nally fix upon a
world of Brahma, and that is above, not below, nor elsewhere; hence the
soul must pass the great cosmic potencies that seem to lie on the road
from the sublunary regions to Brahma. The _K[=a]ush[=i]taki Upanishad_
(1. 2. 3) arranges that all who leave this world first go to the moon,
the moon being the door of the world of light. The moon asks certain
theosophic questions; he alone who can answer them is considered
sufficiently emancipated to advance to the world of Brahma. He who
cannot--alas!--is born again as worm or as fly; as fish or as fowl; as
lion or as boar; as bull or tiger or man; or as something else--any old
thing, as we should say--in this place or in that place, according to
the quality of his works and the degree of his knowledge; that is, in
accordance with the doctrine of _Karma_. Similarly the _M[=a]itri
Upanishad_ (vi. 38) sketches salvation as follows: When a mortal no
longer approves of wrath, and ponders the true wish, he penetrates the
veil that encloses the Brahma, breaks through the concentric circles of
sun, moon, fire, etc., that occupy the ether. Only then does he behold
the supreme thing that is founded upon its own greatness only. And now
the _Ch[=a]ndogya Upanishad_ (viii. 13) has the same idea, mentioning
both moon and sun by their ancient names and in their capacity as dogs
of Yama. The soul of the aspirant for fusion with Brahma resorts
purgatorio-fashion alternately to Cy[=a]ma (the moon-dog) and Cabala
(the sun-dog): "From Cy[=a]ma (the moon) do I resort to Cabala (the
sun); from Cabala to Cy[=a]ma. Shaking off sin, as a steed shakes off
(the loose hair of) its mane, as the moon frees itself from the maw of
R[=a]hu, the demon of eclipse, casting aside my body, my real self
delivered, do I enter into the uncreated world of Brahma."[13]

ANALYSIS OF THE MYTH.

Hindu mythology is famous for what I should like to hear called arrested
personification, or arrested anthropomorphism. More than elsewhere
mythic figures seem here to cling to the dear memories of their birth
and youth. This is due in part to the unequaled impressiveness of nature
in India; in part to the dogged schematism of the Hindu mind, which
dislikes to let go of any part of a thing from the beginning to end. On
the one hand, their constant, almost too rhythmic resort to nature in
their poetry, and on the other, their Ved[=a]nta philosophy, or for
that matter their _Ars amatoria_ (_K[=a]mac[=a]stra_), t