The Life of Saint Issa and The Secret Doctrine, Vol. 1: Deep Thought

for the r.umcer ot these interest he takes to heart constan:!}' increases, jh.^ Ail tms. his vrealth and his nearest relations, cannot protect mm (from future miserr} : kncTring (tms; and t^me value of) life, he Tcill get lid of Karman. Some men-, Sramauas and Brahmaras. rrho isrncre anc cen\* tnese true vrords', adhere (to meir oira tenets*, anc are !s;ven to nieasures. (5"^ dome'^ protess ^tne exclusive belief in'!; the five gress elements: earth, vrater, nre. vdnd. and air. * i itese live gross elements Jare the original causes c. ^rom teem arises another f thing* vir. A- '1-“ - . H.O at ...an/ : tor cn me dissoiuticn cf the i^five elements'f Ir.vng ceiugs cease to exist. ‘ And as the Earth, though it is but one pile, pre- sents many forms, so the intelligent (principle, viz. the dtman) appears under various forms as the universe (9) Thus say some fools. (But how can they explain on their theory that) the man engaging in under- takings, who has committed a sin, will himself suffer severe pain (10) ‘ Everybody, fool or sage, has an individual soul. These souls exist (as long as the body), but after death they are no more; there are no souls which are born again. (11) ' There is neither virtue nor vice, there is no world beyond ;

This controversy some philosophers have seen no other approved means of solving than by introducing cycles of time, in which there should be a constant renewal and repetition of the order of nature; and they have therefore asserted that these cycles will ceaselessly recur, one passing away and another coming, though they are not agreed as to whether one permanent world shall pass through all these cycles, or whether the world shall at fixed intervals die out, and be renewed so as to exhibit a recurrence of the same phenomena--the things which have been, and those which are to be, coinciding. And from this fantastic vicissitude they exempt not even the immortal soul that has attained wisdom, consigning it to a ceaseless transmigration between delusive blessedness and real misery. For how can that be truly called blessed which has no assurance of being so eternally, and is either in ignorance of the truth, and blind to the misery that is approaching, or, knowing it, is in misery and fear? Or if it passes to bliss, and leaves miseries for ever, then there happens in time a new thing which time shall not end. Why not, then, the world also? Why may not man, too, be a similar thing? So that, by following the straight path of sound doctrine, we escape, I know not what circuitous paths, discovered by deceiving and deceived sages.

That body is, in this world, the wheel of Time that is continually revolving. That (body), indeed, is a terrible and unfathomable ocean and is called delusion. It is this body which stretches forth, contracts, and awakens the (whole) universe with the (very) immortals. By restraining the senses, one casts off lust, wrath, fear, cupidity, enmity, and falsehood, which are eternal and, therefore, exceedingly difficult to cast off. He who has subjugated these in this world, viz., the three qualities and the five constituent elements of the body, has the Highest for his seat in Heaven. By him is Infinity attained. Crossing the river, that has the five senses for its steep banks, the mental inclinations for its mighty waters, and delusion for its lake, one should subjugate both lust and wrath. Such a man freed from all faults, then beholds the Highest, concentrating the mind within the mind and seeing self in self. Understanding all things, he sees his self, with self, in all creatures, sometimes as one and sometimes as diverse, changing form from time to time. Without doubt he can perceive numerous bodies like a hundred lights from one light.

Then, again, Brahman, and Rudra, the puissant Sakra the slayer of Vala, Surya, Chandramas (the Lord of the stars), the Wind-god, the Deity of fire, the Deity of the Waters, Infinite Space (as living Being), the Universe too (as a conscious agent), and the rest of the denizens of heaven,--they, it seems, are ignorant of the way of securing annihilation of conscious existence, that is capable of being brought about by self-realisation. Hence, perhaps, they have not be taken themselves to the path that is certain, indestructible, and immutable. Hence perhaps, turning away from that path they have adopted the religion of Pravritti which leads to conscious existence that is measured by time. This, indeed, is one great fault that attaches to those that are wedded to actions, for all their rewards are terminable. This doubt, O regenerate one, is planted in my heart like a dagger. Remove it out by reciting to me some discourses of old on this topic. Great is my curiosity to listen to thee. For what reason, O regenerate one, have the deities been said to be takers of their respective shares of sacrificial offerings presented to them with the aid of mantras in sacrifices of diverse kinds?

‘ It has been said elsewhere: Like the waves in large rivers, that which has been done before, can¬ not be turned back, and, like the tide of the sea, the approach of death is hard to stem. Bound 5 by the fetters of the fruits of good and evil, like a cripple; without freedom, like a man in prison; beset by many fears, like one standing before Yama (the judge of 3oo MAITRAYAiVA-BRAHMAA TA-tJPANISHAD. the dead); intoxicated by the wine of illusion, like one intoxicated by wine; rushing about, like one possessed by an evil spirit; bitten by the world, like one bitten by a great serpent; darkened by passion, like the night; illusory, like magic; false, like a dream; pithless, like the inside of the Kadali; changing its dress in a moment, like an actor 1; fair in appearance, like a painted wall, thus they call him; and therefore it is said: Sound 2, touch, and other things are like nothings; if the elemental Self is attached to them, it will not remember the Highest Place 3.

And the World-honored One said: "Truly thou art deluded. When man dies the body is dissolved into its elements, but the spirit is not entombed. It leads a higher mode of life in which all the relative terms of father, son, wife, mother, are at an end, just as a guest who leaves his lodging has done with it, as though it were a thing of the past. Men concern themselves most about that which passes away; but the end of life quickly comes as a burning torrent sweeping away the transient in a moment. They are like a blind man set to look after a burning lamp. A wise man, understanding the transiency of worldly relations, destroys the cause of grief, and escapes from the seething whirlpool of sorrow. Religious wisdom lifts a man above the pleasures and pains of the world and gives him peace everlasting."

"Vidura said, 'He that is wise obtains tranquillity by subduing both grief and joy through means by which one may escape from grief and joy. All those things about which we are anxious, O bull among men, are ephemeral. The world is like a plantain tree, without enduring strength. Since the wise and the foolish, the rich and the poor, all, divested of their anxieties, sleep on the crematorium, with bodies reft of flesh and full of bare bones and shrivelled sinews, whom amongst them will the survivors look upon as possessed of distinguishing marks by which the attributes of birth and beauty may be ascertained? (When all are equal in death) why should human beings, whose understandings are always deceived (by the things of this world) covet one another's rank and position? The learned say that the bodies of men are like houses. In time these are destroyed. There is one being, however, that is eternal. As a person, casting off one attire, whether old or new, wears another, even such is the case with the bodies of all embodied beings. O son of Vichitravirya, creatures obtain weal or woe as the fruit of their own acts. Through their acts they obtain heaven, O Bharata, or bliss, or woe.

(c) Fohat, being one of the most, if not the most important character in Esoteric cosmogony, should be minutely described. As in the oldest Grecian cosmogony, which differed widely from the later mythology, Eros is the third person in the primeval trinity, Chaos, Gæa, Eros—answering to the Kabalistic Trinity, Ain Suph, the Boundless All (for Chaos is Space, from χαίνω, to open wide, to be void), Shekinah and the Ancient of Days, or the Holy Ghost—so Fohat is one thing in the yet Unmanifested Universe, and another in the phenomenal and Cosmic World. In the latter, he is that occult, electric, vital power, which, under the Will of the Creative Logos, unites and brings together all forms, giving them the first impulse, which in time becomes law. But in the Unmanifested Universe, Fohat is no more this, than Eros is the later brilliant winged Cupid, or Love. Fohat has naught to do with Cosmos yet, since Cosmos is not born, and the Gods still sleep in the bosom of “Father‐Mother.” He is an abstract philosophical idea. He produces nothing yet by himself; he is simply that potential creative Power, in virtue of whose action the Noumenon of all future phenomena divides, so to speak, but to reunite in a mystic supersensuous act, and emit the creative Ray. When the “Divine Son” breaks forth, then Fohat becomes the propelling force, the active Power which causes the One to become Two and Three—on the cosmic plane of manifestation.

This sense of deep compassion passed, he once again considered "all that lives," and how they moved within the six portions of life's revolution, no final term to birth and death; hollow all, and false and transient as the plantain tree, or as a dream, or phantasy. Then in the middle watch of night, he reached to knowledge of the pure Devas, and beheld before him every creature, as one sees images upon a mirror; all creatures born and born again to die, noble and mean, the poor and rich, reaping the fruit of right or evil doing, and sharing happiness or misery in consequence. First he considered and distinguished evil-doers' works, that such must ever reap an evil birth. Then he considered those who practise righteous deeds, that these must gain a place with men or gods; but those again born in the nether hells, he saw participating in every kind of misery; swallowing molten brass, the iron skewers piercing their bodies, confined within the boiling caldron, driven and made to enter the fiery oven dwelling, food for hungry, long-toothed dogs, or preyed upon by brain-devouring birds; dismayed by fire, then they wander through thick woods, with leaves like razors gashing their limbs, while knives divide their writhing bodies, or hatchets lop their members, bit by bit; drinking the bitterest poisons, their fate yet holds them back from death. Thus those who found their joy in evil deeds, he saw receiving now their direst sorrow; a momentary taste of pleasure here, a dreary length of suffering there. A laugh or joke because of others' pain, a crying out and weeping now at punishment received. Surely if living creatures saw the consequence of all their evil deeds, self-visited, with hatred would they turn and leave them, fearing the ruin following--the blood and death. He saw, moreover, all the fruits of birth as beasts, each deed entailing its own return; and when death ensues born in some other form (beast shape), different in kind according to the deeds. Some doomed to die for the sake of skin or flesh, some for their horns or hair or bones or wings; others torn or killed in mutual conflict, friend or relative before, contending thus; some burdened with loads or dragging heavy weights, others pierced and urged on by pricking goads. Blood flowing down their tortured forms, parched and hungry--no relief afforded; then, turning round, he saw one with the other struggling, possessed of no independent strength. Flying through air or sunk in deep water, yet no place as a refuge left from death. He saw, moreover, those, misers and covetous, born now as hungry ghosts; vast bodies like the towering mountain, with mouths as small as any needle-tube, hungry and thirsty, nought but fire and poisoned flame to enwrap their burning forms within. Covetous, they would not give to those who sought, or duped the man who gave in charity, now born among the famished ghosts, they seek for food, but cannot find withal. The refuse of the unclean man they fain would eat, but this is changed and lost before it can be eaten. Oh! if a man believes that covetousness is thus repaid, as in their case, would he not give his very flesh in charity even as Sivi râga did! Then, once more he saw, those reborn as men, with bodies like some foul sewer, ever moving 'midst the direst sufferings, born from the womb to fear and trembling, with body tender, touching anything its feelings painful, as if cut with knives. Whilst born in this condition, no moment free from chance of death, labor, and sorrow, yet seeking birth again, and being born again, enduring pain. Then he saw those who by a higher merit were enjoying heaven; a thirst for love ever consuming them, their merit ended with the end of life, the five signs warning them of death. Just as the blossom that decays, withering away, is robbed of all its shining tints; not all their associates, living still, though grieving, can avail to save the rest. The palaces and joyous precincts empty now, the Devis all alone and desolate, sitting or asleep upon the dusty earth, weep bitterly in recollection of their loves. Those who are born, sad in decay; those who are dead, belovéd, cause of grief; thus ever struggling on, preparing future pain, covetous they seek the joys of heaven, obtaining which, these sorrows come apace; despicable joys! oh, who would covet them! using such mighty efforts to obtain, and yet unable thence to banish pain. Alas, alas! these Devas, too, alike deceived--no difference is there! through lapse of ages bearing suffering, striving to crush desire and lust, now certainly expecting long reprieve, and yet once more destined to fall! in hell enduring every kind of pain, as beasts tearing and killing one the other, as Pretas parched with direst thirst, as men worn out, seeking enjoyment; although, they say, when born in heaven, "then we shall escape these greater ills." Deceived, alas! no single place exempt, in every birth incessant pain! Alas! the sea of birth and death revolving thus--an ever-whirling wheel--all flesh immersed within its waves cast here and there without reliance! thus with his pure Deva eyes he thoughtfully considered the five domains of life. He saw that all was empty and vain alike! with no dependence! like the plantain or the bubble. Then, on the third eventful watch, he entered on the deep, true apprehension; he meditated on the entire world of creatures, whirling in life's tangle, born to sorrow; the crowds who live, grow old, and die, innumerable for multitude. Covetous, lustful, ignorant, darkly-fettered, with no way known for final rescue. Rightly considering, inwardly he reflected from what source birth and death proceed. He was assured that age and death must come from birth as from a source. For since a man has born with him a body, that body must inherit pain. Then looking further whence comes birth, he saw it came from life-deeds done elsewhere; then with his Deva-eyes scanning these deeds, he saw they were not framed by Isvara. They were not self-caused, they were not personal existences, nor were they either uncaused; then, as one who breaks the first bamboo joint finds all the rest easy to separate, having discerned the cause of birth and death, he gradually came to see the truth; deeds come from upâdâna, like as fire which catches hold of grass; upâdâna comes from trishnâ, just as a little fire inflames the mountains; trishnâ comes from vedanâ, the perception of pain and pleasure, the desire for rest; as the starving or the thirsty man seeks food and drink, so "sensation" brings "desire" for life; then contact is the cause of all sensation, producing the three kinds of pain or pleasure, even as by art of man the rubbing wood produces fire for any use or purpose; contact is born from the six entrances. The six entrances are caused by name and thing, just as the germ grows to the stem and leaf; name and thing are born from knowledge, as the seed which germinates and brings forth leaves. Knowledge, in turn, proceeds from name and thing, the two are intervolved leaving no remnant; by some concurrent cause knowledge engenders name and thing, whilst by some other cause concurrent, name and thing engender knowledge. Just as a man and ship advance together, the water and the land mutually involved; thus knowledge brings forth name and thing; name and thing produce the roots. The roots engender contact; contact again brings forth sensation; sensation brings forth longing desire; longing desire produces upâdâna. Upâdâna is the cause of deeds; and these again engender birth; birth again produces age and death; so does this one incessant round cause the existence of all living things. Rightly illumined, thoroughly perceiving this, firmly established, thus was he enlightened; destroy birth, old age and death will cease; destroy bhava then will birth cease; destroy "cleaving" then will bhava end; destroy desire then will cleaving end; destroy sensation then will trishnâ end. Destroy contact then will end sensation; destroy the six entrances, then will contact cease; the six entrances all destroyed, from this, moreover, names and things will cease. Knowledge destroyed, names and things will cease; names and things destroyed, then knowledge perishes; ignorance destroyed, then the constituents of individual life will die; the great Rishi was thus perfected in wisdom. Thus perfected, Buddha then devised for the world's benefit the eightfold path, right sight, and so on, the only true path for the world to tread. Thus did he complete the end of "self," as fire goes out for want of grass; thus he had done what he would have men do; he first had found the way of perfect knowledge. He finished thus the first great lesson; entering the great Rishi's house (dreamless sleep), the darkness disappeared; light coming on, perfectly silent, all at rest, he reached at last the exhaustless source of truth; lustrous with all wisdom the great Rishi sat, perfect in gifts, whilst one convulsive throe shook the wide earth. And now the world was calm again and bright, when Devas, Nâgas, spirits, all assembled, amidst the void raise heavenly music, and make their offerings as the law directs. A gentle cooling breeze sprang up around, and from the sky a fragrant rain distilled; exquisite flowers, not seasonable, bloomed; sweet fruits before their time were ripened. Great Mandâras, and every sort of heavenly precious flower, from space in rich confusion fell, as tribute to the illustrious monk. Creatures of every different kind were moved one towards the other lovingly; fear and terror altogether put away, none entertained a hateful thought, and all things living in the world with faultless men consorted freely; the Devas giving up their heavenly joys, sought rather to alleviate the sinner's sufferings. Pain and distress grew less and less, the moon of wisdom waxed apace; whilst all the Rishis of the Ikshvâku clan who had received a heavenly birth, beholding Buddha thus benefitting men, were filled with joy and satisfaction; and whilst throughout the heavenly mansions religious offerings fell as raining flowers, the Devas and the Nâga spirits, with one voice, praised the Buddha's virtues; men seeing the religious offerings, hearing, too, the joyous hymn of praise, were all rejoiced in turn; they leapt for unrestrained joy; Mâra, the Devarâga, only, felt in his heart great anguish. Buddha for those seven days, in contemplation lost, his heart at peace, beheld and pondered on the Bodhi tree, with gaze unmoved and never wearying:--"Now resting here, in this condition, I have obtained," he said, "my ever-shifting heart's desire, and now at rest I stand, escaped from self." The eyes of Buddha then considered "all that lives," and forthwith rose there in him deep compassion; much he desired to bring about their welfare, but how to gain for them that most excellent deliverance, from covetous desire, hatred, ignorance, and false teaching, this was the question; how to suppress this sinful heart by right direction; not by anxious use of outward means, but by resting quietly in thoughtful silence. Now looking back and thinking of his mighty vow, there rose once more within his mind a wish to preach the law; and looking carefully throughout the world, he saw how pain and sorrow ripened and increased everywhere. Then Brahma-deva knowing his thoughts, and considering it right to request him to advance religion for the wider spread of the Brahma-glory, in the deliverance of all flesh from sorrow, coming, beheld upon the person of the reverend monk all the distinguishing marks of a great preacher, visible in an excellent degree; fixed and unmoved he sat in the possession of truth and wisdom, free from all evil impediments, with a heart cleansed from all insincerity or falsehood. Then with reverent and a joyful heart, great Brahma stood and with hands joined, thus made known his request:--"What happiness in all the world so great as when a loving master meets the unwise; the world with all its occupants, filled with impurity and dire confusion, with heavy grief oppressed, or, in some cases, lighter sorrows, waits deliverance; the lord of men, having escaped by crossing the wide and mournful sea of birth and death, we now entreat to rescue others--those struggling creatures all engulfed therein; as the just worldly man, when he gets profit, gives some rebate withal. So the lord of men enjoying such religious gain, should also give somewhat to living things. The world indeed is bent on large personal gain, and hard it is to share one's own with others. O! let your loving heart be moved with pity towards the world burdened with vexing cares." Thus having spoken by way of exhortation, with reverent mien he turned back to the Brahma heaven. Buddha, regarding the invitation of Brahma-deva, rejoiced at heart, and his design was strengthened; greatly was his heart of pity nourished, and purposed was his mind to preach. Thinking he ought to beg some food, each of the four kings offered him a Pâtra; Tathâgata, in fealty to religion, received the four and joined them all in one. And now some merchant men were passing by, to whom "a virtuous friend," a heavenly spirit, said: "The great Rishi, the venerable monk, is dwelling in this mountain-grove, affording in the world a noble field for merit; go then and offer him a sacrifice!" Hearing the summons, joyfully they went, and offered the first meal religiously. Having partaken of it, then he deeply pondered, who first should hear the law; he thought at once of Ârâda Kâlâma and Udraka Râmaputra, as being fit to accept the righteous law; but now they both were dead. Then next he thought of the five men, that they were fit to hear the first sermon. Bent then on this design to preach Nirvâna, as the sun's glory bursts through the darkness, so went he on towards Benares, the place where dwelt the ancient Rishis. With eyes as gentle as the ox king's, his pace as firm and even as the lion's, because he would convert the world he went on towards the Kâsi city. Step by step, like the king of beasts, did he advance watchfully through the grove of wisdom.

Bimbasâra Râga, having, in a decorous manner, and with soothing speech, made his request, the prince on his part respectfully replied, in the following words, deep and heart-stirring: "Illustrious and world-renowned! Your words are not opposed to reason, descendant of a distinguished family--an Aryan--amongst men a true friend indeed, righteous and sincere to the bottom of your heart, it is proper for religion's sake to speak thus. In all the world, in its different sections, there is no chartered place for solid virtue, for if virtue flags and folly rules, what reverence can there be, or honor paid, to a high name or boast of prowess, inherited from former generations! And so there may be in the midst of great distress, large goodness, these are not mutually opposed. This then is so with the world in the connection of true worth and friendship. A true friend who makes good use of wealth--is rightly called a fast and firm treasure, but he who guards and stints the profit he has made, his wealth will soon be spent and lost; the wealth of a country is no constant treasure, but that which is given in charity is rich in returns, therefore charity is a true friend: although it scatters, yet it brings no repentance; you indeed are known as liberal and kind, I make no reply in opposition to you, but simply as we meet, so with agreeable purpose we talk. I fear birth, old age, disease, and death, and so I seek to find a sure mode of deliverance; I have put away thought of relatives and family affection, how is it possible then for me to return to the world and not to fear to revive the poisonous snake, and after the hail to be burned in the fierce fire; indeed, I fear the objects of these several desires, this whirling in the stream of life troubles my heart, these five desires, the inconstant thieves--stealing from men their choicest treasures, making them unreal, false, and fickle--are like the man called up as an apparition; for a time the beholders are affected by it, but it has no lasting hold upon the mind; so these five desires are the great obstacles, forever disarranging the way of peace; if the joys of heaven are not worth having, how much less the desires common to men, begetting the thirst of wild love, and then lost in the enjoyment, as the fierce wind fans the fire, till the fuel be spent and the fire expires; of all unrighteous things in the world, there is nothing worse than the domain of the five desires; for all men maddened by the power of lust, giving themselves to pleasure, are dead to reason. The wise man fears these desires, he fears to fall into the way of unrighteousness; for like a king who rules all within the four seas, yet still seeks beyond for something more, so is lust; like the unbounded ocean, it knows not when and where to stop. Mandha, the Kakravartin, when the heavens rained yellow gold, and he ruled all within the seas, yet sighed after the domain of the thirty-three heavens; dividing with Sakra his seat, and so through the power of this lust he died; Nung-Sha, whilst practising austerities, got power to rule the thirty-three heavenly abodes, but from lust he became proud and supercilious; the Rishi whilst stepping into his chariot, through carelessness in his gait, fell down into the midst of the serpent pit. Yen-lo, the universal monarch (Kakravartin), wandering abroad through the Trayastrimsas heaven, took a heavenly woman (Apsara) for a queen, and unjustly extorted the gold of a Rishi; the Rishi, in anger, added a charm, by which the country was ruined, and his life ended. Po-lo, and Sakra king of Devas, and Nung-Sha returning to Sakra; what certainty is there, even for the lord of heaven? Neither is any country safe, though kept by the mighty strength of those dwelling in it. But when one's clothing consists of grass, the berries one's food, the rivulets one's drink, with long hair flowing to the ground, silent as a Muni, seeking nothing, in this way practising austerities, in the end lust shall be destroyed. Know then, that the province of the five desires is avowedly an enemy of the religious man. Even the one-thousand-armed invincible king, strong in his might, finds it hard to conquer this. The Rishi Râma perished because of lust; how much more ought I, the son of a Kshatriya, to restrain lustful desire; but indulge in lust a little, and like the child it grows apace, the wise man hates it therefore; who would take poison for food? every sorrow is increased and cherished by the offices of lust. If there is no lustful desire, the risings of sorrow are not produced, the wise man seeing the bitterness of sorrow, stamps out and destroys the risings of desire; that which the world calls virtue, is but another form of this baneful law; worldly men enjoying the pleasure of covetous desire then every form of careless conduct results; these careless ways producing hurt, at death, the subject of them reaps perdition. But by the diligent use of means, and careful continuance therein, the consequences of negligence are avoided, we should therefore dread the non-use of means; recollecting that all things are illusory, the wise man covets them not; he who desires such things, desires sorrow, and then goes on again ensnared in love, with no certainty of ultimate freedom; he advances still and ever adds grief to grief, like one holding a lighted torch burns his hand, and therefore the wise man enters on no such things. The foolish man and the one who doubts, still encouraging the covetous and burning heart, in the end receives accumulated sorrow, not to be remedied by any prospect of rest; covetousness and anger are as the serpent's poison; the wise man casts away the approach of sorrow as a rotten bone; he tastes it not nor touches it, lest it should corrupt his teeth, that which the wise man will not take, the king will go through fire and water to obtain, the wicked sons labor for wealth as for a piece of putrid flesh, o'er which the hungry flocks of birds contend. So should we regard riches; the wise man is ill pleased at having wealth stored up, the mind wild with anxious thoughts, guarding himself by night and day, as a man who fears some powerful enemy, like as a man's feelings revolt with disgust at the sights seen beneath the slaughter post of the East Market; so the high post which marks the presence of lust, and anger, and ignorance, the wise man always avoids; as those who enter the mountains or the seas have much to contend with and little rest, as the fruit which grows on a high tree, and is grasped at by the covetous at the risk of life, so is the region of covetous desire, though they see the difficulty of getting it, yet how painfully do men scheme after wealth, difficult to acquire, easy to dissipate, as that which is got in a dream: how can the wise man hoard up such trash! Like covering over with a false surface a hole full of fire, slipping through which the body is burnt, so is the fire of covetous desire. The wise man meddles not with it. Like that Kaurava, or Pih-se-ni Nanda, or Ni-k'he-lai Danta, as some butcher's appearance, such also is the appearance of lustful desire; the wise man will have nothing to do with it; he would rather throw his body into the water or fire, or cast himself down over a steep precipice. Seeking to obtain heavenly pleasures, what is this but to remove the place of sorrow, without profit. Sün-tau, Po-sun-tau, brothers of Asura, lived together in great affection, but on account of lustful desire slew one another, and their name perished; all this then comes from lust; it is this which makes a man vile, and lashes and goads him with piercing sorrow; lust debases a man, robs him of all hope, whilst through the long night his body and soul are worn out; like the stag that covets the power of speech and dies, or the winged bird that covets sensual pleasure, or the fish that covets the baited hook, such are the calamities that lust brings; considering what are the requirements of life, none of these possess permanency; we eat to appease the pain of hunger, to do away with thirst we drink, we clothe ourselves to keep out the cold and wind, we lie down to rest to get sleep, to procure locomotion we seek a carriage, when we would halt we seek a seat, we wash to cleanse ourselves from dirt; all these things are done to avoid inconvenience; we may gather therefore that these five desires have no permanent character; for as a man suffering from fever seeks and asks for some cooling medicine, so covetousness seeks for something to satisfy its longings; foolish men regard these things as permanent, and as the necessary requirements of life, but, in sooth, there is no permanent cessation of sorrow; for by coveting to appease these desires we really increase them; there is no character of permanency therefore about them. To be filled and clothed are no lasting pleasures, time passes, and the sorrow recurs; summer is cool during the moon-tide shining; winter comes and cold increases; and so through all the eightfold laws of the world they possess no marks of permanence, sorrow and joy cannot agree together, as a person slave-governed loses his renown. But religion causes all things to be of service, as a king reigning in his sovereignty; so religion controls sorrow, as one fits on a burden according to power of endurance. Whatever our condition in the world, still sorrows accumulate around us. Even in the condition of a king, how does pain multiply, though bound to others by love, yet this is a cause of grief; without friends and living alone, what joy can there be in this? Though a man rules over the four kingdoms, yet only one part can be enjoyed; to be concerned in ten thousand matters, what profit is there in this, for we only accumulate anxieties. Put an end to sorrow, then, by appeasing desire, refrain from busy work, this is rest. A king enjoys his sensual pleasures; deprived of kingship there is the joy of rest; in both cases there are pleasures but of different kinds; why then be a king! Make then no plan or crafty expedient, to lead me back to the five desires; what my heart prays for, is some quiet place and freedom; but you desire to entangle me in relationships and duties, and destroy the completion of what I seek; I am in no fear of family hatred, nor do I seek the joys of heaven; my heart hankers after no vulgar profit, so I have put away my royal diadem; and contrary to your way of thinking, I prefer, henceforth, no more to rule. A hare rescued from the serpent's mouth, would it go back again to be devoured? holding a torch and burning himself, would not a man let it go? A man blind and recovering his sight, would he again seek to be in darkness? the rich, does he sigh for poverty? the wise, does he long to be ignorant? Has the world such men as these? then will I again enjoy my country. But I desire to get rid of birth, old age, and death, with body restrained, to beg my food; with appetites moderated, to keep in my retreat; and then to avoid the evil modes of a future life, this is to find peace in two worlds: now then I pray you pity me not. Pity, rather, those who rule as kings! their souls ever vacant and athirst, in the present world no repose, hereafter receiving pain as their meed. You, who possess a distinguished family name, and the reverence due to a great master, would generously share your dignity with me, your worldly pleasures and amusements; I, too, in return, for your sake, beseech you to share my reward with me; he who indulges in the threefold kinds of pleasure, this man the world calls 'Lord,' but this is not according to reason either, because these things cannot be retained, but where there is no birth, or life, or death, he who exercises himself in this way, is Lord indeed! You say that while young a man should be gay, and when old then religious, but I regard the feebleness of age as bringing with it loss of power to be religious, unlike the firmness and power of youth, the will determined and the heart established; but death as a robber with a drawn sword follows us all, desiring to catch his prey; how then should we wait for old age, ere we bring our mind to a religious life? Inconstancy is the great hunter, age his bow, disease his arrows, in the fields of life and death he hunts for living things as for the deer; when he can get his opportunity, he takes our life; who then would wait for age? And what the teachers say and do, with reference to matters connected with life and death, exhorting the young, mature, or middle-aged, all to contrive by any means, to prepare vast meetings for sacrifices, this they do indeed of their own ignorance; better far to reverence the true law, and put an end to sacrifice to appease the gods! Destroying life to gain religious merit, what love can such a man possess? even if the reward of such sacrifices were lasting, even for this, slaughter would be unseemly; how much more, when the reward is transient! Shall we, in search of this, slay that which lives, in worship? this is like those who practise wisdom, and the way of religious abstraction, but neglect the rules of moral conduct. It ill behooves us then to follow with the world, and attend these sacrificial assemblies, and seek some present good in killing that which lives; the wise avoid destroying life! Much less do they engage in general sacrifices, for the purpose of gaining future reward! the fruit promised in the three worlds is none of mine to choose for happiness! All these are governed by transient, fickle laws, like the wind, or the drop that is blown from the grass; such things therefore I put away from me, and I seek for true escape. I hear there is one O-lo-lam who eloquently discourses on the way of escape; I must go to the place where he dwells, that great Rishi and hermit. But in truth, sorrow must be banished; I regret indeed leaving you; may your country have repose and quiet! safely defended by you as by the divine Sakra râga! May wisdom be shed abroad as light upon your empire, like the brightness of the meridian sun! may you be exceedingly victorious as lord of the great earth, with a perfect heart ruling over its destiny! May you direct and defend its sons! ruling your empire in righteousness! Water and snow and fire are opposed to one another, but the fire by its influence causes vapor, the vapor causes the floating clouds, the floating clouds drop down rain; there are birds in space, who drink the rain, with rainless bodies. Slaughter and peaceful homes are enemies! those who would have peace hate slaughter, and if those who slaughter are so hateful, then put an end, O king, to those who practise it! And bid these find release, as those who drink and yet are parched with thirst."

That man who is contented with only a little is regarded as freed. That man who beholds the world as consisting of eaters and edibles (and himself as different from both) and who is never touched by pleasure and pain which are born of illusion, is regarded as emancipate. That man who regards a soft bed on a fine bedstead and the hard soil as equal, and who regards good sali rice and hard thick rice as equal, is emancipated. That man who regards linen and cloth made of grass as equal, and in whose estimation cloth of silk and barks of trees are the same, and who sees no difference between clean sheep-skin and unclean leather, is emancipated. That man who looks upon this world as the result of the combination of the five primal essences, and who behaves himself in this world, keeping this notion foremost, is emancipated. That man who regards pleasure and pain as equal, and gain and loss as on a par, in whose estimation victory and defeat differ not, to whom like and dislike are the same, and who is unchanged under fear and anxiety, is wholly emancipated.

But the apparently unchanged traditions of the older forms of faith and the relatively strong position of the Church must not blind us to the generally disorganized condition of religion to-day. There is much in evidence a body of doubt which clouds the outlook of multitudes upon religion generally. Beyond debate a kind of eclipse of faith began to draw across the Western world so early as the middle of the last century. The militant skepticism of the brilliant group of younger poets who sang their defiances in the first two decades of the nineteenth century to a world which professed itself duly shocked, is wholly different from the sadness with which the more mature singers of two generations later announce their questioning and their disillusionment. The difference is just the difference between Shelley and Matthew Arnold. There is a philosophic depth in this later music which the former wholly lacked. Arnold speaks for his time when he announces himself as standing between two worlds, one dead, the other powerless to be born. A profound disillusionment expressed itself in great ranges of later nineteenth century literature and confirmed the more sensitive and despairing in a positive pessimism, strangely contrasted to the self-assertive temper of the science and industry of the period. It would need a pretty careful analysis to follow all this to its roots.

The consciousness of the Unity of Life is something that must be experienced before the truth may be realized. It is not necessary for one to wait until he acquire full Cosmic Consciousness before he may realize, at least partially, the Oneness of All Life, for he may unfold gradually into the Cosmic Knowing, experiencing at each stage a fuller conception of the underlying Unity of Life, in which he is a centre of consciousness and manifestation. But there must be at least a partial unfoldment before one is able to feel the sense of Unity. To those who have not unfolded sufficiently to gain at least a glimmering of the truth, everything appears separate from every other thing, and there is no Unity of All. It is as if every leaf on a mighty tree were to consider itself a being separate and distinct from everything else in the world, failing to perceive its connection with the branch or limb, and tree, and its unity in being with every other leaf on the tree. After a bit the unfolding consciousness of the leaf enables it to perceive the stem that connects it with the twig. Then it begins to realize certain relationships, and feels its vital connection with the twig and the few other leaves attached to the same twig.

How long has it taken the world to become what it now is? If it can be said that even up to the present day cosmic dust, “which has never belonged to the earth before,”(1048) reaches our Globe, how much more logical is it to believe—as the Occultists do—that through the countless millions of years that have rolled away since that dust aggregated and formed the Globe we live in round its nucleus of intelligent Primeval Substance, many humanities—differing from our present mankind as greatly as the humanity which will evolve millions of years hence will differ from our races—appeared but to disappear from the face of the Earth, as will our own. These primitive and far‐distant humanities are denied, because, as Geologists think, they have left no tangible relics of themselves. All trace of them is swept away, and therefore they have never existed. Yet their relics—though very few of them, truly—are to be found, and they must be discovered by geological research. But, even if they were never to be met with, there would be no reason to say that no men could have ever lived in the geological periods to which their presence on earth is assigned. For their organisms needed no warm blood, no atmosphere, no feeding; the author of World‐Life is right, and there is no extravagance in believing as we do, that as, on scientific hypotheses, there may be to this day “psychic natures enshrined in indestructible flint and platinum,” so there were psychic natures enshrined in forms of equally indestructible Primeval Matter—the real forefathers of our Fifth Race.

This something, at present unknown to Western speculation, is called by Occultists Fohat. It is the “bridge” by which the Ideas existing in the Divine Thought are impressed on Cosmic Substance as the Laws of Nature. Fohat is thus the dynamic energy of Cosmic Ideation; or, regarded from the other side, it is the intelligent medium, the guiding power of all manifestation, the Thought Divine transmitted and made manifest through the Dhyân Chohans,(50) the Architects of the visible World. Thus from Spirit, or Cosmic Ideation, comes our Consciousness, from Cosmic Substance the several Vehicles in which that Consciousness is individualized and attains to self—or reflective—consciousness; while Fohat, in its various manifestations, is the mysterious link between Mind and Matter, the animating principle electrifying every atom into life.

It is only when its pure boughs had touched the terrestrial mud of the Garden of Eden, of our Adamic Race, that this Tree became soiled by the contact and lost its pristine purity; and that the Serpent of Eternity, the Heaven‐Born Logos, was finally degraded. In days of old, of the Divine Dynasties on Earth, the now dreaded reptile was regarded as the first beam of light that radiated from the abyss of Divine Mystery. Various were the forms which it was made to assume, and numerous the natural symbols adapted to it, as it crossed the æons of Time; as from Infinite Time (Kâla) itself it fell into the space and time evolved out of human speculation. These forms were cosmic and astronomical, theistic and pantheistic, abstract and concrete. They became in turn the Polar Dragon and the Southern Cross, the Alpha Draconis of the Pyramid, and the Hindû‐Buddhist Dragon, which ever threatens, yet never swallows the Sun during its eclipses. Till then, the Tree remained ever green, for it was sprinkled by the Waters of Life; the Great Dragon remained ever divine, so long as it was kept within the precincts of the sidereal fields. But the Tree grew and its lower boughs at last touched the Infernal Regions—our Earth. Then the Great Serpent Nidhögg—he who devours the corpses of the evil‐doers in the “Hall of Misery” (human life), so soon as they are plunged into Hwergelmir, the roaring cauldron (of human passions)—gnawed the reversed World‐Tree. The worms of materiality covered the once healthy and mighty roots, and are now ascending higher and higher along the trunk;

A leaf from the tip of the uppermost branch falls against the middle branch; a leaf from the tip of the middle branch falls against the lowest branch; a leaf from the tip of the lowest branch, falling into the oil floating in the fresh jewelled goblet which the maid of Mihe is lifting up, all [goes] curdle-curdle. Ah! this is very awful, August Child of the High-Shining Sun! The tradition of the thing, too this!" So on her presenting this Song, her crime was pardoned. Then the Empress sang. Her Song said: "Present the luxuriant august liquor to the august child of the high-shining sun, who is broad like the leaves, who is brilliant like the blossoms of the broad-foliaged five hundred[-fold branching] true camellia-tree that stands growing by the house of new licking in this high metropolis of Yamato, on this high-timbered mound of the metropolis The tradition of this thing, too this!" Forthwith the Heavenly Sovereign sang, saying: "The people of the great palace, having put on scarfs like the quail-birds having put their tails together like wagtails' and congregated together like the yard-sparrows, may perhaps to-day be truly steeped in liquor,--the people of the palace of the high-shining sun. The tradition of the thing, too, this." These three Songs are Songs of Heavenly Words. So at this copious feast this female attendant from Mihe was praised and plentifully endowed.

A word in regard to this little land, now lying close to the heart of Honolulu itself, which still bears the same name as its old-time mistress, Pele-ula. To the kamaaina the sturdy samang tree, whose vigorous bole parts the traffic of Vineyard Street just before its junction with the highway of Nu'uanu has long been a familiar object. This fine tree has a history of its own and can claim the respectable age of not less than forty years. The land about it has borne the classic name of Pele-ula for a period of centuries that hark back to the antiquity of Hawaiian tradition. The sightseer of to-day who views the region from the macadamized roadway, some ten feet above the level of the surrounding land, must not judge of its former attractiveness and fitness as a place of residence by its present insalubrity--now shut in by embankments, overhung by dank and shadowy trees, its once-pure stream either diverted for economic purposes or cluttered and defiled with the debris of civilization. A study of the region, on the inner--mauka--border of which lies Pele-ula, will easily convince the observer that within a short geologic period the wash of silt and mud from higher levels has filled in and converted what must have been at one time a clear salt-water basin into the swampy flats that not long ago met the eye.

The next step was the blending of this story with one which had a clear basis in history. In the year 437 the Burgundians, under their king, Gundicarius (so the Latin histories call him), were practically annihilated by the Huns. The story of this great battle soon became one of the foremost of Rhineland traditions; and though Attila was presumably not present in person, he was quite naturally introduced as the famous ruler of the invading hordes. The dramatic story of Attila’s death in the year 453 was likewise added to the tradition, and during the sixth century the chain was completed by linking together the stories of Sigurth and those of the Burgundian slaughter. Gundicarius becomes the Gunther of the Nibelungenlied and the Gunnar of the Eddic poems; Attila becomes Etzel and Atli. A still further development came through the addition of another, and totally unrelated, set of historical traditions based on the career of Ermanarich, king of the Goths, who died about the year 376. Ermanarich figures largely in many stories unconnected with the Sigurth cycle, but, with the zeal of the medieval story-tellers for connecting their heroes, he was introduced as the husband of Sigurth’s daughter, Svanhild, herself originally part of a separate narrative group, and as Jormunrek he plays a considerable part in a few of the Eddic poems.

It has been already pointed out (introductory note to Reginsmol) that the compiler of the Eddic collection had clearly undertaken to formulate a coherent narrative of the entire Sigurth cycle, piecing together the various poems by means of prose narrative links. To some extent these links were based on traditions existing outside of the lays themselves, but in the main the material was gathered from the contents of the poems. The short prose passage entitled Drap Niflunga, which in the Codex Regius immediately follows the Helreith Brynhildar, is just such a narrative link, and scarcely deserves a special heading, but as nearly all editions separate it from the preceding and following poems, I have followed their example.

With this peculiarly reverential nature it would be impossible to make the Irish a nation of sceptics, even if a whole legion of German Rationalists came amongst them to preach a crusade against all belief in the spiritual and the unseen. And the old traditions of their race have likewise taken firm hold in their hearts, because they are an artistic people, and require objects for their adoration and love, not mere abstractions to be accepted by their reason. And they are also a nation of poets; the presence of God is ever near them, and the saints and angels, and the shadowy beings of earth and air are perpetually drawing their minds, through mingled love and fear, to the infinite and invisible world. Probably not one tradition or custom that had its origin in a religious belief has been lost in Ireland during the long course of ages since the first people from Eastern lands arrived and settled on our shores. The Baal fires are still lit at Midsummer, though no longer in honour of the sun, but of St. John; and the peasants still make their cattle pass between two fires—not, indeed, as of old, in the name of Moloch, but of some patron saint. That all Irish legends point to the East for their origin, not to the North, is certain; to a warm land, not one of icebergs, and thunder crashes of the rending of ice-bound rivers, but to a region where the shadow of trees, and a cool draught from the sparkling well were life-giving blessings.

Plutarch places the tomb of Phaëton on the banks of the river Po; and it is not improbable that his mother and sisters, grieving at his fate, ended their lives in the neighborhood of his tomb, being overcome with grief, which gave rise to the story that they were changed into the poplars on its banks, which distilled amber. Some writers say, that they were changed into larch trees, and not poplars. Hesiod and Pindar also make mention of this tradition. Possibly, Cycnus, being a friend of Phaëton, may have died from grief at his loss, on which the poets graced his attachment with the story that he was changed into a swan. Apollodorus mentions two other persons of the name of Cycnus. One was the son of Mars, and was killed before Troy; the other, as Hesiod tells us, was killed by Hercules. Lucian, in his satirical vein, tells us, that inquiring on the banks of the Po for the swans, and the poplars distilling amber, he was told that no such things had ever been seen there; and that even the tradition of Phaëton and his sisters was utterly unknown to the inhabitants of those parts.

for the r.umcer ot these interest he takes to heart constan:!}' increases, jh.^ Ail tms. his vrealth and his nearest relations, cannot protect mm (from future miserr} : kncTring (tms; and t^me value of) life, he Tcill get lid of Karman. Some men-, Sramauas and Brahmaras. rrho isrncre anc cen\* tnese true vrords', adhere (to meir oira tenets*, anc are !s;ven to nieasures. (5"^ dome'^ protess ^tne exclusive belief in'!; the five gress elements: earth, vrater, nre. vdnd. and air. * i itese live gross elements Jare the original causes c. ^rom teem arises another f thing* vir. A- '1-“ - . H.O at ...an/ : tor cn me dissoiuticn cf the i^five elements'f Ir.vng ceiugs cease to exist. ‘ And as the Earth, though it is but one pile, pre- sents many forms, so the intelligent (principle, viz. the dtman) appears under various forms as the universe (9) Thus say some fools. (But how can they explain on their theory that) the man engaging in under- takings, who has committed a sin, will himself suffer severe pain (10) ‘ Everybody, fool or sage, has an individual soul. These souls exist (as long as the body), but after death they are no more; there are no souls which are born again. (11) ' There is neither virtue nor vice, there is no world beyond ;

This controversy some philosophers have seen no other approved means of solving than by introducing cycles of time, in which there should be a constant renewal and repetition of the order of nature; and they have therefore asserted that these cycles will ceaselessly recur, one passing away and another coming, though they are not agreed as to whether one permanent world shall pass through all these cycles, or whether the world shall at fixed intervals die out, and be renewed so as to exhibit a recurrence of the same phenomena--the things which have been, and those which are to be, coinciding. And from this fantastic vicissitude they exempt not even the immortal soul that has attained wisdom, consigning it to a ceaseless transmigration between delusive blessedness and real misery. For how can that be truly called blessed which has no assurance of being so eternally, and is either in ignorance of the truth, and blind to the misery that is approaching, or, knowing it, is in misery and fear? Or if it passes to bliss, and leaves miseries for ever, then there happens in time a new thing which time shall not end. Why not, then, the world also? Why may not man, too, be a similar thing? So that, by following the straight path of sound doctrine, we escape, I know not what circuitous paths, discovered by deceiving and deceived sages.

That body is, in this world, the wheel of Time that is continually revolving. That (body), indeed, is a terrible and unfathomable ocean and is called delusion. It is this body which stretches forth, contracts, and awakens the (whole) universe with the (very) immortals. By restraining the senses, one casts off lust, wrath, fear, cupidity, enmity, and falsehood, which are eternal and, therefore, exceedingly difficult to cast off. He who has subjugated these in this world, viz., the three qualities and the five constituent elements of the body, has the Highest for his seat in Heaven. By him is Infinity attained. Crossing the river, that has the five senses for its steep banks, the mental inclinations for its mighty waters, and delusion for its lake, one should subjugate both lust and wrath. Such a man freed from all faults, then beholds the Highest, concentrating the mind within the mind and seeing self in self. Understanding all things, he sees his self, with self, in all creatures, sometimes as one and sometimes as diverse, changing form from time to time. Without doubt he can perceive numerous bodies like a hundred lights from one light.

Then, again, Brahman, and Rudra, the puissant Sakra the slayer of Vala, Surya, Chandramas (the Lord of the stars), the Wind-god, the Deity of fire, the Deity of the Waters, Infinite Space (as living Being), the Universe too (as a conscious agent), and the rest of the denizens of heaven,--they, it seems, are ignorant of the way of securing annihilation of conscious existence, that is capable of being brought about by self-realisation. Hence, perhaps, they have not be taken themselves to the path that is certain, indestructible, and immutable. Hence perhaps, turning away from that path they have adopted the religion of Pravritti which leads to conscious existence that is measured by time. This, indeed, is one great fault that attaches to those that are wedded to actions, for all their rewards are terminable. This doubt, O regenerate one, is planted in my heart like a dagger. Remove it out by reciting to me some discourses of old on this topic. Great is my curiosity to listen to thee. For what reason, O regenerate one, have the deities been said to be takers of their respective shares of sacrificial offerings presented to them with the aid of mantras in sacrifices of diverse kinds?

‘ It has been said elsewhere: Like the waves in large rivers, that which has been done before, can¬ not be turned back, and, like the tide of the sea, the approach of death is hard to stem. Bound 5 by the fetters of the fruits of good and evil, like a cripple; without freedom, like a man in prison; beset by many fears, like one standing before Yama (the judge of 3oo MAITRAYAiVA-BRAHMAA TA-tJPANISHAD. the dead); intoxicated by the wine of illusion, like one intoxicated by wine; rushing about, like one possessed by an evil spirit; bitten by the world, like one bitten by a great serpent; darkened by passion, like the night; illusory, like magic; false, like a dream; pithless, like the inside of the Kadali; changing its dress in a moment, like an actor 1; fair in appearance, like a painted wall, thus they call him; and therefore it is said: Sound 2, touch, and other things are like nothings; if the elemental Self is attached to them, it will not remember the Highest Place 3.

And the World-honored One said: "Truly thou art deluded. When man dies the body is dissolved into its elements, but the spirit is not entombed. It leads a higher mode of life in which all the relative terms of father, son, wife, mother, are at an end, just as a guest who leaves his lodging has done with it, as though it were a thing of the past. Men concern themselves most about that which passes away; but the end of life quickly comes as a burning torrent sweeping away the transient in a moment. They are like a blind man set to look after a burning lamp. A wise man, understanding the transiency of worldly relations, destroys the cause of grief, and escapes from the seething whirlpool of sorrow. Religious wisdom lifts a man above the pleasures and pains of the world and gives him peace everlasting."

"Vidura said, 'He that is wise obtains tranquillity by subduing both grief and joy through means by which one may escape from grief and joy. All those things about which we are anxious, O bull among men, are ephemeral. The world is like a plantain tree, without enduring strength. Since the wise and the foolish, the rich and the poor, all, divested of their anxieties, sleep on the crematorium, with bodies reft of flesh and full of bare bones and shrivelled sinews, whom amongst them will the survivors look upon as possessed of distinguishing marks by which the attributes of birth and beauty may be ascertained? (When all are equal in death) why should human beings, whose understandings are always deceived (by the things of this world) covet one another's rank and position? The learned say that the bodies of men are like houses. In time these are destroyed. There is one being, however, that is eternal. As a person, casting off one attire, whether old or new, wears another, even such is the case with the bodies of all embodied beings. O son of Vichitravirya, creatures obtain weal or woe as the fruit of their own acts. Through their acts they obtain heaven, O Bharata, or bliss, or woe.

(c) Fohat, being one of the most, if not the most important character in Esoteric cosmogony, should be minutely described. As in the oldest Grecian cosmogony, which differed widely from the later mythology, Eros is the third person in the primeval trinity, Chaos, Gæa, Eros—answering to the Kabalistic Trinity, Ain Suph, the Boundless All (for Chaos is Space, from χαίνω, to open wide, to be void), Shekinah and the Ancient of Days, or the Holy Ghost—so Fohat is one thing in the yet Unmanifested Universe, and another in the phenomenal and Cosmic World. In the latter, he is that occult, electric, vital power, which, under the Will of the Creative Logos, unites and brings together all forms, giving them the first impulse, which in time becomes law. But in the Unmanifested Universe, Fohat is no more this, than Eros is the later brilliant winged Cupid, or Love. Fohat has naught to do with Cosmos yet, since Cosmos is not born, and the Gods still sleep in the bosom of “Father‐Mother.” He is an abstract philosophical idea. He produces nothing yet by himself; he is simply that potential creative Power, in virtue of whose action the Noumenon of all future phenomena divides, so to speak, but to reunite in a mystic supersensuous act, and emit the creative Ray. When the “Divine Son” breaks forth, then Fohat becomes the propelling force, the active Power which causes the One to become Two and Three—on the cosmic plane of manifestation.

This sense of deep compassion passed, he once again considered "all that lives," and how they moved within the six portions of life's revolution, no final term to birth and death; hollow all, and false and transient as the plantain tree, or as a dream, or phantasy. Then in the middle watch of night, he reached to knowledge of the pure Devas, and beheld before him every creature, as one sees images upon a mirror; all creatures born and born again to die, noble and mean, the poor and rich, reaping the fruit of right or evil doing, and sharing happiness or misery in consequence. First he considered and distinguished evil-doers' works, that such must ever reap an evil birth. Then he considered those who practise righteous deeds, that these must gain a place with men or gods; but those again born in the nether hells, he saw participating in every kind of misery; swallowing molten brass, the iron skewers piercing their bodies, confined within the boiling caldron, driven and made to enter the fiery oven dwelling, food for hungry, long-toothed dogs, or preyed upon by brain-devouring birds; dismayed by fire, then they wander through thick woods, with leaves like razors gashing their limbs, while knives divide their writhing bodies, or hatchets lop their members, bit by bit; drinking the bitterest poisons, their fate yet holds them back from death. Thus those who found their joy in evil deeds, he saw receiving now their direst sorrow; a momentary taste of pleasure here, a dreary length of suffering there. A laugh or joke because of others' pain, a crying out and weeping now at punishment received. Surely if living creatures saw the consequence of all their evil deeds, self-visited, with hatred would they turn and leave them, fearing the ruin following--the blood and death. He saw, moreover, all the fruits of birth as beasts, each deed entailing its own return; and when death ensues born in some other form (beast shape), different in kind according to the deeds. Some doomed to die for the sake of skin or flesh, some for their horns or hair or bones or wings; others torn or killed in mutual conflict, friend or relative before, contending thus; some burdened with loads or dragging heavy weights, others pierced and urged on by pricking goads. Blood flowing down their tortured forms, parched and hungry--no relief afforded; then, turning round, he saw one with the other struggling, possessed of no independent strength. Flying through air or sunk in deep water, yet no place as a refuge left from death. He saw, moreover, those, misers and covetous, born now as hungry ghosts; vast bodies like the towering mountain, with mouths as small as any needle-tube, hungry and thirsty, nought but fire and poisoned flame to enwrap their burning forms within. Covetous, they would not give to those who sought, or duped the man who gave in charity, now born among the famished ghosts, they seek for food, but cannot find withal. The refuse of the unclean man they fain would eat, but this is changed and lost before it can be eaten. Oh! if a man believes that covetousness is thus repaid, as in their case, would he not give his very flesh in charity even as Sivi râga did! Then, once more he saw, those reborn as men, with bodies like some foul sewer, ever moving 'midst the direst sufferings, born from the womb to fear and trembling, with body tender, touching anything its feelings painful, as if cut with knives. Whilst born in this condition, no moment free from chance of death, labor, and sorrow, yet seeking birth again, and being born again, enduring pain. Then he saw those who by a higher merit were enjoying heaven; a thirst for love ever consuming them, their merit ended with the end of life, the five signs warning them of death. Just as the blossom that decays, withering away, is robbed of all its shining tints; not all their associates, living still, though grieving, can avail to save the rest. The palaces and joyous precincts empty now, the Devis all alone and desolate, sitting or asleep upon the dusty earth, weep bitterly in recollection of their loves. Those who are born, sad in decay; those who are dead, belovéd, cause of grief; thus ever struggling on, preparing future pain, covetous they seek the joys of heaven, obtaining which, these sorrows come apace; despicable joys! oh, who would covet them! using such mighty efforts to obtain, and yet unable thence to banish pain. Alas, alas! these Devas, too, alike deceived--no difference is there! through lapse of ages bearing suffering, striving to crush desire and lust, now certainly expecting long reprieve, and yet once more destined to fall! in hell enduring every kind of pain, as beasts tearing and killing one the other, as Pretas parched with direst thirst, as men worn out, seeking enjoyment; although, they say, when born in heaven, "then we shall escape these greater ills." Deceived, alas! no single place exempt, in every birth incessant pain! Alas! the sea of birth and death revolving thus--an ever-whirling wheel--all flesh immersed within its waves cast here and there without reliance! thus with his pure Deva eyes he thoughtfully considered the five domains of life. He saw that all was empty and vain alike! with no dependence! like the plantain or the bubble. Then, on the third eventful watch, he entered on the deep, true apprehension; he meditated on the entire world of creatures, whirling in life's tangle, born to sorrow; the crowds who live, grow old, and die, innumerable for multitude. Covetous, lustful, ignorant, darkly-fettered, with no way known for final rescue. Rightly considering, inwardly he reflected from what source birth and death proceed. He was assured that age and death must come from birth as from a source. For since a man has born with him a body, that body must inherit pain. Then looking further whence comes birth, he saw it came from life-deeds done elsewhere; then with his Deva-eyes scanning these deeds, he saw they were not framed by Isvara. They were not self-caused, they were not personal existences, nor were they either uncaused; then, as one who breaks the first bamboo joint finds all the rest easy to separate, having discerned the cause of birth and death, he gradually came to see the truth; deeds come from upâdâna, like as fire which catches hold of grass; upâdâna comes from trishnâ, just as a little fire inflames the mountains; trishnâ comes from vedanâ, the perception of pain and pleasure, the desire for rest; as the starving or the thirsty man seeks food and drink, so "sensation" brings "desire" for life; then contact is the cause of all sensation, producing the three kinds of pain or pleasure, even as by art of man the rubbing wood produces fire for any use or purpose; contact is born from the six entrances. The six entrances are caused by name and thing, just as the germ grows to the stem and leaf; name and thing are born from knowledge, as the seed which germinates and brings forth leaves. Knowledge, in turn, proceeds from name and thing, the two are intervolved leaving no remnant; by some concurrent cause knowledge engenders name and thing, whilst by some other cause concurrent, name and thing engender knowledge. Just as a man and ship advance together, the water and the land mutually involved; thus knowledge brings forth name and thing; name and thing produce the roots. The roots engender contact; contact again brings forth sensation; sensation brings forth longing desire; longing desire produces upâdâna. Upâdâna is the cause of deeds; and these again engender birth; birth again produces age and death; so does this one incessant round cause the existence of all living things. Rightly illumined, thoroughly perceiving this, firmly established, thus was he enlightened; destroy birth, old age and death will cease; destroy bhava then will birth cease; destroy "cleaving" then will bhava end; destroy desire then will cleaving end; destroy sensation then will trishnâ end. Destroy contact then will end sensation; destroy the six entrances, then will contact cease; the six entrances all destroyed, from this, moreover, names and things will cease. Knowledge destroyed, names and things will cease; names and things destroyed, then knowledge perishes; ignorance destroyed, then the constituents of individual life will die; the great Rishi was thus perfected in wisdom. Thus perfected, Buddha then devised for the world's benefit the eightfold path, right sight, and so on, the only true path for the world to tread. Thus did he complete the end of "self," as fire goes out for want of grass; thus he had done what he would have men do; he first had found the way of perfect knowledge. He finished thus the first great lesson; entering the great Rishi's house (dreamless sleep), the darkness disappeared; light coming on, perfectly silent, all at rest, he reached at last the exhaustless source of truth; lustrous with all wisdom the great Rishi sat, perfect in gifts, whilst one convulsive throe shook the wide earth. And now the world was calm again and bright, when Devas, Nâgas, spirits, all assembled, amidst the void raise heavenly music, and make their offerings as the law directs. A gentle cooling breeze sprang up around, and from the sky a fragrant rain distilled; exquisite flowers, not seasonable, bloomed; sweet fruits before their time were ripened. Great Mandâras, and every sort of heavenly precious flower, from space in rich confusion fell, as tribute to the illustrious monk. Creatures of every different kind were moved one towards the other lovingly; fear and terror altogether put away, none entertained a hateful thought, and all things living in the world with faultless men consorted freely; the Devas giving up their heavenly joys, sought rather to alleviate the sinner's sufferings. Pain and distress grew less and less, the moon of wisdom waxed apace; whilst all the Rishis of the Ikshvâku clan who had received a heavenly birth, beholding Buddha thus benefitting men, were filled with joy and satisfaction; and whilst throughout the heavenly mansions religious offerings fell as raining flowers, the Devas and the Nâga spirits, with one voice, praised the Buddha's virtues; men seeing the religious offerings, hearing, too, the joyous hymn of praise, were all rejoiced in turn; they leapt for unrestrained joy; Mâra, the Devarâga, only, felt in his heart great anguish. Buddha for those seven days, in contemplation lost, his heart at peace, beheld and pondered on the Bodhi tree, with gaze unmoved and never wearying:--"Now resting here, in this condition, I have obtained," he said, "my ever-shifting heart's desire, and now at rest I stand, escaped from self." The eyes of Buddha then considered "all that lives," and forthwith rose there in him deep compassion; much he desired to bring about their welfare, but how to gain for them that most excellent deliverance, from covetous desire, hatred, ignorance, and false teaching, this was the question; how to suppress this sinful heart by right direction; not by anxious use of outward means, but by resting quietly in thoughtful silence. Now looking back and thinking of his mighty vow, there rose once more within his mind a wish to preach the law; and looking carefully throughout the world, he saw how pain and sorrow ripened and increased everywhere. Then Brahma-deva knowing his thoughts, and considering it right to request him to advance religion for the wider spread of the Brahma-glory, in the deliverance of all flesh from sorrow, coming, beheld upon the person of the reverend monk all the distinguishing marks of a great preacher, visible in an excellent degree; fixed and unmoved he sat in the possession of truth and wisdom, free from all evil impediments, with a heart cleansed from all insincerity or falsehood. Then with reverent and a joyful heart, great Brahma stood and with hands joined, thus made known his request:--"What happiness in all the world so great as when a loving master meets the unwise; the world with all its occupants, filled with impurity and dire confusion, with heavy grief oppressed, or, in some cases, lighter sorrows, waits deliverance; the lord of men, having escaped by crossing the wide and mournful sea of birth and death, we now entreat to rescue others--those struggling creatures all engulfed therein; as the just worldly man, when he gets profit, gives some rebate withal. So the lord of men enjoying such religious gain, should also give somewhat to living things. The world indeed is bent on large personal gain, and hard it is to share one's own with others. O! let your loving heart be moved with pity towards the world burdened with vexing cares." Thus having spoken by way of exhortation, with reverent mien he turned back to the Brahma heaven. Buddha, regarding the invitation of Brahma-deva, rejoiced at heart, and his design was strengthened; greatly was his heart of pity nourished, and purposed was his mind to preach. Thinking he ought to beg some food, each of the four kings offered him a Pâtra; Tathâgata, in fealty to religion, received the four and joined them all in one. And now some merchant men were passing by, to whom "a virtuous friend," a heavenly spirit, said: "The great Rishi, the venerable monk, is dwelling in this mountain-grove, affording in the world a noble field for merit; go then and offer him a sacrifice!" Hearing the summons, joyfully they went, and offered the first meal religiously. Having partaken of it, then he deeply pondered, who first should hear the law; he thought at once of Ârâda Kâlâma and Udraka Râmaputra, as being fit to accept the righteous law; but now they both were dead. Then next he thought of the five men, that they were fit to hear the first sermon. Bent then on this design to preach Nirvâna, as the sun's glory bursts through the darkness, so went he on towards Benares, the place where dwelt the ancient Rishis. With eyes as gentle as the ox king's, his pace as firm and even as the lion's, because he would convert the world he went on towards the Kâsi city. Step by step, like the king of beasts, did he advance watchfully through the grove of wisdom.

Bimbasâra Râga, having, in a decorous manner, and with soothing speech, made his request, the prince on his part respectfully replied, in the following words, deep and heart-stirring: "Illustrious and world-renowned! Your words are not opposed to reason, descendant of a distinguished family--an Aryan--amongst men a true friend indeed, righteous and sincere to the bottom of your heart, it is proper for religion's sake to speak thus. In all the world, in its different sections, there is no chartered place for solid virtue, for if virtue flags and folly rules, what reverence can there be, or honor paid, to a high name or boast of prowess, inherited from former generations! And so there may be in the midst of great distress, large goodness, these are not mutually opposed. This then is so with the world in the connection of true worth and friendship. A true friend who makes good use of wealth--is rightly called a fast and firm treasure, but he who guards and stints the profit he has made, his wealth will soon be spent and lost; the wealth of a country is no constant treasure, but that which is given in charity is rich in returns, therefore charity is a true friend: although it scatters, yet it brings no repentance; you indeed are known as liberal and kind, I make no reply in opposition to you, but simply as we meet, so with agreeable purpose we talk. I fear birth, old age, disease, and death, and so I seek to find a sure mode of deliverance; I have put away thought of relatives and family affection, how is it possible then for me to return to the world and not to fear to revive the poisonous snake, and after the hail to be burned in the fierce fire; indeed, I fear the objects of these several desires, this whirling in the stream of life troubles my heart, these five desires, the inconstant thieves--stealing from men their choicest treasures, making them unreal, false, and fickle--are like the man called up as an apparition; for a time the beholders are affected by it, but it has no lasting hold upon the mind; so these five desires are the great obstacles, forever disarranging the way of peace; if the joys of heaven are not worth having, how much less the desires common to men, begetting the thirst of wild love, and then lost in the enjoyment, as the fierce wind fans the fire, till the fuel be spent and the fire expires; of all unrighteous things in the world, there is nothing worse than the domain of the five desires; for all men maddened by the power of lust, giving themselves to pleasure, are dead to reason. The wise man fears these desires, he fears to fall into the way of unrighteousness; for like a king who rules all within the four seas, yet still seeks beyond for something more, so is lust; like the unbounded ocean, it knows not when and where to stop. Mandha, the Kakravartin, when the heavens rained yellow gold, and he ruled all within the seas, yet sighed after the domain of the thirty-three heavens; dividing with Sakra his seat, and so through the power of this lust he died; Nung-Sha, whilst practising austerities, got power to rule the thirty-three heavenly abodes, but from lust he became proud and supercilious; the Rishi whilst stepping into his chariot, through carelessness in his gait, fell down into the midst of the serpent pit. Yen-lo, the universal monarch (Kakravartin), wandering abroad through the Trayastrimsas heaven, took a heavenly woman (Apsara) for a queen, and unjustly extorted the gold of a Rishi; the Rishi, in anger, added a charm, by which the country was ruined, and his life ended. Po-lo, and Sakra king of Devas, and Nung-Sha returning to Sakra; what certainty is there, even for the lord of heaven? Neither is any country safe, though kept by the mighty strength of those dwelling in it. But when one's clothing consists of grass, the berries one's food, the rivulets one's drink, with long hair flowing to the ground, silent as a Muni, seeking nothing, in this way practising austerities, in the end lust shall be destroyed. Know then, that the province of the five desires is avowedly an enemy of the religious man. Even the one-thousand-armed invincible king, strong in his might, finds it hard to conquer this. The Rishi Râma perished because of lust; how much more ought I, the son of a Kshatriya, to restrain lustful desire; but indulge in lust a little, and like the child it grows apace, the wise man hates it therefore; who would take poison for food? every sorrow is increased and cherished by the offices of lust. If there is no lustful desire, the risings of sorrow are not produced, the wise man seeing the bitterness of sorrow, stamps out and destroys the risings of desire; that which the world calls virtue, is but another form of this baneful law; worldly men enjoying the pleasure of covetous desire then every form of careless conduct results; these careless ways producing hurt, at death, the subject of them reaps perdition. But by the diligent use of means, and careful continuance therein, the consequences of negligence are avoided, we should therefore dread the non-use of means; recollecting that all things are illusory, the wise man covets them not; he who desires such things, desires sorrow, and then goes on again ensnared in love, with no certainty of ultimate freedom; he advances still and ever adds grief to grief, like one holding a lighted torch burns his hand, and therefore the wise man enters on no such things. The foolish man and the one who doubts, still encouraging the covetous and burning heart, in the end receives accumulated sorrow, not to be remedied by any prospect of rest; covetousness and anger are as the serpent's poison; the wise man casts away the approach of sorrow as a rotten bone; he tastes it not nor touches it, lest it should corrupt his teeth, that which the wise man will not take, the king will go through fire and water to obtain, the wicked sons labor for wealth as for a piece of putrid flesh, o'er which the hungry flocks of birds contend. So should we regard riches; the wise man is ill pleased at having wealth stored up, the mind wild with anxious thoughts, guarding himself by night and day, as a man who fears some powerful enemy, like as a man's feelings revolt with disgust at the sights seen beneath the slaughter post of the East Market; so the high post which marks the presence of lust, and anger, and ignorance, the wise man always avoids; as those who enter the mountains or the seas have much to contend with and little rest, as the fruit which grows on a high tree, and is grasped at by the covetous at the risk of life, so is the region of covetous desire, though they see the difficulty of getting it, yet how painfully do men scheme after wealth, difficult to acquire, easy to dissipate, as that which is got in a dream: how can the wise man hoard up such trash! Like covering over with a false surface a hole full of fire, slipping through which the body is burnt, so is the fire of covetous desire. The wise man meddles not with it. Like that Kaurava, or Pih-se-ni Nanda, or Ni-k'he-lai Danta, as some butcher's appearance, such also is the appearance of lustful desire; the wise man will have nothing to do with it; he would rather throw his body into the water or fire, or cast himself down over a steep precipice. Seeking to obtain heavenly pleasures, what is this but to remove the place of sorrow, without profit. Sün-tau, Po-sun-tau, brothers of Asura, lived together in great affection, but on account of lustful desire slew one another, and their name perished; all this then comes from lust; it is this which makes a man vile, and lashes and goads him with piercing sorrow; lust debases a man, robs him of all hope, whilst through the long night his body and soul are worn out; like the stag that covets the power of speech and dies, or the winged bird that covets sensual pleasure, or the fish that covets the baited hook, such are the calamities that lust brings; considering what are the requirements of life, none of these possess permanency; we eat to appease the pain of hunger, to do away with thirst we drink, we clothe ourselves to keep out the cold and wind, we lie down to rest to get sleep, to procure locomotion we seek a carriage, when we would halt we seek a seat, we wash to cleanse ourselves from dirt; all these things are done to avoid inconvenience; we may gather therefore that these five desires have no permanent character; for as a man suffering from fever seeks and asks for some cooling medicine, so covetousness seeks for something to satisfy its longings; foolish men regard these things as permanent, and as the necessary requirements of life, but, in sooth, there is no permanent cessation of sorrow; for by coveting to appease these desires we really increase them; there is no character of permanency therefore about them. To be filled and clothed are no lasting pleasures, time passes, and the sorrow recurs; summer is cool during the moon-tide shining; winter comes and cold increases; and so through all the eightfold laws of the world they possess no marks of permanence, sorrow and joy cannot agree together, as a person slave-governed loses his renown. But religion causes all things to be of service, as a king reigning in his sovereignty; so religion controls sorrow, as one fits on a burden according to power of endurance. Whatever our condition in the world, still sorrows accumulate around us. Even in the condition of a king, how does pain multiply, though bound to others by love, yet this is a cause of grief; without friends and living alone, what joy can there be in this? Though a man rules over the four kingdoms, yet only one part can be enjoyed; to be concerned in ten thousand matters, what profit is there in this, for we only accumulate anxieties. Put an end to sorrow, then, by appeasing desire, refrain from busy work, this is rest. A king enjoys his sensual pleasures; deprived of kingship there is the joy of rest; in both cases there are pleasures but of different kinds; why then be a king! Make then no plan or crafty expedient, to lead me back to the five desires; what my heart prays for, is some quiet place and freedom; but you desire to entangle me in relationships and duties, and destroy the completion of what I seek; I am in no fear of family hatred, nor do I seek the joys of heaven; my heart hankers after no vulgar profit, so I have put away my royal diadem; and contrary to your way of thinking, I prefer, henceforth, no more to rule. A hare rescued from the serpent's mouth, would it go back again to be devoured? holding a torch and burning himself, would not a man let it go? A man blind and recovering his sight, would he again seek to be in darkness? the rich, does he sigh for poverty? the wise, does he long to be ignorant? Has the world such men as these? then will I again enjoy my country. But I desire to get rid of birth, old age, and death, with body restrained, to beg my food; with appetites moderated, to keep in my retreat; and then to avoid the evil modes of a future life, this is to find peace in two worlds: now then I pray you pity me not. Pity, rather, those who rule as kings! their souls ever vacant and athirst, in the present world no repose, hereafter receiving pain as their meed. You, who possess a distinguished family name, and the reverence due to a great master, would generously share your dignity with me, your worldly pleasures and amusements; I, too, in return, for your sake, beseech you to share my reward with me; he who indulges in the threefold kinds of pleasure, this man the world calls 'Lord,' but this is not according to reason either, because these things cannot be retained, but where there is no birth, or life, or death, he who exercises himself in this way, is Lord indeed! You say that while young a man should be gay, and when old then religious, but I regard the feebleness of age as bringing with it loss of power to be religious, unlike the firmness and power of youth, the will determined and the heart established; but death as a robber with a drawn sword follows us all, desiring to catch his prey; how then should we wait for old age, ere we bring our mind to a religious life? Inconstancy is the great hunter, age his bow, disease his arrows, in the fields of life and death he hunts for living things as for the deer; when he can get his opportunity, he takes our life; who then would wait for age? And what the teachers say and do, with reference to matters connected with life and death, exhorting the young, mature, or middle-aged, all to contrive by any means, to prepare vast meetings for sacrifices, this they do indeed of their own ignorance; better far to reverence the true law, and put an end to sacrifice to appease the gods! Destroying life to gain religious merit, what love can such a man possess? even if the reward of such sacrifices were lasting, even for this, slaughter would be unseemly; how much more, when the reward is transient! Shall we, in search of this, slay that which lives, in worship? this is like those who practise wisdom, and the way of religious abstraction, but neglect the rules of moral conduct. It ill behooves us then to follow with the world, and attend these sacrificial assemblies, and seek some present good in killing that which lives; the wise avoid destroying life! Much less do they engage in general sacrifices, for the purpose of gaining future reward! the fruit promised in the three worlds is none of mine to choose for happiness! All these are governed by transient, fickle laws, like the wind, or the drop that is blown from the grass; such things therefore I put away from me, and I seek for true escape. I hear there is one O-lo-lam who eloquently discourses on the way of escape; I must go to the place where he dwells, that great Rishi and hermit. But in truth, sorrow must be banished; I regret indeed leaving you; may your country have repose and quiet! safely defended by you as by the divine Sakra râga! May wisdom be shed abroad as light upon your empire, like the brightness of the meridian sun! may you be exceedingly victorious as lord of the great earth, with a perfect heart ruling over its destiny! May you direct and defend its sons! ruling your empire in righteousness! Water and snow and fire are opposed to one another, but the fire by its influence causes vapor, the vapor causes the floating clouds, the floating clouds drop down rain; there are birds in space, who drink the rain, with rainless bodies. Slaughter and peaceful homes are enemies! those who would have peace hate slaughter, and if those who slaughter are so hateful, then put an end, O king, to those who practise it! And bid these find release, as those who drink and yet are parched with thirst."

That man who is contented with only a little is regarded as freed. That man who beholds the world as consisting of eaters and edibles (and himself as different from both) and who is never touched by pleasure and pain which are born of illusion, is regarded as emancipate. That man who regards a soft bed on a fine bedstead and the hard soil as equal, and who regards good sali rice and hard thick rice as equal, is emancipated. That man who regards linen and cloth made of grass as equal, and in whose estimation cloth of silk and barks of trees are the same, and who sees no difference between clean sheep-skin and unclean leather, is emancipated. That man who looks upon this world as the result of the combination of the five primal essences, and who behaves himself in this world, keeping this notion foremost, is emancipated. That man who regards pleasure and pain as equal, and gain and loss as on a par, in whose estimation victory and defeat differ not, to whom like and dislike are the same, and who is unchanged under fear and anxiety, is wholly emancipated.

But the apparently unchanged traditions of the older forms of faith and the relatively strong position of the Church must not blind us to the generally disorganized condition of religion to-day. There is much in evidence a body of doubt which clouds the outlook of multitudes upon religion generally. Beyond debate a kind of eclipse of faith began to draw across the Western world so early as the middle of the last century. The militant skepticism of the brilliant group of younger poets who sang their defiances in the first two decades of the nineteenth century to a world which professed itself duly shocked, is wholly different from the sadness with which the more mature singers of two generations later announce their questioning and their disillusionment. The difference is just the difference between Shelley and Matthew Arnold. There is a philosophic depth in this later music which the former wholly lacked. Arnold speaks for his time when he announces himself as standing between two worlds, one dead, the other powerless to be born. A profound disillusionment expressed itself in great ranges of later nineteenth century literature and confirmed the more sensitive and despairing in a positive pessimism, strangely contrasted to the self-assertive temper of the science and industry of the period. It would need a pretty careful analysis to follow all this to its roots.

The consciousness of the Unity of Life is something that must be experienced before the truth may be realized. It is not necessary for one to wait until he acquire full Cosmic Consciousness before he may realize, at least partially, the Oneness of All Life, for he may unfold gradually into the Cosmic Knowing, experiencing at each stage a fuller conception of the underlying Unity of Life, in which he is a centre of consciousness and manifestation. But there must be at least a partial unfoldment before one is able to feel the sense of Unity. To those who have not unfolded sufficiently to gain at least a glimmering of the truth, everything appears separate from every other thing, and there is no Unity of All. It is as if every leaf on a mighty tree were to consider itself a being separate and distinct from everything else in the world, failing to perceive its connection with the branch or limb, and tree, and its unity in being with every other leaf on the tree. After a bit the unfolding consciousness of the leaf enables it to perceive the stem that connects it with the twig. Then it begins to realize certain relationships, and feels its vital connection with the twig and the few other leaves attached to the same twig.

How long has it taken the world to become what it now is? If it can be said that even up to the present day cosmic dust, “which has never belonged to the earth before,”(1048) reaches our Globe, how much more logical is it to believe—as the Occultists do—that through the countless millions of years that have rolled away since that dust aggregated and formed the Globe we live in round its nucleus of intelligent Primeval Substance, many humanities—differing from our present mankind as greatly as the humanity which will evolve millions of years hence will differ from our races—appeared but to disappear from the face of the Earth, as will our own. These primitive and far‐distant humanities are denied, because, as Geologists think, they have left no tangible relics of themselves. All trace of them is swept away, and therefore they have never existed. Yet their relics—though very few of them, truly—are to be found, and they must be discovered by geological research. But, even if they were never to be met with, there would be no reason to say that no men could have ever lived in the geological periods to which their presence on earth is assigned. For their organisms needed no warm blood, no atmosphere, no feeding; the author of World‐Life is right, and there is no extravagance in believing as we do, that as, on scientific hypotheses, there may be to this day “psychic natures enshrined in indestructible flint and platinum,” so there were psychic natures enshrined in forms of equally indestructible Primeval Matter—the real forefathers of our Fifth Race.

This something, at present unknown to Western speculation, is called by Occultists Fohat. It is the “bridge” by which the Ideas existing in the Divine Thought are impressed on Cosmic Substance as the Laws of Nature. Fohat is thus the dynamic energy of Cosmic Ideation; or, regarded from the other side, it is the intelligent medium, the guiding power of all manifestation, the Thought Divine transmitted and made manifest through the Dhyân Chohans,(50) the Architects of the visible World. Thus from Spirit, or Cosmic Ideation, comes our Consciousness, from Cosmic Substance the several Vehicles in which that Consciousness is individualized and attains to self—or reflective—consciousness; while Fohat, in its various manifestations, is the mysterious link between Mind and Matter, the animating principle electrifying every atom into life.

It is only when its pure boughs had touched the terrestrial mud of the Garden of Eden, of our Adamic Race, that this Tree became soiled by the contact and lost its pristine purity; and that the Serpent of Eternity, the Heaven‐Born Logos, was finally degraded. In days of old, of the Divine Dynasties on Earth, the now dreaded reptile was regarded as the first beam of light that radiated from the abyss of Divine Mystery. Various were the forms which it was made to assume, and numerous the natural symbols adapted to it, as it crossed the æons of Time; as from Infinite Time (Kâla) itself it fell into the space and time evolved out of human speculation. These forms were cosmic and astronomical, theistic and pantheistic, abstract and concrete. They became in turn the Polar Dragon and the Southern Cross, the Alpha Draconis of the Pyramid, and the Hindû‐Buddhist Dragon, which ever threatens, yet never swallows the Sun during its eclipses. Till then, the Tree remained ever green, for it was sprinkled by the Waters of Life; the Great Dragon remained ever divine, so long as it was kept within the precincts of the sidereal fields. But the Tree grew and its lower boughs at last touched the Infernal Regions—our Earth. Then the Great Serpent Nidhögg—he who devours the corpses of the evil‐doers in the “Hall of Misery” (human life), so soon as they are plunged into Hwergelmir, the roaring cauldron (of human passions)—gnawed the reversed World‐Tree. The worms of materiality covered the once healthy and mighty roots, and are now ascending higher and higher along the trunk;

A leaf from the tip of the uppermost branch falls against the middle branch; a leaf from the tip of the middle branch falls against the lowest branch; a leaf from the tip of the lowest branch, falling into the oil floating in the fresh jewelled goblet which the maid of Mihe is lifting up, all [goes] curdle-curdle. Ah! this is very awful, August Child of the High-Shining Sun! The tradition of the thing, too this!" So on her presenting this Song, her crime was pardoned. Then the Empress sang. Her Song said: "Present the luxuriant august liquor to the august child of the high-shining sun, who is broad like the leaves, who is brilliant like the blossoms of the broad-foliaged five hundred[-fold branching] true camellia-tree that stands growing by the house of new licking in this high metropolis of Yamato, on this high-timbered mound of the metropolis The tradition of this thing, too this!" Forthwith the Heavenly Sovereign sang, saying: "The people of the great palace, having put on scarfs like the quail-birds having put their tails together like wagtails' and congregated together like the yard-sparrows, may perhaps to-day be truly steeped in liquor,--the people of the palace of the high-shining sun. The tradition of the thing, too, this." These three Songs are Songs of Heavenly Words. So at this copious feast this female attendant from Mihe was praised and plentifully endowed.

A word in regard to this little land, now lying close to the heart of Honolulu itself, which still bears the same name as its old-time mistress, Pele-ula. To the kamaaina the sturdy samang tree, whose vigorous bole parts the traffic of Vineyard Street just before its junction with the highway of Nu'uanu has long been a familiar object. This fine tree has a history of its own and can claim the respectable age of not less than forty years. The land about it has borne the classic name of Pele-ula for a period of centuries that hark back to the antiquity of Hawaiian tradition. The sightseer of to-day who views the region from the macadamized roadway, some ten feet above the level of the surrounding land, must not judge of its former attractiveness and fitness as a place of residence by its present insalubrity--now shut in by embankments, overhung by dank and shadowy trees, its once-pure stream either diverted for economic purposes or cluttered and defiled with the debris of civilization. A study of the region, on the inner--mauka--border of which lies Pele-ula, will easily convince the observer that within a short geologic period the wash of silt and mud from higher levels has filled in and converted what must have been at one time a clear salt-water basin into the swampy flats that not long ago met the eye.

The next step was the blending of this story with one which had a clear basis in history. In the year 437 the Burgundians, under their king, Gundicarius (so the Latin histories call him), were practically annihilated by the Huns. The story of this great battle soon became one of the foremost of Rhineland traditions; and though Attila was presumably not present in person, he was quite naturally introduced as the famous ruler of the invading hordes. The dramatic story of Attila’s death in the year 453 was likewise added to the tradition, and during the sixth century the chain was completed by linking together the stories of Sigurth and those of the Burgundian slaughter. Gundicarius becomes the Gunther of the Nibelungenlied and the Gunnar of the Eddic poems; Attila becomes Etzel and Atli. A still further development came through the addition of another, and totally unrelated, set of historical traditions based on the career of Ermanarich, king of the Goths, who died about the year 376. Ermanarich figures largely in many stories unconnected with the Sigurth cycle, but, with the zeal of the medieval story-tellers for connecting their heroes, he was introduced as the husband of Sigurth’s daughter, Svanhild, herself originally part of a separate narrative group, and as Jormunrek he plays a considerable part in a few of the Eddic poems.

It has been already pointed out (introductory note to Reginsmol) that the compiler of the Eddic collection had clearly undertaken to formulate a coherent narrative of the entire Sigurth cycle, piecing together the various poems by means of prose narrative links. To some extent these links were based on traditions existing outside of the lays themselves, but in the main the material was gathered from the contents of the poems. The short prose passage entitled Drap Niflunga, which in the Codex Regius immediately follows the Helreith Brynhildar, is just such a narrative link, and scarcely deserves a special heading, but as nearly all editions separate it from the preceding and following poems, I have followed their example.

With this peculiarly reverential nature it would be impossible to make the Irish a nation of sceptics, even if a whole legion of German Rationalists came amongst them to preach a crusade against all belief in the spiritual and the unseen. And the old traditions of their race have likewise taken firm hold in their hearts, because they are an artistic people, and require objects for their adoration and love, not mere abstractions to be accepted by their reason. And they are also a nation of poets; the presence of God is ever near them, and the saints and angels, and the shadowy beings of earth and air are perpetually drawing their minds, through mingled love and fear, to the infinite and invisible world. Probably not one tradition or custom that had its origin in a religious belief has been lost in Ireland during the long course of ages since the first people from Eastern lands arrived and settled on our shores. The Baal fires are still lit at Midsummer, though no longer in honour of the sun, but of St. John; and the peasants still make their cattle pass between two fires—not, indeed, as of old, in the name of Moloch, but of some patron saint. That all Irish legends point to the East for their origin, not to the North, is certain; to a warm land, not one of icebergs, and thunder crashes of the rending of ice-bound rivers, but to a region where the shadow of trees, and a cool draught from the sparkling well were life-giving blessings.

Plutarch places the tomb of Phaëton on the banks of the river Po; and it is not improbable that his mother and sisters, grieving at his fate, ended their lives in the neighborhood of his tomb, being overcome with grief, which gave rise to the story that they were changed into the poplars on its banks, which distilled amber. Some writers say, that they were changed into larch trees, and not poplars. Hesiod and Pindar also make mention of this tradition. Possibly, Cycnus, being a friend of Phaëton, may have died from grief at his loss, on which the poets graced his attachment with the story that he was changed into a swan. Apollodorus mentions two other persons of the name of Cycnus. One was the son of Mars, and was killed before Troy; the other, as Hesiod tells us, was killed by Hercules. Lucian, in his satirical vein, tells us, that inquiring on the banks of the Po for the swans, and the poplars distilling amber, he was told that no such things had ever been seen there; and that even the tradition of Phaëton and his sisters was utterly unknown to the inhabitants of those parts.