A typical shrauta sacrifice involved a team of Brahmins, each charged with different responsibilities. Setting up and performing the sacrifice might take several days or even weeks. Under Brahmin supervision, workers staked out a sacred space outdoors by erecting a temporary canopy, using very precise measurements. Under the canopy, earthen altars were constructed to contain the sacred fires. Each of three altars corresponded to a component of the world: earth, midspace, and heaven. Once the ritual was under way, the gods were invited to attend; Soma, that divine drink prized by the Indo-Iranians, was drunk; an animal such as a goat was sacrificed and cooked; and then the sacred food was offered to the gods and human participants. The most important aspect of the sacrifice, however, was the hymns and prayers sung by the Brahmin priests. These were verses taken from the Vedas, and it was essential that they be chanted correctly. One priest’s sole responsibility was to ensure that the sacred words were accurately uttered; he corrected any mistakes made by the others. Errors rendered the ritual ineffective, perhaps even dangerous; hence, the Brahmins placed great importance on exact memorization of the Vedas.
Although the shrauta rituals were performed for a variety of reasons, they ordinarily had this-worldly aims. Sacrificers—the ones who paid for the ceremony—sought to improve their relations with the gods in order to achieve greater success in business, breed more and better cattle, produce “manly” sons, and promote health and longevity. The attainment of a pleasant afterlife in heaven might also have been included in this list, but that goal seems to have been secondary to the others.
In the early Vedic period, the Aryans believed the sacrifices persuaded the gods to act on behalf of the sacrificer. Persuasion took the form of flattering songs sung in honor of a deva and the offering of delicious foods for the gods to eat and Soma to drink. Over time, however, the ritual itself came to be regarded as the transformative agent. Priests no longer thought they were urging the gods to act in certain ways. By manipulating the objects of the sacrifice, and especially by uttering powerful words they called mantras, the Brahmins believed that they themselves were controlling the cosmic powers. This belief seems to be the logical development of the idea of corresponding relationships between the ritual and the world beyond it.
Eventually, the sacred words used during rituals came to be seen as powerful in themselves. The utterance of these words generated or tapped into the creative power of the sacrifice. The priests called this power brahman, a word that means “that which makes great,” and they came to regard themselves as the custodians of this brahman.
Our study of Vedic ritual has revealed several points that we may summarize as follows. First, ritual was immensely important in Vedic religion. The Aryans, like most preaxial peoples, were not terribly concerned about belief and doctrine. But they were greatly interested in the correct performance of specific religious acts, because these ceremonies and sacrifices were integral to their well-being on earth and perhaps to their destiny after death. Gradually, these ritual practices came to be regarded as the special province of experts, individuals trained to enact these ceremonies in precise ways. As these religious practices were developed and refined, the Aryans grew to believe that the rituals themselves were powerful. It was not so much that the rites persuaded or prompted the gods to act on human behalf; rather, the rite itself—especially the words of the ritual—was increasingly seen as the true agent of control.
“The Aryans, like most preaxial peoples, were not terribly concerned about belief and doctrine. But they were greatly interested in the correct performance of specific religious acts, because these ceremonies and sacrifices were integral to their well-being on earth and perhaps to their destiny after death.”
The Advent of the Axial Age
This brief synopsis characterizes the world of Indo-Aryan religion near the end of what we conventionally call the Vedic period of Indian religious history (1600–800 bce). This era was succeeded by what is known as “classical Hinduism,” so designated because during this time, the complex of traditions we refer to as Hinduism began to take its characteristic shape. The rise of classical Hinduism also coincided with the advent of the Axial Age in India.
To say the Vedic period ended and the classical Hindu period began does not imply that one era superseded the other. The rise of classical Hinduism did not mean that Vedic religion was no longer practiced or that it gradually faded into oblivion. On the contrary, the Vedic traditions were retained and still observed. Perhaps a better way of imagining this development is to think that as classical Hinduism arose, Indian religion enlarged. The older Vedic notions and practices were kept intact and to some extent reinterpreted. In addition, a set of new ideas and concerns were added to the mix, and this emerging amalgam resulted in what is now called Hinduism. Perhaps the situation was not so different from the way Christianity developed out of Judaism, retaining many Jewish elements, reinterpreting others, and then adding novel features from other sources. The appearance of classical Hinduism, therefore, did not signal the disappearance of traditional Indo-Aryan religion.
But changes did occur, and the changes were motivated by a number of factors, many of which seem to be characteristic of axial changes in other parts of the world. One of the most important of these was the expansion of the Indo-Aryans into the Gangetic Plain of northeastern India, beginning around 1000 bce. This extension of Aryan culture entailed what some call the “second urbanization” of India. The Aryans began to give up the nomadic life, settle in villages and towns, and take up farming and trade. This development eventually led to a period of greater material progress and put the Aryans in greater contact with non-Aryan peoples.
These basic sociological changes can be coordinated with certain developments in Aryan religion. For instance, the late Vedic period seems to have been marked by increased questioning of the value of ritual. In part, these challenges appear to be associated with the middle castes’ resentment of the Brahmin priests’ power and their monopoly on ritual performance. But perhaps even deeper was an emerging sense that what the rituals accomplished was not, in the final analysis, all that worthwhile.
We see these doubts arising in a story that appeared in a collection of writings from this time, near the end of the Vedic period and the start of classical Hinduism. This collection, which we will discuss in much greater detail in the next several chapters, is known as the Upanishads. For now, let us simply attend to a particular passage that illustrates the Aryans’ axial reevaluation of Vedic practices. This selection is a dialogue between a young Brahmin and Yama, the King of Death. Through an interesting set of circumstances, the young man, whose name is Nachiketas, has found himself sent to the underworld, where he is forced to wait for three days without food because the King of Death is away, doing what the grim reaper does. When Yama returns home to the underworld, he realizes he has committed a grave offense by neglecting his obligations of hospitality to a Brahmin. To atone for his mistake, Yama offers to grant Nachiketas three wishes. For his third and most important wish, Nachiketas asks Yama to explain to him what happens when a person dies, a seemingly simple request to make of the King of Death—or so one would think. Yama is surprisingly reluctant to answer this question. The dialogue proceeds in this manner:
Nachiketas: When a man dies, this doubt arises: some say “he is” and some say “he is not.” Teach me the truth.
Death: Even the gods had this doubt in times of old; for mysterious is the law of life and death. Ask for another boon. Release me from this.
Nachiketas: This doubt indeed arose even to the gods, and you say, O Death, that it is difficult to understand; but no greater teacher than you can explain it, and there is no other boon as great as this.
Death: Take horses and gold and cattle and elephants; choose sons and grandsons that shall live a hundred years. Have vast expanses of land, and live as many years as you desire. Or choose another gift that you think equal to this, and enjoy it with wealth and long life. Be a ruler of this
vast earth. I will grant you all your desires. Ask for any wishes in the world of mortals, however hard to obtain. . . . I will give you fair maidens with chariots and musical instruments. But ask me not, Nachiketas, the secrets of death.
Nachiketas: All these pleasures pass away, O End of all! They weaken the power of life. And indeed how short is all life! Keep your horses and dancing and singing. Man cannot be satisfied with wealth. Shall we enjoy wealth with you in sight? Shall we live while you are in power? I can only ask for the boon I have asked. . . . Solve then the doubt as to the great beyond. Grant me the gift that unveils the mystery.[4]
This brief passage is important to our study for two reasons. We will begin with what may not be so obvious on a casual reading, and that is what Yama offers Nachiketas as alternatives to his request. The King of Death promises the young Brahmin cattle and horses; wealth, power, and land; and children and a long comfortable life. What is significant to observe is that all of these things are precisely what the Vedic rituals were intended to secure. In an earlier age, the Aryans considered these things the highest goods of life. What more could one hope for? Wealth, children, longevity—these were the epitome of mortal success.
Yet now, in this passage from the dawn of the Axial Age, those very things count for little. An important shift has occurred—or has begun to occur—among some practitioners of Indian religion. What was seen as most valuable was now regarded with significantly less favor, and perhaps even with a touch of contempt. As Nachiketas says, these things “weaken the power of life.” Here is an implicit criticism of the Vedic ritual system that should not be overlooked. It is not so much that later thinkers were suggesting that the old rituals did not work; rather, they were saying that what the rituals provided was ultimately not so important.
A second point also is significant. For the first time in the early Indian literature, we have begun to hear expressions of anxiety about death. Nachiketas wants to know whether the individual exists or does not exist after death. His question carries a sense of urgency and intensity. He wants to know the answer, and he refuses to let the King of Death off the hook. There is nothing like this in the earlier Vedic literature. In chapter 4, we looked at some of the passages about death from the Rig Veda, and we noted a good deal of speculation about the ultimate human fate. What we did not encounter was any sense that the afterlife was a pressing issue for the Indo-Aryans. If they gave it much thought at all, some of the Aryans believed that death conferred a pleasant existence in heaven with the ancestors; others imagined a kind of dissolution of the soul and body as they melted into their elemental forms; and some may have thought the corpse was consumed by the gods. What seems to have been lacking was the sense that knowing what lay on the other side of death was a matter of deep concern.
The stage is now set for change. In the next chapter of Indian religious history, questions that are now appearing here and there—questions about the ultimate destiny of human beings, the nature of existence after death, and the absolute reality of the entire cosmos—will become more pressing. These concerns will be addressed as an entirely new cast of characters emerges to consider them.
* * *
“He” may refer to a creator god or the Purusha himself.↵
The Rig Veda, 10.90, trans. Wendy Doniger (New York: Penguin, 2005), 30–31.↵
James George Frazer, The Golden Bough, ch. 3, §1, 15. Available at http://www.sacred-texts.com/pag/frazer/gb00301.htm.↵
Katha Upanishad in The Upanishads, trans. Juan Mascaró (New York: Penguin, 1965), 56–57.↵
6
Death and Rebirth
At the end of the previous chapter, we identified a significant period of transition in Indian religious history. The Vedic age was drawing to a close, and the era of classical Hinduism was emerging, a period that coincided with the start of India’s Axial Age. Of course, there is no distinct point in time at which we can definitively say the Vedic period has ended and the classical Hindu period has begun. As mentioned previously, the Vedic traditions were largely retained and embraced within emerging Hinduism. What distinguishes the classical Hindu era is the reorientation of religious life toward new concerns and new beliefs. This evolution took place over a two-hundred-year span, between 800 and 600 bce, according to contemporary Western reckoning.
Is That All There Is?
During these two hundred years, Indian religious life began to change dramatically. The venerable old Vedic ritual system, which had dominated Indian religion for centuries, came under scrutiny. Increasingly, thinkers expressed doubts about the kinds of benefits the Vedic rituals could produce. It was not so much that the Aryans no longer valued long life, health, material prosperity, and children—the sorts of things rituals were intended to provide; rather, these goods were now regarded as less important in the grand scheme of things. Sages were starting to wonder: Is this all there is to life, or does human existence have some meaning or significance that transcends the acquisition of these traditional goods, as valuable as they are?
This question arose with more frequency as the Aryans increasingly enjoyed greater material success and as they settled in villages and became agriculturists and traders. While concerns with subsistence needs receded into the background, other questions—what we might call philosophical or transcendental issues—seem to have come to the fore. The increase in material well-being does not wholly account for this philosophical turn, but it surely played a part. How many of us—particularly in our affluent society—after having attained everything we thought we wanted, raised our heads and asked, “Is that all?” For a variety of reasons, growing numbers of individuals throughout northern India in the period we are considering were asking the same question: “Is that all there is? Is there something more to life than simply satisfying our desires, and if so, how do we find it?”
Anxiety about Death
Closely connected with this question was an increasing concern with death and the ultimate fate of the individual person. The Aryans of the Vedic period were not unconcerned about death, but neither was their interest a great preoccupation or a matter of deep passion. The face of death was neither terrifying nor the object of intense speculation. Death was a simple reality of life, and the point of existence seemed to be to enjoy what the world had to offer before death comes. There was nothing in Vedic culture to suggest anything like what Ernest Becker called “the denial of death.”[1] To be sure, some passages in the Vedas intimated that there might be some form of existence for the person beyond his or her individual demise, but this was by no means a consistent or universal belief. The clear emphasis throughout the Vedic period was on the complete enjoyment of the goods of this earthly life.
But as the age of classical Hinduism came into full manifestation, the issue of death arose as a topic of greater attention, and it was approached with an unprecedented energy. In the previous chapter, we saw this exemplified in the tale of Nachiketas and his dialogue with Yama, the King of Death. Rather than accepting the pleasures of the earthly life, the young Brahmin compelled the god of the underworld to reveal to him the secrets of existence beyond death, a demand Yama was reluctant to grant.
As Nachiketas’s dialogue with the King of Death demonstrates, the question of death and the afterlife had become a matter of much discussion and speculation among certain groups of Aryans. These were probably the Brahmins and other high-caste members who were acquainted with the Vedas and sufficiently leisured to ponder such matters. At any rate, the evidence that remains comes only from these educated classes, and it suggests that conjectures about death were very diverse and anything but consistent.
Among the many ideas being debated among philosophically minded individuals, one is of particular interest for subsequent Indian thinking. We noted earlier that some Aryans understood death as the transition of the body or the life force to heaven, where the individual would enjoy a pleasant and permanent existence among the gods and ancestors. One of the Vedic hymns promoting this view en
courages believers with the promise that “this pasture . . . shall not be taken away.”[2] Although this was by no means a universal Aryan view, certainly a significant number believed it, and many thought that performing the appropriate sacrifices and rituals was the way to secure it.
Yet, at the end of the Vedic era and the start of classical Hinduism, doubts began to creep into this picture of the afterlife. Some of the later portions of the Vedas express suspicions about the permanency of existence in heaven once it had been attained. In these later texts, the fear arises that one might initially reach the heavenly goal only to lose it again through death. The word redeath now enters the religious lexicon to describe the situation in which the individual dies and ascends to heaven, lives there for a period, and then dies again, this time dissolving into the elements of the natural world. It does not take much imagination to see how this emerging notion of destiny was beginning to take on rather ominous qualities.
The notion of redeath, was probably an intermediate step toward the development of the concept of reincarnation, or what Hindus call the transmigration of the self. This idea—that the individual self endures a continual series of births, deaths, and rebirths—seems to have appeared for the first time in India at the start of the Axial Age.[3]
The Fear of Rebirth
The truth is that we are not altogether sure how the belief in reincarnation appeared and then became widely accepted throughout India. The concept of rebirth is certainly not unique to India. The notion is found among some Native Americans, the Trobriand Islanders, in West Africa, and perhaps most significantly for our study, among some Axial Age philosophers of ancient Greece, including Pythagoras and Socrates. Many scholars of ancient Indian religion believe that the concept of rebirth began in northern India among a small coterie of philosophers and holy persons, just as it did in Greece. These early Indians thinkers taught this idea to growing numbers of ordinary folk, and eventually, it was widely accepted. Interestingly, in ancient Greece it always remained a philosopher’s notion and never caught on with the masses of people.
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