STUDIES ON HOMER AND THE HOMERIC AGE.

BY THE RIGHT HON. W. E. GLADSTONE, D.C.L. M. P. FOR THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD.

IN THREE VOLUMES.

VOL. II.

Plenius ac melius Chrysippo et Crantore.—Horace.

OXFORD: AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS. M.DCCC.LVIII.

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STUDIES ON HOMER AND THE HOMERIC AGE.

OLYMPUS: OR, THE RELIGION OF THE HOMERIC AGE.

BY THE RIGHT HON. W. E. GLADSTONE, D.C.L. M. P. FOR THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD.

Plenius ac melius Chrysippo et Crantore.—Horace.

OXFORD: AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS. M.DCCC.LVIII.

[The right of Translation is reserved.]

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THE CONTENTS.

OLYMPUS: OR THE RELIGION OF THE HOMERIC AGE.

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OLYMPUS, OR THE RELIGION OF THE HOMERIC AGE.

SECT. I. On the Mixed Character of the Supernatural System, or Theo-Mythology, of Homer.

Though the poems of Homer are replete, perhaps beyond any others, with refined and often latent adaptations, yet it may be observed in general of the modes of representation used by him, that they are preeminently the reverse of systematic. Institutions or characters, which are in themselves consistent, probably gain by this method of proceeding, provided the execution be not unworthy of the design. For it secures their exhibition in more, and more varied, points of view, than can possibly be covered by the more didactic process. But the possession of this advantage depends upon the fact, that there is in them a harmony, which is their base, and which we have only to discover. Whereas, if that harmony be wanting, if in lieu of it there be a groundwork of fundamental discrepancy, then the conditions of effect are wholly changed. The multiplied variety of view becomes a multiplication of incongruity; each new aspect offers a new problem: and the more masterly the hand of the artist, the more arduous becomes the attempt to comprehend and present

in their mutual bearings the pictures he has drawn, and the suggestions he has conveyed.

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Thus it has been with that which, following German example, I have denominated the Theo-mythology of Homer. By that term it seems not improper to designate a mixture of theology and mythology, as these two words are commonly understood. Theology I suppose to mean, a system dealing with the knowledge of God and the unseen world: mythology, a system conversant with the inventions of man concerning them. In the Homeric poems I find both of these largely displayed: but with this difference, that the first was in visible decline, the second in such rapid and prolific development, that, while Homer is undoubtedly a witness to older fable, which had already in his time become settled tradition, he is also in this department himself evidently and largely a Maker and Inventor, and the material of the Greek mythology comes out of his hands far more fully moulded, and far more diversified, than it entered them.

Of the fact that the Homeric religion does not present a consistent and homogeneous whole, we have abundant evidence in the difficulties with which, so soon as the literary age of Greece began, expositors found themselves incumbered; and which drove them sometimes upon allegory as a resource, sometimes, as in the case of Plato, upon censure and repudiation[1].

I know not whether it has been owing to our somewhat narrow jealousies concerning the function of Holy Scripture, or to our want of faith in the extended Providence of God, and His manifestations in the world, or to the real incongruity in the evidence at our command, or to any other cause, but the fact, at least, seems to me beyond doubt, that our modes of dealing with the Homeric poems in this cardinal respect have[3] been eminently unsatisfactory. Those who have found in Homer the elements of religious truth, have resorted to the far-fetched and very extravagant supposition, that he had learned them from the contemporary Hebrews, or from the law of Moses. The more common and popular opinion[2] has perhaps been one, which has put all such elements almost or altogether out of view; one which has treated the Immortals in Homer as so many impersonations of the powers of nature, or else magnified men, and their social life as in substance no more than as a reflection of his picture of heroic life, only gilded with embellishments, and enlarged in scale, in proportion

to the superior elevation of its sphere. Few, comparatively, have been inclined to recognise in the Homeric poems the vestiges of a real traditional knowledge, derived from the epoch when the covenant of God with man, and the promise of a Messiah, had not yet fallen within the contracted forms of Judaism for shelter, but entered more or less into the common consciousness, and formed a part of the patrimony of the human race[3].

But surely there is nothing improbable in the supposition, that in the poems of Homer such vestiges may be found. Every recorded form of society bears some traces of those by which it has been preceded: and in that highly primitive form, which Homer has been the instrument of embalming for all posterity, the law of general reason obliges us to search for elements and vestiges belonging to one more primitive still. And, if we are to inquire in the Iliad and the Odyssey for[4] what belongs to antecedent manners and ideas, on what ground can it be pronounced improbable, that no part of these earlier traditions should be old enough to carry upon them the mark of belonging to the religion, which the Book of Genesis represents as brought by our first parents from Paradise, and as delivered by them to their immediate descendants in general? The Hebrew Chronology, considered in connection with the probable date of Homer, would even render it difficult or irrational to proceed upon any other supposition: nor if, as by the Septuagint or otherwise, a larger period

is allowed for the growth of our race, will the state of this case be materially altered. For the facts must remain, that the form of society exhibited by Homer was itself in many points essentially patriarchal, that it contains, in matter not religious, such, for instance, as the episode of the Cyclops, clear traces of a yet earlier condition yet more significant of a relation to that name, and that there is no broadly marked period of human experience, or form of manners, which we can place between the great trunk of human history in Holy Scripture, and this famed Homeric branch, which of all literary treasures appears to be its eldest born. Standing next to the patriarchal histories of Holy Scripture, why should it not bear, how can it not bear, traces of the religion under which the patriarchs lived?

The immense longevity of the early generations of mankind was eminently favourable to the preservation of pristine traditions. Each individual, instead of being as now a witness of, or an agent in, one or two transmissions from father to son, would observe or share in ten times as many. According to the Hebrew Chronology, Lamech the father of Noah was of mature age before Adam died: and Abraham was of mature age[5] before Noah died. Original or early witnesses, remaining so long as standards of appeal, would evidently check the rapidity of the darkening and destroying process.

Let us suppose that man now lived but twenty years, instead of fourscore. Would not this greatly quicken the waste of ancient traditions? And is not the converse also true?

Custom has made it with us second nature to take for granted a broad line of demarcation between those who live within the pale of Revelation, and the residue of mankind. But Holy Scripture does not appear to recognise such a severance in any manner, until we come to the revelation of the Mosaic law, which was like the erection of a temporary shelter for truths that had ranged at large over the plain, and that were apparently in danger of being totally absorbed in the mass of human inventions. But before this vineyard was planted, and likewise outside its fence, there were remains, smaller or greater, of the knowledge of God; and there was a recognised relation between Jehovah and mankind, which has been the subject of record from time to time, and the ground of acts involving the admonition, or pardon, or correction, or destruction, of individuals or communities.

The latest of these indications, such as the visit of the Wise Men from the East, are not the most remarkable: because first the captivity in Babylon, and subsequently the dissemination of Jewish groups through so many parts of the world, could not but lead to direct communications of divine knowledge, at least, in some small degree. From such causes, there would be many a Cornelius before him who became the first-fruits of the Gentiles. Yet even the interest, which probably led to such communications from the Jew, must have[6] had its own root in relics of prior tradition, which attested the common concern of mankind in Him that was to come. But in earlier times, and when the Jewish nation was more concentrated, and was certainly obscure, the vestiges of extra-patriarchal and extra-judaical relations between God and man are undeniable. They have been traced with clearness and ability in a popular treatise by the hand of Bishop Horsley[4].

Let us take, for instance, that case of extreme wickedness, which most severely tries the general proposition. The punishment of Sodom and Gomorrah for their sins was preceded by a declaration from the Most High, importing a direct relation with those guilty cities[5]; and two angels, who had visited Abraham on the plains of Mamre, ‘came to Sodom at even.’ Ruth the Moabitess was an ancestress, through king David, of our Lord. Rahab in Jericho, ‘by faith,’ as the Apostle assures us, entertained the spies of the Israelites. Job, living in a country where the worship of the sun was practised, had, as had his friends, the knowledge of the true God. Melchizedek, the priest of On, whose daughter Joseph married, and Jethro, the father-in-law of Moses, are other conspicuous instances. Later in time, Nineveh, the great Assyrian capital, received the message of the prophet Jonah, and repented at his preaching. Here the teaching organ was supplied from among the Jews: but Balaam exhibits to us the gift of inspiration beyond their bounds. Once more; many centuries

after the Homeric manners had disappeared, and[7] during the captivity, we find not only a knowledge of God, but dreams and signs vouchsafed to Assyrian kings, and interpreted for them by the prophet Daniel. We have, in short, mingling with the whole course of the Old Testament, a stream of evidence which shows the partial remnants of the knowledge of God, apart from that main current of it which is particularly traced for us in the patriarchal and Mosaic histories. Again, many centuries after Homer, when all traces of primitive manners had long vanished, still in the Prometheus of Æschylus, and in the Pollio of Virgil, we have signs, though I grant they are faint ones, that the celestial rays had not even then ‘faded into the light of common day’ for the heathen world. It would really be strange, and that in a high degree, if a record like that of Homer, with so many resemblances to the earliest manners in other points, had no link to connect it with them in their most vital part.

The general proposition, that we may expect to find the relics of Scriptural traditions in the heroic age of Greece, though it leads, if proved, to important practical results, is independent even of a belief in those traditions, as they stand in the scheme of revealed truth. They must be admitted to have been facts on earth, even by those who would deny them to be facts of heavenly origin, in the shape in which Christendom receives them: and the question immediately before us is one of pure historical probability. The descent of mankind from a single pair, the lapse of that pair from original righteousness, are apart from and ulterior to it. We have traced the Greek nation to a source, and along a path of migration, which must in all likelihood have placed its ancestry, at some point or points, in close local relations with the scenes of the earliest Mosaic records: the retentiveness of that people equalled its[8] receptiveness, and its close and fond association with the past made it prone indeed to incorporate novel matter into its religion, but prone also to keep it there

after its incorporation.

If such traditions existed, and if the laws which guide historical inquiry require or lead us to suppose that the forefathers of the Greeks must have lived within their circle, then the burden of proof must lie not so properly with those who assert that the traces of them are to be found in the earliest, that is, the Homeric, form of the Greek mythology, as with those who deny it. What became of those old traditions? They must have decayed and disappeared, not by a sudden process, but by a gradual accumulation of the corrupt accretions, in which at length they were so completely interred as to be invisible and inaccessible. Some period therefore there must have been, at which they would remain clearly perceptible, though in conjunction with much corrupt matter. Such a period might be made the subject of record, and if such there were, we might naturally expect to find it in the oldest known work of the ancient literature.

If the poems of Homer do, however, contain a picture, even though a defaced picture, of the primeval religious traditions, it is obvious that they afford a most valuable collateral support to the credit of the Holy Scripture, considered as a document of history. Still we must not allow the desire of gaining this advantage to bias the mind in an inquiry, which can only be of value if it is conducted according to the strictest rules of rational criticism.

We may then, in accordance with those rules, be prepared to expect that the Hellenic religion will prove to have been in part constructed from traditional knowledge. The question arises next, Of what other materials[9] in addition was it composed? The answer can be but one; Such materials would be supplied by invention. But invention cannot absolutely create; it can only work upon what it finds already provided to its hand. The provision made in this instance was simply that with which the experience of man supplied him. It was mediate or immediate: mediate, where the Greek received matter from abroad, and wrought upon it: immediate, where he conceived it for himself. That experience lay in two spheres—the sphere of external nature, and the sphere of life. Each of these would afford for the purpose the elements of Power, Grandeur, Pleasure, Beauty, Utility; and such would be the elements suited to the work of constructing or developing a system that was to present objects for his worship. We may therefore reasonably expect to find in the religion features referable

to these two departments for their origin;—first, the powerful forces and attractive forms of outward nature; secondly, the faculties and propensities of man, and those relations to his fellow-men, amidst which his lot is cast, and his character formed.

If this be so, then, in the result thus compounded out of tradition purporting to be revealed, and out of invention strictly human, we ought to recognise, so long as both classes of ingredients are in effective coexistence, not strictly a false theology, but a true theology falsified: a true religion, into which falsehood has entered, and in which it is gradually overlaying and absorbing the original truth, until, when the process has at length reached a certain point, it is wholly hidden and borne down by countervailing forces, so that the system has for practical purposes become a false one, and both may and should be so termed and treated.

I admit that very different modes of representing the case have been in vogue. Sometimes by those to whom[10] the interest of Christianity is precious, and sometimes in indifference or hostility to its fortunes, it is held that the basis of the Greek mythology is laid in the deification of the powers of nature. The common assumptions have been such as the following: That the starting-point of the religion of the heroic age is to be sought only in the facts of the world, in the ideas and experience of man. That nature-worship, the deification of elemental and other physical powers, was the original and proper basis of the system. That this system, presumably self-consistent, as having been founded on a given principle, was broken up by the intervention of theogonic revolutions. That the system, of which Jupiter was at the head, was an imperfect reconstruction of a scheme of divine rule out of the fragments of an earlier religion, and that it supplanted the elder gods. In short, the Greek mythology is represented as a corrupt edition, not of original revealed religion,

but of a Nature-worship which, as it seems to be assumed, was separated by a gulf never measured, and never passed, from the primitive religious traditions of our race. Further it seems to be held, that the faults and imperfections of the pagan religion have their root only in a radical inability of the human mind to produce pure deity; that they do not represent the depravation of an ancient and divine gift, but rather the simple failure of man in a work of invention. Indeed, we need not wonder that it should fail in a process which, critically considered, can mean little else than mere exaggeration of itself and from its own experience[6], and which must be so apt to become positive caricature.

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Again, Dean Prideaux, in his Connection of Sacred and Profane History, gives the following genesis of the Greek mythology. From the beginning, he says, there was a general notion among men, founded on a sense that they were impure, of the necessity of a mediator with God. There being no mediator clearly revealed, man chose mediators for himself, and took the sun, moon, and stars, as high intelligences well fitted for the purpose. Hence we find Saturn, Jupiter, Mars, Apollo, Mercury, Venus, and Diana, to be first ranked in the polytheism of the ancients: for they were their first gods[7].

This theory is not in correspondence with the facts of the heroic age. There is no sense whatever of an impurity disabling men from access to God; no clear or general opinion of the necessity of mediation; no glimpse even of a god superior to Jupiter and the rest with whom they were on behalf of man to mediate.

And, again, the opinion, that the origin of the religion lay in Nature-worship, has had the support both of high and also of recent authorities. The eminent and learned Dr. Döllinger, in his ‘Heidenthum und Judenthum,’ says, that the deification of Nature, its forces, or the particular objects it offered to the senses, constituted the groundwork of the Greek, as well as of the other heathen religions. The idea of God continued to be powerful even when it had been darkened, and the godhead was felt as present, and active everywhere in the physical order. In working out his general rule for each mythological deity in particular, this author conceives the original form of their existence to have been that of a Nature-power, even where the vestiges of such a conception have, under subsequent handling, become faint or imperceptible. Thus Juno, Minerva, Latona,[12] Diana, and others in succession, are referred to such an origin[8].