To anyone at all familiar with Indian history and philosophy, the Arthashatra needs no introduction. I myself was introduced to it over a decade ago by a German-American friend, Dr. Michael Liebig, who now teaches Indian cultural history at the University of Heidelberg. He told me that the author was widely considered the Indian Machiavelli, only much more cynical and much more callous. Later I discovered that one of his admirers is former U.S Secretary of State and Chief of the National Security Council Henry Kissinger, himself no small follower of the famous Florentine. It was, however, only during these corona-infested days that I finally got around to actually reading him. And writing down some comments on him, for my own benefit and, hopefully, my readers too.

First, the author. He has been the subject, not just of a single tradition but of at least half a dozen. Each associated with one of India’s subcultures, religions, and regions. As a result, there is very little about him that can be firmly established. Apparently his period of activity started about 330 and ended around 280 BCE. For part of that period he served as chief minister to at least two Mauri Emperors. As such he was involved in every aspect of contemporary statecraft—royal succession, intrigue (including the kind of intrigue that originates in harems), politics, economics, war (both internal, to put down insurrections, and external, against every kind of king, big and small), and what not. Many of the details appear fantastic. For example, that he once took a royal baby from his dying mother’s womb and placed it inside a goat, keeping it alive. And that, at one point in his career when he was living as an ascetic in a forest, he used a secret formula to manufacture no fewer than 800 million gold coins.

Next, the text. Long considered lost, it was known only from references in other works. Including a Greek-language one, Megasthenes’ Indika, which dates to the years around Kautilya’s death. In 1905 a copy, written on palm leaves, was discovered by a librarian in the Oriental Research Institute at Mysore. Internal evidence suggests that it was not, in fact, composed by a single person. Rather, in the form we have it, it is a compilation written, expanded and explained by various people at various times. The title, Arthashastra, is often translated as Politics. In fact, however, it refers to the acquisition and maintenance of material, or perhaps one should say worldly, gain—mainly wealth on the one hand and power on the other. As such it is on a par with two other traditions: Dharma (ethics, religious duty) on one hand and Kama (pleasure, desire) on the other. Joined together, these three are seen as the sum of human life. If not in all incarnations, at any rate in the kind in which not just Indians but all of us live to the present day.

To me the most intriguing aspect of the work, rarely noted by other commentators I have looked at, is the profound contradiction it seems to contain. At peak, the Mauri Empire comprised some two million square miles. More than the present-day state of India and including, in addition to today’s Central and Northern India, Pakistan and Bangladesh. Its population, which modern scholars have estimated at 50-60 million, was comparable to that of Rome at its height. To administer such a vast realm a sophisticated bureaucracy was needed; such as is, in fact, described by Kautilya. The top layer of the bureaucracy in question was formed by a royal council which was supported by a secretariat or chancellery. There were specialist departments responsible for, among other things, defense, intelligence (including espionage, a field that seems to have fascinated the author and on which he has much advice to offer), the treasury, commerce, auditing, weights and measures, the measurement of space and time, agriculture, mining, forestry (specifically including elephant-forestry), fisheries, and public works, weaving, liquor, and the supervision of prostitutes. Much business was transacted in writing, including secret writing. Rulers were surrounded by elaborate ritual and kept, or were supposed to keep, regular hours devoted to work, worship and leisure. Order and regularity seem to have been the watchwords; albeit that unexpected events on one hand and the peculiarities of individual rulers on the other might cause them to be disrupted.

There is, however, another side to this coin. From beginning to end, the emperor about and for whom Kautilya is writing is referred to as a “king.” That is OK—I do not claim to be a Sanskrit linguist. What I find surprising is that the king’s realm, a huge one by any standard, is said to be surrounded by those of other “kings.” So much so that they form first, second, and even third, four, fifth and sixth degree neighbors. Though not of equal strength, all are addressed by the same title. All are independent of each other, constantly negotiating with each other, stabbing each other in the back, and often fighting each other tooth and nail. Not to mention any number of “wild” peoples who keep rising against the kings and must be kept in check. In other words, what the text really describes is not an empire at all. It is, rather, an international system—a quilt made up of separate realms, many of them as small as they are diverse.

Those who are taking this are more likely to cialis generic tabs have a hemorrhagic stroke. This leads to a widening of blood vessels which supports in adequate blood supply to the sexual organs of the body. cialis 5mg price Complication of dysfunction problem There are a lot of complications of diabetes, which include impotence, neuropathy (loss of sensation or abnormal sensation). viagra brand No doubt, it sildenafil generic viagra is one of the known troubles and is faced by men at one pointof time or the other. However that may be, the text is meandering and, in its attempts to take the reader by the hand and lead him, often truly picayune. In this respect it is as unlike Machiavelli, who was a brilliant writer and stylist, as unlike can be. The following passage is typical:

When a friend does not come to terms, intrigue should be frequently resorted to. Through the agency of spies, the friend should be won over after separating him from the enemy. Or attempts may be made to win him over who is the last among combined friends; for when he who is the last among combined friends is secured, those who occupy the middle rank will be separated from each other; or attempts may be made to win over a friend who occupies middle rank; for when a friend occupying middle rank among combined kings is secured, friends, occupying the extreme ranks cannot keep the union.

This kind of text is about as exciting and as transparent as mud. Personally I find it hard to believe that even a Dr. Kissinger, however brainy he may be, can make himself read it without falling asleep. Consider the following:

A virtuous king may be conciliated by praising his birth, family, learning and character, and by pointing out the relationship which his ancestors had (with the proposer of peace), or by describing the benefits and absence of enmity shown to him. Or a king who is of good intentions, or who has lost his enthusiastic spirits, or whose strategic mean are all exhausted and thwarted in a number of wars, or who has lost his men and wealth, or who has suffered from sojourning abroad, or who is desirous of gaining a friend in good faith, or who is apprehensive of danger from another, or who cares more for friendship than anything else, many be won over by conciliation. Or a king who is greedy, or who has lost his men may be won over by giving gifts through the medium of ascetics and chiefs who have been previously kept with him for the purpose.

Or, or, or, or. The number of possibilities is endless. Each one is divided into branches, and each branch, having been further subdivided, must be explored in some depth. Here as in a great many other traditional Indian philosophical texts, the Kama Sutra specifically included, what we see is the author’s wish to be as systematic and as comprehensive as possible. No set of circumstances, no combination, and no eventuality must be left out. Even at the expense of clarity and readability.

I am reminded of what Clausewitz, in his introduction to On War, has to say about this kind of writing:

It is, perhaps, not impossible to write a systematic theory of war full of spirit and substance, but ours, hitherto, have been very much the reverse. To say nothing of their unscientific spirit, in their striving after coherence and completeness of system, they overflow with commonplaces, truisms, and twaddle of every kind. If we want a striking picture of them we have only to read Lichtenberg’s extract from a code of regulations in case of fire. “If a house takes fire,” he writes, “we must seek, above all things, to protect the right side of the house standing on the left, and, on the other hand, the left side of the house on the right; for if we, for example, should protect the left side of the house on the left, then the right side of the house lies to the right of the left, and consequently as the fire lies to the right of this side, and of the right side (for we have assumed that the house is situated to the left of the fire), therefore the right side is situated nearer to the fire than the left, and the right side of the house might catch fire if it was not protected before it came to the left, which is protected. Consequently, something might be burnt that is not protected, and that sooner than something else would be burnt, even if it was not protected; consequently we must let alone the latter and protect the former. In order to impress the thing on one’s mind, we have only to note if the house is situated to the right of the fire, then it is the left side, and if the house is to the left it is the right side.”

To return to the Arthashastra, give me Machiavelli any time.