The Bhagavadgîtâ, with the Sanatsugâtîya and the Anugîtâ — SBE Vol. 8 (trans. K. T. Telang, 1882)
The translator’s English as printed (K. T. Telang). The original-language text is not held; names are romanised as the translator printed them.
Müller puts it, rather than a mind elaborating a complete and organised system of philosophy. There is not even a trace of consciousness on the part of the author that these inconsistencies exist. And the contexts of the various passages indicate, in my judgment, that a half-truth is struck out here, and another half-truth there, with special reference to the special subject then under discussion ; but no attempt is made to organise the various half-truths, which are apparently incompatible, into a symmetrical whole, where the apparent inconsistencies might possibly vanish altogether in the higher synthesis. And having regard to these various points, and to the further point, that the sequence of ideas throughout the verses of the Gita is not always easily followed, we are, I think, safe in adhering to the opinion expressed above, that the Gita is a nonsystematic work, and in that respect belongs to the same class as the older Upanishads.
We next come to the consideration of the style and language of the Bhagavadgita. And that, I think, furnishes a strong argument for the proposition, that it belongs to an age considerably prior to the epoch of the artificial department of Sanskrit literature—the epoch, namely, of the dramas and poems. In its general character, the style impresses me as quite archaic in its simplicity. Compounds, properly so called, are not numerous; such as there are, are not long ones, and very rarely, if ever, present any puzzle in analysing. The contrast there presented with what is called the classical literature, as represented by Bana or Dandin, or even Kalidasa, is not a little striking. In Kälidâsa, doubtless, the love for compounds is pretty well subdued, though I think his works have a perceptibly larger proportion of them than the Gita. But after Kalidasa the love for compounds goes through a remarkable development, till in later writings it may be said almost to have gone mad. Even in Bana and Dandin, Subandhu and Bhavabhtti, the plethora of compounds is often wearisome. And the same remark applies to many of the copperplate and other inscriptions which have been recently deciphered, and some of which date from the early centuries of the Christian era. Take again the exuberance of figures and tropes which is so marked in the classical style. There is little or nothing of that in the Gita, where you have a plain and direct style of natural simplicity, and yet a style not by any means devoid of æsthetic merit like the style of the Sûtra literature. There is also an almost complete absence of involved syntactical constructions; no attempt to secure that jingle of like sounds, which seems to have proved a temptation too strong even for Kâlidâsa’s muse entirely to resist. But on the contrary, we have those repetitions of words and phrases, which are characteristic, and not only in Sanskrit, of the style of an archaic period’. Adverting specially to the language as distinguished from the style of the Gita, we find such words as Âtma, Bhâshâ, Brahman, some of which are collected in the Sanskrit Index in this volume, which have gone out of use in the classical literature in the significations they respectively bear in the Gitd, The word ‘ha,’ which occurs once, is worthy of special note. It is the equivalent of ‘gha,’ which occurs in the Vedic Samhitas. In the form ‘ha’ it occurs in the Brâhmaṇas. But it never occurs, I think, in what is properly called the classical literature. It is, indeed, found in the Purâṇas. But that is a class of works which occupies a very unique position. There is a good deal in the Purâṇas that, I think, must be admitted to be very ancient2; while undoubtedly also there is a great deal in them that is very modern. It is, therefore, impossible to treat the use of ‘ha’ in that class of works as negativing an inference of the antiquity of any book where the word occurs; while its use in Vedic works and its total absence from modern works indicate such antiquity pretty strongly. We may, therefore, embody the result of this part of the discussion in the proposition, that the Gita is removed by a considerable linguistic and chronological distance from classical Sanskrit literature. And so far as it goes, this proposition agrees with the result of our investigation of the first branch of internal evidence.
Müller puts it, rather than a mind working out a complete and organised philosophical system. There is not even a trace of awareness on the author's part that these inconsistencies exist. The contexts of the various passages suggest to me that a half-truth is struck out here and another half-truth there, each shaped by the particular subject under discussion at the time; but no attempt is made to organise these various half-truths, apparently incompatible as they are, into a coherent whole in which the apparent inconsistencies might perhaps disappear entirely in a higher synthesis. Taking all these points into account, together with the further point that the sequence of ideas throughout the verses of the Gita is not always easy to follow, we are, I think, justified in holding to the opinion expressed above: that the Gita is a non-systematic work, and in that respect belongs to the same class as the older Upanishads.
We turn next to the style and language of the Bhagavadgita. This, I think, supplies a strong argument for placing it well before the age of the artificial branch of Sanskrit literature—that is, the age of the dramas and poems. In its general character the style strikes me as markedly archaic in its simplicity. Compounds, strictly speaking, are not numerous; those that do appear are not long, and hardly ever present any difficulty in analysis. The contrast with what is called the classical literature—as represented by Bana or Dandin, or even Kalidasa—is quite striking. In Kälidâsa, it is true, the fondness for compounds is fairly well restrained, though I think his works contain a perceptibly larger proportion of them than the Gita does. After Kalidasa, however, that fondness undergoes a remarkable development, until in later writings it can almost be said to have run wild. Even in Bana and Dandin, Subandhu and Bhavabhtti, the excess of compounds is often tedious. The same observation applies to many of the copperplate and other inscriptions that have been deciphered in recent times, some of which date from the early centuries of the Christian era. Consider too the luxuriance of figures and tropes so characteristic of the classical style. There is little or none of that in the Gita, which has a plain and direct style of natural simplicity—yet a style by no means without æsthetic merit, as the style of the Sûtra literature is. There is also an almost complete absence of tortuous syntactical constructions, and no attempt to achieve that jingle of similar sounds which seems to have been a temptation even Kâlidâsa's muse could not entirely resist. What we find instead are repetitions of words and phrases, which are characteristic—and not in Sanskrit alone—of writing from an archaic period¹. Turning specifically to the language of the Gita, as distinct from its style, we encounter words such as Âtma, Bhâshâ, and Brahman—some of them collected in the Sanskrit Index in this volume—that have fallen out of use in classical literature in the senses they carry in the Gita. The word "ha," which occurs once, deserves particular notice. It is the equivalent of "gha," which appears in the Vedic Samhitas. In the form "ha" it occurs in the Brâhmaṇas, but it never appears, I believe, in what is properly called classical literature. It is found, admittedly, in the Purâṇas; but that class of works occupies a very distinctive position. Much in the Purâṇas must, I think, be acknowledged as very ancient2, while there is undeniably also a great deal in them that is very recent. It is therefore impossible to treat the use of "ha" in that class of works as undermining an inference of antiquity for any book in which the word occurs, whereas its presence in Vedic works and its complete absence from modern works point to such antiquity fairly strongly. The conclusion of this part of the discussion may accordingly be stated as follows: the Gita is separated from classical Sanskrit literature by a considerable distance, both linguistic and chronological. So far as it goes, this conclusion agrees with the result of our examination of the first branch of internal evidence.