Of the Hindoo Philosophy.—Dissertation on Languages.—Of the peculiar political Constitution and Theocratic Government of the Hebrews.—Of the Mosaic Genealogy of Nations.
The Indian philosophy, from the place it holds in the primitive intellectual history of Asia, and from the insight it gives us into the character and peculiar tendency of the human mind in that early period, possesses a high, almost higher, interest than that offered by the beautiful and captivating poetry of this ancient people. However, even the poetry of the Indians contains much that refers to, or bears the stamp of, that peculiar mystical philosophy which we have more than once spoken of. We shall give a more correct and comprehensive idea of the Indian philosophy, if we observe, beforehand, that the six Indian systems which are the most prevalent and the most celebrated, and which, though in many points differing from the Vedas, are not to be regarded as entirely reprehensible or heterodox, the six Indian systems, we say, must be classed in couples, and that the first of each pair treats of the beginning of the subject discussed in the second, and the second contains the development and extension of the principles laid down in the first, or applies those principles to another and higher object of enquiry. In the whole Indian philosophy, there are in fact only three different modes of thought, or three systems absolutely divergent, and we shall give a sufficiently clear idea of these systems, if we say that the first is founded on nature,—the second on thought, or on the thinking self; and the third attaches itself exclusively to the revelation comprised in the Vedas. The first system which seems to be one of the most ancient, bears the name of the SanchyÁ philosophy—a name which signifies "the philosophy of Numbers." This is not to be understood in the Pythagorean sense, that numbers are the principle of all things, or according to the very similar principle laid down in the Chinese books of I—King, where we find the eight koua, or the symbolic primary lines of all existence. But the SanchyÁ system bears this name because it reckons successively the first principles of all things and of all being to the number of four or five-and-twenty. Among these first principles, it assigns the highest place to Nature—the second to understanding, and by this is meant not merely human understanding, but general and even Infinite Intelligence; so that we may consider this system as a very partial philosophy of Nature; and indeed it has been regarded by some Indian writers as atheistical—a censure in which the learned Englishman, Mr. Colebrooke, (to whose extracts and notices we are indebted for our most precise information on this whole branch of Indian literature)[52] seems almost inclined to concur. This system was however, by no means a coarse materialism, or a denial of the Divinity and of every thing sacred. The doubts expressed in the passages cited by Mr. Colebrooke, are directed far more against the Creation than against God; they regard the motive which could have induced the Supreme Being, the Spirit of Infinite perfection to create the external world, and the possibility of such a creation.
The SanchyÁ Philosophy would be more properly designated in our modern Philosophic phraseology as a system of complete Dualism, where two substances are represented as coexistent—on one hand, a self-existent energy of Nature, which emanated, or eternally emanates, from itself; and on the other hand, eternal truth, or the Supreme and Infinite Mind.
The Indian Philosophers in general were so inclined to regard the whole outward world of sense as the product of illusion, as a vain and idle apparition, that we can well imagine they were unable to reconcile the creation of such a world (which appeared to them a world of darkness, or perhaps, on a somewhat higher scale, as an intermediate state of illusion) with their mystical notion of the infinite perfection of the Supreme Being and Eternal Spirit. For even in ethics, they were wont to place the idea of Supreme Perfection in a state of absolute repose, but not (at least to an equal degree) in the state of active energy or exertion. Great as the error of such a system of dualism may be—there is yet a mighty difference between a philosophy which denies, or at least misconceives, the Creation, and one which denies the existence of the Deity; for such atheism never occurred to the minds of those philosophers. The doctrine of a primary self-existing energy in Nature, or of the eternity of the Universe, may in a practical point of view, appear as gross an error; but in philosophy we must make accurate distinctions, and forbear to place this ancient dualism on the same level with that coarse materialism—that destructive and atheistic Atomical philosophy, or any other doctrines professed by the later sects of a dialectic Rationalism.
Valuable, undoubtedly, as are such extracts and communications from the originals in a branch of human science still so little known, yet they will not alone suffice, and, without a certain philosophic flexibility of talent in the enquirer, they will fail to afford him a proper insight into the true nature, the real spirit and tendency of those ancient systems of philosophy. That the Indian philosophy, even when it has started from the most opposite principles, and when its circuitous or devious course has branched more or less widely from the common path, is sure to wind round, and fall into the one general track—the uniform term of all Indian philosophy—is well exemplified by the second part of the SanchyÁ system (called the Yoga philosophy), where we find a totally different principle proclaimed; and while it utterly abandons the primary doctrine of a self-existent principle in Nature laid down in the first part of the philosophy, it unfolds those maxims of Indian mysticism which recur in every department of Hindoo literature. That total absorption in the one thought of the Deity, that entire abstraction from all the impressions and notions of sense—that suspension of all outward, and in part even of inward, life effected by the energy of a will tenaciously fixed and entirely concentrated on a single point; and by which, according to the belief of the Indians, miraculous power and supernatural knowledge are attained,—are held up in the second part of the SanchyÁ system as the highest term of all mental exertion. The word Yoga signifies the complete union of all our thoughts and faculties with God—by which alone the soul can be freed—that is, delivered from the unhappy lot of transmigration; and this, and this only, forms the object of all Indian philosophy.
The Indian name of Yogi is derived from the same word, which designates this philosophy. The Indian Yogi is a hermit or penitent who, absorbed in this mystic contemplation, remains often for years fixed immoveably to a single spot. In order to give a lively representation of a phenomenon so strange to us, which appears totally incredible and almost impossible, although it has been repeatedly attested by eye-witnesses, and is a well-ascertained historical fact; I will extract from the drama of SacontalÁ by the poet Calidas, a description of a Yogi, remarkable for its vivid accuracy, or, to use the expression of the German commentator, its fearful beauty. King Dushmanta enquires of Indra's charioteer the sacred abode of him whom he seeks; and to this the charioteer replies:[53] "a little beyond the grove, where you see a pious Yogi, motionless as a pollard, holding his thick bushy hair and fixing his eyes on the solar orb. Mark:—his body is half covered with a white ant's edifice made of raised clay; the skin of a snake supplies the place of his sacerdotal thread, and part of it girds his loins; a number of knotty plants encircle and wound his neck; and surrounding birds' nests almost conceal his shoulders." We must not take this for the invention of fancy, or the exaggeration of a poet; the accuracy of this description is confirmed by the testimony of innumerable eye-witnesses, who recount the same fact, and in precisely similar colours. During that period of wonderful phenomena and supernatural powers—the first three centuries of the Christian church—we meet with only one Simon Stylites, or column-stander;—and his conduct is by no means held up by Christian writers as a model of imitation, but is regarded, at best, as an extraordinary exception permitted on certain special grounds. In the Indian forests and deserts, and in the neighbourhood of those holy places of pilgrimage mentioned above, there are many hundreds of these hermits—these strange human phenomena of the highest intellectual abstraction or delusion. Even the Greeks were acquainted with them, and, among so many other wonders, make mention of them in their description of India under the name of the Gymnosophists. Formerly such accounts would have been regarded as incredible and as exceeding the bounds of possibility; but such conjectures can be of no avail against historical facts repeatedly attested and undeniably proved. Now that men are better acquainted with the wonderful flexibility of human organization, and with those marvellous powers which slumber concealed within it, they are less disposed to form light and hasty decisions on phenomena of this description. The whole is indeed a magical intellectual self-exaltation, accomplished by the energy of the will concentrated on a single point: and this concentration of the mind, when carried to this excess, may lead not merely to a figurative, but to a real intellectual self-annihilation, and to the disorder of all thought, even of the brain. While on the one hand we must remain amazed at the strength of a will so tenaciously and perseveringly fixed on an object purely spiritual, we must, on the other hand, be filled with profound regret at the sight of so much energy wasted for a purpose so erroneous, and in a manner so appalling.
The second species of Indian philosophy, totally different from the other two kinds, and which proceeds not from Nature, but from the principle of thought and from the thinking self, is comprised in the NyayÀ system, whose founder was Gautama—a personage whom several of the earlier investigators of Indian literature, particularly Dr. Taylor, in his Translation of the "Prabodha Chandrodaya,"—(page 116.) have confounded with, the founder of the Buddhist sect, as both bear the same name. But a closer enquiry has proved them to be distinct persons; and Mr. Colebrooke himself finds greater points of coincidence or affinity between the SanchyÁ philosophy and Buddhism, than between the latter and the NyayÀ system. This NyayÀ philosophy, proceeding from the act of thought, comprises in the doctrine of particulars, distinctions and subdivisions, the application of the thinking principle; and this part of the system embraces all which among the Greeks went under the name of logic or dialectic; and,which with us is partly classed under the same head. Very many writings and commentaries have been devoted to the detailed treatment and exposition of these subjects, which the Indians, seem to have discussed with almost the same diffuseness, or at least copiousness, as the Greeks. Like the Indians, the learned Englishman, who has first unlocked to our view this department of Indian literature, has paid comparatively most attention to this second part of the NyayÀ philosophy. But all this logical philosophy, though it may furnish one more proof (if such be necessary) of the extreme richness, variety and refinement of the intellectual culture of the Hindoos, yet possesses no immediate interest for the object we here propose to ourselves. Mr. Colebrooke remarks, however, that the fundamental tenets of this philosophy comprise, as indeed is evident, not merely a logic in the ordinary acceptation of the word, but the metaphysics of all logical science. On this part of the subject, I could have wished that in the authentic extracts he has given us from the Sanscrit originals, he had more distinctly educed the leading doctrines of the system, and thus furnished us with the adequate data for forming a judgment on the general character of this philosophy, as well as on its points of coincidence with other systems, and with the philosophy of the Buddhists. For although it appears to be well ascertained that the religion of Buddha sprang out of some perverted system of Hindoo philosophy; yet the points of transition to such a religious creed existing in the Indian systems of philosophy, have not yet been clearly pointed out. The Vedanta philosophy must here evidently be excepted; for to this Buddhism is as much opposed as to the old Indian religion of the Vedas. Moreover that endless confusion and unintelligibleness of the Buddhist metaphysics, which we have before spoken of, may first be traced to the source of Idealism; though in the progress of that philosophy, many errors have been associated with it—errors even which, in its origin, were most widely removed from it; for every system of error asserts and even believes that it is perfectly consistent, though in none is such consistency found.
The basis and prevailing tendency of the NyayÀ system (to judge from the extracts with which we have been furnished) is most decidedly ideal. On the whole we can very well conceive that a system of philosophy beginning with the highest act of thought, or proceeding from the thinking self, should run into a course of the most decided and absolute idealism, and that the general inclination of the Indian philosophers to regard the whole external world of sense as vain illusion, and to represent individual personality as absorbed in the God-head by the most intimate union, should have given birth to a complete system of self-delusion—a diabolic self-idolatry, very congenial with the principles of that most ancient of all anti-Christian sects—the Buddhists.
The Indian authorities cited by Colebrooke, impute to the second part of the NyayÀ philosophy a strong leaning to the atomical system. We must here recollect that, as the Indian mind pursued the most various and opposite paths of enquiry even in philosophy, there were besides the six most prevalent philosophic systems, recognized as generally conformable to religion, several others in direct opposition to the established doctrines on the Deity and on religion. Among these the Charvac philosophy, which, according to Mr. Colebrooke, comprises the metaphysics of the sect of Jains, deserves a passing notice. It is a system of complete materialism founded on the atomical doctrines, such as Epicurus taught, and which met with so much favour and adhesion in the declining ages of Greece and Rome;—doctrines which several moderns have revived in latter times, but which the profound investigations of natural philosophy, now so far advanced, will scarcely ever permit to take root again.
The third species or branch of Indian philosophy, is that which is attached to the Vedas, and to the sacred revelation and traditions they contain. The first part of this philosophy,—the MimansÁ, is, according to Mr. Colebrooke, more immediately devoted to the interpretation of the Vedas, and most probably contains the fundamental rules of interpretation, or the leading principles, whereby independent reason is made to harmonize with the word of revelation conveyed by sacred tradition. The second or finished part of the system is called the Vedanta philosophy. The last word in this term, "Vedanta," which is compounded of two roots, is equivalent to the German word ende (end), or still more to the Latin finis, and denotes the end or ultimate object of any effort; and so the entire term Vedanta will signify a philosophy which reveals the true sense, the internal spirit, and the proper object of the Vedas, and of the primitive revelation of Brahma comprised therein. This Vedanta philosophy is the one which now generally exerts the greatest influence on Indian literature and Indian life; and it is very possible that some of the six recognized, or at least tolerated, systems of philosophy may have been purposely thrown into the back-ground, or, when they clashed too rudely with the principles of the prevailing system, have been softened down by their partisans, and have thus come down to us in that state. A wide field is here opened to the future research and critical enquiries of Indian scholars.
This Vedanta philosophy is in its general tendency, a complete system of Pantheism; but not the rigid, mathematical, abstract, negative Pantheism of some modern thinkers; for such a total denial of all Personality in God, and of all freedom in man, is incompatible with the attachment which the Vedanta philosophy professes for sacred tradition and ancient mythology; and accordingly a modified, poetical, and half-mythological system of Pantheism may here naturally be expected, and actually exists. Even in the doctrine of the immortality of the soul and of the Metempsychosis, the personal existence of the human soul, inculcated by the ancient faith, is not wholly denied or rejected by this more modern system of philosophy; though on the whole it certainly is not exempt from the charge of Pantheism. But all the systems of Indian philosophy tend more or less to one practical aim—namely the final deliverance and eternal emancipation of the soul from the old calamity—the dreaded fate—the frightful lot—of being compelled to wander through the dark regions of Nature—through the various forms of the brute creation—and to change ever anew its terrestrial shape. The second point in which the different systems of Indian philosophy mostly agree is this, that the various sacrifices prescribed for this end in the Vedas, are not free from blame or vice, partly on account of the effusion of blood necessarily connected with animal sacrifice—and partly on account of the inadequacy of such sacrifices to the final deliverance of the soul; useful and salutary though they be in other respects.
The general and fundamental doctrine of the Metempsychosis has rendered the destruction of animals extremely repulsive to Indian feelings, from the strong apprehension that a case may occur where, unconsciously and innocently, one may violate or injure the soul of some former relative in its present integument. But even the Vedas themselves inculcate the necessity of that sublime science which rises above nature, for the attainment of the full and final deliverance of the soul; as is expressed in an old remarkable passage of the Vedas, thus literally translated by Mr. Colebrooke.[54] "Man must recognise the soul—man must separate it from nature—then it comes not again—then it comes not again." These last words signify, then the soul is delivered from the danger of a return to earth—from the misfortune of transmigration, and it remains for ever united to God; an union which can be obtained only by that pure separation from nature, which is that sublimest science, invoked in the first words of this passage.
Animal sacrifices for the souls of the departed, particularly for those of deceased parents, which were regarded as the most sacred duty of the son and of the posterity, were among those religious usages which occupied an important place in the Patriarchal ages, and were most deeply interwoven with the whole arrangement of life in that primitive period, as is evident from all those Indian rites, and the system of doctrines akin to them. These sacrifices are certainly of very ancient origin, and may well have been derived from the mourning Father of mankind, and the first pair of hostile brothers. To these may afterwards have been added all that multitude of religious rites, and doctrines, or marvellous theories respecting the immortal soul and its ulterior destinies. Hence the indispensable obligation of marriage for the Brahmins, in order to insure the blessing of legitimate offspring, regarded as one of the highest objects of existence in the Patriarchal ages, for the prayers of the son only could obtain the deliverance, and secure the repose, of a departed parent's soul; and this was one of his most sacred duties. The high reverence for women, among the Indians, rests on the same religious notion; as is expressed by the old poet in these lines.
"Woman is man's better half,
Woman is man's bosom friend,
Woman is redemption's source,
From Woman springs the liberator."
This last line signifies, what we mentioned above, that the son is the Liberator appointed by God, to deliver by prayer the soul of his deceased father. The poet then continues;—"Women are the friends of the solitary—they solace him with their sweet converse; like to a father, in discharge of duty, consoling as a mother in misfortune."
We should scarcely conceive it possible (and it certainly tends to prove the original power, copiousness and flexibility of the human mind,) that, by the side of a false mysticism totally sunk and lost in the abyss of the eternally incomprehensible and unfathomable, like the Indian philosophy, a rich, various, beautiful and highly wrought poetry should have existed. The Epic narrative of the old Indian poems bears a great resemblance to the Homeric poetry, in its inexhaustible copiousness, in the touching simplicity of its antique forms, in justness of feeling, and accuracy of delineation. Yet in its subjects, and in the prevailing tone of its Mythological fictions, this Indian Epic poetry is characterized by a style of fancy incomparably more gigantic, such as occasionally prevails in the mythology of Hesiod—in the accounts of the old Titanic wars—or in the fabulous world of Æschylus, and of the Doric Pindar. In the tenderness of amatory feeling, in the description of female beauty, of the character and domestic relations of woman, the Indian poetry may be compared to the purest and noblest effusions of Christian poesy; though, on the whole, from the thoroughly mythical nature of its subjects, and from the rhythmical forms of its speech, it bears a greater resemblance to that of the ancients. Among the later poets, Calidas, who is the most renowned and esteemed in the dramatic poetry of the Indians, might be called by way of comparison, an Idyllic and sentimental Sophocles. The poetry of the Indians is not a little indebted to the genius of their beautiful language, which bears indubitable traces of the same generous and lofty poetical spirit; and it may be therefore necessary, in this general sketch of the primitive state of the human mind, to make a few observations on this very remarkable language.
In its grammatical structure the language of India is absolutely similar to the Greek and Latin, even to the minutest particulars. But the grammatical forms of the Sanscrit are far richer and more varied than those of the Latin tongue, and more regular and systematic than those of the Greek. In its roots and words the Sanscrit has a very strong and remarkable affinity to the Persian and Germanic race of languages; an affinity which furnishes interesting disclosures, or gives occasion at least for instructive comparisons, on the progress of ideas among those ancient nations, and, as one and the same word is sometimes extended, sometimes contracted in its meaning or applied to kindred objects—reveals the first natural impressions, or primary notions of life in those early ages. To prove more clearly, by one or two examples, this affinity between the languages of nations so widely removed from one other, and almost separated by the distance of two quarters of the globe, and to shew the important data which the discovery of such facts furnishes to history, I will mention, as a striking instance, that the German word mensch (man) perfectly agrees in root and signification with the Indian word, manuschya, with this only difference, that in the Sanscrit the latter word has a regular root, and is derived from the word manu, which means spirit. Thus the word mensch (man) in its primitive root signifies a being endowed with spirit by way of pre-eminence above all earthly creatures. It is evident, too, from this, that the Latin word mens (mind) is of a cognate kind, and belongs to the same family of words; for, in these philological comparisons, the members of one radical word, scattered through different languages, serve when combined to illustrate each other. To cite an instance of a remarkable extension and contraction of meaning in one and the same word, we may remark that the same word which in the German loch, signifies the space of a narrow aperture, and in the Latin locus, comprehends the general notion of space, as well as of a particular place, means the universe in the Sanscrit lokas. Thus the Sanscrit word trailokas or trailokyan, signifies the three worlds or the triple world—the world of truth or eternal being, the world of illusion or vain appearance, and the world of darkness;—a division which constitutes one of the main points in the Indian philosophy, and is expressed by the two Sanscrit words trai and lokas, which are at the same time also Latin and German. I will adduce but one more example. As mostly the ancient nations of Asia, and likewise of Europe, were led by a certain natural feeling and a not erroneous instinct, (totally independent of the nomenclature and classifications of our natural history,) to regard the bull the most useful and important of all the animals which man has domesticated, as the representative of earthly fertility, and (as it were) the primary animal of the earth, and afterwards made that animal the emblem of all earthly existence and earthly energy; so it is extraordinary to see, (as Augustus William Schlegel has shewn by an interesting comparison of the words which designate either of these objects in various languages of a kindred stem,) it is extraordinary to see what mutual light and illustration they reflect on each other. The Indian and Persian word, gau, with which the German kuh, (cow) perfectly coincides, quite agrees with the Greek word for earth, in the old Doric form of [Greek: ga]: the Latin bos, (ox) in its inflection bovis or bove, belongs to a whole family of Sanscrit words, such as bhu, bhuva, bhumi, which signify the earth or earthly, or whatever is remotely connected therewith. So originally in this language one and the same word served to denote the earth and the bull. Comparisons of this sort, when not strained by etymological subtilty, but founded on matter of fact and clear self-evident deductions, may offer much curious illustration of the state of opinion, and the nature and connexion of ideas in the primitive and mythic ages, or may serve at least to give us a clearer and more lively insight into the secret operations of the human mind, and into the modes of thinking prevalent among ancient nations. And, besides the few instances here cited, we might adduce many hundred examples of a similar kind.
As language in itself forms one of the corner-stones of man's history (and that not the least important), and as the different tongues spread in such amazing variety over the inhabited globe, are essentially connected with universal history, and the history of particular races; it is necessary to say a few words on this subject, not that we would plunge deeper, than is here expedient, into the vast and immense labyrinth of languages; but in order to shew the point of view whence the philosophic historian should take his survey, if he would gain a clear and comprehensive notion of this otherwise immeasurable chaos. Perhaps the shortest way for this would be to figure to oneself all the different dialects and modes of speech diffused over the habitable globe, under the general image of a pyramid of languages of three degrees, separated one from the other by a very simple principle of division. The broad basis of this pyramid would be formed by those languages whose roots and primitive words are mostly monosyllabic, and which either are entirely without a grammar like the Chinese language, or at best display only the rude lineaments of a very simple and imperfect grammatical structure. The languages belonging to this class are by far the most considerable in number, and the most widely spread over the four quarters of the globe; and if, in a general philological investigation, we would wish to reduce these to any species of classification, we must adopt a geographical mode of arrangement, and designate them, for example, as the languages of Northern and Eastern Asia, of America, and of Africa. The Chinese must be considered as the most important and remarkable language of this class, precisely because it best answers to the character of a monosyllabic speech totally destitute of grammar, and has attained to as high a degree of refinement and perfection as languages of this kind are susceptible of. This is the stage of infancy in language, as children's first attempts at speech almost always incline to monosyllables—it is the cry of nature which breaks out in these simple sounds, or the infantine imitation of some natural sound. This primitive character is still to be clearly traced in the Chinese; although a very artificial mode of writing, and the high degree of refinement to which science has been carried, have given a mighty extension, and a quite conventional character, to this infant language. For any parallels or analogies which may be drawn between the periods of natural life and the epochs of intellectual culture must never be understood in an exact and literal sense.
The next degree in this pyramid of speech is occupied by the noble languages of the second class, and this race of languages, which are connected with each other by strong and manifold ties of affinity, are the Indo-Persic, the GrÆco-Latin, and the Gothico-Teutonic[55]. Here the roots are, for the most part at least, dissyllabic; and these roots, which are by this means internally flexible, and become as it were living and productive, afford room and occasion for a more varied grammatical structure. The distinguishing character of these languages is a very artificial grammar, which enters so completely into the primary formation of these languages, that the nearer we approach their original the more regular and systematic do we find their structure. In their progress these languages are characterized by a poetical fullness and variety in the forms of narration, and even by a rigid precision in scientific discussions.
The third and last class are the Semitic languages, as they are styled—the Hebrew and the Arabic, which, together with their kindred dialects, form the summit or apex of this pyramid. In these languages the ruling principle is that all the roots must be trisyllabic, for each of the three letters, of which the root is regularly composed, counts for a syllable, and is articulated as such. Whatever exceptions from this rule exist, must be treated as exceptions only. It cannot well be doubted that this principle of trisyllabic roots is purposely wrought into the whole internal structure of these languages, and perhaps not without some deep significancy—some presentient feeling implied by that triplicity of roots.[56] In these languages the verb is the first principle of derivation—the root from which every thing is deduced, and hence a certain rapidity, fire, and vivacity in the expression. But with such formal regularity the rich, full, elaborate grammatical forms and structure which distinguish the languages of the Indo-Greek race, are not at all compatible;—these trisyllabic tongues have a certain tendency to monotony, and do not certainly possess that poetical variety, and that flexible adaptation to scientific purposes, which characterize the second class of languages. The general characteristic of the Semitic tongues is their peculiar fitness for prophetic inspiration and for profound symbolical import—this is their special character. We speak here of the language itself, and of its internal structure, and not of the spirit which may direct it; and I shall only add that the character we have here assigned to the Semitic languages is according to the declaration of many of the most competent judges, more uniformly perceptible in the Arabic than in the Hebrew, although the former has received a totally different application, and has undergone a very diversified culture. Thus the Hebrew tongue was eminently adapted to the high spiritual destination of the Hebrew people, and was a fit organ of the prophetic revelation and promises imparted to that nation; and, even in this respect, this Semitic language is worthy of being considered the summit of the pyramid of human speech. But it never can be regarded as the basis of that pyramid, nor the root whence all other tongues have sprung, as many scholars in former times conceived—an opinion which would seem tacitly to imply that Adam could have spoken no other language in Paradise but the Hebrew. But this language of the first man created by God—this language which God himself had taught him—this word of Nature which the Deity imparted to man together with the dominion over all other creatures, and over the whole visible world, may have been neither the Hebrew nor the Indian, nor any of the other known or existing languages of the earth. Possibly it was not a speech which we could learn or understand, or which, according to the present scheme of language, we can even conceive or imagine. In the same way no one is capable of proving or discovering the geographical site of the one lost source in Paradise, whence those four rivers took their rise, which are in part to be still traced on the earth. As to the Hebrew language, I think that a deeper inquiry would shew that it is not so far removed from the Indo-Greek family; and that it is even partially related to it, although this affinity may be at first very much concealed by the great difference of structure, and by the total diversity of grammatical forms. In general we must not endeavour to enforce, with too rigid uniformity and too systematic precision, the division of languages here marked out. It suffices to adhere to one general point of survey; but in other respects so luxuriant, so various, so irregular has been the growth of the human mind in the region of languages, that it may be compared to the expansive life of free, uncultivated nature, to the wild variety of the thick-grown forest or of the flowery meadow.
To the second order of languages of the Indo-Greek race, probably belongs the great Sclavonian family of languages, which, after the others, would form the fourth member in this class; but a definite and decisive judgment on this matter, I must leave to those philologists who are perfectly conversant with this branch of human speech. Between the second and third class of languages, there are a multitude of intermediate tongues which have sprung up out of that intermixture of races and nations, occurring at all periods of history, and necessarily affecting more or less language itself. I allude particularly to such languages as are not perfectly monosyllabic, and which have nevertheless a very simple and imperfect, or even a very irregular, strange, and awkward grammatical structure. Such for instance are some of the American languages, which in this respect at least cannot be ranked in the third class, while they do not bear a closer, or at all close, affinity to those of the second. Most of the fragments of the earlier languages of Europe which are still extant, belong to this intermediate class of tongues partaking of both those species, or at least holding a middle place between them. Such are the Celtic or GÆlic languages, the Finnish and other ancient remnants of language, which must not escape the study of the philologist, whose judgment is too frequently warped by some patriotic partiality or some learned predilection.
The noble languages of the second class have from a remote antiquity become indigenous to Europe, and are there now generally prevalent. The other fragments of speech which are to be found on our Continent by the side of these, either bear to them a remote affinity like the various Celtic or GÆlic dialects, or lead the enquirer to the great Asiatic, perhaps even to the African family of tongues; for we could hardly expect to find a native race of languages peculiar to this small quarter of the globe, which holds the lowest place in point of historical antiquity. From the historical connexion between the North of Africa, and the Southern coasts of Western Europe, especially the Hesperian Peninsula, (a connection which has subsisted from the remotest ages, and has been renewed so frequently, and in such various forms), one might be induced to suppose that the existence of this intercourse would have been attested by an affinity between the languages of the two countries. But the ablest scholars and critics cannot trace in the Basque tongue any affinity with the primitive African family, though they can discover in it an analogy with the Scythian race of Finnish languages. The Magiar language at the other eastern extremity of Europe is most decidedly an Asiatic tongue, belonging to that class which prevails in the central regions of Asia; but in its grammatical structure it bears some analogy to the languages of the second class. If, in conclusion I might be allowed to hazard a conjecture, I should say that nothing would more materially contribute to a comprehensive knowledge of the whole system of human language, as well as to a deeper insight into its internal principles and structure, than the success of the now rising school of Egyptian philologists, who, in deciphering the hieroglyphics by the aid of the Coptic, endeavour to give us a more accurate knowledge, or at least a more minute conception, of the old Egyptian tongue. And if we would venture the attempt of approximating nearer to the primitive speech (the lost or extinct source of all languages), we must start from four different quarters, and thread our way not only through the Sanscrit and Hebrew languages, but through the primitive Chinese and the old Egyptian, as far as we can trace the latter.
How extremely alike ancient Egypt and India were to each other, not only in their political Institutions, but in their system of Idolatry, in their fundamental doctrines of belief, and in their general views of life, we have had ample opportunity of satisfying ourselves in the present age, when both these countries have been more accurately surveyed, and more closely investigated. In a remarkable expedition which occurred in our own times, this strong religious sympathy was strikingly displayed in a spontaneous and instantaneous burst of feeling. When, in the course of the French war in Egypt, an Indian army in British pay there landed, and, ascending up the country, came before the old monuments of Upper Egypt, the soldiers prostrated themselves on the earth, believing they had once more found the Deities of their native land. Great, however, as the resemblance between the two nations may be, they are still characterized by perceptible differences. On the one hand the Egyptian mind, so far as it has been delineated by the Greeks, appears to have been more deeply conversant and initiated in natural science: and on the other hand, the Egyptian idolatry was of a more decided cast, and was even more material in its fundamental errors than the Indian. The worship of animals, especially, was far more general, and was not confined to the god Apis, who may be compared to the Nandi, the bull sacred to Siva, but branched out into a variety of other forms. In the progress of Idolatry it needs came to pass that what was originally revered only as the symbol of a higher principle was gradually confounded or identified with that object and worshipped, till this error in worship led to a more degraded form of Idolatry; for it should be remembered that an error is not merely the absence of truth, but a false and counterfeit imitation of the truth, it has, like the latter, a principle of permanent growth and internal development. Several writers, who, in a general review of all heathen religions, have attempted to classify them after the manner of naturalists, assign the lowest place to the Fetish worship so called, which they rank immediately below the worship of animals. They make the essence of this Fetish worship to consist in the divine adoration of a lifeless, corporeal object; while they place on higher degrees, in this scale of Pagan error, the sensual Nature-worship—the apotheosis of particular men—and the adoration of the elements, the stars, and the different powers of Nature. However just and correct this view of the subject may otherwise be, it should be remembered that the question agitated is not only what were the objects of divine worship, but what were the views, intentions, and doctrines connected with that worship. For it is in these moral views we must look, either for the half-effaced vestige of ancient truth, or for the full enormity—the profound abyss of error. When we come to examine more closely the accounts of that Fetish worship (so called) which is most widely diffused though the interior of Africa, and prevails among some American tribes, and nations of the North East of Asia; it is easy to perceive, that magical rites are connected with it, and that all these corporeal objects are but magical instruments and conductors of magical power; and that the religion of these nations, sunk undoubtedly to the lowest grade of idolatry, comprises nothing beyond the rude beginnings of a Pagan magic, such as in all probability was practised by the Cainites, according to historical indications mentioned in an earlier part of this work. That the Egyptian mind had a certain leaning towards magic, though towards a magic of a very different, more comprehensive, and even more profound and scientific nature, cannot be called in question; for all the Hebrew, Greek, and native vouchers and authorities are unanimous in the assertion.
But if the different religions of Paganism must be classed according to their outward rites and outward objects of worship, the diversity of sacrifices would constitute a far better and more important standard of classification. We are taught that a difference in the mode of sacrifice was the principal cause of the dispute between the first two hostile brothers among men. Although, if we were to judge from first impressions and according to human feelings, no sacrifice is so filial, so simple, so appropriate, as that of the first fruits of the earth in returning Spring, (such for instance as the flower-offering of the pious Brahmins, or a similar oblation of thanksgiving among the ancient Persians and other nations); still on account of their deeper import and typical character, the pre-eminence has ever been allotted to animal-sacrifices; and these among the most civilized nations of Pagan antiquity have ever held the foremost place. Of this kind is the great sacrifice of the horse[57] in India, where in ancient times the bull was offered in sacrifice, till the destruction of the latter animal was severely prohibited, and came to be considered as a grievous crime. But there was ever a symbolical meaning attached to this sort of sacrifice,[58] and the victim selected as it was out of the purest and noblest species of domestic animals that surround man (such as the bull, the horse or the lamb), was looked upon only as the representative of another, and the emblem of a far higher victim.
It is an error to consider ancient Paganism as nothing more than mere poetry or agreeable fiction. The rites of the ancient Polytheism had very distinct and practical objects in view; and were intended either to propitiate the malignant powers of darkness, or to obtain by their agency preternatural power, or on the other hand, to conciliate the favour and appease the anger of the Deity. And for this object the Heathens shrunk from no expedient—- deemed no price—no victim too costly, as the existence of human sacrifices, and especially the sacrifice of children may serve to convince us; and I cannot conclude this first part of the ancient history of the world, without bestowing a more particular examination on this extreme aberration of Paganism, which passed by inheritance from the remoter ages to the second, more civilized, and, (in many respects) milder era of history. The species of human sacrifice most widely diffused among all the Phoenician nations was that in which the idol Moloch, heated from below, grasped in his glowing arms the infant victim. Even in the Punic city, Carthage, this cruel custom long prevailed, and was for a long time secretly practised under the Roman domination. These sacrifices existed among the Greeks and Romans, no less than among the Indians and Egyptians; and the Chinese, so far at least as my acquaintance with their authentic records extends, are the only people among whom I do not recollect meeting with any mention of this kind of sacrifice. But in the civilized states of Greece and Rome, this ancient custom was in later and milder times gradually abolished, or silently supplanted by some equivalent.
Besides the sacrifice of children, there was another species which was customary and particularly striking, and in one respect even more worthy the historian's attention—I mean the sacrifice of pure youths. I may here again enforce the maxim which I have before laid down—namely, that error is the most appalling when it is connected in its origin, or mixed up in its principle, with some confused notion—some profound, though obscure, feeling of the truth. Bearing this in mind, we shall find that the enigmatic lamentation of Lamech[59] over his mysterious slaying of a stripling, occurring in the Mosaic account of the Cainites, would seem to indicate that human sacrifices, and especially this particular kind, had their origin among the race of Cain, deeply imbued even at that early period with anti-Christian errors; and that an unhappy delusion—a confused anticipation of a real necessity and of a future reality, contributed to the institution of these sacrifices. Of that great mystery of truth, which the holy Patriarch of the Hebrews, with a prophetic intuition, had discerned in the sacrifice of his well-beloved son commanded him by God, but through the divine mercy not consummated—of this great mystery, we say, a diabolic imitation may have led to the human sacrifices by the early Heathens. But these sacrifices were more widely diffused, even in the Druidical North, and they continued down to a much later period than is commonly supposed, or at present asserted. Thus, for instance, the anti-Christian Emperor Julian sought to revive them, in order to promote the infernal purposes of his dark magical rites. We are so habituated to look on the divinities and beautiful fables of ancient Greece, as the fairy creations of poetry, that we are painfully surprised when we unexpectedly stumble on some historical fact, which discloses the true spirit and internal essence of polytheism—the fact, for instance, that Themistocles himself, the deliverer of Greece, offered up three youths in sacrifice.
The profound abyss of error, in which the most civilized nations of ancient Heathenism had sunk and were lost, becomes the more apparent, the more closely it is investigated and the more fully it is understood. And on this account, we should learn to see how necessary and salutary was that slow progression—that gradual preparation for a brighter futurity, wherein, as I above stated, consisted the peculiar destination and spiritual career of the Hebrew people. It is only from this its peculiar destination for the Future, the Hebrew people presents so high an interest to historical philosophy, and holds the lofty place assigned to it in the first period of human civilization. The later destinies of the Jewish nation, and the particular events and characters in their later annals, are subjects of the highest moment in a history of religion; for they can be rightly understood and fully appreciated only by their practical application, and profound symbolical reference to the circumstances of Christianity. But it is only the political constitution of the Jewish state in the earliest period of its history—a constitution which was so peculiar and unique in itself, so entirely without a parallel—that can be the appropriate subject of consideration in this general review of history; because this constitution was connected with the prophetic calling of the Hebrew people, and even bore a prophetic character itself. This constitution has been called a theocracy, and so it was in the right and old signification of that word, by which was meant a government under the special and immediate providence of God. But in the now ordinary acceptation of the term, which implies a sacerdotal empire or dominion, the Jewish state was at no time and by no means a theocracy. Moses was no more a priest than a king; and after him all those men of Desire, as they were called from the first circumstances of their institution, or men of the desert, because after a preparation in the solitude of the desert, they led and conducted the people in a literal or figurative sense, through the wilderness—all these men appointed by God, and without any other title or insignia but the staff, which as pilgrims they brought out of the desert, governed and directed the people under the immediate providence of God. If on a certain occasion one of the prophets girded on the sword and led out an army—this was only a transient instance; and the prophets in general were nothing more than the men of God, and the divinely appointed conductors of the people. When the wish in which the Hebrews had so long indulged of having a king, like the heathen nations, was at last gratified; a wish which in the higher views of Holy Writ, was regarded as the culpable illusion of a carnal sense;—the last of the prophets formed a party, and constituted in a very peculiar and singular manner, a species of political Opposition, which was acknowledged to be, and was in fact, perfectly legitimate and just. And when some of them, like Elias for instance, had received from God the supreme and immediate power over life and death, as the distinct badge of dominion; we cannot wonder that men should have followed them, the people have been at their bidding, and kings themselves, even though they followed not always their counsels, have hearkened at least to their warning voice. If those who are so fond of playing the part of oppositionists in every country, could only once rise superior to vulgar forms and formulas, and not every where seek for the echo of their modern opinions, an attentive study of the character of Elias would hold up to their admiring view an oppositionist, who in energy of conduct, and in burning zeal for the cause of truth and justice, or in other words, of God, could not be perhaps easily equalled by any historical personage whether of ancient republics, or of modern monarchies.
After the Jewish state had become a kingdom of no very great dimensions, it shared the destiny of most of the petty states in those regions; and was first a province of the Assyro-Babylonian empire, then became subject to the Persian monarchs, and afterwards to the Greek kings of Syria and Egypt, till with these it was finally swallowed up in the vast empire of all-conquering Rome.
In that restoration of the Jewish state which the Maccabees accomplished in the last period of the Greek domination over Judea, the High-Priest acquired a concurrent political power; a power which he even still retained under the oppressive protectorate of the Romans, though his functions, which were those of a legislator and supreme judge, were confined to the internal government of the state. But this does not constitute a really sacerdotal dominion, and the term theocracy is as little applicable to such an order of things, as to the Greek Patriarchate in the Turkish empire. However, the holy city of Jerusalem, along with Solomon's old, mighty and symbolical temple (whose deep import and proper signification the Jews themselves at a later period no longer understood), still continued to be the main centre of the old national existence and ancient recollections of the Hebrews, as well as of their future hopes and prophetic promises. Even after the fearful destruction of Jerusalem, this emblematic idea of the holy city still lived in the recollection of mankind, and a long time afterwards was, in Christian Europe, an animating incentive to the warlike nations of the Middle Age.
In conclusion, we must add some observations, referring not so much to the Jewish people and their history, as to their most ancient historical books, and to those general views of mankind which they contain, so far as such views relate to the general history of the primitive ages, and are connected with the philosophy of history. In the same way as it is neither necessary nor practicable to regard the Hebrew tongue as the general root or primal source of all the languages spoken on the earth, because it was the organ of divine revelation; so the Mosaic genealogy of nations can with as little propriety be made the basis of a general history of the world; as has in earlier times been so often attempted, but never accomplished without much violence to the text. Although it would be difficult to find in the primitive records of the other Asiatic nations an historical survey of all the nations on the globe, at once so clear, luminous, and instructive; yet the Mosaic revelation had a far different object in view than to furnish a school-compendium of historical learning. This historical genealogy, which in its way cannot be too highly esteemed, was evidently destined by Moses more immediately for his own people, and his own Book of the law; and in his account of the origin of nations, the sacred historian proceeded on views and principles very different from ours. For instance, with us it is the affinity of languages, which forms the chief clue in the arrangement and classification of the different races of mankind; and, according to this principle, we rank the Hebrews with the Phoenicians, and regard them as kindred nations. But in the Mosaic history these two nations, separated by mutual hostility, stand at the widest distance one from the other; for in manners, religion, and feelings, they were diametrically opposed.
In this investigation, indeed, historical circumstances may often occur—such as the popular commotions and intermixture of nations happening at all periods of the world—by which the question of the origin and affinity of different races undergoes considerable modifications, and the whole subject is rendered unsusceptible of a systematic division and arrangement. It often happens that one race adopts the language of another, without on that account losing its national identity, or being totally confounded with the other; for, on the contrary, its moral or intellectual character bears the clear traces of its original descent; so that here, at least, language alone will decide nothing. Often a less numerous tribe will stamp its own native moral and intellectual character on a whole people. In general the descent of nations can be clearly traced and demonstrated in those cases only, where the race has been kept up pure, and all marriage and connection with other nations been strictly prevented. But such has been the case among certain nations only; and even in those countries, where it was the law, it was not in every instance rigidly observed, nor constantly maintained; as is exemplified in the frequent intermarriages of the Hebrews with the Phoenicians, severely prohibited as such intermarriages were. The ancient law-givers attached, indeed, a very high importance to lineage, as is proved by all those restrictive laws on marriage, which were destined to preserve the purity of descent; but they set a far higher value on the patrimonial inheritance of ancient customs, institutions, doctrines, and intellectual qualities, as constituting the true essence of national character, and determining the rank which one race should hold above another. By Moses, in particular, this intellectual character of the different races—their feelings—modes of thinking—the whole spirit which animated them, in a word—the chain of sacred tradition, and its transmission and preservation among the different nations—all these are regarded of primary importance, and they alone furnish us with a clue to the discovery of his views.
The great middle country in Western Asia, where the true Eden, the original abode of the first man, and great progenitor of mankind, was situated, forms the central point in the general historical survey of Moses. The wide-spread race of Japhet comprehends the Caucasian nations in the North, and all its contiguous regions, and also those in the central Asia;—nations which were sound, vigorous, comparatively speaking, less corrupt, and by no means entirely barbarous: but which were debarred from that near and immediate participation in the sacred Traditions of primitive revelation, enjoyed by the peoples of the Semitic race in that midland country, whose distinctive character and high pre-eminence, according to Moses, consisted in this very participation. To the South, the race of Cham includes the degenerate, corrupt, and ungodly Egypt (a country which in its native language bore the name of Chemi), and beyond this, all the African tribes devoted to the dark rites of magic. How entirely subjective in itself—how exclusively adapted to his own people, and his own national object, is the genealogy of nations by Moses, may be proved among other things by the fact that, while many great nations in remoter lands, or in the distant Eastern Asia, cannot in this historical survey be traced without difficulty to their proper place, or forced therein without violence to the text, twelve or thirteen generations are given of the kindred Arabian branch, or of the hostile Phoenician race. If regarded in this simple point of view, the Mosaic genealogy of all the nations throughout the inhabited globe will be found very clear, and, though the names of some particular races remain matter of doubt, this summary is in general perfectly intelligible, and throws a broad light on the history of mankind.
END OF LECTURE VI.
