From the Peruvian and Aztec religious systems in what we designate the New World, a phrase which involves the idea that its existence was for ages wholly unknown to the historians of the Eastern Hemisphere, we turn to another form of faith, which demands even greater attention. Buddhism has, probably, done more to influence the minds of men in Asia than any other religion in any part of the globe, and its history is so remarkable, that it deserves the attention of every philosophical student of mankind. To the Christian it ought to be especially interesting, inasmuch as there is strong reason to believe that the faith current amongst ourselves is to be traced to the teaching of Sakya Muni, whose original name, we may notice, in passing, was no more "Buddha" than "Christ" was the cognomen of the son of Mary.

An ingenious author on one occasion wrote a charming essay "upon the art of putting things," and I cannot read any treatise upon Buddhism, written by a Christian, without thinking how completely "the advocate" is to be seen throughout them all Ecclesiastical writers, who are Protestant preachers, endeavour laboriously to prove that the teaching of Sakya Muni could not have been inspired, and was certainly false; whilst other writers, who have no particular leaning towards Jesus, extol the author of Buddhism beyond that of Christianity. Truly, in such a matter it is extremely difficult not to appear as a partisan, however carefully the scales may be held. The very fact of endeavouring "to see ourselves as others see us" involves the necessity of "putting things" in a different light to that which is most common or familiar to us. A bumptious Briton thinks more of his own Islands than a Yankee thinks of them, and one who endeavours to describe "the wheel of the law" as an astute Buddhist would do, and who, at the same time, compares it with the teachings of the son of Mary, must seem to those who, without knowing its nature, despise the former, and yet implicitly believe in the latter, to be a partisan. Acting upon this belief, we shall not scruple to appear as an advocate, for we believe that "an opposition" is as good in religion as in politics, and that it behoves us all to examine every important question in all its bearings.

In the following essay I shall not attempt to go into every detail about the life of Sakya Muni, for to do so would weary the reader. Anyone who wishes for such information may be referred to Le Bouddha et sa Religion, par J. BarthÉlemy Saint Hilaire, Paris, 1860, a book which may be fairly designated as exhaustive. The English reader may also consult The Legends and Theories of the Buddhists, by Rev. R. Spence Hardy, London, 1866, which, though very prejudiced, is extremely suggestive. Hardy's Eastern Monachism and Manual of Buddhists are about the same. The Mahawanso translated by Tumour, is also a very valuable work of reference.

There appears to be little doubt that Sakya Muni was born about 622 years before our era, and that he died when about eighty years of age, i.e.f B.C. 542. He was thus a contemporary of Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and other Jewish prophets. Though of royal birth, and of the warrior or kingly caste, he does not appear to have been instructed in general history, if, indeed, any such was in existence in Hindostan at that or any other period; and we cannot find a tittle of evidence that he ever heard of any other religion than Brahminism, the dominant faith, apparently, of the Aryan invaders of India. In that he was taught assiduously, and some of its tenets he most firmly believed. Amongst others, he held that men lived in a future world, in which each one was rewarded or punished according to his doings when in a human form. His teaching was founded upon the belief which the Brahmins inculcated, that all men endure misery in this world for their conduct in a previous state of existence, and that they would once again suffer after death, unless they conducted themselves, in this life, in a manner pleasing to the Almighty. In this creed is clearly involved, if not distinctly enunciated, a full acknowledgment of the existence and power of God, of the certainty of a future life, and a desire to escape from penalties to be inflicted therein by a supreme celestial Judge, for immorality or impropriety committed in the present state. For these points of doctrine Sakya did not contend, he merely laid down a different system to the Brahmins as to the method by which salvation was to be attained, and the penal consequences of a sinful life were to be avoided.

We may now, halting here for a moment, examine these matters for ourselves, and inquire in what way such faith differs from our own. The Brahmin taught that man suffers pain, misery, and death for certain crimes committed in a previous state of existence; the Christian teaches that each one suffers for a fault committed by ancestors who lived thousands of years ago. Neither the one nor the other regard pain, sorrow, suffering, and death as the normal accompaniments of life, but both attribute them to the wrath of an offended deity, who can be, in some way, cheated, cajoled, appeased, or propitiated. Both assert that men are debtors to God, and that miseries are "duns" used to make men pay their obligations to heaven. The Brahmin taught that this could be effected by prayer, sacrifice, and sundry ceremonies to be performed by some man who had been specially appointed for the purpose. A due attention to morality was also inculcated, but it was apparently considered as of less importance than ritualistic observances.

The Jew, whom so many amongst us believe to have been especially taught by God, propounded a belief essentially similar to that of the Brahmin, with the single exception that he had no faith in a future existence, but thought that sacrifice and offerings, through a priesthood, were necessary to obtain comfort in this life.

The Christian teaches that the horrors of eternity can only be escaped by believing on the Lord Jesus Christ (Acts xvi. 30, 31), and by being moral in addition.

The "belief" here referred to is somewhat amplified in other parts of the Bible, and notably in John iii. 15-17, 36; vi. 39, 40; ix. 35; xi. 15; and Acts viii. 37; from which we learn that an item in the faith was a firm hold upon the idea that Jesus was the son, the only begotten son, of God. This dogma is still further extended in the "Apostles' Creed," wherein the Christians express, as articles of faith, their belief, that Jesus Christ was the only son of God, conceived by the Holy Ghost, and born of the Virgin Mary, &c. This tenet is somewhat varied in the Nicene Creed, which expresses the Christian belief to be, that the Lord Jesus Christ is the only begotten son of God—begotten of his Father before all worlds—being of one substance with the Father, by whom all things were made, &c.

The fundamental teaching of Sakya was, that man can only escape the tortures of the damned, by a strict propriety of conduct in this world, and a persistent endeavour to renounce and think nothing of the gratifications which make life pleasant. The modern Buddhist adds to this a belief in the absolute divinity of the founder of his faith, not simply that he was a son of God, but a visible embodiment of a portion of the Creative Unity. Brahmins and Buddhists believe in transmigration of souls: the Christian does the like, only, instead of being converted into a beast, he imagines that he will become either an angel or a devil.

Within certain limits, we may, therefore, say that the Brahminic, the Jewish, the Buddhist, and the Christian religions are essentially alike, differing only upon minor points, such as the absolute value of morality, of ceremonial, of doctrine, of asceticism, the nature of a hypothetical antecedent, and an equally uncertain future existence, and the best means of escaping the penalties attached, in the second state, to impropriety of conduct in the first. If we deride the Brahmin and the Buddhist for the faith which they entertain, our laugh must necessarily recoil on ourselves, for we have no more unequivocal grounds for our belief than they have for theirs. We point in vain to what we call "Revelation," for they can do the same, and if priority in such matters is good for anything, the Brahminic must take precedence of the Jewish, and the Buddhist of the Christian code. Nor can we call miracles to our exclusive aid, for the religious books of the Hindoo are as full of them as are those of the Jew and Christian, and the stories told in the one can be readily paralleled in impossibility, incapacity, frivolity, and absurdity by the others.

We must remember, then, when speaking of the teaching of Sakya, that it was constructed upon the supposed fundamental truths of Brahminism, just as the doctrines of Jesus were built upon those of Judaism. By adopting these, respectively, the two preachers have demonstrated their belief in them, but neither the one nor the other have advanced our knowledge as to the reality of the earliest faith, nor demonstrated the truth of their subsequent assumptions.

If we now endeavour, for the sake of comparison, to place the Eastern and the Western points of belief in parallel columns, we shall be better able to see the points of resemblance and of difference than by any other plan.

These are only a few of the leading points of resemblance and difference, and might be almost indefinitely multiplied.

After this preface, we may proceed to notice that Siddartha—another name for Buddha—was of royal birth, and born in wedlock: his mother was called Maya Devi, and was herself the daughter of a king. His father was of the warrior caste, and, according to ancient usage, Sakya, like Jesus some centuries later, was presented in the temple of the God of his parents, and recognized by a Brahmin, whom we may designate as a predecessor, by some hundreds of years, of the Jewish Simeon (Luke ii 25, seq.)f as having the marks of a great man upon him. As Sakya grew up to man's estate he was found to be peculiarly clever, and soon distanced his masters, as Jesus was and did, when, at twelve years, he went into the temple and astonished the doctors. He was always thoughtful, and frequently remained alone. Once he wandered into a forest, (compare Matthew iv. 1-11), in which he was found lost in thought. When obliged to exhibit his talents, Siddartha was found to have every conceivable excellence, bodily and mental He was, by parental desire, married to a paragon of a wife, who showed her good sense by rejecting the use of a veil. In this Sakya differs from Mary's son, who never married, being, most probably, of the tribe of the Essenes. In later life Siddartha discouraged wedlock and every form of love. But, during all his outward happiness; Siddartha's thoughts ran upon the misery which he saw on every side to be common in the world, and he entertained a hope that he would be able to show man the road to a happy immortality. In these ideas the teacher was encouraged by a god, who appeared to him by night, and told him that the appointed time for the deliverer had come. This comforter also recommended him to leave his wife, his wealth, his father's house, and give up all he had, so as to be able to seek, unencumbered, the way of salvation. Compare here the passage, Mark x. 20-30, wherein Jesus gives the same kind of advice as the angel gave to Sakya Muni. Having become satisfied of his mission from God, he resolutely abandoned everything, and, being really a scion of royalty, he had much to renounce. Siddartha thus became a mendicant, dependent upon others for food and raiment, and resembled that son of Mary, of whom we read that he had not a residence wherein to lay his head (Matt. viii. 20; Luke ix. 58). He was about twenty-nine years of age when he thus became poor for the sake of mankind. Compare what is said of Jesus, Luke iii. 23. Though Siddartha was opposed to the Brahmins, he nevertheless studied their doctrines, as Mary's son did that of the Hebrew theologians, thoroughly, under one of the wisest of them, for many years. Then, leaving this teacher, he went about preaching and doing good. So much were men impressed with his beauty, his piety, and his doctrines, that they flocked in crowds to see him, and he taught them whilst sitting on the brow of Mount Pandava—even kings came to hear him. Compare here what is said of the Nazarene, Matt. iv. 23 to Matt. viii. 1. Sakya was persecuted for a long time by a relative, who ultimately became one of his most ardent disciples. Compare Matt. xvi. 22 and John xxi. 15, et seq. Siddartha's austerities and mortifications of himself, in every conceivable way, were excessive during the next six years, and these have been represented as a combat with the Devil, whose kingdom he destroyed. At the end of this probation, Sakya Muni, finding fasting and pain not profitable for eternal salvation, resumed the ordinary human habits of eating, &c. This disgusted many of his disciples, and "they walked no more with him." He was partly supported by a slave woman, and was content to clothe himself with vestments taken from the dead. Finally, this wonderful son of Maya heard within him a voice, which told him that he was divine, the saviour of the world, and the incarnation of the wisdom of God—Buddha, "the word" itself. Compare John i. 1, et seq. This was confirmed by a miracle, and thus, at the age of thirty-six, and at the foot of a fig tree, Sakya Muni received a divine commission, "and the word was made flesh." But, though thus divinely inspired, the saviour doubted his power to convert mankind, and at the first he only preached his new doctrines to a few. Even in this respect it is marvellous to see how closely the Christian story of Jesus follows that of his predecessor Siddartha. Some opposed Sakya, but these were soon converted by his majesty, and the glory with which he spake the words—"Yes," he said, "I have come to see clearly both immortality and the way to attain it; I am Buddha—I know all—I see all—I have blotted out my faults, and am above all law." Recognizing in Siddartha the teacher of mankind, the common people heard him gladly, and gave him homage, and he, in return, taught them his full doctrine. The Indian saviour then proceeded to the holy city, Benares, and taught there. But though he spoke much, he neither dictated nor wrote—like Jesus, subsequently, he made no provision by which his doctrines might be perpetuated. From Benares he went to other places, some of which were especially dear to him, and thus became sacred. In like manner Bethany was sanctified by Jesus. Amongst others was a garden, given to him, with a mansion, by a wealthy disciple, which a lively fancy might call a Hindoo Gethsemane. In this garden Buddha made many disciples, and in it the first council of his followers was held after his death. Another favourite retreat was a plantation of mango trees, and this, like every other spot that Siddartha is known to have visited, has been adorned by the faithful with ornamental architecture in commemoration of him.

As may be supposed, Sakya, when he assailed the Brahmins, was in turn opposed by them with persevering malevolence; the former was outspoken and said what he thought of the priests—he called them hypocrites, cheats, impostors, and the like—and they were apparently conscious that they deserved such titles.

Here, again, we notice a singular parallel between the Hindoo saviour and the Jewish one, who followed him after a long interval. Not that there is anything wonderful in the founder of a new faith reviling the ministers of one more ancient—nor in the priests of an established church endeavouring to suppress, by punishments, the professors who interfere with their repose. We know how the Christian fathers abused and lampooned the faith of those whose practices they detested—how Luther and his followers lashed the vices of the Papists, and how these in their turn burned the new preachers—when they had a chance; how the Nonconformists censured the Establishment, and how the Episcopal Church has harried Independents and Presbyterians. But it is strange to find both Sakya and Jesus inaugurating a religion of peace by fierce invectives. We have not particulars respecting the choice of language made use of by the Indian, but we can scarcely imagine that it could be more to the purpose than the vituperation employed by the Hebrew. Jesus says,—"Ye compass sea and land to make one proselyte, and when he is made ye make him twofold more the child of hell than yourselves,"—"Ye are like unto whited sepulchres, which indeed appear beautiful outward, but are within full of dead men's bones and all uncleanness" (Matt, xxiii. 15-27). One cannot wonder that the Brahmins and the Pharisees, who were objurgated as hypocrites, should retort upon their accusers, prosecute the one and crucify the other.

As Sakya's influence increased, the power of the old priesthood diminished, and there are accounts of many contests between the old dispensers of Brahma's religion and the new saviour, which were held before kings and people. In consequence of these disputes Buddha's life was repeatedly in danger. But though often threatened, Siddartha died peacefully when about eighty years old, beloved by many, respected by more, worshipped as a divinity by his immediate disciples and intimate friends, and venerated by all who had listened to his discourses.

There are a great many legends existent, and of very respectable antiquity too, which tell of miracles performed by this very remarkable Indian teacher; but the judicious historian, upon whose authority I am at present relying (St. Hilaire), does not intermingle these with the narrative of Siddartha's life. In this respect he shows greater judgment than the scribes who first compiled the stories of Buddha and of Jesus, both of whom conceived that human beings could not be converted to a new style of belief without thaumaturgy.

The account of Sakya Muni and his religion would be incomplete did we not add that he left behind him enthusiastic disciples who were eager and successful in spreading his views. But many years, how many we do not know with absolute certainty, elapsed ere any account was written either of his life or of his teaching. Nor ought we to wonder at this, for until time has been given to mankind, it cannot fairly estimate the value of anything new; and when men do at length form, what they believe to be, a perfect judgment of the importance of the doctrine which has become deeply rooted, they are more eager to promulgate it in the world than to record it by writing in the closet.

The new religion certainly spread extensively all over the vast continent of Hindustan, and in the course of about three hundred years, found an enthusiastic and powerful convert in the person of a king called Asoka, who was reigning when the third convocation of Buddhists was called, b.c. 307. This ruler was imbued with a missionary spirit, and under his influence, preachers full of energy went not only throughout India, but into China, Japan, Ceylon, and apparently into every country to which ships, caravans, and the flow of commerce gave them access, including Persia, Babylonia, Syria, Palestine, Egypt, and the very populous and important emporium Alexandria. We may judge of the fanaticism of these religious envoys by their success, and we may, as is often done by Christian missionaries, test the real value of their doctrine by its endurance, and its adaptability to the religious wants of the human animal. If missionary success is a test of truth in religion, Buddhism must be superior to Christianity. Buddah—for his name is spelled variously—has more followers, according to competent authorities, than Jesus, and if the depth and earnestness shown by the converts to the two men could be weighed in impartial scales, we believe that the preponderance would be in favour of the followers of the Indian saviour.

We readily allow that Buddhism has not developed in many matters like Christianity has done. The Buddhism of to-day does not essentially differ from that in the early ages of the faith; the followers of Siddartha have not adopted the doctrines of the nations amongst which they have settled. The Christianity of to-day, on the other hand, is so widely different from that current in the first century of our era, that it has been remarked, with great pungency, that if Jesus revisited us now, he would be denounced as a heretic, and abused as a nonconformist. His followers soon introduced politics into religion, and adopted the fables and the doctrines of the Pagans amongst whom they dwelt, merely changing certain names, and ascribing virtues and miracles to saints, which the heathen attributed to Apollo, Mars, or Venus. Jesus, though a Jew, never sacrificed, nor did his apostles, but his followers thought prudent to filch the practice from the heathen; and, to smooth their difficulty, they profess to turn bread and wine into flesh and blood, and offer it up as an oblation upon their ecclesiastical altar. Jesus knew nothing of purgatory; with him the rich man went direct to hell, and Lazarus to Abraham's bosom. Modern Christians are wiser than their teacher; for he disdained the learning of Egypt, his followers took their purgatory and trinity therefrom. All this shows, that the faith of Christians in their teacher has not been equal to the unbounded trust felt by the Buddhist in his master's wisdom. Buddhism, moreover, has neither taught nor sanctioned any system of persecution. Sakya, it is true, encouraged men to make themselves miserable upon earth that they might attain future immunity from woe, but he never ordered them to use the sword or dragonnades to force other people to do so. The followers of Jesus, on the other hand, have but too often founded their claim to a happy immortality on making other men, whom they called heretics, miserable, as during the period of the crusades against the Saracens, the Albigenses, the Lollards, and the Waldenses. The Christians in many ages seemed to argue thus:—As the painful death of Mary's son saved the world, so I, by torturing a heretic, may save myself. This is an idea of vicarious atonement which, though prevalent for centuries, has never been committed to writing by those who hold it. We do not mean to allege that the opinion referred to cannot be found in history, for it is from such a source that our assertion comes. A belief, such as we refer to, was promulgated amongst the Crusaders, and was fostered by the founders of the Inquisition. Such an idea, too, is embodied in the word—"The time cometh, that whosoever killeth you will think that he doeth God service" (John xvi. 2).

We may, however, trace the idea of persecution in the early Christian Scriptures. Paul, for example, when writing to the Corinthians (1 Epistle v. 3-5) gives such encouragement as he can to those who punish an erring brother Christian, by delivering him over to Satan for the destruction of the flesh, that the spirit may be saved in the day of the Lord Jesus, and in (1st Tim. i. 20), the same author declares,—"I have delivered Hymenseus and Alexander unto Satan that they may learn not to blaspheme." The idea being, that by thus acting, both the Corinthians and Paul were improving their own ecclesiastical condition.

As I may not have another available opportunity for introducing one or two striking parallels between Sakya Muni and Jesus, I may mention here that the former is represented as being tempted by and having conversation with an evil spirit called MÂra, Evil one, Destroyer, Devil, or Papiyan. In one of these confabulations Buddah says,—"I will soon triumph over you—'desires' are your chief soldiers, then come idleness, hunger and thirst, passions, sleepy indolence, fears, doubts, angers, hypocrisy, ambition, the desire to be respected, and to have renown, praise of yourself and blame for others—these are your black allies, the soldiers of the burning demon. Your soldiers subjugate gods and men, but not me, I shall crush them by wisdom, then what will you do?" (Hilaire, p. 61). The sage is then, not unlike the so-called St. Anthony, tempted by lovely woman, thirty-two lovely demons (Apsaras) deploying all their charms. Then follows a third trial, and MÂra says to Siddartha,—"I am the lord of desire, I am the master of the entire world, the gods, the crowd of DÂvanas (spirits), men and beasts have been subjugated by me and are in my power. Like them enter my domains, rise up and speak like them." Buddha replied,—"If you are the lord of desire you are not the lord of light. Look at me, I am the lord of the law, you are powerless, and in your very sight I shall obtain supreme intelligence," (p. 64, op. cit.). The demon makes one more effort, and is again conquered, and then retires, tracing with an arrow these words upon the ground—"My empire has passed away." It may be imagined that the French author whom I quote is a partisan of the Indian sage; far from it, he records such tales with regret, for he sees how strong an influence they must have upon the perfect or imperfect authenticity of the New Testament and the story of Jesus. The similarity of the two histories is heightened by the legend before noticed, that Buddha went to Heaven to convert his mother, whilst Jesus is said to have gone down to Hades to preach to the spirits in prison, with the implied intention of converting them to the faith which he preached.

It will doubtless have occurred to anyone reading the preceding pages, if he be but familiar with the New Testament, that either the Christian histories called Gospels have been largely influenced by Buddhist's legends, or that the story of Siddartha has been moulded upon that of Jesus. The subject is one which demands and deserves the greatest attention, for if our religion be traceable to Buddhism, as the later Jewish faith is to the doctrines of Babylonians, Medes, and Persians, we must modify materially our notions of "inspiration" and "revelation." Into this inquiry St. Hilaire goes as far as documentary evidence allows him, and Hardy in Legends and Theories of the Buddhists also enters upon it in an almost impartial manner. From their conclusions there can be no reasonable doubt that the story of the life of Sakya Muni, such as we have described it, certainly existed in writing ninety years before the birth of Jesus; consequently, if the one life seems to be a copy of the other, the gospel writers must be regarded as the plagiarists.

In the story of Buddha, we have eliminated the miraculous part, and exhibited him simply as a remarkable man. Nevertheless, in the writings of his followers, miracles in abundance are assigned to him. Whether these existed in the original history Hardy doubts, and his remarks are so apposite that we reproduce them (op. cit. p. xxviii). "Upon the circumstances of this first rehearsal (of the life and doctrine of Siddartha), most important consequences depend. If the miracles ascribed to Buddha can be proved to have been recorded of him at the time of his death, this would go far towards proving that the authority to which he laid claim was his rightful prerogative. They were of too public character to have been ascribed to him then if they had not taken place; so that if it was openly declared by his contemporaries, by those who had lived with him in the same monastery, that he had been repeatedly visited by Sekra and other Deivas; and that he had walked through the air and visited the heavenly world in the presence of many thousands, and those the very persons whom they addressed, we ought to render to him the homage awarded to him by even his most devoted followers. But the legend of the early rehearsal has nothing to support it beyond the assertion of authors who lived at a period long subsequent. The testimony of contemporaneous history presents no record of any event that quadrates with the wonderful powers attributed to the 'rahals,' which would undoubtedly not have been wanting if these events had really taken place."

The reader of this extract will now naturally turn his attention to the Christian gospels, and inquire into the time when they were written, and whether the arguments used by Hardy, for disbelieving the miracles of Buddha, do not equally disprove the authenticity of the miracles attributed to Jesus. We can find nowhere, in contemporary history—and there is an adequate account thereof, both Jewish and Roman—any records of the wonders said to have been done in Judea by the son of Mary. Though he was noticed by a certain writer in the Talmud, under the name of Ben Panther, that book contains no account of the marvellous works recorded in the gospels, nor any reference to his miraculous power. The Romans who dwelt in Jerusalem knew nothing of any real miracle, though Herod is reported to have noticed some gossiping accounts of John's successor. We do not find a single reference to any of the wonderful events told in the gospels in any epistle written by those who "companied with Jesus"—except the assertion that he had risen from the dead, to be found in 1 Corinthians xv. and elsewhere—whose value is problematical Still farther, we have tolerably good evidence to show that the Gospels were written at a time when they could not be tested by those people in whose presence the wonders were said to have been wrought. The narrative of John, for example, is, by scholars, supposed to have been written more than a century, probably one hundred and fifty years, after the crucifixion, and the others seem to have been composed for the benefit of those who did not live in, or know Jerusalem and Judea intimately. They resemble, in almost every respect, the stories told of such Roman saints as Francis of Assisi, Bernard, Carlo Borromeo, and Ignatius Loyola, which were always composed long after the death, and out of the presence of every one of those who could deny or controvert them. However much, or little, we may credit the biographies of Buddha and Jesus, we cannot for a moment doubt, that the two individuals were instrumental in founding forms of religion, which, by the aid of missionaries, spread over a vast extent of the habitable globe. Unlike that of Mahomet, the faiths referred to were promulgated by peaceful persuasion rather than by the sword, and by the power of eloquence, example, and precept, rather than by the influence of miracles. If, for the sake of argument, we grant that every specimen of thaumaturgy which his followers attribute to Jesus is correctly reported, we must allow also that his power of making converts by teaching, preaching, and wonder working, was inferior to that of his followers, who taught, preached, and proselytized without performing many, if any miracles. If we assert that miraculous powers are necessary for the establishment and propagation of a new religion, then we must, to be consistent with ourselves, believe in the thaumaturgy of the Buddhists, and the divine mission of Sakya Muni. If, on the other hand, we deny that Siddartha was an incarnate god or saviour, was not divinely inspired, and performed no real miracle, then it is clear that the miracles, which Jesus is said to have achieved, were wholly unnecessary, and not required in any way to upset an old religion, to found a new, or to spread it when established.

The philosopher may pause here, with profit to himself, and inquire whether there is, or there are, any new form or forms of religion which has or have sprung up within his own observation, and if so, whether it or they has or have been based upon thaumaturgy—and, if one or more have been so founded, whether one shows evidence of stability.

Few can deny that Mormonism is a form of belief which has a considerable number of adherents, a body of earnest missionaries, and a laity whose faith and practice have been sorely tested by hardship. Yet there has not been a single miracle performed by its prophets. It is reported that its founder announced that he would perform one in the sight of all Israel and of the sun, but when the time came he said, that if the spectators believed that he could do what was promised, that was quite enough!

Spiritualism, on the other hand, is a new sort of theosophy, ostensibly founded and supported wholly by thaumaturgy; its disciples have induced themselves to believe, against their original ideas, that we are not only surrounded by the spirits of the departed, but that these can be brought into connection with us by means of certain individuals, called mediators or mediums—that these have such power, over the invisible beings hovering in the air, that the souls of the dead may be made to shake the tables of the living, and lift up their sofas to the ceiling. The miracles are believed in by many, but Spiritualism lags far behind the Mormon theology, and probably always will do.

We may regard this part of our subject in yet another light. Let us, for example, suppose that the Buddhists and the Christians succeed in persuading each other of the incorrectness of the miraculous element in their respective books, does it therefore follow, that any essential part of the creed of either one or other must be altered? The doctrines of Siddartha would not be valueless even if his followers disbelieved in his power to fly as a bird, or cross a river on the surface of the water—nor would those of Mary's son be proved to be worthless if it were certain that he never marched over a billowy sea, and that he was not really killed by crucifixion. The disciples of Sakya Muni believed in a resurrection of the dead, without having had the advantage of a real or imaginary reappearance of their master after his supposed decease. The Etruscans, Greeks, and Romans, had all an Elysium to which the good folk went. The Red Indian believes in a future life and happy hunting grounds (so we are told), although he has never heard of Judea. The rude Northmen and Danes had also their Valhalla to go to after death, long ere they were Christians. Still farther, it is to be noticed, by the close observer, that the Jews at the time of Jesus, and some of the Greeks about the same period, were divided in their opinions respecting the existence of men in a future state. The Sadducees, holding fast to the books of Moses and the Prophets, denied the existence of a resurrection, of angels or of spirits. The Pharisees, on the other hand, influenced apparently by Babylonian and Persian theology, had faith in all three. That this belief in a future life was not commonly held by the poor folk in Judea, we infer from Mark ix. 10, wherein we are told that Peter, James, and John were "questioning with one another what the rising from the dead should mean." That the Athenians were equally careless about what is now called "heaven and hell," we judge from Acts xvii. 18, wherein we are told that Paul's preaching about "Jesus and the resurrection" was a strange affair, and from the thirty-second verse of the same chapter, wherein it is said that the doctrine of the resurrection of Jesus was received with derision.

I am quite aware that it may be objected to these remarks that the doubt about the rising from the dead does not point to a general resurrection, but simply to the return to life of one particular individual. This, however, only removes the difficulty to a short distance, for Greek story tells us of the annual return of Proserpine from the realms of Pluto to the light of day, and Adonis was yearly resuscitated, in mythical narrative. For the Hebrew, the rising from the dead ought not to be a wonderful matter. Was it not told in their Scriptures how, when certain persons were burying a man, the bearers in a fright threw the corpse into the sepulchre of Elijah, whose bones had such efficacy that they revived the dead man, who stood on his feet (2 Kings xiii. 21). We find also, from Mark vi. 16, Luke ix. 9, that Herod had a full belief in the power of John to rise again from the death to which that monarch had consigned him. The sceptic may doubt the ability of the two evangelists to read what was passing through the royal mind when Jesus and his works were brought before its notice, but he cannot doubt that the writer was aware that in Herod's time there was a belief in the resurrection of individuals. Indeed, we find in the verse following that which tells of the Apostle's bewilderment, Mark ix. 11, a question, "why say the scribes that Elias must first come?" To which the reply is that the prophet has come. We are constrained, therefore, to believe that Jesus was not the first who rose from the dead; nay, even he himself commissioned his disciples to "cleanse the lepers, and raise the dead" (Matth. x. 8). What, then, is the value of the arguments that Paul builds upon the assertion that Christ is "the first fruits of them that slept."

This being so, we may fairly ask, whence did Mary's son derive the ideas which he promulgated of a resurrection, and of salvation, and why had a sophistical writer like Paul to adopt the clumsy contrivance of asserting that Jesus not only had risen, but that he was the first individual who had done so, to demonstrate that the dead really did return again to life? Paul's argument, indeed, shows how little he knew or had thought upon the subject, for he distinctly preaches a resurrection of the body, not of the soul, a belief adopted into the Apostles' creed. Yet, at the very period when the minds of Christians were thus unformed, the disciples of Buddha, to a man, believed in a future "Nirvana," in which "there should be no more sorrow nor crying, neither should there be any more pain, and where all earthly things should have passed away" (see Rev. xxi. 4). We are not yet in the position to prove that Mary's son and certain of his followers received their inspiration from disciples of Siddartha, but there is certainly a strong presumption in favour of the possibility, much evidence of its probability, and nothing whatever to disprove it. To this, however, we will return by and by.

Ere we proceed to examine into the nature of the doctrines of Sakya Muni and of Jesus, we may cast a glance over the condition of the men whom they converted. In both instances, it is not too much to say that they all were "priest-ridden" in the fullest meaning of the term. The residents in Modern India and Papal Rome, until a short time ago, well understood what the term signifies; day by day, and almost hour by hour, there is, or was in these places, some ceremony to be attended, some prayer to be uttered, some confession to be made, some contribution to be given to monastery, church, or priest. Penances are, and were inflicted of the most painful, sometimes of the most disgusting kind. The last I heard of was in Wales, where a man was ordered to lie down at the church door as a mat, upon which the faithful were to wipe their feet. Both in India and Italy, men, women, and children alike are, or were, taught to regard themselves as the servants, and even slaves of the hierarchy, and their money is, or was, alienated from wives and children to swell the coffers of spiritual tyrants. Perpetual terrors of hell are sounded, until those hearers, whose hearts are impressionable, are habitually haunted by imaginary horrors, each one of which has to be bought off by a sort of hush-money paid to the priest, who has invented, adopted, or described them.

Such was the condition of England and France prior to the Reformation and the Revolution.

So long as men are debased by their guides, and allow themselves, with the docility of a well-trained dog, to be ruled, and so long as tyrannical flamens can wring an ever increasing tax from the people, there is probably nothing more in the breast of each than a vague feeling of dislike, or regret, at the existence of such things, which rarely receives utterance for fear of punishment. But as soon as a man, more bold than his neighbours, raises a standard of revolt, whose success appears to be secure, the bulk of the oppressed first sympathize with, yet fear to join him, then, after watching eagerly the course of events, and admiring the boldness of men more resolute than themselves, they timidly make common cause with the reformer, and, if circumstances favour them, they become enthusiastic. As the news of the mental revolt swells, the people, tired of oppression, rise in their might and sweep away the hierarchy, or compel it to abandon its pretensions. Buddha and Christ were such leaders as we here describe, and such was the course gone through by their followers. The timid Peter denying Jesus, and yet afterwards boldly preaching him up, is an example almost too well known to be quoted.

We are now in a position to inquire into the nature of Siddartha's teaching.

Premising that his doctrines were collected at least 200 years B. C., the first which we notice is one that he not only inculcated by language but enforced by his abiding example. He taught that the comforts and pleasures of this life act as fetters, to chain man's spirit to earth; that day by day they necessitate the cultivation of propensities and passions more or less bestial in their nature; and that as these strengthen, so the individual who possessed them would be born again, after his death, to some form of misery and woe in which he would have to atone for the human infirmities which he had not conquered. To escape from the possibility of such an event, Sakya counselled his disciples to wean themselves, as far as possible, from every sensual passion; to mortify the body by fasting, so as to make it more readily separable from the inner man; to renounce all comfort except that of doing good; and believing in a state of perfect future salvation.

A man, he taught, must abandon everything as valueless compared with the attainment of salvation or nirvana; he must be wholly dependent upon others for food and raiment; he must take no thought for the morrow, and live like a bird or lily, laying up no store; for certainly a disciple of Sakya ought not to undertake any trade or other means of gaining a livelihood, lest it should ensnare his spirit and tie it down to the grovelling things of earth.

This was the rule for the very faithful, the infirm believers had a more lenient code.

If we now turn to the doctrine said to have been taught by Jesus and his disciples, we shall find a close parallel between it and that of the Indian teacher. For example, John says (1 Epis. ii. 15,16) "Love not the world, neither the things that are in the world. If any man love the world, the love of the Father is not in him. For all that is in the world, the lust of the flesh and the lust of the eye, and the pride of life, is not of the Father but is of the world." Paul says (Rom. xii. 2) "Be not conformed to this world, but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good and acceptable and perfect will of God." James also says (ch. iv. 4) "Know ye not that the friendship of the world is enmity with God; whosoever, therefore, will be a friend of the world, is the enemy of God." Again, we find in Matthew xix., Mark x., and Luke xii., the story of a young man who was possessed of wealth, probably scarcely less than that of Sakya Muni, and whose life had been conscientiously conducted, according to the commandments which he knew, and who having heard of Jesus, came to ask him if there were a more certain way of salvation than the one he was in. To him the reply is,—"If thou wilt be perfect, go and sell that thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven, and come and follow me." In the verses, moreover, which follow, there is a remark from the same teacher to the effect, that "every one that hath forsaken houses, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, or lands, for my name's sake, shall receive an hundred fold, and shall inherit everlasting life."

Once again, we find an exact counterpart of Buddha's teaching in the sermon on the Mount, which is recorded in Matth. vi. 25-34—"I say unto you, take no thought for your life, what ye shall eat or what ye shall drink, nor yet for your body, what ye shall put on. Is not the life more than meat, and the body than raiment? Behold the fowls of the air, for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns, yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they?... Why take ye thought for raiment, consider the lilies of the field... if God so clothe the grass... shall he not much more clothe you? Therefore take no thought, saying, what shall we eat, or what shall we drink, or wherewithal shall we be clothed?... Take therefore no thought for the morrow... sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof." Other similar passages might readily be given, but the above suffice to demonstrate the Buddhistic teaching of the prophet of Nazareth.

Both start from the idea that death, disease, pain, and misery is the result of sin—and both imagine that sin consists in living and acting upon the natural wants, necessities, and propensities of human kind. Both imagine that to be natural is to be vile, and that salvation is to be attained by resisting every impulse which is common to mankind Man desires to eat when hungry—this is a weakness to be combated; a mother loves her babe—this must not be tolerated; a youth covets a damsel in marriage—this is a snare to draw both down to hell; celibacy must be enforced. The argument runs thus,—If any one enjoys life he is sure to fear death, and will certainly pay for his pleasures; but if any one has the resolution to pass his years on earth in misery like that of hell, he will be glad to die, and fearless of any place of torment; use has bred a habit in him and no torture can come amiss.

Some Christian author has ventured to assert "religion never was designed to make our pleasures less," but he was a conspicuous heretic. Buddha's doctrine was founded upon the assertion that life is always short, and that it is not worth a man's while to buy a few years of enjoyment with myriads of years of agony. Jesus preached that the Jews' time was short, for they, and most probably all the world besides, were to be burned up any day within the duration of the generation—what then was the use of laying up stores of grain, of buying fine clothes, and keeping wine to get mellow?

Both preachers were equally short sighted and absurd in their teaching, for if their disciples were to live upon alms, and all repented and adopted the doctrine, it is clear that all would starve together, and self immolation by hunger was repugnant to both prophets. If no one made clothes all must go naked, and indecency was forbidden. If no one was to lay up money, there would be no one to pay for work, yet toil was considered to be a duty. If every one was to live from hand to mouth, who would keep a calf until it became a heifer, or a lamb to become a sheep?

It is difficult to conceive that two individuals could have worked out such a scheme of salvation independently, and the minuteness of the resemblances induces me to believe that Jesus, possibly without knowing it, first adopted and then promulgated in Judea the doctrines of the Indian sage.

Following, again, the lead of St. Hilaire (Le Bouddha, &c, 1860, pp. 81, et seq.), we find that Siddartha taught 600 years B. C., that death and all the miseries of mankind were due to the passions, desires, and sins of man; that all this misery would cease in Nirvana (of which we shall speak by and by), and that the means to attain to this salvation is to keep the true faith; to have a correct judgment; to be truthful in all things, and to hold every false thing in abhorrence; always to act and to think with a pure and honest mind; to adopt a religious life, i.e., one that is in no respect worldly, not owing even subsistence to anything which might be tainted with sin; to practise a careful and earnest study of the law; to cultivate a good memory, so that all mistakes in conduct may be remembered if they have occurred, and be avoided in the future; and frequent meditation, i.e., an abstraction of the mind from self consciousness, a thinking of nothing, so as to approximate the soul to Nirvana. These were Buddha's fundamental verities. It is put more shortly thus,—"Practising no evil, advancing in the exercise of every virtue, purifying one's self in mind and will, this is indeed the doctrine of all the Buddhas." Journal of Royal Asiatic Society, vol. xix. p. 473.

We may once more stop to compare the teaching of Siddartha with that familiar to Christians. Paul says, for example (Rom. v. 12) "As by one man sin entered into the world, and death by sin; so death passed upon all men, for that all have sinned;" again, in chap, vi. 23, "the wages of sin is death;" again, in chap. vii. 5, "when we were in the flesh the motions of sins... did work in our members to bring forth fruit unto death;" and again, chap. viii. 6, "to be carnally minded is death; but to be spiritually minded is life and peace." We may next refer to what some call the fundamental teaching of Jesus, as enunciated in answer to the question of the young man "What shall I do that I may inherit eternal life?" Matthew xix., Mark x., "If thou wilt enter into life, keep the commandments. Thou shalt do no murder, thou shalt not commit adultery, thou shalt not steal, thou shalt not bear false witness, honour thy father and thy mother, and thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself." And when the young man asserted that he had done so, all that he was told to do in addition, was to sell his property, give the proceeds to the poor, and become a follower of Jesus, who had not where to lay his head, and to live upon the charity of other people. I must, however, notice in passing, that the teaching of Jesus is not by any means so uniform as that of Sakya, for we find the former here instructing a young man to do no murder, but at a subsequent period, that of the last supper, Jesus exhorts his disciples, and through them, possibly, the very man to whom he rehearsed the commandments, thus "He that hath no sword, let him sell his garment and buy one," (Luke xxii 36). Certainly a direct encouragement to homicide.

For the benefit of the Buddhists a short formula of faith has been framed, which is to this effect—"TathÂgata (another name of Sakya Muni), in the proper condition, has explained that our present state is produced by antecedent causes, and the great Sramana, or Ascetic (another cognomen of Siddartha), has told us how to avoid the effects of sin. The effects are pain and actual existence, having for their cause past sins; the cause is the production of suffering: the cessation of these effects is Nirvana, the teaching of TathÂgata, or of the great Sramana, is the way which leads to Nirvana." The Christian formula runs, "As in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive." To this we may compare a Nepaulese saying, "Arise, leave your possession, take up the law of Buddha, and break asunder the power of death."

In addition to the fundamental maxim given on the preceding page, Sakya Muni added many others, amongst them, "Thou shalt not kill, thou shalt not steal, thou shalt not commit adultery, thou shalt not lie, thou shalt not get drunk;" others are of lighter consequence—"thou shalt not eat out of due season, thou shalt not watch dances or theatrical representations, or listen to songs or music, thou shalt abstain from all ornamentation of dress, &c., and from perfume; thou shalt not have a large bed, nor ever take gold or silver; thou shalt remain inflexibly chaste."

To those who desired to become disciples and personal friends of Buddha, it was ordained that (a) They should only be clothed with rags taken from the cemeteries, or from heaps of refuse, or found on the high road. (b) That there should only be three of these vestments, and that each should be stitched by the wearer, and that they should be covered with a cloak of yellow wool (c) That the food should be as simple as possible—a rule adopted by Christian saints, but not by Bishops. (d) That all should live upon alms and offerings, which should be begged for, in perfect silence, from house to house, and placed in a vessel made of wood—a plan adopted by certain Christian mendicant friars. (e) That only one meal should be taken during the day—a rule to be found in some Christian monasteries. (f) That no aliments, even the most simple, should be taken after noon, the rest of the day after this period should be devoted to teaching and meditation. (g) The faithful should live in the wilderness or forest, and not in towns or villages. Hence Christian hermits lived in the deserts of the Thebaid. (h) They should only shelter themselves under the boughs and leaves of trees. (i) They should sit with the back supported only by the trunk chosen for refuge. (j) They should sleep sitting, and not lying down. (k) They should never change their sitting mat from the place where it was put first. (l) The disciples should unite together, at least upon one night in the month, to meditate amongst the tombs upon the instability of human things. Mendicity, chastity, and asceticism were essential parts of Sakya Muni's practice, and St. Hilaire (op. cit., p. 87) naively remarks that these certainly are not the means for making good citizens, though they may produce good saints.

We may notice, in passing, that the pious followers of Sramana (the one who mastered his passions) were very much more proper, in our eyes, than some of the Brahmins, from whom they seceded, inasmuch as the former wore sufficient garments to cover themselves decently, whilst the latter, whom the Greeks called "Gymnosophists," went without any more clothing than the horse or ass. It is also to be noticed that Siddartha provided a sort of code of laws to be observed by those who wished to adopt his method of salvation, without becoming altogether "religious." These consisted in the enforcement of chastity, purity, patience, courage, contemplation, and knowledge—these were, it was asserted, the transcendent virtues which would pass man across the river of death. They would not land him there in life, but whilst these were adopted as the rule of life, the aspirant was in the right way to attain "Nirvana."

The charity which Sakya Muni ordained was universal, extending even to what we call the lower animals, and one example is given in which a disciple cast himself into the sea to save a boat's crew in danger of death from a storm, whilst another tells of Buddha giving himself as food to a tigress, who had not sufficient milk for her young ones.

Again, the precept against "lying" included false witness, and all that we call "bad language," as well as trifling chat, called "badinage," "wit," and the like. Persons were not only to avoid wrong, but they were to cultivate every good habit, or what we designate each "Christian grace." It was inculcated, that beauty of language, or eloquence, pleasantness of voice, and a due respect to cadence should be studied, so as to make their teaching popular, a precept not much regarded amongst ordinary Christian divines. Beyond other things, humility was inculcated, not that which exists on the lips only, and is apparently compatible with the determined endeavour to exercise unlimited power, which has been conspicuous in the Papacy for a millennium at least, but that which conceals greatness and demonstrates littleness. Thus there is a legend of Buddha refusing, at the request of a king, to exhibit any miracle to convince his opponents, his answer being, "Great king, I do not teach the law to my hearers by saying to them, 'Go, oh you religious men! and before Brahmins and house-holders perform, by means of a supernatural power, miraculous things, which no other men can effect,' but I say to them, in teaching them the law, 'Live, oh ye pious ones, so as to conceal your good works, and to let your sins be seen.'"

At this point we pause once more to draw a parallel between Siddartha and Jesus, though, in the delineation of the doctrine of the latter, we shall see a discrepancy which appears to indicate two distinct authorships in the recorded story. We refer, in the first place, to Luke vi, wherein we find, v. 27, et seq., "Love your enemies, do good to them which hate you, bless them that curse you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and to him that smiteth thee on the one cheek offer also the other" (compare Matt. v. 39, 40). Again, Matt. vi. 3, "When thou doest alms, let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth," and in v. 6, "When thou prayest, enter into thy closet," &c.; v. 16, "When ye fast, be not, as the hypocrites, of a sad countenance." Side by side with this we may place the directions given in Matt, x., where we find that Jesus called his disciples unto him, and gave them "power against unclean spirits to cast them out, and to heal all manner of sickness and all manner of disease "—they were, moreover, "to cleanse the lepers and raise the dead," i.e.t the disciples were to perform miracles; but if they, in their wanderings and teachings, should be rejected, despised, or affronted, the apostles were to shake off the dust of their feet against the persecutors, being certain that condign punishment would fall upon the offenders.

It is curious that in the histories of the Indian and the Jew, there should be analogous discrepancies between records of their sayings and doings. Siddartha and Jesus are represented, each of them, as declining to perform miracles when asked or expected to do so. Nevertheless, in the same histories we find marvellous accounts of the wonders which they performed. We have seen the clashing reports of Buddha, the following reports of the son of Mary are equally discordant. To make the dissonance more striking, we place the passages in parallel columns.

At what time after the death of Jesus the miracles recorded of him were fabricated we can scarcely tell. If, with most critical scholars, we believe that John's Gospel was written by some Neoplatonic Greek, at least a century and a-half after the period alluded to, we must also believe, either that all the legends about the casting out of devils by the son of Mary were invented after the time when "John" lived, or else, which is probable, that the last evangelist gave no credit to them, if they did already exist; and if the good sense and superior knowledge of "John" led him to discredit the tale about the legion of devils, which left one man* to enter into about two thousand pigs, I do not see that other Christians are obliged to believe the legend. From considerations which we advanced in the articles Prophets, Prophecy, &c., in Ancient Faiths (Vol. II., p. 515), and especially in the history of Barcochab, who was supposed to be the Messiah by some Jews in A.D. 131-5, we argued that new matter was certainly introduced into the story of Jesus told by Matthew, Mark, and John, as late as the era of that enthusiastic Hebrew leader. We noticed the doubts that existed in the minds of many early Christians as to whether this redoubtable warrior was not "the man" of whom the prophets spake. We may now still further notice that he professed to perform miracles, which appear to be thoroughly contemptible when weighed against those of the gospels. To our mind it is inconceivable that the followers of Mary's son could have been acquainted with the marvellous works attributed to Jesus in the gospels, and, yet be shaken by such a man as Barcochab. We notice, also, that not one "Epistle" writer refers to them—consequently, we believe that all the wondrous tales told of the prophet of Nazareth, must have been introduced after the time of Hadrian (in whose reign Barcochab was destroyed), and were fabricated by pious Christians, to prove that the Messiah, in whom they believed, was infinitely superior to that warrior whom others had for a time trusted. Both, to be sure, had been killed by the Romans, and thus both might seem upon a par, but if history could be cooked—and there is probably no single history existing which is strictly true—to show that the first performed a hundred times the wonderful works of the second, he would thus become greatly exalted. See especially Matt. xxiv. 24, in confirmation of this view. Be this as it may, there is, I understand, solid foundation for the assertion that the New Testament, such as we have it now, might have been composed, altered, curtailed, added to, remodelled, or otherwise fashioned, at any period between the years a.d. 50 and 300, after which change was difficult, though we cannot say impossible. A corresponding statement is true of the books which record the life and doctrines of Buddha.

At this period of our parallel we may profitably examine the New Testament, and ascertain whether we cannot extract from it a tolerably fair account of the life and teaching of Jesus, without including therein a single act of thaumaturgy. We fearlessly assert, not only that we can, but that the miracles are not an essential part of his doctrine. For example, we learn that Jesus was the son of a woman betrothed to a carpenter, who became pregnant ere yet the ceremony of marriage was gone through. Her affianced husband did not make her frailty an excuse for annulling the contract, possibly for a good, and to him a sufficient reason. He married the already fruitful Mary, and her child passed amongst the neighbours as being the son of Joseph. This we learn from Matt. xiii. 55, where we find the people saying, "Is not this the carpenter's son? is not his mother called Mary? and his brethren James, and Joses, and Simon, and Judas, and his sisters, are they not all with us?" a statement repeated in similar terms, Mark vi. 3. This short account is important, since it completely destroys the papal doctrine that Mary was "ever virgin," for she bore at least four other sons than her first born, and two daughters. At no period was Jesus regarded either by the family or by the neighbours as illegitimate, nor is there any reason to believe that Joseph looked upon him otherwise than as his own son. Indeed, in Luke ii. 42-48, the carpenter distinctly appears to act as if he recognized Jesus as his own offspring—in verse 48, Mary says, "Son, why hast thou thus dealt with us? behold thy father and I have sought thee sorrowing," asserting as plainly as words could speak, that Joseph had begotten Jesus. It is true that the youth replied, "Wist ye not that I must be about my father's business?" but the story adds the important information, that the couple did not understand the saying.

It is clear to us, that if the legend of the impregnation of Mary by the Holy Ghost, after that event had been previously announced to her, and if, as we are told in Matt. i. 20, Joseph had been informed by "the angel of the Lord" that the foetus in Mary's womb was begotten by the Holy Ghost, it would not have been possible for Joseph and his wife to have misunderstood the words of Jesus. The very wonder which they expressed demonstrates the belief of the parents that there was nothing unusual in the conception. The father Joseph knew that he had borne his share in the event, and Mary knew that she had not conversed with any other man; consequently, for her son to indicate another father than Joseph, naturally mystified her. We therefore cannot allow the assertion to pass, that the conception and birth of Jesus was in itself a miracle. But as we shall revert to the subject in a separate chapter, we will say no more about it here.

After living and working with his parents for some years, Jesus was attracted by the preaching of his cousin John, whose doctrines were essentially Buddhistic and Essenian. Like the Hindoos, he used water as an emblem of purification, and urged his hearers to repentance and good conduct. What motives urged John to become "the voice of one crying in the wilderness," we have no means of judging, but the gospel narratives tell us that he, like Jesus, believed in the almost immediate destruction of the world. His text was, "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand." Jesus adopted the view, and promulgated it more extensively. His text was the same as that of his cousin, but more expanded. "The kingdom of heaven means glory to the righteous, and everlasting life; misery and everlasting destruction to the wicked. The time is near, hasten to escape from the coming vengeance." The earnestness of Jesus, his acquaintance with the prophets, his self-denial and his constant kindness, endeared him to the common people. The same virtues had a like effect in the case of Buddha. Amongst villagers and poverty-stricken fishermen he soon won his way, and every one had some story to tell of him, which increased in wonder as it passed from mouth to ears, and from these to the tongue of the listeners. Those who know how an ordinary circumstance may gradually become described as miraculous, even in England, can well imagine how the miracles of Jesus and Siddartha were produced.

In time Jesus endeavoured to induce the magnates of Jerusalem to adopt his doctrine, and to trust in repentance for salvation rather than in sacrifice, but the enthusiast could not overcome the ritualists, and they at once began to weigh their power against the influence of Jesus upon the multitude. After a time the priests were convinced that supremacy rested with them, and the man who preached a religion of the heart, was sacrificed by the adherents of ceremonial. Such a fight is common, as we see around us. The Evangelicals and the Ritualists of to-day, resemble the followers of Jesus and of Moses. When the latter appeared in the guise of powerful Romanist rulers, they put down the former, but now when the former are the strongest, they endeavour to depress the latter.

After the death, or the withdrawal of Jesus from public life—for we have no belief in the legends of his resurrection—considering that his apparent decease was a prolonged fainting fit, for had he been dead blood would not have followed a spear wound as it did—the disciples of Jesus spread his fame largely. Whilst Jesus was with them they clung to him; when he was no more, each man became a preacher, and then Christianity spread until it met with Buddhism in Egypt, and thus became developed in a peculiar direction. Then came the gospels, which made Jesus a second Sakya. Although we can readily conceive that Jesus, like his paltry successor, Joe Smith, the Mormon, captivated the minds of hundreds without performing any supernatural deed, and that his "elders" vastly increased the number of those who believed in him, yet it is clear, that ancient and modern theologians were and are anxious to establish the reality of the thaumaturgy attributed to Jesus, that they may appeal to it to demonstrate that he was the son of God, an incarnation of a portion of the creative mind—"the word," or logos, having the same relationship to Jehovah, the "I Am," the Self-Existent One, as Buddha, "the understanding" had to "Brahma," The Supreme One.

Accepting this issue for the sake of argument, we affirm once again that, as the miracles of Sakya and of the son of Mary are equally unreliable, or equally true, Buddha was as much a true son of God as Christ was, or that Jesus was no more an incarnation of Jehovah, than Siddartha was of Brahma. Jehovah and Brahma being merely different names for the same great Being. That miracles are not necessary to the spread of a new faith, the history of modern Presbyterianism and Mormonism distinctly proves. For further remarks, we refer the reader to the article Miracle in the preceding volume. We will postpone to a subsequent page what we have to say respecting the asceticism of the Buddhists, and that which was prevalent in the early Christian church. For the present, we resume our account of Sakya Muni's teaching as described by St. Hilaire.

Founded upon his doctrine of absolute humility, he established the custom of confession amongst his apostles or disciples, and amongst those who venerated his teaching, though they did not' become his immediate followers. This confession was not that simply auricular one enforced by Ritualists, but it was made twice a month, at the new and the full moon, before the great Sramana and the congregation, in a clear voice. Powerful kings are reported to have followed this practice.

It will not require more than a minute's reflection to see that the Buddhistic system of confession was far superior—as regards the end in view—than that which has been adopted by Romanists and Ritualists. Sakya and James (ch. v. 16) advised the practice in question, that the sinner might be humiliated in his own eyes, and deterred from the necessity of having again to acknowledge a fall from virtue before a congregation of the faithful. Popes and Protestant Ritualists, on the contrary, use confession for the purpose of inquiring into the character of every penitent, and the practice is adopted by the sinner, not with the view of repentance, but to wipe out periodically a sin which is habitually renewed.

If confessions were made before a congregation, instead of to a priest in a closet, or some other secret spot, there would not then be current so many scandalous stories as there are—too true, alas, in many instances—respecting women who have been debauched under the guise of religion, and priests who have prostituted the ordinances of their church, until they have made them pander to vice, and act as seeds to produce immorality.

Though personally TathÂgata preached celibacy, he had not, like some of the so-called saints of Christianity, any feeling of disrespect towards family ties. He always spoke affectionately of his mother, though he never knew her, and the legends say that he endeavoured to convert her in heaven. His command that all his followers should honour their father and mother was repeatedly enforced, that being only second to the duty of learning, venerating, and keeping the law. It even went so high as to include endeavours to teach the parents if they were ignorant.

One of the main duties of every teacher appointed by Siddartha, was to go about preaching the law, and exhorting his hearers to learn and to obey it. But no one, on any account, was to introduce the persecuting element. No respect whatever was to be paid to caste, all being alike human before God. Buddha himself is described as a very striking preacher, charming his hearers by his clear and eloquent diction, astonishing them by his supernatural power, sometimes instructing the common folk with ingenious parables, and inciting them to emulation by telling what others had done. He referred to the sins which had been committed in former days by an ancient people, and how severely punished those who had committed them had been, or still were, and he even recorded his own faults, that others might learn to avoid them. He urged all his hearers to cultivate truth and reason, which is certainly not a Christian practice, and not blindly to obey their spiritual guides, as the modern faithful are taught to do. By making the practice of every virtue the sole means for attaining eternal salvation, he practically discouraged vice, but it does not appear that he endeavoured actively to denounce immorality, sin, or sinners. He did not, like many modern persons, "compound for sins they are inclined to, by damning those they have no mind to." It is distinctly declared that it was not necessary for ordinary followers of Buddha to become what is called "religious," or "to enter into religion," as friars, monks, &c. To those who preferred an ordinary mode of life, instructions were given, that they should cultivate charity, purity, patience, courage, contemplation, and knowledge. Indeed, we may assert that the precepts of Jesus, as recorded in Matthew v., vi, and viii, and in Luke iii. 7 to 14, are not essentially different from those propounded by Sakya Muni Neither the one nor the other ordered or even recommended all men to be celibate, all men to become poor, all soldiers to leave their profession—but both urged upon every one who wished for salvation, to be kind, pure, patient, courageous, thoughtful and eager after all knowledge. It would be well if those calling themselves Christians would endeavour more fully to understand that cultivating science is the same as advancing in the knowledge of God.

Some of the remarkable parables found in Buddhist books are very probably the original ones of Sakya; they are certainly ingeniously framed to illustrate his doctrine. Nor is there wanting, indeed, one in which there is an episode resembling the story of the thief upon the cross. It is of a lovely courtesan who falls deeply in love with a jeweller, young, and a devoted follower of Buddha, and solicits his company. To every message she sends him, he returns the answer "it is not time for you to see me." At length she commits a crime, and is sentenced to have ears, nose, hands, and feet cut off, and to be carried to the graveyard to die, leaving the cut off members at her ankles. At this period the young man visits her, to see the true nature of those joys which drown men in perdition; then he consoles the poor creature by teaching her the law; his discourse brings calm into her breast, and she dies in professing Buddhism with a certainty that she will rise again amongst the good.

We may mention, in passing, that there were female Buddhists as well as males, both being on the same footing. The law, as announced by Sakya, equally concerned and affected the two sexes.

Another and very interesting parable tells of a king who came before a Buddhist priest and his assembled hearers, to the number of 350, to confess his crimes, amongst others murder, and his resolution to avoid all faults in future, and Bhagavat (the teacher's name) at once remits, in conformity with the law, the faults of the king, which have thus been expiated before a numerous assembly of the faithful, a remarkable instance of remorse, repentance, confession, and remission of sin—some centuries before Jesus was born.

At length a powerful king, Asoka, was converted to the new faith, or came to the throne already a Buddhist, in the year b.c. 263, and reigned thirty-seven years, during which time he devoted himself to spreading the religion of his choice. He sent out a cloud of earnest missionaries who spread themselves over Hindostan, Ceylon, China, Japan, and Thibet. Indeed, they seem to have gone wherever there was means of locomotion, or a knowledge of the existence of a people. As the Greeks were then certainly trading with India, both by land and sea, it would be surprising if the Buddhist missionaries had not accompanied the merchant ships, or the overland convoys to Alexandria. But this subject, it is convenient for the present to postpone.

There are two points connected with the teaching of Sakya Muni to which many Christian writers have especially addressed their remarks, apparently with the view of rendering Buddha more or less contemptible, or at least of degrading him far below Jesus of Nazareth. It is asserted that Siddartha did not believe in a god, and that his Nirvana was nothing more than absolute annihilation. To these I am disposed to add, that the Buddhists were not taught to pray, nor did their founder practise the custom.

To my own mind, the assertion that Sakya did not believe in God is wholly unsupported. Nay, his whole scheme is built upon the belief that there are powers above which are capable of punishing mankind for their sins. It is true that these "gods" were not called Elohim, nor Jah, nor Jahveh, nor Jehovah, nor Adonai, nor Eliieh (I am), nor Baalim, nor Ashtoreth—yet, for "the son of Suddhodana" (another name for Sakya Muni, for he has almost as many, if not more than the western god), there was a supreme being called Brahma, or some other name representing the same idea as we entertain of the Omnipotent. Still further, in the life of Buddha, quoted by St. Hilaire (p. 9) we find the following as part of the thoughts of the young Siddartha—"The three worlds, the world of the gods, the world of the assours (the benighted ones, or, as we should call them, 'the devils ), and that of men, are all plagued by the occurrence of old age and disease." We do not, for we dare not assert that this opinion is identical with ours; but we are equally indisposed to say that the opinions current amongst ourselves are absolutely true.

Men living in future days, and whose minds are educated, will probably declare, "that the Christians of Europe and elsewhere, for nearly two thousand years, had no god but the devil They said he was good, but they painted him as one who rejoiced in pain, lamentation, mourning, and woe." Buddha preached that man suffered from the effects of his sins, and that unless he attained salvation, he would be punished everlastingly. The son of Mary, and all his followers, taught, and Christians still entertain the belief, that man suffers from the sin of a progenitor (assumed to be the parent of all mankind), and that each person will be tortured throughout eternity unless he is able to mollify his maker, who is also his judge. Both teachers had necessarily an idea of a power able to make laws for the conduct of human life, to ordain rewards for good behaviour, and to apportion punishment for offences, and yet who was sufficiently forgiving to cease from requital, "for a consideration," the bribe being invariably a bloody one. Jesus called this power "my Father," Siddartha called him Brahma, the Supreme one.

Jesus and his followers have asserted that the power of the son with "the Father" is so great, that the latter will conform to the former, nay, he even asserts his identity with the Supreme in the words "I and my father are one," (John x. 30). See also Acts iv. 12, and 1 Thess. v. 9, in which it is distinctly affirmed that Jesus is the sole means by which man can attain salvation, or, in other words, turn away the wrath of God and change it into love. But Jesus could only rise to the position of equal or prime favourite by a very sanguinary process, as we find from Heb. ix. 22, that there could be no remission of sin without shedding of blood. From the following verses, and from Heb. x. 19, we learn that it is by the sacrifice of himself that Jesus entered into his heavenly powers.

Can any one who depicts the gods of savages, of Grecians and others to whom human beings were immolated in hundreds, call such deities "devils," and then assert that the Jehovah, whom he extols as above all gods, is not painted by men in the same colours. Siddartha's god was not a sanguinary one, nor did Buddha always talk of shedding blood, or profess to give his disciples his own flesh to eat, and his blood to them, that they might all drink of it.

The way in which this Supreme One, Brahma, was painted at his time was accepted by Sakya as he found it. He no more questioned the accepted truths of Hindooism, than Jesus doubted about the absolute truth of the Hebrew scriptures. But, in his own mind, after he had contemplated deeply on the subject, he believed that the discovery which he had made of the way to Nirvana, universal knowledge, or whatever else Nirvana was, had raised him above Sakra Brahma, Mahesvara, and all the gods of the pantheon.

Instead of breaking into expressions respecting the insanity or the blasphemy of such an idea, let us school ourselves into calmness, and turn to our own New Testament and read over Philippians, chap, ii. vv. 5-11, "Let this mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus, who being in the form of God, thought it not robbery to be equal with God, but made himself of no reputation, and took upon him the form of a servant, and was made in the likeness of men, and being found in fashion as a man, he humbled himself, and became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross: wherefore God hath highly exalted him, and given him a name which is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, of things in heaven, and things in earth and things under the earth, and that every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord to the glory of God the Father."

Still further, I have repeatedly heard Protestant Christian divines assert that Jesus was really "Lord of the world above," and I cannot see any greater insanity or blasphemy in the son of Suddodana believing that he was at least equal with God, than in the son of Mary asserting "I and my Father are one" (John x. 30), and when reproached for making himself thus equal with God, he is reported to have remonstrated with his auditors who accused him of blasphemy because he asserted himself to be the son of God. The creeds of the Anglican and Roman churches repeatedly declare the identity of Jesus with Jehovah, e.g., "equal to the Father as touching his godhead."

The natural rejoinder to this representation is the assertion by the Christian that he knows that Jesus of Nazareth really was what he represented himself, and he is sure that Sakya Muni was not; but, on the other hand, the Buddhist may say just the reverse with equal pertinacity. This argument, if such a name it really deserves, is so common amongst all careless religionists, that it deserves a few words in reply. It is based upon the very natural notion, "what I believe, must be true," and to an objector, the only answer is the question, "you don't fancy that I can be wrong, do you?" When two such persons as a Christian and a Mahometan met in days gone by, these were the only arguments used by each, and they were first of all enforced by such revilings as come naturally to the faithful—"hound of a Moslem"—"dog of a Christian," "you are a serpent"—"you are a viper," and the like; from words they came to blows, and the strongest arm was supposed to demonstrate the correctness of the victor's faith. If, instead of taking physical strength as a test of truth, we assume that a numerical preponderance on one side or another proves the correctness of the belief held by the greatest number, we come to the absurd conclusion that what is right to-day may be wrong to-morrow. Babylonians were once far more numerous than Jews, and Jews than Christians, to-day the last exceed vastly both the others. Now, there are more Buddhists in existence than true followers of Jesus, in the next century the proportion may be reversed.

Truth does not so fluctuate, and a philosopher who uses his reason will take up a different stand entirely, and affirm that a man cannot become God by meditation, fancy or assertion, nor yet by the consent or vote of millions of his fellow-men, and that the assumption that any individual must be, and is the begotten son of God, is on a par with the folly of the potentates who call themselves brothers of the sun and moon. Such absurdity and blasphemy are very common, nevertheless, and men believe that Jesus is God, because they have elected him to that elevated position by a general vote—or European plebiscite.

We now address ourselves to another important statement made by some writers upon the religion of Sakya Muni, to the effect that he taught annihilation to be the end most desirable for good men who have learned and practised the law. This view is held by St. Hilaire, who, in almost every other respect, has shown himself an historian rather favourable to Siddartha than otherwise, and who speaks with some regret of the conclusion which he feels obliged to draw. But he is opposed upon this point by a very great English or German authority, viz., Max MÜller, who, in a lecture delivered before the general Meeting of the Association of German Philologists at Kiel, and which is to be found translated in Trubner's American and Oriental Literary Record, Oct. 16, 1869, distinctly declares his belief that the nihilism attributed to Buddha's teaching forms no part of his doctrine, and that it is wholly wrong to suppose that Nirvana signified annihilation.

When two such earnest inquirers differ, it is instructive to notice the reason why. This is to be found in the fact that the etymological signification of the word does signify "nothingness," or "extinction," but not, as MÜller contends, annihilation of the individual, but a complete cessation of all pain and misery. The last quoted author shows that Siddartha used Nirvana as synonymous with Moksha, Nirvritti, and other words, all designating the highest state of spiritual liberty and bliss, but not annihilation. It seems to be perfectly clear that what was meant by Sakya is, that to the good who have embraced the means of salvation preached by him, the future world would be a haven of rest, in which all sorrow, suffering, and sin should be annihilated. But the teacher does not go beyond this, and descant upon the opposite conditions, and promise joys ineffable and full of glory. His followers believe that they will attain to immortality, and that they will be free from all such horrors as life brings with it. But the pleasures which they expect are negative.

Before we either pity or despise Siddartha for not giving his followers any idea of what we call Heaven, it would be well to endeavour to discover the true teaching of Jesus of Nazareth upon this point, and the ideas of his followers. We must also say a few words about his ideas of Hell. He clearly believed that there was a place in which those whose lives had been wicked would be punished after death by the devil and his angels—the place was one of outer darkness, where shall be weeping and wailing, and gnashing of teeth (Matt. viii. 12). In Matt. xiii. 42 this place of outer darkness is described as "a furnace of fire," and in Mark ix. 43-44 this fire is described as one that never shall be quenched, and in which there lives a worm. In Luke xvi. 23-24 there is an expression of the belief that the body lives after death in its usual form, and has eyes, a tongue, the power of speech, &c.; yet in Matt. x. 28 the doctrine is inculcated that both body and soul are destroyed in Hell. In Jude 7 and 13 Hell is again described as a place of unquenchable fire, and yet one occupied by the blackness of darkness; whilst in Revelation xix. 20 and xx. 10 we are told that the fire is a lake of burning brimstone. Of the absolute locality of this horrible spot not a word is said.

On the other hand, Heaven is described (Matt xiii. 43) as a place where the righteous shall shine forth as the sun in the kingdom of God. In Luke xvi. 22 the pleasure of Heaven is made to consist of a simple repose in the bosom of Abraham; but though we are there led to believe that the blessed can see the torments of the damned, it does not appear that either "the father of the faithful," or the poor beggar Lazarus, take any pleasure in contemplating them, as some few divines of the church of England believe that they will do, when they have arrived at the abode of bliss, and see their enemies in the burning lake. Paul, when writing to the Corinthians, (1 Ep. xv.) gives his idea of the resurrection of the just as one in which each man will be a spiritual edition of his former terrestrial self, but beyond the statement in 1 Thess. iv. 17, that the redeemed will, when in heaven, dwell for ever with the Lord, he expresses no opinion of the occupation of the glorified ones. In John's gospel (xiv. 2) Jesus is reported as saying,—"In my Father's house are many mansions or houses—I go to prepare a place for you," but there is nothing like any account of what is to be done in those abodes.

Again, we find, Ps. xvi. 11, in a verse which has been largely adapted to Christianity, an idea of Heaven given thus—"in thy presence is fulness of joy, at thy right hand there are pleasures for evermore." What David's pleasures were we may judge from his life, and we may fairly imagine that the writer of the passage had an idea something like that of Mahomet—that there were houris in Heaven for the delectation of the faithful. But in Isaiah lxiv. 4, and I Cor. ii. 9 everything about Heaven is declared to be vague—a something which the eye has not seen, the ear heard, or the heart conceived.

In the book called The Revelation of St. John the Divine, we have a far more detailed account of what was believed by some about heaven, than in any other, and there is no doubt that to it a large number of Christians appeal, for it is, indeed, almost the only foundation on which they can build. Yet the Apocalypse was for a long time an uncanonical book, and its truth and value were, and still are, doubted by many of the faithful. In the part referred to, heaven is described as a place incalculably rich in gold and precious stones, in music and pleasant odours, and its joys are pour-trayed as consisting in constant contact with the evidences of wealth, and in eternally singing a certain refrain, an hour of which would be a great trial to human ears. To this is added the absence of pain, sorrow, and suffering. The New Jerusalem, described in chapter xxi. is nothing more than a palace similar to that of Aladdin, which is described in The Arabian Nights? fabulously adorned with gems, lighted by other means than a burning sun or a cold moon, cooled or refreshed with a river of clear water, and furnished with trees bearing different kinds of fruit, but all delicious—thus involving the certainty that the singing referred to, must have been suspended whilst the palate was regaled—and having leaves said to be for the healing of the nations. The words thus italicised seem to show the indefiniteness of the idea, we dare not say of the knowledge of John, for the existence of this new Jerusalem involves the absence of any disease which required healing; and every person who was not already assigned to the brimstone lake, was a resident on the margin of the crystal river. Such discrepancies are common in visionary writings, and ought to make us distrust them; but instead of that, wild theories are founded upon these absurdities, and the builders thence attempt to prove their own superior knowledge. Well, in this new Jerusalem, every man is to be a ruler, for we are told, that in it the servants of the Lamb (chap. xxii. 3 sq.) shall serve him, and see his face, that his name shall be written upon their foreheads, and they shall reign for ever and ever. The word italicised, very naturally recalls to us an earlier passage in the same book (chap, i. 6) wherein the writer expresses the belief that Jesus Christ has made his followers "kings and priests." It is then clear that John had the notion that in heaven every denizen would be a king. But king over whom? or over what? if every one in new Jerusalem is a ruler, what is he a ruler of? It is, to the critic, moderately certain, that all which the words are intended to convey is, that every inhabitant of the New Jerusalem or Heaven will be as rich and happy as a mundane sovereign. This, again, involves the belief that the author of the Apocalypse had an essentially sensual idea of Heaven, and that he pourtrayed it as a man would do, who, pining in misery, suffering from disease, pinched with want, obliged to serve as the slave of wealth, and to contribute much, out of his little, to the king's taxes, saw daily, and envied deeply, the high position and great wealth of a tyrant, with whom, his faith induced him to believe, that he would change places hereafter.

That the descriptions of Heaven in Revelation can be considered as reliable, by any thoughtful Christian, I marvel, for they are bound up with an assurance which the lapse of time has fully demonstrated to be false. In chap, xxii., v. 12 and 20, the one who is described as the Lord of the New Jerusalem, the Christian Heaven, asserts that he is coming quickly, and that his reward is with him. Yet in no sense of the words is this true, nor has it ever been so.

Tested, then, by every available means, we assert that the Heaven described by Jesus of Nazareth and his immediate followers is quite as vague, indistinct, and unreliable as the Buddhist Nirvana; or, if the affirmative be preferred, we say that the Christian Heaven is quite as uncertain or indefinite a prize for Jesus' disciples as the Nirvana of Sakya. Both teachers seem to have been equally confident of the existence of a Hell, and equally cautious in expressing their ideas about a Heaven. And we, who have had the advantage of many centuries of civilization and thought, dare no more frame or promulgate a scheme of Elysium than the Romans did—we really know nothing whatever about a future state.

There is this, however, to be said in favour of Siddartha—he did not, like Mahomet and John, preach a Paradise, in which all the pleasures are worldly, sensuous, or sensual—John promising music and fruit, Mahomet feasting and women. All the Indian's teaching pointed to a future world, in which human passions, frailties, and propensities would find no place, for the purified being would cast off, with his earthly body, every carnal appetite. In fact, there is reason to believe that Buddha's idea was, that after death each essence would become reincorporated with the Great Spirit, of whom his soul had originally formed a part. It is doubtful whether any of us could tell him a more perfect way to the truth about the matter.

Yet, although neither Sakya nor Jesus gave any distinct account of Heaven, it is certain that some of their followers have done so, and it is remarkable to see how they have developed their ideas in the same way. Compare, for example, the account given by John, Apocalypse chaps, xxi., xxii., with the following account, which I copy from the Kusa Iatakya, a Buddhistic legend of Ceylon, by T. Steele, p. 195. "Swarga, or the heaven occupied by Indra, is described as the most splendid the human mind can conceive (Percival's Land of the Vedas, p. 160). Its palaces are composed of pure gold, resplendent diamonds, jasper, sapphire, emerald, and other precious stones, whose brilliance exceeds that of a thousand suns! Its streets are of crystal, fringed with gold. The most beautiful and fragrant flowers adorn its forests, whose trees diffuse the sweetest odours. Refreshing breezes, canopies of fleecy clouds, thrones of the most dazzling brightness, birds of the sweetest melodies, and songs of the most delightful harmony, are heard in the enchanting pleasaunces, which are ever fragrant, ever robed in summer green." The author whom I am quoting follows these remarks with lines from Bernard de Morley's hymn, Jerusalem the Golden, clearly showing how greatly he has been struck with the parallelism between the Buddhist and Christian idea.

So far as I can find, there appears to be a certainty that Sakya Muni did not teach to his followers the necessity for prayer. That Jesus did so teach his disciples is the common belief of Christians. Yet, in the parallel which we are thus drawing, we are perfectly justified in the assertion that the son of Mary did not teach it from his own spontaneous judgment, as John the Evangelist had done before him. Jesus certainly did not originate prayer; indeed, it appears that the subject was forced upon him, and that unless he had been urged to it, he would neither have taught to others the necessity for prayer, nor have dictated the supplication which still passes by his name. The following passage in Luke xi. 1 seems to be decisive upon this point:—"And it came to pass, as he was praying in a certain place, one of his disciples said unto him, Lord, teach us to pray, as John also taught his disciples." We see, then, in the first place, that Jesus did not hold, as a fundamental doctrine, that prayer was part of the duty of man, but that he took it up as a necessary part of his Jewish education, and adopted it amongst the subjects of his discourses, following the example of John. When we try to penetrate into the mind of Jesus, as shown in "the Lord's Prayer," and ascertain what he regarded as the fittest objects for orison, we find that they are almost exclusively worldly. There is, in the first place, an ascription of praise, or of reverence, then an expression of a desire that the world should become good; that each man should have a daily meal; that all offences should be condoned, and none others committed; and that no harm should happen to any who used the entreaty. Compared with the composition attributed to Solomon, and said to have been uttered by him at the dedication of the temple, that which is said to have been given by Jesus is meagre in the extreme. It does not contain a single supplication for spiritual blessing, or for salvation.

In the mind of a philosopher there is a doubt whether the general heathen notion about prayer, or the apparent Buddhist prayerlessness, is to be the most commended. Yet, ere we discuss the point, I must remark that although Buddha does not appear to have taught the duty of prayer to his disciples, they practise it nevertheless, and have long litanies, chantings, and mechanical contrivances quite as efficacious, and not more absurd, than the senseless repetitions which pass current amongst us for supplications to the Most High. Now, if we require from ourselves a distinct answer to the question, what is prayer? we can frame no other than this—"it is the expression of a desire on our part that the Creator will modify the laws of nature in our favour, in favour of others, or in His own favour!" The idea that He will do this is plainly builded upon the supposition that the Creator is like a man, and can be induced to change His mind—that a creature thinks He is harsh or wrong, and must be set right. When put thus clearly, the most obtuse can see that prayer must necessarily be inefficacious, and must always proceed from a selfishness so intense as to cloak the blasphemy from view.

If, instead of the above definition, we designate prayer as the uttering of a fervent hope or desire for the benefit of an individual, we can understand that it is quite as useful as any other ejaculation. Nothing is more common than for an angry man to curse with all the energy of exasperation; nothing more common than for a punished hound to yelp, and for a child, when pained, to cry or roar. Still further I will say, from personal experience, that the utterance of cries or groans enables an individual to bear pain with less effect upon his nervous system than would be felt if they were suppressed. Vociferations are as natural, and, to some, as necessary as indulging the appetite for hunger. In like manner, when the mind of man, especially of one only partially educated, is dominated by intense fear, or by any form of anxiety or present suffering, there is an instinctive propensity to seek aid from any source, certain or uncertain, and the enunciation of hopes with an audible voice is as much necessary to some as roaring is to a lion, or bleating to a sheep. In this sense prayer is a comfort—it helps to soothe feelings which, if pent up, would become, probably, too great for endurance; and, knowing this, I would no more deride prayer than I would laugh at a baby who cried for his absent mother.

I do not doubt, in the smallest possible degree, that prayer is a comfort under certain circumstances. For example, my child may be seriously ill, and I may do everything which my medical knowledge enables me to do; but day by day drags wearily along, the fever seems to intensify, and it is clear that there is a struggle between the living force, and the agent which interferes with it. As hour after hour passes, and anxiety deepens into fear, I am like a hardy fellow under the lash: at first the stripes are borne with firmness, but as another and another falls, not only does-the pain seem keener, but the mental power which gives courage to bear the cutting agony diminishes, and the pent-up feelings are vented in a roar of anguish, or a groan of despair. Just so in the depth of my misery I may utter a prayer—a wish that in one way or another my torn and lacerated feelings as a father might be healed, and I may expect to receive solace thereby, no matter whether I address Jehovah, Brahma, Ishtar, or the Virgin Mary. To hear the sound of one's own voice, even the task of having to compose an intelligible sentence, relieves, for a time, the poignancy of grief, and thus helps one to bear it more patiently. That supplication thus brings relief I do not for a moment doubt, but that it has any influence in the result I deny.

Entertaining this view, I cannot regard prayer as a duty. It seems to me to be a deliberate insult to the Almighty to be constantly urging Him to alter the course of nature—or as we may otherwise put it "to change His mind." To trust that prayer will obviate the necessity for action seems to me the height of folly. If a man uttered the words "Give me this day my daily bread" a hundred times over, and yet never sought to obtain it, we should regard him as a lunatic. Equally silly should we be if, when praying "Defend us in all assaults of our enemies," we did not prepare for battle—or if, after ejaculating "defend us from all perils and dangers of this night," we were to go to bed without seeing that our premises were as secure as forethought could make them. However much the theologian may believe in prayer, he cannot deny that it is less efficacious than action. Now Buddha preached action whilst Christ preached inaction, e.g., "take no thought for the morrow," &c. (Matt. vi. 25-34), consequently we are more disposed to give the palm for correct judgment to the Indian than to the Jew.

We must, in the next place, notice that many followers of the son of Suddodana and the son of Mary have both acted, and do still act, upon the belief, not only that prayer is a duty, but that every supplication has positive power in the world above—consequently the more extended the utterances the greater their influence. In point of fact, prayers are spoken of as if they were equivalent to sacrifice, alms-giving, or any other supposed virtue. For this there seems to be some foundation in Acts x. 4, where Cornelius is told that his prayers and his alms have come up before God; in James v. vv. 15, 16, we are told that "the prayer of faith shall save the sick;" and that "the effectual, fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much." In Revelation v. 8, we are told that the prayers of the saints are kept in golden vials in heaven, and used as odours. In chapter viii. 3, we find they are offered with incense upon the celestial altar, and that the two conjointly come before the presence of God. This being so, there is a desire to accumulate prayers on the creditor side of the heavenly books, just as in the days when sacrifices were trusted in, there was an attempt to increase their influence by augmenting the number of the creatures slaughtered. This propensity to multiply orisons was distinctly rebuked by Jesus, who ordered his followers not to make vain repetitions, for that the custom was heathenish and to be avoided; a prohibition which had been made by Siddartha to his followers some centuries before.

To me, I confess, that a life of perpetual prayer without action indicates a belief that God can be "pestered" into doing something that He did not intend; and that it is infinitely worse than a life of action such as Sakya Muni inculcated. I can see no sense in praying for something that I do not want, or that I cannot have without personal exertion. It seems to me sheer nonsense for anyone to pray that he may not grow older, and equally foolish to supplicate that he may live to be a king. In like manner it would be silly in me to petition for power to read Assyrian writing, and yet never study its characters. If, then, by diligent and steady plodding a man can attain his desire, it appears wholly useless in him to pray for it. We may say the same of one who wishes to curb his passions—he can do so to a great extent by assiduous self-control; but he cannot do so any more completely by a lifetime passed in prayer. From this point of view, therefore, we must again side with Siddartha rather than with Jesus.

It now remains to us to make some observations upon the developments of Buddhism after the death of Sakya Muni, but we need not linger over them long. His doctrine of self-denial, of patient suffering, of celibacy, of fasting, of preaching and of meditation, gradually produced a system in which asceticism, solitude, and penance were the prevalent duties. Men and women desirous of being saintly and of attaining to eternal happiness, selected some den, cave, or tree in which they could live a life devoted to contemplation, or else they banded themselves into companies where they could practise the Buddhistic virtues in each other's presence, and one could encourage or correct another. Buddhist monkeries and nunneries are almost as common, and certainly more ancient than Roman Catholic monasteries, and they had very nearly the same numerous accessories in worship, which we are familiar with in papal countries. It is almost impossible to read the accounts given by the AbbÉ Hue, and other Eastern travellers, of Buddhism in China, Thibet, and Japan, without seeing the close resemblance of the Roman Church to that founded by Siddartha. Indeed, the AbbÉ was sorely tried by what he saw; and it is rumoured that he was punished by some ecclesiastical authority, and his book suppressed. Pure Buddhism, moreover, was, like pure Christianity, a very painful religion in practice, consequently both the one and the other have degenerated, and have gradually become altered much in the same way—both having amalgamated themselves with other systems, and having gradually eliminated those proceedings which are most repulsive to human nature. In both there is now, apparently, the idea that the ascetic life may be lived, as it were, by deputy. In Buddhism, certain men obtain their living by fasting, meditating, macerating their flesh, and praying instead of other people, being, of course, adequately paid for their endurance of privation. In a branch of the Church founded by Jesus the same notion has obtained, and men who have wallowed in filth, starved themselves, and spent their days in a miserable round of penance and prayer, are dignified by the name of Saints, and are supposed to be able to hand over—for a consideration in money—the benefit of their sufferings to people who wish to live comfortably as well as piously.

Without burdening this chapter with a dissertation upon the Romish doctrine of works of supererogation, I will quote a few extracts from the Roman Missal, in use in England, to show that works done by another can be made available for the use of any particular individual. On January 16, the day of Saint Marcellus, the people are told to pray "that we may be aided by the merits of blessed Marcellus, Thy martyr and bishop, in whose sufferings we rejoice." On January 29, the day of Saint Francis of Sales, we find in the prayer to be used by the people, "mercifully grant that we may by the aid of his merits, attain unto the joys of life everlasting." Again, on February 8, the day of Saint John of Matha, we find in the prescribed prayer, "mercifully grant that by his merits pleading for us, we may be," &c.—and, lastly, we notice on March 19, on Saint Joseph's day, "vouchsafe, O Lord, that we may be helped by the merits of Thy most holy mother's spouse," &c. The practice of the Buddhists is then essentially followed by the Roman Christians.

Pure Buddhism was wholly free from the sexual element so common in other religions of antiquity, and so was the religion of Jesus. Yet in Thibet the first became intermingled therewith and Vajrasatta or Dorjesempa the Thibetan "God above all," is represented in Schlayintweit's Atlas of Plates as a male conjoined with a female; but so ingenious is the contrivance that the many might see the drawings without noticing anything particular, for the trinity and the unity are both hidden from view; and in Europe the latter has introduced St. Foutin and St. Cosmo into her calendar, and has founded her worship of a trinity and a virgin upon the pagan reverence given to the creative organs in both sexes. Veneration for a triune God and his female consort is no more a portion of the teaching of the son of Mary than it was the doctrine of the child of Maya Devi, Buddha's mother.

It will probably be quite as difficult for the reader of the preceding pages, as it has been for the writer of them, to avoid putting the question to himself, "Was Jesus of Nazareth a Buddhist disciple?" In answer to this question I reply that we have no direct proof either on one side or the other, but there is much circumstantial evidence to show that he was. We may marshal it thus:—

1. There is very strong reason for belief that the intercourse between the inhabitants of India and the successors of Alexander was considerable. For example, we find before the time of the Maccabees, b.c. 280, or perhaps somewhat later, that Antiochus, the king of Syria, had 120 elephants—things which had never before been seen in Syria, Palestine, or Egypt, and which took their local name from the Phoenician aleph, a bull—the Jews supposing that they were a new kind of cattle. From the accounts given us we infer that these were Indian, and were trained either by Hindoo mahouts or by Greeks taught in Hindustan. Animals of this size may have come by land or by water. In either case we have evidence of traffic. We have already seen that the great missionary effort of Buddhism took place in the time of Asoka about B.C. 307, and it is not likely that the West would be neglected when the Eastern countries received such attention as they did. The Greeks had by this time found their way by sea to India, and thus it is certain that the route was known. There is then presumptive evidence that Buddhism was taught amongst the people frequenting the kingdom of Antiochus the Second, B.C. 261. At this period and subsequently, this king and his subjects came much into contact with the Jews, so that it is equally easy to believe that the Hebrews were found out by the Hindoo missionaries as that the Alexandrian Greeks were.

2. I have been unable to find in the Jewish law, in Grecian story, in the accounts of old Babylonians, Carthaginians, Romans, Egyptians, or in any other history except that of India, testimony which shows that asceticism was an essential part of religion. It is true that we do find fasting to be occasionally mentioned in the Old Testament as a sign of grief or of abasement,* but never as a means of gaining salvation in a future life—whose very existence was unknown to Moses and the Jews. The observation of a period of hunger formed no part of the Mosaic law. On the contrary, ancient European religions, and those of Egypt and Western Asia were associated with feasting and jollification (see Deut. xiv. 26.) The Jews were encouraged to indulge in a plurality of wives; but they were nowhere directed or recommended to live on alms. Again, we find nowhere any orders to the priests or Levites to go about the country expounding or teaching the law. Consequently, when we notice the rise of asceticism, preaching, and celibacy, between the time of Antiochus and that of Jesus, we are justified in the belief that they were introduced from without, and by those of the only religion which inculcated them as articles of faith and practice.

3. The Hebrews always showed during the Old Testament times a great aptitude to adopt the faith of outsiders—and as the Jewish people were in great abasement and misery at the period when it is probable that the Buddhist missionaries came into Syria, they would be prepared for the doctrine that they were suffering for bygone sins. The idea that men in the present were sometimes punished for sins done in the past was a Hebrew as well as a Hindoo idea, else Saul's sons would not have been hanged for their father's misdeeds, or the Amalekites have been slaughtered by Samuel, because their forefathers had some centuries before fought with Israel and been conquered by Moses and Joshua.

4. That after the Persian reign it is certain, that three Jewish sects existed,—the Pharisees, the Essenes, and the Sadducees—the last alone being purely Mosaic, and the two first being very like the Buddhists.

To strengthen the links of evidence, we may now say a few words about the remarkable sect of the Essenes, premising our belief that it was founded by missionaries of the faith of Sakya Muni, whose doctrines and practice became, subsequently, modified by Mosaism, just as Christianity was considerably remoulded by Talmudism, or, to use an example nearer our own times, as the Christianity preached by European missionaries to the New Zealanders has been altered by the natives, in accordance with their ancient ideas. To them the Old Testament is the Bible, the New Testament is of no value.

The Essenes are described by the Rev. Dr Ginsburg, whose authority I follow (The Essenes. Longmans, London, 1864), as a Jewish sect of singular piety. They did not sacrifice animals, but endeavoured to make their own minds holy—fit for an acceptable offering to Jehovah. They provided themselves with just enough for the necessities of life, and held such goods as they possessed, e.g., clothes and cloaks, in common. They only allowed themselves to converse on such parts of philosophy as concern God and man. They abhorred slavery, but each served his neighbour. They respected the Sabbath. Their fundamental laws were, to love God, to love virtue, and to love mankind. They affected to despise money, fame, pleasures, professed the most strict chastity, or, rather, continence, and they practised endurance as a duty. They also cultivated simplicity, cheerfulness, modesty, and order. They lived together in the same houses and villages, and sustained the poor, the sick, and the aged. When they earned wages the money was paid to a common stock. They did not marry, or have children; but if any of their body chose to wed, there was nothing in the regulations to prevent their doing so, only they then had to enter another class of the brotherhood. When possible, they worked all day. They were highly respected by those who knew them, and were frequently receiving additions to their number. They seem to have resembled, in their habits and customs, a fraternity of monks of a working, rather than a mendicant, order. Pleasure they regarded as an evil, having a tendency to enchain man to earthly enjoyments, a peculiarly Buddhist tenet. Still further, they considered the use of ointment as defiling, which was certainly not a Hebraic doctrine; but they dressed decently. They prayed devoutly before sunrise; but until the orb had risen they never spoke of worldly matters. They gave thanks, and prayed before and after eating; and ere they entered the refectory bathed in pure water. The food provided was just sufficient to keep them alive. When a person wished to enter the community, he underwent a period of trial, and, if approved, he proceeded to take an oath—"to fear God; to be just towards all men; never to wrong anyone; to detest the wicked, and love the righteous; to keep faith with all men; not to be proud; not to try and outshine his neighbours in any matter; to love truth, and to try and reclaim all liars; never to steal or to cajole; never to conceal anything from the brotherhood, and to be reticent with outsiders." The Essenes reverenced Moses, and so great was their respect for the Sabbath, that they would not ease nature on that day. They bore all tortures with perfect equanimity, and fully believed in a future state of existence, in which the soul, liberated from the body, rejoices, and mounts upwards to a paradise, where there are no storms, no cold, and no intense heat, and where all are constantly refreshed by gentle ocean breezes. Josephus compares this sect with the Pythagoreans; and I think this fact is worth noticing, for there was, in old times, a strong opinion that the founder of that sect brought his peculiar opinions from Hindostan. Pliny, in writing of the Essenes, remarks that their usages differ from those of all other nations—which we may take as a demonstration that they did not copy their constitution from Greeks, Romans, or Jews. Respecting the origin of this sect nothing certain is known, beyond that they were in existence at the time of the Maccabees. Critics decline to see in them any direct relations to the Pythagoreans, and some imagine that the order sprung naturally out of a spiritual reading of the Mosaic law, modified, probably, by Persian or Chaldee notions.

It seems to me, however, that the tenets and practice of the Essenes indicate rather a Buddhist than a Mosaic origin, for celibacy is everywhere in the Old Testament spoken of as a misfortune, and abundance of wives as a proof of God's favour; and I imagine that some devout Indian missionary persuaded many pious Jews to listen to his doctrine, but that he was unable to convert them sufficiently to induce them to give up the law of Moses for that of Siddartha. I conceive still further, that John the Evangelist, and, subsequently, Jesus of Nazareth, were perfectly cognizant of the doctrines of the Essenes, if they were not members of the sect, and that there is nothing incredible in the idea that both these preachers were instructed by some Buddhist missionary, although neither was ever induced to give up his belief in the absolute truth of those Jewish writings, which both had been accustomed to regard as absolutely true and sacred.

We readily allow that our theory may be called a wild one, but we assert that, in reality, it is far otherwise. Of course a critic may say that John, and his follower, Jesus, were just as likely to have struck out a new theory of salvation as Sakya Muni was; or, if exceedingly orthodox, he may assume that the preaching of Jesus was the pure result of inspiration, not such as was given to the prophets by Jehovah, but emanating from himself as a source of absolute truth. But we demur to both assertions. The profound reverence that Mary's son showed, in the early part of his career, for the law and for the prophets, would have prevented his doing anything to upset the former in so marked a manner as he did, in respect to the Sabbath day and other matters (see Matthew v. 31, 32, 33, 34, 38, 39, 43, 44), unless there had been some strong influence, from without, brought to bear upon his mind, and to cast it in a different mould to that of Pharisee or Sadducee. Nor can we believe Jesus to have been inspired, unless we extend the same belief to Buddha's teaching, and believe that he also was a fountain of light and righteousness, which we certainly are not disposed to do.

Our hypothesis respecting a connection between the teaching of the Indian and the Hebrew, appears to be strengthened when we contemplate the distinction between the doctrines of the Jewish and the Hindoo sage. We have seen how they agree as regards the morality which they inculcate, the celibacy and poverty that they enjoin, the firm belief in preexistent, or original, sin, and in a future state of rewards or punishments. They differ in the veneration paid to antecedent authority. Sakya Muni believed in his own inspiration, and rejected the writings which were reverenced by his parents and Mends. Jesus seems to have believed that he was himself supplemental to Moses and the prophets. He did not want to destroy or to supersede them absolutely, as we learn from Matthew v. 17, and xxiii. 23. He had, apparently, an unbounded confidence in their truth, and, with an assurance in their sanctity, he spoke of their writings as the very words of God, and we shall see that the main, if not the only, points in which Jesus diverges from the Hindoo prophet were the products of the Hebrew's full belief in the sacred truth of the Jewish Scriptures.

The son of Mary taught, as the most important part of his doctrine, that the world would shortly come to an end, and that he was sent to show mankind, or, rather, the Jews, how to escape from the terrible catastrophe. I do not think it possible for anyone to read the words attributed to Jesus, and not recognize that this was the turning point upon which everything in his preaching hinged. Sakya Muni spoke of the future misery of all those who did not adopt his method of salvation; Jesus treated of the impending destruction of the whole world, of an immediate judgment of mankind, and of the certain punishment of the majority. That we are not uttering vague assertions we may show by reference to Matt. xxiv. 3, wherein we find certain disciples asking, "What shall be the sign of thy coming, and of the end of the world?" After a long preamble, telling of troubles and misery, we have the reply of Jesus in vv. 29 et seq.:—"Immediately after the tribulation of those days shall the sun be darkened, and the moon shall not give her light, and the stars shall fall from heaven, and the powers of the heavens shall be shaken: and then shall appear the sign of the Son of man in heaven: and then shall all the tribes of the earth mourn, and they shall see the Son of man coming in the clouds of heaven with power and great glory. And he shall send his angels with a great sound of a trumpet, and they shall gather together his elect from the four winds, from one end of heaven to another.... Verily I say unto you, This generation shall not pass, till all these things be fulfilled." This is substantially, and almost literally, repeated in Mark xiii. 26-30, and in Luke xxi. 32.*

In Matthew x. we find Jesus sending out his disciples as missionaries, saying to them (v. 7), "as ye go, preach, saying, the kingdom of heaven is at hand," a doctrine previously proclaimed by John (Matt iii. 2), and based upon some words of Isaiah and the more precise presages in Daniel See also Matt iv. 14-17; Luke ix. 2, and x. 9. We find a yet more important reference in Matt. xi. 14, in which Jesus is reported to have said, when speaking of John, "If ye will receive it, this is Elias, which was for to come." The observation here made plainly refers to an utterance of the Jewish Malachi, who, in his last two chapters, foreshadows the advent of a messenger, who should immediately precede the coming of the Lord to judge the world. There is yet another passage, of almost equal force, in Matt. xvi. 27, 28—"For the Son of man shall come in the glory of the Father with his angels, and then shall he reward every man according to his works. Verily I say unto you, there be some standing here which shall not taste of death till they see the Son of man coming in his kingdom." In Matt. xix. 28 we read, "Jesus said unto them, Verily I say unto you, that ye which have followed me, in the regeneration, when the Son of man shall sit in the throne of his glory, ye also shall sit upon twelve thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel," &c. Again, we see in Matt, xxv., after a parable intended to show the possibility of a sudden occurrence, the words, "Watch, therefore, for ye know neither the day nor the hour wherein the Son of man cometh." That this belief was due to the Jewish writings we judge from the frequent references made to them; and we may especially notice one which is attributed to Jesus after his resurrection, viz., "all things must be fulfilled which were written in the law of Moses, and in the prophets, and in the Psalms, concerning me." So firmly was the belief of an immediate judgment impressed upon the minds of Christians, that we find Paul affirming respecting it (1 Cor. xv.), "We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed... at the last trump" (vv. 31, 52). This is more decidedly enunciated in 1 Thess. iv. 15-17—"For this we say unto you by the word of the Lord, that we which are alive, and remain unto the coming of the Lord, shall not prevent them that are asleep. For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God, and the dead in Christ shall rise first. Then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air, and so shall we ever be with the Lord." Compare with this 2 Peter iii. 1-4, in which there is a repetition of the same leading idea, and with Acts i. 11, and ii. 16-36.

From these passages, it is unquestionable that Jesus preached that a destruction of the whole creation was imminent, and we, who have the light of history to guide us, can readily understand the powerful influence of the doctrine. We have read of panics, even in London, where some enthusiast has propounded the statement, that the world was to be destroyed upon a certain day, and can well believe, how a similar assertion would frighten ignorant, and, probably, learned Hebrew men. But, as time advanced, and generation after generation passed away, the original doctrine required to be modified. Yet it has never been quite given up, and to this day, a part of the system of Christianity is, to put faith in a second coming of Jesus, to judge the world. The "second coming" here referred to, frequently passes by the name of the Millennium, and earnest pietists believe that the son of Mary will come in the clouds of heaven with power and great glory, to punish all who do not believe in him; and to elevate the existing, and all other past saints, to be kings and priests in a new Jerusalem, wherein all will enjoy perfect happiness for a thousand years.

There is another point in connection between Buddha and Jesus, to which the biblical student should not fail to pay attention. The followers of the former had a perfect belief that each of them had lived in a previous state of existence. Upon this point not a doubt disturbed them. The disciples of the latter, however, had no such ideas, nor when propounded to them, did they apparently understand it. As far as we can judge from the first three Gospels, Jesus did not assert that he had ever existed prior to the time of his birth at Bethlehem. But in the fourth Gospel, written as almost every scholar believes, about A.D. 150, a claim is repeatedly made by Jesus, of having lived for an untold period, in the spirit world in company with the Father.

We will not enter here upon the grossness of thought, which is mingled with the better ideas of the writer of John's Gospel—a notion that involves the necessity for a celestial spouse of God; for if the son existed—"begotten by the father before all worlds," it could only be by some union—for the word "son" implies the necessity of a father and a mother—more especially when it is declared, that he was "begotten." Our chief business, however, is not with this point, but with the preËxistence of Jesus.

The assertions by which the claim to a preËxistence is recognized, may be found in the well known words in the beginning of John, also in the 10th verse—"The world was made by him." In these parts, the evangelist declares that Jesus was coeval with his father, which no son can be. In chap. iii. 13, we find, "no man hath ascended up to heaven, but he that came down from heaven, even the Son of man which is in heaven,"—a strange text indeed, which totally ignores the ascension of Enoch and Elijah—or which demonstrates that they lived in heaven before they were born on earth, and which still further makes Jesus say, that he was in heaven at the time when he was talking to Nicodemus! In chap, vi. 62, there is a similar idea, "and if ye shall see the Son of man ascend up where he was before." In chap. viii. 14 to 23, 38, and 56, a similar idea is propounded; and in v. 58, Jesus is made to assert positively, "before Abraham was, I am." In chap, xvi. 28, again, we read, "I came forth from the Father," and in chap. xvii. 5, we see, "and now, O Father, glorify thou me with thine own self with the glory which I had with thee before the world was."

We do not believe that the son of Mary made these assertions himself, nor did the son of Maya. But Sakya Muni had not long been dead, before his disciples promulgated the doctrine that he was, in reality, a part of the Supreme, who had existed for everlasting, and had been manifested in the flesh to become a teacher; what his followers did for Buddha, it was natural that others should do for Christ. It may be that the latter were stimulated to do so by noticing the former, but it is quite as probable that the idea of glorification came spontaneously to both sets of men. Whichever view of the case we may take, one thing is certain, viz., that both Buddhists and Christians, have, from the death of their respective masters, done everything in their power, century by century, to augment the claims of each, until indeed, individuals are found, who regard Sakya Muni as the Supreme, and Jesus the All in All. The learned historian may trace in the East, the rise of Buddha's influence in some spots, and its decadence in others; and, when he looks nearer home, he may see the gradual fall of Jesus, and the rise of Mary amongst the Papists, whilst amongst the Protestants, the son has been raised even above the Father. Not many months have passed, since a clever preacher and thoughtful man, told me that he was determined to see nothing in the world but Christ—for whatever was done, he felt a certain confidence that it was done by him, and for his glory.

We see then, that both Buddhism and Christianity have been founded on the assertion that mankind suffers pain, misery, and death, in consequence of antecedent criminality before "The Great Master"—that men will be punished after death for certain sins committed in this life; and that they can attain to salvation by adopting the precepts and practice laid down by Buddha and by Christ. Those who preach these doctrines are sure of the facts that misery exists, and that man desires to escape it. According, then, to the painting of the one, and the earnest promise of the other, all teachers of the two sects have a strong hold upon the imagination of their followers. I assert, without fear of contradiction from any thoughtful man, that the main inducements held out by our divines to persuade their hearers to embrace Christianity, are an awful painting of the horrors of hell, and an assurance not only of escaping it, but of gaining a place quite different to the Devil's kingdom, provided only that the plan adopted by the theologian is followed to the letter. Neither Buddhists nor Christians seem ever to have studied the laws of nature, or the works of the Supreme, with any largeness of mind or understanding. Had they done so, they would alter their views respecting sin entirely, and they would attribute the miseries of life to their proper cause.

It will be interesting to the reader, if we now endeavour to remove from the two religious systems, of which we treat, all those parts, which are to my mind, clearly imaginary; and examine what is left behind. There is nothing beyond a skeleton of morality, pure and simple. But even the morality is not based upon common sense. It is tainted by what every thinker must regard as absurdities. For example, when Siddartha instructed his disciples to become ascetics, and live upon alms, he did recognize the fact, that, if all men adopted his law, they must starve; for not one would have anything to give. In like manner, when Jesus of Nazareth sent off his disciples without any provision for their subsistence; and when he preached, "take no thought for the morrow," he did not appear to take in the idea, that if all the world became converted to his doctrine, all would suffer, and die of hunger. It is, therefore, quite as necessary for a modern philosopher, to correct some of the better parts of the doctrines of the sons of Maya Devi, and Mary, as it is to emendate their worst features. If such an one were to pretend—or to believe, that he was "inspired" to rectify the dispensation of Siddartha and Jesus, as the latter thought himself commissioned to improve upon, or to fulfil the law of Moses—it is probable that he would be regarded as a prophet; but if he should only try to coax men to think, rather than drive them to believe, he would be unheeded by the majority. Nor after all, does it much signify. Sheep are tolerably comfortable whoever the shepherd may be, and if there should be a fight between rivals for the ownership of a flock, the quadrupeds do not care, so long as they are not trained to fight, to fast, or to live on an animal diet.

When any one speaks of the morality, pure and simple, inculcated by Sakya Muni and Jesus, it is a fair question to ask whether asceticism is included therein. In other words, is there anything of the nature of absolute goodness in the attempt to make oneself miserable? Or, to vary the question still further—granting, for the sake of argument, that it is intrinsically right in the sight of God to abstain from such of our propensities as induce us to marry, to eat, drink, and sleep heartily, to fight a duel with a rival, to steal, to lie, to covet, and the like,—granting, too, that every such abstinence is entered as "an asset" on the creditor side of the books of Heaven—is it an equally available item to abstain from brotherly love and comfort generally? The logician sees clearly that there is no distinction in kind between controlling one set of animal passions and another, and is forced to allow that if it be a commendable thing to avoid indulging in one carnal appetite, it is still more commendable to endeavour to counteract them all Consequently, by granting the premisses, we find ourselves landed in a difficulty. If universal asceticism were to prevail, it is clear that man would be opposing himself to the manifest designs of the Creator, as shown in the world at large; and we cannot conceive, that direct disobedience to instincts, implanted in us by our Maker, can be anything but an item on the debtor side in the books, which Jewish writers have said that He keeps. Thus we are driven to investigate the very assertions which in the commencement of our inquiry we took for granted, and to ask ourselves, is there really any intrinsic value in morality in the sight of God? Can a most virtuous life command for the individual who has practised it an eternity of bliss? Jesus answers this tolerably distinctly in the words reported in Luke xvii. 10, "When ye shall have done all those things which are commanded you, say, We are unprofitable servants: we have done that which it was our duty to do." But we doubt whether this dictum enunciates sufficiently clearly the abstract value of morality. To ascertain this we must endeavour to read the book of nature on other pages than those which treat of man.

There can be no doubt in the mind of a thoughtful observer that man and the lower animals have much in common—that; all have been framed with a purpose, and are ruled by natural laws. Some creatures excel in cunning, some in reason, some in activity, some in sloth—all have certain proclivities. In some, instinct leads them to eat grass, boughs, leaves, and fruits; in others, it teaches them to seek insects or other creatures for their food. All have, more or less, periodically a propensity to propagate;—which is attended in some by a pairing off of male and female, who consort for the purpose of having offspring and assisting each other in rearing them. In others, either where there is naturally an equality of the sexes or a preponderance of males, the latter instinctively fight with each other for a single mate, or for a number of females. Again, in the case of animals actuated by hunger, or by other motives, there are frequent battles, and the conquered is not only killed, but eaten. Or where two or more sets of animals are living, the one on land, the other in the air, we may find that one will rob the other. Nothing, for example, is much more common than for rats and crows to steal eggs, or for tigers to commit murder. Nature, then, being such as we find it, we cannot assert—reasonably—that a young stag when he covets a neighbour's wife and fights her present consort, for property in her, commits a crime against the Almighty,—nor can we say that a fox which steals a goose will be sent to hell. On the other hand, we should never think of commending a hungry lion for abstaining from killing a harmless lamb, nor of declaring that he has done a good action in the sight of heaven. In like manner, a writer in proverbs tells us that "men do not despise a thief if he steal to satisfy his soul when he is hungry,"—and the general consent of mankind refuses to see the crime of murder in the slaughter of one, out of a miserable boat's crew, who is killed and eaten that the survivors may escape death from hunger. Society, too, is somewhat lenient when two men fight for the love of such a woman as Helen. But we readily recognise the fact that a community, or even a family, would be weakened and disorganized if theft was encouraged, and every pretty female was the cause of close fighting between man and man. Hence we see that, in reality, that which is called "the moral law," is a code which is intended to influence social life in this world, and not the position of human beings in the next.

However much we might desire to think the contrary, we are driven to the belief that the moral precepts inculcated on the Jews, the Buddhists, and the Christians, had a human, and, we may add, a political origin. Taking the Bible even as being what many believe it to be—the inspired word of God—we must nevertheless allow that such a code as that book contains in Exodus and elsewhere, existed in Egypt long before the departure of the Jews from that country. Had not murder been prohibited on the Nile bank, Moses would not have run away to escape the penalty for homicide. Because the Mizraim punished killing, were they taught of God?

The natural answer to this query when it is addressed to a bibliolater is that the Egyptians were taught by God to punish murder with death through the intervention of their forefather, Ham, who heard the command given by God to Noah, "Whoso sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed," Gen. ix. 6. But if the Egyptians thus knew the law, so the descendants of Shem must have learned it also; and if so, what need was there to repeat it amongst the thunders of Sinai. It is plain from the romantic legend of Joseph and Potiphar's wife: first, that the Hebrew slave feared to commit adultery, as it was a great wickedness and a sin against God, Gen. xxxix. 9; and, secondly, that the Egyptian considered it a crime in anyone to violate the wife of another. But neither Joseph nor Potiphar could by any possibility have heard of the laws enunciated on Sinai. So, if we could inquire farther, we should most assuredly learn that the Mizraim venerated their parents, punished theft, and took means to prevent and to punish perjury. If, then, the Egyptians had, long before they ever heard of a Jew, the same commandments amongst them which were subsequently enunciated in the wilderness, we can only come to the conclusion that the Hebrew writer who told the story of Sinai, gave the god whom he described, a great deal of unnecessary work. Can we for a moment suppose that the Jews when in Egypt had their wives in common?—and if each man had his mate, and each woman her husband, it is almost self-evident that adultery would not be tolerated amongst them. As there were therefore distinct moral laws long before the Exodus, the decalogue was entirely superfluous.

The morality inculcated by teachers is nothing more than instructions for mankind how to attain the greatest harmony amongst their fellows. It is very natural for a thoughtless man to assert that one who wilfully disturbs the general comfort of the human family during his life-time, shall be tormented eternally after his death; and, on the other hand, to proclaim that he who does everything in his power to increase the happiness of his fellow-men shall be rewarded in a heaven above, with everlasting music, or other delights; yet we may fairly doubt the averments, for both are founded entirely upon human ideas of right and wrong, justice and injustice. The prevalent idea is, that everything which to some man seems to be wrong on earth, will be righted in another sphere—Even Jesus appears to have adopted this view, for he talks (Luke xvi) of a Dives and Lazarus—the one, a rich man who fared sumptuously every day, and the other a beggar, full of sores, who longed for the crumbs from wealth's table. After the deaths of these two people, we are told that the rich man went to Hell, and the poor one to Heaven, not—apparently—because one was bad and the other good; but simply because misery in the present is sure to be changed into luxury for the future, and vice versa. We see this doctrine distinctly enunciated by the imaginary Abraham, in whose bosom Lazarus lay, for he remarks (Luke xvi. 25), "Son, remember that thou in thy lifetime receivedst thy good things, and likewise Lazarus evil things; but now he is comforted and thou art tormented." We nowhere find that his position was a reward to the beggar for virtue or morality. There is also a current doctrine that he whom we call a vile man—one who indulges his brutal desires, shall in another world become more brutalized—meeting with, and being beaten by, powers whose mischievous propensities are superior to his own; whilst, on the other hand, he whom we call a saint, one who endeavours to subdue the affections of the flesh in this world, shall be able to indulge in any desire that he may have, in the next, unlimitedly. In short, each individual makes a Heaven for himself, and a Hell for his neighbours. I have heard, in days gone by, a Southern States lady say she would not go to heaven, willingly, if she knew that she should meet negroes there on terms of equality.

In rejoinder to these considerations, the question is put, "Could the world be habitable by men, without the existence amongst them of a belief in a future state, in which rewards and punishments shall be meted out for supposed misdeeds committed in the present?" It is well for us to look the matter in the face boldly, and ask ourselves whether fierce tigers, angry bulls, combative stags, kindred devouring rats, offspring eating alligators, infanticidal birds and pigs have succeeded in extirpating their race? There are herds, without number, of graminivorous animals in Africa, and thousands of carnivorous creatures who could not exist without murdering some of the former; yet the slaughter committed by scores of lions does not annihilate antelopes. In like manner there are many folks who have lived in sundry islands of the Pacific without an idea, so far as we can learn, of an eternity, who sometimes spend their leisure time in fighting with and eating each other, and occasionally unite to kill a shark: each individual lives and dies like any other animal, but the race remains. Even the systematic "hellishness" of persecution indulged in by the followers of Jesus in the middle ages did not extirpate the Jews; and if organized murders, such as were, in days gone by, sanctioned by individuals wielding the sceptre of powerful governments, could not cut off from existence a comparatively feeble race, surely we may conclude that a nation can continue populous even if any individual, in a fit of passion, should rise against his fellow and smite him to the dust. But we need not go to New Zealand, China, and Japan to prove that men can live in a community without an idea of eternity, for we have only to refer to the Jews, the so-called people of God. To them no knowledge of eternal life was given, consequently we infer that Jehovah knew that they would get along in the world very well without it. What Elohim thought was unnecessary, it is not for man to propound as important.

When the modern Christian philosopher—and there really are a few who deserve the term—finds that the morality of Jesus did not materially differ from that of Sakya Muni, he endeavours to show that the doctrine of "faith in the son of God" is of more value than simple propriety, and that even the most virtuous life will not enable a man to attain to paradise unless he holds the Catholic faith. When the "Catholic faith," as it is termed, is placed in such a position, we are bound to examine its pretensions, and inquire in what way doctrines or dogmas are better than morality, and whether they are in any way superior to what the orthodox call "irreligion." To my mind the best method of solving the question is an appeal to history. If, as it is contended by the orthodox, the teaching of Christianity is far above that of any other religion, then it must follow that all those who believe in it, or even profess it, must be paragons amongst men as citizens and rulers. To what extent many theologians believe in this axiom may be judged by the frequency with which we hear, from the pulpit, an old anecdote to the effect, that the expression, "see how these Christians love one another," was, in olden time, nearly equal to the most powerful sermon in favour of the religion of Jesus. Without pointing a sneer, by requesting my readers to substitute the word Buddhists for Christians, let me lay the very heavy charge against the leaders of the faith, that the words in question are the heaviest condemnation possible against the supposed value of the doctrines of the son of Mary, as formerly and at present expounded. "See how these Christians love!" Aye, see how they love—read their own histories of the past, and their newspapers in the present; attend their meetings; listen to their speeches; and even follow them into private life. In every position "see how these Christians love one another" is the damning sentence which tells of the real value of the doctrine attributed to the son of Mary. Whilst I write (Jan. 7, 1870), a council, called OEcumenical, consisting of Roman Catholic Christian bishops, summoned to the capital of ancient Italy from all parts of the world, is sitting, and one of the subjects of its deliberation is, whether a certain individual, elected by men to assume the direction of a community of men holding a particular faith in common, shall be regarded, by those who join such branch of the church, as absolutely infallible in every statement of opinion which he makes as a high priest. Men positively have met to clothe, and now have invested, a man with an attribute of God, and millions of Christians will, by those men, be compelled to consider themselves bound by the decision! "See how these Christians love!" they are persecuted by the world at first, then they persecute their oppressors, and massacre each other; educated by Jesus, they gradually encourage ignorance until they reach a superstition as crass as the darkness of a dense fog in a moonless night. They oppose the advancement of knowledge and science, then, by degrees, endeavour to exalt each other, until, by common consent, they deify the chieftain of the order. There is not a known crime of which the leaders of the Christian church, as it is called, have not been guilty, both as men and ecclesiastical rulers. "See how these Christians love!" Yet these very men endeavour to deride, and affect to despise, those whom they call the godless. The latter, taking their stand upon morality and common sense, aver that all affairs between man and his maker ought to be referred to the arbitrement of Heaven. The Christian hierarchs, on the contrary, declare that they are the earthly agents of heaven, and that they, and the secular arm—a very mundane court—can act just as well, perhaps better, than the Supreme Judge. We will not say whether it was a pleasant pastime for the Spanish, and other Inquisitors, to torture individuals who were thought to be inimical to the true faith, inasmuch as we do not know their inmost mind; but we asseverate that all Europe, except those who had the power of persecution, and used it, rejoiced greatly when the enthusiastic armies, of what was designated atheistic France, annihilated the so-called Holy Inquisition.

I speak with sober earnestness when I say, that after forty years' experience amongst those who profess Christianity, and those who proclaim, more or less quietly, their disagreement with it, I have noticed more sterling virtue and morality amongst the last than the first. Though I thus express myself, I must also acknowledge my belief in the dictum, "that many men are better than their creeds would make them," and, consequently, that all men are not to be taken as characteristic of their system of belief. I know, personally, many pious, sterling, good Christian people, whom I honour, admire, and, perhaps, would be glad to emulate or to equal; but they deserve the eulogy thus passed on them in consequence of their good sense having ignored the doctrine of faith to a great degree, and having cultivated the practice of good works. They have picked out the best bits of the Bible, and rejected the worst. In my judgment the most praiseworthy Christians whom I know are modified Buddhists, though, probably, not one of them ever heard of Siddartha. I would gladly trace their character, but I forbear, as I think they would be horrified at the thought of my comparing them with those whom they have been taught to regard as followers of a false prophet, or something worse. Let it suffice to say that I honour consistent reasonable Christians everywhere, and that whatever remarks I make which seem to be opposed to this, are directed against those whose doctrines, morality, and conduct, ostensibly built upon the Bible, are irrational and bad.

Since the preceding remarks were written, there have appeared three very remarkable works upon Buddhism in addition to those which I have already noticed—and they have the advantage for general readers, of being clothed in an English dress. The first which I will notice, is Travels of Fah-Hian and Sung-Yun: Buddhist Pilgrims from China to India (408 A.D., and 518 a.d.; London, TrÜbner, 1869, small 8vo. pp. 208.) This work is remarkable as illustrating the fact, that there has been the idea, even in China, of sending men, or of devout persons spontaneously going, to distant places, to endeavour to seek for more perfect religious knowledge, than they believe themselves and their teachers to possess where they are. With such an example before us, we can give more easy credence to the stories told of Pythagoras, of Solon, and Herodotus; how they visited distant countries to learn the way of God and man more perfectly. Nor must we pass by the proof, which the journey of the Chinese travellers affords, that, what may be called missionary zeal is not an apanage of Christianity alone. An account of their travels will be found in the next chapter. The second publication to which we refer, is Buddhaghosa's Parables, translated from the Burmese, by Capt. T. Rogers; with an introduction containing Buddha's Dhammapada, or Path of Virtue, translated from the PÂli, by Max MÜller; London, Trubner & Co., 1870, 8vo. pp. 374. This work is of such importance to all students of the Science of Religion, that we shall notice it in a separate essay. The third contribution, is The Modern Buddhist, being the views of a Siamese Minister of State, on his own and other religions, translated, with remarks, by Henry Alabaster, interpreter of H. B. M., consulate-general in Siam; London, Triibner & Co., 1870, small 8vo. pp. 91. This has now arrived at a second edition, and is called The Wheel of the Law.

This last book is, perhaps, the most interesting of the three, inasmuch as it enables us to compare the modern development of the religion of Buddha, and that of Christ. It enables us, moreover, to see ourselves and modern Christian doctrines as others see them, and to discover the essential points at issue, between the followers of the son of Maya Devi, and of Mary.

The first point to which we would call attention, is the statement that the Siamese are nowhere excelled in the sincerity of their belief, and the liberality with which they support their religion. "In Bangkok alone, there are more than a hundred monasteries, and ten thousand monks and novices. More than this, every male Siamese, sometime during his life, and generally in the prime of it, takes orders as a monk, and retires for some months or years, to practise abstinence and meditation in a monastery." Against this, or side by side with it, what can Great Britain, or any other Christian country show? We have, it is true, plenty of monasteries in Christendom, and in the majority of western kingdoms, there are colleges and universities for the education of youth, and there is, in some such institutions, a pretence of meditation and of abstinence. Yet the finger of scandal points, and has pointed, for many hundred years, to the disreputable conduct pursued in almost the whole of such Christian institutions; whereas, not even its enemies can find evidence to convict Buddhist ascetics of indulging in sensual gratifications of any kind whatever.

We learn, from Mr Alabaster's preface, that the late king of Siam, though "eminent amongst monks for his knowledge of the Buddhist scriptures, boldly preached against the canonicity of those of them, whose relations were opposed to his reason, and his knowledge of modern science." "His powers as a linguist were considerable, and enabled him to use an English library with facility." They are his views—which royal etiquette prevented him from writing, that inspired his prime minister. What have we here? Surely it is an example that British rulers, and especially divines, should follow. Yet with all our boasted skill, science, and powers of thought, our theologians prefer to preach, and to uphold, doctrines which they know to be repugnant, both to reason and to science, rather than abandon that which was propounded when reason and knowledge were almost in their infancy. Certainly, in this respect, the believers in Sakya Muni show themselves more sensible than those in Jesus.

Again, let us quote the following paragraph—pointing out the analogy we wish to draw, by using a literary contrivance—and calling attention to the fact, that no Roman Catholic authority in Christian Europe, has yet dared to say, what a Buddhist ruler does.

"Our {Siamese \ Papal} literature is not only scanty, but nonsensical, full of stories of {genii \ saints} stealing {women \ relics} and {men \ saints} fighting with {genii \ devils} and {extraordinary persons\ Elijah and Philip} who could fly through the air, and bring dead people to life. And, even those works, which profess to teach anything, generally teach it wrong; so that there is not the least profit, though one studies them from morning to night" (p. 7).

The following observation is equally powerful—Chaya. Phya. Praklang—the name of the Siamese author, might, "as a Buddhist, believe in the existence of a God, sublimed above all human qualities and attributes—a perfect God, above love, and hatred, and jealousy, calmly resting in a quiet happiness that nothing could disturb; and of such a God he would speak no disparagement, not from a desire to please Him, or fear to offend Him, but from natural veneration. But he cannot understand a God with the attributes and qualities of men, a God who loves and hates, and shows anger, a Deity, who, whether described to him by Christian Missionaries, or by Mahometans, Brahmins, or Jews, falls below his standard of even an ordinary good man" (p. 25).

After the passages which we have quoted, the translator gives many pages of accounts of conversation between missionaries and the Siamese minister, which well repay a perusal. They are too long for quotation entire, but there are three paragraphs that deserve commemoration, as they show us the reasoning powers of the Buddhist in favourable contrast to the bigotry of his would-be instructor. "I said, 'then you consider that even a stone in the bladder is created by God?' He replied, 'Yes, everything, God creates everything.' 'Then,' answered I, if that is so, God creates in man that which will cause his death, and you medical missionaries remove it, and restore his health! Are you not opposing God by so doing? Are you not offending Him in curing those whom He would kill?' When I had said this the missionary became angry, and saying 'I was hard to teach,' left me" (p. 29). Again, when he and Dr Gutzlaff were discussing the story of the creation and "the fall," as taught in the Christian and Jewish Bible, and the Buddhist has clearly the best of the argument, the missionary told him, that if any spoke as the minister had been doing in European countries, he would be put in prison—and Chaya Phya adds, "I invite particular attention to this statement" (p. 34). Thus, not only in other parts of his work, but here also, he points out how that which Christian emissaries say is "a religion of peace on earth and good will to men" is, in reality, one of intolerance and persecution, even on the showing of its own ministers. In the third example to which I refer, Gutzlaff is again talking with Chaya upon the curse of man, and the Siamese speaks thus—"Besides, the Bible says, by belief in Christ, man shall escape the consequences of Eve's sin; yet I cannot see that men do so escape in any degree, but suffer just as others do." The missionary answered, "It is waste of time to converse with evil men, who will not be taught, and so he left me" (p. 35). When men like Gutzlaff, who is really eminent in his way, can be so readily silenced and put to flight by a native of Siam, whose mind is not familiar with the science and logical training of European thinkers, it is by no means surprising that cultivated Englishmen should refuse to believe in the childish stories and foolish doctrines that are promulgated by Christians at home, as being an inspired and infallible revelation from the Almighty. Alas, for our country and her people! they have much to unlearn as well as to learn before they can lay a fair claim to the position which they assume to hold.

We may next quote the following, as being useful to missionary societies here. After having described the religion of Papists, Protestants, and Mormons, Chaya says, "All these three sects worship the same God and Christ, why, then, should they blame each other, and charge each other with believing wrongfully, and say to each other, 'You are wrong, and will go to Hell; we are right, and shall go to Heaven?' You make us think that it is one religion which Christians hold, yet how can we join it when each party threatens us with Hell if we agree with another sect, and there is none to decide between them? I beg comparison of this with the teaching of the Lord Buddha, that whoever endeavours to keep the commandments, and is charitable, and walks virtuously, must attain to Heaven" (p. 43). The commandments referred to are—

1st. Thou shalt not destroy nor cause the destruction of any living thing.

2d. Thou shalt not, either by fraud or violence, obtain or keep that which belongs to another.

3d. Thou shall not lie carnally with any but proper objects for thy lust.

4th. Thou shalt not attempt, either by word or action, to lead others to believe that which is not true.

5th. Thou shalt not become intoxicated.

We much fear, that if the commandments which nominal Christians observe are contrasted with those kept by the Buddhists, that the former must be regarded as much lower in the scale of religious civilization than the latter.

The Siamese author next discusses the question, "how shall a man select that religion which he can trust to for his future happiness?" His answer is, "He must reflect, and apply his mind to ascertain which comes nearest to truth." Then follow a few very true remarks about the difficulty of shaking off any faith once adopted—about the causes which determine men to change their belief, and, in illustration of the difficulties, the author quotes a sermon by Buddha to those who were in doubt, and desired to select a right religion. "And the Lord Buddha answered, You are right to doubt, for it was a doubtful matter. I say unto all of you, do not believe in what ye have heard, that is, when you have heard anyone say this is especially good or extremely bad; do not reason with yourselves, that if it had not been true it would not have been asserted, and so believe in its truth. Neither have faith in traditions, because they have been handed down for many generations, and in many places.

"Do not believe in anything because it is rumoured and spoken of by many; do not think that is a proof of its truth.

"Do not believe merely because the written statement of some old sage is produced; do not be sure that the writing has ever been revised by the said sage, or can be relied on. Do not believe in what you have fancied, thinking that, because an idea is extraordinary, it must have been implanted by a Deva, or some wonderful being.

"Do not believe in guesses, that is, assuming something at haphazard, as a starting point, and then drawing conclusions from it—reckoning your two and your three and your four before you have fixed your number one.

"Do not believe because you think there is an analogy, that is, a suitability in things and occurrences—such as believing that there must be walls of the world because you see water in a basin, or that Mount Meru must exist because you have seen the reflection of trees, or that there must be a creating god because houses and towers have builders.

"Do not believe in the truth of that to which you have become attached by habit, as every nation believes in the superiority of its own dress, and ornaments, and language.

"Do not believe because your informant appears to be a credible person, as, for instance, when you see anyone having a very sharp appearance, conclude that he must be clever and trustworthy: or, when you see anyone who has powers and abilities beyond what men generally possess, believe in what he tells; or think that a great nobleman is to be believed, as he would not be raised by the king to high station unless he were a good man.

"Do not believe merely on the authority of your teachers and masters, or believe and practise merely because they believe and practise.

"I tell you all, you must of yourselves know, that 'this is evil, this is punishable, this is censured by wise men, belief in this will bring no advantage to anyone, but will cause sorrow;' and when you know this, then eschew it" (pp. 45-47). Then follows a long account of the examples which Buddha gave to his disciples, examining them by questions, whose answer is obvious; but these, though wonderfully to the point, are too long for quotation, and we must refer our readers to the book itself. Nor do we act thus, reluctantly, for we believe that every honest inquirer will thank us for the introduction. We should rejoice if some of our divines became acquainted with it. They might draw as many valuable texts from the discourses attributed to Buddha, herein described, as they do now from Jesus' sermon on the mount. We may add, in passing, that, in the conversation of Sakya Muni, he says, "it is better to believe in a future life, in which happiness or misery can be felt, for if the heart believes therein, it will abandon sin and act virtuously; and even if there is no resurrection, such a life will bring a good name and the regard of men. But those who believe in extinction at death, will not fail to commit any sin that they may choose, because of their disbelief in a future; and if there should happen to be a future after all, they will be at a disadvantage—they will be like travellers without provisions" (p. 54).

The following exposition of modern Buddhist belief well deserves attention.

"Buddhists believe that every act, word, or thought, has its consequence, which will appear sooner or later in the present, or in some future state. Evil acts will produce evil consequences, i.e., may cause a man misfortune in this world, or an evil birth in hell, or as an animal in some future existence. Good acts, etc., will produce good consequences; prosperity in this world, or birth in heaven, or in a high position in the world in some future state" (p. 57).

We will only add, that if the value of Buddhism, like Christianity, is to be known by its fruits, it is clear, that the former, as practised generally in Siam, is decidedly superior to the latter as practised in Great Britain, America, and Christendom, generally.