Analogy is very largely used in the elucidation and explanation of various principles in Oriental philosophy, and with more or less effect. In most cases, they serve a very important function, and many truths there are, which by reason of their dealing with the ultimate existences can alone be demonstrated by such analogies, and not by any other kind of proof. In the use of such analogies there are great dangers also, and the analogy may look so plausible that one is apt to be carried away by it, without noting the inherent flaws in it, and which a little closer investigation will clearly bring out. Care should, however, be taken to distinguish between analogies which are merely similes or metaphors, based on a mere semblance, and intended merely to bring home to our minds, the subject matter in a more impressive and clearer light, and analogies strictly so-called, intended as proof. In the latter case, mere semblance alone will not do, and there must be sameness in the various parts of the illustration and the thing illustrated. Neglect of this rule often leads to great confusion and error in thought.

If for the particular inference desired, the antecedents conform to the antecedents in the analogy, the inference will be quite justified, if it conforms to the consequence in the analogy; and it would be simply illogical to strain the illustration to other purposes and to extremes. Analogy at best is but an indifferent kind of proof, and where we do not take the proper precautions in using it, its value in philosophic argument will be almost nothing. Another source of error in the use of analogies by Indian writers is the brevity of expressions which is characteristic of such analogies, as we meet them in some of the most ancient books. Where the analogy is taken literally, without supplying the necessary parts and ellipses, they cannot but lead one astray.

There is one school of philosophers in India, who are inordinately fond of these similes and who at almost every step seek the aid of a simile to help them out of their position; and these similes have now only become too much hackneyed, and they pass from mouth to mouth, and even educated persons repeat them parrot-like, who would easily find out the fallacy, if the matter is only put before them for a moment. We expected at least those learned in the lore of the West to explain their subject instead of building all their argument on the strength of these doubtful similes and in this respect, even European scholars are not without reproach. For what shall we say of a scholar like Dr. Paul Deussen, if he gives expression to the following false analogy? Says he, "And then for him, when death comes, no more Samsara. He enters into Brahman, like streams into the ocean: he leaves behind him nama and rupa, he leaves behind him individuality; but he does not leave behind him his Atman, his Self. It is not the falling of the drop into the infinite ocean, it is the whole ocean, becoming free from the fetters of ice, returning from its frozen state to that what it is really and has never ceased to be, to its own all pervading, eternal, almighty nature." In these few lines, he crowds together as may fallacies as there are words in it, and we have neither the time nor patience to indicate all of them.

We will however point out the most glaring of them. The soul returning from its migrations to its resting place, its final goal was the stream returning to the bosom of the mighty ocean. When the stream joins the ocean, it loses its name and form? Does it really do so, and if it did what of that, how is it in any way changed? What we generally call a stream is a small body of water flowing between two banks. The water by itself without its local connection cannot be called the stream. The moment the water leaves its local connection, it ceases to be called stream. So it is not really the stream that flows into the ocean but that the water of the stream flowed. into and mixed with the water of the ocean. What makes really the difference between the ocean and the stream is the diflference in the largeness and smallness of the respective bodies, and the largeness and smallness of the receptacle. The water, in either receptacle, is acted on by the sun and wind, is tempest-tossed and discoloured and made muddy. The juggle by which the learned Doctor converts the stream water, nay a drop, into a mighty ocean is not manifest in the illustration.

The drop or the stream water is the drop or the stream water in the bosom of the ocean though, for the time being, we are unable to distinguish its identity. When the identity is lost, its individuality is not seen, is lost in a sense also. The water remains as water and has not lost its nama and rupa, though this water gets other names by other accidents. It is the accident that determines the more specific name, and we will have to enquire how the thing acquired this accident or became parted from it. Then we come to the figure of the frozen ocean and the free ocean. Here is a jump from one figure to another. The bound soul was formerly the stream, and the freed soul the ocean. In either case, we observed above, the two bodies of water were subject to the same changeability and disabilities except that one was larger than the other. Now, the bound soul is the frozen ocean and the freed soul is the ocean after it had thawed. And the learned Doctor speaks of the fetters of ice. What does it matter to the ocean whether it was in a frozen condition or otherwise? How does it cease to be almighty, all-pervading and eternal when it is frozen than when, it was not? One would think that if the ocean's wishes were to be consulted, it would much better like to be frozen tl an not, as it would not be subjected to the mercy of the Wind, and the Sun and the Moon. Water is water whether it remains a liquid or a gas or a solid substance.

And it would be mere rhetoric to ascribe fetters to it. And this fetter is real or fancied, either an evil or a good. If real and an evil, how did this fetter happen to be put on. If not, why try to get rid of the fetter? The fetter was put on by the ocean's own will or by another will, more powerful still. If the ocean put it on by its own will, it may do so again, and there is no inducement for anybody to try to get rid of this fetter, and "the strongest support of pure morality, the greatest consolation in the sufferings of life and death" would surely be undermined. If by another's will, who is the greater than this Atman; no doubt the Paramatman, which ends in veritable dualism. In the case of the ocean itself, it did not become frozen by its own will or power. As water, its nature is unstable and changeable, and the change is brought about by other causes. If we apply heat to it, its liquid condition disappears and it becomes a gas. Withdraw the heat, and the more you do it, the water becomes more solid, and in the arctic regions, where the sun, thousands of times more powerful than the ocean water, is altogether absent for several months, the water gets affected by cold and darkness, and gets fettered in ice.