dependent existence, is totally dependant on the sun for that semblance of existence which it wears, and disappears utterly when the sun withdraws its light; while the sun is perfectly independent of it, stands in no need of it, and can reproduce it again and again without withdrawing aught from itself. Such is the relation subsisting between the phenomenal world and God, and he who regards the former as endowed with independent existence is like one who should declare that the brightness of the sun's reflection in the water is inherent in itself and not borrowed from the sun above. In a word, the phenomenal world is the reflection of God in the mirror of Not-Being.

What, then, is the position and nature of man, the crown and consummation of Contingent Being? A passage from the Gulshan-i-Rás will best answer the question :—

"Not-Being is the mirror of Absolute Being,

Whence is apparent the reflection of God's splendour.
When Not-Being became opposed to Being
A reflection thereof was at once produced.
That Unity was manifested through this Plurality;
One, when you enumerate it, becomes many.
Numeration, though it has one for its basis,
Hath, notwithstanding, never an end.

Since Not-Being was in its essence clear

Through it the hidden treasure became manifest.

Repeat the tradition, I was a Hidden Treasure,'

That thou may'st plainly behold the hidden mystery.

Not-Being is the Mirror; the universe is the reflection; and man

Is the Personality concealed in it, like the eye in the reflection.

Thou art the eye of the reflection, while He [God] is the light of the eye;

By means of that eye the Eye of God beholds itself.

The world is a man, and man is a world;

No clearer explanation than this possible.

When thou lookest well to the root of the matter,
He is both the Seer, and the Eye, and the Vision."

O wonderful and mysterious Man! thou art thus apostrophized :

How true are the words wherein

Thou thinkest that art but a small thing

Whereas in thee is involved the whole Universe !"

What, then, is the pain which man suffers, and how can he escape there from? For only by finding the cause of this pain can he hope to cure it, and to cure it, and thus gain peace, is the object of philosophy. That pain is love of self, the remedy for it is to renounce self, and the escape is unto God. So long as man is held captive by the illusion of self, he inevitably suffers from unsatisfied desire and unquenchable craving. Man may be compared to a mote floating in the sunlight; a mote luminous on its sunward aspect, dark on its earthward side. He is a compound of the Real and the Unreal, the Good and the Not-Good, the Light and the Darkness. If he looks downwards away from God, what does he see? A dark shadow of unreality cast by himself, which dark shadow he takes for his

true self, and whereunto he forthwith unwisely clings. But this false self, this illusion, this phantasm, which he so eagerly cherishes, is in fact the source of all his pain, all his misery, all his wickedness. Let him learn the truth, and look upward to the One, not around on the many, and least of all downward at that dark shadow of unreality which he takes for himself. What does he then behold? The Light and nothing but the Light; the Good and nothing but the Good; God and nothing but God. This is the supreme happiness, the ultimate goal, the beatific vision; this, in a word, is "Annihilation in God." The drop is merged in the Ocean; the pilgrim has reached the Shrine; the lover is united to the Beloved. "Has he ceased to exist?" you ask. No, he is one with Being. "Has he lost the friends he loved on earth?" No, for what he loved in them was the reflection of that wherewith he is now at one. All that he ever was he is, and far more than that; all that he ever had he has, and infinitely more. has, and what he is, tongue cannot say, nor ear hear :—

"These pretenders in His quest are devoid of knowledge,

But what he

For from him who has gained the knowledge no news returns.” Much more would I fain say did time and opportunity allow, but my allotted measure is fulfilled, though what has been here set forth—

"Is but one word out of a thousand which has obtained utterance." I

I will therefore conclude with a translation of a beautiful passage from the Masnavi descriptive of the upward progress of the soul

"I died from the mineral and became a plant;

I died from the plant and re-appeared in an animal;

I died from the animal and became a man;

Wherefore then should I fear? When did I grow less by dying?
Next time I shall die from the man

That I may grow the wings of the angels.

From the angel, too, must I seek advance;
All things shall perish save His Face'

Once more shall I wing my way above the angels,

I shall become that which entereth not the imagination.
Then let me become naught, naught; for the ha p-string
Crieth unto me 'Verily unto Him do we return!" "

BÁBIISM.

BY EDWARD G. BROWNE.

THE religious system which we are about to consider is deserving of an attentive examination for several reasons. It is no mere local superstition confined to a few families or tribes; neither is it a national religion, whereof the origin is lost in the mists of antiquity; nor yet is it a scheme of philosophy born in the sanctum of the student, and moving in a sphere of abstract thought far remote from the active world. Seventy years ago its founder was an infant only a few months old; fifty years ago his summons was yet unspoken and his doctrine yet unformed; forty years ago he terminated a prophet's life with a martyr's death, leaving behind him as his legacy to mankind a faith which now numbers its adherents not by hundreds but by thousands, which reckons its martyrs not by scores but by hundreds, and which, whatever its actual destiny may be, is of that stuff whereof world-religions are made. And to this rank does it lay claim, demanding nothing less than universal acceptance and undisputed sway, not only in Persia, where it was first preached and where it underwent that baptism of blood which was the terror and wonder even of those who proscribed and persecuted it, but throughout the whole world. A mighty claim indeed, but a claim which, if devotion even unto death and fervour which neither fire nor sword can quell go for aught, has at least established its right to be heard.

Before proceeding further in the examination of the history and doctrine of this new world-religion, it is necessary to glance briefly at the spiritual condition of the country which gave it birth. Persia, it is almost needless to state, is a Muhammadan country. Other religions are, indeed, represented there are a good many native Christians, either Armenians or Syrians; there are a considerable number of Jews; and there are a remnant who still, after the lapse of twelve centuries, hold firm to the fallen faith of Zoroaster. Relatively to the sum-total of the population, however, these are a mere handful, and the nation as such is a Muhammadan nation. But the Muhammadanism of Persia is a very different thing from that which prevails elsewhere. The Roman Catholic differs less from the Protestant than does the Persian Shi'ite from the Turkish or Egyptian Sunní. It is neither necessary nor possible to consider here in detail all these differences; one feature only of Shi'ite belief-the doctrine of the Imámate-demands notice. To the Sunni, the caliph, or visible head of the Muhammadan Church, is nothing more than a defender of the faith, elected by the suffrage of the majority for the safe-guarding of the temporal and spiritual interests of

Islám. His appointment is human rather than divine, and his function is that of an administrator of the laws rather than that of a prophet or inspired teacher. Not so does the Shi'ite regard the Imáms, whom he recognises as the sole successors of the prophet. The Imám is divinely called to his lofty office; with his selection and appointment the choice of men has nothing to do; he is endowed with supernatural powers and virtues; his decision is in all things absolutely authoritative; and, in a word, he is an open channel of grace between God and mankind. Abú Bekr, ‘Umar, and 'Othmán, the first three caliphs of the Sunnís, are in the eyes of the Shi'ites detestable usurpers, who snatched from 'Ali, the lawful Imám, a power to which they had no right and a position which they were not qualified to hold. They, and the Ommayad and 'Abbasid caliphs, who persecuted and slew the lawful Imams of the family of 'Ali whom they had first despoiled and despited, are solemnly cursed by every true Shi'ite. The Imáms of the race of 'Ali are, on the other hand, loved, revered, almost adored; they are given a rank hardly inferior to that of the prophet himself, nay, hardly short of divinity; and the well-being of mankind is made dependent on their existence.

These Imáms were twelve in number. The eleventh, Hasan 'Askarí, died in the year A.D. 874, and was succeeded by his son, who is generally known as the "Imám Mahdí," "the Proof," or "the Absent Imám." This Imam Mahdi was from the first involved in mystery, and communicated with his followers only indirectly through certain chosen and trusty representatives, who were called "Gates" or "Doors" (Abwáb, pl. of Báb). Of these " Gates or "Bábs" there were four successively. When the last of them died, no one was appointed to succeed him, and then began that period of the "Greater Occultation," in which, as the Shi'ites believe, we now are. But the Imám Mahdí, though no longer accessible to his Church, did not die. He disappeared from the eyes of men in the year A.H. 329 (A.D. 940-941), but he still lives, hidden in the mysterious city of Jábulká, whence, in the fulness of time, when faith waxes weakest and the world is full of woe and oppression, he will issue forth to restore the true religion, fill the earth with justice, and inaugurate the millennium. For this long-expected day do all the Shi'ites wait and watch eagerly and anxiously, and ever when they mention the sacred name of the Imám they add thereto the prayer, "May God hasten his glad advent ! "

It is in the year A.H. 1260 (A.D. 1844), exactly one thousand years after the Imam Mahdf's first retirement into seclusion, or "Lesser Occultation," that the history of the religion which we are about to consider properly begins. Before we proceed to speak of this, however, let us glance briefly at the meagre details which have reached us of the early life of its founder. Mirzá 'All Muhammad, afterwards known as the Báb or "Gate" (from which title his followers derive the name of Bábí which they bear), was born at Shíráz in Southern Persia on October 9th, A.D. 1820. His father, Mírzá Riza, was by trade a cloth-seller; but, though in comparatively humble cir

cumstances, he enjoyed that respect which is almost invariably accorded in Persia to a seyyid, or reputed descendant of the prophet. Mírzá 'Alí Muhammad was in the ordinary course of things sent to school, but he seems not to have remained there long. His removal thence may have been occasioned by the cruelty of his teacher, at whose hands he seems to have suffered much. He never forgot the unhappiness of his childhood, and when in later days he was framing the ordinances of his religion, he insisted most strenuously on the duty of treating children with the utmost tenderness and consideration, enacting heavy fines against such as should cruelly beat or ill-use them. "The object of these commands," he says, "is that men may not bring sorrow on that Spirit from the ocean of whose bounty they enjoy existence; for the teacher knoweth not Him who is his own and all men's teacher."

On his removal from school Mírzá ‘Alí Muhammad was for a while engaged in helping his father Mírzá Rizá in his business. He was still but a boy, however, when his father died, and thenceforth he was taken under the care of his maternal uncle, Háji Seyyid ‘Alí. After a while, but at what precise date we cannot say, he left Shíráz and took up his abode at Bushire on the Persian Gulf, where he still carried on the trade for which he was destined. So far there was nothing specially noticeable in him save a gravity unusual at his years, a remarkable purity of life, a somewhat dreamy temperament, and a sweetness of manner which attracted all with whom he came in contact. At the age of twenty-two he married, and by this marriage he had one son named Ahmad, who died in infancy.

About this time, there dwelt and taught at Kerbelá, a spot most hallowed in the eyes of every Persian Shi'ite by reason of the martyrdom of Huseyn the third Imám which there took place, a certain Hájí Seyyid Kázim of Resht, the disciple and successor of Sheykh Ahmad of Ahsá, who had founded a new school or sect called after him Sheykhis. Of the Sheykhís' doctrine the most notable feature was the extreme veneration-remarkable even amongst the Shi'ites-in which they held the Imáms, and the eagerness wherewith they awaited the advent of the Twelfth Imám or Imám Mahdí. One day the circle of those who sat at the feet of Seyyid Kázim was augmented by a fresh arrival. The new comer, who took his seat modestly by the door in the lowest place, was none other than Mírzá ‘Alí Muhammad, who, impelled by a pious desire to visit the Holy Shrines, had left his business at Bushire to come to Kerbelá. During the next few months the face of the young Shírází became familiar to all the disciples of Seyyid Kázim, and the teacher himself did not fail to notice and appreciate the earnest but modest demeanour of the youthful stranger. Then all of a sudden Mírzá 'Alí Muhammad departed as unexpectedly as he had come, and once more returned to Shíráz, his native city. Not long after this Seyyid Kázim died without nominating any successor. To some of his disciples whom he had seen weeping over his approaching death he had said, "Do you not then desire that I should go, so that the