Chapter XVI
“Woman, the poetry of Nature,” says an elegant writer of the present day, “has ever been the theme of the minstrel, and the idol of the poet’s devotion. The only ideas we entertain of a celestial nature are associated with her; in her praise the world has been exhausted of its beauties, and she is linked with the stars and the glories of the universe, as if, though dwelling in a lowlier sphere, she belonged to a superior world.”
This deification of the female character was the true substance of those imaginary goddesses, so sadly disfigured by the circumscribed stupidity of Greek and Roman mythologists. Juno, Baaltis, Diana, Babia, Venus, Aphrodite, Derceto, Militta, Butsee, Semiramis, Astarte, Io, Luna, Rimmon, Lucina, Genitalis, Ourania, Atargatis, etc. etc., were all but fictitious and ideal forms, resolving themselves into one and the same representation of that sweetest ornament of the creation, woman; and the same terms being applied to the moon, with the same symbolic force and the same typical significance, illustrates the aptitude of that tributary quotation, with which this chapter has commenced, and to the beauty of which the heart of every “man that is born of woman” must feelingly respond.
Europa itself, now geographically appropriated, as a denomination, to one of the quarters of the globe, was originally synonymous with any of the above-mentioned names; and partook in the acquiescence paid by adoring millions to the all-fascinating object of so refined an allegory.
Of all those various epithets, however vitiated by time, or injured by accommodation to different climates and languages, the import—intact and undamaged—is still preserved in the primitive Irish tongue, and in that alone; and with the fertility of conception whereby it engendered all myths, and kept the human intellect suspended by its verbal phantasmagoria, we shall find the drift and the design, the type and the thing typified, united in the ligature of one appellative chord, which to the enlightened and the few presented a chastened yet sublime and microscopic moral delineation; but to the profane and the many was an impenetrable night producing submission the most slavish, and mental prostration the most abject; or, whenever a ray of the equivoque did happen to reach their eyes—perverted, with that propensity which we all have to the depraved, into the most reckless indulgence and the most profligate licentiousness.
In the limits here prescribed for the development of our outline—which even the most heedless must have observed, instead of being compressed, as intended within the compass of one volume could more easily have been dilated to the magnitude of four—it cannot be supposed that I could dwell, with much minuteness, upon the several collateral particulars to which I may incidentally refer. As, however, that twofold tenour to which I have above alluded, may require something more in the way of illustration, I shall take any two of the aggregate of names there collected, and in them exemplify what has been said.
Suppose them to be Militta and Astarte. Of these, then, the first means appetency, such as is natural between the sexes; and the second dalliance, of the same mutual sort; and while both alike typify the delights of love, they both equally personate the mistress of the starry firmament whose influence was courted for the maturity of all such connection, as the season of her splendour is the most suitable for its gratification.
From Astarte (Ασταρτη), the Greeks formed Aster (Αστηρ) a star, thereby retaining but one branch of this duplicity. The Irish deduced from it the well-known endearment, Astore; and I believe I do not exaggerate when I affirm that, in the whole circuit of dialectal enunciations, there exists not another sound calculated to convey to a native of this country so many commingling ideas of tender pathos, and of exalted adventure, as this syllabic representation of the lunar deity.234
Such was Sabaism,—composed of love, religion, and astrology: such too was Budhism, as I have already shown; and Phallism being but another name, equivalent with this latter, it follows that the whole three—Sabaism, Budhism, and Phallism—are, to all intents and purposes, but identically one.
This being about to be demonstrated, a few pages forwards, as the oldest species of worship recognised upon earth, it were needless, one would hope, to enter into a comparison in point of antiquity between it and any of its living derivatives. But as many learned men, misled by that cloud which heretofore enveloped the subject, have promulgated the belief that Brahminism was the parent stock, whence Budhism, with its adjuncts, diverged as a scion, I shall, omitting others, address myself to the consideration of Mr. Colebrooke’s arguments, which I select from the mass in deference to a character so honourably interwoven with the revival of Eastern literature.
“The mythology of the orthodox Hindus,” says this venerable and good man, “their present chronology, adapted to astronomical periods, their legendary tales, and their mystical allegories, are abundantly extravagant, but the Jains and the Bauddhas surpass them in monstrous exaggerations of the same kind. In this rivalship of absurd fiction it would not be unreasonable to pronounce that to be the most modern which has outgone the rest.”
His second position is, that “the Greek writers who mention the Bramins, speak of them as a flourishing society, whereas the Budhists they represent as an inconsiderable handful: therefore,” etc.
To the first I shall oppose Dr. Buchanan’s testimony, who states that “however idle and ridiculous the legends and notions of the worshippers of Bouddha may be, they have been in a great measure adopted by the Brahmins, but with all their defects monstrously aggravated.”
And even had we not this rebutting evidence the inference in itself is decidedly weak; for it would go equally to establish that Romanism is more recent than Protestantism, as containing a greater number of ceremonial observances than this latter does: whereas the reverse is what reason would lead us to conclude, namely, that ritual multiplications are the growth of longevity, and that the retrenchment of their number is what reformation aspires to.
I make a free-will offering, unrestricted and unimpeded, of all the value that can belong to Grecian historians—the Greeks, whom their own countryman, Lucian, so justly banters as distinguished for nothing so much as a total indifference to truth! But admitting them to be as veracious as they were notoriously not so, the intercourse, of the very earliest of them, with India and its dependencies, was much too modern, to allow their statements to be further conclusive, than as refers to the time being: and I am very ready to allow that, at the particular moment described, the Budhists were in the wane, while the Brahmins ruled ascendant—nay, that there were but a few straggling votaries of the former creed then existing at all in that country, the latter, though schismatics from the ecclesiastical root, having, by gaining over the civil power on their side, effected their expulsion many ages before.
The subterranean temples of Gyah, Ellora, Salsette, Elephanta, and those other monuments of piety and civil eminence which still shed a lustre over India, and which no subsequent state of the arts could rival, much less eclipse, owe their existence to an era anterior to this catastrophe. The Budhists were the architects when in the zenith of human power. The sculptures and devices establish this fact: for of the whole list of deities personated in those inscriptions, the Brahmins have retained none but such as suited their purpose. These, in all conscience, were numerous enough; and as the Brahmins, when at the helm, permitted not the introduction of “strange gods,” it is evident that those, which they have in common with the Budhists, are but cullings from the “mother-church,” ill-understood and worse interpreted; the similarity, however, being still so great as, after a lapse of centuries, to give rise to the question of, whether the stem or the branch, the sire or the offspring, had the priority in point of time!
“J’ai remarqué,” says the philosopher Bailly, “que les Brames aimaient à être appellés Paramènes, par respect pour la mémoire de leurs ancêtres, qui portoient ce nom.”235 Monsieur Gebelin is more explicit. “Pausanias nous dit, que Mercure, le même que Butta, ou Budda, un des fondateurs de la doctrines des Paramènes, ou Brames, est appellé Paramon.”236
This Paramon, who had seceded from the Budhist doctrine, and placed himself at the head of that sect who still bear his name, was the son of Budh-dearg, a religious denomination, most painfully inexplicable to inquirers into those matters, but which one, at least, from his acquaintance with the Irish language, should have better known. “I think,” says Vallancey, “dearg is a contraction for darioga, rex supremus, which corresponds with the Chaldæan darag, dux, an epithet given to Budya!”
All those words, in fact, dearg, darioga, and darag, are one and the same, adjuncts, it is true, of Budya, but meaning neither dux, rex, nor supremus, except inasmuch as they were his epithets, the correct rendering being red, which, added to Budh, signifies the Red Lingam, the Sardana-palus, the Eocad, the Penis sanctus, the god of nature, the ruber palus, the Helio-go-balus, the corporeal spirit, the agent of production, the type of life, as it is also the concurrent symbol of universal dissolution.
These several terms, which are, each and all, convertible, pourtray not only the procreative powers of the male world personified, but likewise its symbols, which were the Round Towers; and not these only, but Obelisks237 also, and naturally erect stones,238 which though not circularly fashioned, yet typified, in their ascension, the upward bent of all vegetable growth.
This is the true solution of those enigmatical lithoi, by which the ancients represented the bounty of Providence. Maghody was the name appropriated to him under this character; and the import of this word conveying, literally, the idea of the Good God, shows the philosophic feeling, no less than it does the religious seriousness, of the grateful contrivers.239 And while reminded by the thought, perhaps I may be permitted, with humble deference, to suggest to literary gentlemen occupied in the translation of Eastern manuscripts, that whenever they meet with any proper name of the inconceivable Godhead, or of any place or temple devoted to his use, and beginning with the word Magh; such as Magh-Balli-Pura;240 they should not render Magh by great,—which hitherto had been the practice,—but by good; as it is not the power of the divinity that is thereby meant to be signified, but his bounty: such as his votaries chiefly supplicated, and such as was most influential to ensure their fealty.
“Christnah, the Indian Apollo, is the darling,” says Archer, “of the Hindoo ladies; and in his pranks, and the demolishing pitchers of milk, or milk-pitchers, has acquired a fame infinitely surpassing that enjoyed by the hero of the agreeable ditty entitled Kitty of Coleraine!”
I confess I do not understand the levity of temperament which betrays itself in this witticism. For my part I cannot contemplate any form of religion without a sensation of awe. There may be much imposture, much also of hypocrisy, and no small share of self-delusion amongst individuals of every sect, but sincerity will be found in the aggregate of each: and where certainty is not attainable by finite comprehensions, nay, where unity is incompatible with freedom of thought and will, it would more become us, methinks, to make allowance for each other’s weaknesses, than to vilify any worship, which, after all, may only differ from our own as to mode. Christianity, beyond a question, does not inculcate such intolerance. The true follower of that faith recognises in every altar an evidence of common piety; perceives in every articulation of the name of Lord, a mutual sense of dependence and a similar appeal for succour; and taking these as inlets into the character of the supplicant, he traces an approximation to that hope whereby he is himself sustained, and rejoices in the discovery: yet it is no less true, that, when superadded to these generalities, he beholds the “image” of his Creator, acknowledging the mission of the second Godhead, and, by reliance on the all-fulness of his immaculate atonement, immersed in the waters of regenerating grace, his bosom expands with more gladness, and he welcomes the stranger as a brother.
That the rebuke here intended is not gratuitous or uncalled for, I refer to the testimony of Sir William Jones, who, with some infusion, I regret, of the same irony and incredulity, offers the following portrait, the result of tardy conviction of the superhuman qualifications of this identical Christnah, viz.: “The prolix accounts of his life are filled with narratives of a most extraordinary kind, and most strangely variegated. This incarnate deity of Sanscrit romance was not only cradled, but educated among shepherds. A tyrant, at the time of his birth, ordered all the male infants to be slain. He performed amazing, but ridiculous miracles, and saved multitudes partly by his miraculous powers, and partly by his arms: and raised the dead, by descending for that purpose into the infernal regions. He was the meekest and best tempered of beings; washed the feet of the Brahmans, and preached indeed sublimely, but always in their favour. He was pure and chaste in reality, but exhibited every appearance of libertinism. Lastly, he was benevolent and tender, and yet fomented and conducted a terrible war.”
Mahony, also, is a reluctant witness to the same effect. “The religion of Bhoodha,” says he, “as far as I have had any insight into it, seems to be founded on a mild and simple morality. Bhoodha has taken for his principles wisdom, justice, and benevolence; from which principles emanate ten commandments, held by his followers as the true and only rule of their conduct. He places them under three heads, thought, word, and deed; and it may be said that the spirit of them is becoming and well-suited to him, whose mild nature was first shocked at the sacrifice of cattle.”241
I have already shown that Budha is but a title, embodying an abstract; that, therefore, it was not limited to one individual, but applied indiscriminately to a series. As I shall soon bring this succession nearer to our own fire-hearths, and, in a way, perhaps, which may, else, electrify over-sensitive nerves, it may be prudent that I should premise another citation, descriptive of an answer, made by a dignitary of their creed, to the last-mentioned author upon his enunciating a principle of the Hindoo doctrine. “The Hindoos,” rejoined the priest, “must surely be little acquainted with this subject, by this allusion to only one (incarnation). Bhoodha, if they mean Bhoodha Dhannan Raja, became man, and appeared as such in the world at different periods, during ages before he had qualified himself to be a Bhoodha. These various incarnations took place by his supreme will and pleasure, and in consequence of his superior qualifications and merits. I am therefore inclined to believe, that the Hindoos, who thus speak of the incarnation of a Bhoodha, cannot allude to him whose religion and law I preach, who is now a resident of the hall of glory, situated above the twenty-sixth heaven.”
Now it is stated in the Puranas, that a giant, named Sancha-mucha-naga, in the shape of a snake, with a mouth like a shell, and whose abode was in a shell, having two countenances, was killed by Christnah; and as this irresistibly directs our reflection to the early part of the Book of Genesis, I shall adduce what Mr. Deane has set forth on this latter head.
“The tradition of the serpent,” says he, “is a chain of many links, which, descending from Paradise, reaches, in the energetic language of Homer,
‘Τοσσον ἕνερθ’ ἀϊδεω, ὅσον ουρανός ἐστ’ ἀπο γαίης,’
but conducts, on the other hand, upwards to the promise, that ‘the seed of the woman should bruise the serpent’s head.’... The mystic serpent entered into the mythology of every nation, consecrated almost every temple, symbolised almost every deity, was imagined in the heavens, stamped upon the earth, and ruled in the realms of everlasting sorrow.... This universal concurrence of traditions proves a common source of derivation, and the oldest record of the legend must be that upon which they are all founded. The most ancient record of the history of the serpent-tempter is the Book of Genesis! In the Book of Genesis, therefore, is the fact from which almost every superstition connected with the mythological serpent is derived.”242
That “the oldest record of the legend must be that upon which they are all founded,” no one can gainsay, inasmuch as the parent is always senior to the offspring: but it is not quite such a truism that “the most ancient record of the history of the serpent-tempter is the Book of Genesis.” Before a line of it was ever written, or its author even conceived, the allegory of the serpent was propagated all over the world. Temples, constructed thousands of years prior to the birth of Moses, bear the impress of its history. “The extent and permanence of the superstition,” says the erudite ex-secretary of the Asiatic Society, now Professor of Sanscrit in the University of Oxford, “we may learn from Abulfazl, who observes that in seven hundred places there are carved figures of snakes, which they worship. There is, likewise, reason to suppose that this worship was diffused throughout the whole of India, as, besides, the numerous fables and traditions relating to the Nagas, or snake-gods, scattered through the Puranas, vestiges of it still remain in the actual observances of the Hindus.”
To explore the origin, however, of this Ophite veneration, all the efforts of ingenuity have hitherto miscarried: and the combination of solar symbols with it, in some places of its appearance, has, instead of facilitating, augmented the difficulty. “The portals of all the Egyptian temples,” observes the Gentleman’s Magazine, “are decorated with the same hierogram of the circle and the serpent. We find it also upon the temple of Naki Rustan, in Persia; upon the triumphal arch at Pechin, in China; over the gates of the great temple of Chaundi Teeva, in Java; upon the walls of Athens; and in the temple of Minerva, at Tegea—for the Medusa’s head, so common in Grecian sanctuaries, is nothing more than the Ophite hierogram, filled up by a human face. Even Mexico, remote as it was from the ancient world, has preserved, with Ophiolatreia, its universal symbol.”243
How would Mr. Deane account for this commixture? “The votaries of the sun,” says he, “having taken possession of an Ophite temple, adopted some of its rites, and thus in process of time arose the compound religion, whose god was named Apollo.”
But, sir, the symbols are coeval, imprinted together upon those edifices at the very moment of their construction; and, therefore, “no process of time” was required to amalgamate a religion whose god (it is true) was Apollo, but which was already inseparable, and, though compound, one.
I have before established the sameness of design which belonged, indifferently, to solar worship and to phallic. I shall, ere long, prove that the same characteristic extends equally to ophiolatreia; and if they all three be identical, as it thus necessarily follows, where is the occasion for surprise at our meeting the sun, phallus, and serpent, the constituent symbols of each, embossed upon the same table, and grouped under the same architrave?
“Here,” says a correspondent in the supplement to the Gentleman’s Magazine of August last, “we have the umbilicated moon in her state of opposition to the sun, and the sign of fruitfulness. She was also, in the doctrines of Sabaism, the northern gate, by which Mercury conducted souls to birth, as mentioned by Homer in his description of the Cave of the Nymphs, and upon which there remains a commentary by Porphyry. Of this cave Homer says—
‘Fountains it had eternal, and two gates,
The northern one to men admittance gives;
That to the south is more divine—a way
Untrod by men, t’ immortals only known.’
“The Cross, in Gentile rites, was the symbol of reproduction and resurrection. It was, as Shaw remarks, ‘the same with the ineffable image of eternity that is taken notice of by Suidas.’ The Crescent was the lunar ship or ark that bore, in Mr. Faber’s language, the Great Father and the Great Mother over the waters of the deluge; and it was also the emblem of the boat or ship which took aspirants over the lakes or arms of the sea to the Sacred Islands, to which they resorted for initiation into the mysteries: and over the river of death to the mansions of Elysium; the Cockatrice was the snake-god. It was also the basilisk or cock-adder. ‘Habet caudem ut coluber, residuum vero corpus ut gallus.’ The Egyptians considered the basilisk as the emblem of eternal ages: ‘esse quia vero videtur ζωῆς κυριεύειν καὶ θανάτον, ex auro conformatum capitibus deorum appingebant Ægyptii.’ What relation had this with the Nehustan or Brazen Serpent, to which the Israelites paid divine honours in the time of Hezekiah? What is the circle with the seasons at the equinoxes and solstices marked upon it?—the signs of the four great pagan festivals celebrated at the commencement of each of these seasons? The corner of the stone which is broken off probably contained some symbol. I am not hierophant enough to unriddle and explain the hidden tale of this combination of hieroglyphics. We know that the sea-goat and the Pegasus on tablets and centeviral stones, found on the walls of Severus and Antoninus, were badges of the second, and the boar of the twentieth legion; but this bas-relief seems to refer, in some dark manner, to matters connected with the ancient heathen mysteries. The form of the border around them is remarkable. The stone which bears them was, I apprehend, brought in its present state from Vindolana, where, as I have observed, an inscription to the Syrian goddess was formerly found. The station of Magna also, a few years since, produced a long inscription to the same goddess in the Iambic verse of the Latin comedians; and a cave, containing altars to Mithras, and a bust of that god, seated between the two hemispheres and surrounded by the twelve signs of the Zodiac, besides other signa and ἄγαλματα of the Persian god, was opened at Borcovicus only about ten years since. These, therefore, and other similar remains, found in the Roman stations in the neighbourhood of Vindolana, induce me to think that the symbols under consideration, and now for the first time taken notice of, were originally placed near the altars of some divinity in the station of the Bowers-in-the-Wood. I know of no establishment that the Knights Templars had in this neighbourhood.”
The modesty of “V. W.” is not less than his diligence; and both, I consider, exemplary and great. But he will excuse me when I tell him that the Cross, the Crescent, and the Cockatrice, are still maiden subjects after his hands. Neither Faber, Shaw, nor Suidas, pretend even to approach those matters, save in their emblematic sense; and, as every emblem must have a substratum, I for one, cannot content myself with that remote and secondary knowledge which is imparted by the exoteric type, but must enter the penetralia, and explore the secrets of the eisoteric temple.
“As an old serpent casts his scaly vest,
Wreaths in the sun in youthful glory dress’d;
So, when Alcides’ mortal mould resign’d,
His better part enlarg’d, and grew refin’d;
August his visage shone; almighty Jove
In his swift car his honoured offspring drove:
High o’er the hollow clouds the coursers fly,
And lodge the hero in the starry sky.”244