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THE TEACHING OF THE UPANISHADS.

AMONGST the most precious spiritual gifts to the English-speaking people of this century must be counted the monumental series of the Sacred Books of the East, edited by Professor Max Müller. That even the most important of these writings should have failed to make any general or influential impression on the time is perhaps hardly matter of wonder: first, because their line of thought lies on other than modern tracks; secondly, because their appeal is to those higher or transcendental qualities or faculties of the soul which at no one period in the history of the human race have been largely and intelligently represented. Pythagoras, Socrates, the Christ, were strangers to their generation, and could hardly be popularly understood or appreciated. Their intelligent expositors were few. This must at all times necessarily be the case. An abnormal outlook does not imply a corresponding faculty in the following, even with those who regard it in a friendly manner, and any appeal to the highest intuitive powers and capacities of the human soul can receive only a partial recognition in view of the material aims of the masses and their insistence upon selfish and individual interests.

The most valuable of all the writings referred to above are, undoubtedly, those of the Vedanta, which concentrate the doctrine of the Vedas in their most significant import. The Vedas themselves are based upon ceremonial and regulated observance, are for those in that state of religious development which "seeks after a sign;" but the Vedanta, as laid down in the Upanishads, is for those who, capable of passing immediately from the outward to the inward, are able to conceive of the essential and abstract, and are independent of the vehicle of form for their better understanding and appreciation of it.

The term "Upanishad " appears to be of uncertain origin and meaning. It may be derived from a Sanskrit root signifying a session or assembly, as of pupils with an instructor. It is, however, more significantly used as indicating doctrine, or secret doctrine, and this may be considered its ulterior meaning. These doctrines were first delivered to disciples or students orally through successive generations, and were only at a subsequent period committed to writing in the Sanskrit tongue of ancient India. They are very numerous, but, with minor differences, inculcate the same principles, and are essentially identical in teaching. They are broadly referred to a period six hundred years before the birth of Christ, but it is highly probable that, in one form or another, they owe their origin to a still more remote period in the "dark backward and abysm of time." These writings have heretofore been regarded, even by those from whom a clearer spiritual vision, a more perceptive intelligence, might have been reasonably expected, too much as mere literary curiosities, and have been spoken of as embodying the earliest inchoate thinking of mankind. Far from being the tentative efforts of a primitive humanity to grasp a higher range of being, loftier forms and views of life, they appear to me to lie on the highest planes of thought which the human mind has ever reached, and to indicate the greatest elevation possible to concrete being by raising it and identifying it with the Essentially Existent by the progressive laws of a spiritual evolution. It seems strange that nobody in this century, so far as I am aware, has seen and accepted these marvelous writings in their practical importance as the guides of life, to be appropriated reverentially as substantially identical in utterance, though from an

other point of view, with those which the most advanced amongst mankind have agreed to stamp with a sacred author ity, excepting the German philosopher Schopenhauer. We find Orientalists as accomplished and mature as Sir Monier Williams decrying the practical importance of these noble treatises. In his Indian Wisdom he speaks of the "fanciful etymologies, far-fetched allegories, and puerile conceits which bewilder the reader of the Upanishads," without making any attempt to investigate their more recondite meaning. Other Orientalists treat these writings either as curiosities of a capricious fancy, or fossils, as it were, in the half-forgotten stages of the moral advancement of mankind, to be regarded by students of the historic evolution of the race as so much material for scholarship in the book of universal knowledge, but without any thought of their real present value and importance. Mr. Gough, for example, in his Philosophy of the Upanishads, a useful and valuable book in many respects, -regards them with a cold and scholastic eye, indifferent, apparently, to their high worth, their profound truth and transcendent spiritual consequence. says, in his preface to that work, "The Upanishads are so many 'Songs before Sunrise,' spontaneous effusions of awakening reflection, half poetical, half metaphysical, that precede the conscious and methodical labors of the long succession of thinkers to construct a thoroughly intelligible conception of the sum of things." I should have thought the term least of all applicable to these elaborate and highly matured fruits of searching thought and profound reflection would be that of spontaneity. "Spontaneous effusions" might be a description suited to the gushes of verse from the boardingschool which sometimes find a place in the corners of country newspapers, but, applied to these writings, it is about as unhappy a designation as could be found in the dictionary. Neither do I know

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where, how, and by what means we have, in modern times, advanced in abstract directions on the principles here laid down. Have we arrived at anything more definite, absolute, or real, which appeals to the innermost feelings, or even to the reasoning powers, with a more assured response; or have we now aims more noble; or have we reached any grander moral conceptions, any larger modes of thought and life, than are here set before us? Certainly not, I think. Mr. Gough quotes the late Archer Butler as "an admirable interpreter of the imperfect materials before him," who, evidently, without the least appreciation of the luminous intelligence of these treatises, speaks of them as fostering "baseless dreams," to the great detriment of the people holding their tenets, - a verdict about as fair as it would be to confuse the exalted and self-immolating religion of Jesus Christ with the low form of the popular modern profession of it.

It is needless to dwell upon the remissness in scholarship to discern the true value of these precious records of human thought in its spiritual elevation. People do not find what they do not seek and do not want. It is enough that those who look for and desire to know truths to live by and to feed upon will treasure the rich harvest of thought herein contained in their innermost storehouse of precious things, amongst the soul's most valuable spiritual treasures. Of course, many difficulties in detail arise in a minute study of these treatises, as is the case with those books recognized as moral guides by the followers of the Christian religion, but the principles laid down in them are in themselves so absolutely sound and secure that we may well relegate their apparent defections to the margin of our imperfect comprehension, as belonging to habits of thought and modes of regarding things educationally different from our own. To determine their "philosophy" from an academic point of view is about as wise and as useful

as to attempt to define that of the Sermon on the Mount. If they have no intrinsic, practical value, if they make no true appeal to the human soul on their own basis, they have no raison d'être, and may very fitly be consigned at once to the "place of weeds and worn-out faces."

As to the capability of the ancient Hindu people to deal with these matters, one need only enter upon a study of their more scholastic philosophies, that of Kapila, for example, to learn how closely they could reason, how they anticipated every objection, with what penetrative, nay, piercing acumen they saw the whole bearing of the matter at issue, and with what a tenacious and unrelaxing grasp they adhered to their logical course, as a sleuthhound in pursuit of his prey.

Amidst all the varieties of sacred rite, observance, ceremonial, or other form which have ever existed, there is to be recognized one sole aim and intention. In fact, there has never been but one religion in the history of mankind. It may be characterized in very exclusive terms. It is that of a recognition of the Divine in the human, or, conversely, the human considered in its relationship to the Divine or Infinite and Omnipotent Being. The words "our Father" imply all that every religion taught or seeks to teach. The oldest and the latest doctrines are but an acknowledgment and enforcement of this principle, an expression of this accepted fact, namely, that as there are everywhere around us the signs and vestiges of an intelligent force at work, and that force, both in extent and power, infinitely superior to our own, it must necessarily be that, visible or invisible, there must be a conscious and intelligent Mover, Controller, Creator, Dissolver, in whose essence we live and move and

1 If the professor would include the philosophy of Kapila in the denomination of the Vedanta, and we accept the premises of that philosophy, his terms would be less open to question. This philosophy, in one word, attributes an evolutionary and developmental

have our being. The scope and object of every form of religion, pushed to its ultimate significance, are to secure a perfect unity or identity with the Divine Essential Being, of which our own is but a conditioned manifestation. This being the case, we propose to examine the teaching of the Vedanta from this point of view.

No fantastic theosophical speculations, no empirical assumptions, here occupy and bewilder the mind or mock it with changeful and flickering delusions. These writings are purely scientific, logical, experimental. Their authority only awaits general confirmation by practical proof, by the most spiritually discerning, and this proof is within reach of confirmation. They are transcendental in a sense, it is true, but everything we know is based upon the transcendental. "It is the ground we do not tread upon which supports us," says the Taoist; and all our knowledge must necessarily be based upon that which we do not know. In a letter to the present writer, the learned professor, to whom we owe so much, says, "The Vedanta is the only solution of all our religious and philosophical difficulties." Perhaps the terms are too inclusive; but I am very sure of this: if the solution be not found there, it will be found nowhere else.1 No more penetrative or profounder appeal can be made to the vivifying power which underlies. our spiritual being than one finds in these weighty discourses. The Vedanta embraces the compendium of all philosophies, the end of all intellectual and moral research; it embodies the highest wisdom, the most profound knowledge of the soul and the basis of life, attainable by human faculties. It wastes no time or labor, for it defines exactly what is pos

power to nature nearly in accord with accepted theories of modern science, but says that this manifestation of creative energy is solely for the disenfranchisement of soul from matter; and when this is perfectly accomplished, the action of nature ceases.

sible and what is impossible to finite being, and very distinctly marks the line where research must cease to conditioned inquiry. It leads us, as it were, to the very line and border of the Unknown Beyond. We are placed on the brink of the sensible universe, and look over it into the immeasurable caverns of the Infinite. We seem to feel by unmistakable presentation the very walls of our limitation. With this revelation for it undoubtedly is one-the mind, awed and wondering, stands before the impassable, the impenetrable veil. The Source of Life and Nature is clearly indicated. The soul cowers before the Ineffable, the Inscrutable, and places a reverent hand on its lips in a solemnized silence. From this attitude it is ultimately raised by a new presentment. A resplendent dawn arises. "Of all this," it exclaims, “I am a part, as much and as necessary as any other part. All is good, all is God. There can be only one Infinite, one Eternal, one Almighty, comprehending All, including All. Infinite Being cannot contradict itself by a negation. O my soul, tat tvam asi, that art thou! I am also that Being than whom there is no other, than whom there is nothing greater, beyond whom there is nothing."

To be more special, the central teaching of the Upanishads may be put into a few words. It is that of the divinely luminous Atman (an aspect of Brahman, or Essential Being), existing universally, but to be grasped and appropriated by the mind as the elemental vital principle existing within it. It is almost impossible by verbal definition to explain the significance of the word in its entirety. Only a close reading and study of the Vedantic writings will enable one to grasp it fully. The principle of the Divine Âtman is seized by the mind, retained till the whole being is permeated by it and transformed into its substance, exactly as is conveyed by the Gospel parable of the leaven. A divine knowledge and perception illu

mine the soul. All is seen under the light of one aspect, the Eternal, the Allpervading. This " Knowledge" (as it is called in the Vedanta) attained, the human is abandoned; the Essential and Infinite absorb and annihilate the conditioned and limited existence; the Eternal and Unconditioned are entered upon. When the soul has thus discovered its true nature, destiny, and being, it suffers no more sorrow, no more pain. It is lost in nameless bliss, and has reached a state to which no terms of mundane existence can apply, and is said to have passed into perfect darkness to all mortal ideas or conceptions.

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It will be seen that this form of doctrine is related to that of Plato in his exposition of the Ideal and the progressive stages by which it is reached. Still more clearly is it enunciated at the beginning of the Gospel of St. John, as the "Light which lighteth every man ; with which may be compared the following from the Vedanta: "Now that light which shines above this heaven, higher than everything, in the highest world, beyond which there are no other worlds, that is the same light which is within man." (Khândogya-up, III. xiii. 7.) Again it finds an exposition in some of the writings of the Alexandrian “ Fathers." Later it may be discovered as the "mystical" teaching of the "Friends of God" in the fifteenth century, represented by Eckhart, Tauler, and others. It found succeeding development in the Port-Royalists, Madame Guyon, Molinos, and the so-called Quietists of the French and Spanish schools. Finally it obtained utterance in the teaching and doctrines of the early Quakers, as represented by George Fox, Robert Barclay, and others. It is also illustrated in the writings of William Law in the last century.

It may thus be seen that this was no abnormal and sporadic accession, but that it is based and founded in the religious nature of man, a spontaneous growth or outburst which often, without any trace

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able connection, manifested itself at various points isolated in time and place. In fact, this doctrine contains the kernel of all forms of religion, all of which are merely subsidiary and accessory to it, as has been already stated, the soul's relationship to and connection with Divine Infinite Being, and, in its practical aspect, the way this is to be found. By its light the Christian scheme becomes clear, reasonable, philosophic: not the innocent suffering for the guilty in unjust reprisal, but the divine struggling through the human in the progressive stages of spiritual evolution. This divine element (the Âtman of the Vedânta) is to be dwelt upon and appropriated until the whole mass is leavened. Not that the soul is in itself changed, but it arises to new perceptions, new intelligence. It sees its divine nature and substance, and by means of this Knowledge enters upon its birthright of a purely spiritual life. The position of the soul as regards this Knowledge is explained by a familiar illustration. A king's son is placed, at his birth, among peasants, and grows up amongst them as one of them. As long as they do not know that he is the son of a king, and he does not know it, he remains a peasant; but as soon as they and he are made aware of the circumstance of his birth, he is no more a peasant, but a prince. It is thus with the soul. Once finding out its divine origin as the offspring of the Eternal, and therefore its divine nature, it is at once raised to the same rank and dignity according to its grade of perception of this fact. This doctrine, as teaching that the whole universe is the act or expression of the Deity or Essential Being, does not therefore recognize the existence of absolute evil to the soul. All that exists must have a good end and result. Those, "the blind," who do not see and accept this, and do not bring their lives into harmonious relationship with it, must go from existence to existence until the lesson has been learnt, the divine element,

universal and absolute, recognized and accepted, the mortal passed into the immortal, the temporal and the material lost in the spiritual.

I have said that these writings are scientific. They are not mere speculation, even when they leave the region of the sensible and material. They draw the mind naturally from the real ideal. I mean the ideal in the Platonic sense, and not the imaginative. They distinctly recognize the line beyond which the human faculties cannot pass. They do not attempt to define the indefinite, to explain that which is inexplicable; but they lead us to the very source and origin, the essentially unconditioned, and, indicating its presence unmistakably before us, bid us pause and regard it thoughtfully until it assumes its due proportions and importance, until its infinite proportions and stupendous importance would seem to reduce our paltry attempts to trace the path of Vital Energy by material investigation to the level of a child's effort to find out the constitution of its doll by pulling it to pieces, when, alas! there is nothing to be seen therein but barren sawdust.

Of course the modern physicist, as well as the Vedantist, knows and accepts the fact that there is a point at which his inquiry must terminate; but when he has reached that point, there is a dead blank, an unbroken, irresponsive silence; tace il sole, the sun is silent, as Dante says. There is no more to be seen or known. Research collapses. The physical inquirer sits down under the vague impression of undetermined and unintelligent forces, each blindly combating for the mastery. Here the contemplative study of the Vedantist begins. When we have traced the sensation to the sensorium, our inquiries terminate, but the Vedantist goes further. He does not confuse the eye or the ear with the impressions conveyed by them. He knows as well as the modern scientist knows that there is no traceable connec

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