heory generally avoid the ethics of most other creeds, except,
indeed, Confucianism, which they like because it is not a creed. But
they are cautious in their praises of Mahommedanism, generally confining
themselves to imposing its morality only upon the refreshment of the
lower classes. They seldom suggest the Mahommedan view of marriage (for
which there is a great deal to be said), and towards Thugs and fetish
worshippers their attitude may even be called cold. But in the case of
the great religion of Gautama they feel sincerely a similarity.

Students of popular science, like Mr. Blatchford, are always insisting
that Christianity and Buddhism are very much alike, especially
Buddhism. This is generally believed, and I believed it myself until I
read a book giving the reasons for it. The reasons were of two kinds:
resemblances that meant nothing because they were common to all
humanity, and resemblances which were not resemblances at all. The
author solemnly explained that the two creeds were alike in things in
which all creeds are alike, or else he described them as alike in some
point in which they are quite obviously different. Thus, as a case of
the first class, he said that both Christ and Buddha were called by the
divine voice coming out of the sky, as if you would expect the divine
voice to come out of the coal-cellar. Or, again, it was gravely urged
that these two Eastern teachers, by a singular coincidence, both had to
do with the washing of feet. You might as well say that it was a
remarkable coincidence that they both had feet to wash. And the other
class of similarities were those which simply were not similar. Thus
this reconciler of the two religions draws earnest attention to the fact
that at certain religious feasts the robe of the Lama is rent in pieces
out of respect, and the remnants highly valued. But this is the reverse
of a resemblance, for the garments of Christ were not rent in pieces
out of respect, but out of derision; and the remnants were not highly
valued except for what they would fetch in the rag shops. It is rather
like alluding to the obvious connection between the two ceremonies of
the sword: when it taps a man's shoulder, and when it cuts off his head.
It is not at all similar for the man. These scraps of puerile pedantry
would indeed matter little if it were not also true that the alleged
philosophical resemblances are also of these two kinds, either proving
too much or not proving an