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.