The Eternal, verily, won a victory for the Bright Powers. In the victory of That, of the Eternal, the Bright Powers magnified themselves. They, considering, said: Of us, verily, is this victory; of us, verily, is this might, said they. That Eternal knew this thought of theirs. To them, verily, That manifested Itself. They knew It not. What apparition is this? said they. They spoke to the Fire-god: Thou All-permeating, discover thou what this apparition is! said they. Be it so! said he. The Fire-god ran up to That. That said to him: Who art thou? The Fire-god, verily, am I! said he. The All-permeating am I! Even this all can I burn up, whatever there be, here in the world! said he. Before him That laid down a blade of grass. Burn this! said That. He went forward toward it with all swiftness. He was not able to burn it. From That, verily, he turned back. I have not been able to discover what that apparition is! said he. And so they spoke to the Wind-god: Thou Wind-god, discover thou what this apparition is! said they. Be it so! said he. The Wind-god ran up to That. That said to him: Who art thou? The Wind-god, verily, am I! said he. He who rests in the Mother am I! If that be so, what valour is in thee? said That. Even this all can I take up, whatever there be, here in the world! said he. Before him That laid down a blade of grass. Take up this! said That. He went forward toward it with all swiftness. He was not able to take it up. From That, verily, he turned back. I have not been able to discover what that apparition is! said he. thou what this apparition is! said they. Be it so! said he. The Sky-lord ran up to That. That vanished from before him. greatly radiant, Uma, daughter of the Snowy Mountain. To her the Sky-lord spoke: What is this apparition? said he. She spoke: The Eternal, verily! said she. In the victory of That ye were magnifying yourselves, said she. From her, verily, he knew: It is the Eternal. The passage just translated is, perhaps, the most delicious bit of Sanskrit prose that has come down to us; fascinating in the great simplicity of its style, charming in its sense of humour. It is, at the same time, one of the deepest passages in all the Upanishads, the profoundest books of the Eastern Wisdom. We can, therefore, hope to discover only a part of its mystery, which is, indeed, the supreme mystery of the Eternal. We can best seek the meaning of this splendidly vivacious piece of symbolism by translating certain sentences from a Vedanta catechism attributed to one of the great Masters of the Eastern Wisdom, Shankaracharya, who both edited and commented on the greater Upanishads, though the commentaries we have were probably written not by that Master but by some of his disciples. The sentences are these: The Supreme Self, attributing itself to, and becoming self-conscious in, the natural body, is called the All-pervading (Vishva, Vaishvanara). The Supreme Self, attributing itself to, and becoming self-conscious in, the mental body, is called the Radiant (Taijasa). The Supreme Self, attributing itself to, and becoming self-conscious in, the causal body (Karana sharira) is called the Illuminated (Prajna). The Supreme Self (Atma) in its own form, is Infinite Being, Infinite Consciousness, Infinite Bliss. There is, therefore, on the one hand, the Supreme Self, the Eternal. On the other hand, there are the three bodies, counting from below upward, the natural body, the mental body, the causal body. And, in each of these three bodies, there is the apparition, the presentment, of the Supreme Self: the self in that body. In the natural body is the vital, natural self; the self common to all living things, the all-permeating, all-pervading vital fire. In the mental body is the personal self, in the higher sense of personality, the personal man redeemed. In the causal body is the self of illumination, the permanent individuality, as distinguished from the true personality. One might, perhaps, distinguish these three as the self of the ordinary man, the self of the full disciple, and the self of the Master. This seems to be very closely the ground covered by the first, or microcosmic, meaning of our ancient parable. The victory which the Eternal won for the Bright Powers would appear to be the victory of manifestation, of existence in manifested life. This manifestation, like the unrolling of a curtain, is let down through the Three Worlds, the spiritual world, the mid-world and the natural world. In the lowest of the three, the natural world, Life is manifested as the habitual self, perhaps it would be better to say, the vital self, in the natural body. On its own plane, natural life, vitality, pervades all things and sets all things aflame with vital breath. Through that power, the whole natural universe moves and breathes and has its being. But, faced with the mystery of Life, the natural self is impotent. Even a blade of grass presents an unconquerable enigma. The digestive powers even of a rabbit can consume the blade of grass. But the natural intelligence even of the wisest botanist cannot solve the ultimate problem of the blade of grass, the mystery of the being that is within it. For the self of the mental body, which begins where reflective selfconsciousness begins, but which fully disentangles itself from the natural self only when the disciple comes to full self-consciousness in the mental body, the ultimate mystery is equally impenetrable. The activity of the mental self, like the wind of heaven, sweeps to the uttermost bounds of visible space, only to be completely baffled. The intelligence of that self cannot take up even a blade of grass, and discern its final secret. We come now to deep waters; waters considerably beyond the depth of the present interpreter. But, in the writings attributed to Shankaracharya, there is what would appear to be a clue. It is said there that the causal body has two aspects: on the one hand, it is the vesture of the illuminated consciousness of the Master, the immortal; on the other hand, the causal body, since it is the basis of individuality, and, therefore, of separate existence, of differentiation, is, in a sense, opposed to the Oneness of the Eternal. The heterogeneous cannot comprehend the homogeneous. The differentiated cannot comprehend the undifferentiated. Looking at this from another point of view: Even when the disciple has attained to mastery, fully awakening the illuminated self-consciousness in the causal body, there appear to be two alternative ways open: He may either elect to enter Nirvana, which an august authority has called "a glorified selfishness"; or he may renounce his reward, and enter the gate of absolute sacrifice. Only if he choose the second alternative, has he entered into the true mystery of the Eternal. It would seem that there are in him the two counterbalancing tendencies on the one hand, the causal body which, as the basis of separateness, is biased toward separate existence, individual Nirvana; on the other hand, the illuminated consciousness, the very light of the Eternal, inspiring him to renounce individual bliss and to throw his whole life and being into the continuing struggle of All that lives, the eternal warfare for spiritual victory. But these are somewhat rash speculations, venturings into too deep water. Besides its application to the microcosm, to sevenfold man, our ancient parable has also its macrocosmic side, referring to the same principles in their universal aspect, as principles of worlds and solar systems. This macrocosmic side is brought out in the passage which follows, and which completes this Upanishad: Therefore, verily, these Bright Powers stand in rank above the other Bright Powers, namely, the Fire-god, the Wind-god, the Sky-lord; for they touched That most nearly. And because he first knew that It is the Eternal, therefore the Sky-lord surpasses in rank the other Bright Powers; for he touched That most nearly, he first knew That, saying, It is the Eternal. Of That, this is the teaching: That flashed forth from the lightning, like the twinkling of an eye. This concerns the celestial Powers. Now, as concerns the Self: To That, intelligence approaches; and through That, the will constantly remembers That. This, verily, is named adoration of That; as adoration of That, it is to be approached with reverence. He who knows That thus, to him all beings are subject in loving obedience. Thou hast said: Master, tell the Upanishad, the secret teaching! The Upanishad is declared to thee; we have, of a truth, declared the Upanishad concerning the Eternal; for this Upanishad, fervour, control, holy work are the support; the Vedas are its members; truth is its abode. He who rightly knows this secret teaching, putting away darkness and sin, in the unending heavenly world which is to be won he stands firm, he stands firm. We have, perhaps, in this last passage, the clue to the most mysterious personage in our ancient parable: Uma, daughter of the Snowy Mountain, Uma Haimavati. In the later and more exoteric, but still mystical, tradition of India, Uma is the consort of Shiva, Third Person of the Trimurti, the Lord of mystical wisdom, whose name signifies the August, the Benign. It is, therefore, the hidden wisdom, personified as the child of the Himalaya, who reveals the Eternal. Curiously, while the inner significance of the name of this Woman greatly radiant is lost in Sanskrit, it must have been clear in the older tongue which lies behind Sanskrit; for it remains in a group of younger Aryan tongues called Slavonic. Here, the root Um is the common word for intelligence. Cosmic Intelligence, therefore, on the one hand, the divine power which has been called Cosmic Electricity; and, on the other, that spiritual intelligence in man, the first manifestation of which is intuition, which steadily grows, as we watch and worship, till it becomes the infinite Light, revealing the Supreme Eternal; such would seem to be the significance of Uma, daughter of the Snowy Mountain, consort of the mystic Lord. C. J. T HIS morning I awoke to find a bitterly cold blizzard blowing, and everything within sight outside, from the mountain tops down, thinly covered on their windward side with frozen drifted snow, though it is now late spring, and we are in the semi-tropics. Not so many days ago a hot dry wind, laden with sand, blew in from the Mojave desert, while an almost melting, stifling heat from a blazing sun penetrated every shade. Along the great "fault" running eastward from here, and for miles on either side, the ground has shaken more violently and frequently of late. Everything has seemed as if in physiographical revolt, as if refusing to submit to some higher decree, or trying to assert itself should the earth be about to shape some new feature. From the window I saw our lone cypress tree bravely bend from the storm, time and again, as with set moral purpose, like some human creature stooping to adverse circumstances whilst refusing to break. Its nearest companion, a pepper tree, was being shorn of its small boughs and leaf and berry filigree; the birds we love so much had left their nests and found shelter in the thick vine climbing the house. Our flowers, too, were broken, and looked surprised and bewildered as the wind ruthlessly stripped them of their blossoms. Standing there and musing, similar scenes of storm and restive elemental extremes, rebellion, breakage and strain, the possible throes of new things in the making came to me, but in human nature and life, and passed in widening sequence through my mind as associated ideas. will do, until I stood in thought, as in like moods before, at the always half opened door of death itself, that greatest of all changes. Then I thought of a letter, unanswered these many months, eventually to find it in my inside coat pocket, where I had put it, intending to write in answer soon. The writer of the letter described to me Macdonald's last moments. How she was with him alone, and that as he sank unconscious toward the end, the writer felt what seemed to her like the stillness that follows some deeply felt, reverently spoken benediction, which filled the room; though the dying man had not said a word, nor given any sign. She did not know why, but she thought this might always be, when so valourous and strong a soul as Mac was freed by death; that possibly we sensed more keenly and directly the soul's finer life and influence at the moment of its passing. And she wrote, asking, could I explain, or give her some thoughts of my own, to make the cause and reason for this just a little more clear? I shall now try to do this-speaking to you, my friend-from the fragments of teaching I have gathered here and there, although the incidents of our inner life at death are not made |