1. They must be accepted by the sectaries of the religion to which they belong as being either inspired, or, if the nature of the faith precludes this idea, as containing the highest wisdom to which it is possible for man to attain, and indeed a much higher wisdom than can be reached by ordinary men. Nor do those who accept these books ever expect to attain it. They regard the authors, or supposed authors, as enlightened to a degree which is beyond the reach of their disciples, and receive their words as utterances of an unquestionable authority. But wherever a divine being is acknowledged, these books are regarded as emanating from him. Either they have fallen direct from heaven and been merely "seen" by their human editors, as was the case with the Vedic hymns; or their contents have been communicated in colloquies to holy men by the Deity himself, as happened with the Avesta; or an angel has revealed them to the prophet while in a fit or a state of ecstacy, as Mahomet was made acquainted with the Suras of the Koran; or lastly, as is held to have been the case with the Jewish and Christian Scriptures, the mind of the writer has been at least so guided and informed by the Spirit of God, that in the words traced by his pen it was impossible he should err.
Such a conviction is expressly stated in the Second Epistle to Timothy, where it is said that "all Scripture is given by inspiration of God." And a claim to even more than inspiration is put forward in the Apocalypse, whose author first calls his work "the Revelation of Jesus Christ," which he says God sent to him by an angel deputed for the purpose, and then proceeds to describe voices heard, and visions perceived; thus resting his prophetic knowledge not on supernatural information communicated to the mind, but on the direct testimony of his senses.
2. With this theory of inspiration, or of a more than human knowledge and wisdom, is closely connected an idea of merit to be obtained by reading such books, or hearing them read. With tedious iteration is this notion asserted in the later works of the Buddhist Canon. These indeed represent the degeneracy of the idea. One of them is so filled with the panegyrics pronounced upon itself by the Buddha or his hearers, and with the recital of the advantages to be obtained by him who reads it, that the student searches in vain under this mass of laudations for the substance of the book itself (H. B. I., p. 536). A Sûtra translated by Schlagintweit from the Thibetan, and bearing the marks (according to its translator) of having been written at a period of "mystic modification of Buddhism," promises that, at a future period of intense and general distress this Sûtra "will be an ablution for every kind of sin which has been committed in the meantime: all animated beings shall read it, and on account of it all sins shall be wiped away" (B. T., p. 139). In another Sûtra, termed the Karanda vyuha, a great saint is introduced as exhorting his hearers to study this treatise, the efficaciousness of which he highly exalts (H. B. I., p. 222). Another speaker recites in several stanzas the advantages which will accrue to him who either reads the Karanda vyuha or hears it read (Ibid., p. 226). Such was the force of the idea that the mere mechanical reading or copying of the sacred texts was in itself meritorious, that, by a still further separation of the outward action from its rational signification, the purely unintelligent process of turning a cylinder on which sentences of Scripture were printed came to be regarded as equally efficacious. An author who has given an interesting account of these cylinders observes that, as few men in Thibet knew how to read, and those who did had not time to exercise their powers, "the Lamas cast about for an expedient to enable the ignorant and the much-occupied man also to obtain the spiritual advantages" (namely, purification from sin and exemption from metempsychosis) "attached to an observance of the practice mentioned; they taught that the mere turning of a rolled manuscript might be considered an efficacious substitute for reading it." So completely does the one process take the place of the other that "each revolution of the cylinder is considered to be equal to the reading of as many sacred sentences or treatises as are enclosed in it, provided that the turning of the cylinder is done slowly and from right to left;" the slowness being a sign of a devout mind, and the direction of turning being a curious remnant of the original practice of reading, in which, as the letters run from left to right, the eye must move over them in that direction (B. T., pp. 230, 231). Similar sentiments, though not pushed to the same extravagance, prevail among the Hindus. One of the Brâhmanas, or treatises appended to the metrical portion of the Vedas, lays down the principle that "of all the modes of exertion, which are known between heaven and earth, study of the Veda occupies the highest rank (in the case of him) who, knowing this, studies it" (O. S. T., vol. iii. p. 22). Manu, one of the highest of Indian authorities, observes that "a Brahman who should destroy these three worlds, and eat food received from any quarter whatever, would incur no guilt if he retained in his memory the Rig Veda. Repeating thrice with intent mind the Sanhitâ of the Rik, or the Yajush, or the Sâman, with the Upanishads, he is freed from all his sins. Just as a clod thrown into a great lake is dissolved when it touches the water, so does all sin sink in the triple Veda" (Ibid., vol. iii. p. 25). Reading the Holy Scriptures is with the Parsees a positive duty. And these works, read in the proper spirit, are thought to exert upon earth an influence somewhat similar to that of the primeval Word at the origin of created beings (Z. A. Q., p. 595). It is needless to speak of the importance attached among Jews and Christians to the reading and re-reading of their Bibles, or of the spiritual benefits supposed to result therefrom. It is worth remarking, however, that this constant perusal of Holy Writ is altogether a different operation from that of studying it for the sake of knowing its contents. People read continually what they are already perfectly familiar with, and they neither gain, nor expect to gain, any fresh information from the performance. And this is a species of reading to which among Christian nations the Bible alone is subjected.
The genesis of this notion is not difficult to follow. Once let a given work be accepted as containing information on religious questions which man's unaided faculties could not have attained, and it is evident that there is no better way of qualifying himself for the performance of his obligations towards heaven than by studying that work. Its perusal and re-perusal will increase his knowledge of divine things, and render him more and more fit, the oftener he repeats it, to put that knowledge into practice. But if it is thus advantageous to the devout man to be familiar with the sacred writings of his faith, it is plain that the attention he gives to them must be in the highest degree agreeable to the divinity from whom they emanate. For, to put it on the lowest ground, it is a sign of respect. It renders it evident that he is not indifferent to the communication which his God has been pleased to make. It evinces a pious and reverential disposition. Hence not only is the reader benefited by such a study, but the Deity is pleased by it. Or if the books are not conceived as inspired by any deity, yet a careful attention to them shows a desire for wisdom, and a humble regard for the instructions of more highly-gifted men who in these religions stand in the place of gods. Thus the action of reading these works, and becoming thoroughly familiar with their contents, is for natural reasons regarded as meritorious. But this is not all. An act which at first is meritorious as a means, tends inevitably to become meritorious as an end. Moreover, actions frequently repeated for some definite reason come to be repeated when that reason is absent. Thus, the reading of Sacred Books, originally a profitable exercise to the mind of the reader, is soon undertaken for its own sake, whether the mind of the reader be concerned in it or not. And the action, having become habitual, is stereotyped as a religious custom, and therefore a religious obligation. The words of the holy books are read aloud to a congregation, without effort or intelligence on their part, perhaps in a tongue which they do not comprehend. Even if the vernacular be employed, there is not the pretence of an effort to penetrate the sense of difficult passages. Holy Writ has become a charm, to be mechanically read and as mechanically heard, and the notion of merit—arising in the first instance from the high importance of understanding its meaning with a view to practicing its precepts—now attaches to the mere repetition of the consecrated words.
3. The exact converse of this unintelligent reverence for the sacred writings is the excessive and over-subtle exercise of intelligence upon them. It is the common fate of such works to be made the subject of the most minute, most careful, and most constant scrutiny to which any of the productions of the human mind can be subjected. The pious and the learned alike submit them to an unceasing study. No phrase, no word, no letter, passes unobserved. The result of this devout investigation naturally is, that much which in reality belongs to the mind of the reader is attributed to that of the writer. Approached with the fixed prepossession that they contain vast stores of superhuman wisdom, that which is so eagerly sought from them is certain to be found. Hence the natural and simple meaning of the words is set aside, or is relegated to a secondary place. All sorts of forced interpretations are put upon them with a view of compelling them to harmonize with that which it is supposed they ought to mean. Statements, doctrines, and allusions are discovered in them which not only have no existence in their pages, but which are absolutely foreign to the epoch at which they were written. This process of false interpretation is greatly favored by distance of time. When an ancient book is approached by those who know but little of the external circumstances, or of the intellectual and spiritual atmosphere, of the age in which it was composed, much that was simple and plain enough to the contemporaries of the writer will be dubious and obscure to them. And when they are determined to find in the venerable classic nothing but perfect truth, the result of such conditions is an inevitable confusion. Their own actual notions of truth must at all hazards be discovered in the sacred pages. The assumption cannot be surrendered; all that does not agree with it must therefore be suitably explained.
Are proceedings or actions which shock the improved morality of a later age spoken of with approbation in the canonical books? Some evasion must be discovered which will reconcile ethics with belief. Are doctrines which the religion of a later age rejects plainly enunciated, or statements of facts, which later investigation has shown to be impossible, unequivocally made? The inconvenient passages must be shown to bear another construction. Are there portions whose character appears too trivial or too mundane to be consistent with the dignity of works given for the instruction of mankind? These portions must be shown to possess a mystical significance; a spirit hidden beneath the letter; profound instruction veiled under ordinary phrases. Are the dogmas cherished as of supreme importance by subsequent generations unhappily not to be found in the text of Revelation? These dogmas must be read out of them by putting a strain upon words which apparently refer to some other subject. Perhaps, if they are not contained in them totidem verbis, they may be totidem syllabis: or if not even totidem syllabis, at least totidem literis. And the absence of a letter (like the k in shoulder-knots) can always be got over somehow. Lastly, are there palpable contradictions? At whatever cost they must be explained away, for Holy Writ, being inspired, can never contradict itself.
Let us consider a few of the most striking examples of these methods of treatment. China, usually so matter of fact, has manifested in this field a subtlety of interpretation not altogether unworthy of the more mystical India. The Ch'un Ts'ëw, one of the books of the Chinese Canon, is a historical compilation attributed to Confucius himself, and is therefore of more than ordinary authority even for a Sacred Book. Concerning one of the years of which it contains a record, the following statements are made:—
"In the ninth month, on Kang-seuk, the first day of the moon, the sun was eclipsed.
"In winter, in the tenth month, on Kang-shin, the first day of the moon, the sun was eclipsed" (C. C., vol. v. p. 489.—Ch'un Ts'ëw, b. 9, ch. xxi. p. 5, 6).
Two eclipses in such close proximity were of course an impossibility. Chinese scholars were fully aware of this, and knew, moreover, that the second eclipse mentioned did not take place. A similar mistake occurred in another chapter, so that there were two unquestionable blunders to be got over. No wonder then that "the critics," as Dr. Legge says, "have vexed themselves with the question in vain." But one of them proposes an explanation. "In this year," he remarks, "and in the twenty-fourth year, we have the record of eclipses in successive months. According to modern chronologists such a thing could not be; but perhaps it did occur in ancient times!" (Ibid., vol. v. p. 491). Dr. Legge has italicized the concluding words, and put an exclamation after them, as if they embodied a surprising absurdity. But his experience of Biblical criticism must have presented him with abundant instances of similar interpretations of the glaring contradictions to modern science found in Scripture. Is it more ridiculous to suppose that the two eclipses might have occurred in two months than to believe that the sun stood still, in other words, that the revolution of the earth on its axis ceased for a space of time? or that an ass could be endowed with human speech? or that a man, instead of dying, could rise from earth to heaven? And if these and similar strange occurrences be explained as miracles, then such miracles "did occur in ancient times," and do not now. Or if it be attempted, as it is by interpreters of the rationalistic school to get over the difficulty by supposing a natural event as the foundation of the story—as one writer suggests that the descent of the Holy Ghost at Pentecost was a strong blast of wind—then European critics, like those of China, "vex themselves in vain."