Hindus: Their Religious Beliefs and Practices (The Library of Religious Beliefs and Practices)

by Julius Lipner

  Thus the sūtra always requires expansion, and often elucidation. How, then, must we understand the requirement that it be ‘unambiguous’? I think as an invitation – where there is ambiguity – to explore the sūtra's condensed, semantic content. sūtras which encapsulate knowledge that is more than a simple relaying of information (such as a string of grammatical rules) often call not only for expansion, but also for interpretation, since the knowledge they condense tends to be inherently multi-layered. The more compact the sūtra is, that is, the more it conforms to the demand to be pithy and comprehensive, the more it requires decipherment.

  There is a further consideration here. Whilst it may be the case that morphologically the sūtra does not change, the circumstances for its elucidation may well do so. This allows the sūtra to acquire ‘seminal’ content, that is, to be susceptible of interpretation in such a way that when elucidated it acquires contemporary relevance. One could say that the sūtra's condensed content has been allowed to germinate over time and blossom into new meanings; in other words, the same sūtra, interpreted say, by an Advaitin in one way a millennium ago, may well be interpreted to yield significant new insights, according to change of context, by an Advaitin successor today. Thus the sūtra becomes a device not only for storing and transmitting, but also for adapting, acquired wisdom.

  Again, the sūtra attests to the fact that this wisdom has traditionally been passed on orally. The sūtra facilitates such transmission; it is a memory device. It is easier to commit a sūtra, or a collection of sūtras, to memory than some discursive text. The sūtra also signifies that it harbours knowledge that is safeguarded; this knowledge can only be unlocked by the appropriate hermeneutic key: perhaps some form of recognized entitlement by the decoder, or a particular teaching tradition, or some secret knowledge that has been passed down, or a combination of these. The sūtra's pearls of wisdom are not meant to be cast before swine, namely, those unfit or unprepared to receive them. As such, the sūtra is a vehicle and symbol of authority.

  One last consideration: why is it so important that the sūtra be brief, that it condense, and hence when elucidated/‘thread out’ (sūtra-) its suppressed knowledge? Why is it so prized as a transmitting device in Hinduism? I think the answer can be found, somewhat paradoxically, in the significance accorded to certain kinds of silence in the tradition. There are, of course, different kinds of silence: there is, for example, the silence of ignorance, the silence of restraint, the silence of anticipation. In the context of the last two, there may actually be much to say, but only when the circumstances are right. The sūtra, by its intended compactness, is pregnant with the suppressed meaning of the last two kinds of silence. It is only in the shadow of the Inexpressible, awaiting expression, that ‘realization’ – both in the sense of ‘awareness’ and of ‘fructification’ – can occur. The short and authoritative Māṇḍukya Upaniṣad broaches this idea in the 12 verses that comprise its teaching. It distinguishes between the world of differentiation and discursive experience on the one hand, the world in which we live and move and have our familiar being, and the highest state on the other, which it describes as undifferentiated (alakṣanna ... advaita), unthinkable (acintya), indefinable (avyapadeśya), and into which the world of proliferation ‘is (ultimately) resolved’ (prapañcopaśama; vrs.7,12).7 This wordless, highest state is the anticipatory source and pre-condition of all sound and meaning, which are then ‘threaded out’, progressively and meaningfully, into the multi-layered cosmos of experience. The same idea occurs repeatedly in Tantra. Let me recall, in briefer compass, a passage from Chapter 3. In the context of this discussion, we can read it in a new light:

  [The] original Word, identical to the primal divine Energy [śakti], is envisaged in [the] Tantric perspective as phonic energy (vākśakti), eternal, indestructible, and all-pervading, which however unfolds and evolves ... [T]he Word precedes the object, it brings it forth, it is the energy that upholds it ... that into which it will dissolve at the time of the cosmic resorption. The process of emanation, related to speech, is variously described depending upon texts and schools; however, it appears generally as unfolding from an initial luminous vibration or sound (nāda), which is an extremely subtle state of pure phonic energy, which through a series of transformations and condensations will become less subtle, forming a concentrate or a drop (bindu) of sound-energy, from which, when it divides itself, worlds, humans, and language will come forth.

  (Padoux1990a:50–1)

  The sūtra can also be likened to a ‘drop’ of suppressed sound which, when released by elucidation, bestows new meaning and new life to our unfolding worlds of experience.8

  (ii) The Gṛhya sūtras

  Gṛhya means'domestic. The Gṛhya sūtras are condensed codifications of domestic ritual largely directed at the three top strata of Hindu society – the Brahmins, the Kṣatriyas and the Vaiśyas – giving instructions on how the domestic fire (called the aupāsana, in contrast to the sacrificial fires of the solemn ritual) is to be established, and describing rites and practices to be followed under its symbolic authority. Like the śrauta sūtras, the Gṛyha sūtras are associated with particular schools or branches of Vedic study. On the whole they are very ancient texts. Linguistically, they post-date the Vedic Saṃhitās but are earlier than the later Upaniṣads. But this dating refers to when the rites that they deal with were formally codified. Many of the rites themselves seem to have roots as ancient, if not more so, than the Vedic ritual. There is nothing surprising here, for there is every reason to suppose that domestic ritual would have been in force in ‘Aryan’ society simultaneously with the performance of the yajña or Vedic sacrifice.

  The Gṛhya sūtras comprise a medley of counsel. Not only do they describe the performance of major and minor rites of passage, e.g. ceremonies at birth and death, the naming of a child, investiture of the sacred thread, marriage, but they are also concerned with such things as how a father, returning from a journey, should greet his male and female children, how one should keep a fast, ward off various diseases, choose the soil on which to build a house, make love to one's wife to produce male offspring, and so on. Here we have many examples of the Vedic non-solemn rites alluded to earlier.9 Most of these rules and ceremonies are male-oriented, in keeping with the traditional emphasis of Hindu society. The Gṛhya sūtras are closely associated with the śruti, and frequently quote from it. In effect, these quotations ratify and solemnize the practices being recommended. The sūtras are far from exhaustive; they purport to provide a ritual framework, a guideline, for the domestic life of the righteous (especially male) upper-caste Hindu who observes Vedic dharma. As such, they are complementary to the śruti, which centres on the performance, not of domestic observances, but of the solemn sacrificial ritual.

  As part of smṛti, the Gṛhya sūtras are not sacrosanct in the way śruti is. They hold up an ideal Vedic Brahminic code of domestic practice, and any two Gṛhya Sūtras often differ in various details in their descriptions of the same rite or custom. How far the life of ordinary people deviated from the ideal they recommend is not known. No doubt, only a small fraction of those eligible to follow this ideal would have done so comprehensively. Most individuals would have followed the Gṛhya sūtras only selectively; this is the way of human nature and this is the situation today. Some of the rites of the Gṛhya Sūtras – mainly the major and some of the minor rites of passage – are still followed selectively and often in a highly condensed or symbolic form (see Chapter 13), but hardly anyone maintains the ritual domestic fire permanently any more (on an ad hoc basis, however, the domestic fire is used more frequently, e.g. in the rite of marriage, or investiture of the sacred thread).

  But these sūtras are useful to know about because collectively they build up a picture of the ideals of traditional orthodox Vedic society, and because these ideals, even though they may not have been rigorously implemented, helped shape the mentality of a great many Hindus throughout the centuries with respect to proper be
haviour in domestic life as a whole; they were also relevant with respect to defining the guiding lines of ritual purity and impurity, constructing social and religious boundaries as a result, and discerning where major and minor social transgressions might lie. Modern Hindus are inheritors of these guidelines, and continue to construct modern lives, however selectively or viscerally, in terms of these frames of reference.

  The Gṛhya sūtras are ascribed to ancient authorities, and are generally named after these. Some of the most important are the Sānkhāyana Gṛhya sūtra, the Āśvalāyana Gṛhya sūtra, the Pāraskara Gṛhya sūtra, the Āpastamba Gṛhya sūtra, and the Gobhila Gṛhya sūtra.

  (iii) The Dharma Sūtras and Śāstras

  Let us now focus more closely on dharma, one of the most important ‘action-concepts’ in the history of religious Hinduism. By ‘action-concept’ I mean an idea that acts as a reference point for daily implementation. In other words, dharma often functions as a normative concept that has been promulgated, ratified and constantly re-worked by those in authority in society, mainly the Brahmins. As noted earlier, for Vedic orthodoxy, dharma is supposed to be ‘rooted’ in the Veda (vedo dharmamūlam). If this is the case, it is not hard to see that a proliferation of texts on dharma would arise, purporting to give comprehensive directions on how those within the Vedic pale in different walks and circumstances of life should act. We shall review this extensive textual corpus presently. First, we must make some preliminary remarks about the meaning of dharma.

  The term dharma derives from the Sanskrit verbal root dhṛ, which means ‘to support’, ‘to undergird,’ ‘to establish’. Dharma, then, is that which ‘bears up’ in some way or other to a certain kind of scrutiny. In some contexts, e.g. the social or civic, the word could well be translated by ‘law’, but not in others. For, traditionally, Hindus have also spoken of the dharma of something as that thing's chief property or characteristic. In this sense the dharma of fire is to burn, the dharma of the skin is to feel by touch, the dharma of water is to moisten, the dharma of the sun is to give heat and light. The properties mentioned are the basic characteristics of their objects, without which these objects could not be identified as the things they are. This sense of dharma is descriptive, not prescriptive; it declares what is the case, not what should be done. Dharma, therefore, is that which properly establishes something, prescriptively and/or descriptively, from a certain point of view, whether that be physical, social, moral, juridical, religious etc. In fact, this semantic ambiguity gives an elusive sense to the term, and demands attention to context to determine appropriate meaning.

  So dharma is that which acceptably upholds private and public order, whether by recommending social, moral or religious rules, or by marking the characteristic nature of things. Because it is such a comprehensive and elusive term, it is impossible to translate into English by a single word; it has been variously translated by ‘law’, ‘property’, ‘virtue’, ‘merit’, ‘propriety’, ‘morality,’ ‘religion’ etc. depending on context. When used in the plural in Sanskrit, it has been translated by ‘laws’, ‘rules’, ‘norms’, ‘(approved) practices’ and so on. In fact, it was from the nineteenth century, once Hinduism came into regular, of ten abrasive contact with Christianity and British colonial rule, that dharma (and its vernacular forms) acquired the connotations of the Western term ‘religion’. One can show, I think, that the acquisition of this generic connotation of the term, particularly as the nineteenth century progressed, tracks the introduction of ‘modern’ features into Hindu religious thought – indeed, reflects the transformation in some respects of Hinduism into a modern religion – through such characteristics as concern for social and religious equality among men and women, the engagement with modern science, and the critical examination of the scriptures, at least among the Hindu intelligentsia of the time. But even today, ‘religion’ is only one of ‘dharma's’ connotations;one must continue to be alert to the context in which the term is being used to determine precise meaning.

  Throughout the history of Hinduism, Hindus have been obsessed with trying to understand, analyse, interpret, determine, codify, articulate, and debate dharma. This is because the implementation of dharma is integral to the structure of Hindu living. At the heart of this concept lies two tensions: (i) that between order and chaos, and (ii) that between autonomy (and related concepts such as choice and freedom) and obligatedness (or ideas such as duty, etc.). These two dyads overlap in meaning, but are by no means semantically co-extensive. Nevertheless, both are rooted in space and time, and in the observance and transgression of boundaries. However idealistic or structural dharma may be in theory, its actualization is eminently a flesh-and-blood affair, an exercise in objectification; the active agent or subject of dharma must operate under the constraints of the here and now. This is why the dynamics of dharma are best communicated through myth, narrative, event. We shall devote much of Chapter 11 to a demonstration of this fact.

  Exploration of each dyad will bring out different connotations of the term (and, in the moral sphere, of its opposite, adharma), and it is in this inquiry that we shall be engaged as one of our principal tasks in this and subsequent chapters. Let us start by examining the roots of dharma, linguistically and semantically, in the Saṃhitā portion of the Veda.

  From earliest times, Hindus have been alive, of course, to the struggle between order and chaos, the focal point of which has been placed in a religious context. As the ancient Indo-Aryans gradually began extending their way of life eastwards and southwards in the subcontinent, this struggle must have been very real to them. The forces of chaos, natural and otherwise – mighty rivers in spate, thunderstorms, scarcity of rain, the impenetrable darkness of night, unpredictable seasonal variations and harvests, disease, human enmity, wars, death – figure starkly in the Vedic hymns, and demanded some controlling power to cope with them. The Vedic Indians regarded the performance of the sacrificial ritual as the instrument of this controlling power and the devas and devīs collectively as its source.

  The solemn ritual generated ṛta or order out of surrounding anṛta or disorder. This opposition was also expressed by the terms satya and asatya (‘truth/being’ and ‘untruth/non-being or unbeing’) and, increasingly with the passage of time, by dharma and adharma. These verbal pairs had overlapping nuances of meaning and their semantic development did not occur straightforwardly in linear progression (i.e. first the use of ṛta/anṛta, which gave way to satya/asatya, which was followed by dharma/adharma); rather, these couplets could co-exist in the same body of texts. Thus we find the use of all six terms in the authoritative upaniṣads, with varying degrees of frequency and emphasis.

  In the Samṃhitās, ṛta and anṛta stand largely for order and disorder in natural or cosmic as well as moral dimensions of experience; these senses re-appear with overlapping connotations in the pairs satya-asatya and dharma-adharma, and in other expressions too. Although the Vedic Indians invoked a number of devas and devĪs to foster aspects of order or to ward off disorder in their lives, the deva who chiefly presided over ṛta or its counterparts (sometimes in conjunction with Mitra) was Varuṇa. We have given a hymn to Varuṇa in Chapter 2. We see here that Varuṇa a ‘has fixed in their stations the heaven and the earth’, he ‘knows all and lacks nothing’ (RV. 7.86.1,4);he is also‘far-seeing’ (RV. 1.25. 5,16), and has tamed the amorphous, lawless waters (AV. 5.24.4–5);he is supplicated to forgive wrongdoing (RV. 7.86.4–5), to show mercy (RV. 7.89). Varuna is the Lord par excellence of natural and moral order in the Ŗg Veda.

  The concept of dharma, of moulding order out of chaos, and of choosing to follow the righteous path, developed from these early, complex Vedic roots. A late Ŗg Vedic hymn, 10.90, is important for a use of the term dharma in the plural to refer to the first ‘laws’ or ‘norms’ (dharmāṇi) that generated the natural and social world of the Vedic Indian. This famous hymn, sometimes called the Hymn of the Cosmic Man, describes how the devas first‘offered the sacrifice
by means of the sacrifice’. From the Cosmic Man, ‘thousand-headed, thousand-eyed, thousand-footed’, arose a Primordial Man (purma) (verse 5) that was sacrificed. Out of this sacrificial act was produced visible and invisible being. Space and time and all mortal beings as well as the realm of immortality were drawn into this primordial immolation; from it arose Vedic utterance, divine and celestial beings such as Indra and Agni, the sun and the moon, and the creatures of air and earth, as also the social hierarchy of Vedic society. In the final verse (verse 16), the hymn declares that ‘these were the first dharmas’ according to which the sacrifice was consummated. These dharmas brought order and structure into our world.