Western European stream·The Great Initiates·Krishna: India and Brahmanic Initiation

Source context

Theme

Krishna as archetype of Brahmanic initiation and the spiritual foundations of ancient Indian culture

Soul-faculty

Sentient Soul

Steiner

• GA 53, 1905-03-16Steiner identifies the great initiates as the source of all major religious and cultural impulses, each speaking to a particular people from direct soul-realm experience — a framework that governs how Krishna's role in Indian civilization is understood.

Cross-tradition

• Vaishnavism / Bhagavata PuranaKrishna's role as divine teacher in the Bhagavad Gita — imparting esoteric knowledge of atman and dharma to a chosen disciple — presents cross-tradition congruence with Schuré's portrait of him as a hierophant who interiorizes cosmic law into the human soul.
• Vedantic doctrine of avataraThe avatara concept — descent of divine being into human form for the restoration of cosmic order — provides the doctrinal background against which Schuré's Brahmanic initiation schema is structured, showing cross-tradition congruence with his initiatic-biography method.

Krishna: India and Brahmanic Initiation

India and Brahmanic Initiation

He who creates worlds without ceasing is threefold. He is Brahma, the Father; he is Maya, the Mother; he is Vishnu, the Son; Essence, Substance and Life, each includes the others, and all three are one in the Ineffable.

—Brahmanic Doctrine, Upanishads

Thou carriest within thee a sublime Friend whom thou knowest not. For God dwells in the inner part of every man, but few know how to find Him. The man who sacrifices his desires and his works to the Beings from whom the principles of everything stem, and by whom the Universe was formed,

through this sacrifice attains perfection. For one who finds his happiness and joy within himself, and also his wisdom within himself is one with God. And, mark well, the soul which has found God is freed from rebirth and death, from old age and pain, and drinks the water of Immortality. —Bhagavad-Gita

6Heroic India
The Sons of the Sun and The Sons of the Moon From the conquest of India by the Aryans emerged one of the most glorious civilizations the earth has ever known. The Ganges and its tributaries saw great empires and vast capitals arise, like Ayodhya, Hastinapura and Indrapechta. The epic accounts of the Mahabharata and the popular cosmogonies of the Puranas, which include the oldest historical traditions of India, speak dazzlingly of royal opulence, of heroic grandeur and of the chivalrous spirit of those vanished times. Nothing more proud nor yet more noble can be imagined than one of those Aryan kings of India standing on his war chariot and commanding armies of elephants, horses and infantrymen. A Vedic priest consecrates his king before the assembled crowd in this manner: "I have brought you into our midst. All of the people want you. Heaven is firm, earth is firm; these mountains are firm; may the king of families be firm also." In a later code of laws, the Manava-Dharma-Sadstra, one reads, "These masters of the world who, eager to get rid of one another, unleash their strength in battle without flinching, after their death go directly to heaven." In fact, they consider themselves descendants of the gods and believe themselves their rivals, ready to become gods themselves. Filial obedience, military valor, with a sense of unselfish protection for all, is man's ideal. As for woman, the Hindu epic, humble servant of the Brahmans, hardly ever depicts her except with the qualities of the faithful wife. In their poems neither the Greeks nor the peoples of the North have portrayed such delicate, noble and exalted wives as the passionate Sita or the gentle Damayanti. What the Hindu epic does not tell us is the deep mystery of the mixture of races and the slow incubation of religious ideas which brought about profound changes in the social organization of Vedic India. The Aryans, pure-blooded conquerors, found themselves in the presence of very mixed and inferior races, where the yellow and red types intermixed with blacks in many nuances. The Hindu civilization thus appears as a mighty mountain, at its base a melanian race, mixed bloods on its sides, pure Aryans on its summit. Since the separation of the caste was not rigid in primitive times, many mixtures took place among these peoples. The purity of the conquering race changed more and more with the centuries, but to this day one sees the predominance of the Aryan type in the higher classes and the melanian type in the lower classes. And, from the lower levels of Hindu society, like the miasmas of the jungle mixed with the odor of wild beasts, always arose a burning vapor of passions, a mixture of languor and ferocity. Superabundant black blood gave India her special color. It attenuated and weakened the race. The miracle is that despite this mixing and so many changes, the dominant ideas of the white race could be preserved at the peak of this civilization. This, then, is the ethnic base of India: on the one hand, the genius of the white race with its moral sense and sublime metaphysical aspirations; on the other, the genius of the black race with its passionate energy and solvent strength. How is this double genius expressed in the ancient religious history of India? The oldest traditions speak of a solar dynasty and a lunar dynasty. The kings of the solar dynasty claim their descent from the sun. The others considered themselves to be sons of the moon. But this symbolic language concealed two opposing religious concepts and meant that these two categories of sovereigns were related to two different cults. The solar cult attributed the male sex to the God of the universe. Around it was grouped all that was purest in the Vedic tradition: the science of the sacred fire and of prayer, the esoteric conception of the supreme God, respect for woman, ancestor worship, elected and patriarchal royalty. The lunar cult attributed the feminine sex to divinity, under whose sign the religions of the Aryan cycle have always worshipped nature, even blind, unconscious nature in its violent, terrible manifestations. This cult leaned toward idolatry and black magic, preferred polygamy and tyranny, supported by the passions of the masses. The battle between the sons of the sun and the sons of the moon, between the Pandavas and Kuravas, is the theme of the great Hindu epic, the Mahabharata, a kind of summary in perspective of the history of Aryan India before the definitive formation of Brahmanism. This battle abounds in spirited combats and strange, endless adventures. In the middle of this gigantic epic, the Kuravas, the lunar kings, become the conquerors. The Pandavas, noble children of the sun, guardians of the pure rites, are dethroned and banished. As exiles they hide in the forests, seeking refuge among the anchorites, wearing clothing made of bark, and leaning on hermits' sticks. Will the baser instincts triumph? Are the powers of darkness, represented in the Hindu epic by the black Rakshasas, to be victorious over the enlightened Devas? Will tyranny crush the elite beneath its chariot of war, the cyclone of evil passions destroy the Vedic altar and extinguish the sacred fire of the ancestors? No. India is only at the beginning of her religious evolution. She will display her metaphysical and organizing genius in the establishment of Brahmanism. The priests who served the kings and chiefs under the name of purohitas, those placed in charge of the fire sacrifice, had already become their advisors and ministers. They had great wealth and considerable prestige. But they would not have been able to give to their caste that sovereign authority, that position above attack, even from royal power itself, without the aid of another group of men who personify the spirit of India in its most original and profound sense. These are the anchorites. From time immemorial these ascetics dwelt in retreats in the depth of the forests, beside rivers, or in the mountains near sacred lakes. They were sometimes found alone, sometimes assembled into brotherhoods, but always united in a single spirit. One recognizes in them the spiritual kings, the real masters of India. Heirs of the ancient wise men, the Rishis, they alone held the secret interpretation of the Vedas. In them lived the spirit of asceticism, hidden knowledge and transcendent powers. In order to obtain this wisdom they endured everything in the form of hunger, cold, burning sun, the terror of the jungles. Defenseless in their wooden huts, they live in prayer and meditation. With their voice, their gaze, they summon or drive away serpents, and calm lions and tigers. Happy is one who obtains their blessing, for he will have the Devas as friends! Woe to one who abuses or kills them, for their curse, say the poets, follows the guilty one to his third incarnation! Kings tremble at their threats, and, strangely enough, these ascetics themselves cause the gods to be afraid. In the Ramayana, Visvamitra, a king who became an ascetic, acquires such power through his strictness and meditation that the gods tremble for their lives. Then Indra sends him the most captivating of the Apsaras, who comes to bathe in the lake in front of the saint's hut. The anchorite is seduced by the celestial nymph; a hero is born from their union, and for several thousand years the existence of the universe is assured. Beneath these poetic exaggerations one senses the true superior power of the anchorites of the white race who, with acute divination and strong will, rule the turbulent soul of India from the depths of their forests. From the midst of the brotherhood of anchorites was to emerge the priestly revolution that made India the most formidable of theocracies. The victory of spiritual power over temporal power, of the anchorite over the king, out of which the power of Brahmanism was born, came in the guise of a reformer of the first rank. By reconciling the two warring groups, the white race and the black race, the solar cults and the lunar cults, this divine being was the true creator of the national religion of India. Moreover, through his teaching this powerful genius introduced a new idea of immense significance into the world: the holy word, or divinity manifest in man. This first of the Messiahs, this eldest of the sons of God, was Krishna. His legend is principally interesting in that it sums up and dramatizes all Brahmanic doctrine. But it has remained scattered and unformed in tradition because the Hindu genius entirely lacks plastic force. The confusing and mythical account of Vishnu-Pourana nevertheless contains some historic facts about Krishna which are of a personal and striking nature. On the other hand, the Bhagavad- Gita, that wonderful fragment interpolated into the great poem, the Mahabharata, which the Brahmans consider one of their most sacred books, contains in all purity the doctrine attributed to him. It was while reading these two books that the face of the great religious initiator of India appeared before me with the power of a living person. Therefore, I shall relate the story of Krishna, drawing upon these two sources, one of which represents popular tradition, the other, that of the initiates.

7The King of Madura
At the beginning of the Kali-Yuga Age, around the year 3,000 B.C., according to the chronology of the Brahmans, the thirst for gold and power invaded the world. For several centuries, the ancient sages say, Agni, the celestial fire which forms the glorious body of the Devas and purifies the souls of men, had spread its ethereal effluences over the earth. But the burning breath of Kali, goddess of desire and death, who comes out of the abysses of the earth like a fiery exhalation, then passed over all hearts. Justice had reigned with the noble sons of Pandu, solar kings who obeyed the voices of the wise men. As victors they pardoned the conquered, and treated them as equals. But since the children of the sun had been exterminated or driven from their thrones, and their few descendants were hiding among the anchorites, injustice, ambition and hatred had gained the upper hand. Changeable and deceitful like the nocturnal body which they had taken as their symbol, the lunar kings engaged in a merciless war among themselves. Nevertheless, one had succeeded in overcoming all the others by means of terror and unusual powers. In northern India, on the banks of a wide river, a powerful city flourished. It had twelve pagodas, ten palaces and one hundred gates flanked with towers. Multicolored banners floated over its high walls, resembling winged serpents. This was proud Madura, impregnable like Indra's fortress. Kansa reigned there with a crafty mind and an insatiable soul. He allowed only slaves around him; he thought he owned only what he had subjugated, but what he possessed seemed nothing to him, compared with what remained to be conquered. All the kings who recognized the lunar cult paid him homage. But Kansa dreamed of conquering all India, from Lanka to the Himavat. In order to execute this plan, he allied himself with Kalayeni, master of the Vyndhia Mountains, the powerful king of the Yavanas, men with yellow faces. As one of the goddess Kali's followers, Kalayeni had dedicated himself to the mysterious arts of black magic. He was called the friend of the Rakshasis, nocturnal demons, and the king of serpents because he used the latter to frighten his people and his enemies. At the far end of a dense forest was the goddess Kali's temple, carved in a mountain. It was a great dark cave of unknown depth; the entrance was guarded by giants with animal heads, carved in the rock. There they led those who wished to pay homage to Kalayeni, in order to obtain from him some secret power. He would appear at the entrance of the temple in the midst of a host of monstrous snakes that entwined themselves around his body and rose up at the command of his scepter. He forced his tributaries to kneel before these serpents whose heads, twisted into knots, hung over his. At the same time he muttered a mysterious formula. It was said that those who performed this rite and worshipped those serpents obtained tremendous gifts and everything they desired. But they fell irrevocably under Kalayeni's power. Far or near, they remained his slaves. If they tried to disobey him or escape him, they thought they saw the terrible magician, surrounded by his reptiles, arise before them; they saw themselves encompassed by the serpents' hissing heads, and were paralyzed by their spell-binding eyes. Kansa asked Kalayeni for his support. The king of the Yavanas promised him dominion over the earth, provided he would marry his daughter. Proud as an antelope and supple as a serpent was the daughter of the magician king, the beautiful Nysumba, with golden pendants and ebony breasts. Her face resembled a dark cloud with nuances of bluish reflections from the moon; her eyes were like two lightning flashes, her warm lips like the pulp of a red fruit with white seeds. One might have thought she was Kali herself, the goddess of desire. Soon she reigned as mistress over Kansa's heart, and breathing upon all his passions, turned them into a glowing furnace. Kansa had a palace filled with women of every color, but he listened only to Nysumba. "If I may have a son from you," he told her, "I shall make him my heir. Then I shall be master of the earth; I shall no longer fear anyone." But Nysumba did not have a son, and she became angry. She was jealous of Kansa's other wives, whose love had been more fruitful. She made her father increase the number of sacrifices to Kali, but her womb remained sterile like sand beneath the torrid sun. Then the king of Madura ordered that the great sacrifice of fire be made before all the city, and that all the Devas be invoked. Kansa's wives and the people attended with great ceremony. Kneeling before the fire, the chanting priests called upon the great Varuna, Indra, the Aswini and the Maruts. Queen Nysumba approached and threw a handful of perfumes into the fire with a gesture of challenge, as she uttered a magic formula in an unknown language. The smoke thickened, the flames swirled and the frightened priests cried out, "O Queen, those are not the Devas, but the Rakshasas who passed over the fire! Your womb will remain sterile!" Kansa approached the fire and said to the priests, "Tell me, then, of which of my wives will the master of the world be born?" At that moment Devaki, the king's sister, came near the fire. She was a pure, unpretentious virgin, who had spent her childhood spinning and weaving, living as in a dream. Her body was on earth, but her soul seemed forever in heaven. Devaki knelt humbly, begging the Devas to give her brother and beautiful Nysumba a son. The priest looked at the fire and then at the virgin. Suddenly he cried out in complete amazement, "O king of Madura, none of your sons will be master of the world! He will be born in the womb of your sister who is kneeling here!" Great were Kansa's dismay and Nysumba's anger at these words. When the queen was alone with the king she said, "Devaki must die at once!" "How," asked Kansa, "could I cause my sister to die? If the Devas are protecting her, their y p 8 vengeance would fall upon me!" "Then," said Nysumba in a rage, "let her reign in my place and let your sister bring into the world the one who will cause you to die in shame! But I no longer wish to reign with a coward who is afraid of the Devas. I am returning home to my father, Kalayeni!" Nysumba's eyes cast oblique flames, the pendants shook on her shiny dark neck. She rolled upon the ground, and her beautiful body twisted like a raging serpent. Kansa, fearful of losing her, and captivated by a terrible desire, was eaten by a new passion. "Very well," he said, "Devaki will die, but do not leave me!" A gleam of triumph shone in Nysumba's eyes; a rush of blood brought color back to her sepia face. She jumped up and encircled the conquered tyrant with her supple arms. Then, caressing him lightly with her ebony breasts from which emanated potent perfumes, and touching him with her burning lips, she whispered in a soft voice, "We shall offer a sacrifice to Kali, goddess of desire and death, and she will give us a son who will be master of the world!" But that same night in a dream the purohita, the priest of sacrifice, saw king Kansa drawing his sword against his sister. Immediately he went to the virgin Devaki, told her that mortal danger threatened her, and ordered her to flee to the anchorites without delay. Devaki, directed by the priest of the fire, disguised as a penitent, left Kansa's palace and the city of Madura without anyone observing her. Early in the morning the soldiers looked for the king's sister in order to put her to death, but they found her room empty. The king questioned the guards of the city. They answered that the gates had remained closed all night long. But in their sleep they had seen the dark walls of the fortress break under a ray of light, and a woman leave the city, following that ray. Kansa realized that an invincible power was protecting Devaki. From that moment, fear entered his heart and he began to hate his sister with a mortal hatred.

8The Virgin Devaki
When Devaki, dressed in clothing made of strips of bark which hid her beauty, entered the vast solitudes of the giant forest she staggered, exhausted from fatigue and hunger. But as soon as she felt the shade of the awesome forest, tasted the fruit of the mango tree and inhaled the freshness of a stream, she took on new life, like a blossoming flower. First she passed beneath tremendous arches formed by massive tree trunks, whose branches planted themselves in the soil again, multiplying their arcades infinitely. For a long time she walked, sheltered from the sun, as in a dark pagoda without an exit. The buzzing of the bees, the cry of the amorous peacocks, the song of the kokels and of a thousand birds, drew her still further on. And still larger became the trees, the forest denser and more entangled. Tree trunks crowded close beside tree trunks, foliage descended over foliage to form cupolas and growing pylons. Sometimes Devaki walked through corridors of greenery which the sun flooded with light, and where tree trunks lay overturned by the storm. Sometimes she paused beneath arbors of mango trees and asokas, from which cascaded garlands of lianas and a profusion of flowers. Deer and panthers leaped in the thickets; frequently buffalo made the branches snap, or a band of monkeys would pass shrieking through the foliage. She walked through scenes like this for the whole day. Toward evening, above a grove of bamboos she saw the motionless head of a wise elephant. He looked at the virgin with an intelligent, protective air, raising his trunk as if to greet her. Then the forest became light, and Devaki saw a landscape of deep peace and celestial, paradisical charm. A pond strewn with lotus and water lilies spread out before her; its heart of blue opened into the great forest, like another sky. Bashful storks dreamed motionless upon its banks, and two gazelles were drinking from its waters. On the other side, in the shelter of the palms stood the hermitage of the anchorites. A soft pink light bathed the lake, the forest and the dwelling of the holy Rishis. Against the horizon the white summits of Mount Meru rose above the ocean of forests. The breath of an invisible river gave life to the plants while the softened thunder of a distant waterfall was wafted on the breeze like a caress or a melody. At the edge of the pond Devaki saw a boat. Standing near it, a man of mature age, an anchorite, seemed to be waiting. Silently he gestured to the virgin to get into the boat, and he took up the oars. As the little boat moved forward, stroking the water lilies, Devaki saw a female swan swimming over the pond. In a bold flight a male swan came through the air and began to describe large circles around her. Then he descended upon the water near his companion, shaking his snow white plumage. At this spectacle, Devaki trembled greatly without knowing why. But the boat had touched the opposite shore, and the lotus-eyed virgin found herself before Vasichta, leader of the anchorites. Sitting on a gazelle's skin, clothed in the hide of a black antelope, Vasichta had the venerable appearance of a god rather than a man. For sixty years he had eaten only wild fruit. His hair and beard were as white as the summit of the Himavat, his skin was transparent, and the gaze of his dim eyes was turned inward in meditation. Upon seeing Devaki, he arose and greeted her. "Devaki, sister of the famous Kansa, you are welcome in our midst. Guided by Mahadeva, the supreme master, you have left the world of sorrows for that of happiness. For here you are near the holy Rishis, masters of their senses, content with their destiny and seeking the path to heaven. We have waited long for you, as the night waits for the dawn. For we are the eyes of the Devas fixed on the world. We live in the densest of forests. Men do not see us, but we see men and we observe their actions. The dark age of desire, blood and crime is raging over the world. We have chosen you for the task of deliverance, and the Devas have chosen you through us. For it is in the womb of woman that the ray of divine splendor must take on human form." At that moment the Rishis were leaving the retreat for evening prayer. The aged Vasichta ordered them to bow down to the ground before Devaki. They bowed low as Vasichta continued, "This one will be the mother of all of us, for from her will be born the spirit which is to regenerate us." Then, turning to her, he said, "Go, my child. The Rishis will lead you to a neighboring lake where the penitent sisters live. You will dwell among them, and the mysteries will be fulfilled." Devaki went to the retreat surrounded by lions. There she was to live with the devout women who feed tame gazelles and devote themselves to ablutions and prayers. Devaki took part in their sacrifices. An aged woman gave her secret instructions. These penitents had been commanded to dress her in exquisite scented fabrics like a queen and to let her wander alone in the open forest. And the forest, filled with perfumes, voices and mysteries attracted the young woman. Sometimes she met processions of old anchorites returning from the river. Upon seeing her they knelt before her and then continued on their way. One day near a stream covered with pink lotus, she noticed a young anchorite in prayer. He stood up at her approach, cast a long, sad look at her and walked away in silence. And the serious faces of the old men, the image of the two swans and the look of the young anchorite haunted the virgin in her dreams. Near the stream was a tree of unknown age, with wide branches, which the holy Rishis called "the tree of life." Devaki liked to sit in its shade. Often when she fell asleep there, she was visited by strange visions. Voices sang behind the foliage, "Glory to thee Devaki! He will come, crowned with light, that pure fluid emanating from the great soul, and the stars will become dim before his splendor. He will come, and life will defy death, and he will rejuvenate the blood of all beings. He will come, sweeter than honey and amrita, purer than the spotless lamb and a virgin's mouth, and all hearts will be overwhelmed in love. Glory, glory, glory be to you Devaki!" Were these the anchorites? Were these the Devas, who sang like this? Sometimes it seemed to her that a distant power or a mysterious presence, like an invisible hand suspended over her, forced her to sleep. Then she fell into a deep, sweet, inexplicable slumber, out of which she awakened bewildered and disturbed. She turned around as if to look for someone, but she never saw anyone. But several times she found roses strewn on her bed of leaves, and a crown of lotus in her hands. One day Devaki fell into a deeper ecstasy. She heard heavenly music like an ocean of harps and divine voices. Suddenly the sky opened into depths of light. Thousands of magnificent beings were looking at her and in the brightness of a flashing ray of light, the sun of suns, Mahadeva, appeared to her in human form. Then having been overshadowed by the Spirit of the worlds, she lost consciousness, and oblivious of earth, in a boundless felicity, she conceived the holy child." When seven moons had described their magic circles around the sacred forest, the chief of the anchorites summoned Devaki. "The will of the Devas has been fulfilled," he said. "You have conceived in purity of heart and in divine love. Virgin and mother, we greet you. A son will be born of you, who will be the savior of the world. But your brother Kansa is looking for you to kill you, along with the tender fruit you carry in your womb. You must escape him. The brothers will lead you to the shepherds who live at the foot of Mount Meru, beneath scented cedars, in the pure air of the Himavat. There you will bring into the world your divine child, and you shall call him Krishna, the holy one. But see that he knows nothing of his origin and yours; never speak to him about it. Go without fear, for we are watching over you." And Devaki went away to the shepherds of Mount Meru. Notes for this chapter:

12An observation is indispensable here concerning the symbolic meaning of the legend as well as
the real origin of those in history who have borne the name, "Sons of God." According to the secret doctrine of India, which was also that of the initiates of Egypt and Greece, the human soul is the child of heaven. Before it was born on earth the soul had a series of corporeal and spiritual existences. The father and mother therefore only engender the body of the child, since his soul comes from somewhere else. This universal law governs everything. The greatest prophets, even those in whom the divine Word has spoken, cannot escape it. And, in fact, from the moment one accepts the pre-existence of the soul, the question of knowing the name of the father becomes secondary. One must believe that this prophet comes from a divine world, and the real Sons of God prove this by their life and death. But the ancient initiates did not believe it necessary to make these things known to the common people. Some of those who appeared in the world as divine envoys were sons of initiates, and their mothers had frequented the temples in order to conceive chosen ones.

9Krishna's Youth
At the foot of Mount Meru stretched a fertile valley, green with pastures and surrounded by vast forests of cedar trees, where the pure air of Himavat sighed gently. In this high valley lived a tribe of herdsmen over which the patriarch Nanda, friend of the anchorites, ruled. Here Devaki found refuge from the persecutions of the tyrant of Madura, and here in Nanda's home she brought her son, Krishna, into the world. Except Nanda, no one knew who the stranger was nor where this son came from. The women of the area simply said, "It is a son of the Gandharvas,13 for Indra's musicians must have been present at the love-making of this woman who resembles a celestial nymph, an Apsara." The marvelous child of this unknown woman grew up among the flocks and shepherds under the care of his mother. The shepherds called him "The Radiant One" because his presence alone, his smile and his big eyes had a way of spreading joy. Animals, children, women, men, everyone loved him and he seemed to love everyone, smiling at his mother, playing with the lambs and the young children of his own age, or speaking with the old men. The child Krishna was fearless, full of daring and performed astonishing feats. Sometimes he was found in the woods lying on the moss, wrestling with young panthers and holding their mouths open, without their daring to bite him. Above all things and all beings, Krishna adored his young mother, so beautiful and so radiant, who spoke to him of the heaven of the Devas, of heroic battles and of the wonderful things she had learned from the anchorites. And the shepherds who led their flocks beneath the cedars of Mount Meru would say, "Who is this mother, and who is this soil? Although she is dressed like our women, she looks like a queen. The amazing child was raised with ours, yet he does not look like them. Is he a genius? Is he a god? Whoever he is, he will bring us happiness." When Krishna was fifteen years old, his mother Devaki was summoned by the leader of the anchorites. One day she disappeared without saying goodbye to her son. When he saw her no longer, Krishna went to look for the patriarch Nanda and asked him, "Where is my mother?" Nanda answered, bowing his head, "My child, do not question me. Your mother has gone on a long journey. She has returned to the country from which she came, and I do not know when she will return." Krishna said nothing at all, but he lapsed into such a deep reverie that all the children kept away from him as if gripped by a superstitious fear. Krishna deserted his friends, left their games, and, lost in his reflections, went alone to Mount Meru. He wandered for several weeks. One morning he came to a high, wooded peak where his view reached over the chain of the Himavat Mountains. Suddenly near him he saw a tall old man in the white robe of an anchorite, standing under the giant cedars in the morning light. He seemed one hundred years old. His snow-white beard and his bare head shone with majesty. The lively child and the centenarian gazed at each other for a long time. The eyes of the old man rested benignly upon Krishna, but Krishna was so startled at seeing him that he remained silent in admiration. Although Krishna saw him for the first time, it seemed as if he knew this aged man. "Whom do you seek?" the old man asked at last. "My mother." "She is no longer here." "Where shall I find her?" "With Him who never changes." "But how shall I find Him?" "Seek." "And shall I see you again?" "Yes, when the daughter of the serpent incites the son of the bull to crime, then you will see me again in a purple light. Then you will kill the bull, and you will crush the head of the serpent. Son of Mahadeva, know that you and I are but one in Him. Seek, always seek." And the old man extended his hand in a gesture of benediction. Then he turned and took a few steps under the high cedars in the direction of the Himavat. Suddenly it seemed to Krishna that the old man's form became transparent and disappeared with a luminous vibration in the shimmering glow of the fine-needled branches. 14 When Krishna came down from Mount Meru, he appeared to be transformed. A new energy emanated from his being. He gathered his companions together and told them, "Let us fight the bulls and snakes; let us defend the good and subdue the wicked!" With bow in hand and sword at his side, Krishna and his companions, sons of the shepherds, now transformed into warriors, began to beat the forests, fighting the wild beasts. In the depths of the woods one could hear the roaring of hyenas, jackals and tigers, and the young men's cries of truimph over the defeated animals. Krishna killed and tamed lions; he made war on kings and freed oppressed peoples. But sadness remained in the depths of his heart. This heart had but one deep, mysterious desire; he longed to find his mother and to see the strange, august old man again. He asked himself, "Did he not promise me that I would see him again when I crushed the head of the snake? Did he not tell me that I would find my mother again with Him who never changes?" But it was useless for him to fight, conquer, kill -- he had not seen the majestic old man nor his own glorious mother. One day he heard people speak about Kalayeni, king of the serpents, and he asked to fight with his most terrible serpent in the presence of the black magician. It was said that this creature, trained by Kalayeni, had already eaten hundreds of men, and that its glance could paralyze the most courageous with fear. Krishna saw a long, greenish-blue reptile come from the depths of Kali's dark temple at Kalayeni's call. The serpent slowly raised its thick body, distended its red crest, and its piercing eyes lit up in its monstrous head, covered with shiny scales. "This serpent," said Kalayeni, "knows many things. It is a powerful demon. It will tell them only to the one who kills it, but it kills those who fail. It has seen you; it is looking at you; you are in its power. All that is left for you to do is worship it or die in a senseless struggle." Krishna was indignant at these words, for he felt that his heart was like the tip of a lightning bolt. He looked at the snake, then threw himself upon it, seizing it beneath the head. Man and serpent rolled on the steps of the temple. But before the serpent could encircle him in its coils, Krishna cut off its head with his sword. Disentangling himself from the still writhing body, the young conqueror triumphantly raised the head of the serpent in his left hand. But this head was still alive. It kept looking at Krishna, and said, "Why did you kill me, son of Mahadeva? Do you think you will find truth by killing the living? Foolish one, you will only find it in dying yourself. Death is in life, life is in death. Beware the daughter of the serpent and spilt blood. Be careful! Be careful!" With these words, the serpent died. Krishna let the head fall and went away, filled with horror. But Kalayeni said, "I have no power over this man; Kali alone can subdue him with a spell." After a month of ablutions and prayers on the banks of the Ganges, having purified himself in the light of the sun and in the thought of Mahadeva, Krishna returned to his native country, among the shepherds of Mount Meru. The autumn moon showed its shining orb above the cedar forests and the night air was perfumed with the scent of wild lilies in which the bees had hummed all day long. Sitting beneath a large cedar tree at the edge of a meadow, weary of the vain battles of earth, Krishna dreamed of heavenly combats and of the boundless heaven itself. The more he thought of his glorious mother and the august old man, the more his childish exploits seemed despicable and the more celestial things came to life within him. A consoling charm, a divine recollection flooded his entire being. Then a hymn of thankfulness to Mahadeva arose from his heart and overflowed from his lips in a sweet, divine melody. Attracted by this wonderful song, the Gopis, daughters and wives of the shepherds, left their houses. The first, having spied the heads of their families coming home, returned immediately after having pretended to pick flowers. Some came nearer, calling, "Krishna! Krishna!" Then, very ashamed, they ran away. Gradually becoming bolder, the women surrounded Krishna in groups like timid, curious gazelles, charmed by his melodies. But, lost in his dream of the gods, he did not see them. More and more enchanted by his song, the Gopis began to grow impatient at not being noticed. Nichdali, Nanda's daughter, with eyes closed, had fallen into a kind of ecstasy. But Sarasvati, her sister, bolder than she, quietly moved near Devaki's son, pressed against his side and said in a soft voice, "O Krishna, dont you see that we are listening to you, that we can no longer sleep in our homes? Your melodies have cast a spell upon us. O adorable hero, we are captivated by your voice, and can no longer do without you!" "O keep singing!" a young girl said. "Teach us to sing!" "Teach us dancing," said a woman. And Krishna, coming out of his dream, looked favorably upon the Gopis. He spoke kind words to them and, taking their hands, made them sit on the grass near the huge cedars, in the bright moonlight. Then he told them what he had seen within himself. He told them the story of the gods and heroes of Indra's wars and of the exploits of the divine Rama. The women and young girls listened, captivated. These tales lasted until dawn. When pink Aurora arose behind Mount Meru and the kokilas began to chirp beneath the cedars, the Gopi girls and women furtively returned to their homes. But the next night, as soon as the crescent moon appeared, they returned more eagerly than ever. Seeing that they were enchanted by his narratives, Krishna taught them to sing and to portray in gestures the sublime actions of the heroes and the gods. To some he gave vinas with strings which vibrate like souls, to others resounding cymbals like the hearts of warriors, to others drums which imitate thunder. And choosing the most beautiful, he inspired them with his thoughts. With arms extended, walking and moving about in a divine dream, the sacred dancers portrayed the majesty of Varuna, the anger of Indra killing the dragon, or the despair of abandoned Maya. Thus the battles and everlasting glory of the gods, which Krishna saw within himself, came to life again in these happy, transfigured women. One morning the Gopis had scattered. The sound of their musical instruments and their singing, laughing voices had faded in the distance. Krishna, who had remained alone under the huge cedar tree, saw Sarasvati and Nichdali, Nanda's two daughters, coming toward him. They sat down beside him. Sarasvati, throwing her arms around Krishna's neck, making her bracelets jingle, said to him, "In teaching us the sacred songs and dances you have made us the happiest of women; but we shall be the most unhappy ones when you have left us. What will become of us when we shall see you no longer? O, Krishna, marry us! My sister and I will be your faithful wives, and our eyes will not have the pain of losing you." While Sarasvati spoke thus, Nichdali closed her eyes as if she were falling into an ecstasy. "Nichdali, why do you close your eyes?" Krishna asked. ' "She is jealous,' neck." answered Sarasvati, laughing. "She does not wish to see my arms around your "No," replied the blushing Nichdali, "I am closing my eyes in order to look at your image, which is engraved deep inside me. Krishna, you can leave, but I shall never lose you!" Krishna became thoughtful. Smiling, he loosened Sarasvati's arms which were passionately wound about his neck. Then he looked at the two women and embraced them. First he kissed Sarasvati's lips, then Nichdali's eyes. In these two long kisses, young Krishna seemed to explore, to taste all the pleasures of earth. Suddenly he trembled, saying, "You are beautiful, O Sarasvati! You, whose lips have the perfume of amber and all the flowers! You are adorable, O Nichdali! You, whose eyelids veil intense eyes, and who know how to look within yourself! I love you both . . . But how could I matry you, since my heart would have to be divided between you?" "O, he will never be in love!" said Sarasvati spitefully. "I shall love only with an everlasting love." "And what is required for you to love in that way?" asked Nichdali tenderly. Krishna had stood up. His eyes were aflame. "To love with an everlasting love?" he asked. "Daylight must disappear. Thunder must fall upon my heart, and my soul must flee beyond myself into the heights of heaven!" While he spoke it seemed to the young girls that he increased in height. Suddenly they were afraid of him and returned home sobbing. Krishna took the road to Mount Meru alone. The following night the Gopis met for their games, but they waited for their teacher in vain. He had disappeared, leaving them only an essence, a perfume from his being: the sacred songs and dances. Notes for this chapter:

13These are the genii who, in all Hindu poetry are represented as presiding over love and marriage.

14It is a definite belief in India that the great ascetics can make themselves manifest at a distance in
visible form, while their bodies remain plunged in a cataleptic sleep.

10Initiation
In the meantime, having learned that his sister, Devaki, had lived among the anchorites, and not having been able to find her, King Kansa began to persecute them and hunt them like wild beasts. They had to take refuge in the remotest and wildest part of the forest. Then their leader, old Vasichta, though one hundred years of age, set out to speak to the king of Madura. The guards saw with amazement a blind old man led by a gazelle which he kept on a leash, appear at the gates of the palace. Out of respect for the Rishi, they allowed him to pass. Vasichta approached the throne where Kansa was sitting beside Nysumba, and said, "Kansa! King of Madura! Woe to you, daughter of the serpent, who breathes hate into him! The day of your punishment is near. Devaki's son is alive! He will come, covered with armor of impenetrable scales, and will drive you from your throne in shame. Now tremble and live in fear; that is the punishment the Devas allot you!" The warriors, guards and servants knelt before the holy centenarian as he departed, led by his gazelle, no one daring to touch him. But from that day, Kansa and Nysumba dreamed of secret ways to bring about the death of the leader of the anchorites. Devaki was dead, and no one except Vasichta knew that Krishna was her son. Nevertheless, the news of the latter's feats had reached the king's ears. Kansa thought, "I need a strong man to protect me. The one who killed Kalayeni's great serpent will not be afraid of the anchorite." Accordingly, Kansa called the patriarch, Nanda, and said, "Send me the young hero, Krishna, so I may make him the driver of my chariot and my first counsellor."15 Nanda informed Krishna of the king's command, and Krishna answered, "I shall go." He thought to himself, "Can the king of Madura be the One Who never changes? Through him I shall find out where my mother is." Kansa, observing Krishna's strength, skill and intelligence, was pleased with him and entrusted him with the care of his kingdom. But Nysumba, upon seeing the hero of Mount Meru, trembled throughout her whole body with an impure desire, and her cunning mind shaped a secret plan, inspired by a criminal thought. Unknown to the king she had the driver of the chariot summoned to her apartments. As a magician she possessed the art of instantly becoming young again by means of potent philters. Devaki's son found the ebony-breasted Nysumba lying almost naked upon a bed of velvet. Gold rings bound her ankles and arms and a crown of precious stones sparkled upon her head. At her feet burned a copper censer, from which issued a cloud of perfumes. "Krishna," said the daughter of the serpent king, "your countenance is smoother than the snows of Himavat, and your heart is like the tip of a bolt of lightning. In your innocence you shine above the kings of earth. Here no one has recognized you; even you do not know yourself. I alone know who you are. The Devas have made you master of men; I alone can make you master of the world. Are you willing?" "If it is Mahadeva who is speaking through you," Krishna said, looking grave, "you will tell me where my mother is, and where I shall find the tall old man who spoke to me beneath the cedars of Mount Meru." "Your mother?" asked Nysumba with a smile of disdain, "It certainly is not I who will tell you; as for that old man, I do not know him. Foolish one, you continue to dream and do not see the earthly treasures I am offering you! There are kings who wear crowns who are not kings. There are sons of shepherds who bear royalty on their foreheads and who do not know their strength. You are young; you are handsome. Hearts belong to you. Kill the king in his sleep, and I shall place the crown upon your head, and you will be master of the world. For I love you and you were predestined for me. I so wish, and I so command!" As she spoke, the queen raised herself, domineering, fascinating, terrible as a beautiful snake. Sitting upright on her couch, she cast a flame of such dark fire into Krishna's limpid eyes that he trembled. Hell appeared in those glances. He saw the abyss of the temple of Kali, goddess of desire and death, where snakes writhed in an everlasting agony. Then suddenly Krishna's eyes seemed like two swords. They pierced the queen through and through, and the hero of Mount Meru cried out, "I am faithful to the king who chose me as protector! As for you, know that you will die!" Nysumba gave a piercing scream and rolled over on her couch, biting the velvet covering. All her artificial youth had faded; she had become old and wrinkled once again. Krishna went away, leaving her to her anger. Tortured night and day by the anchorite's words, the king of Madura said to the driver of his chariot, "Since the enemy has set foot in my palace I no longer sleep in peace. An infernal magician named Vasichta, who lives in a dense forest came and left his curse on me. Since that time I no longer breathe; the old man has poisoned my days. But with you who fear nothing, I do not fear him. Come with me to the accursed forest! A spy who knows all the paths will lead us to him. As soon as you see him, run to him and strike him without allowing him to say a word to you, or look at you. When he is mortally wounded, ask him where the son of my sister Devaki is, and what his name is. The peace of my kingdom hangs on this mystery." "Calm yourself," Krishna said, "I was not afraid of Kalayeni nor of Kali's serpent. Who can make me tremble now? However powerful this man may be, I shall find out what he is hiding from you!" Disguised as hunters, the king and his driver rode in a swift chariot, drawn by spirited horses. The spy who had explored the forest followed behind them. It was the beginning of the rainy season. The rivers were rising, growing plants covered the roads, and the white line of storks was seen on the tops of the clouds. When the men neared the sacred wood the horizon darkened, the sun hid itself, the air was filled with a copper-colored mist. From the stormy sky clouds hung like horns over the wild foliage of the forest. "Why," Krishna asked the king, "has the heaven suddenly darkened and the forest become so black?" "Well do I know," said the king of Madura. "It is Vasichta, the evil recluse, who is darkening the sky and arming the accursed forest against me. But Krishna, are you afraid?" "Let the sky change its face and the earth its color! I am not afraid!" "Then, Forward!" Krishna lashed the horses with his whip and the chariot dove beneath the thick shade of the baobabs. It moved forward for a time at an amazing speed. But the forest became still wilder and more frightening. Lightning flashed, thunder roared. "Never," said Krishna, "have I seen the sky so dark and the trees twisting in this way. Your magician is powerful!" "Krishna, slayer of serpents, hero of Mount Meru, are you afraid?" "Let the earth quake and the sky crumble! I am not afraid!" "Then keep going!" Again the daring driver whipped the horses and the chariot continued on its way. Now the storm became so dreadful that the giant trees bent and the quaking forest roared like the howling of a thousand demons. Lightning struck near the travelers; a shattered baobab blocked the way; the horses stopped and the earth trembled. "Your enemy must be a god," said Krishna, "since Indra himself is protecting him." "We are approaching the goal!" cried the king's spy. "Look at that path of green! At the end of it is a wretched hut. It is there that Vasichta, the great mouni lives, feeding birds, feared by wild animals and protected by a gazelle. But not for a kingdom shall I take one step more!" At these words, the king of Madura became white. "He's there? Really? Behind those trees?" Clinging to Krishna, he whispered in a low voice, while his whole body trembled, "Vasichta! Vasichta, who is plotting my death is there! He sees me from his secret retreat. . . . His eye is following me! Save me from him!" "Yes, by Mahadeva!" said Krishna, getting out of the chariot, "I want to see the one who causes you y g 8 y to tremble like this!" For a year the aged Vasichta quietly had awaited death in his hut, hidden in the thickest part of the sacred forest. Before the death of his body he was freed from his fleshly prison. His eyes were blind, but he saw with his soul. His skin hardly felt heat and cold, but his spirit lived in a perfect unity with the sovereign Spirit. Praying and meditating without ceasing, he saw things of this world only in the light of Brahma. A faithful disciple brought him grains of rice, on which he lived. The gazelle who ate from his hand warned him of the approach of wild beasts. Then he drove the latter away by whispering a mantram and by extending his bamboo staff with its seven nodes. As for men, whoever they were, by means of his gaze he saw them when they were still several miles away. Krishna, walking along the dark path, suddenly found himself before Vasichta. The leader of the anchorites with legs crossed was sitting on a mat, leaning against the post of his but in a deep calm. From the eyes of the blind man came the inner glimmer of the seer. As soon as Krishna saw him, he recognized him. "The majestic old man!" He felt a sensation of joy; reverence entered his soul. Forgetting the king, his chariot and his kingdom, he knelt on one knee before the saint and worshipped him. Vasichta seemed to see him. His body, leaning against the hut, sat up with a slight trembling; he extended both arms to bless his guest and his lips murmured the sacred syllable, AUM/16 Meanwhile, Kansa, hearing no outcry and not seeing his driver return, slipped furtively along the path and stood petrified with astonishment upon seeing Krishna kneeling before the holy anchorite. The latter turned his blind eyes toward Kansa. Raising his staff, he said, "O king of Madura, you are coming to kill me! Greetings! For you will free me from the pain of this body. You wish to know where is the son of your sister Devaki, who is to dethrone you. Here he kneels before me and before Mahadeva; he is Krishna, your own charioteer! How foolish and cursed you are, since your most fearful enemy is this very one here! You have brought him to me, so that I can tell him that he is the chosen one. Tremble! You are lost, for your infernal soul will indeed be the prey of demons!" Stupefied, Kansa listened. He did not dare look the old man in the face. Pale with rage, seeing Krishna still kneeling, he took his bow and arching it with all his might, discharged an arrow at Devaki's son. But his arm had trembled; the arrow swerved and sank deep into Vasichta's chest. With his arms extended in the form of a cross, Vasichta appeared as though waiting for the arrow in a kind of ecstasy. A cry was heard, a terrible cry. -- It was not from the heart of the old man, but from Krishna's. He had heard the arrow hum past his ear, and then he had seen it sink into the saint's flesh.... And it seemed to Krishna that it had sunk into his own heart, so closely had his soul become identified with the Rishi's at that moment. With that sharp arrow all the pain of the world pierced Krishna's soul, tearing it to its core. Nevertheless, Vasichta, with the arrow in his chest and without changing position, was still moving his lips. He murmured, "Son of Mahadeva, why do you cry out? Killing is vain! The arrow cannot reach the soul and the victim is the conqueror of the assassin. Be victorious, Krishna, destiny is being fulfilled! I am returning to Him Who never changes. May Brahma receive my soul! But you, his elect, savior of the world, stand up! Krishna! Krishna!" And Krishna stood up, his hand on his sword; he wanted to strike the king, but Kansa had fled. Then a flash rent the dark sky and Krishna fell to earth, thunderstruck, paralyzed by a blinding light. While his body remained inert, his soul, united with that of the old man through power and sympathy, ascended into space. Earth, with its rivers, seas and continents disappeared like a black ball, and both souls arose to the seventh heaven of the Devas, to the Father of Beings, to the Sun of Suns, to Mahadeva, the Divine Intelligence. They were plunged into an ocean of light, which opened before them. In the center of the sphere Krishna saw Devaki, his radiant mother, his glorified mother, who with an ineffable smile stretched forth her arms and drew him to her breast. Thousands of Devas came to bathe in the radiance of the Virgin Mother, as in a fountain of light. And Krishna felt permeated with love from Devaki. Then from the heart of his shining mother his being radiated throughout all the heavens. He felt that he was the Son, the divine soul of all beings, the Word of Life, the Creative Word, Superior to universal life, nevertheless he pervaded it through the essence of grief, through the fire of prayer and the happiness of a divine sacrifice.17 When Krishna came to himself, thunder still rolled in the sky, the forest was dark and torrents of rain were falling upon the hut. A gazelle was licking the bloodstained body of the slain ascetic. "The majestic old man" was but a corpse. But Krishna arose as if revived. An abyss separated him from the world and its vain appearance. He had lived the great truth; he understood his mission. As for Kansa, filled with terror he was fleeing through the storm in his chariot, and his horses galloped as if flogged by a thousand demons. Notes for this chapter:

15In ancient India these two functions were often combined. The drivers of kings' chariots were
important persons, and often were the monarchs' ministers. Examples of this abound in Hindu poetry.

16In Brahman initiation this means Supreme God, God-Spirit. Each of its letters corresponds to one
of the divine qualities, that is, to one of the members of the Trinity.

17The legend of Krishna helps us to comprehend at its very source the idea of the Virgin Mother,
of the Man-God, and of the Trinity. In India this idea appears from the first in its transparent symbolism with its profound metaphysical meaning. In Book V, Chapter II the Vishnu Purana, having related the conception of Krishna by Devaki adds, "No one could look upon Devaki because of the light which surrounded her, and those who saw her radiance felt troubled in mind; the gods, invisible to mortals, continually sang her praises, since Vishnu was embodied in her. They would say, You are that infinite, subtle Prakriti who once bore Brahma in her womb; you were then the goddess of the Word, the Energy of the Creator of the Universe, and the Mother of the Vedas. O eternal being, who contains in your substance the essence of all created things, you were identical with creation; you were the sacrifice from which all that earth produces originates; you are the wood which in its rubbing engenders fire. Like Aditi, you are the mother of the gods; like Diti, you are the mother of the Datyas, their enemies. You are the light from which the day is born; you are humility, mother of true wisdom; you are the mother of Order; you are Desire from which love is born; you are Satisfaction from which resignation is derived; you are Intelligence, mother of Silence; you are Patience, mother of Courage; all the firmament and the stars are your children, all that exists originates in you. You went down to earth for the salvation of the world. Have compassion on us, O goddess, and show yourself kindly disposed toward the universe; be proud of bearing the god who sustains the world!" -- This passage proves that the Brahmans identified Krishna's mother with universal substance and the feminine element in nature. They made her the second member of the divine trinity, of the initial unmanifest triad. The Father, Nara (Eternal Masculine); the mother, Nari (Eternal Feminine) and the Son, Viradi (Word-Creator), are the divine qualities. In other words, the intellectual element, the plastic element, the productive element. All three together constitute natura naturans, to use Spinoza's term. The organic world, the living universe, natura naturata is the product of the Word-Creator who in turn is manifest in three forms: Brahma, Spirit, corresponding to the divine world; Vishnu, Soul, corresponding to the human world; Siva, body, corresponding to the natural world. In these three worlds the male element and the female element (essence and substance) are equally active, and the Eternal Feminine is seen at the same time in terrestrial, human and divine nature. Isis is threefold in nature, and so is Cybele. Thus it is clear that the double trinity, that of God and that of the universe, contains the elements and framework of a theodicy and a cosmogony. It is correct to recognize that this basis came from India. All the ancient temples, all the great religions and many outstanding philosophers have adopted it. From the time of the Apostles and during the early centuries of Christianity, the Christian initiates revered the female element in visible and invisible nature under the name of the Holy Spirit, represented by a dove, the symbol of feminine power in all the temples of Asia and Europe. If since that time the Church has hidden or lost the key to its Mysteries, their meaning is still written in its symbols.

11The Teaching of the Initiates
Krishna was greeted by the anchorites as the anticipated, predestined successor to Vasichta. They performed the srada or funeral ceremony for the holy old man in the sacred forest, and Devaki's son received the staff with its seven nodes as a sign of command, after having performed the sacrifice of fire in the presence of the three eldest anchorites who knew the three Vedas by heart. Then Krishna withdrew to Mount Meru to think upon his teaching and the way of salvation for all men. His meditation and austerities lasted seven years. At the end of that time he felt that he had subdued his earthly nature through his divine nature, and that he had become sufficiently identified with the son of Mahadeva to merit the name, the son of God. Then only did he call to him the anchorites, young and old, in order to reveal his teaching to them. They found Krishna purified and matured; the hero had changed into the saint; he had not lost his lion's strength, but he had gained the gentleness of the dove. Among those who hastened to Krishna, the first to come to him was Arjuna, a descendant of the solar kings, one of the Pandavas dethroned by the Kuravas, or lunar kings. Young Arjuna was full of fire, but was easily discouraged and inclined to doubt. He became deeply attached to Krishna. Seated under the cedars of Mount Meru, facing the Himavat, Krishna began to speak to his students about truths inaccessible to men who live in slavery to the senses. He taught them the doctrine of the immortal soul, its rebirths and its mystic union with God. The body, he said, covering of the soul which makes its home there, is a finite thing, but the soul which inhabits the body is invisible, imponderable, incorruptible and eternal. Earthly man is threefold, like the divinity he reflects: spirit, soul and body. If the soul unites with the spirit, it attains Satwa, wisdom and peace; if it remains wavering between spirit and body, it is ruled by Raja, passion, and goes from object to object in a fatal circle; if it gives itself over to the body, it falls into Tama, irrationality, ignorance and temporary death. Every man can observe this in himself and in those around him. "But," asked Arjuna, "what is the fate of the soul after death? Does it always obey the same law, or J y' y can it escape it?" "It never escapes it, but always obeys it," answered Krishna. "This is the mystery of rebirth. As the depths of heaven open to the lights of the stars, so the depths of life are illumined in the light of this truth. When the body is dissolved, when Satwa, wisdom, has the upper hand, the soul flies to the regions of those pure beings who have knowledge of the Most High. When the body experiences this dissolution while Raja, passion, rules, the soul comes again to live among those who have become attached to the things of earth. Likewise, if the body is destroyed when Tama, ignorance, predominates, the soul, overshadowed by matter is again attracted by irrational beings." "That is right," said Arjuna. "But tell us now, in the course of centuries what becomes of those who have followed wisdom, and who go to live in the divine worlds after death?" "Man, overtaken by death during devotion," answered Krishna, "having enjoyed the rewards of his virtues in the higher regions for several centuries, finally returns again to inhabit a body in a holy and respectable family. But that kind of regeneration in this life is very difficult to obtain. The man so born again finds himself with the same degree of application and advancement as regards the understanding that he had in his first body, and again he begins to work in order to perfect himself through devotion." "So then," said Arjuna, "even the good are required to be born anew, to begin the life of the body again! But tell us, O Lord of Life, for the one who seeks after wisdom is there no end at all to everlasting rebirths?" "Listen," said Krishna, "to a very great and deep secret, to the sovereign, sublime, and pure mystery. In order to reach perfection it is necessary to acquire knowledge of oneness, which is above wisdom; it is necessary to lift oneself to the divine Being who is above the soul and even above intelligence. Now this divine being, this sublime friend, is in each one of us. For God dwells within every man, but few know how to find Him. And this is the way to salvation. Once you have seen the Perfect Being Who is above the world and within you, resolve to leave the enemy which takes the form of desire. Overcome your passions. The joys of the senses are like the matrices of sorrows to come. Not only do good, but be good. Let the motive be in the deed, not in the reward. Renounce the fruit of your works, but let each of your acts be like an offering to the Supreme Being. The man who sacrifices his desires and works to the Being in Whom the beginnings of all beings originate, and by Whom the universe was formed, obtains perfection through his sacrifice. Spiritually integrated, he attains that spiritual wisdom which is above the cult of offerings, and experiences a divine happiness. For one who finds his happiness and his joy within himself and within himself finds light as well, is at one with God. Now, hear this: The soul which has found God is freed from rebirth and death, from old age and pain and drinks the water of immortality." Then Krishna explained his teaching to his students and through inner contemplation he lifted them gradually to the sublime truths which had been unfolded to him in the experience of his vision. When he spoke of Mahadeva, his voice became more serious, his countenance was illuminated. One day, filled with curiosity and boldness, Arjuna said to him, "Let us see Mahadeva in his divine form! Cannot our eyes behold him?" Then Krishna, standing, began to speak about the Being Who breathes in all beings, the Being with a hundred thousand forms, innumerable eyes, faces turning in all directions, and Who nevertheless is greater than they by all the heights of infinity; Who in His motionless, limitless body contains the moving universe with all its divisions. "If in the heavens the splendor of a thousand suns glittered at the same time," said Krishna, "this would hardly resemble the splendor of the only All-Powerful." While he thus spoke of Mahadeva, such light streamed from Krishna's eyes that his students could not bear its brightness, and knelt at his feet. Arjuna's hair stood up on his head, and bowing deeply, he said, "Master, your words frighten us and we cannot bear the sight of the Great Being you portray before our eyes. It overwhelms us." Krishna continued, "Listen to what He tells you through me. You and I have had several births. Mine are known only to me, but you do not know yours. Although by my nature I am not subject to birth or death, and although I am the master of all creatures, nevertheless, since I command my being, I become visible through my own power. Every time virtue wanes in the world and vice and injustice are victorious, I become visible, and thus I appear from age to age for the salvation of the righteous, the destruction of the wicked and the reestablishment of virtue. One who really knows my nature and my divine work, upon leaving his body does not return to a new birth, but comes to me." Speaking thus, Krishna looked upon his students with tenderness and kindness. Arjuna cried out, "Lord! You are our Master, you are the son of Mahadeva! I see him in your kindness, in your ineffable charm, even more than in your terrible brightness! It is not in the overpowering heights of infinity that the Devas seek you and want you! It is in human form that they love and adore you. Neither penitence nor almsgiving, nor the Villas, nor sacrifice are worth a single one of your glances. You are truth! Lead us to the fight, to the battle, to death! Wherever it is, we will follow you!" Smiling and enraptured, the students pressed closer to Krishna, saying, "Why didnt we recognize it sooner? Mahadeva is speaking through you!" Krishna answered, "Your eyes were not open. I have given you the great secret. Tell it only to those who can understand it. You are my chosen ones. You see the purpose; the crowd, sees only the end of the road. And now let us preach to the people the way of salvation!" Notes for this lecture:

18The statement of this doctrine, which later became Plato's, is found in the first book of the
Bhagavad Gita in the form of a dialogue between Krishna and Arjuna.

12Triumph and Death
Having taught his students on Mount Meru, Krishna accompanied them along the banks of the Jamaina and Ganges in order to convert the people. One evening on the outskirts of a city, the crowd gathered around him. What he preached to the people above all was charity toward one's neighbor. "The evils with which we torment our neighbor," he said, "follow us, just as our shadow follows our body. Works which have love for one's fellow man as a basis are those which must be pursued by the righteous, for they are those which will weigh most on the heavenly scale. If you go only among the good, your example will be useless; do not be afraid to live among the wicked in order to lead them back to the good! The virtuous man is similar to the huge banyan tree whose beneficent shade gives freshness of life to the plants surrounding it!" Sometimes Krishna, whose soul now overflowed with a perfume of love, spoke of abnegation and sacrifice in a gentle voice and with appealing illustrations. "Just as earth supports those who tread upon her with their feet and tear up her womb while tilling the soil, so we must return good for evil. -- The good man must fall under the blow of the wicked as the sandalwood tree scents the hatchet which strikes it when it is hewn down." When the demi-savants, infidels and arrogant asked him to explain the nature of God, he answered in sentences like these: "Man's knowledge is but vanity; all his good actions are illusion when he does not know how to relate them to God. One who is humble in heart and spirit is beloved of God; he does not need anything else. Infinity and space alone can understand infinity; only God can understand God." These were not the only new things in his teaching. He captivated and won people with what he said about the living God, about Vishnu. He taught that the Master of the Universe had incarnated more than once among men. He had appeared successively in the Seven Rishis, in Vyasa and in Vasichta. He would appear again. But Vishnu, according to Krishna, liked to speak sometimes through the mouths of the humble, through a beggar, a repentant woman, a little child. He told the people the parable of Durga, the poor fisherman, who had found a little child dying of hunger under a tamarind tree. The good Durga, although crippled by pain and burdened with a large family which he did not know how he could feed, was moved with pity for the little child and took him home. Now the sun had set, the moon was rising over the Ganges, the family had said the evening prayer and the little child murmured in a low voice, "The fruit of the cataca purifies water; thus good deeds purify the soul. Take your nets, Durga. Your boat is floating on the Ganges." Durga lowered his nets and they were weighed down by the great number of fish. The child had disappeared. "Thus," said Krishna, "when man forgets his own misery for another's, Vishnu reveals himself and makes him happy in his heart!" By such stories Krishna preached the cult of Vishnu. Each man was amazed to find God so near his heart, when the son of Devaki spoke. The reputation of the prophet of Mount Meru spread over India. The shepherds who had seen him grow up and had witnessed his first exploits, could not believe that this holy man was the impetuous hero they had known. Old Nanda was dead, but his two daughters, Sarasvati and Nichdali, whom Krishna loved, were still alive. Their destinies had been very different. Sarasvati, annoyed at Krishna's departure, had sought forgetfulness in marriage. She had become the wife of a man of noble caste, who had married her for her beauty, but later he had repudiated her and sold her to a vaysia, or merchant. Sarasvati had left this man out of contempt, to become a woman of low repute. Then one day, desolate in heart, heavy with remorse and displeasure, she returned to her country and went secretly to find her sister, Nichdali. The latter, forever thinking of Krishna as if he were present, had not married at all and lived as a servant with her brother. When Sarasvati told her of her misfortunes and shame, Nichdali answered, "My poor sister! I forgive you, but my brother will not. Krishna alone can save you!" A flame shone in Sarasvati's lifeless eyes. "Krishna!" she exclaimed. "What has he become?" "A saint, a great prophet. He preaches on the banks of the Ganges." "Let us find him!" cried Sarasvati. And the two sisters set out, the one stained with passion, the other perfumed with innocence. Yet both were consumed by the same love. Krishna was teaching his doctrine to the warriors or Kshatryas, for he alternately taught the Brahmans, the men of military caste, and the people. To the Brahmans he explained with the calm of mature years the deep truths of divine knowledge; before the rajahs he extolled with the fire of youth the virtues of warriors; to the people he spoke with the simplicity of childhood, of charity, resignation and hope. Krishna was seated at a feast in the home of a famous leader when two women asked to be presented to the prophet. They were allowed to enter because of their penitents' dress. Sarasvati and Nichdali knelt at Krishna's feet. Sarasvati cried out, shedding a flood of tears, "Since you left us, I have spent my life in wrongdoing and in sin; but if you will, Krishna, you can save me!" Nichdali added, "O Krishna, when I saw you before, I knew I would love you forever; now that I find you again in all your glory I know that you are the son of Mahadeva!" And both of them kissed his feet. The rajahs said, "Holy Rishi, why do you allow these common women to insult you with their foolish words?" Krishna answered, "Let them pour out their hearts. They are worth more than you, for this one has faith, and that one, love. Sarasvati, the sinner, is saved as of now because she believed in me, and Nichdali, in her silence has loved truth more than you with your shouting. Be it known that my radiant mother who lives in Mahadeva's sun will teach Nichdali the mysteries of eternal Love when all of you will be plunged in the darkness of lower lives!" From that day on, Sarasvati and Nichdali became closely attached to Krishna and followed him with his disciples. Inspired by him, they taught other women. Kansa still reigned in Madura. Since the murder of old Vasichta, the king had not found peace on his throne. The prophecy of the anchorites had come true. Devaki's son was alive! The king had seen him, and at his gaze he had felt his power and royalty disappear. Like a dry leaf he trembled for his life, and often, in spite of his guards, he would turn around suddenly, expecting to see the young hero, terrible and radiant, standing at his door. For her part, Nysumba, tossing on her couch in her apartments, dreamed of her lost powers. When she learned that Krishna, now a prophet, was preaching on the banks of the Ganges, she persuaded the king to send a troop of soldiers to bring him back captive. When Krishna saw the soldiers he smiled and said, "I know who you are and why you come. I am ready to follow you to your king, but first, let me tell you about the King of Heaven who is mine!" And he began to speak about Mahadeva, his splendor and his revelations. When he had finished, the soldiers presented their arms to Krishna, saying, "We shall not take you as a prisoner to our king, but we shall follow you." And they remained with him. When he learned this, Kansa was very frightened. Nysumba said to him, "Send the finest soldiers in the kingdom!" This was done, and they came to the city where Krishna was teaching. They had promised not to listen to him, but when they saw the radiance of his countenance, the majesty of his carriage and the respect the crowd showed him, they could not help hearing him. Krishna spoke to them of the inner servitude of those who do evil, and the heavenly freedom of those who do good. The Kshatryas were filled with joy and surprise, for they felt relieved of a tremendous burden. "Truly you are a great magician," they said, "for we had sworn to lead you to the king in chains, but it is impossible for us to do this since you have freed us from ours." They returned to Kansa and said to him, "We cannot bring this man to you! He is a great prophet and you have nothing to fear from him." The king, seeing that all was useless, had his guard increased and iron chains put on all the gates of his palace. Nevertheless, one day he heard a great noise in the city and shouts of joy and triumph. The guards came and exclaimed, "It is Krishna entering Madura! The people are forcing the gates; he is breaking the iron chains!" Kansa wanted to flee, but the guards themselves compelled him to remain on his throne. Followed by his students and a great number of anchorites, Krishna was making his entry into Madura. The city was decked with flags and in the midst of a turbulent host of people who resembled a sea disturbed by the wind, Krishna entered the city beneath a shower of garlands and flowers. Everyone acclaimed him. The Brahmans stood grouped under the sacred banana trees before the temples in order to greet Devaki's son, the conqueror of the serpent; the hero of Mount Meru, but above all, the prophet of Vishnu. Followed by a brilliant procession, hailed as liberator by the people and the kshatryas, Krishna appeared before the king and queen. "You have reigned only with violence and evil," said Krishna to Kansa, "and you deserve a thousand deaths because you killed the holy elder, Vasichta. Nevertheless, you will not die yet. I want to prove to the world that it is not in killing that one triumphs over one's conquered enemies, but in forgiving them!" "Evil magician," said Kansa, "you have stolen my crown and my kingdom! Kill me!" "You speak like a madman," said Krishna, "for if you died in your present state of irrationality, hardness and crime, you would be lost irrevocably in the other life. If, on the other hand, you begin to understand your folly and repent in this one, your punishment will be less in the other, and through the intercession of pure spirits, one day Mahadeva will save you." Nysumba whispered into the king's ear, "Fool! Take advantage of his pride! While one is alive, the hope for vengeance remains!" Krishna understood what she had said without having heard it. He looked at her severely, but with great pity. "O wretched one, always your poison! Corrupter, black magician, you have nothing in your heart but the venom of serpents! Extirpate it, or one day I shall be forced to crush your head! -- And now you will go with the king to a place of penitence to expiate your crimes under the supervision of the Brahmans." After these events, with the consent of the noblemen and people of the kingdom, Krishna consecrated Arjuna, his disciple, the most illustrious descendant of the solar race, as king of Madura. He gave supreme authority to the Brahmans, who became the king's advisors. He himself remained leader of the anchorites, who formed the superior council of Brahmans. In order to remove this council from attacks, he had a fortified city built for them and himself in the mountains. It was protected by a high wall, and was called Dvarka. In the center of this city was placed the temple of the initiates, the most important part of which was hidden underground." But when the kings of the lunar cult learned that a king of the solar cult had again ascended the throne of Madura and that through him the Brahmans were to become masters of India, they formed a powerful league among themselves in order to overthrow him. Arjuna gathered around him all the kings of the solar cult, of the white Aryan, Vedic tradition. From the heart of the temple of Dvarka, Krishna observed and guided them. The two armies found themselves face to face, and the decisive battle was imminent. But Arjuna, his master no longer near him, was troubled and his courage weakened. One morning at daybreak Krishna appeared in the tent of the king, his disciple. "Why," asked the master severely, "have you not begun the battle, which is to decide whether the sons of the sun or the sons of the moon will reign on earth?" "Without you I cannot do it," answered Arjuna. "Look at these two great armies, these multitudes who are about to kill each other!" From the height where they stood, the lord of spirits and the king of Madura looked upon the two great armies drawn up opposite each other. The leaders' gilded coats of mail shone in the sun; thousands of cavalrymen, horses and elephants awaited the battle signal. At that moment the leader of the enemy army, the oldest of the Kuravas, blew his great shell, whose sound resembled the roaring of a lion. At once on the vast battlefield was heard the neighing of horses, the confused noise of arms, drums and trumpets. There was a great uproar. Arjuna had only to mount his chariot, drawn by white horses, and to blow his sea shell of celestial blue, in order to give the battle signal to the sons of the sun. But here was the king, overcome by pity and discouragement. "Upon seeing this multitude about to attack each other, I feel my limbs weaken, my mouth is parched, my body trembles, my hair stands on end, my skin burns, my head swims. I see evil signs! No good can come from this massacre! What shall we do with kingdoms, pleasures and even with life? Those very men for whom we want kingdoms, pleasures and joys are standing there ready to fight each other, forgetting their lives and their possessions. Teachers, fathers, sons, grandfathers, uncles, grandsons, relatives are going to slaughter one another. I do not wish to kill them in order to reign over this earth! What pleasure can I find in killing my enemies? Once the traitors are dead, evil will fall upon us!" "How," asked Krishna, "has this plague of fear gripped you? It is unworthy of a sage; it is the source of infamy, alienating us from heaven! Do not be a weakling! Stand on your feet!" But Arjuna, overcome with discouragement, sat in silence. Finally he said, "I shall not fight." Then Krishna, ruler of spirits, continued with a slight smile, "O Arjuna, I called you king of sleep so that your spirit might always watch, but your spirit has fallen asleep and your body has conquered your soul! You weep over those for whom one should not mourn, and your words lack wisdom. Wise men weep neither for the living nor for the dead. You and I and those leaders of men have always existed, and we shall never cease to exist in the future. Just as the soul experiences childhood, youth and old age in this body, so will it experience it in other bodies. A man of discernment is not disturbed about it. Son of Bharat, bear pain and pleasure with the same spirit! Those whom they no longer affect deserve immortality. Those who see the real essence see the eternal, everlasting truth, which is above soul and body. Truth lives through everything, is above destruction. No one can destroy the indestructible. All these bodies will not last, and you know it. But seers know also that the incarnate soul is everlasting, indestructible and infinite. Therefore you must fight, descendant of Bharat! "Those who believe that the soul can kill or that it is killed, are equally mistaken. The soul does not kill, neither is it killed. It is not born, it does not die and cannot lose this being which it always has had. Just as an individual throws away old clothing to put on new, so the incarnate soul casts off one body to take on others. Sword does not cut it, nor does fire burn it, water wet it, nor air wither it. It is waterproof, incombustible, durable, strong, eternal. The soul passes through everything unharmed. Therefore you should worry neither about death nor about life, O Arjuna! For one who is born, death is certain; for one who dies, birth is sure. Face your duty without flinching; for a kshatrya nothing is better than a fair fight. Happy are the warriors who find battle an open door to heaven! But if you do not wish to fight this just battle, you will sink into sin, giving up your duty and reputation. All beings will speak of your everlasting infamy, and infamy is worse than death for one who has been honored!" At these words of the master, Arjuna was seized with shame, feeling his royal blood surge up, along with his courage. He leaped into his chariot and gave the battle signal. Then Krishna said farewell to his followers and left the battlefield, for he was certain of the victory of the sons of the sun. However, Krishna had perceived that in order to cause the defeated ones to accept his religion, it was necessary to win their souls. This would be a more difficult victory than that with arms. Just as the holy Vasichta had died, pierced by an arrow in order to reveal supreme truth to Krishna, so Krishna had to die voluntarily from the arrows of his moral enemy in order to plant in the heart of his adversary the faith he had preached to his students and to the world. He knew that the former king of Madura, far from doing penance, had taken refuge with his father-in-law, Kalayeni, king of the serpents. Kansa's hatred, constantly aroused by Nysumba, caused Krishna to be followed by spies, seeking the appropriate moment to strike him. But Krishna felt that his mission was ended and only required the supreme seal of sacrifice in order for it to be fulfilled. Therefore he stopped evading and paralyzing his enemy with the power of his will. He knew that if he ceased to protect himself with this hidden power, the long awaited blow would strike him in the darkness. But the son of Devaki wished to die far from men, in the solitude of Himavat. There he would feel nearer his radiant mother, the sublime old man and the sun of Mahadeva. Therefore Krishna went to a retreat which was hidden in a lonely place at the foot of the lofty summits of the Himavat. None of his students had fathomed his plan. Only Sarasvati and Nichdali read it in their teacher's eyes by means of the divination which exists in woman and in love. When Sarasvati understood that Krishna wished to die, she threw herself at his feet, kissed them passionately and cried, "Master, do not leave us!" Nichdali looked at him and said quietly, "I know where you are going. Since we love you, let us follow you!" Krishna said, "In my heaven, love can be refused nothing. Come!" After a long journey the prophet and the holy women reached the huts grouped about the tall, bare cedar, on a snowcapped rocky mountain. On one side, arose the immense domes of the Himavat; on the other, in the depths, were a maze of lower mountains; in the distance stretched the plain of India, lost in a dream-like, golden mist. In this retreat lived several penitents, dressed in bark clothing, their hair uncut and twisted in a knot, their beards long, bodies dirty and dusty, their limbs withered by the wind and the hot sun. Some were little more than dried skin on a dry skeleton. Upon seeing this sad place Sarasvati cried, "Earth is far away, and heaven is silent. Lord, why have you brought us to this spot, forsaken by God and men?" "Pray," replied Krishna, "if you want earth to come near and heaven to speak to you." "With you, heaven is always present," said Nichdali, "but why does heaven wish to leave us?" y ys p y "It is necessary," answered Krishna, "that the son of Mahadeva die, pierced by an arrow, in order that the world may believe his word." "Explain this mystery to us!" "You will understand it after my death. Let us pray." For seven days they engaged in prayer and ablutions. Often Krishna's face became transfigured and was shining. On the seventh day, toward sunset, the two women saw archers coming up to the retreat. "Here are Kansa's archers who are looking for you," said Sarasvati. "Master, defend yourself!" g tor y y Krishna, kneeling near the cedar tree, did not cease praying. The archers came and looked at the women and the penitents. They were rough soldiers with yellow and black skins. Seeing the ecstatic form of the saint, they were speechless. At first they tried to draw him out of his ecstasy by throwing stones at him, but nothing could make him abandon his immobility. Then the soldiers seized him and tied him to the trunk of the cedar tree. Krishna let this be done as if he were in a dream. The archers took their positions at a distance and began to shoot at him. When the first arrow pierced him, Krishna cried out, "Vasichta, the sons of the sun are victorious!" When the second arrow quivered in his flesh, he said, "My radiant mother, let those who love me enter with me into your glory!" At the third, he simply said, "Mahadeva!" And then with the name of Brahma, he gave up his spirit. Krishna's body was burned by his followers in the holy city of Dvarka. Sarasvati and Nichdali threw themselves into the fire so they could join their teacher. The crowd thought they saw Mahadeva arise out of the flames in a body of light. After these events became known, a great part of India embraced the cult of Vishnu, which reconciled the solar and lunar cults in the religion of Brahma. Notes for this chapter:

19The Vishnu-Purana, Book V, Chapters 22 and 30 speaks of this city in rather clear terms:
"Krishna resolved therefore to build a citadel where the tribe of Yadu would find a safe refuge, and which would be such that even women could defend it. The city of Dvarka was protected by raised ramparts, beautified by gardens and fish ponds, and was as splendid as Amarasvati, Indra's city. In this city he planted the Paryata tree, whose sweet scent perfumes the earth afar off. All those who approached it found themselves able to recall their previous lives." This tree is evidently the symbol of divine knowledge and initiation. We find the same tree in Chaldean tradition. From there it passed to the Hebraic Genesis. After Krishna's death the city is submerged, the tree returns to heaven, but the temple remains. If all this has an historic significance, for one who knows the ultra-symbolic and discrete language of the Hindus, it means that some tyrant or other had the city completely destroyed and initiation became more and more secret.

13The Radiance of the Solar Word
Such is the legend of Krishna, reconstructed in its organic whole and placed in historical perspective. It sheds a vivid light on the origins of Brahmanism. Naturally it is impossible to establish on the basis of actual documents that behind the myth of Krishna is a real person. The threefold veil which covers the evolution of all oriental religions is thicker in India than elsewhere. For the Brahmans, absolute masters of Hindu society, sole guardians of its traditions, often remolded and transformed them in the course of ages. But they faithfully preserved all the basic elements, and if their sacred teaching has changed with the centuries, its core has never been touched. Therefore, unlike many European scientists, we do not explain a figure like Krishna by saying that it is "a fairy tale drawn out of a solar myth, with a philosophic fantasy to cap it all." We do not believe that this attitude explains how a religion was established which has lasted thousands of years, has produced a marvelous poetry and several great philosophers, has resisted the strong attack of Buddhism," the Mongol and Mohammedan invasions and the English conquest, preserving even in its extreme decadence, the feeling for its unknown and exalted origin. A great man is always involved in the origin of a great institution. Considering the dominant role of the character of Krishna in epic and religious tradition, his human elements on the one hand and his constant identification with God manifest, or Vishnu, on the other, it behooves us to believe that he was the creator of the Vishnu cult which gave Brahmanism its power and its prestige. It is therefore logical to admit that in the midst of the religious and social chaos which the invasion of naturalist and passional cults made in primitive India, an enlightened reformer appeared who revived the pure Aryan doctrine with the idea of the Trinity and the Divine Word made manifest, who put the seal on his work by the sacrifice of his life, thus giving India her religious soul, her national impress and her definitive organization. Krishna's importance will appear still greater and of a truly universal nature if we recognize that his doctrine contains two basic ideas, two organizing principles of religious and esoteric philosophy. I am speaking of the organic doctrine of the immortality of the soul or progressive lives through reincarnation, and his teaching of the Trinity or the Divine Word revealed in man. I have but briefly indicated the philosophical import of this major concept which, when thoroughly understood, brings about life-giving results in all domains of science, art and life. In conclusion, I shall confine myself to a historical remark. The idea that God, Truth, Infinite Beauty and Goodness are revealed in conscious man with a redemptive power which rises to the heights of heaven through the power of love and sacrifice -- this idea, fecund above all others, appears for the first time in Krishna. It is personified at the moment when, forsaking its Aryan youth, humanity is about to sink deeper and deeper into the worship of matter. Krishna reveals the idea of the Holy Word; humanity will no longer forget it. Humanity will thirst even more for redeemers and sons of God as it realizes its decadence more keenly. After Krishna, the Solar Word shines powerfully in the temples of Asia, Africa and Europe. In Persia, it is Mithras, reconcilor of the luminous Ormuzd and somber Ahriman; in Egypt, it is Horus, son of Osiris and Isis; in Greece, it is Apollo, god of the sun and the lyre; it is Dionysius, awakener of souls. Everywhere the solar god is a mediating god, and light is also the Word of Life. Is it not also from this that the Messianic idea comes? Be this as it may, it is through Krishna that this idea entered the ancient world; it is through Jesus that it will spread over the entire earth. In the remainder of this secret history of religions, I shall show how the teaching of the divine Trinity is linked to that of the soul and its evolution, and how and why they are implied in and complement one another. Let us say at once that their point of contact forms the vital center, the glowing crux of esoteric doctrine. In observing the great religions of India, Egypt, Greece and Judea merely externally, one sees only discord, superstition, chaos. But, investigate the symbols, question the Mysteries, look for the basic teaching of the founders and prophets, and harmony will be observed. By varied and often indirect roads one will finally recognize that to fathom the arcana of one of these religions is to fathom the arcana of all the others. Then a strange phenomenon comes about. Bit by bit, but in a widening circle, one sees the doctrine of the initiates shine in the center of religions like a sun, while each single religion appears as a different planet. With each of them we change atmosphere and celestial orientation, but it is always the same sun which lights our way. India, the great dreamer, plunges us along with herself into the dream of Eternity. Grandiose Egypt, of deathly austerity, invites us to the journey beyond the grave. Enchanting Greece transports us to magic festivals of life and gives her Mysteries the character of alternating charm and terror, and of her eternally passionate soul. Finally, Pythagoras scientifically formulates esoteric teaching, gives it perhaps the fullest and soundest expression it has ever had, for Plato and the Alexandrians were but its popularizers. In the jungles of the Ganges and the solitudes of the Himalayas we have seen the source of this esoteric teaching. Notes for this lecture:

20Sakia-Muni's greatness resides in his sublime charity, in his moral reform and in the social
revolution he brought about through overthrowing the ossified castes. But Sakia-Muni added nothing to the esoteric doctrine of the Brahmans; he only revealed certain parts of it. Its psychology is fundamentally the same, though it follows a different path. (See my article on La Legende de Bouddha in Revue des Deux Mondes, July 1,1885) If the Buddha is not represented in this volume, this is not because we do not recognize his place in the series of the Great Initiates. Rather it is because of the special plan of this book. Each of the reformers or philosophers selected is intended to show the doctrine of the Mysteries in a different aspect and at another stage in its evolution. From this viewpoint, Buddha would represent a needless repetition in connection with Pythagoras, through whom I developed the doctrine of reincarnation and evolution of souls, on the one hand, and on the other, with Jesus Christ, who promulgated for the West as well as the East, the ideal of universal Brotherhood and Love. As for the book Esoteric Buddhism by Sinnet, which in some respects is very interesting, worthy of being read, and whose origin many people attribute to self-styled initiates still living in Tibet, it is impossible for me, until otherwise informed, to see anything in it but a very clever compilation of Brahmanism and Buddhism, with certain ideas borrowed from the Kabbala, Paracelsus, and a few thoughts from modern science.

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