ABHANDLUNGEN FÜR DIE KUNDE
DES MORGENLANDES
Im Auftrag der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft
herausgegeben von Florian C. Reiter
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Christian Bauer (Berlin)
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Jens Peter Laut (Göttingen)
Joachim Friedrich Quack (Heidelberg)
Florian C. Reiter (Berlin)
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2017
Harrassowitz Verlag . Wiesbaden
Adaptive Reuse
Aspects of Creativity in South Asian Cultural History
Edited by
Elisa Freschi and Philipp A. Maas
2017
Harrassowitz Verlag . Wiesbaden
Published with the support of Austrian Science Fund (FWF): PUB 403-G24
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Contents
Elisa Freschi and Philipp A. Maas
Introduction: Conceptual Reflections on Adaptive Reuse ............................. 11
1 The dialectics of originality and reuse................................................ 11
2 The background .................................................................................. 12
3 Some basic conceptual tools .............................................................. 13
3.1
Simple re-use versus different grades of adaptive reuse ....... 13
4 Adaptive reuse: Aspects of creativity ................................................. 17
5 “Adaptive reuse” and related terms .................................................... 20
5.1
Adaptive reuse, intertextuality and adaptation studies .......... 20
6 On the present volume........................................................................ 21
References ................................................................................................ 24
Section 1: Adaptive Reuse of Indian Philosophy and Other Systems of
Knowledge
Philipp A. Maas
From Theory to Poetry: The Reuse of Patañjali’s Yogaśāstra in
Māgha’s Śiśupālavadha................................................................................. 29
1 The Pātañjalayogaśāstra ................................................................... 30
2 Māgha’s Śiśupālavadha ..................................................................... 31
3 The Śiśupālavadha and Sāṅkhya Yoga in academic research ............ 34
4 Pātañjala Yoga in the Śiśupālavadha ................................................. 36
4.1
The stanza Śiśupālavadha 4.55 ............................................. 36
4.1.1 The reuse of the Pātañjalayogaśāstra in
Śiśupālavadha 4.55 ............................................................... 37
4.1.2 Śiśupālavadha 4.55 in context .............................................. 41
4.2
The stanza Śiśupālavadha 14.62 ........................................... 46
4.2.1 The reuse of the Pātañjalayogaśāstra in
Śiśupālavadha 14.62 ............................................................. 47
4.2.2 Śiśupālavadha 14.62 in context ............................................ 49
4.3
The passage Śiśupālavadha 1.31–33 .................................... 51
4.4
The reception of Māgha’s reuse in
Vallabhadeva’s Antidote ....................................................... 53
5 Conclusions ........................................................................................ 55
6
Contens
References................................................................................................ 57
Himal Trikha
Creativity within Limits: Different Usages of a Single Argument from
Dharmakīrti’s Vādanyāya in Vidyānandin’s Works ...................................... 63
1 A passage from the Vādanyāya and an overview of corresponding
textual material ................................................................................... 65
1.1
The background of the argument .......................................... 66
1.2
Overview of corresponding passages.................................... 68
1.3
Groups of correlating elements ............................................. 71
2 The succession of transmission for the adaptions in
Vācaspati’s and Aśoka’s works.......................................................... 73
2.1
Basic types of the succession of transmission ...................... 73
2.2
The adaption in the Nyāyavārttikatātparyaṭīkā .................... 75
2.3
The adaption in the Sāmānyadūṣaṇa .................................... 79
3 Vidyānandin’s use of the argument .................................................... 82
3.1
The adaptions in the Tattvārthaślokavārttikālaṅkāra ........... 82
3.2
The adaptions in the Aṣṭasahasrī .......................................... 87
3.3
The adaptions in the Satyaśāsanaparīkṣā ............................. 95
4 Conclusion........................................................................................ 101
References.............................................................................................. 102
Ivan Andrijanić
Traces of Reuse in Śaṅkara’s Commentary on the Brahmasūtra ................ 109
1 Introduction ...................................................................................... 109
2 Material marked by Śaṅkara or by sub-commentators as being
reused from other authors ................................................................. 113
2.1
Indefinite pronouns as markers of reuse ............................. 113
2.2
Identifications of reuse by the sub-commentators .............. 115
2.2.1 Reuse of the views of the Vṛttikāra..................................... 116
3 Different interpretations of the same sūtras ..................................... 118
4 Examples of reuse ............................................................................ 119
4.1
The case of ānandamaya in
Brahmasūtrabhāṣya 1.1.12–1.1.19 ..................................... 119
4.1.1 The introduction of the adhikaraṇa .................................... 120
4.1.2 Brahmasūtrabhāṣya 1.1.12 ................................................. 121
4.1.3 Brahmasūtrabhāṣya 1.1.13–17 ........................................... 121
4.1.4 Brahmasūtrabhāṣya 1.1.17 ................................................. 122
4.1.5 Brahmasūtrabhāṣya 1.1.19 ................................................. 123
4.2
The “bridge” (setu) from BS(Bh) 1.3.1 and
MU(Bh) 2.2.5 ..................................................................... 126
Contens
7
5 Conclusions and outlook for further research................................... 129
References .............................................................................................. 130
Yasutaka Muroya
On Parallel Passages in the Nyāya Commentaries of Vācaspati Miśra and
Bhaṭṭa Vāgīśvara ......................................................................................... 135
1 Bhaṭṭa Vāgīśvara’s Nyāyasūtratātparyadīpikā................................. 136
2 Parallel passages in the Nyāyasūtratātparyadīpikā, the
Nyāyabhāṣya and the Nyāyavārttika ................................................ 138
3 Parallel passages in the Nyāyasūtratātparyadīpikā and the
Nyāyavārttikatātpāryaṭīkā ................................................................ 138
3.1
Vāgīśvara and Vācaspati on Nyāyasūtra 1.1.1 ................... 139
3.1.1 Udayana’s theory of categories........................................... 142
3.2
Vāgīśvara and Vācaspati on Nyāyasūtra *5.2.15(16) ......... 143
3.2.1 Dharmakīrti’s discussion of ananubhāṣaṇa ........................ 145
3.2.2 Vāgīśvara’s and Vācaspati’s references to Dharmakīrti ..... 147
4 On the relative chronology of Vāgīśvara and Vācaspati .................. 148
References .............................................................................................. 150
Malhar Kulkarni
Adaptive Reuse of the Descriptive Technique of Pāṇini in Non-Pāṇinian
Grammatical Traditions with Special Reference to the Derivation of the
Declension of the 1st and 2nd Person Pronouns ............................................ 155
References .............................................................................................. 166
Section 2: Adaptive Reuse of Tropes
Elena Mucciarelli
The Steadiness of a Non-steady Place: Re-adaptations of the
Imagery of the Chariot................................................................................. 169
Premise .................................................................................................. 169
1 The Ṛgvedic ratha: The chariot as a living prismatic metaphor ...... 171
1.1
ratha and swiftness ............................................................. 171
1.1.1 ratha as a means for crossing fields .................................... 173
1.2
The godly character of the ratha ......................................... 173
1.3
ratha and conquest .............................................................. 174
1.4
ratha in the ritual context.................................................... 174
1.5
ratha and poetry.................................................................. 175
1.6
ratha and generative power ................................................ 176
1.7
Summing up: The many semantic values of the
ratha in the Ṛgveda Saṃhitā ............................................... 178
8
Contens
1.8
The medieval adaptive reuse of the ratha
compared to its Vedic use ................................................... 178
2 The linear re-use of the ratha in the middle Vedic period: The
symbolic chariot ............................................................................... 179
2.1
The socio-political context of the re-use ............................. 179
2.2
The chariot in the middle Vedic sacrifices ......................... 180
2.2.1 The chariot in non-royal sacrifices ..................................... 181
2.2.2 The chariot in the royal sacrifices ....................................... 182
2.2.3 The chariot and the evocation of fertility ............................ 187
2.3
Shrinking of meanings in middle Vedic reuse .................... 188
3 Conclusion ....................................................................................... 188
References.............................................................................................. 189
Cristina Bignami
Chariot Festivals: The Reuse of the Chariot as Space in Movement ........... 195
1 Introduction ...................................................................................... 195
2 The origins of chariot processions in the Vedic period .................... 197
3 Faxian’s record of chariot festivals ................................................. 198
4 A record of the chariot festival in the southern kingdom ................. 200
5 The modern ritual of rathotsava at the
Cennakeśava Temple of Belur, Karnataka ....................................... 202
6 The modern ritual of rathayātrā at Puri, Orissa ............................... 204
7 Applying the concept of reuse: The chariot in the diaspora ............. 205
8 Conclusions ...................................................................................... 209
Figures ................................................................................................... 210
References.............................................................................................. 212
Section 3: Adaptive Reuse of Untraced and Virtual Texts
Daniele Cuneo
“This is Not a Quote”: Quotation Emplotment, Quotational Hoaxes and Other
Unusual Cases of Textual Reuse in Sanskrit Poetics-cum-Dramaturgy ...... 219
1 Introduction: Reuse, novelty, and tradition ...................................... 220
2 Śāstra as an ideological apparatus.................................................... 221
3 The worldly śāstra, its fuzzy boundaries, and the
derivation of rasas............................................................................ 224
4 Quotation emplotment and the teleology of
commentarial thought....................................................................... 232
5 Quotational hoaxes and novelty under siege .................................... 236
6 Unabashed repetition and authorial sleight of hand ......................... 237
7 Conclusions: The alternate fortunes of the two
paradigms of textual authoritativeness ............................................. 239
Contens
9
Appendix: Four translations of Abhinavagupta’s intermezzo ................ 246
References .............................................................................................. 247
Kiyokazu Okita
Quotation, Quarrel and Controversy in Early Modern South Asia:
Appayya Dīkṣita and Jīva Gosvāmī on Madhva’s Untraceable Citations ... 255
Introduction ............................................................................................ 255
1 The modern controversy: Mesquita vs. Sharma ............................... 256
2 Untraceable quotes and Purāṇic studies ........................................... 257
3 Untraceable quotes and Vedānta as Hindu theology ........................ 259
4 Early modern controversy: Appayya Dīkṣita vs. Jīva Gosvāmī ....... 260
4.1
Appayya Dīkṣita ................................................................. 260
4.2
Jīva Gosvāmī ...................................................................... 267
Conclusion ............................................................................................. 274
References .............................................................................................. 275
Elisa Freschi
Reusing, Adapting, Distorting? Veṅkaṭanātha’s Reuse of Rāmānuja,
Yāmuna (and the Vṛttikāra) in his Commentary ad
Pūrvamīmāṃsāsūtra 1.1.1 ........................................................................... 281
1 Early Vaiṣṇava synthesizing philosophies ....................................... 281
2 Veṅkaṭanātha as a continuator of Rāmānuja (and of Yāmuna) ........ 283
3 The Śrībhāṣya and the Seśvaramīmāṃsā: Shared textual material .. 285
3.1
Examples ............................................................................ 285
3.1.1 The beginning of the commentary ...................................... 285
3.1.2 Commentary on jijñāsā ....................................................... 287
3.1.3 vyatireka cases .................................................................... 288
3.1.3.1 Śaṅkara’s commentary on the same sūtra........................... 288
3.1.3.2 Bhāskara’s commentary on the same sūtra......................... 290
3.2
Conclusions on the commentaries ad Brahmasūtra /
Pūrvamīmāṃsāsūtra 1.1.1 .................................................. 293
4 The Śrībhāṣya and the Seśvaramīmāṃsā: A shared agenda
concerning aikaśāstrya ..................................................................... 294
4.1
Similarities between the treatment of aikaśāstrya in the
Seśvaramīmāṃsā and the Śrībhāṣya ................................... 295
4.2
The Saṅkarṣakāṇḍa ............................................................ 297
4.2.1 The extant Saṅkarṣakāṇḍa .................................................. 299
4.2.2 The Saṅkarṣakāṇḍa-devatākāṇḍa ....................................... 303
4.2.3 Quotations from the Saṅkarṣakāṇḍa ................................... 304
4.2.4 The Saṅkarṣakāṇḍa and Advaita Vedānta .......................... 306
4.2.5 The Saṅkarṣakāṇḍa and the Pāñcarātra .............................. 309
10
Contens
4.2.6 Conclusions on the Saṅkarṣakāṇḍa .................................... 310
4.2.7 The authorship of the Saṅkarṣakāṇḍa................................. 312
5 Yāmuna and the Seśvaramīmāṃsā: Shared textual material ............ 316
6 Conclusions ...................................................................................... 319
References.............................................................................................. 320
Cezary Galewicz
If You Don’t Know the Source, Call it a yāmala:
Quotations and Ghost Titles in the Ṛgvedakalpadruma .............................. 327
1 The Ṛgvedakalpadruma ................................................................... 329
2 The concept of the daśagrantha ....................................................... 330
2.1
Keśava Māṭe’s interpretation of the daśagrantha ............... 331
2.2
The sūtra within Keśava’s daśagrantha ............................. 332
3 The Rudrayāmala as quoted in the Ṛgvedakalpadruma ................... 336
4 The Rudrayāmala and the yāmalas .................................................. 338
5 Textual identity reconsidered ........................................................... 340
6 What does the name Rudrayāmala stand for? .................................. 341
7 Tantricized Veda or Vedicized Tantra?............................................ 342
8 Quotations and loci of ascription...................................................... 343
9 Spatial topography of ideas .............................................................. 345
References.............................................................................................. 346
Section 4: Reuse from the Perspective of the Digital Humanities
Sven Sellmer
Methodological and Practical Remarks on the Question of Reuse in
Epic Texts .................................................................................................... 355
Introduction............................................................................................ 355
1 Epic reuse. ......................................................................................... 357
1.1
Internal reuse ....................................................................... 358
1.1.1 Repetitions .......................................................................... 358
1.1.2 Fixed formulas .................................................................... 359
1.1.3 Formulaic expressions ........................................................ 360
1.1.4 Flexible patterns .................................................................. 360
1.2
External reuse and its detection ........................................... 361
1.2.1 Unusual vocabulary ............................................................ 363
1.2.2 Exceptional heterotopes ...................................................... 365
1 .2 .3 Specific metrical patterns ................................................... 368
Conclusion ............................................................................................. 369
References.............................................................................................. 370
Introduction:
Conceptual Reflections on Adaptive Reuse*
Elisa Freschi and Philipp A. Maas
1 The dialectics of originality and reuse
The purpose of the present volume is to explore a specific aspect of creativity
in South Asian systems of knowledge, literature and rituals. Under the heading “adaptive reuse,” it addresses the relationship between innovation and the
perpetuation of earlier forms and contents of knowledge and aesthetic expressions within the process of creating new works. This relation, although it has
rarely been the topic of explicit reflections in South Asian intellectual traditions, can be investigated by taking a closer look at the treatment of earlier
materials by later authors. With this in mind, the chapters of this book
discuss, for example, the following questions: What is an “original” contribution of an author? How can instances of adaptive reuse of older textual
materials be detected?1 What are the motives of and purposes for adaptive
reuse? Why does an author recur to something already available instead of
inventing something new? What did it mean to be an “author,” to be “original,” or to be “creative” during South Asian cultural history? By dealing
*
1
Work on this volume has been generously supported by the FWF in the context of project No. V-400 (EF), by the Institute for South Asian, Tibetan and Buddhist Studies of
the University of Vienna, and by the DFG in the context of the project “Digitale
kritische Edition des Nyāyabhāṣya.” We are grateful to the Deutsche Morgenländische
Gesellschaft for accepting the volume in their series. All costs related to the publication
were covered by the FWF (PUB 403-G24). We would also like to thank Cynthia PeckKubaczek for her careful copy-editing and Dania Huber for checking the bibliographical entries.
The terms “textual” and “text” should be conceived in this introduction in a very broad
way. In accordance with Hanks, we believe that “text can be taken (heuristically) to
designate any configuration of signs that is coherently interpretable by some community of users” (Hanks 1989: 95, emphasis by Hanks). It thus includes also works of
visual and performative arts. On the presence of an underlying “text” also in oral
performances, see Barber 2005.
12
Elisa Freschi and Philipp A. Maas
with these and related questions this volume moreover addresses the following two topical complexes:
– detecting specific patterns and practices of adaptive reuse in South Asian
cultural history, and
– reframing concepts such as “originality” and “authorship” in South Asia
by means of a closer investigation of instances of adaptive reuse.
2 The background
When we started to conceptualize the present volume, there had only been a
few studies on the topic of textual reuse we could build on.
– Ernst Prets’ database of Nyāya fragments (available here: http://nyaya.
oeaw.ac.at/cgi-bin/wr/listaut.pl) mainly focused on the retrieval of fragments rather than the reasons for their reuse.
– The conference entitled “Transmission and Tradition: The Meaning and
the Role of Fragments in Indian Philosophy” that was organized by Prets
and Hiroshi Marui in Matsumoto in 2012 expanded on this first purpose
of detecting and identifying fragments of mostly lost works by adding the
evaluation of the formative role of early Indian philosophy as it can be reconstructed through such fragments (abstracts and program of the conference can be found here: http://nyaya.oeaw.ac.at/cgi-bin/conf/adv.pl).
– The book edited by Julia Hegewald and Subrata Mitra (Hegewald and
Mitra 2012b) mainly focused on the political value of the reuse of artistic
elements.
– The book edited by Elisa Freschi on the form of quotations and references
in South Asian śāstras (Freschi 2015b) established a basis for the present
project, insofar as the book deals with the various forms of reusing textual
materials.
The present volume builds on the above work by scrutinizing different purposes of adaptive reuse. The editors had the pleasure to discuss these topics
in person with the authors of the various chapters in the context of the thematic panel “Adaptive Reuse of Texts, Ideas and Images” at the 32nd Deutscher Orientalistentag held in Münster in September 2013.2 An expanded and
2
For the titles and abstracts of the individual contributions to this panel, see http://
tinyurl.com/paefcq3.
Introduction
13
revised version of the presentation of Gianni Pellegrini was published separately in the Journal of Indian Philosophy (Pellegrini 2016).
3 Some basic conceptual tools
The concept of reuse comprises four main aspects, viz. (1.) the involvement
of at least one consciously acting agent, who, (2.) in order to achieve a certain
purpose, (3.) resumes the usage (4.) of a clearly identifiable object after an
interruption in its being used. The attribute “adaptive” presupposes that the
reusing person pursues a specific purpose by adapting something already
existent to his or her specific needs. The reused object has to be identifiable
as being reused, because otherwise the adaptation is not an instance of reuse,
but of recycling (see below, section 5).
In the fields of city planning and architecture, the theoretical concept of
“adaptive reuse” has been influential for at least the last thirty years.3 With
“adaptive reuse” scholars in these fields describe a phenomenon that lies at
the basis of each re-actualization of an architectural element. The concept of
adaptive reuse is thus as old as architecture itself (see Plevoets and van
Cleempoel 2013 for a historical survey). In city planning and architecture,
adaptive reuse applies to the use of a building (often partially reconstructed)
for a new function that differs from the purpose for which the building was
originally erected. Adaptive reuse is an alternative to demolition and is employed for a wide range of aims, such as saving material resources, preventing urban sprawl, or preserving, at least to some degree, the appearance of
townscapes. Thus, agency, finality and creativity are key elements in adaptive
reuse.
An additional important factor in the process of reuse is the interruption
of a previous use, which leads to questions concerning the many historical,
religious, philosophical, social and/or political causes that result in the use of
a certain architectural element or, in our case, of a text or concept being interrupted.
3.1 Simple re-use versus different grades of adaptive reuse
In the context of the present volume we shall differentiate between two ideal
types of re(-)use, i.e., simple re-use and adaptive reuse. Simple re-use is the
resumption of the previous use of an item without a strong change of pur3
See the discussion of the history and prehistory of this concept in Plevoets and van
Cleempoel 2011.
14
Elisa Freschi and Philipp A. Maas
pose(s). An item is employed again because it is readily available and can be
easily used. Usually the re-user does not want the re-used element to be specifically recognized as having been re-used.
To elaborate, simple re-use is the act of “again using” something that had
been used earlier. Typically, simple re-use implies no change in purpose.
This is the case when, for example, a pillar from an ancient monument is reused to support an architectural element in a new building. Simple re-use is
also characterized by the fact that the re-used item is readily available. For
instance, re-using a pillar from an old building for a new one constitutes a
case of simple re-use, if the re-use is the easiest and cheapest solution for
erecting that colonnade. Moreover, in simple re-use, re-used objects are not
marked as being re-used, because the audience4 is not supposed to recognize
the re-use at all.
In contrast to simple re-use, adaptive reuse is not merely the repetition of
a previous use; it implies more than an item just being used again.5 In adaptive reuse, the reuser expects his or her audience to recognize the reused elements in order to achieve a well-defined purpose, as for example adding prestige, credibility, etc. to the newly created item. Adaptive reuse may involve a
more substantial change in the usage. Moreover, it is not motivated (primaryly) by economic reasons. Reusing a pillar from an ancient monument constitutes a case of adaptive reuse if it is reused, for instance, to show continuity
with the past, etc.
However, simple and adaptive re(-)use do not mutually exclude each
other. In general, different degrees of adaptation characterize individual cases
of re(-)use. On the side of simple re-use, economic reasons are more relevant,
whereas on the side of adaptive reuse, changes of purpose (“resemantization”), and authorial expectations concerning the audience’s recognition of
the reuse are more dominant (see Fig. 1).
simple re-use
adaptive reuse
Figure 1: The spectrum from simple re-use to adaptive reuse: there is no
sharp line – simple re-use and adaptive reuse blend into each other.
4
5
This term will be used throughout this introduction to indicate all possible targets of a
text, work of art or performance, i.e., readers, listeners, viewers, spectators, etc.
In order to highlight our differentiation of simple re-use from adaptive reuse, we have
decided to refer to the former concept with the word “re-use” (with a hyphen) and to
the later, with “reuse” (without a hyphen).
Introduction
15
The grade of adaptation in any case of adaptive reuse lies to a considerable
degree in the eye of the beholder, whose ability to determine the adaptation
may vary over time and in different historically, culturally or socially determined contexts. Therefore, a shift in the time, place, context or social position of the audience may lead to varying interpretations of a given instance of
re(-)use as being more or less adaptive or simple. For instance, Elisa Freschi
(2015c) discussed unmarked passages within a late Mīmāṃsā text derived
from previous authoritative sources that a well-informed audience of the time
would probably have recognized immediately, although contemporary
readers may fail to do so. Accordingly, what today may seem an instance of
simple re-use was intended as adaptive in its original context.
Figure 2: Minerveo obelisk by Gian Lorenzo Bernini (1667), Rome, Italy.
File:SantaMariaSopraMinerva-Pulcin03-SteO153.JPG, detail, (CC BY-SA 3.0)
https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=27583105.
16
Elisa Freschi and Philipp A. Maas
Within the visual arts, building stones procured from a monument and
re-used for the same purpose as before without any implication of their artistic value may be an extreme case of simple re-use. In contrast, adaptive reuse
would be materials from a previous monument being reused with the conscious aim of making the audience aware, for instance, of a foreign civilization’s subjugation (such as incorporation of monuments of African origin in
European monuments during the Colonial period) or of a foreign culture’s
dissolution into one’s own culture, such as the Minerveo Obelisk [Rome,
1667], a sculpture by Gian Lorenzo Bernini that combines an ancient Egyptian obelisk with Christian elements and other symbols, such as an elephant
from the Hypnerotomachia Poliphili (see Fig. 2, above).
There are many examples of this type of reuse, such as the reuse – and
consequent resemantization – of an image of the Jina at the Doddappa temple
in Adargunchi. This temple originally belonged to the Jaina community and
was later appropriated by Vīra Śaivas. The new owners did not destroy the
Jina image, but rather reused it. As Hegewald and Mitra (2012b, pp. 61–64)
have explained, the Vīra Śaivas applied horizontal lines and ashes to the Jina
sculpture as signs of the image’s “conversion” to Śaivism. The adaptive reuse
thus presumably communicated to the audience that Vīra Śaivism had become the new dominant religion (see Fig. 3).
Figure 3: A statue of a Tīrthaṅkara adaptively reused as a Śaiva image.
Source: Plate 3.5 in Hegewald and Mitra 2012b, with kind permission of Julia
Hegewald.
Introduction
17
In the case of textual reuse, adaptive reuse highlights the fact that the textual
material has been reused. Its reuse emphasizes the text and its connotations.
For example, it possibly adds prestige to the newly created text or situates
that text within a continuous and illustrious tradition. In this way, the reused
text mediates the new text to its audience. At the same time an explicitly
marked quotation also highlights the quoted text as an extraneous element. It
thus establishes a distance, putting the reused material in a showcase, so to
speak. The quoted text is perceived as alien to the new context, since it comes
from the past or some other remote context.6 This may be the reason why
authors of Mīmāṃsā texts7 generally did not explicitly indicate quoted
passages from authors of their own school; these were silently embedded in
the texts. However they highlighted quotations from the works of authors
belonging to other schools. In this way, the reuser endorsed his own tradition
and explicitly distanced himself from other schools of thought.
4 Adaptive reuse: Aspects of creativity
Texts are reused in different historical and intellectual contexts and for
different purposes. For example Jīva Gosvāmin and Jayanta both reuse the
following stanza from Bhartṛhari’s Vākyapādīya:
yatnenānumito yo ’rthaḥ kuśalair anumātṛbhiḥ |
abhiyuktatarair anyair anyathaivopapādyate || (Vākyapādīya 1.34)
Even a matter that was inferred with effort by skilled experts in inference is later established in a completely different way by those even
more competent.
Bhartṛhari’s original intention was to point out the unreliability of inference.
Any inference leads to results that are only provisionally valid, because previous results can always be superseded by later inferences. Bhartṛhari’s
stanza became so well known that it was reused by Jīva Gosvāmin, the 16th c.
systematizer of Gauḍīya Vaiṣṇavism, who employed it to voice a more general criticism of the truth-claims of logic applied independently of the Vaiṣṇava sacred texts.8
6
7
8
It is interesting to note that quotation marks are accordingly used both to quote texts
and to express distance from certain words or expressions. On the double nature of citations, see Nakassis 2013.
And perhaps also of other śāstras; see Freschi 2015c and Freschi 2015a.
Note, in this regard, the use of āpāditaḥ “obtained, proved” instead of anumitaḥ “inferred.”
18
Elisa Freschi and Philipp A. Maas
tathā prācīnair apy uktam.
yatnenāpādito ’py arthaḥ kuśalair anumātṛbhiḥ |
abhiyuktatarair anyair anyathaivopapādyate || iti. (Jīva Gosvāmin,
Bhaktirasāmṛtasindhu, sāmānyabhakti, 1.46)
Accordingly, also the ancient ones said: “Even a matter that was proven with effort by skilled logicians is later established in a completely
different way by those even more competent.”
Whereas Bhartṛhari had aimed at establishing his view that knowledge is always linguistic in nature (because nothing exists apart from the śabdabrahman and all our cognitions are permeated by language), Jīva aimed at establishing – on the strength of the authority of the “ancients” (a concept that he
does not further specify, although probably Bhartṛhari would not have been
the favorite reference for Jīva’s audience) – the dominant role of the Vaiṣṇava sacred texts. Thus, its new context and frame gives the Vākyapādīya
passage a new meaning.9
A stronger example for the adaptiveness of reuse is Jayanta’s parodical
reuse of the same passage, which occurs in the Nyāyamañjarī quite close to a
quotation of Bhartṛhari’s original verse (the latter is found on p. 316 of the
Mysore edition):
yatnenānumito yo ’rthaḥ kuśalair anumātṛbhiḥ |
abhiyogaśatenāpi so ’nyathā nopapadyate || (Nyāyamañjarī 2, p. 326
of the Mysore edition)
A matter that was inferred with effort by skilled experts in inference
cannot be explained differently, even with one hundred attempts!
Things become more complicated when studying the reuse of concepts because such cases are often more difficult to identify than those of textual
reuse (examples are discussed in the chapter by Philipp Maas in the present
volume). However, the possibility of encountering the reuse of a concept
should be kept in mind for any historically oriented investigation so that nonliteral reuses are not overlooked and the degree of innovation in a new ideol9
Karin Barber explains how the same applies to oral texts: “The power of the concept of
quotation is that it captures simultaneously the process of detachment and the process
of recontextualization. A quotation is only a quotation when it is inserted into a new
context. Thus, in the very act of recognizing a stretch of discourse as having an independent existence, the quoter is re-embedding it. This, I suggest, helps us to understand
how ‘text’ (the detachable, decontextualized stretch of discourse) and ‘performance’
(the act of assembling and mobilizing discursive elements) are two sides of a coin, inseparable and mutually constitutive” (Barber 2005: 275).
Introduction
19
ogy is correctly estimated.10 Examples of the reuse of concepts include M. K.
Gandhi’s employment of the idea of non-harming (ahiṃsā) in the political
context of non-violence, as well as Neo-Hinduism’s reinterpretation of the
concept of dharma (see Halbfass 1988).
As for the reuse of images, it is interesting to observe how reused images
tend to acquire new meanings in their new contexts; suffice it to remember
the regular reuse of the image of Mona Lisa, or Andy Warhol’s provocative
reuse of images of political icons or sex symbols. Warhol’s works are also an
interesting case study regarding the concept of authorship, given that a few of
his most famous oeuvres, such as his Che Guevara image reproduced in Fig.
4, were actually fakes by Gerard Malanga that Andy Warhol later “authenticated” when developing his own style, whereby he treated these works as if
they were his own creation.
Figure 4: Andy Warhol’s Che Guevara, 1968.
Reproduced from Ziff 2006: 79.
The shared element in all of these cases is the fact that an author recurs to
something already available instead of inventing something new, which leads
to the question of why an author makes this particular choice.
10 Cf. the investigation of the concept of “interlanguage” in Freschi 2015a. The concept
of “interlanguage” has in fact been devised in order to deal with the case of ideas
spreading between intellectuals without having any specific linguistic form.
20
Elisa Freschi and Philipp A. Maas
5 “Adaptive reuse” and related terms
As described above (section 3.1), the present volume explores the phenomenon of adaptive reuse in contradistinction to simple re-use. There are, however, several other concepts similar to these two types of “reuse.” In order to
clarify the focus of the present volume, it may be appropriate to explain why
these concepts are not relevant to the investigation at hand.
For example, “recycling” refers to the re-use of raw materials, such as the
sand or lime from a former temple being re-used in the foundations of a new
one. Since we are interested in the reuse of distinguishable and identifiable
elements, this re-use would be relevant to us only if it were accompanied by a
sense of appropriation, superiority, etc., that is, if it were intentional.
The concept of “reproduction” refers to the recreation of something that
ideally is as similar as possible to the original (e.g., a Xerox copy), so similar
that the audience might not even be able to detect a difference between the
two. In contrast, we want to focus on reuse as a specific expressive modality,
one that needs the audience to be more or less aware of the adaptive nature of
the reuse.11
5.1 Adaptive reuse, intertextuality and adaptation studies
When trying to estimate the potential of the concept of adaptive reuse as a
hermeneutical tool in literary and art historical studies, it may seem that quite
a number of phenomena that we place under the heading of adaptive reuse ‒
the creation of new meaning in changed contexts through allusions, references, quotes, etc., or in the form of citation, plagiarism, parody, creative
censorship,12 etc. ‒ have already been extensively researched in the field of
literary theory under the heading of intertextuality.
In fact, since being invented by Julia Kristeva in 1966, the concept of intertextuality has had its own history of adaptive reuse.13 In this process, while
various authors have created a large number of theories, no consensus exists
on what exactly “intertextuality” means in literary studies.14 As a result, there
exist nearly as many definitions of intertextuality as there are academic au-
11 For a discussion of other related terms, see the introduction in Hegewald and Mitra
2012b.
12 On this topic, see Maas 2013–2014.
13 Kristeva wrote the essay “Le mot, le dialogue et le roman” in 1966, although it was
only published in 1969. For a short history of the concept of intertextuality and the
term “intertextuality” itself, see Martinez Alfaro 1996.
14 See Vögel 1998.
Introduction
21
thors writing on the subject. This makes intertextuality a rather cumbersome
hermeneutical tool.
Moreover, a common feature of many theories on intertextuality in the
post-modernist discourse is that they view literary and artistic works from a
synchronic perspective in which the historical contexts of authors and reusers
as well as their specific intentions do not play a role. In contrast to this, attention to historical processes and contexts is central to our understanding of
the concept of adaptive reuse; we apply it to concrete individual cases in their
specific cultural and historical settings.
This does not, however, rule out the possibility of a fruitful interaction
with scholars focusing on intertextuality in the field of the reuse of Indian
philosophical texts, as Himal Trikha has shown (Trikha forthcoming).
An additional field of scholarship with an excellent prospect for fruitful
future exchanges is adaptation studies. Having emerged in the last two decades as a novel trend in cultural studies, adaptation studies have now turned
into a field of research in their own right. In the course of this development,
adaptation studies widened their focus from the almost exclusive study of
transformations of literary sources into movies to research in adaptations of a
large variety of cultural phenomena across different media in different, mainly European and North American, historical contexts.15 This extension of the
objects of research went along with a deepening of methodological and theoretical reflections. Especially noteworthy in the context of the present volume are attempts to create a comprehensive theory of adaptation.16 This
newly emerging theoretical background will be as useful for future research
in adaptive reuse in the context of South Asian cultural history as the consideration of the peculiarities of South Asian cultures will be relevant for the
creation of any intercultural theory of adaptation.
6 On the present volume
The chapters of this volume explore the issues outlined above from various
viewpoints, but with similar methodologies and – as far as possible – using
similar terminology. The first section, entitled “Adaptive Reuse of Indian
Philosophy and Other Systems of Knowledge,” consists of five chapters
dealing with the adaptive reuse of traceable texts, that is, texts that are identifiable as real works existing or having existed independently from the reusing
15 See Bruhn et al. 2013.
16 See Hutcheon and O’Flynn 2013.
22
Elisa Freschi and Philipp A. Maas
works. In some cases these are lost works. For example, the reused text discussed by Ivan Andrijanić has no independent attestation; the work is only
preserved within the reusing text. The instances discussed by Maas possibly
also entail references to lost texts, although Maas shows that the main reused
text is the extant Pātañjalayogaśāstra. The degree of independent attestation
increases gradually through the chapters by Yasutaka Muroya, Himal Trikha
and Malhar Kulkarni. These five chapters all elaborate on the adaptive reuse
of texts: śāstric passages within other śāstric texts (Kulkarni), and philosophical passages found, respectively, in philosophical texts (Trikha, Andrijanić
and Muroya) and in a work of poetry (Maas). A common characteristic of all
these adaptive reuse cases is that the reuse is not a pedantic repetition of
something already known, but a means by which authors acted creatively
within (or across) given traditions. This happened with various gradations.
The reuse of the Pātañjalayogaśāstra discussed by Maas reproduces both the
form and the content of the reused text. It is thus employed to enhance the
prestige of both the reusing and reused text through a process of reciprocal
legitimation. In contrast, the Grammars reusing the techniques of Pāṇini discussed by Kulkarni deviate in part from their model but achieve only a limited degree of real improvement, probably because they were influenced by
Pāṇini’s authoritative system to such a degree that they did not dare to introduce any real innovation. Following the same line, Muroya and Trikha show
how a clever dose of adaptation may lead to final results that differ considerably from the reused text; the reusing author can go beyond the intentions of
the author being reused. Lastly, Andrijanić shows that an adaptive reuse can
be so adaptive that it even supersedes the original premises of the reused text.
In section 2, entitled “Adaptive Reuse of Tropes,” the two chapters by
Elena Mucciarelli and Cristina Bignami focus on the reuse of the motif of the
chariot in late Vedic as well as medieval Indian texts and rituals. Through
these case studies, the two authors show that the terminology formulated in
this introduction can be successfully applied to a methodologically sound
analysis of a given trope under changing cultural and historical circumstances. The framework of adaptive reuse allows, in fact, meaningful questions to be asked regarding the involved agency and the agenda of the actors
adaptively reusing a motif, in this case, that of the chariot.
Section 3 consists of four chapters (by Daniele Cuneo, Kiyokazu Okita,
Elisa Freschi and Cezary Galewicz ), which like the chapters in section 1 deal
with philosophical or śāstric texts. However, the chapters of section 3 focus
on untraceable reused texts, that is, texts whose significance is based on the
texts in which they are found. It is certainly possible that this lack of independent testimony is the result of historical contingencies, that is, the loss of
Introduction
23
the original texts. But it is not inconceivable that the lack of a traceable
source could be a feature designed by an author to camouflage the introduction of an innovation into his tradition by ostensibly reusing ghost texts to
legitimize the reusing text. The prestige that reusing texts gain in such a
process increases when such ghost texts continue to be reused. In fact, regardless of whether such ghost texts actually had a former historical existence, they apparently lived an independent life even when their textual basis
could not be (or could no longer be) identified. This is clearly the case for the
Saṅkarṣakāṇḍa, as discussed by Freschi, which was quoted and discussed at
length although the original text (if it ever existed) was no longer accessible.
The fragments that Madhva seemingly quotes but which remain untraceable
other than in his work are similar. Okita shows how they continued to be used
and referred to in Gauḍīya Vaiṣṇava texts. Galewicz and Cuneo discuss the
phenomenon of ideas or concepts being attributed to an earlier authority.
Their chapters suggest the existence of a common tendency to attribute ideas
to other authors or texts. Not only Madhva, if Roque Mesquita’s reconstruction is correct, needed to attribute the most innovative traits of his system to untraceable texts, but also Abhinavagupta saw it necessary to attribute
to an alleged authority the various prima facie views that he, according to
Cuneo, was about to defeat. Galewicz shows that the same tendency is also
attested in modern and contemporary India. In this sense, the tendency highlighted in these chapters counterbalances the act, discussed in the chapters by
Muroya and Andrijanić, of silently reusing older material. Thus the picture of
the role and significance of adaptive reuse is more complex than it may have
seemed at first glance. In the cultural history of South Asia, it is possible to
find opposite tendencies: on one hand, silent appropriation, and on the other,
the appeal to authority, which appears most notably in the case of texts and
concepts outside an author’s own school.17
Silent reuse is clearly much more difficult to detect, precisely because it is
neither acknowledged nor identified as reuse. The chapter by Sven Sellmer in
section 4 of the present volume (“Reuse from the Perspective of the Digital
Humanities”) proposes the implementation of an IT tool to detect alterations
in the uniform texture of a given work to discover unacknowledged reuses.
17 Freschi 2015a argues that the former tendency prevailed in earlier phases of Indian
philosophy, especially with regard to texts and concepts reused within one and the
same school of thought.
24
Elisa Freschi and Philipp A. Maas
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Tradition 20.2 (2005): 264–277.
Bruhn et al. 2013
Bruhn, Jørgen, Anne Gjelsvik, and Eirik Frisvold Hanssen.
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Challenges, New Directions. Ed. Bruhn, Jørgen, Anne
Gjelsvik, and Eirik Frisvold Hanssen. London, New York:
Bloomsbury Academic, 2013. 1–16.
Freschi 2015a
Freschi, Elisa. “The Reuse of Texts in Indian Philosophy.
Introduction.” In: Freschi 2015b: 85–108.
Freschi 2015b
—, ed. The Re-use of Texts in Indian Philosophy. Special
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— “Quotations, References, etc. A Glance on the Writing
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Halbfass 1988
Halbfass, Wilhelm. “Reinterpretations of Dharma in Modern Hinduism.” India and Europe: An Essay in Understanding. Ed. Wilhelm Halbfass. New York: State University
of New York Press, 1988. 334–348.
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Hegewald and Mitra 2012a = Hegewald, Julia A. B. and Subrata K. Mitra. “The Past
in the Present. Temple Conversions in Karnataka and Appropriation and Re-use in Orissa.” In: Hegewald and Mitra
2012b: 55–85.
Hegewald and Mitra 2012b = —, eds. Re-use: The Art and Politics of Integration and
Anxiety. New Delhi; Thousand Oaks, Calif.: SAGE, 2012.
Hutcheon and O’Flynn 2013 = Hutcheon, Linda, and Siobhan O’Flynn. A Theory of
Adaptation. 2nd ed. London, New York: Routledge, 2013.
Kristeva 1969
Kristeva, Julia. “Le mot, le dialogue et le roman.” Sēmeiōtikē. Recherches pour une sémanalyse. Paris: Éditions du
Seuil, 1969. 82–112.
Maas 2013–2014
Maas, Philipp André. “On Discourses of Dharma and the
Pañcatantra.” Wiener Zeitschrift für die Kunde Südasiens
55 (2013–2014): 5–31.
Martinez Alfaro 1996
Martinez Alfaro, María Jesús. “Intertextuality: Origins and
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Nakassis 2013
Nakassis, Constantine V. “Citation and Citationality.”
Signs and Society 1.1 (2013): 51–78.
Introduction
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Nyāyamañjarī of Jayanta Bhaṭṭa with Ṭippanī Nyāyasaurabha by the Editor. Ed. K. S. Varadacharya. Vol. 2.
Mysore: Oriental Research Institute, 1983.
Pellegrini 2016
Pellegrini, Gianni. “On the Alleged Indebtedness of the
Vedānta Paribhāṣā towards the Vedānta Kaumudī: Some
Considerations on an Almost Forgotten Vivaraṇa Text
(Studies in Vedānta Kaumudī I).” Journal of Indian Philosophy 44.3 (2016): 485–505. DOI 10.1007/s10781-0149271-2.
Plevoets and van Cleempoel 2011 = Plevoets, Bie and Koenraad van Cleempoel.
“Adaptive Reuse as a Strategy towards Conservation of
Cultural Heritage: A Literature Review.” Structural Studies, Repairs and Maintenance of Heritage Architecture
12. Ed. C. Brebbia and L. Binda. Chianciano Terme: WIT
Press, 2011. 155–164.
Plevoets and van Cleempoel 2013 = — “Adaptive Reuse as an Emerging Discipline:
An Historic Survey.” Reinventing Architecture and Interiors: A Socio-political View on Building Adaptation. Ed. G.
Cairns. London: Libri Publishers, 2013. 13–32.
Trikha forthcoming
Trikha, Himal. “Facets of a Fragment: Evaluation and
Classification of Intertextual Elements in a Philosophical
Jaina Sanskrit Work.” Transmission and Reflection. The
Meaning and the Role of ‘Fragments’ in Indian Philosophy. Proceedings of a Symposium on Quotations and
Paraphrases from and Allusions to Ancient Texts on
Indian Philosophy. Ed. Ernst Prets and Hiroshi Marui.
Wien: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, forthcoming.
Vākyapadīya
Rau, Wilhelm, ed. Vākyapadīya by Bhartṛhari. Wiesbaden: Steiner, 1977. Abhandlungen für die Kunde des Morgenlandes 42.4.
Vögel 1998
Vögel, Bertlinde. “‘Intertextualität’ – Entstehung und
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Ziff 2006
Ziff, Trisha. Che Guevara: Revolutionary and Icon. London: Victoria and Albert Publications, 2006.
Nyāyamañjarī
Section 1:
Adaptive Reuse of Indian Philosophy and
Other Systems of Knowledge
From Theory to Poetry: The Reuse of
Patañjali’s Yogaśāstra in Māgha’s Śiśupālavadha*
Philipp A. Maas
The present chapter discusses two cases of adaptive reuse of religio-philosophical ideas and text passages from the Pātañjalayogaśāstra (“The Authoritative Exposition of Yoga by Patañjali,” PYŚ), as well as a single case of
a reference to the same, in a work of high-class poetry, namely, Māgha’s epic
poem Śiśupālavadha (“The Slaying of Śiśupāla,” ŚPV). The reuse occurs in
the two stanzas 4.55 and 14.62, the reference in the three stanzas 1.31–33.
After a brief introduction to the two quite different literary works that serve
as the respective source and target of reuse (in sections 1 and 2), the chapter
outlines the history of research on the ŚPV and its relationship to Sāṅkhya
and Yoga philosophy in section 3. The fact that Māgha alluded to Sāṅkhya
and Yoga concepts has been known by scholars of Indology for more than a
hundred years, but the exact nature of these references has never been investigated in detail. To address this, the first part of section 4 interprets stanzas
4.55 and 14.62, and the passage 1.31–33, highlights the reused text passages
and the concepts of classical Yoga, analyses the specific contexts in which
the reuse occurs, and suggests possible answers to the question of what authorial intentions may have been behind Māgha’s reuse of Patañjali’s work.
The final part of section 4 investigates the reception of Māgha’s reuse by the
10th-century Kashmiri commentator Vallabhadeva. In conclusion, section 5
examines the primary historical result of this investigation, namely that the
PYŚ was widely known as a unitary authoritative work of Yoga theory and
practice in different parts of South Asia at least from the 8th to 10th century. It
was this appraisal of the work in educated circles that may have suggested it
to Māgha as a source of reuse. By this, he achieved – irrespective of his
actual intentions – two interrelated effects: On one hand, his reuse contributed to strengthening and maintaining the authority of the śāstra as a
∗
Many thanks to Elisa Freschi, Dominic Goodall, Petra Kieffer-Pülz, Andrey Klebanov,
James Mallinson, Chettiarthodi Rajendran and Mark Singleton for valuable hints for,
comments on, and corrections to earlier drafts of the present chapter.
30
Philipp A. Maas
Vaiṣṇava work, and on the other hand, the reuse of the PYŚ charged the
objects of Māgha’s poetical descriptions as well as his poem with the philosophical and religious prestige of the śāstra.
1 The Pātañjalayogaśāstra
The PYŚ, which is the oldest surviving systematic exposition of philosophical Yoga, was probably composed at some time between 325 and 425 CE by
an author-redactor named Patañjali.1 Comparatively late primary sources as
well as quite a few works of modern secondary literature suggest that the
PYŚ in fact consists of two works, namely the Yogasūtra by Patañjali and a
later commentary called the “Yogabhāṣya,” by a (mythical) author-sage
named Vyāsa or Veda-Vyāsa. In the context of the present chapter, there is
no need to re-discuss the authorship problem of the PYŚ in any detail.2 As I
shall demonstrate below, the stanzas of Māgha’s poem reusing the PYŚ draw
equally upon sūtra and bhāṣya passages of Patañjali’s work. This shows not
only that the poet regarded the PYŚ as a single whole, but also that he expected his audience to share this view. Moreover, even for the commentator
Vallabhadeva, who probably lived approximately two hundred years after
Māgha, the PYŚ was a textual unit.3
In general, the philosophical and religious views of Pātañjala Yoga are
similar to those of classical Sāṅkhya, as is known from the summary of the
lost Ṣaṣṭitantra in the seventy (or slightly more) stanzas composed by Īśvarakṛṣṇa (5th century CE) that are usually called Sāṅkhyakārikā.4 The philosophical systems of Yoga and Sāṅkhya are based on the ontological dualism
of primal matter (prakṛti or pradhāna) and its products on one hand, and pure
consciousness existing as an infinite number of subjects (puruṣa) on the
other. There are, however, some noticeable doctrinal differences between
Sāṅkhya and Yoga. Classical Sāṅkhya, for example, acknowledges the existence of a tripartite mental capacity, whereas according to classical Yoga the
1
2
3
4
Maas 2006: xix.
On the authorship question of the PYŚ, see Maas 2006: xii–xix and Maas 2013: 57–68.
See below, sections 2 and 4.3.
According to Albrecht Wezler (2001: 360, n. 45), the title of the work as reflected in its
final stanza is not Sāṅkhyakārikā but Sāṅkhyasaptati. The title Sāṅkhyakārikā found its
way into the handbooks of Indian literature and philosophy possibly due to Colebrooke’s seminal essay “On the philosophy of the Hindus,” in which the author states:
“The best text of the Sánc’hya is a short treatise in verse, which is denominated Cáricá,
as memorial verses of other sciences likewise are” (Colebrooke 1827: 23).
From Theory to Poetry
31
mental capacity is a single unit. Moreover, Yoga emphasizes the existence of
a highest God (īśvara), who is described as an eternally liberated subject
(puruṣa). The difference between God and other liberated subjects consists in
that the latter are conceived as having been bound to matter in the cycle of
rebirths prior to their liberation. In contradistinction to this, God was never
bound in the past nor is there any possibility for him to be bound in the future.
The transcendental status of God leads to the problem of how a transcendental subject, who is axiomatically considered totally free of any activity,
can intervene in the world. The solution that Patañjali presented consists in
postulating that God’s effectiveness is quite limited. At the beginning of each
of the cyclically reoccurring creations of the world, God assumes a perfect
mental capacity in order to provide instruction to a seer and to start a lineage
of teachers and pupils. This process, according to Yoga, is not an activity in
the full sense of the word. It is an event that takes place in accordance with
God’s compassionate nature.5
Based on these philosophical and religious foundations, the PYŚ teaches
meditations aiming at an unrestricted self-perception of the subject, in which
consciousness becomes conscious exclusively of itself, unaffected by even
the slightest content of consciousness.6 This special kind of cognition is believed to be soteriologically decisive, because it removes the misorientation
of the subject towards matter. This liberating insight is therefore the release
of bondage in the cycle of rebirths.
2 Māgha’s Śiśupālavadha
Māgha’s ŚPV is a work of a different literary genre than the PYŚ. It is not an
authoritative exposition or system of knowledge (śāstra), but an epic poem
belonging to the genre of kāvya literature, or, more specifically, to the category of mahākāvya.7 As such it is one of the most distinguished Sanskrit
poetic compositions in which aesthetical purposes outweigh didactic ones.8
5
6
7
8
See Maas 2009: 265f. and 276f.
On yogic meditations, see Oberhammer 1977 and Maas 2009.
For a general introduction to kāvya literature, see Lienhard 1984 and Warder 1974–
1992.
Reusing the work of his predecessor Mammaṭa (11th c.), the 12th century poetologist
and polymath Hemacandra specified in his Kavyānuśāsana (1.3) that the first and most
important purpose of poetry is pleasure resulting from relishing poetry. Additional
aims are fame for the poet and instructions that are delivered – as gently as only lovers
32
Philipp A. Maas
The plot of the ŚPV is a modified and lengthy retelling of an episode from
the second book of the Mahābhārata (i.e., MBh 2.33–42) that narrates the
events leading Kṛṣṇa to kill his relative, the king Śiśupāla.9 Accordingly, the
ŚPV as a whole is a case of adaptive reuse of a passage of the MBh as its
literary exemplar.10
In his poetic creation, Māgha apparently had several interrelated intentions. One of these was providing his audience with a refined aesthetical experience. Moreover, he aimed at glorifying the god Viṣṇu in his incarnation
as Kṛṣṇa. Māgha took every effort to show his own poetic skills, his mastery
of a large number of meters, and his learnedness in several branches of knowledge, including literary criticism, metrics, grammar, music, erotology, philosophy, etc.11 As was already noted by Hermann Jacobi, Māgha’s literary
agenda was also to outdo his predecessor and rival author Bhāravi, who had
composed a glorification of the god Śiva in his great poem Kirātārjunīya.12
Modern critics have viewed Māgha’s extraordinary display of poetic and
metrical skills as being disproportionate to the development of the plot of the
ŚPV, which proceeds with a minimum of dramatic action. However, as Lawrence McCrea has convincingly argued, this slow development of an undramatic plot and the plethora of embellishments work hand in hand to portray
Kṛṣṇa as a consciously omnipotent being who is actually beyond any need of
action to fulfill his role in the course of the universe, i.e., establishing and
maintaining the Good.13
It is difficult to determine the date of the ŚPV’s composition. A still widely accepted guess is that of Franz Kielhorn from 1906, who drew on information from the first stanza of the description of the poet’s family lineage (vaṃśavarṇana). This brief outline contains the name of a king under whom Māgha’s grandfather served as a minister.14 Kielhorn identified this king with a
do – to the connoisseur. See Mammaṭa’s Kāvyaprakāśa 1.2 and Both 2003: 48.
9 For a brief summary of the plot of the ŚPV, see Rau 1949: 8f.
10 For a comparison of the ŚPV with its presumptive source, see Salomon 2014.
11 On the different branches of knowledge that a poet was supposed to master, see Kāvyaprakāśa 1.3 (p. 6) and its adaptive reuse in Hemacandra’s Kāvyānuśāsana 1.8 (Both
2003: 52–59).
12 Jacobi 1889: 121–135. According to Rau (1949: 52), Bhāravi and Māgha could at least
theoretically both have relied on an unknown common source as their respective point
of reference. On Māgha’s program, see also Tubb 2014.
13 See McCrea 2014.
14 sarvādhikārī sukṛtādhikāraḥ śrīdharmlābhasya babhūva rājñaḥ / asaktadṛṣṭir virājaḥ
sadaiva devo ’paraḥ suprabhadevanāmā // 1 // (Kak and Shastri 1935: 305) “The glorious king Dharmalābha had a chief minister called Suprabhadeva (God of Good Radiance), who was chiefly obliged to virtuous actions, always liberal and pure, like a
From Theory to Poetry
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certain Varmalāta who, according to epigraphic evidence, reigned “about
A.D. 625.” This would establish that Māgha “must be placed in about the
second half of the 7th century A.D.”15 However, the name of the patron of
Māgha’s grandfather occurs in different versions of the ŚPV in twelve variants as Gharmalāta, Carmalāta, Dharmadeva, Dharmanātha, Dharmanābha,
Dharmalāta, Dharmalābha, Nirmalānta, Varmanāma, Varmalākhya (=Varmala), Varmalāta and Varmanābha.16
Already Wilhelm Rau observed that most of these variants can be explained as scribal errors caused by the similarity of certain writing blocks or
akṣaras in north Indian scripts.17 However, without additional evidence it is
impossible to decide which variant (if any) was the starting point for the
textual developments leading to the other eleven readings. The fact that “Varmalāta” is the only name attested in an inscription does not establish this
reading as the original wording of the ŚPV.18 A final conclusion concerning
the original name of the king could only be reached on the basis of research
in the text genealogy of Māgha’s work.19 The same is also true for the question of whether the five stanzas making up the description of Māgha’s family
lineage are an original part of the ŚPV or whether they were added in the
course of its transmission, as Rau was inclined to believe on the basis of their
absence in Mallinātha’s version of the ŚPV (1949: 56f.). Rau even thought
that he could identify the commentator Vallabhadeva as the author of the
vaṃśavarṇana. In order to arrive at this conclusion, he emended the apparently corrupt wording of the final colophon of Vallabhadeva’s Saṃdehaviṣauṣadhi (“The Antidote against the Poison of Doubt,” henceforth: Antidote)
in such a way that it clearly states Vallabhadeva’s authorship of the five
stanzas. This emendation may be unnecessary. According to the printed
edition of Kak and Shastri, to which Rau did not have access, the 10th-century
commentator from Kashmir actually introduced the section under discussion
by stating that it was authored by the poet Māgha, and not by himself:
second king (or: like a god).”
15 Kielhorn 1906: 146. McCrea (2014: 123) placed Māgha in the 7th century without
further discussion. Bronner and McCrea (2012: 427) suggested the late 7th or early 8th
century as the date of composition for the ŚPV, equally without providing any reference. Salomon (2014: 225), who agreed with this dating, referred to Kielhorn 1906.
16 See Rau 1949: 54f.
17 Rau 1949: 55.
18 Hultzsch (1927: 224), however, stated that this is “the inscriptionally attested form of
the name” (“die inschriftlich beglaubigte Form des Namens”).
19 Already Rau remarked that this question “can only be solved on the basis of the manuscripts” (Rau 1949: 55 “läßt sich endgültig nur durch die Handschriften entscheiden”).
34
Philipp A. Maas
adhunā kavir lāghavena nijavaṃśavarṇanaṃ cikīrṣur āha (Kak and
Shastri 1935: 305,1.). Now the poet, desiring to briefly describe his
own lineage, recites the following stanzas.
However, even if it can be established that it was the poet Māgha who
composed the description of his lineage, this part of his work does not allow
for any definite conclusion concerning the date of composition of the ŚPV.
At the present state of research, the dating of Māgha to ca. 750 CE, which
George Cardona has suggested on the basis of the consideration that Māgha
must have lived after Jinendrabuddhi,20 the author of a grammatical commentary to which the ŚPV apparently refers, may be the best educated guess.21
3 The Śiśupālavadha and Sāṅkhya Yoga in academic research
Despite its high literary quality, the ŚPV has received until quite recently
comparatively little scholarly attention. One of the few monographs on Māgha’s work is the dissertation of Wilhelm Rau from 1949, which was published posthumously only in 2012. Rau investigated the textual history of the
ŚPV by comparing the text as transmitted in a transcript of a manuscript in
Śāradā script containing Vallabhadeva’s Antidote22 with two printed editions.23 In this context, Rau dealt, inter alia, with the historical relationship of
two different versions of a passage from the fifteenth chapter of the ŚPV.
One version, which was the basis of Vallabhadeva’s Antidote, consists of a
series of stanzas that can be understood in two different ways. If interpreted
in one way, these stanzas revile Kṛṣṇa. If the verses are understood in a different way, they praise Viṣṇu. In contrast to this, the second version plainly
denigrates Kṛṣṇa. Rau concluded that the version with two meanings (which
Bronner and McCrea 2012 calls the “bitextual version”), that is, the version
that Vallabhadeva commented upon, is probably of secondary origin, whereas
the version with a single meaning (the “non-bitextual version,” in the terminology of Bronner and McCrea 2012), which was the basis of Mallinātha’s
15th-century commentary, was probably composed by Māgha himself.
20 See also Kane 1914: 91–95.
21 Cardona 1976: 281.
22 The exemplar of the transcript was divided in two parts and is now kept at the Staatsbibliothek in Berlin. See the editorial comment by Konrad Klaus und Joachim Sprockhoff in Rau 1949: 11, n. 4.
23 These editions were Vetāl 1929, and Durgāprasāda and Śivadatta 1927.
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In a recent article on this passage by Ygal Bronner and Lawrence McCrea
(Bronner and McCrea 2012), the two authors have convincingly argued that
using methods of literary criticism and narratology should become a standard
for future research on Sanskrit kāvya literature. Bronner and McCrea applied
these methods to the above-mentioned passage in the fifteenth chapter of the
ŚPV that is transmitted in two different versions. In their discussion of these
two divergent versions, they confirmed Rau’s conclusion that the bitextual
version is probably of secondary origin, using a whole range of new arguments. In addition, they suggested that the younger version was probably
composed in the ninth century in Kashmir. The anonymous author of the
secondary version presumably considered Māgha’s original unacceptable
because of its negative attitude towards Kṛṣṇa, the incarnation of Viṣṇu.
Richard Salomon (2014) reviewed seven arguments that Bronner and
McCrea adduced in favor of the conclusion that the bitextual version is of
secondary origin. According to him, these arguments “have a cumulative
force that is persuasive, though their individual power varies.”24 Salomon
supplemented Bronner and McCrea’s work by comparing the two versions of
the monologue in chapter 15 of the ŚPV with the passage MBh 2.33–42 that
Māgha reused for his poem. He found the non-bitextual version to be closer
to the MBh passage and in this way added an eighth argument in favor of the
originality of the non-bitextual version. According to Salomon, these arguments taken collectively strongly suggest that the non-bitextual version is
authentic.25
One of Bronner and McCrea’s arguments for the secondary origin of the
bitextual version that Salomon does not discuss, probably because the argument is not particularly strong, is that “the philosophical and Sāṅkhya-derived themes in the bitextual speech of chapter 15 echo nothing to be found
elsewhere in the poem.”26
Although the secondary version of the speech in chapter 15 indeed contains many more allusions to Sāṅkhya and Yoga philosophy than the bulk of
the text, references to Sāṅkhya and Yoga actually occur in other parts of the
ŚPV as well.
24 Salomon 2014: 227.
25 Salomon 2014: 236.
26 Bronner and McCrea 2012: 447.
36
Philipp A. Maas
4 Pātañjala Yoga in the Śiśupālavadha
The existence of references to Sāṅkhya and Yoga philosophy in the ŚPV was
noticed quite early by scholars of Indology. Already more than one hundred
years ago, James Haughton Woods pointed out that the two stanzas ŚPV 4.55
and 14.62, which will be discussed in more detail below, refer to Pātañjala
Yoga.27 Eugene Hultzsch, the translator of the ŚPV into German, presented a
list of references in Māgha’s work to Sāṅkhya and Yoga concepts in an
article that appeared in the Festschrift dedicated to Richard Garbe in 1927.28
This article, which comprises just four and a half pages, mainly lists eighteen
references that Hultzsch noted based on the explanations contained in
Vallabhadeva’s Antidote. A detailed analysis of the credibility of Vallabhadeva’s information as well as of the nature of Māgha’s references and their
respective relationship to the philosophical works of Sāṅkhya and Yoga was
apparently beyond the scope of Hultzsch’s article.29
Seven of the eighteen references that Hultzsch listed occur within the
bi-textual version of chapter 15. There remain, however eleven instances in
the bulk of the text that, at least according to Vallabhadeva, refer to Sāṅkhya
and Yoga concepts. Of these, the two stanzas 4.55 and 14.62 stand out, because they do not only refer to Sāṅkhya and Yoga ideas in general; they
adaptively reuse clearly identifiable text passages and ideas of the PYŚ.
These stanzas therefore attest the thorough acquaintance of their author and
his audience with the PYŚ.
4.1 The stanza Śiśupālavadha 4.55
The stanza ŚPV 4.55 is part of a long description of the mountain (or high
hill with five peaks) Raivataka, the modern Girnār in Gujarat,30 to which Māgha dedicated the fourth chapter of the ŚPV. This chapter can be divided,
according to the analysis of Gary Tubb, into three parts.31 The first and the
second part consist of nine stanzas each, which constitute the introduction to
the chapter and its extension. In these two parts, the voice of the author describes the beauty of the mountain. Thereafter, Dāruka, Kṛṣṇa’s charioteer,
27 Woods 1914: xix.
28 Hultzsch 1927.
29 Hultzsch deals with the following stanzas of the ŚPV: 1.31–33, 2.59, 4.55, 13.23,
13.28, 14.19, 14.62–64, 14.70 and 15.15, 15.18, 15.20–21, 15.27, 15.28, 15.29 (of the
bi-textual version).
30 On mount Girnār, see Rigopoulos 1998: 98 and the literature referred to in ibidem, n.
38.
31 Tubb 2014: 174.
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takes over and describes again the excellence of the range in an additional
fifty stanzas.
As Tubb has demonstrated, the entire fourth chapter of the ŚPV (plus the
initial strophe of the following canto) consists of twenty-three triads of stanzas. The initial stanza of each triad is consistently composed in the Upajāti
meter in the first two parts of the chapter, and in the Vasantatilakā meter in
the third part, whereas the meters in the second and third stanzas of the triads
vary. In general, Māgha had a tendency in the third part of the chapter to use
comparatively rare meters for the second and third stanzas.32 More important
than these metrical peculiarities are the stylistic characteristics of each stanza
in a triad. The initial stanzas of a triad “usually have little or no ornamentation on the level of sound, and it is here that the poet, freed from the distractions of elaborate rhyme und unusual meter, brings out his heavy guns of
imagery.”33
The stanzas in the second position generally contain alliterations (anuprāsa) and less lively and imaginary descriptions of the mountain, whereas
the final stanzas of each triad frequently contain yamakas, i.e., structured
repetitions of identical words or syllables with different meanings.
Within the third part of the description of the mountain, i.e., within Dāruka’s description, stanzas 4.55, the first in a triad, reads as follows:
maitryādicittaparikarmavido vidhāya
kleśaprahāṇam iha labdhasabījayogāḥ |
khyātiṃ ca sattvapuruṣānyatayādhigamya
vāñchanti tām api samādhibhṛto nirodhum || (ŚPV 4.55, part 1, p. 146;
meter: Vasantatilakā).
And here absorption practicing yogis, knowing that benevolence et cetera prepare the mind, effect the removal of afflictions (kleśa) and
reach an object-related concentration. They realize the awareness of
the difference of mind-matter (sattva) and subject (puruṣa), and then
they even want to let this cease.34
4.1.1 The reuse of the Pātañjalayogaśāstra in Śiśupālavadha 4.55
The stanza 4.55 of the ŚPV adaptively reuses concepts of Yoga soteriology
and describes in a nutshell the yogic path to liberation. At an early stage of
32 Tubb 2014: 184.
33 Tubb 2014: 177.
34 This translation is based on the result of the analysis presented in the next sections of
this chapter. Here and everywhere else in this chapter, I have refrained from using
square brackets in order to enhance the readability of the translations.
38
Philipp A. Maas
this path and as a preparation for more advanced types of attainments, the
yogi practices meditations leading to mental stability or prolonged periods of
attention. Once this aim is achieved, the aspirant is qualified for other content-related forms of meditation, culminating in the awareness of the difference between matter (which makes up the mind or citta) and subject. In order
to gain the liberating insight, i.e., self-perception of the subject, even this
ultimate content of consciousness has to cease.
The stanza ŚPV 4.55 does not only reuse the PYŚ conceptually by describing the just-mentioned path to liberation, it also reuses the terminology
of – as well as phrases from – Patañjali’s authoritative exposition of Yoga.
To start with, pāda a of stanza 4.55 draws heavily on the end of PYŚ 1.32
and the beginning of PYŚ 1.33, which read as follows:
… tasmād ekam anekārtham avasthitaṃ cittam, yasyedaṃ śāstreṇa
parikarma nirdiśyate. (32) maitrīkaruṇāmuditopekṣāṇāṃ sukhaduḥkhapuṇyāpuṇyaviṣayāṇāṃ bhāvanātaś cittaprasādanam (sūtra 1.33)
(PYŚ 1.32,24–33,2).
Therefore, it has been established that the mind is a single entity referring to multiple objects. The authoritative exposition teaches its preparation: From cultivating benevolence, compassion, joyousness and disregard for beings experiencing happiness, suffering, merit and demerit, the mind becomes pure.
In this passage, Patañjali states that the “authoritative exposition” or the “system of knowledge” (śāstra) teaches the cultivation of benevolence and other
positive attitudes. To which exposition does this statement refer? Meditations
aiming at the cultivation of virtually the same attitudes are prominent in
different pre-modern South Asian religions and systems of knowledge. In
Buddhism, these meditations are known as “The Four Immeasurable” (apramāṇa) or “The Divine States of Mind” (brahmavihāra).35 The oldest systematic exposition of Jainism in Sanskrit, the Tattvārthasūtra, also teaches in
sūtra 7.6 the cultivation of virtually the same attitudes to different kinds of
beings. Moreover, Ayurvedic physicians, according to the Carakasaṃhitā,
are also expected to develop similar attitudes towards different categories of
patients.36 Although, accordingly, benevolence and so on play an important
role also in non-yogic milieus, the lack of any reference to a non-yogic context in the passage cited above makes it probable that Patañjali referred with
the word śāstra to his own authoritative exposition of Yoga or to a different
35 See Maithrimurthi 1999.
36 See Wujastyk 2012: 31.
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śāstra of his own school of thought (including the authoritative expositions of
Sāṅkhya).37
Cultivating benevolence, etc. occurs in different religions and systems of
knowledge. This may in principle render it doubtful whether Māgha actually
reused the PYŚ or an altogether different source. However, as James H.
Woods noticed long ago, the manner in which ŚPV 4.55 a combines the text
of the bhāṣya part of PYŚ 1.32 containing the word “preparation” (parikarma) of the mind – which does not occur in any other source known to me
– with the text of sūtra 1.33 indicates strongly that Māgha indeed reused the
passage of the PYŚ cited above and not a similar formulation in a different
work.38
The first word of pāda b is an additional case of a verbatim reuse, this
time of the technical term “affliction” (kleśa), which refers in the context of
Pātañjala Yoga to the set of five basic mental misorientations that sūtra 2.3
lists as “misconception, sense-of-I, craving, aversion and self-preservation.”39
As long as the mind (citta) is affected by these afflictions, the subject
mistakenly identifies itself with the contents of mental activities. This process
maintains and consolidates the bondage of the subject in the cycle of rebirths.
Thus, to reach liberation the afflictions must be removed. In this connection, Patañjali frequently used the word “removal” (hāna) and other derivatives of the verbal root hā, as for example in PYŚ 2.15, where he compared
his authoritative exposition of Yoga with the science of medicine in the following way:
tad asya mahato duḥkhasamudāyasya prabhavabījam avidyā. tasyāś
ca samyagdarśanam abhāvahetuḥ. yathā cikitsāśāstraṃ caturvyūham
– rogo rogahetur ārogyaṃ bhaiṣajyam iti, evam idam api śāstraṃ
caturvyūham eva. tad yathā – saṃsāraḥ saṃsārahetur mokṣo mokṣopāya iti. tatra duḥkhabahulaḥ saṃsāro heyaḥ. pradhānapuruṣasaṃyogo heyahetuḥ. saṃyogasyātyantikī nivṛttir hānam. hānopāyaḥ samyagdarśanam iti (PYŚ 2.15; Āgāśe 1904: 77,9–78,5).
Therefore (the affliction) “misconception” is the seed for the growing
of this huge mass of suffering. And the right view is the cause for its
extinction. In the same way that the medical system of knowledge has
four divisions – i.e., disease, the cause of disease, health and medicine
37 On the use of the word śāstra in different contexts and with different meanings within
the PYŚ, see Wezler 1987: 343–348, which does not refer, however, to the occurrence
of the word śāstra in the present context.
38 Woods 1914: xxi.
39 avidyāsmitārāgadveṣābhiniveśāḥ kleśāḥ (sūtra 2.3; ed. Āgāśe 1904: 59).
40
Philipp A. Maas
– so also this system of knowledge of Yoga has four divisions,
namely, the cycle of rebirths, the cause of the cycle of rebirths, liberation and the method leading to liberation. In this regard, the cycle of
rebirth that is rich in suffering is what must be removed. The connection of primal matter and the subject is the cause of what must be removed. The final dissolution of the connection is removing. The method of removing is the right view.40
The word “removal” (prahāna) in ŚPV 4.55 b is a quasi-synonym of the
word “removing” (hāna) and a clear allusion to Patañjali’s conception of the
cancellation of the bondage of the subject by means of the removal of afflictions.41
The following word of stanza ŚPV 4.55 b, “absorption with an object”
(sabījayoga), also refers to the PYŚ, where the phrase “these attainments are
the object-related absorption” (tā eva sabījaḥ samādhiḥ) occurs as sūtra 1.46.
The choice of the word -sabījayogaḥ instead of its synonym -sabījasamādhiḥ
can probably be explained by metrical constraints. This change of terminology is unproblematic, because Patañjali introduced these two words as synonyms at the beginning of his work (PYŚ 1.1), where he explained that “yoga
is absorption” (yogaḥ samādhiḥ).42
In addition, ŚPV 4.55 c reuses the central yogic concept of the awareness
of the difference between mind-matter (sattva) and the subject (puruṣa).43
Patañjali mentioned this special awareness, which, as it were, paves the way
to final liberation, seven times in his exposition, i.e., in PYŚ 1.2, 2.2, 2.26,
3.35, 3,49 (twice), and 4.27.
Māgha reused also the next word of ŚPV 4.55 c, the verb-form “realize”
(adhigamya), from the PYŚ. This verb or derivatives thereof occur at nine
points in Patañjali’s work.44 Of these, the occurrences in PYŚ 1.29 and 2.32
40 For more detailed discussions of this passage, see Maas 2008: 127–130 and Maas
2014: 70f.
41 The addition of the preverbium pra- to -hāna in ŚPV 4.55 is presumably motivated by
metrical requirements.
42 PYŚ 1.1,3.
43 My translation of Skt. sattva as “mind-matter” is based on the teaching of SāṅkhyaYoga that the mind (citta) consists of the luminous substance sattva, one of the three
constituents of primal matter (pradhāna). The expression cittasattva “mind-sattva,” occurs, for example in PYŚ 1.2,2. The Pātañjalayogaśāstravivaraṇa explains the compound by stating that it is a descriptive determinative compound (kārmadhāraya) in
which the first part is in an attributive relationship to the second (cittam eva sattvaṃ
cittasattvam; Pātañjayogaśāstravivaraṇa 1.2, p. 10.25).
44 These nine instances are: PYŚ 1.29 (twice), 2.32 (as a quotation of sūtra 1.29), 2.41,
3.6, 3.25, 3.36, 3.48, and 4.23.
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are probably the most pertinent cases in the present context, because just as in
stanza ŚPV 4.55 they refer to the self-perception of the subject and the realization of the ontological difference between the subject and matter.
In addition, also the reference to the stopping of the awareness of the ontological difference in ŚPV 4.55 d reuses PYŚ 1.2 as follows:
ity atas tasyāṃ viraktaṃ cittaṃ tām api khyātiṃ niruṇaddhi. … sa nirbījaḥ samādhiḥ (PYŚ 1.2,10f.). Therefore the mental capacity, when it
becomes detached from this awareness, lets even this cease. This is
absorption unrelated to an object.
The description of the process of cessation as described in the ŚPV differs,
however, from the description of the same development in the PYŚ. Whereas
in stanza ŚPV 4.55 the final stopping of mental activity is the result of an act
of volition on the side of yogis (vāñchanti), according to the PYŚ the practice
of a so-called cessation-experience leads to the stopping of mental activity.45
The designation of yogis as “practitioners of absorption” (samādhibhṛt) in
4.55 d, although not taken directly from the PYŚ, reuses the central yogic
term “absorption” (samādhi), which occurs in the final position of the series
of terms sketching the yogic path to liberation that is called “ancillaries of
Yoga” (yogāṅga).46 If this interpretation is correct, Māgha alluded with this
term again to the equation of yoga and samādhi in PYŚ 1.1 (cf. above, p. 40).
On the whole, the terminology of the stanza ŚPV 4.55 is similar to the
technical yogic terminology of the PYŚ to such a degree that there can virtually be no doubt that Māgha consciously reused the PYŚ; he did not reuse a
different work of pre-classical yoga or a different and now lost classical yoga
treatise.
4.1.2 Śiśupālavadha 4.55 in context
If one reads the stanza ŚPV 4.55 as a part of the monologue of Kṛṣṇa’s charioteer Dāruka, it can hardly be overlooked that the yoga-related motifs figuring so prominently in stanza 4.55 differ from the literary motifs that Dāruka
addresses in the remaining part of his speech. None of the remaining fortyeight stanzas describing the mountain addresses primarily religious or philosophic motifs.
45 See Maas 2009: 273f.
46 yamaniyamāsanaprāṇāyāmapratyāhāradhāraṇadhyānasamādhayo ’ṣṭāv aṅgāni. [sūtra 2.29]. “The eight ancillaries are commitments, obligations, postures, breath control,
withdrawing the senses, fixation, meditation and absorption.”
42
Philipp A. Maas
Dāruka’s monologue contains an appealing description of the natural
beauty of Raivataka, as for example the famous stanza 4.20, in which Māgha
poetically depicts the simultaneous appearance of the sun and moon during
their respective rise and setting as the appearance of two bells that shed
radiance on the body of an eminent elephant.47 Moreover, Dāruka’s monologue repeatedly emphasizes that the mountain abounds in precious stones and
metals, filling the landscape with splendor.48 From the perspective of Yoga,
these appealing visual features do not recommend the range as a suitable
place for yogic practice, because the mountain as described by Dāruka provides views that are too spectacular. At least according to the prescription of
Śvetāśvatara-Upaniṣad 2.10, a place for yogic meditation should be pleasing
to the mind, but not overwhelming to the eye.49
A further motif in Dāruka’s description of the mountain that Māgha may
have connected with Yoga is “mountain caves.” The caves of Raivataka are,
however, not – as one might expect based on stanza 4.55 – places for yogic
meditation in reclusion,50 but the location of amorous pleasures that young
women share with their lovers.51
The only two stanzas that might be regarded as providing a link to Yoga,
because they contain the motif of world-renouncing anchorites, are ŚPV 4.54
and 4.64. The first of these, which appears immediately before the Yoga
stanza under investigation, reads as follows:
samīraśiśiraḥ śiraḥsu vasatāṃ
satāṃ javanikā nikāmasukhinām |
bibharti janayann ayaṃ mudam apām-
47 Stanza 4.20, which according to Vallabhadeva earned Māgha the name Ganthamāgha
(Māgha of the Bells), reads as follows: udayati vitatordhvaraśmirajjāv ahimarucau
himadhāmni yāti cāstam / vahati girir ayaṃ vilambighaṇṭādvayaparivāritavāraṇendralīlām // 20 // (Kak and Shastri 1935, part 1, p. 132; meter: Puṣpitāgara) “When the
sun is rising as the moon is setting, each with its ropes of rays stretched upward, this
mountain has the pomp of a lordly elephant caparisoned with a pair of hanging bells.”
(Tubb 2014: 145).
48 See, for example, stanzas 4.21, 26, 27, 28, 31, 37, 40, 44, 46, 49, 53, 56, 65, 68.
49 same śucau śarkarāvahnivālukāvivarjite ’śabdajalāśrayādibhiḥ / mano’nukūle na tu
cakṣupīḍane guhānivātāśrayaṇe prayojayet // (Śvetāśvatara Upaniṣad 2.10, Olivelle
1998: 418). “At a pure, level place that is free of grit, fire or sand, with noiseless water
sources and so on, which is pleasant but does not press upon the eye, in a cave or a refuge that is protected from wind, he should concentrate.”
50 Pātañjayogaśāstravivaraṇa 2.46 mentions mountain caves (giriguhā) as a suitable
place for the practice of yogic meditation (p. 225.15).
51 See ŚPV 4.67, p. 152.
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apāyadhavalā balāhakatatīḥ || (ŚPV 4.54, part 1, p. 146; meter: Jaloddhatagati).
This mountain, cool by its breezes, pleases the ever-eased sages staying on its summits by bearing bands of clouds that, through shedding
their rain, turned into white curtains.
Stanza 4.54 is a typical representative of a final stanza of triads that make up
the fourth chapter of Māgha’s work. It is a verbal miniature painting creating
a lively image of a cool, cloudy and beautiful mountain at the end of the rainy
season. At the level of sound, the stanza contains a nice alliteration of sibilants in pāda a, combined with the yamakas or “structured repetitions and
chiastic structures” that Tubb pointed out as a stylistic peculiarity of the third
stanzas in the triads of the fourth chapter of the ŚPV (set in bold in the Sanskrit text above).
In contrast to what might be expected, however, Dāruka’s reference to
sages living on the summits of mount Raivataka lacks any specific connotation of asceticism. On the contrary, the charioteer emphasizes that the mountain is pleasant by stating that the sages take special advantage of the cool
clouds. On one hand, the clouds have already lost their water so that they do
not make the sages too cold.52 On the other hand, the clouds are ultimately
curtains that shelter the ascetics, possibly from the excessive heat of the sunlight. It appears that due to the cool wind and the clouds, asceticism on mount
Raivataka is less painful than elsewhere. Just like many other verses in Dāruka’s monologue, stanza 4.54 creates a poetic sentiment of pleasure and ease.
Unlike stanza 4.55, it neither refers, nor even alludes to any specific yogic
soteriological concept.
The same is true for the second stanza in Dāruka’s monologue referring to
ascetics, i.e., stanza 4.64, which reads as follows:
prāleyaśītam acaleśvaram īśvaro ’pi
sāndrebhacarmavasanābharaṇo ’dhiśete |
sarvartunirvṛtikare nivasann upaiti
na dvandvaduḥkham iha kiñcid akiñcano ’pi || 64 || (ŚPV 4.64, part 1,
p. 150; meter: Vasantatilakā).
52 Andrey Klebanov informed me (personal communication, September 2015) that the
stanza ŚPV 4.54 possibly contains an allusion to stanza 1.5 of Kālidāsa’s Kumārasaṃbhava. There, Kālidāsa describes the Himalaya as a place where perfected ascetics
(siddhas) move to the sunny summits of the mountain range in order to avoid the rain
in lower regions. By stating that sages are always at ease on Raivataka, Māgha may
have implied that this mountain range was better suited to ascetics than the Himalaya.
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Philipp A. Maas
Even the Lord dwells on the snow-cold Lord of Mountains wearing a
vesture of warming elephant-hide,53 whereas no renouncer is ever
pained by the pair of opposites54 when he lives on this bliss-bringer
throughout the year.
This stanza contains again a number of alliterations (anuprāsa), as is characteristic for the second stanzas in the triads of the fourth chapter of
Māgha’s poem. The first repetition concerns the word “Lord,” referring to the
Himalaya and the god Śiva (…eśvaram īśvaro). The second repetition involves the two indefinite pronouns in a sequence …a kiñcid akiñcano. On the
level of meaning, the stanza contains a slightly ironic mocking of Śiva, who
in other literary works frequently appears as the prototype of ascetics free of
needs. Māgha, however, portrays Śiva as requiring warm clothes when he
lives on the top of the Himalaya, whereas even ordinary ascetics on mount
Raivataka never experience any needs at all. The message of the stanza consists again in a praise of the mountain as a pleasant location well worth being
visited by Kṛṣṇa; it does not allude to any yoga-specific soteriological concepts.
If one considers that Māgha consistently construes the characters in his
poem in such a way that their speech mirrors their general character, also
discussed in Bronner’s and McCrea’s recent article,55 stanza 4.55 does not fit
well into the poem. In neither the ŚPV nor the MBh is Dāruka, Kṛṣṇa’s
charioteer, related in any way to Sāṅkhya or Yoga theories of soteriological
practices.56
An additional unusual feature of stanza 4.55 is that it does not refer to any
sensually appealing quality of the mountain. This contradicts what is to be
expected, because the very purpose of Dāruka’s monologue is making a stay
at the mountain palatable for Kṛṣṇa by highlighting the various positive features of the place.57
53 Wearing an elephant hide is an attribute of Śiva in his appearance as the killer of the
elephant-demon (gajāsurasaṃhāramūrti); see Haussig 1984: 166.
54 “The pair of opposites” (dvandva-) refers to troublesome sensations like heat and cold,
hunger and thirst, etc. The PYŚ refers to this concept in the context of posture practice
in section 2.48, which states that “[b]ecause of that (mastery of posture), one is not
hurt by the pairs of opposites (sūtra 2.48). Because one masters the postures, one is not
overcome by the pairs of opposites such as heat and cold” (tato dvandvānabhighātaḥ
(sūtra 2.48) śītoṣṇādibhir dvandvair āsanajayān nābhibhūyate, iti.).
55 Bronner and McCrea 2012: 451.
56 See Sörensen 1904: 234b.
57 This can be concluded from the fact that Māgha expressedly states that Dāruka’s monologue made Kṛṣṇa want to visit the mountain: “Hearing thus the true and beautiful
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On the basis of these considerations one might suspect that the stanza
ŚPV 4.55 is an interpolation in Māgha’s poem. However, the fact that the
whole chapter is structured into triads of stanzas makes this conclusion impossible, unless one is willing to argue that the stanza under discussion must
have been a substitution for a different and unknown stanza at an unknown
point of the transmission. Such an argument could, however, only be made on
the basis of manuscripts that actually present an alternative to stanza ŚPV
4.55. For the time being, it seems that ŚPV 4.55 is an odd but probably genuine part of Māgha’s composition.
This unusual stanza adds an aspect to the description of the mountain that
is not covered by any other stanzas of the ŚPV, namely its being the site of
yogic practice leading to liberation from the bonds of rebirth.58 In this way,
the description of a beautiful and charming mountain is supplemented by an
element of ascetic value, or, in other words, the charming mountain is also a
venue with a mystical flavor.
Irrespective of whether one believes the author of this stanza made a
lucky choice from an aesthetic point of view when introducing this additional
characteristic of the mountain to the poem, it appears that the reuse of texts
and concepts from the PYŚ in stanza 4.55 served a number of interrelated
literary purposes. By explicitly mentioning that Raivataka was the place
where yogis actually achieve liberation from the cycle of rebirths, the author
implicitly identified the mountain as the place of fulfilling the religious aspirations of yogis. In this way, he created the notion of what might tentatively
be called the sacredness of mount Raivataka. Moreover, the poet created support for the claim that the PYŚ is the authoritative work on the theory of practice of Yoga leading to liberation, possibly because this was the general view
at his time and in the social circles to which he belonged. Accordingly, the
śāstra and the notion of the mountain as a sacred space lend literary authority, prestige and religious power to each other. The ŚPV contributed on one
hand to reinforcing the recognition of the PYŚ as the authoritative work on
words of his driver that were, as it were, incomparably sweet, he then, at their end, thus
longed to live for a long time on that mountain that was dressed in a dress of the rows
of its trees. (itthaṃ giraḥ priyatamā iva so ’vyalīkāḥ śuśruva sūtanayasya tadā vyalīkāḥ / rantum nirantaram iyeṣa tato ’vasāne tāsāṃ girau ca vanarājipaṭaṃ vasāne // 1
//) ŚPV 5.1, p. 153.
58 Mallinātha, the 15th century commentator on the ŚPV, highlighted this aspect of the
stanza by saying: “The intention of the stanza is stating that this mountain is not only a
place for sensual enjoyment, but also a place for achieving liberation.” (na kevalaṃ
bhogabhūmir īyam, kiṃtu mokṣakṣetram apīti bhāvaḥ. Durgāprasāda and Śivadatta
1927: 108.)
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Yoga. On the other hand, the author of stanza 4.55 participated in shaping the
public imagination of mount Raivataka as a place for fulfilling yogic practice.
Quite interestingly, in the course of history, the mountain actually became a
place of religious worship. Today, the mountain group harbors Jaina temples,
of which the oldest can be dated to the 12th century, along with temples dedicated to the worship of Gorakhnāth and Dattātreya, both prominent figures in
medieval forms of yoga (see Fig. 1).59
Figure 1: View of the Dattatreya Temple of Girnar (detail).
Source: Sachinvenga <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Girnar> (CC BY-SA 4.0).
4.2 The stanza Śiśupālavadha 14.62
The second stanza of the ŚPV containing clearly identifiable instances of
reuse from the PYŚ is stanza 14.62. This stanza appears at the beginning of a
speech of praise that Bhīṣma holds for Kṛṣṇa in order to introduce him as the
only suitable guest of honor for the rājasūya because of his divine nature.
The stanza reads as follows:
sarvavedinam anādim āsthitaṃ
dehinām anujighṛkṣayā vapuḥ |
kleśakarmaphalabhogavarjitaṃ
puṃviśeṣam amum īśvaraṃ viduḥ || (ŚPV 14.62, part 2, p. 123; meter:
Rathoddhatā).
59 See Rigopoulos 1998: 98.
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The yogis know him to be God, a special subject who doesn’t experience afflictions, karma and its results. He, who is omniscient and
without predecessor, embodied himself due to his wish to favor the
embodied beings (or souls).
4.2.1 The reuse of the Pātañjalayogaśāstra in Śiśupālavadha 14.62
This stanza reuses conceptions found in the īśvara section of Patañjali’s
work, more specifically, in PYŚ 1.24–25. Pādas c and d of ŚPV 14.62 are
virtually a metrical paraphrase of sūtra 1.24.
kleśakarmavipākāśayair aparāmṛṣṭaḥ puruṣaviśeṣa īśvaraḥ (PYŚ
1.24,2). God is a special subject who is unaffected by afflictions, karma, its ripening and mental dispositions.
In his reuse, Māgha substituted the word puruṣa “subject” from the sūtra
with its synonym puṃs. Moreover, he changed the formulation -vipākāśayair
aparāmṛṣṭaḥ “unaffected by ripening and mental dispositions” to the less
technical but similar formulation -phalabhogavarjitaṃ “without experience
of the results.”
In addition, if interpreted through the lens of the PYŚ, it appears that
Māgha reused conceptions occurring in the bhāṣya part of PYŚ 1.25 in pādas
a and b of ŚPV 14.62. This section of the PYŚ deals, among other things,
with the omniscience of God, which is established on the basis of the argument that every increasable faculty must at some point reach a peak. This
applies also, according to Patañjali, to knowledge, which reaches its peak in
the state of omniscience. The argument concludes as follows:
yatra kāṣṭhāprāptir jñānasya sa sarvajñaḥ (PYŚ 1.25,4f.). An omniscient person is somebody in whom the utmost limit of knowledge is
reached.
Apparently, Māgha changed the expression sarvajña from the PYŚ to the
quasi-synonym sarvavedin, which, however can also be read to mean “knowing all Vedas.”
The same section of the PYŚ also deals with the problem of how God, a
transcendental being and an eternally liberated subject, may be effective in
the world. Patañjali presented the following solution:
tasyātmānugrahābhāve ’pi bhūtānugrahaḥ prayojanam. “jñānadharmopadeśena kalpapralayamahāpralayeṣu saṃsāriṇaḥ puruṣān uddhariṣyāmi,” iti. tathā coktam – “ādividvān nirmāṇacittam adhiṣṭhāya
kāruṇyād bhagavān parama ṛṣir āsuraye jijñāsamānāya provāca,” iti
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Philipp A. Maas
(PYŚ 1.25,8–11). Although he is beyond help for himself, helping
living beings is his motive: “At the dissolutions at the end of an eon
and at the Great Dissolutions of the universe, I shall rescue the subjects from the cycle of rebirth by teaching them knowledge and dharma.” And in the same way it has been authoritatively stated: “The first
knower, the venerable ultimate seer, assuming a mind of magical
transformation, out of compassion taught Āsuri when he desired to
know.”60
This passage explains the efficacy of God in the world by assigning to him
the role of a primordial teacher. Periodically, at the beginning of each recreation of the universe, he assumes a mind (citta) in order to help suffering
beings by instructing them in the teaching of Yoga, which enables these beings to achieve liberation from the circle of rebirths.61
Māgha reused this passage in pādas a and b of stanza 14.62 by adapting
the terminology as well as specifically yogic theorems to the needs of his
poetry. He alluded to the yogic teaching of God, the original knower of yoga
(ādividvān) who periodically re-disseminates the teaching of Yoga at the
beginning of each re-creation, by simply stating that God is without a predecessor (anādi). Moreover, the poet adapted the specific yogic idea of God assuming “a mind of magical transformation” (nirmāṇacitta) by stating in a
much less technical tone – and in accordance with the needs of the episode
that he depicts – that God assumed a body (āsthitaṃ vāpus). Similar considerations may have also lead Māgha to stating that God assumed a body
due to his intention of helping embodied beings or souls (dehinām anujighṛkṣayā), instead of sticking to the yogic concept of God helping subjects
(puruṣas) that are entangled in the cycle of rebirths (saṃsārin) due to the
altruistic motive (prayojana) of helping beings (bhūtānugraha). These adaptations did not only increase the intelligibility of the stanza, they also led to
the creation of a metrical composition containing one of the previously noted
stylistic features of Māgha’s poetry, structured repetitions (in this case of vedinam anādim, vedinam … dehinām, vapuḥ … viduḥ). Nevertheless, the similarities of Māgha’s stanza to the passages in the PYŚ discussed above clearly
indicate that Māgha consciously reused Patañjali’s work.
60 In his commentary on the PYŚ, Vācaspatimiśra ascribed this fragment to the Sāṅkhya
teacher Pañcaśikha (see Āgāśe 31.16). However, as Chakravarti (1951: 115f.), Oberhammer (1960: 81f.), and others have argued, this ascription is almost certainly
ahistoric.
61 Cf. Maas 2009: 277.
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4.2.2 Śiśupālavadha 14.62 in context
As mentioned above, the stanza ŚPV 14.62 is part of a speech of praise that
Bhīṣma holds for Kṛṣṇa in order to introduce him as the only suitable guest of
honor for the rājasūya. It is this speech that causes king Śiśupāla’s outbreak
of rage, which in turn leads to his reviling speech against Kṛṣṇa in the next
chapter of the ŚPV. This is the passage, as discussed above, that is transmitted in two versions in different recensions of the ŚPV. In Bhīṣma’s speech,
which consists for the most part of the twenty-nine stanzas providing an extended version of MBh 2.33.28–29, the following four stanzas precede stanza
14.62:
atra caiṣa sakale ’pi bhāti māṃ
praty aśeṣaguṇabandhur arhati |
bhūmidevanaradevasaṅgame
pūrvadevaripur arhaṇāṃ hariḥ || 58 ||
martyamātram avadīdharad bhavān
mainam ānamitadaityadānavam |
aṃśa eṣa janatātivartino
vedhasaḥ pratijanaṃ kṛtasthiteḥ || 59 ||
dhyeyam ekam apathi sthitaṃ dhiyaḥ
stutyam uttamam atītavākpatham |
āmananti yam upāsyam ādarād
dūravartinam atīva yoginaḥ || 60 ||
padmabhūr iti sṛjañ jagad rajaḥ
sattvam acyuta iti sthitaṃ nayan |
saṃharan hara iti śritas tamas
traidham eṣa bhajati tribhir guṇaiḥ || 61 || (ŚPV 14.58–61, part 2, p.
122f.; meter: Rathoddhatā).
58
I see clearly that here in the whole congregation of gods on earth
(brāhmaṇas) and gods of men (kings) Hari, the enemy of the previous
gods, the abode of all good qualities, is worthy of this honor. 59Do not
consider Him, who subdued the Daityas and Dānavas, a mere mortal!
He is a part of the Creator, and although he is beyond the world, he
abides in every being. 60The yogis state that he’s unique: the mentally
inaccessible object of their meditation. They say that he’s perfect: the
inexpressible object of their praise, the object of their diligent veneration, remaining in remotest distance. 61Through the three material
qualities, this God is threefold: When he creates the world as rajas, he
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is Brahmā. When he maintains as sattva, he is Viṣṇu. When he destroys as tamas, he is Śiva.
A closer reading of the opening stanzas of Bhīṣma’s monologue indicates that
stanza 14.62 is in perfect agreement with its context. Bhīṣma mentions that
Kṛṣna is not an ordinary human being but a divinity. He alludes to Viṣṇu’s
victory over different classes of demonic beings or Asuras, before he addresses aspects of Vaiṣṇava theology such as the paradoxically immanent and
transcendent nature of Viṣṇu. In stanza 61, Māgha even lets Bhīṣma depict
Kṛṣṇa as encompassing the three important deities of Brahmā, Śiva and
Viṣṇu in their respective functions of creator, maintainer and destructor of the
world by drawing on the sāṅkhyistic concept of the three qualities or constituents of primal matter, sattva, rajas and tamas. Even more important in
the present context is stanza 60, which introduces yogis as a group of devotees to Viṣṇu-Kṛṣṇa, for whom God is the object of their meditation. It therefore does not come as a surprise that stanza 14.62 refers more technically to
Yoga theology as is outlined in the PYŚ. This in turn corresponds quite
nicely to the literary figure of Bhīṣma, who also in the MBh delivers yogaand sāṅkhya-related teachings. On the whole, the stanza ŚPV 14.62, unlike
the previously discussed stanza ŚPV 4.55, is well integrated into the poem.
Although the two stanzas differ from each other with regard to the degree
to which they fit into their respective contexts, the purposes and the methods
of the two cases of adaptive reuse are similar. In stanza 4.55, the poet identified mount Raivataka as the place where yogis actually reach their aim of
spiritual liberation. In this way, he had, on the one hand, reinforced the notion
of the sacredness of the mountain. On the other hand, he had supported the
claim of the PYŚ as the authoritative exposition of the practice of Yoga by
identifying a geographical location where the aim of Yoga was actually
reached. In the case of stanza 14.62, Māgha reused the PYŚ in order to reinforce the notion of Kṛṣṇa being a divine incarnation by identifying him with
the unnamed transcendental God of classical Yoga theology. On the other
hand, he appropriated the PYŚ, which Patañjali had consciously created as a
trans-sectarian work, for his own project of venerating Viṣṇu. Moreover, by
making Kṛṣṇa the high god of Yoga theology, Māgha even turned the PYŚ
virtually into a work of Vaiṣṇava theology.62
62 The Kashmiri poet Ratnākara composed his Haravijaya in praise of Śiva in ca. 830 CE
(according to Sanderson 2007: 425). In stanza 6.21 he reused virtually the same
concepts of the PYŚ as ŚPV 14.62. In this way, he appropriated the PYŚ as a work of
Śaiva theology. My thanks to Andrey Klebanov for drawing my attention to this
parallel case of adaptive reuse of the PYŚ.
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4.3 The passage Śiśupālavadha 1.31–33
The final passage that will be discussed in this chapter is a weak case of
reuse; it might equally be interpreted as a reference or a strong allusion to the
PYŚ. It appears in the first canto of the ŚPV, where Māgha sets the stage for
the remaining part of the poem. Here, the heavenly seer Nārada arrives as a
burning flame from the sky at Kṛṣṇa’s home, where the latter welcomes the
divine ascetic with due respect before enquiring about the purpose of his
visit. The poem continues in the following way:
iti bruvantam tam uvāca sa vratī
na vācyam itthaṃ puruṣottama tvayī |
tvam eva sākṣātkaraṇīya ity ataḥ
kim asti kāryam guru yoginām api || 31 ||
udīrṇarāgapratirodhakaṃ janair
abhīkṣṇam akṣuṇṇatayātidurgamam |
upeyuṣo mokṣapathaṃ manasvinas
tvam agrabhūmir nirapāyasaṃśrayā || 32 ||
udāsitāraṃ nigṛhītamānasair
gṛhītam adhyātmadṛśā kathaṃcana |
bahirvikāraṃ prakṛteḥ pṛthag viduḥ
purātanaṃ tvāṃ puruṣāṃ purāvidaḥ || 33 || (ŚPV 1.31–33, part 1, p.
19–20; meter: Vaṃśastha)
31
The sage replied to him, who had spoken thus: “Oh Highest Being,
you may not speak like this. As even yogis have to visualize only you,
which task could be more important for me?”32 For the wise man who
wants to reach the path to liberation that is blocked by excited craving
and inaccessible for ordinary people, because it remains constantly unpracticed, you are the final destiny that shelters without ill [(like) a
far-away land to which only one liberating road leads, a road that is
extremely difficult to travel, because robbers whom the people cannot
drive away lurk there with excited desires]. 33With controlled minds
the wise men of old realized that you are the ancient, totally passive
subject. By seeing their inner self, they grasped with effort that you
are different from matter and beyond its modifications.
In these three stanzas Nārada introduces Kṛṣṇa to the audience of the poem.
Initially, the divine seer addresses Kṛṣṇa with the term puruṣottama “Highest
Being,” which can be understood as a general reference to the fact that Kṛṣṇa
is the incarnation of God Viṣṇu. However, the term can also be understood as
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a technical term of Sāṅkhya-Yoga designating a transcendental subject, the
faculty of pure consciousness (puruṣa), of which God (īśvara) is an ideal
form.63 It is this meaning that Nārada alludes to when he states that “even
yogis have to visualize only you” (tvam eva sākṣātkaraṇīya … yoginām api),
because it is the aim of yogis practicing theistic meditation to realize the
fundamental identity of God, conceptualized as an eternally liberated subject
(puruṣa), and their own individual subject.64 This interpretation suggests
itself even more if one considers the wording of the stanza ŚPV 1.33, in
which the term puruṣa is clearly used as a technical term of Sāṅkhya-Yoga to
refer to the faculty of consciousness that is ontologically different from (and
opposed to) matter (prakṛti) and its modifications.
An additional reference to the PYŚ is the expression adhyātmadṛśā “by
means of the sight of the inner self” in stanza 1.33b, which is a conceptional
parallel to PYŚ 1.29. This passage describes the result of theistic yogic meditation in the following way:
kiṃcāsya bhavati tataḥ pratyakcetanādhigam[aḥ] … (sūtra 1.29). …
svapuruṣadarśanam apy asya bhavati: “yathaiveśvaraḥ śuddhaḥ prasannaḥ kevalo ’nupasargas tathāyam api buddheḥ pratisaṃvedī madīyaḥ puruṣaḥ,” ity adhigacchatīti (PYŚ 1.29,1–5).
Moreover, from this yogic meditation the yogi acquires the realization
of his inner consciousness (sūtra 1.29). He even acquires a vision of
his own subject. He realizes: “As God is pure, clear, alone and free
from trouble, so also is my subject here that experiences its mental
capacity.”65
The two key terms of this passage are pratyakcetanādhigama “realization of
inner consciousness” from the sūtra and its paraphrase svapuruṣadarśana
“the vision of one’s own subject,” because adhyātmadṛś “seeing one’s inner
self” that Māgha used in ŚPV 1.33b could be a synonym of these two compounds, used in order to describe the means by which the yogis of old realized the ontological status of God as being different from matter. The fact
that for Māgha a yogi practicing theistic meditation attains knowledge of the
ontological status of God by seeing his inner self indicates that Māgha knew
63 See above, sections 1 and 4.2.1. A stanza occurring in Viṣṇupurāṇa 6.6.2 that Patañjali
quotes in PYŚ 1.28,5–6 uses the expression para ātman “Highest Self,” a quasi-synonym of puruṣottama, to refer to God.
64 For a detailed exposition of theistic yogic meditation, see Maas 2009, especially pp.
276–280.
65 Translation based on Maas 2009: 279.
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a form of theistic meditation similar to, or even identical with, the one taught
in the PYŚ.
4.4 The reception of Māgha’s reuse in Vallabhadeva’s Antidote
Vallabhadeva, who wrote his Antidote “in the first half of the tenth century”
in Kashmir,66 fully recognized the reuse of the PYŚ in stanza 4.55, and he
provided it with the most comprehensive commentary of a single stanza of
the whole chapter. His gloss highlights the reuse of PYŚ 1.33 by quoting the
sūtra almost verbatim and paraphrasing the bhāṣya passage.67 Moreover, the
Kashmiri commentator explained the concept of afflictions (kleśa) with a
brief summary of PYŚ 2.3–2.10.68 In addition, he provided a pregant description of the yogic path to liberation. One of the few instances in which
Vallabhadeva deviated from the PYŚ, to which he never referred by name, is
his quotation of sūtra 2.29. This quote contains the already mentioned list of
eight ancillaries. Possibly due to a slip of memory, the commentator presented the last three ancillaries as “meditation, fixing the mind and absorption” (dhyāna-dhāraṇā-samādhi), whereas the original sequence in the PYŚ
is “fixing the mind, meditation and absorption” (dhāraṇā-dhyāna-samādhi).
On the whole, however, Vallabhadeva demonstrated his detailed knowledge
of Yoga philosophy and a clear understanding of Māgha’s reuse.
At the end of his commentary on this stanza, however, the 10th-century
commentator stated that his exposition was based on the explanations of his
teacher Prakāśavarṣa.69 He added that the “understanding of this stanza (?)
cannot exist in detail without knowledge derived from personal experience
(anubhava).”70 This may imply that Vallabhadeva felt unable to explain the
66 Goodall and Isaacson 2003: xvii. On Vallabhadeva, see also Goodall and Isaacson
2003: xv–xxi.
67 Vallabhadeva paraphrases sūtra 1.33 (maitrīkaruṇāmuditopekṣāṇāṃ sukhaduḥkhapuṇyāpuṇyaviṣayāṇāṃ bhāvanātaś cittaprasādanam) with maitrīkaruṇāmuditopekṣāṇām
sukhadu[ḥ]khapuṇyāpuṇyaviṣayāṇām abhyāsāc cetaḥprasādanaṃ cittaparikarma
(Kak and Shastri, part 1, p. 147.11f.).
68 See Kak and Shastri, part 1, p. 147.16–19.
69 Prakāśavarṣa, Vallabhadeva’s teacher, was the author of a commentary (Laghuṭīkā) on
the Kīrātārjunīya of Bhāravi. Andrey Klebanov, who is working on a critical edition of
Prakāśavarṣa’s commentary, was kind enough to inform me (email 25 September
2016) that Prakāśavarṣa referred to Pātañjala Yoga in his commentary on Kirātārjunīya
3.26.
70 śrutvā prakāśavarṣāt tu vyākhyātaṃ tāvad īdṛśam. viśeṣatas tu naivāsti bodho ’trānubhād ṛte, iti (Kak and Shastri 1935, part 1, p. 147.22). In an email (4 November 2013)
Dominic Goodall was kind enough to draw my attention to Goodall and Isaacson 2003:
liii, where the two authors highlight the fact that Vallabhadeva “occasionally concedes
that the poem takes him into areas of knowledge that are beyond his experience.…” In
54
Philipp A. Maas
stanza in every detail, even with the help of his teacher Prakāśavarṣa. It
would, however, be hazardous to draw any conclusions from Vallabhadeva’s
statement as to the degree to which the PYŚ was known in Kashmir during
Vallabhadeva’s lifetime. At least some circles of Kashmiri scholars knew the
PYŚ quite well. This can be concluded from the fact that Abhinavagupta, the
famous polymath who probably lived in Kashmir slightly later than Vallabhadeva, and Rāmakaṇṭha (950-1000 CE) quoted the PYŚ repeatedly in their
respective works.71 Also the poet Ratnākara, who lived approximately one
hundred years before Vallabhadeva, reused the PYŚ in his own poetry.72
In his commentary on stanza 14.62, Vallabhadeva indicated clearly that
he knew a distinct group (of theologians?) committed to the Yoga of Patañjali
called “Pātañjalas.”73 Moreover, the commentator revealed that he was aware
of the fact that this group had a peculiar exposition of their teaching, i.e., a
śāstra.74 The same awareness of the PYŚ is also reflected in Vallabhadeva’s
commentary on ŚPV 1.33, where he referred his reader for more information
to the PYŚ by saying “etat tu sarvaṃ yogaśāstrād eva sujñānam.”75 This
suggests that Vallabhadeva regarded Patañjali’s composition, just as Māgha
had done before him, as a unified whole rather than a sūtra work together
with a later commentary. Moreover, he apparently assumed that his reader
would be able to access this work in some way or another, that is, either from
memory or in writing.
71
72
73
74
75
support of this, the two authors quoted the passage from Vallabhadeva’s commentary
on ŚPV 4.55 cited above. Moreover, they referred to Vallabhadevas’s commentary on
ŚPV 12.8, where the commentator admits that as a Kashmiri he does not know much
about chariots.
For Abhinavagupta, see Maas 2006: 111. The dating of Rāmakaṇṭha follows Watson,
Goodall and Sarma 2013: 15. On Rāmakaṇṭha’s references to the PYŚ see Watson,
Goodall and Sarma 2013: 447–450.
See above, n. 62.
Vallabhadeva glossed the verb viduḥ “they know” in pāda d with pātañjalā avidan
“The followers of Patañjali knew.” (Kak and Shastri 1935, part 2, p. 124.8).
“And it has been stated: ‘God is a special subject that is unaffected by afflictions,
karma, its ripening and mental dispositions (YS 1.25),’ and this can easily be understood from the [explanations in] the authoritative exposition (śāstra). If however, I
would investigate the matter here, my work would become overloaded” (uktaṃ ca –
“kleśakarmavipākāśayair aparāmṛṣṭaḥ puruṣaviśeṣa īśvaraḥ” ity etac ca tacchāstrād
subodhyam, iha tu vicāre granthagauravaṃ syāt”) (Kak and Shastri 1935, part 2, p.
124.14f.).
Kak and Shastri 1935, part 1, p. 20, l. 14.
From Theory to Poetry
55
5 Conclusions
The previous sections have examined how Māgha reused concepts and text
passages of the PYŚ at two points in his ŚPV. The nature of the reuse makes
it virtually impossible that Māgha reused a work different than the PYŚ. At a
third point, Māgha merely referred to characteristic teachings of the PYŚ,
teachings which he could theoretically also have known from a different yoga
work that is today lost. The detailed nature of Māgha’s reuse of – and references to – Pātañjali’s work indicates, in any case, that the poet was thoroughly familiar with the PYŚ. Apparently, Māgha expected that at least some of
his audience was acquainted with the PYŚ to a similar degree, because otherwise the adaptive reuse would not have been recognizable.76 This finding
suggests that the PYŚ was widely known in educated circles extending
beyond specialists in Gujarat – if this region was indeed the home of the poet
– at the time of the composition of the ŚPV, which was probably around the
middle of the 8th century CE.77
The respective effects that the poet created with these two cases of adaptive reuse of the PYŚ were similar to each other. They are related to the fact
that Māgha expected his audience to share his view of the PYŚ as a prestigious work at least to some degree. By reusing the PYŚ, Māgha reinforced its
reception as the authoritative work on Yoga par excellence among the educated audiences of his poem. Moreover, the poet transferred the prestige of
the śāstra to the object of his poetical description, i.e., to a sacred mountain
in stanza 4.55 and to Kṛṣṇa in stanza 14.62. This in turn may have contributed to the reception of the ŚPV as a prestigious poetic composition.
Māgha’s reuse was recognized even about two hundred years after the
composition of the ŚPV, that is, in the first half of the 10th century in Kashmir. This indicates the PYŚ was known as an authoritative work on Yoga
even outside yogic or philosophical circles for several centuries after its composition.78
In fact, the PYŚ played an important role throughout South Asian cultural, philosophical and religious history. Already during the first hundred
76 On the multiple purposes of adaptive reuse, see the introduction to the present volume.
77 See above, section 2.
78 A detailed analysis of the reception history of the stanzas ŚPV 4.55 and 14.62 in later
commentaries, as for example in Mallinātha’s Sarvaṃkaṣā (15th century) and in the
more than fifty-six additional commentaries on Māgha’s poem listed in the NCC, could
cast more light on the reception history of the PYŚ in pre-modern and early modern
South Asia. Due to limitations of time and space, this work must be left to another occasion.
56
Philipp A. Maas
years after its composition, the work emerged as the authoritative exposition
of philosophical yoga. This is indicated by numerous references to the PYŚ,
and quotations from it, from the fifth century onwards in various genres of
South Asian literature.79 The first chapter of the PYŚ alone is quoted in more
than twenty premodern, mainly philosophical Sanskrit works (Maas 2006:
111). Patañjali’s work was also well known in Buddhist circles. A mediaeval
Singhalese chronicle provides the legendary account that the eminent fifthcentury Buddhist commentator and author Buddhaghosa was a follower of
Patañjali before he converted to Buddhism and emigrated to Sri Lanka (Warren and Kosambi 1950: ix–xii and Hinüber 1997: 102, § 207). Additional testimony for the favourable reception of the PYŚ comes from the northwest of
South Asia. There, the eleventh-century Perso-Muslim scholar al-Bīrūnī drew
heavily on Patañjali’s work when he described the religion and culture of the
people in his India.80 Al-Bīrūnī also rendered the PYŚ into Arabic.81
The virtually continuous relevance of Patañjali’s work in premodern
South Asian philosophical and religious history is also indicated by the fact
that the PYŚ became the subject of three commentaries: (1.) The Pātañjalayogaśāstravivaraṇa (Vivaraṇa) possibly from the eighth century,82 by a
certain Śaṅkara, (2.) the Tattvavaiśāradī or Pātañjalayogaśāstravyākhyā by
the famous polymath Vācaspatimiśra I, who flourished around 950–1000
(Acharya 2006: xxviii), and (3.) the late sixteenth-century Yogavārttika by
Vijñānabhikṣu (Nicholson 2010: 6). Thus, the various interpretations, reinterpretations and critical responses to the PYŚ that were produced over the
last approximately 1600 years make the PYŚ an extremely important source
for research in the history of South Asian philosophy and religion.
79 The earliest quotation from the PYŚ known to me occurs in the earliest commentary
(vṛtti) on the Vākyapadīya of Bhartṛhari (ca. 450–510), which quotes a bhāṣya passage
from PYŚ 2.6 in commenting on Vākyapadīya 2.31 (p. 67). Whether the vṛtti is an
autho-commentary of Bhartṛhari or whether it was composed by one of Bhartṛhari’s
students, is still a matter of debate in indological scholarship.
80 See the lists of al-Bīrūnī’s sources provided by Sachau (1888: I: xxxix–xl) and Shastri
(1975).
81 See Maas and Verdon (forthcoming), who argue that al-Bīrūnī’s Kitāb Pātanğal is a
free rendering of the PYŚ into Arabic and not at all a more or less literal translation of
the “Yoga Sutra” together with an unknown commentary.
82 There are basically two arguments in favour of an early date of the Vivaraṇa. First, the
Vivaraṇa does not refer to any author later than Kumārila, who lived in the 7th c.
(Halbfass 1983: 120), and second, it can be demonstrated that the textual version of the
PYŚ commented upon by the author of the Vivaraṇa goes back to an early stage of the
transmission (Maas 2006: lxxii).
From Theory to Poetry
57
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Anjaneya Sarma. An Enquiry into the Nature of Lieberation: Bhaṭṭa Rāmakaṇṭha’s Paramokṣanirāsakārikāvṛtti,
a Commentary on Sadyojyotiḥ’s Refutation of Twenty
Conceptions of the Liberated State (Mokṣa), for the First
Time Crit. Ed., Translated into English and Annotated.
Pondicherry: Institut Français de Pondichéry : École
Française d’Extrême-Orient, 2013. Collection Indologie
122.
Wezler 1987
Wezler, Albrecht. “Zu der ‘Lehre von den 9 Ursachen’ im
Yogabhāṣya.” Hinduismus und Buddhismus: Festschrift
für Ulrich Schneider. Ed. Harry Falk. Freiburg: Hedwig
Falk, 1987. 340–379.
Wezler 2001
— “Zu der Frage des Strebens nach äußerster Kürze in den
Śrautasūtras.” Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft 151 (2001): 351–366.
Woods 1914
Woods, James Haughton. The Yoga-System of Patañjali,
Or the Ancient Hindu Doctrine of Concentration of Mind:
Embracing the Mnemonic Rules, Called Yoga-Sūtras, of
Patañjali and the Comment, Called Yoga-Bhāshya, Attributed to Veda-Vyāsa, and the Explanation, Called TattvaVaiçāradī, of Vāchaspati-Miçra. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1914. Harvard Oriental Ser. 17.
Wujastyk 2012
Wujastyk, Dagmar. Well-Mannered Medicine: Medical
Ethics and Etiquette in Classical Ayurveda. New York:
Oxford University Press, 2012.
Creativity within Limits: Different Usages of a
Single Argument from Dharmakīrti’s Vādanyāya in
Vidyānandin’s Works*
Himal Trikha
In memoriam Helmut Krasser (1956–2014)
Little is known about distinct textual references to other traditions of Indian
thought in the works of the Jaina Digambara Vidyānandin (10th century).1 We
can assume, however, that he referred to Dharmakīrti’s works in a similar
way as Akalaṅka, his most prominent Digambara predecessor. Nagin Shah
characterized Akalaṅka’s approach in the following way:
Akalaṅka sometimes bodily takes the sentences of Dharmakīrti (sometimes introducing minor changes therein) and makes use of them in
connection with constructing his own ones. (Shah 1967: 39)
Such a practice can be observed in Vidyānandin’s usage of an argument from
Dharmakīrti’s Vādanyāya (VN). This technique of composition, however, is
not employed by a mediocre imitator but by a creative, innovative and
elegant mind: Vidyānandin’s adaptions of Dharmakīrti’s argument are cre*
1
Dear Helmut Krasser was the first scholar to comment on an early draft of this chapter.
I am also very grateful to Elisa Freschi and Philipp Maas for their insightful remarks
on the next-to-final version and to Horst Lasic and Anne MacDonald for their helpful
comments on parts of earlier versions. The work on the article has been financed by the
Austrian Science Fund (FWF) in the context of the FWF project P 24160–G15 (“Fragments of Indian Philosophy”), and I am obliged to the project leader Ernst Prets for his
generous support of my work. I am further indebted to Vincent Eltschinger, Eli Franco,
Nora Melnikova, Yasutaka Muroya and Torsten Wieser-Much for referring me to relevant literature and to Katharine Apostle for proofreading my English. The idea to write
this article was prompted during the conference “Transmission and Tradition” in Matsumoto, Japan, in 2012 by Prof. Katsura’s kind, but doubting, interest in my claim that
Vidyānandin, while using Dharmakīrti’s arguments against the Vaiśeṣika, did not mechanically copy them, but slightly adapted them to fit the ontological framework of the
Jainas.
See the overviews of textual references in Koṭhiyā 1949: 1–44, Jain 1964: 22–28, Koṭhiyā 1977, prastāvanā, pp. 2–15, Borgland 2010: 77–92 and Trikha 2012a: 117f.
64
Himal Trikha
ative with regard to the manner the inherited textual material is varied, innovative with regard to its application against Buddhist tenets and elegant with
regard to how it is utilized to establish central Jaina philosophical tenets. Vidyānandin’s compositional practice thus displays a characteristic described by
Ashok Aklujkar as follows:
The śāstrakāras in practically all areas seem to have seen nothing
wrong even in adapting verses of others … Doing so was not a matter
of inability but purely of convenience (and occasionally of being able
to score points in debate through sarcasm). (Aklujkar 2000: 121)
Sarcasm is a prominent feature of the argument central to this chapter. In his
adaptions, Vidyānandin pays Dharmakīrti back in his own coin, and in some
instances he scores with minimal changes to the original passage. Due to this
remarkable adherence to the opponent’s very words and because of the
restrictions Vidyānandin had to observe when transferring the argument from
the Buddhist to the Jaina ontological framework, I would like to describe
Vidyānandin’s creativity as having been constrained by and enfolded within
the narrow confines of faithfulness to both textual transmission and ideological conviction.2
Adaptions of Dharmakīrti’s argument from the VN are not only found in
Vidyānandin’s works, but also in works by Vācaspatimiśra, Prabhācandra
and Paṇḍita Aśoka. We thus have before us what Ernst Steinkellner called
‘polemical parallels’ with a history of their own that is not necessarily
related to a certain known author … [with] the difficult task remain[ing] of determining the extent to which a certain idea or argument …
has been taken up, answered or used by the other. (Steinkellner 2013:
xxx)
These parallels are clearly the result of the literary techniques summarized by
Elisa Freschi and Philipp Maas with the terms “simple re-use” and “adaptive
reuse” (see section 3.1 of the introduction, p. 13 above). It is, however, not
always evident what exactly the “reused item” is or who exactly its reusing
agent was. In the case at hand, it is not, for example, immediately clear
whether Vācaspati got the argument directly from the VN or from another, as
yet unidentified work. We find in the history of this argument nested layers
of adaptions and our interpretation of whether a particular adaption is re2
Vidyānandin’s creativity is also addressed in Borgland 2010: 77. References to
Dharmakīrti’s works are also discussed in Soni 1999: 155–157, Borgland 2010: 45–48,
51–54, 66f., 75f., 97 and Trikha 2012a: 138, 207–211. See also Balcerowicz 2011: 19.
Creativity within Limits
65
markably original (→ “adaptive reuse”) or a flawed reproduction (→ “simple
re-use”) depends on our hypothesis as to what exactly the source of that
particular adaption was. The examination of the “motives for reuse” and of
the “purpose of innovating through reusing” (section 1 of the introduction, p.
11 above) is therefore closely intertwined with the study of the question of
how a text was transmitted from one work to another. Here, with the considerable number of parallel texts for Dharmakīrti’s argument from the VN, a
considerable number of alternatives for the transmission succession are possible. The main aim of this chapter is to render some alternatives more plausible than others.
In the first part of the chapter, I present the argument from the VN and an
overview of eleven adaptions of the same in other works. In the second part
(p. 73) I discuss three basic types for the succession of transmission of parallel texts and the adaptions of Dharmakīrti’s argument in works by Vācaspatimiśra and Paṇḍita Aśoka. In the third part (p. 82) I examine the adaptions in
three works of Vidyānandin, concluding (p. 101) with an overview of my hypotheses regarding the succession of transmission of the argument’s adaptions.
1 A passage from the Vādanyāya and an overview of corresponding
textual material
idam eva ca pratyakṣasya pratyakṣatvam, yad anātmarūpavivekena
svarūpasya buddhau samarpaṇam. ayaṃ punar ghaṭo ’mūlyadānakrayī, yaḥ svarūpaṃ ca nopadarśayati pratyakṣatāṃ ca svīkartum icchati. (VN 8,6–9)
And the perceptibility of a perceptible entity (consists) precisely in
this: that it transfers its nature to cognition by the exclusion of what is
not its nature. But this, [your] pot, which does not show its nature and
yet wants to acquire perceptibility, is a non-paying customer.3
3
See Much 1991: 22. Much translates svarūpa with “Gestalt.” In my translation “nature” I understand the English term in the sense of “the basic or inherent features,
character, or qualities of something” (www.oxforddictionaries.com, September 12,
2014). The parallel passages examined in this chapter use svākāra and (sva-)ātman as
equivalents for svarūpa. In my translation of viveka I follow Much’s translation of VN
5,3 (Much 1991: 10) and Franco 2012: 60.
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Himal Trikha
In the first statement Dharmakīrti determines a condition for perceptibility. In
the second statement he ridicules the tenet of an opponent by claiming that it
does not fulfill this very condition of perception.
1.1 The background of the argument
The background of Dharmakīrti’s argument is his disagreement with the
school of (Nyāya-)Vaiśeṣika concerning the ontological status of an aggregate, in this case, a pot. In Dharmakīrti’s opinion, only its components actually exist. These are numerous finest atoms (paramāṇu) that, in close proximity to each other, produce a specific homogeneous effect (ekārthakriyā).
The effect may be addressed by convention of speech but it does not exist in
reality (paramārthasat), only nominally (prajñāptisat).4 For the (Nyāya-)Vaiśeṣika, on the other hand, an aggregate cannot be considered to be a mere
convention of speech. It reflects an actually existing entity, a whole (avayavin) that is delimited ontologically from its parts (avayava). Both, the parts
and the whole, add up to the reality of the aggregate.
With regard to this controversy, the passage from the VN offers a criterion for distinguishing between actually existing and alleged entities: perceptibility, defined as the transfer of the nature of the entity to the cognition.
This transfer happens, according to Dharmakīrti, in a specific manner: “by
the exclusion of what is not its nature (anātmarūpavivekena).” The components of an aggregate fulfill this condition, since their properties appear
distinct from one another. Scent (gandha), for instance, appears as distinct
from taste (rasa). The respective property’s nature is transferred by an exclusion of what it is not, namely, by the exclusion of the other properties’ natures. The alleged whole, however, does not fulfill this condition: it does not
appear as distinct from its parts. Its alleged nature is not transferred by excluding what it is not. On the contrary, instead of the nature of the whole,
only the natures of the parts are transferred to the cognition.5
Dharmakīrti illustrates his conviction with an example from the domain of
economic transactions. He calls into play an amūlyadānakrayin, who is to
become the wretched hero of this chapter. An example of a definition of the
terms used to characterize this agent is found in the Vyavahāranirṇaya (cited
in Kane 1946: 495, n. 878):
… loke jihāsitaṃ suvarṇādi mūlyam ucyate. upāditsitaṃ kṣetragṛhādi
paṇyam ity ucyate. … mūlyatyāgapūrvakapaṇyasvīkāraḥ krayaḥ.
4
5
See Much 1991: 13f., n. 67; 14f., n. 78 and Dunne 2004: 37–45.
See Much 1991: 10 and 21, and Dunne 2004: ibid.
Creativity within Limits
67
According to common practice … what one wants to give away is
called the “price,” for example gold. What one wants to achieve is
called an “article,” e.g., a field, a house, etc. … Purchase is the acquisition of the article preceded by the discharge of the price.
A purchase (kraya) is valid, if the price (mūlya) is given for the article
(paṇya), such as gold given for a house (see Table 1). Therefore, a mūlyadānakrayin, i.e., “someone who buys (°krayin) by giving the price (mūlyadāna°)” is a well-received customer.
Table 1: Factors of a purchase with an example
paṇya
mūlya
kraya
gṛha
suvarṇa
suvarṇatyāga → gṛhasvīkāra
By lining up these terms to Dharmakīrti’s description of perception (see Table 2), we get as the price for perceptibility the appearance of the nature
(svarūpapratibhāsa). The components of an aggregate do appear and acquire
perceptibility. The money is on the table, so to speak.
Table 2: Factors of a purchase with an example
paṇya
mūlya
kraya
pratyakṣatva
svarūpapratibhāsa
svarūpaṃ upadarśayati
→ pratyakṣatāṃ svīkāraḥ
In the case of the alleged whole, however (see Table 3), only the natures of
the parts are offered (anātmarūpapratibhāsa), i.e., something which is not the
price (amūlya).
Table 3: Unsuccessful purchase/perception
paṇya
mūlya amūlya
pratyakṣatva
anātmarūpapratibhāsa svarūpaṃ nopadarśayati + pratyakṣatāṃ svīkartum icchati → ∅
kraya
Someone who buys by giving what is “not the price (amūlya)” or, more generally, “who does not buy by giving the price (a-mūlyadānakrayin)” corrupts
his role in the transaction. Moreover, he makes a valid purchase impossible.
A customer who does not pay for the desired good is not a “buyer.” Depend-
68
Himal Trikha
ing on the action he pursues subsequent to his desire, he might be a “beggar,”
a “thief,” or a “fraud.” What a convicted amūlyadānakrayin can get, at best,
is a laugh. His intentions are simply funny, as is remarked by Śāntarakṣita
and Vidyānandin (see next paragraph). The figurative usage of the element
krayin suggests that the phrase serves as an ironic expression for an agent
who fails to provide an indispensable condition for the action he wants to
accomplish.
Dharmakīrti uses the expression as a metaphor for a pot, i.e., the paradigm
for the alleged whole. A “pot,” the subject of comparison (upameya), is analogous to a “non-paying customer,” the object of comparison (upamāna),
because they share a mutual property (sādhāraṇadharma): both intend to do
an action they are not qualified for. Applying the expression amūlyadānakrayin to the argument points to still another figurative usage. The pot is not the
agent who desires to acquire (svīkartum icchati) something and does not
show up (nopadarśayati) with the proper reimbursement. It is a proponent of
the Vaiśeṣika who fancies the concept of a whole without offering hard currency, i.e., perceptual evidence. At this level of speech the argument is sarcastic, since it aims to mock the opponent’s view. This implication is also
shown in Śāntarakṣita’s concluding words in his commentary on the argument: … iti upahasati. (VA 37,15: “He [i.e., Dharmakīrti] ridicules [the position].”)
1.2 Overview of corresponding passages
In addition to the attestation in the VN (attestation {1}), eleven further attestations ({2–12}) of the argument will be examined in this chapter.6 They are
transmitted in five works by three authors who are all dated7 close to the turn
of the first millennium:
Vācaspatimiśra:
– Nyāyavārttikatātparyaṭīkā: NVTṬ 342,8f. {2}
Vidyānandin:
– Tattvārthaślokavārttikālaṅkāra: TAŚVA 118,25f. {3}; 118,27f. {4};
433,9–11 {5}
– Aṣṭasahasrī: AS 79,12f. {6}; 176,4f. {7}; 176,8–10 {8}
– Satyaśāsanaparīkṣā: SŚP 21,27f. {9}; II 14 {10}; 45,13f. {11}
6
7
After completing this investigation, I came across a further reference to this argument
in the Prameyakamalamārtaṇḍa (PKM 546,11–13). In the context of this passage, Prabhācandra addresses a topic similar to the one Vidyānandin discusses in the context of
TAŚVA 433,9–11, attestation {5} (see below pp. 85f.).
See p. 73, n. 9 and pp. 79 and 82 below.
Creativity within Limits
69
Paṇḍita Aśoka:
– Sāmānyadūṣaṇa: SD 14,20f. {12}8
The above enumeration of the passages reflects the likely chronological
order, which I will address in the course of this chapter. All further attestations correspond to the argument in the VN to a very high degree, i.e., a comparison of the respective passages reveals instances of literal or verbal correspondences. For example, in the comparison of the attestations in editions
of the VN and the Tātparyaṭīkā we can single out the following exact literal
and distinctive verbal correspondences:
{1} idam eva ca pratyakṣasya pratyakṣatvam, yad anātmarūpavivekena svarūpasya buddhau samarpaṇam. ayaṃ punar ghaṭo ’mūlyadānakrayī, yaḥ svarūpaṃ ca nopadarśayati pratyakṣatāṃ ca svīkartum
icchati. (VN 8,6–9)
{2} yad āhuḥ: so ’yam amūlyadānakrayī svākāraṃ ca jñāne samarpayati pratyakṣatāṃ ca svīkartum icchaty avayavīti. tad evaṃ paraṃ
praty avayavino ’siddher vipratipattiḥ. (NVTṬ 342,8–10)
The elements ayam amūlyadānakrayī and pratyakṣatāṃ ca svīkartum icchati
match here literally in euphonic normalization. svarūpasya buddhau samarpaṇam (VN) is contracted in svarūpaṃ ca … upadarśayati (VN); and svākāraṃ ca jñāne samarpayati (NVTṬ) mirrors the former semantically and the
latter syntactically (see Figure 1).
VN
svarūpasya budhau samarpaṇam
NVTṬ
svarūpaṃ ca … upadarśayati
semantic correspondence
syntactic correspondence
↘
↙
svākāraṃ ca jñāne samarpayati
Figure 1: Two forms of verbal correspondence.
The absence of na (NVTṬ) and the use of avayavin (NVTṬ) as a hypernym
for ghaṭa (VN) are substantial variations to the text but do not diminish the
textual dependency of the two passages. In a synopsis of the corresponding
8
In the secondary literature, this argument is referred to in Stcherbatsky 1932: 540, n. 5
(NVTṬ?), Shastri 1964: 255f. (NVTṬ), Much 1991: 22 (VN, NVTṬ, SD), Soni 1999:
149 (TAŚV 118,25–28 {3–4}) and Trikha 2012a: 209–212 (VN, NVTṬ, TAŚV
118,25f. {3}, SŚP II 14 {10}, SD). The sigla in brackets indicate which attestations
have been referred to here.
70
Himal Trikha
elements, the extent of the correspondence by way of expression can be demarcated like this:
{1} idam eva ca pratyakṣasya pratyakṣatvam, yad anātmarūpavivekena svarūpasya buddhau samarpaṇam. ayaṃ punar ghaṭo ’mūlyadānakrayī, yaḥ svarūpaṃ ca nopadarśayati pratyakṣatāṃ ca svīkartum
icchati.
{2} yad āhuḥ: so ’yam amūlyadānakrayī svākāraṃ ca jñāne samarpayati pratyakṣatāṃ ca svīkartum icchaty avayavīti. tad evaṃ paraṃ
praty avayavino ’siddher vipratipattiḥ.
This loose but clearly distinct form of verbal correspondence with the VN
prevails in the other attestations of the argument as well:
{3} nāntar bahir vāṃśebhyo bhinno ’ṃśī kaścit tattvato ’sti. yo hi
pratyakṣabuddhāv ātmānaṃ na samarpayati pratyakṣatāṃ ca svīkaroti, so ’yam amūlyadānakrayīty ayuktikam eva … (TAŚVA 118,25f.)
{4} tatheme paramāṇavo nātmanaḥ pratyakṣabuddhau svarūpaṃ samarpayanti pratyakṣatāṃ ca svīkartum utsahanta ity amūlyadānakrayiṇaḥ. (TAŚVA 118,27f.)
{5} ime punā rūpādayo dravyarahitā evāmūlyadānakrayiṇaḥ, svarūpaṃ ca nopadarśayanti pratyakṣatāṃ ca svīkartum icchantīti sphuṭam
abhidhīyatām. (TAŚVA 433,10f.)
{6} kim avayaviparikalpanayā tasyāmulyadānakrayitvāt. sa hi pratyakṣe svātmānaṃ na samarpayati pratyakṣatāṃ ca svīkartum icchatīty
amūlyadānakrayī, vikalpabuddhāv eva … (AS 79,12f.)
{7} ta ime paramāṇavaḥ pratyakṣabuddhāv ātmānaṃ ca na samarpayanti pratyakṣatāṃ ca svīkartum icchantīty amūlyadānakrayiṇaḥ svāvayavabhinnaikāvayavivat. (AS 176,4f.)
{8} na ca, ete ’vayavā ayam avayavī samavāyaś cāyam anayor iti trayākāraṃ pratyakṣam anubhūyate sakṛd api, yato ’sāv apy amūlyadānakrayī na syāt, pratyakṣabuddhāv ātmānarpaṇena pratyakṣatāsvīkaraṇāviśeṣāt. tata eva parasparabhinnāvayavāvayavinām api pratyakṣe pratibhāsanād amūlyadānakrayiṇāv uktau samavāyavat. (AS
176,8–10)
{9} ta ime paramāṇavaḥ pratyakṣabuddhāv ātmānaṃ na samarpayanti pratyakṣatāṃ ca svīkartum icchantīty amūlyadānakrayiṇaḥ. (SŚP
21,27f.)
Creativity within Limits
71
{10} na ca, ete ’vayavādaya ime ’vayavyādayaḥ samavāyaś ca teṣām
ayam iti pratyakṣabuddhau visrasā bhinnāḥ sakṛd api pratīyante pratyakṣatāṃ ca svīkartum icchantīti. te ’mī amūlyadānakrayiṇaḥ pratyakṣabuddhāv ātmānarpaṇena pratyakṣatāsvīkaraṇāt. (SŚP II 15)
{11} tad idaṃ paroditasvarūpaṃ sāmānyaṃ pratyakṣabuddhāv ātmānaṃ na samarthayati pratyakṣatāṃ ca svīkartum icchatīty amūlyadānakrayitvāt satām upahāsāspadam eva syāt. (SŚP 45,13f.)
{12} idaṃ punar mūlyādānakrayi sāmānyam, svarūpaṃ ca nādarśayati pratyakṣatāṃ ca svīkartum icchati. (SD 14,20f.)
1.3 Groups of correlating elements
Having these correspondences before us, it is clear that these passages are
variations of one and the same argument. Through a comprehensive inspection of the modifications, we get four groups of correlating elements with diverse degrees of variation. The most stable element is the compound expressing the metaphor; it has only one variation, found in the Sāmānyadūṣaṇa
(group A):
– amūlyadānakrayin {1–11}
– mūlyādānakrayin {12}
The second group consists of these correlates (group B):
– pratyakṣatāṃ ca svīkartum iccha- {1–2, 5–7, 9, 11, 12}
– pratyakṣatāṃ ca svīkara- {3}
– pratyakṣatāṃ ca svīkartum utsaha- {4}
– pratyakṣatāsvīkaraṇa {8, 10}
More variations occur in these correlates (group C):
– svarūpaṃ ca nopadarśaya-/nādarśaya- {1, 5, 12}
– svākāraṃ ca jñāne samarpaya- {2}
– pratyakṣabuddhāv ātmānaṃ (ca) na samarpaya-/samarthaya- {3, 7,
9, 11}
– nātmanaḥ pratyakṣabuddhau svarūpaṃ samarpaya- {4}
– pratyakṣe svātmānaṃ na samarpaya- {6}
– pratyakṣabuddhāv ātmānarpaṇena {8, 10}
With the exception of the missing negation in the Tātparyaṭīkā (group C
{2}), the individual text versions of these three groups of correlates barely
differ with regard to their semantic content. Many correlates of the following
fourth group, however, point to significant alterations of the conceptual con-
72
Himal Trikha
tent. This group consists of the correlates for the object(s) to which the
amūlyadānakrayin is compared. The alterations are reflected in the variations
of the metaphor with regard to their numerical expression (group D):
– amūlyadānakrayī/mūlyādānakrayī:
→ ghaṭaḥ ~ avayavī ~ aṃśī {1–3, 6}
→ asau [samavāyaḥ] {8a}
→ sāmānyam {11–12}
– amūlyadānakrayiṇau:
→ avayava & avayavin {8b}
– amūlyadānakrayiṇaḥ:
→ paramāṇavaḥ ~ rūpādayaḥ {4–5, 7, 9}
→ avayava & avayavin & samavāya {10}
The terms in group D represent the ontological concepts against which the
variations of the argument are directed. Despite these somewhat different
purports, we can observe in groups A to C that some attestations are closer to
each other with regard to expression. Some variations characterize only the
attestations in Vidyānandin’s works (group B {3, 4, 8, 10}), where, furthermore, two attestations are connected more closely by using a nominal style
(groups B and C {8, 10}). Most attestations in Vidyānandin’s works are consistent with regard to the use of the term pratyakṣabuddhau (except for the
correlates C {5, 6}) and with regard to the use of ātman for svarūpa/svākāra
in the non-Jain sources (except for C {4, 5}). C {5} is a particularly interesting correlate, since the causative stem darśaya- is used there, something
otherwise attested only in the two Buddhist sources (C {1, 12}).
Similarities between individual attestations suggest that these share a particular stream of transmission. Before expressing the argument, an author
may have referred to someone else’s copy of the work, remembered a
teacher’s oral instruction or a skillful remark of a colleague or opponent, or
may simply have taken up an earlier formulation in one of his own works.
The latter can be safely assumed for some of the nine attestations in
Vidyānandin’s works. Before coming to these, however, I will examine the
context of the passages in Vācaspatimiśra’s and Paṇḍita Aśoka’s works with
respect to their possible relation to the passage in the VN.
Creativity within Limits
73
2 The succession of transmission for the adaptions in Vācaspati’s and
Aśoka’s works
With regard to the succession of transmission of two particular attestations, I
assume three basic types, which I will discuss using the example of their possible relationship to the VN (attestation {1} above), the Nyāyavārttikatātparyaṭīkā (attestation {2}) and the Sāmānyadūṣaṇa (attestation {12}).
2.1 Basic types of the succession of transmission
In comparison to the other attestations of the argument, a negation is missing
in the three editions of the Tātparyaṭīkā I have at hand. A translation of the
attested corresponding text could read:
{2}… so ’yam amūlyadānakrayī svākāraṃ ca jñāne samarpayati pratyakṣatāṃ ca svīkartum icchaty avayavīti … (NVTṬ 342,8f., NVTṬT/A
478,16–18, NVTṬD 388,9–11)
… “This one, [your] whole, is a non-paying customer as it transfers its
form to cognition and wants to acquire perceptibility.” …
This understanding could reflect an accidental transmission error, a (serious)
misunderstanding or a deliberate distortion of the conceptual content of the
initial argument (see sections 2.2.1–3 below). In pondering these alternatives,
it is of relevance whom we regard as the creator of the particular expression
of the argument in the Tātparyaṭīkā. One possibility is that it was Vācaspati
himself: we can assume that he had a copy of the VN, or part of it, in front of
him and that he adapted Dharmakīrti’s argument. With regard to the succession of transmission, the relation of the two corresponding passages from
the VN and the Tātparyaṭīkā could then be classified as a direct inclusion of
text from one work into the other (see Figure 2).
Figure 2: Direct inclusion of text from one work into the other.
However, Vācaspati is separated from Dharmakīrti by a couple of centuries.9
In this period a large number of thinkers, both Buddhist and non-Buddhist,
9
Krasser (2012: 587) proposed “as a working hypothesis, the time of Kumārila and
Dharmakīrti to be the middle of the sixth century,” against the consensual dating of
Dharmakīrti in the 7th century. Acharya (2006: xxviii) considers Vācaspati “to have
flourished between A.D. 950 and 1000,” and David (2012: 17f., n. 12) also thinks this
74
Himal Trikha
were actively engaged with Dharmakīrti’s philosophical positions. Therefore,
it might not have been Vācaspati who adapted the argument from the VN, but
another person whose words Vācaspati referred to. This third source could
have been available for Vācaspati in some form of textual evidence, but could
just as well have been oral information from a teacher, a colleague or an
opponent, whose words Vācaspati heard and preserved in a text that was to
become a part of the Tātparyaṭīkā. In assessing the dissimilarities of
otherwise closely corresponding passages – e.g., the missing negation in the
attestation of the argument in the Tātparyaṭīkā – it can be meaningful to
assume an intermediate source, as it might be exactly such as source that was
responsible for the modification. If such (an) intermediate source(s) can be
identified or demonstrated through an analysis of the context and of the
argumentative function of two individual corresponding passages, their
relation with regard to the succession of transmission would then have to be
described as an indirect inclusion of text (see figure 3).
Figure 3: Indirect inclusion of text via (an) intermediate source(s).
A further basic type of transmission succession of two individual passages is
both having transmitted the corresponding text independently from one
another. This is unlikely here, but in theory both Dharmakīrti and Vācaspati
could have referred to a third source and included it in an adapted form in
their respective works (see Figure 4).
Figure 4: Independent transmission.
dating not improbable. Muroya (2011: 358f.) proposes that a “part in the NVTṬ may
have been a response to the criticism by Jñānaśrī.” As Jñānaśrī, in turn, refers to the
NVTṬ (see also Lasic 2000: 49), this would suggest that Vācaspati and Jñānaśrīmitra
(“980–1030,” Kellner 2007: 7) were contemporaries.
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To substantiate such a theory, we would need textual evidence indicating that
a significant number of the key semes of the argument (signified, e.g., by the
lexemes pratyakṣa, svīkaraṇa, svarūpa, buddhi, samarpaṇa, mūlya, dāna,
kraya) were already combined in the time before the VN’s composition. I am
not aware of any such evidence; to the contrary, all attestations of the argument point – in some way or another – to the context designed by Dharmakīrti in the VN. I therefore assume for pragmatic reasons that the Tātparyaṭīkā – and all other known attestations – depend on the argument in the VN.
2.2 The adaption in the Nyāyavārttikatātparyaṭīkā
Vācaspati’s variation of the argument is found in a section called avayaviparīkṣāprakaraṇa in Thakur’s edition (see NVTṬ 342,1). There, the section
covers twelve pages and includes sūtras 2.1.33–36. The argument is found in
the very beginning of this section, in the commentary on the first sūtra, which
reads:
sādhyatvād avayavini sandehaḥ. (NS 2.1.33)
A doubt with regard to the whole is caused by the fact that it needs to
be established.
Vācaspati unfolds his examination with an interpretation of the word sādhyatvāt. In the course of this interpretation he illustrates the position of an opponent, who denies that the notion of an avayavin can be justified. I understand the text as follows (NVTṬ 342,3–11, NVTṬT/A 478,12–18, NVTṬD
388,2–11):10
{2} [I] paraṃ1 praty asiddhatvam evāvayavinaḥ sādhyatvam. [II.1] sa
khalv evaṃ mene: [II.2] a,b saṃvinniṣṭhā hi viṣayavyavasthitiḥ. a sa eva
ca saṃvidā vyavasthāpyate, yas tasyā viṣayaḥ. sa eva ca2 viṣayaḥ, yaḥ
3
svākāram3 asyām arpayati. na ca nirantarotpannarūpādiparamāṇvatiriktam avayavyākāraṃ bibhratīṃ saṃvidam īkṣāmahe, kiṃ tu nirantarotpannarūpādiparamāṇvākārāṇām. sthaulyaṃ ca na yady api
paramāṇūnāṃ pratyekam asti, tathāpi pratibhāsadharmo bahutvādi10 Here and below, text segments introduced by Roman numerals in superscript in square
brackets indicate my segmentation of the argumentation structure. Arabic numerals in
superscript refer to the variations mentioned in the apparatus. Latin letters in superscript indicate text segments with (hypothesized) corresponding passages. The symbol
“=” used in the apparatus indicates that the text of the mentioned edition of the respective corresponding passage corresponds exactly, “~” that it corresponds literally
with variations, and “#” that it is dominated by verbal correspondence. “//” indicates
less significantly corresponding passages. In the text, literal correspondence with
variations and distinct verbal correspondence are highlighted accordingly.
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Himal Trikha
vat, na 4punar avayavinam4 ekam avasthāpayitum arhati. [II.3.i] yad
āhuḥ: [II.3.ii] cso ’yam amūlyadānakrayī svākāraṃ na5 jñāne samarpayati pratyakṣatāṃ ca svīkartum icchaty avayavīti.c,b [III] tad evaṃ paraṃ praty avayavino ’siddher vipratipattiḥ.
a
~ AJP I 15,11 and 76,6; PrP 365,9; ŚVK II 131,25f. and III 149,24f.;
ĪPVV 53,8; // NAVV 88,7; TĀV III 216,3; PASV 82,15 b unidentified
parallel α? c # VN 8,8f.
1
4
na paraṃ NVTṬT/A 2 NVTṬD without ca 3 ākāram NVTṬT/A,
punavaravayinam NVTṬ 5 na emended for ca NVTṬ, NVTṬ T/A, D
D
[I]
The fact that the whole needs to be established is precisely the fact
that it is not established for the opponent. [II.1] He, indeed, thought the
following: [II.2] “Because/Surely (?) the establishment of an object depends on cognition. And exactly that, which is the object of cognition,
is established by it. And exactly that, which delivers its form in a cognition, is an object. And we do not observe a cognition bearing the
form of a whole that surpasses the finest atoms like shape/color, etc.,
which occur without an intervening space [i.e., which do not collapse
on each other], but (we observe) rather (a cognition) of the forms of
the finest atoms like shape/color, etc., which occur without an intervening space. And even though concreteness (does not apply) to the
finest atoms individually, (it) is still an appearing property (for them)
like plurality and other [properties which only pertain to a group of
things]; (this), however, cannot establish a unique whole. [II.3.i] As
he/they (?) said: [II.3.ii] ‘This one, [your] whole, is a non-paying customer as it does not transfer its form to cognition and wants to acquire
perceptibility.’” [III] In this way, therefore, dissent (follows) because
the whole is not established for the opponent.
In the following discussion of this passage I propose that the text segment
indicated with “b” preserves the position of an unidentified Buddhist author.
2.2.1
On the main level of argumentation, sequence [I] states that the avayavin is
not proved for an opponent of the Naiyāyikas, [II] illustrates this opponent’s
position and [III] resumes the disagreement. The argumentation in [II] consists of an introductory sequence [II.1], an exposition of the opponent’s opinion in [II.2] and the reference to [II.3.i] and the mentioning of [II.3.ii] a
corroborative statement corresponding to the passage from the VN. Considering this argumentative framework, I think it very unlikely that the missing
Creativity within Limits
77
negation in [II.3.ii] reflects a deliberate distortion of the initial argument.
Vācaspati intends to show here a disagreement with an opponent who is
worthy of engaging in a debate on a serious philosophical problem. A distortion of the argument would compromise both the opponent’s expertise and
the exposition of the philosophical problem.
The conceptual content presented in [II.2] is similar to the context of the
argument in the VN: An object is regarded as perceptible (pratyakṣā arthāḥ,
VN 8,4) / demonstrable (viṣayavyavasthitiḥ, NVTṬ) only if its nature (svarūpa, VN 8,7) / form (svākāra, NVTṬ) is transferred (samarpaṇa, VN 8,7) /
delivered (arpaya-, NVTṬ) in a cognition (buddhi, VN 8,7; saṃvid, NVTṬ).
The notion of an avayavin (→ ghaṭa, VN 8,8) does not fulfill this criterion,
only the finest atoms (gandharasādayaḥ, VN 8,5; rūpādiparamāṇu, NVTṬ)
do, which do not have a separate location (apṛthagdeśa, VN 8,4) / occur
without an intervening space (nirantarotpanna, NVTṬ). This conceptual
framework delimits the range of a misunderstanding, which is possibly
reflected by the missing negation in [II.3.ii]: sequence [II.2] displays that its
author is at least very well informed about the general direction of the argument in [II.3.ii]. A misunderstanding would therefore not reflect a serious
mistake with regard to the point of the argument, but can be delimited to the
exact meaning of the rare compound amūlyadānakrayin.
2.2.2
With regard to the composition of the particular expression of the text in
sequence [II], we can assume, first, that Vācaspati – based on his general
knowledge of Buddhist philosophy – improvised a free rendering in sequence
[II.2] in which he stereotyped “the” Buddhist position. The phrase sa khalv
evaṃ mene would not introduce a particular opponent (saḥ …) and his
thoughts (… evaṃ mene), but would be a literary device signaling the beginning of an imagined opponent’s position.
Within this hypothesis on the composition of the textual material, we
would have to understand hi at the beginning of sequence [II.2] as a modal
particle (→ “surely”), since the more frequent use as a causal conjunction (→
“because”) would be redundant here.11 The interpretation of hi in its more
frequent use requires an alternative theory on the composition of sequence
[II.2]: Vācaspati could have included here material from another source in
11 As a causal conjunction, hi could only be related to the predicate of sequence [I] and its
scope would reach as far as the end of sequence [II.3.ii]: “The avayavin is not established … because the establishment of an object depends on cognition …” But this
connection of [I] and [II.3.ii] is already made clear by sequence [II.1].
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Himal Trikha
which hi fits the argumentation structure better. And, in fact, hi is an intratextual indication of what can be verified by ample intertextual evidence:
saṃvinniṣṭhā hi viṣayavyavasthitiḥ (NVTṬ 342,3f.) is reflected in a number
of sources, namely, in the works of Haribhadra, Śālikanātha, Sucaritamiśra
and Abhinavagupta and his commentators (see sources indicated under “a”12).
Haribhadra and the authors belonging to Kashmirian Śaivaism demarcate the
sentence as external textual material, and in the three passages of the two
Mīmāṃsā works the sentence is used in the context of discussions of Buddhist tenets: one passage among them (ŚVK III 149,23–150,13) also addresses the term avayavin in connection with the examination of universals
(sāmānya). A preliminary examination of these passages leads me to believe
that they depend on another passage and that their correlate in the NVTṬ also
stems from this as yet unidentified source. I therefore propose that Vācaspati
introduces with sa khalv evaṃ mene a particular person, whose diction he
followed closely also in the following sentences of sequence [II.2].
2.2.3
Within this hypothesis, we have to consider at least the following agents with
regard to the creation of the particular expressions (Figure 5):
Vācaspati
Unidentified person
Dharmakīrti
I
II.1
III
II.2
II.3.ii
Figure 5: Layers of agency reflected in NVTṬ 342,3–11.
Confronted with these nested layers of agency, it is unclear who was the
responsible agent for the modifications in the argument from the VN in
[II.3.ii]: any of the substitutions avayavin, svākāra, jñāna, samarpaya
(NVTṬ) for ghaṭa, svarūpa, buddhi, upadarśaya- (VN) could have been
carried out by the unidentified person or by Vācaspati. The same applies to
the missing negation; but since the argument had to pass through the mind of
the polymath Vācaspati, I think it unlikely that he was unaware of the connotations of the word amūlyadānakrayin. I therefore regard the omission as a
scribal transmission error and emend na for ca.
12 See above, p. 76. In these sources the sentence occurs with or without hi and always in
the plural, e.g., tathā hi: saṃvinniṣṭhā viṣayavyavasthitaya iti sthitir iyam avivādā sarvavādinām (PrP 365,9).
Creativity within Limits
79
With these layers of agency it is also unclear who supplemented [II.2]
with [II.3] in the first place. Did already Vācaspati’s source sustain his argument by paraphrasing the passage from the VN? The reference yad āhuḥ
would then translate “as he (i.e., the respected teacher Dharmakīrti) said,”
and the relation of the corresponding passages in the VN and the NVTṬ with
regard to the succession of transmission would then be that of an indirect
inclusion via an intermediate source. Or did Vācaspati illustrate the argument
in [II.2] on his own accord by adding a trenchant formulation of the point in
[II.3]? yad āhuḥ would then translate “as this/these (opponent/s) said,” and
we could consider [II.3.ii] being a modified but direct inclusion of the VN
passage.
2.2.4
Despite this somewhat opaque compositional structure, the alternative of an
indirect inclusion should be considered more seriously, since the reasons for
it are more conclusive. The reasons against an indirect inclusion and for a
direct inclusion of the VN into the NVTṬ are, at first, that Vācaspati did not
necessarily refer to a particular source in [II.2], because sa … evaṃ mene
could merely introduce an imaginary position, hi can be understood as a
modal particle and saṃvinniṣṭhā viṣayavyavasthitiḥ could simply be a common place phrase. Secondly, if Vācaspati was referring to a particular source
in [II.2] he could well have provided the textual material corresponding to the
VN himself, as it was customary practice for scholars of his period not to
demarcate borrowings from other works, and there would have been no need
to place an iti at the joint between [II.2] and [II.3]. However, if we take the
absence of an iti between [II.2] and [II.3] at face value and understand sa …
evaṃ mene and hi in their precise meanings, while interpreting the many
attestations of saṃvinniṣṭhā (hi) viṣayavyavasthitayaḥ as supporting these
precise meanings, we have stronger evidence to conclude that Vācaspati reproduced the distinct thoughts of an individual, as yet unknown, pūrvapakṣa
in [II.2–3] (the text segment indicated with “b” above). I therefore propose
understanding the correspondence between the VN and the NVTṬ as the
result of an indirect inclusion via an intermediate source.
2.3 The adaption in the Sāmānyadūṣaṇa
Paṇḍita Aśoka, the composer of this short work, is dated to the first part of
the 11th century, later than Vācaspati (see Steinkellner and Much 1995: 98),
but his adaption of the amūlyadānakrayin argument is independent from the
one in the NVTṬ. The argument appears in the second part of the work.
There, Aśoka expresses the opinion that universals do not exist, since not
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Himal Trikha
existing is concomitant with not obtaining the characteristics of a cognition
(yad yad upalabdhilakṣaṇaprāptaṃ san nopalabhyate, tad tad asad iti; SD
13,5). A universal would never obtain the characteristics of a cognition
because its nature is not cognized (svabhāvānupalabdhi; SD 13,9f.). Aśoka
explicates the potential of this latter reason by refuting objections which
question it as being fallacious (→ hetvābhāsa). The argument from the VN
follows one of these objections:
{12} yat tūcyate, pratyakṣapramāṇasiddhasvabhāvatayā sāmānyasyāsiddha evāyam hetur iti, tad ayuktaṃ tasya svarūpāpratibhāsanāt.
a
idam eva hi1 pratyakṣasya pratyakṣatvam, 2yat2 svarūpasya 3svabuddhau3 samarpaṇam. b idaṃ4 punar 5mūlyādānakrayi sāmānyam,5 svarūpaṃ ca nādarśayati6 pratyakṣatāṃ ca svīkartum icchati. b,a tathā hi
… (SD 14,17–21)
a
~ VN 8,6–9 b # NVTṬ 342,8f.
VN: 1 ca for hi 2 yad ānātmarūpavivekena 3 buddhau 4 ayam 5 ghaṭo
’mūlyadānakrayī, yaḥ 6 nopadarśayati
On the other hand, what is said, namely, “this reason [i.e., that the nature of a universal is not cognized] is in fact unestablished as the nature of a universal is established by a means of valid cognition, i.e.,
perception,” is not correct, because its (i.e., the universal’s) nature
does not appear. Because the perceptibility of a perceptible entity consists precisely in this, that it transfers its nature to a cognition of its
own. But this, [your] universal, is a non-paying customer: it does not
show its nature and yet wants to acquire perceptibility. Because it is
like this …
When compared to the attestation in the NVTṬ, the sequence corresponding
to the VN is longer here and contains the principle on which the amūlyadānakrayin argument is based. Additionally, the passage in the SD corresponds more closely to the VN with regard to expression: the correspondence
between the passages in the VN and the NVTṬ comprises literal, semantic
and syntactic similarities in fairly equal proportions, whereas the correspondence between the VN and the SD is dominated by literalness. The few modifications pertain either to the substitution of lexemes with insignificant
semantic variation (mūlya-adāna : amūlya-dāna and ādarśaya-: upadarśaya-), or reflect the embedding in a different argumentation structure (ca : hi
and buddhau : svabuddhau, motivated by the omission of anātmarūpavivekena). The substitution of sāmānya for ghaṭa (with the adjustment of the
Creativity within Limits
81
pronoun idam for ayam) represents the central element of this clear-cut
adaption.
Unlike in the NVTṬ, there is no clear indication that Aśoka referred to a
third source while composing the section in which the material corresponding
to the VN is embedded. We can therefore consider the corresponding text in
the SD as bearing a slightly varied but direct inclusion of the passage from
the VN.
In concluding my discussion of different types of the succession of transmission, in Figure 6, I sketch the supposed relations of the passages discussed
Figure 6: Different succession of transmission of the argument from VN
8,8f.13
13 Relations like the ones addressed here are sometimes expressed within the classification scheme and nomenclature established by Ernst Steinkellner for categorizing text
witnesses (see, e.g., Lasic 2000: 25f. and Kellner 2007: 38–40). But only one of the
relations hypothesized above can be adequately expressed with this system: the passage in the SD is a modified “quotation” (citatum ex alio usus secundarii modo
edendi): SD 14,19–21 Ce’e VN 8,6–9. Relations like the one proposed here for VN
and NVTṬ cannot be expressed precisely, and relations like the one between NVTṬ
and SD are not covered. I have therefore extended Steinkellner’s groundbreaking
scheme and nomenclature to express also indirect and independent transmissions adequately (see Trikha 2012a: 127–140): the passage in the NVTṬ is, presumably, a mediated paraphrase (NVTṬ 342,8f. <Re> VN 8,8f.). The verbally corresponding passages
in NVTṬ and SD are independent from each other (NVTṬ 342,8f. Rp SD 14,20f.).
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Himal Trikha
3 Vidyānandin’s use of the argument
Vidyānandin can be dated between Vācaspati (second half of the 10th century) and Prabhācandra (first half of the 11th century).14 Therefore, all known
adaptions of the amūlyadānakrayin argument from the VN emerged during a
relatively short period, i.e., at the turn of the millennium. Vidyānandin refers
to the argument in three works: in the Tattvārthaślokavārttikālaṅkāra
(TAŚVA), the Aṣṭasahasrī (AS) and the Satyaśāsanaparīkṣā (SŚP). With
regard to the relative chronology of these works, it can be assumed that the
TAŚVA predates the AS15 and that the AS probably predates the SŚP.16
The argument has the following three functions (the numbers in curly
brackets refer to the enumeration in part 1.2 of this chapter):
– illustration of the Buddhist position (TAŚVA {3}, AS {6})
– rejection of the Buddhist position (TAŚVA {4, 5}, AS {7}, SŚP {9})
– utilization against common adversaries: (Nyāya-)Vaiśeṣika (AS {8}, SŚP
{10}) and Mīmāṃsā (SŚP {11})
3.1 The adaptions in the Tattvārthaślokavārttikālaṅkāra
The Tattvārthaślokavārttika (TAŚV) is Vidyānandin’s extensive commentary
in verse on the Tattvārtha(sūtra); the Alaṅkara (TAŚVA) is his own explana-
14 Vidyānandin cites the maṅgalaśloka of Vācaspati’s last work, the Bhāmatī (see Aklujkar 2000: 106, Acharya 2006: xxxi), in his allegedly last work, the Satyaśāsanaparīkṣā (SŚP 2,13–16). Prabhācandra refers to Vidyānandin by name in the Prameyakamalamārtaṇḍa (PKM 176,4). See n. 9 above for Vācaspati’s dates and Jain 1959:
25 for those of Prabhācandra (980–1065 CE).
15 Close to the end of the AS, a work called “Tattvārthālaṅkāra” is mentioned for the
further elaboration of the discussion: … vākyasphoṭasya kriyāsphoṭavat tattvārthālaṅkāre nirastatvāt (AS 285,9). That this “commentary on the Tattvārtha” points to
Vidyānandin’s own commentary, the TAŚV(A), is made clear later in the text by a
further reference in which the Tattvārthālaṅkāra is mentioned together with a lost
work of Vidyānandin, the Vidyānandamahodaya: … iti tattvārthālaṅkāre vidyānandamahodaye ca prapañcataḥ prarūpitam (AS 289,24f.).
16 Soni (1999: 162) considers the SŚP to be Vidyānandin’s last work. Borgland (2010: 13
and 77) refers to textual similarities between the SŚP with the AS, but the respective
passages have not been examined with regard to their transmission succession. There is
some, as yet inconclusive, evidence that the SŚP presupposes the Āptaparīkṣāṭīkā
(Trikha 2012a: 248). This work, in turn, presupposes the AS, since it mentions the AS
by an alternative name: … iti devāgamālaṅkṛtau tattvārthālaṅkāre vidyānandamahodaye ca vistarato nirṇītaṃ pratipattavyam (ĀPṬ 233,9f.). “Devāgama(-stotra)” is an
alternative name for Samantabhadra’s Āptamīmāṃsā, the work commented on in the
AS. Hence “Devāgamālaṅkṛti” is an alternative name for the AS.
Creativity within Limits
83
tion of the verses in prose. The adaptions of the argument from the VN occur
three times: twice in the first adhyāya and once in the fifth adhyāya.
3.1.1
The first two adaptions are found in close proximity to each other, in a context where core theses of Jaina philosophy with regard to epistemology and
ontology are incorporated and defended against Buddhist philosophical
tenets. The adaptions occur in the commentary on TA 1.6, where two forms
of cognition (adhigama) are mentioned, namely, means of valid cognition
(pramāṇa) and viewpoint (naya). For Vidyānandin (see TAŚVA 1.6.1–4), the
difference between these forms of cognition is that they obtain an object (artha) either fully (kārtsnyataḥ) or in part (deśataḥ). A means of valid cognition points out (ādeśin) the object together “with parts” (sakala), a viewpoint
“without parts” (vikala), i.e., without parts other than the one focused on. A
means of valid cognition can therefore determinate its object (svārthaniścaya), whereas a viewpoint cannot, since it only grasps part of its object (svārthaikadeśa). This epistemological discussion shifts to the ontological level in
TAŚVA 1.6.5–6, where the actual basis for a viewpoint is put into focus. This
would be a particular portion (aṃśa) of a thing (vastu) that is neither the
thing itself nor not the thing (avastu), but somehow both, just as a portion of
the ocean (samudra) is and is not identical with the ocean.
This assumption of a fluxionary difference and identity of portions and
what they consist in (aṃśin) represents a characteristic notion of Jaina ontology.17 In TAŚVA 1.6.7–8 this notion is tested against a Buddhist position
(see Soni 1999: 148–158). The discussion starts with adaptions of the amūlyadānakrayin argument:
{3, 4} nāntar bahir vāṃśebhyo bhinno ’ṃśī kaścit tattvato ’sti. a yo hi
pratyakṣabuddhāv ātmānaṃ na samarpayati pratyakṣatāṃ ca svīkaroti, so ’yam amūlyadānakrayī a ity ayuktikam eva sthaviṣṭhasyaikasya sphuṭaṃ sākṣātkaraṇāt tadvyatirekeṇāṃśānām evāpratibhāsanāt. b tatheme paramāṇavo nātmanaḥ pratyakṣabuddhau svarūpaṃ
samarpayanti pratyakṣatāṃ ca svīkartum utsahanta ity amūlyadānakrayiṇaḥ. b (TAŚVA 118,25–28)
a
# VN 8,8f. b # TAŚVA 118,25f.; VN 8,8f.
17 Elsewhere, Vidyānandin ascribes this balance of difference and identity also to other
cases where the relation of an entity to (alleged) subordinated entities is questioned,
e.g., to the relation of cause (kāraṇa) and effect (kārya), of substance (dravya) and
qualities (guṇa) or of substance and mode (paryāya). See, e.g., AS ad ĀM 61, ĀPṬ
110,9f., YAṬ 22,8f., SŚP II 12; Shah 1999: 5, 19 and Trikha 2012a: 290–294.
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[Buddhist:] “In reality, there is no aggregate different from its portions, none whatsoever, neither internally nor externally.18 Because
this one, [your aggregate], which does not transfer itself to a perceptual cognition and acquires perceptibility, is a non-paying customer.”
[Jaina:] This is simply unreasonable because – as a most concrete, single (entity) becomes clearly evident – through its exclusion the portions themselves do not appear. In this way, these, [your] finest atoms,
are non-paying customers, as they themselves do not transfer their
nature to a perceptual cognition and wish to acquire perceptibility.
With regard to conceptual content, the first adaption of the argument from the
VN (indicated with “a” in the text above) is a fair representation of the
general idea conveyed in the VN. With the second adaption (indicated with
“b”), Vidyānandin turns the tables. His argument relies on the widespread
notion that “infinitesimal particles are too small to be perceived by ordinary
persons; instead, the matter perceived by ordinary persons consists of particles that have somehow been aggregated into an entity of perceptible size”
(Dunne 2004: 24). Dharmakīrti holds that “‘aggregation’ refers to a particular
state of those particles, namely, that their proximity enables them to causally
support each other such that they can cause an image in the perceiver’s mind”
(ibid.: 102).19 With the second adaption of the argument from the VN in the
above passage, Vidyānandin takes a stance against Dharmakīrti’s position by
turning the argument against its creator: even under the condition that the
obvious evidence (sākṣātkaraṇa) of a single most concrete (sthaviṣṭha) aggregate is suspended, an analytical reduction of its perception to the perception of its multiple factors (aṃśa) cannot be successful. The exclusion (vyatireka) of the aggregate has the undesirable consequence that a medium for the
perception of the components would be missing and hence the nature of the
finest atoms could not appear. These would be the alleged entities with no
correlation in the cognition.20
18 In parallel passages (see pp. 90f. below) the adverbs bahir and antar are conjoined
with upa+√lambh (AŚSh 38,12) and pratyakṣa (AS 176,2). I therefore assume with
Vaṃśīdhara (1915: 176, n. 7) that these adverbs refer to the activity (or, respectively,
the result of an activity) of the external five senses (bahirindriya) and the inner sense
(antaḥkaraṇa) during a perceptual process (see, e.g., Preisendanz 1994: 626).
19 We have encountered this subject matter already in the context of adaption {2} in the
NVTṬ, where it was briefly touched upon: see above pp. 76f., where it is stated that
numerous fine atoms occurring without an intervening space (nirantarotpanna) have
concreteness and plurality as appearing properties (pratibhāsadharma). See also the
positions in the contexts of adaptions {6} and {7} below.
20 Vidyānandin could be influenced here by a concept also expressed in LT 16. Cf. Bal-
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3.1.2
Vidyānandin uses this line of argumentation also in a further adaption of the
argument from the VN in TAŚVA on TA 5.28. There the topos of the visibility (cākṣuṣatva) of entities is discussed, and Vidyānandin places his opinion
between Buddhist and Vaiśeṣika positions. For Vidyānandin, visibility pertains to aggregates that appear (pratibhāsana) in a visual cognition (cakṣurbuddhi).21 This cognition cannot be reduced, as a Buddhist contends, to the
appearance of the quality shape/color (rūpa) because, says Vidyānandin, a
quality (guṇa) and what is qualified by it (guṇin) are not merely identical
(abhedamātra) in every respect (sarvathā) but somehow different (kathañcidbheda), since they are subject to different modes.22 Besides, visibility
is not to be confined to a particular type of substance (dravya), i.e., only to
substances possessing the quality shape/color, as a Vaiśeṣika assumes, because according to Vidyānandin, it is well known (prasiddha) that an individual substance is grasped by several senses. Moreover, a substance void of
qualities (rūpādirahita) and, vice versa, qualities void of a substance (dravyarahita) are not objects of perception (pratyakṣa).23 Vidyānandin elaborates
this latter point by returning to the Buddhist contention with the following
adaption of the argument from the VN:
{5} a idam eva hi1 pratyakṣasya pratyakṣatvam, yad 2anātmany avivekena2 3buddhau svarūpasya3 samarpaṇaṃ. 4ime punā rūpādayo dravyarahitā evāmūlyadānakrayiṇaḥ,4 svarūpaṃ ca nopadarśayanti5 pratyakṣatāṃ ca svīkartum icchanti5 a iti sphuṭam abhidhīyatām.
(TAŚVA 433,9–11)
a
~VN 8,6–9
VN: 1 ca for hi 2 anātmarūpavivekena 3 svarūpasya buddhau 4 ayaṃ
punar ghaṭo ’mūlyadānakrayī yaḥ 5 icchati
Because the perceptibility of a perceptible entity consists precisely in
this, that it transfers its nature to cognition without an exclusion of
cerowicz (2006: 182): “An einem bestimmten Ort gibt es keine verbundenen mikroskopischen Atome (paramāṇu), weil es keinen makroskopischen Gegenstand (sthūla) zu
sehen gibt.”
21 TAŚVA 432,33f.
22 TAŚVA 433,1–4. bheda and abheda, modified with both sarvathā and kathañcit, are
central terms in the SŚP; see Trikha 2012a: 89f., n. 107.
23 TAŚVA 433,4–8. See Frauwallner 1956: 175f., 260f. and 272f. for the tenets discussed. Further material for a more detailed analysis of this passage is found in the
context of PKM 546,11–13.
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what it is not. But these, [your] properties like shape/color, etc., which
are just void of a substance, are non-paying customers: They do not
show their nature and yet want to acquire perceptibility. – Let it be
said clearly like this.
Here the argument is turned against its creator as in adaption {4} above, but it
is remarkable how Vidyānandin twists Dharmakīrti’s very words. Adaption
{4} is a loose paraphrase leaving considerable room for unexpressed conceptual discrepancies with the initial argument and for the suspicion that the
central substitution of paramāṇu for ghaṭa/avayavin is merely a skillful play
on words. Adaption {5}, however, is dominated by a literal correspondence
to the initial argument and it also captures the conceptual basis for the amūlyadānakrayin analogy, i.e., the formulation of a criterion for perceptibility.
Vidyānandin applies a significant change to the initial formulation here, i.e.,
the substitution of anātmarūpavivekena with anātmany avivekena. This “play
on akṣaras” shows that Vidyānandin is clearly aware of Dharmakīrti’s suppositions and that he is not inclined to share it. The VN reads: “The nature is
transferred by the exclusion (°vivekena) of what it is not (anātmarūpa°).” The
TAŚVA reads: “The nature is transferred without an exclusion (avivekena) of
what it is not (anātmani).” For Dharmakīrti “the ultimate real is utterly
unique … completely excluded or different from every other entity (sarvato
bhinna, sarvato vyāvṛtta, ekāntavyāvṛtta)”24 and perception reveals this
unique real entity in its singularity, i.e., by excluding everything else. This
position implies, as Vidyānandin points out by subverting it, that a property
that appears in the cognition, like rūpa, would have to be regarded as absolutely (sarvathā) identical (abhedamātra) to its substrate (guṇin), i.e., void of
a substance (dravyarahita). Such an entity, however, does not appear in perception. What appears is an entity that can be differentiated from its ontological basis (→ kathañcidbheda) – be it a quality from a varying substance
or a whole from its individual parts – but it appears without an exclusion
(avivekena) of what it is not (anātmani): a quality transfers its nature to
cognition together with a substance; the parts appear together with the whole.
24 Dunne 2004: 80f. For the mentioned terms, Dunne refers to a number of passages from
the Pramāṇavārttika(-svavṛtti). Since the two terms sarvato bhinna and ekānta are exceptionally prominent in the Sanskrit literature of Jaina philosophers, it would be a desideratum for the reconstruction of the development of Jaina philosophy to relate these
passages from the Pramāṇavārttika(-svavṛtti) with similar discussions in Jaina Sanskrit
works. A starting point could be identifying passages in Vidyānandin’s works that discuss the respective tenets of the passages from the Pramāṇavārttika(-svavṛtti).
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3.1.3
Vidyānandin will get back to this point in adaptions {7} and {8} of the VN’s
argument in the AS. Before discussing these adaptions, it is worthwhile to
note the different character of the adaptions in the TAŚVA with regard to
their relation to the VN. The succession of the transmission of the VN and
adaption {3} cannot be determined exactly: Vidyānandin could either have
referred directly to the VN and modified the text himself, or referred to other
(oral) transmissions of the argument, with its catchy metaphor. The least that
can be said with regard to adaption {3} is that Vidyānandin addresses, and is
part of, a milieu familiar with the argument from the VN in some way or
another. Adaption {4} is Vidyānandin’s individual contribution to this discourse. Adaption {5}, however, represents a direct inclusion of the textual
material from the VN. On the basis of the literal dependences it is tempting to
speculate that Vidyānandin had a manuscript of the VN, or part of it, in hand
when he composed the commentary on TA 5.28.25 With regard to Vidyānandin’s evaluation of Dharmakīrti’s thought, appraisal seems mixed with
irony: by revising the conceptual content, reflected in the small rectification
of the expression,26 the argument with its metaphor definitely has a point but,
unfortunately, one that is directed against its originator.
3.2 The adaptions in the Aṣṭasahasrī
The three uses of the argument from the VN in the AS mirror those in the
TAŚVA: The first occurrence serves as an illustration of the Buddhist tenet,
the second turns the tables, and in the context of the third the Jaina position is
placed between the Buddhist and Vaiśeṣika positions. In contrast to the
TAŚVA, where the point of the argument against the Vaiśeṣika only lingers
in the background of the third occurrence, in its counterpart in the AS the
argument is used explicitly against a Vaiśeṣika position. In the context of all
three occurrences in the AS, the respective ontological presumptions are ex25 Within the nomenclature referred to in n. 13 above, the expression can be rendered as
follows: The relation of attestation {3} to the VN is indeterminable (TAŚVA 118,25f.
Re?/<Re>? VN 8,8f.), attestation {4} is based on attestation {3} (TAŚVA 118,27f. Re
TAŚVA 118,25f.) and a mediated and conceptually altered paraphrase of the VN
(TAŚVA 118,27f. <Re> VN 8,8f.). Attestation {5} is a variation on the citation of the
VN (TAŚVA 433,9–11 Cee VN 8,6–9) and independent from the corresponding text in
attestation {3} (TAŚVA 433,9–11 Rp TAŚVA 118,25f.) and {4} (TAŚVA 433,9–11
Rp TAŚVA 118,27f.).
26 The notions of rectification and revision are reflected in the meaning “corrected” for
sphuṭa (Apte 1965: 1730a). iti sphuṭam abhidhīyatām can therefore be translated alternatively as “[the argument] needs to be corrected in this way.”
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Himal Trikha
plicated more elaborately, conveying the impression that here a more mature
scholar is deepening innovative ideas from an earlier stage in his life.
3.2.1
The first occurrence is found in the commentary on ĀM 7, which is interspersed with Dharmakīrti’s thought.27 The passage containing the adaption
from the VN reads:
{6} atha [I] a pratyāsannāsaṃsṛṣṭā rūpādiparamāṇavaḥ pratyakṣāḥ, teṣāṃ svakāraṇasāmagrīvaśāt pratyakṣasaṃvijjananasamarthānām
evotpatteḥ, skandhasyāpi tata eva pareṣāṃ pratyakṣatopapatter anyathā sarvaskandhānāṃ pratyakṣatvaprasaṅgāt skandhatvāviśeṣāt. tadaviśeṣe ’pi keṣāñcit pratyakṣatve pareṣām apratyakṣasvabhāvatve piśācaśarīrādīnāṃ tathā svakāraṇād utpatteḥ, paramāṇūnām api keṣāñcit pratyakṣatvam anyeṣām apratyakṣatvaṃ tata evāstu. [II] kim avayaviparikalpanayā tasyāmūlyadānakrayitvāt. b sa hi pratyakṣe svātmānaṃ na samarpayati pratyakṣatāṃ ca svīkartum icchatīty amūlyadānakrayī, b vikalpabuddhāv eva tasya pratibhāsanād vicāryamāṇasya
sarvathānupapannatvāt a iti matam. (AS 79,8–14)
a
unidentified parallel β? b # VN 8,8f.
There is the (following) [Buddhist] opinion: [I] “Finest atoms like
shape/color, etc., are perceptible, (when) they are adjacent (to but)
unjoined (with each other), because due to the complex of their respective causes only their capacities to produce a perceptual cognition
occur,28 since there is no distinctive property for being an aggregate,
because of the undesired consequence that all aggregates would be
perceptible [if being an aggregate is understood] in a different manner,
because others29 obtain the perceptibility of an aggregate, too, due to
27 In his personal copy of the edition, Frauwallner identifies AS 77,3f. and AS 78,13f. as
quotations from the Pramāṇavārttika. Vidyānandin equates the subject of yad āha in
AŚVa 81,11 with “Dharmakīrti.”
28 “… a moment of sense perception is the result of a set of co-operating causes
(sāmagrī) belonging to the immediately preceding moment, viz., knowledge, the senseorgan, an object, attention, light, etc. … It is essential for such a set of causes to be in
approximation (saṃnidhi/pratyāsatti) in space and time with each other in order to
produce their expected result.” (Katsura 1984: 217f.)
29 Vaṃśīdhara explicates pareṣām with naiyāyikānāṃ syādvādināṃ ca (AS 79, n. 20). In
this sense, the ablative phrase would have to be understood as a concession to the opponent. But in this position, the possibility of the perceptibility of skandhas is taken to
some extent seriously. According to “Buddhists such as Vasubandhu,” one perceives
Creativity within Limits
89
exactly this [complex of respective causes]. Even though there is no
distinctive property for it [i.e., for being an aggregate], there is for
some perceptibility, which has an imperceptible nature for others, (and
hence) the bodies of demons30 and such like occur in this manner due
to the respective cause; let (therefore) also the finest atoms be
perceptible for some and imperceptible for others due to exactly this
[complex of respective causes]. [II] [But] what (does one gain) by
conceptualizing a whole, as it is a non-paying customer? Because as it
does not transfer its own self to perception and wants to acquire
perceptibility, it is a non-paying customer, since the investigated is in
no way obtained, because it appears only in a conceptual cognition.”
Adaption {6} corresponds loosely to the VN in the same way as the adaptions
{2} in the NVTṬ and {3} in the TAŚVA, where the adaptions are likewise
used as illustrations of the opponent’s tenet. With regard to the succession of
transmission, the respective contexts of these three adaptions are independent
from each other, i.e., the textual shape and specific conceptual content of the
expounded positions vary to such an extent that we can rule out the
possibility that Vidyānandin drew on the passage in the NVTṬ, or that
Vācaspati and Vidyānandin both drew on the same passage in a work of a
third author. Whereas the position in the context of adaption {3} in the
TAŚVA is too short to determine whether Vidyānandin expressed it in his
own words or included a passage from another work, the features of the
position in the context of adaption {6} in the AS are clear cut due to its
elaborate argumentation structure. We have seen in adaption {5} above, that
Vidyānandin included a passage from the VN in the TAŚVA, and I have
shown elsewhere (2012a: 141–157) that the text of the SŚP is characterized
by lengthy inclusions from other works. I therefore think that due to the
distinctive character of the arguments in the context of adaption {6}, we can
take the atha … iti matam at face value and assume that here Vidyānandin
included a distinctive passage of an as yet unidentified post-Dharmakīrtian
Buddhist author (in the text segment indicated with “a” above).31
conglomerates (see Dunne 2004: 102).
30 A piśāca is considered an entity that cannot be perceived by an “ordinary cognizer” but
“a piśāca can be perceived by a fellow piśāca … and a Yogin can also perceive a
piśāca” (Kellner 1999: 195, n. 5).
31 See Ono 2000: 89–94 for a list of parallel passages in the AS and Prajñākaragupta’s
Pramāṇavārttikālaṅkāra (PVA). For the close correspondence of a śloka transmitted in
the PVA, the AS and the SŚP, respectively, see Trikha 2012a: 153 and 235f. Formally,
the relations proposed above can be expressed as follows: AS 79,12f. <Re> VN 8,8f.;
AS 79,12f. Rp NVTṬ 342,8f.; AS 79,12f. Rp TAŚVA 118,25f.
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Himal Trikha
The key argument of the opponent, i.e., that the presumption of the actual
existence of aggregates has the untenable consequence that all aggregates
would be perceptible, is retorted by Vidyānandin with the concept of varying
types of aggregates (aṇumahattvādiparimāṇabheda, AS 79,17): some
aggregates are perceptible, others are not. In addition, Vidyānandin again
stresses, as in the context of adaption {4}, his position that finest atoms as
such are never obtained in perception (°paramāṇūnāṃ tathātvena kasyacit
kadācin niścayāsattvāt pratyakṣatānupapatteḥ; AS 79,14f.), only the
aggregate clearly appears (skandhasyaiva sphuṭam adhyakṣe ’vabhāsanāt;
AS 79,15).
3.2.2
The two other adaptions in the AS appear in close proximity to one another,
just as the first two adaptions in the TAŚVA {3 and 4}. Also like these, they
are expressed in the context of key notions of Jaina philosophy. Vidyānandin
applies the adaptions in his explanation of Akalaṅka’s commentary on ĀM
36. The first part of the strophe reads:
pramāṇagocarau santau bhedābhedau na saṃvṛtī | (ĀM 36ab)
Difference and identity are not concealments (i.e., not conceptual), as
they are in the scope of the means of valid cognition.
The statement is directed against “Buddhists” and “Advaitins,”32 who
maintain what the respective others deny: one group maintains the difference
of the entities (artha) only and regards identity as a concealment (saṃvṛti);
the others maintain the identity of phenomena (bhāva) only and regard
difference as caused by conception (kalpanā).33 But for Samantabhadra, the
means of valid cognition conveys that things (artha) consist of both
difference and identity: the notion of identity is provided by a thing’s
enduring substance (dravya) and the notion of difference, by its changing
modes (paryāya).34 The exclusion of one of them constitutes a one-sided
view (ekāntavāda), as Akalaṅka makes clear in his comment on the half
strophe:
pramāṇam avisaṃvādi jñānam anadhigatārthādhigamalakṣaṇatvāt.
tad evaṃ sati bhedam abhedaṃ vā nānyonyarahitaṃ viṣayīkaroti
pramāṇam. na hi bahir antar vā svalakṣaṇaṃ sāmānyalakṣaṇaṃ vā
32 Vaṃśīdhara 1915: 175, nn. 16 and 18.
33 See AS 175,6f. Cf. Shah 1999: 38: “Samantabhadra … feels that … the transcendentalist is blind to the aspect of difference, the empiricist Buddhist to that of identity.”
34 See, e.g., YAṬ 21,16f., translated in Trikha 2012a: 315.
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91
tathaivopalabhāmahe yathaikāntavādibhir āmnāyate, sūkṣmasthūlākārāṇāṃ sthūlasūkṣmasvabhāvavyatirekeṇa pratyakṣādāv apratibhāsanāt. (AŚSh 38,11–14)
A means of valid cognition is a cognition that is reliable, etc.,35 since it
is characterized as obtaining a (previously) unobtained thing. Hence,
because it is like this, the means of valid cognition objectifies neither
difference nor identity as being separated from each other. Because
neither externally nor internally do we cognize (something which has
only) the characteristic of itself (i.e., a particular), or (something
which has) a general characteristic (i.e., a universal) in exactly the
same manner as it is considered by the propounders of one-sided
(views),36 since in perception, etc., subtle or concrete forms do not appear by an exclusion of the concrete or subtle nature.37
In his comment on the two notions expressed in the last ablative phrase of
Akalaṅka’s argumentation, Vidyānandin applies the adaptions of the argument from the VN. Vidyānandin first supports the notion [A] that subtle
forms do not appear through the exclusion of a concrete nature (sūkṣma…ākārāṇāṃ sthūla…svabhāvavyatirekeṇa apratibhāsana) and then the
35 For avisaṃvādin as one of five elements in Akalaṅka’s definition of pramāṇa, see
Clavel 2008: I, 39–41 and 63–69. My translation for avisaṃvādin follows Clavel’s
“fiabilité.” For English translations of the term in the context of Dharmakīrti’s definition, see, e.g., Katsura 1984: 219 (“non-contradictionary”), Dunne 2004: 254 (“trustworthy”) and Taber 2005: 32 (“confirmed”).
36 Terminologically, the two alternatives point to central Dharmakīrtian concepts, i.e.,
svalakṣaṇa (“particular,” Katsura 1984: 217) and sāmānyalakṣaṇa (“universal or general characteristic,” ibid.): “A moment or particular is the object of sensation, while a
continuum or universal is the object of such conceptual knowledge as inference, judgment and verbal knowledge” (ibid.).
37 A considerable part of this passage corresponds verbally to LTV 25,4–6 ad LT 7cd:
bhedābhedaikāntayor anupalabdheḥ arthasya siddhir anekāntāt. nāntar bahir vā
svalakṣaṇaṃ sāmānyalakṣaṇaṃ vā parasparānātmakaṃ prameyaṃ yathā manyate
paraiḥ, dravyaparyāyātmano ’rthasya buddhau pratibhāsanāt. Clavel (2008, III: 16)
translates this as follows: “Puisqu’on n’appréhende pas [l’objet de connaissance] dans
la [thèse] unilatérale de la différence, et dans celle de l’identité, l’objet est établi par la
thèse non unilatérale. L’objet de connaissance n’est pas soit interne soit externe, il
n’est pas soit un être individuel soit un universel, il n’est pas [non plus un objet composé des deux pôles] avec deux natures qui ne se mêleraient pas, comme d’autres le
pensent, parce que l’objet qui apparaît dans l’intellect consiste en substance et en
mode.” My partly deviating interpretation of the passage in the AŚ is based on the understanding of antar and bahir as adverbs and on the position of vā in the phrase bhedam abhedaṃ vā nānyonyarahitaṃ.
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Himal Trikha
notion [B] that concrete forms do not appear through the exclusion of subtle
natures (...sthūlākārāṇāṃ ...sūkṣmasvabhāvavyatirekeṇa apratibhāsana):38
{7, 8} [I.1] na hi pratyakṣe svalakṣaṇaṃ sūkṣmaṃ paramāṇulakṣaṇaṃ
pratibhāsate sthūlasya ghaṭādyātmanaḥ pratibhāsanāt. [I.2] paramāṇuṣv evātyāsannāsaṃsṛṣṭeṣu dṛṣṭau pratibhāsamāneṣu kutaścid vibhramanimittād ātmani paratra cāsantam eva sthūlākāram ādarśayantī saṃvṛtis tān saṃvṛṇoti keśādibhrāntivad iti cet. [I.3] naivam,
bahir antaś ca pratyakṣasyābhrāntatvakalpanāpoḍhatvābhāvaprasaṅgāt, saṃvyavahārataḥ paramārthato vā a pratyakṣaṃ kalpanāpoḍham abhrāntam a iti lakṣaṇasyāsaṃbhavadoṣānuṣaṅgāt, paramāṇūnāṃ jātucid adhyakṣabuddhāv apratibhāsanāt. [I.4] b ta1 ime paramāṇavaḥ 2pratyakṣabuddhāv ātmānaṃ ca na2 samarpayanti pratyakṣatāṃ ca svīkartum icchantīty amūlyadānakrayiṇaḥ b svāvayavabhinnaikāvayavivat. [II.1] na hi so ’pi sūkṣmasvāvayavavyatirikto mahattvopetaḥ pratyakṣe pratibhāsate kuṇḍādivyatiriktadadhyādivat.
[II.2]
samavāyāt tebhyo ’narthāntaram iva pratibhāsate iti cet. [II.3] na,
avayavipratyakṣasya sarvatra bhrāntatvaprasaṅgāt. tathā ca c avyabhicāritvaṃ pratyakṣalakṣaṇam c asambhavi syāt. [II.4] na ca, ete ’vayavā ayam avayavī samavāyaś cāyam anayor iti trayākāraṃ pratyakṣam anubhūyate sakṛd api, yato d ’sāv apy amūlyadānakrayī na
syāt, pratyakṣabuddhāv ātmānarpaṇena pratyakṣatāsvīkaraṇāviśeṣāt. d [II.5] tata eva parasparabhinnāvayavāvayavinām api pratyakṣe
’pratibhāsanād amūlyadānakrayiṇāv uktau samavāyavat. (AS
175,22–176,10)
a
= NB 1.4 b # VN 8,8f., ~ TAŚVA 118,27f. (adaption {4}) c // NS
1.1.4 d # TAŚVA 176,4f. (adaption {7}); VN 8,8f.
1
adaption {4} without ta
adaption {4}
2
nātmanaḥ pratyakṣabuddhau svarūpaṃ
[I.1]
[This is the case,] because a subtle particular having the characteristic of a finest atom does not appear in perception, since a concrete
(entity), having the nature of a pot, etc., appears. [I.2] [The Buddhist objection:] “When finest atoms only, which are adjacent (to, but) un38 Akalaṅka explicates the first notion elsewhere, namely in LTV 50,13–15 ad LT 23: …
cakṣuṣā rūpaṃ saṃsthānātmakaṃ sthūlātmakam ekaṃ sūkṣmānekasvabhāvaṃ paśyati
na punaḥ asādhāraṇaikāntaṃ svalakṣaṇam. Clavel (2008: III 48) has translated this as
follows: “… on voit, grâce à la faculté visuelle, une forme qui consiste en une configuration, qui est grossière et qui possède une nature ténue et multiple, mais on ne voit pas
l’être individuel dans sa singularité irréductible.”
Creativity within Limits
93
joined (with each other), appear in perception, a concealment displaying a concrete form – (although this form) does not exist for them [i.e.,
for these atoms] and for others at all – conceals them due to a
particular cause for error like the illusion of hairs (conceals an object
for a person with a sight defect), etc.”39 [I.3] [Reply:] It is not like this,
because of the undesired consequence that neither an external nor an
internal perception would be non-erroneous and free of conceptual
construction, since it necessarily follows the fault that the definition
“perception is free of conceptual construction [and] non-erroneous”
would not be possible either ultimately or practically, as the finest
atoms never appear in a perceptual cognition. [I.4] These ones, [your]
finest atoms, are non-paying customers, as they do not transfer
themselves to a perceptual cognition and yet want to acquire perceptibility, like a single whole which is different from its own parts.
[II.1]
Because also this (single whole), (since) it has a great extension,
does not appear in perception as separated from its subtle parts, like
sour milk, etc., separated from a pot, etc.40 [II.2] [The (Nyāya-)Vaiśeṣika objection:] “Due to inherence the (whole) appears like a thing that
is not different from its (parts).”41 [II.3] [Reply:] No, because of the
undesired consequence that the perception of a whole would be
erroneous in all cases. And so (an element of) the definition of perception, (i.e.,) that it is non-deviating, would not be possible. [II.4] And
a threefold form of perception experienced at once – namely, “these
39 In the simile, the concept of a concrete form is compared to the non-conceptual error of
a person with a sight defect. See Dunne (2004: 88f.) and Katsura 1984: 225–226, e.g.:
“Perceptual judgment can be called ‘concealing’ (saṃvṛti) because it conceals the totality of an actual unique object by highlighting one of its universal characteristics”
(ibid.: 226).
40 The elements of the simile kuṇḍa and dadhi are used in the Padārthadharmasaṅgraha
in an example for the concept of relation (sambandha). The notion “in this pot here,
(there) is sour milk” depends on the relation of pot and sour milk, therefore the notion
“in these threads here, (there) is a piece of cloth” must also presuppose a relation. (Cf.
PDhS §374: yatheha kuṇḍe dadhīti pratyayaḥ sambandhe sati dṛṣṭas tatheha tantuṣu
pataḥ … iti pratyayadarśanād asty esāṃ sambandhaḥ iti jñāyate.) Whereas the connection between a pot and sour milk is arbitrary – sour milk might, but need not be, in
a pot – the connection between threads and a piece of cloth or, more generally, the connection between parts and a whole is necessary: without a connection of the parts a
whole cannot be produced. Pot and sour milk can appear separately from one another,
since they are related by contact (saṃyoga); parts and a whole cannot appear separately, since they are related by inherence (samavāya); see Trikha 2012a: 204–207.
41 For anarthāntaram and the remaining part of the argumentation, see Trikha 2012a:
201, 204 and 207–213.
94
Himal Trikha
are parts, this the whole and this the inherence of both (the parts and
the whole)” – through which also that, [your] (inherence), would not
be a non-paying customer, is not (the case) because the acquisition of
perceptibility without transferring itself to a perceptual cognition (remains) unspecified. [II.5] Because of precisely this, also [your] parts and
whole, which are different from each other, are called – like inherence
– non-paying customers because they do not appear in perception.
In the light of the previously discussed adaptions, the prominent feature of
this text section is that we met in [I.2] a position that was referred to in the
context of adaption {2}, touched upon in the context of adaption {3} and elaborated in the context of adaption {6}. It seems also clear to me that before
composing adaption {7} (the passage marked with “b”), Vidyānandin did not
have the VN in mind, but remembered, or looked up, his earlier adaption {4}
in the TAŚVA. Similarly, the process of composition would be misunderstood, if we regarded adaption {8} (the passage marked with “d”) as a direct
paraphrase of the text from the VN. Here Vidyānandin uses a variation of the
argument he just used against the Buddhist to counter the Vaiśeṣika.42 But the
striking feature of this text section is how Vidyānandin contrasts ‒ elegantly,
in my opinion ‒ central concepts of the logico-epistemological tradition of
Buddhism and of the Vaiśeṣika and shows the discrepancies of these concepts
with prominent definitions of perception within the same traditions (indicated
above with “a” and “c”). The amūlyadānakrayin argument here is in both
cases a punchline driving home a point which has already been taken in the
respective preceding argument.
It is worthwhile to note that the style displayed here in the AS indicates
years of learning, an experienced scholar and probably also a versed disputant. In fact, Vidyānandin wrote at least what are today 696 edited pages43
before composing the text section containing the adaptions {7} and {8}. The
assumption that we have to regard the composer of this text section as a mature and somewhat independent thinker is further supported by the choice of
the subject and the strategy of the argumentation. Samantabhadra and Akalaṅka directed their arguments against what is today called the logico-episte42 Formally, the relations of the corresponding passages with regard to their successsion
of transmission can be rendered as follows: attestation {7} is based on attestation {4}
(AS 176,4f. Ce’e TAŚVA 118,27f.) and a mediated paraphrase of the text from the VN
(AS 176,4f. <Re> VN 8,8f.). Attestation {8} is based on attestation {7} (AS 176,9 Re
AS 176,4f.) and a multiply mediated paraphrase of the text from the VN (AS 176,9
<
Re> VN 8,8f.).
43 The TAŚVA and the larger part of the AS, see n. 15 above.
Creativity within Limits
95
mological tradition of Buddhism on one hand and Advaita on the other.
Vidyānandin, however, calls the Vaiśeṣika into play because he apparently
thought that the ontological presumptions of this tradition would contrast
more sharply with the Buddhist tenet (see notions indicated with [A] and [B]
above p. 91).44 Elsewhere (2012a: 67–90 and 2012b) I have described Vidyānandin’s interest in collecting, contrasting and refuting such contradictory
alternatives as elements in his method of establishing epistemic pluralism
through falsification: what remains after the refutation of such alternatives is
the realization that somehow (kathaṃcit) both must be integrated in a
complete account of the discussed phenomena. In the discussion of the text
section containing the adaptions {7} and {8}, this discursively gained and
therefore to a considerable extent rationally justified result is that perceptible
entities appear inseparably with both subtle (→ bheda) and concrete (→
abheda) forms.
3.3 The adaptions in the Satyaśāsanaparīkṣā
The common characteristic of the three adaptions in the SŚP is that they are
no longer used as illustrations of a Buddhist teaching, but only as arguments
against non-Jaina tenets, i.e., against Buddhist, Vaiśeṣika and Mīmāṃsā
views. The relation of the SŚP to Vidyānandin’s other works is unclear with
regard to their succession of transmission (see n. 16 above), and hence the
relationship between the adaptions of the argument from the VN in the SŚP
cannot be determined conclusively with regard to the adaptions discussed so
far. But I think it probable that in the context of two adaptions in the SŚP,
Vidyānandin utilized an argumentation structure which he had discovered in
the TAŚVA and deepened in the AS.
3.3.1
The context of the first adaption is by now well known to the reader of this
chapter, since much of the text corresponds literally to the context of adaption
{7}:45
44 Samantabhadra uses Buddhist and Advaitic tenets as a background for the explanation
of a Jaina tenet, Akalaṅka uses a distinct Buddhist terminology to clarify Samantabhadra’s thoughts, and Vidyānandin uses a Vaiśeṣika tenet to specify Akalaṅka’s argument. One gets the impression that these authors – apart from their indisputable adherence to the Jaina faith and their evident objective of eliminating opposing belief systems – are more interested in ideas and their adequate expression than in the affiliation
to tradition and in the origination of these ideas.
45 The enumeration of the arguments follows the enumeration in the context of adaption
{7} above.
96
Himal Trikha
{9} [I.2] a nanu1 paramāṇuṣv evātyāsannāsaṃsṛṣṭeṣu dṛṣṭau pratibhāsamāneṣu kutaścid vibhramanimittād ātmani paratra cāsantam eva
sthūlādyākāraṃ2 darśayantī 3 saṃvṛtis tān saṃvṛṇoti keśādibhrāntivad iti cet. [I.3.i] naivam, bahir antaś ca pratyakṣasya 4bhrāntatvāpatteḥ, tasya4 abhrāntatvakalpanāpoḍhatvābhāvaprasaṅgāt, 5 b pratyakṣaṃ kalpanāpoḍham abhrāntam b iti lakṣaṇasyāsambhavadoṣānuṣaṅgāt. [I.3.ii] 6nanu naiṣa doṣaḥ paramāṇupratyakṣasya tallakṣaṇasambhavād iti cet. na,6 paramāṇūnāṃ jātucid adhyakṣabuddhāv apratibhāsanāt. [I.3.iii] 7na hi kaścil laukikaḥ parīkṣako vā deśakālaviprakṛṣṭārthavat paramāṇūn sākṣāt pratyeti anyathā pratītyapalāpaprasaṅgāt.7 [I.4] c ta ime paramāṇavaḥ pratyakṣabuddhāv 8ātmānaṃ8 na samarpayanti pratyakṣatāṃ ca svīkartum icchantīty amūlyadānakrayiṇaḥ 9. c,a (SŚP 21,21–28)
a
c
~ AS 175,23–176,5 (see the context of adaption {7}) b = NB 1.4
# VN 8,8f.
1
AS without nanu 2 sthūlākā° AS 3 ādarśaya° AS 4 not in AS 5 saṃvyavahārataḥ paramārthato vā pratya° AS 6 not in AS 7 not in AS
8
ātmānam ca AS 9 svāvayavabhinnaikāvayavivat AS
This extensive correspondence of two passages in different works by the
same author establishes with a high degree of certainty that Vidyānandin took
this argumentation from the earlier work and included it in the later. But
which is which? Did Vidyānandin, broadly speaking, expand his argumentation in the SŚP or did he contract it in the AS?
More precisely: did he – while transferring the argumentation from the
AS to the SŚP and on further reflection of the argument [I.3] – state the main
consequence of the opponent’s tenet explicitly with bhrāntatvāpatteḥ (variation 6) and did he drop the phrase saṃvyavahārataḥ paramārthato vā (v. 7),
which at that time seemed somehow commonplace to him? Or did he –
conversely, when he included the argumentation from the SŚP in the AS –
think the main consequence (v. 6) to be self-evident so that he rather added a
smooth phrase (v. 7), well known to the reader or listener? Does the passage
in the AS, therefore, indicate an environment of learning or dispute in which
thoughts had to be expressed straightforwardly and the three arguments of
[I.3] in the SŚP were better summarized in one go to keep the attention of the
audience? Or, conversely, did Vidyānandin, while composing the SŚP, find
the time and leisure for the exposition of argument [I.3] from the AS by inserting an objection (v. 8) and by creating a smooth junction (v. 9) for his
adaption of the argument from the VN?
Creativity within Limits
97
3.3.2
A similar concomitance of either contraction or expansion can be observed in
the context of the second adaption of the argument from the VN in the SŚP.
This adaption corresponds to the context of adaption {8}, i.e., to the text
which in the AS forms the bigger part of the continuation of the
argumentation we have just examined. After fifteen pages of edited text, the
SŚP reads (the enumeration of the arguments follows the context of adaption
{8}):
{10} [II.2] a nanu1 samavāyāt tebhyo ’vayavyādir2 anarthāntaram iva
pratibhāsata iti cet. [II.3.i] na, avayavyādipratyakṣasya3 sarvatra bhrāntatvaprasaṅgāt [II.3.ii] b 4timirāśubhramaṇanauyānasaṅkṣobhādyāhitavibhramasya b dhāvadhvādidarśanavad (?) asadākāraviśiṣṭārthagrahaṇāt.4 [II.3.iii] tathā ca c avyabhicāritvaṃ pratyakṣalakṣaṇam c asambhavi
syāt. [II.4] na ca, ete 5’vayavādaya ime ’vayavyādayaḥ5 samavāyaś 6ca
teṣām ayam6 iti pratyakṣabuddhau visrasā bhinnāḥ sakṛd api pratīyante d pratyakṣatāṃ ca svīkartum icchantīti. te ’mī amūlyadānakrayiṇaḥ pratyakṣabuddhāv ātmānarpaṇena pratyakṣatāsvīkaraṇāt7. d, a
(SŚP II 14f.)
a
d
# AS 176,6–9 (see context adaption {8}) b ~ NB 1.6 c // NS 1.1.4
# VN 8,8f.
1
AS without nanu 2 AS without ’vayavyādir 3 AS without ādi 4 not in
AS 5 ’vayavā ayam avayavī AS 6 cāyam anayor AS 7 °svīkaraṇāviśeṣāt
AS
The most interesting modification here is variation 4.46 If Vidyānandin
transferred these arguments from the AS to the SŚP, he expanded argument
[II.3] with textual material from the Nyāyabindu (NB 1.6) [II.3.ii]. If he transferred the arguments from the SŚP to the AS, he skipped this material. Did
Vidyānandin – after remembering the argumentation in the AS where he had
utilized NB 1.4 against the Buddhist tenet – remember NB 1.6 as a concept
that he could utilize against the Vaiśeṣika in the SŚP? Or did he skip the
argument containing NB 1.6 when including the arguments from the SŚP into
the AS because he regarded it an unnecessary burden?
These questions need to remain open and be asked again in future examinations of further parallel passages in the AS and the SŚP.47 The two alterna46 I have discussed the passage containing this adaption extensively elsewhere (2012a:
201–213).
47 The next steps in this regard would be an analysis of the parallel passages collected by
98
Himal Trikha
tives for the relationship between the text passages examined in this chapter
can be contrasted as follows:
– The SŚP presupposes the AS, because the contexts of adaptions {9} and
{10} represent, respectively, an extension of arguments that were originally developed in the context of adaptions {7} and {8}.
– The AS presupposes the SŚP, because the context of adaptions {7} and
{8} represents a contracted conflation of arguments that were originally
developed in the contexts of adaptions {9} and {10}.48
Although I see no decisive evidence in favor of one of these alternatives, I
tend to assume the first to be more probable. Firstly, I am under the impression that in general Vidyānandin is rather inclined to extend rather than contract arguments, since he was one of the most industrious Digambara authors
and continuously improved on his edifice of thought. Secondly, the compositional technique of expansion is prevalent in Vidyānandin’s discussion of
samavāya in the SŚP, where arguments are rather embellished, not succinct
and to the point (see Trikha 2012a: 155). My examination of the latter argumentation has also shown that at least this part of the SŚP is a collage of
already existing argumentation schemata and that the central method in the
SŚP presupposes an elaborated theory on how to deal with non-Jaina tenets
that was already explicated in the TAŚVA (ibid.: 109). Above, in section
3.2.2, we found that this well thought-out theory is also applied in the context
of adaptions {7} and {8} in the AS. We have furthermore observed how
Vidyānandin consolidated his usage of the argument from the VN in a lively
intellectual exchange with the logico-epistemological tradition of Buddhism:
The Buddhist usage of the argument reflected in adaptions {3} and {6] is
parried, after playful beginnings in adaption {4}, with an increasing degree of
Borgland (see n. 16 above) and an inspection of manuscripts in order to examine possible cross-contaminations in the transmission of the texts of the AS and SŚP. I am
grateful to Elisa Freschi for the latter observation, which points, ultimately, to the necessity of collecting the quite large number of extant manuscripts of Vidyānandin’s
works in order to study his oeuvre properly.
48 The previous scholarly assumption speaking against this relationship, namely, that the
SŚP can be considered Vidyānandin’s last work, is merely supported by an argumentum ex silentio: “Since the work is incomplete one can consider whether it was V[idyānandin]’s last work” (Soni 1999: 162). Since the sole edition of the work is based on
only two manuscripts (see Trikha 2012a: 107), its incompleteness could also be explained by an insufficient transmission. Insufficiency of transmission pertains at least
to one of Vidyānandin’s main works, the Vidyānandamahodaya, which is no longer
extant (see Koṭhiyā 1949: 42f.).
Creativity within Limits
99
confidence in the contexts of adaptions {5} and {7}. As this more lively
exchange with the Buddhist usage of the argument from the VN is missing in
the SŚP, it seems implausible that the somehow mechanical processing of
adaptions {9} and {10} in the SŚP should represent an earlier stage of development. I think it more likely that they were used when the matter was
settled and when the amūlyadānakrayin argument was just another convenient point to be directed not only against the Buddhist, but also against the
Vaiśeṣika.49
3.3.3
The notion of a continuous expansion of arguments and their scope holds
good, in any case, with regard to the last adaption of the VN’s argument in
the SŚP. Here it is utilized against the concept of universals (sāmānya) in the
interpretation of the Mīmāṃsakas (mīmāṃsakākhyair bhāṭṭair prābhākaraiś
ca; SŚP 45,8). A detailed analysis of the context of this adaption would require delving into the dispute between Jainas and Mīmāṃsakas50; here I will
only cite what were probably the last words Vidyānandin had to say on the
amūlyadānakrayin argument:
{11} na hi bhinnadeśāsu vyaktiṣu sāmānyam ekaṃ pratyakṣataḥ …
pratīyate … a tad idaṃ paroditasvarūpaṃ sāmānyaṃ b pratyakṣabuddhāv ātmānaṃ na samarpayati1 pratyakṣatāṃ ca svīkartum icchatīty2 b
amūlyadānakrayitvāt a satām upahāsāspadam eva syāt. (SŚP 45,11–
14)
a
1
# VN 8,8f. b ~ SŚP 21,27f. (adaption {9})
samarthayati SŚP 45,13; samarpayanti SŚP 21,27
21,28
2
icchanti SŚP
49 This hypothesis on the relationship of the contexts of adaptions {7}/{8} and {9}/{10}
respectively confirms my earlier assumption that SŚP II 14f. (the context of adaption
{10}) was remodeled from a text then unknown to me (see 2012a: 207, 213). This text
“β1” (ibid.) would be AS 176,6–9. My assumption that the text is part of a more extensive passage “β” of Buddhist provenience (ibid.: 152–155 and 207) can be further assessed in the context of AS 175,22–176,10 (the context of adaptions {7} and {8}),
which reverberates with various Buddhist concepts (see nn. 35–39 above). With regard
to the SŚP, the formal expressions of my hypotheses read: SŚP 21,21–28 Ce’e AS
175,23–176,5; SŚP 21,27f. <Re> VN 8,8f.; SŚP II 14f. Re AS 176,6–9; SŚP II 14d <Re>
VN 8,8f.
50 For a tentative translation of Vidyānandin’s examination of the mīmāṃsakamata in the
SŚP, see Borgland 2010: 298–313. See also Borgland’s analysis, ibid.: 58–65, in which
also Shah’s (1967) remarks on this dispute are considered.
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Himal Trikha
Because through perception a single universal is not cognized in the
individuals, which have different locations … This one, a universal
with a nature proposed by the opponent (Mīmāṃsakas), would be
merely a source of amusement for decent persons51 since it would be a
non-paying customer as it does not transfer itself to a perceptual cognition and wants to acquire perceptibility.
We can assume that the reading samarthayati is a scribal transmission error,
motivated by the confusion of the writing-block “थ” with “प,” and emend
samarpayati against the background of the parallels in adaptions {2–4}, {6–
7} and {9}. Except for the two variations, the textual material marked with
“b” is identical with the respective expression in adaption {9}, and we can
ascertain that Vidyānandin took exactly this text from adaption {9} when he
composed adaption {11}.52
51 The expression satām upahāsāspadam has a parallel in Haribhadra’s Anekāntajayapatākā: upahāsasthānam āryāṇām (AJP II 160,1). This “condition for the honorable
persons’ laughter” is reminiscent of the term “condition for defeat” (nigrahasthāna),
the topic of the Vādanyāya and thus the context in which the amūlyadānakrayin argument is first met.
52 SŚP 45,13f. Ce’e SŚP 21,27f.; SŚP 45,13f. <Re> VN 8,8f. In reviewing the applications
of the classification system for corresponding text passages carried out in this chapter
(see the previous nn. 13, 25, 31, 42 and 49), the system proves satisfactory with regard
to the depiction of three intertextual parameters (see Trikha forthcoming): “degree of
correspondence of expression” (→ literal, literal with variations, or verbal), “mode of
reference in the immediate context” (→ various forms of demarcation, or no demarcation) and “succession of transmission” (direct inclusion, indirect inclusion, and independent transmission). The system is, however, not fit for depicting a prominent
feature of adaptions {4, 5, 7 and 9} discussed in this chapter, namely, the massive alteration of content that comes along with small modifications of otherwise closely corresponding textual material. This shortcoming of the system is particularly striking, if
its possibilities for classification are considered in the comparison of adaptions {5} and
{12}. Both the passages in the TAŚVA (above p. 85) and the SD (above p. 80) transmit
the text from the VN literally with few variations, and it is, ironically, Vidyānandin and
not Paṇḍita Aśoka, who demarcates the textual material from the VN: TAŚVA 433,9–
11 Cee VN 8,6–9 versus SD 14,19–21 Ce’e VN 8,6–9. The classification system is not
transparent with regard to a critical distinction between the two passages, i.e., that one
is contrary to and the other, congruent with the conceptual content of their mutual
source. Conceptual variations of corresponding passages in Buddhist and Jaina works
are reflected on by Kyo Kano (forthcoming).
Creativity within Limits
101
4 Conclusion
My hypotheses on the succession of transmission of twelve attestations of the
amūlyadānakrayin argument are depicted in Figure 7 below and can be summarized as follows: The argument from Dharmakīrti’s VN, attestation {1}, is
used in Vācaspatimiśra’s NVTṬ {2}, in Vidyānandin’s TAŚVA {3} and AS
{6} and in Paṇḍita Aśoka’s SD {12} to illustrate a tenet of the Buddhist logico-epistemological tradition. The contexts of the attestations in the NVTṬ
{2} and in the AS {6} preserve in all probability the distinct textual shape of
two applications (α and β) of the argument by one or more unidentified Buddhist author(s). It is indeterminable (“?”), whether the source for Vidyānandin’s first encounter with the argument in TAŚVA {3} was a further Buddhist application or the VN itself.
Figure 7: Overview of the probable succession of transmission of twelve
attestations of the amūlyadānakrayin argument.
Vidyānandin modified the argument and directed it against the Buddhist tenet
in TAŚVA {4}, TAŚVA {5}, AS {7} and SŚP {9}. Vidyānandin refined his
first reaction to the argument in TAŚVA {4} with TAŚVA {5}, where he
referred directly to the VN. But it is his first individual adaption of TAŚVA
{4} that he reused first in AS {7} and then in SŚP {9}.
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Himal Trikha
Vidyānandin also used variations of the argument against the Vaiśeṣika in
AS {8} and SŚP {10} and against the Mīmāṃsā in SŚP {11}. Vidyānandin
employed the argument against the Vaiśeṣika first in AS {8}, where he used a
tenet of the Vaiśeṣika as the counterpart of the Buddhist position he had parried with AS {7}. Vidyānandin later divided the inherently consistent argumentation structure of the AS and reused the respective arguments in his
systematic refutation of Buddhist (SŚP {9}) and Vaiśeṣika (SŚP {10}) tenets
in the SŚP. There, the use of the argument against the Mīmāṃsā, SŚP {11},
appears like an addendum to the long story of the argument’s adaptions.
References
Abbreviations and Primary Sources
AJP
AŚVa
AŚSh
AS
ĀPṬ
ĀM
ĪPVV
TA
TAŚV
TAŚVA
TĀV
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Traces of Reuse in Śaṅkara’s
Commentary on the Brahmasūtra
Ivan Andrijanić
1 Introduction
This chapter will first present some indications that Śaṅkara, for his commentary on the Brahmasūtra (BS), indeed reused older material from one or
more lost sources, as was already argued by Ingalls (1952: 9–10; 1954: 292–
295) and Hacker (1953: 26), and then discuss some methods for identifying
this older material.
According to Ingalls and Hacker, the commentaries of both Śaṅkara and
Bhāskara were based on earlier material composed within the framework of a
bhedābheda theory. This can be concluded from various pieces of evidence,
in addition to the fact that both commentaries on the BS share a great deal of
textual material.1 Further, Hacker (1953: 26) remarked that Śaṅkara’s commentary contains many non-illusionistic similes that do not fit Śaṅkara’s
illusionistic doctrine. Because of this, according to Hacker, parts of Śaṅkara’s
text must be based on an older, well respected, non-illusionistic commentary
on the BS. Hacker (ibid.) also doubted that Bhāskara would copy from the
work of his hated enemy Śaṅkara. As a result, passages common to the works
of Śaṅkara and Bhāskara would hint at the existence of an older commentary
that both authors used independently as their respective source. Ingalls followed the same argument and called this earlier commentator the “protocommentator” (1954: 294).2 The idea of Ingalls and Hacker that both commentaries are based on an older source was rejected by Rüping (1977), who
claimed with convincing arguments that Bhāskara’s commentary draws only
1
2
Accordingly, Ingalls (1954: 295) characterized Śaṅkara’s commentary on the Bṛhadāraṇyaka-Upaniṣad as “a far more original piece of writing than his Brahma-sūtrabhāṣya.”
Van Buitenen (1971: 18) found Ingalls’s hypothesis unconvincing. For him, it is unlikely that Śaṅkara and Bhāskara used written sources; rather, their commentaries reflect orally transmitted school traditions.
110
Ivan Andrijanić
on Śaṅkara’s text and that Bhāskara did not have independent access to an
older bhedābhedavāda commentary on the BS. Śaṅkara’s Brahmasūtrabhāṣya (BSBh) contains sufficient bhedābheda arguments to explain their
occurrence in Bhāskara’s Bhāṣya. Rüping (1977: 61) noted in fact some clear
bhedābhedavāda arguments in Śaṅkara’s commentary, such as the one in
BSBh 2.3.43, which might have been taken from an unknown older bhedābhedavāda commentary.
Additional evidence for the fact that two partly contradictory attitudes can
be detected in Śaṅkara’s BSBh was provided by Oberhammer in his study of
Śaṅkara’s refutation of the Pāñcarātra doctrine in BSBh 2.2.42–45 (Oberhammer 1977). There, Oberhammer noticed two conflicting standpoints in Śaṅkara’s critique. One acknowledges partial credibility of the Pāñcarātra, the other
dismisses the whole system. Oberhammer also noticed in Śaṅkara’s text a
critique of two Pāñcarātra standpoints that belong to different stages in the
historical development of the Pāñcarātra doctrine. By drawing on external
evidence derived from the works of Yāmuna, Rāmānuja and Sudarśanasūri,
who mentioned an old commentary (bhāṣya) on the BS that also ascribed
partial credibility to the Pāñcarātra, Oberhammer concluded that Śaṅkara
relied on an older source by an anonymous author when he wrote his explanation of BS 2.2.42–43. In other words, Śaṅkara used the same source mentioned by Yāmuna and others as an objection in his commentary on BS
2.2.44. And according to Oberhammer, Śaṅkara presented his own view in
BSBh 2.2.44–45, where he dismissed the whole Pāñcarātra.
As mentioned above, one aim of the present chapter is to investigate how
the older material that Śaṅkara incorporated in his text can be identified. The
material that will be examined can roughly be divided into three categories:
1) Quotations (or paraphrases)3 marked by Śaṅkara or by later sub-commentators as belonging to other authors. Śaṅkara marked these quotations
with indefinite pronouns such as “others” (apare, anye) or “some” (kecit).
The author of some of these doctrines is sometimes called the “author of
the commentary” (Vṛttikāra or Vṛttikṛt) by later sub-commentators. In two
passages Śaṅkara mentioned Upavarṣa as the author of certain views
(BSBh 1.3.28, 3.3.53). While Śaṅkara sometimes criticized these views,
sometimes he just mentioned them.
3
As these sources are not available, it remains unclear whether Śaṅkara provided quotations or paraphrases. I shall thus use the term “quotation” to cover both possibilities.
Traces of Reuse in Śaṅkara’s Commentary on the Brahmasūtra
111
2) Cases in which Śaṅkara provided more than one interpretation of sūtras,
usually without criticizing them. Some of these divergent interpretations
may originate from older, today lost, commentaries on the BS.
3) Material contradicting Śaṅkara’s Advaita which is neither marked by
Śaṅkara nor by the sub-commentators as stemming from older sources. It
may be argued that such passages originate from one or several well respected traditional sources.
The material in the first two categories will be examined first, because the
methodology developed there may help to define a possible methodology for
recognizing the undesignated material belonging to the third category.
I would suggest four ways to identify material that is possibly reused: The
first is to search for passages marked by Śaṅkara as belonging to “others” or
by sub-commentators as belonging to the (or: a) Vṛttikāra or Vṛttikṛt.
The second way is tracing contradictions in Śaṅkara’s texts. There are
many Brahmasūtras that interpret certain Upaniṣadic passages (especially in
BS 1 and BS 3.3). When Śaṅkara’s interpretations of the sūtras dealing with
a certain passage of an Upaniṣad are compared with his commentary on the
same Upaniṣad, it is sometimes possible to find contradictions. If Śaṅkara’s
interpretation of an Upaniṣadic passage occurring in his BSBh contradicts his
interpretation of the same passage in his commentary on the respective Upaniṣad, we may have an indication that Śaṅkara took his interpretation in the
commentary on the BS from an older source. One may, however, object that
such inconsistencies result merely from Śaṅkara’s intellectual development.
This can be countered with the argument that some Upaniṣadic interpretations
from the BSBh are alien to Śaṅkara’s Advaita doctrine; wherever we encounter such an inconsistency, the interpretation in the commentary on the
Upaniṣad is closer to Śaṅkara’s doctrine.4 An example for such an inconsis4
This approach is based on various assumptions regarding the question of authenticity
of works that are ascribed to Śaṅkara, i.e., to the author of the BSBh. Padmapāda mentioned Śaṅkara at the beginning of his Pañcapādikā as the author of the BSBh and as
his teacher. Sureśvara, who in his Naiṣkarmyasiddhi 4.74 and 4.76 claimed that he
served Śaṅkara’s lotus feet (as his direct disciple), composed a commentary on
Śaṅkara’s Bṛhadāraṇyakopaniṣad-Bhāṣya, in which he mentioned that Śaṅkara was his
teacher (Sureśvara ad BAUBh 6.5.25). Sureśvara also composed a sub-commentary on
Śaṅkara’s commentary on the Taittirīya-Upaniṣad. Therefore, the BSBh, BAUBh and
TaittUBh are quite clearly the works of the same Śaṅkara. On the other side, Hacker
(1947) analyzed the colophons of the manuscripts of Śaṅkara’s works and concluded
that the BSBh, the commentaries on the early Upaniṣads (with the exception of the
Śvetāśvatara-Upaniṣad) and the commentary on the Bhagavad-Gītā are authentic
works by Śaṅkara. However, on the methodological limitations of Hacker’s approach,
see Maas 2013: 73f.
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Ivan Andrijanić
tency and for the fact that – in the case of divergence – Śaṅkara’s comments
on the Upaniṣad are closer to his Advaita doctrine than the BSBh will be
discussed below (see section 4.1).
The third indication may be provided from Bhāskara’s commentary on the
BS, which can be useful, although Bhāskara most probably had no independent access to older sources. Bhāskara regularly reused Śaṅkara’s text when it
fit into his doctrine of bhedābhedavāda, but always departed from Śaṅkara’s
work when the latter introduced some of his distinguishing Advaita teachings. Thus, whenever Bhāskara is following Śaṅkara, this may indicate that
the text depends on more traditional, older material close to Bhāskara’s bhedābhedavāda. Although it is difficult to be sure about Bhāskara’s adherence
to a teaching whose textual sources are no longer extant, it can be tentatively
assumed that Bhāskara, who presented himself as a guardian of tradition,
knew where Śaṅkara was still in contact with the tradition and where he diverged from it.
The fourth indication can be derived from peculiar terminological
choices. Hacker (1950: 276–286) examined how Śaṅkara used terms like Īśvara, Parameśvara, Brahman, Parabrahman and Paramātman, and concluded
that in Śaṅkara’s works, these are synonyms. Moreover, Śaṅkara very often
spoke about the qualities (guṇas or dharmas) of Brahman. Already Śaṅkara’s
disciple Padmapāda did not use such qualifications when he spoke about
Brahman, and after Vimuktātman (9th–10th century CE)5 such qualifications
became totally unacceptable in Advaita (according to Hacker 1950: 286). It is
possible that these terminological ambiguities result from the fact that
Śaṅkara reused different sources for his BSBh, some (or all) of which may
have consisted of older, non-Advaitic material. These older sources did not
differentiate between a lower and the highest Brahman and they attributed
positive qualifications to the Brahman. If this assumption is correct, it is
possible that whenever qualifications for the highest Brahman appear in Śaṅkara’s works, he derived his exposition from an older source.
In the first part of this chapter (sections 2 and 3), material marked as a
quotation by Śaṅkara or by sub-commentators will be presented. In the
second part (section 4), two examples from the BSBh will be discussed:
5
Vimuktātman must have lived after Sureśvara, because he quoted Sureśvara’s Naiṣkarmyasiddhi, but before Yāmuna, who in his Ātmasiddhi quoted Vimuktātman’s Iṣṭasiddhi. As Yāmuna lived in the second part of the 10th century (Mesquita 1973), Vimuktātman must have lived between the late 8th or early 9th and the 10th century. Sureśvara was a younger contemporary of Śaṅkara, who most probably can be dated to
the middle of the 8th century (see Harimoto 2006). See also n. 22.
Traces of Reuse in Śaṅkara’s Commentary on the Brahmasūtra
113
a) Śaṅkara’s commentary on BS 1.1.12–19, where Śaṅkara’s sub-commentators identified a large part of the text as belonging to a Vṛttikāra, and
b) Śaṅkara’s commentary on BS 1.3.1, where Śaṅkara himself indicated that
the teaching he described derives from “another” (apara).
2 Material marked by Śaṅkara or by sub-commentators as being
reused from other authors
First, it must be said that in the text of the BSBh one can find numerous quotations from works belonging to śruti and smṛti texts, as well as lengthy discussions of the positions of rival schools of thought. This chapter will neither
discuss these passages nor their sources; the focus will be only on the material which may originate from one or more older, now lost, Vedānta texts.
2.1 Indefinite pronouns as markers of reuse
Śaṅkara usually marked passages in which he quoted or paraphrased by using
an indefinite pronoun. Kecit (“some”) predominantly (see Table 1) appears in
reference to opponents external to Advaita Vedānta, whereas anye, apare
(“others”) and eke (“some”) occur in reference to opponents within the
Vedānta camp. A notable exception is found at the end of BSBh 1.1.1, where
one encounters apare, eke and kecit referring to different heretical doctrines.
Table 1: Pronouns as reuse-markers and their identification in
BSBh and its commentaries6
6
Introductory phrase
Identification
Location
kecit
[followers of Prabhākara]
BSBh 1.1.4
atra kecid udāharanti
“here some declare”
Vṛttikṛt (Govindānanda and BSBh 1.1.23 WOŚ
Ānandagiri)
pp. 50,4f.
kecit
[Buddhist Sarvāstivādins
and Vijñānāstitvamātravādins]
BSBh 2.2.18
Square brackets are used to indicate identifications derived from the context, because
they are not explicitly indicated in the commentaries.
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Introductory phrase
Identification
Location
kecit
[followers of Sāṅkhya and
Yoga]
BSBh 2.2.37
kecit tāvad āhuḥ
“some indeed say”
ekadeśin, i.e., a person with BSBh 3.1.8,
partial knowledge
WOŚ p. 332,9
(Ānandagiri)
kecit
ekadeśin (Govindānanda)
BSBh 3.2.21,
WOŚ p. 360,3
kecit
ekadeśin (Govindānanda)
BSBh 3.3.38,
WOŚ pp. 412,14f.
kecit
ekadeśin (Govindānanda,
Ānandagiri, Vācaspati)
BSBh 3.3.57,
WOŚ p. 428,12
kecit
BSBh 1.3.19,
WOŚ p. 114,22
kecit
BSBh 3.4.20,
WOŚ p. 442,21
kecit
BSBh 4.3.14,
WOŚ p. 497,20
atrāpare pratyavatiṣṭhante “here others
object”
Vṛttikāra (Govindānanda)
BSBh 1.1.4
WOŚ p. 12,4
apara āha “someone
says”
Vṛttikāra (Govindānanda)
BSBh 1.1.25,
WOŚ p. 55,6
apara āha
BSBh 1.1.27,
WOŚ p. 56,13
apara āha
BSBh 1.2.12,
WOŚ p. 73,16
Traces of Reuse in Śaṅkara’s Commentary on the Brahmasūtra
Introductory phrase
Identification
Location
anye punar mayante
“others, however,
think”
Vṛttikṛt (Govindānanda)
Vṛttikāra (Ānandagiri) ad
BSBh 1.2.23 (BSŚWC p.
192)
BSBh 1.2.23,
WOŚ p. 86,1
apara āha “someone
says”
BSBh 1.3.1,
WOŚ p. 95,9
apara āha “someone
says”
BSBh 1.3.13,
WOŚ p. 105,10
apare tu vādinaḥ “but
[according to] other disputants”
BSBh 1.3.19,
WOŚ p. 115,7
anye tu varṇayanti “but
others explain”
Vṛttikṛt (Govindānanda)
Vṛttikṛt or Vṛttikāra
(Ānandagiri)
115
BSBh 1.4.3,
WOŚ p. 149,14
With the conjunction “or” (athavā), Śaṅkara introduced a different interpretation of BSBh 1.1.31 (WOŚ p. 61,24). Govindānanda and Vācaspati Miśra
attributed this interpretation to the Vṛttikṛt; Ānandagiri ascribed it to the
Vṛttikāra.7
2.2 Identifications of reuse by the sub-commentators
A well-known case of attribution of a passage to a Vṛttikāra or Vṛttikṛt is
found in the sub-commentaries ad BSBh 1.1.12–19. At the end of his commentary on BSBh 1.1.19 Śaṅkara introduced an alternative interpretation of
sūtras 12–19 with the words idaṃ tv iha vaktavyam (“but this has to be said
here”). Govindānanda and Ānandagiri regarded Śaṅkara’s text in BSBh
1.1.12–19 as having been authored by a Vṛttikṛt or Vṛttikāra, whereas they
took the alternative interpretation, which starts in BSBh 1.1.19 with the
words idaṃ tv iha vaktavyam, as genuinely by Śaṅkara. This example will be
studied in some detail later in this chapter (section 4.1).
7
Govindānanda, Vācaspati and Ānandagiri ad BSBh 1.1.31 (BSŚWC p. 157). Deussen
(1883: 30) thought that this passage might be an interpolation. See n. 6, 14, 15, 17 and
18.
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2.2.1 Reuse of the views of the Vṛttikāra
The first problem one must deal with when facing the issue of the views attributed to the Vṛttikāra in the BSBh and its commentaries is the identity of this
elusive authority. The appellation vṛttikāra appeared already in a famous
passage of Śabara’s commentary on Mīmāṃsāsūtra 1.1.5, where we find a
lengthy reused passage called Vṛttikāragrantha.8 Within this passage we also
find a reused passage that the text attributes to Upavarṣa, and a secondary
interpolation recognized by Frauwallner (1968: 109–110). Śabara also mentioned the views of the Vṛttikāra in his commentary on MīmS 2.1.32–33,
2.2.26, 2.3.16, 3.1.6, 5.1.1 and 7.2.6.
Ānandagiri and Govindānanda, in their commentaries on Śaṅkara’s BSBh
3.3.53, claimed that the Vṛttikāra is the same person as Upavarṣa. Nakamura
(2004: 33–34), however, argued that Upavarṣa is not identical with the Vṛttikāra of Śabara’s Vṛttikāragrantha, for two reasons: (1.) The Vṛttikāragrantha
quotes Upavarṣa (gakāraukāravisarjanīyā iti bhagavān upavarṣaḥ). (2.) Śaṅkara cites Upavarṣa approvingly, whereas he refutes the Vṛttikāra. The second argument is problematic insofar as it is based on the claim that the Vṛttikāra of the Vṛttikāragrantha is the same person as the Vṛttikāra mentioned in
the BSBh.
Rāmānuja in his Śrībhāṣya ad BS 1.1.1 announced his intention to explain
the BS in accordance with the previous teachers who had condensed the
commentary (vṛtti) composed by Bodhāyana. Later he mentioned passages
from the vṛtti or the Vṛttikāra six times (ŚBh 1.1.1 twice; 1.1.10; 1.2.1; 1.3.7;
1.3.32). Although these passages do not correspond exactly to the passages
attributed by Śaṅkara’s sub-commentators to the Vṛttikāra, Nakamura (2004:
76–77) has argued that Rāmānuja’s Vṛttikāra is identical with the Vṛttikāra of
Śaṅkara’s sub-commentators and that his name was Bodhāyana.9
Aklujkar (2010), however, has argued convincingly that Rāmānuja’s Vṛttikāra cannot be Bodhāyana, but must be a later scholar, namely Upavarṣa,
who abridged Bodhāyana’s voluminous text. Aklujkar further claimed (2010:
18) that Śabara’s Vṛttikāra is also identical with Upavarṣa.
Ānandagiri and Govindānanda mentioned a Vṛttikāra or Vṛttikṛt in their
commentaries on ten passages of the BSBh.10 In one of them (1.1.4, Gov. in
8 See Frauwallner (1968: 24,16 ff.).
9 Thibaut (1890[I]: xxi) remarked cautiously that there is no reason to doubt that an
ancient vṛtti (commentary) connected with the name Bodhāyana existed.
10 BSBh 1.1.1 (Gov. in BSŚWC, p. 19; this passage is also discussed in the Bhāmatī (BSŚWC, p. 38)); 1.1.4 (Gov. in BSŚWC, p. 65,15 and p. 66,4); 1.1.4 (Gov. in BSŚWC,
p. 85,14); 1.1.12 (Gov. in BSŚWC, p. 119,19); 1.1.19 (Ānand. and Gov. in BSŚWC, p.
125), 1.1.23 (Ānand. and Gov. in BSŚWC, p. 140), 1.1.25 (Gov. in BSŚWC, p.
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117
BSŚWC, p. 85,14), the discussion of the views of the Vṛttikāra is directly
followed by one about the opinions of the prābhākaras “followers of Prabhākara’s school of Pūrva Mīmāṃsā,” which might be an indirect hint at the
affiliation of the Vṛttikāra.11 An additional piece of information concerning
the philosophical orientation of the Vṛttikāra can be gathered from
Bhāskara’s commentary on BSBh1.4.26, p. 144, which mentions that the
Vṛttikāra accepted the theory of transformation of Brahman (pariṇāma).
Let me now discuss the instances in which the sub-commentators claimed
that Śaṅkara presented the views of the Vṛttikāra, which fall into two categories. (1.) In some cases Śaṅkara seemingly refuted the position attributed by
the commentaries to the Vṛttikāra. For instance, Vācaspati Miśra, in his Bhāmatī ad BSBh 1.1.1 (BSŚWC p. 38,26), claimed that Śaṅkara refuted a position of the Vṛttikṛt, according to which the word-stem brahma- within the tatpuruṣa compound brahma-jijñāsā (“a wish to know Brahman”) is to be understood as being in the dative case. However, Śaṅkara only explained that he
took the word-stem brahma- as being in the genitive case, and did not indicate that this explanation was meant as a refutation of a different interpretation of the compound. (2.) In other cases, Śaṅkara does not seem to refute the
Vṛttikāra. For instance, in his Bhāmatī ad BSBh 1.1.31 Vācaspati, as well as
Ānandagiri and Govindānanda, attributed this entire portion of Śaṅkara’s text
(WOŚ pp. 61,24–62,18) to the Vṛttikāra. The Vṛttikāra here discussed the
threefold “meditation” (vidyā) on Brahman of KauU 3.2–4. This meditation
takes place with the help of breath (prāṇa) and intelligence (prajñā), with
Brahman considered the third part of this vidyā. Śaṅkara did not refute the
explanation of the Vṛttikāra.
It should be noted that Govindānanda attributed an objection in BSBh
1.1.12 to the Vṛttikāra (Gov. in BSŚWC, p. 119,19), namely that the substance defined as ānandamaya “abundant of bliss” is the individual soul
(jīva).12 It is, however, unlikely that this attribution is correct, because the
first chapter of the BS and its commentaries focus on the harmonization of
various Upaniṣadic passages by interpreting them all as referring to the
Brahman. It would thus be odd to think that an ancient commentator of the
BS might want to identify ānandamaya with a different entity.13 Moreover,
149,16), 1.1.31 (Vācasp., Ānand. and Gov. in BSŚWC, p. 158), 1.2.23 (Ānand. and
Gov. in BSŚWC, p. 182), 1.4.3 (Ānand. and Gov. in BSŚWC, p. 298).
11 More precisely, according to Govindānanda in BSŚWC, p. 85, Śaṅkara finished the
discussion started by the Vṛttikāra on p. 65, thereupon began a discussion with the prābhākaras.
12 On this translation of the word ānanadamaya, see below, section 4.1.
13 Throughout the first chapter of the Brahma-Sūtra, particular passages from different
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this attribution is in strong contradiction to Ānandagiri’s and Govindānanda’s
later claim that all of Śaṅkara’s text from 1.1.12–19 belongs to the Vṛttikāra.
In fact, in BSBh 1.1.12–19, attributed by Ānandagiri and Govindānanda himself to the Vṛttikāra, it is claimed that the ānandamaya is the highest Brahman. This clear contradiction puts the reliability of Govindānanda as a source
of information on the Vṛttikāra and his text into question. Since Govindānanda lived in the 17th century and thus much later than Śaṅkara, his claims
must be taken with caution.
3 Different interpretations of the same sūtras
There are some other passages in Śaṅkara’s BSBh that contain alternative
interpretations of one and the same sūtra. These passages are not introduced
with an indefinite pronoun and the sub-commentators did not identify them as
views of other authors. Although Śaṅkara did not attribute these interpretations to earlier sources, they may nevertheless go back to earlier authors
whose views Śaṅkara recorded without criticism. An example occurs in
BSBh 2.2.39 and 2.2.40, where Śaṅkara introduced an alternative explanation
for both sūtras with the words anyathā vā sūtradvayaṃ vyākhyate14 (“alternatively, these two sūtras are differently explained [as follows]”).15 In addition,
Śaṅkara introduced an alternative explanation of the sūtras 2.4.5 and 2.4.6
with the expression iyam aparā sūtradvayayojanā16 (“this is another way to
construct these two sūtras”). Further, he introduced an alternative interpretation of the second part of the sūtra 3.1.7 with the expression aparā vyākhyā17
(“another explanation”).18 Then, in BSBh 3.2.2419 we find an alternative interpretation of the second part of the sūtra. Finally, there is an alternative ex-
14
15
16
17
18
19
Upaniṣads are discussed. Very frequently, the discussion is about whether a particular
passage of the Upaniṣads is speaking about Brahman or something else. The commentators usually held the opinion that the Upaniṣads are speaking about Brahman, and
object to the idea that they are speaking about some other entity such as the individual
soul or pradhāna.
BSBh 2.2.40 (WOŚ p. 258,6). The first interpretation ranges from p. 257,24 to p.
258,6; the second from p. 258,6 to p. 258,15.
The sub-commentators did not identify the author of any of the explanations.
BSBh 2.4.6 (WOŚ p. 310,16).
BSBh 3.1.7 (WOŚ p. 339,8).
Ānandagiri (ad BSBh 3.1.7, BSŚWC, p. 602) states that the first interpretation was
primary.
BSBh 3.2.22 (WOŚ p. 366,12).
Traces of Reuse in Śaṅkara’s Commentary on the Brahmasūtra
119
planation of the word pādavat in BS 3.2.33, introduced with the conjunction
athavā (“or”).20
For the purpose of identifying possible instances of reuse, BSBh 3.3 is
also relevant because together with the first chapter, this section represents
another chiefly exegetical part of Śaṅkara’s text.21 Most of BSBh 3.3 discusses whether different śruti passages should be combined and used in
meditation. In this connection, various tools are implemented for establishing
whether different Upaniṣadic passages correspond to each other or not. The
last four passages, in which Śaṅkara introduced alternative explanations of
sūtras, also occur in this section.
4 Examples of reuse
4.1 The case of ānandamaya in Brahmasūtrabhāṣya 1.1.12–1.1.19
The first example of an older, reused text passage that I shall present here is
the one most evident in Śaṅkara’s commentary. Moreover, its discussion is of
relevance for establishing a relative chronology between different authorities
in the area of Advaita Vedānta and beyond. In BS 1.1.12–1.1.19 we find two
conflicting interpretations of the word ānandamaya in Taittirīya-Upaniṣad
2.5.22 The discussion focuses on whether ānandamaya refers to Brahman or
20 BSBh 3.2.33 (WOŚ p. 371,10).
21 Nakamura (1983: 436) has claimed that the first three pādas of the first chapter of the
Brahma-Sūtra, called Samanvaya, and Brahma-Sūtra 3.3 represent the oldest core of
the text and that it was composed at some time before the Christian era.
22 For Deussen (1883: 150–151) the second interpretation was possibly a later interpolation. If this were true, Deussen assumed, then the attribution of the Taittirīya-Upaniṣad-Bhāṣya to Śaṅkara may not be correct, because the attribution is based on the
identity of the teaching found in the Taittirīya-Upaniṣad-Bhāṣya with this second interpretation. Kanakura (1926: 383–385) held that this last part of BSBh 1.1.19 is not an
interpolation due to the fact that Vācaspati Miśra commented on this text passage in his
Bhāmatī. This argument is based on the claim that the time gap between Śaṅkara and
Vācaspati was not long. Kanakura accepted the traditional date of Śaṅkara (788–820
CE), and he placed Vācaspati’s Bhāmatī to the mid-9th century based on his work Nyāyasūcīnibandhana, which is dated to 898. Kanakura interpreted this as referring to the
Vikrama age, which means the year 841. Acharya (2006: xviii–xxviii) has provided a
review of the modern debate on Vācaspati’s dates, together with new evidence according to which the year 898 should be understood as Śaka, i.e., 976 CE, as Hacker
(1951: 169) claimed. Acharya (2006: xxviii) has concluded that Vācaspati flourished
between 950 and 1000 CE. The gap between Śaṅkara and Vācaspati may be much
longer than Kanakura assumed. In my opinion, the second interpretation is certainly
not an interpolation, because there is no doubt that the TaittUBh is a genuine work of
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to the individual soul. In the first part, which comprises the commentaries on
BS 1.1.12–1.1.19, it is claimed that ānandamaya designates Brahman as the
supreme Self. This position is defended against objections, according to
which ānandamaya does not refer to the supreme Self but to a secondary Self
(amukhyātman) or bodily Self (śārīrātman). Śaṅkara defended this claim up
to the second part of his commentary on BS 1.1.19 (WOŚ pp. 40,6ff.), when
he offered a completely different interpretation of ānandamaya and claimed
that the term does not refer to Brahman at all.
4.1.1 The introduction of the adhikaraṇa
As was already pointed out above in section 2.2, Vācaspati, Ānandagiri and
Govindānanda regarded the text of BSBh 1.1.12–19 up to idaṃ tv iha vaktavyam (“but here this has to be said,” WOŚ p. 40,16) as belonging to an older
commentary. Before starting his commentary on sūtra 1.1.12, Śaṅkara provided a detailed introduction to the entire adhikaraṇa (WOŚ from p. 34,12 to
the end of p. 35), in which he explained his well-known illusionistic doctrine
of two forms of Brahman, a lower one differentiated by limiting adjuncts and
a highest one devoid of any limiting adjuncts.23 Śaṅkara claimed at the end of
his introduction to the adhikaraṇa that in some places the Upaniṣads teach
that Brahman is distinguished by limiting adjuncts and is to be worshiped
(upāsya), and that in others they teach that the highest Brahman must be
known (jñeya) (WOŚ pp. 35,22ff.). I believe that the introduction is an original contribution of Śaṅkara’s, in which he foreshadowed his own, genuine
interpretation, which he presented in full following BS 1.1.19. This is because Bhāskara, in his introduction, immediately diverged from Śaṅkara and
criticized him. This supposition might be corroborated by the fact that Vācaspati, in his commentary on the introduction to the adhikaraṇa, did not mention an author other than Śaṅkara as the source, but immediately after the first
sūtra (BS 1.1.12) claimed that Śaṅkara’s commentary on sūtra 1.1.12 conveys the opinion of an ekadeśin (ekadeśimata).
Śaṅkara. The main argument for this is that Sureśvara, who himself claimed that he
was Śaṅkara’s direct disciple (BAUBhV 6.5.24, NaiS 4.76–77), wrote a commentary
on the TaittUBh (see n. 5, above). Because of that, the time gap between Śaṅkara and
Vācaspati is not particularly important.
23 Śaṅkara started with the words “Brahman is apprehended under two forms; in the first
place as qualified by limiting conditions owing to the multiformity of the evolutions of
name and form (i.e., the multiformity of the created world); in the second place as
being opposite of this, i.e., free from all limiting conditions whatever” (dvirūpaṃ hi
brahmāvagamyate, nāmarūpavikārabhedopādhiviśiṣṭaṃ, tadviparītaṃ ca sarvopādhivivarjitam BSBh 1.1.12, WOŚ, pp. 34,16f. as translated in Thibaut 1890: 61) and further explained this theory by strengthening it with quotations from śruti and smṛti.
Traces of Reuse in Śaṅkara’s Commentary on the Brahmasūtra
121
4.1.2 Brahmasūtrabhāṣya 1.1.12
The commentary on BS 1.1.12 strictly follows the five-fold structure common in Mīmāṃsā texts, starting with (1.) an introduction (traditionally called
viṣayavākya “statement of the topic”) to a passage from TaittU 2.1–5, which
deals with a row of selves consisting of the essence of food (annarasamaya),
of breath (prāṇamaya), of mind (manomaya), of intelligence24 (vijñānamaya)
and of bliss (ānandamaya). (2.) Next, the commentary discusses the doubt
(tatra saṃśayaḥ) whether ānandamaya is to be understood as the highest
Brahman (param eva brahma) or something else that is similar to the other
four selves. (3.) Immediately after the formulation of this doubt, an objection
is raised according to which ānandamaya is a secondary self (amukhyātman).
There are two arguments for this: (a) ānandamaya occurs in the same sequence as annamaya (pravāhapatita); (b) some characteristics are attributed
in the TaittU to ānandamaya which do not suit the Supreme Brahman, such
as being embodied (śarīratva) and having pleasure as its head. (4.) These
arguments are answered with a siddhānta, or settled conclusion, which includes the sūtra and the claim that ānandamaya must be the highest Self
(para evātmānandamayo bhavitum arhati). This is further explained in (5.),
the part of the commentary called nirṇaya by Śaṅkara (BSBh 1.1.23, 1.2.1,
1.2.26 etc.), which explains this settled conclusion in detail.
4.1.3 Brahmasūtrabhāṣya 1.1.13–17
The text of the commentary on BS 1.1.13–17 tries to prove that ānandamaya
is the highest Brahman against various objections, of which the most interesting is the claim that the suffix -maya denotes a modification (vikāra). This is
answered already in BS 1.1.13 with the claim that the suffix -maya means
“abundance” (prācurya); according to this argument, ānandamaya means
“abundant bliss” or “in which bliss is abundantly established.”25 The argument that -maya denotes abundance may originate from the Kāśikāvṛtti ad
Pāṇini 5.4.21 (tat prakṛtavacane mayaṭ),26 where the word prakṛta is understood as prācuryeṇa prastutam (“abundantly established (?),” Bronkhorst
2004: 5). From the point of view of the relative chronology of the BS and its
commentaries, it is important to note that the Kāśīkāvṛtti ad Pāṇini 5.4.21
uses the example of annamaya27 to illustrate that the suffix -maya means
24 Cf. Olivelle (1998: 303), who translated vijñānamaya as “consisting of perception.”
25 Bronkhorst 2004: 5.
26 “The taddhita affix mayaṭ occurs after a syntactically related nominal stem which ends
in prathamā ‘nominative’ and signifies prakṛta ‘that which happens to be in abundance’” (Sharma 1999: 676).
27 The word annamaya appears also in ChU 6.5.4 and in TaittU 2.1 with the variation
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abundance. Furthermore, the Kāśikāvṛtti provides the example annamayo
yajñaḥ28 “a sacrifice in which food is abundant” from an unknown source
which appears also in BSBh 1.1.13.
From this parallel it follows that not only the commentator of BS 1.1.13
but also the author of this sūtra (where the word prācurya is mentioned) were
acquainted with the interpretation preserved in the Kāśikāvṛtti. Bronkhorst
(2004: 5–6) claims that at least one brahmanical commentary on Pāṇini on
which the Kāśikā relied existed before BS 1.1.14 was composed. The
Vṛttikāra most probably relied on such a lost source. In fact, if he reused the
Kāśikāvṛtti, he would have to be dated after the 7th century CE, which would
contradict the other evidence discussed above in section 2.2.1, which suggests a much earlier dating.
4.1.4 Brahmasūtrabhāṣya 1.1.17
The commentary on BS 1.1.17 can be divided into two parts. Its first part
follows the sūtra, which most probably establishes a distinction (bheda) between ānandamaya and the transmigrating individual soul (saṃsārin). This
part of the text was interpreted in the same way by Śaṅkara and Bhāskara,
whose commentary is simply an abridged version of Śaṅkara’s work. Rüping
(1977: 34–35) presented this example in order to show how Bhāskara’s text
is secondary to Śaṅkara’s. However, in the second part of Śaṅkara’s text we
encounter Śaṅkara’s typical illusionistic doctrine that is also found in the
introduction to BS 1.1.12. In this second part, Śaṅkara claimed that the distinction between the ānandamaya and the saṃsārin is real only according to a
worldly view (laukika dṛṣṭa) and that it depends on limiting adjuncts (upadhi)
in the same way as a pot limits the air it contains. Here, Bhāskara abruptly
stopped following Śaṅkara and criticized his idea that the difference between
the individual soul and God is illusory and that it depends on limiting adjuncts. He introduced his criticism with the words
atra kecit svamatikalpitadarśanaparitrāṇāya sūtrārthaṃ vinaśayanto
vyācakṣate (Kato 2011: 42).
Here some, in order to protect their own fabricated view, explain by
destroying the meaning of the sūtra.
annarasamaya.
28 There, annamayo yajñaḥ is glossed with annaṃ prakṛtam (“food that is abundantly established”), and the Kāśikā-Vṛtti glosses prakṛta with prācuryeṇa prastutam (“abundantly established”).
Traces of Reuse in Śaṅkara’s Commentary on the Brahmasūtra
123
Bhāskara’s disapproval of Śaṅkara’s view may indicate that Śaṅkara’s
teaching deviates from the traditional interpretation of BS 1.1.17.
4.1.5 Brahmasūtrabhāṣya 1.1.19
In his commentary on BS 1.1.19, Śaṅkara concluded his teaching of ānandamaya as being identical with the highest Self (tasmād ānandamayaḥ paramātmeti sthitam).29 Immediately thereafter, Śaṅkara introduced a contrary
interpretation with the words idaṃ tv iha vaktavyam “but here this has to be
said.” He started his critique with the same arguments presented by the objector in BSBh 1.1.12–13. Śaṅkara’s arguments that ānandamaya is not the
highest Self are: a) the suffix -maya in the sequence annarasamaya, prāṇamaya, manomaya and vijñānamaya cannot at first denote a modification and
then suddenly mean “abundance” in the compound ānandamaya; b) ānandamaya occurs in the same sequence as the other four terms and thus belongs to
the same ontological category; c) ānandamaya is mentioned in TaittU 2.5 as
having pleasure as its head,30 but since pleasure is not a predicate of Brahman, ānandamaya and Brahman cannot be identical; d) ānandamaya is not
designated as Brahman in the TaittU and Brahman is actually mentioned in
TaittU 2.5 as brahma pucchaṃ pratiṣṭhā (“the bottom on which it rests is the
brahman.” [Trans. Olivelle 1998: 305]). According to Śaṅkara, Brahman in
the highest sense is only this bottom or tail, on which ānandamaya rests.
These arguments correspond closely to the three arguments the objector
raised at the beginning of BSBh 1.1.12 (cf. section 1.1.2): (1.) ānandamaya
occurs in the same sequence of terms as annamaya, etc. (this corresponds to
Śaṅkara’s argument b); (2.) some characteristics of ānandamaya, such as
being embodied and having pleasure as its head cannot be applied fittingly to
the Supreme Brahman (this corresponds to Śaṅkara’s argument c); (3.) the
suffix -maya denotes a modification (vikāra) (this corresponds to Śaṅkara’s
argument a).
In his TaittUBh 2.5, Śaṅkara provided the same four arguments for the
claim that ānandamaya is not the highest but the lower Self (kāryātman; “self
which has to be accomplished” or “active self”) with minor modifications.31
Śaṅkara added here one more argument that we do not find in the BSBh,
namely that ānandamaya is something to be attained.
29 The first interpretation starts in WOŚ on p. 39,21 and finishes on p. 40,6.
30 In his translation of TaittU 2.5, Olivelle (1998: 305) has translated priya as “pleasure.”
31 Regarding argument a), Śaṅkara’s expression is adhikārapatita, while the objector in
BSBh uses the word pravāhapatita.
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From all this it becomes clear that Śaṅkara used the arguments of an objector to dispute some old, traditional interpretations which are preserved in
parts of his commentary on BSBh 1.1.12–19 (WOŚ pp. 34,12–39,3; pp.
39,15–40,6). Therefore I think it safe to assume that Śaṅkara’s second interpretation from BSBh 1.1.19 and his interpretation in TaittUBh 2.5 represent
his genuine understanding of ānandamaya, while he borrowed his previous
claims in BSBh 1.1.12–19 from a different source.
There are two more arguments that support this assertion. The first is that
Vācaspati and Ānandagiri held the same opinion in their respective commentaries. According to Vācaspati, the commentary on BS 1.1.12 begins the exposition of the opinion of a person called ekadeśin, which runs up to the
words idaṃ tv iha vaktavyam. After this, Śaṅkara begins with his own interpretation (svamata). Ānandagiri claims that the part of the commentary starting with the word taittirīyaka32 (the first word of Śaṅkara’s commentary on
BS 1.1.12) and ending with tasmāt (tasmād ānandamayaḥ paramātmeti sthitam “therefore it stands that ānandamaya is the highest Self”) in BSBh 1.1.19
was composed by a person called Vṛttikṛt (vṛttikṛtāṃ matam upasaṃharati –
tasmād iti “he summarizes the view of the Vṛttikṛt in the sentence starting
with tasmāt”).33
The second argument for the assertion that we are dealing with a reused
text passage can be derived from Bhāskara’s commentary. He began his
commentary on BS 1.1.19 using almost the same words as Śaṅkara. Then,
however, he departed from Śaṅkara’s text as soon as Śaṅkara presented his
own interpretation:34
Table 2: The commentaries of Śaṅkara and Bhāskara ad BS 1.1.19
Śaṅkara ad BS 1.1.19 (WOŚ pp.
39f.)
Bhāskara ad BS 1.1.19 (BSBh[Bh]
p. 43)
itaś ca na pradhāne jīve vānandamayaśabdaḥ | yasmād asminn ānandamaye prakṛta ātmani pratibuddhasyāsya jīvasya tadyogaṃ śāsti |
tadātmanā yogas tadyogaḥ, tadbhāvāpattiḥ | muktir ity arthaḥ |
tadyogaṃ śāsti śāstraṃ- “yadā hy
itaś cānandamayaḥ | paro na saṃsārī na pradhānam | asminn ānandamaye prakṛte ’sya jīvasya pratibuddhasya tadyogaṃ tena yogaṃ muktiṃ śāsti śāstram | “yadā hy evaiṣa
etasminn adṛśye ’nātmye ’nirukte
’nilayane ’bhayaṃ pratiṣṭhāṃ vin-
32 BSŚWC, p. 119,31.
33 BSŚWC, p. 124,30.
34 Identical words are underlined, quotations from BS 1.1.19 are set in bold.
Traces of Reuse in Śaṅkara’s Commentary on the Brahmasūtra
125
evaiṣa etasminn adṛśye ’nātmye
’nirukte ’nilayane ’bhayaṃ pratiṣṭhāṃ vindate | atha so ’bhayaṃ
gato bhavati | yadā hy evaiṣa etasminn udaramantaraṃ kurute | atha
tasya bhayaṃ bhavati” (TaittU
2.7) iti |
etad uktaṃ bhavati – yadaitasminn
ānandamaye ’lpam apy antaram
atādātmyarūpaṃ paśyati tadā saṃsārabhayān na nivartate | yadā tv
etasminn ānandamaye nirantaraṃ
tādātmyena pratitiṣṭhati tadā saṃsārabhayān nivartata iti | tac ca
paramātmaparigrahe ghaṭate, na
pradhānaparigrahe jīvaparigrahe
vā | tasmād ānandamayaḥ paramātmeti sthitam |
date | atha so ’bhayaṃ gato bhavati” iti (TaittU 2.7) | tad etasmin muktiśāsanaṃ paramātmaparigrahe ’vakalpate nānyatheti sthitam |
idaṃ tv iha vaktavyam ...
atra kecid imaṃ siddhāntaṃ dūṣayitvā ...
The opening paragraph of the commentary is almost identical in the two
versions, although Bhāskara omitted the latter part of Śaṅkara’s text. The
situation changes when Śaṅkara starts his real interpretation of ānandamaya
with the words idaṃ tv iha vaktavyam “but this has to be said here”: this
interpretation is rejected by Bhāskara, by his saying atra kecid imaṃ siddhāntaṃ dūṣayitvā “here some35 (i.e., Śaṅkara) corrupt this settled conclusion ....”
The rest of Bhāskara’s text departs completely from Śaṅkara’s, advocates a
bhedābheda theory, and criticizes Śaṅkara’s differentiation between a lower
and a higher Brahman. Bhāskara especially criticized Śaṅkara’s claim that the
phrase puccham pratiṣṭhā in the TaittU refers to Brahman.
This example fulfills the criteria for the identification of reused material
set at the beginning of this chapter (section 1): a) one of the two conflicting
interpretations is designated by all three sub-commentators as being taken
from some other source, which Ānandagiri and Govindānanda identified as
the work of the Vṛttikāra; b) this interpretation is in conflict both with Śaṅkara’s other interpretation and with his interpretation of the same passage in
35 Bhāskara used the honorific plural form when addressing Śaṅkara.
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the TaittUBh; c) Bhāskara followed the first interpretation and criticized the
second; d) the first interpretation deviates from the traits typically associated
with Śaṅkara’s doctrine.
Furthermore, it is possible to propose a structural analysis of the Ānandamayādhikaraṇa by distinguishing five segments of the text. (1) The introduction (WOŚ pp. 34,11–35,26) appears to be Śaṅkara’s genuine contribution
to this section, because it contains philosophical positions that are typical of
him. Moreover, Bhāskara criticized these positions, and Vācaspati and Ānandagiri set this section apart from the BSBh text occurring after the sūtra BS
1.1.12. (2) The commentaries from BSBh 1.1.12 (WOŚ p. 35,1) up to the end
of the first part of BSBh 1.1.17 (WOŚ p. 39,3), by contrast, appear to be
reused from an unknown source. (3) After this passage, Śaṅkara again presented his own teaching, which Bhāskara criticized. Śaṅkara’s genuine exposition ends at p. 39,13, where (4) he reused again an older source up to
WOŚ p. 40,6, where (5) we finally encounter Śaṅkara’s real interpretation
and a critique of everything stated in segment (2).
Assuming that the interpretation in segment 2 comes from an older commentary (and that there is thus no need to harmonize its philosophical content
with Śaṅkara’s teachings), the doctrine represented in it is the following:
It does not distinguish between a lower and the highest Brahman, but focuses on the difference between the individual soul (jīva, saṃsārin) and
Brahman; it contains no trace of an argument for the illusory nature of the
world, and relies on a grammatical interpretation found in the Kāśikāvṛtti according to which the suffix -maya stands for abundance (see above, section
4.1.3). Bhāskara interpreted this older part of the commentary in the framework of his bhedābhedavāda, and it is possible that the philosophical standpoint of this earlier commentary indeed represents some form of bhedābhedavāda. It should be noted that the text passage designated by Śaṅkara’s subcommentators as belonging to an older commentary displays some formal
peculiarities: The commentary on the opening sūtra in the adhikaraṇa bears
in fact a five-part structure. This same structure is followed throughout the
first chapter of the BSBh and in BSBh 3.3. It is exactly in these parts that we
find almost all references to other interpretations and all references to a
Vṛttikāra.
4.2
The “bridge” (setu) from BS(Bh) 1.3.1 and MU(Bh) 2.2.5
In BSBh 1.3.1 we find a reference to the view of “others,” which the subcommentators did not attribute to the Vṛttikāra. The question in BSBh 1.3.1–
Traces of Reuse in Śaṅkara’s Commentary on the Brahmasūtra
127
7 is whether the expression “the abode (āyatana)36 of heaven, earth and others” (dyubhvādi) from Muṇḍaka-Upaniṣad 2.2.5 refers to the highest Brahman or not. At the end of BSBh 1.3.1, Śaṅkara referred to someone else’s
interpretation of the word “bridge” (setu), which also appears in the MU. The
text reads (WOŚ pp. 95,9ff.):
apara āha – “tam evaikaṃ jānatha ātmānam” (MU 2.2.5) iti yad etat
saṃkīrtitam ātmajñānam, yac caitad “anyā vāco vimuñcatha” (MU
2.2.5) iti vāgvimocanam, tad atrāmṛtatvasādhanatvāt, “amṛtasyaiṣa
setuḥ” (MU 2.2.5) iti setuśrutyā saṃkīrtyate na tu dyubhvādyāyatanam.
Someone else says that what is referred to with the words “him alone
know as the one Soul”37 (MU 2.2.5) is knowledge of the Self, and
[what is referred to with the words] “other words dismiss” (MU 2.2.5)
is the [command] to put away words, not the abode of heaven, earth
and so on. In fact, [these two] are referred to through the mention of
the word “bridge” in “he is the bridge to immortality” (MU 2.2.5), because here (in MU 2.2.5) [these] are the means for immortality.
From this brief account we understand that knowledge of the Self and the
abandoning of talk are said to be a “bridge” because they lead to immortality,
whereas the word “bridge” does not refer to āyatana (abode of heaven, etc.).
It seems that this additional interpretation is not at odds with what was stated
in earlier parts of the text, namely that āyatana is Brahman.
Śaṅkara apparently introduced this interpretation to answer the objection
that the term “bridge” cannot define the abode of heaven, etc. as Brahman.
Śaṅkara’s first answer to this objection is that the word setu (“bridge”) comes
from the verbal root √SI, “to bind” and that here a bond is meant, which
means that the word “bridge” should be taken metaphorically as something
that binds or supports. Thus, Śaṅkara reused this interpretation of the word
setu according to which the word setu should not be connected with the first
part of MU 2.2.5, which speaks about the abode of heaven, but with the
second part, which speaks about reaching immortality. If we look at Śaṅkara’s commentary on MU 2.2.5, we find an interpretation which is actually
the same as the opinion attributed to “someone else” in BSBh 1.3.1: setu is
glossed with the word ātmajñāna (“knowledge of the Self”), as in the text36 The word “abode” (āyatana) from BS 1.3.1 does not appear in the Upaniṣad itself. The
word āyatana in the sūtra can be understood as a gloss on the indefinite pronoun yasmin (“on which”) in MU 2.2.5.
37 Translations of the quotations from MU are according to Hume (1965: 372).
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passage analyzed above, and the second pāda of MU 2.2.5 is understood as a
way to reach immortality. This means that Śaṅkara embedded this interpretation in his commentary on the MU. It cannot be the other way around,
because it is hard to believe that Śaṅkara would take his own interpretation
from his MUBh and then embed it in BSBh 1.3.1 as an opinion of someone
else. This might be an indication that the MUBh is later than the BSBh.
The first part of the text of BSBh 1.3.1 resembles the text designated as
belonging to an older source in the Ānandamayādhikaraṇa, because it is
structured in the same way as the first interpretation of ānandamaya: a) text
example, b) doubt, c) objection, d) settled conclusion and e) explanation of
the settled conclusion. Further evidence in support of the hypothesis that it
was taken from an older source is the fact that it does not share any typical
tenets of Śaṅkara’s philosophy and that Bhāskara followed this part of the
commentary almost verbatim. By contrast, after this beginning part, Bhāskara
said that others consider a bridge to represent the knowledge of the Self (indeed Śaṅkara did gloss setu as ātmajñāna in MUBh 2.2.5) and then criticized
this interpretation as unsuitable (ayukta). It should be noted that Bhāskara
abbreviated Śaṅkara’s second interpretation and that he omitted an important
part of this interpretation, namely the part which speaks about the abandonment of speech. Because of this I suppose that Bhāskara did not know the
source to the same extent as Śaṅkara did, and that he thus just shortened Śaṅkara’s reference and added his critique.
As in the case discussed in section 4.1, Bhāskara agreed with Śaṅkara in
the first interpretation but fought the second one. In both cases, Śaṅkara incorporated the second interpretation in his Upaniṣad commentary. The difference is that the second interpretation in the Ānandamayādhikaraṇa is
Śaṅkara’s own, whereas here it is, like the first interpretation, also taken from
somewhere else.
If we suppose that the first part of this interpretation, followed by Śaṅkara
and Bhāskara, was taken from an older source, to whom does the second
interpretation belong? It is possible that Śaṅkara had more than one source
available; he did not criticize this alternative interpretation in the BSBh and
followed it closely in the MUBh. This may suggest a source different from
the one he used in composing the first part of BSBh 1.3.1. It is also possible
that this text-passage was taken from a source other than the traditional
source Śaṅkara used in the interpretation of ānandamaya, since he ultimately
adopted it. The third possibility is that the view of “others” in BSBh 1.3.1
was already part of the old source Śaṅkara reused. Further, we may suggest
that Śaṅkara’s commentary on the MU is later than the BSBh, since Śaṅkara
Traces of Reuse in Śaṅkara’s Commentary on the Brahmasūtra
129
adopted and incorporated this second interpretation in his Upaniṣad commentary.
5 Conclusions and outlook for further research
The goal of this investigation was to throw some light on the history of early
Vedānta philosophy and its lost bhedābhedavāda period before Bhāskara. It
also aimed at identifying possible reasons of seeming ambiguities and imprecisions in Śaṅkara’s terminology. If it were possible to prove that these
contradictions and terminological imprecisions are the result of a complex
history leading to the BSBh being compiled also on the basis of earlier
sources, we would know more about the history of the Advaita doctrine.
But why did Śaṅkara embed this older material that is alien to his doctrine
in his works? I would speculatively say that it was a “must” for the young
Śaṅkara to embed traditional, well-respected source(s) into his text in order to
root his Advaita doctrine firmly in the Vedāntic tradition, while at the same
time introducing his monistic and illusionistic ideas. Elaborating upon this
conjecture may throw further light on the role of authoritative texts apart
from śruti and smṛti in early Vedānta.
Moreover, was this material only orally transmitted or did it belong to
written sources? The strict five-fold structure of the adhikaraṇas, which is
recognizable in the supposed older material, may suggest that we are dealing
with written texts. The presence of attestations of the same passage in different Sanskrit sources may also strengthen this hypothesis.
Possible candidates for the original composer of the passages reused by
Śaṅkara are the authors mentioned by later Vedāntins. Rāmānuja spoke of
Bodhāyana’s commentary and the commentaries of older teachers in ŚBh
1.1.1. In Vedārthasaṅgraha 130 he mentioned again the ancient commentators Bodhāyana, Ṭaṅka, Dramiḍa,38 Guhadeva, Kapardin and Bhāruci. The
Prapañcahṛdaya (Aklujkar 2010: 9f.) mentions the commentaries of Bodhāyana, Upavarṣa, Devasvāmin, Bhavadāsa and Śabara, before the ones by
Bhagavatpāda (Śaṅkara), Brahmadatta and Bhāskara.39 Yāmuna in the Siddhitraya (ST, p. 4, quoted in Nakamura 2004: 3f.) also mentioned earlier
38 Rāmānuja also quoted the commentary of Dramiḍa in ŚBh 2.1.14 and 2.2.3 as well as
in Vedārthasaṅgraha 173, 186, 195.
39 The Prapañcahṛdaya states that Devasvāmin and Bhavadāsa authored a commentary
on the MīmS together with the Saṃkarṣa-Kāṇḍa, although Śabara did not comment on
the latter. Śaṅkara, Brahmadatta and Bhāskara composed commentaries only on the
BS.
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teachers who wrote on Vedānta.40 From all this it is possible to infer that
older (possibly written) sources existed, although the question remains of
whether and to what extent they were available to Śaṅkara.
References
Abbreviations
Ānand.
BAUBh
BAUBhV
BS
BSBh
BSBh[Bh]
BSŚWC
ChU
Gov.
KauU
MīmS
MU
MUBh
NaiS
ŚBh
ST
TaittU
TaittUBh
Vācasp.
WOŚ
Ānandagiri
Bṛhadāraṇyaka-Upaniṣadbhāṣya (Śaṅkara)
Bṛhadāraṇyaka-Upaniṣadbhāṣyavārttika (Sureśvara)
Brahmasūtra
Brahmasūtrabhāṣya (Śaṅkara)
Śārīrakamīmāṃsābhāṣya (Bhāskara) in Kato 2011
see Shastri 1980
Chāndogya-Upaniṣad
Govindānanda
Kauṣītaki-Upaniṣad
Mīmāṃsā-Sūtra
Muṇḍaka-Upaniṣad
Muṇḍaka-Upaniṣadbhāṣya (Śaṅkara)
Naiṣkarmyasiddhi (Sureśvara)
Śrībhāṣya (Rāmānuja)
Siddhitraya (Yāmuna), in Aṇṇaṅgarācārya 1944
Taittirīya-Upaniṣad
Taittirīya-Upaniṣadbhāṣya (Śaṅkara)
Vācaspati Miśra
Brahmasūtra with Śāṅkarabhāṣya (Works of Śaṅkarācārya) in Śaṅkarācārya 1965
Primary sources
Aṇṇaṅgarācārya 1944
Kato 2011
Raghavachar 2002
Aṇṇaṅgarācārya, P. B., ed. Siddhitrayam. BhagavadYāmunamunibhir anugṛhītam. Madras: Liberty Press, 1944.
Kato, Takahiro. “The First Two Chapters of Bhāskara’s
Śārīrakamīmāṃsābhāṣya ‒– Critically Edited with an Introduction, Notes and an Appendix.” Diss. Martin-LutherUniversität, Halle-Wittenberg. 26 October 2016. <http://dnb. info/1031915001/34>
Raghavachar, S. S. Vedārthasaṅgraha of Śrī Rāmānujācārya. Kolkata: Advaita Ashrama, 2002.
40 These are Śrīvatsāṅka Miśra, who composed a commentary on the BS, Ṭaṅka, Bhartṛprapañca, Bhartṛmitra, Bhartṛhari, Śaṅkara, Brahmadatta, Śrīvatsāṅka and Bhāskara.
Traces of Reuse in Śaṅkara’s Commentary on the Brahmasūtra
Śaṅkarācārya 1965
Shastri 1980
Vedārthasaṅgraha
131
Śaṅkarācārya. Brahmasūtra with Śāṅkarabhāṣya, Works of
Śaṅkarācārya in Original Sanskrit. Vol. 3. Delhi: Motilal
Banarsidass, 1965 (reprint 2007).
Shastri, J. L., ed. Brahmasūtra-Śāṅkarabhāṣyam: With the
Commentaries Bhāṣyaratnaprabhā of Govindananda,
Bhāmatī of Vācaspati Miśra, Nyāyanirṇaya of Ānandagiri.
Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass (Reprint [2010] Delhi: Motilal
Banarsidass).
see Raghavachar 2002.
Secondary sources
Acharya 2006
Aklujkar 2010
Bronkhorst 2004
van Buitenen 1971
Deussen 1883
Frauwallner 1968
Hacker 1947
Hacker 1950
Acharya, Diwakar, ed. Vācaspatimiśra’s Tattvasamīkṣā:
The Earliest Commentary on Maṇḍanamiśra’s Brahmasiddhi. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 2006. Publications
of the Nepal Research Centre 25.
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Bronkhorst, Johannes. “More on the Sources of Kāśikā.”
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van Buitenen, J. A. B. Yāmuna’s Āgamaprāmāṇya or
Treatise on the Validity of Pāñcarātra. Madras: Ramanuja
Research Soc., 1971.
Paul Deussen. Das System des Vedānta. Leipzig: F. A.
Brockhaus, 1883.
Frauwallner, Erich: Materialen zur ältesten Erkenntnislehre der Karmamīmāṃsā. Graz etc.: Böhlau, 1968. Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften. Sitzungsberichte. Phil.-hist. Klasse 259.2. Veröffentlichungen der Kommission für Sprachen und Kulturen Süd- und Ostasiens 6.
Hacker, Paul. “Śaṅkarācārya and Śaṅkarabhagavatpāda.
Preliminary Remarks Concerning the Authorship Problem.” New Indian Antiquary 9 (1947): 175–186.
— “Eigentümlichkeiten der Lehre und Terminologie Śaṅkaras: Avidyā, Nāmarūpa, Māyā, Īśvara.” Zeitschrift der
Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft 100 (1950):
246–286. (Rpt. in Schmithausen 1978: 69–109.)
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Hacker 1951
Hacker 1953
Harimoto 2006
Hume 1965
Ingalls 1952
Ingalls 1954
Kanakura 1926
Maas 2013
Mesquita 1973
Nakamura 1983
Nakamura 2004
Ivan Andrijanić
— “Jayantabhaṭṭa und Vācaspatimiśra, ihre Zeit und ihre
Bedeutung für die Chronologie des Vedānta.” Beiträge zur
indischen Philologie und Altertumskunde. Walter Schubring zum 70. Geburtstag dargebracht von der deutschen
Indologie. Hamburg: Cram, de Gruyter, 1951. 160–169.
Alt- und Neu-Indische Studien 7. (Rpt. in Schmithausen
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Verlag der Akad. d. Wiss., 1953. Akad. d. Wissen. u. d.
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de Nobili, 2013. Publications of the De Nobili Research
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— A History of Early Vedānta Philosophy (Vol. II).
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Traces of Reuse in Śaṅkara’s Commentary on the Brahmasūtra
Oberhammer 1977
Olivelle 1998
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Sharma 1999
Thibaut 1890
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Oberhammer, Gerhard. “An Unknown Source in Śaṅkara’s Refutation of the Pāñcarātra.” Annals of the Bhandarkar Oriental Research Institute 58–59 (Diamond
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17.
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George Thibaut, trans. Vedânta-sûtras with the Commentary by Saṅkarâkârya. Part I and II. Oxford: Clarendon
Press, 1890. Sacred Books of the East 34 and 38.
On Parallel Passages in the Nyāya Commentaries of
Vācaspati Miśra and Bhaṭṭa Vāgīśvara*
Yasutaka Muroya
Vācaspati Miśra I (ca. 10th c.) is a well-known Indian philosopher1 and his
Nyāyavārttikatātparyaṭīkā (NVTṬ) is one of the best known sub-commentaries on the Nyāyasūtra (NS). One aspect of Vācaspati’s work that has not
received much scholarly attention up to now is its relationship to Bhaṭṭa Vāgīśvara’s direct commentary on the NS called Nyāyasūtratātparyadīpikā
(NTD). The work is, as Karin Preisendanz formulates, “the only completely
preserved direct commentary on the Nyāyasūtra between the Nyāyabhāṣya
and the fifteenth-century Nyāyatattvāloka.”2 Nonetheless it has in general not
received the scholarly attention it deserves.3 This may result from the fact
*
1
2
3
Work on this chapter was supported by the the German Research Foundation (DFG) in
the context of a research project (FR 2531/4-1 “Logic, Dialectics and Epistemology of
the Nyāya Tradition”) at the University of Leipzig, and by the Austrian Science Fund
(FWF) in the context of a research project (P27863 “Fragments of Indian Philosophy”)
at the Austrian Academy of Sciences. A part of this chapter is a revised version of Muroya 2013 (in Japanese). I am much indebted to the late Muni Shree Jambuvijayajī as
well as to the following institutions: Jaisalmer Lodravapur Parsvanath Jain Svetambara
Trust (Jaisalmer), Government Oriental Manuscripts Library (Chennai), Oriental Research Institute & Manuscripts Library (Thiruvananthapuram), and Government Sanskrit College (Tripunithura, Ernakulam) for permitting access to their manuscript materials. Moreover, I would like to express my gratitude to Professor Karin Preisendanz
for reading an earlier draft and to her FWF Project (P24388 “Metaphysics and Epistemology of the Nyāya Tradition III”) for permitting me to utilize copies of relevant manuscripts. My sincere thanks are also due to Dr. Elisa Freschi and Dr. Philipp A. Maas
for their detailed comments and valuable criticism.
For an overview of the assessment of Vācaspati’s commentarial activity by scholars
such as Erich Frauwallner (1898–1974), Otto Strauss (1881–1940) and Helmuth von
Glasenapp (1891–1963), see Preisendanz 2008: 604–606. For a detailed philological
survey of the chronological and philosophical relationship of Vācaspati’s commentaries to other works, see Acharya 2006: xviii–xxx, xlv–lxvii.
Preisendanz 2005: 62.
However, for a philological examination of the sūtras from the first daily lesson (āhnika) of the third chapter (adhyāya) of the NS as transmitted in the NTD, see Preisendanz
1994 (in a number of notes; see, e.g., 254, n. 52 and 558, n. 184 on the textual problem
136
Yasutaka Muroya
that the NTD contains many passages that are similar to, or parallel with, passages found in Vācaspati’s work. This textual agreement has been interpreted
as a sign for the strong indebtedness of the NTD to the NVTṬ. However, a
closer look at the relevant passages shows that the assumption of Vācaspati’s
antecedence must be questioned. The textual evidence on which this supposition is based requires historical and philological analyses from a wider perspective. The present chapter takes a step in this direction and examines the
historical and intellectual relationship between Vācaspati and Vāgīśvara by
drawing upon parallel passages in their two commentaries.
1 Bhaṭṭa Vāgīśvara’s Nyāyasūtratātparyadīpikā
Vāgīśvara’s commentary was edited by Kishore Nath Jha and published in
Allahabad in 1979 under the title of Nyāyatātparyadīpikā. In his editorial
notes, the learned pandit and scholar from Mithila surveyed Vāgīśvara’s alleged textual sources. He presented a number of parallel and thematically
related passages found in other Nyāya works such as Vātsyāyana’s Nyāyabhāṣya (NBh), Uddyotakara’s Nyāyavārttika (NV) and Vācaspati’s NVTṬ.
Anantalal Thakur, who had procured a copy of the manuscript from Chennai that served as the basis of the edition, provided a detailed introduction
(prastāvanā) to the edition, in which he correctly called the work Nyāyasūtratātparyadīpikā in correspondence to the information attested in the colophons. Thakur made some assertions that received wide acceptance in subsequent scholarly literature. In accordance with Jha, Thakur said that Vāgīśvara
aimed at providing a summary of the main points (sārasaṃgraha) of the
three quasi-canonical commentaries of the NS (nyāyamūlagranthatritaya).4
He also proposed dating Vāgīśvara after Vācaspati, because he thought that
the NTD reused passages from the NVTṬ and earlier commentaries. He then
placed Vāgīśvara before Udayana, because Vāgīśvara appears to be unfami-
4
of the edition of the NTD). Krishna (1997: 110–143) discussed the unique transmission
of the NS that the NTD presents.
NTD, prastāvanā (by Thakur), p. (ṭa), under (7): iyaṃ tāvad vṛttir atisaṃkṣiptā na vicārabahulā; nyāyabhāṣyasya, nyāyavārttikasya nyāyavārttikatātparyaṭīkāyāś ca mitena vacasā sārasaṃgraha evāsyāḥ kṛtyam (“In the first place, this commentary is extremely succinct and not rich in examination; the objective of this [commentary] is
nothing but the summary of the main points of the Nyāyabhāṣya, Nyāyavārttika and
Nyāyavārttikatātparyaṭīkā by means of brief statements.”). For the same assessment
emphasizing the usefulness of the NTD, see the brief introduction of Jha to his edition:
prāstāvikaṃ kiñcit, p. (kha).
Nyāya Commentaries of Vācaspati Miśra and Bhaṭṭa Vāgīśvara
137
liar with Udayana’s commentary.5 Moreover, Thakur highlighted a common
feature that the NTD shares with Bhaṭṭa Jayanta’s (ca. 9th c.) Nyāyamañjarī
(NM). Namely, both works refer to Śiva’s praise of Akṣapāda, the legendary
author of the NS.6
5
6
NTD, prastāvanā (by Thakur), p. (ṭa), under (7): bahutra śabdaikyam api tair mūlagranthair atrāvalokyate […] tātparyaṭīkāntasya nyāyamūlagranthatritayasya vyavahāro ’tra bhūyasā dṛśyate. nātra nyāyanibandhasya na vā tatkartur ācāryasyodayanasya
parāmarśo ’py atrāyāti. etavatā[!] udayanād api prāgbhavatvam asya granthakārasyety ābhāti. (“Literal agreement with these basic works is also observed in many places
here [in the NTD] […]. The verbal usage of the triplet of the basic Nyāya works [from
the Bhāṣya] up to the Tātparyaṭīkā is abundantly seen here [in the NTD]. But the Nyāyanibandha (= Udayana’s Pariśuddhi) and its author, the teacher Udayana, are not referred to here [in the NTD]. Accordingly, it appears that this author of the work (=
Vāgīśvara) predates even Udayana.”) Some scholars regard Vāgīśvara’s dates as unsettled. For instance, G. C. Tripathi states in the foreword of the edition of the NTD that
regarding Vāgīśvara, “very little, if anything, is known except that he appears to be a
Southerner.” Cf. also EIPh I/879: no. DU806, where the NTD is registered under the
“Authors of Unknown Dates” (Part Two) without explanation. I could not verify the alleged existence of another edition of the NTD mentioned as “Allahabad 1976” under
“DU806.1.1.”
See NTD, prastāvanā, p. (ḍa): antimaśloke akṣapādaṃ prati śrīśaṅkarakṛtaḥ sādhuvādaḥ samuddiṣṭaḥ. kavitārkikeṇa bhaṭṭajayantenāpi – jayanti purajiddattasādhuvādapavitritāḥ | nidānaṃ nyāyaratnānām akṣapādamuner giraḥ || ity anena ślokena sa eva
viṣayaḥ samudghoṣitaḥ (“In the final stanza, it is mentioned that Śiva exclaimed ‘excellent’ to Akṣapāda. The same content is proclaimed by the poet-logician Bhaṭṭa
Jayanta, too, in the stanza ‘Victorious are the words of the sage Akṣapāda that have
been purified by the exclamation “excellent” made by the Conqueror of Fortresses (Śiva), [and which are] the essence of the jewels of Nyāya.’”). For the verse in the NM,
see NM I 2,5–6 = Kataoka 2007: 187,2–3 (reading nidhānaṃ ‘treasury’ instead of nidānaṃ ‘cause, original form, essence’; see Kataoka 2008: 81, n. 10 on his selection);
for Kataoka’s Japanese translation, see Kataoka 2008: 69. On the last verse (in Mālinī
metre) in the NTD, see NTD 158,14–17 (indicating a lacuna marked with brackets
“[…]”): iti jagati janānām īśasāyujyabhājām anupajanita [...] bhāṣaṇeṣu | paśupatir
api yasmai sasmitaḥ sādhu sādhv ity avadad avatu so ’smān akṣapādo munīndraḥ ||;
this lacuna is indicated in the modern transcript (dated 1920–1921) that served as the
basis of the edition, i.e., NTD (M), p. 197,12, with a series of three dots highlighting
physical damage to the exemplar. See also Thakur’s conjectural reconstruction filling
in the lacuna with five akṣaras (p. [ḍa]: anupajanita[dākṣyaṃ ditsate]); for an English
translation and explanation of Thakur’s version, see Preisendanz 2005: 62–63, and n.
26: “May Akṣapāda, the Indra of sages, protect us, [he] to whom the Lord of Animals
for his part smilingly said ‘Excellent, excellent!’ (when the former formed the wish to
endow) those persons in the world who partake of intimate union with God (with dexterity) in speech which had not yet arisen [in them], …” Round brackets indicate the
translation of the Sanskrit passage that Thakur reconstructed. Another modern transcript in a modern book format of the NTD (NTD [E]) kept at the Government Sanskrit
College (Tripunithura, Ernakulam) transmits a complete version of the b-pāda as fol-
138
Yasutaka Muroya
2 Parallel passages in the Nyāyasūtratātparyadīpikā, the Nyāyabhāṣya
and the Nyāyavārttika
Vāgīśvara did not mark any passages that he quoted from the NBh and the
NV, as for example by using the particle iti. Rather, he embedded these passages in – and freely adapted them to – the main text of his commentary, as
was relatively common in dealing with works of one’s own school (see Freschi 2015). Nonetheless, Vāgīśvara clearly stated how he drew upon the NBh
and the NV in a passage directly after the benedictory verse. There, he said:
I shall compose this “illumination of the meaning and intention of the
Nyāyasūtra” after having examined the Bhāṣya word by word and also
followed the Vārttika (NTD 1,7–8 [Anuṣṭubh]: anvīkṣyānupadaṃ
bhāṣyam apy anukramya vārttikam | nyāyasūtrārthatātparyadīpikeyaṃ vidhāsyate ||).7
This explicit statement clearly shows that the author studied the NBh and NV
carefully and that these works served as the basis for his independent
commentary. For the following discussion in this chapter, it is worth noting
that Vāgīśvara neither mentioned Vācaspati nor any of his works.
3 Parallel passages in the Nyāyasūtratātparyadīpikā and the
Nyāyavārttikatātpāryaṭīkā
Parallel passages in the NTD and the NVTṬ are not marked by the respective
authors as quotations. In itself this absence of marking would not rule out the
possibility that one author borrowed from the work of the other. There are in
principle three explanations for textual agreements and similarities between
the NTD and the NVTṬ. Either Vāgīśvara reused the NVTṬ, or Vācaspati
referred to the NTD, or both works drew upon a common source. Jha and
Thakur chose the first hypothesis. The following part of this chapter is devoted to critically examining their assessment.
7
lows: anupajanitakaṭākṣaṃ mārggam ābhāṣaṇeṣu (unmetrical); cf. NTD (E), unknown
page number, lines 7–8. However, the upper part of the text at question in the common
exemplar of both transcripts, NTD (T) f. 92r,7, is physically lost, and the remaining
lines can confirm the presence of mārggam ā-, preceded by two lost akṣaras, but not
that of kaṭākṣaṃ ‘a glance or side look’ (Monier-Williams 1899: 243c, s.v. kaṭa).
Cf. Preisendanz 2005: 62.
Nyāya Commentaries of Vācaspati Miśra and Bhaṭṭa Vāgīśvara
139
3.1 Vāgīśvara and Vācaspati on Nyāyasūtra 1.1.1
The table below shows an example of a parallel between the NVTṬ and NTD
taken from the commentary on the first sūtra of the NS, which presents the
sixteen categories or cardinal topics (padārtha) as well as the goal of Nyāya.8
Table 1: Vāgīśvara and Vācaspati on Nyāyasūtra 1.1.19
NTD 1,13–17
tattvaṃ (1)jñāyate ’neneti (2)tattvajñānaṃ śāstram. tasmāt (3)pramāṇādipadārthatattvāvagamāvāntaravyāpārān niḥśreyasasyādhigamaḥ prāptir bhavatīti (4)śāstraniḥśreyasayor hetuhetumadbhāvapratipādanārthaṃ (4´)sūtram. evaṃ ca
sati (5)pramāṇādipadārthaśāstrayor jñāpyajñāpakabhāvaḥ pramāṇādipadārthatattvajñānayoḥ kāryakāraṇabhāvalakṣaṇaś ca sambandhaḥ sūcito bhavati, (6)viṣaghnamantravat svarūpeṇāvivakṣitārthasya śāstrasya niḥśreyasahetutvānabhyupagamāt.10
8
NVTṬ 2,23–3,8
abhimataḥ sambandho ’bhisambandhaḥ, (4)śāstraniḥśreyasayor hetuhetumadbhāvaḥ. “tasya” [= NV 1,9]
idaṃ (4´)sūtravākyam abhisambandhavākyam. [NV = 1,9–10]. “pramāṇādipadārthatattvajñānāt” [=NV
1,9] iti. atra hi (1)jñāyate ’neneti jñānam iti vyutpattyā (2)*śāstram ucyate, pañcamyā ca tasya hetutvam.
(6)na hi viṣaghnamantravat svarūpamātreṇa tad avivakṣitārthaṃ niḥśreyasahetur iti padārthatattvāvagamakaraṇatayā śāstram apadiśati, *na
svarūpeṇa. tena śāstrasya niḥśreyase
kartavye (3)pramāṇāditattvāvagamo
NS 1.1.1: pramāṇaprameyasaṃśayaprayojanadṛṣṭāntasiddhāntāvayavatarkanirṇayavādajalpavitaṇḍāhetvābhāsacchalajātinigrahasthānānāṃ tattvajñānān niḥśreyasādhigamaḥ.
9 Underlined text headed by an Arabic numeral is parallel in the NTD and NVTṬ, whereas underlined text headed by a letter of the Roman alphabet is related to other textual
sources that will be mentioned below separately.
10 Translation: “The knowledge of the true nature [mentioned in the sūtra] is the doctrinal
edifice insofar as the true nature is known by it. The acquisition, namely, the attainment of the highest good, arises from this [doctrinal edifice] (tasmāt), which has as
[its] intermediate operation the understanding of the true nature of the categories beginning with the means of valid cognition. Hence, the sūtra has the purpose of making understood (pratipādana) the relationship of cause and its possessor (hetuhetumadbhāva)
between the doctrinal edifice and the highest good. And such being the case, the relationship of that which is made known and that which makes known (jñāpyajñāpakabhāva) between the categories beginning with the means of valid cognition and the
doctrinal edifice, as well as the relation (sambandha) characterized by the relationship
of cause and effect (kāryakāraṇabhāva) between the categories beginning with the
means of valid cognition and the knowledge of their true nature, is indicated [by this
sūtra], because it is not accepted that the doctrinal edifice, without the intended mean-
140
Yasutaka Muroya
’vāntaravyāpāra ity uktaṃ bhavati.
tathā ca (A)pramāṇādipadārthatattvaṃ pratipādyaṃ pratipādakaṃ ca
śāstram iti (5)śāstrapramāṇādipadārthatattvayor jñāpyajñāpakabhāvaś
ca pramāṇādipadārthatattvajñānaniḥśreyasayoḥ kāryakāraṇabhāvalakṣaṇaś ca sambandhaḥ sūcito bhavati.11
In the two passages cited above, the degree of textual agreement cannot be
explained as being mere coincidence. Jha, the editor of the NTD, remarks,
accordingly, that the NVTṬ is the source (upajīvya) of the NTD.12
ing [being understood by those who study it (cf. NVTP 8,19-9,2 and ŚṬ 4,1-3:
śiṣyasambaddhavyāpāravattā)], becomes the cause of the highest good through its own
nature/form, like an antidotal mantra [which becomes the cause of the cure for poison
through its own nature/form].”
11 v.l.: śāstram] J2; tattvajñānaṃ śāstram ed. – na] J2; na tu ed. (the oldest dated manuscript of the NVTṬ, J1, of which the quite faithful copy, J2, was utilized by Thakur, is
not available for this passage). For an English translation, see Perry 1995: 255–256,
who appears to read *tadvivakṣitārthaṃ for tad avivakṣitārthaṃ against the edition:
“By ‘right relation’ is meant ‘the intended relation’: the śāstra and the highest good
stand in the relationship of cause and effect. ‘Of this’ <śāstra> this statement of the
sūtra is the ‘statement of the right-relation.’ For in this statement, ‘from the knowledge
of the true-nature of the categories of the means of knowledge etc.,’ knowledge of the
true-nature means the ‘śāstra’, according to the etymological analysis, ‘knowledge’ is
‘that through which <something> is known’. And because of <the use of> the fifth
case affix, this <śāstra> is the cause. For the intended meaning of this <statement> is
not that it is the cause of the highest good by virtue of its mere intrinsic nature, as is the
case with spells that counteract <the effects of> poison; hence he teaches that the
śāstra <is the cause of the highest good> in that it is the instrumental cause for understanding the true-nature <of the categories of the means of knowledge etc.>, but not by
its intrinsic nature. Therefore, what is meant is: as the highest good is to be produced
by the śāstra, the understanding of the true-nature <of the categories> of the means of
knowledge etc. is an intermediate operation. Moreover, the true-nature of the categories of the means of knowledge etc. is what is to be taught, while the śāstra is that
which teaches them; hence, he indicates both that the śāstra and the true-nature of the
categories of the means of knowledge etc. stand in the relation of ‘what makes known’
and ‘what is to be made known’, and that the relationship between the knowledge of
the true-nature of the categories of the means of knowledge etc. and the highest good is
that of cause and effect.”
12 NTD, pariśiṣṭam (1) “ālocanātmikā ṭippaṇī” on NS 1.1.1.
Nyāya Commentaries of Vācaspati Miśra and Bhaṭṭa Vāgīśvara
141
The two text passages deal with the first sūtra of the NS in different ways
and from different perspectives. Vāgīśvara analyzes the connection of the
categories (padārtha) within the larger perspective of the role of śāstra
(“doctrinal edifice”). By contrast, Vācaspati focuses on commenting upon the
word abhisambandhavākya (“statement that demonstrates an intended relationship”), a term introduced by his predecessor Uddyotakara. At the same
time, he clarifies the internal coherence of the central concepts of the first
sūtra.13
The two underlined text-passages no. 5 deal with two kinds of relationships, namely, (1.) the relationship between that which is made known and
that which makes known (jñāpyajñāpakabhāva), and (2.) the relationship
between effect and cause (kāryakāraṇabhāva). The NTD assigns the former
relationship to the categories and the doctrinal edifice (śāstra). In contrast,
the NVTṬ states that the same relationship exists between the true nature of
the categories (padārthatattva) and the doctrinal edifice (śāstra). Vāgīśvara
assigns the second type of relationship to the categories and the knowledge of
the true nature (tattvajñāna), whereas Vācaspati holds that this relationship
exists between the knowledge of the true nature and the highest good (niḥśreyasa).
The text passage (A), which is only found in the NVTṬ, contains an additional designation of the relationship, i.e., pratipādyapratipādakabhāva. This
relationship links the true nature of the categories with the doctrinal edifice.
The same relationship is described by Vācaspati as the epistemic causal relationship (jñāpyajñāpakabhāva). The reason why Vācaspati added a further
designation for the same relationship is unclear.
In short, Vāgīśvara regards the categories (padārtha) as the object to be
made known (jñāpya) by the doctrinal edifice (śāstra). Vācaspati is more
elaborate and illustrates the twofold classification according to which the true
nature (tattva) of the categories, not the mere categories (as implied by Vāgīśvara), is the object to be made known (jñāpya) or to be made understood
(pratipādya). Does this difference reflect a philosophical disagreement? Was
Vāgīśvara aware of Vācaspati’s formulations? Did he reuse them in an intentionally modified manner?
13 For Uddyotakara’s usage of abhisambandhavākya, to which Vācaspati refers, see NV
1,9–10: pramāṇādipadārthatattvajñānān niḥśreyasādhigama ity etac chāstrādisūtraṃ
tasyābhisambandhavākyam.
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3.1.1 Udayana’s theory of categories
To answer these questions,14 it is relevant to take Udayana’s refined classification of the aforementioned elements into account. Udayana agrees with
Vāgīśvara in that the doctrinal edifice (śāstra) makes the categories understood (Udayana) or known (Vāgīśvara). However, Udayana defines the relationship between the categories and the doctrinal edifice as pratipādyapratipādakabhāva (the relationship between that which is understood and that
which causes understanding; see underline A), the same term that Vācaspati
uses.15 In the case of the relationship kāryakāraṇabhāva (the relationship of
effect and cause) Udayana agrees with Vācaspati in that he applies this relation to the knowledge of the true nature of categories and the highest good.16
Accordingly, Udayana in one case shares a position with Vāgīśvara, and in
the second case agrees with Vācaspati. It is therefore possible that Udayana
was acquainted with the interpretation as presented by Vāgīśvara in the NTD,
although it is possible that he developed the same idea independently.17
14 Udayana developed an exegetical theory about the role of śāstra and its relation to the
other key terms that are listed in the first sūtra, namely (a) śāstra (as vyāpārin or
vyāpāravant-), (b) padārthatattvajñāna or -tattvāvagama (as śāstra’s vyāpāra), (c)
pramāṇādipadārtha (as its viṣaya) and (d) niḥśreyasa (as its phala). In NVTP 9,7–13,
these elements are presented as being subject to the following five relationships: (1)
kāryakāraṇabhāva (between [a]–[b]), (2) pratipādyapratipādakabhāva (between [a]–
[c]), (3) viṣayaviṣayībhāva (between [c]–[b]), (4) kāryakāraṇabhāva (between [b]–[d])
and (5) hetuhetumadbhāva (between [c]–[d]). The first and fourth relationship seem to
be identical, but as glossed in the so-called Śrīkaṇṭhaṭippaṇaka ascribed to Śrīkaṇṭha,
the pairing elements are different; on the second relationship in NVTP 9,7–9 (for the
text, see n. 16), cf. ŚṬ 4,15: vyāpāravyāpāriṇor iti. tattvajñānaṃ vyāpāraḥ, śāstraṃ
vyāpāri. For the terms used for the fivefold classification, see NVTP 9,14 (pañcasu
vaktavyeṣu) and ŚṬ 4,23 (udayanoktasambandhapañcakamadhyāt).
15 On the equivalence of pratipādyapratipādakabhāva and jñāpyajñāpakabhāva, see ŚṬ
2,24: dvitīyo ’yaṃ jñāpyajñāpakabhāvaḥ pratipādyapratipādakabhāvāparanāmnā.
16 For Udayana’s gloss on NVTṬ 3,4–5 (tena śāstrasya niḥśreyase kartavye), see NVTP
9,7–9: evaṃ ca sati śāstrasya niḥśreyase kartavye padārthatattvajñānasya niruktibalena vyāpāratve darśite vyāpāravyāpāriṇoḥ kāryakāraṇabhāvaḥ. Translation by Perry
1995: 430–431: “And if this is the case, ‘as the highest good is to be produced by the
śāstra,’ since the knowledge of the true-nature of the categories has been shown to be
the operation by dint of its etymology, the relationship of cause and effect holds between what embodies the operation (vyāpārin; YM) and the operation.”
17 An indirect piece of evidence for Udayana’s acquaintance with Vāgīśvara could be
derived from a study of the readings of the NS mentioned by Udayana. On the textual
tradition of the NS adopted by Vāgīśvara and other commentators as known to
Udayana, see Preisendanz 1994: 181, n. 13.
Nyāya Commentaries of Vācaspati Miśra and Bhaṭṭa Vāgīśvara
143
3.2 Vāgīśvara and Vācaspati on Nyāyasūtra *5.2.15(16)
A comparison of the NTD on NS 5.2.15(16)18 with Vācaspati’s commentary
on the same sūtra provides additional elements for examining the issue of
reuse.19
Table 2: NTD and NVTṬ ad NS *5.2.15 (ed. 5.2.16)
NTD 156,20–26
(1)prativādinā na tāvat sarvaṃ dūṣaṇīyam, anyatamāvayavadūṣaṇenaiva sādhanasya dūṣitatvena doṣāntarābhidhānavaiyarthyāt. na
khalu mṛto mṛtyunā punaḥ(1) śakyo
mārayitum, evaṃ dūṣitam api na
śakyaṃ dūṣayitum. (2)tasmād anyatamasya (2)dūṣaṇasya pariṣadā vijñātasya vādinā trir abhihitasya
tacchabdena śabdāntareṇa vā yad
apratyuccāraṇaṃ *tad ananubhāṣaṇaṃ nigrahasthānam, anyathā
(A)*dūṣaṇasyāśrayasyānirdeśena
NVTṬ 692,9–19
syād etat – (1)*prativādinā na tāvat
sarvaṃ dūṣaṇīyam, anyatamāvayavadūṣaṇenaiva sādhanasya dūṣitatvena doṣāntarābhidhānasya vaiyarthyāt. na khalu mṛto mṛtyunā rakṣitaḥ (1)*śakyo mārayitum, evaṃ
dūṣitam api *na śakyaṃ dūṣayitum.
(2)tasmāt saty api *dūṣaṇabāhulye
(2)’nyatamaṃ (2)dūṣaṇīyam. tathā ca
(B´)sarvānubhāṣaṇe sarvasyādūṣyatvād (C)yad dūṣaṇīyaṃ tat punar
anūdyam iti (3)(B)sarvānuvāde dviranuvādo ’dūṣyānuvādaś ceti *ni-
18 The sūtra is numbered as NS 5.2.16 according to Thakur’s and Jha’s edition of the
NVTṬ and NTD, respectively. However, Vāgīśvara regarded the two sūtras (NS
5.2.14–15) devoted to the definition of punarukta (“repetitive statement”) as a single
sūtra. Therefore, I have tentatively renumbered the sūtra at issue as NS 5.2.15 with an
asterisk. This position of Vāgīśvara’s is not apparent in the edition of the NTD,
because at the beginning of the commentary on NS 5.2.14–15 the editor filled an
alleged lacuna with the text “[tad anena sūtradvayena] punaruktam,” using square
brackets. The editor took the additional text from the NVTṬ. However, the Trivandrum
manuscript (NTD [T]), as well as its modern transcript utilized for the edition (NTD
[M]), does not have any lacuna at all. They read instead tad evārthapunaruktam; cf.
NTD 156,12 = NTD (T), f. 90v,8 and NTD (M), p. 94,17 (tadevā rtha; the blank space
as it appears). Vācaspati, in contrast to Vāgīśvara, explicitly refers to two sūtras; cf.
NVTṬ 691,1: tad anena sūtradvayena punaruktam ekam eva nigrahasthānam. This
may indicate that he wanted to rectify the view that there was only a single sūtra. In the
NTD, the alleged two sūtras are adduced in immediate sequence; cf. NTD 156,10–11,
where the given numbers, 5.1.14 and 5.1.15, in the edition must be corrected to 5.2.14
and 5.2.15. Vāgīśvara’s commentary on this unified sūtra is concluded with the expression iti sūtrārthaḥ (NTD 156,17), an expression that shows that he dealt with a
single sūtra. For Vāgīśvara’s marking system, cf., e.g., NTD 64,10 (iti sūtradvitayārthaḥ for NS 2.2.54–55) and 55,26–27 (iti sūtratritayārthaḥ for NS 2.2.18–20).
19 This passage was not taken into account by Jha.
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Yasutaka Muroya
“*kasyāvayavasyedaṃ dūṣaṇam” iti
saṃśayaprasaṅgāt. na ca (3)(B)sarvānuvādo ’bhimataḥ, (3)(B)tathā saty
adūṣyānuvādadviranuvādādidoṣaprasaṅgād iti sūtrārthaḥ.20
grahasthānadvayam. (D)tasmād
anubhāṣaṇam eva nigrahasthānam
iti viparītam āpatitam iti. ata āha –
“apratijñānāc ca” [NV 527,10]
iti.21
The two passages cited above deal with the concept of ananubhāṣaṇa (“incapability of repeating a debater’s proof”) as one of the “points of defeat”
20 v.l.: tad] M, T; na tad ed. – dūṣaṇasyāśraya-] M, T; dūṣaṇāśraya ed. – kasyāvayava-]
em.; tasyāvayava ed., M, T. Translation: “First, the contestant does not have to refute
all [constituents of the disputant’s proof], because it is pointless to mention additional
faults, inasmuch as the [disputant’s] proof was already refuted solely by means of the
refutation of just one of the constituents [of the logical formula]. As you should know,
someone who died cannot be killed again by Death, and likewise, anything that has already been refuted cannot be refuted any further. Therefore, the incapability of repeating – by using the disputant’s words or different expressions – one of the refutations
that has been comprehended by the assembly and asserted thrice by the disputant, is the
ananubhāṣaṇa, a point of defeat. [It is so,] because it would otherwise be unclear
which (kasya) constituent [of the disputant’s proof] is refuted, because the basis of the
refutation is not indicated. Furthermore, the repetition of all [of the disputant’s proof]
is not intended [in the definition of ananubhāṣaṇa], because there would otherwise occur, as undesirable consequences, such faults as the repetition of what is not to be disproved, a redundant repetition and so on. This is the meaning of the sūtra.” My above
emendation kasya for tasya is based on the assumption that Vāgīśvara alludes here to
Vātsyāyana’s formulation apratyuccārayan kimāśrayaṃ parapakṣapratiṣedhaṃ brūyāt
(“On which basis would the person who does not repeat [the disputant’s proof] state
the rejection of the other’s [i.e., the disputant’s] thesis?”); cf. NBh 217,1–2 ≈ VN 52,9–
10. I am obliged to Professor Kei Kataoka for discussing this problematic text portion.
21 v.l.: prativādinā na] J1; na prativādinā ed. – śakyo mārayitum] J1; mārayituṃ śakyaḥ
ed. – na śakyam] J1; om. ed. – dūṣaṇa-] J1; dūṣya ed. – nigrahasthāna-] J1; dūṣakanigrahasthāna ed. Translation: “There would be the following [objection]: First, the contestant does not have to refute all [constituents of the disputant’s proof], because it is
pointless to mention additional faults, inasmuch as the [disputant’s] proof was already
refuted solely by means of the refutation of just one of the constituents [of the logical
formula]. As you should know, someone who died cannot be killed [again] while ruled
by Death, and likewise, anything that has already been disproved cannot be disproved
any further. Therefore, even though many refutations may be possible, only one constituent needs to be refuted. And likewise, if one repeats all [of the disputant’s proof at
the beginning], while not all has to be refuted, what actually should be refuted needs to
be repeated again [later at the time of its refutation]. Thus, when repeating everything,
there are two points of defeat, namely, the redundant repetition and the repetition of
something not to be refuted. Therefore, the paradoxical consequence arises that the
very repetition is already a point of defeat. Therefore [Uddyotakara] says, ‘And because it is not [our] assertion.’”
Nyāya Commentaries of Vācaspati Miśra and Bhaṭṭa Vāgīśvara
145
(nigrahasthāna).22 Vāgīśvara’s text covers the entire part of his commentary
containing the definition of ananubhāṣaṇa. By contrast, the passage in Vācaspati’s work is found in the midst of the commentary on Uddyotakara’s
NV. In fact, the last words marked in the above quotation, apratijñānāc ca,
are a so-called pratīka that introduces Uddyotakara’s statement. The passages
underlined from (1) to (3) are found in both the NTD and the NVTṬ.
The parallel passage of the NVTṬ and the NTD is headed in Vācaspati’s
work by the expression syād etad “there could be the following [view].” In
general, this formulation introduces a different opinion or an objection. Thus,
the introductory words syād etad apparently indicate that Vācaspati knew
Vāgīśvara’s interpretation of ananubhāṣaṇa, to which, however, he did not
subscribe. An alternative scenario, according to which Vāgīśvara, intentionally and without further justification, adopted the very position that Vācaspati
criticized, is highly unlikely.
3.2.1 Dharmakīrti’s discussion of ananubhāṣaṇa
The content of the shared text passages in the NTD and NVTṬ as presented
in Table 2 above can be outlined in the following way. The underlined passage (1) deals with the topic of the partial disproof of a disputant’s argument.
In order to be successful, a contestant only needs to disprove a single component (anyatamāvayava) of the syllogism, and not the other components. This
is summarized in the passage with underlining (2) as well as in the surrounding text. The passage with underlining (3) illustrates the two kinds of faults
(doṣa) that occur when a contestant must repeat the whole proof of the disputant.
It is possible to hypothetically identify some sources for the passages with
underlining (A) and (3/B) in Vāgīśvara’s work. Most probably, Vāgīśvara alludes here to Uddyotakara’s apologetic theory of ananubhāṣaṇa as a nigrahasthāna and to Dharmakīrti’s (ca. 7th c.) criticism of this view. This guess is
supported by the fact that Dharmakīrti’s Vādanyāya (VN) literally quotes a
number of passages from the NBh and the NV in order to criticize the
definitions of nigrahasthānas presented in the fifth book of the NS.
In the following passage, Uddyotakara argues in defense of ananubhāṣaṇa as a nigrahasthāna against anonymous opponents (kecit), who were
possibly Buddhists and whom Vācaspati referred to with the title bhadanta.23
22 For a general explanation of the concept of ananubhāṣaṇa, see, e.g., Solomon 1976:
236–238.
23 For Uddyotakara’s anonymous opponents, cf. NV 527,4: na, uttareṇāvasthānān nedaṃ
nigrahasthānam iti kecit ≈ VN 52,11 (uttareṇāvasānān nedaṃ nigrahasthānam iti cet).
For Vācaspati’s identification of the opponent as bhadanta (“Buddhist mendicant”), cf.
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Yasutaka Muroya
Table 3: The NV and the VN on the topic of ananubhāṣaṇa
NV 527,10–11
apratijñānāc ca: nedaṃ pratijñāyate – pūrvam uccārayitavyaṃ paścād uttaram abhidheyam, api tu yathākathaṃcid uttaraṃ vaktavyam.
uttaraṃ (A´)cāśrayābhāve na yuktam iti.24
VN 53,1–3
apratijñānāc ca: nedaṃ pratijñāyate
– pūrvaṃ sarvam uccārayitavyaṃ
paścād uttaram abhidhātavyam iti,
api tu yathākathaṃcid uttaraṃ vaktavyam. uttaraṃ (A´)cāśrayābhāve
’yuktam iti.
Vāgīśvara adaptively reused the last part of Uddyotakara’s explanation, i.e.,
āśrayābhāve, with the expression dūṣaṇasyāśrayasyānirdeśena that is
marked with underlining (A) in Table 2. In this part, Uddyotakara stated that
a rejoinder is not correct if its target is not indicated (uttaraṃ cāśrayābhāve
na yuktam). In order to provide a valid rejoinder, the disputant’s proof has to
be repeated. Therefore, the inability to repeat it is a point of defeat (nigrahasthāna).25 Supporting Uddyotakara, Vāgīśvara argued that the failure to repeat the disputant’s proof leads to the undesirable consequence that the disputant and the assembly are left in doubt as to which part of the syllogism is
actually the target of the contestant’s refutation.
Dharmakīrti, in his turn, refuted Uddyotakara’s defense of the Nyāya definition, by using Uddyotakara’s formulation with the additional determination
sarvam in pūrvaṃ sarvam uccārayitavyam (“the proof of the disputant should
be articulated completely in advance”), as underlined in the above quotation.
As is shown below with underlining (B´´), Dharmakīrti further specified his
interpretation of the Nyāya definition with the word sakṛt (“in one go”).
VN 54,9–11: (B´´)sakṛtsarvānubhāṣaṇe ’pi (C´)doṣavacanakāle punar
viṣayaḥ pradarśanīya eva, apradarśite doṣasya vaktum aśakyatvāt.26
NVTṬ 692,4: tam etaṃ bhadantākṣepaṃ samādhatte. According to Much, this Buddhist opponent is Dignāga; cf. Much 1991a: 211–220, esp. 211 and 217 (Fragment
#17).
24 Translation: “And because it is not [our] assertion: [Namely,] it is not asserted that he
(i.e., the contestant) should articulate in advance [the disputant’s proof], [and] subsequently present [his] rejoinder. Rather, the rejoinder should be presented in a certain
manner. And if there is no basis [of this rejoinder], the rejoinder is not correct.” For an
additional English translation, see Jha 1984: 4/1763. For Vācaspati’s gloss, see NVTṬ
692,15–17.
25 Cf. NV 527,11–12: iti yuktam apratyuccāraṇaṃ nigrahasthānam.
26 “Even if one has repeated all [of the disputant’s proof] at once, the object [of rejection]
Nyāya Commentaries of Vācaspati Miśra and Bhaṭṭa Vāgīśvara
147
Dharmakīrti held that such a repetition is superfluous, because the specific points targeted by the refutation will necessarily be presented on each
relevant occasion. Furthermore, the point of defeat called ananubhāṣaṇa can
be subsumed under the point of defeat called apratibhā (“non-appearance [of
an answer]” or “inapprehension of one’s own reply”) as defined in NS
5.2.18.27
3.2.2 Vāgīśvara’s and Vācaspati’s references to Dharmakīrti
In the case of Vāgīśvara’s allusion to Dharmakīrti’s argumentation, the
phrase sakṛtsarvānubhāṣaṇe in the VN (see underlining [B´´]) immediately
above), corresponds to the part of the NTD with underlining (B). Vācaspati,
in contrast, seems to have reused – directly or indirectly – Dharmakīrti’s formulations that are marked as (B´´) and (C´) in the passage cited above in the
part of his NVTṬ with underlining (B´) and (C). Moreover, he paraphrased
the text (B´) with sarvānuvāde in (3/B), which may be an allusion to Vāgīśvara.
Dharmakīrti’s concluding criticism runs as follows:
VN 54,13–15: dūṣaṇavādinā dūṣaṇe vaktavye yan na tatropayujyate
tasyābhidhānam (B´´)adoṣodbhāvanaṃ dviruktiś ceti (D´)sakṛtsarvānubhāṣaṇaṃ parājayādhikaraṇaṃ vācyam.28
should inevitably be illustrated again at the time when one indicates its fault, because
one cannot present a fault in reference to what is not illustrated.” For English and German translations, see Gokhale (1993: 124) and Much (1991b: 95), respectively.
27 Cf. VN 55,1–2: nānanubhāṣaṇaṃ pṛthag nigrahasthānaṃ vācyam, apratibhayā gatatvāt; cf. also VN 56,11–12. NS 5.2.18 is uttarasyāpratipattir apratibhā (= VN 58,15).
28 “When a rejection should be presented by a confuter, the presentation of something
that does not contribute to it constitutes a case of the non-indication of faults and of a
reiteration. Hence, the presentation of the whole [proof] at once is to be regarded as the
ground for defeat.” For English and German translations, see Gokhale (1993: 125) and
Much (1991b: 95), respectively. Vāgīśvara and Vācaspati paraphrase adoṣodbhāvana
with adūṣyānuvāda (“repetition of what is not to be disproved”). This suggests that
they possibly took the term as referring to the indication of non-faults, namely, in the
way that Dharmakīrti explained in VN 23,7–10. This interpretation, however, goes
against the above translators’ understanding. (Gokhale: “Not pointing out the fault,”
and Much: “das Nichtaufzeigen eines Fehlers”) and against the Tibetan translation (P
393b4, D 350a5: skyon brjod pa med par “not stating a/the fault”). Dharmakīrti discusses this interpretation in VN 21,14–17 (cf. Much 1991b: 95, n. 397). For his two interpretations of adoṣodbhāvana, see Solomon (1976: 251–253), Much (1986: 135–136
and 1991b: Einleitung, XI–XII), Gokhale (1993: Introduction, xxiii–xxiv) and Sasaki
(2013).
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Yasutaka Muroya
The two kinds of faults (underlining [B´´]) that Dharmakīrti mentioned,
namely adoṣodbhāvana (“non-indication of fault”) and dvirukti (“repetition”), are envisaged by Vāgīśvara as adūṣyānuvāda and dviranuvāda (underlining [B] in Table 2). Vācaspati’s text dviranuvādo ’dūṣyānuvādaś ca may
be an allusion to Vāgīśvara’s formulation. Dharmakīrti’s final remark (underlining [D´]) is reflected only in Vācaspati’s text (underlining [D]).
4 On the relative chronology of Vāgīśvara and Vācaspati
On the backdrop of the above observations, it may be concluded that Vācaspati was addressing in fact two opponents, namely, Dharmakīrti as well as
Vāgīśvara, and cleverly refuted both. If this is correct, we have to reverse the
chronological sequence of Vāgīśvara and Vācaspati that Thakur and Jha proposed. It appears much more likely that Vācaspati reused Vāgīśvara’s commentary than the reverse. However, it remains unresolved whether Vācaspati
had direct access to Vāgīśvara’s commentary, or whether he knew it from
other sources. This is mainly because the possible intermediate sources, the
works of the Mañjarīkāra29 and of Trilocana30 (ca. 10th c.), are lost. The latter
was Vācaspati’s teacher. The former is known as the author of some Nyāya29 For the close relationship between Vāgīśvara and the Mañjarīkāra as recorded by
Aniruddha, cf. Muroya (forthcoming). According to Aniruddha’s Vivaraṇapañjikā, a
commentary on the NBh, NV and NVTṬ, Vācaspati was familiar with the interpretations of the Mañjarīkāra and sometimes rejected them. I find it plausible to identify the
Mañjarīkāra with Trilocana, as Thakur (1969: v–vii) does, because Vācaspati was obviously closely related to them both. However, Aniruddha referred to the two authors
with different names in different contexts. There is neither compelling supportive nor
contradictory evidence for their identity.
30 For Udayana’s remark on the relationship of Trilocana and Vācaspati, cf. NVTP 3,8–
10: kiṃ nāmātra trilocanaguroḥ sakāśād upadeśarasāyanam āsāditam amūṣāṃ punarnavībhāvāya dīyata iti yujyate. For an English translation, cf. Perry 1995: 417: “It is
appropriate <to say> here: ‘However, the elixir of teaching which he had obtained
from his guru Trilocana is being given in order to give new life to those <commentaries>’”; Perry’s rendering of kiṃ nāma with “however” appears to be based upon
Śrīkaṇṭha’s gloss (ŚṬ 1,29–30: kiṃ nāmeti kiṃ tv ity arthaḥ. evam uttaratrāpy asya padasyāyam eva paryāyo deyaḥ. iti yujyata iti. dīyata iti yat tad yuktaṃ bhavatīty arthaḥ.). For a contextualization of Udayana’s remark as well as Trilocana’s works containing relevant bibliographical information, see Preisendanz 2005: 64–65 and notes
29–30, where the above cited passage is paraphrased as follows: “Why then, some
fictitious partner in discourse asks, should they not be rejuvenated by means of directly
administrating the life-giving elixir consisting in the readily obtained teaching of
Vācaspati’s guru Trilocana? Udayana considers this suggestion to be appropriate[.]”
Cf. also Randle 1930: 106, n. 1.
Nyāya Commentaries of Vācaspati Miśra and Bhaṭṭa Vāgīśvara
149
mañjarī, of which only quotations found in works by Aniruddha (ca. 10–11th
c.) have been preserved. My recent study of the fragments from the work of
the Mañjarīkāra as reported by Aniruddha shows that Vāgīśvara shared certain ideas with the Mañjarīkāra, whereas the same views were criticized by
Vācaspati.
Although it cannot be excluded that Vācaspati and Vāgīśvara had independent access to a common source, the hypothesis that Vāgīśvara predates
Vācaspati is supported, among other things, by a few archaic features of the
NTD.31 As I have discussed elsewhere,32 the NTD regards the phrase traikālyagrahaṇāt as an authentic independent sūtra and interprets it as being
directly related to the threefold division of inference defined in NS 1.1.5 (trividham anumānam). The fact that Dignāga criticized the same phrase may indicate that he also took this text to be an independent sūtra.33 Moreover, the
version of the NS that Vāgīśvara commented upon contains some ancient
readings that agree with certain readings found in the works of Bhaṭṭa Jayanta
and Bhāsarvajña (ca. 10th c.), who had access to an older version of the NS
than Vācaspati.34
The new hypothesis on Vāgīśvara’s relative chronology, for which I have
demonstrated its greater plausibility, will to a certain extent have consequences in the study of classical Nyāya. Historically, the analysis of Vācaspati’s mode and extension of reuse as well his indebtedness to Vāgīśvara’s
ideas certainly deserves attention. Philologically, the transmitted text of the
NTD may be weighed more heavily than the NVTṬ in terms of its textcritical value in the case of parallels to the NS, the NBh and the NV. In the
case of the parallel passages between the NTD and the NVTṬ, the text of the
NTD will testify to the original status of the text found in the Jaisalmer mss.
31 Preisendanz (1994: 545 [included in n. 181 on pp. 526–551]) discusses an instance in
which Vāgīśvara’s interpretation of a sūtra most probably corresponds to the “intention
of the sūtrakāra.”
32 Cf. Muroya 2006: 37–40. The editions of the NS do not contain the phrase traikālyagrahaṇāt as a seperate sūtra. Vāgīśvara, however, clearly considered it as a part of the
NS (NTD 4,17). He referred to this text as a sūtra also at a different place (NTD 35,7
on NS 2.1.42: traikālyagrahaṇād ity anena sūtreṇa). The editor of the NTD suggested
that sūtreṇa in fact means bhāṣyeṇa and referred the reader to the commentary on NS
1.1.5.
33 For Dignāga’s reference to the phrase in question in his Pramāṇasamuccayavṛtti, see
Jinendrabuddhi’s PSṬ 2 72,13. According to the editors, Dignāga probably cited one of
the lost commentaries on the NS (“Ce ? [commentary on NSū]”); cf. also Muroya:
2006: 39 and nn. 65–66.
34 Cf. Muroya 2006: 29–30, 35.
150
Yasutaka Muroya
of the NVTṬ, but not to the text as known in the printed edition of the NVTṬ,
where they differ (see the variant readings for Table 2).
References
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NTD (M)
NBh
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NV
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Nath Jha. Allahabad: Gaṅgānāth Jhā Kendrīya Saṃskṛta
Vidyāpīṭham, 1979.
Manuscript of the NTD preserved at the Government
Sanskrit College, Tripunithura, Ernakulam, Transcript Ms.
315 (“Nyāyasūtratātparyadīpikā”), paper, bound, 296 (?)
leaves, Malayalam, undated.
Manuscript of the NTD preserved at the Oriental Research
Institute & Manuscripts Library, University of Kerala, Ms.
14670 (“Nyāyasūtratātparyadīpikā”), palm leaf, 92 leaves,
Malayalam, undated.
Manuscript of the NTD preserved at the Government Oriental Manuscripts Library, Chennai, Ms. R. 3405 (“Nyāyasūtratātparyadīpikā”), paper, 198 pages, Devanagari,
copied in 1920–1921.
Gautamīyanyāyadarśana with Bhāṣya of Vātsyāyana. Ed.
Anantalal Thakur. New Delhi: Indian Council of Philosophical Research, 1997. Nyāyacaturgranthikā 1.
Nyāyamañjarī of Jayantabhaṭṭa, with Ṭippaṇī – Nyāyasaurabha by the Editor. Ed. K. S. Varadacharya. Msore:
Oriental Research Institute, University of Mysore, 1969–
1983. Oriental Research Institute Ser. 116 and 139.
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Research, 1996. Nyāyacaturgranthikā 3.
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Jaisalmer, “Nyāyatātparyaṭīkā ṭippaṇī saha,” Ms. No. ji.
kā. 1274/1–2, paper, 245 leaves (ff. 5–280; f. 37 is
missing), Devanagari, dated 1222 CE.
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NVTP
NS
PSṬ 2
VN
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ŚṬ
151
69, paper, 201 leaves (ff. 201–409), Devanagari, dated
1444 CE.
Nyāyavārttikatātparyapariśuddhi of Udayanācārya. Ed.
Anantalal Thakur. New Delhi: Indian Council of Philosophical Research, 1996. Nyāyacaturgranthikā 4.
Nyāyasūtra. In: NBh.
Jinendrabuddhi’s Viśālāmalavatī Pramāṇasamuccayaṭīkā.
Chapter 2. Part I: Critical Edition. Ed. Horst Lasic, Helmut Krasser and Ernst Steinkellner. Beijing–Vienna:
China Tibetology Publishing House, Austrian Academy of
Sciences Press, 2012. Sanskrit Texts from the Tibetan
Autonomous Region 15/1.
Dharmakīrti’s Vādanyāyaḥ. Ed. Michael Torsten Much.
Teil I: Sanskrit-Text. Wien: Verlag der Österreichischen
Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1991. Veröffentlichungen
der Kommission für Sprachen und Kulturen Südasiens 25.
A Tibetan Translation of the VN. Peking edition: Cat. No.
5715, mDo ce 364b8–400a7. sDe dge edition: Cat. No.
4218, mDo che 326b4–355b5.
Nyāyadarśane Śrīkaṇṭhaṭippaṇakam [A Commentary on
the Major Nyāya-texts] by Śrīkaṇṭhācārya. Ed. Anantalal
Thakur. Calcutta: The Asiatic Society, 1986. B. I. Ser.
313.
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Acharya 2006
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Freschi 2015
Gokhale 1993
Jha 1984
Kataoka 2007
Acharya, Diwakar. Vācaspatimiśra’s Tattvasamīkṣā: The
Eearliest Commentary on Maṇḍanamiśra’s Brahmasiddhi.
Criti. Ed. with an Introd. and Crit. Notes. Stuttgart:
Steiner, 2006. Nepal Research Centre Publications 25.
Encyclopedia of Indian Philosophies. Ed. Karl H. Potter.
Vol. 1: Bibliography, Section 1. Third Revised Edition.
Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1995 (1st ed. Delhi 1970;
reprint Delhi 1974).
Freschi, Elisa. “The Reuse of Texts in Indian Philosophy:
Introduction.” Journal of Indian Philosophy 43 (2015):
85–108.
Gokhale, Pradeep P. Vādanyāya of Dharmakīrti: The
Logic of Debate. Delhi: Sri Satguru Publications, 1993.
Bibliotheca Indo-Buddhica Ser. 126.
Jha, Ganganatha, trans. The Nyāya-Sūtras of Gauṭama:
With the Bhāṣya of Vātsyāyana and the Vārṭika of
Uḍḍyoṭakara. 4 vols. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1984.
Kataoka, Kei. “Critical Edition of the Śāstrārambha
Section of Bhaṭṭa Jayanta’s Nyāyamañjarī.” The Memoirs
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Kataoka 2008
Krishna 1997
Monier-Williams 1899
Much 1986
Much 1991a
Much 1991b
Muroya 2006
Muroya 2013
Muroya forthcoming
Yasutaka Muroya
of the Institute of Oriental Culture, University of Tokyo
150 (2007): 204–170 = (123)–(157).
— “Jayanta ni yoru ronrigaku no ichizuke – Nyāyamañjarī
‘josetsu’ wayaku” [The role of Nyāya according to
Jayanta: A Japanese translation of the Śāstrārambha
section of the Nyāyamañjarī]. Tetsugaku Nenpō (Annual
of Philosophy) 67 (2008): 55–90.
Krishna, Daya. Indian Philosophy – A Counter Perspective. Paperback edition. Delhi: Oxford Univ. Press,
1997.
Monier-Williams, Monier. A Sanskrit-English Dictionary.
Etymologically and Philologically Arranged with Special
Reference to Cognate Indo-European Languages. New
Ed. Greatly Enlarged and Improved with the Collaboration
of E. Leumann … C. Cappeler … [et al.] Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1899.
Much, Michael Torsten. “Dharmakīrti’s Definition of
‘Points of Defeat’ (Nigrahasthāna).” Buddhist Logic and
Epistemology. Studies in the Buddhist Analysis of Inference and Language. Eds. B. K. Matilal and R. D.
Evans. Dordrecht [u.a.]: Reidel, 1986. 133–142.
— “Fragments from Dignāga? Traces of a Pre-Dharmakīrti Buddhist Polemic against the Nyāya-nigrahasthāna.”
Studies in the Buddhist Epistemological Tradition, Proceedings of the Second International Dharmakīrti Conference Vienna, June 11–16, 1989. Ed. Ernst Steinkellner.
Wien: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1991. 211–220. Beiträge zur Kultur- und
Geistesgeschichte Asiens 8.
—, trans. Dharmakīrtis Vādanyāyaḥ. Teil II. Übersetzung
und Anmerkungen. Wien: Verlag der Österreichischen
Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1991. Veröffentlichungen
der Kommission für Sprachen und Kulturen Südasiens 25.
Muroya, Yasutaka. “Some Observations on the Manuscript Transmission of the Nyāyabhāṣya.” Journal of Indological Studies 18 (2006): 23–62.
— “On the Nyāyasūtratātparyadīpikā.” Journal of Indian
and Buddhist Studies 62.1 (2013): 288–282 = (241)–(247).
(Japanese)
— “Aniruddha’s Reference to ‘Mañjarīkāra’ Fragments
and Their Relation to Vācaspati Miśra and Bhaṭṭa Vāgīśvara.” Proceedings of the Japan-Austria International
Symposium “Transmission and Tradition: The Meaning
Nyāya Commentaries of Vācaspati Miśra and Bhaṭṭa Vāgīśvara
Perry 1995
Preisendanz 1994
Preisendanz 2005
Preisendanz 2008
Randle 1930
Sasaki 2013
Solomon 1976–1978
Thakur 1969
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and the Role of ‘Fragments’ in Indian Philosophy,” 20–24
August 2012, Matsumoto.
Perry, Bruce Millard. “An Introduction to the Nyāyacaturgranthikā: With English Translations.” Diss., University of
Pennsylvania. 1995. UMI No. 9532256.
Preisendanz, Karin. Studien zu Nyāyasūtra III.1 mit dem
Nyāyatattvāloka Vācaspati Miśras II. Stuttgart: Steiner,
1994. Alt- und Neu-indische Studien 46.
— “The Production of Philosophical Literature in South
Asia during the Pre-colonial Period (15th to 18th Centuries): The Case of the Nyāyasūtra Commentarial
Tradition.” Journal of Indian Philosophy 33 (2005): 55–
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the Philosophical Genre.” Journal of Indian Philosophy 36
(2008): 599–618.
Randle, H. N. Indian Logic in the Early Schools: A Study
of the Nyāyadarśana in Its Relation to the Early Logic of
Other Schools. 1st Indian ed. and rpt. New Delhi: Oriental
Books Repr. Corp., 1976 (first edition, Oxford [et al.]: Oxford University Press, 1930).
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4 (2013): 55–75. (Japanese)
Solomon, Esther A. Indian Dialectics: Methods of Philosophical Discussion. 2 vols. Ahmedabad: B. J. Institute of
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Thakur, Anantalal. “Introduction.” Nyāyabhāṣyavārttikaṭīkāvivaraṇapañjikā [II–V] of Aniruddhācārya. Ed.
Anantalal Thakur. Darbhanga: The Director, Mithila Institute of Post-graduate Studies and Research in Sanskrit
Learning, 1969. Mithila Institute Ser., Ancient Text No.
19.
Adaptive Reuse of the Descriptive Technique of
Pāṇini in Non-Pāṇinian Grammatical Traditions
with Special Reference to the Derivation of the
Declension of the 1st and 2nd Person Pronouns*
Malhar Kulkarni
In this chapter I argue that not just terms or passages from certain earlier texts
can be adapted and reused by later texts, but also the techniques and methods
of describing data. I will show this by demonstrating how later Sanskrit nonPāṇinian grammatical texts adapted and reused the technique of substitution
from Pāṇinian grammar to describe linguistic facts. I will demonstrate this
with an example, namely, the declension of the 1st and 2nd person pronouns of
Sanskrit and its derivation according to Pāṇinian and non-Pāṇinian grammars.
I begin by quoting a verse from Kālidāsa’s Raghuvaṃśa:
sa hatvā vālinaṃ vīras tatpade cirakāṅkṣite |
dhātoḥ sthāna ivādeśaṃ sugrīvaṃ saṃnyaveśayat || 12.58
That warrior having killed Vāli, established Sugrīva on his throne,
which he wished for a long time, like an ādeśa (substitute) in the place
of a verbal base (dhātu)1.
In this verse, one clearly sees that Kālidāsa has used the technique of substitution, widely employed in the description of linguistic forms by the Vyākaraṇa school, as an upamāna, a standard of comparison. It is believed traditionally that a standard of comparison facilitates the comprehension of the
object to be compared and hence must be well known. With regard to the
above stated stanza, this means that for Kālidāsa the use of the technique of
∗
1
I wish to thank Dr. Anuja Ajotikar and Dr. Tanuja Ajotikar for a stimulating discussion
on this topic and help for formatting this chapter. I wish to express my gratitude to Eivind Kahrs, who went through the draft of this chapter and made valuable suggestions.
Needless to say that thanks are also due to the editors for their patience and diligence.
See Nandargikar 1897: 371.
156
Malhar Kulkarni
substitution in grammatical description was a standard practice and well
known even to a common reader to such a degree that he could use it as a
standard of comparison. This technique is stated by Aṣṭādhyāyī 1.1.56, 57,
58, where it is called sthānivadbhāva; the essential concepts related to this
technique are discussed in detail in Kahrs (1998: 175−267) and, more recently, in Freschi and Pontillo (2013: 65−129).
According to Kahrs (1998: 175),
in simple words, the Indian grammarians adopted a model whereby
stages in the linguistic derivational process are accounted for by saying ‘Y occurs in the place of X’ as opposed to ‘X becomes Y’.
Kahrs (1998: 176) further says:
The substituend, the element which is to undergo the substitution operation, is called the sthānin, literally ‘place-holder; placing-possessor’, and the substitute, the element which replaces the sthānin, is
called ādeśa, literally, ‘instruction; specification’.
I will now show that this same technique was adapted also by later nonPāṇinian Sanskrit grammarians in their description of Sanskrit. In doing so,
the inherent problems that characterized the Pāṇinian description and brought
certain limitations to Pāṇinian methodology were addressed only partially,
and the major limitation never received any serious attention.
The 1st and 2nd person pronouns in Sanskrit have peculiar forms. For both
pronouns, the inflected forms of each number are phonetically different to
such a degree that it is difficult to determine a single common pronominal
base. I hereby present them below in Tables 1 and 2, with the numbering
scheme with which I will refer to them hereafter. A particular form will be
referred to for example as 1/3, which means 1st line, 3rd column, i.e., nominative plural.
Table 1: Forms of yuṣmad
Singular (1)
Dual (2)
Plural (3)
1
tvam
yuvām
yūyam
2
tvām
yuvām
yuṣmān
3
tvayā
yuvābhyām
yuṣmābhiḥ
Adaptive Reuse of the Descriptive Technique of Pāṇini
4
tubhyam
yuvābhyām
yuṣmabhyam
5
tvat
yuvābhyām
yuṣmat
6
tava
yuvayoḥ
yuṣmākam
7
tvayi
yuvayoḥ
yuṣmāsu
Singular (1)
Dual (2)
Plural (3)
1
aham
āvām
vayam
2
mām
āvām
asmān
3
mayā
āvābhyām
asmābhiḥ
4
mahyam
āvābhyām
asmabhyam
5
mat
āvābhyām
asmat
6
mama
āvayoḥ
asmākam
7
mayi
āvayoḥ
asmāsu
157
Table 2: Forms of asmad
In each of these tables there are three possible candidates that can be called a
“base” insofar as it provides a starting point for the derivation process leading
to these forms. They are: tva, yuva and yuṣma in the case of the pronoun of
the second person as displayed in Table 1 and aha, āva and asma in case of
the pronoun of the 1st person as displayed in Table 2. These forms are candidates for being the bases of the respective rows, namely, tva and aha for
singular, yuva and āva for dual, and yuṣma and asma for plural. Pāṇini however, adopted only one base for all three numbers, namely, yuṣmad for
Table 1 and asmad for Table 2, and substituted these candidates in place of
them in the respective columns when the derivation process begins to derive
forms in that respective column.
I present below the entire derivation process for yuṣmad and present the
methodology employed by Pāṇini. The same is applicable also for the word
asmad. In this Table 3, information about the various rules required for deriving these forms is presented.
158
Malhar Kulkarni
Table 3: Rules required for derivation of yuṣmad in Pāṇini’s grammar
No.
1.
2.
Pāṇini
7.1.27
7.1.28
Rule
yuṣmadasmadbhyāṃ ṅaso ’ś
ṅeprathamayoram
3.
4.
7.1.29
7.1.30
śaso na
bhyaso bhyam
5.
7.1.31
pañcamyā at
6.
7.1.32
ekavacanasya ca
7.
7.1.33
sāma ākam
8.
7.2.86
yuṣmadasmador anādeśe
9.
7.2.87
dvitīyāyāṃ ca
10.
7.2.88
11.
7.2.89
prathamāyāśca dvivacane
bhāṣāyām
yo 'ci
12.
7.2.90
śeṣe lopaḥ
13.
7.2.91
maparyantasya
14.
7.2.92
yuvāvau dvivacane
Application
yuṣmad/asmad [ṅas → aś]
yuṣmad/asmad [su-au-jasam-au-ṅe→ am]
yuṣmad/asmad [śas → ns]
yuṣmad/asmad [bhyas (4/3)
→ bhyam]
yuṣmad/asmad [bhyas (5/3)
→ at]
yuṣmad/asmad [ṅas (5/1) →
at]
yuṣmad/asmad [sām →
ākam]
[yuṣmad → yuṣmā] anādeśa
vibhakti
[asmad → asmā] anādeśa
vibhakti
[yuṣmad → yuṣmā]
am/au/śas
[asmad → asmā] au/śas/am
[yuṣmad → yuṣmā] au
[asmad → asmā] au
[yuṣmad → yuṣmay] ajādi
vibhakti
[asmad → asmay] ajādi
vibhakti
[yuṣmad → yuṣmø] where
there is no ātva/yatva
[asmad → asmø] where
there is no ātva/yatva
[yuṣmad → yuṣm]
[asmad → asm]
[yuṣmad → yuvad] dual
suffixes
[asmad → āvad] dual suffixes
Adaptive Reuse of the Descriptive Technique of Pāṇini
15
7.2.93
yūyavayau jasi
16.
7.2.94
tvāhau sau
17.
7.2.95
tubhyamahyau ṅayi
18.
7.2.96
tavamamau ṅasi
19.
7.2.97
tvamāv ekavacane
[yuṣmad → yūyad] jas
[asmad → vayad] jas
[yuṣmad → tvad] su
[asmad → ahad] su
[yuṣmad → tubhyad] ṅe
[asmad → mahyad] ṅe
[yuṣmad → tavad] ṅas
[asmad → mamad] ṅas
[yuṣmad → tvad] ekavacane
[asmad → mad] ekavacane
In Table 4 below, I present the entire derivation process:
Table 4: The derivation of yuṣmad according to Pāṇini’s grammar
Form
1/1
1/2
1/3
Procedure
yuṣmad su
yuṣmad am
tva ad am
tvad am
tva am
tvam
yuṣmad au
yuṣmad am
yuva ad am
yuvad am
yuva ā am
yuvā am
yuvām
yuṣmad jas
yuṣmad am
yūya ad am
yūyavayau jasi
yūyad am
yūya am
yūyam
Rules
1.2.45, 4.1.1, 4.1.2
7.1.2, 7.2.91
7.2.94
6.1.197
7.2.90
6.1.107
1.2.45, 4.1.1, 4.1.2
7.1.28
7.2.91, 7.2.92
6.1.97
7.2.88
6.1.101
6.1.107
1.2.45, 4.1.1, 4.1.2
7.1.28
7.2.91
7.2.93
6.1.97
7.2.90
6.1.107
159
160
2/1
2/2
2/3
3/1
3/2
3/3
Malhar Kulkarni
yuṣmad am
yuṣmad am
tva ad am
tvad am
tva ā am
tvā am
tvām
yuṣmad au
yuṣmad am
yuva ad am
yuvad am
yuva ā am
yuvā am
yuvām
yuṣmad śas
yuṣmad ns
yuṣma ā ns
yuṣm ā ns
yuṣmān 0
yuṣmān
yuṣmad ṭā
yuṣmad ā
tva ad ā
tvad ā
tvay ā
tvayā
yuṣmad bhyām
yuva ad bhyām
yuvad bhyām
yuva ā bhyām
yuvābhyām
yuṣmad bhis
yuṣma ā bhis
yuṣmā bhis
yuṣmābhiḥ
1.2.45, 4.1.1, 4.1.2
7.1.28
7.2.92
6.1.97
7.2.87
6.1.101
6.1.107
1.2.45, 4.1.1, 4.1.2
7.1.28
7.2.91, 7.2.92
6.1.97
7.2.88
6.1.101
6.1.107
1.2.45, 4.1.1, 4.1.2
7.1.29
7.2.87
6.1.101
8.2.23
1.2.45, 4.1.1, 4.1.2
1.3.7, 1.2.9
7.2.92
6.1.97
7.2.89
1.2.45, 4.1.1, 4.1.2
7.2.92
6.1.97
7.2.86
6.1.101
1.2.45, 4.1.1, 4.1.2
7.2.86
6.1.101
Adaptive Reuse of the Descriptive Technique of Pāṇini
4/1
4/2
4/3
5/1
5/2
5/3
6/1
yuṣmad ṅe
tubhya ad am
tubhyad am
tubhya a
tubhyam
yuṣmad bhyām
yuva ad bhyām
yuvad bhyām
yuva ā bhyām
yuvā bhyām
yuvābhyām
yuṣmad bhyas
yuṣmad bhyam
yuṣma 0 bhyam
yuṣmabhyam
yuṣmad ṅasi
yuṣmad at
tva ad at
tvad at
tva0 at
tvat
yuṣmad bhyām
yuva ad bhyām
yuvad bhyām
yuva ā bhyām
yuvā bhyām
yuṣmad bhyas
yuṣmad at
yuṣma0 at
yuṣmat
yuṣmad ṅas
tava ad as
tavad as
tavad aś
tava0 a
tava
1.2.45, 4.1.1, 4.1.2
7.2.95
6.1.97
7.2.90
6.1.107
1.2.45, 4.1.1, 4.1.2
7.2.92
6.1.97
7.2.86
6.1.101
1.2.45, 4 .1.1, 4.1.2
7.1.30
7.2.90
1.2.45, 4 .1.1, 4.1.2
7.1.32
7.2.97
6.1.97
7.2.90
6.1.97
1.2.45, 4 .1.1, 4.1.2
7.2.92
6.1.97
7.2.86
6.1.101
1.2.45, 4 .1.1, 4.1.2
7.1.31
6.1.97
1.2.45, 4 .1.1, 4.1.2
7.2.96
6.1.97
7.1.27
7.2.90
6.1.97
161
162
6/2
6/3
7/1
7/2
7/3
Malhar Kulkarni
yuṣmad os
yuva ad os
yuvad os
yuvay os
yuvayo ḥ
yuṣmad ām
yuṣmad ākam
yuṣma ākam
yuṣmākam
yuṣmad ṅi
tva ad i
tvad i
tvay i
tvayi
yuṣmad os
yuva ad os
yuvad os
yuvay os
yuvayo ḥ
yuṣmad sup
yuṣma ā su
yuṣmā su
yuṣmāsu
1.2.45, 4 .1.1, 4.1.2
7.2.92
6.1.97
7.2.89
1.2.45, 4 .1.1, 4.1.2
7.1.33
7.2.90
6.1.101
1.2.45, 4 .1.1, 4.1.2
7.2.86
6.1.97
7.2.89
1.2.45, 4 .1.1, 4.1.2
7.2.92
6.1.97
7.2.89
1.2.45, 4 .1.1, 4.1.2
7.2.86
6.1.101
Here Pāṇini’s grammar uses substitution in place of the base as well as of the
suffix. There are in all eleven rules stating the substitution of the base and
seven rules stating the substitution of the suffix. The substitution of the base
can be classified under two headings: substitution of the final consonant -dand substitution of the part up to m (i.e., yuṣm in yuṣmad). Pāṇini, who is
famous for his brevity, needed nineteen rules to derive these twenty-one
forms. Even by formulating such a comparatively large number of rules, Pāṇini did not manage to make the derivation process entirely transparent.
There is at least one form whose derivation process still remains incomplete.
That form is 4/3. In the derivation of this form, after the application of 7.2.90,
the scope of the application of 7.3.103 is created, but there is no rule prohibiting the application of 7.3.103. In order to avoid this problem, the Pāṇinian
tradition resorted to two means: (1.) The tradition interprets the rule bhyaso
bhyam 7.1.30 as bhyaso abhyam and then substitutes abhyam (and not
bhyam) for bhyas, thereby not letting the scope of 7.3.103 come into being.
Adaptive Reuse of the Descriptive Technique of Pāṇini
163
(2.) The tradition adopts a meta-rule, namely, aṅgavṛtte punarvṛttāvavidhiḥ |2
which means: “once [an operation on an aṅga] has been applied, one is not
supposed to apply another operation on the same [stem].”
In the following, I present the way in which later non-Pāṇinian grammars
adapted this technique of substitution and reused it. I shall focus only on one
case, namely, 4/3.
–
–
–
–
Kātantra (K)3
yuṣmad bhyas 2.2
yuṣma0 bhyas 2.148
yuṣma abhyam 2.157
yuṣmabhyam 2.17
Observations: K assumes yuṣmad to be the base. It adapts the strategy of
substituting the base as well as the suffix. It substitutes the final d by 0, the
suffix bhyam by abhyam and finally substitutes a by 0. Here, K avoids the
problem faced by the Pāṇinian system by clearly stating that abhyam is the
substitute.
–
–
–
–
Cāndra (C)4
yuṣmad bhyas 2.1.1
yuṣmad abhyam 2.1.29
yuṣm 0 abhyam 5.4.57
yuṣmabhyam
Observations: As did Pāṇini, C assumes yuṣmad to be the base. It adapts the
strategy of substituting the base as well as the suffix. It substitutes the final
ad by 0 and the suffix bhyam by abhyam. Here, C avoids the problem faced
by the Pāṇinian system by clearly stating that abhyam is the substitute.
2
3
4
For more details, see Dikshit 1987: 353.
The Kātantra grammar is the oldest grammar among the post-Pāṇinian systems of
grammar. It is belived that the rules of this system were first uttered by Kumāra
Kārtikeya. Later Śarvavarman compiled these rules and presented them in the form of a
system. Śarvavarman is dated between 150 and 100 CE. For more details, see Kulkarni, Ajotikar and Ajotikar 2010a.
The author of this grammar is Candragomin. The name of the author is found variously
quoted as Candra, Candrācārya, etc. He is considered to have flourished in the 5th c.
CE. For more details, see Kulkarni, Ajotikar and Ajotikar 2012.
164
–
–
–
–
Malhar Kulkarni
Jainendra (J)5
yuṣmad bhyas 3.1.2
yuṣmad abhyam 5.1.26
yuṣma 0 abhyam 5.1.149
yuṣmabhyam 4.3.84
Observations: As did Pāṇini, J assumes yuṣmad to be the base. It adapts the
strategy of substituting the base as well as the suffix. It substitutes the final d
by 0 and the suffix bhyam by abhyam. Here, J avoids the problem faced by
the Pāṇinian system by clearly stating that abhyam is the substitute.
Śākaṭāyana (S)6
yuṣmad bhyas 1.3.135
yuṣmad abhyam 1.2.178
yuṣma0 abhyam 1.2.181
yuṣm0 abhyam 1.2.106
yuṣmabhyam
Observations: Also S takes yuṣmad to be the base. It adapts the strategy of
substituting the base as well as the suffix. It substitutes the final d by 0 and
the suffix bhyam by abhyam and then again the base final a by 0. Here, S
avoids the problem faced by the Pāṇinian system by clearly stating that
abhyam is the substitute.
After having presented the data from these four non-Pāṇinian systems, I
would like to add that also other systems, such as the Sarasvatīkaṇṭhābharaṇa (SKB)7, the Haima (H)8, the Mugdhabodha (M)9, the Sārasvata (Srv)10
and the Saṃkṣiptasāra (Ss)11 follow a similar procedure. The entire picture in
this regard can be presented graphically in the following way:
5
It is believed that the Jainendra grammar was written by Devanandi, alias Pūjyapāda,
who is believed to have flourished around the 5th−6th c. CE. For more details, see Kulkarni, Ajotikar and Ajotikar 2010c.
6 It is believed that the Śākaṭāyana grammar was written by Pālyakīrti. He flourished in
the first half of the 9th c. CE. For more details, see Kulkarni, Ajotikar and Ajotikar
2010b.
7 It is believed that the SKB is written by King Bhoja, who flourished in the 10th−11th c.
CE. For more details, see Mīmāṃsaka 1984: 553.
8 It is believed that the Haima grammar was written by Hemacandra, who lived
1088−1172 CE in northern Gujarat. For more details, see Belvalkar 1915: 61.
9 This grammar was composed by Vopadeva, who flourished in the 13th c. CE. For more
details, see Belvalkar 1915: 87.
10 The origin of this school is not earlier than the 13th c. CE. For more details, see Belvalkar 1915: 77.
11 The origin of this school is not earlier than the 13th c. CE. For more details, see Belval-
Adaptive Reu
euse of the Descriptive Technique of Pāṇini
165
yuṣmabhyam
Substitution
of suffix
Substitution
ion of
base
Final d substituted
by zero
P, K, J, S, SKB
ad subst
bstituted
by ze
zero
C M
C,
ad substituted
by a
Srv
bhyam
P, Srv, Ss
Gaps in
derivation
abhyam
SKB, H, Ss
K, C, J, S, SKB, H, M
Figure 1: Derivationall st
strategies in different systems of Sanskrit grammar.
In this overview, all sys
systems are shown to have adapted the procedure of
substitution of the basee as
a well as the suffix. Some have substituted the final
al
d of the base with 0 and
nd others have substituted the final ad with 0. Almost
st
all have tried to solve the problem faced by Pāṇini by substituting abhyam in
the place of the suffix bhyas.
There are only two grammars that have substibh
tuted bhyam in the place
ace of bhyas, namely, Srv and Ss. Ss has a gap in thee
derivation and Srv substi
stitutes the final ad of the base with a, thereby givingg
rise to the same problem
lem as in Pāṇini’s grammar. Apart from these two, all
ll
other grammar systemss addressed the issue and came up with a solution.
n.
When adapting the tech
echnique of substitution, some paid attention to thee
minutest details of the derivational
de
procedure, while others did not.
On the basis of the outlin
tline above, I conclude that the post-Pāṇinian and nonPāṇinian grammarians successfully
su
adapted the technique of substituting onee
verbal element by anoth
other in describing linguistic facts. Most of them reshaped the manner of su
substitution in order to remove the problem faced byy
Pāṇini. The post-Pāṇinia
nian systems also adapted and reused the same base,
e,
namely, yuṣmad and asm
smad. It is indeed a surprise that no grammatical system uses tvad or yuvad as
a the base to derive the same forms. Nobody seemss
to have arrived at the idea
ide that the derivation could also start with the other
er
two elements as bases.. This
T
absence of innovation can be said to have been
the cost of this adaptatio
tion and reuse in the case of the Sanskrit grammatical
al
tradition.
kar 1915: 78.
166
Malhar Kulkarni
References
Belvalkar 1915
Belvalkar, Shripad Krishna. Systems of Sanskrit Grammar
(An Account of the Different Existing Systems of Sanskrit
Grammar, Being the Vishwanath Narayan Mandlik Gold
Medal Prize-Essay for 1909). Reprint. Delhi: The
Bharatiya Book Corporation, 1997.
Dikshit 1987
Dikshit, Girijesh Kumar, ed. Paribhāṣenduśekhara of Śrī
Nāgeśa Bhaṭṭa: With the Commentary Sarvamaṅgalā. Varanasi: Sampoornanand Sanskrit Vishvavidyalaya, 1987.
Sarasvatībhavana Adhyayanamālā 36.
Freschi and Pontillo 2013 = Freschi, Elisa, and Tiziana Pontillo. Rule-extension Strategies in Ancient India: Ritual, Exegetical and Linguistic
Considerations on the tantra- and prasaṅga-Principles.
Frankfurt a. M.: Lang, 2013.
Kahrs 1998
Kahrs, Eivind. Indian Semantic Analysis, the ‘nirvacana’
Tradition. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press,
1998. University of Cambridge Oriental Publications 55.
Kulkarni, Ajotikar and Ajotikar 2010a = Kulkarni, Malhar, Anuja Ajotikar, and Tanuja Ajotikar. “Derivation of Declension of yuṣmad and
asmad in Kātantra Grammar.” Alaukika Jñānayogī Dr.
Gaṇeśa Tryambaka Deśapāṇḍe Smṛtigrantha. Ed. Manjushree Deshpande and P. Deshpande. Vidyavihara, Ranapratapnagar, Nagpur: G. T, 2010. Deshpande Smṛtigrantha
Samitī. 143−157.
Kulkarni, Ajotikar and Ajotikar 2010b = — “Derivation of Declension of yuṣmad and
asmad in Śākaṭāyana Grammar.” Journal of Sanskrit
Academy, Osmania University (Sanskrit Academy, Hyderabad) 20 (2010): 97−109.
Kulkarni, Ajotikar and Ajotikar 2010c = — “Derivation of Declension of yuṣmad and
asmad in Jainendra Grammar.” Journal of the Oriental
Institute, M. S. University of Baroda (Oriental Institute,
Baroda) 60/1−2 (2010): 41−45.
Kulkarni, Ajotikar and Ajotikar 2012 = — “Derivation of Declension of yuṣmad and
asmad in Cāndra Grammar.” Devadattīyam. Johannes
Bronkhorst Felicitation Volume. Ed. F. Voegeli, V. Eltschinger, D. Feller, M. P. Candotti, B. Diaconescu and M.
Kulkarni. Bern: Lang, 2012. 123−141. Worlds of South
and Inner Asia 5.
Mīmāṃsaka 1984
Mīmāṃsaka, Yudhiṣṭhira. Saṃskṛta Vyākaraṇa-Śāstra kā
Itihāsa. 4th ed. Bahalgarh (Sonipat): Ram Lal Kapoor
Trust, 1984.
Nandargikar 1897
Nandargikar, Gopal Raghunath, ed. The Raghuvaṁśa of
Kālidāsa, with the Commentary of Mallinātha, Engl.
Transl. and Notes. 3rd ed. Bombay: Radhabai Atmaram
Sagoon, 1897.
Section 2:
Adaptive Reuse of Tropes
The Steadiness of a Non-steady Place:
Re-adaptations of the Imagery of the Chariot
Elena Mucciarelli
This chapter points at the different meanings that the motif of the chariot assumed in different historical strata of the Vedic corpus. Moreover, it aims at
supplying a picture of the semantic fields that words for “chariot” and its
parts have been associated with. This provides the background for an analysis
of the ways in which the motif was reused in later times, as for example, in
South Asian medieval contexts. Throughout Vedic times, the “chariot was
not merely a practical instrument for conveying persons, but an object vested
with religious significance and symbolic values” (Sparreboom 1985: 1).
More precisely, this vehicle functioned as a sacred space “in motion.” In the
Ṛgvedic period, the chariot, representing an allegory of movement, figures in
various poetic semantic fields. In the late Vedic period, against the background of a wider social and political re-casting, both the use and the image
of this vehicle undergo a process of specialization: the chariot plays a role
within the great royal rituals, already as an attribute of power, as it will remain in medieval times.
Premise
This contribution originated within a wider research project focusing on
traces of alien elements within the ritual and social picture of sovereignty
determined by the Brāhmaṇic worldview as presented in the Vedic corpus.1
These elements could be interpreted as remnants of a condition prevalent
before the Middle Vedic reform, which entailed a restructuring of the social
and ritual set-up (see section 2.1) and which is known as the śrauta reform.
Within this context, together with my colleague Cristina Bignami, I started to
work on the role of the motif of the chariot in connection with sovereignty.
1
“Traces of a Heterodox Concept of Kingship in Ancient, Medieval and Modern India”
led by Tiziana Pontillo at the University of Cagliari.
170
Elena Mucciarelli
We focused on how this motif was re-used in different South Asian cultural
contexts.2
Looking at the motif of the chariot in different historical eras, we wondered whether the idea of re-use might be a useful parameter for examining
the recurrence of this motif in South Asian history and textual production.
Indeed, this vehicle played a decisive role in royal rituals in both the Vedic
and medieval periods. Some patterns, such as the relationship between the
circular movement (displayed by the form of the wheel as well as by the
movement of the chariot during ritual races) and the evocation of fertility,3
are strikingly similar in both contexts. Yet the conceptual frameworks in
which the motif of the chariot is inscribed in each period are different.
The present contribution represents a preliminary analysis of the motif of
the chariot and its imagery in Vedic times, whereby it aims at collecting the
pieces of evidence needed to establish a comparison with its use in the medieval period. At the same time, I will also chart the development of the chariot itself within the Vedic period and show the various changes it underwent.
As will be shown below, the passage between the early and the middle Vedic
periods saw a restriction of the different values attached to the chariot. This
shrinking of the scope of meanings correlates with a ritualization of the chariot under the influence of a change in the lifestyle of the Vedic tribes. Later,
in the early medieval and pre-modern periods, the imagery and role of this
vehicle was again strongly modified and adapted in order to fit different
needs more fully.
Before any further analysis, a clear distinction must be made between the
different types of chariots: the wagon, the war chariot, the royal chariot, the
vipatha (a kind of chariot used by certain types of troops) and the
rathavāhana (a movable stand to carry chariots). In this study I will focus on
the word ratha “chariot”: a “light, fast, two-wheeled vehicle with spoked
wheels, usually drawn by horses and used for warfare, hunting, racing and
ceremonial purpose” (Littauer and Crouwel 1979). An interesting subcategory of the ratha is the śamaratha, used for an old chariot, a chariot in
peacetime, or a disassembled or broken chariot. This is contrasted with the
aśamaratha, a safe and running chariot.
It is hard to imagine what a ratha may have looked like, all the more since
many descriptions are related to the rathas of the gods and not to those of
2
3
This research was undertaken as part of the DFG-financed project “Kings of the Wild:
Re-use of Vedic and local elements in the legitimation process of medieval Karnataka.” The work of the author is being supported by the Institutional Strategy of the
University of Tübingen (Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft, ZUK 63).
See below, section 2.2 and the chapter in this volume by Bignami, section 4.
The Steadiness of a Non-steady Place
171
humans. The immortal chariot of the Aśvins is “honey bringing”; it could
have three wheel rims as well as three supports,4 perhaps to hold something
on it (ṚV 1.34.2). The chariot of Savitṛ in ṚV 1.35.4 is covered with pearls
and golden yoke-pins. And it is no surprise that the means of transportation
for Agni is bhānumat, luminous (as, e.g., in ṚV 5.1.11). Notwithstanding the
focus on divine vehicles, from the verses praising and describing chariots one
can gain a glimpse of how they were conceived and imagined. Moreover, a
number of hymns provide concrete details and features of worldly chariots.5
For instance, in ṚV 1.30.16 Indra gives men a golden ratha, in ṚV 6.47.26 it
is stated that the wood of the war chariot is knotted with cows, meaning that
the chariot was constructed with joints and leather straps. A wonderful description can be found in ṚV 10.85, where the chariot, decorated with flowers
and wood, plays a central role in the marriage of Sūryā.
1 The Ṛgvedic ratha: The chariot as a living prismatic metaphor
I would like to begin by charting the main notions linked to the chariot in the
Ṛgvedic poetic corpus. In this way, I aim at showing the multiple meanings
evoked by the image of chariots in this anthology of hymns. In fact, its semantic values extend from the concrete battle-field to the poetic domain of
rituals, thus giving rise to a tangle of metaphors and reciprocal connections.6
1.1 ratha and swiftness
The first feature associated with a ratha is its swiftness, which it shares with
soma (9.38.1 arṣati). Being swift is a modality of the notion of “going,”
which had a key importance in the semi-nomadic society of early Vedic
times. The following mantras provide examples of this feature.7
ūrdhvó naḥ pāhy áṃhaso ní ketúnā | víśvaṃ sám atríṇaṃ daha | kṛdhī́
na ūrdhvā́ ñ caráthāya jīváse | vidā́ no dúvaḥ || (ṚV 1.36.14)
4
5
6
7
In 1.34.2 the chariot has tráyaḥ paváyaḥ and tráya skambhā́ saḥ.
In particular in 3.53.17–19, quite a few details are mentioned about the different components of the chariot, including the kinds of wood to be used.
Many scholars, e.g., Edgerton (1919) and Windisch (1893), have already pointed out
this semantic richness.
Unless otherwise stated, all translations are my own.
172
Elena Mucciarelli
Upright protect us from the enclosure8 with (your) sign9, burn the evil
devourer (Atri) completely; make us upright for a vagrant life (a life
on the move)10, may you find for us preference among the gods.
The strophe above prays for a carátha life, while in the following strophe
1.72.6 the contraposition between carátha and sthā́ tṛ emerges clearly: both
are to be protected and together they represent the entire livestock:
tríḥ saptá yád gúhyāni tvé ít padā́ vidan níhitā yajñíyāsaḥ |
tébhī rakṣante amṛ́taṃ sajóṣāḥ paśū́ ñ ca sthātṝ́ñ caráthaṃ ca pāhi ||
(ṚV 1.72.6)
As those worthy of worship found the three times secret paths contained in you, with these they protect the immortal one acting in harmony; protect the stationary cattle and the [wild animals that] move.11
Again, in 1.68.1 we find the binomial set sthātṛ-caratha, referring to the
activity of Agni as the common fire:12
śrīṇánn úpa sthād dívam bhuraṇyú sthātúś carátham aktū́ n vy ū̀ rṇot |
(ṚV 1.68.1)
Burning, he approaches the sky quivering, he uncovers the one still
and the one moving during the nights.
The same reference to the activity of Agni is found also in 1.70.7, where it is
paralleled by the expression sthatuś ca ratha, used also in strophe 3 of the
same hymn.
8 On the meaning of the word áṃhas conveying the idea of a concrete “narrowness” as a
mental distress, see Gonda (1957: 254). Taking into account the pāda c, I would suggest keeping the spatial idea of something small and closed vs. the urú kṣáyāya
(1.36.8) summoned up with carátha.
9 ketú, derived from the verbal root cit-, conveys the idea of a sign of recognition
through its illuminating qualities; see Renou 1955 and EWAia I, 399.
10 Proferes (2003: 172) translates this “for carrying out a long life,” but I would say that
here the idea of moving implied in carátha cannot be left out, because this was a central element of the life of the Vedic tribes; cf. also the translations of Geldner, and the
one by Witzel and Gotō (1.36.14d) “Richte uns auf zum Wandel, zum Leben!”
11 Here sthātṛ might also refer to plants, as is the case with similar expressions in the Pāli
Canon (see Schmithausen 1991). However, the reference to plants would be an anachronism in the Ṛgveda, which reflects the life of nomadic tribes: plants have more significance in the later period of semi-nomadic life. See also the translation in Jamison and
Brereton 2014.
12 See Proferes (2007: 395) for the idea of a common fire and many fires as a social and
political metaphor.
The Steadiness of a Non-steady Place
173
várdhān yám pūrvī́ ḥ kṣapó vírūpā | sthātúś carátham ṛtápravītam ||
(ṚV 1.70.7)
Him they made grow during the many nights of different form, the one
still and the one moving, the one conceived through order.
1.1.1 ratha as a means for crossing fields
In the context of the semi-nomadic existence of the carátha life, the chariot
provides more than just an instrument to move: it has the ability to go
through, and in this sense, it helps to cross difficulties. This aspect is more
than one of the many features of the motif of the chariot; the capacity to traverse (pṛ- / tṛ-) is indeed the underlying rationale connecting the motif of the
chariot to poetry, as we will see below, and to ritual. Such an ability is also
that of the boat,13 as found in 10.101.2; 1.46.8 where the tīrthe sindhunām is
clearly related to the ritual. In 10.116.9 and finally in 7.70.2, it is not a ship
that is being spoken about, but a drink, gharma, is mentioned, which, in turn,
is said to be yujanaḥ like a chariot and able to traverse the waters (samudram
piparti).14
1.2 The godly character of the ratha
Elsewhere the chariot is not regarded as an instrument for transportation; the
poets rather emphasize its sacred and supernatural essence. The godly character of the chariot is affirmed both in the sense of it having a divine status in
itself, as well as by the use of the word ratha in apposition to, or as an appellative for, the gods, especially for Agni. In the following strophe, the fire-god
is identified with a series of other gods, either as a part of their bodies or
through their attributes; the last epithet of the list is déva ratha.
índrasya vájro marútām ánīkam mitrásya gárbho váruṇasya nā́ bhiḥ |
sémā́ ṃ no havyádātiṃ juṣāṇó déva ratha práti havyā́ gṛbhāya || (ṚV
6.47.28)
You are the vajrá of Indra, the row of the Maruts, the son of Mitra, the
navel of Varuṇa. Rejoicing in this oblation given by us15 take in / ingest the oblation, o divine chariot.
13 The analogy of ritual as a ship is also found in late Vedic literature; see ŚB 4.2.5.10,
AB 4.13; TS 5.3.10.1 (cf. Hauer 1927: 247). For different types of boats in the Vedic
period see Klaus 1990.
14 On the meaning of the noun samudrá in the Vedic texts, apart from the controversy
connected with the river Sarasvatī, see Klaus 1989.
15 hayvadāti, “das Geben der Opfertränke” (Grassmann 1875 [1996: 1657]), emphasizes
the action of giving. As an adjective it is especially used for Agni, who conveys the
174
Elena Mucciarelli
As it could be expected, there is frequently a connection between chariots and
the sun gods such as the Aśvins, Sūrya and Savitṛ, which traces back to the
Indo-European imagery of the sun as a wheel carried through the sky by a
horse.16
1.3 ratha and conquest
Another semantic world evoked by the chariot is the one of conquest, battle
and victory. The ratha is strongly connected to competitions,17 both as conquering expeditions or raids (gaviṣṭī) and as races (āji). In this connection it
is noteworthy that the word that will later indicate a ritual race, āji, as a technical term, in the Ṛgveda Saṃhitā conveys the general meaning of “race” or
“battle.”
1.4 ratha in the ritual context
The victory, the booty to be gained, represents the overlapping aim of both
warfare and sacrifice, as found in 1.123.5.
jáyema táṃ dákṣiṇayā ráthena (ṚV 1.123.5d)
May we win over this one with a dakṣiṇā as a chariot – with the
dakṣiṇā, the chariot.
Furthermore, soma is often equated with the chariot, not only because of the
swiftness of both, but also their shared ability to bring wealth:
prá svānā́ so ráthā iva / árvanto ná śravasyávaḥ | sómāso rāyé
akramuḥ (ṚV 9.10.1)
Resounding like a chariot the soma juices seeking glory like coursers
proceeded towards wealth.
The sacrificial fee, which stands metonymically for the sacrifice, is also
equated with the chariot, insofar as both are said to be instruments for attaining a secure success.
Moreover, Franklin Edgerton (1919: 180–181) suggested reading the motif of the chariot in a few hymns, such as ṚV 10.53 and ṚV 10.70, from a
metaphoric perspective. He speculated that no real vehicle is intended here,
but rather a symbol either for parts or for the entirety of the rite. The link
oblations to the other gods. In this use, havyadāti alludes to the role of Agni as a messenger.
16 See already von Schroeder 1916: 65–69.
17 Its warlike character is also expressed by its association with weapons like vájra, a
comparison that later thrives in post-Ṛgvedic texts.
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between the ratha and sacrifice is established very clearly later on, since in
the post-Ṛgvedic Saṃhitās and Brāhmaṇas, the yájña is said to be a ratha.
In post-ṚV times, a ratha can also be said to be made of meters and is
therefore called a chandoratha; in particular, this correlation also has a practical application insofar as an actual chariot can be used as a unit of measure
for constructing the sacred space, as, e.g., in the nirūḍhapaśubandha, the
separate offering of animals or the offering of an eviscerated animal, in which
the chariot serves as the measurement for establishing the sacred area.
To sum up, the Ṛgvedic and Brāhmaṇa associations of sacrifice with the
vehicle are similar to one another, but in fact the basis of such relations are
quite different: in the latter the space of the ritual procedure is the underlying
rationale, while in the former the two elements are associated through poetic
imagery.
1.5 ratha and poetry
The connection with ritual is indeed part of a larger set of correlations that
link the motif of the chariot to speech (vāc), especially the sacred speech of
the hymns that is considered to shape reality. The relation to poetry of the
ratha-motif is indeed expressed through a variety of connections that relate to
a number of semantic levels. Among them is frequently found the comparison between the chariot builder and the poet, often expressed with the verb
takṣ-, as in ṚV 5.2.11:
etáṃ te stómaṃ tuvijāta vípro | ráthaṃ ná dhī́ raḥ svápā atakṣam |
yádī́ d agne práti tváṃ deva háryāḥ | súvarvatīr apá enā jayema || (ṚV
5.2.11)
This praise of you, born of power, I, inspired, fashioned: a chariot like
a skillful artisan; if this will delight you, o Agni, we may then win waters and sun.
Likewise, the competitive aspect of poetry, later highlighted in the brahmodya, is associated with horse races, as in ṚV 8.3.15, where the honeyed songs
are said to compete for the prize like chariots. In the same context a further
association, already mentioned above, is established between the motif of the
chariot and the idea of passing over difficulties. Additionally, poetic skills are
often associated with the motif of the chariot:
vayám u tvā pathas pate ráthaṃ ná vā́ jasātaye | dhiyé pūṣann ayujmahi || (ṚV 6.53.1)
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O Puṣan, we have yoked you for inspired poetry, like a chariot for vigor18, o lord of the path.
Similarly, in 1.113.17 we find the expression “the reins of speech” (syūmanā
vācaḥ), while in 7.24.5 a prayer is compared to a horse at the chariot-pole:
dhurī̀ vā́ tyo ná vājáyann adhāyi. This image is elaborated in 7.64.4, where the
mind itself shapes the chariot; thus, the vehicle is not only compared to a
hymn, but it is also created through identical means. In the same verse, one
who might be sprinkled by the benevolence of Mitra and Varuṇa is said to be
equally capable of creating a chariot seat (this is again expressed with the
verb takṣ-) and of producing inspired visions:
yó vāṃ gártam mánasā tákṣad etám ūrdhvā́ ṃ dhītíṃ kṛṇávad dhāráyac ca | ukṣéthām mitrāvaruṇā ghṛténa tā́ rājānā sukṣitī́ s tarpayethām || (ṚV 7.64.4)
Who will fashion for you two this chariot seat with his mind, who will
make a high inspired vision and support it, may you, o Mitra and Varuṇa sprinkle him with ghee, may you bless the secure dwelling, o
kings.
In 2.31.7 the hymn in its entirety is related to a well-equipped chariot, which
is also in other instances strongly related to inspired chants. In the first
example one finds again the verb takṣ-:
etā́ vo vaśmy údyatā yajatrā átakṣann āyávo návyase sám | śravasyávo vā́ jaṃ cakānā́ ḥ sáptir ná ráthyo áha dhītím aśyāḥ || (ṚV 2.31.7)
I wish these being raised up for you, the men fashioned into a new
one; may they get an inspired vision like a chariot’s steed seeking
fame, desiring the prize.
The following stanza is similar:
prá śukraítu devī́ manīṣā́ asmát sútaṣṭo rátho ná vājī́ (ṚV 7.34.1)
Let the bright divine inspired thoughts come forth from us, like a chariot seeking the prize.
1.6 ratha and generative power
Through the noun vāja, used in both of the stanzas quoted above, we arrive at
another motif connected to the ratha: its generative power, to which the word
vāja is also connected. This term, often referred to as the boon that must be
won at a ceremonial chariot race after the winter in order to let the earth re18 For vā́ ja as vigour or vegetative power, see Gonda 1954.
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joice,19 is meant, according to Gonda (1954: 194), as vital power, namely
vegetative energy. We shall see below the same concept in the context of
ritual races (section 2.2.3). Another element that links the chariot and vāja is
the sun, in its turn a creator, as in ṚV 9.90.1 ab:
prá hinvānó janitā́ ródasyo rátho ná vā́ jaṃ saniṣyánn ayāsīt (ṚV
9.90.1b)
The creator of the two worlds being pushed forward has advanced like
a chariot striving to gain the vāja.
By contrast, in ṚV 3.38.1 ab the motif of fertility is associated to the chariot,
and both chariot and fertility are included in a simile for poetic work, an act
like that of the taṣṭṛ, thus interweaving these two semantic fields into a single
representation.
abhí táṣṭeva dīdhayā manīṣā́ m átyo ná vājī́ sudhúro jíhānaḥ | (ṚV
3.38.1ab)
Like a carpenter I reflected on my poetic inspiration20, as a horse seeking for the prize that bounds forward, well drafted to a yoke.
The chariot is associated with fertility both in the Ṛgveda Saṃhitā and in the
Atharvaveda tradition. Mostly, the idea of circular movement embodied by
the spin of the wheels represents a symbol of new life, as in many cultural
contexts, and this imagery is developed in the royal rituals as well (see below).
Furthermore, chariots are associated with marriage, as in the famous
hymn 10.85 where Sūryā is brought to her husband on a chariot.21 Likewise,
in the much debated sūkta 10.102, a chariot race is mentioned as part of a plot
that, although obscure in many details and open to different interpretations,22
19 See also Kuiper 1960: 240.
20 The word manīṣā́ , “geistige Erregtheit” (EWAia II 308–309), does not only represent
the conjuring up of an idea, but also the work of the mind in connection with inspiration. According to Thieme (1967), who explains the noun as a compound from a rootnoun man and the verbal noun īṣā́ “die Aufwallung,” it conveys the idea of “dichterische Ekstase,” thus pointing to the idea of inspiration that resembles the Greek enthusiasmós. Gonda translates the term with “inspired thought”; see Gonda 1963.
21 This same hymn is re-used in the liturgy of the royal rites (see section 2.2.1).
22 See the different readings of Brereton (2002), who proposes connecting it with a
niyoga ritual, and Jamison (2011), who reckons it with the dialogic discussions about
the ritual innovations that took place at the end of the early Vedic period. According to
the latter interpretation, the matter under consideration was the participation of the
patnī in the solemn rituals.
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is nonetheless linked to the theme of fertility and the issue of begetting
offspring for an impotent husband.
1.7 Summing up: The many semantic values of the ratha in the Ṛgveda
Saṃhitā
To sum up, the main semantic fields associated with the motif of the chariot
in the Ṛgvedic anthology are as follows: swiftness, divine status, conquest,
victory and sacrifice, poetry and fertility.
It is important to focus on this semantic variety in order to contrast it with
the features associated with the chariot in the following periods and to explore the choices made within conscious reuses of this element. While in the
Ṛgveda Saṃhitā the use of the chariot motif is quite diverse, in the late Vedic
period, the chariot and its corresponding motif undergo a process of specialization in the framework of a wider social and political re-casting. Within the
great royal sacrifices, the chariot comes to play a role as an attribute of
power, as is also clearly the case in the medieval period. Accordingly, the
vehicle contains a metaphoric as well as a concrete status. As for their connection, as maintained also by Sparreboom (1985: 6), already in the śrauta
period, the chariot was a thing of the past and its driving, a lost art. This
change created room for the chariot to assume a more confined ritual role.
1.8 The medieval adaptive reuse of the ratha compared to its Vedic use
Before considering the middle Vedic period, I shall dwell briefly on the Ṛgvedic use of the chariot in the light of the post-Vedic devotional development
of this use, as analyzed in the chapter by Bignami in this volume. Although
there is no evidence for a processional use of the chariot in the Ṛgvedic corpus, nonetheless a form of procession that could well have been a real journey accompanied by rituals is conceivable.
Taking into account the medieval and modern processional chariot, it is
worth noting that what in the Ṛgvedic period was a real voyage ‒ re-used in a
simple and linear way during the less nomadic time of the following centuries
‒ changed substantially in medieval times, when we witness its adaptive
reuse. If compared to Vedic times, the ritual role of the ratha is adaptively
reused in connection with royal power as an instrument for negotiating political claims. As anticipated at the beginning of this chapter, this kind of reuse
does not entail a strong modification of the semantic or cultural values connected with the idea of a ratha. In this sense, what happens within the Vedic
period is the linear re-use of the chariot.
In contrast, as can be seen in Bignami’s chapter, the motif of the chariot
in the medieval period, while remaining an important component of royal
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179
legitimation, was subject to a strong adaptation within different religious and
political contexts. Its imagery was deeply modified due to new issues: the
chariot as a model for the temple, as suggested by Bignami, indeed represents
a completely new use of the motif.
2 The linear re-use of the ratha in the middle Vedic period: The
symbolic chariot
2.1 The socio-political context of the re-use
The major social and political shift that took place around the turn of the first
millennium BC involves some aspects23 that must be recalled here, since they
probably determined the modification of the imagery of the chariot.
While the Ṛgvedic period sees the warring of everybody with everybody
‒ a time in which we may imagine a political structure composed of some
fifty small tribes in constant conflict with each other and against other indigenous peoples ‒ at the beginning of the so-called Yajurvedic period, a more
stable political situation had emerged. In the new set-up, which corresponds
to the composition of the liturgic Saṃhitās, the division of power has been
reshaped. In particular, the two social figures of the kṣatriyas and rājans
begin to emerge from the group of “equals” or sajāta.24 In some rites attested
in the liturgical corpus, such as the “optional or wish offerings” (kamyeṣṭi), it
is possible to pinpoint tensions between a chieftain lord (rājan) who is ruling,
or trying to rule, over fellow rājans and kṣatriyas and the viś. The political
instability increases in the following Brāhmaṇa period, due to the shift from a
semi-nomadic to a resident culture. In fact, as a consequence of this shift, the
state formation shows a development from below, while the leaders increase
their efforts to establish a pyramid-like political structure (Kulke 1992).
These contrasting tendencies are further intensified by the social fragmentation of the region. All of these elements lead to a high degree of instability,
which might resemble that of the “elusive”25 south South Asian medieval
kingdoms, whose rulers engaged in an endless effort to maintain their power.
The political dynamics at the emergence of the rājans and kṣatriyas is
well represented in the rāṣṭrabhṛt ceremony: the rāṣṭrabhṛt offerings should
23 For a complete picture, see, among others, Witzel 1999 and Bryant and Patton 2004.
24 See the description of this mechanism in Kulke 1992.
25 As to the similarity between state formation in the Vedic and medieval periods, see
Kulke 1995, and Kulke and Rothermund 2010. The term “elusive” has been used by
Shulman (1985) to refer to kings whose kingdoms were always close to disappearance.
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be offered by someone who desires the kingdom, as well as by someone who
desires a village. In the text of Taittirīyasaṃhitā 3.4.8 (cf. also KS 37.11:
91.16) the grāmakāma indeed seems to match Kulke’s description of the new
role that came with the first state formations and the need of chiefdoms to
establish their power among the sajātas (see Kulke 1992: 190–191).
rāṣṭrákāmāya hotavyā̀ rāṣṭráṃ vái rāṣṭrabhṛ́to rāṣṭréṇaivā́ smai rāṣṭrám áva runddhe rāṣṭrám evá bhavati | ātmáne hotavyā̀ rāṣṭráṃ vái
rāṣṭrabhṛ́to rāṣṭrám prajā́ rāṣṭrám paśávo rāṣṭráṃ yác chréṣṭho bhávati rāṣṭréṇaivá rāṣṭrám áva runddhe vásiṣṭhaḥ samānā́ nām bhavati
grā́ makāmāya hotavyā̀ rāṣṭráṃ vái rāṣṭrabhṛ́to rāṣṭráṁ sajātā́ rāṣṭréṇaivā́ smai rāṣṭráṁ sajātā́ n áva runddhe grāmī́ || (TS 3.4.8.1)
They should be offered by someone desiring a kingdom. The rāṣṭrabhṛt are the kingdom. With the kingdom he obtains the kingdom for
him. He becomes the kingdom. They should be offered to himself.
The rāṣṭrabhṛt are the kingdom. The people are the kingdom, the cattle are the kingdom. In that, he becomes the best, he is the kingdom,
he obtains the kingdom with the kingdom. He becomes the wealthiest
among similar men. They should be offered by someone desiring a
grāma. The rāṣṭrabhṛt are the kingdom. The related men are the kingdom. With the kingdom he wins for him the kingdom, the related men.
He is the grāmin.
The two parallel structures of this paragraph stress the two different characteristics of the rāṣṭrákāma and the grāmakāma. Both long for a rāṣṭra, but
while the former is relying on the prājas, a term also used for subjects, the
grāmakāma has his support in the sajātas – thus implying a less pyramid-like
society.
The rituals that will be examined below belong to the middle Vedic period, when state formation had already taken place. The texts depicting them
result from the effort to create a shared ritual set and sustain the social structure that had developed during that stage of state formation. Nonetheless
some traces of the conflicts that took place in the intermediate period, such as
can be seen in the rāṣṭrabhṛt ceremony, are still apparent in the texts. From
this perspective, I will analyze the role of the chariot and the corresponding
motif in this new social panorama, especially the way this vehicle is used
within rituals involved in the legitimation process of the new social structure.
2.2 The chariot in the middle Vedic sacrifices
The creation of homogenous ritual procedures was part of the political
agenda of the chieftains taking control over the different tribes. This was all
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181
the more true in the case of royal sacrifices, in which the chariot was used. In
this sense, the ratha imagery underwent a recasting process that preserved
only a few features attested in Ṛgvedic hymns. As seen above, in that earlier
period, chariots were the main instruments with which contesting parties
engaged in battle (section 1.3) and they were also related to the ability of
going through obstacles (section 1.1.1). The former aspect, as argued by
Sparreboom,26 is the main reason for the connection yajña-ratha, and, we
may add, for the pivotal role of the chariot in royal rituals. However, the
ritual use of the ratha shows that its role had become problematic and that the
actual practices of racing or raiding were slowly being replaced or sublimated. As will become evident in the following examples, the chariot was
used only as a ritual token, whereas the concrete function underlying the
ritual use had been lost.
2.2.1 The chariot in non-royal sacrifices
First, I shall consider rituals other than the great royal sacrifices in which the
chariot plays a role. The ratha was conceived as a dakṣinā in the Śrauta Sūtra
(LātŚS 2.7.20; DrāhŚS 5.3.22) and in the Gṛyha Sūtra literature. Moreover,
within the rathārohana rituals, there is the prescription of a drive as an initiation for a new chariot (ĀśvGS 2.6.1–15). This ritual drive is also inserted into
the marriage ceremony as it is described in the Vārāhagṛhyasūtra (VGS) and
the Mānava Gṛhya Sūtra. Quite interestingly, a sort of post – more precisely
a tree or a funerary monument (caitya in VGS 15.4) – is again mentioned in
these texts, as in the earlier race contexts (see section 2.2.2). Additionally, the
Ṛgvedic mantra to be recited during such wedding ceremonies is a modification of 10.85.20, where Sūryā, the daughter or wife of the sun, is mentioned
along with a rich description of a chariot that is here again involved in a sort
of wedding procession:
sukiṃśukaṃ śalmaliṃ viśvarūpaṃ hiraṇyavarṇaṃ sudhuraṃ sucakram āroha sūrye amṛtasya panthāṃs tena yāhi gṛhānsvasti ityāropayet | 2 | (VGS 15.2)
“Mount the good, golden chariot made of śalmali, adorned with
kiṃśuka flowers, colorful, that moves smoothly, o Sūryā – o bride –
(mount) the paths of immortality, along with it go to the house happily!” saying this, may he make her mount.
26 Sparreboom 1985, in particular p. 82: “the chariot and the sacrifice were inseparable,
being the instrument for the winning of booty and the conquering of new land.”
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The use of this strophe containing the image of a procession of vehicles
framed within a solar context seems to allude to the idea of circular movement as found in the Ṛgveda Saṃhitā. This aspect, not prominent in the
Brāhmaṇical representation of the chariot, seems to be an aspect of the chariot that survived the middle Vedic reform.
Another use of the chariot that is not connected with the royal sacrifice is
to transport the fire in the Agnyādheya, the ritual installation of the sacrificial
fire. Notably, in this case, a horse, the fire and the chariot are presented separately: first the horse is led to the āhavanīya (the sacrificial fire), then it is led
around it with a turn and is sprinkled; afterwards it is let loose to the north,
and eventually, it is brought back to its starting position. The adhvaryu (the
priest entitled to perform the sacrifice) carries the fire, and then a chariot
wheel, or a chariot, is led from the gārhapatya (the domestic fire) to the
āhavanīya (the sacrificial fire).27 The three components of the possible function of the ratha as a means of transportation have been disassembled, and
we might say that they are “no longer in use.” The chariot is slowly changing
its function, and consequently its value, being more a symbol of conquest and
fortune than an actual instrument for attaining desired boons.
2.2.2 The chariot in the royal sacrifices
Turning now to the royal sacrifices, in the Aśvamedha a chariot drive takes
place just before (Kātyāyanaśrautasūtra [KātŚS], Mānavaśrautasūtra, Baudhāyanaśrautasūtra [BauŚS]) or after (Āpastambaśrautasūtra) the anointing
and adorning of the sacrificial horse by the three wives on the second somapressing day, the day on which the horse is sacrificed. The chariot is driven to
a pond that lies in the south according to BauŚS 15.24: 228.6 atha dakṣiṇaṃ
hradam abhiprayāti, in the east (Kātyāyana), or in the north (Āpastamba). In
some texts the horses enter the water ā kroḍebhyo ’śvān abhidhāvayanti
(BauŚS 15.24: 228.7), while in the Āpastambaśrautasūtra they can also just
smell the waters. Afterwards, the chariot makes a turn to the right, which
seems to resemble the turn around the end post in a chariot race.28 Considering these descriptions, it is clear that the role of the chariot in the Aśvamedha
is already merely symbolic; a similar level of abstraction can be found also in
the aforementioned rituals, where the chariot does not seem to have any
practical purpose.
Let us now turn our attention to the rituals in which, already in the Vedic
period, the use of a chariot was connected with the consecration of sove27 Only Vaitānaśrautasūtra 2.5.18 has a real transport rathenāgnau praṇīyamāne.
28 BauŚS 15.24: 228.8 athaitaṃ rathaṃ pradakṣiṇam āvartya śālām ānayati.
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reignty. The two main royal rituals in which the ratha plays a more functional role are the Vājapeya and the Rājasūya.29 In the descriptions of the
Vājapeya (BauŚS 11.6–11.8) the chariot is used to perform a race, and the
main ritual sūtras give a similar account of this with only minor variations. It
is a real race, entailing a prize and a winner: the chariot of the rājan must go
around a post made of udumbara wood.
On the other hand, the Rājasūya presents some peculiarities. In the KātŚS,
the Mānava Śrauta Sūtra and the Āpastamba Śrauta Sūtra, the role of the
chariot is described differently than in the BauŚS. In the former three texts,
which are dated to a later period, only the preparation of the chariot occurs
vājapeyavat “as in the Vājapeya,” whereas the actual race does not take
place: it is rather a symbolic horse drive that is referred to. According to the
KātŚS, only one chariot driven by the yajamāna is present; it is led amidst
cows that belong to a relative of the sacrificer (sva). A cattle raid of relatives
and the shooting of an arrow against them is also referred to in LātŚS 9.1.14–
22. In contrast, according to ĀpŚS, HirŚS and MānŚS the sacrificer raids a
kṣatriya or rājaniya armed with a bow. The sacrificer shoots at him. On the
contrary, in the BauŚS, the oldest of these textual sources, a chariot race is
indeed performed and, unlike in the other texts, it is joined with a symbolic
cattle turn of a single chariot by the adhvaryu. This symbolic drive is done
twice, at the beginning and the end of the rite.
We can summarize the variants regarding the procedure of the Rājasūya
as follows:
a) Single chariot:
1)
Āpastamba, Hiraṇyakeśin, Mānava: symbolic cattle and raids of
kṣatriya.
2)
Shooting at kṣatriya.
3)
Kātyāyana: cattle raid of cattle belonging to a relative of the sacrificer.
4)
Lāṭyāyana: the king shoots his arrows at his relatives.
b) Several chariots:
Baudhāyana30:
1)
The adhvaryu performs a symbolical drive.
29 For a thorough description and analysis of the Rājasūya (especially that of the Yajurveda school), see Heesterman 1957.
30 BauŚS 12.7; 12.12–14.
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The sacrificer puts on boar skin sandals and pays homage to the
earth.
The race is settled and the rājaputra takes the role of the sacrificer.
The adhvaryu instructs him to shoot at the rājanya.
3a) The race begins, and during the race drums are played and
loud cries are made, as during the Mahāvrata (see below).
3b) The race ends and the adhvaryu makes another symbolic
drive.
The first thing to be noted here is the substitution of the yajāmana with the
adhvaryu in the symbolic drives. Another interesting difference is that the
shooting is performed in this ritual along with the chariot race by the pratihita “the heir apparent.” Indeed, the rājaputra, for whom the Rājasūya establishes a strong lineal connection,31 is instructed by the adhvaryu to shoot at a
rājanya and miss him, in order to gain a thousand cows:
atha pratihitāya dhanuḥ prayacchann āha rājanya eṣa ṣaṭtriṃśatsu
śamyāpravyādheṣu nirjayena sahasreṇāvasitas tasmā iṣum asyatād
apainaṃ rādhnutāj jitvainaṃ dakṣiṇāpathenātyākurutāt iti | rājanya
eva saṃśiṣṭo bhavati rājaputras ta iṣum asiṣyati sa tvāparātsyati
tasmā uttaravargyeṇa saṃmṛjyeṣu prayacchatāt | iti (BauŚS 12.12:
103).
Then he gives the bow to the heir apparent and says, “a rājanya is
standing within thirty-six throws (śamyā) with a thousand conquests
(i.e., cows), throw to him the arrow and miss him, having won him
bring them here through the dakṣinā path.” The rājanya is also instructed: “the rājaputra will throw an arrow at you and miss you; having removed it with the upper garment, grant it to him.”
Although it is not clear exactly at which point this raid is performed (before
the race, immediately after the instruction sa tathā karoti, or during the
chariot race), the passive role of the yajamāna is striking.
If we look at the combination of these elements, what we get from the account in the BauŚS is a quite complex and confused picture, particularly as a
guide to actions to be performed; Sparreboom already wondered how these
different actions could be performed together.32 If the chariot doing the
symbolical drive belongs to the sacrificer, for instance, it can be the same
chariot that is used to shoot at the rājanya, and how could it possibly take
31 On the role and significance of the heir apparent, see Jamison 1996: 110–114.
32 See Sparreboom 1985: 49–50.
The Steadiness of a Non-steady Place
185
part in the race? If we consider the relative chronology33 of these texts,
Baudhāyana reflects the most archaic state we can have access to, and it may
enable us to shed light on an older and not attested form of rājasūya. As
Heesterman has pointed out, in the accounts we have for rituals, there are
traces of a “genuine” antagonism.34 It is therefore worth noting the “confusion” or “the impression of juxtaposition” of the descriptions presented in
particular by Baudhāyana. We can speculate that this feature is a trace of a
moment when the “new” and polished form of rājasūya had not yet been
completely developed. The redactors of these texts aimed at re-shaping the
use of the ratha into a pre-determined dynamic whose process and result
could be controlled.
Thus, within the construction of the Brāhmaṇic ritual system, the role of
the chariot changes towards a more specialized function, leaving out some
central aspects of the Ṛgvedic ratha, as for example the connection with
poetry or its dynamic character. The motif of the chariot is indeed reused in a
new way, by which it becomes a symbolic instrument connected to a fictitious ride.
This process can be observed not only in the royal rituals, but also in the
other ones I examined earlier in this section. If we consider some features of
the rites in which the chariot is used, we might find other signs pointing to
this sort of reuse. In the texts dealing with the chariot as a dakṣinā, it is mentioned that the chariot race can be avoided (LātŚS 2.8.16; DrāhŚS 5.4.16) by
reciting the proper mantras. This establishes a sort of equation between the
chariot and the liturgic formula.
Going back to the Agnyādheya, the chariot is disassembled and separated
from the horse and thus deprived of its concrete function. Furthermore, in the
Vājapeya the formal race is “concurring” with the brahmán singing the
sāman;35 in BauŚS 11.8: 77.4 it is said gāyati brahmā vājināṃ sāma taṃ ya
eva kaś ca parikarmy āveṣṭayati,36 commented upon by the gloss bhramayati
cakram; similarly, in the ĀpŚS,37 the brahmán is on a wheel and symbolically performs a race:
33 As to the relative chronology and especially the position of the Baudhāyana Śrauta
Sūtra, see Gonda (1975: 482) and Jamison and Witzel (1992: 19–20).
34 This hypothesis does not need a strong defense. However one of the scholars who has
strongly brought forward the idea of a competitive and antagonistic society in early
Vedic times is Heesterman, see, e.g., Heesterman 1993.
35 JB 2.193 = 3.113 rathantara.
36 Caland takes āveṣṭayati to be a corruption of āceṣṭayati “to set in motion”; cf. the
relevant TB passage.
37 ĀpŚS 18.4.3–11.
186
Elena Mucciarelli
audumbaraṃ rathacakraṃ brahmārohati || tam āha vājināṃ sāma gāyeti | tasya cakraṃ triḥ pradakṣiṇam āvartayati | vartamāne brahmā
gāyati (ĀpŚS 18.4.8–11)
The brahmán mounts the wheel of a chariot made of udumbara wood;
he says “sing this sāman of the vāja’s winners”; he makes its wheel
perform a pradakṣiṇa three times; the brahmán sings while the wheel
turns.38
All these attestations present the motif of the chariot as a symbolic token that
may even function as a unit in the substitution mechanism of the Brāhmaṇic
ritual system.
To conclude, I shall take into account a third royal ritual in which a chariot is actually involved in a raid, namely the Gavām Ayana39 ritual, the annual sattra, which according to Baudhāyana and Āpastamba also includes a
chariot race and a cattle raid blending into each other during the Mahāvrata
day.40
uttareṇāgnīdhraṃ kaṭasaṃghāte tejanasaṃghāte vārdraṃ carma vyadhanārthaṃ vitatyocchrayanti | agreṇāhavanīyaṃ ratheṣu kavacinaḥ
saṃnahyante (ĀpŚS 21.18.5–6)
“To the north of the Āgnīdhra, a wet piece of leather is raised as a target on a frame made either of wicker or of reeds; in front of the
Āhavanīya the armed ones dress themselves.”
After preparing for the shooting, the adhvaryu lets the lute “sing” and a
copulation between a courtesan (puṃścalī) and a man from Māgadha takes
place: saṃvarttete puṃścalī māgadhaś ca | ājiṃ dhāvanti || ĀpŚS 21.19.6–7.
Directly thereafter the chariot race starts, and then the adhvaryu instructs
each of the kṣatriyas: “Do not throw away” “Do not throw asunder”: teṣām
ekaikaṃ saṃśāsti māparātsīr māti vyātsīr iti || ĀpŚS 21.19.14.41
In this ritual, another element plays an important role in the structure of
the performance: the loud soundings of voices and instruments, as in the
38 With regard to the role of the priest taking over that of the yajamāna, it is noteworthy
that in BauŚS 11.8: 78.3 ff. the rewards are first presented to the runners, but immediately afterwards they are collected and offered to the brahmán: tāni (kṛṣṇalam)
sārdhaṃ samādāya hiraṇyapātraṃ madhoḥ pūrṇam ity ekadhā brahmaṇa upaharati”
BauŚS 11.9.
39 See BauŚS 16.13–23; ĀpŚS 21.15–23; KātŚS 13.
40 Described in BauŚS 16.20: 266.5–268.7; ĀpŚS 21.18.1–6; 21.19.7; 21.19.13–17;
MānŚS 7.2.7.17; KātŚS 13.3.13; TS 7.5.9.2; KS 34.5: 39.15; PB 5.5.21.
41 A similar account is given in KātŚS 13.3.10–13.
The Steadiness of a Non-steady Place
187
Rājasūya’s chariot race. The KātŚS offers the following description of these
sounds on the Mahāvrata day:
sadaḥsraktiṣu dundubhīn vādayanti || āgnīdhramapareṇa śvabhraṃ
savāladhānena carmaṇāvanahya vāladhānenāhanti || godhāvīṇākāḥ
kāṇḍavīṇāścāḥ patnyo vādayanti || upagāyanti || anyāṃś ca śabdān
kurvanti || 19 || (KātŚS 13.3.15–19)
Some people play on the drums at the corners of the Sadas. Having
covered a pit to the west of the Āgnīdhra with the skin [of a bull] and
its tail, they beat it with the tail. The wives play the vīṇā made of
strings and reeds, they sing, they produce different sounds.42
2.2.3 The chariot and the evocation of fertility
There is an idea brought forth in connection with the music, chanting and
copulation that is related to the use of the ratha during all three sacrificial
procedures, namely the Rājasūya, Vājapeya and Gavām Ayana: the evocation
of fertility. This aspect is also present in the Śrauta Sūtra texts dealing with
marriage rituals, where we have found again the use of a chariot and a sort of
race. Moreover, as Heesterman has already argued, one function of the royal
rituals is the regeneration of productive forces.43 The circular motion of the
wheel and that of the pradakṣiṇa drive represent the circularity of time and
seasons, i.e., the year, as can be seen for instance in the Taittirīyabrāhmaṇa.
1.7.9.1–2. devarathám evā́ smai yunakti | tráyó ’śvā bhavanti | ráthaś
caturtháḥ | dváu savyeṣṭhasārathī́ | ṣáṭ sáṃpadyante || ṣáḍ vā́ ṛtávaḥ |
(Taittirīyabrāhmaṇa 1.7.9.1–2)
He yokes the chariot of gods, there are three horses, the chariot is the
fourth, and the two charioteers, one on the right, one on the left, they
amount to six; there are indeed six seasons.
Additionally, the vāja – the prize to be conquered (in both the Vājapeya and
the Rājasūya, the horse is called “vāja winner” [vājajit]) – is a form of renewing force, as we have already seen in the Ṛgvedic context (see section 1.6).44
42 Commented upon by Karka as mardalabherīpaṭahādijān anyān api, thus including
different drums.
43 See Heesterman 1957: 133–139.
44 On the connection between fertility and the motif of the chariot in the Ṛgvedic context,
see section 1.6.
188
Elena Mucciarelli
2.3 Shrinking of meanings in middle Vedic reuse
If one recalls the variety of images discussed at the beginning, one will easily
notice that only a few of the motifs attached to the Ṛgvedic chariot – a concrete object working as an “objective correlate” – are still found in the middle
Vedic reuse of the motif. At this stage, the symbol of the chariot only stands
for power and divine status, and is connected to fertility. The Ṛgvedic motifs
are still present, but they convey different values insofar as they are inserted
in the ritual structure. Most notably, fertility is no longer regarded as merely
the generative energy of nature: it is a matter of power and is strictly connected to the human – specifically royal – role.
3 Conclusion
The full-fledged range of imagery of the ratha in the Ṛgvedic corpus decreased in the Brāhmaṇa texts. The motif of the chariot became a symbolic
token of power. That is to say, while in the early Vedic period the motif of
the ratha was connected with many different semantic fields, during the later
period it seems to be restrained to that of power and sovereignty. Considering
this development carefully, it seems that the motif of the chariot was reused
in a linear way. The motif did not lose the connection with its previous function completely, and yet its role became substantially different. Is it possible
to argue that priestly groups made a conscious selection of the Ṛgvedic features of the chariot to reuse this important and meaningful token to convey
new meanings? Although I cannot offer a conclusive answer yet, the present
chapter has shown that the concrete use of the chariot was lost. More precisely, the earlier actual use of the chariot was sublimated into a symbolic
value, thus creating the possibility for it later to become an object of devotion.
The connection of the motif of the chariot to kingship appears again
throughout the medieval period (see the chapter by Bignami in this volume),
when Vedic elements were reused to legitimize sovereignty and royal power.
During this politically unstable period, kings indeed developed an array of
different means to establish their power; as part of this agenda, they asserted
in inscriptions that they had, for instance, performed the great royal rituals
such as the Aśvamedha, the Vedic horse sacrifice mentioned above (section
2.2.2). Another aspect found again in the medieval period is a strong connection between the motif of the chariot and fertility, which is also an instrument
The Steadiness of a Non-steady Place
189
for establishing or proving royal power. For instance, the rathayātras45 are
carried out still today in the spring to celebrate the restoration of Kāma,
whose friend Vāsanta drives about the earth to proclaim Kāma’s renewed
reign over the world. Although the two types of ceremonies are different,
since the Vedic royal rituals are a yajña and the medieval ones, as for example the chariot festivals, are pūjās, nonetheless the strong connection of the
motif of the chariot to the construction of royal power, based on a continuous
exchange with the divine, appears to be a common feature throughout different periods and different cultural frames.
References
Abbreviations
AB
ĀpŚS
ĀśvGS
BauŚS
DrāhŚS
HirŚS
JB
KātŚS
KS
LātŚS
MānŚS
PB
ṚV
TB
TS
Vaitānaśrautasūtra
VGS
Aitareyabrāhmaṇa see Aufrecht 1879
Āpastambaśrautasūtra see Garbe 1983
Āśvalāyanagṛhyasūtra see Sharma 1976
Baudhāyanaśrautasūtra see Caland 1904 and Kashikar
2003
Drāhyāyaṇaśrautasūtra see Reuter 1904
Hiraṇyakeśiśrautasūtra
Jaiminiyabrāhmaṇa see Raghu Vira and Lokesh Chandra
1954; for JB 2.334-370 see Tsuchida 1979
Kātyāyanaśrautasūtra see Weber 1859
Kāṭhasaṃhitā see von Schroeder 1900
Lāṭyāyanaśrautasūtra see Ranade 1998
Mānavaśrautasūtra see Gelder 1985
Pañcaviṃśabrāhmaṇa see Vedāntavagīśa 1870–1874
Ṛgvedasaṃhitā see Müller 1849–1874, Geldner 1951 and
Witzel and Gotō 2007
Taittirīyabrāhmaṇa see Mitra 1862
Taittirīyasaṃhitā see Weber 1871–1872
see Vishvabandhu 1967
Vārāhagṛhyasūtra see Raghu Vira 1932 and Rolland 1971
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Chariot Festivals: The Reuse of the Chariot as
Space in Movement*
Cristina Bignami
Since Vedic times, the chariot (ratha) has been an element of various religious ceremonies in different cultures of South Asia. Its use in ritual contexts,
accordingly, has a long tradition, and even today, the chariot is the main
feature in large chariot festivals (rathayātrā or rathotsava). The present
chapter focuses on the reuse of the symbol of the Vedic chariot as “space in
movement” in ancient, medieval and contemporary contexts. Although the
chariot seems to have preserved some general ritual functions over the centuries, its concrete use has undergone many modifications. These changes
concern not only the outer form of the chariots (see section 8), but, more
interestingly, the interpretation of the chariot as a religious symbol. In the
course of history, the chariot preserved its role as a “space in movement,” but
it acquired new meanings that turned it into an instrument for legitimizing
sovereignty and generating social integration.
1 Introduction
A South Asian chariot festival is generally a part of large temple celebrations,
in the course of which processional idols are carried through the streets and
deities are hosted in highly decorated chariots that resemble huge temples on
wheels (Fig. 1). These celebrations are usually called rathayātrā or rathotsava. The term rathayātrā (chariot journey) refers to the journey of the chariot that leads the gods from one resident temple to another. A prominent
∗
This chapter was partly composed in the context of the International Project “Traces of
an Heterodox Concept of Kingship in Ancient, Medieval, and Modern India” led by
Tiziana Pontillo at the University of Cagliari and partly within the framework of the
DFG-financed project “Kings of the Wild: Re-use of Vedic and local elements in the
legitimation process of Medieval Karnataka,” which I lead with my colleague Elena
Mucciarelli. This project has been generously supported by the Institutional Strategy of
the University of Tübingen (Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft, ZUK 63).
196
Cristina Bignami
example for such a journey takes place at the festival held in Puri, Orissa
(Kulke and Schnepel 2001: 66–81). The term rathotsava is related to the term
brahmotsava, which designates an annual religious festival. This festival
starts with smaller chariots and then continues with bigger and bigger ones,
such as the vāhana-ratha or “the chariot of the [divine] vehicles,” (Śeṣa,
Haṃsa, Garuḍa, Hanumān), until through a continuous progression in size the
climax is reached with the largest chariot, a duplicate of the temple.1 These
vāhanarathas are wheeled vehicles in the form of the animals that, according
to mythological accounts, serve as the vehicles (vāhana) of gods. Before the
procession takes to the road, statues of the divinities are installed in the
middle of these peculiar chariots.
The principal sacred object of these festivals is evidently the chariot (Fig.
2). While its shape can take different forms, the elements used to construct it
are always identical. The upper part, which is temporarily reassembled every
year some days prior to the festival (Fig. 3–6), represents the dome (śikhara)
of the temple and is thus similarly shaped. It consists of wooden and bamboo
sticks together with simple ropes that are covered with a shroud and crowned
with a pinnacle or round top-piece called kumbha in Tamil Nadu (Kulkarni
1994: 44) or kalasa in Orissa (Kulke and Schnepel 2001: 72). The internal
structure of the chariot is hidden behind carved panels that are fixed to the
body as if they were a curtain wall. The sculptural decorations are based on
the same module and therefore they correspond to the proportions of the
elements in the chariot’s structure. The upper deck is covered horizontally by
a wooden panel. It accommodates the sacrificial altar (vedi) of the idol.2 The
four corners of each chariot are bedecked with wooden images that mostly
have a decorative character and depict fabulous animals, floral ornaments, or
mythological-symbolic scenes. The reliefs on the four sides, however, mainly
depict gods and goddess as individual images or in connection with groups
(Fig. 7). The iconography of these group images, which varies across regions
and from one chariot to another, seems to be based on ancient local traditions
that were later superimposed on each other in different ways (Kulkarni 1994:
44).
The lower and permanent part of the chariot is made of wood. It
represents the jaṅghā, the walls of the temple. Finally, the wheels as the pivotal element of the chariot provide the chariot with its most important characteristic: motion.
1
2
L’Hernaut 1984: 265–269, Ramesan 1981.
Sometimes the gods are placed in swings tied with cloth, as for example at the brahmotsava festival at Belur, Karnataka.
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197
The approach of this study is based on a chronology of the ritual use of
chariots. I shall start with a description of the role of chariots in Vedic times.
The Vedic chariot will serve as the standard of comparison for the ritual use
of chariots in subsequent contexts, starting from a Buddhist record, moving to
a medieval account and then to modern festivals in South Asia and in the
diaspora.
2 The origins of chariot processions in the Vedic period3
The Vedic literature reflects (at least to some extent) the life of part of the
Vedic society in a period that can roughly be dated to the middle or late
second millennium BCE. The Vedic tribes, which practiced a semi-nomadic
life-style, had a mixed pastoral and agricultural economy, in which cattle
played a major role. In fact, these tribes used carts and chariots for various
purposes, probably ranging from warfare to travel and from hunting to ritual.4
Already at this early time, the chariot had also become a symbol along with
its concrete role, as described by Sparreboom: “From the texts it is clear that
the chariot was not merely a practical instrument for conveying persons, but
an object vested with religious significance and symbolic values” (Sparreboom 1985: 1).
Indeed, the Ṛgvedic corpus reveals that the chariot was used for multiple
purposes and played an important role in the poetic imagery of the ṛṣis, being
connected with various semantic aspects (see in this volume Mucciarelli,
section 1 for further references).
In the course of time, the range of use was, however, narrowed more and
more, until in the later Vedic period, the chariot played a role as an attribute
of power within the large royal rituals. As is well known, at the end of the
first millennium BCE, the formation of the great clan of the Kuru-Pañcāla
and the consequent ritual reformation took place. As Sparreboom (1985: 6)
aptly highlights, the cultural complex of the chariot as an operative object
was already in this period an artifact of the past.
According to Elena Mucciarelli (see section 3), at this time the chariot
had lost its functional use and had thus become a royal symbol for the liturgical culture of the middle and late Vedic society. In this context, the reuse of
3
4
For an outline of the development of chariots during the Vedic period, see
Mucciarelli’s contribution to the present volume.
On the Vedic culture, see, among others, Erdosy 1995 and especially Witzel 2003,
which contains a broad bibliography on the topic. In this volume, one may also refer to
the chapter by Mucciarelli.
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the chariot can be seen as a device to keep the original tradition alive, so that
the chariot shifted from a means of transportation into a sacred object used in
ritual contexts. Already in the earliest Ṛgvedic attestations the chariot is
equated with the gods, an equation that is the origin of its sacred meaning. As
has been described by Mucciarelli:
“The godly character of the chariot is affirmed both in the sense of it
having a divine status in itself, as well as by the use of the word ratha in
apposition to, or as an appellative for, the gods, especially for Agni.”5
This equation furnished a basis for the devotional development in the
South Asian medieval period.
3 Faxian’s record of chariot festivals
In contrast to what might be expected, the earliest surviving evidence for a
chariot festival comes neither from South Asia nor from a Brahmanical background, but from the kingdom of Khotan. There, the Chinese Buddhist pilgrim Faxian witnessed and recorded a Buddhist chariot festival around the
year 400 CE.6 The very fact that Faxian described a second Buddhist festival
that he witnessed in the ancient city of Pataliputra (the modern city of Patna
in Bihar) suggests that chariot processions were widespread ritual practices
throughout South Asia (and beyond) at the time of Faxian.
In Khotan, Faxian saw the great Mahāyāna Buddhist festival that he described as follows:
In this country [Khotan] there are fourteen great sangharamas, not
counting the little ones. From the first day of the fourth month they
sweep and water the thoroughfares within the city and decorate the
streets. Above the city gate they stretch the great awning and use
every kind of adorning. This is where the king and the queen and court
ladies take their place. The Gomati priests, as they belong to the Great
Vehicle, which is principally honoured by the king, first of all take
their images in procession. About three or four li from the city they
make a four-wheeled image-car about thirty feet high, in appearance
like a moving palace, adorned with the seven precious substances.
They fix upon it streamers of silk and canopy curtains. The figure is
placed in the car with two Bodhisattvas, as companions, whilst the
Devas attend of them; all kinds of polished ornaments made of gold
5
6
See Mucciarelli’s chapter in the present volume, p. 173.
See Beal 1884: XI–XV.
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and silver hang suspended on the air. When the image was a hundred
paces from the gate, the king takes off his royal cap, and changing his
cloths from new ones, proceeds barefoot with flowers and incense in
his hand, from the city, followed by his attendants. On meeting the
image he bows down his head and worships at his feet scattering the
flowers and burning his incense. On entering the city, the queen and
court ladies from above the gate-tower scatter about all kinds of flowers and throw them down in wild profusion. So splendid are the arrangements of worship. The cars are all different and each sangharam
had the day for its image procession. They begin on the first day of the
fourth month and go on to the fourteenth day, when the procession
ends. The procession ending, the king and the queen then return to the
palace (Beal 1884: XXVI–XXVII).
The main item of the procession described above is a four-wheeled chariot
that is approximately nine meters tall. This was pulled by the devotees
(probably in the same way as done today) in a fourteen-day long procession
from the Buddhist monasteries on the outskirts of the city into its center. The
chariot was richly adorned with images of the Buddha, Bodhisattvas and Devas made of gold and silver, and it is said to have resembled a movable “sacred shrine of the Buddha.” Every monastery of the town had its own unique
chariot. The king together with his queen and court participated as spectators
of the ceremony. They worshipped the images by placing offerings in front of
the city gates, and the king finally joined the procession as it progressed
through the town.
The procession at Pataliputra was similar. Faxien recorded the following:
Every year on the eighth day of the second month there is a procession
of the images. On this occasion they construct a four-wheeled car, and
erect upon it a tower of five stages composed of bamboos lashed together, the whole being supported by a centre-post resembling a large
spear with three points in height twenty-two feet and more. So it looks
like a pagoda. They then cover it with fine white linen, which they afterward paint with gaudy colours. Having made figures of the dēvas
and decorated them with gold, silver and glass, they place them under
canopies of embroidered silk. Then at the four corners (of the car) they
construct niches (shrines) in which they place figures of Buddha in a
sitting posture with a Bodhisattva standing in attendance. There are
perhaps twenty cars thus prepared and differently decorated. During
the day of the procession both priests and laymen assemble in great
numbers. There are games and music, whilst they offer flowers and
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incense. […] Such is the custom of all those who assemble on this occasion from the different countries round about (Beal 1884: LVI–
LVII).
Faxian saw a Buddhist procession of about twenty four-wheeled and fivestoried chariots. Each of these vehicles was over six meters in height and had
the shape of a temple. Here again, the chariots carried silver and golden images of the Buddha and other gods. In his descriptions, Faxian remarked that
the cars looked like pagodas. If the cars resembled Buddhist temples, this
remark possibly indicates that in the 5th century CE, the Buddhist temples of
India were multistoried wooden buildings similar to the coeval sacred buildings of China.
4 A record of the chariot festival in the southern kingdom
According to Kulke (1993), Schnepel (2002) and Stein B. (1984), territorial
segmentation and political development of local chiefs are central characteristics of the political situation leading to the development of regional kingdoms in India during the period from the 11th to the 15th century. In this period, the political situation is marked by the clear emergence and disappearance of many political centers in the course of more or less constant internal
power struggles. This political instability made concepts such as “alliance”
and “power legitimation” relevant for political discourses.
One of the main issues during this period was the relationship of the
Hindu rājās – themselves often descendants of tribal chiefs – to the tribes
living in the surrounding, isolated forest areas of the kingdom, because the
societies of the regional kingdoms depended on the support of these tribes for
the security of their borders and internal communication. The partial integration of local or tribal cultures on the part of the Hindu rājās was achieved by
enrolling parts of the male population into the kingdom’s militia, referred to
as “kṣatriyaization” by Kulke (1993: 5) and, to a certain extent, by religious
means.
Scholars agree that the earliest evidence for the existence of the chariot
festival at Puri occurs in the late Ganga period of Somavaṃśa rule in the
10th–11th century. The oldest iconographical evidence of the festival and its
temple chariots (ratha) comes from the later Ganga period of the 13th–14th
century (Kulke 1993: 69).
In his historical study of the Orissa chariot festival, Kulke emphasizes the
special importance of the festival as a device of royal legitimation (Kulke
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201
1993: 66–81). Kulke analyzed the participation of the king in this ritual celebration from a political point of view. He suggested that the participation of
kings in this grand celebration may have been confined to casual visits at
first, but later, in the 15th century, when the usurper kings crowned themselves in Orissa, the rulers were in need for a special legitimation of their
rule.
During the Vijayanagara Empire, chariot processions became the most
important celebration of kingship.7 The information of the epigraphic sources
suggests8 that in the chariot festivals the king played an important role in the
procession himself and became associated with the gods. The relevance of
the festival for the rulers of Vijayanagara becomes evident also from the fact
that the kings offered land in order to sustain the chariot festival economically. Moreover, in some case even the road system was extended prior to a
festival taking place (Rice 1879: 225), most likely to provide the celebration
with more urban space.
Moreover, the public display of the deities during the festival apparently
lead to an egalitarian sentiment in the population of the kingdom. According
to Nandakumar:
[t]he car festivals of gods and goddesses are popular in South India
probably because one of the important methods of disseminating religious and spiritual fervour in Hinduism has been the institution of the
public appearance of the deities. Though one’s approach to the gods in
the temples is subject to some restrictions, perfect equality is assured
to the citizens when enclosing rulers are set aside and the deity
emerges out of the temple in various mounts. The car festival, in particular, is the community festival in which almost everyone takes part.
Here cast-born differences are forgotten, class division holds no
meaning. Everyone feels close to the god/goddess and all participants
can touch the ropes and pull the chariot (Nandakumar 2003: 432).
What emerges as particular to this celebration is the participation of rural as
well as urban communities of the kingdom. It appears that the transformation
and increased popularity of this festival may have been connected to political
agendas of important kings. One of the reasons for such a popularization
could have been the chance provided by the celebration for the community to
move away from their villages or cities to the pilgrimage center and gather
7
8
For the rathotsava of Vijayanagara, see Brückner 2014: especially 109–112.
Rice 1879: 224–225; EC III: Sr 91; EC III: Md 71–2; EC V: Bl 4–5; EC V: Hn 2; EC
VI: Cm 48, 153; EC IX: Ma 1; EC X: Kl 34; EC XI: Dg 30, 83; EC XVII: Mr 147.
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once a year. In this context, the king could then prove, as an act of legitimation, his power in front of all the different peoples that composed his
kingdom:
The royal participation in the car festival helped to proclaim the new
idea of Hindu kingship to the rural and tribal population. [...] At this
point of development the significance of the Hindu temple in the legitimation of political power began to change. It had been a royal status
symbol of external legitimacy with little implication for the relationship between the rājā and the rural population. Now the participation
of the rājā and his prajā (people) in the car festivals increasingly influenced internal or vertical legitimation, too (Kulke 1993: 106).
With regard to the role and the meaning of the chariot, Kulke mentions that it
is seen as a duplication of the temple and that its movement serves a ritual
function. By means of the motion of the chariot, the participants witness the
extension of the sacred sphere of the temple into a major part of the town.9 In
addition to the two pivotal concepts of “motion” and “sacred object” that are
linked to the chariot, we may also add that of fertility. In fact, in the course of
the celebration of modern chariot festivals, an important event is the wedding
of the gods that takes place twice a day after the rite of aṅkurārpaṇa (“the rite
of seeds and their germination”) by means of a circumambulation (pradakṣiṇa) of the temple.
5 The modern ritual of rathotsava at the Cennakeśava Temple of Belur,
Karnataka
The rathotsava at the Cennakeśava Temple of Belur is part of one of the
largest temple festivals (brahmotsava) in South Asia.10 It takes place in the
month of Caitra (March‒April) and lasts for fourteen days. During this time
the festival is structured in the following seven distinct phases of different
length.
9 “During the ratha yātrā […] the ‘Lord of the Universe’ [Jagannath] leaves his […]
‘lion throne’ in order to appear to his devotees, the ratha thus transforms the separate
temple building of the ‘divine palace’ into an ideal type of Hindu temple, drawn by
devotees from all social strata and pilgrims from all quarters of the Hindu world. The
rathas are an example of ‘mobile architecture’ […] [they] extend the ritual and sacred
sphere of the temple into major parts of the town” (Kulke 1993: 71).
10 See Kersenboom 1987: 133–136, L’Hernault 1984: 265–269.
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203
1) Preliminary rites that are meant to ward off of evil influences and to propitiate the cardinal directions by means of cooked rice offerings that are
presented at major and intermediary sites around the temple.
2) The rite of aṅkurārpaṇa, “the rite of seeds and their germination,” (Kramrish 1976: 15): various grains are sowed from vessels in order to secure
fertility, prosperity and abundance.
3) Dhvajarohana: the hoisting of the Garuḍa flag at the dhvajastambha, the
Garuḍa pillar in front of the temple, which signifies the commencement of
the brahmotsava proper.
4) The wedding of the gods.
5) Several days of procession in the mornings and evenings in which the
gods are carried on the vāhanaratha.
6) Rathotsava: the temple chariot race.
7) Mahābhiṣeka: the final bath and the lowering of the flag, which symbolizes the conclusion of the brahmotsava.
During the two days of the chariot race (point no. 6, above), the chariot is
worshipped as directly connected with a deity, just like a temple. In the
course of field studies during the rathotsava at Belur, my colleague Mucciarelli and I noted two different places of worship and religious rituals prior to
the chariot race: (1.) the temple of Cennakeśava, and (2.) the big tank outside
of the temple.
In the days before the chariot race around the temple area, people from
villages in the countryside come to the city and settle near a tank on one side
of Belur. This space is an area separated from that of the temple. There, the
visitors spend a few days adoring a large tree that is a symbol of fertility and
purification, offering animal sacrifices as part of the ceremonies. These practices would not be accepted in an orthodox ritual and thus their performance
close to the chariot’s depository clearly makes evident the differences among
the various communities and their customs, and how the presence of the
chariot allows also non-orthodox practices.
Although different social groups live in the sacred space of the temple,
these “different worlds” mix and mingle. The social relationships are characterized by what, according to Turner (1973: 191–230), is an “anti-structure.”
The creation of a sacred space leads to the disappearance of social distinctions and the direct, immediate and total confrontation of human identities.
Further, during the chariot’s procession, the creation of a sacred space is
shaped by the movement of the chariot and the participants of the ritual, and
this movement emerges as the pivotal element of the procession.
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Cristina Bignami
In my view, this movement is the key element of the ritual, because the
movement of the chariot creates a sacred space. The other key element of the
rathotsava celebration is the chariot itself. The fact that hundreds of people
from several different communities draw the chariot along by its long ropes
shows the involvement of the whole community in the creation of the sacred
space.
6 The modern ritual of rathayātrā at Puri, Orissa
The most popular rathayātrā festival is celebrated at Puri, Orissa, on the
second day of the month of Ashadh (June‒July). It involves the participation
of thousands of local and international devotees of Śrī Jagannath, who lead
the procession through the main streets of the town. Lord Jagannath is taken
out of the temple on an enormous chariot, while two other chariots host the
god’s brother and sister, Balabhadra and Subhadrā. The festival commemorates Kṛṣṇa’s journey from Gokul to Mathura in response to the invitation of
Kansa.11 The chariot procession first proceeds on a broad avenue until it
reaches Gundicha Mandir, the Lord’s summer house and garden, where the
gods spend seven days before they are brought back to the temple. Upon
completion of the ceremony, the chariots are dismantled and religious relics
are thus produced for the devotees. For this reason, the chariots must be reconstructed every year.
The days before the processions of the chariots, the images of Jagannath,
Balabhadra and Subhadrā12 are taken out of the sanctuary and placed on a
platform near the outer wall where they can be seen from the street below. As
described already in 1908 by O’Malley, “here they are bathed with 108 pitchers containing water taken from a well near northern gateway which is used
only once in the year. In consequence, the paint is so much damaged that they
have to be removed to a side room in order to be renovated for the Car Festival, when they next make their public appearance” (O’Malley 1908:104).
The images of Jagannath, Balabhadra and Subhadrā are quite atypical,
since they are wooden masks instead of the usual metal mūrtis carried in
other chariot festivals. This peculiarity probably signals the local origin of the
cult of Jagannath, which accordingly may have originally been a local deity
adaptively reused in a more Sanskritized ritual framework.
11 See O’Malley 1908:106.
12 For the origin of Jagannath’s wooden idol at Puri, see the Puruṣottama Māhātmya of
the Skanda Purāṇa that contains the Indradyumna legend.
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205
The origin of the visual representation of Jagannath, Balabhadra and Subhadrā has been the object of a long debate. The Orissa Project, which was
directed by Heinrich von Stietencron,13 suggested a tribal origin of the icons;
against this, Starza argued that the three wooden figures may have had their
origin in “orthodox” Hindu traditions and that the “conceptual and iconographic basis for the Puri triad is found in the motif of Brahma, Visnu and
Mahesvara emerging from Para Siva, and in the symbol of the ekamukhalinga (Sadasiva/Purusottama)” (Starza 1993: 133). This point of view takes
into consideration the rite of the renewal of the Jagannath icons as derived
from orthodox funerary rites in memory of a deceased brahmana (Starza
1993: 90). Starza argued that “the great Car Festival held for seven days on
the bank of the Indradyumma Lake in a mandapa to which the Puri icons are
brought would originally have commemorated the death ceremony performed
by the Eastern Gangas in memory of Codaganga, the founder of the Jagannatha temple” (Starza 1993: 79).
According to Kulke (Kulke and Schnepel 2001: 66–81), the foremost chariot festival of India, the Puri festival, has two unique features. Firstly, in
contrast to the practice in South India, the chariots in Puri are reconstructed
each year, because they are demolished after the rathayātrā. Only their uppermost portion (kalaśa), the small painted wood carvings and the wooden
horses that are attached to each chariot, are retained to be used again. Secondly, the Jagannath cult of Puri is more directly associated with kingship
than most of India’s great pilgrimage sites. Both peculiarities have had direct
economic and political implications.
The resurge of the Jagannath cult in the 19th century and the consequent
development of the importance of the annual festival of the rathayātrā at Puri
represent a pivotal example of a reuse process: this celebration became the
symbol of Oriya nationalism during the independence struggle (for other
political reuses of chariot festivals, see also the next section).
7 Applying the concept of reuse: The chariot in the diaspora
The awareness of the fact that the chariot was reused over centuries allows
scholars to interpret the use of the chariot in religious festivals in the South
Asian diaspora in a new light, namely as an instance of adaptive reuse in
which an old item, the chariot used in religious processions, acquires a new
13 See Eschmann, Kulke, and Tripathi 1978 and Kulke and Schnepel 2001.
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Cristina Bignami
meaning, i.e., that of a symbol of a marginal community aimed at gaining
visibility.
As Jacobsen has observed:
In the diaspora, much work and energy are spent in preserving and institutionalizing cultural heritage. This is true in particular of the religious traditions of the diaspora groups and these traditions often attain
new functions in the diaspora. An important function of religion in the
diaspora is to secure emotional attachment to the culture of origin.
Religions often function as preservers of traditions inherited from the
past notably because their rituals are repeated and their norms considered eternal or transcendent. In the diaspora, processions often become ritual events of celebration of the religious tradition of the
country of origin that confirm identity and transfer it to the next generation (Jacobsen 2008: 200).
In the context of the contemporary diaspora, the chariot festival is the largest
annual celebration of the Indian community outside its homeland. Chariot
processions or festivals are an important form of devotion in the regions
where Tamil people have settled, sometimes already in the colonial era.
Today, these are also held at numerous sites in the West.14 During these festivals, the deities are removed from their usual abode within the temples and
paraded on adorned palanquins through public streets and past crowds of
adoring devotees, “dissolving the boundaries that normally prevail between
divinity and humanity” (Nabokov 2000: 8–9). This allows for extended
access to the blessings of darśana, the seeing and being seen by the deities. A
growing number of Tamil Hindu processions that include such chariot processions are today held in London. In his analysis of such festivals, David has
pointed to the public performance of these “embodied customs” as evidence
for an increased confidence and assurance in articulating a “specific Tamil
identity” in the migration setting (David 2009: 218). Luchesi also described
the increased conspicuousness of ritual practices of Tamil Hindus in urban
Germany as a process of “leaving invisibility” and “claiming their own place
in German religious plurality” (Luchesi 2008: 180).
A study undertaken by Vineeta Sinha (Sinha 2011) has also focused on
the chariot festival as an aspect of Hindu cultural heritage in the diaspora.
The historical and empirical project of Sinha is grounded in her desire to
theorize religion‒state relations in the multi-ethnic, multi-religious and secu14 See Jacobsen (2008) on these festivals in Norway, Fuller Collins (1997) and Willford
(2007) in Malaysia, Sinha (2011) in Singapore, and Trouillet (2008) in Tamil Nadu.
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207
lar city of Singapore. Her main research questions have emerged from the
confluence of the domains “religion, law, and bureaucracy” and “religion and
colonial encounters.” The study focuses on Hindu temple management, the
observance of Hindu festivals, and processions as enacted within these administrative and bureaucratic contexts. By reconstructing the 19th-century
Hindu landscape, Sinha shows that the construction of Hindu temples in Singapore can be dated back to the 1820s. It is very likely that the earliest chariot processions amongst Hindus in Singapore were initiated by groups of
devotees associated with Hindu temples and their desire to mark religious
festivals. In these early times, images of deities were placed on wooden chariots and devotees pulled these around within the temple grounds or out in the
streets. However, such chariot processions did not occur only in relation to
Hindu festivals. On the occasion of the commemoration of fifty years of
Queen Victoria’s rule over Singapore, the Hindu community decided to celebrate this event with a grand ceremony at Mariamman Temple, where chariot
processions were held by three Hindu temples (Sinha 2011: 63).
With this background, we may assume that the reuse of the chariot procession as an annual parade created by the movement of people became one
of the most important means for gaining public recognition. Since size is an
important factor for minority groups seeking public recognition, such gatherings of large groups on public streets became a sign of strength and pride.
As stated by Jacobsen:
Processions have become important occasions for large groups of several different […] communities to gather together for a religious purpose. These processions bring people together in order to put religion
and religious identity on display. People moving with sacred objects
[or images] on public streets make their religious traditions, their
identities and their concerns visible to each other and to an audience.
Processions also make visible the size of the groups and in this way
confirm collective identities and ambitions for influence and power.
[…] In the diaspora, processions often become ritual events of celebration of the religious tradition of the country of origin that confirm
identity and transfer it to the next generation (Jacobsen 2008: 191,
200).
Conventional methods for transmitting religious ideas depend on a number of
social factors. When such supportive structures decline in modern society and
especially in the context of migration and resettlement in places far away
from the original homeland, either new strategies need to be invented or old
ideas and values must be allowed to decline. It is precisely in this cultural
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context that strategies of reutilization are applied as a device to manage the
survival of the original tradition. As Hegewald and Mitra have emphasized:
History has shown, however, that re-use as a compromise in which not
all is lost but enough is retained to establish a connection with the
past, can lead to hybridity, to assimilation and finally to integration
(Hegewald and Mitra 2012: 4).
What emerges in the adaptive reuse of the rathayātrā is the chariot and its
movement in the parade: the chariot stands for the sacred building in motion
and the routes, which often lead through the city streets, act as a large social
container, simultaneously making the different strata of the social community
publicly visible.
In the modern rathayātrā in the diaspora context, the adaptive reuse implies some important modifications of the celebration. Most evident surely is
the comparatively short duration of the festival, usually only a few days,
which is certainly determined by the urban lifestyle and the need to organize
the use of city streets. The route of the parade also undergoes adaptation.
Whereas in the Indian context, the journey of the chariot starts in one temple
with the pradakṣiṇa around the sacred building, in Western countries this
movement is often impossible, because Hindu temples usually do not have
their original architectural forms and the sacred ritual space in the diaspora is
often accommodated as part of modern structures and not within proper
temples. The pivotal elements that remain unchanged in this adaptive reuse
are the chariot and the parade itself, but also the consequent encounter of
different social entities. During this exceptional time, this mix of different
people creates a “liminal space” in which the prevalent social order is interrupted (Younger 2002: 4). The movement of the chariot, the great flow of
people following it and moving to the rhythm of drums, as well as the large
number of devotees in front of the vehicle pulling the ropes, incited by the
leader’s voice setting the pace ‒ all of these are the representation of a larger
emotional container within which these separate elements are mixed to create
a coherent unit.
The reuse of the chariot festival in the diaspora is an example of simple
re-use (as defined in the introduction to this volume), but at the same time it
is also one of the tools used by the community to maintain the cultural traits
of its country of origin. Thus, some elements of adaptiveness can be detected
in the re-semantization of chariot processions in the diaspora, which are reinterpreted as moments of cultural identity rather than as mere religious festivals.
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8 Conclusions
The chariot as a sacred structure that hosts and even embodies divinities has
ancient roots.15 Its gradual transformation is connected, during the process of
reuse, with its original sacred meaning. In fact, its special characteristic,
namely movement, has enabled it to adapt to the emergent needs through
history of displaying the divinities in different religious rituals. Motion plays
a pivotal role in the adaptive reuse, because this feature allows the celebration
to take the form of a parade in which social and political elements are involved. The movement of gods on the chariots transforms the route through
the streets into a sacred ground and simultaneously creates a liminal container
of which all kinds of people can partake. The strong connection of divinities
with the chariot could also suggest that the chariot lies at the basis of the
establishment of the first Hindu temples as permanent external structures, a
topic I will address in a separate study.
The first substantial transformation of the chariot in ritual contexts took
place in the early centuries CE. In its shift from Vedic to Buddhist contextualization, the sacred object of the chariot was reinterpreted as a means for
legitimizing the ruler and as a purely religious item, and thus it was adaptively reused.
Faxian’s description of the chariot in the Buddhist tradition is strikingly
similar to the modern chariot festival in the Hindu tradition at Belur. At Belur, just as in Faxian’s account, the chariot has a towering structure constructed out of wood and bamboo sticks which is covered with red and yellow
silk. While in the Buddhist context its four corners provided space for figures
of Buddhas and Bodhisattvas, in the modern Hindu context the same space is
reserved for fertility symbols, while images of the gods are carved along the
wooden panels that form the base of the chariot. Moreover, Faxian described
the local ruler as being part of the chariot processions he witnessed. This
aspect has a parallel in the medieval period, where the presence of the king
and the queen served as an instrument of the legitimation of kingdom.
An additional aspect of chariot festivals of the medieval period that reappears in modern rituals is the temporal dissolution of social boundaries in the
course of the ritual. In the diaspora, chariot processions have assumed the
15 A similar use of the chariot, which also links religious and legitimization purposes, can
also be found outside India: in Egypt (see Blyth 2006, Thomas 2003) and in the Graeco-Roman civilisation. See Sharma 2008: 134 for the hypothesis of a link between
these occurrences of the chariot.
210
Cristina Bignami
additional meaning of creating an identity for the community that is independent of its religious beliefs.
Figures
Figure 1:
rathotsava at Belur, Karnataka.
Photo: Cristina Bignami
Figure 2:
pūja at the chariot, Belur,
KA.
Photo: Cristina Bignami
Figure 3:
Construction of the upper part
of the chariot, Belur, KA.
Photo: Cristina Bignami
Chariot Festivals
Figure 4:
Construction of the upper
part of the chariot, Belur,
KA.
Figure 5:
211
Construction of the upper part
of the chariot, Belur, KA.
Photo: Cristina Bignami
Photo: Cristina Bignami
Figure 6:
Construction of the upper part of the chariot, Belur, KA.
Photo: Cristina Bignami
212
Figure 7:
Cristina Bignami
Reliefs on one side of the chariot, Belur, KA.
Photo: Cristina Bignami
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Luchesi, Brigitte. “Parading Hindu Gods in Public: New
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Section 3:
Adaptive Reuse of Untraced and Virtual Texts
“This is Not a Quote”:
Quotation Emplotment, Quotational Hoaxes and
Other Unusual Cases of Textual Reuse in
Sanskrit Poetics-cum-Dramaturgy*
Daniele Cuneo
This chapter will highlight some instances of textual reuse in selected works
of alaṃkāraśāstra (poetics) and nāṭyaśāstra (dramaturgy). The material will
be investigated in order to find a provisional rationale regarding the what,
how and why of various kinds of quotation scenarios, specifically and primarily in connection with the issue of novelty and its relation to the self-understanding of traditional knowledge systems. After illustrating the wellknown standard view of the denigration of novelty as such in Sanskrit śāstra
(Pollock 1985, 1989a, 1989b, 1989c), I will tackle the reverse in the field of
alaṃkāraśāstra, as has been propounded by McCrea (2011). My cursory
survey will therefore begin with a contrastive example regarding the origination of rasas (“aesthetic emotions”) according to Abhinavagupta (10th–11th
CE) and Bhoja (11th CE), each in dialogue with Bharata’s Nāṭyaśāstra (2nd–
4th CE), the seminal work of Sanskrit dramaturgy. The second case to be
examined is the often-studied list of the views of earlier thinkers found in
Abhinavagupta’s commentary on the rasasūtra of Bharata, a crucial aphorism in the sixth chapter of the Nāṭyaśāstra. In his commentary, Abhinavagupta weaves, so to speak, a narrative of various authors’ opinions and refutations, at the end of which his own view is enthroned as the only correct
endpoint of a history of progressively improving speculations. Borrowing
from the thorough analysis in Cox (2013), the third case that will be examined is Śāradātanaya’s Bhāvaprakāśana (13th CE), in which, on one hand,
recognized citations and re-adaptations are employed to appropriate and domesticate the well-known Kashmirian version of literary theory in a South
Indian theoretical milieu, and on the other, Śāradātanaya seems to attribute
textual passages by both earlier authors and himself to texts and authors that
*
I am deeply grateful to Elisa Freschi, Philipp Maas, Elisa Ganser and Charles Li for
their precious remarks and suggestions. All mistakes, of course, are mine alone.
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Daniele Cuneo
probably never existed, but are smuggled in as the “actual” ones. Arguably
this has been done to legitimize his own cultural endeavor and sanction its
theoretical and practical validity. The last work that will be considered is Hemacandra’s Kāvyānuśāsana (11th–12th CE). In his own sub-commentary,
called Viveka, Hemacandra repeats almost verbatim Abhinavagupta’s entire
analysis of rasa found in the above-mentioned rasasūtra commentary. This
act of sheer repetition, however, camouflages small but significant changes to
the quoted portions, probably introduced to make the material better fit
Hemacandra’s own theoretical agenda. It is worth noting that the case of
Hemacandra represents a number of similar cases of extensive reuse of
textual materials in alaṃkāraśāstra and nāṭyaśāstra in the second millennium. My tentative conclusion for assessing these very disparate and sometimes unusual manners of textual reuse hinges on a partial acceptance of
McCrea’s thesis of the peculiar nature of alaṃkāraśāstra as a laukika (thisworldly) system of knowledge, for which novelty and change are the norm
and not the exception. My acceptance remains partial insofar as the evidence
can be better interpreted by postulating two paradigms of textual authority
whose fortunes alternate over the centuries. They are tightly linked both to
the search for a foundational text in the specific folds of alaṃkāraśāśtra, and
the overlapping of topics and the synthesis of theoretical notions across the
two domains of alaṃkāra- and nāṭyaśāstra. Their intersection might be postulated as one of the main reasons for the fluctuation between meta-speculative stances regarding novelty and tradition.
1 Introduction: Reuse, novelty, and tradition
purāṇam ity eva na sādhu sarvaṃ
Kālidāsa’s Malavikāgnimitra
(prastāvanā, verse 2a)
Of the many approaches and perspectives on adaptive reuse outlined by Elisa
Freschi and Philipp Maas in the introduction to this volume, my focus lies on
the link of reuse to the question of originality and, more specifically, to speculative innovation. Among the numerous Sanskrit knowledge systems
known as śāśtras, whose overall aim is the nomothetic establishment and
sanction of a correct, regulated standard of human practice in the respective
fields of application, my case studies are taken from the two interconnected
fields of nāṭyaśāstra and alaṃkāraśāstra. Investigating their many patterns
of textual reuse and their aberrancy and mutability through time, these two
“This is Not a Quote”
221
fields will be tentatively interpreted based on the emic self-perception of the
two learned, traditional discourses along with their often implicit meta-theoretical assumptions, as well as the etic stance of Pollock’s studies on the category of śāstra (1985, 1989a, 1989b, 1989c) and their recent sequel-cumrejoinder by McCrea (2011). In particular, the close link between the two
śāstras in question will be one of the central pivots for challenging, in part,
earlier scholarship and gaining a more nuanced understanding of the link of
innovation and textual reuse.
The significance of this understanding depends on conceptualizing the
idea of “tradition” as a modality of change. Similarly, the actual realities of
“traditional societies” show that these are kinds of societies that understand
their own transformations in terms of this modality, commonly in a non-selfreflexive manner in which being “traditional” seems to be considered a natural fact and not a cultural construction.1 Seen from another perspective, the
issue at stake is “the issue of tradition,” insofar as including cultural change
within the boundaries of traditional knowledge must be seen as an inherent
and constitutive aspect of any traditional discourse as such. An assessment,
albeit limited, of textual reuse and its vagaries offers a privileged perspective
on this issue; the skillful reuse of texts can be, and has been, wielded as a
powerful weapon to bridge the tensions that arise when coping with the unavoidable cultural antagonism between the introduction and legitimization of
novelty and the reiteration and re-affirmation of bequeathed knowledge.
2 Śāstra as an ideological apparatus
In the above-mentioned series of pioneering articles written in the 1980s,
Pollock argued that the discursive technology of śāstra2 – arguably and emblematically born in its almost classical argumentative form with the work of
the grammarian Patañjali (2nd BCE), whereupon it occupied central stage in
the two following millennia of the Sanskritic episteme3 – is based on the as1
2
3
See Hobsbawm and Ranger 1983, Guolo 1996 and Squarcini 2008. Moreover, for a
multi-perspective study on tradition as a device and basis for both change and its validation, see Squarcini 2005.
On the meaning of the term according to various emic understandings (“system of
rules” and “revelation,” i.e., the Veda itself), see Pollock 1985: 501–502.
One might want to include in the genre the even earlier texts known as vedāṅgas (6th–
3rd BCE), ancillary disciplines chiefly conceived as means for preserving the Vedic
corpus and properly performing the Vedic rites, and the dharmasūtras (from the 4th–3rd
BCE), the first legal texts of the tradition that was later called dharmaśāstra (see be-
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Daniele Cuneo
sumption that truth is revealed and given once and for all in a timeless past. It
is then merely repeated and explained in any given present time in any single
traditional knowledge system. Specifically, Pollock’s main thesis pivots on
how the authoritativeness of all śāstras (“cultural grammars,” “cultural
software” or “knowledge systems,” as he cleverly dubs them) is rooted in a
kind of transhistoric, trans-human and transcendent source, usually a lost or
otherwise inaccessible Vedic or semi-Vedic (even divine) scripture. For instance, it is stated in the Nāṭyaśāstra that the various branches of the theater
derive from the four Vedas.4 Or, in the case of āyurveda (medicine), the
śāstra traces its origin back to the god Brahmā.5 In Pollock’s view, this actively negates history and novelty as concrete possibilities in the development
of knowledge. This meta-theoretical stance, Pollock argues, is borrowed from
the Mīmāṃsā model of the textual authority of the Veda, whose unique status
as an authorless and ahistorical text, i.e., its apauruṣeyatva, makes its legitimacy intrinsically unquestionable.6 In other words, in the self-understanding
of śāstra and its understanding of the world, theory must always precede
practice. This nomological mechanism of warranty and validation determines
and seals the supremacy of the proponents of a tradition (such as the Vedic
or, potentially, any other) by making them in practice the only judges who
can sanction any possible or actual novelty by means of an ex post reinterpretation of theory that strives to include that new practice (or idea) in an
older framework, in the reassuring womb of traditionally validated knowledge. The naturalization and de-historicization of cultural practices actually
hides the hand of elitist and dominant powers and, at least in theory, immunizes them from any critical attack or derogatory value judgment.
4
5
6
low: p. 225).
Nāṭyaśāstra 1.17: jagrāha pāṭhyam ṛgvedāt sāmabhyo gītam eva ca | yajurvedād abhinayān rasān ātharvaṇād api ||.
In Pollock’s theory, the properly “Vedic” origin and the “divine” origin (such as the
one of āyurveda) are thought to belong to the same general framework of understanding the śāstra, its genesis and role. Whether or how far this conflation might be regarded as problematic lies beyond the limited boundaries of the present chapter. See,
for instance, Pollock (1989c: 609): “Veda is the general rubric under which every sort
of partial knowledge – the various individual śāstras – are ultimately subsumed. There
are several routes to establishing this contiguity: through some formal convention embodied in the text – a śāstra will explicitly claim status as a Veda, or establish for itself
a paraṃparā reverting to God, or present itself as the outcome of divine revelation.”
It is worth noting that early Buddhist and Jain works may well have contributed, at
least indirectly, to this meta-theoretical idea of a timeless and unquestionable truth,
since the founders of the non-brahmanical religions were regarded as omniscient and,
to some extent, beyond the pale of criticism based on human reason. I thank the editors
of this volume for their useful insights on this crucial point.
“This is Not a Quote”
223
Given the major role that this ideological apparatus played in shaping the
culture of the Indian subcontinent for almost two millennia, concrete examples are easy to find. A first one might be the dharmaśāstra, the corpus of
social and cultural textualized norms aimed at regulating every aspect of
human behavior. At its cornerstone is the very concept of dharma, especially
insofar as it is considered to share the transhistoric and naturalized status of
the Veda, in its turn the paramount source of dharma.7 However, in the history of the Sanskrit cultural hegemony, practically all fields of human activity
became the object of a śāstra, from the creation of art to sexual intercourse,
from archery (or the science of weapons in general) to astronomy or astrology, from architecture to lexicography. Numerous traditional lists of sciences
(śāstras or, more often vidyāsthānas) are well known; again Pollock (1985:
502–503) is a good guide through the dizzying lists and their variations.8
Anyway, our present concern is the realization that “virtually any organized
activity known to a premodern society is amenable to treatment in śāstra”
(Pollock 1985: 502).
Having acknowledged the wide scope of the technology of śāstra, it is
useful to note how its meta-speculative stance of the primacy of traditionality
over novelty – of recovery over discovery – is not, for the most part, established textually on the foundational works of the various branches of knowledge, but more aptly and commonly on the impressive number of commentaries and sub-commentaries on these works, which constitute the overwhelming majority of Sanskrit texts tout court.9 Obviously, the textual genre of
commentary highlights, both implicitly and explicitly, the pre-eminence of
the principle of authority over individual originality, since the task of a
“commentator” is completely different from that of an “author,” at least in
theory.10 The theoretical-cum-practical technology of śāstra and the practical
7
For the latest review of the issue of the various sources of dharma, with a selected
bibliography and references to relevant dharmaśāstra literature, see David 2015.
8 On the progressive opening up of these lists and the enduring restrictiveness of
Mīmāṃsā with regard to conferring the transcendent legitimacy of the Veda to other
fields of knowledge, see Pollock 1989b.
9 On the idea and analysis of numerous cultural traditions as “Commentary Cultures,”
see Quisinsky and Walter 2007 and the workshop “Commentary Cultures. Technologies of Medieval Reading” that was held within the framework of “Zukunftsphilologie” 16–17 May 2013 in Berlin. On various aspects of the commentary culture of
South Asia, see von Stietencron 1995, Chenet 1998, Hulin 2000, von Hinüber 2007,
Slaje 2007, Tubb and Boose 2007 and Ganeri 2010.
10 The cautionary double quotes are meant to indicate that in actual practice there is no
clear-cut divide between the roles of author and commentator, and that many commentators can be regarded as more original and “authorial” than authors, both in South
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Daniele Cuneo
technology of commentary represent, so to speak, two sides of the same
ideological apparatus, an apparatus that is aimed – generally speaking and in
Pollock’s parlance – at creating, preserving and naturalizing a set of norms
conceived to assure the crystallization of the power structures in the social
and cultural status quo.
3 The worldly śāstra, its fuzzy boundaries, and the derivation of rasas
The general validity of this basic paradigm can be challenged using evidence
drawn from the field of alaṃkāraśāstra. When compared to the others, this
field is a quite extraordinary knowledge system.11 I’ll just briefly state three
reasons for its distinctiveness.12 First, it is a latecomer, its first extant work
dating only to the 7th century CE.13 Other śāstras have a significantly older
pedigree. Second, its subject matter is thoroughly laukika, that is, thisAsia and elsewhere.
11 This section of the present chapter contains material I presented at the 14th World
Sanskrit Conference in Kyoto in a paper entitled “Smuggling Novelty or Dismantling
Tradition. Abhinavagupta and Bhoja on the derivation of rasas.”
12 The present remarks are developed along similar lines as in Tubb (2008: 173–176),
where the “murkiness of the status of poetics as a śāstra,” concerning its subject matter, its sources as well as its audience, is briefly dealt with. The peculiarity of alaṃkāraśāstra as a knowledge system and the issue of novelty in its historical development
are also dealt with in Tubb and Bronner 2008, but with a specific focus on the authors
of the 16th and 17th centuries, the self-consciously navya (“new”) school (in this regard,
see also Bronner 2002 and 2004).
13 Although they quote earlier authors by name, the first two extant works of alaṃkāraśāstra, Bhāmaha’s Kāvyālaṃkāra and Daṇḍin’s Kāvyalakṣaṇa (or Kāvyādarśa), both
date to the 7th century (with Bhāmaha prior to Daṇḍin, as has been convincingly argued
in Bronner 2012). The Nāṭyaśāstra, on the contrary, is considered to date back to the
first centuries of the Common Era, or maybe even earlier. The intersection of the two
fields of knowledge (nāṭya- and ālaṃkāraśastra) is a cultural event whose beginning
can be dated with reasonable certainty: The Kashmirian author Udbhaṭa (8th–9th CE)
wrote, as probably the first, on both alaṃkāraśāstra (his Kāvyālaṃkārasaṃgraha and
his mostly lost commentary on Bhāmaha; see Gnoli 1962) and nāṭyaśāstra (a lost
commentary on Bharata’s work). A partial fusion of the two knowledge systems occurred with Ānandavardhana’s Dhvanyāloka (see McCrea 2008). And Abhinavagupta
(10th–11th) masterfully attempted the complete convergence of the two cultural grammars in his twofold effort of commenting on and harmonizing the Nāṭyaśāstra and the
Dhvanyāloka. As I will argue throughout this chapter, it is this convergence of knowledge fields, along with their different styles and attitudes towards novelty and tradition, that might be regarded as one of the causes for the peculiar alternation between
the two different methods of validating and norming authority (see below, section 7).
“This is Not a Quote”
225
worldly. The genre of kāvya (“belles-lettres”) even has a specific, albeit
semi-mythical, beginning in “history,” so to speak, namely Vālmiki’s Rāmāyaṇa, the first kāvya by the first poet (ādikavi). Third, alaṃkāraśāstra lacks a
root text that could have been the object of a chain of commentaries and subcommentaries, as have other śāstras such as nyāya, mīmāṃsā and so on. I
was very happy to discover that Lawrence McCrea, in a contribution to the
2011 volume in honor of Sheldon Pollock, South Asian Texts in History, explored the usefulness of Pollock’s understanding of the transcendent śāstraic
model, limiting the scope of its application by showcasing the discourse on
literary theory. Here, he argues, elements of historical consciousness and
pride, as well as practice-driven, historically self-aware theoretical innovations are actually quite frequent and possibly the norm.
In addition to focusing on alaṃkāraśāstra and nāṭyaśāstra, I would like
to propose that there were two opposing methods for how bequeathed knowledge was dealt with in the crafty hands of South Asian commentators.14 The
two commentarial meta-techniques I am suggesting could also be regarded as
two extremes in the spectrum of commentarial approaches. On one side,
which I somewhat fancily dub the “novelty-smuggling” strategy, theoretical
and practical changes were introduced to the framework of traditional lore by
disguising transformations in the reassuring garb of the old system, thereby
rejecting novelty per se as a legitimate cultural category. On the other side,
which I call the “tradition-dismantling” strategy, bequeathed knowledge was
de-legitimized and the novelty of change was invested as sovereign for
building cultural discourse, thus setting new parameters for future development.
I am presenting two case studies, intended as paradigmatic examples of
this. The first, as an instance of the “novelty-smuggling” strategy, is a passage from Abhinavagupta’s commentary (10th–11th century) on some verses
of Bharata’s Nāṭyaśāstra; the second, as an instance of the “tradition-dismantling” strategy, a heated discussion in the Śṛṅgāraprakāśa of Bhoja (11th
century) on the same portion of the Nāṭyaśāstra. The textual details in themselves do not concern us directly, but given the brevity of the Nāṭyaśāstra
passage and the marked difference between the two takes on it, it is a good
example in this investigation of textual reuse in texts on dramaturgy and
poetics.
14 One of the aims of the present chapter is also to show how these two commentarial
approaches can be considered two general “authorial” attitudes towards novelty and
tradition, independent of their use in commentaries proper or in any other work within
the Sanskritic episteme.
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Verses 39–41 of the sixth chapter of Bharata’s Nāṭyaśāstra, the first and
most important treatise on Indian dramaturgy available to us, deal with what I
have tentatively called the “derivation of rasas.” To describe this briefly,
without entering the centuries-long debate on their epistemological status and
their definite locus,15 the rasas are the various possibilities of the audience’s
emotional response to a theatrical performance elicited by an array of components and representing the performance’s ultimate aim. The standard text
of Bharata’s Nāṭyaśāstra lists eight such emotional experiences.16
The threes verse we are concerned with here construct a derivational pattern among these eight rasas, whereby four of them are seen as originating
from the other four. Consequently, the former are considered the “causes of
origination” (utpattihetu) of the latter. One might say, in other words, that the
former are primary – at least in this respect – and the latter are secondary.
The introductory prose to verse 6.39 and the verse itself read as follows:
teṣām utpattihetavaś catvāro rasāḥ | tad yathā – śṛṅgāro raudro vīro
bībhatsa iti | atra śṛṅgārād dhi bhaved dhāsyo raudrāc ca karuṇo
rasaḥ | vīrāc caivādbhutotpattir bībhatsāc ca bhayānakaḥ ||
Among those [eight rasas], four rasas are the causes of origination [of
the other four]. Namely, śṛṅgāra, raudra, vīra and bībhatsa. In this respect: hāsya arises from śṛṅgāra, and from raudra [arises] the rasa
karuṇa, then, adbhuta originates from vīra, and bhayānaka from bībhatsa.
The following schematic table employs the rough but usually accepted
translation of the names of the various rasas:
15 I have examined the two main interpretations of rasa in an earlier article (Cuneo 2013);
its arguments do not need repetition here, but its tentative conclusions might be useful
for framing the general problem, at least in a note. According to the interpretation of
the “ancients” (theoretically including Bharata himself, although, in my reading of his
text, there are some significant doubts and grey areas regarding this), rasas are nothing
but heightened ordinary emotions, experienced by the characters in dramatic representations and enjoyed secondarily by the audience (Bhoja shares this view, with his personal accent on the singularity of rasa, as discussed below.) According to the new paradigm, championed by Abhinavagupta and followed by many other authors after him,
rasa is the emotion directly savoured by the audience. It consists of a blissful aesthetic
Erlebnis that is qualitatively different from ordinary experience, insofar as the felt
emotion is distilled of any reference to personal identity, causality or spatio-temporality. This distillation eliminates desire and, hence, allows the beatific savouring of the
emotional experience itself, ultimately not different from the spectators’ own consciousness.
16 In the subsequent history of the nāṭyaśāstra, many authors recognized and argued for a
different number of rasas. For an overview of this matter, see Raghavan 1967.
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Table 1: The origination of rasas
“Originating” rasa
→
“Originated” rasa
1. the erotic (śṛṅgāra)
→
the comic (hāsya)
2. the furious (raudra)
→
the pathetic (karuṇa)
3. the heroic (vīra)
→
the wondrous (adbhuta)
4. the loathsome
(bībhatsa)
→
the fearful (bhayānaka)
The internal logic of this derivational pattern is very briefly outlined in the
next two verses, Nāṭyaśāstra 6.40–41:
śṛṅgārānukṛtir yā tu sa hāsyas tu prakīrtitaḥ | raudrasyaiva ca yat
karma sa jñeyaḥ karuṇo rasaḥ || vīrasyāpi ca yat karma so ’dbhutaḥ
parikīrtitaḥ | bībhatsadarśanaṃ yac ca jñeyaḥ sa tu bhayānakaḥ ||
Hāsya is well known as the imitation of śṛṅgāra, and the karuṇa rasa
is known to be the result (lit. “action, activity”) of raudra. Moreover,
the result (lit. “action, activity”) of vīra is well known to be adbhuta,
whereas the vision of bībhatsa is to be known as bhayānaka.
On first sight, this brief explanation of the relationship between various
emotional states seems sound and comprehensible; for instance, looking at
something disgusting can also engender fear. However, on closer inspection,
this explanation is far from obvious and self-explanatory. There are a considerable number of possibilities regarding the status and locus of rasas as
conceived in the text of Bharata that can change how the derivational pattern
between the emotions is understood.17 Nonetheless, the present aim is not to
clarify the contents of this passage in the Nāṭyaśāstra itself, but rather how
Bhoja and Abhinavagupta approached its problematic nature. While the two
authors were close in time, they were probably not only unaware of each
other, but also unaware of each other’s account of this aspect of Bharata’s
aesthetic theory, an aspect that was either outdated, somewhat underdeveloped, or simply no longer fully understood.
17 See n. 15 and Cuneo 2013 for some speculations on the issue.
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In a passage of his Śṛṅgāraprakāśa, translated in part in a seminal essay
by Pollock (1998),18 Bhoja, the king of Dhāra in the reign of Malwa, is quite
adamant in rejecting Bharata’s proposal that some rasas derive from others,
seeing this as completely inadequate, as well as in stating the superiority of
his own theory of aesthetics. Bhoja’s theory recognizes, in fact, the existence
of only one rasa, namely śṛṅgāra “passion,” also called abhimāna “sense of
self,” ahaṃkāra “ego,” preman “love” and rasa (in the singular),
representing the real and only origin of all other rasas. In Pollock’s words
(1998: 126), Bhoja’s śṛṅgāra is “what enables a person to experience the
world richly” and “the capacity of emotional intensity as such.”19
In his argumentation, Bhoja denies that one rasa might arise from
another, stating that such a pattern of arising can be logically understood in
only two ways and both are erroneous. According to the assumed understanding of the production of psychological states in the nāṭyaśāstra (here
with the lowercase I mean the knowledge system, not the foundational text),
either the originating rasa is the “determinant as substratum” or the “concrete
cause” of the originated rasa (ālambanavibhāva) – such as a hero and heroine being considered the ālambanavibhāva of the rasa of love (śṛṅgārarasa) – or, in a manner reminiscent of Sāṃkhya thought, the originating rasa
is the primordial state (prakṛti) from which the originated rasa develops in a
kind of self-transformation.
In the first explanation (treated in Śṛṅgāraprakāśa, pp. 684–685), Bharata’s theory does not hold because there would be an invariable concomitance between the originating rasa and the originated rasa, and this is not the
case. For instance, the comic (hāsya) can be found arising from rasas other
than the erotic (śṛṅgāra), and, moreover, it can also be found as not arising
from the erotic. Furthermore, the pathetic rasa can arise from a rasa other
than the furious, and not all instances of the furious govern the arising of the
pathetic, since the furious can also produce the fearful or the loathsome. At
this point, Bhoja offers numerous examples of possible breaks in Bharata’s
pattern, such as the comic rasa arising from a rasa other than the erotic, a
rasa other than the comic from the erotic, and so forth.20
18 The same passage has also been dealt with briefly in Raghavan (1978: 424–426).
19 To anticipate some of the conclusions of this digression: Bhoja’s “monistic” aesthetic
philosophy is a complete novelty, a novelty that is consciously aimed at revolutionizing its field of knowledge.
20 Just as an example of the many poetical examples, we can cite Kirātārjunīya 3.21, a
verse quoted by Bhoja as an instance of a rasa other than the pathetic – in this case, the
fearful – arising from the furious: “On seeing the son of Radhā (i.e., Karṇa), who by
his fury made [his enemies] lose their composure and who had propitiated the son of
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In the second explanation (treated in Śṛṅgāraprakāśa, pp. 686–687), with
the originating rasa being the prakṛti of the originated rasa, Bharata’s theory
does not hold either. According to this understanding, the comic is a transformation of the erotic, indeed, in Bharata’s definition, an imitation of the
erotic. However, the comic can also arise from imitations of other rasas, for
instance, the heroic. Moreover, the same variability in derivational patterns
can be identified in all of the other cases as well, since – and this is the real
point at stake – there is no compulsory developmental relationship between
any two rasas. Namely, it is impossible to establish that rasa x will constantly and invariably arise from rasa y. In other words, it is always possible
to find examples in literature in which a given rasa derives from some other
rasa, a given emotional situation is seen as deriving from another one. Therefore, Bharata’s theory of a one-to-one relationship between four rasas that
are primary and four rasas that are secondary does not manage to pass the
strict scrutiny of reason as is orchestrated in Bhoja’s criticism.
In Kashmir, quite some distance from the homeland of Bhoja, Abhinavagupta dealt with the same problem. His solution, however, is based on a very
different meta-theoretical standpoint, in this case the need to integrate the
innovation into the reassuring form of traditional knowledge. For this reason
he can not refute the respected and authoritative text of Bharata; it must be
commented upon and tacitly reinterpreted. The development of knowledge
climbs, so to speak, up the rungs of the commentarial ladder.
In four celebrated and oft-quoted verses of his Abhinavabhāratī (see the
appendix to this chapter), found in the middle of his rasasūtra commentary as
a kind of manifesto-like intermezzo, Abhinavagupta proclaims his view. The
tentative understanding of these verses and of Abhinavagupta’s meta-theoretical attitude towards change will be the focus of the conclusions to the
present chapter. At the level of his commentarial practice, the attitude of
respect towards the tenets of the traditional knowledge of the Nāṭyaśāstra
influences both his treatment of the derivation of rasas and his strikingly innovative interpretation, aimed at resolving the conundrum represented by the
apparent inadequacy of Bharata’s view while creating a new paradigm for the
Rasa theory (see n. 15).
In his commentary on the verses of Bharata cited above, Abhinavagupta
“explains” that what seems a rather rigid and schematic model of subdividing
Jamadagni (i.e., Paraśu Rāma) [in order to acquire the knowledge of the missiles], even
in the God of Death would forcibly arise an acquaintance with feelings of fear, unknown [to him before].” (nirīkṣya saṃrambhanirastadhairyaṃ rādheyam ārādhitajāmadagnyam | asaṃstuteṣu prasabhaṃ bhayeṣu jāyeta mṛtyor api pakṣapātaḥ ||).
Translation modified from that of Roodbergen 1984: 170.
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rasas between janaka and janya, “producer” and “produced,” is nothing but a
paradigmatic exemplification of four conceivable derivational patterns between rasas, four in a wide array of possible combinations.
Therefore, the comic (hāsya) comes not only from imitating the erotic
(śṛṅgāra), it can also arise from the imitation of any other rasa.21 Note that
this is exactly one of the arguments wielded by Bhoja against Bharata’s
theory. Similarly, according to Abhinavagupta, who continues his thoughts
on the matter, the origination of the pathetic (karuṇa) from the furious (raudra) as stated in the verse is simply an example of a possible relation between
rasas, i.e., a relation in which an originated rasa is the result of the result of
the originating rasa; in this case, the pathetic (karuṇa) is the result of imprisonment and murder, as Abhinavagupta explains, that are the result of the
furious (raudra). The same reasoning is to be considered valid for the two
remaining derivational patterns. The origination of the wondrous from the
heroic is simply an example of a relation between rasas in which the originated rasa is the direct result of the originating rasa. Finally, the origination
of the fearful from the loathsome is an example of a relation between rasas in
which the originated rasa derives from the same vibhāvas, i.e., from the same
“dramatic” causes, to put it briefly, of the originating rasa. Unfortunately, it
would overextend the limits of this short chapter to discuss the several poetic
examples quoted by Abhinavagupta to substantiate his interpretation of Bharata’s verses.
To present Abhinava’s view schematically, an originated rasa can be:
1 a semblance of the originating rasa, such as the comic (hāsya) for the
erotic (śṛṅgāra),
2 an indirect result of the originating rasa, such as the pathetic (karuṇa) for
the furious (raudra),
3 a direct result of the originating rasa, such as the wondrous (adbhuta) for
the heroic (vīra), or
4 a further result of the “dramatic” causes (vibhāva) of the originating rasa,
such as the fearful (bhayānaka) for the loathsome (bībhatsa).
21 In Abhinavagupta’s words, in Abhinavabhāratī ad Nāṭyaśāstra 6.39, vol. 1, p. 294,
“Along the same lines, the word ‘śṛṅgāra’ [in Nāṭyaśāstra 6.39] suggests a modality in
which [hāsya] comes from the semblance of one [of the other rasas]. Therefore, hāsya
must be recognized as also present in the semblances of all [the other rasas], such as
karuṇa and the like. [This obtains] because being a determinant (i.e., a dramatic cause,
to put it briefly) for hāsya is merely brought about by the activity of inappropriateness
[of any kind].” (evaṃ tadābhāsatayā prakāraḥ śṛṅgāreṇa sūcitaḥ. tena karuṇādyābhāseṣv api hāsyatvaṃ sarveṣu mantavyam. anaucityapravṛttikṛtam eva hi hāsyavibhāvatvam.)
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To conclude this first bundle of evidence regarding reuse, traditionality and
innovation, I have argued that in their respective aesthetic theories, both
Bhoja and Abhinavagupta recognized the inadequacy of Bharata’s view –
although this recognition is only implicit in the case of Abhinavagupta,
whose reinterpretation of the text is concealed under the cloak of respect for
an allegedly infallible tradition – and that both Bhoja’s and Abhinavagupta’s
solutions to that inadequacy, as well as their overall aesthetic theories, are
strikingly innovative in their treatment of Bharata’s Nāṭyaśāstra text. However, to clearly state what was already hinted at, the different approaches of
these two authors represent two extremes in the spectrum of strategies
through which cultural change is brought about, accounted for and legitimated in an unending process of constructing, preserving and re-inventing
any traditional discourse.
Bhoja implements the method I call the “tradition-dismantling” strategy.
He consciously and overtly takes apart and de-legitimizes the traditional discourse on dramaturgy by refuting its tenets through both logical argumentation and phenomenological exemplification. On these ruins of traditional
knowledge, he then constructs the new building of his own theory, trying
thereby to set new parameters for future development.
In contrast, Abhinavagupta implements the method I call the “noveltysmuggling” strategy. Accordingly, he does not directly challenge the normative authority of the tradition represented by Bharata’s Nāṭyaśāstra. Rather,
by commenting in his Abhinavabhāratī on the text of Bharata instead of
composing an independent treatise as Bhoja did with his Śṛṅgāraprakāśa, he
both implicitly and explicitly pays respect to the great semi-mythical master
of dramaturgy, thereby also acknowledging the master’s authoritative and
prescriptive status. Nevertheless, while interpreting Bharata’s text by means
of the various hermeneutical devices common to the Sanskrit commentarial
praxis, Abhinavagupta introduces crucial innovations. A noteworthy innovation is for instance Abhinavagupta’s famous conception of śāntarasa as the
main rasa from which all other rasas develop and of which all other rasas
ultimately consist.22 Reducing the different rasas in this way to a unique and
supreme rasa is not far from Bhoja’s conception of śṛṅgāra as the true and
only rasa. Nevertheless, Abhinavagupta’s meta-theoretical strategy entails an
inclusion of theoretical and practical change within the seemingly unda22 Much has been written on the concept of śāntarasa. Without presuming exhaustiveness, I will mention Pandey 1944, De 1960, Raghavan 1967, Masson and Patwardhan
1969 and 1970, Bhattacharya K. 1972, Gerow and Aklujkar 1972, Bhattacharya S. P.
1976 and Gerow 1994. I will also briefly express my take on the issue in Cuneo 2016:
59–60.
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maged, unaltered and inalterable framework of traditional lore. This means
that in this case, the inherently disruptive nature of novelty remains disguised
in the apparently harmless verses of the long-established and revered text of
Bharata’s Nāṭyaśāstra.23
4 Quotation emplotment and the teleology of commentarial thought
As is certainly clear, the first scenario presented above is not really about
actual quotations.24 However, within the disputably central issue of commentary it allowed me to propose a theoretical background – two modalities for
change and innovation – that can be used for exploring other quotation scenarios within the fields of nāṭya- and alaṃkāraśāstra.
A different and more general observation on quotations and their relationship to tradition is the following: Quoting a text or extensively reusing its
material as “an authority” ‒ as a case of ipse dixit, so to speak ‒ can only be
considered a hint at the self-perceived traditionality of a knowledge system.
However, if an earlier text of the same tradition is quoted or mentioned as a
rival to be refuted, this actually indicates a tolerance for novelty.
Indeed, in the first few documented centuries of the development of
alaṃkāraśāstra, it seems that the second case is the norm, either explicitly or
implicitly.25 During this period a handful of authors follow one another, refuting each other’s theories and attempting to build a coherent system that
accounts for the poeticalness of poetry or properly describes the specific
23 As a postscript to this section, one might add that although Bhoja overtly employs what
I have called “tradition-dismantling” and Abhinavagupta what I have called “noveltysmuggling,” of the two it is Abhinavagupta who arguably develops the more innovative theory regarding the epistemology of rasa. I am referring to what I have elsewhere
called in Kuhnian terms the “second paradigm shift” (with respect to the first one propounded by Ānandavardhana and identified as such by McCrea 2008). This second
revolution “marks the change from a conception of aesthetic experience (rasa) that
does not account for the ontological difference between the universe experienced in ordinary reality and the universe created by, and experienced in, art to a conception of
aesthetic experience (rasa, again) […] that does account for such a difference and
makes it the crucial speculative argument justifying and legitimizing the intrinsically
pleasurable, or even beatific, nature of the emotions aroused by art” (Cuneo 2013: 62).
24 One might argue, however, that in every commentary the entire text being commented
upon is either explicitly or at least implicitly quoted, and that therefore the intellectual
practice of commenting is inherently quotational.
25 See, for instance, Bronner 2012, in which various passages of Daṇḍin are convincingly
identified and interpreted as rejoinders to tenets propounded by Bhāmaha.
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features of poetry.26 As the history of the discipline continues, the issue becomes more and more complicated. A crucial complication in the picture –
the factor that from the beginning shakes the assumption that the discipline is
laukika (as maintained in the above-mentioned publication McCrea 2011) –
is the ambiguous nature of the Nāṭyaśāstra. As already mentioned, it is
supposedly the root text of the scholarly discipline of dramaturgy. However,
Abhinavagupta’s Abhinavabhāratī is practically27 its only extant commentary, unlike the case of other mūlasūtras, which were commented upon many
times and whose commentaries received sub-commentaries and so on. Furthermore, the Nāṭyaśāstra is attributed to a semi-mythical figure, Bharata,
literally meaning the “actor,” and begins with a story of the descent of the
creation of theater by Brahmā and its transmission to Bharata. It therefore
possesses at least some of the crucial features that Pollock tried to identify as
common to those śāstras that share the transhistoric character of the Vedic
texts.28 However, as the above-mentioned passages of Bhoja testify, its status
as an infallible source of epistemic authority was challenged just as often as it
was resorted to, especially from the 9th century onwards, when the fields of
dramaturgy and poetics gradually began to be integrated.
Much more research is needed to settle the issue of tradition vs. innovation in these two interconnected fields. But despite the cursory nature of this
survey of some specific textual material, a working hypothesis for outlining
and explaining the major quotational trends in the discipline will be attempted. In particular, three quotation scenarios will be presented, cases that
are quite unusual with regard to the interpretive grids of traditionality or tolerance-for-novelty as outlined above.
26 For the history of poetics and dramaturgy, one can consult the classical De (1960),
Kane (1961), and Gerow (1977). A very useful and more up-to-date discussion of the
first couple of centuries, with a focus on the issue of rasa, is McCrea (2008: 30–54).
27 Another versified commentary on the Nāṭyaśāstra called Sarasvatīhṛdayālaṃkāra
(although it is often referred to as Bharatabhāṣya, see Primary Sources) by Nānyadeva
(11th–12th CE) also exists, but it only covers the sections on music, which do not concern us here. As an aside, as far as I know the only edition of this work, by Chaitanya
P. Desai, seems to be based only on the manuscript found in the Bhandarkar Oriental
Research Institute of Pune (MS no. 111 of 1869–70) and does not use the manuscript
held in the Government Oriental Manuscript Library of Madras (MS no. R. 5598 –
Vol. 1, S.R. 2981). Moreover, more manuscript material related to this work might
well be unearthed by further research.
28 For the divine origin of both theater and the knowledge of theater, see the first chapter
of the Nāṭyaśāśtra (in particular, the many verses where the expression nāṭyaveda appears). For an analysis of the myth of origin, see Bansat-Boudon 2004.
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The first case I would like to examine is what I tentatively call “quotation
emplotment.” I am referring to the famous commentary by Abhinavagupta on
the much-quoted rasasūtra of Bharata: vibhāvānubhāvavyabhicārisaṃyogād
rasaniṣpattiḥ. As mentioned above, the Abhinavabhāratī is practically the
only extant commentary on the Nāṭyaśāstra. However, Abhinavagupta quotes
a plethora of other authors who commented on the work or, at least, dealt
specifically with the issue of rasa. Just to name the most important, we encounter Bhaṭṭa Lollaṭa, Śrī Śaṅkuka, Bhaṭṭa Tauta and Bhaṭṭa Nāyaka. The
range and content of their various opinions will not be dealt with in the
present context, since they have already been the object of quite a lot of
scholarship.29 Here I am interested in how Abhinavagupta quotes them and
uses their theories in relation to one another.
But first a caveat is necessary. Since Abhinavagupta is practically our
only source, no precise details are presently known about the respective theories of the aforementioned authorities on rasa. Indeed, we might reasonably
doubt the accuracy of Abhinavagupta’s re-use of their words and their positions.30
Even after quick reading the first passage of the commentary on the rasasūtra, it is possible to appreciate the power of rhetorical technique implemented by Abhinavagupta, both in using direct quotations and rephrasing his
predecessors’ textual materials. He weaves a narrative, so to speak, of the
29 The commentary on the rasasūtra is the object of the pioneering translation and study
by Gnoli (1968). The most recent treatment, albeit somewhat lacking in fresh ideas, of
this seminal section is found in Gopalakrishnan 2006. I have attempted an improved
translation of the text (within the context of the whole sixth chapter) in my unpublished
PhD thesis (Cuneo 2008–2009). Several portions of the rasasūtra commentary have
been newly translated and analyzed in a number of articles, as for example Pollock
(2010b) and David (2016). Generally it is also worth reading Ingalls (1990), since the
same discussion on the nature of rasa is contained in an abbreviated form in
Abhinavagupta’s Locana on Ānandavardhana’s Dhvanyāloka (especially 2.4). Many
arguments on rasa found in the poorly studied Kalpalātāviveka can be traced back to
those of Abhinavagupta (although most are probably from his Locana). In the history
of alaṃkāraśāstra, the rasasūtra commentary has been often taken as a model and also
quoted en bloc, sometimes in an abridged form but sometimes expanded upon (see
section 6 of this chapter for a brief examination of such re-use).
30 An extreme stance, if we want to give in to scepticism, would consist in doubting even
the very existence of these authors and postulating that they are fictional characters in a
dialectic drama enacted by Abhinavagupta himself, who is both director and the only
actor impersonating different roles. I personally do not hold this view, since I am convinced, at least in general terms, by the arguments provided by Pollock (2010b) that
identify many of the ideas of Bhaṭṭa Nāyaka in the fourth chapter of Dhanañjaya’s
Daśarūpaka and, especially, Dhanika’s Avaloka commentary on it.
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opinions, arguments and refutations of the various authors who preceded him,
thus building something between a sort of historical report, a fictional narrative and a doxographical account, in which every theoretician’s viewpoint is
refuted by the arguments of the next. In this way, Bhaṭṭa Lollaṭa is refuted by
Śrī Śaṅkuka, Śrī Śaṅkuka refuted by Bhaṭṭa Tauta and so on, in a crescendo
of speculative acumen as well as the sheer number of lines devoted to each
thinker. At the end of this “history” or “story” of progressively improving
theories, it is Abhinavagupta’s own view that is established as the only
correct one, a final view of the ontology and epistemology of the rasa experience.
If we take Abhinavagupta’s account at face value, that is, as a kind of doxographical or, one might even say, historical report, then the model of textual authority being implicitly called upon is clearly the one that McCrea
postulates for alaṃkāraśāstra as a whole. In this model, theoretical and even
historical novelty is both praised as such and expected as the norm for a
knowledge system dealing with a laukika topic. However, as mentioned
above, it is legitimate to doubt, at least in principle, the accuracy of Abhinavagupta’s quotes, or quotation emplotment as I have called it, exactly because
it is a bit too neat in its gradual, progressive and almost teleological development of the argumentation, an argumentation that ends in a kind of speculative apotheosis of Abhinavagupta’s own conclusions (siddhānta). It is therefore fair, although this judgment amounts to nothing more than mere educated guesswork, to assume that Abhinavagupta undertook a certain amount
of tweaking and tampering with the material he had at his disposal.31 What is
more important, however, the four elegant verses at the end of this quotational narrative seem to represent Abhinavagupta’s own judgment of the
rationale of his argumentation, from both a historical and theoretical viewpoint. And they seem to reflect questions of originality, innovativeness and
sources of knowledge.
However, in order to complicate the discussion further and for the sake of
the larger picture drawn at the onset of this chapter, before tackling these
verses and trying to gauge their significance I would like to describe two
other unusual quotation scenarios that a reader of alaṃkāra texts might stumble upon.
31 I am not accusing Abhinava of malignity or having a bad conscience, but I simply
accept that theories and arguments are inevitably transformed when reconstructed in
any narrative account, especially if the account is aimed at becoming some kind of teleological narrative. In the words of Tubb and Bronner (2008: 626), “Abhinavagupta’s
real purpose in retelling the history of the rasa discussion is to impose upon it a linear
narrative in which his own view is the triumphant culmination.”
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5 Quotational hoaxes and novelty under siege
In order to illustrate what I tentatively call “quotational hoaxes,” as mentioned above I will briefly examine the Bhāvaprakāśana of Śāradātanaya, a
lengthy 13th-century South Indian versified text on both literary and dramatic
theory.32 In the words of a recent article by Whitney Cox (2013: 136–137),
from which I am heavily borrowing here, Śāradātanaya’s work is “rife with
quotations and recastings both acknowledged and unacknowledged, beginning with the Nāṭyaśāstra and extending up to Mammaṭa’s Kāvyaprakāśa,”
including works “from the literary salon of the Paramāra court at Dhāra (especially the Daśarūpaka and Bhoja’s Śṛṅgāraprakāśa).” Of interest in the
present context, within the multi-layered and inherently quotational nature of
Śāradātanaya’s work, are a number of pseudo-quotations or pseudepigraphical quotations, as Cox calls them. These are passages from works of known
authors such as Bhoja or Mammaṭa whose authorship is however attributed
by Śāradātanaya to another source, a source that in turn probably never existed and often seems to have a mythical, semi-Vedic or some kind of authoritative authorship. For instance, one of these sources is a certain Yogamālāsaṃhitā, attributed to Vivasvat who was instructed by Śiva himself. Another is a certain Kalpavallī, the supposedly original source of Mammaṭa’s
Kāvyaprakāśa. The most remarkable example of a pseudepigraphical quotation in the Bhāvaprakāśana among those cited by Cox is a prose passage
describing the derivation of rasas from ordinary emotions and their savoring
on the part of spectators. The passage is attributed to Bharatavṛddha, “the
elder Bharata,” a mythical figure who supposedly predated the Bharata of the
Nāṭyaśāstra. As brilliantly recognized by Cox, it is in this very passage that
we find Śāradātanaya’s most striking innovation in the theory of rasas.33 In
32 A better known and even more complex example of quotational hoax are the considerable number of untraced scriptural quotations found in the works of the 13th-century
Dvaita Vedānta philosopher Madhva, usually considered forgeries by the author. For
an analysis of this extremely interesting case, see Mesquita 2000 and 2008, as well as
the contribution of Okita to the present volume.
33 Although not specifically relevant to our present concern, I will repeat the innovation
for its sheer interest: “the idea that the rasa-experience varies depending upon the
mental states of the spectator at the moment of reception (i.e., that the rasas are experienced tādātvikamanovṛttibhedabhinnāḥ)” (Cox 2013: 144). The accent on the mutability of the aesthetic experience in its singular, personal instances and on account of
individual variables is very far from the standard concept of sahṛdaya “ideal connoisseur” and its normative character in both Ānandavardhana and Abhinavagupta (see
Masson 1979, Hardikar 1994, Kunjunni Raja 1997 and McCrea 2008: 114–117). Although any comparative attempt must be undertaken with due caution, it could be li-
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Cox’s words, Śāradātanaya is “prepared to conceal or to downplay his own
innovations and unprecedented combinations by displacing these onto other,
invented works,” these often ascribed to supernatural figures (like Śiva) or
mythical ur-authors (like Bharatavṛddha). Cox describes this confectioning of
textual authorities in the light of the text-historical panorama of scholarship
in South India around the 12th century, a period that witnessed a creative
explosion of literary works in Tamil as well as the production of numerous
anonymous Sanskrit texts, “resulting in whole new canons for different
Śaiva, Vaiṣṇava and Śākta religious orders” (Cox 2013: 153). From a more
general perspective, however, the abundance of pseudo-quotations in the
Bhāvaprakāśana can certainly be considered implicit approval of the model
of textual authoritativeness that grants the greatest value to what is transhistoric and transcendent. One might well argue that the mere mention of human
authors would not be enough to empower the quotations with validifying
Śāradātanaya’s work, not to mention the case of an innovation championed
by the author himself. Thus they were craftily attributed to the mythical
Bharatavṛddha. Such a meta-theoretical ascription points in the opposite direction from the model postulated by McCrea for alaṃkāraśāstra (pace what
Cox seems to argue for at the end of his article), a model nevertheless well
supported by many cases from the first centuries of the discipline, examples
offered by McCrea himself (especially the self-conscious attitude of being an
innovator taken up by Ānandavardhana) and possibly by Abhinvagupta’s
quotation emplotment described above. But before attempting to draw a conclusion, let’s review one last piece of quotational evidence.
6 Unabashed repetition and authorial sleight of hand
The last quotational scenario that will be discussed here might be better understood as large-scale borrowing, also dubbed as the phenomenon of “repeat” (Hugon 2015) ‒ the acknowledged or unacknowledged appropriation of
large chunks of earlier textual material in one’s own work. The object of the
“repeat” under question is again the core discussion on the ontology, epistemology and psychology of rasa in Abhinavagupta’s commentary on the
rasasūtra. This discussion is borrowed and heavily summarized in the fourth
ullāsa of Mammaṭa’s Kāvyaprakāśa (second half of the 11th century), which
kened to certain strands of contemporary hermeneutics and aesthetics of reception.
(Although unaware of Śāradātanaya’s position at the time, I briefly touched on this issue in Cuneo 2006: 156–157.)
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became the standard manual for poetics in the second millennium. The same
passage is then generously quoted, rearranged and rephrased in numerous
commentaries on the Kāvyaprakāśa itself, starting with the commentary by
Māṇikyacandra, the Saṃketa (late 12th century).34 Similarly, the same passage
of Abhinavagupta is appropriated in its entirety in a section of Hemacandra’s
sub-commentary, the Viveka, on the second chapter of his own Kāvyānuśāsana (first half of the 12th century).35 All of these cases of appropriation are
marked by more or less minor reworking,36 something worth studying in
itself to gauge the theoretical differences between these authors.
But as one example, a passage from the auto-sub-commentary on the
Kāvyānuśāsana might be briefly analyzed. In order to clarify the often very
terse Sanskrit of Abhinavagupta, Hemacandra expands on the text in several
sections,37 especially by re-stating the views of the authors at the end of the
parts dedicated to them (as in the case of Lollaṭa’s view on rasa) or making
obscure or elliptic lines of reasoning more explicit (as in the case of the seven
reasons why Śaṅkuka cannot accept Lollaṭa’s view). In doing this, Hemacandra expands the text considerably, from a handful of lines to a full page, offering examples and textual authorities in support of the reasoning. In rewriting this long passage, Hemacandra also relies on the version of the text as
it was summarized and re-elaborated by Mammaṭa less than a century earlier.
However, independently from Mammaṭa, Hemacandra also provides additional material on some of the authors Abhinavagupta is allegedly quoting.
34 The passage as summarized and re-elaborated by Mammaṭa is also quoted (“repeated”)
or reworked in several other independent works of alaṃkāraśāstra (for instance, in
Śiṅgabhūpāla’s Rasārṇavasudhākara, vilāsa II, vṛtti ad 168ab, pp. 251–252) and in
various commentaries on poetical texts, as for instance in Sūryadāsa’s Śṛṅgārataraṃgiṇī commentary on the Amaruśataka (Pintucci 2014: 83–85). I sincerely thank Gaia
Pintucci for these useful references. The present survey of the quotational Wirkungsgeschichte of the rasasūtra commentary is quite cursory and very personal. A more
comprehensive examination of the issue would be an ideal subject for continuing this
study.
35 On the aesthetic thought of Hemacandra in general, see Upadhyay 1987. For a German
translation of the first two chapters of the Kāvyānuśāsana (therefore including the passage under discussion), see Both 2003.
36 The lack of trustworthy critical editions for practically all of these texts might be a
reason for minor differences in their textual reuse. See, in this regard, Freschi 2015,
section 3.1.
37 An interesting counterexample is the above-mentioned (in section 3, as well as section
7) intermezzo in which Abhinavagupta presents his view on the issue of traditionality
and novelty – not only does Hemacandra not expand on this, he actually expunges it.
However, it is not clear at this stage of my research whether Hemacandra’s omission is
due to his disagreeing with Abhinavagupta.
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One example of this is the explicit differentiation between everyday inferences and “aesthetic” inferences, reported with regard to Śaṅkuka’s opinion
of rasa as a kind of imitation (anukaraṇa). Rasa is an object of an inferential
process that is actually based on artificial (kṛtrima) or unreal premises and
reasons, i.e., a dramatic performance. But this inferable object is different
from those cognized in common inferences, insofar as its nature is enjoyable,
just like saliva forming in the mouth due to the sight of someone else tasting
an astringent fruit (kaṣāyaphalacarvaṇaparapuruṣadarśanaprabhavamukhaprasekakalanākalpayā). This graphic simile, useful for understanding the
proxy-like nature of rasa in Śaṅkuka’s view, is absent in the texts of both
Abhinava and Mammaṭa. It is currently impossible to determine whether Hemacandra had direct access to the work of Śaṅkuka or other authors, or
whether here he was creatively elaborating on the text.
To conclude this brief analysis of an episode of quotational “repeat,”38
one might presume that Hemacandra attempted to improve the text he was
quoting: while he clearly considers this large textual chunk to be authoritative
with regard to the nature of rasa, in no way does he see it as untouchable, as
is proved by his active tampering with it. To a contemporary scholar, the text
as reported by Hemacandra is considerably clearer than the original by Abhinavagupta; thus Hemacandra’s reworking seems quite effective and achieves
the aim I have implicitly assumed it had.
In all its various degrees of liberty towards the repeated texts and in the
wide variety of aims one might postulate for it, the phenomenon of “repeat”
is decidedly in favor of the “traditionalistic” model of textual authority,
usually common to all śāstras, insofar as long quotations from well-established works can be regarded as the mark of an understanding of history and
novelty in line with the well-known Mīmāṃsā model of their theoretical
negation (Pollock 1989c).
7 Conclusions: The alternate fortunes of the two paradigms of textual
authoritativeness
To close this short survey of quotational scenarios, an analysis of the verses
by Abhinavagupta mentioned in section 3 might be fruitful for illustrating
38 Cases in which Hemacandra expands, changes or reduces the text of the rasasūtra
commentary could be analyzed from various perspectives, but this will have to be the
focus of a different study.
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various attitudes toward textual reuse as well as toward tradition and innovation:
āmnāyasiddhe kim apūrvam etat saṃvidvikāse ’dhigatāgamitvam | itthaṃ svayaṃgrāhyamahārhahetudvandvena kiṃ dūṣayitā na lokaḥ ||
ūrdhvordhvam āruhya yad arthatattvaṃ dhīḥ paśyati śrāntim avedayantī | phalaṃ tad ādyaiḥ parikalpitānāṃ vivekasopānaparamparāṇām || citraṃ nirālambanam eva manye prameyasiddhau prathamāvatāram | sanmārgalābhe sati setubandhapurapratiṣṭhādi na vismayāya
|| tasmāt satām atra na dūṣitāni matāni tāny eva tu śodhitāni | pūrvapratiṣṭhāpitayojanāsu mūlapratiṣṭhāphalam āmananti || (Abhinavabhāratī ad Nāṭyaśāstra 6, prose after 31, rasasūtra, vol. 1, p. 277)39
If it is established by tradition, how can it be new? If there is an expansion in knowledge, it already belongs to a received tradition. How
can the world not make such critiques by means of a hostile argument
about what is knowable by oneself and determined by the highly honored [predecessors]?40
39 To my knowledge, these complex verses have been translated four other times, always
differently with regard to the problematic issue of traditionality and novelty (Gnoli
1968: 51–52, Kaviraj 2005: 127, Visuvalingam 2006: 8 and Graheli 2008: 24). For the
sake of completeness, these other translations are listed in the appendix. In an earlier
paper I already offered a translation of these verses (Cuneo 2013: 50, n. 1); the present
rendering is a new attempt at making sense of them. I thank Philipp Mass, Elisa Freschi and Vincenzo Vergiani for their help and sagacious suggestions in improving my
understanding of this passage, especially the first line.
40 The first verse is the most problematic, since both the meaning of certain words and the
subdivisions in the sentences and clauses are far from clear. What seems certain is that
common people (lokaḥ) will criticize (dūṣayitā) a behavior, as is laid down implicitly
in the first line. Gnoli translates: “Why repeat truths disclosed already in the thought of
our predecessor [sic] and thus behave as no one has behaved before? This double, serious and evident error will certainly be imputed to me by audience.” He understands
the entire first line as a single question, and seems to conflate āmnayasiddhe and saṃvidvikāse in “disclosed already in the thought of our predecessors.” Then he renders
[a]dhigatāgamitvam as “behave as no one has behaved before,” which is not convincing either for the meaning “to behave” or for the insertion of a negation, as he says
“no one” (possibly he wants to read adhigata-agamitvam with a short a in the sandhi).
For the second line, Gnoli implicitly adds the object “to me,” i.e., Abhinavagupta,
which is not in the Sanskrit. Moreover, he renders the difficult compound svayaṃgrāhyamahārhahetudvandvena as “double (dvandva), serious (mahārha) and evident
(svayaṃgrāhya) error (hetu, probably, taken together with the verb dūṣayitā).” In a
clearly innovation-oriented interpretation, Kaviraj understands the first line as three
separate sentences: “What is new [in this idea]? It is already established in the tradition. With the development of the intellect/understanding people grasp [better] what
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they understood earlier.” He does not connect āmnayasiddhe and saṃvidvikāse, and he
renders [a]dhigatāgamitvam in cognitive terms. For the second line, he seems to
understand svayaṃgrāhyamahārhahetudvandvena as the object of blame: “[the one]
who seeks to contradict the precious self-justifying ideas of the tradition?” However it
is difficult to find a one-to-one correspondence in the original. Visuvalingam is clearly
tradition-oriented in his translation and understands the first line as two pieces of critique. I am again not convinced of the rendering of [a]dhigatāgamitvam, for which he
gives: “why bother to cram down these stifling canons?” With this he is forced to use
the kiṃ twice to introduce both rhetorical questions (see Appendix). Graheli translates:
“How can this be anything new, if it was established by tradition? It is just the apprehension of something already known, albeit within an expanded awareness. Isn’t because of such a conflict, between something readily available and something of great
value, that people find faults?” Again [a]dhigatāgamitvam is rendered in cognitive
terms, but he is forced to add “albeit” to make better sense of the sentence, which is
also possible although not obvious from the Sanskrit. Extremely interesting is his rendering of the problematic compound in the second line, but I am not sure what the two
elements of the conflict are supposed to be. Elisa Freschi (personal communication)
also proposes to understand -dvandva as conflict, but a conflict between the two options given in the first line. Namely, if it is new, it cannot be part of tradition and if
there is a development, it already belongs to tradition. I am sympathetic to this reading,
although I am not sure in this case how to make good sense of the rest of the compound (svayaṃgrāhyamahārhahetu-). In my 2013 paper, I tried to understand the first
line as a single sentence “There should be no wonder (kiṃ āpūrvam etad) in following
what is already known ([a]dhigatāgamitvam) in the disclosure of knowledge (saṃvidvikāse) as established by tradition (āmnayasiddhe).” I am less convinced of this
now, and thus have opted here for a critique of the introduction of novelty in the first
pāda and, in the second, the reason for that, i.e., the fact that any development in
understanding can only obtain for those who already belong to a tradition. However, I
also find Graheli’s translation here possibly convincing. For the second line, I understood the term dvandva as “quarrel,” “strife,” as I still do, but I am less convinced now
of my previous understanding of the passage as an implicit critique of the world in its
hypercritical attitude towards novelty (I had understood an implied object and translated “does not the world spoil [everything]”). As Gnoli and Visuvalingam seem to do,
it is also possible to understand dvandva as simply “two,” “a couple,” and thus to translate “by means of two (dvandva) reasons (hetu) that are self-evident and valuable,”
possibly referring to the claim to novelty per se and the claim to novelty without previously belonging to a tradition. Philipp Maas (personal communication) suggests understanding the first line as two pieces of critique: “If it is established by tradition, how
can it be new? If there is an expansion of knowledge, how can it be found (adhigata) to
belong to the tradition (-āgamitvam)?” These rhetorical questions would be meant to
criticize Abhinava’s enterprise from two perspectives. If he establishes what is already
established by tradition, he does not achieve anything new. If he achieves something
new, this would be not part of tradition. In this interpretation, the -dvandvena of the
second line would refer to this very “pair of opposing arguments.” Even more clearly
in this interpretation, the following verse would represent a reply to these critiques. I
am quite sympathetic to this reading. However, I still prefer the understanding I chose
because it allows for the actual development of knowledge within a tradition, even in
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Ascending ever higher, the unwearied intellect beholds the truth,
which is nothing but the fruit of the succession [of steps] on the ladder
of discrimination, as conceived by the ancients.41
Wonderful is, I believe, the first manifestation in the establishment of
the knowable, as it is completely supportless. [But], once the right
path has been taken, it is no cause for wonder that bridges are built, cities are founded and so on and so forth.42
the mouth of an adversary, which I consider a more plausible stance. Clearly I do not
claim to have resolved the difficulties of this passage. But, as I argue below, I find that
the complexity, polysemy and ambiguity of this and the following verses have a programmatic and purposeful nature.
41 This verse, representing Abhinavagupta’s reply to the critiques of the first verse, seems
to be claiming that knowledge develops in an almost Enlightenment-like way, with the
intellect ascending progressively ever higher until it beholds the truth. However, its
progression is enabled only by a ladder that consists of the previous doctrines. The exact meaning or at least an appropriate rendering of the word paramparā is not clear, as
is reflected in the various translations. Gnoli reads: “the doctrines which have succeeded each other on the ladder of thought.” Visuvalingam has: “treading the rungs of
discrimination, the conceptual ladder built up by generations of forerunners.” Kaviraj
translates: “the succession of intellectual/theoretical steps of the staircase prepared by
the scholars of old.” Moreover, he adds an interesting note on the varia lectio “alam”
for “phalam”: “This would alter the meaning of the assertion dramatically and suggest
a Wittgenstein-like point that once the results have been reached, we can throw away
the ladder” (Kaviraj 2005: 140, n. 23). Graheli renders “the fruit of the many theories
conceived by former thinkers on the ladder of discrimination.” In any case, the tension
between the development of novelty and the centrality of tradition remains part and
parcel of this elegant stanza.
42 This verse does not pose too many problems. It simply seems to argue that, after the
difficulties of inception, anything becomes easier. As cleverly pointed out by Philipp
Maas (personal communication), the use of the term avatāra probably refers to the
descent of the knowledge about the theater from Brahmā to mankind, which received it
with a fair degree of astonishment. However, both the translation and the relation between the words citra and nirālambana are not obvious. Gnoli understands them on the
same level and renders them as “doubtful and vacillating.” Kaviraj relates the one to
the other and translates: “It is fascinating [citra], I think, that the first appearance of
things seems to be without a prior supporting cause [nirālambana].” Visuvalingam understands them on the same level, as Gnoli does, and freely paraphrases: “Groping in
so many directions and, indeed, without a firm foothold …” Graheli, like Kaviraj, understands them as connected (the fact of being nirālambana is citra) and renders citra
with “strange.” I definitely opt for correlating and subordinating the two adjectives, but
translate citra as “wonderful.” The word citra does have different and opposite nuances, and I am not at all adamant in my choice of the positive “wonderful” in the face
of the more cautions “strange.” As Elisa Ganser has suggested to me (personal communication), one more meaning of citra is “varied,” “multifarious,” and the phrase might
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Therefore, here, I do not refute but refine the views of the wise, which
hand down the result of the root-foundation in constructions that were
erected in the past.43
My understanding of these verses is far from final, and my feeling is that
their meaning is bound to remain at least partly ambiguous. Moreover, my
contention is that this ambiguity might be intentional and programmatic. I
believe that Abhinavagupta was possibly trying to find a viable in-between
path that could satisfy both those who upheld a “traditional” view and who
upheld an innovation-oriented view. In other words, he was possibly trying to
reconcile two very different models, one of textual authority and the other of
positive evaluation of novel knowledge. Along these lines of interpretation,
he seems to be, on one hand, following the idea that the only source of understanding is in the transhistoric past of the onset of traditional lore, represented
in this case by the work of Bharata and its infallible description-cum-prescription of the dramatic arts and their workings. However, on the other hand,
therefore refer to the “varied first crossing in the ascertainment of the knowable,” i.e.,
the multiplicity of the opinions of previous commentators.
43 The last verse is comparatively easier. Abhinavagupta claims that he is only refining
the theories of his predecessors. However, the close of the construction metaphor is not
crystal clear. Gnoli changes the metaphor and underlines the traditionality of Abhinava’s enterprise by speaking of “the harvest” of thought that the predecessors have left
us as a legacy. In contrast, in an interpretation that favours novelty over tradition, Kaviraj seems to understand the term yojanā as “bringing coherence” in reference to what
has been previously established and posits “the establishment of entirely new truths/
foundations” – I am not sure what Sanskrit terms he is translating – as its result. In a
clearly tradition-oriented but markedly interpretive and free rendering, Visuvalingam
speaks of “the blueprints bequeathed by our predecessors,” in which it is possible to recognize “the foundations of this crowning achievement” of Abhinavagupta. But he
does not respect the syntax of the verse (āmananti is rendered as a first person singular,
it seems). Graheli respects the architectural metaphor and follows the text very closely.
Thus the views of the wise “pass down a fruit whose support is rooted in formerly supported theories.” There might be some difficulty in connecting the word mūla in the
compound with the preceding pūrvapratiṣṭhāpitayojanāsu, although sāpekṣasamāsas
are commonly accepted, and I would rather stick even more closely to the metaphor
and understand the word yojanā as some kind of building. In any case, Graheli’s translation is the one closest to mine, in which I have tried to give a very plain rendering.
Moreover, I would argue that the word mūla is a clear reference to the Nāṭyaśāstra and
that the constructions are the various commentaries. Therefore, Abhinavagupta might
be suggesting a quasi-archeological feat, as he is going back to the “authentic” fruit of
the original foundation preserved as a part of later constructions, like Roman capitals in
medieval churches. I am arguing for an interpretation that mediates between the novelty-oriented one and the tradition-oriented one, since I believe Abhinavagupta was
trying to find a sort of perfect middle ground.
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he seems also to accept a more novelty-oriented meta-theory that permits and
possibly values development and increase in knowledge and understanding
thanks to a chain of progressively more refined thinkers.
To return to the main issue at stake ‒ the cultural history of alaṃkāra- and
nāṭyaśāstra and their relation to novelty and tradition ‒ I argue that we
should examine this question with the same flexibility, cautiousness and
attention to multivocality that I tentatively attribute to Abhinavagupta in
these verses. As far as the evidence goes, it seems that in both the self-representation and the practice of literary and dramatic theory two competing understandings of tradition and innovation and two parallel ways of dealing
with the reuse of earlier materials coexisted and were therefore in a continuous, dynamic interrelation. It is thus not at all surprising to find numerous
examples of both approaches, both traditionalistic and non-traditionalistic.
Also unsurprising is Abhinavagupta’s attempt, at least in my interpretation, to
bridge the gap between the two tendencies and to reconcile them in a unified
semi-historical narrative.
Moreover, contrary to the early centuries of alaṃkāraśāstra when the laukikatva model argued by McCrea seems to have been common within the
conflicts between the various authors, and contrary to the centuries between
the 9th and the 11th, when the mostly Kashmirian thinkers vied fiercely with
each other for establishing the correctness of ever newer theories in accordance with what I call the “dismantling tradition” strategy,44 I would argue
that after Abhinavagupta’s momentous contribution and after the composition
of Mammaṭa’s Kāvyaprakāśa, the traditionalistic tendency seems to have
gained the upper hand. Indeed, Mammaṭa’s work virtually assumed the role
of a root text (mūla) – for which the incredible number of commentaries45 on
this text are ample evidence – and Abhinavagupta’s understanding of artistic
epistemology and ontology often became the norm, albeit with numerous
44 It is interesting to note that it is exactly in 9th-century Kashmir (and with Udbhaṭa) that
the two fields of knowledge start to intersect and merge into a single system of knowledge, i.e., poetics-cum-dramaturgy (alaṃkāra- and nāṭyaśāstra taken together, which
might be called sāhityaśāstra, although this term has not been used emically very often). It seems safe to postulate that the convergence of theories and practices coming
from the different domains of poetry and drama was one of the theoretical causes for
the blossoming of philosophical speculation. A possible avenue of research is the hypothesis that authors hailing from Kashmir had a more novelty-oriented stance and the
rest of South Asian authors, a more tradition-oriented one, but this geographical typology is currently only educated guesswork.
45 It is “the most often commented upon śāstra text in Sanskrit literature” (Cahill 2001:
23). For an idea of the number of commentaries, see the indeed long but still non-exhaustive list in Cahill 2001: 23–37.
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exceptions.46 But then again, a general caveat must be stated. Many theoreticians of the second millennium kept writing independent treatises that challenged any strictly univocal interpretation of the tradition, although there
were those who did give in to the traditionalistic, transhistoric model of textual authority, as for instance the aforementioned case of Śāradātanaya’s
Bhāvaprakāśana. Therefore, the two models of coping with novelty, the “novelty-smuggling strategy” and the “tradition-dismantling strategy,” seem to
have enjoyed alternating fortunes. This followed, as evinced above, recognizable patterns – for instance, the prevalence of the traditionalistic view in the
second millennium and in texts more strictly related to the tradition of nāṭyaśāstra. But there were also unpredictable cases. As I have shown, a potential
reason, although probably not the only one, for the alternating in history of
two epistemic modes and models of innovation and preservation of cultural
legacy is the fusion of the two śāstras in question, with their very different
meta-theoretical pedigrees. Further research in this direction remains a
desideratum.
As a last remark, to offset the meta-theoretical tendency prevalent in our
contemporary world, i.e., the anti-traditionalistic model that treasures novelty, originality and authoriality over anything else, I would like to draw attention to what I consider an evident rhetorical advantage – or maybe the advantage – of the “novelty-smuggling” strategy over the “tradition-dismantling” one. In the agonistic realm of any cultural discourse, the “noveltysmuggling” strategy offers a possibility for exploiting the accepted authoritativeness and trustworthiness of traditional knowledge – that is, its status as a
paradigmatic abode of truth – as a device for validating and legitimizing
something new. Furthermore, to disguise innovative theories, “traditionality”
can be employed to advantage as a defense against the allegedly baseless and
dangerous nature of novelty as such.
Traditionalistic or tradition-oriented views have often, and often correctly,
been regarded as conservative and prone to cultural and political fundamentalism. Moreover, any claim of truth is also a claim of power, and therefore
any meta-theory of validation – be it traditionalistic or not – runs the risk of
being used to shut the intellectual field and freeze both the cultural discourse
and the power structures that inform it, to the deep detriment of the subaltern.47
46 For instance, consider the famous works of Bhānudatta (15th century), recently translated in Pollock 2009 for the Clay Sanskrit Library. Otherwise, consider the new
school of alaṃkāraśāstra as described in Bronner 2002 and 2004, in which self-conscious innovation comes back in fashion.
47 This politically flavored conclusion might seem out of place at the end of a discussion
246
Daniele Cuneo
Appendix: Four translations of Abhinavagupta’s intermezzo
Gnoli (1968: 51–52): “Why repeat truths disclosed already in the thought of
our predecessor [sic] and thus behave as no one has behaved before? This
double, serious and evident error will certainly be imputed to me by audience. Tireless, the mind of man climbs ever higher to gaze on truth. This is
just the fruit of the doctrines which have succeeded each other on the ladder
of thought. In the beginning, the crossing of the river of the knowable is, I
know, agitated and supportless: but as we advance doggedly along this road,
we cease to be amazed by built bridges, city foundations, or anything else. A
rich and fruitful harvest may be culled by posterity from the inheritance of
thought left to it by predecessors. Thus the doctrines of the sages of antiquity
will only be refined by us here and not refuted.”
Kaviraj (2005: 127): “What is new [in this idea]? It is already established
in the tradition. With the development of the intellect/understanding people
grasp [better] what they understood earlier. Otherwise, would people not
blame who seeks to contradict the precious self-justifying ideas of the tradition? That the intellect, never flagging, constantly rises upwards and understands the meaning of theories/truths – is not that the very fruit of the succession of intellectual/theoretical steps of the staircase prepared by the scholars
of old? It is fascinating, I think, that the first appearance of things seems to be
without a prior supporting cause, yet once the proper way is found, it is not
surprising that bridges can be built and cities constructed. Therefore, I have
here not found fault with the ideas of these good (earlier) thinkers, but only
refined them. They say that in bringing coherence to the views established
earlier, the result is similar to the establishment of entirely new truths/foundations.”
Visuvaligam (2006: 8): “When it has been already established by tradition, why these pretentious claims to originality? When self-conscious
thought blossoms so freely on its own, why bother to cram down these stifling canons? With these two objections, ever so precious and within easy
reach, what’s then left that this world has not turned to derision? Climbing
ever higher and higher, knowing no repose, the intellect finally perceives the
on a seemingly non-political field of knowledge, poetics-cum-dramaturgy, and the
shifts in epistemic stances on normative validation in its cultural history. However, the
highly social, moral and political nature inherent in the normative nature of discussions
on matters of aesthetic taste has often been shown in contemporary theory (see, for instance, Bourdieu 1996 and 2003, and Rancière 2004) as well as in contemporary scholarship on alaṃkāraśāstra and nāṭyaśāstra (see Pollock 2001, Leavitt 2011, and
Ganser and Cuneo 2012).
“This is Not a Quote”
247
truth of things. This is the reward of treading the rungs of discrimination, the
conceptual ladder built up by generations of forerunners. Groping in so many
directions and, indeed, without a firm foothold, such I say, is our first plunge
into the ocean of certain knowledge. Once the right path has been found and
cleared, building bridges and founding entire cities, such architectural feats
are no cause for wonder. Therefore, far from having been overturned and
demolished here, the views of fellow truth-seekers have been merely refined.
In the blueprints bequeathed by our predecessors, we recognize the foundations of this crowning achievement of our own labors!”
Graheli (2008: 24): “How can this be anything new, if it was established
by tradition? It is just the apprehension of something already known, albeit
within an expanded awareness. Isn’t because of such a conflict, between
something readily available and something of great value, that people find
faults? Climbing higher and higher, the restless intellect observes reality,
which is the fruit of many theories conceived by former thinkers on the ladder of discrimination. Indeed, what I find strange is that the first approach in
the ascertainment of the object of knowledge can be groundless, while to
build bridges and cities – once the right path has been determined – is not a
reason of surprise. Therefore, here the opinions of wise people have not been
censured, but rather improved, because they pass down a fruit whose support
is rooted in formerly supported theories.”
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Quotation, Quarrel and Controversy in
Early Modern South Asia:
Appayya Dīkṣita and Jīva Gosvāmī on Madhva’s
Untraceable Citations*
Kiyokazu Okita
Introduction
In an important paper published in 2012, Elisa Freschi effectively establishes
the significance of what we might call “Quotation Studies,” an area of research that is still quite underexplored. Freschi points out that among the
many benefits the study of quotations can yield, it can reveal the way in
which authors understood authority in their traditions. In this context Freschi
mentions an exciting case of the citations used by Madhva to validate his own
view, citations that are however untraceable.
As Freschi points out, Madhva’s quotes are quite controversial because
many of the works and passages he quotes are found exclusively in his own
works. For example, he cites a passage and attributes it to a certain text such
as the Caturvedaśikhā, a text of which no one has ever heard. Or after citing a
verse, he states iti varāhe “thus it is said in the Varāha-Purāṇa,” but the
∗
I thank Prof. Harunaga Isaacson (University of Hamburg) for reading a section of
Appayya Dīkṣita’s Madhvatantramukhamardana and its commentary with me. I am
also greatly indebted to the detailed and insightful comments from the editors Dr. Elisa
Freschi (IKGA, Austrian Academy of Sciences) and Dr. Philipp Maas (University of
Leipzig). Earlier versions of this chapter were first read at the Deutscher Orientalistentag 2013 on 24 September 2013, then at the Oxford Centre of Hindu Studies on
22 May 2014, as well as at the Faculty of Indological Studies, Kyoto University on
3 June 2014. The current chapter was revised based on the comments I received on
these occasions. I acknowledge contributions from the following colleagues: Dr. Rembert Lutjeharms (University of Oxford), Lucian Wong (University of Oxford), Dr. Jessica Frazier (University of Kent), Prof. Diwakar Acharya (Kyoto University), Prof.
Somdev Vasudeva (Kyoto University) and Prof. Yuko Yokochi (Kyoto University).
256
Kiyokazu Okita
verse cannot be found in any of the editions of the Purāṇa currently available. Or he simply writes iti ca, without mentioning a source for his citation.
The topic of Madhva’s untraceable quotes has been systematically and
extensively explored by the Indologist Roque Mesquita, who argues that most
of Madhva’s untraceable quotes are not actual quotes but his own creation.
This claim has received considerable criticism from scholars belonging to the
Mādhva tradition. In the present chapter, I shall first briefly describe the history and the nature of the modern controversy concerning Madhva’s quotes.
Then I will explore the relevance of this controversy for Purāṇic studies and
the study of Vedānta as Hindu Theology. The main part of this article, however, consists of an exploration of the writings of two important Hindu theologians of the 16th century, namely Appayya Dīkṣita and Jīva Gosvāmī, who
held opposing views with regard to Madhva’s quotes. While Appayya rejects
the validity of Madhva’s untraceable quotes to refute the latter’s Dvaita position, Jīva refers to the same quotes to validate his own Gauḍīya viewpoint.
By examining the respective positions of these two authors, I hope to present
the complexity of this topic, which in my view has not been fully addressed
in Mesquita’s works.
1 The modern controversy: Mesquita vs. Sharma
As Ludo Rocher (2008: 603f.) points out, Mesquita was not the first modern
scholar to discuss the issue of Madhva’s untraceable quotes. Starting with
Suzanne Siauve, a number of scholars, including Betty Heimann, Helmuth
von Glasenapp, R. G. Bhandarkar, V. S. Ghate and A. Venkatasubbiah, noticed and addressed the intriguing nature of Madhva’s quotes. Mesquita,
however, was the first scholar to examine the issue in a systematic manner. In
his monograph, first published in 1997,1 Mesquita discusses Madhva’s untraceable quotes in detail and points out that these quotes are not only untraceable but that they also tend to support Madhva’s unique teachings such as the
doctrines of the five-fold difference (pañcabheda), the differentiating capacity (viśeṣa) and the ontological hierarchy (tāratamya). On the basis of Appayya Dīkṣita’s texts, Mesquita also examines Madhva’s claim of being the
third avatāra of Vāyu, which enabled him to justify his citation of untraceable quotations. Based on these observations, Mesquita concludes that Madhva
himself authored these untraceable quotes to support his arguments.
1
The monograph was subsequently translated into English. See Mesquita (2000).
Quotation, Quarrel and Controversy
257
Mesquita’s work was severely criticized by a number of Mādhva scholars
who believe that Madhva’s untraceable quotes indeed are citations of real
works, works that are presently simply not available or lost. B. N. K. Sharma
has been most vocal on this. In a paper published in 2001, Sharma advises
Mesquita:
To err is human. Even supposing that the Professor’s [i.e., Mesquita’s]
charges against Madhva are due purely to errors of judgment, their
cumulative effect may well have its own adverse repercussions. It
would therefore be advisable for the Professor to withdraw his charges, apologize to Madhva and close the chapter, for good once for all
(34).
One may note the harsh overtone in Sharma’s charge. In response, Mesquita
points out in his publication in 2007 that Sharma’s defense of Madhva’s
untraceable quotes is weak. For example, Sharma writes:
The Gita says God descends on earth in all Yugas and surely some of
the gods too do so with Him […] [W]hy disbelieve the ability of a
great thinker like M [i.e., Madhva] to be able to recapture lost sakhas
by his Yogic spiritual power, centuries ago, for the benefit of posterity? (Sharma 2001: 21, quoted in Mesquita 2007: 27)
This passage shows that Sharma bases his academic arguments on religious
beliefs. Regardless of whether one believes in Madhva’s supernatural power,
the very fact that Madhva quotes thousands of verses supporting his unique
teachings, verses that occur only in his own works, appears to indicate that
Madhva authored these verses himself.2
2 Untraceable quotes and Purāṇic studies
While Mesquita’s conclusions concerning Madhva’s untraceable quotes are
generally convincing, I believe there are important issues that Mesquita has
not fully addressed. For example, the issue of untraceable quotes is related to
the lack of reliability in the currently available printed editions of Sanskrit
texts, of which many have not been critically edited on the basis of the va2
Govindacharya (1997) says he discovered a text called the Maitreyeni Upaniṣad, which
authors such as Vidyāraṇya considered a fabrication of Madhva. If this is the case, it
indicates that at least some of Madhva’s quotes that are currently untraceable might be
traced in future. Unfortunately, I have not been able to examine the authenticity of this
Upaniṣad. I thank Dr. Ravi Gupta for having drawn my attention to this reference.
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riety of manuscripts available in diverse geographical locations in South
Asia. In this regard, it is particularly challenging to deal with Madhva’s untraceable quotes attributed to the Purāṇas since the Purāṇic text corpora are
generally known for their fluidity (Rocher 1986: 37–45). This means that
there is a genuine possibility that quotes attributed to the Purāṇas are untraceable not because they are an author’s concoction but because the texts in
the currently available editions differ from the versions that were available to
Madhva. Mesquita is aware of this difficulty and points out that there are a
number of verses in Vedānta Deśika’s works that he attributes to the Varāha
Purāṇa but that are not traceable in the current printed Purāṇa editions
(Mesquita 2000: 155).
In this context, the case of the Skanda Purāṇa verses cited by the Dharmanibandha authors is worth considering, which exemplifies the poor state of
the textual basis of current Purāṇic studies. The Dharmanibandha authors
such as Lakṣmīdhara cite verses from the Skanda Purāṇa that are not found
in most printed editions. However, a study by Adriaensen, Bakker and Isaacson in the 1990s based on the oldest surviving manuscript of the Purāṇa
dating from 810 CE led to the discovery that many hitherto “untraceable”
verses can be found in what seems to be the oldest text bearing the name
Skanda Purāṇa.3 As Bakker (2004: 2) points out, this old Skanda Purāṇa
turned out to have hardly anything in common with the well-known edition
of the Purāṇa edited by Khemarāja Śrīkṛṣṇadāsa.
This means that there is at least a theoretical possibility that some of the
verses quoted by Madhva, which Mesquita identifies as untraceable, may turn
out to be existing in the Purāṇa.4 The fundamental issue is that most of the
Purāṇas now available in print are not critically edited, and therefore, they
are not necessarily reliable.5 Any discussion regarding Madhva’s untraceable
quotes will remain inconclusive as long as considerable progress in research
in the Purāṇic textual history has not been achieved.
3
4
5
See Adriaensen, Bakker and Isaacson (1998) Prolegomena and Bakker (2004). I thank
Dr. Kengo Harimoto for kindly drawing my attention to this case.
I checked the 129 verses attributed to the Skandapurāṇa, which Mesquita lists as untraceable (2008: 263–299), against the first 31 chapters of the Skandapurāṇa critically
edited by Adriaensen, Bakker and Isaacson (www.rug.nl/ggw/onderzoek/
onderzoeksinstituten/indian/skandapurana/indianText). However, I could not find any
matches.
The challenge is also that there are several versions of the same text existing in
parallel.
Quotation, Quarrel and Controversy
259
3 Untraceable quotes and Vedānta as Hindu theology
As discussed, the issue of untraceable quotes is complex and does not allow
us to reach a simple conclusion. At the same time, we should recognize that
the list of Madhva’s untraceable quotes compiled by Mesquita in his publication in 2007 is more than 250 pages long. The sheer number of untraceable
quotes found in Madhva’s works seems to indicate that the majority of them,
if not all, were his own creation. Mesquita’s observation that these quotations
tend to support Madhva’s unique doctrines further supports this conclusion.6
If we accept that Madhva’s untraceable quotations, at least some of them,
were indeed written by Madhva himself to support his own teaching, then this
seems to have significant implications for our understanding of Vedānta. In
recent years, scholars such as Francis Clooney (2003) and Jonathan Edelmann (2013) have argued that Vedānta needs to be understood as a discipline
of scriptural exegesis, and therefore, it is more appropriate to label Vedānta a
theology than to regard it as philosophy. One of the distinctive characteristics
6
To what extent this is unique to Madhva is another question. Similar phenomena might
have existed. For example, Prof. Alexis Sanderson suggests that not only the
Śvetāśvatara Upaniṣad was written in a much later period (i.e., sometime after the 2nd
century CE) than normally assumed, but also the text embodies the aspiration of a
group of Rudrabhaktas / Śivabhaktas to vedicize their tradition, thus making a bid to
elevate its status in the eyes of the orthoprax, by producing a scripture that embeds new
material drawn from a Pāśupata environment into a matrix of ancient Vedic verses:
“My hypothesis starts from the observation that there are some echoes in that
[Śvetāśvatara] Upaniṣad of the Pañcārtha/Pāśupatasūtra and its terminology. Evidence
of these echoes is given in n. 124 of my 2007 publication ‘Atharvavedins in Tantric
Territory …’ It has been assumed that since the ŚvUp [Śvetāśvatara Upaniṣad] is an
Upaniṣad it should be seen as marking an early stage in the evolution from Vaidika religion to Śaivism proper. This evolutionist model of progressive ‘hinduisation’ seems
to me to be naive. It fails to consider that when a scriptural text is of mixed character
this may well be not because two phenomena which would later be distinct are not yet
distinct but because an author or compiler redacted elements of both traditions into a
single text to serve the purpose of diminishing this distinctness. This author articulates,
I propose, the aspiration of a group of Rudrabhaktas/Śivabhaktas to vedicise their tradition, so making a bid to elevate its status in the eyes of the orthoprax, by producing a
scripture that embeds new material drawn from a Pāśupata environment into a matrix
of ancient Vedic verses. It is with this in mind that I have called the ŚvUp VaidikaPāśupata in n. 247 of my 2003 study ‘The Śaiva Religion among the Khmers (Part I)’”
i.e., in Sanderson 2003. Personal correspondence, 3 June 2014. The content in square
brackets has been inserted by the current author. As for a commonly accepted date for
the Śvetāśvatara Upaniṣad, Thomas Oberlies for example suggests that it was written
between the beginning of the Christian Era and 200 CE (1995: 66‒67). I thank Dr.
Philipp Maas for this reference.
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of theology is its commitment to texts that the tradition considers to be divinely revealed. Theology in this sense is contrasted with philosophy in the
post-Cartesian sense of the term, which maintains an intellectual space to
critically inquire the validity of any type of commitment, and consequently
does not require commitment to any particular set of texts.7
The goal of Vedānta as it is traditionally understood is to articulate a coherent system of thought based on a core of revealed texts such as the
Upaniṣads, the Brahmasūtras and the Bhagavadgītā. Therefore, Vedānta is
fundamentally rooted in these works, and the commitment of any exegete to
these works should have priority over their individual ideas. If, however,
Madhva had his ideas first and then created fictional quotes to support them,
can his enterprise still be called Vedānta? Or do we need to modify our understanding of Vedānta as Hindu theology? These are some of the questions
we need to address when dealing with Madhva’s untraceable quotes.
4 Early modern controversy: Appayya Dīkṣita vs. Jīva Gosvāmī
The previous part of this chapter dealt with present-day discussions on the
issue of Madhva’s untraceable quotes, and its relations to Purāṇic studies and
Hindu theology. In order to further demonstrate the complexity involved, I
shall now discuss how two prominent Hindu theologians saw the issue.
4.1 Appayya Dīkṣita
One of these theologians is Appayya Dīkṣita (1520–1592) (Bronner 2007: 1),
a prominent Advaita author from northern Tamil who is remembered inter
alia for his Śivārkamaṇidīpikā, a sub-commentary on Śrīkaṇṭha’s Brahmasūtra commentary. The other is Jīva Gosvāmī (1517 terminus ad quem–1608
terminus a quo), one of the six Gosvāmīs of Vṛndāvana, who was the systematizer of the Gauḍīya Vaiṣṇava theology. Appayya Dīkṣita squarely rejected Madhva’s untraceable quotes while Jīva Gosvāmī accepted and utilized some of them to build his own theological system.
In this section, I will first examine the first two verses of Appayya’s
Madhvatantramukhamardana, or Crushing the Face of Madhva’s Teaching
and his auto-commentary Madhvamatavidhvaṃsanā, or Destroying Madhva’s Doctrine on these two verses. While Mesquita deals with these works
(2000: 29–33) to some extent, I shall examine them in more detail, incor7
For a further discussion on this point by Edelmann and responses to his argument, see
http://indianphilosophyblog.org/2014/03/07/philosophy-and-theology-lets-be-clearer/.
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261
porating sections from Appayya’s auto-commentary that Mesquita does not
discuss. Appayya’s works are significant, because he was the first author who
explicitly addressed the issue of Madhva’s untraceable quotes. Although
Mesquita (2000: 27–29) claims that in the 13th century Varadaguru and
Vedānta Deśika already criticized Madhva’s quotes, it is not clear whether
their criticism was indeed directed against Madhva. The two authors criticized the practice of fabricating citations for one’s own purposes, but they did
not specify, as Jan Willem de Jong (1999: 63–64) and Rocher (2008: 603)
point out, to whom their criticism was directed.
Going back to Appayya, his Madhvatantramukhamardana is a metrical
composition refuting Madhva’s commentary on the first five Adhikaraṇas.8
He starts the work in the following way:
If one names the topic of scripture to be Śiva or Viṣṇu, that is accepted. [For, such an interpretation] should be accepted by us who
worship that Brahman, even if it is with qualities. The contradiction
does not overly manifest itself for those who know the principle of
Nahinindā, nor is it appropriate to reject even a divergent meaning of
the Sūtras, if [such a meaning] is [somehow] acceptable.9
As an Advaitin, Appayya believes that Brahman without qualities (nirguṇa)
is the highest reality. Nevertheless, in his opening verse he demonstrates a
concessive attitude towards the worship of saguṇa Brahman as Śiva or Viṣṇu.
The principle of Nahinindā, to which Appayya refers in the above cited
passage, is first mentioned in the Śābarabhāṣya:
na hi nindā nindyaṃ nindituṃ prayujyate kiṃ tarhi ninditād itarat
praśaṃsitum.
8
9
That this work is concerning the first five Adhikaraṇas of the Brahmasūtras is expressed in the third verse: ataḥ pañcādhikaraṇīṃ lakṣyīkṛtyaiva tanmate / dūṣyasthalāni sarvatra sūcyante sudhiyāṃ mude // “Therefore, targeting only the [first] five
Adhikaraṇas [in his Brahmasūtra commentary], I point out in all cases those places to
be condemned in his teachings, for the pleasure of people with good intelligence.”
Mesquita understands the expression pañcādhikaraṇīṃ to refer to the five-fold divisions in the Vedas (2000: 30). However, this is incorrect since in his auto-commentary
Appayya explains that the term refers to the first five Adhikaraṇas in Madhva’s
Brahmasūtra commentary: tanmatasiddhām īkṣatyadhikaraṇāntāṃ pañcādhikaraṇīṃ
“pañcādhikaraṇīm means what is established in his system ending with the Īkṣati
Adhikaraṇa i.e., the commentary on the fifth sūtra, ‘ikṣater nāśabdam’ to the eleventh
sūtra, ‘śrutatvāc ca’.”
śivaṃ viṣṇuṃ vā yady abhidadhati śāstrasya viṣayaṃ tad iṣṭaṃ grāhyaṃ naḥ saguṇam
api tad brahma bhajatām / virodho nātīva sphurati nahinindānayavidāṃ na sūtrāṇām
arthāntaram api bhavad vāryam ucitam // (Appaya 1941:1).
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Blame is not employed in order to blame what is to be blamed but
rather to praise what is different from that which is blamed.10
By referring to this principle, Appayya suggests that when the Advaitins
blame the saguṇa interpretation of the Brahmasūtras, we should not take this
literally. Rather, we should understand this blame as praise of the alternative,
namely the nirguṇa interpretation.
Appayya also demonstrates his concessive attitude toward the worship of
saguṇa Brahman when he begins his auto-commentary with a maṅgala verse
dedicated to Kṛṣṇa:
May Mukunda always bestow good on me, [Mukunda] who appears
constantly in a complete form, [Mukunda who is] grasped by the fortunate ones according to their taste though after a long time, after
[they] have opened up the lotus bud of [their] heart by the practice of
yoga.11
Since Appayya is the author of works with a Śaiva leaning such as the Śivārkamaṇidīpikā and Śivārcanacandrikā, one might expect him to dedicate
his maṅgala verse to Śiva. That he offers it to Mukunda or Kṛṣṇa suggests
that for him it does not really matter whether one worships Śiva or Viṣṇu,
because in any case the highest reality is nirguṇa Brahman. This is also the
interpretation of Pālghāṭ Nārāyaṇa Śāstrī’s Ṭippaṇī on Appayya’s auto-commentary. According to Śāstrī, yathāruci or “according to their taste” means
“in the form of Rāma, Kṛṣṇa or Naṭarāja.”12
In his auto-commentary Appayya explains that the Advaitins, too, accept
the worship of saguṇa Brahman since it helps them to understand Brahman’s
nature, quality, greatness and so on.13 He further says that even for the Advaitins the worship of saguṇa Brahman is necessary for attaining liberation and
other desirable aims:
10 My translation is based on Apte 1992: 64. This is Śabara’s commentary on Mīmāṃsāsūtra 2.4.20: ekatve ’pi parāṇi nindāśaktisamāptivacanāni //.
11 Appayya, Madhvamatavidhvaṃsanā: udghāṭya yogakalayā hṛdayābjakośaṃ dhanyaiś
cirād api yathāruci gṛhyamāṇaḥ / yaḥ prasphuraty avirataṃ paripūrṇarūpaḥ śreyaḥ sa
me diśatu śāśvatikaṃ mukundaḥ // 1 // (Appayya 1941: 1).
12 Makhivaryabhūṣaṇā: yathāruci rāmakṛṣṇanaṭarājarūpena (Pālaghāṭ Nārāyaṇa Śāstri
1940: 1).
13 Madhvamatavidhvaṃsanā: saguṇaṃ brahmopāsīnānām asmākam advaitavādinām
upāsyasvarūpaguṇamahimāvadhāraṇāya tatpratipādanapravṛttaṃ tadīyaṃ śāstrasya
yojanaṃ grāhyam / (Appayya 1941: 2).
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263
Indeed, we [Advaitins] also require the worship of these two [deities],
because we need the controlling of our mind which is conducive to
meditation, the sequence of experiencing celestial enjoyment in the
[heavenly] places such as Kailāsa and Vaikuṇṭha, and its result in the
form of liberation.14
Appayya makes it clear that the worship of saguṇa Brahman is something
required (apekṣita) for the Advaitins. From Appayya’s perspective, the Vaiṣṇavas such as Rāmānuja who worship Viṣṇu or saguṇa Brahman as the ultimate reality are not entirely correct. However, their worship is not entirely
meaningless, since it leads to a good result. In fact, Appayya even accepts
that the Brahmasūtras can be interpreted as teaching saguṇa Brahman, since
in his view “the Sūtras are multifaceted.”15
Appayya ends his auto-commentary on the first verse of the Madhvatantramukhamardana with the following rhetorical question:
Why should we not also accept the doctrine of Ānanda Tīrtha, which
aims at investigating by means of Śrutis, Smṛtis and reasoning the nature of the Lord Nārāyaṇa, his inconceivable and astonishing qualities,
greatness, wealth and power, the procedure for his worship and so on,
and the sequence of enjoyments that are its (i.e., the worship’s) result?16
If Madhva teaches saguṇa Brahman, and if Appayya thinks its worship is
required for the Advaitins, then why does Appayya reject Madhva’s teachings? Appayya answers his own question in the second verse of the Madhvatantramukhamardana:
Nevertheless, we cannot accept the teachings of Ānanda Tīrtha in
which the important norm of those who follow Vedic passages becomes confused.17
14 Madhvamatavidhvaṃsanā: apekṣitaṃ khalv asmākam api nididhyāsanopayogicittavaśīkaraṇakailāsavaikuṇṭhādisthānagatadivyabhogānubhavakramamuktirūpaphalāpekṣiṇāṃ tayor upāsanam / (Appayya 1941: 2).
15 Madhvamatavidhvaṃsanā: sūtrāṇāṃ viśvatomukhatvād iti brūmaḥ / (Appayya 1941:
2).
16 Madhvamatavidhvaṃsanā: bhagavato nārāyaṇasya svarūpaṃ tasyācintyādbhutaguṇamahimavibhūtivaibhavaṃ tadupāsanādiprakāraṃ tatphalabhogakramaṃ ca śrutismṛtinyāyair nirūpayituṃ pravṛttam ānandatīrthīyaṃ matam api kuto na grāhyam? (Appayya 1941: 3).
17 Madhvatantramukhamardana: tathāpy ānandatīrthīyaṃ matam agrāhyam eva naḥ /
yatra vaidikamaryādā bhūyasy ākulatāṃ gatā // 2 // (Appayya 1941: 3).
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The important expression in this verse is vaidikamaryādā. The word maryādā
literally means “limit” or “boundary.” Therefore, the compound literally
means “the limit or the boundary of those who follow the Vedas.” Appayya
says that in Madhva’s system this limit or boundary becomes confused (ākulatāṃ gatā). This means that Madhva’s teaching goes beyond what is acceptable to people who follow the authority of the Vedas.
In Appayya’s view, Madhva’s teaching should be rejected not because it
teaches saguṇa Brahman, but because the way he teaches does not comply
with the accepted norm in the Vedāntic discourse. Appayya spells this out in
his auto-commentary on the second verse just discussed. It is here where
Appayya addresses the issue of Madhva’s untraceable quotes. Appayya’s criticism against Madhva is both theological and epistemological. He voices his
critique as follows:
Even if we should accept the interpretations of others concerning
[Brahman] with qualities in the manner mentioned, even then we can
never accept the interpretation of Ānanda Tīrtha. For, in the interpretations of others there is a difference in the mode of interpretation in a
few Sūtras only, as having as their object [Brahman] with qualities,
without qualities, distinction, non-distinction and so on. Concerning
other Sūtras, however, there is no disagreement regarding the outcome
even if there are sometimes different modes of interpretations arranging the prima facie view and the conclusive view. In Ānanda Tīrtha’s
interpretation however, different modes of interpretations are found
almost everywhere.18
Appayya accepts that there are Vedāntic views differing from Advaita, and
acknowledges that these provide legitimate interpretations of the Brahmasūtras. However, he rejects Madhva’s teaching because it is based on different modes of interpretations (prakārabheda). The point seems to be that
Madhva often has an entirely different scheme for understanding the Brahmasūtras. For example, according to Śaṅkara and Rāmānuja, the Brahmasūtras 1.4.23–27 constitute a section dealing with the topic of prakṛti, the
primordial matter that is the source of the material universe. According to
18 Madhvamatavidhvaṃsanā: yady apy evam uktarītyānyadīyāni saguṇayojanāny upādeyāni tathāpy ānandatīrthīyaṃ yojanam anupādeyam eva / anyadīyeṣu hi yojaneṣu
saguṇanirguṇabhedābhedādiviṣayatayā katipayeṣv eva sūtreṣu prakārabhedaḥ / anyeṣu tu sūtreṣu kvacit kvacit pūrvapakṣasiddhāntaracanābhaṅgībhede ’pi phalato na vivādaḥ / ānandatīrthīye tu yojane prāyaḥ sarvatraiva prakārabhedaḥ / (Appayya 1941:
3).
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265
Madhva, however, this section deals with the principle of samanvaya, which
explains how all the words in the Śruti ultimately refer to Brahman.
Appayya further says that this difference “concerns the contents which are
not agreed on by others, which are concocted by him alone.”19 What Appayya
means is that while other Vedāntins build their teachings on existing Śruti
and Smṛti texts, Madhva’s teaching is often based on texts that no one has
ever heard of. As Mesquita points out, Appayya then gives a list of the obscure texts Madhva cites from.20 The list names twenty-nine texts, including
the Agniveśya and the Bāllaveya, which according to Madhva are Śruti texts.
It also names another ten texts such as the Brahmatarka, which from
Madhva’s perspective are not the Śrutis but authoritative.21
After listing the obscure texts cited by Madhva, Appayya analyzes
Madhva’s strategy for counterbalancing their obscurity. As Mesquita points
out, this is where Appayya addresses Madhva’s claim of being the third
avatāra of Vāyu:
In order to remove suspicion concerning his own untrustworthiness,
which arises as a result of citing these [works], [Madhva] proclaims
that he himself is the third Avatāra of the god Vāyu after Hanuman
and Bhīmasena.22
Then, Appayya provides two passages that Madhva uses to justify his claim.
The first one reads as follows:
The first [incarnation of Vāyu] is named Hanuman, the second
Bhīmasena. As for the third, it is Pūrṇaprajña who accomplishes the
work of the Lord.23
19 so ’py anyeṣām asampratipanneṣu svamātrakalpiteṣv artheṣu / (Appayya 1941: 3).
20 Appayya’s list of obscure Śruti texts cited by Madhva: Catura, Kamaṭha, Māṭhara,
Kauṇṭharavya, Kauṇḍinya, Māṇḍavya, Mārkaṇḍeya, Maudgalya, Pauṣyāyaṇa, Pautrāyaṇa, Sautrāyaṇa, Pārāśaryāyaṇa, Mādhyandināyana, Kauṣārava, Kāṣāyaṇa, Bṛhad, Uddālaka Auddālakāyaṇa, Kauśika, Sauparṇa, Śāṇḍilya, Vatsa, Gaupavana, Bāllaveya Agniveśya, Caturvedasaṃhitā, Caturvedaśikā, Indradyumna, Paramaśruti (Appayya 1941: 3–4).
21 Appayya’s list of other obscure texts cited by Madhva: Adhyātmanārāyaṇa (or Adhyātma and Nārāyaṇa?), Adhyātmasaṃhitā, Bṛhatsaṃhitā, Mahāsaṃhitā, Nārāyaṇatantra,
Bṛhattantra, Puruṣottamatantra, Māyāvaibhava, Brahmatarka, Bhaviṣyatparva (Appayya 1941: 4).
22 Madhvatantramukhamardana: tadupanyāsaprasaktasvānāptatvaśaṅkāparihārāya hanumadbhīmasenakrameṇa vāyoḥ svayaṃ tṛtīyāvatāra ity udghoṣaḥ / (Appayya 1941:
4).
23 Madhvatantramukhamardana: prathamo hanumānnāma dvitīyo bhīmasenakaḥ / pūr-
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The second verse is from the Ṛg Veda, which says: “In this way that which is
visible is carried for the body […].”24
Although Appayya apparently holds the first passage to be a Smṛti text, it
is actually Madhva’s own composition that can be found in his Mahābhāratatātparyanirṇaya 2.118 (Madhva 1971: 24). The second passage is identifiable as Ṛg Veda 1.141.1a. However, as pointed out by Pālghāṭ Nārāyaṇa
Śāstrī in his Ṭippanī, this Vedic passage praises Agni and has nothing to do
with Vāyu:
By this praise of Agni, the excellence of the offering to Agni is made
clear. By this it is pointed out that [Madhva’s] explanation of this Ṛg
Veda passage as being intent on the triad of Vāyu Avatāras indicates
heavily that he transgresses the limit of those who follow the Vedas.25
This is an example of Madhva twisting the meaning of an existing passage
for his own purpose.26 In short, Madhva’s claim for being the third avatāra of
Vāyu is supported only by his own composition and a deliberate
misrepresentation of an existing text. Appayya says Madhva’s claim is nothing more than his imagination,27 and concludes his analysis by stating, “We
repeatedly observe that [Madhva] transgresses the limit of those who accept
scriptural authority.”28
It is worth reflecting on Appayya’s charge that Madhva transgresses the
limit of those who accept scriptural authority (prāmāṇikamaryādālaṅghanaṃ). In this expression, the term prāmāṇika literally means “those who
accept the reliable means of knowledge (pramāṇa).” As is well known, pramāṇa in Vedānta includes not only scriptural authority (śabda) but also other
ṇaprajñas tṛtīyas tu bhagavatkāryasādhakaḥ // (Appayya 1941: 5).
24 báḷ itthā́ tád vápuṣe dhāyi darśatáṃ.
25 Makhivaryabhūṣaṇā: anenāgniśaṃsanenāgneyayāgasya prāśastyaṃ dyotyate / etena
vāyvavatāratrayaparatayāsyā ṛco varṇanaṃ vaidikamaryādollaṅghanasya mahal
liṅgam iti sūcitam / (Pālghāṭ Nārāyaṇa Śāstrī 1940: 11). Pālghāṭ Nārāyaṇa Śāstrī was a
modern scholar who specialized in Advaita Vedānta. As his name suggests, he hailed
from the Palakkad (Pālghāṭ) region in Kerala. This is also confirmed in the concluding
verse Śāstrī gives at the end of his Ṭippaṇī (Pālghāṭ Nārāyaṇa Śāstrī 1940: 129):
kṣīrāraṇyā(pālaghāṭ)khyadeśo guṇagaṇamahito darśanāt pāvanātmā / He taught at
Maharaja’s college in Mysore (http://profskr.com/?page_id=9). Although his exact
dates are not known to the current author, he seems to have lived from the late 19th
century to the mid-20th century.
26 See Mesquita (2000: 55–58, 2003: 114) for an analysis of how Madhva uses this Ṛg
Veda verse.
27 ṛgvedamantrasya svakalpitavāyvavatāratrayaparatayā pradarśakam (Appayya 1941:
11).
28 prāmāṇikamaryādālaṅghanaṃ bhūyasā dṛśyate / (Appayya 1941: 5).
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267
means of knowledge such as perception (pratyakṣa) and inference
(anumāṇa). Nevertheless, I believe what Appayya has in mind is scriptural
authority (śabdapramāṇa), because this expression appears in the context of
Appayya’s criticism of Madhva’s use of scripture. This is further supported
by the fact that Pālghāṭ Nārāyaṇa Śāstrī rephrases prāmāṇika as “those who
follow the Vedas (vaidika).” As an Advaitin, Appayya ultimately does not
accept Madhva’s ontology, which is dualistic and theistic. At the same time,
Appayya’s fundamental problem with Madhva is not his ontology as such.
Appayya acknowledges that there are valid Vedāntic views that are not
Advaita. He even praises the benefit of worshipping saguṇa Brahman.
However, what Appayya finds problematic and unacceptable is the way in
which Madhva builds his ontology. From Appayya’s perspective, Madhva’s
teaching is unacceptable, because he does not follow the rules of the game.
What is implicit in Appayya’s criticism is his understanding of the nature of
Vedānta, according to which one should formulate one’s opinion based on
commonly available textual sources. When Madhva cites texts that nobody
knows, this is a threat to the discipline itself, because this challenges the very
notion of scriptural authority (śabdapramāṇa), which is the basis of Vedānta.
What is Appayya’s contribution to the study of citations? In their introduction to the present volume, Freschi and Maas discuss the reuse of parts of
an old building to construct a new building. In the context of Vedānta, according to Appayya, it is allowed to formulate new systems of thought, but
the ingredients for such a construction are pre-determined. The most widely
accepted ingredients are the Upaniṣads, the Bhagavadgītā and the Brahmasūtras. Smṛti texts such as the Purāṇas are accepted, but they have to be
commonly available. Thus, Appayya emphasizes the necessity of verifiable
scriptural evidence and rejects the use of apocryphal scriptural citations.
4.2 Jīva Gosvāmī
In the previous section, I discussed Appayya’s criticism of Madhva’s use of
untraceable citations. Appayya’s argument is clear and forceful. However, the
matter is complicated by Jīva Gosvāmī, who, unlike Appayya, accepts some
of Madhva’s untraceable quotes as authentic.
A contemporary of Appayya, Jīva lived in North India in the 16th century.
He was one of the so-called Ṣaḍgosvāmī of Vṛndāvana, who founded the
Gauḍīya Vaiṣṇava school that was initiated by Caitanya (1486–1534).29 It is
29 According to the Caitanyacaritāmṛta of Kṛṣṇadāsa Kavirāja (1496–??), Caitanya was
initiated by Īśvara Purī into the path of Kṛṣṇa devotionalism. Some of the later Gauḍīya
authors, such as Baladeva Vidyābhūṣaṇa (??–1793), claim that Caitanya belonged to
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not clear to me whether Jīva knew Appayya’s works. As far as his discussion
of Madhva’s quotes is concerned, Jīva does not address Appayya’s criticism.
Jīva’s view on Madhva’s untraceable quotes is significant in our discussion
because it shows that the authenticity of his quotes was accepted not only by
Madhva’s immediate followers but also by Vedāntins outside the Mādhva
school.
Before we analyze Jīva’s view, however, we need to clarify the relation
between the Gauḍīyas and the Mādhva school. This is necessary, because
there is a controversial claim that the Gauḍīyas actually belong to the Mādhva school and form the Brahmā-Mādhva-Gauḍīya Sampradāya. The idea of
the Gauḍīya affiliation with the Mādhvas possibly goes back to Kavi Karṇapura’s Gauragaṇoddeśadīpikā, which was written in 1576 (see n. 29). Even if
the passage of this work that mentions the Sampradāya affiliation is an
interpolation, as John Hawley (2013) argued recently, the Mādhva-Gauḍīya
connection was widely accepted in North India by the 18th century.
As David Buchta has argued and as I have discussed elsewhere,30 however, it is best to see this affiliation as something formal and external. In
other words, in spite of the fact that some Gauḍīyas claim to be a part of the
Mādhva tradition, we must understand the two traditions as different from
one another. It is clear that the Gauḍīya tradition is distinct from the Mādhva
tradition if, for example, we examine Jīva Gosvāmī’s magnum opus, the Bhāgavatasandarbhas, which are arguably the most foundational texts in the
Gauḍīya theology. In the beginning of the Tattvasandarbha, which is the first
volume in the Sandarbhas, Jīva does not mention any of the Mādhva teachers. Instead, he offers the maṅgala verses to Kṛṣṇa, to Caitanya and to his
uncles Rūpa and Sanātana.31 Caitanya, Rūpa and Sanātana are all prominent
figures in the Gauḍīya tradition but are not recognized as such in the Mādhva
tradition. As Alexis Sanderson (2005: 89) and Christopher Minkowski (2008:
1) have pointed out, the maṅgala or the opening verses are the “face” of the
work, where the author’s personal affiliation can be observed. Therefore, the
the Mādhva sampradāya because Mādhavendra Purī, Īśvara Purī’s guru, was a Mādhva
sannyāsī. However, whether Mādhavendra belonged to the Mādhva sampradāya or not
is by no means self-evident. In fact, scholars such as S. K. De (1961) and Sharma
(2000) reject Mādhavendra’s affiliation with the Mādhva school. See Okita 2014b: 44–
55 for a detailed discussion of this point.
30 See for example, Buchta 2003, 2005, 2007 and Okita 2008, 2009, 2014a, 2014b.
31 Tattvasandarbha: antaḥ kṛṣṇaṃ bahir gauraṃ darśitāṅgādivaibhavam / kalau saṅkīrtanādyaiḥ smaḥ kṛṣṇacaitanyam āśritāḥ // 2 // jayatāṃ mathurābhūmau śrīlarūpasanātanau / yau vilekhayatas tattvaṃ jñāpakau pustikām imām // 3 // (Jīva 1983: 5).
Quotation, Quarrel and Controversy
269
opening verses of the Tattvasandarbha indicate that Jīva does not see his
Gauḍīya tradition as a part of the Mādhva school.
Moreover, Jīva mentions that his Sandarbhas are based on Gopāla Bhaṭṭa
Gosvāmī’s composition, which Gopāla Bhaṭṭa himself wrote following what
was written by great Vaiṣṇavas.32 In his auto-commentary on this verse, Jīva
explains that the expression “great Vaiṣṇavas” refers to authors such as
Rāmānuja, Madhva and Śrīdhara Svāmī.33 In other words, Jīva acknowledges
his indebtedness to Madhva but not in an exclusive way. In fact, as discussed
by Ravi Gupta and others, Rāmānuja’s and Śrīdhara’s influence on Jīva’s
theology is at least equally strong as that of Madhva, and there are a number
of significant theological disagreements between Madhva and Jīva.34
For example, Jīva accepts the bhedābheda position in which Brahman is
considered the material cause (upādānakāraṇa) of the manifest world; that
the living entities and the manifest world are Brahman’s energies (śaktis);
that Kṛṣṇa is the highest manifestation of the ultimate reality and the source
of all Viṣṇu avatāras; that Rādhā is Kṛṣṇa’s pleasure-giving energy (hlādinī
śakti) and his best consort; and that Caitanya is non-different from Kṛṣṇa.
While Jīva promotes these doctrines, Madhva does not accept them. In contrast, Madhva’s followers accept his teachings rigidly; for them Madhva is
the supreme teacher.
Complicated discussions notwithstanding, the only point I wish to make
clear is that the Gauḍīyas are theologically distinct from the Mādhvas, and
therefore they should be considered as forming a separate school. Provided
that this point is acceptable, we can now go back to address Jīva’s view of
Madhva’s untraceable quotes. From Jīva’s perspective, the untraceability of
certain texts does not pose such a great challenge, since he believes there are
many texts that are lost and hence not available to us.
In his Tattvasandarbha Anuccheda 12, Jīva states that at the present moment (samprati), scriptural authority (śabda) means the Itihāsas and the
Purāṇas, because the Vedas are difficult to go through in their entirety
(duṣpāratvāt).35 In his auto-commentary, Jīva explains that the expression
32 Tattvasandarbha: ko ’pi tadbāndhavo bhaṭṭo dakṣiṇadvijavaṃśajaḥ / vivicya vyalikhad
granthaṃ likhitād vṛddhavaiṣṇavaiḥ // 4 // tasyādyaṃ granthanālekhaṃ krāntam utkrāntakhaṇḍitam / paryālocyātha paryāyaṃ kṛtvā likhati jīvakaḥ // 5 // (Jīva 1983: 6).
33 Sarvasaṃvādinī: vṛddhavaiṣṇavaiḥ śrīrāmānujamadhvācāryaśrīdharasvāmyādibhir
yal likhitam tasmād uddhṛtasyety arthaḥ / (Jīva 1983a: 6).
34 See for example Gupta 2007, Kapoor 1976.
35 Tattvasandarbha: vedaśabdasya samprati duṣpāratvād duradhigamārthatvāc ca tadarthanirṇāyakānāṃ munīnām api parasparavirodhād vedarūpo vedārthanirṇāyakaś
cetihāsapurāṇātmakaḥ śabda eva vicāraṇīyaḥ / (Jīva 1983: 29).
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“the present moment” refers to the age of Kali, and that the Vedas are difficult to go through because some texts are not available and because we lack
the intelligence to comprehend the works that have come down to us.36 Rādhā
Mohana Gosvāmī (late 18th century)37 further clarifies that the Vedas are
difficult to go through in their entirety “because some Vedas are destroyed
and some concealed.”38 Appayya’s main criticism against Madhva was that
Madhva transgresses the limits of those who accept scriptural authority. If we
accept Jīva’s view of scripture, however, the convention of what constitutes
authoritative texts becomes much more ambiguous, because in Jīva’s view
there is always a possibility that certain texts are untraceable not because they
were fabricated, but because they used to exist but are now lost or unavailable.
Jīva was not the first authority who discussed the problem of lost scriptures, although he was possibly among the few who defended the validity of
extant passages from lost texts. A defense of the authority of lost texts can be
found, for example, in the tradition of the Dharmaśāstra. According to this
tradition, the rules enjoined in the Dharmaśāstras are authoritative because
they are based on the Vedas. A problem, however, is that many Dharmaśāstric rules are not found in the revealed scriptures. One way in which the
tradition deals with this is to appeal to the Mīmāṃsaka concept of “inferred
Vedic text” (anumitaśruti). If certain rules are mentioned in the Smṛti texts or
observed in the conduct of virtuous people but not mentioned in the available
Śruti texts (pratyakṣaśruti), then we must infer the existence of lost Śruti
texts that mention those rules (Olivelle 1993: 84–85, 1999: xli, 2006: 173).
As early as the 3rd century BCE, Āpastamba says,
All injunctions were (originally) taught in the Brāhmaṇas. Those sections of theirs that have been lost are inferred on the basis of custom
(trans. Olivelle 1993: 85).39
A critical difference, however, between Jīva and those Dharmaśāstric authors
is that the former uses available passages attributed to a lost text while the
latter do not claim to have such a direct access to “inferred Vedic text.”40
36 Sarvasaṃvādinī: apracaradrūpatvena durmedhastvena ca ‘duṣpāratvāt’ (Jīva 1983a:
29).
37 On Rādhā Mohana Gosvāmī, see Elkman 1986: 51–55.
38 Ṭīkā: duṣpāratvād iti keṣāṃcid vedānām ucchannatvāt keṣāṃcit pracchannatvāc ca iti
bhāvaḥ (Jīva 1983: 29). For a detailed discussion on Jīva’s epistemology, see Broo
2006, Buchta 2006, Uskokov 2009.
39 Āpastambadharmasūtra 1.12.10: brāhmaṇoktā vidhayas teṣām utsannāḥ pāṭhāḥ prayogād anumīyante /
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271
The idea of “lost text” is found in the Vaiṣṇava tradition as well.
Yāmunācārya, a well-known teacher of the Śrī Vaiṣṇava school in the
10th century in South India, wrote a text called the Āgamapramāṇya. In this
work, he argues that the lost Vaiṣṇava texts in Kashmir such as the
Ekāyanaśākhā are revealed (apauruṣeya) scriptures and therefore authoritative (Sanderson 2009: 108).
Returning to Jīva’s discussion, in Anuccheda 28 he addresses Madhva’s
untraceable citations. This is in the context of Jīva’s discussion of scriptural
means of knowledge (śabdapramāṇa). Like many other Vedāntins, Jīva says
that scriptural knowledge is the only means to understand Brahman. Concerning the use of scripture in his own work, Jīva first says that he will cite
the Śrutis and the Smṛtis exactly as he saw (yathādṛṣṭam eva) them.41 However, to this general principle Jīva adds an exception, namely, Madhva’s
untraceable citations:
And in some cases, I humbly accepted sources that I have not seen
myself from glorious texts such as the Bhāgavatatātparya, the Bhāratatātparya and the Brahmasūtrabhāṣya by the glorious Madhvācārya,
who is the ancient teacher of realism, who greatly propagated a
particular Vaiṣṇava thought, [...] who has as his disciples and granddisciples the best among the knowers of the Vedas and their meaning,
such as Vijayadhvaja, Brahmatīrtha and Vyāsatīrtha, who were well
known in southern countries and so on.42
The key expression in the above passage is “the sources that I have not seen
myself (svayam adṛṣṭākarāṇi).” When Jīva realizes that certain quotations are
found only in Madhva’s works, he accepts these passages as authoritative
although he cannot trace the original, and does not discuss their authenticity.
He has a very positive attitude toward Madhva and his followers. This is
40 I thank Dr. Elisa Freschi for her perceptive comment on this point. For her reflections
on this, see her blog post: http://elisafreschi.com/2014/07/01/forging-indianphilosophical-texts/.
41 Tattvasandarbha: pramāṇāni śrutipurāṇādivacanāni yathādṛṣṭam evodāharaṇīyāni /
(Jīva 1983: 83).
42 Tattvasandarbha: kvacit svayam adṛṣṭākarāṇi ca tattvavādagurūṇām anādhunikānāṃ
[…] pracurapracāritavaiṣṇavamataviśeṣāṇāṃ dakṣiṇādideśavikhyātaśiṣyopaśiṣyībhūtavijayadhvajabrahmatīrthavyāsatīrthādivedavedārthavidvarāṇāṃ śrīmadhvācāryacaraṇānāṃ śrībhāgavatatātparyabhāratatātparyabrahmasūtrabhāṣyādibhyaḥ saṃgṛhītāni / (Jīva 1983: 83). – According to Baladeva’s commentary, “and so on (ādi)” in the
expression “southern countries and so on (dakṣinādideśa)” indicates that the Mādhva
sampradāya was well known in the eastern areas (gauḍe ’pi) as well: dakṣiṇādideśeti
tena gauḍe ’pi mādhavendrādayas tadupaśiṣyāḥ katicid babhūvur ity arthaḥ /.
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expressed, for example, in his description of Madhva as the teacher of
realism (tattvavādaguru). “tattvavāda” was the term Madhva used to describe
his teaching, in contrast to māyāvāda, which refers to the Advaita teaching.
While Jīva teaches many Gauḍīya doctrines that Mādhva followers did not
accept, Jīva agrees with Madhva in his severe critique of the Advaita Vedānta
theory of non-dualism. In this regard, Jīva’s respect for Madhva’s teaching
appears as an understandable consequence of their doctrinal agreement.
Another place where we observe Jīva’s reverential attitude toward the
Mādhva tradition is in his description of Madhva’s followers being well
known in the southern country and so on (dakṣiṇādideśavikhyāta). For example, Vijayadhvaja (1410–1450)43 was well known as the author of the
Padaratnāvalī, which is the first full commentary on the Bhāgavata Purāṇa
within the Mādhva tradition. As for Vyāsatīrtha (1478–1539), B. N. K.
Sharma calls him “the Prince of Dialecticians of the Dvaita school” (1994:
viii). He was the famous author of the Nyāyāmṛta, which later prompted
Madhusūdhana Sarasvatī, a famous Advaitin of the 16th century, to write his
refutation called Advaitasiddhi.44 All of these points indicate that by Jīva’s
lifetime in the 16th century, the Mādhva sampradāya had become a well-established and well-respected Vaiṣṇava tradition like that of Rāmānuja’s Śrī
sampradāya. Thus for Jīva, who was establishing a new tradition of Gauḍīya
Vaiṣṇavism, referring to the older tradition of Madhva was part of a strategy
for presenting his theology in a respectable manner.
After glorifying Madhva and his followers, Jīva quotes passages from
Madhva’s Mahābhāratatātparyanirṇaya:
Just as Lord Vyāsa, who is Lord Nārāyaṇa in person, spoke in the
Mahābhārata and so on, knowing other scriptures in the light of
Vedānta, and after seeing different types of books in various countries,
in the same manner I [i.e., Madhva] speak, by examining these
[books].45
In these passages, Madhva claims his Vyāsa-like authority in the Mahābhāratatātparyanirṇaya, which is his summary of the Mahābhārata. By referring
43 Sharma 2000: 456.
44 For a detailed discussion of this debate, see Sharma 1994. Also, for the indebtedness of
Madhusūdana Sarasvatī to Vyāsatīrtha, see Pellegrini 2015.
45 Tattvasandarbha, Anuccheda 28, Mahābhāratatātparyanirṇaya 2.6cd~2.8ab: śāstrāntarāṇi saṃjānan vedāntasya prasādataḥ / deśe deśe tathā granthān dṛṣṭvā caiva pṛthagvidhān // yathā sa bhagavān vyāsaḥ sākṣān nārāyaṇaḥ prabhuḥ / jagāda bhāratādyeṣu tathā vakṣye tadīkṣayā // iti / (Jīva 1983: 84).
Quotation, Quarrel and Controversy
273
to these passages, Jīva expresses his high regard for Madhva and emphasizes
the scriptural authority of his writings.
Then, at the end of the Anuccheda 28, Jīva gives a list of the texts that appear only in Madhva’s works:
Among them, the Śrutis are the Caturvedaśikhā and so on, which are
selected by him, and the Purāṇas are the sections of the Garuḍa
Purāṇa and so on, which are not available anywhere at present. Furthermore, the Saṃhitās mean the Mahāsaṃhitā and so on, and the
Tantras are the Tantrabhāgavata, the Brahmatarka and so on.46
In his Madhvamatavidhvaṃsanā, Appayya mentions the Caturvedaśikhā, the
Mahāsaṃhitā and the Brahmatarka as absolutely unknown and therefore
untrustworthy. Jīva thus accepts as authoritative precisely the same works
that Appayya rejects.
Jīva’s argument is simple, but its implications are profound. Many texts
became lost or inaccessible in the course of time. However, Madhva’s untraceable quotes must be authentic because illustrious teachers of the Mādhva
school quote them. Therefore, even though he cannot trace the original, he
can use these untraceable quotes to build his Gauḍīya theology. As noted
earlier, the Dharmaśāstric tradition appealed to the idea of lost texts. These
texts are inferred partly based on the conduct of virtuous people. If we acknowledge the cultural background in which this type of argument appears to
have been well accepted, Jīva’s argument for the validity of Madhva’s untraceable quotes based on the authority of the Mādhva followers must have
sounded fairly reasonable to his contemporary audience.
Going back to the analogy of architecture, using the materials from an
older building can give a new building an aura of tradition and being established. Thus Jīva’s reuse of Madhva’s untraceable quotes has the effect of
reminding experienced readers of the legacy of the Mādhva tradition and its
fierce and forceful attack on Advaita Vedānta.
46 Tattvasandarbha, Anuccheda 28: tatra taduddhṛtā śrutiś caturvedaśikhādyā, purāṇaṃ
ca gāruḍādīnāṃ samprati sarvatrāpracaradrūpam aṃśādikam / saṃhitā ca mahāsaṃhitādikā tantraṃ ca tantrabhāgavatādikaṃ brahmatarkādikam iti jñeyam // (Jīva 1983:
84).
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Conclusion
In this chapter, I have explored the issue of Madhva’s untraceable quotations
and its implications. As I described, the modern controversy between Mesquita and Sharma has a prelude that goes back at least to the 16th century.
Appayya criticizes Madhva for citing unknown texts because this goes
against the Vedic norm. Appayya’s presupposition is that Vedānta is fundamentally a discipline of scriptural exegesis and one’s opinions should be
based on texts that are commonly available and accepted as authoritative.47
Clooney’s view that Vedānta is better understood as theology resonates with
Appayya’s argument.
On the one hand, Appayya criticizes Madhva for transgressing the limits
of those who follow the Vedas (vaidikamaryādollaṅghana). On the other
hand, according to Jīva, many works that were once existent are lost and
therefore no longer available. If we embrace this view, then what exactly
constitutes authoritative Vedic texts suddenly becomes ambiguous. The phenomenon of lost texts does in fact occur, as I discussed above (section 2), in
the case of citations from the Skanda Purāṇa by Dharmanibandha authors.
For a long time, these citations were regarded as pseudo-citations, because
they could not be traced in the vulgate edition of the Skanda Purāṇa (see
Khemarāja Śrīkṛṣṇadāsa 1910). More recently, however, they have been
found in a text bearing the same title in a recension edited by Andriaensen,
Bakker and Isaacson. For Jīva therefore, the obscure origin of texts does not
necessarily indicate that they lack scriptural authority. Certainly Mesquita’s
contribution is groundbreaking and significant. At the same time, I hope to
have shown that the issue is more complex than he presented it.
In relation to the architectural analogy, Appayya’s view is that only those
building materials can be used whose origin is readily known. In contrast,
Jīva argues that building blocks can be used effectively simply because of the
fact that an established tradition uses them. Furthermore, since Jīva cites
Madhva’s untraceable quotes, later Gauḍīya followers such as Viśvanātha
Cakravartī in the 17th century and Baladeva Vidyābhūṣaṇa in the 18th century
also refer to quotes of Madhva cited by Jīva.48 In other words, since Jīva
47 While I believe violating scriptural evidence (śabdapramāṇa) has a particularly significant implication in exegetical traditions such as Mīmāṃsā and Vedānta, such a violation would also be problematic in other schools such as Nyāya, even though they are
not exclusively dependent on scriptural evidence. This topic is unfortunately beyond
the scope of the current chapter, but I thank Dr. Elisa Freschi for having pointed this
out.
48 See Okita 2011 on this point.
Quotation, Quarrel and Controversy
275
became the authority in the Gauḍīya tradition, the fact in itself that Jīva used
Madhva’s citations added authority to them. Thus, the reuse of Madhva’s untraceable quotes in the Gauḍīya tradition presents an intriguing phenomenon
of reuse in which an influential writer enhanced the authority of (alleged) citations simply by citing them again.
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Reusing, Adapting, Distorting?
Veṅkaṭanātha’s Reuse of Rāmānuja,
Yāmuna (and the Vṛttikāra) in his Commentary ad
Pūrvamīmāṃsāsūtra 1.1.1∗
Elisa Freschi
1 Early Vaiṣṇava synthesizing philosophies
Vaiṣṇavism has a long history in India in general and in South India in particular. At the time of Rāmānuja (traditional dates: 1017‒1137), some of the
texts later recognized as milestones of Śrī Vaiṣṇavism had already been composed. These are the texts (and practices) belonging to the Pāñcarātra corpus,
whose origin can be placed in 9th-century Kashmir (Sanderson 2009b: 61–62,
Leach 2012: 7), the hymns of the Āḻvārs and the treatises of certain theologians such as Nāthamuni (traditional date of birth: 824) and Yāmunācārya
(traditional dates: 918–1038).1 It is still unclear – as the following pages will
show – who first attempted a synthesis of these three elements,2 not to mention the various philosophical currents (from Nyāya to Pūrva Mīmāṃsā and
especially Vedānta) that have been part of the construction of later Śrī Vaiṣ∗
1
2
I am grateful to Marion Rastelli for several enlightening and enjoyable conversations
about Pāñcarātra and related topics. I am also very much obliged to Philipp Maas for
his careful reading of an earlier draft of this article. Research for this article was financed by the Austrian Science Fund (FWF) in the context of the FWF-project V-400.
See Neevel 1977: 14–16 for an explanation of these dates through the hypothesis that
the life spans of the great masters of Śrī Vaiṣṇavism were lengthened in order to connect them directly to each other. In his 1977 book Neevel announces a forthcoming
study focusing only on the issue of dates, but I have been unable to locate it (if it was
ever written).
Neevel writes that Nāthamuni, whose two works have not been preserved, may have
been the first to “discover” the hymns within a philosophical context (Neevel 1977:
88–89) but his main testimonies in this regard are later hagiographical biographies.
Yāmuna has also been traditionally connected to the Āḻvārs (Neevel 1977: 88); the topos of being the worst human being and thus needing God’s compassion can be found
in the Āḻvārs’ hymns as well as in the maṅgala verses of Yāmuna’s Stotraratna.
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ṇava philosophy. I have, however, the strong impression that the synthesis of
these elements as we know it was created by Veṅkaṭanātha (also known by
the title of Vedānta Deśika, traditional dates 1269–1370).
In his Āgamaprāmāṇya, Yāmuna defended the epistemological validity of
the Pāñcarātra and engaged in the philosophical debate of his time. Nonetheless, not Yāmuna but Rāmānuja is regarded as the founder of what is usually
known as Viśiṣṭādvaita Vedānta (i.e., the philosophical counterpart of Śrī
Vaiṣṇavism).3 Why? Perhaps because he offered the new-born system a welldeveloped number of works dealing with its principal tenets. Further, he
wrote a commentary on the Brahmasūtra (henceforth BS), a practice that was
probably already becoming the standard way of establishing a distinct
Vedānta tradition.4
However, notwithstanding the status Rāmānuja gained for Viśiṣṭādvaita
Vedāntins, his Śrībhāṣya (henceforth ŚrīBh) does not “feel” like a groundbreaking work, but rather like one that is part of a paramparā, a ‘teacherpupil lineage.’5 In fact, Rāmānuja apparently based his work on already
established interpretations, vocabulary and approaches. Apart from the authors mentioned above who were later recognized as the precursors of Viśiṣṭādvaita Vedānta, one might also recall among the forerunners of Rāmānuja
an elusive Vṛttikāra, who may have commented on both the PMS and the BS6
3
4
5
6
Even Gerhard Oberhammer, who attempted a careful historical and philosophical
investigation of the first stages of Viśiṣṭādvaita Vedānta, calls it the “Rāmānuja
Schule”; see Oberhammer 1979 and the volumes following this publication. A similar depiction is made in the second foreword of Narasimhachary 1998.
The practice had in fact already been adopted by Śaṅkara and Bhāskara and would be
adopted by Madhva and Vallabha. The Gauḍīya Vaiṣṇavas, whose early figures (Caitanya and the three Gosvāmins Jīva, Sanātana and Rūpa) had not written a commentary
on the BS, had to produce one in order to be accepted as a distinct sampradāya (see
Okita’s chapter in the present volume, section 4.2). The fact that Śrīvatsaṅka Miśra’s
(now lost) commentary on the BS was not accepted as the standard commentary among
Śrī Vaiṣṇavas-Viśiṣṭādvaita Vedāntins seems to indirectly prove that it did not conform
to what later came to be recognized as the basic tenets of the school. On Śrīvatsaṅka
Miśra, see Oberhammer 1971: 118–119 and Neevel 1977: 69–75. Oberhammer highlights the fact that Śrīvatsaṅka’s commentary was extraneous to Yāmuna’s tradition
(and thus, I may add, also extraneous to Veṅkaṭanātha, who in fact never mentions it):
“Vor Yāmuna hat es kaum eine Tradition von Brahmasūtren-Kommentaren des Pāñcarātra gegeben, und Yāmuna mußte daher, wollte er von der von ihm vertretenen Auffassung der Vedānta-Lehren im Sinne einer Tradition sprechen, schulfremde Kommentatoren nennen […]” (Oberhammer 1971: 119).
The usage of single quotation marks for words’ meanings and of double quotation
marks for the interpretation of sentences is the standard in linguistics, see Haspelmath
2014.
Against this view, see Bronkhorst 2007, end of section 1. Given that the present
Reusing, Adapting, Distorting?
283
and remained (see section 4.2) very influential for centuries, certainly until
the time of Veṅkaṭanātha.7 In the opening of his ŚrīBh, Rāmānuja possibly
refers to him as Bodhāyana.8
In this sense, Rāmānuja was a systematizer. He turned Śrī Vaiṣṇavism
into a Vedāntic school, acknowledging the Upaniṣads, the Bhagavadgītā and
the BS (the three texts acknowledged as the three foundations – prasthānatrayī – of all Vedānta schools) as its foundations. Veṅkaṭanātha, however,
went one step further. He tried to integrate the other schools of Indian philosophy into Viśiṣṭādvaita Vedānta, from Nyāya (Veṅkaṭanātha dedicated his
Nyāyapariśuddhi to the goal of including Nyāya in Viśiṣṭādvaita Vedānta) to
Pūrva Mīmāṃsā (see his Seśvaramīmāṃsā and Mīmāṃsāpādukā) and Pāñcarātra’s apology (see his Pāñcarātrarakṣā). He wrote in Prakrit, Tamil, Maṇipravāḷa and Sanskrit, in the form both of śāstras and beautiful poems. His poems are full of the Āḻvārs’ poetical and mystical images, whereas his śāstras
abound with scholarship. In this sense, Veṅkaṭanātha can be seen as a continuator of the intellectual legacy of both Rāmānuja (especially as far as Vedānta is concerned, but [see section 4] also with regard to Pūrva Mīmāṃsā)
and Yāmuna (as far as the Pāñcarātra and perhaps the Āḻvārs’ heritage are
concerned).
2 Veṅkaṭanātha as a continuator of Rāmānuja (and of Yāmuna)
In this chapter, I shall focus on Rāmānuja’s ŚrīBh and Veṅkaṭanātha’s Seśvaramīmāṃsā (SM). In many ways, the two texts resemble each other. The first
is a commentary on the BS (also called Uttaramīmāṃsāsūtra, UMS),
whereas the second comments on the Pūrvamīmāṃsāsūtra (PMS). Further,
while the first implicitly aims at appropriating the BS, the latter explicitly
aims at gaining the PMS as part of the system Rāmānuja had established.
More importantly, the Seśvaramīmāṃsā (henceforth SM) explicitly adopts
the ŚrīBh’s agenda of showing how a (somewhat) different school was, in
fact, part of one’s own and propounding the idea of the existence of an
aikaśāstrya ‘unity of the teaching.’ However, Veṅkaṭanātha’s undestanding
7
8
chapter focuses on Veṅkaṭanātha’s perspective on the unity of Pūrva and Uttara
Mīmāṃsā, I will leave aside Bronkhorst’s points against the historicity of this
hypothesis.
For an insightful excursus on the Vṛttikāra, see the contribution by Andrijanić to this
volume.
bhagavadbodhāyanakṛtāṃ vistīrṇāṃ brahmasūtravṛttiṃ pūrvācāryāḥ saṃcikṣipuḥ,
tanmatānusāreṇa sūtrākṣarāṇi vyākhyāsyante (Krishnamacharya 1938: 78).
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of this slogan is in part different from and extends how it was used by Rāmānuja.
At the end of this chapter, I shall show how Veṅkaṭanātha also shares
much of Yāmuna’s agenda. In fact, in several cases it is possible to detect
whole passages from Yāmuna’s work being reused by Veṅkaṭanātha. However, these passages are often silently embedded in Veṅkaṭanātha’s text. By
contrast, Rāmānuja’s texts are also frequently embedded, but mentioning
Rāmānuja is used as a philosopher’s stone, i.e., as the final argument that
turns every argument into knowledge. Rāmānuja is thus the constant reference point that settles any discussion. Why so? Perhaps because Yāmuna’s
works were superseded by Rāmānuja’s, just as Yāmuna’s works had superseded the works of his grandfather Nāthamuni.9 However, a further reason
might be that Yāmuna’s agenda displays a major difference from that of
Veṅkaṭanātha: Yāmuna’s Āgamaprāmāṇya is usually interpreted as having
been devised against Pūrva Mīmāṃsakas (see Mesquita 1971, Neevel 1977,
Mesquita 1980), whereas Veṅkaṭanātha went so far as to write genuine Pūrva
Mīmāṃsā texts. Although Mesquita and Neevel may have exaggerated the
anti-Pūrva Mīmāṃsā component of Yāmuna’s agenda (see below, section 5,
for his respectful mention of Jaimini), he clearly tried to achieve what the
Mīmāṃsaka Kumārila had tried to avoid some centuries earlier, namely the
recognition of Pāñcarātra texts at the same level as the Vedas. Moreover, he
used Nyāya arguments (e.g., the validity of the Pāñcarātra is said to depend
on their author, God),10 and his general attitude is not yet clearly (Uttara)
Mīmāṃsaka, unlike in the case of Rāmānuja.11
Using an analogy from another Indian school, the situation resembles that
of Somānanda and Utpaladeva, with the former fighting against Bhartṛhari
and the latter embedding Bhartṛhari’s ideas in a fruitful way in his own system in order to make a sounder philosophical school out of it (see Torella
2008). To sum up, Veṅkaṭanātha took on much of Yāmuna’s agenda, from
the appraisal of Pāñcarātra to theism, but ultimately could not agree with his
philosophical positions. As for the form of the general frame to be adopted,
9 “One of the reasons why the Nyāyatattva of Nāthamuni’s sank into oblivion and got
lost, could be due to it being eclipsed by Yāmuna’s works. The same could be said of
Yāmuna’s philosophical works ‒ the three Siddhis ‒ which are only fragmentarily preserved. They themselves were also eclipsed by Rāmānuja’s Śrībhāṣya, as Neevel
rightly observes” (Mesquita 1980: 211).
10 For a distinction between Mīmāṃsā- and Nyāya-based arguments concerning the validity of sacred texts, see the introductory study in Freschi and Kataoka 2012.
11 My paper on Yāmuna is currently under preparation. Some of its conclusions are summarized on The Indian Philosophy Blog (http://wp.me/p486Wp-7C).
Reusing, Adapting, Distorting?
285
Veṅkaṭanātha agreed more with Rāmānuja’s aikaśāstrya suggestion – and
pushed it much further.
3 The Śrībhāṣya and the Seśvaramīmāṃsā: Shared textual material
It is, accordingly, not surprising that Veṅkaṭanātha reused the ŚrīBh to a large
extent. After all, Veṅkaṭanātha’s attempt was risky, since the Pūrva Mīmāṃsā
was known as an atheist system and he needed to be backed by his predecessor’s implicit support.12 Indeed, the SM is replete with quotations from the
ŚrīBh. For our present purposes, however, it is perhaps more relevant that the
SM reused a great deal of textual material from the ŚrīBh without acknowledging it.
3.1 Examples
The following instances exemplify cases of reuse. Textual passages which are
formally identical or almost identical (Ce/Ce’ or Cee/Ce’e in Steinkellner’s
terminology, see Steinkellner 1988, Freschi 2012, Freschi 2015) are printed
in grey. Textual passages which display only correspondences in the content
(Re in Steinkellner’s terminology) have a wavy underline. The translations
are purely indicative; the specificities of each text will need to be the object
of a separate study.
3.1.1 The beginning of the commentary
athātho brahmajijñāsā || 1.1.1 ||
atrāyam athaśabda ānantarye bhavati; ataśśabdo vṛttasya hetubhāve.
(ŚrīBh ad 1.1.1)13
12 A similar device was implemented in Veṅkaṭanātha’s Pāñcarātrarakṣā, where an acknowledged quote from the BS was used at a critical point in order to show how the
BS (in fact, the BS according to Rāmānuja’s interpretation, but Veṅkaṭanātha consistently refers to the unity of BS and ŚrīBh) already reconciled different Upaniṣadic authorities – and, thus, perhaps indirectly also in order to justify Veṅkaṭanātha’s attempt
to harmonize different Pāñcarātra authorities. The reused passage is from the ŚrīBh ad
BS 3.2.7 and is found in the Pāñcarātrarakṣā, Duraiswami Aiyangar and Venugopalacharya 1942: 166. For more details, see Rastelli forthcoming: 7.
13 “Now, because of that, the desire to know the brahman starts || 1.1.1 || In this [sūtra]
this word atha is [used] in the sense of [designating] an immediate succession. The
word ataḥ is [used] in the sense of [stating that] something which has already occurred
is the cause [of the desire to know].” (ŚrīBh ad BS 1.1.1). Please note that jijñāsā literally means ‘desire to know,’ but it can be more smoothly translated with “investigation.”
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athātho dharmajijñāsā || 1.1.1 ||
athaśabdo ’trāyam ānantaryārtha eva prasiddhiprakarṣasyānapavādatvāt. maṅgalārthatvaṃ tv arthadharmaśabdayor anyārthatve ’pi pradīpādivat syāt. yady apy atra pūrvaṃ na kiṃcid api nirdiṣṭam, tathāpy
ataḥpadopādānena svarasataḥ sāmānyena kasyacid vṛttasya hetutokteḥ
tasya dharmajijñāsāpadasamabhivyāhārasāmarthyāt tadapekṣitatayā
viśeṣyamāṇatvāc ca sāṅgavedādhyayanarūpavṛttaviśeṣasiddhiḥ. na hi
vedādhyayanāt pūrvam anyasmād vā niyatapūrvavṛttād anantaraṃ
vedārthavicāraḥ taduktir vāvakalpate. ata evātra ataśśabdo ’pi vṛttasya
hetubhāvārtha eva. (SM ad PMS 1.1.1)14
It is easy to see how Veṅkaṭanātha reused Rāmānuja’s text but extended it
further with an interposed excursus.
Where does this excursus come from? It was probably inspired by Śabara’s commentary on PMS 1.1.1:
tatra loke ’yam athaśabdo vṛttād anantarasya prakriyārtho dṛṣṭaḥ. na
ceha kiñcid vṛttam upalabhyate. bhavitavyaṃ tu tena, yasmin saty anantaraṃ dharmajijñāsāvakalpate. tathā hi prasiddhapadārthaka sa kalpito bhavati. tat tu vedādhyayanam. tasmin hi sati sāvakalpate. naitad
evam. anyasyāpi karmaṇo ’nantaraṃ dharmajijñāsā yuktā, prāg api ca
vedādhyayanāt. ucyate […] tasmād vedādhyayanam eva pūrvam abhinirvartyānanataraṃ dharmo jijñāsitavya ity athaśabdasya sāmarthyam.
na brūmo ’nyasyāpi karmaṇo ’nantaraṃ dharmajijñāsā na kartavyā iti,
kiṃ tu vedam adhītya tvaritena na snātavyam, anantaraṃ dharmo
jijñāsitavya ity athaśabdasyārthaḥ. ataḥśabdo vṛttasyāpadeśako hetvar14 “Now, because of that, the desire to know the dharma starts || 1.1.1 || In this [sūtra] this
word atha has the meaning of an immediate succession, because a contact with something very well known is not refuted (apavāda). But, although the words atha and
dharma have a different meaning, they can have also indicate auspiciousness (maṅgala), like a lamp [which illuminates at the same time more than one thing]. Although
here nothing had been made explicit before, nonetheless with the usage of the word
ataḥ one automatically establishes a specific event, being the study of the Veda together with its auxiliaries. It is so, because in general something which occurred before
is mentioned as the cause, because this preceding [event] can possibly occur together
with the word ‘investigation into the dharma’ (whose meaning is well known), and because [the thing that occurred before] is specified by the fact that it (the investigation)
depends on it. In fact, it is not the case that the investigation into the meaning of the
Veda or its proclamation is possible before the study of the Veda or immediately after
another preceding event that necessarily happened before. For this very reason, in this
passage also the word ataḥ has the meaning of [stating that] something which has already occurred is the cause [of the desire to know].” (SM ad PMS 1.1.1)
Reusing, Adapting, Distorting?
287
thena, yathā kṣemasubhikṣo ’yaṃ deśaḥ, ato ’ham asmin deśe prativasāmīti. evam adhīto vedo dharmajijñāsāyāṃ hetur jñātaḥ, anantaraṃ
dharmo jijñāsitavyaḥ ity ataḥśabdasya sāmarthyam. (ŚBh ad PMS
1.1.1, Frauwallner 1968: 10–14)15
Note that the ŚBh on PMS 1.1.1 starts with a legitimation of the reference to
worldly usages of words and that the term loka, thus, plays a key role there.
In the ŚrīBh and the SM, by contrast, the issue does not even arise, perhaps
because Śabara had apparently settled it once and for all.
3.1.2 Commentary on jijñāsā
brahmaṇo jijñāsā brahmajijñāsā. brahmaṇa iti karmaṇi ṣaṣṭhī; kartṛkarmaṇoḥ kṛti iti viśeṣavidhānāt. yady api saṃbandhasāmānyaparigrahe
’pi jijñāsāyāḥ karmāpekṣatvena karmārthatvasiddhiḥ – tathāpy ākṣepataḥ prāptād ābhidhānikasyaiva grāhyatvāt karmaṇi ṣaṣṭhī gṛhyate.
(ŚrīBh ad BS 1.1.1)16
15 “In this regard, we commonly experience that this word atha is used in the meaning of
[something occurring] immediately after something has already occured. However, in
the context of this [sūtra] one does not grasp anything which has already occurred. But
there should be something [which has already occurred], so that once this occurs, immediately after it the desire to know dharma is adequate. To elaborate: it is postulated
that this [word atha] has its [usual] well-known meaning. And, this [thing, which has
already occurred] is the study of the Veda, for, once it has occurred, that (desire to
know dharma) is adequate. [Obj.:] It is not so. It is suitable that one desires to know
dharma also after any other action, and also before the study of the Veda. [R.:] […]
Therefore the word atha means that immediately after having accomplished the study
of the Veda the dharma must be investigated (lit. “desired to be known,” see n. 13). We
(Mīmāṃsakas) do not claim that the investigation of dharma should not be done after
another action. Rather, the meaning of the word atha is that after having studied the
Veda one should not hurry up to take a bath, but rather one should immediately after it
(the study of the Veda) investigate dharma. The word ataḥ points to something which
has already occurred as the cause, as when one says ‘this region is prosperous and has
abundant food, therefore (ataḥ) I live in this region.’ In this way, the word ataḥ means
that the Veda, which has been studied, is understood as the cause for the desire to know
dharma [and] that immediately after [the study of the Veda] one should investigate
dharma.” The text of ŚBh ad PMS 1.1.1 has already been translated into German by
Frauwallner (Frauwallner 1968: 11–15). The expression prakriyārtha is unusual; I
have not seen it in any other text. The context and the fact that the sub-commentators
do not dwell on it make me think that the compound only emphasized the ordinariness
of the meaning suggested. Cf. Frauwallner’s translation: “Wir sehen doch, daß das
Wort „danach“ im täglichen Leben normalerweise etwas bedeutet, das […]” (Frauwallner 1968: 11).
16 “The brahman desire (brahmajijñāsā) is the desire to know the brahman. The genitive
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dharmasya jijñāsā dharmajijñāsā. karmaṇy evātra ṣaṣṭhī sambandhyasāmānyaṣaṣṭhīm aṅgīkṛtya tena tatra karmasāpekṣajijñāsāsāmarthyataḥ karmārthatvakḷpter vilambitatvāt. kartṛkarmaṇoḥ kṛti iti
viśeṣavidhānāt. (SM ad PMS 1.1.1) 17
In this second passage, the strategy is different: no excursus is inserted, just
Rāmānuja’s points, but they are reorganized in a different sequence. This is
followed by a more detailed discussion of the grammatical issue at stake.
By contrast, Śabara does not analyze the compound dharmajijñāsā as presupposing a ṣaṣṭhī ‘genitive case’:
dharmāya jijñāsā dharmajijñāsā. sā hi tasya jñātum icchā. sa punaḥ
kathaṃ jijñāsitavyaḥ? ko dharmaḥ, kathaṃlakṣaṇaḥ, kāny asya
sādhanāni, kāni sādhanābhāsāni, kiṃparaś ceti. (ŚBh ad PMS 1.1.1)18
3.1.3 vyatireka cases
For the sake of comparison it might be useful to take a look at Śaṅkara’s and
Bhāskara’s commentaries on the same sūtra, which are the only ones predating the ŚrīBh that are extant.
3.1.3.1 Śaṅkara’s commentary on the same sūtra
Apart from some elements common to all of the commentaries on the words
included in UMS 1.1.1 and PMS 1.1.1, Śaṅkara elaborates on altogether
ending in brahman denotes the object (genitivus objectivus) because of the specific
[grammatical] rule ‘[The sixth case ending is employed after a stem] meaning agent or
object, when [used] along with a kṛt affix’ (Aṣṭādhyāyī 2.3.65). [Obj.:] Once the general connection has been seized, the meaning of [the genitive in brahman] is ascertained as the object because the desire to know requires an object (that is, even if the
genitive did not indicate brahman as object, one would understand it as such because
an object would be needed). [R.:] Notwithstanding, the genitive is understood as
meaning the object because only lexical items are obtained through implication.”
17 “The dharma desire (dharmajijñāsā) is the desire to know dharma. Here the genitive
termination denotes the object (genitivus obiectivus), 1. because, once one has accepted
the genitive termination [as meaning] a general connection (‘an investigation related to
dharma’), because of that, given that in the [sūtra] an investigation which [still] requires an object would be impossible, one would be delayed by the fact of [having to]
imagine which [referent is implicitly] meant as the object, 2. because of the specific
[grammatical] rule ‘[The sixth case ending is employed after a stem] meaning agent or
object, when [used] along with a kṛt affix’ (Aṣṭādhyāyī 2.3.65).” (SM ad PMS 1.1.1)
18 “The dharma investigation is the investigation for the sake of dharma. In fact, this is
the resolution to know it. And how, in turn, can this be investigated? What is dharma?
How is it defined? What are the means to realize it? What are the erroneous means to
realize it? What does it aim at?”
Reusing, Adapting, Distorting?
289
different topics. When he mentions, like Veṅkaṭanātha, the possibility of
interpreting atha as having an auspicious meaning, he, unlike Veṅkaṭanātha,
explicitly denies this.
athāto brahmajijñāsā || 1.1.1 ||
tatrāthaśabda ānantaryārthaḥ parigṛhyate nādhikārārthaḥ, brahmajijñāsāyāḥ anadhikāryatvāt. maṅgalasya ca vākyārthe samanvayābhāvāt.
arthāntaraprayukta eva śrutyā maṅgalaprayojano bhavati. sati cānantaryārthatve yathā dharmajijñāsā pūrvavṛttaṃ vedādhyayanaṃ niyamenāpekṣata evaṃ brahmajijñāsāpi yat pūrvavṛttaṃ niyamenāpekṣate
tad vaktavyam. svādhyāyānantaryaṃ tu samānam. nanv iha karmāvabodhanānantaryaṃ viśeṣaḥ. na. dharmajijñāsāyāḥ prāg apy adhītavedāntasya brahmajijñāsopapatteḥ.[…]19
ataḥśabdo hetvarthaḥ. yasmād veda evāgnihotrādīnāṃ śreyaḥsādhanānām anityaphalatāṃ darśayati – “tad yatheha karmacito lokaḥ kṣīyata evam evāmutra puṇyacito lokaḥ kṣīyate” (ChUp 8.1.6) ityādiḥ.
[…] brahmaṇo jijñāsā brahmajijñāsā. brahma ca vakṣyamāṇalakṣaṇaṃ
“janmād yasya yataḥ” iti. ata eva na brahmaśabdasya jātyādyarthāntaram āśaṅkitavyam. brahmaṇa iti karmaṇi ṣaṣṭhī na śeṣe, jijñāsyāpekṣyatvāj jijñāsāyāḥ, jijñāsyāntarānirdeśāc ca. […] (BSBh ad BS
1.1.1)20
19 In the omitted sections the discussion on whether the knowledge of the Brāhmaṇa part
of the Vedas is a presupposition of brahmajijñāsā is developed further.
20 “Now, because of that, the desire to know the brahman starts || 1.1.1 || In this [sutra]
the word atha [must] be taken as meaning an immediate succesion, not as meaning the
introduction [of a topic], because the desire to know the brahman does not need to be
introduced. And [the word atha also does not have its common auspicious meaning]
because auspiciousness cannot be connected within the meaning of the sentence. The
[word atha], exactly while it is used for another purpose, can have the purpose of [conveying] auspiciousness insofar as it is heard [and not because of its meaning]. And
since [the word atha] means immediate succession, just as the desire to know the
dharma necessarily requires a preceding study of the Veda, in the same way one must
also say what preceding event the desire to know the brahman necessarily requires.
The immediate succession after the study of one’s portion of the Veda is, however,
common [to both Mīmāṃsās]. [Obj.:] But here, the specific element [which is required
in order for the desire to know the brahman to take place] is the immediate succession
after the ritual act. [R.:] No, because the desire to know the brahman is fit also before
the desire to know the dharma for one who has studied the Upaniṣads. […] The word
ataḥ means a reason, since the Veda itself shows that sacrifices such as the Agnihotra,
which are means to realize one’s welfare, have no permanent result, e.g., in ‘therefore,
as in this world a territory (loka) which has been gained through ritual actions comes to
an end, so in the other a world gained through merit** comes to an end’. […] The
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Śaṅkara then goes on to discuss whether the brahman is prasiddha ‘wellestablished’ or not and how in this sense it can be the object of an enquiry (if
it is already well established it seems that no further investigation is needed).
The same topic is present in the ŚBh but absent in the ŚrīBh and the SM.
3.1.3.2 Bhāskara’s commentary on the same sūtra
Bhāskara’s commentary on BS 1.1.1 starts on a different note, that is, with
the four different meanings of atha.21 Among them ānantarya is also included in Bhāskara’s interpretation of BS 1.1.1, whereas the meaning of
auspicious (maṅgala) is absent. Overall, the readers will notice that the commentary is much closer to the one by Śaṅkara than to the ŚrīBh or the SM:
athāto brahmajijñāsā || 1.1.1 ||
caturṣv artheṣv athaśabdaprayogo dṛśyate. yathā ānantarye bhuktvātha
vrajati. yathā pūrvavṛttāpekṣāyām pūrvaṃ kiñcid uktvā vikalpāntaraṃ
kartum icchann āha athāyam abhiprāya iti. yathā māṅgalye. […] yathādhikāre “atha śabdānuśānam”22 iti. tatra nādhikārārtho brahmajijñāsāyā anadhikāryatvāt. nāpi maṅgalārthaḥ, maṅgalasya vākyārthe
’nvayābhāvāt paṭahadhvanivat śravaṇamātragamyatvāt, pūrvavṛttāpekṣāyāś cānantaryāvyatirekāt ānantaryārtha iha gṛhyate. (Dvivedin
1903: 1; Kato 2011: 1–2)23
brahman desire is the desire to know the brahman. And brahman is that of which the
definition will be provided in janmād yasya yataḥ [UMS 1.1.2]. Therefore, one should
not suspect that the word brahman has a different meaning here, for instance that of
[Brahmanical] caste. The genitive case in brahman denotes the object (genitivus objectivus); it is not [used] in the sense of [designating] any other [relation],* because the
desire to know requires something to be known and no other things to be known are
stated.” *This evokes Aṣṭādhyāyī 2.3.50, ṣaṣṭhī śeṣe “The genitive case is used in the
case of any other [relation, not covered in the previous sutras].” **I have consulted
Thibaut’s translation of Śaṅkara’s commentary (Thibaut 1890: 9–13) and Olivelle’s
edition and translation of the Chāndogya Upaniṣad (Olivelle 1998: 275), which reports
karmajito and puṇyajito for karmacito and puṇyacito.
21 Many thanks are due to Andrew Nicholson, who kindly sent me a copy of the editio
princeps of Bhāskara’s commentary on the BS (Dvivedin 1903). I was later able to
improve the text of the editio princeps by comparing it to the unpublished critical edition of the same text, which Takahiro Kato kindly agreed to share with me. This critical edition is an improved version of the critical edition Kato produced for his PhD
(Kato 2011). Minor divergences between the two editions will not be noted, since they
are beyond the scope of this chapter.
22 This is the beginning of the Mahābhāṣya.
23 “Now, because of that, the desire to know the brahman starts. The word atha is commonly seen to be employed with four meanings. For instance, in the sense of [desig-
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291
Once it is established that atha refers to something preceding the BS,
Bhāskara wonders what this is and he refers in a prima facie view to the
study of the ritual part of the Veda (not of Pūrva Mīmāṃsā, then, but of its
object, the Brāhmaṇa prescriptions):
tatra kim api pūrvavṛttaṃ vaktavyam. tad ucyate pūrvaṃ karmavicāro
vṛtto ’nantaraṃ brahmajijñāsā prārabhyate. atrāhuḥ. nāyaṃ vṛttavartiṣyamāṇasambandha upapadyate dharmajijñāsāyāḥ prāg apy adhītavedāntasya24 brahmajijñāsopapatteḥ. na cātra kramasya pratipādukaṃ
pramāṇam asti […]. na cātrāṅgāṅgibhāvaḥ prayājādivat. nāpy adhikṛtādhikāro godohanādivat. phalajijñāsyabhedāc ca. abhyudayaphalaṃ
dharmajñānaṃ niḥśreyasaphalaṃ brahmajñānaṃ.25 sādhyaś ca dharmas tatra jijñāsyaḥ siddharūpaṃ brahmātra. codanāpravṛttibhedāc ca.
(Dvivedin 1903: 1–2; Kato 2011: 2)26
nating] an immediate succession in: ‘Having eaten, now she goes away.’ As another
example, [the word atha is used] in the sense of requiring something which has occurred previously when, having said something before and desiring to choose another
option, [an author] says ‘now, this is [my] opinion.’ Or in the sense of [designating]
auspiciousness. […] Or in the sense of introducing a topic, e.g., ‘now, the teaching
about words starts.’ Among these [four uses, the word atha] [here] does not mean the
introduction of a topic, since the desire to know the brahman does not need to be introduced. Nor does [the word atha] mean auspiciousness, since auspiciousness cannot be
connected to the meaning of the sentence because it is understood just from hearing
[it], like the sound of a drum. [Only] the meaning of immediate succession is taken up
here, because there is necessarily an immediate succession since there is the requirement of something that has previously occurred.”
24 Dvivedin 1903 reads: prāgavyadhītavedāntasya. The reading prāg apy adhītavedāntasya is found in Kato 2011 and in Kato’s unpublished edition. The parallel with
Śaṅkara’s text quoted above, section 3.1.3.1, further favors the reading chosen by Kato.
25 Dvivedin 1903 reads: mokṣajñānam. The reading brahmajñānam is accepted in Kato
2011 and in Kato’s unpublished edition (it is supported by all available manuscripts).
26 “In this regard, one needs to say which thing that happened before [is presupposed by
the desire to know the brahman]. Therefore [we] say: First the investigation of the ritual action is done, immediately after that the desire to know the brahman starts. In this
regard, [others] (like Śaṅkara) say: This connection of something future with something which has already occurred is not possible, [for three reasons, namely, first] because the desire to know the brahman is possible for one who has studied the
Upaniṣads also before the desire to know the dharma. And it is also not the case that
there is here an instrument of knowledge determining that there is a sequence [in the
study of the Brāhmaṇas and then the Upaniṣads] […] Nor is there a relation of principal and subordinate, as in the case of the pre-sacrifices [which are subordinate to the
main sacrifice]. Nor is it the case that [only] the one who is responsible [for the investigation of one part, i.e., the Brāhmaṇas] can be responsible [for the investigation of the
brahman], as in the case of milking cows [when milk is required for a sacrifice and the
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A long reflection on this topic follows, whereby the Upaniṣadic saying tat
tvam asi is mentioned. Then:
etat pūrvavṛttam etadānantaryam athaśabdenocyate. saty etasmin sādhanacatuṣṭaye brahmajijñāsopapadyate nānyatheti. ataḥśabdo hetvarthaḥ yataḥ śrutir eva karmaṇāṃ kṣayitvaṃ darśayati. (Dvivedin 1903:
2; Kato 2011: 2–3)27
In this connection, Bhāskara also mentions the need to collect both (samuccaya) ritual actions and knowledge, instead of choosing just one or the other:
ato hetor brahmajijñāsā kartavyeti. atra brūmaḥ yat tāvad uktaṃ dharmajijñāsāyāḥ prāg api brahmajijñāsopapatter iti, tad ayuktam. atra hi
jñānakarmasamuccayān mokṣaprāptiḥ28 sūtrakārasyābhipretā. (Dvivedin 1903: 2; Kato 2011: 3)29
This leads to the idea that the Brāhmaṇa prescriptions need to be studied; a
long discussion about this follows (Dvivedin 1903: 3–6), in which an objector also mentions the Pūrva Mīmāṃsā:
one who is responsible for the sacrifice is thus automatically held responsible also for
the milking]. The second reason [for denying that atha means ‘after the study of the
Brāhmaṇas’] is that there is a difference concerning the result [of the investigation] and
the object one desires to know (in Pūrva and Uttara Mīmāṃsā). [As for the result,] the
knowledge of dharma results in heaven. The knowledge of the brahman results in the
summum bonum (i.e., liberation). And [as for the object one desires to know], the
dharma, which has yet to be established, is what one desires to know there (in the
Pūrva Mīmāṃsā), whereas the brahman, which has an already established form, [is
what one desires to know] here (in the Uttara Mīmāṃsā). The third reason [for denying
that atha means ‘after the study of the Brāhmaṇas’] is that there is a difference in the
activity of the injunction [promoting the two different investigations].”
27 “Through the word atha it is said that something has happened before, i.e., that [the
desire to know should take place] immediately after it. Once these four kinds of proofs
have been established, the desire to know the brahman is possible, not otherwise. The
word ataḥ means a reason, because the very Veda shows that the ritual actions are perishable.”
28 Kato 2011 and Kato’s unpublished edition read: kṣemaprāptiḥ (against Dvivedin 1903
and all manuscripts but with the support of a variant recorded in van Buitenen’s unpublished edition; about this, see Kato 2009–2010; for Kato’s reasons for this choice,
see Kato 2011: 252).
29 “Because of this reason the investigation of the brahman must be done. In this regard
we say that what has just been said, namely that the investigation of the brahman is
possible also before the investigation of the dharma, is wrong. In fact, here the author
of the sūtra meant that final emancipation is attained through the accumulation of
knowledge (of the brahman) and ritual action.” (On the accumulation of knowledge
and ritual action in Bhāskara, see Kato 2012).
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293
nanu ca mīmāṃsāyām eva dvādaśalakṣaṇyāṃ śabdavyāpāraḥ kṛtsno
nirūpitaḥ. (Dvivedin 1903: 5; Kato 2011: 7)30
Within this discussion, mention is made of the compound brahmajijñāsā:
brahmaṇo jijñāseti karmaṇi ṣaṣṭhī kartṛkarmaṇoḥ kṛtīti viśeṣavidhānāt.
(Dvivedin 1903: 6; Kato 2011: 10)31
And, with a phrasing similar to that of Śaṅkara:
jñātum icchā jijñāseti prakṛtyarthapradhāneyam icchā. dhātoḥ karmaṇa
iti dhātuvācyasyārthasya īpsitatvasmaraṇāt. tat punar brahma
prasiddham aprasiddhaṃ vā. (Dvivedin 1903: 7; Kato 2011: 11)32
3.2 Conclusions on the commentaries ad Brahmasūtra / Pūrvamīmāṃsāsūtra 1.1.1
To sum up, some elements (atha in the sense of designating ānantarya
‘immediate succession,’ ataḥ in the sense of designating hetu ‘cause,’ dharma- or brahmajijñāsā being a ṣaṣṭhī tatpuruṣa ‘dependent determinative
compound in which the former member is linked to the latter by a relation
which would be expressed outside the compound through the genitive case’)
are shared by all the commentaries but there is a huge quantity of textual
material which, in terms of its structure and content, is uniquely shared by
Rāmānuja and Veṅkaṭanātha. The latter also happens to neglect or implicitly
refute similar topics (most notably, Śaṅkara’s and Bhāskara’s claim that there
is no need to know dharma before starting the brahmajijñāsā ‘investigation
into brahman’).
30 “[Obj.:] But the entire function of language has been explained in the twelve chapters
of the [Pūrva] Mīmāṃsā.”
31 “In ‘the desire to know the brahman’ the genitive ending denotes the object (genitivus
objectivus), because of the specific [grammatical] rule ‘[The sixth case ending is
employed after a stem] meaning agent or object, when [used] along with a kṛt affix’”
(Aṣṭādhyāyī 2.3.65).
32 “The jijñāsā is the desire to know. This desire regards principally the meaning of the
root (i.e., jñā- ‘to know’), because it is recollected [in the tradition of Grammar] that
the meaning expressed by the root is what is mostly desired (i.e., it conveys the
syntactical object), due to [the rule ]‘[The desiderative affix is optionally introduced]
after a verbal root meaning [an action which is] the syntactical object [of a verbal stem
expressing desire when both the actions have the same agent].’ Besides, is the brahman
well known or not?” The rule being evoked is A 3.1.7 (for an English translation, see
Katre 1989).
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4 The Śrībhāṣya and the Seśvaramīmāṃsā: A shared agenda concerning
aikaśāstrya
As hinted at above (section 1), it is my opinion that Rāmānuja and Veṅkaṭanātha shared a similar agenda, insofar as both aimed at broadening the horizons of their theological school by taking into account a different position. To
state this concretely, they both aimed at showing that their school and another
one (Vedānta or Pūrva Mīmāṃsā) formed an ekaśāstra, a ‘single śāstra.’
Indeed, the doctrine of aikaśāstrya refers to Pūrva and Uttara Mīmāṃsā (i.e.,
Vedānta) also in the ŚrīBh, but there it seems to be grounded on a reference
to the unity of their contents, i.e., the Brāhmaṇa and the Upaniṣad parts of the
Veda (see Marlewicz 2007). Moreover, the ŚrīBh addresses the problem of
the Pūrva Mīmāṃsā as a separate philosophical school only peripherally.33
Rāmānuja’s position might seem difficult at first sight, insofar as it is
possible that Śrī Vaiṣṇavism was not (yet) recognized as a Vedāntic school in
his time. However, I could not detect any traces of a struggle to make Śrī
Vaiṣṇavism acceptable as a Vedāntic school in the ŚrīBh itself, which seems
to have been written from the perspective of an author with an already wellestablished audience. It does not appear to have been in need of addressing
the worries of Vedāntins who did not want too much religious devotion in
their philosophy. Nor does the ŚrīBh address the worries of Tamil Vaiṣṇavas
who did not want Vedānta to become an essential part of their religion (if
such Vaiṣṇavas ever existed). Instead, the ŚrīBh quotes a lot from the Upaniṣads, possibly in order to show that Viśiṣṭādvaita Vedānta is their best interpreter. Further, it discusses at length issues such as the oneness of brahman.
This could mean that the ŚrīBh’s target audience consisted of Viśiṣṭādvaitins
ante litteram, Advaitins or generic Vedāntins. Perhaps Rāmānuja even came
from their ranks, since this would explain the smoothness of his ŚrīBh. In this
sense, Rāmānuja’s task of making Śrī Vaiṣṇavism part of Vedānta becomes
less difficult, insofar as Rāmānuja introduced Viśiṣṭādvaita as a sort of Vedānta within a landscape (that of Vedānta) which was still open enough to accommodate new attempts at being reconfigured. As for Pūrva Mīmāṃsā,
some of Rāmānuja’s arguments were further developed by Veṅkaṭanātha,34
33 Śaṅkara and Bhāskara also referred to Pūrva Mīmāṃsā, but they did not elaborate on
the unity of the two Mīmāṃsās nor did they use the term aikaśāstrya; see Kato 2012,
section 3.
34 The short passage on Jaimini’s atheism in the Vedārthasaṅgraha, which Veṅkaṭanātha
expands upon in the prologue of SM (p. 5 of Veṅkaṭanātha 1971), is worthy of a
short note: “In order to avoid the lack of faith in ritual action of people who have not
heard the Upaniṣads (aśrutavedānta), some excessive statements (ativāda) have been
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but in general his way of understanding aikaśāstrya seems to consider Pūrva
Mīmāṃsā more from the perspective of its object (the Brāhmaṇas) or as a
reservoir of exegetical rules (which he thoroughly applies in his works), so
that even on this side no conflict had to arise.
The same attitude towards Pūrva Mīmāṃsā is also evident for post-Rāmānuja but pre-Veṅkaṭanātha authors such as Vātsya Varadaguru. In his Tattvanirṇaya, he – like Rāmānuja in his ŚrīBh – quoted frequently from the Upaniṣads and the BS, whereas the Pūrva Mīmāṃsā is called upon whenever exegetical points are discussed but not for its specific contents (see the Index of
references and quotations from the PMS in Stark 1990).
By contrast, in the case of Veṅkaṭanātha’s attempt to incorporate Pūrva
Mīmāṃsā, it is easier to detect that he was facing internal opponents, since he
wanted to integrate Pūrva Mīmāṃsā as a philosophical system and not just as
a technique. Accordingly, in the SM the apologetic intent of showing that the
Pūrva Mīmāṃsā was originally not atheist is quite explicit already in the title.
In a related work, the Mīmāṃsāpādukā, the presence of divergent opinions
within Viśiṣṭādvaita Vedānta is even more evident, since Veṅkaṭanātha needs
to defend his choice (see MP 7–10) and recur to his predecessor’s (mostly
implicit) support (MP 11).
To sum up: Yāmuna was the first to attempt to justify the validity of the
(Vaiṣṇava) Pāñcarātra sacred texts by discussing their epistemological status
and to discuss Vedāntic topics. Rāmānuja proposed a Viśiṣṭādvaita form of
Vedānta. Veṅkaṭanātha re-formed this Viśiṣṭādvaita and made it into the philosophical counterpart of a Vaiṣṇavism which incorporated Pāñcarātra and
the Āḻvārs’ hymns, while at the same time being open to other Indian darśanas.
Thus, Rāmānuja founded a Vedānta school, whereas Veṅkaṭanātha founded a wider philosophical version of Vaiṣṇava Viśiṣṭādvaitism. Perhaps given
the universalism of Vaiṣṇavism, rooted in the idea of the singleness of
God‒Viṣṇu, Veṅkaṭanātha was able or needed to show that there was no real
contradiction between Śrī Vaiṣṇavism and other philosophical systems.
4.1 Similarities between the treatment of aikaśāstrya in the Seśvaramīmāṃsā and the Śrībhāṣya
To begin with, some basic similarities are quite evident in the discussions
about aikaśāstrya in the ŚrīBh and the SM, insofar as both texts
used in the Devatādhikaraṇa so that one puts faith in ritual action as such. Thus, the definitive conclusion of those who know the Veda is that this is all a single treatise
(śāstra)” (see below, section 5).
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– justify the aikaśāstrya through the internal connections holding together
the chapters of PMS-(SK)35-BS,
– justify the differences between the PMS, (SK) and BS and the fact that
they do not lead to different śāstras because the differences are compared
with those distinguishing the various books of the PMS. Just as the twelve
books of the PMS deal with different topics and are yet part of the same
śāstra, the PMS, (SK) and BS deal with different topics but are still part
of the same śāstra.
Here is the initial description of the aikaśāstrya in the ŚrīBh and the SM:
ataḥ pratipipādayiṣitārthabhedena ṣaṭkabhedavat adhyāyabhedavac ca
pūrvottaramīmāṃsayor bhedaḥ. mīmāṃsāśāstram – “athāto
dharmajijñāsā” ity ārabhya, “anāvṛttiḥ śabdād anāvṛttiḥ śabdāt” ity
evamantaṃ saṅgativiśeṣeṇa viśiṣṭakramam. (ŚrīBh ad BS 1.1.1)36
“athāto dharmajijñāsā” ity ārabhya, “anāvṛttiḥ śabdād anāvṛttiś
śabdāt” ity evamantaṃ viṃśatilakṣaṇaṃ mīmāṃsākhyam ekaṃ
śāstram. sā hi mīmāṃsā […] pratividyāsthānam avāntaropakārādibhedasya vyavasthitatvāt na tathāpi bhedo darīdṛśyate. kāṇḍabhedas tu syāt ṣaṭkādibhedanyāyāt. smṛtipurāṇavat maharṣibhiḥ
pṛthagaparisaṃkhyānāc ca. aikaprabandhyaṃ tu saṃgativiśeṣair
viśiṣṭakramatvād iti bhagavatā bhāṣykāreṇaivābhāṣi. (SM ad PMS
1.1.1)37
35 The SK is a possible intermediate section within the single Mīmāṃsā treatise, consisting of the PMS, the SK and the BS. See immediately below and sections 4.2 and
4.2.1.
36 “Therefore, the distinction between the Pūrva and the Uttara Mīmāṃsā [is explained]
due to the distinction between the purposes they want to convey, like the distinction
between the two [groups] of six [books] (in the PMS) and like the difference between
the books. The Mīmāṃsā system, from ‘Now, because of that, the desire to know
dharma [starts]’ (PMS 1.1.1) until ‘There is no return, according to the [sacred] text;
there is no return, according to the [sacred] text’ (UMS 4.4.22), has a specific sequence
due to the specific connection between the topics.”
37 “There is a single treatise which starts with ‘Now, because of that, the desire to know
dharma [starts]’ (PMS 1.1.1) and ends with ‘There is no return, according to the
[sacred] text; there is no return, according to the [sacred] text’ (UMS 4.4.22). It is
composed of 20 chapters and is called Mīmāṃsā. And this is the [single] Mīmāṃsā.
[…] because for each field of knowledge distinctions due to intermediate assistances,
etc., have been fixed (and in the case of this single field there is a single intermediate
assistance, i.e., the same Vedic hermeneutic rules). [Although there are some further
specifications*], nonetheless it is not the case that [in the case of PMS, SK, UMS] a
split is seen, even if intensively looked for. However, there might well be a distinction
in the [different] parts [only], according to the way (nyāya) of the distinction among
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Careful readers may have already noticed that, unlike in the textual passages
examined above, here Veṅkaṭanātha explicitly recurs to the authority of
Rāmānuja (called Bhagavat Bhāṣyakāra ‘revered commentator [of the BS]’).
An even more careful look shows that this is probably not a coincidence. In
fact, Veṅkaṭanātha’s text differs more fundamentally from Rāmānuja’s than
in the previous examples. Veṅkaṭanātha explicitly states that the Mīmāṃsā
consists of twenty chapters, which means the PMS (8 chapters), the BS (4
chapters) and the intermediate Saṅkarṣakāṇḍa (henceforth SK, 4 chapters38).
The attribute viṃśatilakṣaṇa is introduced directly after a literal reuse of
Rāmānuja; while it seems only ornamental, it has the crucial function of introducing a broader concept of Mīmāṃsā. In contrast, Rāmānuja had spoken
of Pūrva and Uttara Mīmāṃsā in the dual form and mentioned the number
sixteen referring to the PMS (which, thus, needs to include also the SK)
slightly later (see below, section 4.2). Thus, for Rāmānuja the opposition
between Pūrva and Uttara Mīmāṃsā is quite clear (and perhaps not meant to
be fully overcome), although the Veda is unitary and the study of the
Brāhmaṇas (and perhaps also of their exegesis in the Pūrva Mīmāṃsā) is
needed as a prerequisite for studying the Upaniṣads and the BS.
In contradistinction to Rāmānuja’s approach, Veṅkaṭanātha wanted to
achieve a stronger concept of aikaśāstrya and a broader Mīmāṃsā śāstra that
also included the SK as a separate component. The background of this enterprise is probably Veṅkaṭanātha’s systematizing project with this newly conceived Mīmāṃsā śāstra as its center.39
4.2 The Saṅkarṣakāṇḍa
The explicit inclusion of the SK within the single Mīmāṃsā śāstra as conceived by Veṅkaṭanātha meant the possibility of opening Rāmānuja’s philosthe two [groups] of six [books] (in the PMS) and the other [divisions in adhyāyas,
adhikaraṇas, etc,] (i.e., according to the division into six plus six chapters of the PMS,
respectively dedicated to archetype and ectype), and because they are not listed
separately, like [instead] the [various] smṛtis and purāṇas, by the great ṛṣis (and, thus,
there is no evidence for a deeper split). By contrast, the fact that it is a single treatise is
due to the fact that the sequence is specified by the distinct connections between the
topics (saṃgati, a member of each adhikaraṇa) [reaching from the beginning of the
PMS to the end of the UMS] ‒ so said the highly revered author of the Commentary
(i.e., Rāmānuja).” (SM ad PMS 1.1.1) *This concessive meaning is achieved if we presuppose, e.g., evaṃ saty api.
38 See section 4.2 for the role of this work within the two Mīmāṃsās, and see section
4.2.1 for the extant SK.
39 I am currently working on a larger research project on this topic as part of the FWF
project V 400-G 15.
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ophy (I am not talking about his personal religious life, which was most likely deeply Vaiṣṇava) to non-Vedāntic theistic works, such as the Pāñcarātra
texts and the hymns of the Āḻvārs. This move could only work if it were
backed by a prestigious tradition, and the SK already had a long history of
references by theistic authors indeed (see section 4.2.2). Of particular relevance in this context is its being mentioned by the Vṛttikāra, an unknown but
revered forerunner of Rāmānuja who was quoted both by him and by Veṅkaṭanātha in this context (see also above, section 1). The Vṛttikāra quote runs as
follows:
saṃhitam etac chārīrakaṃ jaiminīyena ṣoḍaśalakṣaṇeneti śāstraikatvasiddhiḥ.
This BS has been accorded with the Mīmāṃsā of Jaimini, which entails sixteen chapters. Thus, the unity of the teaching is established.
Here, again, the differences between the texts of Rāmānuja and Veṅkaṭanātha
that surround the quote are crucial. Rāmānuja writes:
vakṣyati ca karmabrahmamīmāṃsāyor aikaśāstryam, “saṃhitam etac
chārīrakaṃ jaiminīyena ṣoḍaśalakṣaṇeneti śāstraikatvasiddhiḥ” iti.
And [the Vṛttikāra]40 will say that the Karma- and Brahma-Mīmāṃsā
are a single teaching: “This BS has been accorded with the Mīmāṃsā
of Jaimini, which entails sixteen chapters. Thus, the unity of the
teaching is established.”
Here, the stress is clearly on two parts of the Mīmāṃsā teaching that need to
be accorded. By contrast, the parts are clearly three for Veṅkaṭanātha:
“saṃhitam etac chārīrakaṃ jaiminīyena ṣoḍaśalakṣaṇeneti śāstraikatvasiddhiḥ” iti vṛttigranthaś ca pratibandhyādiyuktigarbhaḥ.
And the passage of the Vṛttikāra: “This BS has been accorded with the
Mīmāṃsā of Jaimini, which entails sixteen chapters. Thus, the unity of
the teaching is established” contains [reasonings] such as an argument
per absurdum.
The pratibandhi argument Veṅkaṭanātha tries to detect in the Vṛttikāra’s
words would run as follows: No one denies the unity of the PMS and the SK.
Denying the unity of these two and the BS would be like trying to split the
SK and the PMS. To show that these two cannot be divided, it is said that
they were both composed by the same author.
40 Mentioned with this title a few words before this passage.
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299
It is very unlikely that the Vṛttikāra really had such a sophisticated argument in mind, given that the attribution of the SK to Jaimini was widespread
and that Rāmānuja did not comment on the passage according to Veṅkaṭanātha’s interpretation. More probably, Veṅkaṭanātha forced his agenda onto
that of his important forerunner because he could not ignore his quote
(possibly because his entire audience knew it and would have confronted him
with it). In this case, the act of reusing was (most probably) intended to
distort the given text.
4.2.1 The extant Saṅkarṣakāṇḍa
The extant SK as it has been edited and published (in 1894, 1963, 1965 and
twice in 2009) is a set of approximately 465 sūtras divided into 4 adhyāyas
‘books’ containing 16 pādas ‘chapters’ and 386 adhikaraṇas ‘sections’ (Verpoorten 1987: 6). The text tends to follow the PMS, since it elaborates on
ritual matters, as do the last books of the PMS. It also shares a lot of terminology with the PMS. The SK was commented on once by Devasvāmin (see
Subrahmanya Sastri 1965; Devasvāmin might be the same author who
wrote a commentary on the Āśvalāyanaśrautasūtra and on the Āśvalāyanagṛhyasūtra41) at a relatively early time (11th century?42) and once in the 18th
century by the polygraph Bhāskararāya (see Śāstrī 1894).43 A separate manuscript of the first pāda of the first adhyāya of the SK was edited independently from the commentaries in Sarma 1963.
Notwithstanding the same sequence of topics, in the various editions the
numbering and wordings attributed to the single sūtras of the SK differ
widely, with sūtras not accepted by one or the other.44
41 This hypothesis could be reinforced by the fact that, as acknowledged also by those
who support the authenticity of the SK, this “is more in the nature of the Kalpasūtras,”
since, unlike the PMS, it “has not got any separate principle to enunciate and, therefore, is a miscellaneous supplement” (Ramaswami Sastri 1933: 297).
42 Tentative date by Kane (Kane 1962, vol. 1.2: 591–593).
43 For further commentaries, see below, n. 51.
44 Subrahmanya Sastri 1965 has a double numbering, possibly in order to reflect different ways of setting sūtras apart from the commentary. The first numbering encompasses far fewer sūtras than the second. However, even in this numbering the correspondences between the editions are far from complete. For instance, the sūtras labelled
4, 6–7, 11, 13, 15 in the first numbering of Subrahmanya Sastri 1965 are absent in
Kupalapati 2009, whereas the sūtra labelled SK 1.1.5 in Kupalapati 2009 is absent
in Subrahmanya Sastri 1965. The sūtra labelled SK 1.1.12 in Kupalapati 2009 is
placed in Subrahmanya Sastri 1965 after the sūtra following it in Kupalapati 2009.
Sarma 1963 and Subrahmanya Sastri 1965 are much more similar but still not identical, as different readings are frequent, sūtras are segmented in different ways (as for
example the beginning of SK 1.2) and some sūtras are absent in one or the other (for
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Śabara most probably refers to the extant SK in his commentary ad PMS
10.4.32:
vidhinigamabhedaḥ prakṛtau kṛtaḥ. sviṣṭakṛdvikāraś ca vanaspatir iti
saṅkarṣe vakṣyate “Prescription and mantras have been distinguished
in the [passage on the] archetype sacrifice. And it will be said in the
Saṅkarṣa: ‘The Vanaspati is an ectype of the Sviṣṭakṛt sacrifice.’”
The reference might be to SK 2.4.39, reconstructed in Subrahmanya Sastri
1965 as sviṣṭakṛdvikāre yājyāyāṃ devatānigamāḥ syuḥ prakṛtyupabandhāt
“Given that the [Vanaspati sacrifice] is an ectype of the Sviṣṭakṛt, in this
sacrificial text there are mantras about deities, because [they] have been
employed in the case of the archetype sacrifice (i.e., in the case of the
Sviṣṭakṛt).”45 The commentary by Devasvāmin on this verse starts with
sviṣṭakṛdvikāre vanaspatau yājyāyāṃ devatānigamāḥ syuḥ neti vicāryate “It
is investigated whether, given that the Vanaspati sacrifice is an ectype of the
Sviṣṭakṛt, there are mantras about deities in this sacrificial text” (Subrahmanya Sastri 1965).
A similar passage is found in ŚBh ad PMS 12.2.11, where Śabara says
nanu naiva paśor haviṣkṛd asti, auṣadhārthā, avahananārthā vā, yathā patnī tulyavac chrūyata iti saṅkarṣe vakṣyate “[Obj.:] But, in fact
there is no person preparing the oblation at the animal sacrifice. [R.:]
The wife [of the person commissioning the sacrifice] is in charge of
the purpose of [preparing] the vegetables. It will be said in the
Saṅkarṣa that ‘like, rather, the wife, who is in charge of threshing [the
grains], is directly mentioned in the sacred texts [as] equal [to the sacrifice commissioner].’”
This could correspond to
avahananārthā vā yathā patnī tulyaḥ śrūyate (SK 1.1.36) “like, rather,
the wife who is in charge of threshing [the grains] is directly mentioned in the sacred texts [as] equal [to the sacrifice commissioner].”46
example, sūtra 1.1.42 in Sarma 1963 is absent in Subrahmanya Sastri 1965 and sūtra
1.2.33 in Subrahmanya Sastri 1965 is absent in Sarma 1963). Further examples of
differences are mentioned in fns. 45 and 46.
45 The text is identical in Kupalapati 2009, which however counts the sūtra as 2.4.20.
Tātācārya 2009, as usual in this edition, reproduces only the beginning of the sūtra,
namely sviṣṭakṛt.
46 Subrahmanya Sastri 1965 has avahananārthaṃ vā yathā patnī tulyā śrūyate (SK
1.1.36). The tulyaḥ found in Sarma 1963 seems in fact unjustifiable, since the term
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301
The fact that Śabara used the future tense may indicate that he considered the
SK to be a later part of the PMS, although it is by no means clear that
saṅkarṣe refers to the title of a work. I did not find any other case of iti followed by the title of a work and then by vakṣyate in the ŚBh, although vakṣyate ‘it will be said’ is frequently used to refer to later passages of the PMS
and/or of the corresponding ŚBh.
Kumārila does not comment on these references, nor could I find any
other reference to the SK by authors prior to the 9th century apart from an
interesting passage by Śaṅkara in his commentary on BS 3.3.43 where he
says: “Therefore it has been said in the Saṅkarṣa: ‘Verily the deities are
many, because they are distinctly known’” (tad uktaṃ saṃkarṣe nānā vā devatā pṛthagjñānāt iti). Here the sūtra referred to is clear, namely SK 2.2.15,
nānā vā devatā pṛthaktvāt “Rather, the deities are many, since they are separated.”47 This is a key element for the present study, and I shall come back to
it.
Personally, I would locate the SK in the Śrauta Sūtra-Pūrva Mīmāṃsā
milieu, in the sense that – unlike many Pūrva Mīmāṃsā texts – it deals primarily with technical details rather than with more general problems. Moreover, its topics and terminology tend to conform to a stage of the development
of Pūrva Mīmāṃsā which might be slightly later than or slightly different
from Jaimini’s. For instance, tantra ‘simultaneous application’ is discussed
within the same constellation as in the PMS: prakṛti ‘archetype ritual,’ ekakāla ‘same time’ (SK 1.1.6) and sādhāraṇa ‘common’ (SK 1.4.42), and it is
opposed to abhyāsa ‘repetition’ in SK 1.3.16 and āvṛtti ‘repeated performance’ in SK 1.1.9, as in later and technical Pūrva Mīmāṃsā treatises. By
contrast, it is not opposed to prasaṅga ‘automatic involvement’ as happens to
be the case in the ŚBh, but also not to āvāpa ‘separate application of a ritual
element,’ which is the typical counterpart of tantra in the PMS.48 Thus, the
hypothesis that the text is ancient but does not belong to the more speculative
part of the Pūrva Mīmāṃsā – represented by Jaimini and Śabara – appears all
the more credible. Therefore, it makes sense that Śabara occasionally refers
to it or that Someśvara does so once (NS ad TV ad PMS 1.3.3, Sāstrī 1909:
145, l. 2749) but that no more Pūrva Mīmāṃsā energies are dedicated to it.
needs to refer to the feminine “wife.” I could trace the sūtra in neither Kupalapati
2009 nor Tātācārya 2009.
47 The sūtra is identified as 2.2.15 in Subrahmanya Sastri 1965, Kupalapati 2009 and
Tātācārya 2009.
48 On all these terms and their interaction, see Freschi and Pontillo 2013.
49 nanu saṅkarṣe vrīhibhir iṣṭvā vrīhibhir eva yajeta yavebhyo yavair iṣṭvā yavair eva
yajetāvrīhibhya iti vākyam udāhṛtya kim anenāgrayaṇābhyāso vidhīyate […]. It is not
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One might recall the complements to Pāṇini’s Aṣṭādhyāyī, such as the
Dhātupātha, in the sense that Śabara seems to refer to the SK as an appendix
of the PMS which does not need specific exegetical attention (and, in fact, he
did not comment on it).
As for its commentators, Devasvāmin may have been the same author
who commented on the Āśvalāyanaśrauta- and -gṛhyasūtra and thus could
have been interested in ritual texts like the Kalpasūtras, so that his attention
to the SK could be part of the same interest. Bhāskararāya (or Bhāskara), the
late commentator of the SK, was trying to complete Khaṇḍadeva’s treatment
of the PMS, since he felt (perhaps because of the pressure of Vedānta?) that a
complete Mīmāṃsā work also had to address the SK. Nonetheless, his Bhāṭṭacandrikā explicitly states that the text lacks the connection (saṅgati) among
adhikaraṇas ‘sections’ which, as seen above (section 4.1), is among the key
reasons in favor of aikaśāstrya mentioned by Veṅkaṭanātha and Rāmānuja.50
Nakamura (1983: 393) lists four extant commentaries on the SK. Apart from
the two mentioned here, the other two are one in manuscript form by Rājacūḍāmaṇi Dīkṣita51 and one by Khaṇḍadeva himself;52 both seem to be inaccessible.
To sum up, generally Pūrva Mīmāṃsā authors are hardly or not at all interested in the SK, whereas several authors among the Uttara Mīmāṃsakas
deal at length with the status of the Mīmāṃsā śāstra and of the SK. By the
10th century it had become almost a hot topic in parts of Vedānta. An inscription of “Anur (Chingleput district, Tamil Nadu) of 999 A.D.” (Verpoorten
1987: 6) describes the single śāstra made of Pūrva and Uttara Mīmāṃsā as
consisting of 20 books, i.e., presumably, the 12 of the PMS, the 4 of BS and
the 4 of SK. As evidence of the persisting importance of the SK for Śrī Vaiṣṇavas, it was recently reprinted twice (Kupalapati 2009 and Tātācārya
2009), both times within an explicit Śrī Vaiṣṇava framework, namely within
clear whether Someśvara is quoting the SK here or rather referring to it. That the latter
might be the case is further suggested by the fact that I could not identify the sūtra in
the extant SK (Sarma 1963 and Subrahmanya Sastri 1965).
50 ata eva saṅkarṣe na pratyadhikaraṇaṃ saṃgatyapekṣā (beginning of the Bhāṭṭacandrikā, l. 3, quoted in Ramaswami Sastri 1933). I have been unable to obtain a copy of
the text of the Bhāṭṭacandrikā until now.
51 Nakamura has this information third-hand, since he writes that “according to Ramaswami, this work is inserted in Hultzsch, Reports of South Indian MSS, Vol. II, No.
1489” (Nakamura 1983: 396, n. 12), and reports the title of the work commented
upon by Rājacūḍāmaṇi Dīkṣita as Saṃkarṣanyāyamuktāvali (Nakamura 1983: 394).
52 This information is hardly believable, given that it contrasts with Bhāskararāya’s need
to complete Khaṇḍadeva’s work.
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303
series dedicated to Śrī Vaiṣṇavism, by Śrī Vaiṣṇava editors and with Śrī Vaiṣṇava maṅgalas and illustrations.
4.2.2 The Saṅkarṣakāṇḍa-devatākāṇḍa
Coming from the same period of the Anur inscription mentioned above,
Veṅkaṭanātha and other authors and testimonies (as far as I know, mostly
from South India) explicitly situate the SK after the PMS and before the BS
and hold different views regarding its authorship. Why did a quite unsystematic text, which might have been an appendix of the PMS composed to
account for further minor issues, become so central for the Vṛttikāra,
Rāmānuja and Veṅkaṭanātha? Why did they decide to explicitly focus on it?
A sort of Kalpasūtra discussing trivial ritual matters could not have been
of particular interest for any of them (Veṅkaṭanātha’s SM never discusses
ritual details). In contrast, they presented the SK as a means of introducing
the topic of the deity (devatā). This is also the context in which Śaṅkara inserted his reference to the SK, so that the connection of the SK with the topic
of deities appears to predate Rāmānuja and Veṅkaṭanātha. In this manner, the
SK became a way to make theism present in the unitary Mīmāṃsā śāstra
from the time of the composition of its foundational texts. And here we find a
small conundrum. In fact, the SK is often called madhyamakāṇḍa ‘middle
part,’ as opposed to the karmakāṇḍa ‘part on ritual action’ and brahmakāṇḍa
‘part on the Brahman,’ or to the pūrvakāṇḍa ‘former part’ and uttarakāṇḍa
‘latter part,’ i.e., the PMS and the UMS. In addition to these names and its
other name of Saṅkarṣa(ṇa) Kāṇḍa, however, the SK is also called devatākāṇḍa ‘part on deities’ or upāsanākāṇḍa ‘part on veneration.’ These designations do not appear together, so that it seems clear that the basic assumption
for authors interested in these topics was that there were (at most) three basic
texts of the Mīmāṃsā śāstra.
A further significant detail is that the content of the extant SK corresponds neither to the appellation devatākāṇḍa nor to the function ascribed to it
by Veṅkaṭanātha and other Vedāntins, i.e., the discussions of deities, later to
be subsumed within the brahman in the UMS. By contrast, the SK-devatākāṇḍa referred to by such Vedāntins as Vedānta Deśika in his SM fits nicely
in a progressive scheme: In this interpretation the PMS deals with karman,
the SK with deities, and the UMS with brahman.
In fact, later authors, from Appayya Dīkṣita (see section 4.2.4) to the
contemporary editor of the SK (Kupalapati 2009), had to deal with the apparent inconsistency of the name devatākāṇḍa applied to a text that speaks of
different topics. Sannidhāna Sudarśana Śarmā Kupalapati, after having
quoted Appayya, proposes the following solution:
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Through these words of the author of the Parimala [i.e., Appayya],
one understands that this SK is called devatākāṇḍa only because of the
many eulogies of the deities, and not because it reflects upon the own
form, nature, and [attributes] of the deities. This is clearly understood.
(Kupalapati 2009: v)53
4.2.3 Quotations from the Saṅkarṣakāṇḍa
Which sūtras are attributed to the one (the extant SK) or the other (let us call
it “SK-devatākāṇḍa”)? Śabara (two sūtras), Someśvara (one sūtra) and
Śaṅkara (one sūtra) mention sūtras also (more or less, see section 4.2.1)
found in the extant SK, whereas later Vedāntins either do not quote anything
at all or quote
a) the sūtra quoted by Śaṅkara with a small variant (as does Rāmānuja,
ŚrīBh ad 3.3.43).
b) the same three (or four) theistic sūtras referring to Viṣṇu that are not
found in the extant SK (but quoted by Veṅkaṭanātha in his Śatadūṣaṇī54
53 etaiś ca parimalakāravacanaiḥ idam avagamyate yat devatāprastāvaprācuryād eva
asya saṅkarṣakāṇḍasya devatākāṇḍatvavyavahāraḥ na tu devatāsvarūpasvabhāvādinirūpakatayā iti spaṣṭam eva avagamyate.
54 devatākāṇḍaṃ ca karmakāṇḍaśeṣatayā bhāṣyakāraiḥ parigṛhītam, “tad uktaṃ saṅkarṣa” iti tatratyasūtrāṇi codāharanti. tasya ca kāṇḍasyopasaṃhāre “ante harau taddarśanāt” iti devatākāṣṭhām pradarśya “sa viṣṇur āha hi” iti sarvadevatārādhanānān
tatparyavasānāya tasya sarvāntarātmatvena vyāptim pratipādya “tam brahmety ācakṣate taṃ brahmety ācakṣate” iti tasyaiva vedāntavedyaparabrahmatvopakṣepeṇopasaṃhārāt, sāmānyato ’pi viśeṣataś ceśvaraḥ prastuta iti (Śatadūṣaṇī 3 [aikaśāstrya],
Anandacharlu Vidyāvinod 1903: 18). “Also the Devatākāṇḍa is accepted by the
Commentator* as a supplement to the Karmakāṇḍa, [as] the sūtras in it** illustrate,
e.g., ‘This has been said in the Saṅkarṣa.’ And God is praised in a general form (as
brahman) or in a particular one (as a personal God), because in the summary of this
(SK) part [of the unitary Mīmāṃsā system], [the author] showed the rank of God
[within Mīmāṃsā] with ‘At the end (of the Mīmāṃsā system), in the sense of Hari
(God), because this has been shown’ and he conveyed with ‘For he, Viṣṇu, said’ the
pervasion of him (Hari), who [pervades] everything by means of being its inner self, in
order to bring to completion the [acts of] pleasing addressed to all deities. Then, he
summarized [the whole] by hinting at the status of supreme brahman, which is known
through the Upaniṣads, of Him (God), with: ‘That (God) is called brahman, that is
called brahman.’” *Who is this Bhāṣyakṛt? Veṅkaṭanātha usually used this title to refer
to Rāmānuja, who however does not appear to have referred to the SK. The three
alleged quotes from the SK are also not found in the extant work of the other author
who might be referred to as bhāṣyakṛt in this context, namely in Śabara’s Bhāṣya. The
editor’s commentary in Tātāyāryadāsa 2004 reproduces the opinion of some who
identify him with Upavarṣa, who is believed to have written a commentary (albeit
Reusing, Adapting, Distorting?
305
and in the Tattvaṭīkā,55 by Madhva in the Anuvyākhyāna and by his commentator Jayatīrtha).
I counted three to four sūtras because Madhva’s attribution is less clear.
In fact, his Anuvyākhyāna mentions a sūtra, namely sa viṣṇur āha hi “In
fact, Viṣṇu Himself said,” but does not attributes it directly to the SKdevatākāṇḍa, but rather to a Devaśāstra ‘Treatise about God.’56 Jayatīrtha’s Nyāyasudhā commentary on Madhva explains that the quote
comes from a Devatāmīmāṃsāśāstra ‘Treatise on the Mīmāṃsā about
God,’ which starts with athāto daivī (scil. jijñāsā?) “Now, because of that
the divine [desire to know?] starts” and ends with tam brahmety ācakṣate
“This (Viṣṇu) is called brahman (in the UMS).”57 Madhva’s mention of a
called Vṛtti) on the whole Mīmāṃsā system. **The reference point of tatratya is
difficult to determine, given the doubtful identity of the bhāṣyakṛt. I could not detect
any such sūtra in the PMS, and Śabara used verbs in the future tense when referring to
the SK; see section 4.2.1.
55 evaṃ tarkite karmaṇi saṅkarṣaṇakāṇḍe* caturlakṣaṇyā tattatkarmārādhyadevataiva
svarūpabhedaguṇaprakarṣaiḥ nirakṛṣyata**. tatsamāptau ca “ante harau taddarśanāt” “sa viṣṇur āha hi” “taṃ brahmety ācakṣate taṃ brahmety ācakṣate” iti vicārayiṣyamāṇam upacikṣipe iti tattvavṛddhāḥ***. (Tattvaṭīkā ad ŚrīBh ad BS 1.1.1, ad v.
240, Aṇṇāṅgarācārya 1941: 31, Mahādeśika 1938: 78). *Variant reading: saṅkarṣakāṇḍe. **Variant reading: nirākṛṣyata [sic] (as in Aklujkar 2012: 208, but since
all editions attest the ending -ta, I see no need to emend nirakṛṣyata, an imperfect
passive of niḥkṛṣ- in the sense of ‘was extracted’. ***Aklujkar (2012: 208) argues that
this should be emended to tattvavidaḥ, which seems in fact much smoother. Translation: “In this way, after having reflected on the ritual action, the deity which is pleased
through those various ritual actions was extracted in the Saṅkarṣaṇa part, in four chapters, by [examining] (the deity’s) nature, distinction (from the world and the individual
souls) and excellent qualities. And at the end of it [the author] hinted at what he was
about to examine [in the UMS] with ‘At the end (of the Mīmāṃsā system), in the sense
of Hari (God), because this has been shown’, ‘For he, Viṣṇu, said’, [and] ‘That (God)
is called brahman, that is called brahman’. So say the real seniors (the respected
members of our school).”
56 Cf. Madhva’s Anuv 1.1.81a: svayaṃ bhagavatā viṣṇur brahmety etat puroditam ||
Anuv 1.1.80 || sa viṣṇur āha hītyante devaśāstrasya tena hi | (Siauve 1957: 23, Pandurangi 2002: 777), “In fact, it has been said before by the Venerable [author of the
sūtras] himself that the brahman is Viṣṇu. In fact, therefore [it is said] at the end of the
Devaśāstra ‘In fact, Viṣṇu Himself has said.’” Jayatīrtha explains that purā ‘before’
means “before our sūtra,” that is, before the UMS.
57 kin tu daivīmīmāṃsāśāstrasyānte sa viṣṇur āha hi. taṃ brahmety ācakṣate iti sūtradvayena viṣṇuḥ brahmety uditam. tadanantaram eva cāthato brahmajijñāseti […] athāto
daivītyādir udāhṛtaḥ “But, through the two sūtras at the end of the treatise on the
Mīmāṃsā about deities, namely ‘In fact, Viṣṇu Himself said’ and ‘This (Viṣṇu) is
called brahman (in the UMS)’, it is said that Viṣṇu is the brahman. And immediately
after this [sūtra] comes ‘Now, after that, the desire to know the brahman starts’. […]
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Elisa Freschi
devaśāstra could refer to the SK-devatākāṇḍa before it was identified or
confused with the SK, whereas Jayatīrtha could represent the next stage of
this process (see below, section 4.2.6). Veṅkaṭanātha does not mention the
alleged first sūtra of this text, but has the other two preceded by ante
harau taddarśanāt “At the end (of the Mīmāṃsā system), in the sense of
Hari (God), because this has been shown.” As Veṅkaṭanātha in the
Śatadūṣaṇī puts it (see n. 54), the expression tam brahmety ācakṣate
indeed creates a smooth transition to the BS.
c) Four more ślokas from some saṅkarṣaṇasūtreṣu that do not occur in the
extant SK are found in Utpala Vaiṣṇava’s commentary (called Spandapradīpikā) on the Spandakārikā.58
These final sūtras are never quoted in the otherwise compact and homogeneous tradition referring to the SK-devatākāṇḍa, and they may in fact rather derive from a Saṅkarṣaṇa-Pāñcarātra text, as suggested in Sanderson
2009a, in the section “The Kārkoṭas and Pañcarātra Vaiṣṇavism.”
4.2.4 The Saṅkarṣakāṇḍa and Advaita Vedānta
I have already mentioned the lack of interest of Pūrva Mīmāṃsā authors in
the SK. This is mirrored by a similar lack of interest among Advaita Vedānta
authors. Apart from the sūtra mentioned by Śaṅkara in his commentary on
The [beginning] is announced as ‘Now, after that, [the desire to know] the deity
starts.’ ” (Pandurangi 2002: 777‒778)
58 Ad SpK 26: anyac ca saṅkarṣaṇasūtreṣu – svātmaikaniṣṭhaṃ cidrūpaṃ bhāvābhāvapariṣkṛtam | svasaṃvedanasaṃvedyaṃ prakṛtyātītagocaram || iyaṃ yoniḥ smṛtā vipra
mantrāṇāṃ pratyayātmikā | te mantrā varṇarūpeṇa sabāhyābhyantaroditāḥ || naiṣkālikapadāvasthāḥ karaṇānīva dehinām | prayuktāḥ sarvakāleṣu siddhyante vīryayogataḥ || “And moreover, [it is said] in the Saṅkarṣaṇasūtras: ‘The form of consciousness,
which is installed in itself alone, and is prepared through presence and absence, | is
perceivable through self-awareness, and its sphere of knowledge lies beyond nature ||
This source of the mantras is recollected, o sage, to consist of cognition | These
mantras, which appear externally and internally in the form of phonemes || rest on the
undivided level. Like the [sense] organs of the embodied beings, | when they are
employed, [the mantras] are successful at all times because of the connection with
vigour ||’” Ad SpK 29: saṅkarṣaṇasūtreṣv api ‒ yenedaṃ dṛśyate viśvaṃ draṣṭā
sarvasya yaḥ sadā | dṛśyaś carācaratve yaḥ sa viṣṇur iti gīyate || iti “And also in the
Saṅkarṣaṇasūtras: ‘The one by whom the whole is seen, who is always the observer of
everything | and who can be seen in [all things] movable and immovable, he is called
Viṣṇu’” (Dyczkowski 2000: 35, 41). I am very grateful to Lubomír Ondračka, who
sent me a scan of these verses. These passages have been translated in Dyczkowski
1994: 161, 164.
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BS 3.3.43, there is almost no evidence of any acquaintance with the text of
the SK. The Advaita Vedāntins who do mention the SK do not cite the theistic sūtras quoted above, nor do they stress its theistic character, but they
might have been exposed to a tradition of such interpretations. This is especially possible in the case of Madhusūdana Sarasvatī, who had been a Vaiṣṇava and remained a bhākta before (chronologically) and besides being an
Advaitin. Although he seems to refer to the SK only second hand (he provides no quotes), he reports on both its position within the PMS and its theistic character.
In this connection, it is possible that Madhusūdana and other authors (see
section 4.2.7) attributed the SK to Jaimini because they needed to insert it
into a ready-made scheme, where only the PMS and UMS had a place (we
will see that at a later stage, the SK was also linked to the UMS). In fact, the
passage on the SK looks like an excursus inserted within a framework that
only had room for the PMS and UMS:
In this way, the Mīmāṃsā is also of two types: Karmamīmāṃsā and
Śārīrakamīmāṃsā. Of these, the Karmamīmāṃsā is made of twelve
chapters, from the first sūtra to anvāhārye ca darśanāt (i.e., the sūtra
later numbered PMS 12.4.40), [and] it was composed by the revered
Jaimini. Within it, the purpose of the twelve chapters are, in sequence,
[the discussion on] the means to know dharma [and the other eleven
topics up until] the automatic involvement. In the same way, the
Saṅkarṣakāṇḍa consists of four chapters and was composed by Jaimini. And this (SK), which is well known by the name of Devatākāṇḍa, because it teaches a ritual called upāsana ‘worship,’ is just a
part of the Karmamīmāṃsā. In the same way, the Śārīrakamīmāṃsā
has four chapters, starting with athāto brahmajijñāsā (i.e., the sūtra
later numbered BS 1.1.1) and ending with anāvṛttiḥ śabdāt (i.e., the
sūtra later numbered BS 4.4.22).59
The lack of mention of any sūtra of the SK seems to hint at the fact that
Madhusūdana had no access to the work.
59 evaṃ mīmāṃsāpi dvividhā karmamīmāṃsā śārīrakamīmāṃsā ceti. tatra dvādaśādhyāyī
karmamīmāṃsā “athāto dharmajijñāsā“ ityādiḥ “anvāhārye ca darśanāt” ity antā bhagavatā jaimininā praṇītā. tatra dharmapramāṇam […] prasaṅgaś ceti krameṇa dvādaśānām adhyāyānām arthaḥ. tathā saṃkarṣaṇakāṇḍam apy adhyāyacatuṣṭayātmakaṃ jaiminipraṇītam. tac ca devatākāṇḍasaṃjñayā prasiddham apy upāsanākhyakarmapratipādakatvāt karmamīmāṃsāntargatam eva. tathā caturādhyāyī śārīrakamīmāṃsā “athāto
brahmajijñāsā“ ityādiḥ “anāvṛttiḥ śabdāt” ity antā […] (Prasthānabheda [by
Madhusūdana Sarasvatī] 1912: 11).
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Another partial exception to the rule that the SK was only popular within
Viśiṣṭādvaita Vedānta occurs in the work of Appayya Dīkṣita (possibly
1520–1593), a polymath writing – apart from his critical work on belles-lettres (alaṅkāraśāstra) – from the point of view of Pūrva Mīmāṃsā (Vidhirasayana) and Advaita Vedānta (e.g., Joshi 1981, Śrīkaṇṭha and Appayya
Dīkṣita 1908, Appayya Dīkṣita 1890). The exception is only partial because
Appayya, though a Śaiva, was also traditionally considered close to Viśiṣṭādvaita Vedānta due to some of his theological tenets and his openness
towards devotion to Viṣṇu.60 Appayya chiefly quotes the extant SK.61 However, he also mentions its title “Devatākāṇḍa,” which he justifies as being the
result of the presence of many discussions about deities in the SK.
In an Advaita Vedānta work, his sub-commentary on Śaṅkara’s UMSBhāṣya, Appayya Dīkṣita discusses the topic of the desire to know dharma
(dharmajijñāsā). In this context, an objector argues that it cannot be the case
that PMS 1.1.1 announces the whole śāstra, since
it cannot be said that, after having announced the investigation of the
whole Veda, one willfully abandons the investigation of one part of it.
Nor can it be the case that Jaimini, the best of the great ṛṣis, after
having composed the twelve chapters [PMS] for the sake of investigating dharma, having noticed that there he had not put some rules in
the sūtras, for the sake of collecting these [rules], composed the SK,
which is a supplement to the twelve chapters [PMS].62
Appayya’s answer displays once again that his approach was not purely
Advaita Vedānta, since he emphasized the aikaśāstrya of the PMS and UMS,
as did Rāmānuja. However, he does not return to the SK, although he reused
60 On the Śaiva affiliation of Appayya, see Bronner 2007; on his devotion to Viṣṇu, see
Okita’s contribution in this volume.
61 Aklujkar writes that “Appayyadīkṣita cites several sūtras of the SK and at least one
passage from D-S [=Devasvāmin’s commentary, EF] (SSS 1965: iii, 87, 259)” (Aklujkar 2012: 214).
62 na hi kṛtsnavedārthavicāraṃ pratijñāya tadekadeśavicāras tyakto buddhipūrvam iti
vaktuṃ śakyam, na vā dharmavicārārthaṃ dvādaśalakṣaṇīṃ kṛtvā, tatrāsūtritān
kāṃścin nyāyān ālakṣya tatsaṃgrahārthaṃ dvādaśalakṣaṇīśeṣaṃ* saṅkarṣakāṇḍaṃ
api kṛtavato maharṣivarasya bhagavato jaimineḥ (Parimālā ad Kalpataru ad
Śaṅkara’s Bhāṣya ad BS 1.1.1, Joshi 1981: 50). *Joshi 1981 reads dvādaśalakṣaṇīṃ
śeṣam, which is semantically and grammatically unacceptable. Aklujkar quotes the
second part of the same passage but without the initial na vā and without any hint at
the fact that it occurs within a pūrvapakṣa ‘passage stating a prima facie view’
(Aklujkar 2012: 214). However, he quotes from Appayya’s Brahmasūtrakalpataruparimālā, Nirnaya Sagara Press (Bombay 1917): 50, which I could not yet access.
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309
arguments already found in Veṅkaṭanātha (SM ad PMS 1.1.1 and Śatadūṣaṇī
3), i.e., the unity of the śāstra is not invalidated by the fact that there are two
authors (Jaimini and Bādarāyaṇa).
4.2.5 The Saṅkarṣakāṇḍa and the Pāñcarātra
A further significant element to be taken into account when reconstructing
the history of the SK is its connection with the Pāñcarātra. Śaṅkara mentions
the SK in his UMS-Bhāṣya within a doctrinal discussion (should Vāyu and
Prāṇa, which are identified in the same way, be equated?), which fits the conceptual framework of the SK. However, it is easy to imagine that theistic
authors might have later used the same passage as the basis for theistic arguments, given that the knowledge of god(s) is mentioned. Further, Kanazawa
1989 drew my attention to a very interesting passage by Mukunda Jhā
Bakhśī, the editor of Rāghavabhaṭṭa’s Padārthādarśa (15th century), who in
his Bhūmikā discusses the sources of dharma and mentions the following
section among various others:
Likewise, in this regard, due to the distinction between ritual acts, veneration and knowledge, three parts have been composed, of which
the part on ritual actions (karmakāṇḍa) has been fully described in the
Pūrva Mīmāṃsā [Sūtra] and other [similar texts] by Jaimini and other
[Pūrva Mīmāṃsā authors], the part on veneration (upāsanākāṇḍa) has
been fully described in the Pañcarātra and other similar [texts] by
Nārada, etc., and the part on knowledge (jñānakāṇḍa) has been fully
described in the Uttara Mīmāṃsā by Vyāsa and other [Vedāntic authors].63
At the beginning of the text edited by Bakhśī, Rāghavabhaṭṭa attributes the
upāsanākāṇḍa (i.e., the SK) to Nārada and the UMS to Vyāsa64 (who is con-
63 yathātra karmopāstijñānabhedāt kāṇḍatrayam upanibaddham, yatra karmakāṇḍaṃ pūrvamīmāṃsādau, jaiminyādibhiḥ. upāsanākāṇḍaṃ ca pañcarātrādau nāradādibhiḥ jñānakāṇḍaṃ cottaramīmāṃsāyāṃ vyāsādibhir upavarṇitam (Bakhśī 1981, Bhūmikā: 1).
64 tatra
sarvāsu
śrutiṣu
kāṇḍatrayaṃ
karmopāsanābrahmabhedena.
tatra
jaiminiprabhṛtibhiḥ samyaktayā vivṛtam. idam upāsanākāṇḍaṃ nāradādibhir
brahmakāṇḍaṃ bhagavadvyāsādibhir iti smṛ(śru)timūlakatā* asya pratyakṣopalabdhā
(Bakhśī 1981: 1–2) “As for all the Vedas, there are three parts, according to the
distinction between ritual action, veneration and brahman [as the topics of the three
Vedic parts]. Among them, the [part on ritual action] has been clearly explained by
Jaimini, etc. This part on veneration has been [explained] by Nārada, etc., the part on
the brahman has been explained by the venerable Vyāsa, etc. Thus, it is perceivable
that these (three parts) are based on the Veda.” *The parentheses are in the edited text.
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sistently identified by Viśiṣṭādvaitavedāntins as Bādarāyaṇa; see, e.g., Veṅkaṭanātha’s Śatadūṣaṇī 3).
Who is this Nārada? Nārada figures in the key role of narrator in many
Pāñcarātra texts, from the Pārameśvara Saṃhitā to the Sātvata Saṃhitā and
the Ahirbudhnya Saṃhitā, and he is mentioned as an ekāntin (a follower of
the Ekāyana Veda, see Rastelli 2003) in the MBh, Nārāyaṇīya Parvan, which
is the most ancient text referring to Pāñcarātra (MBh 12.334.1).65 Furthermore, the name Nārada is connected with the Vaiṣṇava milieu and figures
together with Saṅkarṣana in the guruparamparā leading to Vyāsa in the
(Vaiṣṇava) Hayagrīvopaniṣad (Kanazawa 1989: 41). The connection of the
SK with the Vaiṣṇava (and perhaps Kaśmirian) milieu and, thus, with the
Pāñcarātra could be reinforced by Utpala Vaiṣṇava’s quotes (on which see
the end of section 4.2.3), the last of which appears very close to a quote from
the “Pāñcarātropaniṣad” and can be found among further quotes attributed to
the “Pāñcarātra.”
4.2.6 Conclusions on the Saṅkarṣakāṇḍa
To sum up, the extant SK does not seem to properly fulfil the role assigned to
it by theistic Vedāntin authors. How can this be accounted for? Three possible answers can be suggested.
1. Possibly theistic Vedāntin authors used the name of a text that was assumed to be part of the unitary Mīmāṃsā Śāstra but was either lost or
scarcely known (remember the lack of quotations from the extant SK in
Veṅkaṭanātha). The same authors would then have mistakenly confused
the text, namely the SK, with a different text that fulfilled a role they
needed to see fulfilled, i.e., that of introducing God to the Mīmāṃsā system. Perhaps Kanazawa is right in pointing out that the very name SK
might have helped due to the importance of Saṅkarṣaṇa in the Pāñcarātra
vyūha doctrine (Kanazawa 1989: 40). The fact that at a certain point in
time, the non-Ekāyanaveda group within the Pāñcarātras was known with
the name of Saṅkarṣaṇapāñcarātras may also have contributed, so that one
might have been prone to connect Saṅkarṣaṇa with the faction of
Pāñcarātrins more favorable to the Mīmāṃsā interpretation of the Vedas.66 In fact, the edition of Veṅkaṭanātha’s Tattvaṭīkā, if at all reliable,
65 A Nāradapāñcarātra has been preserved, but it is a rather late text (see Leach 2012:
21).
66 For the two groups of Pāñcarātrins, see Leach 2012: 48–49 and Sanderson 2009a,
section “The Kārkoṭas and Pañcarātra Vaiṣṇavism.” I am grateful to Robert Leach for
having drawn my attention to this point. On the possible conflation of the Mīmāṃsā-
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311
uses the appellation Saṅkarṣaṇa for the SK (but not so the editions of his
SM and Śatadūṣaṇī, where Saṅkarṣa is again found). It is still difficult to
tell how and when exactly this superimposition of the one text on the
other took place, but, as already hinted at, it seems to have taken place in
Vedānta-Pāñcarātra milieus and Śaṅkara may have played a major role in
it, since he quotes from the extant SK, though in the context of a theological discussion.67
It might, thus, have been Śaṅkara who involuntarily made the SK no
longer associated with sheer technical discussions, but rather with theological ones. In other words, before Śaṅkara there may have been a technical SK and a different theistic text (perhaps only a few sentences). If
one accepts Jayatīrtha’s authority, the latter work already had a Vedāntic
flavor, and one might speculate that it had been used by Vaiṣṇavas (perhaps: Pāñcarātrins) to vindicate the Vedānta status of their system.
Śaṅkara’s quote from the former SK in a context where one could have
expected the latter may have caused confusion between the two, a confusion which was very much welcomed by non-Advaita Vedāntins and
which harmonizes nicely with other tripartitions (e.g., the one between
karman, jñāna and bhakti).
2. A second explanation would require the assumption that no SK-devatākāṇḍa ever existed and that some theistic Vedāntins artfully manipulated
the evidence regarding the SK. But due to the favor rei principle and since
attestations regarding it range well beyond the borders of an interconnected group of people (who could have conspired together), this explanation is less likely than the other two at the present stage of research.
3. Last, it is possible that there existed a tradition of interpreting the extant
SK in a theistic way and that it was in this connection that other theistic
sūtras were attributed to it. This hypothesis clashes with the fact that no
sūtras of the extant SK have been transmitted together with those of the
SK-devatākāṇḍa, and with the fact that the sūtras attributed to the SKdevatākāṇḍa are of a completely different nature and thus cannot be lost
parts of the extant SK. Nonetheless, the hypothesis is probably right in
pointing out that the confusion between the ritualistic SK and the SKdevatākāṇḍa happened quite early. Ānandagiri’s explanation of the name
saṅkarṣa, for instance, refers to the technical contents of the extant SK
and the Pāñcarātra-Saṅkarṣaṇa, see also section 4.2.3.
67 After I had completed this study, V. N. Pandurangi sent me a contribution of his (with
the title Devataakaanda of Kashakrtsna/Paila) on the SK in the Mādhva tradition,
where he concludes that the SK-devatākāṇḍā existed as a separate text. Unfortunately,
I could not find out whether the paper has been or will be published.
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but then calls it devatākāṇḍa (saṅkarṣyate karmakāṇḍastham evāvaśiṣṭaṃ
karma saṃkṣipyocyate iti saṅkarṣo devatākāṇḍam, “The Devatākāṇḍa is
called Saṅkarṣa because it summarizes what is left [of] the ritual action,
which is dealt with in the portion on the ritual action (e.g., the PMS),”
commentary on Śaṅkara’s Bhāṣya on UMS 3.3.43). Thus, following
Śaṅkara, a mostly technical text came to be used in devotional contexts
because of its mention of devatās. The mention of devatās within the SK
only served ritual purposes (as in the PMS), so that there was no intrinsic
reason to choose the SK as a theistic text. But it was certainly easier to
adopt a lesser known work like the SK for one’s purposes than the wellknown PMS, given that Pūrva Mīmāṃsā was still active and well known
as an atheist school. This might also be what is hinted at by Madhusūdana
Sarasvatī in his Prasthānabheda (see section 4.2.4), where he makes
sense of the SK by saying that it teaches upāsanākhyakarman, i.e., “ritual
[as it makes sense within the Pūrva Mīmāṃsā] called veneration (upāsanā).”
The Pūrva Mīmāṃsā milieus seemingly remained unaffected by this move
(remember Someśvara’s reference to the extant SK as late as the 12th century
and the general lack of interest in the SK, especially the SK-devatākāṇḍa).
Later Advaita Vedānta authors acknowledged the existence of the SK but did
not emphasize its theistic content. One might imagine that they had to
acknowledge it because of the growing popularity of the name “SK” among
theistic Vedāntins, but that they had no interest in admitting the SKdevatākāṇḍa into their systems.
4.2.7 The authorship of the Saṅkarṣakāṇḍa
As for the authorship of the SK, some witnesses (see below and cf. Kanazawa 1989: 40) connect it to a person named Saṅkarṣa(ṇa). Several witnesses
speak of the SK as having been authored by Jaimini (as for example, the
perhaps first commentator of the SK, Devasvāmin,68 the Vṛttikāra’s quote
mentioned by Rāmānuja and Veṅkaṭanātha, the Prapañcahṛdaya,69
Khaṇḍadeva in the Bhāṭṭadīpikā and Bhāskara Rāya in what he considered
the prosecution of the latter work, and Madhusūdana Sarasvatī [see section
4.2.4]). By contrast, the Sarvasiddhāntasaṅgraha attributes both the UMS
and the SK to Vyāsa (see Kanazawa 1989: 41), and this might be also the
position of Jayatīrtha:
68 According to Lariviere 1981, but Aklujkar (2012: 215–216) convincingly argues that
the colophon Lariviere refers to is a modern coinage by the editors of his commentary.
69 “After 900 AD, later limit undecided” (Aklujkar 2012: 212).
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After that [the desire to know the brahman starts]. Because the Revered [author of the UMS] had composed the last two sūtras of the
Devatāmīmāṃsā (i.e., the SK).70
The Sarvamatasaṅgraha might depend on the Sarvasiddhāntasaṅgraha when
it also attributes both the SK and the UMS to Vyāsa. However, it adds a new
nuance, that is, it states that both works deal with brahman, saguṇa and
nirguṇa, respectively. Vedānta Deśika refers to the author of the SK as
Kāśakṛtsna, the name of an ancient Mīmāṃsaka of whom no other work has
been preserved but whose views are referred to in the PMS and the UMS. In
a learned and insightful study (Aklujkar 2012), Ashok Aklujkar has supported this attribution with the references to Kāśakṛtsna in the PMS and the
UMS and in the Mahābhāṣya, but also on the basis of the fact that:
1. The attestations (e.g., in the Vṛttikāra’s quote preserved in the ŚrīBh and
in the SM) regarding the SK as jaiminīya only mean ‘connected to Jaimini’s PMS’ and not “authored by Jaimini” (Aklujkar 2012: 205–207 and
p. 210).
2. The name “Saṅkarṣa” does not need to refer to the author. At any rate, all
testimonies mentioning a person named Saṅkarṣa regard him as the commentator of the SK, not its author (Aklujkar 2012: 212 and p. 223).
3. Some of the authors referring to Jaimini as the author of the SK, namely
Khaṇḍadeva, Śambhubhaṭṭa and Bhāskararāya, constitute a mutually connected group. Therefore, these authors are not independent witnesses.71
4. Kāśakṛtsna is a suitable candidate for the authorship of the SK because he
is an ancient Mīmāṃsaka, and there is no other way to explain the attribution of the SK to him (Aklujkar 2012: 210), given that he was neither
well known nor influential.
In favor of Aklujkar’s hypothesis, it can be added that even a quote he and K.
V. Sarma, the editor of the editio princeps of the SK sūtras, consider evidence in favor of Jaimini’s authorship, namely Śambhubhaṭṭa’s Prabhāvalī
70 It is not clear whether Jayatīrtha wants to attribute only the last two sūtras to Bādarāyaṇa (as claimed in Siauve 1957: 23). In contrast, I am inclined to think that the expression antimasūtradvayam ‘the last two sūtras’ does not have an exclusive purpose
(“just the last two sūtras”), but rather stresses the connection of these two sūtras with
the following UMS.
71 Aklujkar (2012: 215) further points out that the three authors probably based their
attribution of the SK to Jaimini on Devasvāmin’s commentary on the SK. This claim,
however, contradicts Aklujkar’s accurate demonstration that Devasvāmin did not regard Jaimini as the author of the SK; see above n. 68.
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on Khaṇḍadeva’s Bhaṭṭadīpikā, should in my opinion be interpreted in a
different way. The text runs as follows:
The twelve chapters [PMS] composed by Jaimini and beginning with
“Now, because of that the desire to know the dharma starts,” and the
four chapters composing the Saṅkarṣaṇakāṇḍa constitute the Karmamīmāṃsā. The four chapters [UMS] composed by Vyāsa and beginning with “Now, because of that, the desire to know the brahman
starts” is the Śārīrakamīmāṃsā.72
In other words, Śambhubhaṭṭa attributes the PMS to Jaimini, whereas he
leaves the SK without an author. The conceptual unity of PMS and SK does
not mean that they share the same author, as proved by the fact that the expression ‘composed by Jaimini’ is clearly put within the clause about the
PMS. Furthermore, there are no (or few) explicit arguments against
Kāśakṛtsna’s authorship of the SK. K. V. Sarma in his Introduction to Sarma
1963 uses the following arguments against the authorship of Kāśakṛtsna (and
in favor of that of Jaimini):
– He endorses K. C. Chatterjee’s view that “though the SK is fairly early,
[…] it is still difficult to hold that Kāśakṛtsna is its author.”
– Vedānta Deśika himself did not uphold Kāśakṛtsna’s authorship, as shown
by the fact that he quotes the Vṛttikāra’s statement approvingly.
However, in fact, Veṅkaṭanātha reuses the Vṛttikāra’s passage for his own
agenda and as further evidence in favor of the unity of the Mīmāṃsā śāstra
exactly insofar as it states – at first sight erroneously – that Jaimini composed
the PMS and the SK (see above, section 4.2). And as for the argument that
the SK cannot have been authored by Kāśakṛtsna because the work is “fairly
early,” this is also not a strong one. In fact, Sarma himself maintains that the
SK was authored by Jaimini, who is also not dated later than Kāśakṛtsna,
since both are mentioned as authorities in the PMS and the UMS.
Nonetheless, a few further points may be added to Aklujkar’s learned reconstruction (which, in Aklujkar’s own explanation, limits itself to the extant
SK and does not take the SK-devatākāṇḍa into account73).
72 athāto dharmajijñāsā ityādinā jaiminipraṇītā dvādaśādhyāyī saṅkarṣaṇakāṇḍātmikā caturādhyāyī ca karmamīmāṃsā, athāto brahmajijñāsā ityādinā vyāsapraṇītā caturādhyāyī
śārīrakamīmāṃsā ca (Krishna Sastri 1987: 43). I am grateful to the University Library of Marburg for providing me a copy of this text.
73 “In almost all of my sentences ‘Saṅkarṣakāṇḍa (= SK)’ stands for the text found in
Subrahmanya Sastri’s edition [Subrahmanya Sastri 1965] and in an indirect, second-
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315
1. Veṅkaṭanātha clearly needed the SK-devatākāṇḍa for his attempt to demonstrate the unity of the Mīmāṃsā śāstra and its theistic core.
2. In this connection, the attribution of the SK to Vyāsa, with the underlying
assumption that the same brahman was dealt with from two different
perspectives, might have suited him best.
3. However, his illustrious predecessor, the Vṛttikāra, had attributed it to
Jaimini.
4. This attribution was not a viable solution for Veṅkaṭanātha, who had a
difficult task in front of him, namely to convince the Viśiṣṭādvaitins of the
legitimacy of his attempt to broaden Viśiṣṭādvaita Vedānta through the
claim that it formed the same śāstra as the Pūrva Mīmāṃsā. The SK was
meant to work as a bridge. Attributing it to Jaimini would have just eliminated the possibility of it being a mediation, pushing it back into the
Pūrva Mīmāṃsā field.
5. It is, moreover, possible that the attribution to Vyāsa was not yet current
at the time of Veṅkaṭanātha (the dates of the Sarvasiddhāntasaṅgraha and
of the Sarvamatasaṅgraha have not been fixed, but the latter was probably acquainted with the former and refers to Rāmānuja, see Kanazawa
1989: 33).
6. By contrast, another attribution was surely known to Veṅkaṭanātha (since
he mentioned it in his Adhikaraṇa Sārāvali, v. 15), namely Parāśara
Bhaṭṭa’s attribution of the SK to Kāśakṛtsna in his Tattvaratnākara.74
Veṅkaṭanātha’s unnatural interpretation of the Vṛttikāra’s quote derives from
these premises which, possibly, led Veṅkaṭanātha to resort to an intermediate
position among the various ones he may have been exposed to at his time.
Attributing the SK to Jaimini would not have helped Veṅkaṭanātha’s attempt
to justify the aikaśāstrya of Pūrva Mīmāṃsā and Vedānta. The attribution of
the SK to Vyāsa would have raised suspicions among Vedāntins. The attribution to Kāśakṛtsna was in this sense a useful intermediate solution.
ary way in the edition of Bhāskararāya’s complementation of Khaṇḍadeva’s Bhāṭṭadīpikā [Śāstrī 1894]. There are passages in Viśiṣṭādvaita literature in which the SK is
understood as a text primarily or entirely devoted to the discussion of deities. It is also
spoken of as a completely or almost completely lost text. Signs of ambiguity and absence of first-hand knowledge also exist. This description is inapplicable to the SK I
have in mind in almost all of the present essay” (Aklujkar 2012: 191, n. 1).
74 In the fragment No. 56 in Oberhammer 1979: karmadevatābrahmagocarā sā tridhodbabhau sūtrakārataḥ | jaiminer muneḥ kāśakṛtsnato bādarāyaṇād ity ataḥ kramāt ||
“This [Mīmāṃsā], which has within its scope ritual action, deities and brahman appeared in three ways, according to the author of the sūtras, | that is, respectively, the
sage Jaimini, Kāśakṛtsna and Bādarāyaṇa.” See also Aklujkar 2012: 194–200.
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5 Yāmuna and the Seśvaramīmāṃsā: Shared textual material
As seen above (section 2 and section 3), Veṅkaṭanātha frequently refers to
Rāmānuja. On much more rare occasions, Veṅkaṭanātha needs the support of
both Yāmuna and Rāmānuja. This is the case when he has to explain away
the alleged atheism of Jaimini. Here he happily quotes Yāmuna and Rāmānuja on a related topic, namely, the emphasis on rituals in the PMS:
uktaṃ hy āgamaprāmāṇye bhagavato jaimineḥ karmaṇaḥ phalopanyāsaḥ karmaśraddhāsaṃvardhanāya75 iti. vedārthasaṅgrahe ’pi aśrutavedāntānāṃ karmaṇy aśraddhā mā bhūd iti devatādhikaraṇe ’tivādāḥ kṛtāḥ karmamātre yathā śraddhāṃ kuryāt iti sarvam ekaṃ śāstram iti vedavitsiddhāntaḥ.76 (Veṅkaṭanātha 1971: 5)77
Rāmānuja’s passage (embedded in a long rebuttal of the Prābhākara view)
goes more in Veṅkaṭanātha’s direction, since it explicitly emphasizes the
unity of Pūrva and Uttara Mīmāṃsā. In contrast, the passage in Yāmuna does
not aim directly at Pūrva Mīmāṃsā, since it rather defends the compatibility
of Vedas and Pāñcarātra through the (Mīmāṃsā) device of option (vikalpa)
and discusses in this connection the problem of possible contradictions between various commentators (bhāṣyakāra78). His answer is that if one carefully investigates something there are no contradictions. As the case of Jaimini shows, one can reconcile seemingly contradictory statements if one
considers that a certain author might have emphasized the role of the Vedas
(presumably over that of the Pāñcarātra) in order to keep people from disrespecting them.
75 Cf. the almost identical passage in the Āgamaprāmāṇya: yathaiva hi bhagavato
jaimineḥ karmaphalopanyāsaḥ karmaśraddhāsaṃvardhanāya (Śāstri 1937: 67).
76 Cf. the almost identical passage in the Vedārthasaṅgraha: aśrutavedāntānāṃ karmaṇy
aśraddhā mā bhūd iti devatādhikaraṇe ’tivādāḥ kṛtāḥ karmamātre yathā śraddhā syād
iti sarvam ekaśāstram iti vedavitsiddhāntaḥ (Raghavachar 1978: 157).
77 “It has been said in [Yāmunācārya’s] Āgamaprāmāṇya: ‘The statement that the fruit
[comes] out of the ritual action (karman) (and not out of God) by the Revered Jaimini
has the purpose of promoting faith in ritual action.’ And also in [Rāmānuja’s]
Vedārthasaṅgraha: ‘In order to avoid the lack of faith in ritual action of people who
have not heard the Upaniṣads (aśrutavedānta), some excessive statements (ativāda)
have been used in the Devatādhikaraṇa, so that one should put faith in the ritual action
as such. Thus, the definitive conclusion of those who know the Veda is that this all is a
single treatise (śāstra).”
78 Commentators on what? The context makes one think that Yāmuna is referring to
commentaries on the (U)MS.
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317
However, as already hinted at, there is much more shared textual material
between the SM and Yāmuna’s Ātmasiddhi. This material is however never
identified as such. Moreover, it is also often embedded within prima facie
views (!). Particularly telling is the case of Yāmuna’s endorsement of
yogipratyakṣa, a kind of intellectual intuition through which one can directly
access non-sensory matters. Yāmuna’s yogipratyakṣa plays an important role
especially in his extolment of his grandfather Nāthamuni, praised as a great
yogin and a great bhākta who could directly access God’s reality through
yogipratyakṣa (see the beginning of Yāmuna’s Stotraratna).
In contrast, the Pūrva Mīmāṃsā strongly opposes (in PMS 1.1.4 and in its
commentaries) the epistemological role of yogipratyakṣa, since it maintains
that the Veda is the only key to accessing super-sensory matters, such as
dharma and heaven (see McCrea 2009). Veṅkaṭanātha comments on PMS
1.1.4 completely supporting the Pūrva Mīmāṃsā point of view, but adds at
the end some unexpected verses in which he states that what has been said
only applies to the yogins’ pratyakṣa, i.e., to the extraordinary intellectual intuition of yogins, but not to God’s intellectual intuition (called aiśādhyakṣa).
In this context, Veṅkaṭanātha reuses Yāmuna’s words in passages reproducing the views of an opponent (pūrvapakṣin) in SM ad PMS 1.1.4.
sarvaṃ hi sātiśayaṃ niratiṣayadaśām anubhavad dṛṣṭaṃ viyatīva parimāṇam, sātiśayaṃ ca kākolūkagṛdhrādiṣu pratyakṣam īkṣitam iti tad
api tathā bhavitum arhati. iyaṃ ca jñānasya parā kāṣṭhā yā sarvagocaratā, adhikaviṣayatayaiva hi jagati jñānāni parasparam atiśerate. […]
tan nu pratyakṣavijñānaprakarṣaḥ kalpito ’pi vaḥ | svagocaram atikramya nānyad āskandituṃ kṣamah || 6 || tathā hi – rūparūpitadekārthasamavāyiṣu cākṣuṣaḥ | prakarṣo bhavituṃ yukto dṛśyamānaprakarṣavat || (Āgamaprāmāṇya, beginning)79
79 “[Obj.:] In fact, everything liable to improvement is seen to experience a level which
has no further abode [beyond itself], like in the case of the sky the measure [of which is
bigness without anything bigger]. And sense-perception has been seen to be liable to
improvement in the case of crows, owls, vultures, etc. [each of which sees better than
the preceding one]. Therefore, also this [intellectual intuition] can be in the same way.
And this is the upmost level of knowledge: the fact of regarding everything. For, in the
world cognitions surpass each other insofar as they have a larger content. […] [R:]
Therefore indeed, the intensity in the perceptual cognitions, although it has been postulated by you | cannot go beyond its own field and invade another one || 6 || To elaborate: the intensity of the visual sense faculty can occur in regard to things in which
there is inherence of the visible content in a visible substrate, and things inherent in this
single object (visible content), just like the intensity in what is seen [which can
increase, but will not go beyond its precinct] ||”.
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kākolūkagṛdhrādiṣu ca indriyaprakarṣatāratamyaṃ dṛśyate. tāratamyavatāṃ ca kāṣṭhāprāptir upalabdhā. tataś ca prakarṣatāratamyaṃ
kvacid viśrāntaṃ tāratamyarūpatvāt parimāṇatāratamyavad ity evaṃ
pratīndriyaṃ vā pratyakṣaprakarṣatāratamyam iti sāmānyena vā prayoktavyam. evaṃ sthite tadviśramasya sarvaviṣayatām antareṇānupapatter atīndriyaṃ sarvaṃ kasyacid aindriyakatvam iti siddhyati. (SM
ad 1.1.4)80
Does Veṅkaṭanātha simply re-use, because Yāmuna’s formulation was easily
available? Does the fact that Veṅkaṭanātha does not reuse Yāmuna literally
imply that he does not need his readers to be aware of the reuse, possibly
because he does not want them to see his own thoughts as being close to
those of Yāmuna?81
80 “[Obj.:] Furthermore, one commonly experiences a gradation in the intensity of the
sense faculties, as in the case of crows, owls, vultures, etc. [each of which sees better
than the preceding one]. And one perceives that [among] those who take part in this
gradation, one reaches the [highest] level. And hence, [the inference] ‘Somewhere the
gradation in intensity comes to an end, because of its nature of gradation, like the gradation of measures’* can either be applied in this way to every sense faculty (starting
from sight, as in the example mentioned above), or it can be applied in general in the
form of ‘the gradation in intensity of direct perception.’ If this is the case (i.e., if these
two are the only alternatives), every super-sensuous [object] is established as sensory
in relation to someone [e.g., the perception of small ants is sensory for one who has
well-trained eyes], because its (of the gradation of intensity of direct perception) rest
would not be logically possible without (before) the fact that everything [has become]
its content.”* This might refer to the fact that in ancient India the belief prevailed that a
highest number exists. In the Padārthadharmasaṅgraha on VS, parimāṇas are said to
be of four types: aṇu, mahat, dīrgha and hrasva. I suppose that the gist of the argument
is that mahat (or dīrgha) should exhaust the possible magnitude (or length) of something. For a possible source of the argument, see Pātañjalayogaśāstra 1.25, where the
highest degree of knowledge of God is inferred on the basis of the fact that there must
be a limit, just as in the case of measures (parimāṇavat). I am grateful to Philipp Maas
for having pointed this passage out. Also the Pātañjalayogaśāstravivaraṇa on Pātañjalayogaśāstra 1.25 equates the peak of knowledge with omniscience (see Harimoto
2014: 10–11). See also Maas’ chapter in the present volume, section 4.2.1.
81 Interestingly, Rāmānuja also pursued a similar procedure with regard to Yāmuna, since
he reused his works more often than he acknowledged such reuses; see Mesquita 1971:
4.
Reusing, Adapting, Distorting?
319
6 Conclusions
Veṅkaṭanātha reuses Rāmānuja for two reasons:
1. because he appreciates his work and shares its main points, so that he
does not feel the need to formulate again what has already been said perfectly by Rāmānuja: this leads to unacknowledged reuses;
2. because he needs Rāmānuja’s prestige and indirect support for his innovations, i.e., for broadening the scope of the Mīmāṃsā system: this leads to
explicit quotations or acknowledged reuses.
In the case of the Vṛttikāra, it is impossible to detect whether Veṅkaṭanātha
shared his views, given the scarcity of his fragments. Instead, the prestige of
the Vṛttikāra seems to be the main reason for the forced interpretation of his
SK quote (see above, section 4.2).
Veṅkaṭanātha’s relationship to Yāmuna (and possibly other forerunners)
is different, insofar as Veṅkaṭanātha probably appreciated Yāmuna’s formulations enough to want to re-use them, but he probably did not want to be
understood as being too close to Yāmuna. Accordingly, reuses are often unacknowledged. Possible reasons for this have been suggested in section 2 and
are based on Veṅkaṭanātha’s disagreement with Yāmuna’s ultimate agenda,
especially in its anti-Pūrva Mīmāṃsā part.
The status of the SK is an interesting test for Veṅkaṭanātha’s adherence to
his own tradition. As one can see, the result is that Veṅkaṭanātha was enlarging (perhaps even pushing) Rāmānuja’s system to include elements
Rāmānuja had not explicitly meant to embrace, such as the Pāñcarātra and the
Pūrva Mīmāṃsā.
320
Elisa Freschi
References
Abbreviations
Anuv
BS
MP
NS
PMS
ŚBh
SK
SM
SpK
ŚrīBh
UMS
Anuvyākhyāna, by Madhva, in Siauve 1957
Brahmasūtra (or Uttaramīmāṃsāsūtra), by Bādarāyaṇa, in
Kato 2011 and Joshi 1981
Mīmāṃsāpādukā, by Veṅkaṭanātha, in Veṅkaṭanātha 1971
Nyāyasudhā on the Tantravārttika, by Someśvara, in
Sāstrī 1909
Pūrvamīmāṃsāsūtra, by Jaimini, in Frauwallner 1968
(PMS 1) and Subbāśāstrī 1929‒1934
Śābarabhāṣya on the PMS, by Śabara, in Frauwallner
1968 (PMS 1) and Subbāśāstrī 1929‒1934
Saṅkarṣakāṇḍa, in Śāstrī 1894, Sarma 1963, and Subrahmanya Sastri 1965
Seśvaramīmāṃsā, by Veṅkaṭanātha, in Veṅkaṭanātha 1971
Spandakārikā, by Vasugupta, in Dyczkowski 2000
Śrībhāṣya on the BS, by Rāmānuja, in Mahādeśika 1938
Uttaramīmāṃsāsūtra (or Brahmasūtra), by Bādarāyaṇa
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If You Don’t Know the Source, Call it a yāmala:
Quotations and Ghost Titles in the
Ṛgvedakalpadruma
Cezary Galewicz
The hitherto probably unpublished, if ever seen in manuscript, Rudrayāmala
– a powerful phantom of an authoritative text of amorphous body – appears
to have haunted the imagination of many an author in the past and continues
to do so in the present.1 The peculiar way in which the name Rudrayāmala
happens to surface throughout a good part of historical religious literature
classified as Tantra had been noticed in passing by scholars and earned the
Rudrayāmala the label of a ghost title. One of the notorious peculiarities of
the Rudrayāmala seems to be its ability to attract alien textual matter, or to
appear in other texts through extensive quotations from, or chunks of, its
elusive textual body, never to be seen in full. Accordingly, the concept of a
locus of ascription was introduced (Goudriaan and Gupta 1981: 24) in order
to explain the way in which the title Rudrayāmala has been used in other
texts, their authors or editors ready to ascribe to it almost any sort of authoritative formulation they needed to present their texts in robes of prestige lent
by an old textual source. Instances of either alleged quotations from or pointing to the Rudrayāmala as a remote source of a traditional formulation or a
valid definition can be seen not only in texts claiming a place within this or
that Tantric tradition. A custom of referring to or invoking the name of Rudrayāmala in circumstances in which a source for an authoritative quotation
is required and one’s memory fails to recall one quickly appears still to persist among the members of a brāhmaṇa community from the Konkan littoral.2
The concept of an absent source of scriptural authority that must have been at
work in such cases deserves closer attention. The present chapter attempts to
1
2
As far as my knowledge reaches, all printed editions as well as all manuscripts featuring the name Rudrayāmala refer to a completely different text, a work that some
sources call the Uttararudrayāmala.
Claimed to be current among the members of the community of Karhade brāhmaṇas by
a descendant of W. L. Paṇśikar, the editor of the SSRS (personal communication
2012).
328
Cezary Galewicz
map the network of intertextual relationships among a group of early modern
Sanskrit works referring to the Rudrayāmala and to each other from within
both manuscript and early print cultures. It focuses on mutual borrowings
among the little known works of the Ṛgvedakalpadruma, the Ṛgvedadaśagrantha and the Yāmalāṣṭakatantra. Moreover, the chapter attempts to articulate the concept of an absent source and to reconstruct its functional
modalities within the regional and trans-regional spaces of interaction between different ideas of Vedic scripture held by competing learned communities of brāhmaṇas in Western India at the turn of the last century.
“People are always getting credit for someone else’s words,” concludes Gary
S. Morson in the prologue to his recent work, in which he depicts a common
practice in contemporary America in which a quotation is identified by
“recalling a maxim that if you don’t know the source of a moral exhortation,
assume it comes from Shakespeare, Franklin, or the Bible ….”3 It may appear
that we are presented with a cultural parallel in the case of the Ṛgvedakalpadruma (ṚKD), whose author identifies one of the numerous sources of
his quotations as Rudrayāmala (RY).4 There would not be anything special in
that – after all, isn’t it the case that most formulations aspiring to authority in
Sanskrit religious literature tend to use some sort of back-looking quotation
or reference to corroborate their standpoints – if not for one thing: the ṚKD
quotes from the RY along with the colophons (see below, p. 339) that identify the quoted passages as belonging to an altogether different source. The
situation is also different, because the RY, unlike Shakespeare, Franklin or
the Bible, seems to represent a radically different concept of (quasi) textuality: we are not sure whether it ever existed in any form at all as a text with
established integrity. On philological grounds it may seem enough to conclude by voicing a judgment that would classify the case as “an instance of
false attribution.” But the author does not hide another attribution visible in
the colophon concluding the quoted passage.5 How should we look at the intentional logic of such an act of reference (or attribution, or ascription)? In
3
4
5
Morson 2011: 1–2.
On the identity of the Rudrayāmala, see Goudriaan and Gupta 1981, and below, p. 345.
This long quotation starts from folio 18A, line 3, and runs through folio 24B. The ṚKD
ascribes it to the Rudrayāmala without indicating any specific coordinates. However,
the quoted passage can be identified as YAT 9–15, including proper colophons after
each of the seven quoted paṭalas stating the subject matter and running number of
paṭalas within the YAT (no mention of the Rudrayāmala whatsoever). The quotation
ends with: …iti śrīmad yāmalāṣṭakatantre upaśāstrāṅgaśāstrasvarūpavarṇanaṃ nāma
pañcadaśa paṭalaḥ | iti triskandhargvedakalpadrume rudrayāmaloktargvedādisvarūpanaṃ [ṚKD, folio 24B, lines 4–5].
If You Don’t Know the Source, Call it a yāmala
329
other words: is it a yāmala, or a generic name of a class, that the author of the
ṚKD actually refers to, or one particular such text, namely the Rudrayāmala?
1 The Ṛgvedakalpadruma
The ṚKD appears to be a rather late if not recent text that survived at least in
two collections, of which only one is known to me.6 It has never been published. Preserved in its manuscript form at the Chhatrapati Shivaji University
in Kolhapur, the ṚKD has three distinct parts (skandha), each fitted with a
colophon of its own. The ṚKD represents the little-known world of pre-early
modern and early modern secondary treatises that most often appear to have
strived to summarize or attempt to look afresh at mostly technical aspects of
the use of the Vedic mantras. As Keśava Māṭe, the author of the work, himself states in the maṅgalācaraṇa, he wrote the ṚKD as a treatise (racana) on
the procedure of the study (adhyayana) of the Ṛgveda “so that the Vedic
students do not reach anything like the [state of] a barren and motionless
pillar bringing the fall into the pit of sin and death.”7 The three parts (skandha) of the work are, respectively, a general introduction (upodghāta) into
several aspects of the study of the Ṛgvedic mantras, the rules for ceremonial
reading of the Ṛgveda (pārāyaṇavidhi), and the procedures for the ritual of
reading the mantras with offerings to the fire (saṃhitāhomapaddhati).
Several times Keśava claims the novelty of his work, stating, for instance,
that what he writes is a new manual (paddhati) compiled after a thorough study (vicāra) of all pertinent authoritative texts that should be taken into consideration.8 And true to his word, the ṚKD is teeming with references and
quotations. The works and authors referred to, or quoted, include the Ṛkprātīśākhyā, the Mādhyandinaprātiśākhya, the Sarvānukramāṇikā, the Chāndogyopaniṣad, the Bṛhaddevatā, Yāska’s Nirukta, the Śāṅkhāyanasūtra, the
Ṛgvidhāna, the Mahābhāṣya, the Yājñavalkya, the Mānavadharmaśāstra, the
Smṛtisārasamuccaya, the Uvaṭabhāṣya and Sāyaṇabhāṣya, the Kūrmapurāṇa, the Nṛsiṃhapurāṇa, the Paraśurāmakalpa, Rāmavājapeyin, the Prayogaparijāta and many others. Yet the longest quotation in the ṚKD, found
6
7
8
For the other, see Aithal 1993: 191–93; cf. also Galewicz forthcoming b.
ṛgvedādhyāyanaprakāraracanāṃ kurve satatāṃ tuṣṭidāṃ vedādhyetraghamṛtyugartapatanasthān vāditān āptaye [ṚKD, folio 1, line 3]. Keśava seems to refer here to the
motif of the unstudied Veda being compared to a barren wooden post (see Sāyaṇa’s
VBhBhS, p. 44,30–35, and Yāska’s Nirukta 1. 18 on Ṛgvedasaṃhitā 10.71).
See, for instance, the colophon to Skandha 3: śāstre śākalaśākhayānigaditaṃ homam
vicāryādhunā kurve ’haṃ navapaddhatiṃ pravitatāṃ śrīkeśavākhyodvijaḥ.
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Cezary Galewicz
from folio 18A through folio 24B, comes from the source identified by
Keśava as RY. The name Rudrayāmala surfaces in the ṚKD four times,
starting already with a short citation on folio 1B.
2 The concept of the daśagrantha
It appears that the intention behind the quotation on folio 1B was to establish
the concept of the daśagrantha, the decalogy9 or the set of the so-called Ten
Books (relative to the Ṛgveda [śākala-śākhā]). These were understood as a
canonical and authoritative set of texts necessary for the true experience of
the Ṛgvedic tradition, a sort of governing framework seemingly meant to stabilize and legitimate the actual practice of traditionally studying and using the
Ṛgvdic mantras. The concept of the daśagrantha resembles a ready-made and
all-inclusive package of the source texts together with the manuals necessary
for their proper reading and decoding. From earlier occurrences of the concept of the daśagrantha, we can see that to a certain extent the idea must
have remained fluid. Thus, according to one source (Bhāratīya Saṃskṛtikośa)
the daśagrantha is said to include: 1. saṃhitā, 2. brāhmaṇa, 3. padakrama, 4.
āraṇyaka, 5. śikṣā, 6. chandas, 7. jyotiṣa, 8. nighaṇṭu, 9. nirukta and 10. aṣṭādhyāyī. The same source suggests that the daśagrantha is a concept of some
antiquity: it ascribes it to Vyāḍi, according to whom the daśagrantha should
include, however, a slightly different set: saṃhitā, brāhmaṇa, āraṇyaka, śikṣā, kalpa, aṣṭādhyāyī, nighaṇṭu, nirukta, chandas and jyotiṣa.10 Especially
noteworthy is the absence of sūtra from both lists.
The idea of the daśagrantha seems even today to retain some currency
among Maharashtra brāhmaṇas as the publication and circulation of the Ṛgvedadaśagrantha (ṚDG) suggests.11 The notion of a set of “ten books” (daśagrantha) has been recognized by the Mahārāṣṭraśabdakoś (and can also be
seen on contemporary popular websites). This source, however, does not
9 The term appears in several works taken into consideration in this essay, either in the
singular (as the compound daśagrantha) or in the plural (daśagranthāḥ).
10 Bhāratīya Saṃskṛtikośa IV, 1994:37. It is not certain, however, whether the Bhāratīya
Saṃskṛtikośa refers to Vyāḍi the grammarian, who predated Pātañjali, or to another,
much later, author of the same name, who wrote on the Ṛgvedavikṛtis as late as in the
16th century CE. For differently arranged sets of the ten books, cf. also Müller 1867, or
the contemporary website of the Hindujagruti: http://www.hindujagruti.org/hinduism/
knowledge/article/correct-way-of-chanting-vedic-mantras.html#2. See also Galewicz
forthcoming a and forthcoming b.
11 For more on the idea of the daśagrantha and on the daśagranthis, see Galewicz 2014.
If You Don’t Know the Source, Call it a yāmala
331
mention a sūtra among the ten members of the set, while the ṚDG takes sūtra
to refer to the [Āśvalāyana]gṛhyasūtra.12 The concept of the daśagrantha was
also noticed by F. Max Müller, who mentions it in his Lectures on the Origin
and History of Religions (quoting a letter from one of his informants from
Pune): “a student of a Rigveda-śakha, …. if sharp and assiduous, takes out
eight years to learn the Dasagranthas, the ten books, which consist of (1) The
Samhitā of the hymns, (2) the Brāhmaṇa, . . . (3) the Āraṇyaka, the forest
book, (4) the Grihya-sūtras, (5–10) the six Angas….”13 As is apparent, the
informant on whom Max Müller relied must have had access to a source
expressing a similar point of view as that of Vinayak H. Ghaisāsa, the editor
of the ṚDG.
Thus, regardless of the exact identity of the ten constituent members of
the canonical set of Ten Books, the concept of the daśagrantha appears to
have established itself regionally in Maharashtra as a powerful idea and a
point of reference for those seeking legitimacy for their teachings on the use
of the Ṛgveda mantras and associated religious and scholarly practices.14 One
such practice, considered important by insiders, must have been the so-called
vedapārāyaṇa, or the ceremonial reading-cum-study of the Ṛgvedasaṃhitā in
its entirety.
2.1 Keśava Māṭe’s interpretation of the daśagrantha
The concept of daśagrantha appears very important for the author of the
ṚKD, Keśava Māṭe, who takes it as the foundation upon which he constructs
his own hierarchy of priorities concerning the practice of reading and using
the Ṛgveda mantras. He points to a twofold source for the concept, indicating
that it is of considerable antiquity (having been proclaimed by the earlier
teachers – pūrvācāryair ukta) but that it can also be seen in a work of Rāmavājapeyin – apparently a more recent author. The title of that author’s work,
however, remains unspecified; the reference is given only generically as a
grantha in which the words of the earlier spiritual teachers concerning the
12 Ṛgvedadaśagrantha, folio 2A.
13 Müller 1878: 161. Cf. Galewicz forthcoming b: 27.
14 For contemporary associations of the concept with the competition for control over
Vedic education centers; see Galewicz 2014. The idea of the ten “holy” books of the
Ṛgveda appeared at times to be new; see Bhagawat 1899: 234: “The modern Brahmin
going a step further, or rather descending a step lower, holds even the Shrauta-sūtras
with the remaining five Angas … to be coeternal, calling these the Ten Books (Dasha
Granthas), and taking special care to commit them to memory (even without understanding a single syllable) …” Cf. also contemporary Maharashtra-based websites concerned with the preservation of Vedic tradition, such as: http://www.hindujagruti.
org/hinduism/knowledge/article/correct-way-of-chanting-vedic-mantras.html#2
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Cezary Galewicz
concept of the ten books were to be seen.15 Thus the claim for authority
concerning the idea of the daśagrantha is laid out by Keśava in a double
manner: referring to a historical work by Rāmavājapeyin while at the same
time reaching back for the authority of unspecified ancients (who are seen as
voicing their ideas in the book by Rāma). Containing a gloss by Keśava on
his own words in an elaborate maṅgala introduced with a homage to Cidambaraguru and Śaunaka as “truly knowing the essence of many a book”
(anekagranthārthatattvavid), the passage in question reads:
And these books had been spoken of by ancient teachers in the work
of Rāmavājapeyin [as] [the corpus of] mantras and brāhmaṇas, the
aṅgas, the ṛṣyādyanukrama and declared [there to form] the ten books
that shed light on the meaning of the Veda. (te ca granthāḥ rāmavājapeyīgranthe pūrvācāryair uktāḥ mantrabrāhmaṇam aṅgāni sūtram
ṛṣyādyanukramaḥ daśagranthā ime proktā vedārthapratibodhakā iti.
ṚKD 1, folio 1B, line 9.)
Keśava then continues with his gloss by identifying the generic terms of the
enumeration, according to which we may now reconstruct the list as containing the following set of ten “books”:16
1 saṃhitā + 1 brāhmaṇa + 6 aṅgas + 1 sūtra (= prātiśākhya) + 1
ṛṣyādyanukrama (= sarvānukramaṇikā) = 10 granthas
2.2 The sūtra within Keśava’s daśagrantha
The identifications decided upon by Keśava (represented by equation marks
in parentheses above) may not have been obvious enough at the time, since
Keśava apparently needs an authoritative corroboration for them. It is here
that one of the quotations from the RY fits in. For reasons he does not disclose at first, Keśava seems to need to establish the Ṛkprātiśākhya as one of
the “Ten Books” or the decalogy of the RV. And establish this he must, since
other sources for the concept of daśagrantha seem not to have been as will15 Perhaps Rāmavājapeyin, the author of the commentaries on the Śulbasūtras, is meant
here. I touch upon the problem of his identification in my forthcoming Galewicz forthcoming b. A hint for interpreting this reference might perhaps be drawn from the evidence of the Kavīndrācāryasūcipatram, where the manuscripts of a work called Rāmavājapeyī are listed as item No. 709 among other texts labeled as works on the knowledge of kuṇḍas, or fire-pits and rituals pertaining to them. See Kavīndrācāryasūcīpatram, p. 13.
16 asyārthaḥ mantrasaṃhitābrāhmaṇam nāma mantrādiviniyojakaṃ aṅgāni śikṣākalpo
vyākaraṇam nirūktam cchando jyotiṣam iti ṣaṭ sūtraṃ prātiśākhyam tatrāpi sūtravyavahārāt… ṛṣyādy anukramasarvānukramaṇikā [ṚKD I, folio 1B, lines 10–12].
If You Don’t Know the Source, Call it a yāmala
333
ing as he was to include the Ṛkprātiśākhya within the fold of the fixed set of
the “Ten Books.” This can be seen in the recently published Ṛgvedadaśagrantha (Pune 1986), which explicitly uses the concept for its title and
apparently acknowledges sūtra to be a member of the set of the ten granthas.
However, it takes the word sūtra to refer rather to the [Āśvalāyanīya] Gṛhyasūtra, which accordingly finds its place among the ten books actually
printed in the edition. This understanding of the sūtra-component of the daśagrantha goes back at least to the 1910 edition of a text entitled Sasvāhākaraprayoganirṇayā samantrakośā ca ṛksaṃhitā (SSRS), which was prepared
for the Nirṇaya Sāgara Press by the indefatigable Vāsudev Lakṣman Paṇśīkar.17 This compendium does not offer any indication of the source of the
idea. But it does include a reference to the ṚKD. What is more, the second
edition of the SSRS incorporates within its comprehensive body one chapter
of the Yāmalāṣṭakatantra (YAT),18 which appears to be the same work that
Keśava quoted and identified as RY. Nevertheless, the editor understands the
sūtra element of the set in a noticeably different way than Keśava. Also other
earlier evidence for such an understanding makes the choice of Keśava
somewhat unorthodox, if not revolutionary – as we have seen in section 2.1,
for instance, some sources did not feature sūtra in their lists at all.
Why did Keśava need to understand sūtra in the way he did? A clue to the
intended primacy of prātiśākhyas in general and the Ṛkprātiśākhya in particular can be seen in Keśava’s way of introducing the idea of the daśagrantha
to his readers. He does so while glossing his own words from the opening, in
17 The SSRS contains a collection of technical manuals concerning the ritualized procedures of study, preservation, re-memorization and practical use of the Ṛksaṃhitā along
with the text of the latter accompanied by selections from Sāyaṇa’s bhāṣya. The actual
number of these manuals happens to differ considerably between the two editions of
the SSRS.
18 Burnell recognized the YAT as an independent work (Burnell 1880: 205), as does the
New Catalogus Catalogorum (vol. 22, p. 37). Direct references to the YAT in Tantric
works are for the most part absent; except for the relatively recent ṚDG, which contains YAT 13, and the ṚKD incorporating YAT 9–15 (but ascribing it to RY), one reference by the NCC (Vamakeśvaratantra, Catalogue of Sanskrit MSS in the India Office, p. 883) contains the name yāmalāṣṭaka, but it clearly refers to the concept of a
group of eight yāmalas, not an independent work by that name. I was unable to locate
the other NCC reference, namely that to the Devīpurāṇa (which is a part of the Kālikāpurāṇa). However, a copy of the YAT is listed as belonging to Kavīndrācārya’s
famous collection. See Kavīndrācāryasūcīpatram (entry 1767 on the list) and Gode
1945. Indirect references or quotations from the YAT can, however, be found in Bhāskararāya’s commentary on the NSA and in the Ṛgvedakalpadruma (both texts, however, refer to the Rudrayāmala instead of YAT; see Galewicz 2011: 128). For more on
the YAT, see Galewicz 2011.
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Cezary Galewicz
which he pays homage to two specific personalities: Cidambaraguru (in
plural) and Śaunaka. As he explains to his readers, he respects the two because they are true wise men, versed in Prātiśākhya(s) and other granthas
needed for understanding the artha of the Veda: satāṃ prātiśākh[y]ādyanekagranthārthatattvavidāṃ (ṚKD I, folio 1B).19 Thus, from the very beginning, Keśava takes the concept of the daśagrantha to include a prātiśākhya
and, in what follows, with the help of internal evidence or external authority
he does everything he can to prove that the concept of the Ten Books of the
Ṛgveda [Śākalaśākhā] indeed includes the prātiśākhya. The passage he decides to use for this purpose does not specifically name any of the known
prātiśākhyas. It does, however, vaguely indicate that the tenth element is a
sūtra.
Most of the text of ṚKD I is devoted to proving that it is not only useless,
but it is even detrimental to use the Ṛgvedic mantras in an inexperienced,
unprofessional way, that is, without thorough technical knowledge. This
knowledge is preserved in technical manuals that safeguard the correct pronunciation as well as internal correspondence between the three indispensable
elements of āṛṣa, chandas and devatā. The same implies that reciting the
Ṛgvedic mantras without a thorough knowledge of their three defining elements may prove futile, if not even harmful, to their users. These three elements, the name of the inspired author (ṛṣi), the meter (chandas) and the
presiding deity (devatā), are understood as concerning each and every mantra
of the saṃhitā. Several folios of the ṚKD meticulously explain why and how
the three (and especially the first two) are indispensable for securing the
meaning-and-purpose (artha) and the efficacy of the mantra.
This whole discussion ends on folio 17A with the Ṛgvedaprātiśākhya of
Śaunaka being established as the exclusive primary source for the knowledge
of these three elements. It now becomes clear why Keśava was insistent on
the prātiśākhya being considered one of the “Ten Books” necessary to understand and use the Ṛgvedic mantras. What is more, it stands to reason that
Keśava must have thought of, or intended to, present his position and his
work, the ṚKD, as being somehow derived from the Ṛkprātiśākhya. This can
be concluded from the wording of the colophon to the first of the three books
(skandha) that comprise the ṚKD.
For fear of overextending the book, the respected Ṛgvedakalpadruma
ceases here, produced as it is at Keśava’s tree watering pool with three
19 kiṃ kṛtvā vedagaṇaṃ vedasamūhaṃ cidambarākhyagurūn śrīśaunakaṃ ca natvā kīdṛśīm ityākāṅkṣāyām āha satāṃ prātiśākhyādyanekagranthārthatattvavidāṃ (RKD I, folio 1B, lines 8–9).
If You Don’t Know the Source, Call it a yāmala
335
trunks containing the introduction, [the method of] invocation, and the
knowledge of reciting [the Ṛgvedic mantras]. … Oh Gods on Earth (=
brāhmaṇas?), you should resort to this (tree = ṚKD), which is easily
accessible, for the sake of obtaining the fruit born from pronouncing
the [correct] svaras. It has leaves consisting in its own wise formulations and roots watered by the streams of sayings of the sages included
in the Prātiśākhya and its like.20 (ṚKD I, folio 40A, lines 3–5:
granthavistṛtibhayād uparamyate śrimān ṛgvedakalpadruma iha, janitaḥ keśavasyālavāle triskandhaiḥ tair upodghātahavanapaṭhanajñānagarbhair upetaḥ. … bhūdevāḥ prātiśākhyādyṛṣivacanajalaiḥ siktamūlasvakḷptayuktinyāyachadas taṃ svarajananaphalāptyai sulābhaṃ
śrayadhvam).[21]
What then, we may ask, makes Keśava refer so frequently to the elusive RY?
Why does he quote from this particular source so extensively? He quotes it
first in connection with the very concept of the daśagrantha. Does the RY
indeed corroborate such an understanding? If so, does this mean that the RY
or the passage quoted as allegedly stemming from it could be seen as
somehow connected with the idea of the Ten Books, the decalogy of the
Ṛgveda? On closer look, just a few lines earlier in the same passage, which
can be identified as Paṭala 10 of the YAT (here attributed by Keśava to RY
Paṭala 10), it reads:
In this regard, it is said that there are ten divisions (bheda) in the Ṛgveda, and the number of ṛk-stanzas [to be recited] is proclaimed as
amounting to ten thousand and to ten hundred and to eighty and to a
20 I thank Philipp Maas for suggestions concerning the understanding of this passage.
21 [A note by the editors: The editors suggested in an email to the author (September
2015) to emend the text -jalaiḥ siktamūlasvakḷptayuktinyāyachadas taṃ to -jalaiḥ siktamūlaṃ svakḷptayuktinyāyachadanaṃ. These emendations solve the following two
syntactical problems that make the text as it is edited now ungrammatical: (1.) In the
emended text, the word -jalaiḥ is the agent of the adjective sikta- in the bahuvṛīhicompound siktamūlaṃ “having roots.” In this way, the syntactical rule that “any word
standing outside a compound may form a grammatical relationship only with a compound as a whole” (Coulson 1976: 91) is not violated. (2.) -chadanaṃ, as the final part
of a further bahuvṛīhi, is the object of the imperative pl. śrayadhvam, of which the
vocative bhūdevāḥ is the grammatical subject. The grammatically correctly emended
text translates as “Oh Gods on Earth, you should resort to the Wish-Fulfilling-Tree-ofthe-Ṛgveda (i.e., the ṚKD), the roots of which are watered by the streams of sayings of
the sages included in the Prātiśākhya and so on, the leaves of which consist of the wise
formulations that I conceived myself, and which is easily accessible for the sake of obtaining the fruit resulting from pronouncing svaras (correctly).”]
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quarter. (tatra bhedās tu ṛgvede daśa caiva prakīrtitāḥ | ṛcāṃ daśasahasrāṇi ṛcāṃ daśaśatāni ca | ṛcām aśītiḥ pādaś ca ṛksaṃkhyā parikīrtitā |)
Thus, it stands to reason that even if the ten bhedas of RY 10 (=YAT 10)
refer to the same idea as the ten granthas do, the actual components of the set
differ from one source to the other. What is more, the extant YAT (with its
many corrupted fragments in the available transcripts) gives a rather vague, if
at all recognizable, idea of the ten elements:22
the ṛgveda (sapramāṇa)23 + āraṇ[y]as + ṛgvedabrāhmaṇa + 6 aṅgas +
6 upāṅgas + prātiśākhya + saṃhitāsūtra.
We can see, however, that the elusive RY, exactly as Keśava wants it to be
seen or glimpsed through his own text, does recognize the prātiśākhya, too,
as somehow belonging to the concept of the tenfold Ṛgveda.
3 The Rudrayāmala as quoted in the Ṛgvedakalpadruma
The ṚKD is replete with quotations and references. While the Ṛkprātiśākhya
remains by far the source most often resorted to, the longest single quotation
offered by Keśava is one ascribed to the RY. It follows an exposition on the
details and reasons for the divisions into the branches, or vedaśākhās, in
general and the śākhās of the RS in particular (iti ṛgvedaśākhābhedāḥ). The
passage happens to be directly introduced with a formulation containing the
22 YAT 10, 42–43 reads: tatra bhedās tu ṛgvede daśa caiva prakīrtitāḥ | ṛcāṃ daśasahasrāṇi ṛcāṃ daśaśatāni ca | ṛcām aśītir vā daśa ca ṛksaṃkhyā parikīrtitā | ṛgvedaḥ sapramāṇo ’yaṃ sahasrāṇi caturdaśa || āraṇāni dvisāhasragranthamānāni pārvati | catuḥsahasrasaṃkhyānaṃ ṛgbrahmāṇam udāhṛtam | śīkṣā kalpovyākaraṇaṃ niruktaṃ
jyotiṣaṃ tathā || chandaś ceti ṣaḍaṅgāni trisahasrāṇi kṛtsnaśaḥ | padaṃ pratipadaṃ
chandaḥ jñānaṃ svarasamudbhavaḥ || nyāyatarkas tu mīmāṃsety upāṃgāny uditāni
ṣaṭ | eṣāṃ sārdhaikasāhasraṃ granthamānaṃ pracakṣate || tasyaivaprātiśākhyam* ca
saṃhitāsūtram eva ca | ubhayor ardhasāhasraṃ granthamānaṃ prakīrtitam || evaṃ
vyāsena ṛgvedaḥ saṃvibhakto mahātmanā |
23 The Ṛgveda, qualified here with the adjective sapramāṇa, is said to count as many as
fourteen thousand granthas. If the word grantha stands for a cluster of thirty-two
akṣaras, then here the total number of akṣaras would amount to 448,000. This being a
number considerably larger than the number commonly given, perhaps it refers to a
collective body of texts, including the saṃhitā. And perhaps other elements in this
body of texts make up for the missing three elements of the daśagrantha in this enumeration.
If You Don’t Know the Source, Call it a yāmala
337
suggestion that the citation to follow is an abridgment (saṃgṛhyate) of the
original wording of the RY:
And this is incidentally how the essence of the Ṛgveda and other Vedas proclaimed in extenso in the RY is now hereby abridged. (atraiva
prasaṅgād ṛgvedādinām svarūpaṃ vistareṇa rudrayāmaloktaṃ saṃgṛhyate |)24
Is Keśava here again deploying a strategy for a double authority? We have
already seen this when he embedded the sayings of the ancient teachers
within the historical work by Rāmavājapeyin. Does Keśava wish to imply
that a recent work summarizes the ancient knowledge of the ghostly RY?25
This time Keśava does not expressly bring the title of YAT to the mind of his
readers. Nonetheless, rather surprisingly in these circumstances, the cited text
proves to incorporate its own [original?] coordinates in the form of colophons
after the succeeding chapters (paṭalas), with the last one reading:
Thus ends the fifteenth chapter in the honorable Yāmalāṣṭakatantra
entitled “A Description of the Nature of Minor and Additional
Śāstras.” Thus ends [the chapter devoted to] the Description of the
Nature of the Ṛgveda and the like voiced by the Rudrayāmala in the
Wondrous Tree of the Ṛgveda (ṚKD) consisting of three chapters (iti
śrimadyāmalāṣṭakatantre upaśāstrāṅgaśāstrasvarūpavarṇanaṃ nāma
pañcadaśaḥ paṭalaḥ | iti triskandhaṛgvedakalpadrume rudrayāmaloktaṛgvedādisvarūpaṃ |).26
Thus, what we get in final analysis here amounts almost to a formula of triple
framing: the frame of the YAT is enclosed within that of the RY and the RY,
within that of the ṚKD. But Keśava does not tell his readers whether he
considers the YAT part of the RY. This relatively innocent “proclamation of
incorporation” is followed by a passage devoted to the khilas, praiṣas and
nivid formulas, with reference to the discussion on the division of Vedic
“schools” (śākhābheda). With this, the establishment of the Ṛkprātiśākhya as
24 ṚKD I, folio 18A, line 3.
25 We cannot but continue to ask questions here: Was Keśava actually familiar with the
world of later Tantra literature with its specific concepts of textuality and titles indicating the ingestion of works within earlier works in a succession leading to a distant
source of unquestioned authority? If he knew the YAT, as he must have because he
quoted from it, how did he conceive of its textual status? Did he actually take it to be
an abridgment of the distant RY? I leave these questions open due to current lack of
sufficient evidence.
26 ṚKD I, folio 24B.
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Cezary Galewicz
one of the Ten Books necessary for the true and comprehensive experience of
the Ṛgveda seem to have been secured and Keśava goes on to indulge in
technical pyrotechnics: he analyzes a great number of doubtful readings and
resolves intricacies of mantra identification after vague hints that this needs
the very Ṛkprātiśākhya to be authoritatively decided. His expertise, no doubt
genuine, is apparently recognized in later works, as for example the already
mentioned ṚDG, which quotes several times from Keśava’s ṚKD. In his
dexterous use and handling of arguments and counterarguments, quotations
from and references to the RY seem to play an important, if not the key role
as prestigious sources for his own claims to authoritative judgments. And
these sources focus on the tradition running from the early Vedic exegetical
works like the Bṛhaddevatā and the Nirukta and the linguistic analysis of the
prātiśākhya type. It might seem superfluous to reach for the authority of the
enigmatic RY since those of the prātiśākhya were clearly at hand for Keśava.
Yet perhaps the idea of the daśagrantha must have been so influential that he
felt it necessary to establish the Ṛkprātiśākhya as one of the Ten Books recognized as being part of the true tradition of Ṛgvedic study. The RY seems to
have provided an authority to ground the inclusion of the Ṛkprātiśākhya in
the daśagrantha. How can we understand the logic of such a strategy? What
made the idea of the RY as a remote source of authority so appealing?
4 The Rudrayāmala and the yāmalas
The vast religious literature of India generally referred to as Tantra features a
number of interesting concepts of textuality and ideas of textual integrity that
should perhaps be given greater attention on theoretical grounds. A good
number of works included within the broad category of Tantra tend to display
in their titles a generic name indicating an affiliation with one or the other
particular religious tradition. Thus, contemporary scholarship often takes it
for granted that titles featuring the name saṃhitā should be considered as
belonging to Vaiṣṇava (Pañcārātra) Tantra, while those exhibiting the names
āgama or tantra should be taken as part of the Śaiva or Śākta divisions, respectively. While it is rather difficult, if not impossible, to categorically delineate any sort of objectivity, the classification itself as well as the suggested
implications in choosing to use one of the three was certainly not without
purpose. And the appearance of detailed and conceptually complex classifications of scripturally acknowledged texts in relatively early works of these
religious traditions must have been recognized as points of reference for later
works to come. There must have been indigenous ideas of textual division
If You Don’t Know the Source, Call it a yāmala
339
behind such classifications; these ideas escape us today, as do the concepts of
textual boundaries that made these ideas possible. But these concepts must
have played an important role in how religious traditions built their identities.
If we reverse the perspective and take these categories not as ready-made and
unproblematic building blocks, but rather as the result of choices made by the
users of these texts, then a theoretically interesting point of departure
emerges. By using a particular generic name, and thus alluding to the convention it presupposes, a title may be taken as a claim to rightfully deserving
such a name or as an act of aspiration on the part of authors or users of particular texts. Taking inspiration from the theoretical propositions of Gerard
Genette (Genette 1987), we might say that titles as well as opening and closing formulas may be taken as important forms of mediation between authors
or editors (in our case: copyists and redactors) and text users, in the way that
gates, porticos and thresholds have long been understood in architectural
forms.
From this point of view, a title containing the word saṃhitā, āgama or
tantra makes from the very beginning a certain claim on how the text it is
introducing is presented to its readers or users. This must perhaps be presupposed also with regard to other generic names within the three broad currents
constituting the starting point of these classifications. Of direct interest for
me here is the generic name yāmala, and that of the Rudrayāmala in particular. Simplifying an otherwise complex matter, we might say that yāmalas, in
the plural, appear in relatively early classifications as a group of scriptural
texts holding a place within the bigger agglomeration of the so-called Bhairavas, which are usually held to be sixty-four in number.27 The classifications
that can be traced within the historic Śaiva literature acknowledge an important place for this group of works and suggest that they be taken as texts of
prestige. They are understood there as a set of texts usually numbering eight
and forming together one of the eight sub-groups of the superstructure of
sixty-four Bhairavas.28 Though the actual names on the list differ to some
extent from one source to another, the name Rudrayāmala usually appears.
This suggests the existence of a stable tradition of acknowledging the importance of this particular yāmala.
27 See, among others, Bhattacharya 1982, and Goudriaan and Gupta 1981.
28 Some of the sources, however, hold yāmalas to be six in number. See, for instance, the
opinion ascribed to Hemacandra in the Ṡabdakalpadruma Vol. IV, p. 41. An additional
clue regarding the identity of the RY may perhaps be the Kavīndrācāryasūcīpatram (p.
20), which features a manuscript titled Rudrayāmalatantram listed together with four
other manuscripts containing the name yāmala in their titles (Viṣṇuyāmalatantra,
Brahmayāmalatantra, Śivayāmala and Devīyāmala).
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Cezary Galewicz
For this short chapter, however, the actual classification is not of primary
interest, but rather the fact that the prestigious title Rudrayāmala seems to
have spilled over the limits of Tantra into other domains of traditional knowledge. It can be found among the late early-modern works of a regional variety of the Maharashtra Brāhmanic tradition. A possible reason could be that
a particular person or community may have engaged in both Vaidika (by
birth) and Tāntrika (by choice) traditions of this or that form, thereby hybridizing the two traditions.
5 Textual identity reconsidered
In premodern India, with its changing and hybrid socio-political and religious
order, hybridization not only tolerated but also inspired new forms of knowledge production, knowledge that favored mixed realms of authority and
developed new hierarchies and classifications. The entities suggested by the
classification schemes like that of the Vaidika Tantras feature not only in the
extant manuscripts of the YAT, where they might be suspected of being more
a theoretical concept than reality. But they are also confirmed by evidence
such as a list of the actual manuscripts in the collection of the 17th-century
polymath Kavīndrācārya Sarasvatī.29 This introduces new aspects of intertextuality, with sometimes blurred or undecided boundaries and various types of
ingestion, incorporation and inclusion. Here, claims for textual authority find
new forms and logic that move beyond the simple categories of originality,
plagiarism, borrowing or interpolation.
Help in understanding this complexity might be found in studies concerned with similar historical moments in other geographical and cultural
milieus, such as the otherwise controversial hypothesis of A. Johns (Johns
1998), according to which “neither the fixity, nor originality nor piracy could
be taken as intrinsic to the body of a text but rather as attributed qualities attached to texts by their users.” Comparable to this might be the colophons in
the case of the ṚKD and its quotations, which may be taken not so much as
factographic statements but rather as acts of aspiration or claims. This phenomenon happens to have been given a most interesting, though short, treatment in Goudriaan and Gupta 1981. In discussing colophons, these authors
speak of three types of loci of ascription, namely the famous old tantras, le-
29 See Kavīndrācāryasūcīpatram, pp. 25–26. For an attempt to understand the rationale
behind this list, see Galewicz 2011: 125–27.
If You Don’t Know the Source, Call it a yāmala
341
gendary texts, and cover titles of texts or traditions that may have once existed but have now disappeared.30
The case of the ṚKD and its intertextual links to the RY and the YAT
seems, however, to be different from the case mentioned above (also discussed in Goudriaan and Gupta 1981) and involving various loci of ascription, although it is not without a parallel: it would be difficult to imagine that
it was intended to inscribe the ṚKD, a rather recent work, within a particular
current of Tantric traditions. At least the ṚKD does not make any statement
of that kind in its colophons. Its title deserves attention, no doubt, but in a
different way than those of earlier religious works claiming a place under the
umbrella of a prestigious text of the past. Nonetheless, here is probably
something similar at work: making use of the associations expected to be
raised by the very sound of the name Rudrayāmala. What kind of associations could these be? The type of textuality represented by the RY does not
seem to have received enough theoretical analysis. First of all, within the
culturally determined framework of an altogether different concept of textual
identity, integrity and authorship, we have no choice but to accept that texts
act by themselves, just as living beings do.31
6 What does the name Rudrayāmala stand for?
In their History of Tantric Literature, Goudriaan and Gupta try to articulate
the specific ontological status of a text suggested by the name Rudrayāmala:
The Rudrayāmala is perhaps the most mysterious of all Yāmalas. It is
encountered everywhere, yet always vanishes after closer inspection.
It is even uncertain if an original Rudrayāmala ever existed, despite
the fact that the title figures in all old lists of Yāmalas.32
The name Rudrayāmala appears to have haunted texts, books and imaginations for several centuries now (those of modern scholars included), and it
is perhaps one of the best examples of a class qualified by the above-mentioned authors as “ghost titles.” This formulation, otherwise very apt and
well-chosen in my opinion, suggests however that ghost titles remained
empty forms, shallow containers ready to accept anything that was poured in.
30 See Goudriaan and Gupta 1981: 24.
31 This presupposition, problematic as it is, is applicable for series of works for which
almost no author is named, as is the case for Tantra in the premodern era.
32 Goudriaan and Gupta 1981: 47.
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Cezary Galewicz
But can only this be said about them? Do their titles or appellations remain
empty labels? Or are we rather dealing here with the idea of an amorphous
entity that claims to represent a textual tradition whose boundaries, but also
form and content, remain fluid? Fluid to the extent that we can understand
them as representing a concept quite different from that of a definite text or
book? Whether this concept resembles that of a receptacle ready to contain
any and all contents is uncertain. As already mentioned above, Goudriaan and
Gupta consider titles like Rudrayāmala to have functioned as what they call
loci of ascription, used by later or minor textual traditions seeking their place
among the acknowledged families of Tantric texts with more stabilized pedigrees. This seems a convincing proposal for conceptualizing a genre of
“ghost titles” within the broad context of Tantric literature. But it appears that
the strategy of using such name titles, as well as the concept thereof, transcends the boundaries of the textual traditions that can be qualified as Tantra.
As the evidence of the ṚKD, ṚDG and related texts shows, we find the title
Rudrayāmala also in late commentarial and technical texts composed at the
onset of the modern era, that is, in works linked to the regionally understood
tradition of the Veda and its practical use.
7 Tantricized Veda or Vedicized Tantra?
The fact that the ṚKD – a work from the modern and quite localized Vedic
tradition of Maharashtra – uses a vehicle like that of the RY to authoritatively
support certain ideas it fails to support through clearly Vedic sources points
not only to how brahmanized a local Tantra tradition could be or how tantricized the local Vedic tradition appears. It also shows how profoundly and
mutually dependent textual imagination, derived both from the Veda and the
Tantra, became in the premodern era, especially in the hands of those who
disclosed or claimed affiliation to both. For a contemporary reader this means
that the two streams usually thought of as being separate can be seen as mutually accentuating or complementing each other. Focusing on textuality is
perhaps not enough to describe such cases. Probably a community of users, a
textual community, should be taken as a point of reference when investigating the mutual relations between the two allegedly separate traditions. Thus,
one might reconstruct a Vedic‒Tantric continuum of practice and belief to
supply a background against which puzzling phenomena belonging to one or
the other stream or situated at the crossroads of the two might be judged.
The custom of citing the name Rudrayāmala in circumstances when one’s
memory fails to recall the source of an authoritative statement has continued
If You Don’t Know the Source, Call it a yāmala
343
to persist among members of a brāhmaṇa community in the Konkan area. The
concept of an absent source of scriptural authority that must be at work in
such cases needs further clarification. As a humble contribution to this
project, I avail myself of this opportunity to indicate a few sources that are
apparently connected to a localized Maharashtra Ṛgvedic tradition, especially
those for which the concept of the daśagrantha remains a basis. This concept
finds its material reference in the ṚKD, whose author seeks its origins in the
work (grantha) of Rāmavājapeyin. What is more important for this study,
however, is the logic behind the practice of not only referring to the
Rudrayāmala, but quoting it. While there is practically no way to prove that
the passages quoted in the ṚKD do not come from a manuscript bearing the
name RY, they can actually be traced to another ghost-like title, namely that
of the YAT, which though absent from early traditional classifications does
survive in several manuscripts and transcripts, attested at least from the time
of the library of Kavīndrācārya (late 17th century) as having existed in a more
or less fixed form.
8 Quotations and loci of ascription
If we inquire into the conceptualization of the re-use of texts and ideas in the
context of the ṚKD and related texts, perhaps the term “recycling” will help
clarify the actual practice reflected here. The recycled textual matter attributed by the ṚKD to the elusive RY and actually to be found in the YAT
proves to represent a remote and external view of the entire development of
traditionally recognized knowledge systems. These had been envisioned in a
neatly organized architectural pattern with an internal hierarchy that reflected.
In our case, the organizing pattern that can be seen is the purāṇic model of
emanation from a primeval being to the specific knowledge systems of avaidika and vaidika tantras, among which the YAT also locates itself. As a wellstructured network of relations, this model must have offered a convincing
point of reference for orienting oneself at the time of the ṚKD’s composition.
The purāṇic model of emanation was indeed one of the many sources either
directly quoted or referred to by the ṚKD with the purpose of supporting its
own authority on matters regarding the ritual performance of the Ṛgvedic
mantras. As such, the ṚKD proved successful in establishing itself as an
authoritative text in the field. Among later works, for example, the ṚDG
recognizes the ṚKD as one of its authoritative sources.
Is it at all possible to conceptualize this practice of relegating or re-labeling a recycled portion of a text to a particular locus of ascription? What func-
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tions could such a practice fulfill? Perhaps what we have here is just another
manifestation of the old practice of looking for the lost meaning of the Veda,
the vedārtha, once the object of heated argument between commentators,
from the predecessors of Yāska and evidenced in Yāska’s Nirukta and continuing at least to the times of Sāyaṇa in 14th-century Vijayanagara. The new
manifestation was perhaps influenced by the tradition of including Ṛgvedic
mantras in newly contextualized magical practices, as exemplified here by
the Ṛgvidhāna (a source strongly present and much quoted in the ṚKD) on
one hand, and the Tantra on the other. It fed on the presupposition that mantras must yield their supposed powers if properly handled. It involves a quest
for the key to tapping the inner efficacy of a foundational text considered to
be powerful beyond doubt if only we have access to it, if only we know how
to open its gates so that it yields the precious insights it hides. An important
indication in support of such an understanding is the traditional practice of
constructing “know-how” secondary texts, to which the ṚKD itself belongs.
This type of practical manuals sought authority by quoting either well-known
or mysterious reference sources or loci of ascription. Ghost titles seem to
represent, so to speak, a reversed order of textuality: they are not a label put
on a mass of words, but a ready-made receptacle of predefined authority
awaiting texts that seek its authority to pour into.33
The old problem of where, how and through whom to find the meaning of
the Veda gave rise historically to several concepts of how to rescue its supposedly lost meaning and aim. The idea of a complete and closed set of authoritative texts sufficient for thoroughly studying and understanding the Veda
can be traced back at least to Patañjali’s Mahābhāṣya: “A Brahmin should
learn and understand the Veda with its six limbs as his disinterested duty”
(brāhmaṇena niṣkāraṇo dharmaḥ ṣaḍaṅgo vedo ’dhyeyo jñeyaḥ iti MBh
I.1.18 f. [in Kielhorn 1962]). The notion of a set of knowledge disciplines
needed for the thorough comprehension of the Veda appears to culminate in
the idea of the so-called fourteen “fortresses of knowledge” (vidyāsthānas),
expanded later to eighteen elements. Its formulation can be seen in Yājñ.
Smṛti I.3, Viṣṇupurāṇa III.6.27 and a number of other later works, including
Sāyaṇa’s introduction to his commentary on the Ṛgvedasaṃhitā (VBhBhS, p.
44,15–17). While the point of reference for the last mentioned work remains
the Mīmāṃsā concern with locating the meaning of a real or hypothetical
śrauta-ritual, that of the ṚDG appears to be informed rather by the technicalities of domestic ritual applications in which knowledge of the Veda
33 The concept of location in electronic readers as opposed to fixed page numbers and
contents of a codex may perhaps serve as a parallel.
If You Don’t Know the Source, Call it a yāmala
345
serves as practical know-how for skillful individual ritualists within the
domestic or temple environment.34
When trying to account for the logic behind using ghost titles like Rudrayāmala, we must perhaps assume that this name rang overtones of considerable prestige in the imaginations of those who came into contact with the
ṚKD. Otherwise the link would not have worked at all and the strategy
would have been futile. What sort of overtones might these have been? Could
it be that the very sound of the name of the RY was believed to stimulate associations with a comprehensive knowledge system represented by the concept of the complete set of eight yāmalas? Neither the ṚKD nor the ṚDG
confirm this directly. The outsourcing of authority and prestige might be used
as a working concept to describe the practice of quoting ghost works. In this
context it is perhaps of interest to look inside the YAT for its own understanding of its links to the RY. A connection is indeed vaguely suggested in
YAT 22, which places itself within the group of yāmalas by insinuating that
it has the status of an essence-bringing restatement or an essential abridgement.
9 Spatial topography of ideas
The many questions arising from reading the ṚKD must await their answers
for a time when we know more about the topographic distribution, location
and trajectories of intellectual elites, ideas and texts in the premodern space
represented by the ecumene of the Maratha confederacy. It no doubt constitutes a meaningful historical background for reconstructing the meaning of
works such as the ṚKD. A methodological examination of the spatial definitions and geographies of the ṚKD would allow at least some of the names
appearing in its colophons (Śāhunṛpa, Cidambaraguru, Saptarṣidurga) to be
traced through the spatial topography of places included in the body of its
text: these would include places known today as Satara, Ghulhasur, Sawanur
and, broadly, Maharashtra, northwest Karnataka and Deccan. Also the space
formed by the symbolic social transactions in the unique pre-colonial Maratha world is still to be studied. The pre-modern and early modern scholarly
communities stemming from several distinct groups of Maharashtra brāhmaṇas deserve more attention regarding their specific local, regional and transregional activities. In these competing learned communities, the concept of
the daśagrantha and the RY seem to have been used as elements in their
34 I focus more on these developments in Galewicz 2014.
346
Cezary Galewicz
strategies to successfully lay claim to the authoritative use of the Ṛgvedic
mantras in the changing and modernizing social configurations of Maharashtra and India.35
Instead of presenting a conclusion to this chapter, let me offer one more
humble thought concerning a general problem of reading early modern works
like Keśava’s Ṛgvedakaladruma. What I aimed at in this short essay was by
no means a psychology of reuse. Nor was it a reconstruction of any sort of
personal logic of a particular author’s choices or decisions. My aim was
rather an archeological exploration of work conventions and an investigation
of how authors played with these conventions. Uncovering such conventions
might help to read and make sense of the historical dimension of texts from
particular periods or schools of thought. These conventions and textual strategies were either taken for granted by authors and their readers, or they were
deployed by the former to communicate something to the latter. Without the
tools for decoding these conventions, any attempt to make sense of these
texts will remain a misplaced endeavor.
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Abbreviations
BhSK
MBh
NCC
NSA
ṚDG
ṚKD
RY
SSRS
VBhBhS
YAT
Bhāratīya Saṃskṛtikośa see Jośi 1994
Mahābhāṣya see Kielhorn 1962
New Catalogus Catalogorum
Nityaṣoḍaśikārṇava
Ṛgvedadaśagrantha
Ṛgvedakalpadruma
Rudrayāmala
Sasvāhākaraprayoganirṇayā samantrakośā ca ṛksaṃhitā
Vedabhāṣyabhūmikāsaṃgraha
Yāmalāṣṭakatantra
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If You Don’t Know the Source, Call it a yāmala
Jośi 1994
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— “All the Books You Need to Understand the World
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— “A Socio-textual Ecology of the Ṛgvedadaśagrantha.”
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Gode 1945
Gode, Parshuram Krishna. “Some Evidence about the Location of the Manuscript Library of Kavīndrācārya Sarasvatī at Benares in A.D. 1665.” Jagadvijayachandas of
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Section 4:
Reuse from the Perspective
of the Digital Humanities
Methodological and Practical Remarks on the
Question of Reuse in Epic Texts*
Sven Sellmer
Introduction
Looking at the Sanskrit epics1 from the angle of “reuse,” the following chapter has three aims. Because reuse is quite a novel conception, its application
in the context of epic studies will first be discussed on a general, methodological level. Next, some examples of different types of reuse will be presented and briefly discussed. Finally, the practical question will be raised of
how to find possibly reused passages in the first place, given the vast amount
of text that constitutes the two great epics. As to the type of reuse being
investigated, I will look at the phenomenon in a traditional philological way;
I will not be talking about the reuse of ideas or other abstract entities, but
about concrete textual material (from single lines to dozens of stanzas).
Before the question of reuse can be addressed, it is necessary to say some
words about the history of the epic tradition. I am well aware of the fact that
the historical development of the Sanskrit epics is in many details a hotly
debated topic, but it is hoped that the general outlines I am going to sketch
will be acceptable to most scholars.2 The earliest texts in the lines of tradition
that have led to the large epics we have today are probably the result of oral
poetry, comparable to other ancient and contemporary oral traditions that
scholars have found in many regions and languages. At this point it is impor∗
1
2
My sincere thanks go to both editors for their many valuable questions, remarks and
corrections.
Specifically, this chapter deals with the Mahābhārata (henceforth Mbh). Its title is
nevertheless justified, because the methodological assumptions and analytic methods
presented here can be applied to both epics.
Generally, I accept the picture depicted by John Brockington (1998, pp. 18–28). It
should be added that there are also scholars, most notably Alf Hiltebeitel, who claim
that the Mbh originated as a written work and, accordingly, downplay the importance
of its oral background. Nevertheless, as explained in n. 14 below, the approach to reuse
taken in this chapter also makes sense in the framework of this hypothesis.
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tant to note that “oral poetry” in the technical sense is more than just nonwritten poetry – rather, its main characteristic is the fact that it is created (not
recited!) during a live performance. This way of presentation is only possible
if the poets (or bards, as they are often called) are in command of a traditional
poetic language that provides a large repertoire of patterns (to use a very
general term) fitted to the metrical and other exigencies of the poetic form in
use. Many stylistic characteristics of oral poetry can be directly linked to this
special production process, most obviously the abundance of formulaic
expressions and the frequent use of “fillers.” But the epic tradition probably
ceased to be pure oral poetry in this sense at a rather early stage, and there
was a gradual shift from improvised oral composition to other forms that
involved writing. Many things will certainly remain unclear about this
process,3 but in any case we have some of the final products: the different
versions and subversions of the great epics that have been copied and handed
down as manuscripts for many centuries after becoming fixed.4
For my present purpose it is crucial that from a structural point of view
the difference between the output of purely oral and post-oral poetry is not
particularly big, due to the fact that the authors of the later genre continued to
use the traditional style more or less faithfully. Therefore, it is perhaps appropriate to dub their method of composition “oral style poetry.” As a matter
of fact, we cannot be sure that any part of the epic texts we have today is a
written version of a real oral performance, or even comes close to one – perhaps the epics consist entirely of oral style poetry.
For the time being, I propose to conceive the historical developments
leading to the composition of the epics tentatively in the following simplified
way: During the oral phase (i.e., at least for several generations) a means of
poetic expression was formed on the basis of Sanskrit that should be regarded
as a distinct sub-variety: epic Sanskrit.5 Linguistically, epic Sanskrit differs
from standard Sanskrit, not only by containing certain non-Pāṇinian verb
forms, sandhis, etc.,6 but most importantly by the existence of a large number
3
4
5
6
An outline of this development is proposed in Brockington 2000. As to Hiltebeitel’s
different theory, see n. 14.
As a result of a purely technically motivated decision, the text used for the analyses
presented here is the electronic text of the critical edition. It would have been best to
use as many different versions of the Mbh as possible, if more texts had been available
in digital form.
This way of looking at the status of the language used in the epics is epitomized in
Oberlies’ Grammar of Epic Sanskrit (2003).
These features are comprehensively recorded in Oberlies 2003. Unfortunately, the
metrical structure of epic Sanskrit and its importance for grammatical questions has, in
my estimation, received too little attention in this otherwise admirably complete work
Methodological and Practical Remarks on the Question of Reuse
357
of metrically prompted quasi-syntactic patterns.7 This sub-variety of Sanskrit
continued to be used for centuries for creating texts in the epic tradition, even
at a time when the original oral tradition had long died out. In a non-oral
environment, epic Sanskrit certainly underwent some changes, e.g., many of
the patterns that once were essential for oral composition but had acquired
the role of mere conventions for the post-oral poets faded away; nevertheless,
many other patterns survived and can be put to use for the question of reuse,
as I shall show below. As these oral features play a greater role in the narrative than in the so-called didactic passages of the Mbh, I will focus on nondidactic parts of the text.
1 Epic reuse
The question of reuse takes on different forms in different contexts; therefore
it seems appropriate to start with some reflections on its epic incarnation.
Generally, one might perhaps say that “reuse” is a post-postmodern concept,8
in the sense that for its sake, the author – after having been buried by Roland
Barthes (1967) and considered dead by this thinker’s postmodern followers
for a long time – must be resurrected, because there simply is no reuse without a reuser. This move has especially important consequences for literary
works like the epics, as opposed to, say, philosophical treatises. When interpreting a work of literature where a character cites another text, we normally
try to understand this reference against the backdrop of our understanding of
this literary personage. In a way, one could say that the character in question
does indeed reuse the quoted text;9 but this is not the kind of reuse at stake
now. Rather, in order to apply the reuse paradigm to epic texts, a historical
and, from the point of view of literary theory, somewhat naïve approach must
be undertaken, one that focusses on the authors or redactors of single passages to understand their methods or motives.10 This is a difficult task, be(cf. ibid., pp. XXX‒XLI).
7 Compared with the situation in Homeric studies, not much work has been done on the
formulaic language in the Sanskrit epics, though there do exist several very valuable
studies; for example those by Brockington, Vasil’kov, Grincer, von Simson and Smith,
to name just the most important scholars. (For detailed references, see the bibliographies of Brockington 1998 and Brockington 2000 as well as my recent study Sellmer
2015).
8 See also the remarks in the introduction to this volume (pp. 11–13).
9 Cf. Hiltebeitel’s remarks about “Bhīṣma’s citation apparatus” (2011, p. 23).
10 Such an approach has a certain pedigree in epic studies, as the following remarks by
Brockington on the distribution of Vedic material in the Mbh show: “The extent to
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cause, as a rule, we know very little about the authors, or even if we are talking about one person or a group, etc. It is therefore methodologically advisable to avoid speculations about authorship and to stay at a general level where
it is safe to say that the epic poets practiced the reuse of at least two types of
textual elements: formulaic patterns of the epic language and passages of
texts belonging to non-epic traditions. The first type that uses material from
inside the epic tradition I will call “internal reuse” to distinguish it from the
second, “external” type.
1.1 Internal reuse
What in terms of the reuse paradigm can be dubbed internal adaptive reuse is
more frequently called “creative use” of linguistic material. In this sense, it is
a borderline case of reuse. Therefore I will confine myself to giving a few
examples. First we have to identify the pattern being reused. For the present
purpose it is best to leave aside finer distinctions and to work with the following rough categories:11
1) Repetitions: identical or nearly identical passages (often one śloka or
more) that are used twice or a few times.
2) Fixed formulas: stereotyped phrases (typically of a length between one
and four pādas) that regularly appear with only minimal variation in cognate contexts.
3) Formulaic expressions with variable elements; in this type only the main
part of a phrase is fixed, whereas in certain “slots” different words may be
inserted.
4) Flexible sentence patterns that feature more than one dimension of variation (examples will be given below).
1.1.1 Repetitions
In contrast to the second type, i.e., fixed formulas, repetitions do not belong
to the stock repertoire of the epic language, but are rather characteristic for
which such exact or more distant citation of Vedic literature clusters in the philosophically oriented parts of the Mahābhārata is very striking and no doubt attests the efforts
made by the authors of these passages to buttress the authority of their compositions by
this means” (1998, p. 14).
11 I deal much more thoroughly with this typology in the book mentioned in n. 7. The expression “the epic language” entails a simplification, because inside the epic tradition it
is possible to distinguish not only sub-traditions of the Mahābhārata and the Rāmāyaṇa, but also different schools of these sub-traditions. This explains the very uneven
distribution of certain formulas (cf. J. D. Smith 1987, pp. 609–611).
Methodological and Practical Remarks on the Question of Reuse
359
one author or for one small sub-tradition. If repetitions have their origin in
non-epic texts, they must be treated (also) under the heading of “external
reuse.” In practice, however, the distinction between the two types of recurring elements under enquiry is not always very sharp. As a rule one can say
that repetitions are rather long, not frequent, and tend to appear comparatively close to each other,12 but it must be admitted that all of these criteria
are vague. The repetitions appearing close to each other are, for the most part,
either the result of a kind of echo effect (i.e., the tendency to repeat words
and phrases used a short time ago) or rhetorically motivated refrains. Those
repetitions appearing in a greater distance, in turn, often seem to result rather
coincidentally from textual growth and not from conscious reuse. In some
cases, however, they may also fulfil a special function of internal adaptive
reuse: the role of linking distant passages. Thus the following well-known
verse is found twice.
dharme cārthe ca kāme ca mokṣe ca bharatarṣabha |
yad ihāsti tad anyatra yan nehāsti na tat kva cit ||
Bull among Bhāratas, whatever is here, on Law, on Profit, on Pleasure, and on Salvation, that is found elsewhere. But what is not here is
nowhere else (tr. van Buitenen 1978).
It occurs once at the beginning of the epic (1,56.33) and once almost at the
end of the work (18,5.38). In this way the stanza has – whether on purpose or
by coincidence – two functions. In addition to its primary function of extolling the comprehensiveness of the Mbh, it also serves as a pair of parentheses enclosing a gigantic ring composition.
1.1.2 Fixed formulas
Fixed formulas are regularly reused, though in the vast majority of cases not
adaptively, but as stock elements in narrative situations of similar types; e.g.,
the phrase tad adbhutam ivābhavat appears as the final pāda of a śloka 77
times to mark an event as astonishing and extraordinary; the hemistich atrāpy
udāharantīmam itihāsaṃ purātanam is used 110 times to introduce an allegedly ancient story, etc.
12 E.g., about one third of the 1333 pairs of identical hemistichs appear at a distance of
less than 500 lines from each other. (The critical edition, without appendices and star
passages, features 141,900 hemistichs in anuṣṭubhs.)
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1.1.3 Formulaic expressions
The third type of reused elements has a “built-in” ability to adapt to changing
contexts, as it were. As a common example one may cite a group of phrases
that mark the beginning of a fight. These always occupy the first pāda of a
line and end with the words samabhavad yuddham, so that the first two syllables remain to be variously filled. How the verse is completed depends on
the number of fighters. If it deals with a single combat, the genitive dual
tayoḥ is used (18 times); in the case of a larger group of warriors the line
starts with the neutral tataḥ (11 times), and the involved heroes are then normally enumerated in the following line.
One may assume that historically one version of a given formulaic expression was the prototype for the whole group of related phrase patterns, so
that this family can be considered a petrified product (so to speak) of adaptive
reuse.
1.1.4 Flexible patterns
The fourth type of reused elements is somewhat similar to the third, but much
more flexible due to the fact that, in addition to the possibility of exchanging
an element for a metrically equivalent one, two more features ensure a high
adaptive ability:
a) The pattern as such has a general form (e.g., hero A hit hero B with arrows) and is concretized and realized during a stepwise construction
process in which first the central, essential elements are fixed; only then
are different peripheral elements chosen among a set of alternatives and
added in accordance with the metrical situation resulting from the choice
of the essential building blocks.
b) In addition to choosing the metrically most suitable peripheral element,
the poet may also change the word order in the framework of possibilities
offered by the realized pattern.
These patterns are useful for the poet in order to solve, with maximum ease,
problems resulting from the fact that the central elements, most importantly
the names of the heroes involved in an event, may have a very different metrical shape, as in the following examples:
senāpatiḥ suśarmāṇaṃ śīghraṃ marmasv atāḍayat (07,013.035ab)
The general struck Suśarman quickly in the vital spots.
śalyas tu navabhir bāṇair bhīmasenam atāḍayat (06,109.004ab)
Śalya struck Bhīmasena with nine arrows.
Methodological and Practical Remarks on the Question of Reuse
361
These two lines illustrate two general rules that apply to one-liners of the type
“A hit B.”
1) Tetrasyllabic objects are put into the first pāda if the subject is also tetrasyllabic.
2) The object is located in the second pāda if it has three or more syllables
and the subject is disyllabic.
It seems that rules of this type belong to the core features of the epic language, but the mechanics of Sanskrit epic versification are still little known.13
Generally, flexible sentence patterns can be regarded as belonging to the
main tools of adaptation at the disposal of the epic poet.
1.2 External reuse and its detection
In view of the many unclear points concerning the textual history of the Mbh,
it is quite difficult to define precisely what it would mean for a textual passage to be incorporated into the text from “outside” at different points of its
development. So I propose simplifying the problem by supposing the sketchy
model presented above: after an initially oral phase of composition, one or
more versions of a work that at one point of time acquired the name Mahābhārata must have been known in a more or less fixed form. Accordingly,
whoever further augmented this work (be it a poet or a redactor) must have
done so either by composing new lines himself or by incorporating readymade passages from other texts, possibly with small changes.14 In the latter
case, the imported lines had to consist of meters fitting for the Mbh, i.e., first
of all anuṣṭubhs, sometimes also triṣṭubhs, plus some rare meters. Now, in
many texts “imported” passages are often marked as such, sometimes attributed to a source text or even to an author. In the epics, however, this is only
exceptionally the case; mostly we are dealing with covert reuse. This raises
13 Note that in the given examples, as in most other cases, the rules are conventional, not
the direct outcome of the metrical properties of the involved elements. Theoretically, it
is also possible to construct an equivalent line with suśarmāṇam in the second pāda
(e.g., *senāpatir bhruvor madhye suśarmāṇam atāḍayat), etc.
14 This general formulation is even compatible with the theory propounded by Hiltebeitel
– who rejects the idea that an oral Mbh ever existed (though, of course, he does not
deny the existence of oral poetry) and thinks that the Mbh was composed as a written
text in a “short period of one or two generations […] between 150 B.C. and the year
Zero […] as a work of composite authorship” (2011, pp. 11–12) – because the members of this hypothetical writing committee must have relied heavily on the reuse of
different materials.
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the fundamental question of how to find such passages in the first place.15 In
this regard, the possibility to work on electronic texts with the help of computers has opened new perspectives that are not yet widely known; I shall
present some of these in the following part of this chapter.
There are two methods that are commonly employed for the purpose of
finding reused passages: the first is based on direct evidence, whereas the
second draws upon indirect evidence. When applying the latter method, some
scholars focus on content, others work with formal criteria. Methods using
direct evidence depend on the explicit ascription of a passage to an author or
text, be it in a concrete or general way (e.g., by using anonymous references
like ity eke, ity āhuḥ, ucyate, etc.). Indirect content-related criteria are typically used in such cases where a passage is considered to be inserted on the
grounds that it does not fit into the context, is unconnected to the plot, etc. –
such arguments contain a certain amount of subjectivity and so are typically
inconclusive if not supported by further evidence. Lastly, methods using
indirect formal criteria are based on observations of marked differences
between a certain passage and the surrounding text with regard to some objective, formal features, such as for example metrical structure, word order,
usage of particles, etc.16
As a general word of caution it should be underscored that neither of the
methods mentioned is able to prove that a passage is a reused one – it can
only suggest that this is the case. (This is even true for the method of direct
evidence, because the ascription to a different author may well be fictional.)17
For any final proof one must be able to present a parallel passage in another
text that can be demonstrated to be older; then the younger passage must be a
reused version either of the older passage, or of a third, still older, common
source. If this is not possible (as in most real-world cases), the second best
solution is a strategy of accumulative evidence that uses arguments derived
with as many of the above methods as feasible in any given case.
In the following part of the present chapter, I would like to briefly present
three methods of the indirect formal type that use quantifiable textual features
15 The biggest collection of identified quotations (including some covert ones) can be
found in Hopkins 1901 (pp. 1–57). The remaining challenge now is to identify those
quotations that the great American scholar could not possibly have found with the traditional methods available to him.
16 This approach is an offshoot of stylometry, a branch of text analysis that goes back to
the 19th century, but today can be much more successfully applied thanks to developments in IT.
17 It is enough to mention the well-known case of Madhva’s Mbh “quotations” (Mesquita
2007). On this topic, see also Okita’s contribution to the present volume.
Methodological and Practical Remarks on the Question of Reuse
363
in order to identify passages that “stick out” in the context of their closer
environment or even against the backdrop of the whole Mbh. These methods
work with the following features, which shall be explained one after the
other:18
– vocabulary
– usage of heterotopes
– metrical patterns
1.2.1 Unusual vocabulary
As far as vocabulary is concerned, perhaps the most straightforward way to
detect candidates for reused passages would be to look for a comparatively
high density of words (in the sense of lemmata) that are rarely used in the
Mbh. Unfortunately, this method cannot be realized at present, because flection, sandhi and homonymy make it a difficult task for a computer to identify
lemmata in a Sanskrit text. One would need a lemmatized text with resolved
sandhis of the whole Mbh, but such a version is not yet available;19 in the
meantime one has to look for rare strings (i.e., sequences of characters),
which also yields reasonably good results.20
In order to achieve quantifiable results, the following calculation method
was used. Every string that occurs with a frequency freq ≤ 521 receives a
“rarity value” rv of 1/freq; all other strings are given a rv of 0. In the next
step the rarity values of lines are calculated by simply adding up the string
values. Now we can compare the rarity value of whole passages by letting the
computer calculate the average of “windows” (i.e., passages) of a predefined
length that move through the whole text. The plot below shows the results for
windows with a length of 10 lines; for the sake of readability only the passages with the highest (rv > 3.0, 142 observations) and lowest (rv < 0.1, 159
observations) mean rarity values are displayed, in such a way that vertical
lines represent the difference from the mean rarity value of all anuṣṭubh lines
18 For the analyses that I present in this chapter, I only used the 141,940 anuṣṭubh lines of
the main text of the critical edition and disregarded the so-called star passages and appendices.
19 Fortunately, Oliver Hellwig’s DCS project already includes a lemmatized and POS
tagged text with resolved sandhi for more than half of the Mbh, and it is hoped that the
rest will be available in the near future (see Hellwig 2012).
20 In some cases, string search results may be improved by using regular expressions and
fuzzy matching, so that mere sandhi variants of one and the same form (e.g., devo and
devas) are not treated as two distinct entities.
21 The number five is a compromise between clarity and quantity of results: with a lower
threshold only a few lines would be classified as having a high rarity value, whereas a
higher threshold would multiply their number and thus yield a less clear picture.
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(1.00). Accordingly, those pointing upwards have a higher than average rarity
value (concretely, rv – 1.00), whereas lines pointing downwards have a lower
one (1.00 – rv); dotted vertical lines mark parvan boundaries.
Figure 1: Rarity values.
A thorough analysis of this one graph alone would be too lengthy a task for
this chapter, so I shall restrict myself to a brief discussion of the three highest
peaks, which represent the following passages:
– 3,155.36–48. In these lines that start the description of the Gandhamādana
Forest, which the Pāṇḍavas are just entering, we find lists of the trees and
birds of the forest.
– 6,10.13–34. This passage also consists in a list. It contains the rivers that
Saṃjaya mentions to Dhṛṭarāṣṭra in the course of his description of the
earth.
Methodological and Practical Remarks on the Question of Reuse
365
– 9,45.1–28. In the last passage mentioned, the “mothers” associated with
Skanda are enumerated.
These three passages show two things: firstly, that looking for clusters of
unusual words is a suitable method for finding unique passages; on the other
hand, the “harvest” suggests that a high density of unusual words is often a
rather weak indication that we have actually found an imported passage,
because the phenomenon might be simply due to the fact that the topic as
such is unusual, or that we have to do with a list that, thanks to its very
structure, is more favorable to a higher concentration of rare words than narrative passages. Nevertheless, lists are items that may well be part of certain
traditions of wisdom and devotion and so might be incorporated into the epic
as useful treasures of information. Therefore, it would certainly be worthwhile to have a closer look at passages identified with the help of the method
just described and to search for parallels and possible sources, e.g., in Purāṇic
literature.
1.2.2 Exceptional heterotopes
The second way to detect exceptional passages is to look at the density of
rare heterotopes of common word forms. First, a terminological remark may
be in order: “heterotope” is a term I use for a linguistic entity that has gone
largely unnoticed so far, though it is of crucial importance for the analysis of
ślokas. Because of the fact that all words in the epics (and many other metrical texts) tend to appear at certain metrical positions more often than at
others, it is useful to regard the same strings that appear at different places of
a hemistich as different entities.22 Using the Greek words for “different
places” (ἕτεροι τόποι) and also thinking of a similar conception in chemistry,
where we have isotopes (variants of the same chemical element), I deemed
“heterotope” a fitting term. A convenient way to refer to heterotopes, also
borrowed from the chemists, is to use upper indices; the syllables counted are
the 16 syllables of an ardhaśloka. So, 9rājñā would be the heterotope of the
string rājñā starting on the 9th syllable of a hemistich, and 10rājñā the hete22 The first person to address and give a name to the phenomenon of the uneven distribution of words in ślokas was, to my knowledge, Ingalls (1991). Trying to systematize
and quantify his observations, I introduced the term “heterotope” and proposed a
quantitative measure of polarization – see Sellmer 2013a, 2013b. It is important to define heterotopes on the basis of strings, not of words, because strings that are sandhi
variants of the same word form (e.g., devaḥ) can have different metrical properties
(e.g., deva and devo). Combining data about polarization with lexical and syntactic information would be an important next step, once the tagged Mbh mentioned in n. 19 is
fully available.
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rotope starting on syllable no. 10, etc. But while the first one is found 49
times in the Mbh, the second appears only once, which illustrates why these
items should be kept apart. Now, the point of the second method is to look
precisely at the distribution of heterotopes like 10rājñā, which are rare not
only in absolute but also in relative terms, i.e., compared to the most frequent
heterotope of the whole group. This can be seen in the following table, which
shows the frequency of the heterotopes of rājñā that occur in the Mbh; the
reference item in our case is 9rājñā because it is the most frequent.
Table 1: Heterotopes of rājñā
starting syllable
1
2
3
4
6
7
9
10
11
frequency
20
3
16
8
14
46
49
1
25
except. value
59.18
93.88
67.35
83.67
71.43
6.12
0.00
97.96
48.98
Based on the relative frequencies one can calculate an exceptionality value
for heterotopes (see column 3 of Table 1). In order to obtain these values I
use the following formula:
= 1−
100
Here fh stands for the frequency of a given heterotope (e.g., 25 in the case of
11
rājñā), fmax for the frequency of the most commonly occurring heterotope of
the same string (which in the example above is 9rājñā with 49 occurrences).
The resulting values range from 0 (no exceptionality, i.e., the most frequent
heterotope) to close to 100 (very high exceptionality).23 In practice, one has
23 It should be stressed that this method is solely descriptive and does not deal with the
reasons for the polarization patterns, which in some cases are rather obvious (though in
most cases they are not). So it is certainly to be expected, for instance, that ca does not
occur in the first syllable, because this particle is enclitic, that comparatively few heterotopes start at the second syllable, etc. The statistics applied in this section, however,
are simply based on the frequencies of heterotopes as such and aim at discovering passages that are exceptional qua featuring rare or exceptional heterotopes. The relative
Methodological and Practical Remarks on the Question of Reuse
367
to refine this method slightly because it makes little sense to call a heterotope
“exceptional” when – though relatively rare in comparison to the standard
heterotope – it is nevertheless frequent in absolute terms (i.e., 2ca makes up
only 3.3% of all ca heterotopes, but still occurs 825 times in the Mbh). It
seems advisable therefore to restrict the notion of exceptionality to heterotopes that are both of low frequency and belong to frequently occurring
strings. These conditions are not clearly defined, so one has to find suitable
thresholds for each individual text on a trial-and-error basis. For the Mbh
quite interesting results can be achieved by including only exceptionality
values of heterotopes that occur less than 10 times, whereas the respective
base string features a frequency higher than 100. By adding up the exceptionality values of all heterotopes verse by verse, one can obtain a list of the
most exceptional ślokas. Among these, there are a considerable number of
verses that contain self-contained and general claims, so that it is quite possible that they originally belonged to a free-floating body of gnomic utterances.
Consider the following examples:
sā bhāryā yā gṛhe dakṣā sā bhāryā yā prajāvatī |
sā bhāryā yā patiprāṇā sā bhāryā yā pativratā || (1,68.39)
She is a wife who is handy in the house, she is a wife who bears children, she is a wife whose life is her husband, she is a wife who is true to
her lord (tr. van Buitenen 1973).
kruddho hi kāryaṃ suśroṇi na yathāvat prapaśyati |
na kāryaṃ na ca maryādāṃ naraḥ kruddho ’nupaśyati || (3,30.18)
An angry man does not perceive his task correctly, full-hipped woman; the raging man sees neither task nor limit (tr. van Buitenen
1975).
For these two verses I was unable to find close parallels in the older literature,24 but both appear in contexts where several unconnected verses of a
gnomic type with a similar topic are used one after the other for rhetoric purposes, which makes it probable that the author(s) of these passages drew on
conventional wisdom.
frequency of heterotopes typically depends on many factors, but this is a different
question. Here we are only concerned with finding exceptional passages. In a second
step, one may then, in each case, try to explain the unusually high number of rare heterotopes. But explanations have no bearing on the purely statistical feature of “exceptionality” as defined here.
24 But cf. Garuḍapurāṇa 1,108.16cd; 1,108.18; Hitopadeśa I 197.
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Sven Sellmer
1.2.3 Specific metrical patterns
A particularly valuable method for the statistical analysis of epic texts uses
the distribution of metrical patterns. Such an analysis is possible, because the
sequences of light and heavy syllables in certain positions of an anuṣṭubh
verse allow for some variation.25 Basically, one can apply simple methods,
e.g., those that are based on the relative frequency of single patterns, but also
more complex ones like the analysis of variance or cluster algorithms that
take into account the frequencies of multiple patterns at the same time.26 One
of the great advantages of a metrical approach is that it works to a large extent independently of the dimension of content.27
In the context of the present article, it may suffice to discuss one simple
example. The metrical sequence – ⏑ ⏑ ⏒ in syllables 5–8 of odd pādas (the
so-called second or bha-vipulā) appears 4,479 times in the critical edition of
the Mbh (i.e., in about 3.2% of lines, because each line consists of one odd
and one even pāda) and generally is distributed quite evenly throughout the
epic. There are, however, some two dozen rather short passages where it
occurs with comparatively high frequency. One of these is the story of how
Indra cunningly decapitated the Asura Namuci with foam (because he had
promised not to kill him with anything wet or dry) in 9,42.28–9,42.37 – here
we have five occurrences of the second vipulā in twenty lines, which amounts
to a line frequency of 25%.28 This exceptional density raises the suspicion
25 For a convenient overview of the possible variations in anuṣṭubhs, see Steiner 1996.
Though this chapter mainly deals with the classical anuṣṭubh, for the most part the
rules presented are also valid for the epics. More details may be found in the literature
given there, to which (as far as Buddhist texts are concerned) Balk 2011 should be
added.
26 After the first attempts in the 19th and early 20th century (Hopkins 1901, Oldenberg
1909 etc.), pioneers of large-scale statistical metrical analyses in more recent times
have been R. M. Smith (1960), Yardi (1986, 1994) and Tokunaga (1995). Unfortunately, the first two scholars did not have an electronic text at their disposal and so had to
collect their data manually. Smith, looking at the ratio of the different vipulā types,
worked with quite fine-grained data, but did not use very convincing statistical
methods. Yardi, on the other hand, collected rougher data but nevertheless managed to
achieve highly significant results by applying a variance analysis. Tokunaga, in turn,
did process an electronic text with the help of a computer, but based his statistics on
whole parvans, which led to rather uninteresting results because these units are simply
too large.
27 There are exceptions, though. E.g., the very frequent occurrence of a certain important
word with an unusual metrical structure may influence the statistics of a whole passage.
28 The search that yielded this passage as one result was conducted with the method of
moving averages, where the frequency of a feature is measured in a “window” of n
Methodological and Practical Remarks on the Question of Reuse
369
that we are dealing with a reused passage here. Of course, as always, other
explanations, like the personal style of a particular author, etc., are also
possible. Still, the possibility of a borrowing is also suggested by the fact that
the Indra Namuci myth, which has no direct relation to the main plot, is told
by the narrator Vaiśaṃpāyana as one of the many stories connected to the
holy sites on the bank of the river Sarasvatī visited by Balarāma. It is quite
probable that numerous tales of a similar type existed outside the Mbh tradition as local religious lore and were reused in the epic for various purposes.29
To be sure, even striking metrical peculiarities cannot prove on their own that
a passage was imported from outside, but they certainly may serve as additional indicators and so should always be taken into account when discussing
such questions.
Conclusion
“Reuse” in the context of epic studies may mean different things. For methodological reasons, it seems important to make a distinction between internal
and external reuse. Internal reuse works with different types of elements that
form part of the epic tradition, and so really is a paradigm situated between
the conceptions of “use” and “reuse.” It can only be properly understood
against the backdrop of the general mechanisms of epic versification, a question that is still under-researched.
Questions of external reuse, on the other hand, have been important in
epic studies, often classified under the heading of terms like “interpolation.”
Unfortunately, the developing discussions in many cases have proved to be
inconclusive, because the arguments used have sometimes been based mainly
on subjective assessments and insufficiently supported by objective observations. Perhaps the statistical approach presented here may contribute to clarifying some discussions and opening up new perspectives. Moreover, this
could also hold true for texts outside the genre of epic literature, because
lines that moves through the text (line 1 – line n, line 2 – line n + 1, and so on). In order to detect passages of different length, the size of the “windows” should be varied.
29 In the present case, there is a further detail that might suggest a non-epic origin of this
passage: the text features the same expression meaning “by foam” (apāṃphenena) as
found in two Vedic passages that refer to Indra’s feat (Ṛgveda 8.14.13, Atharvaveda,
Śaunaka-recension, XX 29.3). This parallel makes it quite probable that the author
consciously reused this combination of words – which, due to the genitive apām, has a
certain archaic ring – directly from the Vedas or from some third source harking back
to the Vedas.
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methods like the ones proposed here are also applicable to other texts and
corpora, especially if these are composed in meters with a flexible structure,
like anuṣṭubhs, and are large enough to allow for meaningful statistical analyses. To be sure, the methodological tools must be further improved, but
even now it can be said that the detection of possibly reused, or, in any case,
unusual passages is one of the fields where the help of the computer for the
philologist may prove to be particularly fruitful.30
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