THE EQUINOX
(usually she) knows more about my future than is altogether
pleasant ; I claim nothing absolute from my Samadhi—I know
only too well the worthlessness of single-handed observations,
even on so simple a matter as a boiling-point determination!
—and as for his (usually her) future, I content myself with
mere common sense about the probable end of a fool.
So that after all I keep my scepticism intact—and I keep
my Samadhi intact. The one balances the other; I care
nothing for the vulgar brawling of these two varlets of my
mind! .
Vil
If, however, you would really like to know what might be
said on the soldierly side of the question, I shall endeavour
to oblige.
It is necessary if a question is to be intelligibly put that
the querent should be on the same plane as the quesited.
Answer is impossible if you ask: Are round squares
triangular? or Is butter virtuous? or How many ounces go
to the shilling? for the “questions” are not really questions
at all.
So if you ask me Is Samadhi real? I reply: First, I pray
you, establish a connection between the terms. What do you
mean by Samadhi?
There is a physiological (or pathological; never mind
now!) state which I call Samadhi; and that state is as real—
in relation to man—as sleep, or intoxication, or death.
Philosophically, we may doubt the existence of all of these ;
but we have no grounds for discriminating between them—
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