A Time of Novelty: Logic, Emotion, and Intellectual Life in Early Modern India, 1500–1700 C.E. 2020050208, 2020050209, 9780197568163, 9780197568187

Table of contents :
Cover
A Time of Novelty
Copyright
Dedication
Contents
List of Maps
List of Tables
Preface and Acknowledgments
English Translations of Sanskrit Titles
Note on Transliteration
Introduction
PART I. NEWNESS AND EMOTION
1. Doubt
2. Objectivity
PART II. FEELING AND REASONING
3. Happiness
4. Dying
PART III. SPACE AND TIME
5. Space
6. Time
Conclusion: A Time of Novelty
Appendix
Bibliography
Index

Citation preview

A Time of Novelty

A Time of Novelty Logic, Emotion, and Intellectual Life in Early Modern India, 1500–​1700 C.E. S A M U E L   W R IG H T

1

3 Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and certain other countries. Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press 198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America. © Oxford University Press 2021 Published with the support of the Ludo and Rosane Rocher Foundation All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, by license, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reproduction rights organization. Inquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above. You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer. Library of Congress Cataloging-​in-​Publication Data Names: Wright, Samuel (historian of South Asia), author. Title: A time of novelty : logic, emotion, and intellectual life in early modern India, 1500-​1700 C.E. /​Samuel Wright. Description: 1. | New York : Oxford University Press, 2021. | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2020050208 (print) | LCCN 2020050209 (ebook) | ISBN 9780197568163 (hardback) | ISBN 9780197568187 (epub) Subjects: LCSH: Navya Nyāya—​Early works to 1800. | India—​Intellectual life—​16th century. | India—​Intellectual life—​17th century. | Fallacies (Logic)—​Early works to 1800. | Hindu logic. | Emotional intelligence. Classification: LCC BC39.5.I4 W75 2021 (print) | LCC BC39.5.I4 (ebook) | DDC 181/​.43—​dc23 LC record available at https://​lccn.loc.gov/​2020050208 LC ebook record available at https://​lccn.loc.gov/​2020050209 DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197568163.001.0001 1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2 Printed by Integrated Books International, United States of America

To Shweta, Mira, and my mum, Frances

Contents List of Maps  List of Tables  Preface and Acknowledgments  English Translations of Sanskrit Titles  Note on Transliteration 

Introduction 

ix xi xiii xvii xxi

1

PA RT I .   N EW N E S S A N D E M O T IO N 1. Doubt 

31

2. Objectivity 

62

PA RT I I .   F E E L I N G A N D R E A S O N I N G 3. Happiness 

95

4. Dying 

126 PA RT I I I .   SPAC E A N D   T I M E

5. Space 

163

6. Time 

195

Conclusion: A Time of Novelty 

209

Appendix  Bibliography  Index 

219 249 269

Maps 0.1. Early Modern South Asia: Select Towns and Cities

xix

5.1. Manuscript Economy: Northern View

169

5.2. Manuscript Economy: Southern View

170

Tables I.1. Sanskrit Logicians by Region and Date

20

A.1. Data for Map 5.1: Manuscript Economy: Northern View

220

A.2. Data for Map 5.2: Manuscript Economy: Southern View

228

Preface and Acknowledgments This book attempts to expand the ways in which we study philosophical thought by considering it to be deeply immersed in the felt experiences of one’s life. Such an investigation that attempts to recover a space for emotion within the activity of thinking is extremely productive in my view because it allows us to ask about ways of being that are rarely, if ever, addressed in the history of philosophy. These ways of being reveal an intellectual life, which, as this book explores, is located at the confluence of thinking and feeling, and which contains the imaginative processes that facilitate the appearance of intellectual communities. In reflecting on the writing of this book, then, I must acknowledge the support and generosity of a number of individuals without whom, and institutions without which, my own intellectual life would have been impossible. My initial thoughts were worked out in conversation with an exceptionally supportive dissertation committee at the University of Chicago, Gary Tubb, Dipesh Chakrabarty, and Matthew Kapstein. I am privileged to have been able to explore ideas presented here that bear the imprint of their critical insights. I thank Jonardon Ganeri, Parimal Patil, and Sheldon Pollock for their continuous support. Their ideas have deeply shaped my thinking. Sarasvati Mohan and Sally Sutherland-​Goldman introduced me to the complex world of Sanskrit and Mandira Bhaduri and Clinton Seely inaugurated my study of Bangla, teachings that remain foundational. I cherish the year spent reading Bangla literature with Jayanti Chattopadhyay. Raoul Birnbaum, S. Paul Kashap, and Ellen Suckiel taught me the true meaning of dialogue. Doug Powers introduced me to the complexities of the human mind. Much of my research was carried out in Kolkata and Delhi. I thank the staff of the Bangiya Sahitya Parishat; Indira Gandhi National Centre for the Arts; National Library, Kolkata; National Manuscript Mission; Nabadvip Puratattva Parishad; and Sanskrit College, Kolkata. The Committee on

xiv  Preface and Acknowledgments Southern Asian Studies, University of Chicago, supported my research; and the American Institute of Indian Studies supported my language study. Much of my writing took place in Toronto and Ahmedabad. In Toronto, I often worked in the picturesque Pratt Library. This would not have been possible without the support of Frances Garrett. At Ahmedabad, I discussed ideas with wonderful colleagues, particularly Sarthak Bagchi, Aparajita Basu, Mary Ann Chacko, Aditi Deo, Manomohini Dutta, Maya Jasanoff, Murari Kumar Jha, Apaar Kumar, A. P. Ashwin Kumar, Aparajith Ramnath, Karthik Rao-​Cavale, Shishir Saxena, and Joseph van Weelden. For their kindness and support, I thank my former colleagues at Nalanda University, Kashshaf Ghani, Arne Harms, Aditya Malik, Sraman Mukherjee, Ranu Roychoudhuri, Gopa Sabharwal, and Aviram Sharma. Bill Nelson created the exquisite maps that grace the pages of the book. Thanks to Sunil Kumar, I  presented an early version of Chapter  5 to the Department of History, Delhi University. The most critical intervention I received on the ideas in this book were from two outstanding anonymous reviewers at Oxford University Press. I express profound gratitude to each of them for their close readings. I am extremely grateful to Cynthia Read, my editor, who was enthusiastic and supportive of this project from the very beginning and brought the book into the light of day. Brent Matheny graciously guided me through the production of the book. I am exceptionally grateful to the Ludo and Rosane Rocher Foundation for a subvention toward the book’s publication. Patrick Olivelle, John Nemec, and Rosane Rocher ensured a smooth process and were ever-​supportive. Jim Nye and Mary Rader opened my eyes to the world of South Asian archives. Muzaffar Alam, Daniel Arnold, and Whitney Cox saw me through various stages of my graduate program at Chicago. For their support over the years, I thank Abhijit Banerjee, Thibaut d’Hubert, Ethan Kroll, Lawrence McCrea, Rosalind O’Hanlon, Laura Ring, Alex Watson, and Dominik Wujastyk. Small extracts of Chapter 3 are closely adapted with permission from two of my earlier articles, “From Praśasti to Political Culture: The Nadia Raj and Malla Dynasty in Seventeenth-​Century Bengal,” Journal of Asian Studies 73, no. 2 (May 2014): 397–​418; and “The Practice and Theory of Property in Seventeenth-​Century Bengal,” Indian Economic and Social History Review 54, no. 2 (April 2017): 147–​182.

Preface and Acknowledgments  xv But what of emotion? I have been thinking about his book in some form or other for nearly the last fifteen years; and, as a result, it contains the diverse moments of my life. James, Chris, and Carla, my dear friends from school, kept me grounded in true friendship and music despite the long distances. Chrish and Ron gave us a home and many warm gatherings in Washington, DC, during our years there. Anil Uncle and Kumi Auntie always welcomed us in Delhi for extended discussions over delicious food and great stories. Prashanto, Soma, and Progya were comrades in the cold Toronto winters. Naushad-​da, Shindhu-​di, and Binu-​di made our many moves in India easier and cared for my daughter while I wrote. My late grandparents, Margaret and Walter, uplifted my spirits and told me stories of my past that made me feel whole. My brothers and their families—​Joe, Karin, Walter, Victoriano; Thomas, Cassie, Benjamin, and Jameson—​have been wellsprings of laughter and provided solace during difficult times; as was my sister, Ella, who brought much joy. Uncle Derek and Aunt Hillary made transits through London memorable; and Uncle Bill travelled long distances to visit us. Mimi-​didi, Arun-​da, and Basho always kept the doors open. Anju and Sandipan (Ma and Bapi), Cuty, Aripana, and the late Mataji showed the way to exotic sojourns, gave us a roof when we needed one, and ensured the next celebration was not too far away. Ma and Bapi have been our foundation for more than a decade while we moved across cities and continents. Jethu and Jethima, ever-​nurturing, saw me through my research in Kolkata. Bibi-​didi, Nikhil-​bhaiya, Pishi, Sunil, and Deep have been constant sources of support over the last fifteen years and created lasting memories. My father, Paul, inspired me to take up academic life. I thank him for his endless confidence in me and for his excitement in reading my work, even though much different from his own field. Shweta’s love sustained my writing while her criticisms made me rethink my arguments. She is the confluence of thought and emotion in my life without whom this book could never have come into being and, once emerged, would never have been completed. Mira was born and has grown up with this book, giving me the wonderful distractions that are life’s most precious moments. To both, I am indebted far beyond the horizon of my lifetime. My late mother, Frances, filled my life with love and dedicated herself to my education. She was and is the best of me. Even though she left this

xvi  Preface and Acknowledgments world when I was young, her memory survives in each and every page of this book. I finished this book under quarantine in Panchkula in the warm embrace of family as the coronavirus spread across India and the world. I was often reminded of the words of Anne Frank, “when I look up at the sky, I somehow feel that everything will change for the better, . . . that peace and tranquility will return once more.”1 Her words evoke a hope-​filled future in which, after overcoming this crisis, we practice more compassionate ways of being human together.

1 Frank 1991, 330.

English Translations of Sanskrit Titles An Analysis of Liberation in Kashi ~ Kāśīmokṣavicāra An Analysis of Objectivity ~ Viṣayatāvicāra An Analysis of the Debate on Liberation ~ Muktivādavicāra An Assemblage of Lotuses in the Form of   Pilgrimage Sites ~ Tīrthakamalākara Bouquet of Canonical Positions in Nyāya ~ Nyāyasiddhāntamañjarī Bouquet of the Language of the Gods ~ Gīrvāṇavāṅmañjarī Bouquet of Logic ~ Nyāyamañjarī The Bridge to the Three Sacred Places ~ Tristhalīsetu Chapter on Gifts ~ Dānakāṇḍa A Closely Guarded Teaching of Established  Conclusions ~ Siddhāntarahasya Compendium on Devotion ~ Bhaktisandarbha Compendium on Logic ~ Tarkasaṃgraha Composition on Joy ~ Prītisandarbha Consideration of the Discourse on Liberation ~ Muktivādavicāra A Crest of Moons That Are Pilgrimage Sites ~ Tīrthenduśekhara Dictionary of Amara ~ Amarakośa Discernment of Definitions ~ Bhāṣāpariccheda Discourse on Vedānta ~ Vedāntaparibhāṣā An Elaboration ~ Prasāriṇī The Elucidation ~ Prakāśa Elucidation of the Teaching of the Kāvyaprakāśa ~ Kāvyaprakāśarahasyaprakāśa An Essay on Auspiciousness ~ Maṅgalavāda An Essay on Causality ~ Kāraṇatāvāda An Essay on Doubt ~ Saṃśayavāda An Essay on Dying in Kashi as a Cause   (of Liberation) ~ Kāśīmaraṇakāraṇatāvāda An Essay on God ~ Īśvaravāda An Essay on Heat and Its Effects ~ Pākajavāda An Essay on Heaven ~ Svargavāda An Essay on Joy in Viṣṇu ~ Viṣṇuprītivāda An Essay on Laws ~ Vidhivāda An Essay on Liberation ~ Mutkivāda An Essay on the Negative Particle ~ Nañvāda An Essay on Objectivity ~ Viṣayatāvāda

xviii  English Translations of Sanskrit Titles An Essay on Permanent Happiness An Essay on Veridicality The Essence of Logic The Essence of Nyāya Principles An Essay on the Production of the   Property-​Relation The Essence of the Puranas The Essence of the Thought-​Jewel The Essentials of the Bridge to the   Three Sacred Places An Examination of “Consideration” in   Inferential Reasoning Examination of the New View An Exposition Immortal Nectar of Krishna’s Feet An Inquiry into the True Nature of the   Ontological Categories Light-​Ray Mālatī and Mādhava The Messenger of the Foot-​Prints New Essay on Liberation An Ocean of Codes of Traditional Law An Offering of Ontological Categories The Proof for Brahman’s Non-​Duality The Removal of Errors through Splendorous Light Stream of Light The Thought-​Jewel of Truth True Essence of Pilgrimage Sites A Vessel on the Waves of Bliss

~ ~ ~ ~

Nityasukhavāda Prāmāṇyavāda Tarkāmr̥ta Nyāyasiddhāntasāra

~ Svatvajanakatāvāda ~ Purāṇasāra ~ Maṇisāra ~ Tristhalīsetusārasaṃgraha ~ ~ ~ ~

Anumitiparāmarśavicāra Navīnamatavicāra Vyākhyā Kr̥ṣṇapadāmr̥ta

~ Padārthatattvanirūpaṇa ~ Dīdhiti ~ Mālatīmādhava ~ Padāṅkadūta ~ Navamuktivāda ~ Smārtavyavasthārṇava ~ Padārthamālā ~ Advaitabrahmasiddhi ~ Ālokakaṇṭakoddhara ~ Kiraṇāvalī ~ Tattvacintāmaṇi ~ Tīrthatattva ~ Ānandalaharītari

  

Jammu

N

Lahore

Delhi

Kathmandu

Agra

Darbhanga Banaras Krishnanagar Navadvip Shantipur

Dhaka Bikrampur

Punyastambha Wai B AY O F BENGAL

Hampi ARABIAN SEA

Bednur Kancipuram Tanjavur

0

INDIAN

O CEAN

0

Map 0.1  Early Modern South Asia: Select Towns and Cities.

300 mi 500 km

Note on Transliteration I do not use diacritics for names of places and rivers; nor for “Vaishnava/​ism,” “zamindar,” and “majumdar,” unless part of a name. For Sanskrit, standard transliteration is used (ALA-​LC 2012). My transliteration of Bengali/​Bangla materials, though infrequent, requires some comment. In this case, I follow the Library of Congress (ALA-​LC 2017) transliteration table, except in the case of the final inherent vowel. This is not transliterated unless a word is the first member of a compound (e.g., jalada-​śarīr), when a word ends in a conjunct (e.g., grantha), when a word is a past passive participle (e.g., girata), and when a word ends in /​h/​(e.g., ḍaha). The Bengali materials also may contain nonstandard spellings, and I have retained these variants in transliteration.

Introduction “Tell me, why did your father leave Banaras and stay for so many years in Bengal?” “He stayed there to study.” “But, couldn’t he have studied here in Banaras?” “Of course—​but, logic is studied in Bengal.” —​Dhuṇḍirāja, circa 1700

Written at the turn of the eighteenth century, this dialogue would have been inconceivable two centuries earlier.1 In the early years of the sixteenth century, the study of logic by Sanskrit scholars in Bengal was only just beginning. The most famous Sanskrit logician of Bengal, Raghunātha Śiromaṇi, was likely still writing his well-​known work, An Inquiry into the True Nature of the Ontological Categories, and commentaries on seminal works in logic were just beginning to be composed.2 Still, the notion that one needed to travel in order to participate in the life of Sanskrit logic was already commonplace. Stories circulating from the sixteenth century told that Raghunātha’s teacher had secretly memorized a number of older, canonical works on logic when he was a student in the Mithila region of northern Bihar (Darbhanga), the earlier center for the study of Sanskrit logic. Then, after migrating to Bengal, he taught them to 1 A dialogue between a householder and an ascetic in Dhuṇḍirāja’s A Bouquet of the Language of the Gods, a story he composed for the teaching of Sanskrit (Shah 1960, 29): are tava pitā vārāṇasīṃ tyaktvā gauḍadeśe bahuvarṣaparyantaṃ kim arthaṃ sthitaḥ. svāminaḥ vidyābhyāsārthaṃ sthitaḥ. tarhi kāśyām adhyayanaṃ na bhavati kim. na bhavati kutaḥ. bhavati parantu tatra tarke [variant: tarkam] adhītam. Though writing from Banaras, Dhuṇḍirāja is originally from Maharashtra (ibid., 5, introduction). 2 Raghunātha’s works remained on the syllabus for the study of logic into the eighteenth century (Shah 1960, 29). The chronology of Raghunātha’s works is only partially known. He wrote An Inquiry into the True Nature of the Ontological Categories after his Essay on the Negative Particle; see Raghudeva Nyāyālaṅkāra’s comments in Rajpal 2008, 4.  Raghunātha’s teacher was Vāsudeva Sārvabhauma (D. Bhattcharya 2007, 36–​47). Except in very few cases, I do not provide the Sanskrit title of the texts to which I refer; please see “English Translations of Sanskrit Titles.”

A Time of Novelty. Samuel Wright, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2021. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197568163.003.0001

2 Introduction students in Navadvip, a small town in western Bengal and the epicenter of Sanskrit logic in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries (see Map 0.1 in the preliminary pages).3 Another story recounts that Raghunātha traveled from Navadvip to Mithila in order to complete his studies with a senior logician, but he ended up defeating his teacher in a philosophical debate witnessed by a large audience.4 Regardless of the veracity of these stories, each recasts significant intellectual and historical changes into narrative form. The story of Raghunātha’s teacher highlights the pedigree of Sanskrit logic in Bengal by drawing our attention to the fact that it had been transmitted from west to east—​not dissimilar to narratives of knowledge transmission in other thought systems of Bengal such as devotionalism or bhakti.5 The story about Raghunātha casts Bengal and, specifically, Navadvip, as the emerging intellectual center for the study of Sanskrit logic. These stories, then, speak to the fact that in the two centuries before Dhuṇḍirāja composed this dialogue, Sanskrit logic had undergone major transformations. Immediately after Raghunātha, logicians in Mithila began to assign geographic provenance to scholarly opinions from Bengal.6 A number of logicians, after training in Navadvip, migrated to Banaras, where they played an influential role in scholarly debates of the city. Manuscripts of works in Sanskrit logic circulated throughout countless towns and cities in a variety of local scripts. Sanskrit logicians after Raghunātha developed and pioneered the use of a highly technical language for philosophical writing. New genres were devised. And Sanskrit logicians increasingly referred to themselves and their arguments as “new” in distinction to other logicians and arguments they labeled “old,” suggesting that periodization was a central component of their philosophy. Yet the importance of these two centuries in Sanskrit logic does not simply reside in what it may tell us about intellectual-​historical change in a system of thought. To focus only on intellectual-​historical change abstracts developments of this sort out of and away from the lives of those who 3 The Mithila region or Tirhut had its capital in this period in Darbhanga, although the capital often shifted and the historical information on this is meagre; see Choudhary 1970, 19–​20, 148, 153n5, 169–​171. 4 For these stories, see Ingalls 1951, 12n48, 13–​15. 5 For Bengali devotionalism, see Stewart 2010, chap. 1; for Vedic knowledge in Bengal, see Eaton 1993,  6–​8. 6 The terms are “belonging to Bengal” (gauḍīya) and “Bengal opinion” (gauḍa-​mata), which refer to the Gauda subregion of Bengal where Navadvip is located (D. Bhattacharya 2007, 35–​36). On this older geography, see Eaton 1993, 3–​4.

Introduction  3 participate in a system of thought both individually and collectively. Stated more strongly, such an approach dissociates intellection from intellectual life: Intellection is a component of intellectual life, rather than a detached domain of thought.7 Intellectual life contains the ways in which individuals undertake their thinking in parallel with the sentiments and values that underwrite their participation in intellectual activities, broadly considered, both as individual thinkers and collectively as intellectual communities. This book argues that a philosophical community emerged in sixteenth-​ and seventeenth-​century India that crafted an intellectual life on the basis of intellectual and emotional responses to novelty in Sanskrit logic. As I demonstrate in this book, novelty was a primary concept used by Sanskrit logicians during this period to mark the boundaries of a philosophical community in both intellectual and emotional terms. By including emotion in the study of intellectual thought, I attempt to recover not only what it means to “think” novelty but also what it means to “feel” novelty. I explore the contours of what I call “intellectual novelty” and “affective novelty” in Sanskrit logic—​ expressions of novelty in which is contained the cognitive and emotional content that, taken together, constitute intellectual life. As these expressions of novelty are recognized and cared for, what is revealed is an imaginative process through which emerges a new philosophical community.

Sanskrit Logic and Its Contours Before I am able to specify fully how this book attempts a new history for Sanskrit logic, I need to specify what I mean by Sanskrit logic and outline its contours as a system of thought. Only then will we be in a position to appreciate the historiographic turn I am attempting in the pages that follow. In my opening remarks, the term “logic” (and my resulting phrase “Sanskrit logic”) is used as a gloss for the philosophical system of nyāya-​ śāstra. Nyāya-​śāstra is a system of knowledge expressed in Sanskrit—​and only Sanskrit—​that deals primarily with epistemology and metaphysics set within a framework of philosophical realism. The concerns of this system of thought include, for example, how and why we are able to know and speak

7 I am influenced here by the words of Stuart Plattner, who writes, “the economy is an aspect of social life rather than a segment of society” (1989, 14)  and the reflections by Martha Nussbaum (2001,  1–​16).

4 Introduction knowledgably and correctly about the world; how seemingly discrete phenomena in the world stand in relation to each other; how our (internal) mental processes and the (external) objects of the world stand in relation to each other; the ultimate categories of reality; and, increasingly so from the sixteenth century, the enunciation of a logic that abstracts not from propositions but from cognitions or “knowledges” (jñāna) using a language protocol (rather than symbols) that operates at the very limits of ordinary language.8 The modern study of nyāya-​śāstra has often framed it as one of the “six schools” or “six systems” of Indian philosophy (nyāya, vaiśeṣika, vedānta, mīmāṃsā, yoga, and sāṃkhya). Viewing premodern Indian philosophy through this organizational structure has influenced how it has been studied. An early study, for example, has noted that these systems “constitute[d]‌a logical whole” and were “closed . . . in essentials,” obviously leaving little room for innovation and change.9 While this book focuses on nyāya-​śāstra as a specific knowledge system in premodern India, I do not adopt the view that it is a closed or an inherently coherent system of thought. Indeed, much of the debate that takes place among scholars is about how to define certain concepts and how to address shortfalls in prior reasoning, indicating that scholars themselves did not consider these systems of thought closed or perfected. Nevertheless, nyāya-​śāstra was considered a distinct system of thought among scholars in premodern India, and some of its contours need to be highlighted. The system was first outlined in its foundational text, the Nyāyasūtra. This text is ascribed to the sage Gautama Akṣapāda, and it was likely finalized by anonymous redactors between 200 and 450 ce.10 Throughout the first millennium, Sanskrit logicians wrote extensive commentaries and subcommentaries on this text.11 This body of philosophical literature 8 On jñāna, see Matilal 1968, 3–​4. Piotr Balcerowicz discusses the lack of symbols in nyāya-​śāstra (2019, 940–​941). My use of “Sanskrit logic” here is largely to aid entrance into the book, but I also use it to register that nyāya-​śāstra as a philosophy is an activity of philosophical logic, a “discursive activity in which . . . truth is at stake” as noted by Irad Kimhi (2018, 1), or of a logic (tarka) “whose aim is truth” (sadarthaka) as noted by Raghudeva Nyāyālaṅkāra (Rajpal 2008, 3); and is one whose components such as anumiti (inferential process) can be included within the “multiplicity of logics” registered by Dale Jacquette (2006, 7). Similarly, Dhuṇḍirāja uses the term logic (tarka) to refer to nyāya-​śāstra as a whole. His fictional householder immediately names scholars in nyāya-​śāstra as those he studied when studying logic with his father in Bengal (Shah 1960, 29). 9 Hiriyanna 1952, 184. 10 On the redaction of the Nyāyasūtra, Matilal suggests a date of 100–​200 ce (1977, 78). Franco and Preisendanz argue for 400–​450 ce (1995, 86). 11 The commentaries on this text are classified under the overarching philosophical genre of śāstra (scientific treatise)—​a genre defined early in Sanskrit logic as “a specialized (textual) form; a curation of technical terms such as the ‘valid means of cognition’ (pramāṇa), and so forth” (śāstraṃ punaḥ

Introduction  5 argued for certain epistemological and metaphysical positions in opposition to philosophers from a range of other fields such as Buddhist philosophy, hermeneutics, and skepticism.12 In this argumentative context, Sanskrit logicians argued confidently that nyāya-​śāstra was better because only this system enables us to overcome our philosophical doubts. For example, the well-​known Sanskrit logician, Uddyotakara (c. 560 ce, Sugh, present-​day Haryana), writes that “Because nyāya-​śāstra resolves things about which one is uncertain, we can say that nyāya is the best system of thought.”13 The question of how to define nyāya-​śāstra was also a question raised by scholars themselves. Writing in 450–​500 ce possibly from the Deccan, Vātsyāyana provides a general definition in his commentary on the Nyāyasūtra. Beginning with a rhetorical question, Vātsyāyana asks, “But, what is this nyāya?” He responds: Nyāya is the examination of things using the valid means of cognition; it is the act of inferring based on sense perception and doctrinal tradition. It is what is called ānvīkṣā; and ānvīkṣā is the re-​examination of that which has been apprehended by sense perception and known through doctrinal tradition. That which proceeds on the basis of this re-​examination is what we call ānvīkṣikī; this is the doctrine of nyāya, in other words, ānvīkṣikī is the science of logic.14

Vātsyāyana highlights two major aspects of nyāya-​śāstra that enable us to appreciate some of the contours of this system of thought. First, it recognizes and utilizes specific means through which accurate knowledge about the world is attained. Vātsyāyana explicitly notes three out of the four means accepted by nyāya-​śāstra: sense perception, inference, and authoritative testimony (doctrinal tradition).15 These means of attaining accurate knowledge

pramāṇādivācakapadasamūho vyūhaviśiṣṭaḥ). This definition is given by Vātsyāyana (450–​500 ce); see Nyaya-​Tarkatirtha and Tarkatirth 1982, 4. 12 The literature on this is large, see Arnold 2005; Balcerowicz 2017; and Patil 2009. 13 Nyaya-​Tarkatirtha and Tarkatirtha 1982, 38: vipratipannapuruṣapratipādakatvāt paramo nyāya iti vakṣyāmaḥ. 14 Ibid.:  kaḥ punar ayaṃ nyāyaḥ. pramāṇair arthaparīkṣaṇaṃ nyāyaḥ. pratyakṣāgamāśritam anumānaṃ sānvīkṣā. pratyakṣāgamābhyām īkṣitasyānvīkṣaṇam anvīkṣā. tayā pravarttata ity ānvīkṣikī nyāyavidyā nyāyaśāstram. 15 Or, pratyakṣa, anumiti, and śabda; the fourth valid means of cognition, upamāna (analogy), is not explicitly mentioned here. Taken together, these are the four valid means of cognition or pramāṇas accepted by nyāya-​śāstra.

6 Introduction are employed by human beings to correctly ascertain objects and states of affairs in the world that are both directly and indirectly evident. Second, nyāya-​śāstra is specifically concerned with navigating argumentative contexts: Debate is integral to the process of “re-​examination” and making sense of the world—​a process based on querying what is apprehended in our perceptual acts and learned by studying earlier, definitive conclusions reached through those same processes. These techniques, theories, and methods are debated and formulated in an enormous set of texts, commentaries, and subcommentaries composed across a vast stretch of historical time from the early centuries of the Common Era extending into the nineteenth century. Yet scholars in nyāya-​śāstra in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries did not view this long, argumentative tradition as an ahistorical monolith, but rather as an expression of intellectual-​historical dynamism. A genuine concern of this book, then, is how best to refer to nyāya-​śāstra as a system of knowledge that is neither reductive nor antihistorical.16 Although I have refrained so far from using the term “discipline,” I use this term extensively in the book as one gloss of the Sanskrit term śāstra—​thus, nyāya-​śāstra becomes “discipline of nyāya.” While some may look askance at this gloss, I base this on two overarching reasons. First, both the terms “discipline” and śāstra have surprisingly close semantic overlap. Etymologically, the term “discipline” (from the French, dicepline, and the Latin, disciplīna) carries the meaning of punishment, instruction, and education. The term śāstra carries these meanings as well. The word is derived from the verbal root śās, which conveys the meaning of to teach, order, and tame; and, with its suffix -​tra, it conveys an instrumentality: the instrument of teaching, ordering, and taming.17 But etymological considerations and semantic similarities are not convincing in and of themselves since concepts such as discipline or śāstra have no meaning except and insofar as they are used. Many would perhaps prefer to retain the label of “knowledge system” for śāstra rather than “discipline.”18 However, to refer to nyāya-​śāstra as a knowledge system deflects important questions about disciplinary formations in premodern India and about connections between forms of knowledge, power, and intellectual-​historical change in an effort to emphasis the alterity of Indian knowledge systems vis-​à-​vis disciplinary

16 McCrea 2008a, 576.

17 For discipline, see OED 2018; and for śāstra, see Apte 2006, 916; Pollock 2008, 541. 18 Pollock 2008, 541.

Introduction  7 formations in eighteenth-​and nineteenth-​century Europe. I select the label “discipline” being fully aware about what disciplines do. As noted by a major social-​cultural theorist, disciplines “characterize, classify, specialize; they distribute along a scale, around a norm, hierarchize individuals in relation to one another and, if necessary, disqualify and invalidate” due to their “asymmetries” of power.19 In using the phrase “discipline of nyāya,” I  am not making a different claim compared to this statement by Michel Foucault about what disciplines do. In fact, reading with rather than against the grain has been an important approach to the question of how to refer to nyāya-​śāstra as a system of thought because it illustrates the general forms of exclusion enunciated by scholars in nyāya-​śāstra that allow for it to be rightfully called a discipline. Two forms of exclusion are of most interest to me. First, Sanskrit logicians were self-​consciously aware that their discipline had specific modes of inquiry that demarcated it from other knowledge systems in premodern India. Vātsyāyana’s comments earlier, for example, take this demarcation for granted. But this was an assumption also noted in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, made most explicit when Sanskrit logicians of the period refer to the “method of logic” (nyāya-​naya) in the course of their arguments. Although this phrase is not used often, it is employed at important argumentative moments in support of general philosophical commitments found in the discipline.20 Second, Sanskrit logicians argued for forms of exclusion based on the hierarchization of individuals. Writing in approximately 1320 from Mithila, Gaṅgeśa Upādhyāya begins his magnum opus, the Thought-​Jewel of Truth, by stating that Gautama Akṣapāda (in his Nyāyasūtra) invented the science of logic “with a desire to save the entire world sunk in the mud of suffering.”21 Although Gaṅgeśa’s grand opening is meant to signal the universal applicability of the discipline of nyāya, Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya, writing in the middle of the seventeenth century from Bengal, notes an objection. He says that “Some have objected that since ‘the world’ includes Shudras and other low-​status individuals, the Sage Gautama, would have committed an offense if he had invented the science of logic while desiring knowledge of 19 Foucault 1995, 223. 20 For example, it is used to note certain commitments about universals in Mathurānātha Tarkavāgīśa’s An Essay on Permanent Happiness (Misra and Shastri 1936, 147). 21 Gaud 1992, 7: atha jagad eva duḥkhapaṅkanimagnam uddidhīrṣur . . . ānvīkṣikīṃ  . . . muniḥ praṇināya.

8 Introduction its purpose among those who are not entitled to spiritual or metaphysical knowledge.”22 The objection noted here by Gadādhara—​that Gautama did not intend to include low-​status individuals—​was taken very seriously by some scholars, who argued vigorously against a socially capacious definition of “the world” in order to stress that nyāya-​śāstra was not intended for everyone. For example, writing from Tanjavur in about 1650, Rāmakr̥ṣṇādhvarin argues in his own commentary on Gaṅgeśa that the word “world” means only those of the three higher-​caste groupings (Brahmins, Kshatriyas, and Vaishyas) and that to claim that Shudras and women (strī) are entitled to study nyāya is not a plausible position.23 Similarly, the well-​known logician Annaṃbhaṭṭa (c. 1620, Banaras) argued that while Shudras and others, presumably women, can study nyāya-​śāstra, they should only do so after being reborn as a Brahmin. Only then, he argues, will the knowledge they learn result in liberation.24 Arguments such as these demonstrate that nyāya-​śāstra can be thought of as a discipline in the sense intended by Foucault—​replete with vagaries of power and hierarchy even in its most universal aim of freeing human beings from suffering. My use of the phrase “discipline of nyāya,” then, is intended to suggest that authors within this knowledge system can and do employ exclusionary techniques to craft its boundaries both intellectually and socially and, hence, is a knowledge system that can accurately be called a discipline—​ a choice in terminology that in my view also succeeds in avoiding a reductive and antihistorical description of the system. If determining a way to refer to nyāya-​śāstra as a knowledge system is important, equally so is how to refer to the scholars that compose works and 22 Ibid., 11:  nanu śūdrādīnām api jagadantargatatayādhyātmavidyānadhikāriṇām teṣām arthajñānecchayā śāstrapraṇayane maharṣiḥ pratyaveyāt. Gadādhara is speaking to a question raised by Raghunātha Śiromaṇi, who argued that “the world,” as used by Gaṅgeśa, simply means “that group of people caught in the cycle of re-​birth.” In other words, the word “world” means everyone (ibid., 8, 11: jagat saṃsāryātmajātam). 23 Tatacharya 1973, 115–​116: atra jagac chabdas traivarṇikaparaḥ. . . . strīśūdrāder apy adhikāraṃ bodhayatas tasyānāptatvenāśraddheyavacanatvāpatteś ca. See also Ganeri 2011, 67. 24 M. Sastry 2006, 2: “Since liberation is possible also among Shudras and others through the study of the discipline given that they have taken up the body of a Brahmin, it is logical to hold that those who are caught in the cycle of re-​birth are intended [by the Sage Gautama when he composed the Nyāyasūtra]. But, while Shudras and others [like women] can be an intended audience for the discipline, it is an offense if they take up its study” (śūdrādīnīm api brāhmaṇādiśarīradhāraṇadaśāyāṃ śāstrādhyayanena mokṣasambhavāt saṃsārimātrasyoddeśyatvaṃ yuktam. śūdrādyadhyāpane sati pāpaṃ na tūddeśyatāmātreṇa). Other arguments from exclusion are also made in a short essay by Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya entitled An Essay on Heaven. His remarks do not concern who can study nyāya-​śāstra, but rather who can attain liberation (Misra and Shastri 1936, 136).

Introduction  9 involve themselves in the discipline. In this book, I most often refer to these scholars as “nyāya intellectuals” and, to a lesser extent, “nyāya authors,” “nyāya scholars,” and “logicians.” Nyāya intellectuals referred to themselves as teachers or preceptors (ācāryas and upādhyāyas), rather than intellectuals, so what justification is there in using the term “intellectual” when referring to them? The term “intellectual” allows me to place authors of the discipline of nyāya into the generic process of intellection rather than immediately within a set of traditional roles inherent in such terms as ācārya and upādhyāya.25 Thus, I understand “intellectual,” following the comments of the well-​known Sanskrit scholar Gāgā Bhaṭṭa of seventeenth-​century Banaras, as a category of authors who employ literalization rather than figuration in their written work; whose writing relies on the well-​known meanings and senses of words rather than obscure ones often employed in literary writing.26 More specifically, my focus is “intellectuals” writing in Sanskrit who would describe themselves as naiyāyikas—​a term derived from the word nyāya, meaning “those who are concerned with the science of logic.” Given these considerations, my label “nyāya intellectual” is meant to describe those scholars whose writing, as mentioned, employs literalization rather than figuration and is framed by concerns and methods in the science of logic or nyaya-​ śāstra such as the means by which we attain correct knowledge of the world and the study of what exists.

A New History for Sanskrit Logic Early scholars who wrote about philosophy in premodern India might be surprised that nyāya philosophy from the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries is studied at all. Writing in 1922 about nyāya philosophy during this later period, Surendranath Dasgupta says with a sense of surrender that “it

25 For some important conceptions of “intellectual” I do not adopt, see Shils 1958, 8 and Masseau 1994, 38–​39. I know of Masseau from Pollock 2001a, 5. 26 Gāgā Bhaṭṭa says (Śyenavījātidharmānām Nirṇaya 1914, 303):  “When making sense of the meaning of a scientific treatise (śāstra), one reads only a well-​known meaning of a word—​not one that is obscure. . . . Therefore, reading only well-​known meanings when deliberating the meaning of a scientific treatise is correct, given the absence of things such as words that convey contradictory meanings and elliptical sentences in those treatises” (śāstrārthaparijñāne tu prasiddhasyaiva grahaṇam netarasya. . . . tasmāc chāstrārthanirṇayeṣu prasiddhasyārthasyaiva grahaṇaṃ yuktaṃ viparītārthadyotakavākyaśeṣādyabhāve). See Minkowski and O’Hanlon 2008, 394n55 for detailed information about this document. On the relation between figuration and obscurity of word meaning in Sanskrit literary works, see Bronner 2010, 162.

10 Introduction can hardly be hoped” that it will attract “enthusiastic students in larger numbers.”27 I trust that Dasgupta would be comforted by the fact that a steady number of studies have continued to be produced on this period in the discipline. Since the 1950s when the first major works on this period were written, the manner in which the discipline has been studied has changed considerably.28 Many of these early works were concerned with explaining philosophical arguments and technical vocabulary used during the period as well as gathering historical information such as where a scholar lived, what texts a scholar composed, and student-​teacher lineages. Subsequent studies were anxious to demonstrate that premodern India was also home to a tradition of critical and rigorous philosophical thought.29 Over the last twenty years, the most important influence on the study of nyāya philosophy in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries has been the international project Sanskrit Knowledge-​systems on the Eve of Colonialism under the editorship of Sheldon Pollock.30 As framed by Pollock, this project was and is explicitly concerned with exploring the question of “whether there is an Indian intellectual history—​that is, whether change has occurred in intellectual traditions, whether historical forms of consciousness have existed.”31 The historiographical turn engendered by this project was the practice of turning to history when studying Sanskrit intellectual thought. Primary among this perspective was the commitment to take seriously how Sanskrit scholars themselves conceptualized the history of their own knowledge systems. For example, scholars writing in Sanskrit during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries very frequently used the terms “new” (navya) and “old” (prāñc) to periodize arguments within the systems of thought in which they participated. Thus, texts are replete with references to “new” arguments in grammar, poetics, hermeneutics, and logic.32 This nomenclature, which emerged in large part during this period, signaled for many modern scholars a “different way of thinking” during this time in the Sanskrit intellectual traditions that required a fresh analysis of intellectual 27 S. Dasgupta 1922, 309. 28 The two most important studies from this period are Dineshchandra Bhattacharya’s Bāṅgālīr Sārasvata Abadān:  Baṅge Nabyanyāẏacarcā (Learned Achievements of Bengalis:  The Practice of Navya-​nyāya in Bengal), published in 1952 and reprinted in 2007; and Daniel Ingalls’s Materials for the Study of Navya-​Nyāya Logic, published in 1951. 29 See prefatory remarks in Matilal 1968 and Guha 1968. 30 Sanskrit Knowledge-​Systems on the Eve of Colonialism, n.d. See under “Working Papers” on the project’s website for a full list of research publications. 31 Pollock 2008, 535, emphasis in original. 32 McCrea 2008a, 576.

Introduction  11 change in Sanskrit thought as it took place in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.33 Much of the literature produced under the aegis of the Sanskrit Knowledge-​systems project examines this language as a marker of larger shifts in intellectual practice during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. In fact, a major outcome of the project is just this: Sanskrit scholars reoriented themselves to long traditions of intellectual thought by breaking the time of these traditions into periodized frameworks, which ultimately affected the nature of Sanskrit intellection itself. This change in the manner of studying Sanskrit intellectual history has resulted in engagements with new archives and a more detailed historical excavation about how the social and political contexts within which Sanskrit scholars wrote affected their philosophical reasoning and interests. It has also encouraged a broader focus on the ways in which regional language sources and Sanskrit texts can be brought together into conversation.34 Though still represented in few studies, the most important work on the discipline of nyāya that has emerged in conversation with the Sanskrit Knowledge-​systems project is Jonardon Ganeri’s The Lost Age of Reason: Philosophy in Early Modern India 1450–​1700.35 Ganeri argues that during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries “a new philosophical self ” emerged in which “new reason philosophers” within the discipline of nyāya engaged in a collaborative “search for the truth” but without unnecessary deference to prior opinions and authors in the discipline. For Ganeri, this was a period of intellection based primarily on “evidence-​based” inquiries, which included “proof-​strategies” and “reasoned decision-​making” that were “open to empirical confirmation or disconfirmation.”36 In his analysis, Ganeri recovers a number of broad features of this period in the discipline of nyāya such as the dense scholarly networks among “new” nyāya philosophers and the development of a technical language for metaphysics (what others have called an “ontologese”). He also draws attention to a number of putatively minor works that demand more critical attention by modern scholars.37 In a seminal article also associated with the Sanskrit Knowledge-​systems project, Karin Preisendanz argues that in this later period, specifically in the region of Mithila, nyāya scholars were concerned with returning to the 33 Pollock 2001a, 5. 34 For example, see the many excellent publications associated with the Oxford Early Modern South Asia Project, n.d. 35 Ganeri 2011. 36 Ibid., 244–​247. 37 On ontologese, see Egerton 2016, 9–​10.

12 Introduction foundational text of the discipline, the Nyāyasūtra.38 For Preisendanz, this concern contained “a new kind of focused and increasingly intense interest in its text-​critical analysis” paralleling a “historicist search for originality and authenticity.”39 In a recent and equally foundational essay that examines the discipline of nyāya over the long durée and is often critical of conclusions reached by the Sanskrit Knowledge-​systems project, Parimal Patil has argued more cautiously that nyāya philosophy in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries may contain substantively new arguments—​in line with claims by nyāya intellectuals that their arguments are “new”—​but this conclusion requires further historical and philosophical research.40 While this book attempts to move beyond the theoretical framing of the Sanskrit Knowledge-​systems project, I  am in general agreement with the premise of the project and the resulting studies that emerged in response to it. I take very seriously the periodizing techniques that Sanskrit scholars themselves used in their works, for example, since I do think that this expression indicates important changes in intellection among authors during this period. Nyāya intellectuals in the sixteenth, but especially the seventeenth, century employed a range of periodizing terms in their work such as new (navya), recent (atinavīna), and contemporary (ādhunika) as contrastive terms to old (prāñc), ancient (prācīna), and earlier (jīrṇa).41 Yet, in acknowledging these periodizing techniques, one question that runs through this book is how these terms—​and the theoretical perspectives upon which they are based—​ought to be understood. There has been a general tendency to understand terms such as “new” in a historical or diachronic fashion: the arising of the new premised upon the erasure of the old. When I refer to certain intellectual transformations that are new or novel in the course of the book, this is likely the sense of the term which comes to the mind of most readers. While I am interested in this sense of the term and engage in this sort of analysis in the book, however, this is only one aspect of its use that concerns me. I am also interested in notions of new or novel that do not take place diachronically but rather at the same time as or synchronically with the old—​an area that the Sanskrit Knowledge-​systems project has not sufficiently emphasized. Emphatically, in my view, investigating the new means 38 Preisendanz 2005. 39 Ibid., 86. 40 Patil 2013, 104. 41 These terms have been frequently discussed; for example, see Pollock 2001a, 2001b; Ganeri 2011, 150.

Introduction  13 investigating how time is used by Sanskrit scholars to create, and so to be coeval with, the old. No meta-​analysis on “the new” was ever written by nyāya intellectuals. Nonetheless, the use of the term “new”—​most often a gloss of the Sanskrit word navya—​is pervasive in texts within the discipline of nyāya in the period from 1500 to 1700 and demonstrates a conscious use of a term that, for whatever reason, was provided no formal or theoretical treatment. This makes the use of these periodizing terms by nyāya intellectuals even more complex and an answer about their purpose even more important. I also agree with the the Sanskrit Knowledge-​systems project that the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries—​what I refer to as “early modernity”—​is a particularly rich site to examine change in Sanskrit intellectual thought in premodern India, a period during which there was an “explosion of intellectual production in Sanskrit.”42 However, I do not view this period as a culmination of nyāya philosophy in historicist terms.43 Instead, this book attempts to dislodge historicism as a technique of intellectual-​historical writing.44 It does not search for nor does it posit an origin point of the new in the discipline of nyāya, but rather accepts that there are potentially multiple moments of its expression across historical time, which should be made sense of as separate practices of the new rather than subsumed under a single, predetermined definition of what nyāya is.45 For example, the famous nyāya authors Gaṅgeśa Upādhyāya and Vācaspati Miśra from fourteenth-​and fifteenth-​century Mithila, respectively, also extensively used the periodizing terms “new” and “old” when describing views and authors in the discipline.46 However, this earlier usage requires a separate historical and philosophical excavation. A major consequence of this perspective is that I do not refer to the early modern period in the discipline of nyāya as the period of “navya nyāya” (new nyāya)—​a near ubiquitous way that existing studies refer to the discipline after Gaṅgeśa, whose work is often identified as the beginning of “new” or navya nyāya.47 The term “new” or navya, as demonstrated throughout the book, is only applied by nyāya intellectuals to arguments and authors, never to the discipline as a whole. Rather, “navya nyāya” is a phrase 42 Sanskrit Knowledge-​Systems on the Eve of Colonialism, n.d., under “Proposal.” 43 Pollock 2001a, 7; Patil 2013, 104. 44 My argument here is informed by Foucault 1977, 152–​153; Nietzsche 2007, 53, II.13; and Chakrabarty 2007, 3–​23. 45 For two excellent studies that do ask about origins, see Wada 2001, 2007. 46 Patil 2013, 103–​104; Potter and Bhattacharya 1992, 136, 144; and Preisendanz 2005, 71–​72. 47 On Gaṅgeśa as the beginning of the new, see Wada 2007. For some excellent, recent studies and historical overviews that use this phrase, see Chatterjee 2011; Chaturvedi 2020; and Phillips 2017.

14 Introduction invented by modern scholarship that posits, by its very construction, a historical transformation of the entire discipline that leads seductively and incorrectly to notions of linearity, progress, and universalism. Yet, despite the success of the Sanskrit Knowledge-​systems project in recovering a history of Sanskrit intellectual thought in early modern India, I must agree with Lawrence McCrea, who argues that it is still not very clear “what it means to write on Nyāya or Mīmāṃsā [Sanskrit logic or Sanskrit hermeneutics] . . . or to ‘be’ a Naiyāyika or a Mīmāṃsaka [a Sanskrit logician or Sanskrit hermeneut]—​what it implies about one’s beliefs, one’s writing and reading practices, and one’s social, religious, and intellectual affiliations.”48 McCrea’s observation is crucial because it raises fundamental questions not simply about Sanskrit intellection but, more broadly, about intellectual life. In this book, I understand intellectual life to mean the various ways in which intellectuals undertook their thinking in parallel with or as a correlative to the sentiments and values that underwrote their participation in intellectual activities both as individual scholars and collectively as philosophical communities. I submit that the principal reason why it is not clear what it means to be a nyāya intellectual in early modern India is because prior research has focused exclusively on intellection and excluded emotion from consideration. In my view, nyāya philosophy contains both intellectual and emotional expressions around which nyāya scholars build an intellectual life. My conception of intellectual life, then, is much different from A. G. Sertillanges’s early, though influential, study on the topic in which he emphasizes silence and solitude.49 Much more recently, Zena Hitz has described intellectual life as “a form of asceticism” that entails “uprooting and drying up parts of ourselves.”50 In my view, however, such positions contribute to the notion that intellectual life is defined by a disciplining or, more worryingly, a lack of emotion as one undertakes thinking rather than admitting the much more productive and holistic view that intellectual life is located at the intersection of intellection and emotion or thinking and feeling.

48 McCrea 2008a, 576–​577. 49 Sertillanges 1960, viii: “Do you want to do intellectual work? Begin by creating within you a zone of silence, a habit of recollection, a will to renunciation and detachment which puts you entirely at the disposal of the work.” Sertillanges’s work was first published in French in 1921 with an English translation in 1948. 50 Hitz 2020, 113.

Introduction  15

Logic and Emotion The idea that nyāya intellectuals craft a philosophical community and so an intellectual life on the basis of both intellection and emotion has not been studied. While it may be taken for granted that intellection is an essential feature of nyāya intellectual life, it should nevertheless not be surprising that nyāya intellectual life also contains emotion. As Martha Nussbaum has convincingly argued, “emotions shape the landscape of our mental and social lives”—​a position that necessarily extends to our philosophical lives as well, even if those philosophical lives are full of the seemingly cold climate of logic.51 How might we study the discipline of nyāya in early modern India through both intellection and emotion? This book argues that it depends on our interpretation of the term “new” or navya as used by nyāya intellectuals. At a most basic level, when nyāya intellectuals describe an argument or an author as “new,” they are immediately attributing a novelty to that argument or author. Leaving aside the question of whether an argument or author really is new (an issue I address in Chapter 2), attributing novelty to authors and arguments through the use of the term “new” is a doubled action because the term expresses not only an “intellectual novelty” but also an “affective novelty.” In the former, arguments for novelty create a philosophical domain containing newly reasoned positions and authors adhering to those new positions, who may subsequently be described as new authors. This associates novelty to particular argumentative contexts and reason-​based practices and procedures. Thus, as an expression of intellectual novelty, the new allows nyāya intellectuals to craft a philosophical community around argument, rationality, and logic, that is, around “nyāya” in a literal sense of the term.52 In the latter, arguments for novelty contain a complex relationship with emotion because the new demands, to borrow again from Nussbaum, an “emotional development” on the part of nyāya intellectuals as a prerequisite for participating in the emotional history of a specific philosophical community.53 This emotional development requires nyāya intellectuals to comport themselves in new ways that place them in a new relationship 51 Nussbaum 2001, 1. 52 The term literally means “method,” “rule,” or “system” from the verbal root nī, to lead, direct, govern (Apte 1957–​1959, 933, 944). 53 Nussbaum 2001, 3.

16 Introduction with the “cherished objects” of the discipline such as standard philosophical conclusions, other nyāya authors, manuscripts, and even the discipline itself.54 In short, the new evokes a “complicated temporal history” within which nyāya intellectuals may choose to situate themselves but which asks them to alter what they value as philosophers.55 Thus, as an expression of affective novelty, the new allows nyāya intellectuals to craft a philosophical community around certain feelings and evocations, which, considered more generally, are aesthetic responses to nyāya philosophy. The fact that the term “new” or navya expresses both intellectual and affective novelty has two large implications as I explore in Chapter 6 and in the conclusion after working through some of its specific textual expressions. With respect to its intellectual novelty, I argue that the term contains an ontology that subsumes all nyāya intellectuals and places them into certain relations with each other. I recover this ontology by borrowing from particular theories that underwrite Raghunātha Śiromaṇi’s critical analysis of nyāya ontology in his Inquiry into the True Nature of the Ontological Categories. With respect to its affective novelty, I argue that the new, when employed in philosophical arguments, generates an emotional response among nyāya intellectuals in the same way that literary language does according to Sanskrit literary theorists. Relying upon important reflections on imagination by David Shulman, I explore what nyāya intellectuals “bring into being” when they write, read, and debate the new. Investigating this interplay between intellectual and emotional history allows us to better understand how nyāya intellectuals craft their philosophical community and what it means to be a nyāya intellectual because it provides a fuller picture of nyāya intellectual life in early modern India. By way of a postscript to this section, let me conclude with some larger reflections on emotion since the relation between emotion and nyāya philosophy is at risk of remaining unclear, given that they have not before been brought into conversation.56 Like the terms “logic” and “intellectual,” “emotion” is another term that requires some comment. In Sanskrit thought, the 54 Ibid., 2. 55 Ibid., 3. 56 For excellent overviews of the “history of emotions” with a concern for south Asia, see Chatterjee, Krishnan, and Robb 2017; Khan 2015; and Pernau 2017; 2019, 1–​19, 272–​285. On Hindu law and emotion, see the reflections by Heim 2018, 419–​431; and for a detailed treatment of emotions in early Sanskrit thought, see Ganeri 2012, 268–​282. See also Bilimoria and Wenta 2015 for explorations on the relation between emotion and knowledge systems in premodern India. However, I must disagree with their notion of “Brāhmaṇical emotionlessness” as way to think through how different systems of thought interacted in premodernity (Bilimoria and Wenta 2015, 23–​24).

Introduction  17 discipline to deal most rigorously and creatively with emotion is literary theory (alaṅkāra-​śāstra), where emotion or bhāva has been theorized as the central problem of literature—​the premier location of creative emotional expressivity.57 In Sanskrit literary theory, emotion has a number of subcategories such as stable emotions (sthāyī-​bhāva) and transitory emotions (vyabhicāri-​bhāva) that when combined in certain ways lead to the emergence of a “unified emotional core” or rasa of a literary expression that is felt by the audience, character, and/​or the reader.58 But this book is not a study of how emotional forms specific to Sanskrit literary theory are found in nyāya philosophical writing. Instead, the book recovers emotions in nyāya philosophical writing that may be outside such classification schemes—​if at times it engages with certain emotions discussed in Sanskrit literary theory (Chapter 4) or discusses the use of rasa in other Sanskrit systems of thought (Chapter 3). Nevertheless, this book does adopt a general conception of emotion formulated by Jagannātha Paṇḍitarāja, the premier Sanskrit literary theorist of early modern India (c. 1650, Banaras), as “the activity of one’s inner life.”59 When I speak of certain emotions in nyāya philosophical writing, then, I am referring to the activity or, more subtly, the movement, that is this inner life of a nyāya intellectual as expressed in that scholar’s writing; and I am also referring to an inner life that becomes shared among and projected out to other nyāya intellectuals with whom a scholar interacts both directly in person and indirectly through that scholar’s texts in manuscript form—​the latter enabling emotions to be shared or “coordinated” across space (Chapter 5).60 In line with the important work of Margrit Pernau and Imke Rajamani, then, I  do not consider emotion to remain confined only to one’s inner life but also to be a component in knowledge creation and constitutive to its meaning.61 In early modern India, knowledge produced by nyāya intellectuals expresses novelty. But, as knowledge is necessarily constituted by both intellection and emotion, novelty must also contain intellectual and emotional components in order for it to be successfully and fully enunciated. 57 Pollock 2016, 1–​21. For Pollock’s philological reflections on the term bhāva, see ibid., xvi. 58 On “emotional core” for rasa (ibid., 8); on the various loci of rasa considered historically (ibid., 5–​26); and for a list of these types of emotions (ibid., 327–​333). 59 See his Rasagaṅgādhara (P. Dvivedi 1998, 143): cittavr̥ttyātmakeṣu bhāveṣu. . . . For a recent study of Jagannātha, see Truschke 2015. 60 For reflections on direct communication and the coordination of emotions over distances, which emphasizes the role of “media,” see Pernau 2017, 17. 61 Pernau and Rajamani 2016, 47.

18 Introduction I identify these two components as intellectual novelty (that which contains “new” knowledge) and affective novelty (that which contains the emotional content of “the new”). It is on the basis of these components, taken together, that nyāya intellectuals build an intellectual life and which are ultimately used by certain nyāya intellectuals to form a philosophical community in early modern India. I have chosen the phrase “affective novelty” instead of “emotional novelty” because the term “affective” more directly conveys the “dynamic and interactive dimensions” of this inner life compared to the term “emotional”—​a perspective I adopt from Andreas Reckwitz.62 My use of “affective novelty,” then, attempts to stress that the inner life of nyāya intellectuals correlates to them generating and creating certain planned relations with the philosophical world; and that this inner life has serious “implications for action,” as noted by Jonardon Ganeri.63 At the same time, novelty can also be considered an object toward which a nyāya intellectual entertains certain feelings. As noted by Bennet W. Helm, emotion leads to correlated rational actions on the part of an individual as he or she attributes a value and priority to objects on the basis of that emotion. In the context of nyāya intellectual practice, this means that novelty, while containing specific emotional content, is valued such that the feeling of value associated with novelty leads to certain actions by scholars individually and collectively as they act on behalf of it.64 More generally though, I use “affective novelty” to mark a collection of emotional practices that reveal an emotional history (Chapter 6). This emotional history exhibits nyāya intellectuals crafting an “emotional or feeling community”—​in the sense originally formulated by Barbara H. Rosenwein—​ that is sustained by or based upon a “stable feeling of belonging together,” in the words of Margrit Pernau.65 It is my contention that the affective component of novelty is key to the arising of this broader “stable feeling” among nyāya intellectuals in early modernity.66

62 Reckwitz 2012, 250. 63 Ganeri 2012, 282. 64 Helm 2009, 250. 65 Rosenwein (2006, 2) defines emotional communities as “groups in which people adhere to the same norms of emotional expression and value—​or devalue—​the same or related emotions.” For Pernau’s quote, see 2017, 16. 66 Though intriguing, I pass over the possible connection here between Pernau’s claim of a “stable feeling” and the “stable emotion” of Sanskrit literary theory.

Introduction  19

Point of Entry My discussion herein raises an important question about how to enter into the corpus of nyāya texts such that the relationship between logic and emotion can be brought to the forefront. Indeed, the existing corpus of nyāya texts composed from the early centuries of the Common Era up to and including the early modern period is exceptionally voluminous; and like other disciplines is expressed in various genre forms. These genres range from different types of commentaries to independent treatises.67 When we turn to the textual production specific to the early modern period in the discipline, we are similarly confronted with an enormous number of texts in a variety of genres: About 280 texts were composed in the period by about fifty-​two nyāya intellectuals with at least 4,800 manuscripts of these texts still extant (see Table I.1 and Chapter 5).68 Given this large number of texts, there are many possible points of entry into the discipline in the early modern period. Thus, I must clarify to the reader the entry I take and why; and how that decision facilitates an examination of intellectual and emotional expressions in nyāya philosophy. I have placed an emphasis on a philosophical genre—​the vāda—​that emerged as an independent essay form in early modernity. These essays, often only a few printed pages in length or about two folia in manuscript form, are held in significant numbers throughout India for this period in the discipline of nyāya and were collected in large numbers by scholars of the seventeenth century, in particular.69 The use of this essay genre in early modern India represents nothing less than the emergence of a new intellectual practice in the discipline of nyāya, although it remains an intellectual practice essentially untheorized. Part of the reason for this neglect is that these texts very often address minor topics unrelated to broader trends and concerns found in larger commentarial works and treatises of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Another reason may be that texts in this genre occasionally have

67 On genre, see Ganeri 2011, 102–​116 and Preisendanz 2008. 68 The estimate for the number of texts is calculated using Potter, n.d.; Chapter 5 discusses the manuscripts. 69 For example, the personal library of Kavīndrācārya, a well-​known Sanskrit scholar of mid-​ seventeenth-​century Banaras, contained a large number of nyāya texts in this genre: of the eighty-​ five nyāya works in Kavīndrācārya’s library, twenty-​two are vāda essays written exclusively by nyāya intellectuals who lived in the seventeenth century (R. Sastry 1921, 4–​5). The list is not entirely reliable (Gode 1943): A few of the nyāya texts were written after Kavīndrācārya’s time.

Table I.1  Sanskrit Logicians by Region and Date Banaras 1500 Rāmakr̥ṣṇa Cakravartin Bhaṭṭācārya* Yādavācarya 1550

1600

1650

1700

Kāśīnātha Vidyānivāsa (Bhaṭṭācārya)* Raghupati Upādhyāya† Umāpati Upādhyāya† Bhavānanda Siddhāntavāgīśa* Dinakara‡ Annaṃbhaṭṭa‡ Rudra Nyāyavācaspati* Govinda Bhaṭṭācārya* Raghudeva Nyāyālaṅkāra* Jayarāma Nyāyapañcānana* Śrīkaṇṭha Dīkṣita‡ Laugākṣī Bhāskara Govardhana Miśra Mādhavadeva‡ Nārāyaṇa Tīrtha‡ Nīlakaṇṭha Bhaṭṭa Mahādeva Punataṃkara‡ Trilocanadeva Nyāyapañcānana‡

Bengal (Navadvip)

Deccan and South

Mithila (Darbhanga)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi Kaṇāda Tarkavāgīśa Jānakīnātha Tarkacūḍāmaṇi Haridāsa Nyāyālaṅkāra Ratnākāra Vidyāvācaspati Rāmabhadra Sārvabhauma Śrī Rāma Tarkālaṅkāra Guṇānanda Vidyāvāgīśa Kr̥ṣṇadāsa Sārvabhauma Puruṣottamācārya Bhaṭṭācārya

Vyāsa Tīrtha (Hampi)

Rucidatta Miśra Vāsudeva Miśra

Gaurīkānta Sārvabhauma Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana Harirāma Tarkavāgīśa

Mathurānātha Tarkavāgīśa Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya Govinda (Nyāyavāgīśa) Bhaṭṭācārya (Rāma)rudra Tarkavāgīśa Rāmabhadra Siddhāntavāgīśa Nr̥siṃha Pañcānana

Bhagīratha Ṭhakkura Madhusūdana Ṭhakkura Gopīnatha Ṭhakkura

Koṇḍa Bhaṭṭa (Bednur) Dharmarājādhvarīn (Tanjavur) Rāmakr̥ṣṇādhvarin (Tanjavur)

Rāmacandra Nyāyavāgīśa

Śrīkr̥ṣṇa Sārvabhauma

*Bengal origin; †Mithila origin; ‡Deccan and southern origin.

Source: D. Bhattacharya 2007 and Potter, n.d. (design adopted from Ganeri 2011, xii).

Gokulanātha Upādhyāya

Introduction  21 an uncertain provenance given that some were actually part of larger works but became separated and circulated as stand-​alone essays.70 For readers familiar with the discipline of nyāya, the term vāda will be recognizable as a form of debate outlined in the Nyāyasūtra. Here, the term vāda means a debate or discussion; it forms one of three ways in which a debate can occur, the other forms being deconstruction (viṭaṇḍa) and sophistry (jalpa). Early commentators on the Nyāyasūtra understood the term vāda to specify a debate between a student and teacher or between those within the same discipline through which both parties arrived at a definitive conclusion about a topic.71 It was also used as a way to organize larger works. For example, in his Thought-​Jewel of Truth, Gaṅgeśa (c. 1320, Mithila) labels each section of his text a “vāda” or “discussion” such as the “Discussion on Absence” (abhāva-​vāda). These discussion sections were then the basis of commentaries by subsequent authors. It appears that Raghunātha Śiromaṇi was the first nyāya scholar to use the term vāda for a stand-​alone short essay. His Essay on the Negative Particle, for example, is not part of a larger work nor is a commentary on an existing one.72 Though used sparingly after Raghunātha in the sixteenth century, authors used the vāda essay genre extensively in the seventeenth century, especially authors from Bengal such as Harirāma Tarkavāgīśa (c. 1640, Navadvip) and his two pupils, Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (fl. 1661, Navadvip) and Raghudeva Nyāyālaṅkāra (fl. 1657, Navadvip/​Banaras).73 Harirāma, for example, wrote only short essays, which 70 A few studies note the vāda genre use in passing: V. N. Jha 2004, 57; A. D. Shastri 1966, 66; D. Bhattacharya 2007, 182, 279; and Gerschheimer 1996, 5. A good example of a vāda essay separating from a larger work is Mathurānātha Tarkavāgīśa’s An Essay on Permanent Happiness. Although this text is presented by Balakrishna Misra and Dhundiraj Shastri in their 1936 edition (Misra and Shastri 1936, 144–​148) as an anonymous and independent work, it is actually part of a larger treatise by Mathurānātha Tarkavāgīśa (c. 1600–​1650, Navadvip) entitled A Closely-​Guarded Teaching of Established Conclusions, originally thought to be lost. An Essay on Permanent Happiness matches the seventy-​fifth section (folia 337b–​338b) of this treatise (Windisch and Eggeling 1894, 664–​665, MS no. 660). Though identified as unknown by Windisch and Eggeling, D. Bhattacharya (2007, 159–​160) has found a verse identifying the author of this treatise as Mathurānātha (folio 188b). 71 Matilal 1998, 45; Matilal 1977, 76–​77. 72 Bimal Krishna Matilal 1968, 145 posits that it was well received because it addressed issues not discussed by Gaṅgeśa in his Thought-​Jewel of Truth. 73 Evidence that Raghudeva was Harirāma’s pupil is found in a colophon to his Dravyasaṃgraha (copied in 1757 saṃvat or 1700 ce) available in Weber (1853, 204, MS no. 685) where he calls himself the pupil (śiṣya) of Śrīyuta Harirāma Tarkavāgīśa Bhaṭṭācārya. I know of this from D. Bhattacharya 2007, 279. Evidence that Gadādhara was Harirāma’s pupil is not definitive, but it follows the traditional account; see D.  Bhattacharya 2007, 181 and Ganeri 2011, 86n71. Hardly any information is available on Harirāma. D. Bhattacharya (2007, 182) mentions two manuscripts he has seen by Harirāma:  (1) the Sannikarṣarahasya copied in 1668 (Śaka 1590, 26 Baiśākh Br̥haspativāra) by one Kr̥ṣṇadeva Śarma and (2)  the Bādhabuddhipratibandhakatāvicara copied in 1655 (1711 Vikramāditya Era). The latter is also listed in Hall (1859, 54, MS no. CLIX), with an alternative title of Bādhabuddhivādārtha. These manuscripts help to provide a highly approximated upper limit for Harirāma’s date.

22 Introduction he sometimes also called vicāras. His essays total approximately forty-​four, of which approximately fifteen have been published. Gadādhara wrote approximately twenty-​eight short essays, of which about twelve have been published. Raghudeva wrote approximately thirty-​five short essays, of which about eight have been published.74 The lack of critical engagement with the vāda essay genre means that the most important question about it remains unanswered: Why did nyāya intellectuals choose to write in the vāda essay genre during the early modern period? One answer that could be given, but which is ultimately inadequate, is that writing philosophical essays was a standard practice in premodern India and nyāya intellectuals were simply conforming to this practice. Indian Buddhist scholars, for example, used various forms of short-​essay genres like the prakaraṇa in order to focus upon “critical themes,” as noted by Dan Lusthaus.75 A new essay style (though no new genre name) has been flagged by Gary Tubb and Yigal Bronner in Sanskrit literary theory and by Christopher Minkowski in vedānta for the early modern period.76 I should also note that the vāda genre was not only used by nyāya intellectuals: Puruṣottama (1658–​ 1754, Surat), a well-​known scholar of the Pushti Marg sect of Vaishnavism, used this genre extensively; and scholars from the Mādhva vedānta tradition also wrote a number of texts in this genre, as noted by Michael Williams.77 This is not the place to offer a comparative analysis of each of these genres with the vāda essay genre; nor to examine how the vāda genre was employed differently by different authors and disciplines. However, I do want to stress a broader argument made by Ralph Cohen that genres are “historical assumptions constructed by authors, audiences, and critics in order to serve communicative and aesthetic purposes.”78 Cohen’s arguments suggest that new genres (or new uses of genres) are devised at certain historical moments by authors to fulfill certain communicative needs that are inadequately met by existing genres—​something that has been registered by others in different 74 For Harirāma, see Misra and Shastri 1936; Tripathi 2001; and entry in Potter, n.d.; for Gadādhara, see Misra and Shastri 1936 and entry in Potter, n.d.; and for Raghudeva, see Tripathi 2003, 6–​8; Prajapati 2008; and Potter, n.d. From the end of the seventeenth century to the beginning of the eighteenth century, the vāda genre was employed less. Instead, nyāya intellectuals turned their attention to producing kroḍapatras: short, technical essays on a difficult, often obscure, portion of an earlier text and begins in medias res (and thus from which the name of the genre originates). These supplements were often collated into collections. For discussions on kroḍapatras, see Ganeri 1999, 8–​10; Krishna 2002, 147; Patil 2013, 111; and Wright, 2020b. Guha (1968) quotes from many in his study. 75 Lusthaus 2002, v. 76 Tubb and Bronner 2008, 624–​627; Minkowski 2011, 210–​211. 77 A. D. Shastri 1966; Williams 2014, 129. 78 Cohen 1986, 210.

Introduction  23 contexts.79 Discussing genre development in Chinese Buddhism during the eighth century, Richard D.  McBride II notes that a new genre, the siddhi, emerged for explaining how to use certain mantras in ritualized settings.80 Judith A. Berling has suggested a link between the emergence of the yü-​lu (collected sayings) genre in Cha’an Buddhism during the Sung Dynasty (c. 960–​1279) and an interest in the words of teachers rather than only in the words of the Buddha.81 Similarly, Carl Ernst has argued that the genre of mulfāẓāt in the Chishtī Sufi tradition of India from the fourteenth century emerged in response to an interest in textualizing oral teachings of Sufi masters.82 As demonstrated in the book, nyāya intellectuals chose to write in the vāda essay genre in order to introduce novelty into the discipline. This took place in two ways. First, the genre was used to address novel topics that had not been discussed before in the discipline; and, second, the genre was used to present new arguments about a philosophical topic whose original arguments were now considered outdated. The latter mode is much more common. In these cases, the content of the essay is structured in a certain manner: A topic is introduced and the “old” position on the topic is discussed; then, a “new” position on the topic is presented. Because this is the standard argumentative form of the genre, the vāda essay genre is the primary location where the periodizing terms “new” and “old” are employed by authors in the discipline in the early modern period. Of course, I must stress that the vāda essay genre is not the only genre where novelty is introduced into the discipline; rather, the vāda essay genre is one where the introduction of novelty is a function of the genre. Finally, the vāda essay genre is one whose function is to communicate novelty about topics that are seemingly minor or trivial, and, for this reason, the genre is an exceptionally important archive for exploring the relationship between logic and emotion. This is because it is very often the location where the particular, and so new, concerns of nyāya intellectuals—​their peculiar philosophical interests—​are on full display. In my view, it is in these essays where nyāya intellection in early modernity is set in detailed relief—​ much more so than in nyāya works on common and standard themes treated by many, if not all, nyāya scholars.83 Moreover, because these essays have

79 See also McCrea’s comments on doxography (2015, 97–​99). 80 McBride II 2011, 312. 81 Berling 1987, 86. 82 Ernst 1992. 83

My comments are informed here by the so-​called Morellian Method discussed in Ginzburg 1989.

24 Introduction remained essentially unstudied, they provide a point of entry into the discipline not previously taken.

Plan of Book This book recovers intellectual and affective novelty in nyāya philosophy and examines the way in which, taken together, these two types of novelty create multiple concomitants that underwrite nyāya intellectual life. The book is divided into three parts. Part I, comprising Chapters 1 and 2, is called “Newness and Emotion.” Chapter  1 argues for a concomitance between critical inquiry and trust. I argue that a new relationship between doubting and reasoning is constituted in the early modern period that allowed for new forms of critical inquiry in nyāya philosophical writing. Yet, in accepting the arguments for this new relationship between doubting and reasoning, nyāya scholars displayed themselves to be not only intellectually competent but emotionally competent as well vis-​à-​vis the new, enabling a feeling of trust to emerge between scholars who accepted the new view on doubt and its role in critical inquiry. Chapter 2 argues for a concomitance between scholarly identity and dialogical intimacy. Here, I read the concept of novelty in a skeptical manner by arguing that nyāya intellectuals could and did purposely misrepresent the history of their discipline in order to make their views appear novel. The major outcome of this was the construction of a philosophical community around putatively novel positions—​a process that displays an intimacy between scholars who accept a specific version of nyāya disciplinary history. Part II, comprising Chapters 3 and 4, is called “Feeling and Reasoning.” Chapter  3 argues that the conception of the self (ātman) that nyāya intellectuals attribute to humans corresponds to how they give emotional meaning to space, particularly the city of Navadvip and the Bengal region. I examine their position—​that emotions are particular to humans and do not occur in divine beings—​in relation to arguments in Bengali Vaishnavism where emotion is understood to be that which allows one to connect to the divine. The chapter offers a comparative study of how space is conceptualized through feeling and reasoning—​a process that showcases competing notions of space in seventeenth-​century Bengal. Chapter 4 argues for a concomitance between the emotion of dying and the cognitive positionality of nyāya authors when they think philosophically about how the city of Banaras confers spiritual liberation upon death.

Introduction  25 The first two parts of the book are more technical in nature. I provide close readings of nyāya texts in order to make sense of, at times obscure, nyāya philosophical positions. In Part III, however, I step back and, with the benefit of having worked through a number of textual expressions of “the new” and other particulars (and peculiarities) of nyāya philosophy of the early modern period, reflect upon broader issues. Part III, comprising Chapters  5 and 6, is called “Space and Time.” Chapter 5 attempts to recover the complex contours of the nyāya manuscript economy in early modern India and the ways in which this economy supported a pan-​regional space of nyāya intellection. I argue that this space functioned on the basis of both intellectual and emotional relations between nyāya intellectuals and “the text” as these scholars responded to novelty in nyāya argumentation. Chapter 6 reflects theoretically on the intellectual and emotional histories of nyāya intellectuals that run in parallel as and when scholars express value for and argue on behalf of novelty through writing, reading, and debate. I conclude the book by exploring how novelty functions as the primary element through which these intellectual and emotional responses are generated and how they define nyāya intellectual life in early modern India. As these responses ultimately collapse into each other, I  argue that what emerges is an imaginative process that brings into being a new philosophical community.

Note on Ontological Category (Padārtha) Throughout the book, but especially in Chapters 1 and 2, I refer to the “ontological categories” posited and taken for granted by scholars within the discipline of nyāya. Because this is such a central concept to the discipline and to this study, a few words are required about what I mean by “ontological category” and how the term padārtha should be interpreted. The term padārtha has a somewhat confusing usage in the discipline of nyāya. The earliest extant commentary on the Nyāyasūtra uses the term padārtha to refer to the sixteen “topics” enumerated at the beginning of the Nyāyasūtra that, when properly understood, allow for liberation.84 Later, 84 This is Vātsyāyana’s commentary (Nyaya-​Tarkatirtha 1982, 35). The opening of the Nyāyasūtra (1.1.1) reads (ibid., 28): “It is the knowledge of the real essence of the following that leads to the attainment of liberation: (1) the means of accurate cognition, (2) the objects of cognition, (3) doubt,

26 Introduction however, the term padārtha came to be used as a technical term to refer to the ontology accepted by scholars in the discipline. This ontology was adopted from another Sanskrit philosophical tradition, the discipline of vaiśeṣika—​ a system of knowledge concerned more properly with ontology. The discipline of vaiśeṣika first delineated this ontology in its own foundational text, the Vaiśeṣikasūtra (50–​150 ce).85 This ontology posits six padārthas, a term which has come to be glossed in nearly all English language studies as “ontological category.”86 These six ontological categories are substance (dravya), trope (guṇa), activity (kriyā), generality (sāmānya or jāti), inherence (samavāya), and particularity (viśeṣa). This ontology underwent a slight, but permanent, modification near the turn of the second millennium when an additional, seventh category was added: absence (abhāva).87 It is these seven ontological categories that nyāya intellectuals inherit and with which they critically engage in the early modern period. In this period a major debate takes place in the discipline about the ontological categories: whether some should be subsumed in existing ones, whether new categories ought to be posited, and whether some should be eliminated. This critique is initiated by Raghunātha Śiromaṇi and demonstrates that nyāya intellectuals in the early modern period were concerned with what Peter van Inwagen has called “ontology proper”: “the attempt to set out a satisfactory list of ontological categories.”88 What is an ontological category for nyāya intellectuals? This question is best answered by providing a fresh analysis of the Sanskrit term padārtha. The term is a compound made up of the words pada and artha. It has been grammatically analyzed in nearly all secondary literature as “the object (artha) of a word (pada).”89 This standard analysis follows one of the first, major treatments on the topic by Karl Potter in which he analyzes padārtha as “the thing of a word” or “that to which a word refers.”90 Pradeep Gokhale, (4) motive, (5) example, (6) established conclusion, (7) components of an inference, (8) argumentation, (9) ascertainment, (10) discourse, (11) sophistry, (12) deconstruction, (13) false reasons, (14) argumentative tricks, (15) futile rejoinder, (16) weak points in argument” (pramāṇaprameyasaṃśayaprayojanadr̥ṣṭāntasiddhāntāvayatarkanirṇayavādajalpavitaṇḍāhetvābhāsacchalajātinigrahasthānānāṃ tattvajñānān niḥśreyasādhigamaḥ). 85 On this date, see Potter 1977, 211. 86 Potter, however, glosses padārtha with “individual” (1957, 5). 87 For a thorough overview of these issues, see Chatterjee 2011. 88 van Inwagen 2014, 201. For an overview of the nyāya debate in the early modern period, see Ganeri 2011, 200–​219. 89 Recently, Chatterjee 2011, 114. 90 Potter 1957, 4.

Introduction  27 following Potter, provides a standard explanation:  The term padārtha indicates that our language refers to something in the objective world.91 Those “things out there” in the objective world are the padārthas—​those “irreducible correlates of speech and thought,” as Michael Williams has suggested.92 It is my contention, however, that much of this needs to be rethought. Following an early critique by Paul Thieme on Potter’s analysis of the term padārtha, I propose to think of artha not as “object/​thing” but as “sense/​ meaning.”93 In my view, this would mean that the term padārtha is an attributive term that should be analyzed as “that from which a word gets its sense/​meaning.”94 This interpretation offers more clarity about the term padārtha. For scholars in the discipline of nyāya, our language is keyed to an objective world (Chapter 2). This means that the words we use to describe our world are necessarily underwritten by an (objective) ontology. Words such as “color” and “number” or “conjunction” and “disjunction,” for example, get their sense/​meaning because they depend upon the objective existence of the ontological categories of trope (guṇa) and activity (kriyā), respectively. This analysis of the term padārtha I  am proposing better specifies the reason why we are able to use words successfully: They find their sense or meaning from an objective ontology that is the subsuming classes—​the ontological categories—​of the things in the world.95 For nyāya intellectuals, I submit, if this ontology did not exist or, more technically, if these ontological categories were empty categories, our language would be nonsensical or nonmeaningful because it would not be based upon nor correlate to the subsuming classes or ontological categories that, when taken together, is the ontology of the world. “Ontological category” is thus an acceptable gloss of padārtha because, for nyāya scholars, the term stands for an objective, nonarbitrary classification scheme that our words depend upon for their sense/​ meaning.96

91 Gokhale 1982, 207. 92 Williams 2014, 626. 93 Thieme 1959, 530. On this sense of the term and its many meanings, see Matilal 2005, 21. Thieme’s interpretation of artha was likely influenced by his earlier work on Pāṇini (Thieme 1956). 94 More literally, “that from which or due to which there is the sense/​meaning of a word” (padasya arthaḥ yasmāt saḥ). 95 I do not address possible hierarchies of ontological categories (van Inwagen 2014, 190–​195). 96 Ibid., 194.

28 Introduction

Note on Translation A major issue for this book is how best to translate nyāya arguments from Sanskrit into readable English. Fifty years ago, Daniel Ingalls argued that the translation of nyāya philosophy should entail the act of translating nyāya into the language of formal logic.97 I do not follow this suggestion here. Nyāya philosophical language is in many ways an artificial language, replete with long compounds, abstractions, technical terminology, and few finite verbs; nevertheless, it is still a natural language—​even if at the very limits of it.98 Yet, when translating nyāya philosophical language literally into English, it can quickly become unintelligible, especially nyāya philosophical language from the early modern period. To counter this problem, I have translated it in certain ways. First, I have incorporated concrete referents where nyāya philosophical language remains abstract or when the language is vague (e.g., using demonstrative pronouns instead of substantives). Second, I have often completed elliptical sentences so that the point of the argument is properly stressed. Third, I have regularly broken long compounds into multiple English sentences. Fourth, I use square brackets extremely sparingly. Because I feel that square brackets make quotations visually difficult for non-​Sanskritists, I have used them only when absolutely necessary. This means that my interpolations are often not marked; but those readers interested in the Sanskrit can turn to the notes where the Sanskrit is provided. Finally, unless otherwise noted, the translated passages are my own.



97 See the “Editor’s Introduction” by Ingalls in Matilal 1968, vii. 98 Garfield 2014, 344.

PART I

NEWN E SS A N D E MOT ION

1 Doubt The transformations that took place in the discipline of nyāya in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries constitute some of the most important events in Sanskrit intellectual history. Yet to identify this moment as a site of intellectual-​historical change is to raise fundamental questions about the basis for such change. Perhaps the most conspicuous and most well-​ known assertion of intellectual-​historical change in the discipline is made by nyāya intellectuals themselves in choosing to employ the periodizing terms “new” and “old” when referring to authors and arguments in their philosophical works. During the early decades of the fourteenth century, nyāya authors writing in and around Mithila began to use descriptors such as navya (new), prāñc (earlier), and atinavīna (very recent) when describing certain arguments and addressing nyāya scholars.1 In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, these same periodizing terms were also used with equal vigor, but unlike earlier times, this led some authors to arrange their works in a strictly periodized manner.2 The use of such terms across the discipline at these different moments raises more questions than answers, however. First, and most broadly, an overarching theory identifying an argument or an author as new or old is not formulated by scholars in the discipline. This is not necessarily a problem and does not prevent us from offering our own theories, but it does mean that the burden of knowing what the categories “new” and “old” meant to a nyāya intellectual is left for the reader to discern. Yet, despite these difficulties, the benefit of this type of periodized presentation in nyāya works allows us to register intellectual-​historical changes in the discipline that were identified by authors themselves, allowing us a glimpse of how intellectuals viewed their own tradition of thought.

1 Patil 2013, 103–​104; Preisendanz 2005, 71–​72. 2 Ganeri 2011, 150.

A Time of Novelty. Samuel Wright, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2021. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197568163.003.0002

32  Newness and Emotion Second, the use of such terms in either fourteenth-​century Mithila or seventeenth-​century Banaras suggests that nyāya intellectuals, as has been argued by Sheldon Pollock and Jonardon Ganeri, were reconceptualizing how knowledge was to be organized and presented in philosophical writing. Pollock argues that these periodizing terms “signify not just a different relationship with the past but a different way of thinking.”3 Ganeri argues along similar lines that authors in the discipline of nyāya were characterized by “a new sense of one’s duties to the past” and entertained a “new spirit of inquiry.”4 Although Pollock and Ganeri are writing about early modernity in particular, their remarks apply equally to any moment in the discipline where these terms are used because to employ “the new” in philosophical writing—​ whether it is from the pen of Gaṅgeśa Upādhyāya in the fourteenth century or Mahādeva Punataṃkara in the seventeenth century—​requires reworking conceptions of inquiry and thought such that the “time” of nyāya intellection is broken into new and old. The value of these observations by Pollock and Ganeri, then, is that they underscore the fact that “thinking” novelty is not an activity that can be repeated in the exact same manner across historical time but is instead an activity that is able to produce multiple moments of novelty precisely because of the specific resources available to thought at a particular historical moment. As a result, the fourteenth and seventeenth centuries can be taken to each represent a different time of novelty in the discipline of nyāya that each requires a different excavation of what it means to “think” novelty. This chapter excavates a specific component of nyāya intellection in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries that facilitated the use of the terms “new” and “old” in nyāya philosophical writing. To anticipate my discussion, I argue that a new conception of doubt underwrites a new mode of critical inquiry during these centuries among certain nyāya intellectuals that facilitates periodization in philosophical argumentation. This new conception of doubt was first formulated by Raghunātha Śiromaṇi in early sixteenth-​century Bengal and then expanded upon by later authors in both commentarial and independent works. Among prior studies on doubt in the discipline of nyāya, only Ganeri has registered the importance of considering changes in conceptions of doubt as a driver of intellectual-​historical change due to its close association with 3 Pollock 2001a, 5. 4 Ganeri 2011, 244–​248.

Doubt  33 inquiry.5 For Ganeri, changes in the conception of doubt point to the “emergence of [a]‌new concept of evidence”—​highlighting the “evidence-​based” feature of nyāya intellection in the period, which, according to Ganeri, is a marker of the “new” moment in nyāya philosophy.6 I  strongly agree with Ganeri that any investigation of intellectual-​historical change in nyāya philosophy must take into consideration changing notions of doubt since it has a close relationship with reasoning, as also noted by nyāya intellectuals. In this chapter I concern myself with recovering arguments made by nyāya intellectuals in support of a type of doubt that arises directly from speech—​ what they call śābda-​saṃśaya—​against a type of apperceptive doubt they call mānasa-​saṃśaya (literally, “doubt in the mind”). Nyāya intellectuals after Raghunātha associate the former with new scholars and the latter with old scholars.7 As I argue, the acceptance of this new type of doubt among nyāya intellectuals is extremely important because it correlates to new modes of critical inquiry in the early modern period. Yet, in line with the larger argument of the book, this moment is not one constituted only by thought. The form of critical inquiry underwritten by the new conception of doubt also cultivated a feeling of trust among certain nyāya intellectuals whose reasoning proceeded on the basis of this new conception. By cultivating this feeling of trust, the new position on doubt aided in the formation of a new philosophical community precisely because scholars viewed each other as not only intellectually competent but also emotionally competent vis-​à-​vis the new view on doubt.8 I explore this aspect toward the end of the chapter.

Theorizing Doubt The concept of doubt forms one of the most important areas of concern in the discipline of nyāya because, as is argued by its earliest proponents, it is when things are in doubt that reasoning—​literally, nyāya—​begins.9 In his 5 Ibid., 153–​161. 6 For the quote and “evidence-​based,” see ibid., 157, 156–​58, respectively; and, for evidence-​based as a marker of the new, see ibid., 247. Ganeri is most concerned with “quantitative and non-​subjective conceptions of evidence” (ibid., 155). 7 Mohanty (1970, 210) addresses this history very briefly, but I disagree with his reconstruction and so do not follow it here. 8 Jones 1996, 7. 9 Doubt constitutes one of the sixteen subjects included in the opening sūtra (1.1.1) of the Nyāyasūtra that is required to be known in order to attain liberation (niḥśreyasa).

34  Newness and Emotion commentary on the Nyāyasūtra, the foundational text of the discipline, Vātsyāyana (c. 425–​500 ce, Deccan?) explains when and why we employ reasoning: Reasoning (nyāya) begins neither with respect to things already known nor with respect to things that cannot be known. When, then, does reasoning begin? Reasoning begins when things are in doubt (saṃśaya).10

The seemingly causal relationship between reasoning and doubting is an observation made by other early nyāya intellectuals. The famous nyāya author Udayana (c. 950, Mithila), for example, highlights the connection between doubting and the desire to inquire. This connection is present, he argues, because One who wants to know “inquires after,” so to speak; and, one who has a doubt desires to know how to resolve it. And so, if, in general, doubt were not permitted to arise, then there would also be no one who inquires into things.11

These arguments by Vātsyāyana and Udayana demonstrate that for nyāya intellectuals, inquiry or reasoning necessarily proceeds on the basis of doubting. Doubt, then, is a crucial category for the discipline, and studying its definition and applications will reveal the contours of critical inquiry for nyāya intellectuals. This means, more directly, that to identify changes in the conception of doubt is also to anticipate concomitant changes in how critical inquiry is to be undertaken. Concomitant changes between doubt and critical inquiry are exactly what are found in the discipline of nyāya in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries—​and they begin in Bengal. In the early sixteenth century, Raghunātha Śiromaṇi, the famed nyāya intellectual from the town of Navadvip in western Bengal, completed his work on ontology entitled An Inquiry into the Truth about the Ontological Categories (hereafter, Inquiry). This work by Raghunātha is extremely well known primarily because of its unorthodox conclusions:  The work’s primary aim is to criticize previous 10 Nyaya-​Tarkatirtha and Tarkatirtha 1982, 35:  tatra nānupalabdhe na nirṇīte ’rthe nyāyaḥ pravartate. kiṃ tarhi. saṃśayite ’rthe. 11 Thakur 1996, 340: . . . jijñāsor vicārakatvāt. sandigdhasya ca jijñāsutvāt. tathā ca yadi saṃśayaṃ na saheta vicārako ’pi na syāt.

Doubt  35 positions in ontology that, with little variation, had been accepted since the tenth century; and to offer a new set of ontological categories for the discipline—​a project immediately recognized by commentators on the text as ground-​breaking and original.12 Never addressed in treatments on the Inquiry, however, is the fact that Raghunātha also argues for a completely new conception and definition of doubt. Placed in the middle of the work and so inconspicuous in its location, Raghunātha’s position on doubt completely overturns earlier nyāya opinion in this area as well. His comments on doubt are extremely relevant for our discussion because he is explicitly concerned with doubt as it arises in the context of debate and disputation (vipratipatti). In what follows, I first present Raghunātha’s comments on doubt and then move into discussing the commentaries on his passage. His position can be summed up thus: A doubting cognition arises directly from speech. We should be careful here and not assume that Raghunātha means only verbal speech:  The enormous production and distribution of manuscripts across south Asia at this time require us to understand “speech” as also including speech that is written.13 Raghunātha’s argument was a major claim in the discipline and dramatically influenced the conception of critical inquiry in the discipline after him. Part of the reason that this claim by Raghunātha is so controversial, however, is that nyāya intellectuals had kept doubt and speech conceptually separate such that speech by itself was not able to generate a doubt or, phrased differently, that a cognition arising from hearing (or reading) speech could never be a doubting cognition—​a position likely adopted in order to protect speech or śabda as a valid means of cognition (pramāṇa). Let us begin, then, with Raghunātha’s passage on doubt. His passage reads: Doubt arises directly from words in speech. These words in speech are connected with a cognition—​generated in one who hears or reads that speech—​that can legitimately be called a doubting cognition. It can be called a doubting cognition because the cognition entails a contradiction with respect to its locus. This contradiction arises as a result of two possible 12 For example, Raghudeva Nyāyālaṅkāra (fl., 1657, Banaras) writes in his commentary (Rajpal 2008, 3): “Śiromaṇi has determined the truth of the ontological categories through his criticisms of the old view. I will now consider what he has said through logical analysis (tarka) whose aim is truth, criticism of another sort” (padārthatattvaṃ yad idaṃ śiromaṇir nirṇītavān jīrṇamatasya dūṣaṇaiḥ tad eva tarkeṇa vicārayāmaḥ sadarthakena itarakhaṇḍanena). 13 For nyāya manuscript culture, see Chapter 5.

36  Newness and Emotion options for that locus—​a locus which has been identified by a particular word in that speech.14

Focusing on this crucial passage, I  examine the difference between Raghunātha’s view and the earlier nyāya position by reading through two important commentaries on the Inquiry from the seventeenth century: An Exposition by Raghudeva Nyāyālaṅkāra (fl. 1657, Banaras) and another commentary with the same name by Govinda (Nyāyavāgīśa) Bhaṭṭācārya (fl. 1661, Navadvip).15 It is extremely important to read the commentaries not only because they shed light on the reception history of Raghunātha’s Inquiry but also because Raghunātha has not sufficiently contextualized his arguments. As a result, we do not know, as modern readers, what theory of doubt he is arguing against. Fortunately, our commentators provide fairly detailed accounts of the alternative theory and its relation to Raghunātha’s arguments. Govinda Bhaṭṭācārya, for example, immediately places Raghunātha’s argument in the context of earlier views about doubt. According to Govinda, an earlier view about doubt closely connects doubt with sense perception and, as a result, doubt is defined as a direct sense perception of some state of affairs. Govinda says, In the sentence of the Inquiry in which the concept of doubt is discussed, Raghunātha critiques the old view on doubt. This old view is outlined here by me. Consider the sentence, “This object is either a pillar or is not.” Now, the old view posits that in this sentence, two possible alternatives are present, namely, the object as a pillar and the object as not a pillar—​this object, viewed abstractly, in its capacity as the locus [i.e., as the locus of “pillar-​ ness” and an absence of “pillar-​ness”]. Moreover, the presence of these two alternatives is simply based on evidence provided by our sense perception since doubt—​by definition a direct sense perception—​completely pervades the way something appears to us.16

14 Dvivedin 1904, 67–​70:  padajanyadharmikakoṭidvayatadubhayavirodhijñānasaṃśayātmakayogyatājñānasahitāt śabdād āhatyaiva saṃśayaḥ. 15 Raghudeva’s commentary has been published; see Rajpal 2008 and Dvivedin 1904. Govinda’s commentary remains unpublished. 16 Govinda, folio 26b, lines 6–​8:  ayaṃ sthānur na veti vākhyāt dharmitāvacchedakaviśiṣṭasya sthānutvatadabhāvakoṭidvayopasthitau pratyakṣapramāṇād eva sākṣātkārātmakasaṃśayasya tattvavyāpakatvād iti prācīnamataṃ dūṣayati[.]‌

Doubt  37 Two aspects of Govinda’s outline of this earlier view are crucial for us to register. The first is that doubt is the simultaneous and direct perception of two contradictory alternatives in a single locus under consideration. In Govinda’s example, these are the “state of being a pillar” and the “state of not being a pillar.” The second is that doubt under this older view is intimately connected to sense perception. As Govinda will argue, however, Raghunātha is much more concerned with thinking about doubt through the linguistic features of the sentence quoted by Govinda earlier, namely, “This object is either a pillar or is not.” Govinda’s explanation of Raghunātha’s view relies on properly considering how a doubt is expressed in language. Specifically, Govinda explains that Raghunātha’s position stresses the importance of the alternative conjunction “or” (vā) in the sentence “This object is either a pillar or is not.” In my translations that follow, I shall call such a sentence a “doubting statement.” Recognizing the use of the alternative conjunction in a doubting statement is crucial for Govinda when explaining Raghunātha’s passage. This is because the alternative conjunction has the logical force of an exclusive disjunction (either p or not-​p, but not both). This means that the object must be a pillar or it must not be a pillar; it cannot be both. Govinda explains: The meaning here of Raghunātha’s passage on doubt, which makes it different from the older opinion, is that in a doubting statement such as, “This is either a pillar or is not,” the contradictory state of affairs is a result of the use of the exclusive disjunctive “or” pertaining to the two possible alternatives. These two alternatives are (1) the object as a pillar and (2) the object as not a pillar. These alternatives are known from the word “pillar” and the negative particle “not,” respectively, in the doubting statement. And, these alternatives are used with respect to a locus—​a locus known from the word “this” used in the same sentence [i.e., “This is either a pillar or is not”]. However, it should be noted that the appearance of a mutual contradictory state of affairs between two alternatives with respect to some object when someone is in doubt is generally said to be an opinion that is in accordance with the older view. Instead, Raghunātha’s view is that wherever the exclusive disjunctive “or” is used, there is at that moment a cognition of a contradiction. Some argue that even without this exclusive disjunction a doubting cognition can arise. And, they also argue that when there is a cognition whose primary feature is the presence and absence of some quality

38  Newness and Emotion in one place or, as we have said, in one locus, then that is simply due to how the object is in reality. This position, however, is wrong. If we were to accept that position then a problem would arise: A cognition in which two things are legitimately attributed to a single locus [such as a tree that is part alive and part dead] would technically be classified as a doubt.17

Govinda then finishes his initial reflections on Raghunātha’s passage by explaining to his readers that Raghunātha’s conception of doubt removes the emphasis on direct perception (or directly evident cognitions) that marked earlier nyāya arguments. Instead, Raghunātha wants to argue, according to Govinda, that a doubting cognition may arise directly from speech. Govinda concludes, In Raghunātha’s passage, the term “directly” means doubt is a process that does not have any requirement of perceptual proof by the senses. And, the phrase “from words in speech” in the same sentence means “from a cognition based on [verbal or written] word.”18

In detailing Raghunātha’s position on doubt, Govinda highlights the two primary differences between Raghunātha’s position and this earlier view. The first is that Raghunātha’s view on doubt does not require that doubt arises only in the context of directly evident sense-​perceptual cognitions, an aspect discussed further later. Another important aspect of Govinda’s commentary is that it emphasizes the use and centrality of the exclusive disjunction. The exclusive disjunction enables a cognition of doubt to arise from speech because, argues Govinda, it is through its use that a contradiction is conveyed to someone hearing or reading that speech. We might express it more strongly by saying that speech structured in such a form necessarily and immediately conveys a doubt—​or generates a doubting cognition—​because of the use of the exclusive disjunction. Importantly, the linguistic turn made by Raghunātha in analyzing the relation between doubt and speech, emphasized by Govinda, is also noted by 17 Govinda, folio 27a, lines 1–​2:  atra vākhye idaṃpadā[d]‌ dharmmiṇaḥ sthānunañpadābhyāṃ sthānutvatadabhāvarūpakoṭidvayasya vākārāt virodhasya upasthitir ity arthaḥ. saṃśaye tadubhayavirodhabhānan tu prāyikaṃ prācīnamatānusārād uktam. yatra vākāro ’sti tatra virodhabhānaṃ[.] vināpi saṃśayotpattiḥ. ekatra bhāvābhāvaprakārakabuddhāv eva tathātvād iti vadanti kecit tan na samuccayasyāpi saṃśayatvāpatteḥ. 18 Govinda, folio 27a, line 2:  āhatyaiveti pratyakṣapramāṇanirapekṣeṇaivety arthaḥ. śabdāt śabdajñānāt.

Doubt  39 Raghudeva in much the same way. In his own commentary, Raghudeva also employs the terms “new” and “old” when discussing Raghunātha’s position. He also begins in much the same manner as Govinda, except that he uses a different doubting statement as his example. Raghudeva’s example is, “Sound is either eternal or is not”—​itself a long-​standing debate.19 Like Govinda, Raghudeva begins by explaining the older view on doubt. He says, Consider a doubting statement in a dispute such as, “Sound is either eternal or is not.” Now, as a result of this statement two things are brought to mind:  (1) a locus, namely, the locus “sound”; and (2)  two possible alternatives related to that locus, namely, sound as eternal and sound as not eternal. After this, there comes about what earlier nyāya intellectuals called a “doubt in the mind” (mānasa-​saṃśaya). This so-​called “doubt in the mind” comes about as a result of two separate cognitions that lead to that type of doubt—​cognitions that arise with their own distinct set of causes but, when arising together, are contradictory to each other. However, in this older view, a cognition of “doubt from speech” does not occur. For, this would be contrary to the canonical position which states that indirectly evident cognitions [such as a cognition generated from speech] can only be cognitive certainties. This is thus what earlier nyāya intellectuals say about how a doubting statement brings about a doubt. Raghunātha refutes their position in his Inquiry.20

Raghudeva’s account is important because it incorporates a type of doubt not mentioned by Govinda, namely, a “doubt in the mind.” I discuss this type of doubt in detail in the next section. But, briefly, this sort of doubt serves to keep doubt and speech conceptually separate: It is a type of doubt mediated by a process of recollecting an initial, though contradictory, cognition in a subsequent (or apperceptive) cognition—​a process that takes place in the mind or manas, according to nyāya intellectuals. But, before I address this type of doubt in detail, let me first complete my examination of Raghudeva’s

19 Sinha 1956, 577–​579. 20 Dvivedin 1904, 67: śabdo nityo na vetyādivipratipattivākyebhaḥ śabdādidharmiṇa upasthitiḥ nityatvanityatvābhāvakoṭidvayopasthitiś ca tadanantaraṃ virodhabhāsakasāmagrīsahakr̥tebhyas tadupanāyakajñānebhyaḥ śabdo nityo na vetyādimānasasaṃśayaḥ na tu tatra śābdātmakaḥ saṃśayo jāyate parokṣajñānaṃ niścaya eveti siddhāntavirodhāt. evaṃ ca saṃśayaprayojakaṃ vākyavipratipattir iti prāñcaḥ. tanmataṃ dūṣayati.

40  Newness and Emotion commentary so that we understand exactly how Raghunātha’s arguments about doubt are different from earlier arguments. After presenting the earlier nyāya position on how doubt arises in disputes, Raghudeva then presents Raghunātha’s position in further detail. He says, Let me now explain the meaning of Raghunātha’s passage on doubt. Raghunātha is arguing that as a result of a word such as “sound,” which can be and is included in a variety of doubting statements such as, “Sound is either eternal or is not,” three things are brought to the mind of one who hears or reads that doubting statement. First, a locus, namely, the locus “sound” is brought to mind. Second, two possible alternatives related to that locus, namely, sound as eternal and sound as not eternal are brought to mind. These two alternatives come about as a result of the use of the word “eternal” and the negative particle “not,” respectively, in the sentence—​each of which are terms for judging that locus, sound. Third, a contradiction is made apparent as a result of the use of the exclusive disjunctive “or,” which impels us to judge that locus of sound. After this, upon hearing or reading a doubting statement such as “Sound is either eternal or is not”—​a statement that is accompanied by a cognition that can rightfully be called a doubting cognition—​there is thus immediately a doubt from that speech (śābda-​saṃśaya). And, this speech is formulated just like the example we have already given in our example for the locus sound, namely, “Sound is either eternal or is not.”21

Raghudeva’s commentary provides a clear treatment of the process by which a doubting cognition arises according to both old and new authors. As can be appreciated, there is a substantial difference between the two views after some initial similarities. In both cases, the initial two steps are the same after one hears or reads a doubting statement in a dispute. First, a locus is recognized; and then, second, two alternatives describing that locus are recognized. In other words, these sorts of statements communicate information about a locus of cognition, although that cognition presents a contradictory state of affairs (e.g., sound is eternal or is not eternal; an object is a pillar or is 21 Dvivedin 1904, 67–​ 68:  padajanyetyādi. tathāvidhavipratipattivākyasthāt chabdādirūpadharmyupasthitis taddhaṭakībhūtanityādipadanañpadābhyāṃ vābhāvādirūpakoṭidvayopasthitis taddhaṭakībhūtavākārād virodhopasthitis saṃśayātmakayogyatājñānasahitāc chabdo nityo na vetyādivākyāt prathamata eva veti śābdasaṃśaya iti.

śabdādipadāc nityatvanityattadanantaraṃ śabdo nityo na

Doubt  41 not a pillar). Step three, however, is where the new and old views diverge. The reason for the divergence is that “new” authors read the doubting statement as the linguistic representation of the cognitive state of doubt. In the old view, as I will discuss more later, the doubting statement does not immediately present this contradiction; rather, it presents two state of affairs simultaneously that happen to be contradictory. The emphasis by Raghunātha on the linguistic structure of a doubting statement, as presented by both commentators, highlights an interest in better theorizing doubt by taking seriously the connection between language and cognition. Concern about this connection has important consequences for the third step in the doubting process as understood by “new” authors because it stresses the critical role of the exclusive disjunctive “or” for theorizing doubt. As explained by the two commentators, this particle contrasts each cognized alternative (in a doubting cognition) or each predicate (in a doubting statement) such that only one alternative or one predicate can be logically applied to the locus of cognition or to the subject of the doubting statement. For Raghunātha, then, as elucidated by Raghudeva, when one reads or hears a statement structured in this manner, it must lead directly to a doubting cognition. This explains why Raghunātha is so emphatic in his Inquiry that doubt arises directly or immediately from speech: The linguistic structure of the doubting statement necessitates it. In comparison with Govinda, Raghudeva’s commentary is more informative because he posits that two types of doubt are under debate: mānasa-​ saṃśaya and śābda-​saṃśaya. In the former type, the terms mānasa and saṃśaya stand in a locative, syntactic relation: a doubt which is “mental” or produced “in the mind.” In the latter, śābda and saṃśaya stand in an ablative, syntactic relation: a doubt from speech. In view of the comments by Govinda and Raghudeva, the category of “doubt in the mind” represents the old view among nyāya intellectuals, and a “doubt from speech” represents the new view. This is why Raghunātha’s position on doubt in his Inquiry is so important: His theory leads later nyāya intellectuals to make explicit a new type of doubt, “doubt from speech” or śābda-​saṃśaya, which marks a distinct departure from previous nyāya consensus on how doubt arises in the context of dispute and debate. The use of periodizing terms by Raghudeva and Govinda when explaining Raghunātha’s position further reflects their awareness of the novelty of his position and marks the fact that Raghunātha’s Inquiry is the origin point of a new view on doubt in the discipline. As we will examine further, this type

42  Newness and Emotion of doubt was very consequential for how later nyāya intellectuals carried out critical inquiry and served to demarcate the intellectual boundaries of a new philosophical community within the discipline.

“Doubt in the Mind” and the Novelty of “Doubt from Speech” My discussion until now has run the risk of proceeding on the assumption that Raghunātha’s position on doubt is new because Raghudeva and Govinda have argued this to be the case. To balance my treatment, I need to demonstrate that the category of doubt identified as “doubt from speech” really is opposed to the category of “doubt in the mind” so that the novelty of Raghunātha’s position flagged by Raghudeva and Govinda in their commentaries on the Inquiry is historically demonstrated. In order to do this, however, I must explain in some detail what “doubt in the mind” actually is—​and suggest a better gloss of the term—​as well as trace its employment in the discipline. To understand the category of “doubt in the mind,” it is best to begin with older treatments in the discipline of nyāya about perception, especially since doubt, under the old view, is defined as a sense-​perceptual cognition (recall Govinda’s comment from earlier). In Nyāyasūtra 1.1.4, sense perception is defined in terms of its role as a valid means of cognition; and it is described as a cognition that “occurs as a result of a connection between an object and a sense faculty; does not depend on language; is inerrant; and is, by definition, definite or decisive.”22 The most important aspect of the definition for our discussion is that sense perception is “definite or decisive”—​the Sanskrit word used here is vyavasāya. The importance of this word in the definition, as argued by the commentator Vātsyāyana, is to prevent “doubting cognitions” from counting as direct, sense-​perceptual cognitions that constitute knowledge about the world.23 For Vātsyāyana, doubt or a “doubting cognition” also 22 Nyaya-​ Tarkatirtha and Tarkatirtha 1982, 93:  indriyārthasannikarṣotpannaṃ jñānam avyapadeśyam avyabhicari vyavasāyātmakaṃ pratyakṣam. 23 Ibid., 122:  “The notion that a cognition which does not properly grasp an object [as in a doubt] could also arise as a result of an intimate connection between the senses and an object, would mean that this sort of [doubting] cognition would also be included in the definition of a direct sense perception [as cognition of knowledge about the world]. To avoid this problem, Gautama Akṣapāda explains direct perception as something that is, by definition, definite or decisive” (tad etad indriyārthasannikarṣotpannam anavadhāraṇajñānaṃ pratyakṣaṃ prasajyata ity ata āha vyavasāyātmakam iti).

Doubt  43 arises as a result of a connection between the senses and an object of sense; and in this way it can be considered a sense-​perceptual cognition. However, the difference is that doubt is actually a second-​order, apperceptive process “in the mind” merely based on an initial sense-​perceptual cognition (or “initial cognition”) that has not ascribed an object with the correct feature (e.g., mistakenly seeing a tree as a person). In these cases, as explained by Matthew R. Dasti, “the predication portion of cognition (the viśesaṇa)” is erroneous, resulting in a sense perception that has failed such that it cannot be considered a direct sense-​perceptual cognition that conveys decisive knowledge about the world.24 In my opinion, Vātsyāyana’s discussion of how doubt arises from a failed sense perception (that is, a failure of sense perception as a valid means of cognition) points to the basis of the theory behind the type of doubt identified as a “doubt in the mind.” Consider Vātsyāyana’s thoughts on how a doubt arises from a sense perception that has not succeeded in conveying the correct feature of an object. He says: When an object is perceived by the senses, then it is also perceived by the mind and likewise when someone does not properly grasp an object through his senses, then he also does not properly grasp that object in his mind. And, it is this latter case where an object is not being properly grasped by the mind that there is a doubt—​a “conflicting judgement” as referred to in Nyāyasūtra 1.1.23.25

Vātsyāyana’s comments here refer to those situations where some object is there in the world to be sensed, but I fail to attribute the correct feature to that object. In these cases, I need to reflect back upon that sense-​perceptual cognition in order to resolve my doubt about exactly what it is I am grasping in that sense perception—​something I can only do “in the mind.” Nyāya scholars after Vātsyāyana, such as Vācaspati Miśra, when describing this movement from (sense) perception to (mental) apperception in the doubting process, use two terms in a technical sense. First, they expand the meaning of the term vyavasāya to mean not just “definite” but also “an initial sense perception” or “initial cognition”; and, second, they devise a term for 24 Dasti 2012, 6. 25 Nyaya-​Tarkatirtha and Tarkatirtha 1982, 122: cendriyeṇopalabdham arthaṃ manasopalabhate evam indriyeṇānavadhārayan manasā nāvadhārayati. yac ca tad indriyānavadhāraṇapūrvakaṃ manasānavadhāraṇaṃ . . . vimarśamātraṃ saṃśāyaḥ.

44  Newness and Emotion the activity of apperception—​anuvyavasāya—​a term I gloss as “subsequent cognition.”26 These ideas are more developed in later works by nyāya authors. In his Thought-​Jewel of Truth, Gaṅgeśa (c. 1320, Mithila) argues that a “doubt in the mind” first requires a connection between an object and a faculty of sense; but, more interestingly, he notes that the subsequent cognition depends upon the “recollection” (smaraṇa) of the contradictory features presented to us in that initial cognition. Gaṅgeśa’s idea that a subsequent cognition is the remembering of the contradictory features of an initial cognition—​not the initial cognition itself—​is emphasized by the commentator Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (c. 1650, Navadvip); and is further stressed by another late commentator, Rāmakr̥ṣṇādhvarin (c. 1650, Tanjavur), who concludes that a subsequent cognition is the proper content of a “doubt in the mind.”27 The remarks by Gaṅgeśa and his commentators provide the general characteristics of what I  have been rather awkwardly calling a “doubt in the mind.” This sort of doubt is a cognition that consists of recollecting an initial cognition that originated through a sense perception of some object—​ an initial cognition that has ascribed contradictory features to an object. In recollecting that initial cognition (which may no longer be directly accessible) through the activity of an apperception or anuvyavasāya, an individual is able to adjudicate each alternative and, if successful, resolve a doubt about the initial cognition. As noted by nyāya scholars, this apperceptive activity is a process perceptible to our inner organ or the mind (manas).28 Given that the activity of apperception is the defining aspect of this type of doubt, I propose to call it “apperceptive doubt.”29 Yet, while this overview may sound straightforward, it still leaves unanswered some difficult questions. What is an “apperceptive doubt” in the context of debate and dispute? More specifically, what does it mean to have an “apperceptive doubt” concerning some instance of speech in the form of a doubting statement? Nyāya authors who admit the category of “apperceptive 26 This usage is found, for example, in the comments on Vātsyāyana’s passage by Vācaspati Miśra (c. 900, Mithila): “Even though these types of subsequent cognitions take place in the mind, nevertheless, we must first require sense perception—​given that an initial cognition arises before that subsequent cognition” (yadyapyayam īdr̥śo ’nuvyavasāyo mānasas tathāpy  .  .  .  tatpūrvaṃ vyavasāyotapattau cakṣur ādy apekṣaṇīyam) (Nyaya-​Tarkatirtha and Tarkatirtha 1982, 122–​123). 27 For Gaṅgeśa’s remarks, see Tatacharya 1973, 187–​188. Rāmakr̥ṣṇādhvarin’s comments are found in ibid., 188 (.  .  .  saṃśayānuvyavasāyaś ca mānasasaṃśayaviṣaya iti bhāvaḥ). For Mathurānātha’s comments, see Tarkavagisa 1888, 194. 28 Dasti, n.d. 29 Mohanty (1970) glosses it as “mental doubt.”

Doubt  45 doubt” argue first that a doubting statement with two contradictory alternatives produces an initial cognition. But, curiously, each contradictory alternative that makes up that speech (i.e., that doubting statement) and that produces the initial cognition is correct or true simultaneously. This is because these scholars hold that speech, by definition, can never be a cause of doubt. Consider the remarks of Kr̥ṣṇadāsa Sārvabhauma (c. 1570, Bengal and/​or Banaras), who appears to be a strong proponent of “apperceptive doubt.” He says: Disputes, which consist of words in speech [in the form of a doubting statement] such as, “Sound is either eternal or is not,” are not the cause of doubt. This is because cognitions from speech (and those based on invariable concomitance) are by definition cognitions that lead only to a certainty about some state of affairs. However, speech can result in a cognition of two possible alternatives [which appears as a doubting cognition]. Nevertheless, that doubt is simply what we call an “apperceptive doubt.”30

Kr̥ṣṇadāsa’s position is supported by later nyāya authors such as Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (c. 1634, Navadvip/​Vrindavan), who, when arguing in support of “apperceptive doubt,” state that “speech cannot be something from which doubt arises.”31 The view expressed by Kr̥ṣṇadāsa and Viśvanātha that speech cannot produce a doubting cognition is nearly certainly a result of larger epistemological commitments about speech in the discipline. In the discipline of nyāya, speech (as a pramāṇa) is one of the four ways by which an individual acquires correct knowledge about some state of affairs in the world and, on the basis of that knowledge, acts successfully. Furthermore, not just any “speech” will do. Rather, as is noted in the Nyāyasūtra, speech is “the statement of a reliable person.” This has been interpreted to mean that “speech is the cause of a ‘speech-​based’ cognition that is in complete accordance with the object or state of affairs described”—​for example, that Mount Everest is 8,848 meters

30 C. Sastry 1923, 737–​740: vipratipattis tu śabdo nityo na vetyādiśabdātmakā na saṃśayakāraṇaṃ śabdavyāptijñānādīnāṃ niścayamātrajanakatvasvābhāvyāt. kintu tatra śabdena koṭidvayajñānaṃ janyate saṃśayas tu mānasa eveti. I am following Potter and Bhattacharya (2011, 230, 308–​309), who argue for this text being attributed to Kr̥ṣṇadāsa. 31 Nyaya-​Tarkatirtha and Tarkatirtha 1982, 238: . . . śabdasya na saṃśayakatvaṃ. Viśvanātha wrote a commentary on Raghunātha’s Inquiry, but he does not address Raghunātha’s arguments there; see his Padārthatattvāloka (Rajpal 2008, 119–​123).

46  Newness and Emotion in elevation.32 In other words, speech gives rise to a cognition such that the generated cognition is accurate in relation to the state of affairs portrayed and in so doing is considered trusted speech that results in correct knowledge about the world. Clearly, if speech can be doubted, then this epistemology is potentially thrown into question. Leaving aside larger issues about a general attitude of skepticism toward speech, which is not found among nyāya scholars, a number of nyāya intellectuals disagreed with the view that speech—​in the particular context of debate as expressed in a doubting statement—​never causes doubt.33 They argued that such a view would result in our inability to doubt anything that is spoken (or written). This concern was raised by Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya when discussing what he called the “old” view on doubt, who asks rhetorically, “If a cognition from speech is always in the form of a cognitive certainty, then how could doubt ever arise from speech?”34 Of course, we do have doubts that ostensibly arise from speech, but the response among “old” nyāya intellectuals, as presented by Gadādhara, is to fall back on the category of “apperceptive doubt,” which takes place “immediately after a [initial] cognition (generated by a statement in a dispute) whose veracity is questionable.”35 In short, for “old” nyāya intellectuals, doubt only appears to arise from speech. Instead, doubt arises in a subsequent cognition after an individual recalls the initial cognition originally produced by some speech—​a process we now recognize as “apperceptive doubt.” Yet perhaps the most direct critique of this “old” position comes from Raghudeva Nyāyālaṅkāra in his commentary on the Inquiry. As presented by Raghudeva, the purpose of the old view was to prevent an initial cognition based upon some speech from taking the form of a doubt. This is why, under the theory of an “apperceptive doubt,” we find the curious position that at the stage of an initial cognition both contradictory alternatives in a doubting statement are correct or true (i.e., both “x is p” and “x is not-​p” are valid). In Raghudeva’s view, however, this old position (jīrṇa-​siddhānta) is nonsensical. In thinking about this “initial cognition,” he says,

32 The quote is from the Nyāyasūtra 1.1.7 (Nyaya-​ Tarkatirtha and Tarkatitha 1982, 173): āptopadeśaḥ śabdaḥ. The second quote is from Viśvanātha’s commentary (ibid., 176):  tathā ca yathārthaśābdajñānakaraṇatvam arthaḥ. 33 Ganeri (2011, 158–​156) demonstrates that nyāya authors do not allow for the position of a “radical skeptic” when discussing doubt. 34 Misra and Shastri 1936, 80: . . . tasya niścayarūpatve tadutpattir eva kathaṃ syāt. 35 Ibid.: . . . vādivākyajanyatvena aprāmāṇyajñānānantaram eva mānasasaṃśayābhyupagamāt.

Doubt  47 The aim, according to the old view, is to prevent a cognition from speech from causing a doubt. In order to do this, however, intellectuals supporting this old view would have to posit that the [cognition from] speech pertaining to one of the alternatives, say, “x is p”—​speech which has its own distinct cause—​prevents the cognition that results from the speech pertaining to the other alternative, “x is not-​p” [and vice versa]. But, such a position is absurd.36

Raghudeva’s argument here is that if speech, in the context of a doubting statement, does not produce doubt, then some major theoretical problems are encountered. Most immediately, it requires one to hold the position that both alternatives generated by a doubting statement—​namely, x is p and x is not-​p—​are true. In reality, however, this is absurd. If this were the case, then the cognition “x is p” would not allow us to have the cognition “x is not-​p” since we would already be certain about the features of an object or, framed linguistically, we would already be certain about the predicate of a substantive. But, even if we did entertain such a cognition (p and not-​p), then it would be absurd to call that sort of cognition a doubt or absurd to call a doubting statement an expression of doubt. Ultimately, Raghudeva is pushing for the conclusion that letting some cognitions from speech be (unmediated) doubting cognitions—​such as those arising from a doubting statement—​is a much more sensible solution to how doubt arises in the context of debate and dispute. The arguments in this section have demonstrated that it was in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries when the theory of “apperceptive doubt” began to be considered an “old” theory by certain nyāya intellectuals and that it was Raghunātha Śiromaṇi who first put forward a counterposition to this theory. If we recall Raghunātha’s words from his Inquiry, then, it is clear why he argued that doubt is a “direct” result of speech: He was arguing against the view that a doubting cognition—​in the context of debate and dispute—​arises in a mediated fashion through the process of an “apperceptive doubt.”37 This section has also demonstrated that “doubt from speech”—​that is, doubt produced immediately or in an unmediated manner from speech—​was a novel

36 Dvivedin 1904, 68–​ 69:  .  .  .  saṃśayākāraśābdabodhavāraṇāyaikakoṭiviṣayakaśābdabuddhiṃ prati aparakoṭiviṣayakaśābdasāmagryāḥ pratibandhakatvakalpane gauravāpattir iti bhāvaḥ. vastugatyā tathāvidhasiddhānto ’pi nāstīty. . . . 37 For Raghunātha’s comments, see Dvivedin 1904, 67–​70: . . . śabdād āhatyaiva saṃśayaḥ.

48  Newness and Emotion position in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries defended by some, but not all, nyāya scholars.

A New Definition Eliminating the category of “apperceptive doubt” in favor of “doubt from speech” meant that nyāya intellectuals who accepted Raghunātha’s arguments required a new definition of doubt that did not consider it only in terms of sense perception. New definitions were put forward by various nyāya intellectuals, including Raghunātha himself, emphasizing that doubt was simply a cognition (jñāna)—​rather than, specifically or only, a sense-​perceptual  one.38 But it is in the work of Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (fl. 1661, Navadvip) that a truly critical project of assessing and devising a new definition of doubt is found. In his Essay on Doubt, Gadādhara presents a history of the debate discussing what he terms the old (prāñc), mainstream (sāmpradāyika), and new (navya) positions—​each of which entails its own definition of doubt. Gadādhara’s essay demonstrates that nyāya thinking on doubt changed considerably in the early modern period. In his essay, Gadādhara states that “old” nyāya intellectuals define doubt as a “direct sense perception (pratyakṣa) of which there is a pair of alternatives—​namely, the presence and absence of x—​that are defined by the fact that they pertain to a single locus.”39 The emphasis on doubt as a direct sense perception is not found in the “new” definition. Rather, Gadādhara’s presentation of the new definition of doubt follows Raghunātha in defining it simply as a cognition. In this section, I  discuss this new definition of doubt as presented by Gadādhara and address how this definition allows for a better analysis of doubt compared to the old position. I then discuss the consequences this new 38 Raghunātha defines it as (Dvivedin 1904, 70): “Doubt is a cognition whose primary feature is various, contradictory properties belonging to a single locus. Its occurrence depends upon a collection of causal factors for a cognition that is contradictory because of two alternatives [for one locus]” (ekadharmikanānāviruddhadharmaprakārakajñānatvarūpaṃ koṭīdvayavirodhijñānasāmagrīsamājādhīnaṃ ca saṃśayatvam). Govinda’s definition is (folio 29a, lines 2–​3): “Doubt is a cognition that consists of some locus possessing distinct primary features—​given that there are two possible alternatives. These alternatives function in the capacity of primary features; and, in turn, define a single locus in its capacity as that which is qualified” (tathā ca ekaviśeṣyatāvacchedakaprakār[a]‌tvāvacchinnakoṭidvayapratyekaprakāritāśālijñānaṃ saṃśayaḥ). 39 Misra and Shastri 1936, 79: atra prāñcaḥ . . . ekadharmitāvacchedakakatattadabhāvādyubhayakoṭikaṃ pratyakṣaṃ saṃśayaḥ. In the definition of the mainstream nyāya authors, doubt is also defined as a direct perception (ibid., 80).

Doubt  49 definition had for how doubt ought to be expressed in language. Remaining sensitive to how doubt is expressed in language may not appear immediately relevant, but it becomes very important for registering changes in nyāya argumentation in the sixteenth and, especially, the seventeenth century—​an issue I address in the next section. Gadādhara’s definition of doubt according to “new” nyāya intellectuals is only a single sentence, but it contains important consequences for theorizing doubt. He writes: New nyāya intellectuals argue that doubt is simply a cognition in which a single locus, in its capacity as that which is qualified, is described in two ways due to two possible alternatives as the primary feature of that single locus.40

Gadādhara’s presentation here is precise and quickly conveys the contradictory state of affairs confronting an individual who is doubting: Two features of a single locus are cognized to be contrary to each other, which prevents the individual from arriving at a certainty regarding the nature of that locus. But Gadādhara’s definition also employs a style of language that no translation can easily capture. Upon rereading the definition, one will notice that Gadādhara is framing the definition in abstract, not particular, terms: the locus as that which is qualified (viśeṣyatā); and each alternative as a primary feature (prakāratā).41 As discussed by a number of modern scholars, this abstraction is part of a “new technical language” in nyāya during the early modern period.42 Very often, as remarked by Jonardon Ganeri, the employment of this sort of abstract language is “pleonastic.”43 However, as we will see later, these two abstract terms are employed here in useful ways by Gadādhara to expand on this new definition and offer a theory about the cognitive structure of doubt versus other sorts of cognitions. Before I address Gadādhara’s larger comments, however, I must make a brief digression into how we should think of the abstract terms “being that which is qualified” (viśeṣyatā) and “being the primary feature” (prakāratā).44 40 Misra and Shastri 1936, 81: navyās tu koṭidvayaprakāratādvayanirūpitaikaviśeṣyatāśālijñānatvam eva saṃśayatvam. 41 The new definition also abstracts the terms doubt and cognition—​“being a doubt” (saṃśayatva) and “being a cognition” (jñānatva). 42 Ganeri 2011, 223. In other contexts, specialized language used to speak about ontology has been termed “ontologese.” See Egerton 2016, 10. 43 Ganeri 2011, 223. 44 The first is nearly always glossed as “qualificandum” in studies on nyāya.

50  Newness and Emotion Each of these terms might be considered to represent a monadic property in that each is a property instantiated by one individual. But the first, viśeṣyatā, might also be considered a qualitative property since all loci are instances of “being that which is qualified” simply by virtue of being a locus; and the second, prakāratā, might in some cases also be considered an essential property since it is in virtue of this feature that we know something exists (e.g., “tree-​ness” in the cognition “This is a tree”).45 In a classic study on nyāya, B. K. Matilal, following Daniel Ingalls, calls these terms “relational abstracts” and notes that these are “nonrepeatable particulars peculiar to each occurrence” different from “nonrelational abstracts” or universals (jāti) that “are one and unchangeable.”46 But instead of attempting to force these terms as they are understood in the discipline of nyāya into the conception of properties found in contemporary philosophical discussions, I  simply refer to viśeṣyatā and prakāratā generically as “properties.” This description also follows Matilal, who says that “relational abstracts can always be treated as properties (used in the widest sense of the term and as a translation of the term dharma in Sanskrit).”47 Rather than forcing a specialized vocabulary, then, onto these terms, what is more important is remaining sensitive to the work these terms do in nyāya philosophical writing. With that digression out of the way, let me turn back to Gadādhara’s discussion on doubt. Employing the properties “being that which is qualified” and “being the primary feature” in his explanation, Gadādhara argues forcefully that At the time of a doubt, there is only one property called “being that which is qualified” pertaining to a locus of doubt. This property is established on the basis of the experience, “I am doubting”; and is a property conditioned by both the presence and absence of x in their capacity as the primary feature. This state of affairs takes place because in a doubt there is no distinction between [two or more] properties called “being that which is qualified,” even though we do distinguish between two properties called “being the primary feature.”48

45 On these types of properties, see Allen, n.d. and Orilia and Swoyer, 2020. I borrow this example from Matilal 2005, 58. 46 Matilal 1968, 33; Ingalls 1951, 45. 47 Matilal 1968, 34. 48 Misra and Shastri 1936, 81: saṃśaye sandehmīty anubhavasiddhā tattadabhāvobhayaprakāratānirūpitā dharmiṇy ekaiva viśeṣyatā prakāratābhede ’pi viśeṣyatābhedābhāvāt.

Doubt  51 A major benefit of this explanation is that it enables us to clearly distinguish doubt from other sorts of cognitions. Gadādhara uses his explanation to draw a distinction with what he terms a “composite cognition” (samuccaya). He presents two conceptions of this type of cognition and analyzes them in relation to a doubting cognition. In the first example, Gadādhara considers a composite cognition in which two objects are equally part of one cognition such as a cognition “teacup and saucer.” In this case, he writes that unlike a doubting cognition, in the case of a composite cognition, there are two properties called “being that which is qualified.” This is because we make a distinction between two primary features highlighting the presence and absence of x, respectively. In cognitions that are not doubting cognitions, a single property called “being that which is qualified” is not described by a pair of properties each called “being a primary feature.” This conclusion is reached on the basis of parsimony because otherwise drawing a distinction between doubting and composite cognitions would be impossible.49

Applying Gadādhara’s comments here to my example of a cognition “teacup and saucer,” both the teacup and the saucer have their own property “being that which is qualified,” and each of these is qualified by a property called “being a primary feature.” In specifics:  Let us imagine the teacup is blue, whereas the saucer is not blue. Here, the question is not whether the teacup is blue or not blue; rather, we are able to assign the primary feature “blue” to the correct object, namely, the teacup, and assign the primary feature “not blue” to the correct object, namely, the saucer. In the second example, Gadādhara considers the case of a composite cognition in which a locus, “a floor,” contains both the presence and absence of “a pot”—​each of these terms functioning as variables in nyāya argumentation.50 We might imagine a courtyard with nothing on it except a large water-​pot in one of its corners. A suitably argumentative person, standing in a corner of the courtyard away from the water-​pot, might say that as the water-​pot is not in her corner, the courtyard is also a location of an absence of a water-​pot.

49 Ibid.:  samuccaye tattadabhāvalakṣaṇaprakarabhedena viśeṣyatādvayī saṃśayātiriktajñāne ekasya viśeṣyatvasya prakāratādvayānirūpitatvāt saṃśayasamuccayayor bhedānyathānupapattyā lāghavāt tathaiva kalpanāt. 50 Matilal 1968, 23; Ganeri 2011, 226.

52  Newness and Emotion The problem that this example is meant to highlight is whether this would also constitute a doubting cognition since in this example contradictory features are being ascribed to a single locus (the courtyard as a location and not a location of a water-​pot). Gadādhara argues no. He writes that we can simply take this to mean that the courtyard is a location of both the presence and the absence of the water-​pot. He explains: When a composite cognition takes place such as, “There is and there is not a water-​pot on the floor,” then a doubt framed as, “A water-​pot is either on the floor or is not,” cannot arise. This is because the set of causes required to bring about a doubt is missing in this example. This is why: Given that each effect of the two cognitions is brought together into one composite cognition, being certain of the presence and absence of a water-​pot (features we are aware of because they have the same locus as the property “being that which is qualified”—​a property pertaining to the floor) prevents a cognition that only a water-​pot is present or only that a water-​pot is absent—​features that, again, are considered to be restricted (avaccheda) by the property “being that which is qualified” pertaining to the floor as the locus.51

In Gadādhara’s explanation, then, a doubting cognition is a cognition in which only one property “being that which is qualified” relates to a locus of doubt. This property, in turn, is conditioned by a pair of contrary properties called “being the primary feature,” each of which appears to be a viable candidate as the essential property of that locus. Yet, as the second example from earlier about the water-​pot demonstrates, cases in which a certain feature is not universally concomitant in its locus (that is, it does not “completely pervade” its locus) should not also be thought to represent a doubting cognition—​even though in these cases there is also only one property “being that which is qualified” conditioned by a pair of seemingly but not actually contradictory properties called “being the primary feature.” The reason for this is that, because each feature does not pervade its entire locus, we can allow for the possibility that each feature correctly pertains to a different part of that locus. 51 Misra and Shastri 1936, 83–​84: . . . bhūtalaṃ ghaṭavat ghaṭābhāvavac cetyādisamuccayotpattidaśāyāṃ na bhūtalaṃ ghaṭavan na vetyādisaṃśayotpattiḥ viśeṣyatāvacchedakāvacchedena tadvattādiviśiṣṭabuddhiṃ prati viśeṣyatāvacchedakasāmānādhikaraṇyena tattadabhāvādiniścayasyāpi kāryasahabhāvena pratibandhakatayā tatra sāmagrīvirahāt. The “effect” of each of the two cognitions noted here is the two “knowledges” that there is and there is not a water-​pot on the floor.

Doubt  53 The power of the new view, as presented by Gadādara, is that it completely discredits “apperceptive doubt.” This is because “apperceptive doubt” appears much more akin to the second example of a composite cognition. In both cases, the alternative features of a single locus retain their validity: In “apperceptive doubt,” each alternative—​as speech—​is not allowed to cause doubt (recall Raghudeva); and in a composite cognition of the second type, each alternative is correctly describing certain portions of that locus. Gadādhara’s discussion is also significant because it presents an ontology of an object in doubt. This is not an ontology of an object as it actually exists in the world, however—​objects in themselves can never be errant or indeterminate for nyāya intellectuals. What I mean here instead is that Gadādhara presents to us the ontological structure that an object appears to have as and when it is a locus of doubt. In other words, the ontology of doubt is a pseudo-​ ontology in which two alternatives in their capacity as the primary feature are competing for the status of the universally concomitant feature of a certain locus in its capacity as that which is qualified. Once the pseudo-​ontology of doubt is understood, then the correct cognitive form of doubt can be specified because we know what we are “grasping” when we cognize an object that is in doubt. The significance of knowing the correct cognitive form of doubt—​precisely what the new definition sets out to do—​is that it allows nyāya intellectuals to express doubt properly in language by emphasizing two central aspects. First, it allows them to stress the fact that the alternative conjunction, “or” (vā), is to be taken in the sense of an exclusive disjunction. As Govinda says, “wherever the exclusive disjunctive is used, a contradictory state of affairs (virodha) is brought forth.”52 Second, knowing the correct cognitive form of doubt allows nyāya intellectuals to stress the importance of the negative particle, not (nañ), in a doubting statement. Nyāya intellectuals who do not appreciate these two aspects of a doubting statement express doubt incorrectly in their philosophical works. For example, the well-​known nyāya intellectual, Annaṃbhaṭṭa (fl. 1620, Banaras), fails to express doubt correctly in his Compendium on Logic when he gives an example of doubt as “This is either a pillar or a person.”53 For nyāya intellectuals such as Gadādhara, this way of expressing doubt—​what he terms a double-​positive alternative (“x is either p or q”)—​is problematic

52 Govinda, folio 26b, line 8–​folio 27a, line 1: yatra vākāro ’sti tatra virodhabhānam. 53 Paraba 1883, 25: yathā sthāṇur vā puruṣo veti.

54  Newness and Emotion because it does not necessarily express a contradictory state of affairs. For Gadādhara, a doubting statement is not valid unless one of the alternatives is a negation of the first term—​a requirement met only in the formulation “x is either p or not-​p.” As a result, according to Gadādhara, any statement that has a double-​positive for its alternatives risks expressing a composite cognition rather than a doubting cognition because it permits one to interpret the alternative conjunction as nonexclusive rather than exclusive.54 This section has demonstrated that “new” nyāya intellectuals formulated their own definition of doubt in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. This definition was used to draw a sharper distinction between a doubting cognition and a composite cognition and also took for granted the idea that doubt may arise directly from speech rather than through a process of apperception. This new definition also underwrote new rules about how doubt was to be correctly expressed in language, specifically in the context of debate and dispute where doubting statements are encountered.

Critical Inquiry In his Essay on God, Raghudeva Nyāyālaṅkāra writes that “Given that dispute (vipratipatti) is necessary as an essential component for critical thought . . . disputes must be made explicit [in debates].”55 What does it mean to make dispute explicit such that critical thought can take place? For nyāya intellectuals, it means expressing a dispute in a particular linguistic form. Kṛṣṇadāsa has already told us that disputes are speech framed in a certain manner, “x is p or not-​p.”56 Raghudeva also makes this clear in his commentary on the Inquiry where he asks us to consider a specific dispute, “Sound is either eternal or is not.”57 In general, the ability to raise a doubt about 54 In his commentary on Raghunātha’s Light-​Ray, Gadādhara writes (M. Dvivedi et al. 2007, 1366, Kevalānvayi): “A doubt that has a ‘double-​positive’ (bhāva-​dvaya-​koṭi) as its alternative such as ‘x is a locus of p or q’ (where p is smoke and q is water, for example) is not a valid doubt. This is the case for two reasons: (1) a negation of one of the alternatives must also be present; and (2) when one does not find a contradiction [between the terms]—​given that casual factors for resulting in the negation of one of the terms are not present—​then this type of cognition is simply a composite cognition” (bhāvadvayakoṭikaḥ saṃśayo na prāmāṇikaḥ dhūmavān jalatvavān vā ’yam ity atrābhāvadvayasyāpi bhānopagamāt abhāvabhāsakasāmagryasattve virodhāgrahe samuccayasyaivopagamāt). Harirāma Tarkavāgiśa in his Essay on Veridicality and the anonymous author on another essay titled An Essay on Doubt make similar points; see V. Bhattacharya 1964, 30 and Misra and Shastri 1936, 88, respectively. 55 Tripathi 2003, 15: . . . vicārāṅgavipratipattyāvaśyakatayā vipratipattayo . . . bodhyāḥ. 56 C. Sastry 1923, 737: vipratipattis tu śabdo nityo na vetyādiśabdātmakā. . . . 57 Dvivedin 1904, 67: śabdo nityo na vetyādivipratipattivākyebhaḥ. . . .

Doubt  55 something in language through a well-​employed use of the exclusive disjunctive is a powerful argumentative maneuver that, according to Raghudeva, initiates critical thought. Indeed, Raghudeva prefaces his Essay on God by stating that he has written this work because although there really is no doubt about God’s existence, by asking “Or is there?” one can raise the possibility that there is a doubt about God’s existence.58 Raghudeva’s remarks demonstrate that potentially any feature of an object in a cognition—​any knowledge we claim about an object in the world—​can be thrown into doubt by converting the object of that cognition into the subject of a dispute as expressed in a properly formulated doubting statement. In its most capacious form, a doubting statement may apply to the entire cognition or knowledge we purport to hold, such as “This cognition is either correct or is not,” as stated by Harirāma.59 But note here that the existence of the cognition is not thrown into question and that the doubting statement—​as “speech”—​is not throwing the object itself into question; rather, the role of the doubting statement is to raise a question about the features of an object (or of a cognition). The ability to raise doubts about the features of an object of cognition through properly formulated doubting statements was exploited in the early modern period to undertake critical inquiry about major and minor positions in the discipline. During this period, I would argue, these positions were considered “objects” of cognition concerning which a doubting statement could be formulated. This meant that the “world” of nyāya intellection remained populated with the same objects—​the same philosophical objects or the objects “proper to it”—​but the features of these “objects” were re-​examined.60 Recognizing the role of the doubting statement in critical inquiry is crucial because simply making the observation that certain nyāya intellectuals employed the periodizing terms “new” and “old” in their philosophical writing does not reveal the significance of this usage. Instead, we must also be able to explain how they were able to employ these terms in the first place. Part of the answer is that in the early modern period nyāya intellectuals took seriously 58 Tripathi 2003, 15: yady apīha na sandeho na vāsti vikalpanān yathā tathāpi raghudevena svalpāt kiñcid ucyate. 59 V. Bhattacharya 1964, 35: . . . idaṃ jñānaṃ pramā na veti. . . . 60 On “philosophical objects,” see Balibar 1994, 157. A corollary to this is that introducing new objects into the discipline is difficult and rare; see Conclusion. This has led to some modern scholars to argue earlier that this indicates less a newness of substance than a newness of style; see Ganeri 2011, 151–​153 and Patil 2013, 106–​110 for an overview of this debate.

56  Newness and Emotion the role of a proper doubting statement in critical inquiry. Nyāya intellectuals devised a new genre for carrying out these sorts of investigations: the vāda essay. This genre was chosen by certain nyāya intellectuals as the location where the new definition of doubt and the role of the doubting statement were employed to initiate disputes against earlier positions in the discipline—​ disputes that led to the formulation of new conclusions and the articulation of “the new.” In what follows, I examine the form, not the content, of a number of vāda essays in order to investigate how critical inquiry changed as a result of this new conception of doubt. I examine two ways this change is expressed by nyāya intellectuals. First, nyāya intellectuals begin their vāda essays by explicitly voicing a doubting statement about a specific issue—​what I have referred to as a “philosophical object” in the discipline. Second, vāda essays are begun by stating an “old” view on a particular topic in the discipline. This “old” view is adumbrated but is then rejected and a “new” view is presented to the reader. In this latter case, the doubting statement is kept implicit. I should stress that not all vāda essays have this form and not all nyāya intellectuals engage in this sort of writing. This is because, as must be emphasized, not all “objects” in the discipline of nyāya have their features doubted in this period and not all nyāya intellectuals accept the new definition of doubt. Rather, nyāya intellectuals are making choices about which “objects” to reconsider as they employ this new definition in argument. The examples that follow are not a comprehensive survey but provide some specifics of how critical inquiry is carried out when the doubting statement is both explicit and implicit. In his Essay on Permanent Happiness, Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (fl. 1650, Navadvip) begins by voicing a doubt about whether or not happiness is ascribed to God. He begins: “This is the dispute: God either contains happiness or does not. Old nyāya intellectuals argue that happiness is not in God because the causes that would bring about happiness in God are lacking. . . . But, new nyāya intellectuals argue that there is happiness in God because happiness is mentioned in the Veda as inhering in God.”61 Other essays follow a similar structure. Harirāma Tarkavāgīśa begins his Essay on Veridicality by setting up a disagreement between intellectuals in the discipline of mīmāṃsā and nyāya about whether a cognition is inherently

61 Misra and Shastri 1936, 144–​145: īśvaraḥ sukhavān na veti viprattipatiḥ. atra prāñcaḥ īśvaro na sukhavān sukhasāmagryabhāvāt. . . . navīnās tu īśvaraḥ sukhavān sukhavattvena vedabodhitatvāt. See Chapter 3 for a discussion of this text.

Doubt  57 accurate or not (mīmāṃsa taking the former position). He then immediately tells his readers, “In light of the position of the mīmāṃsakas, the dispute is this: Veridicality . . . is either in an adjunctive relation to a cognition or is not.”62 Another example is found in the anonymous Essay on Heat and Its Effects. Interestingly, the dispute consists of a compound doubting statement in order to avoid expressing a doubting statement that contains a “double-​positive,” as discussed by Gadādhara earlier. The debate is fairly arcane: The concern is to explain how a black clay pot turns red when it is fired in a kiln. The text begins: “The dispute can be framed in this way: ‘The destruction of color occurs either as an effect of heat in some composite object or not’ or ‘Color arises either in a composite object as an effect of heat or not.’ ”63 Finally, at the beginning of his Essay on God, Raghudeva makes explicit the dispute that he is investigating. In the context of God as the primordial cause or maker of the world, he states that the dispute is this: “An effect—​the ‘causal agent’ of which is an essential part of this debate—​is either associated with a cause or is not.”64 When an author keeps the doubting statement implicit in a vāda essay, the dispute is highlighted by voicing an explicit disagreeing with the conclusion of earlier authors concerning the features of a philosophical object. The first example turns to another essay by Harirāma Tarkavāgīśa entitled An Essay on Objectivity. In this essay, Harirāma does not agree with what he terms “old” nyāya arguments about objectivity (viṣayatā). He states that “Old nyāya intellectuals argue that, objectivity is a special type of relation obtaining between a cognition and an object in the world that is ontologically similar in form to one or both of its relata. Objectivity, they continue, is not

62 V. Bhattacharya 1964, 4: prāmāṇyaṃ . . . viṣayitāpratiyogi na veti tanmate vipratipattiḥ. The full passage reads (ibid., 1–​4): “Intellectuals in the discipline of mīmāṃsaka argue that a cognition’s veridicality is grasped inherently. That is, in the view of the Guru [Murāri Miśra (c. 1210, Mithila?)] an “inherent grasping” means that a cognition is grasped as its own basis [of veridicality] while, concurrently, something preventing the grasping of its own veridicality is absent. And so, in light of the position of the mīmāṃsakas, there is a dispute: “Either veridicality is an adjunct to the fact that something is an object—​this awareness being a concomitant of self-​verifying cognitive states that, in turn, do not occur at the same time as anything that might prevent the ‘grasping’ of their own veridicality—​or it is not.’ ” (prāmāṇyaṃ svata eva gr̥hyata iti mīmāṃsakāḥ. tatra gurumate prāmāṇyagrahapratibandhakābhāvakālīna[ṃ] yāvat svāśrayībhūtajñānagrāhyatvam eva svato grāhyatvam. eva[ñ] ca prāmāṇyaṃ svaviṣayakagrahapratibandhakābhāvakālīnasvāśrayajñānatvavyāpakaviṣayitāpratiyogi na veti tanmate vipratipattiḥ). 63 Misra and Shastri 1936, 163: tatra samavetadravyaṃ pākajarūpanāśavan na vā samavetadravyaṃ pākajarūpavan na vety ākārikā vipratipattiḥ. On these complex issues, see Tubb 1992. 64 Tripathi 2003, 15: vivādādhyāsitakartr̥kaṃ sakartr̥kaṃ na vety. . . .

58  Newness and Emotion a relation that is ontologically different from its relata as there is no proof for such a claim. This old view, however, is not correct” (see Chapter 2 for a detailed discussion).65 An essay entitled An Examination of “Consideration” in Inferential Reasoning by Raghudeva Nyāyālaṅkāra has a similar form. First, he presents the standard position in the discipline on the process of “consideration” (parāmarśa)—​the cognition that reveals something as concomitant with something else. He states, “The standard position is that because inference cannot occur without it, consideration is the reason for the success of inference.” After a long explanation of this position, he simply says: “That [view] is not correct” (tad asat).66 In an essay entitled An Essay on Causality, Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya begins with a definition of causality according to old nyāya intellectuals, but then concludes the essay by examining newer views. In the first, causality is thought of as a limitor (avacchedaka) of the things we identify as a cause, but later Gadādhara stresses that Raghunātha Śiromaṇi’s position is to take causality as an ontological category.67 The preceding brief survey indicates that doubting statements, whether explicit or implicit in critical inquiry, were understood to immediately generate a doubting cognition about the features of an object or some state of affairs. Thus, if a canonical position was shown to be incorrect after doubting that position through a properly formulated doubting statement, then the updated view—​the updated features of a philosophical object as determined in the resulting critical inquiry—​could be periodized as “new” in distinction to the now “old” view. This means that, as put to work in philosophical writing, the new definition of doubt had a very tangible outcome on nyāya intellectual practice. While the effect of this new definition on critical inquiry should not be exaggerated, there appears to be no other explanation as powerful for the changes that took place in nyāya intellectual practice during the early modern period among some, though not all, nyāya intellectuals.

65 Misra and Shastri 1936, 258: viṣayatā ca svarūpasambandhaviśeṣo jñānādīnāṃ viṣayeṇa na tv atiriktā mānābhāvād iti prāñcaḥ. tad asat. I largely follow Phillips 1995, 135 and S. Bhattacharya 1990, 28–​30 in my gloss of svarūpa here (see Chapter 2 for a technical treatment of this relation). 66 Prajapati 2008, 49–​50: parāmarśaṃ vinānumityanudayād anumitiṃ prati parāmarśo hetur iti siddhāntaḥ. . . . tad asat. 67 Misra and Shastri 1936, 202, 207: atha kin nāma kāraṇatvaṃ yadavacchedakāvacchinnasamudāyaḥ sāmagrī. atra prāñcaḥ ananyathāsiddhaniyatapūrvavartijātīyatvaṃ kāraṇatvam. . . . kāraṇatvaṃ padārthāntaram eva. tac cāvacchedakabhedād bhidyate. . . . iti dīdhitikr̥duktaṃ yuktam ālocayāmaḥ.

Doubt  59

Trust As speech in the context of debate, a doubting statement for new nyāya intellectuals immediately generates a doubting cognition. But there is nothing that requires us to respond to that doubting cognition—​it could simply be ignored. Thus, to care about critical inquiry is to involve oneself in an effort to resolve any doubting cognition. Care about critical inquiry may be expressed through the writing of philosophical works; and when that philosophical work is about topics in the discipline of nyāya, it is an expression of what it means to be a nyāya intellectual. What nyāya intellectuals such as Gadādhara, Raghudeva, and Raghunātha take for granted is that those who read their writing will be “moved favorably by the thought” that each of them is counting on their readers to care about critical inquiry as well.68 But their writing is also fraught with navigating between scholars who may agree, disagree, or remain noncommittal about the positions they espouse, even if those scholars care about critical inquiry. In the first case, Gadādhara, Raghudeva, and Harirāma show themselves to be nyāya intellectuals who entertain an optimism about the “goodwill and competence” of readers who already agree with them—​what Karen Jones has identified as the primary mark of what it means to trust someone.69 For Jones, the goodwill of others means that those with whom we engage will not harm us and that they will entertain “friendly feelings” toward us; and competence is the expectation that those with whom we interact will understand and feel a commitment to the concepts needed to productively constitute a relationship with us in a given “domain of interaction.”70 The use of the periodizing term “new” by Harirāma, for example, suggests that he views the plane of nyāya intellectuality as containing various arrangements of scholars in different relationships to each other. To speak to new authors, then, is to immediately recognize a collective that coalesces around certain notions and understandings of goodwill and competence toward one another. But, in the second case (those who disagree), they are faced with scholars who do not trust them. In his commentary on the Inquiry, Raghudeva Nyāyālaṅkāra provides a glimpse of the problem of distrust when he writes about the old view on doubt (that speech in a debate cannot produce doubt



68 Jones 1996, 6. 69 Ibid., 4.

70 Ibid., 7, 9.

60  Newness and Emotion immediately). “And so,” he says, “the old conclusion that indirectly evident cognitions [like speech] are always cognitive certainties about some state affairs in the world is not to be trusted given that this position lacks any logical basis.”71 As remarked by Jones, distrust is “synonymous with wary suspicion,” and it constitutes “pessimism about someone’s goodwill” together with an acknowledgment that they may “harm [our] interests.”72 By extension, then, Raghudeva is suspicious that those who hold the older view on doubt will do him harm because they do not trust him and vice versa. Intellectually, he may worry that his analysis of reality will be mistaken or that his larger philosophical project will be undermined, if he adopts their “older” view. Emotionally, he may worry that, if no one else distrusts the older view, his arguments will not be read with sympathy; or that he will not be able to rely upon the “moral competence” of other nyāya philosophers—​competencies that include loyalty, kindness, and generosity, as noted by Jones.73 As the discussion so far has made clear trust and distrust are emotions that are “necessarily tied to a particular perception of the world,” in the words of Bernd Lahno.74 Perceiving the world through various emotions like trust and distrust helps arrange ourselves into relation with others that surround us in a particular domain—​such as nyāya philosophy—​and leads to the formation of communities centered not only on certain philosophical positions but also emotional dispositions. In adopting shared positions and dispositions, trust is produced between nyāya intellectuals. For example, does doubt arise in a debate context through “apperceptive doubt” or through “doubt from speech”? For those who answer in the former, Raghudeva alerts his readers to the fact that new nyāya intellectuals should not trust them and implicitly suggests that they should trust him instead on the basis of his philosophical rigor. But Raghudeva is also speaking to those who may not know how to answer (the third case from earlier) or to those who disagree but are open to listening to his new position. To these scholars, he is clearly attempting to persuade them through his arguments so that they accept the new view on philosophical grounds and trust him. But persuasion also requires that Raghudeva views these intellectuals as having the potential to evolve and, for this reason, 71 Dvivedin 1904, 68: tathā ca parokṣajñānaṃ niścayātmakam eveti jīrṇasiddhānto yuktyabhāvād aśraddheyaḥ. 72 Jones 1996, 7. 73 Ibid. 74 Lahno 2001, 177.

Doubt  61 Raghudeva’s philosophical argument must also be interpreted as extending a “positive sympathetic attitude” to those intellectuals in hopes that it invokes in them a feeling of goodwill and competence toward Raghudeva (and new nyāya intellectuals, in general) so that they partake in a trusting relationship with him as a new intellectual.75 Nyāya intellectual practice allows for the possibility that trust can be produced where it was earlier absent precisely because intellectuals can evolve by updating their intellectual and emotional perspectives about the philosophical objects that constitute the world of nyāya intellection as they engage in critical inquiry. Part of what Raghudeva and other nyāya authors are doing, then, in their philosophical works is attempting to engender and perpetuate a feeling of trust among nyāya intellectuals such that a new community of philosophers can emerge with a shared perception of the world—​a perception that entails gazing out across the plane of nyāya intellectuality with shared intellectual and emotional perspectives expressed concretely in their philosophical works.



75 Ibid., 184 for quote and where an “evolving person” is discussed.

2 Objectivity Arguments for novelty break the time of nyāya intellection into new and old. In the previous chapter, novelty was identified by nyāya intellectuals themselves who described certain arguments about doubt as old and other arguments as new. Yet we should not assume that arguments described as new were in fact so. Nyāya intellectuals also identified earlier but marginalized philosophical arguments in the discipline, labeled them “new,” and then re-​employed them for specific purposes. One of those purposes was the crafting of intellectual identities so that a scholar could be classified as new or old. How nyāya intellectuals re-​employed previously marginalized philosophical arguments in order to attribute authors with specific intellectual identities has never been studied. This chapter studies this process by examining a debate in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries about a concept with significant epistemological and ontological importance for the discipline: objectivity (viṣayatā). A  concept whose contours I  examine in detail in this chapter, objectivity is what links our (internal) cognitions to the (external) objects in the world. The debate about objectivity consisted of how to define it and its correct location in nyāya ontology. This chapter reconstructs this debate and demonstrates that nyāya arguments concerning the definition of objectivity were not merely statements in a dispute about what objectivity was, but were used by authors to craft the intellectual boundaries of an emerging philosophical community within the discipline. In prior studies, the debate concerning objectivity is dealt with unevenly and has not been investigated for its bearing on intellectual identities among nyāya scholars.1 In undertaking such an analysis, then, this chapter attempts to provide an answer to the still open question raised by Stephen Phillips nearly thirty years ago about why nyāya intellectuals in early modernity “feel called upon” to write about objectivity.2 1 For brief references to this debate, see Matilal 1968, 62; Mohanty 1989, 31; and Ingalalli 1984, 74. Guha 1968, 136–​176 provides the most detailed overview. 2 Phillips 1992, 669.

A Time of Novelty. Samuel Wright, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2021. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197568163.003.0003

Objectivity  63 Yet the debate also exhibits the changing position of certain claims within nyāya argumentative history. In this regard, the chapter further argues that the changing position of these claims exhibits the “dialogic overtones” of nyāya arguments on objectivity (to borrow from Mikhail Bakhtin).3 This is absolutely crucial to register because studying these overtones embedded within nyāya claims about objectivity showcases the emotional parameters of this emerging philosophical community. These emotional parameters can be recovered through an analysis of what Bakhtin terms the “addressivity” of language and the “proximity” between participants in a dialogue.4

The Concept of Objectivity Before we venture into the complex world of objectivity and its histories, however, I  must mark out its meanings and uses within the discipline of nyāya—​something that has not been undertaken with sufficient clarity in previous studies.5 The Sanskrit term I  am glossing with the word “objectivity” is viṣayatā. This is an abstract form of the common Sanskrit noun viṣaya, whose principal meaning is “an object (of sense).”6 This term is often translated as “content” because viṣaya need not always refer to something tangibly grasped in a sense perception but might also refer to the cognitive stuff that makes up a cognition. This was seen in the previous chapter in which a subsequent cognition, an anuvyavasāya, was the “content” or viṣaya of an “apperceptive doubt.” But this should not confuse us; it simply indicates that, as with many words, viṣaya has a range of meanings and applications to which we must remain sensitive. If one takes “content” as an acceptable gloss of viṣaya in the context of our discussion here (which I do not), then, coupled with its abstract suffix -​tā, the gloss of the word viṣayatā becomes “content-​ ness” or, more literally, “being the content.” The gloss, “content-​ness,” has been the gloss used for viṣayatā in nearly every study on nyāya, although it must be admitted that it is potentially misleading.7 This is because the term “content” in much contemporary philosophy is used to refer to mental states 3 Bakhtin 1986, 92. 4 Ibid.,  94–​99. 5 The most accessible treatment is still Dasgupta 1941, 321–​331; see also Ray-​Chaudhuri 1954 for an early treatment. 6 For this and its other meanings, see Apte 1957–​1959, 1477–​1478. 7 Matilal 1968, 27 likely informed by Ingalls 1951, 45n62. Dasgupta 1941 and S. Bhattacharya 1990 are the important exceptions here.

64  Newness and Emotion such as beliefs, thoughts, or opinions. Most problematic, however, selecting “content-​ness” as a gloss for viṣayatā runs the risk of excluding the crucial place of the object (of sense) in discussions on the concept.8 I propose returning to the principal meaning of the word viṣaya to which I referred earlier, namely, “an object,” to make sense of the term viṣayatā. The term would then be glossed as “object-​ness” or, more naturally, “objectivity.” The benefit of this gloss, it is hoped, should be immediately apparent. First, this term is an oft-​used term in the English language, albeit with a variety of meanings. Importantly, and second, is that the gloss “objectivity” can be properly clarified because this term has been used in contemporary philosophy in a way that can be correlated to its use in the discipline of nyāya. This means that the specific sense in which I am using “objectivity” as a gloss for viṣayatā can be sufficiently clarified. The sense of the term “objectivity” I have in mind is about the reality of objects in the world and the way these objects appear to us in our cognitions of them. In other words, I want to understand the meaning of the term “objectivity” as a way of referring to the objective nature of an object in the world. What I have in mind here is phrased quite succinctly by Gilead Bar-​Elli. Citing a common assumption, he notes, “Objects are objective, and what is objective, one might suppose, must have the status of an object (‘the objecthood of the objective’ we might call it).”9 A similar, if far more terse, claim is made by Renford Bambrough, who, when writing about the relationship between words and things, states that “We have the idea that objectivity requires an object.”10 My use of the term “objectivity” in glossing viṣayatā, then, is precisely this: To draw attention to the “objectivity” of an object, which is to say that I am concerned with the object-​hood of the (objective) object, to borrow from Bambrough and Bar-​Ellis once more, that we encounter in and through our cognitions of the world. Astute readers will have noticed that I have already slipped into language that attributes an intentionality to our cognitions, namely, “the power of minds to be about, to represent, or to stand for, things, properties and states of affairs.”11 This is not an accident since, for nyāya intellectuals, we cannot discuss objectivity without intentionality, although we should not overemphasize this connection.12 This is because while objects that make up or are 8 For “content” in contemporary philosophy, see Siewert 2017, under “The Interpretation of Intentionality.” 9 Bar-​Elli 2015, 297. 10 Bambrough 1972, 65. 11 Jacob 2014. 12 Matilal 1968, 24, 27.

Objectivity  65 “in” our cognitions can be spoken of as “intentional objects,” these objects, for nyāya intellectuals, cannot be imagined or fictional objects like they might be for Franz Brentano, the founding figure for contemporary discussions on intentionality.13 Rather, nyāya intellectuals maintain the requirement that when we have a cognition of an object (what is called the “real object” in intentionality or what Brentano called the “terminus”), that object must not be a figment of our imagination. We must be able to describe our cognition of that object in a way that accurately represents the object or that state of affairs such that others might also know what object we are referring to or speaking about. Thus, communication about an object is possible for nyāya intellectuals because an accurate cognition of an object entails not only a cognition of the object as something external to us in the world but because we are also able to accurately cognize the object’s “objectivity”—​the object-​ hood of the object, as I mentioned earlier, and point others to that object in our description of it in language. What these caveats mean is that a cognition of an object in nyāya more closely approximates what is called a “singular thought”; that is to say, it approximates thought that is “directly about” an object, is “ontologically dependent” on an object, and stands in a specific “epistemic relation” to an object, following the definition of Joshua Armstrong and Jason Stanley.14 In light of the complex issues that are raised by the concept of objectivity in the discipline of nyāya, I should mention one more point about glossing the term viṣayatā. This is that the term viṣayatā can be further disambiguated by making explicit the ellipsis that is implied in this abstract noun. Recovering the semantic exclusion engendered by the use of the abstract suffix in the term, I can gloss the term “objectivity” in greater detail by stating that to study objectivity (as the concept is conceived of by nyāya intellectuals) is to study an object of a cognition in its capacity as an object—​a reading that also relates to arguments discussed earlier by Bambrough and Bar-​Ellis. What, then, is objectivity? How is it analyzed in the ontological and epistemological language of nyāya? To answer these questions, I must address the two meanings of the concept as discussed in the discipline. Each meaning is quite different from the other; and although it is the second meaning that this chapter discusses in most detail, the reader should be familiar with both. In the first, the study of objectivity in nyāya consists of studying three

13 Brentano 2015, 282.

14 Armstrong and Stanley 2011, 205.

66  Newness and Emotion components that, when taken together, describe the objective or real object in its capacity as an object. These three components are abstract terms and are exactly the same type of terms I discussed when examining Gadādhara’s definition of doubt in Chapter  1.15 What this means is that these three components should be considered “properties” of an object. These three components are (1) the property “being that which is qualified” (viśeṣyatā); (2) the property “being the primary feature” (prakāratā); and (3) the property “being the relational object” (saṃsargatā) that obtains between 1 and 2.16 As the reader may recognize, each of these three properties is an abstraction of concrete particulars of the objective object:  the qualified substantive (viśeṣya), the primary feature (prakāra), and their relation (saṃsarga), respectively. The property of each concrete particular, according to nyāya authors, is each an instance of objectivity and I refer to these individually as “specific objectivities.” When these three components or properties are taken together, however, the concept of objectivity refers to an entire ontological complex of an object. Following Bimal K. Matilal in his discussion of objectivity, I refer to this collective sense of the term by using the phrase “objectivity complex.”17 A very good précis and example of objectivity, which highlights a nyāya author theorizing about the three components as separate and specific objectivities, is found in An Offering of Ontological Categories by Jayarāma Nyāyapañcānana (fl. 1657, Banaras). In this work, he says, The three properties, namely, (1) “being that which is qualified,” (2) “being the primary feature,” and (3)  “being the relational object” are each specific instances of objectivity, so considered; that is, they are each specific instances of the object-​hood of the (objective) object. Let us take the example: “A man carries a staff.” In this example, “being that which is qualified” relates to the man, “being the primary feature” relates to the staff, and “being the relational object” relates to the relation, which, in this case, is a “contact relation” between the man and the staff.18

15 Chapter 1, “A New Definition.” 16 These terms are given here with the feminine abstract suffix, -​tā, but one also finds the neuter abstract suffix, -​tva, used as well in the texts. 17 See Matilal 1968, 28. 18 Sarma 1985, 174:  viśeṣyatvaṃ viśeṣaṇatvaṃ sāṃsargikaṃ viṣayatvaṃ ca viṣayatāviśeṣa eva. puruṣo daṇḍavān ityādau puruṣe viśeṣyatā, daṇḍe viśeṣaṇatā, saṃyoge sāṃsargikaviṣayateti. Much literature is available that discusses these terms, but Jayarāma’s example remains the clearest and has the added benefit of being taken from a primary source.

Objectivity  67 Jayarāma’s outline presents a clear account of the abstractions that make up the objectivity (that is, the object-​hood) of an object of a cognition or, in this case, a state of affairs: a man holding a staff. Here, the man is the subject or locus of consideration and his most important quality or feature is the fact that he has a staff; and, finally, the staff and the man are connected through a contact relation (i.e., he is holding it). In light of this analysis, I must immediately note that Jayarāma’s example is more of what we would call a “state of affairs” rather than “an object,” strictly considered. Authors, however, also used examples of commonplace objects such as pots and pieces of cloth.19 The second meaning of the concept of objectivity is the meaning that is the focus of the remainder of the chapter and is a major topic of debate in the discipline of nyāya in the early modern period. Objectivity is, in the second meaning of the term, a relation that links a cognition and an object in the world. When taken in this sense, objectivity draws comparisons with contemporary debates about intentionality. Crucially, however, for nyāya intellectuals, objectivity as a relation is not just any relation. It is an example of a particular type of relation that they call a “svarūpa” relation—​a relation devised to solve the problem of infinite regress.20 It is worth pausing for a moment to make better sense of this sort of relation since the usual gloss of this relation in prior studies as “self-​linking” does not help to clarify its role in nyāya philosophy.21 In my view, a svarūpa relation is best approximated to an “internal” relation (as opposed to an external relation). Defined by Fraser MacBride, a relation is internal “if its holding between things is somehow fixed by the things themselves or how those things are.”22 While the specifics of this is contentious in contemporary philosophy, a favored view posits that internal relations are “determined by the intrinsic characters of the things they relate.”23 This seems very close to the sense of the term svarūpa here, which literally means “the same form 19 An oft-​cited example is the cognition of a “blue pot.” This would be analyzed as follows: A pot (viśeṣya) is characterized by the color blue (prakāra) and the connection between the pot and the color blue is a certain relation (sambandha)—​here this relation is one of inherence (samavāya), but other examples would elicit different types of relations (Matilal 1968, 11–​15). 20 Specifically, Bradley’s regress (Matilal 1968, 40) in which a relation entails an endless series of relations (r, r′, r″ and so on) which never actually connect to a relatum (on other relations in nyāya, see ibid., 37–​44). Gaṅgeśa, in his Thought-​Jewel of Truth, states that the benefit of reading the concept of objectivity as a svarūpa relation is because (ibid., 188): “Had we accepted another relation, it would have resulted in an infinite regress” (sambandhāntarābhyupagame cānavasthābhiyā). 21 I do not know the first use of “self-​linking” as a gloss for svarūpa. Ingalls (1951) uses “peculiar” and Matilal (1968) chooses not to gloss it. 22 MacBride 2016, under “Preliminary Distinctions.” 23 Ibid., under “Reductionism about Internal Relations.”

68  Newness and Emotion (as)”; that is, the svarūpa relation has the same (ontological) form as—​or, it is ontologically identical to—​one or both of its relata and thus, as carefully noted by Stephen Phillips, is not considered an “additional real” (or “furniture”) of the world but, at the same time, is not reduced to either of its relata—​ important differences from how internal relations are usually interpreted.24 In my reading, then, a svarūpa relation is a quasi-​internal relation because it is determined by (has the same form as) the things it relates, making it a relation that is nonrepeatable and not ontologically distinct from one or both of its relata, unlike an inherence relation (samavāya-​sambandha) in nyāya philosophy. Instead, it appears fixed to one or both of its relata simply by how those specific relata exist in the world. However, in order to stress that it is only an approximation to an internal relation, I retain the term svarūpa in my discussion that follows rather than gloss it as “internal” now that we have a better sense of its meaning. Because the issue of svarūpa relation raises a number of difficult questions, let me bracket any further aspects related to it and remain with the issue of why objectivity as a relation is posited by nyāya authors in the first place. To this end, I examine some basic features of objectivity as a relation before coming back to discuss the question of what type of relation it is. Jayarāma is again useful on the question of why objectivity, as a relation, is posited by nyāya intellectuals. In the same work I  quoted from earlier, he says, Objectivity is a peculiar sort of relation called a svarūpa relation that obtains between a cognition and an object; it is proven by the fact that one’s cognitive awareness is in the form or shape of the object of cognition.25

As can be appreciated in this passage, objectivity is argued to be the way in which objects and our cognitions of those objects connect or are linked; and so it is infinitely useful in explaining how and why we can accurately grasp objects in the world that are external to us through our cognitions of them. But objects and cognitions do not connect in any random manner. Rather, for nyāya authors, the awareness we have of objects matches objects in their 24 Phillips 1995, 136. Phillips’s study provides the best treatment of this relation; see especially ibid., 135–​136, 217–​218, 230–​236. For differences with internal relations, see MacBride 2016, under “Reductionism about Internal Relations.” 25 Sarma 1985, 174:  viṣayatvam api viṣayākārapratītisākṣikaṃ jñānaviṣayayoḥ svarūpasambandhaviśeṣarūpam.

Objectivity  69 capacity as objects, or, as I have been stating, the cognitive awareness we have of an object is the same as the object-​hood of the object. This is explicitly stated in the last line of the passage from Jayarāma where he says that our awareness of the object is the same form or the same shape as the object itself. In other words, however the object is in the world external to us, is the way in which it is grasped and known to us in our cognition of it (assuming our sense faculty is working correctly and we are not in doubt).26 The solution to how our (internal) cognitive states connect to (external) objects independent of us, outlined here by Jayarāma, also allows for an important digression into why choosing “objectivity” as a gloss for viṣayatā is so important. In his Third Meditation entitled the “Existence of God,” René Descartes (1596–​1650) attempts to demonstrate that the objects in his “sensory perception and imagination” have external reality, even though in the first approach one is only certain that they exist within oneself. Descartes clarifies that he is concerned with the question of whether the objects he entertains “ideas” about are external to him.27 The way in which he crafts his argument in answer to this question helps us to further understand the concept of objectivity in the discipline of nyāya. Descartes reflects upon what happens when he perceives some object or “thing.” He says, [T]‌he most obvious judgement for me to make is that the thing in question transmits to me its own likeness rather than something else. . . . [H]eat cannot be produced in an object which was not previously hot, except by something of at least the same order of perfection as heat, and so on. But it is also true that the idea of heat, or of a stone, cannot exist in me unless it is put there by some cause which contains at least as much reality as I conceive to be in the heat or in the stone. . . . The nature of an idea is such that of itself it requires no formal reality except what it derives from my thought of which it is a mode. But in order for a given idea to contain such and such objective reality, it must surely derive it from some cause

26 Harirāma Tarkavāgīśa’s Essay on Objectivity also reads in a similar way. Jha (1987, 139) presents a manuscript variation: “Objectivity is a peculiar sort of relation called a svarūpa relation; it is proven by the fact that a cognitive awareness has the same form as the object” (viṣayatā viṣayākārapratītisākṣikasvarūpasambandhaḥ). This reading is not part of the published edition of the text. The astonishing similarity between these two passages of Jayarāma and Harirāma must be noted: Each writing from different locations though at roughly the same time, their passages highlight the stability of the way in which the views on objectivity were framed. 27 Cottingham, Stoothoff, and Murdoch 1984, 26–​27.

70  Newness and Emotion which contains at least as much formal reality as there is objective reality in the idea.28

Descartes’s answer comes extremely close to the answer provided by nyāya intellectuals about how and why our cognitions appear to have the same form as objects. This is because Descartes’s notion that an object “transmits . . . its own likeness” is a possibility with which some nyāya authors would agree: Objectivity, as a relation, serves to accurately and sufficiently connect or “transmit” an object, in its capacity as an object, to a cognition. That is, objectivity is able to link an object—​inclusive of its specific objectivities (the viśeṣyatā, prakāratā, and saṃsargatā)—​to a cognition of that object. At the same time, we should not take the comparison to Descartes too far. This is because objectivity is used by nyāya intellectuals to answer a different question from what Descartes is asking. Whereas Descartes is interested in answering the question of whether or not there is an external reality, nyāya intellectuals already hold this as a philosophical commitment. Rather, their question is how our cognitions match external reality; not to prove that external reality exists but rather to explain how our cognitions can be accurate representations of that reality. While this is what leads Descartes to speak about a cause and effect between a thing or object (cause) and an idea (effect), nyāya intellectuals speak about this “transmission” as the function of objectivity as a relation. However, there is much disagreement on this point among nyāya intellectuals. This is because, in my reading, nyāya intellectuals are much more concerned with the question of the directionality of the “transmission”: Does objectivity as a relation link the object to the cognition or the cognition to the object? In contemporary philosophy this is called the problem of differential application, which means that for any relation “there are multiple ways in which it potentially applies to the things it relates.”29 The problem of differential application means that relations are taken to be nonsymmetrical: Any relation (R) may apply differently to its relata (a, b) such that aRb ≠ bRa. In the case of Descartes referred to here, it appears he is assuming a transmission based upon a binary, nonsymmetric relation between the object and the “idea.” In other words, he is assuming that the relation between an object and an “idea” has a directionality that moves from the object to the cognition of that

28 Ibid., 26, 28–​29.

29 MacBride 2014, 3.

Objectivity  71 object. This is in distinction to Franz Brentano, who understood the relation as moving from the cognition to the object or “terminus,” in his vocabulary.30 The debate among nyāya intellectuals about objectivity as a relation is also about its differential application: whether objectivity as a relation applies to its relata such as that aRb or, its converse, bRa (a binary, nonsymmetric relation). But, interestingly, the debate also includes a discussion about whether objectivity as a relation is one in which both aRb and bRa are in operation (a symmetric relation).31 Let me conclude this section, then, with some reflections on directionality as it pertains to objectivity as a relation. Nyāya intellectuals identify three options concerning the directionality of objectivity as a relation: aRb, bRa, or aRb and bRa. While we know that nyāya intellectuals admit that objectivity as a relation is a “svarūpa” relation, this tells us nothing about its directionality; and although many nyāya authors assumed that the direction was from a cognition to an object (as Brentano does), nyāya intellectuals did not take this as a settled issue.32 So, how was directionality specified? As noted, objectivity as a svarūpa relation is ontologically identical in form to one or both of its relata. Therefore, three options are available. It is identical to (1) a cognition, (2) an object, or (3) both a cognition and an object. Though not noted explicitly by nyāya authors, I submit that the relata to which objectivity is posited as ontologically identical implicitly specifies the direction of the relation. Thus, if objectivity is taken as ontologically identical with the cognition, then the relation (R) applies to its relata such that aRb, where a is the cognition and b is the object. In cases where objectivity is taken as ontologically identical to the object, then the relation is the converse (bRa). Finally, in cases where objectivity is taken as ontologically identical to both the cognition and the object, then the relation is symmetric (aRb and bRa). At the same time, however, it should be noted that the terms of the relation do not change. The cognition is always taken as the subjunct (anuyogin) while the object is taken as the adjunct (pratiyogin). This means that the object is always grasped and located “in” a cognition. What the debate is about, however, is exactly how objectivity as a relation actually relates its relata—​a question of whether it is a binary, nonsymmetric relation or whether it is a symmetric relation. 30 Brentano 2015, 281–​282. 31 MacBride 2015, 174: “Relations such that xRy whenever yRx are symmetric.” Cian Dorr (2004, 155) defines it somewhat more enigmatically: “a relation r is symmetric iff whenever x bears r to y, y bears r to x; otherwise r is non-​symmetric.” 32 S. Bhattacharya 1990, 9; Misra and Shastri 1936, 258.

72  Newness and Emotion I examine the specific arguments for each position in a later section, but I flag this aspect in order to anticipate some of the key points in the debate about objectivity as a relation. Before I  conclude this section, however, I  must make a confession. In trying to present the larger contours of the concept of objectivity as a relation to the reader, I have not presented the entire debate about this concept in the early modern period. So far, my discussion has been describing the debate as it took place among nyāya intellectuals who hold the standard view on objectivity as a relation: that it is a svarūpa relation but that the nature of its directionality as a relation is contentious. Now, however, I can provide another key part of the debate about objectivity as a relation: The ongoing and unresolved debate about the directionality of objectivity as a svarūpa relation led a number of nyāya intellectuals in the early modern period to reject altogether the idea that objectivity should be classified as a svarūpa relation. Instead, this group of nyāya intellectuals argued that objectivity as a relation should be taken as ontologically distinct from its relata (not ontologically identical to either or both), and thus objectivity as a relation should be taken as an additional real of the world in the form of a new ontological category (padārtha). Let us turn, then, to the specifics of this admittedly large debate. As will be appreciated, both sides of the debate, namely, objectivity as a svarūpa relation with a contentious directionality and objectivity as an ontological category, have a long history in the discipline of nyāya. In the next section, I examine this debate as it took place over a period of approximately two hundred years between 1500 and 1700. The debate showcases how the concept of objectivity (as a relation) was placed within certain periodized frameworks that informed assessments among scholars about who was a “new” nyāya intellectual and who was not.

An Alternative History The idea that objectivity as a relation was an ontological category, not a svarūpa relation, was originally a marginal position attributed to a group of nyāya scholars called the Ekadeśīs, literally “one section” or “one faction.” Beginning in the early modern period, renewed interest in the Ekadeśī position is found among a number of nyāya intellectuals. In this section, I demonstrate that nyāya intellectuals from Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (c. 1510, Bengal)

Objectivity  73 to Mahādeva Punataṃkara (c. 1692, Banaras) did attribute the Ekadeśīs with the view that objectivity was an ontological category. Knowing this part of the debate history is crucial for appreciating the changes in the way this debate was represented by nyāya intellectuals from the mid-​seventeenth century. Who were the Ekadeśīs? As Karl Potter explains, the Ekadeśīs represent a schism in the discipline of nyāya that dates from approximately the tenth century. The Ekadeśīs connect themselves to the views of Bhāsarvajña (c. 940–​980, Kashmir), whereas another, unnamed, group finds its authority in the views of Uddyotakara (c. 550–​610, Srughna).33 Bhāsarvajña, a Shaivite of the Pāśupata sect, appears to have written four works. Two of these works are large nyāya treatises, one of which argues for a number of unconventional positions and greatly influenced later authors of the so-​called Ekadeśī community. His other two smaller works are a handbook on the Pāśupata sect and a lost work critiquing Buddhist views on momentariness.34 The Ekadeśīs appear to have been a rather significant group of scholars who had influence across a range of disciplines, although no study on this group exists. Vedānta Deśika (1268–​ 1369, Srirangam35), a well-​ known Śrī-​Vaiṣṇava scholar, reports that other authors such as Nārāyaṇārya (c. 1250, Dravida) and Meghanādāri Sūri (c. 1250, Dravida), a teṅgalai or southern Śrī-​Vaiṣṇava, support Ekadeśī positions associated with the discipline of nyāya.36 The views of the Ekadeśīs are also mentioned in the Mānasollāsa by Someśvara (1129, Chalukya Dynasty), perhaps the earliest attested reference to the Ekadeśī view.37 Importantly, some nyāya authors in the early modern period identify themselves as Ekadeśīs. Rāmabhadra Sārvabhauma (fl. 1525–​ 1575, Navadvip), in his Essay on Liberation, discusses a debate about the state of liberation: whether it is the end of all suffering or whether liberation reveals an eternal and permanent happiness. Rāmabhadra argues for the latter view, noting that this is a view of Ekadeśīs “like me.”38

33 Potter 1977, 398–​399. 34 Narayanan 1992, 6–​11; dates are discussed in ibid., 8–​11. 35 Dates and location from Singh 1958, 3, 29. 36 Singh 1958, 129–​131, 267. For the term teṅgalai, see Swami 1912. 37 Potter 1977, 399. 38 Quoted in P.  K. Sen 2003, lxxviii:  “Due to the fact that authoritative texts such as the Br̥hadāraṇyaka Upaniṣad (3.9.28) say that ‘brahman’s form is bliss,’ liberation is a state that directly reveals that bliss. However, this is the road taken by Ekadeśīs like me—​an unusual path for most of my fellow scholars” (tathā ca tatsākṣātkāra evāpavargaḥ ānandaṃ brahmaṇo rupaṃ ityādiśrut[e]‌r iti tu mādr̥śām ekadeśināṃ sakalasahr̥dayacamatkārī panthāḥ). This position is also supported by Bhāsarvajña; see Chattopadhyaya 1966/​1967, 122–​123.

74  Newness and Emotion I have not been able to determine if the origins of the debate about objectivity as an ontological category can be attributed to Bhāsarvajña, though this debate is recognized early on by authors such as Gaṅgeśa (c. 1320, Mithila).39 Yet the importance of tracing this debate back to Bhāsarvajña is in some ways a moot point. What is more important is acknowledging that nyāya intellectuals took this position to be a view of the Ekadeśīs and wrote from this assumption. The historiography in the discipline of nyāya on the Ekadeśī view is best entered into through two nyāya intellectuals, Raghunātha Śiromaṇi and his junior contemporary Jānakīnātha Cuḍāmaṇi Bhaṭṭācārya (fl. 1535, Navadvīp).40 In his commentary on Gaṅgeśa’s Thought-​Jewel of Truth entitled The Light-​Ray, Raghunātha refers to the position that objectivity, as a relation, is an ontological category, not a svarūpa relation; and he notes explicitly that this is the view of the Ekadeśīs.41 Jānakīnātha, in his Bouquet of Canonical Positions in Nyāya, states that objectivity as a relation is a svarūpa relation; but he also immediately notes the alternative view of the Ekadeśīs that objectivity (as a relation) is an ontological category.42 Both Raghunātha and Jānakīnātha highlight the fact that an alternative meaning of the concept of objectivity as a relation was known among nyāya intellectuals in the early sixteenth century. But the fact that Raghunātha mentions this 39 Phillips 1992, 676. 40 Jānakīnātha’s date is based on a letter written shortly after 1453 Śaka [1530/​1531 ce] to Jānakīnātha; see Wright 2017b. 41 Raghunātha’s comments are made in the context of arguing about whether or not the property called “being a counterpositive” (pratiyogitā)—​the concept that expresses the fact that some object is the positive correlative of an absence (e.g., a table as the positive correlative of an absence of a table)—​is a relation; or, if not, whether “being a counterpositive” should be taken as yet another ontological category. This slightly overshadows his comments on objectivity. The text reads (M. Dvivedi et al. 2007, 370–​371): “The Ekadeśīs say that ‘Like objectivity and its further abstraction [objectivity-​ ness], the properties (1) ‘being the counterpositive,’ (2) ‘being the locus,’ (3) the further abstractions of these two, and, finally, (4) ‘relationality’ are also distinct and so must also be separate ontological categories” (viṣayatātattvādivat pratiyogitatvādhikaraṇatvatattvasambandhatvādayo ’py atiriktā eva padārthā ity ekadeśinaḥ). 42 Jānakīnātha’s comments are made in the context of his discussion on the ontological make-​up of objects and determinate cognitions (savikalpaka). He says (B. Sukla 1996, 10): “A determinate cognition is one that is connected together with the primary feature of some object or, in other words, is a cognition that is ‘shot through’ with the idea that some object is attributed with some feature. And, the property called ‘being the primary feature’—​which is another name for the property called ‘being the qualifier’—​is a ‘specific objectivity’ concerning the primary feature [of an object]; it is, for example, identified as the property ‘pot-​ness’ [of a this] that is found in the cognition, ‘This is a pot.’ And, objectivity [as a relation] is a peculiar type of relation called a svarūpa relation; this is proven by the fact that one’s cognitive awareness is in the form of the object. But, the Ekadeśīs say that objectivity [as a relation] is a separate ontological category” (vaiśiṣṭyāvagāhi saprakārakaṃ vā jñānaṃ savikalpakam. prakāratā ca ayaṃ ghaṭaḥ ityādijñāne viśeṣaṇasya ghaṭatvāder viśeṣaṇatvāparanāmā viṣayatāviśeṣaḥ viṣayatā viṣayākārapratītisākṣikaḥ svarūpasambandhaviśeṣaḥ. padārthāntaram ity ekadeśinaḥ).

Objectivity  75 alternative in his Light-​Ray is important for us because his text has a very long commentarial tradition attached to it. This allows us to trace the response to Raghunātha’s reference to the Ekadeśī view across approximately two hundred years of nyāya textual reception on his Light-​Ray. Let us then review the responses by authors writing after Raghunātha and Jānakīnātha who comment on Raghunath’s Light-​Ray. Kr̥ṣṇadāsa Sārvabhauma (c. 1575, Navadvip), in his commentary entitled An Elaboration, refers to Raghunātha’s use of the word “Ekadeśī” in a very terse manner, but nevertheless recognizes this view in the debate about objectivity.43 Approximately thirty years later, Bhavānanda Siddhāntavāgīśa (c. 1600), a well-​known Banaras-​based scholar originally from Navadvip, wrote his own commentary on the Light-​Ray entitled The Elucidation. Most importantly, Bhavānanda glosses Raghunātha’s passage by noting that the Ekadeśīs were intellectuals from within the discipline of nyāya.44 In the first half of the seventeenth century, Jagadīśa Tarkālaṅkāra (c. 1620, Navadvip) also comments on this line from Raghunātha’s Light-​Ray and, like Bhavānanda, identified this view as belonging to “some” scholars from within the discipline of nyāya.45 After Jagadīśa, Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (fl. 1661, Navadvip) also glosses this passage in his commentary on the Light-​ Ray. He says, “As it is accepted by the old Ekadeśīs that objectivity is a separate ontological category, Raghunātha juxtaposes the view that objectivity is a svarūpa relation with this view of theirs, which serves as an example.”46 Gadādhara’s passage is important because he periodizes the Ekadeśīs by referring to them as “old.” While this has puzzled contemporary scholars 43 Tarkanidhi 1911–​1912, 166:  “The sense in which Raghunātha uses the word ekadeśī here is to refer to the fact that this view avoids a fault in argumentative reasoning called the fault of ‘self-​ residence’ ” (ekadeśina iti. tathā cā sutarāṃ nātmāśraya iti bhāvaḥ). While Kr̥ṣṇadāsa does not expand on this fault, I surmise that this fault occurs because if the relation between an object and a cognition is ontologically the same as one or both of its relata, one could argue that the cognition inheres in the object or vice versa instead of being separate things; and, as a result, one could not distinguish between each one. Self-​residence is one of the faults of tarka (Potter 1977, 206–​207). 44 Tarkadarshanatirtha 1910, 363: “In glossing Raghunātha’s passage that begins with the phrase, ‘Like objectivity and its further abstraction [objectivity-​ness],’ I  would say that because objectivity as a separate ontological category is accepted by that group of nyāya intellectuals called the Ekadeśīs (naiyāyika-​ekadeśin), they serve as an example of that view. Therefore, in his Light-​Ray, Raghunātha raises the possibility that objectivity is a separate ontological category” (tattvādivad iti naiyāyikaikadeśināpy atiriktaviṣayatāsvīkārāt tasya dr̥ṣṭāntatā. ata evātiriktaviṣayatāvādimata iti tatra darśayati). 45 Gaud 1975, 307:  “Let me comment on the passage beginning with the word ‘objectivity’ in Raghunātha’s Light-​Ray. Because objectivity as a separate ontological category is a position accepted by some nyāya intellectuals, they serve as an example of that view” (viṣayateti. atiriktaviṣayatāpakṣasya naiyāyikenāpi kenacit svīkārāt tasya dr̥ṣṭāntatā). 46 M.  Dvivedi et  al. 2007, 373:  prācīnaikadeśibhir viṣayatāyā atiriktapadārthatvopagamāt dr̥ṣṭāntatvena tadupanyāsaḥ.

76  Newness and Emotion such as Bimal K. Matilal and Dineshchandra Guha, Gadādhara’s comments make sense given that this view had been ascribed to the Ekadeśīs over a period of at least one hundred and fifty years since Raghunātha’s Light-​Ray. After such a long time it should not surprise us that Gadādhara describes the Ekadeśī view in this manner.47 After Gadādhara, Mahādeva Punataṃkara (c. 1692, Banaras) also comments on Raghunātha’s passage in the course of his commentary, The Elucidation.48 Mahādeva does not periodize this group of authors like Gadādhara does nor does he explicitly ascribe the view to a faction among nyāya intellectuals like Jagadīśa. Rather, his comments show him accepting the position that objectivity is an ontological category.49 These commentarial passages from nyāya intellectuals in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries are remarkably stable and signal that scholars in the discipline of nyāya had a fairly uniform understanding of the history of the concept of objectivity as a relation: The standard view was that objectivity as a relation was a svarūpa relation (ontologically identical to one or both of its relata), but an alternative position was held by the Ekadeśīs that took objectivity as an ontological category. The comments by nyāya intellectuals across this commentarial literature also demonstrate that they could provide very specific histories of concepts in the discipline, when required. Finally, these commentarial passages demonstrate that the Ekadeśī position was a site of contestation and debate still relevant to contemporary arguments in the late seventeenth century.

Contesting the Standard View The previous sections have referred to the debate between the Ekadeśīs and the standard nyāya view about objectivity as a relation. However, I have not yet addressed why the various arguments were made. For example, why was 47 Matilal 1968, 63; Guha 1968, 137. 48 This text is an unpublished commentary on Bhavānanda Siddhāntavāgīśa’s commentary on the Light-​Ray. 49 Mahādeva, folio 378a, lines 3–​6: “I will now comment on the use of the word ekadeśī in the Light-​ Ray. The meaning here in this passage is this: Following the argument I made above, let objectivity—​ which is put forward as an example of an additional, ontological category—​be a separate ontological category. However, other abstract properties such as ‘being the counter-​positive,’ and so on, which are also put forward as examples in the Light-​Ray, should not be considered separate ontological categories. Rather, they are specific relations that ought to remain as svarūpa relations. The problems that led us to posit objectivity as a separate ontological category do not apply in these cases” (dīdhitau ekadeśina iti atroktarītyā dr̥ṣṭāntabhūtaviṣayatādikaṃ atiriktam astu. dārṣṭāntikapratiyogitvādikaṃ tu nātiriktaṃ kintu svarūpasambandhaviśeṣa eva. na coktadoṣaḥ).

Objectivity  77 it better to take objectivity as an ontological category rather than as a particular sort of relation called a svarūpa? This section presents these arguments to the reader. Answering this question is important for later discussion in the chapter about how the history of the concept of objectivity was used by nyāya intellectuals in the early modern period to achieve certain outcomes related to intellectual identity. As discussed, the debate concerns the type of relation objectivity is. The standard nyāya view is that objectivity, as a svarūpa relation, connects the two relata, namely, a cognition and an object.50 Part of the debate in the standard view, as I outlined earlier, was about the directionality of objectivity as a relation: Was it a binary, nonsymmetric relation; or, alternatively, a symmetric relation?51 This resulted in three alternatives in the standard view: (1) objectivity, as a svarūpa relation, is ontologically identical to the cognition; (2) objectivity, as a svarūpa relation, is ontologically identical to the object; and (3) objectivity, as a svarūpa relation, is ontologically identical to both the cognition and the object.52 As I examine, the absence of a viable option among these three alternatives led some authors to argue that objectivity, as a relation, must be an ontological category, not a svarūpa relation. In addressing this debate, I examine the arguments of three major nyāya intellectuals from the second half of the seventeenth century:  Raghudeva Nyāyālaṅkāra (Banaras), Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (Navadvip), and Mahādeva Punataṃkara (Banaras).

(1) Objectivity, as a Svarūpa Relation, Is Ontologically Identical to the Cognition As we will see, the problem with this option is that a cognition will not be able to accurately represent an object or, more technically, the object-​hood of the objective object—​the “objectivity complex.” In order to reach this conclusion, nyāya authors analyze examples of what I term a “complex cognition” (samūhālambana). The most common example used by authors for these types of complex cognitions is “a pot and a piece of cloth.” In this case, two objects are cognized together in one cognition. 50 Most often authors assumed this meant that it connected a cognition to an object; see Matilal 1968, 63; S. Bhattacharya 1990, 9, vol. 2; and Misra and Shastri 1936, 258. 51 See also S. Bhattacharya 1990, 28–​29, vol. 1. 52 Bimal K. Matilal (1968, 63–​64) frames the issue in this way as well, but his treatment is truncated.

78  Newness and Emotion Nyāya authors will argue that if objectivity is ontologically identical to a cognition, then in a complex cognition we will not be able to attribute each object with its correct and distinct “specific objectivities.” In short, we will not be able to cognize what exists in the world. For example, Gadādhara says: When objectivity is taken as a svarūpa relation that is ontologically identical to the cognition, then there might be an objection that the objectivity [of an object] could be confused with another. This might occur because a complex cognition such as “object p and object q” could result in object p being characterized by the property of object q (being-​q) instead of the property of p (being-​p) and vice versa. The problem is that the objectivity of object p and, likewise, of object q pertaining to that complex cognition, “object p and object q,” would be identical [instead of being different according to their objects].53

The problem for Gadādhara here is that, properly speaking, two “specific objectivities” are needed in relation to the objects p and q, respectively, namely “being-​p” and “being-​q.” But this does not happen. Instead, because objectivity, as a relation, is the same ontological form as our cognition, an inaccurate cognition of the “object” occurs because a cognition cannot properly grasp what exists in the world distinct from the mind. In this case, we need two “specific objectivities” connected to their respective objects in the complex cognition, namely, “being a pot” and “being a piece of cloth.” But, under this example, each object is not cognized separately but is overlapping so that when I cognize a pot (object p), I may potentially ascribe the property of “being a piece of cloth” to it instead. Mahādeva expresses a similar concern about this first alternative. He says, When objectivity is taken as a svarūpa relation that is ontologically identical to the cognition, there is an objection: A complex cognition such as “object p and object q” (taken as the variables “a pot” and “a piece of cloth,” respectively) would be inaccurate. This is due to the fact that the “specific objectivities” of object p and object q, which make-​up that complex 53 M. Dvivedi et al. 2007, 373: jñānasvarūpatve ghaṭapaṭāv ityādisamūhālambanīyaghaṭapaṭādiviṣayatānām abhinnatāpattyā tādr̥śajñānasya paṭatvādyavacchinnaghaṭapaṭādiniṣṭhaviṣayatāśālitayā bhramatvāpattiḥ. Instead of referring to the objects literally by “a pot” and “a piece of cloth,” I refer to them as “object p” and “object q,” respectively, in the hopes of making the translation more readable and highlighting the use of “pot” and “piece of cloth” as variables in nyāya argumentation.

Objectivity  79 cognition so described, would actually be identical:  The “specific objectivity” of object p (pot-​ness) would be defined by the property of the object q (cloth-​ness) and, at the same time, the “specific objectivity” of object q (cloth-​ness) would be defined by the property of the object p (pot-​ness).54

By specifying that the “specific objectivities” related to p and q would actually be the same, Mahādeva (like Gadādhara) highlights the real problem of this alternative: When objectivity, as a relation, is ontologically identical in form to the cognition, we are not able to distinguish between “specific objectivities” of separate objects that make up one complex cognition because, as objectivity is not the same form as the state of affairs in the world, it is not able to properly relate our cognition to the state of affairs in the world. As a result, under this alternative we would have no clear idea (that is, no clear ontology) about the object or state of affairs in the world being cognized (e.g., that object p and object q are separate objects with their own “specific objectivities” and separate “objectivity complex”). In other words, it remains impossible for us know the way the world is or to cognize what exists. Thus, this first alternative is not a viable explanation for objectivity as a svarūpa relation.

(2) Objectivity, as a Svarūpa Relation, Is Ontologically Identical to the Object The discussion of this alternative also analyzes examples of specific types of cognitions. The most common example of a cognition nyāya authors use here is the cognition that “The floor has a pot on it.”55 Taking this cognition as a test case, they then posit that this cognition can be reflected back upon in a second-​order cognition that analytically separates the three constituent parts of this first cognition, namely, (1) the floor, (2) a pot, and (3) the relation between them (a contact relation). Though nyāya authors do not use a specific term in the texts, in my discussion that follows I call this second-​order cognition, which includes these apperceptive, specific objectivities, a “summative, 54 Mahādeva, folio 377b, lines 5–​9: viṣayatāyā jñānarūpatve ghaṭapaṭāv ityādisamūhālambanasya bhramatvāpattiḥ jñānātmakaghaṭapaṭādiviṣayatānām aikyena paṭatvāvacchinnaghaṭādiniṣṭaviṣayatāśālitvāt. Raghudeva and Viśvanātha are nearly identical here with Gadādhara and Mahādeva; see Rajpal 2008, 156, 157. 55 Literally, this cognition is expressed as “The floor is possessed of a pot.”

80  Newness and Emotion apperceptive cognition” since it reflects upon and sums up what was cognized in an initial cognition of an object. The question for nyāya authors is whether this summative, apperceptive cognition contains the “specific objectivities” first grasped in one’s initial cognition of the object; or, instead, are different “specific objectivities” related to the cognition that reflects back upon the first cognition (that is, the “specific objectivities” of an apperception). Nyāya authors contend that we cannot make a distinction between them. This is a large problem because in one case the “specific objectivities” are based upon one’s cognition of an object in the world, and in the other case the “specific objectivities” are based upon one’s cognition of a cognition. Because of the possibility that the “specific objectivities” arise out of purely cognitive, apperceptive processes, however, not in response to an object in the world, authors argue that objectivity as a relation cannot be ontologically identical to an object. Raghudeva explains the problem in basic outline: It does not work to take objectivity as a svarūpa relation that is ontologically identical to the object. For, this also results in a problem. Consider a cognition in which a substantive and a qualifier are known to stand in a specific relation to one another such as: “This floor has a pot on it.” The problem is that a cognition such as this would be no different from what we might term a summative, apperceptive cognition such as “the floor, a pot, and a contact relation.”56

Of course, it is not controversial to argue that we can and do reflect back upon our initial cognitions of objects or states of affairs in the world. The problem, however, is that this type of reflection is, for nyāya authors, a summative, apperceptive cognition that is a result of our mental processes, not a direct result of an object. In these cases, objectivity as a relation appears not to be ontologically identical to the object, since it does not always require an object to function, which undermines this second alternative. Mahādeva further elaborates on this point. He says, When objectivity is taken as a svarūpa relation that is ontologically identical to the object, then there is an unwanted outcome:  A summative, 56 Rajpal 2008, 156: viṣayatāyāḥ viṣayasvarūpatve tu ghaṭabhūtalasaṃyogāv iti samūhalambanato ghaṭavadbhūtalam iti viśiṣṭabuddher availakṣaṇyāpattiḥ.

Objectivity  81 apperceptive cognition such as “object p, object q, and relation r” (the floor, a pot, and a contact relation, respectively) would be the same as a cognition such as “object q bears relation r to object p” (e.g., “the floor has a pot on it”). This unwanted outcome is a result of the fact that the “specific objectivity” of, say, object p (being-​p) is identical in both cases.57

For Mahādeva, if we are to argue that objectivity as a relation is ontologically identical to an object, then the “specific objectivities” related to an object ought to be different than the “specific objectivities” that relate to our internal cognitive processes when we reflect back upon our cognitions of objects in the world. But each set seems to be exactly the same. If, however, the “specific objectivities” are different, then how do we explain the fact that we can accurately recall objects in our mind that conform to the structure (the “objectivity complex”) of that object? Given that we recall objects all the time, Mahādeva and Raghudeva argue that objectivity as a relation cannot only be ontologically identical to an object since objectivity also seems to be involved in apperception, which appears to support the first option instead.

(3) Objectivity, as a Svarūpa Relation, Is Ontologically Identical to Both the Cognition and the Object Discussions on the third alternative incorporate problems highlighted earlier in the first and second alternatives. Both Mahādeva and Gadādhara address this third option but because their presentations are nearly identical, I only discuss Mahādeva’s passage. In the course of his discussion, Mahādeva makes use of an example of a cognition that I term an “aggregate cognition.” This cognition is a doubled cognition that includes both a cognition that arises from an object and a cognition that arises in apperception. In his discussion, Mahādeva argues that if objectivity as a relation is identical to both an object and cognition, we will not be able to distinguish between the “specific objectivity” that arises in a summative, apperceptive cognition versus a cognition that arises from an object as and when we

57 Mahādeva, folio 377, lines 5–​ 7:  viṣayarūpatve ghaṭabhūtalasaṃyoga ityādijñānasya ghaṭavadbhūtalasaṃyoga ityādijñānād availakṣaṇyaprasaṅgaḥ viṣayatātmakaghaṭādiviṣayatāyā aikyāt.

82  Newness and Emotion perceive that object. The “specific objectivity” he highlights in his remarks is the property of “being the relational object” or saṃsargatā. He writes: When objectivity is taken as a svarūpa relation that is ontologically identical to both the cognition and the object, there is a problem. Consider an aggregate cognition such as: “ ‘The floor has a pot on it’ and ‘The floor, a pot, and a contact relation.’ ” In such cases, the objectivity of, inter alia, the contact relation in its capacity as a “specific objectivity” cannot be differentiated [in its two instantiations]. This is because there is no distinction being made between the cognition and the object.58

As I read Mahādeva, his argument is that this aggregate cognition actually contains two relations, r and r*. However, each appears identical to the other because, as objectivity is ontologically identical to both our cognition and the object, we cannot determine their differences (that is, we cannot separate the one that arises from the object versus the one that arises in our apperception). The contact relation r relates to the object in the world—​instantiated in the state of affairs, “A floor is in a contact relation with a pot.” However, a problem arises because we are able to further reflect upon the relation r in an apperception and separate it out analytically from the state of affairs in our initial cognition. For Mahādeva, as cognized through an apperception, relation r is actually a different relation, r*; but we are unable to appreciate this difference because of the commitment in this alternative that objectivity is ontologically identical to both the cognition and the object. As a result, the fact of their ontological difference becomes occluded: We are not able to associate r and r*—​in their roles as different “specific objectivities” (“being the relational object”)—​with their appropriate cognitive source, the object verses the apperception. On the basis of these arguments, Mahādeva indicates that alternative three is also thrown into question. If nyāya authors agree with these criticisms and reject these three alternatives, there is little choice left for them about what objectivity, as a relation, is. In fact, nothing else is left in the proverbially conceptual toolbox: Objectivity, as a relation, must be distinct from either a cognition or an object and, thus, be an ontological category.

58 Mahādeva, folio 377, lines 7–​ 9:  jñānaviṣayobhayarūpatve ca ghaṭavadbhūtalaṃ ghaṭabhūtalasaṃyogaś cetyādisamūhālambanagrahe saṃyogau viṣayatāvailakṣaṇyānupapattiḥ jñānaviṣayor aviśeṣāt. For Gadādhara’s arguments, see M. Dvivedi et al. 2007, 373.

Objectivity  83 Of course, this conclusion, adopted by a number of nyāya intellectuals in the early modern period, still does not solve the problem of how objectivity—​now as an ontological category—​relates a cognition and an object.59 This issue is directly addressed by Harirāma Tarkavāgīśa in his Essay on Objectivity. After arguing that objectivity is an ontological category, Harirāma very briefly clarifies how objectivity—​in its new position as an ontological category—​relates an object and a cognition. His solution is that Objectivity bears a relation to the object via the relation of “being the substratum” in which the object serves as the locus of that objectivity relation; and it bears a relation to the cognition via the relation of “conditioning” in which the cognition is “conditioned by” that objectivity relation.60

Harirāma argues here that objectivity as a relation is an adjunct of the object, while the object serves as the subjunct of the objectivity relation. Though Harirāma does not specify, we can only surmise that an object is a permanent locus or subjunct of objectivity. Objectivity as a relation is then related to a cognition through the fact that it conditions or determines that cognition (literally, it acts as the “conditioner” or nirūpaka of a cognition), which suggests that objectivity as a relation has a causal effect on a cognition. The causal aspect of this function is explained by Gadādhara, who glosses the term nirūpaka as what leads to or produces a certain structure of a cognition due to a cognition of some object.61 Parenthetically, this also means that Harirāma’s position appears to be that objectivity in its capacity as a relation with the status of an ontological category is a binary, nonsymmetric relation with a directionality from an object to a cognition.62 The discussion of these three alternatives by Raghudeva, Gadādhara, and Mahādeva demonstrates that the debate about the ontological status of objectivity as a relation held continued interest throughout the seventeenth century. But this interest was not limited to the textual genres of commentaries 59 Gadādhara’s interlocutor warns that accepting objectivity as an ontological category will lead to an infinite regress (anavasthā). However, Gadādhara seems the least bothered, saying that “Where is the objection? Surely, a so-​called infinite regress that is supported by logic and reasoning does not lead to any faults” (kā kṣatiḥ. na hi prāmāṇikānavasthāyā dūṣaṇāvahatvam)” (Misra and Shastri 1936, 272). 60 Misra and Shastri 1936, 258:  tac [viṣayatvam] cāśrayatayā viṣaye jñāne ca nirūpakatayā varttata iti. 61 B. Jhalakikar 1978, 431: tajjñānajanakajñānaviṣayatvam. 62 I leave aside how we might consider Harirāma to be arguing that this role of objectivity is a primitive; see MacBride 2014, 14–​15.

84  Newness and Emotion and longer treatises. It also found expression in short essays of the period. As discussed in the next section, the discussion in these short essays employed periodization as a primary mode of analysis.

The Emergence of the New From the beginning of the seventeenth century, sustained and direct engagements with the concept of objectivity were produced in Banaras and Navadvip. This period constitutes the most significant development in the history of the debate about objectivity. During this period, a number of authors wrote short essays on objectivity with the express purpose of adjudicating its ontological status as a relation.63 The earliest of these texts is An Analysis of Objectivity by Bhavānanda Siddhāntavāgīśa (c. 1600, Banaras). Bhavānanda begins his text by immediately noting the debate about objectivity’s ontological status. He states: Is objectivity as a svarūpa relation ontologically identical in form with the object or is it ontologically distinct [i.e., an ontological category]? In order to prevent the unwanted outcome that two different cognitions such as, “A pot, the floor, and a contact relation” and “The floor is possessed of a pot” being the same when objectivity is ontologically identical to the object, that which has been argued for by my teacher64 has been rejected, although preceded by proper analysis before doing so. I have also reviewed the opinion of the old Ekadeśīs, who argue that objectivity as a relation is ontologically distinct and is thus an ontological category. I have substantiated and accepted this view.65

Bhavānanda’s essay is likely the first independent text on objectivity in the history of nyāya. It shows his familiarity with the arguments on both sides of the dispute and demonstrates his sensitivity to the periodization of views.

63 The debate about the “ontological status” of objectivity was first referred to as such in Matilal 1968, 62. 64 Bhavānanda’s teacher was Kr̥ṣṇadāsa Sārvabhauma (D. Bhattacharya 2007, 141). 65 Tarka-​Vedantatirtha and Tarkatirtha 1965, 168: viṣayatāyā viṣayasvarūpatvam atiriktatvaṃ vā. viṣayasvarūpatve ghaṭavadbhūtalaṃ ghaṭabhūtalasaṃyoga iti jñānayor aviśeṣaprasaṅgavāraṇāya upādhyāyena yad uktaṃ samālocanapūrvakaṃ tan nirākr̥tam. atiriktaviṣayatāvādināṃ prācīnaikadeśināṃ matam api paryālocya svābhimataṃ vyavasthāpitam. Unfortunately, I have not been able to locate a manuscript of this unpublished text.

Objectivity  85 Interestingly, he labels the Ekadeśīs “old” just as Gadādhara does in his gloss on Raghunātha’s Light-​Ray referred to earlier. Shortly after Bhavānanda, although now writing from Navadvip, Harirāma Tarkavāgīśa (c. 1630) composed an essay on objectivity entitled An Essay on Objectivity. This text again directly addresses the ontological status of objectivity as a relation. Here, however, Harirāma does not attribute any view to the Ekadeśīs; rather, he simply uses the periodizing label “old” to describe the view that objectivity, as a relation, is a svarūpa relation—​what was the standard nyāya view. He says: According to old nyāya authors, objectivity is a peculiar sort of relation called a svarūpa relation that relates a cognition with an object and is ontologically identical to one or both of its relata. Under this earlier view, however, objectivity is not a separate ontological category since there is thought to be no proof for such a claim. This [older] view is not correct.66

We should immediate note here that Harirāma appears to be the first nyāya author to describe the standard nyāya view about objectivity as “old.” After stating to his readers that the standard nyāya view is incorrect, Harirāma then immediately provides similar reasons as Gadādhara and Mahādeva for why this view is not tenable—​often employing the same phrases and analyzing the same examples of cognitions.67 After these opening remarks and discrediting the standard nyāya view, Harirāma states the solution: Objectivity must be taken as ontologically distinct from both the object and the cognition and is thus an ontological category. He writes, “Therefore, as there is no other solution, it must be accepted that objectivity is, perforce, ontologically distinct from a cognition and an object.”68 Curiously, he does not use the word “new” to describe this conclusion nor does he refer to the fact that this was historically an Ekadeśī view—​ although we can assume he knew of this label and their view since it was known and referred to by nearly all nyāya authors before him. The explicit identification of this conclusion with so-​called new nyāya authors did not occur until Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya wrote his own essay on

66 Misra and Shastri 1936, 258: viṣayatā ca svarūpasambandhaviśeṣo jñānādīnāṃ viśayeṇa na tv atiriktā mānābhāvād iti prāñcaḥ. tad asat. 67 Ibid. 68 Ibid., 258: tasmāt jñānaviṣayābhyām atiriktam eva viṣayatvam iti ananyagatikatayā svīkaraṇīyam.

86  Newness and Emotion objectivity also entitled An Essay on Objectivity. After a somewhat lengthy opening as to why nyāya authors originally argued that objectivity was ontologically identical to one or both of its relata—​a group he refers to as adherents of the established conclusion (siddhāntānuyāyin)—​Gadādhara makes explicit what must have been by then a widely held view among certain authors: Objectivity, as a relation, is an ontological category. Crucially, he states explicitly that this is a view of new nyāya intellectuals. He writes, “New nyāya authors argue that objectivity must be considered ontologically distinct and, as such, is an ontological category; not, it should be emphasized, a peculiar sort of relation called a svarūpa relation in which it is ontologically identical to one or both of its relata.”69 Gadādhara’s essay is the first independent treatment of objectivity to use the term “new” in describing the view that objectivity, as a relation, is an ontological category. In his essay, this conclusion is set against the histories of objectivity prior to him; however, he does not mention the Ekadeśīs anywhere in his essay. Taken together, then, Harirāma and Gadādhara’s essays are the first in the discipline of nyāya to explicitly present the debate as one between “new” and “old” nyāya intellectuals. At this time, other nyāya authors were aware of this “new” opinion voiced by Gadādhara (and, by implication, Harirāma) and addressed this position within larger works when discussing the ontological categories. In Banaras in the mid-​seventeenth century, when Raghudeva was composing his commentary on the Inquiry, Jayarāma Nyāyapañcānana was composing one of his most well-​known works we quoted from at the beginning of the chapter, An Offering of Ontological Categories.70 Jayarāma’s comments in this work are important because they add another dimension to the debate about objectivity. He is not sympathetic to the project of adding additional ontological categories to the standard seven, a fact registered by his student Laugākṣī Bhāskara (c. 1660, Banaras).71 Nevertheless, Jayarāma’s comments are 69 Ibid., 268:  navyās tu viṣayatvaṃ padārthāntaram eva na tu svarūpasambandhaviśeṣaḥ. Later (ibid., 272), Gadādhara posits the addition of a number of new ontological categories such as “cognitionality” (viṣayitva). 70 For Banaras as a site in the continued debate on the ontological categories, see Ganeri 2011, 200–​ 219. Jayarāma and Raghudeva had met at the signing of the legal declaration of 1657 in Banaras at the Viśveśvara Temple adjudicating the issue of whether or not individuals belonging to the Devarshi community of Maharashtra were Brahmins or not—​see O’Hanlon 2010, 232 and Wright 2016, 1047–​1049. 71 Commenting on Jayarāma’s text, Laugākṣī says (Sarma 1985, 181):  “Having established that the ontological categories are only seven in number by rejecting the idea that that ontological status applies to other possible candidates such as causal power, he [Jayarāma] analyzes the one normally considered first, namely, substance” (śaktyādīnām atiriktatvanirāsena padārthāḥ saptaiva iti vyavasthāpya prathamo dr̥ṣṭaṃ dravyam vibhajate).

Objectivity  87 important not only for how he frames the debate but also for how he does not. While Jayarāma notes that “new” nyāya authors hold that objectivity, as a relation, is ontologically distinct, he does not note the Ekadeśī provenance of this view. Instead, he simply refers to this view as the new view.72 As demonstrated in our historical survey earlier, this label of “new” had not been applied to the Ekadeśī position before. The only exception was Gadādhara—​ a contemporary of Jayarāma, though writing from Bengal—​in his Essay on Objectivity. I would argue that the way in which Jayarāma frames this debate tells us that by the mid to late seventeenth century the debate over objectivity was not understood as a debate between the standard nyāya view and the Ekadeśī view—​as had been the case for the prior century—​but between the standard view, now labeled as old, versus the Ekadeśī view, now labeled as new. In short, Jayarāma’s framing of the debate suggests that nyāya authors in Bengal were wielding significant influence on the history and the historiography of concepts in the discipline.

Old as New We have worked through approximately two hundred years of debate on the concept of objectivity. While this debate began as a debate between authors who held the standard nyāya position and the Ekadeśīs who held a marginalized position, the debate changed dramatically from the seventeenth century. This change, however, was not in terms of the content of the debate—​about what objectivity as a relation was—​but rather in terms of the labels attached to each position in the debate. In this regard, the essays of Gadādhara and Harirāma constitute a defining analysis of objectivity since, taken together, their texts employ the periodizing terms “new” and “old” for the first time to describe arguments for and against objectivity being an ontological category.73 This labeling choice demonstrates Gadādhara and Harirāma effacing part of the history of the debate about objectivity in order to periodize their arguments and the arguments of other nyāya intellectuals. Indeed, given his comments in

72 Sarma 1985, 178, 179: navyas tu viṣayatā na viṣayasvarūpā. . . . atiriktaiva viṣayatā. 73 Recall that Gadādhara employs the term “new” but not “old,” while Harirāma employs the term “old” but not “new.”

88  Newness and Emotion his commentary on Raghunātha’s Light-​Ray, Gadādhara was already aware of the Ekadeśī provenance of the so-​called new view; and Harirāma, an extremely learned scholar, must have been aware of the commentarial tradition in which what he calls the “old” view is described as the standard nyāya view.74 This means that these labels represent argumentative and philosophical choices: Gadādhara has chosen to call the view that objectivity is an ontological category “new” rather than ekadeśī; and Harirāma has chosen to call the standard nyāya view about objectivity “old.”75 Taken together, this choice of labels on the part of Gadādhara and Harirāma showcases a doubled gaze: a gaze into the philosophical past and a gaze into the philosophical future. This doubled gaze is present because each is not simply stating isolated propositions in philosophical argumentation but is enunciating utterances “filled with dialogic overtones,” in the words of Mikhail Bakhtin.76 To restate them here: Harirāma’s utterance is, “According to older nyāya authors, objectivity is a peculiar sort of relation called a svarūpa relation that connects a cognition with an object and is ontologically identical to one or both of its relata.” And Gadādhara’s utterance is, “New nyāya intellectuals argue that objectivity must be an ontological category.”77 Both of their utterances are responding to prior utterances in the discipline, even if their own utterances strive to occlude that history.78 Interestingly, however, the content of each prior utterance—​what is being said about objectivity, not who is saying it—​ is actually the same and, moreover, in the same “sphere of communication” (that is, nyāya argumentation).79 However, the content of each prior utterance has a different positionality within that sphere of communication because a different speaker is attached to that content. Earlier, the position of the content of Gadādhara’s utterance about the nature of objectivity was in relation to the Ekadeśīs as the speakers of the content of that utterance (“objectivity is an ontological category”); and the position of the content of Harirāma’s

74 M. Dvivedi et al. 2007, 373. Similarly, even if Gadādhara wrote his commentary on the Light-​Ray after his Essay on Objectivity, he still must have learned about the Ekadeśī view as a student reading earlier commentaries on Raghunāntha’s Light-​Ray. 75 Very often, any standard view in nyāya is referred to by Harirāma as an established conclusion (siddhānta), but this terminology is not used in this essay of his. 76 Bakhtin 1986, 92. 77 For Harirāma, see Misra and Shastri 1936, 258: viṣayatā ca svarūpasambandhaviśeṣo jñānādīnāṃ viśayeṇa na tv atiriktā mānābhāvād iti prāñcaḥ. For Gadādhara, see ibid., 238: navyās tu viṣayatvaṃ padārthāntaram eva. 78 Bakhtin 1986, 91. 79 Ibid., 60.

Objectivity  89 utterance (“objectivity is a peculiar sort of relation called a svarūpa relation that relates a cognition with an object and is ontologically identical to one or both of its relata”) was in relation to nyāya authors who held the standard view on objectivity. However, when Gadādhara and Harirāma enunciate their utterances, each ignores this position within the history of nyāya argumentation or, more bluntly, both Gadādhara and Harirāma appear to purposefully ignore and thus occlude the prior positionality of the content of each of their utterances. In Bakhtin’s language, both Gadādhara and Harirāma are attempting to break the prior link that the content of each utterance held to nyāya argumentation and thus reposition the content of the utterance within nyāya intellectual history.80 Gadādhara and Harirāma accomplish this by assigning different speakers to the content of each utterance than had previously been the case. In concrete terms, Gadādhara enunciates that “new” nyāya intellectuals make the claim that “Objectivity is an ontological category,” rather than the Ekadeśīs; and Harirāma enunciates that “old” nyāya intellectuals make the claim that “Objectivity is a peculiar sort of relation called a svarūpa relation that relates a cognition with an object and is ontologically identical to one or both of its relata,” rather than nyāya scholars who adhere to the standard view. Such a change in the attribution of the content of the utterance is concomitant with a specific type of gaze into the philosophical past that alters the positionality of the content of each utterance by decoupling it from the chain of nyāya communication and reattaching it in novel ways within that chain of communication to present a new history of the concept of objectivity.81 But Gadādhara and Harirāma are not only engaged in a project to change the positionality of the content of the utterance as they gaze into the philosophical past; they are also attempting to permanently alter the positionality of the content of each utterance as they gaze into the philosophical future. The importance of Gadādhara’s utterance is that from now on the view that objectivity is an ontological category will be known as a new view (not an Ekadeśī view). Similarly, the importance of Harirāma’s utterance is that from now on the view that objectivity is a svarūpa relation will be known as the old view (not the standard nyāya view). Fixing this new positionality of the content of each utterance for the philosophical future is accomplished in part

80 Ibid., 91. 81

Ibid.,  91–​94.

90  Newness and Emotion because each utterance enunciated by Gadādhara and Harirāma is directed toward contemporary and imagined future nyāya intellectuals—​a feature of language that Bakhtin identifies as “addressivity.” Nyāya intellectuals who hold that objectivity is an ontological category, and are thus addressed by Gadādhara, have been given both an identity under which to arrange themselves: They are “new”—​a conception that will inform not only their writing but their self-​conception as intellectuals within the discipline of nyāya; and they have been given a new history of objectivity to take forward into the future of nyāya intellection. Correspondingly, Harirāma has given these same scholars a way to describe those who do not agree with the position that objectivity is an ontological category: Those authors are “old”—​a periodizing that allows scholars who self-​identify as new to place themselves within a historical progression of nyāya argumentation. In this manner, both Gadādhara and Harirāma’s utterances anticipate a complex set of subsequent links within nyāya argumentative history precisely because their utterances obscure the prior positionality of the content of their utterances in earlier moments of the discipline’s argumentative history. Yet each utterance, as I stated, is also consequential for nyāya intellectual identity. This is because both utterances place Gadādhara and Harirāma in a certain proximity to their readers or audience. For those readers who agree that objectivity is an ontological category, Gadādhara’s utterance collapses the distance between them and Gadādhara to such an extent that Gadādhara’s utterance can only be interpreted as a very intimate one.82 This is because he anticipates, even depends upon, a sympathetic response in the reader through which is revealed a feeling of trust between Gadādhara and the reader (see Chapter 1). In fact, this distance is collapsed so much on the basis of sympathy and trust that, following Bakhtin, both speaker and reader merge into a single figure: Gadādhara is ultimately speaking to himself as a reader and readers are ultimately reading themselves into Gadādhara’s essay as speaker, creating an intimate exchange of ideas that has the potential to bind nyāya intellectuals together in powerful ways.83 Transposing speaker onto reader and reader onto speaker in such an intimate fashion does not produce a generic author-​reader complex but a figure in which philosophical 82 On intimacy, see ibid., 97–​98. 83 Ibid.: “In intimate styles this [candor of speech] is expressed in an apparent desire for the speaker and addressee to merge completely”; and “Intimate speech is imbued with a deep confidence in the addressee, in his sympathy, in the sensitivity and goodwill of his responsive understanding. In this atmosphere of profound trust, the speaker reveals his internal depths.” This would also apply to the activity of listening in a debate context.

Objectivity  91 thinking and philosophical feeling merge. Here, the merging of author into reader and reader into author expresses the emergence of a particular “philosophical self ” for whom—​to borrow from Wittgenstein—​a philosophical language brings forth and makes known and stands for the limits of a shared philosophical world inhabited by those nyāya intellectuals who define themselves through “the new” as it has been expressed in that philosophical language.84 Harirāma’s utterance also collapses the distance between readers and himself as speaker but, in contrast to Gadādhara’s utterance, Harirāma’s utterance produces a different object: those nyāya intellectuals who remain at a distance because they are unsympathetic readers of the new and lack trust in what Harirāma is enunciating. This group of nyāya intellectuals is placed under the trope of the old and are set off from new nyāya authors by the very fact that the intimacy with which new authors speak to (or write for) and read each other is absent. For those who do not agree that objectivity is an ontological category, such as Jayarāma Nyāyapañcānana, this position remains a view that is not read with sympathy or trust, resulting in a detached style of engagement in which he does not merge into the position of the speaker. The distance between speaker and reader in this case is not overcome, casting this sort of reader as outside the emotional parameters of a community of philosophers who are able to overcome a distance between each other through their philosophical works. The importance of Gadādhara and Harirāma’s essays, then, is not simply to be found in the arguments put forward but also in the style of expression used to address their readers. The philosophical success of their essays is thus judged not only by the strength of argument—​the intellectual relation forged with their readers through logic and reasoning—​but also in the ability to overcome the distance between speaker and reader—​the emotional relation forged with their readers (sympathy, trust, goodwill) through the expressive style of their utterances in their essays.

84 Wittgenstein 2001, 68–​70, 5.6–​5.641; for his views on the “philosophical self ” or “philosophische Ich,” see ibid., 70, 5.641.

PART II

F EE L ING A N D R EAS ONI NG

3 Happiness For nyāya intellectuals, emotion is a quality particular to humans and is what distinguishes us from the sole nonworldly actor in nyāya metaphysics: the “god-​like” Īśvara, the arranger of the world.1 Raghunātha, for example, argues in his Inquiry that what it means to be a self is precisely this: to be a location where happiness and sorrow are effected—​a definition that excludes Īśvara, since Īśvara is not a type of being in which emotions can arise.2 The emotional possibilities of the human were of concern to other nyāya intellectuals in the early modern period as well, who also argued that Īśvara could not be a locus of emotions such as happiness or suffering, even though Īśvara remained a potential cause for them. Kr̥ṣṇadāsa Sārvabhauma, for example, argued that even though Īśvara could be considered a self (in contrast to Raghunātha), Īśvara is not able to bring emotions such as happiness into being since he lacks certain prerequisites for their emergence. He writes: “Being a self ” is proven by the fact that a self contains those inherent causes that lead to emotions such as happiness and sorrow. Even though Īśvara may also be thought of as a self, happiness and sorrow do not arise in Īśvara since Īśvara lacks the prerequisites for those emotions such as unseen merit and demerit (and a body).3 [Rāmarudra: What is meant here by 1 I borrow the descriptor “god-​like” from Patil 2009, 3; 58. Īśvara “arranges” rather than “creates” the world; see section on “Debating Happiness.” 2 Rajpal 2008, 77: “What it means to be a self has been established on the basis of the fact that the self serves to delimit the causes within which the effects of happiness and other emotions inhere. A self of this sort cannot be said to apply to Īśvara” (sukhādisamavāyikāraṇatāvacchedakatvena siddham ātmatvaṃ jātir neśvara iti). Rāmabhadra (Rajpal 2008, 81) notes that Raghunātha’s ellipsis in the phrase “happiness and other emotions” (sukhādi) means that happiness and sorrow do not arise in Īśvara (tatra [i.e, īśvare] sukhaduḥkhānutpatter iti bhāvaḥ). It is not clear how Raghunātha would have interpreted emotions such as the anger of the gods. He seems generally skeptical about other-​worldly things such as the ability of yogis to perceive things at the atomic level (Rajpal 2008, 55). One of the most powerful displays of the effective abilities of emotions is the production of the Goddess Durgā from the rage emitted from the mouths of the gods in the form of radiant energy as the gods find themselves under threat of (fear of/​anger toward) Mahiṣa; see Doniger 1975, 241. For a contemporary response to Raghunātha’s views on yogis, see The Proof for Brahman’s Non-​Duality by Sadānanda Kāśmīraka (c. 1650, location unknown) in V. Shastri 1890, 9, known from Gode 1949, 27. 3 Dinakara (c. 1635, Banaras) adds “body” (śarīra) in his commentary to the list of prerequisites that Īśvara lacks (C. Sastry 1923, 382).

A Time of Novelty. Samuel Wright, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2021. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197568163.003.0004

96  Feeling and Reasoning “unseen merit and demerit” is “dharma” because only dharma—​one’s prescribed actions—​is the cause of happiness.4] We might think of Īśvara as a self because an eternal being (like Īśvara) remains a potential cause of these emotions, although never actually produces them—​despite the principle that an effect must always come about given the appropriate conditions.5

The fact that Īśvara might be thought of as a self and yet still not be a location where certain emotions like happiness and sorrow arise means that for Raghunātha and Kr̥ṣṇadāsa (and a number of other nyāya authors6), there is something particular about being human; and this is reflected, in part, in the capacity to have emotions. What is remarkable about this argument is not how nyāya intellectuals distinguished between humans and Īśvara by noting differences of kind regarding the self but instead that it is being made at this particular historical moment.7 This is the moment when devotionalism or bhakti is being expressed with great intensity across northern and eastern India, precisely the locations from which Raghunātha and Kr̥ṣṇadāsa are writing. Taking the spread of bhakti during this period into account, then, the theory on emotion expressed by nyāya intellectuals appears to present them, in the words of Andrew Nicholson, “swimming against the tide in an intellectual culture that was increasingly concerned with theology and liberation through the grace of God,” with no obvious response to this deluge.8

4 I take “dharma” here to mean the practices required by an individual according to their ritual status or varṇa as formulated in authoritative texts. This interpretation is based upon comments by Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra (c. 1620, Navadvip), who says that “Dharma is produced from actions prescribed by authoritative texts, whereas what is not dharma is produced from actions contrary to those same texts” (dharmaḥ śrutivihitakarmajanyaḥ. adharma śrutiniṣiddhācaraṇajanyaḥ) (J. Tarkatirtha 1974, 52). The idea is that these texts to do not assign Īśvara a set of prescribed actions. Rāmarudra’s comment on dharma is quoted in the next note. 5 C.  Sastry 1923, 381–​ 383:  ātmatvajātis tu sukhaduḥkhādisamavāyikāraṇatāvacchedakatayā sidhyati. īśvare ’pi sā jātir asty eva adr̥ṣṭādirūpakāraṇābhavān na sukhaduḥkhādyutpattiḥ [Rāmarudrīya (ibid., 383): adr̥ṣṭaśabdasyātra dharmo ’rthaḥ sukhaṃ prati tasyaiva kāraṇatvād iti dheyam.] nityasya svarūpayogyasya phalāvaśyambhāvaniyama ity asyāprayojakatvāt. (Rāma)rudra Tarkavāgīśa lived in Navadvip circa 1660 (D. Bhattacharya 2007, 144–​146). See also a discussion of this passage in relation to Īśvara qualifying as a self in Ganeri 2012, 308. 6 See also similar reflections on Īśvara by Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana in his commentary on the Inquiry (Rajpal 2008, 84): “Happiness and other emotions are not in Īśvara since in Īśvara there is nothing to cause such an effect. This is so, despite the fact that the universal [of self-​hood] exists [in Īśvara] which delimits those causes that could [but do not] produce emotions such as happiness” (sukhādijanakatāvacchedakajātisattve ’pi kāraṇāntarābhāvān neśvare sukhādikam). 7 For a fascinating account of how this relates to differences of kind concerning the self, see Ganeri 2012, 304–​317. 8 Nicholson 2013, 160.

Happiness  97 Indeed, the entire project of bhakti is to link human and divine through emotion—​particularly the emotion of happiness and/​or bliss. Consider the arguments by Jīva Gosvāmī (sixteenth century, Vrindavan), one of the most important thinkers for the Bengali Vaishnava devotional tradition—​a movement in Bengal centered upon the personality of Caitanya Mahāprabhu (1486–​1533, Navadvip) in which the supreme being is Kr̥ṣṇa.9 Jīva writes: Authoritative texts do indeed tell us that god (bhagavat) is eternal and that he is surpassing bliss (ānanda); and likewise, that devotion to him is a cause of joy (prīti) in him. Let me tell you how this works: The energy—​god’s own essential nature—​called the “delighting energy” (hlādinī) gives the feeling of bliss in himself and others; . . . this is his most essential state of being. Furthermore, god constantly places that “delighting energy” into his own devotees. And, on account of his connection with them, is himself extremely delighted.10

To deny emotion to the divine, then, would appear to raise a question about the very possibility of bhakti, since it calls into question the relation between the human and the divine that bhakti presumes to produce. Why is it important to register that nyāya intellectuals argued that emotions such as happiness are only located in humans, yet bhakti intellectuals argued that emotion is what links the human and the divine? It is important because how we are in the world (as revealed by our emotions) is embedded into the spaces we inhabit. Stated again, the emotion we find ourselves in ends up influencing how we craft our spaces because, in response to that emotion, we build space in a certain manner, just as we build (or comport) ourselves in response to an emotion.11 In this formulation, space is the corporeal expression of emotion as it has been cast out onto the world: Space never remains formless but is given a certain shape with a concomitant meaning 9 Kr̥ṣṇa is an avatar of Viṣṇu, but here Kr̥ṣṇa is taken as the supreme being and Caitanya is interpreted as the earthly manifestation of Kr̥ṣṇa (Stewart 2010, 57); on the inversion of Kr̥ṣṇa and Viṣṇu, see Matchett 2001, 175–​201. 10 Quoted in Nelson 2004, 359n46 from Jīva’s Compendium on Devotion (I borrow from Nelson’s translation in parts):  ucyate śāstre khalu niratiśayānandatvaṃ nityatvañ ca bhagavataḥ śrūyate bhakter api tathā tatprītihetutvaṃ śrūyate tata evaṃ gamyate tasya paramānandaikarūpasya svaparānandinī svarūpaśaktir yā hlādinīnāmī vartate. . . . tatparamavr̥ttirūpaivaiṣā. tāñ ca bhagavān svavr̥nde nikṣipanneva nityaṃ vartate. tatsambandhena ca svayam atitarāṃ prīṇātīti. The “bhagavat” is explicitly identified as Kr̥ṣṇa in the Caitanyacaritāmr̥ta (Dimock 1999, 411, 2.6.138). 11 My argument appropriates Heidegger in ways he would likely not agree with since I am speaking about emotion rather than moods (Stimmung); see Elpidorou and Freeman 2015, 667–​669 and Heidegger 2010, 131–​134.

98  Feeling and Reasoning through the use of emotionally laden language about, and the emotionally laden actions performed within, space. By extension, because space contains and so is shaped by these emotions as a result of how we speak about and act within it, space has the potential to evoke emotion as and when others enter into it physically or imaginatively—​the latter occurring when textualized expressions of these emotions vis-​à-​vis a certain space are read and so learned. The upshot of this is that, as discussed in a number of recent studies by Razak Khan and others, emotion and space are entangled in a very intimate manner.12 Given the entanglement of emotion and space, then, it is entirely reasonable to suppose that nyāya intellectuals build their space through much different emotions, and with much different results, compared to those who embrace bhakti precisely because of differing opinions about whether only humans can produce emotion or whether the human and the divine can form a relation through a shared emotion. This chapter explores such a tension. I focus upon a small debate in the discipline of nyāya concerning the emotion of happiness that, I will argue, has large consequences for how nyāya intellectuals made sense of space in seventeenth-​century Bengal. Two well-​ known nyāya intellectuals, Mathurānātha Tarkavāgīśa and Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya, took up the question of emotion in a limited manner. Writing from Bengal in the mid-​seventeenth century, each author wrote an essay that examined a different aspect of the debate about happiness and its applicability to divine beings. Mathurānātha wrote an essay entitled An Essay on Permanent Happiness, which discusses whether Īśvara is a locus of happiness (sukha);13 and Gadādhara, assuming Mathurānātha’s arguments on Īśvara, wrote about whether Viṣṇu is a locus of joy (prīti) in a short essay titled An Essay on Joy in Viṣṇu. Significantly, in his essay, Gadādhara refers to the views of the founding figure of the Bengali Vaishnava tradition, Caitanya Mahāprabhu, a contemporary of Raghunātha Śiromaṇi who was also from the same town of Navadvip.14 While Mathurānātha presents a position among nyāya authors that Īśvara and happiness are coterminous on the basis

12 Khan 2015, 616, 626; Pernau 2015, 636–​637; and Reckwitz 2012, 254. 13 For details and provenance of this text, see my note in the Introduction under “Point of Entry.” 14 Traditionally, Caitanya Mahāprabhu and Raghunātha Śiromaṇi are said to have had the same teacher, Vāsudeva Sārvabhauma (fl. 1480). But this has been shown to be without historical basis. D. Bhattacharya (2007, 93–​95) argues that on the basis of a previously unknown work he found in Dhaka University Library (the Caitanyatattvapradīpa by Brajamohan Dāsa) that Caitanya was only a young child when Vāsudeva was teaching in Navadvip and that Vāsudeva had already migrated to Puri by the time Caitanya was old enough to study with him.

Happiness  99 that brahman (the supreme spirit) and bliss are coterminous, Gadādhara presents a general view among nyāya intellectuals that denies such a coterminous relation between Viṣṇu and joy. As exemplified here, bhakti forced Gadādhara to think critically, if briefly, about his “intellectual inheritances,” a larger feature of the period identified by Anand Venkatkrishnan that emerged from the encounter with ideas in bhakti.15 I argue that we must read the nyāya position in Gadādhara’s essay as a comment on important, if regionally limited, cultural and political changes across western Bengal. In brief, I propose that Gadādhara’s essay registers a position held among nyāya intellectuals that joy cannot be used to build political and social space in western Bengal. Certain polities and religious figures in western Bengal, however, were using joy in such a manner, and I recover this use by examining temple inscriptions and literary and hagiographic compositions to think through this emotion’s entanglement with space. In writing against this type of entanglement between joy and space, I argue that nyāya intellectuals such as Gadādhara were concerned with a different way in which space is constituted. Specifically, I argue that for nyāya intellectuals in Bengal, space is entangled with and given meaning through logic, revealing a debate about how space should be defined in western Bengal. Yet this debate does not represent a contestation in simple binary terms between space crafted through logic versus space crafted through emotion—​rationality versus irrationality. Rather, the debate raises questions about how the crafting of space is simultaneously an emotion-​based and thinking-​based activity.16 Indeed, as I  will argue, the attempt by nyāya intellectuals to craft space through logic evokes a particular emotion that underwrites nyāya intellectual life in western Bengal.

Debating Happiness In this section, I  examine the philosophical arguments made by Mathurānātha and Gadādhara about the relation between emotion and other-​worldly beings, particularly Īśvara and Viṣṇu. I  also discuss certain claims made in the Upaniṣads about the supreme spirit, brahman, since

15 Venkatkrishnan 2015b, 161. 16 Pernau 2017, 6.

100  Feeling and Reasoning much of the discussion in Mathurānātha’s essay relies upon these claims. Only after we have made sense of these arguments will we be in a position to consider larger questions about the context of their arguments and the entanglement of space and emotion. I begin by examining Mathurānātha’s essay on Īśvara and then turn to Gadādhara’s essay on Viṣṇu. In the discipline of nyāya, Īśvara is considered to be the agent who arranges the universe or sets the atoms of the universe into motion at the beginning of each time cycle, resulting in the world as we know it. In arranging the fundamental units of the world in a certain manner, Īśvara acts knowingly and with a purpose; and it is this purpose that is the essence of Īśvara—​to create the world in the process of consciously arranging it.17 For some earlier nyāya authors such as Jayanta Bhaṭṭa (840–​900, Kashmir), this undertaking by Īśvara is the major reason why Īśvara must be considered a locus of happiness. “One who is unhappy,” argues Jayanta, “would lack the ability to initiate the sorts of effects that Īśvara is able to bring about.”18 In this formulation, emotion is the way in which Jayanta is able to explain why a nonhuman, nonworldly being would act in the interest of human beings: Happiness and, as Jayanta notes earlier, “having sympathy” for human beings serve to link both modes of existence so that human beings and Īśvara might act for and because of each other, even if they are of different kinds.19 Although there is no indication that nyāya authors in the early modern period were aware that Jayanta had argued for such a position, there was a small debate in this period about Īśvara on exactly this question: Whether or not Īśvara was a locus of happiness.20 Interestingly, it appears the answer to this question could also be periodized into new and old views, with new authors arguing Īśvara was a locus of happiness and old authors arguing Īśvara was not. However, as we will see in Gadādhara’s essay, the distinction between new and old on this topic is only found in Mathurānātha’s essay. This is significant because Gadādhara is an unusually sensitive historiographer of nyāya argumentation, which means that the periodization we find in Mathurānātha’s essay was most likely not accepted as accurate. The reason

17 Potter 1977, 22, 331–​333. 18 From his Bouquet of Logic (Shah 1995, 190n44):  asukhitasya caivaṃvidhakāryārambhayogyatābhāvāt. I thank Alex Watson for drawing my attention to this reference. For the original passage, see G. Sastri 1895, 201. 19 For “having sympathy” (anugrahavat), see Shah 1995, 190n43. 20 See the very first line of Mathurānātha’s essay (Misra and Shastri 1936, 144): “The dispute is this:  Either Īśvara contains happiness or does not (īśvaraḥ sukhavān na veti vipratipattiḥ).” See Chapter 1 for a discussion on the form of these doubting statements.

Happiness  101 given in Mathurānātha’s essay for why “old” nyāya authors did not consider Īśvara a locus of happiness is the same reason as given earlier by Raghunātha and Kr̥ṣṇadāsa:  Īśvara lacks the causes required to bring about happiness such as dharma.21 More interestingly, however, is why so-​ called new authors in Mathurānātha’s essay considered Īśvara a locus of happiness. Their arguments are made on the basis of two passages from the Upaniṣads, one from the Br̥hadāraṇyaka Upaniṣad and one from the Taittirīya Upaniṣad. Using these passages, authors argued that happiness must also be in Īśvara. Mathurānātha writes: New nyāya authors argue that Īśvara is possessed of happiness because the Veda makes it clear that Īśvara is possessed of happiness. For instance, passages in the Br̥hadāraṇyaka Upaniṣad (3.9.28) and the Taittirīya Upaniṣad (3.6), respectively, state that, “brahman is permanent knowledge and bliss” and “brahman is bliss.”22

The reliance on these passages from the Upaniṣads about the relation between brahman and bliss is exploited by so-​called new authors to prove that a specific relation obtains between Īśvara and happiness: an inherence relation. The benefit of this type of relation is that an inherence relation is permanent and eternal. It is the same relation that obtains between a universal and its instantiation or between a color and an object; and is a relation that is only terminated when the object—​technically referred to as the substance (dravya) in nyāya ontology—​is destroyed (an impossibility for the “objects” brahman and Īśvara). Nyāya authors adhering to what Mathurānātha identifies as the new view, posit this type of relation because these authors do not want to accept that happiness in Īśvara or bliss in brahman is ever produced. To admit that this emotion is produced would mean that Īśvara did not always contain happiness or that something external has to hold the two terms, Īśvara and 21 Misra and Shastri 1936, 144: “There exists, on the basis of parsimony, a cause and effect relation between happiness and dharma given that happiness comes about only because of dharma. Thus, because dharma is not in Īśvara, happiness is not in Īśvara” (sukhatvenaiva dharmatvena lāghavāt kāryakāraṇabhāva iti dharmābhāvāt īśvare na sukham). Here again, centuries earlier, Jayanta Bhaṭṭa had argued that dharma is in Īśvara, relying on the same premise that there is a cause-​and-​effect relation between dharma and happiness (Shah 1995, 143; G. Sastri 1895, 201). 22 Misra and Shastri 1936, 145: navīnās tu īśvaraḥ sukhavān sukhavattvena vedabodhitatvāt tathā hi nityaṃ vijñānam ānandaṃ brahma ānando brahma ity. The passage from the Br̥hadāraṇyaka Upaniṣad is a slight variation; compare Olivelle 1998, 102, 3.9.28.

102  Feeling and Reasoning happiness, in a relation—​conclusions they want to avoid. They argue in some detail that: The passages from the Upaniṣads make it known to us that brahman is possessed of bliss via an inherence relation. This is the more parsimonious option. Indeed, the idea that brahman produces [bliss] is unnecessarily complex. By extension, and on the basis of parsimony, we also posit that the bliss inherent in Īśvara is permanent. This is argued because the position that bliss was at some point not in Īśvara or that some cause is continuously in operation that maintains a connection between Īśvara and bliss is extremely complex. And, through the principle, also based on parsimony, that happiness defines and is an effect of dharma, the complexity entailed in identifying the first occurrence of bliss in Īśvara, which, once it occurs, never ends, makes this not a workable hypothesis.23 Thus, given that a connection between Īśvara [and bliss] is established through the inference that “Īśvara has a connection [to bliss] since Īśvara is a substance,” that connection is proven to be a permanent connection—​given that positing a point in time in which a connection to bliss first occurs as a way to explain Īśvara’s connection to bliss is unnecessarily complex.24

This is the most direct argument by any nyāya author in the early modern period about why Īśvara is a locus of permanent happiness. As can be appreciated, if this connection were not a permanent connection, nyāya authors would be at pains to explain how Īśvara and bliss come into and remain in relation with each other.25 These arguments received large criticisms from other nyāya authors, indicating that these views of so-​called new authors were quite controversial. In some cases, nyāya authors who disagreed also used passages from the Upaniṣads to voice their objections. Kr̥ṣṇadāsa, for example, argued that the position of “new” authors would contradict a passage from the Muṇḍaka 23 On “workable hypothesis” (phalamukhatva), see Nagao 1970 and Dash 1999, 368. 24 Misra and Shastri 1936, 147:  janakatvasya gurutayā samavāyasambandhenānandavattvasyaiva lāghavena śrutyā bodhanāt. sa punar īśvaraniṣṭa ānando lāghavān nitya eva kalpyate prāgabhāvadhaṃsakalpane tādr̥śānantakāraṇakalpane ca gauravāl lāghavena sukhatvāder dharmādijanyatāvacchedakatvaniyamena ca tādr̥śānantaprāgabhāvadhvaṃsādikalpanāgauravasya phalamukhatvābhāvāt. evañ ceśvaraḥ saṃyogavān dravyatvād ity anumityā īśvare saṃyogasiddhau tatsaṃyogaprāgabhāvadhvaṃsatatsaṃyogakāraṇatvakalpane gauravāt saṃyogo nitya eva sidhyatv iti. 25 This would then indicate a contact relation instead of an inherence relation. Defined by Viśvanātha, a contact relation is “the connection of two things that were unconnected” (aprāptayos tu yā prāptiḥ saiva saṃyoga īritaḥ) (Madhavananda 2004, 207).

Happiness  103 Upaniṣad (2.2.7), which emphasized brahman as a locus of knowledge instead of bliss.26 In other cases, arguments of the so-​called new authors raised far more challenging problems. This was that the “new” view appeared to assume that brahman and Īśvara were the same sort of metaphysical reality and could be equated with each other on the basis that each contained the emotion of bliss. For example, Harirāma Tarkavāgīśa objected along these lines, stating that “The word brahman cannot be another word for Īśvara.”27 Referring to a likely independent quotation at the end of Br̥hadāraṇyaka Upaniṣad (3.9.28), Harirāma instead argues that the individual self (jīva), not Īśvara, experiences bliss, which, he says, is another term for happiness. For Harirāma, because the emotion of happiness is required for achieving liberation and is the emotion experienced in liberation by an individual self, considering this emotion in relation to Īśvara, who is not bound and so does not require liberation, is not appropriate.28 Mathurānātha’s essay presents a debate in the discipline of nyāya during the seventeenth century in which some authors argued that Īśvara contains happiness, whereas others argued that Īśvara does not contain happiness. Those who argued for the former position viewed the relation between Īśvara 26 C.  Sastry 1923, 401:  īśvaro ’pi na jñānasukhātmā kintu jñānādyāśrayaḥ nityaṃ vijñānam ānandaṃ brahmetyādau vijñānapadena jñānāśraya evoktaḥ yaḥ sarvajñaḥ sa sarvavid ityādyanurodhāt. The passage from the Muṇḍaka Upaniṣad reads (translated in Olivelle 1998, 447): “Who knows all, who observes all, to whom belongs all greatness on earth—​He is this self in the divine fort of brahman, having a secure footing in the sky.” The argumentative technique of relying on these passages from the Upaniṣads has an earlier history in Bhāsarvajña’s (tenth century) Nyāyabhūṣaṇa (Yogindrananda 1968, 594–​598); and for later uses outside of the discipline of nyāya, see Discourse on Vedānta by Dharmarāja (c. 1620, Tanjavur) in Singh 1890, 407. 27 J. C. Bhattacharya 1959, 42: brahmapadasyeśvaraparatvābhāvāt. 28 The independent quotation used by Harirāma is as follows:  “The form of brahman is bliss; and that bliss is realized in liberation (ānandaṃ brahmaṇo rupaṃ tac ca mokṣe pratiṣṭhitam) (J. C.  Bhattacharya 1959, 41).” On this quotation and some of its variations and uses, see Goodall 2004, 378n827. Harirāma’s argument is found in his Analysis of the Debate on Liberation (ibid., 42–​43): “One should not make the case that, on the basis of authoritative texts that say, ‘[The form of brahman is] bliss [and that is realized in liberation],’ that the word brahman is another word for īśvara; and so, on the basis of those sorts of texts, the permanent happiness of Īśvara is proven, but not that of individual, finite selves. This argument cannot be made: The word brahman is not another word for īśvara. [A conclusion we draw because] your interpretation of the authoritative text which reads, ‘[The form of brahman is bliss;] and that is realized in liberation,’ is unreasonable as bondage and liberation do not pertain to Īśvara. Rather, the meaning is given here: ‘bliss’ means ‘happiness,’ ‘of brahman’ means ‘of individual selves,’ ‘form’ means ‘dharma,’ and ‘that’ means ‘happiness.’ And, ‘in liberation’ means ‘in the state or condition of liberation’ and ‘established’ means ‘what is directly evident or experienced.’ [Thus, the meaning is, ‘The individual self has dharma, which is happiness; and that is directly evident in the state of liberation.’]” (na cānandam ityādiśrutau brahmapadam īśvaraparam tathā ca tādr̥śaśrutibalād īśvarasyaiva nityasukhaṃ sidhyati na jīvānām iti vācyam. īśvarasya bandhamokṣayor abhāvena tac ca mokṣe pratitiṣṭhitam iti śrutyarthasyānupapattyā brahmapadasyeśvaraparatvābhāvāt. tādr̥śaśruter arthas tu ānandaṃ sukhaṃ brahmaṇo jīvasya rūpaṃ dharmaḥ tac ca sukhañ ca mokṣe mokṣadaśāyāṃ pratitiṣṭhitaṃ sākṣātkāraviṣaya iti).

104  Feeling and Reasoning and happiness as a permanent, inherent relation and relied upon claims in the Upaniṣads about brahman to support their position. However, it is not clear who these “new” authors are: Kr̥ṣṇadāsa, Harirāma, and Gadādhara, for example, all appear to support the latter position that Īśvara does not contain happiness.29 As we will see later, for example, Gadādhara, in his Essay on Joy in Viṣnụ, does not identify the view that Īśvara contains happiness with “new” authors. This suggests that the “new” view was either not described accurately by Mathurānātha or it remained a very minor view without much support. Gadādhara’s essay assumes that the reader is familiar with the debate about Īśvara outlined in Mathurānātha’s essay. His essay discusses the relation between Viṣṇu and joy. But, as he immediately states, nyāya intellectuals, in general, do not agree that Viṣṇu is a location of the emotion of joy. He writes: In cases where some feeling is associated with an outcome of joy in Viṣṇu, then that is a mistake—​even in the opinion of Lord Caitanya and others. This is a result of two reasons. First, we nyāya intellectuals do not accept that happiness, which has the same meaning as the word joy, is in Viṣṇu, a divine being.30 Second, it is not appropriate to think of happiness in Viṣṇu as an outcome or as an effect because it is not accepted—​even by those who think that happiness is in Īśvara—​that Viṣṇu’s happiness is “produced.”31

This opening passage essentially recasts the debate between the “old” and “new” nyāya authors of Mathurānātha’s essay in terms of the debate about Viṣṇu. First, an emotion such as joy cannot be in Viṣṇu because emotions are not in divine beings—​the same position of so-​called old nyāya authors on Īśvara. Second, even if we accept that Viṣṇu does contain or is a locus of joy, that emotion cannot be “produced” because it has been proven that emotion in divine beings like Īśvara and brahman, if they are present, are related through a permanent type of relation called an inherence relation.

29 In addition, Raghudeva Nyāyālaṅkāra, who wrote a short essay on Īśvara, does not discuss this debate at all; see Prajapati 2008, 17–​26. 30 We might also read “viṣṇāv īśvare” more generically as “in Lord Viṣṇu,” but, in my reading, Gadādhara (by placing the attributive noun, īśvara, after its substantive, viṣṇu) wants to particularly stress the divine or nonhuman nature of Viṣṇu and, in so doing, direct the reader to nyāya views on Īśvara. 31 Misra and Shastri 1936, 139: atha devatācaitanyavādimate ’pi yatra viṣṇuprītirūpaphalakāmasamabhivyāhāras tatrāgatir eva viṣṇāv īśvare prītipadārthasya sukhasya naiyāyikair anabhyupagamāt. īśvare sukhāṅgīkartr̥bhir api tatsukhasya janyatvānaṅgīkāreṇa tatra phalatvāprasakteḥ.

Happiness  105 After this opening argument, Gadādhara then presents the view of his interlocutor. The interlocutor wants to claim that the word viṣṇu can refer to a special type of happiness, which he identifies as “joy.” Positing a relationship between a divine being like Viṣṇu and a specific emotion again calls to mind similar arguments in which brahman is associated with or equated to bliss in the Upaniṣads; and in which Īśvara is associated with happiness. But Gadādhara states blandly that the meaning of the word viṣṇu as a special type of happiness is not found in any dictionary nor, in a later recension of his essay, is this special meaning used in determining nonliteral meanings of injunctive statements such as those found in the Veda.32 He writes: One should not argue that the word viṣṇu is used in the technical sense of a special type of happiness; and, moreover, that associating the term “joy” (another [word] that is the same as “happiness”) with that special type of happiness is fully appropriate since nyāya authors accept that each term (joy and happiness) stands in apposition. This argument is rejected on the grounds that this technical sense [of the word viṣṇu] is not found in any dictionary.33

The position attributed to nyāya authors by the interlocutor that joy and happiness have the same meaning is important to register. As Gadādhara has told us in the opening of his essay, nyāya intellectuals do accept that joy and happiness (prīti and sukha) are synonyms. This is beneficial to bhakti scholars because it has already been demonstrated that happiness is an important component of liberation (per Harirāma). However, their synonymity is exploited by bhakti scholars to justify including more nuanced meanings of joy within the meaning of happiness, even if those meanings of joy are far outside the semantic range of the term “happiness” as conceived by nyāya intellectuals. What are these more nuanced meanings of the term “joy”? The interlocutor of Gadādhara’s essay wants to argue that “joy” means “love.” In a clever move, the interlocutor bases this interpretation of the term “joy” on arguments made by a nyāya author, Vardhamāna Upādhyāya (c. 1345,

32 Ibid., 137:  pravr̥ttinimittāparicayena tatpadaghaṭitavidhivākyasya pravarttakānupapatteś ca. This later recension is titled only Prītivāda and does not identify the author. 33 Ibid., 139: na ca viṣṇvādiśabdaḥ sukhaviśeṣe rūḍhas tena saha sukhasāmānyaparaprītyādiśabdasya karmadhārayopagamena sarvasāmañjasyam iti vācyam. īdr̥śarūḍhigrāhakasya kośāder abhāvāt.

106  Feeling and Reasoning Mithila), in his commentary on Udayana’s Stream of Light. Udayana tells us that Īśvara liberates people due to his satisfaction (tuṣṭi) with them. Vardhamāna comments that we should read the word satisfaction (tuṣṭi) as love (anurakti). Gadādhara presents the arguments of his interlocutor on this issue: On the point that joy is this special type of happiness, it is said that words such as joy or satisfaction (prīti or tuṣṭi), which are synonyms of the word happiness, can also be read here to mean “love” (anurāga) since that usage is found there in the discipline of nyāya as well. In this regard, consider Udayanācārya’s verse that reads: I bow to Īśvara—​this world of his being a jail; who is liberating everyone out of satisfaction (tuṣṭi) but then again binding everyone out of dissatisfaction (atuṣṭi). This has been explained by Vardhamāna Upādhyāya, the one who finds interpretive solutions, to mean that tuṣṭi is anurakti (love).34

Gadādhara’s interlocutor borrows this interpretation from Vardhamāna in order to determine how best to make sense of the compound viṣṇu-​prīti. Recall that the Sanskrit title of Gadādhara’s essay is viṣṇu-​prīti-​vāda (An Essay on Joy in Viṣṇu). The question being raised, however, is about the appropriate grammatical relation between the first two terms, viṣṇu and prīti. The interlocutor argues here that the word prīti should be read as a type of love, which allows him to argue later that the compound can be analyzed as a locative, syntactic compound—​that is, “joy (as love) towards or for Viṣṇu”—​ rather than “joy (as love) in Viṣṇu” or “Viṣṇu’s joy (as love).” Not only does this allow the term “joy” to refer to a special type of happiness, that is, love, but it also avoids concerns about the “production” of joy in Viṣṇu and instead focuses on how this emotion—​joy as love—​is produced in the devotee. Gadādhara’s interlocutor continues: And so, as a result of resorting to a locative compound wherein the compound viṣṇu-​prīti is analyzed as joy towards or for Viṣṇu, that emotion [of

34 Misra and Shastri 1936, 139–​140:  atrāhuḥ prītituṣṭyādipadaṃ sukhaparyāyapaṭhitam apy atrānurāgārthakaṃ tatrāpi tatpadaprayogadarśanāt. ata eva tuṣṭer mocayataḥ sarvān atuṣṭer badhnataḥ punaḥ kārāgāram idaṃ viśvaṃ yasya naumi tam īśvaram ity ācāryaśloke tuṣṭir anuraktir ity upāyakr̥tā varddhamānopādhyāyena vyākhyātam. For Vardhamāna’s gloss, see Kaviraj 1933, 1.

Happiness  107 joy] is to be understood as a particular feeling of love whose object is Viṣṇu. And, this emotion is entertained by someone who is engaged in the requisite actions [for that emotion] given that that emotion, “joy as love,” is the outcome of those various actions. And, even though we do not think of the emotion of “joy as love” as an inherent, final aim of humankind, given that that emotion brings about the ultimate outcome, namely, liberation, it is not at all unreasonable to value and desire that emotion. And, that emotion of “joy as love” is not unproven as a means to liberation: Statements such as those found in the Kūrma Purāṇa (1.26.13) that, “Those who are devoted to Nārāyaṇa go to a higher place,” are proof that devotion to Viṣṇu is a path to liberation.35

This passage emphasizes that the production of joy as love occurs in the devotee not in the divine. The divine is instead always already a location of emotion, namely, the “delighting energy,” as discussed by Jīva earlier. The importance of the production of this emotion, then, in the devotee is that it enables the devotee to form an adjunctive relation with the divine and attain liberation.36 What might seem a small debate in nyāya about whether the word “joy” can be read as love is, however, a much larger concern among bhakti intellectuals. While Gadādhara’s essay indicates that nyāya intellectuals were largely opposed to including the feeling of love within the feeling of happiness, justifying the philosophical importance of the term “joy” by enlarging its semantic range is precisely what bhakti intellectuals were committed to doing. Consider Jīva’s comments on this point again from his Composition on Joy. He writes: It is thus established that joy in god is the highest aim of humankind. . . . And, it is said that, the word “joy” refers to “happiness,” whose synonyms are delight (mud), pleasure (pramoda), elation (harṣa), bliss (ānanda), and so on. The word “joy” also refers to “lovingness” (priyatā), whose synonyms

35 Misra and Shastri 1936, 139–​140:  tathā ca visnau prītiḥ viṣṇuprītir ityādisamāsāśrayaṇād viṣṇuviṣayako vihitakarmakarttur anurāgarūpo bhāvaviśeṣa eva tattatkarmaphalatayā bodhyate tasya svato ’puruṣārthatve ’pi mokṣaphalajanakatayā kāmyatvopapattiḥ. na ca sāprāmāṇikī parāt parataraṃ yānti nārāyaṇaparāyaṇāḥ ityādivacanānāṃ viṣṇubhakter mokṣopāyatāyāṃ pramāṇatvāt. 36 Chatterjee 1988, 70:  tadanubhavaś ca bhagavatsambandhitvenaiva bhavati nātmīyatvena. I know of this passage from Pollock 2016, 309.

108  Feeling and Reasoning are sentimentality (bhāva), adoration (hārda), affection (sauhr̥da), and so on. And in our gloss of “joy” with the term happiness, happiness is meant as a specific type of knowledge consisting of rapture (ullāsa). . . . This joy towards god is also referred to by the word “devotion” (bhakti) since that emotion of joy is focused on or directed towards the premier divine being (īśvara).37

The emotional range contained in the term “joy” and attributed to happiness, as argued here by Jīva, is striking. While the first set of terms that function as synonyms for happiness appear to be taken from standard sources such as the Dictionary of Amara, the second set of terms that function as synonyms for lovingness express feelings of deep affection and empathic fondness—​ an emotional disposition far outside the range of what happiness usually suggests.38 The success of Jīva to clarify properly the emotional nature of the term “joy” is absolutely crucial, however, for making it a critical term in discussions on liberation. It is already accepted that “happiness” and “bliss” are critical terms in discussions on liberation. If joy can be included on the basis that it refers to and is a synonym of happiness and bliss, then the term “joy” will acquire a privileged place as well. At the same time, the position of nyāya intellectuals as presented by Gadādhara appears to preclude the ability of bhakti to fulfill the function of liberation as framed by Jīva and Gadādhara’s interlocutor. While a devotee may be devoted to God and experience joy in that devotion to God, the general nyāya position that nonworldly beings do not experience emotion means that Viṣṇu does not contain joy. As a result, the emotion “joy as love” experienced by the devotee has no soteriological function because it cannot serve to link the devotee to the divine through a shared emotional content. This limitation is present because, as discussed, nyāya intellectuals either do not agree that divine beings are selves and so cannot experience emotion; or that even if they are taken as selves, divine beings are not able to bring about emotion in themselves because they lack certain prerequisites for emotion such as dharma and a body. 37 Chatterjee 1988, 34–​ 36:  tad evaṃ bhagavatprīter eva paramapuruṣārthatā sthapitā.  .  .  . etad uktaṃ bhavati prītiśabdena khalu mutpramodaharṣānandādiparyyāyaṃ sukham ucyate. bhāvahārdasauhr̥dādiparyyāyā priyatā cocyate. tatrollāsātmako jñānaviśeṣaḥ sukham. . . . iyam eva bhagavatprītir bhaktiśabdenāpy ucyate parameśvaraniṣṭhatvāt. 38 For the Dictionary of Amara, see T. Jhalakikar 1896, 28, 4.24–​25, Kālavarga.

Happiness  109

Emotion in Context The essays by Mathurānātha and Gadādhara place emotion at the center of nyāya inquiry and showcase two sides of a debate in mid-​seventeenth-​ century Bengal. In the first, emotion has a soteriological role because it links the human and the divine. In the second, emotion is excluded from the divine and is instead a particular experience available only to humans by virtue of the kind of self humans have. Yet we cannot simply restrict these two views to the realm of textual debate. If we are to take seriously the idea that space is the corporeal expression of emotion as it has been cast out onto the world, then these views on emotion must have been used in specific, if different, ways to craft space. In this section, I  attempt to move away from recovering the textual arguments about happiness and emotion, in general, to studying the ways in which emotion was entangled with political, social, and intellectual space in Bengal. First, I examine how the emotion of “joy as love” was successfully employed to build political and social space in Bengal. Here, I rely primarily on inscriptional records of local polities and activities of leading personalities in the Bengali Vaishnava tradition. After this analysis, and second, I examine how an emotional experience evoked by logic (and thus particular only to humans) was used to build intellectual space by nyāya intellectuals in Bengal. Here, I rely primarily on evidence taken from the colophons of nyāya texts and patronage activities by the rulers of the local polity where nyāya scholars lived and wrote. As explained by Gadādhara’s interlocutor (and supported by the “new” authors in Mathurānātha’s essay), devotion is an emotion of “joy as love” that enables an individual to form a relationship with the divine because the divine also (permanently) contains that emotion. This emotion is produced in the devotee by undertaking the requisite actions (vihita-​karman) necessary to bring it about.39 While these actions are not specified in Gadādhara’s essay, in the Bengali Vaishnava tradition they include actions such as chanting the name of Kr̥ṣṇa and celebrating the stories of Kr̥ṣṇa.40 But it would be remiss to assume that these sorts of activities only pertain to the context of personal

39 Note that dharma is also performed by undertaking “requisite actions” (vihita-​karman); see Jagadīśa’s comments in J. Tarkatirtha 1974, 52. For the comments of Gadādhara’s interlocutor, see quotation in section “Debating Happiness” (Misra and Shastri 1936, 139). 40 Stewart 2011, 264–​265.

110  Feeling and Reasoning and community worship. I would argue that these activities also include political action. In this regard, I  argue that the most important political expression of these “requisite actions” in Bengal during this period is temple construction. Temple construction was a major development that had an enormous impact on the physical and political landscape of Bengal in the seventeenth century, especially in western Bengal. In comparison to the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, during which only seventeen temples were built, the number of temples built in seventeenth-​century Bengal is enormous: Inscriptional evidence indicates that at least one hundred temples were built.41 When studying temple construction in western Bengal at this time, the most important polity to consider is the Bankura zamindari or Malla polity in western Bengal centered in the city of Bishnupur about 160 kilometers west from Navadvip. The Malla polity was a large zamindari in the seventeenth century instrumental to the institutionalization of Vaishnavism in Bengal. The traditional narrative of the Malla polity traces its origins back to 695 ce, beginning with King Raghunātha Ādi Malla, who ruled over an area in what is now part of the Bankura district. But the historical record is clearer toward the end of the sixteenth century, when the Malla king, Dhārā Hāṃvīra, purportedly paid a tribute to the Mughals in approximately 1586.42 Vīra Hāṃvīra, the Malla ruler in the early years of the seventeenth century, is well known in Vaishnava literature for his involvement in the “theft” of a set of Vaishnava books being transported from Vrindavan into Bengal in approximately 1600 by three famous Vaishnava personalities, Śrīnivāsācārya, Śyāmānanda, and Narottama Dāsa.43 As the story goes, when they were traveling through western Bengal within the boundaries of the Malla polity, the manuscripts were stolen from them. Eventually, the books were recovered and the involvement of Vīra Hāṃvīra in their disappearance was revealed.

41 Temple numbers are calculated by cross-​referencing Bhattacharyya 1982; Michell 1983; and S. P. Ghosh 1986. Only temples with surviving and dated inscriptions are included. By district in the seventeenth century: Bankura (38); Birbhum (6); Bogra (1); Burdwan (8); Hooghly (8); Howrah (6); Jessore (6); Khulna (2); Koch-​Bihar (1); Kushtia (1); Midnapore (8); Murshidabad (1); Nadia (7); Pabna (3); Purulia (1); Rangpur (3). By district in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries: Bankura (2); Burdwan (4); Hooghly (1); Jessore (1); Malda (1); Midnapore (3); Murshidabad (2); Nadia (possibly 1); Pabna (1); Mayurbhanj, Orissa (1). Unfortunately, I learned of Saha and Sanyal’s excellent essay (2016) too late to include in this survey and ensuing discussion. 42 Mallick 1921, 1–​26 and O’Malley 1908, 24–​25. The polity began building temples from as early as 1603 (Bhattacharyya 1982, 60). However, it is possible that a queen of the Malla polity sponsored the construction of a temple dedicated to Rādhāramaṇa (Kr̥ṣṇa) in 1587 (Bhattacharyya 1982, 56). 43 These books may have included Jīva’s Composition on Joy (R. Chakravarti 1977, 117).

Happiness  111 After meeting with Śrīnivāsācārya to resolve the issue, Vīra Hāṃvīra adopted Vaishnava religious practice, initiating a long and important history linking the Malla polity to Bengali Vaishnava devotionalism.44 The reason the Malla polity is the most important to consider is that this polity built more temples than any other in seventeenth-​century Bengal: The polity sponsored the construction of at least twenty-​three temples during the seventeenth century. In comparison, the Nadia zamindari or the Nadia Raj—​ the polity in which Gadādhara and Mathurānātha lived and wrote—​built only three temples during this same period.45 Moreover, of the twenty-​three temples built by the Malla polity, twenty are dedicated to Rādhā and Kr̥ṣṇa, whereas the three temples built by the Nadia polity are all dedicated to Śiva. The large difference regarding the number of temples built for Rādhā and Kr̥ṣṇa versus temples built for Śiva is reflected more broadly across the region. Fifty-​seven temples were dedicated to Rādhā and Kr̥ṣṇa in seventeenth-​century Bengal, the most of any temple type. However, the number of temples dedicated to Śiva, the second most common temple type after Rādhā and Kr̥ṣṇa temples, is only fourteen.46 Temples built by the Malla polity are not only political expressions, however, but are also expressions of devotion to Rādhā and Kr̥ṣṇa. Each temple contains an inscription in which it is proclaimed that the act of building the temples brings about the emotion of joy in the ruler (the king or queen). Yet, crucially, the terms used to identify this emotional experience of the ruler are the same words debated in Gadādhara’s essay and discussed by Jīva as synonyms of the term “happiness” (sukha): prīti, mud, and pramoda. Let us look more closely then at this language use in the inscriptions of the Malla polity. The first time this language is employed by the Malla polity is in an inscription dated to 1643 by the Malla king, Raghunātha Siṃha, connected to a temple in Bishnupur. Prior to Raghunātha, the rulers of the polity simply noted that a temple was “offered” to Rādhā and/​or Kr̥ṣṇa.47 However, in this inscription King Raghunātha makes a particular lexical

44 Stewart (2010, 3–​44, 273–​316) provides overviews and analysis of these events. 45 In both polities, private individuals also sponsored the construction of temples, but I do not address these here. 46 Temple numbers by deity in the seventeenth century (Bhattacharyya 1982; S. P. Ghosh 1986; Michell 1983):  Bhubeneśvarī (1); Caṇḍī (1); Durgā (1); Maṅgalā Ṭhākurāṇī (2); Gaṇeśa (2); Jhagadāī-​Caṇḍī (1); Kālī (1); Komateśvarī (Kāmateśvarī) (1); Lakṣmī-​Nārāyaṇa (2); Melai-​Caṇḍī (1); Pārvatī (2); Rādhā-​Kr̥ṣṇa (58); Rāma (3); Rameśvarī (1); Sītā-​Rāma (1); Śiva (14); Viṣṇu (4); Yama (1); no deity specified (2). These were built by polities and private individuals. 47 For example, see Bhattacharyya 1982, 68.

112  Feeling and Reasoning choice and phrasing to highlight why he is building the temple. In Sanskrit, the phrase is śrī-​rādhikā-​kr̥ṣṇa-​mude.48 We must immediately note two things. First, the final term of the phrase, mud, was listed as a synonym of happiness by Jīva, as examined earlier, and is thus a term to which the word “joy” or prīti also refers. This means that the term mud evokes the mood of “joy as love,” as discussed by Gadādhara’s interlocutor. Second, this phrase likely caused a debate about how to interpret correctly the grammatical relation between the last term of the compound, mud (in the dative case in the inscription), and the penultimate term, kr̥ṣṇa. A. K. Bhattacharyya, in his study of these inscriptions, translates this phrase as “for the pleasure (i.e., propitiation) of Śrī Rādhikā and Kr̥ṣṇa.”49 Yet his translation contradicts the way in which emotion is understood to exist in divine beings, as we discussed in the prior section. If emotion in the divine is always already present, then this translation incorrectly suggests that the act of King Raghunātha in building his temple “produces” happiness in Rādhā and Kr̥ṣṇa. Bhattacharyya’s translation, in other words, assumes that the relation between the final and penultimate term in the compound is a subjective genitive in which the mood of delight (mud) is produced in and experienced by Rādhā and Kr̥ṣṇa. If, however, we are to adhere to the arguments by Gadādhara’s interlocutor on how to analyze the compound viṣṇu-​prīti, then this compound in King Raghunātha’s inscription should be read as an expression of the king’s own delight in or toward Rādhā and Kr̥ṣṇa, not an emotion belonging to or produced in the pair of deities. More formally, then, this particular compound in King Raghunātha’s inscription ought to be taken as an objective genitive wherein Rādhā and Kr̥ṣṇa are the objects of the king’s delight, not the subjects who have delight produced in them as a result of the king’s actions. As a result, this line from King Raghunātha’s inscription should be translated as “for the purpose of delight in or toward Śrī Rādhikā and Kr̥ṣṇa.”50 This translation clearly specifies the king’s orientation to Rādhā and Kr̥ṣṇa: It is out of his devotion to and love for them that he sponsors the construction of this temple.51 48 Ibid., 70, line 1. 49 Ibid., 70, line 3 of translation. 50 This temple is also a new temple type in the period termed navaratna; see P. Ghosh 2005, 9–​11. 51 Of course, the corollary to this is that Rādhā and Kr̥ṣṇa would also be delighted, but this is not because that act has produced joy in a divine being, but rather, as Jīva specifies in his Composition on Joy, because it reflects the emotion of joy first given to a devotee by God back toward God. On this point, Jīva says (Chatterjee 1988, 38): “Indeed, the conception of that delighting energy [of God] is that it exceeds, by far, all possible notions of “bliss”; and, that delighting energy is called “joy in god” and is constantly being placed in his blissful devotees [by him]. Hence, through this experience [of placing bliss in his devotees], god also partakes of the intense joy in his devotees” (tasyā hlādinyā

Happiness  113 After King Raghunātha’s inscription, the term “delight” (mud) and its synonyms as listed by Jīva become the standard lexical choices in inscriptional writing by Malla rulers to explain why a temple has been built. Consider another inscription that makes use of the term “joy.” In an inscription dating to 1665, Queen Cūḍāmaṇi says in her inscription that: Śrī Śrīla Cūḍāmaṇi, wife of Śrīla Śrīyuta Vīra Siṃha, lord of the Malla region, and wife of the king Śrī Śrī Durjana Siṃha offered this stuccoed abode more shining than the full moon for the purpose of joy (prīti) in Śrī Rādhā and Kr̥ṣṇa [in the Malla year 971].52

The same usage is also found in an inscription from 1695 by King Durjana, who says that the temple is presented “for the purpose of joy in Rādhā and Vrajarājanandana (Kr̥ṣṇa).”53 While usually in the dative case ending, these terms are also in the instrumental: In 1665, Queen Śrī Śiromaṇi, wife of Vīra Siṃha, says that her temple is presented “with great pleasure (ati-​pramoda).”54 An inscription of King Raghunātha’s mother in 1644 says it is presented “with delight (mud) at the feet of Rādhā and Kr̥ṣṇa.”55 In total, out of the seventeen Rādhā-​Kr̥ṣṇa temple inscriptions available to us from the Malla polity following Raghunātha’s inscription, fifteen employ these terms.56 This political language is largely confined to the Malla polity, but there is an important exception in a temple inscription from the Candrakona zamindari (Bugdi pargana of the Midnapore district). The inscription belongs to Queen Lakṣmaṇāvatī, sister of the Malla king Nārāyaṇa. The inscription is important because it also uses the terms prīti (in the dative) and mud

eva kāpi sarvānandātiśāyinī vr̥ttir nityaṃ bhaktavr̥ndeṣv eva nikṣipyamāṇā bhagavatprītyākhyayā varttate. atas tadanubhavena śrībhagavān api śrīmadbhakteṣu prītyatiśayaṃ bhajata iti). 52 Bhattacharyya 1982, 90:  śrīśrīdurjanasiṃhabhūpajananī mallāvanīvallabhaśrīlaśrīyutavīrasiṃhamahiṣīśrīśrīlacūḍāmaṇiḥ  .  .  .  śrīrādhikākr̥ṣṇayoḥ prītyai saudhagr̥haṃ nyavedayad idaṃ pūrṇenduto ’py ujjvalam. 53 Ibid., 114: tatprītaye. 54 Ibid., 91. 55 Ibid., 75. 56 I provide the term in each relevant inscription from Bhattacharyya 1982 with the corresponding inscription number: no. 17 (mud), no. 20 (mud), no. 21 (mud), no. 24 (mud), no. 26 (mud), no. 27 (mud), no. 28 (mud), no. 29 (mud), no. 31 (pramada), no. 34 (prīti), no. 35 (pramoda), no. 42 (mud), no. 46 (mud), no. 48 (mud), no. 53 (mud), no. 55 (prīti). Nos. 40 and 51 use instead ādara (loving reverence) in the instrumental; and no.  30 is not applicable as it is devoted to a local goddess, Jhagaḍabhañjinī.

114  Feeling and Reasoning (in the instrumental) and tells us that in sponsoring the temple the queen experiences the aesthetic sentiment or rasa of devotion.57 Her inscription reads in part: Śrī Lakṣmaṇāvatī, wife of King Harinārāyaṇa, gave this navaratna temple for the purpose of joy (prīti) in Śrī Rādhā and Kr̥ṣṇa. The sister of the Malla king, Śrī Nārāyaṇa, mother of king Śrīyuta Mitrasena of famous achievements in the world, daughter of Śrī Holarāya, wife of the famous king Śrī Hari, and daughter-​in-​law of Śrī Vīrabhanu, who savors the aesthetic sentiment (rasika) at the lotus-​feet of Rādhā and Kr̥ṣṇa, gave this beautiful temple. With delight (mud), she dedicated this auspicious navaratna temple at the lotus feet of Giridhāri (Kr̥ṣṇa), after constructing it with much care in the Śaka year 1577 [1655 ce].58

That the queen explicitly refers to herself as a rasika further demonstrates that these inscriptions find their meaning through specific emotions that express the “emotional core” of Bengali Vaishnavism.59 The great literary theorist of the eleventh century, Bhoja, explains what the term rasika means: “The aesthetic sentiment or rasa is . . . the passion that underlies [the emotions]. . . . When this passion is ‘tasted’ by a responsive person it is called rasa. When it exists, the person is said to be a rasika, ‘one who can taste rasa.’ ”60 The idea that in political action one also savors the aesthetic sentiment of devotion to Rādhā and Kr̥ṣṇa and experiences “joy as love” demonstrates that political action for Malla rulers was a fundamentally emotional act.61 Indeed, rulers of the Malla polity were so deeply emotional toward Rādhā and Kr̥ṣṇa that 57 It is said that Mitra Sen, the king of Candrakona when the inscription was composed, died without any sons and the zamindari was given to the maternal side of the family, namely, the Malla polity. This seems correct since in 1690, Durjana Siṃha, acting as Malla king, built a temple in this area (Bhattacharyya 1982, 109). For this and other references about this zamindari, see Chakravarti-​ Bahadur 1916, 49. 58 Bhattacharyya 1982, 80:  harinārāyaṇabhūpasya patnī śrīlakṣmaṇāvatī śrīrādhākr̥ṣṇayoḥ prītyai navaratnam idaṃ dadau. rādhākr̥ṣṇapadāravindarasikā śrīvīrabhānor vadhūḥ khyātaśrīharibhūpateś ca vanitā śrīholarāyātmajā mātā śrīyutamitrasenanr̥pater vikhyātakīrteḥ kṣitau śrīnārāyaṇamallabhūpabhaginī ramyaṃ dadau mandiram. giridhāripadāmbhoje navaratnam idaṃ śubhaṃ nirmāya vahuyatnena samarpitavatī mudā. A  genealogist (paurāṇika), Mohana Cakravartī Gokula Dāsa, is mentioned at the end of the inscription who must have aided the queen in tracing her lineage. 59 I borrow the phrase “emotional core” from Pollock 2016, 8. 60 Ibid., 125 (Pollock’s translation). 61 This language extends into the eighteenth century: Two inscriptions from 1737 and 1758 employ the terms prīti and bhakti, respectively. The first is sponsored by Queen Cūḍāmaṇi II in Bishnupur, and the second is sponsored by King Caitanya Siṃha also in Bishnupur; see Bhattacharyya 1982, 132, 147.

Happiness  115 they composed devotional poems. Vīra Hāṃvīra, for example, wrote a devotional song in which the signature line reads, “This heart of Vīra Hāṃvīra—​ faithfully following Śrīnivāsācārya—​remains completely absorbed at Kr̥ṣṇa’s feet.”62 The Malla polity, then, must be thought of as a space intimately entangled with the emotion of “joy as love”—​a space in which rulers thought of themselves as simultaneously political and devotional actors. But it was not only the rulers of the Malla polity that understood their political space to be entangled with the emotion of “joy as love.” Poets and scholars acknowledged this entanglement as well. A  devotional song by a well-​known poet who lived in the Malla polity, Rādhāvallabhadāsa (fl. 1731, Bishnupur), notes that the “Malla kings have gone made by partaking in the aesthetic sentiment (rasa) of Kr̥ṣṇa.”63 Moreover, due to the close association of the Malla polity with Rādhā and Kr̥ṣṇa, the space of the polity was often collapsed into other more well-​known spaces. As Pikha Ghosh has shown, the capital city of the Malla polity, Bishnupur, was often equated with the city of Vrindavan, the place where Kr̥ṣṇa is “eternally at play.”64 Poets also spoke of the entirety of western Bengal as Vrindavan—​an identity seemingly encouraged by Malla rulers, who proclaimed that they were “forever focused on Kr̥ṣṇa’s pasture (braja-​bhūmi),” a reference to Vrindavan and expressing what we might term the “geo-​devotional” orientation of rulers.65 The emotion of “joy as love” was also intimately entangled with the social space of Bengal. This entanglement is seen, for example, in the large public gatherings of the Bengali Vaishnava community discussed in vivid detail by Tony Stewart.66 Begun by Srīnivāsācarya in the early seventeenth century, these gatherings brought the entire Vaishnava community across Bengal together to celebrate the stories of Kr̥ṣṇa and sing songs in praise of him. The first two took place in Katoya (present-​day Kotwa) and Yajigram (present-​ day Jajigram) in the district of Bardhaman, only forty kilometers northwest from Navadvip. 62 S. Sen 1935, 406: e vīrahāṃbīracit śrīnivāsānugata/​maji gelā kālācā̐der pāẏ//​ 63 S. C. Ray 1322–​1330, 1679 v. 2307: mallabhūpati ādi harirase unamādi bhela. 64 P. Ghosh 2005, 186–​199 and, for the quote, Pintchman 2003, 339. Lutjeharms 2018, 244–​277 explores the poetic and divine role of Vrindavan for early modern Vaishnavism. 65 S. C. Ray 1322–​1330, 1679, v. 2306: e bīr hāmbīr hiẏā brajbhūmi sadā dheẏā. On equating Bengal and Vrindavan, see D. Sen (1914, 1656): śrībr̥ndāban gauṛamaṇḍal haẏ. Imagining the landscapes of Krsna’s pasture and Bengal overlapping was also an earlier trope of Bengali Vaishnava literature, see Narottamadāsa’s Prārthanā (Nath 1975, 308, v. 2, note 8 on line 11), and for an early poem, see P. Simha 1982, 15. 66 Stewart 2010, 273–​316.

116  Feeling and Reasoning The way in which these gatherings are recounted in the late seventeenth century again demonstrates the importance of the emotion of “joy as love” in constituting the community and giving meaning to the space of western Bengal. Describing the arrival of devotees for the gathering in Katoya, Narahari Cakravartin (c. 1700) writes that the Vaishnava scholar, Yadunandana, “arrived from Kantakanagara with his followers, their minds awash with pleasure (harṣa). Other devotees came from many different villages, and they all gathered around. . . . The singing of kīrtana emotionally intoxicated (ullāsa) each person present.”67 The terms used here again match Jīva’s passage: Recall that the term harṣa was given there as a synonym of happiness (sukha), itself being that to which the word “joy” or prīti refers; and “happiness” was further defined by Jīva as “a special type of knowledge consisting of ullāsa.”68 Taken together, the materials discussed herein demonstrate that the emotion of “joy as love” was the primary emotive experience of the Bengali Vaishnava community in the seventeenth century—​a community that included political rulers, poets, scholars, and general devotees. Valued as the link between human and divine, this emotion was so intimately, and successfully, entangled with the political and social space of western Bengal during this period that to have disentangled it would have rendered these spaces meaningless for participants in the Vaishnava community. But my discussion so far has only dealt with the first view in the debate about emotion. Let me now address the second view supported by the majority of nyāya intellectuals, as remarked by Gadādhara, that emotion is excluded from the divine and is instead an experience available only to humans by virtue of the kind of self humans have. The consequence of this view is that space will be entangled with an emotion that is experienced by, and significant to, only humans. Given that nyāya intellectuals are making this argument, I examine works by nyāya intellectuals from Bengal in order to recover their own views on space, in particular the space of Navadvip and the Bengal region as a whole.69 These views are found primarily in the colophons 67 Stewart’s translation (2010, 287) with original terms added from Narahari’s text (Sankhyatirtha 1913, 595). For Yadunandana’s scholarly activities, see Stewart 2010, 303. 68 Chatterjee 1988, 35: tatrollāsātmako jñānaviśeṣaḥ sukham. 69 Navadvip has often been confused with the city in Bengal captured by Muhammad Bakhtiyar Khalji in 1204 named Naudyah (more commonly Nadia)—​a small city that has been identified as the modern Naudah in the western Rajshahi district of what is now Bangladesh and the erstwhile capital of King Lakṣmaṇasena (Zakariah 1980–​1981, 68–​72; Eaton 1993, xxi). On the military campaign of Muhammad Bakhtiyar, see Eaton 1993, 32–​35; and for a recent study of Lakṣmaṇasena’s court and literary salon, see Knutson 2014. My transliteration, Naudyah, is from a Persian source (the Ṭabaqāt-​ i Nāṣirī by Mināj Sirāj) in which the place-​name is given as ‫ نودیا‬or ‫​—نودیه‬the latter is more likely the

Happiness  117 to their works. In addition, their conceptions of Bengal and Navadvip as expressed in their colophons also appear to have had a fairly substantial influence on the rulers of the polity in which they lived, the Nadia zamindari or the Nadia polity. Taken together, the colophons of nyāya authors and historical documents of the Nadia polity present Navadvip and Bengal as a space that is defined by logic. Yet, as I will argue, this is not a simple case of rationality defining space. Instead, the use of logic in defining space was successful because it evoked an emotion along with it. At the end of his commentary on Gaṅgeśa’s Thought-​Jewel of Truth, Jagadīśa Tarkālaṅkāra (c. 1605) locates his teacher in Navadvip, which, as he notes, is a place of excellent scholars. He states: This first book on the Thought-​Jewel of Truth is completed. It is composed by Śrī Jagadīśa Tarkālaṅkāra Bhaṭṭācārya of the great teacher Jagadguru, the head-​crest of logicians (tārkika) among whom the first are those superior scholars from the town of Navadvip in the Bengal region.70

In his commentary on Raghunātha’s Light-​Ray, Jagadīśa also locates himself in Navadvip. He concludes by saying: The commentary on the first chapter of the Light-​Ray on the second book of the Thought-​Jewel of Truth composed by Mahāmahopādhyāya Śrīyuta Jagadīśa Tarkālaṅkāra Bhaṭṭācārya, foremost among all scholars (adhyāpaka) of Navadvip, is now completed.71

Writing in approximately 1675, Nr̥siṃha Pañcānana describes his father, Govinda Bhaṭṭācārya (fl. 1661, Navadvip72), as “one who is celebrated, wise, older form and is the one my transliteration follows according to the International Journal of Middle East Studies system, substituting “ah” for final “he-​havvaz” (Raverty 1873, 557n4). 70 Quoted from the Sāmānyalakṣanaprakaraṇa in D.  Bhattacharya 2007, 170: iti gauḍadeśāntaranavadvīpanivāsotta[r]‌ā dikatārkikacūḍāmaṇijagadgurumahāmahopādhyāyaśrījagadīśatarkālaṅkārabhaṭṭācāryaviracitaḥ pūrvagranthaḥ samāptaḥ. Though he generically calls his teacher Jagadguru, we know that his teacher was Rāmabhadra Sārvabhauma (c. 1575); see Ganeri 2011, 85n63; D. Bhattacharya 2007, 166; and Vidyabhusana 1921, 469n3. 71 Quoted in D. Bhattacharya 2007, 171: iti sakalanavadvīpādhyāpakāgragaṇyamahāmahopādhyāyaśrīyutajagadīśatarkālaṅkārabhaṭṭācāryaviracitā dvitīyamaṇidīdhitipūrvakhaṇḍaṭippanī samāptā. The manuscript was copied in circa 1610 ce (1532 śaka). 72 We know that this is Govinda (Tarkālaṅkāra) Bhaṭṭācārya, Nr̥siṃha’s father, from other colophons such as Nr̥siṃha’s commentary on the śabda portion of Raghunātha Śiromaṇi’s Dīdhiti, where he says (ibid., 83): “This text is composed by Śrī Nr̥siṃha Pañcānana, son of Śrī Govinda Tarkālaṅkāra Bhaṭṭācārya” (śrīgovindatarkālaṅkārabhaṭṭācāryātmajaśrīnr̥siṃhapañcānanavir-

118  Feeling and Reasoning and famous in that auspicious and glorious region of Bengal.”73 Rāmabhadra Siddhāntavāgīśa (c. 1660) identifies himself as “a great teacher (upādhyāya) resident in Navadvip” in the colophon to one of his works.74 In a manuscript held in Tanjavur, Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya is also described as “a great teacher of Bengal.”75 These colophons indicate that nyāya intellectuals gave meaning to the space of Navadvip and the Bengal region by associating it with Sanskrit logic of the highest caliber in early modern India. Jagadīśa’s remarks about his teacher, for example, frame the town of Navadvip as a place that contains a group of nyāya intellectuals distinct from and better than nyāya intellectuals in other towns and cities. Others recognized such distinctions, too. For example, Trilocanadeva Nyāyapañcānana (c. 1710, Banaras76) argues that scholars in Navadvip are the only ones able to explain certain theories properly. In his commentary on Raghunātha’s Light-​Ray, he writes: The explanation [on these theories] elaborated by me, Śrī Trilocanadeva Nyāyapañcānana, is also taught by teachers based in that auspicious place, Navadvip. Teachers from other regions who have read and critically analyzed that book, The Light-​Ray, have introduced errors into it.77

Trilocanadeva’s statement here highlights not only a regional distinction and an intellectual hierarchy but even an animosity between nyāya scholars outside of Bengal and those who lived there. For example, Mahādeva Punataṃkara (fl. 1683, Banaras78) begins a work by expressing his discontent acitā). The quote from Nr̥siṃha’s commentary on the Nyāyasiddhāntamañjarī (also called the Siddhāntamañjarībhūṣā) is also discussed in ibid., 282. 73 Windisch and Eggeling 1894, 641, MS no.  1976:  śrīmatśrīyutagauḍamaṇḍalamahīvikhyātasatkīrttitās  .  .  .  govindanāmābhidhāḥ. I  know of this from Vidyabhusana 1921, 482n6. This is from his Nyāyasiddhāntamañjarīṭippaṇī (also Siddhāntamañjarībhūṣā), a commentary on the Nyāyasiddhāntamañjarī of Janakīnātha Cūḍāmaṇi. For more on this passage and information about the manuscript, see D. Bhattacharya 2007, 282. 74 Quoted in Vidyabhusana 1921, 480n3 from the Śabdaśaktiprakāśikasubodhinī: navadvīpīyamahāmahopādhyāyaśrīrāmabhadra. 75 D. Bhattacharya 2007, 181; no manuscript reference is given, unfortunately. 76 D.  Bhattacharya argues convincingly that Trilocanadeva is the grandson of Mahādeva, who signed the judgment of 1657 in Banaras (ibid., 116). 77 Quoted in ibid., 116:  nyāyapañcānanaśrītrilocanadevavijr̥mbhitaḥ panthāḥ śrīnavadvīpasthādhyāpakaiḥ pariśīlito ’pi anyadeśīyair adhyāpakaiḥ guṇadīdhitipustakaṃ dr̥ṣṭvā vibhāvya dūṣaṇīyam iti. The discussion by Trilocanadeva is primarily on the trope of touch (sparśa). 78 D. Bhattacharya mentions (ibid., 134) that a copy of his Muktāvalīprakāśa held at the Sarasvati Bhavan Library dates to 1701–​1702 ce (1758 saṃvat) and a manuscript of Raghudeva Nyāyālaṅkāra’s Kusumāñjaliṭīkā copied by Mahādeva dates to 1683 ce (1739 saṃvat).

Happiness  119 with nyāya scholars in Bengal. He writes, “This is my purpose: To remove all those false charges leveled by that irascible group of Bengal-​based scholars against the words of [Bhavānanda] Siddhāntavāgīśa, who has not been properly considered.”79 These examples demonstrate some of the ways in which nyāya intellectuals crafted Bengal as a space of logic: by making the claim that Bengal is a location of premier nyāya scholars and scholarship while referring pejoratively to “other places” of nyāya intellectual practice. The comments by Trilocanadeva and Mahādeva, for example, indicate that nyāya intellectuals in Bengal were successful at breaking the pan-​India “space” of nyāya intellectual practice into regional “places” of that practice (see Chapter 5). Indeed, coinciding with the emergence of Bengal as a place of nyāya intellectuality in the early sixteenth century, nyāya authors in Mithila began referring to certain opinions as “belonging to Bengal” (gauḍīya)—​a label that was distinct from whether or not a view was new or old. At least two areas of inquiry in the discipline were presented through the lens of the region: inferential reasoning (anumāna) and the property relation (svatva). The use of the category of the region in debates about inferential reasoning occurred very soon after, even contemporary with, Raghunātha Śiromaṇi. The debates are registered by some of the leading authors in Mithila of the period: Vāsudeva Miśra (c. 150580) in his Essence of Nyāya Principles mentions the Bengal view twice; Madhusūdana Ṭhakkura (c. 1500–​1549) in his Removal of Errors through Splendorous Light mentions the Bengal view eight times; and Gopīnātha Ṭhakkura (c. 1500–​ 1549) in the anumāna section of his commentary on Gaṅgeśa’s Thought-​ Jewel of Truth critiques the Bengal view a number of times.81 Similarly, the category of the region in debates on the property relation is found in the writings of Jagadīśa Tarkālaṅkāra, who critiqued the view of Mithila-​based nyāya intellectuals about what it meant to give up property lawfully.82 79 Quoted in ibid., 134:  anālocyasiddhāntavāgīśavāṇyāṃ vr̥thāsūyitaiḥ paṇḍitair gauḍajātyaiḥ. yad udbhāvitaṃ dūṣaṇābhāsavr̥ndaṃ taduddhāraṇārtho mama udyoga eṣaḥ. This is from his commentary on Bhavānanda Siddhāntavāgiśa’s own commentary on Raghunātha Śiromaṇi’s Light-​Ray. 80 He is mentioned in Abu’l-​Faz̤l’s Ā’īn-​i-​Akbarī; see ibid., 35. 81 D. Bhattacharya 2007, 35–​36. The dates of Madhusūdana and Gopīnātha are based on a book list dated to 1549 that lists their books, Removal of Errors and The Essence of the Thought-​Jewel of Truth, respectively (D. Bhattacharya 1958, 129). See the next note for this book list; and for an example from Gopīnātha’s writing that uses this terminology, see T. G. Sastri 1914, 85. 82 Jagadīśa 1914, 138; Wright 2017a, 166–​167. This exchange of views must have been premised upon a robust exchange of manuscripts between Bengal and Mithila: A list of twenty-​four books exchanged in the town of Navadvip dating to August 7, 1549, attests to some of this exchange (D. Bhattacharya 1958, 129). This list was found in a manuscript copy of Aniruddha’s Pitr̥dayitā (twelfth century) that deals with funeral rites—​a book that was part of the library of Jagannātha Tarkapañcana (1694–​1807) in Triveni, Hooghly (present-​day West Bengal). The date of the document

120  Feeling and Reasoning In addition, Navadvip was recognized as a premier place of Sanskrit intellectual practice, in general, by the rulers of the Nadia polity. Unlike the Malla polity, the Nadia polity did not begin cultural-​political activities until the second half of the seventeenth century.83 The Nadia polity claims a long, though vague, history from the eleventh century. However, the historical beginnings of the polity seem to have occurred during the time of the Mughal Emperor Jahāngīr, who bestowed the title of majumdar and granted land (originally called Vāgoyāna) to Durgādāsa, also known as Majumdār Bhavānanda, for helping Mān Siṃha defeat Pratāpāditya of Jessore.84 The first significant ruler of the polity was Rāghava Rāya (r. 1632–​1682), whose capital was Krishnanagar, approximately twenty kilometers east of Navadvip. Three major responses by the Nadia polity to nyāya intellectual activity must be noted. First, Rāghava Rāya includes a reference to the intellectual community in one of his three temple inscriptions. In an inscription from 1674, he states that he supports this community and that he is the primary reason for the flourishing of the intellectual community in the polity. The inscription reads, “The learned, Śrī Rājavallabha (Rāghava), who, as the sun, causes the blossoming of lotuses, which are, in actuality, scholars [living in the polity], consecrated Viśvanātha (Śiva) in this grand abode built through his own patronage.”85 Second, the polity provided large land grants to nyāya intellectuals that were tax-​free and hereditary. A  total of four examples granting land to nyāya authors are available and span the period between Rāghava and his great-​grandson, Raghurāma. In 1661, Rāghava donated land to two very well-​known nyāya intellectuals:  Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya and Govinda Bhaṭṭācārya. Gadādhara’s grant from July 6, 1661, totaled 360 bighās (120 acres) and is said to be in the village of Malipota, approximately twenty-​four

is 23 śrāvaṇa 430 Lakṣmaṇa saṃvat. This date is slightly confusing because the start of the Lakṣmaṇa era was taken to be different in northern Bihar than Bengal. The commencement of this calendric system has a start date range of 1108–​1119 ce, with the year 1119 becoming standard in our period, even though Lakṣmaṇa Sen’s accession was in 1179 ce. So the year of exchange could be either 1549 or 1609. I have chosen the earlier one on the basis that Gopīnātha is included in the list, making it likely that his works were exchanged very shortly after their composition. If this exchange had taken place in 1609, then additional, later texts would have been included. For this era, see Sircar 1958. 83 Compare Pertsch 1853, 18 and Bhattacharyya 1982, 97. 84 S. P. Ghosh 1982, 14; Pertsch 1853, 1–​20. 85 Bhattacharyya 1982, 103:  saṅkhyāvadambujavijr̥mbhaṇabhānuvimbaḥ. śrīrājavallabhakr̥tī nijanirmmate ’sminn asthāpayat paramaveśmani viśvanātha[m]‌. The temple is in Srinagar, Nadia District about eighty kilometers south of Navadvip.

Happiness  121 kilometers southeast from Navadvīp.86 Govinda’s grant from the February 23, 1661, totaled 1,000 bighās (333 acres) of land and is likely the entire village of Arbandi, approximately eighteen kilometers southeast from Navadvip.87 Rāghava’s grandson, Rāmakr̥ṣṇa Rāya (r. 1700–​1710), gave land to Śrīkr̥ṣṇa Sārvabhauma, a nyāya author who composed a commentary on Gaṅgeśa’s Thought-​Jewel of Truth. Rāmakr̥ṣṇa provided the land grant to Śrīkr̥ṣṇa Sārvabhauma on May 15, 1703, although the number of bighās is unknown. Thirteen years later, however, Śrīkr̥ṣṇa bequeathed the land to his son, Rāmajīvana Pañcānana, on October 25, 1716.88 In a final example, Rāghava’s great-​grandson, Raghurāma Raya (r. 1715–​1728), granted 266 bighās (86 acres) to Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya’s third son, Rāmadeva Tarkavāgīśa, making Gadādhara’s family in possession of 626 bighās (207 acres) of alienated land within the Nadia polity by the early eighteenth century.89 The size of these land grants is at levels far exceeding land grants to individuals in other professions.90 Third, the rulers of the Nadia polity also participated in Sanskrit intellectual activities by writing and commissioning works; and, as a result, they were occasionally mentioned by name in the works of Sanskrit intellectuals. A Sanskrit intellectual from the town of Ula in the Nadia district, Raghunātha Sārvabhauma, wrote a treatise on law for Rāghava Rāya in 1661–​1662.91 Śrīkr̥ṣṇa Sārvabhauma mentions the names of Nadia rulers in his literary and nyāya philosophical works, as does the mīmāṃsā scholar Candraśekhara.92 Finally, Rāghava Rāya’s son, Rudra Rāya (r. 1682–​1700), 86 D.  Bhattacharya 2007, 185. Gadādhara’s is dated the 22nd of āṣāṛh, Baṅgābda 1068; and Govinda’s is dated the 11th of phālgun, Baṅgābda 1067. 87 Wright 2017a, 157. 88 D. Bhattacharya 2007, 200. 89 Ibid., 183. 90 A few examples of land grants by Nadia rulers to nonscholars are available. Rāmajīvana Rāya donated land to an individual named Kr̥ṣṇakiṃkāra Dāsa, a house servant. The grant totaled 3 bighās and 12 kāṭhās (1.15 acres) under the category of mahātrān—​rent-​free land given by zamindars to subordinates (Wilson 1855, 318)—​as well as a house on the land. Raghurāma Rāya granted 60 bighās (20 acres) of land to a Madhusūdana Pāṭhaka, a storyteller. He also granted 12 bighās (4 acres) of land to a Rāmabhadra Cakravartin on July 20, 1722, as a replacement for his farmland after it was flooded a month earlier. Rāmajīvana Rāya also donated land to one Phakir Śekh Ānājī, but there is no further information. For these references, see K. Simha 1999, 108–​109, 110. For additional discussion of these sorts of grants, see Wright 2014, 409–​410; 2017a. 91 Quoted in Pingree 1994, 377. The name of the text is An Ocean of Codes of Traditional Law and remains unpublished. Raghunātha was likely very close to the community of nyāya intellectuals in Navadvip as his father’s name, Mathureśa Tarkapañcānana, indicates he taught nyāya, although no text of his survives. Raghunātha wrote only on law. 92 In his work The Messenger of the Foot-​Prints, Śrīkr̥ṣṇa concludes in either of two manners: by acknowledging the “learned” (dhīra) king, Raghurāma Rāy, or the “famous” (khyāta) king, Rāmajīvana Rāy (D. Bhattacharya 2007, 196). His The Immortal Nectar of Krishna’s Feet concludes by referring to himself as someone who is appreciated by the great overlord of kings (mahārājādhirāja)

122  Feeling and Reasoning wrote a work entitled The Essence of the Puranas, which provides a lineage of the polity’s rulers up until his time.93 The colophons from nyāya works exhibit nyāya intellectuals associating the spaces of Navadvip and Bengal with logic. In the process, Navadvip and Bengal are assigned a particular status and made into key terms of intellectual life in early modern Bengal. The high status assigned to these spaces is precisely why nyāya intellectuals are able to refer to Navadvip and Bengal as intellectually “auspicious.” But, more broadly, the colophons of nyāya scholars serve an essential function for intellectual life by representing and describing that life. In so doing, these colophons are attempts to integrate the community of nyāya intellectuals within a geography that finds its meaning from the practice and teaching of logic. This attempt at integrating the community of nyāya intellectuals appears to have been successful because the community emerges as an object that is addressed by the Nadia polity in their political speech and supported through land grants and the commissioning of works.94 But, in successfully recording the intellectual life of seventeenth-​century Navadvip and western Bengal in terms of its relation to logic, nyāya intellectuals also evoke an emotion in their colophons. Admittedly, identifying this emotion is not immediately obvious. In contrast to the rulers of the Malla polity and poets of the Bengali Vaishnava tradition, nyāya intellectuals do not explicitly identify an emotion in their remarks. Yet the absence of an “emotion word” does not signal the absence of emotion. Instead, we may posit that the words in their colophons are employed in specific ways when describing Navadvip or Bengal in order to “feel around a feeling.”95 In the

and the famous (khyāta) Rāmajīvana (D. Bhattacharya 2007, 197; Mitra 1874, 81, MS no. 1125). And in 1711–​1712 he composed a commentary on Gaṅgeśa’s Thought-​Jewel of Truth in which he notes that it was undertaken “at the request of the learned king, Raghurāma Rāya (dhīraśrīraghurāmarāyanr̥pater ājñāvaśāt)” (D. Bhattacharya 2007, 199). Candraśekhara, in his Tattvasaṃbodhinī, refers to King Rāmajīvana by saying: “[Candrasekhara], who is from Varendra and is supported by the Mahārāja, Śrī Bālāyuta Rāmajīvana, composed the Śrī Tattvasaṃbodhinī” (śrībālāyutarāmajīvanamahārājena saṃsthāpito varendrānvayasambhavo vitanute śrītattvasaṃbodhinīm) (Sastri and Gui 1899–​1900, 115, MS no. 182). From another work of his, we know that while he was originally from Varendra, he stayed in Navadvip; see his Smr̥tidurgabhañjana (Pingree 1976, 45: vārendrakulasaṃbhūtanavadvīpanivāsaśrīcandraśekharaśarmaviracite). 93 Chauduri 2004, 265–​266n5. 94 I am influenced here by the words of Herbert Lindenberger (Spariosu 1984, 20): “literature must be a representation of human life, that it record what is actual and tangible rather than what is vague and artificial, and, in the effect toward which it aims, that it undertake the task of integrating the human community.” 95 For this and the quote in the prior sentence, see Downes and McNamara 2016, 451.

Happiness  123 context of philosophical writing, lexically unmarked emotion has been termed “metaphysical pathos” by Author O. Lovejoy. According to Lovejoy, metaphysical pathos, is exemplified in any description of the nature of things, any characterization of the world to which one belongs, in terms which, like the words of a poem, awaken through their associations, and through a sort of empathy which they engender, a congenial mood or tone of feeling on the part of the philosopher or his readers.96

The way in which nyāya intellectuals describe and characterize Navadvip and Bengal, then, serves to express an emotion that evokes empathic feelings among nyāya intellectuals when these colophons are encountered in the reading of logic. This emotion directs the reader’s attention to Navadvip and Bengal as spaces of nyāya intellectual practice. In other words, this emotion contributes to an integrated philosophical community because reading a nyāya work potentially creates an experience in which a reader’s emotional attention is directed toward the spaces of Navadvip and Bengal. In line with Lovejoy, I propose calling this emotion “logical pathos.” I submit that this feeling is evoked when one reads a nyāya work that describes Navadvip as a place of “superior scholars” or Bengal as “auspicious and glorious.”97 This characterization of the philosophical world in nyāya texts entangles space and emotion such that a sense of belonging to these spaces is possible and value is attributed to the role of Navadvip and Bengal in the intellectual life of nyāya scholars. There is evidence that this “logical pathos” was also felt by rulers of the Nadia polity such as Rāghava Rāya. Recall that Rāghava uses metaphorical language to speak about his participation in and support of intellectual activity within the polity: He is the sun, and scholars are the lotuses in bloom as they come in contact with his rays. This metaphorical language must not be read as a simple rhetorical device, but as a “primary way of perceiving the world” that exhibits an aesthetic and emotional orientation—​a logical pathos—​to the intellectual community in the Nadia polity.98 It is thus on the basis of this emotion, which underwrites the emergence of an object (the



96 Lovejoy 2001, 11.

97 D. Bhattacharya 2007, 170 and Windisch and Eggeling 1894, 641, MS no. 1976, respectively. 98 Pollock 2006, 531. For Rāghava’s inscription, see Bhattacharyya 1982, 103.

124  Feeling and Reasoning intellectual community), that Rāghava undertakes, and toward which he can direct, his actions and attention as a ruler. And it is in part because Rāghava considers the space of his polity to be entangled with the feeling of “logical pathos” that this action and attention makes sense to him. I conclude this section by noting that the emotions of the Malla and Nadia rulers, nyāya and bhakti intellectuals, and devotional poets exemplified in the aforementioned materials are not hidden and mysterious mental processes. Instead, these emotional stances are explicit performative aspects of their texts. These emotions, in other words, are intersubjective—​“emotions between people”—​that can be picked out from or read off of a text just like any other performative aspect of a text such as warning, irony, and censuring.99 On this reading, then, “logical pathos” and “joy as love” evoked in the colophons and temple inscriptions are communicative forces embedded in the language of the texts by authors as they engage in the communicative act of writing.100 The text so imbued with emotion brings forth particular spaces—​Bengal or Navadvip—​and situates an individual into a particular emotional relation with that space as the individual, through an engagement with that text, “learn[s]‌to feel,” in the words of Margrit Pernau.101

Competing Emotions Yet, while the inscriptions of the Malla rulers are bound within the Malla region and the colophons of nyāya intellectuals are bound within the Navadvip region, the space of “joy as love” and the space of “logical pathos” are actually the same: western Bengal or Gauda. “Gauda” (also Gaur) is an old term that had various geographic meanings.102 Nevertheless, from the early seventeenth century, the term nearly certainly referred to western Bengal in distinction to eastern Bengal—​the Ganges River with its two branches toward Satgaon and Sonargaon serving as shifting points of division until the river’s major shift eastward in the late seventeenth century.103 In his Tārīkh-​i Firishta, the historian Firishta (1560–​1620, Ahmednagar) refers to the entire 99 Pernau 2015, 635. For examples such as warning, see Skinner 2002, 104–​105. 100 Contrary to Skinner’s remarks (2002, 120). 101 Pernau 2015, 638. I leave aside a larger question of how or if my argument undermines William M. Reddy’s conception of “emotives” as neither performative nor descriptive; or whether Reddy’s insistence on “first-​person, present-​tense emotion claims” is too restrictive (1999, 268). 102 Eaton 1993, 3–​5. 103 Ibid., 195–​198.

Happiness  125 Bengali-​speaking region as Gaur-​Bangala and Gaur-​wa-​Bangala (Gauda and Bangala), clearly dividing the region into a western and eastern portion, respectively.104 This means that “joy as love” and “logical pathos” define the same space. Of course, this does not necessarily portend a tension: Emotions can and do coexist within the same space. However, we must not forget that the two views on emotion as reconstructed earlier in the chapter stand in opposition. This means that the entanglement of “joy as love” with space can be critiqued from the point of view of nyāya intellectuals and vice versa. As a result, I submit that Gadādhara’s essay must be read as creating a tension between these two emotions with respect to their ability to apply to the same space. Stated briefly, Gadādhara’s essay represents an attempt to deny the ability of the emotion of “joy as love” to define successfully and become entangled with the space of western Bengal. This is accomplished by using philosophical commitments in nyāya to undermine the soteriological role of that emotion. If this is accepted, Gadādhara’s essay displaces the emotion of “joy as love” from the space of western Bengal. Phrased more directly, Gadādhara’s essay argues that the emotion of “joy as love” can only be a mundane human emotion, which, when downgraded to such a status, does not have the ability to endow space in the way that is necessary to consolidate the Vaishnava community in Bengal. It fails at consolidating the community precisely because, according to Gadādhara, it does not link the human to the divine—​given that the divine does not (or cannot) contain emotion. With the emotional practices of Bengali Vaishnavism undermined, Gadādhara’s essay, more seriously, threatens to make the knowledge generated by Vaishnava intellectuals implausible, whereas, with the emotional practices of the nyāya intellectual community implicitly asserted, knowledge generated by nyāya intellectuals is afforded a plausibility.105 In such a situation, Gadādhara’s essay leaves the reader searching for another emotion with which the space of western Bengal is entangled and through which it is understood. In this emotive opening, his essay calls for the reader to direct his or her emotional attention away from the Bengali Vaishnava community toward the nyāya intellectual community in Bengal by opening themselves to the feeling of “logical pathos.”

104 Sircar 1971, 123. 105 I am influenced here by Margrit Pernau’s provocative claim that “emotional practices make knowledge plausible” (2017, 8).

4 Dying We do not often think of dying as an emotion. Yet, in Sanskrit literary theory, dying or maraṇa was analyzed in such a way. Classified as a transitory emotion, dying facilitates the arising of two aesthetic sentiments or rasas depending on the literary narrative: the erotic thwarted and the tragic.1 At the same time, arguing that dying as an emotion brings about specific aesthetic responses raised a paradoxical question for Sanskrit literary theorists: How does dying give rise to these responses when emotions require someone to be alive to exhibit them? According to Jagannātha Paṇḍitarāja, the preeminent Sanskrit literary theorist from Banaras in the seventeenth century, the answer was to read dying not in its primary sense of death, but in its secondary sense. He writes: Dying is a condition that takes place prior to death in which one is delusional; it is caused by sickness, among other things. In this definition, it is not appropriate to take the term in its primary sense as the “end of life” since then dying would not be part of, or included within, our emotions, which are, by definition, the activities of our inner lives; and because a connection between the body and the breath—​that is, being alive—​is the reason for all our emotions since that connection is, logically speaking, concomitant with their effects.2

Jagannātha then proceeds to provide his own example of a verse in which dying facilitates the aesthetic sentiment of the erotic thwarted but only because he takes the word in its secondary sense. His example reads: She was just seen laying on her bed Reminiscing about the virtues of her beloved. 1 The gloss of vipralambha as “erotic thwarted” instead of “love in separation” is adopted from Pollock 2016, xv. 2 From his Rasagaṅgādhara (P. Dvivedi 1998, 143): rogādijanyā mūrcchārūpā maraṇaprāgavasthā maraṇam. na cātra prāṇaviyogātmakaṃ mukhyaṃ maraṇam ucitaṃ grahītam. cittavr̥ttyātmakeṣu bhāveṣu tasyāprasakteḥ. bhāveṣu ca sarveṣu kāryasahavartitayā śarīraprāṇasaṃyogasya hetutvāt.

A Time of Novelty. Samuel Wright, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2021. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197568163.003.0005

Dying  127 But, now—​Oh, Grief!—​this beautiful girl Does not care to speak, even when spoken to.3

Jagannātha’s example demonstrates why it is important to take the term “dying” in its secondary sense:  The moment before someone dies can be narrativized since one is still alive and can still express emotion. As compared to the primary meaning of dying as death, then, the secondary meaning contains more literary possibilities—​an aspect further emphasized by Jagannātha, who states that poets do not ascribe much importance to the latter type of aesthetic sentiment associated with dying as death (the tragic) because it is not auspicious.4 Reading the term “dying” in a figurative sense as the moment right before death provides not only more literary possibilities but philosophical ones as well. In responding to a question about just what dying is, Harirāma Tarkavāgīśa presents an opinion of his interlocutor on the definition of dying, which occurs in the context of arguing about how dying in Kashi causes liberation. The interlocutor argues that dying should not be thought of as an end to the connection between the body and the self since, if it were, that understanding would be contrary to how we actually use the word “dying.” “When there is an end,” says Harirāma’s interlocutor, “to a connection of such a kind (between the body and the self) in someone who is living, then we speak of that person as dead.”5 The semantic space, then, created by taking the term in its secondary sense is a space where theory can be applied to the experience of dying; it is a moment in time that can be both literarized and philosophized as compared to the state of death, which is outside of time.6 Reading dying in a secondary sense is of great value since it carves out a moment in time during which certain occurrences can take place. We already saw that it provided the space for poets to narrate, during which their compositions might suggest a certain aesthetic sentiment through the 3 Ibid., 143: dayitasya guṇān anusmarantī śayane samprati yā vilokitās[ī]t. adhunā khalu hanta sā kr̥śāṅgī giram aṅgīkurute na bhāṣitāpi. I have read kr̥śāṅgī in a more general sense as a mark of beauty rather than taking it literally as slender. Less likely, one might read it negatively (e.g., emaciated), given its location in the verse, but I think it is used to create a contrast: a beautiful, though unwell, woman. 4 Ibid.:  kavayaḥ punar amuṃ prādhyānyena na varṇayanty amaṇgalaprāyatvāt. Nāgeśa Bhaṭṭa glosses (ibid.): punaḥ śabdo hi śabdārthe. 5 Misra and Shastri 1936, 229:  na tāvat śarīrātmasaṃyoganāśatvaṃ tat jīvati caitre tathavidhakasaṃyoganāśe caitro mr̥ta iti vyavahārāpatteḥ. 6 Literarization is defined by Pollock as “imaginative, workly discourse” (2006, 25).

128  Feeling and Reasoning emotions of their characters. But this space is also important for other processes. In the discipline of nyāya, the secondary sense of dying provides the space for theorizing about how property, as a relation, transfers from father to son, for example. In this instance, dying is the moment when the relation held by a father to his property terminates (or becomes absent in him) and, simultaneously, during which the counterpositive (or the positive correlative) of that relation’s absence is produced in his son such that the son now stands in a “property relation” (svatva) to his father’s property.7 Another, much more detailed, discussion about the potentials of the moment of dying is found among nyāya intellectuals in early modern India, however: dying in Kashi. In this chapter, I examine how taking the term “dying” in its secondary sense facilitated a discussion among nyāya intellectuals on the liberative potential of dying in Kashi. As is well known, it is believed that dying in Kashi enables one to attain spiritual liberation (mokṣa). Not well known, however, is that nyāya intellectuals worked out a definition of dying and discussed the causal relationship between dying in Kashi and liberation according to certain philosophical commitments in the discipline. Three nyāya intellectuals discussed the practice of dying in Kashi and its role in attaining liberation: Harirāma Tarkavāgīśa and two of his students, Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya and Raghudeva Nyāyālaṅkāra. Each of these authors wrote on this topic and took up the question of how dying in Kashi produces liberation. Being the earliest, Harirāma takes up the question originally in his Consideration of the Discourse on Liberation. Harirāma’s work is followed by Raghudeva’s Essay on Liberation and Gadādhara’s New Essay on Liberation.8 In addition to these works, Harirāma also took up the issue in a short essay entitled An Essay on Dying in Kashi as a Cause (of Liberation). But this is only one concern of the chapter. After working through their arguments and setting their discussions within the historical context of Banaras during the period, I turn to my larger argument presented at the end of the chapter. My argument is that in the course of philosophizing about dying in Kashi nyāya intellectuals produce Kashi as a space or, better, as a place. I  engage with larger theoretical considerations about what Henri Lefebvre called “spatial practices”—​how social spaces in society are 7 See Wright 2017a, 169–​170. The ways in which dying provided a space for this process are not discussed in much detail by nyāya intellectuals. 8 Gadādhara’s essay is most likely the latest among the three since the title specifically mentions that it is new or recent (nava); and so it likely does not mean “new” in the sense discussed in Chapters 1 and 2.

Dying  129 produced—​and with nuanced reflections on space by Georg Simmel. I also investigate how philosophizing about dying in Kashi reveals the emotional positionality of nyāya intellectuals vis-​à-​vis death and dying. To this end, I view their philosophical writing on dying in Kashi not merely as expressions of intellectual argumentation but also of what Dipesh Chakrabarty has called “affective narratives of belonging.”9

Kashi as a Site of Pilgrimage First, however, some context and history about Kashi as a place of liberation and as a pilgrimage site is in order.10 Traditionally a specific area of the modern-​day city of Banaras circumscribed by the pañcakrośī pilgrimage route, Kashi has long been a sacred space associated with the belief that one who dies within its boundaries attains spiritual liberation.11 As a result, Kashi was and is a major—​if not the principle—​pilgrimage site for Hindus and attracts many people to the city who intend on dying within its borders. Given its enormous eschatological role, argued out much before the early modern period, pilgrimage to Kashi has been discussed in major religious texts over a long period of time such as the “Kāśīkhaṇḍa” of the Skanda Purāṇa (sixth century ce). In the early modern period, which is my concern here, Nārāyaṇa Bhaṭṭa (c. 1550, Banaras) wrote a definitive and the most well-​known book on the subject entitled The Bridge to the Three Sacred Places, which details pilgrimage rules and analyzes the concept of pilgrimage sites or tīrthas. He focuses upon three locations: Kashi, Prayag (Allahabad), and Gaya. He begins his book by noting that he is writing from Avimukta, another name of Kashi, which immediately gives authority to his book and to himself as an author since he is locating himself within the preeminent pilgrimage site.12 The appellation “Avimukta” for Kashi has a long history. The Jābāla Upaniṣad, dating between 300 bce and 300 ce, contains an oft-​quoted passage detailing how Śiva confers liberation upon those who die in Avimukta by teaching the tāraka or the “crossing over” prayer at the moment of death. It is important to be familiar with this passage not only because it details

9 Chakrabarty 2007, 71, emphasis in original.

10 For a recent, excellent overview of the practice of pilgrimage, see Jacobsen 2018. 11 See Parry 1981, 338 for a map of this geography. 12 Salomon 1985, 2, v. 6, 189.

130  Feeling and Reasoning the geographies of Avimukta and an important opinion of how liberation is attained when ones dies in Kashi, but also because it is referred to by nyāya intellectuals when they discuss the position that dying in Kashi brings about liberation. The relevant passage from Jābāla Upaniṣad (1–​2) is a conversation between Br̥haspati, the teacher of the gods, and the sage Yājñavalkya. The passage is also noteworthy for equating the physical location of Avimutka to parts of the human body (thus, its different “geographies”). The passage reads: For here [in Avimukta], as the vital breaths depart from a person, Rudra reveals the [tāraka] prayer by which he becomes immortal and attains liberation. Therefore, a man should live only in Avimukta, and he should never forsake Avimukta. . . . “Where is Avimukta located?” “Is it located between Varaṇā and Nāsī.” “What is Varaṇā? And what is Nāsī?” Varaṇā gets its name from the fact that it wards off [vārayati] all faults committed by one’s organs. Nāsī gets its name for the fact that it destroys [nāśayati] all sins committed by one’s organs. “But where is it located?” The juncture between the eyebrows and the nose is the juncture between the heavenly world and the other world. The knowers of brahman, therefore, worship this very juncture as their twilight worship. He should be worshipped as Avimukta. Indeed, a man who knows it as such proclaims his Avimukta knowledge.13

Two aspects are important to register here. The first is about Kashi’s physical geography (I will return to the issue of equating it with the body). The passage tells us that Avimukta is located between the Varana and Nasi Rivers, the northern and southern borders of Kashi or Avimukta in the modern-​day city of Banaras. Each of these rivers is a minor tributary of the Ganges River, itself constituting the eastern border of Kashi. The location of Avimukta as next to and bounded by bodies of water is notable; in fact, Nārāyaṇa tells us that pilgrimage sites are nearly always connected to water bodies. “All springs are auspicious,” he says, “all mountains are auspicious, and rivers are always auspicious—​especially the Jahnavi river (Ganges).”14 The connection

13 Olivelle 1992, 141–​142.

14 Salomon 1985, 9, 199. Nārāyaṇa is quoting here from the Śaṅkha Smr̥ti.

Dying  131 between pilgrimage sites and water posits a crucial link between a pilgrimage site and its cleansing or purification effects in both literal (corporeal) and figurative (metaphysical) senses. Second, the passage assumes an inherent relation between Kashi and Śiva. This is because Śiva is thought to always reside in Kashi—​relaying another meaning of the term avimukta as a place “never abandoned” (a-​vimukta) by Śiva. The association of Kashi with Śiva (and vice versa) is built into the city itself and underwrites its importance as the primary place among pilgrimage sites. Nārāyaṇa quotes from the Kāśīkhaṇḍa to prove this point: All liṅgas (emblems of Śiva in phallic form) are Śiva’s embodiment and are places of pilgrimage, but, says Nārāyaṇa, “at Varanasi, Mahādeva (Śiva) is considered the first tīrtha.”15 The idea that Kashi is the first tīrtha of Śiva is meaningful not only in a historical sense as the first site in the world where Śiva became embodied, but also because it creates a hierarchy of pilgrimage sites for those devoted to Śiva. The fact, then, that Śiva permanently dwells in Banaras (or, more specifically, in Kashi) allows us to make better sense of the beginning portion of the passage from the Jābāla Upaniṣad:  When someone dies in Kashi, Śiva is always already there ready to teach the person the tāraka prayer by which the person will become liberated. As we will see later, this is an aspect also discussed by nyāya authors. Of course, there were a great number of pilgrimage sites in premodern India aside from Kashi, Prayag, and Gaya. Indeed, some sources tell us that it would take over a hundred years to list them all.16 Furthermore, pilgrimage sites need not always be taken as physical locations. As Nārāyaṇa explains, we can take the word tīrtha in a secondary sense to mean a nonphysical location such as states of the mind like truth. The figurative use of the term tīrtha continued to be emphasized in later texts on renunciation. These texts spoke of a tīrtha as a place of knowledge (tīrtha-​jñāna). A renunciate might express his intention to “travel” to these sorts of tīrthas through discarding the instrument by which one bathed at them, namely, the water-​pot (kamaṇḍalu).17 At the same time, some pilgrimage sites were discussed at greater length as compared to others and this must be registered. Indeed, as mentioned, the 15 Ibid.,14: vārāṇasyāṃ mahādevaḥ prathamaṃ tīrtham ucyate. 16 Salomon 1985, xvi, quoting the Brahmā Purāṇa. For a large number of sites, see ibid., 458–​466. 17 For the figurative sense of tīrtha, see ibid., 17, 208. For discarding the water-​pot, see the Pañcamāśramavidhāna (Olivelle 1986–​1987, 156):  “Next, he should fill the water pot at a large and deep lake, and throw it, saying: O water pot! O great tirtha! Thou didst purify me in the past. Henceforth I shall remain immersed in the tirtha of knowledge. Away with thee! I have obtained inner purity. What use have I of external purification.”

132  Feeling and Reasoning title of Nārāyaṇa’s book, The Bride to the Three Sacred Places, does emphasize the importance of three places over others: Kashi, on the Ganges River; Prayag (now Allahabad), at the confluence of the Ganges and Yamuna Rivers; and Gaya, on the Phalgu River. Traditionally, each of these three locations attracted certain groups of people who traveled to a specific tīrtha depending on the purpose of their pilgrimage.18 Yet this triadic pilgrimage complex of Kashi, Prayag, and Gaya was not an ahistorical arrangement. Nārāyaṇa’s book is likely the textual origin of this triadic complex. This is suggested by his use of the compound term tristhalī (three places), which appears to have been a neologism as noted by Irina Glushkova.19 More important for my discussion here, however, is the history of how these locations were theorized as pilgrimage sites. My remarks that follow are focused on Kashi. The eschatological power of Kashi (and pilgrimage in general) was of interest to a number of scholars, but it must be noted that the textual production on Kashi increased dramatically from the early sixteenth century. The increase in textual production is appreciated especially in the case of the Bhaṭṭa family who had migrated to the city in about 1520 when Nārāyaṇa was a child.20 Not only did Nārāyaṇa write his book on the topic, but his grandson, Kamalākara Bhaṭṭa, wrote An Assemblage of Lotuses in the form of Pilgrimage Sites, based on Nārāyaṇa’s book.21 The family also influenced other Banaras-​based authors: Bhaṭṭojī Dīkṣita (pupil of Nārāyaṇa Bhaṭṭa’s second son, Śaṃkara Bhaṭṭa) wrote a summary of Nārāyaṇa’s book, The Essentials of the Bridge to the Three Sacred Places; and Nāgeśa Bhaṭṭa (grandson of Bhaṭṭojī) wrote A Crest of Moons That Are Pilgrimage Sites, also based on Nārāyaṇa’s book.22 Additional works include An Analysis of Liberation in Kashi by Sureśvarācārya (seventeenth century?, Banaras), the Mantrakāśīkhaṇḍa by Nīlakaṇṭha Caturdhara (fl. 1680, Banaras), and The True Essence of Pilgrimage Sites by Raghunandana (fl. 1550, Navadvip).23 As discussed by Christopher Minkowski, the liberative potential of Kashi became much more emphasized as compared to other pilgrimage locations 18 Bayly 1981, 161–​162:  “Banaras had a large amount of elderly people per capita, Prayag (Allahabad) hosted numerous lepers and others with similar diseases, and Gaya was known for its facilitation of oblations to the ancestors.” 19 Glushkova 2014, 114–​115. 20 Salomon 1985, xxv. Nārāyaṇa has high praise for the city, see ibid, 2, v. 5, 190. 21 The title is a play on Kamalākara’s name. 22 Salomon 1985, xix. 23 For Nīlakaṇṭha Caturdhara, see Minkowski 2002; for Sureśvarācārya, see Minkowski 2002, 337; for Raghunandana, see Salomon 1985, xx. I leave the title of Nīlakaṇṭha’s work untranslated since it has potentially very many meanings.

Dying  133 beginning in the sixteenth century, and the theorizing of this potential underwent two specific changes.24 First, there emerged more of an emphasis on the philosophical aspects of how dying in Kashi led to liberation, resulting in more textual productions by scholars based in Banaras. Minkowski argues that in the early modern period emphasis is placed on making sense of how and why anyone could achieve liberation by dying in Kashi. The ease by which one could attain liberation by dying in Kashi was a marked problem for a number of authors, who worried that this would discourage people from adhering to a morally directed life or from following prescribed actions as outlined in the Veda. Indeed, dying in Kashi is often spoken of as an easier path to liberation than practicing yoga or other sorts of asceticism and easier as compared to the path of knowledge.25 Some authors, such as Nīlakaṇṭha Caturdhara, were concerned with the ethical implications that all creatures—​humans and animals—​were able to attain liberation by dying in Kashi even if they had led morally questionable lives. Authors wrote texts discussing how to solve this issue and, in some cases, made room for a hierarchy of expediency: Sinners were relegated to waiting, whereas those more deserving would experience liberation immediately. This, however, was not agreed upon, and some authors argued that this waiting period was only for an instant.26 The second major change in theoretical writings on Kashi as a pilgrimage site, noted by Minkowski, was that from the sixteenth century authors began stressing a literal reading of passages such as the passage we examined earlier from the Jābāla Upaniṣad. In other words, they did not read these passages in a figurative sense so that Avimukta was equated with parts of the body—​the space between the brow and the nose—​but in a way that referred exclusively to a specific geographical location in Banaras.27 It is within this intellectual 24 Minkowski 2002, 336. 25 Eck 1982, 328–​329. 26 Minkowski 2002, 336–​338. 27 For example, in his Tīrthenduśekhara, Nāgeśa Bhaṭṭa reflects on the meaning of the term avimukta. He reads a literal and figurative use of this term but finally emphasizes the literal meaning of the term. He says (S. Sukla 1936, 31): “In the Parāśara Upapurāṇa, the word avimukta is used in its primary sense as a geographic location although through a secondary meaning—​given a homology—​it also means ‘in the brow.’ Since he dwells there in Avimukta, Śiva is also avimukta—​one who ‘never leaves’; and, as a result of what can be attained through his grace, the knowledge he gives is also avimukta—​it ‘never leaves’ [that is, it is permanent] . . . Thus, disregarding the other [meaning of Avimukta], we should think of its location as a geographic one . . . ; the other [meaning] is related to contemplative practices” (tatra bhūsthe kṣetre mukhyo ’vimuktaśabdaḥ tadāropasthānād gauṇyā bhrūmadhyam api. tātsthyād rudro ’py ’vimuktaḥ tatprasādalabhyatvāj jñānam apy avimuktam. . . . evañ ca bhūsthaṃ kṣetram itaranirapekṣam . . . itarad upāsanāsāpekṣam iti bodhyam). I know of this passage from Minkowski 2002, 339.

134  Feeling and Reasoning context that nyāya authors begin in the seventeenth century to write about dying in Kashi as a means to liberation.

A Logical Turn It may strike the reader as unusual to state that the seventeenth century marks the beginning of nyāya writing on dying in Kashi as a means to liberation. Beginnings are always at risk of being undermined. Nyāya intellectuals had, of course, written about pilgrimage to Kashi before. In the mid-​fifteenth century, Vācaspati Miśra, writing from Mithila, composed the second major treatise on pilgrimage after Lakṣmīdhara (c. 1130).28 Vācaspati also wrote extensively within the discipline of nyāya, but these works have often overshadowed his writing on pilgrimage.29 His treatise on pilgrimage is structured much differently than how later nyāya intellectuals in the early modern period discussed the issue. Instead, his treatise may have served as a model for Nārāyaṇa since Nārāyaṇa and Vācaspati both discuss rules of pilgrimage and the various pilgrimage sites. The commitment that dying in Kashi led to liberation was also recognized early by nyāya intellectuals, but it does not appear that it resulted in larger reflections by them. The famous nyāya scholar Gaṅgeśa Upādhyāya (c. 1320, Mithila), in arguing that liberation is not possible without true knowledge, only notes in passing that “according to tradition” dying in Kashi results in true knowledge; he does not provide an extended and rigorous treatment of this issue like we find in the early modern period.30 This means that, from a broader textual perspective, Nārāyaṇa’s book represents the beginning of a major trend in writing on pilgrimage; and that the seemingly late entry into this topic by nyāya authors in the early seventeenth century is, in fact, not late but is part of a growing scholarly interest about dying in Kashi that started in the early modern period.31 In the seventeenth century, nyāya intellectuals were interested in theorizing about the relationship between liberation and dying in Kashi. Part of their interest likely stemmed from the fact that, at this time, nyāya

28 Salomon 1985, xviii; Gold 2002. 29 D. Bhattacharya’s treatment of him neglects to mention this work (1958, 143–​156). 30 Tarkavagisa 1897, 191: vārāṇasīmaraṇasya tattvajñānaphalakatvam āgamād evāgamyate. I am grateful to Yoichi Iwasaki for drawing my attention to this passage. 31 For some remarks on the larger history of works on pilgrimage, see Gold 2002, xi–​xvi.

Dying  135 intellectuals were debating how liberation should be defined.32 This concern spilled over into the question about dying in Kashi and its liberative effects. Their discussions explicitly raised questions of religious practice and the specific details about how dying in Kashi results in liberation. The emphasis on these questions by nyāya authors as they relate to Kashi indicates that Kashi was the primary focus within discussions on liberation at the time of death, corroborating Minkowski’s argument that in this period Kashi’s power to confer liberation “became increasingly emphasized.”33 While references to other cities are cited in the texts, particularly Mathura by Gadādhara, these are only in passing. The absence of discussing other cities in any depth is particularly notable in the cases of Gadādhara and Harirāma since they are not writing from Banaras but rather from Navadvip, which is closer to other well-​known pilgrimage places such as Gaya and Puri.34 The main concern of nyāya intellectuals in the seventeenth century is how and why many things are able to cause liberation. In other words, they were concerned with the seemingly contradictory situation in which many causes result in the single effect of liberation. These causes were variously identified as religious practices, worship, and meditation, in addition to dying in Kashi. A large part of the problem was that these different ways to reach liberation were specified in different, though equally authoritative, Vedic texts referred to as śruti texts (those that are “extant or available”) in distinction to Vedic texts referred to as smr̥ti texts (those that are “inferentially recoverable”).35 For nyāya authors, the different ways for one to attain liberation as found in different śruti texts indicated a laxity in how the cause-​and-​effect relation was understood; and they sought to clarify the workings of this relationship. Gadādhara briefly outlines the problem in his New Essay on Liberation through the question of an interlocutor. The passage reads:

32 Patil 2013, 107–​108. To add to Patil’s examples, see also Harirāma’s definition (J. Bhattacharya 1959, 92) of liberation as “the absolution of the individual self into the highest self ” (jīvātmanaḥ paramātmani layo mokṣaḥ). 33 Minkowski 2002, 336. 34 Only Raghudeva, based in Banaras, is able to reflect on his location in Kashi. One of the manuscript colophons reads (Prajapati 2008, 16): “This Essay on Liberation, composed by Śrī Raghudeva Bhaṭṭācārya, is completed in Kashi with the blessings of Śiva in the form of Sadāśiva” (śrīmadraghudevabhaṭṭācāryaracito muktivādo ’vasitaḥ sadāśivajena kāśyām). 35 Pollock 2011, 51. As further noted by Pollock (ibid.), “Both refer in their primary connotation to one and the same thing—​the Veda, whether as something actually recited or as something whose substance only can still be recalled.”

136  Feeling and Reasoning Given that there are śruti texts in which things such as seeing the face of god when dying in places like Kashi are commonly thought of as the means to liberation, how can it be that other statements from that same śruti literature are correct? These other statements include those in the Śvetāśvatara Upaniṣad (3.8), which says: “I know that immense Person, having the color of the sun and beyond darkness. Only when a man knows him does he pass beyond death; there is no other path for getting there.” Or, more pointedly, how can knowing and doing certain things, which are not subsumed under a common element, function as causes for liberation, something which is subsumed under a common element [i.e., the state of liberation]?36

The issue raised here is that while liberation is a state that is inherently singular and uniform, there appears to be a multiplicity of ways in which that singular state is attained. And, perhaps more troubling, these multiple ways are outlined in texts that are both authoritative and yet contradictory to each other. In one case, a text may emphasize seeing the face of God and in another, like the Śvetāśvatara Upaniṣad, it may emphasize knowledge. These multiple ways complicate an analysis of how dying in Kashi produces liberation since nyāya authors adhere to the general rule that a cause has a one-​to-​ one correlation with its effect. This commitment about the cause-​and-​effect relation was formalized in the tenth century by Udayana but was accepted into the seventeenth century among nyāya authors. According to Udayana, the commitment that some cause brings about some effect is found in the notion of causality. This is defined by Udayana in both a positive and negative manner. In the first, causality is defined as that state or condition permanently associated with the time before a specific effect occurs. In negative terms, causality is defined by Udayana as a state in which a specific effect is not brought about if the necessary condition for that effect is lacking.37 Note here also that Udayana thinks of the relation between causes and effects as a relation between universals,

36 Tarkacharyya 1924, 138:  atha kāśyādimaraṇapuruṣottamamukhadarśanādikarmmaṇam api bahuśo mokṣopāyatāśruteḥ kathaṃ nānyaḥ panthāḥ ity ādeḥ sāmañjasyam. kathaṃ vā ananugatānāṃ jñānakarmmaviśeṣāṇām anugataṃ mokṣaṃ prati hetutānirvvāhaḥ. The quotation is also found in the Vājasaneyi Saṃhitā (3.1.18). Since nyāya authors often quote from the Upaniṣads, I prioritize the Śvetāśvatara Upaniṣad in my translation. The passage of the Śvetāśvatara Upaniṣad (3.8) is quoted in full here, though only excerpted by Gadādhara. I use the translation of Olivelle for this quotation (1998, 421). 37 In his Nyāyakusumāñjalī (Upadhyaya and Sastri 1957, 150): pūrvakālaniyatajātīyatvaṃ sahakāri vaikalyaprayuktakāryābhāvavattvaṃ veti.

Dying  137 rather than particulars: “The fact of something’s being a cause,” he says, “is regulated by a universal; and so is the fact of something’s being an effect.”38 It is important to keep this conception of cause and effect in mind when examining how dying in Kashi produces liberation because it means that nyāya intellectuals, particularly Harirāma, will attempt to identify the universal through which the effect of liberation is brought about. The import of Udayana’s arguments, more generally, is that Harirāma, Gadādhara, and Raghudeva all take for granted that there can be no plurality of causes since then we could never determine the specific cause of a specific effect through our cognitive processes like inferential reasoning.39 This requirement also applies to the liberation gained by dying in Kashi. The commitment to Udayana’s theory of cause and effect resulted in nyāya intellectuals arguing for a single cause of liberation. This single cause was identified as true knowledge (tattva-​jñāna). In other words, in all cases of liberation, true knowledge is what causes liberation to take place; and this must be in operation when someone dies in Kashi. On this point, Harirāma briefly states the solution: Because of the śruti text, the Śvetāśvatara Upaniṣad (3.8), which says, “I know that immense Person, having the color of the sun and beyond darkness. Only when a man knows him does he pass beyond death; there is no other path for getting there,” we know that without true knowledge liberation cannot occur. Therefore, given this explanation for how liberation works, true knowledge is a necessary condition when dying in Kashi and in other such practices.40

This solution, however, was not easy to sustain. Recalling the questions posed by Gadādhara’s interlocutor, there are instances where other valid and authoritative religious texts tell us otherwise. Raghudeva poses an objection to similar arguments of his own, indicating that this was an intractable problem: “Given that there are śruti texts which say things like “liberation is 38 Jetly 1971, 23: kāraṇatvaṃ hi sāmānyena niyamyate kāryatvañ ca. Also, Chadha 2014, 289. 39 As Udayana argues (Upadhyaya and Sastri 1957, 71):  “For, if the power of cause and effect belonging to one universal could inhere in the cause-​and-​effect relation of other universals, then on the basis of a known effect, its specific cause could nowhere be inferred” (yadi hi vijātīyeṣv apy ekajātīyakāryakāraṇaśaktiḥ samaveyād na kāryāt kāraṇaviśeṣaḥ kvāpy anumīyeta).” 40 J. Bhattacharya 1959, 88: tam eva viditvātimr̥tyum [i]‌ti nānyaḥ panthā vidyate ’yanāya iti śrutyā tattvajñānaṃ vinā na muktir iti pratipādanāt kāśīmaraṇādisthale ’pi tattvajñānam āvaśyakam eva. For the Śvetāśvatara Upaniṣad, I use Olivelle (1998, 421), though only excerpted by Harirāma.

138  Feeling and Reasoning a result of dying in Kashi,” it is proven that dying in Kashi is a direct cause of liberation, even without true knowledge.”41 The evidence presented by Raghudeva’s interlocutor here appears to be incontrovertible. In fact, those who make these sorts of objections using other authoritative texts argue that it is simply less confusing to accept that liberation has multiple causes. Harirāma, however, completely disagrees, arguing forcefully against such an approach. He begins by citing the objection: But, it is said that true knowledge aided by daily ritual prayers performed in one’s own hermitage is the instrumental cause for liberation. And so, in this regard, the smr̥ti text, the Br̥hadyogiyājñavalkyasmr̥ti (9.29), reads, “Just as birds fly in the sky by means of their two wings, the eternal brahman is reached via knowledge and rituals. Therefore, knowledge without ritual action cannot be the most important thing and without understanding, ritual action cannot be the most important thing. Therefore, success at attaining brahman must be a result of both of these. Indeed, a bird does not fly with only one wing.” This, however, is not correct:  There is no evidence that those ritual actions cause liberation. Rather, we have taken that smr̥ti text to mean that ritual actions of this sort simply aid [the attainment of liberation] as they are expected to occur first since they prevent those sins that hinder one from attaining true knowledge.42

The commitment that only true knowledge leads to liberation, voiced here by Harirāma, resulted in the position that authoritative texts detailing how liberation is attained should be read figuratively: Liberative practices such as daily prayers are not direct causes; rather, they only aid someone in attaining liberation. This is a position echoed by Gadādhara. He says, In all instances of liberation, only true knowledge of the self is the direct instrumental cause of that. And, dying in Kashi is a means to liberation only through true knowledge of the self. What is meant here is not that śruti

41 Prajapati 2008, 15: kāśīmaraṇān muktir iti śrutyā tattvajñānaṃ vināpi kāśīmaraṇasya sākṣān muktihetutvapratipādanād iti. 42 J. Bhattacharya 1959, 90: yat tu svāśramavihitasandhyāvandanādisahakr̥tam eva tattvajñānaṃ niḥśreyasahetuḥ. tathā ca smr̥tiḥ ubhābhyām eva pakṣābhyāṃ yathā khe pakṣiṇāṃ gatiḥ. tathaiva jñānakarmabhyāṃ prāpyate brahma śāśvatam. iti jñānaṃ pradhānaṃ na ca karmahīnaṃ karma pradhānañ ca na budhihīnam. tasmāt tayor eva bhavet prasiddhir na hy ekapakṣo vihagaḥ prayāti iti. tad asat tadr̥śakarmaṇāṃ tattvajñānapratibandhakaduritanirvartakatayā prāgapekṣitatvenāpātata upakārakatayaiva ubhābhyām ity upapattes teṣāṃ muktikāraṇatve mānābhāvād iti.

Dying  139 texts, which do say that dying in Kashi and other places is a means to liberation, are themselves causes of liberation; but, simply, that they are leading us to, or aiding us in realizing, liberation. Given this commitment, then, even though there is a formal, instrumental connection between dying in places such as Kashi and “knowledge,” our conclusion remains valid, namely, that, aside from an informal association, there is no formal connection between the many causes communicated to us in the Veda [and liberation].43

For Gadādhara, then, even though statements in authoritative religious texts do tell us that dying in Kashi is a means to liberation, these statements should not be taken literally. Rather, their value is that they tell us what helps us to attain liberation. Raghudeva argues, too, that this reading must be maintained—​true knowledge must be the ultimate cause of liberation—​since to accept anything else would result in an intractable problem: that both true knowledge and dying in Kashi (as separate causes) would be responsible for liberation, even though, from his perspective, it is logically impossible that both could be causes for that single effect.44 Much of the debate here shows these three nyāya intellectuals arguing with interlocutors who are amenable to the idea that an effect can have multiple causes. Indeed, it does appear to be an easy solution: to simply accept a multiplicity of causes and end the debate. A major problem with this conclusion, however, for authors such as Harirāma is that it allows for the possibility that the liberation attained by dying in Kashi is its own specific or unique type of liberation rather than an unqualified liberation. Thus, not only would there be different sorts of liberation (as an effect), but it would also result in different sorts of true knowledge (as a cause). For example, a different kind of liberation could be registered for those who gained true knowledge via śruti texts versus those who gained true knowledge by some other method such as dying in Kashi.45 Harirāma continues by arguing that not only is this unnecessarily complex but that it would preclude the possibility of a universal property functioning as a cause of liberation. Making use of some of the commitments of Udayana highlighted earlier, Harirāma states that the argument for a plurality of causes 43 Tarkacharyya 1924, 139: sar[v]‌atra ātmatattvajñānam eva sākṣān mokṣe hetuḥ kāśīmaraṇādeś ca tattvajñānadvārā eva mokṣopāyatā kāśīmaraṇādīnāṃ mokṣopāyatābodhakaśrutīnāṃ tatkāraṇatā nārthaḥ api tu prajoyakatvam eva ata eva jñānena saha kāśīmaraṇāder dvāradvāribhāvena samuccaye ’pi sāhityaṃ vinā vedabodhitānekakāraṇatāsthale na samuccaya iti siddhāntasyāpy avirodhaḥ. 44 Prajapati 2008, 15. 45 Misra and Shastri 1936, 229.

140  Feeling and Reasoning of liberation can only be made if we disregard the commitment that causes and effects are related via specific universal properties.46 Instead, Harirāma wants to identify the universal property of the cause that is responsible for liberation as an effect (per Udayana). Here, he returns to the idea that liberation is caused by true knowledge but expands his comments by arguing that the universal property (jāti) of true knowledge is identifiable as the universal property of the cause of liberation. Thus, the universal property of true knowledge as a cause is related to the universal property of liberation as an effect. This amounts to arguing that the “state” of true knowledge causes the “state” of liberation. On these points, Harirāma makes the following argument: Surely, aided by the parsimony of one of the hypotheses,47 an instrument of valid cognition [such as inference], through which one comes to know how something as an effect is delimited [e.g., liberation as an effect], proves the existence of the universal property of true knowledge. Therefore, only the universal property of true knowledge delimits the effect of liberation that is brought about by dying in Kashi. This is a result of the fact that a multiplicity [of universals as causes] would be extremely complex since that would allow for an absurd number of things as potential causes. [Thus, the hypothesis that true knowledge is the sole cause of liberation is a much more parsimonious hypothesis.]48

For Harirāma, then, and so for Gadādhara and Raghudeva, the idea that true knowledge is the sole cause of liberation must be logically required if one is to remain committed to the idea that there is no plurality of causes. Of course, it is still possible that we may heuristically or figuratively speak of things such as dying in Kashi as “causes” of liberation, but this is not technically accurate. For Harirāma, true knowledge will always be the sole cause of liberation as an effect, even if other things like daily prayers or dying in Kashi aid us in that pursuit.49 46 Ibid. 47 On this type of parsimony called śarīra-​lāghava, see Chakravarty 2005, 36: “[This] implies that of two necessary antecedents (or equally matched hypotheses) the one that is analyzable into fewer constituents is more economical.” The two hypotheses here are that there are either many causes or only one cause of liberation. 48 Misra and Shastri 1936, 229: kāryatāvacchedakagrāhakapramāṇam eva śarīralāghavasahakr̥taṃ tattvajñānagatajātiṃ sādhayati iti saiva kāśīmaraṇajanyatāvacchedikā viśiṣṭatvasya bahutarapadārthaghaṭitatvenātigurutvāt. 49 J.  Bhattacharya 1959, 88–​89:  “Positing, on the one hand, that true knowledge, which is brought about by dying in Kashi and other things, results in those things being thought of as causes [of liberation]; and, on the other hand, positing that it is the formal, regulating cause

Dying  141 To sum up: As is apparent in these arguments, nyāya intellectuals are exceptionally committed to the idea that true knowledge is the only and single cause of liberation. This means that when we are told that liberation occurs as a result of dying in Kashi, what is really being said is that dying in Kashi leads to true knowledge, which then results in bringing about liberation. In this argument, then, true knowledge appears as the ultimate (or final) cause by which liberation is produced. This position fits well with larger nyāya conceptions of causality in which a certain thing is identified as a “special” cause, termed the karaṇa, as opposed to the “nonspecial” cause, the kāraṇa.50 Given this larger theoretical backdrop within which nyāya authors are arguing, it is important to step back and draw a connection to the arguments of two nyāya authors who wrote primers on nyāya in the early modern period, Jagadīśa Tarkālaṅkāra and Annaṃbhaṭṭa. In these primers, each discussed contemporary views in nyāya about causality and presented arguments that are relevant to the discussion. In his Compendium on Logic, Annaṃbhaṭṭa presents quick and ready definitions of the crucial terms in the debate. These terms are the “special” and “nonspecial” cause as well as the definition of an “effect.” He says that a special cause is one that “contains the operation [necessary to bring about the effect].” However, a nonspecial cause is “that prior condition relevant to the effect.” And, finally, an effect is the “positive correlative of [that effect’s own] absence before it comes about [as a positive entity].”51 In these remarks, Annaṃbhaṭṭa helps to clarify two aspects of causality: (1) the special cause contains within it something called “the operation”; and (2) the nonspecial cause creates the conditions required for the special cause which contains the operation. Let us see how we might use this vocabulary in the debate about dying in Kashi as a cause for liberation. This is best done by thinking though the term “operation.” This first requires, however, turning to comments made by Jagadīśa in his Essence of Logic. Jagadīśa not only helps to clarify what the of that [i.e., the effect of liberation] is not incorrect as this is a workable, if admittedly complex, hypothesis” (tādr̥śakāraṇatvopapādakasya kāśīmaraṇādijanyatattvajñānasya kalpanāyās tanniyāmakakāraṇatvakalpanāyāś ca phalamukhagauravasampādakatvenādoṣatvam ity). On this type of hypothesis, see Dash 1999, 368. 50 Potter 1977, 57; Bhattacharya and Potter 2011, 48. 51 Paraba 1883, 13:  vyāpāravad  .  .  .  karaṇam.  .  .  . kāryaniyatapūrvavr̥tti kāraṇam. kāryaṃ prāgabhāvapratiyogi.

142  Feeling and Reasoning “operation” is, but also sets it within the workings of inferential reasoning. He says, The operation is that which makes something come about. . . . [In inferential reasoning,] the operation is what is called “consideration.” And, consideration means knowing that something—​as the property of a locus—​is qualified by a concomitance. Consider this statement as an example: “Some locus x is a location of smoke, which is, in turn, concomitant with fire.”52

Jagadīśa comments clarify that the operation is what is ultimately responsible for bringing about some effect. But what is the use of drawing a parallel to inferential reasoning? Although somewhat unclear, the parallel becomes very useful if we substitute the example given by Jagadīśa with the various terms of the discussion on dying in Kashi. In fact, we can easily map the causal process presented here onto the way in which dying in Kashi, true knowledge, and liberation are related. This mapping is made possible by Harirāma’s claim at the beginning of his Essay on Dying in Kashi as a Cause (of Liberation) that “It is an established conclusion that dying in Kashi is the nonspecial cause (kāraṇa) of liberation by means of true knowledge.”53 I submit that Harirāma’s statement contains the theoretical framework adumbrated by Jagadīśa and Annaṃbhaṭṭa. First, the “nonspecial,” regulating cause is “dying in Kashi.” Second, the “special” cause that contains the operation is “true knowledge”: This is indicated by Harirāma, who states that it is “by means of ” (dvārā) true knowledge that liberation comes about—​ assigning a very explicit operation or instrumentality to true knowledge. From identifying these two types of causes, we must now place them in relation to each other and link them to the effect of liberation. Recall that Jagadīśa’s example of the operation (as the consideration) is “Some locus x is a location of smoke which is, in turn, concomitant with fire.” Here, then, the operation must indicate a concomitance between two terms. In our debate, these terms are “dying in Kashi” and “true knowledge.” Furthermore, I suggest thinking of Jagadīśa’s locus as “a person.” With these terms properly assigned, we can posit the following: A person is a locus of dying in Kashi, which is, in turn, a state that is concomitant with true knowledge. In other words, there is a concomitance between dying in Kashi and true knowledge 52 Mishra 1996, 41:  vyāpāraś ca tajjanyatve sati tajjanyajanakaḥ.  .  .  . parāmarśo vyāpāraḥ. parāmarśaś ca vyāptiviśiṣṭapakṣadharmatājñānam. yathā vahnivyāpyadhūmavān ayam iti. 53 Misra and Shastri 1936, 228: kāśīmaraṇaṃ mokṣakāraṇaṃ tattvajñānadvārā iti siddhāntaḥ.

Dying  143 just as there is between smoke and fire. In sum, dying in Kashi regulates the effect of liberation, but it does not play the role of a special cause that ultimately brings about liberation. That is left to true knowledge, which, as a special cause, is the operation that brings about liberation, although it remains an operation dependent upon dying in Kashi as “the prior condition that regulates the effect, which would not have otherwise come about” (per Annaṃbhaṭṭa’s definition of the “nonspecial” cause). Together, then, the special and nonspecial causes represent the complex through which the effect of liberation is brought about. More technically, and following Annaṃbhaṭṭa’s definition of an effect given earlier, the effect of liberation is the positive correlative of the prior absence of the state of liberation that existed within a person. Of course, it must be admitted that the claim that true knowledge is the cause of liberation is not a claim unique to nyāya authors. Rather, nyāya intellectuals are merely theorizing upon an already accepted commitment among Sanskrit scholars about the relationship between dying in Kashi and liberation. For example, the claim that true knowledge is the only cause of liberation is also made by Nāgeśa Bhaṭṭa (c. 1670, Banaras). Nāgeśa argues for this position vis-​à-​vis Prayag, rather than Kashi, but frames his comments in a very similar way to how Harirāma presents his arguments, even quoting from the same passage of the Śvetāśvatara Upaniṣad (3.8). Nāgeśa says: By dying in Prayag, liberation takes place only through true knowledge. In this way, there is no contradiction with the śruti text, Śvetāśvatara Upaniṣad (3.8), which says, “Only when a man knows him [does he pass beyond death].” Nor does it contradict the idea that living beings are liberated by dying in Prayag through knowledge of brahman.54

It is not clear if Nāgeśa was reading the arguments of nyāya authors, but the fact that he quotes the same passage from the Śvetāśvatara Upaniṣad indicates that a larger debate was taking place among Sanskrit scholars that relied upon the shared philosophical tradition of the Upaniṣads. Other scholars made similar arguments as Nāgeśa. However, these were in the context of the tāraka prayer and the role of Śiva in teaching that prayer to those who were dying in Kashi. Sureśvarācārya (seventeenth century, 54 S. Sukla 1997, 25: prayāgamaraṇenāpi tattvajñānadvāraiva mokṣo ’taḥ tam eva viditvā iti śrutyā na virodhaḥ. brahmajñānena mucyante prayāgamaraṇena vā.

144  Feeling and Reasoning Banaras?), for example, in his Analysis of Liberation in Kashi states, “Having obtained knowledge from Śiva at the moment of the last breath, all beings, bound by beginningless ignorance, are liberated.”55 Nārāyaṇa Bhaṭṭa says something similar in his Bridge to the Three Sacred Places: “We know from smr̥ti and śruti texts, which say things such as ‘Only from knowledge does liberation occur,’ that liberation cannot take place in the absence of knowledge. Knowledge of the self, then, arises here [in Kashi] only from the tāraka prayer, which is desired at the feet of that guru called Viśveśvara (Śiva).”56 Nārāyaṇa then supports his comments by referring to a passage from the Kāśikhaṇḍa that emphasizes the importance of knowledge in attaining liberation.57 Given these remarks by Sureśvarācārya and Nārāyaṇa, nyāya authors appear to be echoing this commitment to true knowledge as the “special” cause of liberation. However, they are making sense of this commitment within their own disciplinary vocabulary through their own conception of the cause-​and-​effect relation. In short, what we are witnessing here is an attempt by nyāya scholars to take part in a larger conversation while bringing their own disciplinary concerns to the foreground—​resulting in a “logical turn” in the debate about dying in Kashi as a cause of liberation. If nyāya authors are participating in a larger debate about dying in Kashi, an important question that follows is how nyāya intellectuals discuss the belief that Śiva teaches the tāraka prayer when someone dies in Kashi. This is a major component to discussions on dying in Kashi, and it must be addressed briefly. Curiously, however, this issue is discussed only by Gadādhara; both Harirāma and Raghudeva make no mention of it. Gadādhara’s treatment of the tāraka prayer is important because it is here that we learn how true knowledge is gained through the tāraka prayer. It is also here that we return to Jagannātha’s remarks about the definition of dying. In his remarks, Gadādhara begins by responding to an interlocutor who argues, “As knowledge cannot arise when someone is dead, you have to posit that someone is reborn again after dying in Kashi since there is no other way [to learn that teaching].” Gadādhara, however, responds by saying,

55 Ibid., 1:  prāṇaprayāṇasamaye prāpya jñānaṃ maheśvarāt. mucyante jantavaḥ sarve baddhāś cānādyavidyayā. I know of this passage from Eck 1982, 333–​334. 56 Gokhale 1915, 292:  jñānād eva tu kaivalyam ityādiśrutismr̥tibhyo jñānābhāve mokṣābhāvād viśveśvarākhyagurupadiṣṭatārakād evātratmajñānotpattiḥ. I  know of this passage from Eck 1982, 333–​334. 57 Gokhale 1915, 292: “All beings are liberated through sacred knowledge wherever they are; there is no other way” (brahmajñānena mucyante nānyathā jantavaḥ kvacit).

Dying  145 The teaching of the tāraka prayer by Rudra (Śiva), the Great Lord, occurs right at the moment when someone is about to die—​of course it is not possible to teach someone who is dead. And so, on this point, the śruti text, Jābāla Upaniṣad (1), reads: “For here [in Avimukta], as the vital breaths depart from a person, Rudra reveals the tāraka prayer by which he becomes immortal and attains liberation.” . . . And if those sentences in these texts, which tell us that dying in Kashi is a cause [of liberation], mean that the teaching of the tāraka prayer at the time of dying is the reason for liberation . . . then it ought to be acknowledged that true knowledge is possible even though one is in that [dying] body.58

Gadādhara tells us here that the tāraka prayer is heard right at the moment of death—​a moment captured by his use of the abstract desiderative, “the state of being about to die” (mumūrṣutā) and, crucially, a moment in which one is still in a body, that is, still alive. This understanding of the term “dying” by Gadādhara is exactly as Jagannātha used it in his definition: a moment just prior to the end of life. Indeed, this reading of the term “dying” in its secondary sense is required; otherwise, as the interlocutor notes, the tāraka prayer could not be taught since that dying person would not be alive to learn that teaching, just as someone would not be alive to express the emotions required to generate the intended aesthetic sentiment of a literary composition, as noted by Jagannātha.

A Logical Definition Part of the reason scholars can successfully argue for a secondary sense of maraṇa is a result of the type of word it is: Maraṇa is a verbal or action noun in which the action conveyed is the act of becoming dead. The implied meaning here then is a process in which one transitions from life to death, suggesting that maraṇa is a liminal state between each. Yet, even though some of its meaning can be recovered in this manner, we are still left with 58 Tarkacharyya 1924, 140: mr̥taśarīrāvacchedena jñānotpattyasambhavena kāśīmaraṇādyuttaraṃ śarīrāntaraparigraho ’pi kalpyate ananyagatikatvāt. bhagavato mahārudrasya tārakopadeśas tu mumūrṣutādaśāyām eva mr̥tasyopadeśyatvāsambhavāt. tathā ca śrutiḥ atra hi jantoḥ prāṇeṣu utkramamāṇeṣu rudras tārakaṃ brahma vyācaṣṭe yenāsāv amr̥tī bhūtvā mokṣo bhavati.  .  .  .  yadi ca kāśīmaraṇakāraṇatābodhakavākyānāṃ tadānīm āvaśyakasya tārakopadeśasya hetutāyām eva tātparyyam . . . tadā taccharīrāvacchedenāpi tattvajñānasambhavo bodhyaḥ. For this portion of the Jābāla Upaniṣad, see first section of this chapter.

146  Feeling and Reasoning the question of how this term should be defined and addressed with suitable philosophical rigor.59 One of the most in-​depth treatments on the term maraṇa in the discipline of nyāya is found in an anonymous vāda essay entitled An Essay on the Production of the Property-​Relation.60 In this essay, the author defines maraṇa succinctly as “the final and ultimate destruction of the connection between the breath and the body.”61 In other words, maraṇa is a condition in which one’s breath and one’s body become irrevocably disassociated from each other. This definition appears to have been generally accepted among nyāya authors—​and we might also include Jagannātha, given that he considers living to entail a connection between the body and the breath.62 More broadly, the anonymous author of this essay argues that whether someone is dying (maraṇa) or whether someone is dead (atīta), there exists in both cases a special type of relation that links the body of that person to an absence (the body taken formally as the locus in which there is a destruction of the connection between the breath and the body). This special relation is called viśeṣaṇatā and is what links an absence to a particular locus—​I discussed this relation in Chapter 2 vis-​à-​vis the concept of “absential objectivity” (vaiśiṣṭya).63 The point here is that this relation of absence is in operation when someone is dying or when someone is dead because what is being destroyed or what is becoming absent is the specific qualities (cognition, will, desire, etc.) of a person. This indicates, for our anonymous author, that the definition of dying as a “destruction” of a connection between the breath and the body describes the emergence of a posterior absence (dhvaṃsābhāva) in a particular locus—​the absence or “destruction” (dhvaṃsa) of a person’s qualities in a location, the body, where those qualities used to exist. Importantly, however, the anonymous author further argues that this special type of relation, viśeṣaṇatā, is also found vis-​à-​vis living bodies. Indeed, this latter

59 I do not discuss the definition of prāyaṇa. This term can also be glossed in English as dying or death, but as understood by nyāya intellectuals it conveys a finality that is not necessarily present in the term maraṇa; see the Nyāyasiddhāntatattvaviveka by Gokulanātha Upādhyāya (1650–​1720, Mithila): “The meaning of the word prāyaṇa is the ultimate destruction of the connection between the body and the self ” (prāyaṇapadārthaḥ śarīrātmasaṃyogasya caramo nāśaḥ) (folio 116a, line 2). I thank Ethan Kroll for this reference and for providing me a copy of this folio. 60 The author is likely from Bengal in the second half of the seventeenth century; see Wright 2017a, 172n64. 61 Misra and Shastri 1936, 254: caramaprāṇaśarīrasaṃyogadhvaṃśātmakamaraṇasya. 62 P. Dvivedi 1998, 143: bhāveṣu ca sarveṣu . . . śarīraprāṇasaṃyogasya hetutvāt. 63 See Chapter 2 for references.

Dying  147 position should be widely accepted: We often do think of certain qualities as absent in us while thinking of others as present.64 This last point—​that the special relation is found in living bodies—​is taken up with more specificity by Harirāma Tarkavāgīśa in his Essay on Dying in Kashi as a Cause (of Liberation). Here, he is concerned with working out a specific conception of maraṇa solely in its secondary sense. Harirāma agrees that dying is the termination or “destruction” of the connection between the breath and the body; and that this destruction stands for an absence in a body—​a type of absence technically called a posterior absence or dhvaṃsābhāva, as noted earlier. However, he stresses two additional aspects:  (1) that this destruction-​cum-​absence takes place while someone is living (jīvana); and (2) that this absence is actually not different from the absence of the connection between the breath and the body before it comes about in a person—​what is technically called a prior absence or prāgābhāva. In other words, when we talk about dying, we are talking about a state in which a posterior absence and a prior absence actually mark the same thing, namely, the absence of a connection between the breath and the body—​only, in the former absence, that connection has ended and, in the latter absence, that connection is just about to come into being. In my reading, Harirāma makes this argument precisely because he understands the locus of the posterior absence or dhvaṃsābhāva to be a living body. Harirāma writes, The destruction of the connection between the breath and the body, which takes place while someone is living, is not actually different from the state in which there is a prior absence of a connection between the breath and the body [such as the moment before life is attributed to a body]. This claim is made because of the presence of a double relation [on the part of that destruction-​cum-​absence vis-​à-​vis its locus, the living body]. These relations are: (1) Having the same locus [as that living body] and (2) Occurring at the same time [as that living body]. On account of this, we do not speak

64 Misra and Shastri 1936, 254: “Concerning someone who is dead, maraṇa, as defined, applies to a dead body since we find there a special relation linking an absence of something to that locus [e.g., an absence of breath in that dead body]. This argument is made because, . . . in cases where we consider some locus with that special type of relation to be a dead body, a destruction of qualities that had earlier transpired there is seen in that locus (i.e., that body)—​just like in the case of a living body” (atītaśarīre ’pi atītatādaśāyāṃ viśeṣaṇatāviśeṣeṇa niruktamaraṇaṃ varttata eva  .  .  .  svāśrayotpannaguṇādināśasya viśeṣaṇatāviśeṣeṇāśrayasya varttamānatādaśāyām ivātītatādaśāyām āśraye sattvāt).

148  Feeling and Reasoning of this moment as death [that is, we do not use the primary sense of the term maraṇa here].65

While this is perhaps an odd argument to make, it has a very useful application: It means that the termination of the connection between the breath and the body when one is living contains the potential for this connection to return, and so it contains the potential for life. To be sure, we do use the expression “brought back to life” to describe someone who was seemingly dead or, better, was dying. In addition, when someone is dying, the person does appear to lack certain qualities (per our anonymous author), but it seems at times that those qualities may return depending on the perceived condition of that dying person. In my interpretation of this passage, then, Harirāma is trying to argue for two simultaneous events at the moment of dying: (1) the destruction or termination of the breath in a body and (2) the potential for its return in that same body. This is possible because each absence (posterior and prior) is related to the same locus, the same living body, at the same time. This explanation also maps well onto the idea by our anonymous author that a dying body, in its capacity of being an absence of certain qualities, also resembles a living body in which certain qualities are absent but may return. In other words, a dying body can be the location of a “destruction” of certain qualities, but because this takes place while someone is living (per Harirāma), those qualities may also reappear—​a situation in which that body is the location of a prior absence of those qualities. Such an understanding of maraṇa is also found in Jagannātha’s analysis of his own verse I quoted from at the very beginning of this chapter. On the question of how maraṇa leads to the rasa of the erotic thwarted instead of the tragic, he explains: This emotion of dying underwrites the rasa of the erotic thwarted given that the girl’s “coming back to life” (pratyujjīvana) is narrated by surrounding sentences along with subsequent sentences suggestive of the same that

65 Ibid.,230: jīvanakālīnasyaprāṇaśarīrasaṃyoganāśasya[svasāmānādhikaraṇyasvasamānakālīnatva-​]tādr̥śobhayasambandhena prāṇaśarīrasaṃyogaprāgabhāvavadanyatvavirahād evāntarā na maraṇavyavahāraḥ. The antecedent of tādr̥śobhaya given in square brackets is provided earlier by Harirāma (ibid., line 4).

Dying  149 create such a literary structure. Otherwise, if such an interpretation is not accepted, this emotion underwrites the rasa of the tragic.66

One of the sentences that indicates the possibility that the heroine of Jagannātha’s verse will come back to life is specifically highlighted by Jagannātha in his discussion. He says, The fact that the girl does not forget the virtues of her beloved even at her very last moments, which is being suggested by the sentence, “Reminiscing about the virtues of her beloved . . . ,” ultimately determines whether what is brought forth is the rasa of the erotic thwarted or the tragic.67

In comparing the analysis of both Jagannātha and Harirāma, what we find is a shared conception of maraṇa that allows for both philosophical and poetic composition. Indeed, nyāya intellectuals following Harirāma and our anonymous author would likely argue that Jagannātha’s verse is a literary expression of the philosophical workings of maraṇa: The heroine is a location of the absence of certain qualities such as speech but is also a location of other qualities such as remembering. This indicates that although it appears that the connection between her breath and body is becoming absent (dhvaṃsābhāva)—​expressed by the absence of speech—​this connection has the potential to return (prāgābhāva) and, with it, life—​since she is also “reminiscing” in her final moments. Given, then, that she is moving back and forth between these two states or, more formally, is a locus of these two absences, maraṇa is shown to be a liminal state between life and death.68 Harirāma has theorized the moment before death in a nuanced manner by making use of nyāya theories of absence. Yet it must be admitted that we still do not know how this definition of dying helps us make sense of dying 66 P.  Dvivedi 1998, 144:  ayaṃ ca bhāvaḥ svavyañjakavākyottaravartinā vākyāntareṇa sandarbhaghaṭakena nāyikādeḥ pratyujjīvanavarṇane vipralambhasya anyathā tu karuṇasya poṣaka iti vivekaḥ. 67 Ibid., 144:  dayitasya guṇān anusmarantīty anena vyajyamānaṃ caramāvasthāyām api tasyā dayitaguṇavismaraṇaṃ nābhūd iti vastu vipralambhasya śokasya vā caramam abhivyaktasya poṣakam. 68 This condition is also represented well cinematographically in Satyajit Ray’s film Aparajito when Apu’s father dies in Banaras: Some of his qualities have been destroyed, but since he is still alive, those qualities returning is a theoretical possibility (S. Ray 1956). While we might describe this scene similar to Jagannātha’s verse, we might also describe it philosophically in the terms provided to us by Harirāma: that the posterior and prior absence of his qualities (cognition, will, desire, etc.) are simultaneously present in a locus at the same time, namely, in the body of Apu’s father, Harihar (played by Kanu Banerjee).

150  Feeling and Reasoning in Kashi, in particular. Harirāma’s answer to this question is anticlimactic. His solution is to take recourse in the concept of adr̥ṣṭa—​the unseen merits and demerits (or unseen moral qualities) that are unique to a person and determine a person’s fate. Incorporating the concept of adr̥ṣṭa into the debate is somewhat disingenuous: Adr̥ṣṭa can exert influence in nonrational ways. However, it is useful for making certain terms relate exclusively to one person since these moral qualities appear nowhere else, by definition, and so must bring about effects unique to the person in which they are located. This means that those who die in Kashi are in some way fated to die in Kashi as a result of their specific moral qualities. In other words, what gives dying in Kashi the causal regularity to lead to liberation is that dying in Kashi pertains to a person with a self that has specific moral qualities which lead that person to die in Kashi.69 The added benefit, for Harirāma, is that true knowledge has not yet been made part of this causal process. This means that for Harirāma the reason why we die in Kashi and the reason for liberation can be analytically separated. First, someone dies in Kashi as a result of his or her specific moral qualities (the person is “meant” to there). Then, in light of being aided by one’s moral qualities, liberation occurs through the attainment of true knowledge. Here, we must assume that this true knowledge is attained after hearing Śiva’s teaching of the tāraka prayer, even though Harirāma does not make this explicit like Gadādhara. In making this argument, Harirāma does appear to stress the importance of ethical actions during the course of one’s life; and he is perhaps speaking to the concern raised by his contemporaries that anyone can achieve liberation by dying in Kashi regardless of how ethically one has lived.70

Dying in Context An interesting aspect of the earlier discussion is that we have been addressing a practice that is still current in contemporary India. As such, I assume many readers have been imagining the discussion as it relates to the Banaras that they know. This sort of reading practice was almost certainly undertaken 69 Misra and Shastri 1936, 229–​230: “The destruction or termination of the connection of such a kind (between the breath and the body) is a non-​special cause (kāraṇa) [of liberation]. This takes place since that destruction or termination is in a relation with a self that has unique moral qualities—​ that self being in a body, which, in turn, is the substratum of that destruction or termination” (svāśrayaśarīrāvacchinnādr̥ṣṭavattvasambandhena tādr̥śadhvaṃsasya kāraṇatve). 70 Minkowski 2002, 337–​338.

Dying  151 by nyāya authors as well who wrote and read about dying in Kashi. Nyāya intellectuals would have certainly imagined their work and their readers within the context of life in Banaras, in general. What, then, are some of the social and historical contexts within which these texts were written and why would these issues be of such interest at this historical moment? Perhaps the most general context for this writing on Kashi is the Pax Mughalana of the seventeenth century which appears to have increased travel and pilgrimage across India as detailed by Christopher Bayly.71 This had a major effect on Banaras, Bayly argues, which is appreciated in the development of “large-​ scale ritual industries” paralleling large increases in commerce in the city.72 Of course, we cannot reduce nyāya philosophical writing to social and historical factors, but what we can argue is that these were factors that allowed writing on Kashi to make sense.73 Much research has taken place on Banaras as a center for Sanskrit scholars and the center of what Rosalind O’Hanlon has called the “Brahmanical ecumene” (see Chapter 5).74 As has been demonstrated in a number of recent studies, Banaras was the hinge point for the Sanskrit scholarly community in the early modern period, and the city had a robust communication network across India.75 From the perspective of the discipline of nyāya, Banaras was home to a number of nyāya scholars, many of whom migrated from various towns in India, particularly Navadvip, after their studies. Migration can be charted from the second half of the sixteenth century and increased in the seventeenth century, which also helps explain why Banaras had become more of a concern in nyāya scholarship. Once in Banaras, nyāya authors took part in shared intellectual practices such as engaging with Mughal rulers and political families or participating in debates that concerned issues of importance to Sanskrit scholars such as caste identities.76 Audrey Truschke has studied Sanskrit literary production in Banaras and its close association with the Mughal court through which Sanskrit was made part of the “Mughal imperial project.”77 Part of that activity, as she examines, is the writing of panegyrics to Mughal rulers and political families 71 Bayly 1981, 160–​169. 72 Ibid., 166. 73 Collingwood 1964, 37–​38. 74 O’Hanlon 2011. 75 The literature on this is too long to list comprehensively; a short list would include O’Hanlon and Minkowski 2008; O’Hanlon and Washbrook 2011; Minkowski, O’Hanlon, and Venkatkrishnan 2015; and Pollock 2005a, 2005b. 76 O’Hanlon 2010, 2013a; O’Hanlon and Minkowski 2008; and Wright 2016. 77 Truschke 2016, 97.

152  Feeling and Reasoning closely associated with the Mughal court.78 Nyāya intellectuals occasionally took part in this activity as well. Rudra Nyāyavācaspati, a well-​known nyāya scholar in Banaras and the son of the famous Kāśīnātha Vidyānivāsa (Bhaṭṭācārya), not to be confused with Rudrakavi from Maharashtra, wrote a praise poem in 136 verses of Mān Siṃha’s son Bhāva Siṃha (r. 1614–​1621). Entitled the Bhāvavilāsa, he praises both men in elegant verse and specifies that Bhāva Siṃha is someone who patronizes scholarly activities.79 This practice was continued by Rudra’s son and pupil, Govinda Bhaṭṭācārya,80 who composed a praise poem in honor of Shāh Jahān’s chief minister, Āsaf Khān (1628–​1641), just like Jagannātha Paṇḍitarāja had done as well.81 In this poem, entitled Padyamuktāvalī, Govinda speaks of Āsaf Khān as “the minister of the great king, that jeweled-​foundation, King Śrīmat Śrī Shāh Jahān, son of Śrī Jahāṃgīr, a jewel in the family of the mighty Akbar, the axis of the world.”82 Other examples of this sort by nyāya scholars include writing verses for the well-​known praise anthology entitled the Kavīndracandrodaya presented to Kavīndrācārya (c. 1650) in Banaras, in celebration of his success in petitioning Shāh Jahān to end a tax on pilgrims to Banaras and Prayag.83 The point in recounting this historical background is to stress that nyāya authors in seventeenth-​century Banaras were not disengaged from or disinterested in political realities. Indeed, these sorts of engagements appear to have happened since at least the mid-​sixteenth century. As is well known, Rudra Nyāyavācaspati’s father, Kāśīnātha Vidyānivāsa, engaged in a debate with Nārāyaṇa Bhaṭṭa, a well-​known mīmāṃsā scholar, at an assembly organized by Ṭoḍaramala, Akbar’s chief finance minister. In this encounter,

78 Ibid., 64–​100. 79 For Rudrakavi from Maharashtra, see Truschke 2016, 81. The Rudra of the Bhāvavilāsa concludes by identifying himself as “Nyāyavācaspati, son of Vidyānivāsa”; see Durgaprasad, Parab, and Panshikar 1932, 128. This is similar to his other works; see D. Bhattacharya 2007, 274. For verses to Bhāva Siṃha, see Durgaprasad, Parab, and Panshikar 1932, 111–​112. 80 Not to be confused with the nyāya author of the same name from Bengal. 81 Truschke 2015, 429–​430; 2016, 89–​92. 82 This is held only in manuscript form (Royal Library of Bikaner) and is quoted in D. Bhattacharya 2007, 275, v. 18: asti kṣmācakraśakrākabarakulamaṇiśrījahāṃgīrasūnuśrīmacchrīsāhajāhābhidhanr̥­ patimaṇ[i]‌bhūmahendrasya mantrī. 83 Truschke 2015, 421–​422. Based on Sharma and Patkar (1939, i–​x), these nyāya scholars are Jayarāma Nyāyapañcānana (verses 41–​44) and Mādhavabhaṭṭa (verse 45), who both signed the nirṇayapatra of 1657; Rāmadeva Bhaṭṭācārya (verses 46–​47)—​son of Viśvanātha (Siddhānta) Pañcānana, the youngest brother of Rudra Nyāyavācaspati. D. Bhattacharya speculates on the basis of some documents that Rāmadeva left Banāras in 1669 and went to Bikrampur in the village of Paścimpāṛā (2007, 277). The list also includes Rāmeśvara Pañcānana Bhaṭṭācārya (verses 86–​87)—​ nothing known; and Jagannātha Pañcānana Bhaṭṭācārya (prose passage 1–​9)—​likely the son of Vidyānivāsa who wrote a text entitled Nañvādaviveka; see D. Bhattacharya 2007, 191.

Dying  153 Nārāyaṇa is said to have defeated not only Vidyānivāsa but also scholars from Mithila and Bengal, presumably scholars of nyāya.84 The few examples presented here demonstrate that nyāya intellectuals were active participants in the larger Sanskrit scholarly community in Banaras. The most important and interesting example of this is preserved in a number of judgments signed and dated by a large number of Sanskrit scholars. One of the earliest that dates to 1583 demonstrates the diversity of the Sanskrit scholarly community in Banaras who had migrated from various regional centers of Sanskrit learning, contributing to a new scholarly milieu in early modern Banaras.85 The letter, stating that Brahmins from different regions should not be hostile (dveṣu) toward each other, is signed by a cross-​section of Sanskrit scholars from different regions of India now living in Banaras: scholars from the Konkan, Maharashtra, Gujarat, Bengal, and Mithila were present and signed the letter.86 The scholars associated with the last two regions were Kāśīnātha Vidyānivāsa (Bhaṭṭācārya), described as the head of the Gauda Brahmins (western Bengal), and Raghupati Upādhyāya, head of the Tairabhuktas (Mithila or Tirhut in present-​day Bihar).87 While a number of judgments have been preserved from this period, the most important for the discussion in this chapter is one from 1657 that adjudicates on the matter of whether members of the Devarshi community from Maharashtra were Brahmins.88 This judgment was signed by seventy-​seven Sanskrit scholars. The topic of the letter is not what interests me here, however. Rather, I am interested in who signed this letter. As has been discussed by Dineshchandra Bhattacharya, this judgment was signed by six scholars who wrote on nyāya.89 Most importantly, among these was Raghudeva Nyāyālaṅkāra, the author of An Essay on Liberation examined

84 Benson 2001, 113n12. For more on this encounter, see Ganeri 2011, 76. 85 For the letter, see Pimputkar 1926, 76–​77. For treatments of the letter, see O’Hanlon 2010, 221 and Wright 2016, 1044. 86 Gaṇeśa Dīkṣita (Chiplunas), Kr̥ṣṇa Bhaṭṭa (Kanhare), Śeṣa Krṣṇa Bhaṭṭa (Maharasthra), Gopī Bhaṭṭa (Gujarat), [Kāśīnātha] Vidyānivāsa Bhaṭṭācārya (Gauda/​Bengal), and Raghupati Upādhyāya (Tairabhuktas/​Mithila). 87 For Vidyānivāsa, see D. Bhattacharya 2007, 63–​78; for Raghupati, see D. Bhattacharya 1948; and for Vidyānivāsa’s genealogy, see D. Bhattacharya 2007, 77. 88 For the letter, see Pimputkar 1926, 78–​81; see also O’Hanlon 2010, 229–​234 for a detailed treatment. 89 These authors are (D. Bhattacharya 1945):  Mādhavadeva, Raghudeva (Nyāyālaṅkāra) Bhaṭṭācācarya, Govinda Bhaṭṭācārya, Rāmarāma Bhaṭṭācārya, Jayarāma Nyāyapañcānana, and Nārāyaṇa Tīrtha. D.  Bhattacharya provides little information about Nārāyaṇa Tīrtha, but see Venkatkrishnan (2015a) for more about this author and his writings on bhakti.

154  Feeling and Reasoning in the prior section. As I  mentioned, Raghudeva notes that he wrote his essay from Kashi with the help of Śiva. This means that Raghudeva was deeply involved and invested in the larger Sanskrit intellectual community of early modern Banaras despite first learning in Navadvip under Harirāma. Generalizing from Raghudeva, I  submit that scholarly writing on Kashi among nyāya intellectuals paralleled a deep investment by nyāya scholars in Banaras as a place for the Sanskrit scholarly community. Thus, the interest in Kashi among nyāya intellectuals is not an ahistorical interest. Rather, this interest coincides with four developments: (1) an increase of intellectual focus among scholars in various disciplines on Kashi’s role as a place of liberation upon death, (2) an increase in migration to Kashi or Banaras among nyāya authors and other Sanskrit intellectuals, (3) an increase in the interactions between the Mughal court and scholars of the city, and (4) an increase in economic activity around ritual practices in Kashi. Taken together, the essays of Raghudeva, Gadādhara, and Harirāma, while providing at times a decidedly nyāya perspective on the question of how dying in Kashi produces liberation, can be appreciated as very timely and relevant pieces of writing.

A Teleological Feeling While this historical context is important to register, however, it is only a general context within which authors are writing. It is important to know, for example, that Raghudeva signed the judgment from 1657. But this context does not, to my mind, address the specific questions found in his Essay on Liberation. Considering these limitations, I want to address a more important aspect of nyāya discussions on dying in Kashi: how these essays produce Kashi as a place. I submit that nyāya discussions on dying in Kashi illustrate nothing less than what Henri Lefebvre called the “spatial practice” of a society: a practice that “secretes,” “presupposes,” and “produces” a society’s “social space.”90 How do we uncover this practice? For Lefebvre, a society’s spatial practice is “revealed through the deciphering of its space.”91 Undertaking deciphering, then, is a crucial analytical tool for how Lefebvre examines this practice. In

90 Lefebvre 1991, 38. 91 Ibid.

Dying  155 my discussion here, however, I would like to push for a more historically sensitive and specific identification of the agency behind this deciphering. Rather than an analysis that we perform from our own present position, I propose to examine the deciphering of Kashi as a space as it was undertaken by nyāya intellectuals.92 In speaking of spatial practice as it was constituted in early modern India, I am not, pace Lefebvre, speaking of or tacitly admitting modern forms of spatial practices that produce social space.93 In other words, while it is the production of Kashi as a social space that is of keen interest to me, that production must be appreciated through forms of knowledge and presuppositions that are unique to the period and held by nyāya authors. There is one major problem with this, however. Reading Lefebvre, we might think that it is impossible to examine how Kashi is produced as a social space since he excludes death from that space. Lefebvre writes, Death too has a “location,” but that location lies below or above appropriated social space; death is relegated to the infinite realm so as to disenthral (or purify) the finiteness in which social practice occurs, in which the law that that practice has established holds sway. Social space thus remains the space of society, of social life.94

We must challenge what Lefebvre argues here since the idea that death “lies below or above social space” is wholly questioned by Kashi as a space. Instead, we must argue that death is fully part of social life, the only difference being that Kashi is a space of “social death” rather than a space of social life. What I mean here is that death and dying do not lack sociality nor are they outside of social space occupying a nonspace; rather, they are deeply embedded within social life such that social life is structured around and part of a spatial practice that produces a space of death—​the space of social death. To push for this is also to argue, in a Nietzschean sense, that death and dying are not outside of history and are not meaningless.95 Rather, as each is used to produce Kashi as a space, each is assigned a specific meaning, with the 92 Of course, this deciphering took place among scholars across disciplinary locations and, in this way, was a collective of Sanskrit intellectuals. My emphasis on nyāya intellectuals in this collective is simply following from the focus of this study. 93 Ibid., 36–​37. Lefebvre is particularly concerned with neo-​capitalist forms of this production (ibid,  8–​40). 94 Ibid., 35. 95 Nietzsche 2007, 53, II.13.

156  Feeling and Reasoning consequence that each is very much embedded within history, not outside of it, as Lefebvre appears to assume. The discussion in this chapter has already identified the primary trope of Kashi as a social space: the trope of dying or maraṇa. This means that the primary spatial practice of interest is the role maraṇa plays in producing a finite space. But, instead of the phrase “finite space,” it is more intuitive and clearer to use the term “place.” It is this that I would now like to examine: what it means to think of Kashi as a place of maraṇa. Writing in 1909, Georg Simmel argued that building a home or a dwelling has a particular effect on space. He argued that it creates meaning out of infinite, meaningless space. This is a particular “know-​how” of humans that we demonstrate by “carving a parcel out of the continuity and infinity of space and by designing this parcel into a separate whole according to one meaning.”96 If this chapter has demonstrated anything, it is that Kashi has been separated out of the “continuity of space” or “parceled” into a (finite) place out of (infinite) space solely according to maraṇa, which gives Kashi its meaning. Crucially, however, maraṇa does not imply stasis. Rather, an essential component of maraṇa is movement: a movement toward liberation initiated in the act of dying while in Kashi. In this manner, maraṇa is a movement that overcomes the separateness of two terms: the finite place of Kashi and the infinite space of liberation. This is a movement underwritten by what Georg Simmel called the “will-​to-​relate” in humans.97 It is in the expression of this “will” that things are put into a relation with each other; and which results in realizing, in Simmel’s wonderful turn of phrase, the “miracle of the road” (Wunder des Weges) by which movement is frozen into a permanent form. For Simmel, the making of pathways or roads is a human achievement that “reaches its high point in the construction of the bridge”—​the bridge, for Simmel, “symbolizing the spreading of our will [to relate] through space.”98 It is not difficult to appreciate the parallels between Simmel’s argument and nyāya analysis in which Kashi and the state of liberation are connected via dying (the bridge). In this case, nyāya intellectuals are also freezing the

96 Simmel 1994, 409. For a similar position, see Tuan 1979, 387. 97 Simmel 1994, 408. 98 See Simmel 1994, 408 for each of these references. For the German, see Simmel 1957, 2. The metaphor of the bridge should not be lost on us here: it is a concept equally well employed by Nārāyaṇa Bhaṭṭa in the very title of his work, The Bridge (Setu) to the Three Sacred Places.

Dying  157 movement between Kashi and liberation into a permanent form by arguing that dying (while in Kashi) is the path or road between these two terms. Most importantly for Simmel, the way in which the purpose of a bridge, for example, is revealed to us is through what he calls a “teleological feeling” (teleologische Gefühl).99 Simmel, unfortunately, does not offer an analysis of this type of feeling. As I read him, it is a feeling that uncovers how something is to be, or can be, used to relate two terms or two separate places. Because this feeling exhibits how places relate, it is the basis for undertaking purposeful movement through, into, and out of, our places. Thus, a teleological feeling gives us the knowledge we need to navigate and traverse space as and when we encounter those things that have the function of relating separate parcels of space or, more accurately, separate places. I submit that the emotion of dying is a teleological feeling. This emotion exhibits to us the purpose or telos of Kashi as a place by uncovering the relation between Kashi and liberation; and it gives us the knowledge of how Kashi relates to (or “bridges to”) the state of liberation. Yet, while Kashi is ostensibly the bridge that links to liberation, it is only the starting point of a movement commenced in the act of dying. Thus, the act of dying in Kashi is the path or road along which our movement takes place in the direction of the state of liberation, even though it is true knowledge that allows one to cross the threshold into liberation. In this manner, the teleological feeling of dying gives shape and meaning to Kashi because it conveys to us the purpose of Kashi and tells us how to move within and out of that place to the space of liberation. This movement then, just like a bridge, door, or window discussed by Simmel, has its own directionality: The act of dying is an asymmetric binary relation connecting the two terms “Kashi” and “liberation.”100 As a result, dying is both the emotion that gives us the meaning of Kashi as a place and is the path or road upon which liberative movement is frozen, permanently linking Kashi as a place with the space of liberation. Positing that dying is the teleological feeling through which Kashi is produced as a place of “social death” means that it is not through knowledge (thereby aiming at a science of this production101) but rather through emotion that we know or make sense of Kashi. This has two large consequences for understanding how humans dwell in Kashi and how nyāya intellectuals



99

Simmel 1994, 410. The German can be found in Simmel 1957, 5. For his reflections on a bridge, door, and window, see Simmel 1994, 409–​410. 101 Lefebvre 1991, 367–​369, 404–​405. 100

158  Feeling and Reasoning theorize Kashi as a place from which liberation is reached. In the first, it is a prime example of Heidegger’s position that “We must ontologically in principle leave the primary discovery of the world to ‘mere mood.’ ”102 Here, Kashi as a place is first discovered through the teleological feeling of dying: how it is produced, the purpose of Kashi and its meaning, its relation to the liberative state, and how the individual moves through and out of it. The possibility that dying, as a teleological feeling, underwrites how one dwells in Kashi and how Kashi as a place is produced suggests that what I am describing here is an example of what Dipesh Chakrabarty has called “affective narratives of human belonging.”103 In the context of our discussion here, I read “affective narratives” as an activity of making use of the “state in which one finds oneself ” (Befindlichkeit) to construct one’s understanding of what it means to dwell in Kashi and, thus, through the construction of this understanding based on this state, craft narratives—​philosophies—​of life and death (or living and dying) in Kashi.104 The second consequence is that nyāya intellectuals also come to know Kashi as a place first through the emotion of dying. A number of ways may be possible for how this emotion arises in nyāya intellectuals. It may be that this emotion is grasped through making witness of the emotion of dying in others while in Kashi—​a witnessing that has been achieved through their acquaintance with available affective narratives about Kashi. This emotion may also be grasped by realizing the potential of this emotion to arise in them—​ to realize that dying is an emotion inherently potentialized in them. Or, to know, in the words of Heidegger, that “The uttermost ‘not-​yet’ [death] has the character of something toward which Dasein comports itself. . . . Death is something that stands before us—​something impending.”105 Jagannātha, too, understands death as impending. In a hauntingly beautiful poem, he muses, How can you lie so carefree When your time is running out And Death is approaching? But go ahead, lie as you please. 102 Heidegger 2010, 134, emphasis in original. 103 Chakrabarty 2007, 71, emphasis in original. 104 I have relied here upon Heidegger 1962, 172n2, in which Befindlichkeit is glossed as “the state in which one may be found” and which I know of from Chakrabarty 2015, 182. The term Befindlichkeit is glossed differently by Stambaugh as “attunement” (Heidegger 2010, xxv). 105 Heidegger 1962, 293–​294. I have preferred this translation to that by Stambaugh (Heidegger 2010, 240, emphasis in original).

Dying  159 Mother Ganga will stay awake Right by your side.106

I submit that nyāya intellectuals know this emotion as potentialized in them (as “impending”) and so as something to which they must comport themselves—​since no one else can stand in for their dying.107 This emotion, then, is, as it were, pregiven for nyāya intellectuals when they choose to write on Kashi. Thus, because this emotion is something that they all have (and share) in advanced (Vorhabe) of their reasoning on Kashi, their writing on Kashi not only proceeds in comportment with this emotion but is also constituted by the social—​though, in an inversion, constituted not by a social that belongs to social life but by a social that belongs to what I have been calling social death.108

106 Translated by Yigal Bronner and Gary Tubb (2008, 87). 107 I am thinking here of Jacques Derrida’s reflections on Heidegger’s remarks on death (1996, 41): “Death is very much that which nobody else can undergo or confront in my place. My irreplaceability is therefore conferred, delivered, ‘given,’ one can say, by death.” Compare also the words of Aśvaghoṣa (Olivelle 2008, 81): “In this world for all men death is certain.” 108 I am borrowing here from Heidegger’s conception of Vorhabe as something we have in advanced of any interpretation (Heidegger 1962, 191–​192).

PART III

SPAC E A N D  T I M E

5 Space The relationship between space and intellection has been an important area of concern in the preceding chapters, particularly in Chapters  3 and 4.  In highlighting this relationship, I  have attempted to underscore the idea that space matters in any analysis of nyāya intellectual practice. Nyāya intellectuals did not write within a uniform space but rather the spaces—​or, better, places—​in which they wrote carried certain meanings and entailed certain potentials and limits of intellectual inquiry and emotional practices. The distinction between space and place is important because while nyāya intellectuals clearly situated themselves within a region, they also considered themselves to be part of a pan-​regional philosophical community, which took for granted a pan-​regional intellectual space, across early modern India. I would like to bring the issue of a pan-​regional intellectual space into the foreground and ask what it would mean to take seriously questions of space—​ not place—​with respect to the discipline of nyāya in early modern India. This question is complicated by the fact that the pan-​regional space of nyāya intellectuality in early modern India is not coextensive with a single political space nor with a single political form. Instead, nyāya intellectual practice is both embedded within and stands at the margins of political centers; and nyāya intellectual space cuts across multiple forms of political governance in early modern India. The space of nyāya intellection has been unevenly studied in prior literature. Early studies on the discipline were concerned with the space of nyāya intellection, but they addressed this issue largely through the study of its regions—​Mithila, Bengal, Banaras, and the Deccan and South—​rather than interpreting this space as a connected whole.1 More recently, Jonardon Ganeri has taken space seriously as an analytical category by examining 1 D. Bhattacharya, 1958, 2007. Kaviraj 1961 was first published in a series of essays between 1924 and 1927 and includes a section on the Deccan; a very early study is Bahadur 1915. The study of the Deccan and further south as a site of nyāya intellectual practice has been neglected; for recent correctives, see Williams 2014 and Chaturvedi 2020. I follow Stewart Gordon, who notes that the Deccan could refer to the area between the Tapti and Krishna Rivers (1993, 10).

A Time of Novelty. Samuel Wright, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2021. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197568163.003.0006

164  Space and Time the discipline of nyāya through its various communities of scholars based in Navadvip, Mithila, and Banaras.2 Ganeri demonstrates that nyāya intellectuals were part of broad and, in some cases, pan-​regional familial and educational networks that sustained and supported their intellectual practice.3 Here, I want to build on this observation by Ganeri to investigate the resources by which nyāya intellectuals in these various and discrete regions may have situated themselves within a shared intellectual space across a geography that extended not only from Navadvip to Banaras but further afield to Tanjavur and Wai in southern India and Jammu in the north. While an account of the pan-​regional space of nyāya intellectual practice still requires formulation, the cohesion of a pan-​regional community of Sanskrit scholars as “Brahmin intellectuals” has been studied in detail for early modern India. Rosalind O’Hanlon has provided nuanced and powerful arguments about the ways in which Brahmin intellectuals writing in Sanskrit coalesced as a community in early modern Banaras and looked out across or imagined themselves within a pan-​regional “ecumene” defined by their shared ritual status or varṇa.4 This shared ritual identity, as Brahmins, in the words of O’Hanlon, “allowed all Brahmans . . . to map themselves and their histories within an all-​India frame” resulting in a “portable identity” across space—​a possibility not available to those who were of a different ritual status.5 O’Hanlon’s interpretation of the relations in operation across Sanskrit intellectual space is crucial to an understanding of Sanskrit intellectual practice in the early modern period. Yet viewing the relationship between space and intellection through the lens of ritual status is only one layer; and, if taken as a single interpretive lens, it creates problems for an analysis, such as this one, that focuses upon disciplinary identity among Sanskrit scholars. Indeed, I am interested here not in the construction of the entirety of Sanskrit intellectual space but in the space of nyāya intellectual practice, in particular. If we take this as a concern, then a focus on ritual status does not fully explain how nyāya intellectual space forms and is sustained by Brahmin scholars writing in Sanskrit who were principally concerned with ideas in the discipline of nyāya. What is required, then, is an account of nyāya intellectual space that 2 Ganeri 2011. 3 Ibid., 39–​51,  74–​88. 4 O’Hanlon 2010, 2011, 2013a; O’Hanlon and Minkowski 2008. My gloss of varṇa as “ritual status” follows Thapar (2002, 62). The term varṇa is coupled with jāti—​kinship groups arranged hierarchically. Each has been used to examine caste society (Thapar 2002, 62–​68). 5 O’Hanlon 2013b, 38.

Space  165 considers more than only ritual status as that which underwrites pan-​regional linkages between nyāya scholars and which, as suggested, provides an explanation for how distinct regions of nyāya intellectual practices—​each with its own intellectual history—​are connected in a manner that recognizes the challenges in relying upon the polity or the court to make sense of that space. I propose that such an account hinges upon an analysis of the “manuscript economy” of the discipline of nyāya. Many questions about the nyāya manuscript economy of early modern India remain unanswered. We do not know, for example, the extent of the circulation of nyāya manuscripts across south Asia; what manuscripts exist in the most numbers; or what authors are most represented in this economy. A successful account, then, would provide some data in these areas and also address how the manuscript economy underwrites a pan-​regional space of nyāya intellectual practice. In very specific terms, it would provide some answers for how nyāya manuscripts serve to link nyāya intellectuals together across the expansive space of early modern India and about the work manuscripts do for nyāya intellectuality in the early modern period. The nyāya manuscript culture was exceptionally productive from the Mughal to the colonial period. My conservative estimate is that surviving manuscripts of works by nyāya authors who lived and wrote during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries number approximately 4,800 (from about 280 works by about fifty-​two authors).6 This extensive production of manuscripts is found for all areas of Sanskrit intellectual thought, not to mention manuscripts in the classical languages of Persian and Tamil as well as the many regional languages of south Asia.7 Estimates indicate that thirty million manuscripts are extant in south Asia compared to thirty thousand manuscripts for all of Greek, classical, Hellenistic, and Byzantine literature.8 Sheldon Pollock has called this robust manuscript culture of precolonial southern Asia an example of “script-​mercantilism”—​a converse to Benedict Anderson’s “print-​capitalism.” For Pollock, script-​mercantilism involves “professional scribes and patrons who purchased their wares as well as nonprofessionals who copied manuscripts for personal use or for family

6 The number of manuscripts is based on my manuscript survey (see next section), and the number of works is calculated by comparing Table 1 with Potter, n.d. For a nuanced treatment of manuscript versus text, see Watson 2015, 30. 7 I have not been able to compare numbers between knowledge systems; however, my initial impression is that other domains produced more manuscripts than nyāya, but a larger study is needed. 8 Pollock 2007, 87.

166  Space and Time members or teachers.”9 As productive as Pollock’s “script-​mercantilism” is, however, I remain hesitant to use the term. For one, it appears to collapse paid activities of professional scribes and unpaid scribal activities of teachers and students into one category. Second, the term appears to emphasize the bespoke nature of manuscript culture, even though Pollock is exceptionally sensitive to broader issues in manuscript culture. For these reasons I prefer to use the more generic phrase “manuscript economy.” With an emphasis on the manuscript economy serving as that which links different regions of nyāya intellectual practice into one larger and connected intellectual space, this chapter has two major arguments. First, this chapter posits that the nyāya manuscript economy functioned as a pan-​regional and noncourtly space within which nyāya intellectuals related to each other across the disparate regions of early modern India. I argue that the manuscript economy—​as a shared intellectual space of production, circulation, and consumption of nyāya manuscripts—​contains certain emotional and rational relations recognizable and important to authors and readers of works in the discipline. Importantly, this manuscript economy, as a pan-​regional space, was not an outcome of a political center but was rather an economy maintained and supported by scholars themselves, even if at a local or regional level production was at times supported by the court.10 Yet, while my conception of the nyāya manuscript economy provides an account of pan-​regional linkages between nyāya scholars that were constituted outside the court and through various emotional and intellectual relations, it does not explain why manuscripts circulated and were produced in this manuscript economy—​that is, it does not explain why the nyāya manuscript economy was successfully constituted and perpetuated in the early modern period. The second argument of this chapter, then, is that the presence and employment of novelty in nyāya works of this period is the primary reason for the success of the nyāya manuscript economy in early modern India.

9 Pollock 2006, 558. 10 I would also agree here with Pollock when he argues that the demand of the Sanskrit “pedagogical market” was “met by a production owing neither to royal nor to religious patronage, but to the efforts of autonomous scribes” (2007, 90). Pollock would also definitely include the efforts of scholars themselves.

Space  167

Mapping Manuscript Culture Before I can offer a larger theory about the nyāya manuscript economy of early modern India, I need to provide evidentiary support for the claim that nyāya manuscript culture was an extensive, even prolific, domain of nyāya intellectuality. The question of the extent of nyāya manuscript circulation in early modern India seems simple enough, but it has never been asked. Part of the reason for this is that the materials for a definitive answer to this question do not exist: No manuscript surveys or catalogs exist from the period in which I am most interested, namely, 1500–​1700. Instead, we must rely upon surveys and catalogs of Sanskrit manuscripts that are colonial artifacts dating from the mid-​nineteenth century. This means that in answering the question about the extent of nyāya manuscript circulation for early modern India, we will have to make some concessions about our data. As part of my answer, I  present two maps generated on the basis of a metasurvey of nyāya manuscripts listed in fourteen surveys and four catalogs of Sanskrit manuscripts, published nearly exclusively between 1868 and 1911.11 This is the earliest possible date for data about the diffusion of nyāya manuscripts across south Asia. Thus, the maps present a picture of the extent of nyāya manuscript circulation for the nineteenth century—​an unavoidable result. Yet, at the same time, this diffusion of manuscripts did not simply appear in the nineteenth century; it has a history, which means that the maps also gesture toward a picture, however imprecise and tentative, of nyāya manuscript circulation in south Asia prior to the nineteenth century. Again, this uncertainty is unavoidable; but the question about the extent of nyāya manuscript circulation is too important both historically and philosophically to pass over data that are available, however problematic that data may be. With these preliminary points and caveats in mind, I present two maps that chart the extent of nyāya manuscript circulation across south Asia (see 11 Mitra 1880, 1870–​1895; Sukula et al. 1874–​1886; Buhler 1871; Sastri 1900–​1911; Stein 1894; Nestled 1878; Deviprasad 1878, 1879; Lawrence 1868; Oppert 1880, 1885; Hultzsch 1895–​1905; Rice 1884; and Burnell 1880. There are four exceptions to this date range, however. I also include manuscript catalogs of specific collections in Banaras at the Sarasvati Bhavan Library (Sanskrit University Library 1962), Bikaner at the Anup Sanskrit Library (Raja et al. 1993), Wai at the Prajna Pathasala Mandala (Joshi [1970?]), and Calcutta at the Asiatic Society (Sastri 1957). Many of the manuscripts for these four collections were accessioned in the late eighteenth century and, importantly, each is a major repository of Sanskrit scholarship with extreme relevance to nyāya intellectual practice in the early modern period and my survey would be incomplete without their inclusion (Minkowski 2010). The idea for this section of the chapter comes from the brilliant study by Zysk (2012).

168  Space and Time Maps 5.1 and 5.2). The data for these maps are given in the Appendix. The towns and cities listed in the maps are those locations listed as the “find spot” in the surveys and/​or catalogs. Reading these maps along with the data provided in the Appendix, a number of large conclusions can be drawn. First, my metasurvey registers a number of major collections of nyāya manuscripts across south Asia. In the north, the largest holding of nyāya manuscripts is Banaras, which holds 1,856 manuscripts of nyāya works written by authors in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Another major collection of nyāya manuscripts is found in Jammu, which holds 240 manuscripts of nyāya works from our period. The data for Navadvip, and Bengal as a whole, are skewed because by the time that the relevant surveys were conducted, many manuscripts had been collected and stored in the Asiatic Society in Calcutta (est. 1784).12 In Calcutta, 467 manuscripts of nyāya works are held that are relevant to this survey. In Navadvip, a city which has figured so prominently in this book, thirty-​five manuscripts of nyāya works are held in the city according to the relevant surveys and catalogs. The city of Mirzapore, in which twenty-​four relevant manuscripts are held, is also another sizable collection of manuscripts in the north. In Bikaner, a total of ninety-​two manuscripts of relevant nyāya works are held. The situation is different in the south where much more comprehensive cataloging efforts have been undertaken. The data reveal a larger number of major collections of manuscripts of nyāya works relevant to the survey, although none as large as Banaras. The largest holding is Wai, which holds 311 manuscripts of nyāya works written during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. This collection is followed in size by Tanjavur, where 172 relevant nyāya manuscripts are held. Other large collections with over 100 relevant nyāya manuscripts are located in the cities of Kancipuram, Kumbhaghonam, and Melkote. The data become much more interesting when these numbers are analyzed closely. Let me begin with the north. In Banaras, of the 1,856 manuscripts of relevant nyāya works, 66 percent or 1,239 of these manuscripts are texts by Bengal-​based nyāya intellectuals. In a surprising contrast, only 30 percent or 559 of these manuscripts are works written by Banaras-​based nyāya intellectuals; only 3 percent or 52 of the manuscripts are works written by Mithila-​based nyāya intellectuals; and less than 1 percent or only 6 of these

12 Unfortunately, these manuscript catalogs do not note the accession date.

0 0

100 100

200

200

300

300 mi 400

Jammu

N

Kathmandu

Bikaner

Vrindavan Muttra

Deopara Lucknow

Naduyara Gram Faizabad

Rai Bareli Sultanpur Brahmanapura Jaunpore Mirzapore

Madhubani Darbhanga Tajapura

Navanagar Banaras Tavka

Margani Gram Pilkoyad Gram Sarvasima Snadasi Rasad Gram Saradapura

Tushabandara

Halaliya Gram

Krishnanagar

Dhrangadhra

Khambaliyam

Ahmedabad

Bikrampur Navadvip Shantipur Dhanuka Guptipada Nisidagram Bhatpara Khadar Calcutta

Amod Surat

Mulher

ARABIAN SEA

Map 5.1.  Manuscript Economy: Northern View.

Puri

B AY O F BENGAL

500 km

Govindapuram Tiruvisainallur Tiruvidaimarudur Srirangam

N

Tillaisthanam Tiruvadi Kalyanapuram

Vayalur

Bhaskararajapuram Suryanarkovil

Tiruvasalur Timmagudi Sangalipuram

Tanjavur

Muktambapuram

Mullavasal Village

Ortnadu

Mannargudi

Pudukota Surat

Vedaranyam

Mulher Puri

Vijayanagaram Maddi

Gutti

Wai

Vishakhapatanam Kottapeta

Muttur

Gangadharapuram

Madugal

Ongole

Inamanamellur

Ballari

Brahmanakraka Buchchireddipalayam Utukuru Siddhavata Nellore Penagaluru Vengamambapuram Chitradurga Narasipura Singamala Amidalpadu Ramachandrapura Tiruvalangadu Bangalore Chikballapura Bhimanakatte Elanahar Sriperumbudur Muchakunte Mulbagal Sringeri Black Town Malur Hassan Tiruvallikkeni Kancipuram Belur Pillapakam Alasur Huliyurdurga Arani Kadaba Gorur Tiruvallur Pillur Melkote Velamur Kadattur Ranganathapuram ARABIAN Mysore Tirukovilur Kallanaikurici

SEA

B AY O F BENGAL

Bhavani

Srimusnam Kattuputtur Udumalapeta Kaniyur Kumaralingam Manalur Koj'umam Karattoj'uvu

Calicut

Tiruppunittura

Area Enlarged above

Sivaganga

Srivalliputtur Akhilandapuram Travancore

Alvar Tirunhari

Map 5.2.  Manuscript Economy: Southern View.

0 0

50 100

100

150 mi 200 km

Space  171 manuscripts in Banaras are works written by Deccan-​and southern-​based nyāya intellectuals. In Jammu, of the 240 manuscripts of relevant nyāya works, 57 percent or 135 of these manuscripts are texts of Bengal-​based nyāya intellectuals. On the contrary, 41 percent or 97 of these manuscripts are texts written by Banaras-​based authors; 3 percent or 8 of these manuscripts are works written by Mithila-​based scholars; and Deccan-​and southern-​based authors are not represented at all. In Navadvip, of the 35 manuscripts of relevant nyāya works, 91 percent or 32 of these manuscripts are works of Bengal-​ based nyāya intellectuals, whereas only 9 percent or 3 of these manuscripts are works written by Banaras-​based nyāya scholars. Surprisingly, Deccan-​ and southern-​based and/​or Mithila-​based scholars are not represented in the relevant surveys of Navadvip. In Calcutta, of the 467 manuscripts of relevant works, 83  percent (387 manuscripts) are of works by Bengal-​based nyāya scholars. Yet only 14 percent (64 manuscripts) are of works by scholars based in Banaras; and manuscripts from Mithila and the Deccan and south number only 14 (2 percent) and 2 (less than 1 percent), respectively. The data from the south present a similar picture. In Wai, of the 311 manuscripts of relevant nyāya works, 63 percent or 197 of these manuscripts are texts written by Bengal-​based nyāya intellectuals. On the contrary, 36  percent or 109 of these manuscripts are of works written by Banaras-​ based nyāya scholars; about 1 percent or 5 manuscripts of works composed by Mithila-​based nyāya scholars are found; and no relevant manuscripts of Deccan-​and southern-​based nyāya intellectuals are held. In Tanjavur, of the 172 manuscripts of relevant nyāya works, 58 percent or 101 of these manuscripts are works written by Bengal-​ based nyāya intellectuals. In contrast, 19  percent or 30 of these manuscripts are of works written by Banaras-​based nyāya intellectuals; 15 percent or 26 manuscripts are of works composed by Mithila-​based scholars; and 8 percent or 15 manuscripts by Deccan-​ and southern-​based nyāya intellectuals. In Kancipuram, of the 110 manuscripts of relevant nyāya works, 81 percent or 88 of these manuscripts are works written by Bengal-​based nyāya authors. In contrast, 18 percent or 19 of the manuscripts are works written by Banaras-​based nyāya scholars; less than 3 percent or 3 of the manuscripts are works written by Deccan-​ and southern-​based nyāya scholars; and no relevant manuscripts of works written by Mithila-​based scholars are found. Most importantly, the metasurvey demonstrates a massive material influence of manuscripts of nyāya works from Bengal on the discipline. Consider some of these statistics. In the south, 71 percent of all manuscripts surveyed

172  Space and Time (1,405 out of 1,987) are manuscripts of nyāya works written by Bengal-​based authors. This is in contrast to manuscripts of works by Banaras-​based nyāya scholars which account for 23 percent of all manuscript surveyed (444 out of 1,987). Even more surprisingly, 40 percent (776 manuscripts) of all nyāya manuscripts surveyed across the south are of works written by Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya. Second to Gadādhara is the well-​known scholar Annaṃbhaṭṭa. Yet the manuscripts of his works make up just 7 percent (140 manuscripts) of all manuscripts surveyed in the south. In addition, the range of Gadādhara’s works is fully represented in the holdings: Nearly all of his works are in manuscript form across the south—​from short vāda essays to long commentaries. In the north, 67 percent of all manuscripts surveyed (1,929 out of 2,862) are manuscripts of nyāya works written by Bengal-​based authors. This is in contrast to manuscripts of works by Banaras-​based nyāya authors which account for 29 percent of all manuscripts surveyed (825 out 2,862). Again, the author whose works are most represented in manuscript form is Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācarya. His works, equally diverse as in the south, make up about 17  percent of all manuscripts (490 manuscripts) surveyed across the region. By contrast, the manuscripts of works by Annaṃbhaṭṭa, primarily his Compendium on Logic and commentary, make up approximately 6 percent (151 manuscripts) of those surveyed in the north. This survey demonstrates that the production of nyāya manuscripts beginning from the early modern period was a massive enterprise: At least 4,849 manuscripts were produced from the early modern to colonial period (with approximately 280 relevant works composed between 1500 and 1700).13 The production and extensive distribution of these manuscripts must have been in response to massive demand across all regions. This seems particularly the case in the south. Even though many nyāya scholars were not located in this region, there was a very high interest in acquiring these works among Sanskrit scholars. Studying this distribution according to our identified regions provides a few important conclusions. Manuscripts of works written by nyāya scholars in Bengal account for 69  percent of all manuscripts surveyed (3,334 out of 4,849). The demand for these manuscripts far outpaced demand for manuscripts of works written by authors in other regions. Manuscripts of works written by nyāya scholars in Banaras account for 26  percent of all manuscripts surveyed (1,268 in total). These numbers fall even lower for Mithila and the Deccan and South. Manuscripts of works written by nyāya

13 Estimate of works calculated from Potter, n.d.

Space  173 scholars in Mithila account for approximately 4 percent of all manuscripts surveyed (193 in total). Manuscripts of works written by nyāya scholars in the Deccan and South account for about 1 percent of all manuscripts surveyed (54 in total). Tallying the total number of manuscripts of works authored by Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācarya, we find that an astonishing 26  percent of all manuscripts surveyed are of works written by him (1,269 manuscripts). This stands in noticeable contrast to Annaṃbhaṭṭa, whose works are the second most circulated in manuscript form. Manuscripts of works by Annaṃbhaṭṭa make up approximately 7 percent of all manuscripts surveyed (292 in total). Gadādhara’s manuscripts, in other words, circulated at the same rate as all Banaras-​based nyāya intellectuals combined. On the basis of these circulation statistics, Gadādhara appears as the most well-​known and important nyāya intellectual in early modern (and early colonial) south Asia. One final consideration might help us to more confidently, if still very tentatively, project these data further back into historical time. I have not yet considered one manuscript list:  The list of over two thousand works purported to be held in the personal library of Kavīndrācarya, a well-​known Sanskrit scholar of Banaras in the mid-​seventeenth century.14 Problems in the accuracy of this list have been noted before. For example, the list of nyāya works more likely dates to slightly after 1807 rather than the seventeenth century since it includes a manuscript by a late nyāya scholar who died in that year.15 The list provides the titles of seventy-​six manuscripts of works in the discipline of nyāya.16 Interestingly, the list includes twenty-​two titles in the vāda essay genre; but, unfortunately, author names are not included for these titles, which means I cannot include the vāda essays in my calculations since many authors used the same title for their vāda essays. Aside from the vāda essays, the list of Kavīndrācārya’s library provides the titles of twenty-​ two manuscripts of works written by nyāya scholars from the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Of these, only two are authored by Mithila-​based scholars, and six are authored by Banaras-​based scholars. In contrast, fourteen of these manuscripts (64  percent) are works authored by Navadvip-​ based nyāya scholars—​a rate that mirrors the findings of my metasurvey.17 14 R. Sastry 1921. 15 For problems with the list, see Truschke 2015, 421 and Gode 1943. The late nyāya scholar is Jagannātha Tarkapañcānana from Tribeni in the Hooghly District of western Bengal; see Sastry 1921, 5, MS no. 214. 16 The titles in the genres of the vāda and the kroḍapatra are not numbered, but I have numbered them separately in my calculation. 17 Sastry 1921, 4–​5. The authors with the most titles listed are Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra, Raghunātha Śiromaṇi, and Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya.

174  Space and Time Taken together, these data demonstrate that nyāya manuscript culture was a massive enterprise. But it also demonstrates that nyāya manuscripts were not produced nor circulated at equal levels. Instead, it very strongly suggests that the ideas of nyāya intellectuals writing from Bengal were most in demand in the nyāya manuscript economy. In the process, other regions—​ Banaras, the Deccan and South, and Mithila—​were made into peripheries, to varying degrees, of nyāya intellection.

The Court In view of this very large spread of manuscripts across nearly every region of south Asia, we may legitimately wonder what held this space together. Our first inclination may be to turn to the court or polity, which, assumed to be the location of nyāya philosophical writing, creates and maintains this space. But, as shown in Maps 5.1 and 5.2, nyāya intellectual space is not only not coextensive with a single political space but, much more problematically, cuts across different forms of political governance: regions of the Mughal Empire, including local zamindaris; the Maratha Kingdom, including Maratha Tanjavur; Deccani and Bengal Sultanates; and, in later historical periods, presidency towns and princely states. To insist upon the court as the analytical lens through which to make sense of the pan-​regional space of nyāya intellection, then, would require an elision of difference in political or courtly culture across space and time. Furthermore, it is very difficult to argue that nyāya intellectual practice was a courtly practice, that is, that the court (no matter its form) brought this practice into being; or that when nyāya philosophical writing happened it always (or even regularly) happened at the court.18 In this section, I examine the problematic relationship between the court and nyāya intellectuals and suggest a different method for making sense of nyāya intellectual space. One aspect of the relation between the court and nyāya intellectuals that is a source of confusion is that despite the fact that the court is almost never referred to by nyāya intellectuals in their texts, it was not inconsequential to the lives of nyāya intellectuals. Instead, nyāya intellectuals in their region-​specific settings engaged with local rulers and were sensitive to political changes—​a history that has often been ignored, as noted by Jonardon

18 Pollock 2006, 26–​27.

Space  175 Ganeri.19 In what follows, I use Bengal as a case study for exploring the relation between nyāya intellectuals and the court or the polity. I then step back and reflect upon parallels to other regions. I choose Bengal because, as noted earlier, the works of nyāya intellectuals writing from Bengal were the most in demand and, admittedly, it is the region whose historical materials for the early modern period are most well-​known to me. One of the earliest examples from Bengal exhibiting a strong relation between nyāya intellectuals and political contexts is found in a commentary by Mahādeva Siṃhācārya on Bhavabhūti’s play Mālatī and Mādhava. Writing his work in the year 1494, Mahādeva identifies Navadvip as a scholarly city and connects the success of that scholarly activity to an individual named Majliś Bārbak.20 In the colophon, Mahādeva describes Majliś as very virtuous and as someone who encourages honesty among scholars.21 Based upon three mosque inscriptions, we know that Majliś was an important advisor or minister to the Abyssinian ruler Saif al-​Dīn Firūz Shāh (r. 1486–​1490) and to Ḥusain Shāh (r. 1493–​1519) during the Bengali Sultanate period.22 The fact that Mahādeva speaks to and about Majliś in such a manner indicates that the scholarly community in Navadvip interacted closely with political individuals. Another exceptionally important document demonstrates that nyāya intellectuals in the sixteenth century imagined Navadvip within specific political geographies. In the year 1568 during the rule of Sulemān Karrānī (r. 1565–​1572) of the Karrānī Dynasty (1564–​1575), a number of well-​known nyāya authors negotiated the sale of a house and its surrounding land. The 19 Ganeri 2011, 52–​59. 20 Ganeri also notes this source but does not specify the identity of Majliś (ibid., 50). 21 The colophon is reproduced in D. Bhattacharya 2007, 100: “A treasure of virtues is the famous Majliś Bārbak, who has appeared in the world as a result of our wishes for a genuine avatar like Lord Rāma in this degraded Kali era. In that group of jewels—​those ministers of the great king of the earthly kingdom of Gauda [i.e., Ḥusain Shāh]—​he encourages honesty among the learned and ensures the protection of livelihood and welfare at every possible moment. In the month of April in the year 1494, on the bank of the Ganges, the river of the gods, and in that city of Navadvip, a place full of scholars, Mahādeva, a very learned and skilled teacher, composed here this commentary, a veritable shining light on the words of the playwright Bhavabhūti” (asti śrīmajilīśabārbbaka iti khyāto guṇānāṃ nidhir jāto rāma iva kṣitau kaliyuge satyāvatārecchayā. tasmin gauḍamahīmahendrasacivaśreṇīśirobhūṣaṇe yogakṣemānukṣaṇaṃ kr̥tadhiyāṃ nirvyājam ātanva[n]‌ti. śāke ṣoḍaśasāgarendugaṇite gīrvāṇakallolinītīre dhīragaṇāspade puri navadvīpābhidhāyāṃ vyadhāt. vaiśakhe bhavabhūtibhaṇitau śuddhārthasandīpanīm ācāryo matimān imām iha mahādevaḥ kr̥tī ṭippanīm). 22 Desai 1980, 41 and Karim 1992, 235–​236, 304. All in Arabic, the inscriptions described Majliś as liberal or generous (mukram) and as revered (mu‘ẓam) (Desai 1980, 40). In another inscription, it states that the mosque was built by a Majliś Jitwār for Ḥusain Shāh “in the time of (fī al-​zamān) Majliś al-​Mu‘ẓam (the revered) Majliś Bārbak” (Karim 1992, 304).

176  Space and Time document’s preamble includes praises to Sulemān and mentions him by his new name, Haz̤rat ‘Alī, which he adopted in 1564.23 It also details the various levels of administrative officers that nyāya intellectuals were aware of and with whom they interacted. The opening of the document reads: This is written in the month of July in the year 1568 in that division (sīka, i.e., shiḳḳ), Navadvīp, ruled by Śrī Śikhi Mahāpātra within the principality (mulluka, i.e., mulḳ) of Husainabad, which is skillfully presided over by the vizier (ojīra) Śrī Shaikh Farīd Shāh in the flourishing kingdom of Bengal belonging to His Majesty Śrī Śrī Haz̤rat ‘Alī, the supreme monarch who has all the best of praises.24

This is a superb example of the extent to which nyāya authors were aware of their position in relation to larger political realities. Beginning with a general officer of Navadvip in charge of duties such as revenue collection, Śikhi Mahāpātra, we are told that Navadvip is in a principality called Husainabad, an area overseen by an individual named Shaikh Farīd Shāh. That this area is called Husainabad is crucial to register. Obviously named after Ḥusain Shāh (namesake of the Ḥusain Shāhī dynasty), it suggests that geopolitical conceptions and places named for earlier rulers remained relatively fixed and stable over time and that nyāya intellectuals were cognizant of this reality.25 23 A. Ray 2005, 256. 24 Samasrami 1813, 23: svasti samastasupraśastītyādimahārājādhirājaśrīśrīhajaratālledevapādānāṃ abhyudayini gauḍarājye ojīraśrīsekhapharidashāhādhiṣṭhitahusenābādamulluke śrīśikhimahāpātramahāśayādhikr̥tanavadvīpasīke navatyadhikacaturdaśaśatābdīyaśrāvaṇe māsi. I know of this document from D. Bhattacharya 2007, 132. 25 As this document has never been translated into English, I provide a translation here of the remaining portion (Samasrami 1813, 23–​24):  “After receiving the payment of six stamped coins heavier than [or more valuable than] the śivāṅka type of coin (see Rhodes 2000, 148)  from Śrī Jagannāthācārya at the house of Śrī Rāmatarkālaṅkāra Bhaṭṭācārya [father of Mathurānātha Tarkavāgīśa], this parcel of land and house—​which includes a number of pleasing boundaries demarcated by (1) Govinda’s abode in the east, (2) Śrī Kr̥ṣṇadāsa Cakravartin’s house in the south, (3) a pond in the west, and (4) Śrī Puruṣottamācārya’s [Puruṣottamācārya Bhaṭṭācārya (D. Bhattacharya 2007, 60–​61)] house in the north—​is sold by the scholars Śrī Vallabhācārya and Haridāsa to the one who has given the money and whose name is written above [i.e., Jagannāthācārya]. This letter was written on July 26, 1568, and is signed by Śrī Vallabhācārya and his son, Śrī Haridāsa Śarma [and includes twenty-​one signatories as witnesses (given in the transliteration)]” (śrīrāmatarkālaṅkārabhaṭṭācāryāṇāṃ sadasi śrījagannāthācāryāt śivāṅkādhikaṣaṇmudrīṃ mūlyam ādāya pūrvasyāṃ govindaśaraṇavāṭī dakṣiṇasyāṃ śrīkr̥ṣṇadāsacakravartivāṭī paścimāyāṃ puṣkariṇī uttarasyāṃ diśi śrīpuruṣottamācāryavāṭī inthaṃ catuḥsīmābaddhaṃ vā[r]‌akoṇārāmāntargataṃ vāṭīkhaṇḍaṃ śrīvallabhācāryaharidāsapaṇḍitābhyāṃ uparilikhitanāmni vittadātari vikrītam iti śāka 1490 ti 4 śrāvaṇam. śrīvallabhācāryasya. śrīharidāsa śa[r]mmanaḥ—​bālakaḥ. [These signatories are] Śrīgurudāsaśarman, Śrīvrajanāthacakravartin, Śrīmādhavabhaṭṭācārya, Śrīpuruṣottamācārya, Śrījānakīnāthaśarman, Śrīgurudāsaśarman, Śrīdurgādāsaśarman, Śrīdurgādāsācārya, Śrījagadānandasena, Śrīnarahariyājñika, Śrīmukundaśarman, Śrīmādhavaśarman, Śrīvallabhadra

Space  177 In a final example, a letter from Bengal dated to January 23, 1700, and addressed to Rāmakr̥ṣṇa Tarkālaṅkāra Bhaṭṭācārya (fl. 1699), author of commentaries on The Dictionary of Amara and Śaṅkarācārya’s A Vessel on the Waves of Bliss, informs him that two types of taxes will not be levied against his land and house.26 This document demonstrates that Sanskrit intellectuals dealt directly with Mughal land administrators rather than being insulated by local polities.27 The fact that nyāya intellectuals do not bring these political contexts into their texts should not surprise us, however. Nyāya intellectuals almost never refer to any political or social context in their work—​a silence that even extends to contemporaneous developments in Persian and Arabic logic.28 For example, despite the fact that zamindar Rāghava Rāya (the ruler or self-​ styled “king” of the Nadia polity from late seventeenth-​century Bengal) provided a large land grant to Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya in 1661, he finds no mention in Gadādhara’s many works (see Chapter 3). Moreover, even in the rare instance when a scholar does mention Rāghava Rāya, he is not assigned to a political geography as a ruler; instead, scholars appear to have been more concerned with making known their own intellectual geographies.29

[—​], Śrīyadunandanaśarman | Śrījñānānandaśarman, Śrīramānandaśarman, Śrījitāmitraśarman, Śrībrahmānandaśarman, Śrīgīridāsaśarman, Śrīsāhāmallika, Śrīvallabhadāsa). 26 It reads in part (Miya 1991, 111): “Administrative officers in the district have measured your parcel of land. After having assessed a tax (māthaṭ) for these two costs in the above-​mentioned village [that is, in the whole village of Barba], we are not following this custom on your residence and so will never assess or demand the “half-​taxes” of ḍāli (a gift for those in political authority?) and half the cost of kabol (patrol?) on your place of residence” (hākīmerā tomāre māp karichen āmrāh grām majkure i dui kharcā māthaṭ kariā tomar ṭhāi sudāmad nā laichi evaṃ konadin tomar ṭhāi ḍāli kharacā o kabol kharacā māthaṭ talap nā kariba). His property is in a town called Barba in Shahajiyal, a mahal of the Mahmudabad division that included the northern part of the Nadia zamindari of western Bengal, see Ā’īn-​i’ Akbarī in Blockmann and Jarrett 1873–​1907, 133, vol. II; and for the location and area of Mahmudābād, see Riyāẓ-​us-​Salāt̤īn in Salam 1902, 42n2. For māthaṭ, ḍāli, and kabol (kaval?), see Wilson 1855, 334–​335, 121, 271, respectively. See N. Dasgupta 1935, 266–​267 for Rāmakr̥ṣṇa’s commentary on Amara’s Dictionary and Dash 2011, 57 for his commentary on Śaṅkarācārya’s work. 27 Compare Ganeri 2011, 53. 28 Walbridge (2003, 689, 692; 2004, 587) and Ahmed (2017) discuss contemporaneous texts on logic (mant̤iq) written by Persian intellectuals in India such as Shaikh ‘Abd al-​Ḥaqq al-​Dihlawi (958–​ 1052/​1551–​1642 ce) and Muḥibb Allāh al-​Bihārī (d. 1119/​1707 ce). 29 For example, see Raghunātha Sārvabhauma’s An Ocean of Codes of Traditional Law written in 1661 (Pingree 1994, 377): “In the year 1661–​2 and out of love for King Śrī Rāghava, a pool of wisdom, this Ocean is immediately composed.  .  .  . Thus, for the purpose of everyone’s benefit, Sārvabhauma, a jewel in a Vandya lineage, from the renowned community in the town of Ula, composed this text keeping in mind the opinions of all the sages” (śake ’gnimaṅgalaharāsyakalānidhāne śrīrāghavāvanipater budhavatsarasya. prītyartham āśu racito ’rṇava eṣa.  .  .  . iti sakalahitārthaṃ vandyavaṃśāvatamasaḥ kr̥tavasatir amuṣmin viśrutolāsamāje. sakalamunimate ’yaṃ nirmame sārvabhaumaḥ). Ula (now Birnagar) is approximately thirty kilometers southeast from Navadvip.

178  Space and Time The absence of any mention of a political geography for zamindar Rāghava Rāya in nyāya works from Bengal is a major contrast to other documents and materials that nyāya intellectuals and Sanskrit scholars produced or signed as witnesses in Bengal. As discussed, the 1568 document detailing the sale of land and a house between nyāya authors readily admits such a geography for the sultan:  The vizier Shaikh Farīd Shāh is located in “the flourishing kingdom (rājya) of Bengal belonging to Śrī Śrī Haz̤rat ‘Alī.”30 In another letter dating to 1667 signed by a number of Sanskrit scholars, the Mughal governor Shāista Khān is located in “the flourishing kingdom (rāyja) of Bengal of that honored and divine king, Śrīyuta Aurangzeb, the supreme monarch, who has an eternal splendor and is ornamented with all the best types of distinctions.”31 The silence in nyāya works about Rāghava Rāya suggests that Sanskrit intellectuals were uncertain about what it meant for zamindars to claim political power within the ambit of the Mughal emperor.32 However we might read the absence of these political contexts in nyāya texts, it stresses the fact that the epistemic boundaries of nyāya texts misrepresent the social and political boundaries in the lives of nyāya intellectuals.33 This incongruity may have taken place because nyāya intellectuals in Bengal conducted their philosophical writing largely without depending on any one type of political governance. Scholarship in the discipline of nyāya thrived during the Bengali Sultanate (1494–​1575), during the transition to stable Mughal rule (1575–​161034), during the period when the Nadia zamindari was not engaged in patronage activities (1610–​1661), and, finally, when the Nadia zamindari was much more concerned with patronage activities 30 Samasrami 1813, 23–​24. 31 Miya 1991, 112: samastasuprāśastyālaṅkr̥tasatatavirājamān[read:-​virājamāna-​]mahārājādhirājaśrīyut[ā]raṅgajebasāhādevapādānām abhyudayini gauḍarājye. 32 Another possibility is that acknowledging political power was more important for political elites in this period rather than for intellectuals. For examples, see temple and mosque inscriptions in Bhattacharyya (1982, 61–​62, 64) and Karim (1992, 430, 432, 433). 33 This borrows from the idea of the philosopher Paul Weiss: “If our minds were to function as surrogates for a finality, the boundaries involved in knowing would be epistemic versions of what is the case ontologically” (1985, 118). 34 While there seems to have been some migration from Bengal to Banaras during this transitional period by nyāya authors such as Kāśīnātha Vidyānivāsa Bhaṭṭācārya, Bhavānanda Siddhāntavāgīśa, and Padmanābha Miśra, a large number of well-​known scholars with students were practicing in Navadvip between 1575 and 1610. These scholars include Rāmabhadra Sārvabhauma (fl. 1525–​ 1575), the teacher of Mathuranātha Tarkavāgīśa (c. 1600); Guṇānanda Vidyāvāgīśa (fl. 1550–​1575), who migrated to Navadvip from Mithila after studying with Madhusūdana Ṭhakkura; Kr̥ṣṇadāsa Sārvabhauma (c. 1580), the teacher of Bhavānanda Siddhāntavāgīśa (c. 1600); Jagadīśa Tarkālaṅkāra (fl. 1580–​1600); Gaurīkānta Sārvabhauma (c. 1620, northern Bengal); and Jagadguru Śrīrāma Tarkālaṅkāra (fl. 1568, Navadvīp), who is mentioned in the letter of 1568 discussed earlier. For these authors’ dates, see, respectively, D. Bhattacharya 2007 (129, 163, 151, 182, 140–​41, 171, 129) and for Gaurīkānta’s location, see Mitra 1990 (245, MS no. 2490).

Space  179 (1661–​1711).35 The fact that nyāya intellectual practice in Bengal straddled multiple forms of political governance—​and sometimes very little presence of any regional governance at all—​calls into question the idea that the court should be placed at the center of analysis when determining how nyāya intellectual space was constituted and sustained.36 In other regions as well, scholars demonstrated their ability to adjust to different political circumstances, both remaining on the margins and interacting in a more substantive manner with courts and polities. In the case of Banaras, Christopher Minkowski stresses that there was “no local ruler” with whom Sanskrit intellectuals associated but instead scholars “had connections to many courts across the subcontinent.”37 Sheldon Pollock has remarked that during the seventeenth century the city “witnessed a confluence of more or less free intellectuals—​stipendiaries like Kavīndrācārya, clients of distant courts like Gāgā Bhaṭṭa, and no doubt rentiers—​of a sort it had almost certainly never seen before.”38 Audrey Truschke has discussed the close association of Sanskrit intellectuals in Banaras with the Mughal court during the sixteenth and seventeenth century as they spoke to and about these personalities; and how Sanskrit scholars adapted to various political changes at the Mughal court.39 Finally, Rosalind O’Hanlon has registered the links between Sanskrit scholars associated with the Viśveśvara temple in Banaras and rulers of Orccha and Amer.40 In the case of Mithila, Karin Preisendanz has discussed the close association between scholars and the Darbhanga Raj, a polity run by individuals who were Sanskrit scholars themselves and appear to have been interested in asserting a cultural identity tied to Sanskrit learning and scholarship.41 The most famous nyāya intellectual of seventeenth-​century Mithila, Gokulanātha Upādhyāya, joined the court of Śrī Fate Sāhavarmaṇa (as Gokulanātha refers to him) in Garhwal; and then in 1699 returned to Mithila to the court of Mahārāja Mādhava Siṃha until about 1739.42 35 For a history of this polity, see Chapter 3 and Wright 2014. 36 As an aside, it demonstrates that the success of nyāya intellectual practice in Bengal cannot be justifiably attributed to only brahmanical (or vaidika) forms of political culture and political administration. Nevertheless, the rulers of the Nadia polity self-​identified as high-​caste individuals: Aside from Rāghava’s claim to the status of a twice-​born (dvija) in his first temple inscription (Bhattacharyya 1982, 97), Rudra also identifies his great-​grandfather, Bhavānanda, the first zamindar of the polity as a dvija in the opening of his Essence of the Puranas (Chauduri 2004, 265). 37 Minkowski 2011, 220. 38 Pollock 2001a, 21. 39 Truschke 2016, especially 27–​63. 40 O’Hanlon 2011, 265. 41 Preisendanz 2005, 86. 42 Kroll 2010, 278; U. Mishra 1966, 382.

180  Space and Time In the case of Maratha Tanjavur, V.  Raghavan has argued that scholars supported themselves through tax-​free properties gifted to them by Śāhuji’s court (1684–​1710), for example; yet they also grouped themselves into communities that were not entirely dependent upon associations with the court.43 Under the Mughal Emperor Akbar, the capital of Fatehpur Sikri hosted well-​known Persian logicians such as Fatḥallāh Shīrāzī (d. 1589) who was sought after by Akbar and invited to the court from his home in Bijapur with much fanfare. As discussed by Asad Ahmed, Persian logicians were often given political appointments and granted land, which “allowed them to carry on their scholarly work and to subsidize large numbers of students.”44 But Persian logicians could just as easily operate at a distance from the Mughal court. As Ahmed further discusses, the city of Lahore was a major center for studies in Persian logic during the seventeenth century.45 Of course, just because we do not find clear references to political and social contexts in the works of nyāya intellectuals does not mean that they are completely absent. In Bengal, nyāya intellectuals offered new theories of property that, I have argued elsewhere, were related to larger changes in land use and land holdings by nyāya scholars, who were gifted land by the zamindar Rāghava Rāya.46 In Banaras, nyāya intellectuals took part in social debates about who was a Brahmin and who was not while, in parallel, writing philosophical essays on “brahmin-​ness” (brāhmaṇatva), an abstract category qualifying individuals with the ritual status of a Brahmin.47 But my larger point is twofold. First, that while nyāya intellectuals (and other Sanskrit intellectuals) were embedded within their own regional intellectual histories in which scholarly practice and polities could, though not necessarily, overlap, they could just as easily remain outside of these locations of power—​a conclusion also posited by Jonardon Ganeri, who has argued that nyāya intellectuals in the early modern period often stood on the margins of political structures.48 Second, these connections to the court or polity remained distinctly localized and regionally limited. To study these connections is to study an intellectual history of place rather than of space. Rāghava Rāya never offered grants of land within his polity to nyāya 43 Raghavan 1952, 29–​60. I know of this from Pollock 2001a, 21. 44 Ahmed 2013, 229. 45 Ibid., 230–​231. This may also help explain why so many nyāya works are held in the city at the A.C. Woolner Collection at Punjab University Library; see Woolner Project, n.d. 46 Wright 2017a. 47 Wright 2016. 48 Ganeri 2011, 247–​248.

Space  181 intellectuals in Mithila; and nyāya intellectuals based in Bengal never wrote a praise poem to a personality at the Mughal court, for example. In short, there is no one political space that encompasses all nyāya intellectual practice; no single political center through which to read a pan-​regional intellectual community; no one political form through which to read nyāya intellectual practice; and, importantly, no clear admission voiced by nyāya intellectuals themselves that their intellectual practice was a function of the court or created by it. Given these problems, what is required instead is a noncourtly lens through which to study this pan-​ regional intellectual space. Lawrence McCrea has argued forcefully for such an approach to Sanskrit literary writing. McCrea emphasizes that Sanskrit poets, for example, were not necessarily part of court projects and were not necessarily subsumed by these political forms; that they could be independent, acting for other aims and functions unrelated to the court.49 In a recent study, Elaine Fisher has argued that Sanskrit texts could move from a courtly context into a public one and in so doing underwrite new forms of identity and community.50 I agree with the broader arguments of both McCrea and Fisher. As a result, it is important to study how nyāya intellectuals conduct intellectual practice for reasons that may not pertain to courtly life and, as a correlative, consider the forms of community that result. However, addressing the larger, pan-​regional space of nyāya intellection through noncourtly perspectives is not without its own problems. Removing the court or polity from consideration risks presenting nyāya intellectuals as transcending history since excluding political power from our analysis removes the major power center through which nyāya intellectuals are brought into history. In short, it risks presenting nyāya intellectual space as purely a cultural space rather than also a space of power.51 I do not mean to imply that nyāya intellectuals are a transcendent group outside of history where power structures do not apply. Instead, the challenge is to locate nyāya intellectuals within a pan-​regional space that contains forms of culture and power but which are forms that remain and are crafted outside a courtly or political context.



49 McCrea 2013, 121.

50 Fisher 2017, 140–​143, 183–​189. 51 Pollock 2013, 67.

182  Space and Time

Reading Communities Given that nyāya intellectual space—​not, emphatically, nyāya intellectual place—​cannot be interpreted through the lens of the polity or court, we need to find other ways in which that space was constituted. As I have stated, I argue that the manuscript economy is the pan-​regional space of nyāya intellection in early modern India. But before I flesh out this argument, I want to spend some time thinking about the primary unit of this economy—​what I call a “reading community”—​and this unit’s relation to nyāya philosophy. Sheldon Pollock has argued that the relationship between community and literature is mutually constitutive because literature “addresses, sometimes calls into being, particular sociotextual communities.”52 Here, too, nyāya philosophy addresses a community organized around the reading of nyāya texts; and I want to spend some time unpacking this relationship. In analyzing this relationship, two issues should immediately be noted since my use of the term “reading” is liable to be misinterpreted. First, the reading practices among nyāya intellectuals were not “open” reading practices like we find in the Puranic tradition, for example, where individuals were invited to recitations (reading aloud with extemporaneous elements) in quasi-​public settings such as under “street corner” pavilions (maṇḍap) rather than inside rarified temple spaces.53 Instead, nyāya works are a genre of texts associated with “closed” reading practices, like texts associated with Vedic knowledge, in which the activity of reading was associated with a closed conception of who could and who could not study—​that is, read and debate—​ the works of nyāya intellectuals as determined by the ritual status and gender of a potential reader.54 As part of this reading practice of nyāya works, nyāya intellectuals engaged in quiet and personal reading, to be sure, but also took part in collective reading, oral debate (texts read aloud with extemporaneous 52 Pollock 1998, 9. 53 On the location of recitations and scholar assemblies, see Lutgendorf 1991, 126–​127 and O’Hanlon 2010, 217–​220, respectively; on recitation or pāṭh, see Lutgendorf 1991, 54–​56; and on extemporaneity, see O’Hanlon 2013c, 97, 117. For a highly nuanced and sensitive reading of “public” in south Asia, see Christian L. Novetzke 2016, 26–​35. See Miya 1991, 134, no. 116 for an example of an invitation dating to 1825 in which an individual named Kāśīnātha Vidyāvāgīśa mentions that someone came to his home in Shimulia (Pabna district, current-​day Bangladesh) to invite him to a recitation of a Purana (purān pāṭh). This is likely shorthand for the Bhāgavata Purāṇa. We might also think of nyāya texts through the categories of pāṭhya, “to be read,” as opposed to śravya, “audible,” as has been discussed by Velcheru Narayana Rao and David Shulman in the context of new forms of poetic compositions in sixteenth-​century Telugu (Narayana Rao and Shulman 2015, xviii). 54 See Introduction for arguments by Annaṃbhaṭṭa, Gadādhara, and Rāmakr̥ṣṇādhvarin. On reading practices related to Vedic knowledge, see Lutgendorf 1991, 56.

Space  183 arguments often textualized by scribes55), seminar-​like teaching, and the memorization of texts.56 Second, I do not investigate the hard evidence for the existence of such reading communities spread across south Asia. Instead, I  follow Anne Monius, who argues subtly that when epigraphical and archeological evidence are lacking, we can only study reading communities on the basis of the “existence of the text itself.”57 The existence of a text—​of Gadādhara’s commentary on Raghunātha’s Light-​Ray, for example, in Tanjavur, Wai, or Jammu—​within a reading community indicates that this unit partly constituted itself in relation to that text. This means that I do not discuss reading communities from the perspective of shared interpretive strategies of textual reading, as discussed recently by Devan Patel and Whitney Cox, for example.58 Instead, I am interested in discussing the significance of a group of readers—​as a reading community—​admitting a text into their community through production (manuscript copying) or exchange (trade, purchase) in order to critique and study and teach and debate that text individually and collectively as a group. Yet the reading communities that surrounded, or stood in relation to, the text were not vague collectives of scholars. Instead, these reading communities were quasi-​household arrangements and are what Rosalind O’Hanlon has called “scholar households” in her work on seventeenth-​ century Banaras.59 These scholar households are described by O’Hanlon as “the vital mainstay” of the intellectual lives of scholars; and they were remarked upon by François Bernier during his travel to the city in the 1660s, who described “private houses” outside the city in which four to seven students studied with a teacher.60 Often, these households were the family household of a student, the father serving as the teacher. But even when they were not, these scholar households contained “networks of quasi-​ filial relationships” between

55 On the role of scribes in oral debate, see Williams 2014, 133. Invitations to debate and to take part in other assemblies were also sent within a “closed” distribution system: Assemblies in early modern Banaras are made up of only Brahmin scholars (O’Hanlon 2010)—​a social restriction that continued into the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries (Wright, 2020b). 56 For an outstanding artistic rendering of reading practices during this time, see a painting of yogis reading manuscripts by the Mughal artist Śaṅkara (c. 1600, unknown location) in Losty 2018, 84 and which graces the cover of this book. The categories of private and public reading are not applicable here. 57 Monius 2001, 10, 11 for quote. 58 Patel 2014; Cox 2017. 59 O’Hanlon 2011. 60 Ibid., 257, 258 where Bernier is quoted.

184  Space and Time teacher and student that influenced decisions around marriage, financial strategies, and reputation building.61 These quasi-​family arrangements between scholars and their students have also been noted by Jonardon Ganeri in the case of seventeenth-​century Bengal.62 In Navadvip, teachers established “teaching arrangements,” called ṭols or catuṣpāṭhīs, operating through household-​like relations where the teacher “instructs his pupil gratuitously . . . and provides them with food, clothing and lodging during their stay.”63 As remarked by Ganeri, these arrangements meant that philosophical training and activities resembled a “family business.”64 Scholars would earn money by providing services to local elites and householders.65 My choice in calling these units of the manuscript economy “reading communities” instead of scholar households or simply households is an attempt to stress the role of reading practices in creating text-​centric communities who admit a text in manuscript form into their community. In calling these units “reading communities,” then, I  am stressing that my primary entry point into these groups is not the concept of the household but the text. But my point of entry is in no way meant to reduce the importance of the concept of the household: The household is the primary institution of the Sanskrit intellectual world in premodern India outside the court—​the “paradigmatic community,” in the words of Donald Davis.66 Davis, in a foundational study on Hindu law, reflects that “Small-​scale communities such as the household are more effective both at imposing common values and goods and, the same time, convincing their members of the advantages and benefits of accepting those core ideas.”67 Leveraging Davis’s argument, I posit that these reading communities were not reading at random but choosing texts to incorporate into the reading activities of the community based upon an agreed set of scholarly priorities. These priorities, to use Davis’s argument, were identified on the basis of both

61 Ibid., 257–​261, 258 for the quote. 62 Ganeri 2011, 74–​88. 63 Ibid., 74. The quote describing the arrangement is taken by Ganeri from Edward B. Cowell’s report on the Nadia district published in 1867. The word ṭol is of “Hindustani” origin and carries the same meaning in Bengal as catuṣpāṭhī; however, in Hindustani it can also carry the meaning of “offspring”—​further stressing a filial type of teaching arrangement between teacher and student (Platts 1884, 360). 64 Ibid., 87. 65 See E. B. Cowell’s remarks in Ganeri 2011, 74; Wright 2020a, 343; Wright, 2020b. 66 Davis 2010, 25. 67 Ibid., 26.

Space  185 shared emotional relations (the forging of “values”) and rational relations (“convincing” members of certain ideas) around which members of a community coalesced and through which members interacted with the manuscript economy and other reading communities as they put these values and ideas into practice.68 Reading communities thus constituted their relationship to the text on the basis of emotional and rational relations (due in part to their quasi-​household arrangement); and thus, as the primary unit of the manuscript economy, filled that space with both these types of relations. Admitting rational relations between the reading community and the text is beneficial, and fits in with some of the ideas of Pollock’s “script-​ mercantilism,” because it positions manuscripts as part of the mercantile economy of early modern India just like any other commodity. Early modern India was a major site of commercial activity and it would be odd, if not plainly incorrect, to argue that manuscripts were not included within this economy where mercantile-​based production fed into exchange and distribution networks. For example, manuscripts were in some cases produced by professional scribes called Kayasthas.69 A rare example is found in a manuscript copy, held in Tanjavur, of a nyāya work written by Mādhava Miśra (c. 1550, Mithila).70 In the colophon, we are told that the manuscript was copied by a Kayastha named Rāmadāsa at the behest of Viśvanātha Tīrtha on June 13, 1575.71 The manuscript is in Devanagari script on paper, indicating that the manuscript traveled to Tanjavur from north India, a possibility substantiated by the fact that Viśvanātha Tīrtha was based in Banaras and must have had it copied there.72 Based on this manuscript, it is fair to argue that the Kayastha, Rāmadāsa, formed part of a larger community of scribes, compensated for their services, who copied nyāya manuscripts circulating across early modern India. Other examples demonstrate that various communities were part of the paid or commissioned production of manuscripts for nyāya intellectuals. A  manuscript in the field of law (dharma-​śāstra) was copied for the 68 The place of emotional or “affective” relations in the study of the household is also emphasized by de Vries (2008, 11, 13n33) in the context of early modern Europe. 69 This professional group contained regional variations in social hierarchies, and individuals might also hold other offices such as revenue posts or ministerial positions at local courts; see O’Hanlon 2010, 563–​578. 70 The text is the Ālokadīpikā, a commentary on Jayadeva Paksadhara’s commentary on Gangesa’s Thought-​Jewel of Truth. 71 P.  P. Sastri 1931, 4524, MS no.  6098:  pustaka[ṃ] likhitaṃ rāmadāsakāyasthena. likhāpitaṃ viśvanāthatīrthena. 72 D. Bhattacharya 1958, 185.

186  Space and Time well-​known nyāya intellectual Kāśinātha Vidyānivāsa in the year 1588–​1589. The postcolophon of this manuscript reads: This manuscript, entitled the “Chapter on Gifts,” belongs to Vidyānivāsa, who is preeminent among the Bhaṭṭācāryas and is a crest-​jewel above all. It has been corrected and copied especially for him by Kavicandra, a Shudra, in 1588–​89 CE.73

In an unusual occurrence, the scribe, Kavicandra, notes his ritual status as part of his closing remarks. I remain uncertain how to read this: The term śūdra here may be used by Kavicandra to mark himself simply as someone who is not a Brahmin. But, in any case, he is clearly assigning himself a different ritual status (and so social status) from that of Kāśinātha. Additional, though limited, examples are equally illustrative. In a colophon of a commentary by the nyāya scholar Haridāsa Nyāyālaṅkāra (Bhaṭṭācārya), we are told that it was copied in 1600–​1601 ce on the banks of the Ganges River by an individual named Kandarpa Rāya.74 Scribes were also exceptionally important during scholarly debates among nyāya authors, who recorded what was argued and who won.75 Similar to evidence for the mercantile mode of nyāya manuscript production, it is not easy to find examples of nyāya manuscripts circulating in a mercantile fashion. Dineshchandra Bhattacharya gives an example of a list of books exchanged in Navadvip in 1549, but more definitive examples of manuscripts being assigned a monetary value and exchanged like commodities do exist.76 I am only able to find examples available from mid-​eighteenth-​ century Bengal, however. One list of manuscripts, dating to March 25, 1747, is titled “Invoice of the Manuscript-​List.”77 This invoice gives the titles of over forty Sanskrit manuscripts in grammar, poetry, and law and includes 73 Eggeling 1891, 409, MS no.  1385:  sarveṣāṃ mauliratnānām bhaṭṭacāryamahātmanām. etad vidyānivāsānāṃ dānakāṇḍāsthyapustakam. vyomenduśaraśītāṃśumitaśāke viśeṣataḥ. śūdreṇa kavicandreṇa vilikhya pariśodhitam. I know of this from H. Sastri 1910, 312. 74 The text is Pratyakṣālokaṭippaṇī, a commentary on Pakṣadhara Miśra’s Āloka commentary on Gaṅgeśa’s Thought-​Jewel (c. 1470, Mithila); see Mitra 1885, 290, MS no. 2850: kandarparāyapadavīka idaṃ lilekha. The term padavīka is not entirely clear:  It can also mean an office or position; see J. Ghosh 1937–​1938, 128. The manuscript was one of three copied in succession, likely all by Kandarpa; see Mitra 1885, 290–​293, MS nos. 2851 and 2852. 75 Williams 2014, 133. 76 D.  Bhattacharya 1958, 129. At the top of the list reads, “A list of books bartered. Nadia” (tālikapustakabandha. nadia). Bhattacharya reads bandhaka for bandha; however, this note may be a later interpolation. 77 Mandal 1953, 118–​119, no. 158: cālān pustak pharādaṣya.

Space  187 the number of copies, but not the cost, of the manuscripts per title. An undated list, made out to a Rāmaśaṅkara Tarkacūḍāmaṇi Bhaṭṭācārya, gives the value of eight, separate Sanskrit manuscript volumes, one of which is a nyāya work. The total value of the volumes is thirty-​three silver rupee coins (taṅkā). But it is unclear how this value is determined as individual volumes are not priced.78 Yet manuscripts did not circulate nor were produced purely within a context of monetary exchange and paid production, undercutting an exclusive reliance on rational relations when studying how reading communities relate to nyāya texts. As is well known, manuscripts were produced by intellectuals themselves, their sons, and students.79 In the case of nyāya intellectuals, a few examples can be found in which scholars copied their own and others’ work. In 1464, the well-​known Mithila-​based nyāya author Pakṣadhara Miśra copied a manuscript of the Viṣṇupurāṇa into Maithili script on palm leaf. In the colophon, he says that he “carefully wrote this holy and important manuscript.”80 On July 29, 1625, the Banaras-​based nyāya author Rudra Nyāyavācaspati copied his commentary on Raghunātha’s Inquiry onto paper in Bengali script. Referring to himself in the third person, he writes: “The Commentary on the Inquiry, composed by Śrī Rudra Nyāyavācaspati Bhaṭṭācārya, is completed.  .  .  . [H]‌e copied his own manuscript.”81 Other nyāya authors are said to have copied their manuscripts such as Banaras-​ based Mahādeva Punataṃkara, but evidence is lacking.82 This practice continued into the colonial period. In the year 1852, the well-​known nyāya scholar, Gokolanātha Nyāyaratna from Navadvip, copied Viśvanātha Nyāyasiddhānta Pañcānana’s commentary on the Nyāyasūtras.83 Examples of students copying manuscripts are fascinating because they occasionally concluded with verses in praise of the author whose manuscript they had copied. I provide two examples of this practice. First, in 1645 a manuscript of a work by Jayarāma Nyāyapañcānana was produced during

78 Ibid., 87, no.  125. The list includes Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa’s commentary on Raghunātha’s Light-​Ray. I am not able to find any information about Rāmaśaṅkara to help with the dating of this document. 79 I discuss only examples from nyāya, but for other disciplines, see, for example, O’Hanlon 2011, 259 and Pollock 2007, 90. 80 Banerji-​ Sastri 1938, 165:  śrīmatpakṣadharamiśraḥ supustakam idaṃ śuddhaṃ vyalekhīd adrutam. 81 H.  Sastri 1957, 288–​ 289, MS no.  7902:  iti śrīrudranyāyavācaspatibhaṭṭācāryaviracitā padārthakhaṇḍanavyākhyā samāptā. . . . alikhat pustakaṃ nijam. The date is 7 śrāvaṇa 1547 śaka. 82 Kaviraj 1961, 80. 83 D. Bhattacharya 1941, 243n6.

188  Space and Time Jayarāma’s lifetime, by an individual named Rājamaṇi. Jayarāma was a very influential nyāya scholar in Banaras and also signed the judgment letter of 1657 discussed in Chapter 4. The manuscript is a vāda essay fourteen folia in length entitled An Essay on Nominal Compounds. I quote the colophon and postcolophon: This manuscript (pustaka) was written by Rājamaṇi on the eighth day during the dark half of the month of āṣāḍha in the Samvat year 1702 [July 16, 1645 CE]. Lord Śiva is supreme. The one and only, Jayarāma, guru to this city, is supreme—​whose scholarly outputs are actually pearls of reasoning which, by virtue of their outstanding qualities, are forever being made into ornaments by him (who teaches us all about the ocean of transmigration) for the intellectual community. The one and only guru, Jayarāma, is supreme—​by whom adversarial positions are overcome and questioned through proper logic (tarka); who is skilled at defending everyone adhering to [correct] positions; the fulcrum of the learned and of students, who hold, as it were, his parasol of proper and true reasoning.84

Another example of a postcolophon verse to a teacher is found in a manuscript copied by a student of Jagadīśa Tarkālaṅkāra on January 29, 1658.85 The manuscript is a copy of Jagadīśa’s commentary on Mammaṭa’s eleventh-​ century masterpiece, the Kāvyaprakāśa. His unnamed student writes, The tenth chapter examining the figuration of meaning in the Elucidation of the Teaching of the Kāvyaprakāśa composed by Śrī Jagadīśa Tarkpañcānana Bhaṭṭācārya is now completed. Homage to him who is something else; who is tormenting even the god of love; bearing a thunderbolt; supporting the Bhagirathi River (Ganges); warding-​off death; controlling poison; delighting Lord Brahma; spreading

84 H.  Sastri 1957, 260, MS no.  7848:  saṃvat 1302 samaye āṣāḍhakr̥ṣṇāṣṭāmyāṃ pustakam alekhi rājamaṇinā. śrīviśveśvaro jayati. yadyuktimauktikaphalāni guṇair yadīyaiḥ sandarbhitāni vibudhamaṇḍalamaṇḍanāni/​ śaśvad bhavanti bhavasāgarapāranetuḥ puryāṃ gurur vijayate jayarāma ekaḥ. sattarkatarkitatiraskr̥taśatrupakṣaḥ pakṣāśritākhilajanapratipāladakṣaḥ/​ sadyuktichatrita[read: -​chatrika-​]vicakṣaṇachātracakraḥ so ’yaṃ gurur vijayate jayarāma ekaḥ. 85 The date is 9 māgha 1579 śaka. The colophon changes Jagadīśa’s title to Tarkapañcānana while the postcolophon alters it to Nyāyālaṅkāra.

Space  189 the voices [of the learned]; casting aside adversaries; alleviating the anguish of the learned; destroying sins; and making the whole world dance. . . . This tireless student, taught by [Jagadīśa] Nyāyālaṅkāra, happily copied down, for the purpose of study, this entire manuscript himself—​a work composed by his own teacher—​while sitting in his own courtyard.86

These examples do not demonstrate only a rational relation between reading communities and the text in which a work is produced in manuscript form for teaching and study but instead suggest that manuscripts of works were produced because of an emotional affinity to the work, to one’s teacher, or as a result of feeling that reproducing the work in manuscript form is the right thing to do.87 These examples, in short, demonstrate that copying (and, by extension, distributing) a manuscript could not only be an intellectual practice but also an emotional practice tied to the feelings one has towards a text, its author, or an ethical feeling regarding manuscript production of certain works—​feelings that might be expressed by individual nyāya scholars or collectively by reading communities.88 Given this, how should we make sense of the circulation and production of nyāya manuscripts within the extensive geography of reading communities mapped earlier? One initial observation is that because the manuscript economy contains both emotional and rational relations as determined by and shared among reading communities, the primary goods of consumption in the manuscript economy, namely, the manuscripts, are not only rationally appreciated for their utility in intellectual pursuits such as the activities of research, writing, teaching, and debate but are also emotionally appreciated for their “nontangible” utility.89 Both types of utility serve to make manuscripts in demand and meaningful for reading communities. In the former, nyāya manuscripts are assigned an intellectual value based on various criteria agreed upon by members of a reading community that determine a text’s 86 Mitra 1878, 224–​ 225, MS no.  1651:  iti śrījagadīśatarkapañcānanabhaṭṭācāryakr̥te kāvyaprakāśarahasyaprakāśe arthālaṅkāranirūrpako daśamollāsaḥ samāptaḥ. kandarpaṃ dahate vi[dy]uc ca vahate bhāgīrathīṃ bibhrate mr̥tyuṃ vārayate viṣaṃ vaśayate brahmāṇam ucchāsate/​ vāṇaṃ varddhayate vr̥ṣaṃ kalayate dakṣādhim ātanvate pāpaṃ khaṇḍayate jagannaṭayate kasmaicid asmai namaḥ. . . . nyāyālaṅkāradhīro nijagururacitaṃ pustam etat samastam svīyaṃ svīyāṅganastho vyalikhad analaso ’dhyāpanārthaṃ sukhena. 87 Kauppinen 2013, 367–​373. 88 For examples of texts circulating on the basis of personal relationships between nyāya intellectuals, see Wright 2017b and in other Sanskrit scholarly contexts, see O’Hanlon 2011, 259–​260. 89 I am influenced here by Jan de Vries’s classic study on the household economy where he argues for an expanded sense of consumption to include “more than the physical utility of goods” wherein “goods can acquire nontangible qualities that affect their utility to the consumer” (2008, 25, 33).

190  Space and Time inclusion within and reproduction by that reading community. In the latter, manuscripts serve, to borrow from Elizabeth Helsinger, as “depositories of emotion” into which a reading community attributes (deposits) and from which a reading community recognizes (empathetically “withdraws”) when consuming, producing, and circulating manuscripts.90 This means that the manuscript economy is able to retain localized and culturally bound notions of utility—​the “affective particulars”—​with respect to the goods that circulate within it rather than subsuming or negating those particulars into a rational utility.91 The importance of this observation is that reading communities, as conceived of here, rely upon both emotional and rational relations when determining how best to position themselves vis-​à-​vis the market of manuscripts and other reading communities as they chart their consumption objectives—​objectives constituted in complex ways according to perceived utilities and values in “the text.” The agreed-​upon objectives, then, affect how members utilize their time:  copying manuscripts, reading, teaching, debating, compiling readers, searching for manuscripts, hiring scribes, purchasing writing technologies, and so forth.92 Of course, the commitment that the manuscript economy is made up of both emotional and rational relations may just as easily apply to periods other than early modernity and regions outside premodern India. This means that while these relations are a necessary condition of the manuscript economy, they are not sufficient on their own to explain the circulation and production of nyāya manuscripts in early modern India. This leads me to my second argument about the specific historical and philosophical reasons nyāya manuscripts circulated and were produced in early modern India.

The Manuscript Economy Given its importance, the manuscript economy must be considered a primary institution of early modern India comprised of certain concepts. At the most basic level, these concepts are emotionality, rationality; and, in terms of Sanskrit intellectual practice, ritual status and kinship (varṇa and jāti).93 90 Helsinger 1989, 272. 91 Pollock 2006, 579. 92 See de Vries 2008, 26, 60 for discussions on the utilization of time. For examples of nyāya readers in the early modern and colonial period, see H. Sastri 1957, 201–​203, 209–​212, 220–​223. 93 This last feature could be replaced by other social stratifications when considering material in other languages.

Space  191 As constituted by these concepts, the manuscript economy produces certain relations between individuals and groups (which may be very uneven) and places individuals in relation to that institution as intellectuals, students, scribes, distributors and traders of various commodities (e.g., manuscripts, styli, paper), and so forth.94 If we accept such a view, the manuscript economy, as a space, is clearly a location of both culture and power that frames and limits intellectual practice. This is because it informs how Sanskrit intellectuals, both individually and grouped together as reading communities, comport themselves to this manuscript economy; how they form ideas and values about what it means to be an intellectual; how they determine the standards and modes of intellectual writing; and how and when to interact with nonphilosophical and non-​ Brahmin communities. As a general function, the manuscript economy so conceived also expresses and ascribes value to manuscripts and, by extension, particular forms of intellectual practice; but those values do not remain static across different historical moments. On the basis of the data from my metasurvey of nyāya manuscripts, nyāya intellectual practice in Bengal or Navadvip appears to have been ascribed with an exceptional amount of value since the manuscripts of works written by Bengal-​based nyāya scholars are held at a much higher rate compared to manuscripts of works by nyāya scholars from other regions. This means that the nyāya manuscript economy expresses the unique value that Bengal or Navadvip held for nyāya intellectual practice and intellectual power—​an expression of value in line with David Livingstone’s observation that “certain spaces are privileged sites because from them emanate discourses that exercise immense power in society.”95 A major result of this was that reading communities looked to Bengal to determine how they should best structure their time to reach the “maximum utility” of their members as a correlative to the perceived value of nyāya works produced in that region.96 Yet reading communities and nyāya intellectuals were also able to act innovatively upon the manuscript economy.97 The most important innovation in this regard was the introduction of the concept of novelty—​a new type of value and idea—​into the nyāya manuscript economy of early modern

94 I am influenced here by Foucault 1982, 777–​778. 95 Livingstone 2011, 382. 96 de Vries 2008, 26.

97 Bevir 1999, 357–​358.

192  Space and Time India. As discussed to varying degrees in each of the preceding chapters, nyāya intellectuals in early modern India often employed the category of “the new” in their works by presenting their works as ones that contained novel ideas or that contained discussions on issues that were not previously considered by authors in the discipline. In the context of the consumption of nyāya manuscripts by reading communities, one way in which these reading communities acted upon the manuscript economy was by setting innovative consumption objectives that included the category of “the new” as a novel demand. This consumption objective was coeval with the employment of “the new” in intellectual arguments and the building of scholarly identities among nyāya authors, creating a circular effect on both modes of writing (intellectual production) and types of demand (intellectual consumption). Formulated in such a manner, the category of “the new” instills both emotional and rational meanings in a manuscript: It sets it within the demand for and interest in novel ideas in the discipline of nyāya but also enables a manuscript to attain a certain emotional relation with the reader who views “the new” as a mode of writing to which nyāya intellectuals should comport themselves. In this case, the manuscript is made into a particular type of object as a result of this interplay of emotional and rational relations, which ensures its demand in the manuscript economy and also ensures its (re)production by scholars precisely because what it means to write a text in nyāya or to be a nyāya intellectual is to engage with the category of “the new”—​ whether or not new positions are actually accepted by an author and whether or not a view is actually new.98 In short, what emerges in this process is a novel taste for consuming and producing “the new” as a constituent part of nyāya intellectual practice and in constituting the relationship between the reading community and text.99 Considered in this way, the introduction of novelty into the nyāya manuscript economy is an act of creativity by nyāya intellectuals and others reading nyāya works to craft new intellectual consumption and production patterns related to nyāya works on the basis of values agreed upon by reading communities and their members.100 This creative act led to the emergence of “new complementarities” in scholarly lifestyle.101 For example, the fact that 40 percent of nyāya manuscripts in southern India are works authored by the nyāya

98

For a different context, see Bronner and Tubb 2008. My comments on taste are informed by de Vries 2008, 28–​32. 100 On human creativity in this context, see Gualerzi 1998, 56. 101 de Vries 2008, 34. 99

Space  193 intellectual Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (c. 1661, Navadvip) indicates that the scholarly life of reading communities in south India was complemented (or perfected) by a knowledge of Gadādhara’s ideas and amassing manuscripts of his works. Crucially, this means that while Sheldon Pollock is right to argue that the category of “the new” indicates a “different way of thinking” among Sanskrit intellectuals vis-​à-​vis their intellectual heritages, “the new” also indicates a different way of dwelling in, or sentimentalities attached to, intellectual practice.102 With regard to how “the new” features as a component of thought, the data of the metasurvey indicate that novelty framed conceptualizations among nyāya intellectuals about what it meant to think; and that knowing how nyāya intellectuals from Navadvip were thinking anew or “thinking novelty” appears to have been a major interest (or consumption demand) shared across reading communities in early modern India who were reading intellectual thought in Sanskrit—​there is no other way to explain why nyāya works written in Navadvip make up 69 percent of all nyāya manuscripts surveyed. With regard to emotionality in intellectual practice, the sentiment of novelty is evinced by nyāya intellectuals in themselves and in reading communities when these works—​valued as new—​are written, read, and (re-​) produced. This makes it a shared (empathic) sentiment across and within reading communities that influences the values around which reading communities organize themselves. In the process of valuing this sentiment, the desire to be novel by an author or the desire to read that which is novel on the part of a reading community is included within the set of sensibilities that define nyāya intellectual life—​and, more broadly, Sanskrit intellectual life—​in early modern India. The nyāya manuscript economy of early modern India is a complex amalgamation of various concepts that interact to create a dynamic pan-​regional space within which nyāya intellectuals conducted their intellectual life. While this space of the manuscript economy—​as a larger institution in premodern southern Asia—​may be structured around standard concepts that are in operation throughout the long durée of premodern intellectual history, I have attempted to identify historically contingent concepts that emerged in the early modern period that affected the structure of that institution. The introduction of novelty into the nyāya manuscript economy is the principal innovation made by nyāya intellectuals to the conceptual arrangement of

102

Pollock 2001a, 5.

194  Space and Time that institution. Constituted thus by emotionality, rationality, ritual status and kinship forms, and, in the early modern period, novelty, the nyāya manuscript economy functioned as the pan-​regional space of culture and power connecting the different regions of nyāya intellectuality and linking reading communities both materially and imaginatively across the entirety of early modern India.

6 Time Novelty is a temporal particular broken out of time’s universality and made into a perceptible moment—​a “now.” When expressed concretely in textual form, novelty—​as a now—​attains an objectivity, making it available as an object of thought. As Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana reminds us: The expression, “A now is a temporal moment,” is made on the basis of the appearance of a moment as finite and empirical—​just as something is called an object of cognition because it too appears as something that is finite and empirical.1

Novelty, as a finite and empirical “now” separated out from the otherwise undifferentiated time of nyāya intellectuality, calls forth a complex layering of emotional and intellectual histories that, when taken together, provide a topography to the flat plane of nyāya intellectual life.2 This chapter explores this claim across three areas. I begin first with examining a particular use of time by nyāya intellectuals in the early modern period. I then turn to examine how the recognition of novelty is an ontologically significant judgment. Finally, I examine the role novelty plays in enabling nyāya philosophical writing of the early modern period to assume a narrative form that contains what Martha Nussbaum calls “patterns of attachment” across time.3

Synchronic Novelty In his 1924 Howison Lecture in Philosophy at the University of California, Berkeley, Arthur O. Lovejoy addressed the question of how novelty emerges 1 Rajpal 2008, 125–​ 126:  idānīṃ kṣaṇa iti vyavahāras tu sthūlakālasyedānīntvena bhānāt prameyatve prameyatvam itivan nirvāhyaḥ. 2 I am influenced here by the words of Nussbaum 2001, 1. 3 Ibid., 2.

A Time of Novelty. Samuel Wright, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2021. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197568163.003.0007

196  Space and Time within a system. He argued that the emergence of novelty means we may potentially find three things: (a) qualities not previously found anywhere in that system; or (b) types of objects or events not previously existent therein, not mere combinations of anything previously existent, and characterized by new qualities; or (c) laws, i.e., modes of uniform action, not previously exemplified by any entities in the system.4

It is Lovejoy’s first feature (“qualities not previously found”) that is perhaps the most common understanding of novelty. Substituting “ideas and arguments” for the word “qualities” would mean that his description of novelty in a system of thought is applicable to the discipline of nyāya in ways I have discussed in this book: a new definition of doubt and a new notion of objectivity; new concerns about the concept of joy and about death and dying; and new concepts incorporated into the nyāya manuscript economy. Lovejoy’s first feature is also very close to the understanding of novelty in more recent studies that discuss Sanskrit intellection in early modern India. Modern scholars have wanted to know if new arguments in Sanskrit intellection during the early modern period really were new: whether they are previously exemplified in a system of thought and how the new is different from or relates to the old. In a study on early modern Sanskrit literary theory, Gary Tubb and Yigal Bronner have argued that the term “new,” as used by Jagannātha Paṇḍitarāja, was applied to ideas adumbrated at different historical moments, not necessarily contemporaneous with Jagannātha. Often, there is a clear chronological use of the term in Jagannātha’s works. At other times, the term marks a conceptual division between and among arguments and ideas.5 In a study on Sanskrit grammatical philosophy in the early modern period, Madhav Deshpande provides a similarly nuanced account. Deshpande notes that the terms “new” and “old,” as used by scholars such as Bhaṭṭoji Dīkṣita and Nāgeśa Bhaṭṭa, could be relative terms, changing their referent as successive generations of scholars scrutinized current ideas and arguments.6 In a study on early modern Sanskrit hermeneutics (mīmāṃsā), Lawrence McCrea demonstrates that part of what made this field of study new in this period was the selective employment, previously unexampled, 4 Lovejoy 1924, 178, emphasis in original. I know of this from Duffin 1980, 277. 5 Tubb and Bronner 2008, 622–​624. 6 Deshpande 2015, 34. See also Bronkhorst 2008.

Time  197 of technical terms borrowed from the discipline of nyāya.7 In still another study on Sanskrit poetics of the early modern period, Yigal Bronner has argued that novelty is found within this system of thought but only with respect to “novel answers to old questions.”8 Bronner’s conclusion here echoes that of Sheldon Pollock in a well-​known essay, who argues that the use of the terms “new” and “old” indicates that “new truths are clearly in evidence” for Sanskrit scholars, but that this new thought is restricted by “an invariant set of questions.”9 In terms of recent studies on the discipline of nyāya, Jonardon Ganeri has argued that what differentiates nyāya philosophers in early modernity from earlier periods in the discipline is a “new sense of one’s duties to the past” and a “new spirit of inquiry” that is “evidence-​based and collaborative.”10 Stephen Phillips has argued recently along similar lines that the early modern period in the discipline of nyāya entailed “new techniques of logical and linguistic analysis” together with “new arguments.”11 Karin Preisendanz has argued that from the fifteenth century, “a new kind of focused and increasingly intense interest in . . . text-​critical analysis” was practiced in the discipline from Mithila to Bengal.12 In these accounts, novelty is approached through a historical or diachronic mode: interpreting the emergence of the new as occurring on a linear plane of temporality cast over a system of knowledge. This mode of writing is, of course, important for an understanding of why and when certain concepts emerge or change in interpretation and definition. Indeed, much of my own analysis in this book employs a diachronic mode in order to make sense of nyāya arguments in the early modern period: the emergence of a new concept of doubt or objectivity, for example. However, while studying novelty in a diachronic mode is a necessary endeavor, it is not, in my view, a sufficient one and, moreover, is vulnerable to two problems. First, this interpretive mode risks being implicated in a historicist reading of the discipline because it assumes a stagist theory of development where “new” nyāya intellectuals are representatives of a system of 7 McCrea 2002. 8 Bronner 2002, 458. 9 Pollock 2001a, 14. This shared position might cause difficulty for people like R. G. Collingwood, who argued that very specific questions require very specific answers, which means that the answer cannot change without the question also changing (Collingwood 1964, 29–​43). 10 Ganeri 2011, 243, 247–​248. 11 Phillips 2017, 176. 12 Preisendanz 2005, 86.

198  Space and Time thought in its latest historical iteration, advancement, or even culmination.13 In addition, a historicist reading prevents the possibility that the discipline of nyāya may contain multiple moments of novelty spread across historical time.14 Second, and more seriously, reading the discipline of nyāya in a diachronic mode occludes the ways in which certain intellectuals may have used or employed time as a concept, undercutting an analysis of more dynamic modes of novelty at work in their writings. I address the second problem here. I submit that in the sixteenth and, especially, the seventeenth century, nyāya intellectuals employed a synchronic novelty in their writing. This synchronic novelty was used by certain nyāya intellectuals to craft a philosophical community in early modern India that “lived parallel” to each other on the same intellectual “trajectory” (to borrow from Benedict Anderson).15 The utility of this synchronic novelty was that it enabled those nyāya intellectuals on the same trajectory to posit, as a component of their intellectual practice, the coexistence of another group of nyāya intellectuals always already disconnected from their own trajectory. The consequence of this is that although the new is announced by nyāya intellectuals to mark an emergent element in philosophical argumentation, it is employed as part of a specific conception of time in which the old remains present and available. More specifically, because the old does not and cannot logically exist until the new is created, the crafting or structuring of time that results from this employment of a synchronic novelty by certain nyāya intellectuals means that the new and the old are coeval: They form part of the same temporal moment while being irreducible to each other.16 The employment of a synchronic novelty was a major argumentative and theoretical technique through which certain nyāya intellectuals viewed the discipline. When employed, synchronic novelty exerts a “downward causal” effect onto the discipline. The new, occurring “up time” as it were, determines (as the cause) specific parts of the discipline that are posited to be already existing (those occurring “down time”)—​a causal process that results in ontologically freezing certain elements of the discipline as old in relation to new, emerging elements. This “ontological freezing” had a major epistemological 13 Patil 2013, 103; Pollock 2001a, 7. My thoughts on historicism are informed here by Chakrabarty 2007, 23. 14 As mentioned in the Introduction, fourteenth-​century Mithila is another moment of novelty in the discipline, but this was constituted differently and requires an excavation of that moment’s specific “historical consciousness” (Patil 2013, 104). 15 Anderson 2006, 187–​188, with quote from 188. 16 Rueger 2000, 298, 301.

Time  199 effect: Certain elements identified as old were now only able to be known as such, which allowed for a periodized and historicized arrangement of the discipline. This means that the employment of novelty in this period—​in actuality, the employment of a synchronic novelty—​entails the construction of a bifurcated temporal moment of the new and the old.17 How is this synchronic novelty used in the work of nyāya intellectuals? As examined in the preceding chapters, old views are not known as old until they are framed as such in distinction to new views—​a presentation that takes place primarily in the vāda essay. This sort of presentation in philosophical writing signals the use of a synchronic novelty in which to announce the emergence of a new view is at the same time to identify a corresponding old view. Occasionally, this synchronic novelty is prefigured in the very title of a work such as Harirāma Tarkavāgīśa’s Examination of the New View, an essay on inference. More often, as discussed in Chapters  1 and 2, bitemporal moments are embedded within the arguments of vāda essays such as Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya’s Essay on Doubt or Harirāma’s Essay on Objectivity in which the new view stands alongside the author’s own personal view (man-​mata), the community’s view (asman-​mata), and/​or the old view (prācīna-​mata).18 In each of these cases, the use of a synchronic novelty means that certain nyāya intellectuals employed time to create and maintain a bitemporal moment (the new and the old) within their texts in which each temporal level of that single moment is associated with a respective element:  old, already-​existing positions or, alternatively, new, emerging positions. Synchronic novelty is thus the primary technique through which certain nyāya intellectuals announce themselves as new to reading communities.

Novelty’s Ontology As novelty is a bifurcated temporal moment—​a now—​that contains both the new and the old, it places nyāya intellectuals into a differentiated existence across the plane of nyāya intellectuality. The emergence of a differentiated 17 My thinking here is informed by the discussion in Andersen et al. 2000, 15–​16. 18 For Harirāma’s Examination of the New View, see Tripathi 2001, 1–​32. See also Harirāma’s Essay on Auspiciousness or his Essay on Laws where a similar content organization is found (ibid., 44–​49, 146–​169, respectively); for the various views referred to in the Essay on Laws, see ibid., 155, 167; and, for an example of Harirāma’s own view, see ibid., 218, in his Essay on Objectivity.

200  Space and Time existence between intellectuals is a significant event in the discipline during the early modern period and is a process which can be more deeply appreciated by turning to some of the theoretical resources provided by nyāya intellectuals themselves, particularly Raghunātha Śiromaṇi. In order to recover some of these resources, let me start with an uncontentious observation about nyāya philosophy in the early modern period: Nyāya intellectuals were extremely concerned about crafting a more accurate ontology of the world. Ironically, this often led to a more complex, polycategory ontology.19 When Raghunātha Śiromaṇi, for example, asked what Willard Quine has identified as the ontological question (“What is there?”), he posited more, not fewer, categories—​a direction that differs substantially from many contemporary philosophers who “dream” of a monocategory ontology.20 From approximately the eleventh century, the ontological categories accepted by scholars in the discipline of nyāya were seven in number: substance (dravya), trope (guṇa), activity (kriyā), generality (sāmānya or jāti), inherence (samavāya), particularity (viśeṣa), and absence (abhāva).21 But, as is well known, Raghunātha, writing in the early sixteenth century, eliminates many of these and adds eight new ontological categories: moment (kṣaṇa), the property relation (svatva), casual efficacy (śakti), causality (kāraṇatva), effect-​ness (kāryatva), number (saṅkhya), absential objectivity (vaiśiṣṭya), and objectivity (viṣayatā). The manner in which Raghunātha argues for these new categories is exceptionally important for theorizing novelty in the early modern period. For Raghunātha, when thinking about ontological categories, it is important to first turn to our judgments about the world. This is because certain judgments—​termed pratīti and pratyaya—​are ontologically significant in that they are able to reveal an ontology. Recourse to these judgments is found in Raghunātha’s arguments for number, the property relation, absential objectivity, and the objectivity relation as new ontological categories. Two examples will serve to exhibit his method. On the property relation, he writes, Here is the issue: Our normative texts claim that we should not take property that belongs to someone else. But, in the absence of a judgment (pratīti) that a property relation obtains between someone and a piece of 19 See Chapter 2. 20 Garcia 2015, 149. Van Inwagen (2014, 198) favors an ontology with only two primary categories. On Quine’s ontological question, see Quine 1948 and van Inwagen 1998, 233. 21 For some of this history, see Ganeri 2011, 200.

Time  201 property, how could this claim ever be made? The answer is that it cannot. Therefore, the property relation is ontologically distinct and is a separate ontological category.22

On number, he writes in a similar manner. He says, Number is another ontological category; not one of the twenty-​four tropes [as in the older ontology]. This argument is made on the basis of the fact that we have a judgment (pratyaya) that one of the twenty-​four tropes such as color is possessed of number. And, since nothing prevents such a judgment, there is nothing wrong in making the case that number is an ontological category.23

In essence, the significance of these judgments is that they pick out “Being” from the myriad and seemingly endless particulars that we experience in the world, allowing us to form concepts that assist us in arranging the world into an ontology.24 Yet, as further noted by Raghunātha, a primary function of the ontological categories is that they underwrite our language, not only our judgments. For example, on the ontological category of causality, Raghunātha notes that it “delimits those multiple, individual things that are meant by the word ‘cause.’ ”25 This is similar to arguments made by Yaśovijaya Gaṇi (fl. 1650, Banaras), who states that the ontological category of the property relation underwrites expressions such as “This is property” and “The property relation is instantiated here [in this piece of property].”26 What this indicates is that our language (not just our judgments) may also serve as a point of departure into an ontology because our language contains terms that assume the presence of the objective categories of the world, of an ontology. Thus, when these terms are used in our utterances, then our

22 Rajpal 2008, 127: parasvaṃ nādadītety ādikam iti cet svatvāpratītau kathaṃ tatpravr̥ttiḥ. tasmāt svatvam atiriktam eva. 23 Ibid., 146: saṃkhyā ca padārthāntaraṃ na tu guṇaḥ guṇādiṣv api tadvattvapratyayāt. na cāsau bhramaḥ bādhakābhāvāt. 24 I do not explore the philosophical problems raised by Raghunātha here; for an excellent study, see Williams 2017. 25 Rajpal 2008, 144:  tattatkāraṇapadaśakyatāvacchedakam. This also applies to the category of “effect-​ness” or “being an effect.” 26 Yaśovijaya’s passage reads (Kroll 2010, 194):  sa [padārthaḥ] ca  .  .  .  atra svatvam idaṃ svam ityādivyavahārakārī. The same remark is found in the anonymous Essay on the Property-​Relation (ibid., 195): sa [padārthaḥ] ca . . . atra svatvam idaṃ svam ityādivyavahārakārak[aḥ].

202  Space and Time utterances become “homogenized” or “subsumed,” for nyāya intellectuals, such that they are placed under and made sense of through these categories. In the words of Rāmabhadra Sārvabhauma (c. 1550, Navadvip), “The usage of a word is homogenized or subsumed as a direct result of a homogenizing element in that particular word whose usage is concomitant [with that element].”27 In other words, our language regularly employs terms or expressions that are subsumed within and are made sense of through a homogenizing element—​what is technically termed anugama by nyāya intellectuals—​ that suggests the presence of the ontological categories. For Raghunātha, then, the connection between ontologically significant judgments and our language becomes a circular movement used to construct an ontology by examining how we speak about the world in response to our judgments of it and, correspondingly, by examining our (ontologically significant) judgments for how and why our language carries meaning. Raghunātha’s ontological analysis has large consequences for studying novelty. First, as is obvious in the various texts examined throughout this book, nyāya authors were judged to be new or old—​judgments expressed concretely in textual form. For example, a judgment of this kind (from Chapter 2) enables Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya to claim that New nyāya authors argue that objectivity must be considered ontologically distinct and, as such, is an ontological category; not, it should be emphasized, a peculiar sort of relation called a svarūpa relation in which it is ontologically identical to one or both of its relata.28

As readers of this claim concerned with novelty, we can ask, following Rāmabhadra, whether or not it contains a homogenized term that is ontologically significant. I would argue that indeed there is such a term here in Gadādhara’s claim: the term “new” or navya. This term, then, must be one whose meaning is subsumed by a homogenizing element or anugama that places this claim into a certain relation with other claims about the concept of objectivity in the discipline. This homogenizing element is novelty or navyatā.29 27 In his commentary on Raghunātha’s Inquiry (Rajpal 2008, 159): anugatavyavahāraś ca vyāpyādivyavahāravacchabdamātrānugamād eva. 28 Ibid., 268: navyās tu viṣayatvaṃ padārthāntaram eva na tu svarūpasaṃbandhaviśeṣaḥ. 29 Bronner makes first use of the neologism navyatā, a term that is not used by nyāya intellectuals (2002, 455–​459).

Time  203 When a scholar uses the term navya to describe himself, an argument, or another scholar, he subsumes each of them—​as “particulars”—​under this homogenizing element of novelty. Functioning like an ontological category, the homogenizing element of novelty is what gives certain nyāya intellectuals a “Being” that other intellectuals in the discipline may or may not possess and thus serves to organize nyāya intellectuals into specific relations with each other and with the discipline as a whole. The time of novelty examined here, then, is a moment when the homogenizing element of novelty, expressed concretely in textual form through the employment of the homogenized term navya, is used to arrange nyāya intellectuals into various ontologic-​like relations. When employed in such a manner, novelty thus produces a differentiated existence—​a difference of “Being”—​between nyāya intellectuals such that a new philosophical community, which has coalesced around this difference, emerges.

Feeling Novelty Novelty cannot be read only through abstract intellectual perspectives, however. An account of intellectual life that proceeds only with those concerns devalues the role of emotions in constituting novelty as a value, resulting in a simplistic historical understanding of the discipline and artificially bracketing intellection away from the many other domains of our mental lives. In a brilliant analysis of emotions, Martha Nussbaum argues that emotions display our “patterns of attachment” to objects in the world: The things we value stand in an intimate relation to us; and this relation can be traced over time vis-​à-​vis each object, exhibiting a “complicated temporal history” of ourselves.30 Applying Nussbaum’s analysis to nyāya intellectual practice, the employment of novelty makes known the “cherished [philosophical] objects” of nyāya intellectuals, revealing patterns across time that not only present a history of a nyāya intellectual but, more specifically, exhibit the history of novelty as a feature in intellectual life that is imbued with various emotional overtones—​what we might term “the emotional history of novelty.”31 Novelty carries an emotional meaning in addition to an intellectual

30 Nussbaum 2001, 2–​3. 31 Ibid., 2.

204  Space and Time one and for this reason also contains an affective history—​thus the phrase “affective novelty.” Here, the term “affective” (rather than “emotional”) serves to stress the fact that although novelty is imbued with emotional content, it is not a solely inward-​facing orientation but contains “dynamic and interactive dimensions,” as Andreas Reckwitz notes in his analysis of these terms, that affect the sorts of relations chosen by an individual when encountering and interpreting the philosophical world.32 How should we study this affective dimension of novelty? Nussbaum makes the argument that in order to think through emotions, we need to turn to texts that contain a narrative dimension—​the paradigmatic genre of such texts being literature.33 I think we can expand the domain. Though not considered its primary feature, philosophical writing may also carry a narrative dimension. This is especially true if we admit, as we must, that the use of the term “new” or navya, and its correlates in nyāya philosophy, has already periodized and so assigned a temporal, and so a narrative, structure to philosophical writing. This temporal structure is exhibited in two manners. In one case, nyāya intellectuals gaze across the nyāya philosophical world and narrate or “report” that world.34 When Gadādhara tells his readers what the definition of doubt is according to “new” authors in his Essay on Doubt after he has presented its definition held by the “old” and “mainstream” authors, his essay takes the form of a narrative report on the nyāya philosophical world and the presently available theories on doubt. Here, the narrative form of Gadādhara’s essay may seem uncontroversial—​almost a doxographical account of doubt. Yet, in narrating these views, the reader is also provided with a history of how Gadādhara comes to the new view on doubt—​the time of the present or the “now” of nyāya philosophical history. We can imagine Gadādhara, as philosopher, moving from one object (the old definition) to another object (the mainstream view) and finally to the last object (the new definition), at which point he settles upon this new definition as the most cherished object within the topic of doubt and thus includes it within the set of the most cherished objects of the “now” in nyāya philosophy. This movement from one object to another reveals a history of Gadādhara’s “philosophical self ”—​ to use Jonardon Ganeri’s provocative phrase—​as he exhibits various levels of



32 Reckwitz 2012, 250. 33 Nussbaum 2001, 3. 34 White 1980, 6–​7.

Time  205 attachment, and value ascribed, to those different objects.35 But this history of Gadādhara’s philosophical self is also a stand-​in for the history of the philosophical self of other nyāya intellectuals who find themselves moving with or alongside of Gadādhara as they “rethink” Gadādhara’s thoughts and form the same feelings and values vis-​à-​vis the “new” object—​the new definition of doubt; and thus, step forward to occupy a common and shared moment in nyāya philosophical history with Gadādhara: the finite and empirical moment of the new as the now.36 In the other case, nyāya intellectuals gaze across the philosophical world and “impose upon the [philosophical past] the form of a story”—​in other words, they “narrativize” philosophical reality.37 When Gadādhara tells his readers that “new” authors hold the position that the objectivity relation is an ontological category while not mentioning the earlier views of the Ekadeśīs in his Essay on Objectivity, he is casting the nyāya philosophical world into the form of a story where he stands at the “end” of the history of nyāya philosophy, a moment in which the historical culmination of the discipline is to be found in the new, when in fact the new view is actually quite old but whose prior history has been elided by him. Gadādhara may be narrating a philosophical reality—​new authors do hold the position that objectivity is an ontological category—​but he is clearly narrativizing a philosophical past for the philosophical community by arranging the world of real philosophical events into an imaginary structure so as to resolve the philosophical story of the new into the now. The consequence of this is that the narrativization of novelty (exemplified here by Gadādhara) asks nyāya intellectuals to develop emotionally not just intellectually. In novelty is found various emotions and feelings that call forth certain philosophical objects such as a specific definition of doubt, a specific ontological status of objectivity, a specific way of conceptualizing happiness and dying, a specific conception of dwelling in Navadvip and Banaras, a specific interest in certain manuscripts and authors as members of specific reading communities, and certain modes of intellection. Each of these does not exist as a generic object but as an object seen through an affective novelty such that certain histories emerge—​histories imbued with emotions such as trust and empathy and which bring nyāya intellectuals together and 35 Ganeri 2011, 243. Elsewhere, Ganeri argues that one role of the emotions is to unify the self (2012, 278). 36 My argument here is influenced by R. G. Collingwood 1993, 282–​302. 37 White 1980, 6.

206  Space and Time collectively into a now. In sum, novelty is shown to contain a value for nyāya intellectuals that justifies their philosophical attention to it as a component of intellectual life. Yet, as discussed, because certain nyāya authors have attained a “Being” that others do not have as they are homogenized or subsumed by the anugama of novelty, a philosophical community made up of nyāya intellectuals with the same “ontological position” emerges and becomes an object that requires attending to its import through an affective novelty. As Bennet W. Helms writes, “For something to have import to you—​for you to care about it—​is (roughly) for it to be worthy of attention and action. In part this means you must be reliably vigilant for circumstances affecting it favorably or adversely and be prepared to act on its behalf.”38 What it means, then, to attend to the import of this community on the basis of an affective novelty is that certain actions are “rationally required” among members of that community in coordination with the value given to novelty such that members of the community express care for the differentiated existence of the community.39 There thus occurs an interplay between affective and intellectual forms of novelty. For example, Gadādhara’s philosophical writing incorporating the new links intellection and emotion together such that his intellection is sensible or rational as a specific action in his life. Gadādhara’s philosophical writing, in other words, is an example of how “emotions translate knowledge into action and practice,” in the words of Margrit Pernau.40 But the translation work, noted by Pernau, that emotions do in facilitating a movement from knowledge to action and practice has an even more profound effect on that action and practice by making that action and practice true, in R. G. Collingwood’s sense, for the one undertaking them.41 Gadādhara’s actions as an intellectual are sensible and rational to him because these actions are the “right” answer to the question of how he should conduct his life both individually and in relation to a larger philosophical community in which he participates both intellectually and emotionally. This means that Gadādhara does not craft his intellectual life simply on the basis of thinking; he must also feel. A nyāya intellectual in seventeenth-​century India looks across the plane of nyāya intellectuality and finds a 1,500-​year tradition of nyāya philosophical

38 Helm 2009, 250. 39 Ibid., 251.

40 Pernau 2017, 7.

41 Collingwood 1964, 38–​39.

Time  207 writing; debates that have arisen within and external to the discipline; regional distinctions among scholars; an extensive and robust manuscript culture; and overlaps between the regional interests of intellectuals and political elites—​the list could be extended indefinitely. How does our hypothetical scholar navigate this plane in order to craft an intellectual life? I submit that he must choose certain intellectual and emotional modes that allow him to give that plane a topography—​choices that he draws from his own resources and those of the nyāya philosophical community, which then become expressed textually in his philosophical writing. It is my contention that a primary choice made by nyāya intellectuals in early modern India is the choice of novelty. When this choice is taken by enough nyāya intellectuals in their philosophical writing—​a choice that expresses care and vigilance for a specific philosophical community—​novelty in both its intellectual and affective forms is cast across the plane of nyāya intellectuality, putting into relief a philosophical community with its own intellectual and emotional histories.

  

Conclusion A Time of Novelty

The production of intellectual and emotional responses to nyāya philosophy is constitutive of nyāya intellectual life. This book has argued that novelty is the primary element through which these responses are generated and is what defines nyāya intellectual life so constituted in early modernity. On the basis of this element in nyāya philosophy, the intellectual life that emerges is one that is shaped by activities of a new community insofar as these “new” nyāya intellectuals value and act on behalf of novelty when writing, reading, and debating nyāya philosophy as individuals and as reading communities. Part of what it means to craft an intellectual life around the discipline of nyāya in early modernity, then, is to remain open to the possibility that nyāya philosophy “contours oneself ” in both intellectual and emotional ways when responding to novelty to such an extent that keeping these two responses separate is difficult and, ultimately, artificial.1 As argued by a number of modern scholars such as Martha Nussbaum, Bennet W. Helms, and Margrit Pernau, emotions are constitutive of our rational processes such that our thinking cannot take place without them.2 Conversely, as argued by Margrit Pernau, the manner in which we feel our emotions cannot occur without these same rational processes because our “interpretation of emotions” feeds back into “how a certain emotion is actually felt.”3 In my reading of Pernau, this means that the way we think about our emotions affects the manner in which we feel our emotions and thus means that our thinking figures prominently in our felt experience of the world (a process Pernau refers to as “translation”).4 This to-​and-​fro movement between emotional and intellectual stances that ultimately collapse into each other had major consequences for the discipline of nyāya and thus nyāya intellectual life. It is what informed important changes in the thought-​world of nyāya intellection since this intellection was part and parcel of the felt experiences of trust, intimate dialogues, logical

1 I thank an anonymous reviewer for this phrase. 2 Nussbaum 2001; Helm 2009; Pernau 2017. 3 Pernau 2017, 3. 4 Ibid., 8.

A Time of Novelty. Samuel Wright, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2021. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197568163.003.0008

210 Conclusion pathos, emotional relations to “the text,” and particular attachments to philosophical ideas. Stated more programmatically, the merging of intellectual and emotional responses to novelty in nyāya philosophy underwrote multiple concomitances: critical inquiry and trust (Chapter 1), scholarly identity and dialogical intimacy (Chapter 2), kinds of selves and emotions of place (Chapter 3), dying and the emotional positionality of an author (Chapter 4), the text and reading communities (Chapter  5), and intellectual and emotional histories of nyāya scholars (Chapter 6). The new philosophical community brought into being out of this to-​and-​ fro movement, then, is a philosophical community based upon the recognition of novelty in intellectual and emotional terms by scholars as they engage individually and collectively with nyāya philosophy through reading, writing, and debate. Admittedly, however, such a claim is not without interpretive problems and raises, to my mind, two large questions. First, what impelled nyāya intellectuals toward novelty? And, second, what does it mean to say that the recognition of novelty is an activity that brings into being a philosophical community? What impelled nyāya intellectuals toward novelty was the kind of knowledge they wanted to produce.5 The knowledge they produced reassessed the features of philosophical objects rather than introduced new philosophical objects into the discipline. This was not a newness of style without a newness of substance, however.6 As examined in the book, the features of many philosophical objects were reworked or addressed in novel ways: the definition of doubt, the ontological status of objectivity, the qualities of divine beings, the causal relation between dying in Banaras and liberation, the definition of dying, and the ontological categories. Yet arguments in the discipline still assumed the presence of these objects—​doubt, objectivity, divine beings, liberation, and ontological categories—​were not negated or discredited by scholars as illusory or false objects. Rather, they entertained a belief that the reals of the world had in some cases been incorrectly analyzed, if properly identified as reals. Arguing for and on behalf of novelty, then, meant producing and defending knowledge that altered how philosophical objects were to be known even if it did not bring new philosophical objects into existence.

5 I  am influenced here by Mary Poovey’s reflections on the aims of natural philosophers in seventeenth-​century England (1998, 11). 6 On this debate, see Pollock 2001a, 11–​19; Ganeri 2011, 151–​153, 198–​199; and Patil 2013, 106–​110.

Conclusion  211 But ideas alone do not make intellectual life. Even to argue for an embedding of new ideas into a cultural and/​or a social history such that they can be read as “ideas in context” does not give sufficient clarity to why those ideas are valued and desired, that is, why those ideas are felt to be needed and thus are something to be produced. Instead, we must ask about the sorts of emotions generated by nyāya philosophy that feed into modes of being that are impossibly attained simply by directing intellectuals toward those modes via argumentative, that is, purely intellectual or cognitive, means. In other words, the feeling of “affinity to” or “caring for” the production of intellectual novelty is not possible without novelty’s affective mode since in that mode is contained the emotional content—​feelings of trust, intimacy, emotionally imbued space, emotionally laden reasoning, feelings of attachment to “the text,” and shared emotional histories vis-​à-​vis certain philosophical objects—​that turns one toward or opens oneself up to novelty in the first place. What impels nyāya intellectuals toward novelty, then, is also the kind of philosophical individual and kind of philosophical community they want to bring about as they produce knowledge: Intellectual novelty (that which contains the “new” knowledge) cannot be sustained—​cannot be used for intellectual life—​without the presence of emotions that are shared among scholars since in order for that intellectual life to emerge “knowledge needs to be transformed into practices”; and here, the emotions contained in affective novelty play a central role in shaping practices that make an intellectual life.7 One, then, might be able to argue that emotion is another “context,” but it is not one that abstracts. Instead, emotion is a context to the extent that it pulls thought back into the lives of those producing the knowledge that that thought contains, giving meaning to knowledge that is not adjunctive but constitutive and enabling knowledge to be used for the crafting of intellectual life. Yet this intellectual life was not even across space. In the case of the discipline of nyāya, space was differentiated such that a specific region, namely, Bengal, served as the “essential place” of the discipline (Chapter 3 and 5).8 The idea that a certain place was essential to philosophy in early modern India was not unique to the discipline of nyāya, of course. In the case of mīmāṃsā and vedānta, Banaras appears to have been the essential place, as discussed recently by Yigal Bronner, Lawrence McCrea, and Christopher 7 I am borrowing from Margrit Pernau’s critical reflections in Pernau 2017, 7. 8 I thank an anonymous reviewer for this phrase.

212 Conclusion Minkowski.9 However, part of the debate in Banaras within vedānta was informed by arguments originating from southern India, as discussed by Minkowski, suggesting a collaborative enterprise of philosophical thinking across space in the discipline.10 In the case of bhakti, Vrindavan appears to be the essential place of philosophical thinking. Scholars and poets traveled to Vrindavan in order to study and compose works and wrote about the virtues of the city, as discussed by Rembert Lutjeharms and Kiyokazu Okita.11 As further suggested by John S. Hawley, Vrindavan held the space of bhakti together such that, without it, the places of bhakti would be “unintelligible.”12 Yet the space of bhakti presents additional complexities because the primary philosophical encounter with it appears to have taken place in Banaras, as explored in detail by Anand Venkatkrishnan, suggesting that there was also a large and influential group of bhakti scholars in the city interested in critical dialogue with other philosophical viewpoints.13 In the case of Persian logic (mant̤iq), the essential place of the discipline moved from Delhi to Lahore in the sixteenth to seventeenth centuries—​the city of Lahore being described by Asad Ahmed as “a center of rationalism” where many scholars trained and wrote. In the late seventeenth century and into the eighteenth century, this center again shifted toward Awadh and Bihar.14 Much more research, however, needs to be done on space and place in the philosophical thought of early modern India to determine the collaborative and competitive exchanges that transpired between and across regions in these various disciplines and the types of encounters that took place between intellectuals across these differentiated spaces.15 With regard to the discipline of nyāya in early modern India, I have argued that space was collaboratively constructed as reading communities shared or coordinated emotions and intellectual values across that space—​a process mediated by the manuscript

9 Bronner 2015; Minkowski 2016; and McCrea 2008a, where he identifies Banaras as the “major center” for mīmāṃsā (578). 10 Minkowski 2016, 111; 2011, 218. Bronner (2015, 18) also argues that social concerns also moved with scholars as they traveled from Banaras to places in the Deccan. 11 Okita (2014, 14) notes that Baladeva Vidyābhūṣaṇa (b. 1700) traveled from Orissa to Vrindavan to study with Viśvanātha Cakravartin. Lutjeharms notes that the poet Kavikarṇapūra completed some of his work in Vrindavan and examines how poets spoke about the city (2018: 35, 244–​277). 12 Hawley 2013, 73. 13 Venkatkrishnan 2005b. 14 Ahmed 2013, 230–​231, with quote on 230. 15 On place, see Pollock 2005a, 13.

Conclusion  213 text—​but place was competitively produced as a result of the fact that the ideas of nyāya intellectuals based in Bengal were the most in demand and valued precisely because of their perceived novelty—​novelty being the essential feature of a work in this period around which reading communities forged emotional and rational relations with a text (Chapter 5). To answer the second question concerning the recognition of novelty, we must turn to the particulars of what language does. In a seminal work on Sanskrit poetics, Lawrence McCrea discusses how a sentence conveys meaning according to Sanskrit hermeneutics (mīmāṃsā). Here, McCrea writes that “every sentence must be interpreted so as to convey a functionally unified and coherent meaning.”16 When such a meaning is located, then what is expressed is a “unity of purpose” of the sentence that is predominant and “to which all other elements are subordinate.”17 As discussed further by McCrea, for Sanskrit hermeneuts, this predominant element is termed bhāvanā (also bhāva) and, as expressed by the verb, causes one who hears or reads a sentence to connect the various parts of a sentence into a single communicative force, bringing into being the primary purpose of the sentence or utterance.18 In the context of Sanskrit hermeneutics, this predominant element, bhāvanā, is important because it carries a perlocutionary force, but in Sanskrit literary theory, as analogized by the literary theorist Bhaṭṭa Nāyaka (ninth century, Kashmir), bhāvanā is made part of the “aesthetic process” in the experience of literature. Here, bhāvanā contains “another order” termed bhāvakatva “whereby the emotional states represented in [a]‌ literary work are made into something in which the reader or spectator can fully participate” that allows one to “realize a rasa,” an aesthetic sentiment.19 While Bhaṭṭa Nāyaka posits that eliciting an emotional experience is a special function of literary language, I have been arguing here that nyāya philosophical writing also performs this same function of bringing into being certain emotional responses that, when combined with concomitant intellectual responses, allows for the emergence of a particular sort of intellectual life and thus, ultimately, the emergence of a philosophical community that embodies that life.20 16 McCrea 2008b, 63. 17 Ibid., 64. 18 Ibid., 64–​65. For an exceptionally detailed study on bhāvanā, see Ollett 2013. 19 The quote in the prior sentence and the first two quotes here are found in Pollock 2010, 154; and last quote is from Ingalls, Masson, and Patwardhan 1990, 36; see also McCrea 2008b, 389 for further discussion. 20 McCrea 2008b, 390 on Bhaṭṭa Nāyaka.

214 Conclusion To do so, however, nyāya philosophical claims must also convey a “unity of purpose”; and, similarly, these philosophical claims must also “bring into being” some object as a function of their textual expression toward which a reader can direct their attention and so participate in. Thus, when we read or listen to a sentence or utterance such as, New nyāya intellectuals argue that doubt is simply a cognition in which a single locus, in its capacity as that which is qualified, is described in two ways due to two possible alternatives as the primary feature of that single locus,21

then we should be able to identify a unity of purpose that brings into being a certain object as a function of its enunciation. But how might we theorize such a process? Clearly, recognizing novelty means being attentive to novelty in its intellectual and emotional expressions and, similarly, articulating care for novelty in intellectual and emotional ways—​something that scholars undertook individually and together as reading communities. Borrowing theoretical resources from Sanskrit literary and philosophical traditions, David Shulman has argued powerfully that attentiveness and care are part of the workings of imagination and has stressed that imagination is intimately connected with recognition. As Shulman notes, in standard works in nyāya a “generative impression”—​also called bhāvanā by nyāya scholars—​is identified as the cause of recognition; and recognition is defined as a cognition that occurs as a result of a mark left on the mind (saṃskāra) by one of the five senses.22 In other words, a generative impression is able to call forth particular marks left on the mind such that objects associated with those marks are “re-​cognized,” appearing as if they are directly perceptible to us.23 These theories are exploited by Shulman in order to forward an exceptionally provocative conclusion: Imagination is a process of intensification in which a generative impression, itself based upon an initial sense perception, is intensified to such

21 Misra and Shastri 1936, 81: navyās tu koṭidvayaprakāratādvayanirūpitaikaviśeṣyatāśālijñānatvam eva saṃśayatvam. This is Gadādhara’s definition of doubt according to the new authors (see Chapter 1). 22 Shulman 2012, 19–​20, 284. This explanation occurs in the Discernment of Definitions by Kr̥ṣṇadāsa Sārvabhauma (c. 1620) (Madhavananda 2004, 260–​261, v. 160–​161). The definition of “recognition” is by Śaśadhara (c. 1300, Mithila); see B. Jhalakikar 1978, 543: indriyasahakr̥tasaṃskārajanyajñānatvam. 23 Shulman 2012, 20.

Conclusion  215 an extent—​an amplification of attention and recognition—​that an object is brought into being and is ultimately given a name.24 What is the faculty of sense by which the mind is given a mark—​the mark that a generative impression is able to call forth in the act of recognizing novelty in nyāya philosophical writing? It is the faculty of sight in the activity of reading and writing; and the aural sense faculty in the activity of teaching and debate. These two sense faculties pick out a particular in nyāya philosophical writing that is embedded in the mind—​a particular that remains available to be called forth in the act of recognition (via a generative impression) that then feeds into the process of imagination. This particular in nyāya philosophical writing is the term “new” or navya. The direct experience of this term in the course of reading, writing, and debate is the sense perceptual act that marks the mind of nyāya intellectuals. Crucially, Shulman’s analysis means that the direct sense experience of the “new” in nyāya argumentation transcends the initial reading, writing, and debate activity in which novelty is encountered as this experience is intensified. On the basis of this initial activity an imaginative generation occurs that “imparts a powerful sense of reality” onto nyāya intellectuals and their intellection as and when novelty is recognized in nyāya works. In the process, a certain object is brought into being: a philosophical imaginary made up of members who are attentive to the usage of this term and express care about or attend to novelty—​the homogenizing element (the anugama) under which the term navya is subsumed—​making this philosophical imaginary real, and so namable, as a community of “new” nyāya philosophers, the navyas.25 To recognize novelty across a philosophical community, then, is an attentive and care-​filled imagining through which a community is caused to be or brought into being by this recognition.26 Perhaps counterintuitive to our own modern sentiments, however, to imagine this new philosophical community is also to imagine and retain room for the old. While novel elements emerging in the discipline at this time were irreducible to the old, they were not necessarily irreconcilable with these older elements either. This is because the time of novelty examined in this book is not one that erases all older elements of the discipline prior to the early modern period—​as a diachronic view of novelty would require. Instead, it is a time when the new could and did exist together with the old—​as a

24 Ibid., 284. 25 Ibid.

26 Ibid., 19, 282–​83.

216 Conclusion synchronic view of novelty allows. This means that nyāya intellection in the early modern period presents a particular mode of newness in which care is taken to preserve certain features of the thought-​world that are not felt or thought to require change.27 The time of novelty studied here, then, is not a story about how novelty is universalized nor about its failure to do so. Rather, it is about a time of novelty that contains the trope of irreducibility without the trope of irreconcilability—​where what is new does not always eclipse the old but instead produces and accommodates the old in the very process of its emergence. It may well be that synchronic novelty is the form of novelty found in any expression of newness. If so, then the way in which novelty is expressed in philosophy is common across diverse philosophical traditions of the world even while novelty’s content remains different. Addressing philosophy in seventeenth-​century Europe, for example, Donald Rutherford has remarked, “In no case was there a simple rupture with the past—​the old replaced with an entirely novel way of thinking.”28 And, addressing philosophy in seventeenth-​century India, Jonardon Ganeri has argued that newness does not entail a “complete rejection of the ancient sources.”29 Yet, while these observations by Rutherford and Ganeri are crucial to a better understanding of the history of philosophy in early modern Europe and India, respectively, each leaves unspecified the form of novelty enunciated at these historical moments. I am arguing that novelty simpliciter will not do analytically. Such a descriptor is imprecise about how that which is novel stands in relation to that which is old: It does not make explicit that the new is irreducible to and yet not irreconcilable with the old; nor does it sufficiently register the necessarily dialogical aspect of philosophical thought across time upon which “thinking” novelty depends (Chapters 2 and 6). Accepting that synchronic novelty is the form of novelty expressed across the history of philosophy means admitting that a purely diachronic form of novelty in which the new completely does away with the old is impossible. In this regard, because a consequence of making the new is also to make the old, influential arguments about a counterreformation in Sanskrit intellectual thought in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries—​a restoration of the old—​is complicated.30 First, we should necessarily expect arguments

27 Pollock 2006, 579.

28 Rutherford 2006, 15. 29 Ganeri 2011, 6.

30 Pollock 2005a, 81. For a critique, see Patil 2013, 106–​117.

Conclusion  217 made on behalf of the old to continue alongside the new. These arguments may simply be those that are considered worth (and deemed worthy of) retaining, or they might be attempts to assess whether the new really is irreducible to the old. Second, we need not be concerned that the new evokes and relies upon the old. Such an evocation or reliance does not indicate a newness constrained by the old but rather is an expression of the dialogic continuum of philosophical thinking, demonstrating that thought is not sui generis, even though the knowledge produced by that thought may be irreducible to what is already present.31 But we must not forget that it is not at all obvious that this new knowledge will be taken up. Stated more formally, the mere existence of thought that contains new knowledge is not sufficient to alter the history of philosophy: The meaning of new knowledge is also constituted by new emotional practices without which the full meaning of that knowledge remains unarticulated. Instead, we must acknowledge that in order for new knowledge to alter philosophical thinking successfully—​and so alter the history of philosophy—​it must occur in parallel with or as a correlative to felt emotion. It is only when this takes place that an intellectual life emerges in which valuing and acting on behalf of that novelty is what it means to participate in that life and, in so doing, participate in forging a new history for philosophy.



31 Pollock 2001a, 19: “a newness of the intellect constrained by an oldness of the will.”

Appendix The appendix contains the data sets (Tables A.1 and A.2) of Maps 5.1 and 5.2 in Chapter 5’s section on “Mapping Manuscript Culture.” In order to keep the amount of information to a reasonable level, I have excluded the titles of the manuscripts. Instead, I only note the number of manuscripts held in a certain town of works written by an author. I have presented the data in a certain way. For example: Calicut (7) Bengal-​based (3) Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (2) Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (1) Banaras-​based (4) Annaṃbhaṭṭa (1) Dinakara (1)

Nīlakaṇṭha Dīkṣita (1) Govardhana Miśra (1)

This excerpt from Table A.2 conveys the information that Calicut has seven relevant nyāya manuscripts. Of these, three manuscripts are of works written by nyāya scholars based in Bengal and four manuscripts are of works written by nyāya scholars based in Banaras. These numbers are then further defined: Of the three manuscripts of works written by scholars based in Bengal, two are of a work(s) by Gadādhara and one by Viśvanātha. The same logic applies to the four manuscripts of works written by scholars based in Banaras. Thus, one should read each group horizontally. Here there are two columns of names, but in Tables A.1 and A.2 up to three columns are found. In addition, I also include “Mithila-​ based” scholars and “Deccan/​Southern-​based” scholars, where relevant. The latter is abbreviated to “Deccan/​S-​based.”

Table A.1  Data for Map 5.1: Manuscript Economy: Northern View Ahmedabad (28) Bengal-​based (15)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (3)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (2)

Gaurīkānta Sārvabhauma (1)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (3)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (2)

Harirāma Tarkavāgīśa(1)

Jayarāma Nyāyapañcānana (4)

Govardhana Miśra (1)

Yādavācārya (1)

Raghudeva Nyāyālaṅkāra (3)

Mahādeva Punataṅkara (1)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (1)

Mithila-​based (2)

Gokulanātha Upādhyāya (1)

Rucidatta Miśra (1)

Bengal-​based (1)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (1)

Bengal-​based (1,239)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (326)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (111)

Harirāma Tarkavāgīśa (18)

Jagadīśa Tarkālaṅkāra (271)

Jānakīnātha Tarkacūḍāmaṇi (45)

Haridādasa Nyāyālaṅkāra (13)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (223)

Rāmabhadra Sārvabhauma (23)

Guṇānanda Vidyāvāgīśa (7)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (183)

Gaurīkānta Sārvabhauma (19)

Jagadīśa Tarkālaṅkāra (3) Banaras-​based (11)

Amod (1) Banaras (1,856)

Banaras-​based (559) Annaṃbhaṭṭa (135)

Mithila-​based (52) Deccan/​S-​based (6)

Śrīkaṇṭha Dīkṣita (31)

Yādavācārya (5)

Bhavānanda Siddhāntavāgīśa (86)

Dinakara (19)

Laugākṣī Bhāskara (4)

Mahādeva Punataṃkara (71)

Govardhana Miśra (19)

Govinda Bhaṭṭācārya (3)

Raghudeva Nyāyālaṅkāra (59)

Mādhavadeva (17)

Trilocanadeva (3)

Jayarāma Nyāyapañcānana (54)

Raghupati Upādhyāya (10)

Umāpati Upādhyāya (1)

Rudra Nyāyavācaspati (33)

Nīlakaṇṭha Bhaṭṭa (9)

Rucidatta Miśra (20)

Gopīnātha Ṭhakkura (9)

Gokulanātha Upādhyāya (11)

Madhusūdana Ṭhakkura (8)

Koṇḍa Bhaṭṭa (6)

Bhagīratha Ṭhakkura (4)

Bhatpada (1) Bengal-​based (1)

Kr̥ṣṇadāsa Sārvabhauma (1)

Bengal-​based (30)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (12)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (2)

Nr̥siṃha Pañcānana (1)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (10)

Guṇānanda Vidyāvāgīśa (1)

Rāmabhadra Sārvabhauma (1)

Rudra Nyāyavācaspati (12)

Laugākṣī Bhāskara (3)

Raghupati Upādhyāya (1)

Jayarāma Nyāyapañcānana (7)

Rāmakr̥ṣṇa Cakravartin Bhaṭṭācārya (2) Mādhava Bhaṭṭa (Deva) (1)

Govardhana Miśra (5)

Dāmodara Bhatṭṭa (2)

Guṇaratna Gaṇi (1)

Mādhava Sarasvatī (5)

Kr̥ṣṇadeva (2)

Bhavānanda Siddhāntavāgīśa (1)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (4)

Raghudeva Nyāyālaṅkāra (1)

Mahādeva Punataṃkara (1)

Mithila-​based (14)

Rucidatta Miśra (10)

Bhagīratha Ṭhakkura (2)

Gopīnatha Ṭhakkura (2)

Bengal-​based (4)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (2)

Jagadīśa Tarkālaṅkāra (2)

Bengal-​based (1)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (1)

Banaras-​based (1)

Govardhana Miśra (1)

Bikaner (92)

Jānakīnātha Tarkacūḍāmaṇi (3) Banaras-​based (48)

Bikrampur (4) Brahmana-​mandali (1) Brahmanapura (1)

(continued )

Table A.1  Continued Calcutta (467) Bengal-​based (387)

Banaras-​based (64)

Mithila-​based (14)

Jagadīśa Tarkālaṅkāra (142)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (14)

Kaṇāda Tarkavāgīśa (5)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (97)

Harirāma Tarkavāgīśa (7)

Kr̥ṣṇa Nyāyavāgīśa Bhaṭṭācārya (3)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (87)

Jānakīnātha Tarkacūḍāmaṇi (6)

Śrīkr̥ṣṇa Sārvabhauma (1)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (19)

Rāmabhadra Sārvabhauma (5)

Govinda (Nyāyavāgīśa) Bhaṭṭācārya (1)

Dinakara (20)

Raghudeva Nyāyālaṅkāra (8)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (1)

Jayarāma Nyāyapañcānana (14)

Mahādeva Punataṃkara (4)

Bhavānanda Siddhāntavāgīśa (13)

Rudra Nyāyavācaspati (4)

Rucidatta Miśra (5)

Gokulanātha Upādhyāya (3)

Madhusūdana Ṭhakkura (4) Deccan/​S-​based (2)

Koṇḍa Bhaṭṭa (2)

Bengal-​based (2)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (2)

Banaras-​based (1)

Raghudeva Nyāyālaṅkāra (1)

Bengal-​based (1)

Haridāsa Nyāyālaṅkāra (1)

Bengal-​based (2)

Harirāma Tarkavāgīśa (2)

Banaras-​based (1)

Viśveśvara Bhaṭṭa (1)

Mithila-​based (1)

Bhagīratha Ṭhakkura (1)

Dhanuka (2) Darbhanga (1) Deopara (1) Dhamdaha (4)

Maheśa Ṭhakkura (2)

Dhrangadhra (1) Banaras-​based (1)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (1)

Banaras-​based (1)

Govardhana Miśra (1)

Mithila-​based (1)

Gokulanātha Upādhyāya (1)

Bengal-​based (1)

Rāmabhadra Sārvabhauma (1)

Bengal-​based (3)

Jagadīśa Tarkālaṅkāra (2)

Bengal-​based (2)

Rāmabhadra Sārvabhauma (2)

Banaras-​based (2)

Kr̥ṣṇa Bhaṭṭa (2)

Bengal-​based (135)

Jagadīśa Tarkālaṅkāra (40)

Harirāma Tarkavāgīśa (6)

Rāmabhadra Sārvabhauma (4)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (37)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (5)

Gaurīkānta Sārvabhauma (3)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (22)

Jānakīnātha Tarkacūḍāmaṇi (5)

Kr̥ṣṇadāsa Sārvabhauma (1)

Raghudeva Nyāyālaṅkāra (30)

Jayarāma Nyāyapañcānana (10)

Nīlakaṇṭha Bhaṭṭa (7)

Mahādeva Punataṃkara (18)

Rudra Nyāyavācaspati (8)

Dinakara (1)

Bhavānanda Siddhāntavāgīśa (14)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (8)

Raghupati Upādhāya (1)

Rucidatta Miśra (7)

Gokulanātha Upādhyāya (1)

Faizabad (2)

Guptipada (1) Halaliya Gram (3) Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (1)

Jaunpore (4)

Jammu (240)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (12) Banaras-​based (97)

Mithila-​based (8)

(continued )

Table A.1  Continued Kathmandu (12) Bengal-​based (9)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (3)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (1)

Gaurīkānta Sārvabhauma (1)

Jagadīśa Tarkālaṅkāra (2)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (1)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (1)

Banaras-​based (3)

Dinakara (1)

Raghudeva Nyāyālaṅkāra or Ananta Bhaṭṭa (1)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (1)

Bengal-​based (1)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (1)

Banaras-​based (1)

Bhavānanda Siddhāntavāgīśa (1)

Bengal-​based (6)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (6)

Banaras-​based (2)

Mahādeva Punataṃkara (2)

Bengal-​based (1)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (1)

Mithila-​based (1)

Gokulanātha Upādhyāya (1)

Bengal-​based (2)

Jānakīnātha Tarkacūḍāmaṇi (1)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (1)

Banaras-​based (3)

Mahādeva Punataṃkara (1)

Śrīkaṇṭha Dīkṣita (1)

Jayarāma Nyāyapañcānana (1)

Mithila-​based (3)

Gokulanātha Upādhyāya (3)

Bengal-​based (5)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (2)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (2)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (1)

Banaras-​based (4)

Laugākṣī Bhāskara (2)

Kr̥ṣṇa Bhaṭṭa (1)

Nīlakaṇṭha Bhaṭṭa (1)

Khadar (1) Khambaliyam (1) Krishnanagar (6) Lucknow (2) Madhubani (2)

Margani Gram (8)

Mulher (9)

Mirzapore (24) Bengal-​based (13)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (7)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (1)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (3)

Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra (1)

Banaras-​based (11)

Jayarāma Nyāyapañcānana (8)

Kr̥ṣṇa Bhaṭṭa (3)

Bengal-​based (1)

Rāmabhadra Sārvabhauma (1)

Mithila-​based (1)

Bhagīratha Ṭhakkura (1)

Bengal-​based (32)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (10)

Govinda (Nyāyavāgīśa) Bhaṭṭācārya (3)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (8)

Rāmabhadra Sārvabhauma (2)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (7)

Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra (1)

Banaras-​based (3)

Bhavānanda Siddhāntavāgīśa (2)

Mahādeva Punataṃkara (1)

Bengal-​based (1)

Jānakīnātha Tarkacūḍāmaṇi (1)

Banaras-​based (1)

Bhaṭṭojī Dīkṣita (1)

Bengal-​based (1)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (1)

Banaras-​based (1)

Umāpati Upādhyāya (1)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (1)

Muttra (1) Naduyara Gram (1) Navadvip (35) Haridāsa Nyāyālaṅkāra (1)

Navanagar (2)

Nisidagram (1) Pilkoyad Gram (1)

(continued )

Table A.1  Continued Puri (6) Bengal-​based (3)

Haridāsa Nyāyālaṅkāra (3)

Banaras-​based (2)

Jayarāma Nyāyapañcānana (1)

Mithila-​based (1)

Gopīnatha Ṭhakkura (1)

Bengal-​based (2)

Rāmabhadra Sārvabhauma (1)

Banaras-​based (1)

Rāmakr̥ṣṇa Cakravartin Bhaṭṭācārya (1)

Bengal-​based (1)

Harirāma Tarkavāgīśa (1)

Bengal-​based (9)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (6)

Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra (1)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (1)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (1)

Raghudeva Nyāyālaṅkāra (1)

Rai Bareli (3) Śrīkr̥ṣṇa Sārvabhauma (1)

Rasad Gram (1) Shantipur (10)

Banaras-​based (1)

Govardhana Miśra (1)

Mithila-​based (1)

Bhagīratha Ṭhakkura (1)

Mithila-​based (1)

Madhusūdana Ṭhakkura (1)

Banaras-​based (1)

Raghupati Upādhyāya (1)

Saradapura (1) Sarvasima (1) Snadasi (1)

Sultanpur (8) Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (2)

Rāmakr̥ṣṇa Cakravartin Bhaṭṭācārya (1)

Harirāma Tarkavāgīśa (2)

Gaurīkānta Sārvabhauma (1)

Banaras-​based (2)

Jayarāma Nyāyapañcānana (1)

Raghudeva Nyāyālaṅkāra (1)

Bengal-​based (1)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (1)

Banaras-​based (2)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (1)

Bengal-​based (1)

Harirāma Tarkavāgīśa (1)

Banaras-​based (1)

Raghudeva Nyāyālaṅkāra (1)

Bengal-​based (1)

Rāmabhadra Sārvabhauma (1)

Bengal-​based (7)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (7)

Bengal-​based (1)

Harirāma Tarkavāgīśa (1)

Mithila-​based (1)

Gokulanātha Upādhyāya (1)

Manuscripts:

2,862

Bengal-​based:

1,929

Banaras-​based:

824

Mithila-​based:

101

Deccan/​S-​based:

8

Bengal-​based (6)

Surat (3) Raghudeva Nyāyālaṅkāra (1)

Tajapura (2)

Tavka (1) Tushabandara (7) Vrindavan (2)

Totals

Source:  Buhler 1871; Deviprasad 1878, 1879; Lawrence 1868; Mitra 1880, 1870–​1895; Nestled 1878; Raja and Sarma 1993; Sanskrit University Library 1962; Sastri 1900–​1911, 1957; Stein 1894; Sukula et al. 1874–​1886.

Table A.2  Data for Map 5.2: Manuscript Economy: Southern View Akhilandapuram (6) Bengal-​based (3)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (2)

Jānakīnātha Tarkacūḍāmaṇi (1)

Banaras-​based (3)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (2)

Dinakara (1)

Bengal-​based (2)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (1)

Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra (1)

Banaras-​based (1)

Dinakara (1)

Bengal-​based (11)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (3)

Jānakīnātha Tarkacūḍāmaṇi (1)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (3)

(Rāma)rudra Tarkavāgīśa (1)

Gaurīkānta Sārvabhauma (1)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (1)

Banaras-​based (4)

Dinakara (2)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (1)

Mithila-​based (3)

Gopīnatha Ṭhakkura (2)

Rucidatta Miśra (1)

Bengal-​based (2)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (1)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (1)

Banaras-​based (1)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (1)

Bengal-​based (12)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (8)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (1)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (2)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (1)

Alasur (3)

Alvar Tirunhari (18)

Amidalpadu (3)

Arani (14)

Banaras-​based (1)

Dinakara (1)

Deccan/​S-​based (1)

Vyāsa Tīrtha (1)

Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra (1)

Bhavānanda Siddhāntavāgīśa (1)

Ballari (6) Bengal-​based (4)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (3)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (1)

Banaras-​based (1)

Dinakara (1)

Deccan/​S-​based (1)

Dharmarājādhvarīn (1)

Deccan/​S-​based (1)

Vyāsa Tīrtha (1)

Bengal-​based (6)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (2)

Jānakīnātha Tarkacūḍāmaṇi (1)

Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra (1)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (1)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (2)

Dinakara (1)

Laugākṣī Bhāskara (1)

Nīlakaṇṭha Bhaṭṭa (1)

Belur (1) Bangalore (14)

Banaras-​based (6) Mithila-​based (1)

Gopīnatha Ṭhakkura (1)

Deccan/​S-​based (1)

Dharmarājādhvarīn (1)

Bengal-​based (1)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (1)

Banaras-​based (1)

Bhavānanda Siddhāntavāgīśa (1)

Bengal-​based (1)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (1)

Banaras-​based (1)

Dinakara (1)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (1) Bhavānanda Siddhāntavāgīśa (1)

Bhaskararajapuram (2)

Bhattugosvamivattara (2)

(continued )

Table A.2  Continued Bhavani (57) Bengal-​based (37)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (14)

Harirāma Tarkavāgīśa (3)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (2)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (9)

Gaurīkānta Sārvabhauma (2)

Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra (1)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (3)

Jānakīnātha Tarkacūḍāmaṇi (2)

(Rāma)rudra Tarkavāgīśa (1)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (4)

Govardhana Miśra (1)

Śrīkaṇṭha Dīkṣita (1)

Bhavānanda Siddhāntavāgīśa (3)

Mahādeva Punataṃkara (1)

Mithila-​based (8)

Rucidatta Miśra (5)

Gopīnatha Ṭhakkura (3)

Deccan/​S-​based (2)

Rāmakr̥ṣṇādhvarin (1)

Dharmarājādhvarīn (1)

Deccan/​S-​based (1)

Vyāsa Tirtha (1)

Bengal-​based (1)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (1)

Banaras-​based (1)

Dinakara (1)

Bengal-​based (3)

Jānakīnātha Tarkacūḍāmaṇi (1)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (1)

Banaras-​based (2)

Śrīkaṇṭha Dīkṣita (1)

Dinakara and Mahādeva Bhaṭṭa (1)

Bengal-​based (1)

Jānakīnātha Tarkacūḍāmaṇi (1)

Banaras-​based (1)

Śrīkaṇṭha Dīkṣita (1)

Deccan/​S-​based (1)

Vyāsa Tīrtha (1)

Banaras-​based (10)

Bhimanakatte (1) Black Town (2)

Buchchireddipalayam (5)

Brahmanakraka (3)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (1)

Calicut (7) Bengal-​based (3)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (2)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (1)

Banaras-​based (4)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (1)

Nīlakaṇṭha Dīkṣita (1)

Dinakara (1)

Govardhana Miśra (1)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (2)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (1)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (2)

Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra (1)

Chikballapura (8) Bengal-​based (7)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (1)

Banaras-​based (1)

Dinakra (1)

Banaras-​based (1)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (1)

Bengal-​based (13)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (9)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (1)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (1)

(Rāma)rudra Tarkavāgīśa (1)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (2)

Govardhana Miśra (1)

Dinakara (1)

Nīlakaṇṭha Bhaṭṭa (1)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (7)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (2)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (1)

Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra (3)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (2)

(Rāma)rudra Tarkavāgīśa (1)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (2)

Nīlakaṇṭha Dīkṣita (1)

Dinakara (1)

Govardhana Miśra (1)

Chitradurga (1) Elanahar (19)

Banaras-​based (6)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (1) Bhavānanda Siddhāntavāgīśa (1)

Gangadharapuram (21) Bengal-​based (16) Banaras-​based (5)

(continued )

Table A.2  Continued Gorur (5) Bengal-​based (3)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (1)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (1)

Banaras-​based (2)

Dinakara (1)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (1)

Bengal-​based (9)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (5)

Gaurīkānta Sārvabhauma (1)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (1)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (1)

Banaras-​based (3)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (1)

Govardhana Miśra (1)

Bengal-​based (1)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (1)

Bengal-​based (1)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (1)

Banaras-​based (1)

Dinakara (1)

Banaras-​based (2)

Dinakara (1)

Bengal-​based (1)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (1)

Banaras-​based (2)

Śrīkaṇṭha Dīkṣita (2)

Bengal-​based (1)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (1)

Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra (1)

Govindapuram (11)

Gutti (1) Hassan (2)

Huliyurdurga (2) Inamanamellur (3)

Kadaba (1)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (1)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (1) Dinakara (1)

Kadattur (9) Bengal-​based (5)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (2)

Jānakīnātha Tarkacūḍāmaṇi (1)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (1)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (1)

Banaras-​based (4)

Dinakara (2)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (1)

Bengal-​based (2)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (1)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (1)

Bengal-​based (34)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (25)

Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra (3)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (4)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (2)

Banaras-​based (9)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (5)

Dinakara (3)

Bengal-​based (13)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (12)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (1)

Bengal-​based (88)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (65)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (3)

Jānakīnātha Tarkacūḍāmaṇi (1)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (5)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (2)

Kr̥ṣṇadāsa Sārvabhauma (1)

(Rāma)rudra Tarkavāgīśa (4)

Gaurīkānta Sārvabhauma (1)

(Rāma)rudra Tarkavāgīśa (1)

Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra (4)

Harirāma Tarkavāgīśa (1)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (5)

Nīlakaṇṭha Bhaṭṭa (4)

Dinakara (5)

Govardhana (3)

Deccan/​S-​based (3)

Vyāsa Tīrtha (2)

Dharmarājādhvarīn (1)

Bengal-​based (2)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (1)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (1)

Gaṅgādhara Sūri (1)

Kakuvattaram (2) Kalyanapuram (43)

Govardhana Miśra (1)

Kallanaikurici (13) Kancipuram (110)

Banaras-​based (19)

Bhavānanda Siddhāntavāgīśa (2)

Kaniyur (2)

(continued )

Table A.2  Continued Karattoj’uvu (6) Bengal-​based (3)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (2)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (1)

Banaras-​based (3)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (2)

Nīlakaṇṭha Bhaṭṭa (1)

Deccan/​S-​based (1)

Vyāsa Tīrtha (1)

Bengal-​based (10)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (4)

Gaurīkānta Sārvabhauma (1)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (1)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (2)

Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra (1)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (1)

Kattuputtur (1) Koj’umam (13)

Banaras-​based (3)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (3)

Bengal-​based (2)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (1)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (1)

Banaras-​based (3)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (2)

Govardhana Miśra (1)

Bengal-​based (1)

Jānakīnātha Tarkacūḍāmaṇi (1)

Bengal-​based (72)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (42)

Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra (5)

Jānakīnātha Tarkacūḍāmaṇi (2)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (8)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (4)

Gaurīkānta Sārvabhauma (1)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (8)

(Rāma)rudra Tarkavāgīśa (2)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (9)

Bhavānanda Siddhāntavāgīśa (3)

Dinakara (9)

Jayarāma Nyāyapañcānana (1)

Mithila-​based (8)

Gopīnatha Ṭhakkura (5)

Rucidatta Miśra (3)

Deccan/​S-​based (6)

Dharmarājādhvarīn (4)

Koṇḍa Bhaṭṭa (1)

Kottapeta (5)

Kumaralingam (1) Kumbhaghonam (108)

Banaras-​based (22)

Rāmācārya (Vyāsa) (1)

Kumbhalakunta (8) Bengal-​based (7)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (3)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (1)

Jānakīnātha Tarkacūḍāmaṇi (2)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (1)

Mithila-​based (1)

Gopīnatha Ṭhakkura (1)

Bengal-​based (4)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (2)

Banaras-​based (1)

Dinakara (1)

Bengal-​based (1)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (1)

Bengal-​based (2)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (2)

Bengal-​based (15)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (11)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (2)

Banaras-​based (4)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (2)

Dinakara (2)

Bengal-​based (10)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (10)

Maddi (5) Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra (2)

Madugal (1) Malur (2) Manalur (19) Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra (2)

Mannargudi (10)

(continued )

Table A.2  Continued Melkote (114) Bengal-​based (95)

Banaras-​based (18)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (62)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (4)

Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra (19)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (2)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (4)

(Rāma)rudra Tarkavāgīśa (2)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (6)

Gaṅgādhara Sūri (1)

Bhavānanda Siddhāntavāgīśa (1)

Jayarāma Nyāyapañcānana (4)

Nīlakaṇṭha Bhaṭṭa (1)

Raghudeva Nyāyālaṅkāra (1)

Dinakara (2)

Govardhana Miśra (1)

Mahādeva Punataṃkara (1)

Deccan/​S-​based (1)

Dharmarājādhvarīn (1)

Bengal-​based (1)

Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra (1)

Bengal-​based (18)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (16)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (2)

Banaras-​based (3)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (1)

Nīlakaṇṭha Bhaṭṭa (1)

Bengal-​based (2)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (1)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (1)

Banaras-​based (2)

Dinakara (1)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (1)

Deccan/​S-​based (1)

Vyāsa Tīrtha (1)

Bengal-​based (9)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (6)

(Rāma)rudra Tarkavāgīśa (1)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (1)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (1)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (2)

Dinakara (2)

Gaurīkānta Sārvabhauma (2)

Muchakunte (1) Muktambapuram (21)

Mulbagal (5)

Mullavasal Village (13)

Banaras-​based (4)

Dinakara (1)

Muttur (4) Bengal-​based (3)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (1)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (1)

Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra (1)

Banaras-​based (1)

Mahādeva Punataṃkara (1)

Bengal-​based (31)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (19)

Jānakīnātha Tarkacūḍāmaṇi (1)

(Rāma)rudra Tarkavāgīśa (1)

Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra (4)

Gaurīkānta Sārvabhauma (1)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (1)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (3)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (1)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (3)

Jayarāma Nyāyapañcānana (1)

Govardhana Miśra (2)

Dinakara (1)

Gaṅgādhara Sūri (2)

Nīlakaṇṭha Bhaṭṭa (1)

Mithila-​based (2)

Gopīnatha Ṭhakkura (1)

Rucidatta Miśra (1)

Deccan/​S-​based (3)

Vyāsa Tīrtha (2)

Dharmarājādhvarīn (1)

Bengal-​based (7)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (3)

Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra (1)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (2)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (1)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (2)

Mahādeva Bhaṭṭa (1)

Rudra Nyāyavācaspati (1)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (1)

Govardhana Miśra (1)

Mysore (47)

Banaras-​based (11)

Bhavānanda Siddhāntavāgīśa (1)

Narasipura (13)

Banaras-​based (5)

Bhavānanda Siddhāntavāgīśa (1) Mithila-​based (1)

Gopīnatha Ṭhakkura (1)

Banaras-​based (3)

Nīlakaṇṭha Bhaṭṭa (1)

Nellore (3)

(continued )

Table A.2  Continued Ongole (8) Bengal-​based (6)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (2)

Jānakīnātha Tarkacūḍāmaṇi (1)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (2)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (1)

Mithila-​based (2)

Rucidatta Miśra (1)

Gopīnātha Ṭhakkura (1)

Bengal-​based (6)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (5)

Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra (1)

Bengal-​based (1)

Jānakīnātha Tarkacūḍāmaṇi (1)

Banaras-​based (4)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (2)

Govardhana Miśra (1)

Bengal-​based (24)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (17)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (2)

Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra (3)

(Rāma)rudra Tarkavāgīśa (2)

Dinakara (2)

Govardhana Miśra (1)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (1)

Nīlakaṇṭha Bhaṭṭa (1)

Ortnadu (6) Penagaluru (5)

Pillapakam (30)

Banaras-​based (5) Deccan/​S-​based (1)

Dharmarājādhvarīn (1)

Bengal-​based (8)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (7)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (1)

Banaras-​based (2)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (1)

Bhavānanda Siddhāntavāgīśa (1)

Pillur (10)

Dinakara (1)

Pudukota (22) Bengal-​based (14) Banaras-​based (7)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (7)

Gaurīkānta Sārvabhauma (1)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (4)

(Rāma)rudra Tarkavāgīśa (1)

Dinakara (3)

Nīlakaṇṭha Bhaṭṭa (1)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (1)

Jayarāma Nyāyapañcānana (1)

Mithila-​based (1)

Rucidatta Miśra (1)

Bengal-​based (5)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (3)

Banaras-​based (1)

Govardhana Miśra (1)

Bengal-​based (11)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (1) Bhavānanda Siddhāntavāgīśa (1)

Ramachandrapura (6) Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (1)

Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra (1)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (7)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (1)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (1)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (1)

Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra (1)

Ranganathapuram (12)

Banaras-​based (1)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (1)

Bengal-​based (14)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (7)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (2)

Jānakīnātha Tarkacūḍāmaṇi (1)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (2)

(Rāma)rudra Tarkavāgīśa (1)

Harirāma Tarkavāgīśa (1)

Banaras-​based (2)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (1)

Dinakara (1)

Banaras-​based (1)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (1)

Bengal-​based (6)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (3)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (2)

Banaras-​based (2)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (1)

Govardhana Miśra (1)

Sangalipuram (16)

Siddhavata (1) Singamala (8) Jānakīnātha Tarkacūḍāmaṇi (1)

(continued )

Table A.2  Continued Sivaganga (7) Bengal-​based (4)

Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra (2)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (1)

(Rāma)rudra Tarkavāgīśa (1)

Banaras-​based (3)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (1)

Nīlakaṇṭha Dīkṣita (1)

Dinakara (1)

Deccan/​S-​based (1)

Dharmarājādhvarīn (1)

Bengal-​based (1)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (1)

Bengal-​based (14)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (3)

Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra (1)

Gaurīkānta Sārvabhauma (1)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (3)

Jānakīnātha Tarkacūḍāmaṇi (1)

(Rāma)rudra Tarkavāgīśa (1)

Harirāma Tarkavāgīśa (2)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (1)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (1)

Bhavānanda Siddhāntavāgīśa (2)

Gaṅgādhara Sūri (1)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (2)

Mahādeva Bhaṭṭa (1)

Mithila-​based (12)

Rucidatta Miśra (8)

Gopīnatha Ṭhakkura (4)

Bengal-​based (7)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (5)

Jānakīnātha Tarkacūḍāmaṇi (1)

Banaras-​based (1)

Dinakara (1)

Sriperumbudur (1) Srimusnam (1) Sringeri (32)

Banaras-​based (6)

Srirangam (8) Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (1)

Srivalliputtur (21) Bengal-​based (17)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (7)

Jānakīnātha Tarkacūḍāmaṇi (3)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (1)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (3)

(Rāma)rudra Tarkavāgīśa (2)

Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra (1)

Banaras-​based (1)

Jayarāma Nyāyapañcānana (1)

Mithila-​based (2)

Madhusūdana Ṭhakkura (1)

Deccan/​S-​based (1)

Dharmarājādhvarīn (1)

Bengal-​based (6)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (4)

Banaras-​based (1)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (1)

Deccan/​S-​based (1)

Dharmarājādhvarīn (1)

Bengal-​based (101)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (34)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (8)

Jānakīnātha Tarkacūḍāmaṇi (4)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (15)

Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra (5)

Haridāsa Nyāyālaṅkāra (2)

Gopīnatha Ṭhakkura (1)

Suryanarkovil (8) Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (2)

Tanjavur (172)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (14) Harirāma Tarkavāgīśa (5)

Rāmabhadra Sārvabhauma (1)

Gaurīkānta Sārvabhauma (9)

Kr̥ṣṇadāsa Sārvabhauma (4)

Bhavānanda Siddhāntavāgīśa (7)

Govardhana Miśra (2)

Nīlakaṇṭha Bhaṭṭa (1)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (6) Dinakara (3) Jayarāma Nyāyapañcānana (3)

Rudra Nyāyavācaspati (2) Raghudeva Nyāyālaṅkāra (2) Śrīkaṇṭha Dīkṣita (1)

Madhusūdana Ṭhakkura (1) Gaṅgādhara Sūri (1) Laugākṣī Bhāskara (1)

Mithila-​based (26)

Rucidatta Miśra (24)

Gopīnatha Ṭhakkura (2)

Deccan/​S-​based (15)

Vyāsa Tīrtha (10)

Rāmakr̥ṣṇādhvarin (3)

Dharmarājādhvarīn (2)

Bengal-​based (10)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (6)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (2)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (2)

Banaras-​based (2)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (2)

Deccan/​S-​based (1)

Dharmarājādhvarīn (1)

Banaras-​based (30)

Tillaisthanam (13)

(continued )

Table A.2  Continued Timmagudi (22) Bengal-​based (18)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (12)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (1)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (4)

(Rāma)rudra Tarkavāgīśa (1)

Banaras-​based (3)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (2)

Dinakara (1)

Deccan/​S-​based (1)

Dharmarājādhvarīn (1)

Bengal-​based (2)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (1)

Banaras-​based (1)

Dinakara (1)

Bengal-​based (4)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (2)

Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra (1)

Banaras-​based (2)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (1)

Dinakara (1)

Bengal-​based (56)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (38)

Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra (2)

Harirāma Tarkavāgīśa (1)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (6)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (2)

(Rāma)rudra Tarkavāgīśa (1)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (4)

Jānakīnātha Tarkacūḍāmaṇi (2)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (4)

Kr̥ṣṇa Bhaṭṭa (2)

Bhavānanda Siddhāntavāgīśa (1)

Dinakara (2)

Śrīkaṇṭha Dīkṣita (2)

Govardhana Miśra (1)

Mithila-​based (3)

Rucidatta Miśra (2)

Gopīnatha Ṭhakkura (1)

Deccan/​S-​based (1)

Rāmakr̥ṣṇādhvarin (1)

Tirukovilur (3) Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (1)

Tiruppunittura (6) Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (1)

Tiruvadi (Tiruvaiyaru) (72)

Banaras-​based (12)

Tiruvalangadu (16) Bengal-​based (14)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (7)

(Rāma)rudra Tarkavāgīśa (1)

Jānakīnātha Tarkacūḍāmaṇi (1)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (4)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (1)

Banaras-​based (2)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (1)

Dinakara (1)

Bengal-​based (14)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (6)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (2)

Gaurīkānta Sārvabhauma (1)

Tiruvallikkeni (22) Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (3)

Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra (1)

(Rāma)rudra Tarkavāgīśa (1)

Banaras-​based (3)

Jayarāma Nyāyapañcānana (1)

Dinakara (1)

Bhavānanda Siddhāntavāgīśa (1)

Mithila-​based (5)

Rucidatta Miśra (4)

Gopīnatha Ṭhakkura (1)

Bengal-​based (25)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (18)

Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra (2)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (3)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (2)

Dinakara (2)

Bhavānanda Siddhāntavāgīśa (1)

Nīlakaṇṭha Dīkṣita (1)

Govardhana Miśra (1)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (49)

Harirāma Tarkavāgīśa (3)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (5)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (2)

Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra (5)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (1)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (5)

Dinakara (2)

Nīlakaṇṭha Bhaṭṭa (2)

Govardhana Miśra (1)

Gokulanātha Upādhyāya (1)

Gopīnatha Ṭhakkura (1)

Tiruvallur (31)

Banaras-​based (6)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (1)

Tiruvasalur (79) Bengal-​based (66)

Banaras-​based (11) Mithila-​based (2)

Gaurīkānta Sārvabhauma (1)

Raghudeva Nyāyālaṅkāra (1)

(continued )

Table A.2  Continued Tiruvidaimarudur (44) Bengal-​based (35)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (22)

Rāmabhadra Sārvabhauma (2)

Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra (5)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (2)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (2)

Harirāma Tarkavāgīśa (1)

Śrīkaṇṭha Dīkṣita (2)

Raghudeva Nyāyālaṅkāra (2)

Govardhana Miśra (1)

Nīlakaṇṭha Bhaṭṭa (2)

Mahādeva Punataṃkara (1)

Trilocanadeva Nyāyapañcānana (1)

Bengal-​based (3)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (1)

Gaurīkānta Sārvabhauma (1)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (1)

Banaras-​based (1)

Mahādeva Punataṃkara (1)

Bengal-​based (1)

Gaurīkānta Sārvabhauma (1)

Banaras-​based (1)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (1)

Banaras-​based (1)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (1)

Bengal-​based (9)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (4)

Gaurīkānta Sārvabhauma (1)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (1)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (2)

Jānakīnātha Tarkacūḍāmaṇi (1)

Banaras-​based (3)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (1)

Dinakara (1)

Mithila-​based (2)

Rucidatta Miśra (1)

Gopīnatha Ṭhakkura (1)

Banaras-​based (9)

Jānakīnātha Tarkacūḍāmaṇi (1)

Tiruvisainallur (4)

Travancore (2)

Udumalapeta (1) Utukuru (14)

Nīlakaṇṭha Bhaṭṭa (1)

Vayalur (63) Bengal-​based (54)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (33)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (4)

(Rāma)rudra Tarkavāgīśa (1)

Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra (6)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (3)

Kr̥ṣṇadāsa Sārvabhauma (1)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (5)

Gaurīkānta Sārvabhauma (1)

Jayarāma Nyāyapañcānana (1)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (1)

Nāgojībhaṭṭa (1)

Bhavānanda Siddhāntavāgīśa (1)

Mithila-​based (4)

Rucidatta Miśra (2)

Gopīnatha Ṭhakkura (1)

Banaras-​based (2)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (2)

Bengal-​based (3)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (2)

(Rāma)rudra Tarkavāgīśa (1)

Banaras-​based (6)

Dinakara (2)

Nīlakaṇṭha Dīkṣita (1)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (1)

Govardhana Miśra (1)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (3)

Jānakīnātha Tarkacūḍāmaṇi (1)

Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra (1)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (1)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (2)

Govardhana Miśra (1)

Dinakara (1)

Bhavānanda Siddhāntavāgīśa (1)

Banaras-​based (5)

Dinakara (1) Mādhava Miśra (1)

Vedaranyam (2) Velamur (9) Bhavānanda Siddhāntavāgīśa (1)

Vengamambapuram (12) Bengal-​based (7) Banaras-​based (5)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (1)

(continued )

Table A.2  Continued Vijayanagaram (53) Bengal-​based (43) Banaras-​based (8)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (29)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (4)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (2)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (4)

Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra (3)

(Rāma)rudra Tarkavāgīśa (1)

Dinakara (3)

Nīlakaṇṭha Bhaṭṭa (1)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (3)

Govardhana Miśra (1)

Mithila-​based (2)

Rucidatta Miśra (2)

Bengal-​based (23)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (8)

Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra (2)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (5)

(Rāma)rudra Tarkavāgīśa (2)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (3)

Harirāma Tarkavāgīśa (2)

Raghudeva Nyāyālaṅkāra (3)

Bhavānanda Siddhāntavāgīśa (2)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (1)

Jayarāma Nyāyapañcānana (3)

Nīlakaṇṭha Bhaṭṭa (1)

Dinakara (1)

Mithila-​based (2)

Rucidatta Miśra (1)

Gokulanātha Upādhyāya (1)

Deccan/​S-​based (1)

Dharmarājādhvarīn (1)

Vishakhapatanam (37)

Banaras-​based (11)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (1)

Wai (311) Bengal-​based (197)

Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya (80)

Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana (23)

Jānakīnātha Tarkacūḍāmaṇi (9)

Raghunātha Śiromaṇi (33)

Harirāma Tarkavāgīśa (17)

Gaurīkānta Sārvabhauma (1)

Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra (23)

Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa (11)

Banaras-​based (109) Mahādeva Punataṃkara (33)

Dinakara (4)

Jayarāma Nyāyapañcānana (2)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa (29)

Govardhana Miśra (2)

Rudra Nyāyavācaspati (1)

Raghudeva Nyāyālaṅkāra (19)

Laugākṣī Bhāskara (2)

Nīlakaṇṭha Bhaṭṭa (1)

Bhavānanda Siddhāntavāgīśa (14)

Mādhavadeva (2)

Mithila-​based (5)

Balabhadra Miśra (4)

Gopīnatha Ṭhakkura (1)

Manuscripts:

1,987

Bengal-​based:

1,405

Banaras-​based:

444

Mithila-​based:

92

Deccan/​S-​based:

46

Totals

Source: Burnell 1880; Hultzsch 1895–​1905; Joshi [1970?]; Oppert 1880, 1885; Rice 1884.

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Index The letter f following a page locator denotes a figure, and the letter m denotes a map. Ahmed, Asad, 180 Akbar, Emperor, 180 An Analysis of Liberation in Kashi (Sureśvarācārya), 132, 144 An Analysis of Objectivity (Bhavānanda), 84 Anand Venkatkrishnan, 99 Anderson, Benedict, 165, 198 Annaṃbhaṭṭa, 8, 53, 141–​143, 172–​173 ānvīkṣikī, 5 Armstrong, Joshua, 65 Āsaf Khān, 152 An Assemblage of Lotuses in the form of Pilgrimage Sites (Kamalākara), 132 Aurangzeb, Emperor, 178 Avimukta, 129–​130. See also Kashi Bakhtin, Mikhail, 63, 88–​90 Bambrough, Renford, 64–​65 Banaras literary production, 150–​154 manuscript production, 171–​173, 185 objectivity debate in, 84 philosophy, essential place of, 211–​212 Sanskrit logicians by date, 20 scholarly community, 164 Bar-​Ellis, Gilead, 64–​65 Bayly, Christopher, 151 belonging, affective narratives of, 129, 158 Bengal books transported into, 110–​111 court, intellectuals and the, 175–​181 eastern vs. western, 124–​125 knowledge study, 2 manuscript production, 171–​172, 191 political space, 111–​115 Sanskrit logicians by date, 20 social space, 115–​116

a space of logic, 116–​119, 122–​123 temple construction, 110–​114 Vaishnava devotionalism, 110–​111, 114–​116, 122, 125 Bengal, Malla polity cultural-​political activities, 120 emotional space, 114–​115, 122 location of, 110 temple construction, 111–​114 Vaishnava devotionalism, 110–​111, 114–​116 Bengal, Nadia polity cultural-​political activities, 120 intellectual influence over, 117, 121 land grants to intellectuals, 121, 177 recognizing Navadip as a place of intellectual practice, 120 responses to nyāya intellectual activity, 120 temple construction, 111 bhakti intellectuals, 105–​107 Bhāsarvajña, 73, 74 Bhattacharyya, A. K., 112 Bhaṭṭa Nāyaka, 213 Bhaṭṭojī Dikṣita, 132, 196 Bhavabhūti, 175 Bhavānanda Siddhāntavāgīśa, 75–​76, 84, 119 Bhāvavilāsa (Rudra), 152 Bhoja, 114 bliss, 101–​103, 108. See also happiness Bouquet of Canonical Positions in Nyāya (Jānakīnātha), 74 brahman, 99, 101–​105 brahman-​bliss relation, 101–​102, 105 Brahmans, 164 Brentano, Franz, 65, 71 Br̥hadāaṇyaka Upaniṣad, 101

270 Index Br̥haspati, 129–​130 The Bridge to the Three Sacred Places (Nārāyaṇa), 129, 132, 144 Bronner, Yigal, 22, 196–​197, 211 Caitanya Mahāprabhu, 97, 98 Candraśekhara, 121 causality, essay on, 58 Chakrabarty, Dipesh, 129, 158 “Chapter on Gifts” (manuscript owned by Vidyānivāsa), 186 cognition accurate or not, 55–​56 composite, 51–​52 intentionality in, 64–​65 of objects, 65, 68–​71 objects of, 55 speech-​based, 45–​48 cognition of doubt, 35–​36, 38, 40–​43, 45, 51–​53, 59 Cohen, Ralph, 22 Collingwood, R. G., 206 community reading, 182–​190, 192, 199 Compendium on Logic (Annaṃbhaṭṭa), 53, 141 Composition on Joy (Jīva), 107–​108 Consideration of the Discourse on Liberation (Harirāma), 128 Cox, Whitney, 183 A Crest of Moons That Are Pilgrimage Sites (Nāgeśa), 132 Dasti, Matthew R., 43 Davis, Donald, 184 death, social space of, 154–​159. See also dying debate (vāda) genre form, 21 delight, 112–​114 Descartes, René, 69–​70 Deshpande, Madhav, 196 Devarshi community, 153 devotion joy in, 108–​109 temple expressions of, 112–​114 devotionalism, Vaishnava, 97–​98, 110–​111, 114–​116, 122, 125 Dhārā Hāṃvīra, 110 Dhuṇḍirāja, 1, 2 The Dictionary of Amara (Rāmakr̥ṣṇa), 177

Dineshchandra Bhattacharya, 153, 186 discipline (śāstra), term use, 6–​9 “Discussion on Absence” (Gaṅgeśa), 21 disputes, defined, 54 divine beings, emotion in, 104, 108, 109, 112, 116, 125 doubt apperceptive, 44–​46, 53, 63 arising from speech, 33, 34, 37–​48 cognition of, 35–​36, 38, 40–​43, 45, 51–​53, 59 critical inquiry, doubting statement in, 54–​58, 59 defined, 204–​205 essay on, 48, 199, 204 introduction, 31–​33 in the mind, 33, 39, 41–​48 new vs. old, 32–​33, 40–​41, 48–​54 ontology/​pseudoontology of, 53 properties of, 50–​52 sense perception and, 36–​37, 42–​43, 48 theorizing, 33–​41, 49 doubt-​critical inquiry relation, 34–​35 doubting cognition, 35–​36, 38, 40–​43, 45, 51–​53, 59 doubt-​reasoning relation, 34 doubting statements, 40–​41, 53–​58 Durgādāsa, 120 Durjana, King, 113 dying defined, 145–​149 discussions on, contemporary, 150–​151 as an emotion, 125–​126 emotion of, 157, 158–​159 historical context of, 150–​154 introduction, 125–​129 in Kashi as a cause of liberation, 127–​128, 132–​145, 147–​148, 150, 157 meanings, primary and secondary, 125–​128, 145 social context of, 150–​154 teleological feeling of, 157–​158 Ekadeśīs, 72–​76, 85 An Elaboration (Kr̥ṣṇadāsa), 75 The Elucidation (Bhavānanda), 75–​76 Elucidation of the Teaching of the Kāvyaprakāśa (Jagadīśa), 188

Index  271 emotion. See also dying; specific emotions building space, 97–​99 in divine beings, 104, 108, 109, 112, 116, 125 of dying, 157, 158–​159 feeling novelty, 203–​207 human, 95 intellection and, 14–​15, 206 intellectual space, 118–​124 knowledge and, 17 lexically unmarked, 122–​123 location of, 105–​106 logical and metaphysical pathos, space of, 123–​125 logic and, 15–​18 novelty and, 18, 205 in nyāya philosophical writing, 17 passion underlying, 114 political space, 109–​114 social space of, 115–​116 thinking-​feeling relation in, 209 emotional space, Bengal as an, 114–​115, 122 Ernst, Carl, 23 essay (vāda) genre form, 19, 21–​23 Essay on Causality (Gadādhara), 58 Essay on Doubt (Gadādhara), 48, 199, 204 An Essay on Dying in Kashi as a Cause (of Liberation) (Harirāma), 128, 142, 147–​148 Essay on God (Raghudeva), 54–​55, 57 Essay on Heat and Its Effects (anon.), 57 An Essay on Joy in Viṣṇu (Gadādhara), 98, 106–​107 An Essay on Liberation (Raghudeva), 73, 153–​154 An Essay on Nominal Compounds, 188 An Essay on Objectivity (Gadādhara), 85 An Essay on Objectivity (Harirāma), 57, 83, 85–​87, 199, 205 An Essay on Permanent Happiness (Mathurānātha), 56, 98 Essay on the Negative Particle (Raghunātha), 21 An Essay on the Production of the Property-​ Relation (anon.), 146 Essay on Veridicality (Harirāma), 56 Essence of Logic (Jagadīśa), 141–​142 Essence of Nyāya Principles (Vāsudeva), 119

The Essence of the Puranas (Rudra), 122 The Essentials of the Bridge to the Three Sacred Places (Śaṃkara), 132 An Examination of “Consideration” in Inferential Reasoning (Raghudeva), 58 Examination of the New View (Harirāma), 199 “Existence of God” (Descartes), 69 An Exposition (Govinda), 36–​37 An Exposition (Raghudeva), 36 Fate Sāhavarmaṇa, 179 Fatḥallāh Shīrāzī, 180 Firishta, 124–​125 Fisher, Elaine, 181 Foucault, Michel, 7, 8 Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya on causes of liberation, 137, 139–​140 on debate over objectivity, 75–​76 on doubt, 46, 48–​54, 66, 204–​205 doubting statements, 57 on dying, 128 on emotion in the divine, 116, 125 emotion-​other-​worldly beings relationship, 99–​100, 105–​109 essay (vāda) genre form, 21 a great teacher of Bengal, 118 on happiness, 104–​106, 111 on the invention of the science of logic, 7–​8 on joy as love, 125 land grant, 120–​121, 177 on liberation, 135–​136, 145, 150, 153 manuscript production, 172–​173, 193 mentioned, 183 narrativization of novelty, 205 new vs. old authors, 204–​205 objectivity argument, 75–​79, 81, 83, 85–​86, 87–​91, 202 philosophical self, 204–​206 question of emotion/​debate about happiness, 98–​99 readers, expectations of, 59 tāraka prayer, on the, 144–​145 on Viṣṇu-​joy relation, 104–​105

272 Index Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya, works Essay on Causality, 58 Essay on Doubt, 48, 199, 204 An Essay on Joy in Viṣṇu, 98, 106–​107 An Essay on Objectivity, 85 New Essay on Liberation, 128, 135 Ganeri, Jonardon, 11–​12, 18, 32–​33, 49, 163–​164, 174–​175, 180, 184, 204, 216 Gaṅgeśa Upādhyāya, 7–​8, 13, 21, 32, 44, 74, 116, 119, 121, 134 Gautama Akṣpāda, 4–​5, 7–​8, 12, 43 genre development, 22–​23 Ghosh, Pikha, 115 Glushkova, Irina, 132 god, essay on, 54–​55, 57 Gokhale, Pradeep, 26 Gokolanātha Nyāyaratna, 187 Gokulanātha Upādhyāya, 179 Gopīnātha Ṭhakkura, 119 Govinda Bhaṭṭācārya, 36–​39, 41–​42, 53, 117, 120–​121, 152 Guha, Dineshchandra, 76 happiness. See also joy defined, 116 in god, 55 human vs. divine, 95–​97 introduction, 95–​99 joy vs., 105–​108 locus of, 98, 100–​104 synonyms of, 112–​113, 116 happiness debate, 99–​108 Haridāsa Nyāyālaṅkāra, 186 Harinārāyaṇ, King, 114 Harirāma Tarkavāgīśa on causes of liberation, 137–​140, 142 doubting statements, 55–​56 on dying, 127–​128 essay (vāda) genre form, 21–​22 on liberation, 105, 135, 150, 153 on locus of happiness, 104 on maraṇa, 147–​150 objectivity argument, 83, 85–​86, 87–​91 readers, expectations of, 59 students of, 154 tāraka prayer, on the, 144

Harirāma Tarkavāgīśa, works Consideration of the Discourse on Liberation, 128 An Essay on Dying in Kashi as a Cause (of Liberation), 128, 142, 147–​148 An Essay on Objectivity, 57, 83–​85, 199, 205 Essay on Verticality, 56 Examination of the New View, 199 Hawley, John S., 212 Haz̤rat ‘Alī, 176, 178 Heidegger, 158 Helms, Bennet W., 18, 206, 209 Helsinger, Elizabeth, 190 Hitz, Zena, 14 Holarāya, 114 Ḥusain Shāh, 175, 176 Ingalls, Daniel, 28, 49 An Inquiry into the True Nature of the Ontological Categories (Raghunātha), 1, 16, 34–​38, 42, 46, 86, 95, 187 intellection changes in, elements of, 209–​210 emotion and, 14–​15, 206 era of, 11–​12 historical facilitation of the use of terms new and old, 32–​33 in intellectual life, 3, 14–​15 knowledge and, 17 new vs. old, 32–​33, 55, 62 space of, 25, 163–​164, 174, 181–​182 intellectual life, conception of, 14 intellectual practice, space of, 116–​119, 122–​123, 164–​165 intellectuals the court and, 173–​181 defined, 209 intellection and emotion in, 14–​18 knowledge, reconceptualizing the organization and presentation of, 32 knowledge produced, 211 land grants to, 121, 177 Navadvip, 116–​117, 120–​124, 175–​181, 191 new and old, use of, 62 novelty, arguing for and behalf of, 210–​211

Index  273 nyāya, 9, 12, 14–​18 periodizing terms used (new/​old), 31–​32 political influence, 117, 121 present day, 209 scholar households, 183–​184 trust among, 59–​61 intellectual space manuscript economy linking, 166 pan-​regional, 163–​166, 181 reading communities, 182–​190 relations across, 164 “Invoice of the Manuscript-​List,” 186 Inwagen, Peter van, 26 Īśvara, 95–​96, 98–​106, 108 Jābāla Upaniṣad, 129–​130, 131, 133, 145 Jagadīśa Tarkpañcānana Bhaṭṭācārya, 117, 188 Jagannātha Paṇḍitarāja, 17, 126–​127, 144–​146, 148–​149, 152, 158 Jahāngīr (also Jahāṃgīr), Emperor, 120, 152 Jānakīnātha Cuḍāmaṇi Bhaṭṭācārya, 74–​75 Jayanta Bhaṭṭa, 99 Jayarāma Nyāyapañcānana, 66–​69, 86–​87, 91, 187–​188 Jīva Gosvāmī, 97, 107–​108, 112, 116 Jagadīśa Tarkālaṅkāra, 75, 116, 118, 119, 141, 188–​189 Jones, Karen, 59–​60 joy. See also happiness building space, 99 happiness vs., 105–​108 location of, 98 as love, 105–​107, 109, 112, 114–​116, 124–​125 in the ruler, 111–​114 in temple construction, 111–​113 in Viṣṇu, 98, 104, 106–​107, 108 Kamalākara Bhaṭṭa, 132 Kandarpa Rāya, 186 Kashi interest in among nyāya intellectuals, 154 liberation with dying in, 127–​145, 147–​148, 150, 157

physical geography, 130, 132, 133 as a place of maraṇa, 156 a place of social death, 154–​159 as a site of pilgrimage, 129–​134 Śiva and, 131 textual production on, 132–​133 writing on, historical context, 154 Kāśīkhaṇḍa, 129, 131, 144 Kāśīnātha Vidyānivāsa, 152, 153, 186 Kavicandra, 186 Kavīndracandrodaya, 152 Kavīndrācārya, 152, 173 Kāvyaprakāśa (Mammaṭa), 188 Khan, Razak, 98 knowledge intellection and emotion in, 17 locus of, 103 reconceptualizing the organization and presentation of, 32 knowledge systems, 5–​9 Kr̥ṣṇadāsa Sārvabhauma, 45, 54, 75, 95–​96, 101–​102, 104, 113, 114 Kr̥ṣṇa, 111–​112, 114–​115 Lahno, Bernd, 60 Lakṣmaṇāvatī, Queen, 113-​114 Lakṣmīdhara, 134 land grants to intellectuals, 121, 177 Lefebvre, Henri, 128, 154–​156 liberation attaining, 105–​106 causes resulting in, 135–​140 components of, 105 dying in Kashi as a cause of, 127–​130, 132–​145, 147–​148, 150, 157 requirements to achieve, 103 space of, 156 true knowledge and, 134, 138–​144 life to death transition, 145–​149 The Light Ray (Raghunātha), 74–​76, 85, 88, 117–​118, 183 literary production. See also manuscript economy essay (vāda) genre form, 19, 21–​23 existing corpus of, 19 Mughal imperial project, 151–​152 script-​mercantilism, 165–​166, 185 literary theory, emotion in, 17

274 Index logic emotion and, 15–​18 intellectual-​historical change in, 2–​3 a new history for, 9–​14 novelty concept used, 3 periodizing techniques, 10, 12–​13 scholarship on, 9–​11 space of, 116–​119, 122–​123 a system of thought, 3–​9 logical pathos, 123, 124–​125 logicians, by region and date, 20 The Lost Age of Reason: Philosophy in Early Modern India 1450–​1700 (Ganeri), 11 love, joy as, 105–​107, 112, 114–​116, 124–​125 Lovejoy, Arthur O., 123, 195–​196 Lusthaus, Dan, 22 Lutjeharms, Rembert, 212 MacBride, Fraser, 67 Mādhava Miśra, 185 Madhusūdana Ṭhakkura, 119 Mahādeva Punataṃkara, 32, 73, 76–​83, 118, 187 Mahādeva Siṃhācārya, 175 Mahārāja Mādhava Siṃha, 179 Majliś Bārbak, 175 Majumdār Bhavānanda, 120 Mālatī and Mādhava (Bhavabhuti), 175 Mammaṭa, 188 Mānasollāsa (Someśvara), 73 Mān Siṃha, 120 Mantrakāśīkhaṇḍa (Nilakaṇṭha), 132 manuscript circulation, 167–​168, 169–​170m manuscript culture, 165–​166, 167–​168, 171–​174. See also Appendix manuscript economy concepts comprising the, 190–​191 emotional and rational relations, 166, 185, 189, 193–​194 mapping the, 169–​170m novelty concept in the, 191–​194 reading communities, 182–​190, 192 space of, 166, 191 success, factors in, 166 term use, 166

unknowns, 165 value of, 191 manuscript production, 185–​189 maraṇa, 145–​149, 156 Maratha Tanjavur, 180 Mathurānātha Siddhāntavāgīśa, 44, 56, 99–​104, 108–​109, 111 Mathurānātha Tarkavāgīśa, 98 Matilal, B. K., 49, 50, 66, 76 McBride, Richard D., II, 23 McCrea, Lawrence, 14, 181, 196, 211, 213 Meghanādāri Sūri, 73 mercantile economy, 185 metaphysical pathos, 122–​123 mīmāṃsā, 56–​57, 196, 211–​213 mind, doubt in the, 33, 39, 41–​48 Minkowski, Christopher, 22, 132–​133, 135, 179, 211 Mitrasena, 114 Monius, Anne, 183 Mughal imperial project, 151–​152 Nāgeśa Bhaṭṭa, 132, 143, 196 Narahari Cakravartin, 116 Nārāyaṇa, 114 Nārāyaṇa Bhaṭṭa, 129, 132, 144, 152–​153 Nārāyaṇārya, 73, 113, 134 Narottama Dāsa, 110 Navadvip intellectual life, 116–​117, 120–​124, 175–​181, 191 manuscript production, 171, 173, 193 objectivity debate in, 84 Sanskrit knowledge study, 2 Sanskrit logicians by date, 20 scholar households, 184 a space of logic, 122–​123 negative particle, essay on, 21 new and old. See also novelty doubt and, 32–​33, 40–​41, 48–​54 intellection and, 32–​33, 55, 62 term use, 196–​198 in vāda essays, 55, 57–​58 new as the now, 205 New Essay on Liberation (Gadādhara), 128, 135 new nyāya, 13–​16

Index  275 new philosophical self, 11 new reason philosophers, 11 Nicholson, Andrew, 96 Nilakaṇṭha Caturdhara, 132–​133 novelty affective, 15–​16, 18, 204 affective-​intellectual forms, interplay of, 206 anugama of, 206 arguing for and behalf, 210–​211 conclusion, 209–​217 in a diachronic mode, 197–​198 doubt and, 32–​33, 40–​41, 48–​54 emotion and, 18, 205 essay (vāda) genre form to introduce, 23 features of, 195–​196 feeling, 203–​207 in an historical mode, 196–​197 homogenizing element of, 202–​203 intellection and, 32–​33, 55, 62 intellectual, 15–​16, 18, 210–​211 intellectual-​emotional response to, 209–​210 logic and, 3 in the manuscript economy, 191–​194 narrativization of, 205 ontology of, 199–​203 philosophy relation to, 209 synchronic, 195–​199 thinking, 32 use of the term new attributing, 15 Nr̥siṃha Pañcānana, 117 Nussbaum, Martha, 15, 195, 203, 204, 209 nyāya Ekadeśī positions associated with, 72–​76 new technical language in, 49 ontological categories, 200–​202 padārtha (ontological categories), 25–​27 schism in the discipline of, 73 Nyāya-​śāstra, 3–​9 Nyāyasūtra (Gautama), 4–​5, 7–​8, 12, 21, 25–​27, 42, 43, 187 nyāya texts essay (vāda) genre form, 19, 21–​23 existing corpus of, 19

objectivity an alternative history, 72–​76 analysis and essays, 84–​85 concept of, 63–​72 as content-​ness, 63–​64 debate about, 62–​63 dialogic overtones embedded, 63 essay on, 57, 83, 85–​87, 199, 205 independent texts on, 84–​87 intentionality in, 64–​65 introduction, 62–​63 meanings and uses within nyāya, 63–​72 object-​ness/​objectivity of, 64 ontological category, debate over, 73, 74–​76, 85, 202, 205 as a relation, 67–​68, 71–​72, 74–​85 studying, 65 objectivity complex, 66 objects cognition of, 65, 68–​71 communication about, 65 objecthood of, 65, 67 objectivity and, 64–​65 properties of, 66 An Offering of Ontological Categories (Jayarāma), 66–​67, 86 O’Hanlon, Rosalind, 151, 164, 179, 183 Okita, Kiyokazu, 212 old/​new, term use. See new and old padārtha, 25–​27 Padyamuktāvalī (Govinda), 152 Pakṣadhara Miśra, 187 passion, 114 Patel, Devan, 183 Patil, Parimal, 12 Pernau, Margrit, 17, 18, 124, 206, 209 Persian logic, 177, 180, 212 Phillips, Stephen, 62, 68, 197 philosophers moral competence, 60 new community of, 61, 91, 197, 215 new reason, 11 philosophy place as essential to, 211 responding to novelty, 209 pilgrimage, 129–​134, 151

276 Index political space Bengal as a, 113, 115 of emotion, 109–​114 Pollock, Sheldon, 10, 32, 165–​166, 179, 182, 193, 197 Potter, Karl, 26–​27, 73 Pratāpāditya of Jessore, 120 Prayag, 143 Preisendanz, Karin, 11–​12, 179, 197 property relation, 128, 180 Puruṣottama, 22 Quine, Willard, 200 Rādhā, 111, 113–​115 Raghavan, V., 180 Rāghava Rāya, 121–​124, 177–​178, 180 Raghudeva Nyāyālaṅkāra on doubt, 39–​40, 42, 46–​47 on dying, 128 essay (vāda) genre form, 21 in the intellectual community, 154 on liberation, 128, 137–​140, 154 mentioned, 86 objectivity argument, 77, 80, 83 tāraka prayer, on the, 144 on trust, 59–​61 Raghudeva Nyāyālaṅkāra, works Essay on God, 54–​55, 57 An Essay on Liberation, 73, 153–​154 An Examination of “Consideration” in Inferential Reasoning, 58 An Exposition, 36 Raghunandana, 132 Raghunātha Ādi Malla, King, 110, 113 Raghunātha Siṃha, 111 Raghunātha Śiromaṇi on causality as an ontological category, 58 critical analysis of nyāya ontology, 16 critique of padārtha, 26 on doubt, 34–​38, 41–​42, 47 doubt, new conception of, 32 on emotion, 96 Īśvara as the locus of happiness, 101 The Light Ray, 74–​76, 85, 88, 117–​ 118, 183 mentioned, 33, 98, 119

objectivity debate, 72–​76, 85–​86 ontological questions of, 200–​202 readers, expectations of, 59 Sanskrit knowledge study, 1–​2 vāda term use, 21 Raghunātha Śiromaṇi, works Essay on the Negative Particle, 21 An Inquiry into the True Nature of the Ontological Categories, 1, 34–​38, 42 Inquiry into the True Nature of the Ontological Categories, 16, 46, 86, 95, 187 Raghupati Upādhyāya, 153 Raghurāma Raya, 120, 121 Rājamaṇi, 188 Rajamani, Imke, 17 Rājavallabha, 120 Rāmabhadra Sārvabhauma, 73, 202 Rāmabhadra Siddhāntavāgīśa, 118 Rāmadāsa, 185 Rāmadeva Tarkavāgīśa, 121 Rāmajīvana Pañcānana, 121 Rāmakr̥ṣṇādhvarin, 8, 44 Rāmakr̥ṣṇa Rāya, 121 Rāmakr̥ṣṇa Tarkālaṅkāra Bhaṭṭācārya, 177 Rāmaśaṅkara Tarkacūḍāmaṇi Bhaṭṭācārya, 187 reading communities, 182–​190, 192, 199 reality objective, 69–​70 philosophical, 205 reasoning, 34 Reckwitz, Andreas, 18, 204 relational abstracts, 50 Removal of Errors through Splendorous Light (Madhusūdana), 119 Rosenwein, Barbara H., 18 Rudrakavi from Maharashtra, 152 Rudra Nyāyavācaspati Bhaṭṭācārya, 152, 187 Rudra Rāya, 122–​123 Rutherford, Donald, 216 sacred space, 129–​134 Saif al-​Dīn Firūz Shāh, 175 Śaṃkara Bhaṭṭa, 132 Śaṅkarācārya, 177 Sanskrit hermeneutics, 213

Index  277 Sanskrit Knowledge-​systems on the Eve of Colonialism (Pollock), 10 Sanskrit Knowledge-​systems project, 11–​13 Sanskrit learning, centers of, 153 satisfaction, love as, 105 scholar households, 183–​184 script-​mercantilism, 166, 185 self, the philosophical, 204–​205 sense perception, doubt and, 36–​37, 42, 48 sense-​perceptual cognition, 36–​37, 43 Sertillanges, A. G., 14 Shāh Jahān, Emperor, 152 Shaikh Farīd Shāh, 176, 178 Shāista Khān, 178 Shulman, David, 16, 214–​215 Śikhi Mahāpātra, 176 Simmel, Georg, 129, 155–​157 Śiromaṇi, Queen, 113 Śiva, 111, 131, 144–​145, 149–​150, 153 Skanda Purāṇa, 129 social space Bengal as a, 115–​119 of death, 154–​159 (see also dying) of emotion, 115–​116 Someśvara, 73 space defining, 117 emotion shaping, 97–​99 identity across, 164 of intellectual practice, 116–​119, 122–​123 introduction, 163–​166 Kashi as a, 154–​159 parceling, 156 space of emotion, 123, 124–​125 space of intellection, 25, 163–​164, 174, 181–​182 space of liberation, 156 space of logic, 116–​119, 122–​123 space of manuscript economy, 166, 191 speech, doubt arising from, 33, 34, 37–​48 Śrīkr̥ṣṇa Sārvabhauma, 121 Śrīnivāsācārya, 110–​111, 115 Stanley, Jason, 65 Stewart, Tony, 115 Stream of Light (Udayana), 106 Sulemān Karrānī, 175–​176

Surendranath Dasgupta, 9–​10 Sureśvarācārya, 132, 143–​144 Śvetāśvatara Upaniṣad, 136–​137, 143 Śyāmānanda, 110 Taittirīya Upaniṣad, 101 tāraka prayer, 144–​145 Tārīkh-​i Firishta (Firishta), 124–​125 teleological feeling of dying, 157–​158 temple construction, 110–​114, 120 Thieme, Paul, 27 Third Meditation (Descartes), 69 Thought-​Jewel of Truth (Gaṅgeśa), 7–​8, 21, 44, 74, 116, 117, 119, 121 time introduction, 195 new as the now, 205 texts creating and maintaining a bitemporal moment, 198–​200 Ṭoḍaramala, 152 Trilocanadeva Nyāyapañcānana, 118–​119 The True Essence of Pilgrimage Sites (Raghunandana), 132 true knowledge, liberation and, 134, 138–​144 Truschke, Audrey, 151, 179 trust, 59–​61 truth, search for the, 11 Tubb, Gary, 22, 196 Udayana, 34, 136, 139–​140 Uddyotakara, 5 Upaniṣads, 99, 101, 102, 105 Vācaspati Miśra, 13, 43, 134 vāda essays, 55–​58, 173, 199 Vaishnava devotionalism, 110–​111, 114–​116, 122, 125 Vardhamāna Upādhyāya, 105–​106 Vāsudeva Miśra, 119 Vātsyāyana, 5, 7, 34, 43 Vedānta Deśika, 73 verticality, essay on, 56 A Vessell on the Waves of Bliss (Śaṅkarācārya), 177 Vidyānivāsa, 153, 186 Vīrabhanu, 114

278 Index Vīra Hāṃvīra, 110, 115 Vīra Siṃha, 113 Viṣṇu, 99, 104–​105, 108 Viṣṇupurāṇa, 187 Viśvanātha (Nyāyasiddhānta) Pañcānana, 45, 120, 187, 195 Viśvanātha Tīrtha, 185

Wittgenstein, Ludwig, 91 world creating the, 100 meaning of, 8 Yājñavalkya, 129–​130 Yaśovijaya Gaṇi, 201