called by the name of "Heaven," which controlled
the progress of events, and would not suffer the cause of truth to
perish altogether.

It is true, however, that he confined himself chiefly, and indeed
almost entirely, to moral teaching. His main object undoubtedly was
to inculcate upon his friends, and if possible to introduce among the
people at large, those great principles of ethics which he thought
would restore the virtue and well-being of ancient times. Those
principles are aptly summarized in the following verse: "The duties
of universal obligation are five, and the virtues wherewith they
are practiced are three. The duties are those between sovereign and
minister, between father and son, between husband and wife, between
elder brother and younger, and those belonging to the intercourse of
friends. Those five are the duties of universal obligation. Knowledge,
magnanimity, and energy, these three are the virtues universally
binding; and the means by which they carry the duties into practice is
singleness" (Chung Yung, xx. 7). In the Analects, "Gravity, generosity
of soul, sincerity, earnestness, and kindness," are said to constitute
perfect virtue (Lun Yu, xvii. 6).

It is as an earnest and devoted teacher, both by example and by
precept, of these and other virtues, that Confucius must be judged.
And in order to assist the formation of such a judgment, let us take
his doctrine of Reciprocity, to which I shall return in another place.
"Tsze-kung asked, saying, 'Is there one word which may serve as a rule
of practice for all one's life?' The Master said, 'Is not Reciprocity
such a word? What you do not want done to yourself, do not do to
others'" (Lun Yu, xv. 23). On a kindred topic he thus delivered his
opinion: "Some one said, 'What do you say concerning the principle
that injury should be recompensed with kindness?' The Master said,
'With what, then, will you recompense kindness? Recompense injury with
justice, and recompense kindness with kindness'" (Ibid., xiv. 26).

If in the above sentence he may be thought to fall short of the highest
elevation, there are some among his apothegms, the point and excellence
of which have, perhaps, never been surpassed. Take for instance
these:—"The superior man is catholic and no partizan. The mean man is
a partizan and not catholic." "Learning without thought is labor lost;
thought without learning is perilous" (Ibid., ii. 14, 15). Or these:—"I
will not be afflicted at men's not knowing me; I will be afflicted that
I do not know men" (Ibid., i. 16). "A scholar, whose mind is set on
truth, and who is ashamed of bad clothes and bad food, is not fit to
be discoursed with" (Ibid., iv. 9). "The superior man is affable, but
not adulatory; the mean is adulatory, but not affable" (Ibid., xiii.
23). "Where the solid qualities are in excess of accomplishments, we
have rusticity; where the accomplishments are in excess of the solid
qualities, we have the manners of a clerk. When the accomplishments and
solid qualities are equally blended, we then have the man of complete
virtue" (Lun Yu, vi. 16). Lastly, I will quote one which, with a slight
change of terms, might have emanated from the pen of Thomas Carlyle:
"There are three things of which the superior man stands in awe:—He
stands in awe of the ordinances of heaven; he stands in awe of great
men; he stands in awe of the words of sages. The mean man does not know
the ordinances of heaven, and _consequently_ does not stand in awe of
them. He is disrespectful to great men. He makes sport of the words of
sages" (Ibid., xvi. 8).

These, and various other recorded sayings, go far to explain, if
not to justify, the unbounded admiration of his faithful follower,
Tsze-kung: "Our Master cannot be attained to, just in the same way as
the heavens cannot be gone up to by the steps of a stair. Were our
Master in the position of the prince of a State, or the chief of a
family, we should find verified the description _which has been given
of a sage's rule_:—he would plant the people, and forthwith they would
be established; he would lead them on, and forthwith they would follow
him; he would make them happy, and forthwith _multitudes_ would resort
to _his dominions_; he would stimulate them, and forthwith they would
be harmonious. While he lived, he would be glorious. When he died, he
would be bitterly lamented. How is it possible for him to be attained
to?" (Ibid., xix. 25.)


                       SECTION II.—LAÒ-TSÉ.[13]

Concerning the life of Laò-tsé, the founder of the smallest of the
three sects of China (Confucians, Buddhists, and Taouists), we have
only the most meagre information. Scarcely anything is known either of
his personal character or of his doctrine, except through his book. His
birth-year is unknown to us, and can only be approximately determined
by means of the date assigned to his famous interview with his great
contemporary, Confucius. This occurred in B. C. 517, when Laò-tsé
was very old. He may, therefore, have been born about the year B. C.
600.[14] All we can say of his career is, that he held an office in
the State of Tseheu, that of "writer (or historian) of the archives."
When visited by Confucius, who was the master of a rival school, he is
said to have addressed him in these terms:—"Those whom you talk about
are dead, and their bones are mouldered to dust; only their words
remain. When the superior man gets his time, he mounts aloft; but when
the time is against him, he moves as if his feet were entangled. I
have heard that a good merchant, though he has rich treasures deeply
stored, appears as if he were poor; and that the superior man, whose
virtue is complete, is yet to outward seeming stupid. Put away your
proud air and many desires; your insinuating habit and wild will.
These are of no advantage to you. This is all which I have to tell
you." After this interview, Confucius thus expressed his opinion of
the older philosopher to his disciples:—"I know how birds can fly, how
fishes can swim, and how animals can run. But the runner may be snared,
the swimmer may be hooked, and the flyer may be shot by the arrow. But
there is the dragon. I cannot tell how he mounts on the wind through
the clouds and rises to heaven. To-day I have seen Laò-tsé, and can
only compare him to the dragon" (C. C., vol. i. Proleg. p. 65.—T. T.
K., p. liii.—L. T.., p. iv).

Troubles in the State in which he held office induced him to retire,
and to seek the frontier. Here the officer in command requested him
to write a book, the result of which request was the Taò-tĕ-Kīng. "No
one knows," says the Chinese historian, "where he died. Laò-tsé was a
hidden sage" (T. T. K., p. lvi).

To this very scanty historical information we may add such indications
as Laò-tsé himself has given us of his personality. One of these is
contained in the twentieth chapter of his work, in which he tells
us that while other men are radiant with pleasure, he is calm, like
a child that does not yet smile. He wavers to and fro, as one who
knows not where to turn. Other men have abundance; he is as it were
deprived of all. He is like a stupid fellow, so confused does he feel.
Ordinary men are enlightened; he is obscure and troubled in mind. Like
the sea he is forgotten, and driven about like one who has no certain
resting-place. All other men are of use; he alone is clownish like a
peasant. He alone is unlike other men, but he honors the nursing mother
(T. T. K., ch. xx).

It is obvious that an estimate so depreciatory is not to be taken
literally. To understand its full significance, it should be compared
to the magnificent description in Plato's Theætetus of the outward
appearance presented by the philosopher, who, in presence of practical
men, is the jest alike of "Thracian handmaids," and of the "general
herd;" who is "unacquainted with his next-door neighbor;" who is
"ignorant of what is before him, and always at a loss;" and who is
so awkward and useless when called on to perform some menial office,
such as "packing up a bag, or flavoring a sauce, or fawning speech."
Yet this philosopher, like Laò-tsé, "honors his nursing Mother;" he
moves in a sphere of thought where men of the world cannot follow
him, and where they in their turn are lost (Theætetus, 174-176). Just
such a character as that drawn by Plato, Laò-tsé seems to have been.
Living in retirement, and devoted to philosophy, he appeared to his
contemporaries an eccentric and incompetent person. Yet he says that
they called him great (Ch. lxvii), which seems to imply that his
reputation was already founded in his life-time.

One other reference to himself must not be omitted, for it evinces the
sense he had of the nature of his work in the world. "My words," so he
writes in his paradoxical manner, "are very easy to understand, very
easy to follow,—no one in the world is able to understand them, no
one is able to follow them. The words have an author, the works have
one who enjoins them; but he is not understood, therefore I am not
understood" (Ch. lxx). On this Stanislas Julien observes, "There is not
a word of Laò-tsé's that has not a solid foundation. In fact, they have
for their origin and basis Tao and Virtue" (L. V. V. p. 269, n. 2).
These expressions, then, suffice to show that Laò-tsé was not destitute
of that sense of inspiration of which other great prophets have been so
profoundly conscious.


                   SECTION III.—GAUTAMA BUDDHA.[15]


                SUBDIVISION 1. _The Historical Buddha._

Were we to write the history of the Buddha according to the fashion of
Buddhist historians, we should have to begin our story several ages
before his birth. For the theory of his disciples is, that during many
millions of years, through an almost innumerable series of different
lives, he had been preparing himself for the great office of the
savior of humanity which he at length assumed. Only by the practice
of incredible self-denial, and unbounded virtue, during all the long
line of human births he was destined to undergo, could he become fitted
for that consummate duty, the performance of which at last released
him forever from the bonds of existence. For the total extinction of
conscious life, not its continuation in a better sphere, is, or at any
rate was, the goal of the pious Buddhist. And it was the crowning merit
of the Buddha, that he not only sought this reward for himself, but
qualified himself by ages of endurance to enlighten others as to the
way in which it might be earned.

But we will not encumber ourselves with the pre-historic Buddha,
the tales of whose deeds are palpable fictions, but will endeavor
to unravel the thread of genuine fact which probably runs through
the accepted life of Sakyamuni in his final appearance upon earth.
And here we are met with a preliminary difficulty. That life is not
guaranteed by any trustworthy authority. It cannot be traced back to
any known disciple of Buddha. It cannot be shown to have been written
within a century after his death, and it may have been written later.
Ancient, however, it undoubtedly is. For the separation of northern
from southern Buddhism occurred at an early period in the history
of the Church, probably about two hundred years after the death of
its founder; and this life is the common property of all sections of
Buddhists. It was consequently current before that separation. But
its antiquity does not make it trustworthy. On the contrary, it is
constructed in accordance with an evident design. Every incident has a
definite dogmatic value, and stands in well-marked dogmatic relations
to the rest. There is nothing natural or spontaneous about them.
Everything has its proper place, and its distinct purpose. And it is
useless to attempt to deal with such a life on the rationalistic plan
of sifting the historical from the fabulous; the natural and possible
from the miraculous and impossible elements. The close intermixture of
the two renders any such process hopeless. We are, in fact, with regard
to the life of Gautama Buddha, much in the position that we should
be in with regard to the life of Jesus Christ, had we no records to
consult but the apocryphal gospels.

Nevertheless, while holding that his biography can never now be
written, it is by no means my intention to imply that it is impossible
to know anything about him. On the contrary, a picture not wholly
imaginary may unquestionably be drawn of the character and doctrines
of the great teacher of the Asiatic continent. Let us venture on the
attempt.

An imposing array of scholars agrees in fixing the date of his death
in B.C. 543, and as he is said to have lived eighty years, he would
thus have been born in B.C. 623. Without entering now into the grounds
of their inference, I venture to believe that they have thrown him
back to a too distant date. I am more inclined to agree with Köppen,
who would place his death from B.C. 480 to 460, or about two centuries
before the accession of the great Buddhist king Asoka. Westergaard,
it is true, would fix this event much later, namely about B.C. 370.
Supposing the former writer to be correct in his conclusions, the
active portion of the Buddha's life would fall to the earlier years of
the fifth century B.C., and possibly to the conclusion of the sixth.
His birth, about B.C. 560-540, occurred in a small kingdom of the north
of India, entitled Kapilavastu. Of what rank his parents may have
been, the accounts before us do not enable us to say. The tradition
according to which they were the king and queen of the country, I
regard with Wassiljew as in all probability an invention intended to
shed additional glory upon him. The boy is said to have been named
Siddhartha, though possibly this also was one of the many titles
bestowed on him by subsequent piety. At an early age he felt—as so many
young men of lofty character have always done—the hollowness of worldly
pleasures, and withdrew himself from men to lead a solitary and ascetic
life. After he had satisfied the craving for self-torture, and subdued
the lusts of the flesh, he came forth, full of zeal for the redemption
of mankind, to proclaim a new and startling gospel. India was at
that time, as always, dominated by the system of caste. The Buddha,
boldly breaking through the deepest prejudices of his countrymen,
surrounded himself with a society in which caste was nothing. Let but
a man or even a woman (for it is stated that at his sister's request
he admitted women) become his disciple, agree to renounce the world,
and lead the life of an ascetic, and he or she at once lost either the
privileges of a high caste, or the degradations of a low one. Rank
depended henceforth exclusively upon capacity for the reception of
spiritual truth; and the humblest individual might, by attending to
and practicing the teacher's lessons, rise to the highest places in
the hierarchy. "Since the doctrine which I teach," he is represented
as saying in one of the Canonical Books, "is completely pure, it makes
no distinction between noble and commoner, between rich and poor. It
is, for example, like water, which washes both noblemen and common
people, both rich and poor, both good and bad, and purifies all without
distinction. It may, to take another illustration, be compared to
fire, which consumes mountains, rocks, and all great and small objects
between heaven and earth without distinction. Again, my doctrine is
like heaven, inasmuch as there is room within it, without exception,
for whomsoever it may be; for men and women, for boys and girls, for
rich and poor" (W. u. T., p. 282). This was the practical side of
Sakyamuni's great reform. Its theoretical side was this. Life was
regarded by Indian devotees, not as a blessing, but as an unspeakable
misery. Deliverance from existence altogether, not merely transposition
to a happier mode of existence, was the object of their ardent longing.
The Buddha did not seek to oppose this craving for annihilation, but to
satisfy it. He addressed himself to the problem, How is pain produced,
and how can it be extinguished? And his meditations led him to what
are termed "the four truths"—the cardinal dogma of Buddhism in all its
forms. The four truths are stated as follows:—

  1. The existence of pain.
  2. The production of pain.
  3. The annihilation of pain.
  4. The way to the annihilation of pain.

The meaning of the truths is this:—Pain exists; that is, all living
beings are subject to it; its production is the result of the existence
of such beings; its annihilation is possible; and lastly, the way to
attain that annihilation is to enter on the paths opened to mankind by
Gautama Buddha. In other words, the way to avoid that awful series of
succeeding births to which the Indian believed himself subject, was
to adopt the monastic life; to practice all virtues, more especially
charity; to acquire a profound knowledge of spiritual truths; and, in
fine, to follow the teaching of the Buddha. Renounce the world, and
you will—sooner or later, according to your degree of merit—be freed
from the curse of existence; this seems to sum up, in brief, the gospel
proclaimed with all the fervor of a great discovery by the new teacher.
After about forty-five years of public life devoted to mankind, he died
at the age of eighty, at Kusinagara, deeply mourned by a few faithful
disciples who had clustered around him, and no doubt regretted by
many who had found repose and comfort in his doctrines, and had been
strengthened by his example. The names of his principal disciples
become almost as familiar to a reader of Buddhist books as those of
Peter, James, and John, to a Christian. Maudgalyâyana and Sariputtra,
the eminent evangelists, and Ananda, the beloved disciple, the close
friend and servant of the Buddha, are among the most prominent of this
little group. With them rested propagation of the faith, and the vast
results, which in two centuries followed their exertions, prove that
they were not remiss. The stories of the thousands who embraced the
proffered salvation in the life-time of the Buddha are pious fancies.
It was the apostles and Fathers of the Church who, while developing his
doctrines and largely adding to their complexity and number, almost
succeeded in rendering his religion the dominant creed of India.

Such is, in my opinion, the sum total of our positive knowledge with
regard to the life lived, and the truths taught, by this great figure
in human history. The two points to which I have adverted—namely, the
formation of a society apart from the world in which caste was nothing,
and the hope held out of annihilation by the practice of virtues and
asceticism—are too fundamental and too ancient to be derived from
any but the founder. After all, ecclesiastical biographers, while
they adorn their heroes with fictitious trappings, do not invent
them altogether. A man from whose tuition great results have flowed,
cannot be a small man; something of those results must needs be due
to the impulse he has given. And if the Buddha must have taught
something, must have inaugurated some reform, what is he more likely
to have taught, than the way to the annihilation of pain? what reform
more likely to have inaugurated than the creation of a society held
together by purely spiritual ties? Both are absolutely essential to
Buddhism as we know it. Both are closely connected. For Buddhism
would have had nothing to offer without the hope of extinction; and
this hope, while leading to the practice of an austere and religious
life, can itself be fulfilled only by that life; implying as it does a
detachment from the bonds of carnality which hold us to this scene of
suffering. Thus, these corner-stones of Buddhism—flowing as they must
have done from a master-mind—may, with the highest probability, be
assigned to its author.

On one other point there is no reason to call in question the testimony
of the legend. We need not doubt he really was the pure, gentle,
benevolent, and blameless man which that legend depicts him to have
been. Even his enemies have not attempted (I believe) to malign his
character. He stands before us as one of the few great leaders of
humanity who seem endowed with every virtue, and free from every fault.


                 SUBDIVISION 2. _The Mythical Buddha._

Buddhistic authorities divide the life of their founder into twelve
great periods, under which it will be convenient to treat of it:—

  1. His descent from heaven.
  2. His incarnation.
  3. His birth.
  4. His display of various accomplishments.
  5. His marriage, and enjoyment of domestic life.
  6. His departure from home, and assumption of the monastic character.
  7. His penances.
  8. His triumph over the devil.
  9. His attainment of the Buddhaship.
  10. His turning the Wheel of the Law.
  11. His death.
  12. His cremation, and the division of his relics.

1. Following, then, the guidance of the accepted legend, we must begin
with his resolution to be born on earth for the salvation of the
world. After thousands of preparatory births, he was residing in a
certain heaven called Tushita, that being one of the numerous stages
in the ascending series of the abodes of the blessed. At length, the
end of his sojourn in this heaven arrived. He determined to quit the
gods who were his companions there, and to be born on earth. Careful
consideration convinced him that the monarch Suddhodana, and his
queen, Maya Devi, alone possessed these preëminent qualifications
which entitled them to become the parents of a Buddha. Suddhodana
lived in the town of Kapila, and belonged to the royal family of the
Sakyas, the only family which the Bodhisattva (or destined Buddha) had
discovered by his examination to be free from faults by which it would
have been disqualified to receive him as one of its members. His wife,
in addition to the most consummate beauty, was distinguished for every
conjugal and feminine virtue. Here, then, was a couple worthy of the
honor about to be conferred upon their house.

2. At this critical moment Maya had demanded, and obtained, the
permission of the king to devote herself for a season to the practice
of fasting and penance. While engaged in these austerities, she dreamt
that a beautiful white elephant approached her, penetrated her side,
and entered her womb. At this very time, Bodhisattva actually descended
in the shape of a white elephant, and took up his abode within her
body. On waking, she related the dream to her husband, who called upon
the official Brahmins to interpret it. They declared it to be of good
augury. The queen, they said, carried in her womb a being who would
either be a "Wheel King," or Sovereign of the whole world; or if he
took to a monastic career, would become a Buddha. All things went well
during Maya's pregnancy. According to all accounts she underwent none
of the discomforts incidental to that state. One writer states that
"her soul enjoyed a perfect calm, the sweetest happiness; fatigue and
weariness never affected her unimpaired health." Another remarks that
she enjoyed "the most perfect health, and was free from fainting fits."
An additional gratification lay in the fact, that she was able to see
the infant Bodhisattva sitting calmly in his place within her person.

3. Ten months having passed (a Buddha always takes ten), the queen
expressed a desire to walk in a beautiful garden called Lumbini;
and, with the king's ready permission, proceeded thither with her
attendants. In this garden the hour of her delivery came on. Standing
under a tree (the _ficus religiosa_), which courteously lowered its
branches that she might hold on by them during labor, she gave birth to
the child who was afterwards to be the first of humankind. Gods from
heaven received him when born, and he himself at once took several
steps forward, and exclaimed: "This is my last birth—there shall be
to me no other state of existence: I am the greatest of all beings."
Ananda, his cousin, and afterwards his disciple, was born at the same
moment. Maya, notwithstanding her excellent health, died seven days
after her child's birth. This was not from any physical infirmity,
but because it is the invariable rule that the mother of a Buddha
should die at that exact time. The reason of this, according to the
Lalitavistara, is, that when the Buddha became a wandering monk her
heart would break. Other respectable authorities assert, that the womb
in which a Bodhisattva has lain is like a sanctuary where a relic is
enshrined. "No human being can again occupy it, or use it" (P. A., No.
III. p. 27). Maya was born again in one of the celestial regions, and
the infant was confided to her sister, his aunt Prajapati, or Gautami,
who was assisted in the care of her charge by thirty-two nurses. He
was christened Sarvarthasiddha, usually shortened into Siddhartha. He
is also known as Gautama Buddha, by which name he is distinguished
from other Buddhas: as Sakyamuni, the hermit of the Sakya race; as
the Tathâgata, he who walks in the footsteps of his predecessors; as
Bhagavat, Lord; and by other honorific titles.

Soon after the birth of the Bodhisattva, he was visited and adored by
a very eminent Rishi, or hermit, known as Asita (or Kapiladevila), who
predicted his future greatness, but wept at the thought that he himself
was too old to see the day when the law of salvation would be taught by
the infant whom he had come to contemplate.

4. When the appropriate age for the marriage of the young prince
arrived, a wife, possessing all the perfections requisite for so
excellent a husband, was sought. She was found in a maiden named Gopa
(or Yasodhara), the daughter of Dandapani, one of the Sakya race. An
unexpected obstacle, however, arose. The father of the lovely Gopa
complained that Siddhartha's education had been grossly neglected, and
that he was wanting alike in literary accomplishments and in muscular
proficiency—things which were invariably demanded of the husbands of
Sakya princesses. It does, indeed, appear that Suddhodana had taken
little pains to cultivate his son's abilities, and that he had mainly
confined himself to the care of his personal safety by surrounding him
with attendants. Accordingly, he asked the prince whether he thought
he could exhibit his skill in those branches of knowledge, the mastery
of which Dandapani had declared to be a necessary condition of his
consent. Siddhartha assured his father that he could; and in a regular
competitive examination, which was thereupon held, he completely
defeated the other princes, not only in writing, arithmetic, and such
matters, but in wrestling and archery. In the last art, especially, he
gained a signal victory, by easily wielding a bow which none of the
others could manage.

5. Gopa was now won, and conducted by her husband to a magnificent
palace, where, surrounded by a vast harem of beautiful women, he spent,
some years of his life in the enjoyment of excessive luxury. But
worldly pleasure was not to retain him long in its embrace.

6. A crisis in his life was now approaching. Suddhodana had been warned
that Siddhartha would assume the ascetic character if four objects were
to meet his sight; an old man, a sick man, a corpse, and a recluse.
Suddhodana, who would have much preferred his son being a universal
monarch to his becoming a Buddha, anxiously endeavored to guard him
from coming across these things. But all was in vain. One day, when
driving in the town, he perceived a wrinkled, decrepit, and miserable
old man. Having inquired of the coachman what this strange creature
was, and having learnt from him that he was only suffering the general
fate of humanity, the Bodhisattva was much affected; and, full of
sad thoughts, ordered his chariot to be turned homewards. Meeting on
two other occasions, likewise when driving, with a man emaciated by
sickness, and with a corpse, he was led to still further reflections
on the wretchedness of the conditions under which we live. Prepared by
these meditations, he yielded completely to the tendencies aroused
within him when, on a fourth excursion, he came across a monk. The
aspect of this man—his calmness, his dignity, his downcast eyes, his
decent deportment—filled him with desire to abandon the world like him.

The die was cast. Nothing could now retain the Bodhisattva, at this
time a young man of nine-and-twenty, from the course that approved
itself to his conscience. In vain did his father cause his palace
to be surrounded with guards. In vain did the ladies of the harem
(acting under instructions) deploy their most ravishing arts to
captivate and to amuse him. His resolution was finally fixed by a
singular circumstance. The beautiful damsels who ministered to him had
sought to engage his attention by an exhibition of the most graceful
dancing, accompanied by music, displaying their forms before his eyes
as they executed their varied movements. But the Bodhisattva, deep
in his meditations, was wholly unaffected. He fell asleep; and the
women, baffled in their attempts and wearied out, soon followed his
example. But in the course of the night the prince awoke. And then
the sight of these girls, slumbering in all sorts of ungainly and
ungraceful postures, utterly disgusted him. Summoning a courtier,
named Chandaka, he ordered him at once to prepare his favorite horse
Kantaka, that he might quit the city of his fathers, and lead the life
of a humble recluse. But before thus abandoning his home, there was
one painful parting to be gone through. One tie still held him to the
world. His wife had just become a mother. Anxious to see his infant
son, Rahula, before his departure, he gently opened the door of his
wife's apartment. He found her sleeping with one hand over the head
of the child. He would fain have taken a last look at his little boy,
but fearing that if he withdrew the mother's hand she would awake and
hinder his departure, he retired without approaching the bed. In the
dead of night, mounted on Kantaka, and with the one attendant whom he
had taken into the secret, he managed to leave Kapilavastu unperceived,
never to return to it again till he had attained the full dignity of a
Buddha.

7. Having sent back Chandaka with the horse, the Bodhisattva commenced,
alone and unaided, a course of austerities fitted to prepare him
for his great duty. He tried Brahminical teachers, but was soon
dissatisfied with their doctrine. Five of the disciples of one of these
teachers followed him for six years in the homeless and wandering
life he now began. He adopted the most rigid asceticism, reducing his
body to the last degree of feebleness and emaciation. But this too
discovered itself to his mind as an error. He took to eating again, and
regained his strength, whereupon the five disciples left him, viewing
him as a man who had weakly abandoned his principles.

8. After this period of gradual approach to the required perfection the
Bodhisattva went to Bodhimanda, the place appointed for his reception
of the Buddhaship. Here he had to withstand a furious attack by the
demon Mara, who first endeavored to annihilate him by his armies, and
then to seduce him by the fascination of his three daughters. But
Gautama withstood his male and female adversaries with equal calmness
and success. Of the latter he had possibly had enough in his princely
palace.

9. All these trials having been surmounted, he placed himself under the
Bodhi (or Intelligence) tree, and there, engaging in the most intense
meditations, gradually reached the intellectual and moral height
towards which he had long been climbing. He was now in possession
of Bodhi, or that complete and perfect knowledge which constitutes
a Buddha. He was thus fit to teach the law of salvation, but the
Lalitavistra represents him as still doubting for a moment whether
he should engage in a task which he feared would be thankless and
unavailing. Men, he thought, would be incapable of receiving so sublime
a doctrine, and he would incur fatigue and make exertions in vain.
Silence and solitude recommended themselves at this moment to his
spirit. But from a resolution so disastrous he was turned aside by the
intercession of the god Brahma.

10. He proceeded accordingly to "turn the Wheel of the Law," or to
preach to others, during the forty-five remaining years of his long
life, the truths he had arrived at himself. The current lives speak, in
their exaggerated manner, of his magnificent receptions by the kings
whose countries he visited, and of the thousands of converts whom he
made by his preaching, or who, in technical language, obtained Nirvâna
through him. His father and other members of his family were among
his followers. But among the first-fruits of his teaching were the
five Brahmins who had abandoned him when he had relaxed in his ascetic
habits. These, on first perceiving him, spoke of him with contempt as
a glutton and a luxurious fellow spoilt by softness. But his personal
presence filled them with admiration, and they at once acknowledged
his perfect wisdom. During this time the two orders of monks and nuns,
with their strict regulations enforcing continence and temperance, were
founded. Gautama's aunt and nurse, Prajapati, was the first abbess;
the Buddha, who had intended to exclude women from his order, having
consented to admit them at her request. Rahula, his son, received the
tonsure.

11. After he had firmly established his law in the hearts of many
devoted disciples, the Buddha "entered Nirvâna" at the age of eighty,
at Kusinagara. That his death was deeply mourned by the friends who had
hung upon his lips, and drawn their knowledge of religious truth from
him, need not be related.

12. A pompous account is given of his funeral rites, of which it will
be sufficient to mention here that his body was laid upon a pyre,
and burnt after the manner of burning in use for Chakravartins, or
Universal Monarchs. The princes of Kusinagara wished to keep his relics
to themselves; but seven kings, each of whom demanded a share, made
threatening demonstrations against them, and after some quarrelling it
was agreed to distribute the relics among the whole number. They were
therefore divided into eight portions, the royal family of each country
taking one. A dagoba, or monument, was erected over them in each of the
capitals governed by these royal Buddhists.

Of the numerous stories that are told with regard to the effects of
the Buddha's preaching, of the amazing miracles he is said to have
performed, and of the wonders reported to have happened at his death
and his cremation, there will be an opportunity of speaking in another
place. For the present, it is enough to relate the legend of his life
in its main features, according to the version piously believed by the
millions of human beings who—in China, Tartary, Mongolia, Siam, Burmah,
Thibet, and Ceylon—look to him as their law-giver and their savior.


                     SECTION IV.—ZARATHUSTRA.[16]

Slaves, condemned to make bricks without straw, would hardly have
a more hopeless task than he who attempts to construct, from the
materials now before him, a life of Zarathustra. Eminent as we know
this great prophet to have been, the details of his biography have been
lost forever. His name and his doctrines, with a few scattered hints in
the Gâthâs, are all that remain on record concerning the personality of
a man who was the teacher of one great branch of the Aryan race, and
whose religion, proclaimed many centuries, possibly even a thousand
years, before Christ taught in Galilee, was a great and powerful faith
in the days when Marathon was fought, and is not even now extinct. We
will gather from these fragmentary sources what knowledge we can of the
Iranian prophet, but we will refuse to fill up the void created by the
absence of historical documents with ingenious hypotheses or subtle
speculations.

Something approaching to a bit of biography is to be found in the
opening verses of the fifth Gâthâ, which are to this effect:—

"It is reported that Zarathustra Spitama possessed the best good; for
Ahura Mazda granted him all that may be obtained by means of a sincere
worship, forever, all that promotes the good life, and he gives the
same to all those who keep the words and perform the actions enjoined
by the good religion.

"Thus may Kava Vistaspa, Zarathustra's companion, and the most holy
Frashaostra, who prepare the right paths for the faith which He who
Liveth gave unto the priests of fire, faithfully honor and adore Mazda
according to his (Zarathustra's) mind, with his words and his works!

"Pourutschista, the Hetchataspadin, the most holy one, the most
distinguished of the daughters of Zarathustra, formed the doctrine, as
a reflection of the good mind, the true and wise one."[17]

Here we find an allusion to the interesting fact that the Zarathustra
had a daughter who contributed to the formation of the Parsee creed.
The phrase, most distinguished of the daughters, probably does not
mean that the prophet was the father of several daughters, but merely
that this one was celebrated as his coadjutor. Spiegel has in vain
endeavored to discover the name of this lady's husband, but it seems to
be doubtful whether anything is known of her matrimonial relations. The
fact which it concerns us to notice is, that already in these primitive
ages we have a female saint appearing on the scene. In addition to St.
Pourutschista, mention is made of two disciples, who were evidently
leaders in the apostolic band. The evangelic ardor of Frashaostra is
touched upon in the preceding Gâthâ, where it is stated that "he wished
to visit my Highlands (_i. e._, Bactria) to propagate there the good
religion," and Ahura Mazda is implored to bless his undertaking. Rava
Vistaspa is celebrated in the same place as having obtained knowledge
which the living Wise One himself had discovered (Yaspa li. 16, 17.
Parsees, p. 161). The names of both are well known, being frequently
mentioned in the Gâthâs. They appear to have been intimate associates
of the prophet. Thus a supposed inquiry is addressed to Zarathustra,
"Who is thy true friend in the great work? who will publicly proclaim
it?" and the answer is, "Kava Vistaspa is the man who will do this"
(Yasna, xlvi. 14). And Frashaostra is spoken of as having received from
God, in company with the speaker (probably the prophet himself), "the
distinguished creation of truth" (Ibid., xlix. 8). It is added, "for
all time we will be thy messengers," or in other words, Evangelists.

Not only do we obtain from the Gâthâs a glimpse of Zarathustra attended
by zealous disciples, eager to proclaim the good tidings he brought:
we learn something also of the opposition he encountered from the
adherents of the older faith. And since he actually names himself in
the course of one of these compositions, which bears every appearance
of genuineness and antiquity, we need not doubt the authenticity
of the picture therein given of his relations to these opponents.
They were the adherents of the old Devas, the gods whom Zarathustra
dethroned;—polytheists, averse to this unheard-of introduction of
monotheism into their midst. And they formed, at least during a part
of the prophet's life-time possibly during the whole of it, by far the
stronger party, for he refers to them in these terms:—

"To what country shall I go? where shall I take refuge? what country
gives shelter to the master (Zarathustra) and his companion? None of
the servants pay reverence to me, nor do the wicked rulers of the
country. How shall I worship thee further, living Wise One?

"I know that I am helpless. Look at me being amongst few men, for I
have few men (I have lost my followers or they have left me); I implore
thee weeping, thou living God who grantest happiness as a friend gives
_a present_ to his friend. The good of the good mind is in thy own
possession, thou True One!...

"The sway is given into the hands of the priests and prophets of idols,
who, by their _atrocious_ actions, endeavor to destroy the life of
man....

"To him who makes this very life increase by means of truth to the
utmost for me, who am Zarathustra myself, to such an one the first
(earthly) and the other (spiritual) life will be granted as a reward
together with all good things to be had on the imperishable earth.
Thou, living Wise One, art the very owner of all these things to the
greatest extent; thou, who art my friend, O Wise One!" (Yasna. xlv. 1,
2, 11, 19.)

And elsewhere we come across this exclamation: "What help did
Zarathustra receive, when he proclaimed the truths? What did he obtain
through the good mind?" (Ibid., xlix. 12.)

And the piteous question is put to Ahura Mazda: "Why has the truthful
one so few adherents, while all the mighty, who are unbelievers, follow
the Liar in great numbers?" (Ibid., xlvii. 4.)

These simple and natural verses point to a prophet who was—for a
time at least—without honor in his own country. Whereas the later
representations of his career depict him as the triumphant revealer
of a new faith, before whose words of power the "Devas," or god
of polytheism, flee in terror and dismay, we meet with him here
in the character of a persecuted and lonely man, unsupported by
the authorities of his nation, opposed by a powerful majority,
and imploring, in the distress and desolation of his mind, the
all-powerful assistance of his God. Such is the reality; how widely
it differs from the fiction we have already seen. But as is always
the case with great prophets, who are rejected in their own days and
honored after their death, the reality is forgotten; the fiction is
universally accepted.

Little need be said of the doctrines taught by Zarathustra. His
main principle is belief in the one great God, Ahura Mazda, whom he
substitutes for the many gods of the ancient Aryans. He was in fact the
author of a monotheistic reformation. The worshipers of these deities
are often referred to in opprobrious terms, more especially as "liars,"
or "adherents of lies," while the devotees of Ahura are spoken of as
the good, or as those who are in possession of the truth. It is only
through the spirit of lying that the godless seek to do harm; through
the true and wise God they cannot do it (Yasna, xlvii. 4). This God,
the friend of the prophet, is honored in language of deep and simple
adoration; not with the mere vapid epithets of praise which become
common in the later sections of the Zend-Avesta. Zarathustra feels
himself entirely under his protection, and describes himself ready to
preach whatever truths this great Spirit may instruct him to declare.

Beyond this great central dogma—which he announces with all the fervor
of a discoverer—there is nothing of a very distinctive kind in his
theology. The doctrine of a separate evil spirit opposed to Ahura Mazda
does not hold in the Gâthâs that place which it afterwards obtained
in the sacred literature of the Parsee. Dr. Haug considers that
Zarathustra held merely a philosophical dualism, the two principles
of existence—bad and good—being united in the supreme nature of the
ultimate Deity. From this great and all-wise Being every good thing
emanates. He is the inspirer of his prophet; the teacher of his people;
the counselor in the many perplexing questions that harass the minds of
his worshipers. To him the pious souls resort in trouble; by him both
earthly possessions and spiritual life are granted to those who rightly
seek him. Ahura Mazda is the true God; and there is no other God but
Ahura Mazda.


                        SECTION V.—MAHOMET.[18]

The last man who has obtained the rank of a prophet is Mohammed,
or Mahomet, the son of Abdallah and Amina. Since his time none has
succeeded in founding a great, and at the same time an independent
religion. Many have wrought changes in preëxisting materials; but no
one has built from the foundation upwards. The religion of Mahomet,
though compounded of heathen, Judaic, and Christian elements, is not a
mere reformation of any of the faiths in which these constituents were
found. It depends for its original sanction upon none of these, but
derives its _raison d'etre_ exclusively from the direct inspiration of
its author.

This prophet was born at Mecca in 571, and was the posthumous child of
Abdallah, by his wife Amina. His mother died when he was six years old,
and he was then taken charge of by his grandfather Abd-al-Mottalib,
who, dying in two years, left the child to the care of his son
Abu Talib. Mahomet was poor, and had to work for his living in a
very humble occupation. In process of time, however, he obtained a
comfortable employment in the service of a rich widow, named Khadija,
who was engaged in business, and whom he served in the capacity of a
commercial traveler; or at first perhaps in a lower situation. His
mercenary relation to her was soon superseded by a tenderer bond. He
married her in 595, she being then thirty-eight or thirty-nine years of
age, and fifteen years older than himself. She was evidently a woman of
strong character, and retained an unbroken hold upon the affection of
Mahomet until her death in 619. He subsequently married many wives, of
whom Ayisha was the most intimate with him; but none of them appears to
have exercised so much influence upon his character as Khadija.

She it was who was the first to believe in the divine inspiration which
her husband began to disclose in the year 612, at the mature age of
forty; and she it was who encouraged and comforted the rising prophet
during his early years of trouble and persecution. His first revelation
was received by him in 612. It purported to be dictated by the angel
Gabriel, who was Mahomet's authority for the whole of the Koran.

"Recite thou," thus spoke his heavenly instructor, "in the name of thy
Lord who created;—created man from clots of blood:—Recite thou! For thy
Lord is the most beneficent, who hath taught the use of the pen;—hath
taught man that which he knoweth not" (K., p. 1.—Sura xcvi).

After this first reception of the word of God, Mahomet passed through
that period of extreme depression and gloom which appears to be the
universal lot of thoughtful characters, and which Mr. Carlyle has
designated "the Everlasting No." For many months he received no more
revelations, and in his despondency he entertained a wish to throw
himself down from high mountains, but was prevented by the appearance
of the angel Gabriel. In time another communication came to strengthen
him in his work; and revelations now began to pour down abundantly. His
earliest disciples, besides his wife and his daughters, were his cousin
Ali, and the slave Zayd, whom he had adopted as a son. By and by he
obtained other important converts, among whom were Abu Bakr, Zobayr,
and Othman, afterwards the Chalif.

His earliest revelations were inoffensive to the Meccans; and it
was only when he began to preach distinctly the unity of God, the
resurrection, and responsibility to the Deity, that opposition was
aroused. Persecution followed upon disapproval. Some of Mahomet's
followers were compelled to take refuge in Abyssinia, and he himself
told the Meccans instructive legends of nations whom God had destroyed
for their wickedness in rejecting the prophets who had been sent
to them. In 616, however, Mahomet was guilty of a relapse, for he
published a revelation recognizing three Meccan idols, Lat, Ozza, and
Manah, as intercessors with Allah. In consequence of this concession to
their faith, the Korayschites—his own tribe—fell down on their faces
in adoration of Allah, and the exiles in Abyssinia returned to their
native land. But the prophet was soon ashamed of the weakness by which
he had purchased public support. The verse was struck out of the Koran,
and the passing recognition of idolatry attributed to the suggestion
of the devil. Tradition assigns to this occasion the following verses:

"We have not sent any apostle or prophet before thee, among whose
desires Satan injected not some wrong desire; but God shall bring
to nought that which Satan had suggested. Thus shall God affirm his
revelations, for God is Knowing-Wise! That he may make that which Satan
hath injected, a trial to those in whose hearts is a disease, and whose
hearts are hardened" (K. p. 593—Sura xxii. 51, 52).

After his renewed profession of Monotheism, Mahomet and his followers
were naturally subjected to renewed persecutions. Conversions, however,
did not cease; and that of Omar, in 617, was of great importance to
the nascent community. Yet matters were at last pushed to extremities
by the unbelievers. Mahomet's family, the Haschimites, were excluded
from all commercial and social intercourse by the other Korayschites,
and compelled to withdraw into their own quarter. This state of
quarantine probably lasted from the autumn of 617 to that of 619. At
its conclusion Mahomet lost his wife Khadija, and his uncle Abu Talib,
who had given him protection.

He was now exposed to many insults and much annoyance. The insecurity
in which he lived at Mecca forced him to seek supporters elsewhere. Now
the Caaba or holy stone at Mecca was the scene of an annual pilgrimage
from the surrounding country. Mahomet made use of the advent of the
pilgrims in 621 to enlist in his cause six inhabitants of Medina, who
are reported to have bound themselves to him by the following vow:—Not
to consider any one equal to Allah; not to steal; not to be unchaste;
not to kill their children; not willfully to calumniate; to obey the
prophet's orders in equitable matters. Paradise was to be the guerdon
of the strict observance of this vow, which from the place where it was
taken was called the first Akaba. In the following year, 622, Mahomet
met seventy-two men of Medina by night at the same ravine, and the oath
now taken was the second Akaba. The believers swore to receive the
prophet and to expend their property and their blood in his defense.
Twelve of the seventy-two disciples were selected as elders, the
prophet following therein the example of Christ.

A place of refuge from the hostility of their countrymen was now open
to the rising sect. All the Moslems who were able and willing gradually
found their way to Medina. At length none of the intending emigrants
remained at Mecca but the prophet himself and his two friends Abu Bakr,
and Ali. The designs of the Korayschites against Mahomet's life failed,
and he effected his escape to a cave at some little distance from
Mecca, and in the opposite direction from Medina. Here he remained in
concealment with Abu Bakr for three days, the daughter of the latter
bringing food for both. After this time a guide brought three camels
with which they proceeded in safety to Medina. The prophet reached
Koba, a village just outside it, on the 14th of September 622. He
remained here three days, and received the visits of his adherents in
Medina every day. This was the celebrated Hegira, or flight, from which
the Mussulman era is dated.

In the course of a year, the majority of the inhabitants of Medina had
adopted Islam, and a little later those who remained heathens were
either compelled or persuaded to embrace, or at least to submit to,
the new creed and its apostle. The Jews alone retained their ancient
religion. But while Mahomet was thus successful with Medina, he was
still exposed to the bitter hostility of Mecca. War between the two
cities was the result of the hospitality accorded to him by the former.
Mahomet, who now united in his person the temporal and spiritual
supremacy in his adopted home, did not shrink from the contest, but
carried it on with vigor and success. In the year 624, having gone
in pursuit of a Meccan caravan, he met the army of the Korayschites
at Badr, and defeated them; although he had not much more than three
hundred men, while they commanded from nine hundred to one thousand. In
the following year indeed the Moslems were defeated in the battle of
Ohod; but in 627 the siege of Medina, undertaken by Abu Sofyân at the
head of ten thousand men, was raised after three weeks without serious
loss on either side.

Notwithstanding the enmity of its inhabitants, Mecca still retained
in the eyes of Mahomet and his disciples its ancient prerogative of
sanctity. The Kibla, or point towards which the Moslem was to turn
in prayer, had for a time been Jerusalem; but Mahomet had restored
this privilege to his native town two years after the Hegira. There
too was the sacred stone, no less venerated by the pious worshiper of
Allah than by the adherents of Lat, Ozza and Manah; and thither it was
that the religious pilgrimage had to be performed, for Mahomet had
no intention of giving up this part of his ancestral faith. He was
desirous in the spring of 628 of performing the pilgrimage to Mecca.
The Koreish, however, came out to meet him with an army, determined to
preclude his entrance to the city. The design was therefore abandoned;
but an important treaty was concluded between Mahomet and Sohayl, who
acted as envoy from Mecca. By this compact both parties agreed to
abstain from all hostilities for ten years; Mahomet was to surrender
fugitives from Mecca, but the Meccans were not to surrender fugitives
from him; no robbery was to be practiced; it was open to any one to
make an alliance with either party; Mahomet and his followers were
to be permitted to enter Mecca for three days in the following year
for the festival. After making this agreement Mahomet, yielding to
circumstances, performed the ceremonies of the festival at Hodaybiya
near Mecca and then withdrew.

The treaty caused great dissatisfaction among the Moslems, as well it
might; and the humiliation was heightened when the prophet, shortly
after making it, was compelled to fulfil its provisions by giving up
certain proselytes who had fled to him, from Mecca. Nevertheless his
power continued to grow, and a tribe residing near Mecca took advantage
of the treaty to conclude an alliance with him.

Mahomet now began to place himself on a level with crowned heads. In
628 he had a seal made with the inscription upon it: "Mahomet the
messenger of God." Furnished with this official seal, he despatched
six messengers with letters to the Emperor Heraclius; to the King of
Abyssinia; to the Shah of Persia; to Mokawkas, lord of Alexandria;
to Harith the Ghassanite chief; and to Hawda in Yamama, a province
of Arabia. The purport of all these missives was an exhortation to
the various sovereigns and chiefs to embrace the new religion, and a
promise that God would reward them if they did, with a warning that
they would bear the guilt of their subjects if they did not.

In the same year Mahomet besieged the town of Chaybar, whose
inhabitants were Jews. Many of them were killed; the rest were
permitted to withdraw with their families. Kinana, their chief, was
executed; and his wife Cafyya was added to the already numerous harem
of the victor.

The following year, 629, witnessed the performance by the Moslems
of the pilgrimage to Mecca for the first time since the Hegira. The
prophet summoned those who had accompanied him to Hodaybiya the year
before to go with him now. The Koreish, according to the stipulations
of the treaty, left the city; the Moslems entered it, performed their
devotions, and retired after three days. This year was also marked by
a signal victory over a Ghassanite chief, who had executed a Mussulman
envoy.

In January, 630, taking advantage of the invitation of an allied tribe
who had quarreled with Mecca, Mahomet quitted Medina with a large army
for the purpose of taking that city. The exploit was facilitated by
the desertion of the general of the Koreish, Abu Sofyân, who privately
escaped to the Moslem camp and made his confession of faith. Next day
the forces of the prophet entered Mecca with scarcely any resistance.
In the following year he laid down the terms upon which the conquered
city was to be dealt with. Abu Bakr, accompanied by 300 Moslems, was
sent to Mecca as leader of the pilgrims. Ali was charged to make the
proclamation to the people which is found in the 9th Sura of the Koran.

"An Immunity from God and his Apostle to those with whom ye are in
league, among the Polytheist Arabs! (those who join gods with God).
Go ye, therefore, at large in the land four months: but know that God
ye shall not weaken; and that those who believe not, God will put to
shame—And a proclamation on the part of God and his Apostle to the
people on the day of the greater pilgrimage, that God is free from any
engagement with the votaries of other gods with God as is his Apostle!
If therefore ye turn to God it will be better for you; but if ye turn
back then know that ye shall not weaken God: and to those who believe
not, announce thou a grievous punishment. But this concerneth not those
Polytheists with whom ye are in league, and who shall have afterwards
in no way have failed you, nor aided any one against you. Observe,
therefore, engagement with them through the whole time of their treaty:
for God loveth those who fear him. And when the sacred months are
passed, kill those who join other gods with God wherever ye shall find
them; and seize them, besiege them, and lay wait for them with every
kind of ambush: but if they shall convert, and observe prayer, and pay
the obligatory alms, then let them go their way, for God is gracious,
merciful. If any one of those who join gods with God ask an asylum
of thee, grant him an asylum, that he may hear the Word of God, and
then let him reach his place of safety. This, for that they are people
devoid of knowledge" (K., p. 611.—Sura ix. 1-6).

Without quoting the proclamation at full length, we may observe that in
substance the terms granted were these. Those of the heathen with whom
treaties had been made were informed that they should be free for four
months. These are the "sacred months" alluded to in the text, and which
had always been observed as a time of truce by the heathen Arabs, but
which Mahomet deprived of their privilege. After this period was past
the Moslems might kill the heathens or take them prisoners wherever
they might find them. With other heathens, with whom there was no
treaty in existence, Allah announced that he would have nothing further
to do. Moreover, the heathen were excluded by this proclamation from
approaching the holy places of Mecca in future. "O believers!"—such are
the words of this last decree—"only they who join gods with God are
unclean! Let them not, therefore, after this year, come near the sacred
Temple" (K., p. 615.—Sura ix. 28).

The prophet was now at the climax of his power. All Arabia was his;
both materially and spiritually subdued beneath his authority. The city
of his birth, which had spurned him as one of her humble citizens, was
now compelled to receive him as her lord. No triumph could be more
complete; and it is a rare, if not a unique, example of a new religion
being persecuted, imperilled, well-nigh crushed, rescued, strengthened,
contending for supremacy, and supreme, within the life-time of its
founder. But that life-time was now approaching its end. Mahomet in
632 celebrated the last festival he was destined to witness with the
utmost pomp. He went with all his wives to Mecca, and thousands of
believers assembled around him there. He preached to them from his
camel. He sacrificed one hundred camels. On the 8th of June, 632, he
expired in the hut of Ayischa of a remittent fever from which he had
been suffering a short time.

The character of the prophet Mahomet is an open question. Between the
glowing admiration bestowed upon him by Carlyle, and the sneering
depreciation of Sprenger, there lie numerous intermediate possibilities
of opinion. His sincerity, his veracity, his humanity, his originality,
are all topics of discussion admitting of varied treatment. The old
and simple method of treating Mahomet as an impostor scarcely merits
notice. Among serious students of his life it may be pronounced
extinct. But between positive imposture and a degree of truthfulness
equal to that which all would concede to Confucius, or to Jesus,
there are many degrees, and a man may be more or less sincere in
many particulars which do not involve the fundamental honesty of his
conduct. It is in such particulars that the character of Mahomet is
most open to suspicion. Few, I believe, would be able to read the
earlier Meccan Suras, instinct as they are with a spirit of glowing
devotion to a new idea, without entire conviction of the sincerity
of their author. Nor can we reasonably doubt that he himself fully
believed in the inspiration he professed to receive. The Koran is
written precisely in that loose, rambling, and irregular style, which
would indicate that its author was above the laws of human composition.
If (as is said by some) there is beauty in the original Arabic, that
beauty entirely evaporates in translation. The man whose work it is
gave utterance to the thoughts of the moment as they were borne in
upon him, in his opinion by an external power. But while he no doubt
conceived himself as the instrument of the divine being, it is also
exceedingly probable that in his later life he abused the weapon
which he had thus got into his possession. That is to say, instead of
waiting patiently for the revelation, and allowing Allah to take his
own time, he in all likelihood put forth as revealed whatever happened
to suit the political purpose of the day, and that at whatever moment
was convenient to himself. In other words, he may have become less
of a passive, and more of an active agent in the composition of the
Koran. Take, for example, the two following Suras, belonging to his
earliest period, as specimens of the inspired poetic style:—"Say: O
ye unbelievers! I worship not that which ye worship, and ye do not
worship that which I worship; I shall never worship that which ye
worship, neither will ye worship that which I worship. To you be your
religion; to me my religion." "Say: He is God alone: God the eternal!
He begetteth not, and is not begotten; and there is none like unto him"
(K., pp. 12, 13.—Suras cix., cxii).

Contrast these fervent exclamations with such a passage as this, from
one of the latest Suras:—

"This day have I perfected your religion for you, and have filled up
the measure of my favors upon you: and it is my pleasure that Islam be
your religion; but whoso without willful leanings to wrong shall be
forced by hunger to transgress, to him, verily, will God be indulgent,
merciful. They will ask thee what is made lawful for them. Say: Those
things which are good are legalized to you, and the prey of beasts
of chase which ye have trained like dogs, teaching them as God hath
taught you. Eat, therefore, of what they shall catch for you, and make
mention of the name of God over it, and fear God: Verily, swift is God
to reckon: This day, things healthful are legalized to you, and the
meats of those who have received the Scriptures are allowed to you, as
your meats are to them. And you are permitted to marry virtuous women
of those who have received the Scriptures before you, when you shall
have provided them their portions, living chastely with them without
fornication, and without taking concubines" (K., p. 632.—Sura v. 5-7).

The doctrine of direct inspiration, applied to matters like these, is
almost a mockery. Yet Mahomet may have continued to think that God
assisted him in the task of laying down laws for the believers, and we
cannot accuse him of positive insincerity, even though his revelations
were no longer the spontaneous outpourings of an overflowing heart.

A more difficult question is raised when we inquire how much of his
teaching was borrowed from others, and whether there was any one who
acted as his prompter in the novel doctrines he announced. Now there is
evidence enough, some of it supplied by the Koran itself, that Mahomet
was preceded by a sect called Hanyfites, who rejected the idolatry
of their countrymen and held monotheistic doctrines. He spoke of
himself as belonging to this sect, of which the patriarch Abraham was
considered the representative and founder. Abraham is referred to in
the Koran with the epithet "Hanyf," and as one of those who do not join
gods with God (_E.g._, Sura iii. 89; vi. 162; xvi. 121). A dozen or so
of the contemporaries of the prophet renounced idolatry before him,
and were Hanyfites. Three of these became Christians, and a fourth, by
name Zayd, professed to be neither Jew nor Christian, but to follow
the religion of Abraham. Zayd was acknowledged as his forerunner by
Mahomet himself. But besides these sources of conversion which lay open
to the prophet, it is plain from the Koran itself that he had had much
intercourse with a person (or persons) of the Jewish faith. Mahomet was
not a scholar, and his continual allusions to events in Jewish history
plainly indicate a personal source. Moreover, the narratives are given
in that somewhat perverted form which we should expect to find if
they were derived from loose conversation rather than from study. His
belief in the unity of God is not therefore a peculiarity which cannot
be explained by reference to the circumstances in which his youth was
passed. What was original with him was not the doctrine so much as the
intensity with which it took possession of his mind, and the fervor
which allowed him no rest until he had done his best to impart to
others the profound conviction he entertained of this great truth.

Mahomet in fact began his public career as a simple preacher. The
resistance he met with at home, and the necessity of relying for
self-preservation on the swords of the men of Medina, converted him
from a prophet to a potentate. The change was not one which he could
avoid without sacrificing all chances of success; but it does appear
to have exercised an unfortunate influence upon his character. As
the governor of Medina he became tyrannical and even cruel. Among
the worst features of his life is his conduct to the Jews after his
attempts at conciliation had been shown to be fruitless. For instance,
a Jewish tribe, the Banu Kaynoka, with whom a treaty of friendship
had been concluded, were expelled from Medina. Another tribe of the
same religion, the Banu Nadhyr, were blockaded in their quarter, and
driven to capitulate, on condition of being allowed to leave Medina
with their movable property. On the very day upon which the siege by
Abu Sofyân in 627 came to an end, Mahomet blockaded the Banu Koraytza,
also Jews, and compelled them to surrender at discretion. All the men,
six hundred in number, were put to death, and the women were sold as
slaves; a punishment which, even on the supposition that the tribe
was hostile to the prophet, was unpardonably severe. In the ensuing
year he marched against Chaybar, a town inhabited by Jews, besieged
and took it. All the Jews taken in arms were put to death, whereupon
the rest surrendered on condition of being permitted to withdraw with
their families and their portable goods, exclusive of weapons and
the precious metals. Kinana, their leader, was executed, and it is a
suspicious circumstance that Mahomet married his widow Cafyya. Nor
were these the worst of the prophet's misdeeds. He even stooped to
sanction, if not to order, private assassination. Shortly after his
victory at Badr, a woman and an old man, both of whom had rendered
themselves offensive by their anti-Mussulman verses, were murdered in
the night; and in both instances the murderers received the protection
and countenance of the prophet and his followers.

Unbridled authority had in fact corrupted him. All those who did not
adhere to his cause committed in his eyes the crime of opposing the
will of God. To a man empowered by a special commission like his,
the ordinary restraints of morality could not apply. Hence also, if
he required a larger number of wives than was permitted to any other
Moslem, a special revelation was produced to justify the excess. This
was one of the weakest points in the prophet's character. Instead of
setting an example to the community, he was driven to justify his
self-indulgence by means which were nothing short of a perversion of
religion to his own ends. There would have been nothing reprehensible,
considering his age and country, in his indulgence in polygamy, had he
observed any kind of moderation as to its extent. Where he happened
to take a fancy to a woman, and that woman did not object to him, the
moral sense of his countrymen would not have revolted by his taking
her to wife. But it was revolted by the unrestricted freedom with
which he added wife to wife, and concubine to concubine; a freedom so
great as to degenerate into mere debauchery. He married women whom he
had never seen, and who were sometimes already married. Mere beauty
seems to have justified in his own eyes the addition of a new member
to his harem, and there could be no pretence of real affection in the
case of the women whom, without previous acquaintance, he took to his
matrimonial bed. Exclusive of Khadija, the total number of his wives
was thirteen, of whom nine survived him. He had also three concubines.

That his procedure scandalized the faithful is shown by the necessity
he felt of defending it by the pliant instrument of revelation. Not
only did he obtain from God a special law entitling him to exceed
the usual number of wives; other peculiarities in his conduct were
justified, either by an _ex post facto_ decision applicable to all, or
by an appeal to his extraordinary rights in his character of prophet.
He had, for example conceived a desire to possess Zaynab, the wife of
his adopted son Zayd. Zayd obligingly divorced her, and received the
greatest favor from the prophet for this friendly conduct. Zaynab made
it a condition of her compliance that the union with Mahomet should be
sanctioned by revelation, and this sanction was of course procured.
Marriage with an adopted son's wife was somewhat shocking, and the
following reference in the Koran indicates the manner in which the
affair was regarded:

"And, remember, when thou saidst to him unto whom God had shown favor
[_i. e._, to Zayd], and to whom thou also hadst shown favor, 'Keep
thy wife to thyself, and fear God;' and thou didst hide in thy mind
what God would bring to light, and didst fear man; but more right
had it been to fear God. And when Zayd had settled concerning her to
divorce her, we married her to thee, that it might not be a crime in
the faithful to marry the wives of their adopted sons, when they have
settled the affair concerning them. And the behest of God is to be
performed. No blame attacheth to the prophet where God hath given him a
permission" (K., p. 566.—Sura xxxiii. 38,39).

In another case he wished to induce a cousin, who was already married,
though only to a heathen husband living at Mecca, to become his wife;
but she, believer as she was, refused to be untrue to her conjugal
duties. He permitted himself also to accept the love of women who
simply surrendered themselves to him without the sanction of their
relations, conduct which placed them in a highly disadvantageous
position, since in case of dismissal by her husband, a woman thus
informally married was not entitled to the dowry which other married
women would receive, nor could she claim the protection of her family.
"Among the heathen Arabs," observes Sprenger, "a man who accepted such
a favor would have been killed by the woman's family" (L. L. M., vol.
iii. p. 84). But for the case of the cousin and for the case of such
obliging female devotees the Koran had its suitable provisions:—

"O Prophet! we allow thee thy wives whom thou hast dowered, and the
slaves whom thy right hand possesseth out of the booty which God hath
granted thee, and the daughters of thy uncle, and of thy paternal and
maternal aunts who fled with thee _to Medina_, and any believing woman
who hath given herself up to the prophet, if the prophet desired to
wed her—a privilege for thee above the rest of the faithful.... Thou
mayest decline for the present whom thou wilt of them, and thou mayest
take to thy _bed_ whom thou wilt, and whomsoever thou shalt long for of
those thou shalt have before neglected; and this shall not be a crime
in thee. Thus will it be easier to give them the desire of their eyes,
and not to put them to grief, and to satisfy them with what thou shalt
accord to each of them. God knoweth what is in your hearts, and God is
knowing, gracious."

By a combination of qualities which is not uncommon, he added to an
unrestricted license in his own favor an equally unrestricted jealousy
concerning others. He could not bear the thought that any other man
might possibly enjoy one of his wives even after his death. His
followers were told that they "must not trouble the Apostle of God, nor
marry his wives after him, for ever. This would be a grave offense with
God." In the same paltry spirit he orders them, when they would ask a
gift of any of his wives, to ask it from behind a veil. "Purer will
this be for your hearts and for their hearts." Lest any stranger should
trouble this uneasy husband by obtaining a sight of his wives' naked
faces, he required them invariably to wear a veil in public, and never
to expose themselves unveiled except to near male relations, slaves, or
women (K., p. 569.—Sura xxxiii. 51, 53, 55).

Texts like these exhibit the degeneracy of the prophet's character
in his later days. He wanted the stimulus of adversity to keep him
pure. But he had done his work, and that work was on the whole a good
one. Not indeed that there was anything very original or striking in
the doctrines he announced. The Koran rings the changes on the unity
of God, his power, his mercy, and his other well-known qualities; on
the resurrection, with its delights for the faithful and its terrible
judgments for the wicked; and on the vast importance of belief in
the prophet and submission to his decrees. But this religion, though
containing no elements that did not already exist in its two parents,
Judaism and Christianity, was an improvement on the promiscuous
idolatry which it superseded. It was less sensual and more abstract;
and its moral tone was higher. Greater still than the improvement in
the creed of the Arabs was the improvement in their material _status_.
Unity of faith brought with it unity of action. From a number of
scattered, independent, and often hostile tribes, the Arabs became a
powerful and conquering nation. Other peoples were in course of time
converted, and the religion of Mahomet was in the succeeding centuries
carried in triumph over vast districts where the name of Christ had
hitherto reigned supreme. Districts of heathen Africa have also
accepted it. Were the prophet able to speak to us now, he would be
entitled to say that the manifest blessing of Allah had rested upon the
work he had begun in obscurity and persisted in through persecution;
and that the partiality of heaven was evident from the fact that
Christianity had never succeeded, and had no prospect of succeeding, in
regaining the vast territory in Europe and in Africa from which Islam
has expelled it.


                       SECTION VI.—JESUS CHRIST.

When we endeavor to write the life of Jesus Christ, the greatest of
the prophets, we are beset by peculiar difficulties arising from the
nature of the materials. While in the case of the Buddha we receive
from authorities a life which, though largely composed of fiction,
is at least uniform and consistent, in the case of Jesus we have
biographies from several sources, all of them partly historical, partly
legendary, and each in some respects at issue with all the rest. Hence
the labor of sifting fact from fiction, as also that of reproducing
and classifying the fictitious element itself, is far more difficult.
In sifting fact from fiction we have to judge, among two, three, or
four versions of an occurrence, which is likely to be the most faithful
statement of the truth, and within this statement itself how much we
may accept, how much we must reject. And in reproducing and classifying
the fictitious element we have not merely to relate a simple story, but
to combine into our narrative varying, and sometimes conflicting, forms
of the same fundamental myth.

Hence further subdivision will be needed in the case of Jesus than was
requisite in treating the lives of any of the other prophets. We may
in fact discern in the gospels three distinct strata: a stratum of
fact; a stratum of miracle and marvel; and a stratum (in John) of mere
imagination _within_ the realm of natural events. Correspondently to
these divisions in the sources we will treat Jesus first as historical;
secondly, as mythical; thirdly, as ideal. The historical Jesus is the
actual human figure who remains after abstraction has been made of
the miraculous and legendary portions of his biography. The mythical
Jesus, who is found in the three first gospels, is the human subject
of legendary narratives; the ideal Jesus, who is found in John, is a
completely superhuman conception.

Finally, it may be needful to remark that the names affixed to the
several gospels are merely traditional, and that in using them as
a brief designation for these works, no theory as to their actual
authorship is intended to be implied. The gospels (excepting perhaps
the fourth) were the work of many authors, though ultimately compiled
and edited by a single hand. Who this editor was is of little moment;
and who the original authors were we never can discover. So that the
gospels are to all intents and purposes anonymous; but it will be
convenient, after noting this fact, to continue to describe them by
their current titles.


                SUBDIVISION 1.—_The Historical Jesus._

In attempting to sketch the outline of the actual life of Jesus—and
anything more than an outline must needs be highly conjectural—there
are some general principles which it is advisable to follow.
Recollecting that we have to deal with biographers who have mingled
in promiscuous confusion the supernatural with the natural,
impossibilities with probabilities, fables with facts, it becomes our
duty to endeavor to separate these heterogeneous elements according to
some consistent plan. That this can ever be perfectly accomplished is
not to be expected. The figure of Jesus must ever move in twilight, but
we may succeed in reducing the degree of unavoidable obscurity.

The first of the maxims to be observed will be furnished by a little
consideration of the kind of thing likely to be the earliest committed
to writing, as also to be the most accurately handed down by tradition.
This, it appears to me, would be sayings, rather than doings. Nothing
in the life of Jesus is more characteristic and remarkable than his
oral instruction; this would impress itself deeply upon the minds of
his hearers, and nothing, we may fairly conjecture, would be so soon
committed to writing either by them or by their followers. Moreover,
the records of discourses and parables would be, in the main, more
accurate than those of events; slight differences in the words
attributed to a speaker being (except in special cases) less material
than divergences in the manner of portraying his actions. Historical
confirmation of this hypothesis is not wanting. There is the well-known
statement of Papias that Matthew wrote down the "sayings" of Christ in
Hebrew [Syro-Chaldaic]. And if we look for internal evidence, we find
it in the far greater agreement among the synoptical gospels as to the
doctrines taught by Jesus than as to the incidents of his career. The
incidents bear traces of embellishment undergone in passing from mouth
to mouth from which the doctrines are free. In some cases, moreover,
there is concurrence as to the doctrines taught along with divergence
as to the place where, and the circumstances under which, they were
delivered. Added to which considerations there is the all-important
fact that the events in the life of Christ are often of a supernatural
order, while his discourses (excepting those in John) present nothing
irreconcilable with his position in regard either to his epoch, his
presumable education, or his nationality.

Giving this preference to sayings in general, over doings in general,
we may next establish an order of preference among doings themselves.
Of these, some are natural and probable; others unnatural and
improbable; others again supernatural and impossible. The first kind
will, of course, be accepted rather than the second; while the third
kind must be rejected altogether. And as a corollary from this general
principle, it follows that where one narrative gives a simpler version
than another of the same event or series of events, the simpler version
is to be preferred.

A third rule of the utmost importance is that when any statement
is opposed, either directly or by its implications, to subsequent
tradition, that statement may be confidently received. For when the
whole course of opinion in the Christian Church has run in a given
direction, the preservation in one of our Gospels of an alleged or
implied fact conflicting with the established view, is an unmistakable
indication that the truth has been rescued from destruction in a case
where succeeding generations would gladly have suppressed it.

A fourth maxim, which is likely to be useful, is that wherever we can
perceive traces of faults or blemishes in the character of Christ,
we may presume them to have actually existed. For his biographers
were deeply interested in making him appear perfect, and they would
have been anxious wherever possible to conceal his weaknesses. Where,
therefore, they suffer such human frailties to be perceived, their
unconscious testimony is entitled to great weight. For although they
themselves either do not see or do not acknowledge that what they
record is really evidence of faultiness at all, yet it is plain that
circumstances conveying such an impression to impartial minds are not
likely to have been invented. The conduct ascribed to Jesus might be
capable of justification from his peculiar mission or his peculiar
conception of his duties, but admiring disciples would not wantonly
burden him with a load not rightly his. Yet this principle, though
unquestionable in the main, must be tempered with the qualification
that there are cases where his followers may have misunderstood and
misrepresented him. It must be added that a similar presumption of
truth attaches to the record of faults or blunders in the conduct of
the disciples, whose characters their disciples were likewise anxious
to exalt.

In the fifth place, it is a reasonable supposition that the less
complete the outline of the life of Jesus contained in any Gospel, the
more authentic is that Gospel. Gaps in the story told by one writer
which, in another writer, have been filled up, are strong indications
of actual gaps in the life as known to the first Christians. While it
is true that the compiler of one Gospel might, from ignorance or from
design, omit some historical fact which the compiler of another would
insert, yet it is unlikely that whole years would be passed over in
silence, or remarkable events left out, where any genuine knowledge
of those years or those events was possessed by the biographer. But
nothing is more natural than that a space, subsequently felt to be
a serious and almost intolerable void, should in process of time be
removed by the exercise of the imagination craving to fill the empty
canvas with living figures. Nor even where there is no positive blank,
is it surprising that many actions conformable to the notion formed of
Christ should be fitted into his career, and made to take their places
alongside of others of a more unquestionable nature. We shall therefore
prefer the scantiest account of the life of Jesus to the fullest.

A careful comparison of the first three Gospels—which alone can pretend
to an historical character—will establish the fact that the second,
ascribed to Mark, is the most trustworthy, or to speak accurately, the
least untrustworthy, according to these canons. For in the first place,
it absolutely omits many of the most noteworthy events comprehended by
the other Gospels in the life of Jesus. Secondly, it sometimes gives
a natural version of a circumstance which appears in the others as
supernatural; or a comparatively simple version of a circumstance which
the others have converted into something mystical. It surpasses the
others in statements, and still more in omissions, implying divergence
from well-established subsequent tradition; and in general the far
greater scantiness of detail, the failure to fill up blanks as the
other Evangelists have done, the almost fragmentary character of this
Gospel, are points telling largely in its favor. That, however, we
have the earliest, or anything approaching the earliest form of the
life of Jesus in Mark it would be a great error to assume. As much as
Mark differs from Matthew and Luke, so much at least did the primitive
story differ from his, and in the same direction. Nay, it must have
differed far more, for by the time the second Gospel was committed to
its present form, a cloud of marvels had already surrounded the person
of Jesus, and obscured his genuine figure. Through the mist of this
cloud we must endeavor to discern such of his lineaments as have not
been totally and forever hidden from our scrutinizing gaze.

Very little is known of the parents of Jesus, and even that little
has rather to be inferred from casual references than gathered from
direct statements. Joseph, his father, was a carpenter or builder,
but his status is nowhere clearly defined. He and his family appear,
however, to have been well known in their native country, and he was
probably, therefore, not a mere workman, but a tradesman in comfortable
circumstances.[19] At any rate, he was the father of a considerable
family, consisting of five sons and of more than one daughter (Mt.
xiii. 55, and xii. 46; Mk. vi. 3, and iii. 31; Lu. viii. 19). The names
of the brothers of Jesus,—James, Joses, Simon, and Judas,—have been
preserved, while those of his sisters are unknown.

Whether there is not some confusion here, may indeed be doubted, for
we hear also of another Mary, the mother of James and Joses (Mk. xv.
40; Mt. xxvii. 56), and it is possible (as M. Renan supposes), that the
names of her children have been substituted for those of the genuine
brothers of Christ which had been forgotten. Paul certainly mentions
James, the Lord's brother (Gal. i. 19), and it would be natural to
interpret this literally. But the question does not admit of any
positive decision. Of the actual existence, however, of both brothers
and sisters there can be no reasonable doubt; for they are spoken of
as personages who were familiar to their neighbors, while the very
fact that they play no part in the subsequent history is a guarantee
that they have not been invented for a purpose. Little is known of
his mother Mary, her genuine form having been transfigured at a very
early period by the Christian legend. The first and third Gospels have
made her the subject of a story which would force us—if we accept it
at all—to consider Jesus as her illegitimate child, born of some other
father than Joseph. But there is no adequate ground to ascribe to her
such laxity of conduct. For aught we can discern to the contrary,
she seems to have borne a fair reputation among her countrymen, who
undoubtedly, according to the incidental and therefore unbiased
testimony of all four Evangelists, believed Jesus to have been the son
of Joseph, begotten, like the rest of his family, in wedlock (Mt. xiii.
55; Mk. vi. 3; Lu. iv. 22; Jo. vi. 42.)

Beyond the fact that Joseph and Mary occupied a respectable position in
Nazareth, we can say little of them. The lineage of both was plainly
unknown to the compilers of the Gospels, since Joseph has been endowed
with two different fathers, while the parentage of Mary has not even
been alluded to. All that we can venture to assert is, that neither of
them were reputed to be of the family of David, for Jesus took pains to
prove that the Messiah need not, as was commonly believed, be descended
from that monarch (Mt. xxii. 41-46; Mk. xii. 35-37; Lu. xx. 41-44).
There would have been no occasion for his ingenious suggestion that
David, by calling the Messiah Lord, disproved the theory that this Lord
must be his son, unless he had felt that his belonging to a family
which could not claim such a pedigree might be used as an argument
against his Messianic character. We may confidently conclude then that
his lineage was obscure.

That his birth took place at Nazareth is abundantly obvious from the
very contrivances resorted to in Matthew and Luke to take his parents
to Bethlehem for that event. According to either of these narratives
one fact is plain: that the habitual dwelling-place of the family
was Nazareth; while Matthew has preserved the valuable information
that he was called a Nazarene (Mt. ii. 23), a statement which is
confirmed by the manner in which he is alluded to in John, as "Jesus
of Nazareth, the son of Joseph" (Jo. i. 45). Jesus therefore passed in
his life-time for a native of Nazareth, and as it does not appear that
he ever contradicted the current assumption, as moreover the only two
authorities which are at issue with this assumption are also at issue
with one another on all but the bare fact of the birth at Bethlehem, we
need not hesitate to draw the inference that he was born at Nazareth.

In his youth the son of Joseph was apprenticed to his father's trade,
and he may have practiced it for many years before he took to his more
special vocation of a public teacher. He was at any rate known to his
neighbors as "the carpenter," and his abandonment of that calling
for one in which he seemed to pretend to a position of authority
over others, caused both astonishment and indignation among his old
acquaintances.

His public career was closely preceded by that of an illustrious
prophet, by whom he must have been profoundly influenced—John the
Baptist. Very little of the doctrine of John has been preserved to us,
his fame having been eclipsed by that of his successor. But that little
is sufficient to evince the great similarity between his teaching and
that of Jesus. He was in the habit of baptizing those who resorted to
him in the Jordan, and of inculcating repentance, because the kingdom
of heaven was at hand (Mt. iii. 2). Now precisely the same tone was
adopted by Jesus after the captivity of John. Repentance was inculcated
on account of the approaching advent of the kingdom of heaven, and
a mode of instruction similar to that of John was practiced. Both
these prophets, affected no doubt by the troubled condition of Judea,
enjoined the simple amendment of the lives of individuals as the means
towards a happier state of things. Both attracted crowds around them
by the force and novelty of their preaching. Jesus, according to a
probable interpretation of the narrative, was so much impressed by the
lessons of his predecessor, and by the baptism received from him, that
he for a time retired to a solitary place, living an ascetic life,
and pondering the stirring questions that must have burnt within him.
During this retirement Jesus could mature his designs for the future,
and on emerging from it he was able at once to take up the thread of
John the Baptist's discourses. Possibly John himself had perceived
the high capacity of the young Nazarene, and had appointed him to
the prophetic office. But the story of his baptism by John has been
unfortunately so surrounded with mythical circumstances, that the true
relations between these teachers can no longer be discerned.

Meditating in the wilderness on the words of John the Baptist, and
on the state of his country, the notion may have entered the mind of
Jesus that he himself was the destined Messiah. While the power he
felt within him may have given birth to the idea, the idea once born
would react upon his nature and increase the power within him. But
whether the conception of his own Messiahship arose now or at some
other period, it is plain that he was animated by it during his public
career, and that it gave to all his teaching its peculiar tone of
independent authority. How far he was completely convinced of his own
claim to the Messianic title will be considered in another place; it
is sufficient to say here that he was plainly anxious that this claim
should be acknowledged, and the rights it conferred upon him recognized.

On emerging from his retreat, he began the public promulgation of his
doctrines; at first, however, with caution and reserve, and keeping
within the lines marked out by John the Baptist. Attracted by the
young enthusiast, a select band of followers gathered around him, and
while he inspired them with implicit trust, they no doubt inspired him
in their turn with higher confidence. The reticence which modesty or
hesitation had produced gradually melted away, and he began boldly to
put forth pretensions which, while they repelled and scandalized many,
drew others into a closer companionship and a more implicit submission.
Simon and Andrew, James and John, were the first, or among the first,
of his disciples. Eight others joined him at about the same period
of his life, their names being Philip, Bartholomew, Matthew, Thomas,
James the son of Alpheus, Thaddeus, Simon the Canaanite, and Judas (Mk.
iii. 14-19; Mt. x. 1-4). While these formed the inner circle, we must
suppose that he had many other admirers and followers, who were either
less intimate with him, or less constant in their attendance. And there
may even have been others of equal intimacy with the twelve apostles,
whose names have not been handed down to us. For all the apostles
did not enjoy an equally close and unreserved friendship with their
master. Three of their number—Simon, James, and John—stood towards him
in an altogether special and peculiar relationship. They are far more
prominent than any of the other nine. They were selected to accompany
Jesus when others were left behind. They formed an inmost circle within
the circle of his more constant companions. Them alone he is said to
have distinguished by names of his own invention. On Simon he conferred
the name of Peter. To James and John, the sons of Zebedee, he applied
the familiar nickname of Boanerges, or sons of thunder, which seems to
indicate that they were distinguished by the fervor of their zeal (Mk.
iii. 16, 17).

The admirers of Jesus were scarcely, if at all, less numerous among
the female than among the male sex. Indeed, he seems to have exercised
a very marked fascination over women. When he went to Jerusalem, he
was followed by many women from Galilee, who had been accustomed to
contribute to his wants, and to give him that personal attention which
kindly women know so well how to confer. Mary Magdalene whom he had
healed of some mental ailment, Mary the mother of James, Salome the
mother of the sons of thunder, were among the most devoted of these,
while two sisters, Mary and Martha, Joanna the wife of Chuza, Herod's
steward, and Susanna, are also mentioned (Mk. xv. 40, 41; Lu. viii. 2,
3, x. 38, 39). If we may believe one of the Evangelists, who stands
alone in this respect, the homage of women was particularly agreeable
to Jesus, who received it with words of the highest praise (Lu. vii.
36-50, x. 38-42). That some among these many female followers were
drawn to him by the sentiment of love is, at least, highly probable.
Whether Jesus entertained any such feeling towards one of them it
is impossible to guess, for the human side of his nature has been
carefully suppressed in the extant legend.

Supported then by adherents of both sexes, Jesus entered upon his
career of a public teacher. His own house was at Capernaum (Mt. iv.
13), but he wandered from place to place in the exercise of his
vocation, staying, no doubt, with friends and disciples. It is not
necessary to follow him in these peregrinations, of which only the
vaguest accounts have been preserved by the Evangelists. But two
remarkable circumstances deserve to be noted; namely, that his own
family rejected his pretensions, and that he met with no success in
his own district. Of the former, in addition to the negative evidence
furnished by the fact that neither Mary nor the brothers of Jesus
are mentioned among the believers, we have the positive evidence of
John that his brothers did not believe (Jo. vii. 5), confirmed by
the statement in the other Gospels that his family attempted to see
him during the earlier part of his career, and that Jesus positively
refused to have anything to do with them (Mk. iii. 31-35; Mt. xii.
46-50; Lu. viii. 19-21). This desire on the part of the family to
confer with him, and the manner in which Jesus, disavowing all special
ties, adopts all who "do the will of God" as mother, brother and
sister, admits of but one construction. Mary and her other children
were anxious to draw him away from the rash and foolish mode of life—as
they deemed it—on which he had entered, and Jesus, understanding their
design, avoided an unpleasant interview by simply declining to be
troubled with them. And if, as is highly probable, it was they who
thought him mad (Mk. iii. 21), we have further proof that neither
his mother nor any of the other members of his family can be counted
among his converts, at any rate during his life-time. The second
circumstance, his complete failure in his own neighborhood, is attested
by a saying of his own, recorded by all four Evangelists. A prophet,
he is reported to have said, is without honor in his own country,
among his own kin, and in his own house (Mk. vi. 4). To which it was
added that he was unable to perform any work of power there, beyond
curing a few sick people. And these cures evidently did not impress the
skeptical Nazarenes, for we are told that "he marveled because of their
unbelief" (Mk. vi. 5, 6).

Leaving, therefore, these hard-hearted neighbors, he proceeded to
address the people of Galilee and Judea in discourses which excited
great attention; sometimes inculcating moral truths in plain but
eloquent language, sometimes preferring to illustrate them by little
stories, the application of which he either made himself or left to his
hearers to discover. Had these stood alone, they would have sufficed
to give him a high reputation. But he did not depend on words alone
for his success among the people. The peculiar condition of Palestine
at this epoch gave him a favorable opportunity of supplementing
words by deeds. The trials and sufferings they had undergone, both
from the Herodian family and the Romans; the constant outrage to
their deepest feelings afforded by the presence of an alien soldiery;
the insults, humiliations, and cruelties they endured at the hands
of their conquerors, had wrought the people up to a state of almost
unbearable tension and extreme excitement. That under the pressure of
such a state of things nervous disorders should be widely prevalent,
is not to be wondered at. And these affections, as is well known,
are peculiarly infectious, easily spreading through a whole village
and raging in a whole country (See, for example, Hæcker's Epidemics,
_passim_). Hysteria, moreover, takes many forms. Now it may show
itself as species of madness; now as the imagination of some positive
disease. Here it may be violent and outrageous; there morbid and
gloomy. Another peculiarity is its tendency to increase the more, the
greater the attention paid to it by friends and onlookers. To be an
object of interest to those around is enough to inflame the symptoms of
the hysterical patient. And when this interest took shape in a belief
that he was inhabited by some bad spirit—which was equally the theory
of the Jews in the time of Christ, and of Christians up to the middle
ages—it was natural that the evil should be magnified to the highest
degree. There are, however, some individuals who exercise a peculiar
power over sufferers of this description. Their looks, their touch,
their words, are all soothing. By addressing the victims of hysteria in
tones of authority, by taking their hands, or otherwise endeavoring to
calm their excited nerves, these physicians of nature may put a stop to
the pain, or expel the illusion. In modern days they would be called
mesmerists, and though the peculiarities of temperament to which they
owe their mesmeric faculty are not yet understood, their influence is
well known to those who have examined into the subject.

Among the Jews, the subjects of these current maladies were said to
be possessed by devils. And it was a common profession to cast out
these so-called devils,[20] for we are told that it was practiced by
the adherents of the Pharisees. What means they employed we do not
know. Probably they were not of the mesmeric order, but consisted in
charms and exorcisms which, being believed by the patients to have
the power of curing them, actually had it. At any rate, the fact
remains that Jesus and the Pharisees are reputed to have possessed a
similar influence over the demons, and if we accept the statement as
true in the one case we cannot consistently reject it in the other.
It remains to be considered, however, whether the evidence is such
as to induce us to believe it in either. Now it is quite true that
a great many absurd and impossible miracles are ascribed to Jesus
in the Gospels. But considering the important place occupied in his
life—as it has come down to us—by his cures of sick people; considering
the possibility above suggested that many of these might have taken
place by known methods; considering too the extremely easy field
which Palestine presented for their application, it would appear more
likely that there might be a basis of truth in the numerous accounts
of sudden recoveries effected by him, than that they were all mere
inventions. We may then assume, without here entering into details,
that a number of unfortunate people, thought to be possessed by devils,
either met him on his way, or were brought to him by relations, and
were restored to health by the authoritative command addressed to the
evil spirit to depart; mingled with the sympathetic tone and manner
towards the tormented subject of possession. Individual examples of
these apparently miraculous cures may be open to doubt from the very
inaccurate character of the records, and for this reason it will be
better for the present to admit the general fact without binding
ourselves to this or that special instance of its occurrence.

Possessing this power himself, and ignorant of its source, Jesus
attempted to communicate it to his disciples. It is expressly stated
that he gave them power to heal sicknesses and cast out devils (Mk.
iii. 15), though it is doubtful whether they met with much success in
this vocation. On one occasion, at least, a signal failure is reported,
and as the fact stated redounds neither to the glory of Christ, who
had appointed his disciples to the work, nor of the disciples who
had received the appointment, we may believe it to be true (Mk. ix.
14-29). A parent had brought his little son to the apostles to be
delivered from some kind of fits from which he suffered. The apostles
could do nothing with him. When Jesus arrived he ordered the spirit
to depart, and the boy, after a violent attack, was left tranquil.
We are not told indeed how long his calmness lasted, nor whether the
fits were permanently arrested. For the moment, however, a remedy was
effected, and the disciples naturally inquired why they had not been
equally successful. The extreme vagueness of the reply of Jesus renders
it probable that his remedial influence was due to some personal
characteristic which he could not impart to others. This conclusion is
confirmed by the noteworthy fact that an unknown person exercised the
art of casting out devils in the name of Jesus, though not one of his
company (Mk. ix. 38-40). Here the name would be valuable only because
of its celebrity, the expulsion of the devils being due, as in the
case of Jesus himself, to the personal endowments of the exorcist. At
any rate, we have the broad facts that the Pharisees, Jesus himself,
and the unknown employer of his name, were all proficient in the art
of delivering patients from the supposed possession of evil spirits.
Possibly too the apostles did the same, and it was certainly the
intention of Jesus that they should.

Such exhibitions of power, though they might tend to strengthen the
influence of Jesus among the multitude, were not the principal means
on which he depended for acceptance. His sermons and his parables were
both more remarkable and more original. In addition to the fact that he
taught, in the main, pure and beautiful moral doctrines, he well knew
how to exemplify his meaning by telling illustrations. The parables
by which he enforced his views have become familiar to us all, and
deserve to remain among our most precious literary possessions. What
more especially distinguished his mode of teaching from that of other
masters was the air of spiritual supremacy he assumed, and his total
independence of all predecessors but the writers of Scripture. Not
indeed that he ventured upon any departure from the accepted tradition
with regard to the history of his nation, or the authority of the Old
Testament. On the contrary, he was entirely free from any approach
to a critical or inquiring attitude. But in so far he did not teach
like the scribes, that he boldly put forth his own interpretations of
Scripture and his own views of ethics, without the smallest regard for
the established opinions of the schools, and without seeking support
from any authority but his own. In this course he was evidently
strengthened by an inward conviction that he was the destined Messiah
of the Jewish people. Deputed, as he conceived, directly from God, he
could afford to slight the restrictions which others might place upon
their conduct. He was not bound by the rules which applied to ordinary
men.

This assumption, with its corresponding behavior, could not fail to
give great offense to those by whom his title was not conceded. And
we accordingly find that he comes into constant collision with the
recognized legal and religious guides of the Jews. Among the first of
the shocks he inflicted on their sense of propriety was his claim to
be authorized to forgive sins (Mk. ii. 7). To the Jewish mind this
pretension was highly blasphemous; no one, they thought, could forgive
sins but God, and they did not understand the credentials in virtue
of which this young man acted as his ambassador. Further scandal was
caused by his contempt for the common customs observed on the Sabbath
day (Mk. ii. 24, and iii. 6), which appeared to him inconsistent
with the original purpose of that institution. The language he was
accustomed to use to his disciples, and to his hearers generally, was
not of a nature to soothe their growing animosity. Designating himself
by the Messianic term of "the Son of man," he announced the approach,
even during the generation then extant, of a kingdom of heaven wherein
he himself was to return clothed with glory, and his followers were to
be gathered round him to enjoy his triumph. Along with these promises
to his friends, there flowed forth indignant denunciation of the
Pharisees and Scribes, who were held up to the scorn of the populace.

Having thus provoked them to the utmost, he imprudently accepted
the honor of a sort of triumphal entry into Jerusalem, the pomp of
which, however, has probably been somewhat exaggerated (Mk. xi. 1-11).
Nor was this all. He proceeded to an act of violence which it was
impossible for the authorities to overlook. The current Roman money
not being accepted at the temple, the outer court of this building
was used by money-changers, who performed the useful and necessary
service of receiving from those who came to make their offerings the
ordinary coinage, and giving Jewish money instead of it. Doves being
also required by the law to be offered on certain occasions, there
were persons outside the temple who sold these birds. Indignant at
what seemed to him a violation of the sanctity of the spot, Jesus
upset the tables of these traffickers, and described them all as
thieves. It is added in one account that he interfered to prevent
vessels being carried through the temple (Mk. xi. 15-17). That, after
this, the spiritual rulers should ask him to produce his authority
for such conduct, was not unnatural. Nor is it surprising that, after
his unsatisfactory reply to their inquiry, they should take steps to
prevent the repetition of similar scenes.

The efforts of the chief priests to bring about his destruction are
described in two of our Gospels as the direct result of his proceedings
about the temple, the impression he had made on the multitude being a
further inducement (Mk. xi. 18; Lu. xix. 48). Aware of the indignation
he had excited, Jesus soon after these events retired into some
private place, known only to his more intimate friends. So at least I
understand the story of his betrayal. Either Judas never betrayed him
at all, or he was lurking in concealment somewhere in the neighborhood
of Jerusalem. That the conduct attributed to Judas should be a pure
invention appears to me so improbable, more especially when the
history of the election of a new apostle is taken into account, that
I am forced to choose the latter alternative. The representation of
the Gospels, that Jesus went on teaching in public to the very end
of his career, and yet that Judas received a bribe for his betrayal,
is self-contradictory. The facts appear to be that Jesus ate the
passover at Jerusalem with his disciples, and that immediately after
it, conscious of his growing danger, he retired to some hidden spot
where he had lived before, and where friends alone were admitted to
his company. Judas informed the authorities of the temple where this
spot was. They thereupon apprehended Jesus, and brought him before the
Sanhedrim for trial.

So confused and imperfect is the account of this trial given by the
Evangelists, that we are unable to make out what was the nature of
the charge preferred against him, or of the evidence by which it was
supported. It is clear, however, that the gravamen of the accusation
was that he had put forth blasphemous pretensions to be the Messiah,
"the Son of the Blessed One." And this was supported by a curious bit
of evidence. Two witnesses deposed, either that they had heard him
say he _would_ destroy this temple made with hands and build another
made without hands within three days, or that he _was able_ to destroy
the temple, and to rebuild it in three days (Mt. xxvi. 61; Mk. xiv.
58). The witnesses are called false witnesses, both in Mark and in
Matthew. But if we turn to John (Jo. ii. 19), we find the probable
source of the charge brought against him by these two witnesses, and
we find reason also to think that they were not perjurers. There we
are told that after he had driven the money-changers and traders from
the temple, the Jews asked him for a sign that might evince his right
to do such things. In reply to their demand, Jesus is reported to have
said, "Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up."
Connecting this statement in the one Gospel with the evidence given on
the trial according to others, we may form a tolerably clear notion of
the actual fact. Pressed by his opponents for some justification of
his extraordinary conduct, Jesus had taken refuge in an assertion of
his supernatural power. If they destroyed the temple he would be able,
with the favor bestowed on him by God, to rebuild it in three days.
These words might possibly be misconstrued by some of his hearers into
a threat that he himself would destroy the temple, an outrage which
would in their view have been less difficult to imagine after his
violence to those engaged in business in its outer court. But whether
so understood or not, there could be no question about the pretension
to something like divinity in the promise to rebuild it in three days.
There is not a shadow of probability in favor of the interpretation
put upon the words in the fourth Gospel, that he spoke of the temple
of his body. And even had that been his secret meaning, the witnesses
who appeared against him could have no conception that he was thinking
of anything but the material temple, to which the whole dialogue
had immediate reference. They were therefore simply repeating, to
the best of their ability, words which had actually fallen from the
prisoner. The evidence for the prosecution being concluded, the high
priest appealed to Jesus to know whether he had nothing to reply. Jesus
being silent, the high priest proceeded to ask him directly whether
he was "Christ, the Son of the Blessed One." Jesus answered that he
was, and that they would hereafter see him "sitting on the right hand
of power, and coming in the clouds of heaven." Such an answer was an
explicit confession of the very worst that had been alleged against
him. After it, there was no option but to convict him, and we read
accordingly that they all condemned him as worthy of death. But capital
punishment could not be inflicted except by Roman authority. He was
accordingly taken before the procurator, Pontius Pilate, charged with
the civil crime of claiming to be king of the Jews. Pontius appears to
have regarded him as a harmless fanatic, and to have been anxious to
discharge him, in accordance with a custom by which one prisoner was
released at the festival which fell at this time. But the Jews clamored
for the release of a man named Barabbas, who was in prison on account
of his participation in an insurrectionary movement in which blood had
been shed. Barabbas accordingly was set at liberty, and Jesus, though
with some reluctance on the part of the procurator, was sentenced to
crucifixion. The sentence was carried into effect immediately. Unable,
probably from exhaustion through his recent sufferings, to carry his
own cross, Jesus was relieved of the burden by one Simon, on whom
the soldiery imposed the duty of bearing it. He was crucified along
with two thieves, and an inscription in which he was entitled "King
of the Jews" was placed upon his cross, apparently in mockery of the
Jewish nation much more than of him. His ordinary disciples had fled
in terror from his melancholy end, but he was followed to the cross by
some affectionate women, who had previously attended him in Galilee.
And after he was dead, his body was honorably interred by a well-to-do
adherent, named Joseph of Arimathæa.


                 SUBDIVISION 2.—_The Mythical Jesus._

The life of the mythical Jesus is found in the synoptical Gospels,
but more especially in the first and third. It is by no means pure
fiction, but an indistinguishable compound of fact and fiction, in
which the fictitious elements bear so large a proportion that it is
impossible to disentangle from them the elements of genuine history.
Part of this life moreover is wholly mythical, and of this wholly
mythical portion there are certain sections that are constructed on
a common plan, the biographers in these sections having only fitted
the typical incidents in the lives of great men to the special case
of Jesus, the son of Joseph. Not that this need have been done
consciously; the probability is that the circumstances and mode of
thought which led to the invention of such typical incidents in the
lives of others, led to it equally in that of Jesus. However this may
be, we shall find in the mythical life of Jesus the following three
classes of myths: 1. Myths of the typical order, common to a certain
kind of great men in certain ages, and therefore purely unhistorical;
2. Myths peculiar to Jesus, in which the miraculous element so
predominates, that it is impossible to recognize any, or more than the
very slightest, admixture of history; 3. Myths, peculiar to Jesus,
in which there is a more or less considerable admixture of history;
And 4. Statements not of necessity mythical, which may or may not be
historical, but of which the evidence is inadequate.

At the outset of our task we are met by the assumed genealogy of Jesus,
which has caused some trouble to theologians, and which is mainly
important as an indication of the degree of credit due to writers
who could insert such a document. For these awkward pedigrees afford
an absolute proof of the facility with which the Christians of the
earliest age supplemented the actual life of Jesus by free invention.
We are happily in possession of two conflicting lists of ancestors,
and happily also they are both of them lists of the ancestors of
Joseph, who, according to the very writers by whom they are supplied,
stood in no relation whatever to Christ, the final term of the
genealogies. Double discredit thus falls upon the witnesses. In the
first place, both lists cannot be true, though both may be false; one
of them therefore must be, and each may be, a deliberate fiction. In
the second place, both the Gospels bear unconscious testimony to the
fact that Joseph was originally supposed to be, by the natural course
of things, the father of Jesus, for otherwise why should the early
Christians have been at the trouble to furnish the worthy carpenter
with a distinguished ancestry? They thus discredit their own story
that Jesus was the son of Mary alone. Either then Jesus was the son of
Joseph, or neither of the two genealogies is his genealogy at all. The
solution of these inconsistencies is to be found in the fact that two
independent traditions have been blended together by the Evangelists.
The one, no doubt the more ancient of the two, considered Jesus as the
child of Joseph and Mary, and the ingenuity of his biographers has
not succeeded in obliterating the traces of this tradition (Mt. xiii.
55). Another and much later one, treated him as the offspring of Mary
without the aid of a human father. Those who believed in the first and
more authentic story had busied themselves with the discovery of a
royal descent for their hero, in order that he might fulfill what they
considered the conditions of the Messiahship. They had naturally traced
his ancestry upwards from his father, not from his mother, according to
the usual procedure. But the Gospels of Matthew and Luke were written
entirely on the hypothesis that he had no father but God; all necessity
for showing that Joseph was of the house of David was therefore gone.
Nevertheless the writers or the editors of these Gospels did not like
to neglect entirely what seemed to them to strengthen their case,
and, forgetful of the ridiculous jumble they were making, inserted an
elaborate pedigree of Joseph along with the statement that Jesus was
not his son.

Let us now examine the genealogies in detail, placing them in columns
parallel to one another. Luke begins a stage earlier than Matthew,
making God his starting-point instead of Abraham. From Abraham to
David the two authorities proceed together. Matthew, who has cut his
genealogical tree into three sections of fourteen generations each,
makes this his first division. After this the divergence begins:—

         MATTHEW.                   |        LUKE.
                                    |
   1. Solomon.                      |   1. Nathan.
   2. Rehoboam.                     |   2. Mattatha.
   3. Abia.                         |   3. Menan.
   4. Asa.                          |   4. Melea.
   5. Jehoshaphat.                  |   5. Eliakim.
   6. Joram.                        |   6. Jonan.
        [_Ahaziah._                 |
        _Joash._                    |
        _Amaziah._[21]]             |
   7. Ozias (or Uzziah).            |   7. Joseph.
   8. Jotham.                       |   8. Juda.
   9. Ahaz.                         |   9. Simeon.
  10. Hezekiah.                     |  10. Levi.
  11. Manasseh.                     |  11. Matthat.
  12. Amon.                         |  12. Jorim.
  13. Josiah. [_Jehoiakim._]        |  13. Eliezer.
  14. Jeconiah (or Jehoiachin).     |  14. Jose.
                                    |
  Here the captivity closes the     |
  second period. After the captivity|
  we have—                          |
                                    |
  1. Jeconiah.                      |  15. Er.
  2. Salathiel (or Shealtiel).      |  16. Elmodam.
  3. Zerubbabel.                    |  17. Cosam.
  4. Abiud.                         |  18. Addi.
  5. Eliakim.                       |  19. Melchi.
  6. Azor.                          |  20. Neri.
  7. Sadoc.                         |  21. Salathiel.
  8. Achim.                         |  22. Zorobabel.
  9. Eliud.                         |  23. Rhesa.
  10. Eleazar.                      |  24. Joanna.
  11. Matthan.                      |  25. Juda.
  12. Jacob.                        |  26. Joseph.
  13. Joseph.                       |  27. Semei.
  14. JESUS.                        |  28. Mattathias.
                                    |  29. Maath.
                                    |  30. Nagga.
                                    |  31. Esli.
                                    |  32. Naum.
                                    |  33. Amos.
                                    |  34. Mattathias.
                                    |  35. Joseph.
                                    |  36. Janna.
                                    |  37. Melchi.
                                    |  38. Levi.
                                    |  39. Matthat.
                                    |  40. Heli.
                                    |  41. Joseph.
                                    |  42. JESUS.[22]

Various observations offer themselves on these discrepant genealogies.
In the first place it will be observed that Matthew, in his anxiety
to show that the whole period comprised is divisible into three equal
parts of fourteen generations each, has actually omitted no less than
four generations contained in the authorities he followed. For since he
traced the descent of Joseph through the royal line of Judah, we are
enabled to check his statements by reference to the Book of Chronicles
(1 Chron. iii.), and thus to convict him of positive bad faith. In the
first instance he omits three kings, representing Uzziah as the son of
Joram, who was his great great grandfather; in the second he passes
over Jehoiachim, making Jehoiachin the son instead of the grandson of
Josiah. In the third period we have no authority by which to verify
his statements beyond Zerubbabel, but his determination to carry out
his numerical system at all hazards is shown by the double reckoning
of Jehoiachin, at the close of the second and the beginning of the
third division. The latter has in fact but thirteen generations, and
it was only by this trick—a little concealed by the break effected
through his allusion to the captivity—that the appearance of uniformity
was maintained. Luke has adopted a different method. Leaving the line
of kings, he connects Joseph with David through Nathan instead of
Solomon. Now beyond the fact that Nathan was the offspring of David and
Bathsheba, nothing whatever is known about him. Indeed it may have been
his very obscurity, and the consequent facility of creating descendants
for him, that led to his selection in preference to Solomon, though
unless it were that his name stood next above Solomon's (2 Sam. v.
14)—there is no obvious reason for his being preferred to several other
children of David. However, he answered the purpose as well as any, and
after him it was not a difficult operation to invent a plausible list
of names to fill up the gap between him and Joseph. The compiler of the
list in Matthew had the advantage in so far that he did not require to
draw on his imagination except for nine names between Zerubbabel and
Joseph, while the compiler of the list in Luke had to supply the whole
period from Nathan downwards with forefathers. But the second compiler
had the advantage over the first inasmuch as his fraud did not admit of
the same easy exposure by reference to its sources, and it was, on the
whole, a safer course to desert history altogether than to falsify it
in favor of an arithmetical fancy.

Another discrepancy between the two writers remains to be noted; it
is the enormous disproportion in the number of generations between
David and Joseph. Matthew has twenty-five generations, and Luke forty,
excluding Joseph himself. A difference of this magnitude—involving
something like 400-450 years—is not to be surmounted by any process
of harmonizing. To which it may be added that the two Evangelists, by
assigning to Joseph different fathers, clearly inform us that his true
father was unknown.

We have here, in short, an excellent instance of the first order of
myth, or myth typical. It has been a common practice in all ages, more
especially among ignorant and uncultivated nations, to endow those
who had risen from obscurity to greatness with illustrious ancestors.
Royal connections have always been regarded with especial favor for
such purposes. Thus, the Buddha is represented as the descendant of
the great Sakya monarchs. Thus, the ancestors of Zarathustra, in the
genealogy provided for him in Parsee authorities, were the ancient
kings of Persia. Thus, Moslem biographers declare that Mahomet sprang
from the noblest family of the noblest nation, and many historians give
him even a princely lineage (L. L. M., vol. i. p. 140). Thus, according
to Sir John Davis, "the pedigree or Confucius is traced back in a
summary manner to the mythological monarch _Hoang-ty_, who is said to
have lived more than two thousand years before Christ" (Chinese, vol.
ii. p. 45). Thus, the founder of Rome was placed by popular legend in a
family relationship to Æneas.

Leaving these genealogies—which are important only from the light they
shed on the literary character of their authors and transmitters—we
pass to the first legend directly concerning Jesus himself, that of his
birth. Here again the second and fourth Evangelists are silent, leaving
us to suppose that Jesus was the natural son of Joseph and Mary,
and certainly never hinting that they entertained any other belief
themselves. But the first and third each relate a little fable on this
subject, though unhappily for them the fables do not agree. Both had
to observe two conditions. The first was that Jesus should be born of a
virgin mother; the second that he should be born at Bethlehem. Matthew
accomplishes this end by informing us that Mary, when espoused to
Joseph, was found to be with child. Joseph, who thereupon contemplated
the rupture of his engagement, was informed by an angel in a dream that
his bride was with child by no one but the Holy Ghost; that she was
to bear a son, and that he was to call him Jesus. Being satisfied by
this assurance, he married Mary, but respected her virginity until she
had brought forth her first-born son, whom in obedience to his dream
he named Jesus. The child was born in Bethlehem where it would appear
from this account that Mary lived, and it is only after a journey to
Egypt that this Gospel brings the parents of Christ to Nazareth where a
tradition too firm to be shaken placed their residence (Mt. i. 18-25;
ii. 23).

Widely different is the treatment of this subject in Luke. According
to him there was a priest named Zacharias whose wife Elizabeth was
barren. The couple were no longer young, but they were not old enough
to have lost all hope of progeny, for we are told that when Zacharias
was engaged in his duties in the temple, an angel appeared to him
and informed him that his prayer was heard, and that his wife was to
have a son whom he was to call John. Zacharias had therefore been
praying for offspring, though when the angel—who announced himself
as Gabriel—appeared, he was troubled with some impious doubts, in
punishment of which he was struck dumb. After this Elizabeth conceived,
and went into retirement. From five to six months after the above scene
Gabriel was again despatched from heaven, this time to a virgin named
Mary, living at Nazareth. Arrived at her house, he addressed her thus:
"Hail, thou that art highly favored; the Lord is with thee; blessed
art thou among women." Seeing Mary's confusion he reassured her; and
informed her that she should have a son called Jesus, who was to
possess the throne of David, and reign over the house of Jacob forever.
Like Zacharias, Mary was disposed to raise troublesome questions,
and she accordingly inquired of Gabriel how she could bear a child,
"seeing I know not a man." But Gabriel was ready with his answer. The
Holy Ghost would come upon her; moreover, her cousin Elizabeth had
conceived (which, however, was not a parallel case), and nothing was
impossible with God. Soon after this visit, Mary went to see Elizabeth,
who interpreted an ordinary incident of pregnancy as a sign that the
fruit of Mary's womb was blessed, and that Mary was to be the mother of
her Lord. The virgin replied in a very elaborate little speech, which
if uttered must have been carefully prepared for the occasion. In due
time the child of Zacharias and Elizabeth was born, and named John
by his parents' desire. What Joseph thought of his bride's condition
we are not told, nor do we know whether she made known to him her
interview with the angel Gabriel. At any rate he did not repudiate
her, for we find him taking her with him, about five months later,
to Bethlehem, for the purpose of the census which took place when
Quirinus was governor of Syria, his descent from David requiring him
to attend at that town. During this census it was that Jesus was born,
and because of the crowded condition of the inn at this busy time, he
was placed in a manger (Lu. i. 1; ii. 7). There let us leave him for
the present, while we compare these narratives with others of a like
description.

Birth in some miraculous or unusual manner is a common circumstance in
the lives of great persons. We have here therefore another instance of
the typical species of myth. Thus, in classical antiquity, Here is said
to have produced Hephaistos "without the marriage bed" (Bib., i. 3-5).
Turning to a remote part of the globe, there was in the present century
a person living in New Zealand who, according to native tradition, was
"begotten by the attua," a species of deity, "his mother being then
unmarried. The infant was produced at her left arm-pit, but there was
no visible mark left.... He is held as a great prophet; when he says
there will be no rain there will be none" (N. Z., p. 82). An example
of the same kind of legend occurs in the ancient history of China.
The hero is one How-tseih, who was the founder of the royal house of
Chow. His mother, it appears, was barren, like Elizabeth, for she "had
presented a pure offering and sacrificed, that her childlessness might
be taken away." Her devotion received a fitting reward, for:—

    "She then trod on a toe-print made by God, and was moved,
    In the large place where she rested.
    She became pregnant, she dwelt retired;
    She gave birth to, and nourished [a son],
    Who was How-tseih."

His mode of coming into the world was peculiar too:—

    "When she had fulfilled her months
    Her first-born son [came forth] like a lamb.
    There was no bursting, nor rending;
    No injury, no hurt:—
    Showing how wonderful he would be.
    Did not God give her the comfort?
    Had he not accepted her pure offering and sacrifice,
    So that thus easily she brought forth her son?"[23]

The gestation of the Buddha was in many ways miraculous. He entered
the womb of his mother by a voluntary act, resigning his abode in
heaven for the purpose. At the time of his descent upon earth Mâyâ
Devi dreamt that a white elephant of singular beauty had entered into
her, a dream which portended the future greatness of the child (R. T.
R. P., vol. ii. p. 61). During the time of his remaining in the womb,
his body, which was visible both to his mother and to others, had a
resplendent and glorious appearance.[24] "Mâyâ the queen, during the
time that Bodhisattva remained in the womb of his mother, did not feel
her body heavy, but on the contrary light, at ease and in comfort, and
felt no pain in her entrails. She was nowise tormented by the desires
of passion, nor by disgust, nor by trouble, and had no irresolution
against desire, no irresolution against the thought of evil or of
vice. She suffered the sensation neither of cold, nor of heat, nor of
hunger, nor of thirst, nor of trouble, nor of passion, nor of fatigue:
she saw nothing of which the form, the sound, the smell, the taste
and the touch did not seem to her agreeable. She had no bad dreams.
The tricks of women, their inconstancy, their jealousy, the defects
of women and their weaknesses, she did not share" (Ibid., vol. ii.
p. 77). And although it is never expressly stated that the Buddha's
nominal father had no part in his production, it is remarkable that at
the time of her conceiving, Mâyâ was living in a place apart from him,
having craved permission to retire for a season, to practice fasting
and penance. During this time she had told the king that she would be
"completely delivered from thoughts of stealing, desire and pride,"
and that she would not "yield to one illicit desire" (R. T. R. P.,
vol. ii. pp. 54, 55). Some sects of Buddhists are more explicit, and
maintain that Bodhisattvas do not pass through the earlier stages of
fœtal development; namely, those of _Kalalam_, mixing up, the period
of the first week, when the future body is like milk: _arbudam_, the
period of the second week, where a form rises like something inflated;
peci, thickening: and _ghana_, hardening, the periods of the third
and fourth weeks (Wassiljew, p. 260). But all this does not exclude
the coöperation of a human father. Passing to another great religion,
we find that even the sober philosopher Confucius did not enter the
world, if we may believe Chinese traditions, without premonitory
symptoms of his greatness. It is said that one day as his mother was
ascending a hill, "the leaves of the trees and plants all erected
themselves and bent downwards on her return. That night she dreamt the
Black _Te_ appeared, and said to her, 'You shall have a son, a sage,
and you must bring him forth in a hollow mulberry tree.'" In another
dream she received a prophecy of the importance of her coming progeny
(C. C., vol. i. p. 59—Proleg.). Another account states that "various
prodigies, as in other instances, were the forerunners of the birth
of this extraordinary person. On the eve of his appearance on earth,
two dragons encircled the house, and celestial music sounded in the
ears of his mother. When he was born, this inscription appeared on
his breast—'The maker of a rule for settling the world'" (Chinese,
vol. ii. p. 44). The mother of Mahomet is said to have related of
her pregnancy, that she felt none of the usual inconveniences of that
state; and that she had seen a vision in which she had been told that
she bore in her womb the Lord and Prophet of her people. A little
before her delivery the same figure appeared again, and commanded her
to say, "I commend the fruit of my body to the One, the Eternal, for
protection against the envious" (L. L. M., vol. i. p. 142).

Miraculously born, it was necessary that Jesus should also be
miraculously recognized as a child of no common order. The story would
have been incomplete without some one to acknowledge his superhuman
character even in his cradle. Matthew and Luke again accomplish the
common end by widely different means. Luke's is the simpler narrative,
and it will be more convenient to begin with. He tells us that there
were in the same country, that is, near Bethlehem, shepherds watching
their flocks. An angel appeared to them and said that a Savior, Christ
the Lord, was born in the city of David. They were to know him by his
being in a manger wrapped in swaddling clothes. In this humility of his
external circumstances immediately after birth, as in the supernatural
recognition which he received, he again resembles the Chinese hero.
How-tseih

            "was placed in a narrow lane,
    But the sheep and oxen protected him with loving care.
    He was placed in a wide forest,
    Where he was met by the woodcutters.
    He was placed on the cold ice,
    And a bird screened and supported him with its wings."[25]

"And suddenly," the narrative in Luke proceeds, "there was with the
angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying, 'Glory
to God in the highest, and on earth the peace of good-will among men'"
(Lu. ii. 8-14). Similar demonstrations of celestial delight were not
wanting at the birth of the Buddha Sakyamuni. He was received by the
greatest of the gods, Indra and Brahma. All beings everywhere were
full of joy. Musical instruments belonging to men and gods played
of themselves. Trees became covered with flowers and fruit. There
fell from the skies a gentle shower of flowers, garments, odoriferous
powders, and ornaments. Caressing breezes blew. A marvelous light was
produced. Evil passions were put a stop to, and illnesses were cured;
miseries of all kinds were at an end (R. T. R. P., vol. ii. pp. 90,
91). So also we read in Moslem authorities that at the birth of Ali,
Mahomet's great disciple, and the chief of one of the two principal
sects into which Islam is divided, "a light was distinctly visible,
resembling a bright column, extending from the earth to the firmament"
(Dervishes, p. 372). But let us complete the narrative in Luke.

Urged by the angelic order, the shepherds went to Bethlehem and found
the infant Christ, whose nature, as revealed by the angels, they made
known to the people with whom they met. Returning, they praised and
glorified God for all they had heard and seen (Lu. ii. 15-20).

Quite dissimilar is the form in which the same incident appears in
Matthew. Here, instead of shepherds, we have magi coming from the East
to discover the King of the Jews. A star in the East had revealed to
them the birth of this King of the Jews _de jure_, and in the search
for him they run straight into the very jaws of Herod, the king
_de facto_. The author is obliged to make them take this absurdly
improbable course for the sake of introducing Herod, whom he required
for a purpose shortly to be explained. How utterly superfluous the
visit to Herod was is evinced by the fact that, after that monarch has
found out from the chief priests the birthplace of the Messiah, the
magi are guided onwards by the star, which had been omitted from the
story since its first appearance in order to allow of their journey to
Jerusalem, a mistake for which the star could not be made responsible.
However, after leaving Herod, they were led by that luminary to the
very spot where Christ lay. On seeing the infant they worshiped him,
and offered him magnificent presents, after which a dream informed
them—what their waking senses might surely have discovered—that it was
not safe to return to Herod after having thus acknowledged a rival
claimant to the throne. They accordingly went home another way.

Interwoven with this visit of the magi we have a myth which belongs
to a common form, and which in the present instance is merely adapted
to the special circumstances of the age and place. I term it the myth
of THE DANGEROUS CHILD. Its general outline is this: A child is born
concerning whose future greatness some prophetic indications have
been given. But the life of this child is fraught with danger to some
powerful individual, generally a monarch. In alarm at his threatened
fate, this person endeavors to take the child's life; but it is
preserved by the divine care. Escaping the measures directed against
it, and generally remaining long unknown, it at length fulfills the
prophecies concerning its career, while the fate which he has vainly
sought to shun falls upon him who had desired to slay it. There is
a departure here from the ordinary type, inasmuch as Herod does not
actually die or suffer any calamity through the agency of Jesus.
But this failure is due to the fact that Jesus did not fulfill the
conditions of the Messiahship, according to the Jewish conception which
Matthew has here in mind. Had he—as was expected of the Messiah—become
the actual sovereign of the Jews, he must have dethroned the reigning
dynasty, whether represented by Herod or his successors. But as his
subsequent career belied these expectations, the Evangelist was obliged
to postpone to a future time his accession to that throne of temporal
dominion which the incredulity of his countrymen had withheld from him
during his earthly life (Mt. xxiv. 30, 31; xxv. 31 ff.; xxvi. 64).

In other respects the legend before us conforms to its prototypes. The
magi, coming to Herod, inquire after the whereabouts of the king of the
Jews, whose star they have seen in the East. Herod summons the chief
priests and scribes to council, and ascertains of them that Christ was
to be born at Bethlehem. This done, he is careful to learn from the
magi the exact date at which the star had appeared to them. He further
desires them to search diligently for the young child, that he also
may worship it. They, as previously related, returned home without
revisiting Herod, whereupon that monarch, in anger at the deception
practiced upon him, causes all the children under two years of age,
in and about Bethlehem, to be slaughtered. All is in vain. Joseph,
warned by a dream, had taken his wife and step-son to Egypt, where they
remained until after the death of Herod, when another dream commanded
them to return. When afraid to enter the dominions of Archelaus,
another of these useful dreams guided them to Galilee, where they took
up their quarters at Nazareth (Mt. ii).

How wide-spread and of what frequent recurrence is this myth of the
Dangerous Child, a few examples may suffice to show. In Grecian
mythology the king of the gods himself had been a dangerous child.
The story of Kronos swallowing his children in order to defeat the
prophecy that he would be dethroned by his own son; the manner in
which Rhea deceived him by giving him a stone, and Zeus, armed with
thunder and lightning, deposed him from the government of the world,
are familiar to all (Bib. 1. 1. 5-7, and 1. 2. 1). If we descend from
gods to heroes, we find a similar legend related of Perseus, whose
grandfather, Akrisios, vainly tried to avert his predicted fate, first
by scheming to prevent his grandson's birth, and then by seeking to
destroy him when born (Ibid., 2. 4. 1. 4.); and of Oidipous, who in
spite of the attempt to cut short his life in infancy, inevitably
and unconsciously fulfilled the oracle by slaying his father and
marrying his mother. Within historical times, Kyros, the son of
Kambyses is the hero of a similar tale. His grandfather, Astyages,
had dreamt certain dreams which were interpreted by the magi to mean
that the offspring of his daughter Mandane would expel him from his
kingdom. Alarmed at the prophecy, he handed the child to his kinsman
Harpagos to be killed; but this man having entrusted it to a shepherd
to be exposed, the latter contrived to save it by exhibiting to the
emissaries of Harpagos the body of a stillborn child of which his own
wife had just been delivered. Grown to man's estate, Kyros of course
justified the prediction of the magi by his successful revolt against
Astyages and assumption of the monarchy (Herodotos, i. 107-130).
Jewish tradition, like that of the Greeks and the Persians, has its
dangerous child in the person of the national hero Moses, whose death
Pharaoh had endeavored to effect by a massacre of innocents, but who
had lived to bring upon that ruler his inevitable fate. From these
well-known examples it is interesting to turn to the chronicles of
the East-Mongols, and find precisely the same tale repeated there.
We read that a certain king of a people called Patsala, had a son
whose peculiar appearance led the Brahmins at court to prophesy that
he would bring evil upon his father, and to advise his destruction.
Various modes of execution having failed, the boy was laid in a copper
chest and thrown into the Ganges. Rescued by an old peasant who brought
him up as his son, he in due time learnt the story of his escape, and
returned to seize upon the kingdom destined for him from his birth.
This was in B. C. 313 (G. O. M., pp. 21, 23). This universal myth—of
the natural origin of which it would lead me too far to speak—was now
adapted to the special case of Christ, who runs the usual risk and
escapes it with the usual good fortune of dangerous children.

Having thus preserved the infant Christ from the dangers that
threatened him, Matthew tells us absolutely nothing about him until
he has arrived at manhood, and is ready to enter on his public life.
Luke is much less reticent. True, he knows nothing whatever of the
star that appeared in the East; nothing of Herod's inquiries as to
the birthplace of Christ; nothing of the massacre of the innocents,
nor of the flight into Egypt and the return from that country to
Nazareth. On the contrary, his narrative by implication excludes all
this, for he makes Joseph and Mary go up to Bethlehem for the census
only, and return to Nazareth soon after it; so that Herod could have
had no occasion to kill the infants up to the age of two years, for
Christ could not have been above a few weeks old at most (Lu. ii. 39).
Moreover, we learn definitely from one verse that his parents went up
_from Nazareth_ to Jerusalem every year at the passover (Ibid., ii.
41). But the absence of any statements like those just taken from the
first Gospel is amply compensated in the third by several pleasing
details relating to his infancy and boyhood. In the first place we
learn that after eight days he was circumcised, and named Jesus
according to the angel's desire (Ibid., ii. 21). Next, we are told
that after his mother's purification—which would last thirty-three
days after the circumcision—she and his step-father took him to the
temple to be presented, and to make the customary offering. There was
in the temple a man named Simeon who had been promised by the Holy
Ghost that he should not die till he had seen Christ. This man, who
came by the Spirit into the temple, took the baby in his arms and gave
vent to his emotion in the beautiful little hymn known as the _Nunc
Dimittis:_—"Now, O Lord, thou dost release thy servant according to
thy word in peace, because mine eyes have seen thy salvation, which
thou hast prepared before the face of all nations; a light for the
revelation of the Gentiles and the glory of thy people Israel" (Lu. ii.
29-32).

Less exquisite in its simplicity, but not altogether dissimilar in
tone, is the prophecy of the Rishi Asita on the infant Buddha. This old
and eminent ascetic had come to see the child whose marvelous gifts had
been known to him by supernatural signs. Having embraced its feet, and
predicted its future preëminence, he had surprised the king by bursting
into tears and heaving long sighs. Questioned about the meaning of
this he replied: "Great king, it is not on account of this child that
I weep; truly there is not in him the smallest vice. Great king, I am
old and broken; and this young prince (Literally, Sarvarthasiddha) will
certainly clothe himself with the perfect and complete intelligence
of Buddha, and will cause the wheel of the law that has no superior
to turn.... After becoming Buddha he will cause hundreds of thousands
of millions of beings to pass to the other border of the ocean of
wandering life, and will lead them forever to immortality. And I—I
shall not see this pearl of Buddhas! Cured of illness, I shall not be
freed by him from passion! Great king, that is why I weep, and why in
my sadness I heave long sighs" (R. T. R. P., vol. ii. pp. 106, 107).

So Abd-al-mottalib, Mahomet's grandfather, on seeing his grandchild
immediately after his birth, is reported to have exclaimed: "Praise be
to Allah, who has given me this glorious youth, who even in the cradle
rules over other boys. I commend him to the protection of Allah, the
Lord of the four elements, that he may show him to us when he is well
grown up. To his protection I commend him from the evil of the wicked
spirit" (L. L. M., vol. i. p. 143).

Prognostications of greatness in infancy are, indeed, among the
stock incidents in the mythical or semi-mythical lives of eminent
persons. Not content with Simeon's recognition, Luke introduces an
old prophetess called Anna, living in the temple, and represents her
as giving thanks, and speaking of the child to all who looked for
redemption in Jerusalem (Lu. ii. 36-38).

Twelve years are now suffered to elapse without further account of the
young Jesus than that he grew and strengthened, filled with wisdom,
and that the grace of God was upon him (Ibid., ii. 40). At twelve
years old, the blank is filled by a single event. His parents had gone
to Jerusalem to keep the passover, taking Jesus with them. On their
way back they missed him, and having failed to find him among their
traveling companions, returned to look for him at Jerusalem. There
they found him in the temple sitting among the doctors of the law,
listening to them and putting questions. Those who heard him are said
to have been astonished at his intelligence. Questioned by his mother
as to this extraordinary conduct, he replied, "How is it that ye sought
me? wist ye not that I must be about my Father's business?" (Lu. ii.
41-50.) Were this incident confirmed by other authorities, and did
it stand in some kind of connection with the events that precede and
follow it, we might accept it as a genuine reminiscence of the boyhood
of Jesus. That a precocious boy, eager for information, should take
the opportunity of a visit to the headquarters of Hebraic learning to
seek from the authorities then most respected a solution of questions
that troubled his mind, would not in itself be so very surprising.
And those who are familiar with the kind of inquiries made by clever
children, especially on theological topics, will not think it strange
that his youthful wits should occasionally be too much for those of
professed theologians. But the isolation in which this single event
stands in the first thirty years of Christ's life, and the total
absence of confirmation from any other source, compel us to regard it
as an invention designed to show an early consciousness in Jesus of his
later mission, and also to prove the inability of the doctors to cope
with him. We must, therefore, reject it along with the other myths of
the infancy, of which some are typical myths, others (like this) myths
peculiar to Jesus, but none in the smallest degree historical.

Before entering on the later life of Jesus, let us note certain
differences between Matthew and Luke in their treatment of the infancy,
which will confirm the above conclusion. In the first place, it is
to be observed that they effect the desired end by totally unlike
methods. Given the problem of getting the infant Christ born without
the assistance of a father, there were various ways in which readers
could be assured of the truth of such a miracle. One was to inform
Joseph in a dream of the coming event; another was to announce it to
Mary by means of an angel. In choosing between these expedients each
Evangelist is guided by his own idiosyncrasy. Matthew selects the
dream; Luke the angel; and it is noteworthy that on other occasions
they exhibit similar preferences. Matthew gets out of every difficulty
by a dream. In the course of his two first chapters he uses this
favorite contrivance no less than five times; four times for Joseph,
and once for the magi (Mt. i. 20, and ii. 12, 13, 22). Twice, it is
true, he mentions an angel of the Lord as appearing in the dream,
but the angel in his narrative plays a very subordinate part, and
is, indeed, practically superfluous. With Luke, on the contrary, the
principal agent in the events of the infancy is the angel, who supplies
the place of the dream in Matthew. An angel informs Zacharias that his
wife is to have a son; an angel declares to Mary that she is destined
to give birth to the Son of God; an angel announces that event to the
shepherds after its occurrence; and angels appear in crowds above them
as soon as the announcement has been made (Lu. i. 11, 26, and ii. 9,
13). Another striking difference is the extreme fondness of Matthew
for ancient prophecies, and of Luke for little anthems and for songs
of praise. The diverse natures of the two writers are well exemplified
by this distinction; the former being the more penetrated with the
history and literature of the Jewish race; the latter the more flexible
and the more imbued with the spirit of his age. Hence, Matthew almost
avowedly constructs his narrative in such a manner as to ensure the
fulfillment of the prophecies. After describing Mary's miraculous
conception, he says that all this was done to fulfill Isaiah's words:
"Behold, a virgin shall conceive" (more accurately; the maiden has
conceived), "and shall bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel"
(Mt. i. 23; Isa. vii. 14). And this he quotes, regardless of the fact
that Christ never was called Immanuel, and that if the one clause of
the prophecy is to be understood literally, so must the other. Thus
also he reveals his reason for assigning to Bethlehem the honor of
being Christ's birthplace, when he places in the mouths of the priests
at the court of Herod a verse from Micah, in which it is asserted that
from Bethlehem Ephratah shall come a man who is to be ruler in Israel
(Mt. ii. 6; Mic. v. 2). Further, he massacres the innocents in order to
corroborate a saying of Jeremiah (Mt. ii. 18; Jer. xxxi. 15), and he
takes Joseph and Mary to Egypt to confirm an expression of Hosea (Mt.
ii. 15; Hos. xi. 1). In each case, he perverts the natural sense of
the prophets; for in Jeremiah, the children are to return to their own
land, which the innocents could not do; and in Hosea, the son who is
called out of Egypt is the people of Israel. Lastly, in his exceeding
love of quoting the Old Testament, he commits the most singular blunder
of all in applying to Christ the words spoken of Samson by the angel
who announced his birth. If, indeed, the allusion be to this passage
(and it can scarcely be to any other), the Evangelist is barely honest;
for he converts the angelic words, "he shall _be a Nazarite_," into the
words "he shall _be called a Nazarene_" (Mt. ii. 23; Judg. xiii. 5).
So Judaic a writer could hardly be ignorant that a Nazarite was not
the same thing as an inhabitant of Nazareth. But from whatever source
the quotation may come, its object plainly is to lead to the belief
that notwithstanding his birth at Bethlehem, Jesus was called by his
contemporaries a Nazarene.

Luke does not trouble himself with the search for ancient oracles,
but indulges a far freer and more inventive genius. His personages
give utterance to their feelings in highly finished songs, which are
sometimes very beautiful, but most certainly could never have been
uttered by the simple people to whom he attributes them. Among these
are the salutation of Elizabeth to Mary, and the still more elaborate
answer of Mary. Zacharias, the very instant he recovers his speech,
recites a complete hymn of no inconsiderable length (Lu. i. 68-79).
Again, Simeon expresses his joy at the birth of the Savior in a similar
manner (Ibid., ii. 29-32); but in his case it may be said that he had
so long expected to see the Christ that his hymn of thanksgiving might
well be ready.

Passing now to the manhood of Jesus, we find the four Evangelists all
agreed in recording the baptism by John as the earliest known event in
his adult career, and it is unquestionably with this consecration by
a great man that his authentic life begins. Mark and John indeed were
unaware of anything previous to this period, and the former introduces
it by the words, "The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ the Son
of God" (Mk. i. 1), showing that for him at least the history of his
Master began at this point. As usual, the myth appears in its simplest
form in his pages. After applying to John the Baptist a prophecy by
Isaiah, he states that this prophet was engaged in baptizing in the
wilderness, and that all Judea and all the Jerusalemites went out
to him and were baptized, confessing their sins. He declared that a
mightier than he was coming after him, the latchet of whose shoes he
was unworthy to unloose. Jesus, like the rest of the world, went to be
baptized, and as he came out of the water he saw the heavens opened,
and the Spirit descending on him like a dove. There was a voice from
the heavens, "Thou art my beloved Son, in thee I am well pleased."
Matthew and Luke describe the baptism of John in a similar manner,
Matthew adding a conversation between Jesus and John. They also mention
the baptism of Jesus, the descent of the dove, and the voice, but with
slight variations. For whereas Mark merely says that _Jesus saw_ the
heavens opened and the Spirit like a dove descending, and Matthew, in
substantial accordance with him, relates that the heavens were opened
[to him], and that _he saw_ the Spirit descend as a dove, Luke going
further, pretends that the heavens were opened, and that the spirit did
descend in a bodily form like a dove upon him (Mk. i. 1-12; Mt. iii.;
Lu. iii. 1-22). Thus is the subjective fact in the consciousness of
Jesus gradually changed into an objective fact, a transition deserving
to be noted as illustrative of the trivial changes of language by which
a myth may grow. Several other examples of a like process will meet us
in the course of this inquiry. The scene at the baptism is described
differently again in the fourth Gospel. There the testimony of John the
Baptist to Christ is rendered far more emphatic; he receives him with
the words, "Behold the Lamb of God, who taketh away the sins of the
world;" and he explains his knowledge of him by the fact that he has
received a special revelation concerning him. On whomsoever he saw the
Spirit descend and remain, that was he who was to baptize with the Holy
Ghost. Now he had seen the Spirit descend like a dove on Jesus, and
therefore had borne witness that he was the son of God (John i. 6-37).
Of the opening of the heavens and of the voice nothing is said, and the
meaning of the whole story evidently is that this descent of the Spirit
was a private sign arranged between God and John the Baptist, but of
which the bystanders either perceived nothing, or understood nothing.
For had they known that the Holy Ghost itself was thus bearing witness
to Jesus, what need was there of the witness of John? It is evident,
however, that even if they saw the dove flying down and alighting upon
Jesus, they were not informed that it represented the Holy Spirit. Thus
the whole fact is reduced to a peculiar interpretation given by John
to a natural occurrence. We have then three versions of the baptismal
myth:—in the first certain circumstances are perceived by Jesus; in the
second they are perceived by John; in the third they actually occur.

Strangely inconsistent with this distinct acknowledgment of Christ as
the son of God, is the inquiry addressed to him at a subsequent period
by John the Baptist through his disciples. It appears that on hearing
of the extraordinary fame of Jesus and of the course he was pursuing,
John sent two disciples from the prison where he was confined to put
this question to him, "Art thou he that should come, or do we expect
another?" in other words, Are you the Messiah? Thus interrogated, Jesus
replied, not by appealing to the testimony of the dove at his baptism,
or the voice from heaven, but by citing the miraculous cures he was
then performing. Nor did he in the least resent the doubt implied in
John the Baptist's query. On the contrary, he immediately entered upon
a glowing panegyric of his precursor, describing him as the messenger
sent before his face to prepare his way, and as the prophet Elias who
was expected to come—(Mt. xi. 1-15; Lu. vii. 18-30)—a title which in
another Gospel the Baptist had expressly repudiated (Jo. i. 21). This
remarkable transaction between the two teachers could not easily have
occurred, if the elder had previously discovered "him that should
come" in the person of Jesus. For then we must suppose that since
the baptism he had seen reason to hesitate as to the correctness of
his opinion. And in that case, could he have referred the question
to Jesus himself for his decision? And could Jesus have employed the
terms of praise here given, in speaking of one who had lapsed from his
former faith into a state of doubt? Plainly not. The Evangelists have
overshot the mark in their narrative of the baptism. Eager to make
John bear witness to Jesus, they have forgotten that it was only at a
later period that he was convinced—if he was convinced at all—of the
Messianic claims of the young man who had passed under his influence,
and derived from him some of his earliest inspirations. His doubts are
historical; his conviction is mythical.

Temporary retirement into solitude naturally followed upon the
consecration administered by John in the baptismal rite. Jesus spent
some time wandering in a lonely place, the period of forty days
assigned to this purpose being naturally suggested by the forty years
of Israel's troubles in the wilderness. If there mingled among his
meditations any lingering feelings of reluctance to follow the course
pointed out by the Baptist, he would have afterwards described such
feelings as temptations of the devil. Hence, it may be, the story of
his conversations with Satan. These are not alluded to at all in Mark,
who simply mentions the fact that he was tempted by Satan. Neither
is there any reference in Mark to fasting for the whole of the forty
days or any part of them. Greatly improving upon this bald version,
the other two Synoptics tell us that he ate nothing during all this
time, and describe the very words of his dialogues with the tempter.
Satan had besought him to make bread out of stones; to cast himself
down from a high place, and to accept at his hands all the kingdoms
of earth in return for a single act of worship (Mk. i. 12, 13; Mt.
iv. 1-11; Lu. iv. 1-13). Jesus, like the Buddha at the corresponding
period of his life, emerged triumphant from the trial. It was by no
means equal in severity to that which Sakyamuni underwent. He also
was obliged to overcome the devil before he could attain perfection.
"Mârâ, the sinner," the Indian Satan, assailed him not only by
force of arms, despatching an immense army against him; but finding
this onslaught a failure, he tried the subtler mode of attempting
to corrupt his virtue by the seductions of women. His beautiful
daughters were despatched with orders to display all their charms, and
employ all their fascinations before the young monk. They faithfully
executed the commission, but all was in vain. Calm and unmoved, the
Bodhisattva regarded them with complete indifference, and emerged from
this severest of trials a perfect Buddha (R. T. R. P., vol. ii. p.
286-327). In like manner Zarathustra was tempted by the Parsee devil,
Angra-mainyus, who held out a promise of happiness if he would but
curse the good law. Like Jesus, Zarathustra repelled the suggestion
with indignation: "I will not curse the good Mazdayasna law, not even
if limbs, soul, and life were to part from one another" (Av., vol. i.
p. 244.—Fargard xix. 23-26).

Not long after his return from the desert, Jesus took up his abode at
the village of Kapharnaoum, or Capernaum, in Galilee, Nazareth being
in several ways uncongenial to him (Mk. ii. 1; Mt. iv. 12-16). In the
first place it was the abode of his family, who did not believe in the
pretensions he now began to advance. Moreover, he was well known to
the Nazarenes as the carpenter, or the carpenter's son, and it seemed
an unwarrantable presumption in their young townsman, undistinguished
by advantages either of birth or education, to claim to become their
teacher (Mk. vi. 3). His relations also not only discredited him by
their unbelief, but occasionally took active measures to stop his
proceedings (Mk. iii. 21, 31). From these and perhaps other causes, he
entirely failed to accomplish any important miracle at Nazareth, and he
had to excuse his failure by the remark that a prophet is not without
honor except in his own country, among his own relations, and in his
own house (Ibid., vi. 4). The more natural version—that of Mark—adds
that he marvelled because of their unbelief. With less simplicity
Matthew relates, not that he was unable to do, but that he did not do
many mighty works there because of their unbelief (Mt. xiii. 54-58).
Further confirmation of the incredulity of the Nazarenes is afforded
by their reception of a remarkable sermon said to have been delivered
by Jesus in their synagogue. It seems that after he had preached in
various parts of Galilee, and had been well received, he came to
Nazareth and, having read a Messianic prophecy from Isaiah, proceeded
to apply it to himself. Having noticed the demand which he expected
would be addressed to him, that he should repeat there such works as
he was reported to have performed at Capernaum, he proceeded to convey
by some pointed illustrations from the Old Testament the unflattering
intimation that Nazareth was to be less favored by God than his adopted
home. Hereupon a storm arose in the synagogue, and an effort was made
by the enraged audience to cast him from the brow of a hill. But he
escaped in safety to his own residence at Capernaum (Lu. iv. 14-30).

Whether or not any such sermon was preached or any such attempt upon
his life was made, the narrative bears further witness to the fact
of ill success in the town where he had been brought up, and to his
possession of a house or lodging at Capernaum. Whether he himself
was the owner of the abode, or whether it belonged to a disciple who
received him (of which latter there is no evidence), makes little
difference; the representation afterwards made that foxes had holes,
and birds had nests, but the son of man had not where to lay his head
(Mt. viii. 19, 20; Lu. ix. 57, 58), is equally negatived by either
supposition. Mark and John know nothing of this condition of the son
of man. In John's Gospel, indeed, it is distinctly contradicted by the
statement that two of the Baptist's disciples asked him to show them
where he lived; that he did so, and that they staid with him that day
(Jo. i. 39). Indirect evidence of the same kind is afforded by the
notice of an entertainment given by Jesus at his own house, to which
he invited a very promiscuous company. Luke, indeed, represents this
feast as having been given by Levi, but this is evidently for the sake
of an artistic connection with the summons to Levi, which in all three
narratives immediately precedes it. For the same reason he departs from
both other Evangelists in making the scribes at this very feast put the
question why Jesus and his disciples did not fast, which, according to
the more trustworthy version, is put by the disciples of the Baptist
(Mk. ii. 18-22; Mt. ix. 14-17; Lu. v. 33-39). Thus Luke contrives to
convert three unconnected stories into a single connected one. That
Jesus received the more degraded classes of his countrymen on equal
terms, and that his habits were not ascetic, are the important facts
which we have to gather from these several statements.

The inference from the evidence on the whole is that Jesus was in
comfortable, though not opulent circumstances; and even had he been in
want, he had friends enough whose devotion would never have allowed him
to remain without a good lodging and sufficient food.

These friends he seems to have begun collecting round him as soon as
he entered upon his career of preaching in Galilee. Among the earliest
were four fishermen, Simon and his brother Andrew, James and his
brother John. The first pair of brothers Jesus called away from their
occupation, saying, "Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men"
(Mk. i. 16-20; Mt. iv. 18-22). So say two Gospels, but a very different
account appears in John. There we are told that two of the disciples of
John the Baptist having heard Jesus, left their master to follow him.
One of these two was Andrew, Simon's brother, and it was Andrew who
went and informed Simon that he had discovered the Messiah. On seeing
Simon, Jesus addresses him, "Thou art Simon the son of John; thou
shalt be called Kephas" (Jo. i. 38-43). Not a word is said here of the
calling of fishermen pursued by these brothers, nor of the remarkable
promise to make them fishers of men. Moreover it is they who present
themselves to Jesus; not he who summons them. The two accounts are
mutually exclusive.

Luke has a third version, not absolutely irreconcilable with that of
Mark and Matthew, though inconsistent in all its details. According
to him, Jesus had once been speaking to the people from Simon's boat,
which was lying on the lake of Gennesaret. The address concluded, he
desired Simon to launch into the lake and let down the nets. Simon
replied that they had toiled all night and caught nothing; yet he
would obey. On casting out the net it was found to inclose so great a
multitude of fishes that it broke. Simon called to his partners, James
and John, to come to his assistance, and both vessels were not only
filled with fish, but began to sink with the weight. Peter, ascribing
this large haul to the presence of Jesus, begged him to depart from
him, for he was a sinful man. Jesus told him, as in the other Gospels
he tells him and his brother Andrew (who does not appear here), that
he shall henceforth catch men. Hereupon all the three forsook all,
and followed him; from which it must clearly be understood that they
had not followed him before. Thus, that which the simpler version
represents as a mere summons, obeyed at once, is here converted into a
summons enforced upon the fishermen by a professional success so great
as to appear to them miraculous, and to lead in their minds to the
inference that since Jesus had commanded them to let down the nets, and
their obedience had been thus rewarded, he was in some obscure manner
the cause of the good fortune which had attended their efforts (Lu. v.
1-11).

Leaving aside for the present all that is peculiar to John, who alone
mentions the calling of Philip, there is but one other disciple
concerning whom we have any information as to the mode in which he was
led to join Jesus. This is Levi, or Matthew, the publican. Jesus found
him sitting at the receipt of custom, and commanded him to follow him,
which he instantly did (Mk. ii. 14; Mt. ix. 9; Lu. v. 27, 28). But
we are not compelled to suppose that from this time forward Levi did
nothing but accompany Jesus or go through the country preaching the
new faith. He may have done so, or he may only have left his business
from time to time to listen to the prophet who had so deeply impressed
him. For while three Evangelists mention this circumstance, only one of
them, and that the least trustworthy, adds that in following Jesus he
left all things.

The names of the other seven disciples are given with but a single
variation in all of the synoptical Gospels (Mk. iii. 14-19; Mt. x.
1-4; Lu. vi. 12-16). To these twelve their master gave power to heal
diseases and to cast out devils, and sent them forth into the world to
preach the coming of the kingdom of heaven, giving them instructions
as to the manner in which they should fulfill their mission (Mk. iii.
14, 15; Mt. x. 5-15; Lu. ix. 1-6). When not thus engaged, they were to
remain about his person, and form an inner circle of intimate friends,
to receive his more hidden thoughts, and help him in the work he had
undertaken.

The four who were the first to join him seem to have stood towards him
in a closer relationship than anyone else, and to have been in fact his
only thorough disciples during the earliest period of his life. For we
read that after the cure of a demoniac effected in the synagogue at
Capernaum (Mk. i. 21-28; Lu. iv. 31-37), he retired into the house
of Simon and Andrew, with James and John, and there healed Simon's
mother-in-law of a fever by the touch of his hands, a species of remedy
which requires no miracle to render it effectual (Mk. i. 29-31; Mt.
viii. 14, 15; Lu. iv. 38, 39). His reputation as a thaumaturgist had
now begun to spread, and crowds of people besieged his door, whom he
relieved of various diseases, and from whom he expelled many devils
(Mk. i. 32-34; Mt. viii. 16, 17; Lu. iv. 40, 41). The anxiety of the
devils to bear witness to his Messiahship he repressed, on this as on
other occasions. Mentioning these circumstances, Matthew, ever prone to
strengthen his case by the authority of a Hebrew prophet, cites Isaiah,
"He himself took our infirmities, and bore our sicknesses." Certainly
not a very happy application of prophecy; since it nowhere appears that
Jesus bore the diseases he cured, or was possessed by the devils he
expelled.

Anxious to escape from the pressure of the people, who clamored for
miracles, he retired to a desert place to pray. But here Simon and
others followed him and told him that all men were seeking him. He
replied that he must carry his message to other villages also, and
proceeded on a tour through Galilee, preaching and casting out devils
(Mk. i. 35-39; Lu. iv. 42-44). It was on some occasion during this
Galilean journey, when crowds, eager to hear his doctrine and see his
wonders, had pressed around him from every quarter that he delivered
the celebrated sermon the scene of which is laid by Matthew on a
mountain, and by Luke in a plain (Mt. chs. v.-vii., inclusive; Lu.
vi. 20-49). A part only of this discourse has been preserved to us,
for Matthew has evidently collected into one a great number of his
best sayings, which were no doubt actually uttered on many different
occasions and in many different places. Luke, with more sense of
fitness, has scattered them about his Gospel, assigning to some an
earlier, to others a later date. Notably is this unlike arrangement
remarkable in the case of the Lord's prayer, and in nothing is the
untrustworthiness of these Gospels, as to all exterior circumstances,
more conspicuous than in their assigning to the communication of this
most important prayer totally different times, different antecedents,
and different surroundings. For whereas Matthew brings it within his
all-comprehensive sermon on the mount, Luke causes it to be taught
in "a certain place" where Jesus was praying. The former makes Jesus
deliver it spontaneously; the latter in answer to the request of a
disciple; the former to a vast audience; the latter to the disciples
alone (Mt. vi. 9-13; Lu. xi. 1-4).

Discrepancies like these evince the hopelessness of attempting to
follow with accuracy the footsteps of Christ. We can obtain nothing
beyond the most general conception of his movements, if even that; and
of the order of the several events in his life we can have scarcely
any notion. Discourses, parables, conversations, miracles, follow one
another now in rapid succession. Leaving the consideration of the
doctrines taught for another place, we will notice here, without aiming
at a chronological arrangement, the principal scenes of his life; and,
beginning with his miracles, we will take before any others those in
which devils are expelled; or as we should say, maniacs are restored to
sanity.

A strange miracle of this kind is related of a man in the country of
the Gadarenes or Gergasenes. Matthew indeed, according to a common
habit of his, has made him into two men, but the other two Evangelists
agree that there was but one. This man was a raving lunatic, who had
defeated every effort to confine him hitherto made, and who lived
among tombs, crying and cutting himself with stones. Seeing Jesus, he
addressed him as the Son of the Most High God, and adjured him not to
torment him. On being asked his name, he said it was Legion, for they
were many. Having been ordered out by Jesus, he begged for leave to
enter into a herd of swine which was feeding near at hand; this was
granted, and the herd ran violently down a steep place into the sea and
were all drowned, their number being about two thousand (Mk. v. 1-20;
Mt. viii. 28-34; Lu. viii. 26-39). After this wanton destruction of
property, it is not surprising that the people "began to pray him to
depart out of their coasts." Jesus on this occasion certainly displayed
a singular tenderness towards the devils, and very little consideration
for the unfortunate owners of the pigs. Nor did the Legion gain much
by the bargain; for they lost their new habitation the moment they had
taken possession of it.

The disciples, as we have seen, had received power over devils, but
it appears from a remarkable story that they were not always able to
master them. For on returning to them after the transfiguration, Jesus
found a crowd about them engaged in some disputation. Having demanded
an explanation, a man told him that he had brought his son, who was
subject to violent fits, probably epileptic (Mark alone makes him deaf
and dumb), and begged the disciples to cure him, which they had been
unable to do. Hereupon, Jesus, bursting into an angry exclamation
against the "faithless and perverse generation" with whom he lived,
took the boy and healed him. Luke omits the private conversation with
the disciples which followed on this scene. They asked him, it is
said, why they had been thus unsuccessful. The answer is different in
Matthew and in Mark. In the former Gospel, he assigns a plain reason:
"because of your unbelief;" adding afterwards, "this kind does not
come out except by fasting and prayer." In Mark, the latter statement
constitutes the whole reply, no allusion being made to the disciples'
unbelief. It is noticeable, however, that in Mark alone the father is
required to believe before the boy is healed; a singular condition to
exact, since belief may generally be expected to follow on a miracle
rather than to precede it (Mk. ix. 14-29; Mt. xvii. 14-21; Lu. ix.
37-43).

In the case of the Syro-phœnician woman, however, there was no need
to impose it, for her faith, founded on the reputation of Jesus was
perfect. This woman came to him when he had gone upon an excursion
to the neighborhood of Tyre and Sidon, and begged him to cast out a
devil from her daughter, who was not present. He at first refused on
the ground of her being a Gentile, but after a remarkable dialogue,
confessed himself convinced by her arguments, and told her that on
her return she would find the daughter cured, which actually happened
(Mk. vii. 24-30; Mt. xv. 21-28). Here we have an instance of a remedy
effected at a distance, which can scarcely be credited at all unless
on the supposition that the daughter knew of her mother's expedition,
and had equal faith in Jesus. The probability is, however, that her
recovery is an invention, though the argument with the woman may
possibly be historical.

Belief in the production of diseases by demoniacal possession, and
in the power of exorcism over diseases so produced, is the common
condition of mind in barbarous or semi-civilized nations. The phenomena
which occurred in the first century in Judea are reproduced at the
present day in more than one quarter of the globe. Take, to begin with,
the theory of possession in Abyssinia, which I find quoted by Canon
Callaway from Stern's "Wanderings among the Falashes." Canon Callaway
observes that "in Abyssinia we meet with the word _Bouda_, applied to
a character more resembling the Abatakadi or wizards of these parts
[South Africa].... The _Bouda_, or an evil spirit called by the same
name and acting with him, takes possession of others, giving rise to
an attack known as 'Bouda symptoms,' which present the characteristics
of intense hysteria, bordering on insanity. Together with the _Boudas_
there is, of course, the exorcist, who has unusual powers, and, like
the _inyanga yokubula_, or diviner among the Amazulu, points out
those who are _Boudas_, that is, Abatakati" (R. S. A., part iii. pp.
280, 281). Describing the diseases of the Polynesian islanders, the
missionary Turner says: "Insanity is occasionally met with. It was
invariably traced in former times to the immediate presence of an
evil spirit" (N. Y., p. 221). Rising somewhat higher in the scale of
culture, the Singhalese, as depicted by Knox, present the spectacle
of patients whose symptoms are an almost exact reproduction of those
which afflicted the objects of the mercy of Jesus. "I have many times,"
he relates, "seen men and women of this country strangely possest,
insomuch that I could judge it nothing else but the effect of the
devil's power upon them, and they themselves do acknowledge as much. In
the like condition to which I never saw any that did profess to be a
worshiper of the holy name of Jesus. They that are thus possest, some
of them will run mad into the woods, screeching and roaring, but do
mischief to none; some will be taken so as to be speechless, shaking
and quaking, and dancing, and will tread upon the fire and not be hurt;
they will also talk idle, like distracted folk." The author proceeds to
say that the friends of these demoniac patients appeal to the devil for
their cure, believing their attacks to proceed from him (H. R. C., p.
77).

The striking successes of Jesus with maladies of this order naturally
brought him the reputation of ability to deal no less powerfully with
other diseases. Accordingly, a leper presented himself one day, and
kneeling to him said that if he wished he could make him clean. He
did so, and the leper, though enjoined to keep silence, went about
proclaiming the power of Jesus, who was consequently besieged by still
further throngs of applicants and of curious spectators (Mk. i. 40-45;
Mt. viii. 1-4; Lu. v. 12-16).

Illustrating the manner in which he was pursued, we find a curious
story. Jesus was in his own house at Capernaum, when a paralytic,
borne upon a couch, was brought to him to be healed. Unable from the
concourse about him to penetrate to Jesus, his bearers let him down
through an opening in the roof. After forgiving the man's sins, which
he claimed a right to do, he told him to take up his bed and walk.
This the paralytic at once did, to the amazement of the bystanders
(Mk. ii. 1-12; Mt. ix. 1-8; Lu. v. 18-26). Matthew, telling the same
story, omits the crowd and the circumstance of letting down the patient
through the roof; and these adjuncts may be fictitious in the special
case, but in so far as they bear witness to the thaumaturgic repute of
Jesus, have in them an element of genuine history.

Of various other miracles of healing with which Jesus is credited,
one of the most interesting is the alleged resuscitation of Jairus'
daughter. Jairus was a ruler of the synagogue; a personage therefore
of some note in his district; and his daughter, a little girl of
twelve years old, was dangerously ill, and supposed by her friends
to be at the point of death. At this critical moment Jairus repaired
to Jesus, and requested him to come and lay his hands on the little
maid, that she might live. Jesus consented, but before he could reach
the house messengers arrived who informed Jairus that his child was
already dead; he need not trouble the master. None the less did Jesus
proceed to the house, taking with him only the most intimate disciples,
Peter, James, and John. Here a strange scene awaited him. About, and
probably in the sick-room had gathered a crowd of people, relations,
friends, and dependants of Jairus, who were engaged in raising a wild
clamor of grief around the child. Flute-players were performing on
their instruments, while their lugubrious music was accompanied by the
tumultuous wailing and howling of the mourners. Jesus, having entered
the place, declared that the maiden was not dead, but sleeping; or
as we should say, in a state of insensibility. The people laughed in
derision at the assertion, but Jesus at once took the very proper and
sensible measure of turning them all out of the room (which was either
the sick-room itself or one close to it), and taking the damsel's
hand, commanded her to rise. She did so, and Jesus (again exhibiting
excellent sense) ordered that she should have something to eat (Mk.
v. 21-24, and 35-43; Mt. ix. 18, 19, and 23-26; Lu. viii. 40-42,
and 49-56). In this case we have a peculiarly valuable instance of
the manner in which miracles may be manufactured. Analyzed into its
elements of fact and its elements of inference, we find in it nothing
which cannot be easily understood without supposing either any exercise
of supernatural power or any deliberate fraud in the narrators. Observe
first, that in two out of the three versions the girl is reported by
Jairus not to be dead, but dying. True, before Jesus can get to her
it is announced that she is actually dead. But Jesus, having reached
the house, and having evidently seen the patient (though this fact
is only suffered to appear in Luke's version), expressly contradicts
this opinion, declaring that she is not dead, but unconscious. On what
particular symptom he founded this statement we do not know, but we
cannot, without accusing Jesus of deliberate untruthfulness, believe
that he made it without reason. At any rate, the measures taken by
him implied a decided conviction of the accuracy of his observation.
If she were, as he asserted, not dead, though dangerously ill, the
hubbub in the house, if suffered to continue, would very likely have
rendered her recovery impossible. Quiet was essential; and that having
been obtained, it was perfectly possible that under the soothing touch
and the care of Jesus she might awake from her trance far better than
before, and to all appearance suddenly restored to health. The crisis
of her case was over, and it may have been by preventing her foolish
friends from treating that crisis as death, that Jesus in reality saved
her life. And when she awoke, the order to give her food implied a
state of debility in which she could be assisted, not by supernatural,
but by very commonplace measures. Observe, however, the manner in
which in this case the myth has grown. In two of the Gospels, Mark and
Luke, Jairus comes to Jesus, not when his daughter is dead, but only
when she is supposed to be at the last gasp. There is no reason from
their accounts to believe that she died at all, her friends' opinion on
that point being contradicted by Jesus. But in Matthew the miracle is
enhanced by the statement of the father to Jesus that she was just dead
(Mt. ix. 18). Consistently with this account the message afterwards
sent to him from his house is omitted. Again, while it seems from the
manner in which Matthew and Mark relate what happened, that the words
of Jesus, "The maiden is not dead, but sleepeth," preceded his entry
into her room, it is clear from Luke that they succeeded it. And this
is consistent with the requirements of the case. Some of the mourners
and attendants must obviously have been by the bedside, and he could
not turn them out till he was himself beside it. Then clearing the
sick-chamber of useless idlers, he could proceed in peace to treat the
patient; while if we suppose that these people were all outside the
door, there is far less reason for their prompt expulsion. That this
is the true explanation of the miracle I do not venture to assert; I
have only been anxious to show, by a single instance, how easily the
tale of an astounding prodigy might arise out of a few perfectly simple
circumstances.

A curious incident took place on the way to the house of Jairus. A
woman who had had an issue of blood for twelve years, came behind Jesus
and touched his clothes, whereupon she was instantly healed. Jesus,
turning round, told her that her faith had saved her (Mk. v. 25-34;
Mt. ix. 20-22; Lu. viii. 43-48). Such is the fact as related by the
first Evangelist; but the other two, magnifying the marvel, place Jesus
in the midst of a throng of people pressing upon him, and make him
supernaturally conscious that some one has touched him in such a manner
as to extract remedial power out of him. Discovered by this instinct,
the woman tremblingly confesses her deed.

Neither contact, however, nor even the presence of Jesus on the spot,
were essential to a miracle of healing. A centurion, having a paralytic
servant, either went or sent others to Jesus, requesting that he would
heal him. Before Jesus could reach the house, he declared that he
was unworthy of receiving him within it, but entreated that the word
might be spoken, adding that his servant would then be healed. This
was done; and Jesus took occasion to point the moral by contrasting
the faith of this heathen with that of the Jews, dwelling on the
superior strength of the former (Mt. viii. 5-13; Lu. vii. 1-10). This
myth, which appears only in two Gospels, and in them with considerable
variations, seems to have been designed to glorify Jesus by making a
Roman officer acknowledge his powers. This intention is more evident in
Luke than in Matthew; for in Matthew the centurion comes himself; but
in Luke he sends "the elders of the Jews" to prefer his request, their
appearance evincing his importance, and therefore increasing the honor
done to Jesus by the suppliant attitude in which he stands. When Jesus
is near his house the officer still does not approach in person, but
sends friends, distinctly stating that he thought himself unworthy to
come himself, and intimating his belief that a mere word will be enough
to heal his servant. It is impossible to see why this message might
not have been sent in the first instance by the elders, and the cure
effected at once, but the two embassies to Jesus make a better story.
Thus, in this version the centurion, who in the other version gives an
interesting account of his official status, and receives the highest
praise for his faith, never actually sees Jesus at all; and the eulogy
is spoken not _to_ him, but _of_ him. Here, then, is another example of
the way in which tales of this kind grow in passing from mouth to mouth.

Sometimes much more materialistic means of healing were adopted. One
day, by the sea of Galilee, a deaf and dumb man was brought to Jesus.
In this case he took the man aside, put his fingers into his ears,
spat, touched his tongue, looked up to heaven, sighed, and said,
Ephphatha, or, Be opened (Mk. vii. 31-37). When a word was sufficient,
it was singular to go through all these performances, and the whole
proceeding has somewhat the air of a piece of jugglery. At Bethsaida
he dealt in like manner with a blind man, leading him out of the town,
spitting upon his eyes, and then putting his hands upon him. Asked
whether he saw, the man replied that he saw men as trees walking,
whereupon a further application of the hand to his eyes caused him to
see clearly (Mk. viii. 22-26). Here the remark presents itself that if
anything of the sort ever occurred, the man could not have been born
blind, since he would then have been unable to distinguish either men
or trees by sight. It must have been a blindness due to accident or
disease of the eyes, and might not have been total. But the whole story
is probably mythical.

Two more miracles of healing rest on the authority of the third
Gospel alone. By one of them ten lepers, who had asked for mercy,
were suddenly cleansed after they had gone away. One only of the ten,
a Sâmaritan, turned round to glorify God and to utter his gratitude.
Jesus then observes: "'Were not the ten cleansed? Where are the nine?
Were there none found that returned to give glory to God, except this
stranger?' And he said to him, 'Arise, go; thy faith hath saved thee'"
(Lu. xvii. 11-19). Here the intention of exalting the Sâmaritan above
the Jews is very evident.

Another prodigy was worked at the town of Nain, where the only son
of a widow was just dead, and his body was being carried out to the
burial-place. Jesus touched the bier, and the widow's son rose to life,
to the terror of the spectators, who declared that a great prophet
had been raised up, and that God had looked upon his people (Lu. vii.
11-17).

Though the miracles of Jesus were principally of a remedial character,
there were others which were rather designed to evince his power.
Conspicuous among this class is that of feeding a multitude of five
thousand people who had followed him into a desert place, and whose
hunger he satisfied by the supernatural multiplication of five loaves
and two fishes (Mk. vi. 30-45, and viii. 1-9; Mt. xiv. 14-21, and xv.
29-38; Lu. ix. 10-17; Jo. vi. 1-15). Of this wonder a double version,
slightly different in details, has been embodied in the first two
Gospels. It is plainly the same story coming from different sources.
John, whose miracles are seldom identical with those of the synoptics,
relates this one nearly in the same way; except that according to him
it was a lad and not (as in the other Gospels) the disciples, who had
the food on which the marvel was operated. The number of persons is
stated in all four Gospels to be five thousand (and on the second
occasion in the two first Gospels four thousand); but Matthew alone has
striven to enhance the miracle still further by adding to these numbers
the words, "besides women and children."

Immediately after this miracle the disciples entered a boat to cross
the lake of Galilee, leaving their master on land. A storm overtook
them at night, and as they were laboring through it, they saw Jesus
walking towards them on the water. Alarmed at such an apparition they
cried out in fear; but Jesus reassured them, and was received into
their boat, whereupon the wind fell (Mk. vi. 45-52; Mt. xiv. 22-33;
Jo. vi. 16-21). To this Matthew, unlike Mark and John, adds that Peter
also attempted the feat of walking on the lake; but being timid, began
to sink, and had to be rescued by Jesus. John alone adds to the first
miracle a further one: namely, that immediately upon his entrance into
the ship, they were at the land whither they went.

A somewhat similar performance is that of stilling a violent storm on
the lake of Galilee, which seems to have astonished even the disciples
in the boat, accustomed as they must have been to prodigies. At least
their exclamation, "What sort of man then is this, that even the wind
and the sea obey him?" looks as if all his influence over devils and
diseases had failed to convince them of his true character (Mk. iv.
35-41; Mt. viii. 23-27; Lu. viii. 22-25).

All doubt upon this score must have been removed in the minds of three
at least of the disciples by a scene which occurred in their presence.
Peter, James and John accompanied him one day to a high mountain,
where he was transfigured before them; his raiment becoming white and
shining. Elijah and Moses were seen with him, and Peter, evidently
bewildered, proposed to make three tabernacles. A voice came from
heaven: "This is my beloved son: hear him." Suddenly the apparition
vanished; Jesus alone remained with the disciples, and on the way
down charged them to tell no one of what they had seen till after the
resurrection (Mk. ix. 2-13; Mt. xvii. 1-13; Lu. ix. 28-36). This is a
suspicious circumstance, which means, if it mean anything, that the
transfiguration was never thought of till after the death of Jesus,
and that this order of his was invented to account for the otherwise
unaccountable silence of the three disciples. For is it to be imagined
that Peter, James, and John could keep the secret of this marvelous
event, which was so well fitted to confirm the faith of believers, and
to convince the Jews in general of the Messianic nature of the prophet?
And if they did keep the secret, what weight is to be attached to their
evidence, given long after the event, and when exalted views of the
divinity of the Christ who had risen from death were already current?

Such are some of the "mighty works" for which Jesus claimed, and his
disciples yielded, the title of "son of man," or "son of God," and
assumed the authority of the "Messiah" whom the Jewish nation expected.
But this claim was recognized neither by the spiritual heads of the
Jews, nor by the great bulk of the people. Indeed he had given great
offense to their religious sentiment both by putting forward such
pretensions, and by the opinions he had expressed on various topics.
The language which had caused their hostility, as belonging to his
historical and not to his mythical personality, will be considered
elsewhere. But the accounts—semi-mythical, semi-historical—which have
reached us of the closing scenes of his life, must be passed under
review now.

Long before his actual arrest, the Gospels tell us that he had
predicted to his disciples the sufferings that were to befall him.
Peter, according to one of the versions, had remonstrated with him on
these forebodings, and had received from him in consequence one of the
sharpest reprimands he had ever given, with the opprobrious epithet
of "Satan." It is further stated that he prophesied his resurrection,
and his return to earth in glory with the angels of his Father. To
this was added another prediction which proved false, that there were
some standing there who should not taste of death till the son of man
came in his kingdom. Gloomy expressions as to the necessity of his
followers taking up their crosses and being ready to lose their lives
also escaped him (Mk. viii. 31-ix. 1; Mt. xvi. 21-28; Lu. ix. 22-27).
A little later, he is said to have distinctly given vent to similar
expectations as to his approaching end, though without being able to
make himself understood by his disciples (Mk. ix. 30-32; Mt. xvii. 22,
23; Lu. ix. 44, 45). Again, on the way to Jerusalem where he intended
to celebrate the passover, he took all his twelve disciples aside, and
distinctly foretold his execution there, and his resurrection on the
third day (Mk. x. 32-34; Mt. xx. 17-19; Lu. xviii. 31-34).

Those portions of his prophecies which related to his death at the
hands of the Jewish rulers, though not those which related to his
return in glory, were destined to be soon fulfilled. Determined to
insist publicly upon his title to the Messianic throne, Jesus resolved
upon a triumphal entry into Jerusalem. Having sent two disciples from
the Mount of Olives to fetch a colt, hitherto unridden, which he
informed them the owners would surrender on hearing that the Lord had
need of it, he mounted this animal and rode into the city amid the
shouts and acclamations of his supporters. Many are said to have spread
their garments in his path; others to have cut down branches from
trees, and strewed them before him. Those that went before and behind
him kept cheering as he rode, exclaiming: "Hosanna, blessed is he who
cometh in the name of the Lord; blessed is the coming kingdom of our
father David; hosanna in the highest" (Mk. xi. 1-11; Mt. xxi. 1-11; Lu.
xix. 29-39; Jo. xii. 12-16).

This remarkable scene is described in all the Gospels; but while the
three first represent Jesus as sending to fetch the colt, or the ass
and colt, which he in some mysterious manner knows that the man will
give up, the fourth makes him take the ass and mount it; not as in
the other versions before the triumphal reception, but after it had
begun. So that as to these important circumstances the two accounts
are entirely at issue; that of John being the more natural. That Jesus
actually entered Jerusalem in this fashion is highly probable, for
we find in the Gospels themselves a motive assigned which might well
have led him to select it for his approach to the capital. There was
a prophecy in Zechariah with which he was no doubt familiar: "Rejoice
greatly, O daughter of Zion: shout, O daughter of Jerusalem: behold,
thy King cometh unto thee, just and victorious is he; lowly, and riding
upon an ass, and upon a foal, the young of asses" (Zech. ix. 9). With
the views he held as to his Messiahship, Jesus may well have been
anxious to show that this prophecy was fulfilled in his person.

On the day after his entry on the ass, on coming from Bethany he was
hungry, and finding a fig-tree without fruit, he cursed it. Mark says
that the disciples found it withered the next day; Matthew increasing
the marvelous element, that they saw it wither "immediately." Mark also
adds that it was not the season for figs, which, if correct, would have
made it absurdly irrational in Jesus to expect them (Mk. xi. 12-14,
and 20-26; Mt. xxi. 18-22). If we accept the more natural supposition
that it was the season, but that this individual tree was barren, then
we may easily understand that the absence of fruit and the withered
condition of the tree were both parts of the same set of phenomena, and
that the disciples may have observed them about the same time.

Human beings were the next victims of the wrath of Jesus. The
money-changers and dove-sellers were turned out of the temple by him;
the fourth Gospel alone mentioning a scourge of small cords as the
weapon employed (Mk. xi. 12-14; Mt. xxxi. 12, 13; Lu. xix, 45, 46;
Jo. ii. 15-18). A question put by the authorities as to his right to
act thus was met by a counter-question, and finally left unanswered
(Mk. xi. 27-33; Mt. xxi. 23-27; Lu. xx. 1-8.). The chief priests now
consulted together as to the measures to be taken with a view of
bringing him to trial, but hesitated to do anything on the feast-day
for fear of popular disturbances. Matthew tells us, what the other
two do not know, that they assembled at the palace of the high priest
Caiaphas, and also puts in the mouth of Jesus a distinct prophecy that
after two days he will be betrayed to be crucified (Mk. xiv. 1, 2; Mt.
xxvi. 1-5; Luke xxii. 1, 2.).

A similar foreboding is expressed, according to Matthew, Mark, and
John, in reference to an incident which is variously described by these
three Evangelists. Matthew and Mark agree in saying, that on this
occasion he was taking a repast at the house of Simon the leper, when
a woman came up to him with a box of very precious ointment and poured
it on his head. Here, according to Mark, "some," according to Matthew,
"the disciples," were indignant at the waste of the ointment, which
might, they said, have been sold "for much," or "for three hundred
pence," and the proceeds given to the poor. But Jesus warmly took up
the woman's cause, for, he remarked, "she has wrought a good work on
me. For you always have the poor with you, but me ye have not always.
For in pouring this ointment on my body she has done it for my burial."
Mark now how strangely this simple story has been perverted in the
fourth Gospel to suit the purposes of the writer. The date he assigns
to it—six days before the passover—is nearly the same as that given in
the second Gospel, where it is placed two days before that festival.
The place, Bethany, is also identical. But the other circumstances are
widely different. In this Gospel alone is anything known of an intimate
friend of Jesus, Lazarus by name. In it alone is there any mention of
one of his most astounding miracles, the restoration of Lazarus to
life. Consistently with his peculiar notion of the relations of Jesus
with this man's family he says nothing of Simon the leper, but without
telling us in whose house Jesus was, mentions that Lazarus was among
the guests, and that his sister Martha was serving. Further, he asserts
that the woman who brought the ointment was Mary, the other sister.
Instead of pouring it on his head, she is made to anoint his feet, and
wipe them with her hair. Instead of the disciples, or some unknown
people, being angry at the waste, it is Judas Iscariot in whose mouth
the obnoxious comment is placed. The sum he names, three hundred pence,
is the same as that assigned in Mark as the value of the ointment. But
in order to cover Judas with still further obloquy, the Evangelist
charges him with a desire to obtain this sum, not for the poor, but
for himself; he being the bearer of the common purse, and being in the
habit of dishonestly appropriating some portion of its contents (Mk.
xiv. 3-9; Mt. xxvi. 6-13; Jo. xii. 3-8). Of such an accusation not a
trace is to be found in the other Gospels, whose writers were assuredly
not likely to spare the reputation of Judas if it were open to attack.
Nor does the author of this insinuation offer one particle of evidence
in its support.

The steps by which a story grows from an indefinite to a definite,
from a historical to a mythical form, are admirably illustrated in
this instance. A tradition is preserved in which, while the main event
is clear, many of the surrounding circumstances have been suffered
to escape from memory. Writer after writer takes it up, and finding
it thus imperfect, adds to it detail after detail until its whole
complexion is altered. Even the main event may not always be exempted
from the transfiguring process; as here, where the feet of Jesus are
substituted for the head, and the interesting picture introduced of
Mary wiping them with her hair, and consequently placing herself in a
situation of the deepest humility. And if the central incident is thus
unsafe, still more so are its adjuncts. First, the woman is unknown,
as are those who murmur against her. Then, in the second stage, the
woman is still unknown, but the murmurers are known generally as the
disciples. But no bad motive is as yet assigned for their censure.
Lastly, in the third stage, the woman is known, the murmurer is known
specifically as _one_ disciple, and a bad motive is assigned for his
censure. Such is the way in which myths grow up.

The circumstance we have next to deal with is obscure, not because too
much has been added, but because something has been omitted. Jesus had
now drawn upon him the mortal hatred of the priests of the temple.
He was well aware of his danger, as many of his expressions show. He
endeavored to avoid it by living in concealment in or near Jerusalem.
Not that we are told of this in so many words, but that the course of
the story renders it a necessary assumption. For all the Gospels inform
us that one of his disciples, Judas named Iscariot, went to the chief
priests and betrayed him, receiving a pecuniary reward for the service
thus rendered (Mk. xiv. 10, 11; Mt. xxvi. 14-16; Lu. xxii. 3-6; Jo.
xiii. 2, 27). As to this fact there is complete unanimity, and it is
borne out by the manner of his arrest as subsequently depicted. We
cannot then treat it as a fiction; but it is plain that had Jesus been
leading the open and public life described in the Gospels, there would
have been no secret to betray, and no reward to be earned. A period,
more or less long, of retirement to some spot known only to friends,
must therefore be taken for granted. John alludes to something of the
sort, though not distinctly, when he relates that there was a garden
across the brook Cedron, to which he often resorted with his disciples,
and which was known to Judas. But the Christian tradition did not like
to acknowledge that Christ, whom it represents as braving death, ever
lurked in hidden places like a criminal, and at the same time it wished
to brand the memory of Judas with infamy. Hence the suppression of a
fact without which the story cannot be understood. The expressions,
"he sought how he might conveniently betray him" (Mk. xiv. 11); or "he
sought opportunity to betray him" (Mt. xxvi. 26), plainly point to the
same inference.

There are some differences in the manner in which the proceedings of
Judas are related. All the Gospels agree that he received money, but
Matthew alone knows how much. This Evangelist had in his mind a passage
in Zechariah, which he erroneously attributes to Jeremiah, and which
moreover he misquotes (Mt. xxvii. 9). In the original it runs thus:
"And I said unto them [the poor of the flock], If it is good in your
eyes, give me my hire; and if not, forbear. And they weighed for my
hire thirty pieces of silver."[26] Matthew and Mark merely state that
Judas betrayed his master, giving no reason for his conduct. Luke,
however, represents it as a consequence of Satan having entered into
him (Lu. xxii. 3); while John in like manner states that the devil put
it into his heart, and even knows the very moment when Satan entered
into him (Jo. xiii. 2, 27). This Evangelist alone places the first
steps taken by Judas after the last supper, instead of before it, and
strangely enough so arranges the course of events, that he only acts
upon the resolution to betray him after a distinct declaration by Jesus
that he was about to do so.

Slightly anticipating the course of the narrative, we may mention here
the singular myth of the unhappy end of the traitor Judas; a myth
which is of peculiar interest inasmuch as its origin is distinctly
traceable to a mistranslation of a verse in Zechariah. The passage
quoted above continues thus: "And Jehovah spoke to me: Throw it to the
treasure, the costly mantle with which I am honored by them; and I took
the thirty pieces of silver and threw them into the temple of Jehovah
to the treasure." But the word here used for the treasure commonly
signifies potter, and was hence interpreted "Throw it to the potter."
Out of this mistake arose the story that Judas, ashamed of his bargain,
returned the money to the chief priests, who, deeming it unlawful to
put it in the treasury, bought therewith the "potter's field to bury
strangers in." Thus, observes Matthew, "was fulfilled that which was
spoken by Jeremy the prophet." Judas, having parted with his ill-gotten
gain, committed suicide by hanging (Mt. xxvii. 3-10). So at least says
Matthew; but Luke, making confusion worse confounded, represents Judas
himself as purchasing the field "with the reward of iniquity;" after
which he fell headlong, and bursting in the middle, his bowels gushed
out (Acts i. 18, 19). Of this notorious fact, "known," according to the
Acts of the Apostles, "to all the dwellers at Jerusalem," Matthew at
least was wholly ignorant. But both versions equally originate in the
defective Hebrew of the translators of Zechariah.

In all the synoptical Gospels, the celebration of the passover by
Jesus and his disciples succeeds the secret arrangement of Judas
with the high priests. He kept it in Jerusalem, in the house of a
man whose name is not mentioned, but who must have been one of his
adherents. The encounter with this man is represented in two of the
three versions as something miraculous. On the first day of unleavened
bread Jesus told two of his disciples (according to Mark), James and
John (according to Luke), to go into Jerusalem, where they would meet a
man bearing a pitcher of water. Him they were to follow, and wherever
he went in, they were to say to the master of the house, "Where is the
guest-chamber, where I may eat the passover with my disciples?" He
would then show them a large furnished upper room, where they were to
prepare it. Nothing but a perfectly natural version of all this appears
in Matthew. There Jesus tells his disciples to go into the city to
So-and-so (the name therefore having been given), and tell him that he
wished to keep the passover at his house (Mk. xiv. 12-16; Mt. xxvi.
17-19; Lu. xxii. 7-13). Here again we see how easily a wondrous tale
may originate in a very simple fact.

Supper was accordingly prepared in the man's house, and Jesus ate the
passover there with his disciples. At this supper, according to all
the Gospels, he mentioned the fact that one of them would betray him.
Whether in so doing he actually named the traitor is uncertain. Mark's
account is that when he had predicted that one would betray him, the
disciples in sorrow inquired one by one, "Is it I?" and that Jesus told
them it was the one who dipped with him in the dish. Luke leaves it
still more indefinite. There Jesus merely says, "the hand of him that
betrays me is with me on the table," and no further inquiry is made
by any one. Matthew, like Mark, represents each disciple as asking
whether he was the one, and Jesus as giving the same indication about
the dish. But he adds that Judas himself asked, "Is it I?" and that
Jesus answered, "Thou hast said." Quite different is the account in
John. There, instead of all the disciples inquiring whether it was he,
a single disciple, leaning on the breast of Jesus, asks, on a sign
from Peter, who it was to be. Jesus does not reply that it was he who
dipped in the dish, but he to whom he should give a sop. He then gives
the sop to Judas, and tells him to do quickly that which he is about
to do; words understood by no one present.[27] The improbability of
any of these stories is obvious. In the three first, Judas is pointed
out to all the eleven as a man who is about to give up their master to
punishment, and probable death, yet no step was taken or even suggested
by any of them either to impede the false disciple in his movements,
or to save Jesus by flight and concealment. The announcement is taken
as quietly as if it were an every-day occurrence that was referred to.
John's narrative avoids this difficulty by supposing the intimation
that Judas was the man to be conveyed by a private signal understood
only by Peter and the disciple next to Jesus. These two may have felt
it necessary to keep the secret, but why then could they not understand
the words of Jesus to Judas, or why not at least inquire whether they
had reference to his treachery, which had just before been so plainly
intimated? That Jesus, with his keen vision, may have divined the
proceedings of Judas, is quite possible; that he could have spoken of
them at the table in this open way without exciting more attention, is
hardly credible.

It was at this same passover that Christ, conscious of his approaching
end, blessed the bread and the cup of wine, and giving them to his
disciples, told them that the one was his body, and the other his blood
in the new testament, or the new testament of his blood (Mk. xiv.
22-25; Mt. xxvi. 26-29; Lu. xxii. 14-21; I Cor. xi. 23-25). John who
was confused about dates in his biography, supposes that this supper
took place before the feast of the passover, instead of at it, and,
consistently with this view, he says nothing of the institution of the
Eucharist, which had a peculiar reference to the Jewish feast-day.
Instead thereof, he introduces another ceremony, of which neither the
other Evangelists nor Paul say a word; that of washing the disciples'
feet by Jesus. This was done to make them "clean every whit" (though it
had no such effect on Judas), and also to set them an example of mutual
kindness (Jo. xiii. 4-17).

The passover eaten, Jesus retired with his disciples to the Mount of
Olives. Being in a prophetic mood, he foretold that all his disciples
would forsake him in the hour of danger now approaching, and that
Peter would deny him. This Peter resented, though it was destined to
be soon fulfilled. After this Jesus went to Gethsemane, and taking
his three principal disciples apart from the rest, told them that his
soul was sorrowful unto death, and begged them to remain and watch
while he prayed. Going a little forward, he prayed earnestly that the
coming trial might pass from him, yet with submission to God's will.
Returning, he found his three friends asleep, and this happened twice
again, these devoted men sleeping calmly on until the very moment when
the officers of the Sanhedrim came to arrest their Lord. Luke adorns
this scene—which he places at the Mount of Olives without mentioning
the garden of Gethsemane—with ampler details. Mark and Matthew know
nothing of the exact distance of Jesus from his disciples; Luke knows
that it was about a stone's throw. Moreover, all the number are
present, not only Peter, James, and John. Sweat like drops of blood
falls from Christ. An angel appears to strengthen him. All this is
new; as is the representation that the disciples were sleeping from
sorrow,—a motive which the Evangelist no doubt felt it needful to
assign in order to vindicate their honor. The other two biographers,
who content themselves with saying that "Their eyes were heavy,"
certainly keep more within the limits of probability (Mk. xiv. 32-42;
Mt. xxvi. 36-46; Lu. xxii. 39-46).

No sooner was the prayer concluded than Judas, accompanied by a large
_posse comitatus_ armed with swords and staves, came from the Jewish
authorities. Resistance to the arrest must have been expected, and
not wholly without reason; for as soon as the officers, in obedience
to the preconcerted signal of a kiss from Judas, had seized Jesus, one
of his party drew a sword and cut off the ear of the high priest's
servant. This incident is related in various ways in all the Gospels.
In Mark, Jesus addresses no rebuke to the disciple who commits this
action. In Matthew, he tells him to put up his sword, for all who
take the sword shall perish by the sword. In Luke, the progress to
greater definiteness which has been noted as characterizing these
semi-historical myths has begun. In the first place, before going to
the Mount of Olives, the disciples provide themselves with two swords;
and Jesus, on their mentioning the fact, says, "It is enough." Then the
writer knows that it was the right ear which was cut off. More than
this, he gives artistic finish to the whole by making Jesus touch the
place and heal the wound: though whether a new ear grew, or the old
one was put on again, he does not tell us. More definite still is the
version in John. This Evangelist, as we saw in another case, is fond of
supplying names. Thus, he pretends to know here that it was Peter who
cut off the ear, and that its owner was called Malchus. Peter is called
to order in his version, but Malchus is not healed. Plainly it was the
sense of justice of the third Evangelist that made him shrink from
leaving an innocent dependent in this mutilated condition, when he knew
that Christ might so easily have restored the missing member.

While in the synoptical Gospels it is Judas who by a kiss points
out Jesus, in John it is Jesus himself who comes forward to declare
himself. Hereupon the party deputed by the priests go backwards and
fall to the ground. They soon recover themselves enough to arrest him.
In all the versions he suffers himself to be quietly taken, while in
all but John he resents, with much dignity, the sending of such a force
against him, as though he had been a thief; while in fact he had often
taught openly in the temple and had not been stopped. Their master
once taken, the courage of the disciples was at an end. They all fled.
Jesus was brought before the Sanhedrim, and evidence, of the tenor
of which we are not informed, was produced against him. Lastly, two
witnesses deposed that they had heard him say, "I am able to destroy
this temple, and in three days to rebuild it;" or, "I will destroy this
temple made with hands, and will build another not made with hands in
three days." Mark endeavors to depreciate these witnesses by saying
that their evidence did not agree; and he himself is liable to the
remark that his report of their evidence does not agree with that of
Matthew, while in neither Gospel does the utterance attributed by these
men to Jesus tally exactly with that assigned to him in John, "Destroy
this temple, and in three days I will raise it up" (Jo. ii. 19). The
agreement, however, is close enough to render it probable that some
such expression was used, and some such evidence given. Neither Luke
nor John know anything of witnesses against Jesus. But Luke, in common
with the other synoptical Gospels, asserts that he not only admitted,
but emphatically confirmed the charge—distinctly put to him by the high
priest—of being the Son of God. On this confession he was unanimously
found guilty of blasphemy.

Wholly different is the conduct of the trial in John, whose account,
moreover, is confused and ill-written in the extreme. With his usual
proneness to give names, he says that Jesus was taken first before
Annas, the father-in-law of Caiaphas the high priest. Annas sent him
bound to Caiaphas. The high priest (the council is not alluded to)
carried on an informal conversation with Jesus, inquiring about his
doctrine and disciples; questions which the latter, on the plea of the
publicity of his teaching, refused to answer. There is no mention of
blasphemy; no conviction on any charge; no expression of opinion on the
part of Caiaphas; though from the fact that he committed the prisoner
for trial before the Roman court, it may be inferred that he considered
him guilty.[28]

During the trial by the Sanhedrim, a singular scene was passing in the
ante-room. There Peter, who alone of the disciples had followed his
master (for the mention of another is peculiar to John), was warming
himself among the attendants. Questioned by maids and officers of the
court whether he had not been among the disciples of the accused, he
vehemently, three several times, repudiated the supposition, though
his Galilean accent told heavily against him. According to John, the
question was put on the third occasion by a relative of Malchus, who
had seen him in the garden. The other Evangelists are less specific.
Now Jesus had foretold that Peter would thus deny him, and that his
falsehoods would be followed by the crowing of a cock. Immediately
after the last denial, this signal occurred; and Peter, according to
all the Gospels but the fourth, went out and wept over his meanness.[29]

Convicted by the Sanhedrim, the prisoner was now placed at the bar of
the civil tribunal. The procurator of Judea at this time was a man
named Pontius Pilatus. His character does not stand high. Neander
terms him "an image of the corruption which then prevailed among
distinguished Romans" (Leben Jesu, p. 687). Appointed in the year 23,
he was recalled in 37 on account of the slaughter of some Sâmaritans
in a battle. He had insulted the prejudices of the people he governed
by setting up the standards of the Roman army within the walls of
Jerusalem, and had threatened an armed attack upon the peaceable Jews
who went to Cæsarea to remonstrate against this novel measure. On
another occasion he had taken some of the revenues of the temple to
construct an aqueduct, and when the work was interrupted by the people,
had set disguised soldiers upon them, who killed them without mercy.

Such a man was not likely to be excessively troubled by scruples about
the execution of an innocent victim. On the other hand it is perfectly
possible that he might, comparing the prisoner with the prosecutors,
prefer the former. Having no love for the Jewish people, an object
of their antipathy might become to a certain extent an object of his
sympathy. But beyond this, it would be absurd to suppose that a man of
the character of Jesus would inspire him with any sort of regard, or
that he would hesitate to take his life if it suited his purpose. The
simplest account of the trial bears out this expectation. Questioned by
Pilate as to the charge preferred against him, of claiming to be the
king of the Jews, the prisoner answered by an admission of its truth:
"Thou sayest it." To other accusations urged against him by the priests
he made no reply. Pilate wondered at his silence, and endeavored, but
without success, to extract an answer. While the conduct of the accused
man must have appeared to him not a little strange, Pilate may also
have thought that the pretensions to kingship of a peaceable fanatic,
with but few and obscure followers, were nowise dangerous to the Roman
government. It was his custom at this festival to release a prisoner,
leaving the people, or the Jewish authorities, to decide whom. He now
proposed to release Jesus, but the suggestion was not accepted, and the
liberation of a well-known political prisoner, who had been engaged in
an insurrectionary enterprise, was demanded instead. Pilate naturally
enough preferred the would-be Messiah to the actual rebel. The Jews as
naturally preferred the rebel. They clamored for the crucifixion of
Jesus, and Pilate—afraid perhaps that by too much anxiety to save him
he would expose himself to misrepresentation before Tiberius—gave way
to their demand.

So far Mark; and as to the charge against Jesus, and the procurator's
treatment of it, the other Evangelists are all at one with him. But
each has adorned the trial with additional incidents after his own
fashion. Matthew has a ridiculous story of an interference with the
course of justice by Pilate's wife, who on the strength of a dream
entreated him to have nothing to do with "that just man." Matthew, as
we have seen before, was a great believer in dreams. Then he is so
desirous of clearing the character of the Roman, that he describes him
as washing his hands in token of his innocence before the multitude,
who cry out that the blood of Jesus is to be on them and their
children. In Luke, there is a new variation. Learning that Jesus was a
Galilean, Pilate sent him to Herod, who had long been anxious to see
him, but who could not now induce him to answer any of his questions.
Herod, like Pilate, found no fault in him, and sent him back after
treating him with ridicule. Pilate's reluctance to convict Jesus is
much magnified in this Gospel. He insists on Herod's inability, as
well as his own, to discover any capital offense committed by him,
and three several times proposes to the prosecution to chastise him
and then dismiss him. In John, the conversation of Pilate with Jesus
is wholly different. In the first place, it takes place alone, or at
any rate in the absence of the accusers, for these had refused to be
defiled by entering the court; and Pilate is represented as going out
to them to inquire into the charge. This is to suit the blunder about
dates committed in this Gospel, according to which the last supper was
before, and the trial at the very time of, the passover. The Jews,
therefore, stand without, and the prisoner is within. The prisoner does
not refuse, as in all the other versions, to answer Pilate's questions,
but enters at some length into his doctrine, explaining the unworldly
nature of his kingdom. Pilate places the purple robe and the crown
of thorns upon him before his condemnation, instead of after it, and
then tells the Jews that he finds no fault in him. Yet after this he
desires them to crucify him, although he was guiltless. Hereupon the
Jews tell him that he had made himself the Son of God. At this, Pilate
is frightened, and enters into further conversation with Jesus. After
hearing him expound another theory, he is still very anxious to release
him, but is forced to yield by an intimation that no friend of Cæsar's
would protect a rival to the throne (Mk. xv. 1-14; Mt. xxvii. 1, 2,
and 11-25; Lu. xxiii. 1-23; Jo. xviii. 28-40). Anything more utterly
improbable than this scene it is difficult to imagine. The picture
of the Roman governor of Judea going backwards and forwards between
accusers and accused; listening to the theological fancies of the
accused; helpless against the pressure of the accusers; alarmed at the
pretensions to divinity of a young Galilean artisan; are sufficient in
themselves to stamp this Gospel with the mark of unveracity.

Sentenced to death, Jesus was now scourged; a purple robe was put
upon him, and a crown of thorns about his head (not upon it as was
afterwards said): he was saluted in mockery as king of the Jews, and
smitten with a reed upon the head. After this cruel ceremony he was led
out to Golgotha to be crucified, a man named Simon being compelled to
bear his cross (Mk. xv. 15-21; Mt. xxvii. 26-32; Lu. xxiii. 24-26; Jo.
xix. 1-16). Luke is singular in the introduction of a large company of
women who follow Jesus to the crucifixion and draw from him a prophecy
of terrible evils to come upon them and their children; for themselves,
and not for him, they were to weep (Lu. xxiii. 27-31). The other
versions say nothing of any friends or followers, male or female, as
being present at this period, though they do mention many women as
looking on from a distance during the crucifixion. These, however,
were not daughters of Jerusalem (like the women in Luke), but Galilean
admirers who had followed him to the capital. His mother was certainly
not among them, or she could not fail to have been mentioned in the
synoptical Gospels; whereas the only names we meet with are those of
Mary Magdalene; Mary, mother of James and Joses; and Salome, apparently
the same person as the mother of Zebedee's children (Mk. xv. 40, 41;
Mt. xxvii. 55, 56).

These were among the spectators of the melancholy end of him who had
been their teacher and their friend. He was crucified between two
criminals, with an inscription on his cross which is differently
reported in every Gospel, but of which the substance was that he was
the king of the Jews. A stupifying drink which Matthew (in accordance
with a supposed prophecy) (Ps. lxix. 21) calls vinegar and gall, was
offered him by the executioners; not as Luke supposes, in mockery,
but with the humane intention of allaying the pain. His clothes were
divided among the party of soldiers; a circumstance in which the
Evangelists as usual endeavor to see the fulfillment of prophecy. In
Psalm xxii. 18, we read: "They part my garments among them, and cast
lots upon my vesture." The Synoptics content themselves here with
stating that the soldiers drew lots for his clothing, but John anxious
to fulfill this prophecy in the most literal manner possible, pretends
that they divided the articles of his apparel into four parts, but
finding the coat without seam, agreed not to tear it, but to apportion
it by lot. Luke is the sole reporter of a saying of Jesus uttered in
his last moments: "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they
do" (Mk. xv. 23-28; Mt. xxvii. 34-38; Lu. xxiii. 32-34, 36; Jo. xix.
17-24).

The pangs of death must have been greatly embittered to Jesus if
it be true that not only the priests and passers by, but the very
criminals who were crucified with him, ridiculed his claim to be king
of Israel, and suggested that he should prove it to demonstration by
saving himself from the cross. All the synoptical Gospels agree in
this account, with the single exception that Luke includes only one
of the malefactors among the scorners. According to this Gospel, the
other rebuked his fellow-convict for his misbehavior, and addressed
to him a few moral remarks; which, however, were perhaps not quite
disinterested, for at its close he requested Jesus to remember him in
his kingdom, and received an ample reward in the shape of a promise
from the latter that he should be with him that day in Paradise. But
where was the impenitent criminal to be? About his fate there is an
ominous obscurity, and it evidently did not occur to the writer that
the forgiveness which Jesus had just been praying his Father to grant
his enemies, he might himself have extended to this miserable man (Mk.
xv. 29-32; Mt. xxvii. 39-44; Lu. xxiii. 35-43).

Another incident of the closing hours of Jesus is known to the fourth
Evangelist alone. According to the others, the women who watched him
expire were standing far off. But according to John, his mother Mary,
her sister, and Magdalene were all at the foot of the cross. There also
was the disciple whom Jesus loved, and who in the three other Gospels
had run away. Before he died, Jesus committed his mother to the care
of this disciple as to a son, and he afterwards took her home. The
dogmatic purpose of this story is evident. Mary had not been converted
by her son during his life-time, and it was important to bring her to
the foot of the cross at his death, and to place her in this close
connection with one of his principal disciples (Jo. xix. 25-27).

As to the last words of Jesus, there is an amount of divergence which
shows that no account can be regarded as trustworthy. Mark and Matthew
both relate that he called out, "Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?" an
exclamation which he may really have uttered, or which, as coming
from a prophetic Psalm, may have seemed to them appropriate. Hereupon
a sponge of vinegar was offered him under the impression that he was
calling Elias, and with a loud cry he gave up the ghost. In Luke he
cries loudly, and then says, "Father, into thy hands I commend my
spirit." With these words (also from one of the Psalms) upon his lips,
he dies. In John he says, "I am thirsty:" and after receiving some
vinegar, adds, "It is finished;" and bowing his head, gives up the
ghost (Mk. xv. 34-37; Mt. xxvii. 46-50; Lu. xxiii. 46; Jo. xix. 28-30).

With the death of Christ, and indeed immediately before it, we pass
from the region of mixed history and mythology into that of pure
mythology. With the exception of his burial, all that follows has been
deliberately invented. The wonders attendant upon his closing hours
belong in part to the typical order of myths, and in part to an order
peculiar to himself. The darkness from the sixth to the ninth hour, the
rending of the temple veil, the earthquake, the rending of the rocks,
are altogether like the prodigies attending the decease of other great
men. The centurion's exclamation, "Truly this man was just," or "Truly
this man was the son of God" (it is differently reported), is a myth
belonging peculiarly to Christ, and designed to exhibit the enforced
confession of his greatness by an incredulous Roman. In Matthew, where
the more modest narratives of Mark and Luke are greatly improved upon
by additional details, it is further added that many bodies of saints
arose, and after the resurrection appeared to many in Jerusalem (Mk.
xv. 33-39; Mt. xxvii. 45, and 51-54; Lu. xxiii. 44-47).

John, who knows nothing whatever of the darkness, the accident to the
temple veil, the revival of the saints, or the centurion's exclamation,
has a myth of his own constructed for the especial purpose of
fulfilling certain prophecies. The next day being a festival, the Jews,
he says, were anxious that the bodies should not remain on the crosses.
They therefore requested Pilate to break their legs and remove them. He
ordered this to be done, and the legs of the two criminals were broken,
but not those of Jesus, who was already dead; one of the soldiers,
however, pierced his side, from which blood and water gushed out. The
writer adds a strong asseveration of his veracity, but immediately
betrays himself by letting out that in relating the omission to break
the legs of Jesus he was comparing him to the Paschal lamb, of whom not
a bone was to be broken; while in telling of the soldier who pierced
his side, he was thinking of a phrase in Zechariah: "They shall look
upon me whom they have pierced" (Zech. xii. 10; Jo. xix. 31-37).

The burial of the body took place quietly. Joseph of Arimathæa, a
secret admirer of Jesus, placed it in a new sepulchre of his own.
With him John associates a character who exists only in his Gospel,
Nicodemus, and whom he introduces here as taking some part in the
interment. To the circumstance of the burial in the rock sepulchre,
Matthew adds an audacious fiction of his own; namely, that the chief
priests, remembering Christ's prediction that he should rise on the
third day, obtained leave to seal the stone of the tomb and keep it
watched, lest the disciples should take the body by night and pretend
that he was risen (Mk. xv. 42-47; Mt. xxvii. 57-66; Lu. xxiii. 50-56;
Jo. xix. 38-42).

Certainly if the Evangelist had meant to convey the impression that
no human means could prevent the resurrection of Christ, he would
have been perfectly right. An actual body was not necessary for the
purpose. For the legends appertaining to the resurrection belong
to a region in which imagination, unhampered by the controlling
influence of historical fact, has been permitted the freest play. Of
the appearances of Jesus after his death we have accounts by no less
than seven different hands, each story being distinct from, though
not always inconsistent with, the other six. Let us begin with what
is probably the oldest of all, containing but a germ of the rest; the
first eight verses of the last chapter of Mark. There we are told that
on the day after the Sabbath, Mary Magdalene, Mary James's mother, and
Salome went to the sepulchre at sunrise. They found it empty, the stone
having been rolled away. A young man in white clothes was sitting in
it. He told them that Jesus was risen, and desired them to tell the
disciples that he was going to Galilee, where they would see him. All
that follows in this Gospel is added by a later hand, and the very
first verse of the addition is plainly written in total disregard of
what has just preceded it. Observe then that _the simplest form of the
story of the resurrection contains no mention of any actual appearance
of Jesus whatever_, but merely an assertion that the body was not in
the tomb, and that a man, sitting inside it, made certain statements to
three women. To this the forger has added that Jesus appeared first to
Magdalene, whose account, given to the disciples, was disbelieved by
them; secondly, to two disciples while walking, whose evidence was also
disbelieved; thirdly, to the eleven at dinner, to whom he addressed a
discourse (Mk. xvi.).

The writer of the first Gospel is much more elaborate. He was a little
embarrassed by the guards whom he had set to watch the tomb, whom it
was essential to find some convenient method of getting out of the
way. Like Mark, he takes the two Marys (not Salome) to the sepulchre
early on the first day of the week; unlike Mark, he does not make them
examine the tomb and find it deserted. On the contrary, there is an
earthquake (the author is rather fond of these natural convulsions),
and an angel with a face like lightning, clothed in the purest white,
descends. He rolls back the stone and sits upon it. His appearance so
terrifies the keepers that they become like corpses. The angel tells
the women that Jesus is risen, and that they are to let the disciples
know that he would go before them to Galilee, where they would see him.
As they are engaged on this errand, Jesus himself appears and gives
them a similar injunction. The second appearance occurred before the
eleven disciples, who saw him at an appointed place in Galilee, "but
some doubted." Here Jesus addressed to them a parting discourse, and
this Gospel does not state how or when he quitted them. The awkward
circumstance of the presence of the guards, who had certainly not
testified to the angel's descent, had still to be surmounted. This is
accomplished by a ridiculous story that they had been heavily bribed by
the priests and elders to say that the disciples had stolen the body
while they were asleep (Mt. xxviii).

Unlike either of the preceding writers, Luke conceives the first
appearance of the risen Christ to have been, not to the women, but to
two disciples. He does indeed relate that on the morning of the first
day of the week Magdalene, Mary, Joanna, and other women went to the
tomb, and found the stone rolled away and the body gone. While they
were wondering at this, two men in shining garments stood by them,
and told them that he whom they sought was risen. They returned to
report to the apostles, to whom their words seemed as idle tales.
Peter, however, ran to the sepulchre to verify their statement, and
found only the clothes in it. Two of the disciples were going that
same day to Emmaus. While walking and talking, a stranger joined them
and entered into a conversation, in which he expounded the prophecies
relating to the Messiah. They requested this man to remain with them
for the night at the house where they were lodging. During supper he
took bread, blessed it, broke it, and gave it to them; whereupon they
recognized him as Jesus, and he vanished from their eyes. On returning
to Jerusalem, they found the eleven and the rest asserting that Christ
was risen and had appeared to Peter. The two wanderers related their
experiences in their turn. While the disciples were talking, Jesus
himself appeared in their midst, and said, "Peace unto you." Some
skeptical doubts, however, troubled them even now, for Jesus thought it
necessary to prove his actual carnality by showing his hands and feet,
as well as by eating some broiled fish and a piece of honeycomb. After
this he "opened their understanding," by an expository discourse in
reference to some of his own sayings and to the Scriptures; concluding
with an exhortation to remain at Jerusalem till they were endowed with
power from on high (Lu. xxii. 1-49). This last passage is explained by
the same author in the Acts of the Apostles to refer to the descent
of the Holy Ghost upon the apostles, which in that work is much more
definitely promised by Jesus (Acts i. 5, 8). We also find in it an
important addition to the details furnished by the Gospel about the
resurrection; namely, that Jesus was seen by his disciples for forty
days after his physical death, during which time he kept speaking to
them about matters pertaining to the kingdom of God (Acts i. 3).

Directly contradicting Mark and Matthew, John states that Magdalene
(no one else is mentioned) went to the sepulchre while it was still
dark (not at dawn or sunrise), and found the stone taken away. Making
no further inspection, she ran to Peter and to the beloved disciple,
saying that the body had been abstracted. The two ran together to the
place, and going in, found the clothes lying in the tomb, whereupon
the beloved disciple "saw and believed," though what he believed is
not stated. Magdalene was standing outside; but after the two men had
concluded their examination she entered, and saw what they had not
seen—two angels, sitting one at each end of the place where the body
had been. These angels asked her why she was weeping; she answered,
because her Lord's body had been taken. Turning round, she saw a man
whom she at first took for the gardener, but whom she soon recognized
as Jesus. She returned and informed the disciples that she had seen
him. The same day, in the evening, Jesus appeared to the disciples,
said, "Peace unto you," and showed them his hands and feet. He then
breathed the Holy Ghost into them, and gave them authority to remit
or retain sins. Thomas, who was not present on this occasion, roundly
refused to believe these facts unless he himself could touch the marks
of the nails, and put his hand into the side. A week later Jesus again
appeared, and Thomas was now enabled to dispel his doubts by actual
examination of his person. To these three appearances, with which the
genuine Gospel closed, a later hand has added a fourth. According
to this new writer, a number of disciples were about to fish on the
lake of Tiberias, when Christ was observed standing on the shore. The
miraculous draught of fishes is introduced here in a form slightly
different from that which it has in Luke. By acting on a direction from
Jesus, the disciples caught a vast number. He then bade them come and
dine with him, which they did. After dinner, he instructed Peter to
feed his flock, and hinted that the beloved disciple might possibly
live till his return in glory (Jo. xx., xxi.).

Completely different from any of these narratives is the account of the
resurrection contributed by Paul. It is somewhat confused and difficult
to understand. Christ, he says, rose on the third day according to the
Scriptures, and was seen by Cephas; then by the twelve; after that by
more than five hundred brethren; after that by James; next by all the
apostles; and lastly by himself (1 Cor. xv. 3-8). It is to be noted
that since Paul does not say that Christ appeared _first_ to Cephas,
we may if we please combine with this account one of those which make
him appear first to Magdalene, or to her and other women. But even then
the difficulties do not disappear. For how could so notorious an event
as the manifestation of Christ to five hundred people be passed over
_sub silentio_ in all the Gospels and in the Acts? And granting that
Paul may by an oversight have put "the twelve" for "the eleven," are
we not compelled to suppose that "all the apostles" are distinct from
"the twelve," and if so, who are they? What, again, are we to think
of the appearance to James, of which nothing is said elsewhere? Above
all, what are we to think of the fact that the purely spiritual vision
granted to Paul, which was not even seen by his traveling companions,
is placed by him exactly on a level with all the other reappearances of
Christ, the physical reality of which so much trouble has been taken to
prove?

Comparing now the several narratives of the resurrection with one
another, we find this general result. In Mark, Jesus is said to have
appeared three times:—

  1. To Mary Magdalene.
  2. To two disciples.
  3. To the disciples at meat.

Two such appearances only are recorded in Matthew:—

  1. To the women.
  2. To the eleven in Galilee.

In Luke he appears:—

  1. To Cleopas and his companion.
  2. To Peter.
  3. To the eleven and others.

In the two last chapters of John the appearances amount to four:—

  1. To Mary Magdalene.
  2. To the disciples without Thomas.
  3. To the disciples with Thomas.
  4. To several disciples on the Tiberias lake.

Paul extends them to six:—

  1. To Peter.
  2. To the twelve.
  3. To more than 500.
  4. To James.
  5. To all the apostles.
  6. To Paul.

Upon this most momentous question, then, every one of the Christian
writers is at variance with every other. Nor is this all, for two of
the number bring the earthly career of Jesus to its final close in a
manner so extraordinary that we cannot even imagine the occurrence of
such an event, of necessity so notorious and so impressive, to have
been believed by the other biographers, and yet to have been passed
over by them without a word of notice or allusion. Can it be for a
moment supposed that two out of the four Evangelists had heard of the
ascension of Christ—that the most wonderful termination of a wonderful
life—and either forgot to mention, or deliberately omitted it? And may
it not be assumed that Paul, when detailing the several occasions on
which Christ had been seen after his crucifixion, must needs, had he
known of it, have included this, perhaps the most striking of all, in
his list? In fact the ascension rests entirely on the evidence of two
witnesses, both of them comparatively late ones, the forger of the
last verses of Mark, and the third Evangelist. Neither of them stand
as near the events described as the true author of Mark, as Matthew,
or as Paul, from no one of whom do we hear a word of the ascension.
Nor do even these two witnesses relate their story in the same terms.
The finisher of Mark merely tells us that after his parting charge to
the eleven, he was received into heaven and sat at God's right hand; a
statement couched in such general terms as even to leave it doubtful
whether there was any distinct and visible ascension, or whether Jesus
was merely taken to heaven like any other virtuous man, though enjoying
when there a higher precedence (Mk. xvi. 19). Especially is this doubt
fostered by the fact that this Gospel, when speaking of the witnesses
to Christ's resurrection, never alludes to any of the physical proofs
of his actual existence so much dwelt upon in Luke and the last chapter
of John. Very much more definite is the statement at the close of the
third Gospel. There it is related that Jesus led his disciples out to
Bethany, where he blessed them and that, in the very act of blessing,
he was parted from them and carried up into heaven (Lu. xxiv. 50, 51).
The same author subsequently composed the Acts of the Apostles, and in
the interim he had greatly improved upon his previous conception of
the ascension. When he came to write the Acts, he was able to supply,
what he had omitted before, the last conversation of the master with
the disciples he was about to leave; he knows too that after the final
words—no blessing is mentioned here—he was taken up and received by a
cloud; that while the disciples were gazing up, two men in white—no
doubt the very couple who had been seen at the sepulchre— were
perceived standing by them, and that these celestial visitors told them
that Jesus would return from heaven in the same way in which he had
gone to it (Acts i. 9-11). Unhappy Galileans! little could they have
dreamt for how many centuries after that day their successors would
watch and wait, watching and waiting in vain, for the fulfillment of
that consoling prophecy.

Casting a retrospective glance at the stories of the Resurrection
and the Ascension, we may perhaps discern at least a psychological
explanation of their origin and of the currency they obtained. Whatever
other qualities Jesus may have possessed or lacked, there can be
no question that he had one—that of inspiring in others a strong
attachment to himself. He had in his brief career surrounded himself
with devoted disciples; and he was taken from their midst in the full
bloom of his powers by a violent and early death. Now there are some
who have been taught by the bitter experience of their lives how
difficult, nay, how impossible it is to realize in imagination the
fact that a beloved companion is in truth gone from them forever. More
especially will this mental difficulty be felt when he whom death has
parted from our sides is young, vigorous, full of promise; when the
infinite stillness of eternal rest has succeeded almost without a break
upon the joyous activity of a well-spent life; when the being who is
now no more was but a moment ago the moving spirit of a household, or
the honored teacher of a band of friends who were linked together by
his presence.

Where the association has been close and constant; where we have been
accustomed to share our thoughts and to impart our feelings; where,
therefore, we have habitually entwined not only our present lives,
but our hopes and wishes for the future around the personality of the
dead, this refusal of the mind to comprehend its loss is strongest of
all. Emotion enters then upon a strange conflict with Reason. Reason
may tell us but too distinctly that all hope of the return of the
beloved one to life is vain and foolish. But Emotion speaks to us in
another language. Well nigh does it prevent us from believing even
the ghastly realities which our unhappy eyes have been compelled to
witness. Deep within us there arises the craving for the presence of
our friend, and with it the irrepressible thought that he may even yet
come back to those who can scarcely bear to live without him. Were
these inevitable longings not to be checked by a clear perception
that they originate in our own broken hearts, we should fancy that we
saw the figure of the departed and heard his voice. In that case a
resurrection would have taken place for us, and for those who believed
our tale. So far from the reappearance of the well-known form seeming
to be strange, it is its failure to reappear that is strange to us in
these times of sorrow. We fondly conceive that in some way the dead
must still exist; and if so, can one, who was so tender before, listen
to our cry of pain and refuse to come? can one, who soothed us in
the lesser troubles of our lives, look on while we are suffering the
greatest agony of all and fail to comfort? It cannot be. Imagination
declines to picture the long future of solitude that lies before us.
We cannot understand that we shall never again listen to the tones of
the familiar voice; never feel the touch of the gentle hand; never be
encouraged by the warm embrace that tells us we are loved, or find a
refuge from miserable thoughts and the vexations of the world in the
affectionate and ever-open heart. All this is too hard for us. We
long for a resurrection; we should believe in it if we could; we do
believe in it in sleep, when our feelings are free to roam at pleasure,
unrestrained by the chilling presence of the material world. In dreams
the old life is repeated again and again. Sometimes the lost one is
beside us as of old, and we are quite untroubled by the thought of
parting. Sometimes there is a strange and confusing consciousness
that the great calamity has happened, or has been thought to happen,
but that now we are again together, and that a new life has succeeded
upon death. Or the dream takes a less definite form. We are united
now; but along with our happiness in the union there is an oppressive
sense of some mysterious terror clouding our enjoyment. We are afraid
that it is an unsubstantial, shadowy being that is with us; the least
touch may dissipate its uncertain existence; the slightest illness may
extinguish its feeble breath. Granting only a strong emotion and a
lively phantasy, we may comprehend at once how, in many lands, to many
mourners, the images of their dreams may also become the visions of
their waking hours. They see him again; they know that he is not gone;
he is beside them still.

But for us, who live in a calmer age, and see with scientific eyes,
there is no such comfort. Not to us can the bodily forms of those who
have gone before us to the grave appear again in all the loveliness of
life. In the first shock of our bereavement we may indeed indulge in
some such visionary hope; but as day after day passes by and leaves us
in a solitude that does but deepen with the lapse of time, we learn to
understand only too well that we are bereft forever. Hope gradually
dwindling to a fainter and fainter remnant, is crushed at last by the
miserable certainty of profound despair. Yet even then, the mind of
man refuses to accept its fate. The scene of the reunion, which we
cannot but so ardently desire, is postponed to another season and to
a better world. Many are they to whom this final hope is an enduring
consolation, but if even that should fail us in the hour of darkness,
as the more primitive and simpler hope failed before it; if here again
emotion is reluctantly compelled to yield to reason; then there is
still one refuge in despondency, and a refuge of which we can never
be deprived. It is the thought that death, so cruel now, will one day
visit us with a kinder touch; and that the tomb, which already holds
the nearest and the dearest within its grasp, will open to receive us
also in our turn to its everlasting peace.


                   SUBDIVISION 3.—_The Ideal Jesus._

The Gospel attributed by the current legend to St. John differs from
the other three Gospels in almost every respect in which difference
is possible. The events recorded are different. The order of events
is different. The conversations of Jesus are different. His sermons
are different. His opinions are different. The theories of the writer
about him are different. Were it not for the name and a few leading
incidents, we should be compelled to say that the subject of the
biography himself is different. A more conspicuous unlikeness than that
of the synoptical to the Johannine Jesus it is not easy to conceive
in two narratives which depict the same hero. In the synoptical
Gospels Jesus is plain, direct, easy of comprehension, and fond of
illustrating his meaning by short and simple parables. In John he is
obscure, mystical, symbolic, and of his favorite method of teaching
by parables there is not a trace. Both descriptions cannot be true.
It would be monstrous to suppose either that the synoptical Gospels
omitted some of his most extraordinary miracles and some of his most
remarkable discourses, or that the Gospel of John passed over in
silence the whole of that side of his character which is portrayed
in the ethical maxims, the parables, and the exhortations of its
predecessors. Were it so, none of the four could be accepted as other
than an extremely one-sided and imperfect biography, and each of them
is plainly regarded by its author as complete within itself. None of
them refers to extraneous sources to supplement its own deficiencies.
The concluding verse of the fourth Gospel does indeed allude to many
unrecorded actions of Jesus, which, if they were all written, would
fill more books than the world could contain. But, not to rely on
the fact that the last chapter is spurious, these words contain no
intimation that a mode of teaching completely different from that here
recorded was ever employed by Jesus. And this is the point in which
John's narrative is peculiar. Again, to turn to the Synoptics, there
is no shadow of an intimation in them that, between the last supper
and arrest, Jesus addressed to his disciples a long and remarkable
discourse, full of the most interesting revelations. Can we suppose
that they could have forgotten it, delivered as it was at such a moment
as this, the very last before their master's condemnation at which he
was able to speak to them? Such a supposition is utterly untenable. The
two traditions embodied in these versions of his life do not therefore,
as some learned men—Ewald, for example—have supposed, supplement, but
exclude one another.

Let us enter into detail into some of the peculiar characteristics of
the Jesus of John. In the first place, we may note that his miracles
are altogether new. One of them at least is so astounding that no
biographer who had heard of it could have passed it by. The raising
of Lazarus is the greatest feat that Jesus ever performed. In other
cases he brought persons who were supposed to be just dead to life,
but skeptical Jews might have suspected that they had never in reality
died at all. Ample precautions against such cavils were taken in the
case of Lazarus. This man lived at Bethany, and his sisters, Mary and
Martha, were devoted admirers of Jesus. These women sent word to Jesus,
who had retired "beyond Jordan," to say that their brother was ill.
He replied that this illness was for the glory of God. After he had
heard of it he remained two days in the same place. Then, disregarding
the dissuasions of the disciples, who reminded him that the Jews had
recently sought to stone him, he proceeded towards Judea. He informed
them in that obscure manner which he almost invariably affects in this
Gospel, that Lazarus was asleep; but on their misunderstanding him,
consented to speak plainly and say that he was dead. He added that
for their sakes he was glad he had not been there, in order that they
might believe—even the disciples' faith being apparently still in need
of confirmation. On reaching Bethany, he found that Lazarus had been
buried four days. Martha, who came to meet him, observed that had he
been there, her brother would not have died, and that even now whatever
he asked of God would be given. Jesus told her that her brother would
rise again; a saying which she interpreted as referring to the general
resurrection; but he replied that whoever believed in him would never
die, and required of her an explicit declaration of her faith in this
dogma. Martha evaded the inquiry by a profession of her conviction
that he was the Christ and went to summon Mary. She too remarked that
if he had been there Lazarus would not have died. Distressed by her
distress, Jesus himself wept. Going to the grave, he ordered the stone
which covered it to be removed, in spite of Martha's objection that
putrefaction had set in. A curious scene followed. "Jesus lifted up
his eyes and said, 'Father, I thank thee that thou hast heard me. And
I know that thou hearest me always, but because of the people which
stand by I said it, that they may believe that thou hast sent me.'" We
must suppose these last words to have been spoken _sotto voce_, for
"the people which stood by" would have been little likely to believe
in him had they known that the thanksgiving to God was a mere pious
pretence, offered up for the purpose of impressing their imaginations
by the event that was to follow. Knowing that his father always heard
him, he certainly had no occasion to thank him on this one occasion;
if indeed he could properly be thanked at all for taking the necessary
measures to ensure the credit of his own son, in whom he desired
mankind to believe, and who is over and over again described as one
with himself. This is perhaps the only instance in any of the Gospels
in which something like hypocrisy is ascribed to Jesus; in which he
is represented as consciously acting a part for the benefit of the
bystanders, and speaking simply with a view to effect. Happily for
his reputation we are not obliged to believe in the accuracy of his
biographer. After this he called loudly, "Lazarus, come forth." The
dead man accordingly arose, and came forth from the tomb clad in his
grave-clothes (Jo. xi. 1-46). His restoration to life was permanent,
for we find him afterwards among the guests at a supper to which Jesus
was invited (Jo. xii. 2).

Another singular miracle to which there is no allusion in any other
Gospel is that which is here declared to be the first; the conversion
of water into wine. Jesus was at a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and when
the wine provided for the entertainment had all been consumed, his
mother informed him of the state of things. He gave her a repelling
answer; but she told the servants to do what he bade them. He then
ordered six waterpots to be filled with water, and the contents to be
drawn. It was found that they contained wine of a superior quality to
that at first provided (Jo. ii. 1-11).

The second miracle according to John is not unlike some of those
recorded elsewhere. It consisted in the cure by a mere word, without
visiting the place, of a nobleman's son who was on the point of death.
This time also Jesus was at Cana, though the patient lay at Capernaum
(Jo. iii. 46-54). Another cure was wrought at the pool of Bethesda,
the healing virtues of which are known only to this Gospel. A man who
had long been lying on its steps, too infirm to descend at the proper
moment, was enjoined to rise and walk, which he did (Jo. v. 1-9). It
is singular that although "a great multitude of impotent folk" were
waiting at the pool, many of whom must needs have been kept long, since
only one could be cured each time the water was troubled, this man
alone was selected for the object of a miracle. Why were not all of
them healed at once?

Not only are the most wonderful proofs of Christ's divinity contained
in this Gospel unknown to the rest, but its _dramatis personæ_ are
in several respects altogether novel. Nathanael, whose difficulties
about thinking that any good thing can come from Nazareth are overcome
in a conversation with Jesus (Jo. i. 45-51); Nicodemus, the secret
adherent who came by night and received instruction in the doctrine
of regeneration (Jo. iii. 1-21), who at a later period supported him
against the attacks of the Pharisees (Jo. vii. 51), and lastly brought
spices to his interment (Jo. xix. 39); Lazarus, brother of Mary and
Martha, who owed him his life (Jo. xi. 44; xii. 2); the woman of
Sâmaria, to whom an important prophecy was made, and whose past life he
knew by intuition (Jo. iv. 1-30); are all new personages, and they hold
no mean place in the story. The immediate attendants on his person are
no doubt the same; but the representation that there was one disciple
"whom Jesus loved" above the rest, and to whom a greater intimacy was
permitted (Jo. xiii. 23), is uncountenanced by anything in the other
Gospels; and indicates a fixed purpose of exalting the apostle John
above his compeers.

While the scene, the persons, and the plot are thus diverse, the
style of the principal actor is in striking contrast to that which
he employs elsewhere. Its most conspicuous characteristic is the
continual recurrence to symbols. It is true that in the other Gospels
Jesus frequently exchanges the direct explanation of his views for the
indirect method of illustration. But an illustration serves to clear up
the meaning of a speaker, a symbol to disguise it. Illustrations cast
light upon the principal thesis; symbols merely darken it. And this
is the difference between the synoptical and the Johannine Jesus. The
one is anxious to be understood; the other, in appearance at least,
is seeking to perplex. Hence the exchange of the parable for the
symbol. The number of such symbols in John is considerable. Jesus is
continually inventing new ones. Near the beginning of the Gospel, he
explains to Nicodemus that it is needful to be born again; a statement
by which Nicodemus is considerably perplexed (Jo. iii. 3, 4). But his
symbols are more generally applied to himself or his relations to the
Father. He is the bread of life or the bread of God (Jo. vi. 33-48);
again, he is the living water (Jo. iv. 10), or he gives a water which
prevents all future thirst (Jo. iv. 14); he is the true vine, his
Father the husbandman, and his disciples the branches (Jo. xv. 1-5);
elsewhere he is both the good shepherd and the door by which the sheep
enter the fold (Jo. x. 7-16); he is the way, the truth, and the life
(Jo. xiv. 6); he is the light that came into the world (Jo. xii. 46;
iii. 19); or he is the Resurrection and the Life (Jo. xi. 25). John the
Baptist, also, unlike the John of the other Gospels, adopts the same
manner. Christ is spoken of by him as the Lamb of God, which takes away
the sins of the world (Jo. i. 29); or as the Bridegroom whose voice
he rejoiced to hear, while he himself was but the Bridegroom's friend
(Jo. iii. 29). Sometimes "the Jews," as they are termed in this Gospel,
are puzzled by the enigmatical style of Jesus, the sense of which they
cannot unriddle. Thus, when he tells them that if they destroy the
temple he will rebuild it in three days, they are naturally unable to
perceive that he is speaking of the temple of his body (Jo. ii. 19-21).
They murmured because he spoke of himself as the Bread that came down
from heaven, nor was any explanation offered them beyond a reiteration
of the same statement (Jo. vi. 41-51). Not only the Jews, but also many
of his own partisans, were hopelessly perplexed by the statement that
no one could have life in him who did not eat his flesh and drink his
blood (Jo. vi. 53, 60), a statement which differs materially from that
made at the passover (in the other Gospels), where the bread and wine
were actually offered as signs of his flesh and blood, and the apostles
alone (who were present) were required to receive them. At other times
he confused them by mysterious intimations that he was going somewhere
whither they could not come, and that they should seek him and be
unable to find him (Jo. vii. 33-36; viii. 21, 22). On one occasion, his
auditors were unable to comprehend his assertion that he must be lifted
up, and requested him to explain it. The only reply was another enigma,
namely, that the light was with them but a little while, and that
they should believe in it while they had it (Jo. xii. 32-36). To such
language they might well have retorted, that what they had from him was
not light, but a twilight in which no object could be distinctly seen,
and which never advanced towards clear daylight.

Closely connected with this tendency to speak in obscure images was
his predilection for argument with the Jews on abstruse theological
topics. In the other Gospels he teaches the people who surround him,
and the subject of his teaching is generally the rules of moral
conduct; comparatively seldom theology. In John he does not so much
teach as dispute, and the subject of the dispute is not morals—a field
he scarcely ever enters—but his personal pretensions. Upon these he
carries on a continual wrangle, supporting his claims by his peculiar
views of the divine nature and of his relation to it (Jo. v. 16-47;
vi. 41-59; vii. 14-36; viii. 12-29; ix. 39-41; x. 19-37). In the same
spirit the blind man whom he cures enters into a discussion with the
Pharisees on the character of him who had restored his sight (Jo.
ix. 24-34). The Jews are depicted as continually occupied about this
question. Even their own officers receive from them a reproof for
making a laudatory remark about him (Jo. vii. 47, 48), while Nicodemus,
who interposes in arrest of judgment, is sharply asked whether he also
is of Galilee (Jo. vii. 51-52).

The very best instruction of Jesus is not given, as in the other
Gospels, to a multitude, but is reserved for a select circle of his
own followers. It is in the 14th, 15th, and 16th chapters that he
rises to the sublimest heights of his doctrine, and the whole of this
remarkable discourse is delivered to the disciples after Judas has
left the supper-table in order to betray him. The substance of his
teaching is no less peculiar than its occasions. The writer conceives
of him as holding an altogether singular relation to the Father, and
that relation he represents his Christ as continually expounding and
insisting upon as of vital moment. The Evangelist himself begins his
work by a concise statement of his doctrine on this point. The Logos,
he says, was with God in the beginning; the Logos was God. All things
were made by it, and nothing was made without it. In it was life, and
the life was the light of men. This Light came into the world, but the
world did not know him. Even his own, whoever these may have been,
did not receive him. To those who did receive him, he gave power to
become the sons of God; and these were born, not of blood, nor of the
will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God. The Logos was
made flesh, and dwelt among us, and we beheld his glory, as of the
only-begotten of the Father (Jo. i. 1-14).

The language of Christ is duly adjusted to this very speculative
theory. Thus, he scandalizes the Jews by the bold assertion that he and
his Father are one; and adds to their horror by further maintaining
that he is in the Father, and the Father in him (Jo. x. 30, 38).
Elsewhere, Philip is required to believe in the same truth. In reply to
his ignorant request that he may be shown the Father, he is told that
seeing Jesus is equivalent to seeing the Father. Moreover, the Father
who dwells in Christ performs the works which are apparently done by
Christ alone (Jo. xiv. 9-11). The disciples, too, are included in this
mystic unity, for they are in Jesus in the same sense in which he is in
God (Jo. xiv. 20; xvii. 21, 23). His Father, nevertheless, is greater
than himself (Jo. xiv. 28). Jesus has been glorified with the Father
before the world existed, and looks forward to a return to that glory.
He wishes that those who have been given him on earth may be with him
to behold the glory which God, who loved him before the foundation of
the world, has given him. That glory he has given them, and they are to
be one, even as he and his Father are one; he in them, and God in him
(Jo. xvii. 5, 22-24).

After these preliminary observations, we need not dwell long on the
historical incidents of the Gospel, of which there are but few. The
meeting of Jesus with Andrew and Simon, and his reception of Nathanael,
related in the first chapter, have already been noticed. It only
remains to be said, that Nathanael was deceived by a prophecy which
was not fulfilled; for at the end of the interview, Jesus, referring
to his amazement that he had been discovered under the fig-tree, which
had quite put him off his balance, tells him that he shall see greater
things than these, and especially mentions among them the opening of
the heavens and the descent of angels upon the Son of man. Nathanael
never saw anything of the kind (Jo. i. 35-51).

The conversion of water into wine follows next. A peculiarity in the
notions of this writer is evinced by the assertion that his mother and
brothers went with him to Capernaum, for his family do not accompany
him, according to any other statement, while here his mother not only
is with him, but is aware that he is able to work a miracle (Jo. ii.
1-12). Jesus, after visiting Capernaum, proceeded for the passover to
Jerusalem, where it is said that many believed in him because of his
miracles. His expulsion of the money-changers, however, brought him
into collision with the authorities of his nation, who asked him for
a sign; a question to which he replied by the undertaking to rebuild
the temple, if destroyed, in three days (Jo. ii. 13-25). But one of
the Jewish rulers, named Nicodemus, was disposed to believe in his
pretensions. This man came to him by night, and heard from him a long
theological disquisition (Jo. iii. 1-21). Jesus then went into Judea,
and remained there with his disciples baptizing his converts. John the
Baptist is made to bear an emphatic testimony to his superiority (Jo.
iii. 22-36). A visit to Sâmaria is the occasion for an interesting
dialogue with a Sâmaritan woman who had come to draw water at a well;
and her report leads the inhabitants to come out and see the prophet by
whom she had been so much impressed.

This incident is reproduced with curious fidelity in a Buddhist story.
Ananda, one of Sakyamuni's disciples, met with a Matangi woman, one
of a degraded caste, who was drawing water, and asked her to give him
some of it to drink. Just as the Sâmaritan wondered that Jesus, a
Jew, should ask drink of her, one of a nation with whom the Jews had
no dealings, so this young Matangi girl warned Ananda of her caste,
which rendered it unlawful for her to approach a monk. And as Jesus
nevertheless continued to converse with the woman, so Ananda did not
shrink from this outcast damsel. "I do not ask thee, my sister," he
replied, "either thy caste or thy family; I only ask thee for water,
if thou canst give me some." The Buddha himself, to whom the Matangi
girl afterwards presented herself, treated her with equal kindness.
He contrived to divert the profane love she had conceived for Ananda
into a holy love of religion; much as Jesus led the Sâmaritan from
the thought of her five husbands, and of him who was not her husband,
to the conception of the universal Father who was to be worshiped "in
spirit and in truth." And as the disciples "marveled" that Jesus should
have conversed with this member of a despised race, so the respectable
Brahmins and householders who adhered to Buddhism were scandalized
to learn that the young Matangi had been admitted to the order of
mendicants (Jo. iv. 1-42; H. B. I., pp. 205, 206).

After two days spent at Sâmaria Jesus went on to Galilee, where
he healed the nobleman's sons (Jo. iv. 43-54). Having returned to
Jerusalem for another feast, he cured the impotent man on the Sabbath,
which endangered his life at the hands of the indignant Jews, and led
him to deliver a long vindication (Jo. v). The feeding of the five
thousand was followed by an attempt to make him king, from which he
prudently escaped. The disciples took ship to go to Capernaum, and
Jesus joined them by walking on the water. On the ensuing day he
preached to the people who followed him, and shocked even some of the
disciples by the loftiness of the claims he advanced. Many of them are
said to have left him at this time (Jo. vi).

A singular proceeding is now mentioned. Urged by his brothers, who were
still incredulous, to go to Jerusalem for the feast of tabernacles, he
declined on the ground that his time was not yet come. When they were
gone he himself went also, though secretly (Jo. vii. 1-10). There is
no reason assigned for this little stratagem, and he soon emerged from
his incognito and taught openly in the temple. The public mind was
much divided about his character, some maintaining him to be Christ,
others contending that Christ could only come from the seed of David
and the town of Bethlehem. An attempt to arrest him failed, owing to
the impression he made upon the police (Jo. vii. 11-53). A discussion
with the Jews was terminated by their taking up stones to throw at
him, a peril from which he escaped apparently by miracle (Jo. viii.
12-59; verses 1-11 are spurious). Further offense was given by the
restoration of a blind man's sight on the Sabbath (Jo. ix). A discourse
on his title to authority provoked divisions, and at the feast of
the dedication he was plainly asked whether he was the Christ. His
answer again led to an attempt to stone him, from which he escaped
to the place beyond Jordan where John had formerly baptized (Jo. x).
The raising of Lazarus and the anointing by Mary are the next events
recorded (Jo. xi. 1-xii. 9). The passover followed six days after the
latter incident, and his preaching at this festival was interrupted
in a singular manner. Jesus had used the words, "Father, glorify thy
name!" whereupon a voice was heard from heaven, saying, "I both have
glorified it, and will glorify it again." Thereupon Jesus observed that
this voice came not for his sake, but for that of the bystanders. It
seems, however, to have produced but little effect upon them, for a few
verses later we find a complaint that, in spite of his many miracles,
they did not believe in him (Jo. xii. 12-50). The last supper with the
disciples was immediately succeeded by a parting discourse of much
beauty, conceived in an elevated tone; and his last moments of freedom
were occupied in a prayer of which the pathos has been rarely equaled
(Jo. xiii.-xvii).

The remainder of his career—his trial, execution, and alleged
resurrection—have been fully treated in another place.


           SUBDIVISION 4.—_What did the Jews think of him?_

Victorious over Jesus Christ at the moment, the Jewish nation have,
from an early period in Christian history, been subject in their
turn to his disciples. Their polity—crushed under the iron heel of
Vespasian, scattered to the winds by Hadrian—vanished from existence
not long after it had successfully put down the founder of the new
faith. Their religion, tolerated by the heathen Romans only under
humiliating and galling conditions, persecuted almost to death by the
Christians, suffered until modern times an oppression so terrible and
so cruel, that but for the deep and unshakeable attachment of its
adherents, it could never have survived its perils. Hence the course
of events has been such that this unhappy nation has never until quite
recently enjoyed the freedom necessary to present their case in the
matter of Jesus the son of Joseph; while the gradual decay of the
rancor formerly felt against them, at the same time that it gives them
liberty, renders it less important for them to come forward in what
would still be an unpopular cause. Thus it happens that one side only
in the controversy, that of the Christians, has been adequately heard.
They certainly have not shrunk from the presentation of their views.
Every epithet that scorn, hatred, or indignation could suggest has been
heaped upon the generation of Jews who were the immediate instigators
of the execution of Jesus, while all the subsequent miseries of their
race have been regarded—by the party which delighted to inflict
them—as exhibitions of the divine vengeance against that one criminal
act. Nor have even freethinkers shrunk from condemning the Jews as
guilty of gross and unpardonable persecution, and that towards one who,
if they do not think him a God, nevertheless appears to them singularly
free from blame. On the one side, according to the prevailing
conception, stands the innocent victim; on the other the bloodthirsty
Jewish people. All good is with the one; all evil with the other. It is
supposed that only their hard-heartedness, their aversion to the pure
doctrine of the Redeemer, their determination to shut their eyes to the
light and their ears to the words of truth, could have led them to the
commission of so great a crime.

Whether or not this theory be true, it at least suffers from the vice
of having been adopted without due examination. An opinion can rest on
no solid basis unless its opposite has been duly supported by competent
defenders. Now in the present instance this has not happened. Owing to
the causes mentioned above, the Christian view has been practically
uncontested, and writer after writer has taken it up and repeated
it in the unreflecting way in which we all of us repeat assertions
about which there is no dispute. Yet a very little consideration will
show that so simple an explanation of the transaction has at least no
_a priori_ probability in its favor. That a whole nation should be
completely in the wrong, and a few individuals only in the right, is a
supposition which can be accepted only on the most convincing evidence.
And in order even to justify our entertaining it for a moment, we must
be in possession of a report of the circumstances of the case from
the advocates of the nation, as well as from the advocates of the
individuals who suffered by its action. A one-sided statement from the
partizans of a convicted person can never be sufficient to enable us to
pronounce a conclusive verdict against his judges. The most ordinary
rules of fairness prohibit this. Yet this is what is commonly done. No
account whatever of the trial of Jesus has reached us from the side of
the prosecution. Josephus, who might have enlightened us, is silent. On
the other hand, the side of the defense has furnished us with its own
version of what passed, and from the imperfect materials thus supplied
we must endeavor to discriminate between the two as best we can. To
do this justly, we must bear in mind, that even though the charges
produced against Jesus should not appear to justify the indignation
of his accusers, it is at least unlikely that that indignation was
altogether without reasonable cause. And painful as it may be to be
compelled to think that Jesus was in the wrong, it would surely—had
not long habit perverted our natural sentiments—be quite as painful
to believe that a large multitude of men, impelled by mere malignity
against a virtuous citizen, had conspired to put him to death on
charges which were absolutely groundless. The honor of an heroic,
and above all, of a deeply religious people, is here at stake. It is
no light matter to deal in wholesale accusations of judicial murder
against them. It would surely be a happier solution if it could be
shown that the individual condemned was not absolutely guiltless. But
possibly we may be able to elude either alternative. Just as, according
to the able reasoning of Grote, the upright character of Socrates may
be compatible with a sense of justice on the part of the Athenians
who condemned him to death, so it is conceivable that the innocence
of Jesus may consist with the fact that the Jews who caused him to be
crucified were not altogether without excuse.

An examination of this question must be conducted with a careful regard
to the hereditary feelings of orthodox Hebrews in matters of religion;
with an attention to the conceptions they had formed of holiness, and
consequently of blasphemy, its negation; with a desire to do justice
if possible to the very prejudices that clouded their vision, and to
realize the intensity of the sentiment that ruled their national life
and bound them to uphold their law in all its severe integrity. We must
remember that the Jews were above all things monotheists. Ever since,
after the captivity, they had put away every remnant of idolatry, they
had clung to the unity and majesty of Jehovah with a stern tenacity
which no alluring temptations, no extremity of suffering, had been
able to break. If they were now ready to persecute for this faith,
they had at least shown themselves able—they soon showed themselves
able again—to bear persecution for its sake. Their law, with its
monotheistic dogmas and its practical injunctions, was to them
supremely holy. Any attempt to infringe its precepts, or to question
its authority, excited their utmost horror. To set up any other object
of worship than that which it recognized, to teach any other faith than
that which rested on this foundation, was blasphemy in their eyes. The
happiness, nay, the very existence, of the nation was bound up with
its strict observance. This may have been a delusion, but it was one
for which the existing generation was not responsible. It had been
handed down from their ancestors, and had reached them with all the
sanctity of venerable age. If it were a delusion, it was one which the
compilers of the Pentateuch; which Josiah, with his reforming measures;
which Ezra, with his purifying zeal; which the prophets and priests of
olden times who had fought and labored for the religion of Jehovah, had
mainly fostered. They had succeeded but too well in impressing upon the
mind of the nation the profound conviction that, in order to ensure the
favor of God, they must maintain every iota of the revealed truth they
had received, and that his anger would surely follow if they suffered
it to be in the smallest degree corrupted or treated with neglect.

Nevertheless the utmost efforts of the people to guard the purity of
the faith had been rewarded hitherto with little but misery. Their
exemption from troubles did not last long after the rebuilding of the
temple. A prey now to the Seleucidæ, now to the Ptolemies, their native
land the scene of incessant warfare, they enjoyed under the Asmonean
kings but a brief period of independence and good government. Their
polity received a rude shock from the capture of Jerusalem by Pompey;
maintained but a shadow of freedom under the tyranny of Herod; and fell
at last—some time before the public appearance of Christ—under the
direct administration of the unsympathetic Romans. A more intolerable
fate could hardly be imagined. The Romans had no tenderness for their
feelings, no commiseration for their scruples, no comprehension
of their peculiar practices. Hence constant collision between the
governors and the governed. It is needless to enter in detail upon
the miserable struggles between those who were strong in the material
force and those who were strong in the force of conscience. Suffice
it to say, that provocation on provocation was inflicted on the Jews,
until at length the inevitable rebellion came, to be terminated by
the not less inevitable suppression with its attendant cruelties. But
in the time of Jesus the crisis had not yet come. All things were in
a state of the utmost tension. It was of the highest importance to
the people, and their authorities were well aware of it, that there
should be nothing done that could excite the anger of their rulers.
The Romans knew, of course, that no loyalty was felt towards them in
Palestine. And the least indication of resistance was enough to provoke
them to the severest measures. All that remained of independence to the
Jews—the freedom to worship in their own way; their national unity;
their possession of the temple; their very lives—depended on their
success in conciliating the favor of the procurator who happened to be
set over them. The assertion by any one of rights that might appear
to clash with those of Rome, even the foolish desire of the populace
to honor some one who did not pretend to them, were fraught with the
utmost danger. It was necessary for the rulers to prove that they did
not countenance the least indication of a wish to set up a rival power.

Their task was more difficult because the people were continually
looking for some great national hero who should redeem them from
their subjection. The conception of the "Messiah," the Anointed
One, the King or High Priest who should restore, and much more than
restore, the ancient glory of their nation, who should lead them to
victory over their enemies and then reign over them in peace, was
ineradicably imbedded in their minds. Consequently they were only
too ready—especially in those days of overstrung nerves and feverish
agitation under a hateful rule—to welcome any one who held out the
chance of deliverance. The risk was not imaginary. Prophets and
Messiahs, if they were not successful, could do nothing but harm.
Theudas, a leader who did not even claim Messiahship, had involved
his followers in destruction. Bar-cochab, who at a later time was
received by many as the Messiah, brought upon his countrymen not only
enormous slaughter, but even the crowning misfortune of expulsion from
Jerusalem. Now, although the high priests and elders no doubt shared
the popular expectation of a Messiah, they were bound as prudent men
to test the pretensions of those who put themselves forward in that
character, and if they were imperiling the public peace, to put a stop
to their careers. It was not for them, the appointed guides of the
people, to be carried away by every breath of popular enthusiasm. They
would have been wholly unworthy of their position had they permitted
floating reports of miracles and marvels, or the applauding clamor of
admirers, to impose upon their judgment. Calmly, and after examination
of the facts, it was their duty to decide.

Jesus had professed to be the Messiah. So much is undisputed. Could
his title be admitted? Now, in the first place, it was the central
conception of the Messianic office that its holder should exercise
temporal power. He was not expected to be a teacher of religious
doctrines, for this was not what was required. The code of theological
truth was, so far as the Jews were aware, completed. The Revelation
they possessed never hinted, from beginning to end, that it was
imperfect in any of its parts, or that it needed a supplementary
Revelation to fill up the void which it contained. Whatever Christians,
instructed by the gospel, may have thought in subsequent ages, the
believers in the Hebrew Bible neither had ascertained, nor possibly
could ascertain, that Jehovah intended to send his Son on earth to
enlighten them on questions appertaining to their religious belief.
This they thought had long been settled, and he who tried either to
take anything from it or add anything to it was in their eyes an
impious criminal. Such persons, they knew, had been sternly dealt with
in the palmy days of the Hebrew state, and the example of their most
honored prophets and their most pious kings would justify the severest
measures that could be taken against them. A spiritual reformer, then,
was not what they needed: a temporal leader was. And this they had
a perfect right to expect that the Messiah would be. The very word
itself—the Anointed One, a word commonly applied to the king—indicates
the possession of the powers of government. Their prophecies all
pointed to this conception of the Messiah. Their popular traditions all
confirmed it. Their political necessities all encouraged it. The very
disciples themselves held it like the rest of their nation, for when
they met Jesus after his resurrection we find them inquiring, "Lord,
wilt thou at this time restore the kingdom of Israel?" (Acts i. 6.).
The conversation may be imaginary, but the state of mind which such
a question indicates was doubtless real. The author represented them
as speaking as he knew that they had felt. Now, if ever they, who had
enjoyed the intimate friendship of Jesus, could still look to him as
one who would restore to Israel something of her bygone grandeur, was
it to be expected that the less privileged Jews, who had inherited
from their forefathers a fixed belief in this temporal restoration,
should suddenly surrender it at the bidding of Jesus of Nazareth? For
he at least did not realize the prevailing notions of what the Messiah
ought to be. For temporal sovereignty he was clearly unfit, nor does
he seem to have ever demanded it. There was a danger no doubt that his
enthusiastic followers might thrust it upon him, and that, thus urged,
he might be tempted to accept it. But his general character precludes
the supposition that he could ever be fit to stand at the head of a
national movement. The absence, moreover, of all political enthusiasm
from his teaching proved him not to be the Savior for whom they were
looking. His assertions that he was the Son of God, though they might
provoke sedition and endanger the security of his countrymen, could
bring them no corresponding good.

Christians have maintained that the Jews were entirely wrong in their
conception of the Messiah's character, and that Jesus by his admirable
life brought a higher and more excellent ideal than theirs into the
world. They admire him for not laying claim to temporal dominion, and
laud his humility, his meekness, his submissiveness, the patience
with which he bore his sufferings, and the whole catalogue of similar
virtues. It was, according to them, the mere blindness of the Jews that
prevented them from recognizing in him a far greater Messiah than they
had erroneously expected. Moreover, they tell us that another of the
mistakes made by this gross nation was the expectation of an earthly
kingdom in which Christ was to reign, whereas it was only a spiritual
kingdom which he came to institute. But who were to be judges of the
character of the Messiah if not the Jews to whom he was to come? The
very thought of a Messiah was peculiarly their own. It had grown up
in the course of their national history, and was embodied in their
national prophecies. They alone were its authorized interpreters;
they alone could say whether it was fulfilled in the case of a given
individual. It is surely a piece of the most amazing presumption
on the part of nations of heathen origin to pretend that they are
more competent than the Jews themselves to understand the meaning of
a Jewish term; a term, moreover, which neither had nor could have
before the time of Jesus any sense at all except that which the Jews
themselves attached to it. Christians, who derive not only their idea
of the Messiah's character, but their very knowledge of the word, from
the case of Jesus alone, undertake to set right the Jews, among whom it
was a current notion for centuries before he had been conceived in his
mother's womb!

Granting, however, that this difficulty might have been surmounted,
supposing that it was a spiritual kingdom which the ancient prophets
under uncouth images referred to, the question still remains whether
Jesus in other respects fulfilled the conditions demanded by Scripture.
For this purpose it will be the fairest method to confine ourselves
to the discussion of those prophecies alone which are quoted by the
Evangelists, and are therefore relied upon by them as proving their
case. Where, however, they have quoted only a portion of a prophecy,
and the remainder gives a somewhat different complexion to the passage
extracted, justice to their opponents requires that we should consider
the whole.

Take first the circumstances of Christ's birth. It was expected that
the Messiah was to be of the family of David, and born at Bethlehem
Ephratah. Now, according to two of our authorities, he fulfilled
both of these conditions. But, without at all discussing the point
whether their statement is true, it is abundantly sufficient for the
vindication of the Jews to observe, that they neither knew, nor could
know, anything at all, either of his royal lineage or of his birth at
Bethlehem. For he himself never stated either of the two capital facts
of which Luke and Matthew make so much, nor does it appear that any of
his disciples alluded to them during his life-time. He was habitually
spoken about as Jesus of Nazareth. Matthew, in endeavoring to account
for the name by misquoting a prophecy, bears witness to the fact that
it expressed the general belief. Luke makes him speak of Nazareth
as his own country. Nowhere does it appear that he repudiated the
implication conveyed by his ordinary title. Still less did he ever
maintain—what his over-busy biographers maintained for him—that he
was of the seed of David. Quite the reverse. He contends against the
Pharisees that the Messiah was not to be a descendant of David at all.
The dialogue as given by Matthew runs thus: "'What is your opinion
about the Christ? whose son is he?' They say to him, 'David's.' He says
to them, 'How then does David in the spirit call him Lord, saying, The
Lord said to my lord, Sit on my right hand until I place thine enemies
under thy feet? If then David calls him lord, how is he his son?'"
(Mt. xxii. 42-46). No answer was given by the Pharisees, nor was any
explanation of the paradox ever granted them by Jesus. In the absence,
then, of any further elucidation we can only put one interpretation
upon his argument. It was clearly intended to show not only that the
Messiah _need_ not, but that he _could_ not be of the house of David.
David in that case would not have called him Lord. The Pharisees may
have been but little impressed by the force of the argument, but of
one thing they could scarcely entertain a doubt. Jesus wished it to be
thought that he was the Messiah. He also wished it to be thought that
the Messiah was not a son of David. He himself therefore was certainly
not a son of David. But if anything more were needed to excuse the
ignorance—supposing it such—of the Jewish rulers about the birthplace
and family of Jesus, we find it even super-abundantly in the work of
one of his own adherents—the fourth Evangelist. Not that this writer
is to be taken as an authority on the facts, but he is an authority on
the views that were current, at least in a portion of his own sect, and
on that which he himself—writing long after the death of Christ—had
received by tradition. Now, in the beginning of his Gospel he describes
Philip the disciple as going to Nathanael, and saying, "We have found
him of whom Moses in the law and of whom the prophets wrote, Jesus _the
son of Joseph from Nazareth_." At this Nathanael skeptically asks, "Can
anything good come from Nazareth?" and Philip replies, "Come and see"
(Jo. i. 45, 46). According to this account, then, the very disciples
of Jesus believed in his Nazarene nativity, as also (by the way) in
his generation by a human father. Nor is this all the evidence. In
another chapter an active discussion is represented as going on among
the Jews as to whether Jesus was the Christ or not. Opinions differed.
Foremost among the arguments for the negative, however, was the appeal
to the Scriptural declaration that the Christ must be of David's seed,
and emanate from the village of Bethlehem (Jo. vii. 42). No answer to
this was forthcoming from the partizans of Jesus, nor is any suggested
by the Evangelist. There is but one rational inference to be drawn
from his silence. He either had not heard, or he purposely ignored,
the story of Christ's birth at Bethlehem, and the genealogies which
connected him with David. His mind (if he had ever been a Jew) was
to no small extent emancipated from Jewish limitations, and with his
highly refined views of the Logos, he did not believe in the necessity
of these material conditions. It was nothing to him that they were
not fulfilled. More orthodox believers in the prophecies of the Old
Testament may be pardoned if they could not so lightly put them aside.
But what shall be said of the conduct of Jesus? If he really were
a descendant of David, born at Bethlehem, and wrongly taken for a
Nazarene, can we acquit him of an inexcusable fraud upon the Jews in
not bringing these facts under their notice? Assuredly not. If, knowing
as he did the weight they would have in the public mind, he kept them
back; knowing that they would overcome some of the gravest objections
that were taken against his claim, he did not urge them in reply;
knowing at the close of his life that he was charged with an undue
assumption of authority, he did not produce them as at least a portion
of his credentials,—he played a part which it would be difficult to
stigmatize as severely as it deserves. He believed that his reception
by his nation would be an immense benefit to themselves, yet he did not
speak the word which might have helped them to receive him. He thought
he had a mission from God, yet he failed to use one potent argument in
favor of the truth of that idea. He saw finally that he was condemned
to death for supposed impiety, yet he suffered the Sanhedrim to incur
the guilt of his condemnation without employing one of his strongest
weapons in his defense. Happily we are not obliged to suspect him of
this iniquity. The contradictory stories by which his royal descent
and his birth at Bethlehem are sought to be established sufficiently
betray their origin to permit us to believe in the honor and honesty of
Jesus.

Another Messianic prophecy which he is supposed to have fulfilled is
that of birth from a virgin, the necessity of which was deduced from
an expression of Isaiah's. That the writer of the fourth Gospel was
ignorant of this virgin-birth we have already shown, and that the
Jewish people in general took him to be the son of Joseph is obvious
enough from their allusions to his father (Mk. vi. 3; Mt. xiii. 55, 56;
Lu. iv. 22; Jo. vi. 42). Here again he never contradicted the prevalent
assumption. But even had they known of the miraculous conception, the
Jews might have denied that the passage from Isaiah bore any such
construction as that put upon it by Matthew. He renders it: "Behold,
the virgin shall be with child, and bear a son" (Mt. i. 23). But a
more proper translation would be: "The maiden shall conceive, and bear
a son," for the word translated _virgin_ by Matthew does not exclude
young women who have lost their virginity. Nay, it curiously enough
happens to be used elsewhere of maidens engaged in the very conduct by
which they would certainly be deprived of it.

Moreover, the two prophecies quoted by Matthew, which were, no doubt,
familiar to the Jews, could by no possibility be applied by them to a
person of the character of Jesus. Even the small fragments torn away
from their context by the Evangelist convict him of a misapplication.
In the first fragment, the Virgin's son is called Immanuel, a name
which Jesus never bore (Mt. i. 23). In the second, he is described as
"a ruler, who shall govern my people Israel," which Jesus never was
(Mt. ii. 6). But the unlikeness of the predicted person to Jesus is
still further shown by comparing the circumstances as conceived by the
prophet with the actual circumstances of the time. Immanuel's birth is
to be followed, while he is still too young to choose between good and
evil, by a terrible desolation of the land. Hosts, described as flies
and bees, are to come from Egypt and Assyria, and camp in the valleys,
the clefts of the rocks, the hedges and meadows. Cultivable land will
produce only thorns and thistles. Cultivated hills will be surrendered
to cattle from fear of thorns and thistles (Isa. vii. 14-25). Nothing
of all this happened in the time of Jesus. But the prophecy of Micah is
still more inappropriate. The "ruler" who is to be born in Bethlehem
is to lead Israel to victory over all her enemies. He is to deliver
his people from the Assyrian. The remnant of Jacob is to be among the
heathen, like a lion among the beasts of the forest, like a young
lion among flocks of sheep. Its hand is to be lifted up against its
adversaries, and all its enemies are to be destroyed (Micah v).

These references to prophecy were certainly not happy. An allusion by
Matthew to the words, "The people who walk in darkness see a great
light," is not much more to the purpose, for Isaiah in the passage
in question proceeds to describe the child who is to bring them this
happiness as one who shall have the government upon his shoulder, who
is to be on the throne of David, to establish and maintain it by right
and justice for ever (Mt. iv. 15, 16; Is. ix. 1-7). Another extract
from Isaiah, beginning, "Behold my servant whom I have chosen," and
depicting a gentler character, is more appropriate, but is too vague to
be easily confined to any one individual.

Jesus himself is reported by one of his biographers to have relied on
certain words from the pseudo-Isaiah as a confirmation of his mission.
If the account be true, the circumstance is of great importance as
showing the view he himself took of his office, and the means he
employed to convince the Jews of his right to hold it. Entering the
synagogue at Nazareth, he received the roll of the prophet Isaiah,
and proceeded to read from the sixty-first chapter as follows: "The
Spirit of the Lord Jehovah is upon me, because Jehovah has anointed
me to announce glad tidings to the poor; he has sent me to bind up
the broken-hearted; to cry to the captives, Freedom, and to those in
fetters, Deliverance; to cry out a year of good-will from Jehovah."
Here Jesus broke off the reading in the middle of a verse, and declared
that this day this scripture was fulfilled (Lu. iv. 16-21). But let
us continue our study of the prophetic vision a little further. "To
cry out a year of good-will from Jehovah, and _a day of vengeance from
our God_: to comfort all that mourn; to appoint for the mourners of
Zion,—to give them ornaments for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, a
garment of praise for a desponding spirit; that they may be called oaks
of righteousness, a plantation of Jehovah to glorify himself. And they
will build up the ruins of old times, they will restore the desolations
of former days; and they will renew desolate cities, the ruins of
generation upon generation. And strangers shall stand and feed your
flocks, and the sons of foreigners shall be your husbandmen and your
vine-dressers. And you shall be called 'Priests of Jehovah;' 'Servants
of our God,' shall be said to you; the riches of the Gentiles you shall
eat, and into their splendor you shall enter" (Is. lxi. 1-6). Had Jesus
concluded the passage he had begun, he could scarcely have said, "This
day is the scripture fulfilled in your ears." The contrast between the
prediction and the fact would have been rather too glaring.

Perhaps the most striking apparent similarity to Jesus is found in
the man described in such beautiful language by an unknown prophet in
the fifty-third chapter of Isaiah. But these words could hardly be
applied to him by the Jews; in the first place, because they would
not be construed to refer to him until after his crucifixion, seeing
that they describe oppression, prison, judgment, and execution; in the
second place, because there was no reason to believe that he bore their
diseases, and took their sorrows upon him. And although the familiar
words—doubly familiar from the glorious music of Handel,—"He was a
man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief," may seem to us, who know
his end, to describe him perfectly, they could hardly describe him to
the Jews, who saw him in his daily life. In that, at least, there was
nothing peculiarly unhappy.

Failing the prophecies, which were plainly two-edged swords, Jesus
could appeal to his remarkable miracles. He and his disciples evidently
thought them demonstrations of a divine commission. But, in the first
place, it is clear that the evidence of the most wonderful of these
consisted only of the rumors circulating among ignorant peasants, which
the more instructed portion of the nation very properly disregarded.
Their demand for a sign (Mt. xii. 38) proves that they were not
satisfied by these popular reports, if they had ever heard them. And in
the second place, those miracles which were better attested were not
convincing from the fact that others could perform them. Jesus, charged
with casting out devils by Baäl-zebub, the prince of devils, adroitly
retorted on the Pharisees by asking, if that were so, by whom their
sons cast them out? (Mk. iii. 22; Mt. xii. 24-30; Lu. xi. 14-24). But
thus he admitted that he was not singular in his profession. Miracles,
in short, were not regarded by the Jews as any proof of Messiahship.
Their own prophets had performed them. Their own disciples now
performed them. Others might possibly perform them by diabolic agency.
The Egyptian magicians had been very clever in their contest with
Moses, though Moses had beaten them, and had performed far more amazing
wonders than those of Jesus, in so far as these latter were known to
the Pharisees.

Miracles being too common to confer any peculiar title to reverence on
the thaumaturgist, there remained the doctrine and personal character
of Jesus by which to judge him. It must be borne in mind that the
impression which these might make upon his antagonist would depend
mainly upon his bearing in his relations with them. He might preach
pure morals in Galilee, or present a model of excellence to his own
followers in Judea; but this would not entitle him to reception as the
Messiah, nor would it remove an unfavorable bias created by his conduct
towards those who had not embraced his principles. Let us see, then,
what was likely to be the effect on the Pharisees, scribes, and others,
of those elements in his opinions and his behavior by which they were
more immediately affected.

There existed among the Jews, as there still exists among ourselves,
an institution which was greatly honored among them, as it is still
honored, though in a minor degree, among ourselves. The institution
was that of a day of rest sacred to God once in every seven days.
This custom they believed to have been founded by the very highest
authority, and embodied by Moses in the ten commandments which he
received on Sinai. Nothing in the eyes of an orthodox Jew could be
holier than such an observance, enjoined by his God, founded by the
greatest legislator of his race, consecrated by long tradition. Now
the ordinary rules with regard to what was lawful and what unlawful on
this day were totally disregarded by Jesus. Not only did his disciples
make a path through a cornfield on the Sabbath, but Jesus openly cured
diseases, that is, pursued his common occupation, on this most sacred
festival (Mk. ii. 23iii. 7; Mt. xii. 1-14; Lu. vi. 1-11, xiii. 10-17,
xiv. 1-6). When these violations of propriety (as they seemed to them)
first came under the notice of the Pharisees, they merely remonstrated
with Jesus, and endeavored to induce him to restrain the impiety of his
disciples. Not only did he decline to do so, but he expressly justified
their course by the example of David, and by that of the priests, who,
according to his mode of reasoning, profane the Sabbath in the temple
by doing that to which by their office they were legally bound. Such
an argument could scarcely convince the Pharisees, but they must have
been shocked beyond measure when he proclaimed himself greater than the
temple, and asserted his lordship even over the Sabbath-day. They then
inquired of him—a perfectly legitimate question—whether it was lawful
to heal on the Sabbath, to which he replied that if one of their own
sheep had fallen into the pit they would pick it out. Confirming his
theory by his practice, he at once healed a man with a withered hand.
It is noteworthy that the desire of the Pharisees to inflict punishment
upon Jesus is dated by all three Evangelists from this incident; so
that the hostility towards him may be certainly considered as largely
due to his unsabbatarian principles.

Now in this question it is almost needless for me to say that my
sympathies are entirely with Jesus. Although I do not perceive in his
conduct any extensive design against the Sabbath altogether, yet it is
much that he should have attempted to mitigate its rigor. For that the
world owes him its thanks. But surely it cannot be difficult, in this
highly sabbatarian country, to understand the horror of the Pharisees
at his apparent levity. Seeing that it is not so very long since the
supposed desecration of the Sunday in these islands subjected the
offender to be treated as a common criminal; seeing that even now a
total abstinence from labor on that day is in many occupations enforced
by law; seeing that a custom almost as strong as law forbids indulgence
in a vast number of ordinary amusements during its course,—we can
scarcely be much surprised that the sabbatarians of Judea were zealous
to preserve the sanctity of their weekly rest. The fact that highly
conscientious and honorable persons entertain similar sentiments about
the Sunday is familiar to all. We know that any one who neglected the
usual customs; who, for example, played a game at cricket, or danced,
or even pursued his commercial avocations on Sunday, would be visited
by them with perfectly genuine reproaches. Yet this was exactly the
sort of way in which Christ and his disciples shocked the Jews. To make
a path through a cornfield and pluck the ears was just one of those
little things which the current morality of the Sabbath condemned, much
as ours condemns the opening of museums or theatrical entertainments.
Their piety was scandalized at such a glaring contempt of the divine
ordinances. Nor was the reasoning of Jesus likely to conciliate them.
To ask whether it was lawful to do good or evil, to save life or to
kill on the Sabbath-day was nothing to the purpose. The question was
what _was_ good or evil on that particular day, when things otherwise
good were by all admitted to be evil. Nor were the cures effected by
Jesus necessary to save life. All his patients might well have waited
till evening, when the Sabbath was over. One of them, for instance,
a woman who had suffered from a "spirit of weakness" eighteen years,
being unable to hold herself erect, was surely not in such urgent need
of attendance that a few hours more of her disease would have done her
serious harm. Jesus, with his principles, was of course perfectly right
to relieve her at once, but it is not to be wondered at that the ruler
of the synagogue was indignant, and told the people that there were six
working days; in them therefore they should come and be healed, and not
on the Sabbath. The epithet of "hypocrite," applied to him by Jesus,
was, to say the least, hardly justified (Lu. xiii. 10-17).

Another habit of Jesus, in itself commendable, excited the displeasure
of the stricter sects. It was that of eating with publicans and
sinners. This practice, and the fact of his neglecting the fasts
observed by the Pharisees, gave an impression of general laxity
about his conduct, which, however unjust, was perfectly natural
(Mk. ii. 15-22; Mt. ix. 10-17; Lu. v. 29-39). Here again I see no
reason to attribute bad motives to his opponents who merely felt as
"church-going" people among ourselves would feel about one who stayed
away from divine service, and as highly decorous people would feel
about one who kept what they thought low company.

Eating with unwashed hands was another of the several evidences of his
contempt for the prevalent proprieties of life which gave offense.
The resentment felt by the Pharisees at this practice was the more
excusable that Jesus justified it on the distinct ground that he had no
respect for "the tradition of the elders," for which they entertained
the utmost reverence. This tradition he unsparingly attacked, accusing
them of frustrating the commandment of God in order to keep it (Mk.
vii. 1-13; Mt. xv. 1-9). Language like this was not likely to pass
without leaving a deep-seated wound, especially if it be true (as
stated by Luke) that one of the occasions on which he employed it was
when invited to dinner by a Pharisee. Indifferent as the washing of
hands might be in itself, courtesy towards his host required him to
abstain from needless outrage to his feelings. And when, in addition to
the first offense, he proceeded to denounce his host and host's friends
as people who made the outside of the cup and the platter clean, but
were inwardly full of ravening and wickedness, there is an apparent
rudeness which even the truth of his statements could not have excused
(Lu. xi. 37-39).

Neither was the manner in which he answered the questions addressed to
him, as to a teacher claiming to instruct the people, likely to remove
the prejudice thus created. The Evangelists who report these questions
generally relate that they were put with an evil intent: "tempting
him," or some such expression being used. But whatever may have been
the secret motives of the questioners, nothing could be more legitimate
than to interrogate a man who put forward the enormous pretensions of
Jesus, so long as the process was conducted fairly. And this, on the
side of the Jews, it apparently was. There is nowhere perceptible in
their inquiries a scheme to entrap him, or a desire to entangle him in
difficulties by skillful examination. On the contrary, the subjects on
which he is questioned are precisely those on which, as the would-be
master of the nation, he might most properly be expected to give clear
answers. And the judgment formed of him by the public would naturally
depend to a large extent on the mode in which he acquitted himself in
this impromptu trial. Let us see, then, what was the impression he
probably produced.

On one occasion the Pharisees came to him, "tempting him," to ascertain
his opinion on divorce. Might a man put away his wife? Jesus replied
that he might not, and explained the permission of Moses to give a wife
a bill of divorce as a mere concession to the hardness of their hearts.
A divorced man or woman who married again was guilty of adultery. Even
the disciples were staggered at this. If an unhappy man could never be
released from his wife, it would be better, they thought, not to marry
at all (Mk. x. 1-12; Mt. xix. 1-12). Much more must the Pharisees have
dissented from this novel doctrine. Rightly or wrongly, they reverenced
the law of Moses, and they could not but profoundly disapprove this
assumption of authority to set it aside and substitute for its precepts
an unheard of innovation.

Another question of considerable importance was that relating to the
tribute. Some of the Pharisees, it seems, after praising him for
his independence, begged him to give them his opinion on a disputed
point: Was it lawful or not to pay tribute to the Emperor? All three
biographers are indignant at the question. They attribute it as usual
to a desire to "catch him in his words," or, as another Evangelist
puts it, to "entangle him in his talk." Jesus (they remark) perceived
what one calls their "wickedness," a second their "hypocrisy," and the
third their "craftiness." "Why do you tempt me?" he began. "Bring me
a denarium that I may see it." The coin being brought, he asked them,
"Whose image and superscription is this?" "Cæsar's." "Then render to
Cæsar the things that are Cæsar's, and to God the things that are
God's" (Mk. xii. 13-17; Mt. xxii. 15-22; Lu. xx. 20-26). One of the
Evangelists, reporting this reply, rejoices at the discomfiture of the
Pharisees, who "could not take hold of his words before the people."
Doubtless his decision had the merit that it could not be taken hold
of, but this was only because it decided nothing. Taking the words in
their simplest sense, they merely assert what nobody would deny. No
Pharisee would ever have maintained that the things of Cæsar should
be given to God; and no partizan of Rome would ever have demanded
that the things of God should be given to Cæsar. But practically it
is evident that Jesus meant to do more than employ an unmeaning form
of words. He meant to assert that the tribute was one of the things
of Cæsar, and that because the coin in which it was paid was stamped
with his image. More fallacious reasoning could hardly be imagined,
and it is not surprising that the Pharisees "marveled at him." Nobody
doubted that the Emperor possessed the material power, and no more
than this was proved by the fact that coins bearing his effigy were
current in the country. The question was not whether he actually ruled
Judea, but whether it was lawful to acknowledge that rule by paying
tribute. And what light could it throw on this question to show that
the money used to pay it was issued from his mint? It must almost be
supposed that Jesus fell into the confusion of supposing that the
denarium with Cæsar's image and superscription upon it was in some
peculiar sense Cæsar's property, whereas it belonged as completely to
the man who produced it at the moment as did the clothes he wore. Had
the Roman domination come to an end at any moment, the coin of the
Empire would have retained its intrinsic value, but the Romans could
by no possibility have founded a right of exacting tribute upon the
circumstance of its circulation. Either, therefore, this celebrated
declaration was a mere verbal juggle, or it rested on a transparent
fallacy.

After the Pharisees had been thus disposed of, their inquiries were
followed up by a puzzle devised by the Sadducees in order to throw
ridicule on the doctrine of a future state. These sectaries put an
imaginary case. Moses had enjoined that if a man died leaving a
childless widow, his brother should marry her for the purpose of
keeping up the family. Suppose, said they, that the first of seven
brothers marries, and dies without issue. The second brother then
marries her with the like result; then the third, and so on through all
the seven. In the resurrection whose wife will this woman be, for the
seven have had her as their wife? To this Jesus replies: first, that
his questioners greatly err, neither knowing the Scriptures nor the
power of God; secondly, that when people rise from death they do not
marry, but are like angels; thirdly, that the resurrection is proved
by the fact that God had spoken of himself as the God of Abraham,
Isaac, and Jacob, and that he is not the God of the dead, but of the
living (Mk. xii. 18-27; Mt. xxii. 23-33; Lu. xx. 27-40). Whether the
Sadducees were or were not satisfied by this answer we are not told,
but it is quite certain that their modern representatives could not
accept it. For the inquirers had hit upon one of the real difficulties
attending the doctrine of a future life. We are always assured that one
of the great consolations of this doctrine is the hope it holds out of
meeting again those whom we have loved on earth, and living with them
in a kind of communion not wholly unlike that which we have enjoyed
here. Earthly relationships, it is assumed, will be prolonged into
that happier world. There the parent will find again the child whom
he has lost, and the child will rejoin his parent; there the bereaved
husband will be restored to his wife, and the widow will be comforted
by the sight of the companion of her wedded years. All this is simple
enough. Complications inevitably arise, however, when we endeavor to
pick up again in another life the tangled skein of our relations in
this. Not only may the feelings with which we look forward to meeting
former friends be widely different after many years' separation from
what they were at their death; but even in marriage there may be a
preference for a first or a second husband or wife, which may render
the thought of meeting the other positively unpleasant. And if the
sentiments of the other should nevertheless be those of undiminished
love, the question may well arise, whose husband is he, or whose wife
is she of the two? Are all three to live together? But then, along with
the comfort of meeting one whom we love, we have the less agreeable
prospect of meeting another whom we have ceased to love. Or will one
of the two wives or two husbands be preferred and the other slighted?
If so, the last will suffer and not gain by the reunion. Take the
present case. Assume that the wife loved only her first husband, but
that all the seven were attached to her. Then we may well ask, whose
wife will she be of them? Will her affections be divided among the
seven, or will they all be given to the first? In the former case, she
will be compelled to live in a society for which she has no desire; in
the latter, six of her seven husbands will be unable to enjoy the full
benefit of her presence. The question is merely evaded by saying that
in the resurrection there is neither marriage nor giving in marriage,
but that men are like angels. Either there is no consolation in living
again, or there must be some kind of repetition of former ties. Still
less logical is the argument by which Jesus attempts to prove the
reality of a future state against the Sadducees. In syllogistic form it
maybe thus stated:—

 God is not the God of the dead, but of the living. God told Moses in
 the bush that he was the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Therefore
 they are not dead, but living (Mk. xii. 18-27; Mt. xxii. 23-33; Lu.
 xx. 27-40).

What is the evidence of the major premiss? The moment it is questioned
it is seen to be invalid. Nothing could be more natural than that
Moses, or any other Hebrew, should speak of his God as the God of
Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, meaning that those great forefathers of his
race had adored and been protected by the same Jehovah in their day,
but not therefore that they were still living. The Sadducees must have
been weak indeed if such an argument could weigh with them for a moment.

After this a scribe or lawyer drew from Jesus the important declaration
that in his opinion the two greatest commandments were that we
should love God with the whole heart, soul, mind, and strength; and
our neighbors as ourselves (Mk. xii. 28-34; Mt. xxii. 34-40; Lu. x.
25-37). How gratuitous the imputations of ill-will thrown out against
those who interrogate Jesus may be, is admirably shown in the present
instance. One Gospel (the most trustworthy) asserts that the question
about the first commandment was put by a scribe, who thought that Jesus
had answered well, and who, moreover, expressed emphatic approval of
the reply given to himself. Such (according to this account) was his
sympathy with Jesus, that the latter declared that he was not far from
the kingdom of God. Mark now the extraordinary color given to this
simple transaction in another Gospel. The Pharisees, we are told, saw
that the Sadducees had been silenced, and therefore drew together.
Apparently as a result of their consultation (though this is not
stated), one of _them_ who was a lawyer asked a question, _tempting
him_, namely, Which is the great commandment in the law? Diverse,
again, from both versions is the narrative of a third. In the first
place, all connection with the preceding questions is broken off,
and without any preliminaries, a lawyer stands up, and, _tempting
him_, inquires, "Master, by what conduct shall I inherit eternal
life?" To which Jesus replies by a counter-question, "What is written
in the law?" and then, strange to say, these two great commandments
are enunciated, not by him, but by the unknown lawyer, whose answer
receives the commendation of Jesus.

The bias thus evinced by the Evangelists, even in reporting the fairest
questions, seems to show that Christ did not like his opinions to be
elicited from him by this method, feeling perhaps that it was likely
to expose his intellectual weaknesses. In this way, and possibly in
others, a sentiment of hostility grew up between himself and the
dominant sects, which, until the closing scenes of his career, was
far more marked on his side than on theirs. Beautiful maxims about
loving one's enemies and returning good for evil did not keep him
from reproaching the Pharisees on many occasions. Unfortunately, a
man's particular enemies are just those who scarcely ever appear to
him worthy of love, and this was evidently the case with Jesus and
the men upon whom he poured forth his denunciations. Judging by his
mode of speaking, we should suppose that all religious people who did
not agree with him were simply hypocrites. This is one of the mildest
terms by which he can bring himself to mention the Pharisees or the
scribes. Of the latter, he declares that they devour widows' houses,
and for a pretence make long prayers; therefore they would receive the
greater damnation (Mk. xii. 40; Mt. xxiii. 14). The scribes and the
Pharisees, it is said, bind heavy burdens on others, and refuse to
touch them themselves (surely an improbable charge). They do all their
works to be seen of men (their outward behavior then was virtuous).
One of their grievous sins is that they make their phylacteries broad,
and enlarge the borders of their garments. Worse still: they like
the best places at dinner-parties and in the synagogues (to which
perhaps their position entitled them). They have a pleasure in hearing
themselves called "Rabbi," a crime of which Christ's disciples are
especially to beware. They shut up the kingdom of heaven, neither
entering themselves, nor allowing others to enter. They compass sea and
land to make one proselyte, but all this seeming zeal for religion is
worthless: when they have the proselyte, they make him still more a
child of hell than themselves. They pay tithes regularly, but omit the
weightier virtues; unhappily too common a failing with the votaries of
all religions. They make the outside of the cup and platter clean, but
within they are full of extortion and excess. Like whited sepulchres,
they look well enough outside, but this aspect of righteousness is a
mere cloak for hypocrisy and wickedness. They honor God with their
lips, but their heart is far from him.[30]

He uses towards them such designations as these: "Scribes and
Pharisees, hypocrites;" "you blind guides;" "you fools and blind;"
"thou blind Pharisee;" "you serpents, you generation of vipers." If
we may believe that he was the author of a parable contained only
in Luke, he used a Pharisee as his typical hypocrite, and held up a
publican—one of a degraded class—as far superior in genuine virtue to
this self-righteous representative of the hated order (Lu. xviii. 9-14).

Had the Pharisees been actually guilty of the exceeding wickedness
which Jesus thought proper to ascribe to them, his career would surely
have been cut short at a much earlier stage. As it was, they seem to
have borne with considerable patience the extreme license which he
permitted himself in his language against them. Nay, I venture to say
that had he confined himself to language, however strong, he might
have escaped the fate which actually befell him. And the evidence of
this proposition is to be found in the extreme mildness with which
his apostles were afterwards treated by the Sanhedrim, even when they
acted in direct disobedience to its orders (Acts iv. 15-21, and v.
27-42). Only Stephen, who courted martyrdom by his language, was put to
death, and that for the legal offense of blasphemy. Ordinary prudence
would have saved Jesus. For his arrest was closely connected with his
expulsion of the money-changers from the temple court. Not indeed that
he was condemned to death on that account, but that this ill-considered
deed was the immediate incentive of the legal proceedings, which
subsequently ended, contrary perhaps to the expectation of his
prosecutors, in his conviction by the Sanhedrim on a capital charge.
Let us consider the evidence of this. For the convenience of persons
going to pay tribute to the temple, some money-changers—probably
neither better nor worse than others of their trade—sat outside for the
purpose of receiving the current Roman coinage and giving the national
money, which alone the authorities of the temple received in exchange.
Certain occasions in life requiring an offering of doves, these too
were sold in the precincts of the temple, obviously to the advantage
of the public. Had Jesus disapproved of this practice, he might have
denounced it in public, and have endeavored to persuade the people to
give it up. Instead of this, he entered the temple, expelled the buyers
and sellers (by what means we do not know), upset the money-changers'
tables and the dove-sellers' seats, and permitted no one to carry a
vessel through the temple. "Is it not written," he exclaimed, "'My
house shall be called a house of prayer for all nations?' but you have
made it a den of thieves" (Mk. xi. 15-18; Mt. xxi. 12, 13; Lu. xix.
45-48). The action and the words were alike unjustifiable. The extreme
care of the Jews to preserve the sanctity of their temple is well known
from secular history. Nothing that they had done or were likely to do
could prevent it from remaining a house of prayer. And even if they had
suffered it to be desecrated by commerce, was it, they would ask, for
Jesus to fall suddenly upon men who were but pursuing a calling which
custom had sanctioned, and which they had no reason to think illegal or
irreligious? Was it for him to stigmatize them all indiscriminately as
"thieves"? Plainly not. He had, in their opinion, exceeded all bounds
of decorum, to say nothing of law, in this deed of violence and of
passion. Thus, there was nothing for it now but to restrain the further
excesses he might be tempted to commit.

No immediate steps were, however, taken to punish this outrage. It is
alleged that Jesus escaped because of the reputation he enjoyed among
the people. At any rate, the course of the authorities was the mildest
they could possibly adopt. They contented themselves with asking Jesus
by what authority he did these things, a question which assuredly they
had every right to put. He answered by another question, promising
if they answered it, he would answer theirs. Was John's baptism from
heaven or from men? Hereupon the Evangelists depict the perplexity
which they imagine arose among the priests. If they said, from heaven,
Jesus would proceed to ask why they had not received him; if from men,
they would encounter the popular impression that he was a prophet. All
this, however, may be mere speculation; we return within the region of
the actual knowledge of the Evangelists when we come to their answer.
"And they say in answer to Jesus, '_We do not know._' And Jesus says to
them, '_Neither do I tell you_ by what authority I do these things.'"
(Mk. xi. 27-33; Mt. xxi. 23-27; Lu. xx. 1-8). Observe in this reply the
conduct of Jesus. He had promised the priests that if they answered his
question, he would also answer theirs. They _did_ answer his question
as best they could, and he refused to answer theirs! Even in the
English version, where the contrast between him and them is disguised
by the employment of the same word "tell" as the translation of two
very different verbs in the original, the distinction between "We
_cannot_ tell" and "I _do not_," that is "will not tell" is palpable
enough. But it is far more so in the original. The priests did not by
any means decline to answer the question; they simply said, what may
very likely have been true, that they did not know whence the baptism
of John was. In the divided state of public opinion about John, nothing
could be more natural. They could not reply decidedly if their feelings
were undecided. Their reply, "We do not know," was then a perfectly
proper one. The corresponding reply on the part of Jesus would have
been, "I do not know by what authority I do these things;" but this
of course it was impossible to give. The chief priests, scribes and
elders had more right to ask Jesus to produce his authority for his
assault than he had to interrogate them about their religious opinions.
But Jesus, though he had for the moment evaded a difficulty, must have
been well aware that he was not out of danger. He found it necessary to
retire to a secret spot, known only to friends. Here, however, he was
discovered by his opponents, and brought before the Sanhedrim to answer
to the charges now alleged against his character and doctrine.

To some extent these charges are matter of conjecture. The Gospels
intimate that there was much evidence against him which they have not
reported. Now it is impossible for us to do complete justice to the
tribunal which heard the case unless we know the nature and number
of the offences of which the prisoner was accused. One of them, the
promise to destroy the temple and rebuild it in three days, may have
presented itself to their minds as an announcement of a serious
purpose, especially after the recent violence done to the traders.
However this may be, there was now sufficient evidence before the court
to require the high priest to call upon Jesus for his reply. He might
therefore have made his defense if he had thought proper. He declined
to do so. Again the high priest addressed him, solemnly requiring him
to say whether he was the Christ, the Son of God. Jesus admitted that
such was his conviction, and declared that they would afterwards see
him return in the clouds of heaven. Hereupon the high priest rent his
clothes, and asked what further evidence could be needed. All had
heard his blasphemy; what did they think of it? All of them concurred
in condemning him to death (Mk. xv. 53-64; Mt. xxvi. 57-66; Lu. xxii.
66-71).

The three Evangelists who report the trial all agree that the blasphemy
thus uttered was accepted at once as full and sufficient ground for
the conviction of Jesus. Now, I see no reason whatever to doubt
that the priests who were thus scandalized by his declaration were
perfectly sincere in the horror they professed. All who have at all
realized the extremely strong feelings of the Jews on the subject of
Monotheism, will easily understand that anything which in the least
impugned it would be regarded by them with the utmost aversion. And
a man who claimed to be the Son of God certainly detracted somewhat
from the sole and exclusive adoration which they considered to be due
to Jehovah. As indeed the event has proved; for the Christian Church
soon departed from pure Monotheism, adopting the dogma of the Trinity;
while Christ along with his Father, and even more than his Father,
became an object of its worship. So that if the Jews considered it
their supreme obligation to preserve the purity of their Jehovistic
faith, as their Scriptures taught them to believe it was, they were
right in putting down Jesus by forcible means. No doubt they were
wrong in holding such an opinion. It was not, in fact, their duty to
guard their faith by persecution. They would have been morally better
had they understood the modern doctrine of religious liberty, unknown
as it was to Christians themselves until some sixteen centuries after
the death of Christ. But for their mistaken notions on this head they
were only in part responsible. They had inherited their creed with its
profound intolerance. Their history, their legislators, their prophets,
all conspired to uphold persecution for the maintenance of religious
truth. They could not believe in their sacred books, and disbelieve the
propriety of persecution. Before they could leave Jesus at large to
teach his subversive doctrines, they must have ceased to be Jews; and
this it was impossible for them to do. We must not be too hard upon men
whose only crime was that they believed in a false religion.

According to the dictates of that religion, Jesus ought to have been
stoned. But the Roman supremacy precluded the Jews from giving effect
to their own laws. Jesus was therefore taken before the procurator,
and accused of "many things." The charge of blasphemy of course would
weigh nothing in the mind of a Roman; and it is evident that another
aspect of the indictment was brought prominently before Pilate: namely,
the pretension of Jesus to be king of the Jews. As to the substantial
truth of this second charge, we are saved the necessity of discussion,
for Jesus himself, when questioned by Pilate, at once admitted it. But
whether it was made in malice, and in a somewhat different sense from
that in which Pilate understood it, is not so clear. Jesus at no time,
so far as we know, put forward any direct claim to immediate temporal
dominion. At the same time it must be remembered that the ideas of
Messiahship and possession of the kingdom were so intimately connected
in the minds of the Jews, that they were probably unable to dissociate
them. Unfit as Jesus plainly was for the exercise of the government,
they might well believe that, if received by any considerable number of
the people, it would be forced upon him as the logical result of his
career. Nor were these fears unreasonable. His entry into Jerusalem
riding on an ass (an animal expressly selected as emblematic of his
royalty), with palm-branches strewed before him, and admirers calling
"Hosanna!" as he went, pointed to a very real and serious danger.
Another such demonstration might with the utmost ease have passed into
a disturbance of the peace, not to say a tumult, which the Romans would
have quenched in blood unsparingly and indiscriminatingly shed. Jesus
was really therefore a dangerous character, not so much to the Romans,
as to the Jews. Not being prepared to accept him as their king in fact,
they were almost compelled in self-preservation to denounce him as
their would-be king to Pilate.

His execution followed. His supposed resurrection, and the renewed
propagation of his faith, followed that. It has been widely believed
that because Christianity was not put down by the death of its founder,
because, indeed, it burst out again in renewed vigor, therefore the
measures taken against him were a complete failure, and served only
to confer additional glory and power on the religion he had taught.
But this opinion arises from a confusion of ideas. If they aimed at
preserving their own nation from what they deemed an impious heresy—and
I see no proof that they aimed at anything else—the Jewish authorities
were perfectly successful. Christianity, which, if our accounts
be true, threatened to seduce large numbers of people from their
allegiance to the orthodox creed, was practically extinguished among
the Jews themselves by the death of Christ. They could not possibly
believe in a crucified Messiah. Only a very small band of disciples
persisted in adhering to Jesus, justifying their continued faith by
asserting that he had risen from the tomb. But it was no longer among
the countrymen of Jesus, whom he had especially sought to attach to
his person and his doctrine, that this small remnant of his followers
could find their converts. Neither then, nor at any subsequent time,
has Christianity been able to wean the Jews from their ancient faith.
The number of those who, from that time to this, have abandoned it in
favor of the more recent religion has been singularly small. If, as is
probable, there was during the earthly career of Jesus a growing danger
that his teaching might lead to the formation of a sect to which many
minds would be attracted, that danger was completely averted.

True, Christianity, when rejected by the Jews, made rapid progress
among the Gentiles. But it was no business of the authorities at
Jerusalem to look after the religion of heathen nations. They might
have thought, had they foreseen the future of Christianity, that
a creed which originated among themselves, and had in it a large
admixture of Hebrew elements, was better than the worship of the pagan
deities. Be this as it may, the particular form of error which the
Gentiles might embrace was evidently no concern of theirs. But they had
a duty, or thought they had one, towards their own people, who looked
to them for guidance, and that was to preserve the religion that had
been handed down from their forefathers uncorrupted and unmixed. This
they endeavored to do by stifling the new-born heresy of Jesus before
it had become too powerful to be stifled. Their measures, having regard
to the end they had in view, were undoubtedly politic, and even just.

For were they not perfectly right in supposing that faith in Christ
was dangerous to faith in Moses? The event has proved it beyond
possibility of question. Not indeed that they could perceive the extent
of the peril, for neither Jesus nor any of his disciples has ventured
then to throw off Judaism altogether. But they did perceive, with a
perfectly correct insight, that the Christians were setting up a new
authority alongside of the authorities which alone they recognized,—the
Scriptures and the traditional interpretation of the Scriptures. And
it was precisely the adoption of a new authority which they desired to
prevent. So completely was their foresight on this point justified,
that not long after the death of Christ, his assumed followers received
converts without circumcision, that all-essential rite; and that, after
the lapse of no long period of time, Judaism was entirely abandoned,
and a new religion, with new dogmas, new ritual, and new observances,
was founded in its place. Surely the action of the men who sat in
judgment upon Jesus needs no further justification, from their own
point of view, than this one consideration. They had no more sacred
trust, in their own eyes, than to prevent the admission of any other
object of worship than the Lord Jehovah. Christ speedily became among
Christians an object of worship. They owned no more solemn duty than
to observe in all its parts the law delivered by their God to Moses.
That law was almost instantly abandoned by the Christian Church. They
knew of no more unpardonable crime than apostasy from their faith. That
apostasy was soon committed by the Jewish Christians.

On all these grounds, then, I venture to maintain that the spiritual
rulers of Judea were not so blameworthy as has been commonly supposed
in the execution of Jesus of Nazareth. Judged by the principles
of universal morality, they were undoubtedly wrong. Judged by the
principles of their own religion, they were no less undoubtedly right.


            SUBDIVISION 5.—_What did he think of himself?_

Having endeavored, as far as our imperfect information will admit, to
realize the view that would be taken of Jesus by contemporary Jews, let
us seek if possible to realize the view which he took of himself. In
what relation did he suppose himself to stand to God the Father? And
in what relation to the Hebrew law? What was his conception of his own
mission, and of the manner in which it could best be fulfilled?

Though, in replying to these questions, we suffer somewhat from the
scarcity of the materials, we do not labor under the same disadvantages
as those we encountered in the preceding section. For there we had
to judge between two bitterly hostile parties, of which only one had
presented its case. And from the highly colored statement of this one
party we had to unravel, as best we could, whatever circumstances
might be permitted to weigh in favor of the other. Here we have no
conflicting factions to obscure the truth. The opinion formed by Jesus
of himself has been handed down to us by his own disciples, who,
even if they did not perfectly understand him, must at least have
understood him far better than anybody else. And if the picture they
give us of the conception he had formed of his own office be consistent
with itself, there is also the utmost probability that it is true.
Especially will this hold good if this conception should be found to
differ materially from that not long afterwards framed about him by the
Christian Church.

Consider first the idea he entertained concerning his Messianic
character, and his consequent relation to God. His conviction that he
was the Messiah, who was sent with a divine message to his nation, was
evidently the mainspring of his life. It was under this conviction that
he worked his cures and preached his sermons. Probably it strengthened
as he continued in his career, though of this there is no possible
evidence. Possibly, however, the instructions he gave on several
occasions to those whom he had healed, and once to his disciples, to
tell no man about him, arose from a certain diffidence about the power
by which his miracles were effected (_E.g._, Mk. i. 44; Mt. ix. 30),
and a reluctance to accept the honor which the populace would have
conferred upon him. However this may be, he certainly put forward
his belief on this subject plainly enough, and its acceptance by his
disciples no doubt confirmed it in his own mind, while its rejection by
the nation at large, especially the more learned portion of it, gave
a flavor of bitterness to the tone in which he insisted upon it. The
title by which he habitually designates himself is the Son of man. This
was, no doubt, selected as a more modest name than "Son of God." The
latter was never (if we exclude the fourth Gospel) applied by Jesus to
himself, but when applied to him by others, he made no objection to it,
but accepted it as his due. The inference from his behavior is, that he
liked to be thought the Son of God (as indeed is shown by his eulogy of
Peter when that apostle had so described him) (Mt. xvi. 17; vers. 18
and 19 are probably interpolations), but that he did not quite venture
to claim the title for himself. That he was ever imagined, either by
himself or others, to be the Son of God in the literal, materialistic
sense in which the term was afterwards understood, it would be an
entire mistake to suppose. No such notion had ever been formulated
by the Jewish mind, and it would, no doubt, have filled his earliest
disciples with horror. As Mr. Westcott truly observes, "Years must
elapse before we can feel that the words of one who talked with men
were indeed the words of God" (Canon of New Testament, p. 64). Nor was
the Hebrew Jehovah the sort of divinity who would have had a son by a
young village maiden. Proceedings of that kind were left to the heathen
deities. Nor did Christ, in claiming a filial relationship to God, ever
intend to claim unity with the divine essence, still less to assert
that he actually was God himself. This notion of identity would receive
no sanction even from the fourth Gospel, which does, quite unlike its
predecessors, lend some sanction to that of unity in nature. The best
proof of this is that Jesus never, at any period of his life, desired
his followers to worship him, either as God or as the Son of God. Had
he believed of himself what his followers subsequently believed of him,
that he was one of the constituent persons in a divine trinity, he must
have enjoined his apostles both to address him in prayer themselves,
and to desire their converts to address him. It is quite plain that he
did nothing of the kind, and that they never supposed him to have done
so. Belief in Christ as the Messiah was taught as the first dogma of
apostolic Christianity, but adoration of Christ as God was not taught
at all. But we are not left in this matter to depend on conjectural
inferences. The words of Jesus are plain. Whenever occasion arose,
he asserted his inferiority to the Father (as Milton has proved to
demonstration),[31] though, as no one had then dreamt of his equality,
it is natural that the occasions should not have been frequent. He made
himself inferior in knowledge when he said that of the day and hour of
the day of judgment no one knew, neither the angels in heaven, nor the
Son; no one except the Father (Mk. xiii. 32). He made himself inferior
in power when he said that seats on his right hand and on his left
in the kingdom of heaven were not his to give (Mk. x. 40); inferior
in virtue when he desired a certain man not to address him as "Good
master," for there was none good but God (Mk. x. 18). The words of his
prayer at Gethsemane, "all things are possible unto thee," imply that
all things were not possible to him; while its conclusion, "not what
I will, but what thou wilt," indicates submission to a superior, not
the mere execution of a purpose of his own (Mk. xiv. 36). Indeed, the
whole prayer would have been a mockery, useless for any purpose but the
deception of his disciples, if he had himself been identical with the
Being to whom he prayed, and had merely been giving effect by his death
to their common counsels. While the cry of agony from the cross, "My
God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?" (Mk. xv. 34,) would have been
quite unmeaning if the person forsaken and the person forsaking had
been one and the same. Either, then, we must assume that the language
of Jesus has been misreported, or we must admit that he never for a
moment pretended to be co-equal, co-eternal, or con-substantial with
God.

Throughout his public life he spoke of himself as one who was sent
by God for a certain purpose. What was that purpose? Was it, as
the Gentile Christians so readily assumed, to abolish the laws and
customs of the Jews, and to substitute others in their stead? Did
he, for example, propose to supplant circumcision by baptism? the
Sabbath by the Sunday? the synagogue by the church? the ceremonial
observances of the law of Moses by observances of another kind? If so,
let the evidence be produced. For unless we find among his recorded
instructions some specific injunction to his disciples that they were
no longer to be Jews, but Christians, we cannot assume that he intended
any such revolution. Now, not only can no such injunction be produced,
but the whole course of his life negatives the supposition that any was
given. For while teaching much on many subjects, he never at any time
alludes to the Mosaic dispensation as a temporary arrangement, destined
to yield to a higher law. Yet it would surely have been strange if he
had left his disciples to guess at his intentions on this all-important
subject. Moreover, it came directly in his way when he censured the
Pharisees. He frequently accuses them of overlaying the law with a
multitude of unnecessary and troublesome rules; but while objecting to
these, he never for a moment hints that the very law itself was now
to become a thing of the past. Quite the reverse. The Pharisees were
very scrupulous about paying tithes and disregarded weightier matters;
these, he says, they ought to have done, and not to have left the
other undone. If those tithes were no longer to be paid (at least not
for the same objects), why does he not say so? Again, he charges them
with transgressing the commandment of God by their tradition; where
it is the accretions round the law, and not the law itself, which he
attacks. In one case he even directly imposes an observance of the
legal requirements on a man over whom he has influence (Mk. i. 44).
Moreover, he himself evidently continued to perform the obligations of
his Jewish religion until the very end of his life, for one of his last
acts was to eat the passover with his disciples. The only institution
which he apparently desires to alter at all is the Sabbath, and there
it is plain that he aims at an amendment in the mode of its observance,
not at its entire abolition. Indeed, he justifies his disciples by
invoking the example of David, an orthodox Hebrew; and very happily
remarks, that the Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath—one
of his best and most epigrammatic sayings. But an institution made for
man was indeed one to be rationally observed, but by no means one to be
lightly tampered with. Jesus, in fact, was altogether a Jew, and though
an ardent reformer, he desired to reform within the limits of Judaism,
not beyond them.

If further proof were needed of this than the fact that he himself
neither abandoned the religion of his birth, nor sought to obtain
disciples except among those who belonged to it, it would be found in
his treatment of the heathen woman whose daughter was troubled with
a devil. To her he distinctly declared that he was not sent except
to the lost sheep of the house of Israel. In reply to her further
persistence, he told her that it was not well to take the children's
meat and throw it to dogs. Nothing but her appropriate yet modest
answer induced him to accede to her request (Mt. xv. 21-28). Further
confirmation is afforded by his instructions to his disciples, whom he
desired not to go either to the Gentiles or the Sâmaritans, but to the
lost sheep of the house of Israel (Mt. x. 5, 6). His own practice was
altogether in conformity with these instructions. He markedly confined
the benefits of his teaching to his fellow-countrymen. Once only is
he said to have visited the neighborhood of Tyre and Sidon, and then
he was anxious to preserve the strictest incognito (Mk. vii. 24).
Even when the Jews refused to believed in him, he sought no converts
among the Gentiles. He never even intimated that he would receive such
converts without their previous adoption of the Jewish faith, and after
his decease his most intimate disciples were doubtful whether it was
lawful to associate with uncircumcised people (Acts x. 28; xi. 2, 3).
Not only, therefore, had he himself never done so, but he had left no
instructions behind him that such a relaxation of Jewish scruples might
ever be permitted. True, when disappointed among his own people, he
now and then contrasted them in unflattering terms with the heathen.
Chorazin and Bethsaida were worse than Tyre and Sidon; Capernaum less
open to conviction than Sodom (Mt. xi. 20-24). The faith of the heathen
centurion was greater than any he had found in Israel (Mt. viii. 10).
But all these expressions of embittered feeling imply that it was in
Israel he had looked for faith, towards Israel that his desires were
turned. To discover faith out of it might be an agreeable surprise, but
as a general rule, was neither to be expected nor sought.

Having, then, determined, what the purport of his mission was not,
let us try to discover what it was. The quest is not difficult. The
whole of his teaching is pervaded by one ever-recurring keynote, which
those who have ears to hear it cannot miss. He came to announce the
approach of what he termed "the kingdom of heaven." A great revolution
was to take place on earth. God was to come, accompanied by Jesus, to
reward the virtuous and to punish the wicked. A totally new order of
things was to be substituted in lieu of the present unjust and unequal
institutions. And Jesus was sent by God to warn the children of Israel
to prepare for this kingdom of heaven. There was but little time to
lose, for even now the day of judgment was at hand. The mind of Jesus
was laden with this one great thought, to which, with him, all others
were subordinate. It runs through his maxims of conduct, his parables,
his familiar converse with his disciples. Far from him was the notion
of founding a new religion, to be extended throughout the world and to
last for ages. It was a work of much more immediate urgency which he
came to do. "Prepare for the kingdom of heaven, for it will come upon
you in the present generation;" such was the burden of his message. Let
us hear his own mode of delivering it to men.

The very beginning of his preaching, according to Mark, was in this
strain: "The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has approached;
repent, and believe the Gospel" (Mk. i. 15). Precisely similar is the
purport of his earliest doctrine according to Matthew (Mt. iv. 7).
How thoroughly he believed that the time was fulfilled is shown by
his decided declaration that there were some among his hearers who
would not taste of death till they had seen the kingdom of God come
with power (Mk. ix. 1), a saying which, as it would never have been
invented, is undoubtedly genuine. He told his disciples that Elias,
who was expected to precede the kingdom of heaven, had already come
(Mk. ix. 13).

Over and over again, in a hundred different ways, this absorbing
thought finds expression in his language. The one and only message the
disciples are instructed to carry to the "lost sheep of the house of
Israel" is that the kingdom of heaven is at hand (Mt. x. 17). When a
city does not receive them, they are to wipe off the dust of it against
them, and bid them be sure that the kingdom of God is near them (Lu.
x. 11). In the coming judgment, Chorazin, Bethsaida, and above all his
own place Capernaum, were to suffer more than Tyre and Sidon. Earthly
matters assume, in consequence of this conviction of their temporary
nature, a very trivial aspect. The disciples are to take no thought
for the morrow; the morrow will take thought for itself. Nor are they
to trouble themselves about food and clothing, but to seek first the
kingdom of God (Mt. vi. 31-34). They are not to lay up treasure on
earth, but in heaven, in order that their hearts may be there (Mt.
vi. 19-21). Moreover, they must be always on the watch, as the Son of
man will come upon them at an unexpected hour. It would not do then
to be engaged as the wicked antediluvians were when overtaken by the
flood, in the occupations of eating and drinking, or marrying and
giving in marriage. Instead of this, they must be like the faithful
servant whom his master on returning to his house found watching (Mt.
xxiv. 38, 42, 43; Lu. xii. 37, 38). Preparation is to be made for the
kingdom which their Father will give them by selling what they have
and bestowing alms, so laying up an incorruptible treasure; by keeping
their loins girded and their lights burning (Lu. xii. 32). Neglect of
these precautions will be punished by exclusion from the joys of the
kingdom, as shown in the parable of the ten virgins (Mt. xxv. 1-13).
But the indications of the great event are not understood by the
people, who are able to read the signs of the coming weather, but not
those of the times (Lu. xii. 54-57); an inability which might have been
due to the fact that they had had some experience of the one kind of
signs and none of the other. On another occasion, he observes that the
law and the prophets were till John; since then the kingdom of God has
been preached, and every man presses into it (Lu. xvi. 16). Here he
specially proclaims himself as the preacher of the kingdom; the man who
brought mankind this new revelation. Such was the manner in which this
revelation was announced, that some at least of those who heard him
thought that the kingdom was to come immediately. To counteract this
view he told the parable of the nobleman who went from home to receive
a kingdom, leaving his servants in charge of certain monies, and
rewarded them on his return according to the amount of interest they
had obtained by usury, punishing one of them who had made no use of
the sum intrusted to him (Lu. xix. 11-27). He himself, of course, was
the nobleman who received his kingdom and returned again to judge his
servants. So urgent was the message he had to deliver, that (according
to one Evangelist) a man who wished to bury his father before joining
him was told to let the dead bury their dead, but to go himself and
announce the kingdom of God; while another, who asked leave to bid
farewell to his family, was warned that no man, having put his hand to
the plough, and looking back, was fit for that kingdom (Lu. ix. 58-62).

The arrival of the kingdom was to be preceded by various signs. There
would be false Christs; there would be wars, earthquakes, and famines;
there would be persecutions of the faithful; but the Gospel (that is,
the announcement of the approach of this new state of things) must
first be published in all nations.[32] Then the sun and moon would be
darkened and the stars fall; the Son of man would come in power and
glory, and gather his elect from all parts of the earth. The existing
generation was not to pass till all these things were done. Not even
the Son knew when this would happen; but as it might come suddenly and
unexpectedly upon them, they were to be continually on the watch (Mk.
xiii.; Mt. xxiv). The apostles would not even finish the cities of
Israel before the Son of man had come (Mt. x. 23).

Little is said in description of the nature of the kingdom of heaven
except by the method of illustration. The main result to be gathered
from numerous allusions to it is that justice is to prevail. Thus, the
kingdom of heaven is said to be like a man who sowed good seed in his
field, but in whose property an enemy maliciously mingled tares. At
the harvest the tares are to be burnt, and the wheat gathered into the
barn. This parable Jesus himself explained. The tares are the wicked;
the wheat represents "the children of the kingdom." And as tares are
burnt, so "the Son of man shall send his angels, and collect from his
kingdom all offenses, and those who do wickedness, and shall throw them
into the furnace of fire; there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth.
Then the just shall shine out like the sun in the kingdom of their
Father." The same idea is expressed in the illustration of the net cast
into the sea, which gathers good fish and bad. Just as the fishermen
separate these, so the angels at the end of the world will separate
the wicked from the midst of the just. Other comparisons represent the
influence on the heart of faith in the kingdom. Thus, the kingdom of
heaven is like a grain of mustard seed, which, though the smallest of
seeds, becomes the largest of herbs. Or it is like leaven leavening
three measures of meal. Again, it is like treasure hid in a field, or a
pearl of great price (Mt. xiii. 24-50).

The best qualification for preëminence in the kingdom was humility.

When asked who was to be greatest in the kingdom of heaven, Jesus
replied that it would be he who humbled himself like a little child
(Mt. xviii. 1-4). He delights in the exhibition of striking contrasts
between the present and the future state of things. The first are to be
the last, and the last first. Those who have made great sacrifices now
are then to receive vast rewards (Mk. x. 29-31). He who has lost his
life for his sake is to find it, and he who has found it is to lose it
(Mt. x. 39). The stone rejected by the builder is to become the head
of the corner (Mk. xii. 10). The kingdom of God is to be taken from
the privileged nation and given to another more worthy of it (Mt. xxi.
43). Publicans and harlots are to take precedence of the respectable
classes in entering the kingdom (Mt. xxi. 31). It is scarcely possible
for rich men to enter it at all, though God may perhaps admit them by
an extraordinary exertion of power (Mk. x. 23-27). Many even who trust
in their high character for correct religion will find themselves
rejected. But they will be safe who have both heard the sayings of
Jesus and done them. They will have built their houses on rocks, from
which the storms which usher in the kingdom will not dislodge them.
Those, however, who hear these sayings, and neglect to perform them,
will be like foolish men who have built their houses on sand, where
the storms will beat them down, and great will be their fall (Mt. vii.
22-29). That the kingdom is to be on earth, not in some unknown heaven,
is manifest from the numerous references of Jesus to the time when
the Son of man will "come;" a time which none can know, yet for which
all are to watch. He never speaks of men "going" to the kingdom of
heaven; it is the kingdom of heaven which is to come to them. And the
most remarkable of the many contrasts will be that between the present
humiliation of the Son and his future glory. He will return to execute
his Father's decrees. His judges themselves will see him "sitting on
the right hand of power, and coming in the clouds of heaven" (Mt. xxvi.
64). Instead of standing as a prisoner at the bar, he will then be
enthroned as a judge. "When the Son of man shall come in his glory,
and all the angels with him, then he shall sit on the throne of his
glory; and all the nations shall be collected before him, and he shall
separate them from one another, as the shepherd separates the sheep
from the goats; and he shall put the sheep on his right hand, but the
goats on his left." The goats, who have done harm, are then to go into
everlasting punishment; and the sheep, who have done good, are to pass
into eternal life (Mt. xxv. 31-46).

This equitable adjustment of rewards and punishments to merit and
demerit is the leading conception in the revolution which the kingdom
of heaven is to make. The faithful servant is to be made ruler over his
master's goods; the unfaithful one to be cut off and assigned a portion
with the hypocrites. The virgins whose lamps are ready burning will
be admitted to the marriage festival. The servants who make the best
use of the property committed to their charge will be rewarded, while
those who have failed to employ it properly will be cast into outer
darkness (Mt. xxiv. 42-xxv. 30). So also the wicked husbandmen in the
vineyard, who ill treated their master's servants and killed his heir,
are to be destroyed when he comes, and the vineyard is to be committed
to other cultivators (Mk. xii. 1-9). All those, on the other hand,
who have made great sacrifices for the sake of Christ will receive a
hundred-fold compensation for all that they have now abandoned (Mt.
xix. 29, 30).

Such was the sort of notion—rude, yet tolerably definite—which Jesus
had formed of the kingdom his Father was about to found, and for
the coming of which he taught his disciples to pray. This hope of a
reign of justice, of an exaltation of the lowly and virtuous, and a
depression of the proud and wicked, animated his teaching and inspired
his life. To make known this great event, so shortly to overtake them,
to mankind, was a duty with which in his opinion he had been charged by
God; to receive this message at his hands was in his judgment the first
of virtues, to spurn it the most unpardonable of crimes.


         SUBDIVISION 6.—_What did his disciples think of him?_

There is on record a remarkable conversation which affords us a
glimpse, both of the rumors that were current about Christ among the
people, and also of the view taken of him by his nearest friends during
his life-time. Jesus had gone with his disciples into the towns of
Cæsarea Philippi. On the way, being apparently curious about the state
of public opinion, he asked them, "Whom do men say that I am?" To this
they replied, "John the Baptist; and some say Elias, and others that
thou art one of the prophets." To which Jesus rejoined, "But you, whom
say you that I am?" Peter returned the answer, "Thou art the Messiah;"
or "Thou art the Messiah, the Son of the living God." It is remarkable
that Peter alone is represented as replying to this second question, as
if the others had not yet attained to the conviction which this apostle
held of the Messiahship of Jesus. Especially would this conclusion be
confirmed if we adopted the version of Matthew, where Jesus expresses
his high approbation of Peter's answer (Mk. viii. 27-30; Mt. xvi.
13-20). If this apostle was peculiarly blessed on account of his
perception of this truth, it may be inferred that his companions had
either not yet perceived, or were not yet sure of it. That Peter did
not mean by calling him the Messiah to state that he was a portion
of the deity himself, is evident from what follows; for Jesus having
predicted his future sufferings, "Peter began to rebuke him," anxious
to avert the omen. Had he believed that it was God himself with whom he
was conversing, he could hardly have ventured to question his perfect
knowledge of the future.

The doctrine of the divinity of Christ is not, in fact, to be found
in the New Testament. Even the writer of the fourth Gospel, who holds
the highest and most mystical view of his nature, does not teach that.
Often indeed in that Gospel does Jesus speak of himself as one with the
Father. But the dogmatic force of all these expressions is measured by
the fact that precisely in the same sense he speaks of the disciples as
one with himself. As the Father and he are in one another, so he prays
that the disciples may be one in them (Jo. xvii. 21). Moreover, when
the Jews charged him with making himself God, he met them by inquiring
whether it was not written in their law, "I said, Ye are gods." If,
then, those to whom the word of God came were called gods, was it
blasphemy in him, whom the Father had sanctified and sent, to say, "I
am the Son of God?" (Jo. x. 33-37). Here, then, the term which Jesus
appropriates is "Son of God," and this he considers admissible because
the Hebrew people generally had been called gods. Evidently, then, he
does not admit the charge of making himself God.

The authority of the fourth Gospel is, of course, of no value in
enabling us to determine what Jesus said or did, but it is of great
value as evidence of the view taken about him by those of his disciples
who, at this early period, had advanced the furthest in the direction
of placing him on a level with God himself. It is either the latest,
or one of the latest, compositions in the New Testament, and it proves
that, at the period when its author lived, even the boldest spirits had
not ventured on the dogma which afterwards became the corner-stone of
the Christian creed.

Throughout the rest of the canonical books, Jesus is simply the
Messiah, the Son of God; in whom, in that sense, it is a duty to
believe. Whoever believes this much is, according to the first epistle
of John, born of God (1 John v. 1).

Clearer still is the evidence that, in the opinion of those most
competent to judge, Jesus had no intention of abolishing the
observance of the law of Moses. So far were his disciples from
imagining that he contemplated any such change, that they were at first
in doubt whether it was allowable for them even to relax the rules
which forbade social intercourse with heathens. The writer of the Acts
of the Apostles, however, informs us that, when an important convert
was to be won over from the pagan ranks, Peter had the privilege of a
vision which enjoined him not to call anything which God had cleansed
common or unclean. Interpreting this to mean that he might associate
with the Gentiles, he received the heathen convert, Cornelius, with all
cordiality, and even preached the gospel of Jesus to the uncircumcised
company by whom he was surrounded. That this was a novel measure is
plainly evinced by the fact that the Jewish Christians who were present
were astonished that the gift of the Holy Ghost should be poured out
upon the Gentiles. They therefore had conceived that Christianity was
to be confined to themselves (Acts x).

But there is more direct evidence of the same fact. When Peter returned
to Jerusalem, the circumcised believers there found fault with him
because he had gone in to uncircumcised men, and had eaten with them.
Peter, of course, related his vision in self-defense, and since there
was no reply to be made to such an argument as this, they accepted the
new and unexpected fact which he announced: "Well, then, God has given
repentance to life to the Gentiles also" (Acts xi. 1-18). Paul, who was
too strong-minded to need a revelation to teach him the best way of
promoting Christian interests, also received heathen converts without
requiring them to come under Jewish obligations. But the conduct of
these apostles was far from meeting with unmixed approbation in the
community. Some men from Judea came to Antioch, where Paul and Barnabas
were, and informed the brethren there that unless they were circumcised
they could not be saved. So important was this question deemed, that
Paul and Barnabas, after much disputing with these Judaic Christians,
agreed to go with them to Jerusalem to refer the matter to a council
of the apostles and elders. Obviously, then, it was a new case which
had arisen. No authoritative _dictum_ of Jesus could be produced. The
possibility of having to receive heathens among his disciples was one
he had never contemplated. Called to deal with this supremely important
question, on which the whole future of the Church turned, the apostles
displayed moderation and good sense. Acting on the concurrent advice
of Peter, Paul, James, and Barnabas, they wrote to the brethren in
Antioch, Syria, and Cilicia, that they had determined to lay no greater
burden upon them than these necessary things:—1. Abstinence from meat
offered to idols; 2. from blood; 3. from things strangled; 4. from
fornication. Hence it will be seen that they absolved the heathen
believers from all Jewish observances except two, those that forbade
blood and things strangled. These, from long habit and the fixed
prejudices of their race, no doubt appeared to them to have some deeper
foundation than a mere arbitrary command. These therefore they enjoined
even upon pagans (Acts xv. 1-31).

Be it observed, however, that this dispensation applied only to those
who were not of Hebrew blood. The apostles and elders assembled at
Jerusalem had no thought of dispensing _themselves_ from the binding
force of the law of Moses. To observe it was alike their privilege
and their duty. They did not conceive that, in becoming Christians,
they had ceased to be Jews, any more than a Catholic who becomes a
Protestant conceives that he has ceased to be a Christian. The question
whether those who had been born Jews should abandon their ancient
religion was not even raised at this time among them. The only question
was whether those who had not been born Jews should adopt it.

Innovation, however, is not to be arrested at any given point. Liberty
having been conceded to the Gentiles, it was not unnatural that some
of the apostles, when living among the Gentiles, should take advantage
of it for themselves. No overt rule was adopted on this subject. It
seems to have been tacitly understood that all Jews should continue
to be bound by the rigor of their native customs, except in so far as
they had been modified by common consent: and the attempt of some to
escape from this burden was an occasion of no small scandal to the
more orthodox members of the sect (Acts xxi. 20; Gal. ii. 12). Both
Peter and Paul indeed, at separate times, were compelled to make some
concessions to the extremely strong feeling in favor of the law which
existed at headquarters. The conduct of these two eminent apostles
merits examination.

Peter, it appears, never gave up Judaism in his own person; but when
staying at Antioch he mixed freely with Gentiles, making no attempt to
impose the law upon them, and approving of the proceedings of Paul. It
so happened, however, that there came to Antioch some brethren from
James at Jerusalem. These men were strict Jews, and Peter was so much
afraid of them, that he "withdrew and separated himself" from his
former companions. The other Jewish Christians, and even Barnabas,
the former friend of Paul, were induced to act in the same way. Paul,
who was not likely to lose the opportunity of a little triumph over
Peter, ruthlessly exposed his misconduct. According to his account, he
publicly addressed him in these terms: "If thou, being a Jew, livest
like a Gentile and not like a Jew, why dost thou compel the Gentiles
to be like Jews?" (Gal. ii. 11-14.). What answer Peter returned, or
whether he returned any, Paul does not inform us. His charge against
Peter I understand to be, not that the apostle had positively adopted
heathen customs, and then taken up Jewish ones again, but that he had
relaxed in his own favor the rules which forbade Jews from eating with
Gentiles. On the appearance of the stricter Christians from Jerusalem
he put on the appearance of a strictness equal to their own. Such
conduct was consistent with the character of the disciple who had
denied his master.

Paul himself, on the other hand, was a complete freethinker. Once
converted, the system of which he had formerly been the zealous
upholder no longer had any power over his emancipated mind. His
robust and logical intellect soon delivered him from the fetters in
which he had been bound. Far, however, from following his example,
the Christians at Jerusalem were shocked at the laxity of his morals.
The steps he took to conciliate them are graphically described in the
Acts of the Apostles. On visiting the capital, Paul and his companions
went to see James, with whom were assembled all the elders; and Paul
described the success he had met with among the Gentiles. Hereupon the
assembled company, or more probably James as their spokesman, informed
Paul what very disadvantageous reports were current concerning him.
"Thou seest, brother," they began, "how many thousands of believers
there are among the Jews, and all are zealots for the law; and they
have been informed of thee that thou teachest the Jews among the
Gentiles apostasy from Moses, saying that they should not circumcise
their children, nor walk in the customs. What is it, then? It is quite
necessary that the multitude should meet, for they will hear that thou
art come. Do then this that we tell thee. We have four men who have
a vow upon them; take these and be purified with them, and bear the
expense with them of having their heads shaven; and all will know that
there is nothing in what they have heard about thee, but that thou also
walkest in the observation of the law" (Acts xxi. 20-24). This sensible
advice was adopted by Paul; and the "zealots for the law," who composed
the Christian community at Jerusalem, had the satisfaction of seeing
him purify himself and enter the temple with the men under the vow.
On a later occasion, too, when charged with crime before Felix, Paul
mentioned the fact that twelve days ago he had gone up to worship at
Jerusalem, as if he had been an orthodox Jew (Acts xxiv. 11).

But although he might think it expedient to satisfy James and his
friends at Jerusalem by a concession to public opinion, the rumor which
had reached the brethren there, if unfounded in the letter, was in
fact an accurate representation of the inevitable outcome of Paul's
teaching. Possibly he did not wish to press his own views upon others
of his nation, and therefore did not interfere with such of them as,
though living among heathens, yet adhered religiously to their national
customs. But unquestionably his own feelings were strongly enlisted
in favor of the abolition of the law, and if the Jewish Christians
read and accepted his writings, they could hardly fail to adopt his
practice. The law in his opinion was no longer necessary for those who
believed in Christ. He is not the true Jew who is one outwardly, nor
is that the true circumcision which is outward. He is a Jew who is so
internally, and circumcision is of the heart in the spirit, not in
the letter. If it be asked what advantage the Jew has, Paul replies
that he has much: the first of all, that to his nation were confided
the oracles of God (Rom. ii. 28, 29, iii. 1, 2). He knows, he says,
and is persuaded in the Lord Jesus, that there is nothing unclean in
itself, though to him who thinks it so it may be unclean. It is well
to abstain from eating flesh or drinking wine, or anything else that
may give offense to others, but these things are all unimportant in
themselves. One man esteems one day above another; another man esteems
them all alike; let each be fully persuaded in his own mind. Only let
us not judge one another, nor put stumbling-blocks in one another's way
(Rom. xiv).

From these considerations it appears that the suspicions entertained
of Paul at Jerusalem were substantially true. Possibly he did not
absolutely teach the Jews to abandon the law; possibly he did not even
completely abandon it himself. But in his writings he constantly treats
it as a thing indifferent in itself; Christians might or might not
believe in its obligations, and provided they acted conscientiously,
all was well. Along with these very skeptical opinions, however,
Paul strongly held to the necessity of worldly prudence. He is very
indignant with the "false brethren privily introduced, who slipped in
to spy out the liberty we have in Jesus Christ, that they might enslave
us; to whom," he adds, "we did not yield by subjection even for an
hour" (Gal. ii. 4, 5). But whether the brethren at Jerusalem required
him to clear himself from the report that he was not an observer of the
law, there came in another principle of action, which he has himself
explained with praiseworthy frankness. "To the Jews," he tells the
Corinthians, "I became as a Jew, that I might gain the Jews; to those
under the law as under the law, not being myself under the law, that I
might gain those under the law; to those without law, as without law
(not being without law to God, but law-abiding to Christ), that I might
gain those without law; to the weak I became weak, that I might gain
the weak; I became all things to all men, that by all means I might
save some" (1 Cor. ix. 20-22). Acting on this elastic rule, Paul might
easily comply with all the demands of James and his zealots. To the
Jews he became a Jew for the nonce. It was perhaps in the same spirit
of worldly wisdom that he took the precaution of circumcising a young
convert who was Jewish only on the mother's side, his father having
been a Greek (Acts xvi. 1-3).

While such was the conduct of this strong-minded reformer, it is plain
that his attitude towards the law was not shared by the personal
friends of Jesus. James at Jerusalem adhered strictly to Judaism.
The other apostles, so far as we know, did the same. The rest of the
brethren there did the same. Paul was tolerated, and even cordially
received, as the apostle of the Gentiles, but it does not appear that
he had any following among the Jews. Had any of the original apostles
followed him in his bold innovations, he would surely have mentioned
the fact, as he has mentioned the partial adhesion of Peter. On the
contrary, he seems in his epistles, when attacking the Judaic type
of Christianity, to be arguing as much against them as against the
unchristian Jews or the heathen.

Stronger evidence than mere inference is, however, obtainable on this
point. The Jewish Christians, who had received their doctrines direct
from the companions of Jesus, soon came to form a sect apart, and
were known by the name of Ebionites. Of these men, Irenæus tells us
that "they use the Gospel according to Matthew only, and repudiate
the apostle Paul, maintaining that he was an apostate from the law."
Moreover, "they practice circumcision, persevere in the observance of
those customs which are enjoined by the law, and are so Judaic in their
style of life, that they even adore Jerusalem as if it were the house
of God" (Adv. Hær. i. 26). It was a strange fate that befell these
unfortunate people, when, overwhelmed by the flood of heathenism that
had swept into the Church, they were condemned as heretics. Yet there
is no evidence that they had ever swerved from the doctrines of Jesus,
or of the disciples who knew him in his life-time. Jesus himself had
been circumcised, and he certainly never condemned the rite, or spoke
of it as useless for the future. He was so Judaic in his style of life
that he reverenced the temple at Jerusalem as "a house of prayer for
all nations," and deemed it his special duty to purify it from what
he regarded as pollution. But the torrent of progress swept past the
Ebionites, and left them stranded on the shore.

Should the position here maintained with reference to the Judaic
character of the early Christians be thought to require further
confirmation, I should find it in the weighty words of a theologian
who, while entirely Christian in his views, is also one of the highest
authorities on the history of the Church. Neander, speaking of this
question, observes that the disciples did not at once arrive at the
consciousness of that vocation which Christ (in his opinion) had
indicated to them, namely, that they should form a distinct community
from that of the Jews. On the contrary, they attached themselves to
this community in every respect, and all the forms of the national
theocracy were holy to them. "They lived in the conviction that these
forms would continue as they were till the return of Christ, by which
a new and higher order of things was to be founded; and this change
they expected as one that was near at hand. Far from them, therefore,
lay the thought of the foundation of a new cultus, even if from the
light of belief in the Redeemer new ideas had dawned upon them about
that which belonged to the essence of the true adoration of God. They
took part as zealously in the service of the temple as any pious Jews.
Only they believed that a sifting would take place among the theocratic
people, and that the better part of it would be incorporated in _their_
community by the recognition of Jesus as the Messiah" (Neander,
Pflanzung der Christlichen Kirche, vol. i. p. 38). Neander proceeds to
point out—and here too his remarks are valuable—that the outward forms
of Judaism gave facilities for the formation of such smaller bodies
within the general body, by means of the division into synagogues. The
Christians, therefore, constituted merely a special synagogue, embraced
within the mass of believers who all accepted the law of Moses, all
worshiped at the temple of Jerusalem. It will be seen, however, that
I differ from Neander in so far as he supposes that the members of
the Christian synagogue, in adhering to Judaism, were neglecting any
indications given by their founder. On the contrary, it appears to me a
more reasonable explanation of their conduct that the founder himself
had never contemplated that entire emancipation from Judaic forms which
was soon to follow.

On these two points, then—the humanity of Jesus and his Judaism—the
early history of the Church affords our position all possible support.
How is it about the third—his announcement of a kingdom of heaven soon
to come? Paul must have derived his doctrine on this point, whatever it
was, from those who were disciples of Christ before him, for it does
not appear that he had any special revelation on the subject. Let us
hear what was the impression made upon his mind by their report of the
teaching of Jesus. "We do not wish you to be ignorant, brethren"—so he
writes to the Thessalonians—"that you may not grieve like the rest who
have no hope. For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, thus
also will God bring those who sleep through Jesus. For this we say to
you _by the word of the Lord_" (Paul therefore is speaking with all the
authority of his apostolic commission), "_that we who are alive and are
left for the coming of the Lord_ shall not take precedence of those who
are asleep. For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven with the
word of command, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trumpet
of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. Then we who are alive
and are left shall be snatched with them in the clouds to meet the
Lord in the air, and thus we shall always be with the Lord" (1 Thess.
iv. 13-17). Clearer than this it is difficult to be. There can be no
question whatever, unless we put an arbitrary significance on these
words, that Paul looked for the second coming of Christ and the final
judgment long before the existing generation had passed away. Some will
fall asleep before that day, but he fully expects that he himself and
many of those whom he is addressing will be alive to witness it. So
confident is he of this, that he even describes the order in which the
faithful will proceed to join their Lord, the dead taking a higher rank
than the living. He differs from Jesus, and probably from the other
apostles, in placing the kingdom of heaven somewhere in the clouds,
and not on earth. But he entirely agrees with them as to the date of
the revolution. Quite consistent with the above passage is another (of
which, however, the correct reading is doubtful): "We shall not all
sleep, but we shall all be changed."

Filled with the like hope, he prays that the spirit, mind, and _body_
of the Thessalonians may be preserved blameless to the coming of Christ
(1 Thess. v. 23). And he comforts them in a subsequent letter by the
promise that they who are troubled shall have "rest with us in the
revelation of the Lord Jesus from heaven with the angels of his power"
(2 Thess. i. 7). While, in writing to the Corinthians, he speaks of
the existing generation as those "upon whom the ends of the ages have
come."

Not less clear is the language of the other apostles. Peter on that
memorable day of Pentecost when the apostles exhibit the gift of
tongues, and some irreverent spectators are led to charge them with
inebriety, explains to the assembly that the scene which had just
been witnessed was characteristic of the "last days," as foretold by
the prophet Joel. In those days their sons and their daughters were
to prophesy, their young men to see visions, and their old men to
dream dreams; the Spirit was to be poured out on God's servants and
handmaidens; there were to be signs and wonders; blood, fire, and
smoke; the sun was to be turned into darkness, and the moon into blood;
and whoever called on the name of the Lord was to be saved. Thus Peter,
than whom there could be no higher authority as to the mind of Christ,
applied to his own time the prophetic description of the "day of the
Lord" given by Joel (Acts ii. 14-21). James exhorts his disciples
not to be in too great a hurry for the arrival of Christ. They are
to imitate the husbandman waiting for the ripening of his crops. "Be
you also patient: confirm your hearts; for the coming of the Lord
draws near" (James v. 7, 8). The author of the first epistle of Peter
distinctly informs the Christian community that "the end of all things
is at hand." And he warns them not to think it strange concerning the
fiery trial which is to try them, "but rejoice, inasmuch as you share
in the sufferings of Christ; that in the revelation of his glory you
may also rejoice with exceeding joy" (1 Pet. iv. 7, 12, 13). Further on
he promises that when the chief Shepherd appears, they shall receive
"the unfading crown of glory" (1 Pet. v. 4). In the first epistle of
John the disciples are thus exhorted: "And now, little children, remain
in him, that when he comes we may have boldness, and may not be ashamed
before him at his coming" (1 Jo. ii. 28).

In the next chapter he tells them that, "when he appears we shall
be like him, for we shall see him as he is" (1 Jo. iii. 2). Of the
Apocalypse it cannot be necessary to speak in detail. The one great
thought that inspires it from beginning to end is that of the speedy
return of Jesus, accompanied as it will be by the judgment of the
wicked, the reward of the faithful, and the establishment of a new
heaven and a new earth far more glorious and more beautiful than those
that are to pass away. The end of the book is conclusive as to its
meaning: "I, Jesus, have sent my angel to testify these things to you
in the churches." "He that testifies these things says, 'Surely I come
quickly. So be it; come, Lord Jesus'" (Rev. xxii. 16, 20).

There is another passage bearing on this subject, which, as it appears
to have been written at a later date than any of those hitherto
quoted, may best be considered last. It is found in the second epistle
attributed to Peter. The epistle was probably written after the first
generation of Christians had passed away, but the forger endeavors
to assume the style of the apostle whose name he borrows. From the
language he employs it is evident that there was some impatience among
believers in his day on account of what seemed to them the long delay
in the second coming of Christ. Scoffers had arisen, who were putting
the awkward question, "Where is the promise of his coming? for since
the fathers fell asleep, all things continue as they were from the
beginning of creation." Such scoffers, he tells them, are to come "in
the last days," and he warns them how to resist the influence of their
specious arguments. For this purpose he reminds them of the former
destruction of the earth by water, and assures them that the present
heavens and the present earth are to be destroyed by fire. They are
not to let the consideration escape them that with the Lord one day is
a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day. Hence God is not
really slow about fulfilling his promise, as some people believe; he is
only waiting out of kindness, not being willing that any should perish,
but desiring that all should come to repentance. But the day of the
Lord will come unexpectedly, like a thief in the night; wherefore the
Christians who are looking for new heavens and a new earth, according
to his promise, must take care to be ready that they may be found by
him spotless and blameless (2 Pet. iii). Here, then, we have a further
proof of the hopes entertained by the early Christians; for this
writer, who evidently felt that the promises held out by the original
apostles were in danger of being discredited by the long delay in the
expected catastrophe, concerns himself to show that the postponement
of its arrival is not after all so great as it may seem, and seeks
to dispel the doubts that had grown up concerning it. He thus bears
important testimony to the nature of the expectations entertained by
those who had gone before him.

But even if we had not this epistle, we should find some evidence of
the same fact in the writings of the earliest fathers. Thus, in the
first epistle of Clement, the Christians are warned in the following
language:—

"Far from us be that which is written, 'Wretched are they who are of
a double mind and of a doubting heart;' who say, 'These things we
have heard even in the time of our fathers; but behold, we have grown
old and none of them has happened unto us!' Ye foolish ones! compare
yourselves to a tree; take [for instance] the vine. First of all it
sheds its leaves, then it buds, next it puts forth leaves, and then it
flowers; after that comes the sour grape, and then follows the ripened
fruit. Ye perceive how in a little time the fruit of a tree comes to
maturity. Of a truth, soon and suddenly shall his will be accomplished,
as the Scripture also bears witness, saying, 'Speedily will he come,
and not tarry;' and, 'The Lord shall suddenly come to his temple, even
the Holy One, for whom ye look'" (First Ep. of Clement, ch. xxiii.—A.
N. L., vol. i. p. 24).

Further on, the same writer expressly states that what the apostles
of Christ preached was the speedy advent of the new order of things.
"Having therefore received their orders, and being fully assured by the
resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ, and established in the word of
God, with full assurance of the Holy Ghost, they went forth proclaiming
that the kingdom of God was at hand" (Ibid., ch. xli.—A. N. L., vol. i.
p. 37). Here, then, we have authority of this very early writer for the
statement that such was the view taken of the mission of Jesus by his
original disciples.

Again, in the second epistle of Clement, this expression occurs:—"Let
us expect, therefore, hour by hour, the kingdom of God in love and
righteousness, since we know not the day of the appearing of God"
(Second Ep. of Clement, ch. xii.—A. N. L., vol. i. p. 62). Thus it
appears that the apostles received from Jesus, and the early Christians
from the apostles, the doctrine that the return of the Messiah in his
glory would take place soon.


             SUBDIVISION 7.—_What are we to think of him?_

We come now to the most important question of all, namely, what
opinion the evidence we possess should lead us to form of the moral
character of Jesus, and of the value of his teaching. In considering
this subject, we are met at the threshold of the inquiry by the
extreme difficulty of discarding the traditional view which has gained
currency among us. Not only believers in the Christian religion, but
freethinkers who look upon Christ as no more than an extraordinary man,
have united to utter his praises in no measured terms. His conduct has
been supposed to present an ideal of perfection to the human race, and
his aphorisms to embody the supreme degree of excellence and of wisdom.
Some critics, not being Christians, have even gone so far as to assume
that whatever items in his reported language or behavior seemed to
reflect some discredit upon him could not be genuine, but must be due
to the imaginations of his disciples.

All this unbounded panegyric naturally raises in the minds of critics
who have freed themselves from the accepted tradition a slight
prejudice against him, and this may lead them to regard his errors
with too unsparing a severity, and to mete out scant justice to the
merits he may really possess. No task can be less easy than that of
approaching this question with a mind entirely devoid of bias on the
one side or on the other. For my own part, I shall endeavor, if I
cannot attain perfect impartiality, at least neither to praise nor to
blame without adequate reason.

Before proceeding, however, it may be well to state that I
shall not attempt to discriminate between the authentic and the
unauthentic utterances of Jesus, but shall take for granted that his
reporters—excluding the fourth Evangelist—have in the main reported him
correctly. No doubt this position is not strictly true. There must be
errors, and there may be grave errors in the record, since those who
transmitted the language of their master trusted only to memory. But it
is on the whole much more likely that the parables, sermons, and short
sayings ascribed to Jesus represent with some approach to fidelity what
he really said, than that they, or any considerable portion of them,
were invented by any of his disciples afterwards. They have, moreover,
a characteristic flavor which it would have been difficult for a
forger to give to the fictitious utterances he might have added to the
genuine remains. It is, however, a question of minor import whether
the synoptical writers are or are not faithful reporters. Jesus is
presented to our admiration by them as the Son of God, and as a pattern
of virtue and of wisdom. Therefore, even if we are not criticising a
portrait from life, we are at least criticising the ideal portrait
which they have held up as an object of worship, and which Christendom
has accepted as such.

Omitting (as already considered) those very considerable portions of
his doctrine which refer to himself and to his kingdom, we may proceed
to the more strictly ethical elements which are to be found scattered
about in his instructions to his hearers, sometimes contained in those
striking parables which, following the habit of his nation, he was fond
of relating; sometimes in the short, clear, and incisive sentences of
which he was a master. In considering the value and originality of his
views, it will be of advantage to compare them, where we can, with
those of other great teachers of mankind.

Perhaps one of the most conspicuous peculiarities is his fondness for
impressive contrasts. He has a peculiar pleasure in contemplating
the reversal of existing arrangements. The first are to be last; the
humble exalted; the poor preferred to the rich; the meanest to become
the greatest, and so forth. Strangely similar to this favorite idea,
so continually making its appearance in his moral forecasts, is the
language frequently used by his Chinese predecessor Laò-tsé, who in
more than one respect greatly resembles him. Thus Jesus tells his
disciples that he who is greatest among them shall be their servant,
and that he who exalts himself shall be abased, while he who humbles
himself shall be exalted (Mt. xxiii. 10, 11). Elsewhere he declares
that if any man desire to be first, he shall be last, and servant of
all (Mk. ix. 35). Presenting a child, to render his lesson the more
impressive, he tells them that he who humbles himself like this little
child is greatest in the kingdom of heaven (Mt. xviii. 4). Exactly
in the same tone Laò-tsé observes that "the holy man places himself
behind, and comes to the front; neglects himself and is preserved" (T.
t. k., ch. vii). Heaven, according to the same sage, does precisely as
Jesus expects his Father to do in the kingdom of heaven. "It lowers
the high, it raises the low. The way of heaven is to diminish what is
superfluous, to complete what is deficient. The way of man is not this;
he diminishes what is deficient to add it to what is superfluous" (T.
t. k., ch. lxxvii).

On the same subject of humility, an opinion of the philosopher Mang, or
Mencius, may be compared with one of Christ's. There was a strife among
the disciples of the latter which should be accounted the greatest.
Christ said: "The kings of the earth have dominion over them, and they
who have authority over them are called benefactors. But be not you
so: but let the greater among you be as the younger, and he that leads
as he that serves" (Lu. xxii. 25, 26). Now Mang in like manner warns
his disciples against the craving for authority. "Mencius said: 'The
superior man has three things in which he delights, and to be ruler
over the empire is not one of them. That his father and mother are both
alive, and that the condition of his brothers affords no cause for
anxiety;—this is one delight. That, when looking up, he has no occasion
for shame before heaven; and below, he has no occasion to blush before
men;—this is a second delight. That he can get from the whole empire
the most talented individuals, and teach and nourish them;—this is the
third delight. The superior man has three things in which he delights,
and to be ruler over the empire is not one of them'" (Mang, vii. 1,
20.—C. C., vol. ii. p. 334). This definition of the pleasures of the
high-minded man is quite equal of its kind to anything that has been
said on the same subject by Jesus. It is true that Mang ranges over
a somewhat wider field, and that therefore the sentences just quoted
do not admit of exact comparison with anything coming from Jesus.
But while both agree in reprobating the desire to exercise power,
Mang goes beyond Jesus in proposing to substitute other interests for
that of political ambition. And these interests are of the best kind.
His "superior man" rejoices in the prosperity of his family, in the
consciousness of his innocence of any disgraceful conduct, and in his
opportunities of teaching those who are most worthy of his instructions
and most likely to carry on his work. The latter is a pleasure which
is rarely mentioned, and it shows much thoughtfulness on the part of
the philosopher to have upheld it as an object in life.

Curiously enough, another Chinese sage has anticipated another of the
best points in the doctrine of Jesus. Jesus enjoined his hearers not
to practice charity in a public and ostentatious manner, like the
hypocrites, "but when thou doest alms, let not thy left hand know what
thy right hand doeth" (Mt. vi, 3). In this admirable maxim he would
have had the support of all true Confucians, for one of their canonical
writers had also told them that "it is the way of the superior man
to prefer the concealment of his virtue, while it daily becomes more
illustrious, and it is the way of the mean man to seek notoriety, while
he daily goes more and more to ruin" (C. C., i. 295.—Chung Yung, ch.
xxxiii. 1).

On another question, that of the admonition of an erring friend,
Jesus gave an opinion which is in perfect accord with an opinion
given by Confucius. If a man's brother trespass against him, he is
first, according to Jesus, to take him to task in private; should
that fail, to call in two or three witnesses to hear the charge; and
should the offender still be obdurate, to inform the Church.[33] If
his impenitence continue even after this, he is to become to him
"as a heathen and a publican" (Mt. xviii. 15-17). Turning to the
conversations of Confucius, we find the following:—"Tsze-kung asked
about friendship. The Master said, 'Faithfully admonish your friend,
and kindly try to lead him. If you find him impracticable, stop. Do not
disgrace yourself'" (Lun Yu, b. xii. ch. 33.—C. C., i. 125). The steps
inculcated by the two teachers are, making allowance for difference of
country, almost identical.

The thoughts as well as the language of Jesus are often reproduced with
singular fidelity in the sacred works of Buddhists. As the Buddha is,
on the whole, the prophet whose character approaches most closely to
that of Jesus, so we are almost certain to find in the literature of
Buddhism nearly all the most exalted features of his ethical teaching.
Thus Jesus praises the poor widow who contributes her mite to the
temple treasury, because she has given all that she had. In one of the
numerous legends supposed to have been related by Sakyamuni an exactly
similar incident occurs. A former Buddha was traveling through various
countries, accompanied by his attendant monks. The rich householders
presented them with all kinds of food as offerings. A poor man, who had
no property whatever, and lived by collecting wood in the mountains
and selling it, had gained two coins by the pursuit of his industry.
Perceiving the Buddha coming from a visit to the royal palace, he
devoutly gave him these two coins; his sole possession in the world.
The Buddha received them, and mercifully remembered the donor, who
(as Sakyamuni now explained) was richly rewarded during ninety-one
subsequent ages (W. u. Th., p. 53). The widow's mite is no less closely
reflected in the following anecdote from the same collection. In the
time of a former Buddha, a certain monk belonging to his train had
gone out to collect the offerings of the pious. He arrived at the hut
of a miserable couple, who had nothing between them but an old piece
of cotton-wool. When the husband went out to beg, the wife sat at home
naked in the hay; and when the wife went out, the husband remained in
the same condition. To these people then the monk approached, crying
out as usual, "Go and prostrate yourself before Buddha! present him
with gifts!" It happened that the wife was wearing the cotton-wool on
this occasion. She therefore requested the holy man to wait a little,
promising to return. Hereupon she entered the house and requested the
permission of her husband to offer the cotton-wool to Buddha. He,
however, pointed out that as they had not the smallest property beyond
this, extreme inconvenience would result from the loss of it, for both
of them must then remain at home. To this she replied that they must
needs die in any case, and that their hopes for the future would be
much improved if they died after presentation of an offering. She then
returned to the monk, and requested him to turn away his eyes a moment.
But he told her to give her alms openly in her hands, and that he would
then recite a benediction over them. The full delicacy of her situation
had now to be explained. "Except this cotton-wool stuff on my body I
have nothing, and no other clothing; since, then, it would be improper
for thee to behold the foul-smelling impurity of the female body, I
will reach thee out the stuff from within." So saying she retired into
the house and handed out her garment. When the monk delivered it to
Buddha, it caused great offense to the king's courtiers, who surrounded
him, on account of its being old and dirty. But Buddha, who knew their
thoughts, said, "I find, that of all the gifts of this assembly, no
single one surpasses this in cleanliness and purity" (W. u. Th., p.
150).

Not only in the case of the widow at the treasury did Jesus dwell
upon the value of even trifling gifts made for the sake of religion.
Another time he declared to those about him that whoever gave them a
cup of cold water in his name, because they belonged to Christ, would
not lose his reward. In Buddhist story the very same ideas are to be
found; almost the same words. An eminent member of the Buddha's circle
says that "whoever with a purely-believing heart offers nothing but a
handful of water, or presents so much to the spiritual assembly or to
his parents, or gives drink therewith to the poor and needy, or to a
beast of the field;—this meritorious action will not be exhausted in
many ages" (W. u. Th., p. 37).

The simile of fishing for men, employed by Jesus in his summons to
Simon and Andrew, is likewise to be discovered in the works of the
great Asiatic religion. The images of the Bodhisattvas, or Buddhas
yet to come, frequently hold in their hands a snare, which is thus
explained in the _Nippon Pantheon_:—"He disseminates upon the ocean of
birth and decay the Lotus-flower of the excellent law as bait; with
the loop of devotion, never cast out in vain, he brings living beings
up like fishes, and carries them to the other side of the river, where
there is true understanding" (B. T., p. 213). And in the book from
which some illustrations have already been taken, it is said of a
believer that "he had been seized by the hook of the doctrine, just as
a fish, who has taken the line, is securely pulled out" (W. u. Th., p.
114).

Hitherto we have noticed a few of the minor points in the doctrine of
Jesus, and while there has been little in these to object to, there
has also been little to excite excessive admiration. The extreme
exaltation of humility, and the evident anxiety to see, not equality
of conditions, but a reversal of the actual inequalities, are not
among the best features of his ideal system. We cannot but suspect
something of a personal bias. Thus, in the parable of the Pharisee and
the publican, aimed at a hostile and detested order, the publican is
justified by nothing but his humility; while in that of Lazarus and
Dives, Lazarus is eternally rewarded for nothing but his poverty. It
is no doubt well to be humble, and we should be glad to see poverty
removed; but it is not to be assumed that the Pharisee, conscious of
leading an honorable life, is therefore a bad man; nor that the rich
proprietor should be tormented in hell merely because he does not give
alms to all the beggars who throng about his gates. When Jesus desires
that virtuous actions should be done as quietly and even as secretly
as possible, he inculcates an important principle of morals, and it is
devoutly to be wished that we had among us more of this unconspicuous
kindness, and less ostentatious charity. Where, however, he preaches
on the virtue of bestowing alms on his disciples, he does but echo
a sentiment which is natural to religious teachers in all ages, and
to which, as we have seen, the emissaries of another and earlier
faith, were equally alive. Passing from these comparatively trifling
questions, let us consider some of his decisions on the greater moral
problems with which he felt called upon to deal.

On a vast social subject—that of divorce—he pronounced an opinion
which gives us a little insight into his mode of regarding that most
important of all topics, the relations of the sexes. The Pharisees,
it appears, came to him and asked him whether it was permissible for
a man to put away his wife, Moses having allowed it. Jesus explained
that this precept had been given for the hardness of their hearts.
His own view was, that man and wife are one flesh, and that if either
should leave the other, except on account of unfaithfulness, and marry
again, that one would be guilty of adultery. This severe doctrine he
supported by one of his short sayings: "What God hath joined together,
let not man put asunder" (Mk. x. 1-12; Mt. xix. 1-12, and v. 31, 32).
But surely this judgment assumes the very point at issue. The joining
together in wedlock is ascribed to God; the putting asunder to man.
But granting the sacredness of the marriage tie, it would still be no
less possible to invoke the divine sanction for its dissolution than
for its original formation. And in many instances the maxim might be
exactly reversed. So unfortunate is the result of many marriages, that
it would be easy for a religious reformer to say of them, with perfect
sincerity, "What man hath joined together, let God put asunder." There
is, in fact, almost as much to be said on moral grounds for the divorce
of unhappy couples as for the marriage of happy ones. Nor does Jesus
by any means face the real difficulties of the question by allowing
divorce where either of the parties has been guilty of adultery. This,
no doubt, is the extreme case, and if divorce is not to be given here,
it can be given nowhere. But why is adultery to be the sole ground of
separation? Why is an institution which may bring so much happiness to
mankind to be converted into one of the most fertile sources of human
misery? Why, when both parties to the contract desire separation, is
an external authority, whether that of opinion or of law, to enforce
union? None of these questions appear to have presented themselves to
the mind of Jesus. Supposing even that his decision were right, he
assigns no reasons for it, but simply lays down the law in a trenchant
manner, without giving us the least clue to the process by which he
arrived at so strange a conclusion. Nor is it in the least likely
that the many perplexities encompassing this, and all other questions
affecting the morals of sex, had ever troubled him. His mind was not
sufficiently subtle to enter into them; and thus it is that, throughout
the whole course of his career, he lays down no single doctrine (if we
except this one on divorce) which can be of the smallest service to his
disciples in the many practical troubles that must beset their lives
from the existence of a natural passion of which he takes no account.

Another weak point in the system of Jesus is his aversion to wealth
and wealthy men, apart from the consideration of the good or bad use
they may make of their property. Thus, the only advice he gives to the
rich man who had kept all the commandments was to sell everything he
had and give the proceeds to the poor; a measure of very questionable
advantage to those for whose benefit it is intended. When the man
naturally declined to take this course—practically a mere throwing off
of the responsibilities of life—Jesus remarked that it was hard for
those who had riches to enter the kingdom of God. Seeing the amazement
of his disciples, he emphasized his doctrine by adding that it was
easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a
rich man to enter that kingdom. Hereupon his disciples, "excessively
astonished," asked who then could be saved, and Jesus left a loophole
for the salvation of the rich by the declaration that, impossible as it
might be for men to pass a camel through a needle's eye, all things are
possible with God (Mk. x. 17-27). A like _animus_ against the wealthier
classes is evinced in the story of the king who invited a number of
guests to a wedding festivity. Those who had received invitations made
light of them, one going to his farm, another to his merchandise, and
so forth; or, according to another version, alleging their worldly
affairs as excuses. Seeing that they would not come, the king bade his
servants go out into the highways, and bring in whomsoever they might
find; or, as Luke puts it, the poor, the maimed, the halt, and the
blind (Mt. xxii. 1-10; Lu. xiv. 16-24).

More indiscriminately still is this aversion to the rich expressed
in the parable of Lazarus and Dives. Here we are not told that the
great proprietor had been a bad man, or had acted with any unusual
selfishness. The utmost we may infer from the language used about
him is that he had not been sufficiently sensitive to the difference
between his own condition and that of the beggar. But no positive
unkindness is even hinted at. Nor had the beggar done anything to
merit reward. He had only led one of those idle and worthless lives of
dependence on others which are too common among Southern nations. Yet
in the future life the beggar appears to be rewarded merely because in
this life he had been badly off; and the rich man is punished merely
because he had been well off (Lu. xvi. 19-25). A stronger instance of
apparently irrational prejudice it would be difficult to find.

In connection with these notions about wealth there is a curious theory
of social intercourse deserving to be considered. Jesus has expressed
it thus: "When thou makest a supper or a dinner, do not invite thy
friends, or thy brothers, or thy relations, or thy rich neighbors,
lest they also should invite thee in return, and thou shouldst have
a recompense. But when thou makest a feast, invite the poor, the
maimed, the lame, the blind; and thou shalt be blessed because they
have not the means of making thee a recompense. For thou shalt be
recompensed at the resurrection of the just" (Lu. xiv. 12-14). Nobody
can object to charitable individuals asking poor people or invalids
without rank to dinner at their houses; indeed, it is to be wished that
the practice were more common than it is. But we cannot admit that
this kind action ought to be rendered obligatory, to the exclusion
of other modes of conduct. Society, properly speaking, cannot exist
except by reciprocity. That sort of friendly intercourse between
equals which constitutes society implies giving and taking; and it
is eminently desirable that we should do exactly what Christ would
forbid us doing, namely, invite our neighbors and be invited by them as
circumstances may require. The fear that we may receive a recompense
for the dinner-parties we may give is surely chimerical. Pleasantness
and mutual advantage are alike promoted by this reciprocity, which,
moreover, avoids the discomfort produced when the obligation is wholly
on one side. Jesus, in fact, overlooks entirely the more intellectual
side of society, and dwells exclusively on the moral side. What he
wishes to establish, is not converse between men, but charity. So that
a person acting on his views would be excluded from the society of
those who might benefit him either materially or morally, and would be
confined to those whom he might benefit. Such an arrangement would not
in the end be good either for the benefactors or the benefited.

His conceptions of justice are seemingly not more perfect than his
conceptions of social arrangements. The parable of the laborers is
intended to justify the deity in assigning equal rewards to those who
have borne unequal burdens, and also to illustrate his doctrine that
the first will be last, and the last first. A householder hires a
number of laborers to work in his vineyard; some of whom he engages
in the morning, others later in the day, others towards its close.
All of them receive a denarium in payment, though some had worked the
whole day, and others only an hour. At this result the class which had
worked the longer time grumble; but the householder defends himself by
appealing to the strict terms of his contract, by which he had bound
himself to give the same wages to all (Mt. xx. 1-16). No doubt the
laborers who had borne the burden and heat of the day had no _legal_
standing-point for their complaint; but the sentiment that prompted it
was none the less a just one. Granting the validity of the master's
plea that he had honorably fulfilled his bargain, it may still be urged
that the bargain itself was not of an equitable character. Plainly, a
sum which is adequate pay for an hour, is inadequate for ten or twelve;
and that which is sufficient for a day is excessive for an evening.
And the same argument applies to a future state. If, as is so often
urged, it is to be a compensation for the sufferings of this state,
then it ought to bear some proportion to those sufferings. But how can
this be effected? Jesus saw the difficulty, and endeavored, but not
successfully, to meet it by this parable.

But the imperfection of his sense of justice is nowhere more
conspicuously shown than in the conduct he ascribes to God. To recur
again to the case of Lazarus and Dives. Not only is the rich man
punished with frightful torture, but his humble and kindly request that
Lazarus might be allowed to warn his five brothers of their possible
fate is met with a peremptory refusal. The only reason alleged for this
cruelty is that they have Moses and the prophets, who certainly did not
inform them that the mere possession of wealth or enjoyment of luxury
was punished by everlasting misery (Lu. xvi. 27-31). In other places,
too, the horrible doctrine of unending punishment is asserted by Jesus,
and all the efforts of his modern disciples will not explain away this
fact. The tares are to be bound up in bundles to be burnt. The wicked
are to be cast into a furnace of fire, where there will be wailing and
gnashing of teeth (Mt. xiii. 30, 42, 50). It is better to enter into
life mutilated than to be thrown unmutilated into the fire (Mt. xviii.
8, 9) of hell which is never quenched (Mk. ix. 43-46). The servant who
had made no money by usury is cast into outer darkness (Mt. xxv. 30).
The righteous go into eternal life; the wicked to eternal punishment
(Mt. xxv. 46). Blasphemy against the Holy Ghost cannot be forgiven,
but involves eternal damnation (Mk. iii. 29). It is almost needless to
observe that no wickedness could ever justify punishment without an
end; that is, punishment for punishment's sake; and that the creation
of human beings whose existence _terminated_ in torture would be
itself a far more terrible crime than any which the basest of mankind
can ever commit.

There is one more point as to which his teaching will not bear
investigation. It is the doctrine of the power of prayer. He tells his
hearers, in the most absolute manner, that they will receive whatever
they may ask in prayer, provided they believe (Mk. xi. 24; Mt. xxi.
22). Faith is the grand and sole condition of the accomplishment of
all desires. This is the explanation of the withered fig-tree. It was
faith that had wrought the change. By faith the disciples might effect
not only such matters as the destruction of fig-trees, but far more
stupendous miracles (Mt. xxi. 19-21). This is the explanation of the
disciples' failure with the lunatic child. It was owing to their want
of faith. Had they but faith as a grain of mustard seed—so Jesus told
them—they would be able to say to a mountain, "Remove hence thither,"
and it would be removed. Nothing would be impossible to them (Mt.
xvii. 20). And if they had faith themselves, if they really believed
in their master's words, and ever attempted the experiment of working
such transformations in nature, they must have experienced the bitter
disappointment so graphically described by the authoress of "Joshua
Davidson" in the case of that sincere Christian. But short of this
extreme trial of the power of faith over matter, many generations of
pious believers will bear sad witness to the fact that they have asked
many things in prayer which they have _not_ received; not least among
the number being moral excellence, which they have but imperfectly
attained. Yet this, it would seem, might be the most easily granted
without interference with the physical universe. And if it be pleaded
that no Christian has ever really succeeded in acquiring the degree of
faith required to move mountains, what becomes of the promise of Jesus?
Is it not a mere form of words, depending for its truth on a condition
which human nature never can fulfill?

The opinions of Jesus on the question of the lawfulness of the tribute,
and his reply to the Sadducean difficulty about due adjustment of
matrimonial relations in a future state, have been already noticed.
Neither of these decisions, it has been shown, can be regarded as
evincing wisdom or depth of thought. On the other hand, his answer
to the scribe who asked him which was the first commandment fully
deserves the approbation which his questioner bestowed. After this,
remarks the Evangelist triumphantly, no man dared to interrogate him.
Passing from these isolated judgments, let us consider now the fullest
exposition to be found anywhere of the moral system of Jesus,—the
so-called Sermon on the Mount (Mt. v.-vii. inclusive). As reported
by Matthew, this is a vast collection of precepts on many different
subjects, delivered no doubt on many different occasions. Taken
together, they contain the concentrated essence of his teaching, and
offer therefore the fairest field for discussion and criticism. He
opens his discourse with a series of blessings, in which his extreme
fondness for contrasting the present with the future order is markedly
exhibited. Those whom he selects as the objects of benediction are the
poor in spirit; mourners; the meek; those who hunger and thirst after
righteousness; the merciful; the pure in heart; the peace-makers; those
who are persecuted for righteousness' sake; the disciples when reviled,
persecuted, and unjustly accused. Of the nine classes of those who are
thus blessed, five are composed of those whose present condition makes
them objects of pity, and who are consoled with the assurance that they
shall be rewarded in the kingdom of heaven. After this, the followers
of Jesus are admonished that they are the salt of the earth, and that
they must cause their light to shine before men. This is followed by
that remarkable declaration (already noticed) as to the permanence of
the law, and by a warning that, if they wished to enter the kingdom of
heaven, their righteousness must exceed that of those odious people,
the scribes and Pharisees.

Hereupon Jesus takes up three great commandments—not to kill, not to
commit adultery, not to commit perjury—and proceeds to expand their
meaning beyond the literal signification of the words. Thus, it had
been said, "Thou shalt not kill." But he says, that whoever is angry
with his brother shall be liable to the judgment; that whoever says
"Raka" to his brother shall be liable to the Sanhedrim; but that
whoever says "Fool," shall be liable to hell, or literally, to "the
gehenna of fire." The punishment is of undue severity in proportion
to the offense; but when, in the following verses, Jesus insists on
the importance of doing justice to men before performing religious
obligations, he speaks in the truest spirit of humanity. Proceeding
to the commandment not to commit adultery, he enjoins an excess of
self-discipline. It is _not_ desirable to pluck out the right eye and
cut off the right hand because they offend us, though it is well to
train them to obey the higher faculties. The argument of Jesus rests
only on the assumption that the sinful members, if not destroyed by
such violent measures as this, may land the whole body in hell. Dealing
next with the question of oaths, he enlarges the prohibition of perjury
into a prohibition of all swearing whatsoever, assigning the strangest
reasons for avoiding the employment, when taking oaths, of the names
of various objects. They are not to swear by heaven, because it is
God's throne; nor by the earth, because it is his footstool; nor by
Jerusalem, because it is the city of the great king; nor by the head,
because we cannot make a single hair black or white. Granting even that
the advice is good, what is to be said of these reasons? What would be
thought of a Member of Parliament using an exactly parallel argument:
namely, that it is wrong to swear by the New Testament, because the
person taking the oath cannot make a single type larger or smaller?

The theory embodied in the following verses occupies so cardinal a
place in the philosophy of Jesus, that in order to do him justice they
must be quoted at length. "You have heard that it has been said, An eye
for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth. But I tell you not to resist evil;
but whoever shall smite thee on the right cheek, turn to him the other
also. And as for him who wishes to sue thee, and take thy coat, give
him thy cloak also. And whoever shall compel thee to go one mile, go
two with him. Give to him that asketh thee; and turn not away from him
that wishes to borrow of thee. You have heard that it has been said,
Thou shalt love thy neighbor and hate thine enemy. But I say unto you,
Love your enemies, and pray for them who persecute you, that you may be
sons of your father in heaven; for he causes his sun to rise on bad and
good, and sends rain on just and unjust" (Mt. v. 38-45).

Perhaps there is no single point in the moral teaching of Jesus
which has been more celebrated than this. It is thought to represent
the very acme of perfection, and Christianity takes credit to itself
for the embodiment of so magnificent a doctrine in its moral system.
And certainly the words of Jesus are so sublime as almost to extort
admiration and disarm criticism. Nor would it at all detract from
his merits if the principle here laid down should turn out to be no
new discovery of his own, but one already reached by great teachers
in other lands; for it was through him that it was made known to the
Jews of his own age, and thus to the whole of Christendom. Moreover,
we cannot suppose that he had ever heard of those who had anticipated
the sentiments, and almost the words, of these beautiful sentences in
the Sermon on the Mount. Nevertheless, these anticipations exist; and
whatever glory this rule may confer on the religion of Christ must
belong equally, and even by prior right, to the religion of Lao-tsze
and the religion of Buddha. Thus Lao-tsze says, "Return enmity by doing
good" (T. t. k., 63). Or again, "I treat the good man well; the man
who is not good I also treat well" (Ibid., 49). The very perfection of
patience under injustice, extending to the length of blessing those
who curse, and turning the other cheek to those who smite the one—is
exhibited in the old Buddhistic legend of Pûrna. Pûrna is a convert
who spontaneously betakes himself as a missionary to a savage nation.
The Buddha asks him what he will do if they address him in coarse and
insolent language. He replies that he will consider them good and
gentle people not to strike him with their fists or stone him. Should
they strike him with their fists or stone him, he will still think them
good and gentle neither to strike him with sticks or swords; should
they strike him with sticks or swords, he will equally praise them for
not killing him; should they even kill him, he will still say, "They
are certainly good people, they are certainly gentle people, they who
deliver me with so little pain from this body full of impurity" (H. B.
I., p. 253). This is certainly a most consistent application of the
principle of non-resistance to evil, and of loving one's enemies. No
Christian saint or martyr could have followed his master's precepts
more faithfully than this Buddhist apostle. But whether those precepts
admit of general adoption into the scheme of human morals is a much
more difficult question than whether in occasional instances here
and there they have led to admirable conduct. Let us call in another
Chinese philosopher to our assistance on this point.

The doctrine of returning good for evil, proclaimed, as we have seen,
by Lao-tsze, was thus dealt with by his great rival, Confucius. "Some
one said, 'What do you say concerning the principle that injury should
be recompensed with kindness?' The Master said, 'With what, then,
will you recompense kindness? Recompense injury with justice, and
recompense kindness with kindness.'" How shall we decide between these
authorities? None can question the nobility of the conduct enjoined by
Jesus in certain instances. There are cases where the return of good
for evil, of blessing for cursing, of benevolence for persecution,
is not only the highest practicable virtue, but also the best
punishment of the evil-doers. Nevertheless, there is great force in the
observations of Confucius. If we are to reward injury by kindness, how
are we to reward kindness? Is there to be no difference made between
those who do us good and those who do us harm? To so pertinent a
question we are compelled to answer that the practical results of such
conduct on our part would be simply disastrous. Unkindness would not
receive its natural and appropriate penalty, nor kindness its natural
and appropriate reward. Not only should we ourselves be losers by our
failure to resist injustice, but the worst classes of mankind would
receive by that non-resistance a powerful stimulus to evil. Imagine,
for example, that, instead of opposing an extortionate claim, we give
up our cloak also to the man who wishes to take our coat. Plainly
such conduct can have but one result. We shall become the victims of
extortionate claims, and our property will be squandered among the
undeserving instead of being kept for better uses. Or suppose that
persecution for the sake of our opinions, instead of being met with
armed resistance, wherever that resistance is likely to be successful,
is received only with blessings showered on the heads of the
oppressors; without doubt, the hands of the persecuting party will be
strengthened, and liberty, which is everywhere the result of resisting
evil, will never be established. The freedom we ourselves enjoy, both
as a nation in respect of other nations, and as individuals in respect
of our domestic government, is the consequence of acting on a principle
the direct reverse of that laid down by Jesus. Our ancestors, who were
good Christians but much better patriots, would have been amazed indeed
at any attempt to persuade them to turn the left cheek to him who smote
them on the right. A doctrine more convenient for the purposes of
tyrants and malefactors of every description it would be difficult to
invent.

At the same time it must be conceded that there is in it some truth,
provided we discriminate between fitting and unfitting occasions
for its application. It is not the violent man who assaults us, the
unscrupulous man who sues us, or the persecutor who tramples on our
freedom, who should be met by a benevolent return. But there are
offenses of so personal a nature, affecting our individual interest
so largely, and the public interest so slightly, that the best way of
dealing with them may often be not to resent them, but to receive them
with unruffled gentleness. Each person must judge for himself what are
the cases to which this possibility applies. But the guiding rule in
thus acting must be that we expect by thus returning good for evil to
soften the heart of him who has done us wrong, and in the language of
Paul to "heap coals of fire on his head." Should the effect be simply
to relieve him from the penalty of our resentment without inducing
him to change his course, we shall have done him a moral injury and
society a material injury, and the probability or improbability of such
result should be measured in deciding upon the conduct to be pursued.
Properly guarded, and borne in mind as the occasional exception, by no
means as the rule, the return of injustice or ill-will by benevolence
and kindly feeling may be of the utmost value, both in cultivating
the best emotions in those who practice it, and in calling forth the
repentance of those towards whom it is practiced; but as a universal
and absolute principle it must be utterly rejected. Lao-tsze and Jesus
when they affirmed it undoubtedly struck one of the highest notes in
human nature. Yet it must be granted that Khung-tsze took a wider view,
and that his injunction to recompense injury with justice, and kindness
with kindness, is more consistent with a philosophic regard for the
interests of mankind, and with a practicable scheme of social ethics.

Jesus proceeds to enjoin his disciples neither to give alms, nor to
pray, nor to fast in an ostentatious manner; and in connection with
this excellent advice he teaches them the short prayer which has become
so famous under his name. The clauses of this prayer may be worth some
consideration. It begins with a formula of adoration addressed to "Our
father in heaven." Then follows a petition full of meaning to Jesus
and those to whom he imparted it, but of little or no signification in
the mouths of the millions of modern Christians who daily repeat it:
"Thy kingdom come." Jesus hoped, and his disciples caught the hope,
that God's kingdom would come very soon; and this prayer was a request
for the early realization of the glories of that kingdom. Those who
then employed it believed that at any moment it might be granted, and
that at no distant period it certainly would be granted. "Thy will be
done, as in heaven so also on earth;" a clause embodying the popular
conception of another region in which God's will is perfectly obeyed,
while here it is met by some counteracting influence. "Give us this
day our daily bread," for beyond the daily provision they were not
to look; a doctrine which we shall notice shortly. "And forgive us
our debts" (or, in Luke, our sins) "as we forgive our debtors; and
lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil." Passing over
the singular conception of God as leading men into temptation, let
us rather notice the preceding petition, on which Jesus himself has
supplied a commentary, that we may be forgiven, as we forgive others.
In reference to this he tells his hearers, that if they forgive men
their trespasses, their heavenly father will forgive theirs; and that
if they do not thus behave, neither will he. A kindred doctrine is laid
down in the beginning of the next chapter, where he tells them not to
judge, that they may not be judged; that with what measure they mete,
it shall be measured to them again. And this illustrated in another
place by the parable of the servant who, having been excused from the
immediate payment of a large debt by his master, refused to excuse a
fellow-servant from the payment of a small one; whereupon his master
flew into a passion, and "delivered him to the tormentors" (Mt. xviii.
23-35). There is an apparent justice and real emotional satisfaction
in the harsh treatment of those who are harsh themselves. But we must
not be misled by the immediate gratification we experience at the
punishment of the unforgiving servant, supposing that it is right to
mete out to each man the measure he metes out to others. Assuredly
it does not follow that because a man is unjust or cruel, he should
be treated with injustice or cruelty himself. Either it is right to
forgive a man's sins, or it is not. If right, then his own harshness
in refusing forgiveness to another is one of the sins which should
be forgiven. If not right, then neither that nor any other offense
should be forgiven by the supreme dispenser of justice. For what reason
should the one crime of not forgiving those who trespass against us
be selected for a punishment of such extraordinary severity, while it
is implied that the penalty of other and graver crimes may by God's
mercy be remitted? The fact is, that Jesus is misled by a false analogy
between the conduct of one man towards another, in a case where he is
personally concerned, and the conduct of a judge towards criminals.
Offenses against morality are treated as personal offenses against God,
who has therefore the same right to forgive them as a creditor has to
excuse his debtor from payment. But in a perfect system of justice,
human or divine, there could be no question of forgiveness at all.
Every violation of the law would bring its appropriate penalty, _and
no more_. The penalty being thus proportioned to the offense, there
could be no question of that sort of "forgiveness" which implies a
suspicion that it is, or may be, too severe. No doubt, the temper of
the offender, and the probability of his repeating the crime, would be
elements to be considered in awarding the sentence. But it must always
be borne in mind that either the hope of complete pardon, or the threat
of a punishment far heavier than is needed to deter, equally tend to
neutralize the effects of our system of justice. And thus it has been
in Christendom. The threat of everlasting torture, accompanied with the
expectation of complete forgiveness, has been less efficacious than
would have been the most moderate of earthly penalties, provided they
had been certain. But Jesus was encumbered with a system in which there
were no gradations. Thus he represents the deity now as extending
complete forgiveness to sins which should have received their fitting
retribution; now as visiting with immoderate severity offenses for
which more lenient measures would have amply sufficed.

Proceeding to another subject, the speaker dwells upon the comparative
unimportance of terrestrial affairs. He advises men not to lay up
treasure on earth, but in heaven, for where their treasure is, there
will their heart be also; and he goes on to say, "Take no thought for
your life what you shall eat or what you shall drink, nor for your
body what you shall put on. Is not the life more than nourishment,
and the body than raiment? Look at the birds of the sky, for they sow
not, neither do they reap nor gather into barns, and your heavenly
father feeds them. Are you not much better than they? And which of
you by taking thought can add a single cubit to his stature? And why
do you take thought for raiment? Consider the lilies of the field,
they toil not, neither do they spin: and I say to you that not even
Solomon in all his glory was clothed like one of these. And if God
so clothe the grass of the field which exists to-day and to-morrow
is cast into the oven, will he not much more clothe you, O you of
little faith?" Therefore his disciples are to take no thought about
eating, drinking, or clothing (as the Gentiles do), for their heavenly
father knows that they have need of these things. They are to seek
the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and these will be added.
They are to take no thought for the morrow, but let the morrow take
thought for itself (Mt. vi. 25-34). Upon which extraordinary argument
it would have been interesting to ask a few questions. In the first
place, how did Jesus suppose that it had happened that men had in
fact come to trouble themselves about food, drink, and clothing? Did
he imagine that an inherent pleasure in labor had driven them to do
so? Would he not rather have been compelled to admit that, not by any
choice of their own, but just because their heavenly father had _not_
provided these things in the requisite abundance, they had been forced
to "take thought" for the morrow, all their primitive inclinations
notwithstanding? Every tendency of human nature would have prompted men
to take no thought either for food or raiment, had not hunger and cold
brought vividly before them the necessity of doing so. But for this
they would only have been too glad to live like the birds of the air
or the lilies of the field. But let us examine a little more closely
the reasoning of Jesus. Birds neither sow nor reap; God feeds them;
therefore he will feed us without sowing or reaping. A more unfortunate
illustration of the care of Providence for his creatures it would be
difficult to find. Was Jesus ignorant of the fact that he feeds some
birds upon others whom they seize on as their prey, and these again
upon an inferior class of animals? So that, if he is careful of the
hawk, it is at the expense of the dove; and if he is careful of the
sparrow, it is at the expense of the worm. Cannibalism, or at least a
recourse to wild animals as the only obtainable diet, must have been
the logical results of the doctrine of Jesus. Not less singular would
be the effects of his teaching as to clothes. The lily which remains
in a state of nature is more beautifully arrayed than was Solomon.
Granted; but does it therefore follow that we are to imitate the lily?
We might agree with Jesus that nudity, alike in flowers and in human
beings, is more beautiful than the most superb dressing: yet there are
conveniences in clothes which may even justify taking a little thought
in order to obtain them, and those who really omit to do this are
generally the lowest types of the human race. That God would not give
us clothing if we ourselves made no effort to obtain it, is not only
admitted, but almost asserted, in the argument of Jesus; for he refers
us to the grass of the field, which remains in its natural condition,
as an example of the kind of raiment which our heavenly father
provides. So absurd are these precepts, that no body of Christians has
ever attempted to act upon them. Some there have been, indeed, who took
no thought for the morrow, and who never exerted themselves to procure
the necessaries of life. But then they lived in the midst of societies
where these things were provided by the labor of others, and where they
well knew that their pious indolence would not leave them a prey to
hunger, but would rather stimulate the charitable zeal of their more
secular brethren.

After laying down the rule against judging others, which has been
already referred to, Jesus gives the excellent advice to those who
would pull the mote out of their brother's eye to attend first to the
beam in their own. This is followed by the proverbial warning not to
cast pearls before swine. A singular passage succeeds, in which the
doctrine is broadly stated that whatever men desire of God they are
to ask it, "for every one who asks receives, and he who seeks finds."
And it is added, that as they give their children good gifts, so their
heavenly father gives good things to those who ask him. But what of
those who do not ask him? Does he, like an unwise human parent, give
most to those who are the loudest in their petitions, neglecting the
humble or retiring children who make no noise? These verses allow us
no option but to suppose that Jesus thought he did, and this inference
receives strong confirmation from the parable of the unjust judge, who
yielded to clamor what he would not give from a sense of justice (Lu.
xviii. 1-5), as also from the illustration of the man who was wearied
by the importunity of his friend into doing what he would not have
done for the sake of friendship (Lu. xi. 5-9). In the former case, the
parable is related for the express purpose of showing "that men ought
always to pray and not to faint;" in the latter, the illustration is
given in connection with the very verses which we are now criticising.
There is, then, no escape from the conclusion that the conceptions
Jesus had of the deity were of a nature to lead to the belief that God
might be worried by continual prayer into concessions and favors which
would not otherwise have been granted.

Excepting a single verse, the remainder of the sermon is occupied with
a warning that the way to life is narrow, that to destruction broad;
with a caution against false prophets, and a very fine description of
the future rejection from heaven of many who have made loud professions
of religion, and contrariwise, of the reception of those who have done
their father's will, and whom he likens to one who has built his house
upon the solid rock as distinguished from one who has built it on the
sand. One verse, however, remains, and that not only the most important
in the whole of this discourse, but ethically the most important in the
whole of its author's system. That verse is the well-known commandment:
"All things whatsoever you may wish men to do to you, thus also do
you to them. For this is the law and the prophets" (Mt. vii. 12; Lu.
vi. 31). Whether Jesus perceived that in this brief sentence he was
enunciating the cardinal principle of all morality is of necessity
uncertain. But from the addition of the phrase "this is the law and
the prophets," it is probable that he regarded it as a summary of the
moral teachings of the religion he professed. If so, he has rightly
laid the foundation of scientific ethics. Utilitarians, who believe
that the object of morality is human happiness, may claim him (as one
of them has already done) as the father of their system. While Kant,
who gives the fundamental law, so to act that the rule of your conduct
may be such as you yourself would wish to see adopted as a general
principle, will be equally in agreement with him. Nor does it detract
from the merits of Jesus that this very doctrine should have been
announced in China about five centuries before he proclaimed it in
Judea. He remains not less original; but we, while giving him his due,
must be careful to award an equal tribute to his great predecessor,
Confucius. Twice over did that eminent man assert the principle taught
in the Sermon on the Mount. In the first instance, "Chung-kung asked
about perfect virtue. The Master said, 'It is, when you go abroad, to
behave to every one as if you were receiving a great guest; to employ
the people as if you were assisting at a great sacrifice; _not to do to
others as you would not wish done to yourself_; to have no murmuring
against you in the country, and none in the family'" (C. C., vol. i.
p. 115.—Lun Yu, xii. 2). Much more strikingly is this law enunciated
in the second case. "Tsze-kung asked, saying, 'Is there one word which
may serve as a rule of practice for all one's life?' The Master said,
'Is not RECIPROCITY such a word? What you do not want done to yourself,
do not do to others'" (C. C., vol. i. p. 165.—Lun Yu, xv. 23). And we
have another statement of the rule in the work ascribed to the grandson
of Confucius, where he is reported to have said, "What you do not
like when done to yourself, do not do to others" (Chung Yung, xiii.
3.—C. C., vol. i. p. 258). It is true, as remarked by the translator,
that the doctrine is here stated negatively, and not positively; but
practically this can make little difference in its application. Not
to do to others what we wish them not to do to us would amount to
nearly the same thing as doing what we wish them to do. Obviously it
prohibits all actual injury which we should resent if inflicted on
ourselves. But it also enjoins active benevolence; for as we do not
like the lack of kindness towards ourselves when in distress or want,
so we must not be guilty of showing such lack of kindness to others.
Take the parable of the good Sâmaritan, told in illustration of the
kindred maxim to love our neighbors as ourselves. Plainly we should not
like the conduct of the priest and the Levite were we in the situation
of the plundered man. And if so, the behavior of the good Sâmaritan is
that which the Chinese as well as the Jewish prophet would require us
to pursue.

Much more might be said of the doctrines of Jesus, but it is time to
bring this over-long section to a close. What answer shall we now
return to the query which stands at the head of this final division?
What are we to think of him? Is our judgment to be mainly favorable or
mainly unfavorable? or must it be a mixture of opposing sentiments?
The reply may be given under three separate heads, relating the one to
his work as a prophet, the next to his intellectual, and the last to
his moral character. Considered as a prophet, he forms one of a mighty
triad who divide among them the honor of having given their religions
to the larger portion of Asia and to the whole of Europe. Confucius,
to whom Eastern Asia owes its most prevalent faith; Buddha Sakyamuni,
whose faith is accepted in the south and centre of that continent;
and Christ, to whom Europe bows the knee, are the members of this
great trinity not in unity. All three are alike in their possession
of prophetic ardor and prophetic inspiration. Two of them, the
Chinaman and the Jew, speak as the conscious agents of a higher Power.
The other, of whom his creed prevents us from saying this, is yet
represented in his story as predestined to a great mission, becoming
aware of that destiny at a certain epoch of his life, and thenceforth
feeling that no temptations and no sufferings can induce him to swerve
from his allotted task. Of these three men it would perhaps be accurate
to say that Confucius was the most thoughtful, Sakyamuni the most
eminently virtuous, and Christ the most deeply religious. Not that a
description like this can be regarded as exhaustive. Each trespasses
to some degree on the special domain of the others. Especially is it
hard to compare the moral excellence of Jesus with that of Buddha. The
Hindu, as depicted in his biographies, offers a character of singular
beauty, and free from some of the defects which may be discerned in
that of the Jew. History, however, was too much despised by these
Oriental sectaries to enable us to form a trustworthy comparison. All
we can affirm is, that, assuming the pictures of both prophets to be
correctly drawn, there is in Sakyamuni a purity of tone, an absence
of violence or rancor, an exemption from personal feeling and from
hostile bias, which place him even on a higher level than his Jewish
fellow-prophet. Supposing, on the other hand, that either picture
is not historical, then it must be conceded that primitive Buddhism
attained a more perfect ideal of goodness than primitive Christianity.
Both ideals, however, are admirable, and they closely resemble one
another.

Morally not unlike, Jesus and Sakyamuni have another point of
similarity in a certain mournfulness of spirit, a sorrowing regret for
the errors of human kind, and a tender anxiety to summon them from
those errors to a better way. Each in his own manner felt that life
was very sad; each desired to relieve that sadness, though each aimed
at effecting his end by different means. Sakyamuni offered to his
disciples the peace of Nirvâna; Jesus, the favor of God and the rewards
to be given in his kingdom. There is a striking similarity in the
manner in which the summons to suffering humanity is expressed in each
religion. Here are the words ascribed to Buddha: "Many, driven by fear,
seek an asylum in mountains and in woods, in hermitages and in the
neighborhood of sacred trees. But it is not the best asylum, it is not
the best refuge, and it is not in that asylum that men are delivered
from every pain. He, on the contrary, who seeks a refuge in Buddha, in
the Law and in the Assembly, when he perceives with wisdom the four
sublime truths, ... that man knows the best asylum, the best refuge;
as soon as he has reached it, he is delivered from every pain" (H. B.
I., p. 186). Still more beautifully is the like sentiment expressed by
Jesus: "Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will
give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn of me, for I am meek and
lowly of heart, and you shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke
is easy and my burden is light" (Mt. xi. 28-30).

While in tenderness and sympathy for human sorrow Christ resembles
Buddha, in the nature of his moral precepts he sometimes resembles
Confucius. The plain duties of man towards his fellow-man are
inculcated in the same spirit by both, while in Buddhism it is
generally the most extreme and often prodigious examples of charity
or self-sacrifice that are held up to admiration. Buddhism, moreover,
teaches by means of long stories; Confucius and Jesus by means of short
maxims. To a certain extent, indeed, Jesus combines both methods, the
first being represented in his parables; but these are much simpler,
and go far more directly to the point, than the complicated narratives
of the Buddhistic canon. On the whole, we may safely say that Jesus is
certainly not surpassed by either of these rival prophets, and that in
some respects, if not in all, he surpasses both.

Another comparison is commonly made, and may be just touched on here.
It is that between the Hebrew prophet and the Athenian sage, "who," in
the words of Byron, "lived and died as none can live or die." Without
fully endorsing this emphatic opinion of the poet, we may admit that
Socrates is not unworthy to stand beside Jesus in the foremost rank
of the heroes of our race. He shares with the prophets who have been
already named the inspiring sense of a divine mission which he is
bound to fulfill. At all hazards and under all conditions he will
carry on the special and peculiar work which the divine voice commands
him to do. And this plenary belief in his own inspiration is not
accompanied, as sometimes happens, by mental poverty. Intellectually
his superiority to Jesus cannot be disputed. It is apparent in the very
manner of his instruction. Socrates could never have enunciated the
truths he had to tell in that authoritative tone which is appropriate
to the religious teacher. Whatever knowledge he thinks it possible to
acquire at all must be acquired by reasoning and inquiry; and must be
tested by comparison of our own mental condition with that of others.
Nothing must be assumed but what is granted by the hearer. Socrates
would have thought that there was little gained by the mere dogmatic
assertion of moral or spiritual truths. He must carry his interlocutor
along with him; must compel him to admit his errors; must stimulate
his desire of improvement by bringing him face to face with his own
ignorance. Much as we must value the moral teaching of Christ, it must
be confessed that the peculiar gift of Socrates is one of a far rarer
kind. The power of inculcating holiness, purity, charity, and other
virtues, either directly by short maxims (as in the Confucian Analects,
in Mencius, or in Marcus Aurelius), or indirectly by stories (as in
Buddhagosha's parables), is by no means so uncommon as the Socratic
gift of searching examination into men's minds and souls. If Jesus is
unsurpassed in the former—"primus inter pares"—Socrates is absolutely
without a rival in the latter.

Whether the shock of the _elenchus_ of Socrates, or the touching beauty
of the parables and the Sermon on the Mount, produced the greatest
benefit to the hearers is a question that can hardly be determined.
The effect of either method must depend upon the character of those to
whom it is applied. Outward appearances would lead us to assign more
influence to the method of Jesus; for Socrates left no Socratics, while
Christ did leave Christians to hand on his doctrine. But, in the first
place, it may be confidently asserted that no lasting sect could have
been formed upon the basis of the few truths taught by Jesus himself;
and, in the second place, the fact that he became the founder of a new
religion must be attributed as much to the state of Judea at the time
as to his personal influence. That the influence of Socrates was not
small in his own life-time might be inferred from the bitterness of the
prosecution alone, even if Plato had not remained to attest the abiding
impress he left upon an intellect by the side of which those of Peter,
James, and John, are but as little children to a full-grown athlete.
We can imagine the havoc that would have been made in the statements
and arguments of Jesus had Socrates met him face to face and subjected
him to his testing method. How ill would his loose popular notions have
borne a close examination of their foundations; how easily would his
dogmatic assertions have been exposed in all their naked presumption by
a few simple questions; how quickly would his careless reasoning have
been shattered by the dialectic art which would have forced him to
exhibit its fallacies himself before the assembled audience! But there
was no one competent to the task, and when his opponents attempted to
perplex him by what they thought awkward questions, he was able to
baffle them without much trouble by his superior skill.

It is not, however, as an intellectual man that we must consider Jesus.
He himself laid no claim to the character, and, if we would do him
justice, we must judge him by his own idea of his function and his
duties. So judging, there can be no question that we must recognize in
him a man of the highest moral grandeur, lofty in his aims, pure in
his use of means, earnest, energetic, zealous, and unselfish. No doubt
he was sometimes misled by that very ardor which inspired him with
the courage required to pursue his work. No doubt he suffered himself
to forget the charity that was due to those who could not accept his
mission nor bow before his preaching. No doubt he returned curse for
curse, and hatred for hatred, with unsparing hand. Perhaps, too, he
was sometimes the first to give way to angry passion, and to express
in scathing words the bitterness he felt. Yet his failings are those
of an upright and honorable character, and while they ought not to be
extenuated or denied, neither ought they to outweigh his great and
unquestionable merits. Appointed, as he believed, to a special work,
he bravely and honestly devoted his powers to the fulfillment of that
work, not even shrinking from his duty when it led him to the cross.

His unhappy end has cast its shadow over his life. He has been
continually spoken of as "a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief."
There is no reason to suppose that in any special sense he corresponded
to the prophetic picture. Undoubtedly he had his sorrows; undoubtedly
he was acquainted with grief. But unless there had been in his private
life some tragedy of which we are not informed, those sorrows were not
of the bitterest, nor was that grief of the deepest. There is no doubt
in his language a tinge of that sadness which all great natures who are
not in harmony with their age must needs experience. He believed that
he had great truths to tell, and he found his countrymen unwilling to
receive them. Here was one source of unhappiness; and another he had
in common with all who are deeply conscious of the miseries of human
existence. But in no special or transcendent sense can he be termed a
man of sorrows and acquainted with grief. So far as our evidence goes,
he was exempt from the most terrible calamities that befall mankind.
Free from all earthly ties but those of friendship with his chosen
companions, he was not exposed to many of the anxieties and trials
which afflict more ordinary men. Dying young, he did not suffer (so
far as we know) from any serious illness, nor from the troubles, both
physical and mental, that scarcely ever fail to beset a longer life.
Bereavement, the most terrible or human ills, never afflicted him.
Whether in his youth he had suffered the pains of unrequited love at
the hands of some Galilean maiden we cannot tell. But there is nothing
in his language or his career that would lead us to see in him an
embittered or disappointed man.

Judging by the representation given in the Gospels, it does not
appear that his life was in any special measure sad or gloomy. On
the contrary, his circumstances were in the main conducive to a fair
share of happiness. Surrounded by admiring friends of his own sex,
and attended by sympathizing (perhaps loving) women, he passed from
place to place, drawing crowds around him, speaking his mind freely,
and receiving no inconsiderable homage. Granting that he had enemies,
he was able until his prosecution to meet them on equal terms, and
was not prohibited (as he would have been in most Christian countries
until recent times) from proclaiming aloud his unorthodox opinions.
True, this liberty was not allowed to continue for ever, but it was no
small matter for him that it had continued so long. True, he suffered
a painful death; but far less painful than many a humble martyr has
undergone for his sake; far less painful even than those torturing
illnesses which so often precede the hour of rest. Nor is it possible
that his death could reflect its agonies back upon his life. His life,
on the whole, seems to have been one, if not of abundant happiness,
yet of a fair and reasonable degree of cheerfulness and of comfort.
The notion that he had not where to lay his head is of course utterly
unfounded. Not only had he his own house at Nazareth, but he had
friends who at all times were happy to receive him. If he himself ever
drew this sad picture of his desolation (which I doubt), he must
have done it for a special purpose, and without regard to the literal
accuracy of his words.

While, then, I see no proof of the peculiar sorrow ascribed to him on
the strength of a prophecy, I freely admit that he had the melancholy
which belongs to a sympathetic heart. His words of regret over
Jerusalem are unsurpassed in their beauty. At this closing period of
his career we may indeed detect the sadness of disappointment. And in
the bitter cry that was wrung from him at the end, "My God, my God,
why hast thou forsaken me?" we look down for a moment into an abyss
of misery which it is painful to contemplate; physical suffering and
a shaken faith, the agonies of unaccomplished purposes, and the still
more fearful agony of desertion by the loving Father in whom he had put
his trust.

But Jesus, though he knew it not, had done his work. Nay, he had done
more than he himself intended. After-ages saw in him—what he saw only
in his God—an ideal to be worshiped and a power to be addressed in
prayer. We, who are free from this exaggeration of reverence, may
yet continue to pay him the high and unquestioned honor which his
unflinching devotion to his duty, his gentle regard for the weak and
suffering, his uncorrupted purity of mind, and his self-sacrificing
love so abundantly deserve.




                              CHAPTER VI.

                        HOLY BOOKS, OR BIBLES.


Vast, and even immeasurable, as the influence has been which has been
exercised on the course of human development by the great men of whom
we have spoken, it has been equaled, if not surpassed, by the influence
of the peculiar class of writings which we have grouped together under
the designation of Holy Books. Of this, the last manifestation of the
Religious Idea, it will be necessary to speak in considerable detail;
both on account of its intrinsic importance, and because it is a
branch of the subject which has not hitherto received the attention it
deserves.

We have been far too much accustomed in Europe to treat the Bible as
a book standing altogether by itself; to be admired, reverenced and
loved, or, it may be, to be criticised, objected to and rejected,
not as one of a class, but as something altogether peculiar and
unparalleled in the literary history of the world. And, undoubtedly,
if we compare it with ordinary literature of whatever description,
whatever age, and whatever nation, this opinion is just. Neither in
the poetry, the history, or the philosophy of any other nation do we
find any work that at all resembles it. Nevertheless it would be a
very rash conclusion to arrive at, that because in the whole field
of Greek or Roman, Italian or French, Teutonic or Celtic literature,
there is nothing that admits of being put in the same category with
the Bible, therefore the Bible cannot be placed in any category
at all. It is one of a numerous class; a class marked by certain
distinct characteristics; a class of which some specimen is held in
honor from the furthest East of Asia, to the extreme West of America,
or, in other words, throughout every portion of the surface of the
earth which is inhabited by any race with the smallest pretense to
civilization and to culture. Wherever there is literature at all, there
are Sacred Books. If in some isolated cases it is not so, these cases
are exceptions too trifling in extent to invalidate the rule. Speaking
generally we may say, that every people which has risen above the
conditions of savage life; every nation which possesses an organized
administration, a settled domestic life, a religion with developed
and complex dogmas, possesses also its Sacred Books. If this truth
has been too generally forgotten; if the Bible has been too commonly
treated as something exceptional and peculiar which it was the glory
of Christianity to possess, this omission is probably in great part
due to the fact that the attention of scholars has been too much
confined to the literature, the religion, and the general culture of
the Greeks and Romans. From special circumstances these nations had no
Sacred writings among them. Their religion was independent of any such
authorities; and our notions of pagan religion have been largely drawn
from the religions of Greece and Rome. But the Greeks and Romans were
only an insignificant fraction of the Aryan race; and other far more
numerous branches of that race had their recognized and authoritative
Scriptures, containing in some portions those most ancient traditions
of the original stock which entered into the intellectual property of
the Hellenic family, in the form of mythological tales and current
stories of their gods. We must not therefore be led by the example of
classical antiquity to ignore the existence of these writings, or to
overlook their importance.[34]

We may classify the Sacred Books to which reference will be made in
this chapter as follows, proceeding (as in the case of prophets) from
East to West:—

 1. THE THIRTEEN KING, or Canon of the Confucians. 2. The TAÒ-TĔ-KĪNG,
 or Canon of the Taò-sè. 3. The VEDA, or Canon of the Hindus. 4. The
 TRIPITAKA, or Canon of the Buddhists. 5. The ZEND AVESTA, or Canon
 of the Parsees. 6. The KORAN, or Canon of the Moslems. 7. The OLD
 TESTAMENT, or Canon of the Jews. 8. The NEW TESTAMENT, or Canon of the
 Christians.

The works included in the above list,—which are more numerous than
might at first appear, owing to the vast collections comprised under
the titles "Vedas," and "Tripitaka,"—are distinguished, as has been
already stated, by certain common characteristics. It would be an
exaggeration to say that all of these characteristics apply to each one
of the writings accepted by any portion of mankind as canonical. This
cannot be so, any more than the peculiar qualities which may happen to
distinguish any given race of men can ever belong in equal measure to
all its members. Hence there will necessarily be some exceptions to
our rules, but on the whole I believe we may say with confidence that
canonical or sacred books have the following distinctive marks:—

A. There are certain external marks, the presence of which is essential
to constitute them sacred at all.

1. They must be accepted by the sectaries of the religion to which
they belong as being either inspired, or, if the nature of the faith
precludes this idea, as containing the highest wisdom to which it is
possible for man to attain, and indeed a much higher wisdom than can
be reached by ordinary men. Nor do those who accept these books ever
expect to attain it. They regard the authors, or supposed authors, as
enlightened to a degree which is beyond the reach of their disciples,
and receive their words as utterances of an unquestionable authority.
But wherever a divine being is acknowledged, these books are regarded
as emanating from him. Either they have fallen direct from heaven and
been merely "seen" by their human editors, as was the case with the
Vedic hymns; or their contents have been communicated in colloquies
to holy men by the Deity himself, as happened with the Avesta; or an
angel has revealed them to the prophet while in a fit or a state of
ecstacy, as Mahomet was made acquainted with the Suras of the Koran; or
lastly, as is held to have been the case with the Jewish and Christian
Scriptures, the mind of the writer has been at least so guided and
informed by the Spirit of God, that in the words traced by his pen it
was impossible he should err.

Such a conviction is expressly stated in the Second Epistle to
Timothy, where it is said that "all Scripture is given by inspiration
of God." And a claim to even more than inspiration is put forward in
the Apocalypse, whose author first calls his work "the Revelation of
Jesus Christ," which he says God sent to him by an angel deputed for
the purpose, and then proceeds to describe voices heard, and visions
perceived; thus resting his prophetic knowledge not on supernatural
information communicated to the mind, but on the direct testimony of
his senses.

2. With this theory of inspiration, or of a more than human knowledge
and wisdom, is closely connected an idea of _merit_ to be obtained
by reading such books, or hearing them read. With tedious iteration
is this notion asserted in the later works of the Buddhist Canon.
These indeed represent the degeneracy of the idea. One of them is so
filled with the panegyrics pronounced upon itself by the Buddha or
his hearers, and with the recital of the advantages to be obtained
by him who reads it, that the student searches in vain under this
mass of laudations for the substance of the book itself (H. B. I.,
p. 536). A Sûtra translated by Schlagintweit from the Thibetan,
and bearing the marks (according to its translator) of having been
written at a period of "mystic modification of Buddhism," promises
that, at a future period of intense and general distress this Sûtra
"will be an ablution for every kind of sin which has been committed
in the meantime: all animated beings shall read it, and on account of
it all sins shall be wiped away" (B. T., p. 139). In another Sûtra,
termed the Karanda vyuha, a great saint is introduced as exhorting
his hearers to study this treatise, the efficaciousness of which he
highly exalts (H. B. I., p. 222). Another speaker recites in several
stanzas the advantages which will accrue to him who either reads the
Karanda vyuha or hears it read (Ibid., p. 226). Such was the force of
the idea that the mere mechanical reading or copying of the sacred
texts was in itself meritorious, that, by a still further separation
of the outward action from its rational signification, the purely
unintelligent process of turning a cylinder on which sentences of
Scripture were printed came to be regarded as equally efficacious. An
author who has given an interesting account of these cylinders observes
that, as few men in Thibet knew how to read, and those who did had not
time to exercise their powers, "the Lamas cast about for an expedient
to enable the ignorant and the much-occupied man also to obtain the
spiritual advantages" (namely, purification from sin and exemption from
metempsychosis) "attached to an observance of the practice mentioned;
they taught that the mere turning of a rolled manuscript might be
considered an efficacious substitute for reading it." So completely
does the one process take the place of the other that "each revolution
of the cylinder is considered to be equal to the reading of as many
sacred sentences or treatises as are enclosed in it, provided that the
turning of the cylinder is done slowly and from right to left;" the
slowness being a sign of a devout mind, and the direction of turning
being a curious remnant of the original practice of reading, in which,
as the letters run from left to right, the eye must move over them in
that direction (B. T., pp. 230, 231). Similar sentiments, though not
pushed to the same extravagance, prevail among the Hindus. One of the
Brâhmanas, or treatises appended to the metrical portion of the Vedas,
lays down the principle that "of all the modes of exertion, which are
known between heaven and earth, study of the Veda occupies the highest
rank (in the case of him) who, knowing this, studies it" (O. S. T.,
vol. iii. p. 22). Manu, one of the highest of Indian authorities,
observes that "a Brahman who should destroy these three worlds, and
eat food received from any quarter whatever, would incur no guilt if
he retained in his memory the Rig Veda. Repeating thrice with intent
mind the Sanhitâ of the Rik, or the Yajush, or the Sâman, with the
Upanishads, he is freed from all his sins. Just as a clod thrown into
a great lake is dissolved when it touches the water, so does all sin
sink in the triple Veda" (Ibid., vol. iii. p. 25). Reading the Holy
Scriptures is with the Parsees a positive duty. And these works, read
in the proper spirit, are thought to exert upon earth an influence
somewhat similar to that of the primeval Word at the origin of created
beings (Z. A. Q., p. 595). It is needless to speak of the importance
attached among Jews and Christians to the reading and re-reading
of their Bibles, or of the spiritual benefits supposed to result
therefrom. It is worth remarking, however, that this constant perusal
of Holy Writ is altogether a different operation from that of studying
it for the sake of knowing its contents. People read continually what
they are already perfectly familiar with, and they neither gain, nor
expect to gain, any fresh information from the performance. And this is
a species of reading to which among Christian nations the Bible alone
is subjected.

The genesis of this notion is not difficult to follow. Once let a given
work be accepted as containing information on religious questions which
man's unaided faculties could not have attained, and it is evident that
there is no better way of qualifying himself for the performance of his
obligations towards heaven than by studying that work. Its perusal and
re-perusal will increase his knowledge of divine things, and render him
more and more fit, the oftener he repeats it, to put that knowledge
into practice. But if it is thus advantageous to the devout man to be
familiar with the sacred writings of his faith, it is plain that the
attention he gives to them must be in the highest degree agreeable
to the divinity from whom they emanate. For, to put it on the lowest
ground, it is a sign of respect. It renders it evident that he is not
indifferent to the communication which his God has been pleased to
make. It evinces a pious and reverential disposition. Hence not only
is the reader benefited by such a study, but the Deity is pleased by
it. Or if the books are not conceived as inspired by any deity, yet
a careful attention to them shows a desire for wisdom, and a humble
regard for the instructions of more highly-gifted men who in these
religions stand in the place of gods. Thus the action of reading these
works, and becoming thoroughly familiar with their contents, is for
natural reasons regarded as meritorious. But this is not all. An act
which at first is meritorious as a means, tends inevitably to become
meritorious as an end. Moreover, actions frequently repeated for some
definite reason come to be repeated when that reason is absent. Thus,
the reading of Sacred Books, originally a profitable exercise to the
mind of the reader, is soon undertaken for its own sake, whether the
mind of the reader be concerned in it or not. And the action, having
become habitual, is stereotyped as a religious custom, and therefore
a religious obligation. The words of the holy books are read aloud to
a congregation, without effort or intelligence on their part, perhaps
in a tongue which they do not comprehend. Even if the vernacular be
employed, there is not the pretence of an effort to penetrate the sense
of difficult passages. Holy Writ has become a charm, to be mechanically
read and as mechanically heard, and the notion of merit—arising in the
first instance from the high importance of understanding its meaning
with a view to practicing its precepts—now attaches to the mere
repetition of the consecrated words.

3. The exact converse of this unintelligent reverence for the sacred
writings is the excessive and over-subtle exercise of intelligence upon
them. It is the common fate of such works to be made the subject of the
most minute, most careful, and most constant scrutiny to which any of
the productions of the human mind can be subjected. The pious and the
learned alike submit them to an unceasing study. No phrase, no word,
no letter, passes unobserved. The result of this devout investigation
naturally is, that much which in reality belongs to the mind of the
reader is attributed to that of the writer. Approached with the fixed
prepossession that they contain vast stores of superhuman wisdom, that
which is so eagerly sought from them is certain to be found. Hence the
natural and simple meaning of the words is set aside, or is relegated
to a secondary place. All sorts of forced interpretations are put upon
them with a view of compelling them to harmonize with that which it
is supposed they ought to mean. Statements, doctrines, and allusions
are discovered in them which not only have no existence in their
pages, but which are absolutely foreign to the epoch at which they
were written. This process of false interpretation is greatly favored
by distance of time. When an ancient book is approached by those who
know but little of the external circumstances, or of the intellectual
and spiritual atmosphere, of the age in which it was composed, much
that was simple and plain enough to the contemporaries of the writer
will be dubious and obscure to them. And when they are determined to
find in the venerable classic nothing but perfect truth, the result of
such conditions is an inevitable confusion. Their own actual notions
of truth must at all hazards be discovered in the sacred pages. The
assumption cannot be surrendered; all that does not agree with it must
therefore be suitably explained.

Are proceedings or actions which shock the improved morality of a
later age spoken of with approbation in the canonical books? Some
evasion must be discovered which will reconcile ethics with belief. Are
doctrines which the religion of a later age rejects plainly enunciated,
or statements of facts, which later investigation has shown to be
impossible, unequivocally made? The inconvenient passages must be
shown to bear another construction. Are there portions whose character
appears too trivial or too mundane to be consistent with the dignity
of works given for the instruction of mankind? These portions must be
shown to possess a mystical significance; a spirit hidden beneath the
letter; profound instruction veiled under ordinary phrases. Are the
dogmas cherished as of supreme importance by subsequent generations
unhappily not to be found in the text of Revelation? These dogmas must
be read out of them by putting a strain upon words which apparently
refer to some other subject. Perhaps, if they are not contained in
them _totidem verbis_, they may be _totidem syllabis_: or if not even
_totidem syllabis_, at least _totidem literis_. And the absence of a
letter (like the k in shoulder-knots) can always be got over somehow.
Lastly, are there palpable contradictions? At whatever cost they must
be explained away, for Holy Writ, being inspired, can never contradict
itself.

Let us consider a few of the most striking examples of these methods
of treatment. China, usually so matter of fact, has manifested in this
field a subtlety of interpretation not altogether unworthy of the
more mystical India. The Ch'un Ts'ëw, one of the books of the Chinese
Canon, is a historical compilation attributed to Confucius himself,
and is therefore of more than ordinary authority even for a Sacred
Book. Concerning one of the years of which it contains a record, the
following statements are made:—

"In the ninth month, on Kang-seuk, the first day of the moon, the sun
was eclipsed.

"In winter, in the tenth month, on Kang-shin, the first day of the
moon, the sun was eclipsed" (C. C., vol. v. p. 489.—Ch'un Ts'ëw, b. 9,
ch. xxi. p. 5, 6).

Two eclipses in such close proximity were of course an impossibility.
Chinese scholars were fully aware of this, and knew, moreover, that
the second eclipse mentioned did not take place. A similar mistake
occurred in another chapter, so that there were two unquestionable
blunders to be got over. No wonder then that "the critics," as Dr.
Legge says, "have vexed themselves with the question in vain." But one
of them proposes an explanation. "In this year," he remarks, "and in
the twenty-fourth year, we have the record of eclipses in successive
months. According to modern chronologists such a thing could not be;
but _perhaps it did occur in ancient times_!" (Ibid., vol. v. p. 491).
Dr. Legge has italicized the concluding words, and put an exclamation
after them, as if they embodied a surprising absurdity. But his
experience of Biblical criticism must have presented him with abundant
instances of similar interpretations of the glaring contradictions to
modern science found in Scripture. Is it more ridiculous to suppose
that the two eclipses might have occurred in two months than to believe
that the sun stood still, in other words, that the revolution of the
earth on its axis ceased for a space of time? or that an ass could be
endowed with human speech? or that a man, instead of dying, could rise
from earth to heaven? And if these and similar strange occurrences be
explained as miracles, then such miracles "did occur in ancient times,"
and do not now. Or if it be attempted, as it is by interpreters of the
rationalistic school to get over the difficulty by supposing a natural
event as the foundation of the story—as one writer suggests that the
descent of the Holy Ghost at Pentecost was a strong blast of wind—then
European critics, like those of China, "vex themselves in vain."

No country, however, has done more than India, possibly none has done
so much, in the peculiar exercise of ingenuity by which all sorts of
senses are deduced from sacred texts. The Veda formed in that highly
religious land the common basis on which each variety of philosophy was
founded, and by which each was thought to be justified. Dr. Muir has
collected a number of facts in proof of the diverse interpretations
that found defenders among the champions of the several schools. In
these facts, according to him, "we find another illustration (1)
of the tendency common to all dogmatic theologians to interpret in
strict conformity to their own opinions the unsystematic and not
always consistent texts of an earlier age which have been handed
down by tradition as sacred and infallible, and to represent them as
containing, or as necessarily implying, fixed and consistent systems of
doctrine; as well as (2) of the diversity of view which so generally
prevails in regard to the sense of such texts among writers of
different schools, who adduce them with equal positiveness of assertion
as establishing tenets and principles which are mutually contradictory
or inconsistent" (O. S. T., vol. iii. p. xx).

Exactly the same methods were applied to the sacred books of Buddhism.
"It is in general," says Burnouf, "the same texts that serve as a
foundation for all doctrines; only the explanation of these texts
marks the naturalistic, theistic, moral or intellectual tendency" (H.
B. I., p. 444). To meet the case of contradictions occurring in the
Buddhistic Sûtras a theory of a double meaning has been invented. The
various schools that had arisen in the course of time did not venture
to reject the Sûtras that failed to harmonize with their own opinions,
as not having emanated from Buddha, but maintained he had not expressed
them in the form of absolute truth. He had often, they thought, adapted
himself to the conceptions of his hearers, and uttered what was
directly contradictory to his veritable ideas. Hence his words must
be taken in two senses; the palpable and the hidden sense (Wassiljew,
pp. 105, 329). As it has been with the Chinese Classics, with the
Veda, and with the Tripitaka, so it has been with the Zend Avesta.
Speaking of the progress of scholarship in deciphering the sense of
that ancient work, Professor Max Müller justly observes that "greater
violence is done by successive interpreters to sacred writings than to
any other relics of ancient literature. Ideas grow and change, yet each
generation tries to find its own ideas reflected in the sacred pages of
their early prophets, and in addition to the ordinary influences which
blur and obscure the sharp features of old words, artificial influences
are here at work distorting the natural expression of words which have
been invested with a sacred authority. Passages in the Veda or Zend
Avesta which do not bear on religious or philosophical doctrines,
are generally explained simply and naturally, even by the latest of
native commentators. But as soon as any word or sentence can be so
turned as to support a doctrine, however modern, or a precept, however
irrational, the simplest phrases are tortured and mangled till at last
they are made to yield their assent to ideas the most foreign to the
minds of the authors of the Veda and Zend Avesta" (Chips, vol. i. p.
134).

It is remarkable that almost identical expressions are employed by
a Roman Catholic writer in reference to the efforts that have been
made by theologians to discover the doctrine of the Trinity in the
pages of the Hebrew Bible. I am glad to be able to quote an authority
so unexceptionable as that of M. Didron for the proposition, that
the poverty of the Old Testament in texts relating to the Trinity
has caused the commentators to torture the sense of the words and
the signification of facts. He adds the interesting information that
artists, pushed on by the commentators, have represented the signs of
the Trinity in scenes which did not admit of them. Thus, commentators
and artists have united to find a revelation of the three persons
of the Godhead in the three angels whom Abraham met in the plain of
Mamre; in the three companions of Daniel who were thrown into the fiery
furnace, and in other passages of equal relevance. No wonder, when such
are the texts relied upon to prove the presence of this cardinal dogma,
that M. Didron should observe that the Old Testament contains very few
texts that are clear and precise upon the subject, and that in this
portion of the Sacred Books we do not see a sufficient number of real
and unquestionable manifestations of the Holy Trinity (Ic. Ch., pp.
514-517).

Perhaps, however, the most conspicuous instance of the power of
preconceptions in deciding the sense of Holy Writ is the traditional
interpretation of the Song of Solomon. In this little book, which is
altogether secular in its subject and its nature, the love of a young
damsel to her swain is described in peculiarly plain and sensuous
language. But precisely because it was so plain was it necessary to
find allegorical allusions under its rather glowing phrases. Hence such
expressions as "let him kiss me with a kiss of his mouth; thy caresses
are softer than wine," are held to refer to "the Church's love unto
Christ," and an enthusiastic encomium passed by the Shulamite upon the
physical perfections of her lover is called "a description of Christ by
his graces." So, when another speaker, in this case a man, flatters
a woman by enumerating the beauties of her form, the feet, the joints
of her thighs, the navel, the belly, the two breasts so passionately
praised by her admirer, are thought in some mystic way to signify the
graces of the Church. A passage referring to a young girl not yet fully
developed is made out to be a foreshadowing of "the calling of the
Gentiles," and the natural and simple appeal to a lover to make haste
to come is "the Church praying for Christ's coming."

Equal, or nearly equal, absurdities are found in the Chinese
interpretations of certain Odes contained in their classics. These
Odes are, like the Song of Songs, mere expressions of human love. But
the critics find in them profound historical allusions; history being
the staple of the Chinese sacred books, as theology is of the Hebrew
ones. Now it happened in China, as it has happened in Europe, that
there was a traditional meaning attached to this portion of the sacred
books; and the traditional meaning was embodied in a Preface which was
generally supposed to have descended from very ancient times, which
came to be incorporated with the Odes, and thus appeared to rest on
the same authority as the text itself. But a Chinese scholar, named
Choo He, who examined the preface in a freer spirit than was usual
among the commentators, formed a very different opinion as to its age
and its authority. He believed it to be of much more recent date that
was commonly supposed, and by no means to form an integral portion of
the Odes. The prevailing theory was that the Preface had existed as a
separate document in the time of a scholar named Maou, "and that he
broke it up, prefixing to each Ode the portion belonging to it. The
natural conclusion," observes Choo He, "is that the Preface had come
down from a remote period, and Hwang" (a scholar who, in one account,
is said to have written the Preface) "merely added to it and rounded it
off. In accordance with this, scholars generally hold that the first
sentences in the introductory notices formed the original Preface which
Maou distributed, and that the following portions were subsequently
added. This view may appear reasonable, but when we examine those
first sentences themselves we find some of them which do not agree
with the obvious meaning of the Odes to which they are prefixed, and
give merely the rash and baseless expositions of the writers." Choo He
adds, that after the prefatory notices were published as a portion of
the text, "they appeared as if they were the production of the poets
themselves and the Odes seemed to be made from them as so many themes.
Scholars handed down a faith in them from one to another, and no one
ventured to express a doubt of their authority. The text was twisted
and chiseled to bring it into accordance with them, and nobody would
undertake to say plainly that they were the work of the scholars of the
Han dynasty" (C. C., vol. iv. Proleg., p. 33).

Ample confirmation of the justice of Choo He's opinion will be found on
turning to the Odes and comparing them with the notices in the Preface,
which bear a family likeness to the headings of the chapters in the
Song of Songs. Here, for example, is an Ode:—

    "If you, Sir, think kindly of me,
    I will hold up my lower garments, and cross the Tsin.
    If you do not think of me,
    Is there no other person [to do so?]
    You foolish, foolish fellow!"[35]

The second stanza is identical, with this exception, that the name of
the river is changed. Now this young lady's coquettish appeal to her
lover is said in the Preface to be an expression "of the desire of the
people of Ch'ing to have the condition of the State rectified" (C. C.,
vol. iv. Proleg., p. 51). Another Ode runs thus:—

    1. "The sun is in the east,
    And that lovely girl
    Is in my chamber.
    She is in my chamber;
    She treads in my footsteps, and comes to me.

    2. "The moon is in the east,
    And that lovely girl
    Is inside my door.
    She is inside my door;
    She treads in my footsteps, and hastens away."[36]

This simple poem is supposed by the Preface to be "directed against
the decay [of the times]." Observe the theory that anything appearing
in a sacred book must have a moral purpose. "The relation of ruler
and minister was neglected. Men and women sought each other in lewd
fashion; and there was no ability to alter the customs by the rules of
propriety" (C. C., vol. iv. Proleg., p. 52). A commentator, studious
to discover the hidden moral, urges that the incongruous fact of
the young woman's coming at sunrise and going at moonrise "should
satisfy us that, under the figuration of these lovers, is intended a
representation of Ts'e, with bright or with gloomy relations between
its ruler and officers" (C. C., vol. iv. p. 153, note). In another Ode
a lady laments her husband's absence, pathetically saying that while
she does not see him, her heart cannot forget its grief:

    "How is it, how is it,
    That he forgets me so very much?"

is the burden of every stanza. This piece, according to the Preface,
was directed against a duke, "who slighted the men of worth whom his
father had collected around him, leaving the State without those who
were its ornament and strength" (C. C., vol. iv. p. 200, and the
note.—She King, pt. i. b. 11, ode 7).

With such methods as these there is no marvel which may not be
accomplished. And when, by the lapse of many centuries, the very
language of the sacred records has been forgotten—as the Sanscrit of
the Vedas was forgotten by the Hindus, the Zend by the Parsees, and the
Hebrew by the Jews—the process of perversion is still further favored.
The original works are then accessible but to a few; and when these few
undertake to explain them in the ordinary tongue, they will do so with
a gloss suggested by their own imperfect comprehension of the thoughts
and language of the past.

These, then, may be accepted as the external marks of Sacred Books:
1. The unusual veneration accorded to them by the adherents of each
religion, on the ground that they contain truths beyond the reach
of human intelligence when not specially enlightened; or in other
words, the theory of their _inspiration_. 2. The notion of _religious
merit_ attached to reading them. 3. The application to them of _forced
interpretation_, in order to bring them into accordance with the
assumptions made regarding them.

B. Passing now to the internal marks by which writings of this class
are distinguished, we shall find several which, taken together,
constitute them altogether a peculiar branch of literature.

1. Their subjects are generally confined within a certain definite
range, but in the limits of that range there is a considerable portion
which has the peculiarity that their investigation transcends the
unaided powers of the human intellect. Almost the whole of the vast
field of theological dogma comes under this head. The sublimer subjects
usually dealt with, and not only dealt with, but emphatically dwelt
upon, in the Sacred Books are, the nature of the Deity and his mode
of action towards mankind; the creation of the world and its various
constituent parts, including man himself; the motives of the Deity in
these exercises of his power; the dogmas to be believed in reference
to the Deity himself and in reference to other superhuman powers or
agencies, whether good or bad; and the condition of the soul after
death with the rewards and the punishments of vicious conduct. Coming
down to matters of a less purely celestial character, but still beyond
the reach of the uninspired faculties of ordinary minds, they treat of
the primitive condition of mankind when first placed upon the earth;
of his earliest history; of the rites by which the divine being is to
be worshiped; of the sacrifices which are to be offered to him; of the
ceremonies by which his favor is to be won. Here we move in a region
which is at least intelligible and free from mysteries, though it is
plain that we could not arrive at any certain conclusions on such
things as these without divine assistance and superhuman illumination.

Lastly, the Sacred Books of all nations profess to give information on
a subject the nature of which is altogether mundane, and with regard to
which truth is accessible to all, inspired or uninspired;—the rules of
moral conduct. These are, I believe, the main subjects which will be
found treated of in the various books that lay claim to the title of
Sacred. These subjects may be briefly classified as, 1. Metaphysical
speculations as to the nature of the Deity. 2. Doctrines as to the
past or future existence of the soul. 3. Accounts of the creation. 4.
Lives of prophets or collections of their sayings. 5. Theories as to
the origin of evil. 6. Prescriptions as to ritual. 7. Ethics. That this
does not pretend to be an exhaustive classification, I need hardly say;
other topics are treated in some of them to which no allusion is made,
and all of these topics themselves are not treated at all. But they are
those with which the Sacred Books are principally concerned; and more
than this, they are those in the treatment of which these books are
especially peculiar. One important feature both of the Chinese and the
Jewish Canon is passed over, namely, their historical records. If these
records were not exceptional appearances in sacred works, or if, though
exceptional, they presented some essential singularity marking them
off from all ordinary history, they should be included in the list of
subjects. But as the Chinese Shoo King are perfectly commonplace annals
of matters of fact; and as the Books of Samuel, Kings, and Chronicles
are not otherwise distinguished from secular history than by their
theological theories—in respect of which they are included under the
previous heads—I see no reason to include history among the matters
generally treated in Sacred Books. It is right, however, to note in
passing that in these two instances it is found in them.

2. Since, however, it will be obvious to all that these great topics
are discussed in many other works which have no pretension to be
thought sacred, we must seek for some further and more definite
criterion by which to separate them from general literature. And we
shall find it in the _manner_ in which the above-named subjects are
treated. The great distinction between sacred and non-sacred writings
in their manner of dealing with these great questions is the tone of
authority, and if the expression may be used, of finality, assumed
by the former. There is no appeal beyond them to a higher authority
than their own. Having God as their author and inspirer, or being the
product of the supreme elevation of reason, they take for granted
that human beings will not question or cavil at their statements.
While other writers, when seeking to enforce the doctrines of any
positive religion, invariably rest their contentions, implicitly or
explicitly, on some superior authority, referring their readers or
hearers either to the Vedas, the Koran, the Bible, the Church, or
some other recognized standard of belief and would think it in the
last degree presumptuous to claim assent except to what can be found
in or deduced from that standard; while those teachers who are not
the exponents of any positive, revealed religion, endeavor to prove
their conclusions from the common intuitions or the common reasoning
faculties of mankind; the writers of these books do neither. They seem
to speak with a full confidence that their words need no confirmation
either from authority or from reason. If they tell us the story of the
creation of the world, they do not think it needful to inform us from
what sources the narrative is derived. If they reveal the character of
God, it is without explaining the means by which their insight has been
obtained. If they lay down the rules of religious or moral conduct, it
is not done with the modesty of fallible teachers, but with the voice
of unqualified command emanating from the plentitude of power. Of their
decisions there can be no discussion; from their sentences there is no
appeal.

3. It corresponds with this character that Sacred Books should very
generally be anonymous; or more strictly speaking, impersonal; that
is, that they should not be put forward in the name of an individual,
and that no individual should take credit for their authorship.
Understanding the expression in this somewhat wider sense, we may
say that anonymity is a general characteristic of this class of
writings. Their authors do not desire to invite attention to their
own personality, or to claim assent on the ground of respect or
consideration towards themselves. On the contrary, they withdraw
entirely from observation; they appear to be thoroughly engrossed in
the greatness of the subject; and to write not from any deliberate
design or with any artistic plan, but simply from the fullness of the
inspiration by which they are controlled. Hence not only are the names
of the authors in most cases completely lost to us, but they have left
us not a hint or an indication by which we could discover what manner
of men they were. Even where the name of a writer has been preserved
to us, it is often rather by some accident altogether independent of
the book, and which in no way alters its anonymous character. We happen
to know, on what seems to be good authority, that Laò-tsé composed
the Taò-tĕ-Kīng, but assuredly there is not a syllable in the work
itself which indicates its author. We happen to know beyond a doubt
that Mahomet composed the Koran; but the theory of the book is that it
had no human author at all, and it was put forth, not as the prophet's
composition, but as the literal reproduction of revelations made to
him from heaven. The most noteworthy exceptions are the prophets of
the Old Testament and the Pauline, Petrine and Johannine Epistles of
the New. But of the prophets, though their names are indeed given, the
great majority are little more than a mere name to us; while large
portions of the prophecies, attributed in the Jewish Canon to some
celebrated prophet, are in reality the work of unknown writers. This is
notoriously the case with the whole of the latter part of our Isaiah;
it is the case with parts of Jeremiah; it is the case with Malachi
(whose real name is not preserved); it is the case with Daniel.

The Pauline Epistles offer indeed a marked exception to the rule; and
some of them are of doubtful authenticity. The Epistles of Peter,
of John, of James and Jude, even if their authorship be correctly
assigned, are of too limited extent to constitute an exception of any
importance. The rest of the Christian Bible follows the rule. Like
the Vedic hymns, like the Sûtras of Buddhism, like the records of
the life and doctrines of Khung-tsé, like the Avesta, all the larger
books of the Bible—except the prophets—are anonymous. The whole of
the historical portion of the Old Testament, the four Gospels, the
Acts of the Apostles, the Epistle to the Hebrews, are—whatever names
tradition may have associated with them—strictly the production of
unknown authors. This characteristic is one of very high importance,
because it indicates—along with another which I am about to mention—the
spirit in which these works were written. They were written as it were
unconsciously and undesignedly; not of course without a knowledge on
the writer's part of what he was about, but without that conscious and
distinct intention of composing a literary work with which ordinary
men sit down to write a book. Flowing from the depths of religious
feeling, they were the reflection of the age that brought them forth.
Generations past and present, nations, communities, brotherhoods of
believers, spoke in them and through them. They were not only the work
of him who first uttered them or wrote them; others worked with him,
thought with him, spoke with him; they were not merely the voice of an
individual, but the voice of an epoch and of a people. Hence the utter
absence of any apparent and palpable authorship, the disappearance of
the individual in the grandeur of the subject. This phenomenon is not
indeed quite peculiar to Sacred Books. It belongs also to those great
national epics which likewise express the feelings of whole races and
communities of men; to the Mahâbhârata, to the Râmâyana, to the Iliad
and the Odyssey, to the Volsungen and Nibelungen Sagas, to the Eddas,
to the legends of King Arthur and his knights. These poems, or these
poetical tales, are anonymous, and they occupy in the veneration of the
people a rank which is second only to that of books actually sacred. In
some other respects they bear a resemblance to Sacred Books, but these
books differ from them in one important particular, which of itself
suffices to place them in a different category. What that particular is
must now be explained.

4. If I were to describe it by a single word, I should call it their
_formlessness_. The term is an awkward one, but I know of no other
which so exactly describes this most peculiar feature of Sacred Books.
Like the earth in its chaotic condition before creation, they are
"without form." That artistic finish, that construction, combination
of parts into a well-defined edifice, that arrangement of the whole
work upon an apparent plan, subservient to a distinct object, which
marks every other class of the productions of the human mind, is
entirely wanting to them. They read not unfrequently as if they had
been carelessly jotted down without the smallest regard to order, or
the least attention to the effect to be produced on the mind of the
reader. Sometimes they may even be said to have neither beginning,
middle, nor end. We might open them anywhere and close them anywhere
without material difference. Sometimes there is a distinct progress
in the narrative, but it is nevertheless wholly without methodical
combination of the separate parts into a well-ordered whole. Herein
they differ also from those poetical Epics which we have found agreeing
with them in being virtually anonymous. Nothing can exceed the grace,
the finish, the perfection of style, of those immortal poems which are
known as Homeric. The northern Epics are indeed simpler, ruder, far
more destitute of literary merit. The first part, for instance, of the
Edda Saemundar (which perhaps ought not to be called an Epic at all) is
to the last degree uncouth and barbarous. But then the subject-matter
of this portion of the Edda is such as belongs properly to Sacred
Books, and had it ever been actually current among the Scandinavians
as a canonical work—of which we have no evidence—it would be entitled
to a place among them. When we come to the second or heroic portion of
this Edda, the case is different. The mode of treatment is still rude
and unattractive, but if, unrepelled by the outward form, we study the
longest of the narratives which this division contains—the Saga of the
Volsungs—we shall discover in it a tale, which for the exquisite pathos
of its sentiments, for the deep and tragic interest which centres
round the principal characters, for the vivid delineation by a few
brief touches of the intensest suffering, is scarcely surpassed even
by the far more finished productions of Hellenic genius. No doubt the
foundation of the story is mythological, and this throws over many of
its incidents a grotesqueness which goes far in modern eyes to mar the
effect. But the mythological incidents of the Iliad and the Odyssey are
grotesque also, and it requires all the genius of the poet to render
them tolerable. Apart from this groundwork, the Volsunga-Saga treats
its personages as human, and claims from its readers a purely human
interest in their various adventures. It relates these adventures in
a connected form, it depicts the feelings of the several actors with
all the sympathy of the dramatist, and draws no moral, teaches no
lesson. In the whole range of sacred literature I recollect nothing
like this. Stories are doubtless told in it, but we are made to feel
that they are subservient to an ulterior purpose. In the Old Testament
and in the New, they serve to enforce the theological doctrines of
the writers; in the works of the Buddhists they generally impress
on the hearers some useful lesson as to the reward of merit, and the
punishment of demerit, in a future existence. Of the genuine and simple
relation of a rather elaborate romance, terminating in itself, there
is probably no instance. Such stories as are related are moral tales,
and not romances; and they are generally too short to absorb, in any
considerable degree, the interest of the reader.

While this is the difference between secular and Sacred Books in
respect of their narrative portions, the sacred are as a whole even
more decidedly below the secular in all that belongs to style and
composition. The dullest historian generally contrives to render his
chronicle more lucid, and therefore more readable, than the authors of
canonical books. In these last there is the most absolute disregard
of artistic or literary excellence. Hence they are, with scarcely
an exception, very tedious reading. M. Renan observes of the Koran
that its continuous perusal is almost intolerable. Burnouf hesitates
to inflict upon his readers the tedium he himself has suffered from
the study of certain Tantras. The inconceivable tediousness of the
Buddhistic Sûtras—excepting the earlier and simpler ones—is well
known to those who have read or attempted to read such works, as,
for instance, the Saddharma Pundarika. The Chinese Classics are
less repulsive, but few readers would care to study them for long
together. The Vedic hymns, though full of mythological interest, are
yet difficult and unpleasant reading, both from their monotony and
the looseness of the connection between each verse and sentence. The
Brâhmanas are barely readable. The Avesta is far from attractive. The
Bible, though vastly superior in this respect to all the rest of its
class, is yet not easy to read for any length of time without fatigue.
Doubtless, if taken as a special study, with a view to something
which we desire to ascertain from it, we may without difficulty read
large portions at a time; yet we see that Christians, who read it
for edification, invariably choose in their public assemblies to
confine themselves to very moderate sections of it indeed, while they
will listen to sermons of many times the length. There can be little
doubt that a similar practice is pursued in private devotion. Single
chapters, or at most a few chapters, are selected; these are perused,
and perhaps made the object of meditation; but even the most fervent
admirers of the Bible would probably find it difficult to read through
its longer books without pausing. They do not, so to speak, "carry us
on." It was essential to dwell on this tediousness of Sacred Books,
because it forms one of their most marked characteristics. Nor does
it arise, as is often the case, from indifference or aversion on the
part of the reader. Other books repel us because we have no interest
in the subjects with which they deal. In these, the keenest interest
in the subjects with which they deal will not suffice to render their
presentation tolerable.


                   SECTION I.—THE THIRTEEN KING.[37]

Sacred Books in general are in China termed _King_. But as the Chinese
Buddhists have their own sacred literature, and as Taouists are in
possession of a sacred work of their founder, Laò-tsé, I call the
Books of the State religion, that is, of the followers of Confucius,
_the_ King _par excellence_. For Confucianism is the official creed
of the Government of China, and the Confucian Canon forms the subject
of the Civil Service examinations which qualify for office. According
to a competent authority, "a complete knowledge of the whole of them,
as well as of the standard notes and criticisms by which they are
elucidated, is an indispensable condition towards the attainment of the
higher grades of literary and official rank" (Chinese, vol. ii. p. 48).

The writings now recognized as especially sacred in China are "the
five King," and "the four Shoo."[38] _King_ is a term of which the
proper signification is "the warp, the chain of a web: thence that
which progresses equally, that which constitutes a fundamental law,
the normal. Applied to books, it indicates those that are regarded as
canonical; as an absolute standard, either in general or with reference
to some definite object" (T. T. K., p. lxviii). In the words of another
Sinologue, it is "the Rule, the Law, a book of canonical authority, a
classical book" (L. T., p. ix). The word seems therefore on the whole
to correspond most nearly to what we mean by a "canonical book." _Shoo_
means "Writings or Books." The four Shoo, of which I shall speak first,
are these:—A 1. The Lun Yu, or Digested Conversations (of Confucius). A
2. The Ta Hëo, or Great Learning. A 3. The Chung Yung, or Doctrine of
the Mean. A 4. The Works of Mang-tsze, or Mencius. The five King are
these:—B 1. The Yih, or Book of Changes (Noticed in Pauthier, p. 137).
B 2. The Shoo, or Book of History. B 3. The She, or Book of Poetry. B
4. The Le Ke, or Record of Rites. B 5. The Ch'un Ts'ëw, or Spring and
Autumn, a chronicle of events from B. C. 721-B. C. 480. The oldest
enumeration specified only the five King, to which the Yoke, or Record
of Music (now in the Le Ke), was sometimes added, making six. There was
also a division into nine King; and in the compilation made by order of
Táe-Tsung (who reigned in the 7th century A. D.) there are specified
thirteen King, which consist of:[39]—1-7. The five King, including
three editions of the Ch'un Ts'ëw. 8. The Lun Yu (A 1). 9. Mang-tsze
(A 4). 10. The Chow Le, or Ritual of Chow. 11. The E Le, or Ceremonial
Usages. 12. The Urh Ya, a sort of ancient dictionary. 13. The Heaou
King, or Classic of Filial Piety. The apparent omission of the Ta Hëo
(A 2) and the Chung Yung (A 3) is accounted for by the fact that both
are included in the Le Ke (B 4). The only works which it is at present
in my power to speak of in detail are those classified as A 1 to A 4,
and as B 2.

The authenticity of these works is considered to be above reasonable
suspicion; for though an emperor who reigned in the third century B.
C., did indeed order (B. C. 212) that they should all be destroyed,
yet this emperor died not long after the issue of his edict, which was
formally abrogated after twenty-two years; and subsequent dynasties
took pains to preserve and recover the missing volumes. As it is of
course improbable that every individual would obey the frantic order
of the emperor who enjoined their destruction, there appears to be
sufficient ground for Dr. Legge's conclusion, that we possess the
actual works which were already extant in the time of Confucius, or (in
so far as they referred to him) were compiled by his disciples or their
immediate successors.


                     SUBDIVISION 1.—_The Lun Yu._

1. The first of the four Books is the Lun Yu, or "Digested
Conversations." From internal evidence it seems to have been compiled
in its actual form, not by the immediate disciples of Confucius, but
by their disciples. Its date would be "about the end of the fourth,
or beginning of the fifth, century before Christ;" that is, about 400
B.C. It bears a nearer resemblance to the Christian Gospels than any
other book contained in the Chinese Classics, being in fact a minute
account, by admiring hands, of the behavior, character, and doctrine,
of the great Master, Confucius. Since, however, it contains no notice
of the events of his life in chronological order, it answers much more
accurately to the description given by Papais of the "λόγι" composed
by Matthew in the Hebrew dialect than to that of any of our canonical
Gospels.

Biographical materials may indeed be discovered in it; but they
occur only as incidental allusions, subservient to the main object
of preserving a record of his sayings. In the minute and painstaking
mode in which this task is performed there is even a resemblance to
Boswell's "Johnson;" as in that celebrated work, we have as it were
a photographic picture of the great man's conversation, taken by a
reverent and humble follower. And as there is a total absence of
that fondness for the marvelous and that tendency to exaggerate the
Master's powers which so generally characterize traditional accounts
of religious teachers, we may fairly infer that we have here a
trustworthy, and in the main, accurate representation of Confucius'
personality and of his teaching. As I have largely drawn upon this work
in writing the Life of that prophet, I need not now detain the reader
with any further quotations.


                     SUBDIVISION 2.—_The Ta Hëo._

Passing to the Ta Hëo, or Great Learning, we find ourselves occupied
with a book which bears the same kind of relationship to the Lun Yu as
the Epistle to the Hebrews does to the Gospels. This work is altogether
of a doctrinal character; and as in the Epistle, the exposition of
the doctrines is by no means so clear and simple as in the oral
instructions of the founder of the school. The Ta Hëo is attributed by
Chinese tradition to K'ung Keih, the grandson of Confucius; but its
authorship is in fact, like that of the Epistle, unknown. It was added
to the Le Ke, or Record of Rites, in the second century A.D.

It begins with certain paragraphs which are attributed, apparently
without authority, to Confucius; and all that follows is supposed to be
a commentary on this original text. The text begins thus:—

1. "What the Great Learning teaches, is—to illustrate illustrious
virtue; to renovate the people; and to rest in the highest
excellence....

4. "The ancients who wished to illustrate illustrious virtue throughout
the Empire, first ordered well their own States. Wishing to order
well their States, they first regulated their families. Wishing to
regulate their families, they first cultivated their persons. Wishing
to cultivate their persons, they first rectified their hearts. Wishing
to rectify their hearts, they first sought to be sincere in their
thoughts. Wishing to be sincere in their thoughts, they first extended
to the utmost their knowledge. Such extension of knowledge lay in the
investigation of things."

After a few more verses of text, we come to the "Commentary of the
philosopher Tsang," which is mainly occupied with what purports to be
an explanation of the process described in the foregoing verses. For
instance, the sixth chapter "explains making the thoughts sincere,"
the seventh, "rectifying the mind and cultivating the person;" until
at last we arrive at the right manner of conducting "the government of
the State, and the making of the Empire peaceful and happy." The object
of the treatise is therefore practical, and the subject a favorite one
with the Chinese Classics, that of Government. Great stress is laid on
the influence of a good example on the part of the ruler; and those
model sovereigns, "Yaou and Shun," are appealed to as illustrations
of its good effect in such hands as theirs. In the course of the
exposition of these principles, we meet with dry maxims of political
economy, worthy of modern times, such as this:—

"There is a great course also for the production of wealth. Let the
producers be many and the consumers few. Let there be activity in the
production, and economy in the expenditure. Then the wealth will always
be sufficient" (Ta Hëo).


                   SUBDIVISION 3.—_The Chung Yung._

The composition of the Chung Yung, or "Doctrine of the Mean," is
universally attributed in China to K'ung Keih, or Tsze-sze, the
grandson of Confucius. The external evidence of his authorship is, in
Dr. Legge's opinion, sufficient; though if that which he has produced
be all that is extant, it does not seem to be at all conclusive. Some
quotations from it have already been made in the notice of Confucius,
many of whose utterances are contained in it.

Its principal object is, or seems to be, to inculcate the excellence
of what is called "the Mean," but the explanation of what is intended
by the Mean is far from clear. The course of the Mean, however, is
that taken by the sage; the virtue which is according to the Mean is
perfect; the superior man embodies it in his practice; ordinary men
cannot keep to it; mean men act contrary to it; and Shun, a model
emperor, "determined the Mean" between the bad and good elements in
men, "and employed it in his government of the people." The Mean, from
the attributes thus assigned to it, would appear to be a state of
complete and hardly attainable moral perfection, of which they who have
offered an example in their conduct have (at least in modern times)
been rare indeed. In the beginning of the treatise we learn that:—

1. "What Heaven has conferred is called THE NATURE; an accordance with
this nature is called THE PATH _of duty_; the regulation of this path
is called INSTRUCTION."

4. "While there are no stirrings of pleasure, anger, sorrow or joy, the
mind may be said to be in the state of EQUILIBRIUM. When those feelings
have been stirred, and they act in their due degree, there ensues what
may be called the state of HARMONY. This EQUILIBRIUM is the great root
_from which grow all the human actings_ in the world, and this HARMONY
is the universal path _which they all should pursue_" (The italics,
here and in future quotations, are in Legge).

5. "Let the states of equilibrium and harmony exist in perfection, and
a happy order will prevail throughout heaven and earth, and all things
will be nourished and flourish" (Chung Yung).

In another part of the work, "the path" is described as not being "far
from the common indications of consciousness;" and the following rule
is laid down with regard to it:—

"When one cultivates to the utmost the principles of his nature, and
exercises them on the principle of reciprocity, he is not far from the
path. What you do not like, when done to yourself, do not do to others"
(Ibid., xiii. 3).

A large and important portion of the goodness required of those who
would walk in the path is sincerity. Sincerity is declared to be the
"way of Heaven" (Ibid., xx. 18), and it is laid down that "it is only
he who is possessed of the most complete sincerity that can exist under
Heaven, who can give its full development to his nature." Having this
power, he is said to be able to give development to the natures of
other men, animals, and things, and even "to assist the transforming
and nourishing powers of Heaven and Earth," so that "he may with Heaven
and Earth form a ternion" (Chung Yung, xx. 7).

The doctrine of "Heaven" as a protecting power holds no inconsiderable
place in this short treatise. Thus it is stated that "Heaven, in the
production of things, is surely bountiful to them, according to their
qualities" (Ibid., xvii. 3). "In order to know men" the sovereign "may
not dispense with a knowledge of Heaven" (Ibid., xxii). "The way of
Heaven and Earth may be completely declared in one sentence. They are
without any doubleness, and so they produce things in a manner that is
unfathomable.

"The way of Heaven and Earth is large and substantial, high and
brilliant, far reaching and long enduring" (Chung Yung, xxvi. 7, 8).

And in a very high-flown passage on the character of the sage—said to
refer to the author's grandfather—he is spoken of as "the equal of
Heaven" (Ibid., xxxi. 3).

Heaven, however, is not the only superhuman power that is mentioned in
the Chung Yung. In one of its chapters we are told that Confucius thus
expressed himself:—

"How abundantly do spiritual beings display the powers that belong to
them!

"We look for them, but do not see them; we listen to, but do not hear
them; yet they enter into all things, and there is nothing without them.

"They cause all the people in the Empire to fast and purify themselves,
and array themselves in their richest dresses, in order to attend at
their sacrifices. Then, like overflowing water, they seem to be over
the heads, and on the right and left _of their worshipers_" (Chung
Yung, xvi. 1-3).

This positive expression of opinion is scarcely consistent with the
habitual reserve of Kung-tse on subjects of this kind (Lun Yu, vii.
20), and were it not that it rests apparently on adequate authority, we
might be tempted to reject it as apocryphal.


               SUBDIVISION 4.—_The works of Mang-tsze._

The next place in the Chinese Scriptures is occupied by the works
of Mang-tsze, the philosopher Mang, or as he is frequently called,
Mencius. Mang lived nearly two hundred years later than Confucius,
having been born about 371, and having died in 288 B. C. He was not an
original teacher asserting independent authority, and has no claim to
the title of prophet. On the contrary, he was an avowed disciple of
Confucius, to whose _dicta_ he paid implicit reverence, and whom he
quoted with the respect due to the exalted character which the sage had
already acquired in the eyes of his school.

The so-called "Works of Mang" are not original compositions of this
philosopher, but collections of his sayings, resembling the Lun Yu, or
Confucian Analects. Whether he compiled them, or took any part in their
compilation himself, is uncertain. But, considering their character,
the more probable hypothesis seems to be that they were committed to
writing by his friends, or disciples, either during his own life, or
immediately after his death.

The evidence of their antiquity and authenticity must be very briefly
touched upon. The earliest notice of Mang is antecedent to the Ts'in
dynasty (255-206 B. C.), that is, within thirty-three years after his
death. We are indebted for it to Seun K'ing, who "several times makes
mention of" Mang, and who in one chapter of his works, "quotes his
arguments and endeavors to set them aside." In the next place, we have
accounts of him, and references to his writings, in K'ung Foo, prior
to the Han dynasty, that is, before 206 B. C. Thirdly, he is quoted
by writers from 186-178 B. C., under the Han dynasty. About 100 B. C.
occurs the earliest mention now known of Mang's works. It emanates from
Sze-ma Tseen, who attributes to Mang himself the composition of "seven
books." While in a category of the date A. D. 1, the works of Mang are
entered as being "in eleven books;" a discrepancy which has given rise
to perplexities among Chinese scholars, with which we need not concern
ourselves. Suffice it to say, that Mang's works, as we now possess
them, consist only of seven books, and are not known to have ever
consisted of more.

This evidence would appear to be sufficient to prove the antiquity of
the collection, though not its Mencian authorship. Whoever may have
been its author, it was not admitted among the Sacred Books till many
centuries after it had been received among scholars as a valuable,
though not classical, work. Under the Sung dynasty, which began to
reign about A. D. 960-970, the works of Mang were at length placed on a
level with the Lun Yu, as part of the great Bible of China.

On the whole, Mang's writings are of little interest for European
readers, and I shall not trouble mine with any elaborate account of
them. They are mainly occupied with the question of the good government
of the Empire. What constitutes a good ruler? on what principles should
the administration of public affairs be carried on? how can the people
be rendered happy and the whole Empire prosperous? these are the
sort of inquiries that chiefly engaged the attention of Mang, and to
which he sought to furnish satisfactory replies. At the courts of the
monarchs who received him, he inculcated benevolent conduct towards
their subjects, with a paternal regard for their welfare, and sometimes
boldly reproved unjust or negligent rulers. Holding, in common with the
rest of his school, the doctrine of a superintendence of human affairs
by a power named Heaven, he asserted in uncompromising terms the theory
that Heaven expresses its will through the instrumentality of the
people at large. "Vox populi, vox Dei," is the sentiment that animates
the following passage, which contains one of the most courageous
assertions of popular rights to be found in the productions of any age
or country:—

"Wan Chang said, 'Was it the case that Yaou gave the empire to
Shun?'[40] Mencius said, 'No. The emperor cannot give the empire to
another.'

"'Yes;—but Shun had the empire. Who gave it to him?'

"'Heaven gave it to him,' was the answer.

"'Heaven gave it to him:—did _Heaven_ confer its appointment on him
with specific injunctions?'

"_Mencius_ replied, 'No. Heaven does not speak. It simply showed its
will by his personal conduct, and his conduct of affairs.'

"'It showed its will by his personal conduct and his conduct of
affairs:—how was this?' Mencius' answer was, 'The empire [? emperor]
can present a man to Heaven, but he cannot make Heaven give that man
the empire. A prince can present a man to the emperor, but he cannot
cause the emperor to make that man a prince. A great officer can
present a man to his prince, but he cannot cause the prince to make
that man a great officer. Yaou presented Shun to Heaven, and the
people accepted him. Therefore I say, Heaven does not speak. It simply
indicated its will by his personal conduct and his conduct of affairs.'

"_Chang_ said, 'I presume to ask how it was that _Yaou_ presented
_Shun_ to Heaven, and Heaven accepted him; and that he exhibited him to
the people, and the people accepted him." _Mencius_ replied, 'He caused
him to preside over the sacrifices, and all the spirits were well
pleased with them;—thus Heaven accepted him. He caused him to preside
over the conduct of affairs, and affairs were well administered, so
that the people reposed under him;—thus the people accepted him. Heaven
gave _the empire_ to him. The people gave it to him. Therefore I said,
The emperor cannot give the empire to another.

"'Shun assisted Yaou in the government for twenty and eight years;—this
was more than man could have done, and was from Heaven. After the
death of Yaou, when the three years' mourning was completed, Shun
withdrew from the son of Yaou to the south of South river. The princes
of the empire, however, repairing to court, went not to the son of
Yaou, but they went to Shun. Singers sang not the son of Yaou, but
they sang Shun. Therefore I said, Heaven _gave him the empire_. It was
after these things that he went to the Middle kingdom, and occupied
the emperor's seat. If he had, _before these things_, taken up his
residence in the palace of Yaou, and had applied pressure to the son
of Yaou, it would have been an act of usurpation, and not the gift of
Heaven.

"'This sentiment is expressed in the words of The great
Declaration,—_Heaven sees according as my people see; Heaven hears
according as my people hear_'" (The Italics are mine.—Mang-tsze, b. 5,
pt. i. ch. v.).

Mang's notion of what a really good government should do is fully
explained at the end of the first part of the first book, in an
exhortation to the king of Ts'e. His Majesty, he observed, should
"institute a government whose action shall all be benevolent," for then
his kingdom will be resorted to by officers of the court, farmers,
merchants, and persons who are aggrieved by their own rulers. The king
must take care "to regulate the livelihood of people," in order that
all may have enough for parents, wives, and children; for "they are
only men of education, who without a certain livelihood, are able to
maintain a fixed heart. As to the people, if they have not a certain
livelihood, it follows that they will not have a fixed heart. And if
they have not a fixed heart, there is nothing which they will not do,
in the way of self-abandonment, of moral deflection, of depravity, and
of wild license. When they have thus been involved in crime, to follow
them up and punish them,—this is to entrap the people. How can such a
thing as entrapping the people be done under the rule of a benevolent
man?" With a view then to their material and moral well-being, mulberry
trees should be planted, the breeding seasons of domestic animals be
carefully attended to, the labor necessary to cultivate farms not be
interfered with, and "careful attention paid to education in schools."
And it has never been known that the ruler in whose State these
things were duly performed "did not attain to the Imperial dignity"
(Mang-tsze, b. 1, pt. i. ch. vii. p. 18-24). The only virtue required
for "the attainment of Imperial sway" is "the love and protection of
the people; with this there is no power which can prevent a ruler from
attaining it" (Ibid., b. 1, pt. i. ch. vii. p. 3). In accordance with
his decided opinions as to the right of the people to be consulted
in the appointment of their rulers, he advised the same king to be
guided entirely by popular feeling in assuming, or not assuming, the
government of a neighboring territory which he had conquered. "If the
people of Yen will be pleased with your taking possession of it, then
do so.... If the people of Yen will not be pleased with your taking
possession of it, then do not do so" (Mang-tsze, b. 1, pt. ii. ch. x.
p. 3).

Mang was something of a political economist as well as a statesman.
There is in his writings a just and striking defense of the division
of labor, in opposition to the primitive simplicity recommended by a
man named Heu Hing, who wished the rulers to cultivate the soil with
their own hands. Mang's answer to Heu Hing's disciple is in the form of
an _ad hominem_ argument, showing that, as Heu Hing himself does not
manufacture his own clothes or make his own pots and pans, but obtains
them in exchange for grain, in order that all his time may be devoted
to agriculture, it is absurd to suppose that government is the only
business which can advantageously be pursued along with husbandry, as
Heu Hing desired (Mang-tsze, b. 1, pt. ii. ch. x. p. 3).

It was not enough, however, in Mang's eyes that a sovereign should
conduct the government of his country in accordance with the great
ethical and economical maxims he laid down; he must also pay strict
attention to the rules of Chinese etiquette. On some occasions Mang
insisted even haughtily on the observance towards himself of these
rules by the princes who wished to see him, even though one of his own
disciples plainly told him that in refusing to visit them because of
their supposed failure to attend to such minutiæ he seemed to him to
be "standing on a small point" (Ibid., b. 3, pt. i. ch. iv). In fact
the "rules of propriety" held in his estimation no less a place than
in that of his Master and predecessor. It is gratifying, however, to
find him admitting that cases may arise where their operation should
be suspended. Indecorous as it is for males and females to "allow
their hands to touch in giving or receiving anything," yet when "a
man's sister-in-law" is drowning he is permitted, and indeed bound to,
"rescue her with the hand." Nay, Mang in his liberality goes further,
and emphatically observes, that "he who would not so rescue a drowning
woman is a wolf" (Mang-tsze, b. 4, pt. i. ch. xvii. p. 1).

The most important doctrine of a moral character dwelt upon by Mang
is that of the essential goodness of human nature, on which he lays
considerable stress. According to him, "the tendency of man's nature
to good is like the tendency of water to flow downwards," and it is
shared by all, as all water flows downwards. You may indeed force water
to go upwards by striking it, but the movement is unnatural, and it is
equally contrary to the nature of men to be "made to do what is not
good" (Ibid., b. 6, pt. i. ch. ii. pp. 2, 3). Yaou and Shun were indeed
great men, but all may be Yaous and Shuns, if only they will make the
necessary effort (Ibid., b. 6, pt. ii. ch. ii. pp. 1-5). "_Men's_
mouths agree in having the same relishes; their ears agree in enjoying
the same sounds; their eyes agree in recognizing the same beauty;—shall
their minds alone be without that which they similarly approve?
What is it then of which they similarly approve? It is, I say, the
principles _of our nature_, and the determinations of righteousness.
The sages only apprehended before me that of which my mind approves
along with other men. Therefore the principles of our nature and the
determinations of righteousness are agreeable to my mind, just as
the flesh of grass [?-fed] and grain-fed animals is agreeable to my
mouth" (Mang-tsze, b. 6, pt. i. ch. vii. p. 8). It ought not to be
said that any man's mind is without benevolence and righteousness. But
men lose their goodness as "the trees are denuded by axes and bills."
The mind, "hewn down day after day," cannot "retain its beauty." But
"the calm air of the morning" is favorable to the natural feelings of
humanity, though they are destroyed again by the influences men come
under during the day. "This fettering takes place again and again,"
and as "the restorative influence of the night" is insufficient to
preserve the native hue, "the nature becomes not much different from
that of the irrational animals," and then people suppose it never had
these original powers of goodness. "But does this condition," continues
Mang, "represent the feelings proper to humanity?" (Ibid., b. 6, pt.
i. ch. viii. p. 2). What some of these feelings are he has plainly
told us. Commiseration, shame, and dislike, modesty and complaisance,
approbation and disapprobation, are according to him four principles
which men have just as they have their four limbs. The important point
for all men to attend to is their development, for if they are but
completely developed, "they will suffice to love and protect all within
the four seas" (Ibid., b. 2, pt. i. ch. vi. pp. 5-7). And in another
place he insists on the importance of studying and cultivating the
nature which he asserts to be thus instinctively virtuous. "He who has
exhausted all his mental constitution knows his nature. Knowing his
nature, he knows Heaven.

"To preserve one's mental constitution, and nourish one's nature, is
the way to serve Heaven" (Ibid., b. 7, pt. i. ch. i. pp. 1, 2).

The moral tone of Mang's writings is exalted and unbending, and evinces
a man whose character will bear comparison with those of the greatest
philosophers or most eminent Christians of the western world.


                    SUBDIVISION 5.—_The Shoo King._

In this work are contained the historical memorials of the Chinese
Empire. The authentic history of China extends, as is well known, to an
earlier date than that of any extant nation. It possesses records of
events that occurred more than two thousand years before the Christian
era, although these events are intermixed with fabulous incidents.
"From the time of T'ang the Successful, however," Dr. Legge informs us,
"commonly placed in the eighteenth century before Christ, we seem to
be able to tread the field of history with a somewhat confident step"
(C. C., vol. iii. Proleg., p. 48). The exact dates, however, cannot be
fixed with certainty till the year 775 B. C. "Twenty centuries before
our era the Chinese nation appears, beginning to be" (Ibid., p. 90).

Without entering into the history of the text of the Shoo King, it
may be stated that its fifty-eight books may probably be accepted as
"substantially the same with those which were known to Seun-tsze,
Mencius, Mih-tsze, Confucius himself, and others" (C. C., vol. iii.
Proleg., p. 48).

Its earliest books—which must be regarded as in great part
legendary—contain accounts of three Chinese Emperors—Yaou, Shun,
and Yu—whose conduct is held up as a model to future ages, and who
represent the _beau idéal_ of a ruler to the Chinese mind.

These admirable sovereigns were succeeded by men of very inferior
virtue. T'ae-k'ang (B. C. 2187), the grandson of Yu, "pursued his
pleasure and wanderings without any restraint." An insurrection against
his authority took place, and his five brothers took occasion to
admonish him by repeating "the cautions of the great Yu in the form of
songs." The first of these songs may be quoted as a good specimen of
the doctrine of the Shoo King with reference to the imperial duties:—

    "It was the lesson of our great ancestor:—
    The people should be cherished;
    They should not be down-trodden:
    The people are the root of a country;
    The root firm, the country is tranquil.
    When I look throughout the empire,
    Of the simple men and simple women,
    Any one may surpass me,
    If I, the one man, err repeatedly:—
    Should dissatisfaction be waited for till it appears?
    Before it is seen, it should be guarded against.
    In my relation to the millions of the people,
    I should feel as much anxiety as if I were driving six horses with
      rotten reins.
    The ruler of men—
    How can he be but reverent _of his duty_?"[41]

Many successive dynasties, comprising sovereigns of various characters,
succeed these original Emperors. Throughout the Shoo King we find
great stress laid on the doctrine, that the rulers of the land enjoy
the protection of Heaven only so long as their government is good.
Should the prince become tyrannical, dissolute, or neglectful of his
exalted duties, the favor of the Divine Power is withdrawn from him
and conferred upon another, who is thus enabled to drive him from the
throne he is no longer worthy to fill. The emphatic and reiterated
assertion of this revolutionary theory is very remarkable. Thus, a king
who has himself just effected the overthrow of an incompetent dynasty,
is represented as addressing this discourse to the "myriad regions:"—

"Ah! ye multitudes of the myriad regions, listen clearly to the
announcement of me, the one man. The great God has conferred _even_ on
the inferior people a moral sense, compliance with which would show
their nature invariably right (the same doctrine insisted on by Mang).
_But_ to cause them tranquilly to pursue the course which it would
indicate, is the work of the sovereign.

"The king of Hea (the monarch whom the speaker had superseded,)
extinguished his virtue and played the tyrant, extending his oppression
over you, the people of the myriad regions. Suffering from his cruel
injuries, and unable to endure the wormwood and poison, you protested
with one accord your innocence to the spirits of heaven and earth. The
way of Heaven is to bless the good and punish the bad. It sent down
calamities on _the House of_ Hea, to make manifest its crimes.

"Therefore I, the little child, charged with the decree of Heaven and
its bright terrors, did not dare to forgive _the criminal_. I presume
to use a dark-colored victim, and making clear announcement to the
spiritual Sovereign of the high heavens, requested leave to deal with
the ruler of Hea as a criminal. Then I sought for the great sage, with
whom I might unite my strength, to request the favor of Heaven on
behalf of you, my multitudes. High Heaven truly showed its favor to
the inferior people, and the criminal has been degraded and subjected"
(Shoo King, iv. 3. 2).

It is true that this speech, proceeding from an interested party
naturally anxious to set his own conduct in the fairest light, is
liable to suspicion. But there is abundant evidence in the pages of the
Shoo King that the views expressed above were participated in by its
writers, who constantly hold the fate that befalls wicked Emperors as
a punishment from Heaven, and laud those who effect their own downfall
as Heaven's agents. They also frequently introduce sage advisers who
reprove the reigning Emperor for his faults, and admonish him to walk
in the ways of virtue in a spirit of the utmost frankness. One of
these monarchs candidly confesses the benefit he has derived from the
instructions of such a counselor, whose lessons have led him to effect
a complete reformation of his character (Ibid., iv. 5. pt. ii). Another
charged his minister to be constantly presenting instructions to aid
his virtue, and to act towards him as medicine which should cure his
sickness (Ibid., iv. 8. pt. i. 5-8). If, however, a dynasty persisted
in its evil courses, in spite of all the warnings it might receive,
it was doomed to perish. Losing the attachment of the people, it fell
undefended and unregretted. Such was the case with the house of Yin.
The Viscount of Wei, who is stated by old authorities to have been a
brother of the Emperor, thus described its career:—

"The Viscount of Wei spoke to the following effect:—'Grand Tutor and
Junior Tutor, _the House of_ Yin, we may conclude, can no longer
exercise rule over the four quarters of the empire. The great deeds of
our founder were displayed in former ages, but by our being lost and
maddened with wine, we have destroyed _the effects of_ his virtue, in
these after times. The people of Yin, small and great, are given to
highway robberies, villainies, and treachery. The nobles and officers
imitate one another in violating the laws; and for criminals there
is no certainty that they will be apprehended. The lesser people
_consequently_ rise up, and make violent outrages on one another. The
dynasty of Yin is now sinking in ruin;—its condition is like that of
one crossing a large stream, who can find neither ford nor bank. That
Yin should be hurrying to ruin at the present pace!'—

"He added, 'Grand Tutor and Junior Tutor, we are manifesting insanity.
The venerable of our families have withdrawn to the wilds; and now you
indicate nothing, but tell me of the impending ruin;—what is to be
done?'

"The Grand Tutor made about the following reply:—'King's son, Heaven in
anger is sending down calamities, and wasting the country of Yin.'" And
after mentioning the crimes of the Emperor, he proceeds:—"'When ruin
overtakes Shang, I will not be the servant _of another dynasty_. _But_
I tell you, O king's son, to go away as being the course _for you_....
Let us rest quietly in our several parts, and present ourselves to the
former kings. I do not think of making my escape'" (Shoo King, iv. 11).

In another portion of the Shoo the causes which lead to the
preservation or loss of Heaven's favor are thus described by "The Duke
of Chow:"—"The favor of Heaven is not easily preserved. Heaven is hard
to be depended on. Men lose its favoring appointment because they
cannot pursue and carry out the reverence and brilliant virtue of their
forefathers." Again:—"Heaven is not to be trusted. Our course is simply
to seek the prolongation of the virtue of the Tranquilizing king, and
Heaven will not find occasion to remove its favoring decree which King
Wan received" (Shoo King, xvi. 1).

The paramount importance to the national welfare of a wise selection
of ministers and officials receives its full share of attention in the
Chinese Bible. The Duke of Ts'in, another province of the Empire, is
represented as speaking thus:—

"I have deeply thought and concluded;—Let me have but one resolute
minister, plain and sincere, without other abilities, but having a
simple, complacent mind, and possessed of generosity, regarding the
talents of others, as if he himself possessed them: and when he finds
accomplished and sage-like men, loving them in his heart more than
his mouth expresses, really showing himself able to bear them:—such a
minister would be able to preserve my descendants and my people, and
would indeed be a giver of benefits" (Shoo King, v. 30. See also v. 19.
2).

These extracts, without giving an adequate notion of the very
miscellaneous contents of the Shoo King, a work which could not be
accomplished without an undue extension of the subdivision referring
to it, will serve to show that its moral tone on matters relating
to the government of a nation is not inferior to that of any of the
productions of classical or Hebrew antiquity.


                    SUBDIVISION 6.—_The She King._

Whatever sanctity or authority may attach to the She King in the minds
of the Chinese, must belong to it solely on account of its antiquity,
for there is certainly nothing in the character of its contents that
should entitle it to a place in the consecrated literature of a nation.
Similar phenomena, however, are not unknown among more devout races
than the Chinese. Thus the Hebrews admitted into their Canon the Books
of Ruth and Esther, and the Song of Solomon, which contain but little
of an edifying nature, though full of human interest. The same may be
said of the She King. The play of human emotions is vividly represented
in it, but there is not much in which moral or religious lessons are to
be found, except by doing violence to the text.

The She King is a collection of ancient poems. Tradition attributes the
arrangement and selection of the Odes now contained in it to Confucius,
who is supposed to have selected them in accordance with some wise
design from a much larger number. The present translator, however,
assigns reasons for rejecting this tradition, and for believing that
the She King was current in China long before his time in a form not
very different from that in which we now possess it. At the present
day, its songs have not lost their ancient popularity, for it is
stated that they are "the favorite study of the better informed at
the present remote period. Every well-educated Chinese has the most
celebrated pieces by heart, and there are constant allusions to them in
modern poetry and writings of all kinds" (Davis' Chinese, ii. 60).

The poems, which were collected from many different provinces, relate
to a great variety of subjects. Some are political, some domestic, some
sacrificial, others festive. We have rulers addressing the princes of
their kingdom in laudatory terms, and princes in their turn extolling
the ruler; complaints of unemployed politicians, and groans from
oppressed subjects; husbands deploring their absence from their wives
on military service; forlorn wives longing for the return of absent
husbands; stanzas written by lovers to their mistresses, and maidens'
invocations of their lovers; along with a few allusions to amatory
transactions of a more questionable character. All these miscellaneous
matters are treated in short, simple, and rather monotonous poems,
which, if they have any beauty in the original, have completely
lost it in the process of translation. There is sometimes pathos in
the feelings uttered; but the expressions are of the most direct
and unornamental kind, and the whole book partakes largely of that
artlessness which we have noted as one of the ordinary marks of Sacred
Books.

A few specimens will suffice. Here is the "protest of a widow against
being urged to marry again:"—

    1. "It floats about, that boat of cypress wood,
    There in the middle of the Ho.
    With his two tufts of hair falling over his forehead;
    He was my mate;
    And I swear that till death I will have no other.
    O mother, O Heaven,
    Why will you not understand me?

    2. "It floats about, that boat of cypress wood,
    There by the side of the Ho.
    With his two tufts of hair falling over his forehead;
    He was my only one;
    And I swear that till death I will not do the evil thing.
    O mother, O Heaven,
    Why will you not understand me?"[42]

In the following lines a young lady begs her lover to be more cautious
in his advances, and that in a tone which may remind us of Nausikaa's
request to Odysseus to walk at some distance behind her, lest the
busybodies of the town should take occasion to gossip:—

    1. "I pray you, Mr. Chung,
    Do not come leaping into my hamlet;
    Do not break my willow-trees.
    Do I care for them?
    But I fear my parents.
    You, O Chung, are to be loved,
    But the words of my parents
    Are also to be feared.

    2. "I pray you, Mr. Chung,
    Do not come leaping over my wall;
    Do not break my mulberry-trees.
    Do I care for them?
    But I fear the words of my brothers.
    You, O Chung, are to be loved,
    But the words of my brothers
    Are also to be feared.

    3. "I pray you, Mr. Chung,
    Do not come leaping into my garden;
    Do not break my sandal-trees.
    Do I care for them?
    But I dread the talk of people.
    You, O Chung, are to be loved,
    But the talk of people
    Is also to be feared."[43]

The following Ode, conceived in a different spirit, will serve to
illustrate one of the most prominent features of Chinese character as
depicted in these ancient books,—its filial piety. It is supposed to
be the composition of a young monarch who has just succeeded to the
government of his kingdom:—

    "Alas for me, who am [as] a little child,
    On whom has devolved the unsettled State!
    Solitary am I and full of distress.
    Oh my great Father,
    All thy life long, thou wast filial.

    "Thou didst think of my great grandfather,
    [Seeing him, as it were] ascending and descending in the court.
    I, the little child,[44]
    Day and night will be so reverent.
    "Oh ye great kings,
    As your successor, I will strive not to forget you."[45]


                   SUBDIVISION 7.—_The Ch'un Ts'ëw._

According to Chinese tradition, the Ch'un Ts'ëw, or Spring and Autumn,
was the production of Confucius himself; not indeed his original
composition, but a compilation made by him from preëxisting sources.
The title of Ch'un Ts'ëw was not of his own making. It was the name
already in use for the annals of the several States. The annals were
arranged under the four seasons of each year, and then two of the
seasons—Spring and Autumn—were used as an abbreviated term for all the
four. And so strictly is this principle of parceling out the annals of
each year under the several seasons adhered to in the work, that even
when there is no event to be recorded we have such entries as these:
"It was summer, the fourth month." "It was winter, the tenth month."

The classical Ch'un Ts'ëw was compiled from the Ch'un Ts'ëw of the
State of Loo. It is even doubtful whether Confucius did anything more
than copy what he found in the annals of that country. Dr. Legge
evidently inclines to the belief that he altered nothing. At any rate,
the work can only be regarded as very particularly his own. More than
this, it is questionable whether the text we have at present is that of
the original Ch'un Ts'ëw at all. This classic is indeed said to have
been recovered in the Han dynasty after the destruction of the book.
But there are circumstances which may well make us hesitate before
we accept the Chinese account of this recovery as a fact. Mang, who
had the best opportunities of knowing what his master was believed to
have written, if not what he actually had written, speaks of the Ch'un
Ts'ëw in terms wholly inapplicable to the work before us. He asserts
expressly that it was composed by him because right principles had
dwindled away, because unseemly language and unrighteous deeds were
common, and he attributes to its completion the result that "rebellious
ministers and villainous sons were struck with terror." Now we may
allow what limits we please for the exaggeration natural to a disciple
when speaking of the labors of a revered master. But can we believe
that Mang, a man whose own teaching proves him to have been a moderate
and sensible thinker, would have spoken thus of a compilation which
from beginning to end contains absolutely no moral principles whatever?
Yet such is the case with the "Spring and Autumn" as we possess it.
There is not in it the faintest glimmer of an ethical judgment on the
historical events which it records. A birth, an eclipse, a fall of
snow, a plague of insects, a murder, a battle, the death of a ruler,
are all chronicled in the same dry, lifeless, unvarying style. Nowhere
would it be possible for an unprejudiced critic to detect the opinions
of the compiler, or to gather from his words that he viewed a virtuous
action with more favor than an abominable crime. Such being the case,
I hesitate, notwithstanding the high authority of Dr. Legge, to accept
the genuineness of this work as beyond cavil.

It has in fact been questioned in China, not indeed on very valid
grounds, by a scholar whose letter he has translated in his
Prolegomena, and he himself candidly acknowledges the extreme
difficulty of reconciling the character of our present text with the
statement of Mang. But he considers the external testimony to the
recovery of the book sufficiently weighty to dispose of this and other
difficulties. Yet, without disputing the strength of the grounds on
which this conclusion rests, we may still permit ourselves to entertain
a modest doubt whether this compilation was really the handiwork of
such a man as we know Confucius to have been, and that doubt will be
strengthened when we recall the common tendency of the popular mind to
connect the authorship of standard works with names of high repute.
And the bare existence of such a doubt will compel us to suspend our
judgment on the very serious charges of misrepresentation and falsehood
which Dr. Legge has brought against Confucius in his capacity of
historian. If the actual Ch'un Ts'ëw be shown to be identical with that
edited by Confucius, and if he simply adopted, without alteration,
or with very trivial alteration, the labors of his predecessors, the
gravity of these charges will be very considerably diminished. For
we know not but what some feeling of respect for that which he found
already recorded may have stayed his hand from revision and improvement.

Passing to the work itself, we shall find little in it worthy of
attention, unless by those who may be desirous of studying the
history of China. Chinese commentators have indeed discovered all
kinds of recondite meanings in it, as is usually the case with the
commentators on Sacred Books, but these are of no more value than the
similar discoveries of types and mystic foreshadowings in the Hebrew
Scriptures. In itself, the text is profoundly uninteresting. Here is
one of the shortest chapters as a specimen. The title of the Book from
which it is taken is "Duke Chwang:"—

 XXVI. 1. "In his twenty-sixth year, in spring, the duke invaded the
 Jung.

 2. "In summer, the duke arrived from the invasion of the Jung.

 3. "Ts'aou put to death one of its great officers.

 4. "In autumn, the duke joined an officer of Sung and an officer of
 Ts'e in invading Seu.

 5. "In winter, in the twelfth month, on Kwei-hae, the first day of the
 moon, the sun was eclipsed" (Ch'un Ts'ëw, iii. 26).

The events noted in these annals refer to various States—for it
appears that the several States were in the habit of communicating
remarkable occurrences to each other—but they are of a very limited
class, and are invariably recorded in the brief manner of the chapter
that has just been quoted. Eclipses of the sun are duly registered,
and the record thus acquires a chronological value of high importance
in historical researches. Among the other facts commonly mentioned
are sacrifices for rain, which occur very frequently; wars, with
the results of great battles; the marriages or deaths of rulers and
important persons; their journeys; occasionally their murder; meetings
of rulers for the purpose of common action in matters of State;
diplomatic missions; invasions of locusts or other troublesome insects;
and lastly, peculiarities of various kinds in the state of the weather.
It is plain that annals of this kind have no religious significance
beyond that which they derive from the mere fact of being reputed
sacred. And in this aspect the Ch'un Ts'ëw is certainly curious. Having
been assigned—rightly or wrongly—to the pen of the prophet of China, it
seems to have become a point of honor with Chinese scholars to extract
from it, by hook or by crook, the profoundest lessons on politics and
morals.


                   SECTION II.—THE TAÒ-TĔ-KĪNG.[46]

There are in China three recognized sects or "religiones
licitæ:"—Confucianism, Buddhism, and Tao-ism. We have examined the
Sacred Books of the first; those of the second will come under
review in another section. There remains the comparatively small and
unimportant sect of the Taò-tsé, or "Doctors of Reason," who derive
their origin from Laò-tsé, and who possess as their classic the single
written composition which emanated from their founder. It is entitled
the Taò-tĕ-Kīng.

Ancient as this book is (probably about B.C. 520), there is no reason
to doubt its authenticity.[47] This is sufficiently guaranteed by
quotations from it which are found in authors belonging to the fourth
century B.C., and by the fact that a scholar who wrote in B.C. 163
made it the subject of a commentary, which accompanies it sentence
by sentence. Nor does Chinese tradition state that it perished in
the Burning of the Books (B.C. 212-209), which was a measure leveled
against the Confucian school, and took place under an Emperor who
was favorable to the Taò-tsé. We may safely conclude that we are in
possession of the genuine composition of the ancient philosopher (T. T.
K., lxxiii., lxxiv).

Of the three words which compose its title, King has already been
explained (Supra p. 390-391). The full meaning of Taò will appear in
the sequel: we may here term it the Absolute. Te means Virtue; and the
title would thus imply either that this Canonical Book deals with the
Absolute _and_ with Virtue, or with that kind of virtue which emanates
from, and is founded upon, a belief in and a spiritual union with the
Absolute.[48]

Whatever the signification of its name, its principal subjects
undoubtedly are Taò and Te: the Supreme Principle and human Virtue.
Let us see what is Laò-tsé's description of Taò, the great fundamental
Being on whom his whole system rests. "Taò, if it can be pronounced, is
not the eternal Taò. The Name, if it can be named, is not the eternal
Name. The Nameless One is the foundation of Heaven and Earth; he who
has a Name is the Mother of all beings" (Ch. 1). These enigmatical
sentences open the Taò philosophy. The idea that Taò is unnameable
is a prominent one in the author's mind, although he seems also to
recognize a subordinate creative principle—like the Gnostic Æons—which
is nameable. Thus we read: "Taò, the Eternal has no Name.... He who
begins to create, has a Name" (Ch. 32). Again: "For ever and ever it is
unnameable, and returns into non-existence." Or: "I know not its Name;
if I describe it, I call it Taò" (Ch. 25). We are reminded of Faust's
reply in Goethe:—

    "Ich habe keinen Namen
    Dafür? Gefühl ist alles;
    Name ist Schall und Rauch
    Umnebelnd Himmelsgluth."

Nor is Taò only without a Name; it is sometimes described as if devoid
of all intelligible attributes. Thus, in one chapter, we learn that
it is eternally without action, and yet without non-action (Ch. 37).
Nay, the entire absence of all activity is not unfrequently predicated
of Taò, whose great merit is stated to be complete quiescence. Taò
is moreover incomprehensible, inconceivable, undiscoverable, obscure
(Ch. 21). Its upper part is not clear, its lower part not obscure. It
returns into non-existence. It is the form of the Formless; the image
of the Imageless (Ch. 14). Mysterious as this Being is, yet in other
places attributes are ascribed to it which go far to elucidate the
author's conception of its nature. Productive energy, for instance, is
plainly attributed to Taò, for it is stated that Taò produces one, one
two, and two three, while three produces all creatures (Ch. 32). The
following account is less mystical: "Taò produces them [creatures],
its Might preserves them, its essence forms them, its power perfects
them: therefore of all beings there is none that does not adore Taò,
and honor its Might. The adoration of Taò, the honoring of its Might,
is commanded by no one and is always spontaneous. For Taò produces
them, preserves them, brings them up, fashions them, perfects them,
ripens them, cherishes them, protects them. To produce and not possess,
to act and not expect, to bring up and not control, this is called
sublime Virtue."[49] In addition to these creative and preservative
qualities, it has moral attributes of the highest order. Thus, its
Spirit is supremely trustworthy. In it is faithfulness (Ch. 21). All
beings trust to it in order to live. When a work is completed, it does
not call it its own. Loving and nourishing all beings, it still does
not lord it over them. It is eternally without desire. All beings turn
to it, yet it does not lord it over them (Ch. 34). It is eminently
straightforward. It dwells only with those who are not occupied with
the luxuries of this world (Ch. 53). Nay, it is altogether perfect (Ch.
25). The last assertion is found in a chapter which, as it is probably
the most important in the book for the purpose of understanding the
theology of the author, deserves to be translated in full:—"There
existed a Being, inconceivably perfect, before Heaven and Earth arose.
So still! so supersensible! It alone remains and does not change.
It pervades all and is not endangered. It may be regarded as the
Mother of the World. I know not its name; if I describe it, I call
it Taò. Concerned to give it a Name, I call it Great; as great, I
call it Immense; as immense, I call it Distant; as distant, I call it
Returning. For Taò is great; Heaven is great; the Earth is great; the
King is also great. In the world there are many kinds of greatness,
and the King remains one of them. The measure of Man is the earth; the
measure of earth, Heaven; the measure of Heaven, Taò; Taò's measure
itself."[50]

Such is the picture of Taò; but the Taò-tĕ-Kīng is much more than a
treatise on theology; it is even more conspicuously a treatise on
morals. Taò is indeed the transcendental foundation on which the
ethical superstructure is raised; but the superstructure occupies
a much more considerable space than the foundation, and seems to
have been the main practical end for which the latter was laid down.
Intermingled with the image of Taò we find the image of the good man,
or, as we may call him, in Scriptural phraseology, the righteous man;
an ideal of perfect virtue, whom the author holds up, not as an actual
person, but as an imaginary model for the guidance of human conduct.
By putting together the scattered traits of his character, we may
arrive at a tolerable comprehension of the author's conception of
perfect goodness. In the first place, the righteous man is in harmony
in his actions with Taò; he becomes one with Taò, and Taò rejoices
to receive him (Ch. 23). He places himself in the background, and
by that very means is brought forward (Ch. 7). He does not regard
himself, and therefore shines; he is not just to himself, and is
therefore distinguished; does not praise himself, and is therefore
meritorious; does not exalt himself, and is therefore preëminent. As
he does not dispute, none can dispute with him (Ch. 22). If he acts,
he sets no store by his action; for he does not wish to render his
wisdom conspicuous (Ch. 77). He knows himself, but does not regard
himself; loves himself, but does not set a high price on himself (Ch.
72). Unwilling lightly to promise great things, he is thereby able
to accomplish the more; by treating things as difficult, he finds
nothing too difficult during his whole life (Ch. 63). Inaccessible
alike to friendship and enmity, uninfluenced by personal advantage or
injury, by honor or dishonor, he is honored by all the world (Ch. 56).
He is characterized by quiet earnestness; should he possess splendid
palaces, he inhabits them or quits them with equal calm (Ch. 26).
He clothes himself in wool (a very coarse material in China), and
hides his jewels (Ch. 70). He is ever ready to help others; for the
good man is the educator of the bad, the bad man the treasure of the
good (Ch. 27). "The righteous man does not accumulate. The more he
spends on others, the more he has; the more he gives to others, the
richer he is" (Ch. 81). "He who knows others is clever; he who knows
himself is enlightened" (Ch. 33). Thus the sage, like Socrates, makes
νῶθι σéαντον a main principle of his conduct. Should he be called
to the administration of the realm, he adopts a policy of _laisser
faire_, for he has observed the evils produced by over-legislation.
It is his belief that if he be inactive, the people will improve by
themselves; if he be quiet, they will become honorable; if he abstain
from intermeddling, they will become rich; if he be free from desires,
they will become simple (Ch. 57). Compelled to engage in war, he will
not make use of conquest to triumph or exalt himself, neither will he
take violent measures (Ch. 30). Mercy is a quality that must not be
despised; the merciful will conquer in battle (Ch. 67). Endowed with
these characteristics, the good man need fear nothing. Like Horace's

  "Integer vitæ scelerisque purus,"

he is preserved from danger. The horn of the rhinoceros, the claws of
the tiger, the blade of the sword, cannot hurt him (Ch. 50). He is like
a new-born child: serpents do not sting it, nor wild beasts seize it,
nor birds of prey attack it.[51]

A few features, which do not directly enter into the delineation of the
character of the sage, must still be added to complete that image. And
first, a prominent place must be assigned to a quality which is a large
ingredient in Laò-tsé's conception of goodness, both human and divine.
It is that of gentleness, or, as he would call it, weakness. It is a
favorite principle of his, that the weak things of the earth overcome
the strong, and that they overcome in virtue of that very weakness. He
has an aversion to all conspicuous exercise of force. The deity of his
philosophy is one who is indeed all-powerful, but who never displays
his power. The method of Heaven—and it should also be that of man—is
_apparent_ yielding, leading to real supremacy. "It strives not, yet is
able to overcome. It speaks not, yet is able to obtain an answer. It
summons not, yet men come to it of their own accord; is long-suffering,
yet is able to succeed in its designs" (Ch. 73). The superiority of
the weak—or the seeming weak—to the strong, is further illustrated
by Laò-tsé in several parallels. We enter life soft and feeble; we
quit it hard and strong. Therefore softness and feebleness are the
companions of life; hardness and strength of death (Ch. 76). And does
not the wife overcome her husband by her quietness? (Ch., 61.) Is not
water the softest and weakest of all things in the world, yet is there
anything which ever attacks the hard and strong that is able to surpass
it? (Ch., 78.) Thus, the most yielding of all substances overcomes the
most inflexible. Hence is manifest the advantage of inactivity and of
silence (Ch. 43). It is fully in accordance with these notions that
Laò-tsé should distinctly deprecate warfare, and should assert that the
most competent general will not be warlike. Calmly conscious of his
power, he is not quarrelsome or eager for battle, and thus possessing
the virtue of peaceable and patient strength, he becomes the peer
of Heaven (Ch. 68). War is altogether to be condemned, as pregnant
with calamity to the state (Ch. 30). "The most beauteous weapons are
instruments of misfortune; all creatures abhor them; therefore he who
has Taò does not employ them." They are not the instruments of the wise
man. If he must needs resort to them, yet he still values peace and
quietness as the highest aims. He conquers with reluctance. "He who has
killed many men, let him weep for them with grief and compassion. He
who has conquered in battle, let him stand as at a funeral pomp" (Ch.
31).

Another striking characteristic of Laò-tsé's moral system is his
dislike of luxury, and his earnest injunction to all men to be
contented with modest circumstances. We have seen that the sage is
depicted as wearing coarse clothing, and Laò-tsé considers that the
very presence of considerable riches indicates the absence of Taò from
the minds of their possessors. As we should express it, the devotion
to worldly wealth is inconsistent with a spiritual life. "To wear fine
clothes, to carry sharp swords, to be filled with drink and victuals,
to have a superfluity of costly gems, this is to make a parade of
robbery (Or, this is "magnificent robbery," O. P., p. 41); truly not
to have Taò" (Ch. 53). Moreover, the very pomp of the palace leads
to uncultivated fields and empty barns (Ibid). Laò-tsé therefore
warns every one not to consider his abode too narrow or his life too
confined. If we do not think it too confined, it will not be so (Ch.
72). Nay, he goes further, and asserts that the world is best known by
staying at home. The further a man goes, the less he knows (Ch. 47).
A truly virtuous and well-governed people will never care to travel
beyond its own limits. To such a people its food will be so sweet, its
clothing so beautiful, its dwellings so comfortable, and its customs
so dear, that it will never visit the territory of its neighbors, even
though that territory should lie so close that the cackling of the hens
and the barking of the dogs may be heard across the boundary (Ch. 80).

It results from the above exposition of his ethical principles that
Laò-tsé insists mainly upon three virtues: Modesty, Benevolence, and
Contentment. "For my part," he says himself, "I have three treasures; I
guard them and greatly prize them. The first is called Mercy,[52] the
second is called Frugality, the third is called Not daring to be first
in the kingdom. Mercy—therefore I can be brave; Frugality—therefore I
can give away; Not daring to be first in the kingdom—therefore I can
become the first of the gifted ones" (Ch. 67).

       *       *       *       *       *

Of all the sacred books, the Taò-tĕ-Kīng is the most philosophical.
It stands, indeed, on the borderland between a revelation and a
system of philosophy, partaking to some extent of the nature of both.
Since, however, it forms the fundamental classic of a religious
sect, and since it has engaged in its interpretation a multitude of
commentators,[53] it appears to be fully entitled to a place among
Scriptures. Not indeed that the Chinese regard it as a revelation in
the same sense in which nations of a more theological cast of mind
apply that term to the books composing their Canon. But I see no reason
to doubt that the Taò-tsé, however little they attend to its precepts,
yet treat it as a work of unapproachable perfection and unquestionable
truth. Indeed, the writer of a fabulous life of Laò-tsé, who lived many
centuries after his death, expressly ascribes to it those peculiar
qualities which, as we have seen, are the special attributes of sacred
books (L. V. V., pp. xxxi., xxxii).

To the European reader who approaches it for the first time it
will probably appear a perplexing study. Participating largely in
that disorder and confusedness which characterizes the class of
literature to which it belongs, it presents, in addition, considerable
difficulties peculiarly its own. The correct translation of many
passages is doubtful. The sense of still more is ambiguous and obscure.
Laò-tsé is fond of paradox, and his constant employment of paradoxical
antithesis seems specially designed to puzzle the reader. If his
doctrine was understood by few, it must be confessed that this was
partly his own fault. Moreover, the reverence with which he speaks of
Taò, and the care with which he insists that Taò does nothing, seem
at first sight inconsistent. We feel ourselves in an atmosphere of
hopeless mysticism. Nevertheless, these superficial troubles vanish,
or at least retire into the background, after repeated perusals of the
work. There are few books that gain more on continued acquaintance.
Every successive study reveals more and more of a wisdom and a beauty
which we miss at first in the obscurity and strangeness of the style.

And first, Taò itself turns out to be a less incomprehensible and
contradictory being than we originally supposed. For although he may
sometimes be spoken of as doing nothing, or even as destitute of all
distinct qualities, yet other attributes expressly exclude the notion
of absolute inaction. A being which creates, cherishes and loves, and
in which all the world implicitly trusts, is not the kind of nonentity
that can be described as wholly devoid of "action, thought, judgment,
and intelligence."[54] Moreover, it is to be borne in mind that the
sage is to imitate Taò in the quality—for which he is highly lauded—of
doing nothing. The two pictures, that of Taò and his follower, must
be held side by side in order to be correctly understood. Now what is
the peculiar beauty, from a philosophical point of view, of the order
of Nature? It is that all its parts harmoniously perform their several
offices, without any violent or conspicuous intrusion of the presiding
principle which guides them all.

Other teachers, indeed, have seen God mainly in violent and convulsive
manifestations, and have appealed to miraculous suspensions of natural
order as the best proofs of his existence. Not so Laò-tsé. He sees him
in the quiet, unobtrusive, unapparent guidance of the world; in the
unseen, yet irresistible power to which mankind unresistingly submit,
precisely because it is never thrust offensively upon them. The Deity
of Laò-tsé is free from those gross and unlovely elements which degrade
his character in so many other religions. He rules by gentleness and
love, not by vindictiveness and anger. So should it be with the holy
man who takes him for his model. Assuredly we are not to understand
those passages which enjoin quiescence so earnestly upon him as a
meaning that he is to lead a life of absolute indolence. Like Taò, he
is to guide his fellow-creatures rather by the beauty of his conduct
than by positive commands laid imperatively upon them. Let him but be
a shining example; they will be drawn towards him. The activity from
which a wise ruler is to abstain is the vexatious multiplication of
laws and edicts, which do harm rather than good. But neither ruler
nor philosopher is told to do nothing; for benevolence, love, and the
requital of good for evil, to say nothing of other positive virtues,
are most strictly enjoined on all. Laò-tsé himself no doubt lived, and
loved, a retired contemplative life. This is the kind of existence
which he evidently considered the most perfect and the most godlike. He
counsels his followers to be wholly unambitious, and to abstain from
all active pursuit of political honor. Such counsel might possibly be
well adapted to the time in which he lived. But none the less does he
lay down rules for the guidance of kings, statesmen, and warriors,
in their several spheres. Nor is the book wanting in pithy apothegms
applicable to all, and remarkable alike for the wisdom of their
substance and the neatness of their form. Whether, in short, we look
to the simplicity and grandeur of its speculative doctrine, or to the
unimpeachable excellence of its moral teaching, we shall find few among
the great productions of the human mind that evince, from beginning to
end, so lofty a spirit and so pure a strain.




                        APPENDIX TO SECTION II.

              _Translations of the Taò-tĕ-Kīng_, ch. 25.


ABEL RÉMUSAT.—"Avant le chaos qui a précédé la naissance du ciel et de
la terre, un seul être existait, immense et silencieux, immuable et
toujours agissant sans jamais s'altérer. On peut le regarder comme la
_mère_ de l'univers. J'ignore son nom, mais je le désigne par le mot de
_raison_.

Forcé de lui donner un nom, je l'appelle _grandeur_, _progression_,
_éloignement_, _opposition_. Il y a dans le monde quatre grandeurs;
celle de la raison, celle du ciel, celle de la terre, celle du roi,
qui est aussi une des quatre. L'homme a son type et son modèle dans
la terre, la terre dans le ciel, le ciel dans la raison, la raison en
elle-même."[55]

STANISLAS JULIEN.—"Il est un être confus qui existait avant le ciel et
la terre.

O qu'il est calme! O qu'il est immatériel!

Il subsiste seul et ne change point.

Il circule partout et ne périclite point.

Il peut être regardé comme la mère de l'univers.

Moi, je ne sais pas son nom.

Pour lui donner un titre, je l'appelle _Voie_ (Tao).

En m'efforçant de lui faire un nom, je l'appelle _grand_.

De _grand_, je l'appelle _fugace_.

De _fugace_, je l'appelle _éloigné_.

_D'éloigné_, je l'appelle (l'être) _qui revient_.

C'est pourquoi le Tao est _grand_, le ciel est _grand_, la terre est
_grande_, le roi aussi est _grand_.

Dans le monde, il y a quatre grandes choses, et le roi en est une.

L'homme imite la terre; la terre imite le ciel; le ciel imite le Tao;
le Tao imite sa nature" (L. V. V., p. 35).

JOHN CHALMERS.—"There is something chaotic in nature which existed
before heaven and earth. It was still. It was void. It stood alone and
was not changed. It pervaded everywhere and was not endangered. It may
be regarded as the Mother of the Universe. I know not its name, but
give it the title of Tau. If I am forced to make a name for it, I say
it is _Great_; being great, I say that it _passes away_; passing away,
I say that it is _far off_; being far off, I say that it _returns_.

Now Tau is great; Heaven is great; Earth is great; a king is great. In
the universe there are four greatnesses, and a king is one of them.
Man takes his law from the Earth; the Earth takes its law from Heaven;
Heaven takes its law from Tau; and Tau takes its law from what is in
itself" (O. P., p. 18).

REINHOLD VON PLÄNCKNER.—"Es existirt ein das All erfüllendes, durchaus
vollkommenes Wesen, das früher war denn der Himmel und die Erde. Es
existirt da in erhabener Stille, es ist ewig und unveränderlich, und
ohne Anstoss dringt es überall hin, überall da.

Man möchte es als den Schöpfer der Welt ansehen. Seinen Namen weiss
ich nicht, ich nenne es am liebsten das Tao; soll ich diesem eine
bezeichnende Eigenschaft beilegen, so würde es die der höchsten
Erhabenheit sein.

Ja, erhaben ist das Wesen, um das sich das All und Alles im All bewegt,
als solches muss es ewig sein, und wie es ewig ist, ist es folglich
auch allgegenwärtig.

Ja das Tao ist erhaben, erhaben ist auch der Himmel, erhaben die Erde,
erhaben ist auch das Ideal des Menschen. So sind denn vier erhabene
Wesen im Universum, und das Ideal des Menschen ist ohne Zweifel eins
derselben.

Denn der Mensch stammt von der Erde, die Erde stammt vom Himmel, der
Himmel stammt vom Tao.—Und das Tao stammt ohne Frage allein aus sich
selbst" (L. T., p. 113).


                      SECTION III.—THE VEDA.[56]

The word _Veda_ is explained by Sanskrit scholars as meaning _knowing_
or _knowledge_, and as being related to the Greek oἵδα. The works
comprised under this designation are manifold, and appertain to
widely different epochs. In the first place they fall into two main
classes, the _Sanhitâ_ and the _Brâhmana_. The Sanhitâ portion of
the Veda consists of hymns or metrical compositions addressed to the
several deities worshiped by their authors, and expressing religious
sentiment; the Brâhmana portion, of theological treatises in prose
of an expository, ritualistic and didactic character. Across this
subdivision into two classes there runs another of the whole Veda into
four so-called Vedas, the Rig-Veda, the Yajur-Veda, the Sâma-Veda,
and the Atharva-Veda. Each of these has its own Sanhitâs, and its own
Brâhmanas; but the Sanhitâ, or hymns, of the three other Vedas are
not materially different from those of the Rig-Veda. On the Rig-Veda
they are all founded; this is the fundamental Veda, or great Veda; and
in knowing this one we should know all. The other three, according to
Max Müller, contain "chiefly extracts from the Rig-Veda, together with
sacrificial formulas, charms, and incantations" (Chips, vol. i. p. 9).
It must not therefore be imagined that we have in these four Vedas four
different collections of hymns. They are rather four different versions
of the same collection, the Sâma-Veda, for instance, containing but
seventy-one verses which are wanting in the Rig-Veda (S. V., p.
xxviii), and being otherwise "little more than a repetition of the Soma
Mandala of the Rich" (Wilson, vol. i. p. xxxvii), or of that book of
the Rig-Veda which is devoted to the god Soma. The Atharva-Veda-Sanhitâ
is indeed to a certain extent an exception; belonging to a later age,
it has some hymns altogether peculiar to itself, and its fifteenth
book "has something of the nature of a Brâhmana" (O. S. T., vol. i. p.
2). It must be noted, moreover, that of the Yajur-Veda there are two
different versions, the Black and the White Yajur-Veda, said to have
descended from two rival schools. The hymns of the first are termed the
Taittiriya-Sanhitâ, those of the second the Vâjasaneyi-Sanhitâ.

The origin of those four distinct, yet not different Vedas, is thus
explained. In certain sacrifices, formerly celebrated in India, four
classes of priests were required, each class being destined for the
performance of distinct offices. To such of these classes was assigned
one of the Vedas, which contained the hymns required by that class.
Thus the Sâma-Veda was the prayer-book of the Udgâtri priests, or
choristers, who chant the hymns. The Yajur-Veda was the prayer-book
of the Adhvaryu priests, or attendant ministers, who prepare the
ground, slay the victims, and so forth. The Atharva-Veda was said to be
intended for the Brahman who was, according to one of the Brâhmanas,
the "physician of the sacrifice;" the general superintendent who was to
tell if any mistake had been committed in it (A. B., 5. 5.—vol. ii. p.
376). For the fourth class, the Hotri priests, or reciters of hymns,
no special collection was made in the form of a liturgy. They used the
Rig-Veda, a collection of the hymns in general without any special
object, and they were supposed to know the sacred poetry without the
help of a prayer-book (A. S. L., pp. 175, 473, and Chips, vol. i. p. 9).

Originally preserved by scattered individuals (for the Mantra part of
the Vedas, [or their Sanhitâ] was composed in an age when writing was
not in use), the hymns were subsequently collected and arranged in
their present form: a task which Indian tradition assigns to Vyâsa, the
Arranger, but which was probably the work of many different scholars,
possibly during many generations. The same tradition asserts that each
Veda was collected, under Vyâsa's superintendence, by a different
editor; and that the collections, transmitted from these primary
compilers to their disciples, were, in the course of transmission,
rearranged in various ways, until the number of Sanhitâs of each Veda
in circulation was very considerable. Each school had its own version,
but the differences are supposed by Wilson to have concerned only the
order, not the matter of the Sûktas.

The extreme antiquity of our extant Veda is guaranteed by the amplest
testimony. In the indexes compiled by native scholars 500 or 600
years before Christ, "we find every hymn, every verse, every word and
syllable of the Veda accurately counted" (Chips, vol. i. p. 11). Before
this was done, not only was the whole vast collection complete, but it
was ancient; for had it been a recent composition it would not have
enjoyed the preëminent sanctity which rendered it the object of this
minute attention. And not only is the Veda ancient, but it has been
shown that, from the variety of its component strata, it must have been
the growth of no small period of time, its earliest elements being
of an almost unfathomable antiquity. Max Müller, who has elaborately
treated this question, divides the Vaidik age—the age during which
the Veda was in process of formation—into four great epochs. The most
primitive hymns of the Rig-Veda he attributes to what he terms _the
Chhandas period_ (from Chhandas, or metre), the limits of which cannot
be fixed in the ascending direction, but which descends no later than
1000 B.C. And he thinks that "we cannot well assign a date more recent
than 1200 to 1500 before our era" (Ibid., vol. i. p. 13) for the
composition of these hymns. The ten books of the Rig-Veda, however,
comprise the poetry of two different ages. Some of the hymns betray a
more recent origin, and must be assigned to the second, or _Mantra
period_. These comparatively modern compositions belong to a time
which may have extended from about 1000 to about 800 B.C. After this
we enter on the _Brâhmana period_, in which the Rig-Veda-Sanhitâ not
only existed, but had reached the stage of being misinterpreted, its
original sense having been forgotten. During this period—which we may
place from B.C. 800 to 600—the national thought took the form of prose,
and the Brâhmanas were written. Here the age of actually-inspired
literature terminates, and we arrive at the _Sûtra period_, which may
have lasted till 200 B.C. Works of high authority, but not in the
strict sense revealed works, were produced during these four hundred
years (A. S. L., _passim_). An equal, or greater antiquity is usually
claimed by other Sanskritists for these several classes of sacred
literature. Wilson would place Manu (who belongs to the Sûtra period)
not lower than the fifth or sixth century; the Brâhmana literature in
the seventh or eighth; and would allow at least four or five centuries
before this for the composition and currency of the hymns, thus
reaching the date of 1200 or 1300 before the Christian era (Wilson,
vol. i. p. xlvii).

Haug, who believes that "a strict distinction between a Chhandas and
Mantra period is hardly admissible," and that certain sacrificial
formulas, considered by Max Müller to be more recent, are in fact some
centuries older than the finished hymns ascribed by that scholar to the
Chhandas age, carries back the composition of both Sanhitâ and Brâhmana
to a much earlier date. "The bulk of the Brâhmanas" he assigns to B.C.
1400-1200; and "the bulk of the Sanhitâs" to B.C. 2000-1400; while "the
oldest hymns and sacrificial formulas may be a few hundred years more
ancient still," and thus "the very commencement of Vedic literature"
might be between B.C. 2400 and 2000 (A. B., vol. i. pp. 47, 48). While
Benfey, considering that the Prâtisâkhyas (a branch of the Sûtras) must
have been composed from B.C. 800 to 600, observes that the text of the
Sâma-Veda must extend beyond this epoch (S. V., p. xxix).

Of the several Sanhitâs, that of the Rig-Veda (whose name is derived
from a word _rich_, praise) is usually considered the most ancient,
though Benfey expresses the opinion that the text of the Sâma-Veda may
possibly be borrowed from an older version of the Rig-Veda than before
us (Ibid., p. xxix). Max Müller, on the other hand, conceives the Sâma
and Yajur-Vedas to have been probably the production of the Brâhmana
period (A. S. L., p. 457). He even denies to any but the Rich the right
to be called Veda at all (Chips, vol. i. p. 9). Whatever claim, or want
of claim, they may possess to the honor, it is certain that they have
for more than 2,000 years invariably received it at the hands of the
Hindus themselves. So far from admitting the preëminence of the Rich,
the ancient Hindus, according to one of their descendants, held the
Sâma in the highest veneration (Chhand. Up., introduction, p. 1). If a
doubt can exist as to the canonicity of any one of them, it can only
apply to the Atharva-Veda; for in certain texts we find mention made
of three Vedas only, the Atharva, from its comparatively late origin,
having apparently been long denied the privilege of admission to an
equal rank with its compeers.

Whatever their antiquity, the sanctity of these works in Indian opinion
is of the highest order. Never has the theory of inspiration been
pushed to such an extreme. The Veda was the direct creation of Brahma;
and the Rishis, or Sages, who are the nominal authors of the hymns,
did not compose them, but simply "saw" them. Although, therefore, the
name of one of these seers is coupled with each hymn, it must not be
supposed that he did more than perceive the divine poem which was
revealed to his privileged vision. And the Veda is distinguished as
_Sruti_, Revelation, from the _Smriti_, Tradition, under which term
is included a great variety of works enjoying a high, but not an
independent, authority. They are to be accepted, in theory at least,
only when they agree with the Veda, and to be set aside if they happen
to differ from it; while no such thing as a contradiction within the
body of the Veda is for a moment to be thought of as possible, apparent
inconsistencies being only due to our imperfect interpretations. The
Sruti class comprises only the Mantra of each Veda and its Brâhmanas;
the Smriti consists of the great national epics, namely the Râmâyana
and Mahâbhârata; the Mânava-Dharma-Sastra, or Menu; the Purânas; the
Sûtras, or aphorisms; and the so-called six Vedângas, a term indicating
six branches of study carried on by the help of treatises on the
pronunciation, grammar, metre, explanation of words, astronomy, and
ceremonial of the Veda. How thoroughly the Veda was analyzed, how
minutely every word of it was investigated, is shown by the fact that
these Vedângas all have direct reference to it, and were intended to
assist in its comprehension. And in ancient times it was the duty of
Brahmans to be well acquainted both with the Sûktas (hymns), and with
their application to ritual. A Brahman, indeed, who wanted to marry was
not obliged to devote more than twelve years to learning the Veda, but
an unmarrying Brahman might spend forty-eight years upon it (A. S. L.,
p. 503).


                     SUBDIVISION 1.—_The Sanhitâ._

Passing now to a more detailed consideration of the Mantra division, we
find that the Rig-Veda-Sanhitâ—the most comprehensive specimen of this
division—comprises more than a thousand short poems, of which the vast
majority are addressed to one or more of the Indian gods. A few only,
and those believed to be of later origin, are of a different character.
This collection is divided in two ways; into ten Mandalas, or eight
Ashtakas, the two divisions being quite independent of one another.
Under each of these greater heads are several lesser ones, which it is
needless to enumerate. The deities to whom the hymns are devoted are
exceedingly various and numerous, but as this is not an essay specially
intended to elucidate the Veda, but aiming only at a general comparison
of this with other sacred books, it would be going beyond our scope to
attempt a full account of their several names, attributes, and honors.
A few only of the more conspicuous gods need be noticed.

Of these, Agni, as the one with whose praises the Rig-Veda opens, and
who, next to Indra, is the principal character in the Vedic hymnology,
claims our attention first. He is the god of fire, or more literally,
he is the fire itself, and a god at the same time. His name is almost
identical with the Latin _Ignis_. He is frequently spoken of as
generated by the rubbing of sticks, for in this manner did the Rishis
kindle the fire required for their sacrifices. The sudden birth of the
fiery element in consequence of this process must have impressed them
as profoundly mysterious. They allude to it under various images.
Thus, the upper stick is said to impregnate the lower, which brings
forth Agni. He is the bearer of human sacrifices to the gods; a kind of
telegraph from earth to heaven. Many are the blessings asked of him.
But let the Rishis speak for themselves. Here is the first Sûkta of the
Rig-Veda-Sanhitâ:—

 1. "I praise Agni, the household priest, the divine offerer of the
 sacrifice, the inviter who keeps all treasures. 2. Agni, worthy of the
 praises of the ancient Rishis, and also of ours, do thou bring hither
 the gods. 3. By Agni, _the sacrificer_ enjoys wealth, that grows from
 day to day, confers renown, and surrounds him with heroes. 4. Agni,
 the sacrifice which thou keepest from all sides uninvaded, approaches
 surely the gods. 5. Agni, inviter, performer of gracious deeds,
 thou who art truthful, and who shinest with various glories, come
 thou, O God, with the gods. 6. The prosperity, which thou, O Agni,
 bestowest upon the worshiper, will be in truth _a prosperity_ to thee,
 O Angiras. 7. We approach thee in our minds, O Agni, day after day,
 by night and day, to offer thee our adoration. 8. Thee the radiant
 guardian of the meet _reward_ of the sacrifices, who is resplendent
 and increasing in his sacred house. 9. Be thou, O Agni, accessible to
 us, as a father is to the son; be near us for our welfare" (Roer, p.
 1).

Even more important than Agni is Indra, the great national god of
the Hindus. He is above all things a combative god. His strength is
immense, and his worshipers implore him to give them victory and power.
He slays the demon Vrittra, a myth symbolizing the dispersion of clouds
by the sun. Above all, he loves the juice of the Soma plant (_Asclepias
acida_), which is poured out to him abundantly in sacrifice, which he
consumes with avidity, and from which he derives renewed force and
energy. These two stanzas, taken from the Sâma-Veda, express some of
his attributes:—

 "Thou, O Indra, art glorious, thou art victorious, thou art the lord
 of strength; thou conquerest the strong enemies singly and alone, thou
 unconquered refuge of men. To thee, living One, we pray; to thee now
 the very wise, for treasures, as for our share; may thy blessing be
 granted us" (S. V., ii. 6. 2. 12).

The following hymn brings into especial prominence the more warlike
functions of Indra, and may be regarded as a prayer "in the time of war
and tumults:"—

 8. "May Indra be the leader of these (our armies); may Brihaspati,
 Largess, Sacrifice and Soma march in front; may the host of Maruts
 precede the crushing, victorious armies of the gods. May the fierce
 host of the vigorous Indra, of King Varuna, of the Adityas, and the
 Maruts (go before us); the shout of the great-souled, conquering,
 world-shaking gods, has ascended.... 10. Rouse, O opulent god, the
 weapons, rouse the souls of our warriors, stimulate the power of the
 mighty men; may shouts arise from the conquering chariots. 11. May
 Indra be ours when the standards clash; may our arrows be victorious:
 may our strong men gain the upper-hand; preserve us, O gods, in the
 fray. 12. Bewildering the hearts of our enemies, O Apvâ (Apvâ is
 explained as a disease or fear), take possession of their limbs and
 pass onward; come near, burn them with fires in their hearts; may our
 enemies fall into blind darkness" (O. S. T., vol. v. p. 110.—Rig-Veda,
 x. 103).

Indra's Soma-drinking propensities are not particularly alluded to in
these verses: elsewhere they form the ever-recurring burden of the
chants of which he is the hero. Thus, to take but one specimen, which,
by its resemblance to others, may fitly stand for all, he is thus
lauded:—

 1. "May the Somas delight thee! bestow grace, O hurler of lightning!
 destroy him who hates the priest. 2. Thou who art praiseworthy, drink
 our drink! thou art sprinkled with streams of honey! from thee, O
 Indra, glory is derived.... 4. The Indus (the Somas) stream into thee,
 like rivers, Indra! into the sea, and never overfill thee" (S. V., i.
 1. 1).

Indra is, in fact, the Zeus of Indian mythology; the thunderer, the
god of the sky, the all-powerful protector of men and destroyer of
the demons of darkness. His functions are easily understood, but it
is curious that the Soma, which is offered to him in sacrifice, and
which he drinks with all the avidity of a confirmed toper, is itself
celebrated as a god of very considerable powers. Soma appears to be
regarded as a sort of mediator between the greatest gods and men,
especially between man and Indra. He is repeatedly entreated to go
to Indra, to flow around him, and thus to conciliate and delight him.
But Soma can confer benefits independently. One poet implores him to
stream forth blessing "on the ox, the man, and the horse; and, O king,
blessings on plants" (S. V., ii. 1. 1. 1). In the hymns devoted to him
he is raised to an exalted station among the celestial beings, while
the sacrifice in which he is drunk by the priests is the capital right
in the Brahmanical liturgy (A. B., vol. i. p. 59). The most eminent
virtues are inherent in this divine beverage, when taken with all the
ceremonies prescribed by traditional law. The Soma juice has, in the
opinion of Hindu theologians, "the power of uniting the sacrificer on
this earth with the celestial King Soma," and making him "an associate
of the gods, and an inhabitant of the celestial world" (Ibid., vol.
i. pp. 40, 80). Such was the excellence of this juice, that none
but Brahmans were permitted to imbibe it. Kings, at their inaugural
ceremonies, received a goblet which was nominally Soma, but on account
of their inferior caste they were in fact put off with some kind of
spirituous liquor which was supposed, by a mystical transformation,
to receive the properties of that most holy divinity (Ibid., vol. ii.
p. 522). Agreeably to this theory of Soma's extensive powers, he is
invoked in such terms, for instance, as these:—

 7. "Place me, O purified god, in that everlasting and imperishable
 world where there is eternal light and glory. O Indu (Soma), flow for
 Indra. 8. Make me immortal in the world where king Vaivasvata (Yama,
 the son of Vivasvat) lives, where is the innermost sphere of the sky,
 where those great waters flow" (O. S. T., vol. v. p. 266.—Rig-Veda,
 ix. 113).

Singular as it may seem that the juice of the Soma-plant should be at
once an object sacrificed on the altar to other gods and a god himself,
such a confusion of attributes will be less surprising to those who
are familiar with the Christian theory of the Atonement, in which the
same God is at once the person who decrees the sacrifice, the person
who accepts it, and the victim. At least the double function of Soma is
less perplexing than the triple function of Christ.

Considerable among Vedic deities are the Maruts, or gods of tempest.
They are in intimate alliance with Indra, to whom their violent nature
is closely akin. Their attributes are simple. A notion of them may
perhaps be gained from these verses:—

 1. "What then now? When will you take (us) as a dear father takes
 his son by both hands, O ye gods, for whom the sacred grass has been
 trimmed? 2. Whither now? On what errand of yours are you going, in
 heaven, not on earth? Where are your cows sporting? 3. Where are your
 newest favors, O Maruts? Where the blessings? Where all delights?...
 6. Let not one sin after another, difficult to be conquered, overcome
 us; may it depart together with lust. 7. Truly they are furious
 and powerful; even to the desert the Rudriyas bring rain that is
 never dried up. 8. The lightning lows like a cow, it follows as a
 mother follows after her young, that the shower (of the Maruts)
 may be let loose. 9. Even by day the Maruts create darkness with
 the water-bearing cloud, when they drench the earth. 10. From the
 shout of the Maruts over the whole space of the earth, men reeled
 forward. 11. Maruts on your strong-hoofed steeds go on easy roads
 after those bright ones (the clouds) which are still locked up. 12.
 May your felloes be strong, the chariots, and their horses; may your
 reins be well fashioned. 13. Speak out forever with thy voice to
 praise the Lord of prayer, Agni, who is like a friend, the bright
 one. 14. Fashion a hymn in thy mouth! Expand like a cloud! Sing a
 song of praise. 15. Worship the host of the Maruts, the brisk, the
 praiseworthy, the singers. May the strong ones stay here among us" (R.
 V. S., vol. i. p. 65.—Rig-Veda, i. 38).

The most charming member of the Vedic pantheon, and the one who seems
to have called forth from the Rishis the deepest poetical feeling,
is Ushas (Ἔως), the Dawn. Her continual reappearance, or birth,
morning after morning, seems to have filled them with delight and
tenderness. The hymn now to be quoted—too long to be extracted in
full—gives expression to the feelings with which they gazed upon this
ever-recurring mystery:—

 2. "The fair and bright Ushas, with her bright child (the Sun), has
 arrived; to her the dark (night) has relinquished her abodes; kindred
 to one another, immortal, alternating Day and Night go on changing
 color. 3. The same is the never-ending path of the two sisters, which
 they travel, commanded by the gods. They strive not, they rest
 not, the prolific Night and Dawn, concordant, though unlike. 4. The
 shining Ushas, leader of joyful voices (or hymns) has been perceived;
 she has opened for us the doors (of the sky); setting in motion all
 moving things, she has revealed to us riches. Ushas has awakened all
 creatures.... 6. (Arousing) one to seek royal power, another to follow
 after fame, another for grand efforts, another to pursue as it were
 his particular object,—Ushas awakes all creatures to consider their
 different modes of life. 7. She, the daughter of the sky, has been
 beheld breaking forth, youthful clad in shining attire: mistress of
 all earthly treasures. Auspicious Ushas, shine here to-day. 8. Ushas
 follows the track of the Dawns that are past, and is the first of the
 unnumbered Dawns that are to come, breaking forth, arousing life and
 awaking every one that was dead.... 10. How great is the interval that
 lies between the Dawns which have arisen, and those which are yet to
 arise! Ushas yearns longingly after the former Dawns, and gladly goes
 on shining with the others (that are to come). 11. Those mortals are
 gone who saw the earliest Ushas dawning; we shall gaze upon her now;
 and the men are coming who are to behold her on future morns.... 13.
 Perpetually in former days did the divine Ushas dawn; and now to-day
 the magnificent goddess beams upon this world: undecaying, immortal,
 she marches on by her own will" (O. S. T., vol. v. p. 188.—Rig-Veda,
 i. 113).

Hardly a trace of a moral element is to be found in those productions
of the Rishis which have hitherto been quoted. And such as these are is
the general character of the Rig-Veda-Sanhitâ. It consists in petitions
for purely material advantages, coupled with unbounded celebrations of
the power of the god invoked, often under the coarsest anthropomorphic
images. But while it must be admitted that the sentiment expressed is
rarely of a high order, it must not be supposed that the old Hindu
gods are altogether destitute of ethical attributes. Marked exceptions
to the general tenor of the supplications offered to them certainly
occur. There are passages which betray a decided consciousness of
sin, a desire to be forgiven and a conviction that certain kinds of
conduct entail divine disapprobation, while other kinds bring divine
approbation. Thus, in the hymns addressed to the Adityas, a class of
gods generally reckoned as twelve in number, and to Mitra and Varuna,
two of these Adityas, such feelings are plainly expressed (O. S. T.,
vol. v. p. 56 ff). Of these two, Mitra is sometimes explained as the
Sun, or the god of Day, Varuna as the god of Night. Varuna—whose name
corresponds to that of Ouranos—is a very great and powerful divinity,
who is endowed by his adorers with the very highest attributes. He is
said to have meted out heaven and earth, and to dwell in all worlds as
their sovereign, embracing them within him (Ibid., vol. v. p. 61). He
is said to witness sin, and is entreated to have mercy on sinners. One
penitent poet implores Varuna to tell him for what offense he seeks to
kill his worshiper and friend, for all the sages tell him that it is
Varuna who is angry with him. And he pleadingly contends that he was
not an intentional culprit; he has been seduced by "wine, anger, dice,
or thoughtlessness." Another begs the god that, in whatever way mortals
may have broken his laws, he will be gracious. A third admits that
he, who was Varuna's friend, has offended against him, but asks that
they who are guilty may not reap the fruits of their sin; concluding
with this amicable hint: "Do thou, a wise god, grant protection to
him who praises thee" (O. S. T., vol. v. pp. 66, 67). "The attributes
and functions ascribed to Varuna," observes Dr. Muir, "impart to his
character a moral elevation and sanctity far surpassing that attributed
to any other Vedic deity" (Ibid., vol. v. p. 66). And while even in the
earlier portion of the Rig-Veda—from which the above expressions have
been collected by Dr. Muir—such qualities are ascribed to Varuna, we
shall find a still higher conception of his character in a later work,
the Atharva-Veda. Here is the description of the Lord of Heaven from
the mouth of the Indian Psalmist:—

 1. "The great lord of these worlds sees as if he were near. If a man
 thinks he is walking by stealth, the gods know it all. 2. If a man
 stands or walks or hides, if he goes to lie down or to get up, what
 two people sitting together whisper, King Varuna knows it, he is there
 as the third. 3. This earth, too, belongs to Varuna, the king, and
 this wide sky with its ends far apart. The two seas (the sky and the
 ocean) are Varuna's loins; he is also contained in this small drop of
 water. 4. He who should flee far beyond the sky, even he would not be
 rid of Varuna, the king. His spies proceed from heaven towards this
 world; with thousand eyes they overlook this earth. 5. King Varuna
 sees all this that is between heaven and earth, and what is beyond. He
 has counted the twinklings of the eyes of men. As a player throws the
 dice he settles all things. 6. May all thy fatal nooses, which stand
 spread out seven by seven and threefold, catch the man who tells a
 lie; may they pass by him who tells the truth" (A. S. L.—Atharva-Veda,
 iv. 16).

A consciousness of the unity of Deity, under whatever form he may be
worshiped, adumbrated here and there in earlier hymns, becomes very
prominent in the later portions of the Veda. From the most ancient
times, possibly, occasional sages may have attained the conception so
familiar to the Hindu thinkers of a later age, that a single mysterious
essence of divinity pervaded the universe. And in the tenth book of the
Rig-Veda, which is generally admitted to belong to a more recent age
than the other nine books, as also in the Atharva-Veda, this essence
is celebrated under various names; as Purusha, as Brahma, as Prajapati
(Lord), or Skambha (Support). The hymns in which this consciousness
appears are extremely mystical, but a notice of the Veda, however
slight, would be very imperfect without a due recognition of their
presence. They form the speculative element partly in the midst of,
partly succeeding to, the simple, practical, naked presentation of
the commonplace daily wants and physical desires of the early Rishis.
Take the following texts from the first book of the Rig-Veda. They
give utterance to an incipient sentiment of divine unity. The first
celebrates a goddess Aditi: "Aditi is the sky, Aditi is the air, Aditi
is the mother and father and son. Aditi is all the gods and the five
classes of men. Aditi is whatever has been born. Aditi is whatever
shall be born" (O. S. T., vol. v. p. 354.—Rig-Veda, i. 89. 10). More
remarkable than this—for we may suspect here a sectarian desire to
glorify a favorite goddess—is this assertion: "They call him Indra,
Mitra, Varuna, Agni; and he is the celestial (well-winged) Garutmat.
Sages name variously that which is but one: they call it Agni, Yama,
Mâtarisvan" (O. S. T., vol. v. p. 353.—Rig-Veda, i. 164. 46). In the
tenth book of the Rig-Veda, the presence of the speculative element in
the theology of the Rishis,—their longing to find a universal Being
whom they could adore,—is much more marked. Thus do they express this
sentiment:—"Wise poets make the beautiful-winged, though he is one,
manifold by words" (Chips, vol. i. p. 29.—Rig-Veda, x. 114. 5). Or more
elaborately thus:—

 1. "In the beginning there arose the golden Child—He was the one born
 lord of all that is. He established the earth and this sky;—Who is
 the God to whom we shall offer our sacrifice? 2. He who gives life,
 He who gives strength; whose command all the bright gods revere;
 whose shadow is immortality, whose shadow is death;—Who is the God
 to whom we shall offer our sacrifice? 3. He who through his power is
 the one King of the breathing and awakening world; He who governs all
 man and beast; Who is the God to whom we shall offer our sacrifice?
 4. He whose greatness these snowy mountains, whose greatness the
 sea proclaims, with the distant river—He whose these regions are,
 as it were his two arms;—Who is the God to whom we shall offer our
 sacrifice? 5. He through whom the sky is bright and the earth firm—He
 through whom the heaven was established,—nay, the highest heaven;—He
 who measured out the light in the air;—Who is the God to whom we shall
 offer our sacrifice? 6. He to whom heaven and earth, standing firm
 by His will, took up, trembling inwardly—He over whom the rising sun
 shines forth;—Who is the God to whom we shall offer our sacrifice?
 7. Wherever the mighty water-clouds went, where they placed the seed
 and lit the fire, thence arose He who is the sole life of the bright
 gods;—Who is the God to whom we shall offer our sacrifice? 8. He who
 by his might looked even over the water-clouds, the clouds which
 gave strength and lit the sacrifice; He who alone is God above all
 gods;—Who is the God to whom we shall offer our sacrifice? 9. May He
 not destroy us—He the creator of the earth; or He, the righteous, who
 created the heaven; He also created the bright and mighty waters;—Who
 is the God to whom we shall offer our sacrifice?" (Chips, vol. i. p.
 29, or A. S. L., p. 569.—Rig-Veda, x. 121).

The same book contains a very important hymn, entitled the Purusha
Sûkta. In it we find ourselves transported from the transparent
elemental worship of the ancient Aryas into the misty region of
Brahmanical subtleties. Purusha appears to be conceived as the
universal essence of the world, all existences being but one-quarter
of him. The theory of sacrifice occupies, as in the later Indian
literature generally, a prominent position. Purusha's sacrifice
involved the momentous consequences of the creation of the several
Vedas and of living creatures. The four castes sprang from different
parts of his person, the parts corresponding to their relative
dignity. The purpose of this portion is obvious, namely, to give
greater sanctity to the system of caste, a system to which the earlier
hymn makes no allusion, and which we may suppose to have grown up
subsequently to the era of their composition. Tedious as it is, the
Purusha Sûkta is too weighty to be quite passed over.

 1. "Purusha has a thousand heads, a thousand eyes, a thousand feet.
 On every side enveloping the earth, he overpassed (it) by a space of
 ten fingers. 2. Purusha himself is this whole (universe), whatever
 has been and whatever shall be. He is also the lord of immortality,
 since (or when) by food he expands. 3. Such is his greatness, and
 Purusha is superior to this. All existences are a quarter of him; and
 three-fourths of him are that which is immortal in the sky. 4. With
 three-quarters Purusha mounted upwards. A quarter of him was again
 produced here. He was then diffused everywhere over things which eat
 and things which do not eat. 5. From him was born Virāj, and from
 Virāj, Purusha. When born, he extended beyond the earth, both behind
 and before. 6. When the gods performed a sacrifice with Purusha as
 the oblation, the spring was its butter, the summer its fuel, and the
 autumn its (accompanying) offering. 7. This victim, Purusha, born in
 the beginning, they immolated on the sacrificial grass. With him the
 gods, the Sādhyas, and the Rishis sacrificed. 9. From that universal
 sacrifice sprang the rich and sāman verses, the metres and the yajush.
 10. From it sprang horses, and all animals with two rows of teeth;
 kine sprang from it; from it goats and sheep. 11. When (the gods)
 divided Purusha, into how many parts did they cut him up? what was his
 mouth? what arms (had he)? what (two objects) are said (to have been)
 his thighs and feet? 12. The Brahman was his mouth; the Râjanya was
 made his arms; the being (called) the Vaisya, he was his thighs; the
 Sûdra sprang from his feet. 13. The moon sprang from his soul (manas),
 the sun from his eye, Indra and Agni from his mouth, and Vāyu from his
 breath. 14. From his navel arose the air, from his head the sky, from
 his feet the earth, from his ear the (four) quarters; in this manner
 (the gods) formed the worlds. 15. When the gods, performing sacrifice,
 bound Purusha as a victim, there were seven sticks (stuck up) for it
 (around the fire), and thrice seven pieces of fuel were made. 16. With
 sacrifice the gods performed the sacrifice. These were the earliest
 rites. These great powers have sought the sky, where are the former
 Sādhyas, gods" (O. S. T., vol. i. p. 9.—Rig-Veda, x. 90).

The wide interval which separates theological theories of this kind
from the primitive hymns to the old polytheistic gods, is also marked
by a tendency to personify abstract intellectual conceptions, and to
confer exalted attributes upon them. Skambha, or Support, mentioned
above; Kâla, Time, celebrated in the Atharva-Veda; Speech, endowed
with personal powers in the tenth book of the Rig-Veda; Wisdom, to
whom prayer is offered in the Atharva-Veda, are instances of this
generalizing tendency. As a specimen, the hymn to Wisdom may be taken,
and readers may console themselves with the reflection that it is our
last quotation from the Mantra part of the Veda:—

 1. "Come to us, wisdom, the first, with cows and horses; (come)
 thou with the rays of the sun; thou art to us an object of worship.
 2. To (obtain) the succor of the gods, I invoke wisdom the first,
 full of prayer, inspired by prayer, praised by rishis, imbibed by
 Brahmachārins. 3. We introduce within me that wisdom which Ribhus
 know, that wisdom which divine beings (asurāh) know, that excellent
 wisdom which rishis know. 4. Make me, O Agni, wise to-day with that
 wisdom which the wise rishis—the makers of things existing—know. 5.
 We introduce wisdom in the evening, wisdom in the morning, wisdom at
 noon, wisdom with the rays of the sun, and with speech" (O. S. T.,
 vol. i. p. 255 note.—Atharva-Veda, vi. 108).

Interesting as the Mantra of the Vedas is from the fact of its being
the oldest Bible of the Aryan race, it is impossible for modern
readers to feel much enthusiasm for its contents. The patient labor of
these scholars who have engaged in translations of some parts of it
for the benefit of European readers is highly commendable, but it is
probable that few who have read any considerable number of these hymns
will be desirous of a further acquaintance with them, unless for the
purpose of some special researches. Indeed, it may be said that the
devoted industry of Benfey, Muir, Max Müller, and others, has placed
more than a sufficient number of them within reach of the general
public to enable us all to judge of their literary value and their
religious teaching. With regard to the former, it would be difficult to
concede to them anything but a very modest place. In beauty of style,
expression, or ideas, they appear to me to be almost totally deficient.
Assuming, as we are entitled to do, that all the best specimens have
been already culled by scholars eager to find something attractive in
the Veda, it must be confessed that the general run of the hymns is
singularly monotonous, and their language by no means conspicuous for
poetical coloring. No doubt, poetry always loses in translation; but
Isaiah and Homer are still beautiful in a German or English dress; the
Sûktas of the Rig-Veda are not. A few exceptions no doubt occur, as in
the stanzas to Ushas, or Dawn, quoted above, but the ordinary level is
not a high one.

Although, however, the literary merit of the Veda cannot be ranked
high, its value to the religious history of humanity at large, and of
our race in particular, can hardly be overrated. To the comparative
mythologist, above all, it possesses illimitable interest, from the
new light it sheds upon the origin and significance of many of those
world-wide tales which, in their metamorphosed Hellenic shape, could
not be effectually brought under the process of dissection by which
their primitive elements have now been laid bare. Mythology is beyond
the province of this work, and therefore I purposely refrain from
entering upon any explanation of the physical meaning of the old Aryan
gods, or of the stories in which they figure.[57] All that I have to do
with here is the grade attained in the development of religious feeling
among those who worshiped them. And this, it is plain, was at first a
very elementary one. The more striking phenomena of nature—the sun, the
moon, the sky, the storms, the dawn, the fire—at first attracted their
attention, and absorbed their adoration. To these personal beings, as
they seemed to the awe-struck Rishis, petitions of the rudest type were
confidently addressed. Very little allusion, if any, was made to the
necessities of the moral nature; the craving for spiritual knowledge
was scarcely felt; but great stress was laid on temporal prosperity.
Boons of the most material kind were looked for at the hands of the
gods. Plenty of offspring, plenty of physical strength, plenty of
property, especially in cattle, and victory over enemies; such are the
requests most commonly poured into the ears of Indra, or Agni, or the
Maruts. These gods are regarded as the sympathizing friends of men, and
if they should fail to do what may reasonably be expected of a god, are
almost upbraided for their negligence. The conception of their power
is a high one, though that of their moral nature is still rudimentary.
Their greatness and their glory, their victories, their splendor,
are described in vigorous and high-sounding phrases. The changes are
rung upon their peculiar attributes or their famous exploits. Each
god in his turn is a great god; but all are separate individuals;
there appears in the crude Aryan mind to be as yet no dawning of the
perplexing questions on the unity of the Divine which troubled its
later development. For as it progresses, the Hindu religion gradually
changes. External calm, succeeding the wars of the first settlers,
promotes internal activity. The great problem of the Universe is
no longer solved, five or six centuries after the older Rishis had
passed away, in the simple fashion which satisfied their curiosity.
Multiplicity is now resolved into unity; mystical abstractions take
the place of the elementary powers of nature. Speech is a goddess; the
Vedas themselves—as in the Purusha hymn—acquire a quasi-divinity; the
Brahmachârin, or student of theology, is endowed with supernatural
attributes, due to the sacred character of his pursuits. Sacrifice,
fixed and regulated down to the smallest minutiæ, has a peculiar
efficacy, and becomes something of far deeper meaning than a merely
acceptable present to the gods. Every posture, every word, every
tone acquires importance. There are charms, there are curses, there
are incantations for good and evil purposes, for the acquisition of
wealth or the destruction of an enemy. It is by its collection of such
magical formulæ that the Atharva-Veda is distinguished from its three
predecessors. It forms the last stone laid upon the edifice of the
genuine Veda, an edifice built up by the labor of many centuries, and
including the whole of that original revelation to which the centuries
that succeeded it bowed down in reverence and in faith.


                    SUBDIVISION 2.—_The Brâhmanas._

Attached to this edifice as an outgrowth rather than an integral part,
the treatises known as Brâhmanas took their place as appendages of
the Sanhitâ. Although they are reckoned by the Hindus as belonging
to the Sruti, although their nominal rank is thus not inferior to
that of the true Veda, yet it must have taken them many generations
to acquire a position of honor to which nothing but tradition could
possibly entitle them. For any gleams of poetical inspiration, of
imaginative religious feeling, of naturalness or simple earnestness
that had shone athwart the minds of devout authors in preceding ages,
had apparently passed away when the Brâhmanas were composed. They are
the elaborate disquisitions of scholars, not the outpourings of men of
feeling. Religion was cut and dried when they were written; every part
of it has become a matter of definition, of theory, of classification.
If in the Vedic hymns we are placed before a stage where religious
faith is a living body, whose movements, perhaps uncouth, are still
energetic and genuine, the Brâmhanas, on the other hand, take us into
the dissecting-room, where the constituent elements of its corpse are
exposed to our observation. Not indeed that a true or deep faith had
ceased in the Brâhmana period; such an assertion would no doubt be
extravagant; but the Brâhmanas themselves are the products of minds
more given to analysis than to sentiment, and of an age in which the
predominant tendency, at least among cultivated Brahmans, was not so
much to feel religion as to think about it. It is so everywhere. The
Hebrew Bible, once fixed and completed, gives rise to the Mishnah.
The Apostles and Fathers of the Christian Church are followed by
a race of schoolmen. The simple Sûtras of Buddhism, replete with
plain, world-wide lessons of moral truth, give place to the abstruse
developments of incomprehensible theology. Thus the Brâhmanas mark the
epoch when the Veda had finally ceased to grow, and its every word
and letter had become the object of an unquestioning adoration as the
immediate emanation of God.

But among a people so subtle and so inquisitive in all matters of
religious belief as the Hindus, opinion could not rest unmoved upon
the original foundation. Their minds did not, like those of the Jews,
stop short for ever in their intellectual progression, chained to the
unshakeable rock of a god-given Revelation. Ever active, ever attracted
to the enigmas of life, the Brahmans pushed their speculations into
new regions of thought, pondered upon new problems, and invented new
solutions. Not that we are to expect to find in the literature of
this period any valuable discoveries or any very striking philosophy.
The true philosophical systems came later. But still we do find a
restless spirit of inquiry, ever prompting fresh efforts to conceive
the significance of the gods or to penetrate the mysteries of nature,
though the questions discussed are often trifling, and the results
arrived at frivolous.

Every Veda has, as already stated, its own Brâhmana or Brâhmanas.
Thus, two of these treatises appertain to the Rig-Veda; three to the
Sâma-Veda, one to the Black and one to the White Yajur-Veda, and one to
the Atharva-Veda (O. S. T., vol. i. p. 5). Appended to the Brâhmanas,
and forming, according to Dr. Muir, their "most recent portions," are
the Âranyakas and Upanishads, a kind of supplementary works devoted
to the elucidation of the highest points of theology. The Brâhmanas
present an example of Ritualism in all its glory. They fix the exact
nature of every part of every ceremony; describe minutely the mode
in which each sacrifice is to be offered; mention the Mantras to be
recited on each occasion; declare the benefits to be expected from the
several rites, and explain the reasons—drawn from the history of the
gods—why they are all to be performed in this particular way and order,
and in no other. They are in fact liturgies, accompanied by exposition.
Hence they are totally unfit for quotation in a general work, for
they would be incomprehensible without an accompanying essay on the
Vedic sacrifices, entering into details which would interest none but
professional students of the subject.

Thus, the Aitareya Brâhmana occupies itself entirely with the duties of
the Hotri priests; for the recitation of the Rig-Veda, to which this
Brâhmana belonged, was their province. Occasionally, however, the
Brâhmanas, Upanishads, and Âranyakas are enlivened by the introduction
of apologues, intended to illustrate the point of theological dogma
to which the author is addressing himself. Some of these apologues
are curious, though the style in which they are related is generally
so prolix as to preclude extraction. A notion of them may be gathered
from condensed statements. Thus, in the Brihad Âranyaka Upanishad a
story is told of a dispute among the vital organs as to which of them
was "best founded," _i. e._, most essential to life. To obtain the
decision of this controversy they repaired to Brahma, who said, "He
amongst you is best founded by whose departure the body is found to
suffer most." Hereupon Speech departed, and returning after a year's
absence, inquired how the others had lived without it. "They said, 'As
dumb people who do not speak by speech, breathing by the vital breath,
seeing by the eye, hearing by the ear, thinking by the mind, and
begetting children, so have we lived.'" The eye, the ear, the mind, the
organ of generation, each departed for a year, and, _mutatis mutandis_,
with similar results; blindness, deafness, idiocy, impotence, were all
compatible with life. Lastly, "the vital breath being about to depart,
as a great, noble horse from the Sindhu country raises its hoofs, so it
shook these vital organs from their places. They said, 'Do not depart,
O Venerable. We cannot live without thee.' 'If I am such, then offer
sacrifice to me.' (They answered)—'Be it so.'" All the other organs
hereupon admitted that their own existence depended on that of the
vital breath (B. A. U., ch. vi. p. 259).

Several narratives in various Brâhmanas point to the fact that
theological knowledge was not in these early days confined to the
single caste by which it was afterwards monopolized, for they speak
of well-read kings by whom Brahmans were instructed. In the Chândogya
Upanishad, for example, five members of the Brahmanical caste engaged
in a debate upon the question "Which is our soul, and which is Brahma?"
Unable to satisfy themselves, they repaired, accompanied by another
theologian who had been unable to answer them, to a monarch named
Asvapati, and declining his proffered gifts, requested him to impart to
them the knowledge he possessed of the Universal Soul. He accordingly
asked each of them in turn which soul he adored. The first replied
that he adored the heaven; the second, the sun; the third, the winds;
the fourth, the sky; the fifth, water; the sixth, the earth. To
each of them in turn the king admitted that it was indeed a partial
manifestation of the Universal Soul which he worshiped, and that its
adoration would confer some advantages. But, he finally added, "You
consume food, knowing the Universal Soul to be many; but he who adoreth
that Universal Soul which pervadeth the heaven and the earth, and is
the principal object indicated by (the pronoun) _I_, consumeth food
everywhere and in all regions, in every form and in every faculty." Of
that all-pervading Soul the several phenomena of the visible Universe
worshiped by the Brahmans in their ignorance are but parts (Chhand.
Up., ch. v. section 11-18, p. 92-97). Other Brâhmanas tell similar
stories of the occasional preëminence of the Kshattriya caste in the
rivalry of learning. Thus, the Satapatha Brâhmana, the Brihad Âranyaka
Upanishad, and the Kaushîtaki Brâhmana Upanishad, all refer to a
certain king Ajâtasatru, who proved himself superior in theological
disputation to a Brahman named Bālāki, "renowned as a man well-read in
the Veda." Let us take the version of the last-named Upanishad. Bālāki
proposed to "declare divine knowledge" to the king, who offered to give
him a thousand cows for his tuition. But after he had propounded his
views on the Deity, and had been put to shame by the king's answers,
the latter said, "Thou hast vainly proposed to me; let me teach
thee divine knowledge. He, son of Balaka, who is the maker of these
souls, whose work that is,—he is the object of knowledge." Convinced
of his ignorance, Bālāki proposed to become the king's pupil. "The
king replied, 'I regard it as an inversion of the proper rule that a
Kshattriya should initiate a Brahman. But come, I will instruct thee'"
(O. S. T., vol. i. p. 431).

Both these stories illustrate the striving towards conceptions of the
unity of the divine essence which is characteristic of this speculative
age. The next, from the Satapatha Brâhmana, has reference to another
important point,—the future of the soul. A young Brahman, called
Svetaketu, came to a monarch who inquired whether he had received a
suitable education from his father. The youth replied that he had.
Hereupon the king proceeded to put him through an examination, in
which he completely broke down. One of the questions was this:—"Dost
thou know the means of attaining the path which leads to the gods, or
that which leads to the Pitris (Ancestors (_patres_)); by what act
the one or the other is gained?" In other words did he know the way
to heaven? The student did not. Vexed at his failure, the young man
hastened to his father, reproached him with having declared that he
was instructed, and complained that the Râjanya had asked him five
questions, of which he knew not even one. Gautama inquired what they
were, and on hearing them, assured his son that he had taught him all
he himself knew. "But come, let us proceed thither, and become his
pupils." Receiving his guest with due respect, the king offered Gautama
a boon. Gautama begged for an explanation of the five questions.
"That," said the king, "is one of the divine boons; ask one of those
that are human." But Gautama protested that he had wealth enough of all
kinds, and added, "Be not illiberal towards us in respect to that which
is immense, infinite, boundless." The king accordingly accepted them as
his pupils, saying, "Do not attach any blame to me, as your ancestors
(did not). This knowledge has never heretofore dwelt in any Brahman;
but I shall declare it to thee. For who should refuse thee when thou so
speakest?" (O. S. T., vol. i. p. 434.)

Unhistorical as they probably are in their details, these traditions
are curious both as illustrating the predominant inclination to
speculative inquiries, and the fact that in those inquiries the
priestly caste was sometimes outshone by their more secular rivals. The
following quotation bears upon another doctrine, the transcendent merit
of patience under trials, even of the severest kind. Manu, the typical
ancestor of mankind, is represented as resigning his most precious
possessions to enable impious priests to perform a sacrifice:—

 "Manu had a bull. Into it an Asura-slaying, enemy-slaying voice had
 entered. In consequence of this (bull's) snorting and bellowing,
 Asuras and Râkshasas (these are species of demons) were continually
 destroyed. Then the Asuras said, 'This bull, alas! does us mischief;
 how shall we overcome him?' Now there were two priests of the Asuras
 called Kilâta and Akuli. They said, 'Manu is a devout believer: let
 us make trial of him.' They went and said to him, 'Let us sacrifice
 for thee.' 'With what victim?' he asked. 'With this bull,' they
 replied. 'Be it so,' he answered. When it had been slaughtered,
 the voice departed out of it, and entered into Manu's wife Mânavî.
 Wherever they hear her speaking, the Asuras and Râkshasas continue to
 be destroyed in consequence of her voice. The Asuras said, 'She does
 us yet more mischief; for the human voice speaks more.' Kilâta and
 Akuli said, 'Manu is a devout believer: let us make trial of him.'
 They came and said to him, 'Manu, let us sacrifice for thee.' 'With
 what victim?' he asked. 'With this (thy) wife,' they replied. 'Be it
 so,' he answered" (O. S. T., vol. i. p. 188).

Sometimes, though not often, the Brâhmanas contain references to
moral conduct. A very theological definition of Duty is given in the
Chândogya Upanishad, where it is stated, "Threefold is the division of
Duty. Sacrifice, study, and charity constitute the first; penance is
the second; and residence by a Brahmachârin (a student of theology)
exclusively in the house of a tutor is the third. All those [who attend
to these duties] attain virtuous regions; the believer in Brahma alone
attains to immortality" (A. B., vii. 2. 10). In another Brâhmana it is
asserted that "the marriage of Faith and Truth is a most happy one. For
by Faith and Truth joined they conquer the celestial world" (Chhand.
Up., ch. ii. sec. 23). And the the story of Sunahsepa, which contains
an emphatic repudiation of human sacrifice, has a moral bearing. As a
rule, however, the Brâhmanas do not concern themselves with ethical
questions. The rules of sacrifice, and the doctrines of a complicated
theology, are their main business; and the topics they are thus led to
debate in elaborate detail must frequently impress the European reader
as not only uninteresting, but unmeaning.


                    SECTION IV.—THE TRIPITAKA.[58]

When the master-mind who, by oral and personal instruction, has led
his disciples to the knowledge of new and invaluable truths passes
away—when the lips that taught them are closed forever, and the
intellect that solved the problems of human life is at rest, when the
soul that met the spiritual cravings of their souls is no more near
them—a necessity at once arises for the collection of the sayings,
the apologues, or the parables which can now be heard no more, and
which only live in the memories of those who heard them. The precious
possession must not be lost. The light must not be suffered to die
out. Either the words of the Departed One must be transmitted orally
from disciple to disciple, from generation to generation (as happens
in countries where writing is uncommon or unknown), or they must be
rendered imperishable by being once for all recorded in books.

Such was the course of events upon the death of Gautama Buddha.
Tradition tells us that immediately after that great Teacher had
entered into Nirvâna, his disciples assembled in council to collect
his λόγια, and to fix the Canons of the Faith. This Canon consisted
of three portions, and is therefore called the _Tripitaka_, or Three
Baskets. Of these baskets, his disciple Upali was appointed to
recall to memory, and edit, the one termed _Vinaya_, or the Buddha's
instructions on discipline; Ananda (the intimate friend of Gautama),
the Sûtras, or practical teachings; and Kâsyapa, the Abhidharma, or
metaphysical lectures. Into these three classes the Buddhist Canon
remains still divided. But the text, as thus established, did not
escape the necessity of further revision. One hundred and ten years
after Sakyamuni's decease, certain monks brought considerable scandal
on the Church by disregarding his precepts. To meet the difficulty,
a council was held under the Buddhist king Asoka, the orthodox faith
was determined, and a new edition of the Canonical Works compiled by
seven hundred "accomplished priests." Divisions and heresies, however,
could not be prevented. In Kanishka's reign, four hundred years after
Buddha, the Church was split up into eighteen sects, and a third
council had to issue a third Revision of the Sacred Texts.[59]

All this is not to be taken as literally true. Especially is it
impossible to accept the story that a Text of the Buddha's precepts
and lectures was formed immediately after his death. It is probable
that not even the earliest parts of the Tripitaka were committed to
writing till long after that event, and it is quite certain that its
later elements could not have been added till some centuries after it.
Nevertheless, there may be, and indeed it is almost beyond doubt that
there are, some works in this Canon which were already current as the
Word of Buddha in the time of Asoka, who reigned in the third century
before Christ. In an inscription quoted by Burnouf, and indisputably
emanating from that monarch, it is stated that the law embraces the
following topics:—"The limits marked by the Vinaya, the supernatural
faculties of the Ariyas, the dangers of the future, the stanzas of
the hermit, the Sûtra of the hermit, the speculation of Upatisa
(Sariputtra) only, the instruction of Laghula (Rahula), rejecting false
doctrines. This," adds the proclamation, "is what has been said by the
blessed Buddha" (Lotus, p. 725). In this enumeration we recognize, as
Burnouf has observed, the classes Vinaya and Sûtra, which still form
two out of the three baskets, and we find also that certain texts
were accepted by the Church as containing the genuine teaching of the
Buddha. We must suppose, therefore, that at the epoch of the Council
held under Asoka in B. C. 246, there were already many unquestioned
works in circulation. Nor is there any reason to doubt that some of
these have descended to our times. Burnouf divides the Sûtras (in the
more general sense of instructions or sermons) into two kinds: simple,
and developed Sûtras, of which the simple ones bear marks of antiquity
and of fairly representing primitive Buddhism, while the developed
Sûtras contain the fanciful speculations of a later age.

Two most fortunate discoveries, the one made by Mr. Hodgson in Nepaul,
the other by Csoma Kőrösi in Thibet, have placed the vast collection
forming the Canon of Buddhism within the reach of European scholars.
Brian Houghton Hodgson was the British Resident in Nepaul in the early
part of the present century, and he there succeeded in obtaining a
large number of volumes in Sanskrit which he presented to the Asiatic
Societies of London and Paris. To the latter he presented first
twenty-four works, and subsequently sixty-four MSS., being copies of
works he had sent to the Asiatic Society in London. These books happily
fell into the hands of one of the greatest of Sanskrit scholars,
Eugène Burnouf, who, in his "History of Indian Buddhism," translated a
sufficient number of them to serve as specimens. About the same time
a zealous Hungarian, Csoma Kőrös, undertook an adventurous journey
into the heart of Asia, with a view of discovering the original stock
of the Hungarian race. Failing in this object, he achieved another of
greater value, that of unearthing the whole of the sacred books known
in Thibet under the name of the _Kah-gyur_, or _Kan-gyur_ (properly
b_kah_-h_gyur_), which is the Thibetan translation, in one hundred
volumes, of the very works of which Hodgson in Nepaul had discovered
the Sanskrit originals. Such is the nature of our guarantees for the
authenticity of the text.


                  SUBDIVISION 1.—_The Vinaya-Pitaka._

Let us proceed to consider in detail the division which stands first in
the Buddhist classification, the Vinaya-Pitaka, or basketful of works
on Discipline. These, according to Burnouf, are of very different ages,
some being, from the details they furnish with reference to Sakyamuni,
his institutions and his surroundings, of very ancient date, and
others, which relate events that did not occur till two hundred years
or more after his death, belonging to a more recent period. One of the
most instructive of the legends which form the staple of the works
on Discipline, is that of Pûrna. Only a brief extract of it can be
attempted here.

Bhagavat (that is, the Lord, or Buddha) was at Srâvasti, in the garden
of Anâtha-pindika. (Anâtha-pindika was a householder who had embraced
the religion of the Buddha, and in whose garden he was accustomed
to preach.) There resided at this time in the town of Surparaka a
very wealthy householder, named Bhava. This Bhava had three sons
by his legitimate wife, who were christened respectively Bhavila,
Bhavatrata, and Bhavanandin. After some years he fell into an illness
which led to his using language of extraordinary violence. His wife
with her three sons deserted him in consequence, but a young female
slave, reflecting that he had immense wealth, and that it would not
be suitable for her to desert him, remained in the house and nursed
him throughout his malady. Seeing that he owed her his life, Bhava
on his recovery told her that he would give her a reward. The young
woman begged that if satisfied she might be admitted to her master's
bed. Bhava endeavored to get off, promising a handsome sum of money
and her liberty instead, but the girl was determined, and obtained her
wish. The result was that "after eight or nine months" she gave birth
to a beautiful boy, to whom the name of Pûrna (the Accomplished) was
given. The infant Pûrna was confided to eight nurses, and subsequently
received a first-rate education. In due time, the three elder sons were
married by their father's desire, but the father, seeing them absorbed
in mere uxoriousness, reproved their indolence, telling them that he
had not been married until he had amassed a lac (100,000) of Suvarna
(representing about twenty-eight shillings). Struck by this reproof,
the three sons went to sea on a mercantile expedition, and returned
after having each made a lac of Suvarnas. But Pûrna, who had remained
at home to manage the shop, was found to have gained an equal sum in
the same time. Bhava, perceiving Pûrna's talents, impressed on his sons
the importance of union, and the duty of disregarding what was said by
their wives, women being the destroyers of family peace. He illustrated
his remarks by a striking expedient. Having desired his sons to bring
some wood, and to kindle it, he then ordered them all to withdraw the
brands. This being done, the fire went out, and the moral was at once
understood by the four young men. United the fuel burns; and thus the
union of brothers makes their strength. Bhavila in particular was
warned by his father never to abandon Pûrna. In course of time Bhava
died, and the three legitimate sons undertook another voyage. During
their absence, the wives of the two younger sons fancied themselves
ill-treated by Pûrna, who, in the midst of his business in the shop,
did not supply their maids fast enough with all they sent for. On the
return of their husbands these two complained to them that were treated
as happens to those in whose family the son of a slave exercises the
command. The two brothers merely reflected that women sowed divisions
in families. Unhappily, however, some trifling incidents, in which
Bhavila's child appeared to have been treated by Pûrna with undue
partiality, gave the sister-in-law a more plausible pretext for their
complaints. Such was the effect of their jealousy, that the younger
brothers determined to demand a division of the property, in which
Pûrna (as a slave) was to form one of the lots. Bhavila, as eldest
brother, had first choice, and remembering his father's advice,
chose Pûrna. One of the other brothers took the house and land, and
ejected Bhavila's wife; the other took the shop and the property
in foreign parts, and ejected Pûrna. Bhavila, his wife, and Pûrna,
retired penniless to the house of a relative. The wife in distress
sent out Pûrna with nothing but a brass coin, which had been attached
to her dress, to buy provisions. Pûrna met a man who had picked up
some stranded sandal-wood on the sea-shore, and buying it of him (on
credit) for five hundred Kârshâpanas, sold a portion of it again for
one thousand. With this sum he first paid the man who had sold the
wood, and then obtained provisions for the household. He had still in
his possession some pieces of the sandal-wood, which was of a very
valuable species called Gosirsha. Shortly after this, the king fell
ill, and his doctors having prescribed an unguent of this very wood,
it was found that no one but Pûrna had any in his possession. Pûrna
sold a piece of it to the Government at one thousand Kârshâpanas, and
the king recovered. Hereupon he reflected that he was but a poor sort
of king who had no Gosirsha sandal-wood in his establishment, and sent
for Pûrna. Pûrna, guessing his object, approached him with one piece in
his hand, and three in his robe. The king, after ascertaining that the
price of the one piece would be a lac of Suvarnas, inquired if there
was more. Pûrna then showed him the three other pieces, and the king
would have given him four lacs of Suvarnas. The wily merchant, however,
offered to present him with one piece, and when the grateful monarch
offered him a boon, requested that he might henceforth be protected
against all insults, which was at once accorded.

About this time five hundred merchants arrived at Surparaka with a
cargo of goods. The Merchants' Company passed a resolution that none
of them should act independently of the rest in buying any of these
goods; in short, that there should be no competition. Any one dealing
with the merchants alone was to pay a fine. Pûrna, however, at once
went to the vessel and bought the whole cargo at the price demanded,
eighteen lacs of Suvarnas, paying the three lacs he had received as
security. The Merchants' Company, finding themselves anticipated,
seized Pûrna and exposed him to the sun to force him to pay the fine.
No sooner was the king informed of this than he sent for the Merchants'
Company to learn the cause of their proceedings. They told him; but
being obliged to confess that they had never informed Pûrna or his
brother of the resolution passed, they had to release him with shame.
Fortune still favored him. Soon after this, the king happened to
require the very articles which Pûrna had purchased, and desired the
Merchants' Company to purchase them. Pûrna hereupon sold them at double
the price he had paid. His next step was to undertake a sea-voyage
for commercial purposes, and the first having been successful, it was
followed by five others, all equally so. His seventh was undertaken at
the instance of some Buddhist merchants from Srâvasti, where Gautama
was teaching. During the voyage he was profoundly impressed with
their religious demeanor. "These merchants, at night and at dawn,
read aloud the hymns, the prayers which lead to the other shore, the
texts which disclose the truth, the verses of the Sthaviras, those
relating to the several sciences, and those of the hermits, as well
as the Sûtras containing sections about temporal interests. Pûrna,
who heard them, said to them, 'Gentlemen, what is that fine poetry
which you sing?' 'It is not poetry, O prince of merchants; it is the
very words of the Buddha.' Pûrna, who had never till now heard this
name of Buddha mentioned, and who felt his hair stand up all over his
body, inquired with deep respect, 'Gentlemen, who is he whom you call
Buddha?' The merchants replied, 'The Sramana Gautama, descended from
the Sakya family, who having shaven his hair and beard, having put
on garments of yellow hue, left his house with perfect faith to enter
upon a religious life, and who has reached the supreme condition of an
all-perfect Buddha; it is he, O prince of merchants, who is called the
Buddha.' 'In what place, gentlemen, does he now reside?' 'At Srâvasti,
O prince of merchants, in the wood of Jetavana, in the garden of
Anâtha-pindika.'" The result of this conversation was that Pûrna, on
his return, announced to his brother his intention of becoming a monk,
and advised him never to go to sea, and never to live with his two
brothers. After this he went straight to Anâtha-pindika, and was by
him presented to the Buddha, who received him with the remark that the
most agreeable present he could have was a man to convert. Pûrna then
received the investiture and tonsure by miracle, and was instructed in
the law (in an abridged version) by his master. A beautiful, and very
characteristic conversation follows the reception of the new doctrine.
The Buddha inquired of Pûrna where he would now reside, and the latter
(who intended to lead an ascetic life) replied that he would reside "in
the land of the Sronaparantakas.[60] 'O Pûrna,' says Gautama, 'they are
violent, these men of Sronaparanta: they are passionate, cruel, angry,
furious, and insolent. When the men of Sronaparanta, O Pûrna, shall
address thee to thy face in wicked, coarse, and insulting language,
when they shall become enraged against thee and rail at thee, what
wilt thou think of that?' 'If the men of Sronaparanta, O Lord, address
me to my face in wicked, coarse, and insulting language, if they
become enraged against me and rail at me, this is what I shall think
of that: They are certainly good men, these Sronaparantakas, they are
gentle, mild men, they who address me to my face, in wicked, coarse and
insulting language, they who become enraged against me and rail at me,
but who neither strike me with the hand nor stone me.'" The rest must
be given in an abridged form. "But if they do strike thee with the hand
or stone thee?" "I shall think them good and gentle for not striking
me with swords or sticks." "And if they do that?" "I shall think them
good and gentle for not depriving me entirely of life." "And if they
do that?" (What follows is literal.) "If the men of Sronaparanta, O
Lord, deprive me entirely of life, this is what I shall think: There
are hearers of Bhagavat [the Lord] who by reason of this body full
of ordure, are tormented, covered with confusion, despised, struck
with swords, who take poison, who die of hanging, who are thrown down
precipices. They are certainty good people, these Sronaparantakas,
they are gentle people, they who deliver me with so little pain from
this body full of ordure." "Good, good, Pûrna; thou canst, with the
perfection of patience with which thou art endowed, yes, thou canst
live, thou canst take up thy abode in the land of the Sronaparantakas.
Go, Pûrna; delivered thyself, deliver; arrived thyself at the other
shore, cause others to arrive there; consoled thyself, console; having
come thyself to complete Nirvâna, cause others to arrive there."

Hereupon Pûrna took his way to Sronaparanta, where he converted a
huntsman who had intended to kill him, and obtained five hundred
novices composed of both sexes.

After a time, Bhavila, his brother, was requested by Bhavatrata and
Bhavanandin to enter into partnership with them; and his repugnance to
the proposal was overcome by the reproaches of his younger brothers,
who said that he would never have dared to go to sea as Pûrna had done.
Stung by this taunt, he engaged with them in a sea-voyage. The vessel
was attacked by a furious storm, raised by a demon in consequence of
the merchants having cut some sandal-wood which was under this demon's
protection. Bhavila stood dumbfounded; and when the passengers inquired
the reason, informed them that he was thinking of his brother's advice
never to go to sea. It turned out that the merchants on board knew of
Pûrna's great sanctity, and they addressed their prayers to him. He
came through the air, after the manner of Buddhist ascetics, appeared
sitting cross-legged over the vessel, and allayed the tempest. The
vessel, loaded with sandal-wood, was brought safety back to Surparaka.
The sandal-wood Pûrna took possession of in order to make a palace for
the Buddha, and desired his brothers to invite that personage and his
disciples to a repast. The invitation was miraculously conveyed to the
Buddha (who was a long way off, at Srâvasti), and he told his followers
to prepare to accept it. Pûrna returned suddenly to the Assembly
(around Buddha) and performed a miracle. The king of Surparaka, on his
side, made preparations on the grandest scale for the reception of the
Buddhist hierarchy, which came to his city by all kinds of supernatural
means. Pûrna, standing by him, explained the various prodigies as they
occurred. Omitting some marvelous conversions wrought by the Buddha
on his way, it may be mentioned that he descended into the middle of
the town of Surparaka from the air, and there taught the law, by which
hundreds of thousands of living beings attained the several degrees of
knowledge which lead, sooner or later, to salvation.

Passing over a passage in which two royal Nâgas (or serpent-kings)
make their appearance to receive the law, and another in which Gautama
proceeds to another universe to instruct the mother of his disciple
Maudgalyâyana, we arrive at the moral which always forms the conclusion
of these Buddhist tales. The monks surrounding the Buddha inquired
what actions Pûrna had performed in order, first, to be born in a
rich family; secondly, to be the son of a slave; and lastly, "when
he had entered on a religious life, to behold the condition of an
Arhat[61] face to face, after having annihilated all the corruptions
of evil?" Buddha replied, that in the very age in which we live, but
at a period of it when men lived twenty thousand years, there was
a venerable Tathâgata, or Buddha, named Kâsyapa, who resided near
Benares. Pûrna, who had adopted a religious life under him, "fulfilled
among the members of the Church[62] the duties of servant of the law."
The servant of a certain Arhat set himself to sweep the monastery, but
the wind blowing the dirt from side to side, he gave up the attempt,
intending to proceed when the wind should have abated. The servant of
the law coming in, and finding the monastery unswept, allowed himself
to be carried away by rage, and to utter these offensive words: "This
is the servant of some slave's son." When he had had time to recover
his calmness, the Arhat's servant presented himself, and asked if he
knew him. The servant of the law replied that he did, and that they
both had entered into a religious life under the Buddha Kâsyapa. The
other rejoined that while he had fulfilled all his duties, the servant
of the law had been guilty of a fault in giving way to his temper, and
exhorted him to diminish that fault by confession. The latter repented,
and was thereby saved from re-birth in hell; but he was doomed to be
re-born for five hundred generations in the womb of a slave. In this
last existence he was still the offspring of a slave; but because he
had formerly served the members of the Church, he was born in a rich
and prosperous family; and because he had formerly read and studied
Buddhist theology, he now became an Arhat under Gautama Buddha, after
annihilating evil (H. B. I., p. 235 ff.).

Such is a favorable specimen of a vast number of legends contained in
the Buddhist Canon. The following fragment is of a rather different
kind. It illustrates the extravagant adoration paid to the person of
Buddha some generations after his death. A king named Rudrayana had
sent to another, named Bimbisâra, an armor of marvelous properties and
priceless value. Bimbisâra, at a loss what present he could send back
which would be a fitting return for such a gift, determined to seek out
Buddha and consult him on the point:—

 "King Bimbisâra addressed him thus:—'In the town of Rôruka, Lord,
 there lives a king called Rudrayana; he is my friend; though I have
 never seen him, he has sent me a present of an armor composed of
 five pieces. What present shall I give him in return?' 'Have the
 representation of the Tathâgata traced on a bit of stuff,' answered
 Bhagavat, 'and send it him as a present.'

 "Bimbisâra sent for some painters, and said—'Paint on a bit of stuff
 the image of the Tathâgata.' The blessed Buddhas are not very easy to
 get at, which is the reason why the painters could find no opportunity
 of [painting] Bhagavat. So they said to Bimbisâra—'If the king would
 give a feast to Bhagavat in the interior of his palace, it would be
 possible for us to seize the occasion of [painting] the blessed one'
 King Bimbisâra having accordingly invited Bhagavat to his palace, gave
 him a feast. The blessed Buddhas are beings that people are never
 weary of looking at. Whichever limb of Bhagavat the painters looked
 at they could not leave off contemplating it. So they could not seize
 the moment to paint him. Bhagavat then said to the king—'The painters
 will have trouble, O great king; it is impossible for them to seize
 the moment to [paint the] Tathâgata, but bring the canvass.' The king
 having brought it, Bhagavat projected his shadow on it, and said to
 the painters—'Fill that outline with colors; and then write over it
 the formulas of refuge as well as the precepts of instruction; you
 will have to trace both in the direct order, and in the inverse order
 the production of the [successive] causes [of existence], which is
 composed of twelve terms; and on it will be written these two verses:

 "'Begin, go out [of the house]; apply yourself to the law of Buddha;
 annihilate the army of death, as an elephant upsets a hut of reeds.

 "'He who shall walk without distraction under the discipline of this
 law, escaping birth and the revolution of the world, will put an end
 to sorrow.[63]

 "'If any one asks what these verses are, you must answer: The first
 is the introduction; the second, the instruction; the third, the
 revolution of the world; and the fourth, the effort.'" (H. B. I., p.
 341).

Bimbisâra, acting under Bhagavat's dictation, then wrote to Rudrayana
that he was about to send him the most precious object in the three
worlds, and that he must adorn the way by which it would arrive for two
and a half yojanas. Rudrayana was rather irritated by this message, and
proposed immediate war, but was dissuaded by his ministers. The picture
therefore was received with all honor, and not uncovered till after it
had been duly adored. Certain foreign merchants who happened to be on
the spot, on seeing the portrait, cried out altogether: "Adoration to
Buddha." At this name the king felt his hair stand on end, and inquired
who Buddha was. His position, and the meaning of the inscription,
was explained to him by the merchants. The consequence, as may be
supposed, was his conversion to Buddhism. He reflected on the causes of
existence, and attained the degree of Srotâpatti (H. B. I., p. 344.)

Very little allusion is made in these legends to the immediate subject
of the Vinaya-pitaka, namely, Discipline. But a reference to Csoma's
Analysis of the Dulva (the Thibetan title for the Vinaya) will show
that it is in fact largely occupied in laying down rules for the
guidance of monks and nuns, these rules being frequently supposed to
have arisen out of particular events, while "moral tales" are freely
intermingled with the treatment of the main business. The hap-hazard
manner in which the regulations needful for the government of the
Church were framed—according to the theory of the Scriptures—may be
illustrated by a few specimens. Thus, two persons in debt had taken
orders, "Shakya (Sakyamuni) prohibits the admission into the religious
order of any one who is in debt" (As. Re., vol. xx. p. 53). This rule
entirely agrees with the general spirit of Gautama's proceedings, as
narrated in the Buddhist books, and we are warranted in supposing
that statements so harmonious rest on a historical foundation. Thus,
he is said to have refused to admit young people without the consent
of their parents, or servants of a king without their royal master's
sanction. Regulations like these may well have been made by Buddha
from a cautious anxiety to avoid all conflict with established
authorities. Further on in the same volume of the Dulva the reception
of hermaphrodites is likewise prohibited (As. Re., vol. xx. p. 55).
On another occasion, leave is given to learn swimming. "Indecencies"
are then "committed in the Ajirapati river. They are prohibited from
touching any woman;—they may not save even one that has fallen into
the river" (Ibid., vol. xx. p. 59). Elsewhere we are told of a pious
lady who provided the infant community with cloth to make bathing
clothes, since she had heard that both monks and nuns bathed without
any garments (Ibid., vol. xx. p. 70). A little further on, the dress
of the priesthood is prescribed. Some of the disciples wished to
wear one thing, and some another; others to go naked. "Shakya tells
them the impropriety and indecency of the latter, and prohibits it
absolutely: and rebuking them, adds that such a garb, or to go naked,
is the characteristic sign of a _Mu-stegs-chan_ (Sansk) _Tîrthika_"
(Ibid., vol. xx. p. 71). Here again we seem to have a historical
trait, for it was one of the distinctive features of Buddhism that its
votaries were never naked, like the Tîrthikas, or heretical ascetics,
but always wore the yellow robe. In other places there are rules on
lodging, on bedding, on the treatment of quarrelsome priests, the use
of fragrant substances, and many other trivial points of ecclesiastical
discipline. The volumes containing all these instructions are followed
by one in which the same stories are told, and the same morals deduced
from them, concerning the nuns. Then there are some injunctions
apparently peculiar to this sex, as, for instance, the restraint
imposed on their possession of a multiplicity of garments. Another
prohibition was called forth by the following conduct of a nun. A king
had sent a piece of fine linen cloth as a present to a brother king.
"It comes afterwards into the hands of _G_tsug-_D_gah-Mo (a lewd or
wicked priestess); she puts it on, appears in public, but from its
thin texture, seems to be naked. The priestesses are prohibited from
accepting or wearing such thin clothes" (As. Re., vol. xx. p. 85).

It will be observed from these few quotations that according to the
Canon the Buddha's usual mode of proceeding was to lay down rules as
occasion required. Some instructive anecdote is related, and the new
order follows as a natural consequence of the event. More probably the
rules were in fact made first, and the anecdotes subsequently composed
to account for them. However this may be, there exist in the Canon
some undoubtedly ancient ordinances not called forth by any special
circumstances, conformity to which was required of the monks, if not
by their founder himself, at least by the rulers of his Church in its
most primitive condition. Such, for example, are "the thirteen rules by
which sin is shaken," reported by Burnouf, which are also found, with
the exception of a single one, in a Chinese work entitled "the sacred
book of the twelve observances" (H. B. I., p. 304). These rules belong,
according to Burnouf, to an epoch when the organization of the monks
under a powerful hierarchy, and their residence in settled monasteries,
had scarcely begun. Some of them are even inconsistent with the
institution of such monasteries, or Viharis, which are nevertheless
very ancient. The fact that the above-named Chinese treatise, the
pentaglot Buddhist Vocabulary,[64] and a list current among the
Singhalese, all contain these articles of discipline (though with
slight variations) proves, moreover, that they appertain to that common
fund on which Northern and Southern Buddhists drew alike. The first
article (following the order in the Vocabulary) signifies "wearing rags
found in the dust," and refers to an injunction addressed to the monks
to wear vestments composed of rags picked up in heaps of ordure, in
cemeteries, and such places. The second, "he who has three garments,"
corresponds to an order found in the Chinese book forbidding monks to
have more than three garments. Of the third article which is corrupt,
Burnouf can give no satisfactory explanation; and the fourth means "he
who lives by alms," a practice at all times imposed on the monastic
orders. Fifthly, the ascetic is described as "he who has but one seat;"
sixthly, as "one who eats no sweetmeats after his meal," all eating
for the day having to be finished by noon. Seventhly, he "lives in the
forest," that is, in lonely places; and eighthly, he is "near a tree,"
the Chinese injunction requiring him to sit near a tree, and to seek no
shelter. The ninth order obliges them to sit on the ground, that is,
to live in the open air; the tenth, to dwell among tombs, which the
Singhalese interpret as an order to visit cemeteries and meditate on
the instability of human affairs; the eleventh, to sit, and not to lie
down. Of the meaning of the twelfth there is some doubt; it may signify
that the monk is to remain where he is, or that he is not to change the
position of his mat when once laid down. To these twelve the Singhalese
add a thirteenth article, that the monk is to live by begging from
house to house.

Not less remarkable are the ten commandments of Buddhism, which are
doubtless also of considerable antiquity. Burnouf states that he has
found them in the sequel of the Prâtimoksha Sûtra in the Pali-Burman
copy of that most important work (to which reference will shortly be
made). These are the ten commandments as given in that authority:—

 1. Not to kill any living creature.

 2. Not to steal.

 3. Not to break the vow of chastity.

 4. Not to lie.

 5. Not to drink intoxicating liquors.

 6. Not to take a meal except at the appointed time.

 7. Not to visit dances, performances of vocal or instrumental music,
 or dramatic representations.

 8. Not to wear garlands, or use perfumes and unguents.

 9. Not to sleep on a high or large bed.

 10. Not to accept gold or silver (Lotus, p. 444).

Of these commandments, some are evidently general, being founded on
the fundamental principles of ethics; others are addressed only to
those in orders. Such is the case with the last five, all of which bear
reference to certain disciplinary laws imposed upon the monks and nuns.
Their object is to prohibit luxury of various kinds, such as the use of
a large bed, and to restrain the love of sensual enjoyments, such as
plays, music, and dancing. Another list of offenses, after enumerating
the first five of those contained in the preceding list, adds five
more, namely:—

  1. Blasphemy of the Buddha.
  2. Blasphemy of the Law.
  3. Blasphemy of the Church.
  4. Heresy.
  5. Violation of a nun (Lotus, p. 445).

Such are the leading points of monastic discipline among the primitive
Buddhists. A more elaborate and formal treatise on the subject of
the sins to be avoided, and the penalties to be imposed on their
commission, is the Prâtimoksha Sûtra, or Sûtra on Emancipation. It is
the standard work on this subject, and should be recited before the
assembled Vihâra twice in each month, any guilty brother confessing
any transgression of its precepts of which he might be conscious. Its
antiquity is undoubted, for in a Sûtra known to have been brought to
China from India in A.D. 70 (and therefore already of established
repute) the Prâtimoksha is referred to as the "two hundred and fifty
rules" (C. B. S., p. 189). It does, in fact, contain two hundred and
fifty rules in its Chinese form, while the Thibetan version contains
two hundred and fifty-three, and the Pali version but two hundred and
twenty-seven (H. B. I., p. 303). While the Prâtimoksha Sûtra now to
be quoted is destined for monks, or Bhikshus, it is to be noted that
there exists likewise a "Bhikshunî Prâtimoksha Sûtra," or Treatise on
Emancipation for Nuns (As. Re., vol. xx. pp. 79, 84). The rules are,
_mutatis mutandis_, the same for both sexes.

It will be interesting to glance rapidly at the nature of the faults
and crimes the confession of which is here imposed on Bhikshus and
Bhikshunîs.[65]

The Sûtra opens with certain stanzas designed to celebrate the Buddhist
Trinity,—the Buddha, the Law, and the Church. Then follow some
"preparatory questions:"—

 "Are the priests assembled? (They are.) Are all things arranged?
 (seats, water, sweeping, &c.) (They are.) Let all depart who are
 not ordained. (If any, let them go; if none are present, let one
 say so.) Does any Bhikshu here present ask for absolution? (Let him
 answer accordingly.) Exhortation must be given to the priestesses
 (but if there are none present, let one say so). Are we agreed what
 our present business is? It is to repeat the precepts in this lawful
 assembly.

 "Venerable brethren, attend now! On this ... day of the month ... let
 the assembled priests listen attentively and patiently, whilst the
 precepts are distinctly recited."


 COMMENCEMENT.

 "Brethren! I desire to go through the Prâtimoksha. Bhikshus! assembled
 thus, let all consider and devoutly reflect on these precepts. If any
 have transgressed, let him repent! If none have transgressed, then
 stand silent! silent! Thus, brethren, it shall be known that ye are
 guiltless.

 "Now if a stranger ask one of us a question we are bound to reply
 truthfully: so, also, Bhikshus, we who reside in community, if we know
 that we have done wrong, and yet decline to acknowledge it, we are
 guilty of prevarication. But Buddha has declared that prevarication
 effectually prevents our religious advancement. That brother,
 therefore, who is conscious of transgression, and desires absolution,
 ought at once to declare his fault, and after proper penance he shall
 have rest and peace.

 "Brethren! having repeated this preface, I demand of you all—Is this
 assembly pure or not? (Repeat this three times.) Brethren! this
 assembly is pure; silent! silent! ye stand! So let it be! Brethren, I
 now proceed to recite the four parajika laws, ordered to be recited
 twice every month."

These four laws are then repeated, and the penalty of excommunication,
which attaches to a breach of any of them, is enunciated. The first of
the four prohibits impure conduct; the second, theft. The third runs as
follows:—

 "If a Bhikshu cause a man's death, or hold a weapon and give it a man
 (for the purpose), or if he speak of the advantages of death, or if he
 carelessly exhort one to meet death (saying), 'Tush, you are a brave
 man,' or use such wicked speech as this, 'It is far better to die
 and not to live,' using such considerations as these, bringing every
 sort of expedient into use, praising death, exhorting to death: this
 Bhikshu ought to be excluded and cut off."

The fourth rule is against pretending to a perfect knowledge of the
Truth which the Bhikshu does not in fact possess.

At the end of the recitation of these four rules it is declared that
a brother who has transgressed any one of them "has acquired the
guilt which demands exclusion, and ought not to live as a member of
the priesthood." The question as to the purity of the Assembly is
then again put, and the priest (after declaring it pure) proceeds to
thirteen rules, the breach of which is punished by suspension. The
first restrains a monk from pampering lustful thoughts, the second
from bringing any part of his body in contact with that of a woman,
the third from lewd talk with a woman, the fourth from obtaining a
woman to minister to him. For a violation of this last injunction the
highest penance, as well as suspension, is appointed. There follow
rules against building a residence of illegal size, or without due
consecration, or on an inconvenient site; against building a Vihâra
on an inconvenient site; against slander of a Bhikshu (two rules),
against causing disunion in a community, against forming a cabal for
mutual protection against just censure, against disorderly conduct
when living in a house, against a refusal to listen to expostulation
or reproof. Solitary confinement, and six days of penance, are the
penalties imposed on these offenses; after the infliction of the
sentence absolution is to be given. Next we have two rules "not
capable of exact definition," but relating to licentious talk with "a
faithful laywoman." Thirty rules relating to priests' robes and the
like matters are now recited. They seem to be aimed at covetousness in
receiving or asking gifts. After the usual inquiry as to the purity of
the brethren, ninety rules against offenses requiring "confession and
absolution" are to be read. Some of these seem to be repetitions of
previous ones belonging to a more serious category, as the first two,
on lying and slander, and the eighth, against pretended knowledge. Then
the Prâtimoksha proceeds to say that if a Bhikshu use hypocritical
language, if he occupy the same lodging as a woman, or the same as a
man not yet ordained above two nights, if he chant prayers with a man
not yet ordained, if he rail at a priest, if he use water containing
insects (so as to destroy life), if he give clothes to a Bhikshunî,
or nun, if he go with a Bhikshunî in any boat except a ferry-boat,
if he agree to walk with a Bhikshunî along the road, if he gambol in
the water while bathing, if he drink distilled or fermented liquor,
or commit any of the many other faults, partly against morality
in general, partly against conventual rule, he is guilty of a
transgression of this class. Four rules follow against receiving food
from a nun, against allowing a nun in a layman's house to point out
certain dishes, and have them given to certain monks; against going to
dinner uninvited; against the omission on the part of a monk residing
in a dangerous place to warn those who may bring him victuals of the
risk they run. A hundred rules, mostly trifling, are now entered on.
They are such as these: "Not to enter a layman's house in a bouncing
manner." "Not to munch or make a munching noise in eating rice," and
likewise, "not to make a lapping noise." "Not to clean the teeth under
a pagoda;" with many other minute regulations on a multitude of trivial
points. The seven concluding laws refer simply to the mode of deciding
cases.


                  SUBDIVISION 2.—_The Sûtra-Pitaka._

We have thus concluded our notice of the Prâtimoksha Sûtra, and may
pass on to the Sûtra-pitaka, the second of the three baskets into
which the Canon is divided. Sûtra is a term signifying a discourse,
or lecture, and the Sûtras of Buddhism are frequently moral stories,
supposed to emanate from Gautama Buddha himself, and embodying the
great features of his gospel, as the Sermon on the Mount and the
Parables do those of the gospel of Jesus. A very interesting collection
of such stories belonging to the Sûtra-pitaka is contained in a work
translated from the Thibetan by a Russian scholar, and forming, under
the title of the _H_dsangs-_b_lun, or the Wise Man and the Fool, a
portion of the twenty-eighth volume of the _M_do, or Sûtra-pitaka. From
Csoma's Analysis it appears that many other narratives of a similar
nature are embodied in this section of the Canon, though much of it
also consists of more direct dogmatic instruction. From "The Wise Man
and the Fool" I select a chapter which affords a good illustration of
the boundless charity which Buddhism inculcates.

The victoriously-perfect One was living at Srâvasti. When the time
came to receive alms, he set out with his disciple Ananda, alms-bowl
in hand, along the road. It so happened that he met two men who had
been condemned to death for repeated robberies, and were being led to
execution. Their mother, seeing the Buddha, thus addressed him:—"O
chief of gods, think of us with mercy, and vouchsafe to take under
thy protection these my sons who are going to execution." Buddha
accordingly interceded with the king, who gave them a free pardon.
Touched with gratitude, the two men asked leave to become monks, and
on Buddha's consenting to receive them, their hair at once fell off
from head and face, and their garments assumed the yellow hue of the
order.[66] Both mother and sons attained high spiritual grades. Ananda
marveled what good deeds these three could have performed to meet with
the victoriously-perfect One, to be saved from such great evils, and
to obtain the prospect of Nirvâna. Buddha thereupon informed him that
this was not the first occasion on which he had saved their lives, and
on Ananda's request for a further explanation, related the following
circumstances. Countless years ago, there lived in Jambudwîpa (India) a
certain king who had three sons. The youngest son was mild and merciful
from his childhood upwards. One day, when the king, with his ministers,
wives and sons, was at a picnic outside the town, the three sons went
into a wood, where they found a tigress, with young recently littered,
so nearly starved that she was almost on the point of devouring her
own brood. The youngest asked his brothers what food a tigress would
eat. "Newly-killed meat and warm blood." "Is there any one who would
support its life with his own body?" "No one," replied the elder
brothers; "that would be too difficult" (I give only the substance
of this colloquy). Then the youngest prince thought within himself:
"For a long time I have been driven about in the circle of births, and
have thrown away my body and my life innumerable times; often have I
sacrificed it for the passion of the desires, often for that of rage,
often too for folly and ignorance; what value then has this body,
which has not one single time trodden the field of meritorious actions
for the sake of religion!" Meantime, all three had walked on; but the
youngest, pleading some business of his own, desired them to go on,
leaving him to follow. Having returned to the cave of the tigress, he
laid himself down beside her, but found her too weak to open her mouth.
Hereupon the prince contrived to bleed himself with a sharp splinter
of wood, and the tigress, after licking the blood that flowed from
him, was sufficiently refreshed to consume him altogether. The two
elder brothers, wondering at his long absence, returned to the tiger's
hole, where, on finding his remains, they rolled upon the ground and
fainted, overcome with grief. The queen, who had had an alarming dream,
questioned them anxiously on their return as to their brother, and she
too on learning the sad event, which their choking voices for some
time prevented them from telling, fell senseless to the ground. Soon
after, both king and queen visited the den, but could find nothing but
bones. Meantime, the prince had been born again in the Tushita heaven.
Looking about to discover what good action of his had brought him to
this place, he saw the bones of his former body in the tigress's den,
and his parents sighing and groaning around them. He returned from his
heavenly abode to give them some consolation and some good advice. They
were at length somewhat comforted, and collecting his bones, buried
them in a costly sarcophagus.

Buddha then turns to Ananda and asks him whom he supposes the actors in
this tragedy to have been. He tells him, without waiting for an answer,
that the king was his present father, the queen his present mother, the
elder princes certain personages named Maitreya and Vasumitra, and the
youngest prince no other than himself. The young tigers were, it need
hardly be said, the condemned felons whom he had now again delivered
from death.

While this anecdote inculcates charity in its fullest extent, the one
which is now to be quoted illustrates another most conspicuous point in
the ethics of Buddhism,—the regard paid by it to personal purity and
the deadening influence it exercised on the senses. The translation of
this curious legend is due to Burnouf:—

 "There was at Mathurâ a courtesan called Vâsavadattâ. Her maid went
 one day to Upagupta to buy her some perfumes. Vâsavadattâ said to her
 on her return: 'It seems, my dear, that this perfumer pleases you,
 as you always buy from him.' The maid answered her: 'Daughter of my
 master, Upagupta, the son of the merchant, who is gifted with beauty,
 with talent, and with gentleness, passes his life in the observance of
 the law.' On hearing these words Vâsavadattâ conceived an affection
 for Upagupta, and at last she sent her maid to say to him: 'My
 intention is to go and find you; I wish to enjoy myself with you.' The
 maid delivered her message to Upagupta; but the young man told her to
 answer her mistress: 'My sister, it is not yet time for you to see
 me.' Now it was necessary in order to obtain the favors of Vâsavadattâ
 to give five hundred Purânas. Thus the courtezan imagined that [if
 he refused her, it was because] he could not give the five hundred
 Purânas. For this reason, she sent her maid to him again to say, 'I do
 not ask a single Kârchâpana from the son of my master; I only wish to
 enjoy myself with him.' The maid again delivered this new message, and
 Upagupta answered her in the same way: 'My sister, it is not time yet
 for you to see me.'

 "However, the son of a master-workman had come to settle with
 Vâsavadattâ, when a merchant, who was bringing from the north five
 hundred horses which he wished to sell, came to the town of Mathurâ,
 and asked who was the most beautiful courtezan. He was answered that
 Vâsavadattâ was. Immediately, taking 500 Purânas and a great number
 of presents, he went to the courtezan. Then Vâsavadattâ, urged by
 covetousness, assassinated the son of the master-workman, who was at
 her house, threw his body into the middle of the filth of the town,
 and gave herself up to the merchant. After some days, the young man
 was extricated from the filth by his parents, who denounced the
 murder. The king at once gave orders to the executioners to go and cut
 off Vâsavadattâ's hands, feet, ears, and nose, and to leave her in the
 cemetery. The executioners carried out the orders of the king, and
 left the courtezan in the place named.

 "Now Upagupta heard of the punishment that had been inflicted on
 Vâsavadattâ, and at once this idea came into his mind: 'Some time
 ago, this woman wished to see me for a sensual object, and I did not
 consent that she should see me. But now that her hands and feet, ears
 and nose, have been cut off, it is time she should see me,' and he
 pronounced these verses:

 "'When her body was covered with beautiful attire, when she shone with
 ornaments of different sorts, the best thing for those who aspired to
 deliverance and who wished to escape the law of renewed birth was not
 to go and see this woman.

 "'To-day, when she has lost her pride, her love and her joy, when she
 has been mutilated by the edge of the knife, when her body is reduced
 to its true nature, it is time to see her.'

 "Then sheltered by a parasol carried by a young man who accompanied
 him as a servant, he went to the cemetery with a measured step.
 Vâsavadattâ's maid had stayed with her mistress out of gratitude for
 her past kindness, and she prevented the crows from approaching her
 body. [Seeing Upagupta] she said to her: 'Daughter of my master, he
 to whom you sent me several times, Upagupta, is coming this way. No
 doubt he comes attracted by the desire for pleasure.' But Vâsavadattâ,
 hearing these words, answered:

 "'When he sees me deprived of beauty, racked with grief, lying on the
 ground all covered with blood, how can he feel love of pleasure?'

 "Then she said to her maid, 'Friend, pick up the limbs that have been
 severed from my body.' The maid picked them up at once, and hid them
 under a bit of linen. At this moment Upagupta arrived, and he stood
 up before Vâsavadattâ. The courtezan, seeing him standing up before
 her, said to him: 'Son of my master, when my body was whole, when it
 was made for enjoyment, I several times sent my maid to you, and you
 answered me: "My sister, it is not time for you to see me." To-day,
 when the knife has carried off my hands and feet, my ears and nose,
 when I am thrown in the dirt and in blood, why do you come?' And she
 uttered the following verses:

 "'When my body was soft like the lotus flower, when it was adorned
 with ornaments and rich clothes, when it had all which attracted the
 eye, I was so unhappy as not to see you.

 "'To-day why do you come to contemplate a body, the sight of which
 the eyes cannot bear, which games, pleasure, joy, and beauty have
 abandoned, which inspires horror, and is stained with blood and dirt?'

 "Upagupta answered her: 'I have not come to you, my sister, attracted
 by the love of pleasure; but I am come to see the real nature of the
 miserable objects of the enjoyments of man'" (H. B. I., p. 146 ff.).

Such is the character of the more ancient portions of the Sûtra-pitaka.
It consists largely of tales, most of which have much the same outward
form, the details only being varied; and all of which are intended to
impress some kind of moral upon their hearers. But the Sûtra collection
is composed of two different classes of works, the one class being
named by Burnouf simple Sûtras, the other developed Sûtras. The
developed Sûtras belong, according to the same authority, to a much
later period, and are marked off from the simple Sûtras by certain
well-defined characters. They are indeed of a kind which absolutely
precludes the notion that they can emanate in any way whatever from
Sakyamuni, or that they could have been composed during the modest
beginnings of his Church, when his followers were rather intent on
practical goodness than on pompous and high-flown descriptions of their
Master's magnificence. Not that all the Sûtras classed by Burnouf as
simple must needs belong to a very early age; but that the developed
Sûtras certainly could not have been written until some centuries after
Sakyamuni's death, when his disciples, instead of using their voices
in actual conversation, enjoyed the leisure and the means to employ
their pens in attempted fine writing. Burnouf has given the public a
single specimen of a Sûtra of this class, and they must be very devoted
students of Oriental literature who wish for another. Here is a sample
of its style:—

"Then the Bodhisattva Mahâsattva Akshayamati having risen from his
seat, after throwing his upper garment over his shoulder, and placing
his right knee on the ground, directing his joined hands, in token of
respect, to the quarter where Bhagavat was, addressed him in these
words: 'Why, O Bhagavat, does the Bodhisattva Mahâsattva Avalokitesvara
bear that name?' This having been said, Bhagavat spoke thus to the
Bodhisattva Akshayamati: 'O son of a family, all the hundreds of
thousands of myriads of creatures existing in the world who suffer
pains, have but to hear the name of the Bodhisattva Avalokitesvara to
be delivered from this mass of pains'" (Lotus, p. 261).

The extraordinary diffuseness of this kind of composition is scarcely
credible. Not only is every doctrine elaborated in the utmost number of
words possible, but its exposition in prose is regularly followed by a
second exposition in verse. Add to this peculiar feature of developed
Sûtras another, namely, that innumerable crowds of supernatural
auditors (especially Bodhisattvas, or future Buddhas) are present at
their delivery by the Buddha, and take part in the dialogue, or demand
explanations on knotty points, and some conception may be formed of
their wholly unreal and unnatural character. Thus, the Lotus concludes
with the statement that innumerable Tathâgatas (Buddhas) come from
other universes, seated on thrones near diamond trees, innumerable
Bodhisattvas, and the whole of the four assemblies of the universe,
with Devas (gods), men, Asuras, and Gandharvas, transported with joy,
praised what Bhagavat had said. Although the simple Sûtras mention the
presence of gods at the Buddha's teaching, yet they do not (so far as I
am aware) introduce these hosts of Bodhisattvas and Buddhas belonging
to other worlds than ours. Their horizon had not extended itself to
such vast limits, and they confined themselves to the universe in which
we live.


                SUBDIVISION 3.—_The Abhidharma-pitaka._

A third section of the Canon remains, the Abhidharma, or Metaphysics.
Buddhist metaphysics are so absolutely mystical that it would be a
waste of time to enlarge upon them in a work not specially consecrated
to Oriental subjects. The subtleties of the Indian mind would require
far more space to explain than would be consistent with the objects
in view here, even if the writer were competent to explain them. The
impression left on the mind by the perusal of the Abhidharma is that
we delude ourselves if we believe in the reality of anything whatever.
There is no material world; all we see, hear, feel or believe, is
illusion; our thoughts themselves are no-thoughts; this doctrine is
that of wisdom and truth, but there is no wisdom and no truth. The
Buddha arrives by his meditations at this sublime knowledge; but there
is no meditation and no knowledge. He conducts living creatures to
Nirvâna: but there are neither creatures to be conducted, nor a Buddha
to conduct them. All is nothingness, and nothingness is all. That this
nihilism is common to all the schools into which Buddhists are divided,
I do not mean to assert. There are in Nepaul certain schools which hold
a peculiar modification of theism, and they probably may not embrace
these strange and unintelligible systems. But the views—if views they
can be called—which have just been described, do mark the canonical
books of the Abhidharma with which I am acquainted; such as the
so-called Pradjnâ Pâramitâ, or Perfection of Wisdom. There is, however,
one metaphysical theory which is not a mere series of contradictions,
and which, from its close connection with the deepest roots of the
Buddhistic faith, deserves more than a mere cursory mention. It is the
dogma known as that of the twelve Nidânas, or successive causes of
existence.

It has already been explained that the original aim of Buddhism—the
salvation offered by Sakyamuni—was deliverance from this painful
existence. The four truths which formed the foundation of his system
have also been spoken of. It may be well to remind the reader that
they are these:—1. The existence of Pain; 2. The production of Pain;
3. The annihilation of Pain; 4. The way to the annihilation of Pain.
Now if existence was, as the Buddhists believed, the source of pain,
it was important to discover the source of existence. This the theory
of the Nidânas professes to do. It is therefore not only intimately
related to the four great truths, but forms an essential supplement
to them. A very ancient formula, discovered not only in books but on
images, declares that, "Of all things proceeding from cause, the cause
of their procession hath the Tathâgata explained. The great Sramana has
likewise declared the cause of the extinction of all things." Whether
this formula refers to the four truths, or to the Nidânas, it is
impossible to say. The Nidânas, however, might well be referred to in
these terms. They are described in a passage which Burnouf has quoted
from the Lalitavistara, in which the Bodhisattva (afterwards Buddha) is
stated to have risen through prolonged meditation from the knowledge of
each successive consequent to that of its antecedent. The Bodhisattva,
we are told, collected his thoughts and fixed his intelligence in the
last watch of night, just before the dawn appeared. "Then this thought
came into his mind: The existence of this world, which is born, grows
old, dies, falls, and is born again, is certainly an evil. But he could
not recognize the means of quitting this world, which is nothing but a
great accumulation of sorrows, which is composed but of decrepitude,
illness, death, and other miseries, which are altogether formed of them.

"This reflection brought the following thought into his mind: What is
the thing the existence of which leads to decrepitude and death, and
what cause have decrepitude and death? This reflection came into his
mind: Birth existing, decrepitude and death exist; for decrepitude and
death have birth as their cause."

A similar process of reasoning led him to see that the cause of birth
was existence; that of existence, conception; that of conception,
desire; that of desire, sensation; that of sensation, contact; that of
contact, the six seats of sensible qualities; that of the six seats,
name and form; that of name and form, knowledge; that of knowledge,
the concepts; that of the concepts, ignorance. "It is thus," exclaims
the Bodhisattva when this great light had burst upon him, "it is thus
that the production of this world, which is but a mass of sorrows,
takes place." And by an inverse process he went on to reflect that if
ignorance did not exist, neither would the concepts, and so on through
every link of the chain. Until at length, "from the annihilation of
birth results the annihilation of decrepitude, of death, of sufferings,
of lamentations, of sorrow, of regret, of despair. It is thus that
the annihilation of this world, which is but a mass of sorrows, takes
place" (H. B. I., p. 487).

This speculation is by no means easy to understand. Apparently it
means that ignorance, in the sense of a mistaken notion of the reality
of the material world, leads to a whole series of blunders, ending
inevitably in birth. From this fundamental error or belief in the
existence of sensible objects spring certain other false conceptions.
Knowledge, which next ensues, may mean not merely cognition but
consciousness, knowledge of our existence; and in this sense, or in
something like it, it must be taken in order to explain the apparent
paradox of a deduction of the pedigree of knowledge directly from
ignorance. Hence name and form, a still further distinction of the
individual—a specialization of the vague knowledge of himself which
the last stage brought him to. The next step carries us on to the six
seats of sensible qualities; a phrase expressing the organs by which
sensible qualities are perceived—the five senses, and _Manas_, the
heart, which the Indians considered as a sixth sense. It appears also
from Burnouf's remarks that the Sanskrit term includes along with the
organs the qualities they perceive, the Law being assigned to the
heart or internal sense as the object of its perception. The six seats
being given, contact follows; contact implies sensation, and sensation
naturally leads to desire. Conception is represented as the effect of
desire, but another translation of this term by attachment, fondness
for material things, renders the sequence easier to understand.
Attachment to anything but the three gems—the Buddha, the Law, and the
Church—is, however, a fatal error, and leads to the melancholy result
of existence. Evidently, however, the being whose downward progress
has thus been described must have existed before, and the event here
alluded to must probably be the passage into the definite condition of
the human embryo. And this is rather confirmed by the fact that the
next step is that of birth, followed, as a matter of course, by the
miseries of human life, terminating in death.[67] And death, unless
every remnant of attachment to, and desire for, all worldly things has
been purged away, unless every trace of sinful tendencies has been
obliterated, is but a fresh beginning of the same weary round.


        SUBDIVISION 4.—_Theology and Ethics of the Tripitaka._

Thus we have examined in succession the three great divisions of the
Buddhist Canon. We may pass over a comparatively late and spurious
addition to it, the Tantras—full of the worship of strange gods and
goddesses, and of magical formularies—to consider the general features
of these sacred works in reference to their theological teaching and
to their moral tendency. Theology is perhaps a term that will be held
to be misplaced in speaking of a system which acknowledges no God. Yet
Buddhism is so full of supernatural creatures, and the Buddha himself
occupies a position so nearly divine, that it would be hard to find
a more appropriate word. Buddha himself is the central figure of the
whole of his system, far more completely than Christ is the central
figure of Christianity, or Mahomet of Islam. There is no Deity above
him; he stands out alone, unrivaled, unequaled, and unapproachable. The
gods of the Hindu pantheon are by no means annihilated in the Buddhist
Scriptures. On the contrary, they play a certain part in them, as when
some of the greatest among their number assist at the delivery of Mâyâ.
But the part assigned to them is always a subordinate one; they are
practically set aside, not by the skeptical process of questioning
their existence, but by the more subtle one of introducing them as
humbly seated at the Buddha's footstool, and devout recipients of his
instructions. Hostility to Gautama Buddha there may be, but not from
them. It proceeds from heretical Brahmans—rivals in trade—and from
those whom they may for a time deceive. The gods are among the most
docile of his pupils, and display a praiseworthy eagerness to acquire
the knowledge he may condescend to impart. Infinitely above gods and
men, because possessing infinitely deeper knowledge and infinitely
higher virtue, stands the Tathâgata, the man who walks in the footsteps
of his predecessors. His position is the greatest to which any mortal
creature can attain. But it has been attained by many before, and
will be by many hereafter. Far away into ages separated from ours by
millions of millions of years stretches the long list of Buddhas, for
every age has received a similar light to lighten up its darkness. All
have led lives marked by the same incidents, and have taught the same
truths. But by and by the darkness has returned; the doctrines of the
former Buddha have been forgotten, and a new one has been needed. Then
in due season he has appeared, and has again opened to mankind the path
of salvation. Thus Kâsyapa Buddha preceded Gautama Buddha, and Maitreya
(now a Bodhisattva) will succeed him. The Buddha is an object of the
most devout adoration. Prayers are addressed to him; his relics are
enshrined in Stûpas, or buildings erected by the piety of believers
to cover them; his footprints are viewed with reverential awe, and
his tooth, preserved in Ceylon, receives the constant homage of that
pious population. Thus his position is not unlike that of a true Deity,
though the theory of Buddhism would require us to suppose that he is
non-existent, and therefore wholly unable to aid his worshippers. But
this theory is not acted upon, and is probably not held in all its
strictness; for Buddha—though to some extent superseded in Northern
Buddhism by other divinities—is the object of a decided worship in both
its elements of prayer and praise.

But the preëminent station occupied by a Buddha is not reached without
a long and painful education. Through ages, the length of which is
scarcely to be expressed by numbers, they are qualifying themselves for
their glorious task. During this period they are termed Bodhisattvas,
that is, beings who have taken a solemn resolution to become Buddhas,
and are practicing the necessary virtues. The very fact of taking this
resolution is an exercise of exalted benevolence, for their excellence
is such that they might, if they pleased, enter at once into Nirvâna.
But such is their love for the human race, that they prefer to be
born again and again in a world of woe, in order to throw open Nirvâna
to others besides themselves. To attain their end, they must make
an offering to some actual Buddha, wishing at the same time that by
virtue of this act they may become Buddhas themselves; and they must
receive an assurance from the object of their gift that this wish
will be fulfilled. Thus Gautama, who happened at the time to be a
prince, presented a golden vessel full of oil to a Buddha named Purana
Dîpankara, with the wish alluded to, and was assured by him that he
would in a future age become a supreme Buddha (M. B., p. 92). The tales
of the pains endured, the sacrifices made, the virtues practiced by
Gautama during this probationary period are numerous and varied. He
himself, by virtue of his faculty of knowing the past, related them to
his disciples. He had sacrificed wife, children, property, even his
own person, for the good of other living creatures; he had endured
all kinds of sufferings; he had shown himself capable of the rarest
unselfishness, the most perfect purity, the most unswerving rectitude.
The tale of his endurances might move compassion, had it not been
crowned at last with the highest reward to which a mortal can aspire.

While the Buddha occupies the first rank among human and superhuman
beings, and a Bodhisattva the second, the Scriptures introduce us to
others holding very conspicuous places among the spiritual nobility.
Such, for instance, are the Pratyeka Buddhas. These are persons of very
high intelligence and very extraordinary merit. But they are unable
to communicate their knowledge to others. They can save themselves;
others they cannot save. Herein lies their inferiority to supreme
Buddhas,—that while their spiritual attainments are sufficient to
ensure their entry into Nirvâna, they are inadequate to enable them to
obtain the same privilege for any other person.

In addition to these not very interesting Buddhas, the legends speak
of certain grades of intelligence attained by Gautama's hearers.
Thus, we are often told that many of the audience—perhaps hundreds
of thousands—after hearing a sermon from him, became Arhats; others
are said to have become Anâgâmin, Sakridâgâmin, or Srotâpanna. These
degrees are based upon the reception of the four truths. According to
the manner in which a man received these truths, he entered one of
eight paths, each of the four degrees having two classes, a higher and
a lower one. Sometimes these paths are called "fruits;" a disciple
is said to obtain the fruits of such and such a state. An Arhat is a
person of very high station indeed. Excepting a Buddha, none is equal
to him, either in knowledge or miraculous powers, both of which he
possesses to a preëminent extent. The Arhat after his death enters
at once into Nirvâna. The Anâgâmin enters the third path (from the
bottom), and is exempt from re-birth except in the world of Devas,
or gods. He who obtains or "sees" the fruit of the second path is
born once more in the world of gods or in that of men. Finally, the
Srotâpanna undergoes re-birth either among gods or men seven times, and
is then delivered from the stream of existence.[68]

Below the fortunate travelers along the path stands the mass of
ordinary believers. All of these, of course, aim ultimately—or should
aim—at that perfection of knowledge and of character which ensures
Nirvâna; but in popular Buddhism at the present day this distant goal
appears to be well-nigh forgotten, and to have given place to some
heaven, or place of enjoyment, above which the general hope does not
rise.

Believers in general are divided into two classes, Bhikshus and
Bhikshunîs, or monks and nuns; and Upâsakas, lay disciples. The
distinction between these classes is well illustrated by the following
extract from a sacred book, the consideration of which will lead us
from the domain of theology into that of morality:—"What is to be
done in the condition of a mendicant?—The rules of chastity must be
observed during the whole of life.—That is not possible; are there
no other means?—There are others, friend; namely, to be a devotee
(Upâsaka).—What is to be done in this condition?—It is necessary during
the whole of one's life to abstain from murder, theft, pleasure,
lying, and the use of intoxicating liquors." The injunctions thus
stated to be binding on the laity are in fact the first five of the
ten commandments, pleasure being simply a designation of unchastity,
which the layman as well as the monk is here ordered to eschew. The
first five commandments are in fact general, referring to universal
ethical obligations, not merely to monastic discipline, like the
other five. But Buddhist morality is by no means merely negative. It
enjoins not only abstinence from such definite sins as these, but the
practice of positive virtues in their most exalted forms. In no system
is benevolence, or, as it is termed in the English New Testament,
charity, more emphatically inculcated. Exhibited, as we have seen it
is, in the highest degree by Buddha himself, it should be illustrated
to the extent of their capabilities by all his followers. Chastity is
the subject of almost equal praise. And the other virtues come in for
their share of recognition, the general object of the examples held
up to admiration being to exhort the faithful to a life spotless in
all its parts, like that of their master. With this aim the legends
related generally fall into some such form as this: Characters appear
who undergo some suffering, but receive also some great reward, such as
meeting with Buddha, and embracing his religion. It is then explained
by Buddha that the sufferings were the result of some bad action done
in a former life, and the benefit received the result of some good
action; while he will probably add that he himself in that bygone
age stood in the relation of a benefactor to the recipient of his
faith. Or a number of persons are introduced playing various parts,
good and evil, and receiving blessings or misfortunes. One of these
is conspicuous by the excellence of his conduct. Then, at the end of
the story, the disciples are told not to imagine that this model of
virtue is any other than Sakyamuni himself, while the other characters
are translated, according to their special peculiarities, each into
some individual living at the time, and forming either one of Buddha's
retinue, or connected with him by ties of kindred, or (if wicked)
marked by hostility to his person or doctrine. Thus, the bad parts in
these dramas are often allotted to his cousin Devadatta, who figures in
these Scriptures as his typical opponent.

The essential doctrine of all these moral fictions—the corner-stone
of Buddhist ethics—is that every single act of virtue receives its
reward, every single transgression its punishment. The consequences of
our good deeds or misdeeds, mystically embodied in our Karma, follow
us from life to life, from earth to heaven, from earth to hell, and
from heaven or hell to earth again. Karma expresses an idea by no means
easily seized. Perhaps it may be defined as the sum total of our moral
actions, good and bad, conceived as a kind of entity endowed with the
force of destiny. It is our Karma that determines the character of our
successive existences. It is our Karma that determines whether our next
birth shall be in heaven or hell, in a happy or miserable condition
here below. And as Karma is but the result of our own actions, each of
which must bear its proper fruit, the balance, either on the credit or
debit side of our account, must always be paid; to us or by us, as the
case may be.

Let us illustrate this by an instance or two. A certain prince, named
Kunâla, remarkable for his personal beauty, had been deprived of his
eyes through an intrigue in his father's harem. Sakyamuni, in pointing
the moral, informs his disciples that Kunâla had formerly been a
huntsman, who finding five hundred gazelles in a cave, had put out
their eyes in order to preclude their escape. For this cruelty he had
suffered the pains of hell for hundreds of thousands of years, and had
then had his eyes put out in human existences. But Kunâla also enjoyed
great advantages. He was the son of a king, he possessed an attractive
person, and, above all, he had embraced the truths of Buddhism. Why was
this? Because he had once caused a Stûpa of a former Buddha, which an
unbelieving monarch had suffered to be pulled to pieces, to be rebuilt,
and had likewise restored a statue of this same Buddha which had been
spoilt (H. B. I., p. 414). The truly Buddhistic spirit of this young
prince is evinced by the circumstance that he interceded earnestly with
his father for the pardon of his stepmother who had caused him to be so
cruelly mutilated.

In another case, a poor old woman, who had led a miserable existence as
the slave of an unfeeling master and mistress, was re-born in one of
the heavens, known as that of the three-and-thirty gods. Five hundred
goddesses descended to the cemetery where she had been heedlessly
thrown into the ground, strewed flowers on her bones, and offered them
spices. The reason of all this honor was, that on the previous day
she had met with Kâtyâyana, an apostle of Buddhism, had drawn water
and presented it to him in his bowl, and had consequently received a
blessing from him, with an exhortation to enter her mistress's room
after she had gone to sleep, and sitting on a heap of hay to fix her
mind exclusively upon Buddha. This advice she had attended to, and had
consequently received the above-named reward (W. u. T., p. 153).

Good and evil, under this elaborate system, are thus the seeds which,
by an invariable law, produce their appropriate fruits in a future
state. The doctrine may in fact be best described in the words
attributed to its author:—"A previous action does not die; be it good
or evil, it does not die; the society of the virtuous is not lost;
that which is done, that which is said, for the Aryas,[69] for these
grateful persons, never dies. A good action well done, a bad action
wickedly done, when they have arrived at their maturity, equally bear
an inevitable fruit" (H. B. I., p. 98).


                    SECTION V.—THE ZEND-AVESTA.[70]

Persia was once a great power in the world; the Persian religion,
a conquering and encroaching faith. The Persian Empire threatened
to destroy the independence of Greece. It held the Jews in actual
subjection, and its religious views profoundly influenced the
development of theirs. Through the Jews, its ideas have penetrated the
Christian world, and leavened Europe. It once possessed an extensive
and remarkable sacred literature, but a few scattered fragments of
which have descended to us. These fragments, recovered and first
translated by Anquetil du Perron, have been but imperfectly elucidated
as yet by European scholars; and there can be no doubt that much more
light remains to be cast upon them by philology as it progresses. Such
as they are, however, I shall make use of the translations already
before us to give my readers an imperfect account of the character of
the Parsee Scriptures.

These compositions are the productions of several centuries and are
widely separated from one another in the character of their thought,
and in the objects of worship proposed to the faithful follower of
Zarathustra. The oldest among them, which may belong to the time of the
prophet himself, are considered by Haug to be as ancient as B.C. 1200,
while the youngest were very likely as recent as B.C. 500.

Haug considers the Avesta to be the most ancient text, while the Zend
was a kind of commentary upon this already sacred book.

Taking the several portions of the Zend-Avesta in their chronological
order (as far as this can be ascertained), we shall begin with the five
Gâthâs, which are pronounced by their translator to be "by far the
oldest, weightiest, and most important pieces of the Zend-Avesta" (F.
G., xiii). Some portions of these venerable hymns are even attributed
by him to Zarathustra himself; but this—except where the prophet is in
some way named as the author—must be considered only as an individual
opinion, which can carry no positive conviction to other minds until
it is supported by stronger evidence than any at present accessible.
Meantime, we may rest assured that we possess among these hymns some
undoubted productions of the Zarathustrian age.


                   SUBDIVISION 1.—_The Five Gâthâs._

Proceeding to the individual Gâthâs, we find that the first, which
begins with the 28th chapter of the Yaçna, bears the following heading:
"The revealed Thought, the revealed Word, the revealed Deed of the
truthful Zarathustra.—The immortal saints chanted the hymns."[71]

The Gâthâ Ahunavaiti—such is its title—then proceeds:—

 1. "Adoration to you, ye truthful hymns!

 2. "I raise aloft my hands in devotion, and worship first all true
 works of the wise and holy Spirit, and the Understanding of the pious
 Disposition, in order to participate in this happiness.

 3. "I will draw near to you with a pious disposition, O Wise One! O
 Living One! with the request that you will grant me the mundane and
 the spiritual life. By truth are these possessions to be obtained,
 which he who is self-illuminated bestows on those who strive for them"
 (F. G., vol. i. p. 24.—Yaçna, xxviii. 1-3).

The most important portion of this Gâthâ is the 30th chapter, because
in it we have a vivid picture of the conflict in which the religion
of Ahura-Mazda was born. Philological inquiry has rendered it clear
beyond dispute, that Parseeism took its rise in a religious schism
between two sections of the great Aryan race, at a period so remote
that the occupation of Hindoostan by an offshoot of that race had
not yet occurred. The common ancestors of Hindus and Persians still
dwelt together in Central Asia, when the great Parsee Reformation
disturbed their harmony; the one section adopting, or adhering to, the
Vedic polytheism which they subsequently carried to India; the other
embracing the more monotheistic creed which afterwards became the
national religion of Persia.

The following hymn of the reformers carries us into the very midst of
the strife:—

 1. "I will now tell you who are assembled here, the wise sayings of
 the most wise, the praises of the living God, and the songs of the
 good spirit, the sublime truth which I see arising out of these sacred
 flames.

 2. "You shall, therefore, hearken to the soul of nature (_i. e._,
 plough and cultivate the earth);[72] contemplate the beams of fire
 with a most pious mind! Every one, both men and women, ought to-day
 to choose his creed (between the Deva and the Ahura religion). Ye
 offspring of renowned ancestors, awake to agree with us (_i. e._, to
 approve of my lore, to be delivered to you at this moment)!"

(The prophet begins to deliver the words, revealed to him through the
sacred flames.)

 3. "In the beginning there was a pair of twins, two spirits, each of a
 peculiar activity; these are the good and the base, in thought, word,
 and deed. Choose one of these two spirits! Be good, not base!

 4. "And these two spirits united created the first (material things);
 the one, the reality, the other, the non-reality. To the liars (the
 worshipers of the devas, _i. e._, gods) existence will become bad,
 whilst the believer in the true god enjoys prosperity.

 5. "Of these two spirits you must choose one, either the evil, the
 originator of the worst actions, or the true holy spirit. Some may
 wish to have the hardest lot (_i. e._, those who will not leave the
 polytheistic deva-religion), others adore Ahura-Mazda by means of
 sincere actions.

 6. "You cannot belong to both of them (_i. e._, you cannot be
 worshipers of the one true God and of many gods at the same time). One
 of the devas, against whom we are fighting, might overtake you, when
 in deliberation (what faith you are to embrace), whispering you to
 choose the no-mind. Then the devas flock together to assault the two
 lives (the life of the body, and that of the soul), praised by the
 prophets" (Parsees, pp. 141, 142.—Yasna, 30).

In another portion of this Gâthâ it is interesting to observe the
spirit of religious zeal breaking out, as it so generally does, into
the language of persecution:—

 xxxi. 18. "Do not listen to the sayings and precepts of the wicked
 (the evil spirit), because he has given to destruction house, village,
 district, and province. Therefore kill them (the wicked) with the
 sword!"

The wicked, as appears from the context, are those who did not accept
the Zarathustrian revelation.

In the second Gâthâ, or Gâthâ Ustavaiti, there are some very curious
passages. A few have been quoted in the notice of Zarathustra. The
following verses indicate the nature of the worship addressed to
Ahura-Mazda in the most ancient period of the Parsee religion:—

 xliii. 2. "I believe thee to be the best thing of all, the source of
 light for the world. Everybody shall choose thee (believe in thee) as
 the source of light, thee, thee, holiest spirit Mazda! Thou createst
 all good true things by means of the power of thy good mind at any
 time, and promisest us (who believe in thee) a long life.

 4. "I will believe thee to be the powerful, holy (god) Mazda! For
 thou givest with thy hand, filled with helps, good to the pious
 man, as well as to the impious, by means of the warmth of the fire
 strengthening the good things. For this reason the vigor of the good
 mind has fallen to my lot.

 5. "Thus I believe in thee as the holy God, thou living Wise One!
 Because I beheld thee to be the primeval cause of life in the
 creation. For thou hast made (instituted) holy customs and words, thou
 hast given a bad fortune (emptiness) to the base, and a good one to
 the good man. I will believe in thee, thou glorious God! in the last
 (future) period of creation" (Parsees, p. 149).

 xliv. 3. "That which I shall ask thee, tell it me right, thou living
 God! Who was in the beginning the father and creator of truth? Who
 made the way for the sun and stars? Who causes the moon to increase
 and wane, if not thou? This I wish to know besides what I already
 know.

 4. "That I will ask thee, tell it me right, thou living God! Who is
 holding the earth and the skies above it? Who made the waters and
 the trees of the field? Who is in the winds and storms that they so
 quickly run? Who is the creator of the good-minded beings, thou Wise
 One?

 5. "That I will ask thee, tell it me right, thou living God! Who made
 the lights of good effect and the darkness? Who made the sleep of good
 effect and the activity? Who made morning, noon and night, always
 reminding the priest of his duties?" (Ibid., p. 150.)

 xlvi. 7. "Who is appointed protector of my property, Wise One! when
 the wicked endeavor to hurt me? Who else, if not thy fire, and thy
 mind, through which thou hast created the existence (good beings),
 thou living God! Tell me the power necessary for holding up the
 religion" (Ibid., p. 156).

The third Gâthâ is termed Çpeñta-Mainyus. It begins with praise
of Ahura-Mazda as the giver of the two forces of perfection and
immortality. From this holiest spirit proceeds all the good contained
in the words uttered by the good mind. He is the father of all truth.
Of such a spirit is he who created this earth with the fire resting in
its lap. Ahura-Mazda placed the gift of fire in the sticks that are
rubbed together by the duality of truth and piety. The following verse
refers to Mazda's prophet, Zarathustra:—

 xlviii. 4. "He who created, by means of his wisdom, the good and the
 no-mind in thinking, words, and deeds, rewards his obedient followers
 with prosperity. Art thou (Mazda) not he in whom the last cause of
 both intellects (good and evil) is _hidden_?" (Parsees, p. 159).

The concluding chapter of this Gâthâ is a hymn of praise supposed to
emanate from the Spirit of Earth and to be addressed to the highest
genii. It is not without beauty and sublimity, but I forbear to make
quotations from it, as some of its most interesting verses are noticed
elsewhere.

The fourth and fifth Gâthâ are much shorter, and are considered by Haug
as an appendix. The following verse may serve as a specimen of the
former:—

 lii. 20. "May you all together grant us this your help, truth through
 the good mind, and the good word in which piety consists. Be lauded
 and praised. The Wise One bestows happiness.

 21. "Has not the Holy One, the living wise one, created the radiant
 truth, and possession with the good mind by means of the wise sayings
 of Ârmaiti, by her actions and her faith?

 22. "The living Wise One knows what is always the best for me in
 the adoration of those who existed and still exist. These I will
 invoke with mention of their names, and I will approach them as their
 panegyrist" (F. G., vol. ii. p. 56).

Of the first three verses of the fifth Gâthâ I have spoken above (p.
184). The fourth and fifth run thus:—

 liii. 4. "I will zealously confess this your faith, which the blessed
 one destined to the landlord for the country people, to the truthful
 householder for the truthful people, ever extending the glory and the
 beauty of the good mind, which the living Wise One has bestowed on the
 good faith for ever and ever.

 5. "I proclaim formulæ of blessing to girls about to be married:
 Attend! attend to them! You possess by means of those formulæ the life
 of the good mind. Let one receive the other with upright heart; for
 thus only will you prosper" (F. G., vol. ii. p. 57).


     SUBDIVISION 2.—_Yaçna 35-41, or the Yaçna of seven chapters._

The Yaçna of seven chapters, which in the present arrangement of
the text is inserted between the first and second Gâthâs, is of
more recent date than the Gâthâs, but more ancient than the rest of
the Zend-Avesta. "It appears to be the work of one of the earliest
successors of the prophet, called in ancient times _Zarathustra_ or
_Zarathustrotema_, who, deviating somewhat from the high and pure
monotheistic principles of Çpitama, made some concessions to the
adherents of the ante-Zoroastrian religion by addressing prayers to
other beings than Ahura-Mazda" (Parsee, p. 219). The seven chapters
may be most accurately described as Psalms of praise, in which a great
variety of objects, spiritual and natural, receive a tribute of pious
reverence from the worshiper. They are not, however, on that account to
be considered as gods, or as in any way the equals of Ahura-Mazda, who
is still supreme. The beings thus addressed are portions of the "good
creation," or of the things created by the good power, Ahura-Mazda;
and they are either subjects of his spiritual kingdom, such as the
Amesha-çpentas (seven very important spirits), or they are simply
portions of the material universe treated as semi-divine, and exalted
to objects of religious worship. Thus in the last chapter of this
section, the author directs his laudations to the following, among
other, genii and powers: the dwelling of the waters, the parting of the
Ways, mountains, the wind, the earth, the pure ass in Lake Vouru-Kasha,
this lake itself, the Soma, the flowing of the waters, the flying of
the birds. It is plain from this enumeration that we are already a
step beyond the simple adoration of Ahura-Mazda so conspicuous in the
Gâthâs, and that the door is opened to the multitude of spirits and
divinities that make their appearance in other parts of the Parsee
ritual.

This section of the Yaçna opens, however, with a striking address to
Ahura-Mazda:[73]—

 xxxv. 1. "We worship Ahura-Mazda the pure, the master of purity. We
 worship the Amesha-çpentas (the archangels), the possessors of good,
 the givers of good. We worship the whole creation of the true spirit,
 both the spiritual and terrestrial, all that supports (raises) the
 welfare of the good creation, and the spread of the good Mazdayaçna
 religion.

 2. "We praise all good thoughts, all good words, all good deeds,
 which are and will be (which are being done and which have been done)
 and we likewise keep clean and pure all that is good.

 3. "O Ahura-Mazda, thou true happy being! we strive to think, to
 speak, and to do only those of all actions which might be best fitted
 to promote the two lives (that of the body and of the soul).

 4. "We beseech the spirit of earth by means of these best works
 (agriculture) to grant us beautiful and fertile fields, to the
 believer as well as to the unbeliever, to him who has riches as well
 as to him who has no possession" (Parsees, p. 163).

The following invocation of fire deserves to be mentioned before we
quit this portion of the Yaçna:—

 xxxvi. 4. "Happy is the man to whom thou comest in power, O Fire, Son
 of Ahura-Mazda.

 5. "Friendlier than the friendliest, more deserving of adoration than
 the most adorable.

 6. "Mayest thou come to us helpfully to the greatest of
 transactions....

 9. "O Fire, Son of Ahura-Mazda, we approach thee

 10. "with a good spirit, with good purity" (Av., ii. 137).


                 SUBDIVISION 3.—_Yaçna, Chapter XII._

This chapter is stated by Haug to be written in the Gâthâ dialect; it
is therefore extremely ancient, and as it contains the Confession of
Faith made by Zarathustrian converts on their abandonment of idolatry,
or worship of the Devas, it is of sufficient importance to be quoted at
length:—

 xii. 1. "I cease to be a Deva _worshiper_. I profess to be a
 Zoroastrian Mazdayaçna (worshiper of Ahura-Mazda), an enemy of the
 Devas, and a devotee to Ahura, a praiser of the immortal saints
 (Amesha-çpentas), a worshiper of the immortal saints. I ascribe all
 good things to Ahura-Mazda, who is good, and has good, who is true,
 lucid, shining, who is the originator of all the best things, of the
 spirit in nature (gâus), of the growth in nature, of the luminaries
 and the self-shining brightness which is in the luminaries.

 2. "I choose (follow, profess) the holy Ârmaiti, the good; may she
 be mine! I abominate all fraud and injury committed on the spirit
 of earth, and all damage and destruction of the quarters of the
 Mazdayaçnas.

 3. "I allow the good spirits who reside on this earth in the good
 animals (as cows, sheep, &c.), to go and roam about free according to
 their pleasure. I praise, besides, all that is offered with prayer
 to promote the growth of life. I shall cause neither damage nor
 destruction to the quarters of the Mazdayaçnas, neither with my body
 nor my soul.

 4. "I forsake the Devas, the wicked, bad, false, untrue, the
 originators of mischief, who are most baneful, destructive, the basest
 of all beings. I forsake the Devas and those who are Devas-like, the
 witches and their like, and any being whatever of such a kind. I
 forsake them with thoughts, words and deeds: I forsake them hereby
 publicly, and declare that every lie and falsehood is to be done away
 with.

 5, 6. "In the same way as Zarathustra at the time when Ahura-Mazda was
 holding conversations and meetings with him, and both were conversing
 with each other, forsook the Devas; so do I forsake the Devas, as the
 holy Zarathustra did.

 7. "To that party to which the waters belong, to whatever party the
 trees, and the animating spirit of nature, to that party to which
 Ahura-Mazda belongs, who has created this spirit and the pure man; to
 that party of which Zarathustra, and Kava Vistâçpa and Frashaostra
 and Jâmâçpa were, of that party of which all the ancient fire-priests
 (Soshyañto) were, the pious, who were spreading the truth: of the same
 party and creed _am_ I.

 8. "I am a Mazdayaçna, a Zoroastrian Mazdayaçna. I profess this
 religion by praising and preferring it to others (the Deva religion).
 I praise the thought which is good, I praise the word which is good, I
 praise the work which is good.

 9. "I praise the Mazdayaçna religion, and the pure brotherhood which
 it establishes and defends against enemies, the Zoroastrian Ahura
 religion, which is the greatest, best, and most prosperous of all that
 are, and that will be. I ascribe all good to Ahura-Mazda. This shall
 be the praise (profession) of the Mazdayaçna religion."


           SUBDIVISION 4.—_The Younger Yaçna, and Vispered._

While the Gâthâs and the confession just quoted represent the most
ancient phase of the Mazdayaçna faith, we enter, in the remaining
portion of the Yaçna, on a much later stage of the growing creed. So
many new divinities, or at any rate, objects of reverential addresses,
now enter upon the scene, that we almost lose sight of Ahura-Mazda in
the throng of his attendants. We seem to be some ages away from the
days when Zarathustra bade his hearers choose between the one true God
and the multitude of false gods worshiped by his enemies. Ahura-Mazda
is safely enthroned, and Zarathustra shines out gloriously as his
prophet; but Zarathustra's creed is overloaded with elements of which
he himself knew nothing. The first chapter of the Yaçna, a liturgical
prayer, brings these elements conspicuously before us. It is an
invocation and celebration of a great variety of powers belonging to
what is termed the good creation, or the world of virtuous beings and
good things, as opposed to the malicious beings and bad things who form
the realm of evil.[74] Thus it opens:—

 "I invoke and I celebrate the creator Ahura-Mazda, luminous,
 resplendent, very great and very good, very perfect and very
 energetic, very intelligent and very beautiful, eminent in purity,
 who possesses the excellent knowledge, the source of pleasure; him
 who has created us, who has formed us, who has nourished us, the most
 accomplished of intelligent beings."[75]

Every verse, until we approach the end, commences with the same
formula:—"I invoke and I celebrate;" or, as Spiegel translates it,
"I invite and announce it;" the sole difference is in the beings
invoked. Many of these are powers of more or less eminence in the
Parsee spiritual hierarchy, but it would be going beyond our object
here to enumerate their names and specify their attributes. To a large
proportion of them the epithets "pure, lord of purity," are added,
while some are dignified with more special titles of honor. After the
above homage to Ahura-Mazda, the writer invokes and celebrates, among
others: Mithra (a very famous god), who increases oxen, who has one
thousand ears, and ten thousand eyes; the fire of Ahura-Mazda; the
water given by Ahura-Mazda; the Fravashis (angels or guardian spirits)
of holy men and of women who are under men's protection; energy, with
a good constitution and an imposing figure; victory given by Ahura;
the months; the new moon; the full moon; the time of fecundation; the
years; all the lords of purity, and thirty-three genii surrounding
Hâvani, who are of admirable purity, whom Mazda has made known,
and Zarathustra has proclaimed; the stars, especially a star named
Tistrya; the moon, which contains the germ of the ox; the sun, the
eye of Ahura-Mazda; the trees given by Mazda; the Word made known by
Zarathustra against the Devas; the excellent law of the Mazdayaçnas;
the perfect benediction; the pure and excellent man; these countries
and districts; pastures and houses; the earth, the sky, the wind; the
great lord of purity; days, months, and seasons; the Fravashis of the
men of ancient law; those of contemporaries and relations, and his own;
all genii who ought to be invoked and adored. It is manifest from this
invocation, in which I have omitted many names and many repetitions,
how far we are from the stern and earnest simplicity of the Gâthâs.
Regular liturgical forms have sprung up, and these express the more
developed and complicated worship which the Parsee priesthood has now
engrafted on the Zarathustrian monotheism.

The concluding verses run as follows:—

 "O thou who art given in this world, given against the Devas,
 Zarathustra[76] the pure, lord of purity, if I have wounded thee,
 either in thought, word, or deed, voluntarily or involuntarily, I
 again address this praise in thine honor; yes, I invoke thee if I have
 failed against thee in this sacrifice and this invocation.

 "O all ye very great lords, pure, masters of purity, if I have wounded
 you, &c. [as above].

 "May I, a worshiper of Mazda, an adherent of Zarathustra, an enemy of
 the Devas, an observer of the precepts of Ahura, address my homage to
 him who is given here, given against the Devas; to Zarathustra, pure,
 lord of purity, for the sacrifice, for the invocation, for the prayer
 that renders favorable, for the benediction. (May I address my homage)
 to the lords (who are) the days, the parts of days, &c., for the
 benediction; that is to say: (may I address my homage) to the lords
 (who are) the days, the parts of days, the months, the seasons of the
 year (Gahanbârs), the years; for the sacrifice, for the invocation,
 for the prayer that renders favorable, for the benediction."[77]

The rest of the Yaçna consists mainly of praises or prayers addressed
to the very numerous objects of Parsee adoration, and most of it is of
little interest. The following short section, however, deserves remark:—

 _Yaçna 12._

 1. "I praise the thoughts rightly thought, the words rightly spoken,
 and the deeds rightly done.

 2. "I seize upon (or resort to) all good thoughts, words and deeds.

 3. "I forsake all bad thoughts, words, and deeds.

 4. "I bring you, O Amesha-çpentas,

 5. "Praise and adoration,

 6. "With thoughts, words, and deeds, with heavenly mind, the vital
 force from my own body."[78]

In the following verses again there is some excellence:—

 1. "May that man attain that which is best who teaches us the
 right way to our profit in this world, both the material and the
 spiritual world, the plain way that leads to the worlds where Ahura
 is enthroned, and the sacrificer, resembling thee, a sage, a saint, O
 Mazda.

 2. "May there come to this dwelling contentment, blessing, fidelity,
 and the wisdom of the pure."

 8. "In this dwelling may Çraosha[79] (obedience) put an end to
 disobedience, peace to strife, liberality to avarice, wisdom to
 error, truthful speech to lying, which detests purity" (Av. ii. 186,
 187.—Yaçna 59).

The prominent position occupied by fire in the Parsee faith is well
known. The presence of fire is indeed an essential part of their
ritual, in which it is treated with no less honor than the consecrated
wafer in that of Catholic Christians. Not only, however, is it employed
in their rites, but it is addressed as an independent being, to whom
worship is due. Not that its place in the hierarchy is to be confounded
with that of Ahura-Mazda. It is not put upon a level with the supreme
being, but it is addressed as his son, its rank being thus still more
closely assimilated to that of the host, which is in like manner a part
of the liturgical machinery and an embodiment of the son of God. A
special chapter of the Yaçna—the 61st—is devoted to Fire, and a summary
of its contents will help us to understand the light in which this
deity was regarded.

The sacrificer begins by vowing offerings and praise and good
nourishment to "Fire, son of Ahura-Mazda." He trusts that Fire may ever
be provided with a proper supply of wood, and may always burn brightly
in this dwelling, even till the final resurrection. He beseeches Fire
to give him much property, much distinction, holiness, a ready tongue,
wit and understanding, activity, sleeplessness, and posterity. Fire
is said to await nourishment from all; whoever comes, he looks at his
hands, saying: "What does the friend bring his friend, the coming one
to him who sits alone?" And this is the blessing he bestows on him who
brings him dry wood, picked out for burning: "Mayest thou be surrounded
with herds of cattle, with abundance of men. May it be with thee
according to the desire of thy heart, according to the desire of thy
soul. Be joyous, live thy life the whole time that thou shalt live."[80]

The last chapter but one of the Yaçna is a hymn in universal praise of
the good creation. All the objects belonging to that creation—that is,
made by Ahura-Mazda, and standing in contrast with the bad creation
of Agra-Mainyus—are enumerated, and as a catalogue of these the hymn
is interesting. Ahura-Mazda himself is named first; then Zarathustra;
after this follows the Fravashi (angel) of Zarathustra, the
Amesha-çpentas, the Fravashis of the pure, and so forth, through a long
list of animate and inanimate beings. Each is named with the formula
"we praise" following the title, as: "The whole earth we praise" (Av.,
vol. ii. p. 202.—Yaçna, 70).

So close is the resemblance between the Vispered and that portion
of the Yaçna which we have just examined, that it will be needless
to dwell upon the contents of the former. We may therefore at once
pass on to a very important section, for theological purposes, of the
Zend-Avesta, namely—


                      SUBDIVISION 5.—_Vendidad._

Totally unlike either the Yaçna, the Vispered, or the Yashts, the
Vendidad is a legislative code—dealing indeed largely with religious
questions, but not confining itself exclusively to them. It differs
from the remainder of the sacred volume much as Leviticus differs from
the Psalms, or as the Institutes of Menu differ from the hymns of the
Rig-Veda. It is regarded as equally holy with the rest of the Avesta,
and is recited in divine service along with Vispered and Yaçna, the
three together forming what is termed the Vendidad-Sade (Av., ii.
lxxv). Its abrupt termination indicates that the code is not before us
in its entirety; the portion which has been preserved, however, does
not appear to have suffered great mutilation. Let us briefly summarize
its contents, first premising that the form they assume (with trifling
exceptions) is that of conversations between Ahura-Mazda and his
prophet.

The first Fargard (or chapter) is an enumeration of the good countries
or places created by Ahura-Mazda, and of the evils—such as the
serpent, the wasp, and various moral offenses, including that of
doubt—created in opposition to him in each case by the president of the
bad creation, Agra-Mainyus. The second Fargard is a long narrative of
the proceedings of a mythological hero named Yima (the Indian Yama),
to whom Ahura-Mazda is stated to have once committed the government
of the world, or of some part of it. Thus far we have not entered on
the proper subject-matter of the Vendidad. The third Fargard, while
still introductory, approaches more nearly to the subsequent chapters,
alike in its form and its contents. In it Zarathustra lays certain
queries before Ahura-Mazda, and the replies given by that deity are
of high importance for the comprehension of both the social and moral
status of the Parsees at the time when this dialogue was written. The
stress laid upon the virtue of cultivating the soil is especially to be
noticed. Similar sentiments are frequently repeated in the Vendidad,
and indicate a people among whom agriculture was still in its infancy,
the transition from the pastoral state to the more settled condition of
tillers of the soil being still incomplete. The compilers of this code
evidently felt strongly the extreme value to their youthful community
of agricultural pursuits, and therefore encouraged them at every
convenient opportunity by representing them as peculiarly meritorious
in the sight of God.

Zarathustra begins his inquiries by asking what is in the first place
most agreeable to this earth, and successively ascertains what are the
five things which give it most satisfaction, and what the five which
cause it the most displeasure. Ahura-Mazda answers that, in the first
place, a holy man with objects of sacrifice is the most agreeable; then
a holy man making his dwelling-place, and storing it with all that
pertains to a happy and righteous life; then the production of grain
and of fruit trees, the irrigation of thirsty land, or the drainage of
moist land; fourthly, the breeding of live-stock and draught-cattle;
fifthly, a special incident connected with the presence of such animals
on the land. The five displeasing things are, the meetings of Daevas
and Drujus (evil spirits), the interment of men or dogs (which was
contrary to the law), the accumulation of Dakhmas, or places where
the bodies of the dead were left exposed, the dens of animals made by
Agra-Mainyus, and lastly, unbecoming conduct on the part of the wife
or son of a holy man. Further questions are then put as to the mode of
conduct which wins the approbation of the earth, and it is stated to
consist in actions which tend to counteract the evils above enumerated.
In the course of these replies occasion is again taken to eulogize the
man who vigorously cultivates the soil, and to censure him who idly
leaves it uncultivated. Certain penalties are then imposed on those who
bury dogs or men, but the sin of leaving them underground for two years
is declared to be inexpiable, except by the Mazdayaçna Law, which can
purify the worst offenders:—

 "For it (the Law) will take away these (sins) from those who praise
 the Mazdayaçna Law, if they do not again commit wicked actions. For
 this the Mazdayaçna Law, O holy Zarathustra, takes away the bonds of
 the man who praises it. It takes away deceit. It takes away the murder
 of a pure man. It takes away the burial of the dead. It takes away
 inexpiable actions. It takes away accumulated guilt. It takes away
 all sins which men commit" (Av., vol. i. p. 87, 88.—Vendidad, iii.
 140-148).

We see from this that the power of the Law to deliver sinners from
the burden of their offenses was in no way inferior to that of the
Atonement of Christ.

It is unnecessary to dwell upon the fourth Fargard, which deals with
the penalties—consisting mainly of corporal punishment—for breach of
contract and other offenses. The fifth and sixth, being concerned
with the regulations to be observed in case of impurity arising from
the presence of dead bodies, are of little interest. A large part of
the seventh is occupied with the same subjects, but its course is
interrupted by certain precautions to be attended to in the graduation
of students of medicine, which may be commended to the notice of
other religious communities. Should a Mazdayaçna desire to become a
physician, on whom, inquires Zarathustra, shall he first try his hand,
the Mazdayaçna (orthodox Parsees), or the Daevayaçnas (adherents of
a false creed)? Ahura-Mazda replies that the Daevayaçnas are to be
his first patients. If he has performed three surgical operations on
these heretics, and his three patients have died, he is to be held
unfit for the medical profession, and must on no account presume to
operate on the adherents of the Law. If, however, he is successful
with the Daevayaçnas, he is to receive his degree, and may proceed to
practice on the more valuable bodies of faithful Parsees. So careful a
contrivance to ensure that none but infidels shall fall victims to the
knife of the unskilful surgeon evinces no little ingenuity.

The eighth Fargard relates chiefly to the treatment of dead bodies,
while the ninth proceeds to narrate the rites for the purification of
those who have come in contact with them. A terrible penalty—that
of decapitation—is enacted against the man who ventures to perform
this rite without having learnt the law from a priest competent
to purify. The tenth Fargard prescribed the prayers by which the
_Drukhs_, or impure spirit supposed to attach itself to corpses, and
to come from them upon the living, is to be driven away: and the
subject is continued in the eleventh, which contains formularies
for the purification of dwellings, fires, and other objects. Along
with injunctions as to the purification of houses where a death has
occurred, the twelfth Fargard informs its hearers how many prayers
they are to offer up for deceased relatives. The number varies both
according to their relationship, being highest for those that are
nearest akin, and according to their purity or sinfulness, double as
many being required for the sinful as for the pure. After a short
introduction expounding the merit of killing a certain species of
animal and the demerit of killing another (what they are is uncertain),
the thirteenth Fargard proceeds to enumerate in detail the various
kinds of offenses against dogs, and the corresponding penalties. Dogs
were evidently of the utmost importance to the community, and their
persons are guarded with scarcely less care than those of human beings.
They are held to have souls, which migrate after their decease to
a canine Paradise. It seems, too, that shades of departed dogs are
appointed to watch the dangerous bridge over which men's souls must
travel on the road to felicity, and which the wicked cannot pass; for
we are informed of the soul of a man who has killed a watch-dog, that
"the deceased dogs who guard against crime and watch the bridge do
not make friends with it on account of its abominable and horrible
nature" (Av., vol. i. p. 192.—Vendidad, xiii. 25); while a man who has
killed a water-dog is required to make "offerings for its pious soul
for three days and three nights" (Av., vol. i. p. 201.—Vendidad, xiii.
173). The place to which the souls of these animals repair is termed
"the water-dwelling," and it is stated that two water-dogs meet them
on their arrival, apparently to welcome them to their aqueous heaven
(Av., vol. i. p. 200.—Vendidad, xiii. 167). Not only killing dogs,
but wounding them or giving them bad food, are crimes to be severely
punished; and even in case of madness the dog's life is on no account
to be taken. On the contrary, the utmost care is to be taken, by
fastening him so as to prevent escape, that he should do himself no
injury, for if he should happen in his madness to fall into water and
die, the community will have incurred sin by the accident.[81] The
following verses convey an interesting notion of the esteem in which
the dog was held among the early Parsees. The speaker is Ahura-Mazda:—

 "I have created the dog, O Zarathustra, with his own clothes and his
 own shoes; with a sharp nose and sharp teeth; attached to mankind,
 for the protection of the herds. Then I created the dog, even I
 Ahura-Mazda, with a body capable of biting enemies. When he is in good
 health, when he is with the herds, when he is in good voice, O holy
 Zarathustra, there comes not to his village either thief or wolf to
 carry off property unperceived from the villages" (Av., vol. i. p.
 197.—Vendidad, xiii. 106-113).

In the fourteenth Fargard, water-dogs are further protected against
wounds; while in the fifteenth, the preservation of the canine species
at large is ensured by elaborate enactments. To give a dog bones which
he cannot gnaw, or food so hot as to burn its tongue, is a sin; to
frighten a bitch in pup, as by clapping the hands, is likewise to incur
guilt; and they are gravely criminal who suffer puppies to die from
inattention. If born in camel-stalls, stables, or any such places,
it is incumbent on the proprietor to take charge of them; or, if the
litter should be at large, at least the nearest inhabitant is bound to
become their protector. Strangely intermingled with these precautions
are rules prohibiting cohabitation with women in certain physical
conditions, and enactments for the prevention of abortion, and for
ensuring the support of a pregnant girl by her seducer, at least until
her child is born. The crime of abortion is described in a manner which
curiously reveals the practices occasionally resorted to by Parsee
maidens. Should a single woman be with child, and say, "The child was
begotten by such and such a man"—

 "If then this man says, 'Try to make friends with an old woman and
 inquire of her; if then this girl does make friends with an old woman,
 and inquire of her, and this old woman brings Baga, or Shaêta, or
 Ghnâna, or Fraçpâta, or any of the vegetable purgatives, saying, 'Try
 to kill this child;' if then the girl does try to kill the child, then
 the girl, the man, and the old woman are equally criminal."

Neither the sixteenth nor the seventeenth Fargard need detain us. They
relate, the one to the above-mentioned rules to be observed towards
women, the other to the disposal of the hair and nails, which are
held to pollute the earth. The eighteenth Fargard begins, as if in
the middle of a conversation, with an address by Ahura-Mazda, on the
characteristics of true and false priests, some, it appears, having
improperly pretended to the priesthood. After some questions on other
points of doctrine put by Zarathustra, we are suddenly introduced to a
conversation between the angel Çraosha and the Drukhs, or evil spirit,
in which the latter describes the several offenses that cause her to
become pregnant, or, in other words, increase her influence in the
world. After this interlude, we return to Ahura-Mazda and Zarathustra.
The prophet, having been exhorted to put questions, inquires of
his god who causes him the greatest annoyance. Ahura-Mazda replies
that it is "he who mingles the seed of the pious and the impious,
of Daeva-worshipers and of those who do not worship the Daevas, of
sinners and non-sinners." Such persons are "rather to be killed than
poisonous snakes." Hereupon Zarathustra proceeds to ascertain what are
the penalties for those who cohabit with women at seasons when the
law requires them to be separate. At the beginning of the nineteenth
Fargard, we have an account of the temptation of the prophet by the
evil one, to which allusion has been made in another place. Zarathustra
seeks for information as to the means of getting rid of impurities, and
is taught by Ahura-Mazda to praise the objects he has created. In the
latter part of the chapter we have a remarkable account of the judgment
of departed souls. In conclusion, we have a psalm of praise recited
by the prophet in honor of God, the earth, the stars, the Gâthâs, and
numerous other portions of the good creation. There is little in the
twentieth Fargard beyond the information that Thrita was the first
physician, and a formula of conjuration, apparently intended to be
used in order to drive away diseases. In the twenty-first, we find
praises of the cloud, the sun, and other heavenly bodies. The last
Fargard of the Vendidad differs widely from the rest in its manner of
representing Ahura-Mazda. It is, no doubt, as Spiegel observes, of late
origin. Ahura-Mazda complains of the opposition he has encountered
from Agra-Mainyus, who has afflicted him with illness (whether in
his own person, or in that of mankind, is not clear). He calls upon
Manthra-Çpenta, the Word, to heal him, but that spirit declines, and a
messenger is accordingly sent to Airyama to summon him to the task.[82]
Airyama commences his preparations on an extensive scale, but at this
point the Vendidad breaks off, and we are left in doubt as to the
result of his efforts.


       SUBDIVISION 6.—_The Khorda-Avesta, with the Homa Yasht._

The term Khorda-Avesta, or little Avesta, is applied, according to
Spiegel, to that part of the Zend-Avesta which includes the Yashts,
and certain prayers, some of them of extreme sanctity, and constantly
employed in Parsee worship. He informs us that, while the remainder
of the sacred texts serve more especially for priestly study and for
public reading, the Khorda-Avesta is mainly used in private devotion
(Av., vol. iii. p. 1). Some of its prayers belong to a comparatively
recent period, being composed no longer in the Zend language, but in
a younger dialect; and we meet in them with the Persian forms of the
old names—Ormazd standing for Ahura-Mazda, Ahriman for Agra-Mainyus,
and Zerdoscht for Zarathustra. The names of the genii have undergone
corresponding alterations. We find ourselves in these prayers, and
indeed throughout the Yashts, many centuries removed from the age of
Zarathustra and his immediate followers. Some of the more celebrated
prayers, however (not belonging to the class of Yashts), must be of
considerable antiquity, if we may judge from the fact of their being
mentioned in the Yaçna. Thus, in the 19th chapter of the Yaçna, we
find an elaborate exaltation of the powers of the Ahuna-Vairya, which
stands second in the Khorda-Avesta. Zarathustra is represented as
asking Ahura-Mazda, "What was the speech which thou spokest to me, as
existing before the sky, before the water, before the earth, before
the ox, before the trees, before the fire, son of Ahura-Mazda, before
the pure men, before the Daevas with perverted minds, and before
men, before the whole corporeal world, before all things created by
Mazda which have a pure origin?" This speech, existing prior to all
created objects, is declared to have been a part of the Ahuna-Vairya.
The immense benefits of repeating this prayer, which is stated to
ensure salvation, are then recounted to the prophet. The 20th chapter
is occupied with the merits of another of these short formularies,
the Ashem-vohû. These prayers are in continual use, not only in the
liturgy, but among the laity. They are sometimes required to recite
great numbers of Ahuna-Vairyas at one time, and at the commencement of
sowing, or of any good work, it is proper to repeat it. The Ashem-vohû
is to be said on various occasions, particularly on waking and before
going to sleep (Av., vol. ii. pp. lxxxii., lxxxiii). The higher
sanctity, as well as greater antiquity, of these prayers is evinced
by the fact that we find them constantly introduced in the course of
others, to which they form a necessary supplement. There are often
several Ashem-vohûs in a single brief prayer. The Ashem-vohû, in
fact, fulfills a function much like that of the Lord's prayer in the
liturgies of some Christian Churches.

Let us now see what these most sacred forms of adoration contain. The
Ashem-Vohû is to this effect:—

  "Purity is the best possession.
  Hail, hail to him:
  Namely, to the pure man best in purity."[83]

It is strange that, in a formulary occupying so conspicuous a place
in Parsee devotion, there should be no acknowledgment of God. But
this want is supplied in the Ahuna-Vairya, or Yathâ-ahû-vairyo, which
follows it.

Yathâ-ahû-vairyo:—

 "As it is the Lord's will, so (is he) the ruler from purity.

 (We shall receive) gifts from Vohu-mano for the works (we do) in the
 world for Mazda.

 And (he gives) the kingdom to Ahura who protects the poor" (Av., vol.
 iii.—Khorda-Avesta, 2).

Certainly this is not very intelligible, but the last clause is
remarkable, as implying that the way to advance God's kingdom on earth
is to confer benefits on the poor.

Passing over a number of other prayers, we enter upon the Yashts,
which are distinguished from all other parts of the Avesta by the fact
that each of them is written in celebration of some particular god or
genius. Ahura-Mazda, indeed, still retains his supremacy, and every
Yasht begins with a formula, of which the first words are "In the name
of the God Ormazd," while the first Yasht is devoted exclusively to his
praise. Subject to this recognition, however, the inferior potentates
are each in turn the object of panegyrics in that exaggerated style in
which Oriental literature delights. We need not stop to recount the
particular honors rendered to each. One Yasht, however, is sufficiently
curious to merit our attention, the more so as we possess a translation
of it by Burnouf.[84] It is termed the Homa Yasht, and is intended to
extol the brilliant qualities of the god whose name it bears. At that
period of the day which is termed Hâvani—so it begins—Homa came to
find Zarathustra, who was cleaning his fire, and singing the Gâthâs.
"Zarathustra asked him: 'What man art thou who in all the existing
world appearest to my sight as the most perfect, with thy beautiful
and immortal person?' Then Homa, the holy one, who banishes death,
answered me: 'I am, O Zarathustra, Homa, the holy one, who banishes
death. Invoke, O Çpitama,[85] extract me to eat me, praise me to
celebrate me, in order that others, who desire their good, may praise
me in their turn.' Then Zarathustra said: 'Adoration to Homa! Who is
the mortal, Homa, who first in the present world extracted thee for
sacrifice? What holiness did he acquire? What advantage accrued to him
thereby?'" Homa replies that Vivanghat was the first to extract him for
sacrifice, and that he acquired the advantage of becoming father to the
glorious Yima, in whose reign "there was neither cold nor (excessive)
heat, nor old age nor death, nor envy produced by the Deva. Fathers
and sons alike had the figure of men of fifteen years of age, as
long as Yima reigned." Similar questions are then put by Zarathustra
regarding the second, third, and fourth mortals who worshiped Homa, and
similar replies are given. All had distinguished sons; but the last,
Puruchaspa, was rewarded beyond all others by the birth of Zarathustra
himself. Homa thereupon magnifies Zarathustra in the usual style of
the later parts of the Zend-Avesta, and Zarathustra, who is not to be
outdone in the language of compliment, thus addresses him in return:
"Adoration to Homa! Homa, the good, has been well made; he has been
made just; made good; he bestows health; he has a beautiful person; he
does good; he is victorious; of the color of gold; his branches are
inclined to be eaten; he is excellent; and he is the most celestial
way for the soul. O thou who art of the color of gold, I ask thee for
prudence, energy, victory, beauty, the force that penetrates the whole
body, greatness which is spread over the whole figure;" and so forth,
through several other by no means modest petitions. In a more formal
manner Zarathustra then demands of Homa the following favors: 1st, the
excellent abode of the saints; 2dly, the duration of his body; 3dly, a
long life; 4thly, and 5thly, to be able to annihilate hatred and strike
down the cruel man; 6thly, that they (the faithful?) may see robbers,
assassins, and wolves before being seen by them. After this, Homa is
praised generally. He gives many good gifts, among them posterity to
sterile mothers, and husbands to spinsters of advanced years. He is
finally requested, if there should be in the village or the province a
man who is hurtful to others, to take from him the power of walking, to
darken his intelligence, and to break his heart (For another Yasht, see
ch. i).

The Yashts are succeeded by various pieces, of which one relates to
Parsee eschatology, and the others, celebrating numerous supernatural
objects of worship, do not call for any special remark. After these we
come to the so-called Patets, which belong to the most recent portions
of the book, and indicate a highly developed consciousness of sin,
and of the need of divine forgiveness. They correspond in tone and
character to the General Confession which has been placed by the Church
of England in the forefront of her Liturgy, except that they contain
long enumerations of the several classes of offenses for which pardon
is to be entreated. One of them, after such a catalogue, thus addresses
the Deity:—

 "Whatever was the wish of the Creator Ormazd, and I ought to have
 thought and did not think, whatever I ought to have said and did not
 say, whatever I ought to have done and did not do.—I repent of these
 sins, with thoughts, words, and works, both the corporeal and the
 spiritual, the earthly and the heavenly sin, with the three words
 (that is, with thoughts, words, and works). Forgive, O Lord; I repent
 of the sin.

 "Whatever was the wish of Ahriman, and I ought to have thought and yet
 did think, whatever I ought not to have said and yet did say, whatever
 I ought not to have done and yet did,—I repent of these sins with
 thoughts, words, and works, both the corporeal and the spiritual, the
 earthly and the heavenly sins, with the three words. Forgive, O Lord;
 I repent of the sin" (Av., vol. iii. p. 211.—Khorda-Avesta, xlv. 8, 9).

Another of these Patets contains the following comprehensive formula:—

 "In whatever way I may have sinned, against whomsoever I may have
 sinned, howsoever I may have sinned, I repent of it with thoughts,
 words, and works; forgive!" (Av., vol. iii. p. 216.—Khorda-Avesta,
 xlv. 1.)

The same Patet contains a confession of faith, which, as it alludes to
the several dogmas that were held to be of first-rate importance in the
creed of the true disciple of Zarathustra, may be worth quoting before
we quit the subject:—

 "I believe in the existence, the purity, and the indubitable truth
 of the good Mazdayaçna faith, and in the Creator Ormazd and the
 Amschaspands, in the exaction of an account, and in the resurrection
 of the new body. I remain in this faith, and confess that it is not
 to be doubted, as Ormazd imparted it to Zertuscht, Zertuscht to
 Fraschaostra and Jâmâçp, as Âderbât, the son of Mahresfand, ordered
 and purified it, as the just Paoiryotkaeshas and the Deçtûrs in family
 succession have brought it to us, and I thence am acquainted with it"
 (Av., vol. iii. p. 218.—Khorda-Avesta, xlv. 28).

In more than one respect this confession is interesting. First, it
asserts the excellence and the unquestionable infallibility of the
traditional faith in terms which a Catholic could hardly improve upon.
Secondly, it brings before us in succinct form the leading points
included in that faith—the Creator, at the head of all the created
world; the seven Amschaspands or Amesha-Çpentas, heavenly powers of
whom Ormazd himself was chief; the judgment to be expected after
death, and the strict account then to be required; lastly, the general
resurrection with its new body. Proceeding next to the manner in which
this faith had been handed down from generation to generation, we have
first the cardinal doctrine that God himself was the direct teacher of
his prophet; after that, a statement that the prophet communicated it
to others, from whom it descended to still later followers, one of whom
is declared to have "ordered and purified it." Thus the consciousness
of subsequent additions to the original law is betrayed. Thus amended,
the priests, or Deçtûrs, are said to have transmitted it to the time
of the speaker, the authority of the ecclesiastical order in the
interpretation of the sacred records being thus carefully maintained.

How many generations had elapsed before the transmission of the law
could thus become the subject of deliberate incorporation among
recognized dogmas, it is impossible to say. Undoubtedly, however, we
stand a long way off—not only in actual time, but in modes of thought
and forms of worship—from the ancient Iranian prophet. The change from
the faith of Peter to that of St. Augustine is not greater than that
from the faith of Zarathustra's rude disciples to that of the subtle,
self-conscious priests who composed these later formularies, or the
laity who accepted them. Still, after all has been said, after it has
been freely admitted that subsequent speculation, or imagination,
or the influence of neighboring creeds, introduced a host of minor
spirits or quasi-gods, of whom Zarathustra knew nothing, it must also
be emphatically asserted that the God of Zarathustra never loses, among
the multitude of his associates, either his supremacy or his unique
and transcendent attributes. While in the Gâthâs Ahura-Mazda alone
is worshiped; while in the later chapters of the Yaçna many other
personages receive a more or less limited homage along with him; while
in the Yashts these personages are singled out one after another for
what appears unbounded adoration,—the original God invariably maintains
his rank as the Creator; the one Supreme Lord of mankind, as of all his
creatures; the instructor of Zarathustra; the Being compared to whom
all others stand related as the thing made towards its Maker. Theism
does not in the Avesta pass into polytheism. Strictly speaking, its
spirit is monotheistic throughout, though we might often be betrayed
into thinking the contrary by the extravagance of its language. Nor
can I discover in its pages the doctrine which some have held to be
contained in it, namely, that above Ahura-Mazda, somewhere in the
dark background of the universe, was a God still greater than him,
the ultimate Power to which even he must yield, Zrvâna-Akarana, or
Infinite Time. The very name of this highly abstract being appears
but rarely in the Avesta, and never, so far as I am able to discover,
in the character thus assigned to him. Ahura-Mazda remains throughout
the God of Gods; his is the highest and most sacred name known to his
worshipers, and none can compare with him, the Infinite Creator, in
greatness, in glory, or in power.

It is not to be expected that, in the early stage of social progress
at which a great part at least of the Avesta was written, its moral
doctrines should be altogether faultless. Nevertheless, it may well
sustain a comparison in this respect with the codes which have been
received as authoritative by other nations. Subject to the drawback,
common to all theologically-influenced systems of ethics, of laying
as much stress upon correct belief and the diligent performance of
the customary rites as upon the really fundamental duties of men, the
Zend-Avesta upholds a high standard of morality, and honestly seeks
to inculcate upon believers the immense importance of leading an
upright and virtuous life. Such a life alone is pleasing to God; such
a life alone can insure a safe passage over the hazardous bridge by
which the soul must pass to Paradise. Not only are the more obvious
virtues—respect for life, careful observance of promises, industrious
conduct—sedulously enjoined on the faithful Parsee, but some others,
less obvious and too frequently overlooked, are urged upon them. The
seducer is bound to provide both for the infant he has called into
existence, and for its mother, at least for a certain period. Domestic
animals are not forgotten, and humanity towards these dependent
creatures is commanded in a series of precepts, the spirit of which
would do honor to any age. And, in general, the blamelessness required
in thoughts, words, and works imposed on the devout Mazdayaçna a
comprehensive attention to the many ways in which he might lapse from
virtue, and held before him an exalted conception of moral purity.

Yet, when all this has been said, it must still be admitted that the
Zend-Avesta hides its light, such as it is, under a bushel. Such is
the number of supra-mundane spirits to be lauded, such a mass of
ceremonies to be attended to, so great the proportion of space devoted
to guarding against legal impurities as compared with that consigned
to preventing moral evil, that the impression left upon the minds of
unbelieving readers is on the whole far from favorable. Morality has,
in fact, got buried under theology. The trivialities, inanities, and
repetitions that abound in the sacred text draw off the mind from the
occasional excellences of thought and expression which it contains.
Thus he who toils through the verbose Fargards of the Vendidad, the
obscure chapters of the older and younger Yaçna, or the panegyrical
rhapsodies of the Yashts, will find but little to reward his search.
With the Gâthâs indeed it is otherwise. These are full of interest, and
not quite devoid of a simple grandeur. But as a whole, the Avesta is a
mine which, among vast heaps of rubbish, discloses but here and there a
grain of gold.


                      SECTION VI.—THE KORAN.[86]

Alone among the Scriptures of the several great religions, the Koran
is the work of a single author. It is, therefore, characterized by
greater uniformity of style, subject, and doctrine than the sacred
collections of other nations. Considerable as the difference is between
its earlier and its later Suras, a consistent line of thought is
visible throughout, and pious Moslems are free from the difficulty that
has always beset Christian theologians of "harmonizing" contradictory
passages both supposed to emanate from God. There are, indeed, earlier
revelations inconsistent with later ones; but in this case, the former
are held to have been abrogated by the latter. Mediocre in the order of
its thought, diffuse in style, abundant in repetitions, there are few
books more calculated to task the patience of a conscientious reader.
But we must recollect, in judging it, that its author did not write
it, and very possibly never contemplated its existence as a complete
work. He published it from time to time as occasion required, much
as a modern statesman would announce his views by means of speeches,
pamphlets, or election addresses.

When a revelation arrived, Mahomet in the first instance dictated
it to his secretary Zayd, who wrote it on palm-leaves or skins, or
tablets of any kind that might be at hand. Of the remaining Moslems,
some took copies, but many more committed the revelations to memory;
the Arab memory being remarkably retentive. Under the reign of Abu
Bekr, the prophet's successor, Omar, finding that some one who knew a
piece of the Koran had been killed, suggested that the whole should be
collected. The suggestion was adopted, and Abu Bekr intrusted the work
of collection to the secretary Zayd. The Koran was then put together,
not only from the leaves that had been left by Mahomet, and thrown
without any regard to order into a chest, but also from the fragments,
either written or preserved in the memory, that were contributed by
individual believers. The copy thus made was not published, but was
committed for safe custody to Hafsa, daughter of Omar, and one of the
widows of the prophet. She kept it during the ten years of her father
Omar's caliphate. But as there were no official and authorized copies
of this genuine Koran, it came to pass that the various missionaries
who were sent as teachers to the newly-conquered countries repeated
it differently, and that various readings crept into the transcripts
in use. Hence serious threatenings of division and scandal among
the Moslems. The caliph Othman, foreseeing the danger, appointed a
commission, with the secretary Zayd at its head, to copy the copy
of Hafsa and return it to her, their duty being to determine on
differences of reading, and to be careful to restore the Meccan idiom
where it had been departed from in any of the versions. Several copies
were made by the commissioners, of which one was kept at Medina, and
the others sent to the great military stations. This was the official
text, prepared about A. H. 25-30; and after its establishment, all
private copies or fragments of the Koran were ordered by Othman to be
destroyed.[87] The original Koran, which Mahomet did but reproduce, is
supposed by those who accept it as divine to be preserved in heaven, in
the very presence of its original author, on an enormous table.

In the Koran, as arranged by Zayd, there is apparently no fixed
principle in the order of the Suras or chapters. In the main, the
longest Suras come first, but even this rule is not adhered to
consistently. Of chronological arrangement there is not a trace, and
it has been left to the ingenuity of European scholars to endeavor to
discover approximately the date of the several revelations. Of some,
the occasions of their publication are known, but in the case of
the great majority, nothing beyond a conjectural arrangement can be
attained.

The principal themes with which the Koran is occupied are the unity of
God; his attributes; the several prophets preceding Mahomet, whom he
has sent to convert unbelievers; the joys of Paradise and the terrors
of hell; and the legislative edicts promulgated for the government of
the Arabs under the new religion. Of these several subjects, the first
two occupy a predominant place in the earliest revelations. Legends of
prophets, of whom Mahomet recognized a considerable number, form one
of the standing dishes set before the faithful during all but the very
beginning of his career. He was also fond of speaking of the contrast
between the position of believers and skeptics in a future state; but
he seems at first to have expected a temporal judgment on his Meccan
opponents, and afterwards to have been contented with awaiting the
divine vengeance in another world. Legislation, of course, belongs only
to that portion of the Koran which was revealed after the Hegira.

A few specimens will be quite sufficient to give a notion both of the
earlier and later style of this sacred volume. Here is a Sura revealed
at Mecca during the first struggles of the prophet's mind, when it was
completely possessed with the awfulness of the new truth:—

 "O thou enfolded in thy mantle, stand up all night, except a small
 portion of it, for prayer. Half; or curtail the half a little,—or add
 to it: and with measured tone intone the Koran, for we shall devolve
 on thee weighty words. Verily, at the coming of night are _devout_
 (Italics, here and elsewhere, in Rodwell) impressions strongest, and
 words are most collected; but in the daytime thou hast continual
 employ—and commemorate the name of thy Lord, and devote thyself to
 him with entire devotion.... Of a truth, thy Lord knoweth that thou
 prayest almost two-thirds, or half, or a third of the night, as do a
 part of thy followers" (K., p. 7.—Sura, 73).

This is the opening Sura of the Koran:—

 "Praise be to God, Lord of the worlds! the compassionate! the
 merciful! King on the day of reckoning! Thee _only_ do we worship, and
 to thee do we cry for help. Guide thou us on the straight path, the
 path of those to whom thou hast been gracious; with whom thou art not
 angry, and who go not astray" (K., p. 11.—Sura, 1).

In the Sura now to be quoted we find an allusion to one of the prophets
whom Mahomet regarded as precursors—the prophet Saleh, who had sent
them to a people called Themoud to bid them worship God. The legend
associated with his name is, that he appealed to a she-camel as a
proof of his divine mission, commanding the people to let her go at
large and do her no hurt. Some of the Themoudites believed; but they
were ridiculed by the skeptical chiefs of the nation, whose wickedness
went so far as actually to hamstring the apostolic camel. Hereupon an
earthquake overtook them by night, and they were all found dead in
the morning (K., p. 376.—Sura, 7. 71-77). Such things were Mahomet's
stock-in-trade; and the following Sura exemplifies the mixture of his
early poetic thoughts with the prosaic narratives which did duty so
constantly during the maturity of his apostleship:—

 "By the Sun and his noonday brightness! by the Moon when she followeth
 him! by the Day when it revealeth his glory! by the Night when it
 enshroudeth him! by the Heaven and him who built it! by the Earth
 and him who spread it forth! by a Soul and him who balanced it, and
 breathed into it its wickedness and its piety! blessed now is he who
 hath kept it pure, and undone is he who hath corrupted it!

 "Themoud in his impiety rejected the message of the Lord, when the
 greatest wretch among them rushed up:—Said the apostle of God to
 them,—The camel of God! let her drink. But they treated him as an
 imposter and hamstrung her. So their Lord destroyed them for their
 crime, and visited all alike: nor feared he the issue" (K., p.
 24.—Sura, 91).

The same Sura which contains the history of Saleh, prophet of Themoud,
refers also to various other divine messengers who had fulfilled the
same office of announcing the judgments of God. Mahomet's general view
of the prophetic function seems to be expressed in these words:—

 "Every nation hath its set time. And when their time is come they
 shall not retard it an hour; and they shall not advance it. O children
 of Adam! there shall come to you Apostles from among yourselves,
 rehearsing my signs to you; and whoso shall fear God and do good
 works, no fear shall be upon them, neither shall they be put to grief.
 But they who charge our signs with falsehood, and turn away from them
 in their pride, shall be inmates of the fire; for ever shall they
 abide therein" (K., p. 371.—Sura, 7. 32-34).

The prophets whom he mentions in this Sura are Noah, who was sent to
warn his people of the Deluge; Houd, sent to Ad, an unbelieving nation
whom God cut off, with the exception of those who had accepted Houd;
Saleh, sent to Themoud as above related; Lot, sent to Sodom to warn it
against sin; Shoaib, sent to Madian, a people of which the unbelieving
members were destroyed by earthquakes; Moses, sent with signs to
Pharaoh and his nobles, as also to the Israelites, of whom some
worshiped the calf, and were overtaken by the wrath of their Lord (K.,
p. 375-386.—Sura, 7. 57-154). In another Sura he makes mention of other
prophets besides these: namely, of John the Baptist, Jesus of Nazareth,
Abraham, Ishmael, and Enoch (K., p. 127 ff.—Sura, 19).

His view of Jesus Christ is peculiar and interesting. He invariably
treats him with the highest respect as a servant of God and his own
precursor, but he is careful to protest that the opinion of his
divinity was not held by Jesus, and was a baseless invention of his
followers. The notion that God could have a son seems to him a gross
profanation, and he often recurs to it in terms of the strongest
reprobation. Thus he endeavors to claim Christ as a genuine Moslem, and
to include Christianity within the pale of the new faith. A Christian
who adopted it might continue, indeed must continue, to believe
everything in the Old and New Testaments, except such passages as
expressly assert the incarnation and divinity of Jesus. Yet Mahomet's
own version of this prophet's conception involves a supernatural
element, and only differs from that of Luke in not asserting the
paternity of God.

 "And make mention in the Book," he says, "of Mary when she went apart
 from her family, eastward, and took a veil _to shroud herself_ from
 them, and we sent our spirit to her, and he took before her the form
 of a perfect man. She said: 'I fly for refuge from thee to the God
 of Mercy! If thou fearest him _begone from me_.' He said: 'I am only
 a messenger of thy Lord, that I may bestow on thee a holy son.' She
 said: 'How shall I have a son, when man hath never touched me, and
 I am not unchaste.' He said: 'So shall it be. Thy Lord hath said:
 easy is this with me, and we will make him a sign to mankind and a
 mercy from us. For it is a thing decreed.' And she conceived him, and
 retired with him to a far-off place" (K., p. 128.—Sura, 19. 16-22).

Her virginity is expressly asserted in another place, where she is
described as "Mary, the daughter of Imran, who kept her maidenhood, and
into whose womb we breathed of our spirit."[88]

When the child was born the woman was accused of unchastity, but the
infant prophet at once opened his mouth and declared his prophetic
character. From this narrative it appears that, in Mahomet's opinion,
Jesus was neither begotten by a human father, nor was the son of God.
He finds a _via media_ in the doctrine that he was created, like Adam,
by an express exertion of the power of the Almighty. "He created him of
dust: He then said to him, 'Be,' and he was" (K., p. 502.—Sura, 3. 52).
And again, in the Sura above quoted: "It beseemeth not God to beget a
son, Glory be to him! when he decreeth a thing, he only saith to it,
Be, and it is" (K., p. 130.—Sura, 19. 36).

He is very indignant against those who hold the doctrine of the
incarnation, which he apparently considers as equivalent to that of
physical generation by the Deity, and which, under any aspect, is
certainly shocking to a genuine monotheist.

"They say: 'The God of Mercy hath gotten offspring.' Now have ye done
a monstrous thing! Almost might the very heavens be rent thereat, and
the earth cleave asunder, and the mountains fall down in fragments,
that they ascribe a son to the God of Mercy, when it beseemeth not the
God of Mercy to beget a son!" (K., p. 135.—Sura, 19. 91-93.) "And they
say, 'God hath a son:' No! Praise be to him! But his whatever is in the
heavens and the earth! All obeyeth him, sole Maker of the heavens and
of the earth! and when he decreeth a thing he only saith to it, Be, and
it is" (K., p. 445.—Sura, 2. 110-111).

Mahomet's conception of his own character is most clearly expressed
in the seventh Sura, where, after enumerating some of the prophets
who had gone before him (as already related), he proceeds to describe
a supposed dialogue between Moses and God, in which the Deity speaks
thus:—

 "My chastisement shall fall on whom I will, and my mercy embraceth
 all things, and I write it down for those who shall fear me, and pay
 the alms, and believe in our signs, who shall follow the Apostle, the
 unlettered Prophet—whom they shall find described with them in the
 Law and Evangel. What is right will he enjoin them, and forbid them
 what is wrong, and will allow them healthful viands and prohibit the
 impure, and will ease them of their burden, and of the yokes which
 were upon them; and those who shall believe in him, and strengthen
 him, and help him, and follow the light which hath been sent down with
 him,—these are they with whom it shall be well."

The revelation to Moses now ceases, and God continues to address
Mahomet with the usual preliminary "say:"—

 "Say to them: O men! Verily I am God's apostle to you all: whose is
 the kingdom of the Heavens and of the Earth! There is no God but
 he! He maketh alive and killeth! Therefore believe in God and his
 apostle—the unlettered Prophet—who believeth in God and his word.
 And follow him that ye may be guided aright" (K., p. 386.—Sura, 7.
 155-158).

Mahomet liked to describe himself as unlettered, and thus to obtain for
the scriptural knowledge and literary skill displayed in the Koran the
credit of its being due to inspiration.

In another place he again describes his prophetic character in the
following strain:—

 "Muhammed is not the father of any man among you, but he is the
 Apostle of God and the seal of the prophets: and God knoweth all
 things.... O Prophet! we have sent thee to be a witness, and a
 herald of glad tidings, and a warner; and one who, through his own
 permission, summoneth to God, and a light-giving torch" (K., p.
 567.—Sura, 33, 40, 44, 45).

A conspicuous feature of the Koran to which allusion has not yet
been made is its frequent reference to the pleasures of Paradise to
be enjoyed by the faithful, and the pains of hell to be suffered
by the infidels. The day of judgment is continually held out as
an encouragement to the former, and a terror to the latter. The
fifty-sixth Sura contains a description of heaven which is enough
to make the mouth of good Moslems water. "The people of the right
hand" are to be happy; those of the left hand, wretched. The former
are to have "gardens of delight," with "inwrought couches," whereon
reclining, "aye-blooming youths" are to bring them "flowing wine" of
the best celestial vintage. They are to enjoy their favorite fruits,
and to eat whatever birds they long for. "Houris with large dark
eyes," and "ever virgins," never growing old, are to supply them
with the pleasures of love, so strangely overlooked in the Christian
pictures of heavenly life. On the other side, we have "the people of
the left hand," who are to be tormented with "pestilential winds"
and "scalding water," and are to live "in the shadow of a black
smoke," with the fruit of a bitter tree to eat and boiling water to
drink (K., p. 60.—Sura, 56). The prophet delights in warning his
enemies of their coming fate. "Verily," says God in another place,
"we have got ready the flame for the infidel" (K., p. 598.—Sura, 48.
13). "O Prophet!" we read elsewhere, "make war on the infidels and
hypocrites, and deal rigorously with them. Hell shall be their abode!
and wretched the passage to it!" (K., p. 606.—Sura, 66. 9). "God
promiseth the hypocritical men and women, and the unbelievers, the
fire of hell—therein shall they abide—this their sufficing portion!"
(K., p. 621.—Sura, 9. 69). Some, who had declined to march with the
Prophet from Medina on account of the heat, are sternly reminded that
"a fiercer heat will be the fire of hell" (K., p. 623.—Sura, 9. 82).

In contradistinction to the deplorable state of the hypocrites and
unbelievers—blind in this world and destined to suffer eternally in
the next—we have a pleasing picture of the condition of the faithful
Moslems:—

 "Muhammed is the apostle of God; and his comrades are vehement against
 the infidels, _but_ full of tenderness among themselves. Thou mayst
 see them bowing down, prostrating themselves, imploring favors from
 God, and his acceptance. Their tokens are on their faces, the marks of
 their prostrations. This is their picture in the Law and their picture
 in the Evangel; they are as the seed which putteth forth its stalk;
 then strengtheneth it, and it groweth stout, and riseth upon its stem,
 rejoicing the husbandman—that the infidels may be wrathful at them.
 To such of them as believe and do the things that are right, hath God
 promised forgiveness and a noble recompense" (K., p. 601.—Sura, 48.
 29).


                    SECTION VII.—THE OLD TESTAMENT.

Before entering upon the comparative examination of the Hebrew Canon,
it is necessary to say a few words of the extraordinary race who were
its authors. There is probably no other book of which it may be said,
with the same depth and fulness of meaning, that it is the work of a
nation and the reflection of a nation's life. The history of the Bible
and the history of the Jews are more intimately bound up together than
is that of any other nation with that of any other book. During the
period of their political existence as a separate people they wrote
the Canon. During the long period of political annihilation which has
succeeded, they have not ceased to write commentaries on the Canon.
This one great production has filled the imaginations, has influenced
the intellect, has fed the religious ardor of each succeeding
generation of Jews. To name the canonical Scriptures, and the endless
series of writings suggested by them or based upon them, would be
almost to sum up the results of the literary activity of the Hebrew
race.

Our first historical acquaintance with the Hebrews brings them
before us as obtaining by conquest, and then inhabiting, that narrow
strip of territory bordering the Mediterranean Sea which is known as
Palestine. Their own legends, indeed, carry us back to a still earlier
period, when they lived as slaves in Egypt; but on these, from the
character of the narrative, very little reliance can be placed. The
story, gradually becoming less and less mythical, tells us, what is
probably true, that they overcame the native inhabitants of Palestine
in war, and seized upon their land; that they then passed through
an anarchial period, during which the centre of authority seems to
have been lost, and the national unity was in no small danger of
being destroyed, had not vigorous and able leaders interposed to save
it; that, under the pressure of these circumstances, they adopted a
monarchial constitution, by which the dangers of this time of anarchy
were at least to a large extent averted, and the discordant elements
brought into subjection to a common centre. Thus united, the Jewish
monarchy rapidly attained a considerable height of splendor and of
power. Surrounding nations fell under its sway, and it took rank as
one of the great powers which divided Western Asia. But this glory was
not to last long. The monarchy, broken up into two hostile parts by the
folly of Rehoboam, lost alike its unity and its strength; and after
a long series of kings, whom it is needless to enumerate, both its
branches fell victims, at separate times, the one to Shalmaneser, king
of the Assyrians, the other to Nebuchadnezzar, king of the Chaldees.
The latter event, while it put an end to the very existence of the
Jewish nation as an independent political power—for it was but a fitful
independence which was recovered under the Asmoneans—marks an epoch
which severs the history of the Jews into two periods, distinguished
from one another by the completely different character borne by the
people in each. It is customary, for theological purposes, to represent
the religious development of the Jews as pervaded by a fundamental
unity. They are supposed to have known and worshiped the true God
from the beginning, to have been sharply marked off from the rest of
the world by their strict monotheism, and to have been unfaithful to
their inherited creed only when they refused to recognize Christ and
his apostles as its authorized interpreters. Their own records tell a
very different story. According to these, the religion of the Jews,
like that of other nations, progressed, changed, improved, underwent
purification and alteration, and was, in its earlier forms, not much
unlike that of the surrounding heathens. Their leaders, indeed, and all
those whom their Scriptures uphold as examples of excellence, worshiped
a national God, Jehovah, whom they may have considered the only god who
enjoyed actual existence and possessed actual power. But whether or
not this were the case, he was, for all practical purposes, simply the
tutelary deity of the Hebrews. In his name the conquerors of Palestine
pillaged, murdered, and inflicted cruelties on the vanquished; to him
they looked for aid in their belligerent undertakings; to him they
offered the first fruits of victory. It was under his direct leadership
that they professed to subdue the heathens, and to attain national
security. The ark was his dwelling, and it could only bring destruction
to the Philistines, who were not under the protection of its inmate.
And when the Jews asked to be placed under the rule of a monarch,
they were told by the mouthpiece of Jehovah that it was his divine
government which they were rejecting. The morality of the chiefs who
conducted the invasion and subjugation of Palestine was not one whit
superior to that of their enemies, nor was the god on whose power they
relied of an essentially higher nature than many other national or
local divinities who were worshiped by other nations. They were the
rude leaders of a rude people worshiping a rude deity. His character
was such as we might expect the tutelary divinity of a tribe of
wandering and unsettled Bedouins to be. Having to establish their right
to a permanent home and an organized government by force of arms, it
was only natural that they should represent their God as favoring the
exploits of those arms, and even urging them on to the most ruthless
exercise of the rights of conquerors. It was natural that even their
most revolting acts should be placed under the especial patronage of
this approving god. It was natural, too, that when the conquest had
been at least in great part effected, while yet the anarchial and
semi-savage condition of the victors continued (as it did more or less
until after the accession of David), and internal strife took the place
of external warfare, the national god should become to some extent a
party-god; should favor one section against another, and even excite
the ferocious passion of those to whose side he inclined. The god of
Moses, of Joshua, and the Judges was thus a passionate, relentless, and
cruel partisan. No doubt the facts were not precisely such as they are
represented to us by the writers in the Old Testament, since in the
internecine conflicts which occasionally broke forth we may assume that
each side claimed for itself the approbation of Jehovah. But still the
story of the Hebrew annals is clear enough to show us the semi-savage
character of the people in these early days, and their utter failure to
form that lofty conception of the deity with which they have been so
largely credited by believers in the supernatural inspiration of their
historical records.

The primitive conception entertained at this period, which corresponded
with that generally found among uncivilized nations, was improved
and elevated to some extent during the age of comparatively settled
government which succeeded. As the Israelites advanced in the practice
of the arts, in the possession of wealth, in the cultivation of the
literary or musical attainments that refine domestic life, in the
peaceful organization of a society that had become more industrial and
less warlike, their idea of Jehovah underwent the modifications which
these changes imply. The god of Samuel is widely different from the
god of Isaiah or Jeremiah. Whether the popular notion had risen to the
height attained by these prophets may indeed be doubted; but this too
must have altered in order to make such prophets possible. Yet, in
spite of the comparative improvement, there are abundant indications
during the kingly period that the old Hebrew deity still retained the
ferocious characteristics by which he had formerly been distinguished.
Elijah's patron is gracious enough to his own adherents, but the
attributes of mercy or gentleness towards human beings generally are
undiscoverable in his character. And the deeds of blood which pious
monarchs from time to time were guilty of in his honor, and which
received his approbation, show that if the process of his civilization
had begun, it was still very far from being completed.

But the special glory of the Jewish race is supposed to consist even
more in the fact that this God, such as he was, stood alone, than in
the excellence of the manner in which they conceived of his nature.
The constancy of their monotheism, amid the polytheism of surrounding
nations, has appeared to subsequent generations so marvelous as
to require a revelation to account for it. The facts, however, as
related to us by the Jews themselves, do not warrant the supposition
that monotheism actually was the creed of the people until after the
Captivity. It appears, indeed, that that form of belief was held by
those who are depicted to us as the most eminent and the most virtuous
among them, and it would seem that there was generally a considerable
party who adhered to the worship of Jehovah, and at times succeeded
in forcing it upon the nation at large. But that Jehovism was the
authorized and established national religion, and that every other
form and variety of faith was an authorized innovation, is a far
wider conclusion than the facts will warrant us in drawing. This, no
doubt, and nothing less than this, is the contention of the historical
writers of the Old Testament; but even their own statements, made as
they are under the influence of the strongest Jehovistic bias, point
with tolerable clearness to a different conclusion. They inform us
that while the most ancient leaders of the Israelites who conducted
them to the promised land, the distinguished Judges who from time to
time arose, and all the most virtuous kings, belonged to the religion
of Jehovah, the people, notwithstanding these great examples, were
continually guilty of relapses into idolatry of the most flagrant
kind. This tendency manifested itself so early, and reappeared with
such persistence during the whole history of the Israelites of both
branches up to the destruction of their respective monarchies, that we
cannot, consistently with the admitted facts, suppose that Jehovism
had at any time taken very deep root in the mind of the people. They
seem, on the contrary, to have been readily swayed to and fro by
the example of the reigning monarch. Whether indeed they sincerely
adopted monotheism under a monotheistic sovereign, may perhaps be
doubted; but the emphatic denunciations of the Biblical writers leave
us no room to question the perfect sincerity of their idolatry. All
therefore that we can be justified in inferring from what they tell
us is, that a succession of priests and prophets maintained the faith
of Jehovah from age to age, and that from time to time a sovereign
arose who favored their views, and did all in his power, sometimes by
fair means and not unfrequently by foul, to advance the interests of
the Jehovistic party. Indian history acquaints us with very similar
fluctuations in the religion of a province, according as the priests
of one or the other contending sect succeeded in obtaining influence
over the mind of the reigning Rajah. But although we maintain that
monotheism was not, previous to the captivity, the popular religion
of the Jews, we need not go the length of asserting that there was no
difference in their minds between Jehovah and the other deities whom
they adopted from surrounding nations. Jehovah was unquestionably
the national god, who was held to extend a peculiar protection over
the Hebrew race. Nor does it follow that those who betook themselves
to some idolatrous _cultus_ necessarily abandoned that of Jehovah.
Both might well have been carried on together, and there is abundant
evidence that the Jews of this period had much of that elasticity which
characterizes polytheism, and makes it ever ready to add new members
to its pantheon without discarding old favorites. So far as there was
a national worship carried on by a national priesthood, Jehovah must
have been its object. But we are not therefore compelled to imagine
that the nation had adopted Jehovism in so solemn and binding a manner
as to render its abandonment a gross violation of their fundamental
institutions. No doubt, according to the Scriptural writers, it was a
deliberate breach of the original constitution to forsake, even for a
moment, the exclusive service of the national god for that of any other
deity whatsoever. But the supernatural origin assigned by them to this
original constitution throws a doubt on their assertions, while the
facts they report serve to increase it. For while we learn that Jehovah
was deserted by one generation after another in favor of more popular
rivals, much to the indignation of his priests and prophets, we do not
perceive any traces of a consciousness on the part of the idolaters
that they were guilty of infidelity to fundamental and unchangeable
laws. They rather appear to have acted in mere levity, and the repeated
objurgations of the Jehovistic party would tend to the conclusion that
the people were not aware of any binding obligation to adhere to the
worship of this deity to the exclusion of that of every other. The
efforts of the Jehovists may indeed show that _they_ believed such an
obligation to exist: but not that their opponents were equally aware
of it. Moreover, we are not without some more positive testimony which
strongly favors this view of their mutual relations. Under the reign of
the pious, and no doubt credulous, Josiah, a certain priest professed
to have discovered a "book of the law" mysteriously hidden in the
temple. Without discussing in this place what book this may have been,
it is plain that it inculcated Jehovism under the penalty of curses
similar to those found in Deuteronomy, and it is plain too that its
contents caused the monarch a painful surprise, which expressed itself
by his rending his clothes and sending a commission to "inquire of the
Lord" "concerning the words of this book that is found." Now is it
possible to suppose that the words of such a book as this could have
inflicted on Josiah so great a shock, or have required the appointment
of a special commission to inquire concerning them, if it had been a
matter of familiar and general knowledge among the Jews that their
forefathers had solemnly adopted Jehovism as the only lawful national
creed, invoking upon themselves those very curses which the most devout
of monarchs was now unable to hear without astonishment and alarm? And
how are we to explain the production of this book by the priests as a
new discovery? If it had been merely the re-discovery of a lost volume
would the language of the narrative have been at all appropriate? Must
not Josiah in that case have rejoiced at the restoration to Judah of so
precious a treasure, however much he might have regretted the failure
of the nation to observe its precepts? The difficulty of supposing such
facts to have been forgotten is equally great. It would be scarcely
possible to imagine that not only the people, but the priests, could
at any period have lost all memory of the fact that they were bound,
under the most terrible penalties, to adhere to the faith of Jehovah.
At least the spiritual advisers of so religious a monarch must have
been well aware that their own creed formed an essential part of the
Jewish constitution; and we cannot doubt that they would carefully
have impressed this fact on their willing pupil, not as a startling
disclosure made only after he had been seventeen years on the throne
and had attained the age of twenty-five, but as one of his earliest and
most familiar lessons. In fact, this sudden discovery, in some secret
recess of the temple, of a hitherto unknown volume, concerning whose
claims to authority or antiquity the writers preserve a mysterious
silence, rather suggests the notion of a Jehovistic _coup d'état_,
prepared by the zeal of Hilkiah the priest and Shaphan the scribe. A
long time had passed since the accession of the king. His favorable
dispositions were well known. Since the eighth year of his reign at
least he had been under the influence of the priests, and in the
twelfth he had entered (no doubt under their directions) upon that
career of persecuting violence which was usual with pious monarchs
in Judea.[89] His mind was undoubtedly predisposed to receive with
implicit confidence any statements they might make. Hence, if Hilkiah
and his associates had conceived the idea of compiling, from materials
at their command, a book which, while recapitulating some events in
the ancient history of Israel, should represent those events in a light
favorable to their designs, they could hardly have chosen a better
moment for the execution of such a scheme. That they actually did this,
it would be going beyond the evidence in our possession to assert. It
may be that the book was an old one; and in any case, it is unnecessary
to suppose that it was an original composition of Hilkiah's, palmed off
upon the king as ancient. All that appears to me clearly to follow from
the terms of the narrative is, that the law which this book contained
(evidently the law of Jehovah) had not hitherto been regarded as the
established law of the country, and that the production of this volume,
in which its claims to that dignity were emphatically asserted, and its
violation represented as entailing the most grevious curses, was one of
the plans taken by the priestly party to procure for it the recognition
of that supremacy which they declared it had actually enjoyed in the
days of their forefathers. But although the history of Israel has been
written by adherents of this party, and we are unfortunately precluded
from checking their statements by any document recounting the same
events from the point of view of their opponents, their records, biased
as they are, clearly show us a nation whose favorite and ordinary
creed was not monotheism; which was ever ready to adopt with fervor
the idolatrous practices of its neighbors; and which was not converted
to pure and exclusive monotheism till after the terrible lesson of the
Captivity in Babylon.

This great event was turned to excellent account by the priests and
prophets of Jehovah. Instead of regarding it as a natural consequence
of the political relations of Judea with more powerful empires,
they represented it as the fulfillment of the penalties threatened
by Jehovah for infidelity towards himself. And as this view offered
a plausible explanation of their unparalleled misfortunes, it was
naturally accepted by many as the true solution of sufferings so
difficult to reconcile with the protection supposed to be accorded by
their national god. Under these circumstances a double process went
on during their compulsory residence in heathendom. Great numbers,
who were either not Jehovists, or whose Jehovism was but lukewarm,
gradually adapted themselves to their situation among idolaters, and
became at length indistinguishably fused, as the ten scribes had been,
with the alien races. But a few remained faithful to their God. These
few it was who formed the whole of the nation which, when return was
possible, returned to their native soil. Those who were not inspired
by a deep sense of the sanctity of their national religion; those to
whom the restoration of their national rites was not the one object of
overwhelming importance; those whose hopes of national restoration were
of a temporal rather than a spiritual nature, had no sufficient motive
to return to their native soil. Jerusalem could have no attractions
for them which Babylon did not possess. Thus, by a natural process,
the most ardent, the most spiritual, the most unbending monotheists
were weeded out from the mass of the community, and it was they who
accompanied Zerubbabel or Ezra on his sacred mission. Misfortune, which
had not shaken their faith, had deepened and purified it. Not only were
they Jehovists, but they were Jehovists of the sternest type. There was
among them none of that admixture of levity, and none of that facile
adaptability to foreign rites, which characterized the oldest Jews.
From this time forward their monotheism has never been broken by a
single relapse.

Thus the Captivity forms the turning-point in the character of the
Jews; for, in fact, the nation which was conquered by Nebuchadnezzar
was not the nation which, in the days of Kyros and Artaxerxes returned
to re-colonize and rebuild Jerusalem. The conquered people belonged
to a monarchy which, if it was now feeble and sunken, was directly
descended from one which had been glorious and mighty, and which had
aimed at preserving for Judea the status and dignity of an independent
power. Under its influence the Jews had been mobile, idolatrous,
deaf to the voice of Jehovistic prophets, neglectful of Jehovistic
rites; desirous of conquest, and, when that was impossible, unwilling
on political grounds to submit to foreign domination; rude if not
semi-barbarous in morals, and distracted by the contention of rival
religious parties. But this polity, of which the ruling motives were
mainly political, was succeeded after the return of the exiles by a
polity of which the ruling motives were exclusively religious. All were
now adherents of Jehovah; all were zealous performers of the rites
conceived to be his due.

This change must be borne in mind if we would understand Jewish
history; for the same language is not applicable to the Jews before and
after the Captivity, nor can we regard in the same light a struggling
and feeble race upholding its unanimous faith in the midst of trials,
and an independent nation in which a party, from time to time
victorious, endeavors to impose that faith by force. We may without
inconsistency censure the violence of the Jehovistic sectaries, and
admire the courage of the Jehovistic people. But although there is much
in this change that is good, it must be admitted that it has its bad
side. While becoming more conscientious, more scrupulously true to its
own principles, and more penetrated with a sense of religion, Judaism
became at the same time more rigid, more formal, more ritualistic, and
more unsocial. Ewald has remarked that the constitution established
after the return from captivity is one that lays undue stress upon the
exterior forms of religion, and may in time even become hostile to
what is truly holy. As it claims to be in possession of something holy
which temporal governments do not possess, it cannot submit to their
dominion; hence, he observes, Israel could never become an independent
nation again under this constitution.[90] Nor was this all. Even apart
from its tendency to magnify external forms, which was perhaps not of
its essence, the religion of Jehovah had inherent vices. The Jews,
believing their god to be the only true one, and insisting above all
on the supreme importance of preserving the purity of his _cultus_,
were necessarily led to assume a haughty and exclusive attitude towards
all other nations, which could not fail to provoke their hostility.
This unloveable spirit was shown immediately after their return by
their contumelious rejection of the Sâmaritan proposals to aid in
building the temple—proposals which seem to have been made in good
faith; by the Sabbatarian legislation of Nehemiah; and even more by the
exclusively harsh measures taken by Ezra for the purification of the
race. It was simply inevitable that all heathen nations who came in
contact with them should hate a people who acted on such principles.
Nor were the fears of the heathen altogether without foundation. When
the Jews recovered a temporary independence under the Maccabees, their
intolerance, now able to vent itself in acts of conquest, became a
source of serious danger. Thus, John Hyrcanus destroyed the temple of
the Sâmaritans (who also worshiped Jehovah) on Mount Gerizim, and the
Jews actually commemorated the event by a semi-festival. Alexander
Jannasus, too, carried on wars of conquest against his neighbors. In
one of these he took the town of Gaza, and evinced the treatment to
be expected from him by letting loose his army on the inhabitants and
utterly destroying their city. It was no doubt their unsocial and proud
behavior towards all who were not Jews that provoked the heathens
to try their temper by so many insults directed to the sensitive
point—their religion. Culpable as this was, it must be admitted that
it was in some degree the excessive scrupulosity of the Jews in regard
to things indifferent in themselves that exposed them to so much
annoyance. Had they been content to permit the existence of Hellenic
or Roman customs side by side with theirs, they might have been spared
the miseries which they subsequently endured. But the Scriptures,
from beginning to end, breathed a spirit of fierce and exclusive
attachment to Jehovah; he was the only deity; all other objects of
adoration were an abomination in his sight. Penetrated with this
spirit, the Jews patiently submitted to the yoke of every succeeding
authority—Chaldeans, Syrians, Egyptians, Romans—until the stranger
presumed to tamper with the national religion. Then their resistance
was fierce and obstinate. The great rebellion which broke out in the
reign of Antiochus Epiphanes, under the leadership of Mattathias, was
provoked by the attempt of that monarch to force Greek institutions on
the Jewish people. The glorious dynasty of the Asmoneans were priests
as well as kings, and the royal office, indeed, was only assumed by
them in the generation after that in which they had borne the priestly
office, and as a consequence of the authority derived therefrom. Under
the semi-foreign family of the Herods, who supplanted the Asmoneans,
and ruled under Roman patronage, as afterwards under the direct
government of Rome, it was nothing but actual or suspected aggressions
against the national faith that provoked the loudest murmurs or the
most determined opposition. It was this faith which had upheld the
Jews in their heroic revolt against Syrian innovations. It was this
which inspired them to support every offshoot of the Asmonean family
against the odious Herod. It was this which led them to entreat of
Pompey that he would abstain from the violation of the temple; to
implore Caligula, at the peril of their lives, not to force his statue
upon them; to raise tumults under Cumanus, and finally to burst the
bonds of their allegiance to Rome under Gessius Florus. It was this
which sustained the war that followed upon that outbreak—a war in which
even the unconquerable power of the Roman Empire quailed before the
unrivaled skill and courage of this indomitable race; a war of which I
do not hesitate to say that it is probably the most wonderful, the most
heroic, and the most daring which an oppressed people has ever waged
against its tyrants.

But against such discipline as that of Rome, and such generals
as Vespasian and Titus, success, however brilliant, could be but
momentary. The Jewish insurrection was quelled in blood, and the Jewish
nationality was extinguished—never to revive. One more desperate effort
was indeed made; once more the best legions and the best commanders of
the Empire were put in requisition; once more the hopes of the people
were inflamed, this time by the supposed appearance of the Messiah,
only to be doomed again to a still more cruel disappointment. Jerusalem
was razed to the ground; Aelia Capitolina took its place; and on the
soil of Aelia Capitolina no Jew might presume to trespass. But if the
trials imposed on the faith of this devoted race by the Romans were
hard, they were still insignificant compared to those which it had to
bear from the Christian nations who inherited from them the dominion
of Europe. These nations considered the misfortunes of the Jews as
proceeding from the divine vengeance on the crime they had committed
against Christ; and lest this vengeance should fail to take effect,
they made themselves its willing instruments. No injustice and no
persecution could be too bad for those whom God himself so evidently
hated. Besides, the Jews had a miserable habit of acquiring wealth;
and it was convenient to those who did not share their ability or
their industry to plunder them from time to time. But the Jewish race
and the Jewish religion survived it all. Tormented, tortured, robbed,
put to death, hunted from clime to clime; outcasts in every land,
strangers in every refuge, the tenacity of their character was proof
against every trial, and superior to every temptation. In this unequal
combat of the strong against the weak, the synagogue has fairly beaten
the Church, and has vindicated for itself that liberty which during
centuries of suffering its enemy refused to grant. Eighteen hundred
years have passed since the soldiers of Titus burned down the temple,
laid Jerusalem in ashes, and scattered to the winds the remaining
inhabitants of Judea; but the religion of the Jews is unshaken still;
it stands unconquered and unconquerable, whether by the bloodthirsty
fury of the legions of Rome, or by the still more bloodthirsty
intolerance of the ministers of Christ.


                SUBDIVISION I.—_The Historical Books._

It is scarcely necessary to say that no complete account of the
contents of the Old Testament can be attempted here. To accomplish
anything like a full description of its various parts, and to discuss
the numerous critical questions that must arise in connection with such
a description, would in itself require a large volume. In a treatise
on comparative religion, anything of this kind would be out of place.
It is mainly in its comparative aspect that we are concerned with the
Bible. Hence many very interesting topics, such, for instance, as the
age or authorship of the several books, must be passed over in silence.
Tempting as it may be to turn aside to such inquiries, they have no
immediate bearing on the subject in hand. Whatever may be the ultimate
verdict of Biblical criticism respecting them, the conclusions here
reached will remain unaffected. All that I can do is to assume without
discussion the results obtained by the most eminent scholars, in so
far as they appear to me likely to be permanent. That the Book of
Genesis, for example, is not the work of a single writer, but that at
least two hands may be distinguished in it; that the Song of Solomon
is, as explained both by Renan and Ewald, a drama, and not an effusion
of piety; that the latter part of Isaiah is not written by the same
prophet who composed the former,—are conclusions of criticism which
I venture to think may now be taken for granted and made the basis
of further reasoning. At the same time I have taken for granted—not
as certain, but as likely to be an approximation to the truth—the
chronological arrangement of the prophets proposed by Ewald in his
great work on that portion of Scripture. Further than this, I believe
there are no assumptions of a critical character in the ensuing pages.

First, then, it is to be observed that the problems which occupied
the writers of the Book of Genesis, and which in their own fashion
they attempted to solve, were the same as those which in all ages have
engaged the attention of thoughtful men, and which have been dealt
with in many other theologies besides that of the Hebrews. The Hebrew
solution may or may not be superior in simplicity or grandeur to the
solutions of Parsees, Hindus, and others; but the attempt is the same
in character, even if the execution be more successful. The authors of
Genesis endeavor especially to account for:—

  1. THE CREATION OF THE UNIVERSE.
  2. THE ORIGIN OF MAN AND ANIMALS.
  3. THE INTRODUCTION OF EVIL.
  4. THE DIVERSITY OF LANGUAGES.

Although the fourth of these questions is, so far as I am aware, not a
common subject of consideration in popular mythologies, the first three
are the standard subjects of primitive theological speculation. Let us
begin with the Creation.

One of the earliest inquiries that human beings address themselves to
when they arrive at the stage of reflection is:—How did this world in
which we find ourselves come into being? Out of what elements was it
formed? Who made it, and in what way? A natural and obvious reply to
such an inquiry is, that a Being of somewhat similar nature to their
own, though larger and more powerful, took the materials of which the
world is formed and moulded them, as a workman moulds the materials
of his handicraft, into their present shape. The mental process gone
through in reaching this conclusion is simply that of pursuing a
familiar analogy in such a manner as to bring the unknown within the
range of conceptions applicable to the known. The solution, as will
be seen shortly, contrives to satisfy one-half of the problem only by
leaving the other half out of consideration. This difficulty, however,
does not seem to have occurred to the ancient Hebrew writers who
propounded the following history of the Creation of the Universe:—

"In the beginning," they say, "God created the heavens and the earth.
And the earth was desolate and waste, and darkness on the face of the
abyss, and the Spirit of God hovering on the face of the waters. And
God said: Let there be light, and there was light. And God saw the
light that it was good, and God divided between the light and the
darkness. And God called the light Day, and the darkness he called
Night. And it was Evening, and it was Morning: one day.

"And God said: Let there be a vault for separation of the waters,
and let it divide between waters and waters." Hereupon he made the
vault, and separated the waters above it from those below it. The
vault he called Heavens. This was his second day's work. On the third,
he separated the dry land from the sea, "and saw that it was good;"
besides which he caused the earth to bring forth herbs and fruit-trees.
"And God said: Let there be lights in the vault of the heavens to
divide between the day and between the night, and let them be for signs
and for times and for days and for years." Hereupon he made the sun for
the day, the moon for the night, and the stars. "And God put them on
the vault of the heavens to give light to the earth, and to rule by day
and by night, and to separate between the light and the darkness; and
God saw that it was good. And it was evening, and it was morning; the
fourth day" (Gen. i. 1-19).

Let us pause a moment here before passing on to the next branch of the
subject: the creation of animals and man. The author had two questions
before him; how the materials of the universe came into being, and how,
when in being, they assumed their present forms and relative positions.
Of the first he says nothing, unless the first verse be taken to
refer to it. But this can scarcely be; for the expression, "God made
the heavens and the earth," cannot easily be supposed to refer to
the original production of the matter out of which the heavens and
the earth were subsequently made. Rather must we take it as a short
heading, referring to the creation which is about to be described. And
in any case, the manner in which there came to be anything at all out
of which heavens and earth could be constructed is not considered. We
are left apparently to suppose that matter is coeval with the Deity;
for the author never faces the question of its origin, which is the
real difficulty in all such cosmogonies as his, but hastens at once
to the easier task of describing the separation and classification of
materials already in existence.

Somewhat similar to the Hebrew legend, both in what it records and
in what it omits, is the story of creation as told by the Quichés in
America:—

 "This is the first word and the first speech. There were neither men
 nor brutes, neither birds, fish, nor crabs, stick nor stone, valley
 nor mountain, stubble nor forest, nothing but the sky; the face of
 the land was hidden. There was naught but the silent sea and the sky.
 There was nothing joined, nor any sound, nor thing that stirred;
 neither any to do evil, nor to rumble in the heavens, nor a walker
 on foot; only the silent waters, only the pacified ocean, only it
 in its calm. Nothing was but stillness, and rest, and darkness,
 and the night; nothing but the Maker and Moulder, the Hurler, the
 Bird-Serpent" (M. N. W., p. 196.—Popol Vuh, p. 7).

Another cosmogony is derived from the Mixtecs, also aborigines of
America:—

 "In the year and in the day of clouds, before ever were either years
 or days, the world lay in darkness; all things were orderless, and a
 water covered the slime and the ooze that the earth then was" (M. N.
 W., p. 196).

Two winds are in this myth the agents employed to effect the subsidence
of the waters, and the appearance of dry land. In another account,
related by some other tribes, the muskrat is the instrument which
divides the land from the waters. These myths, as Mr. Brinton, who
has collected them, truly remarks, are "not of a construction, but a
reconstruction only, and are in that respect altogether similar to the
creative myth of the first chapter of Genesis."

In the Buddhistic history of the East Mongols, the creation of the
world is made, as in Genesis, the starting point of the relation.
But the creative forces in this mythology are apparently supposed to
be inherent in primeval matter. Hence we have a Lucretian account of
the movements of the several parts of the component mass without any
consideration of the question how the impulse to these movements was
originally given. "In the beginning there arose the external reservoir
from three different masses of matter; namely, from the creative air,
from the waving water, and from the firm, plastic earth. A strong wind
from ten-quarters now brought about the blue atmosphere. A large cloud,
pouring down continuous rain, formed the sea. Dry land arose by means
of grains of dust collecting on the surface of the ocean, like cream on
milk."[91]

Although the sacred writings of the Parsees contain no connected
account of the creation, yet this void is fully supplied by traditions
which have acquired a religious sanction, and have entered into the
popular belief. Those traditions are found in the Bundehesh and the
Shahnahmeh, works of high authority in the Parsee system. According to
them, Ahura-Mazda, the good principle, induced his rival, Agra-Mainyus,
the evil principle, to enter into a truce of nine thousand years,
foreseeing that by means of this interval he would be able to subdue
him in the end. Agra-Mainyus, having discovered his blunder, went to
the darkest hell, and remained there three thousand years. Ahura-Mazda
took advantage of this repose to create the material world. He
produced the sky in forty-five days, the water in sixty, the earth in
seventy-five, the trees in thirty, the cattle in eighty, and human
beings in seventy-five; three hundred and sixty-five days were thus
occupied with the business of creation. It will be observed that,
though the time taken is longer, the order of production is the same
in the Parsee as in the Hebrew legend. This fact tends to confirm the
supposition, which will hereafter appear still more probable, of an
intimate relation between the two.

Always prone to speculation, the Hindus were certain to find in the
dark subject of creation abundant materials for their mystic theories.
Various explanations are accordingly given in the Rig-Veda. Thus, the
following account is found in the tenth Book:—

 "Let us, in chanted hymns, with praise, declare the births of the
 gods,—any of us who in this latter age may behold them. Brâhmanaspati
 blew forth these births like a blacksmith. In the earliest age of
 the gods, the existent sprang from the non-existent: thereafter the
 regions sprang from Uttānapad. The earth sprang from Uttānapad, from
 the earth sprang the regions: Daksha sprang from Aditi, and Aditi from
 Daksha. Then the gods were born, and drew forth the sun, which was
 hidden in the ocean" (O. S. T., vol. v. p. 48.—Rig-Veda, x. 72).

With higher wisdom, another Vaidik Rishi declares it impossible to know
the origin of the universe:—

 "There was then neither nonentity nor entity: there was no atmosphere,
 nor sky above. What enveloped [all]? Where, in the receptacle of
 what, [was it contained]? Was it water, the profound abyss? Death was
 not then, nor immortality; there was no distinction of day or night.
 That One breathed calmly, self-supported; there was nothing different
 from, or above, it. In the beginning darkness existed, enveloped
 in darkness. All this was undistinguishable water. That One which
 lay void, and wrapped in nothingness, was developed by the power of
 fervor. Desire first arose in It, which was the primal germ of mind;
 [and which] sages, searching with their intellect, have discovered in
 their heart to be the bond which connects entity with nonentity. The
 ray [or cord] which stretched across these [worlds], was it below or
 was it above? There were there impregnating powers and mighty forces,
 a self-supporting principle beneath, and energy aloft. Who knows, who
 here can declare, whence has sprung, whence, this creation? The gods
 are subsequent to the development of this [universe]; who then knows
 whence it arose? From what this creation arose, and whether [any one]
 made it or not, he who in the highest heaven is its ruler, he verily
 knows, or even he does not know" (O. S. T., vol. v. p. 356.—Rig-Veda,
 x. 129).

A later narrative ascribes creation to the god Prajapati, who, it is
said, having the desire to multiply himself, underwent the requisite
austerities, and then produced earth, air, and heaven (A. B., vol. ii.
p. 372).

We now return to Genesis, which proceeds to its second problem: the
creation of living creatures and of man. This is solved in two distinct
fashions by two different writers. The first relates that on the fifth
day God said, "Let the waters swarm with the swarming of animals
having life, and let birds fly to and fro on the earth, on the face
of the vault of the heavens." Having thus produced the inhabitants of
the ocean and air on the fifth day, he produced those of earth on the
sixth. On this day too he made man in his own image, and created them
male and female. The whole of his work was now finished, and on the
seventh day he enjoyed repose from his creative exertions, for which
reason he blessed the seventh day (Gen. 1-ii. 3).

       *       *       *       *       *

Here the first account of creation ends; the second begins with a
descriptive title at the fourth verse of the second chapter. The writer
of this version, unlike his predecessor, instead of ascribing the
creation of man to the immediate fiat of Elohim, describes the process
as resembling one of manufacture. God formed the human figure out of
the dust of the earth, and then blew life into it, a conception drawn
from the wide-spread notion of the identity of breath with life. Again
the narrator of the second story varies from the narrator of the first
about the creation of the sexes. In the first, the male and female are
made together. In the second, a deep sleep falls upon the man, during
which God takes out a rib from his side and makes the woman out of it.
Generally speaking, it may be remarked that the former writer moves in
a more transcendental sphere than the latter. He likes to conceive the
origin of the world, with all its flora and all its fauna, as arising
from the simple power of the word of God. How they arise he never
troubles himself to say. The latter is more terrestrial. God with him
is like a powerful artist; extremely skilled indeed in dealing with
his materials, but nevertheless obliged to adapt his proceedings to
their nature and capabilities. This author delights in the concrete
and particular; and not only does he aim at relating the order of
the creation, but also at making the _modus operandi_ more or less
intelligible to his hearers.

A somewhat different account of the origin of man is given in the
traditions of Samoa, one of the Fiji islands. These traditions also
describe an epoch when the earth was covered with water. "Tangaloa,
the great Polynesian Jupiter," sent his daughter to find a dry place.
After a long time she found a rock. In subsequent visits she reported
that the dry land was extending. "He then sent her down with some earth
and a creeping plant, as all was barren rock. She continued to visit
the earth and return to the skies. Next visit, the plant was spreading.
Next time, it was withered and decomposing. Next visit, it swarmed with
worms. And the next time, the worms had become men and women! A strange
account of man's origin!" On which it may be remarked, as a curious
psychological phenomenon, tending to illustrate the effects of habit,
that the missionary considers it "a strange account of man's origin"
which represents God as making him from worms, but readily accepts
another in which he is made out of dust.

The third question dealt with in Genesis is that of the origin of evil.
This is a problem which has engaged the attention and perplexed the
minds of many inquirers besides these ancient Hebrews, and for which
most religions provide some kind of solution. The manner in which it is
treated here is as follows:—

When God made Adam, he placed him in a garden full of delights, and
especially distinguished by the excellence of its fruit-trees. There
was one of these trees, however, the fruit of which he did not wish
Adam to eat. He accordingly gave him strict orders on the subject in
these words: "Of every tree of the garden thou mayst eat; but of the
tree of knowledge of good and evil, of that thou mayst not eat, for on
what day thou eatest thereof, thou diest the death" (Gen. ii. 16, 17).
This order we must suppose to have been imparted by Adam to Eve, who
was not produced until after it had been given. At any rate, we find
her fully cognizant of it in the ensuing chapter, where the serpent
appears upon the scene and endeavors, only too successfully, to induce
her to eat the fruit. After yielding to the temptation herself, she
induced her husband to do the like; whereupon both recognized the
hitherto unnoticed fact of their nudity, and made themselves aprons of
fig-leaves. Shortly after this crisis in their lives God came down to
enjoy the cool of the evening in the garden; and Adam and Eve, feeling
their guilt, ran to hide themselves among the trees. God called Adam,
and the latter replied that he had hidden himself because he was naked.
But God at once asked who had told him he was naked. Had he eaten of
the forbidden tree? Of course Adam and Eve had to confess, and God
then cursed the serpent for his gross misconduct, and punished the man
by imposing labor upon him, and the woman by rendering her liable to
the pains of childbirth. He also condescended so far as to become the
first tailor, making garments of skins for Adam and Eve. But though he
had thus far got the better of them by his superior strength, he was
not without apprehension that they might outwit him still. "And God,
the Everlasting, spoke: See, the man is become as one of us, to know
good and evil; and now, lest he should stretch out his hand and take
also of the tree of life, and eat and live forever! Therefore God,
the Everlasting, sent him out of the garden of Eden, to cultivate the
ground from which he had been taken" (Gen. iii. 22, 23). And in order
to make quite sure that the man should not get hold of the tree of
life, a calamity which would have defeated his intention to make him
mortal, he guarded the approach to it by means of Cherubim, posted as
sentinels with the flame of a sword that turned about. In this way
he conceived that he had secured himself against any invasion of his
privilege of immortality on the part of the human race.

Like the myth of creation, the myth of a happier and brighter age,
when men did not suffer from any of the evils that oppress them now,
is common, if not universal. Common too, if not equally common, is the
notion that they fell from that superior state by contracting the stain
of sin. I need scarcely refer to the classical story of a golden age,
embodied by Hesiod in his "Works and Days," nor to the fable of Pandora
allowing the ills enclosed in the box to escape into the world. But it
may be of interest to remark, that the conception of a Paradise was
no less familiar to the natives of America than to those of Europe.
"When Christopher Columbus," observes Brinton, "fired by the hope of
discovering this terrestrial paradise, broke the enchantment of the
cloudy sea and found a new world, it was but to light upon the same
race of men, deluding themselves with the same hope of earthly joys,
the same fiction of a long-lost garden of their youth" (M. N. W., p.
87). Elsewhere he says: "Once again, in the legends of the Mixtecas, we
hear the old story repeated of the garden where the first two brothers
dwelt.... 'Many trees were there, such as yield flowers and roses, very
luscious fruits, divers herbs, and aromatic spices'" (M. N. W., p.
90). Corresponding to the golden age among the Greeks was the Parsee
conception of the reign of Yima, a mythological monarch who was in
immediate and friendly intercourse with Ahura-Mazda. Yima's kingdom is
thus described in the Vendidad: "There was there neither quarreling
nor disputing; neither stupidity nor violence; neither begging nor
imposture; neither poverty nor illness. No unduly large teeth; no form
that passes the measure of the body; none of the other marks, which
are marks of Agra-Mainyus, that he has made on men" (Av., vol. i. p.
76.—Vendidad, Fargard ii. 116 ff.). In another passage, found in the
Khorda-Avesta, not only is the happiness of Yima's time depicted, but
it is also distinctly asserted that he fell through sin. "During his
rule there was no cold, no heat, no old age, no death, no envy created
by the Devas, on account of the absence of lying, previously, before
he (himself) began to love lying, untrue speeches. Then, when he began
to love lying, untrue speeches, Majesty fled from him visibly with the
body of a bird" (Av., vol. iii. p. 175.—Khorda-Avesta, xxxv. 32, 34).

More elaborately than in any of these systems is the fall of man
described in the mythology of Buddhism. In this religion, as in that of
the Jews, man is of divine origin, though after a somewhat different
fashion. A spiritual being, or god, fell from one of the upper spheres,
to be born in the world of man. Through the progressive increase of
this being arose "the six species of living creatures in the three
worlds." The most eminent of these species, Man, enjoyed an untold
duration of life (another point in which Buddhistic legends resemble
those of the Hebrews). Locomotion was carried on through the air;
they did not consume impure terrestrial food, but lived on celestial
victuals; and propagation, since there was no distinction of sex, was
carried on by means of emanation. They did not require sun or moon,
for they saw by their own light. Alas! one of these pure beings was
tempted by a fool called earth-butter and ate it. The rest followed
its example. Hereupon the heavenly food vanished; the race lost their
power of going about the sky, and ceased to shine by their own light.
This was the origin of the evil of the darkening of the mind. As a
consequence of these deeds, sun, moon, and stars appeared. Still
greater calamities were in store for men. Another, at another time,
ate a different kind of food, an example again followed by the rest.
In consequence of this, the distinctions of sex were established in
them; passion arose; they began to beget children. This was the origin
of the evil of sensual love. On a further occasion, one of them ate
wild rice, and all lived for a time on wild rice, gathered as it was
needed for immediate consumption. But when some foolish fellow took it
into his head to collect enough for the following day, the rice ceased
to grow without cultivation. This was the origin of the evil of idle
carelessness. It being now necessary to cultivate rice, persons began
to appropriate and quarrel about land, and even to kill one another.
This was the origin of the evil of anger. Again, some who were better
off hid their stores from those who were not so well off. This was
the origin of the evil of covetousness. In course of time the age of
men began to decline so as to be expressible in numbers. It continues
gradually to decline until a turning-point arrives, at which it again
increases (G. O. M., p. 5-9).

Several points of similarity between the Hebrew myth and that just
narrated will doubtless occur to the reader. The fall of man is due,
in this, as in Genesis, to the eating of a peculiar food by a single
person; and this example is followed, in the one case, by the only
other inhabitant; in the other, by all. The calamity thus entailed
does not terminate in the loss of former pleasures, but extends to the
introduction of crime and sexual relations. Eve is cursed by having to
bear children; the same misfortune happened to the Buddhist women. Cain
quarreled with Abel and killed him; so did the landed proprietors in
the Indian legend quarrel with and kill one another.

The fourth question which appeared to have engaged the attention of the
authors of Genesis was that of the variety of languages. How was it,
if all mankind were descended from a single pair, and if again all but
the Noachian family had been drowned, that they did not all speak the
pure language in which Adam and Eve had conversed with their Creator
in Paradise? Embarrassed by their own theories, the writers attempted
to account for the phenomenon of the diverse modes of speech in use
among men by an awkward myth. Men had determined to build a town, with
a tower which should reach to heaven. Jehovah, however, came down one
day to see what they were about, and was filled with apprehension that,
if they succeeded in this undertaking, he might find it impossible
to prevent them from carrying out their wishes in other ways also,
whatever those wishes might be. So he determined to confound their
language, that they might not understand one another, and by this happy
contrivance put an end to the construction of the dangerous tower (Gen.
xi. 1-9).

We have anticipated the course of the narrative in order to consider
the solutions offered in Genesis of the four principal problems with
which it attempts to deal. We must now return to the point at which we
left the parents of the race, namely, immediately after their expulsion
from Eden. They now began to beget children rapidly; and Adam's eldest
son, Cain, afterwards killed his second son, Abel, for which Jehovah
cursed him as he had previously cursed his parents. Adam and Eve had
several other children, and (though this is nowhere expressly stated,
but only implied) the brothers and sisters united in marriage to carry
out the propagation of the species. In course of time, however, the
"sons of God" began to admire the beauty of the "daughters of men," and
to take wives from among them. Jehovah, indignant at such a scandal,
fixed the limits of man's life—which had hitherto been measured by
centuries—at 120 years. At the same time there were giants on earth.
Now Jehovah saw that the human race was extremely wicked, so much
so, that he began to wish he had never created it. To remedy this
blunder, however, he determined to destroy it; and in order that the
improvement should be thorough, to destroy along with it all cattle,
creeping things, and birds, who had not (so far as we are aware,)
entered into the same kind of irregular alliances with other species as
men. Nevertheless, he had still a lingering fondness for his handiwork,
badly as it had turned out; and therefore determined to preserve enough
of each kind of animal, man included, to carry on the breed without
the necessity of resorting a second time to creation. Acting upon
this resolve, he ordered an individual named Noah to build an ark of
gopher-wood, announcing that he would shortly destroy all flesh, but
wished to save Noah and his three sons, with their several wives. He
also desired him to take two members of each species of beasts and
birds, or, according to another account, seven of each clean beast
and bird, and two of each unclean beast; but in any case taking care
that each sex should be represented in the ark. When Noah had done all
this, the waters came up from below and down from above, and there
was an increasing flood for forty days. All terrestrial life but that
which floated in the ark was destroyed. At last the waters began to
ebb, and finally the ark rested on the 17th day of the 7th month on
Mount Ararat. After forty more days Noah sent out a raven and a dove,
of which only the dove returned. In seven days he sent the dove again,
and it returned, bringing an olive-leaf; and after another week, when
he again sent it out, it returned no more. It was not, however, till
the 27th of the 2d month of the ensuing year (these chroniclers being
very exact about dates) that the earth was dried, and that Noah and his
party were able to quit the ark. To commemorate the goodness of God in
drowning all the world except himself and his family, Noah erected an
altar and offered burnt-offerings of every clean beast and every clean
fowl. The effect was instantaneous. So pleased was Jehovah with the
"pleasant smell," that he resolved never to destroy all living beings
again, though still of opinion that "the imagination of man's heart is
evil from his youth" (Gen. vi. 7, 8).

The myth of the deluge is very general. The Hebrews have no exclusive
property in it. Many different races relate it in different ways. We
may easily suppose that the partial deluges to which they must often
have been witnesses suggested the notion of a universal deluge, in
which not only a few tribes or villages perished, but all the inhabited
earth was laid under water; or the memory of some actual flood of
unusual dimensions may have survived in the popular mind, and been
handed down with traits of exaggeration and distortion such as are
commonly found in the narratives of events preserved by oral tradition.
Let us examine a few instances of the flood-myth.

The Fijians relate that the god "Degei was roused every morning by the
cooing of a monstrous bird," but that two young men, his grandsons,
one day accidentally killed and buried it. Degei having, after some
trouble, found the dead body, determined to be avenged. The youths
"took refuge with a powerful tribe of carpenters," who built a fence to
keep out the god. Unable to take the fence by storm, Degei brought on
heavy floods, which rose so high that his grandsons and their friends
had to escape in "large bowls that happened to be at hand." They landed
at various places; but it is said that the two tribes became extinct
(Viti, p. 394).

The Greenlanders have "a tolerably distinct tradition" of a flood. They
say that all men were drowned excepting one. This one beat with his
stick upon the ground and thereby produced a woman (Grönland, p. 246).

Kamtschatka has a somewhat similar legend, except that it admits a
larger number of survivors. Very many, according to this version, were
drowned, and the waves had sunk those who had got into boats; but
others took refuge in rafts, binding the trees together to make them.
On these they saved themselves with their provisions and all their
property. When the waters subsided, the rafts remained on the high
mountains (Kamtschatka, p. 273).

Among the North Americans "the notion of a universal deluge" was, in
the time of the Jesuit De Charlevoix, "rather wide-spread." In one of
their stories, told by the Iroquois, all human beings were drowned; and
it was necessary, in order to re-populate the earth, to change animals
into men (N. F., vol. iii. p. 345).

The Tupis of Brazil are supposed to be named after Tupa, the first
of men, "who alone survived the flood" (M. N. W., p. 185). Again,
"the Peruvians imagined that _two_ destructions had taken place, the
first by a famine, the second by a flood; according to some a few only
escaping, but, after the more widely accepted opinion, accompanied by
the absolute extirpation of the race." The present race came from eggs
dropped out of heaven (Ibid., p. 213). Several other tribes relate in
diverse forms this world-wide story. In one of the versions, found in
an old Mexican work, a man and his wife are saved, by the directions
of their god, in a hollow cypress. In another, the earth is destroyed
by water, because men "did not think nor speak of the Creator who had
created them, and who had caused their birth." "Because they had not
thought of their Mother and Father, the Heart of Heaven, whose name is
Hurakan, therefore the face of the earth grew dark, and a pouring rain
commenced, raining by day, raining by night" (Ibid., p. 206 ff.).

The diluvian legend appears in a very singular form in India in the
Satapatha Brâhmana. There it is stated, that in the basin which was
brought to Manu to wash his hands in, there was one morning a small
fish. The fish said to him, "Preserve me, I shall save thee." Manu
inquired from what it would save him. The fish replied that it would be
from a flood which would destroy all creatures. It informed Manu that
fishes, while small, were exposed to the risk of being eaten by other
fishes; he was therefore to put it first into a jar; then when it grew
too large for that, to dig a trench and keep it in that; that when it
grew too large for the trench, to carry it to the ocean. Straightway
it became a large fish, and said: "Now in such and such a year, then
the flood will come; thou shalt therefore construct a ship, and resort
to me; thou shalt embark in the ship when the flood rises, and I shall
deliver thee from it." Manu took the fish to the sea, and in the year
that had been named, "he constructed a ship and resorted to him. When
the flood rose, Manu embarked in the ship. The fish swam towards him.
He fastened the cable of the ship to the fish's horn. By this means he
passed over this northern mountain. The fish said, 'I have delivered
thee; fasten the ship to a tree. But lest the water should cut thee
off whilst thou art on the mountain, as much as the water subsides, so
much shalt thou descend after it.' He accordingly descended after it
as much (as it subsided).... Now the flood had swept away all these
creatures; so Manu alone was left here" (O. S. T., vol. i. p. 183). The
story goes on to relate that Manu, being quite alone, produced a woman
by "arduous religious rites," and that with this woman, who called
herself his daughter, "he begot this offspring, which is this offspring
of Manu," that is, the existing human race.

After the flood, the history proceeds for some time to narrate the
lives of a series of patriarchs, the mythological ancestors of the
Hebrew race. Of these the first is Abram, afterwards called Abraham;
to whom a solemn promise was made that he was to be the progenitor
of a great nation; that Jehovah would bless those who blessed him,
and curse those who cursed him; and that in him all generations of
the earth should be blessed (Gen. xii. 1-3). When Abraham visited
Egypt, he desired his wife Sarah to call herself his sister, fearing
lest the Egyptians should kill him for her sake. She did so, and was
taken into Pharaoh's harem in consequence of her false statement; but
Jehovah plagued Pharaoh, and his house so severely that the truth
was discovered, and Sarah was restored to her lawful husband. It is
remarkable that Abraham is stated to have subsequently repeated the
same contemptible trick, this time alleging by way of excuse that Sarah
really was his step-sister; and that Abraham's son, Isaac, is said to
have done the same thing in reference to Rebekah (Gen. xii. 10-20, xx.,
xxvi. 6-11). Abimelech, king of Gerar, who was twice imposed upon by
these patriarchs, must have thought it a singular custom of the family
thus to pass off their wives as sisters. Apparently, too, both of
them were quite prepared to surrender their consorts to the harems of
foreign monarchs rather than run the smallest risk in their defense.

Abraham, at ninety-nine years of age, was fortunate in all things
but one: he had no legitimate heir. But this too was to be given
him. Jehovah appeared to him, announced himself as Almighty God, and
established with Abraham a solemn covenant. He promised to make him
fruitful, to give his posterity the land of Canaan, in which he then
was, and to cause Sarah to have a son. At the same time he desired
that all males should be circumcized, an operation which was forthwith
performed on Abraham, his illegitimate son Ishmael, and all the men in
his house (Gen. xvii). In due time Sarah had a son whom Abraham named
Isaac. But when Isaac was a lad, and all Abraham's hopes of posterity
were centered in him as the only child of Sarah, God one day commanded
him to sacrifice him as a burnt-offering on a mountain in Moriah.
Without a murmur, without a word of inquiry, Abraham prepared to obey
this extraordinary injunction, and was only withheld from plunging
the sacrificial knife into the bosom of his son by the positive
interposition of an angel. Looking about, he perceived a ram caught in
a thicket, and offered him as a burnt offering instead of Isaac. For
this servile and unintelligent submission, he was rewarded by Jehovah
with further promises as to the amazing numbers of his posterity in
future times (Gen. xxi. 1-8; xxii. 1-19).

The tradition of human sacrifice, thus preserved in the story of
Abraham and Isaac, is found also in a curious narrative of the Aitareya
Brâhmana. That sacred book also commemorates an important personage, in
this instance a king, who had no son. Although he had a hundred wives,
yet none of them bore him a male heir. He inquired of his priest,
Narada, what were the advantages of having a son, and learned that
they were very great. "The father pays a debt in his son, and gains
immortality," such was one of the privileges to be obtained by means
of a son. The Rishi Narada therefore advised King Harischandra to pray
to Varuna for a son, promising at the same time to sacrifice him as
soon as he was born. The king did so. "Then a son, Rohita by name, was
born to him. Varuna said to him, 'A son is born to thee, sacrifice him
to me.' Harischandra said, 'An animal is fit for being sacrificed,
when it is more than ten days old. Let him reach this age, then I will
sacrifice him to thee. At ten days Varuna again demanded him, but now
his father had a fresh excuse, and so postponed the sacrifice from age
to age until Rohita had received his full armor." Varuna having again
claimed him, Harischandra now said, "Well, my dear, to him who gave
thee unto me, I will sacrifice thee now." But Rohita, come to man's
estate, had no mind to be sacrificed, and ran away to the wilderness.
Varuna now caused Harischandra to suffer from dropsy. Rohita, hearing
of it, left the forest, and went to a village, where Indra, in
disguise, met him and desired him to wander. The advice was repeated
every year until Rohita had wandered six years in the forest. This last
year he met a poor Rishi, named Ajigarta, who was starving, to whom
he offered one hundred cows for one of his three sons as a ransom for
himself in the sacrifice to be offered to Varuna. The father having
objected to the eldest, and the mother to the youngest, the middle one
Sunahsepa, was agreed upon as the ransom, and the hundred cows were
paid for him. Rohita presented to his father the boy Sunahsepa, who
was accepted by the god with the remark that a Brahman was worth more
than a Kshattriya. "Varuna then explained to the king the rites of the
Rajasuya sacrifice, at which on the day appointed for the inauguration
he replaced the (sacrificial animal) by a man."

But at the sacrifice a strange incident occurred. No one could be
found willing to bind the victim to the sacrificial post. At last his
father offered to do it for another hundred cows. Bound to the stake,
no one could be found to kill him. This act also his father undertook
to do for a third hundred. "He then whetted his knife and went to kill
his son. Sunahsepa then got aware that they were going to butcher him
just as if he were no man (but a beast). 'Well,' said he, 'I will seek
shelter with the gods.' He applied to Prajapati, who referred him to
another god, who did the same; and thus he was driven from god to
god through the pantheon, until he came to Ushas, the dawn. However,
as he was praising Ushas, his fetters fell off, and Harischandra's
belly became smaller; until at the last verse he was free, and
Harischandra well." Sunahsepa was now received among the priests as
one of themselves, and he sat down by Visvamitra, an eminent Rishi.
Ajigarta, his father, requested that he might be returned to him, but
Visvamitra refused, "for," he said, "the gods have presented him to
me." From that time forward he became Visvamitra's son. At this point,
however, Ajigarta himself entreated his son to return to his home, and
the answer of the latter is remarkable. "Sunahsepa answered, 'What is
not found even in the hands of a Shudra, one has seen in thy hand, the
knife (to kill thy son); three hundred cows thou hast preferred to
me, O Angiras.' Ajigarta then answered, 'O my dear son! I repent of
the bad deed I have committed; I blot out this stain! one hundred of
the cows shall be thine!' Sunahsepa answered, 'Who once might commit
such a sin, may commit the same another time. Thou art still not free
from the brutality of a Shudra, for thou hast committed a crime for
which no reconciliation exists.' 'Yes, irreconcilable (is this act),'
interrupted Visvamitra!" (A. B., p. 460-469.)

On the likeness of this story to the Hebrew legend of the intended
sacrifice of Isaac, and on the difference between the two, I shall
comment elsewhere. From the days of Abraham the history proceeds
through a series of patriarchal biographies—those of Isaac and Rebekah,
of Jacob and Rachel, of Joseph and his brothers—to the captivity of
the Israelites in Egypt under the successor of the monarch whose prime
minister Joseph had been. It is at this point that the history of the
Hebrews as a distinct nation may be said to begin. The patriarchs
belong to universal history. But from the days of the Egyptian
captivity it is the fortunes of a peculiar tribe, and afterwards of
an independent people that are followed. We have their deliverance
from slavery, their progress through the wilderness, their triumphant
establishment in their destined home, the rise, decline, and fall
of their national greatness, depicted with much graphic power, and
intermingled with episodes of the deepest interest. It would not be
consistent with the plan or limits of this work to follow the history
through its varied details; all we can do is to touch upon it here
and there, where the adventures, institutions, or imaginations of
the Hebrews present points of contact with those of other nations as
recorded in their authorized writings.

It was only by the especial favor of Jehovah that the Hebrew slaves
were enabled to escape from Egypt at all. That deity appointed a man
named Moses as their leader; and, employing him as his mouthpiece,
desired Pharaoh to let them go. On Pharaoh's refusal, he visited Egypt
with a series of calamities; all of them inadequate to the object
in view, until at length Pharaoh and all his army were overwhelmed
in the Red Sea, which had opened to allow the Israelites to pass.
These last now escaped into the wilderness, where, under the guidance
of Moses, they wandered for forty years, undergoing all sorts of
hardships, before they reached the promised land. During the course
of their travels, Jehovah gave Moses ten commandments, which stand
out from a mass of other injunctions and enactments, by the solemnity
with which they were delivered, and by the extreme importance of their
subject-matter. They are reported to have been given to Moses by
Jehovah in person on Mount Sinai, in the midst of a very considerable
amount of noise and smoke, apparently intended to be impressive. By
these laws the Israelites were ordered—

  1. To have no other God but Jehovah.
  2. To make no image for purposes of worship.
  3. Not to take Jehovah's name in vain.
  4. Not to work on the Sabbath day.
  5. To honor their parents.
  6. Not to kill.
  7. Not to commit adultery.
  8. Not to steal.
  9. Not to bear false witness against a neighbor.
  10. Not to covet.

Concerning these commandments, it may be observed that the acts
enjoined or forbidden are of very different characters. Some of the
obligations thus imposed are universally binding, and the precepts
relating to them form a portion of universal ethics. Others again are
of a purely special theological character, and have no application
at all except to those who hold certain theological doctrines.
Lastly, others command states of mind only, which have no proper
place in positive laws enforced under penalties. To illustrate these
remarks in detail: the four commandments against killing, stealing,
adultery, and calumny are of universal obligation, and though they
are far from exhausting the list of actions which a moral code should
prohibit, yet properly belong to it and are among its most important
constituents. But the first, second, third, and fourth commandments
presuppose a nation believing in Jehovah as their God; and even with
that proviso the fourth, requiring the observance of a day of rest,
is purely arbitrary; belonging only to ritual, not to morals. To
place it along with prohibitions of murder and theft, is simply to
confuse in the minds of hearers the all-important distinction between
special observances and universal duties. Again, the fifth and tenth
commandments require mere emotional conditions; respect for parents in
the one case, absence of covetousness in the other. No doubt both these
mental conditions have actions and abstinences from action as their
correlatives; but it is with these last that law should deal, and not
with the mere states of feeling over which no commandment can exercise
the smallest control. Law may forbid us to annoy our neighbor, or do
him an injury on account of his wife whom we love, or his estate which
we desire to possess; but it is idle to forbid us to wish that the wife
or the estate were ours.

These errors are avoided in the five fundamental commandments of
Buddhism, which relate wholly to matters that, if binding upon any, are
binding upon all. They are these:—

  1. Not to kill.
  2. Not to steal.
  3. Not to indulge in illicit pleasures of sex.
  4. Not to lie.
  5. Not to drink intoxicating liquors.[92]

No doubt the fifth is not of equal importance with the rest; yet
its intention is simply to put a stop to drunkenness, and this it
accomplishes, like teetotal societies, by requiring entire abstinence.
Probably in hot climates, and with populations not capable of much
self-control, this was the wisest way. The third commandment, as I have
presented it, is somewhat vague, but this is because the form in which
it is given by the authorities is not always the same. Sometimes it
appears as a mere prohibition of all unchastity; but the more probable
view appears to be that of Burnouf, who interprets it as directed
against adultery, in substantial accordance with Alabaster, who renders
it as an injunction "not to indulge the passions, so as to invade the
legal or natural rights of other men."

In the eight principal commandments of the Parsees, the breach of
which was to be punished with death, there is the the same confusion of
theological and natural duties as in the Hebrew Bible. The Parsees were
forbidden—

  1. To kill a pure man (_i. e._, a Parsee).
  2. To put out the fire Behram.
  3. To throw the impurity from dead bodies into fire or water.
  4. To commit adultery.
  5. To practice magic or contribute to its being practiced.
  6. To throw the impurity of menstruating women into fire or water.
  7. To commit sodomy with boys.
  8. To commit highway-robbery or suicide (Av., vol. ii. p. lx).

Besides these commandments, Jehovah gave his people a vast mass of
laws, amounting in fact to a complete criminal code, through his
mouthpiece Moses. Among these laws were those which were written on the
two tables of stone, commonly though erroneously supposed to have been
the ten commandments of the twentieth chapter. The express statement
of Exodus forbids such a supposition. It is there stated that when God
had finished communing with Moses he gave him "two tables of testimony,
tables of stone, written with the finger of God." This most valuable
autograph Moses had the folly to break in his anger at finding that the
Israelites, led by his brother Aaron, had taken to worshiping a golden
calf in his absence (Ex., xxxi. 18, and xxxii. 19). God, however,
desired him to prepare other tables like those he had destroyed, and
kindly undertook to write upon them the very words that had been on
the first. Apparently, however, he only dictated them to Moses, who
is said to have written upon the tables "the words of the covenant,
the ten commandments." What these words were there can be no doubt,
for he had begun his address to Moses by saying, "Behold, I make a
covenant;" and had concluded it by the expression, "Write thou _these_
words: for after the tenor of these words have I made a covenant
with thee and with Israel" (Ex. xxxiv. 1-28). Now the commandments
thus asserted to have been written on the tables of stone were very
different from the ten given before on Mount Sinai, and resemble more
closely still the style of those quoted from the Parsee books. Yet
they were evidently deemed by the writers of great importance, from
the honor ascribed to them of having been originally written in God's
own handwriting on stone. Their purport is:—1. To forbid any covenant
with the inhabitants of the land to which the Israelites were going,
and to enjoin them to "destroy their altars, break their images, and
cut down their groves;"—2. To require the observance of the feast of
unleavened bread;—3. To lay claim to firstlings for Jehovah, and demand
their redemption;—4. To command the Sabbatical rest;—5. To enjoin the
observance of the feast of weeks;—6. To desire that all males should
appear thrice yearly before the Lord;—7. To forbid the sacrifice of
blood with leaven;—8. To forbid leaving the sacrifice of the feast
of the passover till morning;—9. To demand the first-fruits for
Jehovah;—10. To forbid seething a kid in its mother's milk.[93]

Eminent as Moses was, and high as he stood in the favor of his God, he
was not permitted to lead his people to Canaan. Jehovah punished him
for a momentary weakness by depriving him of that privilege, which was
reserved for Joshua. Just as the waters of the Red Sea were cleft in
two to allow the Israelites to quit Egypt, so were those of the Jordan
cleft in two to allow them to enter Canaan. No sooner did the feet
of the priests bearing the ark touch the water, than the portion of
the river below was cut off from that above, the upper waters rising
into a heap (Josh. iii). Striking as this miracle is, it is not more
so than that performed by Visvamitra, an Indian sage. When he arrived
at a river which he desired to cross, that holy man said: "Listen,
O sisters, to the bard who has come to you from afar with wagon and
chariot. Sink down; become fordable; reach not up to our chariot-axles
with your streams. (The rivers answer): We shall listen to thy words,
O bard; thou hast come from far with wagon and chariot. I will bow
down to thee like a woman with full breast (suckling her child), as
a maid to a man will I throw myself open to thee. (Visvamitra says):
When the Bharatas, that war-loving tribe, sent forward, impelled by
Indra, have crossed thee, then thy headlong current shall hold on its
course. I seek the favor of you the adorable. The war-loving Bharatas
have crossed; the Sage has obtained the favor of the rivers. Swell on,
impetuous and fertilizing; fill your channels; roll rapidly" (O. S. T.,
vol. i. p. 340).

So that the very same prodigy which, according to the Book of Joshua,
was wrought for the benefit of the Hebrew people in Palestine, was,
according to the Rig-Veda, wrought for the benefit of a warlike tribe
in India.

After their arrival and settlement in Palestine the Israelites passed
through a period of great trouble and disturbance. The government was
a direct theocracy; men appointed by God, that is, self-appointed,
put themselves at the head of affairs and governed with more or less
success under the inspiration, and in the name of Jehovah. During this
time the people were exposed to great annoyance from their enemies the
Philistines, by whom they were for a certain space held in subjugation.
The legend of the national hero and deliverer, Samson, falls within
this period of depression under a foreign yoke. Samson is the Jewish
Herakles, and his exploits are altogether as fabulous as those of
his Hellenic counterpart; though it is not impossible that such a
personage as Samson may have lived and may have led the people with
some glory against their hereditary enemies. Many internal disturbances
contributed to render the condition of the Israelites under their
theocracy far from enviable; and at length, under the government of
Samuel, the last representative of this state of things, the people
could bear their distress no longer and united to demand a king. The
request was undoubtedly a wise one; for the authority of a monarch was
eminently needed to give internal peace and protection against external
attacks to the distracted nation. Samuel, however, was naturally
opposed to such a change. His feelings and his interests were alike
concerned in the maintenance of the direct government of Jehovah, whose
plenipotentiary he was. But all his representations that the proposal
to elect a king was a crime in the eyes of God, were unavailing. He
was compelled to yield, and selected, as the monarch appointed by
Jehovah himself, a young man named Saul. Before long, however, Jehovah
discovered that he had made a mistake, and that Saul was not the kind
of man he had hoped to find him. Samuel was therefore desired to
anoint David to supplant him. In other words, Saul did not prove the
obedient instrument which Samuel had hoped to make of him, and he
therefore entered into a secret conspiracy to procure his deposition.
The conduct of Saul, and his relations to David, have probably been
misrepresented by the ecclesiastical historians, who persistently
favor David. Nevertheless, they cannot wholly disguise the lawless and
savage career of this monarch before his accession to the throne, of
which at length he obtained possession. Nor was his conduct during his
occupation of it altogether exemplary. He, however, promoted the views
of the priestly party, and this was enough to cover a multitude of sins.

His son Solomon who succeeded him was the most magnificent of the
monarchs of Israel and the last who ruled over the undivided kingdom.
He was especially renowned for his wisdom, which is exemplified by a
famous decision. Two women came before him to dispute the ownership
of an infant. One of them stated that the other, who was alone in the
same house with her, had killed her own child by lying upon it during
the night, and taken the living child from its mother while that mother
was asleep. The other asserted that the living child was hers. Having
heard the two statements, the king ordered the living child to be cut
in two and half given to each woman. Hereupon the one declared that
she would prefer to resign it altogether; but the other professed her
acquiescence in the judgment. The king at once awarded it to her who
had been willing to resign it rather than see it divided (1 Kings,
iii. 16-28). Equal, or perhaps even greater wisdom, was displayed by
a monarch whose history is recorded in one of the sacred books of
Buddhism. Two women were contending before him about their right to a
boy. He desired each of them to take hold of it by one of its hands and
to pull at it; the one who succeeded in getting it to keep it. She who
was not the mother pulled unmercifully; whereas the true mother, though
stronger than her rival, only pulled gently in order to avoid hurting
it. The king perceived the truth, and adjudged it to the one who had
pulled it gently (G. O. M., p. 344).

Rehoboam, the son and successor of Solomon, failing to conciliate the
people at his accession, brought about the schism between Sâmaria and
Judea, between the ten tribes and the two, which was never afterwards
healed. After this the government in each kingdom may be described as
absolute monarchy tempered by prophetical admonition. The prophets,
who formed a kind of professional body of advisers in the interest of
Jehovah, made it their business to reprove the crimes, and especially
the idolatries of the kings. They exercised the kind of influence which
a _corps diplomatique_ may sometimes exercise on a feeble court. The
monarchs sometimes attended to their advice; sometimes rejected it; and
they receive commendation or reproof at the hands of the historians
according to their conduct in this respect. Two of these prophets,
Elijah and Elisha, were men of great eminence, and their actions
are recorded at length. Such was the power of Elisha that when, on
one occasion, he cursed some children who had called him bald head,
she-bears came out of the wood and ate forty-two of them (2 Kings, ii.
23-25). Respect for ecclesiastics or prophets is sometimes inculcated
by such decided measures as these. A young Buddhist monk once laughed
at another for the alacrity with which he leapt over a grave, saying he
was as active as a monkey. The man whom he had ridiculed told him that
he belonged to the highest rank in the Church; that is, that he was an
Arhat. Upon hearing this the young monk was so alarmed that all his
hair stood on end, and he begged for forgiveness. His repentance saved
him from being born in hell; but because he had laughed at an Arhat he
was condemned to be born 500 times as a monkey (G. O. M., p. 351).

Elisha's powers in other respects were not less wonderful. He could
cause iron to swim, could foretell the course of events in a war, could
restore the dead to life, and could smite the king's enemies with
blindness (2 Kings, vi. 7). In this last accomplishment he has rivals,
as Canon Callaway has correctly noted, among the Amazulu priests. The
Amazulus have a word in their language to describe the practice. "It
is called an _umlingo_," they say, if, when a chief is about to fight
with another chief, his doctors cause a darkness to spread among his
enemies, so they are unable to see clearly (R. S. A., vol. iii. p. 338).

The kingdom of Israel, unfaithful to the worship of Jehovah, fell
under the yoke of Shalmaneser, King of Assyria; while Judah, though
attacked and summoned to submit, by his successor, Sennacherib (or more
correctly Sanherib), remained independent some time longer. The King
of Judah was at this time Hezekiah, a man thoroughly imbued with the
principles of the Jehovistic party, and therefore much lauded by the
historians. The prophet of the day was Isaiah, one of the most eminent
of those who have filled the prophetic office. Isaiah warmly encouraged
Hezekiah to resist the designs of conquest cherished by Sanherib, and
promised a successful issue. The messengers of the Assyrian monarch
had insultingly reproached Jehovah with his inability to deliver the
land, alleging that none of the gods of the territories which he had
conquered had availed them anything. But a signal confutation of
this profane belief in large armies as against deities was about to
be given, and that in a manner which gave an equally signal triumph
to Jehovah, the god of the Jews, and Ptah, the god of the Egyptians.
Sanherib was engaged in an expedition against Egypt, which was governed
at this time by a priest-king, resembling Hezekiah in the piety of his
character. This priest was in bad odor with his army, who refused to
assist him against the invaders. During his trouble on this account,
the god whom he served appeared to him in his sleep and promised that
he should suffer nothing, for he would send him his divine assistance,
just as Jehovah promised deliverance through the mouth of Isaiah. He
therefore went with some followers to Pelusium, and when there, a
number of field-mice, pouring in upon the Assyrians, devoured their
quivers, their bows, and the handles of their shields, so that on the
next day they fled defenseless, and many were killed. Herodotus tells
us that in his day there was still to be seen the statue of the king
in the temple of Ptah, a mouse in his hand, and this inscription:
"Whoever looks on me, let him revere the gods" (Herod., ii. 141). In
the Hebrew version of this catastrophe, the field-mice are converted
into the angel of the Lord, and the destruction of the weapons into the
slaughter by that angel of 185,000 men. Sanherib, it is added, returned
to Nineveh, where he was assassinated by his two sons (2 Kings, xix.
35-37). But Sanherib himself, in a deciphered inscription, declares
that he had beaten the Egyptians, subjected Judea, carried off many of
its inhabitants, and only left Jerusalem to the king (R. I., p. 328).
Certainly this statement is strongly confirmed, so far as Judea is
concerned, by the admission of the historians themselves, that Sanherib
had taken the fenced cities of the country; that Hezekiah had made an
unreserved submission to him, and had even sent him, by way of tribute,
not only all the treasures in his own palace and in the temple, but the
very gold from the doors of the temple, and from the pillars which he
himself had overlaid (2 Kings xviii. 13-16). So humiliating a position
went far to justify the taunts of the Assyrian ambassadors, that the
god of Judea was no more to be trusted as a defense against material
weapons than the gods of the subjugated nations.

A remarkable instance of the favor of Heaven towards Hezekiah was
subsequently evinced. The king fell dangerously ill, and was warned by
Isaiah to make the necessary arrangements in view of his death, which
was about to happen. Hezekiah did not bear the announcement with much
dignity. He passionately implored Jehovah to remember his piety and
good deeds, and then "wept sore." Moved by this pitiable supplication,
Jehovah sent Isaiah back again to promise him fifteen years' more life.
On Hezekiah's asking for a sign that he would be healed, Isaiah asked
him whether he would prefer that the shadow on the dial should advance
or go back ten degrees. Hezekiah, thinking that it was a mere trifle
for a god to cause it to advance, desired that it might turn backwards
(2 Kings, xx. 1-11).

A similar grace was shown towards King Woo in China, but in this case
it was the prayer of others, not his own, that effected his recovery.
His brother, the Duke of Chow, erected four altars, put certain
symbols upon them, and addressed himself to three departed kings. "The
_grand_ historian _by his order wrote_ on tablets his prayer to the
following effect:—" A. B., your chief descendant, is suffering from
a severe and dangerous sickness;—if you three kings have in heaven
the charge of _watching over_ him, _Heaven's_ great son, let me, Tan,
be a substitute for his person. "I have been lovingly obedient to my
father; I am possessed of many abilities and arts which fit me to serve
spiritual beings. Your chief descendant, on the other hand, has not
so many abilities and arts as I, and is not so capable of serving
spiritual beings. And, moreover, he was appointed in the hall of God
to extend his aid to the four quarters _of the empire_, so that he
might establish your descendants in this lower world. The people of
the four quarters stand in reverent awe of him. Oh! do not let that
precious heaven-conferred appointment fall to the ground, and all our
former kings will also have a perpetual reliance and resort. I will
now seek for your orders from the great tortoise" (C. C., vol. iii. p.
353.—Shoo King, part 5, book 6). After this prayer, the Duke divined
with the tortoises, which gave favorable indications. "The oracular
responses" were favorable too. Accordingly the king recovered, but the
devoted brother, though he did not die, suffered for some time from
unjust suspicions, and retired from court. This was after the decease
of King Woo. The discovery of the tablets by Woo's successor led to his
restoration to favor. The relation of the reign of Hezekiah, one of
the most inglorious of Judah's rulers, is an example of the use made
of a theory which pervades and colors the whole history of the kings
from beginning to end. That theory is, that God favored and protected
those monarchs who worshiped and obeyed his prophets, while he
punished those who worshiped other gods and neglected his orders. The
deposition of Saul, the glory of David, the destruction of the families
of Jeroboam and Baasha, the miserable fate of Ahab and his seventy
sons, the exaltation of Jehu and his milder punishment proportioned
to his mitigated idolatry, are all examples of the prevalence of this
theory. Some of the facts indeed were rather difficult to deal with;
such, for instance, as the palpable decline of Judea under Hezekiah,
and the continuance of its previous misfortunes under Josiah, the most
praiseworthy of the kings, who, in spite of his unrivaled piety, was
slain in a battle against a mere pagan. But inconsistencies like these
might be glossed over or explained away. The best kings might meet with
the greatest calamities, and the people of Jehovah might prove even
more unfortunate than the heathen. It mattered not. They were still
under his protection; and if they suffered, it was because they had
not worshiped him enough, or not worshiped him exclusively. With this
elastic hypothesis the key to all historical events was found.

Traces of a similar theory are to be found in the sacred books of
China, though in one instance it is placed in the mouth of a successful
sovereign desirous of vindicating his supersession of a former dynasty.
It is, however, precisely in such cases, where some David or Jehu
has deposed a former monarch and taken his throne, that this theory
is useful, transferring, as it does, the responsibility of the issue
to a higher power. Thus speaks the Chinese king:—"I have heard the
saying—'God leads men to tranquil security,' but the sovereign of Hea
would not move to such security, whereupon God sent down _corrections_,
indicating his mind to him. Këe, however, would not be warned by God,
but proceeded to greater dissoluteness and sloth and excuses for
himself. Then Heaven no longer regarded nor heard him, but disallowed
his great appointment, and inflicted extreme punishment. Hereupon it
charged your founder, T'ang the Successful, to set Hea aside, and by
means of able men to rule the empire. From T'ang the Successful down to
the Emperor Yih, every sovereign sought to make his virtue illustrious,
and duly attended to the sacrifices. And thus it was that while Heaven
exerted a great establishing influence, preserving and regulating the
house of Yin, but its sovereigns on their part were humbly careful
not to lose the favor of God, and strove to manifest a good-doing
corresponding to that of Heaven. But in these times, their successor
showed himself greatly ignorant of _the ways of_ Heaven, and much less
could it be expected of him that he would be regardful of the earnest
labors of his fathers for the country. Greatly abandoned to dissolute
idleness, he paid no regard to the bright principles of heaven, nor the
awfulness of the people. On this account God no longer protected him,
but sent down the great ruin which we have witnessed. Heaven was not
with him because he did not seek to illustrate his virtue. _Indeed_,
with regard to all states, great and small, throughout the four
quarters of the empire, in every case there are reasons to be alleged
for their punishment.... The sovereigns of our Chow, from their great
goodness, were charged with the work of God. There was the charge to
them, Cut off Yin. _They proceeded to perform it_, and announced the
correcting work of God.... The thing was from the decree of Heaven; do
not resist me; I dare not have any further change for you" (C. C.,
vol. iii. p. 460.—Shoo King, part 5, b. 14, ii. 1-18).

But it was not only by interested parties that this doctrine was
proclaimed in China. The She King, a sacred book corresponding in
character to the Psalms, distinctly adopts it, and thus gives it the
highest sanction. This is the language of one of the Odes:—

    "Great is God,

    Beholding this lower world in majesty.
    He surveyed the four quarters [of the kingdom],
    Seeking for some one to give settlement to the people.
    Those two [earlier] dynasties
    Had failed to satisfy him with their government;
    So throughout the various States
    He sought and considered
    For one on which he might confer the rule.
    Hating all the great [States],
    He turned his kind regards on the west,
    And there gave a settlement [to king T'æ]....
    God having brought about the removal thither of this Intelligent
      ruler,
    The Kwan hordes fled away; ...
    God, who had raised the State, raised up a proper ruler for it....
    This King Ke
    Was gifted by God with the power of judgment,
    So that the fame of his virtue silently grew.
    His virtue was highly intelligent,
    Highly intelligent and of rare discrimination;
    Able to lead; able to rule,—
    To rule over this great country;
    Rendering a cordial submission, effecting a cordial union.
    When the sway came to King Wăn,
    His virtue left nothing to be dissatisfied with.
    He received the blessing of God,
    And it was extended to his descendants."

The Ode proceeds to relate how completely victorious this virtuous
king was over his enemies, and how perfect was the security from
invasion enjoyed by the country while he governed it (C. C., vol. iv.
p. 448.—She King, part 3, b. 1, ode 7).

Feelings like those that inspired the Jewish chroniclers are still
more clearly visible in the history of Thibet than in that of China.
Here the orthodox compilers frequently inform us that the reign of a
king who observed the law and honored the clergy was distinguished
in a peculiarly high degree by the prosperity of the land and the
happiness of its people. Of one, for instance, who "entered the
portals of religion" at thirty-eight years of age, it is noted that
"he founded the constitution of the whole great nation on order, and
furthered its welfare and peace" (G. O. M., p. 201). His son made the
whole great nation happy by promoting religion and the laws (Ibid.,
p. 203). Another monarch receives a still higher panegyric. "By the
unbounded honor he showed towards the clergy, he exalted religion, so
that by the religious care which he bestowed on the inhabitants of
the snow-kingdom, the welfare of the people of Thibet equaled that of
the Tegri" (gods or spirits). A painful contrast is presented by his
successor on the throne, Lang-Dharma, who belonged to the heretical
"black religion," who destroyed the temples of Buddhism, persecuted
its adherents, burnt its books, and degraded its ministers. So impious
was he, that the very names of the three gems and of the four orders
of clergy ceased to be mentioned in the land. He met, however, with
his well-deserved punishment at the hands of a faithful Buddhist, who
assassinated him with a bow and arrow, at the same time using words
to the effect that, as Buddha overcame the unbelievers, so he had
killed the wicked king (Ibid., p. 49). Another king "showed respect
to the hidden sanctuaries, whereby his power and the welfare of the
land increased" (Ibid., p. 321). Comparable to Josiah in his piety and
reverence for the true religion was a king whose reign is described in
glowing language by his admiring historians. "This powerful ruler,"
they say, "who regarded the religion of Buddha as the most precious
gem, gave great freedoms and privileges to the clergy." He honored
temples and respected the pious endowments of his ancestors. Not only
did he punish thieves, robbers, and similar criminals, but if any man,
of high or low position, was inimical or ill-disposed towards the faith
he was deprived of his property and reduced to the greatest distress.
Some of those whose heresy was visited with this severe chastisement
were so unreasonable as to grumble, and pointed out that it was only
the clergy who were fattening on their misery and oppression. In saying
this they pointed at the spiritual men who passed by; whereupon the
faithful king issued a decree, saying, "It is strictly prohibited to
look contemptuously at my clergy and to point at them with the finger;"
whoever dared to do so was to have his eyes put out and his finger
cut off. Unfortunately "these orders of the pious king" led to the
formation of a party of malcontents, by two of whom he was strangled
in his sleep. The lamentations of the historian at this untoward
event are unmeasured. The power and strength of the Thibetan kingdom
ran away like the stream of spring waters; the happiness and welfare
of the people were extinguished like a lamp whose oil is exhausted;
the royal power and majesty vanished like the colors of the rainbow;
the black religion began to prevail like a destructive tempest; the
inclination to good dispositions and good deeds was forgotten like
a dream. Moreover, the translation of religious writings remained
unfinished—for this king had also resembled Josiah in his interest in
sacred books;—and those great men who adhered to the true religion
could only weep over its decline and fall (G. O. M., p. 361).

Not less pitiable was the fate of Judea under the irreligious monarchs
who followed upon Josiah. One was taken prisoner by the king of Egypt;
two others were carried off to Babylon by Nebuchadnezzar; under the
fourth, the national independence was finally extinguished, and the
people reduced to a condition of captivity in a foreign land. This
calamity is distinctly ascribed to their neglect of the true religion,
and their contempt for the messengers of God (2 Chron. xxxvi. 14-17).

Strictly speaking, the history of the Jewish nation ends with the
Captivity. But there are still three books of a historical character in
the Old Testament, Ezra and Nehemiah, relating the fortunes of a small
number of Jews who returned to the land of their forefathers, when a
change of policy in their rulers rendered this return possible; and
Esther, containing the account of the reception of a Jewish woman into
the harem of a heathen king, and showing how ably she contrived to use
her influence in favor of the interests of her race.


       SUBDIVISION 2.—_Job, Psalms, Proverbs, and Ecclesiastes._

The Book of Job, the Psalms attributed to David, and the Proverbs and
Ecclesiastes attributed to Solomon, resemble one another in teaching
religion and morality by the method of short sentences or maxims. They
do not, like the books we have just examined, convey their moral by
means of historical narrative; nor do they, like the prophets, impress
it in flowing and continuous rhetoric. Between the sober and even
course of the history, and the impassioned emotional torrents poured
out by the prophets, they occupy a medium position. They are more
introspective, more occupied with feelings and reflections, than the
first; more heedful of external nature, more able to contemplate facts,
apart from their peculiar construction of those facts, than the last.

Job is the story of a wealthy land-owner, concerning whom God and Satan
enter into a sort of wager; God, in the first instance, challenging
Satan to consider his piety and general good character, and Satan
replying that, if only his prosperity were destroyed, he would curse
God to his face. God then gives Satan leave to put his theory to the
test by attacks directed against Job's property, desiring at the same
time that his person may be spared. Job bears the loss of his wealth
with resignation; but at a second colloquy Satan insinuates that his
virtue would give way if his misfortunes extended to his person.
Hereupon God gives Satan leave to attack him in every respect so long
as he spares his life. Poor Job is accordingly covered with boils
from head to foot, and his patience, proof against poverty, breaks
down under this terrible infliction. He loudly curses the day of his
birth, and wishes he had died from the womb. After this introduction,
which, in its familiar conversations between Jehovah and the devil,
resembles the grotesque legends of the middle ages, the bulk of the
book is occupied with the complaints of Job, the discourses of his
three friends who come to comfort him, the reproaches directed against
his self-righteousness by a person named Elihu, and, finally, a long
address—containing as it were the moral of the tale—from the Almighty
himself. At the close of the book Job expresses his abhorrence of
himself and his profound repentance, and his former prosperity is
then not only restored but amplified to a high degree. He has seven
sons and three beautiful daughters, and dies one hundred and forty
years after the events narrated, having seen four generations of his
descendants. What was the effect on the mind of Satan of this result,
whether he considered himself defeated, or whether he was confirmed
in his malicious opinion that Job did not "fear God for nought," is
nowhere stated. But one of the most curious features of this book is
the picture it gives of that person, as a being not altogether bad,
though fond of mischief, taking a somewhat cynical view of the motives
of human conduct, and anxious, in the interests of his theory, to
try experiments upon a subject selected for him by his antagonist,
and therefore peculiarly likely to disappoint his expectations. It
does not appear that he had any desire to hurt Job further than was
necessary for his purpose, nor is there a trace of the bad character he
subsequently obtained as a mere devil, longing to involve men's souls
in eternal destruction.

In the Psalms we have a series of religious songs of varying
character—praising, blessing, supplicating, complaining, lamenting,
invoking good or evil upon others, according to the mood of the
several writers, or of the same writer at different seasons. Some of
them are of considerable beauty, and express much depth of religious
feeling. Others, again, are inspired by sentiments of malevolence, and
merely appeal to God in support of national or private animosities. As
examples of the latter class, take the 110th Psalm, supposed to have
been addressed to David, where it is predicted that "the Lord at the
right hand shall strike through kings in the day of his wrath," and
that "he shall fill the places with the dead bodies; he shall wound
the heads over many countries." In the immediately preceding Psalm,
the 109th, the writer is still more vindictive, and his enemy is more
exclusively his own. He begins by calling him "wicked," and says he has
spoken against him with a lying tongue. Premising that he is altogether
in the act of prayer, he prays against the adversary in somewhat
emphatic language:—

 "Set thou a wicked man over him, and let the accuser stand at his
 right hand. When he shall be judged, let him be found guilty, and let
 his prayer become sin. Let his days be few, and let another take his
 office. Let his children be fatherless, and his wife a widow. Let his
 children wander about and beg, and seek food far from their desolate
 places. Let the creditor catch all that he hath, and strangers rob the
 fruit of his industry. Let there be none to extend mercy to him, and
 let none be merciful to his fatherless children. Let his posterity be
 cut off, and in the following generation let their name be blotted
 out. Let the iniquity of his fathers be remembered with the Lord, and
 let not the sin of his mother be blotted out. Let them be before the
 Lord continually, and let him cut off the memory of them from the
 earth" (Psalms cix. 1-15).

In the following verse the enemy is declared to have persecuted the
poor and needy, and this is put forward as the excuse for imprecations
evidently inspired by personal ill-will. In another of these Psalms,
Jehovah is entreated to persecute the enemies of Israel with storm
and tempest, as fires burn up woods and flames set mountains on fire
(Psalms lxxxiii. 14, 15). Elsewhere the king is said to trust in the
Lord, and he therefore hopes that the Lord will find out his enemies,
and will make them as a fiery oven in the time of his anger; that the
fire will devour them; and that he will destroy their fruit from the
earth and their seed from among the children of men (Ps. xxi. 8-10).

Parallels to these Psalms of cursing may be met with in the Veda, just
as the Psalms in general are more nearly paralleled by the Vedic hymns
than by those of any other sacred book. One poet writes as follows:—

 "Blinded shall ye be, O enemies, like headless snakes, and thus
 plagued by Agni, may Indra always kill the best of you. Whatever
 relation troubles us, whatever stranger wishes to kill us, him may
 all the gods destroy; prayer is my powerful protection, my refuge and
 powerful protection" (S. V., p. 297.—Sâma Veda, 2. 9. 3. 8).

Remarkably close is the similarity between the assertion of the Hindu
Rishi that prayer is his powerful protection, and that of the Hebrew
Psalmist that he is, or gives himself to, prayer. In another hymn
the aid of a goddess Apvā (said to mean "disease or fear") is invoked
against the enemies of the singer:—

 "Bewildering the hearts of our enemies, O Apvā, take possession of
 their limbs and pass onwards; come near, burn them with fires in
 their hearts; may our enemies fall into blind darkness (O. S. T.,
 vol. v. p. 110).... Attack, ye heroes, and conquer; may Indra grant
 you protection; may our arm be productive of terror, that ye may be
 unconquerable. Arrow-goddess, sharpened by prayer; fly past as when
 shot off; reach the enemies; penetrate into them; let not even one
 escape thee" (S. V., p. 297.—Sâma Veda, 2. 9. 3. 5).

But these expressions of hostility, directed apparently against enemies
who were engaged in actual war with the friends of the writer, make
no approach in the bitterness of their curses to the language of the
Psalmist when dealing with his personal foes. A parallel to this more
private enmity may be found in the Atharva-Veda, where the god Kama
is invoked to bring down the severest evils upon the objects of the
imprecation:—

 "With oblations of butter I worship Kama, the mighty slayer of
 enemies. Do thou, when lauded, beat down my foes by thy great might.
 The sleeplessness which is displeasing to my mind and eye, which
 harasses and does not delight me, that sleeplessness I let loose
 upon my enemy. Having praised Kama, may I rend him. Kama, do thou,
 a fierce lord, let loose sleeplessness, misfortune, childlessness,
 homelessness, and want upon him who designs us evil.... May breath,
 cattle, life, forsake them.... Indra, Agni, and Kama, mounted on
 the same chariot, hurl ye down my foes; when they have fallen into
 the nethermost darkness, do thou, Agni, burn up their dwellings.
 Kama, slay my enemies; cast them down into thick [literally, blind]
 darkness. Let them all become destitute of power and vigor, and not
 live a single day.... Let them (my enemies) float downwards like a
 boat severed from its moorings.... Do thou, Kama, drive my enemies
 from this world by that [same weapon or amulet] wherewith the gods
 repelled the Asuras, and Indra hurled the Dasyus into the nethermost
 darkness" (O. S. T., vol. v. p. 404).

As corresponding to the many expressions to be found in the Psalms of
trust in God, of pious belief in his protection, and of sensibility to
his all-embracing knowledge, we may quote the language of a Chinese
monarch in one of the Odes of the She King. The first six lines are,
it appears, held by the current interpretation in China to contain the
admonition addressed by the ministers to the king, and the last six the
king's reply. But we may more reasonably suppose, with Dr. Legge, that
the whole Ode is spoken by the king himself:—

    "Let me be reverent, let me be reverent [in attending to my duties];
    [The way of] Heaven is evident,
    And its appointment is not easily [preserved].
    Let me not say that It is high aloft above me.
    It ascends and descends about our doings;
    It daily inspects us wherever we are.

    I am [but as] a little child,
    Without intelligence to be reverently [attentive to my duties];
    But by daily progress and monthly advance,
    I will learn to hold fast the gleams [of knowledge], till I arrive at
      bright intelligence.
    Assist me to bear the burden [of my position],
    And show me how to display a virtuous conduct."[94]

We may fairly place this simple expression of the author's desire to
do his duty, and of his reverential consciousness that Heaven is ever
about us and "inspects us wherever we are," beside the words attributed
to David:—

 "O Jehovah, thou hast searched me, and known me. Thou knowest my
 down-sitting and mine uprising, thou understandest my thought afar
 off. Thou winnowest my path and my lying down, and art acquainted with
 all my ways" (Psalm cxxxix. 1-3).

We need not dwell upon the Proverbs, traditionally ascribed to Solomon,
but scarcely worthy of the renowned wisdom of that monarch. Some of
them are indeed shrewd and well expressed; others are commonplace; and
others again display more worldly wisdom than religion or virtue. Such
is the recommendation of bribery: "A gift in secret pacifieth anger,
and a reward in the bosom strong wrath" (Prov. xxi. 14); which, if
written by a king and dispenser of justice, would be a tolerably broad
hint to his loving subjects. It is noteworthy that Christ had studied
this book, and that it had sunk deep into his mind (_e. g._, Prov. xxv.
21, 22, and xxvii. 1). The two concluding chapters are not by the same
author, at least if we may believe in their superscriptions. In the
last of all, a king named Lemuel repeats for the benefit of posterity
the advice given him by his mother, and no doubt by many mothers to
many sons both before and after him, to be careful about women and not
to drink wine or spirituous liquors.

Ecclesiastes, or Koheleth, composed (according to Ewald) in the latter
end of the Persian dominion, is the work of a cynic who has had much
experience of the world, and has found it hollow and unsatisfactory.
He is not a man of very devout mind, and can find no comfort in the
ordinary commonplaces about the goodness of God, or the manner in which
misfortunes are sent as punishments for sin. There is much good sense
mixed with his lamentations over the vanity of life. He has seen all
the works done under the sun, and all are in his opinion "vanity and
vexation of spirit."

"Wisdom and knowledge do but bring more grief. Koheleth tried various
kinds of pleasure and found them vain too. He built, he planted, he
made pools of water. He procured men-servants and maid-servants, and
(as a natural consequence) had servants born in his house. All was
equally fruitless. But whatever a man does, he has nothing but sorrow
and grief. Even wisdom is of little use, for a dolt may inherit the
fruit of the wise man's labors. Men are no better than animals; they
all die equally; all return to the dust. Who can say that man's spirit
goes upwards, and the animal's downwards? Just men are often rewarded
like wicked men, and wicked men like just ones; this is one of the
many vanities on earth. So then the best thing a man can do is to eat,
drink, and enjoy life with an agreeable wife; for this life is all he
has. Once dead, there is no further consciousness, or participation in
anything that is going on. Whatever a man's hand finds to do, let him
do it with all his might; for there is neither action nor knowledge
in the grave. It is well to remember God in youth before the evil days
come. Words of the wise are as goads, but book-making and preaching
are both of them a bore." Lastly, Koheleth concludes with the pious
advice to the young man whom he is addressing, to fear God and keep his
commandments, for that God will judge every action, be it good or be it
bad.


               SUBDIVISION 3.—_The Song of Solomon._[95]

It is a singularly fortunate circumstance that the Song of Songs, a
little work of an altogether secular nature and wholly unlike any
other portion of the Hebrew Scriptures, should have been admitted into
the Canon. Whatever may have been the delusion, whether its reputed
Solomonian authorship or some other theory about it, under which it
obtained this privilege, we owe it to this mistake that the solitary
example of the Jewish drama in existence should have been preserved for
the instruction of modern readers. I say modern readers, because it
is not until quite recently that the dramatic character of this piece
has been ascertained and established beyond reasonable doubt. Thanks
to the scholarship of Germany and France, we are now able to read the
Song in the light of common sense. The stern theology of Judaism is
for once laid aside, and we have before us a common love-story such
as might happen among any Gentile and unbelieving race. A young girl,
called a Sulamite, who is attached to a young man of her own rank in
life, has been carried off to the harem of Solomon against her will.
She is indifferent to the splendor of the royal palace, and resists
the amorous advances of the king. Thus she succeeds in "keeping her
vineyard;" and is rewarded by rejoining her shepherd lover in her
native village. The play is not without beauty, although it evinces
a somewhat primitive condition of the drama at the time of its
composition.


                    SUBDIVISION 4.—_The Prophets._

We have in the prophetical books a class of writings altogether
peculiar to the Hebrew Scriptures. The prophets were men who during
the whole course of the Hebrew monarchy, and even long after its
close, acted as the inspired organs of the Almighty; admonishing,
reproving, warning, or counseling in his name. At first the method
by which the revelations they received were made known by them, was
oral communication. Writing was not employed by them as an instrument
of prophetic discourse until after the earliest and most flourishing
stage of the monarchy was past. Perhaps they were the most powerful
of the prophets who addressed their exhortations directly to those
for whom they were intended in eloquent discourse or timely parable.
Such prophets were Samuel, Nathan, Elijah, and Elisha, at the courts
of the several kings in whose days they lived. Prophecy had declined a
little in its influence on the people when its representatives betook
themselves to the calmer method of written composition. Nevertheless,
some of the prophets who have left us their works in writing continued
at the same time to employ the older instrument of spoken addresses.
Isaiah and Jeremiah are conspicuous instances of this employment of
the two organs of communication downwards. During this same period
there were many prophets who trusted exclusively to writing; while
in the latest stage of prophetical inspiration, oral instruction was
altogether dropped, and literary means alone were employed to make
known the mind of Jehovah to his chosen people.

The constant theme of all the prophets whose works have come down to
us is the future greatness of the Hebrew race; their complete triumph
over all their enemies; the glory of their ultimate condition, and the
confusion or destruction of those who have opposed their march to this
final victory. The human agent by whom this great revolution is to be
effected is the Messiah. He is the destined weapon in the hand of God
by whom Jewish religion, Jewish institutions, and Jewish rulers are
to attain that supremacy over heathen religion, heathen institutions,
and heathen rulers which is their natural birthright. Continual
disappointment had no effect upon these sanguine expectations. The
Messiah _must_ come, Israel _must_ be victorious over every other
nation that came in the way: this was the word of God, and it could not
fail to be fulfilled. Troubles of many kinds might beset the people in
the meantime; but of the attainment of the goal at last there could be
no doubt.

Of course this ever-recurring burden of the prophetic song is varied
by many strains on subordinate or outlying topics. The prophets
constantly refer to the events of the day, and use them for their own
purposes. They reprove the sins of kings and people, endeavoring to
show that these bring upon them the misfortunes from which they suffer
and which postpone the day of their triumph over the Gentiles. They
connect special calamities with special offenses. They indicate the
conduct which under existing circumstances ought to be pursued. They
draw eloquent and beautiful pictures of the state of their own and of
foreign countries. And they endeavor to raise the popular conceptions
of the majesty of God, of his character, and his requirements, to the
level they have themselves attained.

Turning now to the individual books which have come down to us in
the Canon, and which must by no means be taken as comprehending all
the works of the prophets who wrote their prophecies, we find that
the oldest of these is that of Joel, the son of Pethuel.[96] Joel is
supposed by the highest authority to have lived in the time of King
Jehoash, or Joash, who is praised for his devout obedience to Jehoiada,
the priest (2 Kings, xii). His prophecy was occasioned by a devastation
of locusts. Locusts had wasted the land for some years, and there had
been drought at the same time. On the occasion of a long drought Joel
feared a fresh invasion of locusts, and therefore summoned his people
to a festival of repentance at the temple. This festival occurred,
and rain soon followed (P. A. B., vol. i. p. 87 ff.). Here the old
notion of a direct connection between the attention paid by the people
to Jehovah and his care for them is almost grotesquely manifested.
Locusts are to be averted by fasting; rain obtained by rather more than
usual devotion to God. On the other hand, the more spiritual view of
religion to which the prophets generally tend, is shown in the order
to the people to rend their hearts and not their garments. After thus
attending to immediate necessities, Joel in stirring language exhorts
the people to war, hoping that they would thus get rid of the foreign
oppressors who had broken into the sunken kingdom of David. He bids
them beat their plough-shares into swords, and their pruning-hooks into
spears, and desires the weak to say that they are strong. He promises
his people revenge over their enemies, and holds out the cheering
prospect of a time when, instead of their sons and daughters being sold
as slaves to strangers, they will themselves make slaves of the sons
and daughters of the heathen.

Some short passages subsequently embodied by Isaiah in his works are
considered by Ewald to belong to the same early age as Joel. The
next complete prophet, however, in order of time, was Amos, whose
revelations applied to the northern kingdom and threatened it with
invasion by the Assyrians. Amos in fact utters a series of threatening
predictions against various peoples, and his tone is mainly that
of reproof. While, however, he foretells the captivity of Israel,
and holds out nothing but the most depressing prospects of ruin and
misery throughout the bulk of his book, he falls at the end into the
accustomed strain of hopeful exultation. "The tabernacle of David"
is to be raised up; Israel is to be supreme over the heathen; and
the Israelites are not to be disturbed again from the land which
God has given them, where exuberant prosperity is to be their lot.
Incidentally, Amos tells us a little of his personal history, which is
not without interest. He attributes his consecration to the prophetic
office to the direct intervention of Jehovah. He had originally no
connection with other prophets, but was a simple herdsman, and was
employed to gather sycamore fruit. But Jehovah took him while he was
following the flock, and said, "Go, prophecy unto my people Israel."
His is thus a typical case of the belief in immediate inspiration, and
he is an example of the kind of character which led to the existence
among the Israelites of the peculiar and powerful class who were holy,
but not consecrated. Amos also tells us of a quarrel he had had with
Amaziah, a priest at the court of Jeroboam. This priest had complained
of his dismal predictions to the king, and had bidden him go to Judah
and prophecy there. In return for this evidence of hostility Amos
informs the priest that his wife is to become a prostitute in the town,
that his sons and his daughters are to fall by the sword, that his
land is to be divided by lot, and that he himself is to die on polluted
soil (Amos vii. 10-17). Such were the courtesies that passed between
rival teachers of religion at the court of Jeroboam.

Hosea also tells us something of his personal affairs, more especially
of his matrimonial relations, in which he was far from fortunate. We
feel, in his opening chapters, the soreness of a husband whose wife has
contemned his company and sought the amusement of a troop of lovers.
Gomer, in fact, was shockingly unfaithful, and Hosea uses her as a
type of the infidelity of Israel to Jehovah. At length she deserted
him altogether, and went to another house, but he brought her back as
a slave and put her under strict conjugal discipline. In like manner
is Israel to return to her God, whom she has deserted for a time, and
under the influence of God's love, freely bestowed after his anger
has passed away, is to enjoy a period of great prosperity. Hosea, it
will be observed, belonged to the northern kingdom, and his book is
preëminently the Ephraimitic book of prophecy. But he wrote it in
Judah. He worked in the north at two distinct epochs, first towards the
close of Jeroboam II.'s reign, afterwards in the time of Zachariah,
Shallum, and Menahem (P. A. B., vol. i. p. 171 ff.).

An anonymous prophet, contemporary with Isaiah, stands next in order
of time. He is the author of Zechariah ix.-xi. inclusive, and of
Zechariah chap. xiii. ver. 7-9 (P. A. B., vol i. p. 247 ff.). These
chapters contain the first distinct announcement of the advent of the
Messiah, who is described in the famous prediction of a King coming to
Jerusalem on an ass, and on a colt, the foal of an ass. Here too we
find the curious allegory of the two staves, Beauty and Bands, whereof
one was broken by the prophet in token of the breach of his covenant
with all the nations; the other, in token of the rupture of fraternal
relations between Israel and Judah. In the course of this allegory, the
prophet demands his price, thirty pieces of silver, and throws it into
the temple treasure; a passage which, by an accidental obscurity in
the Hebrew, has been mistranslated as referring, not to the treasure,
but to "the potter in the house of Lord," and then misapplied to the
betrayal of Christ and the purchase of the potter's field.

In the concluding words of this prophet it is announced that two-thirds
of the people will perish, but that the remaining third will, after
refining and trial, be accepted by God as his own people.

We enter now upon the consideration of a prophet who stands in the
foremost rank of those distinguished leaders of opinion whose works
have been included in the Canon. There is no greater name among the
prophets of Israel than that of Isaiah. But in speaking of Isaiah we
must not fall into the confusion of including under his writings the
compositions of a prophet of far later date, which have been mistakenly
bound up with his. Isaiah himself cannot receive credit for all that is
published in his name. But that which he has actually left us is enough
to entitle him to admiration as a master of rhetoric.

Isaiah lived in the reign of Hezekiah, and enjoyed a position of high
public consideration. Some of his prophetic sayings he wrote down soon
after he had uttered them; others not till long after. He had begun to
come forward as a prophet in the last year of the reign of Uzziah. When
he had labored a long time in his vocation of teacher, he determined to
collect his sayings in a book. His oldest work was written about the
year 740 B. C., just after the accession of the young and weak Ahaz
at Jerusalem, when the Assyrians had rendered the northern kingdom
tributary but had not yet come to Judea. His second was written
apparently in the reign of Hezekiah, in 724; and his third in the days
of the same king, when the service of Jehovah had been restored. Such
at least are the conclusions of the highest living authority on the
literature of the Hebrew race (P. A. B., vol. i. p. 271 ff.).

The earliest stratum discernible (according to that authority) in the
Book of Isaiah is from chap. ii. 2 to chap. v. inclusive, and chap ix.
7-x. 4. The last five verses of chap. v. should not be taken along with
the rest of the chapter, but should follow upon chap. x. 4 (Ibid.,
vol. i. p. 286 ff.). These passages begin with a beautiful description
of the happiness of the Israelites in the days of their coming glory,
when the mountain of the Lord's house will be established on the top of
the mountains, and exalted above the hills; and when all nations will
flow to it, to worship and to learn the true faith. It is remarkable
as evidence of the wide distinction between the view of Joel and that
of Isaiah, that Isaiah exactly reverses the image of his predecessor,
declaring that swords will be beaten into plough-shares and spears into
pruning-hooks. Joel was looking to the necessities of the immediate
present; Isaiah to the prospects of the future. These chapters also
contain an amusing ironical account of the finery of the Jerusalem
ladies, which might apply with slight alterations to the rich women of
all ages and countries. No doubt it was very offensive to Isaiah that
they should go about with necks erect and wanton eyes, walking with a
mincing gait; but a prophet who should threaten the women of London
or Paris with scab on the head and the exposure of their persons on
account of sins like these, would certainly bring more reprobation
on himself than on them. But manners in Isaiah's days were not so
delicate. A time is predicted when Jehovah will wash away the filth of
Zion's daughters, and when all in Jerusalem shall be called holy.

In the second part of his book (chap. vi. 1, chap. ix. 6, and chap.
xvii. 1-11) Isaiah gives an interesting, though only figurative,
account of his consecration to the prophetic office. In the year of
King Uzziah's death he says he saw the Lord sitting on his throne with
a train so long as to fill the temple. When he cried out that he was
undone, for that he, a man of unclean lips, had seen the King, the
Lord of hosts, a seraph flew up to him with a live coal in a pair of
tongs, laid the coal on his mouth, and told him that his iniquity was
now taken away and his sin purged. After this the voice of the Lord
was heard inquiring whom he should send, and Isaiah offered to take
the post of his ambassador: "Here am I, send me." The proposal was
accepted, and he at once received his instructions from headquarters.
The prophet began to preach in the manner desired, and among much
discouraging matter he uttered the magnificent description of the
Messiah, which is familiar to all:—

 "For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the
 government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called
 Wonderful, Counselor, the mighty God, the everlasting Father, the
 Prince of Peace."

Isaiah's third work (composed in the reign of Hezekiah) begins at
the first chapter of the canonical book. It opens with a pathetic
lamentation over the infidelity of the children of Israel to their
God, and proceeds at chap. xiv. 28 to recount a "burden" which came in
the death-year of King Ahaz. A prophecy by which a much older prophet
(belonging, as is supposed, to the time of Joel) is embodied in "the
burden of Moab," and extends through chap. xv. and chap. xvi. 7-12,
after which Isaiah, having mentioned that this was formerly the word
of the Lord about Moab, proceeds to say that his present word is that
within three years the glory of Moab shall be contemned. The latter
part of chap. xxi. (ver. 11-17), dealing with Dumah and Arabia, also
belongs to this period.

Further divisions are distinguishable in the writings of Isaiah after
these three parts have been separated from the rest. Thus, we have a
fourth division consisting of the 22d and 23d chapters, and containing
a personal attack on Shebna and a prediction of the fall of Tyre. A
fifth division, from chap. xxviii. to xxxii. inclusive, ends with a
beautiful description of the happier time that is to come, when the
fruit of justice will be peace, and the result of justice quietness and
security, when the people will dwell in sure habitations and untroubled
abodes. There is another writing, the sixth in order, which begins at
chap. x. 5, and extends, in the first instance, to the end of chap.
xii. This prophecy is remarkable, even in this eloquent book, for
the marvelous eloquence with which, in his visions of future glory,
the inspired seer depicts the government of the "rod out of the stem
of Jesse," the "Branch" that is to "grow out of his roots," in whose
reign the wild beasts will no longer persecute their prey, nor Ephraim
and Judah keep up the memory of their ancient feud; who will cause
his beloved people to put the Philistines to flight, to conquer Edom
and Moab, and reduce the children of Ammon to submission. Prophecies
directed against Ethiopia and Egypt (chap. xvii. 12-xviii. 7, and chap.
xx.) belong to the same portion of Isaiah's collected works. Threats
against the Assyrians are contained in additional chapters, namely,
chap. xxxiii. and chap. xxxvii. 22-35. Lastly, a seventh portion of
Isaiah consists of chap. xix., which, after holding out the prospect
of great misfortunes to Egypt, ends in a somewhat unusual strain by
admitting both Egyptians and Assyrians to be equal sharers with the
Israelites in the ultimate prosperity of the earth, and declaring that
the Lord himself will bless them all, saying, "Blessed be Egypt my
people, and Assyria the work of my hands, and Israel mine inheritance."

It should be noted that, if Ewald's supposition be correct, the
first four sections of the work, thus decomposed into its several
constituents, were edited by Isaiah himself, while the fifth, sixth,
and seventh were added by subsequent compilers to the collection he had
left behind (P. A. B., vol. i. p. 488).

A very short prophecy called by Obadiah's name follows upon the genuine
writings of Isaiah in chronological order. It is in fact anonymous. In
its present form it belongs to the time of the Captivity. The object of
the unknown prophet was to reprove the Idumeans for rejoicing in and
profiting by the destruction of Jerusalem. In his writing he embodied
an older prophecy by the actual Obadiah, referring to a calamity that
had befallen Edom, when a part of its territory had been surprised
and completely plundered by a people with whom it had just been in
alliance. The same old piece was used by Jeremiah (chap. xlix. 7) in
his prophecy upon Edom (Ib., vol. i. p. 489 ff.).

Micah, the next prophet, was a younger contemporary of Isaiah,
but lived in the country. When he wrote the northern kingdom was
approaching its end, and he threatens Judah with chastisement and
destruction. He foresaw the fulfillment of Messianic hopes as arising
only from the ruin of the existing order of things. No more than
the first five chapters are by Micah himself (Ib., vol. i. p. 498
ff.). His book is remarkable for the extremely warlike description
he gives of Messianic happiness. Many other prophets conceive it as
an important element in that happiness that the Israelites shall be
victorious over their enemies; but few, if any, have come up to Micah
in the fervor with which he foretells the desolation, the carnage, the
utter suppression of rival nations, which will accompany that age. The
author of the scenes of blood will be the ruler who is to come from
Bethlehem-Ephratah. The prophet who has added the last two chapters
also looks forward to an age when Jehovah will at length perform his
promises to Abraham and Jacob, to the terror of the unbelieving nations.

Next after Micah stands Nahum. The occasion of his prophecy was a
hostile attack directed against Nineveh. He must have seen the danger
with his own eyes, and he was therefore a descendant of one of the
Israelites who had been carried off to Assyria. He evidently lived far
from Palestine, and was familiar with Assyrian affairs. Elkosh, where
the inscription places his residence, was a little town on the Tigris.
His book may refer to the siege of Nineveh by the Median king Phraortes
about six hundred and thirty-six (P. A. B., vol. ii. p. 1). The
interest of Nahum's prophecy is merely local; he does not rise beyond
the politics of the hour, and we need not therefore stop to examine
his utterances in detail. It may be noted, however, that an expression
which has become famous through its adoption by a much later prophet,
"Behold, upon the mountains the feet of him that bringeth good tidings,
that publisheth peace," is first found in Nahum.

Zephaniah's prophecy arose out of a great movement of nations. He lived
in the reign of Josiah, but wrote before the reformation effected by
that monarch. The movement alluded to by him must have been the great
irruption of the Scythians mentioned by Herodotus as having interrupted
the siege of Nineveh by Kyaxares, King of the Medes (Herod., i. 103).
These last days of the Assyrian kingdom gave rise to long disturbances
in which the Chaldeans became conquerors (P. A. B., vol. ii. p. 14).
After various threatenings against divers people, the prophecy of
Zephaniah ends with a beautiful vision of the age to come, when the
suppliants of Jehovah will come from beyond the rivers of Ethiopia; and
when a virtuous and happy remnant will be left in Israel.

When Habakkuk, the next prophet, wrote his thoughts, and composed
the public prayer or psalm which forms his concluding chapter, the
Chaldeans were already in the land. This "bitter and hasty nation" was
quite a new phenomenon there. Habakkuk lived after the reformation of
Josiah, and therefore in the reign of Jehoiakim (Ib., vol. ii. p. 29).
He seems to have written to plead with the Almighty for deliverance,
and to express unabated confidence in him; and he hoped that his
words, set to music and sung in public worship, would induce him to
abate his anger as manifested in the Chaldean scourge.

An anonymous prophet (Ib., vol. ii. p. 52) (Zechariah xiii. 1-xiii.
6, and xiv.) predicts the siege and capture of Jerusalem, with all
the miserable incidents of conquest: the rifling of her houses, the
ravishing of her women, the condemnation to captivity of half her
inhabitants. Like other prophets, however, he looks forward in sanguine
anticipation to a day when the heathen nations who now make war upon
Jerusalem will regularly go up there every year to worship Jehovah, and
keep the feast of tabernacles. At least if any of them do not, they
will have no rain. In that glorious age the very pots in the Lord's
house will be like the bowls for offerings; nay, every pot in Judah and
Jerusalem will be holy to the Lord of hosts.

We pass now to the consideration of a prophet who stands second in
eminence only to Isaiah, and to the unknown author of the later work
which in the Canon is included in the Book of Isaiah. Jeremiah began
to prophesy in the thirteenth year of Josiah, and continued to do so
during the reigns of Jehoiakim and Zedekiah. His active life, like that
of Isaiah, extended over a period of half a century (P. A. B., vol. ii.
p. 63 ff.). It is noteworthy that Jeremiah was a priest, and therefore
combined in his person the double qualification of consecration and of
exceptional holiness: that is, he was consecrated to Jehovah, and also
appointed expressly by Jehovah. The manner of his appointment to be
a holy person resembles the manner of the appointment of Isaiah. The
word of the Lord came to him, saying, that before God had formed him in
the belly he had known him, and before he had come forth from the womb
he had sanctified him, and ordained him a prophet unto the nations.
Jeremiah objected that he was but a child. But Jehovah told him not
to say he was a child, for that he was to go where he was sent, and
speak what he was commanded. He was not to be afraid of men's faces,
for he, the Lord, would deliver him. Then he touched Jeremiah's mouth
with his hand, and said: "Behold, I put my words in thy mouth. See, I
appoint thee this day over the nations and over the kingdoms, to root
out, and to pull down, and to destroy, and to throw down, to build and
to plant." After this solemn dedication to his duties Jeremiah was
certainly endowed with the fullest qualifications for the prophetic
office. He immediately began to see images; namely, a rod of an
almond-tree and a seething pot, and it continued afterwards to be one
of his characteristics to employ material imagery of this nature for
the purpose of illustrating the truths he had to communicate.

After this introduction, we have a long section of the work, namely,
from the second chapter to the twenty-fourth, beginning with the
prophecies of the thirteenth year of Josiah. Among other things this
portion includes Jeremiah's bitter imprecation upon his personal
enemies, the "men of Anathoth," on whom he begs to be permitted to
witness the vengeance of God, and concerning whom he receives the
consoling assurance that their young men will die by the sword, and
their sons and daughters by famine, and that there will not be a
remnant left. This section contains also the terrible prayer against
those who "devised devices" against Jeremiah, in other words, did
not believe in his predictions. In its intense intolerance, in its
unblushing disclosure of private malignity, in its unscrupulous
enumeration of the ills desired for these opponents of the prophet, it
is perhaps unrivaled in theological literature. To do Jeremiah justice
it ought to be quoted at length:—

 "Give heed to me, O Jehovah, and listen to the voice of my opponents.
 Shall evil be recompensed for good, that they dig a pit for my life?
 Remember how I stood before thee, to speak a good word for them, to
 turn away thy wrath from them. Therefore give their sons to famine,
 and deliver them into the power of the sword; and let their wives be
 bereaved of their children and widowed, and let their men be put to
 death; let their young men be slain by the sword in battle. Let a
 cry be heard from their houses, when thou suddenly bringest troops
 upon them; for they have digged a pit to take me, and hid snares for
 my feet. Yet thou, Jehovah, knowest all their counsel against me to
 slay me; and blot not out their sin from thy sight, and let them be
 overthrown before thee; deal with them in the time of thine anger"
 (Jer. xviii. 19-23).

In another chapter there is a curious account of an incident with
Pashur, superintendent of the Temple, who had caused Jeremiah to be
put in stocks for a day. Jeremiah complains bitterly of the treatment
he meets with on account of his prophesying, and wishes to resign
the office, but the impulse proves too strong for him. He consoles
himself with a pious hope that Jehovah will let him see his vengeance
on his enemies (Jer. xx. 1-12). He continues to predict misfortunes,
but intermingles with his gloomier forebodings a fine vision of the
time when God shall gather together the remnant of his flock from
the countries to which he has driven them, and raise up "a righteous
Branch" of the house of David, who will reign and prosper, who will
execute justice and equity, in whose days Judah will be saved, and
Israel dwell secure (Jer. xxiii. 2-6).

In a third section of his work (chap. xlvi. 1-12, and chap. xlvii. 49)
Jeremiah deals with foreign nations, and then (in chap. xxv.) declares
that he has been prophesying a long time without being able to get the
Jews to listen to him, foretells their subjugation by Nebuchadnezzar,
and (rather unfortunately for his own and Jehovah's reputation for
correct foresight) commits himself to the definite term of seventy
years as the duration of the coming captivity. A wise prophet would
have kept within the safe region of vagueness, where he could not come
into collision with awkward dates nor drive orthodox interpreters into
such pitiable straits as those in which Ewald, for example, finds
himself, when he is compelled to say that seventy years is a perfectly
general indication of a future that cannot be more precisely fixed, and
that it merely refers to the third generation from the writer (P. A.
B., vol. ii. p. 230). The remainder of this section (chap. xxvi.-xxix.)
relates certain encounters with other prophets whose predictions had
turned out false, and one of whom, as Jeremiah exultingly relates, died
during the year, exactly as Jeremiah had declared he would. Interesting
evidence is supplied by these chapters of the existence of numerous
prophets who differed from each other, and between whose claims only
the event could decide.

In the fourth section (chap. xxx.-xxxv.) Jeremiah prophesies the
restoration of Israel, and tells his readers how he bought a field
from his cousin on the strength of his hopes that the captivity would
have an end. A fifth part (chaps. xxxvi., xlv.) relates to Baruch,
Jeremiah's secretary; and an appendix (chap. xxxvii.-xliv., and chap.
xlvi. 13-28) contains historical matter, and predictions about Egypt,
but concludes with the usual promise of the ultimate return of the
Jewish nation to its ancestral home.

The last chapter of Jeremiah is purely historical, and, like the
historical portions of Isaiah, need not be considered under the
prophets; but it must be noted that chaps. l. and li. are not by
Jeremiah, being the work of a much later writer, who lived in
Palestine, and who composed them to show that the words of the genuine
Jeremiah were fulfilled in the destruction of Babylon by the Medes,
which was taking place at this time (P. A. B., vol. iii. p. 140 ff.).
The small Book of Lamentations over the unhappy fate of Jerusalem,
ascribed to Jeremiah, is an artistic attempt to embody the grief of
the writer in a song of which each verse begins with a new letter, in
alphabetical order.

We pass now to the prophet Ezekiel, a Jew who was taken into captivity
with Jehoiachin, and lived at a small town of Mesopotamia. He felt the
first prophetic impulses in the fifth year of the Captivity (Ib., vol.
ii. p. 322 ff.). At this time the heavens were opened; he saw visions,
and the word of the Lord came expressly to him. Such was the nature of
his consecration. The first section of Ezekiel extends from chap. i. to
xxiv., and contains utterances about Israel before the destruction of
Jerusalem. The second section (chap. xxv.-xxxii.) deals with foreign
nations, and the third (chap. xxxiii.-xlviii.) holds out promises of
restoration.

Ezekiel is very inferior to his great predecessors, Isaiah and
Jeremiah. He has neither the fervid, manly oratory of the first nor
the pathetic, though rather soft and feminine flow of the second. He
takes pleasure in rather coarse images, such as that of the bread baked
with human dung (Ezek. iv), that of Jehovah with his two concubines,
who bore him sons and vexed him with their licentious conduct (Ezek.
xxiii), or that of the child whose navel was not cut, who grew up into
a woman, over whom Jehovah spread his skirt and covered her nakedness
(Ezek. xvi. 8). And in general, Ezekiel is particularly prone to
teaching by means of similes and illustrations. Sometimes he sees
visions in which God explains his meaning; at other times he acts in a
manner which is designed to be typical of coming events. Thus, on one
occasion, he openly brings out his furniture for removal, as a sign to
the rebellious house of Israel (Ezek. xii. 1-7).

As in Jeremiah, so in Ezekiel we find traces of hostility towards
rival prophets, whom he denounces in no measured terms. It is
interesting, too, to observe that there were female prophets in his
day, who prophesied out of their own hearts. To them also he conveys
the reprobation of the Almighty (Ezek. xiii). The form in which he
looks forward to the restoration of Israel and Judah to their homes,
is somewhat different from that in which it was expected by his
predecessors. In a very singular vision, he relates that his God took
him into a valley which was full of bones, and told him that these
were the bones of the whole house of Israel. Ezekiel is then informed
that God will open the graves of the dead, and cause these bones to
live again, and will bring them to the land of Israel. Afterwards, he
is told to join two sticks into one, this junction representing the
future union of Ephraim and Judah, who are to be gathered from among
the heathen, and are to form one nation governed by one king. That
king is to be David, who will be their prince forever. God will make
an everlasting covenant of peace with them, and put his sanctuary in
their midst for evermore. Here the resurrection of the dead, and the
return of David, instead of the appearance of a new king, are peculiar
features.

An anonymous prophet is supposed to have written Isaiah xxi. 1-10, and
another Isaiah xiii. 2-xiv. 23, the latter referring to Babylon, and
containing the imaginary exultation of the restored Israelites over the
fallen Babylonians. After these fragments we have the work of one who
is perhaps the greatest of all the prophets, but who also is unknown
to us by name. As the most fitting description we may perhaps call
him the anonymous prophet. The whole of the latter portion of Isaiah,
from chap. xl. to the end, is his work. The anonymous prophet lived
in Egypt. His peculiar conception was that Israel was the servant of
the Lord for the peace and the salvation of nations, as Kyros was his
servant in war (P. A. B., vol. iii. p. 20 ff.). Alike in beauty of
language and sublimity of thought he is supreme among the writers of
the Hebrew Bible. He is the prophet of sorrow: yet also the prophet of
consolation. Whether by a curious accident, or whether by virtue of
a tendency (not uncommon among truly great writers) to withdraw his
personality from observation and confine himself wholly to the message
he had to deliver, he tells us nothing of himself. Hence he has for
centuries been hidden behind the figure of Isaiah, whom nevertheless
he surpasses in the purity of his ideal. To him we owe the beautiful
passage beginning "Comfort ye, comfort ye, my people," with the
description afterwards applied by Jesus Christ to John the Baptist.
From him also we have the most exalted conceptions of the Messiah,
the moral element in his character being raised as compared with the
element of material power, to a height hitherto unexampled in prophetic
vision. Take, for instance, this description of his mildness combined
with indomitable perseverance:—

 "He shall not cry, nor lift up, nor cause his voice to be heard in the
 street. A bruised reed shall he not break, and the smoking flax shall
 he not quench; he shall bring forth judgment unto truth. He shall not
 fail nor be discouraged, till he have set judgment in the earth, and
 the isles shall wait for his law" (Is. xlii. 2-4).

It is the anonymous prophet, too, who has given us the familiar
passage, "He is despised and rejected of men;" a passage describing
the career of a great man whose teachings involved him in persecution
and ultimately in martyrdom, but nowise applicable to the Messiah.
That a historical incident, known to the writer, is alluded to in this
touching account of suffering goodness, admits of no reasonable doubt.

The anonymous prophet is preëminently the prophet of consolation.
Living in the days of Kyros and of the restoration of the Temple, he
had the elements of soothing speech ready to his hand; and as his
predecessors had prophesied destruction and woe, occasionally varied
with strains of hope, so he prophesies in strains of hope, occasionally
varied with sterner language. It is his especial mission to heal the
wounds that have been made in the spirit of Judah. God had indeed
forsaken her for a while; but he will now take her back as a deserted
wife, who had suffered her punishment. He had hidden his face in a
little wrath for a moment; but with everlasting kindness will he now
have mercy upon her (Is. liv. 5-7). The concluding chapter of the
anonymous prophet contains a magnificent description of the ultimate
gathering of all nations and tongues, when Jerusalem will be the
central point of human worship, and the glory of God will be seen by
all. The picture is not indeed unmingled with darker shades, for great
numbers are to be destroyed by Jehovah in his indignation. On the other
hand, there is a trait exhibiting the superiority of this prophet to
his predecessors in toleration for the Gentiles: namely, the remarkable
prediction that some of them also are to be priests and Levites (Is.
lxvi. 12-24). The man who could utter this sentiment had made a
signal advance upon the ordinary narrow and exclusive notions of the
prerogatives of the Jewish race.

It was mentioned that the fiftieth and fifty-first chapters of Jeremiah
were added by a later hand. The same hand (in Ewald's opinion) composed
the thirty-fourth and thirty-fifth chapters of Isaiah, of which the
second describes in very eloquent terms the coming glory, when "the
ransomed of the Lord shall return, and come to Zion with songs, and
everlasting joy upon their heads; they shall obtain joy and gladness,
and sorrow and sighing shall flee away" (Is. xxxv. 10). Another unknown
writer (Isaiah xxiv.-xxvii.) predicts in the first place the desolation
which the Lord is about to effect, and then the happiness of the Jews
who will be brought to their own land again, to worship Jehovah in the
holy mount at Jerusalem. One of his expressions, "He will swallow up
death in victory," has been adopted by St. Paul; another, "The Lord
God will wipe away tears from off all faces," by the author of the
Apocalypse.

The interest of Haggai's prophecy is purely special: it refers to the
building of the temple at Jerusalem in the reign of Darius. It was the
unexpected obstacles by which the building was hindered that kindled
his zeal; he made his five speeches in three months of the same year.
Probably he had not seen the first temple, and he left his prophetic
work to his younger contemporary Zechariah (P. A. B., vol. iii. p. 177
ff.).

Zechariah also lived in the time of Darius, and dealt principally with
the building of the temple (Ib., vol. iii. p. 187 ff.). A series of
visions which he professes to see shows how his mind was running upon
this absorbing theme; and he even expects the Messiah, whom Isaiah and
Jeremiah had called a Branch of David, and whom he more emphatically
terms _the_ Branch, to appear at the head of affairs and to carry the
works to their completion (Zech., 8, and vi. 12). He supposes that he
will then sit and rule upon his throne; a priest will be beside him,
and there will be a counsel of peace between these two—the monarch and
his ecclesiastical minister (Zech., vi. 13).

It was probably more than half a century later that the short book
bearing the title of Malachi was written. The true name of its author
is unknown, and that of Malachi, my messenger, was taken by its editor
from the first verse of the third chapter (P. A. B., vol. iii. p.
214 ff.). He is not a prophet of a high calibre, as is shown by his
denunciation, already quoted, of those among the Jews who offered
Jehovah their least valuable cattle. Nor is his conception of the
Messianic epoch in any way comparable to that of the great prophets
whose works he might have studied. He says indeed that the Sun of
righteousness will arise with healing in his wings; but it appears that
this healing is to consist in the Israelites treading down the wicked,
who will be as dust under their feet. He concludes by announcing the
return of Elijah, before "the great and dreadful day of the Lord," and
says, in his threatening tone, that this prophet will turn the hearts
of the fathers to the children, and of the children to the fathers,
lest God should come and smite the earth with a curse.

The Book of Jonah, which may have been written in the fifth or sixth
century B. C. (P. A. B., vol. iii. p. 233 ff.), is a story with a
moral rather than a prophecy. Jonah was desired by Jehovah to preach
against Nineveh, but fled from his duty, and took passage in the ship
to Tarshish, duly paying his fare. However, when a storm arose, Jonah
knew that it was sent as a penalty for his disobedience, and told the
sailors to throw him overboard. This they did, but he was swallowed
alive by a large fish prepared for the purpose, and remained within it
three days. By this lesson he was prepared to execute God's commands,
and was accordingly thrown up by the fish on dry land. He preached
to the people of Nineveh, as desired, the coming destruction of their
city; but when they repented, Jehovah changed his mind, much to the
annoyance of his prophet, who represented that his unfortunate tendency
to clemency was the very reason why he had not wished to enter his
service. But Jehovah, by causing him to regret the destruction of a
gourd which had sheltered him, showed him that there would be much more
reason to spare so large a city as Nineveh, which contained, not only a
vast population, but also a great deal of cattle.

If Malachi and Jonah stand in unfavorable contrast to the works
composed during the golden age of Hebrew literature, Daniel, the
latest book of the Old Testament, represents the complete degeneracy
of prophecy. It is from beginning to end artificial; professing to be
written at one time and by an author whose name and personality are
given; in reality written at another time, and by an author whose name
and personality are concealed. Hence it contains pseudo-prophecies,
which are comparatively clear, extending from the imagined date of
the supposed prophet to the actual date of the real prophet; and it
contains genuine prophecies which are obscure, and which extend from
the actual date into the actual future. It contains also much that
relates to the politics of the day, and which, for obvious reasons,
is cast into an enigmatic form. Daniel was written about the year
B. C. 168, a little before the death of Antiochus Epiphanes, and
the allusions to that monarch are of course made under the veil of
prophecy, in a style designed to be intelligible, without being direct.
The predictions of the eleventh chapter refer to the wars of the Syrian
and Egyptian kings, and especially to Antiochus Epiphanes, who is the
"vile person" mentioned in the twenty-first verse. The purpose of the
work was to set an example of fidelity to Jehovah to the powerful Jews
who were connected with the Syrian court, and especially to the younger
members of the great Jewish families, who were in danger of being
corrupted by its seductions (P. A. B., vol. iii. p. 298 ff.).

The form chosen to effect the writer's object is autobiographical.
In this way he was able to utter his political views—which, directly
expressed, would have been dangerous to his safety—under the guise of
sentiments uttered by Daniel, the fictitious narrator of the story.
Daniel was taken as a captive child along with other children of Jewish
race to serve at the court of Nebuchadnezzar, and remained at the
Chaldean court until the death of Nebuchadnezzar's son, Belshazzar, and
the subjugation of his empire by the Medes and Persians. He continued
to hold an honorable position at the Persian court under Darius and
Kyros. He first rose to distinction by relating and interpreting to
Nebuchadnezzar a dream which the king had himself forgotten. Thus,
from being a mere page he rose to be a sort of astrologer royal. His
life was not, however, free from trouble. Among the children who had
been brought with him from Judea he had three friends, Hananiah,
Mishael, and Azariah, whom the Chaldeans called Shadrach, Meshach, and
Abednego. When Daniel had successfully interpreted the king's dream,
he contrived to obtain lucrative situations in the province of Babylon
for Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. But these three having refused to
worship a golden image which the king had set up in that province were
by the king's orders cast into a burning fiery furnace, heated beyond
its usual temperature. But though they fell bound in the midst of it,
they were not burnt, and were seen walking about at their ease in it,
accompanied by a fourth, who looked like the Son of Man (Dan. iii).

It is remarkable that a precisely similar prodigy occurred in one of
the innumerable previous existences of the Buddha Sakyamuni. He was at
this time the son and heir of a great king, and to prove his devotion
to the true doctrine he literally obeyed the instructions of a Brahman,
who desired him to fill a ditch ten yards deep with glowing coals and
jump into it. On this condition the Brahman had consented to teach him
the holy doctrine. Resisting all entreaties to preserve his life, the
prince caused the pool of fire to be prepared and leapt into it without
shrinking for a moment. On the instant it was converted into a basin of
flowers, and he appeared sitting on a lotus-flower in its midst, while
the gods caused a rain of flowers, that rose knee-deep to fall upon the
assembled people (G. O. M., p. 14).

Nor is this the only other example of a wise discrimination being
exercised by the fiery element. During the reign of the Indian
king Asoka, who in the early part of his career was ferocious and
irreligious, the public executioner enjoyed the singular privilege of
being entitled to retain in his house every one, whatever his position
or character, who might cross the threshold of his door. Now the
outside of the executioner's house was beautiful and attractive, though
within it was full of instruments of torture, with which he inflicted
on his victims the punishments of hell. One day a holy monk, named
Samudra, arriving at this apparently charming house, entered it, but
on discovering the nature of its interior wished to make his exit. But
it was too late. The executioner had seen him, and told him that he
must die. After seven days' respite, he threw the monk into an iron
caldron filled with water mixed with loathsome materials, and kindled a
fire below it. But the fire would not burn. Far from experiencing any
pain, the holy man appeared calmly seated on a lotus. The executioner
having informed Asoka of this fact, the king arrived with a suite of
thousands of persons. Seeing this crowd, the monk darted into the
air, and there produced miraculous appearances. The king, struck by
the extraordinary sight, requested the ascetic to say who he was,
declaring that he honored him as a disciple. Samudra, perceiving that
the moment had arrived at which the king was to receive the grace of
instruction in the law, replied that he was a son of Buddha, that
merciful Being, and that he was delivered from the bonds of existence.
"And thou, O great king, thy advent was predicted by Bhagavat, when
he said: A hundred years after I shall have entered into complete
Nirvâna, there will be in the town of Pataliputtra a king called Asoka,
a king ruling over the four quarters of the world, a just king, who
will distribute my relics," and so forth. He proceeded to point out to
Asoka the wickedness of establishing a house of torment like that he
was in, and entreated him to give security to the beings who implored
his compassion. Hereupon the king accepted the law of Buddha, and
determined to cover the earth with monuments for his relics. But when
the royal party were about to leave the place, the executioner had
the audacity to remind Asoka of his promise that no one who had once
entered his doors might ever go out. "What," cried Asoka, "do you wish
then to put me also to death?" "Yes," replied the man. On this he was
seized and thrown into the torture-room, where he died in the flames,
and his house was destroyed (H. B. I., p. 365-372).

Daniel himself met with an adventure of the same perilous nature
as that which had befallen his three friends, though under another
government. Darius, by the advice of some counselors who desired to
destroy Daniel, had made an order that no one should ask a petition
of any god or man save himself for thirty days. But Daniel of course
continued to worship Jehovah as before, and was sentenced in the terms
of the edict to be thrown into a lions' den. But the lions would no
more eat Daniel than the fire would burn his co-religionists; and just
as Asoka, when he had witnessed the escape of the ascetic, worshiped
Buddha, so Darius, having discovered Daniel uninjured in the lions'
den, immediately ordered that in all parts of his dominions people
should tremble and fear before the God of Daniel (Dan. vi).

Of the prophecies contained in this book the most remarkable is that
concerning the Messiah, who is announced as destined to come at a
time fixed by a mystical calculation expressed in weeks. The object
of the writer was to fix a date for the Messiah's appearance, without
expressing himself in such unambiguous terms as would be universally
understood. Such is the true method of prophecy in all religions, for
a prophet who utters his forecast of the future in such a manner as
to render his meaning unmistakable, exposes himself to the hazardous
possibility that the event in history may turn out altogether unlike
the event foretold.


                  SUBDIVISION 5.—_The God of Israel._

One great question has hitherto been left untreated—that of the
theology and morals of the Hebrew Bible. Theology and morals are
so intimately blended in its pages that the one can scarcely be
discussed without involving the other. The character of Jehovah is
the pattern of morality; his will is its fundamental law; his actions
its exemplification. Hence to consider the character of Jehovah is
of necessity to consider also the Hebrew notions of ethics; while to
inquire into the Hebrew standard of ethics is to enquire into the
commands of Jehovah. Let us try then to ascertain what manner of deity
Jehovah is. To do so, our best course will be to select the salient
features of his history, as related by the sacred writers.

Now, at the very outset of his proceedings we observe that he takes up
towards mankind a very definite attitude: that of a superior entitled
to demand implicit obedience. Whether the fact that he was man's
creator justified so extensive a claim it is needless in this place
to discuss. Suffice it that he had the power to enforce under the
severest penalties the submission he demanded. But it might have been
expected that a divine being, who assumed such unlimited rights over a
race so vastly his inferiors in knowledge and in strength, should at
least exercise them with discretion and moderation. It might have been
expected that where he claimed obedience it would be with a view to the
well-being of his creatures; not merely as an arbitrary exercise of
his enormous power. What, on the contrary, is the conduct he pursued?
His very first act after he had created Adam and Eve and placed them
in Paradise was to forbid them, under penalty of death, to eat the
fruit of a certain tree which grew in their garden. There is not even
a vestige of a pretense in the narrative that the fruit of this tree
would in itself, and apart from the divine prohibition, have done them
any harm. Quite the contrary; the fact of eating it enlarged their
faculties; making them like gods, who know good and evil. And Jehovah
was afraid that they might, after eating the fruit of the tree of
knowledge, eat also that of the tree of life, after which he would be
unable to kill them. So that it was his deliberate purpose in issuing
this injunction to keep mankind feeble, ignorant and dependent. Nor
is this by any means the whole extent of his misconduct. One of two
charges he cannot escape. Either he knew when he created Adam and Eve
that their nature was such that they would disobey, or he did not. In
the first case, he knowingly formed them liable to fall, knowingly
placed them amid conditions which rendered their fall inevitable; and
then punished them for the catastrophe he had all along foreseen as
the necessary result of the character he had bestowed upon them. In
the second case, he was ignorant and shortsighted, being unable to
guess what would be the nature of his own handiwork; and should not
have meddled with tasks which were obviously beyond the scope of his
faculties. And even in this latter case, the most favorable one for
Jehovah, he acted with unpardonable injustice towards the man and
woman in first creating them with a nature whose powers of resistance
to temptation he could not tell, then placing temptation, raised to
its utmost strength by a mysterious order, continually under their
noses, then allowing a serpent to suggest that they should yield to
it, and lastly punishing the unhappy victims of this chain of untoward
circumstances by expulsion from their garden. A human parent who
should thus treat his children would be severely and justly censured.
It is a striking proof how rudimentary were the Hebrew conceptions of
justice, that they should have accepted, in reference to their deity,
a story which evinces so flagrant a disregard of its most elementary
requirements (Gen. ii. 8, and iii). Just as in the case of Adam and
Eve, he required implicit obedience to an arbitrary command, so in the
case of Abraham he required implicit obedience to an immoral one. There
was with him no fixed system of morality. Submission to his will was
the alpha and omega of virtue. Observe now how superior is the feeling
shown in the Hindu legend which has been quoted as a parallel to that
of the projected sacrifice of Isaac. Although in that story the father
was bound by a solemn promise to sacrifice his son, yet he is never
blamed for his reluctance to do so, though Abraham is praised for his
willingness; while the Brahman who is actually prepared to plunge the
sacrificial knife into his child's breast is treated with scorn and
reprobation for his unfeeling behavior. Even the service of the gods is
not made supreme over every human emotion. But the conception of the
existence of duties independent of the divine will seems not to have
entered the minds of the Hebrew theologians who wrote these books.

The further proceedings of Jehovah are quite in keeping with his
beginning in the garden of Eden. Throughout the whole course of the
history he shows the most glaring partiality. In its earlier period
he is partial to individuals; in its later, to the Hebrew race. Let
us notice a few cases of this favoritism as shown towards individual
favorites. Immediately after the curse upon Adam and Eve, and their
banishment from Eden, we have the instructive story of Cain and Abel,
so magnificently dramatized by Byron. These two brothers, sons of the
original couple, both brought offerings to Jehovah; Cain, the fruit of
the ground; Abel, the firstlings of his flock. But the Lord had respect
to Abel and his offering, but not to Cain and his offering. Why was
this difference made? Absolutely no reason is assigned for it, and it
is not surprising, however lamentable, that it should have excited the
jealousy of the brother who was thus ill-treated (Gen. iv. 1-8). Again,
it has been remarked above that Abraham and Isaac had a singular way of
passing off their wives as their sisters. Pharaoh was once deceived in
this way about Sarah; Abimelech of Gerar, once about Sarah, and once
about Rebekah. These two monarchs were plagued by Jehovah on account of
their innocent mistake; the patriarchs were not even reproved for this
cowardly surrender of their consorts to adulterous embraces (Gen. xii.
11-20, xx., xxvi. 7-11). Jacob is another favorite, while his brother
Esau is coldly treated. Yet the inherent meanness of Jacob's character,
and the comparative excellence of Esau's, are too obvious to escape
even a careless reader. What can be more pitiful than the conduct of
Jacob in taking advantage of a moment of weakness in his brother to
purchase his birthright? (Gen. xxv. 29-34.) What more ungenerous than
the odious trick by which he imposed upon his father, and cheated Esau
of his blessing? (Gen. xxvii.) What again can be more magnanimous than
the long subsequent reception by Esau of the brother whose miserable
subserviency showed his consciousness of the wrong he had done him?
(Gen. xxxiii. 1-15). Yet this is the man whom Jehovah selects as the
object of his peculiar blessing, and whose very deceitfulness towards a
kind employer he suffers to become a means of aggrandizement (Gen. xxx.
41-43).

The same partisanship which in these cases forms so conspicuous a trait
in the character of Jehovah distinguishes the whole course of his
proceedings in reference to the delivery of the Israelites from Egypt
and their settlement in Palestine. Every other nation is compelled to
give way for their advantage. Pharaoh and all the Egyptians are plagued
for holding them in slavery, not in the least because Jehovah was an
abolitionist (for he never troubled himself about slavery anywhere
else), but because it was his own peculiar people who were thus in
subjugation to a race whom he did not equally affect. Throughout the
long journey from Egypt to the promised land, Jehovah accompanies the
Israelites as a sort of commander-in-chief, directing them what to do,
and giving them the victory over their enemies. As the Red Sea was
divided to enable them to escape from their enemies on the one side, so
the Jordan was cleft in two to enable them to conquer their enemies on
the other (Ex. xiv. 21, 22.—Josh. iii. 7-17). The walls of a fortified
city were thrown down to enable them to enter (Josh. vi. 20). The sun
was arrested in his course to enable them to win a battle (Josh. x.
12-14). Hornets were employed to accomplish the expulsion of hostile
tribes without trouble to the Israelites (Josh. xxiv. 12). Thus, as
Jehovah afterwards took care to remind them, he gave them a land for
which they did not labor, and cities which they did not build (Josh.
xxiv. 13).

Nevertheless the lot of the race who were thus highly favored was far
from happy. Their God was indeed a powerful protector, but he was also
an exacting ruler. His service was at no time an easy one, and he was
liable to outbursts of passion which rendered it peculiarly oppressive.
Tolerant as he might be towards some descriptions of immorality, he had
no mercy whatever for disloyalty towards himself. On one occasion he
characterized himself by the name of "Jealous" (Ex. xxxiv. 14), which
was but too appropriate, and implied the possession of one of the least
admirable of human weaknesses. Now the Israelites were unfortunately
prone to lapses of this kind. Such was the severity with which these
offenses were treated that it is questionable whether it would not have
been a far happier fate to be drowned in the Red Sea with the Egyptians
than preserved with the children of Israel. A few instances of what
they had to undergo will illustrate this remark.

Moses had impressed upon the people the importance of having no other
deity but Jehovah, and had succeeded while he was actually among
them in restricting them to his worship alone. But no sooner was he
absent for a season than they immediately forsook Jehovah, and took
to worshiping a golden calf. Worst of all, this new divinity was set
up by Aaron, the brother of Moses, and high priest of the Jehovistic
faith. That Jehovah should be rather vexed at such ungrateful behavior,
after all the trouble he had taken in plaguing and slaughtering the
Egyptians, was only natural; but it was surely an extraordinary want
of self-control to propose to consume the whole nation at once,
reserving only Moses as the progenitor of a better race. Here, as
in other cases, Moses showed himself more merciful than his God. He
ingeniously urged as a motive to clemency that the Egyptians would say
extremely unpleasant things if the Israelites were destroyed; and after
his return to the camp he contrived to appease him by inducing the
Levites to perpetrate a fratricidal massacre, whereby three thousand
people fell. This measure was described by Moses as a consecration
of themselves to the Lord, that he might bestow his blessing upon
them. It proved successful, for Jehovah now contented himself with
merely plaguing the people instead of exterminating them (Ex. xxxii).
Thus, he had scarcely finished plaguing the Egyptians before he began
plaguing the Israelites in their turn. Indeed he was at this period
peculiarly prone to sending plagues of one kind or another. Some
complaints of the Israelites in the wilderness were visited by fire
which burnt up those who were at the extremities of the camp (Num. xi.
1-3). When they began to pine for the varied food they had enjoyed in
Egypt, and to lament the absence of flesh meat, he sent them quails
indeed, but accompanied the gift with a very great plague, of which
large numbers perished (Num. xi. 4-34). When they were dismayed by
the reports brought them concerning the inhabitants of Palestine, and
complained of their God for the position he had brought them into, he
again fell into a rage and proposed to destroy them all by pestilence
except Moses. But Moses a second time appealed to him on what seems
to have been his weak side,—his regard for his reputation among the
Egyptians. These had all heard of what he had been doing, and would not
they and the other neighboring nations ascribe the destruction of the
Israelites in the wilderness to his inability to bring them into the
promised land? Moved by this reasoning, Jehovah consented to spare the
people, but determined at the same time to avenge himself upon them by
not permitting any of those that had come from Egypt (except Joshua
and Caleb, who had reported in the proper spirit about Palestine) to
set foot within the country to which he had solemnly engaged himself
to conduct them (Num. xiv. 1-39). Thus, they were only saved from the
Egyptians to perish in the wilderness. Truly, the tender mercies of the
Lord were cruel.

But the miseries of these unfortunate wanderers were by no means ended.
When, oppressed by the troubles and weariness of the way, they dared
to murmur, and inquired of Moses why he had brought them out of Egypt
to die in the wilderness, where there was neither tolerable bread, nor
water, the resentment of Jehovah was excited by this audacity. They
ought to have been only too grateful that they had remained alive.
Jehovah had not caused the earth to swallow them as it had done Korah,
Dathan, and Abiram, with their wives and little children, because
they had ventured to complain of the government of Moses; nor had he
destroyed them by plague, as he had destroyed 14,700 people because
there had been some expressions of dissatisfaction at the sudden death
of those seditious men. If then they had hitherto escaped destruction,
they were certainly foolish in complaining of the hardships of the
desert. At any rate Jehovah soon convinced them that their grumbling
was useless. No constitutional opposition was permitted in those days.
Fiery serpents were despatched to bite them, and many of them died in
consequence. Such was the extent of the calamity that Moses, always
more merciful than his God, interceded for his people; and was directed
to set up a brazen serpent, by looking at which the bites of the living
serpents were healed (Num. xxi. 1-9).

The extraordinary cruelty ascribed by the Hebrews to their national
deity is shown in many other instances besides those that have been
mentioned. And it is to be noticed that it is cruelty mingled with
caprice. No one could tell beforehand precisely what actions he would
visit with punishment, nor what would be the punishment with which
he would visit them. Everything with him was uncertain. He had no
fixed system of laws at all, and he sometimes condemned a criminal in
virtue of _ex post facto_ legislation. The deluge is an example of
all these vices combined. It was an excessively cruel punishment; it
was inflicted capriciously, and once in a way only, because God had
changed his mind as to the propriety of having created man; and it
was the result of a resolution arrived at after the offenses it was
designed to chastise had already been committed. No human being could
possibly have guessed beforehand that his crimes would be punished in
that particular way. And after the crimes of the antediluvians had been
thus punished, the survivors received a promise that no misconduct on
their part would ever be visited upon them in the same way. So that
any conceivable utility which the deluge might have had as a warning
for the future was utterly destroyed. Equal caprice, though not equal
cruelty, was shown towards the builders of the tower of Babel, who were
suffered to begin their labors without hindrance, but were afterwards
stopped by the confusion of their languages. Why it was wrong to erect
such a tower is never stated. Could any of those engaged upon it have
guessed that the attempt was one deserving of punishment? Still worse
was Jehovah's behavior to the prophet Balaam, for he first ordered
him to go with the men who were sent for him, and then was angry with
him because he went (Num. xxii. 20, 22). Such conduct was on a level
with that of a pettish woman. Instances of barbarous severity may be
found in abundance. Nadab and Abihu, sons of Aaron, were devoured by
"fire from the Lord," because they had taken their censers, and offered
strange fire before him (Lev. x. 1, 2). A man who on the father's side
was Egyptian, was ordered to be stoned for blaspheming and cursing the
name of the Lord; Jehovah being peculiarly eager in avenging personal
affronts (Lev. xxiv. 10-16). On this occasion no doubt a general
law was announced affixing the penalty of stoning to the offense of
blasphemy; but the law was _ex post facto_ so far as the individual
who suffered by its operation was concerned. On another occasion the
heads of the people were ordered to be all hung for whoredom with the
daughters of Moab, and for idolatry. Phinehas, Aaron's son, seeing an
Israelite with a Midianitish woman, ran then both through the body with
a javelin; for which heroic exploit against an unprepared man and a
defenseless woman he was specially praised; was declared to have turned
away God's wrath from Israel, and received a "covenant of peace" for
himself and his posterity (Num. xxv. 1-15). At a much later period,
when David was causing the ark to be brought back from the Philistines,
an unfortunate man who had put out his hand to touch it because the
oxen shook it, was immediately slain; an act at which even the pious
David was displeased, and which caused him, not unnaturally, to be
"afraid before the Lord that day" (2 Sam. vi. 6-9). In the reign of
Jeroboam a prophet who had only been guilty of the involuntary error of
believing another prophet who had told him a falsehood, was killed by a
lion sent expressly for his punishment, while the man who had deceived
him escaped scot free (1 Kings xiii. 1-32). Another man suffered for
refusing to obey the word of a prophet what this one had suffered for
obeying it. Being desired by one of the "sons of the prophets" to
smite him so as to cause a wound, and having declined the office, he
was informed that for his disobedience to the voice of the Lord he
would be slain by a lion, which accordingly happened (1 Kings xx. 35,
36). Mercy towards a conquered enemy was sometimes an actual crime.
Because he spared Agag, Saul was rejected from being king over Israel,
and the Lord repented that he had appointed so weak-minded a man.
Samuel, who was made of sterner stuff, had no scruple in carrying out
the behests of his God, for he "hewed Agag in pieces before the Lord"
(1 Sam. xv). In like manner Ahab was reproved for sparing the life of
Ben-hadad, King of Syria (1 Kings xx. 42, 43). The same monarch whose
leniency had thus brought him into trouble was afterwards the victim
of a sanguinary fraud practiced upon him by Jehovah. Tired of his
reign, and eager to effect his destruction, the Lord put a lying spirit
into the mouth of all his prophets, who were thus induced to prophesy
victory in an engagement which actually terminated in his defeat and
death (1 Kings xxii. 1-40). Observe, that however foolish Ahab may have
been in believing the false prophets and disbelieving Micaiah, this
does not excuse Jehovah, who according to his own chosen spokesman,
deliberately arranged this scheme for the overthrow of the king in the
court of heaven. Other barbarous deeds followed upon this. To gratify
Elijah, a hundred men who were guiltless of any crime whatever, were
consumed by fire (2 Kings i. 9-12). To assuage the wounded vanity of
Elisha, forty-two little children were eaten by bears (2 Kings ii.
23, 24). To maintain the glory of the true God, Elijah slaughtered the
prophets of Baal to the number of many hundreds (1 Kings xviii. 17-40).
To reëstablish the orthodox faith, Jehu got rid of the worshipers of
Baal, collected together by an infamous trick, in one indiscriminate
massacre; an atrocity for which he was specially praised and rewarded
by "the Lord" (2 Kings x. 18-30).

It is needless to prolong the list of cruelties practiced upon private
individuals. But the subject would be incompletely treated, did we
not observe that the same spirit prevailed in the dealings of Jehovah
with nations. Thus, when the Israelites were about to enter the land
of Canaan, they were desired utterly to destroy the seven nations
who possessed it already (Deut. vii. 2). When they captured Jericho,
they slew all its inhabitants, young and old, except the household
of the prostitute with whom their messengers had lodged, and who had
shamelessly betrayed her countrymen. Her, with her family they saved
(Josh. vi. 1-25). All the inhabitants of Ai were utterly destroyed
(Josh. viii. 26). All the inhabitants of Makkedah were utterly
destroyed (Josh. x. 28). All the inhabitants of many other places were
utterly destroyed (Josh. x. 29-43, and xi. 11, 14). One city alone made
peace with Israel; all the rest were taken in battle, and that because
Jehovah had deliberately and of set purpose hardened the hearts of
their inhabitants, that they might be utterly destroyed (Josh. xi. 20).

Such a catalogue of crimes—and the number is by no means
exhausted—would be sufficient to destroy the character of any pagan
divinity whatsoever. I fail to perceive why the Jews alone should be
privileged to represent their God as guilty of such actions without
suffering the inference which in other cases would undoubtedly be
drawn—namely, that their conceptions of deity were not of a very
exalted order, nor their principles of morals of a very admirable kind.
There is, indeed, nothing extraordinary in the fact that, living in a
barbarous age, the ancient Hebrews should have behaved barbarously.
The reverse would rather be surprising. But the remarkable fact is,
that their savage deeds, and the equally savage ones attributed to
their God, should have been accepted by Christendom as flowing in the
one case from the commands, in the other from the immediate action
of a just and beneficent Being. When the Hindus relate the story of
Brahma's incest with his daughter, they add that the god was bowed
down with shame on account of his subjugation by ordinary passion (O.
S. T., vol. i. p. 112). But while they thus betray their feeling that
even a divine being is not superior to all the standards of morality,
no such consciousness is ever apparent in the narrators of the passions
of Jehovah. While far worse offenses are committed by him, there is no
trace in his character of the grace of shame.

Turning now to the legislation which emanated from him, we shall find
evidence of the same spirit which has been seen to mark his daily
dealings. It is impossible here to examine that legislation in detail,
and it may be freely conceded that much of it was well adapted to
the circumstances under which it was delivered. Some of the precepts
given are indeed trivial, such as the order to the Israelites not
to round the corners of their heads, nor mar the corners of their
beards (Lev. xix. 27), and others are [such as are] merely special
to the Hebrew religion. But the mass of enactments may very probably
have been wise, or, at least, not conspicuously the reverse. Those
to which the chief exception must be taken, are such as demonstrate
the essentially inhuman character of the authority from whom they
emanated. Thus, death is the penalty affixed to the insignificant
offense of Sabbath-breaking (Ex. xxxv. 2). If the nearest relation,
or even the wife of his bosom, or the friend who is as his own soul,
secretly entice a man to go and worship other gods, he himself is to
put the tempter to death, his own hand being the first to fling the
stones by which he is to perish (Deut. xiii. 6-11). The Inquisition
itself could have no more detestable law than this. If it is a city
that is guilty of such heresy, it is to be burnt down, and all its
inhabitants put to the sword (Deut. xiii. 12-16). The mere worship of
pagan divinities, apart from any effort to seduce others, is likewise
punished with stoning (Deut. xvii. 2-7). In cities not in Palestine,
taken in war, all the males only are to be put to death; but in the
cities of Palestine itself, nothing that breathes is to be saved alive
(Deut. xx. 13-18). A "stubborn and rebellious son" may be put to death
by stoning, and that at the instance of his parents (Deut. xxi. 18-21).
In appearance this terrible process for dealing with a naughty boy
is less severe than the _patria potestas_ of the Romans, by which the
power of life and death was lodged in the father alone. Practically,
however, the exercise of this unlimited _legal_ right was prevented
to a large extent, for a religious curse rested on the father who
even sold his married son, and he could not pronounce sentence on any
child till after consulting the nearest blood-relations on both sides,
without incurring the same anathema (Mommsen, History of Rome, vol. i.
p. 65). No doubt the purely legal power of the head of the family was
unaffected by these restraints. Human authority still permitted him
to expose his children at birth, to sell them, or to sentence them to
death. But the difference between Roman and Jewish institutions was,
that in Rome, religion sought to mitigate the cruelty of the civil law;
in Palestine, religion not only did nothing to soften, but positively
sanctioned, by its august commands the most revolting enactments of
barbaric legislation. It is true that no instance is known to history
of the employment of this law by Jews against their children, but this
can only show that their parental morality was superior to the morality
of the divine law. At a much later time than that at which this
enactment was given, when the Israelites returned from the Captivity,
the same harsh and intolerant spirit as we have observed in their
earlier legislation broke forth again. By a cruel measure, enacted by
Ezra, the representative of Jehovah, and taking the form of a covenant
with God, the people were forced to repudiate all their wives who
were not of pure Israelitish blood (Ezra ix, and x). Nehemiah, who
was likewise zealous in the service of Jehovah, was no less an enemy
to "outlandish women," and took rather strong measures against those
who had married them, such as cursing them, smiting them, plucking off
their hair, and making them swear not to give their sons or daughters
in marriage to foreigners (Neh. xiii. 23-28).

Such being the moral characteristics of the Hebrew God, can it be said
that the intellectual ideas of the divine nature found in the Old
Testament are of a highly refined and spiritual order? On the contrary,
as compared with the gods of other races, Jehovah is remarkably
anthropomorphic and materialistic. He does not approach in spirituality
to the higher conceptions of the Hindus, nor is he even equal to those
of less subtle and speculative nations. He is on a level with the gods
of popular mythologies, but not with those more mysterious powers who
often stand above them. The evidence of this proposition is to be found
in the whole tenor of the historical books. Thus, in the very beginning
of Genesis, we find that he "rested on the seventh day," (Gen. ii.
2) as if he were a being altogether apart from the forces of nature,
and might leave the world to go on without him. A little later he is
found "walking in the garden in the cool of the day" (Gen. iii. 8). He
clearly had a body resembling that of man, for on one occasion Moses
was so highly favored as to be permitted to see his "back parts," and
was covered with his hand while he was passing by. His face Moses was
not permitted to behold, as it would have caused his death (Ex. xxxiii.
20-23). In order to pass by he "descended" in a cloud, implying local
habitation, and at this time he magniloquently proclaimed his own
titles and virtues, which he might more gracefully have employed an
angel to do for him. Elsewhere it is stated that Moses and the elders
"saw the God of Israel," and that he had some sort of paved work of
sapphire stone under his feet. When Moses went up alone into the mount,
"the sight of the glory of the Lord was like devouring fire." God was
at this time supposed to be on the mount, and there held discourse
with Moses (Ex. xxiv. 10-25). In the course of it he says that he will
"commune" from above the mercy-seat in the tabernacle, again (as in so
many other places) implying occupation of definite space (Ex. xxv. 22).
He promises to "dwell among the children of Israel," that is, to be a
national and local God (Ex. xxix. 45, 46). Confirmation of the view
here taken of his limited nature is found in the fact that he thought
it necessary to "go down" to Sodom and Gomorrah, to verify the reports
which had reached him concerning the conduct of their inhabitants.
And when Abraham appealed to him for mercy for those of them who were
righteous, his several answers clearly implied that when he went
to those cities he would discover how many of them came under that
denomination. "If I find in Sodom fifty righteous," and so forth, is
the language of one who does not know a fact, but is going to ascertain
it. And accordingly at the end of the colloquy "the Lord went his way"
(Gen. xviii. 20-33). So completely anthropomorphic is the conception of
deity that, although the expression occurs only in a parable, it is not
at variance with the mode in which he is usually spoken of when wine is
said "to cheer God and man" (Judg. ix. 13). Evidently there was nothing
shocking to the Hebrew mind in such an expression. And when they
pictured their God as walking, talking, indignant, angry, repenting,
jealous, showing himself to human beings, and generally indulging in
the passions of mortals, it was perfectly easy to conceive that wine
might exercise the same effect on him as it did on them.

No doubt the Hebrew mythology is free from all that class of stories
in which a divine being is represented as making love to or cohabiting
with women. Or, to speak more accurately, they never represent Jehovah
himself as indulging in such amusements. There is a reminiscence of
this form of myth in the statement that before the deluge the sons of
God intermarried with the daughters of men (Gen. vi. 2); but their
supreme Being was free at least from sexual passion. So far as it goes,
this is well; but if I had to choose between a God who was somewhat
licentious in his relations with mankind, and one who did not stick at
deeds of bloodshed of the most outrageous character, I confess I should
see no very powerful reason to prefer the latter.

That, in spite of all these drawbacks, there are some better elements
in the Hebrew ideal I do not at all deny. The poetical description of
God as a "still small voice" is both eloquent and spiritual; and the
prayer of Solomon, with its admission that the heaven of heavens cannot
contain the Infinite Power who is entreated to dwell in the Temple, is
in many respects beautiful and admirable. So also the views of Jehovah
attained and uttered by some of the prophets are far loftier than
those generally expressed in the historical books. Many of the Psalms,
again, are full of beauty in the manner in which they speak of him to
whom they are addressed. In a nation so deeply religious as the Jews,
and so much given to meditation on God, it was inevitable that the
higher class of minds should conceive him more spiritually than the
lower, and it is this class to whom we owe the poetical and prophetic
writings. It was inevitable also that as civilization advanced, the
grosser elements of the conception, which belonged to a barbarous
people, should be eliminated, and that the finer ones should remain.
The entire supersession of the older God by the newer was prevented
by the fact that the Old Testament was a sacred book, and that hence
every one of its statements had to be received as absolutely true. The
inconsistency between the wrathful monarch of ancient times and the
loving Spirit of more recent ages was sought to be surmounted by those
processes of interpretation which have been shown to be invariably
adopted when it is desired to bring the infallible Scriptures of any
nation into harmony with the opinions of their readers. But happily the
language of the historical portions of the Old Testament is singularly
plain, and no ingenious manipulation of the text can with the smallest
plausibility put aside the obvious meaning of the broad assertions on
which is founded the above delineation of the God of Israel.


                   SECTION VIII.—THE NEW TESTAMENT.

Since a considerable portion of the New Testament has already been
dealt with in the life of Jesus, we have only, in the present section,
to consider the remaining works of which it is composed. These will
not require a very elaborate treatment. They consist of one historical
book, continuing the history of the Christian community from the death
of its founder till the imprisonment of Paul at Rome, of letters,
partly genuine, partly spurious, bearing the names of eminent apostles
as their authors, and of one composition somewhat akin in its nature
to the writings of the Hebrew prophets. Of these several parts of the
New Testament (excluding the Gospels) some of the Epistles are probably
the most ancient; but as it would be difficult to establish any precise
chronological sequence among the several books, it will be most
convenient to begin with that which stands first in actual order.


              SUBDIVISION 1.—_The Acts of the Apostles._

The author of the third gospel, having written the life of Jesus,
proceeded to compose, in addition to it, a history of the proceedings
of his apostles after his decease. We are greatly indebted to him for
having done so, for this book is, notwithstanding some extravagances,
of considerable value, and is the most trustworthy of the five
historical books in the New Testament. It brought the narrative of
events nearer to the date at which it was written than the gospel could
do, and it dealt with events concerning which better evidence was
accessible to the writer. There was thus not the same scope for fiction
as there had been in the life of Christ. Nevertheless the story of the
Acts of the Apostles is by no means free from legendary admixture.

Beginning with the ascension, which has been already noticed in
connection with the gospel, it proceeds to relate the choice of a new
apostle in place of the unfaithful Judas. The ceremony by which the
choice was made evinces a singular superstition on the part of the
apostles. Having selected two men, Joseph and Matthias, they simply
prayed that God would show which he had chosen. They then drew lots,
and the lot fell upon Matthias (Acts i. 15-26).

The next important event in the history of the Church thus recruited,
was the reception of the Holy Ghost on the day of Pentecost. On this
occasion the Christians were all assembled, when suddenly there was a
sound like that of strong wind; cloven tongues appeared and sat upon
them; they were filled with the Holy Ghost, and suddenly acquired the
power of speaking foreign languages (Acts ii. 1-13). Since the "gift
of tongues" has not been unknown in certain communities in recent
times, we might perhaps form a tolerably correct notion from the
reports of modern observers as to what the scene among the disciples
was like. Even, however, without this modern experience, we should not
be altogether in the dark as to the character of the phenomenon of
which the author of the Acts makes mention. For although it is indeed
stated that some of the strangers who were present heard each his own
language spoken by the disciples, it is added that the conviction
produced upon others was that the Christians were drunk. It must have
been a wild and singular exhibition which could lead to the formation
of such an opinion. But if we wanted further explanation we should find
it in the words of Paul, whose strong practical judgment led him to
depreciate the value of the gift of tongues as compared with that of
preaching. Had this gift consisted in the power of speaking their own
languages to foreign nations, there is none to whom it would have been
of greater service than the apostle of the Gentiles. Yet it is he who
tells us that at a meeting he would rather speak five words with his
understanding, that he might teach others also, than ten thousand in
a tongue. So that the words spoken "in tongues" were not spoken with
the understanding; they were mere sounds without a meaning to him who
uttered them. Equally clear is the evidence of Paul to the fact that
they were without a meaning to him who heard them. His reason for
desiring his correspondents to cultivate the gift of prophesying (or
preaching) rather than that of tongues is that "he that speaks in a
tongue speaks not to men, but to God, for _nobody_ understands him, but
in the spirit he speaks mysteries. But he that preaches speaks to men
edification, and exhortation, and comfort. He that speaks in a tongue
edifies himself; but he that preaches edifies the Church" (1 Cor. xiv.
2-4). Tongues, he says further on, are for a sign to unbelievers; that
is, they are of use merely to impress the senses of those whose minds
cannot yet be appealed to. But if the unbelieving or unlearned should
happen to enter a meeting where the disciples were all speaking with
tongues, they would consider them mad: a striking testimony to the
tumultuous character of scenes like that presented by the enthusiastic
assembly of the Christians at Pentecost. Hence Paul desires that two,
or at most three, should speak with tongues at a time, and that there
should always be somebody to interpret, in other words, to translate
nonsense into sense. Without an interpreter, he would not sanction any
exercise of this peculiar faculty on the part of the inspired linguist
(1 Cor. xiv. 1-28).

To satisfy the doubts of those who attributed the sudden attainments
of the apostles to intoxicating drinks, Peter delivered a discourse,
which ended in the addition of 3,000 members to the rising sect. It
is remarkable that these new members at once became communists, both
they and all the disciples having all things in common; a noteworthy
indication of what was required by the religion of Christ as understood
by his immediate disciples (Acts ii. 14-47). Further evidence, if any
were needed, of the communistic character of the Church is contained
at the end of the fourth chapter, while the fifth informs us of the
tolerably severe measures taken to enforce it. "There was one heart and
one soul among the multitude of those who believed, nor did a single
one say that any of the things he possessed was his own; but they had
all things common." Unhappily the one heart and one mind did not extend
to Ananias or to his wife Sapphira, for this naughty couple "sold a
possession and kept back part of the price." But Peter was not thus to
be taken in. It does not appear from the account that Ananias was asked
whether the sum he produced was the whole price of the land, or that he
told any falsehood regarding it. However, Peter remarked that he might
have kept either the property or its price, had he thought proper, and
charged him with lying to God; whereupon the poor man fell down dead.
About three hours later, Sapphira came in; and she distinctly stated
that the sum produced by Ananias was the full price. Peter told her
that the feet of those who had buried her husband were at the door, and
would carry her out too. She then fell down at his feet, and expired in
her turn (Acts. iv. 31-v. 11).

No wonder that "great fear came upon all the Church" when they heard
these things. Peter's proceedings were indeed alarming, and could we
for a moment accept the account of his historian, we should have no
option but to hold him guilty of the wilful murder of Sapphira. He
knew, according to his own statement, what the effect of his words upon
this woman would be, and he should have abstained from any expression
that could bring about so terrible a catastrophe. Happily, we may
reject the whole story as either a fiction or a perversion of fact.
Had it been true, it would have called for very much sterner measures
than those taken by the Sanhedrim, who, having already desired Peter
and John to keep silence about the new religion, now merely imprisoned
the apostles, and afterwards, on the prudent advice of Gamaliel,
determined to release them; not indeed till after they had beaten them
and again prohibited their propagandist efforts (Acts v. 17-42). It
is interesting to observe that Luke effects the deliverance of the
apostles from prison by the intervention of an angel, and that at a
later period, when Peter had been imprisoned by Herod, he again gets
him out by means of an angel who appears to him while sleeping, and at
whose presence his chains fall off (Acts xii. 1-19). This is quite in
accordance with the proceedings of the same author in the gospel, where
his partiality for angels as part of his theatrical machinery has been
shown to be characteristic.

The infant community was now increasing in numbers, and along with
this increase there arose the customary consequences—dissension and
mutual distrust. We are fortunate in possessing in the Acts an account
of the very first quarrel in the Church; the earliest symptom of those
discords and hostilities, which, since that time, have so incessantly
raged within her limits. It was on a question of money; the Greeks
murmuring against the Hebrews, because they thought their widows were
neglected in the daily ministration. The apostles tided over the
immediate difficulty by appointing subordinate officers to attend to
matters of business. The plan succeeded; but their peace was soon to be
disturbed again by graver questions (Acts vi. 1-8).

Among those appointed to superintend the pecuniary interests of the
Church was one named Stephen. This man is reported to have performed
great wonders and miracles, but some of the Jews accused him of
blasphemy, and after an eloquent defense, which to Jewish ears amounted
to an admission of the charge, he was sentenced to death by stoning.
Foremost in the execution of the sentence was a man named Saul, who
was conspicuous at this time for the bitterness with which he pursued
the Christians, entering their private houses, and causing them to be
imprisoned (Acts vi. 9-viii. 3).

If any proof were needed of the entire conscientiousness of the
Jewish persecutors of Christianity at this time we should find it in
the character of Saul. Of the honesty of his religious zeal, of the
single-minded sense of duty from which he acted in his anti-Christian
period, his subsequent career makes it impossible to entertain a doubt.
Men like the apostle Paul are not made out of selfish, dishonest, or
cruel natures. He was at the martyrdom of Stephen as honorable and
fearless an upholder of the ancient faith as he was afterwards to the
new. He himself several times refers in his writings to his persecution
of the Church, and always in the tone of a man who had nothing to be
ashamed of but a mistake in judgment. As touching the righteousness
which is in the law, he tells us he was blameless (Phil. iii. 6). And
although in intellectual power he was doubtless above the average of
his class, in point of genuine devotion to his creed, he may fairly be
taken as a type of the men with whom he consented to act.

Saul had probably been impressed by the conduct of the Christians, whom
he had so ruthlessly delivered up to justice. At any rate the subject
of the Christian religion had taken great hold upon his mind, for on
his way to Damascus he saw a vision which induced him to become himself
a follower of Jesus. It is unfortunate that we have no detailed account
of the nature of the event which led to his conversion from Paul
himself. He often alludes to it, but nowhere describes it.

The most important passage bearing upon the subject is in the Second
Epistle to the Corinthians, where he thus mysteriously refers to his
experience on this occasion: "I knew a man in Christ above fourteen
years ago (whether in the body I do not know, whether out of the body
I do not know) such an one caught up to the third heaven. And I knew
such a man (whether in the body, whether out of the body, God knows),
that he was caught up into paradise, and heard unspeakable words, which
it is not lawful for a man to utter" (2 Cor. xii. 2-4). So far as it
goes, this account does not very well agree with that of the Acts,
since there we are told exactly what were the words Paul heard, and
what he answered. We are left in doubt then whether the conversation
between Christ and the apostle there related rests on the authority of
Paul himself, or represents merely the imagination of others as to what
might have passed between them. But that Paul saw some kind of vision,
which he himself believed to be a vision of Christ, there can be no
doubt.

From Luke we have two versions of this incident, one in the form of
historical narrative, the other in that of a speech put into the mouth
of Paul. According to these he saw a light, and heard a voice saying,
"Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me?" On inquiry, he learnt that the
voice emanated from Jesus, and he was desired to proceed to Damascus,
where further instructions would be given him. Luke has not taken
sufficient pains to make his two versions harmonize, for in the first
we are told that his companions heard a voice, but saw no man; in the
second that they saw the light, but did not hear the voice of him that
spoke (Acts ix. 7, and xxii. 9). At Damascus a man named Ananias,
directed also by a vision, went to Saul to restore his sight, which had
been destroyed for the moment by the brilliancy of the celestial light.
After this, Saul, subsequently called Paul, escaping from the pursuit
of the Jews who had designs upon his life, began to preach in the name
of Jesus (Acts ix. 1-31).

Another convert of some consideration, from his official position and
from the fact that he was a heathen, was added to the community about
this time. This was Cornelius, the Centurion of the Italian band.
Cornelius was a religious man, much given to prayer. Tired perhaps of
visions, of which there had been two in the last chapter and was to be
another in this, Luke introduces his angel—a sort of supernumerary ever
ready to appear when wanted—to effect the conversion of Cornelius. The
angel told him to apply to Peter, now at Joppa, for further advice as
to what he should do. Meanwhile Peter had on his part been prepared
by a vision of unclean beasts, which he was desired to eat, for the
reception of the Gentile embassy, and the admission of Gentiles to
the flock. He accordingly proceeded to Cæsarea, where Cornelius was,
and baptized both him and other heathens, upon whom, to the great
astonishment of the Jews, the Holy Ghost was poured out and the gift
of tongues conferred. Thus did the Church of Christ begin, timidly
and feeling her way with caution, to extend her boundaries beyond the
limits of the Hebrew people (Acts x).

Some scandal was created in the congregation at Jerusalem by Peter's
violation of Jewish rules in dining with uncircumcised people, but
there was no gainsaying a vision like that which he produced in reply.
Shortly after these events the apostle James, one of those two brothers
whose mother had petitioned that they might sit on two thrones, one
on each side of Jesus, when his kingdom came, was executed by Herod,
the tetrarch; who also imprisoned Peter, but was unable to keep him on
account of the angelic intervention mentioned above. The death of this
monarch from a painful internal disease, is curiously perverted by the
writer into a sudden judgment of God, inflicted upon him because he
accepted divine honors at the hands of his flatterers (Acts xi. xii).

The history now proceeds to follow the fortunes of Paul. It is stated
that there were at Antioch certain prophets and teachers, who were
inspired by the Holy Ghost to appoint Barnabas and Saul to the work
whereunto they were called. Having laid their hands upon them, they
sent them away. Paul now began to travel from place to place, making
converts among the heathen. At Paphos he met with a Jewish sorcerer
named Elymas, who he caused to be blind for a season, thereby inducing
the Roman proconsul Sergius Paulus to believe in Christianity, which
had thus shown itself able to produce more powerful sorcerers than the
rival creed (Acts xiii. 1-12).

It is a striking proof of the liberality of the Jews at this period
that when Paul and his companions had gone into the synagogue of
Antioch in Pisidia, the rulers of the synagogue invited them to speak;
a freedom which even in the present day would scarcely be granted in
any Christian Church to those who were regarded as heretics. Paul took
advantage of the proffered opportunity to deliver a speech which ended
in the conversion of some of the Jews. On the following Sabbath great
crowds came to hear Paul, but the Jews, as was natural, opposed him
and contradicted him. After this they stirred up pious women and the
principal men of the city against Paul and Barnabas, and (it is stated)
expelled them from their coasts (Acts xiii. 50). These apostles having
already determined to go (Acts xiii. 46), it was not a severe treatment
that was thus inflicted on them. They, however, left Antioch in no very
charitable frame of mind, for they shook off the dust of their feet
against its inhabitants (Acts xiii. 14-52).

The cure of an impotent man at Lystra led the multitude of that place
to adore Paul and Barnabas as gods. Paul, as the orator, they called
Hermes, and Barnabas, Zeus. The priest of Zeus brought oxen and
garlands, and intended to sacrifice to them, an intention which the
people were barely prevented, by the indignant protests of the two
apostles, from carrying into effect (Acts xiv. 8-18). This was not
the only occasion on which Paul was taken for a god; for when he was
cast by shipwreck on the island of Melita, his escape from injury by
a venomous reptile which had fastened on his hand was regarded by the
savages of that island as a proof of divinity (Acts xxviii. 1-6).

Extremely similar to these incidents, especially to the first, is
a circumstance recounted by Sir Francis Drake in his voyage of
circumnavigation. His vessel having sprung a leak, while he was
exploring the coast of North America, was brought to anchor to be
repaired, and the sailors landed to build tents and make a fort for
purposes of defense. The natives approached them in companies, armed,
and as if designing an attack, but it appeared that they had "no
hostile meaning or intent;" for when they came near, they stood "as men
ravished in their minds, with the sight of such things as they never
had seen or heard of before that time: their errand being rather with
submission and feare to worship us as gods, than to have any warre
with us as with mortall men. Which thing, as it did partly show itself
at that instant, so did it more and more manifest itself afterwards,
during the whole time of our abode amongst them." The General gave
them materials for clothing, "withall signifying unto them we were no
gods, but men, and had neede of such things to cover our own shame;
teaching them to use them for the same ends, for which cause wee did
eate and drinke in their presence, giving them to understand that
without that wee could not live, and therefore were but men as well as
they" ("we also are men of like passions with you") (Acts xiv. 15).
"Notwithstanding nothing could persuade them, nor remove that opinion
which they had conceived of us, that wee should be gods" (W. E., p.
120).

And, as the heathens of Lystra were eager to sacrifice to Barnabas
and Paul, so those of this country actually conferred this mark of
divinity upon some of the white men in the company of Drake, nor were
the utmost protests of the travelers of avail to put a stop to what
appeared to them, just as it did to the apostles, an impious rite,
derogating from the honor due to the true God. The people had come in
a large body, accompanied by their king, to make a formal presentation
of the sovereignty to him, and the king had made over into his hands
the insignia of the royal office, when the scene now described by Sir
Francis took place.

 "The ceremonies of this resigning and receiving of the Kingdome being
 thus performed," says Sir Francis, "the common sort, both of men and
 women, leaving the king and his guard about him, with our Generall,
 dispersed themselves among our people, taking a diligent view or
 survey of every man; and finding such as pleased their fancies (which
 commonly were the youngest of us), they presently enclosing them about
 offred their sacrifices unto them crying out with lamentable shreekes
 and moanes, weeping and scratching and tearing their very flesh off
 their faces with their nails; neither were it the women alone which
 did this, but even old men, roaring and crying out, were as violent as
 the women were.

 "We groaned in spirit to see the power of Sathan so farre prevaile in
 seducing these, so harmlesse soules, and labored by all meanes, both
 by shewing our great dislike, and when that served not, by violent
 withholding of their hands from that madnesse, directing them (by
 our eyes and hands lift up towards heaven) to the living God whom
 they ought to serve; but so mad were they upon their Idolatry, that
 forcible withholding them would not prevaile (for as soon as they
 could get liberty to their hands againe, they would be as violent as
 they were before) till such time, as they whom they worshiped were
 conveyed from them into the tents, whom yet as men besides themselves,
 they would with fury and outrage seeke to have again" (W. E., p. 129).

We are again reminded of the Acts: "And with these sayings scarce
restrained they the people, that they had not done sacrifice unto them"
(Acts xiv. 18).

An unfortunate change in the popular mind soon occurred; for on the
arrival of some Jews who stirred them up to hostility against the
Apostles, they flew from one extravagance to another, and stoned Paul
so severely that he was left by them for dead. But as the disciples
stood about him he rose, and was able to continue his journey on the
next day.

The Christians at Jerusalem were now required to consider the difficult
question of the circumcision of the Gentiles; their decision upon which
has already been discussed. After the council Paul (who had returned
to Antioch) proposed to revisit the places where he had formerly
preached, and Barnabas intended to go with him. But a difference of
opinion as to whether they should take Mark with them led to a violent
quarrel between these two apostles; as the result of which Paul chose
Silas as his companion, and left Barnabas to pursue his own course with
his friend Mark (Acts xv).

The writer now follows the fortunes of Paul in his missionary work in
various countries, and it is remarkable that in the sixteenth chapter
he drops the third person, and begins to speak in the first person
plural, implying that he himself was one of the company. The fact that
from this point onwards the book becomes practically not the Acts of
the Apostles, but the Acts of Paul, who is evidently the hero of the
story, indicates an author who belonged to the Pauline section of
the Church, and to whom Paul was the chief living embodiment of the
Christian faith. Who this author was—whether Silas, or some other
companion—it would be hard to say, but he seems to have written under
the direct inspiration of Paul himself.

Increased by the addition of Timotheus, the party, guided by a vision
seen by Paul of a Macedonian entreating them to come, went into
Macedonia. At Philippi they met with some success among women, making
particular friends with a purple-seller named Lydia. But the conversion
of a divining girl who was a source of profit to her employers, led to
the imprisonment of Paul and Silas, from which, however, an opportune
earthquake set them free (Acts xvi).

At Athens Paul made a speech on the Areopagos, in which he ingeniously
availed himself of an altar he had noticed, inscribed "To an Unknown
God," to maintain that this unknown God was no other than the Jehovah
of the Jews (Acts xvii. 16-34). At Corinth he was allowed to preach
every Sabbath in the synagogue (as he had done at Thessalonica, and did
again at Ephesus), another evidence of the tolerant spirit of the Jews
as compared with Christians. Not, of course, that the Jews were not
bigoted adherents of their narrow creed, or that they had any scruple
about supporting it by physical force; but they were willing to allow
those who had a reformation to propose to be heard in the synagogues.
The effect, as might be expected, was to embitter those who remained
orthodox against Paul. But an attempt on their part to bring him under
the jurisdiction of the civil tribunals failed, and after remaining a
long time at Corinth, he went on to Ephesus, and thence continued his
course through Galatia and Phrygia (Acts xviii. 1-23). An eloquent and
able Alexandrian, Apollos by name, came to Ephesus, after Paul had left
it. He was a believer in John the Baptist, and was received into the
Church by Paul's friends, Aquila and Priscilla, whom he had left behind.

A singular incident occurred on a subsequent visit of Paul's to
Ephesus. He found some disciples there and asked them whether they
had received the Holy Ghost. They replied that they did not even
know whether there was a Holy Ghost. Such crass ignorance must have
astonished Paul, who inquired into what they had been baptized. They
said, into John's baptism, and the apostle accordingly baptized them
in the name of Jesus, with the striking result that they immediately
received the Holy Ghost and began to speak in tongues (Acts xix. 1-7).
Curious incidental evidence is thus supplied by the case of Apollos
and by that of these Ephesians of the existence of a Johannine sect
which Christianity superseded and swept into oblivion; and it is
remarkable, as affording a presumption that the Baptist did not regard
himself as the mere precursor of Christ, that these Johannists do not
appear to have been looking forward to any further development of their
principles such as the religion of Jesus supplied.

At Ephesus Paul preached for three months in the synagogue, and then,
meeting with much opposition, betook himself to a public room, where he
disputed daily. But after he had taught two years, a dangerous riot was
excited by the tradesmen who dealt in silver shrines for the Ephesian
Artemis, and Paul, after the disturbance had been quelled, determined
to go into Macedonia (Acts xix. 8-xx. 1). While he was preaching at
Troas, a young man, who had fallen asleep, fell from the window at
which he was sitting, and was supposed to have been killed. Paul,
however, declared that he was still alive, and told them not to be
disturbed. This opinion proved to be correct. To this simple incident
the historian, by stating that he was "taken up dead," has contrived to
give the aspect of a miracle. The case exactly resembles the supposed
miracle of Jesus, discussed above (Supra, vol. i. p. 320-323), and is
another illustration of the facility with which natural occurrences
may, by the turn of a phrase, be converted into marvels (Acts xx. 7-12).

No arguments were now availing to dissuade the apostle from visiting
Jerusalem, where it was well known that peril awaited him. Arrived at
the centre of Judaism, his first business was to clear himself from
the suspicions entertained of his rationalistic tendencies by taking
a vow according to the Mosaic ritual. After this the Asiatic Jews
raised a clamor against him which ended in a dangerous tumult. From
the violent death which threatened him at the hands of the enraged
multitude he was rescued by the Roman troops, under cover of whose
protection he made his defense before the people (Acts xxi. 27-xxii.
21). It naturally did not conciliate the Jews; and the Roman officer
who had made him prisoner, having been deterred from the application of
torture by Paul's Roman citizenship, desired his accusers to appear in
court to prefer their charges on the following day (Acts xxii. 22-30).
But when the case came on, Paul ingeniously contrived to set the
Pharisees against the Sadducees by the assertion that he himself was
a Pharisee, and that he was charged with believing in a future state.
By this not very candid shift he obtained the support of the Pharisaic
party, and produced among his prosecutors a scene of clamor and discord
from which it was thought expedient to remove him. Defeated in the
courts of law, the more embittered of his enemies formed a scheme of
private assassination which was revealed to the captain of the guard
by Paul's nephew, and from which he was rescued by being sent by night
under a strong military escort to the governor of the province, a man
named Felix (Acts xxiii). Ananias, the high priest, and others of the
prosecutors, followed Paul to Cæsarea in five days, but the nature of
their charges was such that they made little impression upon the mind
of the governor. He nevertheless kept Paul in confinement, perhaps
hoping (as the narrator suggests) that he would receive a bribe to
set him free (Acts xxiv). After two years Festus succeeded Felix, and
when this governor visited Jerusalem he was entreated by the priests
to send for Paul, which, however, he refused to do, and required the
prosecutors to come to him at Cæsarea. They went, and charged Paul
with offenses which it is said they could not prove. When Festus asked
him whether he would go to Jerusalem to be tried by him, Paul replied
that he ought to be tried at Cæsar's judgment-seat, as he had done the
Jews no wrong, and that he appealed to Cæsar. The policy of this appeal
was questionable, for after a time Festus was visited by King Agrippa,
to whom he related the facts of the case; and the king, having heard
the statement of the prisoner himself, declared that he might have been
set at liberty had he not appealed to Cæsar (Acts xxv., xxvi).

Paul therefore was now sent with a gang of prisoners to Rome, on
the way to which the ship he was in was wrecked off the island of
Melita, where the winter months were accordingly passed. Here he
cured numerous inhabitants of diseases, and received high honors in
consequence. After three months an Alexandrine vessel conveyed the
shipwrecked company to the capital. Arrived at Rome, Paul summoned the
Jews to come to the house where, guarded by a soldier, he was allowed
to live, and endeavored to convert them. Meeting with indifferent
success, he dismissed them with insulting words drawn from Isaiah, and
roundly informed them that the salvation of God was now sent to the
Gentiles, and that these would hear it (Acts xxvii., xxviii). What was
the ultimate fate of this great teacher of Christianity, whether his
case was ever heard, and if so, how it was decided; whether he lived
a prisoner, or was set free, or died a martyr, we have no historical
information, and it is useless, in the absence of evidence, to attempt
to conjecture.


                    SUBDIVISION 2.—_The Epistles._

In the epistles which have been preserved to us, and which are no doubt
but a few rescued from a much larger correspondence, the apostolic
authors enforce upon their respective converts or congregations
the doctrines of Christianity as understood by them. They explain
the relation of Jesus to the Jewish law; they inculcate morality;
they reply to objections; they hold out the prospect of the speedy
revolution which they expect. Since their opinions on all the topics
upon which they touch cannot, within the limits of a general treatise,
be discussed in detail, all that is necessary now is to glance rapidly
at the more general characteristics of the several writers.

A letter addressed to the twelve tribes scattered abroad, and
traditionally ascribed to the apostle James, may best be taken in
connection with an anonymous epistle addressed to the Hebrews. They
have these two features in common, that they are written to Jewish
Christians, and that they discuss the relation of faith to works. It
is true that this question is treated by their authors from opposite
points of view. Theological controversy began early in the history
of the Christian Church, and its first controversial treatises have
been embodied in the Canon of its Sacred Books. It appears, moreover,
to be highly probable, not only that the two epistles were written
on opposite sides of a disputed question, but that the chapter in
the one dealing with that question was designed as an answer to the
corresponding chapter in the other. It may be difficult to say which
was the original statement, which the reply; but when we find the very
same examples chosen by both, the one maintaining that Abraham and
Rahab were justified by faith, the other that they were justified by
works, it is not easy to believe that so exact a coincidence in the
mode of treating their subject was accidental. The more argumentative
tone taken by James—as of one answering an opponent—induces me to
believe that his epistle was the later of the two. The author of the
Hebrews insists upon the paramount necessity of faith; showing by a
number of historical examples that the conduct of the great heroes of
the Hebrew race, besides that of many inferior models of excellence,
was wholly due to this cause. The author of James, on the contrary,
strenuously maintains that faith is of no value without works, and,
as if endeavoring to set aside the force of the examples produced
on the other side, selects for his consideration the history of two
persons who had been held up as illustrations of the doctrine that we
are justified by faith. Abraham, he says, was not justified by faith
only, but by works; for he offered Isaac on the altar, which was a very
practical illustration of his faith (James ii. 21-23). Rahab again,
who according to you was saved from destruction with the unbelievers
by faith, was in reality justified by works, for it was a work to
receive the messengers and send them out another way (James ii. 25).
Not that we deny the importance of faith altogether; but we do deny the
exclusive position which you, in your Epistle to the Hebrews, assign
to it. Without works faith is a dead, unproductive thing; like a body
without its animating spirit. Indeed a man may say to him who relies
upon his faith alone, Show me your faith without works, and I will
show you mine by my works. What is the use of a faith unaccompanied by
works? can it save any one by itself? Certainly not, answers James;
Certainly, says the author of the Hebrews. The whole question turns
on those hair-splitting distinctions in which theologians have ever
delighted; for while the one party considers faith as the producing
cause of good actions, the other treats good actions as the evidence
of faith. Neither the one nor the other really meant to question the
necessity of either element in the combination.

In other respects there is a broad difference between the two epistles.
That to the Hebrews is Judaic in tone and spirit; its main object being
to prove that Christ is a sort of high-priest, endowed with authority
to set aside the old Jewish institutions and substitute something
better. James is more catholic and more practical. He insists upon the
necessity of not only hearing, but doing the word; of keeping the whole
moral law; of bridling the tongue, and of showing no respect to persons
on account of their worldly position. He is extremely hostile to the
rich, and draws a very unfavorable picture of their conduct (James
ii. 6, 7, and v. 1-6). He encourages the poor Christians to endure
patiently till Christ comes, which will be very soon (James v. 7, 8).
Lastly, he emphatically urges the duty of proselytism upon his flock;
remarking that one who converts another when wandering from the truth,
both saves the soul of the wanderer and hides a multitude of his own
sins (James v. 19, 20).

Two epistles are attributed to the apostle Peter, the first of which,
addressed to the strangers in Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia, and
Bithynia, purports to be written from Babylon. He holds out to his
correspondents the hope of salvation which they have through Jesus,
which is a source of joy, notwithstanding their present troubles.
Among other precepts he counsels husbands and wives as to their
mutual behavior; exhorting wives to be obedient, and not to care too
much for dress; and requiring husbands to honor their wives as the
weaker vessels (1 Pet. iii. 1-7). The Second Epistle of Peter would
appear to be by a rather later author, for he has read the epistles of
Paul. He is troubled about "false teachers," who introduce "heresies
of destruction," and denounces them in no measured terms (2 Pet. ii).
Having, as above described, comforted the Christians for the long delay
in the second coming of the Savior, he exhorts them not to be led away
by the error of the wicked, but to grow in grace and in the knowledge
of their Lord (2 Pet. iii. 17, 18).

Of the three epistles bearing the name of John, the first only is of
any considerable length. The style of this epistle is extremely simple,
and it reads like the kindly talk of an old man to children. He tells
his flock not to sin, not to love the world, and to love one another.
So much does he keep to these purely general maxims, that it would be
difficult to gather any really useful instruction from his benevolent
garrulity. It is characteristic of him to insist again and again upon
love as the cardinal virtue of a Christian. Besides this, perhaps the
most definite advice he gives is to pray for anything desired, and to
entreat of God the forgiveness of a brother who has committed a sin not
unto death (1 John v. 14-16). With great self-complacency he calmly
asserts that he and his friends are of God, and that the whole world
lies in wickedness (1 John v. 19); a pleasant mode of putting those
towards whom it was impossible to practice the love about which he
spoke outside of the pale of brotherhood.

The writer of John's second epistle, addressed to a lady and her
children, illustrates the kind of charity resulting from such views
as this, when he tells them not to receive into their house, nor bid
"farewell" to any one who does not hold correct doctrines (2 John
10). The third epistle, written to Gaius, contains little beyond
matters of purely personal interest. The Epistle of Jude, who calls
himself brother of James, denounces certain "ungodly men," who have
"crept in unawares," and are doing great mischief in the Church. It is
principally interesting from its reference to the legend of the contest
of Michael the archangel with the devil for the body of Moses, which
popular tale the writer seems to accept as unquestionably authentic
(Jude 9).

Having thus referred to the writings which bear, whether correctly
or not, the names of the original apostles of Jesus, we come to
those of one who was far greater than any of these—the apostle who
was not converted until after the death of his Master. Paul, to whom
the great majority of the epistles preserved in the New Testament
are ascribed, and by whom many of them were undoubtedly written, is
the central figure of the apostolic age, and the one who redeems it
from the somewhat unintellectual character it would otherwise have
had. Through him it principally was that Christianity passed from the
condition of a Jewish sect to that of a comprehensive religion. What
Christ himself had been unable to do, he did. What the apostles of
Christ shrunk from attempting, he accomplished. He himself was not
unconscious of the magnitude of his labors. Hence there is noticeable
now and then in his writings, though veiled under respectful phrases,
a sort of intellectual contempt for the older apostles, who were not
always prepared for the thorough-going measures which appeared to him
so obviously expedient. He is extremely anxious not to be thought one
whit inferior to them by reason of his comparatively late appointment
to the apostleship. He carefully rebuts the suspicion that he acted
in subordination to them, or even in conjunction with them, after
his conversion. His course, he is anxious to let every one know, was
taken in entire independence of the Church at Jerusalem. Moreover, he
insists emphatically upon his personal qualifications. Was any one a
Hebrew? so was he. Had others received visions or revelations? so had
he. Had others been persecuted? so had he. He is fond of dwelling upon
his individual history in order to support his claims. Thus he tells
us that in former times he persecuted the Church of God, and that he
was more Jewish than the Jews, being even more zealous than they of
the traditions of his fathers. It was therefore entirely by special
revelation from God, and not by any human agency whatever, that he
was consecrated to his present work. Indeed his revelations were so
abundant that it needed a "thorn in the flesh" to prevent him from
being too proud of them—a work, however, in which the thorn was not
entirely successful. His sufferings for the sake of the gospel afforded
him another and more legitimate cause of satisfaction. He says of these
that he received thirty-nine stripes from the Jews on five occasions;
that he was thrice beaten with rods; once stoned; thrice shipwrecked;
a day and night in the deep (in an open boat?); often in all sorts of
perils, in watchings, cold and thirst, hunger and nakedness. Once too
he escaped from arrest at Damascus, which does not seem a very serious
calamity (2 Cor. xi. 22-28.—Gal. i. 11-24).

Now the object of all these autobiographical statements is evidently to
place himself on a level with other apostles who might seem at first
to be more highly privileged than he was. Not so, he contends; if they
are ministers of Christ, I am quite as much so; if they saw Christ
before his death, I have seen him after it; if they have labored in his
cause, I have labored more; if they have suffered for his sake, I have
suffered more. Hence my authority is in every respect equal to theirs,
and should there be a difference of opinion between us you must believe
me, your pastor, rather than them. Nay, even if an angel from heaven
should preach any other gospel than that which I have preached, you
must not believe him; much more then must you disbelieve an apostle.
Besides, appearances are deceptive, and as Satan may appear in the
character of an angel of light, so the ministers of Satan may, and do
appear in the character of apostles of Christ (2 Cor. xi. 13-15.—Gal.
i. 8). There was therefore a section of the Church—probably the Judaic
section, under the guidance of one of the original apostles—with whom
Paul was at issue, and whom he considered it incumbent upon him to
oppose by every argument in his power. These are they whom he refers to
as "troubling" the Galatians, and perverting the Gospel of Christ (Gal.
i. 7).

Such was the view taken by Paul of his function in the rising sect.
Whatever may have been its logical justification, it was fully
justified by facts. In power of reasoning, in grasp of principles,
in comprehensiveness of view, he was not only "not a whit behind the
chiefest apostles," but far before them. His letters are by far the
most remarkable of the writings which the New Testament contains. They
evince a mind almost overburdened by the mass of feelings struggling
for expression. He is profoundly penetrated with the new truth he has
discovered, or rather which Christ has discovered to him, and he seems
to have scarcely time to consider how he may best express it. His mind,
though wealthy in ideas and fertile in applying them to practice, is
not always clear. It seems rather to struggle with its thoughts than
to command them. Hence a certain confusedness in style, a crowding
together of notions in a single sentence, and a want of logical
arrangement in his presentation of a subject, which render his epistles
not altogether easy reading. It may have been those characteristics
which caused another apostle (or one who wrote in that apostle's name)
to say that there were some things in the writings of his beloved
brother Paul that were "hard to be understood" (2 Pet. iii. 16).

When, however, the uncouth style is surmounted, the thought will be
found well worthy of consideration. Of all the writers in the New
Testament Paul is the one who presents the largest materials for
intellectual reflection. Whether or not we agree in his views, we can
scarcely refuse to consider his arguments. And herein he is peculiar
among his associates. He is the only one of the canonical writers who
has any notion of presenting arguments for consideration at all. While
others dogmatize, he reasons. He may reason badly, but he has at least
the merit of being able to enter in some degree into the views of his
opponents, and of attempting to reply to them on rational grounds.

Another striking feature of the mind of Paul is its robustness.
Brought up a Pharisee, a sect devoted to extending the regulations of
the law to the utmost minutiæ, he nevertheless rose completely above
the domination of trifles. Even matters which in most religions are
regarded as of capital importance, he treated as of little moment in
themselves. Ceremonies, observances, outward forms of every kind he
held in slight esteem in comparison with moral conduct. Not the mere
knowledge of the Jewish law or the power of teaching it to others, is
of any avail, but the observance of its ethical precepts (Rom. ii.
17-23). Uncircumcision is just as good as circumcision, provided the
uncircumcised man keep the law. The true Jew is not he who is a Jew
outwardly, nor true circumcision that performed upon the flesh. He is
the true Jew who is one inwardly, and that is true circumcision which
is in the heart (Rom. ii. 24-29). Indeed, in the renovated condition
which is effected by Christianity, there is neither Greek nor Jew;
neither circumcision nor uncircumcision; neither barbarian, Scythian,
slave, nor freeman; but Christ is everything and in everything (Col.
iii. 11.—Gal. iii. 28). In the same rationalistic spirit he lays down
the admirable rule that external forms are valuable only to those
who think them so. One man believes he may eat everything; another
eats only herbs. One man esteems all days alike; another esteems
one day above another. The freethinker must not despise the one who
holds himself bound by such things, nor must this latter condemn the
freethinker. The really important matter is that every one should have
a complete conviction of his own. In that case, whatever conduct he
pursues in these trivialities, being dictated by his conscience, is
religious conduct. On the one side, the more scrupulous must not pass
judgment on the less scrupulous, that being the office of Christ;
but, on the other side, the less scrupulous must endeavor not to give
offense to the more scrupulous. In illustration of this doctrine
Paul confesses that to him personally the Jewish distinction between
clean and unclean meat is totally unmeaning; yet if his brother were
grieved by his eating the so-called unclean meats, he would rather
give up the practice than destroy by his meat ones for whom Christ had
died. All things, indeed, are pure in themselves, yet it is not well
to eat flesh or drink wine if another is scandalized thereby. We who
are strong-minded, and have surmounted these childish scruples of our
forefathers, must bear the infirmities of the weak rather than please
ourselves (Rom. xiv., xv. 1).

Certainly when the things are in themselves totally indifferent, the
principle of concession to the superstitions of minds governed by
traditional beliefs may sometimes be advantageously adopted. But the
importance of protesting against the bondage exercised by such beliefs
over human life is also not to be underrated, and Paul seems scarcely
to give it sufficient weight in the preceding argument. No doubt on the
ground of policy, and in reference to the desirability of keeping the
members of the nascent sect from internal quarrels, Paul was right;
but a principle which in certain cases may be expedient for a given
end, is not to be set up as a universal rule of ethics. Nor is it
obvious that Paul intended to do this. He himself, if questioned, would
probably have admitted that there were limits beyond which concession
ought not to go, those limits being fixed by the consideration
that such concession, if pushed too far, must end in the perpetual
subordination of the whole of the Christian body to the weaknesses of
its least enlightened members. The morality expressed in the lines

    "Leave thou thy sister when she prays
    Her early heaven, her happy views,
    Nor thou with shadowed hint confuse
    A life that leads melodious days,"

is good morality under certain conditions, but there is too great a
tendency on the part of those who retain their "early heaven" to press
this conduct upon those whose "faith has centre everywhere, nor cares
to fix itself to form." It ought not to be forgotten that but for the
Christian disregard of forms, persevered in in despite of the scandal
to the Jews, Christianity must always have remained a branch of Judaism.

A peculiar merit to be set to Paul's account is, that he is the only
one of all the writers in the New Testament who treats the supremely
important question of the relations of the sexes, a subject so
remarkably overlooked by Christ himself. Whether the guidance he
affords his converts on this head is good guidance or not, he does at
least attempt to guide them. Let us notice first what he considers
abnormal relations, and then proceed to what he lays down as a
normal one. In the first Epistle to the Corinthians he is loud in
his denunciations of a man who cohabited with his father's wife, the
father being, I presume, deceased. Whether the son had married his
stepmother, or merely lived with her, is not altogether clear, since,
in either case, the apostle might brand their connection with the title
of fornication. However, he condemns it utterly and without reference
to any accompanying circumstances, desiring the Corinthian community to
deliver up the man to Satan for the destruction of the flesh, in the
name and with the power of their Lord Jesus, in order that his spirit
might be saved at the day of judgment (1 Cor. v). Here then we have an
early example of excommunication, accompanied by the formula to be used
in performing the solemnity.

That the severe reproof bestowed by Paul upon the Corinthians for
permitting such conduct greatly affected them, we gather from the
tenderer language employed in the subsequent epistle, where he admits
having at one moment repented that he had caused them so much sorrow,
though he soon saw that it had been for their good (2 Cor. vii. 8-13).
It is gratifying, also, to find that his tone towards the unfortunate
individual who had been excommunicated at his desire is greatly
softened, and that he desires the Corinthians to forgive him, and
receive him back into their body, lest he should be swallowed up with
too much sorrow (2 Cor. ii. 6, 7). It would have been interesting had
he informed us why he considered cohabitation with a stepmother so
terrible a crime, but such a recurrence to first principles was not to
be expected. He, no doubt, acted on a purely instinctive sentiment of
repugnance to such an arrangement.

A second kind of relation between the sexes which the apostle condemns
is that of prostitution. Here he has not left us equally in the dark
as to the grounds upon which his condemnation is founded. Not only
does he prohibit prostitution to the Christians, but he tells them
exactly why they ought not to indulge in it; and his argument upon this
subject is sufficiently curious to merit a moment's examination. In the
first place, then, he tells his disciples that neither fornicators,
nor adulterers, nor Sodomites, nor practicers of various other vices
not of a sexual nature, will inherit the kingdom of God (1 Cor. vi.
9, 10; Eph. v. 5). Fornication should not even be named among the
Christians (Eph. v. 3). They must mortify their members upon earth,
for impure connections and sexual license bring down the wrath of God
(Col. iii. 5, 6). They must exclude from their society any one who is
guilty of such irregularities (1 Cor. v. 9-11). "The body is not for
prostitution, but for the Lord, and the Lord for the body." The bodies
of Christians are the members of Christ: "Shall I then take the members
of Christ, and make them the members of a prostitute? God forbid. What!
do you not know that he who is joined to a prostitute is one body? for
the two [he says] shall be one flesh" (1 Cor. vi. 13-16). It was surely
a very original notion of Paul's to extend to the casual connections
formed by the temporary passion the solemn sanction bestowed upon the
permanent union of man and wife. It is said in Genesis that a man and
his wife are to be one flesh, and this is obviously an emphatic mode
of expressing the closeness and binding character of the alliance
into which they enter. But what may appropriately be said of married
persons cannot of necessity be said of persons linked together only
by the most fleeting and mercenary kind of ties. The very evil of
prostitution is, that the prostitute and her companion are _not_ one
flesh in the allegorical sense in which husband and wife are so; and to
condemn it on account of the presence of the very circumstance which
is conspicuously absent, is to cut the ground from under our feet. But
let us hear the apostle further. "But he that is joined to the Lord is
one spirit. Flee prostitution. Every sin that a man commits is outside
of the body [what can this mean?], but the fornicator sins against his
own body. What! do you not know that your body is the temple of the
Holy Spirit in you? which you have of God, and you are not your own" (1
Cor. vi. 17-19). Now in this singular argument it is noticeable that
the ground taken up is entirely theological. Destroy the theological
foundation, and the ethical superstructure is involved in its ruin.
Thus, if we do not believe that our bodies are the members of Christ,
nor the temples of the Holy Spirit, Paul has no moral reason to give us
against the most unlimited indulgence in prostitution. While, even if
we admit his premises, it is not very easy to see how his conclusion
follows. For why should we not make the members of Christ those of a
prostitute, unless it be previously shown that it would in any case
be wrong to do so with our own members? It would not (according to
Paul himself) be wrong to make the members of Christ members of a
wife; why, then, should it be wrong to make them members of any other
woman whatever? Clearly this question could not be answered without
an attempt to prove, on independent grounds, the evil of promiscuous
indulgence of the sexual passion. But no such attempt is made by Paul.
He has therefore failed completely to make out a case against even
the most unbridled license. Not that his conclusion need therefore be
rejected. On the contrary, the danger of his arguments is not that
his view of morals is fundamentally erroneous, but that he rests an
important precept upon a dangerously narrow basis.

Pass we now to that which he considers as the normal relation between
the sexes. The subject may be divided into three heads: that of the
formation of such relations, that of their character when formed, and
that of their disruption. Upon all of these the apostle has advice to
give.

In the first place it appears that the Corinthians had applied to him
for a solution of some question that had been raised among them as to
the propriety of entering at all into the matrimonial state. In answer
to their inquiries he begins by informing them that it is good for a
man not to touch a woman. He would prefer it if every one were like
himself unmarried. To unmarried people and widows he says that they had
better remain as they are. Concerning virgins of either sex he delivers
his private opinion that their condition is a good one for the present
necessity. A married man indeed should not endeavor to get rid of his
wife; but neither should an unmarried man endeavor to obtain a wife.
The time is so short till the final judgment of the world that it makes
little difference; before long both married and unmarried will be in
the same position. Meantime, however, celibacy is the preferable state;
and that because celibates care for the things of the Lord, how they
may please the Lord; but married people care for one another, and study
to please one another (1 Cor. vii. 1-34). Why Paul should suppose that
married people, even while studying one another's happiness, might not
also endeavor to please the Lord, it is hard to understand. He seems in
this passage to lend his sanction to the very dangerous doctrine that
a due discharge of the ordinary duties of life is incompatible with
attention to the service of God. As if the highest type of Christian
life was not precisely that in which both were combined in such a
manner that neither should be sacrificed to the other. But, apart from
this fundamental objection to his theory it is liable to the remark
that the assumptions on which it rests are untrue. Unmarried persons,
unless the whole literature of fiction, dramatic and novelistic,
utterly belies them, care at least as much to become married as married
persons care to promote one another's comfort. Indeed, it would be no
less true to nature to say, that the unmarried in general take more
pains to please some persons of the opposite sex than husbands take
to please their wives, or wives their husbands. Not to dwell upon the
fact that courtship involves a greater effort, mental and physical,
than the mere continuance of love assured of being returned, there
is the obvious consideration that the mere outward circumstances of
the unmarried are far less favorable than those of the married to the
enjoyment of their mutual society without considerable sacrifice of
time. Hence the estimate made by Paul of the relative advantages of
the two states is untrue to facts, except in the rare cases of those
who have firmly resolved upon a life of celibacy, and who, in addition
to this, have so perfect a control over their passions, or so little
passion at all, as to be untroubled by sexual imaginations.

That these objections are well founded might be proved by reference to
a picture (drawn either by Paul himself or by some one who assumed his
name) of the conduct of young widows. Having to consider the question
what widows may properly be supported by the charity of the Church,
this writer refuses to admit any of them to the number of pensioners
until they are sixty years old, apparently on the ground that they
cannot be trusted to give up flirting altogether before they have
reached that age. Young widows are to be rejected, for when they have
begun to wax wanton against Christ, they wish to marry; a damnable
tendency, but one which it is so hopeless to get rid of, that the best
thing they can do is to marry, to have children, and manage their
households. Otherwise they will gad about gossiping and tale-bearing
from house to house; not only idle, but mischievous (1 Tim. v. 9-15).
So that the ideal conception of unmarried persons caring only to please
the Lord had at least no application to Christian widows.

While recommending celibacy, Paul is careful not to encourage breach
of promise of marriage. If a man thinks he is behaving unhandsomely
towards his betrothed, who is passing the flower of her age, he
may marry her: he is not doing wrong. Nevertheless, if he feel no
necessity for a sexual relation, and resolve to keep her a virgin, he
does well. So then marriage is good, but celibacy is better (1 Cor.
vii. 36-38).

Notwithstanding these views, Paul, or at least the Pauline Christian
who wrote the first Epistle to Timothy, by no means contemplates a
celibate clergy. It is specially enumerated among the qualifications
of a bishop that he is to be a good manager of his household, keeping
his children well in order; for (it is argued) if a man cannot rule
his own house, how will he be able to take care of the Church of God?
The only limitation placed upon the bishops is that they are not to be
polygamists. They, as well as the deacons, are to keep to a single wife
(1 Tim. iii. 1-5).

Notwithstanding his general preference for celibacy, Paul recognizes
certain reasons as sufficing to excuse the establishment of a sexual
relation, and it is important to note what, in the apostle's judgment,
these reasons are. Now it is remarkable that he seems to perceive no
consideration whatever in favor of the matrimonial condition but its
ability to satisfy the sexual appetite. To avoid fornication a man
is to have his own wife; if people cannot restrain themselves, they
should marry, for it is better to marry than to burn. Those who marry
are not guilty of sin, although they will have trouble in the flesh
(1 Cor. vii. 2, 9, 28). Such a view of the functions of matrimony
as this is simply degrading. It treats it as exactly equivalent
to prostitution in the uses it fulfills, and as differing only in
the durability of the connection. But if the whole object of the
connection is merely to gratify passion, its greater durability is but
a questionable advantage. For exactly as marriage is recommended "to
avoid fornication," so divorce might often be recommended to avoid
adultery. A union of which the main purpose is to give a convenient
outlet to desire, had better be broken when it ceases to fulfill that
office to the satisfaction of both the parties. It is strange that
Paul should seem to have no conception whatever of the intellectual or
moral advantages to be derived from the sympathetic companionship of
one of the opposite sex. Perhaps his age presented him with scarcely
any examples of marriages in which that companionship was carried into
the higher fields of human thought or action. Yet he might still have
acknowledged something more in the emotion of love than a special
condition of the human body. Christianity has done much to raise the
character of marriage, but not one of its achievements in that respect
can be credited to the writings of its chief apostle.

Such being the grounds on which the matrimonial bond was to be
contracted, it was natural that when contracted, the relation of the
parties to each other should not be one of a very exalted order. Paul
has, in fact, little of moment to recommend under the second head
(that of the character of these relations) except the subjection of
women, and on this he is certainly emphatic enough. Wives are to submit
themselves to their own husbands: husbands are to love their wives
(Col. iii. 18, 19.—Eph. v. 22, 25). An extraordinary reason is given
in one epistle (possibly indeed not written by Paul) for requiring
women to learn with subjection, and forbidding them to teach, or usurp
authority over men. It is that Adam was formed first, and Eve after
him, and that Adam was not deceived, but Eve was (1 Tim. ii. 11-14).
Scarcely less absurd than this is the argument (and again I must note
that it occurs in an epistle of doubtful authenticity) that the husband
is the head of the wife, as Christ is of the Church, and that just as
the Church is subject to Christ, so must wives be subject to their
husbands. And as Christ loved the Church, so are husbands to love their
wives, considering them as equivalent to their own bodies, which they
cannot hate (Eph. v. 22-33)—although it did not appear that when man
became "one body" with a prostitute he was therefore to love her. These
views of the duty of submission on the part of wives are not indeed
surprising in that early age, for they have continued to the present
day. The writer of these epistles is only chargeable with not being in
advance of his fellow-men. It required all the genius of Plato, whom
not even the greatest apostle could approach, to foreshadow for women a
position of equality which they are but now beginning to attain.

Besides these rules there is another laid down by Paul for the conduct
of married parties which evinces his strong common sense. Husbands
and wives are mutually to render one another their "due." They have
not absolute power over their own bodies. They must not therefore
defraud one another of conjugal rights, unless for a short time with a
view to fasting and prayer, and then only with mutual consent (1 Cor.
vii. 3-5). Paul therefore would have given no sanction to that very
questionable form of asceticism in which husbands deserted their wives,
or wives their husbands, to pursue their own salvation, regardless
of the happiness of their unfortunate consorts. All such persons he
would have bidden to return to the more indisputable duties of the
marriage-bed.

Such a doctrine, however, to make it properly applicable to practice,
would require to be supplemented by a doctrine of divorce; otherwise
there is no provision for the case of an invincible repugnance arising
in one of the parties towards the other, or in both towards each other.
And this brings me to the third head of the apostle's teaching; his
views on the disruption of the marriage-tie. Here he has little to
say except that the wife is not to quit her husband, or that, if she
do, she must remain unmarried or be reconciled to her husband; and
that the husband is not to put away his wife. In cases where one is a
Christian and the other not, they are not absolutely under bondage:
they may separate, though it does not appear that they may marry
again. But the apostle strongly advises them to keep together, in the
hope that the believing member of the couple may save the other (1
Cor. vii. 10-16). It is plain from this summary that the apostle, no
more than his Master, faces the real difficulties of the question of
divorce. For the case of unhappy unions, except in the single instance
of the one party being a Christian, he has no provision whatever. It
is remarkable, however, that he several times intimates in the course
of this chapter that he is not speaking with the authority of Christ,
but simply expressing his personal opinions; a proviso which looks as
if he himself were unwilling to invest these views with full force of
the sanction they would otherwise have derived from his apostolical
commission.

There is another subject on which the opinions expressed by Paul are
open to considerable comment—the resurrection of the dead. In a chapter
which for its beauty and its eloquence is unparalleled in the New
Testament, he discusses the Christian prospect of another life. Had he
confined himself to rhetoric I should have been contented simply to
admire, but he has unfortunately mingled argument with poetic vision
in a very unsatisfactory manner. In the first place, he attempts to
deduce the resurrection of the dead from the resurrection of Christ.
If, he contends, there be no resurrection of the dead, then Christ is
not risen; our preaching is vain, and so also is your faith (1 Cor.
xv. 12-20). He fails to perceive that the resurrection of Christ—a man
whose whole life, according to him, was full of prodigies—could be
no guarantee for the resurrection of any other individual whatever.
Christ had already been restored to life in a manner in which no other
person had ever been restored. His body had been reanimated after two
days, before it had had time to suffer decomposition, and that without
the intervention of any other person, competent like Christ himself,
to perform a miracle. How then could so unprecedented an occurrence
warrant the expectation of the reanimation of those who had been long
dead, and whose bodies had suffered decomposition? Plainly there is
here a palpable _non sequitur_. Christ might be raised without this
fact involving a general resurrection; and a general resurrection
might happen without Christ having been raised. Further on he makes
a still more amazing blunder. Answering a supposed antagonist, who
puts the natural question, "With what body are the dead raised?" he
exclaims, "Fool! that which thou sowest is not quickened except it
die;" (1 Cor. xv. 36.) implying that he conceived the change undergone
by seed dropped into the ground to resemble the death of the human
body. Now it is needless to point out that the organic processes
constituting physical life do not cease in the grain which (as he says)
grows up into wheat or some other corn; and that if they did cease,
that "body that shall be," which he compares to the bodies of men in
their expected resurrection, never would appear at all. The grain, in
short, would not grow. An adversary, had he been on the alert, might
have retorted upon Paul (borrowing his own courteous phraseology):
"Idiot! that which thou sowest is not quickened _if_ it die." Such a
retort would have been completely crushing. Another very fatal mistake
of Paul's is the contention that if the dead do not rise, we have no
reason to do anything but enjoy the passing hour. "Let us eat and
drink, for to-morrow we die" (1 Cor. xv. 32). Nothing can be more
dangerous than such language as this; for if a man bases his moral
system upon the belief in a future life, the destruction of that belief
will involve the destruction of his moral system. It is founding the
more certain upon the less so; universal conceptions upon special ones;
that which is essential to human existence upon the doctrines of a
particular creed held only by a portion of the human race. The argument
is a favorite one with theologians, because it enlists in favor of the
doctrine of a future state all the strong attachment by which we cling
to principles of morals. None the less is it illegitimate, and it ought
to be sternly rejected.

Next in beauty to this eloquent description of the future state of man
may be reckoned the extremely fine chapter on brotherly love in the
same epistle. Brotherly love, according to Paul, never fails, though
intellectual gifts, such as prophecies, tongues, and knowledge, will
pass away. Hope, faith, and brotherly love are joined together by him
as a trinity of virtues which "now abide;" but the greatest of these is
brotherly love (1 Cor. xiii).

Scattered about in the writings of this apostle there are also some
admirable maxims of conduct, extremely similar in tone to those of
Jesus. Thus, he tells his fellow-Christians to be kindly affectioned
one to another; to bless those that persecute them—to bless and not to
curse; to return no man evil for evil; give food to a hungry enemy and
drink to a thirsty one; and generally, not to be overcome by evil, but
to overcome evil by good (Rom. xii. 10-21.—1 Thess. v. 15). It were
much to be wished that he himself had remembered these beneficent rules
of conduct in the case of Alexander the coppersmith, who he says did
him "much evil," and concerning whom he utters the significant prayer
that the Lord may reward him according to his works (2 Tim. iv. 14).


                   SUBDIVISION 3.—_The Apocalypse._

The author of the Apocalypse, or Book of Revelation, who professes
to have seen the vision he describes at Patmos, gives himself the
name of John; a circumstance which led in former times to the belief
that the work was the composition of John the disciple of Jesus. It
is a rather late production, having been written subsequently to the
establishment by Paul of Gentile Christian communities in various parts
of Asia. It also presupposes the existence of a sect of heretics termed
Nicolaitanes, who had arisen in some places, and was therefore probably
not written until some time after the foundation of these churches by
the great apostle.

The author endeavors to add lustre to his work by proclaiming at its
outset that it was committed to writing under the direct inspiration
of Jesus Christ himself, who dictated it to him, or rather showed it
to him, when he was "in the Spirit on the Lord's day." Notwithstanding
this exalted authorship, it is a production of very inferior merits
indeed. It is conceived in that style of overloaded allegory of
which the art consists in concealing the thought of the writer under
images decipherable only by an initiated few. The Book of Daniel is
an example of the same kind of thing. A false interest is excited by
this style from the mere difficulty of comprehending the meaning. How
widely it differs from that mode of allegory which possesses a real
literary justification, may be shown by comparing the Apocalypse with
the "Pilgrim's Progress." In Bunyan, the thought is revealed under
clear and transparent images; in John, it is concealed under obscure
and turbid ones. Hence there have been endless interpretations of the
Apocalypse; there has been only one of the "Pilgrim's Progress." That
characteristic which Holy Writ has been shown to possess of calling
forth a multitude of comments and speculations upon its meaning belongs
in a preëminent degree to the Revelation of John.

After writing by the instructions of Christ a letter to each of the
Seven Churches, the author proceeds to describe his vision. There was
a throne in heaven, upon which God himself was seated. He had the
singular appearance of a jasper and a sardine stone. Beasts, elders,
angels, saints, and a promiscuous company besides were around the
throne, engaged in performing the ceremonies of the celestial court.
Various works were executed according to orders by the attendant
angels. A beast then arises out of the sea, and is worshiped by those
whose names are not in Christ's book. "Babylon the Great," under the
form of a harlot, is judged and put an end to. An angel comes down from
heaven and binds "that old serpent, which is the Devil and Satan,"
for a thousand years. During this millennium Christ reigns on earth,
and all who have been martyrs for his sake, or have not worshiped the
beast, rise from the dead to reign with him. After the thousand years
are over Satan is unfortunately released from prison, and does a great
deal of mischief, but is ultimately recaptured again and cast into a
lake of fire and brimstone. A second resurrection, for the unprivileged
multitude, now takes place. All the dead stand before God, and are
judged by reference to the records which have been carefully kept in
heaven in books provided for the purpose. All who are not in the book
of life are thrown into the lake of fire, to which death and hell are
consigned also. The inspired seer is now shown a new heaven, a new
earth, and a new Jerusalem which comes down from heaven. For a moment
he rises from the extremely commonplace level upon which he usually
moves to an eloquent picture of that happier world in which "God shall
wipe away all tears from" the eyes of men; when "there shall be no more
death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more
pain." The book concludes with a curse upon any one who shall in any
manner tamper with it, either by way of addition or erasure, and with a
promise from Jesus that he will come quickly.


               SUBDIVISION 4.—_The God of Christendom._

Although the God whom Jesus thought himself commissioned to represent,
and in whom his disciples believed, is the historical continuation of
the Jehovah of Hebrew Scripture, yet his character is in many important
aspects widely different. No longer the arbitrary and irascible
personage who continually interfered with the current of human affairs,
rewarding here, punishing there; now overthrowing a monarch, now
destroying a nation; he exercises a calmer and more equitable sway over
the destinies of the world. As the servile occupants of the bench in
former days too often combined the functions of prosecutors with those
of judges, so Jehovah in the ancient times of Israel had sometimes
thrown off the judicial dignity to act with all the _animus_ of a party
to the cause. This was natural perhaps where the subject-matter of
the inquiry was the worship and honor to be paid to himself. It was
natural that he should take a strong personal interest in such cases;
but as all opposition (among the Jews at least) had passed away, and
he remained in exclusive possession of the throne, he could afford to
treat the charges with which he had now to deal—mere infractions of
morality, for example—in a much more impartial spirit.

In addition to this cause of transformation, the natural growth of
religious feeling had tended to replace the older deity by a modified
conception, and Jesus, falling in in this respect with the course of
thought already in progress, contributed to effect a still further
modification in the same direction. Hence, although there is nowhere
an absolute break between the old and the new conceptions, the God of
the New Testament is practically a very different person from the God
of the Old. We cannot conceive him doing the same things. The worst
action, in the way of interference in mundane matters, of which the
God of the New Testament is guilty, is, perhaps, the sudden slaughter
of Ananias and Sapphira. But what is this to such enormities as the
deluge, the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, or the commission of
bears to devour little children who had ridiculed the baldness of a
prophet? Horrors like these, so consistent with the general mode of
procedure of the ancient Jehovah, are wholly incompatible with the
characteristics so often ascribed to the more recent God. According
to the theories of the New Testament, the crime committed by the Jews
in executing Jesus was at least as great as the crimes for which the
antediluvians and the Sodomites had been so ruthlessly exterminated.
Yet we cannot imagine Jesus as even wishing for the extermination
of his contemporaries by water or by fire. The God whose love for
mankind he had been teaching could not for a moment be thought of as
consenting to such a course. While Elijah the Tishbite is represented
as positively praying for the instant death of one hundred men who
came to him with a message from his king, Jesus, on the contrary, is
depicted as actually healing the only one of his enemies who had been
in any way injured in effecting his arrest. Plainly when the conduct of
the prophets is thus dissimilar, the deity whom they represent on earth
is dissimilar also.

Another very marked alteration to be observed in passing from the
character of Jehovah to that of God, is the emancipation of the object
of worship from the limits of race. Jehovah was altogether a Jew.
He kept the Sabbath-day; he loved fasts and festivals; he believed
strongly in the virtue of circumcision; he was interested not so much
in the general well-being of the human species, as in the success of
the single people of whom he was the true leader in battle and the
ultimate sovereign at home. What happened to all the remainder of
mankind was to him a matter of trivial moment, although it might suit
him occasionally to use them as instruments either for the chastisement
or the restoration to favor of his beloved Israel. But God in the New
Testament has largely cast off the special features of his race, and
although he sometimes betrays his Judaic origin, he is in the main
cosmopolite in his sympathies and impartial in his behavior. Though
by no means catholic in religion, but holding exclusively to a single
faith, he receives all who embrace that faith, of whatever nation,
within the range of his favor. This great and deeply important change,
though begun by Jesus, was in the main the work of Paul. If it was
Jesus who constructed the tabernacle, it was Paul who built the temple.

While, however, there is an enormous improvement if we compare the
administration of human affairs by Jehovah and by God, there is
nevertheless a blot upon the character of God which suffices, if
rigorously balanced against the failings of Jehovah, to outweigh them
all. It is the eternity of the punishment which he inflicts in a future
life. No amount of sophistry can ever justify the creation of beings
whose lives are to terminate in endless suffering. But while the
_reality_ of condemnation to such endless suffering would be a far more
gigantic crime than any of the merely terrestrial penalties inflicted
by the Hebrew Jehovah, the _belief_ in such endless suffering is quite
consistent with a much higher general conception of the divinity than
the one that coëxisted with the belief in those terrestrial penalties.
The explanation of this apparent paradox is to be found in the fact
that the necessary injustice of eternal punishment is not very easily
perceived; that, in fact, it is not understood at all in the ruder
stages of social evolution, and not by every individual even in so
advanced a society as our own. Some degree of punishment for offenses
is felt to be requisite; and it is not observed without considerable
reflection that that punishment in order to be just must needs be
finite; must needs, if imposed by absolute power, aim at the ultimate
reformation of the criminal, not at his ultimate misery. And it takes
a far higher degree of mental cultivation to feel this than it takes
to feel the injustice of the violent outbursts attributed in the Old
Testament to Jehovah. Tradition and custom alone could have prevented
Jesus and his disciples from feeling shocked at these; while it was
intellectual capacity which was needed to enable them to reject eternal
punishment as incompatible with justice. Add to these considerations
the very important fact that the conduct conducing to salvation, and
avoiding condemnation in the future state, was supposed to be known
to all men beforehand, being fixed by unalterable rules; while the
conduct necessary to ensure the terrestrial rewards, and escape the
terrestrial penalties of the Old Testament, was not known till the
occasion arose; sometimes not till after it had arisen. Thus, Jesus
lays down in his teaching both the rules to be observed by human
beings if they would obtain the approbation of his Father, and the
exact manner in which the violation of those rules will be visited
upon them if they fail to repent and obtain forgiveness. But Jehovah
only made his rules from time to time, and never announced beforehand
what his punishments would be. Who, for instance, could tell what he
would do to the Israelites for worshiping the golden calf? who could
say whether he would treat gathering sticks on the Sabbath, as to
which there was as yet no law, as a capital crime? still more, who
could imagine that he would visit the action of a monarch in taking a
census of Israel by a pestilence inflicted on the unoffending people?
Plainly it was a very rude notion of deity indeed which was satisfied
to suppose an arbitrary interposition in all such cases. The God of the
New Testament may be more cruel, but he is also more consistent. If I
may venture on a homely comparison, I should say that the Jehovah of
the Israelites is like a capricious Oriental despot, whose subjects'
lives are in his hand, while the God of Christendom rather resembles
a judge administering a Draconian code in which there should be no
gradations between capital punishment and entire acquittal. The laws
may in fact demand more bloodshed than the tyrant; but their existence
and administration by fixed rules would undoubtedly imply that a people
had reached a higher grade of civilization. Moreover, exactly as
government conducted by laws is capable of improvement by modification
of the legislative enactments, while despotic government is essentially
vicious, so the character of God admits of easy adaptation to the needs
of a more cultivated state, while that of Jehovah can by no possibility
be rendered consistent with a high ideal of divinity.

Such adaptation of the Christian God has actually taken place to
a very large extent. The doctrine of Purgatory, leaving only the
most incorrigible offenders to be consigned to hell, was already a
considerable step in advance of the teaching of the New Testament.
It got rid of the fundamental weakness in the conception of Jesus,
wherein there was no proportion of punishment to offense; every sin,
small or great, was either absolutely forgiven or punished to the
uttermost extent. It effected the same beneficent change as Romilly
effected in the English law. Precisely as our former code punished
even trifling crimes with death or not at all, so the God of Jesus
punished sin either eternally or not at all. Precisely as the excessive
severity of English law led to the entire acquittal of many criminals
who should have received some degree of punishment, so the excessive
severity of God led to the belief and hope that many sinners would be
entirely pardoned who should in justice have received some measure
of correction. Thus, in both these cases, the undue harshness of the
threatened penalty tended to defeat the very object in view.

But the character of the God of Christendom admits of a much more
thorough reformation than that effected by the Catholic Church. Tender
spirits, offended, like Uncle Toby, at the notion that even the worst
of beings should be damned to all eternity, have simply refused to
accept the notion of endless torture. Thinkers, aiming at a system
of abstract justice, have sought to prove that it could not be.
Theologians have contrived all sorts of shifts to dispense with the
necessity of believing it. Modern feeling, whether on grounds of logic
or of sentiment, has gradually come to suppress it more and more as an
inconvenient article in the nominal creed, to be, if not consciously
rejected, at least instinctively thrust as much as possible out of
sight. There has resulted an idea of the Deity in which the harsher
elements are swept away, and the gentler ones, such as his fatherhood,
his care, and his love, are left behind. Such writers as Theodore
Parker, Francis W. Newman, and Frances Power Cobb, have carried this
ideal to the highest point of perfection of which it appears to be
capable. Their God is still the God of Christendom, but refined,
purified and exalted. The work which the Jewish prophets began, which
Jesus carried on, at which all the nations of Christendom have labored,
they have most worthily completed. Whether the ideal thus attained
is destined to be final, whether it really represents the ultimate
possibilities of religious thought that can remain as the corner-stone
of a universal faith, are questions that can be answered only when
we have undertaken the complete analysis of those most general
constituents of all theological systems which the foregoing examination
has disclosed. On that last analysis we are about to enter.

    "Ach, mein Kindchen, schon als Knabe,
    Als ich sass auf Mutters Schoss,
    Glaubte ich an Gott den Vater,
    Der da waltet gut und gross.

    "Der die schöne Erd' erschaffen,
    Und die schönen Menschen d'rauf,
    Der den Sonnen, Monden, Sternen,
    Vorgezeichnet ihren Lauf.

    "Als ich grösser wurde, Kindchen,
    Noch vielmehr begriff ich schon,
    Und begriff, und ward vernünftig,
    Und ich glaub' auch an den Sohn;

    "An den lieben Sohn, der liebend
    Uns die Liebe offenbart,
    Und zum Lohne, wie gebräuchlich,
    Von dem Volk gekreuzigt ward.

    "Jetzo, da ich ausgewachsen,
    Viel gelesen, viel gereist,
    Schwillt mein Herz, und ganz von Herzen
    Glaub ich an den heil'gen Geist."

    —HEINE.




                                  THE

                      RELIGIOUS SENTIMENT ITSELF.




                             CHAPTER VII.

                        THE ULTIMATE ELEMENTS.


We have now examined and classified the various phenomena manifested
by the religious sentiment throughout the world. We have found these
phenomena to have been in all ages of history, and to be now among
all races of men, fundamentally alike. Diverse as the several creeds
existing on the face of the earth appear to a superficial observer,
yet the rites, the practices, the dogmas they contain, admit of being
ranged under certain definite categories and deduced from certain
invariable assumptions. The two leading ideas of consecration and of
sanctity pervade them all, and while the mode of consecration, the
objects consecrated, the things, places, men, or books regarded as
sacred, differ in every quarter of the globe, the feelings of the
religious man remain the same.

Let us take a rapid survey, before proceeding further, of the ground we
have already traversed. Wherever any religion exists at all, we have
found consecrated _actions_: that is, actions devoted to the service
of God. Such actions, it is assumed, have some kind of validity or
force, either in bringing from the deities addressed by the worshipers
some species of temporal blessing, or in ensuring happiness in a
future state, or in improving his moral character in this. Secondly,
we no sooner rise above the very rudest forms of religion, than we
find _places_ set apart for worship, and entirely abstracted from all
profaner uses. Thirdly, we find that it is a universal practice to
dedicate certain _objects_ to the special use of the divine beings
received in the country; such objects being various in their nature,
but very frequently consisting of gifts to the accredited ministers
of the God for whom they are intended. Fourthly, we find in all
the greater religions—the Confucians possibly excepted—a number of
_persons_ who have devoted themselves to a mode of life supposed to be
especially pleasing to God, and carrying with it in their minds the
notion of superior sanctity. Lastly, we have in almost every form of
faith a special _class_, generally of male persons only, who are set
apart, by some distinctive rite, to the performance of the consecrated
actions required by the community to be done on their behalf; these
actions thus acquiring a double consecration, derived primarily from
their own nature, and secondarily from the character of those by whom
they are performed.

Passing to the second of our main divisions, we found the conception
of sanctity applied generally where that of consecration had been
applied, the distinction being that while the latter was imparted by
man, the former was the gift of God. Thus, in the first place, just as
human beings consecrate some of their actions to the service of God, so
he, in his turn, sanctifies certain _events_ to the enlightenment of
mankind. It is the same in the second case, that of _places_; for here
the deity sometimes points out a holy spot by some special mark of his
presence, sometimes (and more commonly) condescends to sanctify those
which man has devoted to his worship. And, thirdly, as men set apart
some of their property for him, so he imparts to some of the _objects_
in their possession a holy character, which endows them with peculiar
powers, either over external nature, or over the mind and conscience
of those who see, touch, or otherwise use them. Fourthly, he endows
the _class_ who perform the ceremonies of religion with his peculiar
grace; a grace commonly evinced in their power to consecrate places,
things, and men, to forgive sins, to convey the apostolic succession,
to administer sacraments, and so forth; but occasionally manifested in
the shape of supernatural endowments. And fifthly, as there are many of
both sexes who give themselves to him, so there have been a few _men_
to whom he may be said to have given himself, having invested them
with authority to teach infallible truth, and found religions called
after their names. Sixthly, he has revealed himself in a way to which
there is nothing corresponding on the human side, by means of _books_
composed by authors whom he inspired with the words he desired them to
write.

Viewed in the gross, as we have viewed them now, these several
manifestations of religious feeling cancel one another. That feeling
has indeed expressed itself in the same general manner, but with
differences in detail which render all its expressions equally
unimportant in the eyes of science. For, to take the simplest instance,
nothing can be said by a Christian, on behalf of the inspiration of his
Scriptures, which might not be said by the Buddhist, the Confucian, or
the Mussulman on behalf of the inspiration of theirs. If his appear to
him more beautiful, more perfect, more sublime, so do theirs to them;
and even if we concede his claims, the difference is one of degree,
and not of kind. So it is in reference to miracles. Christianity can
point to no miracles tending to establish its truth, which may not be
matched by others tending to establish the truth of rival creeds. And
if we find believers of every kind in every clime, attaching the most
profound importance to the exact performance of religious rites in
certain exact ways, while, nevertheless, those ways differ from age to
age and from place to place, we cannot but conclude that every form of
worship is equally good and equally indifferent; and that the faith
of the Christian who drinks the blood of Christ on the banks of the
Thames, stands on the same intellectual level with that of the Brahman
who quaffs the juice of the Soma on the banks of the Ganges.

But this line of argument seems to tend to nothing short of the
absolute annihilation of religion. Under the touch of a comparative
anatomy of creeds, all that was imposing and magnificent in the
edifice of theology crumbles into dust. Systems of thought piled up
with elaborate care, philosophies evolved by centuries of toilsome
preparation, fall into shapeless ruins at our feet. And all this by
the simple process of putting them side by side.

Can we, however, rest content in the assumption that so vast a
superstructure as that of religion has no solid foundation in the mind
of man? And is it destined, like the theologies it has evolved in the
course of its existence to disappear entirely from a world enlightened
by scientific knowledge?

Two questions must be carefully distinguished from one another in
replying to the doubt thus suggested. The first is whether religion,
although it may contain no objective truth, or no objective truth
ascertainable by us, nevertheless possesses, from some circumstance
in its own nature, or in the nature of the world we live in, a hold
upon the human race, of which it cannot by any advance of knowledge
be deprived. Is there, in short, if not an everlasting truth, yet an
everlasting dream from which there is to be no awakening, and in which
spectral shapes do duty for external realities? An affirmative reply
would admit the existence of religious sentiment to be a necessary
result of the constitution of the human mind, but would not concede
the inference that conclusions reached by means of that sentiment
had any objective validity, or any intellectual worth beyond that
which they derive from the imagination of those who believe them. The
second question is whether there are in the fundamental composition
of religious sentiment any elements not only necessary, but true;
and if so, what those elements are, and what is the proof of their
credibility, if proof there be.

As a preliminary to answering either of these questions, it is needful
to ascertain whether in the midst of the variety we have passed in
review, there is any fundamental unity; in other words, whether the
varied _forms_ of religion are all we can ever know of it, or whether
underlying those forms there is a permanent _structure_ upon which
they are superposed. For only when we know whether there is in all the
creeds of the world a common element, can we proceed to inquire whether
there is an element which is a necessary result of the constitution of
our minds. If the phenomena evinced by the several religions to which
we have referred in the previous book have no common source in human
nature; if, while they differ in every article of their theology,
there is nothing beyond theology in which they agree; then religion
is a mere superficial product of circumstances, having no more solid
guarantee than the authority of the particular teachers of each special
variety. There is in fact no religion; there are only religions. There
is no universal Faith; there is only particular Belief.

These, then, are the queries to which our attention must be addressed:—

1. Are there in the several religions of mankind any common elements?

2. If so, are those common elements a necessary, and therefore
permanent, portion of our mental furniture?

3. If so, are those elements the correlatives of any actual truths, or
not?

It may have been observed that all the phenomena we have examined
in the previous Book imply one assumption, and cannot be understood
without that assumption. All of them imply some kind of power or powers
either behind, beyond, or external to the material world and the human
beings who inhabit it, or at least involved in and manifested through
that world and its inhabitants; some power whose nature is not clear
to us, but whose effects are perceptible to our senses; some power
to which we ourselves and the material world are equally subject.
Sometimes indeed the power which religion thus assumes is broken up
into several minor forces, and instead of a single deity we have
several deities controlling the operations of nature. But, without
dwelling now upon the fact that polytheistic creeds often look above
the lesser beings whom they commonly put forward to a more mysterious
and greater God, it may be observed that these minor forces are no
more than forms of the one great force from which they are parted off
by an imaginative subdivision. To place the ocean under one divinity,
the winds under another, and the sun under a third, is practically a
mental process of the same kind as to place them all under a single
divinity; and the existence of some such cause of material phenomena
being granted, it is a mere question of less or greater representative
capacity whether we range them under numerous chiefs or comprehend them
all under one. In either case we assume extra-mundane and superhuman
power, and this is the essential assumption of all religion. The least
assumption a religion can make is that of a single such power, and this
(or more than this) it always must assume. For without this we should
remain within the boundaries of science; we should examine and classify
phenomena, but we could never pass beyond the phenomena themselves to
their mysterious origin or their hidden cause.

But this is not the only assumption involved in every possible
religion. Every religion assumes also that there is in human nature
something equally hyperphysical with the power which it worships,
whether we call this something soul, or mind, or spirit. And between
this human essence and the divine power there is held to be a singular
correspondence, their relationship finding its concrete expression in
religious worship on the one side and theological dogma on the other.
All the practices and all the doctrines of every positive religion are
but the modes in which men have sought to give body to their idea of
this relationship.

We have then, strictly speaking, three fundamental postulates involved
in the religious idea:—

First, that of a hyperphysical power in the universe.

Secondly, that of a hyperphysical entity in man.

Thirdly, that of a relation between the two.

The power assumed in the first postulate we may term the objective
element in religion; the entity assumed in the second postulate we may
term the subjective element. In the following chapter we shall deal
with the objective element in the religious idea.




                             CHAPTER VIII.

                        THE OBJECTIVE ELEMENT.


The general result which has thus been reached by the decomposition
of religion into its ultimate constituents must now be rendered
somewhat more specific by illustrative examples tending to explain
the character of the power the idea of whose existence forms the
foundation of the religious sentiment, and such examples will tend to
throw light upon the question whether the admission of such a power
is or is not a necessity of thought. For the proof of necessity is
twofold; _a posteriori_ and _a priori_. We may show by the first mode
that certain assumptions are always made under certain conditions as a
matter of fact; not that they are always made by every human being, but
that given the appropriate grade of culture, the beliefs in question
arise. And we may show by the second that no effort of ours is able
to separate certain ideas which have become associated in our minds;
that the association persists under every strain we can put upon it,
and that the resulting belief is therefore a necessary part of the
constitution of the mind. Both modes of proof must be attempted here.

Now, in the first place, it must be remarked that few, if any, of the
nations of the world are wholly destitute of some religious creed; and
that those which have been supposed, rightly or wrongly, to be without
it, have generally been savage tribes of the lowest grade of culture.
So slender is the evidence of the presence of a people without some
theological conception that it may be doubted whether the travelers who
have reported such facts have not been misled, either by inability to
comprehend the language, or unfamiliarity with the order of thought, of
those with whom they conversed.

Sometimes the absence of religion seems to be predicated of a people
which does not present an example of the kind of belief which the
European observer has been accustomed to consider as religious. An
instance of this is afforded in Angas' account of "Savage Life in
Australia." Of the Australians he states that "they appear to have no
religious observances whatever. They acknowledge no Supreme Being,
worship no idols, and believe only in the existence of a spirit whom
they consider as the author of ill, and regard with superstitious
dread." So that in the very act of denying a religion to these people
he practically ascribes one to them. They, like Christians, appear to
acknowledge a powerful spirit; and if they dwell upon the evil side
of his works more than upon the good side, it is to be remembered
that Christians too consider their deity "as the author of ill" by
his action in cursing Adam with all his posterity; and that they too
regard him "with superstitious dread" as a being who will send them to
eternal torture if they fail to worship, to think, and to act as he
enjoins them. Immediately after this, the author informs us that the
Australians constantly carry firesticks at night, to repel malignant
spirits, and that they place great faith in sorcerers who profess to
"counteract the influence of the spirits" (S. L. A., vol. i. p. 88).
So that their destitution of "religious observances" is in like manner
merely comparative.

Very little, if any, belief in deity appears to exist in Kamtschatka.
Steller, who has described the creed of its inhabitants, states that
they believe in no providence, and hold that they have nothing to do
with God, nor he with them (Kamtschatka, p. 269). Whether this amounts
to a denial of his existence I cannot say. They have, however, another
element of religion, belief in a future state, as will afterwards
appear.

In primitive religions the abstract form of Deity is often filled
up with the concrete figures of departed relatives. Indeed this is
one of the modes in which that form acquires definiteness, becoming
comprehensible to the savage mind from this limitation of its
generality. Thus in Fiji, although a supreme God and various other gods
exist, the ancestors appear to be the most popular objects of worship.
Deceased relations of the Fijians (according to Seemann) take their
place at once among the family gods (Viti, p. 389-391). Another author
confirms this testimony. In Sandwich Island, in the Fijian group, he
states that there are no idols. "The people worship the spirits of
their ancestors" (N. Y., p. 394). In Savage Island again they pay
their forefathers similar homage, and remark that they once had an
image which they worshiped, but that they broke it in pieces during an
epidemic which they ascribed to its influence (Ib., p. 470). Among the
Kafirs the spirits of the dead are believed to possess considerable
power for good and evil; "they are elevated in fact to the rank of
deities, and (except where the Great-Great is worshiped concurrently
with them) they are the only objects of a Kafir's adoration" (K. N., p.
161).

Similar evidence is given by Acosta in reference to Peru. In that
country there existed a highly-developed and elaborated worship of the
dead. The bodies of the Incas, or governors of Peru, were kept and
worshiped. Regular ministers were devoted to their service. Living
Incas had images of themselves constructed, termed brothers, to which,
both during the life-time of their original and after his death, as
much honor was shown as to the Incas themselves. These images were
carried in procession designed to obtain rain, and fair weather, and in
time of war. They were also the objects of feasting and of sacrifices
(H. I., b. 5, ch. vi). But the adoration of the dead was not of such
exclusive importance in Peru as in some countries of inferior culture,
and the most prominent positions in their system were occupied by
the Sun and the soul of the world, Pachacamac, who was in fact their
highest God (C. R. b. 2, ch. iii).

These last examples introduce us to the more general conception of
deity which, in all religions but the very lowest, is found along with
the belief in supernatural beings of an inferior class, and in some
of them overshadows and expels it. The Peruvians, as just stated,
assigned the first rank to him whom they conceived to have created and
to animate the universe. The Fijians adored a supreme Being Degei or
Tangaroa. Lastly, the "Great-Great," mentioned in the above quotation
from Shooter, is a being who seems from the somewhat contradictory
evidence of travelers to have been regarded as God by some of the
Kafirs, but to have been wholly neglected by others. Thus, in a
passage quoted from a work of Captain Gardiner's by Canon Callaway, we
find a conversation of the writer's with a native, in which the latter
denies all knowledge of deity whatever, and expresses a vague notion
that the things in the world may "come of themselves." Of another tribe
the same writer asserts that "they acknowledged, indeed, a traditionary
account of a Supreme Being, whom they called Ookoolukoolu (literally
the Great-Great), but knew nothing further respecting him, than that he
originally issued from the reeds, created men and cattle, and taught
them the use of the assagai." Canon Callaway is apparently of opinion
that the word Unkulunkulu was not in use among the natives of South
Africa in the sense of God until it was introduced by Captain Gardiner
(R. S. A., vol. i. pp. 54, 55). Considerable suspicion is thus thrown
upon any statements in which this name is employed for the Creator. If,
however, we may accept a statement of Shooter's, "the Kafirs of Natal
have preserved the tradition of a Being whom they call the Great-Great
and the First Appearer or Exister." According to this writer "he is
represented as having made all things," but this tradition "is not
universally known among the people." A chief who was asked about
Unkulunkulu, the Great-Great, knew nothing about him, but one of his
old men, when a child, "had been told by women stooping with age that
there was a great being above." There is also "a tribe in Natal which
still worships the Great-Great, though its recollection of him is
very dim." This tribe calls upon Unkulunkulu in the act of sacrifice
and in sickness (K. N., pp. 159, 160). While this testimony leaves it
doubtful whether Unkulunkulu is worshiped at all, except by this single
tribe, the traditions collected by Canon Callaway in the first volume
of his valuable work point to the presence of a well-marked legend
of creation in which that deity figures as the originator of human
life. True, he is also spoken of as the first man, and in this fact
we have the probable reconciliation of the view which treats him as
the Supreme Being, with that which denies that his name was used with
this signification. Unkulunkulu was the primæval ancestor of mankind,
but he was also the Creator. Ancestor-worship finds its culmination in
him. But he has been much neglected in comparison with minor deities,
and the word Unkulunkulu has been applied to the ancestor of special
tribes instead of to the ancestor of all mankind.

The general result seems to be that some, though not all of the Zulus,
have in their minds a more or less definite idea of a First Cause
of existence, but that this First Cause is not worshiped and is but
little spoken of. Thus, an old woman questioned by an emissary of Canon
Callaway's related this:—

"When we spoke of the origin of corn, asking, 'Whence came this?' the
old people said, 'It came from the Creator who created all things. But
we do not know him.' When we asked continually, 'Where is the Creator?
for our chiefs we see?' the old men denied, saying, 'And those chiefs
too whom we see, they were created by the Creator.' And when we asked,
'Where is he? for he is not visible at all. Where is he then?' we heard
our fathers pointing towards heaven and saying, 'The Creator of all
things is in heaven. And there is a nation of people there too'" (R. S.
A., vol. i. p. 52).

But while Unkulunkulu is generally considered as the Creator by the
Zulus, it would appear that a neighboring people, called the Amakxosa,
had heard of a "lord in heaven" even greater than him, whom they called
Utikxo. According to the evidence of an old native the word Utikxo is
not of foreign origin. Utikxo was appealed to when a man sneezed, and
"as regards the use of Utikxo, we used to say it when it thundered, and
we thus knew that there is a power which is in heaven; and at length
we adopted the custom of saying, Utikxo is he who is above all. But
it was not said that he was in a certain place in heaven; it was said
he filled the whole heaven. No distinction of place was made" (Ib.,
vol. i. p. 65). In the opinion of this authority, Utikxo had been in a
manner superseded by Unkulunkulu, who, because he was visible while the
original power was invisible, was mistaken for the Creator and for God
(Ib., vol. i. p. 67).

Testimony of a similar nature is given in regard to other regions of
Africa. In Juda it is stated that the most intellectual of the great
men had a confused idea of the existence and unity of a God (V. G.,
vol. ii. p. 160). Oldendorp states broadly that "all negro peoples
believe that there is a God, whom they represent to themselves as very
powerful and beneficent." He adds that among all the black nations
he has known, there is none that has not this belief in God and that
does not regard him as the author of the world. They call him by the
same name as heaven, and it is even doubtful whether they do not take
heaven for the supreme Being. "But perhaps," he adds, "they do not even
think so definitely" (G. d. M., p. 318). So that the conception of the
Highest God in the regions visited by this missionary is still vague
and indefinite, like that we have found in Juda and in Natal.

If now we turn to another quarter of the globe we find the peculiarly
degraded and ignorant Greenlanders asserting that, although they knew
nothing of God before the arrival of the missionaries, yet that those
of them who had reflected on the subject had perceived the necessity
of creative power, and had inferred that there must be a being far
superior to the cleverest man. They had, in fact, used the argument
from design, and thus prepared, they had gladly believed in the God
preached by the missionaries, for they found that it was he whom
they had in their hearts desired to know (H. G., p. 240). A similar
conviction of the existence of a supreme God prevailed in the new world
when it was discovered by Europeans. Such a God was acknowledged in
Mexico and Peru, as also in the less civilized regions of the North.
Speaking of the American Indians, Charlevoix observes that nothing
is more certain, yet nothing more obscure, than the idea which these
savages have of a primæval Being. All agree in regarding him as
the first Spirit, the Ruler and the Creator of the world; but when
further pressed, they have nothing to offer but grotesque fancies,
ill-considered fables, and undigested systems. Nearly all the Algonquin
nations (he adds) call the first Spirit the Great Hare; some term him
Michabou, and others Atahocan. He was apparently supposed by some to
have been a kind of quadruped, and to have created the earth from a
grain of sand drawn from the bottom of the ocean, and men from the dead
bodies of animals (N. F., vol. iii. p. 343).

The great religions of the world have all of them (Buddhism alone
excepted) acknowledged a God, whom they pictured to their minds in
various ways according to the degree of their development and their
powers of abstract thought. Dimly shadowed forth in the Confucian
system under the title of Heaven, plainly acknowledged, yet mystically
described by the Hindoos under many titles, whereof Brahma is one
of the most usual, celebrated in plainer language by the classical
heathens as Zeus or Jupiter, this great being appears in the three
kindred creeds of Judaism, Islam, and Christianity, as Jehovah, as
Allah, and as God. In Buddhism, however, there is no article of faith
corresponding to the belief in God. The Buddha is himself the most
exalted being in the universe, and he is neither almighty nor eternal.
The creation of matter as also of man appears to be unaccounted for.
There is no single being who can be regarded as the ruler of all
things, and the highest object of Buddhist worship. But it must not
be supposed that Buddhism has escaped the universal necessity of
admitting spiritual powers superior to human beings. In the first place
it retained the Indian deities, such as Brahma, Indra, and others,
and though, subordinating all of them to Buddha, yet left them in
possession of enormous capacities. In the second place, the Buddha in
fact, though not in name, assumed the rank of a God. Practically, he is
far more than human. He himself determines the place, time, and manner
of his incarnation. He delivers infallible doctrine. He becomes an
object of adoration, receiving divine honors from his followers. And
although the reigning Buddha (having entered Nirvâna) is non-existent,
and cannot aid his disciples, the future Buddha, or Bodhisattva, can
do so, and he is addressed in prayer for the same purposes for which
a Christian would invoke the intercession of his Savior. Thirdly, it
is to be remarked that Buddhism, free from the single idea of God, is
not free from the multitudinous idea of supernatural essences. Its
theology, so to speak, is quite full of celestial beings of various
ranks and functions, who swarm around the terrestrial believers and
perform all kinds of wonders. To these remarks it may be added that in
Nepaul, one of the countries where Buddhism prevails, the non-theistic
form has been superseded by a theistic form, in which there are divine
Buddhas corresponding to the human Buddhas; the highest of these,
Adi-Buddha, being equivalent to the highest God of other creeds. And
it is at least noteworthy, that in Ceylon, where the non-theistic form
prevails in all its purity, the people have a habit of invoking demons
to their aid, and of employing the priests of these demons, in all the
more important emergencies of their domestic lives.

It must not be imagined, however, that I wish to undervalue the
importance of the exception which Buddhism presents to the general
rule. Far from it. It ought, in my opinion, to be always borne in mind
as a refutation of the statement that belief in a personal God is a
necessary element of all religion. Europeans are apt to carry with them
throughout the world their clear-cut notions of deity as a powerful
being who created the world, put man into it, governs it in a certain
manner, and assigns punishments and rewards to the souls of men in a
future state. This belief appears to them so necessary and so natural
that they expect to find it universally prevailing, and regard it as
the indispensable foundation on which all religion must be built.
Buddhism, however, the creed which, after Christianity, has probably
exerted the greatest and most wide-spread influence on human affairs,
knows no such article of faith; and our general ideas of the universal
constituents of religion must needs be modified to embrace this fact.

Some superhuman power must, however, be recognized in every religion,
and it is the manner in which this superhuman power is described,
the qualities ascribed to it, its unity or plurality, its relation
towards man, and similar distinctions, which serve to differentiate
one form of religion from another. The degree of definiteness is one
of the most important features in this differentiation. Generally
speaking, the definiteness of this idea and the development of the
religion vary inversely as one another. This law, however, is obscured
by the continual tendency to put forward, to worship, and to speak
about in ordinary cases, some inferior deity or deities, while there
is lurking behind the vague idea of a higher entity who is seldom
mentioned, little or never worshiped, and who possibly has no name in
the language. So that the gods or idols who are worshiped by the people
must not be taken as embodying the best expression of their religious
thoughts. Some instances of the occurrence of this phenomenon will
serve as illustrations of the foregoing statement.

On the coast of Guinea the people "have a faint idea of the true
God, and ascribe to him the attributes Almighty and Omnipresent; they
believe he created the universe, and therefore vastly prefer him
before their idol-gods; but yet they do not pray to him, or offer any
sacrifices to him; for which they give the following reasons. God,
they say, is too highly exalted above us and too great to condescend
so much as to trouble himself, or think of mankind: wherefore he
commits the government of the world to their idols" (C. G., p. 348).
The manner in which Utikxo, the highest God, is thrown into the shade
by the more intelligible and human Unkulunkulu (as shown in a previous
extract) is another example of the operation of this law. And it is
especially noteworthy that the Amazulu have also a "lord of heaven,"
with attributes corresponding to those of Utikxo, for whom they have
no name. Anonymity, or if not absolute anonymity, the absence of any
name commonly employed in the popular language is, as we shall see, one
of the most usual features of this most exalted Being. Other travelers
give similar accounts of other regions of Africa. Winterbottom, who
was especially acquainted with Sierra Leone and its neighborhood, says
that "the Africans all acknowledge a supreme Being, the creator of the
universe; but they suppose him to be endowed with too much benevolence
to do harm to mankind, and therefore think it unnecessary to offer him
any homage" (S. L., vol. i. p. 222). Of Dahomey we learn from Winwood
Reade (a writer not likely to be partial to theism, or to discover it
where it does not exist), that the natives erect temples to snakes,
but "have also the unknown, unseen God, whose name they seldom dare
to mention" (S. A., p. 49). In another country in Africa the same
writer found that the natives worshiped numerous spirits, and believed
also in an evil Genius and a good Spirit. The former they were in the
habit of propitiating by religious service; but the latter "they do
not deem it necessary to pray to in a regular way, because he will not
harm them. The word by which they express this supreme Being answers
exactly to our word God. Like the Jehovah of the Hebrews, like that
word in masonry which is only known to masters and never pronounced but
in a whisper and in full lodge, this word they seldom dare to speak;
and they display uneasiness if it is uttered before them." The writer
states that he only heard it on two occasions; once when his men
cried it out in a dangerous storm, and once when having asked a slave
the name for God, the man "raised his eyes, and pointing to heaven,
said in a soft voice _Njambi_" (Ib., p. 250). Again, in a lecture on
the Ashantees, Mr. Reade informed his hearers that "the Oji people,"
although believing in a supreme Being, do not worship him: while they
do worship "a number of inferior gods or demons," to whom they believe
the superior God, offended with mankind, has left the management of
terrestrial affairs.

Strange to say, the peculiarity thus observed in the old world is
precisely repeated in the new. Of the Mexicans it is stated that "they
never offered sacrifices to" Tonacatecotle who was "God, Lord, Creator,
Governor of the Universe," and whom "they painted alone with a crown,
as lord of all." As their explanation of this conduct "they said that
he did not regard them. All the others to whom they sacrificed were
men once on a time, or demons" (A. M., vol. vi. p. 107, plate 1).
Concerning the Peruvians, Acosta tells us that they give their deity
a name of great excellence, Pachacamac, or Pachayachacic (creator of
heaven and earth), and Usapu (admirable). He remarks, however, with
much surprise, that they had no proper (or perhaps general) name in
their language for God. There was nothing in the language of Cuzco
or Mexico answering to "Deus," and the Spaniards used their own word
"Dios." Whence he concludes, somewhat hastily, that they had but a
slight and superficial knowledge of God (H. I., b. 5, ch. iii).

In reference to Peru, however, we have still more trustworthy evidence
from a member of the governing family, or Incas. From his statements
it appears that the name applied to the Highest was pronounced only
on rare occasions, and then with extremest reverence. This name was
Pachacamac, a word signifying "he who animates the whole world," or
the Universal Soul, as it would be termed in Indian philosophy. Like
other creeds that of Peru had its secondary deity, the Sun, in whose
honor sacrifices were offered and festivals held, while no temples
were erected, and no sacrifices offered to Pachacamac, although the
Peruvians adored him in their hearts and looked upon him as the unknown
God (C. R., b. 2, ch. iii).

Ancient religion presents similar facts. In his exhaustive work on
Sabaeism, Chwolsohn observes that the fundamental idea of that form of
faith was not, as is often supposed, astrolatry. To Shahrastani (the
Arabian scholar), and many others who followed him, Sabaeism expressed
the idea "that God is too sublime and too great to occupy himself
with the immediate management of this world; that he has therefore
transferred the government thereof to the gods, and retained only the
most important affairs for himself; that further, man is too weak to
be able to apply immediately to the Highest; that he must therefore
address his prayers and sacrifices to the intermediate divinities, to
whom the management of the world has been intrusted by the Highest."
Further on, the author asks himself whether this conception was
peculiar to the Harranian Sabaeans, and replies, "Certainly not. This
fundamental idea is tolerably old, and in later times found admission
to some extent even among the strictly monotheistic Jews.... In the
heathen world this view was universally shared by the cultivated
classes, at least in the first centuries of the Christian era"
(Ssabismus, vol. i. p. 725).

Indian theology teems with the conception of a sublime but unknowable
deity far superior to the deities of popular adoration, who has no
name and whose greatness cannot be adequately expressed in human
language. Indian philosophy loses itself in a sea of mystic terms when
it endeavors to speak of this all-pervading and preëminent Being. Take,
for example, the following from the Chândogya Upanishad, one of the
treatises appended to the Sâma Veda. A father is instructing his son:—

"'Dissolve this salt in water, and appear before me to-morrow morning.'
He did so. Unto him said (the father), 'My child, find out the
salt that you put in that water last night.' The salt, having been
dissolved, could not be made out. (Unto Swetaketu said his father),
'Child, do you taste a little from the top of that water.' (The child
did so. After a while the father inquired), 'How tastes it?' 'It is
saltish' (said Swetaketu)." The same result followed with water taken
from the middle and the bottom. "'If so (throwing it away), wash your
mouth and grieve not.' Verily he did so (and said to his father), 'The
salt that I put in the water exists for ever; (though I perceive it
not by my eyes it is felt by my tongue).' (Unto him) said (his father),
'Verily, such is the case with the Truth, my child. Though you perceive
it not, it nevertheless pervades this (body). That particle which is
the soul of all this is Truth; it is the Universal Soul. O Swetaketu,
Thou art that'" (Ch. Up., ch. vi. sec. 13, p. 113).

Similar notions of an all-pervading and infinite Being are found in
the Bhagavat-Gíta, a theological episode inserted in the great epical
poem known as the Mahâbhârata. There Vishnu is not merely the ordinary
god Vishnu of Indian theology; but the universe itself is expressed as
an incarnation of that deity who is seen in everything and himself is
everything. "I am the soul, O Arjuna," thus he addresses his mortal
pupil, "which exists in the heart of all beings, and I am the beginning
and the middle and also the end of existing things" (Bh. G., ch. x. p.
71).

Again, Vishnu thus describes himself in language which translated into
ordinary prose, would serve to convey the idea embodied in Mr. Herbert
Spencer's Unknowable:—

"Know that that brilliance which enters the sun and illumines the whole
earth, and which is in the moon, and in fire, is of me. And I enter the
ground and support all living things by my vigor; and I nourish all
herbs, becoming that moisture of which the peculiar property is taste.
And becoming fire, I enter the body of the living, and being associated
with their inspiration and expiration, cause food of the four kinds to
digest. And I enter the heart of each one, and from me come memory,
knowledge, and reason" (Ib., ch. xv. p. 100).

Nor did the writers of the Veda and the commentaries thereupon omit to
look above the concrete forms of the mythological gods who people their
Pantheon to a more comprehensive and less comprehensible primordial
Source. The gods were unfitted to serve as explanations of the origin
of the universe by reason of the theory that they were not eternal,
and that they came into existence subsequently to the creation of the
world. The writer of a hymn in the tenth book of the Rig-Veda asserted
that "the One, which in the beginning breathed calmly, self-sustained,
is developed by ... its own inherent heat, or by rigorous and intense
abstraction." But this Rishi avowed himself unable to say anything of
creation, or even to know whether there was a creator. "Even its ruler
in the highest heaven may not be in possession of the great secret."
Explaining this passage, a commentator, writing at a much later date,
observes that "the last verse of the hymn declares that the ruler of
the universe knows, or that even he does not know, from what material
cause this visible world arose, and whether that material cause exists
in any definite form or not. That is to say, the declaration that 'he
knows,' is made from the stand-point of that popular conception which
distinguishes between the ruler of the universe and the creatures
over whom he rules; while the proposition that 'he does not know' is
asserted on the ground of that highest principle which, transcending
all popular conceptions, affirms the identity of all things with the
supreme Soul, which cannot see any other existence as distinct from
itself" (O. S. T., vol. v. pp. 363, 364).

In this sentence the commentator correctly points out the distinction
between the Unknown Cause of philosophic thought and the gods of
popular theology, the latter being limited, and having the universe
outside of and objective to them, the former comprehending it within
itself, and having nothing objective whatever. And he perceives
apparently that these are but different modes of conceiving the same
Ultimate Essence, dependent on the varying representative capacities of
those by whom they are employed.

In India, as elsewhere, this Ultimate Essence had no proper name.
Sometimes it is spoken of as "That." Thus, in a passage quoted by
Dr. Muir from the Taittirīya Brâhmana we find the following: "This
[universe] was not originally anything. There was neither heaven, nor
earth, nor atmosphere. That being non-existent (asat) resolved 'Let
me be.' That became fervent," and so forth. Hereupon the commentator
states that "the Supreme Spirit was non-existent only in respect of
name and form, but that nevertheless it was really existing (sat)" (O.
S. T., vol. v. p. 366).

Prof. Max Müller, in his essay on the Veda, has observed that after
naming the several powers of nature, and worshiping them as gods,
the ancient Hindu found that there was yet another power within him
and around him for which he had no name. This he termed in the first
instance "Brahman," force, will, wish. But when Brahman too had become
a person, he called the mysterious and impersonal power "âtman,"
originally meaning breath or spirit, subsequently Self. "Atman remained
always free from myth and worship, differing in this from Brahman
(neuter), who has his temples in India even now and is worshiped as
Brahman (masculine), together with Vishnu and Siva and other popular
gods" (Chips, vol. i. pp. 70, 71). Distinguishing these two deities,
for the convenience of English readers, as Brahm, the neuter, and
Brahma, the masculine God, it is to be observed that even the latter,
who holds in theology the function of Creator, is but little worshiped
in India, and holds no conspicuous place in the popular mind. Thus
Wilson says, "It is doubtful if Brahma was ever worshiped. Indications
of local adoration of him at Pushkara, near Ajmir, are found in one
Purana, the Brahma Purana, but in no other part of India is there the
slightest vestige of his worship" (W. W., vol. ii. p. 63). Elsewhere
the same most competent authority states "it might be difficult to meet
with" any Brahma-worshipers now; "exclusive adorers of this deity,
and temples dedicated to him, do not now occur perhaps in any part of
India; at the same time it is an error to suppose that public homage is
never paid to him." Hereupon he mentions a few places where Brahma is
particularly reverenced. While, however, there may be discovered some
faint traces of the worship of Brahma the Creator, and first member of
the Hindu Trinity, there does not appear to be any worship whatever
of the more impersonal and abstract Brahm. Brahm is related to Brahma
much as the Absolute or the Unknowable of philosophy is related to
the God of the Hebrew and Christian Scriptures. In the conception of
Brahm the idea of deity is pushed to the utmost limits of which human
thought is capable, and we have a being whose very exaltation above the
mythological personages who pass for gods among the people precludes
him from receiving the adoration of any but philosophic minds. When
therefore Professor Max Müller speaks of temples dedicated to Brahm I
presume that he is speaking of the temples of Brahma, the corporeal
form of this unembodied idea. For Brahm is stated to be "immaterial,
invisible, unborn, uncreated, without beginning or end;" to be
"inapprehensible by the understanding, at least until that is freed
from the film of mortal blindness;" to be devoid of attributes, or to
have only purity, and to be "susceptible of no interest in the acts of
man or the administration of the affairs of the universe." Conformably
to these views, adds Wilson, "no temples are erected, no prayers are
even addressed to the Supreme" (W. W., vol. ii. p. 91). Thus Brahma,
the God, is but little worshiped; Brahm, the infinite being, and
âtman, spirit, are not worshiped at all. Now Brahma, the creative and
formative power, corresponds to God the Father; while Brahm and âtman,
especially the latter, bear more resemblance to the Holy Ghost; a fact
to be especially noted in reference to the comparison hereafter to be
made between the positions occupied by the more and the less spiritual
members of the Christian Trinity.

Thus we have this singular neglect of the Supreme Divinity prevailing
among ancient heathens, among modern Africans, among Hindus of all
ages, and among pre-Christian Mexicans and Peruvians. Do Judaism, and
its offshoot, Christianity, offer no sign of a similar relegation of
the highest to an invisible background? I think they do. The evidence
is not indeed quite so simple as in the other cases. But it is
deserving of remark that the ordinary name for God in Hebrew, Elohim,
is plural, and must at one time have signified gods; while the word
which is sometimes used alone, but more commonly in combination with
it, is regarded as so sacred that the Jews in reading the Scriptures
never pronounce it, but substitute Adonai, my lord, in its place.
Owing to this ancient custom the very sound of the word יהוה has been
absolutely forgotten, and Jehovah, by which we commonly render it,
has been merely constructed by supplying the vowels from Adonai. Now
the existence of a most holy name, but rarely used, and then only
with great reverence, is a manifestation of religious feeling exactly
corresponding to that related by Reade concerning the African name
Njambi. Suppose that with the progress of theological dogmas and
ecclesiastical usages the use of the word Njambi should be entirely
dropped, its pronunciation might then be entirely lost (if, as in
Hebrew, its vowel sounds were never written). And with the adoption
of a monotheistic creed some name, now belonging to an idol, might be
used as synonymous with Njambi. Now something of this kind may have
happened with the Hebrews. There can be little doubt that the Elohim
were originally gods accepted by the Hebrews as part of a polytheistic
system. Deep in the minds of Hebrew thinkers lay the more abstract
notion of a single God, more powerful and more mysterious than the
Elohim. They called him Jahveh, or whatever else may have been the
name expressed by יהוה. But as the monotheistic view triumphed over
the polytheistic, the Elohim were adopted into the framework of the
new religion, and in a manner subordinated to Jahveh by a process of
fusion. The name of Jahveh, which must once have been in common use,
was now treated as too holy to be ever uttered by mortal lips. The
ancient God who had stood at the head of the system of his party, was
in a certain sense withdrawn from active life, but retained as the
nominal occupant of supreme authority. Whether this account is probable
or not, must be left to better judges to decide, but it tends at least
to bring the history of the Jewish faith into harmony with that of
other religions.

Moreover, it is interesting to observe that a process extremely similar
to that here imagined as occurring in the development of Judaism, was
actually passed through by its younger rival. Christianity, arising
in the midst of a people who had arrived at highly abstract views of
deity, proceeded at once to do what so many other creeds have done,
to embody the conception of divine power in a concrete object. This
concrete object was in the Christian theology a man. And as generally
happens in these cases, the more abstract idea was overshadowed and to
some extent driven from the field by the more concrete. Christ occupies
a larger place both in authorized Christian worship and in the popular
Christian imagination than does his Father. The creed no doubt treats
them both with equal reverence, as persons in a single God; but to
understand what is truly felt and believed by the people, we must look
not to the letter of their creeds, but to their actual, and above all
their unconscious practice. Doing this we find first an entire absence
of any special festival in honor of the Father.[97] Look at the large
place occupied by the history of Jesus in ecclesiastical fast-days and
feast-days. We have the Annunciation, the Nativity, the forty days of
Lent, the Crucifixion, the Resurrection, the Ascension, all referring
to him. But we have quite forgotten to celebrate the creation of the
human species, the expulsion from Eden, the deluge, the destruction
of Sodom and Gomorrah, and other mighty works due to his Father. The
weekly holiday, originally a memorial of his repose on the seventh day,
has indeed been retained from Judaism; yet even here its reference has
been changed from the history of the first person to that of the second
by its transfer from the last day of the week to the first. But this
is not all. Didron remarks that in early works of art Jesus is made to
take the place of his Father in creation and in similar labors, just
as in heathen religions an inferior divinity does the work under a
superior one. Dishonorable and even ridiculous positions were assigned
to God the Father. The more ancient artists were reluctant to paint the
whole of the First Person, just as Africans, Peruvians and Hebrews were
reluctant to speak his name. A mere hand or an arm is held sufficient
to represent him. But in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, God
the Father begins to manifest his figure; at first his bust only, and
then his whole person. In the fourteenth century we take part in the
birth and development of the figure of the eternal Father. At first
equal to his Son in age and station, he begins in process of time to
become slightly different, until, towards 1360, the notion of paternity
is attached irrevocably to him; he is thenceforth uniformly older than
his Son, and assumes the first place in the Trinity. The middle age
may be divided (according to Didron) into two periods. In the first,
preceding the fourteenth century, we have the Father in the image and
similitude of the Son. In the second, after the thirteenth century
until the sixteenth, Jesus Christ loses his iconographic distinctness,
and is conquered by his Father. He in his turn puts on the likeness of
the Father, becoming old and wrinkled like him (Ic. Ch., p. 148-203).
Basing his conclusions on these remarkable disclosures, Michelet,
in his "History of France," observes with considerable reason that
from the first century until the twelfth God was not worshiped by
Christians. Nay, even for fifteen centuries not a temple, not an altar
was erected to him. And when he did venture to appear beside his Son
in Christian art, he remained neglected and solitary. Nobody made an
offering to him, or caused a mass to be said in his honor (Michelet,
"Histoire de France," vol. vii. p. xlix).

But while the first Person of the Trinity has now obtained, especially
in Protestant countries, a degree of recognition which he did not
always enjoy, there remains behind another Person, who is more
abstract, more spiritual, more undefinable than either the Father or
the Son. Formally included in the liturgies of the Church, having an
office established in his honor, churches dedicated to his name, this
member of the Trinity has nevertheless been strangely neglected by
all Christian nations. Nobody practically worships the Holy Ghost;
nobody pays him especial attention; nobody appears to be much concerned
about his proceedings. Artists have treated him with a degree of
indifference which they have never manifested towards Jesus Christ.
Not only have they sometimes forgotten to include the Holy Ghost in
their representations of the Godhead, but they have omitted him even
from a scene where he had the best possible claim to figure, namely,
the reception of the Spirit by the apostles at the feast of Pentecost.
Elsewhere they have not completely left him out, but have placed him in
an attitude of subordination and indignity, evincing but scant respect,
as where an artist had depicted an angel as apparently restraining the
impetuosity of the dove by holding its tail in both his hands. While in
the Catacombs it was the Father who was suppressed, in the Trinities of
the twelfth, fifteenth, and sixteenth centuries it is the Holy Ghost
who is found to be missing. "Thus," observes the Roman Catholic author
to whom I am indebted for these facts, "the Holy Ghost has sometimes
had reason to complain of the artists" (Ic. Ch., p. 489-495).

Were this Person, in fact, disposed to be punctilious, it is not only
artists, mere reflectors of the general sentiment, but the whole
Christian world of whom he would have reason to complain. So little
does he occupy the ordinary thoughts of Christians, that Abailard
gave the greatest offense by naming a monastery after him, and this
procedure of the great theologian remains, I believe, a solitary
example in ecclesiastical history of such an honor being paid to the
Paraclete. Yet surely he who bears the great office of the Comforter is
deserving of some more express recognition than he now receives! What
is the cause of this universal oblivion? I suspect it is that which
leads to the neglect by the Africans of their highest god, namely, his
entire innocuousness. We saw that various tribes, while omitting to
worship a benevolent deity, who will never do them any kind of harm,
address their prayers to a class of gods who are described by travelers
as demons, or evil spirits, but whom they no doubt regard as mixtures
of good qualities with bad; capable of propitiation by prayer, but
resentful of irreverence. Now the Father and the Son correspond in some
degree to these inferior gods. Not that they are actively malevolent,
but they have certain characteristics of a terrifying order. God
the Father is throughout the Bible the author of chastisements and
scourges. God the son, merciful though he be, yet intimates that he
will return to judge the world, and that he will disavow those who are
not truly his disciples, thus consigning them to the secular arm of
God the Father, who will condemn them to eternal punishment. But God
the Spirit has no share in these horrors. Whenever he appears upon
the scene, he is quiet, gentle, and inoffensive; and these qualities,
combined with the absence of the more definite personality possessed by
his colleagues, have effectually ensured his comparative insignificance
in Christian worship and in Christian thought.

While this has been the course of affairs in reference to the persons
in the Trinity—who, though dogmatically one, are popularly and
practically three—a simultaneous displacement of all its members by
still more comprehensible objects of worship has been going on. First
in rank among these stands the Virgin Mary, so universally worshiped
in Catholic countries. After her come the mass of saints, some of
general, some of local celebrity; but who, no doubt, receive, each
from his or her particular devotees, a far larger share of devotional
attention than the Father or the Son themselves. For they are requested
to intercede with these more exalted potentates; and we naturally pay
more regard to our intercessors, show them more assiduous respect,
feel towards them more gratitude, than we do to those with whom they
intercede, and who stand too far above us to be approached directly
by us. Keightley, in his "History of England," expresses himself as
shocked by the far larger share of the offerings of the pious received
at Canterbury by the altar of Thomas-à-Becket than was received by the
altars of the Virgin and of the Son. The proportion is as follows:—In
one year St. Thomas received £832, 12s. 3d.; the Virgin £63, 5s. 6d.;
Christ only £3, 2s. 6d. Next year the martyr had £954, 6s. 3d.; Mary
£4, 1s. 8d.; and Christ nothing at all. This relation is perfectly
natural. Thomas-à-Becket was the local saint. He stood nearer to the
people, was more intelligible to their minds, than the Virgin Mary;
and the latter, again, was more intelligible to them than Jesus
Christ, whose mystic attributes she did not share. This fact does but
illustrate the common tendency of mankind to neglect the worship of
the highest deity recognized in their formal creed, and to offer their
prayers and their sacrifices to idols of lower pretensions and more
human proportions.

That which, as the upshot of these speculations, we are chiefly
concerned to note, is that religion everywhere contains, as its most
essential ingredient, the conception of an unknown power; which power,
thus offered by religion to the adoration of mankind, becomes the
object of a double tendency: a tendency on the one hand to preserve it
as a dim idea, represented to the mind under highly abstract forms; a
tendency on the other hand, to bring it down to common comprehension
by presenting it to the senses under concrete symbols. But under all
images, however material; under all embodiments, however gross; the
central thought of a power hidden behind sensible phenomena, unknown
and unknowable, still remains.

So far then as historical inquiry throws light upon the answer to the
second question in the previous chapter, that answer will be in the
affirmative. It renders it at least highly probable that the common
elements of religion are, from their universal or all but universal
prevalence, "a necessary and therefore permanent portion of our mental
furniture." Nor is this conclusion invalidated by the hypothetical
objection that there are races without a religion at all. Granting
the fact, it admits of an explanation quite consistent with this view.
For the races which are destitute of the religious idea may be so, not
because they are superior to it, and can do without it, but because
they are inferior to it, and have not yet perceived it. Thus, the
savage nations who cannot count beyond their fingers, prove nothing
against the necessity of numerical relations. Even though they cannot
add their ten toes to their ten fingers, and thus make twenty, yet
the moment we perceive that ten plus ten equals twenty, we perceive
also that this relation is an absolute necessity, and it remains an
unalterable fact in our intellectual treasury. No inability on the part
of the savage to understand us can shake our conviction. Now the same
thing may hold good of the ultimate elements of religious feeling.
These also, when once the conditions are realized in thought, may
prove necessary beliefs. Whether they are so or not is a question for
philosophy. To the examination of that question we must now proceed.

       *       *       *       *       *

Religion, as the foregoing analysis has shown, puts forward as its
cardinal truth the conception of a power which is neither perceptible
by the senses nor definable by the intellect. For sensible perception
requires a material object and a material organ; and intellectual
definition requires an object which can be compared with other objects
that are like it, discriminated from others that are unlike it, and
classified according to that likeness and that unlikeness. In either
case therefore the object must be a phenomenon having its place among
phenomena, whether those of the sensible or those of the intelligible
sphere. But if the power accepted by religion be neither perceptible
nor definable, are we obliged to believe in the existence of so
abstract an entity at all, or may we reject it as a figment of the
human brain?

Perhaps we shall best be able to discover whether such a belief
is necessary or not by endeavoring to do without it, and to frame
a consistent conception of the universe from which it is entirely
excluded.

There are various ways in which such a conception might be attempted.
We may regard the world from the platform of Realism or from that of
Idealism, and the nature of our Realism or of our Idealism may vary
with the special school of thought to which we may belong. Realism in
the first instance admits of two main subdivisions: into Common, or as
Mr. Spencer calls it, Crude Realism, and into Metaphysical Realism; and
these two forms of it require separate treatment.

Common Realism is the primitive opinion of uneducated and of
unreflecting persons, and is in fact simply the absence of any genuine
opinion at all. They, I imagine, regard the external objects by which
they are surrounded as so many actual entities, not only having an
independent existence of their own, but an existence like that which
they possess in our consciousness. Thus, an egg they would take to
be in reality a white, brittle, hard thing on the outside, having a
certain shape, size, and weight, and containing inside the shell a
quantity of soft whitish and yellowish substance with a given taste.
These qualities, not excepting the taste, taken along with any other
qualities that may be disclosed by more careful inquiry, they would
conceive to constitute the whole of the egg. It is the same with other
objects. What we perceive by our senses is thought by them to be a copy
of the real things as they exist in nature, much as the retina of the
eye, regarded from without, is seen to contain a copy in miniature of
the surrounding scene. Common Realism, however, while it tacitly takes
for granted an infinite number of separate entities, cannot account
either for the origin of those entities or for their nature. Nor has
it any account to give of the origin of life, for material things are
in this system utterly destitute of life, and indeed opposed to it.
They are precisely what our senses inform us of, and nothing more.
Hence they furnish no answers to the questions: How did this world come
into being, and how did it reach its present shape? How do men come to
exist in it; for matter contains no vitality and no power of infusing
vitality into itself? Therefore it is that the adherents of Common
Realism are invariably driven back upon a superior being, whom they
term a Creator, and who supplies the motive impulse which is wanting in
their world.

Metaphysical Realism professes to be the improvement of scholars upon
the unsifted notions of the vulgar. It is the system to which, in
its earlier and cruder form, Berkeley a century ago gave what once
appeared to be its death-blow, but what may perhaps turn out to have
been a wound sufficiently severe to cause prolonged insensibility,
but not absolute extinction. It is not, however, with the purpose of
completing the work of destruction, but of examining whether it affords
a possible escape from the necessity of the religious postulate, that
I refer to it here. Metaphysical Realists perceived clearly enough
that the apparent qualities of sensible objects could not be the
objects themselves. Even if they did not recognize this with regard to
all the apparent qualities, they did so with regard to those termed
"secondary," such as taste, smell, and color. Later representatives of
the school, such as Kant, extended the process by which this conclusion
was reached to all apparent qualities, whatsoever. Below the apparent
qualities, however, these thinkers assumed a substance, "_substantia_,"
in which they inhered, and by which they were bound together, so as
to constitute the object. And this substance—something unperceived
underlying the qualities perceived—was their notion of matter. Observe
now the position we have arrived at. No sooner does Realism abandon the
untenable hypothesis that the qualities of the object are the object
itself, than it is driven upon the assumption of an utterly unknowable
and inconceivable entity; a matter which is not perceptible by any of
our senses, which is below, or in addition to, phenomena concerning
which we can predicate nothing, and whose relation to the qualities
it is supposed to support we cannot understand. But the necessity of
some such assumption is the very assertion implied in all forms of
religious faith. Realism, then, does not escape the pressure of this
necessity, even though the entity it assumes is not precisely of the
same character.

But is the difference in its character one that tells in favor of this
variety of Realism, or in favor of religion? Assuredly substance,
or matter, imagined as the bond between apparent qualities, is not
an easier, simpler, or more intelligible conception than that of
a universal power as the origin, source, or objective side of all
physical phenomena. Granting even that the latter conception cannot
be represented to the mind, a representation of the former is equally
impossible. But does it explain the facts better? Let us see. In
the first place, we must demand an accurate definition of what this
supposed matter is. Is it passive, inanimate, incapable of independent
action, and unable to develop out of itself the living creatures which
in some way have come to exist? If so, we plainly require another
entity in addition to matter, both to account for the active forces
of our universe, and to originate the phenomenon of life. For if the
qualities of body need a substratum, so also do those of mind. If it be
held that the power from which mind emanates be the same as that which
is evinced in so-called physical forces, then we have two distinct, if
not independent, substances, beings, or whatever we may prefer to call
them: matter, pervading material objects in their statical condition,
and force or life, pervading both consciousness and material objects in
their dynamical condition. Or if the first be regarded as sufficient to
account for motion as well as matter, then we have still two powers,
one subsisting throughout the physical, the other throughout the mental
world. How are these two substances related to one another? Is the
substance of mind supreme, governing its material colleague? or is
that of matter at the head of affairs, and that of mind subordinate?
or are they equal and coördinate authorities, as in the Gnostic
philosophy? Suppose we endeavor to elude these difficulties by the
assertion that there is nothing else but the unperceivable substratum
supporting material objects, and that in this all modes of existence
take their rise, we are met by further and still more troublesome
questions. For if, under the manifestations of this substance we
include consciousness, then the distinction between matter and mind
has vanished, and in calling this substance matter we are simply
giving it an unmeaning name. In fact, it is a substance supporting
not only the qualities of bodies, but also the chemical, electric,
molar, molecular, and other forces throughout the universe, as well as
sensation, thought, and emotion. Matter in short does everything which
deity can be required to do; it originates motion; it produces living
creatures; it feels; it thinks; it lives. Thus we have but stumbled
upon God in an unexpected quarter. Suppose, however, that we take what
is in this system the easier and more natural hypothesis of a substance
of matter, a substance of mind, and a still more hidden power superior
to both, and from which both are derived, then we have but abandoned
the perplexing questions raised by metaphysical Realism to take refuge
in the religious position from which it seemed to offer a plausible
deliverance.

Does Idealism help us? Idealism is of several forms. That represented
by Berkeley need not occupy us here, for Berkeley not only admitted,
but expressly asserted, the existence of an all-comprehending Power,
and without this his philosophy would have appeared to himself
unmeaning and incomprehensible. Nor need we stop to examine that more
recent species of Idealism, as I hold it to be, which its illustrious
author, Mr. Herbert Spencer, has christened Transfigured Realism.
Whatever differences may exist between Spencer and Berkeley—and
I believe them to be more apparent than real—they are at one in
the cardinal doctrine that sensible phenomena are but the varied
manifestations of this ultimate Power. All such Idealism as this is
in harmony with religion. But there are two forms which seem to be at
variance with it, one of which I will term Moderate, and the other
Extreme Idealism.

Moderate Idealism agrees with Berkeley in dismissing to the limbo of
extinct metaphysical creatures the substance supposed to lurk beneath
the apparent qualities of bodies. It holds that there is no such
substance, and that these qualities, and therefore bodies themselves,
exist only in consciousness. But it differs from Berkeley in omitting
to provide any source whatever, external to ourselves, from which these
bodies can be derived. Not only are they in their phenomenal aspect
mere states of our own consciousness, but they have no other aspect
than the phenomenal one, and are in themselves nothing but phenomena.
Rather inconsistently, this school of Idealism does not push its
reasoning to its natural results, but concedes to other human beings
something more than a merely phenomenal existence. Nothing exists but
states of consciousness; but those peculiar states of my consciousness
which I term men and women may be shown, by careful reasoning, to
possess (in all probability) an existence of their own, even apart from
my seeing, hearing, or feeling them. The process by which we reach this
conclusion "is exactly parallel to that by which Newton proved that
the force which keeps the planets in their orbits is identical with
that by which an apple falls to the ground."[98]

Those peculiar modifications of color, and that special mode of
filling up empty space which I term "my friend," do indeed seem, if
we push matters to an extreme, to come into existence only when he
enters my room, and to cease to exist the moment he quits it. If he
has any further vitality, it is only in the shape of that state of
consciousness which is known as recollection. But Moderate Idealism
escapes from this consequence, on the ground that modifications of
body and outward actions, since they are connected with feelings in
ourselves, must be connected with feelings also in the case of those
other phenomena which we term human beings, and perhaps in the case of
those we term animals.[99] But if this be so, how did so extraordinary
a fact as that of consciousness arise? _Ex hypothesi_, there was
nothing before it. Did it then suddenly spring into being, full-grown
like Minerva, but, unlike Minerva, with no head of Jupiter to spring
from? Or was it a gradual growth, and if so, from what origin? Go back
as far as you will, you can find nothing but consciousness, and that
the consciousness of limited beings (either men or animals); and it
is no less difficult to conceive the beginning, from nothing at all,
of the least atom of conscious life, than to conceive that of the
profoundest philosopher. Observe, there is no world of any kind, and
in this no-world (the contradiction is unavoidable) there suddenly
arises, from no antecedent, a consciousness of external objects which
are no-objects. Geology upon this theory is a myth; so is that branch
of astronomy which treats of the formation of our planetary system
from nebular matter. Stars, suns, planets, and crust of the earth
only arose when they were perceived, and will cease to be when there
is no living creature to perceive them any longer. Since, however,
conclusions like these are in reality unthinkable, whatever efforts
metaphysicians may make to think them, Moderate Idealism must of
necessity complete its fabric by the admission of a Power from which
both consciousness and the objects of consciousness have taken their
rise. Should it persist in denying anything but a mental reality to
the objects of consciousness, it must still suppose an unknown source
from which consciousness itself has been derived; otherwise it will
entangle itself in two unthinkable propositions. First, that before
men (or animals) existed there was absolute nothingness, an idea which
we cannot frame; secondly, that where there was nothing at one moment
there was the next moment something, a process which we _cannot_
realize without supposing a time antecedent to that something, and
which we _may not_, without the contradiction of introducing time in
the midst of nothingness, realize by supposing a time antecedent to
that something.

It was no doubt the vague feeling of these perplexities that forced
John Stuart Mill, the most eminent defender of this school of thought,
to denominate matter a Permanent Possibility of Sensation. This
singular phrase well exemplifies the difficulties of his position.
For is matter an external substance, existing independently, or not?
If it is, then what becomes of the Berkeleyan doctrine? Mill and his
followers are simply metaphysical Realists. But if not, what becomes of
the permanence? It is not in us, for our sensations are not permanent;
it is not in the matter, for there is none. And what is there a
possibility of? Causing sensation, or having it? Not the former, for
there is nothing to cause it; not the latter, for the possibility of
our having sensations is a mere fact of our nature, and cannot serve
to define matter. And where is the sensation located? The phraseology
would seem to imply, that matter is in the permanent condition of
possible feeling; just as the nerve may be in the permanent condition
of possible excitation. But this would be placing sensation in the
wrong quarter. And if sensation be in us, we have not a permanent
possibility, but a permanent actuality of sensation. So that unless
the words be construed to mean that there is outside of us a permanent
something which excites sensation, of which the modes vary (for this is
the sense of possibility), they have no assignable meaning whatever.
Mill, in fact, had been compelled, without wishing it, to recognize an
ultimate power in nature; and his perception of this truth conflicted
strangely, in his candid mind, with his idealistic prepossessions.

A more consistent and rigorous form of Idealism is that which has been
referred to as the strict consequence of Moderate Idealism. This form,
which I will term Extreme Idealism, denies the existence of persons as
well as things. The Extreme Idealist believes himself to be the only
being in the universe. There is to him no period preceding his own
existence; none succeeding it. Past and future, except in his own life,
have no meaning for him. We cannot reason with him, for all we may say
is only a transient mode of his own sensations. Obviously, to such a
philosophy there is no reply but one: it is simply unthinkable. Were
any one seriously to defend it, the very seriousness of his defense
would prove that he did not believe it. For against what or whom would
he be contending? Against a phantom of his own mind. And the more pains
he took to prove to us that he believed us to have no existence but as
a part of himself, the less credit should we attach to his assertions.

Philosophy, therefore, is under a logical compulsion to make the same
fundamental assumption as Religion—that of an ultimate, unknown, and
all-pervading Power Origin, or Cause. Science, in a variety of ways,
does the same. It does so, first, in its belief of a past and a future
in the history of the solar system far transcending the past and
future of humanity, or indeed of any form of life whatever. Passing
at a glance over our brief abode on the face of the earth, Geology
pushes its researches back into a time preceding by innumerable ages
the existence of mankind, while her elder sister Astronomy carries her
vision to a still remoter age, when even the planet we now inhabit was
but a fragment in one indistinguishable mass. But it is not only these
two sciences that assume the continuance of nature quite independently
of our presence or absence; every other science does the like. The
botanist, the chemist, the physicist, all believe that the facts they
assert are facts in an external nature, the relations of which as now
discovered by their several sciences held good before man existed, and
will hold good after he has ceased to exist. But to say this, is to
say in effect that there is something more than the mere phenomena
disclosed by investigation; namely, an external reality persisting
through all time in which the varied series of phenomena take their
rise.

More clearly still does Science assert some such reality in its great
modern doctrine of the Persistence of Force. Not that this doctrine is
entirely new; for regarded in its metaphysical rather than its physical
aspect it is but an expression in the language of the day of a truth
which has long been realized as a necessity of thought. It is the
converse of the ancient axiom, "_Nihil ex nihilo fit_," for if nothing
can be made from nothing, neither can something pass into nothing. The
Persistence of Force is an expression of the fact that every cause
must have an adequate effect; that in nature nothing can be lost, no
particle of force pass into nonentity. Concentrated forces may be
dissipated, and dissipated forces may be concentrated; or one variety
of force may pass into another. But the ultimate fund of force remains
ever unchangeable; nothing is ever created, nothing destroyed.

Observe, then, that Science, however cautiously it may keep within
the range of the material world, however eagerly it may repudiate all
investigation of ultimate causes as fruitless and unprofitable, cannot
take one single step towards proving the propositions it advances
without tacitly laying down an ontological entity as the basis of
its demonstration. For to speak of its discoveries as laws of nature
is simply to predicate a constant, unvarying force, which under like
conditions always produces like results. And to declare the uniformity
of nature, is merely to say that the methods of that force do not
change—that it is the same now as it ever was, and will be the same
throughout the eternal ages.

"Thus," writes Mr. Herbert Spencer, "by the Persistence of Force,
we really mean the persistence of some Power which transcends our
knowledge and conception. The manifestations, as occurring in ourselves
or outside of us, do not persist; but that which persists is the
Unknown Cause of these manifestations. In other words, asserting the
Persistence of Force, is but another mode of asserting an Unconditional
Reality, without beginning or end" (Spencer's "First Principles," § 60,
p. 189).

Philosophy, or Reasoned Thought, and Science, or Reasoned Observation,
have both led us to admit, as a fundamental principle, the necessary
existence of an unknown, inconceivable, and omnipresent Power, whose
operations are ever in progress before our eyes, but whose nature is,
and can never cease to be, an impenetrable mystery. And this is the
cardinal truth of all religion. From all sides then, by every mode of
contemplation, we are forced upon the same irresistible conclusion. The
final question still remains, Is this ultimate element of all religion
"the correlative of any actual truth or not?"

But for the prevalence, in recent times, of a philosophy which denies
all connection between the necessity of a belief and its truth, I
should have regarded such a question as scarcely worth the answering.
To say that a belief is necessary and to say that it is true, would
appear to all, but adherents of the extreme experiential school, one
and the same thing. But in the present day this cannot be taken for
granted, and I should be the last to complain that even that which
seems most obvious should be tested by adverse criticism.

Ingenious, however, as their arguments are, philosophers of this
school, when driven to reason out their views, cut their own throats.
They commit a logical suicide. For what is the test of truth they
hold up to us in lieu of necessity? Experience. But what in the last
resort does our belief in experience rest upon? Simply upon a mental
necessity. Nobody can tell us _why_ he believes that the laws of nature
will hold good to-morrow as they do to-day. He can indeed tell us that
he has always found them constant before, and therefore expects them
to remain so. But this is merely to state the belief, not to justify
it. Experience itself cannot be appealed to, to support our confidence
in experience. True, we habitually say that we believe such and such
results will follow such and such antecedents _because_ we have always
found them follow before. But our past experience is not the whole of
the fact involved in the belief. It is our past experience, conjoined
with the mental necessity of thinking that the future will resemble the
past, that forms the convictions on which we act. Experience alone,
without that mental necessity, could teach us nothing. If therefore
our necessary beliefs need not be true, the belief in experience falls
to the ground along with the rest, and experience cannot be put in
place of necessity as a test of truth. In fact, every argument drawn
from the past fallibility of the test of necessity might be retorted
with tenfold force against the test of experience. Observation has
constantly misled mankind, and thousands of alleged facts, accepted
upon imagined experience, have been disproved by more accurate
examination. Observation and reasoning combined (as they often are) are
exposed to the double danger of false premises and false inferences
from true premises; while the addition of an element of testimony (a
circumstance common in scientific inquiries) exposes every conclusion
to a threefold possibility of error. Human beings are no more exempt
from the possibility of mistaken science than from that of hasty
metaphysics. But as, in matters of physical research, we do not
discredit the use of our eyes because their perceptions are sometimes
inaccurate, so in matters of metaphysical inquiry we need not discredit
the use of our minds because their apparent intuitions are now and then
fallacious. In the one case, as in the other, the proper course is not
to cast contempt upon the only instruments of discovery we have, but to
apply those instruments again and again, omitting no precaution that
may serve to correct an observation and to test an argument. But when
we have done our utmost to attain whatever certainty the nature of the
subject permits, we cannot reasonably turn round upon ourselves and
say: "True, my eyes assure me of this fact, but human eyes have erred
so often that I cannot accept their verdict;" or, "No doubt my mind
forces this conclusion upon me as a necessity of thought, but so many
assumed necessities have turned out not to be necessary at all that I
must refuse to listen to my mind:" for this is not really the caution
of science, but the rashness of philosophic theory. For we can have no
higher conviction than that arising in a necessity of thought. Nothing
can surpass the certainty of this. Grant that we may yet be wrong: we
can never know it, and we can have no reason to think it. To oppose to
a necessary belief such a train of reasoning as this:

 Necessary beliefs (so-called) have often proved false:

 This is a necessary belief (so-called):

 Therefore it may prove false,

is in reality to seek to overthrow a strong conviction by a weak one;
an intuition by a syllogism; a proposition felt immediately to be true
by an inference open to discussion. Arguments like this resemble the
procedure of a man who should tell us, when we meet a friend, that
we cannot possibly be sure of his identity because on some previous
occasion in our lives we mistook Jones for Thompson.

Exaggerated as this doctrine of the experiential school is thus seen
to be, yet it has done good service by putting thinkers on their
guard, not to accept as necessary and ultimate some beliefs which are
only contingent and dissoluble. Two conditions must be fulfilled in
order to effect a presumption of necessity. The belief must always
arise under certain conditions; that is, it must be universal in the
only sense in which that term can fitly be applied. Having arisen, it
must be incapable of expulsion from the mind; its terms must adhere
together so firmly that they cannot be parted by adverse criticism,
either our own or that of others. Both these conditions are fulfilled
by the fundamental postulate of religion. Given the appropriate
conditions—human beings raised even a little above the lowest
savagery—and it at once takes possession of their minds. After this, it
persists in spite of every attempt to do without it, and the highest
philosophy is compelled to give it the place of honor in the forefront
of its teaching.

Observe now, that what this philosophy accepts and incorporates into
its system is religion and not theology. These two must be broadly
distinguished from one another. Religion might be described as the soul
of which theology is the body. Religion is an abstract, indefinable,
pervading sentiment; theology a concrete, well-defined, limited
creed. The one is emotional; the other intellectual. The one is a
constant element of our nature; the other fluctuates from generation
to generation, and varies from place to place. Theology seeks to
bind down religion with immovable forms. Against these forms there
is constantly arising both an intellectual and an emotional protest.
The intellect objects to them as untrue in the name of science (in
the largest sense); the emotions struggle against them as cramping
their freedom in the name of religion itself. Thus between the human
mind and dogma, between the religious sentiment and dogma, there is
going on a perpetual warfare. Religious sentiment is no sooner born
than the tendency to limit and to define makes itself felt. It is
confined within a set of dogmas, and forbidden under every species of
pains and penalties to pass over its allotted bounds. Sooner or later,
religious sentiment bursts through every restriction; seems for a
moment to breathe the invigorating air of freedom, but falls again into
the hands of new theologians, with another framework of dogmas; to be
again broken through in its turn when its fettering influence can be no
longer borne. In carrying on this continually renovated contest—which
is seen in its highest activity in great religious reformations—the
religious sentiment seeks the alliance of intellect, which latter
supplies it with deadly weapons drawn from the armories of science,
logic, and historical research. Thus the overthrow of theology is in
great part an intellectual work. But it must not be forgotten that
the very deepest hostility to theological systems is inspired by the
very emotion to which these systems seek to give a formal and definite
expression.

The historical progress of religion is thus in some degree a
counterpart of the progress described by Heine (in the lines heading
this Book) as that of his individual mind. First of all there arises
in the mind of man, so soon as he begins to speculate on the world in
which he lives, the idea of a Creator. He cannot conceive the existence
of the material objects with which he is familiar without conceiving
also some being more powerful than himself who has made them what they
are. His notions of creation may be, no doubt often are, extremely
limited. He may confine the operations of his God to that small portion
of the universe with which he is most familiar. But that the idea of
an invisible yet preëminent deity arises very early in the mental
development of the human race, and remains brooding dimly above the
popular idolatry, has been abundantly shown. This is the belief in God
the Father. The second stage, so closely interwoven with the first as
to be inseparable from it in actual history, is the incarnation of this
idea. The supreme Creator is too lofty, too abstract, too great, to
be held steadily before the mind and worshiped in his unclouded glory.
The children of Israel cannot bear the immediate presence of Jehovah,
nor can even Moses meet the brightness of his face. Hence the material
shapes in which the objects of adoration are embodied. When divine
attributes are given to idols; when a golden calf is taken instead of
the invisible God; when the Father is said to assume the form of a man
to live a human life, and die a human death, when apostles, saints, and
virgins are addressed in prayer or celebrated in praise, an incarnation
has occurred. In the language of the traditions we have quoted, the
supreme God has gone away and left the government of the world to his
inferiors. Practically, such incarnations belong to the earliest period
of religion, and no popular creed has ever been entirely without them.
No sooner is the religious idea conceived in the mind, than it begins
to be clothed in flesh and bones. But in the order of thought these two
stages are separable. For idols are not worshiped until the notion of
some power which is not human, of which the nature is not understood,
has arisen in the worshipers. Then a concrete expression is desired,
and we have in poetical language the belief in God the Son.

Last of all comes the belief—more properly an emotion than a belief—in
the Holy Spirit. With this step a far higher grade of religious
sentiment is reached. For God is now conceived, not only as creating
or as governing the world without, but as entering into the mind of
man to inspire his actions and influence his heart. A relation which
up to this point was merely external—like that of the Creator to the
created, or of superior to inferior—is rendered internal and intimate.
The Holy Spirit not only speaks _to_ our souls, but it speaks in them
and through them. We receive, not the arbitrary command of an almighty
potentate, but the inspiring force of a being who, while raising us
above ourselves, is still a part, the best part, of ourselves. This
indeed, in the deep imagination of the poet, makes all men noble.

Yet not in such a creed as this, sublime as it is in comparison
with those that have gone before it, is the final resting-place of
religious feeling. For every word or phrase in which we endeavor to
give form to that feeling tends to lower and to corrupt it by the
admixture of elements which are foreign to its genuine nature. To
clothe this sentiment in language is itself an incarnation. For whether
we speak of a Force, a Power, or a Spirit, of an ultimate Cause, or
an all-pervading Essence; of the Absolute, or of the Reality beyond
phenomena, these terms are but symbols of the Supreme, not the Supreme
itself.

    "Name ist Schall und Rauch
    Umnebelnd Himmelsgluth."

All that we can say is, that while we _know_ nothing but that which
either our senses perceive, or our minds understand, we _feel_ that
there is something more. Both the world without and the world within,
both that which is perceived and that which perceives, require an
origin beyond themselves. Both compel us to look, as their common
source, to a Being alike unknown and unknowable, whose nature is
shrouded in a mystery no eye can pierce, and no intellect can fathom.

This is the great truth which religion has presented to philosophy,
and which philosophy, if she be truly (as her name implies) the love
of wisdom, will not disdain to incorporate with the more recently
discovered treasures belonging to her peculiar sphere. For it is not
the part of wisdom to spurn as worthless even the childish lispings
prompted by the profound idea that has inspired the faith of men, from
that of the far past to that of the present hour, from that of the
rudest African to that of the most enlightened European. Rather is
it the part of wisdom to excavate that idea from amidst the strange
incrustations under which it is hidden, to understand its significance,
and to recognize its value. Thus may we assign to it a fitting place
within the limits of a system which does equal honor, and accords equal
rights, to the scientific faculty and to the emotional instinct.




                              CHAPTER IX.

                        THE SUBJECTIVE ELEMENT.


When speaking of the fundamental postulates involved in the religious
idea, we pointed out that, besides the unknown cause of physical
phenomena, "every religion assumes also that there is in human nature
something equally hyperphysical with the object which it worships,
whether we call this something soul, or mind, or spirit." Let us call
it soul. And first let us examine what it is that religion says of the
soul, after which we may be in a position to consider what degree of
truth, if any, is involved in its assertions.

Now the great fact which presents itself to our notice in this inquiry
is the broad line of demarcation which religion has everywhere drawn
between the mental and corporeal functions of man, or in other words,
between his soul and his body. Generally, it expresses this grand
distinction by the assertion that the soul continues to live after the
body is dissolved. This doctrine is very ancient and very wide-spread.
A few illustrations of its prevalence are all that can be given
here.[100]

The rude people of Kamtschatka, who had so little notion of a
providence, believed in a subterranean life after death. The soul they
thought was immortal, and the body would at some time rejoin it, when
the two would live on together, much as they do here but under happier
conditions. Their place of abode was to be under the earth, where there
was another earth resembling ours. Some of them objected to being
baptized, because they would then be compelled to meet their enemies
the Russians, instead of living among their own people under ground.
Animals too were all of them to live again (Kamtschatka, p. 269-273).
The Tartars, when visited by Carpin, had some notion that after death
they would enjoy another life where they would perform the same actions
as in this (Bergeron, vol. i. art. 3, p. 32). "The most intelligent
Greenlanders," writes a traveler among that people, "assert that the
soul is a spiritual being quite different from the body and from all
matter, that requires no material nourishment, and while the body is
decaying in the ground, lives after death and needs a nourishment that
is not corporeal, but which they do not know" (H. G., p. 242). The
American Indians firmly believed in the immortality of the soul. They
thought it would keep the same tendencies after death as the living man
had evinced; hence their custom—one that is widely spread—of burying
the property of the dead along with the body. The souls were obliged
after death to take a long journey, at the end of which they arrived
at their appropriate places of suffering and enjoyment. The Paradise
of virtuous Indians consisted in the very definite pleasures of good
hunting and fishing, eternal spring, abundance of everything with
no work, and all the satisfactions of the senses (N. F., tome 3, p.
351-353). The Kafirs, as we have already seen, worship their ancestors,
whose "Amadhlozi," or spirits, they believe to continue in existence
after death. What they mean by Amadhlozi they explain with tolerable
clearness by saying that they are identical with the shadow. These
spirits are the true objects of a Kafir's worship, being supposed to
possess great power over the affairs of their descendants and relatives
for weal or woe. They are believed to reappear in the form of a certain
species of harmless snakes, and should a man observe such a snake on
the grave of his deceased relation, he will say, "Oh, I have seen him
to-day basking on the top of the grave" (R. S. A., pt. 2, p. 142.—K.
N., pp. 161,162). Similar reverence for the dead is shown in other
parts of Africa. In his lecture on the Ashantees, Mr. Reade says that,
"on the death of a member of the household he is sometimes buried under
the floor of the hut, in the belief that his spirit may occasionally
join in the circle of the living. Food also is placed upon the grave,
for they think that as the body of man contains an indwelling spirit,
so there exists in the corruptible food an immaterial essence on which
the ghost of the departed will feed."

To come to races standing higher in the scale of civilization: the
Peruvians had definite notions of a future state, with an upper world
in which the good lived a quiet life, free from trouble, and a lower
world in which the bad were punished by suffering all the miseries
and troubles of this terrestrial condition without intermission (C.
R., b. 2, ch. vii). In China the utmost respect is paid to deceased
progenitors, who are the objects of a regular _cultus_. India has
had from early ages its highly-developed and subtle notions of the
distinction of spirit from body, and the former is held to prolong its
existence after its separation from the latter, both as disembodied in
heavens or hells, and embodied in animals or other men. Some schools
believed in the immortality of the soul; others asserted that its final
destination was extinction. Buddhism ranged itself with the latter
opinion, while still maintaining the doctrine of metempsychosis, and
of rewards and punishments both in this world and in numerous others
to which spirits went in the course of their wanderings. Parsee souls
hover about the grave a few days; then proceed upon a long journey. At
its conclusion they pass over a narrow bridge, which the good traverse
in safety to enter Paradise, while the bad fall over it and go into
hell. In the Mussulman faith there are likewise but two destinies open
to man—eternal happiness and eternal suffering. Among the Jews in the
time of Christ two doctrines prevailed. Their ancient religion, while
aware of the distinction between the spirit and the body, left the
continued life of the former an open question. Hence the Pharisees
asserted, while the Sadducees denied, a future state. Christ was in
this respect a Pharisee of the Pharisees. He, however, like Mahomet,
provided only two abodes for the souls of men; one in heaven with
his Father, the other in hell, where the fire was never quenched. It
was felt, however, by the general Christian world that this sharp
separation of all mankind into black and white, goats and sheep, was
quite untenable. Hence the Catholic institution of Purgatory, which,
whatever may be said against it, is a wise and liberal modification
of the harsh doctrine of Christ, affording a resource for the vast
intermediate mass who are neither wholly virtuous nor wholly wicked,
and providing an agreeable exercise for that natural piety which
prompts us to mingle the names of departed friends in our devotions,
whether (as in Africa) to pray to them, or (as in Europe) to pray for
them.

From this brief review of the opinions of various races, it will be
evident that some conception of a spirit in man as distinguished from
his body prevails and always has prevailed throughout the world. The
special characteristic of this spiritual essence has always been held
to be its immateriality. All religions conceive it as distinct from
the body, most of them evincing this view by treating it as capable of
independent existence. Many of them no doubt invest the spirit after
death with a material form, but this is the clothing of the idea, not
the idea itself. The form is received after the spirit has left its
terrestrial body, and does not originally belong to it; as in the case
of the serpents in South Africa, in which ancestral souls are thought
to dwell. This immaterial nature is clearly expressed—so far as such
an abstract idea can find clear expression from a rude people—by those
Kafirs who compare the soul to a shadow. Nothing in the external world
seems to have so purely subjective a character as shadows; things which
cannot be felt or handled, and which appear to have no independent
substance.

Immateriality then is universally asserted (or attempted to be
asserted) of the soul. This is of the very essence of the idea. No
race believes that any portion of the body, or the body as a whole,
is the same thing as mind or spirit. But immortality is not equally
involved in the idea or inseparable from it. Notably the Buddhistic
creed—held by a considerable fraction of mankind—teaches its votaries
to look forward to utter extinction as the _summum bonum_. True, the
masses of average believers may not dwell upon the hope of Nirvâna,
but upon that of heaven.[101] But the authorized dogma of the Church
is, that "not enjoyment and not sorrow is our destined end" or goal,
but the absolute rest, if so it may be called, of ceasing to exist.
And that this dogma was fervently accepted and thoroughly believed in
as a genuine "gospel," the early literature of Buddhism amply proves.
The Jews, a most religious people, had no settled hope of immortality
provided by their creed, though the account of the creation of Adam
shows how clearly they distinguished mind from matter. Warburton indeed
infers the authenticity of the Hebrew Revelation from the very fact of
the absence of the doctrine of immortality; for no author of a popular
religion, except God himself, could have afforded to dispense with so
important an article. The more defective Judaism was, the more clearly
it was divine. Nor were the classical nations of Greece and Rome at all
more certain. With them also opinions differed—some, like Plato and his
followers, asserting the immortality of the soul; others, like Epicurus
and his school, denying it. Cicero discusses it as an open question,
though himself holding to the belief in future existence. His two
possible alternatives are continued life in a condition of happiness,
or utter cessation of life; either of which he accepts with equal
calmness. The fear of hell did not torment him: "post mortem quidem
sensus aut optandus aut nullus est" (Cato Major, xx. 74). Even if we
are not to be immortal, as he hopes, nevertheless it is a happy thing
for man to be extinguished at the fitting season (Ibid., xxiii. 86).
Less philosophical people, however, were troubled, like Christians,
with the notion of a future world of punishment; and Lucretius
addresses himself with all the ardor of a man proclaiming a beneficent
gospel to the dissipation of this popular delusion:—

    "Nil igitur mors est, ad nos neque pertinet hilum,
    Quandoquidem natura animi mortalis habetur."[102]

Like other thinkers of his time, he distinguishes between the _animus_
and _anima_—spirit and soul, and this threefold division of the nature
of man subsisted for a time in the language and ideas of Christians.
But the essential point is that, whatever further subdivisions may have
been made, all schools, ancient and modern, pagan and Christian, agreed
in the fundamental distinction between the spiritual principle and the
material instruments; between mind and matter, or soul and body.

Such, then, is the universal voice of the religious instinct. Let us
test the truth of this second postulate as we did that of the first: by
endeavoring to do without it. Then we have matter and motion of matter;
and the problem is:—Given these elements to find the resultant, mind.
Motion is merely change of matter from place to place; therefore the
question is, whether in any kind of matter and any changes of matter
we can discover mind. Consider the material world statically. As known
to science (and we have no right to go beyond scientific observation
now), it contains certain properties perceptible to the senses, such
as color, sound, taste, and smell, roughness, smoothness, and other
tangible qualities, with extension and resistance, discoverable by
the muscular sense and touch combined. Any further properties which
a deeper analysis may disclose will still belong to the domain of
sensible perception, the senses being the instruments employed in their
discovery. In which of these statical conditions of matter can mind be
shown to be involved? Or what combination of statical conditions can
produce mind as a part of the compound? Plainly any attempt to discover
it in matter at rest would be an absurdity. Now consider the world
dynamically. Here we have matter in motion, matter as the recipient
and the transmitter of certain qualities of force. The mode of motion
may be either molar (that of masses through space), or molecular
(that of particles within a mass). In either case it is nothing but a
change of position relatively to other objects. Now, how can change of
position either be mind, or result in mind? Take the case of a planet
whirling through space. Does this molar motion, considered in any
conceivable light, bring us one step nearer to mental phenomena? But
all molar motion is of the same kind, and however completely analyzed,
can lead to nothing but matter changing its position in space. Is
molecular motion in better case? When light is transmitted to the
eye, the vibrations of the atmosphere, which form the objective side
of this phenomenon, arriving at the optic nerve, cause corresponding
vibrations in it, and these transmitted to the brain result in certain
movements in its component particles. Which of all these vibrations and
movements is sensation? At what point does the physical fact of changes
in molecules of matter pass into the mental fact of changes in the
quantity or quality of the light perceived? Evidently no such point
of transition can be found. And not only can it not be found, but the
bare hypothesis of its existence is negatived by the fact that every
physical movement produces an exactly equivalent amount of physical
movement; so that there is nothing whatever in the resultant which is
not accounted for in the antecedents, and nothing in the antecedents
which has not its full effect in the resultant. There is thus no room
left for the passage of the objective fact of molecular motion into the
subjective fact of feeling.

Although these considerations practically exhaust the question, yet
another aspect of it may, for the sake of greater clearness, be briefly
touched upon. If the doctrine of abiogenesis be accepted, it may be
thought to afford some confirmation to the materialistic hypothesis
that mind is but a function or property of matter. Do we not here
see (it may be asked) life and sensation arising out of non-sentient
materials? And if a single living creature can thus arise, then, by
the doctrine of evolution, all mind whatever is affiliated on matter.
Such a conclusion, however, would be quite unwarranted by the facts
observed. In abiogenesis unorganic matter is seen to pass into organic
matter, and this is the whole of the process known to science. To
assume that at some period in this process the material constituents
of the newly-formed creature acquire the property of sensation is, to
say the least, a very unscientific proceeding. For, throughout all
their permutations, the component elements can (or could with improved
instruments) be exactly observed, measured, and weighed; enabling us to
say that so and so much, such and such of the inorganic elements has
become so and so much, such and such of the organic compound. Now the
factors of this compound do not (_ex hypothesi_) contain sensation.
How, then, did the compound acquire it? Where is your warrant for
suddenly introducing a consequent sensation—for which you have no
assignable antecedent?

Thus it is evident that between mind and matter, between spirit and
body, between internal and external phenomena, there is a great gulf
fixed, which no scientific or metaphysical cunning can succeed in
bridging over. Matter is never sensation, and cannot be conceived as
ever becoming sensation. The chain of material phenomena, with its
several series of causes and effects, is never broken; no physical
cause is without its adequate physical effect, nor is any physical
effect without a physical cause sufficient to produce it. The body is
to the mind an external, material phenomena; closely connected indeed
with mental states, and always more or less present to consciousness,
but no part of our true selves, no necessary element in our conception
of what we actually are. Every portion of the bodily frame can be
regarded by us as an outward object, wholly independent of ourselves,
and logically, if not practically, separable from ourselves. Many
portions, such as the limbs, are actually so separable; and all of them
are separable in thought.

Still more impassable is this chasm in nature seen to be when we
remark, that there are two all-pervading elements in which mind and
matter have their being, and that the phenomena within each element
have definite relations to other phenomena within the same element,
but are incapable of being brought into a like relation with those of
the other element. These two elements are Space and Time. Material
particles are related to one another in space, and in space alone. They
are nearer to, or more distant from, above or below, to the north,
south, east, or west of, the other material particles with which we
compare them. But they are not earlier or later than other particles.
The existence of concrete objects may be earlier or later than that of
other concrete objects; but when we talk of their existence as earlier
or later, we are talking of their relation to consciousness, not of
their relation to one another. It is the total framed and classified
by the mind that has a relation in time to some other similar total;
each total, analyzed into its ultimate atoms, has only relations in
space to the other total, likewise analyzed into its ultimate atoms.
Contrariwise, mental objects, or states of consciousness, are related
to one another in time, and in time alone. States of consciousness can
be compared as earlier or later, simultaneous or successive. They have
no space-relations either to one another or to the material world. It
is common indeed to consider the mind as located in the body, but this
is incorrect. For absolutely nothing is meant by saying that anything
is in a given place except that it stands in given space-relations to
surrounding objects. My body is in a place because it is _upon_ the
ground, _in_ the air, _below_ the clouds, _amid_ a certain environment
which constitutes the country and locality of that country which it is
in. But my mind has no surrounding objects of this nature at all. The
thought, say, of a distant friend can by no possibility be imagined
as enclosed within the grey matter of the brain, just to the right
of a nerve A, and in contact with a ganglion B. This thought, and
its accompanying emotion, could not be found by any vivisection (if
such were possible), though its correlative physical condition might.
Hence the mind is not in the body, but is an independent entity whose
phenomena, successive in time, run parallel to but never intermingle
with the phenomena of body, extended in space.

From the view here stated of the irremoveable distinction between
mind and matter an important corollary will be seen to follow.[103]
No physical movement (it has been shown) can be conceived as passing
into a state of consciousness, for each physical movement begets
further physical movement, and while it is fully spent in its physical
consequent is itself fully accounted for by its physical antecedent.
The converse of this doctrine must therefore be equally true. That is
to say, no state of consciousness can pass into a physical movement,
for, if it could, this movement would have another than a physical
antecedent. In other words, the mind can in no way influence the
actions of the body. It cannot stand in a casual relation to any
physical fact whatever. Hence the doctrine of the will (not only
of free will but of any will) falls to the ground. For the current
conception of a will supposes that a chain of material events passes at
some point in its course into a state of consciousness, and that this
state of consciousness again originates a chain of material events. Say
that I hear some one call my name, and go to the window to ascertain
who it is. Then the common explanation would be, not only that the
atmospheric undulations, which are the material correlative of sound
passing into the brain by the auditory nerves, produced the sensation
of hearing, which is true, but that this sensation in its turn produced
those exertions of the limbs which result in my arrival at the window,
which is erroneous. According to the view here adopted, the atmospheric
undulations stand in a direct relation of causation to the affection
of the auditory nerve, and this affection, in a direct relation of
causation, to the resulting movements. The states of consciousness
in like manner stand in a direct relation of simple sequence to each
other; the sensation of sitting in a room being followed by that of
hearing my name, this by the thought that there is some one outside
calling me, this by the sensation of motion through space, and this
last by that of seeing the person from whom the call emanated standing
in the expected place. But at no point can the one train of events be
converted into the other. And while the train of external sequences
does influence the train of internal sequences, this latter has no
corresponding influence upon the former. For this would imply that at
some period in the succession physical movements lost themselves in
consciousness; ceased to _be_ physical movements, and became something
of an alien nature. It would imply further that such movements
originated _de novo_ from something of an alien nature having no
calculable or measurable relation to them. Either of which implications
would constitute an exception to the Persistence of Force.

Man is, in short, as the adherents of this opinion have called him,
a "conscious automaton." He does not will his own actions, nor do
external manifestations, whether those of the unconscious or the
conscious orders of existence, influence his will. But along with
the set of objective facts there is always present a parallel set of
subjective facts, and the subjective facts stand in an invariable
relation to the objective facts. So that where the material
circumstances, both those of the surrounding world and those of the
body, are of a given character, the non-material circumstances,
the state of mind, is also of a given and precisely corresponding
character. Variations in the one imply variations in the other;
feelings in the one change or remain fixed with changes or fixity in
the other.

Could the friends of dogmatic religion know the things belonging
to their peace, they would bestow upon this doctrine their most
earnest support; for it deals the death-blow to that semi-scientific
materialism which derives a certain countenance from the discoveries
of the day, and which is—second to religious dogmas themselves—the
most dangerous enemy of the spiritual conception of the universe and
of mankind. Not that in lifting a voice against materialistic views, I
mean for a moment to lend a helping hand to the vulgar and irreverent
outcry which is so often raised against matter itself as something
gross and degraded, and deserving only of a contemptuous tolerance
at our hands. I should have thought that the endless beauty of the
material universe, and the varied enjoyments to be derived from its
contemplation, as also the profound instruction to be obtained by its
study, would have sufficed to give it a higher place in the estimation
of religious minds. With such opposition to materialism as this I can
have no vestige of sympathy. The form of materialism which I contend
against, not as irreligious but as unphilosophic, is that which
confounds the two orders of phenomena—physical and mental—under one
idea, that of matter. Matter is supposed in this philosophy to be the
parent of mind. A bridge is sought to be thrown across the great gulf
which is fixed between us and the world without. But the moment we seek
to walk over this imaginary bridge it crashes beneath our feet, and we
are hurled into the abyss below.

Between that which feels, thinks, perceives, and reasons on the one
hand, and that which is felt, thought about, perceived, and reasoned
on, there is no community of nature. The distinction between these two,
though it need not be ultimate in the order of things, is absolutely
ultimate in the order of thought. In their own undiscoverable nature
these two manifestations may be one; in their relation to us they are
for ever two.




                              CHAPTER X.

       THE RELATION OF THE OBJECTIVE TO THE SUBJECTIVE ELEMENT.


One final postulate has been found to be involved in all religion,
namely, that between the human essence spoken of as the subjective
element, and the power spoken of as the objective element, "there
is held to be a singular correspondence, their relationship finding
its concrete expression in religious worship on the one side and
theological dogma on the other." Ritual, consecration of things and
places, ordination of priests, omens, inspiration of prophets and of
books, all of them imply the supposed possibility of such a relation.
All of them, however, from their contradictory and variable character,
prove that they are but imperfect efforts to find utterance for the
emotion which underlies them all. But that this emotion is incapable of
an explanation consistent with rational belief is not therefore to be
taken for granted.

Consider, first, that in order to be aware of the existence of the
ultimate and unknown power, we must possess some faculty in our
constitution by which that power is felt. It must, so to speak, come in
contact with us at some point in our nature.

Now, no sensible perception can lead us to this conception as a
generalization. The whole universe, regarded merely as a series of
presentations to the senses, contains not a single object which can
possibly suggest it. Nor can any combination of such presentations be
shown to include within them any such idea. Neither can the existence
of such a power be inferred by the exercise of the reasoning faculty.
There is no analogical case from which the inference can be drawn. When
we reason we proceed from something known to something unknown, and
conclude that the latter, resembling the former in one or more of its
qualities, will resemble it also in the quality yet to be established.
In exploring, for instance, some deserted spot, we find traces of a
building. Now, previous experience has taught us that such buildings
are only found where human builders have made them. We conclude,
therefore, that we have stumbled upon a work of human hands. Suppose we
explore further and find the remains of the building very extensive.
We now draw the further inference that it was inhabited by a wealthy
man, because we know that only the wealthy can afford to live in
magnificent houses. But if prolonged excavation lead to the discovery
of long rows of buildings, of various sizes and having streets between
them, we confidently assert that we have unearthed a ruined city; for
we are aware that no single man, however rich or powerful, is likely
to have built so much. Of these three inferences, the first only is,
strictly speaking, infallibly true. But the others are rendered by
familiar analogies so highly probable as to be practically certain. Now
let the thing sought be, not some single cause of a single phenomenon,
or the various causes of various phenomena, but the ultimate cause
of all phenomena whatever,—where is the corresponding case on which
we can proceed to argue? Plainly there is none. There is no _other_
world or system to which we can appeal and say, "Those stars and those
planets were made by a God, therefore our own sun and its planets must
have been made by a God also." Every single argument we can frame to
establish the existence of deity assumes in its major premiss the
very thing to be proved. It takes for granted that phenomenal objects
require a cause, and were not the idea of this necessity already in the
mind it could not take one single step. For if it be contended, say,
that the world could not exist without a Creator, we have but to ask,
"Why not?" and our adversary can proceed no further with his argument.
All he can ever do is to appeal to a sentiment in us corresponding to
the sentiment of which he himself is conscious.

Thus it appears that neither direct observation, nor reasoning, which
is generalized observation, supplies the material for an induction as
to the existence of an Unknowable Cause. Yet this idea is so persistent
in the human race as to resist every effort to do without it. In one
form or another it invariably creeps in. There is but one possible
explanation of such a fact: namely, that it is one of those primary
constituents of our nature which are incapable of proof because they
are themselves the foundations on which proof must be erected. We
cannot demonstrate a single law of nature without supposing a world
external to ourselves. And we cannot suppose a world external to
ourselves without referring explicitly or implicitly to an unknown
entity manifested in that world. The faculty by which this truth is
known must be considered as a kind of internal sense. It is a direct
perception. And precisely as objects of direct perception by the
senses appear widely dissimilar at different distances, to different
men, and to the same man at different times, so the object of the
religious emotion is variously conceived in different places and ages,
by different men, and by the same man at different times. Moreover, as
the religious sentiment in the mind of man perceives its object, the
Ultimate Being, so that Being is conceived as making itself known to
the mind of man through the religious sentiment. A reciprocal relation
is thus established; the Unknowable causing a peculiar intuition,
the mind of man receiving it. And this is the grain of fact at the
foundation of the numerous statements of religious men, that they have
felt themselves inspired by God, that he speaks to them and speaks
through them, that they enter into communion with him in prayer,
and obey his influence during their lives. We need not discard such
feelings as idle delusions. In form they are fanciful and erroneous; in
substance they are genuine and true. And in a higher sense the adherent
of the universal religion may himself admit their title to a place in
his nature. To use the words of a great philosopher, "he, like every
other man, may consider himself as one of the myriad agencies through
whom works the Unknown Cause;" "he too may feel that when the Unknown
Cause produces in him a certain belief, he is thereby authorized to
profess and act out that belief" (Spencer's "First Principles," 2d ed.,
§ 34, p. 123).

But we may go still deeper in our examination of the nature of the
relation between the Ultimate Being and the mind of man. To do so we
must briefly recur to the philosophical questions touched upon in the
eighth chapter of this Book. We there discussed four possible modes
of viewing the great problem presented by the existence of sensible
objects: Common and Metaphysical Realism, Moderate and Complete
Idealism. Let us briefly reconsider these several systems to discover
whether any of them affords a satisfactory solution.

Common Realism is excluded by the consideration that it treats the
qualities of external objects as existing in those objects and not in
the percipient subject. It requires but little reflection to prove
that such qualities are modes of consciousness, not modes of absolute
being. This defect is surmounted in Metaphysical Realism, which,
however, is liable to the fatal objection, that it takes for granted
an abstract substance in material things, which substance is like the
Unknowable, utterly inconceivable, yet is not the Unknowable, and is
incapable of accounting for any of the manifestations belonging to the
mental order. So that we should have a superfluous entity brought in
to form the substance of matter, of which entity neither our senses,
nor our reason, nor our emotions, give us any information. For matter,
in the abstract, is not the matter perceived by the senses; nor is it
the object of the religious sentiment; nor is its existence capable
of any kind of proof save that which consists in establishing the
necessity of some kind of Permanent Reality below phenomena. And this
Reality is not only the substratum of material, but of all phenomena
whatsoever. Moderate Idealism is in no better case. For in denying all
true existence except to living creatures it fails utterly to give
any rational account of that order of events which is universally and
instinctively referred to external causes, nor can it find any possible
origin for the living creatures in whose reality it believes. Extreme
Idealism recognizes no problem to be dealt with, and can therefore
offer no solution.

Each of these systems, however, while false as a whole, contains
a partial truth. Extreme Idealism is the outcome of the ordinary,
unreflecting Realism; for if the Common Realist be convinced that
appearances do not imply existence, and if he believe in no existence
but appearances, the ground is cut from under his feet, and he remains
standing upon nothing. He knows only phenomena, and the phenomena are
mere ideas of his own mind. The truth common to these two extremes is
that so emphatically asserted by Berkeley, that the _esse_ of material
objects is _percipi_; that we exhaust the physical phenomenon when
we describe its apparent qualities, and need not introduce besides
these a material substance to which those qualities are related as its
accidents. They are not the accidents, but the actual thing, in so
far as it is material. Metaphysical Realism and moderate Idealism are
united in the recognition of the truth that the phenomena are not the
ultimate realities, and that the qualities of bodies, when analyzed,
are subjective, not objective; forms of the human mind, and not
independent, external existences.

Hence these various philosophies, like the various religions of which
they are in some sort metaphysical parallels, must be considered as
preparing the way for the admission of that all-embracing truth which
is the common ground of metaphysics and religion.

Examine a simple objective phenomenon. Then you find that you can
separate it into all its component qualities: its color, taste, smell,
extension, and so forth; and that after all these qualities have
been taken into account nothing of the object remains save the vague
feeling of an unknown cause by which the whole phenomenon is produced.
All the apparent qualities, without exception, are resolvable into
modes of consciousness, but the whole object is not so resolvable.
For the question still remains, How did we come to have those modes
of consciousness? Thus the analysis of the commonest material object
leads us straight to an unknowable origin of known manifestations.
And each particular phenomenon brings us to the same result. But are
we to assume a special Unknowable for each special object? A little
consideration will show that the division and subdivision we make of
the objects of sensible perception resembles their apparent qualities
in being purely subjective, and indeed more than subjective, arbitrary.
For I consider an object as one or many, according to the point of view
from which I regard it. The glass which I hold in my hand is at this
moment one; but the next moment it is shivered into a thousand atoms,
and each of these atoms is of complex character, and resolvable into
still simpler parts. The planet we inhabit is, for the astronomer, one
object; for the geologist a number of distinct rocks; for the botanist
it is composed of mineral and vegetable constituents, and of these, the
latter, which alone engage his attention, are numerous and various;
for the chemist it consists of an infinite multitude of elementary
atoms variously combined. Hence unity and multiplicity are mere modes
of subjective reflection; not ultimate modes of objective being. And
the Unknowable cannot, strictly speaking, be regarded as either one or
many, since each alike implies limitation and separation from something
else. Rather is it all-comprehending; the Universal Foundation upon
which unity and multiplicity alike are built.

Material things, then, are analyzable into modes of consciousness
with an unknown cause to which these modes are due. But what is
consciousness itself? Like matter, it has its subjective and its
objective aspect. The subjective aspect consists of its various
phenomenal conditions; the sensations which we ascribe to outward
objects as their producing causes, and the emotions, passions,
thoughts, and feelings which we conceive as of internal origin.
The objective aspect consists of the unknown essence itself which
experiences these various states; of the very self which is supposed
to persist through all its changes of form; of the actual being which
is the ultimate Reality of our mental lives. The existence of this
ultimate Ego is known as an immediate fact of consciousness, and cannot
be called in question without impugning the direct assurance which
every one feels of his own being as apart from his particular and
transient feelings. Nobody believes that he is the several sensations
and emotions which he experiences in life; he believes that he _has_
them. And if the existence of the Unknowable underlying material
manifestations is perceived by a direct, indubitable inference, the
existence of the Unknowable underlying mental manifestations is
perceived without an inference at all by an intuition from which there
is no appeal. For no one can even attempt to reason with me about this
conviction without resting his argument upon facts, and inferences from
facts, which are in themselves less certain than this primary certainty
which he is seeking to overthrow.

Existence, then, is known to us immediately in our own case; mediately
in every other—consequently, the only conception we can frame of
existence is derived from ourselves. Hence when we say that anything
exists, we can only mean one of two things: either that it exists as a
mode of human consciousness, as in the case of material things; or that
it exists _per se_, and is the very substance of consciousness itself.
And the former of these modes of existence is altogether dependent
upon a conscious subject. A material object is a congeries of material
qualities, none of which can be conceived at all except in relation to
some percipient subject. Take away the subject, and color, extension,
solidity, sound, smell, and every other quality, vanish into nothing.
The existence of these qualities, and hence the existence of matter
itself in its phenomenal character, is relative and secondary. There
remains therefore only the second of these two modes of existence as
absolute and primary. The substance of consciousness, then, is the one
reality which is known to exist; and in no other form is existence in
its purity conceivable by us. For if we attempt to conceive a something
as existent which is neither object nor subject, neither that which
is felt nor that which feels, neither that which is thought nor that
which thinks, we must inevitably fail. There is no _tertium quid_
which is neither mind nor matter of which we can frame the most remote
conception. We may, if we please, imagine the existence of such a
_tertium quid_, but the hypothesis is altogether fanciful, and would
have nothing in science, nothing in the construction of the human mind,
to render it even plausible. Indeed, it would be making an illegitimate
use of the word "existence" to apply it in such a sense. Existence to
us _means_ consciousness, and never can mean anything else. We cannot
by any effort conceive a universe previous to the origin of life in
which there was no consciousness; for the moment we attempt to conceive
it, we import our own consciousness into it. We think of ourselves
as seeing or feeling it. The effort, therefore, to frame an idea of
any existing thing without including consciousness in the idea is
self-defeating, and when we predicate Existence of the Unknown Cause,
we predicate its kinship to that ultimate substance of the mind from
which alone our conception of absolute existence is derived.

Here, then, we have a second and more intimate relationship between
the objective and the subjective elements in the religious emotion.
They are found to be of kindred nature; or, to speak with stricter
caution, it is found that we cannot think of them but as thus akin to
one another. We must ever bear in mind, however, that our thoughts
upon such a subject as this can be no more than partial approximations
to the truth; tentative explorations in a dark region of the mind
rather than accurate measurements of the ground. Thus, in the present
instance, we have spoken of the Unknowable as more or less akin to
the mind of man; yet we cannot think of the Unknowable as resembling
the fleeting states which are all that we know by direct observation
of the constitution of the mind. It is not the passing and variable
modes, but the fixed and unchangeable substratum on which these modes
are conceived to be impressed, which the Unknowable must be held to
resemble. And this substratum itself is an absolute mystery. We can in
no way picture it to ourselves without its modes, which nevertheless
we cannot regard as appertaining to its ultimate being. One further
consideration will establish a yet closer relationship than that of
likeness. The Unknown Reality, which is the source of all phenomena
whatsoever, mental and physical, must of necessity _include_ within
itself that mode of existence which is manifested in consciousness;
for otherwise, we must imagine yet another power as the originator of
conscious life, and we should then have two unknown entities, still
requiring a higher entity behind them both, to effect that entire
harmony which actually subsists between them. The Unknowable is,
therefore, the hidden source from which both the great streams of
being, internal and external, take their rise. Since, then, our minds
themselves originate in that Universal Source, since it comprehends
every form of existence within itself, we stand to it in the relation
of parts to a whole, in which and by which those parts subsist. There
is thus not only likeness but identity of nature between ourselves and
our unknown Origin. And it is literally true that in it "we live, and
move, and have our being."

       *       *       *       *       *

From the summit to which we have at length attained, we may survey
the ground we have already traversed, and comprehend, now that they
lie below us, a few of the intricacies which we met with on our way.
The apparent puzzle of automatism, for example, may be resolved
into a more comprehensive law. It was shown, at the conclusion of
the preceding chapter, that a train of physical events could in no
way impinge upon, or pass over into, a train of mental events, nor a
state of consciousness be converted into physical movements. But it
was hinted that, while the distinction between the two great series
of manifestations, those of mind and those of matter, was ultimate in
the order of thought, it need not be ultimate in the order of things.
Of this suggested possibility we have now found the confirmation;
for we have seen that material phenomena, analyzed to their lowest
terms, resolve themselves into forms of consciousness, and forms of
consciousness, analyzed in their turn, prove to be the varied modes
of an unknown subject; and this unknown subject has its roots in the
ultimate Being in which both these great divisions of the phenomenal
universe find their foundation and their origin. The distinction,
therefore, between the mental and the material train belongs to these
trains in their character of phenomena alone. They are distinguished
in the human mind, not in the order of nature. Thus, if we recur to
the illustration used in explaining automatism, we pointed out that in
the circumstance of hearing a call and going to the window, two series
might be thus distinguished: 1. The material series, consisting of
atmospheric undulations, affections of the nerves and matter of the
brain, movements of the body; 2. The mental series, consisting of the
sensations of sitting still, and hearing of the thought of a person, of
the sensations of motion, and seeing the person. Now, if we take the
trouble to observe the terms of which the first series is composed, we
shall see that they also express states of consciousness, though states
of a different kind from those contained in the terms of the second
series. Undulations, nervous affections, movements, and so forth, are
only intelligible by us as modifications of our consciousness. To
conceive in any degree the atmospheric perturbations which are the
physical correlatives of sound, we must imagine them as somehow felt
or perceived—for instance, as a faint breeze. To conceive the cerebral
changes implied in hearing, we must imagine ourselves as dissecting
and examining the interior of the brain. In other words, the external
train of events to which consciousness runs over parallel can only be
represented in thought by translating it into terms of consciousness;
and the absolute harmony of both these trains, the fact that while
states of consciousness do not originate the movements of our bodies,
they yet bear so unvarying a relation to them as to be mistaken for
their causes, finds its solution in the reflection that, when we look
below the appearances to the reality pervading both, it is the same
Universal Being which is manifested in each alike.

Hence, too, the sense of independent power to produce physical effects
in accordance with mental conceptions, which forms the great obstacle
to the general admission of the doctrine of human automatism. Reason as
we may, we still feel that we are reservoirs of force which we give out
in the shape of material movement whenever we please and as we please.
And if the doctrine of the Persistence of Force appears, by showing
that every physical consequent has a purely physical antecedent, to
contradict this feeling, we naturally give the preference to the
feeling over the doctrine. But since the Persistence of Force is itself
no less firmly seated in consciousness than the sense of independent
power—since all nature would be a chaos without the Persistence of
Force—it is the part of true philosophy to give its due to each. And
this may be done by admitting the particle of truth contained in the
belief that the human will influences the external world. We are
indeed reservoirs of force. But it is not our own peculiar force that
is exerted through us; it is the Universal Force, which is evinced no
less in the actions of men than in the movements of inanimate nature.
And since those actions are in constant unison with their wishes,
there is not, and cannot be, the sense of constraint which is usually
opposed to voluntary performance. Thus, to take a simple illustration,
the necessities of our physical constitution absolutely compel us to
support ourselves by food; yet no man feels that in eating his meals he
is acting under external compulsion.

It would be a strange except ion indeed to the universal prevalence
of unvarying law, if human beings were permitted to exert independent
influence upon the order of events. Not in so slovenly a manner has
the work of nature been performed. We are no more free to disturb the
harmony and beauty of the universe than are the stars in their courses
or the planets in their orbits. Our courses and orbits are no less
fixed than theirs, and it is but the imperfection of our knowledge, if
they have not been, and cannot yet be discovered. But it would be a
lamentable blot upon a universe, where all things are fixed by a Power
"in whom there is no variableness nor shadow of turning," were there
permitted to exist a race of creatures who were a law unto themselves.

Again, the relation now established between the human mind and the
ultimate Source both of mind and matter, serves to throw light
upon that dark spot in the hypothesis of evolution—the origin of
consciousness. For while in this hypothesis there is a continual
progression, of which each step is the natural consequence of another,
from the gaseous to the solid condition of our system, from inorganic
to organic substances, from the humblest organization to the most
complex, there is absolutely no traceable gradation from the absence
to the presence of conscious life. No cunning contrivance of science
can derive sensation from non-sentient materials, for the difference
between the two is not a difference in degree of development, but
in kind. There is a radical unlikeness between the two, and it is
unphilosophic, as well as unscientific, to disguise the fact that a
mere process of material evolution can never lead from the one to the
other. "The moment of arising of consciousness," says Mr. Shadworth
Hodgson, "is the most important break in the world of phenomena or
nature taken as a whole; the phenomena above and the phenomena below
it can never be reduced completely into each other; there is a certain
heterogeneity between them. But this is not the only instance of such
a heterogeneity" (Hodgson's "Theory of Practice," vol. i. p. 340).
I venture to say that it is the only instance, and that there is
nothing else in nature which can properly be compared with it. The
instances of similar heterogeneity which Mr. Hodgson gives appear to
me less carefully considered than might have been expected from so
careful a writer. That between Time and Space, which is his first
case, is involved in that between mind and matter, and is only another
expression of it (see _supra_, p. 447); while "curves and straight
lines," and "physical and vital forces," are not truly heterogeneous
at all, unless under "vital forces" we include mental effort, and
so again illustrate the primary unlikeness by a case included under
it. But the last example is remarkable. "Until Mr. Darwin propounded
his law of natural selection, it was supposed also [that there was
heterogeneity] between species of living organisms in physiology."
Now it is the great triumph of the evolutional system to have rid us
of this unintelligible break, and to have shown that the whole of
the material universe, inorganic and organic, is the result of the
unchangeable operation of laws which are no less active now than they
have ever been. In other words, evolution dispenses with the necessity
of supposing the existence, at some point in the history of the planet,
of a special law for the production of species brought into operation
_ad hoc_.

But the general principles which apply to the origin of organic
products must apply also to the origin of conscious life. This also
must be figured as an evolution. This also must take place without
the aid of a special law brought into operation _ad hoc_. Like the
evolution of material products, it can only be conceived as taking
place from a preëxisting fund, containing potentially the whole of the
effects which are afterwards found in actual existence.

Let us test this by trying to conceive the process in other ways.
Consciousness might be supposed to arise in two ways: by special
creation, and by uncaused origin, from nothing. Both possibilities are
in absolute contradiction to the fundamental principles of evolution.
Creation by a superior power is a hypothesis standing on a level with
that of the creation of man out of the dust of the earth. To realize
it in thought at all we must suppose the very thing intended to be
denied, namely, the material of mind already existing in the universe,
as that of body existed—in the earth. Otherwise, we should be obliged
to admit the unthinkable hypothesis of the origin of something from
nothing. This latter difficulty presses with its full force upon the
second supposition. Mind would thereby be represented as suddenly
springing into being without any imaginable antecedent. For no material
antecedent can produce it without an exception to the Persistence of
Force, which requires a material consequent. And it cannot arise
without any antecedent but by a similar exception.

Neither creation nor destruction can in fact be represented as
occurring in nature. We cannot conceive a new being arising out of
nothing, or passing into nothing. As the development of the physical
universe takes place by the change, composition, decomposition, and
re-composition of preëxisting constituents, so it must be with the
development of mind. We cannot suppose the origin of sensation, its
advance to more varied and complex kinds, through emotions, passions,
and reasonings to the most subtle feelings and the profoundest
thoughts, without believing that all of these have their source in the
Ultimate Reality of nature, which comprehends not these only, but every
further perfection of which we may yet be capable in ages to come.

Here, then, is the solution of the difficulty which was shown (p. 690)
to beset the theory of abiogenesis; a theory which, if ultimately
accepted by science, as I believe it will be, will for the first
time bring perfect unity into our conceptions of the development
of the world we live in. While science will thus show that there
is no impassable break between inorganic and organic forms of
matter, philosophy will confirm it by showing, that there is no real
distinction between the universal life which is manifested in the
(so-called) inanimate forces and constituents of our system and the
fragmentary life which comes to light in animated creatures. There is
heterogeneity nowhere. There are no breaks in nature. There are no
unimaginable leaps in her unbroken course.

From the point of view now reached we can understand also—so far as
understanding is possible in such a case—the apparent riddle of our
knowledge of the existence of the Unknowable. We can explain the
universal sentiment of religious minds that there is some direct
relation between them and the object of their worship. The sense of
an intuitional perception of that object, the sense of undefinable
similarity thereto, the sense of inspiration and of guidance thereby,
are included under and rendered intelligible by the actual identity
in their ultimate natures of the subject and the object of religious
feeling. And the incomprehensibility of the latter is shown to have an
obvious reason. For the part cannot comprehend the whole of which it
is a part. It can but feel that there is a whole, in some mysterious
way related to itself. But what that whole is, the conditions of its
existence render it impossible that it should even guess.

Imagine the whole of the atmosphere divided into two great currents:
a hot current continually ascending, and a cold current continually
descending. And let the hot current represent the stream of conscious
life, the cold current the stream of material things. To complete
the simile, conceive that there is a sharp boundary between the two
currents, so that atoms of air can never cross to and fro; while yet
the conscious atoms in the hot current are aware of the existence of
the unconscious atoms in the cold one. Now if the atoms or particles
in the conscious current should be gifted with senses in proportion to
their size, they will see and feel an infinitely minute portion both
of the ascending current in which they they themselves are placed, and
of the descending current they are passing by. But of the whole of
the atmosphere of which they are themselves fragmentary portions they
will be able to form no conception whatever. Its existence they will
be aware of, for it will be needed to explain their own. But of its
nature they will have no idea, except that in some undefinable way it
is like themselves. Nor will they be able to form any picture of the
cause which is continually carrying them upwards, and forcing their
homologues in the opposite current downwards. While, if we suppose
these opposite movements to represent the elements of Time and Space,
they will be conscious of themselves only in terms of movement upwards,
and of the unconscious particles in terms of movement downwards. They
will suppose these two movements to be of the very essence of hot and
cold particles, and will be able to conceive them only under these
terms. Suppose, lastly, that at a certain point in their progress the
hot particles become cold and pass into the opposing current, losing
their individual, particular life, then their fellow-particles in the
hot current will lose sight of them at that point, and they will be
merged in the general stream of being to emerge again in their turn
into the stream of conscious being.

Imperfect as this simile is, and as all such similes must be, it
serves in some faint measure to express the relation of the mind of
man to its mysterious Source. And it serves also to illustrate the
leading characteristics of Religion and Theology, or Faith and Belief,
the function of the first having ever been to conceive the existence
of that relation, and the function of the second to misconceive its
character. Thus there runs through the whole course of religious
history a pervading error and a general truth. In all its special
manifestations these two have been mingled confusedly together, and the
manifold forms of error have generally obscured from sight the single
form of truth.

The relation held by Faith to Belief, by the true elements to the
false, in special creeds, may be thus expressed: That the creeds have
sought to individualize, and thus to limit that which is essentially
general and unlimited. Thus worship, in its purest character a mere
communing of the mind with its unknown Source, has been narrowed to the
presentation of petitions to a personal deity. Particular places and
peculiar objects have been selected as evincing, in some exceptional
manner, the presence of the infinite Being which pervades all places
and things alike. Certain men have been regarded as the exclusive
organs of the ultimate Truth; certain books, as its authorized
expressions; whereas the several races of men in their different modes
of life, and in the diverse products of their art and their culture,
are all in their variety, and even in their conflict, inspired workers
in the hands of that Truth which is manifested completely in none,
partially in all.

And as it has been with the special objects upon which Theology has
fixed its gaze, so it has been with the general object which underlies
them all. This, too, has been individualized, limited and defined. It
has been forgotten that we are but forms of that which we are seeking
to bring within the grasp of our reason, and cannot therefore see
around it, above it, and below it. But this truth, which Theology is
ever forgetting, Religion must ever proclaim. The proclamation of this
truth is the title-deed of its acceptance by mankind. Without this,
it would sink into the dishonored subject of incessant wranglings
and profitless dispute. When it begins to define the Infinite, it
ceases, in the purer sense of the word, to be Religion, and can only
command the assent of reasonable beings in so far as its assertions
comply with the rigorous methods of logical demonstration. But this
condition is in fact impossible of fulfillment, for the nature of the
object concerning which we reason, renders the exact terms of logical
propositions misleading and inadequate. The Unknowable Reality does not
admit of definition, comprehension, or description. How should we, mere
fragments of that Reality, define, comprehend, or describe the Infinite
Being wherein we have taken our rise, and whereto we must return?

       *       *       *       *       *

Thus is Religion analyzed, explained and justified. Its varied forms
have been shown to be unessential and temporary; its uniform substance
to be essential and permanent. Belief has melted away under the
comparative method; Faith has remained behind. From two sides, however,
objections may be raised to the results of this analysis. Those who
admit no ultimate residuum of truth in the religious sentiment at all,
may hold that I have done it too much honor in conceding so much; while
those who adhere to some more positive theology than is admitted here,
will think that I have left scarcely anything worth the having in
conceding so little.

To the first class of objectors I may perhaps be permitted to point
out the extreme improbability of the presence in human nature of a
universally-felt emotion without a corresponding object. Even if they
themselves do not realize in their own minds the force of that emotion
they will at least not deny its historical manifestations. They will
scarcely question that it has been in all ages known to history as an
inspiring force, and often an overmastering passion. They will believe
the evidence of those who affirm that they are conscious of that
emotion now, and cannot attribute it to anything but the kind of Cause
which religion postulates. The actual presence of the emotion they will
not deny, though the explanation attempted of its origin they will.
But those who make the rather startling assertion that a deep-seated
and wide-spread emotion is absolutely without any object resembling
that which it imagines to be its source, are bound to give some tenable
account of the genesis of that emotion. How did it come into being at
all? How having come into being, did it continue and extend? How did
it come to mistake a subjective illusion for an objective reality?

These are questions pressing for an answer from those who ask us to
believe that one of our strongest feelings exists merely to deceive.
But it will be found, I believe, that all explanations tending to show
that this emotion is illusory in its nature assume the very unreality
they seek to prove. Should it, for example, be contended that human
beings, conscious of a force in their own bodies, extend the conception
of this force to a superhuman being, which extension is illegitimate,
it is assumed, not proved, in such an argument as this, that the force
manifested in the universe at large is not in some way akin to that
manifested in human beings. Again, should it be urged that man, being
aware of design in his own works, fancies a like design in the works of
nature, it is a mere assumption that this attribution of the ideas of
his own mind to a mind greater than his is an unwarrantable process.
The argument from design may be, and in my opinion is, open to other
grave objections; but its mere presence cannot be used as explaining
the manner in which the religious emotion has come to exist. Rather is
it the religious emotion which has found expression in the argument
from design. The same criticism applies to all accounts of this
sentiment which aim at finding an origin for it sufficient to explain
its presence without admitting its truth. They all of them assume the
very point at issue.

But the real difficulty that is felt about religion lies deeper than in
the mere belief that a given emotion may be deceptive. It lies in the
doubt whether a mere emotion can be taken in evidence of the presence
in nature of any object at all. Emotions are by their very nature
vague, and this is of all perhaps the vaguest. Nor are emotions vague
only; they are inexpressible in precise language, and even when we
express them as clearly as we can, they remain unintelligible to those
who have not felt them. Now this general and unspecific character of
emotions renders it hard for those who are wanting in any given emotion
to understand its intensity in others, and even fully to believe in
their statements about it. Were religion a case of sensible perception
they would have no such doubt. Color-blind persons do not question
the faculty of distinguishing colors in others. But while the sharp
definitions of these senses compel us to believe in the existence of
their objects, the comparatively hazy outlines drawn by the emotions
leave us at least a physical possibility of disputing the existence of
theirs.

Yet the cases are in their natures identical. We see a table, and
because we see it we infer the existence of a real thing external
to ourselves. The presence of the sensations is conceived to be an
adequate warrant for asserting the presence of their cause. Precisely
in the same way, we feel the Unknowable Being, and because we feel it
we infer the existence of a real object both external to ourselves and
within ourselves. The presence of the emotion is conceived to be an
adequate warrant for asserting the presence of its cause. Undoubtedly,
the supposed object of the sensations and the supposed object of the
emotion _might_ be both of them illusory. This is conceivable in
logic, though not in fact. But there can be no reason for maintaining
the unreality of the emotional, and the reality of the sensible
object. Existence is believed in both instances on the strength of an
immediate, intuitional inference. The mental processes are exactly
parallel. And if it be contended that sensible perception carries
with it a stronger warrant for our belief in the existence of its
objects than internal feeling, the reasons for this contention must
be exhibited before we can be asked to accept it; otherwise, it will
again turn out to be a pure assumption, constituting, not a reason
for the rejection of religion by those who now accept it, but a mere
explanation of the conduct of those who do not.

In fact, however, the denial of the truth of religion is no less
emotional than its affirmation. It is not denied because those who
disbelieve in it have anything to produce against it, but because the
inner sense which results in religion is either absent in them, or too
faint to produce its usual consequences. For this of course they are
not to blame, and nothing can be more irrational than to charge them
with moral delinquency or culpable blindness. If the Unknown Cause is
not perceptible to them, that surely is not a deficiency to be laid to
their charge. But when they quit the emotional stronghold wherein they
are safe to speak of those to whom that Unknown Cause is perceptible as
the victims of delusion, these latter may confidently meet them on the
field which they themselves have chosen.

First, then, it is at least a rather startling supposition that their
fellow creatures have always been, and are still, the victims of a
universal delusion, from which they alone enjoy the privilege of
exemption. Presumption, at all events, is against a man who asserts
that everybody but himself sees wrongly. He may be the only person
whose eyes have not deceived him, but we should require him to give
the strongest proof of so extraordinary an assertion. And in all cases
which are in the least degree similar, this condition is complied with
without the smallest hesitation. There are, so far as I am aware, no
instances of proved universal delusions, save those arising from the
misleading suggestions of the senses. That the earth is a flat surface,
that the sun moves round it, that the sun and moon are larger than the
stars, that the blue sky begins at a fixed place, are inferences which
the uninstructed observer cannot fail to draw from the most obvious
appearances. But those who have combated these errors have not done
so by merely telling the world at large that it was mistaken; they
have pointed out the phenomena from which the erroneous inferences
were drawn, and have shown at the same time that other phenomena, no
less evident to the senses than these, were inconsistent with the
explanation given. They have then substituted an explanation which
accounted for all the phenomena alike, both the more obvious phenomena
and the less so. Precisely similar is the method of procedure in
history and philosophy, though the methods of proof in these sciences
are not equally rigorous. Great historical delusions—such as the Popish
plot—are put to rest by showing the misinterpreted facts out of which
they have grown, exposing the misinterpretation, and substituting true
interpretation. Imperfect psychological analysis, say of an emotion, is
superseded by showing from what facts this analysis has been obtained,
and what other facts it fails to account for.

Observe, then, that in all these cases the appeal is made from the
first impressions of the mistaken person to his own impressions on
further examination; not to those of another. Considerations are laid
before him which it is supposed will cause him to change his mind,
and in all that class of cases where strict demonstration is possible
actually do so. To a man who believes the earth to be a flat extended
surface we point out the fact that the top of a ship's mast is the
first part of it to appear, and that this and other kindred phenomena
imply sphericity. Our appeal is from the senses to the senses better
informed; not from another man's senses to our own. And we justly
assume that were all the world in possession of the facts we have
before us, all the world would be of our opinion.

What, then, is the conclusion from these analogies? It surely is, that
those who would deny the reality of the object of religious emotion
must show from what appearances, misunderstood, the belief in that
object has arisen, and must point out other appearances leading to
other emotions which are in conflict with it. As the astronomer appeals
from sensible perception to sensible perception, so they must appeal
from emotion to emotion. But it must not be their own emotions to which
they go as forming a standard for ours. They can demand no hearing at
all until they attempt to influence the emotions of those whom they
address.

Generality of belief need not, for the purposes of this argument, be
taken as even a presumption of truth. We can grant our adversaries this
advantage which, in the parallel cases of the illusions of the senses,
was neither asked nor given. But we must ask them in return to concede
to us that, if the generality of a belief entitles it to no weight in
philosophic estimation, the singularity of a belief entitles it to
none either. All mankind may be deluded: well and good: _a fortiori_ a
few individuals among mankind may be deluded too. Grant that the human
faculties at large are subject to error and deception, it follows from
this that the faculties of individuals lie under the same disability.
No word can be said as to the general liability to false beliefs, which
does not carry with it the liability to false beliefs of the very
persons who are seeking to convince us.

By whom, in fact, are we asked to admit, in the interests of their
peculiar theory, the prevalence of a universal deception, and a
deception embracing in its grasp not only the ignorant multitude, but
men of science, thinkers and philosophers of the very highest altitude
of culture? By whom is it that the great mass of humankind is charged
with baseless thoughts, illusory emotions, and untenable ideas? By
those who, in thus denying the capacity of the whole human race to
perceive the truth, nevertheless maintain their own capacity to see
over the heads of their fellow men so far as to assert that they are
all the victims of an error. By those who, while bidding us distrust
the strongest feelings, nevertheless require us to trust them so far as
to banish, at their bidding, those feelings from our hearts. Not from
our reason to our more instructed reason do they appeal, only from our
reason to their own. But I deny the competence of the tribunal; and I
maintain that until not merely disbelief, but disproof, of the position
of Religion can be offered, Religion must remain in possession of the
field.

Yet there is one mistake which, as it may tend to obscure the issue, it
will be desirable to clear away. It is often contended, oftener perhaps
tacitly assumed, that the burden of proof must rest on those who in
any case maintain the affirmative side of a belief, while the negative
on its side requires no proof, but can simply claim reception until
the affirmative is established. Now this principle is true, where the
negative is simply a suspension of judgment; the mere non-acceptance
of a fact asserted, without a counter-assertion of its opposite.
To understand the true application of the rule we must distinguish
between what I will term substantial affirmations or negations, and
affirmations or negations in form. Thus, to assert that A. B. is
six feet tall, is a substantial affirmation. Out of many possible
alternatives it selects one, and postulates that one as true, while
all the rest it discards as false. Since, however, there are numerous
possibilities besides this one with regard to A. B.'s height—since he
may be either taller or shorter by various degrees—the negative, in the
absence of all knowledge on the subject, is inherently more probable,
for it covers a larger ground. It is a substantial negation. That is,
it affirms nothing at all, but simply questions the fact affirmed,
leaving the field open to countless other substantial affirmations.
So, in law, it is the prosecution which is required to prove its
case; for the prosecution affirms that this man was at a given place
at a given time and did the criminal action. The opposite hypothesis
of this covers innumerable alternatives: not this man but another,
may have been at that place, or he may have been there and not done
the action charged, or some other man may have done it, or the crime
may have not been committed at all, and so forth. These are cases of
substantial affirmations; asserting one alone out of many conceivable
possibilities, and therefore needing proof. And their opposites are
substantial negations; questioning only the one fact affirmed, and even
with reference to that merely maintaining that in the absence of proof
there is an inherent probability in favor of the negative side.

Widely different is the case before us. Here the affirmation and
negation are affirmative and negative in form alone. The assertions,
"An Unknowable Being exists," and "An Unknowable Being does not exist,"
are not opposed to one another as the affirmative and the negative
sides were opposed in the previous cases. The latter proposition does
not cover a number of possible alternatives whereof the former selects
and affirms a single one. Both propositions are true and substantial
affirmations. Both assert a supposed actual fact. And the latter does
not, as the previous negative propositions did, leave the judgment in
simple suspense. It requires assent to a given doctrine. That the one
cast is in a negative form is the mere accident of expression, and
without in any way affecting their substance, their positions in this
respect may be reversed. Thus, we may say for the first, "The universe
cannot exist without an Unknowable Being;" and for the second, "The
universe can exist without an Unknowable Being." There are not here a
multitude of alternatives, but two only, and of these each side affirms
one. Each proposition is equally the assertion of a positive belief.
Thus, the reason which, in general, causes the greater antecedent
probability of a denial as against a positive assertion, in no way
applies to the denial of the fundamental postulate of Religion. The
statement that there is nobody in a certain room is not in itself
more probable than the statement that there is somebody. And the
proposition: "all men are not mortal," though negative in form, is
truly as affirmative as the counter-proposition: "all men are mortal."

But this argument, inasmuch as it places the denial of all truth in
the religious emotion on a level with its affirmation, fails to do
justice to the real strength of the case. There are not here two
contending beliefs, of which the one is as probable as the other. In
conceding so much to the skeptical party we have given them a far
greater advantage than they are entitled to demand. Generality of
belief is, in the absence of evidence or argument to the contrary, a
presumption of truth; for, unless its origin from some kind of fallacy
can be shown, its generality is in itself a proof that it persists in
virtue of the general laws of mind which forbid the separation of its
subject from its predicate. And it is not only that we have here a
general belief, or, more correctly speaking, a general emotion, but we
have categories in the human mind which are not filled up or capable
of being filled up by the objective element in the religious idea.
There is, for example, the category of Cause; Nature presents us not
with Cause, but with causes; and these causes are mere antecedents,
physical causation in general being nothing whatever but invariable
antecedents and invariable sequence. But this analysis of the facts
of nature by no means satisfies the conception of causation which is
rooted in the human mind. That conception imperiously demands a cause
which is not a mere antecedent, but a Power. Without that, the idea
would remain as a blank form, having no reality to fill it. And how do
we come to be in the firm possession of this idea if there be nothing
in nature corresponding to it? From what phenomena could it be derived?
Akin to our notion of Cause is our notion of Force. When the scientific
man speaks of a Force, he merely means an unknown something which
effects certain movements. And Science cannot possibly dispense with
the metaphysical idea of Force. Yet Force is not only unknowable; but
it is _the_ Unknowable manifested in certain modes. Again, therefore,
I ask, whence do we derive ineradicable feeling of the manifestation
of Force, if that feeling be a mere illusion? Similar remarks apply
to other categories which, like these, have no objects in actual
existence in the conformity of the religious sentiment to truth be
denied. Such is the category of Reality. Imagination cannot picture the
world save as containing, though in its essence unknown to us, some
real and permanent being. We know it only as a compound of phenomena,
all of them fleeting, variable, and unsubstantial. There is nothing
in the phenomena which can satisfy our mental demand for absolute
being. As being transient, and as being relative, the phenomena in
fact are nothing. But our intellectual, our emotional, and our moral
natures demand the τό ὃντως ὄν—that which really is, as the necessary
completion of τὰ φαινόμεα—that which only appears. And it is precisely
the unshakeable belief in an unchangeable, though unknowable Reality;
an everlasting Truth amid shifting forms, a Substance among shadows,
which forms the universal foundation of religious faith.

A ship that has been driven from her intended course is drifting,
with a crew who have no clear knowledge of her whereabouts, upon an
unexplored ocean. Suddenly her captain exclaims that he sees land in
the distance. The mate, however, summoned to verify the captain's
observation, fancies that the black speck on the horizon is not land,
but a large vessel. The sailors and passengers take part, some with
the one, some with the other; while many of them form opinions of
their own not agreeing with that of either, one maintaining it to be
a whale, another a dark cloud, a third something else, and so forth.
Minor differences abound. Those who take it to be land are at issue as
to its being a plain or a mountain, those who think it a vessel cannot
agree as to the description of the craft. One solitary passenger sees
nothing at all. Instead of drawing what would appear to be the most
obvious conclusion, that he is either more shortsighted or less apt
to discover distant objects than the rest, he infers that his vision
alone is right, and that of all the others, captain, passengers, and
crew, defective and misleading. Oblivious of the fact that the mere
failure to perceive an object is no proof of its non-existence, he
persists in asserting not only that the speck seen in the distance,
being so variously described, probably does not resemble any of the
ideas formed of it on board the ship, but that there is no speck at
all. Even the fact that the crews of many other ships, passing in this
direction, perceive the same dim outline on the horizon, does not shake
his conviction that it is a mere "idol of the tribe." Such is the
procedure of those who deny the reality of the object of the religious
idea. Instead of drawing from the diversity of creeds the legitimate
inference that the Being of whom they severally speak is of unknown
nature, they conclude, from the mere absence of the idea of that Being
in their individual consciousness, that its very existence is a dream.

Lastly, a few words, and a few only, must be said in reply to those
who will think that the cenception of the Unknowable resulting from
our analysis is too vague and shadowy to form the fitting foundation
for religious feeling. They will probably object that the Being whom
that feeling requires is not an inconceivable Cause or Substance of the
Universe, but a Personal God; not an undefined something which we can
barely imagine, but a definite Some one whom we can adore and love.
There is nothing, they will say, in such a conception as this either
to satisfy the affections or to impress the moral sentiments. And both
purposes were fulfilled by the Christian ideal of a loving Father and a
righteous Judge.

To these objections I would reply, first of all, that I have simply
attempted to analyze religion as I found it, neither omitting what
was of the essence of the religious idea, nor inserting what was not.
If this analysis is in any respect defective, that is a matter for
criticism and discussion. But if it has been correctly performed—of
which I frankly admit there is abundant room for doubt—then I am not
responsible for not finding in the universal elements of religion
that which is not contained within them. The expression found for the
ultimate truths must embrace within it, if possible, the crude notions
of deity formed by the savage, and the highly abstract ideal formed by
the most eminent thinkers of modern times. Even then, if I myself held
the doctrines of the personality and the fatherhood of God, I could
not have required from others any admission of these views of mine as
universal ingredients in religious faith. The utmost I could have done
would have been to tack them on as supplementary developments of the
idea of the ultimate Being. And thus it is still open to any one who
wishes it to do. Difficult as it is to reconcile the ideas of Love and
Justice with unlimited Power and absolute Existence, yet if there are
some who find it possible to accomplish the reconciliation, it may be
well for them so to do.[104] Undoubtedly, however, all such efforts do
appear to me mere hankerings after an incarnation of that idea which,
by its very nature, does not admit of representation by incarnate
forms, even though those forms be moral perfections. And I would reply,
secondly, to the above objection, that, while we lose something by
giving up the definite personality of God, we gain something also. If
we part with the image of a loving Father, we part also with that of a
stern monarch and an implacable judge. If we can no longer indulge in
the contemplation of perfect virtue, embodied in an actual Person, we
are free from the problem that has perplexed theologians of every age:
how to reconcile the undoubted evil in the world with the omnipotence
of that Person. I know that there are some who think it possible to
retain the gentler features in the popular conception of deity, while
dropping all that is harsh and repulsive. To them the idea of God is as
free from terror as the idea of the Unknowable, and the first of these
gains is therefore no gain to them. But the problem of the existence
of evil presses perhaps with greater severity upon them than upon any
other class of theologians. To suppose that God could not prevent the
presence of wickedness, or could not prevent it without some greater
calamity, is to deny his omnipotence; to suppose that he could, and
did not, is to question his benevolence. But even admitting the
improvement made by purging from the character of God all its severity,
its vindictiveness, and its tendency to excessive punishment, the fact
remains that the conception thus attained is not that of the popular
creed at all, but that of a few enlightened thinkers. And it is with
the former, not with the latter, that the doctrine of the Unknowable
must be compared, in order fairly to estimate its advantages or
disadvantages in relation to the current belief in a personal God.

Moreover, it must be borne in mind that the dim figure we have shadowed
out of an inconceivable and all-embracing ultimate Existence, if
widely different from the more ordinary theological embodiments of the
religious idea, is altogether in harmony with many of its expressions
by the most devoutly religious minds. If religion has always had a
tendency to run to seed in dogma, it has also always had a tendency
to revert to its fundamental mysticism. The very best and highest
minds have continually evinced this tendency to mysticism, and it has
mixed itself up with the logical definitions of others who did not
rise to so exalted a level. So that the examination of the writings of
religious men will continually disclose that profound impression of the
utterly incomprehensible and mysterious nature of the Supreme Being
which is now, in its complete development in the form of Agnosticism,
stigmatized as incompatible with genuine religious faith.

That tendency to be deeply sensible of the impossibility of conceiving
the Absolute which Religion has thus evinced, it is the result of
Science to strengthen and to increase. Science shows the imperfection
of all the concrete expressions which have been found for the
Unknowable. It proves that we cannot think of the Unknowable as
entering in any peculiar sense into special objects in nature, dwelling
in special places, or speaking through special channels. Miraculous
phenomena, which were supposed to constitute the peculiar sphere of its
manifestations, are thrown by Science completely out of the account.
But all phenomena whatsoever are shown to manifest the Unknowable.
Thus, while scientific inquiry tends to diminish the intensity of
religious ideas, it tends to widen their extension. They do not any
longer cling to partial symbols. They do not attach themselves with the
same fervor to individual embodiments. But, in becoming more abstract,
they become also more pervading. Religion is found everywhere and in
everything. All nature is the utterance of the idea. And, as it gains
in extension while losing in intensity in reference to the external
world, it goes through a similar process in relation to human life.
No longer a force seizing on given moments of our existence, at one
moment inspiring devotional observances, at the next forgotten in
the pleasures or the business of the day; at one time filling men
with the zeal of martyrs or crusaders, at another leaving them to the
unrestrained indulgence of gross injustice or revolting cruelty, it
becomes a calm, all-pervading sentiment, shown (if it be shown at all)
in the general beauty and spirituality of the character, not in the
stated exercises of a rigorous piety, or in the passionate outbursts
of an enthusiastic fervor.

But these considerations would lead me on to a subject which I had
once hoped to treat within the boundaries of the present volume, but
which I am now compelled, owing to the enlargement of the scheme, to
postpone to a future time. That subject is the relation of religion
to ethics. It may have struck some readers as an omission that I have
said nothing of religion as a force inspiring moral conduct, which
is the principal aspect under which it is regarded by some competent
authorities. But the omission has been altogether intentional. It would
take me a long time to explain what in my judgment has been the actual
influence of religion upon morals in the past, and what is likely
to be its influence in the future. Meanwhile I merely note the fact
that this analysis professes to be complete in its own kind; that I
have endeavored to probe the religious sentiment to the bottom, and
to discover all that it contains. Thus, if religion be not only an
emotion, but a moral force, it must acquire this character in virtue
of the relation of its emotional elements to human character, not in
virtue of the presence of ethical elements actually belonging to the
religious emotion, and comprehended under it by the same indefeasible
title as the sense of the Unknowable itself.

At present, however, I can attempt no answer to the objection which
will no doubt be urged, that so abstract and cold a faith as that
expounded here can afford no satisfaction to the moral sentiments.
Indeed I must to a certain extent admit the reality of the loss which
the adoption of this faith entails. There is consolation no doubt in
the thought of a Heavenly Father who loves us; there is strength in
the idea that he sees and helps us in our continual combat against
evil without and evil within; there is happiness in the hope that
he will assign us in another life an infinite reward for all the
endurances of this. Above all, there is comfort in the reflection
that when we are parted by death we are not parted for ever; that our
love for those whom we have cherished on earth is no temporary bond,
to be broken ere long in bitterness and despair, but a possession
never to be lost again, a union of souls interrupted for a little
while by the separation of the body, only to be again renewed in far
greater perfection and carried on into far higher joys than can be
even imagined here. All this is beautiful and full of fascination: why
should we deny it? Candor compels us to admit that in giving it up with
the other illusions of our younger days we are resigning a balm for the
wounded spirit for which it would be hard to find an equivalent in all
the repertories in Science, and in all the treasures of philosophy. Yet
it must be borne in mind that every step from a lower to a higher creed
involves a precisely similar loss. How much more beautiful was nature
(as Schiller has shown us in his poem on the gods of Greece) when every
fountain, tree and river had its presiding genius, when the Sun was
driven by a divine charioteer, when the deities of Olympus intervened
in the affairs of men to prevent injustice and to maintain the right.
How cold and lifeless, nay, how profoundly irreligious, would our
modern conception of the earth and the solar system have appeared to
the worshiper of Poseidon and Apollon. And if the loss of the Christian
as compared to the Pagan is thus great, how great also is the loss
of the enlightened Protestant as compared to the ignorant Catholic
peasant. What comfort must be found in the immediate intervention
of the Virgin in answer to prayer, what security afforded by the
protection of the local saint. Or again, how great the pleasure of
contributing by our piety to the release of a friend from purgatorial
torment, and of knowing that our friends will do us the same kindly
service.

Even without contrasting such broad and conspicuous divisions of
Christianity as these, we shall find enough of the same kind of
difference within the limits of Protestantism itself. What mere
intellectual conviction of a future state can vie with the consoling
certainty offered by the Spiritualistic belief, that those whom we have
lost on earth still hover around us in our daily course; sometimes even
appear to us in bodily form, and converse with us in human speech. No
mere hope of meeting them again can for a moment equal the delight of
seeing their well-known shapes and hearing their familiar tones. Hence
the Spiritualist has undoubtedly a source of comfort in his faith which
more rational creeds can offer nothing to supply. But who that does not
share it can envy them so baseless a conviction, so illusory a joy?

It is, in fact, the very condition of progress that, as we advance in
knowledge and in culture, we give up something on the road. But it is
also a condition that we do not feel the need of that which we have
lost. Not only as we become men do we put away childish things, but we
can no longer realize in thought the enjoyment which those childish
things brought with them. Other interests, new occupations, deeper
affections take the place of the interests, the occupations, and the
affections of our early years. So too should it be in religion. Men
have dwelt upon the love of God because they could not satisfy the
craving of nature for the love of their fellow men. They have looked
forward to eternal happiness in a future life because they could not
find temporary happiness in this. It is these reflections which point
out the way in which the void left by the removal of the religious
affections should hereafter be supplied. The effort of those who cannot
turn for consolation to a friend in heaven should be to strengthen the
bonds of friendship on earth, to widen the range of human sympathy and
to increase its depth. We should seek that love in one another which
we have hitherto been required to seek in God. Above all, we should
sweep away those barriers of convention and fancied propriety which
continually hinder the free expression of affection, and force us to
turn from the restrictions of the world to One towards whom there need
be no irksome conformity to artificial regulation, and in speaking to
whom we are under no shadow of reserve.

Were we thus permitted to find in our fellow creatures that sympathy
which so many mourners, so many sufferers, so many lonely hearts, have
been compelled to find only in the idea of their heavenly Father, I
hesitate not to say that the consolations of the new religion would
far surpass in their strength and their perfection all those that were
offered by the old. Towards such increasing and such deepening of the
sympathies of humanity I believe that we are continually tending even
now. Meantime, while we are still far from the promised land, the
adherents of the universal religion are not without a happiness of
their own. Their faith is at least a faith of perfect peace. Untroubled
by the storms of controversy, in which so many others are tossed about,
they can welcome all men as brothers in faith, for all of them,
even the most hostile, contribute to supply the stones of the broad
foundation upon which their philosophy is built. Those therefore who
contend against them, be it even with vehemence and passion, yield,
them involuntary help in bringing the materials upon which their
judgment is formed. No man can truly oppose their religion, for he
who seems to be hostile to it is himself but one of the notes struck
by the Unknowable Cause, which so plays upon the vast instrument of
humanity as to bring harmony out of jangling sounds, and to produce
the universal chords of truth from the individual discords of error.
Scientific discoveries and philosophic inquiries, so fatal to other
creeds, touch not the universal religion. They who accept it can
but desire the increase of knowledge, for even though new facts and
deeper reasoning should overthrow something of what they have hitherto
believed and taught, they will rejoice that their mistakes should be
corrected, and their imperfections brought to light. They desire but
the Truth, and the Truth has made them free. And as in their thoughts
they can wish nothing so much as to know and to believe that which
is true, so in their lives they will express the serenity which that
desire will inevitably bring. They are not pained or troubled because
other men see not as they see. They have no vain hope of a unity of
thought which the very conditions of our being do not permit. They aim
not at conquering the minds of men; far rather would they stimulate
and help them to discover a higher Truth than they themselves have
been permitted to know. And as their action will thus be inspired with
hope of contributing their mite to the treasury of human knowledge,
well-being, and moral good, so their death will be the expression of
that, peaceful faith which has sustained their lives. Even though
torn away when, in their own judgment, they have still much to do,
they will not repine at the necessity of leaving it undone, even
though they are well aware that their names, which might have been
illustrious in the annals of our race, will now be buried in oblivion.
For the disappearance of a single life is but a ripple on the ocean of
humanity, and humanity feels it not. Hence they will meet their end
"sustained and soothed by an unfaltering trust,"

    "Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
    About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams."

But the opposite fate, sometimes still more terrible, that of
continuing to live when the joys of life are gone, and its purest
happiness is turned into the bitterest pain, will be accepted too.
Thus they will be willing, it need be, to remain in a world where
their labor is not yet ended, even though that labor be wrought
through suffering, despondency, and sorrow; willing also, if need be,
to meet the universal lot—even though it strike them in the midst of
prosperity, happiness, and hope; bowing in either case to the verdict
of fate with unmurmuring resignation and fearless calm.


                               THE END.




                                INDEX.


  Abhidharma-Pitaka, its metaphysics, 473-476

  Abiogenesis, the theory of, 690;
    its destined functions, 702

  Abraham, a Hanyf, 195;
    story of, 545-546

  Acts, the book of, its value, 604;
    review of, 604-617

  Aditi, the godess, 437

  Africa, burial rites in, 430;
    divination in, 114;
    ordeals in, 119

  Africans, western, sacrifice among, 42;
    drink-offerings among, 47

  Agag hewn in pieces, 598

  Age, a golden, traditions of, 538, 539

  Agni, the god, 430

  Agnosticism allied to mysticism, ii. 489

  Ahab, his troubles, 598

  Ahuna-Vairya, the, 503, 504

  Ahura-Mazda, and Zarathustra, 182, 183;
    the god of the Parsees, 185;
    ancient worship of, 486, 487;
    praise of, 487, 488;
    rank and character, 489;
    address to, 489, 490;
    worship of, 490-492;
    fire and water given by, 493;
    questioned by Zarathustra, 497-504;
    things which please and things which displease, 497, 498;
    prescribes for medical training, 499;
    the same as Ormazd, 505;
    throughout the god of the Parsees, 508;
    creates the world, 535

  Aischylos, his conception of the commercial relation between gods
    and men, 38

  Akaba, the vow of the first and second, 188

  Ali, sign at his birth, 226

  Amatongo, sacrifice to the, 40

  Amuzulus, sacrifice among the, 47
    sneezing as an omen among, 111

  Amos, his prophecy and history, 61;
    conduct towards Amaziah, 573

  Anâgâmin, the, 478, 479 (note)

  Analysis, ultimate metaphysical, 464

  Ananda and the Matangi girl, 285;
    and Buddha, 134, 136

  Ananias and his wife, story of, 607

  Ancestors, worship of, in Fiji and among the Kafirs, 650, 651;
    in Peru, 651.

  Angekoks, the, consecration of, 100, 101

  Apocalypse, the, its author, 634;
    its style, 634;
    compared with the "Pilgrim's Progress," 634;
    its visions, 635, 636

  Apollo, worship of, 38;
    his sense of gratitude appealed to, 38;
    oracle of the Clarian, 127

  Âranyakas, the, 127

  Arhats, the, rank of, 444, 445, 457, 458

  Asceticism, various degrees of, 89;
    in Mexico and Peru, 90-92;
    rules of Chinese, 461

  Ashem-Vohû, the, 503, 504

  Asiti, the Rishi, the child and Buddha, 231

  Asoka, the Buddhist king, 450, 451

  Astrology, 118

  Astrologers in Thibet, 144

  Asvagosha, a Buddhist preacher, 122

  Atharva-Veda-Sanhitâ, the, 426, 427

  Atman, 661

  Atmospheric currents, an illustration, 471

  Automatism, apparent puzzle of, resolved, 464-466

  Australia, burial rites in, 77


  Babel, confusion at, 597

  Balaam, treatment of, 597

  Balaki, the Brahman, 446

  Banshee, the Irish, 114

  Baptism, a general religious rite, 58;
    in Fantee, 59;
    among the Cherokees, Aztecs, &c., 59;
    in Mexico, 59;
    in Mongolia and Thibet, 61;
    among the Parsees, 61;
    in the Christian Church, 61, 62;
    meaning of the rite, 62, 63

  Barabbas, 215, 216

  Barnabas, and Paul in Antioch, 611;
    taken for Zeus, 611;
    separation, 613

  Beatitudes, the, 350, 351

  Beauty and Bands, allegory of, 573

  Beliefs, necessary, vindication of, 678-680;
    conditions of, 680;
    example, 695, 696

  Benfey, translation of the Sâma-Veda Sanhitâ, 425

  Bhikshu, a defined, 95

  Bhikshus and Bhikshunîs, the, 479

  Bible, the, though above, yet among the sacred books of
    the world, 369, 370;
    forced interpretations of 379, 380;
    mostly anonymous, 386;
    style of, 389, 390

  Birth, religious rites at, among savage nations, 57, 58;
    in Mexico, 59, 60;
    in Mongolia and Thibet, 61

  Bodhisattva, 175-180;
    in the womb, 225;
    the nature of, 477, 478;
    their sacrifice of Nirvâna, 478

  Bogda, thaumaturgic powers of, 122

  Books, sacred, all civilized nations nearly have, 370, 371;
    Greeks and Romans without, 370;
    list of, 370;
    their external marks—recognized inspiration, 371, 372;
    supposed merit of reading or repeating them, 372-375;
    subjection to forced interpretations, 375-383;
    internal marks—transcendental-subject-matter, 382-384;
    authoritativeness, 384, 385;
    general anonymity, 23-26;
    formlessness, 385-389;
    of the Chinese, 390-424;
    seldom written by the authors of the religion, 413;
    of India, 425-448;
    of the Buddhists, 449-482;
    necessity for, 449;
    of the Parsees, 482-509;
    of the Moslems, 500-520;
    of the Jews, 518-603;
   of Christianity, 604-641

  Bo-tree, sanctity of, in Ceylon, 127
    Buddha, under, 180, 181

  Brahma, his incest, 600;
    not worshiped, 405, 406;
    and Brahm, 406, 407

  Brahman, the caste, 183;
    the supreme, 405

  Brâhmanas, the, 379, 425, 426;
    their character, 444, 445;
    ritualistic appendages to the Vedas, 444, 445;
    teaching of apologue, 445;
    on a universal soul, 445, 446;
    on the future of the soul, 447;
    on patience, 447;
    references to moral conduct, 448

  Bread and wine in the Eucharist, virtue of, 135

  Buddha, Gautama, a thaumaturgist, 122;
    the tooth of, 124, 125;
    preparation for his last manifestation, 170;
    uncertain data to go upon for his life, 171;
    when he lived, 172;
    early asceticism, 172, 173;
    abolishes caste, his theoretic, 217;
    his four truths, 173;
    the interpretation of these, 173;
    his death, 274;
    his chief disciples, 274;
    spread of his religion, 274;
    essential principles, 174, 175;
    his blamelessness, 175;
    the mythical twelve periods of his life, i. 176;
    resolution to be born, 176;
    choice of parents, 176;
    his birth, 177;
    various names of, 177;
    adoration by an old Rishi, 178;
    qualifies himself for marriage, 178;
    enjoyment of domestic life, 179;
    departure from home and assumption of the monastic character, 178;
    temptations, 178;
    his horse Kantaka, 178;
    his penances, 180;
    his triumph over the devil, 180;
    becomes perfect Buddha, 180, 181;
    turns the Wheel of the Law, 180;
    his reception by kings, 180;
    his first conversions, 180;
    founds monastic institutions, 180;
    enters Nirvâna, 449;
    funeral rites, 181;
    relics, 181;
    aristocratic descent, 221;
    gestation of, 224, 225;
    signs at his birth, 226;
    infant, recognized Simeon-wise by the Rishi Asita, 231;
    his temptations in the wilderness, 231;
    and the Matangi girl, 285;
    compared with Christ, 242-344;
    and the widow's mite, 342, 343;
    and the cup of cold water, 344;
    as a fisher of men, 344;
    exalts humility and poverty, 345;
    on divorce, 345, 346;
    and Christ, 362-365;
    his sayings collected, 343;
    sects in the Church of 449;
    extravagant adoration 458;
    painting the picture of, 458, 459;
    and the two condemned felons, 136-139;
    central figure of Buddhism, 146;
    successive manifestations, 476;
    worship of, 477;
    training of, 476, 478, 481;
    disciples of, 480

  Buddha Sakymuni, leaps into the fire, 58

  Buddhas, the, Pratyeka, 478.

  Buddhism, ascetic nature and rules of, 93-95;
    fathers of, miracle workers, 121, 122;
    goal of, 120;
    its sacred canon, 449-451;
    ten commandments of, 467;
    boundless charity of, 468;
    regard for personal purity, 469-471;
    its four truths, 473;
    Buddha its central figure, 476;
    gods of, 476;
    grades in, 478, 479;
    morality of, 480-483;
    five commandments of, 550;
    not without a god, ii. 655-657.

  Buddhists, 93-95;
    antecedent to Buddhism, 95;
    in India, 96, 97;
    of Visvamitra, 96, 97

  Bunyan's "Pilgrim's Progress" compared with the Apocalypse, 366, 367


  Caaba, the, 188-190.

  Carlyle, Thomas, forestalled by Confucius, 167;
    his "Everlasting No." 186;
    on Mahomet, 192

  Cause, the notion of, 484;
    the known. See POWER.

  Ceylon, religious observance in, 51;
    festivals in, 53;
    marriage in, 75, 76;
    burial rites in, 78;
    omens in, 112, 113;
    divination in, 117;
    the Bo-tree, 127.

  Child, myth of the dangerous, 227-230

  China, Emperor of, praying for rain, 36;
    sacrifice in, 42;
    divination in, 117, 118;
    in the days of Confucius, 159;
    official creed of, 391;
    sacred writings of, 39;
    authentic history of, remote, 403;
    fate of the early Emperors of, as good or bad,
  403-406;
    its sages and kings, 405-407;
    the "religiones licitæ" of, 413

  Chinese, the, sacred books once nearly destroyed, 391;
    their political doctrines, 394;
    their ethics, 395, 396;
    their loyalty to the heroes as heaven-appointed, 398, 399

  Christ, Jesus, conceived necessity of his death, 47;
    his appeal to miracles, 123;
    divinity of, not found in the New Testament, 326, 327;
    Mahomet's view of, 513, 514;
    worship of, 665.
    See JESUS.

  Christians, the early, communists, 607;
    first breach among, 608;
    severe discipline of, 614

  Christianity, fundamental conception of, 48, 49;
    festivals of, 52;
    ascetic spirit of early, 97;
    ascetic development of, 98, 99;
    powerless over the Jews since the death of Christ, 314, 315;
    originally Judaic, 334;
    its worship of Christ, 308;
    its treatment of the Father and the Spirit, 309, 310

  Christmas, a pagan festival, 53.

  Church, the, necessary infallibility of, 152

  Choo He, his criticism of preface to Chinese odes, 380, 381

  Chow, the Duke of, on the favor of heaven, 406

  Ch'un Ts'ëw, the, forced interpretation applied to, 376-378, 411;
    its subject matter and authorship, 411-413;
    opinions of Dr. Legge, 411-413,
      of Mang, 411, 412;
    extract, 412;
    topics, 412

  Chung Yung, the, authorship of, 394;
    its doctrine of the "Mean," 394, 395;
    its doctrine of virtue and heaven, 395, 396

  Cicero on immortality, 688.

  Circumcision, wide-spread practice of, 63;
    among the Jews, 64;
    of women among the Suzees and Mandingoes, 73, 74

  Clement, quotation from, on second coming, 338, 339

  Clergy, secular and regular, 100

  Cobbe, Frances Power, 641

  Coming, the second, apostolic doctrine on, 334-339.

  Confucius, neither an ascetic recluse
  nor a religious enthusiast, 158, 159;
    regard for ritual, 159-201;
    birth and early life, 159;
    as a teacher, 159;
    subject of his doctrines, 160;
    refuses state endowments, 160;
    chief magistrate of Loo, 160;
    resignation 160;
    death, 161;
    character, 162;
    wanting in the bold originality of the other reformers of
      religion, 162;
    charge of insincerity, 162;
    his purity, 163;
    his courteous manners, 164;
    formal deportment, 165;
    relations with his disciples, 165;
    four virtues of which he was master, 166;
    sense of a mission, 166, 167;
    pain at being misunderstood, 167;
    had no theological beliefs, 167;
    lays all stress upon terrestrial virtues, 168;
    had an esoteric doctrine, 169;
    subjects on which he did not talk, 170;
    minds not things too high for him, but is silent, 170;
    summary of moral duties, 171;
    moral perfection, 171;
    doctrine of reciprocity, 172;
    some of his sayings, 172, 173;
    Carlylean utterances, 173;
    Tsge-Kung's admiration for him, 173;
    interview with and opinion of Laò-tsé, 174, 175;
    ante-natal signs, 225;
    his teachings similar to Christ's, 342;
    doctrine of recompense, 354-357;
    idea of perfect virtue, 361;
    and Christ, 362-365;
    on unseen spiritual beings, 395, 396;
    left writings, 414

  Confucianism the official creed in China, 391

  Consciousness, its rise unaccounted for by material evolution, 705;
    necessarily of spiritual evolution, 706, 707;
    not by creation, nor from nothing, 707

  Consecration, power of, among the Mongolians, 86;
    among the Catholics, 86;
    differs from sacrifice, 86;
    permanence of, 87

  Consecrated objects in Sierra Leone, 84;
    among the Tartars, 84;
    in Ceylon, 86;
    value of, 86

  Cornelius, conversion of, 328, 610

  Creation of the universe, Hebrew account of 531-533;
    account, of the Quichés, 533,
      of the Mixtecs, 533, 534,
      of the Buddhists, 534,
      of the Parsees, 534, 535;
    of the Rig-Veda, 535, 536;
    of animals and man, Hebrew account, 536-538,
      Fijian account, 538;
    impossible, 707

  Creeds, the error of, 709, 710

  Cylinders, rotary, in Thibet, with sacred texts, 373, 374


  Dakhmas, the, 79, 80

  Daniel, the book of, 586, 587;
    the prophet, 587, 588, 590

  Darwinism, an epoch, 705

  Death, rites at, in New South Wales, 77;
    in Western Africa, 77, 78;
    in Polynesia, 77;
    in Mexico, 78;
    in Ceylon, 77;
    in Thibet, 88;
    among Christians, 89, 90

  Death-watch, the, in Scotland, 114

  Debt a disqualification in Buddhism, 460

  Delphi, oracle at, 126

  Deluge, the, Hebrew account of, 541, 542;
    other traditions, 243, 244;
    Indian tradition, 244, 245;
    the judgment by, 597

  Demoniac possession in the days of Christ, 210, 211;
    in Judea, Abyssinia, Polynesia, and Ceylon, 245, 246

  Design, argument from, 711, 712

  Destruction, impossible, 706

  Devadatta, 481

  Devas, the worship of, renounced by the Parsees, 490

  Didron, M., on the Scriptural proof of the Trinity, 379;
    on mediæval representations of the Father and the Son in the
      Trinity, 665, 666

  Disciples, the, rebuked by Christ for not casting out a devil, 244;
    and Judaism, 328-341, 345

  Disease, moral theory of, 141

  Disease-makers in Tanna, 140

  Divination a profession, 115;
    in South Africa, 115;
    from sticks and bones, 115, 116;
    by familiar spirits, 116, 117;
    among the American Indians, 117, 118;
    among the Ostiacks, 118;
    in China, 118, 119;
    in Ceylon, 119;
    by the stars, 120

  Diviners, methods of, in Sierra Leone, 143;
    in Mexico, 143;
    among the Jews, 145

  Divorce, Christ's doctrine of, 304;
    Paul's doctrine of, 632


  Dogs, Parsee respect for, 409, 500

  Drake, Sir Francis, and his men, divine honors paid to, 256, 257

  Dreams, presumed supernatural origin of, 106;
    theory of, 107;
    interpretation of, 107;
    Jewish ceremony against bad, 107, 108;
    in Scripture, 108, 109;
    in Homer, 110;
    horn and ivory gates of, 110

  Dreams, Joseph's, as a main proof of the incarnation, 108

  Dress, Buddhist rule for nuns, 467

  Duty, Chinese definition of, 395


  Easter, 55

  Ebionite, the, a sect apart, 333;
    their fate, 334

  Ecclesiastes, the work of a cynic, 568;
    account of, 569

  Eddas, the Norse, 388

  Ego, consciousness of the, 700

  Elisha, an Amazulu, 556

  Elohim, the, 663, 664

  Epistles, the, of the New Testament, general burden of, 618, 619

  Equilibrium of soul, Chinese definition of, 395

  Essenes, the, 96

  Essence, the ultimate, of Brahminism, 661, 662

  Evil, origin of, Hebrew account of; 537, 538;
    Buddhist account, 539, 540

  Evolution theory, its dark spot, 705;
    its great triumph, 706

  Existence the course of evil, 474, 475;
    at bottom, what? 702

  Exorcism among the Jews, 212;
    among the disciples of Christ, 213

  Experience as a test of truth, 678, 679

  Ezekiel the prophet and his prophecies, 582, 584


  Faith and belief distinguished, 23;
    and works, Scripture controversy on, 618, 619;
    and belief, relations of, 709-711

  Fasting as a religious rite, 55

  Festivals, idea of, 52;
    natural seasons of, 52;
    in Guinea, China, &c., 53;
    New Year's day in China, 53;
    Christmas, 54;
    among the Jews, 55;
    three kinds of, 54, 55;
    of Peruvians, 56

  Fetish, idea of a, 132;
    power to
  charm, 133,
    priests as healers, 141

  Fire a sacred symbol, 56;
    invocation of, 489;
    Parsee worship, 494, 495

  Force, persistence of, 672-677;
    Herbert Spencer on, 677, 705;
    the notion of, 717

  Frashaostra, 183, 184

  Fravashis, the, 493


  Gadarene demoniac, the, i. 243

  Gâthâ, the fifth, i. 182;
    account of the first, ii. 487, 488;
    the second, ii. 485, 486;
    third, ii. 486, 487;
    fourth and fifth, ii. 487, 488

  Gâthâs, the five, antiquity of, ii. 484;
    account of, ii. 485-490

  Gentleness, Laò-tsé on, ii. 419

  Ghost, the Holy, the Christian art, ii. 666, 667;
    generally unworshiped, 668

  God, personality of, not an essential element in religious belief, 719;
    loss of personality of, a gain, 720

  God of Israel, the, his imperious attitude, 590;
    arbitrary conduct towards man in Paradise, 591, 592;
    his command to Abraham, 592;
    a Bramanical contrast, 592;
    his favoritism for Abel, 593,
      for Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, 594;
    partizanship in delivering the Israelites from Egypt, 594,
      and giving them Canaan, 594;
    exacting and "jealous," 594;
    anger and the calf idolaters, 595;
    treatment of the Israelites in the wilderness, 594, 595;
    capriciousness, 595, 596,
      in the punishment by deluge, 596,
      towards the builders of Babel, 596;
    in regard to Balaam, ii. 596,
      Nadab and Abihu, ii. 597,
      the man that touched the ark, ii. 597,
      his rejection of Saul, ii. 598;
    preference for Samuel, 598;
    treatment of Ahab, ii. 598;
    his treatment of alien nations, 599;
    his legislation, 600,
      in regard to the Sabbath, 600,
      idolatry, 600,
      filial impiety, 600;
    anthropomorphic conceptions of, 602, 603;
    better elements in the ideal, 603, 604

  God of Christendom, the, differs from the God of Israel, 636;
    his worst action, 637;
    the change accounted for, 637, 638;
    no longer the God of a race, 638;
    one blot on his character, makes punishment eternal, 638, 639;
    step toward a milder view, Purgatory, 640;
    recent still milder conceptions, 641

  God the Father in mediæval art, 665, 666

  God, belief in, as Father, 682;
    as Son, 682, 683; as Spirit, 683

  God among the Fijians, 650, 651;
    the Negroes, 653, 654;
    the Greenlanders, 654;
    original Americans, 654, 655;
    the great religions of the world, 655;
    of Buddhism, and 653-657;
    interior superior, 657

  God, the highest, recognized amidst inferior, worshiped gods,
    in Guinea, 657;
    among the Kafirs, 657;
    in Sierra Leone, 658;
    in Dahomey, 658;
    among the Ashantees, 658, 659;
    in Mexico and Peru, 659;
    in Sabaeism, 659;
    among the Hindus, 659-664;
    in Judaism, 664, 665;
    in Christianity, 664-666;
    various explanations of the idea of, 669,
      of common realism, 670, 698,
      of metaphysical realism, 671, 672, 698;
    comparative estimate of these theories, 672, 673;
    of moderate idealism, 673, 676, 698;
    philosophical conclusion, 476, 477

  Gods appealed to as men, 39, 40

  Goethe, quotation, 415

  Gopa, wife of Buddha, 177-179

  Gospels, the, 199;
    criticism of the narratives, 199-204;
    discrepancies in regard to the genealogies, 218-220;
    accounts of Christ's birth, 221, 222;
    discrepancies regarding Christ's habitation, 239;
    regarding the calling of his first disciples, 230, 231;
    discrepancies about the sermon on the Mount, 243;
    hopelessness of chronology, 243;
    account of Christ's entry into Jerusalem, 253;
    account of the fig-tree, 254;
    accounts of Christ's annointing, 225;
    accounts of Christ's betrayal by Judas, 240, 241;
    accounts of Christ's last passover, 258, 259;
    account of Christ's passion, 260, 261;
    account of Christ's arrest, 261, 262,
      of Jesus before the Sanhedrim, 262, 263,
      of Jesus before Pilate, 263-265,
      of the crucifixion, 265-267,
      of the resurrection, 269-275;
    account of Christ's lineage and birthplace, 295-298

  Greece, gods of, 386

  Groves, sacred, Africa and the South seas, 127


  Habakkuk, the prophet, 579

  Haggai, his prophecy, 585

  Hanyfites, 550

  Haoma, the plant, 46, 47

  Harischandra, legend of, 246-249

  Harmony, Chinese spiritual, 395

  Haug, Dr, on the ages of the Vedas, 428, 429;
    his translation of the Gâthâs, 482

  Hea, decrees against the King of, 404, 405

  Heaven and hell, Mahometan, 516, 517

  Heaven, Chinese definition of, ii. 396

  Hebrews, the, its teachings, as contrasted with that of James, 618-620

  Hegira, the, 189

  Here's conception of Hephaistos, 223

  Hermits, Indian, 195

  Herod and the birth of Christ, 227-229

  Herod the Tetrarch, fate of, 611

  Heu Hing, political economy of, 400

  Hezekiah, and Isaiah, 550;
    divine favor to, 557;
    inglorious reign of, 558

  Hilkiah, and his associates, and Josiah, 523-525

  Hindus, ritual among the, 51;
    festivals among the, 52-54

  Hodgson, his discovery in Nepaul, 451

  Homa, the god, 506-508

  Homa-Yasht, the, 506

  Homer, poems of, 388, 389

  Horace, quotation, 418

  Hosea, the prophet, 573

  How-tseih, miraculous birth of, 224

  Huran, prayer of a, 33

  Hymns, Vedic, of cursing, 565, 566

  Hysteria in Judea in the days of Christ, 210, 211


  Ibos, sacrifice among the, 42

  Idealism, its forms, 673;
    moderate,
  as a solution, 677-676;
    extreme, 676

  Idolatry, the crime of, among the Jews, 600

  Immortality of the soul, not an article in either the Buddhist or
    Jewish creed, 687;
    the Greek and Roman philosophers on, 687, 688

  Incas, the worship of, by images, 651

  Indian, Nootka, prayer of, 32

  Indra, his praises, 433;
    his soma-drinking, 433;
    the Indian Zeus, 433

  Infallibility of the clergy, 153

  Inspiration of sacred books, 311, 372;
    among the Chinese, 380, 381

  Instruction, Chinese definition of, 305

  Interpretation, forced, of sacred books, 375-383

  Isaac, the sacrifice of, an Indian parallel to, 545-548

  Isaiah quoted to prove Messiahship of Christ, 297-299;
    53d as a prophecy of Christ, 299;
    his rank as a prophet, 517;
    dates of his prophecies, 518;
    earliest stratum of his prophecies, 518;
    contrast with Joel, 519;
    on the Jerusalem ladies, 519;
    second part, 519;
    accepts the divine call, 520;
    third part, 520;
    fourth part, 520, 521;
    fifth, sixth, and seventh parts, 521;
    vision of the future, 521


  Jacob, his bargain with Jehovah, 39;
    his conduct to Esau, 594

  Jahveh, the holy name, 664

  James, the Epistle of, its teaching contrasted with that of the
    Hebrews, 619, 620

  Jehovah, his praises in the Psalms, 38;
    and Adonia, 663, 664

  Jeremiah, the prophet, 579;
    his call 579, 580;
    denunciatory prophecies, ii. 580, 581;
    and Pashur, 581;
    analysis of his prophecies, ii. 581, 582;
    lamentations of, 583

  Jesus Christ, the historical (see CHRIST), difficulties in regard to
    materials for his life, 199;
    compared with the mythical, and the ideal, 200;
    his sayings credibly reported, 201;
    criticism of his doings, 202;
    further tests applied, 202-204;
    his parents and family, 204-206;
    his mother, 205;
    birth at Nazareth, 206;
    originally a carpenter, 207;
    influence of John the Baptist, 206, 207;
    comes forth a Messiah, 207;
    boldly asserts his claim, 207;
    his early disciples, the three most intimate, 207, 208;
    female followers, 209;
    his own family and neighbors unfriendly to his mission, 208, 209;
    his public teaching, 209;
    state of Judea at the time, 209, 210;
    casts out devils, 210, 211;
    his sermons and parables, 212;
    authority as a teacher, 212, 213;
    offends the Jews by forgiving sin, 213;
    disregard of Sabbatical customs, 213;
    claiming Messiahship, 213, 214;
    abusing his enemies, 214;
    violent conduct in the Temple, 214;
    his betrayal and apprehension, 214;
    accusation and trial, 215, 216;
    the witnesses and his defense, 215, 216;
    his condemnation, 216;
    before Pilate, 216;
    crucifixion, 216;
    interment, 216

  Jesus, of the Gospels, indifference to alleged lineage and
    birthplace, 294;
    believed to be of Nazareth, 296;
    misapplies a prophecy to himself, 298, 299;
    and the Jewish Sabbath, 301, 302;
    offense taken at the company he kept and free living, 302;
    his neglect of the tradition of the elders, 303;
    views of divorce, 304;
    on paying tribute, 304, 305;
    and the Sadducees in regard to the future state, 305-307;
    two chief commandments, 307;
    on the denunciation of the Scribes, 408, 409;
    provokes opposition, 409;
    expulsion of the money-changers, 409, 410;
    defense of his conduct, 410, 411;
    gives offense to the Sanhedrim, 312;
    before the Sanhedrim, 312;
    before Pilate, 313;
    his faith in his Messiahship, 316;
    conscious of being son of God, 316, 317;
    comparative modesty of the claim, 317;
    asserted inferiority to the Father, 318;
    his relation to the law, 319, 320;
    his mission confined to the Jews, 320, 321;
    his idea of his mission his one thought, 321-326;
    his warning to his disciples to be ready, 321-323;
    his idea of his kingdom, 323;
    his one qualification for admission, 324;
    his kingdom to be on earth, 325;
    Peter's confession of, 327;
    doctrine of his divinity not found in the New Testament, 327;
    not thought to have a design of subverting the Mosaic law, 328;
    modern laudation of, 339;
    materials for criticism, 339, 340;
    his fondness for contrasts, 340, 341;
    his resemblance to Laò-tsé, 344;
    aversion to wealth and wealthy men, 446, 447;
    his doctrine in regard to invitations to feasts, 448;
    parable of the laborers in in the vineyard, 449;
    his assertion of eternal punishment, 350;
    his false estimate of the power of prayer, 349;
    his sermon on the Mount, 450-462;
    his doctrine of murder, adultery, and perjury, 451, 452;
    of resisting evil by doing good, 452, 453;
    his model prayer, 356, 358;
    on the superiority of heavenly to temporal interests, 358-461;
    founder of scientific ethics, 360;
    as a prophet, compared with Buddha and Confucius, 362-364;
    compared with Socrates, 464, 465;
    his transcendent moral grandeur, 366;
    as a man of sorrows, 366-368

  Jesus Christ, Mahomet's view of, 513, 514

  Jesus, the ideal, of St. John, peculiarities of the narrative, 277-288;
    improbabilities, 288;
    raising Lazarus, 288-291;
    at the marriage feast, 279, 280;
    heals by a word, 282;
    at the pool of Bethesda, 282;
    interviews with Nathaniel, &c., 280, 281, 283;
    symbolic teachings, 281-283;
    last discourse to his disciples, 283;
    as the Logos, 283, 284;
    Oneness with God, as his father, 284;
    last days and moments, 286, 287

  Jesus, the mythical, the accounts of, 216, 217;
    variety of these, 217;
    the genealogies, 217-221;
    conception and nativity, 221-223;
    mythological parallels, 223-226;
    mediæval painting of, in the womb, 225;
    recognition by the shepherds, 226, 227;
    by the Magi, 227;
    and Herod, 227, 228;
    a
  dangerous child, 228-230;
    circumcision, 230;
    recognized by Simeon, 231;
    by Anna, 231;
    in the Temple, 232-233;
    called a Nazarene, 234;
    his baptism, 234, 236;
    message from John the Baptist, 236;
    temptation, 237;
    comes to Capernaum, 238;
    reasons for leaving Nazareth 238, 239;
    reception in Nazareth as a preacher, 239;
    has an abode, 239;
    no ascetic, 240;
    in comfortable circumstances, 240;
    collects followers, 240, 241;
    calls Peter, 241;
    calls Matthew, 241;
    appoints twelve, 241;
    his four select, 241, 242;
    works miracles, 242;
    sermon on the Mount, 242, 243;
    heals the Gadarene demoniac, 243;
    expels a devil, and rebukes his disciples for their want of
      faith, 244;
    heals the Syrophenician damsel, 244, 245;
    heals a leper, 246;
    a paralytic, 246;
    raises Jarius' daughter, 246, 248;
    heals a woman with an issue of blood, 248;
    the centurion's servant, 248, 249;
    heals a deaf mute, 250;
    heals a blind man, 250,
      ten lepers, 250;
    raises the widow's son, 250;
    miraculously feeds a multitude, 250;
    walks on the water, 251;
    stills the storm, 251;
    his transfiguration, 251, 252;
    foretells his crucifixion and resurrection, 253;
    triumphal entry into Jerusalem, 253, 254;
    blasts the fig-tree, 254;
    purges the temple, 254;
    last anointing, 254;
    betrayal by Judas, 257;
    keeps his last passover, 258;
    institutes the supper, 259;
    washes his disciples' feet, 260;
    in Gethsemane, 260;
    arrest, 261;
    before the Sanhedrim, 261, 262;
    before Pilate, 262-265;
    before Herod, 264;
    mockery, 265;
    crucifixion, 265-267;
    last words, 267;
    wonders accompanying his death, 267;
    his burial, 268, 269;
    resurrection, 269-273;
    ascension, 275

  Jews, sacrifices among the, 42-44;
    prayers, 50;
    festivals of, 52, 53;
    passover among, 55;
    rite of circumcision among, 64;
    historical result of their rejection of Christ, 287, 288;
    unjust treatment, 289;
    consideration in extenuation, 289;
    their provocations, 290, 291;
    credulity
  of skepticism in regard to Messianic pretensions, 292;
    justification of their Messianic expectations, 293-294;
    excusable ignorance as to Christ's lineage, 295, 296;
    and their own prophecies, 296-299;
    treatment of Christ's miracles, 299;
    their esteem for the Sabbath law, 300, 301;
    their offense at Christ for his disregard of ceremonial
      observance, 300-303;
    their right to interrogate Christ, 303;
    question to Jesus about tribute, 304, 305;
    just offense, as monotheists, at Christ, 313;
    and Christianity, 314-316;
    justification of their rejection of Christ, 315;
    identified with their Bible, 162;
    settlement in Judea, 162, 163;
    under kings, 163;
    in captivity, 163;
    epoch in their history, 163;
    their national god, 164-166;
    early creed not monotheistic, 166;
    idolatry, 167;
    not Jehovistic, only the priests, 167, 169;
    effects of the captivity, 170-172;
    under the Maccabees, 173;
    their pride and intolerance, 133, 173;
    under the Asmoneans and the Herods, 173;
    under the Romans, 174;
    in Christendom, 175;
    their toughness, 175.

  Job, story of the book of, 563, 564

  "Jocelyn," Lamartine's, 102, 103

  Joel, his prophecy, 571;
    Isaiah, 575

  John, Baptist, asceticism of, 96, 206, 207;
    baptizes Christ, 235;
    message from prison to Christ, 336;
    Christ's estimate of, 336

  John, Gospel of, silence about miraculous conception, 221;
    account of Christ's baptism, 235;
    account of the crucifixion, 268;
    on Christ's Divinity, 327, 328;
    its value in evidence, 328

  John, the apostle, the beloved disciple, 281;
    his Gospel, its fondness for symbolic speech, 281, 282;
    for obscure theological questions, 383, 384;
    doctrine of the Logos, 384, 385;
    his Gospel as regards Christ's birthplace and lineage, 294, 295

  John, the three epistles of, 620, 621

  Jonah, book and story of, 586, 587

  Jongleurs, the, in New France, installation of, 601

  Jordan, crossing the, an Indian parallel, 553

  Joseph, the father of Jesus, 204, 218, 221, 229, 233

  Josiah, Jehovistic _coup d'état_ under, 523, 525

  Judas, his betrayal of Jesus, 214;
    slander against, 255;
    betrays Christ, 263;
    myth of his unhappy end, 257, 258;
    charged with his intended crime at the last supper, 258, 259;
    arrest of Christ, 261, 263

  Judaism, antagonism to asceticism, 96;
    of John the Baptist, 97;
    tendency of Christianity to encourage, 97;
    idea of, 98;
    Protestant disregard of, 99;
    and Christianity, 328;
    and the apostle Paul, 330, 331;
    and the early Church, 334


  Kafirs, prayer of, 34;
    sacrifice among the, 42, 43;
    sneezing an omen among, 110;
    other omens among, 112

  Kama, burning of, 55;
    invoked to curse, 566

  Kantaka, horse of Buddha, 179

  Karma, the, of Buddhist ethics, 481

  Kava-Vistaspa, 183, 184

  Keightley, data from, on saint worship in England, 668

  Khadija, the first wife of Mahomet, 187;
    her relations with the prophet, 187;
    her death, 180

  Khorda-Avesta, the, 502-509;
    its use, 502;
    subject-matter and date, 503

  King, the meaning of the term, 391;
    the five, 391, 392

  Kingdom of heaven, Christ's idea of, 321-324;
    Paul's, 335;
    Peter's 336

  Koran, style of, 194, 378-389;
    the  staple of, 198;
    the single authorship and unity of, 510;
    apology for its style, 510;
    translations, 510;
    origin and formation of, 510;
    original copy, 511;
    arrangement, 511;
    themes, 511, 512;
    specimens, 512;
    its paradise, 517;
    its hell, 517

  Korosi, his discovery, 451

  Kosti, investure with the, 74

  Kronos, his dread of his children, 229

  Kunâla, legend of, 481

  Kyros, a dangerous child, 230


  Lady, a pious, 460

  Laò-tsé, probable date of birth, 168;
    admonition to Confucius, 168;
    account of himself, 168;
    resembled Plato's philosopher, 169;
    his style similar to Christ's, 340;
    the Christianity of, 353;
    left writings, 413;
    description of Tao, 414;
    conception of goodness, 418;
    on gentleness, 419;
    against luxury, 419;
    has three cardinal virtues, 420;
    mysticism, 420;
    conception of God, 421, 422;
    his character and teaching, 422

  Lazarus, story of, peculiar to John's Gospel, 255;
    his resurrection, 347, 348

  Lazarus and Dives, 344, 347, 350

  Legge, Dr. James, his Chinese classics, 390;
    his opinion of the authorship of Ch'un' Tsew, 59

  Legislation, Hebrew, 600-603

  Libations in sacrifice, 47;
    in Tartary, Samoa, Thibet, &c., 47

  Life, vital forces, Indian apologue, 445, 446

  Linga, the, worship of, 54

  Lucretius on immortality, 688

  Luke, his genealogy of Jesus, 218-221;
    account of miraculous conception and birth, 222, 223;
    account of the shepherds, 226, 227;
    account of Christ's infancy, 230;
    discrepancies with Matthew, 233-236;
    his free spirit, 232;
    account of the call of Peter, 241;
    version of the sermon on the Mount, 243;
    account of lunatic boy, 244;
    his partiality for angels, 252;
    accompanies Paul, 257

  Lun Yu, the, date of, 392;
    subject matter, 392;
    its Boswellian minuteness of detail, 392

  Luxury, Laò-tsé on, 419


  Magi and the birth of Christ, 228-230

  Mahomet, pretensions of, to the supernatural, 122;
    the last of the great prophets, 186;
    his religion self-derived, 187;
    his parents and birth, 187;
    his original social position, 187;
    marries Khadija, 187;
    his first revelation, 187;
    passes through the period of the "Everlasting No." 187;
    Gabriel his guardian angel, 187;
    first disciples,
  187;
    his doctrines provoke persecution, 187;
    his momentary relapse into idolatry and repentance, 188;
    persecution of his family, 188;
    binds by a vow pilgrims from Medina, 188;
    his flight to Medina, 189;
    success there, 189;
    war with Mecca, 189;
    truce with the Meccans, 190;
    summons crowned heads to submit to his religion, 190;
    first pilgrimage to Mecca, 190;
    enters Mecca in triumph, 191;
    proclamation to the inhabitants, 192;
    final triumph and death, 191;
    his character an open question, 192;
    his sincerity, 193-195;
    sense of inspiration, 193;
    time-serving withal, 193;
    inspired poetic style, 193;
    his predecessors, 195;
    his sources of information, 195;
    takes to the sword, 195;
    conduct to the Jews, 195, 196;
    his weak point, 196, 197;
    his harem, 197;
    his marriages, 198;
    his jealousy, 198;
    triumph of his religion, 199, 200;
    aristocratic descent, 221;
    ante-natal intimations of his greatness, 226;
    the infant recognized by his grandfather, 231;
    his awe under the new revelation, 512;
    his stock-in-trade, 513;
    view of his prophetic function, 513;
    prophets acknowledged by, 514;
    views of Christ, 514, 515;
    of himself, 516, 517;
    address of God to, 516

  Malachi on sacrifices to God, 44;
    prophecies of, 586, 587

  Man, the wise and the fool, chapter from, 468

  Mang, on high-mindedness, his teaching similar to Christ's, 341;
    a disciple of Confucius, 396;
    his works, 396, 397;
    late introduction to the canon, 397, 398;
    his democratic philosophy, 398;
    his view how heaven makes known its will, 399, 400;
    notions of good government, 399, 400;
    a political economist, 401;
    his regard for propriety, 401, 402;
    his faith in human nature, 402, 403;
    his moral tone, 403

  Manu, code of, on legal and illegal forms of marriage, 76, 77;
    the typical ancestors of men, 447;
    and the deluge, 543, 544


  Mark, Gospel of, its credibility, 203;
    omits miraculous conception, 221;
    account of Christ's baptism, 235;
    reference to Christ's temptation, 237

  Marriage, rites at, peculiar to civilized nations, 75;
    in Ceylon, 75;
    in Thibet, 76;
    according to the code of Manu, 76;
    among Parsees, Jews, and Christians, 77;
    with strangers, among the Jews, 600

  Marriage-tie, the, Christ on, 345

  Maruts, the, prayer to, 35, 38;
    their nature, 434

  Mary, the mother of Jesus, 204, 205, 218, 221-223, 233, 234;
    at the cross, 267

  Masses for the dead, 80

  Materialism, unphilosophic, 694

  Matthew, his genealogy of Jesus, 218-221;
    account of miraculous conception, and birth, 221, 222;
    account of the Magi, 227;
    reticence about infancy of Christ, 230;
    discrepancies with Luke, 233-236;
    call of, 241;
    version of sermon on the Mount, 243;
    his misappropriation of prophecy, 297, 298

  Maya Devi, her dream, 176;
    her pregnancy, 176;
    delivery of a son, 177;
    death thereafter, 177

  Maya, her gestation-time, 225

  Mean, the, Chinese doctrine of, 394, 395

  Mencius. See MANG

  Messiah, the, the term, 292, 293;
    Jewish ideas of, 292, 293;
    these ideas not responded to by Christ, 293;
    presumptuous Christian interpretations, 293, 294;
    predictions as to lineage and birth, 294-296;
    as son of David, 295;
    predictions of his birth from a virgin, 297, 298;
    in 53d of Isaiah, 279

  Metaphysics, Buddhist, 473, 474

  Mexico, human and other sacrifices in, 41, 42, 43;
    worship in, 51;
    burial rites in, 78;
    monasticism in, 91, 93

  Mexican festival for rain, 35

  Micah, the prophecy of, 578

  Mill, J. S., a metaphysical realist, 676

  Mind, not resolvable in matter, or physical cause, 689-692


  Miracles as credentials of the divine, 120, 121;
    of Buddhism, 121;
    among the Mongols, 122;
    among the Moslems, 122;
    of Christianity, 123;
    in the early Church, 123, 124;
    of the Mormons, 124, 125;
    insufficiency of the evidence in the case of Christ, 299, 300

  Mite, the widow's, 342, 343

  Mithra, the god, 467, 471, 493

  Mitra, 435

  Moments, four sacred, 57

  Monasticism in Mexico and Peru, 89, 92;
    among the Buddhists, 93-95;
    in Siam, 96;
    in Nepaul, 97;
    in Christianity, 104

  Monk, Buddhist, condemned, to monkeyhood, 556

  Monotheism, fate of, 312

  Monteçuma and human sacrifice, 41

  Mormons, the, claim to supernatural gifts, 124, 125

  Moses, a dangerous Child, 229;
    address of God to, 515;
    the ten commandments of, 549, 550;
    commandments of the tables of stone given to, 595, 596;
    mercifulness, 239;
    divine manifestations to, 602

  Moslems, prayer among the, 51

  Muir, Dr., Sanskrit texts, 425

  Müller, Max, translator of Rig-Veda-Sanhitâ, 425;
    account, of the Vedas, 427, 428;
    on the supreme god of the Hindus, 662, 663

  Myths, three classes of, about Jesus, 217;
    instance of first order, 221, 222, 224;
    of the dangerous child, 227;
    Perseus's birth, 229;
    of Oidipous, 229;
    of Christ's baptism, 352;
    illustration of the growth of, 234


  Nagardjuna, thaumaturgic powers of, 122

  Nahum, the prophet, and his prophecy, 578

  Nathaniel, 280-285

  Nature, Chinese definition of, 395

  Nausikaa, a Chinese, 409

  Nazareth, Christ's reputed birthplace, 296

  Nazarites, the, 96

  Neander on the Judaism of the early Church, 333, 334

  Newman, Francis W., 640

  Nicodemus, 267, 280, 282, 283, 285


  Nidânas, the twelve, 473-475

  Nirvâna, theory of, 474, 475;
    sacrifice of, 478


  Obadiah, prophecy of, 577

  Objects, holy, in Peru, 133;
    trees as, 134;
    animals as, 134;
    serpents as, 134;
    images as, 135

  Odes, Chinese, traditional interpretation of, 379-381

  Offerings, religious, in Sierra Leone, 84;
    in Tartary, 85

  Oidipous, 229

  Omar, his conversion to Mahometanism, 188

  Omens, divine, 106;
    in dreams, 106;
    in sneezing, 109-110;
    interpretation of, 111;
    from flight of eagles, 111;
    from a horse turning back, 111;
    from bleating of a sheep, 111;
    among the Kafirs and Chinese, 112;
    in Ceylon, 112, 113;
    in the heavens, 113;
    in Tacitus, 113, 114;
    in Ireland and Scotland, 114;
    at birth of great men, 114, 115

  Ophites, the, their worship, 134

  Ordeals, as a moral test, 119;
    in Western Africa, 119;
    among the Hebrews, 120;
    among the Negroes, 120;
    among the Ostiacks, 121

  Orders, holy, in the Church of England, 102, 103;
    Buddhist monastic rules, 104-106

  Ormazd. See AHURA-MAZDA


  Pachacamac, or the universal soul, 658

  Palestine, state of, in days of Christ, 209, 210

  Parker, Theodore, 641

  Parsees, sacrifices among the, 44;
    prayers, 50;
    festivals of, 53;
    baptism among, 61, 62;
    burial rites, 78, 80

  Parseeism, rise of, 484;
    reformers' hymn, 483;
    religious zeal of, 486;
    objects of worship, 489;
    fire-worship, 490, 491;
    confession of faith, 490, 491;
    new divinities, 491, 493;
    respect for dogs, 499, 500;
    later respect for purity, 500, 501;
    times of, 507, 508;
    eight commandments of, 550, 551

  Passover, the Jewish, 55

  Patets, the Parsees, 506, 507

  Patria Potestas, the, in Judea and Rome, 600, 601

  Paul, his independence and concession to Jewish prejudices, 330, 331;
    his views of the Mosaic law, 332, 333;
    idea of the coming of Christ, 334, 335;
    as a persecutor, 608;
    accounts of his conversion, 608-610;
    his consecration, 611;
    at Paphos, 611;
    in Antioch, 611;
    at Lystra, taken for Hermes, 611;
    for a god, 611;
    parallel in the case of Sir Francis Drake, 612, 613;
    stoned, 614;
    parts with Barnabas, 614;
    chooses Silas, 614;
    at Phillippi, 614;
    at Athens, 614;
    at Corinth, 614;
    at Ephesus, 614, 615;
    at Troas, 616;
    at Jerusalem, 616, 617;
    appeal to Cæsar, 616;
    in Rome, 617;
    his equal apostleship, 621, 622;
    his epistles, their style and spirit, 623;
    his reasoning powers, 623, 624;
    his exclusive regard for essential principles, 623, 624;
    denunciation of cohabitation with a stepmother, 626;
    against prostitution, 626;
    views on matrimony, 628, 629, 630, 632;
    rules affecting widows, 629;
    preference for celibacy, 630;
    allows bishops and deacons to marry, 630;
    on divorce, 632;
    on the resurrection of the dead, 632-634;
    on brotherly love, 634;
    other maxims, 634

  Perseus, myth of his birth, 229

  Persia, power of, 482

  Peru, monasticism in, 91, 92

  Peruvians, festivals of, 55;
    baptism among, 58

  Peter, call of, 240;
    his denial of Christ, 262;
    his confession, 327;
    his vision, 328;
    and Judaism, 329, 330;
    idea of kingdom of heaven, 335, 336;
    conduct towards Ananias and Sapphira, 606, 607;
    deliverance by an angel, 608;
    scandal caused by, 610;
    his epistles, 619

  Pharisee, the, and publican, 344

  Pharisees, and Christ, 300, 305;
    denounced by Christ, 308, 309

  Phinehas and the Midianitish woman, 597

  Pilate, as governor of Judea, 262, 263;
    treatment of Christ, 263, 265;
    Christ before, 313

  "Pilgrim's Progress," 635, 636. See BUNYAN

  Places, holy, 82, 83;
    special haunts
  of the divine, 126, 127;
    in Africa and South Seas, 127;
    in Ceylon, (the Bo-tree), 127;
    graves as, 127, 128;
    in history, 128;
    oracles, 128;
    by consecration—the temple, 128, 129;
    holy of holies, 130

  Plato, his description of a philosopher in his "Theætetus," 170

  Polynesia, burial rites in, 78

  Positivism, weak point in, 157

  Pourutschista, St., 183, 184

  Power, the Unknown, not a suggestion of sense, 696, or of
    reason, 696, 697, but of religious sentiment, 697, 698;
    idea of, unaccounted for by Realism, common and metaphysical, 698;
    moderate and extreme Idealism, 698;
    neither one nor many, but all, 699, 700;
    sense of, an intuition, 700, 701;
    of kin to mind, as in man, 701, 702;
    includes consciousness, 702;
    includes our nature, 702;
    the universal solvent, 703, 704;
    fountain of all reservoirs of force, 705;
    allows nothing to be a law to itself, 705;
    our knowledge of, no riddle, 707;
    illustrations, 708-712;
    the denial of, an affirmation, 717;
    faith in, the foundation of religious faith, 718;
    answer to charge of vagueness, 719, 720;
    not a father, not a judge, 720;
    harmony of the idea of, with deep religious feeling, 721

  Praise conjoined with prayer, 32-37;
    part of worship, 37, 38;
    Christian and heathen compared, 38

  Prajapati, 535

  Prayer, its influence, 32;
    its concomitant, praise, 32;
    its primitive form and purpose, 33;
    specimens of primitive, 33;
    of Indians, preparing for war, 33;
    of a Huron, 33;
    of Kafirs, 34;
    of Caribbean Islanders, 34;
    of the Samoans, 34;
    Polynesian, 34;
    Vedic, 35-37;
    Solomon's, 35;
    special, 35;
    efficacy, 35;
    for rain and other physical benefits, 36;
    for Thebes, 38;
    specimens of, 38-40;
    and sacrifice, 39;
    forms of, 50;
    Christ's doctrine of, 350;
    the Lord's, 356-358

  Pre-Adamites, Buddhist, 460

  Priests, special function of, 99;
    in relation to the monastic order,
  99, 100;
    consecration of, in Greenland, 100;
    among the American tribes, 100;
    among certain Negroes, 100;
    in Mexico, 101;
    among the Jews, 101, 102;
    in the Christian Church, 102, 103;
    sanctity of, 136;
    authority of, 136-138;
    grades of, 137;
    prophets _versus_, 138;
    privileges of, 138;
    primitive, 138;
    formation as a separate class, as medical practitioners, 139, 140;
    disease-making, 140;
    as doctors in Australia, Africa, &c., 141;
    as healers among the Negroes, 140, 141;
    as mediators for the sick, 142;
    irregular, 142;
    miscellaneous functions, 142;
    in North America as soothsayers, 144;
    as fortune-tellers, &c., in Thibet, 145;
    claim to inspiration, 145;
    Jewish high, claims and powers of, 146;
    protected by heaven, 146;
    repute of Brahminical, 147;
    functions of, 147;
    as rain makers, &c., 148;
    power and sanctity of, 148, 149;
    in Ceylon and Siam, 149;
    reward of, 149;
    tithes to, 149;
    the duty and privilege of offering, 152;
    privileges of, 150;
    hereditary, 151;
    internally called, 152;
    a demand for, 152;
    infallibility, 153

  Priestesses in Guinea, 148, 149

  Prophet, anonymous, 574;
    another, 578;
    _the_ anonymous, his rank among the prophets, 583;
    his prophecies, 584;
    the prophet of consolation, 584, 585

  Prophets of the world, the, 154;
    their ultimate authority, 155;
    mystically invested with superhuman endowment, 155;
    their absolute consciousness, 155, 156;
    their conservative spirit, 156;
    the Hebrew, civil standing, 554, 555;
    Elijah and Elisha, 555;
    the most powerful, 570

  Prophecy, Hebrew, originally oral, then written, 570;
    constant theme of, 570, 571;
    minor topics, 571

  Prosperity, national or royal, Jewish, Chinese, and Thibetan
    theories of, 558, 559

  Protestantism and asceticism, 98

  Proverbs, the, a criticism, 568

  Psalms, the, their character, 564, 565;
    of cursing (cx. and cix.), 565;
    Vedic parallels, 565, 566

  Psalmists, the, their praises of Jehovah, 38

  Puberty, rites of, cruel and mysterious, 64, 65;
    meaning of the rites, 65, 66;
    Catlin's account of the rite among the Mandans, 66, 67;
    Schoolcraft's account, 68;
    rite in New South Wales, 68-70;
    and in other parts of Australia, 70, 71;
    of a Phallic nature in Africa, 71-73;
    in South Seas, 73;
    among the Hindus, 72, 73;
    among the Parsees, 74;
    among Jews and Christians, 74

  Punishment, eternal, doctrine of, 350;
    in the Christian system, 638-640

  Purgatory, a merciful suggestion, 640

  Pûrna, the Christianity of, 354;
    the legend of, 452-458

  Purusha Sûkta, the, a universal essence, 438, 439


  Rain, prayer for, 35, 36

  Rays of Buddha, 113

  Realism, common, in relation to God, 670, 671;
    metaphysical, do., 671, 672;
    comparative estimate, 672, 673;
    and Idealism, unable to solve the religious problem, 698, 699

  Reality, the one, 701

  Reason, the process of, 696

  Relations, the, of time and space to mind and matter, 691, 692

  Religion, interest and importance of the subject, 19, 20;
    fallacious evidences, 20, 21;
    method of inquiry, 22, 23;
    universality and varied phases, 22, 23;
    substance and form, 22;
    its root principle, 27;
    craving after, 28;
    twofold aspect and function, 29;
    analysis of treatment of the subject in these volumes, 28-30;
    two distinct questions regarding, 645, 646;
    these resolved into three, 646;
    essential assumption, 647;
    three fundamental postulates, 648;
    two kinds of proof, 649;
    universal, 649, 650;
    meagre among the Australians, 650;
    in Kamtschatka, 650;
    the permanent in, 668, 669;
    question suggested by, as regards God, 669;
    conclusion of science, 677, 678;
    tendency to limit itself in theology, 679, 680;
    historical progress of, 681, 682;
    the great truth in, offered to philosophy, 683;
    involves a faith in the soul, 684-694;
    final postulate, 695;
    conclusion of, neither from sense nor reason, but sentiment, 696;
    conclusion of, necessary, 696;
    a pervading error and a general truth in, 709;
    real difficulty about, 711;
    denial of its truth emotional as well as the affirmation, 712;
    objections met, 710, 725;
    the one universal foundation of, 718

  Religions, founders of new, 154;
    their comparison, 645

  Resurrection, of Christ, accounts of the, 269;
    the germ of these in Mark, 269, 270;
    Matthew's, 269, 270;
    Luke's, 270;
    John's, 271, 272;
    Paul's, 272, 273;
    summary of accounts, 272, 273;
    psychological explanation of the myth, 275, 277;
    of Lazarus, 278, 279

  Reverend, the title of, 149

  Review, general, 643-645

  Rig Veda, the, 426, 427, 429

  Rig-Veda, Sanhitâ, its contents, 430, 435;
    its praise of Agni, 431;
    of Indra and the Soma, 431-434;
    of the Maruts, 434;
    of Ushas, the dawn, 434;
    of Varuna, 435, 436;
    consciousness of one God, 437, 438;
    speculative element, 440;
    on the Purusha Sûkta, 438, 439;
    personification of abstractions, 439, 440;
    general estimate of, 440, 441;
    interest to the mythologist, 441;
    elementary religious ideas, 442, 443

  Ritual, early, universal development of a fixed, 49, 50;
    in prayer, 50;
    in worship, 51;
    in Mexican and other worships, 51;
    Griggories, charms in Sierra Leone, 133

  Rome, Church of, and Paganism, 56

  Rudrayana, legend of his conversion to Buddhism, 458, 459


  Sabaeism, god of, 659

  Sabbath, the Jewish, Christ's treatment of, 309-302

  Sacrament, the Christian, 46, 47

  Sacrifice, idea and origin of, 39, 40, 42, 43, 48;
    motive to and duty of, 49, 50;
    to the Amatongo, 40;
    object of, 41, 44;
    in Kamtschatka, 42;
    human, 41;
    animal, among the Kafirs and in Western Africa, 42;
    among the American Indians, 42;
    in China, 42;
    among the Jews, 42, 46;
    the Ibos, 42;
    in South Sea Islands, 43;
    among the Mexicans, Peruvians, Incas, 43;
    among the Hindus, 43;
    among the Parsees, 44;
    Malachi on, 45;
    among the Buddhists, 45;
    a requirement of the religious sentiment, 45;
    part of, the priests' and worshipers', 46;
    among the Tembus, 46;
    by libation, 46;
    supposed effects on the deity, 47;
    theory of, among the Hindus, 47;
    idea of, fundamental to Christianity, 48, 49

  Sadducees, the, and Christ, 305, 308

  Saints, worship of, 310, 311

  Sakyamuni. See BUDDHA

  Saleh, the legend of the prophet, 512-514

  Sâma Veda, the, 427, 429

  Sâmaria, the woman of, 281-284

  Samoans, prayer of the, 34;
    drink-offerings of, 47

  Samson, the Jewish Hercules, 553

  Samudra, the legend of, 588, 589

  Samuel, government of, 553, 554

  Sanhitâs, the, what? 425, 426

  Satan in the book of Job, 563, 564

  Saturday, holy, in the Catholic Church, 55

  Scala Santa, the, 128

  Sect, Johannine, trace of a, 616

  Self-consecration common to all religions, 88;
    its nature, 89;
    its elements, 89

  Sennacherib, legend of, 556, 557

  Sermon on the Mount, 350, 351

  Shakers, the, 98

  She King, the, slight religious interest of, 407;
    popularity of its songs, 408;
    varied themes of these, 407;
    the widow's protest, 408;
    young lady's request to her lover, 408;
    ode of filial piety, 410;
    theory of kingly success, 560;
    ode similar to one of psalmist David's, 567

  Ship adrift, a parallel, 718, 719

  Shoo, the four, 391

  Shoo King, the, its antiquity, 403;
    doctrine of imperial duties and rights, 403, 404;
    respect for the
  popular mind, 404;
    on the house of Hea, 404, 405;
    on the house of Yin, 406;
    counsels of the Duke of Chow, 406;
    of the Duke of Ts'in, 406

  Shun, heaven's choice of, as king, 399, 400, 402, 406

  Simeon, his recognition of the infant Christ, 231-235

  Sin, supposed physical effects of, 36

  Sincerity, a Chinese virtue, 395

  Sneeze, a famous, in Xenophon, 111

  Sneezing, an omen, 110;
    exclamations connected with, in Polynesia, Germany, Africa, &c., 110;
    as an omen in Germany, 111

  Socrates, and Christ, his superior gift, 364, 366;
    a Chinese, 417

  Solomon, prayer of, 35;
    dedication of Temple, 83;
    an Indian, 554

  Soma, a god as well as a juice, 431

  Son, the, in the Trinity, 682, 683

  Song of Solomon, traditional interpretation of, 379;
    dramatic character of, 569, 570;
    brief account of, 570

  Sophocles, prayer to Apollo, 39

  Soul, Indian conception of a universal, 445, 446;
    Indian idea of the future of the, 446;
    the universal, of the Veda, 659, 661;
    faith in, involved in every religion, 684;
    in Kamtschatka, Tartary, America, 685;
    the Kafirs, the Ashantees, 686;
    immateriality of, 687;
    faith in its immortality not universal, 687, 688

  Space and time as elements, 691

  Spiegel, Dr., translation of the Zend-Avesta, 483

  Spirit, the, in the Trinity, 683

  Spirits, familiar, divination by, 108, 109

  Spiritualism, 724

  Sramana, a, defined, 94

  Srotâpanna, the, 479 (note)

  Suddhodana and his queen worthy to produce Buddha, 176

  Sunday, Jewish notions of, 301

  Serpent, worship of the, 133, 134

  Suras, showing how Mahomet was possessed by his idea, 512;
    the opening of the Koran, 512;
    of the prophet's maturity, 513

  Sûtras, the Buddhistic, the interpretation of, 378;
    tediousness, 389;
    the simple and developed, 450;
    diffuseness and supernatural gear, 472;
    the simple, 472

  Sûtra, Prâtimoksha, the, monastic rules of, 94;
    its subject, 463;
    antiquity, 463;
    monastic rules of, 464-466

  Sûtra-Pitaka, the, 467, 468;
    stories from, 467, 468;
    contents of, 468

  Svetaketu, the ill-educated young Brahman, 446

  Syrophœnicia, woman of, 244, 245

  Swimming, mixed, 460


  Tables of stone, commandments of, 551, 552

  T'ae-k'ang, the Shoo King on, 403

  Ta Hëo, the, its doctrinal character, 293;
    the original text, 393, 394;
    Tsang's commentary, 394;
    its politico-practical character, 394

  Talapoins, the, 148, 149

  Tantras, the, 476

  Tao, description of, 414, 417;
    his character, 421

  Taò-tĕ-Kīng, book of the Taò-sse, 413;
    European translations, 413;
    authenticity of, 414;
    meaning of the title, 414;
    its principal subjects, 414;
    on Tao, 416, 417;
    its ideal man, 417, 419;
    moral doctrines, 417, 418;
    most philosophical of sacred books, 414;
    a perplexing study, 414;
    its conception of God, 421, 422;
    extract in French and German, 423, 424

  Tao-tsé, the sect, 413

  Tartars, drink-offerings among the, 47

  Tathâgata, the, 477

  Temple, rudest form of, known, 83;
    Solomon's, its dedication, 83;
    usual splendor of such structures, 82;
    the Jewish, as a holy place, 129;
    Fijian, 129, 130;
    in Mexico and Peru, 130, 131

  Testament, the Old, the sum of the literary activity of the Jews, 518;
    historical books, 530, 563;
    doctrine of creation of the universe, 531, 532;
    of animals and man, 535-538;
    account of the deluge, 542, 543;
    of Abraham, 545, 546;
    of the Jews in Egypt and their deliverance, 548, 549;
    of the law, 549;
    of the laws of the stone tablets, 552;
    of settlement in Palestine, 554;
    of the kings, 554, 555;
    of the schism, 555;
    of the captivity, 563

  Testament, New, its contents, 604

  Theologians, royal, 445-447

  Theology and religion, 681

  Theology, misconception of, 709

  Therapeutæ, the, 95

  Thibet, marriage in, 76;
    death rites in, 79

  Thread, investiture with the, among the Hindus, 73, 74

  Tombs, sacred, 127

  Tongues, the gift of, at Pentecost, 605, 606;
    Paul's view of, 606, 607

  Tree, the Ruminal, 113

  Trees, holy, 127, 133, 134

  Tribute, Christ on paying, 304-306

  Trinity, Scripture proof of the doctrine, 379;
    rationally viewed, 681, 682

  Tripitaka, the, translations of, 449;
    its origin, 450;
    its divisions and their authorship, 450;
    second and third editions called for, 450;
    real antiquity, 451;
    discoveries connected with, 451;
    theology and ethics of, 476

  Tsang, commentary of, 393

  Ts'in on the choice of rulers, 406

  Tsze-Kung, hero-worship of, 168


  Unkulunkulu, the Great-great of the Kafirs, 651, 652

  Upagupta and the courtesan, 469, 470

  Upanishad, the, 444, 445

  Upâsakas, 479, 480

  Ushas, the Indian aurora, 434

  Utikxo, a greater than the Great-great, 653

  Utilitarianism sanctioned by Christ, 360

  Utshaka, his prayer for rain, 35


  Varuna, his power and attributes, 435, 436

  Veda, the, merit of studying, 373;
    forced interpretation of, 377, 378;
    its inspiration, 429

  Vedas, the, meaning of the term, 425;
    subdivisions, literature, and versions, 425, 426;
    the Sanhitâ portion, 425;
    the Brâhmana, 425;
    origin of the four, 427;
    arrangement, 427, 428;
    antiquity, 427-429;
    four epochs of development, 427;
    theories of them, 428, 429;
    division into Sruti and Smriti, 429;
    the study of, 430

  Vedic hymns, prayer and praise in, 37, 38;
    the style of, 39

  Vendidad, the, a legislative code, 497, 502;
    on agriculture, 498, 499;
    on penalties, 499;
    on surgical training, 499

  Vinaya-Pitaka, the date, 451, 452;
    specimen legend of Pûrna, 452, 458;
    immediate subject of, 460, 461;
    monastic rules, 461-463

  Virgin, the term in Scripture, 297

  Vishnu, the unknowable of Spencer, 659, 660

  Visvamitra, his merits and trials as an ascetic, 95, 96;
    an Indian Joshua, 553

  Vocabulary, Pentaglot Buddhist, rules, 461, 462

  Voice, the still small, 603

  Volsunga-Saga, 388, 399


  Water, holy, 55;
    virtues of, 135

  Wilson, H. H., translation of first five Ashtakas, 425;
    on the age of the Vedas, 428

  Wisdom, Indian hymn to, 440;
    worship a universal necessity, 31;
    its elements, 31;
    its grades, 32;
    efficacy of, 32;
    often selfish, 37;
    considered as pleasing to deity, 37;
    matter of commerce, 38;
    of Zeus and Apollo, 39;
    ritual in, 122

  Woo, King, legend of, 557, 558


  Xenophon, encouraged by a sneeze, 111


  Yaçna, the, of seven chapters, antiquity, 488;
    theme of, 488-490;
    chapter xi., 490, 491;
    the younger, 491, 496;
    hymn of, in praise of the good creation, 495

  Yajur-Veda, the, 426, 427, 428

  Yaou, the Emperor, and Shun, 398, 399;
    a great man, 400;
    a model ruler, 403

  Yashts, the, 582, 583;
    nature of, 585

  Yin, the house of, fate of, 405, 406, 559, 560

  Yu, the great, 397


  Zacharias and Elizabeth, story of, 222, 232, 297

  Zarathustra, absence of documents, 182;
    fragment of biography, 182;
    his daughter a disciple and apostle of his faith, 183;
    his disciples, 183;
    the opponents of, 183;
    without honor in his own country, 184;
    rejected and despised, 185;
    chief article of his creed, 185;
    faith in Ahura-Mazda as the one god, 185;
    high descent of, 221;
    his temptation, 238;
    interrogates Ahura-Mazda, 479-502;
    the favors he asks from Homa, 506

  Zayd, a forerunner of Mahomet, 195

  Zealand, a preternatural birth in, 223, 224

  Zechariah, prophecies of, 229

  Zend-Avesta, the interpretation of, 378, 379;
    style, 389;
    translation of, 483;
    chronology of, 483;
    ethics of, 509;
    theology, 509

  Zephaniah, the prophecy of, 578, 579

  Zeus, worship of, 38, 39

  Zoroaster. See ZARATHUSTRA




                              FOOTNOTES:

[1] This prayer, which is too long to quote, may be found in Aglio, A.
M., v. 372, and in Sahagun, C. N. E., book vi. chap. 8. According to
Sahagun, it contains "muy delicada materia."

[2] Lewis, The Bible, &c., p. 496. For a full account of the ceremonies
on Holy Saturday at Rome, see A. M. Baggs, D. D., The Ceremonies of
Holy Week, p. 96.

[3] A. M., vol. v. p. 90 (Spanish), and vol. vi. p. 45 (English).

[4] Brinton has given a very imperfect version of two of them in his M.
N. W., pp. 127, 128.

[5] Griffith, The Ramayan, vol. i. p. 268.

[6] Henry IV., pt. 1, act iii. scene 1.

[7] Irenæus adv. Hæreses, II. xxxi. 2.—A. N. L., vol. v. p. 241.

[8] Ibid., II., xxxii. 4.—A. N. L., vol. v. p. 246.

[9] For the evidence of these miracles, see a paper by the author on
"The Latter-day Saints," in the _Fortnightly Review_ for December, 1869.

[10] Bryant, a Forest Hymn.

[11] After some hesitation, I have determined to adhere to the
Latinized form of the name of the prophet of China, as more familiar to
English ears. As a general rule, I consider the movement in literature
which is restoring proper names to their original spellings,—giving
us Herakles for Hercules, and Oidipous for Œdipus,—as deserving of
all support. But where the common form, in addition to being the more
familiar, may be considered as English proper and not Latin used
in English (as in such names as Homer, Aristotle, Jesus Christ), I
conceive it to be more convenient to retain the accustomed designation,
even though it may be regretted that it has come into general use.
Hence, I think, we may retain Confucius, who would scarcely be
recognized by English readers under his full name, Khung-fu-tsze, or
under his more usual abridged name, Khung-tsze, or under the name
elsewhere given him, Chung-ne. No similar justification appears to me
to exist for the Greek form Zoroaster, as compared with Zarathustra,
which last form is as easy to pronounce as the other, and not very
dissimilar from it in sound.

My authorities for the life of Confucius have been Dr. Legge's Chinese
Classics, vol. i. Proleg. p. 54-113, and the Lun Yu and Chung Yung,
translated in the same volume.

[12] Ibid., vii. 22. The occasion of this utterance is said to have
been an attack by the emissaries of an officer named Hwan T'uy, with a
view of killing the sage.

[13] For authorities on Laò-tsé, see vol. ii. chap. vi. section ii.

[14] Julien assigns B. C. 604 as the date, but confesses that he has no
authority but historical tradition. L. V. V. xix.

[15] The following works may be advantageously consulted with reference
to the Buddha Sakyamuni:—Notices on the Life of Shakya, by Csoma
Korosi; Asiatic Researches, vol. xx. part ii. p. 285: the Rgya Tch'er
Rol Pa, par Ph. Ed. Foucaux; Hardy's Manual of Buddhism; Bigandet's
Life or Legend of Gautama, the Buddha of the Burmese; Alabaster's Wheel
of the Law; and Koeppen's Religion des Buddha, vol. i. p. 71, ff. Some
information will also be found in my article on "Recent Publications on
Buddhism", in the _Theological Review_ for July, 1872.

[16] For an account of all that is to be made out concerning this
prophet, see Haug's Parsees, p. 258-264.

[17] Yasna liii. 1-3. The translations contained in this section are
taken either from Dr. Haug's F. G., or his Parsees. Here and there I
have ventured to amend his English without altering the sense.

[18] The source from which this notice is mainly drawn is Sprenger,
"Das Leben und die Lehre des Mohammed," 3 vols. In addition to this
I have consulted Muir's "Life of Mahomet;" Caussin de Perceval, "Les
Arabes;" Gustav Weil, "Mohammed der Prophet," and other works. The
facts here stated will generally be found in Sprenger. The translations
of Koranic passages are taken from Rodwell's Koran.

[19] The author of "The Messiah" (London, 1872) contends that he was
not only a master builder, but the principal builder of Nazareth. His
remarks on this subject (pp. 91 ff.) deserve consideration, though they
are not conclusive.

[20] Lu. xi. 19. I use this verse, not as evidence that Jesus actually
spoke the words ascribed to him, but that the practice of casting out
devils was common to Jesus and the disciples of the Pharisees.

[21] Kings omitted in the Gospel are inserted in brackets and
italicized.

[22] Mt. i. 1-17; Lu. iii. 23-38.

[23] C. C. vol. iv. p. 465.—She King, Part iii. Bk. 2. i. 1. 2.

[24] Ibid., vol. ii. p. 73. It is very remarkable that the same notion
is expressed in Christian paintings of the middle ages. On a painted
glass of the sixteenth century, found in the church of Jouy, a little
village in France, the virgin is represented standing, her hands
clasped in prayer, and the naked body of the child in the same attitude
appears upon her stomach, apparently supposed to be seen through the
garments and body of the mother. M. Didron saw at Lyons a Salutation
painted on shutters, in which the two infants, likewise depicted on
their mothers' stomachs, were also saluting each other. This precisely
corresponds to Buddhist accounts of the Bodhisattva's ante-natal
proceedings.—Ic. Chr. p. 263.

[25] C. C., vol. iv. p.468.—She King, Pt. iii. Bk. 2. i. 3.

[26] Zech. xi. 12, 13. According to Ewald, this portion of Zechariah is
by an anonymous prophet contemporaneous with Isaiah.

[27] Mk. xiv. 17-21; Mt. xxvi. 20-25; Lu. xxii. 21, 22; Jo. xiii. 21-28.

[28] Mk. xiv. 43-65; Mt. xxvi. 47-68; Lu. xxii. 47-53, and 63-71; Jo.
xviii. 3-14 and 19-24.

[29] Mk. xiv. 26-30, and 66-72; Mt. xxvi. 30-35, and 69-75; Lu. xxii.
33, 34, and 55-62; Jo. xiii. 37, 38, and xviii. 15-18, and 25-27.

[30] Mt. xxiii. 1-33; Mk. vii. 6. I omit the concluding verses in Mt.
xxiii., as the allusion in verse 35 renders it impossible that Christ
could have uttered them. Indeed, the whole chapter is suspicious; but
as portions of it are confirmed by Mark, I conclude that the sentiments
at least, if not the precise words, are genuine.

[31] Milton, Treatise on Christian Doctrine, Sumner's translation, p.
100 ff.

[32] This verse is so inconsistent with other declarations of Christ,
especially with Mt. x. 23, that I am disposed to regard it as an
interpolation.

[33] The use of this word casts suspicion on the authenticity of the
verse where it occurs.

[34] See on this subject the truly admirable remarks of Karl Otfried
Muller, in his Prolegomena zu einer Wissenschaftlichen Mythologie
(Göttingen, 1825), pp. 282-284.

[35] C. C., vol. iv. p. 140.—She King, pt. i. b. 7, ode 13.

[36] C. C., vol. iv. p. 153.—She King, pt. i. b. 8, ode 4.

[37] In treating of the Sacred Books of the Confucian School in China,
I rely entirely upon the admirable and (so far as it has yet gone)
complete work of the Rev. Dr. James Legge. Although I have consulted
other publications, I have not drawn my information from them,
because it was at once evident that Dr. Legge's "Chinese Classics"
was immeasurably superior to all that had preceded it on the same
subject. Unfortunately, the very thoroughness of the work renders it
voluminous; and it thus happens that the author has not fulfilled more
than a portion of the promise held out at its commencement. It must
be the earnest hope of all who are interested in these studies that
the learned missionary will live to complete his design; meantime, we
are obliged to confine ourselves to a notice of that portion of the
Classics which he has translated. For Pauthier's French translation of
the Chinese Classics (in the Panthéon Littéraire: "Les Livres Sacrés de
l'Orient") embraces only that portion of the King which is to be found
in the hitherto-published volumes of Dr. Legge.

[38] Of which an English translation by David Collie, entitled "The
Chinese Classical Work, commonly called the Four Books," was published
at Malacca in 1828.

[39] Sir J. Davis (The Chinese, ii. 48) reckons only nine King, those
enumerated above. I presume that the remaining four enjoy an inferior
degree of veneration.

[40] Yaou and Shun are the ideal Chinese emperors, and belong to a
mythical age. Shun was not the legitimate successor of Yaou, who had
raised him from poverty, and given him his two daughters in marriage.
On Yaou's death, his son at first succeeded him, and Shun withdrew; but
the latter was soon called to the throne by the general desire.

[41] Shoo King, b. 3, pt. iii. ch. i. pp. 6, 7.

[42] She King, i. 4. 1.

[43] She King, i. 7. 2.

[44] Not literally a child. "Little child" is the usual style of
Chinese rulers when designing to express feelings of modesty and
religious reverence.

[45] She King, iv. 1. [iii.] 1.

[46] By far the best European work on the Taò-tĕ-Kīng is that of Victor
von Strauss, and I have followed his translation, though not without
consulting those of others. I am fully sensible of the inconvenience of
a double translation, and I should have preferred to follow Chalmers'
English rendering of Laò-tsé, had not the obscurity of his version
been so great as to render it almost unintelligible to the general
reader. Reinhold von Plänckner's translation errs on the other side by
excess of clearness. It is a palpable attempt to force upon the ancient
Chinaman a connected system professedly unraveled from the text by the
ingenuity of the modern German. It should be used only with extreme
caution, or not at all.

[47] It deserves to be noted, as a peculiarity of the Chinese
prophets—Confucius and Laò-tsé—that they alone among their peers have
left authentic written compositions. The Koran can scarcely be said to
have been written by Mahomet, in the sense in which we talk of writing
a book. And neither Zarathustra, Jesus, nor the Buddha, were authors.
The calmer Chinese temperament permitted, in the case of these two
great teachers, a mode of conveying instructions which is repugnant,
as a rule, to the fervid prophetic nature. Observe that of the Jewish
(so-called) prophets, those who committed their prophecies to writing,
generally belonged to a comparatively late age, in which oral prophecy
was no longer in vogue, and the state of feeling that had inspired it
no longer prevalent.

[48] The former view is that of Stan. Julien; the latter that of von
Plänckner.

[49] Ch. 51. I have borrowed some expressions from Chalmers. O. P.

[50] Ch. 25. For the sake of enabling the reader to compare the
interpretations of this important chapter given by various Sinologues,
I subjoin in an appendix four other translations.

[51] Ch. 55. Von Strauss explains this to mean that he is like the
child in its unconsciousness of danger from these sources.

[52] Or Compassionateness. Chalmers translates "compassion," but this
term denotes the sentiment rather than the virtue.

[53] See their names in Le Livre de la Voie et de la Vertu (hereafter
abbreviated thus—L. V. V.). Composé dans le VI Siècle avant l'ère
chrétienne par le Philosophe Laò-tséu. Traduit en Français et publié
avec le texte chinois par Stanislas Julien. 8vo. Paris, 1872, xxxvi.

[54] Such is the description of M. Julien, derived from the most
ancient Chinese commentators. I am at a loss to reconcile it even with
his own translation, though it would be presumptuous in me to deny
that the learned Sinologue may have reasons for it of which I am not
aware.—See L. V. V., p. xiii.

[55] Mémoire sur la Vie et les Opinions de Laò-tséu, par M. Abel
Rémusat, Paris, 1823, p. 27.

[56] The literature of the Veda is now copious. To mention only a few
works, H. H. Wilson published a translation of the first five Ashtakas
of the Rig-Veda-Sanhitâ, but I have forborne to make use of it, from a
conviction that the advance of Vedic scholarship has to a great degree,
if not wholly, superseded the methods of interpretation employed by
him. Benfey has translated the whole of the Sâma-Veda-Sanhitâ into
German, and I have studied his translation, but have preferred to rely
mainly on the labors of English scholars, both because the inherent
obscurity of these ancient hymns might be increased by the process of
re-translation, and also because I might possibly fail to catch the
exact shade of meaning of the German words. His work should, however,
be consulted by those who desire to acquaint themselves with the style
of the Veda. Max Müller has unhappily published but one volume of his
translation of the Rig-Veda-Sanhitâ, which is doubtless destined (if
completed) to become the standard English version of that portion of
the text. The same eminent scholar has translated many of the hymns in
his "Ancient Sanskrit Literature." Another source from which I have
derived valuable assistance is Dr. Muir's laborious work entitled
"Original Sanskrit Texts." Such are the principal authorities on the
hymns. Of the Brâhmanas, the whole of the Aitareya Brâhmana has been
translated by Haug, and portions of others by Roer and by Rajendralal
Mitra.

[57] All this will be found admirably treated in Mr. Cox's "Mythology
of the Aryan Nations."

[58] No complete translation of the Tripitaka exists, or is ever likely
to exist in any European language. Its vast extent, and the comparative
worthlessness of many of its parts, would preclude its publication as
a whole. But complete treatises, or portions of treatises, have been
translated by Burnouf, in his "Histoire du Buddhisme Indien," and
"Lotus de la Bonne Loi;" by Beal, in his "Chinese Buddhist Scriptures;"
by Schmidt, in "Der Weise und der Thor;" by Hardy, in his "Manual
of Buddhism," and by Alabaster, in his "Modern Buddhist." An exact
analysis of the contents of the hundred volumes of the great collection
called the Kah-gyur is supplied by Csoma Kőrösi in the 20th vol. of
the "Asiatic Researches." The leading features of the books, and parts
of books thus translated, are so well marked and uniform, that nothing
further is needed to enable us to estimate the general character of
each division of the whole Tripitaka.

[59] Southern Buddhists fix the dates of these General Councils
somewhat differently.

[60] Apparently a people living beyond the frontiers (of the civilized
world). See H. B. I., p. 252, _n._

[61] The state of an "Arhat" is the highest of four degrees which the
hearers of the Buddha used to attain; _i. e._, the one which led most
directly to Nirvâna. The other three degrees were those of Srotâpatti,
of Sakridâgâmin, and Anâgâmin. The Arhat was not born again; each
of the other three had a smaller or greater number of existences to
undergo before Nirvâna.

[62] I translate "l'Assemblée" by this phrase, which appears to render
its meaning more precisely than a more literal translation.

[63] These two verses are a standing formula by which the Buddha of the
Canon summons the world to receive his law.

[64] This Vocabulary is a Chinese compilation, forming one of a class
of catalogues drawn up in ancient times by Buddhist preachers. Such
catalogues are found in the midst of canonical books, and are of high
authority among Buddhists.

[65] The translation of this Sûtra is due to Mr. Beal, to whose most
useful labors on Buddhism I am much indebted.—C. B. S., p. 206.

[66] This is a standing miracle on the reception of novices by Buddha.

[67] I do not pretend to any certainty that the above interpretation is
correct, but I have in the main followed a trustworthy guide, Burnouf.
See H. B. I., p. 491-507.

[68] The authorities do not entirely agree in the accounts they give of
the speed with which these paths lead to Nirvâna. The above statement
appears to me unquestionably the oldest and most authentic. It is
in agreement with Eitel, Sanskrit-Chinese Dictionary, _sub vocibus_
Sakridâgâmin, however, is omitted, and with Hardy, E. M., p. 280.

Eitel indeed adds that an Arhat, if he does not enter Nirvâna, may
become a Buddha, but this is probably a Northern perversion of the
original notion. In the genuine authorities, a Bodhisattva is quite
distinct from an Arhat. The account derived by Burnouf (H. B. I., p.
291 ff.) from Northern sources is palpably a corruption of the oldest
doctrine, proceeding from that unbounded love of exaggerated numbers
which is the besetting sin of Buddhist writers. According to this
version, the Srotâpanna must pass through 80,000 ages before his seven
births; Sakridâgâmin, after 60,000 ages, is to be born once as a man
and once as a god; the Anâgâmin, after 40,000 ages, is exempted from
re-birth in the world of desire, and arrives at supreme knowledge;
which the Arhat reaches after 20,000 ages. Poor comfort this to souls
longing for their eternal rest. Cf. Köppen, R. B., vol. i. p. 498.

[69] Aryas is a term comprehending the several classes of believers.

[70] There is a complete translation of the Zend-Avesta by Spiegel. It
contains useful introductory essays; but in the present state of Zend
scholarship the translation cannot be regarded as final. Dr. Haug, in
a German treatise, has elucidated as well as translated a small, but
very important, portion, of the Zend-Avesta, termed the five Gâthâs.
The same scholar has also published a volume of Essays on the Parsee
language and religion, which contains some translated passages, and may
be consulted with advantage, though Dr. Haug's English stands in great
need of revision. Burnouf has translated but a very small part of the
Zend-Avesta, in a work entitled "Le Yaçna." Unfortunately Dr. Haug and
Dr. Spiegel—both very eminent Zend scholars—are entirely at variance
as to the proper method of translating these ancient documents; and
pending the settlement of this question, any interpretation proposed
must be regarded by the uninstructed reader as uncertain. I cannot
refrain from adding an expression of regret that Dr. Haug, to whose
labors in the interpretation of these obscure fragments of antiquity we
owe so much, should have so far forgotten himself as to fall foul of
Dr. Spiegel in a tone wholly unbecoming a scholar and inappropriate to
the subject. It is not by this kind of learned Billingsgate that the
superiority of his translation to that of his rival, as he evidently
considers him, or his fellow-laborer as I should prefer to call him,
can be established.

[71] Throughout the Gâthâs I follow Haug; and I need make no
apology for neglecting Spiegel's translation, because that scholar
himself admits, with creditable candor, that even his indefatigable
perseverance was baffled by the difficulties of this portion of the
Yaçna.—Av., 2. xi.

[72] The sentences enclosed in parentheses are Haug's explanations of
the sense of the text.

[73] It is a satisfaction to find that Spiegel's translation does
not differ so widely from Haug's after we leave the territory of the
Gâthâs. As a specimen, I quote the following verses from his Avesta,
vol. ii. p. 135, which the reader may compare with the English
rendering of the same passage in the text:—

_Yaçna Haptağhâiti._

xxxv. 1.

 1. "(Raçpi). Den Ahura-Mazda, den reinen Herrn des Reinen, preisen
 wir. Die Amesha-çpenta, die guten Herrscher, die weisen, preisen wir.
 2. Die ganze Welt des Reinen preisen wir, die himmlische wie die
 irdische, 3. mit Verlangen nach der guten Reinheit, mit Verlangen nach
 dem guten mazdayaçnischen Gesetze. 4. (Zaota.) Der guten Gedanken,
 Worte und Werke, die hier und anderswo 5. gethan worden sind oder noch
 gethan werden, 6. Lobpreiser und Verbreiter sind wir, damit wir zu den
 Guten gehören mögen. 7. Das glauben wir, Ahura-Mazda, Reiner, Schöner,
 8. Das wollen wir denken, sagen und thun: 9. was das Beste ist unter
 den Handlungen der Menschen für beide Welten. 10. Durch diese besten
 Thaten nun erbitten wir, dass für das Vieh 11. Annehmlichkeit und
 Futter gespendet werden möge 12. den Gelehrten wie den Ungelehrten,
 den Mächtigen wie den Unmächtigen."


[74] I follow Burnouf's translation, because the strict accuracy of his
method is acknowledged by both Haug and Spiegel. There are considerable
differences in the text followed by Burnouf and Spiegel, which I need
not weary the reader by particularizing in detail.

[75] Y., p. 146.—Cf. Spiegel: 1. "Ich lade ein und thue es kund:
dem Schöpfer Ahura-Mazda, dem glänzenden, majestätischen, grössten,
besten, schönsten, 2. dem stärksten, verständigsten, mit bestem Körper
versehenen, durch Heiligkeit höchsten. 3. Der sehr weise ist, der
weithin erfreut, 4. welcher uns schuf, welcher uns bildete, welcher uns
erhielt, der Heiligste unter den Himmlischen"—Av., ii. 35.

[76] No mention of Zarathustra here in Spiegel.—Av. ii. 44.

[77] Y. pp. 585, 588, 592. The concluding stanza is simpler and more
intelligible in Spiegel.—Av., ii. 44.

[78] Av., vol. ii. p. 85.—Yaçna, 12. The ch. xii. quoted above is No.
13. in Spiegel.

[79] Çraosha is an important divinity in Parsee worship, who is
considered by Spiegel to express the moral quality of obedience.

[80] Av., vol. ii. p. 191.—Yaçna, 61. This blessing is repeated,
Khorda-Avesta, 11.

[81] There is, indeed, a passage which permits the mutilation of a mad
dog by cutting off an ear, or a foot, or the tail; Spiegel, however,
regards it as interpolated, and it is palpably at variance with the
remainder of the chapter.

[82] Spiegel holds that Airyama is only a certain prayer
hypostatized.—Cf. Av., vol. iii. p. 34.

[83] Av., vol. iii. p. 3.—Khorda-Avesta, 1.

[84] In the "Journal Asiatique," 4me Série, tom. 4, 5, 6, 7, 8. I
have followed it exclusively. The Homa Yasht is not formally included
in the Khorda-Avesta; it forms the 9th chapter of the Yaçna. But the
fact that, while utterly alien to the rest of the Yaçna, it is truly
a Yasht—being in honor of a special personage—induced me to defer its
consideration till now.

[85] The term Çpitama, usually coupled with the name of Zarathustra,
is translated by Spiegel "holy," but is treated by Haug and Burnouf as
a proper name. There are indications that it may have been the family
name of the prophet. See Av., vol. iii. p. 209, _n._

[86] Complete translations of the Koran into English have been made
by Sale and by Rodwell. Considerable portions have been rendered into
German by Sprenger, "Das Leben und die Lehre des Mohammed;" and by
Gustav Weil, "Mohammed der Prophet;" and into English by Dr. Muir, in
his "Life of Mahomet."

[87] L. L. M., vol. iii., Vorrede; Sale, preliminary discourse, p.
46.—K., p. vii.

[88] K., p. 604.—Sura, 66. 12. She is called the daughter of Imran, by
a confusion between Mary, mother of Jesus, and Mariam, sister of Moses.

[89] So in 2 Chron. xxiv. 3-7. But in 2 Kings xxii. 1, 2, there is
no mention of the period at which "he began to seek after the God of
David."

[90] Ewald, Geschichte des Volkes Israel, vol. iv.—Die
Heiligherrschaft, 3 Die bestimmtere Gestaltung der Zeit der neuen
Wendung.

[91] Geschichte der Ost-Mongolen und ihres Fürstenhauses, verfasst von
Ssanang Ssetsen Chungtaidschi. Aus dem Mongolischen übersetzt von I. J.
Schmidt, St. Petersburg, 1829. 4to. p. 3.

This work will, in the following pages, always be referred to under "G.
O. M."

[92] R. B., vol. i. p. 434.—Lotus, p. 447.—Wheel, p. xliii.

[93] My attention was drawn to the fact that these were the contents
of the tables by Goethe's interesting essay: "Zwei wichtige, bisher
unerörtete biblische Fragen."

[94] C.C., vol. iv. p. 598.—She King, part 4, b. i. [iii.] 3.

[95] For information on the character and signification of this book,
see "Le Cantique des Cantiques," par Ernest Renan.

[96] Throughout these descriptions of the prophetic books, I follow the
chronological arrangement of Ewald.

[97] The remark is not mine, but is made by Didron, a devout Roman
Catholic writer, to whom I am much indebted for this and other
hints.—Ic. Ch., p. 572 n.

[98] Mill's "Examination of Sir W. Hamilton's Philosophy," p. 209
(second edition).

[99] Mr. Mill, in treating the point, seems to have forgotten the
animal world, but his argument would cover it.—Mill's "Examination of
Sir W. Hamilton's Philosophy," pp. 208, 209.

[100] See much interesting evidence in Dulaure, "Histoire Abrégée de
différens Cultes." vol. i. chs. xxiv.-xxvii.; and a valuable discussion
of the whole subject in Tylor's "Primitive Culture."

[101] See some evidence bearing on this point in a paper by the author,
entitled "Recent Publications on Buddhism." "Theological Review," July,
1872, p. 313.

[102] De Rerum Nat., iii. 830.

[103] The doctrine here stated is not my own invention. It was
first published (so far as I know) by Mr. Shadworth Hodgson in his
"Theory of Practice," vol. i. p. 416-436, § 57; but I am indebted
for my acquaintance with it to Mr. D. A. Spalding, who discovered it
independently, and announced it in the _Examiner_, December 30, 1871;
September 6, 1873; March 14, 1874; and in _Nature_, January 8, 1874.

[104] See an ingenious attempt to maintain the personality, along with
the moral Qualities of God, in Mr. Shadworth Hodgson's "Theory of
Practice," vol. i. p. 305 ff.