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.