dream, and whence its sadness? Is not the sorrow of a dream as real as the sorrow of a waking hour -as real in feeling, though imaginary in its cause? Are not the pains of the sleeping consciousness quite as genuine in their nature, and sometimes as hurtful in their effects, as the pains of the outer life? And is not the universe as responsible for the former as for the latter? Is it not specially responsible for the former on the Brahmanical supposition that this dream is the dream of the Absolute Spirit? If it originates in the nature of God, must there not in the universe be some barrier to the nature of God? Must there not be something radically wrong-wrong at the core, wrong in the essence of things? That which interferes with man may be only a relative evil; but surely that which interferes with God must be evil absolute and eternal.

Such was the question which at last was asked by a religion that originally belonged to the same family as the men who compiled the Vedas.1 At what time it separated itself from that family I cannot tell-whether it remained behind in some old dwelling after the other inmates had left, or whether it itself went out to seek a dwelling more commodious than theirs. Be this as it may, we do

1 In proof of this see Max Müller's "Last Results of the Persian Researches," as reported in Bunsen's 'Philosophy of Universal History,' i. 112; also Spiegel, 'Avesta,' 1-5: Leipzig, 1852,

know that ultimately this religion, which we now call Parsism, assumed, under the name of a distinguished prophet, an attitude of antagonism to the old Brahmanic faith. That prophet was Zoroaster. Carlyle has said that great men have short biographies; Zoroaster has no biography at all. He comes to us like a shadow, and like a shadow he goes. There has gathered round his name a series of sacred writings whose latest echoes have come down to us in a collected form under the title of the 'Avesta.' But the figure round whom they gather is a veiled figure. God is said to have concealed from the Hebrews the body of Moses; He has concealed from all men the bodily life of Zoroaster.

Who was the man? What was

his ancestry? Where was his birthplace? When was his era ?2 Did he live in the thirteenth century of the old world, or did he live in its sixth century, or did he ever live at all? All these questions have been asked and have been variously answered. That Zoroaster did live at some time is almost certain; that he flourished somewhat contemporaneously with Buddha is highly probable; beyond this nothing can be known of the man as a personality. We are made to feel 1 Translated with commentary by Professor De Harlez. Second ed., Paris, 1881.

2 See a list of the conflicting testimonies with respect to his age in Dr John Wilson, 'The Pársí Religion,' pp. 398-400: Bombay,

that he fills a gap in history, but he fills it invisibly. We are sometimes conscious that there is a presence in the room even where there is no sight and no sound. Some such sensation we experience in contemplating the presence of ZoroWe see him not, we hear him not, yet we feel that he occupies a space which naturally would be vacant, and therefore we know that he is there.

aster.

What is the filling of this space which is occupied by Zoroaster? What is the nature of that message which he is supposed to have given to the world, and which appears in the writings that have circled round his name? As I have indicated, it strikes a note which was neglected by the Indian Pantheon.1 That neglected note was the reality of an obstructive element in nature. The Indian religion, in all its phases, denied this obstructive element. Brahmanism took a gloomy view of the world, but she held her own view to be a delusion. Human life was in her eye a sad and imperfect thing, but human life was at the same time to her an unreality. It was a dream, an illusion, a vision of the night, a phantom in the brain of a higher life-the Absolute Spirit itself. All the sorrows of existence were but stirrings in the sleep of the

1 The antagonism appears in the fact that many of the gods of India are the devils of Parsism. See Professor K. Geldner, article "Zoroaster," Encyclopædia Britannica,' ninth edition.

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Almighty, partial interruptions of that rest which the Divine Life had enjoyed from of old. Zoroaster asked, Whence this interruption? He said,

If there be in the universe something which can interrupt the stream of the Divine Life, that something must be itself not only outside of the Divine, but equal to it in power. That which can oppose God must be not only alien to God, but possessed of an alien strength. If this life be a dream of the Absolute Life, whence comes the dream? Shall you say that the stream of the Divine vitality is inadequate to supply the whole course of its way? Is it possible that God in Himself should faint or grow weary? And if He does faint and grow weary, must there not be some other than Himself? Must there not be in the universe some element obstructive to the Divine - an element which is strong enough to oppose the Absolute Will, and powerful enough to paralyse its operations?'

This in effect was the question of Zoroaster. He felt, and rightly felt, that it is no explanation of the feeling of suffering to say that it is a sensation in a dream-that the problem will always remain, Whence arose this dream? He felt that Brahmanism had stopped short of the ultimate inquiry, that she really escaped no difficulties which her system was designed to escape. Accordingly Zoroaster stood forth in the midst of the universe, and declared that there was something wrong in it. He proclaimed

in stentorian tones that there was a crack in the machine, and a crack from the beginning. This is the first note of his message to the world. I shall show in the next chapter that it involves other and deeper notes, and shall endeavour to estimate the value of that thought which he revealed. But meantime I wish to mark the fact that this message of Zoroaster is the first deliberate and systematic testimony given by the Aryan religious consciousness to the existence of sin.1 Commonplace as it sounds to the modern ear, it was to the ancient ear very nearly a paradox. It struck a chord which, almost in its subject and altogether in its intensity, was Hitherto the ancient world had been directed either by the terrible, the beautiful, or the speculative. Men had worshipped from fear; they had worshipped from admiration; they had worshipped from philosophic instinct. They were now to be directed to a new source of adoration-the testimony of conscience. In Zoroaster the Aryan race opened its eyes upon the great problem of morality -the fact of sin. In a more pronounced sense than even Judaism, Parsism emphasised the power of moral evil. With the Jew there is always in the background a conviction, half latent and half ex

new.

1 Professor Wilson has pointed out that, although there are a few exceptions, the large majority of the Vedic prayers are for purely temporal blessings, and that the moral consciousness is mostly in abeyance (Lectures, pp. 9, 10. Oxford, 1840).