which is given by Îsvara-Krishna, or at all events by the author of the 72nd of his Kârikâs, should occur and be accounted for in the Tattva-samâsa, as containing the 17 (enumerated in 64 and 65), and the 33, previously exhibited in 62 and 63, together with the 10 Mûlikârthas or fundamental facts which together would make up the sixty topics of the Shashti-tantra. At the end of the 25 great topics of the Tattva-samâsa we find the straightforward declaration Iti tattva-samâsâkhya-sâm khya-sûtrâni,' Here end the Sâmkhya-Sûtras called Tattva-samâsa.

At first sight, no doubt, Samâsa seems to mean a mere abstract; but Samâsa may be used also in opposition to Brihat, and there is no other work in existence of which it could be called an abstract, certainly not either of the Kârikâs or of the modern Sutras, such as we possess them. The whole arrangement is different from the other and more recent treatments of Sâmkhya - philosophy. The three kinds of pain, for instance, which generally form the starting-point of the whole system, are relegated to the very end as a separate topic. We meet with technical subjects and technical terms which are not to be found at all in other and, as it would seem, more modern Sâmkhya works. The smallness of the Tattva-samâsa can hardly be used as an argument against its ever having been an important work, for we find similar short, yet old Sûtra-works, for instance, the Sarvânukrama and other Anukramanis described in my History of Ancient Sanskrit Literature1. However, in matters

1 These Anukramas have been very carefully published in the Anecdota Oxoniensia by Professor Macdonell, to whom I had handed over my materials.

of this kind we must avoid being too positive either in denying or asserting the age and authenticity of Sanskrit texts. All I can say is that there is no mark of modern age in their language, though the commentary is, no doubt, of a later date. What weighs with me is the fact that Indian Pandits evidently considered the Tattva-samâsa-Sutras as the original outlines of the Sâmkhya-philosophy, while the idea that they are a later spurious production rests, as far as I can see at present, on no real argument whatever.

Anteriority of Vedanta or Sâmkhya.

It must be clear from all this how useless it would be, with the limited means at our disposal, to attempt to prove the anteriority either of the Vedanta or of the Sâmkhya, as systems of philosophy, and as distinguished from the Sûtras in which we possess them. External or historical evidence we have none, and internal evidence, though it may support a suggestion, can but seldom amount to positive proof. We can understand how, outof the seeds scattered about in the Upanishads, there could arise in time the systematic arrangement and final representation of systems such as have been handed down to us in the Sûtras of the Vedanta, the Sâmkhya, and the other schools. It cannot be denied that in the Upanishad period Vedantic ideas are certainly more prevalent than those of the Sâmkhya. I go even a step further and admit that the Sâmkhya-philosophy may have been a kind of toning down of the extreme Monism of the Advaita Vedânta. I think we can enter into the misgivings and fears of those who felt

startled by the unflinching Monism of the Vedanta, at least as interpreted by the school which was represented rather than founded by Samkara. Now, the two points which are most likely to have caused difficulty or given offence to ordinary consciences, would seem to have been the total denial of what is meant by the reality of the objective world, and the required surrender of all individuality on the part of the subject, that is, of ourselves. These are the points which seem most startling even to ourselves, and it is quite possible that they may have given rise to another system free from these startling doctrines, such as we find in the Sâmkhya. They certainly formed the chief stumbling-block to Râmânuga and those who had come before him, such as Bodhâyana and other Pûrvâkâryas, and led them to propound their own more human interpretation of the Vedânta, though sacrificing the Îsvara in order to save the reality of each Purusha.

These conflicting views of the world, of the soul, and of God, emerge already in the Upanishads; and in a few of them, the Svetâsvatara, Maitray, and Katha Upanishads, for instance, there are utterances that come very near to what we know as Sâmkhya rather than Vedânta doctrines. Vedanta ideas preponderate, however, so decidedly in the Upanishad literature, that we can well understand that in the oral tradition of the schools the Sâmkhya doctrines should have exercised a limited influence only, whatever favour they may have found with those who were repelled by the extreme views of the monistic Vedanta. The followers of Kapila had an advantage over the Vedântists in admitting

a Prakriti, or a something objective, independent of Brahman or Purusha, though called into life and activity by the look of Purusha only, and disappearing when that look ceased. They were also less opposed to the common consciousness of mankind in admitting the reality of individual souls. Dualism is always more popular than rigorous Monism, and the Sâmkhya was clearly dualistic when it postulated nature, not only as the result of Avidyâ or Mâyâ, but as something real in the ordinary sense of that word, and when it allowed to the individual souls or Givas also an independent character. It should be remembered that the denial

of an Ísvara or personal Lord did not probably form part of the original Sâmkhya, as presented to us in the Tattva-samâsa. It would seem therefore that on these very important points the Sâmkhya was more conciliatory and less defiant to the common sense of mankind than the Vedanta, and though this is far from proving that it was therefore posterior to the Vedânta in its severest form, it might well be accepted as an indication that these two streams of thought followed parallel courses, starting from a common fund of ancient Vedic thoughts, but diverging afterwards, the Vedânta unflinchingly following its straight course, the other, the Sâmkhya, avoiding certain whirlpools of thought which seemed dangerous to the ordinary swimmer. To the people at large it would naturally seem as if the Vedanta taught the oneness of all individual souls or subjects in Brahman, and the illusory character of all that is objective, while the Sâmkhya allowed at all events the temporary reality of the objective world and the multiplicity of individual

souls. Of course, we must leave it an open question for the present whether the extreme monistic view of the Veda was due to Samkara, or whether, like Râmânuga, he also could claim the authority of Pûrvâkâryas in his interpretation of Bâdarâyana's Sutras. If that were so, the difference between the two systems would certainly seem to be irreconcilable, while minor differences between them would in India at least admit of a friendly adjust

ment.

Atheism and Orthodoxy.

Even on what seems to us so vital a point in every philosophy as theism or atheism, Indian philosophers seem to have been able to come to an understanding and a compromise. We must remember that in the eyes of the Brahmans the Sâmkhya is atheistic and yet orthodox. This seems to us impossible; but the fact is that orthodoxy has a very different meaning in India from what it has with us. What we mean by orthodoxy was with them not much more than a recognition of the supreme authority of the Veda. The Sâmkhya, whatever we may think of its Vedic character, never denies the authority of the Veda in so many words, though it may express a less decided submission to it. Whether in its origin the Sâmkhya was quite independent of the Veda, is difficult to say. Some scholars think that the recognition of the supreme authority of the Sruti was an afterthought with Kapila, a mere stroke of theological diplomacy. But if so, we should be forced to admit that the Sâmkhya philosophers wished, by means of this diplomacy, to be raised to the same position which others, such as the Vedântists, had occupied before them; and so far it might seem to indicate