religious and philosophical problems that has endured for centuries, and is not extinct even at the present day. Of course, if we call the people of India a nation of philosophers, this is not meant to deny that the warrior class also had their popular heroes, and that their achievements also excited the interest of the people. India is large enough for many phases of thought. We must not forget that even in the Vedic hymns Indra, the most popular of their gods, was a warrior. The two great epic poems are there to testify that heroworship is innate in the human heart, and that in early days men and even women will place muscle higher than brain. But many even of these epic heroes have a tinge of philosophical sadness about them, and Arguna, the greatest among them, is at the same time the recipient of the highest wisdom communicated to him by Krishna, as described in the Bhagavad-gîtâ.

Krishna himself, the hero of the Bhagavad-gîtâ, was of Kshatriya origin, and was looked upon as the very incarnation of the Deity. It is curious that the Sanskrit language has no word for epic poetry. Itihâsa refers to the matter rather than to the poetical form of what we should call epic poems, and the Hindus, strange to say, speak of their Mahabharata as a Law-book, Dharmasâstra 1, and to a certain extent it may have fulfilled that purpose.

King Harsha.

If the account given by Hiouen-thsang of the spiritual state of India at the time of his visit

6

and of his stay at the court of Harsha should seem to be tinged too much by the sentiments of the Buddhist priest, we have only to consult the history of Harsha as written in Sanskrit by Bâna, to feel convinced of the faithfulness of his account. No doubt Hiouen-thsang looked at India with the eyes of a follower of Buddha, but Bâna also, though not a Buddhist, represents to us the different schools and teachers, whether followers of Buddha or of the Veda, as living together apparently in perfect peace, and obeying the orders of the same king. They would naturally discuss their differences and exchange opinions on points on which they were agreed or opposed to each other, but of violent persecutions by one side or the other, or of excommunications and massacres, we hear very little or nothing. The king himself, the friend and patron of Hiouen-thsang, tolerated both Buddhism and Brahmanism in his realm, and we feel doubtful sometimes which of the two he favoured most in his own mind. We see him, for instance, pay his respects to a sage of the name of Divâkara, who had been by birth and education a Brâhman, but had been converted to Buddha's doctrine, without, as it would seem, incurring thereby the displeasure of the king or of his friends. In the Harsha-karita1 the king is represented to us as entering a large forest, surrounded by his retinue. When approaching the abode of the sage, the king leaves his suite behind and proceeds on foot, attended by only

a few of his vassals. While still at a distance from the holy man's abode, the king perceived a large

1 Harsha-karita, translated by Cowell and Thomas, p. 235.

number of 'Buddhists from various provinces, perched on pillows, seated on rocks, dwelling in bowers of creepers, lying in thickets or in the shadow of branches, or squatting on the roots of trees,-devotees dead to all passions, Gainas in white robes (Svetâmbaras), with mendicants (Bhikshus or Parivrâgakas), followers of Krishna (Bhagavatas), religious students (Brahmakârins), ascetics who pulled out their hair, followers of Kapila (Sâmkhyas), Gainas, Lokayatikas (atheists), followers of Kanâda (Vaiseshikas), followers of the Upanishads (Vedântins), believers in God as a creator (Naiyâyikas), assayers of metals (?), students of legal institutes, students of the Purânas, adepts in sacrifices requiring seven priests, adepts in grammar, followers of the Pañkarâtras, and others beside, all diligently following their own tenets, pondering, urging objections, raising doubts, resolving them, giving etymologies, and disputing, discussing and explaining moot points of doctrine,' and all this, it would seem, in perfect peace and harmony.

Now I ask once more, is there any other country in the world of which a similar account could be given, always the same from century to century? Such a life as here described may seem very strange to us, nay, even incredible, but that is our fault, because we forget the totally different conditions of intellectual life in India and elsewhere. We cannot dissociate intellectual life from cities, from palaces, schools, universities, museums, and all the rest. However, the real life of India was not lived in towns, but in villages and forests. Even at present it should be remembered that towns are the exception in India, and that the vast majority of

people live in the country, in villages, and their adjoining groves. Here the old sages were free to meditate on the problems of life and on all that is nearest to the heart of man. If they were not philosophers, let them be called dreamers, buṭ dreamers of dreams without which life would hardly be worth living.

An insight into this state of things seemed to me necessary as a preliminary to a study of Indian philosophy as being throughout the work of the people rather than that of a few gifted individuals. As far back as we can trace the history of thought in India, from the time of King Harsha and the Buddhist pilgrims back to the descriptions found in the Mahabharata, the testimonies of the Greek invaders, the minute accounts of the Buddhists in their Tripitaka, and in the end the Upanishads themselves, and the hymns of the Veda, we are met everywhere by the same picture, a society in which spiritual interests predominate and throw all material interests into the shade, a world of thinkers, a nation of philosophers.

CHAPTER II.

The Vedas.

IF after these preliminary remarks we look for the real beginnings of philosophy on the soil of India, we shall find them in a stratum where philosophy is hardly differentiated as yet from religion, and long before the fatal divorce between religion and philosophy had been finally accomplished, that is in the Vedas.

There have been curious misunderstandings about this newly-discovered relic of ancient literature, if literature it may be called, having nothing whatever to do in its origin with any litera scripta. No one has ever doubted that in the Veda we have the earliest monument of Aryan language and thought, and, in a certain sense, of Aryan literature which, in an almost miraculous way, has been preserved to us, during the long night of centuries, chiefly by means of oral tradition. But seeing that the Veda was certainly more ancient than anything we possess of Aryan literature elsewhere, people jumped at the conclusion that it would bring us near to the very beginning of all things, and that we should find in the hymns of the Rig-veda the 'very songs of the morning stars and the shouts of the sons of God.' When these expectations were disappointed, many of these ancient hymns, turning out to be