The Bloodless Revolution

by Tristram Stuart

  In the 1620s the humanist nobleman, Pietro della Valle (1586–1652), was astonished when a Brahmin called ‘Beca Azarg’ told him that Pythagoras was the same person as the Hindu god Brahma; that it was ‘Pythagoras’ who had taught metempsychosis and vegetarianism to the Brahmins and that they still revered his books.70 It was, laughed della Valle, ‘a curious notion indeed, and which perhaps would be news to hear in Europe, that Pythagoras is foolishly ador’d in India for a God’. ‘But this,’ concluded della Valle, ‘with Beca Azarg’s good leave, I do not believe.’71 Henry Lord, chaplain to the English trading post at Surat in Gujarat, did believe it. In the hope that Hinduism could be reconciled to Christianity by purging it of Pythagorean doctrines, in 1630 he set himself up as a latter-day heretic-hunting St Augustine, calling upon the Archbishop of Canterbury to reprimand the Hindus for disobeying God’s instruction to eat flesh.72 By contrast, the French editor of The Open Door to Hidden Paganism (1651), the most advanced account of the Hindus, by the Dutch missionary Abraham Rogerius, took the view that ‘Plato and Pythagoras were not ashamed to learn the basic tenets of their philosophy from the Brahmans.’73 In a conservative backlash against such liberal views in the China illustrata of 1667, the Jesuit scientist-missionary Athanasius Kircher retorted that metempsychosis had been carried to India by an execrable band of Egyptian priests and had subsequently been spread across the Eastern world (along with its corollary vegetarianism) by a ‘deadly monster’ called Buddha, ‘a very sinful brahmin imbued with Pythagoreanism’. ‘These are not tenets, but crimes,’ concluded Kircher venomously. ‘They are not doctrines, but abominations.’74

  In 1665 Edward Bysshe dragged the debate into the forefront of modern politics by publishing an anthology of the ancient writings on India, including Palladius’ dialogue, in which he presented the Brahmins as pure idealists who stood up to Alexander just as modern Puritans stood up to the tyranny of Charles II.75 In the context of mid-century Puritanism, Sir Thomas Roe’s chaplain, Edward Terry (1589/90–1660), gave a strikingly accurate account of the ancient doctrine of ahimsa – that an animal values its life just as humans value theirs, so destroying it manifestly against its will constitutes an act of violent injury (himsa). This was a remarkable moment of cross-cultural understanding which Terry appears to have accomplished by interviewing Jain monks, probably in Gujarat or while travelling with Jahangir’s court. However, he did not want to give too much ground to the Indians; he drew attention away from the morally powerful doctrine of ahimsa by claiming that their main reasons for being vegetarian were the ‘mad and groundlesse phansie’ of Pythagorean metempsychosis and the false commandment ‘Thou shalt not kill any living Creature’. He castigated them for ‘forbearing the lives of the Creatures made for mens use’, but nevertheless acknowledged that they provided a better moral example than Christians who fought unrighteous wars and made riotous ‘havock and spoil’ with the animals. Going some way to meet them, Terry lauded their temperance and felt that their other ‘excellent moralities’ showed that the divine law of nature was ‘ingraved upon [their] hearts’.76

  As the seventeenth century matured, liberal philosophies started to compete more strongly with the Christian orthodoxies about man and nature. Over the heads of the Indian vegetarians, the great minds of the day fought out their disputes. Were Brahmins ignorant idolaters or ancient philosophers who could teach a thing or two to the Europeans?

  The seminal analysis of Indian vegetarianism came from a most unlikely quarter, and showed how the association with Pythagoras could be a path towards assimilating Hinduism. François Bernier, who served as physician at the court of the Great Mughal Emperor Aurangzeb for eight years in the 1660s, had been trained in sceptical and Epicurean philosophy under Pierre Gassendi. With this enlightened background, Bernier attacked Indian culture not simply because Hindus were deluded idolaters who failed to see the obvious truth of Christianity; rather, his ridicules were aimed at the practice of superstitious rituals (many of which, he noted, were equivalent to the irrational beliefs of European Christians).77 Bernier smiled wryly as he watched Hindus gathering en masse to bathe in sacred rivers, banging on cymbals and using incantations to ward off the evil influence of an eclipse. He recited all the ‘monstrosities’ of Hindu culture from widow-burning to sun worship. But there was one doctrine for which Bernier pulled his punches: their Pythagorean vegetarianism.

  Perhaps the first legislators in the Indies hoped that the interdiction of animal food would produce a beneficial effect upon the character of the people, and that they might be brought to exercise less cruelty toward one another when required by a positive precept to treat the brute creation with humanity. The doctrine of the transmigration of souls secured the kind treatment of animals … It may also be that the Brahmens were influenced by the consideration that in their climate the flesh of cows or oxen is neither savoury nor wholesome.78

  Bernier’s willingness to recognise the health benefits of abstaining from meat may have been inspired by his master, Gassendi, who had himself been a staunch advocate of the vegetable diet (see chapter 11). But Bernier even rendered the doctrine of reincarnation comprehensible to Europeans by arguing that it was not designed to protect animals for their own sake, but ultimately for the benefit of humans. He was following a common tradition that had long been used to clear Pythagoras from imputations of superstition, exemplified by the third-century Epicurean biographer-philosopher Diogenes Laertius, who claimed that Pythagoras never believed in metempsychosis, but that ‘his real reason for forbidding animal diet’ was to give people ‘a healthy body and keen mind’.79 Indeed, this interpretative technique had been used by Christians on the Bible, for example when St Thomas Aquinas insisted that if Moses appeared to care for animals, he was really just trying ‘to turn the mind of man away from cruelty which might be used on other men’.80 Erasing from Hinduism the ethic of respect for animal life, and replacing it with European ideas of diet, agronomy and temperament, may seem like aggressive manipulation, but in doing so Bernier was treating Hinduism in much the same way as Christians treated the Bible. By transposing exegetical traditions onto Indian practice and regarding the Hindus as pseudo-Pythagoreans, Bernier developed a humanist interpretation of Indian culture that detected a reservoir of ancient sagacity behind their ‘fables’.

  Having identified its potential, Bernier was astonished by the advantages of vegetarianism, noticing in particular that it was India’s greatest military asset. Whereas European armies were weighed down with barrels of salted beef and tankards of wine – without which the European soldier would absolutely refuse to fight – Indian armies were perfectly content with readily transportable dried food such as lentils and rice. He looked on with disbelief as Aurangzeb’s immense army transported enough provisions for ‘prodigious and almost incredible’ numbers of people.81

  Such concrete evidence of the benefits of vegetarianism made a sizeable dent in the typical European argument that meat-eating was essential for sustaining human life, or at least for strength and virility. It was commonly supposed that anyone who abstained from flesh must be effeminate, weak and lazy. This, Europeans said to themselves, was what made it so easy for meat-eating Muslims and Europeans to conquer Indian vegetarians.82 This idea of Asian effeminacy, which dates back at least 2,500 years to Hippocratic medical ethnology, became one of the most pervasive means of denigrating Hindus, especially towards the end of the eighteenth century.83 But it was counterbalanced by the recognition that the Hindus’ frugality made them at least as long-lived as Europeans, and fuelled their admired industriousness and resilience to disease.84

  The Europeans’ idea that meat-eating was normal, or essential, was swiftly being demolished by the discovery of vegetarian peoples all over the world. Europeans gradually realised that instead of representing the norm, they were an exceptionally carnivorous society. In Africa and America travellers found people living in primitive simplicity ‘before’ the luxury of civilisation had corrupted them – a st
ate with both Edenic and barbaric connotations.85 In the East vegetarianism had been preserved beyond the state of nature by virtuous temperance and the institution of sacred laws against killing animals.86 Such discoveries were to provide grist to the mill of any European who wished to argue that eating meat was by no means a nutritional necessity.

  Bernier’s attempt to understand and even learn from this Hindu doctrine has to be considered as liberal, especially compared to the invectives of his European contemporaries at the Mughal court, such as the Venetian Niccolao Manucci who described the Indian vegetarians as ‘a people who do not deserve the name of man’.87

  Bernier’s acquaintance Jean-Baptiste Tavernier was less vituperative than Manucci, but furnished plenty of sensationalist examples of Indian vegetarianism in his Travels in India (1676), warning prospective visitors with the story of a Persian merchant who was whipped to death for shooting a peacock, and noting the extreme lengths taken to ensure that relatives were not killed – in the form of ants in firewood. Tavernier praised the high morality of the Hindus, but he – like many others before and since – could not but see an absurd contradiction in preserving the life of vermin, and yet happily burning widows on the funeral pyres of their husbands.88

  Surprisingly, the most enthusiastic seventeenth-century travel writer was an English clergyman, the Reverend John Ovington, who travelled to India in 1689. Ovington accepted Bernier’s utilitarian rationale: vegetarianism clearly made the Indians less cruel, just as healthy, and spiritually and mentally ‘more quick and nimble’. But Ovington even endorsed the Indians’ animal protection practices on their own terms: ‘India of all the Regions of the Earth, is the only publick Theatre of Justice and Tenderness to Brutes, and all living Creatures,’ he said, ‘a Civil Regard … is enjoyn’d as a common Duty of Humanity’. Their innocence, said Ovington, made the Hindus comparable to ‘the original Inhabitants of the World, whom Antiquity supposes not to have been Carnivorous, nor to have tasted Flesh in those first Ages, but only to have fed upon Fruits and Herbs’. Ovington concluded by giving Hinduism a carte blanche of philosophical integrity: ‘there is not one of these Customs which are fasten’d upon them by the Rules of their Religion, but what comport very well, and highly contribute to the Health and Pleasure of their Lives.’89

  The way was paved for Europeans to take Indian vegetarianism, if not as a lesson in philosophy and justice, then at least in medical health. The voyages of discovery and the new wave of early anthropology that followed in their wake impelled Europe towards a combination of cultural syncretism and relativism. Attempts to sustain the idea that European Christians had the best society often crumbled in the face of evident virtue and integrity in other peoples. International vegetarianism, which plugged directly into European discourses on diet and the relationship between man and nature, proved a serious challenge to Western norms. As readers back home assimilated the information in the travelogues, Indian vegetarianism started to exert influence on the course of European culture.

  * * *

  *For an account of deism, see chapter 9.

  FIVE

  ‘This proud and troublesome Thing, called Man’: Thomas Tryon, the Brahmin of Britain

  Thomas Tryon gazed out over the sugar plantations of Barbados. What he saw chilled his heart. With horror he watched lines of slaves labouring under the inhuman whip of their European masters. The cruelty of men claiming to be Christians surpassed all belief: the expatriated Africans were starved until they would eat putrefying horse meat; their limbs were crushed in the sugar mills; they died by thousands in the open fields. While Restoration England grew fat on their sweat and blood, Tryon complained, Barbados was perishing. The forests of the Americas were being depleted at a shocking rate; even the soil was suffering under the insatiable greed of the white man. After years of forcing the ground to produce the same cash crop, Barbados had gone from being ‘the most Fertil’st Spot of all America’, to ‘become a kind of Rock’ which grew nothing without dung fertiliser.1 All this destruction was committed only to supply luxury goods back in London – that stinking heap of human corruption Tryon had left behind. Everything had gone horribly awry: America was supposed to be a New World in which laws of justice between man and beast would bring about a Golden Age of peace and harmony, not the ransacked sewerage of the Old World.2 This was the opposite of what Tryon, in his youthful dreams, had imagined.

  Born on 6 September 1634 in the Gloucestershire village of Bibury, Tryon had been sent out to spin wool at the age of six without an education. Working as a shepherd in his spare time he had accumulated enough capital by the age of thirteen to buy himself two sheep, and he swapped one of them for English lessons. Tryon loved his innocent flock and the contemplative life sleeping under the stars, but by the age of eighteen he ‘began to grow weary of Shepherdizing, and had an earnest desire to travel’. Without telling his parents, he packed up his belongings, his life savings and his ideals, waved goodbye to his sheep, said good riddance to his father’s plastering trade and set out for London.3

  It was 1653 and the religious radicalism of Cromwell’s interregnum was at fever pitch. Having paid all of his £3 apprenticing himself to a hat-maker near Fleet Street, Tryon soon joined his master’s congregation of Anabaptists, attracted by their austerity, silence and periodic fasting from flesh.4 Up in his apprentice’s lodgings, he spent all his spare time and money delving into books on alchemy, herbal medicine and natural magic. In 1657, at the age of twenty-three, he had what he was waiting for – a divine visitation of his own: ‘the Voice of Wisdom continually and most powerfully called upon me,’ he wrote years later in his Memoirs; it told him to relinquish all luxuries and turn to vegetarianism: ‘for then I took my self to Water only for Drink, and forbore eating any kind of Flesh or Fish, and confining my self to an abstemious self-denying Life.’5

  This was the very year that Roger Crab started calling for followers, and Tryon’s description of his conversion sounds so similar to Crab’s that it could have been lifted straight out of The English Hermite.6 So many of their interests are the same – Behmenist mysticism, astrological dietary medicine, vegan diet and even hat-making – that it is tempting to imagine Crab was Tryon’s vegetarian guru.7 Tryon called the Sabbath Mammon-worship, and the clergy ‘Jockies in the Art of Wiving’; he railed against upper-class exploitation and warned that private lands were ‘the effects of Violence’.8 Like Crab, he mastered the art of twisting the Bible into a vegetarian manifesto – enlisting Moses, Daniel, John the Baptist and Jesus as fellow vegetarians – and revealing that God’s permission to eat meat after the Flood was really an act of ‘Spite and Vengeance’ tempting people into the spirit of wrath.9 Humans were supposed to be ‘faithful Stewards’ of God’s creatures, insisted Tryon, not murderous meat-eating tyrants.10

  He joined a group of vegetarians whose doctrines sound similar to those of Crab’s ‘Rationals’, Pordage’s followers or even Winstanley’s Diggers, for they ‘would not eat Flesh, because it could not be procured without breaking the Harmony and Unity of Nature, and doing what one would not be done unto’.11 When Tryon heard the rumours of Indians living in harmony with the animals he was transfixed with joy: vegetarianism was no longer relegated to the backwaters of English religious dissidence – it was the creed followed by entire nations of brother herb-eaters like himself.

  Horoscope of the nativity of Thomas Tryon’s daughter (1661/1662)

  Like many sectaries of the time, Tryon initially avoided persecution by keeping his head down and refraining from the provocative medium of print. Besides, he had a family to support: after marrying a childhood sweetheart who refused to give up eating meat, and fathering five children,12 Tryon travelled to Holland and then Barbados where religious toleration was greater and commercial opportunities in the hat trade were lucrative. But after returning to London in 1669 he experienced his second epiphany. In 1682 his inner voice told him ‘to Write and Publish something … recommending to the World Temperance, Clea
nness, and Innocency of Living; and admonishing Mankind against Violence, Oppression, and Cruelty, either to their own Kind, or any inferior Creatures’.13 Tryon fell to his new allotted task with ardour and over the next twenty years, until his death in 1703, he poured a total of twenty-seven works through the press. Many of them were popular enough to go into multiple editions, his magnum opus, The Way to Health, Long Life and Happiness, being reprinted five times in fifteen years. On average over the entirety of his writing career, Tryon went to press once every four months. Some of his works were circulated by the Quaker printer Andrew Sowle and his daughter Tace, and others were distributed by a dozen of England’s most successful commercial booksellers including Elizabeth Harris, Thomas Bennet and Dorman Newman, and were advertised in works as popular as Daniel Defoe’s.14