The Advantages and Disadvantages of an
Individualistic Philosophy
There is, in the Upanishads, a
continual emphasis on the fitness of the body and clarity of the mind, on the
discipline of both body and mind, before effective progress can be made. The
acquisition of knowledge, or any achievement, requires restraint,
self-suffering, self-sacrifice. This idea of some kind of penance, tapasya,
is inherent in Indian thought, both among the thinkers at the top and the
unread masses below. It is present to-day as it was present some thousands of
years ago, and it is necessary to appreciate it in order to understand the
psychology under-lying the mass movements which have convulsed India under
Gandhiji's leadership. It is obvious that the ideas of the authors of the
Upanishads, the rarefied mental atmosphere in which they moved, were con-fined
to a small body of the elect who were capable of under-standing them. They were
entirely beyond the comprehension of the vast mass of the people. A
creative minority is always small in numbers but, if it is in tune with the
majority, and is always trying to pull the latter up and make it advance, so
that the gap between the two is lessened, a stable and progressive culture
results. Without that creative minority a civilization must inevit-ably decay.
But it may also decay if the bond between a creative minority and the majority
is broken and there is a loss of social unity in society as a whole, and
ultimately that minority itself loses its creativeness and becomes barren and
sterile; or else it gives place to another creative or vital force which
society throws up" It is difficult for me, as for most others, to
visualize the period of the Upanishads and to analyse the various forces that
were at play. I imagine, however, that in spite of the vast mental and cultural
difference between the small thinking minority and the unthinking masses, there
was a bond between them or, at any rate, there was no obvious gulf. The graded
society in which they lived had its mental gradation also and these were
accepted and provided for. This led to some kind of social harmony and
conflicts were avoided. Even the new thought of the Upanishads was interpreted
for popular purposes so as to fit in with popular prejudices and superstitions,
thereby losing much of its essential meaning. The graded social structure was
not touched; it was preserved. The conception of monism became transformed into
one of monotheism for religious purposes, and even lower forms of belief and
worship were not only tolerated but encouraged, as suited to a particular stage
of development.
Thus the ideology of the Upanishads
did not permeate to any marked extent to the masses and the intellectual
separation between the creative minority and the majority became more marked.
In course of time this led to new movements—a power-ful wave of materialistic
philosophy, agnosticism, atheism. Out of this again grew Buddhism and Jainism,
and the famous Sans-krit epics, the Ramayana and the Mahabharata, wherein yet
another attempt was made to bring about a synthesis between rival creeds and
ways of thought. The creative energy of the people, or of the creative minority,
is very evident during these periods, and again there appears to be a bond
between that minority and the majority. On the whole they pull together.
In this way period succeeds period
with bursts of creative effort in the fields of thought and action, in
literature and the drama, in sculpture and architecture, and in cultural,
missionary and colonial
enterprises far from India's borders. In between, there are periods of
disharmony and conflict, due both to inner causes and intrusions from outside.
Yet they are ultimately overcome and a fresh period of creative energy
supervenes. The last great period of such activity in a variety of directions
was the classical epoch which began in the fourth century after Christ. By
about 1000 A.C., or earlier, signs of inner decay in India are very
evi-dent. although the old artistic impulse continued to function and produce
fine work. The coming of new races with a different background brought a new
driving foi;ce to India's tired mind and spirit, and out of that impact arose
new problems and new attempts at solution.
It seems that the intense individualism of the Indo-Aryans
led, in the long run, to both the good and the evil that their culture
produced. It led to the production of very superior types, not in one
particular limited period of history, but again and again, age after age. It
gave a certain idealist and ethical background to the whole culturfe, which
persisted and still persists, though it may not influence practice much. With
the help of this background and by sheer force of example at the top, they help
together the social fabric and repeatedly rehabilitated it when it threatened
to go to pieccs. They produced an astonishing flowering of civilization and
culture which, though largely confined to the upper circles, inevitably spread
to some extent to the masses. By their extreme tolerance of other beliefs and
other ways than their own, they avoided the conflicts that have so often torn
society asunder, and managed to maintain, as a rule, some kind of equilibrium.
By allowing, within the larger framework, considerable freedom to people to
live the life of their choice, they showed the wisdom of an old and experienced
race. All these were very remarkable achievements. But that very individualism
led them to attach little importance to the social aspect of man, of man's duty
to society. For each person life was divided and fixed up, a bundle of duties
and responsibilities within his narrow sphere in the graded hierarchy. He had
no duty to, or conception of, society as a whole, and no attempt was made to
make him feel his solidarity with it. This idea is perhaps largely a modern
development and cannot be found in any ancient society. It is unreasonable,
therefore, to expect it in ancient India. Still, the emphasis on individualism,
on exclusiveness, on graded castes is much more evident in India. In later ages
it was to grow into a very prison for the mind of our people—not only for the
lower castes, who suffered most from it, but for the higher ones also. Throughout
our history it was a weakening factor, and one might perhaps say that along
with the growth of rigidity in the caste system, grew rigidity of mind and the
creative energy of the race faded away. Another curious fact seems to stand
out. The extreme toler-ance of every kind of belief and practice, every
superstition and folly, had its injurious side also, for this perpetuated many
an evil custom and prevented people from getting rid of the tradi-tional
burdens that prevented growth. The growing priesthood exploited this situation
to their own advantage and built up their powerful vested interests on the
foundation of the super-stitions of the masses. That priesthood was probably
never quite so powerful as in some branches of the Christian Church, for there
were always spiritual leaders who condemned its practices, and there was a
variety of beliefs to choose from, but it was strong enough to hold and exploit
the masses.
So this mixture of free thought and orthodoxy lived side by
side, and out of them scholasticism grew, and a puritanical ritualism. The
appeal was always made to the ancient authorities, but little attempt was made
to interpret their truths in terms of changing conditions. The creative and
spiritual forces weakened, and only the shell of what used to be so full of
life and meaning remained. Aurobindo Ghose has written: 'If an ancient Indian
of the time of the Upanishad, of the Buddha, or the later classical age were to
be set down in modern I n d i a . . . h e would see his race clinging to forms
and shells and rags of the past and missing ninetenths of its nobler meaning..
.he would be amazed by the extent of the mental poverty, the immobility, the
static repetition, the cessation of science, the long sterility of art, the
comparative feebleness of the creative intuition.'
Materialism
One of our major misfortunes is that we have lost so much of
the world's ancient literature—in Greece, in India, and else-where. Probably
this was inevitable as these books were origi-nally written on plam-leaves or
on bhurjapatra, the thin layers of the bark of the birch tree which peel
off" so easily, and later on paper. There were only a few copies of a work
in existence and if they were lost or destroyed, that work disappeared, and it
can only be traced by references to it, or quotations from it, in other books.
Even so, about fifty or sixty thousand manus-cripts in Sanskrit or its
variations have already been traced and listed and fresh discoveries are being
constantly made. Many old Indian books have so far not been found in India at
all but their translations in Chinese or Tibetan have been discovered. Probably
an organized search for old manuscripts in the libraries of religious
institutions, monasteries and private persons would yield rich results. That,
and the critical examination of these manuscripts and, where considered
desirable, their publication and translation, are among the many things we have
to do in India when we succeed in breaking through our shackles and can
function for ourselves. Such study is bound to throw light on many phases of
Indian history and especially on the social background behind historic events
and changing ideas. The fact that in spite of repeated losses and destruction,
and without any organized attempt to discover them, over fifty thousand
manus-cripts have been brought out, shows how extra-ordinarily abun-dant must
have been the literary, dramatic, philosophical and other productions of old
times. Many of the manuscripts dis-covered still await thorough examination. Among
the books that have been lost is the entire literature on materialism which
followed the period of the early Upani-shads. The only references to this, now
found, are in criticisms of it and in elaborate attempts to disprove the
materialist theories. There can be no doubt, however, that the materialist
philosophy was professed in India for centuries and had, at the time, a
powerful influence on the people. In the famous Arthashastra, Kautilya's
book on political and economic organization, written in the fourth century B.C.,
it is mentioned as one of the major philosophies of India.
We have then to rely
on the critics and persons interested in disparaging this philosophy, and they
try to pour ridicule on it and show how absurd it all is. That is an
unfortunate way for us to find out what it was. Yet their very eagerness to
discredit it shows how important it was in their eyes. Possibly much of the
literature of materialism in India was destroyed by the priests and other
believers in the orthodox religion during subsequent periods.
The materialists
attacked authority and all vested interests in thought, religion and theology.
They denounced the Vedas and priestcraft and traditional beliefs, and
proclaimed that belief must be free and must not depend on pre-suppositions or
merely on the authority of the past. They inveighed against all forms of magic
and superstition. Their general spirit was comparable in many ways to the
modern materialistic approach; it wanted to rid itself of the chains and burden
of the past, of speculation about matters which could not be perceived, of
worship of imaginary gods. Only that could be presumed to exist which could be
directly perceived, every other inference or presump-tion was equally likely to
be true or false. Hence matter in its various forms and this world could only
be considered as really existing. There was no other world, no heaven or hell,
no soul separate from the body. Mind and intelligence and everything else have
developed from the basic elements. Natural phenomena did not concern themselves
with human values and were indiffer-ent to what we consider good or bad. Moral
rules were mere conventions made by men.
We recognize all
this; it seems curiously of our day and not of more than two thousand years
ago. How did these thoughts arise, these doubts and conflicts, this rebellion
of the mind of man against traditional authority? We do not know enough of
social and political conditions then, but it seems clear that it was an age of
political conflict and social turmoil, leading to a disinte-gration of faith
and to keen intellectual inquiry and a search for some way out, satisfying to
the mind. It was out of this mental turmoil and social maladjustment that new
paths grew and new systems of philosophy took shape. Systematic philosophy, not
the intuitional approach of the Upanishads, but based on close reasoning and
argument, begins to appear in many garbs, Jain, Buddhist, and what might be
called Hindu, for want of a better word. The Epics also belong to this period
and the Bhagavad Gita. It is difficult to build up an accurate chronology of
this age, as thought and theory overlapped and acted and reacted on each other.
Buddha came in the sixth century B.C. Some of these developments
preceded him, others followed, or often there was a parallel growth.
About the time of the rise of Buddhism, the Persian Empire
reached the Indus. This approach of a great Power right to the borders of India
proper must have influenced people's thoughts. In the fourth century B.C. Alexander's
brief raid into north-west India took place. It was unimportant in itself, but
it was the precursor of far-reaching changes in India. Almost immediately after
Alexander's death, Chandragupta built up the great Maurya Empire. That was,
historically speaking, the first strong, wide-spread and centralized state in
India. Tradition mentions many such rulers and overlords of India and one of
the epics deals with the struggle for the suzerainty of India, meaning thereby
probably northern India. But, in all probability, ancient India, like ancient
Greece, was a collection of small states. There were many tribal republics,
some of them covering large areas; there were also petty kingdoms; and there
were, as in Greece, city states with powerful guilds of merchants. In Buddha's
time there were a number of these tribal republics and four principal kingdoms
in Central and Northern India (including Gandhara or part of Afghanistan).
Whatever the form of organization, the tradition of city or village autonomy
was very strong, and even when an overlordship was acknowledged there was no
interference with the internal working of the state. There was a kind of primitive
democracy, though, as in Greece, it was probably confined to the upper classes. Ancient India and Greece, so
different in many ways, have so much in common that I am led to
believe that their background of life was very similar. The Peloponnesian war,
ending in the breakdown of Athenian democracy might in some ways be com-pared
to the Mahabharata war,* the great war of ancient India. The failure of
Hellenism and of the free city state led to a feel-ing of doubt and despair, to
a pursuit of mysteries and revela-tions, a lowering of the earlier ideals of
the race. The emphasis shifted from this world to the next. Later, new schools
of philo-sophy— the Stoic and the Epicurean—developed.It is dangerous and misleading to make historical comparisons
on slender, and sometimes contradictory, data. Yet one is tempted to do so. The
period in India after the Mahabharata war, with its seemingly chaotic mental
atmosphere, reminds one of the post-Hellenic period of Greece. There was a
vulgarization of ideals and then a groping for new philosophies. Politically
and economically similar internal changes might have been taking place, such as
the weakening of the tribal republic and city state and the tendency to
centralize state power. But this comparison does not take us very far. Greece
never really recovered from these shocks, although Greek civilization
flourished for some additional centuries in the Mediterranean and influenced
Rome and Europe. In India there was a remarkable recovery and the thousand
years from the Epic Period and the Buddha onwards were full of creative energy.
Innumerable great names in philosophy, literature, drama, mathematics, and the
arts stand out. In the early centuries of the Christian era a remarkable burst
of energy resulted in the organization of colonial enterprises which took the
Indian people and their culture to distant islands in the eastern seas. The
Epics. History, Tradition, and Myth The two great epics of ancient India —
the Ramayana and the Mahabharata—probably took shape in the
course of several hundred years, and even subsequently additions were made to
them. They deal with the early days of the Indo-Aryans, their conquests and
civil wars, when they were expanding and con-solidating themselves, but they
were composed and compiled later. I do not know of any books anywhere which
have exercis-ed such a continuous and pervasive influence on the mass mind as
these two. Dating back to a remote antiquity, they are still a living force in
the life of the Indian people. Not in the original * The epic dealing with this war is also called the Mahabharata( The story of the
innumerable translations and adaptations of the 'Panchatantra' into Asiatic and
European languages is a long, intricate, and fascinating one. The first known
translation was from Sanskrit into Pahlavi in the middle of the sixth century A.C. at the
instance of Khusrau Anushirwan, Emperor of Persia. Soon after (c. 570 A.C.)
a Syrian translation appeared, and later on an Arabic one. In the eleventh
century new translations appeared in Syrian, Arabic, and Persian, the last
named becoming famous as the story of 'Kalia Daman.' It was through these
translations that the 'Panchatantra' readied Europe. There was a Greek
translation from the Syrian at the end of the eleventh century, and a little
later a Hebrew translation. In the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries a number
of transla-tions and adaptations appeared in Latin, Italian, Spanish, German,
Swedish, Danish, Dutch Icelandic, French, English, Hungarian, Turkish, and a
number of Slav languages. Thus the stories of the 'Panchatantra' merged into
Asiatic and European literatures. ). Sanskrit, except for a few
intellectuals, but in translations and adaptations, and in those innumerable
ways in which tradition and legend spread and become a part of the texture of a
people's life. They represent the typical Indian method of catering all
together for various degrees of cultural development, from the highest
intellectual to the simple unread and untaught villager. They make us
understand somewhat the secret of the old Indians in holding together a
variegated society divided up in many ways and graded in castes, in harmonizing
their discords, and giving them a common background of heroic tradition and
ethical living. Deliberately they tried to build up a unity of outlook among
the people, which was to survive and overshadow all diversity.Among the earliest
memories of my childhood are the stories from these epics told to me by my
mother or the older ladies of the house, just as a child in Europe or America
might listen to fairy tales or stories of adventure. There was for me both
adven-ture and the fairy element in them. And then I used to be taken every
year to the popular open-air performances where the Ramayana story was enacted
and vast crowds came to see it and join in the processions. It was all very
crude, but that did not matter, for everyone knew the story by heart and it was
carnival time.In this way Indian
mythology and old tradition crept into my mind and got mixed up with all manner
of other creatures of the imagination. I do not think I ever attached very much
importance to these stories as factually true, and I even criti-cized the
magical and supernatural element in them. But they were just as imaginatively
true for me as were the stories from the Arabian Nights or the Panchatantra,
that storehouse of animal tales from which Western Asia and Europe have
drawn so much.* As I grew up other pictures crowded into my mind: fairy
stories, both Indian and European, tales from Greek mythology, the story of
Joan of Arc, Alice in Wonderland, and many stories of Akbar and Birbal,
Sherlock Holmes, King Arthur and his Knights, T he Rani of Jhansi, the young heroine of the Indian Mutiny, and tales of Rajput chivalry and heroism. These and many others filled my mind in strange confusion, but always there was the background of Indian mythology which I had imbibed in my earliest years. If it was so with me,
in spite of the diverse influences that worked on my mind, I realized how much
more must old my-thology and tradition work on the minds of others and,
especially, the unread masses of our people. That influence is a good influence
both culturally and ethically, and I would hate to destroy or throw away all
the beauty and imaginative symbolism that these stories and allegories contain.Indian mythology is
not confined to the epics; it goes back to the Vedic period and appears in many
forms and garbs in Sanskrit literature. The poets and the dramatists take full
advantage of it and build their stories and lovely fancies round it. The Ashoka
tree is said to burst into flower when touched by the foot of a beautiful
woman. We read of the adventures of Kama, the god of love, and his wife, Rati
(or rapture), with their friend Vasanta, the god of spring. Greatly daring,
Kama shoots his flowery arrow at Shiva himself and is reduced to ashes by the
fire that flashed out of Shiva's third eye. But he survives as Ananga, the
bodiless one.Most of the myths and
stories are heroic in conception and teach adherence to truth and the pledged
word, whatever the consequences, faithfulness unto death and even beyond,
cour-age, good works and sacrifice for the common good. Sometimes the story is
pure rpyth, or else it is a mixture of fact and myth, an exaggerated account of
some incident that tradition pre-served. Facts and fiction are so interwoven
together as to be inseparable, and this amalgam becomes an imagined history,
which may not tell us exactly what happened but does tell us something that is
equally important—what people believed had taken place, what they thought their
heroic ancestors were capable of, and what ideals inspired them. So, whether fact
or fiction, it became a living element in their lives, ever pulling them up
from the drudgery and ugliness of their everyday existence to higher realms,
ever pointing towards the path of endeavour and right living, even though the
ideal might be far off and difficult to reach.Goethe is reported to have condemned those who said that the
old Roman stories of heroism, of Lucretia and others, were spurious and false.
Anything, he said, that was essentially false and spurious could only be absurd
and unfruitful and never beautiful and inspiring, and that 'if the Romans were
great enough to invent things like that, we at least should be great enough to
believe them.'Thus this imagined history, mixture of fact and fiction, or
sometimes only fiction, becomes symbolically true and tells us of the minds and
hearts and purposes of the people of that parti-cular epoch. It is true also in
the sense that it becomes the basis for thought and action, for future history.
The whole concep-tion of history in ancient India was influenced by the
specula-tive and ethical trends of philosophy and religion. Little im-portance
was attached to the writing of a chronicle or the compi-lation of a bare record
of events. What those people were more concerned with was the effect and
influence of human events and actions on human conduct. Like the Greeks, they
were strongly imaginative and artistic and they gave rein to this artistry and
imagination in dealing with past events, intent as they were on drawing some
moral and lesson from them for future behaviour.Unlike the Greeks, and unlike the Chinese and the Arabs,
Indians in the past were not historians. This was very unfortu-nate and it has
made it difficult for us now to fix dates or make up an accurate chronology.
Events run into each other, overlap and produce an enormous confusion. Only
very gradually are patient scholars to-day discovering the clues to the maze of
Indian history. There is really only one old book, Kalhana's 'Rajatarangini', a
history of Kashmir written in the twelfth cen-tury A.C., which may be
considered as history. For the rest we have to go to the imagined history of
the epics and other books, to some contemporary records, to inscriptions, to
artistic and architectural remains, to coins, and to the large body of Sanskrit
literature, for occasional hints; also, of course, to the many re-cords of
foreign travellers who came to India, notably Greeks and Chinese, and, during a
later period, Arabs.This lack of
historical sense did not affect the masses, for as elsewhere and more so than
elsewhere, they built up their view of the past from the traditional accounts
and myth and story that were handed to them from generation to generation. This
imagined history and mixture of fact and legend became widely known and gave to
the people a strong and abiding cultural background. But the ignoring of
history had evil consequences which we pursue still. It produced a vagueness of
outlook, divorce from life as it is, a credulity, a woolliness of the mind
where fact was concerned. That mind was not at all woolly in the far more
difficult, but inevitably vaguer and more indefinite, realms of philosophy; it
was both analytic and synthetic, often very critical, sometimes sceptical. But
where fact was concerned,, it was uncritical, because, perhaps, it did not
attach much im-portance to fact as such.The impact of science
and the modern world have brought a greater appreciation of facts, a more
critical faculty, a weighing of evidence, a refusal to accept tradition merely
because it is tradition. Many competent historians are at work now, but they
often err on the other side and their work is more a meticulous chronicle of
facts than living history. But even to-day it is strange how we suddenly become
overwhelmed by tradition, and the critical faculties of even intelligent men
cease to function. This may partly be due to the nationalism that consumes us
in our present subject state. Only when we are politically and economically
free will the mind function normally and critically.Very recently there
has been a significant and revealing' instance of "this conflict between
the critical outlook and nationalist tradition. In the greater part of India
the Vikram Samvat calendar is observed; this is based on a solar reckoning,
but the months are lunar. Last month, in April, 1944, according to this
calendar, 2,000 years were completed and a new millennium began. This has been
the occasion for celebrations throughout India, and the celebrations were
justified, both because it was a big turning point in the reckoning of time and
because Vikram, or Vikramaditya, with whose name the calendar is associated,
has long been a great hero in popular tradition. Innumerable stories cling to
his name, and many of these found their way in mediaeval times in different
garbs to various parts of Asia, and later to Europe. Vikram has long been
considered a national hero, a beau ideal of a prince. He is remembered as a
ruler who pushed out fore-ign invaders. But his fame rests on the literary and
cultural brilliance of his court, where he collected some of the most famous
writers, artists, and musicians—the 'nine gems' of his court as they are
called. Most of the stories deal with his desire to do good to his people, and
to sacrifice himself or his personal interest at the slightest provocation in
order to benefit someone else. He is famous for his generosity, service for
others, courage, and lack of conceit. Essentially he has been popular because
he was considered a good man and a patron of the arts. The fact that he was a
successful soldier or a conqueror hardly comes out in the stories. That
emphasis on the goodness and self-sacri-ficing nature of the man is
characteristic of the Indian mind and of Indian ideals. Vikramaditya's name,
like that of Caesar, became a kind of symbol and title, and numerous subsequent
rulers added it to their names. This has added to the Confusion, as there are
many Vikramadityas mentioned in history.But who was this
Vikram? And when did he exist? Histori-cally speaking everything is vague.
There is no trace of any such ruler round about 57 B.C. when the Vikram
Samvat era should begin. There was, however, a Vikramaditya in North India in
the fourth century A.C., and he fought against Hun invaders and pushed
them out. It is he who is supposed to have kept the 'nine gems' in his court
and around whom all these stories gather. The problem then is this: How is this
Vikramaditya who existed in the fourth century A.C. to be connected with
an era which begins in 57 B.C. ? The probable explanation appears to be
that an era dating from 57 B.C. existed in the Malava State in Central
India, and, long after Vikram, this era and calendar were connected with him
and renamed after him. But all this is vague and uncertain. What has been most surprising is the way in which quite intelligent
Indians have played about with history in order some-how to connect the
traditional hero, Vikram, with the beginning of the era 2,000 years ago. It has
also been interesting to find how emphasis is laid on his fight against the
foreigner and his desire to establish the unity of India under one national
state. Vikram's realm was, in fact, confined to North and Central India.It is not Indians
only who are affected by nationalist urges and supposed national interest in
the writing or consideration of history. Every nation and people seem to be
affected by this desire to gild and better the past and distort it to their
advantage. The histories of India that most of us have had to read, chiefly
written by Englishmen, are usually long apologies for and panegyrics of British
rule, and a barely veiled contemptuous account of what happened here in the
millenniums preceding it. Indeed, real history for them begins with the advent
of the Englishman into India; all that went before is in some mystic kind of
way a preparation for this divine consummation. Even the British period is
distorted with the object of glorifying British rule and British virtues. Very
slowly a more correct per-spective is developing. But we need not go to the
past to find instances of the manipulation of history to suit particular ends
and support one's own fancies and prejudices. The present is full of this, and
if the present, which we have ourselves seen and experienced, can be so
distorted, what of the past? Nevertheless, it is true that Indians are peculiarly liable
to accept tradition and report as history, uncritically and without sufficient
examination. They will have to rid themselves of this loose thinking and easy way
of arriving at conclusions.But I have digressed and wandered away from the gods and
goddesses and the days when myth and legend began. Those were the days when
life was full and in harmony with nature, when man's mind gazed with wonder and
delight at the mystery of the universe, when heaven and earth seemed very near
to each other, and the gods and goddesses came down from Kailasa or their other
Himalayan haunts, even as the gods of Olympus used to come down, to play with
and sometimes punish men and women. Out of this abundant life and rich
imagination grew myth and legend and strong and beautiful gods and goddesses,
for the ancient Indians, like the Greeks, were lovers of beauty and of life.
Professor Gilbert Murray* tells us of the sheer beauty of the Olympian system.
That description might well apply to the early creations of the Indian mind
also. 'They are artists' dreams, ideals, allegories; they are symbols of
something beyond themselves. They are gods of half-rejected tradition, of
unconscious make-believe, of aspiration. They are gods to whom doubt-ful
philosophers can pray, with all a philosopher's due caution, as to many radiant
and heart-searching hypotheses. They are not gods in whom anyone believes as a
hard fact.' Equally applicable to India is what Professor Murray adds: 'As the
most beautiful image carved by man was not the god, but only a symbol to help
towards conceiving the god; so the god himself, when conceived, was not the
reality but only a symbol to help towards conceiving the reality.... Meanwhile
they issued no creeds that contradicted knowledge, no commands that made man
sin against his own inner light.' Gradually the days of the Vedic and other
gods and goddesses receded into the background and hard and abstruse philosophy
took their place. But in the minds of the people these images still floated,
companions in joy and friends in distress, symbols of their own vaguely-felt
ideals and aspirations. And round them poets wrapped their fancies and built
the houses of their dreams, full of rich embroidery and lovely fantasy. Many of
these legends and poets' fancies have been delightfully adapted by F. W. Bain
in his series of little books containing stories from Indian mythology. In one
of these, 'The Digit of the Moon,' we are told of the creation of woman. 'In
the beginning, when Twaslitri (the Divine Artificer) came to the creation of
woman he found that he had exhausted his materials in the making of man and
that no solid elements were left. In this dilemma, after pro-found meditation,
he did as follows: he took the rotundity of the moon, and the curves of the
creepers, and the clinging of tendrils, and the trembling of grass, and the
slenderness of the reed, and the bloom of flowers, and the lightness of leaves,
and the tapering of the elephant's trunk, and the glances of deer, and the
clustering of rows of bees, and the joyous gaiety of sun-beams, and the weeping
of clouds, and the fickleness of the winds, and the timidity of the hare, and
the vanity of the peacock, and the softness of the parrot's bosom, and the
hardness of adamant, and the sweetness of honey, and the cruelty of the tiger,
and the warm glow of fire, and the coldnesss of snow, and the chattering of jays,
and the cooing of the kokila, and the hypocrisy of the crane, and the
fidelity of the chakravaka; and compounding all these together, he made
woman and gave her to man.'
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