Forging Indian Religion: East India Company Servants and the Construction of ‘Gentoo’/‘Hindoo’ Scripture in the 1760s
by Jessica Patterson
First published: 10 September 2020 https://doi.org/10.1111/1754-0208.12720
© 2020 The Author. Journal for Eighteenth-Century Studies published by John Wiley & Sons Ltd on behalf of British Society for Eighteenth-Century Studies
-- Interesting Historical Events, Relative to the Provinces of Bengal, and the Empire of Indostan. With a Seasonable Hint and Persuasive to the Honourable The Court of Directors of the East India Company. As Also The Mythology and Cosmogony, Fasts and Festivals of the Gentoo's, Followers of the Shastah. And a Dissertation on the Metempsychosis, commonly, though erroneously, called the Pythagorean Doctrine, Parts I, II, and III, by J.Z. Holwell, Esq.
-- India Tracts, by Mr. J. Z. Holwell, and Friends.
-- History of Hindostan; From the Earliest Account of Time, To the Death of Akbar; Translated From the Persian of Mahummud Casim Ferishta of Delhi: Together With a Dissertation Concerning the Religion and Philosophy of the Brahmins; With an Appendix, Containing the History of the Mogul Empire, From Its Decline in the Reign of Mahummud Shaw, to the Present Times, by Alexander Dow., Volumes I & II
-- Ezourvedam: A French Veda of the Eighteenth Century, Edited with an Introduction by Ludo Rocher
Abstract
This article demonstrates how, in the 1760s, two British East India Company servants, John Zephaniah Holwell and Alexander Dow, constructed a particular interpretation of India's ancient religious past through creative misrepresentations of mysteriously sourced texts. This had broad ramifications for contemporary understandings of Indian religion, and has important implications for the historiography of Orientalism in this period. Just as forgeries in the literary sphere challenged notions of history, introducing scepticism, alternative narratives and national mythologies, so in the field of Orientalist letters they shaped an idea of Indian religion that could both challenge European assumptions and facilitate imperial ideologies.
In 1767 the following text was presented by the East India Company servant John Zephaniah Holwell as the opening lines of what he described as the ‘Gentoo Bible’.1 This text was given the title of the Chartah Bhade Shastah of Bramah, and dated to 3,100 BCE:
God is ONE*. ‐Creator of all that is. – God is like a perfect sphere, without beginning or end. – God rules and governs all creation by general providence resulting from first determined and fixed principles […]2
In 1768 another Company servant, Alexander Dow, offered three alternative texts, which he said formed the core scriptures of the ‘Hindoo’ religion: the Dirm Shashter, the Bedang Sashter and the Neadrisen Shaster. The first contained the unifying doctrines of the religion. In a section provided by Dow this took the form of a dialogue between Narud, who was taken to be representative of ‘human reason’, and Birmha, the allegorical depiction of ‘Wisdom’ and the ‘genitive of case of Birmh’, which Dow takes to be ‘one of the thousand names of God’:
NARUD:
O thou first of God! Who is the greatest of all Beings?
BRIMHA:
BRIMH; who is infinite and almighty.
NARUD:
Is he exempted from death?
BIRMHA:
He is: being eternal and incorporeal.
NARUD:
Who created the world?
BIRMHA:
God by his power.3
Despite the intricate detail presented in both offerings, however, these ‘extracts’ have proved difficult to trace. Holwell's Shastah has been thought by a number of scholars to have been a forgery, the evidence for which has been outlined most extensively by Urs App.4 Dow's texts are also dubious in origin. The original manuscript which Dow claimed as the Dirm Shashter, for example, is currently in the British Library and consists of fragments in Sanskrit (which he could not read) and Bengali (which he could), and do not appear to be a coherent text.5 And yet both Holwell and Dow claimed to have achieved an unprecedented degree of insight into the mysteries of Brahminical philosophy. Moreover, this claim was widely accepted by their readership. In the 1760s, when both accounts were published, the idea of an indigenous and ancient Indian religion was greeted with interest by Enlightenment thinkers. Finding themselves with privileged access to Indian languages and advisers, British East India Company servants became instrumental in delivering information about South Asian religions to European audiences. While the knowledge produced by Company Orientalists has been most closely associated with Sir William Jones (1746‐1794), the works of Holwell and Dow were the first to circulate to a significant European reception. Holwell was hailed by Moses Mendelssohn as the first author ‘to see through the eyes of a native Brahmin’.6 Dow was similarly highly regarded by Voltaire, who cited him as an authority in a number of works.7 This article considers the construction of Indian theology that these readers were met with more critically, suggesting that Holwell's and Dow's accounts, including their translations of ancient texts, were compiled from a number of different intellectual sources, not the least of which was their own creative licence.
In 1767 Holwell described the central tenets of the ‘Gentoo’ religion as ‘short, pure, simple and uniform’, arguing that the multiple gods associated with it were merely figurative.8 A year later Dow declared that the ‘Hindoo religion’ was orientated towards a belief in a singular ‘Supreme Being’.9 Both were providing an outline of what they perceived to be India's ancient and original religion, the essence of which they believed was monotheistic. In their discussion of its doctrines, each author related his account of Indian philosophy to contemporary European theological debates. Holwell was concerned with theodicy, providence and the nature of God. In the Shastah he identified a set of lost doctrines, principally relating to the idea of reincarnation, which he believed provided a more reasonable account of the origin and nature of earthly suffering. Dow, on the other hand, was keen to point to basic reasonableness at the core of the religion, stressing the ‘symbolical’ nature of Hindoo religious imagery. Although both Holwell and Dow certainly drew on genuine Indian sources, aspects of their accounts were deliberately constructed. Holwell, who told an elaborate tale of lost and found manuscripts, has also been accused of falsifying aspects of a different publication, A Genuine Narrative, which was widely regarded as a foundational text in establishing a colonial mythology around the ‘Black Hole of Calcutta’.10 Detailing Siraj ud‐Daulah's capture of the Company's base at Fort William in 1756, Holwell's accounts of that ‘dreadful night’, particularly the number of people whom he claimed to have perished, have been questioned by historians.11 Dow, who at the same time as preparing his dissertation of the ‘Hindoo’ religion was sharing his London lodgings with the author and accused hoaxer James Macpherson, obscured certain details about the origin and mode of transmission of the sacred ‘Hindoo’ text which is quoted at length in its pages.12
This article will therefore deal with those aspects of Holwell's and Dow's published works that could be described as forged. It will trace the foundations of this process by exploring the origins of these texts and the ways in which Holwell and then Dow constructed their authority, as well as the religious ideas that underpinned their particular approaches. That dissenting and heterodox religious attitudes shaped their interpretation of Indian religion is a familiar argument in the historiographical treatment of Holwell and Dow. Stemming from the suggestion of P. J. Marshall and Wilhelm Halbfass that their work was characteristic of a ‘deist perspective’, many have repeated this claim.13 Since these initial observations, however, much has been questioned in the usage of the term ‘deism’ as a simple signifier of a set of beliefs.14 Indeed, there was much separating Holwell and Dow, both in their own religious outlook and in their accounts of Indian theology. This article therefore considers the specifics of their religious heterodoxy, associating their thought with deism only in the sense that their claims to have discovered ancient texts that revealed the reasonableness of Indian theology, in contrast to the apparent superstition inherent in contemporary ceremonies, upheld deist conceptions of an original pure and reasonable religion that had degenerated into superstition via the mechanism of priestcraft.15
It also considers the implications of what identifying these texts as fabrications means for our understanding of European intellectual engagement with India in the eighteenth century, in the dual contexts of empire and Enlightenment thought. In considering their work as ‘deist’, scholars have often also tied it to a ‘sympathetic’ approach to Indian culture, according to a pervasive distinction between Orientalist and Anglicist attitudes to India among British writers, with the former standing for an admiring approach to Indian culture, as opposed to a more starkly imperialist intolerance of cultural difference.16 Scholarship on William Jones, for example, has tended to stress his empathetic admiration for India's cultural productions and his working relationships with indigenous scholars. As more recent work in the archives has emphasised, though, for Jones and his contemporaries an enthusiasm for Sanskrit literature did not necessarily inhibit expressions of contempt for Indian peoples and mores.17 Likewise, in the case of Holwell and Dow, as well as later Company interpreters of Indian religion, neither does a sympathetic approach to Indian religion preclude an instrumental one. Though often implicitly, this conception of sympathetic orientalism has been thought to challenge Edward Said's theoretical exposition of ‘Orientalism’ as an ‘irresistible impulse always to codify, to subdue the infinite variety of the Orient’.18 Studies such as Jürgen Osterhammel's Unfabling the East, for example, have pointed to the complexity of engagement between Europe and Asia in the Enlightenment, prior to the developed script of nineteenth‐century imperialism.19 And yet the role of forgery in Orientalist writings renders the division between sympathetic and instrumentalising approaches to knowledge problematic. While both Holwell's and Dow's accounts were infused with genuine knowledge and insight into Indian religion, and at times it is difficult to tell what is a deliberate misrepresentation and what is simply an example of a person interpreting unfamiliar ideas through more familiar concepts, there are also clear moments of falsification. Where the recovery of complexity is necessary, so too is a thorough account of the ways in which India was not simply discovered but constructed by European interpreters, for various ends.
In reconsidering the nature of European intellectual engagement with Indian thought, through the examples of Holwell and Dow, we might look to scholarship on the relationship between literary forgery and the writing of history in the eighteenth century, in which Dow's housemate Macpherson has featured prominently.20 Just as forgeries and fakes in the literary sphere challenged notions of history, presenting scepticism as well as alternative narratives, while at the same time also generating national mythologies, in the field of Orientalist letters in the mid‐eighteenth century they helped shape an idea of ‘Hinduism’ that was initially a challenge to European assumptions, but which also facilitated imperial ideologies and practices.21 On the one hand, these forgeries were designed to self‐critique, utilising the apparent superiority and greater antiquity of Indian religion to challenge European assumptions. In this sense we are presented with the complex problem of the nature and role of truth and authenticity in Enlightenment thought and literature. Taken in the context of other satirical contrivances such as Diderot's Supplément au voyage de Bougainville (1796) and Letters Writ by a Turkish Spy, written for the purposes of holding up a critical mirror to European practice and prejudice, their accounts certainly seem to appeal to this wider culture of criticism. Indeed, by the 1770s India and its ancient religion had come to occupy the intellectual space that Chinese Confucianism had once held for Enlightenment thinkers such as Leibniz, as an intellectual counterfoil to European civilisation.22 From a religious perspective too it is conceivable that these authors saw their falsifications as minor in relation to the more essential insights that they were serving: authentic fakes that captured an important religious perspective or truth.23 On the other hand, in order to hold up this mirror to European assumptions these accounts of Indian religion also necessitated a construction of Indian religion and history that had implications for India. In emphasising ancient and original scriptures and contrasting them with modern superstition and decline, these authors were laying the foundations for some of the ideological arguments that were used to legitimised British rule.24
I Constructing ‘Gentoo’ Religion
In the mid‐eighteenth century British writers used two terms, ‘Gentoo’ and ‘Hindoo’, to describe what they understood to be the native religion of Hindostan. As Catherine A. Robinson has neatly summarised, the term ‘Hindu’ is generally thought to derive from the Sanskrit ‘Sindhu’, which means both ‘river’ in general and the River Indus in particular. The suggestion is that this passed into other usages through the Persian word ‘Hindu’ and other cognate terms, such as the Greek ‘Indos’, and came to denote the people and the way of life that existed in in the geographical area surrounding the Indus.25 Geography and religion have, therefore, long been bound up in the various terms used to describe religious ideas and customs in India. In the eighteenth‐century British use of the term, ‘Hindoo’ was again used to mean a ‘native’ inhabitant of Hindostan, a definition that merged geography with religion yet again, because ‘native’ could also implicitly suggest ‘not followers of Islam’, in distinction from the characterisation of their Mughal rulers as a foreign power.26 By contrast, ‘Gentoo’ was a derivative of the Portuguese word for ‘gentile’, gentio, stemming from the Latin word gentilis, and was therefore always a religious term in nature.27 Its application to Indian religious traditions, and the related terms ‘Gentilism’ and ‘Gentooism’, were initiated by the significant Catholic missionary presence in southern India from the sixteenth century, the materials of which would prove a long‐standing resource for European knowledge of Indian religion until the eighteenth century.28 While some thinkers, including the Jesuit missionary Roberto de Nobili and the Lutheran minister Bartholomäus Ziegenbalg, explicitly acknowledged the diversity in Indian religious practices, other attempts to identify the common beliefs of ‘the gentiles of India’ sought to generalise what were unifying beliefs and practices.29 The interchangeable use of these terms by Europeans in the period considered in this article thus continued a longer convention of homogenising Indian religious practices and culture.
The term ‘Hinduism’ itself can be traced to the 1780s. The evangelical Company man Charles Grant mentions ‘Hindooism’ in a letter in 1787, and again in 1792.30 The writers considered in this article, however, published much earlier and thus employed either ‘Gentoo’ or ‘Hindoo’ to describe the religion and the people they viewed as native to ‘Hindostan’ or ‘Hindustan’, as it was variously spelt. John Zephaniah Holwell, whose work was published first, from 1764 to 1779, adopted the term ‘Gentoo’. Alexander Dow, on the other hand, whose first book was published in 1768, used ‘Hindoo’ for the same purposes. This was not merely a matter of the former going out of fashion, as in 1777 Nathaniel Brassey Halhed's A Code of Gentoo Laws once again referred to the ancient religion of India and its people as ‘Gentoo’, as well as using ‘Hindoo’ to describe the inhabitants of India. The most famous British Orientalist before William Jones, Charles Wilkins, however, preferred the use of ‘Hindoo’ in referring to the ‘Mahabarat’ (Mahābhārata) as ‘an ancient Hindoo poem’. One term, however, that these writers did use in common, was ‘Brahmin’. The idea of the Brahmin as the representative of Indian religion was a consistent theme in their work. Each cast the Brahmins as the priests of Indian religion, at once praising their learning and also blaming them for the superstitions of the vulgar. For Holwell and Dow this depended on a distinction between learned Brahmins and lower, less scrupulous examples. This meant that, alongside the tendency to homogenise the religious beliefs and practices of India, these authors also shared a bias towards textual sources and Brahminical authority.
Any discussion of the terminologies and epistemologies that have contributed to modern understandings of ‘Hinduism’ necessarily treads on the larger and more controversial question of whether ‘Hinduism’ has been invented.31 The various answers in the affirmative roughly trace a story whereby Western exploration meant the imposition of the category of ‘religion’ on Eastern practices and beliefs (a construct perpetuated by the nomenclature of ‘world religions’, attributable to the emergence of comparative religion as a category of scholarship). For S. N. Balagangadhara, Orientalism is cast as the ideology of a Christian theological framework, which forced the idea of Hinduism as a religion, the secular variants and residues of which remain within India as a product of a ‘colonial consciousness’.32 Yet there is also a wealth of evidence that points to a much older history of Hinduism. As David Lorenzen has pointed out, for example, Hindu religion as expressed in the theological and devotional practices surrounding the Bhagavad Gītā and other texts places a self‐conscious religious identity or ‘pre‐colonial consciousness’ of Hinduism much earlier.33 This debate has become all the more contentious since it became loaded with some considerably fraught political propositions in the wake of the rise of Hindu nationalist movements, drawn to a version of Hindu tradition conceived of as entirely unified and original to historical India.34 This article is not and cannot be a direct intervention into this debate, the scope of which is beyond the specific set of characters and circumstances explored here. Nevertheless, it is an account of how a particular idea of Indian religion was constructed by British writers for their European audience in the mid‐ to late eighteenth century.
Specifically, it argues that the religious concerns and preoccupations of these authors shaped their presentation of Indian thought, through the construction of scriptural authority and privileged access to scared texts. As A. J. Droge does in his much broader discussion of the concept of the forgery and fraud in the study of religion, reflecting on Arnaldo Momigliano's aphorism that ‘Pious frauds are frauds, for which one must show no piety – and no pity’, such an account must pay an attention to the author and intended audience of these texts. For Droge this is to ‘insist on discussing the temporal, situated, interested, and human dimensions of “holy books”, whether they were discovered hidden in a temple or fallen from heaven’.35 In some senses, then, this is a story of invention, since Holwell and Dow did, as we shall see, engage in varying degrees of contrivance in their accounts of Indian religion. This is in no way intended as a challenge to the longer chronology of Hindu ideas and traditions posited by Lorenzen. In fact, as this article will show, the materials and ideas selected by these writers were part of the fabric of the Indian thought and culture that they encountered, often presented to them as specialist pandit knowledge. Rather, by historicising the construction of an indigenous Indian religion in a particular moment of the British presence in India, it throws into question the tendency to imply an unbroken line of continuity in the colonial construction of Hinduism, despite the varieties of colonialism and the ideological frameworks underpinning them.
II J. Z. Holwell
John Zephaniah Holwell, whose career in the Company began as a ship's surgeon, is better known for his account of the ‘Black Hole of Calcutta’ in A Genuine Narrative (1758). This first publication described the imprisonment and death of those who were taken captive in Nawab Siraj‐ud‐Daulah's seizure of Fort William.36 The dramatic account is replete with exaggerations, the veracity of which has been challenged by historians since.37 Nevertheless, the basic narrative took hold of the public and became one of the founding myths of British empire in India.38 From the beginning, then, we can see Holwell's preference for grand narrative over accurate detail. A few years later Holwell became just as well known for his work on Indian history and philosophy, offering his discoveries over the course of three volumes, each instalment making bolder statements than the last about the significance of ‘Gentoo’ doctrines. In the first few pages of the first volume of Interesting Historical Events (1765) Holwell defended what he termed ‘Gentoo’ religion, which he saw as having been tarnished by ‘imperfect and unjust’ accounts.39 In the second volume (1767) he declared the religion's ‘principle tenets’ to be ‘satisfactory, conclusive and rational’.40 Finally, in the third volume (1771), Holwell set out what he believed to be the significance of ‘Gentoo Bible’, the Shastah, for resolving some of the obscurities and problems within Christian theology. It is to this supposed Shastah we must turn to understand what was forged in Holwell's account and why.
1. Scripture and Authority
In the opening to the first volume of Interesting Historical Events Holwell claimed to have owned two ‘very correct and valuable copies’ of the first and, according to Holwell, most original of the three ‘Gentoo’ scriptures that he identified as containing the religion's central theological tenets. This was the Chartah Bhade Shastah of Bramah, which he claimed to have spent ‘eighteen months hard labour’ translating. Disastrously, both the valuable manuscript and the translation were lost in ‘the capture of Calcutta’ in 1756. This ‘fatal catastrophe’ prevented him from achieving the ‘complete translation’ that would have been ‘a valuable acquisition for the learned world’. In the last eighteen months of his time in Bengal, freed from the business of government, Holwell was able to return to his researches and apparently, by some ‘unforeseen and extraordinary event’, eventually recover ‘some manuscripts’ from his original collection. Despite suggesting that he might possibly recite the details of those events, unfortunately their recovery is not elaborated in any part of the three volumes of Interesting Historical Events.41 Moreover, Holwell is elusive as to what these manuscripts contain, stating merely that they enabled him to undertake the task that he had assigned himself, variously outlined in the preface as the ‘elucidation’ of Bengal and its people (which, he explained in a footnote, meant ‘the Gentoos only’).42 The singular hint given to how he would achieve this is the comment at the beginning of the preface that his account will be based on ‘facts, just observations, and faithful recitals’.43 When the reader arrives at the sections of text that are presented as quotations of the Shastah, in vol. II, it is left unsaid whether these extracts are translated from the recovered texts or a recitation of the lost work from memory. Moreover, since Holwell did not directly claim to have mastered Sanskrit, it is left unclear whether these extracts, and the original fruits of his long hours of labour, were the products of direct translation, pandit instruction or translation from a Persian or Bengali account of a Sanskrit text.44 In addition to the muddled origin story of Holwell's Shastah, the form in which it is presented also raises some questions. This second attempt at conveying the contents of this manuscript copy of ancient text, after the loss of the original, is divided into sections I‐V, followed by a section VIII on ‘Birmahah’ (Brahman).45 Again, it is unsaid, but we are left to assume that sections VI and VII were either not recovered or not well enough remembered by Holwell.
This is not to say, however, that what is presented was entirely fabricated, or a complete product of Holwell's imagination. The work itself is littered with Hindu ideas as well as English transliterations of Sanskrit words, or Bengali renderings of Sanskrit words. Some have suggested that Holwell's title of the Shastah of Bramah may have been referring to the Śatapatha Brāhmaṇa.46 Yet, aside from the name, the two texts share few similarities. Thomas Trautmann has pointed to further issues with Holwell's terminology, explaining that in Sanskrit the Chartah Bhade Shastah would read something like Catur Veda Śāstra. This presents an odd combination of two distinct types of Sanskrit literature: the Vedas and the Śāstras.47 As we shall see below, Holwell attempted to distance his text from the Vedas, so he was evidently unaware of the presences of this amalgamation of terms in his title. This is not to say that he did not own antique Indian manuscripts. In fact, the Company did compensate him for those lost in the capture of Fort William at Calcutta.48 Nevertheless, while it seems Holwell had gained some genuine insights into Indian theology, possibly through pandit instruction, the extracts themselves remain difficult to place, particularly in relation to his claims about their significance as scriptures. These layers of obfuscation, mixed with genuine knowledge, have thus unsurprisingly been described by scholars as ‘rather dubious’, ‘murky’ and ‘distorted’.49 Urs App has even suggested that Holwell's basic source was not Indian in origin at all, but a work by Diogo do Couto, Decada Quinta da Asia, from 1612. Based on the observation that Holwell himself confessed to holding heterodox religious views, particularly a conviction in the prophecies of the gnostic preacher Jacob Ilive (1705‐1763), App has traced how Holwell found symmetry between Indian ideas and Ilive's account of an earth populated by fallen angels in do Couto's description of the Vedas, and modelled his Shastah accordingly.50 To this, the discussion below will add some further detail about the orientation of Holwell's own religious beliefs in order to account for the variety of European sources he brought to bear on his construction of the Shastah.
Many scholars have thus expressed varying degrees of scepticism when it comes to the authenticity of Holwell's original sources, and it seems that no one has stepped in to mount a robust defence. Where there is scope to alleviate the charge of deliberate falsification, however, is via consideration of the possibility that Holwell had himself been duped by a forgery. Many have cited the infamous case of Francis Wilford (1761‐1822), whose too‐good‐to‐be‐true discoveries of several confirmations of biblical history in Sanskrit texts served as a cautionary tale about unscrupulous pandits. Wilford's researches were an attempt to reconstruct the ancient geography of Egypt and Ethiopia through a selection of Sankrit sources, which he characterised as ‘historical poems’ and ‘legendary tales’ collected for him by his pandits. It seemed a remarkable discovery then when, selecting evidence from the Puranas, he was able to identify a patriarchal figure who had survived a great flood and had three sons, whose names bore a remarkable similarity to the biblical progeny of Noah. The Japeth, Ham and Shem of Genesis appeared to be the JyaPeti, Charma and Sharma of the Padma Purana. In 1792 he first published these astonishing findings, effectively folding Sanskrit history into a Judaeo‐Christian mythography.51 In 1805, however, Wilford was forced to retract these claims, having realised that his pandit, who had received an outline of the scared geography from his patron, had placed into the manuscripts these satisfying findings.52 Such instances open up the possibility that Holwell was fooled, but there are some important differences in these examples, as well discrepancies in Holwell's story. In Wilford's case, the passages were inserted over the course of an ongoing relationship with a pandit scholar, who adapted existing materials to meet the expectations of his patron. In contrast, Holwell claimed to have procured two copies of the ‘Gentoo’ Shastah himself, which he then spent considerable time translating. Moreover, if Holwell had been sold a fake manuscript, the broker of which claimed it was an authentic original, it seems a great coincidence that it happened to correspond with Holwell's already established convictions about the origins of the world and the state of human existence within it.
In fact, the question of Holwell's use of indigenous scholarship and knowledge is another questionable component of his account. Holwell certainly suggests that he had conversations with pandit informants, though, as in the case of the lost and found manuscripts, the details are vague. Wilford's employment of pandit scholarship came at a significantly different point in the Company's rise to political power in Bengal. It was after the Company's manoeuvre to ‘stand forth’ as a significant administrative power in 1772, and claiming with it responsibility for juridical matters, that the need for extensive consultation with pandits and maulvis (or mawlawis) on, respectively, Hindu and Muslim law cemented institutional relations of patronage. By the 1780s and 1790s the erosion of their traditional sources of sponsorship meant that pandits became involved in a host of occupations outside the strictly legal sphere.53 Christopher Bayly thus explained Wilford's case as relating to the historical working practices of his pandits, who, used to creating new Sanskrit genealogies at the behest of their princely Martha employers, were now negotiating offering alternative services to a new market‐place of British patronage.54 In contrast, Holwell, who gathered his materials in the 1750s, was writing much before an established system of patronage and offers various different claims about the source of his information. Principally, it seems he had sought assistance from members of what he terms the Koyt (kāyasth), or ‘tribe of writers’, in determining the antiquity and varying standards of authority of the ‘Gentoo’ scriptures. Conveniently for Holwell, these members of the laity were, according to his judgement, ‘often better versed in the doctrines of their Shastah than the common run of Bramins themselves’.55 They had confirmed for him ‘in various conferences’ that his text, the Chartah Bahde Shastah, was the oldest and most original. Interestingly, Holwell added this detail about the kāyasth advisers at the end of a long section of text, given in quotation marks, about the date and provenance of the Shastah. He had introduced this section as a ‘recital’, received from ‘learned Bramins’.56 If this was his original source, why did he need to check it with a ‘tribe of writers’? It is unclear if Holwell had consulted these Brahmins directly, or whether this was merely their perspective as confirmed by the kāyasth, although elsewhere in the text Holwell repeats the claim that he had consulted with ‘some learned Brahmins’, but again without more detail.57 Likewise, what does this recited passage mean for our understanding of the next section of the book, which presents sections from the Shastah in precisely the same manner, with quotations marks? It could be that this is to be similarly understood as a recital, although he also refers to it as a ‘cited passage’.58
The suggestion that Holwell was duped into believing a fake raises more questions than it answers, and most of the ambiguities in the text are a product of Holwell's own misdirection rather than a gullible presentation of inauthentic manuscript. All in all, the reader is left confused as to the origins of this text, which we have been told is very rare, both in the sense that Holwell found it difficult to procure his extremely valuable copy and according to the story of its transmission through Indian antiquity, which rendered it only intelligible to ‘three or for Goysen families’ and ‘Batteezaaz Bramins’.59 We know that its history has been explained to him by ‘Koyts’, and possibly also ‘learned Bramins’, but it remains unclear whether the passages presented are a translation, a recital or are cited from Holwell's memory of a translation. If it was a translation, Holwell does not tell us from what language, though we are led, by his claims to have been ‘drinking from the fountain head’, to believe that it must be from Sanskrit. Indeed, this is what many of his readers came to conclude. Voltaire assumed so, given Holwell's claims to have laboured for many months over a translation.60 Accepting that Holwell's ‘Gentoo’ religion was an invention, albeit imbued with some elements of Indian religion and philosophy, removes the problem of authenticity. The question of why Holwell chose to present it in that form, however, remains pertinent. The most obvious answer is the recognition that Holwell's invention of the Shastah sits in relation to a situation where religion as a category was largely confined by European paradigms relating to doctrine and scripture. We can thus understand Holwell's emphasis on the importance of the Shastah as an authoritative basis for defining ‘true’ ‘Gentoo’ doctrine as part of what religious studies calls the literary or textual bias in European conceptions of religion.61 The fact that Holwell's discovery was referred to in reviews as the ‘Gentoo bible’ or ‘Gentoo Scriptures’ is a clear example of this.62 Indeed, rather ironically, Holwell devoted considerable space to explaining how the only valid grounds for interpreting Indian religion were linguistic expertise and textual analysis. Whereas previous authors had relied on ‘unconnected scraps and bits’, Holwell offered a ‘complete translation’ of important ‘Gentoo’ manuscripts. A basic colloquial grasp of the local language was not adequate; the outsider must also be able to ‘sufficiently trace the etymology of their words and phrases’.63
Holwell needed to position his account in a market‐place of competing texts and interpretations, including the Ezour Vedam, a French translation of what was supposedly one of the Vedas, introduced to a wide European audience by Voltaire from 1760 onwards. Ludo Rocher believes the Ezour Vedam, another forged piece of Indian ‘scripture’, to have been composed by a Jesuit for the purposes of suggesting parallels between the two religious on which a missionary agenda could be fulfilled.64 At the same time, Voltaire was able to take the same text and present it as evidence of the Bible's flawed chronology and Christianity's faded significance against the backdrop of other world religions. In this sense, Holwell's Shastah was a continuation of the practice of fashioning Hindu ideas to suit a European religious message. Thus, according to Holwell, reports that the ‘Veidam’ was the ‘Gentoo's’ central text were erroneous. In fact, his original text, the Chartah Bhade Shastah of Bramah, has been followed be three other increasingly adulterated texts: the Chatah Bhade of Bramah which did not appear until 2,100 BCE, followed 500 years by the Aughtorrah Bhade Shastah. Finally, there was one more text, so chronologically distant from the other three that Holwell refers to its creation as a schism: the Viedam (Veda). Holwell thus distanced himself from all former authors and texts associated with the Vedas (e.g., the seventeenth‐century Dutch chaplain Abraham Roger, the Jesuits and the Ezour Vedam) in order to establish the Shastah as an alternative source of authority.65 As Holwell put it, ‘in place of drinking at the fountain head’ as he had, these other authors had merely ‘swallowed the muddy streams which flowed from’ the later scriptures.66 Despite its crudity, this approach was an apparent success, with Voltaire accepting Holwell's claim by repeating that ‘The Shastah is older than the Veda’.67
Yet, although Holwell did have critics, these were mainly concerned with his apparent approval of ‘Gentoo’ doctrines, rather than the actual authenticity of his account. Knowledge of India at this time was sufficiently limited for Holwell's linguistic authority to be convincing. The Scottish poet William Julius Mickle, for example, dismissed Holwell's enthusiasm for ‘Gentoo’ tenets as a predictable cliché: like ‘every liberal mind, who has conversed with the world’, Holwell had become seduced by the mystical East. Despite this, though, Mickle still summarised that, of the existing studies of Indian religion, ‘Mr. Holwell's account, upon the whole, is the most authentic’.68 In another twist, Holwell's claims about language and textual authority also made his construction of ‘Gentoo’ religion seem more authentic precisely on the basis that they afforded him a certain degree of objectivity. Thus, as well as the Jesuit authors, Holwell accused the Dutch minister Philippus Baldaeus (1632‐1671) of being led by the ‘mistaken zeal of a Christian divine’ into producing ‘a monster that shocks reason and probability’ in his communication of the ‘Gentoo’ doctrines. In contrast, Holwell deliberately constructed the persona of a detached observer, urging his readers to resist the tendency to regard things through the lens of ‘our own tenets and customs […] to the injury of others’.69