Some Elements in Indian and Greek Thought

An article by Phiroz Mehta reprinted from the June 1957 issue of Latin Teaching

The threefold offspring of Prajapati — gods, men and devils — dwelt with their father Prajapati as students of sacred knowledge.

Having lived the life of a student of sacred know­ledge, the gods said: “Speak to us, sir.” “Da,” answered Prajapati, “Did you understand?”  “We did understand,” said the gods. “You said to us, ‘Damyata, restrain yourselves.’” “Yes,” said Prajapati, “You did understand.”

So then the men said to him: “Speak to us, sir.” “Da,” answered Prajapati, “Did you understand?” “We did understand,” said the men. “You said to us, ‘Datta, give.’” “Yes,” said Prajapati, “You did understand.”

So then the devils said to him: “Speak to us, sir.” “Da,” answered Prajapati, “Did you understand?” “We did understand,” said the devils. “You said to us, ‘Dayadhvam, be compassionate.’” “Yes,” said Prajapati, “You did understand.”

Thus does the divine voice within us — and we ourselves are gods, men and devils combined — thunder this threefold teaching — da, da, da — restraint, liberality, compassion.

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This story in the Brihadaranyaka Upanishad illustrates a deep-rooted tradition in India that the word of wisdom may be interpreted in various ways.

Each way is considered valid, for, says the eastern sage, the interpreter being what he is, and granting his basic premises and the correctness of his logic, he will naturally present his particular interpretation. This elastic attitude, so peculiarly characteristic of Hindu India, is not, however, stretched too far. The major systems of Indian philosophy apply a rigorous logic. Where sacred knowledge is concerned, especially where it touches the ultimate verity, the elasticity of tolerant acceptance gives place to the extreme tautness of uncompromising denial of the worth of any verbal expression of the Supreme.

This holds good both in India and outside India. “You shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain.” Yajnavalkya says, “Neti, neti, not this, not that.” The Buddha observes the immensity of silence. Nagarjuna answers “Sunya, the Void.” Plato relegates the Good beyond Essence. Clement declares the Supreme is beyond the One and above the Monad. Platinus affirms we can say what IT is not but not what IT is.

Verily IT is the Unnameable, the Ineffable. It is the centre, infinite; IT is also the boundless periphery, infinite. But in the interspace of finitude dances the mind of man. And so, you and I raise, like our ancestors did, the tenuous monument named thought, at times purporting to embody Truth, and sometimes even claming to be the Word of God. But we are as the men of the cave. Whilst we labour strenuously with the shadows, we may preserve and even deepen them. If we learn how to play with them, we may discover the light.

Is it possible to live without wondering? Did our ancestors wonder? And did their ancestors, going back to a past so remote that it was dated by the words “In the beginning,” also wonder? And, wondering, did they give answers? Yes, they wondered, and they also gave answers. In connection with these answers let us note that the great ones of the pre-Christian millennia often declare that they only teach again what their predecessors of similar attainment had already taught; the Buddha, for instance, says that he, the twenty-fourth in the line of Buddhas, teaches again the forgotten or now misrepresented teaching of the previous Buddhas. Let us also note that these great ones pay deep respect to those who had bequeathed a cultural legacy: thus Plato acknowledges that the Greeks with their young civilization felt themselves as children beside the hoary institutions of Egypt. The Buddha does not fail to offer reverence to whom reverence is due; and Plato, an aristo­crat, expresses a fine courtesy. The distinction corresponds to the difference between revelation on the one hand, and philosophy and science on the other.

Some men desired to know for themselves that Supreme Power which controls the universe, or, the Supreme Being who is Lord of all. A few of these men experienced the answer. This realization of God was revelation, as indeed it is to this day. The great teachers expressed revelation in their personal lives. And through their precepts, simple and profound as life itself, they indicated a way of life which could lead the devoted practisant to the experience of the Ineffable. This way of life is the heart of religion.

Other men desired to understand the nature of things, of the world process around them; of the nature of man, of his motives and his behaviour. They wanted to find out what constituted the good life here in the world. They produced systems of thought, or at least, in the earlier periods, a body of speculations. They con­trast sharply with the great teachers of religion, who did not formu­late theologies or propound philosophies. (But to avoid misapprehension let it be said at once that religion, science and philosophy are not rigidly separate spheres. They do intermingle).

In India, the period of Vedic literature is followed by that of the systems of philosophy, the germs of which lay in the Vedas, the Brahmanas and the Upanishads. Some schools of thought develop these root ideas; others are expository, and still others are the product of revolt against certain beliefs, as when the very existence of the high gods is challenged. This literature extends over a time range of more than thirty centuries. It begins generations before Homer; it is still in full flood after Justinian closed the Academy in 529 A.D.; it is experiencing rebirth today.

The hymns of the Rigveda, the oldest literary monument of our race, present the Indian pantheon, even as Homer presents the Hellenic. Just as the family of the Cronida consists of twelve great gods and goddesses, so too the twelve Adityas are the children of Dyaus Pitar or Father Heaven and Mother Earth. They are also called the children of Aditi (= the Infinite, the Unbound). No scandal attaches to the Adityas, no capriciousness, no family quarrel, nothing which derogates from their dignity and purity as high gods, with the seeming exception of Indra. The Adityas thus contrast with their Greek cousins. There may be several explanations for this. Perhaps our purpose here will be best served by considering the respective themes developed in Homer and in the Vedas.

As Professor Kitto has pointed out (vide The Greeks, p. 47, Penguin Books), what shapes the Iliad is the tragic conception that a quarrel between two men should bring suffering, death and dishonour to so many others. Since such and such are the forces at play, then such and such a shape of things naturally emerges — karma as we call it in India. But this particular sequence of events which comes from the very nature of things is part of the unfolding of a universal Plan. And the Plan of Zeus must be fulfilled. The idea brought out in the Odyssey is that lawlessness is contrary to the will of the gods and is punished. May we say that the Iliad and the Odyssey portray Law and the working out of the Law.

In the Vedas we have the conception of Rita or the right, the truth, the Law, Eternal Law and Order, as central to the very being of the gods. The celestial beings are constantly spoken of as Lords of Law, Sons of Law, Law upholders and enforcers and punishers of guilt, and even as the Soul of Law. Now Rita is not Law enacted by a Being however exalted. It is rather the power to bring to fulfilment, inherent in gods and nature. But Rita is not the great theme of the Vedas. Nor is their deep theme the worship of nature gods through an elaborate ritual. The authors of the Vedic hymns were poet-seers, the Rishis. The word Rishi literally means a singer — a singer of the songs of eternal life. He is not only a psalmist, if I may use that term in this context, but a psalmist who has realized God. He is indeed a source of revelation. He is of the stature of a Christ or a Buddha. The profound theme of the Veda is thus no other than man’s realization of God.

Continued in part 2, part 3 and part 4

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