Dr Cameron Gillies, the Secretary of the
Scottish Gaelic Academy, is a native of Sunart, Argyleshire. He
studied in Glasgow University, where he graduated M.B., M.Ch.,
in 1882. In 1893 he took his M.D., being top graduate. In 1877
he compiled a collection of Gaelic Songs for the use of schools.
In the preface of that work he said— "I believe that in the
Gaelic song lies the means of the Gaelic redemption," a prophecy
which is being verified every day. In 1881 he edited a
collection of the Gaelic Songs of Dr John MacLachlan, Rahoy. In
1885 he issued "Gaelic Texts for Schools," and in 1896 a Gaelic
Grammar, as well as "A Class Book of the Gaelic Language." In
1899 he published "The Gaelic Names of Disease and Diseased
States." In 1906 he gained the prize offered by the Caledonian
Medical Society by an essay on "A Gaelic Medical MS. of 1563,"
and the same year he published "The Place Names of Argyll." In
1911 he gave the world "Regimen Sanitatis—the Rule of Health," a
Gaelic medical MS. of the early 16th Century. He is at present
engaged on the "Dunolly Manuscript of 1611." He has contributed
numerous articles to the various medical magazines and journals,
and was President of the Caledonian Medical Society in 1903.
The following pages are an extension of a lecture delivered by
Dr Gillies to the members of the Dundee Highland Society on
January 20th last, and form the first of a proposed series of
pamphlets for the furtherance of the objects of the Society.
Dundee, April 4th, 1913.
THE GAELIC CONCEPTS OF LIFE AND OF
DEATH. By H. CAMERON GILLIES, M.D.
I would ask your
attention to the form of words in my text: I have not said the
Highland concept, but the Gaelic concept. There is nothing in
our Highland story so far as I know it, that we need be ashamed
of, but very much indeed that we may be proud of; if in the
light of our Providence we think we ought to be proud of
anything at all, but always thankful for all good and beautiful
things. The Gaelic concept is a very much bigger matter than the
Highland concept however admirable. The Gaelic language, and the
concepts within it, not alone in this aspect which I am about
to bring before you, But in many others also is one of the
deepest if not even the very deepest factor in European
civilisation, and we should be immensely thankful that our
Highland people have conserved and have transmitted to us this
Gaelic language and the old elemental healthy concepts with
which it is so richly and so abundantly stored. Long before
Julius Ceaesar landed upon our shores with the hosts of Rome,
and long before Christianity came into being, the Gaelic
language was very old, indeed extremely aged. It was then and
long before then falling to pieces because of old age. It had
broken into permanent dialects long ages before. We
are apt to let expressions regarding time slip off the tongue
and through the ear without any clear apprehension. Let as put
it in this way. We have all of us, say, that we know, or have
known our parents, and I am sure not all of us our
grand-parents, and very few indeed our
great-grand-parents—although I am greatly thankful that I have
on one side both of them, and one on the other for some years.
Beyond that all is blank, so far as the human realisation of
living feeling is concerned. This only means a hundred years, or
a hundred and fifty at the outside, but the language of our
people speaks to us out of the utter darkness of thousands of
years beyond — and it speaks infallible truth. It is the only
truth. It is the crystallized life essence of millenniums, after
being filtered through the ages.
The Language
Let us
think of this for a moment. What is language? Where does it come
from? How does it grow? How does it live and remain? I have just
now said a strange thing. I have said that language is the only
truth, and I wish you to keep your mind's eye upon the
expression to see if I am right or wrong. Language has grown
from the beginning exactly as it is growing now, and in no other
way. To the mind comes an idea or a concept as I prefer to call
it. No one knows where it comes from. It comes out of the
unknown. Our infinite environment of land and sea and sky
generates it in us. We are growing. This thought when it comes
is a step in our evolution. We need a word for it. The word
comes or is made, and it starts out on its travel in the history
of the world—perhaps for all time. The human concept is embodied in that word, and you can easily understand that so long as
that word exists in the world you can, if you understand the
word, find within it the elemental thought which brought it into
being—and that is the only truth worth entertaining.
I have
said that the Gaelic language has crystallized from the filtrate
of the ages. Now I mean by this that the thought originally
embodied in the word and the word-form itself was not only
acceptable and valuable to the generations, but that they
treasured them and bequeathed them as gems of rarest value to us
of even the present day. Now if you find a highly thoughtful
people transmitting crystallized thought through many hundreds
of generations down to our day and time, from the very dawn of
human knowledge I must ask you where can you expect to find
truth if it is not there. There is no standard fixed truth—not
even in pure mathematics— but when you find thoughts lasting
through long centuries of intelligence and coming into our -
lives of this day they are surely worthy of consideration.
Again and finally upon this prefatory aspect of the matter you
will at once see that from a language you can easily judge and
measure with precision the thought and the character of the
people who made it. You can have no more difficulty in
distinguishing between the filthy billingsgate of a low people
and the language of high manliness than you can have between the
squeak of a mouse and the roar of a lion.
Now let us see what
the Gaelic language says, but I would like first of all to paint
in the background as it was according to English historians,
who, by the way are the most ignorant and prejudiced people I
ever made acquaintance with. I cannot devote any time to
this, but if you doubt me or want to understand me read first
Lord Macaulay's chapter upon Highland civilisation in his "History of England," where the Highland people are described as
filthy, cut-throat savages of the vilest imaginable kind. Read
it and read it often. There is nothing in English literature
more entertaining. It has given me hearty laughter for many
years. There are other lords and supposed historians of the
present day who would like to say the same or similar things,
but they dare not. They have not the courage. Our active
awakening in these later days to the realisation of the worth
and worthiness of our own people and to our own true history is
too much for them, and they fall back into the very secondary
place which is theirs by every natural intention. Let us appeal
away from them and from all such to our own people and our own
language on the solid and unquestionable basis I have just laid
down. I am not going to begin where Prof. Schafer left off with
the vital energies of an oil globule or when synthetic babies
can be bought at the chemist's shop or at the .grocers. I begin
where man reveals himself by his intelligence as expressed in
his language.
There are one or two ways or perhaps three by
which we can follow the concepts of my text. There is first the
testimony in the essential language itself which cannot err or
be mistaken, as I think I have already shown. Then there is our
very long tradition, "Lord knows how long," for tradition has a
long memory. Then there is the written word, although in our
case it must be rightly esteemed as a chapter of our tradition.
Circumstances of the People
I would like here just to
point out the circumstances of our Gaelic people. Let us say
that they could neither read or write, and that is very near the
truth. I am most thankful that they could not. They simply lived
and grew and thought in their great and glorious surroundings.
They became of necessity wise. They could not help it. They got
saturated with the influence of their natural environment, and
so as to conserve and economise their life observations they
concentrated them into something like Algebraic formulae. In
this way they left us incomparably the finest body of Proverbs
upon the face of the earth. If we had nothing but these Proverbs
to our Gaelic name we are an extremely rich people. I will give
you one or two of these, and leave you to search the whole
history of mankind to find anything which surpassed them; aye,
or even equals them. Here is one: Is i an dias is truime is
isle chromas ccann. It is the heaviest ear of corn that bends
the head lowest. You will tell me when you find anything to
surpass the fine humanity in that expression, So richly laden
with the humility that always goes with true greatness. Then
there is the old Ossianic conundrum, Ciod e is dcirge na an
teine? What is redder than the fire? The answer was and is: A
generous hospitable man's face when a guest comes and he has
nothing worthy to put before him. I make no comment on that.
Take it with you. I know it is in the heart and blood of you
all, but remember where it came from—from the savages, our
ancestors! One more—"A man should shake hands with a clean
hand." If comparison is possible this is the greatest of the
beautiful three. It goes to the back and to the
bed-rock bottom of all cleanliness in all life conduct — in
manner, in honour, in. honesty, and in truth.
These are only
three out of the almost equally beautiful thousands I could give
you. What do you think of these things? Do such things as these
come from thoughtless savages? Are such concepts as these worth
knowing, worth having, worth cherishing, worth treasuring? I
think so. Our ancestors thought so, and surely that man is not
to be envied who does not think so now. It is quite possible
that there may be some who are not quite clear why you have a
Highland Society in Dundee, although I know well that some of
you do know, and that is the explanation of your vigorous and
very purposeful existence. Cleanliness and manliness are no mean
elements in a human life; in fact, that is all the religion I
want, and our people have sent down to us, their children, these
fine concepts in brimful measure. We must hold these great
things fast and sacred, and we must pass them on. If we do not
then certainly we are unworthy of the names we bear, and that
assuredly will not be good for us. One of our oldest and
greatest proverbs is: Follow close, adhere intensely to the fame
of your fathers. Lean gu dliith ri cliu do shtnn-sir. May it be
so. So may it be.
Some of the Men
I will now bring before
you in brief review some of the men who grew within the old
Gaelic language, and I shall leave it largely to your own
judgment to estimate the concept of life which they reveal. The
first man I wish to bring before you is the Gaelic Duine Coir.
Now who is he? What is your concept of him? Those of you who
know Gaelic. and have the Gaelic instinct will at once say
that he is the kind man, the generous man, the altogether good
man—and you are right. But who really is he? He is simply the
just man—and none but he Coir means justice and to be just; and
justice implied to the Gaelic concept all that was best and
highest in the nature of man. There is not upon the whole earth,
and there is not possible to the human imagination a finer
character or a finer type of man—so far as he reaches—than the
Duine Coir of the Gaelic language.
The next man I am to
introduce, or rather to reveal to you, is the Gaelic Duine-foghainteach.
Now who is he? He is the hero you say, the brave man, the
warrior. Yes, I will take all that. The Duine-foghainteach is
all this, and more, in one. But who really is he in Gaelic. He
is just and simply the sufficient man—no more and not less. He
is the man that the great American Waldo Emerson described as "the man at home" within himself —the self-contained man, the
sufficient man, the man waiting for the occasion, and ready at
all times for the occasion, come what may. He is the strong
man—in reserve. We have no word in Gaelic for a bully, as we
have no word for a coward. The sufficient man was good enough
for our people. May I express the sincere hope that we, their
perhaps weaker descendants, may keep a place of high esteem for
this very fine strong man— the duine-foghainteach.
An
Duine-cothromach
The next man in my review is the
Duine-cothromach, a very near relative of the duine-foghainteach.
Who is he? You know him well, I hope. He is the man who harbours
not hate nor declares his love to excess. He is not a
slave to anger nor to timidity. He boasts not of his strength,
and he shows no weakness. He suffers neither from poverty nor
from riches. He is the equally-balanced man, for that is what
the name means literally. Cothromach means equally balanced by
the rigid beam in character, conduct, and estate. You will, I am
sure, agree with me that he was and is a fine equable, stable
solid citizen. We could always do with a great many of him,
because to quote Emerson again, "Your civilisation is not
indicated by your census or the size of your cities, but by the
breed of the people it produces." Lord Bacon said the same
thing, and we all know that it is quite true. It will be a very
bad day for us and for our country when the duine-foghainteach
and the duine-cothromach gets rare.
An Duine-beairteach. We
have two men, two Gaelic men. who are supposed to be rich in the
English sense. If I ask you the Gaelic for a rich man you will
at once say Duine-beairteach, and those of you who know your
Bible may say Diiinc-saibhir. The duine-beairteach is in every
day use; the duine-saibhir is not in so common use. He is more
Scriptural, and he is perhaps more classical than the other, but
they are both perversions. They are both splendid Gaelic men,
but they cannot be, or be made Englishmen. Who are they? The
duine-beairteach, who is he? What is the meaning of the word
bcairt? It means an act. a work done, something worthily
attained and accomplished, and our great Gaelic duine-beairteach
is the man who has a rich sheaf of duty done in his right hand.
In the 145th Psalm we have Do bhearta iongantach and Do bhearta-uamhasach—Thy
wonderful and Thy terrible deeds, and in our everyday
speech we say droch-bheairt and dbbheirt for an evil deed. Now
we see quite clearly that beairt is a good deed or a good work
done, and that the Gaelic duine-beairteach was a man of deeds, a
man of action, a man, say like Lord Kelvin or Lord Ulster, and
that the money-bag's man had nothing to do with the case or the
concept. The moneybag's man had another place in the Gaelic
estimate to which I may presently refer.
An Duine-saibhir.
The other one, the duine-saibhir is the rich man the Dives of
the New Testament, who went to Hell and did not like the place
(Luke, 16). I have always protested against this degraded use of
a splendid word, and I do so again now, and stronger than ever
if that is possible. The Saoi of Gaelic was and is a brave man,
a hero, even if he never had a copper in the world, and his
degradation to an English guinea pig is to me hurtful and
hateful. In one of our Sean Dana I came across a very fine
statement of the Saoi: Esan a thuiteas le buaidh Tha e 'faotainn
caochladh nuadh A' mealtuinn ionmhas nan saoi Xach ionmhuinn a
chaoidh a chomhnuidh.—"He who falls with victory, he gets a
new change, he enjoys the riches of the brave, how blessed for
ever his habitation." There is very much in this quotation that
I wish you to remember for a few minutes, and as long as you
can. Not so very long ago I had a letter from an evidently
accomplished Highlander whom I do not know, and he finished the
letter with the words, "Is mise a shaoi do eharaid." I have no
suspicion that I merit the term, and I only mention it because
of my friend's correct use of the word from his point
of view and estimate.
The omnivorous English language has for
long tried to swallow and digest these two great men of ours,
but they have disagreed with its stomach. They have proved to be
indigestible. They cannot be assimilated in English. They remain
our own. Our own two fine fellows—the duine-heairteach and the
duine-saibhir—our man of deeds and our hero, and we do not want
to part with them. This is not good physiology, but you must
excuse it. There is some truth in it, even if it is crudely
stated.
An Duin'-uasal
Another of our Gaelic men in
review, which the English language has tried to absorb and
digest, but cannot, is our Duine-uasal—and for that failure one
person in the world is thankful. There may be more. The English
tongue and the English concept has no room for our duine-uasal.
They have a very fine man of their own—the gentleman—and they
think that he is the same as our duine-uasal, but he is not. The
English concept in the Gentleman is really a very fine one, and
although the name is of Latin origin, which we need not follow
through its long career in later languages, it is even upon its
face value of simply the gentle man, a very fine and admirable
character, but he is not our duine-uasal.
Our man contains
the gentleman as the greater contains the less. Our duine-uasal
must be a gentleman, but he is far more. I have been in England
now for practically a life time, and have met many English
gentlemen, but it has been to me quite wonderful how very few
men I have met to whom our Duine-uasal could be rightly
applied, according to my judgment. I think I would make our late
King a Duine-uasal. I would certainly do so if he had been a
Highlander, which, I believe, he in strong part was. There are
one or two Englishmen in our public life just now whom I might
almost risk to call duine-uasal, but it would be invidious to
mention names. I say, however, in all judicious charity that the
English duine-uasal is rare, very rare. But, after all, we must
remember that the duine-uasal is a product of our Gaelic life
and language, and in later days of the Highlands of Scotland,
and we cannot expect to meet him everywhere. I have seen him
abundantly among the Camerons and the MacDonalds, of Lochaber,
and in the MacLeods, of Morven. One of the MacLeods of Morven.
Sir George, was teacher of Surgery at the University of Glasgow.
A finer specimen of a man, with his supreme natural dignity, was
rarely to be seen. I do not know the other parts of the
Highlands intimately enough, but I have no doubt that the
duine-uasal was there, too, and I hope still is. The most
perfect specimen of a Highland duine-uasal that I ever saw was a
grandson of Flora MacDonald. His name was Allan Ronald MacDonald
Jeffrey, on whose coffin I dropped a little white flower in
Norwood Cemetery, London, now too many years ago. We may have
Knights of the Thistle and of the Garter and of St Patrick and
of other things, but the duine-uasal is our man—the aristocrat
of Nature, and by nature. He is quite sufficient for us. Who is
he? Some have thought that he is the Nobleman of English— or the
distinguished man. No, he is not. The duine-uasal very often
prefers not to be Knowable or distinguished. Great humility is almost always of his finest factors. It is the
heaviest ear of corn that bends the head lowest—and we have
noblemen who do not suffer in this way. Many a man is
distinguished because he is most anxious to be so— because he
cannot afford to be otherwise. Not so the duine-uasal. He is
Nature's full and complete man up to the present time. He is our
duine-cbir and our duine-foghaintcach and our duine-cothromach
and our duine-beairt-cach and our duine-suibhir all rolled into
one. Now again, who is he? You know that the word vasal is the
exact opposite of the word iosal, and you know that iosal means
"low" in English. Now when you speak of a "low" man in English
it is very bad indeed. Perhaps there is no more comprehensive
word in the English language than this for worthlessness and
unmerit. Now take his very zenithal opposite man the "high" man
and you approach to an apprehension of the duine-uasal of
Gaelic. The duine-uasal is the upwardly man. the man making for
above. the man with his face turned upwards towards great
things, and not downwards, to things small and mean and low. It
is surely interesting that the Greek name for a man means "the
ere at'.ire with the face turned upwards." but this was merely
in the animal sense, and not as our duine-uasal who has his face
upwards in the moral and intellectual and truly spiritual sense.
We have no duine-iosfil in Gaelic. As the English have no "high" man we have no "low" man in the language, although we have
one that does duty for him, as I may perhaps show you.
The
Gaelic duine-uasal has been dragged into English by several
ignorant ways. By the wretchedly ignorant people called English
historians he has been equated with the rasxnil serf or slave
of the Norman Conquest and its vile degrading consequences.
Mathew Arnold, a lovely cultured man, With wide. healthy
sympathies, and a sincere student of our Keltic tradition called
English history. "a Mississippi of Falsehoods." These people
did not know The brave duine-uasals three thousand times
three That inarched with the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee. No. and
they do not know him now. Our Duine-uasal is of our own
genesis—our own special culture, and wherever he is, in his own
Highland glen or at the ends of the earth, every beat of his
heart says duine-nasal, duine-uased, for his own moral and
spiritual sustenance first, and then by his influence, for the
good of all mankind. It will be a very bad day and a very sad
day indeed when the concept and inspiration of the Gaelic
duine-uaml falls out of the life of humanity. Let us earnestly
hope and pray that it never shall.
An Trusdar
We have now
made the acquaintance of our Royal Family. What of the other
side of the medallion? Our Royal Family is numerous; the names
on the other side are few. I am glad to say, but they are
terribly expressive. The Trudar or Trusdar is King of them
all—the great king of dirt and worthlessness. In order to
perhaps assist my own measure and understanding of this fellow I
consulted my Highland Society's great Dictionary, and this is
what I found. "Trudar, Trusdar—a dirty, worthless fellow, homo
vilis faedatus; an obscene fellow, impudicus, impurus quis —a
filthy or nasty fellow, spurcus, immundus. quis-filth,
dirt, unclean, impure," "immundus canis" a dirty dog, as Horace
has it, lutuni. spurcities, mud, mire, scum of the earth. Again
under his profession or life-purpose of Trusdaireachd I found
dirtiness, filthiness, immundities, meanness, worthlessness,
vilitas, obscenity, obscenitas, impuritas." These are not my
words. If I used words like these you might think that I was
overdoing the Trusdar, greatly as I dislike him. These words
came from the clean hand and the clean heart of Ewen MacLachlan.
the scholar absolute, and I should not mind saying the
Highlander of most delicate mind and touch who ever lived—at
any rate in our knowledge. He was the author in Gaelic and in
English of "Air faillirin illirin" and of very many other things
in Gaelic in Greek in Latin and in Scots—a gem of our people and
of our race, one of the healthiest Highland minds in our healthy
Highland story. Whenever you find yourselves in that small great
Lochaber you will see his obelisk monument on the Creagan there,
and you will make your reverent bow to the memory of this man.
It will do you good. I have done it more than once, and felt
better every time. He clearly did not like the Trusdar.
Now
who is this fellow the Trusdar on which such a cataclysm of
loathsomeness and dirt has fallen? He is a very simple,
single-minded man after all. He is simply the Gatherer — the
selfish man, the Trus-adair with the verb Trus "gather," as the
base. He is the man with the muck-rake of the "Pilgrim's
Progress"—Bodach an Rachdain as he has been most happily
translated. If this was a meeting "for men only" I could give
you very strong proof of how our people loathed the selfish
man—the Gatherer. I am fairly familiar with the
expressions used regarding the selfish man in quite a number of
languages, but they are mere mild poetry compared with the
terrible intensity with which the Gaelic tongue blasphemes this
fellow—the Gatherer, the Trusdar.
An Tuathal
The only
other character on this side of the account I wish to refer to
is the Tuathal. He is the weakling of the Gaelic language, the
pithless, purposeless, feckless, luckless, useless man. He is as
very nearly the opposite of the Duine-foghainteach as the
Trusdar is of the Duine-coir. The healthy Gaelic people threw
him on the rubbish heap as a creature of no account. You wonder
why I should trouble with him. Wait and see. He is a most
interesting fellow. If you cut off his tail—the tail of the word
Tuath-al you are left with the word Tuath, and thereby hangs a
tale—even if you have cut the other away. The word Tuath means
North—so the Tuathal is the man who goes North, which implies
that the sensible, purposeful man goes South. This is, of
course, a big compliment to those who have found their way to
London—to make their fortunes. The matter is quite clear. Samuel
Johnson—Bodach na Beurla —said that the Scotsman's finest vision
was the way South. He said that deep down in geological strata
you could find that the big beasts of the prime were always on
the way South—as their footprints in the rocks show; and in the
ages to come some wise man of science may discern the footprints
of the Lewisman and the Skyeman with his terrier in the hardened
London clay in the northern suburbs of London—on his way South,
and if he does not it is not because they are not
there. "Gang Sooth'' is the great Scottish advice, and that it
has been accepted there can be no doubt at all as the whole and
best life of England shows to-clay—and it is not to the loss of
England. There is another very interesting facet to the
Tuathal. He is a most interesting remnant and product of the old
Sun-worship religion of the Gaelic people. To go Tuathal is to
go ' the left-hand gait"—to turn to the left was the most
unfortunate, inauspicious, and disastrous course that could
possibly be the commencement of any undertaking. It was ipso
facto doomed to failure. Why? Let me recall one or two familiar
things to you. If you face the East, where the sun rises, you
call that the Aird an car and your back is towards the Aird an
iar. But car or oir means the front or edge, and iar means
behind or after. Your right hand is Deas—you say your deas-lamh
right hand or really South hand, and your left hand is
tuath-lamh or North hand. What is the meaning of all this? It
means that our people were Sun-worshippers or
Nature-worshippers, as they even now are to a very remarkable
extent even if they may not know it. When in your Psalms yon
sing an Iolach ard you are only singing Yvlr-tidc, when the sun
turns from the South on its way North. Yule is perhaps a
Scandinavian word—and these people had even more reason than
ourselves to make Yulc-ach when the sun turned. We have always
turned towards the sun, and I hope we always shall. We so far
North always get the sun from the South, and that is why we find
there our right hand and our left hand tuathal—to the North. So
the poor Tuathal is after all an interesting person— even if in
a sort of negative sense. Poor Tuqthal I have some
sympathy with him while I have none at all for the Trusdar. It
is not my purpose nor my duty on this occasion to show you how
very much of paganism remains in our great religions, but it is
there, and strongly there.
The Written Word
Our written
word, so far as it concerns us just now is very limited, but yet
most interesting. The poetry of Ossian and the Sean Dana
recorded by Dr Smith are all I shall refer to. You may know that
regarding these and their authenticity there has been endless
discussion and doubt, but I have several extremely good reasons
for believing in their genuineness and in their very great
antiquity, and that they must have come down by the long
tradition of our people. MacPherson and Smith merely recorded
them, and perhaps strung them together. They clearly did not
understand them, because when they attempted to translate them
they failed entirely, and spoiled them, but for all that they
have done us an immense service in securing them and passing
them down. We should be much poorer without them. It was utterly
impossible for MacPherson and for Smith to have shown the
results of modern archaeology, and yet these are clearly
revealed and confirmed in this quite wonderful poetry in a very
remarkable way. You must then take my own word, or at any rate
accept my judgment upon these old things, so that when I appeal
to them you may with some confidence accept the evidence in them
as showing a very early and appreciable stage in the mind and
civilisation of our race and people.
The deepest impression
that has come to me from the study or rather the assimiliation
of these old records of the mind of our race is the
entire absence of the fear of death—and at this point you will
kindly notice that I am entering upon the second part of my
text. It is, and it has been a very difficult matter for me to
make sure that our people of those far-away days apprehended
death at all. They saw and recognised a change, but that was
all. The modern mind is strongly inclined to look upon death as
extinction. Our teaching has to do with this, and it is not
healthy. The old Gaelic concept had nothing of this in it. The
departed heroes looked down from their grey, great hall in the
clouds in sympathy of pride or distress upon the actions of
their sons or sires below, and their spirits were in the thick
of the battle as truly and powerfully and effectively as the
bone and sinew of those below upon whom they looked down and
inspired. I will give here a few expressions of this concept,
which are to me sublime:—
From Tighmora—Ossian: C uime 'labhras
an righ mu 'n uaigh? Threig a thuar an laoch Biodh solas
mu anam-sa shuas.
"Wherefore does the King speak of the grave?
The hero has changed his complexion (that is all). Let there be
joy over his soul above."
Again from Tiomna Ghoill—Sean Dana.
Agus a Mhorna na'm faiceadh tusa Dd mhac a teicheadh o'n araich
Nach tigeadh rudh air do ghruaidh aosda An lathair nan laoch
neulach. "And Morna if you saw your son flee from the field
would not redness (a blush) come to your aged cheek in presence
of the heroes in the clouds."
In Tionina Ghoill—on his
death, later on the poem has it—
Mar dean soillse nam speur
dhoibh innseadh, Innsibh a reulta ruiteach Do theach nan laoch
mar thuit mi-fein.
"If the brightness of the skies do not
declare it. Let you ye ruddy stars tell in the home of the
heroes how I fell."
The Long Bow
They could draw the long
bow handsomely. The Eagle of Gwern Abwy quoted by Renan when
asked how old it was gave answer, "When I came to this place
there was a rock here so high that from the top of it I used to
peck at the stars every evening, but time has worn it so that it
is now only a few inches high"—surely a tall rock and a very
old eagle. I came across another good example in the description
of a fight between the hosts of the Feinne and their enemies— "When the hosts met it was like the clash of two days of
Judgment." That is not a bad effort. I think it is very good.
Then of Caoilte, the Mercury of the Gael, it was said that when
he ran, his speed was such that the onlookers saw three of him.
And the dog Luath was so swift that he left the hurricane far
behind. As he ran behind the mountains a dog was to be seen at
each pass at the same time.
I will not weary you with more of
these. You may take them like the three proverbs I gave as going
all the way, and that a long way indeed, into the life of our
people and into a life of supremest interest and value to us who
inherit the tradition. We have been robbed of this very fine
concept of life by an alien teaching, for which we have no use.
I do not like our modern concept of death at all. In
fact I dislike it very much. I prefer the fine paganism of our
people a thousand times. The old concept made heroes; this of
latter days makes cowards. The coward was not then known to our
people, but now the hero is looked upon as an exceptional
person. The Gaelic people did not know the hero nor the coward.
The moment the one is admitted the other is for the first time
realised. Without the coward there is up hero.
An Gealtair
I should like you to look upon this clear absence of the fear of
death in the life of our race as not a virtue or a wonderful
thing at all. To their mind and feeling this was as natural and
as necessary a function of life as their breathing. A healthy
man does not know and does not think that he is healthy until he
sees the diseased man. The brave man has no knowledge that he is
brave until he sees that diseased creature, the coward. The
Gaelic language had no word for a coward, and I take this to be
good proof or rather justification for the position which I wish
to maintain—that our people had no concept of cowardice and no
fear of death at all. Why had they no name for the coward?
Simply because they did not know him. They did not have the word
because they did not know the thing. If they had the thing or
any concept of it they would certainly have the word—but they
had it not. The coward only came to us in later days with alien
things and thoughts, with our civilisation so called, but even
then our people having no knowledge of him and not recognising
him called him Gealtair, that is to say— madman; and that, I am
thankful to say, is our name for the coward now. It is surely a fine level of humanity where there is no concept of the
coward, and the level is not much lowered when we look upon him
as a madman. So and such was the thought of our people, and so
it is now for which we should be profoundly thankful.
The
fear of death which has come into our later life is a vile
destructive disease, worse by infinity than all our consumptions
and cancers. It poisons and paralyses and degrades human life
from the beginning and throughout, and to the end. There was no
death in the old Gaelic life or language as I think I have in
past shown, and if people only knew and realised it there is no
death in the language now. We certainly have the word bàs for
death, but the word is never correctly used of the human being,
but always of the death of the lower animals. When the human
being dies we always say chaochail e—he has changed—the exact
same word that we use when the face of the skye changes or the
weather. We also say shiubhail e—he has gone on his journey just
as we say when a man leaves home on a journey. These words are
in common use to-day, even if new values are attached to them
unfortunately. But the words themselves are the abiding protest
against their wrong interpretation. There is no concept in them
of extinction, as the modern mind is disposed to imagine. They
are rather a progression—an advancement of life—and not death at
all. These are very beautiful and man-making concepts. They give
courage and strength. They don't make us afraid. Let us keep
them, lay strong hold upon them and not part with them.
These
expressions cannot be used of the death of the lower animals as
any one who knows Gaelic will tell you, and this again
reveals a very high and delicate concept which we are none the
worse for knowing and cherishing.
Hero Land
We have neamh
in common with the other Indo-European tongues, but our own word
for heaven is flathannas—hero land. We never had a word for Hell
until Ifrinn was lent us by the Roman Church. We don't hear much
of it now; Carlyle said that Robert Burns closed it up.
Tiodhlacadh
Our word for a funeral or burial is altogether
lovely. It is tiodhlacadh or the gift— the same word you would
use in giving a wedding present to a bride. There is no sorrow
in the concept nor any sadness. It is simply the change or the
further continuation of the journey. The Lord Christ is
Tiodhlacadh Dhb, the Gift of God to the world. Nothing
imaginable to me can be more beautiful or more healthy, and
this, remember again, is the language of our ancestors, the
dirty savages of the English historian.
But when I say these
things don't you for a moment believe that our healthy old
paganism—which simply means the religion that grew in the open
country, and not in the towns —has disappeared from, or has no
place in our religions of later day. No. They are full of it,
saturated with it, and all you have to do is to scratch the
surface, and you find it there strong, deep and vitally, and
morally effective. Yes, and more than that if you keep your eyes
and your ears and your understanding open it will not be very
difficult for you to recognise that the tendency of the
religious currents of the present day is setting strongly
towards the old natural thought.
In my younger days I
used to look with unlimited admiration upon the Prince Charlie
monument in Glenfinnan at the head of the unspeakably grand
Loch-shiel. In my very boyhood I got fascinated by the Gaelic
inscription upon the Tower, and it has stuck to me through all
my days. For the purpose of this paper I asked the priest of
Glenal-ladale, Father William MacDonald and another friend to
send me copies of the Gaelic inscription—it is in Latin and in
French also— and I have it here with me, by their kindness. The
point of interest to you is in one expression: "Chaidh an Tur
so a thogail leis an Uasal urramach Alasdair Domhnullach Triath
Ghlinnealadail, Ceann uidhe na feile a chaochail beatha an
Duneidinn Bliadhna MDCCCXV an Tus aidh "—This Tower was raised
by Alexander MacDonald, Chief of Glenalladale who changed life
in Edinburgh in the year 1815. There is no concept of death
there—in fact the splendid expression excludes it entirely. This
is only an expression of yesterday, of to-day, if you like—but,
and do not forget it, there is a fine fragment of our
inheritance from "the tale of other days," from the concept of
the days of old, from the savages our ancestors. It is
delightfully beautiful, and I am very thankful to be able to
place it before you.
Testament of the People
The Gaelic
people have behind them the accumulated inertia of their race
history and of their language for many thousands of years. and
if their children only understood and realised the immense moral
and socially effective power which this gives them they would
part with their right arm sooner than with a little of
the finest inheritance of any people in Europe. If they part
with their language, kilts and sporans and plating and bagpipes
will not save them from the contempt which their folly merits
and invites—although when I say this I must yet say that the
Highland tartan dress is the most picturesque and artistic dress
in the world.
Let us put the matter in another way. Suppose
we had no tradition and no accumulated inheritance of the
natural observation or of that wisdom and practical experience
of life which has come down to us from generations that were
forgotten thousands of years ago, what should we be worth? We
should be worth nothing at all, but what we could in our own one
short life realise. We should stand in naked helplessness in the
utter darkness, cowed and amazed before the undetermined forces
of Nature, living in caves and rock-shelters, making more or
less ingenious war with wild beasts in order to live. But now at
the very day of our birth we are the heirs of all the ages. It
is as if our lives were extended to 10,000 years instead of our
poor 70. Will you throw that away or any part of it? We have no
records of human experience nor any storehouse of human wisdom
that can at all be compared with language. It is the great and
abiding Will and Testament of the people, of the past to their
children of the present time, and as far as we are concerned in
that Will and Testament there is nothing which should be at all
so precious to us as the language of our inheritance and of our
blood and being. It has bequeathed to us the Duine-chir, the
Duine-joahainteach and the Dulrf-uasal and the others, and an
astonishment of delight and wisdom besides. "Wherefore
being surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses let us run
with patience the race set before us."Cuimhnich air na suinn
o'n d'thainig, 's lean gu dlitth ri cliii do shinnsir." |