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Curiosities of Superstition, and Sketches of Some Unrevealed Religions

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Title: Curiosities of Superstition, and Sketches of Some Unrevealed Religions

Author: W. H. Davenport Adams


        
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CURIOSITIES OF SUPERSTITION,

And Sketches of some Unrevealed Religions.

by

W. H. DAVENPORT ADAMS,

Author of “Heroes of the Cross,” etc.

  “To my mind there is no study more absorbing than that of
  the Religions of the World,--the study, if I may so call
  it, of the various languages in which man has spoken to
  his Maker, and of that language in which his Maker ‘at
  sundry times and in divers manners’ spake to man.”--MAX MÜLLER.

  “Primus in orbe Deos fecit timor.”--STATIUS, _Thebaid_, 661.


  LONDON:
  J. MASTERS AND CO., 78, NEW BOND STREET.
  MDCCCLXXXII.







London:
J. Masters and Co., 78, New Bond Street.
MDCCCLXXXII.

London:
Printed by J. Masters and Co.,
Albion Buildings, Bartholomew Close.




CONTENTS.


  CHAPTER                                                             PAGE

      I. BUDDHISM, ITS ORIGIN AND CEREMONIES                             1

     II. MAGIANISM: THE PARSEES                                         43

    III. JEWISH SUPERSTITIONS                                           68

     IV. BRAHMANISM                                                     84

      V. HINDU MYTHOLOGY, AND THE VISHNU PURANA                         99

     VI. IN CHINA: CONFUCIANISM, TAOUISM, AND BUDDHISM                 119

    VII. AMONG THE MALAYS, THE SLAMATAN BROMOK, THE DYAKS, THE
         PAPUAN TRIBES, THE AHETAS                                     142

   VIII. THE SAVAGE RACES OF ASIA: THE SAMOJEDES; THE MONGOLS;
         THE OSTIAKS; IN TIBET                                         155

     IX. SOME AFRICAN SUPERSTITIONS                                    171

      X. THE ZULU WITCH-FINDERS                                        180

     XI. ZABIANISM AND SERPENT-WORSHIP                                 186

    XII. POLYNESIAN SUPERSTITIONS                                      214

   XIII. THE FIJI ISLANDERS                                            230

    XIV. THE RELIGION OF THE MAORIES                                   241

     XV. THE NORTH AMERICAN INDIANS                                    254

    XVI. AMONG THE ESKIMOS                                             274

   XVII. A MEDIÆVAL SUPERSTITION: THE FLAGELLANTS                      279

  XVIII. SCOTTISH SUPERSTITIONS: HALLOWEEN                             288

    XIX. SECOND SIGHT: DIVINATION: UNIVERSALITY OF CERTAIN
         SUPERSTITIONS: FAIRIES IN SCOTLAND                            300




CURIOSITIES OF SUPERSTITION.




CHAPTER I.

_BUDDHISM: ITS ORIGIN AND CEREMONIES._


PRAYER-WHEELS OF THE BUDDHISTS.

Travelling on the borders of Chinese Tartary, in the country of the Lamas
or Buddhists, Miss Gordon Cumming remarks that it was strange, every now
and again, to meet some respectable-looking workman, twirling little brass
cylinders, only about six inches in length, which were incessantly
spinning round and round as they walked along the road. What could they
be? Not pedometers, not any of the trigonometrical instruments with which
the officers of the Ordnance Survey go about armed? No; she was informed
that they were prayer-wheels, and that turning them was just about
equivalent to the telling of beads, which in Continental lands workmen may
often be seen counting as homeward along the road they plod their weary
way.

The telling of beads seems to the Protestant a superfluous piece of
formalism: what then are we to think of prayer by machinery? The prayers,
or rather invocations, to Buddha--the Buddhists never pray, in the
Christian sense--are all closely written upon strips of cloth or paper;
the same sentence being repeated some thousands of times. These strips are
placed inside a cylinder, revolving on a long spindle, the end of which is
the handle. From the wind-cylinder depends a small lump of metal, which,
whirling round, communicates the necessary impetus to the little machine,
so that it rotates with the slightest possible effort, and continues to
grind any required number of acts of worship, while the owner, with the
plaything in his hand, carries on his daily work. His religion requires
that he should be all his time immersed in holy contemplation of the
perfections of Buddha, but to a busy man no such self-absorption is
possible. He is content, therefore, to say the sentences aloud at the
beginning and end of his devotions, and in the interval twirls slowly,
while a tiny bell marks each rotation, and reminds him if he should
unconsciously quicken his pace.

Tennyson finely speaks of Prayer as that by which

  “The whole round world is every way
  Bound by gold chains around the feet of GOD;”

but no such efficacy can be ascribed to the cylinders of brass, copper, or
gold, which are fashionable among the Buddhists. Yet we must not condemn
too unreservedly: Prayer, even among Christians, is apt to degenerate into
a dull, mechanical uniformity, and to become scarcely less perfunctory
than that which the Tibetans grind out of their prayer-machine.

In a Lama temple, Miss Gordon Cumming once saw a colossal prayer-wheel,
which might almost have sufficed for the necessities of a nation. It was
turned by a great iron crank, which acted as a handle. The cylinder
measured about twelve feet in height, and six to eight feet in diameter.
Circular bands of gold and vermilion adorned it, each band bearing the
well-known Buddhist ascription, or invocation, “To the jewel on the
Lotus.” Of this inscription, multiplied on strips of paper and cloth, the
cylinder was full, and each time that it revolved on its axis, the devotee
was accredited with having uttered the pious invocation just as often as
it was repeated within the cylinder. The whole history of Superstition
offers scarcely any fact more curious or suggestive than this method of
prayer by machinery; and that such a grotesque extravagance should have
emanated from so subtle and metaphysical a faith as Buddhism is an anomaly
not easily to be explained.

Each votary who is too poor to possess a prayer-wheel of his own, attends
the temple, does homage to the head Lama, receives his benediction, and
then, squatting in front of the great wheel, he turns the crank on behalf
of himself and his family. But if there be a considerable number of
worshippers, the priest himself works the handle, that all may participate
simultaneously in the act of prayer.

The use of these machines is traced back for fully fourteen centuries, and
is supposed to have originated in the belief that it was a meritorious
act, and a patent cure for sin, to be continually reading or reciting
portions of the sacred books of Buddha. But as many of the people could
not read, a substitute had to be found, and it came to be considered
sufficient if they turned over the rolled manuscripts which embodied the
invaluable precepts. And as a vast amount of time and trouble was saved by
this process, a further simplification became possible and popular,--the
invention of wheels termed _Tehu-Chor_,--great cylindrical bands full of
prayers; a cord being attached to the base of the band, which, when the
cord was pulled, twirled like a children’s toy. Prayer-wheels of this kind
are set up in all public places in Tibet, so that the poor who do not
possess little pocket Wheels of Devotion may not lose their chance of
accumulating merit. In some of the monasteries the rows of small cylinders
are so arranged, that the priest, or any passer-by can set them all in
simultaneous motion, by just drawing his hand along them.

According to Miss Cumming, who is confirmed by other travellers, the
cylinders vary in size, from tiny hand-mills, about as big as a
policeman’s rattle, to huge machines, eight or ten feet in diameter,
worked by a heavy iron crank, or sometimes by wind or water power. The
wind prayer-mills are turned by wings, which, like the cylinder, are
plentifully covered with prayers. The water-mills are placed over streams,
so as to dispense with human aid, and allow the running water to turn them
for the general welfare of the village. Through the cylinder passes a
wooden axle, which is fastened to a horizontal wheel, whose cogs are
turned diagonally to the water.

“One such group of little mills we noticed,” says Miss Cumming,[1] “set in
a clear stream half-way between Rarung and Pangi, a lively, rapid river,
rushing headlong down the mountain side to join the Sutlej. Having never
then heard of prayer-mills, we assumed them to be for corn, as perhaps
they were. At all events, we passed them without inspection, to our
subsequent infinite regret. These wheels rotate with the action of the
water, and so turn the cylinder, which must invariably stand upright.
Sometimes several of these are placed almost across the stream, and the
rudest form of temple is built over them.

“They are so placed that the wheel must invariably turn from right to
left, following the course of the sun; to invert that course would not
only involve ill-luck, but would amount to being a sin. Hence the
exceeding unwillingness of the people we met to let us tend their little
wheels, knowing from sad experience that the English sahibs rather enjoy
the fun of turning them the wrong way, and so undoing the efficacy of all
their morning’s work.

“Some of the little pocket cylinders are very beautifully wrought; some
are even inlaid with precious stones. I saw one great beauty which I
coveted exceedingly. The owner would on no account sell it. I returned to
the temple next morning, wishing at least to make a drawing of it, but I
think he mistrusted me, for he and his plaything had both vanished, and I
had to be content with a much simpler one of bronze, inlaid with copper.
The people have the greatest reluctance to sell even the ugliest old
mills. They cling to them as lovingly as you might do to your dear old
Bible; but, as I said before, not merely from the charm of association,
but from a dread lest a careless hand should turn them against the sun,
and so change their past acts of merit into positive sin. So there was a
great deal of talk, and many irons in the fire, before I was allowed to
purchase two of these, at a price which would have supplied half the
village with new ones.”

The prayer-mill sometimes contains the Tibetan prayer, or litany, for the
six classes of living creatures, namely, the souls in heaven, the evil
spirits in the air, men, animals, souls in purgatory, and souls in hell;
but, as a rule, the Lama worship begins and ends in the famous inscription
to which we have already alluded--_Aum Mani Padmi Hoong_ (to the jewel in
the lotus.) These mystic words are raised in embossed letters on the
exterior of the cylinder, and are closely written on strips of paper
inside. All the sacred places are covered with them; the face of the rock,
the walls of the temple; just as the Alhambra glitters with its
_azulejos_, its blazoned inscriptions from the Kúran.

This mystic sentence is composed as follows: _Aum_ or _Om_, equivalent to
the Hebrew JAH or JEHOVAH, the most glorious title of the Almighty;
_Mani_, the jewel, one of Buddha’s appellations; _Padmi_, the lotus, in
allusion to his lotus-throne; and _Hoong_, synonymous with _Amen_. The
Buddhists regard this “six-syllabled” charm as a talisman of never-failing
efficacy; but by some of the sects it is more or less varied. For
instance: the Chinese Fo-ists read it as _Aum-mi-to-fuh_, which is also
one of Buddha’s titles; and every devout Fo-ist aims at repeating it at
least three hundred thousand times in the course of his life. Some of
their priests will shut themselves up in the temples for months at a time,
and devote themselves to the dreary task of repetition, hour after hour,
day and night. Sometimes, ten or twelve devotees will voluntarily
sequester themselves, and continue all day to cry aloud in chorus; and at
night they undertake the task successively, one person droning through the
monotonous chant while the others sleep. Thus do they think to be heard
for their much speaking! Similar excesses of formalism, however, are
recorded in the history of mediæval Christianity,--in the biographies of
saints and ascetics who have substituted for a practical Christianity and
the active performance of social duties the dreary vanity of an
unprofitable solitude, spent in the discharge of useless penances.

The Buddhist prayer which is consecrated to Buddha as the Chakravarta
Rajah, or King of the Wheel, proves, on examination, to be closely related
to that Sun-worship which prevailed in the early ages of the world. The
wheel is, in many creeds, the symbol of the sun’s chariot, that is, of the
revolution of the heavenly bodies. In a sculpture, nearly two thousand
years old, on the Bilsah Tepe, Buddha is represented simply by a wheel,
overshadowed by the mystic _chattah_, or golden umbrella, which is a
common emblem of his power. His worshippers are represented as making
their offerings to the King of the Wheel. “This sacred Wheel of the Law,
or Wheel of Faith, is found again and again among the fain and Buddhist
sculptures in the caves of Ellora and Ajunta, in most cases projecting in
front of Buddha’s Lotus-Throne. In one instance an astronomical table is
carved above the wheel. In another it is supported on either side by a
stag, supposed to represent the fleetness wherewith the sun runs his daily
circuit, ‘going forth from the uttermost part of the heaven, and running
about unto the end of it again.’”


THE HINDU TEMPLES.

Visiting the Temples at Hardwar, one of the sacred cities of India, Miss
Gordon Cumming remarks upon the number of their hideous idols, painted and
carved, their multitudinous brass bells, their brazen horns, their sacred
courts all covered with elaborate carving, and their mythological
sculptures.

She says:--“I frankly confess that there is something startling in the
rapidity with which one gets quite at home amongst all this paraphernalia
of heathenism, and how very soon idolatry ceases to shock the mind, and
becomes merely a curious study with picturesque adjuncts. Six months
previously the sight of a veritable temple with its hideous idols and
devout worshippers was a thing from which one shrank in shuddering pity.”
But she soon became a connoisseur, and “lounged from one temple to
another, inspecting jewels and exquisite stone carving, and anything
wonderful the priests had to show, and quite forgot to be shocked, it was
all so perfectly natural, and seemed so entirely in keeping with the
tastes of the people.” In this remark there is a wonderful _naïveté_; for
it may reasonably be supposed that the tastes of the people would be in
accord with a religion which, during its career of two thousand years,
must have exercised so great an influence in forming them!

In some of the temples, according to the same writer, there are sacred
bulls, carved in white marble and adorned with costly necklaces. In others
the attendant priests spend the whole day in pouring single drops of
precious oil on holy pebbles brought from the Nerbudda and other sacred
streams, and here arranged in little trays. Amongst the privileged
inhabitants are the monkeys, who frolic about incessantly with their
babies in their arms, or sitting on their backs, and twining their little
arms round the parental necks.

The ceremonies in the different temples are, on the whole, very similar;
and the following description, taken from the Rão Mãlã, applies, except in
minor details, to all.

The day is marked by five services: the first at sunrise, when bells are
rung in the temple, and drums or conch-shells sounded, to rouse the Du, or
god, from his slumbers. After performing copious ablutions, the
officiating priest enters the holy place, and swings before the idol a
lamp with five or seven branches. An hour or two later, the Du is attired
in raiment appropriate to the season. He wears a quilted coat in cold
weather, and has a lighted brazier placed beside him; whereas, in hot
weather, he is anointed with sandal-wood dust and water, clothed in fine
linen, and decked out with gems and flowers. Placed close to a cool
fountain, he is assiduously fanned by his attendants. In rainy weather, he
is wrapped about in scarlet cloth and shawls. When he is dressed, a light
breakfast of rice and milk is served up, and his votaries perform “the
sixteen acts of worship.” At noon a third service takes place. The Du is
again rubbed with oil of sandal-wood, or sandal-dust and water, and
adorned with fresh flowers. The lamps are trimmed; incense is burned; and
his dinner is set before him: after which he is supposed to indulge in his
noonday sleep, and profound silence is maintained throughout the temple.

At three in the afternoon a drum beats, and the god awakes! His attendants
hasten to serve fruits and sweetmeats, and perform various games for his
amusement. At sunset he is enshrined: his feet are basted, he is sprinkled
with water, his mouth is washed, and another offering is made of
sandal-wood dust, and flowers, and incense. He is once more clothed; an
elaborate dinner is spread before him; betel leaves are presented; and
again the many-branched candlestick is waved, while all the votaries
present for the second time perform “the sixteen acts of worship.”

The last service takes place at night, when the image is supposed to sup
on bread and water. After receiving the usual oblations of incense and
flowers, he is undressed, and if he be movable, put to bed, or if not, is
warmly covered with shawls and quilts.

Not the least remarkable objects in the Hindu temples are their great
statues of bulls in marble or in metal. It is worthy of note that “in the
great Brazen Laver, which Solomon was commanded to make for the use of the
Temple at Jerusalem, the symbols selected for the adornment of that
consecrated Molten Sea should have been those which in later ages were to
hold so prominent a place in the symbolism of faiths so widely spread as
those of Brahma and Buddha. That huge laver was supported by twelve oxen
of cast metal, three looking to each point of the compass, while the brim
of the great sea itself was all wrought with flowers of lilies, much the
same as the pattern of lotus or water-lily with which the shrine of Buddha
is invariably edged.” The bull is another symbol which seems to connect
the creed of the Hindu with the old nature-worship; for the vernal equinox
takes place when the sun enters the sign of Taurus, and this event was
always and everywhere a signal for feasting and rejoicing.

But, as Max Müller observes, the ancient religion of the Aryan inhabitants
of India started, like the religion of Greece and Rome, of the Germans,
Slavs, and Celts, with a simple and intelligible mythological
phraseology.[2] In the Veda, the names of all the so-called gods or Devas
undisguisedly betray their original physical character and meaning. Under
the name of Agni (ignis) was praised and invoked the fire; the earth by
that of Prithvî (the brave); the sky by the name of Dyu (Zeus, Jupiter),
and afterwards of Indra; the firmament and the waters by the name of
Οὐρανός. Under many appellations was the sun invoked, such as Sûrya,
Savitri, Vishnu, or Mitra; and the dawn by the titles of Ushas, Urvasî,
Ahanâ, and Sûrya. Nor was the moon forgotten: for though not often
mentioned under its usual name of Kandra, reference is made to it under
its more sacred appellation of Soma; and a particular denomination was
reserved for each of its phases. There is hardly any fact of nature, if it
could impress the human mind in any way with the ideas of a higher power,
of order, eternity, or beneficence,--whether the woods, or the rivers, or
the trees, or the mountains,--without a name and representative in the
early Hindu Pantheon. No doubt there existed in the human mind, from the
very beginning, something, whether we call it a suspicion, an innate idea,
an intuition, or a sense of the Divine. What distinguishes man from the
rest of the animal creation is chiefly his ineradicable feeling of
dependence and reliance upon some higher power; that consciousness of
bondage, from which the very name of “religion” was derived. “It is He
that hath made us, and not we ourselves.” The presence of that power was
felt everywhere, and nowhere more clearly and strongly than in the rising
and setting of the sun, in the change of day and night, of spring and
winter, of birth and death. But although the Divine Presence was felt
everywhere, it was impossible, in that early period of thought, and with a
language incapable as yet of defining anything but material objects, to
conceive the idea of God in its purity and fulness, or to assign to it an
adequate and worthy expression.

It must also be remembered that the influence of the genius and forces of
Nature would necessarily be greater in an age when the human mind was
occupied by few objects of thought, than now when it ranges over the whole
world of art and science. Moreover, to the eye of ignorance everything
seems large and portentous, or dim and inscrutable. The fire from heaven,
the reverberating thunder, the gale that crashed down the mountain ravines
and felled great trees before it, the planetary bodies steadily revolving
in their courses, the stream with its glow and its ripple, the dense
shadows of the haunted forest, the recurring rush and roll of the
sea,--all these were things which for early man had a constant novelty and
strangeness, and seemed incessantly to claim his reverent consideration.
He could not account for them: whether a bane or a delight they were
equally unintelligible. They represented, therefore, some Power which he
could regard only with awe and reverence. And of that Power the sun would
necessarily be the chief type and symbol. All life and love seemed
dependent upon it. The trees throve, and the flowers bloomed, and the
banks rippled, and the birds sang, and the harvests ripened, through the
sun. It was the source of light and heat, of the vigour and activity of
nature. While it shone men’s hearts leaped with joy, and the wheels of
labour revolved with pleasant toil; but when it disappeared, and the
darkness usurped the heavens, the spirits sank, and humanity felt in the
change of scene a presentiment and presage of the darkness of death. All
vitality, all motion centred in the sun. “It was like a deep furrow,” says
Max Müller, “which that heavenly luminary drew, in its silent procession
from east to west, over the fallow mind of the gazing multitude; and in
the impression left there by the first rising and setting of the sun,
there lay the dark seed of a faith in a more than human being, the first
intimation of a life without beginning, of a world without end.” Who can
wonder that the Chaldean, and the Celt, alike ascended to the high places,
and paid their worship of symbolic fires to the great fountain of life and
light, the central force of the universe? Who can wonder that all the
Aryan tribes made it, so to speak, the nucleus of their religious systems?
The Hindu peasant, centuries ago, addressed it in his heart in much the
same language which Gawain Douglas afterwards employed. As its glorious
orb rose above the gleaming horizon, he sent forth to it a message of
welcome:

  “Welcome, the lord of light and lamp of day;
  Welcome, fosterer of tender herbis green;
  Welcome, quickener of flourished flowers’ sheen;
  Welcome, support of every root and vein;
  Welcome, comfort of all kind fruits and grain;
  Welcome, the bird’s green beild upon the brier;
  Welcome, master and ruler of the year;
  Welcome, welfare of husbands at the ploughs;
  Welcome, repairer of woods, trees, and boughs;
  Welcome, depainter of the bloomit meads;
  Welcome, the life of everything that spreads.”

And because it was all this, and more, the Hindu saw in it something
greater than a mere luminary,--a planetary body; he endowed it with Divine
attributes, he made it a god, he gave it his worship, and by an elaborate
symbolism kept it ever before him.

A necessary consequence of this deification of the sun was the
deification of the other bodies that shared with him the firmament; but as
they were inferior in splendour and utility, they naturally became
recognized as inferior gods. And when once the religious feeling of
humanity had gone thus far, its further development became only a question
of time. The homage given to the stars was soon extended to the winds and
streams and groves. A legion of gods sprang into existence, and for a
while they seemed to satisfy the needs and aspirations of humanity. But as
the thoughts of men expanded, as their intellect ripened with the ages,
and grew strong enough to doubt, and bold enough to question the
conclusions of the common faith, a revolt took place against “the
contradictions of a mythological phraseology, though it had been hallowed
by sacred customs and traditions.” Men grew tired of so complex and
cumbrous a religious system, and having observed a definite fundamental
unity of nature in spite of the diversity of its operations, they came to
believe in a similar unity of the Divine Power. The idea of a supreme
authority once entertained, men soon understood that supremacy meant
oneness; that if there were a God over all, He must be one and
indivisible. One of the earliest proclamations of this sublime truth is
found in the Rig-Veda, which says:[3]--

“That which is one the sages speak of in many ways--they call it Agni,
Yama, Malarisvan.”

And again:[4]--

“In the beginning there came the Source of golden light--He was the only
true Lord of all that is--He stablished the earth and this sky:--Who is
God to whom we shall offer our sacrifice?

“He who gives life, He who gives strength; whose blessing all the bright
gods desire; whose shadow is immortality; whose shadow is death:--Who is
the God to whom we shall offer our sacrifice?

“He who through His power is the only 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?

“He whose power these snowy mountains, whose power 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?

“He through whom the sky is bright and the earth firm--He through whom
heaven was stablished--nay, the highest heaven--He who measured out the
light in the air:--Who is the God to whom we shall offer our sacrifice?

“He to whom heaven and earth, standing firm by His will, look up,
trembling inwardly--He over whom the rising sun shines forth:--Who is the
GOD to whom we shall offer our sacrifice?

“Wherever the mighty water-clouds went, where they placed the reed and lit
the fire, thence even He, who is the only life of the bright gods:--Who is
the GOD to whom we shall offer our sacrifice?

“He, who of His might looked even over the water-clouds, the clouds which
gave strength and lit the sacrifice, He _who is God above all gods_:--Who
is the God to whom we shall offer our sacrifice?

“May He not destroy us--He the creator of the earth; or He, the righteous,
who created Heaven; He who also created the bright and mighty waters:--Who
is the God to whom we shall offer our sacrifice?”

       *       *       *       *       *

The creed of a plurality of gods was one that carried in itself the seeds
of its destruction. But there was another cause of weakness in their
mortal attributes. Deriving their existence from the life of nature, they
were subject to the accidents which that life involved. Thus, the sun at
noonday might glow with splendour, but at night it was conquered by the
shadows, and in winter it seemed to yield to some stronger Power. The moon
waxed and waned, and was frequently eclipsed. As nature is subject to
change, so also must be the gods that represent its forces and aspects.
Such instability, such inherent weakness could not long satisfy the human
mind; having risen to the height of the idea of one God, it next demanded
that that God should be immutable. What rest, what contentment would it
find in the supposition of deities as changeful as the winds? Tossed about
by the currents of passion and feeling, buffeted by adverse circumstances,
the soul yearns intensely for something fixed, something absolute,
something unaffected by vicissitude, and finds it in the Divine Being, the
same to-day as yesterday, and the same to-morrow as to-day.

These two opposite principles did not come into immediate collision; the
priests of heathendom laboured long and earnestly to avert such a
catastrophe. In Greece they succeeded by transferring the mortal or
changeable element from “the gods” to “the heroes.”[5] The human details
in the characters and lives of Zeus and Apollon were transferred to the
demi-gods or heroes represented as the sons or favourites of the gods. The
two-fold character of Herakles as a god and a hero is recognized even by
Herodotus; and indeed, some of the epithets applied to him sufficiently
indicate his solar and originally divine personality. But to make some of
the solar myths of which Herakles was the centre intelligible and
conceivable, it became needful to depict Herakles as a mere human being,
and to raise him to the seat of the Immortals only after he had endured
toils and sufferings incompatible with the dignity of an Olympian
divinity.

In Peru the same treatment was adopted, but with different results. A
thinking, or, as he was called, a free-thinking Inca, remarked that the
sun’s perpetual travelling--he knew nothing, of course, of the Copernican
theory--was a sign of servitude, and he threw doubts on the divine nature
of aught so restless as the great luminary appeared to him to be. These
doubts led to a tradition, which, even if unhistorical was not wholly
untrue, that in Peru had existed an earlier worship--that of an Invisible
Deity, the Creator of the World--Pachacamac.

“In Greece, also, there are signs of a similar craving after the ‘Unknown
God.’ A supreme God was wanted, and Zeus, the stripling of Creta, was
raised to that rank. He became God above all gods--ἁπάντων κύριος, as
Pindar calls him. Yet more was wanted than a mere Zeus; and then a supreme
Fate or Spell was imagined before which all the gods, and even Zeus, had
to bow. And even this Fate was not allowed to remain supreme, and there
was something in the destinies of man which was called ὑπέρμορον or
‘beyond Fate.’ The most awful solution, however, of the problem belongs
to Teutonic mythology. Here, also, some heroes were introduced; but their
death was only the beginning of the final catastrophe. ‘All gods must
die.’ Such is the last word of that religion which had grown up in the
forests of Germany, and found a last refuge among the glaciers and
volcanoes of Iceland. The death of Sigurd, the descendant of Odin, could
not avert the death of Balder, the son of Odin, and the death of Balder
was soon to be followed by the death of Odin himself, and of all the
immortal gods.”

Such a catastrophe was inevitable, so that Prometheus, the man of
forethought, could safely predict the fall of Zeus.[6]

A similar issue was worked out in India, but with this difference; that
the seeming triumph of reason threatened to end in the destruction of all
religious belief. At the outset no vehement contention took place. On the
basis of the old mythology arose two new formations,--the Brahmanical
philosophy and the Brahmanical ceremonial; the former opening up all
avenues of philosophical inquiry, the latter immuring religious sentiment
and sympathy within the narrowest possible barriers. Both, however,
claimed to find their origin and antiquity in the sacred book of the Veda.

It was in the sixteenth or fifteenth century before CHRIST that the
Brahmans, a branch of the white Aryans, passed into Hindustan from the
north-west, and mixed with a more numerous race of coloured and barbarous
aborigines. Among their immigrants the sacerdotal and the royal or noble
classes already occupied an authoritative and a distinct position; and
soon after their settlement in India, the lower classes, by a natural
process, sank into the markedly inferior condition of the aborigines. Thus
was established a singularly rigorous system of caste,--the priesthood
and the aristocracy combining to oppress and keep down the two inferior
orders of the Brahmans and the aborigines. Intermarriage was strictly
forbidden, and every device adopted which could be made useful in
strengthening and perpetuating the class-distinction.

This revolution in the social world assisted the revolution in the
religious; and the educated classes rapidly abandoned their nature worship
in favour of the idea of an infinite and everlasting Godhead, which soared
far above the feeblenesses and sins of humanity. To become one with this
Godhead by throwing off the personality linked with a mind that was mean
and miserable, thenceforth constituted the religious aspiration of the
Brahman. And in attaining this object he was instructed to seek the help
of the Brahmanical priesthood; nay, he was taught that without that help
he would never succeed, and for this purpose a complex and comprehensive
ceremonial was enjoined upon him. From his cradle to his grave it dogged
his footsteps. Put forward as a stay and support, it was really a clog, an
encumbrance. Not an event in his life could take place for which a formula
of praise or prayer was not invented. Thanksgiving and sacrifice were
alike minutely regulated. For the benefit of the inferior castes the old
Pantheon of gods and demons had been retained, and the priesthood allotted
to each his share of the worshipper’s offerings and oblations. Each was
represented as insisting so strongly on certain observances, and punishing
so heavily any neglect or violation of them, that the votary feared to
approach their shrine unless under the protection and guidance of their
priests. Otherwise he might unwittingly rush into all kinds of sins. They
alone knew what food might be eaten, what dress might be worn, what god
might be addressed, what sacrifice paid. An error in pronunciation, a
mistake about clarified butter, an unauthorised arrangement of raiment or
hair, might involve the unassisted worshipper in pains and penalties of
the most awful character. Never was so complete and absolute a ceremonial
system known as that by which the Hindu priesthood obtained an entire
mastery over the Hindu people. Never was any law more minute in its
provisions, or more Draconic in the severity with which it punished their
violation.

Yet, strange to say, this ceremonial did not interfere with liberty of
thought. Any amount of heresy was compatible with its observance. A man
might think as he liked so long as he complied with its various
conditions. In some of the Brahmanical schools of thought the names of the
devs or gods were never heard; in others their existence was ignored, was
virtually contradicted. Thus, one philosophical system maintained the
existence of a single Supreme Being, and asserted that everything else
which seemed to exist was but a dream and an illusion which might and
would be dispelled by a true knowledge of the One God. Another contended
for two principles,--first, a Mind, subjective and self-existent; second,
Matter endowed with qualities; and explained that the world with its cloud
and sunshine, its sorrows and joys, was the result of the subjective self,
reflected in the mirror of Matter, and that the freedom of the soul could
be secured only by diverting the gaze from the shows and phantasms of
Nature, and becoming absorbed in the knowledge of the true and absolute
self. A third system allowed the existence of atoms, and referred every
effect, including the elements and the mind, gods, men, and animals to
their fortuitous concourse. This was identical with the Lucretian system,
which in its turn was related to the Epicurean. Hence it has been said
that the history of the philosophy of India is an abridgment of the
history of philosophy. Each of these systems was traced back to the sacred
books of the Vedas, Brâhmanas and Upanishads; and those who believed in
any one of them was considered as orthodox as the most devout worshipper
of Agni,--if the latter were saved by works and faith, the former was
saved by faith and knowledge,--a distinction not unknown in the Christian
philosophy.[7]

Out of this condition of the Hindu mind arose Buddhism, springing from it
as naturally as the flower from the seed.

The remarkable man[8] who founded this wide-spread religion is reputed to
have been a prince of the name of Siddhartha, son of Suddhodana, king of
Kapilavastu, a territory supposed to have been situated on the borders of
Oudh and Nipal. He is often called Sakya, after his family, and also
Gautama, from the great “Solar” race of which the family was a branch.[9]
Having at an early age exhibited an ascetic and contemplative tendency,
his father fearing he might be induced to abandon his high station as
Kshatriga, found him a wife in a princess of great personal charms, and
involved him in all the pomp and luxury of a magnificent court. But
Siddhartha drank of the cup only to taste the bitter in the draught; and
each year’s experience of the world convinced him of its inability to
satisfy the aspirations of the soul; so that, like Solomon, he would
exclaim, “Vanity, vanity, all is vanity.” The joys of life could not
render him forgetful of its sorrows. The thought would force itself upon
him that at any moment he might be afflicted with some loathsome or
torturing disease; that his friends might be suddenly snatched away; that
however sunny and bright the present, it could not prevent the inevitable
approach of old age, with its grey hairs, its wrinkled brow, and its
tottering limbs; and that the moral of the whole show was to be sought in
the darkness of the grave. Unable to endure any longer the mental conflict
begotten of his keen sense of the realities as compared with the illusions
of the world, he stole from the guarded palace, and at the age of 29 or
30, went forth as a beggar, or religious mendicant, to study in the
schools of the Brahman priests. He underwent their penances; he mastered
their philosophy; but dissatisfied with their cumbrous code of
superstitious ceremonial, he withdrew into the forest, and adopted a
course of religious asceticism.

This lasted for six or seven years, but brought him no repose. Then he
resolved on returning once more to human companionship. Beset by the
Spirit of Evil he fought long and bravely against temptation, and having
triumphed, prepared to attain the secret of happiness by giving himself up
to abstruse meditation. Week after week he was absorbed in thought,
continually investigating the origin of things, and the mystery of
existence. All the evils under which he, in common with his fellow-men,
groaned, he traced back to birth. Were we not born, we could not suffer.
But whence comes birth or continued existence?... We have no room,
however, to dwell on his processes of thought; enough to say that he came
to the conclusion that the ultimate cause of existence is ignorance, and
that the removal of ignorance means, therefore, the termination of
existence, and of all the pain and sorrow which existence implies and
induces. Realising this absolute unconsciousness of the outer world in his
own self, he claimed and assumed the name of the Buddha, or “Enlightened.”

The scene of his victory over life and the world received the name of
Bodhimanda, (the seat of intelligence,) and the tree under which the
religious reformer sat in his hour of moral and intellectual triumph was
called Bodhidruma, (the tree of intelligence,) whence Bo-tree. The
Buddhists believe that it marks the centre of the earth. Hiouen-thsang,
the Chinese pilgrim, professes to have found the Bodhidruma, or some tree
that passed for it, twelve hundred years after Buddha’s death, at a spot
near Gaya Proper, in Bahar, where still may be seen an old dagoba, or
temple, and some considerable ruins.

Having at last attained to a knowledge of the causes of human suffering,
and of the method of removing and counteracting them, the Buddha felt that
the task was imposed upon him of communicating that knowledge to others.
He began “to turn the wheel of the law,”--that is to preach,--at Benares;
and among his earliest disciples was Bimbisara, the ruler of Magadha. His
career as a teacher extended over forty years, during which period he
travelled over almost every part of Northern India, making a large number
of converts, and firmly establishing his religious system. He died at
Kusinagara in Oudh, in 543 B.C., at the age of eighty, and his body being
burned, the relics were distributed among numerous claimants, who raised
monumental tumuli, or topes, for their preservation.

All the expositions and teachings of the Buddha were oral, and the task of
committing them to writing was undertaken by the chief of his disciples
shortly after his death. These canonical books are divided into three
classes, forming the “Tripitaka,” or “three-fold basket.” In the first
class we find the _Soutras_, or Sermons of the Buddha; in the second, the
_Vinaya_, or book of discipline; in the third, the _Abhidharma_, or
philosophy. After a period of a century or so, the Buddhist leaders met
and revised the Tripitaka, and a third revision took place in 250 or 240
B.C., since which date the text has remained without alteration.

The doctrine of Buddha has been defined as a development of four main
principles, (or “Sublime Verities.”) 1st. That every kind of existence is
painful and transitory; 2nd. That all existence is the result of passion;
3rd. That, therefore, the extinction of passion is the one means of escape
from existence and from the misery necessarily attendant upon it; 4th.
That all obstacles to this existence must be swept away.

But what is meant by existence? That separation from the general Being of
the world which is involved in individual life, and in the opposition of
the subject which thinks, and the object which is thought about. And what
is meant by its extinction? Not so much annihilation, as the becoming one
with nature, wherein that form of consciousness which separates subject
and object is set aside. This extinction Buddha called Nirvâna, or “the
blowing out of the lamp;” it does not necessarily mean the annihilation of
consciousness altogether, but only of a finite form of it, which may be as
the light of a lamp compared with the light of day.

Buddha’s doctrine has been stigmatised as Atheism and Nihilism, and was
unquestionably liable on its metaphysical side to both charges. It was
Atheistic, not because it denied, for it simply ignored, the existence of
such gods as Indra and Brahma, but because, like the Sankhya philosophy,
it admitted but one subjective Self, and considered creation as an
illusion of that Self, imaging itself for a while in the mirror of Nature.
If there were no reality in nature, there would be no real Creator.

Says Max Müller,[10] stating with his usual clearness a problem which has
perplexed most students of the history of religion: “How a religion which
taught the annihilation of all existence, of all thought, of all
individuality and personality, as the highest object of all endeavours,
could have laid hold of the minds of millions of human beings, and how at
the same time, by enforcing the duties of morality, justice, kindness, and
self-sacrifice, it could have exercised a decided beneficial influence,
not only on the natives of India, but on the lowest barbarians of Central
Asia, is one of the riddles which no philosophy yet has been able to
solve. The morality which it teaches is not a morality of expediency and
rewards. Virtue is not enjoined because it necessarily leads to happiness.
No; virtue is to be practised, but happiness is to be shunned, and the
only reward for virtue is, that it subdues the passions, and thus prepares
the human mind for that knowledge which is to end in complete
annihilation.”

Probably no religious system has ever attained a wide-spread influence
over the minds of men which has held out so few of those inducements most
alluring to human nature. The idea of complete annihilation might
recommend itself to a philosopher, but would hardly have been regarded as
likely to attract the masses. We suppose the explanation is to be found in
the particularity of ritual enjoined by the Buddhist priests, this
particularity of ritual having always had a fascination for the multitude.

“There are ten commandments which Buddha imposes on his disciples. They
are--not to kill, not to steal, not to commit adultery, not to lie, not to
get intoxicated, to abstain from unseasonable meals, to abstain from
public spectacles, to abstain from expensive dresses, not to have a large
bed, not to receive silver or gold. The duties of those who embraced a
religious life were most severe. They were not allowed to wear any dress
except rags collected in cemeteries, and these rags they had to sew
together with their own hands; a yellow cloak was to be thrown over these
rags. Their food was to be extremely simple, and they were not to possess
anything except what they could get by collecting alms from door to door
in their wooden bowl. They had but one meal in the morning, and were not
allowed to touch any food after midday. They were to live in forests, not
in cities, and their only shelter was to be the shadow of a tree. There
they were to sit, to spread their carpet, but not to lie down, even during
sleep. They were allowed to enter the nearest city or village in order to
beg, but they had to return to their forest before night, and the only
change which was allowed, or rather prescribed, was, when they had to
spend some nights in the cemeteries, there to meditate on the vanity of
all things. And what was the object of all this asceticism? Simply to
guide each individual towards that path which would finally bring him to
Nirvâna, to utter extinction or annihilation. The very definition of
virtue was that it helped man to cross over to the other shore, and that
other shore was not death, but the cessation of all being. Thus charity
was considered a virtue; modesty, patience, courage, contemplation, and
science, all were virtues, but they were practised only as a means of
arriving at deliverance.”

Buddha himself was an incarnation of the virtues. His charity, for
example, was melting as day. When he saw a tigress standing, and unable to
feed her cubs, he offered up his body to be devoured by them. The Chinese
pilgrim, visiting the spot on the banks of the Indus where this miracle
was supposed to have occurred, remarks that the soil was still red with
the blood of Buddha, as were also the trees and flowers.

Then as to his modesty, it was as supreme as that of a virgin who has
never seen men. One day Prasenagit, his royal disciple and protector,
besought him to work some miracles in order to silence his adversaries,
the Brahmans. Buddha complied, and performed the required miracles; but at
the same time he exclaimed, “Great King, I do not teach the law to my
pupils, telling them, Go, ye saints, and before the eyes of the Brahmans
and householders perform, by means of your supernatural powers, miracles
greater than any man can perform. I tell them, when I teach the law, Live,
ye saints, hiding your good works and showing your sins.” And yet, all
this self-sacrificing charity, all this self-sacrificing humility by which
the life of Buddha was distinguished throughout, and which he preached to
the multitudes that came to listen to him, had but one object, and that
object was final annihilation.[11]

Annihilation! what drearier prospect can be opened to the heart, or soul,
or mind of man? The utter cessation of that individuality of which the
meanest and wretchedest among us feels proudly conscious; of the thoughts
which animate, the desires which warm, the dreams that delight, the hopes
that stimulate, the affections that inspire! Do we indeed suffer all the
sorrows and uncertainties of life,--do we indeed strive, and endure, and
struggle,--do we, indeed, learn to labour and to wait, to bear the burden
of the day and the torture of the night, for no other purpose, with no
other prospect, than when the brief fever is over, to pass away into
nothingness? With so much difficulty can the mind reconcile itself to such
a dreary hypothesis that the creed of almost every race and people has
contemplated a future stage of existence, even when it has failed to
attain to anything like a clear and full conviction of the immortality of
the soul. The law of compensation seems to demand that a future life shall
redress the inequalities of the present.

Yet this doctrine of Annihilation was preached by Buddha, and apparently
accepted by the millions who became his disciples. But did they really
accept it as he preached it? No; the truth is, they read into it, as it
were, their own innate, unconquerable belief in a hereafter, and converted
his Nirvâna into a Paradise, which they embellished with the bright
colours of imagination. It can hardly be doubted that this was not the
meaning or intention of Buddha himself. Look, for a moment, at his “Four
Verities.” The first of these, as we have already stated, asserts the
existence of pain; the second, that the cause of pain is sin; the third,
that the cessation of pain may be secured by Nirvâna; the fourth, that the
way to this Nirvâna consists of eight things: right faith or orthodoxy,
right judgment or logic, right language or veracity, right purpose or
honesty, right practice or religious life, right obedience or lawful life,
right memory, and right meditation.

These precepts may be understood as the usual laws of an elevated
morality, pointing to and terminating in a state of meditation on the
highest object of thought, such as has been enjoined by several
philosophical or religious systems;--such as was revived in France and
Germany in the seventeenth century under the name of Pietism. There is
nothing in this teaching incompatible with a belief in the immortality of
the soul and the existence of a GOD. But with the Buddhist Nirvâna it is
otherwise. Its motive principle, by the way, is a mean and cowardly one,
for it makes happiness depend upon the cessation of pain; represents as
the highest purpose of human effort the escape from pain. The Buddhist
insists that life is a prolonged misery; that birth is the cause of all
evil; and he adds that even death cannot deliver him from this evil,
because he believes in transmigration, or an eternal cycle of existence.
To escape from it we must free ourselves from the bondage, not of life
only, but of existence; and this must be done “by extirpating the cause of
existence.”

But what _is_ that cause?

The Buddhist teacher, involving himself in a cloud of metaphysics,
answers, that it is attachment; an inclination towards something, having
its root in thirst or desire. “Desire presupposes perception of the object
desired; perception presupposes contact; contact, at least a sentient
contact, presupposes the senses; and as the senses can only perform what
has form and name, or what is distinct, distinction is the real cause of
all the effects which end in existence, birth, and pain. Now this
conception is itself the result of conceptions or ideas; but these ideas,
so far from being, as in Greek philosophy, the true and everlasting forms
of the Absolute, are in themselves mere illusions, the effects of
ignorance. Ignorance, therefore, is really the primary cause of all that
seems to exist. To know that ignorance, as the root of all evil, is the
same as to destroy it, and with it all effects that flowed from it.”

In Buddha’s own case we may see how such teaching operated upon the
individual.

He entered into the first stage of meditation when he became conscious of
freedom from sin, acquired a knowledge of the nature of all things, and
yearned after nothing but Nirvâna. But he was still open to the sensation
of pleasure, and could employ his powers of discrimination and reasoning.

In the second stage he ceased to use those powers, and nothing remained
but the desire of Nirvâna, and the satisfaction inherent to his
intellectual perfection.

In the third stage indifference succeeded to satisfaction; but
self-consciousness remained, and a certain amount of physical
gratification.

These, too, faded away in the fourth stage, along with memory, and all
sense of pain; and before the neophyte opened the doors of Nirvâna.

After having gone through the four stages once, Buddha began them a second
time, but died before he attained the fourth stage.

After passing through the four stages of meditation, every Buddhist enters
into the infinity of space; thence rises into the infinity of
intelligence; to soar, afterwards, into the region of Nothing. But even
there he finds no repose; something still remains--the idea of the Nothing
in which he rejoices. This is annihilated in the fourth and last region,
and then he enjoys absolute, perfect rest, “undisturbed by nothing, or
what is not nothing.”

Buddha taught that this Nirvâna--which to most persons will seem a
metaphysical incomprehensibility--could be attained by all men. As there
is no difference between the body of a prince and the body of a beggar, so
is there none between their spirits. Every man is equally capable of
coming to a knowledge of the truth, and if he but _will_ to do so, of
working out his own emancipation.

It is important to observe the absence of any theological element in
Buddhism. Its founder seems never to have spoken of God, and his Nirvâna
is wholly different from the Brahmanic idea of absorption into the Divine
Essence. Of the gods of the people he taught that they were, like men,
subject to the law of Metempsychosis, or Transmigration, and therefore
that as they were unable to deliver, they were unworthy to be worshipped.
A recent writer thinks it would be incorrect to speak of Buddha either as
a theist or an atheist, and asserts that he simply describes a condition
of absolute rest as an escape from the popular metempsychosis, which may
be interpreted either in a theistic or an atheistic sense. But a careful
examination of his system shows, we think, that it was wholly alien to a
belief in a Supreme Spirit.

“Buddhism,” says Barthélémy Saint-Hilaire, “has no God; it has not even
the confused and vague notion of a Universal Spirit, in which the human
soul, according to the orthodox doctrine of Brahmanism, and the Sânkhya
philosophy, may be absorbed. Nor does it admit Nature, in the proper sense
of the word, and it ignores that profound division between spirit and
matter which forms the system and the glory of Kapila. It confounds man
with all that surrounds him, all the while preaching to him the laws of
virtue. Buddhism, therefore, cannot unite the human soul, which it does
not even mention, with a God, whom it ignores; nor with nature, which it
does not know better. Nothing remained but to annihilate the soul; and in
order to be quite sure that the soul may not re-appear under some new
guise in this world, which has been cursed as the abode of illusion and
misery, Buddhism destroys its very elements, and never wearies of glorying
in this achievement. What more is wanted? if this be not the Absolute
Nothing, what is Nirvâna?”

       *       *       *       *       *

Repellent as seems to us the central doctrine of Buddhism, it extended
rapidly. This extension was due, however, to the simplicity of the ritual
which Buddha enjoined; the pure morality which he advocated; the equality
of all men on which he insisted; and the spirit of love, tenderness,
gentleness, compassion, and toleration which he inspired. Hence it came to
pass that his disciples multiplied in the north-western territories of
Hindustan, and his creed found acceptance, at a later period, probably
about three centuries before CHRIST, all over India. In Ceylon it was
adopted at a very early period; but it was not until the second century
before CHRIST that it made its way into China and Tibet. From Ceylon it
spread into Birmah and Siam, and the islands of the Indian Archipelago,
and from China it penetrated into Japan. It is now the religion of more
than one fifth of the whole human race.

Its influence has been very considerable, and may distinctly be traced in
some of the Gnostic teaching and in the Alexandrine or Neo-Platonic
philosophy. It modified the old Brahmanic religion, which, acting under
its impulse, threw off its human sacrifices and more barbarous rites. The
festival of Juggernaut, which for the time places in abeyance all caste
distinctions, and adopts many Buddhist symbols, shows that the Brahmans,
even when they drove it out of India, were compelled to retain some of
its relics, just as they were under the necessity of recognising Buddha as
one of the Avatars of their god Vishnu. Buddhism may be described as “the
parent of Indian architecture,” which, fashioned at first on the Greek
patterns, speedily assumed a character of its own, as may be seen in its
colossal temples.

But, as is the case with all religious systems of purely human origin,
Buddhism gradually fell away from the standard of its founder. The heart
craves an object of worship, a something or some one on which or on whom
to rest its hopes and fears, and the Buddhists, untaught to reverence a
Supreme Being, transferred their adoration to Buddha himself, whose life
and work they involved in a cloud of myth and legend. His relics came to
be worshipped, and reliquary towers for their preservation were everywhere
erected.

The enthusiasm which fired the Buddhists, and largely contributed to the
rapid extension of their creed, for Buddhism, unlike Brahmanism, is a
proselytising religion, finds a striking illustration in the career of
Hiouen-thsang, the Chinese pilgrim, who, in the middle of the seventh
century, crossed the deserts and mountains which separate China from
India, and visited the principal cities of the Indian Peninsula.


HIOUEN-THSANG, A BUDDHIST PILGRIM.[12]

Hiouen-thsang was born in a provincial town of China, in one of the
revolutionary and anarchical periods of the Chinese Empire. His father,
having quitted the public service, was able to devote his leisure to the
education of his four children, one of whom, Hiouen-thsang, was
distinguished at an early age by his genius and his thirst for knowledge.
After receiving instruction at a Buddhist monastery, he was admitted as a
monk, when only thirteen years old. During the next seven years, he
travelled about with his brethren from place to place, in order to profit
by the lectures of the most eminent professors; but his peaceful studies
were frequently interrupted by the horrors of war, and he was forced to
seek refuge in the more remote provinces of the empire.

At the age of twenty he took priest’s orders, having already become famous
for his multifarious learning. He had studied the chief canonical book of
the Buddhist faith, the records of Buddha’s life and teaching, the system
of ethics and metaphysics, and had completely mastered the works of
K’ung-fu-tze and Lao-tse. But, like many inquiring minds, he was tortured
by doubt. For six years more he prosecuted his studies in the principal
places of learning in China, and was frequently solicited to teach when he
had come to learn. Baffled in all his efforts to satisfy his anxious and
restless intellect, he resolved at last on paying a visit to India, the
parent-land of Buddhism, where he knew he should find the original of the
works, which, in their Chinese translation, had proved so dubious and
excited so much mistrust. From the records of his pilgrim predecessors he
was aware of the dangers of his journey; yet the glory, as he says, of
recovering the Law, which was to be a guide to all men, and the means of
their salvation, seemed to him worthy of attainment. In common with
several other priests, he applied for the Imperial permission to travel
out of China. It was refused, and his companions lost heart. But
Hiouen-thsang was made of sterner stuff. His mother had often told him
how, before his birth, she had had visions of her future offspring
travelling to the Far West in search of the law; and he himself had been
similarly encouraged.

Having no worldly pleasures to enfeeble him, and believing only in one
object as worth living for, he resolved to face danger and difficulty;
made his way to the Hoang-Ho, and the place of departure of the caravans
for the West, and, eluding the vigilance of the Governor, succeeded in
crossing the frontier. He was without friends or helpers; but after
spending the night in fervent prayer, found a guide in a person who, next
morning, unexpectedly presented himself. For some distance this guide
conducted him faithfully, but abandoned him when they reached the Desert.
There were still five watch-towers to be passed, and the uncertain track
through the Desert was indicated only by skeletons and the hoof-marks of
horses. Bravely went the pilgrim on his way, and though misled by the
“mirage” of the Desert, he safely reached the first tower. There he
narrowly escaped death from the arrows of the watchman, but the officer in
command was himself a devout Buddhist, and he not only allowed
Hiouen-thsang to proceed, but gave him letters of recommendation to the
governors of the other towers. At the last tower, however, he was refused
leave to pass, and neither bribes nor entreaties proved of any avail. He
was compelled to retrace his steps, and make a long détour, in the course
of which he lost his way. His water-bag burst, and for the first time his
courage wavered. Should he not return? But no; he had taken an oath never
to make a step backward until he had reached India. It were better to die
with his face to the West, than return to the East and live.

For four nights and five days he traversed the Desert, without a drop of
water to quench his thirst, with no other refreshment than that which he
derived from his prayers; and that these should afford any hope or
consolation seems strange enough, when we remember that Buddhism held out
to him no hope of a God or a Saviour. “It is incredible in how exhausted
an atmosphere the Divine spark within us will glimmer on, and even warm
the dark chambers of the human heart.” Comforted by his prayers, he
resumed his onward march, and in due time arrived at a large lake in the
country of the Oigom Tatars, by whom he was received with an abundant
hospitality. One of the Tatar Khans insisted that he should reside with
him and teach his people; and as he would listen to no remonstrances or
explanations, Hiouen-thsang was driven to a desperate expedient. The king,
he said, might fetter his body, but had no power over his mind and will;
and he refused all food, with a view to put an end to a life which he no
longer regarded as of value. In this resolution he persisted for three
days, and the Khan, afraid that he would perish, was compelled at last to
yield. But he extracted from him a promise that on his return to China he
would visit him, and abide with him for three years. At last, after a
month’s detention, during which the Khan and his court daily attended the
lectures of the pious monk, he resumed his journey, attended by a strong
escort, and furnished with letters of introduction to the twenty-four
princes whose dominions he must cross.

His route lay through what is now called Dsungary, across the
Musur-dabaghan mountains, the northern chain of the Belur-tag, the valley
of the Yaxartes, Bactria, and Kabulistan. The pilgrim’s description of the
scenes through which he passed is interesting and vivid; he was a keen
observer, and gifted with considerable powers of expression.

Of the Musur-dabaghan mountains he says:--

“The crest of these heights rises to the sky. Since the beginning of the
world the snow has been accumulating, and it is now transformed into
masses of ice, which never melt, either in spring or summer. Hard shining
sheets of snow are spread out until they vanish into the infinite, and
mingle with the clouds. If one looks at them, one’s eyes are dazzled by
the splendour. Frozen peaks impend over both sides of the wood, some
hundred feet in height, and some twenty or thirty feet in thickness. It is
not without difficulty and danger that the traveller can clear them or
climb over them. Sudden gusts of hurricane and tornadoes of snow attack
the pilgrims. Even with double shoes, and in thick furs, one cannot help
trembling and shivering.”

But as Max Müller justly observes, what is more important in the early
portion of our traveller’s narrative than any descriptions of scenery, is
his account of the high degree of civilisation that then obtained among
the tribes of Central Asia. Historians have learned to believe in the
early civilisation of Egypt, Babylon, China, India; but they will have to
abandon all their old ideas of barbarism and barbarians now that they find
the Tatar hordes possessing, in the seventh century, “the chief arts and
institutions of an advanced society.” The theory of M. Oppert, who gives
to a Turanian or Scythian race the original invention of the cuneiform
letters and a civilisation anterior to that of Babylon and Nineveh, ceases
to be improbable; since no new wave of civilisation could have touched
these countries between the cuneiform period of their literature and
history and the epoch of Hiouen-thsang’s visit.[13]

“In the kingdom of Okini, on the western portion of China, Hiouen-thsang
found an active commerce, gold, silver, and copper coinage; monasteries,
where the chief works of Buddhism were studied, and an alphabet derived
from Sanskrit. As he travelled on he met with mines, with agriculture,
including pears, plums, peaches, almonds, grapes, pomegranates, rice, and
wheat. The inhabitants were dressed in silk and woollen materials. There
were musicians in the chief cities who played on the flute and the guitar.
Buddhism was the prevailing religion, but there were traces of an earlier
worship, the Bactrian fire-worship. The country was everywhere studded
with halls, monasteries, monuments and statues. Samarkand formed at that
early time a kind of Athens, and its manners were copied by all the tribes
in the neighbourhood. Balkh, the old capital of Bactria, was still an
important place on the Oxus, well-fortified, and full of sacred buildings.
And the details which our traveller gives of the exact circumference of
the cities, the number of their inhabitants, the products of the soil, the
articles of trade, can leave no doubt in our minds that he relates what he
had seen and heard himself. A new page in the history of the world is here
opened, and new ruins pointed out, which would reward the pickaxe of a
Layard.”

Hiouen-thsang passed into India by way of Kabul. Shortly before he reached
Pou-lou-cha-pou-lo, the Sanskrit Purushapura, the modern Peshawer, he was
informed of a remarkable cave, where Buddha had converted a dragon, and
had promised to leave it his shadow, in order that, whenever the fierce
passions of its dragon-nature should awake, it might be reminded of its
vows by the presence of its master’s shadowy features. The promise was
fulfilled, and the dragon-cave became a favourite resort for pilgrims. Our
traveller was warned that the roads to the cave were haunted by robbers,
so that for three years no pilgrim had been known to return from it. But
he replied that it would be difficult during a hundred thousand Kalpas to
meet once with the true shadow of Buddha, and that having come so near it
in his pilgrimage, he could not pass on without paying the tribute of his
adoration.

He left his companions in their security, and having, with some
difficulty, obtained a guide, proceeded on his way. They had accomplished
but a few miles when they were attacked by five robbers. Hiouen-thsang
showed them his shaven head and priestly robes. “Master,” said one of the
fraternity, “where are you going?” “I desire,” replied Hiouen-thsang, “to
adore the shadow of Buddha.” “Master,” said the robber, “do you not know
that these roads are full of bandits?” “Robbers are men,” was the answer,
“and as for me, when I am going to adore the shadow of Buddha, though the
roads might be full of wild beasts, I shall walk on fearless. And inasmuch
as I will not fear you, because you are men, you will not be insensible to
pity.” These words, in their simple faith, produced a strange effect upon
the robbers, who opened their minds to the enlightenment of the wise man’s
teaching.

Hiouen-thsang resumed his journey, with his guide, and passed a stream
which rushed tumultuously between the walls of a precipitous ravine. In
the rock was a door opening into a depth of darkness. With a fervent
prayer the pilgrim entered boldly, advanced towards the east, then moved
fifty steps backwards, and began his devotions. He made one hundred
salutations, but saw nothing. This he conceived to be a punishment for his
sins; he reproached himself despairingly and wept bitter tears, because he
was denied the happiness of seeing Buddha’s shadow. At last, after many
prayers and invocations, he saw on the eastern wall a dim patch of light.
But it passed away. With mingled joy and pain he continued to pray, and
again he saw a light, and again it vanished swiftly. Then, in his ecstasy
of loving devotion, he vowed that he would never leave the place until he
had seen the “Venerable of the age.” After two hundred prayers, he saw the
cave suddenly fill with radiance, and the shadow of Buddha, of a brilliant
white colour, rose majestically on the wall, as when the clouds are riven,
and all at once flashes on the wondering eye the marvellous image of the
“Mountain of Light.” The features of the divine countenance were
illuminated with a dazzling glow. Hiouen-thsang was absorbed in wondering
contemplation, and from an object so sublime and incomparable he could not
turn his eyes away.

After he awoke from his trance, he called in six men, and bade them kindle
a fire in the cave, that he might burn incense; but as the glitter of the
flame made the shadow of Buddha disappear, he ordered it to be
extinguished. Five of the attendants saw the shadow, but the sixth saw
nothing; and the guide, when Hiouen-thsang told him of the vision, could
only express his astonishment. “Master,” he said, “without the sincerity
of your faith and the energy of your vows, you could not have seen such a
miracle.”

Such is the account which Hiouen-thsang’s biographers give of his visit to
Buddha’s cave; but Max Müller remarks, to the credit of Hiouen-thsang
himself, that in the _Si-yu-hi_, which contains his own diary, the story
is told much more simply. After describing the cave, he merely
adds:--“Formerly, the shadow of Buddha was seen in the cave, bright, like
his natural appearance, and with all the marks of his divine beauty. One
might have said, it was Buddha himself. For some centuries, however, it
has not been possible to see it completely. Though one does perceive
something, it is only a feeble and doubtful resemblance. If a man prays
with sincere faith, and if he have received from above a secret
impression, he sees the shadow clearly, but cannot enjoy the sight for any
length of time.”

       *       *       *       *       *

From Peshawer the undaunted pilgrim proceeded to Kashmir, visited the
principal towns of Central India, and arrived at last in Magadha, the Holy
land of the Buddhists. There, for a space of five years, he devoted
himself to the study of Sanskrit and Buddhist literature; he explored
every place which was consecrated by memories of the past. Passing through
Bengal, he travelled southward, with the view of visiting Ceylon, the
chief seat of Buddhism. But, unable to carry out his design, he crossed
the peninsula from east to west, ascended the Malabar coast, reached the
Indus, and after numerous excursions to scenes of interest in
North-Western India, returned to Magadha to enjoy, with his old friends,
the delights of learned leisure and intellectual companionship.

Eventually, his return to China became necessary, and traversing the
Punjab, Kabulistan, and Bactria, he struck the river Oxus, following its
course nearly up to its springhead on the remote Pamir tableland; and
after a residence of some duration in the three chief towns of Turkistan,
Khasgar, Yarkand, and Khoten, he found himself again, after sixteen years
of varied experience, in his native land. By this time he had attained a
world-wide reputation, and he was received by the Emperor with the honours
usually accorded to a military hero. His entry into the capital was marked
by public rejoicings; the streets were decked with gay carpets, festoons
of flowers, and waving banners. The splendour of martial pomp was not
wanting; the civic magistrates lent the dignity of their presence to the
scene; and all the monks of the district issued forth in solemn
procession.

If this were a triumph of unusual character, not less unaccustomed were
the trophies which figured in it.

First, 150 grains of Buddha’s dust;

Second, a golden statue of Buddha;

Third, another statue of sandal-wood;

Fourth, a statue of sandal-wood, representing Buddha as descending from
heaven;

Fifth, a statue of silver;

Sixth, a golden statue, representing Buddha victorious over the dragon;

Seventh, a statue of sandal-wood, representing Buddha as a preacher; and

Eighth, a collection of 657 Buddhist works in 520 volumes.

       *       *       *       *       *

Admitted to an audience of the Emperor in the Phœnix Palace, he was
offered, but declined, a high position in the Government. “The doctrine of
Confucius,” he said, “is still the soul of the administration;” and he
preferred to devote his remaining years to the study of the Law of Buddha.
The Emperor invited him to write a narrative of his travels, and placed at
his disposal a monastery where he might employ himself in peaceful and
happy seclusion in translating the works he had brought back from India.
He quickly wrote and published his travels, but the translation of the
Sanskrit MSS. occupied the rest of his life. It is said that the number of
the works he translated, with the assistance of a large staff of monks,
amounted to 740, in 1335 volumes. Often he might be seen pondering a
passage of difficulty, when suddenly a flash of inspiration would seem to
enlighten his mind. His soul was cheered, as when a man walking in
darkness sees all at once the sun piercing the clouds and shining in its
full brightness; and, unwilling to trust to his own understanding, he used
to attribute his knowledge to a secret inspiration of Buddha and the
Bôdhisattvas.

When his last hour approached, he divided all his property among the poor,
invited his friends to come and see him, and take a cheerful farewell of
the impure body of Hiouen-thsang. “I desire,” he said, “that whatever
merits I may have gained by good works may fall upon other people. May I
be born again with them in the heaven of the blessed, be admitted to the
family of Mi-le, and serve the Buddha of the future, who is full of
kindness and affection. When I descend again upon earth to pass through
other forms of existence, I desire at every new birth to fulfil my duties
towards Buddha, and arrive at the last at the highest and most perfect
intelligence.” He died in the year 664.

The life of Hiouen-thsang, and his narrative of travel, have been
translated into French by M. Stanislas Julien.[14] The foregoing
particulars have been borrowed from a review of M. Julien’s work, by Max
Müller, which originally appeared in the “Times” of April 17 and 20, 1857.

We translate from Stanislas Julien’s “Vie et Voyages de Hiouen-thsang” the
Chinese narrative of the pilgrim’s last days:--

“After completing his translation of the Pradjñâ, the Master of the Law
became conscious that his strength was failing, and that his end was near
at hand. Accordingly he spoke to his disciples: ‘If I came into the palace
of Yu-hoa-kong, it was, as you know, on account of the sacred book of the
Pradjñâ. Now that the work is finished, I feel that my thread of life is
run out. When after death you remove me to my last resting-place, see that
everything be done in a modest and simple manner. You will wrap my body
in a mat, and deposit it in some calm and solitary spot in the bosom of a
valley. Carefully avoid the neighbourhood of palace or convent; a body so
impure as mine should be separated from it by a great distance.’

“On hearing these words, his disciples broke out into sobs and cries.
Drying their tears, they said to him: ‘Master, you have still a reserve of
strength and vigour; your countenance is in no wise altered; why do you
give sudden utterance to such miserable words?’

“‘I know it through and in myself,’ replied the Master of the Law; ‘how
would it be possible for you to understand my presentiments?’

“On the first day of the first moon in the spring of the first year
_Lin-te_ (664), the neighbouring interpreters and all the religious of the
convent, came to solicit him, with the most pressing earnestness, to
translate the collection of the _Ratnakoûta soûtra_.

“The Master of the Law, yielding to their fervid persistency, made an
effort to overcome his weakness, and translated a few lines. Then, closing
the Hindu text, he said: ‘This collection is as great as that of the
_Pradjñâ_, but I feel I have not sufficient strength to complete such an
enterprise. My last moments have arrived, and my life can be only of short
duration. To-day I would fain visit the valley of Lantchi, to offer my
last homages to the statues of the innumerable Buddhas.’

“Accordingly, he set forth with his disciples. The monks, at his
departure, did not cease to shed tears.

“After this pious excursion he returned to the convent. Thenceforward he
ceased to translate, and occupied himself solely in his religious duties.

“On the eighth day, one of his disciples, the monk Hiouen-Khio, originally
of Kao-tch’ang, related to the Master of the Law a dream which he had had.
He had seen a _Fesu-thou_ (or _Stoûpa_,) of imposing aspect and prodigious
height, crumble suddenly to the ground. Awakened by the fall, he ran to
inform the Master of the Law. ‘The event does not concern you,’ said
Hiouen-thsang; ‘it is the presage of my approaching end.’

“On the evening of the ninth day, as he crossed the bridge of a canal in
the rear of his residence, he fell, and injured his leg. From that moment
his strength declined perceptibly.

“On the sixteenth day he cried out, as if awaking from a dream: ‘Before my
eyes I see an immense lotus-flower, charming in its freshness and purity.’

“He had another dream on the seventeenth day, in which he saw hundreds and
thousands of men of tall stature, who, decorated with garments of
embroidered silk, with flowers of marvellous beauty, and jewels of great
price, issued from the sleeping-chamber of the Master of the Law, and
proceeded to set out, both internally and externally, the hall consecrated
to the translation of the holy books. Afterwards, in the rear of that
hall, on a wooded mountain, they everywhere planted rich banners of the
most vivid colours, and created an harmonious music. He saw moreover,
without the gate, an innumerable multitude of splendid chariots loaded
with perfumed viands and fruits of more than a thousand kinds, as
beautiful in form as in colour; no fruits were there of terrestrial
growth! The people brought them to him, one after the other, and offered
him a profusion; but he refused them, saying: ‘Such viands as these belong
only to those who have obtained the superior intelligence. Hiouen-thsang
has not yet arrived at that sublime rank: how could he dare to receive
them?’ In spite of his energetic refusal they continued to serve him
without intermission.

“The disciples who watched by him happening to make some slight sound, he
opened his eyes suddenly, and related his dream to the sub-director
(_Karmmadana_), a certain Hoeï-te.”

“‘And from these omens,’ added the Master, ‘it seems to me that such
merits as I have been able to acquire during my life have not fallen into
oblivion, and I believe, with an entire faith, that it is not in vain one
practises the doctrine of the Buddha.’

“Immediately, he ordered the master Kia-chang to make a written list of
the titles of the sacred books and the treatises which he had translated,
forming altogether seven hundred and forty works and thirteen hundred and
thirty-five volumes (_livres_). He wrote down also the _Kôti_ (ten
millions) of paintings of the Buddha, as well as the thousand images of
_Mi-le_ (_Mâitrêya bôdhisattva_), painted on silk, which he had caused to
be executed. There were, moreover, the _Kôtis_ (one hundred millions) of
statuettes of uniform colour. He had also caused to be written a thousand
copies of the following sacred books:

    _Nong-touan-pan-jo-king (Vadjra tchhêdika pradjñâ parâmitâ soûtra)._

    _Yo-sse-jou-laï-pou-youen-kong-te-king (Arya bhagavati bhâichadja
    gourou poûrwa pranidhâna nâma mahâ yâna soûtra)._

    _Lou-men-t’o-lo-ni-king (Chat moukhi dhârani)._”

He had ministered to the wants of upwards of twenty thousand persons among
the faithful and heretical; he had kindled a hundred thousand lamps, and
purchased thousands upon thousands (_ocean_) of creatures.

When Kia-chang had finished this long catalogue of good works, he was
ordered to read it aloud. After hearing it, the religious crossed their
hands and loaded the Master with congratulations. Then he said to
them:--“The moment of my death approaches; already my mind grows feeble
and seems to be on the point of quitting me. Distribute at once in alms my
clothes and goods; let statues be fabricated; and order the religious to
recite some prayers.”

On the twenty-third day, a meal was given to the poor, at which alms were
distributed. On the same day, he ordered a moulder named Song-kia-tchi, to
raise, in the Kia-cheou-tien palace, a statue of the Intelligence
(Buddha); after which he invited the population of the convent, the
translators, and his disciples, to bid “a joyous farewell to that impure
and contemptible body of Hiouen-thsang, who, having finished his work,
merited no longer existence. I desire,” he added, “to see poured back upon
other men the merits which I have acquired by any good works; to be born
with them in the heaven of the Touchitas; to be admitted into the family
of _Mi-le_ (_Mâitrêya_); and to serve the Buddha, full of tenderness and
affection. When I shall return to earth to pass through other existences,
I desire, at each new birth, to discharge with boundless zeal my duties
towards the Buddha, and finally to arrive at the Transcendent Intelligence
(_Anouttara samyak sambôdhi_).”

After having made these adieux, he was silent, and engaged in meditation;
then with his dying tongue he faltered forth his bitter regret that he did
not enjoy more of the “world of the eyes” (the faculty of seeing), of the
“world of the thought” (the faculty of thinking), of “the world of the
knowledge which springs from observation” (the knowledge of sensible
objects); of the “world of the knowledge which springs from the
mind”--_l’esprit_ (the perception of spiritual things); and that he did
not possess the fulness of the Intelligence. Finally, he pronounced two
_gubhas_, which he caused to be repeated to the persons near him:--

“Adoration to _Maitrêya Tathagata_, gifted with a sublime intelligence! I
desire, with all men, to see your affectionate visage.

“Adoration to _Maitrêya Tathagata_! I desire, when I quit this life, to be
born again in the midst of the multitude who surround you.”

The Master of the Law, after having long fixed his gaze upon Te-hoeï, the
sub-director of the convent (_Karmmadana_), raised his right hand to his
chin and his left upon his breast; then he stretched out his legs, crossed
them, and lay down on the right side.

He remained thus, immovable, without taking anything, until the fifth day
of the second moon. In the middle of the night his disciples asked him:

“Master, have you at length obtained to be born in the midst of the
assembly of _Maitrêya_?”

“Yes,” he replied, with a failing voice. And having spoken, his breathing
grew rapidly weaker, and in a few moments, his soul passed away.

His servants, feeling quietly, found that his feet were already cold, but
that the back part of the head retained its warmth.

On the seventh day (of the second moon) his countenance had not undergone
any alteration, and his body exhaled no odour.

The religious of the convent having passed several days in prayers, it was
not until the morning of the ninth day that the sad news reached the
capital.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Master of the Law was seven _tchi_ high; his face was of a fresh
complexion. His eyebrows were wide apart, his eyes brilliant. His air was
grave and majestic, and his features were full of grace and vivacity. The
quality or tone (_timbre_) of his voice was pure and penetrating, and his
language at times soared to a lofty eloquence, so noble and so harmonious
that one could not refuse to listen. When he was surrounded by his
disciples, or animated by the presence of an illustrious guest, he would
often speak for half-a-day, while his hearers sat riveted in an immovable
attitude. His favourite attire was a robe of fine cotton stuff,
proportioned to his height and figure; his gait was light and easy; he
looked straight before him, throwing his glances neither to the right nor
to the left. He was majestic as those great rivers which embrace the
earth; calm and shining as the lotus which springs in the midst of the
waters. A severe observer of discipline, he was unchanged and
unchangeable. Nothing could equal his affectionate benevolence and tender
pity, the fervour of his zeal or his inviolable attachment to the
practices of the Law. He was reserved in his friendship, made no hasty
bonds, and when once he had entered his convent, nothing but an imperial
decree could have drawn him from his pious retreat.

On the third day of the second moon (of the period _Lin-te_,--664), the
Master of the Law had sent Hiu-hiouen-pi to inform the Emperor of the
wound he had received, and of the malady it had induced.

On the seventh day of the same month the Emperor, by a decree, ordered one
of the imperial physicians to take with him medicaments and attend upon
the Master of the Law, but by the time he arrived, the Master was already
dead. Teou-sse-lun, governor of Fang-tcheou, announced by a report this
melancholy event.

At the news, the Emperor shed tears copiously, and cried aloud in his
sorrow, declaring that he had just lost the treasure of the empire. For
several days he suspended the usual audiences.

All the civil and military functionaries abandoned themselves to groans
and tears: the Emperor himself was unable to repress his sobs or moderate
his grief. On the next day but one, he spoke to his great officers as
follows:

“What a misfortune for my empire is the loss of Thsang, the Master of the
Law! It may well be said that the great family of Cakya has seen its sole
support shattered beneath it, and that all men remain without master and
without guide. Do they not resemble the mariner who sees himself sinking
into the abyss, when the storm has destroyed his oars and his shallop? the
traveller astray in the midst of the darkness, whose lamp dies out at the
entrance to a bottomless gulf?”

When he had uttered these words, the Emperor groaned again, and sighed
many times.

On the twenty-sixth day of the same month, the Emperor issued the
following decree:

“In accordance with a report addressed to me by Teou-sse-lun on the death
of the Master of the Law, Hiouen-thsang, of the convent _Yu-hoa-sse_, I
order that his funeral take place at the expense of the State.”

On the sixth day of the third moon, he issued a new decree as follows:

“By the death of Thsang, the Master of the Law, the translation of the
sacred books is stopped. In conformity to the ancient ordinances, the
magistrates will cause the translations already completed to be copied
carefully: as for the (Indian) manuscripts which have not yet been
translated, they will be handed over in their entirety to the director of
the convent _Ts’e’-en-sse_ (of the Great Beneficence,) who will watch over
their safety. The disciples of Hiouen-thsang and the translators’ company,
who previously did not belong to the convent _Yu-hoa-sse_, will all return
to their respective convents.”

On the fifth day of the third moon appeared the following decree:

“On the day of the funeral of the Master of the Law, Hiouen-thsang, I
permit the male and female religious of the capital to accompany him _with
banners and parasols_ to his last resting-place. The Master of the Law
shone by his noble conduct and his eminent virtues, and was the idol of
his age. Wherefore, now he is no more, it is just that I should diffuse
again abundant benefits to honour the memory of a man who has had no equal
in past times.”

His disciples, faithful to his last wishes, formed a litter of coarse
mats, removed his body to the capital, and deposited it in the convent of
the Great Beneficence, in the middle of the hall devoted to the labours
of translation. United by the sentiment of a common sorrow, they uttered
such cries as might have shaken the earth. The religious and the laics of
the capital hastened to the spot, and poured out tears mingled with sobs
and cries. Every day the crowd was swollen by fresh arrivals.

On the fourteenth day of the fourth month, preparations were made for his
interment in the capital of the West. The male and female religious, and a
multitude of the men of the people, prepared upwards of five hundred
objects necessary for the celebration of his obsequies; parasols of smooth
(_unia_) silk, banners and standards, the tent and the litter of the
_Ni-ouan_ (Nirvâna;) the inner coffin of gold, the outer one of silver,
the _so-lo_ trees (_salas_,) and disposed them in the middle of the
streets to be traversed by the procession. The plaintive cadences of the
funereal music, and the mournful dirges of the bearers resounded even to
Heaven. The inhabitants of the capital and of the districts situated
within a radius of five hundred _li_ (fifty leagues,) who formed the
procession, exceeded one million in number. Though the obsequies were
celebrated with pomp, the coffin of the Master nevertheless was borne upon
a litter composed of rude coarse mats. The silk manufacturers of the East
had employed three thousand pieces of different colours in making the
chariot of the Nirvâna, which they had ornamented with flowers and
garlands, loaded with precious stones. They had asked permission to place
the body of the Master of the Law upon this resplendent catafalque; but
afraid of infringing his dying command, his disciples had refused. So it
went first, bearing the Master’s three robes and his religious mantle, of
the value of one hundred ounces of silver; next came the litter
constructed of coarse mats. Not one of the assistants but shed copious
tears or was almost choked with grief!

Upwards of thirty thousand religious and laics spent the night near his
tomb.

On the morning of the fifteenth day the grave was closed; then, at the
place of sepulture, an immense distribution of alms was made, and the
crowd afterwards dispersed in silence.

On the eighth day of the fourth moon of the second year of the
Tsong-tchang period (669,) the Emperor decreed that the tomb of the Master
of the Law should be transported into a plain, situated to the west of the
_Fan-tch’ouen_ valley, and that a tower should be erected in his
honour.[15]




CHAPTER II.

_MAGIANISM: THE PARSEES._


THE ZENDAVESTA.[16]

When the pure morality of Christianity is adduced as a proof of its high
origin, one of the favourite devices of Modern Unbelief is to claim an
equally high standard for the morality inculcated by the primitive creeds,
and to rain praises upon the ethical systems embodied in the Soûtras of
the Buddhists, the Rig-Veda of the Brahmans, or the Zendavesta of the
Parsees. In making this claim our philosophers probably calculate on the
little knowledge which the multitude possess of any creeds but their own.
They are well aware that, to the popular mind, the teaching of Buddha or
Zoroaster is necessarily a sealed book, and that the whole extent of its
purport is known only to a few scholars. Hence, when they come to support
their thesis by quotations, they are able to select those isolated
passages which shine with the lustre of genuine diamonds, and produce an
absolutely false impression of the general character of the writings in
which they occur; thin veins of precious metal shining here and there
through masses of worthless ore. No doubt the Veda contains numerous
utterances of the highest beauty, in which the soul’s devotion to a
Supreme Power is expressed with a lyrical fervour inferior only to that of
the Sweet Singer of Israel. No doubt the Zendavesta, or the books of
K’ung-fu-tze, like the works of later and maturer intellects--a Xenophon
and a Plato, a Seneca and a Marcus Aurelius--are enriched with thoughts of
the loftiest description, and frequently breathe the most exalted
aspirations. But what we have to remember is, that these are wholly
exceptional; that they are the most arduous efforts of each self-absorbed
thinker, and the indications of his boldest flights. At other times the
wing grows feeble; at other times the music is faint and even discordant;
the bird can do no more than creep along the ground. In the sayings of our
Lord, however, or in the writings of His Apostles, the tone is always
sustained, clear, definite. There is no uncertainty or hesitation. Nothing
mean or unworthy is woven in their texture. No concessions are made to
man’s coarser desires or grosser passions. The system set before us is
rounded in perfection, and shows not a flaw from beginning to end. We feel
that He who speaks, whether in His own Person or through His disciples,
speaks as never man spoke before; and that the Voice which fills our ears
and stirs our hearts is, in deed and in truth, a Voice from Heaven.

We propose to furnish in this chapter a general view of the construction
and teaching of the Parsee Scriptures, with the view of showing the signal
inferiority of the creed it embodies to Christianity in all that can
elevate the mind and satisfy the soul. At the same time we admit that the
Parsee creed, and all similar creeds, possess an intrinsic value, apart
from their ethical deficiencies, as illustrating the recognition of an
Almighty Will, an Eternal and Supreme Force, by all the higher races of
mankind. They show us the hopes, fears, and desires of great tribes and
peoples which existed in the days before men wrote history; and they show
us how their wisest teachers groped in the dark, and stumbled in the
thorny path,--favoured occasionally, it is true, with a wonderful glimpse
of light, and striking now and again into the pleasant places, but never
rejoicing in the glory which rose upon earth with the Sun of
Righteousness, never treading in that narrow but secure way which leads to
Eternal Life. We see in them the great minds of the early world, like
children on the seashore, perplexed by a music which they could not
comprehend, and astonished by a power which they were unable to define.
Yet happier and wiser they than the cold materialist of a later age, who
resolves all mysteries, all phenomena, into the working of a blind
inflexible Law, and takes out of creation its light, beauty, and joy by
denying the existence of an all-powerful and all-loving Creator.

The religion professed by the ancient Persians, and still accepted by the
Parsees of Western India, and by a scattered population in Yezd and
Kerman, is taught in the books known as the Zend-Avesta. This title comes
from the Sassanian term _Avesta_ or _Apusta_, that is, the text;[17] and
_Zend_, or _Zand_, that is, the commentary upon it. The meaning of the
latter word, however, seems to have varied at different periods.
Originally it signified the interpretation of the sacred texts handed down
from Zoroaster (or Zarathustra) and his disciples. In course of time the
interpretation came to be esteemed not less authoritative and sacred than
the original text, and both were called _Avesta_. But the language in
which they were written having died out, they became unintelligible to the
majority of the people, and a new _Zend_ or commentary was required before
they could be understood. The new “Zend” was the work of the most learned
priests of the Sassanian period, and consisted of a translation of the
double “Avesta” into the vernacular language then in vogue.[18] And as
this translation is the only key which the priests of modern Persia
possess to the old creed as taught by Zarathustra, it has usurped the
place of the original Zend, and is now the recognised official commentary.

But, anciently, the word “Zend” implied something more than a simple
interpretation of the “Avesta,” or sacred texts. That interpretation was
the source of certain new doctrines, the whole of which were considered
orthodox, and designated _Zandi-agahi_, or Zend doctrines; doctrines
which, it can hardly be doubted, supplied Plutarch and some other of the
Greeks with ethical suggestions. The name _Pazend_, which frequently
occurs in connection with _Avesta_ and _Zend_, denotes a further
exposition of Zarathustrian teaching, as contained in the Vendidad, to
which we shall shortly refer.

Thus far we have been indebted to Dr. Haug’s account of the origin of the
Zendavesta. His views are confirmed by Westergaard, who asserts that the
sacred books belong to two epochs; that is, that they are written in one
age, and collected and systematised in another, in much the same way as,
according to Wolf, the Homeric poems were produced and assumed their
present form. All the earlier traditions ascribe their origin to
Zarathustra; but modern philologists affirm that they could not have
sprung from any single mind, because they present no defined or
self-consistent system of religious belief or moral economy. Like the
hymns of the Vedas, and the strains of the Norse Edda, the several
portions of the Zendavesta, so they say, must have been composed by
different bards, each of whom coloured his particular theme according to
the hues of his lively imagination. This theory, however, though it may
have an element of truth in it, is hardly the whole truth. The Zendavesta
is unquestionably wanting in unity and completeness. But it seems to us
that traces of a dominant mind are everywhere visible; that the various
parts are held together as on a thread by the teaching of Zarathustra
himself; and that the additions made by later and inferior writers are not
such as wholly to obscure the original work.

It is to the celebrated Frenchman, Anquetil Duperron, that the scholars of
the West owe their knowledge of these remarkable books. Happening to see a
facsimile of a few pages written in Zend characters, he resolved on
setting out for India in order to purchase manuscripts of all the sacred
books of the Zarathustrian religion, to acquire a thorough insight into
their signification, and to obtain a knowledge of the rites and religious
observances of the Parsees. His means being limited, he entered himself as
a sailor on board a ship of the Dutch Indian Company, and worked his way
out to Bombay in 1754. With money supplied by the French Government to
assist him in his ingenious researches, he bribed one of the most learned
_dustoors_ or priests, Dustoor Darat, or Surat, to procure the treasures
he desired, and to instruct him in the Zend and Pehlvi languages. As soon
as he had acquired the requisite proficiency, he addressed himself to the
task of translating the whole of the Zendavesta into French. This was in
1759. Returning to Europe, he convinced himself of the genuineness of his
purchases by comparing them with MSS. in the Bodleian Library; and, after
several years of arduous labour, produced the first European version in
1771. At the outset, the authenticity of his work was challenged both in
England and Germany; but all doubts have been set at rest by the inquiries
of Rask and others; and thus, through the fanciful enterprise of a young
Frenchman, the veil has been lifted which for so long a period shrouded
the mysterious religion of the Magi.

We do not, however, possess the whole of the Avesta. It is asserted by an
Arabian writer that Zarathustra himself covered with his verses no fewer
than twelve thousand parchments, and who shall compute the extent of the
literature accumulated by his disciples? Whether this literature perished
at the epoch of the Macedonian conquest of Persia, or whether it was
destroyed by Alexander the Great, or whether it gradually perished as the
influence of the Greek philosophy prevailed over the Zarathustrian
theology, it is impossible to determine. The remains of the sacred books,
however, with short summaries of their contents, have been handed down to
us. Originally they were twenty-one in number, called _Nosks_, and each
_Nosk_ consisting of “Avesta” and “Zend”--text and commentary. The number
twenty-one corresponded to the number of words composing the “Honovar,” or
most sacred prayer, of the Zarathustrians. It is, we may add, a magical
number, being the result of the multiplication of the sacred numbers,
_three_ and _seven_.

Of these divisions the _précis_ now extant, and collected for the first
time by the Danish scholar Westergaard, comprise the following books:
First, the _Yasna_, which sets before us the devotions proper to be
offered in connection with the sacrificial ceremonies. This Yasna is
divided into seventy-two chapters, representing the six Yahânhârs, or
“seasons” during which Ahura-Mazda, the Good Principle, created the world.
The reader will here note the coincidence between the six creative seasons
of the Magian seer, and the six creative days of the Hebrew lawgiver. The
Yasna consists of two parts, the older of which is written in what is
called the Gâtha dialect, and had acquired a peculiar sanctity prior to
the date of composition of the other books. It may be described as a
treasury of songs, hymns, and metrical prayers, which embody a variety of
abstruse reflections upon subjects of metaphysical inquiry, and are much
better adapted to stimulate the intellect of the student than to foster
the devotion of the worshipper. They are rhymeless, like the poetical
effusions of Cædmon, and in their metrical structure bear a curious
resemblance to the Vedic hymns. Of these collections, or Gâthas, there are
five, and their leading title seems to be: “The Revealed Thought, the
Revealed Word, and the Revealed Deed of Zarathustra the Holy.” It is added
that the Archangels first sang the Gâthas. Their general purport is an
exposition of the work and teaching of the great founder of Magianism, who
is represented as inveighing against a belief in the _devas_, or gods, and
exhorting his disciples to lift up their hearts only to Ahura-Mazda, the
Supreme Goodness.

Now it seems necessary to correct a popular error, that the Zendavesta is
largely liturgical: an error confirmed by the assertion of Gibbon, who
says: “Every mode of religion, to make a deep and lasting impression on
the human mind, must exercise our obedience, by enjoining practices of
devotion for which we can assign no reason; and must acquire our esteem by
inculcating moral duties analogous to the dictates of our own hearts. The
religion of Zoroaster was abundantly provided with the former, and
possessed a sufficient portion of the latter.” But Zarathustra himself, in
one of his best-known precepts, warns his followers that “he who sows the
ground with care and diligence, acquires a greater stock of religious
merit than he would gain by the repetition of ten thousand prayers.” It is
the tendency of all ethico-religious systems, at least in their earliest
stage of development, to discourage purely liturgical observances, and to
enjoin on the disciple a state of self-concentration and self-absorption
varied only by physical activity. Unaided by a divine Revelation, their
founders never rise higher than the passive virtues of endurance and
patience. As time passes away, and the new creed falls into the hands of a
special school of expounders, minute rites and rigid practices are
accumulated in order to impose upon the neophyte, and deepen the influence
of those who alone possess a clue to their meaning. The formalities which
encumber the Zarathustrian worship were invented long after the death of
the master, and no indication of them appears in the oldest section of
the Zendavesta. They are to be found chiefly in the much later pages of
the _Sadder_, where fifteen different genuflexions and prayers are
required of the devout Persian every time he cuts his finger-nails!

To return to the Yasna. The Gâthas, of which we have been speaking, were
not improbably composed by Zarathustra himself, and may be held to express
his belief and his thoughts in his own words. The second part, or “Younger
Yasna,” is of a much later date and less lofty tone. The invention of some
of the Master’s disciples or priests, it re-establishes the Polytheism
which Zarathustra so strenuously condemned; and furnishes the believer
with a manual of prayers and incantations (in prose) to the genii of the
woods and streams and hills, the powers of fire and earth and water, and
all the invisible spirits which haunt the luminous air.

We come next to the _Visparad_, a collection of prayers in
three-and-twenty chapters, written in Zend, and of a similar tenour to
those in the younger Yasna. These prayers refer to the preparation of the
sacred water, and the consecration of certain offerings--such as the
sacred bread--which are carried round about the sacred fire, and after
having been exhibited to it, are eaten by the priest and by the votary on
whose behalf the ceremony is performed.

The _Yashts_ (Yêsti)--that is, worship by prayers and sacrifices--fall to
be considered in the third place. Of these devotions, which are
consecrated to the praise and worship of one Divine Being, and of a
certain limited group of inferior deities, twenty-four are extant. In
using them the votary endeavours, by a wearisome enumeration of the
glorious achievements of the deity he is addressing, and of the miracles
he has wrought, to induce him to come and enjoy the meal prepared for him,
and then to bestow on his fervid worshipper a blessing not inferior to the
boons bestowed on his children in bygone times. So far as concerns the
legendary history of the ancient Iranians, and in connection with their
belief in the pantheon of Magianism, the Yashts are of great value, and
indeed, from this point of view, are the most precious portion of the
Zendavesta.

While the three parts already described exhibit more or less of a
liturgical character, the fourth division, known as the _Vendidad_, forms
a collection of customs, observances, laws, pains, and penalties, the
growth of a period much later than that of Zarathustra, when Ritual began
its encroachments on Religion. It is the essence of all _genuine_ Ritual
that it should illustrate and explain Doctrine, but this is never found to
be the case in the primitive creeds. In all such it becomes merely the
ingenious invention of a subtle priesthood, by which its members
established their influence over an ignorant community. In the eyes of the
unlearned its complex character invested it with an air of mystery; they
were led to look upon the “form” as of greater importance than the
“spirit,” and to attribute a strange, a wonderful potency to rites and
ceremonies which they could not understand. While it is the special
feature of the faith of CHRIST that it appeals in its sweet simplicity to
every heart, and that it requires of the believer to present himself
before the altar with the innocence and trustfulness of a little child;
that it seeks not to confuse by a multiplicity of minute observances, and
even sums up its leading tenets in two brief and easily intelligible
commandments; Magianism, conscious of its inherent defects, unable to fall
back on the redeeming sacrifice of a SAVIOUR, deficient in any enduring
principle of vitality, sought to build up its structure on a foundation of
ceremonies and formalities. And when it could not feed the soul with the
bread of truth, it dazzled the senses by imposing spectacles, and confused
the imagination with a cumbrous code of the most complicated ritualistic
frivolities; so that the Persian worship, with its incantations and
devices, laid the foundation of the later Magic.

       *       *       *       *       *

Turning our attention now to that portion of the Zendavesta which is
called the Vendidad, we find that it is divided into twenty-two Fargards,
or chapters.

In the first of these we find an account of the creation by Ahura-Mazda,
of sixteen holy regions, sinless spotless Edens, localities of perfect
bliss; each of which is destroyed in succession by Ahriman, the Spirit of
Evil,--a fable evidently suggested by the Mosaic history of Paradise. The
second treats of a certain king, Yimo Vivaugham, who introduced
agriculture into the land of Iran. The third sets forth the various means
by which Zoma, or the Earth, may be rendered happy. You must beware of
excavating deep holes in it, for through these the _devs_, or demons, pass
to and fro between hell and earth; nor must you bury within it the dead
bodies of men or dogs, or other animals. The fourth chapter enumerates six
categories of crime, and the several punishments connected with them. The
fifth and sixth are occupied with a description of various kinds of
impurity. The seventh and eighth contain liturgical directions in
reference to the disposal of the carcases of men and dogs;[19] and it is
stated that whoever eats of flesh so unclean can never be purified, but
that hell will undoubtedly be his portion. Even the house in which a man
or a dog dies must immediately be purified by the use of incense or
sweet-smelling odours; a sanitary precaution of some importance in hot
climates. In the ninth occurs an elaborate detail of the rite of
purification denominated the _Barathium_, to be performed by, and on
behalf of a person who shall have been unwittingly defiled by touching the
dead. The tenth and eleventh are not less minute in their directions what
word must be repeated twice, and thrice, and four times at the different
Gâthas, in order that Ahriman and his lieutenants may be expelled from men
and women who have been in contact with the dead, and from houses, cities,
and provinces into which they have obtained an entrance.

The twelfth Fargard treats of various funeral ceremonies, and repeats a
number of injunctions relative to the cleansing of places, of clothes and
other articles, polluted by lifeless bodies. It concludes with elaborate
warnings against a two-footed _dev_, called Ashmog. The thirteenth and
fourteenth run riot in praise of the noble qualities of dogs, and severe
in their rebuke of the “superior animals” who ill-use them. The fifteenth
reads like a Commination Service, in its denunciation of certain crimes
which can never be undone even by the profoundest penitential offices, and
are punished by Ahura-Mazda with eternal condemnation. The seventeenth,
like the sixteenth, is tediously liturgical, and discusses such minutiæ as
the arrangement of the hair of the head, the extraction of bad or gray
hairs, and the cutting of nails. If these operations are performed
without certain prescribed ceremonies, the devs come upon earth, and
parasitical organisms are produced to the great discomfort and injury of
man. The eighteenth lays down the distinctions which should characterise
an _Athrava_, or priest. He must wear the _padan_, a mouth-cover, of two
fingers’ breadth; must carry an instrument for disposing of parasitical
insects; devote his nights to study, keep alive the sacred fire, and
succour the distressed. The nineteenth chapter recounts the perils to
which Zarathustra was exposed, when he had left the south on his mission,
from the murderous assaults of Ahriman and his host, who hastened up from
the north; the north, to an inhabitant of the warm sunny south, naturally
appearing the fit home and haunt of the Spirit of Evil. The twentieth is
devoted to the praise of Taneslied, who is represented as having swept
away disease, death, bloodshed, war, evil-doers, falsehood, and all kinds
of wickedness. The twenty-first enjoins the salutations to be paid to the
sacred Bull, and extols some of its illustrious qualities. Finally, the
twenty-second narrates the mission of Zarathustra, and describes the evil
he will dispel through the influence of the Word; Ahura-Mazda having
ordered him to establish his worship in the region called Airya-Mava, or
Irman, so that it may become bright, pure, and happy as the abode of
Ahura-Mazda himself, free from sin, and, consequently, free from sorrow
and suffering.

From this brief summary it will be seen that the religion of the Parsees
in its present form is a definite Dualism, recognizing the existence of
two distinct principles, Good and Evil, impersonated by spirits of equal
power, named Ahura-Mazda, (or Spento-Manyus,) and Ahriman, (or
Angro-Manyus.) But no such doctrine was taught by Zarathustra himself. His
creed, like all the earliest creeds, was purely Monotheistic. He set
before men, as the sole object of their love and adoration, one Supreme
Being, Ahura-Mazda, the great “Life-Giver” or the “Living Wisdom,” as the
name is variously explained. Nor was his conception of this one God
altogether unworthy of the Founder of a Religion. He does not represent
Him, indeed, as the “Father,” loving, sympathetic, compassionate, and so
full of condescension, that He is willing to give His Son to die for the
salvation of erring Humanity; for he did not enjoy that fuller revelation
of the Divine Nature which was vouchsafed to the Hebrew race. But he shows
Him as the “Lord over all lords, the Forgiving, the Omniscient.” He is
ineffably pure, the source of all Truth, the Holy God. In the Khordah
Avesta, Zarathustra is introduced as inquiring: “Tell me the name, O pure
Ahura-Mazda, which is Thy greatest, best, and fairest name?” Ahura-Mazda
replies: “My name is He who may be questioned: the Gatherer of the people:
the Most Pure: He who takes account of the actions of men. My name is God
(Ahura); My name is the Great Wise One (Mazdas.) I am the All-Seeing, the
Desirer of Good for My creatures, He who cannot be deceived: the
Protector: the Tormentor of tormentors: He who smiteth once and only once:
the Creator of All.”

His happiness, like His holiness, is without spot or blemish; every
blessing is His that man can imagine--health and wealth, virtue, wisdom,
prosperity, immortality; and these blessings He is willing to bestow on
His creatures if in thought and word and deed they eschew impurity. But we
nowhere read that He will assist them in the struggle against sin by
creating in them a new heart, or by vouchsafing the grace of His Holy
Spirit. The mystery of the Atonement was beyond the reach of the soul and
intellect even of Zarathustra; and the highest conception of God to which
he could attain was that of a Being of perfect Goodness, sitting enthroned
in a strange awful loneliness, with no other feeling than that of approval
of Good and disapproval of Evil. He is, of course, the supreme type of
Power: all that _is_ flows from Him, as light from the Sun: He creates
both the shadow and the brightness of the human existence, good and ill,
fortune and misfortune. So far above all human intelligence is He placed,
that images of Him are forbidden, though He is understood to be symbolised
by the sun and by fire. He can be served only by prayers and offerings, by
a life of purity and truth, by abstinence from sinful passions, by the
banishment of sinful thoughts. Thus Herodotus says of the Zarathustrians,
that they reject the use of temples, of altars, and of statues. “They
smile,” he says, “at the folly of those nations who imagine that the Gods
are descended from, or have any affinity with, human nature. The loftiest
mountain-tops are the places chosen for their sacrifices. Hymns and
prayers are their principal forms of worship. And the Supreme God, who
fills the vast sphere of Heaven, is the object to whom they are
addressed.”

The service of Ahura-Mazda consisted, then, as we see, in the performance
of good works, in the cultivation of virtue, and in the due offering up of
prayer and praise. It was an intellectual worship that Zarathustra
prescribed; a worship that might assist in the development of a high
morality, but could not inculcate a deep and true religious feeling. Of
contrition for sin, of humbling oneself before God, of self-sacrifice and
self-abnegation, of love, and faith, and hope, the creed of Zarathustra
took no account. And here, as well as elsewhere, we observe its vast
inferiority to the religion of CHRIST. It made no provision for the
awakening and fostering of those tender emotions of profound humility,
thankful adoration, and unutterable gratitude which are awakened in the
Christian’s heart by the name of JESUS. It could never have called forth
such an utterance of the son’s glad submission to the will of the FATHER
as we find, for example, in the ejaculatory verse of Ben Jonson:

  “Hear me, O GOD!
    A broken heart
    Is my best part:
  Use still Thy rod,
    That I may prove
    Therein Thy love.

  “If Thou hadst not
    Been stern to me,
    But left me free,
  I had forgot
    Myself and Thee.

  “For sin’s so sweet,
    As minds ill-bent
    Rarely repent,
  Until they meet
    Their punishment.”

Such lines as these indicate a relation between man and his GOD which
could never obtain between the Zarathustrian and his Ahura-Mazda. His was
a cold, unimpassioned, logical creed, warmed by no single heart-throb of
Divine love and mercy; a creed which demanded human worship for a sinless
God, but did not invite human faith in a loving Redeemer; and,
consequently, a creed which left untouched the deepest springs and most
responsive chords of our humanity.

       *       *       *       *       *

Both the excellencies and the short-comings of Magianism are shown in the
confessions and prayers included in the Zendavesta. For example, there is
much that is elevated and noble in the following, yet its tone is
curiously Pharisaical, and may be contrasted with that of Ben Jonson’s
verses. Instead of being the aspiration of a sinful soul after
forgiveness, and a reaching forth towards love and light, it is the
self-eulogium of a mind confident in its own sustaining power, and to
appreciate its weakness we need only to contrast it with the fervour of a
David or a S. Paul. We remember that the Hebrew king exclaimed: “My heart
panteth, my strength faileth me: as for the light of mine eyes, it also is
gone from me,” and how the Apostle confessed himself “the chief of
sinners.” With no such aching consciousness of weakness does the
Zarathustrian bow himself before God. There is all the pride of
self-righteousness in his prayer. Thus:

“I remain standing fast in the statutes of the law which Ahura-Mazda gave
to Zarathustra. As long as life endures I will stand fast in good thoughts
in my soul, in good words in my speech, in good deeds in my actions. With
all good am I in harmony, with all evil am I at variance. With the
punishments of the future life I am content. I have taken hold of good
thoughts, words, and works. I have forsaken evil thoughts, words, and
works. May the power of Ahriman be broken! may the reign of Ahura-Mazda
increase!”

And again:

“I am steadfast in this faith, and turn myself not away from it, for the
sake of a happy life, or for the sake of a longer life, nor for power, nor
for a kingdom. If I must give up my body for the sake of my soul, I give
it willingly. I believe firmly in the good Mazda-yusaian faith; in the
Resurrection; in the bridge of souls,[20] in the invariable reward of good
deeds and punishment of bad deeds, in the everlasting continuance of
paradise and the annihilation of hell; and I believe that, at the last,
Ahura-Mazda will be victorious, and Ahrimanes will perish with the Devs,
and all the children of darkness.... I am full of hope that I shall attain
to Paradise and the shining Garathânan, where all majesty dwelleth. I make
this confession in the hope that I may hereafter become more zealous to
accomplish good works and keep myself more from sin; and that my good
deeds may serve for the diminution of evil and the increase of good till
the rising again.”

We know the form of prayer taught us by JESUS CHRIST; how simple it is,
how complete, how absolute in its renunciation of self, how comprehensive
in its charity. “Thy will be done”.... “Forgive us our trespasses as we
forgive them who trespass against us”.... “Lead us not into temptation.”
Such are its leading thoughts: submission before GOD, charity before Man;
both implying and demanding the conquest and humiliation of self. Let us
contrast it with a Zarathustrian prayer:

“In the name of God the Giver and Forgiver, Rich in Love, praise be to
Ahura-Mazda, the God with the name ... ‘Who always was, always is, and
always will be.’... Ahura-Mazda the Wise, the Creator, the Over-seeing
God, pure, good, and just! With all strength bring I thank-offerings and
praise to the Lord, the completer of good works, who made men greater than
all earthly beings, and through the gift of speech created them to rule
over the creatures and to war against the evil spirits. Praise to the
omniscience of God who has sent through the holy Zarathustra power and
knowledge of the law. All good do I accept at Thy command, O God, and
think, speak, and do it. I believe in the pure law, and by every good work
I seek forgiveness for sins. I keep pure the six powers--thought, speech,
act, memory, reason, understanding. According to Thy will am I able to
fulfil (these resolutions.) O Accomplisher of Good, to Thy honour are good
thoughts, good words, and good works. I enter on the shining way to
Paradise. May the terror of hell not overcome me! May I pass the bridge
Chinavat and attain to Paradise, the bright and odoriferous, where are all
joys. Praise to the Lord who awards those who accomplish good deeds
according to His will, who purifies the obedient, and at last purifies the
wicked in hell. All praise be to the Creator, Ahura-Mazda, the All-Wise,
the Mighty, the Rich in Love.”

       *       *       *       *       *

Prayer, according to Zarathustra, is not the humbling of the soul before
its Creator, not the aspirations of the spirit towards the Source of all
Love and Mercy, not the desire of the creature to be at peace with GOD,
but the renunciation of will,--a noble and worthy aim in itself, but not
fulfilling the Christian idea of prayer. To do good and to shun evil is,
no doubt, the motive of the Christian life; but prayer is something more
and something higher, the sacrifice of an humble and a contrite heart.

  “Heaven is the magazine wherein GOD puts
  Both good and evil; prayer’s the key that shuts
  And opens this great treasure; ’tis a key
  Whose wards are Faith, and Hope, and Charity.
  Wouldst thou prevent a judgment due to sin?
  Turn but the key and thou mayst lock it in.
  Or wouldst thou have a blessing fall upon thee!
  Open the door and it will shower on thee.”[21]

But no such conception as this is discernible throughout the length and
breadth of the Parsee Scriptures, which here, as elsewhere, and in
relation to other matters, attain a lofty, but not the loftiest, level;
rise above earth, but do not soar to Heaven. They seem instinct with
echoes of the original revelation vouchsafed to man, but those echoes are
faint and imperfect; whereas, in the Hebrew creed, the voices of GOD are
repeated with a fulness and a power which leaves the heart nothing to
desire. In this vast superiority we cannot fail to see a strong and
striking proof of its authenticity. If it be found difficult to account
for the moral excellence and æsthetic beauty of Zarathustrianism without
tracing it back in some indirect way to a Divine origin; how shall we
explain the sublimity and grandeur of the Hebrew Theism, unless we admit
that it is all it professes to be,--is, in very truth, the expression of
the will of the everliving GOD?

We have spoken of Zarathustra’s religion as originally monotheistic; its
purity, however, was not long preserved, and the cause of its corruption
lay in itself. Zarathustra could not deny the existence of Evil, and to
explain it was driven to concoct an extraordinary hypothesis. As in every
electrified object there are two poles, a positive and a negative, so,
according to the Prophet, in Ahura-Mazda, and in all rational beings, man
included, are present a good and holy Will, and its shadow or negative,--a
higher and a lower nature,--the Positive and the Negative Mind. How
Zarathustra reconciled this idea with his conception of Ahura-Mazda, as
Perfect Goodness, we are unable to comprehend. At all events, it contained
the germs of the future Dualism of the Persian religion. The Negative Mind
soon came to be separated from the good and holy Will, and was quickly
personified as an independent evil being, a Power of Night and Darkness,
Ahriman (Angro-Manyus,) equal in might to Ahura-Mazda, and disputing with
him the possession of the world. Thus arose the myth of the constant
struggle between the two powers, as between Day and Night; the servants of
Ahura-Mazda being sent forth to encounter, resist, and overcome the slaves
and works of Ahriman, thereby bringing about the end of all things, when
Ahriman himself should be vanquished and reconciled.

In course of time the difficulties of this dual theory were detected by
acute intellects, and at the Sassanian Revival an attempt was made to
dispose of them by introducing the doctrine of Monotheism under a new
form, that of a Great Primal Cause (Zervana Akarana), the Boundless Time
or Uncreated Whole, such as we trace in the later Greek poetry, and
apparently rather a “metaphysical abstraction,” like the Greek Ἀνάγκη, or
the Roman Nemesis, than “an active and presiding deity.” Thence proceeded
both the Good and the Evil Principles; the two antagonist creators who
balanced against each other in perpetual conflict a race of spiritual and
material beings, light and darkness, good and evil. The wise benevolence
of Ahura-Mazda formed men capable of virtuous impulses, and endowed each
with everything that could contribute to his happiness. He preserved by
his watchful providence the harmonious movements of the planets, and the
temperate combination of the elements. But the malice of Ahriman has long
since pierced Ahura-Mazda’s “egg;” in other words, violated the sweet
accord and bounteous beauty of His works. Since that fatal irruption, the
most minute articles of good and evil are alternately commingled and
agitated together; the most poisonous herbs spring up among the most
wholesome plants; the warfare of deluges, earthquakes, and conflagrations
disturbs the serenity of nature; and humanity is subjected to all the
blighting influences of sin, suffering, and sorrow. While the rest of
mankind were led away captive in the chains of their terrible enemy, the
faithful Persian alone remained constant in his faith in Ahura-Mazda, and
fought under his banner of light, looking forward to a triumphant day when
Good should prevail over all the world.

It seems to us impossible to doubt that, in this later development of the
Zoroastrian faith, its priests and teachers were largely indebted to the
Sacred Writings, though into what they borrowed they introduced much
original and fanciful speculation.

A Parsee, with a firm faith in Ahura-Mazda, and conscious of having obeyed
the law, offered up prayer and praise, and renounced, in intention at
least, evil thoughts and deeds and words, lay down on his death bed in a
certain hope and expectation of the Eternal life. We have seen that the
Zendavesta appointed a variety of penances, by the performance of which
the believer obtained immediate pardon for ordinary transgressions; and
therefore, full of the self-righteousness which his creed was so well
adapted to inculcate, he faced the passage of the Dark River without fear.
He knew not of any need to implore the mercy of a Redeemer, to humble
himself in sackcloth and ashes, to base his hope on the infinite love of
GOD made man, on the glorious sacrifice of the Cross; his soul passed
straight to Paradise, as an arrow flies towards its mark. In the Khordah
Avesta we can follow the stages of its journey:--On the first night after
death the soul dwelt near the head of the inanimate body it had just
deserted, and sat there praying, rejoicing in as much joy as is vouchsafed
to the whole living world. And so did it dwell on the second night,
praying. And so did it dwell on the third night, praying. But when the
third night verged upon dawn, the soul of the pure man went forward. A
wind, sweeter than all other winds, blew to meet it from the south. And in
that wind came to embrace the pilgrim _his own law_, under the figure of a
maiden beautiful and shining, fair as the fairest of created beings. The
pilgrim then took the first step in his celestial progress, and arrived in
the paradise _Hamata_; he took the second, and reached the paradise
_Hûkhta_; he took the third, and arrived at the paradise _Hvarsta_. The
beatified wanderer made yet another step, and gained the presence of the
Eternal Light. There was he addressed by an already beatified soul: “How
art thou, O pure deceased, who hast come from the perishable world hither
to the imperishable?” Ahura-Mazda here interrupted: “Ask him not, for he
has come on the fearful trembling way, the separation of soul and body.
Bring him hither of the food of the full fatness, that is, of the filling
food for those who think, speak, and do good, for the pure after death.”

A recent writer says of this notion of a progressive advance to the
“Eternal Light,” of the welcome received from the blessed, and from the
gentle words of Ahura-Mazda himself; and of the conducting angel who
represents the man’s own earthly faith and life, (like Bunyan’s Mr.
Good-Conscience meeting old Honest beside the River of Death,) “all
these,” he says, “are beautiful thoughts.” Surely fanciful, rather than
beautiful; and better adapted to amuse religious sentimentalists than to
satisfy healthy and earnest believers. The obvious reference to the three
days and nights spent by our LORD “in prison” appears to indicate that
this is a comparatively modern portion of the Zendavesta, founded upon
some vague knowledge of the mystery of the Resurrection.

While the pure soul proceeded, as we have seen, by three stages or
gradations to the Paradise of Light and Sweetness, the evil and unclean
soul, on the other hand, descended, also by three stages, to the terrors
of Douzakh, the dark abode of Ahriman and the Devs. There it suffered
according to its sinfulness until the general day of Resurrection. At that
great epoch these nights of indescribable woe will be undergone by all who
have not expiated their earthly offences; woe so terrible, that the
Blessed, looking down upon it from their celestial battlements, will be
moved to tears of pity. And then the massive mountains and the solid rocks
shall be melted by the heat, and streams of liquid gold shall flow, in
which both the pure and evil shall receive a regenerating bath. Ahriman
and his devs shall share in the universal happiness, and all created life
shall swell the song of praise sent up in honour of Ahura-Mazda.

While we are unable to doubt that in the Zendavesta, as it has come down
to us, may be traced the direct influence of the Hebrew creed, and that
ideas and principles of a still later date were borrowed more or less
closely from Christianity, we can as little doubt that Zarathustrianism
had no inconsiderable effect on the Jewish popular belief. The Jewish
prophets, after the Captivity, would seem to have adopted much of what may
be called their poetic language and machinery from the writings of the
Magian teachers. The Talmud contains unmistakable evidence of its
indebtedness to the same source. The Angelology of the Jewish doctors
originated, probably during the captivity of the Tribes in Babylonia, in
the Magian superstitions; and it was then that the complete angelic
hierarchy was evolved, with its seven great archangels corresponding to
the seven Amchaspands of the Zendavesta. It was then that for the first
time the Jewish popular creed recognised the existence of two antagonistic
hosts of spiritual beings, arrayed against each other in everlasting
battle. Then was developed the fancy of a guardian angel attending every
individual to shelter him from the malignant hostility of his Dev or
demon. So that much of the mythology which Milton employs so effectively
in “Paradise Lost,” having borrowed it from the traditions and legends of
the Hebrew race, came originally from the far East, and was invented by
the followers of Zarathustra. The Miltonic and popular conception of
Satan, so unlike the Biblical representation of the great Destroyer, was
largely coloured from the Magian sketch of Ahriman, the Power of Darkness.

It is certain that the grand and lofty Hebrew revelation of the One GOD
was modified and debased by its contact with the Magian teaching. It has
been well remarked that wherever any approximation had been made to this
sublime truth of the existence of the one great First Cause, either “awful
religious reverence” or “philosophic abstraction” had removed the Creative
Power absolutely out of the range of human sense, and supposed that the
intercourse of the Divinity with man, the moral government, and even the
actual creative work, had been carried on by the intermediate agency of,
in Oriental phrase, an Emanation, or, in Platonic language, of the
“Wisdom,” “Reason,” or “Intelligence” of the Supreme. The Jews, under the
influence of their intercourse with the Persians, adopted that conception,
and, departing from the path laid down for them by Revelation, interposed
one or more intermediate beings as the channels of communication between
GOD and man. The Apostle seizes on the popular fancy, and endeavours to
restore from it the original truth, when he tells his readers that the
“Word” of which they spoke so vaguely and presumptuously was none other
than GOD Himself,--the SON of GOD, but equal with the FATHER,--the
brightness of His glory and the express image of His person. He showed
them that the mediation between the lofty spiritual nature of GOD and the
intellectual and moral being of Man was not to be accomplished through any
independent agency, but by the revelation of GOD Himself in the person and
presence of His beloved SON. That this, the essential and central truth of
Christianity, was one which the unassisted human intellect could never
have developed we know, from the fact that it is found in no creed of
admittedly human origin, and that it is never clearly set forth even in
any religious system which has borrowed from Christianity.

We can imagine the ability of man to shape out for himself an idea of some
awful Power, some mighty First Cause, which created and ordered the
universe, and controlled and shaped its destinies. Looking around upon
creation, he might, perhaps, without any severe intellectual effort,
attain to the thought of a Creator. This conception once realised, he
might in due time come to believe that the Creator could be pleased or
angered by the doings of His creatures; and that the anger of One so
powerful would be something to dread and avoid. But the idea of this grand
and terrible Creator sending from Heaven His own Son to take upon Himself
humanity, and thereby save the creature from the just wrath it had
provoked, and the dread retribution it had deserved,--an idea, so glorious
and consoling, could never, we believe, have been grasped by the loftiest
human intellect, unless aided by a revelation from above.

The exact relation of Zarathustrianism to Christianity it is somewhat
difficult to define, because a cloud of doubt and uncertainty hangs over
the compilation of the later portions of the Zendavesta. While the great
antiquity of the Gâthas cannot be disputed, while there is clear evidence
that they contain much of the original teaching of Zarathustra,--teaching
nobler and more exalted than that of his followers,--it seems not less
certain that the doctrines of the Resurrection and the Future Life were
borrowed from the Hebrews. What then is left to justify a comparison with
Christianity? The keynote of its scheme is intellectual pride; that of the
Christian religion, spiritual abasement. The former urges on its disciples
the necessity of good thoughts, words, and deeds in order to please
Ahura-Mazda; the latter, as a proof of faith in the mission of its
Founder. The former teaches an excellent code of morals, so far as relates
to the individual; the latter lays down one golden rule, “Do unto others
as thou wouldest they should do unto thee.” The former enforces the law of
self-control; the latter of self-renunciation. It is impossible to pretend
that Magianism shows the same insight into man’s wants, failings,
passions, temptations, as Christianity shows; or provides a system so
capable of adaptation to every age, and rank, and character.

We see no reason to doubt the authenticity and antiquity of the
Zendavesta; but it is somewhat surprising that scholars who make haste to
accept _it_ as genuine, should show so much scepticism in reference to the
Christian Scriptures. Surely, as regards the latter, the evidence of
genuineness is infinitely stronger than as regards the former. We know
that they were implicitly accepted by men who lived almost in the very
time of those who recorded them; on the other hand, of Zarathustra and his
contemporaries or successors we know absolutely nothing. Some authorities
represent him to have flourished as early as 2200 B.C.; others as late as
500 B.C. Some consider him to have been the founder of a dynasty; others
invest him with a supernatural personality. But at the best he remains
_nominis umbra_; as indistinct and shadowy, as in his teaching he is cold
and clear. Of the authenticity of his writings the principal proofs are
those derivable from the writings themselves. But if we allow that such
proofs are admissible, what shall we say of those to be found in the
Gospels and Epistles? As their morality is so much more elevated than that
of the Zendavesta, so is the certainty of their Divine origin infinitely
more assured. The class of testimony which asserts the authenticity of the
one not less convincingly affirms the genuineness of the other. And if the
Gospels are all that they purport to be, how can we avoid the conclusion
that they are truthful also in the witness they bear to the life and
character of CHRIST?

We may point to a remarkable contrast between Magianism and
Christianity,--that the former has undergone an almost complete revolution
of meaning and doctrine, while, in spite of sectarian glosses, the latter
remains virtually unaltered. The faith once for all delivered to the
saints is held by believers to-day in all its original purity. We repeat
the Creed just as it fell from the rapt lips of martyrs, saints and
confessors. But the monotheism of Zarathustra has been broken up into a
curious Dualism; and upon the religious system of the Gâthas has been
accumulated such a burden of ritual, of novel teaching, of borrowed
dogmas, and alien mysteries, that the acutest students are almost baffled
in their endeavours to distinguish the false from the true, and the new
from the old. It is almost impossible to determine what belongs to the
Zarathustrian original, and what to perversions or adaptations from the
Jewish Scriptures.

It is an indisputable testimony to the living force and divine genius of
Christianity, that it occupies a void which no one of the primitive
religions has ever been able to fill. We find it difficult to conceive
that any man who has once been a Christian could voluntarily embrace
Zarathustrianism or Buddhism, and attempt to satisfy his soul with it, any
more than with the philosophy of the Stoics. We are tempted to ask,
indeed, whether either could at any time have satisfied the cravings of
humanity. We know that all their ethical schemes could not lift the sages
of Greece and Rome out of the deep, the intense sadness which possessed
them, nor respond to their yearnings after a something they could neither
describe nor define. Their state of thought and feeling has been expressed
by a modern poet, Matthew Arnold, with what seems to us a wonderful
fidelity:--

            “Nor only in the intent
            To attach blame elsewhere,
            Do we at will invent
            Stern powers who make their care
  To embitter human life, malignant deities.

            “But next, we would reverse
            The scheme ourselves have spun,
            And what we made to curse
            We now would lean upon,
  And feign kind gods who perfect what man vainly tries....

            “We pause, we hush our heart,
            And then address the gods:
            ‘The world hath failed to impart
            The joy our youth forebodes,
  Failed to fill up the void which in our breasts we bear!’”

Their principles of thought were pure, but they felt that there existed a
purity which was beyond their reach; their standard of conduct was high,
but they were inwardly conscious that it ought to be higher. On that
golden “ladder of sunbeams” which rises from earth to the angel-guarded
battlements of heaven, they had ascended a few timid steps, but above and
beyond they could see a glory to which it was not given them to rise.
Hence it has often been said, and justly, that the men were greater than
their system; and such, so far as Magianism was concerned, may well have
been the case with the loftier minds of Bactria and Persia. But it can
never be pretended that the Christian is greater than Christianity. Let
him be ever so holy in his living, ever so exalted in his aspirations, he
will not seek for something _beyond_ and _out of_ Christianity, because he
feels and knows that he cannot exhaust all its capabilities; that it soars
far higher than he can ever soar. It has truths which the profoundest
psychologist cannot fathom; it opens up visions which the boldest
imagination cannot comprehend; it contains a wealth of emotion and
sympathy which the most passionate soul can never exhaust. After we have
said and done all we can, after we have mastered all that has been said
and done by other men, we still find in the life and character of CHRIST
that which may well engage, and yet never weary our attention. And here we
touch upon a feature which no human system of religion or morality has
ever matched. Strip the Zendavesta, if you will, of all its later and less
worthy adjuncts, and yet it cannot, any more than the Rig-Veda, present us
with the divine beauty of the Man of Sorrows. But this it is which fills,
soothes, blesses, inspires the aching, restless, craving human heart. When
it can no longer satisfy itself with the cold moralities of philosophy,
when it pines for a deeper and a warmer life, when it is weary with
problems which it cannot solve, and disappointed in hopes which it has
seen fade away like dreams of the night, it turns to the Cross and is
comforted. The mysteries which perplexed it vanish in the light that
emanates from the Divine history of the SON of GOD. The awe with which it
regards the passionless abstraction of a great First Cause, a supreme
entity of Power and Wisdom without Love, passes into reverent admiration
and joyous thanksgiving when it looks up into the face of the Good
Shepherd, and reposes in the shadow of the Vine, and learns how that He
Who was with the FATHER before the beginning, has suffered even as we
suffer, has borne the heavy burden of the flesh even as we have borne it,
and now sits on the right hand of GOD,--not an idea, not a principle, not
a Spirit, but a PERSON, bidding all who believe to come unto Him and be at
rest.

This, indeed, is the cardinal merit of Christianity,--it has given us
CHRIST.

GOD forbid that we should deny a certain value even to the “unconscious
prophecies of heathendom,” or refuse to see something of the spirit of
CHRIST in the teaching of the ancient sages and philosophers; but when an
attempt is made to raise Magianism to an equal rank with Christianity, and
the cold intellectual utterances of the Zendavesta to rank with the
living voices of Holy Writ, it is essential to point out how vast, how
impassable is the gulf between them; how little Magianism did or could do
to elevate man’s spiritual nature; and how largely Christianity surpasses
it, in and through the manifestation of the Divine love in the mystery of
GOD made Man.




CHAPTER III.

_JEWISH SUPERSTITIONS._


THE TALMUD.

The Talmud, (from the Hebrew _lamad_, to learn,) is the name given to the
great code of the Jewish civil and canonical law. It is divided, like the
Zendavesta, into two parts, the Mishna and the Gemara; the former being,
as it were, the text, and the latter the commentary and supplement. Of
late years public attention has been exceptionally drawn to it by the
writings of the late Emanuel Deutsch, and it has obtained, as we think, a
wholly undeserved amount of panegyric.

Deutsch, an enthusiast in his attachment to the land and religion of his
forefathers, put it forward as a wondrous treasure, the real value of
which had been wholly overlooked. It contained, he seemed to say, a
complete _corpus juris_; and, as an encyclopædia of law, should be
compared with the corresponding collections of Roman or of English law,
with the Pandects of Justinian and the Commentaries of Blackstone. Herein
lies the excuse for rules that have been considered unduly subtle, or in
other ways offensive to modern taste. But it contains something more than
a body of law; it is also a collection of Jewish poetry and legend, of
Jewish science, and Jewish metaphysical speculation. The Mishna is a
development of the laws contained in the Pentateuch. The members of the
Sanhedrim, who were chiefly concerned in the formation of this law, were
obliged (so argues Deutsch) to be accomplished men. It was necessary that
they should possess some knowledge of physical science, or at least of
zoology, botany, and geography in their then condition. It was necessary
also that they should be good linguists, having some acquaintance with
Latin and Greek, as well as with Aramaic, Syriac, and Hebrew. Disreputable
men were kept out, and all were compelled to be married men and fathers of
families. “The origin of the Talmud,” he says, “is coeval with the return
from the Babylonish captivity.” And though it is the glory of Christianity
to have carried into the heart of humanity at large the golden germs of
thought previously hidden in the schools of the learned, yet numerous
precepts, supposed to be purely Christian, lie enshrined in the pages of
the Talmud. It would be difficult to find a penal legislation more
distinctly humane. As for its myths, its allegories, its apparent
absurdities, they should be read in the spirit in which Christians read
Bunyan’s “Pilgrim’s Progress.” The Talmud insists upon the pre-existence
of the soul, on the dogmas of Immortality and the Resurrection, it denies
the doctrine of everlasting damnation; it excludes no human being from the
world to come. And as the Talmud, continues Deutsch, although redacted at
a later period, is, in point of time, prior to the New Testament, the
beautiful maxims of the former cannot have been borrowed from the latter.
In a word, it is a collection which took nearly a thousand years to form,
and has been commented upon for a thousand years since. It breathes
charity to all men. If we except a few items of coarseness, such as must
occur in every legal code, it is all good; at least, it is never bad; it
deserves all possible respect and even reverence. Such, in a condensed
form, is the account of the Talmud which Deutsch asks us to accept.

But it cannot be admitted that the defects of the Talmud are trivial, any
more than that the spirit of the Rabbins towards Christianity was
tolerant. Nor can it be admitted that the Talmud owes nothing to the
Christian Scriptures.

On the first point hear what Professor Hurwitz says:--“The Talmud contains
many things which every enlightened, nay, every pious Jew, must sincerely
wish had never appeared there, or should at least long ago have been
expunged from its pages. Some of these Agadatha are objectionable _per
se_; others, indeed, are susceptible of explanations, but without them are
calculated to produce false and erroneous impressions.” So much may be
said, we think, of the legends in the Talmud; such as the size of
Leviathan and the way in which he is to be killed and cooked for the
chosen people, and the marriage of Adam with Lilith before the creation of
Eve, with the diabolic progeny which sprang from them.

Another point to be considered is the influence of the Alexandrian books,
commonly known by us as the Apocrypha. Of these the Books of Wisdom and
Ecclesiasticus at any rate exhibit the reflections of singularly devout
and thoughtful minds, which had exercised themselves in the contemplation
of the writings of Moses and the prophets in combination with no
inconsiderable tincture of Greek philosophy. It would be a question of
great interest to see how far ideas suggested in those very remarkable
compositions have found their way into the Talmud.

As regards the sentiments of the Rabbins towards Christianity: in the
reign of Domitian, (that is, about A.D. 90,) the Sanhedrim took measures
against the Minim, that is to say, the degenerated; for so they called the
Jews who had been converted to Christianity. The Rabbi Tarphon said:--“The
Gospels and all the books of the Minim deserve to be burnt, for Paganism
is less dangerous: the Pagans misunderstand the truths of Judaism from
ignorance, the Minim deny them with full knowledge of the case. Better to
seek an asylum in a Pagan temple than in the synagogues of the Minim.” The
Sanhedrim of Jamnia and other similar bodies adopted the like tone. And it
was men like these who helped to form the Talmud.

Not the less it remains true, that every powerful movement which has
occurred in the world’s history has shown a part of its power in the way
it has influenced opponents. The Reformation, as the Ultramontane De
Maistre is compelled to admit, wrought a very perceptible change even
among Roman Catholics. The French Revolution of 1793 did not leave
Legitimists in the position they had occupied before its outbreak. Now
Christianity is the greatest movement the world has ever seen. Dean
Merivale in his excellent “History of the Romans under the Empire,” states
with no less eloquence than truth the immense indirect influence which it
had begun to exercise on heathen thought by the end even of the first
century. We can trace it in Pagan literature. But Deutsch and similar
Talmudophilists would have us believe that it had no influence whatever
upon the Talmud, and that whenever we find kindred thoughts in the
teaching of Christianity, and in the teaching of their favourite work, it
is the Gospel which is indebted to the Talmud and not the Talmud to the
Gospel.

But for our part we wholly dissent from this extraordinary theory, which,
indeed, cannot be supported by any chronological evidence. There are
occasions, of course, in which dates become of comparatively trifling
importance. A man feels troubled, for example, with the enigmas of life,
and finds light and consolation in reading the book of Job; that most
beautiful book--_quel bellissimo libro_, as the Italian poet Giusti called
it. Some friend, finding him thus engaged, begins to argue in favour of
Bishop Warburton’s view, that it is a composition of comparatively late
date, perhaps of the age of Jeremiah, and not (as used to be generally
supposed) as early as the time of Moses. In such a case a man may well
reply, that without any wish to discourage critical inquiry in its proper
place, he is content for the present to go on reading for his soul’s
health, to accept the words before him as a message from above, and to
feel sure that whenever GOD gave it, it was given at the time when it was
most needed. But in the case of the Talmud dates are of real and living
importance, though we own that it is difficult to fix them with accuracy.
We believe, however, with one of Deutsch’s critics, that Christian
elements _have_ found their way into the Talmud, though doubtless,
pre-Christian ideas, similar to those which are met with in the Books of
Wisdom and Ecclesiasticus, are also to be found there. Is it not true that
the Mishna was brought into its present form by Rabbi Jehudah, surnamed
the Holy, about A.D. 200, and that the Gemara was not completed until A.D.
500? Deutsch, indeed, appeals to the article in the “Novellæ
Constitutiones” (or _Novels_, as they are commonly called) of Justinian
against the Talmud. The reference is correct enough, but the _Novels_
belong to the later parts of Justinian’s reign, and were not promulgated
before the year 534.

It is well known that at the present time there are three parties among
the Jews who differ widely as to the amount of respect which ought to be
paid to the legislation contained within the pages of the Talmud. Two out
of these parties would greatly modify it, or actually sweep it away. We
believe that its influence upon practice is not destined to endure; and
that though there _is_ a book which will continue so to influence life,
that book is not the Talmud, but the Bible. The Talmud has its curiosities
and even beauties, as well as its gross absurdities and defects; but,
after all, it will be found, we believe, that it often reflects but too
truly the mind of those of whom it was said, “Ye have made the commandment
of GOD of none effect by your traditions.”

       *       *       *       *       *

With these preliminary observations, we pass on to a more particular
description of the Talmud.

There are two Talmuds, the one called the Talmud of the Occidentals, or
the “Jerusalem” Talmud, and the other the “Babylonian” Talmud. The former
of these originally included the whole of the first five _Sedarim_ (or
portions,) but now consists of only thirty-nine treatises. Its final
redaction is supposed to have taken place towards the close of the fourth
Christian century, but the authorities engaged in the work cannot now be
determined. But it is certainly distinguished by more accuracy of
expression and precision of statement than the second or Babylonian, or
“our” Talmud, which makes use of its predecessor, and was not completed
for a century later. Its editor is generally considered to be Rabbi Ashi,
president of the Academy of Syro in Babylon (A.D. 365-427.) Both the
Mishna, though revised in A.D. 219, and the “Palestine” Gemara, had become
greatly corrupted through the interpolation of gross traditions and the
critical judgments of different schools, when Rabbi Ashi, with the
assistance of his friend and disciple, Abina, undertook the labour of
sifting the old from the new, and introducing order into chaos.

Ashi was appointed to the headship of the school of Sora at the age of
twenty-three, and under his rule Sora became the head-quarters of
Rabbinism in the East. When he entered on the redaction of the Mishna and
Gemara, he began by assembling yearly at the great feasts the most learned
Hebrews, and examining them with respect to their traditional practices
and expositions. He then called together his disciples every spring, and
gave out to them a particular treatise of the Mishna; in the autumn they
again came before him with all the information relative to it they had
collected in the interval. This he personally investigated, and reduced
into shape. The Mishna being composed of sixty-three treatises, he was
thus engaged for upwards of thirty years. The final revision occupied him
twenty-two years. At the time of his death (in his seventy-fifth year) the
work was all but completed; the last touches were given by his friend,
Rabbi Abina.

The Mosaic is the written law of the Jews; the Mishna, the oral. The
latter is the very basis of Judaism, is its civil, religious, and
juridico-political code,--an explanation and amplification of the Mosaic.
It was developed out of the authoritative decisions of the schools and of
certain distinct and well-authenticated traditions which were traced back
to Sinai itself. Thus there were two chief sections, or parts: _Halacoth_,
the rabbinical decisions, and _Haggadah_, the traditional narratives and
popular illustrations. Of the great bulk of the former the reputed author
is Hillel, the head of the Sanhedrim in the early part of Herod the
Great’s reign, but, probably, he only collected them. Maimonides arranges
them under five heads:--

    _a._ Mosaic and Scriptural;

    _b._ Mosaic and traditional;

    _c._ Dicta and decisions generally received, but doubtful;

    _d._ Decisions of the wise, given by them as “hedges of the law;” and

    _e._ Counsels of prudence, which it was well to follow, though they
    had no legal authority.

The Haggadic narratives are generally of a light and amusing character,
though occasionally a deep significance underlies them, converting them
into allegories and fables and parables well worthy the attention of the
student, though he may not think so highly of them as Frankel, who
exclaims: “They are as vivid flashes: or as those spirits of light in
Jewish myth, that flow forth in daily myriads from GOD’S throne, and then
vanish to make way for others.”

The Halacoth and Haggadoth accumulated rapidly after the Captivity,
representing in due time “a body of traditional exposition of high
authority, which increased rapidly, and required the life-long study of a
numerous body of Sopherim, or Scribes, to digest and hand on without loss
to succeeding generations.” Soon it outgrew the grasp of even the
strongest memory and the profoundest application, and it became evident
that, unless put upon record, all that was valuable would perish, and only
that be preserved which chanced to be in accordance with popular
sentiment. To the digest made by Hillel, Simon ben Gamaliel added the
worthiest of the later material; and his son, Jehudah the Holy, entered on
a complete redaction and revision, which he published in A.D. 219. Hillel,
grandfather of the Gamaliel at whose feet S. Paul sat, had arranged the
traditional Halacoth under eighteen heads; Jehudah re-arranged them into
six Sedarim, or sections:--

    1. _Zeraïm_ (Seeds,) on Agriculture;

    2. _Moed_ (Feast,) on the Sabbath, Festivals, and Fasts;

    3. _Nashim_ (Women,) on Marriage, Divorce, &c., including the laws on
    Vows and the Nazirship;

    4. _Nizikin_ (Damages,) chiefly civil and penal law, including the
    ethical treatise Aboth;

    5. _Kadashim_ (Sacred things,) Sacrifices, &c., a description of the
    Temple at Jerusalem, &c.;

    6. _Tehoroth_ (Purifications,) on pure and impure persons and things.

We now see that, about A.D. 221 Jehudah the Holy created the Mishna, we
have already seen that three centuries later, the same exhaustive work of
redaction and revision was done for the Gemara,--the two forming what is
now known as the Talmud. The two “editors” received each his peculiar
title of honour; Jehudah was styled Rabbina, Ashi Rabban.

Of the language of the Babylon Talmud it is said that it is debased with
foreign and barbarous terms and grammatical solecisms to a much greater
extent than the “Jerusalem Talmud.” Mr. Blunt asserts that “the Haggadic
narratives resemble more closely the vernacular Aramaic, showing their
origin in ordinary folk lore. The Halacoth are in Mishnic Hebrew, carrying
evidence of higher date. The style is so exceedingly concise as to make
the sense that it contains a microscopic study. The difficulties indeed
of the Gemara are so great, that no one need think to master them
thoroughly who has not drawn in Gemara with his mother’s milk. The study
of the Talmud presumes a thorough knowledge also of the Hebrew Bible, a
single word often indicating an entire passage. The wonderful moral
confusion of the Talmud, the mixed character of which may be detected in
every page, is nowhere more strikingly exemplified than in the prayer put
by the Gemarist into the mouth of Rabbi Nechoniah ben Hakakana, on
entering the school, or Beth Midrash, and quitting it again in the
evening.”

The morning prayer was as follows:--

“I beseech Thee that no scandal may occur through fault of mine, and that
I err not in matters of Halacah, so as to cause my colleagues to exult.
May I not call impurity pure, or purity impure; and may my colleagues not
blunder in matters of Halacah, that I may have no cause to triumph over
them.”

The spirit of this prayer, in its meekness and modesty, is truly
commendable, and presents a striking contrast to that of the evening
prayer:--

“I thank Thee that Thou hast given me my portion among those who have a
seat in the Beth Midrash, and that Thou hast not cast my lot among those
who sit in the corner. I early rise, and they early rise; but I rise to
the service of the law, they to vanity. I labour, and they also labour,
but I labour and receive a recompense; they labour, but receive nothing. I
hasten, and they also hasten; but I hasten in the direction of the world
to come, they hasten towards the pit of destruction.”

It is impossible to believe that both these prayers come from the same
source; “sweet waters and bitter” do not alike flow from the fountain of
Marah.

With respect to the general character of the Talmud, with all its weakness
and strength, its beauty and deformity, its poetry and commonplace, its
tender wisdom and glaring absurdity, we cannot do better than quote the
moderate opinion of the writer already cited, as infinitely more
trustworthy than the dithyrambic utterances of Deutsch and his imitators.
He says:--

“In its origin it was the result of an almost necessary development.
Starting with the axiom that the law of Moses is binding on the children
of Abraham in every generation, its precepts have been applied to the
changing habits and customs of the Jews in different ages and under
various climates, by a literal interpretation when possible, otherwise on
the _ci-près_ principle, rarely by giving a new direction to its
enactments, as instanced under the Hillel _régime_. It is this application
of the Law to the needs of Jewish Society, by a process slow and gradual,
that has made each successive stage of development, in Jewish opinion,
more valuable than its predecessors. Thus if the Law has been likened to
water, the Mishna, which gives a later direction to its precepts, is as
wine; and the Gemara, declaring as it does the sense in which the Mishnic
Hilkoth are to be taken, is as hippocras. It is not that the Law is less,
or that the traditional decisions and expository matter are more sacred,
but the latest phase of judicial interpretation is the most binding; and
where the rule of action is clear and decisive, no antecedent utterance
need trouble the inquirer. Yet the Talmud has always been antiquated. It
has never known the sunshine of youth. It has still been the mouldering,
moss-grown ruin. In its origin it presupposed vital action where there was
nothing but death; Temple service with the Temple hopelessly in ruins,
‘not one stone upon another;’ sacrificial rites that were impossible
without an altar, and for which certain prayers were substituted,
carefully numbered out, and made binding on the individual in lieu of
public offering.... Nothing can be more completely out of place than
strict Talmudism amid the complications of modern society; it is
impossible to make its precepts consist with the social and political
duties of the highly educated Jew. Our LORD, Who came not to destroy the
Law, but to fulfil it, has pointed out those modes of dealing with the Law
in its higher and more spiritual bearings, that in the end must be
accepted by Israel as his truest wisdom.”

Mr. Deutsch gives the following account of the six sections of the
Mishna:--

“Section I. _Seeds_: of Agrarian laws, commencing with a chapter on
Prayers. In this section the various tithes and donations due to the
Priests, the Levites, and the poor, from the products of the lands, and
further the Sabbatical year, and the prohibited mixtures in plants,
animals, and garments, are treated of.

“Section II. _Feasts_: of Sabbaths, Feast and Fast days, the work
prohibited, the ceremonies ordained, the sacrifices to be offered, on
them. Special chapters are devoted to the Feast of the Exodus from Egypt,
to the New Year’s Day, to the Day of Atonement (one of the most impressive
portions of the whole book,) to the Feast of Tabernacles, and to that of
Haman.

“Section III. _Women_: of betrothal, marriage, divorce, &c.; also of vows.

“Section IV. _Damages_: including a great part of the civil and criminal
law. It treats of a law of trades, of buying and selling, and the ordinary
monetary transactions. Further, of the greatest crime known to the law,
viz., idolatry. Next of witnesses, of oaths, of legal punishments, and of
the Sanhedrim itself. This section concludes with the so-called ‘Sentences
of the Fathers,’ containing some of the sublimest ethical dicta known in
the history of religious philosophy.

“Section V. _Sacred Things_: of sacrifices, the first-born, &c.; also of
the measurements of the Temple (Middoth).

“Section VI. _Purifications_: of the various Levitical and other Hygienic
laws, of impure things and persons, their purification, &c.”[22]

In defence of the Haggadah, with all its incongruities, puerilities, and
absurdities, it is only just to hear what Deutsch, its enthusiastic
apostle, has to say. And first he applies to it the rhyming apology which
Bunyan put forward on behalf of his great allegory,--which, by the way,
Mr. Deutsch surely misrepresents and misunderstands when he speaks of it
as Haggadistic:--

  “... Wouldst thou divert thyself from melancholy?
  Wouldst thou be pleasant, yet be far from folly?
  Wouldst thou read riddles and their explanation?
  Or else be drownèd in thy contemplation?
  Dost thou love picking meat? Or wouldst thou see
  A man in the clouds, and hear him speak to thee?
  Wouldst thou be in a dream, and yet not sleep?
  Or wouldst thou in a moment laugh and weep?
  Wouldst lose thyself, and catch no harm?
  And find thyself again without a charm?
  Wouldst read thyself, and read thou know’st not what
  And yet know whether thou art blest or not
  By reading the same lines? O then come hither,
  And lay this book, thy head and heart together.”

Mr. Deutsch thus seeks to disarm antagonists by a skilful concession. He
does not wonder--not he--that the so-called “Rabbinical stories,”
submitted at intervals to the English public, should have met with an
unflattering reception. The Talmud, which has always at hand a drastic
word, says of their collectors:--“They dived into an ocean, and brought up
a potsherd.” But then, he says, these follies form only a small item in
the vast mass of allegories, parables, and the like, that compose the
Haggadah. And, besides, they are partly ill-chosen, partly ill-translated,
and partly did not even belong to the Talmud, but to some recent Jewish
story books. Herder--to name the most famous critic of the “Poetry of
Peoples”--has spoken most eulogistically of what he saw of the genuine
specimens. And, indeed, “not only is the entire world of pious biblical
legend which Islam has said and sung in its many tongues to the delight of
the wise and simple for twelve centuries, now to be found either in embryo
or fully developed in the Haggadah, but much that is familiar among
ourselves in the circles of mediæval sagas, in Dante, in Boccaccio, in
Cervantes, in Milton, in Bunyan, has consciously or unconsciously flowed
out of this wondrous realm, the Haggadah. That much of it is overstrained,
even according to Eastern notions, we do not deny. But,” argues Mr.
Deutsch, “there are feeble passages even in Homer and Shakespeare.” To
this it may be replied, that in Homer and Shakespeare such passages are
rare, and do not form the bulk of their writings; and, moreover, that for
the Iliad or for Hamlet we do not claim the position of authority which is
claimed for the Talmud.

Let us glance briefly at the cosmogony of the Talmud. It assumes that the
universe has been developed by means of a series of cataclysms; that world
was destroyed after world, until GOD made “this world, and saw that it
was very good.” It assumes also that the kosmos was wrought out of some
original substance, itself created by GOD. “One or three things were
before this world,--Water, Fire, and Wind; Water begat the darkness, Fire
begat light, and Wind begat the spirit of Wisdom.”

“The _how_ of the creation was not mere matter of speculation. The
co-operation of angels, whose existence was warranted by Scripture, and a
whole hierarchy of whom had been built up under Persian influences, was
distinctly denied. In a discussion about the day of their creation, it is
agreed on all hands that there were no angels at first, lest men might
say, ‘Michael spanned out the firmament on the south, and Gabriel to the
north.’” There is a distinct foreshadowing of the Gnostic Demiurgos--that
antique link between the Divine Spirit and the world of matter--to be
found in the Talmud. What with Plato were the Ideas, with Philo the Logos,
with the Kabbalists the “World of Aziluth,” what the Gnostics called more
emphatically the wisdom (σοφία), or power (δύναμις), and Plotinus the
νοῦς, that the Talmudical authors call Metation. There is a good deal, in
the post-captivity Talmud, about the Angels, borrowed from the Persian.
The Archangels or Angelic princes are seven in number, and their Hebrew
names and functions correspond almost exactly to those of their Persian
prototypes. There are also hosts of ministering angels, the Persian
_Yazatas_, whose functions, besides that of being messengers, were
twofold,--to praise GOD, and to be guardians of man. In their first
capacity they are daily created by GOD’S breath out of a stream of fire
that rolls its waves under the supernal throne. In their second, two of
them accompany every man, and for every new good deed man acquires a new
guardian angel, who always watches over his steps. When a righteous man
dies, three hosts of angels descend from the celestial battlements to meet
him. One says, (in the words of Scripture,) “He shall go in peace;” the
second takes up the strain and says, “Who has walked in righteousness;”
and the third concludes, “Let him come in peace and rest upon his bed.” In
like manner, when the wicked man passes away, three hosts of wicked angels
are ready to escort him, but their address is not couched in any spirit of
consolation or encouragement.

There are various indications in the Talmud of a belief in the
resurrection and immortality of the soul. The resurrection, it teaches, is
to be brought about by the mystic influence of the “Dew of life” in
Jerusalem. It does not uphold the dogma of everlasting damnation, though
it allows that the punishment of apostates, idolaters, and traitors will
endure for “generations upon generations.”

In conclusion, it is but fair that we should present the brighter and
better aspect of this extraordinary book, its ethical side, and afford
some illustrations of the moral and religious philosophy which pervades
it,--which is its salt, and preserves its savour. The following sayings
have been translated by Deutsch.[23] Many of them bear a striking
resemblance to the great and glorious sayings of the Gospels; and to us it
seems impossible to doubt that they evidence the influence of the former.
It is true that the Talmud as a whole preceded the New Testament, but as
its redaction took place at a much later period, we see nothing absurd in
the hypothesis that its redactors had felt the spell of the Christian
teaching, and occasionally introduced some of its rare and precious
threads of purest silk into the coarse woof woven by traditionalists,
scholiasts, and commentators:--

The house that does not open to the poor shall open to the physician; even
the birds in the air despise the miser. He who gives charity in secret is
greater than Moses himself. Honour the sons of the poor, it is they who
bring science into splendour.

Let the honour of thy neighbour be to thee like thine own. Rather be
thrown into a fiery furnace than bring any one to public shame.

Hospitality is the most important part of divine worship. There are three
crowns: of the law, the priesthood, the kingship; but the crown of a good
name is greater than they all.

Iron breaks the stone, fire melts iron, water extinguishes fire, the
clouds drink up the water, a storm drives away the clouds, man withstands
the storm, fear unmans man, wine dispels fear, sleep drives away wine, and
death sweeps all away--even sleep. But Solomon the Wise says, Charity
saves from death.

The dog sticks to you on account of the crumbs in your pocket.

The camel wanted to have horns, and they took away his ears.

The soldiers fight, and the kings are the heroes.

He in whose family there has been one hanged should not say to his
neighbour, Pray hang this little fish up for me.

The cock and the owl both await the daylight. The light, says the cock,
brings delight to me; but what are _you_ waiting for?

When the thief has no opportunity for stealing, he considers himself an
honest man.

If thy friends agree in calling thee an ass, go and get a halter round
thee.

Fools are no proof.

One eats, another says grace.

He who is ashamed will not easily commit sin. There is a great difference
between him who is ashamed before his own self, and him who is only
ashamed before others. It is a good sign in man to be capable of being
ashamed. One contrition in man’s heart is better than many flagellations.

How can you escape sin? Think of three things,--whence thou camest,
whither thou goest, and to whom thou wilt have to account for all thy
deeds,--even to the King of kings, the All-holy, praised be He.

Love your wife like yourself, honour her more than yourself. Whosoever
lives unmarried lives without joy, without comfort, without blessing.
Descend a step in choosing a wife. If thy wife is small, bend down to her
and whisper into her ear. He who forsakes the love of his youth, GOD’S
altar weeps for him. He who sees his wife die before him, has, as it were,
been present at the destruction of the sanctuary itself, around him the
world grows dark. It is woman alone through whom GOD’S blessings are
vouchsafed to a house. She teaches the children, speeds the husband to the
place of worship and instruction, welcomes him when he returns, keeps the
house godly and pure, and GOD’S blessings rest upon all these things. He
who marries for money, his children shall be a curse to him.

After the thief runs the theft; after the beggar, poverty.

While thy foot is shod, smash the thorn.

When the ox is down, many are the butchers.

Luck makes rich, luck makes wise.

If you wish to hang yourself, choose a big tree.

When the pitcher falls upon the stone, woe unto the pitcher; when the
stone falls upon the pitcher, woe unto the pitcher; whatever befalls, woe
unto the pitcher.

Youth is a garland of roses, age a crown of thorns.

Be thou the cursed, not he who curses. Be of them that are persecuted, not
of them that persecute. Look at Scripture, there is not a single bird more
persecuted than the dove, yet GOD has chosen her to be offered up on His
altar. The bull is hunted by the lion, the sheep by the wolf, the goat by
the tiger. And GOD said, “Bring Me a sacrifice not from them that
persecute, but from them that are persecuted.”

“Hath GOD pleasure in the meat and blood of sacrifices?” asks the prophet.
No; He has not so much ordained as permitted them. It is for yourselves,
He says, not for Me that you offer, Like a king, who sees his son
carousing daily with all manner of evil companions: You shall henceforth
eat and drink entirely at your will at my own table, he says. They offered
sacrifices to demons and devils, for they loved sacrificing, and would not
do without it. And the LORD said, “Bring your offerings to Me, you shall
then at least offer to the true GOD.”

Even when the gates of heaven are shut to prayer, they are open to tears.

The reward of good works is like dates, sweet and late to ripen.

Life is a passing shadow, says the Scripture. Is it the shadow of a tower,
of a tree? A shadow that prevails for a while? No, it is the shadow of a
bird in his flight,--away speeds the bird, and there is neither bird nor
shadow.

Repent one day before thy death. There was a king who bade all his
servants to a great repast, but did not indicate the hour; some went home
and put on their best garments, and stood at the door of the palace;
others said, There is ample time, the king will let us know beforehand.
But the king summoned them of a sudden; and those that came in their best
garments were well received, but the foolish ones, who came in their
slovenliness, were turned away in disgrace. Repent to-day, lest to-morrow
you might be called.

He who has more learning than good works is like a tree with many branches
but few roots, which the first wind throws on its face; whilst he whose
works are greater than his knowledge, is like a tree with many roots but
fewer branches, but which all the winds of heaven cannot uproot.




CHAPTER IV.

_BRAHMANISM._


THE BRAHMANS.

In the “Book of Sir Marco Polo” occurs a quaint description of the
_Abraiaman_ or Brahmans, which, though inaccurate in some of its details,
seems worth quotation here:--

You must know, he says, that these Abraiaman are the best merchants in the
world [an obvious misconception!] and the most truthful, for they would
not tell a lie for anything on earth. If a foreign merchant who does not
know the ways of the country apply to them, and place his goods in their
hands, they will take charge of them most loyally, selling them to the
best advantage, seeking jealously the profit of the foreigner, and asking
no commission except what he pleases to bestow. They eat no flesh, drink
no wine, and live a life of great chastity; nor would they on any account
take what belongs to another, for so their law commands. And they are all
distinguished by wearing a thread of cotton over one shoulder and tied
under the other arm, so that it crosses the breast and the back.

They have a rich and powerful king, who is eager to purchase precious
stones and large pearls; and he sends these Abraiaman merchants into the
kingdom of Maabar called Soli, which is the best and noblest Province of
India, and where the best pearls are found, to fetch him as many of these
as they can get, and he pays them double the cost price for all. So in
this way he has a vast treasure of such valuables.

These Abraiaman are idolaters; and they give greater heed to signs and
omens than any people that exist. I will mention one of their customs as
an example. To every day of the week they assign a special augury. Suppose
some purchase is on foot; he who proposes to become the buyer takes note,
when he rises in the morning, of his shadow in the sun, which ought, he
says, on that day to be of such and such a length; and should his shadow
be of the proper length for that day he completes his purchase; if it be
not, he will on no account do so, but waits till his shadow reaches the
prescribed measurement. For there is a certain length fixed for every day
in the week; and the merchant will not complete any business unless he
finds his shadow of the length set down for that particular day. Also to
each day in the week they assign one hour as unlucky, which they term
_Choiach_. For example, on Monday the hour of Half-tierce (7 to 8 a.m.),
on Tuesday that of Tierce, (9 to 10 a.m.), on Wednesday Nones (12 to 1
p.m.), and so on.

Again, if one of them be in the house, and, while meditating a purchase,
should see a tarantula (such as is very common in that country) on the
wall, provided that it advance from a quarter which he deems lucky, he
will complete his purchase at once; but if it come from a quarter which he
considers unlucky, he will not do so on any inducement. Moreover, if, on
going forth, he hear any one sneeze, he will proceed if he consider it a
good omen; but, if the reverse, he will straightway sit down in his place
for as long as he thinks it well to tarry. Or if, in travelling along the
road, he see a swallow fly past, should its direction be lucky he will
proceed, but, if not, he will turn back again: in fact, they are worse, in
these vagaries, than so many Patarins! (i.e. heretics.)

These Abraiaman are very long-lived, owing to their extreme abstinence in
eating. And they never allow themselves to let blood in any part of the
body. They have capital teeth, which is due to a certain herb they chew;
it greatly improves their appearance, and is also very good for the
health.

There is another class of people called _Chugi_ [Jogi], who are indeed
properly Abraiaman, but they form a religious order devoted to the Idols.
They are extremely long-lived, every man of them living to 150 or 200
years. They eat very little, but what they do eat is good; rice and milk
chiefly. And these people make use of a very strange beverage; for they
brew a potion of mixed sulphur and quicksilver, and drink it twice every
month. This, they say, gives them long life; and they are used to take it
from their childhood.

Certain members of this Order lead the most ascetic life imaginable, going
completely naked; they worship the Ox. Most of them wear a small image of
an ox, in brass, pewter, or gold, tied over the forehead. Moreover, they
take cow-dung, and burn it, and make a powder of it; and then they make it
into an ointment, with which they daub themselves as devoutly as
Christians use holy water. Further, if they meet any person who treats
them well, they daub a little of this powder on the middle of his
forehead.

They do not eat from bowls or trenchers, but place their food on leaves of
the Apple of Paradise and other large leaves; these, however, they use
dry, never green. For they say the green leaves have a soul in them, and
so it would be a sin. And they would rather die than do what their Law
pronounces to be sin. If any one ask how it comes that they are not
ashamed to go about in their nudity, they say:--“We go naked because naked
we came into the world, and we desire to have nothing about us that is of
this world. Moreover, we have no sin of the flesh to be conscious of, and
therefore we are not ashamed of our nakedness, any more than you are to
show your hand or your face. You who are conscious of the sins of the
flesh do well to be ashamed, and to cover your nakedness.”

On no account would they kill an animal, not even a fly, or a flea, or a
louse, or anything in fact that has life; for they say all these have
souls, and it would be sinful to do so. They eat no vegetables in a green
state, only when they are dry. And they sleep on the ground, naked,
without a rag of clothing over them or under them; so that it is a marvel
they do not all die, instead of living so long as I have told you. They
fast every day in the year, and drink nothing but water. And when a novice
has to be received among them they keep him awhile in their convent, and
make him follow their rule of life.

They are such cruel and perfidious idolaters that it is very devilry! They
say that they burn the bodies of the dead, because if they were not burnt,
worms would generate and consume them; and when no more food remained for
them, they would die, and the souls belonging to those bodies would bear
the sin and the punishment of their death.

       *       *       *       *       *

In another part of his immortal work, Marco Polo speaks of the
fish-charmers of Ceylon as Brahmans (or _Abraiaman_.) The pearl-fishers,
he says, pay one twentieth part of all that they take to these men, who
charm the great fishes, and prevent them from injuring the divers whilst
engaged in seeking pearls under water. Their charm holds good only for the
day; at night they dissolve it, so that the fishes can work mischief at
their will. These Abraiaman, he adds, know also how to charm beasts and
birds and every living thing.

Commenting on this statement, Colonel Yule observes that the modern
snake-charmers do not seem entitled to the distinctive appellation of
Abraiaman, or Brahmans, though they may have been so in former days. At
the diamond-mines of the Northern Circars Brahmans are employed in the
similar task of propitiating the tutelary genii. The snake-charmers are
called in Tamul _Kadal-kalti_, “Sea-binders,” and in Hindustani,
_Haibanda_, or “Shark-binders.” At Aripo they belong to one family,
supposed to enjoy monopoly of the charm. The chief operator is (or was,
not many years ago) paid by Government, and he also received two oysters
from each boat daily during the fishery. Turnoub, on his visit, found the
incumbent of the office to be a Roman Catholic Christian, but that did not
seem to affect the exercise or the validity of his practices. It is
remarkable that when Turnoub wrote, not more than one authenticated
accident from sharks had taken place, during the whole period of the
British occupation.

       *       *       *       *       *

Among the shepherds, or hillmen, in the neighbourhood of Rampore (or “City
of Rama,”)--the Paharis, as they are called,--a curious custom lingers,
which resembles the strange old Highland ceremony of the sunwise turn, or
Deisul, round any particular object, partly for luck, partly as a survival
of the sun-worship of the men of old. Sometimes the villagers gather their
flocks into one great herd, and, walking at the head, lead them slowly
round the village, following the solar course. Gradually they quicken
their pace to a run, and in this fashion perambulate the village thrice or
even oftener.

This sunwise turn is practised in other cases, as in sickness or accident.
Sheep and goats are solemnly paraded round the sufferer; after which they
lose their heads. If the sufferer be wealthy, the number so sacrificed to
the demons is often considerable. But the Paharis very firmly hold that
though the lesser spirits may be thus propitiated, no sacrifice is
acceptable to the Supreme Deity; that all He claims is devout worship.

They believe in the existence of three and thirty millions of good and
evil spirits, but their special adoration seems to be reserved for the
spirit which watches over their particular village, and in their temples
they reserve for him a kind of ark or shrine, wherein his veiled image is
carefully preserved. Every day this ark is slung upon long poles, and
taken out for an airing; and once a year it is borne through the country
side in solemn procession, and the people assemble and dance before it, as
the Israelites of old danced before the tabernacle. The said ark is gaily
decorated with bright-coloured hangings, and upon it is set a brazen head,
with four or more faces, overshadowed by yaks’ tails, like huge plumes of
dark or scarlet wool. Sometimes the whole structure is adorned with faces
of polished metal, which gleam and reflect like mirrors in the sun.
Moreover, it is usually draped all around with a deep fringe of silky
white yaks’ tails, depending almost to the ground, and concealing the
bodies of the bearers, so that the tabernacle seems to crawl along upon
its own feet.

To the service of the temple certain people are set apart in every
village. In the morning they sound an alarm in honour of the god with
bell, and conch, and cymbal, and again in the evening with a similar din
they announce the close of day. Ablutions are ignored by the villagers in
their own case, but they will have their goddess washed and dressed
daily. They burn incense before her, and serve her with offerings of
leaves of wild mint.

Occasionally, all the tribes assemble at a religious festival, and each
village sends forth its ark, with the men and women attired in their
brightest colours, and glittering with all their jewels. The various
processions, with dance and song and gambol, proceed towards the appointed
rendezvous; one of their little temples, of rudely carved cedar-wood,
situated in the calm shade of a group of forest-trees. Near this temple is
usually prepared a neatly-levelled space, covered with green turf, or,
perhaps, paved; and here the Khudas, or arks, are solemnly deposited. For
three days the festivities are kept up, and the sound of singing and
dancing seems continuous. Every now and then each village-company raises
its Khuda from the ground, and carries it in a little circle, sunwise,
while the nodding plumes seem to keep time to the rude chant of the simple
worshippers, and an outer ring of men, joining hands, follow the rhythm in
fantastic dance. Then the idol is set down; the people prepare their
homage; the dance goes on; and the women, in a long undulating chain,
sunwise revolve around the mystic Khuda.

Each woman, throwing one arm around her neighbour’s waist, keeps the other
free, and waves a plume-like chowni or yak’s tail, as she bows to the
Khuda. They do not all wave simultaneously, but in swift succession, so as
to produce the effect of a continuous graceful motion. If one of the women
retire, from fatigue, another slips into her place: sometimes the men form
the circle, then both men and women join, always carrying on the same
evolutions, the same circular motion. At nightfall the huge fires are
kindled, and the lurid gleams of pine-wood torches flicker athwart the
darkness, while the echoes ring incessantly with the monotonous clang of
great trumpet-shells and tomtoms.

When they have expended all their energies the revellers bring the
festival to a close, and each village-company bears back its
patron-goddess to her own little sanctuary.

Whether, as some surmise, this ceremony is associated with any tradition
of Noah’s Ark, we cannot pretend to determine. But it is certain that some
legends of the Flood still linger among the hillmen. There is a popular
myth which tells of a mighty ship built by Manu and the Seven Sages, in
which they stored the seed of all kinds of life, and of its being rescued
by Brahma when the Deluge overwhelmed the primitive earth. Brahma, it
says, drew the great vessel for many days until he reached a high peak of
the Himalayas, where he moored it securely. In memory whereof, the peak
has ever since borne the name of _Naubandhana_.

Mr. W. Simpson, who has seen much of India and the Indians, describes an
Ark-festival which he witnessed in a Himalayan valley. After indulging in
the usual ceremonial ablutions, the people of the district assembled at
the village of Coatee to do honour to its patron-goddess. The Khuda was
brought out, and with dance and music, conducted in noisy procession
through the deep shades of the forest and its lonesome glens, until they
reached a certain grove, in which a small temple was situated. The Khuda
was then deposited on the paved space in front; and an aged priest washed
all the brazen faces with mint leaves and water previous to offering up
incense, flowers, fruit, and bread.

A number of playful young kids were next brought forward. The priest
sprinkled them with water. On the ground lay a large flat brazen dish, and
one of the villagers stood beside it with a sacred hatchet, rudely
ornamented. At a single blow he struck off the head of a kid. The priest’s
assistant raised the head, and muttering certain words, presented it to
the Khuda. Dipping his finger into the blood, he flicked some drops upon
the carven image, and placed the head with the other offerings. Meanwhile,
the kid’s body had been so disposed that all its blood dripped into the
brazen vessel; and when two or three animals had been sacrificed and the
dish was full, one of the men lifted it up, and, first presenting it to
the Khuda, turned round, and swang the body against the whitewashed wall
of the temple, so as to empty it of blood. This ceremony was thrice
repeated.

The festival is known as the _Akrot-ka-pooja_, or Walnut Festival, from
the pastime that follows the sacrificial scene. The priest, with a few
companions, takes his place in the balcony of the temple, and all the
young men present pelt them liberally with walnuts and green pine-cones,
which the group in the balcony rapidly collect and return in plentiful
volleys. For about half-an-hour this severe encounter lasts, when the
assailed descend, and once more mingle with the crowd.

By this time the sacrificial kids have been cooked, and the people seating
themselves on the paved space in front of the Khuda, cakes and flesh are
served out among them. In opposition to the usual Eastern custom, the
women are helped before the men. It is now time for the homeward journey,
but the mysterious oscillation of the Khuda is understood to signify its
desire to visit the neighbouring village of Cheenee; and thither the
multitude at once proceed, dancing, singing, shouting, while the forest
glades resound with the trumpets and the tomtoms, and a few of the
nimbler-footed speed ahead to give notice to the authorities at Cheenee of
the honour in store for them. When near the latter village, the procession
is met by the goddess of Cheenee, with her retinue, and an exchange of
courtesies takes place. Next morning, the goddess of Kothi, or Coatee,
returns to her own charge.


SHAMANISM: DEVIL-DANCING.

In many parts of Central and Southern India the rite of Devil-Dancing is
practised, and Bishop Caldwell gives a striking description of it as it
exists among the Shawars of Tinnevelly:[24]

“When the preparations are completed and the devil-dance is about to
commence, the music is at first comparatively slow; the dancer seems
impassive and sullen, and he either stands still or moves about in gloomy
silence. Gradually, as the music becomes quicker and louder, his
excitement begins to rise. Sometimes, to help him to work himself up into
a frenzy, he uses medicated draughts, cuts and lacerates himself till the
blood flows, lashes himself with a huge whip, presses a burning torch to
his breast, drinks the blood which flows from his own wounds, or drains
the blood of the sacrifice, putting the throat of the decapitated goat to
his mouth. Then, as if he had acquired new life, he begins to brandish his
staff of bells, and to dance with a quick but wild unsteady step.
Suddenly the afflatus descends; there is no mistaking that glare, or those
frantic leaps. He snorts, he swears, he gyrates. The demon has now taken
bodily possession of him, and though he retains the power of utterance and
motion, both are under the demon’s control, and his separate consciousness
is in abeyance. The bystanders signalize the event by raising a long
shout, attended with a peculiar vibratory noise, caused by the motion of
the hand and tongue, or the tongue alone. The devil-dancer is now
worshipped as a present deity, and every bystander consults him respecting
his diseases, his wants, the welfare of his absent relatives, the
offerings to be made for the accomplishment of his wishes, and, in short,
everything for which superhuman knowledge is supposed to be available.”

       *       *       *       *       *

Before we quit this subject, it may be for the interest and convenience of
the reader, if we offer a brief account of the doctrines and rites of
Brahmism. This movement against the old Hindu faith, initiated by Rammohun
Roy, and developed by Babu Keshub Chunda Sen, owes its origin, however
unconsciously, to the influence of Christianity, which the Hindu mind, on
awaking from its long sleep of centuries, found, as it were, by its side,
and the pure and elevated character of which it could not but recognise.

Rammohun Roy was born in the district of Moorshadabad in 1772, and was
upwards of forty years of age when he undertook the part of a religious
reformer. A man of considerable natural powers, he had cultivated them
carefully, acquired a thorough knowledge of Sanskrit and Arabic, and
accompanied his meditations on the Sastras, or Hindu religious books, with
a close study of the English Scriptures. Removing to Calcutta in 1814, he
endeavoured to engage his friends in the same pursuits, and as this effort
led him naturally to new inquiries, he soon came to abandon his belief in
traditional Hinduism. A cry of ‘infidel!’ was immediately raised against
him; he became the subject of an incessant hostility; was on one occasion
mobbed in the streets of Calcutta; and owed his life to the protection of
the British Government. Persecution, however, could not quench his thirst
after knowledge. He applied himself to the study of Greek and Hebrew,
that by reading the Bible in its original languages, he might penetrate
more thoroughly into the spirit of Hebrew and Christian devotion.

Having dismissed the authority of the Puranas, he rested his faith on the
Vedas, the oldest of the Hindu sacred books, in the conviction (an
erroneous one) that the old creed of Hinduism was monotheistic, and the
belief (a justifiable one) that the Puranas represented the degeneracy of
a later age. Strange to say, he did not detect the Pantheism that
overflows the Vedas: in the Upanishads or treatises attached to them, he
fancied that he saw a pure Deism, and to diffuse this among his
countrymen, he published numerous translations and organised a society of
believers, who recited texts from the Vedas, and chanted Christian hymns.
In 1830 he went further; founding a prayer-meeting, which proved the seed
of what is now known as the Brahma Samáj. The building erected for th

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