Dabistān - The Dabistān, or School of Manners, Volume 1

I have endeavored to trace the most remarkable features of Persian and Indian religions from among those which are contained in the Dabistán. In them we recognise resemblances, and, in more than one point, even coincidences, which appear not merely taken from each other in the course of time, but rather originally inwoven in the respective institutions. This may be explained, partly by the general probability that nations, passing through the same stages of civilisation, might agree in several parts of religion, politics, and philosophy, and chiefly by the fact, now generally admitted among the learned,¹ that in very remote times, a union of all the Arian nations, among whom the Persians and Indians are counted, existed in in the common regions of central Asia. Sir W. Jones² goes so far as to say: “We cannot doubt that the book of Mahabad, or Manu, written in a celestial dialect, means the Veda.” William von Schlegel most ingeniously surmises,³ “that the name of Zand may be but a corruption of the Sanscrit word chhandas , one of the most usual names of the Vedas.” The fourteen Mahabadians are to him: “Nothing else but the fourteen Manus, past and future, of the Brahmanical mythology.”⁴ Thus we should have to thank Mohsan Fani for a confirmation of the above-stated historical fact; the Mahabadians were nothing else but Mahabodhis, in good Sanscrit, “great deified teachers;” he would have placed them, as did lately Burnouf, Lassen, and Charles Ritter, somewhere on the highlands of Iran, and he invented nothing.

From the ante-historical dynasties descending to later times, let us consider that, according to respectable traditions,¹ there existed friendly and hostile relations between Iran and Persia in the time of the Iranian king Feridun, 1729 years before our era: he reconducted with an army a fugitive Indian prince, and rendered India tributary. Two other invasions took place under the Persian monarch Manucheher,² after which the Indians recovered their liberty. Under Kai Kobad³ flourished Rustum, who ruled, beside other countries, Sejistan and Kabul, conquered the Panj-áb, and carried war into the bosom of Arya varta. This country was also attacked by Afrasiab, a Turan prince,⁴ then possessor of Persia. Ferdusi's Shah-namah indicates expeditions of Feramurs, a son of Rustum, to India, under the reign of Kai Khosrú. We arrive at the epoch of Gushtasp, who ordered the Indus to be explored, and although he had not, as Herodotus asserts,¹ conquered the Indians, he entertained religious relations with that nation. After Alexander's conquest of Persia, Sassan, the son of Dara, retired to Hind, where, devoted to the service of God, he died.² After a very obscure period of Persian history, Ardeshir, directed by a dream, brought an offspring of Sassan from Kabulistan to Istakhar. We cannot doubt that at all times a communication was open between Iran and India, where Bahram Gor married an Indian princess, and whence Nushirvan received a celebrated book and the game of chess. In our seventh century, the Muhammedan Arabians, driven by the spirit of conquest, turned their arms towards India, but stopped on the borders of the Indus. It was reserved to Muhammedan Moghuls, mixed with Persians, to establish in the midst of India an empire which, after eight hundred years, disjoined by various disorders, fell into the hands of the English.

This rapid sketch is perhaps sufficient to explain any mixture, fusion, and resemblance of Persian and Indian doctrines and institutions, if even we were not disposed to seek their fountain-head in the sacred gloom of the remotest antiquity. Whatever it be, in any case, it will no more be said, that the Dabistán was written “with the intention to claim for Persia the pre-eminence over India, concerning the antiquity of religious revelations.”¹ In fact, Mohsan Fani never explicitly alludes to a comparative antiquity between the Persians and Indians, and implicitly acknowledges the anteriority of the Indian religion over the Zoroastrian, in a part of Persia at least, by relating that Gushtasp was converted from the former to the latter by Zardusht, by whom also the Indian sage, Sankhara atcharya, was vanquished.

After a more accurate examination, the resemblance between the said religions will be found to exist certainly in particular principles and tenets, but not at all in the general character or the spirit of these religious systems. Nothing can be more dissimilar than the austerity of Mezdaism and the luxuriancy of Hinduism in the development of their respective dogmas, and particularly in their worship, as was already observed.² We cannot however deny, that not a little of the similarity in the account of different religions belongs to the author of the Dabistán, who most naturally confounded the ideas of his own with those of more ancient times, and used expressions proper to his particular creed when speaking of that of others. Thus he employs very often the term angels for that of divinities, and carries the mania of allegorising, so peculiar to the later Muhammedan Súfis, into his description of the Indian mythology. This sort of substitution, or these anachronisms of expression, are to be remarked in the narrative of other authors, praised for general correctness and veracity; I can here so much the more readily call to mind similar inaccuracies in the accounts which Greek historians, and in particular the philosophic Xenophon, gave of Persia, as I may add, that in many points they agree with our Mohsan Fani.

The third chapter of the Dabistán treats of the religion of the Kera Tabitán (Tibitans). The author says that he received his information from a learned man of this sect by means of an interpreter, who did not always satisfy his inquiries; the little he says appears to belong to a class of Buddhistic Hinduism, and not to be destitute of truth.

Then follows, in the fourth chapter, a short account of the religion of the Yahuds or Jews. The author derived his notion from a Rabbin converted to Muhammedism, and states nothing which was not really professed by one of the Jewish sects, which, in his summary narration, he does not distínguish. He gives a Persian translation of the first five chapters, and a part of the sixth chapter of the Genesis from the Hebrew original; a comparison of it with several other translations known in Europe, proves its general accuracy; I thought it not altother unimportant to point out the few variations which occur.

It is not without great interest that an European Christian will peruse the fifth chapter, in which a Persian treats of the religion of the Tarsas, that is, “Christians.” Mohsan Fani declares, that he saw several learned Christians, such as the Padre Francis,¹ highly esteemed by the Portuguese in Goa and in Surat. We can scarce doubt, that it was from that father, or some other Roman Catholic missionary, that he received his information; as he portrays particularly the Roman Catholic doctrine, of which, in my opinion, he exhibits a more faithful idea than that which a great number of Protestants entertain, and are wont to express.

Every Christian may be satisfied with the picture of his religion, which, although contracted in a small compass, is nevertheless faithfully drawn by a foreign but impartial hand. Mohsan Fani, in seventeen pages of our translation, states only a few circumstances of the life of Jesus Christ, and a few dogmas relative to him as son of God, and the second person of the holy Trinity. In the account of seven sacraments, the eucharist is characterised in a manner which will not fail to attract attention.¹ Scarce any rites or ceremonies are mentioned; the greatest part of the statement relates to the moral precepts of Christianity, which presents an advantageous contrast with the many absurd and superstitious duties, with which other religions are encumbered. Thus, we find confirmed in the Dabistán that the Pentateuch of the Jews and the Gospel of the Christians were both sufficiently familiar to Muhammedans who had any pretension to learning.

The author of the Dabistán, after having treated of the most ancient religions, passes to the comparatively modern religious system of Arabia. The Arabians, although frequently attacked, were never conquered by the Assyrians, Medians, Persians, or Romans; they maintained their political independance, but could not avoid nor resist the religious influence of nations with whom they were, during ages, in various relations. The ancient history of Arabia is lost, like that of many other nations; so much is known of their oldest religion, that it resembled that of the Persians and Hindus: it was the Magism or Sabæism; the stars were worshipped as idols from the remotest times; we read of antediluvian idols. At the time, which we now consider, that is the seventh century of our era, all the then existing religions seemed to be far remote from their original simplicity and purity;¹ idolatry was dominant, and Monotheism preserved and positively professed only in Judaism and Christianity, although likewise corrupted by various kinds of superstition. Followers of both these religions were settled in Arabia, to which region the Jews fled from the cruel destruction of their country by the Romans; and the Christians, on account of the persecutions and disorders which had arisen in the Eastern church.

We see by what facts, circumstances, and notions Muhammed was acted upon, whilst nourishing his religious enthusiasm by solitary contemplation in the cavern of mount Hara, to which he was wont to retire for one month in every year. In his fortieth year, at the same age at which Zoroaster began to teach 600 years before Christ (according to some chronologers), Muhammed, as many years after the Messiah, assumed the prophetic mission to reform the Arabians. He felt the necessity of seizing some safe and essential dogmas in the chaos of Magian, Zoroastrian, Jewish, and Christian notions; broke all the figures of planets in the temple of Mecca, and declared the most violent war against all plastic, graven, and painted idols; he left undisturbed only the black stone, Saturn's emblem before, and at the time when the Jewish traditions claimed it for Abraham, and even transported it to heaven. Muhammed preferred the latter to the more ancient superstition; as to the rest, he abhorred the prevailing idolatry of the Sabaians; and blamed the corruption of monotheism in the Jews and Christians. He felt in himself the powerful spirit, and undertook to re-establish the Touhid, “the unity and spiritualism of God;” he preached with enthusiastic zeal the Islam, “devotedness und resignation to God.”

But, in order to found and to expand the great and necessary truths, he knew no other means, but to attach the believers to his own person, and to accustom them to blind obedience to his dictates; he proclaimed: “There is no God but God, and Muhammed is his prophet;” he gave them the Koran, the only holy book, in which his precepts were as many commands proclaimed under the penalty of eternal damnation. In the Muhammedan all spontaneity is stifled; all desire, all attempt to be self-convinced is interdicted; every thing becomes exterior, the religious and civil Code but one.

Muhammed seemed not to know that religion cannot be the gift, as it is not the property, of any single man; it belongs to mankind. Any particular creed lives only by its inherent force, independently of the founder, who retires and leaves nothing behind him but his name as a mere distinction from that of another religion. Every individual action is of little avail, if it does not proceed from the free and pure impulse of the spirit, which must revive in all succeeding generations. This is acknowledged in the Dabistán¹ by giving a very philosophic explanation of the expression prophetic seal, or “the last of prophets:” “That which is reared up by superior wisdom, renders the prophet's knowledge vain, and takes his color; that is to say: if one hundred thousand prophets like himself realise in themselves the person of superior wisdom, they are possessors of the seal, the last prophets, because it is superior wisdom which is the seal, and they know themselves to be effaced, and superior wisdom existing.” Muhammed, although wise enough to connect himself with other prophets, his predecessors, pretended however to close the series, and to be the last of prophets, or “the seal of prophetism.”

Vain project! Immediately after him violent contests arose,

Thirty years after his death his family was dispossessed of the Khalifat. This passed to the Moaviyahs, who, residing in Damascus, kept it during 90 years, and then ceded it to the Abbasides, who established their seat at Baghdad. The impulse and development of the Islám was overwhelming during the one hundred and twenty years after the prophet's death; the mighty spirit of conquest had arisen and was—I shall not say irresistible —but certainly badly resisted by the nations assailed. The Romans and Persians were then hard pressed themselves; on the West by the Goths, on the East by the Huns:—whilst the Greeks had sunk into general luxury and degeneracy; all feebly sustained the attack of hardy and active men, whose native habit of rapine and devastation was then exalted and sanctified by the name of religion, and continually invigorated by rich, splendid, and easy conquests. Thus, the khalifs, who were divided into two great lines, the before-mentioned Abbasides and the Fatimites , extended their empire within 600 years after Muhammed, not only over the greatest part of Asia, but also along the western shore of Africa, Egypt, Spain, and Sicily; threatening the rest of Europe.

After the first labors, came rest, during which the genius of the Arabs turned to persevering study, deep speculation, and noble ambition: this was the scientific age of the Arabs, which began in the middle of our eighth century, and was most conspicuous in the old seats of learning, Babylonia, Syria, Egypt, Persia, and India. But in the numerous schools rose violent schisms and bloody contests between philosophy and religion. In the mean time the khalifs, by becoming worldly sovereigns, had lost their sacred character, and were in contradiction with the principle of their origin. The crusades of the Christians, by reviving their martial energy, maintained for some time the vacillating power of the Khalifs, but their vast and divided empire, assailed by Pagan nations, first in the West in 1211, and forty-seven years afterwards in the East, fell in 1258 of our era. Muhammedism however revived in the barbarous and energetic conquerors, Turks, Seljuks, Albanese, Kurds, Africans, who were drawn into its circle; and science was again cultivated in Tunis, Bulgaria, and India.

I thought necessary to draw this rapid historical sketch, because within its outlines is contained the account of the Muhammedan sects as given in the text of the Dabistán.

Mohsan Fani himself lived in the age of general decline of Muhammedism. He exhibits in the sixth chapter the religion of his own nation: we may expect that he will be true and accurate. He divides the chapter into two sections: the first treats of the creed of the Sonnites; the second, of that of the Shiâhs. These are the two principal sects of the Muhammedans, but divided into a number of others, exceeding that of seventy-three, which Muhammed himself has announced, and consigned, all except one, to eternal damnation. This one was that of the sonnah “the traditional law,” or Jamaât, “the assembly.” The Dabistán explains this religion in a manner which, to Muhammedans, might appear sufficiently clear, in spite of digressions and want of order in the arrangement of the matter; but an European reader will desire more light than is afforded in the text, and feel himself perplexed to understand the meaning of frequent technical terms, and to connect the various notions disseminated in an unequal narrative—now too diffuse, now too contracted. The following are the principal features of the long account of Muhammedism contained in the Dabistán.

Immediately after the promulgation of the Koran, which followed Muhammed's death, it became necessary to fix the meaning and to determine the bearing of its text. There was one theme in which all agreed: the grandeur, majesty, and beneficence of one supreme Being, the Creator, ruler, and preserver of the world, which is the effulgence of his power. This is expressed in the Koran in such a strain of sublimity as may unite men of all religions in one feeling of admiration. This excellence is an inheritance of the most ancient Asiatic religion. God can but be always the object of boundless adoration, but never that of human reasoning. Hence the Muhammedan sects disagreed about the attributes of God.

The residence assigned, although inconsistently with pure spiritualism, to the supreme Being was the ninth heaven; an eighth sphere formed the intermediate story between the uppermost heaven and seven other spheres, distributed among so many prophets, in the same manner as, in the Desátir, the seven prophet kings of the Péshdadian dynasty were joined to the seven planets which they, each one in particular, venerated. Numberless angels, among whom four principal chiefs, fill the universe, and serve, in a thousand different ways, the supreme Lord of creation. We recognisee the notions of the ancient Persian religion in this, and in the whole system of divine government.

Another subject of violent and interminable dispute was God's action upon the nether world, principally upon mankind, or God's universal and eternal judgment, commonly called predestination. This subject was greatly agitated by the Matezalas, Kadarians, Jabarians, and others; they disputed

Although this subject appears to be connected with the Zoroastrian doctrine of the two principles, “good and bad,” yet it has never been agitated with so much violence in so many particular ways by any religionists as by the Muhammedans.

It has already been observed that, according to tradition, the ancient Persian philosophy was carried in the reign of Alexander to Greece, and from thence, after having been recast in the mould of Greek genius, returned in translations to its original country. We find it expressly stated in the Dabistán, that Plato and Aristotle were acknowledge as the founders of two principal schools of Muhammedan philosophers, to wit, those of the Hukma ashrákín, “Platonists,” and the Hukma masháyín , “Aristotelian, or Peripatetics.” To these add the Súfí's matsherâin, “orthodox Sufis,” who took care not to maintain any thing contrary to revelation, and exerted all their sagacity to reconcile passages of the Koran with sound philosophy. This was the particular profession of the Matkalmin, “scholastics.” These cede to no other philosophers the palm of mastering subtilties and acute distinctions. They had originally no other object but that of defending their creed against the heterodox philosophers. But they went further, and attacked the Peripatetics themselves with the intention to substitute another philosophy for theirs. It may be here sufficient to call to mind the works of three most celebrated men, Alfarabi, Ibn Sina (Avisenna), and Ghazali, whose works are reckoned to be the best specimens of Arabian and Muhammedan philosophy.¹ They contain three essential parts of orthodox dogmatism: 1. ontology, physiology, and psychology ; these together are called “the science of possible things;” 2. theology, that is, the discussion upon the existence, essence, and the attributes of God; as well as his relations with the world and man in particular; 3. the science of prophetism, or “revealed theology.” All these subjects are touched upon in the Dabistán, but in a very desultory manner. I shall add, that the author puts in evidence a sect called Akhbárín, or “dogmatic traditionists,” who participate greatly in the doctrine of the Matkalmin, and in his opinion are the most approvable of all religious philosophers.

The contest for the khalifat between the family of Ali, Muhammed's son-in-law, and the three first khalifs, as well as the families of Moaviah and Abbas, a contest which began in the seventh century, and appears not yet terminated in our days— this contest, so much more violent as it was at once religious and political, occasioned the rise of a great number of sects. Much is found about Ali in the Dabistán, and even an article of the Koran,¹ published no where else relative to this great Muselman, which his adversaries are said to have suppressed. The adherents of Ali are called Shiâhs.

The Persians, after being conquered by the Arabs, were compelled to adopt the Muhammedan religion, but they preserved a secret adherence to Magism, their ancient national creed, they were therefore easily disposed to join any sect, which was more or less contrary to the standard creed of their conquerors, and bore some slight conformity, or had the least connection with, their former religion. They became Shiâhs.

Among these sectaries originated the particular office of Imám, whose power partook of something of a mysterious nature: the visible presence of an Imám was not required; he could, although concealed, be acknowledged, direct and command his believers; his name was Mahdi, “the director.” This opinion originated and was spread after the sudden disappearance of the seventh Imám, called Ismâil. His followers, the Ismâilahs, maintained that he was not dead; that he lived concealed, and directed the faithful by messages, sent by him, and brought by his deputies; that he would one day reappear, give the victory to his adherents over all other sects, and unite the world in one religion. More than one Mahdi was subsequently proclaimed in different parts of Asia, Africa, and Europe—always expected, never appearing—so that it became a proverbial expression among the Arabs to denote tardiness: “as slow as a Mahdi.” We recognize in this an ancient idea of Zoroaster: he too was to reappear in his sons at the end of 12,000 years; rather late, —but mankind never tire of hope and expectation.

A creed, like that of the Ismâilahs, because founded upon something mysterious, vague, and spiritual, was likely to branch out in most extraordinary conceptions and practices. The Dabistán abounds with curious details about them. Their doctrine bore the character of duplicity: one part was manifest, the other concealed. Their manner of making proselytes was not open; they acted in the dark. They first induced the neophyte to doubt, then to despise his own creed, and at last to exchange it for apparently more sublime truths, until, after having sufficiently emboldened his reasoning faculty, they enabled him to throw off every restraint of authority in religious matters. We see in the Dabistán,¹ the degrees through which an Ismâilah was to pass until he believed in no religion at all.

A most remarkable sect of the Ismâilahs was that of the Almutians, so called from Alamut, a hill-fort in the Persian province of Ghilan. This fort was the seat of Hassan, a self-created Imám, and became the capital of an empire, perhaps unique in the history of the world.² An Imám, called by Europeans “the old man of the mountain,” without armies, or treasures, commanded the country around, and terrified a great part of Asia by a band of devoted adherents, whom he sent about to propagate his religion, and to execute his commands, which were frequently the murder of his enemies. The executioners were unknown save at the fatal moment of action; mighty khalifs and sultans met with their murderers among their most intimate servants, or the guardians of their doors, in the midst of crowded public places or in the solitude of their secret bed-chambers. The Fedayis, so were they called, devoted themselves not only to the sacred service of their Imám, but hired their arm also for profane service to foreign chiefs, such as the Christian crusaders. Among Europeans, these Ismâilahs were known under the name of Assassins, which well answered their infamous profession, but is better derived from Hashishah¹, a sort of hemp, from which they extracted an intoxicating beverage for their frequent use. During one hundred and sixty years the Ismâilahs were the terror of the weak and the mighty, until they fell in one promiscuous slaughter, with the khalif of Islámism, under the swords of the ferocious in vaders who, issuing from the vast steppes of Tartary, fell upon the disordered empire of the Muhammedans.

The Ismâilahs, and other sects connected with them, professed a great attachment to an Imám, whose lineage was always traced up to Ali through a series of intermediate descendants; but it belonged to the Ali-Ilahians to deify Ali himself, or to believe his having been an incarnation of God.

Another sect, the Ulviahs, also devoted to Ali, maintain that he was united with the sun, that he is now the sun, and having also been the sun before, he was for some days only united to an elemental body. Both these sects reject the Koran.

Here terminates the review of the second volume of the English Dabistán.

The third volume of this work begins with the seventh chapter, upon the religion of the Sadikiahs. It is generally known that, during the life of Muhammed, another prophet, called Musaylima, arose in the country of Yamáma, and dared offer to himself in a letter to the former as a partner of his sacred mission, but was treated as a liar. He had however gained a great number of followers, at the head of whom he was defeated and himself slain in a bloody battle against Khaled, a general of the first Khalif, the very same year as Muhammed's death. We find in the Dabistán, what appears less generally known, that Musaylima's sect, far from being entirely crushed after his fall, existed under the name of Sadikias in the seventeenth century of our era, and conformed to a second Faruk, or Koran, to which they attributed a divine origin, and a greater authority than to the first.¹

Another account, not frequently met with, is contained in the eighth chapter of the Dabistán, concerning Vahed Mahmud, who appeared in the beginning of our thirteenth century, and is by his adherents placed above Muhammed and Ali. Among his tenets and opinions is to be remarked that of an ascending refinement or perfection of elemental matter, from the brute or mineral to that of a vegetable form; from this to that of an animal body; and thence progressing to that of Mahmud.² Further, the particular mode of transmigration of souls by means of food into which men, after their death, are changed; such food, in which intelligence and action may reside, becomes continually the aliment and substance of new successive human beings. We were not a little astonished to find these singular opinions agreeing with the information, which Milton's archangel Raphael imparts to Adam, the father of mankind.¹

This sort of hylozoism is more expanded in a particular system of cosmogony of the same Vahed,² according to which the materials of the world existed from the very beginning, which signifies from the first appearance of afrad, “rudimental units.” We can never think meanly of this opinion, when we find it coinciding with that of Leibnitz in our seventeenth century, contemporary of Mohsan Fani. According to the celebrated German philosopher,¹ there exists already an entirely organical preformation in the seeds of the bodies which are born, and all souls had always pre-existed in some sort of organized body, and shall after death remain united with an organic whole; because in the order of nature souls are not likely to exist entirely separated from any kind of body. In the eighteenth century Bonnet, a great physiologist, maintained,² that all was preformed from the beginning, nothing engendered; all organized bodies were pre-existing in a very small compass in the germs, in which souls may also pre-exist, these indestructible germs may sojourn in such or such a body until the moment of its decomposition, then pass, without the least alteration, into another body, from this into a third, and so on; each of the germs incloses another imperishable germ, which will be developed but in a future state of our planet, which is destined to experience a new revolution.

We see here the very same ideas, without any mutual communication, entertained in the East and the West, in ancient and modern times.

Vahed Mahmud combines his cosmogony with periods of 8000 years, eight of which form a great cycle of 64,000 years, at the completion of which the world is renovated. This sect is said to have been widely spread in the world; in Persia the persecution of Shah Abbas forced them to lie concealed.

The ninth chapter of the Dabistán introduces to us Mian Báyezid, who, born in the Panjáb, flourished in the middle of the sixteenth century under the reign of Humayún, the Emperor of India. At first a strict observer of Muhammedism, he abandoned afterwards the exterior practices of this religion, and, devoting his mind to contemplation, assumed with the character of a saint the title of a “master of light;” his followers were called Roshenians , or “enlightened.” His sayings, several of which are quoted in the Dabistán, express sound reason, pure morality, and fervent piety. In the spirit of his nation and time, and for self-defence, he took up arms against the Moghuls. His history and that of his sons is carried to the middle of the seventeenth century, the time of Mohsan Fani.

Muhammed was the permanent type of a prophet, in whom the religious and political character were united. The first Khalifs were all military chiefs and religious men; the Koran furnished the rules of foreign and internal policy, the final decision of every tribunal, the inciting exclamation to combat and carnage, and a prayer for every occasion. The founders of sects were frequently warriors, or, what in Asia is generally the same, highwaymen and plunderers of caravans; such was the just mentioned Miyan Bayezid, and many others. As possessors of empires, they preserved the austere habits of ascetics: they carried a sabre and a rosary, counted their beads and gave order for battle; emaciated by fasts, covered with a woollen mantle, sitting upon the bare ground, they disposed of empires and received the homage of millions of men.

The Muhammedans preserved their religion, as long as they were militant: because all states of mental excitement are apt to support each other. But, in solitary retirement, and in the precincts of schools, the doctrine of Muhammed was put to the test of reason: now began the struggle between religion and philosophy. Fearful to part at once with early impressions and national feelings, attempts to reconcile faith and reason were made; religious philosophers had recourse to allegory, in order to rationalize strange and absurd dogmas and practices; for the literal they substituted a mystical sense; under arbitrary acceptations and interpretations, the foundation of the doctrine itself disappeared, or was confounded with some old dogma renewed, if not one entirely invented: in short, the Muhammedan religion appeared to have survived itself; its presumed period of one thousand years was believed to be completed under the reign of Akbar.

Akbar was the greatest among the Moghul emperors of India. He began in his fourteenth year a reign, environed by war and rebellion. After having vanquished all his enemies and established peace and security around him, he turned his attention to religion. He soon found it right to grant unlimited toleration to all religions in his empire. Called the “shade of God,” he took the resolution to realise in himself the otherwise vain title bestowed by slavish flattery upon all sovereigns of Asia, and to imitate, according to his faculties, him who bestows the blessings of his merciful providence on all creatures without distinction. This he declared to his fanatic son Jehangir, who did not conceal his discontent about the building of an Hindu temple in Benares: “Are not,” said Akbar, “five-sixths of all mankind either Hindus or unbelievers? If I were actuated by motives similar to those which thou ownest, what would remain to me but to destroy them all?”

The inquisitive emperor was acquainted with the religious history of the Persian empire; he surrounded himself with men of all religions—Muhammedans of all sects, Hindus, Jews, and Christians, as well as with philosophers free from superstition; he liked to question them all, and to encourage public polemical discussions in his presence. The Sonnites and Shiâhs reviled reciprocally the chief personages of their adherence, the three first khalifs and Ali; Muhammed himself was not more spared than his companions and successors. The errors of their doctrine, the vices of their character, and the irregularities of their conduct were freely exposed, severely blamed, and wittily ridiculed. If Muhammedism was treated in such a manner, other religions could not claim more indulgence. The dramatic form, which Mohsan Fani gives to the religious controversies, is certainly curious; we can scarce suppose his having known the dialogues of Lucian, nor is it in the least probable that a late French author ever saw the Dabistán and took from this book the idea of the twenty-first chapter of his celebrated work, entitled “Problem of religious contradictions.”¹ The object aimed at by these three authors was the same; but their compositions differ from each other as much as the genius and character of the Greeks, French, and Persians, in whose language each of them respectively wrote. In whatsoever point Mohsan Fani may yield to the Greco-Syrian, or to the French author, he certainly, I will venture to say, equals them in force, boldness, and sincerity; and perhaps surpasses either in pointed application of truth. His objections are not vague attempts of witticism with the intention to ridicule: they are special and serious, directed to real and patent falsehood or prejudice; he does not fence with imaginary shadowy adversaries, but he strikes a present and tangible foe; his style, never tainted by affectation, is plain and blunt, such as becomes a reformer combating popular superstition. The controversies, the scene of which is placed before the throne, or rather tribunal, of Akbar, obtain the imperial sanction: Muhammedism is condemned.

Indeed, the emperor abrogated several practices of that religion to which he had been devoted in his first years; he confined the cultivation of science, as taken from the Arabs, to astronomy, geography, medicine, and philosophy, and wished to prevent the waste of life in futile and useless studies. At last, in the month of December, A.D.1579, twenty-six years before his death, he substituted for the common profession of the Muhammedans the new: “There is no God but God, and Akbar his khalif (or deputy).” He received from a great number of Amirs and distinguished persons the voluntary agreement and consent to four conditions, namely, the sacrifice of property, life, reputation, and religion, by entering into the new religious pact, called Ilahi, “divine.” Moreover, he introduced in lieu of the former, a new era, to begin from the death of his father Humayún, that is from the year of the Hejira 963, (A. D. 1555): it was to be called Ilahi; the months were regulated according to the mode of Irán, and fourteen festivals established in concordance with those of Zoroaster's religion. It was to this ancient Persian creed, that he gave the preference, having been instructed in its sacred tenets and practices by a learned fire-worshipper who had joined him; and from books which were sent to him from Persia and Kirmán. He received the sacred fire, and committed it to the faithful hands of Abu'l fazil, his confidential minister: the holy flames of Zardusht blazed again upon the altars of Aria, and, after a separation of many centuries, Persians and Indians were reunited in a common worship.

As a proof of Akbar's expansive mind, directed to all subjects which may interest mankind, I shall mention his having sequestered a number of children, before they could speak, from all communition with the rest of society, in order to know whether they would form a language. After fourteen years of seclusion, it was found that they were dumb: “which made it evident,” says Mohsan Fani, “that language and letters are not natural to man—that language is of a long date and the world very ancient.”¹

In the third section of the tenth chapter, the author treats of the influences of the stars upon the nether world, a very ancient superstition, common to most nations. Every master of fame is said to have worshipped particularly one of the stars; Akbar also received divine commands with regard to them. We find, in a digression of this section, curious historical details respecting the person of Jangis khan, his adoration of the celestial bodies, epilepsy, and singular superstition of combs. The great conqueror addressed to his sons the most earnest admonitions to remain faithful to the religion of the stars, to which their fortune was attached; but fifty-three years after his death one of his successors and a great part of his nation embraced Muhammedism.

The fourth section of the tenth chapter contains important information upon the administration of India. Akbar was the first of the Moghul emperors who considered India as his native country, and directed his best efforts to the amelioration of its condition. Exalted to the highest rank, not only by his birth, but also by his personal acquirements; assisted, besides, by a train of devoted and enlightened servants, he could promise himself duration of the new religion, which he had fondly labored to found. In vain: it disappeared with him. Private persons, camel-drivers, and robbers, emerging from obscurity, such as Muhammed, and others before and after that Arabian leader, effected more than an emperor, with every possible advantage united in and around his person! Human intellect was perhaps then satiated with religion; its measure was full: it could not receive any more. In fact, after Muhammed a number of sects, but no new religion, arose: in this sense he may, with some appearance of truth, be called the last of prophets, or the Khátim, “the seal of prophetism,”

Akbar died in 1605 A. D., eight or ten years before the birth of the author of the Dabistán. The latter passed his youth and manhood in India, under the reigns of that emperor's son, Jehangir, and grand-son, Shah Jehan, and great-grandson Aurengzeb; and was in personal connection with the latter's brother, the religious Darashukoh. Mohsan Fani had therefore good opportunities to be informed of the events of their days. The religion of the Ilahiahs is properly the last of which he treats; for what relates to the religions of the philosophers and Súfis, the subjects of the two last chapters, are rather selections of all creeds and opinions, than particular religions. It will be remembered that sir W. Jones supposed these two last chapters not to have been written by the author of the rest of the Dabistán, which I dare neither affirm nor deny.¹

In the eleventh chapter, entitled “Of the religion of the Wise,” we find it repeated that Philosophers were divided into two great classes: “the Eastern and the Western.” The first are the Hushangians, teachers of the Greeks until the time of Plato and Aristotle; it is believed that their philosophy, modified and refined, returned from Greece to Asia, and was received by the Muhammedan scholars to be adapted to their own creed. Then took place a singular mixture and confusion of Siderism, Judaism, Christianity, Muhammedism, and all sorts of philosophic opinions. The cosmology of the Hushangians was preserved. Seven special prophets, Ismâil, Jesus, Joseph, Enoch, Aaron, Moses, and Abraham, inhabit the seven heavens,¹ to begin from that of the Moon, which is the lowest, and rising upwards. If, in general, ten spheres are assumed,² they are made the dwellings of so many intelligences. These ideas, so ancient, as we have seen, were not disowned by eminent men in much later times. The great Kepler, and after him Reaumur, believed that intelligences or souls directed the movements of celestial bodies. Philosophers, struck with the marvellous order of nature, were adverse to admitting any mechanism—the very name of which frightened them; they therefore called all occult powers souls or spirits. The same idea is adopted in morality: whatever is praiseworthy is angelic, whatever blamable, satanic. From goodness arises an angel; from badness, a Satan: so said the prophet. Such simple and truth-like ideas were either originally disguised under the vest of fiction; or existing traditions of various origin were afterwards more or less ingeniously interpreted as allegories. Thus, the ordinary names, expressions, tenets, traditions, and practices of the Arabian prophet received symbolic, allegoric, mystic interpretations. The Kabah (the square temple of Mecca), the holy centre of a living, circumambulating world, becomes an emblem of the sun; its famous black stone, hollowed by the kisses of the pious, represents Venus, the bright star on the borders of heaven; paradise, its milk, honey, wine, Tuba (tree of beatitude), Hur and Kasur (nymphs and palaces) allude to intellectual delights; hell, its Zakum (tree of nature), and torments, are explained as unavoidable consequences of depravity. Such interpretations of the Muhammedans seem often to be like their bridge Sirat, which connects heaven and hell, sharp as a razor and thin as a hair. Transmigration, or rather reproduction, is admitted, although not easily reconciled with the resurrection of the same body. The blasts of the trumpet, and the whole scene of the resurrection lose their materialism in a sort of rational allegory. The other world is the destruction and renovation of nature at the completion and renewal of great periods of time, one of which comprised 360,000 solar years. Resurrection is “the wakening from the sleep of heedlessness;” whenever an intellect attained that degree of perfection, it has returned to its origin; it is restored to life; this indubitably happens when nothing material exists: for, “where there is no body, there is no death.”

After having treated in this way the great dogmas of religion, the Muhammedan philosophers found it not more difficult to rationalise every circumstance respecting their prophet, he who obeyed the voice of an invisible speaker. Did Muhammed really split the moon? Not in the least—splitting is penetrating from the exterior into the interior; the fissure of the moon typifies nothing else but the renunciation of the external for the internal, which is “the superior wisdom;” who possessed it more than the prophet (the peace of God be with him!) he, the master of the lunar sphere? This, with the Orientals, is the seat of human intelligence and perfection.¹ One of their greatest scholars, or as they say “the learned of the world,” known to us under the name of Avisenna, undertook to give a reasonable account of Muhammed's ascent to heaven, and framed a wonderful romance of mystic spiritualism. He terminates by explaining how the prophet, after his return from such a journey, could find his bed-clothes still warm: “He had travelled with his mind, and when he had completed his mental task, returned back to himself, and in less than an eye's twinkling recovered his former state; whoever knows, understands why he went; and whoever knows not, looks in vain for an explanation.”

We may, not without interest, observe the natural process of the human mind in reviewing and reforming conceptions, the original form of which is not seldom entirely obliterated. The author of the Dabistán does more than satiate the most inquisitive reader with allegoric, now and then very fanciful, interpretations, which he continues, not without repetitions of the same subjects, through the subsequent chapter, upon which I am about to touch. Mohsan Fani, here as elsewhere, fails not to adduce several philosophers of more ancient as well as of his own times. Among the latter is Hakim Kamran, whose free and sound opinions, about the origin of societies and the prophets regulating them, will be read with some interest; as will also the account of the books which Kamran read and explained, whence the state of literature of those times may be inferred.

We arrive at the last chapter, “Upon the Sufis;” the most abstruse of the twelve, but to which we are well enough prepared by the contents of the former.

Súfism, according to the Dabistán, belongs to all religions; its adherents are known, under different names among the Hindus, Persians, and Arabians; it appears to be nothing else but the rationalism of any sort of doctrine. It could never be the religion of a whole nation; it remained confined to the precincts of schools and societies.

In the work before us we find it stated, that the belief of the pure Súfis was the same as that of the Ashrakians (Platonists): we know what the Muhammedans have made of it. According to the Imám Koshairi, quoted by Jâmi,¹ the Muselmans, after Muhammed's death, distinguished the eminent men among them by no other title but that of “the companions of God's apostle.” These were, in the second generation, called Tábáyún, “followers.” Afterwards the Islamites were divided into divers classes; those among them who particularly devoted themselves to the practice of religion, were named “servants of God,” which name was, after the rise of numerous sects, claimed by some from among all the different sectaries. It was then that the followers of the orthodox doctrine, in order to preserve the purity of their faith and the strength of their piety, assumed the name of Súfis, which name became celebrated before the end of the second century of the Hejira, that is, before the year 815 of our era. We may believe one of the greatest scholars of Muhammedism, Ghazáli, who ranged himself among the Súfis of his time towards the end of our eleventh century, when he declares that in their society he found rest in believing one God, the prophet, and the last judgment: this is the faith of the orthodox Súfis.

The assumption of any particular name carries men, who so distinguish and separate themselves from their fellows, much further than they themselves at first intended, particularly when the distinction and separation are founded upon vague and indeterminate notions of metaphysics. Under the impression, that there are secrets upon which their salvation depends, they will stretch reason and imagination to penetrate them. The Súfis are divided, according to their own phraseology,¹ into three classes: “the attracted, the travellers, and the attracted travellers;” the last of whom combine the qualities of the two former. I will class them here, with respect to their doctrine and manners, into five orders.

1. The religious Súfis, in general, are occupied with something beyond the limits of our natural consciousness; they exercise to the utmost their inward organ or inner sense, and acquire a philosophic imagination—

Such was the prophetic gift of Muhammed, and as long as they adhere to his sayings, they are the orthodox Súfis, whom I have already mentioned.

2. Another order endeavor to comprehend, to fix, and to explain the attributes of God; the holy object sanctifies their efforts; unattainable, it exalts their souls above themselves; incomprehensibility yields to the sacred power of self-intuition; mysterious darkness to celestial light; their intellect, no more terrestrial, “knows its own sun and its own stars;”¹ by continual mental excitement they produce in themselves (according to their own phraseology) a state of intoxication; in the full enjoyment of their liberty, they approach the Supreme Being, and finally fancy an intimate union with their Creator. These are the mystic Sufis.

Man, to express his most fervent adoration of the Divinity, uses the expressions by which he is wont to address the object of his most tender affections; he has but the fire of earth to kindle in sacrifice to heaven; and to elevate his soul to the Supreme Being, he makes wings of the most lively sentiments which he ever experienced, and can excite in himself. The intensity of inward feeling breaks loose in outward demonstrations, gesture, song, and dance —

Such in the poet's eye is the dance of angels, but less refined must be that of mortals, and really one sort of it strangely contrasts with the usually grave deportment of bearded ample-robed Muselmans, from Muhammed, who gave the example, down to the Durvishes of our days, who, with frantic howls and vehement whirling motions, by ludicrous and unseemly exhibition, destroy the whole gravity of inward intention. Mohsan Fani adduces some instances of dancing, and quotes throughout his work verses of mystical poetry upon Divine love, in glowing expressions belonging to profane passion. It is known how equivocal in their meaning they appear in the works of Jelal eddin Rumi, Sâdi, Hafiz, and others.²

3. It was not always vehement enthusiasm which was nourished in the contemplation of one Supreme Being; mysticism, in Súfis of a milder character, became quietism: he to whom all things are one, who draweth all things to one, and seeth all things in one, may enjoy peace and rest of spirit. I have quoted the words of an English bishop, Jeremy Taylor, and might borrow similar passages from a more ancient Christian bishop, Synesius,¹ for expressing a sort of purely spiritual pantheism. But there is another, which seems not to exclude materialism: the great cause from which the infinite series of all material and spiritual existences originates, is enveloped, as it were, with the vest of the universe; never known as to its essence, but always felt in its manifestations; it is

In short, God is all, and all is God. This appeared not more incomprehensible, but less complicated than any other system to the pantheistical Súfis.

4. After excessive efforts to transcend the limits of his nature, the philosophic inquirer re-enters into himself, and coerces his futile attempts by the precept: “Know thyself.” Having, as it were, recovered himself, and feeling that every thing proceeds from the depth of his mind, he sees himself in every thing; heaven and earth are his own; “he demands from himself whatever he wishes;” for he is every thing; he finds the God whom he sought in himself, in his own heart, and says, “Who knows himself, knows God.” This is religious psychology, the creed of the egotist class of Súfis.

It is a fact which appears incredible, but is too well attested for the admission of a doubt, that Súfis believed themselves to be gods, and adhered to their belief, amid torments, until death.¹ This psychological fact may be explained by considering that, according to Súfism, God is nothing else but an idea of the highest perfection; he, says our author, from whose sight both worlds vanished, who in the steps of right faith arrived at the rank of perfect purity, from truth to truth, became God; that is, he became one with his own idea of perfection, which cannot be disputed to him; his divinity is an illusion, but nothing else to him is the world; it is all and nothing, dependent upon his own creation and annihilation.

V. Transacting as it were directly with the Divine Being, the Súfis throw off the shackles of the positive religion; pious rebels, they neither fast nor make pilgrimages to the temple of Mecca, nay, they forget their prayers; for with God there is no other but the soundless language of the heart. From excess of religion they have no religion at all. Thus is confirmed the trite saying that “extremes meet.” “The perfection of a man's state,” says Jami, “and the utmost degree to which saints may attain, is to be without an attribute, and without a mark.” The most fervent zeal sinks into the coldest indifference about religion. The author of the Dabistán declares positively,¹ that “whoever says that the Muselmans are above the Christians, does not know the true Being.” But the whole creed of an emancipated (this is the name I give to one belonging to the fifth order of Súfis) uniting in himself the egotist, pantheistic, and mystical Súfi will be found in the following verses of Jelal-eddin Rúmi, before mentioned:

² “O Moslims! what is to be done? I do not know myself; I am neither Jew, nor Christian, nor Gueber, nor Moslim; I am not from the East nor from the West; nor from land nor sea; neither from the region of nature nor from that of heaven; not from Hind nor China; not from Bulgaria nor Irak, nor from the towns of Khorassan. I am neither water nor dust, wind nor fire; not from the highest nor deepest, neither self-existent nor created; I am not from the two worlds, no son of Adam, not from hell nor from heaven, nor paradise. He is the first, the last, the interior, the exterior; I know but him, Yahu! Yahu! Menhu! I looked up, and saw both worlds to be one; I see but one— I seek but one—I know but one. My station is without space, my mark without impression; it is not soul nor body; I am the soul of souls. If I had passed one single day without thee, I would repent to have lived one single hour. When one day the friend stretches out his hand to me in solitude, I tread the worlds under my feet, and open my hands. O Shams Tabrizi,¹ I am so intoxicated here that, except intoxication, no other remedy remains to me.

We know, by the preceding, what the Súfi is not; we shall now learn what he is.

² “O Moslims! I am intoxicated by love in the world. I am a believer—an unbeliever—a drunken monk; I am the Shaikhs Bayazid, Shubli, Juneid, Abu Hanifa, Shafei, Hanbeli; I the throne and tent of heaven, from the dust up to the Pleyads; I am whatever thou seest in separation and enjoyment; I am the distance of two bows-length³ around the throne; I am the Gospel, the Psalter, the Koran; I am Usa and Lat,⁴ the cross, the Bál and Dagon,⁵ the Kâbah, and the place of sacrifice. The world is divided into seventy-and-two sects, but there is but one God; the believer in him am I; I am the lie, the truth, the good, the evil, the hard and the soft, science, solitude, virtue, faith, the deepest pit of hell, the greatest torment of flames, the highest paradise, Huri, Risvan,⁶ am I. What is the intent of this speech? Say it, O Shams Tabrizi! The intended meaning is: I am the soul of the world.”

After having sounded human nature in its depth, and viewed it in its various forms, the Muhammedan philosophers conceived a high idea of man in general, and call him insan kamil, “the perfect man.” He is the reunion of all the worlds, divine and naturaf, universal and partial; he the book, the pure, sublime, and venerable pages of which are not to be touched, nor can be comprehended, but by those who have thrown off the dark veils of ignorance. His soul is to his body what the universal soul is to the great world, which bears the name of “the great man.”

Sir William Jones refers,¹ for a particular detail of Súli metaphysics and theology, to the Dabistán. These are given with a particular phraseology, for which it is not easy to find corresponding expressions in any European language; and which I have endeavored, to the best of my power, to explain in my notes. A particular signification is attached even to the most common terms, such as state, station, time, duration, existence, non-existence, possibility, presence, absence, testimony, sanctity, annihilation, etc., etc. Besides, we find particular divisions and classifications: different attributions and names of the Deity, the unity of which is to be preserved in all; the division of spirits, prophetism, true and false miracles, revelation, inspiration; four sorts of mankind, as many of life and death; seven degrees of contemplative life, in each of which degrees the Súfi sees a different color; four lights of God; four sorts of manifestations, the sign of which is annihilation, called “the science,” or “positive knowledge.” Further we meet with a metempsychosis for the imperfect soul, and an appearance for the perfect; even with a geography of the invisible, the land of shades in the towns of Jabilkha, Jabilsa, and Barzah, etc., etc.; and, in addition, manifo lpinions of Asiatic philosophy.

Here should be pointed out how Muhammedan or other Súfis may be confounded with the Hindu Yogis or Sanyásis, although in reality distinguishable from each other. The Yajur veda, and other sacred books of the latter inculcate the precept that a man ought to acquire perfect indifference concerning the whole exterior world, and in all places to lay aside the notion of diversity. This is what a Yogi or Sanyasi endeavors to attain: he quits every thing, house, wife, children, even his caste; the world has no more right upon him than he upon the world. In this he agrees with the Súfi; but the latter generally aspires to the divine gift of inspiration, prophetism, mystical enthusiasm, whilst the common state of a Yogi is that of complete impassiveness or torpor.

It is only towards the end of the Dabistán that Mohsan Fani mentions particularly the Sabeans, whose religion was, from the very beginning of the work, treated of under different names of the ancient Persian religions, such as Yezdanians, Jamsaspians, etc., etc.

Thus I have indicated the principal contents of the Dabistán. Considering the philosophic opinions touched upon, we may remark that truth, although in different times and places variously colored, veiled, sometimes mutilated, often running into falsehood, is nevertheless widely diffused, inasmuch as it reappears in the concurring declarations of the greatest thinkers of all times. Thus, among the notions of the Asiatics, we find implied the sense of the (entelechia) of Aristotle, this untranslatable word,¹ which however can but signify “some continued and perennial motion,¹ activity, moving force, perfection, principle of things”² —we find time and space, the necessary substrata of all our notions, as taught by the Kantians—the want of substantial reality in the objects of senses, maintained by the sceptics in general—the prototypes and ideas of the Pythagoreans and Platonists—the necessary connections of all things of the Stoics— the atomic doctrine of Moschus, Leucippus, Democritus, Empedocles, etc.—the universality of sensation and life of the Hermetites—the preformation and pre-existence of the soul, alleged by Synesius, Leibnitz, and others—the successive transformation, transmigration, gradual perfection of beings; the periodical renovation of the world professed by many Greek schools—the palingenesis of Bonnet—the one and the all of Parmenides, Plotinus, Synesius, Spinoza, not to omit the refined Egoismus of Fichte, etc., etc. I shall not proceed further in the enumeration of opinions ascribed in the Dabistán to different sects, and reproduced in the doctrine of celebrated ancient and modern philosophers of Europe. Who will realize that criterion of true philosophy indicated by the great Leibnitz, namely, that which would at once collect and explain the fragments of truth scattered through all, and apparently the most incongruous, systems?

This is perhaps the prize to be gained, not by one mortal, but by a series of generations, in a laborious task, so often interrupted and recommenced, but never abandoned. The struggle of the human mind is without term, but not without aim. We see two principal movers of human intellect—PHILOSOPHY and RELIGION. The one employs reason as a sufficient power for the solution of a solvable problem, which comprehends knowledge, morality, and civilisation. The other distrusts reason, and relies upon a supernatural power for the revelation of a secret, or for the word of an enigma, which relates to a destination beyond the bounds of this world. The philosopher, self-confident, is liable to error for various reasons; but always capable of correction and improvement, in the only possible way, that of self-activity, the virtuous exertions of his faculties towards attainable perfection in his whole condition. The religionist is exposed to deception by his gratuitous faith in superhuman guidance, and, if mistaken, is precluded from regress and improvement by his essential virtue, fidelity; that is, the pious surrender of his soul to a spiritual and mystical sovereignty. The Dabistán shows us more religionists than philosophers; it is the school of sects, or rather that of inveterate superstition, with which, in spite of the correctives which human nature affords to its errors, the general character of the Asiatics remains stamped, from time immemorial to the present day.

Although the twelve chapters of the Dabistán bear the titles of as many religions, the author says himself, at the end of his work, that there are only five great religions—those of the Hindus, Persians, Jews, Nazareans, and Muselmans. He no where mentions the Egyptians nor the Chinese, apparently because, in his times and long before, no trace of the Egyptian religion existed, although it certainly had once occupied a great circle of influence, and because the Chinese creed was known to be Buddhism.

The five religions mentioned constitute indeed so many bases, upon which the whole creed of mankind has been, and remains founded. They comprise, in general, polytheism and monotheism. In all times and places, the religion of the “Enlightened” was distinguished from that of the “Vulgar;” the first as interior, being the product of universal reason, was every where nearly uniform; the second, as exterior, being composed of particular and arbitrary rites and ceremonies, varied according to the influence of the climate, and the character, history, and civilisation of a people. But, in the course of time, no religion remained entirely the same, either in principle or form. Polytheism, by mere simplification, tended to monotheism; this itself, in its awful incomprehensibility, was modified according as it originated, or assumed its notions, from anthropomorphism, hylozoism, spiritualism, or pantheism, Nor did any religion remain simple and pure, as proceeding from only one principle; all religious ideas, elemental, sidereal, allegorical, symbolical, mystical, philosophical, and others were mixed, as well as all sorts of worship interwoven. It is now impossible to range in chronological order their rise and transition into different forms. Still the one or the other of these kinds predominated: thus physiolatry, or “the adoration of personified nature,” in India; astrolatry, or “the worship of stars,” in Arabia and Iran; none of the religions entirely disclaimed monotheism, which was positively and exclusively professed in Judaism, Christianity, and Muhammedanism.

Magism and the three last-named religions were founded or modified by holy personages, or prophets, that is, by individuals whose historical existence in more or less remote times is positively fixed; Hinduism alone acknowledges Manu as an ideal or mythological person, whose laws are however derived from Brahma himself. This may perhaps be assumed as a proof of its remotest antiquity; and India, having been less disturbed by invasions, and conquered in much later times by foreign nations, preserved its institutes complete in their originality. There is scarcely a tenet to be found in any other creed which does not, at least in its germ, exist in the Hindu religion.

It is most remarkable that, although men revered as divine messengers of religion have existed, still the works containing the heaven-sent doctrine are, either not at all or not incontestably, ascribed to them; and in any case devolved upon posterity in a more or less corrupted and mutilated state; so as to entail for ever an inexhaustible subject of dispute, a heavy task for belief, and severe trial of faith. If the Vedas are the best preserved, it is to no general purpose, inasmuch as they are the least known and most obscure. These facts the author of the Dabistán has set in full light, and says,¹ as it were to tranquillise mankind with regard to the multifarious inheritance of their prophets: “The varieties and multitudes of the rules of prophets proceed only from the plurality of names; and as in names there is no mutual opposition or contradiction, the superiority in rank among them is only the predominance of a name. To this I subjoin another passage, although it occurs in connection with another subject:¹ The time of a prophet is a universal one, having neither priority nor posteriority—neither morning nor evening:” that is, if I understand these words: As the same sun ever shines upon us, so shines the same wisdom of all times, incorruptible in its divine source.

If we take a rapid comparative view of the principal features of the five religions mentioned, we find emanation of all beings, intellectual and material, from one great source, to be the fundamental and characteristic dogma of Hinduism, established and developed in the most explicit and positive manner. The division of supernatural beings in good and bad is adopted in the five religions, but in Magism it is of a somewhat different origin: for Ahriman and his host are not rebellious or fallen good genii; they are an original creation. A primitive innocence and posterior corruption is generally believed; but by the Hindus as coming from riches and abundance, by the other nations as caused by seduction of the bad spirits. The destruction of mankind by a deluge is no part of the Persian creed; it occurs in the Indian as one of the past periodical renovations of the world, which are to be followed by others, and is also admitted by the Persians, whilst the Jews, Christians, and Muhammedans believe a deluge not very ancient, as a punishment of human depravity. Incarnations of the Deity for the benefit of mankind, are believed only by Hindus and Christians; to the latter belongs exclusively the dogma of a propitiatory sacrifice. Human souls, immaterial, have pre-existence according to the Vedas and the Zand-Avesta; in the first, as parts of the Divinity; in the latter, as created in their fervers, or “pre-established ideals” at the beginning of the world. Transmigration is taught in the sacred books of the Hindus and Persians. The immortality of the soul, reserved to future beatitude or damnation, is maintained generally, less positively, by the ancient Jews; the righteous are cheered by the prospect of the same heaven, the wicked threatened by the same punishments, which are held to be eternal by Christians and Muhammedans; the Hindus and Persians place the future life in a long series of purifications or purgatories, leading, howsoever late, finally to heaven, to which, according to the first, the most perfect only are admitted immediately after their terrestrial life, and are not to be born again, except by their own choice. The resurrection with the same body, and the last judgment, are among the most essential tenets of the Magi, Christians, and Muhammedans; the other world is vaguely represented among the ancient Hebrews. It is just to attribute to the Persians exclusively one of the most beautiful personifications that was ever imagined:¹ the soul of the deceased meets at the bridge of eternity an apparition either of an attractive or repulsive form; “Who art thou?” asks the uncertain spirit, and hears the answer: “I am thy life.”

Although the variety and multitude of human conceptions may appear boundless, yet they may perhaps be reduced to a few fundamental principles. In general, there is one object common to all sorts of religion: this is to detach man from gross sensual matters, and to accustom him to hold converse with holy supernatural beings, guides to salvation, omnipresent witnesses of all his actions, remunerators of good, punishers of bad deeds; the belief in such beings, one or more, is in fact the most essential support of morality, which, being fixed in each individual, insures the peace and happiness of all. In short, the most important object of all religion is to ennoble, refine, and sanctify man's inmost thoughts and feelings, as well as his exterior actions. No wonder, that the same virtues are recommended by all religions.

But, if these virtues be the same as to names, there is a great difference as to their practical application. Thus, the Hindus, tending excessively to the extinction of sensual propensities, and a contemplative life, destroy spontaneity, and produce apathy. The Persians recommend more practical virtues. Both nations, however, as well as the Jews and Muhammedans, are subject to a great number of dietetical and ritual observances, which divert them from useful activity, confine their practical sense, and render inert the innate perfectibility, the most precious prerogative of mankind. Among all the Asiatic nations, considered in this work, theocracy, that is, the junction of the religious and civil laws, doubles the power of despotism, and commands equally the spiritual and material, the present and the future world. The Western Christians were in the course of time fortunate enough to modify the Asiatic morals, to enlarge the circle of civilization, and to open to themselves a boundless prospect of progressive knowledge, morality, and happiness.

Finally, there is one idea common as an adjunct to the five religions of mankind. Common are their failings, common their sufferings, common is also their consolation—hope. Always regretting a purity, simplicity, and independence, supposed to have been lost in the past, because not to be found any where in the present, and never exempt from oppression, men look to the future, and listen gladly to the promise of universal reform and restoration to one rule, which each religionist says, will be his own, to be effected among the Hindus by Kalki, an incarnation of Brahma¹ among the other nations by the reappearance of their respective prophet, Messiah, Mahdi.

Mohsan Fáni collected in the Dabistán, as I hope to have shown by a rapid review of its principal contents, various important information concerning religions of different times and countries. His accounts are generally clear, explicit, and deserving confidence; they agree in the most material points with those of other accredited authors. Thus, to quote one more instance, the accuracy of his topographic information relative to the marvellous fountain in Kachmir is in the main confirmed by that published by Bernier who had visited the country. Our author enlivens his text by interesting quotations from the works of famous poets and philosophers, and by frequent references to books which deserve to be known. I beg to mention the Tabsaret al âvam, “Rendering quick-sighted the Vulgar,” which he regrets not to have before his eyes. His whole work is interspersed with anecdotes and sayings, characteristic of individuals and sects which existed in his times. To what he relates from personal observation or other sources, he frequently adds reflections of his own, which evince a sagacious and enlightened mind. Thus, he exhibits in himself an interesting example of Asiatic erudition and philosophy.

The Dabistán adds, if I am not mistaken, not only a few ideas to our historical knowledge, but also some features to the picture which we hitherto possessed of the Asiatics. May I be permitted to quote a remarkable instance relative to the latter? We are wont to speak of the inherent apathy and stationary condition of the Muhammedans, as an effect of their legislation. Although this general idea of their character and state be not unfounded, yet it is carried to such an exaggerated degree, that we think them incapable of progress. We may therefore be astonished to find in the work before us¹ a maxim such as this: “He who does not proceed, retrogrades,” and beside a declaration attributed to Muhammed himself: “He whose days are alike is deceived.” Our author, it is true, interprets it in the particular point of view of an orthodox Súfi, who thinks that there is a degree of mental perfection, beyond which it is impossible to rise: this was, he says, the state of Muhammed, the prophet, always the same, from which no ascent nor descent was possible, the perfection of unity with God, higher than whom nothing can be: the blackness beyond which no color can go. With the exception of these fits of mysticism, now and then occurring, it is just to say that Mohsan Fani most commonly leans to the side of progressive reform.

For the just appreciation of his work, I think it necessary to point out another opinion, which, very generally entertained, requires to be considerably modified: I mean that which attributes to the Muhammedans an unrestrained intolerance in religious matters. On that account, I beg to refer directly to the book, which to them always was the sacred source of all rules and precepts of conduct—the Koran. In this astonishing farrago of truth and falsehood, we find here and there a great extent of toleration. In fact, Muhammedism was eclectic in all the religious ideas of its time, Magian, Jewish, and Christian. Muhammed avowed himself to be “a man like every body;”¹ he did not pretend, that “the treasures of God were in his power,” nor did he say “that he knew the secrets of God, neither that he was an angel; no; he thought only to follow what was revealed to him,”² so much every body else may say and think, He professed his good-will to Christians, “as inclinable to entertain friendship for the true beleivers;³ he exhorted his followers not to dispute, but in the mildest manner,⁴ against those who have received the Scripture, and wished to come to a just determination between both parties, that they all worshipped not any but God.”⁵ —“Abraham,” said he, “was neither a Jew nor a Christian, but one resigned unto God (Moslim); excellence is in the hand of God; he gives it unto whom he pleaseth.”⁶ —Still more; the prophet seems to give a general license to the professors of every religion to observe certain rites about which he prohibits all disputes;¹ nay, he declares: “If the Lord had pleased, verily, all who are in the earth would have believed in general. Wilt thou therefore forcibly compel men to be true believers? No soul can believe but by the permission of God.”²

Although the Arabian prophet and his followers too often gave by their conduct a strong denial to these principles, still the existence of them in the Koran was a sanction to all those who were disposed to profess them in words and actions. Such sentiments of religious toleration are in accordance with similar ones expressed in many Christian moral treatises, but in none of the latter do I remember to have read: “that the diversities of religions distributed among nations, according to the exigency of each, are manifestations of the divine light and power, and that these various forms, by which God's inscrutable essence may be viewed by glimpses, are means of possessing eternal beatitude, whilst here below the acquisition of knowledge is sufficient to insure to mankind the enjoyment of concord, friendship, and agreeable intercourse.”³

These appear to be the maxims adopted by the Súfis, and particularly by those among them who, under Akbar, professed to be Ilahians. The creed of this class exists in our days, although the name has not survived. To these we may suppose, if to any, Mohsan Fáni belonged. If we could agree with Erskine that “he was in strict intimacy with the sect of enthusiasts by whom the Desátir was venerated,” we should still be obliged to avow, that his enthusiasm had not in the least influenced his free judgment upon religious matters. His imagination although justly exalted by sublime notions of the Divinity, certainly appears now and then bewildered by the mysterious action of unknown causes; but on other occasions pointing out, in a satirical vein, so many follies, absurdities, and extravagances prevailing among mankind, he seems to laugh at all enthusiasm whatsoever, his own not excepted. In general, there breathes in his words a spirit of independence, which would command attention even among us in the accustomed circle of long-established liberty. His boldness in religious controversy startled even sir W. Jones so much that, in characterising it by the harsh term of blasphemy, the English judge appears for a moment ready to plead for the abettors of popular superstition, who stood confounded before the tribunal of the philosophic Akbar.

I shall however not conceal, that Mohsan Fani sometimes paid tribute to the prevailing ignorance and inveterate prejudices of his time, and above all, to the sovereign power of early impressions; nor that, although in many respects he offers in himself an honorable exception to the general character of his countrymen, he now and then confounds himself with them. Thus, he was far from being above all popular superstition. The Asiatic, from the dawn of his reason, is nourished with the marvellous, trained to credulity, and prepared for mysticism, the bane of practical life; in short, he imbibes from his infancy a superstition from which he never frees himself, always prone to interpret every unusual phenomenon as a miracle. No sort of study enables him to correct his first impressions, or to enlighten his ignorance; natural history and experimental philosophy are not cultivated in Asia. If not an agriculturist, mechanic, tradesman, or soldier, he devotes himself to the intricacies of metaphysics, and very commonly to a contemplative life; he becomes an ascetic. Thus he knows no social life embellished by the refinement of mutual sympathy, nor the noble vocations of a citizen who lives—with more than one life in himself, in others, and in the whole community. Such being the general state of Asia, let us not wonder that Mohsan Fani believed some strange stories of miracles, and viewed with astonishment tricks of jugglers, which he relates with serious credulity, strangely contrasting with his usual good sense, sagacity, and judgment. Thus, he presents to us a man standing on his head with his heels in the air during a whole night; others restraining their breath many hours, and remaining immoveable during two or three days; he speaks of the miraculous effects of austerity, such as being in different places at the same time; resuscitating the dead; understanding the language of animals, vegetables, and minerals; walking on the surface of water, and through fire and air; commanding the elements; leaving and reassuming the body; and the like. But let us not forget that such stories were told elsewhere, and in Europe, even so late as the time in which the Dabistán was written.

Further, although generally moral and judicious in his sentences, grave and austere in his views, fervent and exalted in devout contemplation, our author now and then happens to use the language of ribaldry and indecency, which deserves serious reprobation. We shall however remark that taste, or the sense of propriety in words and expressions among Asiatics differs, as much as their general civilisation, from ours. From religious austerity they banished the elegant arts, as objects of sensuality; but, as they could not stifle this essential part of human nature, they only prevented its useful refinement; they clipt the delicate flower, but left the brute part of it: hence the grossness of their jokes, expressions, and images. “To sacrifice to the graces” is, among them, not understood at all, or thought an abomination. But they cannot be said to violate laws which they do not know; the offence which they give from want of taste and decency, is purely unintentional, and cannot with them have that evil effect which, among us, it would be likely to produce.

As to the general style of the Dabistán—it is only in the original text itself, that it can be justly appreciated. It will perhaps sufficiently appear from our translation that it distinguishes itself favorably among other Oriental works with which it may be compared. The diction is generally free from their usual bombast; it is commonly clear, and when obscure to an European reader, it is so on account of the strangeness and abstruseness of the matter treated. As to form—if judged according to the rules of Western criticism, the work of Mohsan Fani may be found deficient in the distribution and arrangement of matter; there are useless repetitions, incoherences, disorder, abrupt digressions, and excess, sonetimes of prolixity, at others of concision. Although we have reason to praise him for generally naming the source from which he drew his information, still we can but regret, now and then, his not sufficiently authenticating nor explaining the particulars which he relates. Thus we could wish him to have been more explicit concerning the Desátir. Upon the whole, we cannot accuse him of not having performed what, in his time and circumstances, was hardly possible, and what hitherto no Asiatic author has achieved. We ought to keep in mind how much, with respect to the perfection of literary publications, we owe solely to the art of printing, the practice of which, by its own nature, necessitates and facilitates a manifold revision and correction of the text, which otherwise could hardly take place. This alone sufficiently accounts for the frequent defects even of the best manuscript works.

Striking an equitable balance between faults and excellencies, and with particular regard to the abundance of curious, useful, and important information, I shall not hesitate to express my sincere persuasion, that the Dabistán was worthy of the eulogy bestowed by the great Orientalist who first brought it into public notice.

It is well known, that the only printed edition of the Dabistán which exists is due to the press of Calcutta. At the end of the work will be found the Epilogue of the editor, Moulavi Nazer Ushruf, a learned Muhammedan gentleman of the district of Juanpur, who was for many years employed in judicial offices in the district of Burdwan, and in the court of Sudder Diwani Adawlet, in Calcutta. These particulars were communicated to me by the favor of the honorable gentleman whose name the said editor mentions in his Epilogue with encomium, the sincerity of which can certainly not be questioned: it was William Butterworth Bayley, at present director and chairman of the Honorable East India Company; It was he, a distinguished Persian scholar, who directed and superintended the edition of the Dabistán. Upon the strength of his authority I am enabled to add, that the printed copy was the result of a careful collation of several manuscript copies of this work. One was obtained from Delhi (as mentioned in the epilogue), and another from Bombay; two or three were in the possession of natives in Calcutta. Although these, as it is more or less the case with all manuscripts, procurable in India, were defective, yet we may believe the assurance given by the editor, that “the doubts and faults have been as much as possible discarded, and the edition carried to a manifest accuracy.” This is confirmed by the fact, that only a few discrepancies from the printed edition were found in two other manuscripts, which were in England at the disposition of the late David Shea for the translation of the first part of the Dabistán. Nor did I find frequent deviations from the printed text in the copy which was transcribed for me in Calcutta from a manuscript, procured from the library of the king of Oude. Mutilated in many places, and imperfect as is this latter, it afforded me nevertheless a few acceptable readings. I was obliged to content myself with the assistance of this only manuscript for the translation, as several circumstances, among which was the lamented death of the earl of Munster, prevented me from obtaining the use of other manuscript copies. All circumtances considered, I do not hesitate to say, that the printed edition of the Dabistán is more correct than any of the manuscript copies which can be found; we have only to regret that its typography, owing to the then imperfect state of the Oriental press in Calcutta, is so irregular, as to be scarce entitled to any preference over the common sort of Persian manuscripts.

The English translation of the Dabistán was begun some time before the year 1835, by David Shea, one of the professors of Oriental languages at Hayleybury. He was in his early years distinguished in the university of Dublin for his classical attainments, and remained devoted to literature in all the various circumtances of his life. It was not for, nor in, India—the great object and school of English students—but in Malta, from peculiar inducement, that, by uncommon application, he acquired the Arabic and Persian languages. After his return to England, having been attached to the Hayleybury college—I should not fail to add to his eulogy by saying, that he had before won the kind interest and recommendation of sir Graves Haughton—and having become a member of the committee of the Oriental Translation Fund, he earned the applause of Orientalists in England, and on the continent of Europe, by his faithful and spirited translation of Mirkhond's history of the early kings of Persia. Undertaking the translation of the Dabistán, he was undoubtedly preparing to himself a new success, the full realisation of which he was not permitted to enjoy; the last date in his manuscript copy, in which he was wont to mark the progress of his labor, was April 22, 1835. From this day he appears to have withdrawn his hand from the Dabistán, and too soon after—I shall be permitted to use the very words of the author whom he was translating:¹

It was in the beginning of the year 1837 that I was honored by the earl of Munster, the vice president of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland, with the proposal of completing and editing the English Dabistán. Having already several years before been occupied with the same work whilst pursuing my Indian studies, I was so much the more prompted to accept the proffered honor. Engaged however as I then was in publishing my French translation of the first six books of the Rajatarangini from the Sanscrit, I could not begin the new work before 1841. This delay was the cause of my being deprived of the desired honor and satisfaction of presenting my translation to the earl of Munster, who while in the full enjoyment of life, welcomed with a benevolent interest every contribution, however small, to the general diffusion of Oriental history and literature; he had accepted in Paris my Dedication a short time before his death; it remains to me to consecrate, with a profound feeling of regret and veneration for departed worth, the English Dabistán to his memory.

I took charge of the manuscript copy of David Shea's version, which had been carried to page 201 of the printed Calcutta edition.¹ In this there were only a few omissions to be supplied, and no other rectifications to be made but those which a second review would have suggested to my learned predecessor himself; his notes, and those which I thought necessary to add, are marked each with the initials of our respective names.

If I found little to change, I had much to imitate in David Shea's translation—his faithfulness and clearness. By faithfulness I understand not only expressing truly the sense, but also keeping unaltered the words, figures, images, and phrases of the original, as it is in them that the author's national and individual peculiarity is manifested. This sort of faithfulness may roughen or hamper the phrase, destroy the elegance of style, and even offend good taste, but by it alone we shall not only know, as I have just observed, the genius of the foreign writer, but also satisfy the exigencies of philology, which is one of the main purposes of translations not undertaken as mere exercises of improvable eloquence.

An author will not employ more or other words than those he thinks necessary for being understood by readers of his own nation, religion, school; he writes, for instance, as a Muhammedan for Muhammedans, a Súfi for Súfis. But a translator must do his best for uniting faithfulness with clearness, the indispensable condition of any speech or writing; he must add what is required for illustrating the original text, and thus submit to a charge, now and then heavier than he can bear.

Under the necessity of expounding the translation by notes, I was not actuated by the ambition of being new, but only by that of being as useful as my means permitted, that is, by endeavoring to spare the reader time and trouble to look for dates and biographical notices of the persons, the situation of the places, and the explanation of the technical terms which occur in the text. Orientalists know the difficulty of rendering in a European language the phraseology of the Asiatic theology and philosophy. The Dabistán presents, besides the Sanscrit, a confusion of Arabic and Persian technical expressions; some of them have a very comprehensive signification, and for the sake of clearness must be rendered by different terms in different places; other expressions have at times a particular sense, and are at other times to be taken in the common acceptation; the same terms must be translated by different words, and different terms by the same; finally, the matter treated of is frequently so abstruse in its nature that professed philosophers have not yet been able to agree upon some of the most important questions. I can therefore but apprehend that I may not have thoroughly understood, and must confess that I have not translated, to my own satisfaction, more than one passage relative to Indian doctrines, and to the Muhammedan scholastic philosophy.

The Sanscrit names and terms of Indian mythology, theology, and philosophy are much corrupted by the Persian spelling; I have endeavored to restore them to their original forms. I thought it right to adduce in most cases the Sanscrit, Arabic, or Persian word at the same time in Roman as well as Devanagari, or Arabic characters, with its interpretation. I followed the rule proposed by sir William Jones for writing oriental words in Roman characters, as often as I took these words from a Sanscrit, Persian, or Arabic text; but from works written in a European language, I was generally obliged to copy the spelling of Oriental names: on which account, in my notes, a regretable inequality of orthography could not be avoided.

The Dabistán not only touches upon most difficult points of science and erudition, but also comprises in its allusions and references nearly the whole history of Asia. In observing this, I am necessarily at the same time pointing to the many deficiencies which will be found in my attempts to comment and illustrate so comprehensive and diversified a text. The best advantage which a man obtains at the termination of an arduous work, is to have enabled himself to make it better, if he could begin again; but he can but humbly submit to the decrees of an all-ruling power, which bestows upon each mortal only a certain measure of faculties and of time.

Desirous to fulfil my task to the best of my abilities, I did not neglect to consult every translation of any part of the Dabistán which had been published. I have already mentioned, in this preface,¹ that Gladwin edited the Persian text of a part of the first chapter with an English version which was worthy of his reputation as an excellent Orientalist. Every thing that came from the pen of the late doctor Leyden deserved attention. I had before my eyes his translation of chapter IX., on the religion of the Roshenian.² I did not neglect the abridged interpretation of the religious controversies held before Akbar, given in form of a dialogue by the learned and ingenious Vans Kennedy.³ I perused with due regard the explanations which the illustrious Silvestre de Sacy furnished of some passages of the Dabistán⁴ since this work became known to him in 1821, as well as the remarks cursorily made upon it by some Orientalists.

I did not fail also to profit by the advantages which my residence in Paris, and my connections with distinguished cultivators of Oriental literature, could afford me on behalf of my translation. It is my duty to acknowledge the services which I received from the kindness of M. Garcin de Tassy, professor of Hindostanee, whose intimate acquaintance with Arabic and Persian literature in general, and with Muhammedan theology in particular, is attested by several esteemed works which he has published. The many Arabic passages, disseminated in the Dabistán, have mostly been revised, interpreted, and referred to the Koran, by him. M. Eugène Burnouf, professor of Sanscrit, is never in vain consulted concerning that part of ancient philology in which he has acquired a most particular and eminent distinction. I also constantly experienced the most friendly readiness to tender me information, when required, in M. Julius Mohl and baron Mac Guckin de Slane, as well as in M. Reinaud, professor of Arabic, attached to the Royal Library, a most distinguished conservator and most complaisant communicator of the valuable manuscripts under his special charge. I beg these honorable gentlemen to receive my sincerest acknowledgments.

¹ In the name of the bountiful and merciful God.

Blessing without limit to the mighty Being, the Lord of existence, the rider upon the sun of the celestial sphere which is the eye-witness of his glory; to Him whose servant is Saturn, Baharam (Mars) the messenger, Jupiter the star, the herald of good fortune , Venus the slave; to Him who is the ornament of the throne of the empire of the faith, and the crown of divinity of the kingdom of truth.”

Rabaâí (quatrain).

In this book, called “The Dabistan,” is contained something of the knowledge and faith of past nations, of the speeches and actions of modern people, as it has been reported by those who know what is manifest, and see what is concealed; as well as by those who are attached to exterior forms, and by those who discern the inward meaning, without omission, and diminution, without hatred, envy and scorn, and without taking a part for the one, or against the other side of the question.

This work is composed of several chapters.

This chapter is divided into fifteen sections.

¹Here commences the history of the tenets and ceremonies observed by the Sipásíán and Pársíán.

Among the Parsíán, called also the Iraníán, is a sect styled the Yazadíán or Yazdáníán, Abádíán, Sipásíán, Hushián, Anushkán, Azarhóshangíán, and Azaríán. They believe it impossible for man, by the force of intellect, or the energy of spirit, to comprehend the exalted essence of the Almighty and Holy Lord. Entity, unity, identity, or all his divine attributes of knowledge and life, constitute the fountain of his holy essence. He is, in the most comprehensive sense, the paramount, omnipotent Lord over all things, whether considered collectively, or in the changes incident to their component parts. All his works and operations are in conformity to his exalted will: if he wills, he acts; if he wills not, he acts not; but works worthy of adoration are as inseparable from his honored essence, as his other glorious attributes of perfection. — Urfí of Shíráz thus expresses himself:

The first creation of his existence-bestowing bounty was the precious jewel of the intellectual principle, called Azad Bahman; the solar ray which constitutes the excellence of his august existence is from the essence of the light of lights. From the effulgence of Bahman, or the “First Intelligence,” proceeded another, along with the spirit and body of the Pure Ether or Crystalline Sphere. In like manner from this second Serúsh¹ or “angel” there emanated three similar rays; so that every star in the universe, whether in motion or at rest, that is, every planet and fixed star, and also every one of the heavens, has its peculiar intellect and spirit.

They also believe that the heavens exceed the compass of numbers, and that the spheres are as many in number as the stars: also that every star has its own firmament, but that the movements of their spheres are in accordance with those of the zodiacal firmament.

In like manner, each of the four elements has its separate guardian, from the Nuristan (region of light), or the world of Intellects: which angel is styled Parvardigar or Parvardigar-i-Gunah; Dara or Dara-i-Gunah; and in Arabic, “Rab-un-naw or Lord of the species;” in the same manner, all their relations, or every species, has its peculiar regent from the Nuristan or ‘region of light.’— They regard the subsisting spirit of man, or the reasonable human soul, as eternal and infinite. Sáid says thus:

It is related in some of the esteemed records of this sect, that by eternal souls are meant, the spirits of the spheres: and that human souls are a creation, but eternal: also, that some human temperaments are so constituted, that souls from the upper world are conferred on them: whilst others are adapted for having attached to them souls abstracted from matter; that such appropriation is regulated by influence of the spheres, and is concealed from the sight of the most profound thinkers. They also say, when this immortal spirit attains to eminence in praise-worthy knowledge and belief, that is, pure faith and good works, that on leaving this lower body, it succeeds in uniting itself to the sublime uncompounded spirits: but should it not attain to this high, emancipation-bestowing degree, it is united to that sphere, in relation to which its acts were upright. If the habitual language were praise-worthy and the works performed meritorious, but it should not have attained to the rank of union with a sphere, it being then divested of corporeal elements, remains in the lower world with the similitude of a bodily form, and in consequence of its praise-worthy qualities, it enjoys in appearance the view of the nymphs, palaces, and bright rose-bowers of paradise, and becomes a Zamíní-Serush, or ‘Terrestrial Angel.’ But if its words have been reprehensible,¹ and also accompanied with evil deeds, on deserting this material body, it obtains not another similarly constituted and is unable to reach the Shídastan or ‘the region of Light.’ Being thus separated from the primitive source, it remains in the abode of Elements, in the Hell of concupiscence and passion and the flames of remorse: ultimately it becomes the prey of malady, but does not obtain a higher mansion: the soul of such a description finally becomes an Ahriman, or ‘Evil Demon.’ If in a spirit destitute of praise-worthy conversation, the good actions preponderate,² but in consequence of the attachment of the heart to matter, or through ignorance, such a spirit attains not to the dignity of liberation, it removes from one body to another, until by the efficacy of good words and deeds, it is finally emancipated from body and gains a high rank. Sarábí thus says:

But if the spirit be prone to error, it descends successively from the human frame to the animal body: such are the doctrines of their distinguished men. Some however of this sect, in whose language all is metaphorical and figurative, assert, that sometimes the spirit, through excessive wickedness, becomes by insensible degrees connected with plants and vegetables; and frequently, by progressive gradations, becomes joined to mineral or metallic substances. According to this class of believers, there is an uncompounded soul in each of the three kingdoms of nature: and they acknowledge that every thing possesses a ray of existence emanating from Shíd Shídan, or ‘Effulgence of Light.’ One of the eminent men, agreeably to this view, has said:

They also hold that the world bears the same affinity to the Creator, as the solar light doth to the body of the sun; that it has existed from all eternity and will continue to all infinity. They maintain that, whatever exists in this world, or that of formation and evanescence, depends on the influence of the stars; also that astronomers and astrologers have found out some few effects of the influence of the seven planets, but are ignorant of the natures and influences of the slow-moving or fixed stars. The possessors of Fardát and Fartáb, or those who are directed by inspiration and revelation, have laid down that every star, whether fixed or planetary, is regent during certain periods of several thousand years: one thousand years being assigned to each star, without the association of any other: on the termination of which, in the subsequent millennia, both the fixed and planetary stars are successively associated with it—that is, in commencing the series with a fixed star, we call the fixed star which is Lord of the Cycle, the First King; on the termination of the millennium appropriated to him, another fixed star becomes partner with the First King, which partner we style First Minister: but the supremacy and dominion of the period belong exclusively to the First King: on the termination of the second millennium,—the period of office assigned to the First Minister expires, and another star is associated with the First King; and so on, until the fixed stars are all gone through: on which Saturn becomes associated with the First King, and continues so during a thousand years, and so with the other planets, until the period of association with the moon arrives: then terminates the supremacy of the fixed star, named the First King, and his authority expires. After the First King, the star associated with him in the second millennium, and which was called the First Minister, now attains the supremacy and becomes Lord of the Cycle, during which cycle of sovereignty we style him the Second King, with a thousand years appropriated to his special rule as before stated. In the following millennium another fixed star becomes his associate, as above mentioned, and goes through a similar course. When the period of the moon's association arrives, the moon remains joined with the Second King during a millennium, on the completion of which, that fixed star, the term of whose sovereignty has passed away, and who commenced the cycle, under the style of First King, is associated with the Lord of the Cycle, styled the Second King; after which, the empire of the Second King's star also terminates and becomes transferred to another: thus all the fixed stars in succession become kings, until they are all gone through, on which the principality and supremacy come to Shat Kaivan, or ‘the Lord Saturn,’ with whom in like manner the fixed stars and planets are associated for their respective millennia,—when the dominion comes to the Shat Máh, or ‘Lunar Lord,’ his period is ended as before stated, the cycle completed, and one great circle or revolution has been described.— On the expiration of this great period, the sovereignty reverts to the First King; the state of the revolving world recommences; this world of formation and evanescence is renovated; the human beings, animals, vegetable and mineral productions which existed during the first cycle, are restored to their former language, acts, dispositions, species and appearance, with the same designations and distinctions; the successive regenerations continually proceeding on in the same manner. The prince of physicians, Abu Alí (whose spirit may God sanctify!) expresses himself to this purport:

It is here necessary to remark, that their meaning is not, that the identical spirits of Abad, Kaiomors, Siáymak and Húshang shall be imparted to the identical material bodies long since abandoned, or that the scattered members of the body shall be reassembled and reunited: such sentiments, according to them, are absurd and extravagant: their real belief is this, that forms similar to those which have passed away, and bodies resembling the primitive ones, their counterpart in figure, property and shape, shall appear, speaking and acting exactly in the same manner. How could the exalted spirits of the perfect, which are united with angels, return back? They also maintain that men do not arise from their own species, without father or mother: but they affirm that, as a man and woman were left at the commencement of the past cycle, so there shall two remain in the present cycle, for the continuance of the human race. For although the heavens are the sires of the three natural kingdoms or productive principles, and the elements their mother, yet this much only has been imparted to us, that man is born of man, and is not produced after any other fashion.

The followers of the ancient faith call one revolution of the regent Saturn, a day; thirty such days, one month; twelve such months, one year; a million of such years, one fard;¹ a million fard, one vard; a million vard, one mard; a million mard, one jád; three thousand jád, one vád; and two thousand vád, one zád.¹ — According to this mode of computation, the happiness and splendor of the Máhábádian dynasty lasted one hundred zád of years. They believe it impossible to ascertain the commencement of human existence; and that it is not to be comprehended by human science: because there is no epoch of identical persons, so that it is absolutely impossible to form any definite ideas on the subject, which resembles an arithmetical infinite series. Such a belief also agrees with the philosophy and opinions of the Grecian sages.

From the authority of esteemed works, they account Máhábád the first of the present cycle; as in reality he and his wife were the survivors of the great period, and the bounteous Lord had bestowed on them so immense a progeny, that from their numbers, the very clefts of the mountains were filled. The author of the Amíghistan relates, that they were acquainted only to a trifling degree with the viands, drinks and clothing which through the bounty of God are now met with: besides, in that cycle there existed no organization of cities, systems of policy, conditions of supremacy, rules of authority and power, principles of Nushád or law, nor instruction in science and philosophy, until through the aid of celestial grace, joined to the manifold favors and bounties of God, the uncontrolled authority of Máhábád pervaded alike the cultivated region and the wild waste; the wide expanse of land and sea. Through divine illumination, in conjunction with his spiritual nature, the assistance of his guiding angel and the eyes of discernment; and also what he had seen and heard in the past cycle, he meditated on the creation of the world: he then clearly perceived that the nine superior divisions, and the four lower elements, the subjects of existence, are blended and associated with distinct essences and accidents, so as to combine together opposing movements with contrary dispositions and natures: and that the aggregate of this whole indispensably requires a supreme bestower of connection, a blender and creator: also that whatever this bestower of relation wills, and this all perfect in wisdom does, cannot be destitute of utility and wisdom: Máhábád therefore dispatched persons to all quarters and regions of the world, to select from land and water all productions and medicinal plants held in esteem for their various properties; these he planted in a proper site, so that by the aid of the terrene and aqueous particles, the influence of atmospheric temperature, in conjunction with the sidereal energies, their powers of vegetation, nutritious qualities, and properties might be ascertained. At the time of promulgating this excellent purpose, the sovereign of the starry host entered in glory the mansion of Aries; and the rapidly-sketching painter of destiny drew forth the faces of the brides of the gardens (blossoms and flowers): then, through the efficacy of command, experiment, and examination, Máhábád extracted from the various flowers, fruits, leaves and fibres, the different alimentary substances, medicinal compounds, viands and beverages. He next commanded all sorts of ores to be fetched from the mines and liquified in the furnace, so that the different metals concealed in them became visible. Out of iron, which combines hardness and sharpness, he formed warlike weapons for the brave; jewels, gold, silver, rubies, sapphires, diamonds, and chrysolithes, in which he observed smoothness and capability of polish, he assigned as decorations for kings, military chieftains, and matrons. He also ordered persons to descend into the deep waters and bring forth the shells, pearls, corals, etc. People were commanded to shear the fleece of sheep and other animals: by him also were invented the arts of spinning, weaving, cutting up, sewing and clothing. He next organized cities, villages, and streets; erected palaces and colonnades; introduced trade and commerce; and divided mankind into four classes. The first was composed of Hírbeds, Mobeds,¹ ascetics, and learned men, selected for maintaining the faith and enforcing the sentence of the laws: these are also called Birman and Birmun;¹ that is, they resemble the Barínían or supreme beings, the exalted angels: they also style them Húristár.² The second class consists of kings and intrepid warriors, who devote themselves to the cares of government and authority, to the promotion of equity and the curbing of oppression; those they call Chatramán, Chatraman, and Chatrí:³ this word Chatrí means a standard or distinction; as people of high rank have a Chatra,⁴ or umbrella, to protect them with its shade, which they call Sayah dar and Sayah ban; the people repose under the shade of the individuals of this class, who are also called Núristár.¹ The third class is composed of husbandmen, cultivators, artisans, skilful men, and mechanics; these are called Bás,² which is synonymous with Bisyár or numerous; as this class should far exceed in number all the others. Bás also means cultivation and improvement, results which altogether depend on this order—they are also styled Suristár.³ The fourth class are destined for every kind of employment and service; they are called Súdín, Súdí, and Súd:⁴ from them profit, indulgence, and ease accrue to society: they are also called Rúzistar.⁵ He instituted these four classes,⁶ the four elements of society, and the sources of organization were completed: independence and want appeared; there were produced the gradations of ruler and subject; of lord and servant; discipline and authority; justice and knowledge; kindness and severity; protection of the Zindbar or kind treatment of innoxious creatures; destruction of the Tundbar or noxious animals; the knowledge of God and the ceremonies of his worship.

God also sent Abád a code called the Dasátir,¹ in which are formed all languages and sciences. This work consisted of several volumes, containing a certain number for each dialect. In it was also the language called Asmání, or the Celestial, not a trace of which has remained in any of the languages spoken by the inhabitants of this lower world. Abád also assigned a language to every nation, and settled each in a suitable place: and thus were produced the Parsi, Hindi, Greek and such like.

According to this sect, authentic revelation is only obtained by the world of ecstacy or similitude, called Mánistán; but from the time of Máhábád, all the prophets who were sent were in accordance with his faith; not one of them being opposed to his law. After Máhábád, appeared thirteen apostles who, with him, were styled the fourteen Máhábáds: they were called by the common name of Abád, and acted on every occasion in conformity to their ancestor and his Celestial Code: and whatever revelation was made to them tended to corroborate the faith of Máhábád.¹ After them, their sons in due succession obtained sovereign power, after their fathers, and devoted themselves to justice. The followers of this sect also believe that all the prophets and kings were selected from the heads of the most distinguished families.

Next to this dynasty, known as the Mahabadian, comes Abád Azád, who withdrew from temporal power and walked in the path of devotion and seclusion. It is recorded, that in their time, the realm was highly cultivated; treasures were abundant; lofty palaces, ornamented with paintings and exciting admiration; colonnades attracting the heart; the Mobeds celebrated, profoundly learned, worshippers of God, undefiled, equally eminent in good words and deeds; soldiers, well-appointed and disciplined, with corresponding trains of attendants and officers; mountain-resembling elephants; chargers like fragments of Alburz,¹ rapid in their course; swift-paced animals for riding; numerous camels and dromedaries; well-trained cavalry and infantry, and leaders who had experience in the world; precious stuffs; vases of gold and silver; thrones and crowns of great price; heart-delighting tapestries and gardens with other such objects, the like of which exists not at present, and were not recorded as being in existence in the treasures or reigns of the Gilsháíán monarchs.

However, on the mere abandonment of the crown by Abád Azád, every thing went to ruin; so much blood was shed that the mills were turned by streams of gore; all that had been accomplished by the inventions and discoveries of this fortunate race was forgotten; men became like savage and ferocious beasts, and as in former times resumed their abodes in the mountain-clefts and gloomy caverns; those superior in strength overpowered and oppressed the weaker. At last some of the sages eminent for praise-worthy language and deeds, and who possessed the volume of Máhábád, assembled and went into the presence of Jai Afrám, the son of Abád, who, next his sire was the most undefiled and intelligent of men, and became one of the great Apostles: he passed his time in a mountain cave, far removed from intercourse with the world, and was styled Jai on account of his purity, as in the Abádí or Azárí language, a holy person is called Jai:¹ the assembled sages with one voice implored his justice, saying: “We know of no remedy for preserving the world from ruin, excepting the intercourse of thy noble nature with mankind.” They afterwards recited to him the counsels, testamentary precepts, traditions and memorials of the Abádíán princes on the great merit of this undertaking. He did not however assent, until a divine command had reached him, when through the influence of revelation and the presence of the decree-bearing angel, Gabriel, he arose and assumed the high dignity, The realm once more flourished, and the institutes of Abád resumed their former vigor. The last of the fortunate monarchs of the Jaí dynasty was Jaí Alád, who also retired from mankind; when the dominion had remained in this family during one aspár of years. It is written in books of high authority that Jaí Afrám was called the son of Abád Azád, because next to his noble ancestor no individual possessed such great perfections: but in reality many generations intervened between them: besides, Jaí Afrám was descended from the sons of Abád Azád, so that there is a wide interval between Sháí Gilív and Jaí Abád: in like manner between Sháí Mahbúl and Yásán, and between Yásán and Gilsháhí there must have elapsed multiplied and numerous generations.

Those who would understand the doctrines of this faith must know, the process of numeration among this profoundly-thinking sect is as follows; by tens, hundreds and thousands: one salám equal to one hundred thousand; one hundred salám, one shamár; one hundred shámar, one aspár; one hundred aspár, one rádah; one hundred rádah, one arádah; a hundred arádah, one ráz; a hundred ráz, one aráz; and a hundred aráz, one bíáraz.

Now that their system of computation has been explained, I shall proceed with their history. They say that when his attendants found not the auspicious monarch Jaí Alád, neither amongst his courtiers, nor in the royal apartments, or harem, nor in the house of praise, or place of prayer, the affairs of the human race fell once more into disorder: at length the sages and holy men went and represented the state of affairs to the praise-worthy apostle Sháí Gilív, son of Jáí Alád, who was then engaged in the worship of the Almighty. This prince, from his great devotion and unceasing adoration rendered to God, was called Sháí and Sháyí, that is a god and a God-worshipper: his sons were therefore styled Sháyián. When the sages had stated the case, the first Sháyíán prince, Sháí Gilív, having reflected on the cruelty practised towards the animal creation, arose, through the influence of a celestial revelation and Divine light, and sat in his illustrious father's throne. After this happy dynasty came Sháí Mahbúl , when the Sháíyán empire had lasted one shamár of years.

After these came the Yásánián, so called from Yásán, the son of Sháí Mahbúl: this prince was exceeding wise, intelligent, holy and celebrated; the apostle of the age: and being in every respect worthy of supreme power, was therefore called Yásán, or the meritorious and justly exalted.¹ His mighty sire having withdrawn from mankind, retired into seclusion, and there giving himself entirely up to the worship of God, the affairs of the human race again relapsed into disorder. Tradition informs us, that when these auspicious prophets and their successors beheld evil to prevail amongst mankind, they invariably withdrew from among them—as they could not endure to behold or hear wickedness; and sin had no admission to their breasts. When the chain of worldly repose had been rent asunder, Yasán, in obedience to a Divine revelation, seated himself on the throne of sovereignty, and overthrew evil. Of this happy dynasty the last was Yásán Ajám, when this admirable family had graced the throne during ninety and nine salám of years. The author of the Amíghistán says: “The years which I have mentioned are farsáls of Saturn: one revolution of the regent Saturn, which is allowed to be thirty years, they call one day; thirty such days, one month; and twelve such months, one year.” This is the rule observed by the Yezdánián, who write down the various years of the seven planets after this manner: such is the amount of the saturnian farsál. This same system of computation is applied to the farsáls of Mars, Venus, Mercury and the moon, a day of each being the time of their respective revolutions: they at the same time retain the use of the ordinary lunar and solar months.

It is also to be observed that, according to them, the year is of two kinds; one the farsál, which is after this manner: when the planet has traversed the twelve mansions of the zodiac, they call it one day; thirty such days, one month; and twelve such months, one year; as we have before explained under Saturn. Similar years constitute the farsáls of the other planets, which they thus enumerate; the farsáls of Saturn, Jupiter, Mars, the sun, Venus, Mercury, and the moon: the months of the farsál they call farmáh; the days of the farmáh, farróz. The second kind of years is, when Saturn in the period of thirty years traverses the twelve mansions, which they call a saturnian karsál; the karmáh is his remaining two years and a half in each mansion,— Jupiter describes his period in twelve common years; this time they call the hormuzí karsál; and the hormuzí karmáh is his remaining one year in each mansion: and so with regard to the others. However, when we speak of years or months in the accounts given of the Gilsháíyán princes, solar and lunar years and months are always meant; day implies the acknowledged day; and by month is meant the residence of the Great Light in one of the zodiacal mansions; and by year, his passing through the zodiac; a lunar month is its complete revolution, and traversing all the signs, which year and month are also called Tímúr.¹

When Yásán Asám had abandoned this elementary body and passed away from this abode of wickedness, the state of mankind fell into utter ruin, as his son Gilsháh, who was enlightened in spirit, intelligent in nature, adorned by good deeds, feeling no wish for sovereign power, had given himself so entirely up to the service of God, that no one knew the retreat of this holy personage.— Men therefore, shutting up the eyes of social intercourse, extended the arm of oppression against each other; at once the lofty battlements and noble edifices were levelled to the ground; the deep fosses filled up; mankind being left destitute of a head, the bonds of society were broken; slaughter was carried to such excess, that numerous rivers flowed with currents of blood, streaming from the bodies of the slain: in a short time not a trace was left of the countless treasures and the boundless stores, the amount of which defied the computations of imagination. Matters even came to such an extremity, that men threw off the institutes of humanity, and were no longer capable of distinguishing the relative values of precious stones, wares and commodities: they left not a vestige remaining of palaces and cities; but like ferocious and savage beasts, took up their dwelling in the mountain caverns.—Besides this, they fought against each other, so that the multitudes of the human race were reduced to a scanty remnant.

On this, Gilsháh¹ of exalted nature, in obedience to a revelation from heaven, and to the command of the ruler of the universe, became the sovereign of mankind: he restored the institutes of justice, and reassembled the members of his family, who, during his seclusion, had totally dispersed: on this account he was styled Abú-l-Bashr, or “the Father of the human race,” because with the exception of his family, the great majority of the others having fallen in their mutual contests, the survivors had adopted the pursuits and habitudes of demons and of wild beasts: Kaiomors, or Gilsháh, with his sons, then proceeded to give battle to the vile race, and disabled their hands from inflicting cruelty on the harmless animals: all that we find in Histories of Kaiomors, and his sons fighting against demons, refers to this circumstance, and the systems of faith which sanction the slaughter of animals were all invented by this demon-like race. In short, the only true Ruler of the world transmitted a celestial volume to Kaiomors, and also selected for the prophetic office among his illustrious descendants, Siyámak, Húsháng, Tahmúras, Jemshíd, Farídún, Minucheher, Kai Khúsró, Zaratúsht, Azár Sásán the first, and Azár Sásán the fifth, enjoining them to walk in conformity with the doctrines of Máhábád and Kaiomors; so that the celestial volumes which he bestowed on those happy princes, all their writings and records were in perfect accord with the code of Máhábád: with the exception of Zaratúsht, not one of this race uttered a single word against the book of Abad: and even Zaratúsht's words were, by the glosses of the Yezdániáns, made to conform to the Máhábádian code—they therefore style Zaratúsht, “Wakhshur-i-Simbari,” or the parable-speaking prophet.

The Gilsháían monarchs constitute four races; namely, the Peshdádían, Kaiánián, Ashkánián, and Sásáníán: the last of these kings is Yezdejird, the son of Sheriar: the empire of these auspicious sovereigns lasted six thousand and twenty-four years and five months.¹ During their existence, the world was arrayed in beauty: Kaiomors,² Siyamak,³ Húshang,⁴ named the Péshdádíán, Tahmúras,⁵ surnamed the Enslaver of Demons, and Jemshid,⁶ through celestial revelations, Divine assistance, the instruction of Almighty God, unerring prudence, and just views, having followed in all things what we have recorded concerning Máhábád and his illustrious children, introduced the rules of Divine worship, the knowledge of God, virtuous deeds, purity of conduct, modes of diet, clothing, the rites of marriage, the observance of continence, with all kinds of science, letters, books, professions, solemn festivals, banquets, wind and stringed musical instruments, cities, gardens, palaces, ornaments, arms, gradations of office, the distinctions of the two sexes with respect to exposure and privacy, the diffusion of equity, justice, and all that was praiseworthy.

After these, the Gilsháiyán ruled, through divine inspiration and the communication of the Almighty added to their intelligence, so that the greater part of the splendor, pomp, and beauty we now behold in the world is to be attributed to this happy race: many however of the excellent institutions of this happy dynasty have fallen into disuse and a few only remain.

The following is the sum of the Sipásián creed: from the commencement of Máhábád's empire to the end of Yezdejird's reign, the great majority, nay all the individuals of this chosen race, with the exception of Zokah,¹ were models of equity, characterized by justice and piety, perfect in words and deeds. In this holy family, some were prophets, all were saints, righteous and God-fearing persons, with realms and armies maintained in the highest order. They also acknowledge the apostles and princes prior to Gilsháh, from Máhábád to Yásán Ajám, as so eminently pious, that in no degree whatever did wickedness enter into their conversation or actions: nor did they at any time deviate from the Paymán-i-Farhang , or “Excellent Covenant,” which is the code of Máhábád, nor omit the performance of any duty; they also held that the stars are exceedingly exalted, and constitute the Kiblah² of the inhabitants of this lower world.

In the time of Dáwir Háryár (the author of Daraí Sekander), who was of the Kaíánian race and a follower of the Yezdanian faith, some one said: “The prophets and faith are higher in dignity than the sun.” Dawir replied: “Where are now the forms and bodies of that description of men?” On which that person having stated the names of the cities and burial places of the prophets, Dawir rejoined: “During their whole lifetime, the form of no prophet or saint ever emitted light, even the distance of one day's journey, and since they have been committed to the earth, not a single ray has been shed from their graves: and they are now so blended with the dust that not a trace of them is left!” The person then said: “the spirits of the prophets and saints are exceedingly resplendent.” Dawir retorted: “Behold what amount of light is diffused by the solar globe! whereas the bodies of your saints are destitute of splendor; therefore rest assured that his spirit is more resplendent than theirs.—Know besides, that the sun is the heart of the heavens: if he existed not, this world of formation and dissolution could not continue: he brings forth the seasons and the productive energies of nature; moreover, the prophets were not in the beginning, nor are they in existence now: but the world endures, the seasons rejoice, and the people are gladdened: this much however may be conceded, that the prophets and saints are more exalted than the remainder of the human race.”—On hearing this, that person was silenced. Lastly, it is stated in the Akhtaristán, that the Sipásíán tenets were, that the stars and the heavens are the shadows of the incorporeal effulgences; on this account they erected the temples of the seven planets, and had talismans formed of metal or stone, suitable to each star: all which talismans were placed in their proper abode, under a suitable aspect: they also set apart a portion of time for their worship and handed down the mode of serving them. When they performed the rites to these holy statues, they burned before them the suitable incense at the appointed season, and held their power in high veneration. Their temples were called Paikaristan, or “image-temples,” and Shidistán, or “the abodes of the forms of the luminous bodies.”

DESCRIPTION OF THE WORSHIP RENDERED TO THE SEVEN PLANETS ACCORDING TO THE SIPASIAN FAITH.—It is stated in the Akhtaristán, that the image of the regent Saturn was cut out of black stone, in a human shape, with an ape-like head; his body like a man's, with a hog's tail, and a crown on his head; in the right hand a sieve; in the left a serpent. His temple was also of black stone, and his officiating ministers were negroes, Abyssinians and persons of black complexions: they wore blue garments, and on their fingers rings of iron: they offered up storax and such like perfumes, and generally dressed and offered up pungent viands; they administered myrobalam, also similar gums and drugs. Villagers and husbandmen who had left their abodes, nobles, doctors, anchorites, mathematicians, enchanters, soothsayers and persons of that description lived in the vicinity of this temple, where these sciences were taught, and their maintenance allowed them: they first paid adoration in the temple and afterwards waited onthe king. All persons ranked among the servants of the regent Saturn were presented to the king through the medium of the chiefs and officers of this temple, who were always selected from the greatest families in Iran. The words Shat and Tímsar are appellations of honor, signifying dignity, just as Sri in Hindi, and Hazrat in Arabic.

Theimage of the regent Hormuzd (Jupiter) was of an earthy color, in the shape of a man, with a vulture's¹ face: on his head a crown, on which were the faces of a cock and a dragon; in the right hand a turban; in the left a crystal ewer. The ministers of this temple were of a terrene hue, dressed in yellow and white; they wore rings of silver and signets of cornelian; the incense consisted of laurel-berries and such like; the viands prepared by them were sweet. Learned men, judges, imans, eminent vizirs, distinguished men, nobles, magistrates and scribes dwelt in the street attached to this temple, where they devoted themselves to their peculiar pursuits, but principally giving themselves up to the science of theology.

The temple of the regent Bahram¹ (Mars) and his image were of red stone: he was represented in a human form, wearing on his head a red crown: his right hand was of the same color and hanging down; his left, yellow and raised up: in the right was a blood-stained sword, and an iron verge in the left. The ministers of this temple were dressed in red garments; his attendants were Turks with rings of copper on their hands; the fumigations made before him consisted of sandaracha and such like; the viands used here were bitter. Princes, champions, soldiers, military men, and Turks dwelt in his street. Persons of this description, through the agency of the directors of the temple, were admitted to the king's presence. The bestowers of charity dwelt in the vicinity of this temple; capital punishments were here inflicted, and the prison for criminals was also in that street.

The image of the world-enlightening solar regent was the largest of the idols; his dome was built of gold-plated bricks: the interior inlaid with rubies, diamonds, cornelian and such like. The image of the Great Light was formed of burnished gold, in the likeness of a man with two heads, on each of which was a precious crown set with rubies; and in each diadem were seven sárún or peaks. He was seated on a powerful steed; his face resembling that of a man, but he had a dragon's tail; in the right hand a rod of gold, a collar of diamonds around his neck. The ministers of this temple were dressed in yellow robes of gold tissue, and a girdle set with rubies, diamonds, and other solar stones: the fumigations consisted of sandal wood and such like: they generally served up acid viands. In his quarter were the families of kings and emperors, chiefs, men of might, nobles, chieftains, governors, rulers of countries, and men of science: visitors of this description were introduced to the king by the chiefs of the temple.

The exterior of Nahid's¹ (Venus) temple was of white marble and the interior of crystal: the form of the idol was that of a red man, wearing a seven-peaked crown on the head: in the right hand a flask of oil, and in the left a comb: before him was burnt saffron and such like; his ministers were clad in white, fine robes, and wore pearl-studded crowns, and diamond rings on their fingers. Men were not permitted to enter this temple at night. Matrons and their daughters performed the necessary offices and service, except on the night of the king's going there, as then no females approached, but men only had access to it. Here the ministering attendants served up rich viands. Ladies of the highest rank, practising austerities, worshippers of God, belonging to the place or who came from a distance, goldsmiths, painters and musicians dwelt around this temple, through the chiefs and directors of which they were presented to the king: but the women and ladies of rank were introduced to the queen by the female directresses of the temple.

The dome and image of the regent Tir³ (Mercury) was of blue stone; his body that of a fish, with a boar's face: one arm black, the other white; on his head a crown: he had a tail like that of a fish; in his right hand a pen, and in the left an inkhorn. The substances burnt in this temple were gum mastic and the like. His ministers were clad in blue, wearing on their fingers rings of gold. At their feasts they served up acidulous viands. Vizirs, philosophers, astrologers, physicians, farriers, accountants, revenue-collectors, ministers, secretaries, merchants, architects, tailors, fine writers and such like, were stationed there, and through the agency of the directors of the temple, had access to the king: the knowledge requisite for such sciences and pursuits was also communicated there.

The temple of the regent Mah (the moon) was of a green stone; his image that of a man seated on a white ox: on his head a diadem in the front of which were three peaks: on the hands were bracelets, and a collar around the neck. In his right hand an amulet of rubies, and in the left a branch of sweet basil: his ministers were clad in green and white, and wore rings of silver. The substances burnt before this image were gum arabic and such like drugs. His attendants served up salted viands. Spies, ambassadors, couriers, news-reporters, voyagers, and the generality of travellers, and such like persons resided in his street, and were presented to the king through the directors of the temple. Besides the peculiar ministers and attendants, there were attached to each temple several royal commissioners and officers, engaged in the execution of the king's orders; and in such matters as were connected with the image in that temple. In the Khuristar or “refectory of each temple,” the board was spread the whole day with various kinds of viands and beverages always ready. No one was repulsed, so that whoever chose partook of them. In like manner, in the quarter adjacent to each temple, was an hospital, where the sick under the idol's protection were attended by the physician of that hospital. Thus there were also places provided for travellers, who on their arrival in the city repaired to the quarter appropriated to the temple to which they belonged.¹

It is to be observed, that although the planets are simple bodies of a spherical form, yet the reason why the above-mentioned images have been thus formed, is that the planetary spirits have appeared in the world of imagination to certain prophets, saints, and holy sages under such forms; and under which they are also connected with certain influences; and as they have appeared under forms different from these to other persons, their images have also been made after that fashion.

When the great king, his nobles, retinue and the other Yezdanian went to the temple of Saturn, they were arrayed in robes of blue and black hues; expressed themselves with humility, moving with a slow pace, their hands folded on the breast. In the temple of Hormuzd (Jupiter), they were dressed in his colors, as learned men and judges. In that of Bahram (Mars) they were clad in the robes peculiar to him, and expressed themselves in an arrogant manner—but in the temple of the Sun, in language suitable to kings and holy persons; in that of Venus, they appeared cheerful and smiling; in the temple of Mercury they spoke after the manner of sages and orators; and in the moon's, like young children and inferior officers.

In every private house there were besides images of the stars, a minute description of which is given in the Akhtaristan. They had also, in every temple, the spherical or true forms of the several planets.

There was a city called the royal abode or saráí, facing which were seven temples. On each day of the week, in the dress appropriated to each planet, the king exhibited himself from an elevated tabsar or window, fronting the temple of the planet, whilst the people, in due order and arrangement, offered up their prayers. For example, on Sunday or Yakshambah, he shewed himself clad in a yellow kabá or tunic of gold tissue, wearing a crown of the same metal, set with rubies and diamonds, covered with many ornaments of gold from the tabsar, the circumference of which was embossed with similar stones: under this window, the several ranks of the military were drawn out in due gradation, until the last line took post in the kashúdzár or ample area, in which were posted soldiers of the lowest order. When the king issued forth, like the sun, from the orient of the tabsar, all the people prostrated themselves in adoration, and the monarch devoted himself to the concerns of mankind. The Tábsár is a place of observation in a lofty pavilion, which the princes of Hmdustan call a jahrokah or lattice window: on the other days, the king appeared with similar brilliancy from the other Tábsárs. In like manner the king, on their great festivals, went in choice garments to the temples of the several images: and on his return seated himself in the Tábsár, facing the image of the planet, or, having gone to the Rózistán or Dádistán, devoted himself to the affairs of state. This Rozistan was a place which had no tábsár, where the king seated himself on the throne, his ministers standing around in due gradation.— The Dádistán was the hall of justice, where, when the king was seated, no one was prevented from having access to him: so that the king first came to the Tábsár, then to the rózistán, and lastly to the Dádistán. Also on whatever day a planet moved out of one celestial house to another, and on all great festival days, the king went to the temple appropriate to the occasion. Each of the planetary forms had also its peculiar Tábsár, in the same manner as we have before stated concerning the royal Tábsár; and on a happy day, or festival, they brought the image to its Tábsár. The king went first and offered up prayer, standing in the Tábsár of the image, the nobles placed around according to their gradations, whilst the people were assembled in great multitudes in the Kashúdzár, offering up prayers to the planet.

According to what is stated in the Tímsár Dasátir ,¹ that is, in the “Venerable Desátir,” the Almighty Creator has so formed the celestial bodies, that from their motions there result certain effects in this lower world, and, without doubt, all events here depend on the movements of these elevated bodies; so that every star has relation to some event, and every mansion possesses its peculiar nature: nay, every degree of each sign is endued with a distinct influence: therefore the prophets of the Lord, in conformity to his orders, and by great experience, have ascertained the properties inherent in the degrees of each celestial mansion, and the influences of the stars. It is certain that whenever the agent does not agree with the passive, the result of the affair will not be fortunate; consequently, when the prophets and sages desired that the agency of the planet should be manifested advantageously in the world, they carefully noted the moment of the star's entering the degree most suitable to the desired event: and also to have at a distance from that point, whatever stars were unfavorable to the issue. When all had been thus arranged, whatever was connected with the productive cause was then completed: they then bring together whatever is connected with causation in the lower world: thus all the viands, perfumes, colors, forms, and all things relating to the star, being associated, they enter on the undertaking with firm faith and sure reliance: and whereas the spirits possess complete influence over the events which occur in the lower world, when therefore the celestial, terrestrial, corporeal and spiritual causes are all united, the business is then accomplished. But whosoever desires to be master of these powers, must be well skilled in metaphysics; in the secrets of nature; and having his mind well stored with the knowledge of the planetary influences, and rendered intelligent by much experience. As the union of such qualifications is rarely or never found, the truth of this science is consequently hidden from men. The Abadián moreover say, that the prophets of the early faith, or the kings of Farsistán and the Yezdánián, held the stars to be the Kiblah of prayer, and always paid them adoration, especially when a star was in its own house or in its ascendant, free from evil aspects; they then collected whatever bore relation to that planet, and engaged in worship, seating themselves in a suitable place, and suffering no one to come near them: they practised austerities; and on the completion of their undertaking, exhibited kindness to the animal creation.

In the year 1061 of the Hegira (A. D. 1651) the author, then in Sikakul of Kalang,¹ was attacked by a disease which no application could alleviate. An astrologer pronounced, that “the cause of this malady arises from the overpowering force of the regent Mars;” on which, several distinguished Brahmins assembled on the fourth of Zíkâdah (the 9th October) the same year, and having set out the image of Bahrám and collected the suitable perfumes, with all other things fit for the operation, employed themselves in reading prayers and reciting names; at last, their chief, taking np with great reverence the image of Mars, thus entreated: “O illustrious angel and celestial leader! moderate thy heat, and be not wrathful: but be merciful to such a one” (pointing to me). He then plunged the image into perfumed water; immediately on the immersion of the image, the pain was removed.

In front of each temple was a large fire-temple, so that there were seven in all: namely, the Kaiwanázar, Hormuz-ázar, Bahrám-ázar, Hár-ázar, Nahíd-ázar, Tír-ázar, and Máh-ázar, so that each fire-temple was dedicated to one of the seven planets, and in these they burnt the proper perfumes. They assert that, during the flourishing empire of the early monarchs, several sacred structures, such as those of the Kâbah and the holy temple of Mecca;¹ Jerusalem; the burial-place of Muhammed; the asylum of prophecy, in Medina; the place of repose of Alí,² the prince of the faithful in Najf; the sepulchre of Imam Husain in Kerbela;³ the tomb of Imam Musa⁴ in Baghdad;⁵ the mausoleum of Imam Reza⁶ in Sanábád of Tús; and the sanctuary of Alí in Balkh,⁷ were all in former times idol and fire-temples. They say that Mahabad after having built a fire temple, called Haftsúr or seven ramparts, in Istakhar of Persia,⁸ erected a house to which he gave the name of Abád, and which is at present called the Kâbah: and which the inhabitants of that country werecommanded to hold in reverence: among the images of the Kâbah was one of the moon, exceedingly beautiful, wherefore the temple was called Máhgáh (Moon's place) which the Arabs generally changed into Mekka. They also say that among the images and statues left in the Kâbah by Mahabad and his renowned successors, one is the black stone,¹ the emblem of Saturn. They also say that the prophet of Arabia worshipped the seven planets, and he therefore left undisturbed the black stone or Saturn's emblem, which had remained since the time of the Abadian dynasty; but that he broke or carried away the other figures introduced by the Koreish, and which were not formed according to the images of the stars. In most of the ancient temples of Persia they had formed the symbol of Venus in the figure of a Mihrab, or arch, like the altar of the mosques: consequently the present Mihrab, or altar, is that identical symbol: which assertion is also proved by the respect paid to Friday or the day of Venus.

Ibrahim (Abraham), the friend of God, pursued the same conduct; that is, he rejected the idols which were not of the planetary forms: and the reverence paid by him to the black stone, according to ancient tradition, seems to prove that point. Isfendiar, the son of king Gushtasp¹ conformed also to this practice; nay Socrates the Sage, in like manner, forbad the people to worship any other forms except those of the planets, and commanded the statues of the kings to be removed. Moreover, the holy temple of Jerusalem, or Kundízh-húhkt^* was erected by Zohak, and Faridun² kindled in it the holy fire. But long before Zohak's time, there were several idol and fire temples in that place. In the same manner, they say, that when Faridoon turned his attention to the overthrow of Zohak, during his journey his brethren having hurled a rock at him, this revered prince, who was skilled and mighty in all the extraordinary sciences, manifested a wonderous deed: he prayed to the Almighty that it might remain suspended in the air, so that the stone even to this day is known as Kúds Khalíl. They also say that in Medina,¹ the burial place of the prophet, there was formerly an image of the moon: the temple in which it was, they called Mahdínah, or the “Moon of Religion,” as religion is the moon of truth, from which the Arabs formed Medinah. They in like manner relate, that in the most noble Najf, where now is the shrine of Alí, the prince of the faithful, there was formerly a fire-temple called Farógh píráí (the decoration of splendor), and also “Nakaf,” or Na akaft (no injury), which is at present denominated Najf. Also at Karbalá, the place where the Imam Husain reposes, there was formerly a fire-temple called Mahyársur ilm^* and Kar bala (sublime agency), at present called Karbela.

Also in Baghdad, where the Imam Musa reposes, was a fire-temple called Shet Piráyi (decoration): and in the place where rest the remains of the great Imam Abu Hanifah, of Kufah, was a temple called Húryar (sun's friend): also in Kufah, on the site of the mosque, was a fire-temple called Roz-Azar (the day of fire): and in the region of Tús, on the site of Imam Resa's shrine, was a fire-temple called Azar Khirad (the fire of intellect)—it was also known by many other appellations, and owes its erection to Faridún.—Also when Tús, the son of Názar,¹ came to visit Azar-i-Khirad, he laid near it the foundation of a city which was called after his name.² —In Balkh, where is now the sanctuary of the Imam, formerly stood a temple called Mahin Azar (great fire), now known under the name of Nóbahár. In Ardebil,³ the ancient Dizh-i-Bahman⁴ (Bahman's fort), Kai Khosrú, on reducing the citadel, constructed there a fire-temple called Azari-Káus,⁵ which now serves as the burial place of the shaikh Sufi Ud-Din, the ancestor of the Safavean princes:⁶ they also assert that there were fire-temples in several parts of India: as in Dwaraka,¹ was the temple of Saturn, called Dizh-i-Kaivan (Saturn's fort), which the Hindoos turned into Dwaraka: and in Gya also was an idol temple, called Gah-i-Kaivan, or “Saturn's residence,” which was turned into Gya.^* —In Mahtra also was an idol temple of Saturn, the name of which was Mahetar, that is the chiefs or mahetar resorted thither; which word by degrees became Mahtra.^** —In like manner several places among the Christians and other nations bore names which show them to have been idol-temples. When the Abadian come to such places, they visit them with the accustomed reverence, as, according to them holy places are never liable to abomination or pollution, as they still remain places of worship and adoration: both friends and foes regarding them as a Kiblah, and sinners, notwithstanding all their perverseness, pray in those sacred edifices. Rai Gópí Nath¹ thus expresses himself:

There is not on record a single word repugnant to reason from the time of Mahabad to that of Yasan Ajam; and if they have recourse to allegory, they then express its figurative nature. From these princes to the Gilshaiyan there are many figurative expressions, all of which they interpret. For example, they say that the tradition of Siamak being slain by the hand of a demon implies, that in successive battles, through ignorance of himself and God, he unwittingly destroyed this elementary body; thus, wherever, in the language of this sect, mention is made of a demon, they always understand a man of that description, as has been explained in the Paiman-i-ferhang, or “Excellent Code.” They also maintain that, in some passages, the rendering the demons obedient, and slaying them, is a figurative mode of expressing a victory gained over the pleasures of sense, and the extirpation of evil propensities: in like manner, whatever is related about the appearance of angels to virtuous and holy persons, is the revelation and vision of good spirits, whilst in a state of sleep, transport, recovery from excess, or abstraction from the body; which states are truly explained in this work. They say that Zohak's two serpents, do-mar, and ten fires (vices) or deh ak, imply irascibility and sensuality: the devil, his carnal soul, and in some places his disposition—the two pieces of flesh which broke out on Zohak's shoulders in consequence of his evil deeds, appeared to the human race like serpents, the pain caused by which could only be alleviated by the application of human brains. They also say that the celebrated Simúrgh¹ (griffin) was a sage, who had retired from the world and taken up his peaceful abode in the mountains: he was therefore called by this name, and was the instructor of Dastan, the son of Sám; so that Zál, through his instruction, attained the knowledge of the occult sciences. As to the current tradition about Kai-Káus attempting to ascend to Heaven, and his downfall, this occurred, according to them, during his sleep, and not when he was awake. Kai Nishín, his brother, who had retired from all intercourse with mankind, thus interprets the adventure of Káus: “The four eagles are the four elements; the throne, the predominating passions; the lance, their energy and impetuosity in the desire of sensual gratifications; the thighs of flesh, their various pursuits of anger, passion, lust, and envy; their ascent implies that they may be subdued by religious austerities, and by the aid of their energy be made the means of ascending to the world on high and the supreme Heaven; their fall, instead of reaching Heaven's eternal mansions, intimates that if, even for a short period, we become careless about repressing evil propensities, and desist from the practice of mortification, the passions will return back to their nature, or wander from the eternal paradise, the natural abode of souls:” the hemistich, “during one moment I was heedless, and he was removed from me a journey of a hundred years,” is applicable to such a state.

Rustam's¹ bringing back Kai Káus to his throne from the forest into which he had fallen, means, his bringing back intelligence into the king's soul, and turning him back from the desert (lit. meadow), of natural infirmity: Kai Kaus therefore, by direction of Kai Nishin, his younger brother, but his elder in purity of faith and good works, remained forty days in retirement, until in the state of sleep, through the awakening of his heart, he beheld this heavenly vision. They also assert, whatever modern writers have declared, relative to Khizr² and Iskander, having penetrated into the regions of darkness, where the former discovered the fountain of life immortal, means, that the Iskander, or the intellectual soul, through the energy of the Khizr, or reason, discovered, whilst in the state of human darkness, the water of life, or the knowledge of the rational sciences, or the science which forms the proper object of intellect—as to what they say about Iskander's returning back empty-handed, by that is meant, that to expect eternal duration in this evanescent abode being altogether absurd, he consequently could not attain that object, and therefore departed to the next world. What they record about Khizr's drinking of that water, means, that the perfection of intellect exists not through the medium of body, and that reason has no need of body, or any thing corporeal, either as essence or attribute.

In some passages they interpret the tradition after this manner; by Khizr is meant the intellectual soul, or rational faculty, and by Iskander the animal soul, or natural instinct; the Khizr of the intellectual soul, associated with the Iskander of the animal soul, and the host (of perceptions) arrived at the fountain-head of understanding, and obtained immortality, whilst the Iskander of the animal soul returned back empty-handed.¹ It must be remarked, that this sect explain after this manner, whatever transgresses the rules of probability, or cannot be weighed in the balance of comprehension; in short, all that is contrary to reason. They also say purification is of two kinds; the amighi or true, and the ashkari or apparent: the first consists in not defiling the heart with any thing; in not attaching it to the concerns of this treacherous world, emancipating it from all ties and prejudice, maintaining no connection with any object whatever, and washing away all bias from the soul. The Ashkari, or apparent, consists in removing to a distance whatever appears unclean; consequently this purification is effected with water which has undergone no change of color, smell, or taste: that is, which is free from bad color, smell, or taste; if otherwise, rose-water and such like are more to be commended. Ablution requires a kur, or a measure of lustral water; that is, according to them, the measure for a man, is that quantity into which he can immerge his head; for an elephant, a quantity proportioned to his bulk; and for a gnat, a single drop of water. They reckon it meritorious to recite the prayers and texts of the Shat Dasátír, relative to the unity of the self-existent Creator, the great dignity of intelligence and souls, with the pains of the superior and inferior bodies; after which they repeat the benedictions of the seven planets, particularly on their days, and offer up the appropriate incense. The worshipper after this recites the praises of the guardian of the month, and those of the days of the month; for example, if it be the month of Farvardin,¹ the believer repeats benedictions on that angel, and then on each of the regents of the days of that month: particularly the regent of that day called by the same name as the month: which day is also regarded as a festival.² For instance, in the month of Farvardin, he utters benedictions on the angel Farvardin, who is one of the cherubim on whom that month is dependent; if it be the first day of the month, called the day of Hormuz (the angel who superintends the first day of the month), the believers address their benedictions to Hormuz; and act in a similar manner on the other months and their respective days. According to them, the names of the months are called after the names of their lords; and the appellations of the days are according to the names of their respective regents: consequently, as we have said, the believer adores the lord of the month, and on festivals, pays adoration to the angel who is the lord of the month and the day.¹ According to the Abadian, although in a month, the name of the month and of the day be the same, this coincidence makes not that day dependant on the month, but on the regent who bears the same name with him, consequently it is necessary to celebrate a festival. In the same manner, on the other days of every month, salutations are paid every morning to the regent of the day: also during the Sudbar, or the intercalary days, they offer up praises to their angels. They also regard the angels of the days as the ministers to the angels of the months, all of whom are subject to the majesty of the Great Light—in like manner the other stars (planets) have also angels dependent on them: they also believe that the angels dependent on each star (planet) are beyond all number: and finally, that the angelic host belonging to the solar majesty are reckoned the highest order. Besides, on the period at which any of the seven planets passes from one zodiacal mansion to another, they make an entertainment on the first day, which they regard as a festival, and call it Shadbar,^* or “replete with joy.” Every month also, on the completion of the lunar revolution, on ascertaining its reappearance from astronomical calculation, they make great rejoicings on the first day: there is in like manner a great festival when any star has completed its revolution, which day they call Dádram,¹ or “banquet decking.” Thus, although there is a festival every day of the week in some idol-temple or other, as has been before stated, relative to the day of Nahid, or Friday, in the temple of this idol: yet on the day of the Sun, or Yakshambah (the first day of the week), there was a solemn festival at which all the people assembled. In like manner they made a feast whenever a star returned to its mansion or was in its zenith.

They believe it wrong to hold any faith or religious system in abhorrence, as according to them, we may draw near to God in every faith: also that no faith has been abolished by divine authority— they hold that, on this account, there have been so many prophets, in order to shew the various ways which lead to God. Those who carefully investigate well know, that the ways which lead to heaven are many; nay more than come within the compass of numbers. It is well understood, that access to a great sovereign is more easily attained through the aid of his numerous ministers; although one of the prince's commanders be on bad terms with his confidential advisers, or even should all the chiefs not co-operate with each other; yet they can promote the interest of their inferiors: therefore it is not proper to say that we can get to the God of all existence by one road only. But the insurmountable barrier in the road of approaching God is the slaughter of the Zindibar, that is, those animals which inflict no injury on any person, and slay not other living creatures, such as the cow, the sheep, the camel, and the horse: there is assuredly no salvation to the author of cruelty towards such, nor can he obtain final deliverance by austerities or devotions of any description. Should we even behold many miraculous works performed by the slayer of harmless animals, we are not even then to regard him as one redeemed; the works witnessed in him are only the reward of his devotions, and the result of his perseverance in the practice of religious austerities in this world: and as he commits evil, he cannot be perfect in his devout exercises, so that nothing but suffering can await him in another generation (when born again): such an instance of an ascetic endued with miraculous powers is likened in the Shat Dasatir¹ to a vase externally covered with choice perfumes, but filled internally with impurities. They also maintain that in no system of faith is cruelty to innoxious animals sanctioned: and all human sanction for such acts proceeds from their attending to the apparent import of words, without having recourse to profound or earnest consideration—for example, by putting a horse or cow to death is meant, the removal or banishing from one's self animal propensities, and not the slaughtering or devouring of innoxious creatures. They state the later historians to have recorded without due discrimination that Rustam, the son of Dastan (who was one of the perfect saints), used to slay such animals: whereas tradition informs us, that the mighty champion pursued in the chase noxious animals only: what they write about his hunting the wild ass, implies that the elephant-bodied hero called the lion a wild ass; or “that a lion is no more than a wild ass when compared to my force.” In the several passages where he is recorded to have slaughtered harmless wild asses and oppressed innoxious creatures, and where similar actions are ascribed to some of the Gilsháíyán princes, there is only implied the banishment of animal propensities and passions: thus the illustrious Shaikh Farideddin ât ár declares,

They hold that, from the commencement to the very end, the chiefs of the Persian Sipásíán, far from slaughtering these harmless creatures, regarded as an incumbent duty to avoid and shun, by every precaution, the practice of oppression or destruction towards them: nay, they inflicted punishment on the perpetrators of such deeds. Although they esteem the Gilsháíyán prophets, pontiffs, and princes, exceedingly holy personages, yet in their opinion, they come not up in perfect wisdom and works to the preceding apostles and sovereigns, who appeared from the Yassánián to the end of the Máhábádíán race.

They assert that some innoxious animals suffer oppression in this generation by way of retribution: for instance, an ox or a horse, which in times long past had, through heedlessness, wantonness, or without necessity, destroyed a man: as these creatures understand nothing but how to eat and drink, consequently when they obtain a new birth, they carry burdens, which is by no means to be regarded as an act of oppression, but as a retribution or retaliation for their previous misconduct. They are not put to death, as they are not naturally destructive and sanguinary: their harmless nature proves that they cannot be reckoned among the destroyers of animal life: so that putting them to death is the same as destroying an ignorant harmless man: therefore their slayer, though he may not receive in this world the merited punishment from the actual ruler or governor, appears in the next generation under the form of a ferocious beast, and meets his deserts. A great man says on this subject:

They also hold the eternal paradise to be the Heavens; and regard the solar majesty as lord of the empyrean; and the other stars, fixed or planetary, as his ministers: thus a person who, through religious mortifications and purity of life, attains righteousness in words and deeds, is united with the sun and becomes an empyreal sovereign: but if the proportion of his good works bear a closer affinity to any other star, he becomes lord of the place assigned to that star: whilst others are joined to the firmament on high: the perfect man passes on still farther, arriving at the æthereal sphere, or the region of pure spirits; such men attain the beatific vision of the light of lights and the cherubinic hosts of the Supreme Lord. Should he be a prince during whose reign no harmless animals were slaughtered in his realms; and who, if any were guilty of these acts, inflicted punishment on the perpetrators of the crimes, so that no such characters departed this world without due retribution; he is esteemed a wise, beneficent, and virtuous king: and immediately on being separated from the elements of body, he is united with the sun: his spirit is identified with that of the majesty of the great light and he becomes an æthereal sovereign. Prince Siamak, the son of Kaiomors declares: “I beheld from first to last all the Abádíán, Jyáníán, Sháíyán, and Yassáníán monarchs: some were cherubim in the presence of the Supreme Lord; others absorbed in the contemplation of the Light of Lights: but I found none lower than the sphere of the sun, the vicegerent of God.” On my asking them concerning the means of attaining these high degrees, they said: “The great means of acquiring this dignity consist in the protection of harmless animals, and inflicting punishment on evil doers.”

According to this sect, labouring under insanity, suffering distress on account of one's children, being assailed by diseases, the visitations of providence, these calamities are the retribution of actions in a former state of existence. If a person should fall down or stumble when running, even this is regarded as the retribution of past deeds: as are also the maladies of new-born babes. But whatever happens to a just man, which is evidently unmerited, this is not to be looked on as retribution, but as proceeding from the oppression of the temporal ruler, from whom, in a future generation, the Supreme Ruler will demand an account.

According to their tenets, the drinking of wine or strong liquors to excess, or partaking of things which impair the understanding, is by no means to be tolerated: which may be proved by this reflexion, that the perfection of man is understanding, and that intoxicating beverages reduce human nature, whilst in that state, to a level with the brute creation. If a person drink strong liquors to excess, he is brought before the judge to receive due castigation; and should he, during that state, do injury to another, he is held accountable for it, and is punished also as a malefactor.

Among this sect it is permitted to kill those animals which oppress others, such as lions, fowls, and hawks, which prey on living creatures: but whatever animals, whether noxious or innoxious, suffer violence from the noxious, duly receive it by way of retribution: when they slay the former, or noxious animals, that is regarded as a retribution, because in a former existence they were oppressive and sanguinary creatures: and in this generation the Almighty has given them over to other more sanguinary animals, that they might shed the blood of the sanguinary bloodshedder: so that when noxious creatures are slain, it is by way of retribution for having shed blood: the very act of shedding their blood proves them to have been formerly shedders of blood: it is not however allowed to put them to death until they become hurtful: for example, a young sparrow cannot, whilst in that state, commit an injury; but, when able to fly, it injures the insects of the earth; and, although this happens to the insects by way of retributive justice, yet their slayers become also deserving of being slain, as in a former generation they have been shedders of blood. For instance, a person has unwittingly slain another, for which crime he has been thrown into prison; on which they summons one of the other prisoners to behead the murderer: after which the judge commands one of his officers to put the executioner to death, as, previous to this act, he had before shed blood unjustly. But if a man slay a noxious animal, he is not to be put to death, because that person taking into consideration the noxious animal's oppression, has inflicted retribution on it: but if a brave champion or any other be slain in fighting with a noxious creature; this was his merited retribution; and it is the same if an innoxious animal be slain in fighting with a noxious creature: for example, in a past generation the ox was a man endued with many brutal propensities, who with violence and insolence forced people into his service and imposed heavy burdens on them, until he deprived some of them of life: therefore in this generation, on account of his ruling propensities, he comes in the form of an ox, that he may receive the retribution due to his former deeds, and in return for his having shed blood, should be himself slain by a lion or some such creature. But mankind are not permitted to kill the harmless animals, and these are not shedders of blood: and if such an act should be inadvertently perpetrated by any individuals, destructive animals are then appointed to retaliate on them, as we have explained under the head of the ox.

The best mode to be adopted by merciful men for putting to death destructive creatures, such as fowls, sparrows, and the like, is the following: let them open a vein, so that it may die from the effusion of blood: there are many precepts of this kind recorded in the Jashen Sudah of the Móbed Hoshyár: but philosophers, eminent doctors, and durveshes who abandon the world, never commit such acts: it is however indispensably necessary that a king, in the course of government, should inflict on the evildoer the retaliation due to his conduct. The Móbed Hoshyár relates, in the Sarud-i-Mastán, that in the time of Kaíomors and Siamak, no animal of any kind was slain, as they were all obedient to the commands of these princes. So that one of the Farjúd , or miraculous powers possessed by the Yezdanian chiefs of Iran, from Kaíomors to Jemshíd, was their appointing a certain class of officers to watch over the animal creation, so that they should not attack each other. For instance, a lion was not permitted to destroy any animal, and if he killed one in the chase, he met with due punishment; consequently no creature was slain or destroyed, and carnage fell into such disuse among noxious animals, that they were all reckoned among the innoxious. However, the skins of animals which had died a natural death were taken off, and in the beginning used as clothing by Kaíomors and his subjects: but they were latterly satisfied with the leaves of trees. Those who embrace the tenets of this holy race attribute this result to the miraculous powers of these monarchs, and some profound thinkers regard it as effected by a talisman; whilst many skilled in interpretation hold it to be an enigmatical mode of expression: thus, the animal creation submitting to government implies, the justice of the sovereigns; their vigilance in extirpating corruption and evil, and producing good. In short, when in the course of succession the Gilsháíyán crown came to Húshang, he enjoined the people to eat the superabundant eggs of ducks, domestic fowls, and such like, but not to such a degree that, through their partaking of such food, the race of these creatures should become extinct. When the throne of sovereignty was adorned by the presence of Tahmúras, he said, “It is lawful for carnivorous and noxious creatures to eat dead bodies:” that is, if a lion find a lifeless stag, or a sparrow a dead worm, they may partake of them. In the same manner, when Jemshid assumed the crown, he enacted: “If men of low caste eat the flesh of animals which die a natural death, they commit no sin.” The reason why people do not at present eat of animals which died in the course of nature, is, that their flesh engenders disease, as the animal died of some distemper: otherwise there is no sin attached to the eating of it. When Jemshid departed to the mansions of eternity, Deh Ak,¹ the Arab, slew and partook of all animals indifferently, whether destructive or harmless, so that the detestable practice became general. When Faridún had purged the earth from the pollution of Zohák's tyranny, he saw that some creatures, hawks, lions, wolves, and others of the destructive kind, gave themselves up to the chase in violation of the original covenant: he therefore enjoined the slaughter of these classes. After this, Jraj permitted men of low caste, that is the mass of the people, to partake of destructive creatures, such as domestic fowls (which prey upon worms), also sparrows and such like, in killing which no sin is incurred: but the holy Yezdanians never polluted their mouths with flesh, or killed savage animals for themselves, although they slew them for others of the same class. For example, the hawk, lion, and other rapacious animals of prey were kept in the houses of the great, for the purpose of inflicting punishment on other destructive animals, and not that men should partake of them: for eating flesh is not an innate quality in men, as whenever they slay animals for food, ferocity settles in their nature, and that aliment introduces habits of rapacity: whereas the true meaning of putting destructive animals to death, is the extirpation of wickedness. The Yezdanians also have certain viands, which people at present confound with animals and flesh: for instance, they give the name of barah, “lamb,” to a dish composed of the zingú, or egg-mushroom; gaur, or “onager” is a dish made out of cheese: with many others of the same kind. Although they kill destructive animals in the chase, they never eat of them; and if in their houses they kill one destructive animal for the food of another, such as a sparrow for a hawk, it is done by a man styled Dazhkím, or executioner, who is lower than a Milar, called in Hindi, Juharah or “sweeper,” and in modern language Hallál Khúr, or one to whom all food is lawful. But the dynasty preceding Gilshah, from whom the Yezdanians derive their tenets, afforded no protection whatever to destructive animals, as they esteemed the protection of the oppressor most reprehensible. In the time of the Gilsháíyán princes, they nourished hawks and such like, for the purpose of retaliating on destructive animals; for example, they let loose the hawk on the sparrow, which is the emblem of Ahriman; and when the hawk grew old, they cut off his head and killed him for his former evil deeds. The first race never kept any destructive creatures, as they esteemed it criminal to afford them protection; and even their destruction never took place in the abodes of righteous and holy persons.

Among the Sipasíyan sect were many exemplary and pious personages, the performers of praiseworthy discipline: with them, however, voluntary austerity implies “religious practices” or Saluk, and consists not in extreme suffering, which they hold to be an evil, and a retribution inflicted for previous wicked deeds. According to this sect, the modes of walking in the paths of God are manifold: such as seeking God; the society of the wise; retirement and seclusion from the world; purity of conduct; universal kindness; benevolence; reliance on God; patience; endurance; contentedness; resignation; and many such like qualities—as thus recorded in the Sarúd-i-Mustán of the Móbed Hushyar. The Móbed Khodá Jáí, in the “Cup of Kái Khusró,” a commentary on the text of the poem of the venerable Azar Kaivan, thus relates: “He who devotes himself to walking in the path of God, must be well-skilled in the medical sciences, so that he may rectify whatever predominates or exceeds in the bodily humours: in the next place, he must banish from his mind all articles of faith, systems, opinions, ceremonials, and be at peace with all: he is to seat himself in a small and dark cell, and gradually diminish the quantity of his food.” The rules for the diminution of food are thus laid down in the Sharistan of the holy doctor Ferzanah Bahram, the son of Farhád: “From his usual food, the pious recluse is every day to subtract three direms, until he reduces it to ten direms weight: he is to sit in perfect solitude, and give himself up to meditation.” Many of this sect have brought themselves to one direm weight of food: their principal devotional practice turning on these five points: namely, fasting, silence, waking, solitude, and meditation on God. Their modes of invoking God are manifold, but the one most generally adopted by them is that of the Múk Zhúp: now in the Azanan or Pehlevi, Múk signifies “four,” and Zhúp “a blow;” this state of meditation is also called Char Sang, “the four weights,” and Char Kúb, “the four blows.” The next in importance is the siyá zhúp, “the three weights” or “three blows.” The sitting postures among these devotees are numerous; but the more approved and choice are limited to eighty-four; out of these they have selected fourteen; from the fourteen they have taken five; and out of the five two are chosen by way of eminence: with respect to these positions, many have been described by the Móbud Sarúsh in the Zerdúsht Afshár: of these two, the choice position is the following: The devotee sits on his hams, cross-legged, passing the outside of the right foot over the left thigh, and that of the left foot over the right thigh; he then passes his hands behind his back, and holds in his left hand the great toe of the right foot, and in the right hand the great toe of the left foot, fixing his eyes intently on the point of the nose: this position they call Farnishin, “the splendid seat,” but by the Hindi Jogies it is named the Padma ásan,¹ or “Lotus seat.” If he then repeat the Zekr-i-Mukzhub, he either lays hold of the great toes with his hands, or if he prefer, removes his feet off the thighs, seating himself in the ordinary position, which is quite sufficient—then, with closed eyes, the hands placed on the thighs, the armpits open, the back erect, the head thrown forward, and fetching up from the navel with all his force the word Nist, he raises his head up: next, in reciting the word Hésti, he inclines the head towards the right breast; on reciting the word Magar , he holds the head erect; after which he utters Yezdan, bowing the head to the left breast, the seat of the heart. The devotee makes no pause between the words thus recited; nay, if possible, he utters several formularies in one breath, gradually increasing their number. The words of the formulary (Nist hesti magar yezdan, “there is no existence save God”) are thus set forth: “Nothing exists but God; or, “There is no God, but God;” or, “There is no adoration except for what is adorable;” or this, “He to whom worship is due is pure and necessarily existent;” or, “He who is without equal, form, color, or model.” It is permitted to use this formulary publicly, but the inward meditation is most generally adopted by priests and holy persons; as the senses become disturbed by exclamations and clamors, and the object of retirement is to keep them collected. In the inward meditation, the worshipper regards three objects as present: “God, the heart, and the spirit of his Teacher;” whilst he revolves in his heart the purport of this formulary: “There is nothing in existence but God.” But if he proceeds to the suppression of breath, which is called the “knowledge of Dam and Súmrad,” or the science of breath and imagination, he closes not the eyes, but directs them to the tip of the nose, as we have before explained under the first mode of sitting: this institute has also been recorded in the Surud-i-Mastan, but the present does not include all the minute details.¹ It is thus recorded in the Zerdúsht Afshár; the worshipper having closed the right nostril, enumerates the names of God from once to sixteen times, and whilst counting draws his breath upwards; after which he repeats it twenty-two times, and lets the breath escape out of the right nostril, and whilst counting propels the breath aloft; thus passing from the six Kháns or stages to the seventh; until from the intensity of imagination he arrives to a state in which he thinks that his soul and breath bound like the jet of a fountain to the crown of the head: they enumerate the seven stages, or the seven degrees, in this order: 1st, the position of sitting; 2d, the hips; 3d, the navel; 4th, the pine-heart; 5th, the windpipe; 6th, the space between the eyebrows; and 7th, the crown of the head. As causing the breath to mount to the crown of the head is a power peculiar to the most eminent persons; so, whoever can convey his breath and soul together to that part, becomes the vicegerent of God. According to another institute, the worshipper withdraws from all senseless pursuits, sits down in retirement, giving up his heart to his original world on high, and without moving the tongue, repeats in his heart Yezdan! Yezdan! or God! God! which address to the Lord may be made in any language, as Hindi, Arabic, etc. Another rule is, the idea of the Instructor: the worshipper imagines him to be present and is never separated from that thought, until he attains to such a degree, that the image of his spiritual guide is never absent from the mind's eye, and he then turns to contemplate his heart: or he has a mirror before his sight, and beholds his own form, until, from long practice, it is never more separated from the heart, to which he then directs himself: or he sits down to contemplate his heart, and reflects on it as being in continual movement. In all these cases he regards the practices of the suppression of the breath as profitable for the abstraction of thought: an object which may also be effected without having recourse to it.

Another rule is, what they call ázád áwá, or the “free voice;” in Hindi Ánahid; and in Arabic Sáut Mutluk, or “the absolute sound.” Some of the followers of Mohammed relate, that it is recorded in the traditions, that a revelation came to the venerable prophet of Arabia resembling “the tones of a bell,” which means the “Sáut Mutluk:” which Hafiz of Shiraz expresses thus:

The mode of hearing it is after this manner: the devotees direct the hearing and understanding to the brain, and whether in the gloom of night, in the house, or in the desert, hear this voice, which they esteem as their Zikker, or “address to God.” Azizi¹ thus expresses himself:

Then having opened the eyes and looking between the eyebrows, a form appears. Some of those who walk in the path of religious poverty among the followers of Mohammed (on whom be benedictions!) assert that the expression Kab Kausain, “I was near two bows' length,” alludes to this vision. Finally, if they prefer it, having closed the eyes for some time, they reflect on the form which appeared to them on looking between the eyebrows; after which they meditate on the heart; or without contemplating the form, they commence by looking into the heart; and closing both eyes and ears, give themselves up entirely to meditation on the heart, abandoning the external for the internal: whoever can thus contemplate obtains all that he wants; but

Finally the searcher after the Being who is without equal or form, without color or pattern, whom they know and comprehend in the Parsi under the name of “Izad,” in Arabic by the blessed name of “Allah,” and in Hindi as “Para Brahma Náráyan a,”¹ contemplates him without the intervention of Arabic, Persian, Hindi, or any other language, keeping the heart in his presence, until he, bei ngrescued from the shadows of doubt, is identified with God. The venerable Maulaví Jami says on this head:

They hold that reunion with the first principle, which the Sufees interpret by evanescence and permanence, means not, according to the distinguished Ishrakian² or Platonists of Persia, that the beings of accident or creation are blended with him whose existence is necessary, or that created beings cease to exist; but that when the sun of the first cause manifests himself, then apparently all created beings, like the stars in the sun's light, are absorbed in his divine effulgence; and if the searcher after God should continue in this state, he will comprehend how they become shrouded through the sun's overpowering splendor, or like the ecstatic Sufees he will regard them as annihilated: but the number of Sufís who attain to this state is exceedingly small, and the individuals themselves are but little known to fame. This volume would not be sufficient to enumerate the amount of those lights (precepts) which direct the pilgrim on his course, but the venerable Azur Kaiván has treated at large on this head in the Jám-i-Kai Khusró.

It is, however, necessary to mention that there are four states of vision; the first, Núníar,¹ or that which is seen during sleep: by sleep is meant that state when the subtile fumes arising from the food taken into the stomach mounting up to the brain, overpower external perceptions at the time of repose: whatever is then beheld is called in Farsi Tínáb, in Arabic Rúyá, and in Hindi Svapna.² The state beyond this dignity is Susvapna,³ in Arabic Ghaib or “mysterious,” and in the popular language of the Hindoos Sukhásváda¹ or Samádhi² (suspending the connexion between soul and body), which is as follows: when divine grace is communicated from the worlds on high, and the transport arising from that grace locks up external perceptions, whatever is beheld during that state is called Binab or “revelation:” but that state into which the senses enter, or Hóshwázhen, “a trance,” which is expressed in Arabic by Sahú or “recovering from ebriety,” and in Hindi by Jagrat,³ “awaking,” and Pratyaya “evidence,”⁴ means that state in which divine grace being communicated, without the senses being overpowered, it transports the person for the time being to the world of reality: whatever he beholds in this state is called Bínáb or Mâainah “reality.” The state higher than this is the power of the soul to quit the body and to return to it, which is called in Farsi Nívah-i-chaminah, in Arabic Melkát Khalâ-baden, and in Hindu prapura paroksha.⁵

They affirm that the bodies occupied by some souls resemble a loose garment, which may be put off at pleasure; so that they can ascend to the world of light, and on their return become reunited with the material elements. The difference between Sahú and Khalâ is this: Sahú means, being absorbed in meditation on the communication of divine grace, so that, without a relaxation of the senses, the person may, for the time being, actually abide in the invisible world: whereas Khalâ means, that the individual, whenever he pleases, separates himself from the body and returns to it when he thinks fitting. The spiritual Maulavi thus says:

According to this sect there are seven worlds: the first is absolute existence and pure being, which they call Arang¹ or “divinity;” the second is the world of intelligences, which they call Birang or “the empyreal; the third is that of souls, called Alrang or the angelic; the fourth that of the superior bodies, or Nirang; the fifth, the elementary or Rang; the sixth the compounds of the four elements, or Rang-a-Rang: but according to the Sufís all bodies, whether superior or inferior, are named Málk or region; the seventh is Sarang, which is that of man or of human beings: but in some Parsi treatises they term these seven regions the seven true realities: however, if the author were to describe minutely the articles and ceremonies of this sect, their details would require so many volumes, that contenting himself with what has been stated, he now proceeds to describe some of their most distinguished followers of later times.