[NOTE A.]
Θεός and Deus.[text]
That Greek θ does not legitimately represent a Sanskrit, Latin, Slavonic, and Celtic d is a fact that ought never to have been overlooked by comparative philologists, and nothing could be more useful than the strong protest entered by Windischmann, Schleicher, Curtius, and others, against the favorite identification of Sk. deva, deus, and θεός. Considering it as one of the first duties, in all etymological researches, that we should pay implicit obedience to phonetic laws, I have never, so far as I remember, quoted θεός as identical with deus, together with the other derivatives of the root div, such as Dyaus, Ζεύς, Jupiter, deva, Lith. deva-s, Irish día.
But with all due respect for phonetic laws, I have never in my own heart doubted that θεός belonged to the same cluster of words which the early Aryans employed to express the brightness of the sky and of the day, and which helped them to utter their first conception of a god of the bright sky (Dyaus), of bright beings in heaven, as opposed to the powers of night and darkness and winter (deva), and, lastly, of deity in the abstract.[7] I have never become an atheist; and though I did not undervalue the powerful arguments advanced against the identity of deus and θεός, I thought that other arguments also possessed their value, and could not be ignored with impunity. If, with our eyes shut, we submit to the dictates of phonetic laws, we are forced to believe that while the Greeks shared with the Hindus, the Italians, and Germans the name for the bright god of the sky Zeus, Dyaus, Jovis, Zio, and while they again shared with them such derivatives as δῖος, heavenly, Sk. divyas, they threw away the intermediate old Aryan word for god, deva, deus, and formed a new one from a different root, but agreeing with the word which they had rejected in all letters but one. I suppose that even the strongest supporters of the atheistic theory would have accepted δεός, if it existed in Greek, as a correlative of deva and deus; and I ask, would it not be an almost incredible coincidence, if the Greeks, after giving up the common Aryan word, which would have been δοιϝός or δειϝός or δεϝός, had coined a new word for god from a different root, yet coming so near to δεϝός as θεϝός? These internal difficulties seem to me nearly as great as the external: at all events it would not be right to attempt to extenuate either.
Now I think that, though much has been said against θεός for δεϝός, something may also be said in support of δεϝός assuming the form of θεός. Curtius is quite right in repelling all arguments derived from Sk. duhitar = θυγάτηρ, or Sk. dvâr = θύρ-α; but I think he does not do full justice to the argument derived from φιάλη and φιαρός. The Greek φιάλη has been explained as originally πιϝάλη, the lost digamma causing the aspiration of the initial π. Curtius says: “This etymology of φιάλη is wrecked on the fact that in Homer the word does not mean a vessel for drinking, but a kind of kettle.” That is true, but the fact remains that in later Greek φιάλη means a drinking cup. Thus Pindar (“Isthm.,” v. 58) says:—
Ἄνδωκε δ’ αὐτῷ φέρτατος
οἰνοδόκον φιάλαν χρυσῷ πεφρικυῖαν Τελαμών,
which refers clearly to a golden goblet, and not a kettle. Besides, we have an exactly analogous case in the Sk. pâtram. This, too, is clearly derived from pâ, to drink, but it is used far more frequently in the sense of vessel in general, and its etymological meaning vanishes altogether when it comes to mean a vessel for something, a fit person. I see no etymology for φιάλη, except πιϝάλη, a drinking vessel.
Secondly, as to φιαρός, which is supposed to be the same as πιαρός, and to represent the Sanskrit pîvaras, fat, Curtius says that it occurs in Alexandrian poets only, that it there means bright, resplendent, and is used as an adjective of the dawn, while πιαρός means fat, and fat only. Against this I venture to remark, first, that there are passages where φιαρός means sleek, as in Theocr. ii. 21, φιαρωτέρα ὄμφακος ὠμᾶς, said of a young plump girl, who in Sanskrit would be called pîvarî; secondly, that while πῖαρ is used for cream, φιαρός is used as an adjective of cream; and, thirdly, that the application of φιαρός to the dawn is hardly surprising, if we remember the change of meaning in λιπαρός in Greek, and the application in the Veda of such words as ghṛta pratîka, to the dawn. Lastly, as in φιάλη, I see no etymology for φιαρός, except πιϝαρός.
I think it is but fair therefore to admit that θεός for δεϝός would find some support by the analogy of φιάλη for πιϝάλη, and of φιαρός for πιϝαρός. There still remain difficulties enough to make us cautious in asserting the identity of θεός and deus; but in forming our own opinion these difficulties should be weighed impartially against the internal difficulties involved in placing θεός as a totally independent word, by the side of deva and deus. And, as in φιάλη and φιαρός, may we not say of θεός also that there is no etymology for it, if we separate it from Ζεύς and δῖος, from Dyaus and divyas? Curtius himself rejects Plato’s and Schleicher’s derivation of θεός from θέω, to run: likewise C. Hoffmann’s from dhava, man; likewise Bühler’s from a root dhi, to think or to shine; likewise that of Herodotus and A. Göbel from θες, a secondary form of θε, to settle. Ascoli’s analysis is highly sagacious, but it is too artificial. Ascoli[8] identifies θεός, not with deva, but with divyá-s. Divyás becoming διϝεός (like satya, ἐτεός), the accent on the last syllable would produce the change to δϝεό-ς, ϝ would cause aspiration in the preceding consonant and then disappear, leaving θεός = divyás. All these changes are just possible phonetically, but, as Curtius observes, the point for which the theists contend is not gained, for we should still have to admit that the Greeks lost the common word for god, deva and deus, and that they alone replaced it by a derivative divya, meaning heavenly, not bright.