In the conspectus I have given it as my opinion that the Sûtras in which the size of the individual soul is discussed can hardly be understood in Sa@nkara's sense, and rather seem to favour the opinion, held among others by Râmânuja, that the soul is of minute size. We have further seen that Sûtra 18 of the third pâda of the second adhyâya, which describes the soul as 'jña,' is more appropriately understood in the sense assigned to it by Râmânuja; and, again, that the Sûtras which treat of the soul being an agent, can be reconciled with Sa@nkara's views only if supplemented in a way which their text does not appear to authorise.—We next have the important Sûtra II, 3, 43 in which the soul is distinctly said to be a part (amsa) of Brahman, and which, as we have already noticed, can be made to fall in with Sa@nkara's views only if amsa is explained, altogether arbitrarily, by 'amsa iva,' while Râmânuja is able to take the Sûtra as it stands.—We also have already referred to Sûtra 50, 'âbhâsa eva ka,' which Sa@nkara interprets as setting forth the so-called pratibimbavâda according to which the individual Self is merely a reflection of the highest Self. But almost every Sûtra—and Sûtra 50 forms no exception—being so obscurely expressed, that viewed by itself it admits of various, often totally opposed, interpretations, the only safe method is to keep in view, in the case of each ambiguous aphorism, the general drift and spirit of the whole work, and that, as we have seen hitherto, is by no means favourable to the pratibimba doctrine. How indeed could Sûtra 50, if setting forth that latter doctrine, be reconciled with Sûtra 43, which says distinctly that the soul is a part of Brahman? For that 43 contains, as Sa@nkara and his commentators aver, a statement of the avakkhedavâda, can itself be accepted only if we interpret amsa by amsa iva, and to do so there is really no valid reason whatever. I confess that Râmânuja's interpretation of the Sûtra (which however is accepted by several other commentators also) does not appear to me particularly convincing; and the Sûtras unfortunately offer us no other passages on the ground of which we might settle the meaning to be ascribed to the term âbhâsa, which may mean 'reflection,' but may mean hetvâbhâsa, i.e. fallacious argument, as well. But as things stand, this one Sûtra cannot, at any rate, be appealed to as proving that the pratibimbavâda which, in its turn, presupposes the mâyâvâda, is the teaching of the Sûtras.
To the conclusion that the Sûtrakâra did not hold the doctrine of the absolute identity of the highest and the individual soul in the sense of Sa@nkara, we are further led by some other indications to be met with here and there in the Sûtras. In the conspectus of contents we have had occasion to direct attention to the important Sûtra II, 1, 22, which distinctly enunciates that the Lord is adhika, i.e. additional to, or different from, the individual soul, since Scripture declares the two to be different. Analogously I, 2, 20 lays stress on the fact that the sârîra is not the antaryâmin, because the Mâdhyandinas, as well as the Kânvas, speak of him in their texts as different (bhedena enam adhîyate), and in 22 the sârîra and the pradhâna are referred to as the two 'others' (itarau) of whom the text predicates distinctive attributes separating them from the highest Lord. The word 'itara' (the other one) appears in several other passages (I, 1, 16; I, 3, 16; II, 1, 21) as a kind of technical term denoting the individual soul in contradistinction from the Lord. The Sâ@nkaras indeed maintain that all those passages refer to an unreal distinction due to avidyâ. But this is just what we should like to see proved, and the proof offered in no case amounts to more than a reference to the system which demands that the Sûtras should be thus understood. If we accept the interpretations of the school of Sa@nkara, it remains altogether unintelligible why the Sûtrakâra should never hint even at what Sa@nkara is anxious again and again to point out at length, viz. that the greater part of the work contains a kind of exoteric doctrine only, ever tending to mislead the student who does not keep in view what its nature is. If other reasons should make it probable that the Sûtrakâra was anxious to hide the true doctrine of the Upanishads as a sort of esoteric teaching, we might be more ready to accept Sa@nkara's mode of interpretation. But no such reasons are forthcoming; nowhere among the avowed followers of the Sa@nkara system is there any tendency to treat the kernel of their philosophy as something to be jealously guarded and hidden. On the contrary, they all, from Gaudapâda down to the most modern writer, consider it their most important, nay, only task to inculcate again and again in the clearest and most unambiguous language that all appearance of multiplicity is a vain illusion, that the Lord and the individual souls are in reality one, and that all knowledge but this one knowledge is without true value.
There remains one more important passage concerning the relation of the individual soul to the highest Self, a passage which attracted our attention above, when we were reviewing the evidence for early divergence of opinion among the teachers of the Vedânta. I mean I, 4, 20-22, which three Sûtras state the views of Âsmarathya, Audulomi, and Kâsakrritsna as to the reason why, in a certain passage of the Brihadâranyaka, characteristics of the individual soul are ascribed to the highest Self. The siddhânta view is enounced in Sûtra 22, 'avasthiter iti Kâsakritsnah' i.e. Kâsakritsna (accounts for the circumstance mentioned) on the ground of the 'permanent abiding or abode.' By this 'permanent abiding' Sa@nkara understands the Lord's abiding as, i.e. existing as—or in the condition of—the individual soul, and thus sees in the Sûtra an enunciation of his own view that the individual soul is nothing but the highest Self, 'avikritah paramesvaro jîvo nânyah.' Râmânuja on the other hand, likewise accepting Kâsakritsna's opinion as the siddhânta view, explains 'avasthiti' as the Lord's permanent abiding within the individual soul, as described in the antaryâmin-brâhmana.—We can hardly maintain that the term 'avasthiti' cannot have the meaning ascribed to it by Sa@nkara, viz. special state or condition, but so much must be urged in favour of Râmânuja's interpretation that in the five other places where avasthiti (or anavasthiti) is met with in the Sûtras (I, 2, 17; II, 2, 4; II, 2, 13; II, 3, 24; III, 3, 32) it regularly means permanent abiding or permanent abode within something.
If, now, I am shortly to sum up the results of the preceding enquiry as to the teaching of the Sûtras, I must give it as my opinion that they do not set forth the distinction of a higher and lower knowledge of Brahman; that they do not acknowledge the distinction of Brahman and Îsvara in Sa@nkara's sense; that they do not hold the doctrine of the unreality of the world; and that they do not, with Sa@nkara, proclaim the absolute identity of the individual and the highest Self. I do not wish to advance for the present beyond these negative results. Upon Râmânuja's mode of interpretation—although I accept it without reserve in some important details—I look on the whole as more useful in providing us with a powerful means of criticising Sa@nkara's explanations than in guiding us throughout to the right understanding of the text. The author of the Sûtras may have held views about the nature of Brahman, the world, and the soul differing from those of Sa@nkara, and yet not agreeing in all points with those of Râmânuja. If, however, the negative conclusions stated above should be well founded, it would follow even from them that the system of Bâdarâyana had greater affinities with that of the Bhâgavatas and Râmanuja than with the one of which the Sa@nkara-bhâshya is the classical exponent.
It appears from the above review of the teaching of the Sûtras that only a comparatively very small proportion of them contribute matter enabling us to form a judgment as to the nature of the philosophical doctrine advocated by Bâdarâyana. The reason of this is that the greater part of the work is taken up with matters which, according to Sa@nkara's terminology, form part of the so-called lower knowledge, and throw no light upon philosophical questions in the stricter sense of the word. This circumstance is not without significance. In later works belonging to Sa@nkara's school in which the distinction of a higher and lower vidyâ is clearly recognised, the topics constituting the latter are treated with great shortness; and rightly so, for they are unable to accomplish the highest aim of man, i.e. final release. When we therefore, on the other hand, find that the subjects of the so-called lower vidyâ are treated very fully in the Vedânta-sûtras, when we observe, for instance, the almost tedious length to which the investigation of the unity of vidyâs (most of which are so-called saguna, i.e. lower vidyâs) is carried in the third adhyâya, or the fact of almost the whole fourth adhyâya being devoted to the ultimate fate of the possessor of the lower vidyâ; we certainly feel ourselves confirmed in our conclusion that what Sa@nkara looked upon as comparatively unimportant formed in Bâdarâyana's opinion part of that knowledge higher than which there is none, and which therefore is entitled to the fullest and most detailed exposition.
The question as to what kind of system is represented by the Vedânta-sûtras may be approached in another way also. While hitherto we have attempted to penetrate to the meaning of the Sûtras by means of the different commentaries, we might try the opposite road, and, in the first place, attempt to ascertain independently of the Sûtras what doctrine is set forth in the Upanishads, whose teaching the Sûtras doubtless aim at systematising. If, it might be urged, the Upanishads can be convincingly shown to embody a certain settled doctrine, we must consider it at the least highly probable that that very same doctrine—of whatever special nature it may be—is hidden in the enigmatical aphorisms of Bâdarâyana.[24]
I do not, however, consider this line of argumentation a safe one. Even if it could be shown that the teaching of all the chief Upanishads agrees in all essential points (a subject to which some attention will be paid later on), we should not on that account be entitled unhesitatingly to assume that the Sûtras set forth the same doctrine. Whatever the true philosophy of the Upanishads may be, there remains the undeniable fact that there exist and have existed since very ancient times not one but several essentially differing systems, all of which lay claim to the distinction of being the true representatives of the teaching of the Upanishads as well as of the Sûtras. Let us suppose, for argument's sake, that, for instance, the doctrine of Mâyâ is distinctly enunciated in the Upanishads; nevertheless Râmânuja and, for all we know to the contrary, the whole series of more ancient commentators on whom he looked as authorities in the interpretation of the Sûtras, denied that the Upanishads teach Mâyâ, and it is hence by no means impossible that Bâdarâyana should have done the same. The à priori style of reasoning as to the teaching of the Sûtras is therefore without much force.
But apart from any intention of arriving thereby at the meaning of the Sûtras there, of course, remains for us the all-important question as to the true teaching of the Upanishads, a question which a translator of the Sûtras and Sa@nkara cannot afford to pass over in silence, especially after reason has been shown for the conclusion that the Sûtras and the Sa@nkara-bhâshya do not agree concerning most important points of Vedântic doctrine. The Sûtras as well as the later commentaries claim, in the first place, to be nothing more than systematisations of the Upanishads, and for us a considerable part at least of their value and interest lies in this their nature. Hence the further question presents itself by whom the teaching of the Upanishads has been most adequately systematised, whether by Bâdarâyana, or Sa@nkara, or Râmânuja, or some other commentator. This question requires to be kept altogether separate from the enquiry as to which commentator most faithfully renders the contents of the Sûtras, and it is by no means impossible that Sa@nkara, for instance, should in the end have to be declared a more trustworthy guide with regard to the teaching of the Upanishads than concerning the meaning of the Sûtras.
We must remark here at once that, whatever commentator may be found to deserve preference on the whole, it appears fairly certain already at the outset that none of the systems which Indian ingenuity has succeeded in erecting on the basis of the Upanishads can be accepted in its entirety. The reason for this lies in the nature of the Upanishads themselves. To the Hindu commentator and philosopher the Upanishads came down as a body of revealed truth whose teaching had, somehow or other, to be shown to be thoroughly consistent and free from contradictions; a system had to be devised in which a suitable place could be allotted to every one of the multitudinous statements which they make on the various points of Vedântic doctrine. But to the European scholar, or in fact to any one whose mind is not bound by the doctrine of Sruti, it will certainly appear that all such attempts stand self-condemned. If anything is evident even on a cursory review of the Upanishads—and the impression so created is only strengthened by a more careful investigation—it is that they do not constitute a systematic whole. They themselves, especially the older ones, give the most unmistakable indications on that point. Not only are the doctrines expounded in the different Upanishads ascribed to different teachers, but even the separate sections of one and the same Upanishad are assigned to different authorities. It would be superfluous to quote examples of what a mere look at the Chândogya Upanishad, for instance, suffices to prove. It is of course not impossible that even a multitude of teachers should agree in imparting precisely the same doctrine; but in the case of the Upanishads that is certainly not antecedently probable. For, in the first place, the teachers who are credited with the doctrines of the Upanishads manifestly belonged to different sections of Brahminical society, to different Vedic sâkhâs; nay, some of them the tradition makes out to have been kshattriyas. And, in the second place, the period, whose mental activity is represented in the Upanishads, was a creative one, and as such cannot be judged according to the analogy of later periods of Indian philosophic development. The later philosophic schools as, for instance, the one of which Sa@nkara is the great representative, were no longer free in their speculations, but strictly bound by a traditional body of texts considered sacred, which could not be changed or added to, but merely systematised and commented upon. Hence the rigorous uniformity of doctrine characteristic of those schools. But there had been a time when, what later writers received as a sacred legacy, determining and confining the whole course of their speculations, first sprang from the minds of creative thinkers not fettered by the tradition of any school, but freely following the promptings of their own heads and hearts. By the absence of school traditions, I do not indeed mean that the great teachers who appear in the Upanishads were free to make an entirely new start, and to assign to their speculations any direction they chose; for nothing can be more certain than that, at the period as the outcome of whose philosophical activity the Upanishads have to be considered, there were in circulation certain broad speculative ideas overshadowing the mind of every member of Brahminical society. But those ideas were neither very definite nor worked out in detail, and hence allowed themselves to be handled and fashioned in different ways by different individuals. With whom the few leading conceptions traceable in the teaching of all Upanishads first originated, is a point on which those writings themselves do not enlighten us, and which we have no other means for settling; most probably they are to be viewed not as the creation of any individual mind, but as the gradual outcome of speculations carried on by generations of Vedic theologians. In the Upanishads themselves, at any rate, they appear as floating mental possessions which may be seized and moulded into new forms by any one who feels within himself the required inspiration. A certain vague knowledge of Brahman, the great hidden being in which all this manifold world is one, seems to be spread everywhere, and often issues from the most unexpected sources. Svetaketu receives instruction from his father Uddâlaka; the proud Gârgya has to become the pupil of Ajâtasatru, the king of Kâsî; Bhujyu Sâhyâyani receives answers to his questions from a Gandharva possessing a maiden; Satyakâma learns what Brahman is from the bull of the herd he is tending, from Agni and from a flamingo; and Upakosala is taught by the sacred fires in his teacher's house. All this is of course legend, not history; but the fact that the philosophic and theological doctrines of the Upanishads are clothed in this legendary garb certainly does not strengthen the expectation of finding in them a rigidly systematic doctrine.
And a closer investigation of the contents of the Upanishads amply confirms this preliminary impression. If we avail ourselves, for instance, of M. Paul Régnaud's Matériaux pour servir à l'Histoire de la Philosophie de l'Inde, in which the philosophical lucubrations of the different Upanishads are arranged systematically according to topics, we can see with ease how, together with a certain uniformity of general leading conceptions, there runs throughout divergence in details, and very often not unimportant details. A look, for instance, at the collection of passages relative to the origination of the world from the primitive being, suffices to show that the task of demonstrating that whatever the Upanishads teach on that point can be made to fit into a homogeneous system is an altogether hopeless one. The accounts there given of the creation belong, beyond all doubt to different stages of philosophic and theological development or else to different sections of priestly society. None but an Indian commentator would, I suppose, be inclined and sufficiently courageous to attempt the proof that, for instance, the legend of the âtman purushavidha, the Self in the shape of a person which is as large as man and woman together, and then splits itself into two halves from which cows, horses, asses, goats, &c. are produced in succession (Bri. Up. I, 1, 4), can be reconciled with the account given of the creation in the Chândogya Upanishad, where it is said that in the beginning there existed nothing but the sat, 'that which is,' and that feeling a desire of being many it emitted out of itself ether, and then all the other elements in due succession. The former is a primitive cosmogonic myth, which in its details shows striking analogies with the cosmogonic myths of other nations; the latter account is fairly developed Vedânta (although not Vedânta implying the Mâyâ doctrine). We may admit that both accounts show a certain fundamental similarity in so far as they derive the manifold world from one original being; but to go beyond this and to maintain, as Sa@nkara does, that the âtman purushavidha of the Brihadâranyaka is the so-called Virâg of the latter Vedânta—implying thereby that that section consciously aims at describing only the activity of one special form of Îsvara, and not simply the whole process of creation—is the ingenious shift of an orthodox commentator in difficulties, but nothing more.