A History of Sanskrit Literature c30.s2.14

c30.s2.14

The *Manu Smṛti*, however, is not merely important as a law-book; it is unquestionably rather to be compared with the great poem of Lucretius, beside which it ranks as the expression of a philosophy of life; in that case, however, the views presented were merely those of a school of wide but not commanding influence; in Manu we have the soul of a great section of a people. Characteristic also is the lack of individuality in the work, which causes so deep a contrast with the passionate utterances of Lucretius against the tyranny of superstition: *tantum religio potuit suadere malorum*. To the author instead all is perfectly ordered in a world created by the divine power, regulated according to the principle of absolute justice by that power. Heretics existed, but they are passed over with severe condemnation; the life of cities and affairs is little in the thoughts of the writer, who instead envisages a simple kingdom in which the Brahmins take the first place, and in close accord with them, enforcing their discipline, abides the king; Vaiçyas and Çūdras, the vast bulk of the people, are recognized, but disposed of with a curious brevity, and nothing better than the doctrine of mixed castes, into which even the Yavana and Çaka are pressed, is adduced to account for the vast numbers who had no claim to be even Vaiçyas or Çūdras. The hand of a narrow religion lies heavily over the work, and its pedantry is seen in the treatment of infinitely small transgressions of etiquette as crimes requiring grave penalties hereafter, if not in this world, but remediable by penances to be ordered by the Brahmins—a source of profitable employment. The failure to evolve any clear plan is obvious, but in complete agreement with Indian modes of thought. Some advance, too, is visible—doubtless derived from the law schools in the classification of the topics of law, for the five which are concerned with criminal law are grouped together even if they appear between sections on civil law; moreover, beside the old relentless cruelty of primitive law, there does appear recognition of the necessity of considering not the mere act, but also the motive of the doer. Law, however, appears not as the possession of the people, but as the privilege of the king, and the king has a sanctity only inferior to the Brahmin; he is a divine creation, doubtless a deliberate attack on the Buddhist doctrine of a social contract which made the king a mere wage-receiver, a doctrine which the more realistic *Arthaçāstra* actually enunciates. The king rewards his supporters by obeying their claims to exemption from punishment for all save the gravest crimes, and the work insists throughout on preferring the high to the low, in lieu of exacting from those in high place a nobler standard of conduct. In these demands for the Brahmins, and in a certain vagueness throughout in the legal sections, it is easy to recognize the hand of the theorist rather than of the practical lawyer. We are seeing law, indeed, but through a somewhat distorting medium in which ethical considerations obscure our vision; thus the use of torture which the *Arthaçāstra* urges is ignored in favour of the ordeal, which the Brahmins preferred both on ideal grounds and as involving their aid in administration. Rationalism, of course, is utterly foreign to the spirit of the writer, but his command of language, his earnestness, his happy similes, his carefully handled metre which almost approaches the standard of correctness of the classical poets, while it preserves some tinge of epic variety, combine to render the work a striking one, however ludicrous may seem to us Nietzsche's¹ preference of it to the Bible.